DAYS OF
INFAMY!
October 22, 1983
9:30 AM, Alhambra, CA
The eggs were cold and the ham
had a hint of the rancid about it. What
could you expect from a Bob's Big
Boy, where the waitresses were either
a) in their late teens with a lack of
any working talent, b) well past any
chance at attractiveness, c) over sixty
years old or d) had 1/4" purple cords of
varicose veins running up and down
the backs of their legs.
Across from me Caballero was
slamming down his syrup soaked hot
cakes like it was his last meal. It re-
minded me of the way an alligator
eats. Next to us, sat the two Mind
Bros. "What are we doing here any-
way?" inquired Mind Brother #1.
"We're supposed to show up at
Lance Mountain's house in about an
hour something about a mystery ses-
sion. That's one on me," offered Mind
Bro. #2. "I asked someone yesterday
what the deal was if it was a contest or
one of those jams, but nobody seems
to know anything. All of the heavies
say that they're just going to show-up
...just because. Though one guy said
that if there wasn't going to be a con-
test, it wouldn't be worth it."
"Well, anything is better than baking
your brains at poolside, getting per-
manent cyclone fence marks in the
armpits and baking out your brains
20
H
a serious chain of events
Every time Hackett dropped in, eyes turned expectantly, as he lashed the lip to bits with his doomsday assaults.
THE
MOUNTAIN
CUM
CRUCE
SALUS
MANOR
1644
some more, just waiting for something
to happen. That's limited entertain-
ment, Gorched #1.
MEANWHILE IN BEIRUT
The Marine sat down to listen to
Megaband,' a USO sponsored cw
combo in front of Marine headquar
ters. He took a bite out of a pizza slice.
The cooks from aboard the amphibi
ous assault ship, Iwo Jima, were kind
enough to prepare pizzas and flow to
the U.S. contingent of the multina-
tional peace keeping force. Looking at
the slice as he chewed, he noticed the
pepperoni lay in the shapes of a 'U'
and a T. He also began to think about
why he was there, as part of a Peace
keeping force. A funny kind of peace.
He really didn't even know who the
enemy was. The enemy that killed two
of his friends and wounded four others
last weekend. "What kind of peace is
that?" he thought. "We stand and pos
ture here representing the American
might, and it's called, keeping peace."
That is until one of our buddies gets
blown away by some anonymous Mid-
dle Easterner. A local killing a foreign-
er on his homeland. How can peace
be maintained in a place where the
word has never existed? It's been a
solid week of no incidents. Maybe us
being here is really having an effect,
but then again, what I think doesn't re-
ally matter. Mine is only to serve and
obey, Semper Fidelis."
ALHAMBRA
Caballero led the way to Lance's
doorstep, where a few skate vehicles
were unloading. Already running
down the steps into the backyard was
Gator Rogowski. It looked as though
he was gonna get a head start on
whatever was gonna happen. We got
out of the car and inspected the ranks.
of the early arrivals. Present so far
were Mike McGill, Steve Steadham,
Eric Grosso, John Lucero and a few
who were doddling around, refusing to
be recognized.
Emerging from the house after
changing into something a little more
'apropo to the So. Cal climate, 1
noticed a few other types that had ar-
rived: Lowboy, Skip Engblom and
Dave Hackett were among those in-
creasing numbers milling about the
side of the house.
Ascending the steps from the back-
yard, clutching his mouth was Gator, a
red speckled trail behind him, blood
seeping through his fingers.
"Who punched Gator in the mouth?"
a voice cracked. Mind Brother #1
began questioning Gator. But Gator
only gurgled through the blood. After
assembling some facts obtained from
the few witnesses, it was determined
that the tail of Gator's board flew into
his mouth after he threw it down be-
fore him on a bail. It took out a few
teeth.
Dr. Hackett, an expert in High-Tech
Physical injuries such as this (and
worse) immediately diagnosed the sit-
uation and concluded that Gator was
in some sort of pain. The proper was
prescribed just before Gator was
whisked off to the hospital.
THE CARIBBEAN
The fifteen ships in the aircraft car-
rier battle group sat idly in the dark
Caribbean waters. A Marine aboard
the five-ship amphibious task force
accompanying the aforementioned
battle group, calmly lit a Chesterfield,
tossing the match into the ocean. He
stared listlessly out across the black-
ness towards the faint silhouette of the
aircraft carrier. Taking a slow drag, he
thought of how this combined flotilla
comprised the ultimate task force. The
thought unnerved him. He had only
joined up to get out of Kansas, but
now he was part of a battle group. The
sergeant had said that the destination.
was Lebanon as a relief force, but now
they sat in the Caribbean waters off of
a small island. Why? He spit over the
rail and went below deck. A chill went
through his body. He had just had
THAT feeling. The feeling of Death's
breath.
ALHAMBRA
The ramp glowed in the late mom-
ing sun. The new marine ply surface
was freshly coated with a paint that
was a reflection of the beautiful and
peaceful blue sky. A bird flew by, inter-
rupted by nothing but an angel's flutter
of a breeze. By this time, Lance's
head had appeared, bopping among
the crowd, never staying in one place
more than a few moments. He was ex-
cited. Although he tried not to show it
by throwing things periodically. He
"Gator The Unfortunate." Mark Rogowski (top) has been plagued
with misfortune for quite some time now. The tail of Mike McGill's
board barely brushes the tree branches in this fully cranked backside
canyon air.
was good at it.
The young turks were inspecting
the ramp's surface by fakieing back
and forth across it. An expression of
satisfaction glowed in their faces.
Soon the gears of the skate
machine were in motion. The wheels
spun with precision beneath the feet
of the experts. Their velocity produced
speeds that carried them above and
beyond the ramp's structure into a
freedom fight through the peaceful
Saturday mid-day air.
By the time noon rolled around, the
grounds at the 'Mountain Manor' were
bustling with activity. Curiosity seek-
ers lined the top of an iceplant em-
bankment. The skate regimen, the
skilled professionals now present,
named as follows: Micke Alba-long
term pro; Steve Olson-veteran (out
of retirement); Bill Ruff-short term
vet; Lester Kasai-short term vet;
Tony Magnussen-long term vet; Ca-
ballero-long term vet; Lance Moun-
tain-native veteran pro; John Lucero
-native rookie; Grosso-native
rookie; Chris May-shaky am; Spi-
dey-point man, plus those few
shameless-nameless rookies who re-
fuse to come forth and be recognized.
The ramp stands 30 ft wide with 20
ft of flat bottom. One wall juts 10 feet 1
up above the grass while the opposing
side rises a mere nine feet with a three
ft wide channel about five feet above
the channel hang a few tree branches.
A camouflaged obstacle.
I paced about the ramp, checking
the lighting and proposed angles for
the camera obscura. The action was
intense within the frame. Sol basked
the high-wall in a velvety blanket of
California's best golden sunshine.
Somehow the sunshine always makes
people feel good inside. McGill was
stretching the frontside and backside
channel plants, with the most variety
and with a fair amount of consistency.
Caballero was ejecting up into the
trees with some high five ft, one footed
backside airs.
A big round face with 'Ray Bans
and soul patch beneath the lower lip
was bobbing around the premises, ac-
companied by Ron Emory, guitarist
for the temporarily disbanded T.S.O.L
"Oyel Oyel Oye the face said be-
neath its flat brimmed black hat. The
beady black eyes behind those Ray
Bans belonged to none other than Mr.
Potatoe Head, Gerry Hurtado. After
positioning himself in a formidable
spectator fashion, he and his as
sociate commenced observing.
"Well, when is it gonna start?" cried
a voice from San Diego. Meanwhile
the skate forces were blazing in a non-
stop super session. At random the rid-
ers were making quantum leaps into
the atmosphere, piercing the stillness
of altitudes only to glide back down to
earth in heart stopping elegance.
"When is what gonna start?" I
thought. Once skateboarding began,
this sort of thing. The session, never
ended. It was a natural assurance
when intense skaters gathered in one
spot and were given the freedom to do
whatever in the hell they want. Now it
all made sense. Since the high calibre
sessions were remaining to be few
and sporadic, limited to awkwardly
structured contest practice sessions,
a session was planned in the guise of
21