8:47 p.m.
As the night wore on the exploits of this
merry band of skaters kept the radio
crackling with activity. Another run to the
airport helped strengthen their ranks-
the addition of Tommy Guerrero and Mark
Gonzo Gonzales, streetstyle kingpins
from California. This thing was big, and I
intended to nip it in the bud.
10:05 p.m.
Buick Regal sighted driving down a
one-way street in Cambridge, the wrong
way, enroute to rendezvous with two more
cohorts: Paul 'Punky' Richards and Frank
'the Wrecka' Lannon.
11:30 p.m.
Jolted awake by the radio operator
screaming something about the 'skaters
over at the hospital'. Musta fell asleep
while staking out Punky's digs waitin' for
the get-a-way. Pulling up to the City
Hospital I'm thinking one of these crazies
must of did himself in when Mark Gonzales
appears mid-ollle over a brick wall swell,
lands it, flies off a curb into the street and
pops effortlessly up the far curb back to his
starting point. The place is an unbelievable
work of skate architecture and sure
enough the boys are capping off a night of
skate revelry with a midnight session.
Tommy and Gonzo rip into the brick
banked plaza while the Loud Ones draw
their lines. Eventually, battered and
bloodied, the suspects disperse to various
homesteads and call it a night. I do the
same. It's 2:15 a.m. Saturday morning.
9:30 a.m., Saturday, August 25th
Suspects are headed south in the
direction of Newport, RI in two vehicles. I'd
have to risk it and cross state lines in
pursuit. I had to know what business these
skate pirates had in Newport. The place is
all yachts and Mercedes coupes.
lonzales worked the Downing ramp with some magic
noves. One-footed backside forquec
11:25 a.m.
The Regal was parked in a lot on a
country road, somewhere near Provi-
dence. Even before I saw the huge
half-pipe in Peter Downing's backyard I
heard the sound of rolling wheels. Skaters
were launching skyward on a 30 ft. wide
structure with 9 foot transitions. I layed low
as other vehicles pulled up. More skaters.
A full session commenced with most of the
top notch New England crop attending.
Pulling a set of binoculars from the glove
box I crept in for a closer look. Our boys,
the Loud Ones, were already sweating out
and blazing hard. Freddy was slappin fully
flapped-over handplants and high stylin'
fuck-knee frontside airs. Jeff Thompson
was all over the structure with grinds into
the channel and committed backside
boneless re-entries. 'The Wrecka', Franki
Lannon (so named after shooting his
board through the windshield of Freddy's Frank Lannon Grind gliding to tail
mom's car during a past session) was
ripping the coping off with his skating.
Sean Mclean took two runs before destroy-
ing his ankle on a harsh ball and took
himself to the hospital where he told them
the cause was due to general rough-hous
ing. One down.
For the rest of the day I witnessed the full
cast of characters that make up a thriving
New England skate scene. There was Jim
Noonan, leader of the Noonan gang from
Newbury Port, Mass. Style ripping Dave
Lemieux and his girl were down from
Portsmouth, New Hampshire. Denny
Rambo' Mclean, Sean's bro, was taking
twice the runs everybody else was. No
complaints were heard. Denny is a spitting
image of Sly Stallone and also dropped
into Grenada with the American special
forces. Metal Man, from Riverside, R.I.,
who's motto "you can make anything" was
being put to the test every time skaters
would help him teeter back into the ramp
after a stalled handplant. Bodyslam
publisher, Marc Conahan had everyone
looking with a full on-edge skate style.
Rounding out a crowded session by day's
end were Glen 'Grinna' Goldstien and Gil
Spinna' Boyd, All in all the day's skate
activities seemed fairly harmless to
anybody but themselves. I wasn't fooled,
they were up to no good and I would stop it
before it got out of hand.
Fred Smith blurs by the lip at the Black Hole.
10:00 p.m. Saturday night
A party in Newport had been invaded by
a crew matching the description, laud,
rude and yolling We don't care much,
the Loud Ones motto. What had started as
a mellow backyard affair had soon teen
turned upside down by the skaters. Ono
low point included Punky going over the
fence into a neighboring BBQ party and
actually getting fed until the Q'ers got
ted-up and kickod him out. As the caravan
left town around midnight, the Wrecka
can opened the side of his Toyota truck on:
a mini-mart gas pump but had no time to
ponder as Punky camo runnin out of tho
store with a steamin micro-waved burrilo
that cost him 22 cents. I would have
nabbed the whole crew right then, had
been there. Unfortunately, while tailing
them to the party I took a wrong turn in the
fourst choked traffic. Stopping in a parking
lot to consult my map of the area. I was
jolted to the realization that I had driven
onto a car ferry that was now headed for
Long Island. Foiled again,
Double drop-in. Sean Mclean clears a second shelf
Aying off a subway entrance
Vultured out boneless re-entry by Jeff Thompson