By Pete Pan
Unavoidably, the third death of
skateboarding approaches with
Imminent swiftness. The death
throes began with the introduc-
tion of the "Back to the Future"
mass-production Sears catalog
goon set-ups, mass-merchan-
dised by trash merchants like
Lechemere's, Ann and Hope,
Caldor, and other discount
heavens. When the first polyester
leisure-suited dork bearing Roller
Toy equipment entered my shop, I
knew it was coming quicker than
I anticipated. He was but the first
of many to crush out the butt
between his orange-stained
paws, and smile through his
yellow, cavity-filled chops, trying
to tell me what "everyone" is
buying. Picking him up by the
seat of his shiny bell-bottoms
and tossing him out on his fat
belly is one of my few pleasures
of business.
The third death is here when
my 8 year old kid spends hours
putting together a fanzine and
our skateshop has a stream of
little wieners coming in with their
own crude renderings. One out of
every 10 of these zines is worth
using for toilet paper. Basically,
they are showcases for the little
poser egos... full of skate photos
of themselves.
The third death is here because
soft-bellied little whiners waddle
Into the shop, spieling off irrele-
vant facts about their idols and
equipment rather than going out
and riding the street. When
everyone claims hardcore
connections there is no hardcore.
The dorks rule the street.
The third death is here because
poser salesman and poser store
owners are playing up to the
soft-bellies with their pseudo-
skater routine, when in reality,
they have never tasted the
pavement through two layers of
bloody skin. Nothing sickens me
more than listening to phony
dorkers tell me what to ride, when
they have never ridden anything
but a skin flute.
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The Third STRIKE
The third death is here, but
that's okay. Pretty soon, Bicycle
Bob, True Value Hardware and the
local bakery shop will have to
unload all their "Back to the
Future" $49.95 professional
models, or eat shit. All the little
eunuchold hairless soft-asses
will turn to BMX or soccer, or
computers, and old Harvey "the
Pro" Gleckman will be getting
just what he rightfully deserves...
to eat all his protruded inventory
and suck in his fat stomach.
The third death is here because
town recreation departments are
building ramps and 2nd graders
wear high fashion rubber band
pants with Velcro fasteners. The
"Back to the Future" deck
plunged the Rambo knife into the
back of the serious skating scene.
We started skating in '63 as a
sadistic way of crashing on
pavement at high speeds. Hitting
primitive hills at Roger Williams
Park and Garden City with
rock-hard roller skate garbage
T
wheels was another way of
getting bloody. It died in the late
'60s, never really approaching
fever status. When the craze
came back in the mid-70s, it was
stronger, producing some quality
skaters. It was easy to predict its
second death when toy plastic
skates went into the Sears
catalog and other fast bucks
were was pumping out pultruded
suicide for $9.95. Skateboarder
Mag went from a Cosmopolitan
size, to racing form format. The
final death rattle was quite
evident when the mag was turned
into Action Now, clutching for
diluted dork readership. It was
soon totally abandoned by the
skaters, followed by the BMX and
bodyboarders.
When the 3rd wave came it was
very weird. There was always the
original crew and the few that
continued after the craze died in
the late '70s. Before you know it,
some airhead in a hardcore band
decides to carry a skateboard on
There's no doubt that feminine freestylist
Diane Desiderio is true to form in this photo
taken at a practice session for the San
Diego Seaworld extravaganza, but what's
with the chorus line in the background
posing with plastic? Photo: Dave Omer
stage during a concert and a few
little dorks pick up on it. More
dorks pick up on the band, and
more bands pick up skateboards
to pick up more dorks. So began
the third craze.
A microcosm of the skate
scene can be summarized by the
East Side of Providence, home of
the chic and debonair Rhode
Island rich. It was officially
reborn by several college band
members at the Rhode Island
School of Design, and then
spread to the various prep
schools that dot the area. Since it
wasn't fair that only the rich little
geeks could afford those expen-
sive set-ups, we can thank the
corporate board manu's for
spreading self-destruct, non-
repairable models to Cranston,
Warwick, Barrington and other
suburban hot spots.
As local stylist Bill Gazá points
out, "Judgement day is near
when you see Mr. B come from
the depths of Hell." Skateboard-
ing is becoming baseball. The
kids know more about contest
results than they do about
skating. Skate heroes are being
made because of this. Skating
should not be talked about. It
should be done. Facts and
figures won't help you in the
street.
I might be an old fart, but I've
been skating and surfing since
1963, and will continue until I
drop dead. I've seen posers come
and go for 23 years. I will feast on
the third death of skateboarding.
It will clean the foul air of the
fakers and phonies who pollute
our pavements. The next graduat-
ing class of prep schoolers will
find another sport to poison. As
lame as I am, I will still be looking
for banks to ride, while they
forget what a skateboard is. In
three years I'll be riding some
bank with my kid and the next
generation of posers will laugh
and tell us what a kook sport
skating is. I've heard it before,
and F'll hear it again.
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