JULY 3 THE FIRST 24 HRS.
Paul Schmitt, Jeff Grosso and myself
stepped off a red-eye flight at the St. Louis
airport. These flights are the worst. Hours
of uncomfortable torture surrounded by
snoring travellers.
At the baggage claim we encountered
Steve Caballero and photographer Fo.
They didn't know exactly what they were
doing there, let alone why.
I knew. A special demo, sponsored by
St. Louis-based Island Water Sports store,
lasting the three day Fourth of July
weekend at the VP fair held in the large
park beneath the St. Louis arch. Some girl
picked us up. I forgot her name but she's
the wife of Jerry, who was putting this
whole demo together.
Anyway, she explained the schedule of
events to Fo and he still didn't com-
prehend while she led us to this really nice
hotel. After checking into our complimen-
tary rooms (courtesy of IWS), we im-
mediately proceeded to STOMP! In the pro-
cess, Grosso and myself find Joe Lopes
and Neil Blender, already here for a week.
They inform us of all the nothing that
happens.
Originally, about a dozen skaters were
invited to this demo with a 3-digit sum
guaranteed for each, but, so far, almost
every skater who is anybody had showed.
up, invited or not. Most didn't even care
whether they got paid.
Outside, the humidity was swelteringly
thick. There's nothing to do but sleep until
evening, when all the skaters were to meet
at Jerry's parent's (away for the weekend)
mansion for a Bar-b-Q/two keg party. He
even supplied a shuttle van that would
meet us in the lobby. We found it could
hold over 25 guys. When we got to the
mansion, we swam in Jerry's pool. A few
skaters were wearing Yarmulkes they stole
from a Jewish wedding reception being
held in the hotel. Actually, there were about
eight or nine of the little white skull caps.
floating around. A flip diving session en-
sued while Joe Lopes took over the Barbe-
que. The kegs were cracked and Neil
Blender accidentally punched somebody in
the face. There were only three or four girls
on the premises. Somebody throws
one of 'em over his shoulder and carries
her off into the night, Neanderthal style.
Most of us raged a street-sess on the ten-
nis court and somebody started firing a
Roman candle at the various vehicles when
they departed for the hotel. It looked like
the incoming rockets from "Apocalypse
Now."
Back to the hotel for more stomping with
almost everyone getting complaints from
the front desk, and it was back to sleep for
me.
JULY 4
THE SECOND 24 HRS.
The first day of the demo. The ramp was
completed early last evening, built by Tim
Payne with the help of Rodney Paul, both
out of Florida.
The first show starts at 10 a.m. with Chris
Miller, Jeff Phillips, Micke Alba, Dan Wilkes
and more, going for the early session.
Everyone was wiring the ramp and the day
droned on.
As the skaters were performing a
dynamic air-show, another air-show was
going on over the Mississippi River, which
happened to run parallel to the park con-
taining this whole V.P. fair. A larger scale
action spectacle than what was going down
on the ramp, this other show consisted of
four acrobatic Bi-planes doing syncroniz-
ed hammerhead stalls and nearly mile-high
loop-de-loops. It provided an interesting
backdrop to our demo. Later on in the day,
some kind of Air Force jet screamed low
across the sky. It was loud. Not as loud as
the Harrier jet that came an hour before
sundown. These jets can remain stationary
in the sky and either land like a helicopter
or concentrate fire power on a single target.
A very high-tech war machine.
At 2 o'clock p.m., Grosso, myself, Neil,
Joe Lopes, Spidey and Lance Mountain
start sessioning. Soon everyone was
sessioning.
It was hot. I mean, weather-wise it was
hot. Real hot. Real hot and humid. REAL
humid. Anyway, you get the idea. This
meant you could skate only for awhile, then
you'd have to rest. Regardless, both Chris-
tian Hosoi and Tony Magnussen were
clocking in some blazing 8 to 9 foot airs.
The demo ended at 6:00 and everyone
was looking for girls. We headed back to
the hotel to clean up. Most headed back.
to the fair for some Fourth of July fireworks.
I met up with Fo in the hotel cocktail
lounge and watched some band with this
weird guy who played two saxaphones at
a time, then two trumpets at a time. He
sang Willie Nelson songs, and Bob Marley
songs, even some Huey Lewis and the
News. What happened next, I'm not sup-
posed to talk about.
JULY 5
WORTH
There were dozens of booths lined up
around this fair. Kinda like a flea market.
I bought a pair of hippie pants and Roskopp
bought some pirate pants. There were
booths with cases of beers stacked to a
double overhead awesome perspective.
Eddie Reategui said he had to take a leak,
someone told him where the bathrooms.
were and Eddie sez, "Fuck that, I'm gon-
na whiz in the Mississippi River." Then,
when Christian heard that, he decided he
was gonna do it too. Pretty soon...well, you
figure it out, the waterline rose two feet.
Everyone was blazing the ramp. Gator
was doing 540's until he broke some ribs.
Bummer. Phillips got so sick he couldn't.
skate. Something he ate. Magnussen,
Lester and Christian were going higher,
while Groholski and Wilkes were causing
incredible havoc on the lip. Six o'clock roll-
ed around and everyone bailed back to the
hotel. On the agenda for that night, as we
were told by demo organizer Jerry, was a
hip party with "chicks 'n shit." He said he
was gonna give us a ride in the van, sol
everybody should meet in the lobby at 9:30
p.m.
ANOTHER 24 HRS.
We were all in the lobby at 9:30, most
of us all spiffed out, some dirtier than when
they were skating.
No van.
Nearly thirty skaters in a lobby where
there's not enough chairs, some guys ly-
ing on their backs on the floor, legs up do-
ing board control drills. The skaters involv
ed in the catastrophic quarters game in one
of the rooms were dropping their boards,
nearly missing their faces. Some didn't
miss. Anyway, 10:00 comes along and still
no van. Hotel security came in after some
fine upper class-like socialite women walk-
ed through and everyone whistled them
right down the hallway. Security informed
us that the hotel had just made up about
six new rules of conduct just for us. Rules
like: no skateboards in lobby, no throwing
potato chips, no pouring beer on each
other, no bare feet in lobby, no lying on
the floor and no banging as hard as you
can on the glass-topped coffee tables and
end-tables.
The van came just in time-before the list
got any bigger. More guys than ever before
climbed into the van. So there I was, in the
back, the guys start the van a-rockin' back
and forth. Jerry got out to see if there was
anybody that was gonna get left behind. No
sooner than he walked around the back of
the van, somebody jumps in the driver's
seat, slaps it in gear, and VROOM! off we
go with Jerry lookin' and gaspin', "What
the fuh???"
Next thing I know, we're on a death-ride
donut spinning session in the parking lot
behind the hotel.
Finally we're on the road to the party with
Jerry back behind the wheel. Nobody cops
to the five-minute grand theft auto incident
so it was left at that and then totally forgot-
ten when a whole case of Budweisers were
popped open and a shower incident oc-
curs. Everyone got wet. Six slam-dance
The combined expressions of these two young-uns-as they observed spectacular stunts, like Hosol
doing McTwists (opposite page)-sums up the response you can expect from a demo like this.
style dog-pile sessions and twenty-five
Roman candle rockets out the side win-
dows at the cars following us-later we ar-
rived at the party only to find it full of early
to mid-twenties med-school looking types,
future lawyers and future politicians.
It took a whole fifteen or twenty minutes.
before the cops came to make sure we left.
A new record for our bunch. On my way
back to the van, which was parked a block
away up a hill, I noticed a Turbo Saab tum-
ed onto its side on someone's front lawn.
No one knows how it happened but I do
know that when we drove past it, it was
back on its wheels.
So it was back to the hotel but not before
Grosso somehow found himself on the
van's roof doing the Grosso jig as we weav-
ed down the street. Then he jumped onto
Fo's and Spidey's rental car behind us,
ran over the top and jumped over onto a
Turbo Saab (a different one) and climbed
in the sun roof where Roskopp was already
standing, catching the wind in his face.
Somehow we got back to the hotel. I was
sittin' in my room watching "Saturday Nite
Live" when I hear this noise in the hallway.
Peeking out revealed a thick cloud from fire
extinguishers. There were shadowy figures
running away from other shadowy figures
who were shooting more Roman candles.
Two commercials and three skits on SNL
later, there was a knock on the door. It was
the manager of the hotel, two white
Samoan-looking security guys and a cop
with a gun. The manager tells me that
everybody in this room has to get out in
twenty minutes.
Everybody was kicked out, standing in
front of this plush hotel, street sessioning
off of the hotel shuttle van. A couple guys
do grinds on the fenders of the hotel limo.
A couple other guys pop up with cham-
pagne bottles and long stemmed glasses.
As they drank, some speculated that the
clincher reason everyone got kicked out
was because of someone shooting a
Roman candle into one of the wedding
receptions goin on in the back of the hotel.
Still, nobody cops to it because everybody
has been having such a good time.
Good 'ole Jerry, after many phone calls,
found us a motel and almost everyone pro-
mised to behave. I didn't do anything, I just
wanted to sleep.
JULY 6 LAST 24 HRS.
Everyone was shredding the ramp that
day, despite the gnarly humidity. "It's not
hot, it's humid," the locals kept sayin'.
Bullshit. So why was everyone sweating
buckets? Malba was alley-ooping the
ramps entire surface. I slammed on a rock
'n roll my first run of the day then watched
the rest of the demo. Later that afternoon.
Grosso, Roskopp and I found time to pose
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