S.U.A.S. HOUSTON
Skate Up And Shut?
The city is Dallas. The room is in
the back. The lighting is cheap. The
map is of the Eastern section of the
state of Texas. The rendezvous loca-
tion is four hours by car in the city of
Houston. The picture is of the big
'Kahuna' metal ramp at the Skate-
park of Houston. The event is the an-
nual Shut Up and Skate picnic
thrown by Zorlac and Co. The instruc-
tions read rough and not exactly to
the point: Your mission, sirs, if you
decide to explain it, is to infiltrate this
city and bum lives. Act as an un-
fashionable crony and evaluate the
scriptures of this coded message. If
you, or any of your unmentionables,
are bought or billed, the secretary will
disavow her knowledge of reality.
Good luck, sirs. Please burn the copy
and photos upon completion of your
briefing
Not much to go on, but enough to
SUAS
shul
and
HOUSTON
by D. Buckit & The Colonel
get us on the road and out of town
for a weekend. A real contest? We'll
see...
No sleep 'til Houston. After a brief
stop at the subversive 'Skatepark'
and an integrity glance at the darken-
ed structures within, we're off to the
hotel. A room is secured, and is soon
being visited by other missionaries
of doom. There is talk of downtown,
daquiries, showers, the strip and a
party. Everyone agrees that showers
are first and parties are next and the
rest will fall into place.
skate
sent and mixing it up with a smatter-
ing of dwids and lowlifes. Circum-
stances we note are bodies on the
floor and liquids on the furniture,
swinging on a low-hanging chan-
delier, girls looking at boys and boys
playing with girls.
Saturday brings phone calls, door
knocks and other intrusions into our
passed-out state, so we wake up.
Breakfast in the hotel is the last we'll
ever attempt there during our stay. At
the park site the locals have started
the welcoming committee flowing
outside the gates. We enter the pre-
mises with cupped hands, no cans.
Inside the gates the ramp area
reveals pandemonium in progress.
The pros and ams are engaging in
full wheel-to-air wars. Activity is
centered around the two metal
halfpipes set side-by-side in the
grassland. The ams will later be com
peting on the smaller ramp and the
Inside finds all acquaintances pre- pros would try to tame the beast.
We're off and running, complete
with almost true directions. The night
becomes a blur of wrong turns, bum
deals, Madonna and Van Hagar
tunes on the Cal-ish cruise strip off
Westheimer, Slurpee-type drinks at
the Daquiri Factory, and new direc-
tions to a 'radical party, which turns
out to be the one we were looking for
in the first place.
Noticeable is that a lot of familiar
pros have not made it out to our
wonderful state for this event.
Rumored excuses range from, "Like,
Anaheim's right around the corner
and we're saving ourselves for that,"
to "Texas is not serious about con-
tests," and "I'm just a pussy and I do
what my sponsors tell me."
Those who have shown from out
of state are going by the names of
Neil Blender, Chris Miller, Mike
McGill, Danny Webster, Eddie
Elguera, and Alan Losi. The number
of amateurs in attendance is
bolstered by several carloads of
touring skaters from out of state.
So with buds flowin', Rastaman
Hubert Plumber, Austin's Kenny
Payton, Dallasite Lewis Carlton and
Brett Team Love' Anderson take it
upon themselves to coordinate the
contest and handle the MC chores,
not necessarily in that order.
The amateur qualifying commen-
ces sometime after the numbing late
afternoon chill sets in and before the
deadly dew point which turns the
metal to ice-slick after sundown.
As the park scene simmers down,
plans for the evening are finalized.
Tradewinds, the roller rink of doom,
is in order, and Sid & Nancy will be
there. That is way cool, cuz some
bands are gonna play also.
Back at the room we decide the
placings for the following day's finals
and begin to wonder where the girls
are with our refreshments that they
left for over two hours ago. The hotel
becomes infested with grommet-1
types seeking autographs from sub-
famous folks. Many keep their doors
locked for good reason.
As is customary, the Tradewinds
scene is a riot by the time we arrive,
with four to five hundred people of all
ages, two-thirds of whom are skating
some form of wheels around the rink
and hitting fly-aways off the single
launch ramp in the middle of the floor.
Conditions are so hectic that a rumor
insists that Gibson flew so high off
the launch that he lost his board but
came down in a perfect four-point
landing or someone else's. Blender
is busting out with layback ollies over
the rink wall. A show pit of street
skaters develops, with moves like, "I
saw this in the mag." etc. We notice
the action going down on two
half-pipes against the back wall just
as Contortion Session starts. The
chaos restarts all over again and
repeats itself many times before the
evening ends at Power Tools. In the
skater way, someone knows some-
one, and somebody who works there
used to skate, jaw, jaw, jaw! We all
end up eventually gaining entrance
on John Gibson's "breast" list. Once
inside we realize the place is weirded
out worse than a bad 'shroom
experience.
Sunday brightens all too quickly
with us going to Metal Church early
to get our blood flowing. After a bet-
ter breakfast than the day before, we
hit the ramp site and clear security.
As near as anybody can tell, Houston
homeslice Brian Pennington floats
his fluid style about the ramp in such
a manner as to be crowned king. Jim
Murphy follows up closely by hauling
his ass back and forth across the
steel, aided by slob grabs, mutes and
layback grind to slides. Todd Prince
works everyone into a lather on his
way to third, and Houstonian Gene
Hare's performance agrees with a
fourth place finish. Ivory-skinned
Barry Abrook from London, England,
takes fifth; Jimmy O'Brien comes
from Atlanta to settle into sixth, Bruno
Hertzog from San Diego, CA, lands
7th, and David Herbert rounds out
the top eight.
To say that contests in Texas are
laid-back is an understatement. No
other area even tries to compete with
the big state' in the 'most casually
wild' category. Everyone everywhere
else is always too worried about their
image and that of skateboarding to
really have any fun at a contest. But,
Texans, hell no, come on out and....
well shut up and skate.
To go into detail about this contest
is ridiculous because there were no
details. The only reason there are
judges is that nobody's really come
up with a better way to declare win-
ners and losers. Let's just say that
Ken Fillion skated in the pro category
but retained his amateur status (we
think). Vertical stunt pioneer Eddie
Elguera came out to refuel his old
skate fire and blazed, regardless of
results. Neil Blender and Chris Miller
continued to skate long after the
loose jam had ended and sticker
tossing had begun. Losi and homies
Johnson and Gibson skated as hard
as they had partied the night before.
Mike McGill got second and Phillips
barely nudged him for first just by
skating the way they do everyday.
Nobody really knows how long the
jam lasted 'cause nobody ever real-
ly said it was over. It just sort of peter-
ed out as the well-worn took off their
pads and gathered their gear as they
would after any normal session.
Nobody cried (except the girl
whose car Dave Duncan slid into a
ditch, but she got over it), everybody
laughed, Dennis made money for his
park, Newton hopefully raised
enough to cover his ass and give the
leftover to the Cliff Burton memorial
fund, and all went home a day late
because the airports were fogged-in
Sunday night. The pros who showed
shall be thanked in the final tally, and
that's what it's all about. True skating
with real skaters. End report.
58
Texas terrain breeds Texas-style
skate tactics. Houston park local,
Gene Hare (top left), pulled into a
Fourth place amateur finish with no
hang ups. Texas tower, Craig Johnson
(sequence), thrusts across the several
sheets of metal on the big ramp.
59