T
HEROES
of the HOOD
THE ART OF POOL RAIDING
his tale is true. The names
haven't been changed
because these guys are inno-
cent. Remember the credo of
the pool raider: leave only urethane,
take nothing but pictures.
I got the call. "Hit Hawaii, bring back
pool article." Click. Within minutes I was
packed. All that was needed for this mis-
sion was me, my skate, a book by
William Goodwin entitled Political
Justice, the latest Thrasher and my
American "Excess" card.
On the plane I sat next to Todd
Farwell, a mountain biker who lived in
Kauai. He asked me why I was going
to Oahu and not Kauai.
I immediately filled him in on the def-
inition of an outlaw: someone who func-
tions outside the parameters of society's
legal system. It's usually someone who
is trying to get an advantage, trying to
get more out of life than the law allows.
He informed me that if I was carrying
any illegal substances, I was not to talk
to him for the remainder of the flight.
years, riding banks for two. The year
was 1973 and I was thirteen. I didn't
know how to ride a pool then. My first
reaction was one of fear. I later found
out the exact location of this "hole" and
skated over to check it out. Ten guys
were in the shallow end, each taking
turns to see who would be the first to "go
over the light."
I was rather intimidated by the crowd
and the noise. I sat there and just took
everything in. The longer I watched, the
more intense the session became, yet
no one could go over the light.
The guys who were riding were vir-
tually unknown to the world of skate-
boarding. To me, however, they were big
shots-old at and mean at sixteen.
These neighborhood bullies hated me
because I was fast on the streets.
After about an hour of this, the crowd
thinned. Most of them got out of the pool
and just kicked it on the north side of the
house, where I saw billowing clouds of
white smoke careening off the rain gut-
ter. It was right about then that my friend
Mike said, "Hey, D.H., come on check
this out. You'll dig it." I grabbed my trusty
tool-a nine stringer dowel-butt joint
skate, made of mahogany, birch and
walnut with my name routed into the bot-
tom. The top had a rough mixture of
sand and epoxy-resin strips acting as
"So what's that got to do with you?" grip tape. I had made it in woodshop. It
he asked.
I told him to breathe and then ex-1
plained to him rumors circulating the
mainland of some skate outlaws living
quite large, surfing perfect waves and
draining and sessioning perfect swim-
ming pools located in a "pricey" neigh-
borhood of Oahu.
"Well, it's a long story," I said. "Lay it
on me. We've got a five-hour plane ride
to kill and if I fall asleep, wake me up
when we get there."
I told him that it all started when a cou-
ple of friends of mine, Andrew Pryciack
and Mike Graham, told me of an empty
pool in our neighborhood in the small
surf town of Malibu, California. I had
been street skating for about seven
was mounted with the best Sure-Grip
trucks and Roller Sports urethane
wheels called "Stokers."
Upon entering the shallow end, I
tripped down the steps and fell. I now
felt like a total dolt. I knew that I would
have to "go off" to stop the laughter and
the low remarks coming from the north
side of the house.
I took one push as I dropped into the
deep end and carved backside around
Story by David Hackett
the drain. I told myself to relax and be
patient and acknowledge the small suc-
cesses if I was to get this dialed. That
I did, and within half-hour I too was
carving the face wall a couple feet below
the light.
I now was starting to gain at least
some acceptance by these jerks be-
cause they invited me to chill on the
north side of the house. I replied that I
had an idea and needed some help.
I realized that going over the light in
this pool was virtually impossible.
because of the short distance from the
shallow end to the deep end. (The pool
was also very tight-nine feet deep,
twelve feet across from side wall to side
wall.) My idea was to disconnect the div-
ing board from the deck of the pool and
angle it into the shallow end as a take-
off ramp.
"Yeah, right!" was the common
response from the north side of the
house. "You'll be going so fast you'll eat
it before you get to the drain," said big-
mouthed Andy Fleming, leader of the
bullies.
Little did they know, I could handle the
speed. For the last few months I had.
been sneaking out of my bedroom win-
dow at night to race slalom and downhill
with some skaters from Topanga Beach.
Within a few moments they had the
diving board ripped up and placed in the
shallow end to my specifications. I was
excited and baffled at the same time; I
wasn't sure if the reason for their imme-
diate cooperation was to see me bust
a ride over the light or bust a sliding face
stop on the drain. Probably the latter.
The pure fear and anxiety formed a
butterfly in my stomach the size of a buz-
zard, yet I knew in my heart and mind
Maintaining his reign as hero of the hood,
Kale Sandridge dominates a Hawaiian dish.
Photo by Kevin J. Thatcher
hoo!
48 THEAER MAGAZINE