RODNEY
STORY BY RODNEY MULLEN
PHOTOS BY BRYCE KANIGHTS
I SEE MYSELF AS LINUS, carrying a skateboard around like some kind of security
blanket. In a way, my skating has been my only real possession. Now that I'm older, I
have a car, a stereo, a bank account... more than what I need. Yet I can't say I've actu-
ally "earned" the stuff I have. It's been given to me, in a way. My friends make fun of
me. The bastards call me a mattress stuffer, a miser. But I have a hard time justifying
fancy things when I haven't done anything that merits them. I just do what I love to
do skate. It has been the only thing I've ever really had of any real value.
This is how I got started: I wanted to skate, but my father wouldn't let me. It was
always strict around the Mullen household. My dad was a doctor and a multimillion-
aire. Of course I love my father, but I've always feared him first, everyone did. He
hated skateboarding mostly because of the injuries. He also thought I'd turn into a
bum if I hung around that crowd too long. Whenever I mentioned skating, I was afraid
he would see it as crossing him. Every kid hears this: "No means no, so quit asking."
I was about to reach that point. Finally, late on a New Year's Eve, I asked him again.
Before answering, he told me a story that haunted me all those years of competing.
He said that I would be like the short kid across the street who played basketball
day and night: No matter how hard I tried, I'd never be any good. Then he reluc-
tantly made me a deal: The first injury I got, or the first time he caught me without
pads, I had to quit. I started skating New Year's Day 1977.
I got good fast. Inland Surf Shop sponsored me after about nine months. They
tricked me into entering my first contest. I won. The first time I saw real pros was at
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52 THRASHER
the 1978 Kona contest. I was doing a handstand and Stacy
Peralta plowed into me. He picked me up and said he was sorry
and skated away. I got Stacy's autograph and got sponsored by
Walker that very day. The next summer I went to the Oceanside
nationals in California. That was the first contact I had with good
freestylers. I won that one, too. Steve Rocco judged me. After
the contest I watched him skate from the bleachers. Steve was
way ahead of all the other pros. I watched him and wondered
what it would feel like to be so much better than the rest. I
was too chicken to get his autograph.
When I came home to Florida, my father said I had proved 1
was best at something, and now I should move on. Though I
knew I'd have to quit, I skated harder that year, like sprinting for
some finish line. Only it wasn't a ribbon; it was a wall. Skating
hadn't formally been taken from me, so I tried harder with a sort
of desperation. Powell-Peralta started flowing me boards that
spring. My friend Barry Zaritzky coached me, making me do my
runs over and over without watching my board. I had to run
backwards for a half mile before I skated. The idea was to prove
that I didn't need my eyes. By spring 1980, I figured out rail
flips, caspers, and helipops. I heard about the San Diego
contest scheduled for August 20th. Barry kept telling me!
could win, and if my parents wouldn't send me, he would
sell some of his stuff and buy me a ticket to California.
Then my father told me my skating would have to end by
the time school started in September. That's when I gave
up hope. All that work... Finally, Stacy himself called and
gave me the formal invitation to come out to California,
and my father saw it was important enough to send me as
"a last fling." So I flew out the day after my 13th birthday
to compete one last time. Everybody said it would boil
down to me versus Rocco. It did. I still don't know if I real-
ly beat Steve. Maybe they gave me little kid points. But I
won the only freestyler who wore complete pads.
Ollie grabs started out on vert, but it took the Mutt (left) to launch
them into hyperspace on the flot. At the welfare bank, Rodney
(above) caspered to fakie without having to wait in line. A very
rare picture of a mini-mite Mullen (right) early-grabbing a backsider
at Sensation Basin in Gainesville, Florida.