CHECKS
CASHED
For The Love Of
SAN PEDRO
This is
the way
your one
full day in San
Pedro, the loveliest of all
districts within the Port of Los
Angeles, could go:
You wake up to the glare of the sun and the
stench of the couch at Sean's pad, the so-called
"house of mud," on 32nd Street. Slowly you
regain your bearings, recalling the drunken
night before as you nimbly make your way
towards the door through a mess of economy-
class beer cans and sleeping punk rock bodies
strewn about the floor.
Stomach
rumbling, you
remember
seeing numer-
ous restau-
rants along
the street up
the hill from
Sean's last
night, so with
your skate in
hand, you head
up that way.
Upon reaching
the tippity top of
32nd, you gaze
down on the wet
dream emptiness
of steep-assis
Gaffey Street on
an early Saturday
morning. With no hesitation invading your cloudy
mind, you commence to bombing tactics, flying through
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intersections with a big smile on your face.
Breakfast goes down on 11th Street at the
Dancing Waffle, and then you zip down 6th
Street through downtown, whisking past
crusty old sailors, sleepy vatos, Mike Watt,
tattooed rockabilly idiots, coffee freaks, and
THE
LEECHES
Santos, the hobo of the sea. Completely
warmed up, you now have a choice, for com-
ing up fast on the left are the Logicon steps
and, on the right, the Sheraton hotel.
ledges. Thinking of your feet, you opt for
the ledges, locking a long Smith grind on
the tall one and then a frontside slider off
the end one, barely missing one of Davi's
Taxis that speeds by as you cut across
Palos Verdes street. Whew! That was
close! Hanging a right on 5th, you spot
another skater-bearded, short and skin-
ny, attacking the handrails of a childcare
building at the end of the street. You join
him in the attack and then, on his offer,
hop in his truck and head west toward the
7th Street schoolyard banks. You've seen
countless videos and pictures, of this place
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el taco
and now you're
here. Woo hoo!
Effortlessly you hop the fence,
ignoring the threats of the old
janitor as you carve past a crew of
about 12 youngsters trying (and
failing) to switch crook the bench
on the bank. Surveying the scene,
you marvel at the boundless
opportunity that spreads before
you. You could ollie the hip and
grind the exposed fence rail, or
maybe you could just clear the
whole fuckin' fence launch ramp
style. Shit, you got plenty of time,
so why not try it all? The Daewon
benches, the carveable corners and
hips, even the big and square
planter gap at the other end of the
playground...
Clockwise from far left: Tex, Surfer and Beardo
put themselves and an area grandmother in
peril on the hellish 26th Street plunge.
The Leeches are sure to disturb all comers
with their haunting melodies. Photo: Harris.
"Long Beach" Larry Moore used his keen spot-
finding skills to locate this dangerous spike gap
in the avenues of San Pedro Hill.
As far as the eye can see, San Pedro!
All photos: Michael Burnett
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