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When he was a teen, skateboarding ruled his life. A couple of decades later, he's ready to pass on the mantle to a daughter who inherited his sense of balance.
By LOGAN D. MABE
© St. Petersburg Times, published August 16, 2001
When we were skate rats, we ruled the world.
Our small band of teenaged skateboarders ran amok in north Pinellas County, revelling in all things paved.
We shooshed down the spiraling ramps of the parking garage in downtown Clearwater's old Fort Harrison Hotel before the Scientologists firmly shooed us away. We carved copious lines down the sidewalks and driveways at the old Maas Brothers building near Coachman Park. We celebrated our civic leaders whenever they decided it was time to re-asphalt the gently hilled streets of Belleair Bluffs.
We rode like the wind through the infernal stillness of our humidity-soaked youths.
Oh, and we got yelled at a lot, too. But that was part of being a skate rat in the late 1970s.
We got yelled at by the retirees who found offense in the racket of our clacking wheels. We got yelled at by school administrators who objected to our riding on the track at Friday night high school football games. We got yelled at by store managers who saw no humor in our use of their parking lots as playgrounds.
We didn't care. We were skate rats, and we ruled the world.
The skateboarding landscape changed a bit when two skateboard parks, one in Tampa and one in Clearwater, opened. Finally we had a place where anarchy was sanctioned. The park in Clearwater, owned by a freewheeling couple who understood kids' need for a rebellious outlet, is where I tried to get into the record books by jumping over a bunch of my friends.
The mark was held then by Tony Alva, the sport's living god at the time, who had jumped close to 17 feet or so. I started out slowly, vaulting over three, then four, then five fellow skate rats. I'd zoom toward the first guy, leap in the air and land on another board placed just beyond the final, and perhaps most courageous, volunteer.
With each successful jump, I'd add another willing potential victim. By the time I reached 11 brave souls, I was soaring past the distance needed for the record.
But I couldn't "stick" the landing. Jump too far, and I would miss the stationary board completely. Land a little left or right, and the board would scoot away in the opposite direction. I always cleared the last guy, but sometimes had to just hit the ground running.
On the last attempt, I rode out the landing 3 or 4 feet before tumbling off. Not good enough in my book (or in Guinness') to count.
No matter.
I rode skateboards all through college. In my 20s, I rode a skateboard to and from the subway that took me to my job as a magazine writer in Atlanta. A move overseas, where cobblestones rule the world, resulted in my selling the last skateboard in my collection.
After returning to Florida, I didn't think about skating again until my younger daughter, Annalise, took an interest in it. Through the miracle of e-Bay, I got skateboards for both of us. I insist that she wear a helmet and pads, things I seldom thought about as a skate rat.
She hardly needs them, though. She has an uncanny knack for staying upright -- having apparently inherited my sense of balance.
I don't jump over people anymore, and I can barely do any of the tricks I mastered as a kid. I ride a long board now, the station wagon of skateboards.
I have passed the mantle on to the next generation. Annalise and the rest of today's skate rats have my blessing to rule the world.