jackassworld

Lakai —Fully Flared

We were standing in the darkness amid the tangled wires behind the cameras and the bright lights of the MTV studio. Very little was happening, and when something did happen, it wasn’t very exciting. The three Lakai skaters in attendance—Mike Carroll, Rick Howard and Cairo Foster—looked at me for direction. “You work with these guys,” they seemed to say, “nothing that is happening here in the darkness amid the tangled wires, or in front of us under the bright lights, is holding our interest, and we are wondering what we are supposed to do?”

“Do you want to go to a bar?” I asked. “I know of a bar right around the corner.”

The bar was called Jimmy’s Corner. I discovered it on the walk from the hotel to MTV. Some of the MTV employees I met were astounded that I had found Jimmy’s. They held it in a certain reverence because the Budweiser’s were the cheapest in the city. I’d like to think I found it because I have a good alcohol radar. Plus it’s just on the side of the road in plain view.

Earlier that day I entered Jimmy’s and ordered a beer. There were some black kids down at the other end of the bar having a good time. One of them said the word “nigger.” The white bartender—the very white, very nerdy bartender—interrupted the black kids who were having a good time.

“That word is not allowed in this bar,” he said sternly. They laughed and looked at him puzzled.

“No, no, that’s just how we talk, you know what I’m saying?” one said. “He’s my nigga, yo.”

“That word offends me and you’re not allowed to say it here.”

He went on to explain that they were dissing their grandfathers. And they were dissing their grandfathers’ grandfathers. He was too old to be using the word “dissing.”

But as the Lakai team and I tried to leave the TV station to go to Jimmy’s Corner, we realized we had lost one of them: Mike Carroll. We figured maybe Mike had gone to the bathroom, or stopped off at the craft service room for some ham, but we couldn’t find him anywhere. We went to the bar armed with cell phones and the intention of calling him once–

“Where were you guys?” Mike said from the end of the bar. Mike was already there enjoying a tall, cool, moderately priced Budweiser. The rest of the Lakai team, after sipping on tall, cool Budweisers, gave their approval of the new surroundings. It wasn’t a dark television studio.

Jimmy’s Corner is owned by former boxing trainer Jimmy Glenn. The walls are lined with boxing memorabilia, there are pictures of him with fighters like Muhammed Ali, and there is even a ring bell from Madison Square Garden on the wall. We did not talk about boxing at Jimmy’s Corner. We talked about skateboarding. And in particular an incident that occurred many years before between me, Mike Carroll and Ethan Fowler.

It was 1994 and we were in Long Beach for the Trade Show. Ethan was too young at the time to get in the bar, so him and I decided to just sit in a nearby alley and drink 40s. It was a high-traffic alley, so to entertain ourselves we started heckling passersby. I remember it being good-natured ribbing in a Mardi Gras-like atmosphere. There were no beads, but people laughed. “Nice cowboy hat, douche bag!” Who wears a cowboy hat in Long Beach? Funny, funny.

Soon Mike Carroll wandered down the alleyway to take a piss. Mike was Thrasher’s Skater of the Year that year.

“No way!” Ethan and I said in a mocking tone, “It’s Mike Carroll! Skater of the Year!”

I’ve since learned that Mike is the humblest of skateboarders and would feel uncomfortable accepting any award. Our taunting certainly wasn’t helping. He walked past, did his best to ignore us, and went and took a piss in a corner.

“No way! Skater of the Year is taking a piss in our alleyway!” We were really having a great time.

“That’s not what he said,” Mike said, interrupting me at the bar. “Ethan called me, ‘Hip hop Skater of the Year.’”

I didn’t recall this little “hip hop” detail, but it helped explain what happened next. Mike said he had been a big fan of Ethan and had a lot of respect for him, so he didn’t understand why he was being called a hip hop skater. “What does that even mean?” he asked. I don’t know, but I suspect it had something to do with the Fresh vs. Hesh battle that had begun around that time. And in northern California, where Mike was from, “fresh” was not what you wanted to be referred to as.

Mike marched out of the corner and straight up to Ethan. I don’t remember exactly what was said, but Mike let Ethan know that he wasn’t pleased being called a hip hop skater. Then he turned to me and said, “And you’re just that weird dude from Big Brother.” And then he marched off in the direction of the bar he had come from.

I, at least, remember being completely stunned by Mike’s reaction because I don’t remember what we said being mean spirited. We didn’t have much time to ponder what had happened because just then Greg, Mike’s brother, came marching down the alley towards us.

“ETHAN!” he said. “RIGHT HERE!” He was pointing at the ground in front of him, indicating that Ethan should stand there.

Instead I went.

“You can’t talk to someone like that,” I said. Ethan’s not a dog. Well, he’s kind of fuzzy like a dog now, but he wasn’t then.

There wasn’t any touching, but Greg and I were frowning at each other really hard and we came close to blows. Other pro skaters gathered. Richard Paez was interested in fighting someone. Probably me. I don’t really remember. But fortunately it all went away and we all retreated to our respective corners to finish our drinks and damage ourselves, by ourselves.

Except that the Carroll brothers hated me from that time on. This sentiment infiltrated the rest of the Girl camp, and at formal functions, for many years after, I was only given a “hey bro” nod at best. I was the weird guy from Big Brother and I had insulted one of the greatest skateboarders of all time. I wear the hat well.

After a few years of ignoring the elephant in the room, I approached Greg Carroll and said that I wanted to squash the beef we had with each other. We were at Keith Hufnagel’s house and it was Huf’s birthday.

“I’m sick of this,” I said to Greg. “We see each other everywhere, we’re skaters, but I can’t even talk to you. Please?”

I’m sure whatever it was that I said sounded about that gay. But Greg sat there for a second looking at the ground, thinking, before looking me in the eyes and shaking my outstretched hand. Done. But we didn’t have time to celebrate our new friendship and catch up on everything that had happened to us in the years since because Simon Woodstock’s stupid friend smashed Keith’s glass shower door and thus a new feud was born. Balance must be restored to the universe at all times.

Clyde, incidentally, said that “squash” and “squashed” are white people words. “Us black folks,” he wrote, “usually say ‘dead’ed it.’ Squash is not only a whyte word, but also a staple in any mixed vegetable combo at a whyte person’s house.”

So it was with great relief that all these years later, Mike and I finally got to talk about this incident at Jimmy’s Corner over tall, cool Budweisers. I don’t think we’re going to go get breakfast together any time soon (as Reda would say), but at least I can watch his part in the new Lakai video and think, “Ah, there was this one time…”

Budweiser has a different affect on Rick Howard than it does on Cairo.

Mike Carroll probably won’t invite me out for breakfast, but he did take pictures of me and Tania.