I’m having plenty of fun, that’s for sure—but there’s a dissatisfied feeling beginning to gnaw at me from deep inside.
JIMMY’Z
Jim Ganzer is a family friend who attended Chouinard Art Institute in L.A. with Pops. He’s the guy I mentioned who first rolled me around on a skateboard when I was still in diapers. Now Ganzer has hit the big time as L.A.’s latest fashion guru. His company, Jimmy’z, is light-years ahead of its time, designing the coolest clothing ever—really different from anything else, and perfect for someone like me.
JIMMY’Z AD. GRANT’S RAMP IN KANEOHE, HAWAII. LATE ’80S. COURTESY OF JIMMY’Z.
W. C. FIELD’S HOUSE. CONVERTED THE MASTER BEDROOM INTO MY CLOSET. © GRANT BRITTAIN.
Jimmy is as unconventional as I am, so it’s only natural he would become my first big clothing sponsor. I think he’s the first to blend surf, skate, fashion, and art together. He gives it his own unique twist, and the result is pure art. While the clothes are already cool, I customize every T-shirt I wear, ripping them five different ways, using excess material as streamers while the sleeves become headbands. By the time I’m done cutting a shirt up, it looks nothing like what it started out being.
I never endorse a product I don’t believe in, but the originality of Jimmy’z is the raddest, so I’m all in from the start. Though I never tell Jimmy, I would maybe wear his clothes for nothing. But this is business, and I’ve got bills to pay.
David Hackett, a pro skater himself, is multitalented; he works at Jimmy’z, where he wears a lot of hats. His main job there, however, is team manager. He brings a pair of hand-stitched prototype shorts to Del Mar Skate Ranch, where I’m competing. We all respect Hackett; he’s never involved with anything lame. By the time Hackett’s in his midtwenties and working for Jimmy’z, he no longer competes and is revered as a legendary old-school master. Same goes for our bro Steve Olson.
These guys skate with a style I’ve never grown tired of. They can still blow away much of the competition in the style department, but they’ve moved on to other things in order to make a living. As one of the early pros, Hackett knows the pitfalls of being a pro skater, and I’m stoked that he’s in my corner. I’m not yet sponsored by Jimmy’z that day Hackett brings the shorts out, but I’m so hyped on the product that I wear them in the contest that day. Later, I also wear them in a Hosoi Rocket Wheels ad for Santa Cruz Skateboards, where I make sure the Jimmy’z logo stands out. I know how to market, promote, and place products, and since I’m at the top of my sport, my name and endorsement are making Ganzer money.
When I take Ganzer the ads I’m in, he’s really stoked on what I’ve done. I tell him that I want to be featured in his ads, which so far mainly show Vince Klyne, a popular surfer, model, and actor from Hawaii. (Klyne will later make his name on the big screen by beating up Keanu Reeves in a scene for the movie Point Break. My friend Anthony Kiedis, a front man for the Red Hot Chili Peppers, also takes a few swings at Keanu for that flick.)
AUSTRALIA RAMP RIOT. BELL’S BEACH. HOSOI FAMILY COLLECTION.
After brief negotiations with Ganzer we settle on a $40,000 salary for the first year, $60,000 for the second year, and $90,000 for the third. This doesn’t sound like much in today’s era of multi-million-dollar sports contracts, but it was an unheard-of sum for a seventeen-year-old skateboarder—any skateboarder for that matter—in the late ’80s and early ’90s. It doesn’t hurt that Hackett’s pushing for me, telling Ganzer’s crew that I’m worth that and a whole lot more.
This girl named Mercy works at Jimmy’z. She’s always nice to me, but when she sees me gathering clothes like one of the real housewives of Beverly Hills, she says, “Christian, I don’t know if I can okay this.” I say, “No, it’s okay; call the big dog [Ganzer] and see what he says.” She calls Ganzer to say that I’m taking massive stacks of clothes and he replies, “Give him anything he wants.” I pull my convertible Mustang up and stuff the trunk, the backseat, the floor, and the passenger seat, stacking stuff higher than the roof. I have everything in that pile, including women’s coral pink, light yellow, and powder blue items, and super tight girls’ pants and spandex shorts that I’ll wear everywhere. I’m wearing skinny jeans decades before it’s a fad with skaters. There are so many clothes strewn everywhere that there’s barely any room left for me to drive home. They say I’m taking like $8,000’s worth of clothing home every month. Most of it I’ll never even wear. But I’m the main guy for Jimmy’z and their line is selling insanely well, so I must be worth it.
Man, do I make Hackett earn his pay. He sets up demos at places like Dillard’s department store. He calls me right as I’m supposed to be skating one morning, around eleven o’clock. He says, “Dude, there are five thousand people here, all waiting for you. Where are you?” I’m like, “Chill, bro. It’s all good.” My plan is to slip in at the last minute, which (granted) it is by now, so the crowd is frothing by the time I arrive. Apparently it works, cuz when I cruise up in my signature rented white Lincoln Town Car with the music blasting, every kid within blocks goes ballistic. It’s like a rock concert where the fans are pumped up for their favorite band to play an encore.
I don’t just jump out and start skating right away; my usual routine is to cruise slowly around the lot on my board, checking everything out, including the audience (especially the girls) and the ramp, and building the energy. The skating is the best part for onlookers and for me too, so I skate my heart out. After the crowd goes off, I stick around to meet everyone still there—people who came specifically to see me. I’m always the last to leave, sitting in the parking lot until the final kid has an autograph.
These demos are a huge success, but my last-minute timing makes some of the organizers nervous. Hackett starts trying to trick me, telling me a demo is at ten, say, instead of at twelve. He means well, but his method doesn’t work, because I quickly catch on to it and adjust my schedule accordingly.
ALL GAIN, NO PAIN
The more popular I become, the better my boards sell. I’m having them manufactured by a company called Skull Skates, which is owned by Peter Ducommun and his brother, comedian/actor Rick Ducommun. Skull Skates is an old-school brand that I’ve seen in magazines since I was a kid. Hackett, Olson, Johnny Ray, and Skatemaster Tate all work at Skull Skates, basically running the place. Hackett, Olson, and Hosoi. Killer lineup!
My next deal is with Santa Cruz Skateboards’ Rich Novak and Richard Metiver for wheels. Here I am, still a seventeen-year-old kid, proposing a business deal in an L.A. airport conference room to a pair of seasoned businessmen. I have a unique proposition: I’ll exclusively ride Santa Cruz OJ II Wheels for a mere $1,000 a month and a small percentage of each wheel. They’re shocked initially, because nobody has ever been paid for endorsing wheels before, let alone gotten a royalty off each one. I can tell by the look on their faces that they’re wondering if I’m serious. I state my case, then boldly ask, “Okay, so do we have a deal?” What can they do but agree?
I propose a series of Santa Cruz ads for the inside cover of Thrasher. At the time Thrasher is new and still printed mostly in black-and-white newsprint. Only the covers, outside and inside, are glossy and in color. We buy the inside front cover, which makes us really stand out. The ads hint not only that these are the best wheels available, but that you’ll travel the world and get hooked up everywhere you go just by riding them. Production skyrockets from like 12,000 wheels a month to somewhere around 65,000. We combine forces and I switch my board production from Skull Skates to Santa Cruz. Now Santa Cruz is a one-stop shop for me.
Next I launch my own Hosoi Rocket Wheels with Santa Cruz, and that enterprise takes off. When you add what I make at Santa Cruz to my Jimmy’z checks and my other sponsors—Converse Shoes, Independent Trucks, Swatch Watches—along with appearance fees and contest winnings, it all adds up to hundreds of thousands of dollars a year and puts me in a tax bracket beyond any other skateboarder ever.
ROCKET WHEELS STICKER. HOSOI FAMILY COLLECTION
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LOVE AND ROCKETS AD IN THRASHER MAGAZINE. MONTE GIBO’S RAMP IN KANEOHE, HAWAII. CIRCA 1986. HOSOI FAMILY COLLECTION.
I love the work and put in long hours every day, not just to stay on top but simply because I love skating so much—especially the feeling of doing big airs. That sensation of weightlessness when you’re flying under your own power, that centrifugal force on a ramp or in a pool—no drug can ever compare to that feeling. (So why was I getting high?)
In spite of my crazy lifestyle I’m in great shape, physically. I never do any form of exercise other than just riding my board all day on the streets and in ramps and pools, something that’s good for developing legs and abs. For upper-body strength I pull myself up on the ramp instead of climbing the ladder or the steps, grabbing the coping to do a pull-up as I approach from below. I play at work and work at play, enjoying endless skate sessions and parties with my best friends. My life is fast and furious every day of the week. There are no days off.
I’m not sure when or how it happened, but the competition has narrowed to just Tony and me, battling for first place most of the time. The hope for the rest of the field is basically for third place.
You might think that all the girls who line the stands at the contests are a distraction for me. Actually, though, they’re an incentive to win. I’m putting on a show, performing for them, and having a blast. I love performing to songs that annoy most people, like Tone Loc’s “Wild Thing” or Madonna’s “Like a Virgin”—not even the original version, but the slower remix. On the ramp, I raise my hands in the air and dance before my run. It drives some people nuts. Once in Ohio they boo and yell for me to start skating. But this is my way of communicating to the crowd that I’m in control, and my pelvic thrusts preview exactly what I’m about to do. I laugh and hoot and basically clown around, taunting the crowd at every contest.
That’s before the heat starts. Once I drop in, however, everything changes; my focus on skating becomes laser sharp. Tony Hawk figures I’m showing off. Later, though, he concedes that it gets the crowd fired up. One thing’s certain: Tony and I are pushing each other harder and harder until we’re going places nobody has ever been on a skateboard. He ends up taking first more often than I do, but there are trophies to win other than the cup for the contest, if you know what I mean.
DEATH AND REBIRTH
The skatepark boom is already over by the early ’80s, with some parks closing only a few years after they open. One problem is that the parks aren’t always well designed, and many of them aren’t friendly to the first-time skater. Kids watching experienced skaters often attempt tricks that are beyond them, and some get badly injured. Then, of course, there are lawsuits. Though Marina was booming in its heyday—the late ’70s—by 1981, it’s among those struggling to keep their doors open. Only the hard-core locals skate there, and it’s about to go under.
I’ve spent more time at Marina than anywhere else, including my own house. I’ve grown up skating there: I went from being a little kid in the shallow end to being the top amateur in the world, breaking altitude records, all in less than three years. The final battle at Marina is close as always, but by blasting my hardest and flying my furthest I ended up beating everyone, even Tony Hawk. If the park has to close, that’s a good way to end things.
Marina was demolished after only three years in existence, leaving Pipeline Skatepark in Upland, Skate City in Whittier, and Del Mar Skate Ranch just north of San Diego as the last big parks standing in Southern California. They say that Yankee Stadium is the house that Babe Ruth built. If that’s so, then Del Mar is the house that Tony Hawk built. Del Mar is a legendary part of skateboarding history, and it wouldn’t be that way without Tony. What most people don’t realize, though, is that the place has a jacked-up pool. One wall is mellow, one is kinked, and one you can barely skate at all. One wall, however, rises to over vert, and that’s where you can really blast.
Beating Hawk is always challenge number one, but beating him in his home park in Del Mar would be huge. Yet that’s my goal in the spring of 1984. To make things even tougher, the organizers of this particular contest are using a double-elimination format, meaning you have to lose twice to be out. I’ve already lost once and Tony is still undefeated. As if beating him once wouldn’t be difficult enough, now I have to take him out twice in a row. I doubt even my friends are betting on me. Tony’s tricks are coming so quickly that nobody can learn them in time to compete against him, but I don’t let that stop me; I just stick to my own method—fly higher and further with as much style as possible. I end up winning that day—one of my all-time highs. Skating against each other brings out the best in both of us, and his success as a skater helps open a door for everyone who has chosen skateboarding as a career, including me.
Tony’s like me in that he does the most radical tricks he can but thinks through the risk factors before dropping in. There’s nothing impromptu about it for either of us. Probably because of that, neither of us ever gets injured very badly until years later, when he ends up in the ER after trying to complete a 360 death loop.
Though I always work through individual moves carefully at each park, generally speaking I don’t plan my routines out as much as Tony does.
That’s certainly how he sees it:
MY SKATING WAS MORE METHODICAL AND PLANNED OUT, AND CHRISTIAN’S WAS MORE GO-WITH-THE-FLOW. WHEN I SKATED A PARK, I KNEW EVERY WALL—I KNEW WHAT TRICK I WAS GOING TO DO AND HAD A BACKUP PLAN IF THAT DIDN’T WORK OUT. I HAD THINGS SO DIALED, IT WAS ALMOST BORING. THEN I’D SEE CHRISTIAN, AND HE SEEMED TO BE JUST THE OPPOSITE. HE’D LAND SOMETHING PERFECTLY THAT HE HADN’T EVEN DONE IN PRACTICE. THAT WAS SUPER EXCITING TO WATCH, AND WHEN HE WAS ON FIRE, HE WAS UNBEATABLE. BUT I WOULD SAY HE WAS MORE FREE-FORM, LIKE, I’M GONNA DROP IN AND SEE WHAT HAPPENS.
HOLIDAY HAVOC AT ANAHEIM CONVENTION CENTER. HIGH-AIR CONTEST. © MORIZEN FOCHE COURTESY OF THRASHER MAGAZINE.
Tony’s the most successful skater of all time, and whenever someone reaches that sort of pinnacle, there will be those who try to knock him down. When I catch people putting Tony down as a skater, I realize they’re jealous, or they don’t know what they’re talking about, or they think that’s what I want to hear. It’s wrong, though: just because they don’t like his style or where he’s from doesn’t mean they should take anything away from him.
Anyway, comparing my skating to Tony’s is almost like comparing vert (as skating on vertical ramps and in pools has come to be known) to street skating; they’re basically two different aspects of skateboarding, since we don’t do our tricks the same way. In the end, it’s all about what the judges prefer: my style or his. How do you score it when one guy busts out five tricks that nobody has ever seen before and the other guy blasts the highest 540 you’ve ever seen? I know that I have to bring something extraordinary to the table each time, in order to stand out.
SEQUENCE: FLATLAND OLLIE OVER A STACK OF BOARDS AT A SKATE DEMO. HOSOI FAMILY COLLECTION.
It’s probably no coincidence that the two skaters whose dads are always there for them are the ones at the top. The big difference is that while Tony’s father, Frank, is out watching Tony warm up before the event, my dad’s sharing bong loads with me in the car before my runs.
With most of the skateparks gone by the mid-1980s, skating leaves a commercialized phase and returns to its soulful, underground roots. That’s where it started, and that’s just the way many of us like it. Not every skater connects with that idea, of course, and some guys quit skating or just fade away as the times change. The whole Pepsi Team and Rad Ramp glitz is instantly ancient history, giving way to something far more hard-core. It’s the same way that music has gone from ’70s glam rock to underground, revolutionary, aggressive, and artistic. Organic might be a good word for it. “Skateboarding is not a crime” is the sticker on everybody’s car, and while we aren’t all total criminals, nobody is gonna tell us what to do, or organize us with colored jerseys and team jackets. That’s why punk-rock music, backyar
d ramps, and the rad articles in Thrasher magazine fit so well together. That’s why skateboarding even today has an edge to it.
Street skating is making a comeback. Fine with me; I love street skating. In Venice we set up jump ramps on the boardwalk, put quarter-pipes up against the walls, or just skate straight up walls. Nobody ever stops us from setting up our own little stage on the Venice boardwalk. Why should they? We’re not really bothering anybody; in fact, we’re entertaining them in droves, with thousands of people standing around to watch. Hey, the local businesses aren’t complaining. Wall rides that seemed impossible a few years earlier are now everyday occurrences, and we’re regularly topping seven feet, straight up.
The first big street event is in San Francisco’s Golden Gate Park. I drive up there with Jay Adams. He doesn’t enter the contest but I do, and I get second behind Tommy Guerrero. Since Tommy has signed up as an amateur, I—as a pro—get the first-place money. Doesn’t seem quite fair, but that’s the way it is. Tommy’s the new street kid, the new big sensation, and he’ll go on to make a huge name for himself. (Do I have to say that Jay and I smoked weed all the way there, while there, and all the way home? Oh, and we might have done a little coke too.)
Skaters like Natas Kaupas, Tommy Guerrero, Eric Dressen, and Mark Gonzales are big on the street scene, while backyard pools and ramps make the sport accessible to everyone. As street skating ramps up, we discover places to skate hiding in plain sight. Handrails, curbs, freeway on-ramps, bridges, and handicap ramps all present an open invitation to skate. Without a legal facility, we ride anything we’re told not to—the less legal the better. We invade every available inch of corporate property, and nonskaters can’t stand us. Every bench, every curb, every wall, and every backyard pool is fair game for us. Public facilities all have skateboard paint smeared all over them, and none of the handrails have any paint left on them at all.
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