A/N: Set some time before the beginning of the series. Attention of Mr. Arthur Lake, a real person: Wherever you are or whatever you're doing these days, mad props to you!
A Legacy From The Past
The day had been hot, and long. Just having had enough time to quickly jump into the ocean to cool off, Otto padded back up for his turn in the semi-finals that was coming up soon, and for another shot of three minutes he would have the whole of MadTown's riding environments all to himself. It was he who would get to play, and everybody else would have to watch. As was the custom in the Kings of MadTown Summer Classic, anyone who made it this far in the event got their choice of music (they had to pre-specify what tunes they wanted for a quarter-final, semi-final, and final round when they signed up). Bobby Nguyen, who had come up here all the way from Garden Grove, just got an 8.9 average for a routine done to a hip-hop instrumental track. Bobby was good. Otto had seen a couple of shots of him in Happy Magazine and had run into Bobby at the Vans at Ontario Mills - Raymundo had dropped Otto off there while he had business at some plastics company over in the Inland Empire - when he told him about the contest.
Otto took his position and shot a couple of fingers at the deejay, almost as if saying "Engage." A bouncy old rock tune - "...You gotta get away, and everybody wants some..." - rattled the sound system. He dropped down the ramp and headed straight for the halfpipe. Working up some momentum, he caught major oxygen, wowing the crowd, some of whom began to clap with the tune. Then he went for the bowl...
The stranger looked older than his thirty-six years and as he watched the contest he found himself in a train of thought about friends who had come and gone, and a few too many who simply were not around any more. But he smiled; the future of skateboarding was in good hands.
...As the horn sounded, Otto fell to his knees, beaming, while the crowd gave a standing ovation. As he rolled along to the competitors area, he felt almost like a presidential candidate as he high-fived some of the groms on the front row. "Good run, Ottoman!" Reggie praised him as she handed her baby brother a bottle of Blue as he plopped onto the parkbench. "Thanks Reg," said he as he ripped it open and downed half the drink in one slug. The scores were reported: a 9.6! Quietly, he went to the railing to make himself visible again and benignly toasted the crowd.
Twister, whose turn was about to come up, had been hanging with a television crew from UPN, talking shop with a reporter and her crew who'd been gathering footage of the event for the upcoming evening news. They were amazed at how knowledgeable he was about exposure, framerate, resolution, vU, uplink, the whole ball of wax. The announcer paged him, and he started his run as his music came up, a loud classic pop cover..."I thought love was only true in fairy tales, meant for someone else, but not for me..."
The stranger's recollection of those earlier times was by no means entirely innocent, but there had been a lot of fun. The unstoppable process of simply growing up, and the responsibility that came with it, had long since caught up with him but never quite "gotten to" him, fortunately.
...Twister came in, utterly exhausted. The scores came back: a 9.6, a tie with Otto, as he grabbed a Jarritos from the cooler. They clinked bottles; Bobby came over and congratulated them. That left Steve Stewart...
...Steve ended up with a 9.4, excellent but not good enough for today. Bobby along with Otto and Twister came over to console him...
As the final round, between Otto Rocket and Twister Rodriguez, was formally announced, the two boys wished each other "May the best man, for today, win," as they exchanged their secret hand signal.
Twister launched into his best routine as the Stones boomed over the MadTown P.A. system: "I can't get no satisfaction..."
Otto responded with a routine he'd practiced God knew how many times while free riding in the privacy of his discman. A bouncy electric-guitar riff and a mega-amplified ear-shattering scream introduced the Beatles' "Revolution" as he made it a goal to spend as little time on the ground as possible.
The score: a tie, at 9.7. They couldn't believe it. Thinking quickly, Otto extracted a quarter from his pocket. "Call it, Twist: Rematch or recount?"
"Heads!"
"Tails it is. I'll ask for a recount."
"No, I'll go ask for a rematch,"
"Calmates, queridos," Reggie interjected, sensing a need to make peace. That got Twister's attention instantaneously as Spanish was seldom used in his household except for...
Suddenly Rick Fignetti, the master of ceremonies, took the mic. "Ladies and gentlemen, we have recalculated the score of the final round to three decimal places, as per the rules. Twister Rodriguez of Ocean Shores has a score in the final of 9.713, that leaves Otto Rocket of Ocean Shores as this year's kids' champion at 9.718! Congratulations gentlemen on a job well done!"
Otto was ecstatic. With Reg at his side, he grabbed Twister by the shoulder and lifted up his friend's hand as the crowd cheered.
Just then Ray showed up, he'd been watching from the stands. The awards ceremony took place and all participants who made quarters or better received floral leis. Those who got as far as quarters got plaques, and semifinalists got trophies and prizes. Twister, in second place, got a larger trophy and some useful prizes, and Otto got a huge trophy and lots of prizes.
As the crowd dispersed towards the parking lot, the stranger approached Otto as he was walking with his sister, dad, and best friend. He hauled a helmet out of a gym bag he was carrying. It was red, with a pair of white stripes bordered in black that ran the length of the crown and a white band around the lower edge. Raymundo recognized him from distant memory. "Been too long a time, Art. You doin' okay?" he asked.
The stranger was almost tearful as he spoke to Otto, as if unaware of Ray's presence. "What I saw today - (sigh) - dude, you're doing better now than I was when I was in eighth grade. You've got the world ahead of you, Otto. Don't blow it. I want you to have this."
Art handed Otto the helmet. It was kind of heavy, almost like a motorcycle helmet, and, like the man who gave it to him, it had obviously seen its share of bangs and bumps, but it was still in serviceable condition. A couple of strands of long blond hair were stuck to the inside, probably from when Art was much younger.
Otto politely stuck out his hand. "Thank you, s-," he started, but there was nobody there. The stranger disappeared into the crowd, leaving Raymundo dumbstruck. "Who was that, Dad?" asked Otto.
As if startled from a deep sleep, Raymundo replied with suddenness, ".Oh! That was Arthur Lake, and oh boy the tales I've heard over the years..."
POSTSCRIPT: That helmet would remain one of Otto's prized possessions for the rest of his life. But since it was too big for him to wear, he decided to decorate his personal helmets in a similar pattern, in Arthur Lake's honor, and to wear that pattern every day that he could.
END
©5/19/2003 Bill Wright
A Legacy From The Past
The day had been hot, and long. Just having had enough time to quickly jump into the ocean to cool off, Otto padded back up for his turn in the semi-finals that was coming up soon, and for another shot of three minutes he would have the whole of MadTown's riding environments all to himself. It was he who would get to play, and everybody else would have to watch. As was the custom in the Kings of MadTown Summer Classic, anyone who made it this far in the event got their choice of music (they had to pre-specify what tunes they wanted for a quarter-final, semi-final, and final round when they signed up). Bobby Nguyen, who had come up here all the way from Garden Grove, just got an 8.9 average for a routine done to a hip-hop instrumental track. Bobby was good. Otto had seen a couple of shots of him in Happy Magazine and had run into Bobby at the Vans at Ontario Mills - Raymundo had dropped Otto off there while he had business at some plastics company over in the Inland Empire - when he told him about the contest.
Otto took his position and shot a couple of fingers at the deejay, almost as if saying "Engage." A bouncy old rock tune - "...You gotta get away, and everybody wants some..." - rattled the sound system. He dropped down the ramp and headed straight for the halfpipe. Working up some momentum, he caught major oxygen, wowing the crowd, some of whom began to clap with the tune. Then he went for the bowl...
The stranger looked older than his thirty-six years and as he watched the contest he found himself in a train of thought about friends who had come and gone, and a few too many who simply were not around any more. But he smiled; the future of skateboarding was in good hands.
...As the horn sounded, Otto fell to his knees, beaming, while the crowd gave a standing ovation. As he rolled along to the competitors area, he felt almost like a presidential candidate as he high-fived some of the groms on the front row. "Good run, Ottoman!" Reggie praised him as she handed her baby brother a bottle of Blue as he plopped onto the parkbench. "Thanks Reg," said he as he ripped it open and downed half the drink in one slug. The scores were reported: a 9.6! Quietly, he went to the railing to make himself visible again and benignly toasted the crowd.
Twister, whose turn was about to come up, had been hanging with a television crew from UPN, talking shop with a reporter and her crew who'd been gathering footage of the event for the upcoming evening news. They were amazed at how knowledgeable he was about exposure, framerate, resolution, vU, uplink, the whole ball of wax. The announcer paged him, and he started his run as his music came up, a loud classic pop cover..."I thought love was only true in fairy tales, meant for someone else, but not for me..."
The stranger's recollection of those earlier times was by no means entirely innocent, but there had been a lot of fun. The unstoppable process of simply growing up, and the responsibility that came with it, had long since caught up with him but never quite "gotten to" him, fortunately.
...Twister came in, utterly exhausted. The scores came back: a 9.6, a tie with Otto, as he grabbed a Jarritos from the cooler. They clinked bottles; Bobby came over and congratulated them. That left Steve Stewart...
...Steve ended up with a 9.4, excellent but not good enough for today. Bobby along with Otto and Twister came over to console him...
As the final round, between Otto Rocket and Twister Rodriguez, was formally announced, the two boys wished each other "May the best man, for today, win," as they exchanged their secret hand signal.
Twister launched into his best routine as the Stones boomed over the MadTown P.A. system: "I can't get no satisfaction..."
Otto responded with a routine he'd practiced God knew how many times while free riding in the privacy of his discman. A bouncy electric-guitar riff and a mega-amplified ear-shattering scream introduced the Beatles' "Revolution" as he made it a goal to spend as little time on the ground as possible.
The score: a tie, at 9.7. They couldn't believe it. Thinking quickly, Otto extracted a quarter from his pocket. "Call it, Twist: Rematch or recount?"
"Heads!"
"Tails it is. I'll ask for a recount."
"No, I'll go ask for a rematch,"
"Calmates, queridos," Reggie interjected, sensing a need to make peace. That got Twister's attention instantaneously as Spanish was seldom used in his household except for...
Suddenly Rick Fignetti, the master of ceremonies, took the mic. "Ladies and gentlemen, we have recalculated the score of the final round to three decimal places, as per the rules. Twister Rodriguez of Ocean Shores has a score in the final of 9.713, that leaves Otto Rocket of Ocean Shores as this year's kids' champion at 9.718! Congratulations gentlemen on a job well done!"
Otto was ecstatic. With Reg at his side, he grabbed Twister by the shoulder and lifted up his friend's hand as the crowd cheered.
Just then Ray showed up, he'd been watching from the stands. The awards ceremony took place and all participants who made quarters or better received floral leis. Those who got as far as quarters got plaques, and semifinalists got trophies and prizes. Twister, in second place, got a larger trophy and some useful prizes, and Otto got a huge trophy and lots of prizes.
As the crowd dispersed towards the parking lot, the stranger approached Otto as he was walking with his sister, dad, and best friend. He hauled a helmet out of a gym bag he was carrying. It was red, with a pair of white stripes bordered in black that ran the length of the crown and a white band around the lower edge. Raymundo recognized him from distant memory. "Been too long a time, Art. You doin' okay?" he asked.
The stranger was almost tearful as he spoke to Otto, as if unaware of Ray's presence. "What I saw today - (sigh) - dude, you're doing better now than I was when I was in eighth grade. You've got the world ahead of you, Otto. Don't blow it. I want you to have this."
Art handed Otto the helmet. It was kind of heavy, almost like a motorcycle helmet, and, like the man who gave it to him, it had obviously seen its share of bangs and bumps, but it was still in serviceable condition. A couple of strands of long blond hair were stuck to the inside, probably from when Art was much younger.
Otto politely stuck out his hand. "Thank you, s-," he started, but there was nobody there. The stranger disappeared into the crowd, leaving Raymundo dumbstruck. "Who was that, Dad?" asked Otto.
As if startled from a deep sleep, Raymundo replied with suddenness, ".Oh! That was Arthur Lake, and oh boy the tales I've heard over the years..."
POSTSCRIPT: That helmet would remain one of Otto's prized possessions for the rest of his life. But since it was too big for him to wear, he decided to decorate his personal helmets in a similar pattern, in Arthur Lake's honor, and to wear that pattern every day that he could.
END
©5/19/2003 Bill Wright