Dave Duncan

I ruled my neighborhood like only an asshole raised by the KING of assholes could, sneaky and mean and cruel. DD may not remember this story, but I SURE DO and this is MY blog.

 

Right Off, chops to my ancient friend; amazing to still be alive and close in heart all these decades later. Dude’s a Bangin’ Rockstar and you know more about ALL THAT than me, anyway, so I’ll keep to the part you can’t know because, well… Even DD doesn’t know.

 

My crazy memory linked a tale from 1974 with another from 1983. My guesses at the math are close enough for you to get the point of why Dave Duncan has repeatedly called me a “huge influence” or some-such bullshit. I was just being a dick, and DD IS GNAR, so he was influenced by my assholiness.

 

Certainly, an explanation is begging and coming, but not yet. Let’s do 1983, first, because being a skatepunk in the ’80’s was formative to everything that followed, flowing strong in YOUR blood today. This story, obviously hazy, was somewhat confirmed by DD hisself “lots of punk shows” as Carpenters Hall Bad Brains 1983.

 

It was a heady time, tied to a sketchy punkshow “Security” racket Todd Reilly used to get us into, basically, every show for a long time. I was deep into FIFTH COLUMN representing Black Market Magazine, on assignment interviewing Bad Brains (smoked HR out in his own RV) and Circle Jerks (car ride for tacos in North Park). Up walks skinny-dread GROM Dave Duncan “I got on ALVA!” I’m stoked and he’s stoked I am. Happy-Proud all around and that’s where we are today.

 

The 1974 part is fucked-up.

 

Impossible as it sounds, this is kinda pre-skating, which makes us MUCH older than pre-cellphone and pre-internet, which we also are, makes us. Kids in the 70’s needed inventive play (BIG WHEELS) to get off, and, safety gear / parental supervision wasn’t invented yet, either; the world was run by punk-ass bullies and we have already determined that was ME.

 

To this day, nobody has a worse idea than this DEATHRACER.

 

I was into BMX and XR75 on the backyard track Grandpa Fred built; one section was a shaky-slippery plank bridge that had to be hit just right. I think it came in flattish, crossed a concrete ditch, then required a twisting jump to avoid crashing into the workshop. The other kids knew better; I had it wired and hauled ass through with style. ALWAYS, Style is everything. Nailed it every time.

 

So, DD’s turn. He’s the new kid on the block and DIDN’T know better. Seeing my line, he’s, like, “I’ll do it” and fucking charges it. Boy didn’t know I used to tiptoe across that horror and eats shit THUNK face-first into concrete from a fucking bridge at BMX speed. Blood. Don’t think he ever tried it again and left the neighborhood soon after 

 

So, what kind of Huge Influence is THAT? 

 

Look at that pre-grom charger, now, and you tell me who’s the hardcore in this story.