The Formative Years
A skater rocking a mohawk and Dead Kennedys jacket was always hanging out near my house. He was the opposite of everything I knew. I grew up in a conservative Christian home and attended private school. I was curious about his punk rock facade, but I was more interested in what he was doing with his feet. Soon enough I was borrowing a neighbor’s skateboard and practicing ollies. I had natural ability and was hooked.
Skateboarding was my passion, but my parents were still weary of the culture. Ironically, my punk rock neighbor introduced me to Skatechurch—a local youth ministry housed in a skate warehouse. It was the best of both worlds. It pleased my parents and gave me a place to practice and have community. By the time I was ten years old, I got my first sponsorship and took second place at Volcom Wild in the Parks. This started my relationship with Volcom that remains to this day.
My desire to pursue professional skateboarding led to the decision to get my GED and a job. I worked at a couple places until I found one that could transfer to California. I packed my belongings in my beat up 1999 Ford Taurus wagon with $300 to my name, and drove seventeen hours straight to my new home. I left my friends, family and everything I knew behind.
The next two years were dedicated to graduating skateboarding from hobby to career. I was competing in the national amateur circuit, filming video parts, and immersing myself in the industry. I learned the importance of networking, and it did not take long before I was getting VIP access to video premieres and training facilities, gaining endorsements, and becoming peers with my childhood heroes.
I learned the skate industry is fickle. There is always someone who wants it more than you. After a year, I abruptly lost my sponsors. I was told it was budget cuts, but I think I knew deep down I had plateaued. I had fostered this dream for the last fifteen years—it was my identity. I remember this was the first time I felt it slipping away.
Coincidently, I met Madeline, my now wife, in the middle of all of this. My priorities were rapidly starting to shift. Did I waste nearly two decades of my life? Should I have stayed in school? Was I a failure? These were all questions constantly floating around my nineteen-year-old mind.
My relationship with Madeline progressed over the next year. We moved in together and talked of marriage, but nothing could have prepared us for the coming months. Shortly after turning twenty, I found out I was going to be a father. The world felt like it was coming to a halt. I was in between jobs and not even old enough to drink. This moment lit a fire under me like never before; it was time to learn what it meant to be a man.
I landed an office job through a temp agency doing customer service. It was miserable, but I thought that was synonymous with being an adult. I ended up getting let go after a few months. At the time, it felt like yet another failure. However, it was probably the best thing that could have happened to me. I remember thinking, “I wish I could just work for myself.”
A light bulb went off in my head. What was the one thing I had more experience doing than anything else? Skateboarding. I printed business cards selling myself as a “Professional Skate Mentor” and started handing them out to parents at the local skatepark. I eventually got one kid to sign up for a lesson, and the rest was history. One kid turned into two, two into five, and five into twenty-five. Out of defeat, a new venture was started and turned into a successful business that supported my family.
When our daughter was a year old, my wife was able to quit her job and be a stay-at-home mom. The skate lessons grew to a point where I did not have enough time in the day to fit in more clients. After starting a business revolving around skateboarding, I realized my childhood dream had come true all along. I was skateboarding everyday and supporting my family. The only problem was how to expand the business. I knew teaching skate lessons would not last forever, but I wanted to create something around skateboarding with long-term potential.
After exclusively working with kids for three years, I began to reflect on my own childhood. I remember having this yellow notebook filled with checklists of tricks I wanted to learn, sketches of my imaginary pro model products, and the beginnings of brand ideas. Beyond the act of skateboarding itself, I fell in love with all of the subcultural nuances of the industry — design, music, fashion and the anti-establishment mentality of doing things your own way.
After a few months of toying with ideas, I woke up in the middle of the night by a vivid dream: I started a brand rooted in skate culture and it was called “Still.”
