Skate Ojai

Roller Disco is Back, Baby

by JESSICA CIENCIN HENRIQUEZ

Late last fall, a hundred people rolled into the Skating Plus rink in Ventura on a Saturday night, dressed in flared velour, neon hot pants, and sequined jumpsuits. The DJ spun vinyl classics: The Beatles, Blondie, and David Bowie while the disco ball swirled scattered circles along the walls. The time machine was set back to 1975, and skaters from Ojai and

Santa Barbara toe-heeled and grape-vined to the beat, holding hands and spinning fast enough to release all the stress the pandemic had pent up.

“That doesn’t surprise me at all,” says Elder, private chef and founder of Roller

“It’s Studio 54 on wheels,” says Chase

Disco Ojai, a group that hosts such quarterly community events for skaters to come out and vibe together. “There’s so much nostalgia here, any song that has that dnt chnn dnt chnn — music that’s hitting that base and that beat — brings us back to childhood, a time when things were easier, more carefree.”

Skaters breeze by, flowing freely in rhythm and unabashedly unleashing the kind of joy that’s too often kept hidden under the intensity and scrutiny of middle age. “We all leave our stress at the door and let this excited, wild energy wash over us. Disco is the blanket for all of that — which is why it was the choice music for everyone who was skating in the ‘70s. Hip-hop and

R&B have it, too, slightly slowed down and much sexier. This style of jam-skating originated in and is dominated by the

African American community. Someone else is responsible for this and while we get to enjoy it, I’m always trying to honor the founding fathers.”

Roller skating has a rich history in the Black community. During the 1940s and ‘50s,

African Americans protested, picketed, and staged sit-ins to uphold their right to remain in the rink, many of which were still segregated through the 1960s. Though many see the roller movement as only recently making a comeback, for the Black community, it never left. That history was often dismissed as the surge of skate culture continued well into the 1970s and 1980s, solidifying skating as an event for black communities to come together — it was somewhere they could gather for purpose and pleasure.

Cierra Nielson, Meiners Oaks mother of three, “when you’re skating, you’re not thinking about what’s happening in the world because you’re in your own world. In those moments when you’re on loop 50 or 60 around the rink, you’re totally in tune with your body, connecting to the beat and the sound of wheels rolling on wood. I think that’s what makes it so appealing and so terrifying at the same time. Not many people are comfortable being in their bodies.” Prior to the pandemic, many skaters in Ojai hadn’t laced up since they were teenagers. “I was surprised at how much I remembered,” says Tristan Thames, a craftsman born and raised in the Ojai Valley. Though he skated through his

childhood and years, one

teenage day he took his skates o , and it was a decade before he put them on again. “That’s just how it is, life happens, and we grow up and have bills to pay, and we all just sort of forget how to play,” says Elder, “When I moved here four years ago, I knew there was a need for something like this. I wanted to bring people together in the same way they’d meet at the club. I wanted to create an event where people could come out and move to music, separate but together.” Elder spent her 20s in New York City as a club promoter; bringing people together for a good time is what she does best. To Elder, the goal of roller skating is not to look good

but to feel good. “You don’t even have to know how to skate to enjoy yourself — just dance, feed o the energy, come into the middle of the rink and just do a step-touch with me. You can wave your hands and look like you know what you’re doing for the rest of the night. It’s the most natural high, not to mention, there’s serious vulnerability happening. We’re all out here overcoming a big fear of embarrassing ourselves, falling, looking silly. The question isn’t ‘Can I skate?’, It’s: ‘Can I let go of the fear of somebody seeing me look like an asshole?’ For this group, the answer is a resounding yes. In early 2020, when the world went into lockdown, Elder linked up with Ojai local Arthur Aumont for impromptu skate sessions. “Arthur looks like Freddy

Mercury and skates like a dream. We started meeting up in Libbey Park on the stage, but we needed something bigger,” says Elder. Their fi rst hurdle was fi nding a suitable space: fl at, empty, and not too hilly. “Arthur started doing Google [Earth] views and found us the best parking lots in the county. When we pulled into the Matilija Middle School parking lot, we knew this was the spot. The asphalt was brand new, the school was closed; it was perfect.” The pair taught each other all the moves they knew, and when they ran out of new steps, they brought Francesca Gold, a yoga therapist and roller-skating instructor, into the nascent group. “Francesca is the only person in Ojai who’s qualifi ed to teach anybody how to skate — she’s a brilliant skater,” says Elder. Gold had been skating competitively since she was 4 years old and has since become one of the leaders of the Ojai Skating renaissance. Her students range from age 6 to 60, and her class size grows each week. “It’s always been important for me to make skating accessible and visible to everyone. This has been a mission of mine for years. I’ve been skating in the Ojai parade, solo or with one other skater, since 2015, hoping to inspire people to join in, even if it feels scary or self-revealing.” Adulthood tends to bring with it an insecurity and hesitation that doesn’t seem to exist in childhood. “Grown-ups are afraid to look silly,” says Ashley, a student at Meiners Oaks Elementary School who skates around Libbey Park on the weekends with her father. “But I think looking silly is why this is so much fun. My dad always says to ignore the imaginary eyes because no one’s really looking at us anyway.” Ojai Skate Club started on that asphalt and expanded rapidly; soon that parking lot became a roller-skater’s playground. The group showed up regularly with a speaker on wheels, whirling around giddy and dizzy, learning from each other and encouraging one another to roll way out of their comfort zones. The group’s diversity refl ects the mish-mash that makes up the Ojai community — there are moms with pink hair, photographers, farmers, scientists, artisans, artists — but the common thread is that they’re all movers, people who don’t do well sitting still. “I love our dynamic,” says Jimmy Click, a Swiss-American entomologist living in Ojai, “Each person brings something unique. Chase brings the sparkles and pizazz. Arthur is calm and courageous, always trying the boldest moves with grace and beauty.

Frenchy is the coach; she’s grounded, elegant and patient. And Tristan is our smooth trickster.” Week after week, they showed up without expectation or agenda; the only goal was to have fun and accept that it would look di erent for each of them. “Jimmy can fl amenco dance on his skates,” says Elder. “I was so inspired by him expressing himself through dance, at his height, on wheels! He is so completely and totally himself when he’s skating.” This kind of authenticity and liberation is exactly what Gold focuses on with her students. “On skates, you learn how your mind and your body are one organism,” says Gold, “what’s di cult one day seems easier the next. It’s an art form that grabs hold of you, and suddenly you’re able to commune with parts of yourself you’ve never directly spoken with. It’s like time completely stops, and you become one with your skates. It’s pure ecstasy.” After two years of weathering the COVID-19 crisis fi lled with loss and interruption, people seem far more open to fi nding this kind of ecstasy in unexpected ways. “These parking lots have become a place for us to share stories and have heartfelt conversations,” says Click. “When we’re skating, while the sun sets over beautiful Ojai and the alpenglow illuminates the Topatopa Mountains, I feel beyond blessed by the beauty and the people I’m surrounded by.” Last year’s Fourth-of-July parade-goers saw skaters show up by the dozens, showcasing the moves they’ve mastered together. “I haven’t seen people this excited about skating since there was Tarra the elephant on wheels speeding down Ojai Avenue,” says Samantha Croton, who lived in Ojai during the reign of the famous roller-skating elephant named Tarra who, along with her owner Carol Buckley, lived in Matilija Canyon during the ‘70s and ‘80s. “The kids skating now are way more refi ned in their moves, but I’ll tell you, seeing them brings a whole lot of joy to those of us who simply can’t skate anymore.” Now that skating has re-entered their lives, many don’t plan on giving it up ever again. “I hope to keep skating until I need a walker,” says Kira Friedman. “I always wanted to get back into it, and after having my second child, I fi nally started taking lessons again. Immediately, I was hooked. My husband bought me purple Moxi skates for Christmas, and I’ve never looked back.” Whether it’s parking lot meet-ups or events at the rink, these skaters come together to toe spin, strut, snake walk, and let loose. Everyone’s inner child is on display, and the more often they show up, the less shame they have about messing up. “Of course, falling is dangerous, but the falling for me brings so much humility. Falling means you’re trying to do something outside of your comfort zone,” says Elder. In a time of uncertainty, one thing is for sure—the roller disco is back, and the invitation is wide open. “Everyone is welcome,” says Elder, “show up, let everything else go, and feel the fl ow. Anybody from anywhere can roll into our group and feel like they’re safe here, like they belong.”

Weekly group lessons. Upcoming Discos Monthly donation-based classes April 14th, August 18th & Free open-skate meet-ups November 17th. For more information on private lessons and on other skating OjaiSkateClub@gmail.com Events: Hello@chaseelder.com @ OjaiSkateClub @RollerDiscoOjai