Step Dad Fall 2013

Fall 2013 | Step Dad | 3

Rourke John Bogle Ryan030913 Reynolds Born

Front Shuvto Geoff & Siobhan Bogle!

Congrats [p] Jimmy Collins

Cover:

Shea Blair [P] Anna O’Sullivan

Beer Drinker/Hellraiser/ Publisher: Mike Gustafson

Editorial

Bruce King Taylor Garrett Michael Cirelli

Staff Photographers: CMART Sam McKenna Jimmy Collins Jon Wolf

Contributing Photographers: Frederick Zang Mike Greenwood Luke McKaye Chris Degrace Dave Labbe Scott Furkay Wes Cunningham Corn Photo Pat Donfro Rob Collins Marco Hernandez Ricky Aponte Michael Cirelli Anna O’Sullivan

Videography: Jimmy Collins Joe Radano

Send photo’s, funny stories or general inquiries to: stepdadmag@gmail.com

www.stepdadmag.com www.facebook.com/stepdadmag | Insta: @stepdadmag StepDadMag publishes quarterly (Jan/Apr/Jul/Oct) and is distributed to skate shops throughout the U.S.

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Eric Escobar

Ollie [p] Mike Greenwood

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5 Things You Notice After Finishing A Bid words by Bruce King

The shock of re-entering society after time away can be a bit daunting. It’s not uncommon for there to be a period of adjustment as one re-enters society. It’s also not uncommon for many to fail the transition and return to prison because the adjustment is just too great. There are so many reasons for this and the final straw can be different for everyone. I recall an old bank robber in his 80s with no family and no safety net who I served some time with. Last I heard he wrote a note on a piece of paper and walked right into a credit union with no intention of actually holding up the joint. He handed them the request for a large sum of money and just waited for the authorities to show so they could take him back to the life that he was comfortable with. Fortunately, with the help of good friends and family I have managed to avoid becoming another statistic, but there were definitely things that I couldn’t help but notice, that if I hadn’t gone away, may have just seeped into the background.

Screens, screens, everywhere.

I had a buddy come pick me up on the day of my release. I had to get some stuff for the halfway house that I was about to live in for 6 months (alarm clock, shower shoes, etc.). We stopped at a Walmart on the way and the second that I entered the place I was bombarded with stimulation. When I had began my bid there were some flat screen TVs, but most of them were for the very rich, and even most of them had deep backs on them. Three years later everything had changed to flat/wide screen. Not only that, everything had screens. iPhones had become ubiquitous, little TVs now dawned gas pumps to sell you coffee and prophylactics, and even the little display for Pawns facial cleanser had a little display that showed the beauty of one touch make-up removal. The second I entered the store my head started spinning and I felt as though I was experiencing vertigo. Needless to say I left without getting most of my toiletries.

Individualism is rampant.

Inside we are so interdependent, thus we organize in such a way. The educated help the illiterate get their GED. The strong help the scrawny on the weight pile. We eat together, cook together, barter services, and do what we can to help one another, and even keep the peace. On the outside we have large impersonal societies. Problems are handled through courts, fear of prison keeps us from killing one another, and higher relative incomes mean that if you have the means you don’t have to worry about access to goods. You don’t even have to be nice to the guy at the register checking you out.

Cut in line? Sure, why not?

Additionally, the individualism leads to one of my biggest pet peeves, people breaking the order of things. Now there’s something to be said for being a free spirit and questioning norms. However, common courtesy does have a purpose. It helps us to make sure that things run smoothly and everyone gets what they need. In the absence of bureaucracy decency will still arise. Inside, if someone cut, they would immediately be met by a howl of disapproval, which may or may not lead to physical retribution.

Out here it’s not uncommon to see someone put their needs above others simply because there’s no one who is going to step out and tell them not to.

People don’t read.

During the time away I’d finish about 3 books a week. Even guys with sixth grade educations would read something. Probably due to a lack of other options. With little else to talk about I’d try to talk about books or articles with people out here. The usual response is “I saw the movie,” or “I saw something about that on the news.”

In spite of the ugliness, freedom is sweet sweet nectar - I’m not trying to complain. Most days I’d prefer to be on this side of the fence, (though truthfully there are exceptions). We take many things for granted out here. During the first couple of months that you’re out everything seems new and exciting. Every woman you see is model quality, every meal you taste is five star, and every experience is something to write home about. That feeling fades though and the challenges of having to check that box ruins most of it.

That experience is always there though to help you come back to center, and remind you that whatever is going on, you’ve survived worse.

Checkout More of Bruce’s writing at www.facebook.com/incarcaawareness

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Matty Johnson Crook [p] Chris Degrace

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Joseph Delgado SW Crook [p] Corn Photo

Mike Gustafson Wallride [p] CMART

Alex Duke

Ollie [p] Sam McKenna

Nolan Lee Frontboard [p] Corn Photo

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Jacob Jackmauh Front Blunt [p] Wes Cunningham

Jay Brown

Crook [p] Wes Cunningham

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Daniel Kim Ollie [p] Corn Photo

Nicky Lamarche 5050 [p] Pat Donfro

Fall 2013 | Step Dad | 11

Letters from the Inside Words: Bruce King

It’s unmistakably a Sunday afternoon. It doesn’t matter where you are – there’s no mistaking the “day of rest.” These are the days I really feel incarcerated.

On my playlist today is once again AP. I’m reading “The Oral History of Texas Is The Reason.” From what I’d always heard, the band’s break-up was always notable for its crescendo and the awe of quiet that it left behind. The article seems to confirm exactly that. The funny thing is that as I reached the part about their disbanding, I overheard a conversation between older inmates – “The Chairman” and “Yosemite Sam.”

our attempt at atonement, she was given only a 25% chance of survival. Add this to my impending prison sentence and it becomes clear that our wreckage seemed terminal for all involved.

The ensuing months were difficult, to say the least. We nonetheless did the best that we could. In some ways, the circumstances may have proved ideal for the healing that my family had to do. Nothing unifies quite like crisis. Both myself and my mother found ourselves staring into our respective abysses. Both situations could not have been made any better by haste, so we were allowed to exercise prudence.

I was sentenced on January 18th of last year. I was given 48 months (I was facing up to 25 years on the high end of the spectrum), and taken directly into custody.

“Sam” is talking about how just before getting locked up, he scrambled to make as much money as he could before his sentencing because he knew that he was going to prison.

She had successfully gotten sober relatively recently and helped me to get clean. We provided support for one another, as we both stood to lose a lot in each other’s outcome.

All this talk of “final moments” took me back to the 8 months that I spent living with my folks with an ankle bracelet during pre-trial.

That period of time felt so weird to me, like I was in both “the quiet after” as well as “the calm before the storm.”

Facing the possibility of losing my mother had a profound effect on me. I mean, I’ve had plenty of friends pass, but this was the first time that I really comprehended death and its potential impact. As close as I’d been to suicide, I’d never seen it through sober eyes.

Now I found that, maybe for the first time in my life, I wanted to live, regardless of the precipice that stood in my way.

So much had happened leading up to my arrest (most of which I can’t currently address, as the statute of limitations is yet to expire on my case.) I will say that I was suicidal; and that my alcohol abuse and drug addiction had become rampant. My mother had just been released from the hospital after having a cyst removed and would soon be entering chemotherapy. I was essentially released so that I’d be able to care for her Now let me just explain that my mother is the most important person in my life. However, before my arrest, we were still in the process of rebuilding a relationship that had been battered by an 8 year stretch of hardship and misfortune. All of a sudden, in the middle of

Happy endings are a matter of opinion. The best news is that my mother took her shot in the dark and ran with it. The chemo was successful. She is currently cancer free and very supportive of me. I was sentenced on January 18th of last year. I was given 48 months (I was facing up to 25 years on the high end of the spectrum), and taken directly into custody.

As I sit in prison, I can only pray that I’ve completed the climax of my story. Now that I’ve completed my story, I pray that I can begin to live a life.

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TATE K o k ubo words and photos by Michael Cirelli

Michael Cirelli: How old are you and where are you from?

Tate Kokubo: I’m 12 and from Arlington, MA MC: Who got you into skating?

TK: A couple older kids in my neighborhood MC: What kind of things do you like to skate? You a street kid or a transition kid?

TK: Definitely a transition kid. I like any kind of transition, especially DIY and bowl.

MC: Whats the worst thing about being 13? How weird are the lunch ladies that serve you that really crappy food at school? Any of them have a glass eye?

TK: I don’t know yet, but probably the same as being 12. Not being able to drive and not being able to stay out too late at skate spots. The lunch ladies are total freaks! One of them yanked my lunch out of my hands and dumped it in the trash because I didn’t have enough

money on me. No glass eyes, but dentures and hair nets.

MC: You hang out with the Creep Show team a lot. What gets you hyped on that crew?

TK: They are always down for a session and they like to skate the same stuff I do.

MC: It seems like Ralph Murphy is like a big brother to you. Are your parents going to loose their minds when you come home with a face Tattoo like Mike Tyson?

TK: Ralph is the man. He always hypes me up to skate harder. Haha! I am not into face tattoos. But if I was, I think my parents would be pretty cool about it.

I think my mom would say as long the needle was clean then it’s ok. She’s kind of a germ freak.

MC: Do you have any shout outs?

TK: John Gallagher and Ralph Murphy at Creepshow/Red Alert, Kevin and Steve at RAW, Rob Pontes, Nora Vasconcellos, Mom & Dad and everyone I skate with.

Fall 2013 | Step Dad | 13

Tate Kokubo

FS Air [p] Michael Cirelli

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Mike Gustafson Fred Gall Switch Blunt Nosegrind Transfer [p] Sam[p] McKenna CMART

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Nick Rudzinski Pole Jam [p] Rob Collins

words & photo’s CMART

Tyler Gibbs

FS Flip [p] Jimmy Collins

Julian Lewis Front Feeble [p] Ricky Aponte

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Kevin Hammond

Pole Jam [p] Michael Cirelli

Fred Gall Leo Gutman

Wallride 5050 [p] [p] Chris MarcoMartin Hernandez

Boner

Heelflip [p] CMART

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Nate Greenwood Overcrook [p] Rob Collins

Gary Bolos

Nosegrind [p] Luke McKaye

Ben Cironi

Backside Flip [p] Sam McKenna

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I WAS...

words by Taylor Garrett

...waking from a night and morning of booze and pills. I found myself on the couch in a confused state at five PM. It was December, so by then it was dusk and the orange lights in the parking lot lit up my windows like fireworks. I took out my Lorazepam and took two dry to take my nerves down. Greg was in my room with his girlfriend for some reason.

I had to make the drive home because of a death in the family and he was coming with me. I handed him three pills and we dropped his girl off.

Cruising the on-ramp for Route 202, I figured it was the perfect time to smoke a joint. I reached into my backpack and searched for it then all of a sudden the small thud of the car veering off the road caught my attention. When I looked up we were already off the right side of the road at fifty miles an hour. The embankment was about 30 feet, not very steep but there was no way we were going to stop. I looked over at Greg for half a second before we hit the tree. No expression on his face. Completely vacant.

“I should have noticed that Greg was too fucked behind the wheel when the first thing he did was reverse the car through a mailbox and take off screeching, I didn’t.”

My sedan slid off into the night. I took six more because I had quite a tolerance at this point. Tolerance or not, that would proove to be too much. I convinced myself, somehow, that a death justified getting too fucked up to speak. Route 2 by Amherst and the Pioneer Valley is a hilly, winding road. It is its’ own sobriety test.

I was swerving in and out of the oncoming lane. I would find out later in the night that the police received calls from three different cars to report our reckless driving. When you’re on benzos its pretty much the same false confidence and calm as booze. To put it plainly, you’re a fucking idiot but you’re confident. A recipe for fun, no doubt. I pulled over and forced Greg behind the wheel, thinking he’d have the capacity to drive.

I was wrong.

I should have noticed that Greg was too fucked behind the wheel when the first thing he did was reverse the car through a mailbox and take off screeching, I didn’t.

The airbags slapped my face and shoulder as we took a large tree to the center of the hood. The car split like a pair of scissors around it. I wasn’t in shock but I had wrenched my neck pretty badly.

Greg was unconscious in the drivers seat for about forty five seconds.

I screamed at him and shook him and finally he opened his eyes with no idea what had happened. We both didn’t have an actual scratch on us, unbelievably.

We planned to tell the cops I was driving when they got there because I was more capable of talking than Greg was.

We had a story about an iPod distraction that would work if only I got to say it.

The responding officers were there in about three minutes, when they asked us who was driving the car, both Greg and I said at the same time, “I was.”

We were fucked.

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Bog Dan

Wallie [p] Scott Furkay

Taylor Spinney Ollie [p] Wes Cunningham

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Jordan Pride 180 Nosegrind [p] Dave Labbe

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Ralph Murphy Crail Wallride [p] Chris Degrace

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Ralph Murphy Hurricane [p] Chris Degrace

Hillary Thompson Smith [p] Luke McKaye

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Deerus

Mondo Parmesan

Matt Knoblauch Varial Heel [p] Frederick Zang