Not cool enough to ride in the Van.

MY NAME IS ABE, BUT PEOPLE AROUND HERE CALL ME ABLE. I guess it's because I'm able to do pretty much anything these days. I've been a janitor at the Nugget hotel and casino for the past two decades. Doing this, doing that...I don't mind really, I like being busy. Keeps your mind off of things, you know?

I came up to Reno after my wife and] had a falling out. It's a funny story: I sold all my things for gambling money, took a train up here from San Jose, and blew it all on slots in one night. I put my last bill out for a Greyhound--not the bus mind you, but the drink. Just so happened that I was sitting at the bar next to the manager of the Nugget Hotel. He saw where my luck had gotten me and offered up a job, right there on the spot! Been here ever since.

Well, enough about me. I just felt the least I could do was talk a little about myself. You see, today's my last day at the Nugget. Time to move on, you know how it goes. But the reason I'm telling you all this is because I was diggin' through my things, packing stuff away in my cozy little "office" on the first floor of the hotel when I found a few photographs of some pro-fessional skateboarders that rolled through here not so long ago. Pretty amazing what y'all can do on them things. See, there's a little story behind these pictures...

A while back I got stuck working the graveyard, taking all the trash to the back parking lot every night. Horrible. Every night I went out there, there'd be some kid riding his skateboard on the curb. I mean EVERY NIGHT. He'd see me walking through and then he'd sit down real quick; I think he was afraid I'd tell him to go away. I didn't care 'cause he was actually doing something, unlike all these dimwits smokin' up the casino, dropping dollars, hoping that happiness comes easy.

One night I came out to drop the usual trash and that kid sat down acting like nothing was going on, as always. So I spoke to him. "Hey boy, keep doing your skating. I don't care," I said. He looked at me like I was crazy. I guess you can't skate anywhere anymore. I laughed of course, and asked him if he wanted some water or something--it stays real hot at night during the summer. He thought he'd seen a ghost. I fetched him some water and started talking.

His name was Tommy Dewitt. He lived on the outskirts of Reno with his mom and dad, who both split shifts at Circus Circus dealing Black Jack. They had learned from his Dad's uncle Jeremy, who would be Tommy's Grand Uncle, right? It doesn't really matter.

He'd been skating that curb for a few years now, late at night 'cause, as he said, "What else are you going to do?" I agreed. Here I was cleaning out ashtrays and here he was scrapin' up a curb. I'll tell you, I don't understand it but I just know he was happier than I was. That's what mattered.

I got to know Tommy pretty well that summer. We'd talk about how I had gotten here, and he'd show me some new trick he was working on that he'd seen in a video. It was all new to me. I mean, I'd heard of workout videos, but skateboard videos? The kid was too cool. There he was, flipping his board around and upside down, and here I was taking out trash bags.

One night he told me of a professional team that was coming into Reno the following day. He was so excited and, I must admit, so was I. He told me their names and What they could do, which didn't mean much since I couldn't ever understand the name of a stunt he did on that old curb in the back. It didn't matter; I was happy for him. He told me that he and this other skateboard kid were going to follow them and skate with them while they were here. It was something like the Santa Cruz team-or some coastal town-which was nonsense to me. Why would you name a skateboard business after a city? Whatever. Tommy was talking so fast that I couldn't understand him. He mentioned something about room in the team's van for one more person. He thought that if he skated well enough he could go with them. I gave him a high five which I thought was important in skating, but he looked at me like I which I though was important in skating, but he looked at me like I was weird. May be that X-Game stuff I was watching was differen t. Nonetheless, he skated off in full spirits. I was rooting for him.

A few nights later, I heard some skateboarding in the back. Sure enough, there was Tommy. He had a different look in his eye. It wasn't sadness or bitterness, but a look as if hope had left him. I didn't care; I was happy to see my friend, and he was happy to see me. He had a few pictures, the ones I hold now.

They documented what he had seen that day with the skateboard team. He went on and on about the tricks they were doing. He said he was going to learn them all. I asked him what had happened with joining the team in the van. He looked away, and I felt I had said something wrong. But he assured me that he just wasn't supposed to go, even though he skated as well as the kid he had followed the team with. Sometimes you aren't as hip and well-received. I understood.

It didn't seem to phase him, though. He just went on and on about how so-and-so from Santa Cruz did this and that. I laughed with him. After he was finally finished describing the ultimate trick pulled, he started to skate off. I shouted at him and he stopped. It was my last night working graveyard, and I told him I Wouldn't be out in the back anymore. I was kind of sad, I hate to admit, but he didn't care. Tommy just handed me the pictures I'm showing you now. "Here, you can have these," he said. "Just tell whoever is going to work the graveyard next not to kick me out."

I did as he asked and took down that "No Skateboarding" sign in the back. I've never seen him since--'course I don't go to the back of the hotel late at night anymore, but he's probably still there, skating that damn curb. I'm looking at these pictures now and it makes me laugh.

Ha! Tommy Dewitt. Not cool enough to ride in the van.