The first time I went to FDR Skatepark, Steve Fass was there. He wasn't the only one but he might as well have been. Smith grind the bricks. Frontside air into the pillar. Tailslide revert the CIA pocket. No problem. All in one run. He cruised back up to the deck, nudged me with his elbow, gave me a nod and a handshake, and introduced himself. He asked me where I was from. I told him Austin, Texas, and he welcomed me to town. The session went down--me struggling to find the lines, Steve blazing the entire park. After it was done I needed a lift home, so I asked Steve. "Sure, hop in," He takes me way out of his way to my house in North Philly. He lets me out and tells me to call him to skate soon, hands me a fist full of Groholski stickers and his phone number, and splits.
That was almost three years ago. Now after two trips to Oregon, several outings to Skatopia, countless days working at the park trying to learn his tricks and lines, and after hours and hours of drinking beers and shooting the shit, it all comes back to those Groholski stickers. Especially the one with his number on it.