His influence of kind-heartedness and optimism still plays a large role in our lives today. Honestly, we can’t seem to imagine any of us making it into our current Age of Mandom without brothers like Josh. Even now, as we write this, we are faced with a hard time; saying goodbye to one of the illest to stomp the earth’s crust. However, in this time of melancholy, all we must do is remember that shining smile—that hilarious humor that immediately cured any problems that toiled us…
…all we must do is remember Josh Almanza. Only then will sadness be replaced by nostalgic times of good, leaving only the many great memories that we were blessed enough to share with our beloved brother.
We love you, Mexi.
Rest in Stee, brother.
Washington’s finest filmmaker Ben Ericson just wrapped up a 16mm short with Seattle HOT BOY Griffin Gass. Straight up, sickest dude since Josh Mohs and Jordan Sanchez to hit the street of Seattle scene. Footage was shot between August and December of 2017.
Camera: 1966 Rex 4 Bolex
Lenses: Century 5.5mm, Kern 10mm, Kern 26mm
Film Stocks: Kodak 50d, 250d, 500t
Scans: Scan Station / Gamma Ray Digital
Gypsy’s part from O.U.L.K’s “Rats Mobb” video. (2015)
Filmed, Edited & Directed by Drew Cercley
Fred Lanouette. Owner of Old Town Pub, wedding singer for Elvis and Priscilla, oldest Uber driver in Marysville, great human being, and kind soul. The building that now shells in the OTP, one of the oldest buildings in Silverdale has been home to a livery stable, a hay lined boxing ring, a skating rink, a brothel, and a prohibition era speakeasy with booze coming in straight from the waterfront dock. In recent years, Fred has housed 10 low income residents in the rooms and common area above the bar. It is surreal that my favorite watering hole, one that offered a picturesque view of Dyes Inlet, and held so many stories and so much history in its walls, has come to an end. Thank you Fred, grateful to have been a part of this historic piece of Kitsap County. -Austin Iles
The streets were paved in darkness. With only but a dim glimmer of light struggling from the wheezing streetlights above, popping up here and there at seldom pace, an old rust covered thing chugged through the streets. This part of Silverdale was different, and was new to the rugged travelers. Wild-eyed, smelly, and a bit drunk, this band of belligerents direly needed a rest stop, but the dark streets of Silverdale’s historic neighborhood proved bleak with such places. Until an old, dingy light caught the travelers’ eyes; one with lingering honky-tonk echoes and silhouettes of brewing bar fights. This place was perfect.
Old Town Pub WAS perfect for the eager group of troubadours. Tenants who lived upstairs were shredding Lynyrd Skynyrd covers, and side-stepping commenced. Rowdy displays exploded, but no one minded; the group of fiery travelers felt right at home. The night grew foggy, outside AND inside that great bar, and if it is recalled correctly, a barroom-brawl may have very well broken out.
The now beaten band of troubadours piled their sorry asses into their beloved, four-wheeled beast. The night had really gotten away from them, and it was time to move onto the next town. The time was late when they pulled away from the Old Town Pub. As the pirate-like crew rubbed their eyes and stroked their bruises, every eye in that vehicle focused on one thing. The very same light which drew them in, was now fading off; just as quickly as it had mysteriously appeared.
And the old rust covered thing chugged along, off into the night and back onto the long road. Inside their moving home, dirty and tattered, the travelers drank shitty beer and played dominoes; never really knowing that they had just left the last stop in the wild west. -Travis Knight
The small town of Port Orchard, nestled deep in the homeland of the Toebock spirit—Kitsap County—finally got what any town needs to truly thrive: a legit skate shop.
Ian Wilhelm, has provided skaters and the entire community surrounding Port Orchard area with—as he told the Kitsap Sun—a place they could “get their boards and gear.” Before Wilhelm, skaters had to battle a jungle of nauseating cologne salesmen and the horrible Hot Topic culture to buy an overpriced board from perhaps the originators of “the mall grab”: Zumiez. It was either that, take the ferry to Seattle, or drive to Tacoma; both options were simply NOT options for most in Kitsap County/Bremerton area. When Ian opened Unity the days of hand-me-down products, from washed up pros who found themselves lost in Port Orchard, were finally over.
Frankie Nash, Boston’s favorite street soldier, has always had a deep place in our hearts. We fucking love Frankie! Nash kills it on the board, and on the canvas, so it is an understatement to say that we are fans of his GOT when he GETS THAT SHIT! For years, this man’s great talents have mesmerized us, time and time again. So, you must understand why we are so excited! A collaboration that we have long hoped for has just taken place.
In celebration of their three-year anniversary, Unity Skate Shop has shared this special moment with us by releasing a Limited Collaborative Board, designed by none only than the talented Frankie Nash! Like many times before, we share another proud moment as one of our favorite shops and one of our favorite humans come together and make something timeless. We love you, guys!
For more of Frankie’s work, check him out here!
Also, make sure to follow Unity Skate Shop to stay updated with events in Port Orchard and the for FIREXSIDE soft & hardgoods available soon!
The story of Earl is one so eerily remarkable, that sometimes I find it hard to believe myself. Archaic perspectives reflected happenings of this sort, in long-ago tales of Elders visiting the jejune; emerging from a thin line that separates the obvious from the unseen, and settling into the land of lore. Maybe it is my mind that has coaxed reality to shape itself in the likeliness of wonder… no one will ever know, not even me. However, my instincts stay thick and unchangeable, like a stubborn ego. This story has followed me around like a shadow for years. It is one I have babbled of before, and will babble of again–here, perhaps for the last time; unless, that is, Earl happens to return.
The first time I met old Earl, he came in the form of a rickety cat—one that roamed the tropic alleys of South Beach, Miami. After being kicked out of his own home for pissing all over the house, Earl had decided to seek shelter in the Toeblock IN Miami; probably because he was either embraced by dirty derelicts like myself, or because he could dodge detection due to all of the blacking out that was going on.
His manners were not capricious, as the old cat would consistently settle himself at my feet, and relentlessly nag my attention with a series of dilapidated grunts, and attempted meows. I would pay my respect by running my fingers through his matted hair, soothing the old bones that his deteriorating skin sheathed.
However, the haggard cat was not so popular with other tenants of the Miami Toeblock; specifically Matt Kehoe. Earl used to immensely bother Kehoe, for the cat’s grungy demeanor clashed worlds with Kehoe’s meticulous cleanliness. Every time Kehoe fell asleep, old Earl would hobble into the small beach apartment–usually with the help of my turned eye–and immediately, like a magnet with a mind, would find where Kehoe was snoring. With a small grunt, and a few attempts, Earl would make himself a comfy bed out of Kehoe.
While Kehoe dreamed of large breasted women and his life as a rap star, the cat he so much loathed dreamed directly atop him; about fish dinners, milk, and perhaps death. Usually, this scenario would end with Kehoe waking up, only to noticed the old cat snoring away. Fuming with short-stack aggression upon finding Earl clamped to his back, Kehoe would grab Earl by his scruff, and toss him out of the house; all the while cursing my name and my judgement for allowing the matted cat into the Toeblock. Earl remained for the remaining entirety of that Toebock House. When I finally left that Southern Beach, Earl followed my heart, and the spirit of the Earl followed my feet; yearning for the respect often yearned for from an endangered soul.
The second encounter I had with Earl was less intimate. It happened 3 years later, on the opposite coast, in a much colder, foggier community. I was smoking a cigarette, attempting to distract a crouching emotional dysfunction, on a 6 x 4 porch, also a second story patio. A clicking startled my daze, and over the horizon of the porch’s top step, a haggard, beaten, yet familiar, face rose like a hesitant sun. The face belonged to a battered raccoon–the most tore-up raccoon my eyes had ever met. At first, I was frozen with trepidation, fearing that the beast would attack me at any moment. There was a stand-off between the raccoon and I, and it ended when the old beast grunted a familiar noise; it was Earl.
We held one another’s gazes for an instant, and in that speck of time, I felt all the pain of the broken traveler in front of me. I saluted old Earl with respect, all the way until he hobbled onto a neighboring house, and creaked off into the hazy night.
A few weeks ago, my wife and I were caught off guard by a large shadow swiftly sweeping by our front door. The culprit climbed up into a tree, directly on the other side our backyard’s fence. An obtrusive spotlight resides on the neighboring unit’s roof, and it rudely blasts into our backyard all night, confusing my plants, and immeasurably pissing me off. The light, also, illuminates the tree, and like a prison break gone bad, the culprit was caught in the flaring beam, hypnotized by the sheer ridiculousness of this light. It was a possum. I thought nothing about the scavenger… until a week or so later.
I was enjoying the calm that comes before any storm, and I heard this crunching noise. I wearily peeked over my fence to investigate, and saw the same possum that lives in our tree. He was large, beat-up, lost, and crunching away on only-The-Creator-knows. I noticed a huge bald spot on his back as he locked his senile eyes onto mine, and swiftly I realized: I knew those eyes. They were the eyes of the beaten and forgotten, of the rambling and wise, of the endangered spirit. I’d know that haggard glare anywhere: it was Earl.
It has been nearly a decade since the old spirit latched onto me, back in that distant time of the Toeblock IN Miami. To keep the lore pumping strong, I left some leftover potatoes at the base of the possum’s tree; a few nuggets of respect for the old tired spirit of Earl.
Paul Sewell has been putting in work on, and off, the skateboard for the last 20 years, and to those who have witnessed his talent, they know he is more than deserving of this great achievement. Tall hops in a small package, one could say, but this statement does no justice.
Paul has touched the world of skateboarding, but has more importantly touched the lives of everyone he has come across. We at The Industries would like to take this moment, and emphasize what this magnificent human being means to us.
Paul is the scholar, the big, but shorter, brother, the graduate, the voice of reason, the mediator, the therapist, the world traveler, the empathetic, yet strict, teacher, the ball of energy, the comedian, the bilingual, and the genius. However, these are but a few that come to mind when we think of our beloved short stack.
We’ve seen the feisty Latin fire rolling off his everything, with an open shirt, and wind pouring over his clean head, as he walks through the club like a boss. In the next moment, he puts his glasses on, and an eloquent professor is presented, cracking jokes, having anyone in the vicinity tightly clamped by hysteria. His moods can vary from George Costanza, to Goodwill Hunting, to Rick Moranis, to The Most Interesting Man in the World within seconds. Yes, this magnificent human being, whom we love very much, has claimed another title to add to the many shades of Paul Sewell. That’s right folks, after all the years, PAUL SEWELL HAS GONE PRO!
Paul, congratulations brother, you greatly deserve this. We sincerely, and deeply love you, and the day you stepped into our lives, was the day our lives changed for the best, forever. Short stacks…. STACK!
Your Fellow Stack,
P.S. Can I borrow some money?
From the BLOCK, April 2012.
Check out the photos and the story from Kansas City Block resident, Matt Kehoe, as well as the original edit here.
Classic Re-mix: Tom Carter
Filmed & Edited: Ben Ericson
Motion: Ben Kaplan
Check out Chris Baldwin, and his part from Outer Limits, filmed entirely on the Kitsap and Olympic Peninsulas. Home of the INdustries