She's a small fry
Natalie Porter on Beth Fishman, matriarchs, and new friends.
Beth Fishman and I settled into a Zoom interview in the early winter. I could see that she was camped out in her artist’s studio, not unlike my mom’s studio, with exposed wooden beams, pots of paintbrushes, and canvases with bold abstract colors in varying stages of completion. I received a virtual tour that revealed rolls of paper and images pinned to the walls for inspiration and a mass of acrylic paints spread across her worktables. Originally, the space was designed to be Beth’s glassblowing studio, but the need for a certain standard of ventilation meant that she was pursuing painting instead. In the background, on a worn lime-green couch, I could see a small dog propped onto a pillow, passed out in a bundle of scruffy cuteness.
Beth was wearing a gray wool beanie and a black hooded puffy jacket to stay insulated, while I was layered in a vintage wool “Lady Pendleton” plaid shirt in shades of teal underneath a thick cardigan. We both felt the winter chill, but not for long. Our conversation started out in a predictable fashion because, like many skaters, Beth was fortunate to live in a beach town, although in New Jersey, not California. She had two older brothers, like me, and when Beth discovered one of their skateboards collecting dust in the basement, she began skateboarding in her driveway with a neighbor.
Beth noted that she had always been sporty, but skateboarding was an activity that she enjoyed immediately. “I loved it, and I just kept doing it and practicing tricks, and then they opened up the Paved Wave, which was in Oakhurst, New Jersey... it was the first skateboard park in New Jersey.” Beth’s dad drove her to the park practically every day after school, happy to oblige his spirited daughter. There were no other girls in sight at the skatepark, but that was not a deterrent for Beth.
The New York skateboarding scene in the 1970s, unlike California, had harsh winters to contend with, which meant that the activity wasn’t quite as popular in comparison. In the 1978 article “Skating in the Big Apple” in Skateboard World magazine, the writer mentioned that there was a team called Performance Skateboard, which met up at Prospect Park and practiced on a collection of DIY wooden ramps. The subject of girls came up and it was declared:
There are no girls in New York’s only skateboard club — but none of the guys seem to miss them. “Girls around here are into disco. They’re not into anything good,” says Sevino. “I can’t blame them. You get kinda messed up riding around the city,” responds his friend John. “Yeah, but in California girls are into it,” Mick quickly points out, “Here, girls grow up too fast.”
And then turn the page, and voila! A photo of a girl kick-turning on the plywood ramp appeared with the caption “There are a few girls skating in the Big Apple.” No shit.
Not far away, a team called the Islanders based out of a New Jersey surfing and skateboarding shop, made a wise move and invited Beth to join them. “They had said to me, ‘Hey, there’s going to be a contest. And you can enter it skating for the team.’ So, I was like, ‘Okay, that’s cool.’” Beth and I talked about the contest for some time and how she had to perform a five-minute choreographed freestyle routine and gain confidence skating on ramps. Beth admitted that she was competitive and became consumed by the challenge, rehearsing maneuvers in her driveway 24/7, even incorporating multiple boards into her routine for added difficulty.
“And so, the contest day comes, and I get there and it’s like you saw in the article, five thousand people. It wasn’t just Jersey; it was the East Coast championships. Tons of people... and I was really excited to do the routine I had practiced for weeks. I was thrilled to be there.” Beth’s family was also present, cheering for her as she performed her floor routine and tricks on a giant ramp. At some point, Beth’s dad dashed away to bring Beth’s grandma to the event, not wanting her to miss the action. And at the end of the day, the organizers called out the winners for her division. “The third place goes to John, second place goes to Larry, and first place is Beth Fishman, and I’m like, ‘Oh my god, I won.’ It was an amazing feeling.”
After Beth’s win was announced, the treasured photo with her grandma Rose was taken by a journalist. Beth said it was rare for her to see a smile on her grandmother’s face; she was a serious woman who had survived a harrowing journey as a Jewish immigrant fleeing to America. But what I didn’t expect was for Beth to thank me. She had never seen the December 1977 article from the National Skateboard Review with her grandma’s delightful quotes. I realized that the publication had been a California community newspaper, and an East Coast kid would have had no access to it. Beth said that the article’s quotes were “literally like a message from the grave. That was like a gift for me.” It felt good to be able to offer this fresh insight about Beth’s grandma. And then she reciprocated with an epic story.
The day after the Eastern Skateboard Association championships, there was a phone call for Beth, which was strange because she rarely received a personal phone call as a kid. ABC wanted to feature her on television for a morning show in New York, and after getting her mom’s permission, Beth found herself being interviewed alongside random people like the stylist Vidal Sassoon. Beth and her family were then featured on New Jersey public television (NJPTV) for a fifteen-minute segment, and interview requests for newspaper and magazine articles followed. Every feature was clipped out and saved in a scrapbook, but this was all just a buildup to her big showcase.
While reviewing the recorded Zoom interview, I didn’t even have to listen to the conversation to find the moment Beth dropped a bomb. I simply fast-forwarded to the point where I could see my eyes bugging out, my mouth hanging open, and a stunned expression on my face.
BETH: And then the big one was the Kids Are People Too [TV show].
NATALIE: Nice.
BETH: So, they were like, “We want you to be on this show.” And the coolest thing, and this is another thing that I tear my hair out, the day I was on, Patti Smith...
NATALIE: Woah! Patti Smith.
BETH: ... was on. With me
NATALIE: That’s so rad.
BETH: Dude.
NATALIE: [Speechless]
This opportunity to be on a children’s variety show was pivotal for Beth. The episode was filmed in December 1978, and while waiting to perform on that long day of filming, Beth recalled how Patti Smith glided into the greenroom. “And she was amazing to me. I was a kid, and I was just like, ‘Wow. Who is this woman? She’s so powerful. She’s so unusual. She’s so cool.’” Beth spent the entire day with Patti because the filming began early morning and ran until late in the evening.
Whenever there was a break or anything, she’d be like, “Hey kid, come with me.” And we would hang out, and it was so cool. And we talked all day, and then at the end of the day, she says to me — this is so funny — “What do you like to do besides skateboard?” And I said to Patti Smith, “Well, I like to write poetry.”
The interview paused, and we looked at each other knowingly. Here was this innocent, oblivious child about to talk poetry with Patti Fucking Smith! The librarian in me was just dying with envy. I knew something magical was about to happen to Beth, and sure enough, Patti said, “Well, you know, I write poetry too. Come with me to my limo and I’ll give you my new stuff.” And that’s exactly what happened. When they finished filming, Beth and Patti strolled out onto a wintery New York City street outside the recording studio. “Her limo pulls up and she gets out like this leather satchel, and she takes out all these papers and she hands them to me... She autographs it, To Beth — the Champ. And she says to me, ‘You know, you’re awesome. Such a cool kid.’” And then noticing that Beth was wearing braces, Patti said, “Take my advice, leave your braces on, because I tried to take mine off with a pair of pliers in my garage and it really fucked them up.” At this point in the interview, we’re both howling with laughter. Patti Smith rules.
I imagined that Patti, who was then in her early thirties, saw something of herself in young Beth. They both had roots in New Jersey, were fiercely independent, and lived a life that was true to themselves, which happened to be very cool — rock and roll music, skateboarding, and poetry. As Patti drove away, Beth shared how she thought to herself, What a cool rocker lady, but didn’t clue in to Patti’s identity until years later when the significance of their mutual appreciation for poetry hit home and felt like destiny.
The moment our interview was over, I tried to find the Kids Are People Too episode on YouTube. Instead of a singular video, I found Beth’s performance on one clip and Patti’s performance on an entirely different YouTube channel. You would have no idea that their paths had crossed, except for the fact that the host was wearing the same outfit — bell-bottoms and a brown plaid shirt with a flared collar. The stage was lit up like a Las Vegas showroom, and Patti sauntered out rocking some sweet cowboy boots and an oversized black smoking jacket in front of a cheering, youthful crowd. She perched on her tall chair and kicked out her heels, swinging her feet like a child. After a brief interview with the host, Patti launched into a raw and passionate rendition of “You Light Up My Life,” accompanied by a pianist. A trippy light pattern, like a sun motif, was projected on the wall behind them.
For Beth’s segment, the bulk of the footage was focused on child actor Adam Rich, who also liked skateboarding. He seemed to know that he was about to get schooled by the East Coast champion. The video is blurry, but Beth radiates confidence, wearing jeans and a sunshine-yellow long-sleeved shirt over a crisp white blouse and a matching yellow helmet. She brought out a ramp and easily performed a hippie jump over a measuring stick without any hesitation.
Beth would never forget her encounter with Patti. She continued writing poetry and kept up with her skateboarding. Beth has since had a prolific career as a multimedia artist, having studied at the Rhode Island School of Design and Pratt Institute. She became a glassblower and moved to Seattle to be part of the thriving glassblowing community. Beth explained that glassblowing is also about movement and choreography, not unlike freestyle skateboarding, which she excelled at.
What I really wanted to know was if Beth ever reunited with Patti, and Beth confirmed that they came close decades later during one of Patti’s book tours, which included a stop in Seattle. Beth purchased a ticket for the event, but Patti had injured her wrist, so she wasn’t signing autographs for the public; the opportunity for a face-to-face encounter was lost. It was a packed house, so Beth sought out a stagehand and passed along a carefully wrapped, handblown vase, which she had made just for Patti and desperately hoped that it wouldn’t be discarded.
If you’ve read anything by Patti Smith, you know that she cherishes the giving and receiving of simple gifts. Her publication A Book of Days (2022) is full of curated photographs and clusters of objects, which she describes as talismans. A seemingly insignificant item like a key ring, pair of reading glasses, or bandana becomes endowed with meaning when filtered through Patti’s gaze and memory bank. And Beth reported that when Patti finally made an appearance, “She came out on stage, and she says, ‘Hey, Seattle. It’s so good to be here. I just got the most beautiful red glass vase. Whoever gave that to me, thank you so much. And somebody else gave me an apple pie.’ And I was like, ‘Oh my god, it made it!’”
I was relieved and delighted for Beth. If this conversation had happened ten or fifteen years ago, I may not have appreciated it as much, but now that I’m of a more mature age, I have a certain appreciation for Patti Smith. I’m inspired by how she’s aged with grace, grit, and integrity, still living a creative and vibrant life despite fame. I also have a soft spot for acts of gratitude. It’s important to find ways to say thank you to people who give you a piece of their time, right when you need it the most.
Beth’s life trajectory had other significant events beyond this encounter with a rock legend. She had supportive parents who fostered her independence and competitive disposition, and a family that celebrated together in community, acknowledging their Jewish traditions. Even now, Beth continues to skateboard, and her experience, showing up as an older woman at a skatepark, has been consistently positive. She also has a group of friends in Seattle who meet up for a session of long-distance pumping, or LDP for short, and they cruise the streets en masse. Beth explained that “the thing with skateboarding is that it’s all about consistency and just getting out there and doing it.” It barely occurred to me that Beth was pushing sixty — she seemed so youthful. I felt like I was in my twenties again, chatting with a friend.
When you’re in your teens and twenties, I think it’s easy to take friendships for granted, especially as a skateboarder. In the 1990s and early 2000s, there seemed to be a universal code of hospitality toward traveling skaters. In 1999, I had the opportunity to pursue a summer semester abroad in Prague, Czechia, at Charles University. My motives were not academic. I had heard of a derelict plaza covered in marble slabs where skateboarders gathered called Stalin, in reference to a monument that had been toppled, and I wanted to skate it. I had barely recuperated from jet lag and hadn’t even visited the famous tourist spots, like Charles Bridge and the medieval astronomical clock in Old Town, before I bolted over to Stalin.
When I arrived at the skate spot, I instantly made friends with local skateboarders, including two girls named Kate and Lucie Kalinová. I remember feeling pleased that I had ventured out solo and had a means to connect with Czech youth. The girls I met were barely proficient in English, but we easily figured out a way to communicate and would meet up for skate sessions. At the end of my studies, I was invited to a family cottage in Bohemia and stayed at Kate’s grandparents’ home, experiencing a proper immersion. We might have had different backgrounds and upbringings, but because of this shared connection as female skateboarders, everything else was irrelevant.
In 2004, after living in Montréal, I returned to Vancouver and was excited but not surprised when I met Rhianon Bader at a Sunday soccer match in MacLean Park in Strathcona. This was not a sporting event but a weekly boozy gathering of skateboarders, art students, musicians, and other random dirtbag kids who occasionally chased a ball on the field and got some exercise. Rhianon was from Calgary and had produced an early skateboarding website called Skate of Mind in the 1990s. I had even quoted Rhianon in my thesis, particularly her interview with Jessie Van Roechoudt, the lone Canadian pro female skater in the 1990s who rode for Rookie, among many other sponsors, which made our meeting special.
My friendship with Rhianon would naturally evolve, especially after my apartment caught fire and we both ended up moving into the second floor of a heritage home, just blocks away from Antisocial Skateboard shop. We would learn to ride motorcycles together, purchasing beat-up 1970s Honda CB400s, and form a girl gang called the Majestic Unicorn Motorcycle Club with our fellow skater Erika Kinast. Our tea-drinking, bookish, skater nerd “gang” rocked denim vests, not unlike the Hags from Los Angeles, with a hand-stitched emblem of a purple unicorn and the letters MUMC. I liked the aesthetics of riding an old motorbike, even if it belched and backfired thanks to the DIY straight pipes my friend had welded on. A motorbike gave me freedom, access to distant skateparks, and a unique experience of being part of an inner circle of badass women.
We lived the dream as a skater-biker girl gang for a few glorious years before Rhianon and Erika left for Kabul to volunteer and work for Skateistan. The year they left, I was studying to become a librarian, and it was a harsh reminder that adulthood had descended. Making friends after being part of such a tight crew felt daunting. And the motivation to keep skating began to wane without friends my age.
This is why visibility and social media matters. I get excited when I see someone like Amy Bradshaw online, exploring new skateparks in the Californian sunshine with her buddy Julie Daniels, unconcerned with comments like, “Should you be doing that at your age?” It’s important to see positive representations of senior women being adventurous, experiencing joy and friendship. Amy explained, “We just skate because it’s freaking fun. We like to go somewhere new and then we’ll kind of push each other like we’re going to dial this in. We’re gonna skate hard, learn new shit... it’s just ridiculous, we’re ridiculous!” And if being ridiculous means going on road trips, signing yourself up for skate camp, exploring a different skatepark every day, and having a blast in your sixties, I am in. Bring on retirement.
And now I have a new friend to skate with. Did I manifest her into existence? How is it possible that an unknown female skater my age exists in a place that only a ferry boat or float plane can access? Just before we met at the skatepark, I was chatting with a little girl at the snake-run. She was so small, wearing coke-bottle glasses, and just a bundle of energy, marveling at how I could keep the momentum of my skateboard going without a push. And when my friend arrived and gave me a hug, this girl witnessed our bond: two women in their forties preparing for a skate session. I felt good, and with so many amazing matriarchs like Beth inspiring me, I’m no longer harboring my passion for skateboarding alone or with an ounce of embarrassment.
Natalie is a skateboarder, librarian, and the founder of Womxn Skate History archive and Instagram account, which celebrates the history of female and non-binary skateboarders. She is also a columnist for Closer Skateboarding magazine.
If you're in the Vancouver area on September 23.
