Writer: Chris Ahrens Photos: Estevan Oriol I first became aware of Jay Adams in the early ’70s through still photos published of him surfing and skateboarding. He excelled in both sports and was an innovator to the extent that surfers and skaters around the world often cloned his reckless and casual style. He had so much charisma that many believe that without Adams, international skateboarding would have taken another decade to catch on.

    I first met Jay at Swami’s in the late ’70s where we shared small waves together and talked of the North Shore, where he was moving later that year. Next thing I heard he was in prison on a manslaughter charge, stemming from a drunken and angry outburst on the streets of Hollywood. For many years after that, when I heard Jay’s name it was either associated with skateboarding, surfing, drugs, or trouble with the law.

    In 2006 I met Jay Adams again in La Jolla, through our mutual friend, skate legend Christian Hosoi. Adams had spent most of his obligatory rebellion by then, and he was speaking enthusiastically about his recent conversion to Christianity and his desire to stay away from drugs and alcohol, the twin demons that had led him into all his troubles. A few days later, Jay returned to Hawaii with his new wife, Alisha. He called from time to time, just to talk about surf and sobriety and the married life he was enjoying. Then I heard that Jay had been arrested, again. Seems that he had said the wrong thing to the wrong guy, and told him where to buy drugs. “If you make anything, kick me something back,” was what he said into a concealed wire. Nothing much more than that, but it put Jay at the bottom of a list nobody ever wants to be on. His charges would have been dismissed, had there not been a string of violent actions in his past. The judge sent him away, and for months I only saw Jay in Santa Ana Jail, when he was seated behind glass, and we spoke through a telephone. I would visit him with his old friend, skater Dennis Martinez, who spoke to him about God and skateboarding. When it was my turn Jay and I spoke about God and surfing. Leaving together, Dennis and I would feel sick that he couldn’t drive home with us. Then we saw Jay on the day he was sentenced, wearing a chain, accompanied by two guards. The sentence was a year and a half, followed by a stint in rehab. On the day of his release, I accompanied Martinez, Dogtowner Billy Yeron, and the legendary Christian Hosoi to the LA airport to pick him up. Christian then drove him to a rehabilitation facility in Orange County.

    Night and day, Jay works hard on staying sober. From nine to five, he works at the Hurley warehouse, sending out clothing to fuel a culture he helped to create. We stopped in for a visit. He had a lot to say.

Risen Magazine: [Looking at the Hurley half pipe] When you were a kid looking for empty pools with Tony Alva and Stacy Peralta, did you imagine there would be skate parks?
Jay Adams: Not really at that time, no.

RM: At twelve years old, Venice must have seemed like paradise.
JA: Well, I didn’t consider Venice paradise. I was looking at Surfer Magazine and Hawaii was paradise. Venice was just home. My stepfather was born and raised in Hawaii and he always told me about it. The waves you see on the cover of Surfer Magazine now are the types we would draw on our folders as kids, some 100-foot barrel or something like that, unthinkable back then. Everything has progressed so much since then; look at Danny Way, jumping further than Evel Knievel, on a skateboard.

RM: Do you think you would have been one of those extreme types, if you were eighteen years old now?
JA: Who knows? I could be some sort of extreme dope fiend or something like that. I’d probably be abusing whatever I was trying to do, whether good, like sports, or . . . You know, kids get caught up in it. I was just lucky that I was brought up surfing and skateboarding. That’s all I wanted to do.

RM: A surf kid’s biggest worries are getting good waves, having the right board, and having enough money for lunch. Where does the dissatisfaction come from that makes someone want to do drugs?
JA: Wow, I don’t know if it was a feeling of dissatisfaction, or just wanting to party with my friends. It’s hard to really think of where it comes from, but I know you grow into it. It becomes normal.

RM: Do you remember feeling angry about anything?
JA: In the punk rock days I was kind of angry, but I was only angry cuz everyone else was saying we should be angry. It was like, we’re punk rock, we’re pissed, cuz everyone’s a longhaired hippie and we don’t like that. I think that I was just going along with it, rather than actually being pissed.

RM: But there was a lot of pain from things like deaths in the family at the time, right?
JA: That was afterwards. There wasn’t a whole lot of pain before that, except for, maybe, my stepdad and my mom breaking up. I had a good childhood and teenage years. I wouldn’t say pain was a reason I turned to drugs. Everybody smoked weed and drank when I grew up. Alcohol gave you liquid courage, you could talk to chicks more, maybe be more aggressive toward guys, and it helped to build your reputation as far as being a crazy person. It’s all temporary and stupid, but it really changes you. If you’re basically a little bit shy to begin with, it’ll take that away.

RM: Were you shy as a kid?
JA: At times, probably, until I really got to know people, crowds of people I didn’t know, yeah, a little bit.

RM: When did drugs go from hanging out with friends having a good time, to a big problem?
JA: I pretty much based my whole life around surfing and skateboarding. If the waves were gonna be good, I wouldn’t really go too hard that night. Surfing was more important. After those things happened in my life, my brother getting killed, my mom dying . . . the final straw was when I caught my chick in bed with that dude. I kind of snapped. I went to jail for a couple weeks, got out and started slamming dope. Eventually that completely took over, and heroin became my number one thing. That’s all I was interested in for a couple of years. Before that, it wasn’t in control, but it wasn’t completely out of control.

RM: A functional addict?
JA: Semi-functional. There were still hangovers and all-nighters and stuff, but I wasn’t putting needles in my arms every day, or depending on that drug just to feel good.

RM: What has drug addiction cost you so far?
JA: Probably more things than I know about. It’s cost me relationships, it’s cost time, it’s cost more things than I can put into words. Man, I’d have to think about that, cuz I could go on and on about that. Most of all, it’s cost a lot of pain, and a lot of good memories that I don’t have.

RM: Have you ever thought what your life might be if you hadn’t gone that way?
JA: I don’t think about that. I mean, I could own five houses, and . . .

RM: How do you stay sober?
JA: Last weekend, one of the little Southsider kids [at the rehab facility] relapsed. That was on a Saturday and he died Sunday. He was twenty-four years old. Stuff like that helps keep me sober, and the fact that I like waking up early and not depending on putting something into my arm or my body in order to feel good. You can get amped out just running around.

RM: You’re kind of naturally amped, aren’t you?
JA: I guess so.
RM: Energetic.
JA: There’re times, yeah. I like to be.
RM: But you need to burn it off, right?
JA: I think I prefer movin’ around to layin’ around. It’s good to be out doin’ things. I like to be tired at night, like last night I got home at 9:30. I was asleep by 10:00, woke up at 5:00, ready to go again. Right now we’re sitting on a couch. That probably won’t happen again until tonight.

RM: Do you work hard here?
JA: There’re times when we work hard here and other times we get to kick back. We just work at whateve