Thrasher Magazine

Trophies with Eric Nash. Skate City, 1981

Jeff and I met in 1979 in fifth grade. After 40 years of skating together – from riding as unsponsored amateurs in the ASPO contests in 1981 to the Vans Pool Parties with the best skaters of the world today, there was one story that Jeff and I both laughed at every single time we heard it. One Friday afternoon when we were in sixth grade, Jimmy Grosso picked us up to go to Skate City in Whittier. These were the days when we were at the skatepark from open to close every Saturday and Sunday. Jeff and I were sitting in the backseat of the car talking about skating and the session. As we are leaving Jeff’s house, we see a girl jogging towards us down the street. Jimmy yells back that we shouldn’t be talking about skateboarding—we should be focusing on the hot chick running towards the car. The runner was a neighbor of Jeff’s, was in sixth grade with us and was the hottest girl in school. She had huge boobs, was wearing dolphin shorts and looked like she belonged in college. As she got a little closer to the car, Jimmy slowed down to nearly a stop, looked the girl up and down and then yells out “Hey, baby, slow down. I smell hair burning.” He started laughing like crazy and floored it down the street! Jeff and I looked at each other with horror in our eyes, thinking this girl’s boyfriend was going to beat us up at school. Jimmy looked back and yelled, “Don’t worry. Everything will be alright!”



With son Oliver, mom Rae Williams, Dad Jimmy and Sister Kiley McCallum

I had seen Jeff around at the skateparks of SoCal for awhile. My first memories are of a loud, cocky little ginger who annoyed me to no end. We had about a three-year age difference between us, so that didn’t help either. His loud, shrieking voice carried across the skatepark like a cat in heat. It was torture to the ears of 16-year-old pissed-off punk rocker. My first face-to-face encounter with Jeff came at closing time at Skate City. We were all in the parking lot milling around, street skating and getting ready to leave. Jeff had just got his first package from Variflex. He was skating on his brand new Cloud 9 street skate. I noticed he was being rather careless about his board, shooting it into the curb with no respect or care for the damage it was acquiring. Back then, you had to make a board last. It was normal for me to ride a board for up to six months. I saw his actions as totally disrespectful and it was lesson time. I grabbed his board from him and broke off the entire tail by cracking it on the curb over and over until it was gone. When I was done, I threw it back at the now-sobbing young Jeffrey. This was the beginning of a lifelong friendship, or more like a big brother relationship. I know Jeff’s fearless attitude and brutal honesty came from his dad’s go-for-broke style. His witty humor that made him so damn funny, endearing and lovable to everyone was 100 percent from his mom Rae. She gave him a heart of gold and always had her arms wide open for him throughout the ups and downs of his life. Most importantly, Jeff was an unbelievable father to his son Oliver and he took so much pleasure in watching him learn to skate and develop a never-ending desire to skate, just like he had. I miss you so much, Jeff. It seems that everywhere I look I’m reminded of you. Not a day has passed that you haven’t been on my mind. Hug your friends. Call and make up with the ones you’ve had a falling out with. Life’s too short. Spread the love.
Backside air as Lance looks on. Skate City, 1982

Towards the end of 1981, Jeff Grosso and Eric Nash were coming to Skate City skatepark in Whittier, CA. I think Eric was getting boards from G&S by then and I started to give John Lucero and Jeff Grosso Variflex decks. John lived right by the park but Eric and Jeff lived closer to me—about a half-hour drive away, and sometimes I would give them rides back home. On this occasion I gave Jeff a ride home but wanted to stop and see a friend of mine. She snuck out and we went to Thrifty’s, got ice cream and shot pictures in the photo booth. Jeff always told her that he had gone on our first date. My friend and I have now been married for 36 years and the point of the story is that Jeff has kept up phone calls and texts on my wife’s birthday, Mothers Day and all sorts of times with some needed words, encouragements, thank yous and sorrys. He has done that for so many of you, I know—whatever you needed and however you needed it. He gave and gave personally. Jeff was a great friend to countless people and passed down the love of a simple roll to the rest of you all.


FSA, Skate City

Air wars. Raging Waters, 1987

I was at the 1985 Rage in the Badlands amateur finals held in the original Combi pool. Back then skaters would hand a cassette tape with their song cued up to the announcer before a heat. Everett Rosecrans announces, “Next up, Jeff Grosso,” and pushes play. The opening riffs of Kiss’ “Detroit Rock City” burst from the speakers. Moments later Jeff rockets into view and proceeds to manhandle the most intimidating pool in history, throwing powerful maneuvers at every power chord’s crescendo then pumping his fist during a lengthy rock-and-roll slider, bringing the crowd to a frenzy. Some pyrotechnics at the end of his run would not have seemed out of place. He easily won the contest that day. That was my introduction to Jeff Grosso. I remember thinking, I like this kid because he went fast, and skating to Kiss was not the cool thing to do in ’85 but he wasn’t there to be hip. He was there to rock and roll! Eventually I’d work with him on his first pro shapes during his brief tenure at Schmitt Stix, then skate and rage with him and our gang for decades. But it wasn’t until after he emerged from his dark times that our working friendship truly blossomed. You see, Jeff had a way of frustrating skateboard shapers, manufacturers, professors and the like. “He’s too demanding,” or “He can’t be satisfied,” they’d say. I, on the other hand, never found him frustrating. I not only understood what he wanted but also why he wanted it that way. He liked that we could work on his shape in my garage, free from the red tape of whoever his sponsor was at the time. I’m sure a few brand managers weren’t pleased seeing him riding decks that obviously weren’t theirs at key contests and photo shoots. But when it came to equipment, compromise was not an option for him. He loved skateboarding too much for that. Jeff truly appreciated every deck I made him, even the unsuccessful ones. “Chuck loved this board,” he’d say. I’m proud to say our little skateboarding rants while we worked on decks were one of the sparks of inspiration for the Love Letters. But the man I’m truly going to miss is the one who I’d find picking lemons from our tree at random hours for his then-pregnant wife who had a craving for “Chuck lemons,” the friend who let me produce several unpaid guest models for my small brand Deckcrafters because he knew my family needed the money, the chain-smoking comedian poet laureate who made my cheeks and sides hurt from laughing and most of all the joyous devoted father sharing his love of skateboarding and life with his son Oliver.

Frigid lien. St. Louis, 1987

The Turf, no eyebrows. Late '80s

The saying “Don’t meet your heroes” can sometimes ring true, but that wasn’t the case when I first encountered Jeff Grosso as a kid at the Turf skatepark. The dude was literally exuding colors I’ve never seen before. There he was, that dude in the videos who did the sickest backside airs and inverts. I couldn’t believe it! I’m pretty sure I asked him about his setup and he kindly obliged me, laughed and rolled into the clover bowl. I met Jeff again in Huntington Beach in the mid-90s. One time he rolled up to the HB park and I was so hyped ’cause I’d just made 80 bucks slanging shit. Once he figured out I had gotten there first and raked in the cash he was bummed. It was a stark contrast in greetings. I felt bad and bought a used shirt off him. I wondered what the future held for one of my favorite skateboarders. Fast forward a couple decades and I’m sitting shotgun in his beloved German automobile driving home from a sesh on top of the world. I would laugh and think to myself, How do I even still know this mutant? I still couldn’t believe it. His dark times were well behind him at this point. He was a survivor and he credited that to his obsession of riding a skateboard over all the other crap—plain and simple. If you think about it, his tattered 50-year-old torso doing inverts the same way he did as a kid defied logic and science, so it had to be some sort of magic spell. He had it and he contributed that magic to skateboarding up until his last second on the planet. Jeff was my hero. He always was, but even more so these past years watching him be a dad. Of course I never told him that. I kinda wish I did, but I’m glad I can tell his son Oliver that here and now.

Misha dropping Jeff and Ben Schroeder off at LAX for their 1990 Euro invasion



I can speak about Jeff’s skating throughout the ’80s. We used to skate together a lot. He used to go to the Mountain Manor frequently. He did a frontside ollie to tail one time, one day, but I don’t think he ever did them anywhere else. It was weird. It was like the early ’80s, maybe 1983. Jeff had great backside airs and he lived for handplants. Watch footage of him and you’ll see.

Planting in Oz, 1988

Front rock the hip. Pipeline,1988
Slalom champs. Virginia Beach, 1990



I started skating with Jeff a lot at Pipeline skatepark, then Phil’s ramp in Arcadia, then the big vert ramp we built in Ontario by the airport. Don’t forget we lived together during the Santa Cruz video days and his Speed Freaks clip, “Mom, check out my new style, my new fashion,” is classic Grosso. We loved him like a little brother and I was tasked with “keeping an eye on him.” Those days were so special. Looking back now, the video moments are just so awesome in today’s world. In the 1990s he lived with Kelly Belmar and we rode the pool together a lot. We had the sickest sessions before they built the Vans Orange skatepark and the new Combi. Then we had all the years there and getting to travel together to ride the other Vans skateparks and Bondi in Australia, NYC Chelsea pier park and all the other places we visited. Jeff was instrumental in getting me there, hyping up the Vans office to believe in the old-guy crew, Jeff was like that—he wanted to include everybody. He wanted everyone to have fun, skate and have a good time. I’m still reeling from not being able to talk to Jeff on our late-night calls about all things. I’m gonna miss his smile and those ginger freckles. I’m gonna miss those crowd flip-offs with his fuck-you attitude and take-it-or-leave-it style. I keep picturing you flipping us all off to say bye. I’m gonna miss you, my friend. My prayers go out to the Grosso family.

Lien at Chino, 1990

Grosso was my favorite human! I’m lucky to have many years of Grosso memories from different stages of our lives—the first time he smoked pot, the time he shaved his eyebrows, nights sleeping under the BMX announcer stand at Del Mar, grazing bell peppers at the market because Variflex left us hanging again, flying home from Joey Lopes’ house and hearing about Dave Vanderspek, losing Robison and much more than I can put in this article. For me, there’s a couple things that stand out—in 2010 I told him about a knee surgery I had gotten and he realized something serious was wrong. In 2014, after I was diagnosed with Complex Regional Pain Syndrome and my legs failed from a spine injury, Jeff raised the money for my insurance and the surgery that eventually got me walking again. But the main memory that impacts me is how happy he was to have Oliver and how much his son fulfilled his life. Jeff was a great dad and a great friend and I’ll miss him every day.

I shot this photo at John and Heathyr Lucero’s wedding at The Balboa Fun Zone in Newport Beach, CA, on Oct 14, 1990. At the bachelor party the night before, Grosso busted his chin wide open. We had a blast. Heathyr wasn’t too thrilled to have the best man in their wedding photos sporting a banged-up chin though.

Frontside sad. Kennedy warehouse, 1991


Look back with Lizzie at Grosso's Label Kills part


Jeff Grosso loved skateboarding so much. For years he wrote Love Letters to the rolling toy. It’s some of the best video stuff online. He was a freak for the authentic and a freak for stories, with many of his own to add. He was a huge winning pioneer in his own generation and also an avid punk rocker/daredevil type who meant what he said and vice versa. I got to be his friend and teammate and even got in trouble with him a few times. We also shared years of fun. He could be very dramatic and passionate about whatever he was into. He was a mammoth rider at all times—full blast, never booking back, always forward. We traveled to rad skate spots all over the world and I also have great memories of being in Jokers skateshop, signing boards for Lucero’s Emergency skateboards. Those two were like real brothers. Hang in there, John. Lots of people were affected by Grosso’s “Get out there and skate,” motivation. His passing hit hard to all who knew him and those who didn’t but felt like they did because of how much he gave and added to the culture of skateboarding. RIP, JG. Off to heaven now, Jeff, to skate perfect pipes and pools with a bunch of homies already there, shredding away on fresh ’crete for ya’. We’ll all sadly miss him and his ruling FU-dude ’tude.


First 540 on his 31st birthday. Vans park, 1999

I wish everybody had a friend like Jeff—somebody who was there no matter what, no questions asked, at any time, someone you could talk to and trust, someone who you knew loved you no matter how fucked up you were at the time, someone you would give your life for and knew for a fact he would do the same. Should I tell you about personal stuff like when I had a breakdown after my second failed marriage and cut myself up and Jeff came and cleaned up the blood and took care of my son until I got out of the hospital? Jeffrey Blaine had a lot of friends. I only have a couple and he was definitely the best one—the only person in my life who was 100 percent there for me and he knew I was 100 percent there for him.

Roast beef at Kelly Belmar’s, 2007

Watching him put a board together was a treat. It started by putting on and tearing off the griptape and stickers several times ’til perfection was reached. Match the riser pads with the trucks—front truck in the front, back truck in the back, the rails strategically placed on the board then adjusted with great care and at the end of all this madness, which probably took four hours, he looked at it for a bit then swapped out another sticker, wrote “WHY?” in Sharpie on the side of his rail, smacked the grip and—done. I made some remark like, “That was quick.” He turned to me in all seriousness and replied, “Yeah, the last one took three days.” I was stoked to be his teammate, but I was honored to be his friend. I love and miss you, Grosso.



One time we were in Spain skating this brick transition spot. I made a trick and raised my arms into the air with stoke. Ahhh! Yeah, I made it! I looked at Grosso for his hype and he looked at me disapprovingly and said, “That’s illegal, man. Don’t put your arms in the air. Don’t self stoke.” But I couldn’t help my emotions. I was happy I did it. I thought to myself, He must be grumpy. We haven’t eaten yet. The day goes on, time for dinner. The Spaniards brought us to this place to feast like kings where we were wined and dined with plate after plate of different meats—full-on Renaissance shit. Grosso pulled a plate in front of himself, what looked like 60 pounds of meat, and he devoured the whole damn thing. I’ve never seen a man so happy in my life. We were walking back to the hotel, full of joy, full tummies, fully wined up and feeling really good. We came across this street spot—a hubba ledge to some, a boardslide to Grosso. This ledge must’ve been 100 feet long. It was insane! To our disbelief he decided to try it. We were all in awe. He was getting close to making it! I mean, are you serious? The man just ate his weight in meat and he’s gonna make this damn thing! But then he snapped his tail off. We thought it was done, but nope! He wanted it. He turned his board around backwards and with no tail boardslides the whole damn ledge and makes it! What does he do when he lands? With the biggest smile on his face he throws his hands up with all his glory and might. He was stoked! I looked at him and said, “What?! I thought you said that was illegal? No self stoke!” He laughed at me and said, “Yeah, but that was different, Darren!”
     God I love you, Grosso. You were right. It was different. It was you.


The Goo! 2012

Jeff always made an impression; he was always funny. And I have such reverence for the Whittier crew in general and he was one of the main players there. So him, Lucero, Lance, Neil Blender, Hagop—those guys were all some of my favorite people and just always really fun and creative. I don’t think people really knew how talented he was, especially when playing the hits, like doing handplants, Madonnas, footplants and stuff like that. He never lost a beat. Even when he was out of shape he was still killing those tricks. And I was reminded recently, he used to do McTwists! Then later, with announcing the Combi contests and with the Love Letters, he became the voice of constructive criticism/searing commentary. You tuned in ’cause he was like the Howard Stern of skate commentary. I don’t even remember who won the event—I just remember Jeff’s commentary!


Some of my favorite memories of Jeff are from when we were in Brazil together. Man, it was so funny to watch him play the crowd. He would take a run and then hold his board up, rub his belly and it was almost as if he won the Olympics or something! The crowd would eat it up—they’d cheer and go nuts. He would bow. He’d ham it up way more than he knew he could get away with in America. He knew the skaters in Brazil were sincerely hyped on what he was doing.


Sweeper at Ramona, 2008

Dive-bomb Indy, 2009

So, Grosso wasn’t the type of guy who was going to be like, “Hey, do you want to try my skateboard?” In fact, he was the complete opposite. On one particular skate trip with some of the younger generation, we ended the day at a restaurant with a big dinner and continued on with some drinks. One of the younger dudes was gettin’ antsy, so he went out to the parking lot to skate a curb. Looking through the back of the van, he spotted the perfect board for a boardslide on a crusty curb—a brand new Jeff Grosso with fresh rails. Now, Jeff put so much love and time into setting up each of his boards. I mean, he seriously loved his skateboard. He’d send me photos of his new setups and call them “board porn.” So this brand new Grosso setup is being shredded in the parking lot—boardslides are gettin’ done, slappies, riding through chunky asphalt, it got shredded. When we got out to the van and Jeff saw his board, you could see him deflate—just pure disappointment. The youngster was reprimanded by the crew and everything was fine. After a little pep talk, Jeff shook it off and had a new whip by the end of the night to stall sadplants into the fifth dimension. I love you, Jeffrey.


Memorabilia from simpler times with Tristan Rennie
Brighton gets an earful while Oliver scores a deep-end high five at Rusty’s

Second place! 2006

I was 18 the first time I met Jeff. We were put in a hotel room together for a week at a Vans contest in Australia. I thought he was really intimidating and couldn’t imagine him liking me. When I got to the room, he introduced himself, we shook hands and then I left. I purposely avoided spending a lot of time in the room. One night he asked if I wanted to watch a pay-per-view movie. I said, “Yeah,” and after scrolling for a while he eventually landed on Twilight: New Moon. When asked, I think I gave approval, but I just wanted to see where this was going. He pressed the buy button and we watched it and ate chocolates from the hotel minibar. That’s when I realized I didn’t need to be afraid of him thinking I wasn’t cool.
     Jeff and I skated and traveled together for years and became close friends. He became a mentor to me and I know he did the same for many others. I don’t even know how it’s possible to spend so much time checking in with people, helping them with their problems, talking skateboarding, laughing, talking shit and generally just being there for other people. I love you, Jeff, and will miss you forever.
The "Grosso Vert Ramp," 2018

We always have sales meetings where all the salesman from North America come in and people give speeches. So on this panel we’re gonna have TA, we’re gonna have Joel Tudor from surfing, Geoff Rowley, my father, who none of them had really ever seen before, myself and Jeff. Now I don’t want to be following Jeff ’cause you know it’s gonna be very uplifting. So I call up my friend who’s a football coach for 35 years and I said, “Hey, Coach, I gotta get a marching band.” He puts me in touch with the band director and the next thing you know we’ve got 100 band members all in their uniforms, tubas—you know how they do the dance and everything, and I got my shoe car and it’s behind the gate. I push the gate and it goes up and I come into the big conference room where there’s 300 people. So I got that ready for Grosso, because he’s gonna finish and I gotta follow up. So Jeff gets up there—his speech—you just have to see it, because you would love it. It was Jeff just talking about the toy skateboard, talking about the love for it. And my dad’s in the front row and since that speech my dad loved Jeff Grosso. He never knew him before. Jeff says, “I would let a fucking truck run over me for the Van Dorens!” The place is going wild. Now I gotta take over. Thank God I have 100 strong behind me to come out into the room with a band and stuff. His speech was just unbelievable. He ends it with, “Ladies, I’m single, so if you want something I’m right here.” I look over and may dad is just loving it.

Stiffy on the road, 2013

Back surgery, 2018

Great minds think alike, 2013

Having Jeff ride for Antihero was an honor. It was around ten-11 years ago when I got a text from Pete that just said, “What do you think of Grosso?” It was out of left field but the more I thought about it the more intriguing the idea became. Jeff Grosso wants to ride for Antihero? I had met Jeff sporadically over the years. The first time I was around 17. He came by the old High Speed HQ on the shipyard. All I really remember was he was wearing a tie-dyed Grateful Dead shirt and I was deeply confused. We passed each other at different events after that and we definitely drank some Captain Morgans at the Hell House in SJ one night. But the next time I really thought about him was while reading his Big Brother interview. I was straight up blown away by his candidness and lack of ego. He came across with a humility and thoughtfulness I think I was starved for at the time, while also talking a healthy dose of shit. Skip forward 20 years… I just loved the guy. We all felt good around him. Even at his crabbiest, laid out in the van with a rotten tooth or 220 pounds of freckled gravity in a tent on a dry riverbed, it was almost a pose. He couldn’t help but laugh at everything and his laughter traveled. He always saw the humor and loved the absurd. Maybe I’m an asshole but I loved watching him suffer through the raw minimalist road trips we went on. It was sorta my gift to him for all he gave to skating. I’m pretty sure that’s why he wanted to ride for AH anyway, to see if he could hang. And he did. He also fucking ripped! When the chips were down, Jeff stepped up. His skater’s heart demanded him to find unique lines and do things he’d never done at places he’d never been. There’s no telling what skating lost with his passing. I know the encyclopedia of his love for skating was nowhere near Z. Will someone else pick up the mantle? Who else can sit next to anyone from old Olson to young Olson like him? He took the story, the obscure happenstance wormwood of skateboarding and elevated it from shop talk to dissertation. You know the Love Letters will make their way into a college curriculum somewhere. I can’t wrap this up. There’s no nugget of insight, no word gem that’s gonna make me and you feel better. Death sucks. Life is short. But the times we share with our friends are irrevocable. Jeff was a great storyteller, our story teller. Believe in yourself and believe in skateboarding. This shit is special as fuck.

BSO at Omar's, 2014

"Love Letters" Crew—Charno, Jeff and Buddy

“Skateboarding is the best because it has no rules—but there are fucking rules.” Grosso used to say contradictory shit like that all the time. He was totally capable of having two competing ideas rattling around in his brain at the same time. It doesn’t mean he was totally full of shit—it means that he was open to different ideas. He was a work in progress. He loved skateboarding so much that he wanted to keep it small and punk, the way it was in his youth, but he also wanted everyone to have the chance to experience the fun of riding a skateboard and being a skateboarder. He wanted everyone to skate however they wanted, but he cared deeply that anyone who was part of skateboarding knew about where it came from and how it got to be the way it is. Grosso was concerned and would sometimes lose sleep over the fact that there would come a time when no one would know who skaters like Scott Foss, Jay Smith, Shreddi Repas, Doug Saladino, Chris Strople, Cara-Beth Burnside or hundreds of others are. The Love Letters show was his attempt to slow the inevitable loss of collective knowledge about skateboarding’s history. He loved skateboarding, he loved skateboarders and he wanted as many people as possible to share in his enthusiasm. The Big Man will be missed but his infectious spirit of skate nerdism will live on.




Jeff had a special way of connecting with people and connecting people. He was a good listener and actually cared about what people had to say. He wanted to know people. He made you feel important and connected. He always gave his two cents, and he was so highly opinionated and could deliver his opinions with conviction, but you alway felt the softness of his heart coming through. I don’t know how he had the time for everyone he helped and was friends with. I asked him once and he said, “I don’t sleep!” Late-night calls were common—with everybody! He gave so much to everybody. He had a brain that worked overtime and a heart that pumped 24-7. He was skateboarding’s biggest fan and he was also skateboarding’s biggest superhero. Everybody lost—because he gave himself to everybody in skateboarding. But as much as he loved skateboarding, he loved Oliver tenfold. I’m just so glad he got have that one-last dance party with him. That had to mean everything to him. I’m gonna miss him, forever.


Jeff and Oliver Grosso, forever

Just getting started, Andrecht at the HP ramp in 1984. Skateboarding will miss you forever

Jeff is survived by his mother Rae Williams, son Oliver and his mom Vanessa, sister Kiley McCallum as well as an Aunt, Kay Anderson and three cousins. His father James Grosso passed away in 2013. Jeff Grosso, forever in our hearts.

Photos and artwork: John Lucero, the Grosso Family, Steve Keenan, Chris Ortiz, Bryce Kanights, Eric Nash, Mofo, Kevin Thatcher, Steve Alba, Gabe Morford, Tobin Yelland, Pat Myers, MRZ, Michael Burnett, Joe Hammeke, Rhino, Anthony Acosta, Tim Aguilar, Sean Cronan, Sean Cliver, Neckface, The Disposable Skateboard Bible, Six Stair, Schmitt Stix, Santa Cruz, Powell, Spitfire, Black Label, Vans and Antihero