The Wardrobe’s Best Dressed: Midwest Shreds: Skating Through America’s Heartland by Mandy Shunnarah

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St. Louis, Missouri

SK8 LIBORIUS

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I spotted the spire through a gap in the trees over a block  away and  got
chills. Sk8 Liborius, a  skate park in the former  St.  Liborius cathedral,
which was finished in 1889, cuts a sharp, Gothic image against the gray
sky, heavy with impending rain.
    Cathedrals  aren’t   tiny  structures,  but   Sk8  Liborius  looms  particularly
large. Across the  street, with  my  back up against  the  brick  of the  building
opposite,   I   still  couldn’t   fit  the  entire  facade  of the  church  in  a  single
camera  shot.  Try  as  I  might, the  pictures don’t  do it  justice anyway.  I’ve
seen plenty, however, because Sk8 Liborius  is a  bucket-list skate park.  And
ascending  the  stone  steps through  the tall  double doors,  you immediately
understand  why.  Stripped  of  its  pews,  the  floor  opens  to  an  expanse  of
ramps,  including  a   tall   vertical   ramp  made  possible  by  the  cathedral’s
height. The marble columns hold the buttressed ceiling.
    I  used   to  play   a   game  with  skaters  and   nonskaters  alike  where   I’d
show  them  a  picture  of  the  inside  of  Sk8  Liborius and  ask  them  where
they  thought  it  was. Out  of  the ones  who  didn’t  know  the  place already,
most   said  somewhere  in   Europe  and  some   said  New  York  City.  When
I  announced   it  was  in   St.  Louis, I  knew  their   jaws   would   drop.  They
always did.

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    Though  I  haven’t  been  to  mass  in  nearly  a   decade  and  only went  as
a   child  to  please  my  grandmother,  cathedrals  always  strike  awe  in  me.
The  tall  ceilings,  the  columns,  the  way  the sound  echoes on the tiles, the
baroque paintings of the Stations  of  the  Cross, and, of  course,  the stained-
glass  windows—all  of  it   makes  me  feel  small  and  makes  the world  feel
more expansive.
    That  is  to  say,  Sk8  Liborius   felt   holy  when  I  entered  it  for  the  first
time.  Not  in  a  specifically Catholic  or  even religious  sense  but in the way
that  skating  can  be a  kind of religion. I’ve heard skaters describe it as their
sanctuary  and  their refuge.  A cathedral  is  a monument  to  human artistry
and dedication. They’re not easy  to  build;  it  takes  a  lot  of  time,  years  on
end,  and  a   lot  of  resources  to   bring  a  one  to life, and  then  you have to
work  hard to maintain  it. Skating is  not  altogether  different.  It’s not  easy
to  do, it  takes  years  of  dedicated  practice  to get good at it, and it requires
an investment of time and resources. And  anyone  who’s  ever  built  a  ramp
and  maintained  it  for years  will tell  you  about  the  constant  struggle and
expense.
    Perhaps there’s someone who can  look  upon  Gothic  revival  architecture
and  feel blasé about it, but  that person  isn’t  me. When I walked inside Sk8
Liborius,  my  eyes  traveled  upward  through  the  vert  ramp  to  the  ribbed
vaulting  on the  ceiling,  the   Corinthian   columns,  the   clerestory  with  its
stained-glass  windows,   and  then  back  down   to  the  altar,  which  held  a
speaker  blasting rock music. Between  the  strumming  of an  electric guitar,
itself  another kind of shredding, birdsong   echoed  through   the   cavernous
room.  The cathedral’s  broken  windows invited  birds  in, and Sk8 Liborius,



like  an  airport or a  Walmart Supercenter, is also a large birdhouse. Though
their  nests,  situated past the dangling construction lights,  were too high  to
spot,  I  could guess where  their nests  were, based on  the  splatters of dried
bird poop on the ramps.
    The  poop  doesn’t   take  away   from  Sk8   Liborius’s   beauty,  though—it
only  adds  to  it. Skaters have   always   had  a  gritty,   DIY  ethos. As  a  rule,
skate  parks  are  expensive  to   build  and  maintain,  and   that’s   especially
true  for   one  that’s housed  in   a  building  that’s  over a century old and on
the  National  Register of  Historic  Places. When  St.  Liborius   was  built  in
the   late  nineteenth  century,  the Dakotas,  Montana,   Washington,  Idaho,
Wyoming,   Utah, Oklahoma,   New   Mexico,  Arizona,  Alaska,  and   Hawaii
weren’t states yet.
    Slappy   Sinclair,   a  skateboarder who’s  been  shredding  the  streets  and
ramps  of   St.  Louis   fo r thirty  years,  put  it   another  way:  “They   started
building   the   church  before Abraham  Lincoln was  born  and didn’t  finish
until after he was assassinated.”
    Sk8  Liborius   looks  like  it’s  still   under    renovation   because   it  is.  To
maintain  a   skate   park  that’s   not  made  of concrete   is to   constantly   be
renovating,  fixing, patching. Tools lay off   to the  side,  and  wooden  boards
and  bricks  wait  in the  wings. More than anything,  Sk8 Liborius is  a  labor
of love. The near  homonyms of  “Liborius”  and  “laborious”  did  not  fail  to
reach my ears.
    This    labor  of  love  continues under    the   twenty-five-thousand-square-
foot  skate  park. In  the basement is   the  Liborius   Urban   Arts   Studios,  a
makerspace and community arts center. It’s through  this nonprofit arm that
Sk8   Liborius gives  back  to the  community.  As  the   organizers   observed,
“Skating   is  an activity that speaks across social, racial, and economic  lines.
You  might  come from a  broken home, be poor  and  only   own  one pair  of
shoes,  but  you can be the  coolest  kid  in the  skate  park because you put in
the hard work and practice.”  

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