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

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Detroit, Michigan

SKATER HOUSES

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Detroit  is  a   city  made  for  skaters.  It   is  the  home  of   the   RollerCade,
the   oldest  Black-owned   roller  rink  in  the  country,   which   has   been
operated by the same family since 1955. It’s also the home of Detroit-style
skating,   a   synchronized   couples  skate.  It’s  a  city  that  was  made  by   and   for
those who roll. And that’s without even mentioning cars.
    The   city’s     skate   scene   can   be    depicted,   too,     without    harping   on   its
infrastructure.   Much   has     been   written     about     the    Motor   City’s     empty
buildings,    with    laments   for   the   city    often   manifesting    as    poverty   porn
or   like   a   script   for   an   apocalyptic   movie.   Too   many   hipsters   have   gone
with camera   in   hand   in   search   of  beauty  in   the   destruction   in   the   name
of   creating    art   that    so    depersonalizes    the     destruction   from   the  people
whose  lives   are  most   affected   by   it.    But   there   is    much   more   to  Detroit
than    this.   In   terms    of   street   skating,   empty   buildings  and   unmonitored,
unguarded    private   property     are    the   stuff    of   dreams,   and   skaters   here,
like   skaters   anywhere,    make   use   of    what   they   have.  I   myself   was   born
in   a   city   of   broken   concrete,   jagged,   bent   handrails,   unmown   grass,  and
abandoned     factories   whose   tenants    had   moved   overseas,    leaving   behind
husks   of   buildings,   empty  and   wanting.   My   dad  worked  at  a  steel  mill for
thirty-two   years   until   the   day   its   doors   permanently   closed,   and  I  refuse

to  pretend  there’s  a  silver  lining   in   deindustrialization  and  the  poverty  that
comes with it.
    All this is to say, I went to Detroit in search of new stories.
    I    drove   miles   of   winding    roads   past   glittering  lakes   to  arrive   at   Dan
Mancina’s    house.   His   five-month-old    Newfoundland     puppy    greeted    me
with a howl and bounded to a hole he’d exuberantly been digging.
    “Not   much   of    a    seeing-eye dog,”   Dan    joked   as    he   pushed   dirt   back
into the hole and tamped it down.


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    “I   didn’t   even   skate   at   that   point,”   he   said.  “I was   over  skateboarding.
I   was   over   the   whole  scene.  LA  was  way   different  than  the  Midwest skate
scene,   and  I   wasn’t   really  feeling  it.  It  was  just not what  I thought  it  would
be. It was super cliquey.”
    That,   combined    with   his   deteriorating    vision,   made  him  think  he   was
done   with    skateboarding   for   good.   There   was  a two-year  period where  he
had no drive to skate at all. It was a dark, depressing time.
    There’s    something   about     skating  that’s    almost   encoded   into     skaters’
DNA.  If   you  have  the   inclination   to   skate, you  won’t  be able to  stay   away
from  it.  There’s  an   instinctual  pull   that  won’t  let  you   avoid  the  adrenaline
rush of wheels under your feet for too long.
    “I’m  way   happier   and I’m   a better   person    when   I’m on   my  board,”   he
said.
    When  Dan   picked   up   a    skateboard   again,   he   was     more     determined
than ever. He   started   making   a  series   of   videos   to   challenge   the   public’s
assumptions     about   what   blind   people  are  capable of, and he started filming
himself skateboarding. The videos took off on Instagram.
    “It   was   weird    having   people   call   me   inspirational   at first.   It’s   still   a
little   weird,”   Dan said, chuckling. “I’m   just   a   skater. I don’t   see   myself   as



inspirational,   but   it   feels   good  to   know people enjoy   watching my  skating.
And  the  bonus is  that  people   are   inspired  by  it,  especially   those   who   are
visually   impaired   or  just   found  out  they’re  going   blind.  It’s   cool   to   hear
from them.”
    Dan   is    still   primarily   a   street   skater    and    will   skate    any   accessible
place,  especially  if  there’s  a  good  ledge,  round bar, or   flat   rail.   He    enjoys
going   around   and   finding  new  spots,   though   he   doesn’t   often  find  them
at skate  parks because   accessibility  is  almost   always   left  out  of   the   design
process.
    When   Dan   goes to a skate   park,  he    has  a   process   of  walking  the   park
to   figure   out what   he can   skate.  More  often than not, the obstacles   are  too
small.   Because   Dan   skateboards   with   his white   cane, he has to  be  able  to
locate the obstacle   and get a  sense  of its   height   and   length   before   he   can
skate it.

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