CLU
The Story of CLU: A Skateboard Outreach That Came Full Circle
The Beginning: Just a Skateboarder with a Vision
I bought my first skateboard, a Powell Peralta Mike McGill pro model, with paper route money as a kid, and from that day on, it was a part of who I was. It wasnβt just something to do; it was how I spent my time, how I connected with friends, and how I pushed myself to get better at something that had no shortcuts. By the time I finished high school, my life had taken another turn. I was spending more time in church, thinking about what I could build that would have a lasting impact. I wanted to do something for other skateboarders, but I had no idea where to start.
I tried running local meetups, even printing out flyers and posting them in skate shops. One guy showed up. It was awkward. I knew there had to be a better way, but I didnβt know what that looked like yet.
Then I read an article about Skate Church in Portland. It sounded like exactly what I was trying to do. I had no contacts and no plan, just a phone number. I made the call, got directions, and drove four hours to Portland to see it for myself.
When I got there, I met the founder. He told me how they built the program and why it worked. And then he said something simple: βYou could do this too.β
That was enough for me.
I went home and got to work. I pitched the idea to several churches, hoping for a partner, a space, anything at all. They were polite but uninterested. It was discouraging, but I wasnβt about to give up.
Then out of nowhere, I got a phone call from an ex-pro football player who worked at Campus Life β YFC. He wasnβt a fan of skateboarders. Honestly, he wasnβt a fan of me. But something had changed.
βKen, something terrible has happened. My junior high club has been taken over by skateboarders.β
I didnβt know whether to laugh or be offended. He went on: βI dunno, I guess you can skate in the parking lot or whatever. Just take over.β
I asked if one of the churches Iβd spoken to had told him what I was trying to do. He said no. He hadnβt heard a thing about it.
Building CLU: Challenges and Growth
This was the first real opportunity to get things off the ground. We started building ramps in the parking lot and meeting every week. The kids kept coming back, and before long, we had something real.
Then winter hit. We didnβt have an indoor space or the money to rent one. I wasnβt sure what was going to happen next.
We built ramps with donated lumber, set up a discussion area, and made it a place where kids could skate, hang out, and hear about something bigger than themselves. But just as things were coming together, the city got involved. A few property owners complained about noise. The zoning laws werenβt in our favor.
I had never spoken at a city council meeting before, but I was about to learn fast. I stood in front of the council with a room full of kids and parents backing me up, making the case for why we should be able to stay. Seeing so many kids and parents show up to support us was incredible. It was the first glimpse I had that this thing was impactful beyond just having a place to skate. It didnβt matter. The vote went against us. We had to shut down.
That was the first time I had to fight for something I had built. It wouldnβt be the last. At the same time, I started to notice how many people were quick to point out what I was doing wrong or what I should have been doing differently. It was my first real lesson in leadership: when you build something, critics will always show up to analyze every move you make. And the truth is, sometimes they were right. There was plenty I could have done better. But I was doing the best I could with what I knew at the time.
We kept moving forward. Summers in church parking lots. Winters in any vacant warehouse we could get into. Over the years, I got used to picking up the phone, negotiating, making things work with no guarantees. The program kept growing.
I built ramps for every location we had, some as large as 10,000 square feet. I ran fundraisers. I spoke at events with crowds of 1,000+ people. That was something I never expected. I started this as a quiet, introverted guy. Now I was leading weekly groups of 15-50 kids, figuring out how to keep this thing alive season after season.
CLU ran for nearly 18 years. I saw kids come through the program, grow up, and move on. Some of them reached out years later, telling me how much it meant to them. A few of them are still my friends today. Watching them become adults and knowing that CLU played a part in their story is one of the things Iβm most proud of.
A Lasting Impact
Years after CLU had ended, something happened that made me incredibly proud. One of the kids who had been part of the program, Adam, told me he wanted to start his own skateboard outreach. Like me, he had also gone to Skate Church in Portland and was inspired by what they were doing. He launched Faceplant Ministries, taking what he had learned from both CLU and Skate Church, and building something new for the next generation of skateboarders. When he asked me to serve as a board member, it was proof that what we had built was still alive. It had carried on in a new form, continuing to impact skateboarders beyond what I could have imagined.
Looking back, I see what CLU really was. It wasnβt just a skate program. It was a lesson in building something from nothing, in pushing forward when things got hard, in leading when I never thought I could.
CLU taught me how to build and how to fight for what mattered. It forever changed who I am. And in the end, it gave other skateboarders a place to belong and something bigger to be part of. Thatβs what I set out to do.
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