Denison King

Mark Labriola was the king of Denison Elementary School. He had neither official title nor explicit special privileges on campus, but everyone, including teachers, granted Mark the status of a monarch.

Physically, Mark had wavy long black hair, bright green eyes and a toothy smile. Girls talked openly about Mark being the cutest boy in school and gushed whenever he paid them any attention. My house was just down the block from the Labriola's and even this geographic association elevated my status among the Mr. Schilling's fifth grade class.

Mark was the biggest boy in school. He had long skinny legs, which he hid by constantly wearing jeans, even in summer. His upper body, however, was developed to the point where one could actually discern individual muscle groups; a rarity among the pre-pubescent males at Denison. There were whispers on the playground that Mark had to repeat one (or more!) grades in school and that he was big because he really should have been in junior high. For most of the boys, his true age really didn't matter. In fact, the rumor added to the legend of our king. Besides, the fear of being ostracized from our peers and/or physical harm eliminated any attempts to openly confirm the rumor.

Personally, I think Mark's arm strength came from working on his brother's motorcycles. He would spend large parts of his free time helping fix, tune or upgrade the three bikes that occupied the entire garage.

In addition to his good looks, Mark was popular. He was friendly to everyone and never used his status to bully. At lunch, he would hold court in the field beyond the playground, re-telling dirty jokes he had heard from his brother. We all laughed out loud, even though we didn't know enough about sex to understand the punch lines.

Mark was also willing to help repair and personalize the only possession that seemed to matter in those days�your bicycle. Our neighborhood was about a mile from school; too close for school bus service and too far for us to walk. We rode. We rode everywhere. We biked to school and to the park and swimming pool in the summer. The brand of choice was Schwinn. We each had the same model, but Mark knew all the tricks to make the bike our own. He could bend handlebars, change the seat or paint the rims.

After school our pelaton would form and follow Mark along Evans Avenue, practicing "wheelies" and using the front tire to hit rocks across the street. On weekends, the fifth grade posse would reform and pedal back to school for informal football games or to the 7-11 to play the "Pinball Wizard" arcade game.

While we looked up to Mark, he followed his hero - Evel Knievel. Knievel was the pop culture icon of the 1970's. He had long blond hair, wore trademark red, white and blue jumpsuits and displayed an outward fearlessness of death. His motorcycle stunts were a fixture on ABC's "Wide World of Sports". My first memory of Knievel was watching a highlight of his disastrous attempt to jump his cycle over the fountains at Caesar's Palace in Las Vegas.

Mark, of course, knew Knievel like a family member. He could recount each of his jumps and would, without prompt, give a verbal biography of the daredevil. Mark loved to imitate Evel by riding "wheelies" the entire block and then use the edge of the street gutter to lift his bicycle over the sidewalk. He had a ramp made of plywood and spare tires on the side of his house, and we would take turns laying adjacent to the ramp while he soared over us.

Mark's bike was made for flight. The tires were under-inflated to better absorb impact, and the seat was pushed all the way down to eliminate painful landings.

The similarities between Mark and his hero did not end with their two wheeled antics. As Knievel progressed from jumping over shark infested tanks to Greyhound buses, Mark moved from jumping over fifth graders to automobiles. The afternoon after Knievel had injured his leg jumping over 14 Greyhound buses and announced to the arena audience that, "I walked in, I'll walk out" Mark decided to jump his bike over his father's Ford Bronco.

Initially, we didn't give his idea much attention. However, after watching him assemble a ramp of six tires and an eight foot length of plywood in front of the parked vehicle, we became willing accomplices in the attempt.

Just like his idol, Mark pedaled to the top of the ramp, checking for alignment, wind speed and direction and to scout out a landing area beyond the truck, in his front lawn. We busied ourselves with activities designed to deflect adult attention from the end of the block.

Finally, when Mark announced he was ready, we took our places. Jimmy Chesley positioned himself near the end of the street, as a lookout for oncoming cars. Greg Kowalski and I steadied the ramp by holding it with one hand and the stack of tires with the other. Scott Salley and Bobby Betzer waited at the end of the Labriola's property, ready to act as a human safety net should Mark miss the landing.

Mark began his final approach by backing up into the Webb's driveway. The Webb's house was two doors down and catty-corner to the Bronco parked in the street. The driveway was slightly inclined and provided some initial speed to the ramp. I winced as Mark furiously pumped his legs and accelerated toward us. I was full of voyeuristic excitement, but was scared. I held tight to the ramp, but imagined only a hospital visit for Mark and a long term grounding for me.

I could hear Greg take a deep breath, and I secretly hoped that Mark would abort this madness. NOT OUR KING! My eyes were shut as I felt him hit the ramp and opened my eyes to see him soaring over the Bronco. Once he cleared the vehicle, Mark deftly pulled the handlebars back and sat back on the pedals, preparing to land. His back wheel hit the ground ten feet beyond the car, and as he set the front wheel down let out a loud, "SHIT YA!"

He turned his bike and proceeded to ride a wheelie down the street. The five of us who witnessed the stunt erupted in shouts and raced down the street behind him. The Gerken's were the first adults to respond to our praise, followed by Mrs. Salley and Mark's mother. They initially did not believe it, but after seeing the ramp and listening to our continued exuberance, they knew it must be true. We prepared for the worst. Surely, someone was in trouble. However, Mark's mother simply shook her head and returned inside. The coronation of our king was complete when Mrs. Salley, the strictest parent on the block said, "Well, if anyone would try that, Mark would," and continued down the street to prepare dinner. At that moment in my young life, I wanted nothing else but to be Mark Labriola!

The school year began the following week and the talk around school was all about "The Jump". Mark Labriola was now the personification of Knievel, going so far as to show up the first day of school walking with a limp and using a cane. Mark's successful flight had now been re-told and exaggerated so many times that at one point, I had to remind myself that no, he did not land in his backyard!

Several potential heirs to Mark's throne talked of similar jumps, but backed out when the reality of the stunt hit them. The crown was too heavy a burden for anyone but Mark to bear!

A month later, in September of 1974, Evel Knievel would attempt his most daring jump. He planned to cross the Snake River Canyon in Idaho riding his newly constructed "Skycycle". The event attracted so much media attention that it would not be shown live, rather on tape delay on "Wide World of Sports". Mark announced that he, too, would attempt his most daring jump - a leap over Sanders Gulch!

Sanders Gulch is a narrow strip of land that stretches eastward from Sheridan to Federal Blvd in southwest Denver. It lies at the bottom of the two long hills and serves as a natural drainage basin between Jewell and Florida Ave. Tall stands of cottonwood tress line the steep banks of a gulch. The area to either side of the water had been developed as a green belt, complete with a winding bike path and an occasional picnic table. Water flowing into the gulch eventually empties into the South Platte River at Ruby Hill.

Most times you could jump across the water without much effort. However, in the spring, or after a big storm, the water would crest its banks and would easily reach a depth of four feet. A bridge had been constructed at the bottom of Raleigh Street, and Mark had chosen a flat area just west of the bridge for his attempt.

It was agreed, at school, that secrecy was the key to a successful jump. We were certain that the leniency we had been granted before would not be extended to us this time. However, Mark had planned his effort for the same Saturday as Knievel's Snake River launch. That meant a whole week of school would pass before the event and the anticipation of the jump was more than our tiny school could contain. No one talked openly about Saturday to their parents, but the web of lies told in order to witness Mark's heroics, in the end, was its undoing.

The jump was scheduled for "lunch". That meant we had to secretly move and assemble the ramp that morning. The problems began early, by ten o'clock as we moved down the hill, spare tires and plywood in tow, we noticed ten to fifteen students already jockeying for coveted viewing spots on the bridge.

We chased them out and told them to return at noon. We quickly hid the ramp in the weeds and returned home to "be seen around" our houses and check on the preparation of the king.

Noon came and by the time we reach the staging area to assemble the ramp, the bridge and adjacent banks were lined with kids. It seemed as if the entire student body of Denison had arrived! The crowd erupted in cheers as Mark rode down on his bike. He looked positively regal in white boots and a blue sweat suit with red stripes. He acknowledged the crowd with a wave and began his inspection of the ramp and landing site.

Alas, that's as close to the actual jump as he came. Just as we positioned ourselves for the historic moment, a car came racing down Raleigh, horn blaring. Mark's mother had been alerted by a neighbor and skidded to a stop, blocking Mark's path to the ramp. Panic struck and the congregation scattered like flies. Greg and I threw the plywood down the bank, into the water, grabbed our bikes and took off east, down the path, away from any possible identification.

As it turned out, Mark Labriola's and Evel Knievel's lives were more parallel that we could ever have imagined. Evel also failed in his attempt at the Snake River Canyon. His "Skycycle" was really a rocket with wheels, but a mechanical failure prevented him from reaching the other side, and in fact, he almost drowned in the Snake River. By 1976, Knievel's novelty had worn off. He crashed on live television and faded from public attention. He later became addicted to pain killers and after several failed marriages passed the reins of legacy on to his son, Robbie.

The Bronco jump would turn out to be the height of Mark's popularity as well. We were told that any more attempts to jump over objects on our bikes would necessitate police involvement. Scared of jail, we distanced ourselves from Mark and gave other sports, mostly soccer, our attention.

Mark turned out to be a better stuntman than student. He was suspended several times in junior high, mostly for smoking pot, and by the time he reached high school, was rarely seen outside. His parents sent him to Mullen, a private Christian school, in the hopes of correcting his ways. Those efforts failed when he got his homecoming date pregnant and dropped out of school.

We would occasionally see him pushing a stroller around the lake at Harvey Park, but completely lost track of him when he moved out of his parent's house. I did see him many years later. I was in college and he was questioned by a television news investigator about his involvement into a pit bull fighting sting.

Mark will still remain my childhood king and seeing him fly over that Bronco is still one of the most incredible sights I have ever witnessed. But, it's a bit sad to think that Mark's greatest days were spent in grade school.