Kevin was the first co-ordinator of SkidFest and he is a recent SkidFest on MySpace friend. I found this message to be a great read:

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I had to create a MySpace account for the sole purpose of giving a true account of how Skid Fest came into being.

My name is Kevin Francis. I lived at 32 1/2 S. College Avenue (Skid Row) from 1988 - 1990, when I (eventually) graduated (I was on the six-year plan). I lived in the "front room" by the porch.

Back then, Skid Row was painted, in the words of American Graffiti's Bob Falfa (Harrison Ford) "piss yellow and puke green" with flimsy railings and wooden fire escapes in the back. On warm days, we would blow off classes and lay on the roof while drinking 40 oz. bottles of King Cobra Malt Liquor or partake of some otherwise illegal substances - often both - and work on our tans.

In the Fall semester of 1989, a striking blonde girl named Susie, who lived in the upstairs end unit, and I were talking on the porch about how no one on The Row really knew each other. Back then, Wilbur Street used to have its annual mind-crushing Wilburfest parties every Spring. Skid Row and the denizens of Wilbur Street were close friends, along with the people who lived in The Horseshoe. We would all attend each others' parties and help out when needed. On that day, Susie and I decided that we should throw a big party for the people on Skid Row. It was November at the time, so we decided to do it the following semester. Unfortunately, Susie left that Winter but never came back. Fortunately, the idea remained. I talked to my roommates - Ed Collins, Tracy Chapman, Brad Hamilton, Sheila Murphy - there seemed to be more (there ALWAYS seemed to be more on The Row) and they thought it was a great idea. Tracy thought we should call it "Skid-Daddle" as to not confuse it with the 'fest' from "Wilburfest" - but we went with Skid Fest anyway.

Now, Skid Fest wasn't the first "Row" party we had. In years past we had what we called "TV-Smashing" parties that were held at the end of Spring semester where everyone would party and throw their televisions - a la SCTV - out the window into the backyard below, all the while dancing, drinking and partying in a Bacchanalian celebration of another year gone by. Now, don't get me wrong - I'm certain there were other such parties and celebrations behind the houses of South College Avenue many years before that; however, this was to be the first official Skid Fest.

The first thing I had to do was convince the members of the other houses to pitch in money for a keg. Once I had a pledge of a keg from each house, it was time to line up some music acts in the same manner that Wilburfest always had musical acts. We knew we didn't have the money to pay for the acts, so we relied on their charitable contributions to play free in exchange for their exposure to new listeners. I was able to get four bands - Tree of Life, The Dharma Bums, The Mental Custodians, and another band whose name escapes me, to play on the first Skid Fest. The date was in April 1990 - the same day as Earth Day. We decided to charge $2 at the door and people could stay and hang out as long as they wanted.

The second thing I needed to do was talk to the city officials. I called and talked to police chief Hogan and also talked with the Fire Chief across the street. I specifically asked them that if they had any reason to shut us down or if they found any disruptions that would get us in trouble that I would be solely responsible and to not arrest anyone else. Chief Hogan replied that as long as they didn't receive any complaints that I had nothing to worry about. It was a monumentally naive and risky move on my part, but I was determined to pull this off, no matter what the cost.

Fast forward to the morning of Skid Fest. It snowed. Back then, there was grass in the back yard - not pebbles, and the ground was soaking wet. There was also a chain link fence separating the back yard from the school parking lot. I woke up Nancy (or was her name Jen?), a nursing student who lived in the corner unit, and asked if we could borrow her big maroon car to drive to 84 Lumber to buy some bales of hay. We cruised over there and, with our meager funds, bought 3-4 bales, which we them spread all over the ground. By this time, the snow had stopped, but it was still cold and damp. Tatiana, who lived in the middle of The Row (and who would take charge of Skid Fest the following year), had a large tarp, which we used to line the inside of the chain link fence. The coup-de-gras, however, was provided by Rob Cavanaugh, who was a friend from Wilbur Street. Rob had this fantastic tie-dyed parachute that we secured to the Delaware Avenue entrance - effectively closing in the back yard and warding off the wind. Rob also served as DJ between the sets of the bands. Paul Marshall provided the beautifully cheesy plastic hanging porch lights - the ones in garish blue, red, green, yellow, etc. and strung them throughout the trees.

Skid Fest was about to begin.

I had printed up invites by taking comic strips from the newspaper a couple of weeks beforehand and using Wite-Out to cover the words of the characters, then adding my own words to invite the bearer to Skid Fest. I used Peanuts, Doonesbury, Hagar the Horrible, you name it, and each comic strip was an invitation that I cut out and gave to friends, associates, and encouraged others to give to their friends, as well. My roommate Ed, never one to let beer remain at rest for too long, tapped the first keg and we were off and running. We quickly ran out of beer and several sorties were arranged to keep the stock fresh. The music was fantastic and with all those bodies in the back yard, soon it was quite warm. We had people from every part of the spectrum: slackers, jocks, stoners, cheerleaders, white, black, Asian, Latin, Indian, goths, preppies, those who refuse to be labelled, etc. - it was the Benetton of parties. It started to rain and yet MORE people were coming. Even when we ran out of beer for the last time and The Mental Custodians had to move their act into the living room of one of the houses ("It was our best gig ever. The energy was amazing" - Ken Stoltenberger, bassist; "The floor felt like it was going to collapse, there were so many people dancing around" - Andy Shaw, drummer).

We all took turns taking money at the door. The most unbelievable thing was that even though we told people we were out of beer, they were still paying admission to come and hang out. Incredible. Me? Well, I didn't really get to participate in much that night. When I wasn't working the door and checking IDs, I was doing "sweeps" of the alley and the front of The Row for beer cups, bottles, or whatever could get us shut down. I walked over to the fire house a few times to see if everything was cool with them. They said they couldn't hear a thing. Over the course of the night, I had maybe one beer - and I don't even think I had time to finish it, but I didn't care. Everyone else was having the time of their lives. That was what Skid Fest was supposed to be about.

At the end of the night, well into the morning, Ed, Brad, Tracy, a few other friends, and myself all gathered in my room to count the money. After all the expenses were paid - including probably 30 kegs - we had $850, not bad at $2 a head. Tracy said we should give the money as tribute to the 20th Anniversary of Earth Day. It was a nice idea, but, I had other plans for it. I opened the phone book and looked up "AIDS". I found a phone number for "AIDS Delaware" and decided to call it the next day.

I called the campus radio station and told them what had just taken place and that if he could play a request in honor of Skid Fest. From then on, "Wire" from U2 would always be associated with Skid Fest for me.

In the morning, I called it and spoke to a man by the name of Tim Gibbs. Tim told me what their organization was all about. It was a shelter for people with AIDS who were disowned by their families and had nowhere else to go. I asked for their address and how to get there. The next day, Ed and I drove to the address, knocked on the door, and Tim answered. We introduced ourselves and he let us in to take a tour of the place. It was in need of upgrade, but they were doing the best they could. Tim informed us that they had also just lost their funding. We thanked him and he walked us back to the door. As we said our goodbyes, I reached into my pocket and pulled out two money orders totalling $850 and gave them to him. I said, "This is for you and your organization. Spend it any way you like. It's yours."

A week later, we received a thank you letter from Tim letting us know how much our little contribution helped them. I'll never forget the look of shock and appreciation on his face or how warm I felt inside. Ed felt the same way. So did everyone who contributed to that first Skid Fest in April 1990. Driving back to The Row, Ed turned to me and said, "We did it. I can't believe it, but we did it." We certainly did, Ed.

That is what Skid Fest was all about, and that, my good friends, is the history of how SkidFest came to be.