In September of 2025, I received a text from my old friend Glen E. Friedman that read: “Yo Stacy, I’m gonna call you at 9 a.m., I got something VERY interesting for you, totally different w/ a good budget! You’re not gonna believe it!” At 9 a.m. the next morning, not a minute before nor a minute after, Glen’s voice launched out of the phone, full of fury and without so much as a greeting into a pitch that had him crazy excited. What he had was a documentary film with good financing and what he thought was a “perfect fit” for me. He insisted I get on the phone with an independent film producer, a friend of his and his two associates. I asked him what the film was and he told me it would be about the artist Rick Griffin. Without hesitation I told him no. “Why are you saying no?” he asked. “The answer is no,” I repeated. “Are you kidding me? Why are you saying no to this, it’s just a phone call?” “Glen, I’m not interested.” “Just take the call!” My saying no was unacceptable to him. But no was my final answer. Now the problem with saying no to Glen E. Friedman is like saying no to the psychopath Don Logan, the character played by Ben Kingsley in the rip-roaring English gangster film, Sexy Beast. Under no circumstances do you say no to Don Logan. And if you do, there’s going to be consequences, like whether you live or die. Now I’m not saying Glen is violent. He’s not. In fact, he’s a vegan. But he doesn’t take no for an answer and he can be persistent to the point of being fanatical. Legendary producer Rick Rubin who considers Glen a friend says he’s the most difficult person he’s ever worked with. Having worked with Glen myself, I tend to angle towards Rick’s opinion. I’ve known Glen for most of my life. He was a 14-year-old teenager armed with a Pentax camera when he barged his way into becoming the second in command under Craig Stecyk photographing the early Dogtown skate scene. From there, Glen went on to documenting the very earliest days of punk rock and then did the same with the early days of hip hop music. He’s been at the starting point of three of the most culturally significant and rebellious art forms born in America and his photographs helped define all three. So it’s probably safe to say that only a fanatic could have accomplished such a feat. And Glen, like the gangster Don Logan, is a true fanatic. He called me again the next day, “Just take the call!” “But Glen …” “Just take the call, Stacy! All I’m asking is for you to take the call!” “But Glen …” “Do it for me!! Just get on the phone with them!” I love Glen and respect him dearly for all the work he’s done. But he’s a much better talker than listener and he didn’t care to hear a word I said. In fact, he had no interest in hearing anything I said unless the answer was yes. He followed this call with more calls throughout the day, but my answer remained the same and it wasn’t going to change. This was one time Glen was not going to get his way. After two days and feeling as if my brain and body were covered in bruises, I sent a text to Glen: “I will get on the call with the team.” I CAVED. I one 100 percent caved into Glen E. Friedman just as he knew I would. I know Glen well enough to know that he was never going let up on me. Like a pit bull, when he bites, his jaw just won’t let go. What Glen didn’t know was that I had legitimate reasons for not wanting to make a film about Rick Griffin. I already knew the project had been shopped around for decades. In 2001, shortly after I premiered my first documentary Dogtown and Z-Boys at the Sundance Film Festival, I was pitched the Griffin project by my friend and colleague Steve Barilotti. At that time, Steve was one of surfing’s top journalists and he had decided to make his 13
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