Yo-Yo Mania Has Kids Putting New Spin on Old Toy

The school auditorium is a dizzying whirlwind of spinning disks on this Sunday afternoon.

A hundred boys with baggy shorts flick yo-yos from their fingers with ease, toss them under their legs, fling them up in the air and twirl them behind their backs.

The colorful toys spin, flash and twirl in a frenzy of atomic energy.

This scene near West Hollywood is ground zero in the latest yo-yo craze to sweep the country, where a gathering of kids--mostly boys, mostly 10 years old--come to learn more than just a few tricks to show off on the playground. They’re here to glean yo-yo wisdom--maybe even to become yo-yo champs.

“When you get good, you can be famous,” proclaims Jonathan Levitas, age 9 3/4, as he deftly spins a yo-yo from his finger.

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The free Sunday afternoon classes, sponsored by a local comic book and pop culture store, are usually held in an empty lot on Melrose Avenue. Shoppers and tourists making their way down the trendy street do a double take as they pass the group of intensely focused youths practicing “Shoot the Moon” and “Baby in the Cradle.”

Today, it’s raining, so the class has been hurriedly moved inside Melrose Avenue School down the street. The wooden floor auditorium has been transformed into a gantlet of shooting yo-yos. Adults dodge the projectiles as they make their way across the room.

Cash Helwig, 11, stands next to the stage, expertly spinning a red PROFIRE yo-yo off each hand. “I just started to get good,” he says modestly. He began playing eight months ago when his grandmother gave him a yo-yo. Now, he has 50.

The auditorium slowly fills with a hum of appreciative mutterings as the youths eye one another’s tricks.

Whoa, they murmur. Cool. Duuude.

They speak in their own language, of the special power and flexibility of yo-yos like Tiger Sharks and Cold Fusion, of tricks like “Around the World” and “Texas Cowboy” and “Creeper.” They carry black plastic cases with foam padding to house their yo-yos. They keep extra yo-yos in the deep pockets of their pants, ready to pull out the replacements in case of a slipped string.

Bill Liebowitz, owner of the Golden Apple comic book specialty stores, started the free yo-yo classes in October after he realized the building momentum of the toy’s popularity.

Before the current craze took off last summer, yo-yos were not even a measurable source of income in his Melrose Avenue store. Now they make up about 10% of sales.

“I realized we could do something to keep kids interested and make it more than just a fad,” he says. “You don’t need a $500 game system to keep up. Once you get really good, other kids look up to you.”

This is the second round of yo-yo mania for Liebowitz, who helped demonstrate yo-yo tricks for the Duncan Toy Co. in the 1950s. After winning a city yo-yo contest in Brooklyn, N.Y., at 11, he was hired to do tricks at department stores and set up competitions at toy stores.

Now he coaches novices who hope to make it into his store’s Yo-Yo Corps, a group of 20 experts who help teach the classes, travel to competitions and put on demonstrations at schools and libraries.

On this afternoon, a couple Yo-Yo Corps members kick off the session. One boy in a black Golden Apple T-shirt expertly spins two yo-yos off his hands in an intricate combination.

“Whoa, ‘Double Baby in the Cradle!’ ” exclaims Liebowitz. “You don’t see that every day on Melrose!”

The newcomers watch the experts intently, hoping to crib new moves.

“My favorite trick is ‘Split the Atom,’ ” says Marley Powell, 10. “Even though I can’t do it, it’s very cool.”

He started yo-yoing in October, after he saw a kid at school with one. “Now I want to get my homework done very fast so I can yo-yo.”

The Melrose class, along with one held Saturdays at the Golden Apple store in Northridge, offers newcomers six levels of instruction and four skill patches for perfecting certain tricks.

“You wear them on your shirt, and the girls just won’t leave you alone,” Liebowitz teases the class. The boys giggle and jostle one another.

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On this day, Liebowitz has brought in a special guest: Dale Oliver, the 1992 world yo-yo champion and president of Spintastics Skill Toys.

Pulsing rock music fills the room as Oliver takes the floor and demonstrates a “Horse Race”--two yo-yos chasing each other across the floor. He spins the yo-yos high in the air. He flips one off its string and lets it fall into his pocket. The crowd applauds enthusiastically.

From the back of the room, Gilbert Ramirez, 32, tapes the session on a camcorder. His two sons started yo-yoing a couple months ago, then he decided to pick one up himself.

“There’s something that’s timeless about it,” he says.

They drive from Covina every few weeks for the class. Ramirez boasts that he’s better now than his two sons.

“But the first couple times I came, I didn’t even take it out of my pocket,” he says. “I tell you, there’s nothing more intimidating than asking an 8-year-old to show you how to do a trick.”

‘I realized we could do something to keep kids interested.’