Photo Credit: JSams Photo
November 12, 2026
By Aylin Woodward (aka Yeti or Not, Here I Come)
It is with incredible sadness that Gotham Roller Derby shares the devastating news of the passing of our beloved announcer, volunteer, and friend, Pallet Jack.
Many in the broader derby world knew him from his dulcet, Brooklyn-accented tones, which he wielded with aplomb to describe skaters, strategy and the sheer joy of playing roller derby. His savviness, hilarity and cutting wit on the mic were matched not only by his derby brain—the man knew his strategy—but more importantly by his willingness to go above and beyond for his city, his league, and his people.
Pallet Jack joined Gotham as a volunteer about a decade ago, back when the league skated its famous Home Team games on a basketball court at John Jay College in Manhattan. In order to facilitate this, the league had to cart in a truck load of sport court, unload it onto pallets, trundle those pallets up the elevator, and lay the entire floor, tile-by-tile, only to reverse the entire process at the end of the night. Pallet Jack, the lore goes, was given this moniker by none other than Suzy Hotrod, for his uncanny ability to speed up this laborious process. He would show up to each of these game evenings dressed to the nines, according to Erin Watershow, either in a sports jacket and dress pants or khakis, before unceremoniously stripping down to only his white tank top and leather dress shoes, quietly working away stacking pallets of tile. Suzy and Wawa would often speculate what Pallet Jack’s career outside of roller derby volunteering could be, settling on the theory that he was none other than a limo driver between shifts.
In reality, Pallet Jack was a talented salesman, and a mentor of sales people across the city. His gift for coaching and teaching lent itself well to volunteering in derby not only on game day (the man could set up a mean scaffold) but more importantly in the wings of late-night Google meet calls where the league worked tirelessly to stay solvent, to stay inspired, and to keep derby alive in the city. His refrain of “How can I help?” was genuine, respectful, and he always followed through on his promises. Pallet Jack eventually took on the mantle of Head of Sponsorship—the job none of us wanted and none of us could seem to do—selling people on “Why Gotham?” with packages like “New York or Nowhere.”
He really believed in us. In Gotham. He really loved, and knew us. Not just as an entity, but as individuals. He remembered little things about everyone, every skater had a special “Pallet Jack” introduction on the track… and his love of New York sports meant he brought this indescribable effervescence not only to the mic as an announcer, but also to the late-night, afterparty conversations about Gotham’s future, and about each of our futures. To Pallet Jack, we were all just as cool, just as talented, just as meaningful as his Knicks, his Rangers, his Yankees.
Pallet Jack didn’t remain a quiet volunteer for long. After Covid, when we no longer needed pallets stacked, he agreed to MC a Gotham party. His talent, his knack for it, was instantly clear. A transition to game announcer was natural, and the rest was history. It was like he had found his calling.
He began to wear a red foam Gotham crown—a merch attempt from 2024—to everything. It got to the point where he was virtually unrecognizable without it, his mop of dark hair obscured by bee and brass knuckle pins, the tips of Lady Liberty’s crown peeking out in the backgrounds of every league photograph, atop this Brooklyn-born angel’s head.
Last fall, he announced at Gotham’s first WFTDA tournament at home in 10 years. Finally the rest of roller derby learned who Pallet Jack was. Everyone loved him. Everyone wanted him. People donated to Gotham because he was so talented and entertaining. He was invited to travel to four states this year to announce, including Y’allstars in NOLA and Opes and Dreams in STL. The day we got him on Instagram in February was like a national holiday.
But Pallet Jack remained Gotham’s. Our league’s heart and spirit wrapped up in one person. The one ceaseless, unyielding bright light who supported us no matter if we won, lost, tried, failed, crushed it, had a bad day, or beat an opponent by one point. Every league should be so lucky to have a fan, supporter, and community member like this one. Someone who not only did the loud things, like announcing on camera, but the quiet things like helping a friend move apartments or wandering the streets of Brooklyn looking for practice spaces in the rain.
It’s evident even after his passing. His fiancée, Cleavy Wonder, one of Gotham’s former Jeerleaders (they met at a game, of course), and his family have asked for donations to Gotham in lieu of flowers. His employer has agreed to match donations.
It’s fitting that a consummate New Yorker—who drank his whiskey neat, who loved his mother deeply, who had two black cat children—was Gotham’s consummate fan. Who cared if our finances were dire? Who cared if things got canceled or didn’t always work out? His motivation lifted up the heaviest of us in the darkest of times, reminding us that we skated because we loved it, and we skated for Gotham because we loved it.
And he never stopped reminding us that Gotham was worth loving. And were worth loving. And he was proud of us.
The memories of Pallet Jack are too many to mention. But they all follow the same theme. He was a purely good person. A genuine person who gave and encouraged without asking anything in return. It’s easy to rail at the universe and cry at the deep unfairness of this tragedy, asking why we couldn’t have this one nice thing, and have it last. But rather than that, Pallet Jack would probably remind us of how lucky we are to have found someone like this and had him in our lives, even if it was a love cut short.
He was always optimistic that way.
Memories
“What little I knew about Pallet Jack I loved. We only met this Spring working together on the Sponsorship Committee, where he, an experienced salesman, sold me the idea that I am good at sales. We hit up gyms on foot through the drizzle near Prospect Park. He sported a suit and dress shoes, gelled combed hair, and a thick New York accent. Instantly, we bonded over growing up in bordering neighborhoods and attending schools separated by an alleyway. We walked the same streets and loved the same part of Brooklyn we called home. It is a joy to share this love of place with another person.
We spent a long afternoon in Park Slope getting "Pallet Jacked" at a bar once our sponsorship walk concluded. He drank his whiskey neat and liked to keep his glass for the next round. Something about the flavor he liked. He told me about living in Florida and watching a grown man cry after building a terrible brick wall. He told me about his special skater introductions, one of which I would soon have for myself. We stayed for hours until he headed off in the rain to visit his uncle in the city.
We crossed paths a number of times over the next few months, and I had him in the back of my mind as someone I wanted to spend more time with. I wanted to hear more about his two black cats, Selena and Felicia, who he referred to as his children and raised with his fiancée Cleavy. There was a lot about Pallet Jack I wanted to know.
Pallet Jack was my long-lost neighbor, a Brooklyn icon, and a Roller Derby announcing sensation. He will be more than missed by his friends and family. Gotham won't be the same without him.”
—
“When I was first drafted to Gotham about 10 years ago I never knew quite what to make of the guy in a white tank top, khakis, and suspenders, helping us load our pallets with squares of sport court at the end of games at John Jay. To be honest, at first I was a little suspicious. Who is this man that just wants to… help? Every single game, he helped us load our pallets. He earned our trust not only by helping, but being genuinely kind, enthusiastic, eager. The kind of New Yorker that we all aspire to be - the “I don’t know you, but you look like you need a hand” kind of guy. He saved us many hours of work those nights.
A few years later, during Covid, we were no longer playing at John Jay, which meant no more pallets. But he stayed with our community anyway. I’m not exactly sure why he was asked to be an announcer for one of our events… maybe someone else has that story. But it was obvious — he needs a microphone in his hand way more often. Suddenly Pallet Jack became the face, and voice, of Gotham. Life happens despite roller derby, and some days he cheered us on during some of our hardest moments. His voice carried me through some games that I felt too much of life’s heaviness to play. He knew every dang one of us. He unconditionally supported us always. Pallet Jack inspired all of us to be better people because he was the best person. May he, and his spirit of genuine care for other humans, never be forgotten.”
—
“Whenever I've been overwhelmed or discouraged, Pallet Jack's optimism and motivation inspired me, lifted me the hell up.
I've been thinking back to whatever 20-teen year we first saw this unknown, suited man who showed up to volunteer and help us set up the sport court for games. And then the first time he MC-ed a party, which turned into him announcing games and being a global sensation. To me hoping he'd accept the nomination for Head of Sponsorship, knowing he'd be incredible at it. We have been so lucky to have him in our league and in our lives.”
—
“Pallet Jack was always the first person to ask "what can I do to help?" with a grin on his face. He was generous in spirit — metaphorically and literally. I'll miss watching footage of our games and laughing at all the puns and jokes he had for many of us about our names. Whenever I was able to watch him announce a game, he was often standing, because he was too excited to sit down. Pallet Jack understood the game better than most announcers — he really had a great derby brain and was a delight to listen to. He was loved both on the mic and in our league. Many people outside of Gotham had the chance to hear him announce this past year, and I'm glad they got to know and love him, too. One of the last times I spoke with him, I promised him Brooklyn (his favorite home team) would win home team champs for him, that we were getting closer every year. He told me he had no doubt that we would do it. I intend to make good on that promise, no matter how long it takes.”
—
It feels totally impossible to me that we now live in a world without Pallet Jack. I'm heartbroken for Gotham, for his friends and family, and for his fiancée, Cleavy Wonder. I'd probably seen him at games, but apparently Cleavy met him at the first game she cheered way back in 2016. Cleavy is so bubbly and vivacious and put so much effort into her squad and into the Jeers and Gotham. When they started dating I was really happy to see that she met someone who not only appreciated her for everything she was, but was also worth her while.
Every time Pallet Jack popped up on a different committee or in a different volunteer slot, it was like retroactively obvious that he should be doing that exact project. I worked with him in Building Community, our DEI group, and he was so smart and so grounded about how we could lift people up and bring them together. He had lodestar advice about how to take our values and put them into practice.
—
“The best big brother I could have asked for in NYC. Pay forward his memory by lifting others up, it's literally his name sake. Pallet Jack always proudly reminded people that he was named by the great Suzy Hotrod when introducing himself. Suzy is pretty dang cool but I thought Pallet Jack was the absolute shit. He will be greatly missed by so many.”
—
“I showed up to work scaffolding my first bout as a league member. I arrived (uncharacteristically) early, and without much knowledge of how to do what I had signed up for, Pallet Jack jumped into action and helped me to have the whole job finished before the tape for the track even made its way out of the boxes.
I work with men in construction-adjacent spaces often, and he had the respectful and trusting air of someone earnestly confident in their skills and their ability to mentor others. As it happens, I went on to use his scaffolding assembly tips on a jobsite a few weeks later, and thought of him while I was building some rich and fancy person's home up in the Catskills.
"Remember," he said, "always start from the top," (in reference to the cross bars, of course).”
—
“One interaction with Pallet Jack and you knew your life would never be the same. He had a way about him that made you feel welcome and comfortable regardless if you knew him 20 years or 20 minutes. He was such a great human and the world was definitely a better place because he was in it.
At all the Gotham games I would listen for his voice. He had that deep Brooklyn NY accent and energy that made his announcing feel alive. For those who had the pleasure of hearing him on the live stream, I am certain you could feel the excitement of the game through the screen.
He loved Cleavy and when you saw the two of them together it was obvious. My heart breaks for her, his family, and all who knew him. He definitely left an imprint that won't be forgotten.”
—
“I wish I had known he loved Marino and the Dolphins. I would’ve told him about how my brother’s middle name is Dolphin, because I got to pick it and picked it because of the damn Miami Dolphins. I would’ve told him how I collected 250 cereal box tops to earn an exclusive Marino beanie in 3rd grade.
There’s a lot of stupid shit I would’ve told him. I wish I hadn’t taken him for granted.
I had a really hard year this year. I got put through the ringer at work and had to quit. I had to leave my apartment. Gotham’s Travel Team went through hell during an incredibly hard Champs run, and I had had enough about halfway through the year. I wanted out. I wanted to do something else. It all felt too hard. Too much. Too heavy.
After every league party or home team game, Pallet Jack would come find me at the bar. He would congratulate me on being me (“how odd,” I would think to myself every time), reiterate that his heart was always softest for my home team, and buy me a Shirley Temple. I would tell him the same thing I always told him. I was tired. I was disillusioned. I had lost my way. And every time he would tell me the same thing.
Don’t quit on Gotham. Don’t quit on these people. Don’t quit on yourself.
Gotham, he would say, is capable of incredible things. They’ll surprise you, he said. They’re all worth giving them your very best, even when it’s hard.
And he was right of course. I’m glad he got to see us win by one point at Champs. I’m glad he got to tell us right after the Toulouse loss, “God Bless, let’s get this next game.”
I wanted to tell him everything about it at our end of season party (when he was done MC’ing of course). I wanted to blow bubbles in my Shirley Temple as he sipped his whiskey and tell him all about my hopes and dreams for next season. About how this one teammate had done this freaking cool thing, or another had had the game of their lives, or one had been asked for autographs (autographs!). I wanted to tell him that it felt like a new era was dawning for Gotham, and that even though there was living, breathing proof he had been right, I wanted to look in his eyes when I told him he had been right, and that I was incredibly grateful that he knew it before anyone else did, and had held that torch for us, sometimes even an ocean away.
You were a real one, Pallet Jack. I am really, really going to miss you.”