Angus Cloud’s Friends Share in Emotional Interviews How They’re Honoring Him — with Tony Hawk’s Help (Exclusive)

Angus Cloud’s piercing blue eyes and long hair — which he always tucked into a beanie save for one piece that swooped in front of his face — are what a group of his childhood friends, primarily skateboarders and graffiti artists, still picture today.

The late Euphoria actor had an effortless charisma, a full-fledged enthusiasm for art, rap music, film and a knack for thrift shopping.

In mid-September, during a fog-covered evening in the backyard of his mom Lisa Cloud’s Oakland, California home, Cloud’s loved ones remembered his generosity and carefree spirit, describing his life growing up as a an avid skateboarder. 

Courtesy of Cloud Family

Mike Oz, Cloud’s grade school math teacher and now the executive director of the Oakland School for the Arts, where Cloud and his costar Zendaya attended, tells PEOPLE he skated with him after school and the two had remained close.

While standing at the construction site known as Cloud Park — an acre of land that has been vacant for 18 years and will be turned into a skate plaza — Oz details how he and others have set out to raise over $2 million to honor Cloud through a GoFundMe campaign.

Former professional skateboarder and entrepreneur Tony Hawk has also thrown his support behind the cause with his foundation The Skatepark Project.

“TSP and OSA value the building of spaces that support creativity; and to establish this park in honor of Angus Cloud, a talented actor and skater who cared deeply for his community and was lost too soon is fitting,” says Hawk via email.

In Oakland, Oz glances out his downtown office window and points at a wall across the street. “He’d write Angus all over the place as a kid,” he says, beaming. “It says Angus right there. Right now, downtown Oakland says his name everywhere, but a lot of those are his writing. Now they’re also all in honor and memory of him.”

Danielle Bacher

On July 31 Angus (born Conor Angus Cloud Hickey) died at 25 from acute intoxication following an accidental drug overdose.

Four years ago Cloud gained overnight stardom with his portrayal of Fezco, the low-key drug dealer with a heart of gold, on Euphoria.

But his close friends — who still call him Conor — say he had no desire to be famous. “I want to be a regular person and have regular interactions with people,” he said in a podcast last year. “And something about fame and notoriety, you lose that.”

Courtesy of Cloud Family

Oakland was the rising star’s entire identitym say loved ones. He was a creative goofball who spray painted graffiti, collected Powerpuff Girls action figures and thousands of trinkets, constantly handed out free samples while working at Whole Foods as a teenager.

He told Rolling Stonethat the first time a fan recognized him, they asked, “Hey, are you from Euphoria?” He responded, “No, I’m from Oakland. But I was in the show, yeah.”

“Conor wasn’t afraid of anything,” says his longtime friend Ibrahim Dioum, who grew up with Cloud and lived with him in Brooklyn after they graduated high school in Oakland. Adds his longtime friend and graffiti artist Tre Sorensen: “He was just fearless, man.”

Before he was discovered by a casting agent on the streets of New York, Cloud was working 14-hour days at a restaurant serving chicken and waffles. 

“Conor would be just standing in the projects, and it was really scary, but he was hella happy. His bed was on the floor with this tiny little window next to it,” Dioum recalls of Cloud’s pre-fame days. “He would put his juice boxes outside the window in the snow and later grab the juice when it was cold and drink it. It was so hilarious and cool. That was just him.”


Early in Euphoria’s second season, Cloud’s character Fezco gets bashed in the skull, leaving him with a giant scar on his scalp. The story behind the wound was even more traumatic in real life: At 15, while walking through downtown Oakland in the dark, Cloud fell into a construction pit; he woke up 12 hours later with a brain hemorrhage. 

“We were partying and walking outside,” says his friend Kalani, who was with him that night. They used to steal packs of beer from CVS and ride out on their skateboard as fast as possible.

That evening, Cloud separated from the group around 10:30 p.m. and had taken the brutal 10-foot fall. They say he used a ladder to climb out eventually. He underwent surgery and suffered “fierce” headaches afterward, his mother recalls.

Despite the chronic pain, Cloud rolled with the punches, says Lisa, saying her son adapted to his circumstances and always made the best of the here and now. It’s a lesson he taught all his friends a decade ago.

“I think that’s what also drew a lot of people to him,” says Lilita, whose 2-year-old son was Cloud’s godson. “He hyped us up and had us do a bunch of things and tried things that we would’ve never done without him or thought of,” she says. “There are so many different things I’ve done and definitely wouldn’t have done without his influence and just him always turning up the vibe with that fearlessness or being like Peter Pan. He always made us believe we could do anything like he did.”

Stewart Homans, who was a year younger than Cloud and met when they were in grade school, still remembers his first impression of him when he was 10 years old. “Conor always looked cool as hell,” he says. “I always saw him in the school office. When kids got in trouble, you’d have to write in this notebook. But Conor got in so much trouble that he couldn’t fit it in the notebook, so they gave him his own stack of notebooks.”

Courtesy of Cloud Family

One of their favorite places to skateboard together was at Berkley Skatepark in Oakland, where Cloud would watch his favorite skater, Karl Watson, doing tricks.

Homans says his friend spent hours watching skate videos, practicing on the street corner near his home, launching himself over curbs and onto whatever he wanted, sliding down handrails into kickflips, then flipping his board around as he grinded across the sidewalk. 

“Skateboarding just kind of fits in Conor’s personality of not wanting to follow rules and not having any structure that anybody was telling him what to do,” says Homans. “We would just skate around the city and then get kicked out.”

Danielle Bacher

Oz, 42, began working at OSA, the nonprofit charter art school for low-income families in 2006. Over his tenure, he’s found skateboarding goes beyond a subculture — it’s a lifestyle filled with music and art.

“It saves lives,” he adds. “I’ve always done after school things with kids who skate. People who skateboard sadly often get in more trouble than others. For whatever reason, their lives have brought them to these kinds of things. I always glued into the kids that chose that as their passion.”

Oz met Cloud when he was 12. He started off playing saxophone, but eventually found his passino for media arts and photography. “It’s a natural fit for kids into skateboarding and graffiti art,” Oz says. Later, Cloud enrolled in production design, emphasizing working in set design, lights and sound in the theater department. Although Cloud wasn’t interested in acting back then, Oz says that it made perfect sense when he saw his student on television for the first time four years ago. 

“It’s funny. He was acting a lot as a kid. He liked to get reactions out of people and that’s the nature of acting — to evoke something in people,” says Oz. “I think he always did that. I think the character he was able to portray in Euphoria was also because he’s from here. He and Zendaya, her being a Disney star and having self-drive and self-advocacy — both their careers made sense to me because they had a little bit of Oakland, California in them. There’s tragedy surrounding us all the time, but there’s just beauty, art and constant creative energy here.”

Angus Cloud/Instagram

In school, Cloud had a history of getting in trouble. Oz oversaw student discipline: One day, he found a box on his desk with a gratitude note attached. Inside was a homemade superhero costume with a cape made from a onesie from Goodwill that had his name hand-stitched on it.

“Conor was a very creative kid. He and two other students made it after they misbehaved. Just think about when there’s a disciplinary situation and the person that handles it — the last thing you do is make them something. I don’t save much, but I still have it. It’s just so special,” says Oz.

Mike Oz and Angus Cloud at OSA high school graduation.

Courtesy of Cloud Family

Cloud graduated high school in 2016 and eventually moved to Los Angeles to work on Euphoria. Last year, Oz reunited with the actor back in Oakland: “He was so sweet. We caught up and it felt really good to see him again.”

Oz pauses for a moment. “I was home, and I broke down crying when I heard the news,” he says about receiving condolence emails. “It just hit me like a ton of bricks. I haven’t cried that many times in the past 10 years. It was such terrible news. All the students also care so much about him.” 

Courtesy of Cloud Family

For months, Oz had contemplated designing a park for his students on the empty lot that sits at 1911 Telegraph Ave. Youth mental health, safety and drug abuse, specifically fentanyl, have increased. To address it, he wanted to help save more kids’ lives by creating outlets for young people to access green space and sunshine. 

“Sometimes we address the symptoms and not the real problem,” says Oz. “Part of the real problem is that a lot of kids don’t have a safe place to just be kids and run around outside. It is something that should have been done 10 years ago. Our kids need this. Every kid deserves access to a safe outdoor space at school, which is what we’re trying to create.”

Oakland School For the Arts

Before Cloud was cremated at the Chapel of the Chimes Funeral Home in Oakland, several of his loved ones decorated the casket in his honor. A week later, a memorial service was held at Humanist Hall for his family and friends, including Zendaya and Euphoria creator Sam Levinson.

Oz is now raising $2.5 million to allow students a safe place to skate just like Cloud used to. “It’s a place that will be for physical education, for activities, for lunch and after school. I want Oakland to win, too, and I want activation. I want to bring life to downtown. I want positivity; I want art. I want music. It all added up where this terrible situation should amount to something good.”

The city-owned property will also feature a stage and performance area, a tribute wall for kids to graffiti, a soccer field and a basketball court. The Oakland Roots — who are anchor partners in an organization called Skate Like a Girl, and Hawk’s foundation — are actively helping with design and fundraising. 

“The Skatepark Project is proud to partner with the Oakland School of the Arts in support of the Cloud Skatepark,” says Hawk. “We are thankful that a respected institution like OSA understands the importance of providing a safe and accessible skatepark to their community.”

Courtesy of Cloud Family

“It’s not just in honor of Conor, but in memory of all the OSA students that we lost too young from suicide, murder and drugs. I was very much a troubled kid, and it takes people to see your potential to get you out of that,” adds Oz. “For Conor’s mom to tell me recently that I always saw his full potential meant the world to me. I hope that it will have that impact on people and be therapeutic for those who were close to Conor.”

In the months since Cloud’s death, members of his Oakland tribe have come together to pay tribute. Some painted murals, others hosted a rap celebration — and all continue to grieve his loss.

“Conor always said, ‘You could do whatever you want to do. You’re forever young,'” Lilita remembers, who’s expecting another child. “Conor was so excited to be a godfather again. He thought you could do whatever you wanted. He believed that. He taught me and all of us that if you want to do something, you could do it. I believe him. But as he always says, and you know we don’t ever forget…. ‘Bless, bless. one love.'”

If you or someone you know is struggling with substance abuse, please contact the SAMHSA helpline at 1-800-662-HELP.

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