Michael

At a dinner party once I thought it would be entertaining  to all sit around the dinner table and talk about the strangest job we ever had.  As we went around the table everyone offered up some desperate, comical job they once had.  As I  suspected coming from a relatively eclectic crowd there was a wide variety of jobs.  Used car sales men,  a door to door  peep hole representative and even the not so expected female porn actress.  I have had many jobs but the strangest job I have ever had was one of my first jobs when I was seventeen years old working for B. L.  Concessions.  

It was a concession stand job serving up  soft drinks, popcorn, chili dogs and other snacks.  We had several alternative locations  that were all contracted out by this B. L. Concessions.  First was the race tracks in Kansas City KS.  a loud and foul,  fuel injected sort of place that echoed the repetitive monotonous drone of race car engines.  People in ball caps would swelter under the hot sun baking in a dust bowl of fumes, eyes glued to the cars that made their rounds.  Secondly was Memorial Hall also in Kansas City Kansas,  a memorable venue that hosted the likes of up and coming emerging bands and ALL STAR WRESTLING,  where I would meet the notorious Bull Dog Bob Brown, a burly fellow with a blonde crew cut that liked to say smart ass one liners.   Part of the job detail was to get to work early before the show started to set up stuff like the chili pot. One early evening before the concert, while decked out in my red, white and blue thick polyester clad uniform I was driven by curiosity.  I poked my head into the auditorium and to my surprise  there was the band DEVO practicing. They were  just kicking into the song Whip It.  Moving with mechanical motions while wearing rediculous flower pot looking head gear, I thought wow how great is this I am the only person standing here in this whole auditorium with DEVO the year was 1980.  I was asked to leave shortly after that by some roady dude.  Incidentally, I recently watched on youtube a video of Devo doing Whip It, a very strange and twisted 80's scene indeed.  The third place I worked concessions was at the Starlight Theatre way east of town in Kansas City Missouri.  A beautiful theatre  that  sets in the middle of the undulating grounds of Kansas City Swope Park  the largest park in Kansas City and the 29th largest municipal park in the United States. This outdoor theatre is accented by two imposing brick towers that flank the stage under the stars.  Here I would see too many concerts to mention some good some bad.  However, during the late 70's and early 80's was not such a good time economically for Starlight Theatre.


 One particular summer night I  worked at the Starlight Theatre where the feature  band that evening was the R and B vocal group the O'Jays.  As usual I got to work early before the show started.  Found a parking spot  way up front close to the entrance to the theatre. Another young girl and I set up our stand and were ready when the crowds came  for the show.  The crowd was predominately African American, the only white people I saw there were  myself and a few others that were working that night.  I stayed busy serving up drinks and snacks, the hot summer night was full of partying people and reeked of Marijuana.  The Ojay's played their hit songs  like Use Ta Be My girl, Love Train and Back Stabbers while the crowd grew more and more intoxicated.  There were many characters that night, as is typical for a concert during that time and era.  There was a man that stood out in particular that I waited on, he looked at me with evil eyes and made me feel nervous, exposed and vulnerable. It was the kind of look that you knew he was up to no good.  For the Love of Money was another one of the O'Jays hits songs that played that night. It recently has been rejuvenated and is now the theme song for Donald Trumps Apprentice show .  The night was a blurr of frenzied drinks, popcorn and the occasional chili dog until I noticed this same man was back again   This time he was trying to get into the stall where I was working, he attempted to open what was a half door with an edge like counter on it. I slammed it shut against his ribs he grimaced and was double over in pain. I felt bad for a second until he was back again, plundering in and pawing at the cash box, a flimsy metal box that set out in the open on the back counter next to the chili pot.  The chili pot has fallen over during the intrusion, chili is splattered everywhere and the other girl working with me is screaming.  This man the robber has taken off with the cash box now on foot and has run into the deep thick of the night where 1769 acres of  rolling park,  trees and brush  offer places for him to hide.  Shaken up, a police officer on a big rusty colored horse tries to comfort me.  I have been asked to stay and fill out police reports instead of cutting out early like we usually did just right after the intermission of the show.  I go back to a dimly lit small office where a couple of police  officers and the manager of the starlight ask me questions. " What did he look like" ' well he was medium height kind of muscular he wore a white T shirt' "did he have any distinctive tattoos or anything?"  I say ' yes he had a gold cap on his front tooth with a playboy bunny cut out on it' The concert was playing it final song for the night when they were done asking me  questions, it was time to release me so I could finally go home. 


  I, along with several thousand other people made our way into the  dark ubiquitous  parking lot.  I found my mother's blue metallic Honda Accord and started up the engine.  This was one of the very first years in the U.S for the Honda to come out.   Who would of thought that this small non assuming blue hatch back would pave the way to some of the world's greatest engineered and economic cars.  The temperature gage has swung over deep into the red  and has just reached the over heating point, I can't believe my eyes. I haven't barely even begun to get out of the parking lot and still have a long long way to go before I even get out of the park.  The traffic is bumper to bumper, moving at a snails pace there are hundreds of people everywhere outside partying, drinking and smoking, socializing and looking at me while billows of smoke  pour out of my mothers car.  I grip the steering wheel hard now determined that if I could just make it home some how every thing would be ok.  A man  puts his head in front of my wind shield and tells me " pull over baby I got some antifreeze"  I can't I am too afraid I have just been robbed and there's a man out there somewhere in the woods with sore ribs. Another man puts his hands up to the drivers windows there's rings all over his fingers  he says "do you want to buy this pinky ring?"  I sputter down the road some how getting ahead, slowly while the radiators puffs out it last final breaths.  There are still people everywhere looking at me I am the only white person around for miles. Another man opens his hands out in front of me and there  are 5 or 6 tiny airplane alcohol bottles in his hands he wants me to pull over.  I am going crazy with fear and helplessness.  I just want to go and move forward, get out of there.  My car has managed to get me from where the Starlight Theatre parking lot was and  down a long and winding road of what seemed liked at least several miles to what is the main entrance to Kansas City Swope Park.  I can see the sign and the stone walls on either side of the entrance.   I have no idea what I will do once I get past there but at least  I wont be in the park anymore. My car stalls.... it wont start.... it's dead and I am  seventeen year old girl, stuck and don't know what to do.  Another  young black man put's his head up to my window and says " put your car in neutral "  I reply NO he says 
" Put your car in neutral  I am going to push you over here to the side to get you off the road." In a instance my mind flips through  a rolodex of variables I weigh out my options. No I will stay here and try to restart my car, no I will stay here by myself and get nowhere, or you could help me and I could really use some help right about now.  I put my car in neutral and he pushes my car just over to the side of the road right by the stone wall to the left of  the entrance to Swope Park.  I get out of the car feeling pretty freaked out, shaky and exhausted. The  young mans offers his hand and says "Hello my name is Michael."


While beading the other day I reach into my drawer of old vintage Saints and pull out St. Michael a thin banged up pot metal medallion that bears the image of the Virgin Mary on one side and St. Michael on the other.  He stands there on top  of what appears be a dragon or is Satan? He's  triumphant and warrior like in his stature.  He carries a sword and a set of scales.  He has weighed out his options and chooses what is fair and for the good of mankind. He is the patron saint of chivalry, Police officers and Firefighters. If you ask me chivalry has always been underrated in my book and is wonderful quality to have.


My mind wanders, remembering that summer night under the stars some 30 years ago.  The sound of his voice, the fear in my chest, the red, white and blue stripes of my polyester uniform and the small oval patch over my heart embroidered B.L. Concessions.  I explained to Michael that he didn't know what all I had already been through that night if I seemed jaded - I was.  I had been working I got robbed, the chili pot and all these people, my mom's car.  He told me he would walk me back to the theatre.  I excepted his offer.  We took off into the grass veering away from the all the people, walking determinedly we made our way as the crows fly back to the two towers talking the whole time.   As we walked, he spoked calmly and matter of fact about the ways of world. I was comforted by him and very thankful to have had his company during our "walk in the park"  together.  We arrived back to the theatre and I showed him where my managers office was.  My manager agreed to give me a ride home.  I said good bye to Michael and thanked him for walking me back.  He disappeared quickly, leaving me with a memory that I have now stewed around with for almost 30 years.  


My manager was a descent looking older man with greying hair a pretty even keel, cool sort of guy.  We got into his car and made our way west through Missouri and over the state line and into Kansas.  My parents lived just two blocks  west of State line Road in Kansas.  I remember a Fleetwood Mac song coming on the radio the album Rumours had come out in 1977 the song was The Chain. I told my manager that I liked this song, he pulled all the way up our long driveway and drove around to the back of my parent's house where the back door was.  I thanked him for the ride he watched me closely as I opened the back door with my keys and went safely inside.  There in the pitch dark I breathed, naively expecting warm hugs or to be embraced by something but there was only darkness.  Things never seem like the way they should be.  I remember once my father told me that when he was a teenage boy he went out one night.  He came home very late and his family was there waiting for him they had all stayed up and were in the living room waiting for him.  His mother, brother and sister were sitting in their chairs with stone, cold sober looks on their faces. He had thought they were angry because he had stayed out too late past his curfew. He couldn't understand what the big deal was.  They had staid up to tell him his 54 year old father had died that night of a sudden heart attack. My father went to his room and started to read his Bible. 


There was nothing but still darkness in the house, my parents were sound asleep upstairs.  It was very late now but I was wide awake. I made my way up the winding, creaking stairs and went into my parents room where they lie asleep.  I nudged my mother awake.  She was very groggy, I explained to her and my now awakening father that I had gotten robbed that night at the Starlight and this was the reason why I was late getting home if they were wondering.  I explained also that my mom's car had broken down, over heated or something and I had left it at the entrance of Swope Park.  A nice boy named Michael walked me all the way back to the theatre and my manager had to give me ride home.  They asked me if I was ok.  I was, they were glad and relieved.  I went to bed that night, the next day I called my boyfriend at the time and told him everything.  He said " a lot of weird things sure do happen to you."  I didn't know what to think about that. My parent sent for a tow truck to pick the car up from the park, it had been stripped of it's battery and some other parts.  My mother felt violated. 


So in the end this was my job and there would be plenty of other jobs that I would take on begrudgingly or with pride. All in the name of money, growth and most of all character. I still remember Michael and like to think that he was a saint sent down to save me. In all actuality he was probably just a descent person that saw another person that  could use some help.  Chivalrous in manor and most of all descent I appreciate this and also feel there are many people in this world that would probably do the same, given the chance.  At the same token I have always believed that if you have a job to do you might as well do it well.  There isn't enough honor in the work that needs to be done these days.  




" It is the experience and the poor work of every day which alone will ripen in the long run, and allow one to do something completer and truer. We must work as much and with as few pretensions as a peasant, if we want to last."

Vincent Van Gogh

 I don't make chili dogs anymore I am an artist and at best I make things or weave a tale with history and honor what seems to be my enchanted  past. 

Enrico

Long ago as if it were a dream,  I was fortunate enough to live in the wonderfully crazy country of Italy.  Where so many of my ancestors went before me, I thought it would be a welcoming home. The world was my oyster I just hadn't figured out yet that I was the pearl.

 I stayed with a married couple that I had met while traveling there with my family.  Sandra and Renzo had generously offered up their lovely home for a free place to stay if I ever wanted to return. I jumped on the opportunity.  The day after I graduated from art school I flew to Italy with an open mind, and no real plan. The town where Sandra and Renzo live is a small town a few minutes off the Versilian coast of Tuscany.  Located in the upper chin area of the boot.  I found myself in the small town of Nocchi in the provence of Lucca, off the beaten path, tucked away in the foothills.  When I say small town I mean like one bar, and the women gather to wash their clothes in the icy cold waters of the running stream.  The streets are cobbled, curvy and tight.  An occasional Vespa flies by, men and women in there 70's and 80's still ride their bicycles into town to pick up a loaf of bread. Here at Sandra and Renzo's I managed to learn a few words of Italian, ho fame - sono pieno - I am hungry, I am full, molto grazie! thank you  very much! I learned how to plant basil and then make pesto and slowly recovered over a broken heart that  left  me wounded from the previous school year past.  There's always that one love that penetrates your soul and crushes you to the point you can't eat and your heart aches in such a heavy, pathetic way you just want to curl up and die - well this was the one. After staying in the town of Nocchi for several weeks it appeared to Sandra that I wasn't immersing myself enough into the culture or my surroundings and what all it had to offer.  I guess you could say I was spending a lot of time writing letters and doodling up in the bedroom.  I am embarrassed now to say I was somewhat intimidated by the language barrier. The Italians are friendly gregarious out going people, I will give them that but they aren't really known for speaking english, and why should they this was their country after all. I needed to start learning Italian if I was going to get anywhere.  Sandra is a New Zealander so she spoke fluent English.  She is  also a go getter that knows a lot of people,  she suggested  I meet Enrico.

Enrico, is a sculptor and I would learn later that he was very accomplished artist and adept to many kinds of mediums, fearless and most of all a great teacher. Before meeting him  Sandra mentioned that he had lost his arm during and accident when he was a boy but that hadn't stopped him from being a productive creative artistic person.  Well Sandra was wise beyond her years, always seeing into things and anticipating the future. Savvy and eternally generous, I will be forever indebted to her.  She drove me to Enrico's one day and this is where our friendship began.  It's hard to say what all was going on in my mind at the time.  I was slightly overwhelmed and liked the idea of a mentor.  I also wanted to learn how to carve marble... I was staying in a region that was known for centuries for carving and having the best marble quarries in the world.  This was Italy for crying out loud! Still, I was unfamiliar with the protocol of how you go about learning, where you get the tools and the general cost of things.  I still was within the student mind set. So I was thankful to have a teacher, even if he did only have one arm and didn't speak the same language as me. He was going to  show me the ropes.

When I met Enrico I wasn't prepared to see a good looking man. I had expected an older pot belly gruff and bristled  sort of Italian man.  Enrico had long wavy dark hair, was fit, broad shouldered and had a beautiful smile. The kind of smile that makes you forget about everything. You are just there in the moment, most likely smiling too.  He did not where a prosthesis arm when I met him, his right arm was missing from the elbow down.    He was 10 or so years my senior, married and had two little kids. His son was named JR after the famous JR Ewing TV show Dallas.  His daughter was named Claudia.  A long time went by before I ever meet his wife.

I would meet at his house a couple times a week.  He lived in a pseudo-industrial area where there were commercial buildings that ran along side  the main road that went into town.  Along the back side of the buildings were  hills overgrown with pine and chestnut trees. Enrico rented part of a building where him and his family lived in the back.  There was enough space to have a small garden and a couple of Turkeys.  The Turkeys were kept in a fenced area, and gobbled occasionally when Enrico made turkey calls out to them.  His studio was set up outside, weather permitting in various stations. Even though it was somewhat industrial, there was a homey feel to the place. Largely due to the fact that there was art everywhere. There were sculptures of moon faces, boys and girls laughing and crying, potted geraniums and begonias along side bubbling fountains.   I remember thinking how is this man going to show me how to carve marble with only one arm?  In the beginning we made small conversations about where I lived, what I liked and how to pronounce words. His kids fondly looked on in the background giggling with peering eyes.  I am sure I was a curiosity to them.  I remember once while learning how to burnish clay with a spoon, I called out rather loud and most incorrectly COOK- Kie -I- OH cucchiaio,  which means spoon but I botched it badly and Enrico, JR and Claudia had a good laugh.  So be it, I thought if I am going to be the brunt of their jokes why should I care I was having great fun too learning, laughing,  forgetting about my broken heart and most of all being creative.

The days went on while Enrico and I played under the sun with  terra cotta clay. The wonderful orange clay of Italy which means cooked earth.  I configured an obelisk  OH - Bell- LISKO! This Obelisco of sorts has a bass relief of a man and a women on it.  I dug this object up the other day. It was down in the basement on a shelf where I have my other objects of art and what nots.  Other wise stuff I don't know what to do with,  too sentimental I have kept it all these years.  After dusting it off I have to chuckle at my attempts at art and the results being just that honest art.  I gazed upon the images that I had created.  A young girl stands humble, slightly slouched.  A man stands amongst the shapes, square, circle and a triangle shooting into space.  Another women holds a globe in her hands.  All of these little naive vignettes are so telling and most of all revealing of a time and place.  Where there were young, humble and naive beginnings and I had the world in the palm of my hands.  Unfettered and basically free.

When the day finally came that I learned how to carve marble I was amazed once again by the clever, tenacious ways of a determined artist.  Enrico, explained to me that  a pneumatic hammer was called a martello.  A martello is a phallic looking metal hollow shaft that you insert your chisels into.  It is powered by an air compressor  when engaged it vibrates, buzzes and thumps giving you more power to chip away at the stone in front of you.  Yes, typically it is two handed endeavor.  You grasped the martello in the palm of your hand holding on tightly while you hold the chisel with your other hand and place it inside of the martello.  Enrico had fashioned a handle that stuck out of the side of the martello and this is where he shoved his elbow or what was left of his arm.  Some how he was able to push and keep the tools all engaged.  The dust was flying, chips were coming off and the stone was taking on it's form.  With the tools that lay beside me Enrico showed me the details.  How grooves were  made, smooth edges, sharp lines and textures came together the world was opening up right in front of me.

As the summer sun went into the horizon earlier and earlier the days grew cooler and shorter.  It was becoming apparent that my days were numbered with Enrico. He had already showed me how to make a grecian pot look old and patch it up with auto body putty  if need be.  I now knew how to properly use a martello and was ready to move on to the big town, the artists colony where all the artist lived and stayed Pietrasanta.



 I did finally meet his wife I have forgotten her name now. I think she was very curious of me I came for dinner one night and it was awkward.  Before dinner, off in the distance there was a lot of screaming between  Enrico and her.  I was starting to feel un-welcomed.   Dinner was a rigid affair but we all remained civil.  I muttered on in my broken Italian about where I was from Kansas City that the food was very good multo bono and tried to be appreciative.  I was most likely a threat to Enrico's wife. To her relief we would never meet again.

The last time I saw Enrico he had offered me a ride to my new apartment in Pietrasanta.  I was pretty proud of it and needed the ride as well.  For the first time he wore his prosthesis arm, he brought his daughter Claudia with him.  We drove into town it was only about 10 minutes away. He parked the car about half way down the street from where I lived on Via Stagio.  The sun was setting and there was a definite chill in the air the kind of chill that only fall can bring when you know everything is going to change, as it did.  We stood out side the huge 20 foot green double doors to my ancient apartment building.  I told him   nervously this is where I lived now and thanked him for everything.   We shivered and smiled awkwardly, Enrico wore a pale yellow short sleeved polo, we both needed to be wearing jackets but had none.  He said goodbye and walked off down the road with his daughter as I slipped into the dark, cavernous entry way to my apartment building.  I never saw him or his family again.

During the final days  of my studies at Enrico's he  once showed me his antique coin collection.  I was impressed with the enormity of it and all the hands of time that have touched, fallen and since faded to dust but the coins still remain.  The little Roman faces and laurel wreaths, winged and stamped each with their own patina. To hold the coins, however ephemeral it was I went back... to a fleeting street, a dirt road a colorful robe a leather satchel. They really were magical.  He gave me a set of brass medallions that he had made with astrological signs on them.  I picked Aquarius and Gemini because I liked the images.  I now hang them off of a set of lamps as a decorative notion- a reminder.   He gave me a brass hand etched and signed  Enrico bracelet. I also have one of his  terra cotta mask that looked very Etruscan and mysterious.  I accidently broke it, it fell off the shelf in my porch and landed on the hard concrete floor.  I kept the tiny fragments all these years. Finally I played archeologist and methodically glued it back together and placed it in the garden to age like a cherished relic. He showed me an album of photos filled with all the women he knew or dated, they were beautiful women with long flowing dark hair, sitting on rocks out in nature, by the sea squinting in the sun,  there were a lot of them.  All these things I have kept for their memories and their aesthetics.  Something to piece back together - I imagine. To create the story all over again, but this time the perspective is different.  Sometimes there are  people that come into your life and give you so much but it takes you another quarter of a lifetime to truly appreciate them. They always say hind sight is 20/ 20.  Well 23 years have gone by and this is what I have gathered.  A lovely memory of naivety, strength and artistic vision.  Maybe someday I will be able to re-pay back to society  or to a non suspecting individual  and give them a similar gift this is what I will hope for and aspire to.