The Trophy

I had to shoot the beast, he came at me with a knife.
(Papier mache, acrylic paint, two sticks)

White Bread

The first Playboys I got to really enjoy (not some hurried glance off the Git-n-Go shelves), were from this preacher's kid named Phillip Bickford.   He had taken them from the house of his recently deceased Uncle who'd been hit by lightning working construction.

I felt guilty that we were perusing a dead man's stack of nudies, but Phillip said to get over it.  He made the analogy of Christ dying so that others could live.  Phillip had a minister's son's sense of humor.   

But some things just stick with you.  Maybe it was the amazement of seeing my first centerfold, or Phillip invoking Jesus -- whatever it was, to this day whenever I see a lightning strike,  I immediately associate it with beautiful, naked women... nailed to crosses. 

                                                                            (30 x 30 acrylic, oil stick, tempera on board 

                                                                                                                  Private collection of Mr. Rob and Leslie Grdic)

The Magnificent Scuffler

               INT. HOSPITAL ROOM - DAY 

               The amateur wrestler Hiram Skove lays in the bed.   He looks like he's been in a car wreck.  

               The Orderly enters.

                          

                                                                              ORDERLY

                                 Still among us living? 

                                                                                 HIRAM

                                 When will I be able to breathe normal?

                                                                               ORDERLY

                                 Don't know.   Bonnie Bob cracked two of your ribs and punctured  

                                 a lung.   And you can forget about using that arm for a while too.  

                                                                         (opening the window)

                                 The paper said it sounded like cereal box elves, only the snap came

                                 came after the crackle and pop... them paperboys can sure be funny.                                     

                 

 Dialogue from "The Magnificent Scuffler",  my screenplay about the advent of professional wrestling in the 1930's.

(Acrylic on vintage wallpaper 18"x 24")

The Sweet Science

Tommy "Black Cat" Boyle, the pride of Orange, New Jersey, was a fierce middleweight contender in the early Sixties. His "never back down" style was attributed to his father Tommy Sr., who would make the young golden glover wear his sister's dresses if he lost a bout -- a highly motivational tool the nine-year-old would never forget.  

In forty-one professional fights, the Black Cat gave almost as good as he got.   Almost.   Though he was never champ, it was roundly noted that Tommy Boyle did not know the meaning of the word quit.  Later in life, and this time literally, he again did not know the meaning of the word quit... as well as plenty of other words for that matter.

"Punch Drunk" is what the old timers call it.  Latins like "dementia pugilistica".   Whatever you prefer, Tommy Boyle's melon had been well and thoroughly mushed.   So it was no great surprise that he went missing for over a week last October, having wandered away from his adult care facility.  

What was more interesting is that he had "wandered" over a thousand miles, from Florida to Madison Square Garden, and that when found he was wearing a pleated chiffon skirt, reportedly shoplifted from a Miami area J.C. Penney's. 

(24" x 40" oil on board, private collection of Mr. Jerome Collins)

Sign my Yearbook (close up)

                                                     Ted "Steady Teddy" Stanton & Charles R. Murray
                                                                                      (for full picture look below)

Sign my Yearbook

Hair so combed,
Dreams so true.
We're the class of
'72.

                         Seniors from Thomas Jefferson High School in Sandusky Ohio who are no longer living.

                     Please note, like most of us most of the time, they tried their best -- especially considering

                     what they were given to work with.

                                                 

                                                                             (28" x 30" board, text book pages, acrylic)