Startling Stories for All Ages
The first Famous Feztoinian featured at Oddball Art Labs’s 2015 pop culture event ⎯ Fez Fest!
Elgin’s own Rich Wagner posing as singer, songwriter, and international drug merchant, Francois Anatole. Read his Feztonian bio below.
(Write-up by yours truly; design work by artist David Metzger.)
The next time you’re in downtown Elgin, be sure to stop by Rediscover Records and tell Rich, “hello!”
It all started when I bought myself a limited edition, hand-crafted Freedonian fez from the fine folks over at Fez-O-Rama ⎯ the same one perched atop my skull on the home page.
[For the record, Freedonia was the fictitious country ruled by Rufus T. Firefly (Groucho Marx) in the 1933 classic, Duck Soup. Every year, Fezmonger Jason Rodgers rings out the old and rings in the new by watching all of the Marx Bros. movies in order.]
This was back in December 2014. I don’t know who’s bright idea it was to put together an art show around the famous headwear. All I know is that the gang at Oddball Art Labs was instantly on board and working hard to make Fez Fest a reality in 2015.
Two of the Oddballs ⎯ Dave Metzger and MikeRende ⎯ invited me to collaborate on “Famous Festonians in History”: an installation showcasing the fez and the people who wore them.
Dave would take picutes of people he knew and I’d write up brief but detailed fictional biographies that would hang under the oversized photos.
A lot of imagination and research went into those bios. I also joined one of the photo shoots, which was a lot of fun and lead to some great pictures. More on that later.
Dave did a terrific job putting together the words and images. The Festonians were a hit and, after the show, Dave presented each of the models with their picture and the write up. For a while, one hung in the Martini Room in downtown Elgin. There might still be one up at Rediscover Records. (If anybody sees it there, please take a picture and send it along.)
To celebrate the show, I’ll be posting all six ⎯ seven! ⎯ of the Famous Feztonians, one at a time for your viewing pleasure, along with a few other artifacts from the show.
If anybody was a contributor or has any photos from the show ⎯ crowd shots, friends and family, the Shriner cars, belly dancers, etc. ⎯ email them and I’ll throw ’em into future posts.
For now, here’s the front and back of the announcement postcard that went out before the opening. (Text by me, artwork and layout by Dave Metzger.)
More soon!
Would you ever peg this man as having been on the Chicago P.D. ?
Me neither.
Here’s the story from IMDB:
Discovered by WVON Radio personality Ed Cobb. In the mid-1960s, Cobb while driving ran a traffic violation and was pulled over by Chicago Police officer Don Cornelius. While officer Cornelius was asking him the typical traffic stop questions, Cobb noticed his unique speaking voice and told him that he was in the wrong profession. Cobb suggested that Cornelius come down to the radio station and make a demo tape. Don took him up on it and was hired as an announcer.
And some comments on it from the Don himself:
No, no. Never happened. How I knew Roy, for the record, was that I grew up in a three-story building on St. Lawrence Avenue next to a three-story building he lived in for a time.
But he doesn’t deny being a Chicago cop . . . .
Goes to show you never can tell.
As reportedly said by playwright Tom Stopppard:
“I have a spasm of envy for the person that was killed by a falling bookcase, as long as it doesn’t happen prematurely. [It] would be a good way to go. You went when you were in a good frame of mind and you were doing something pleasant and interesting. A lot of people would say, ‘I would rather have a heart attack at the height of sexual passion.’ On the whole, I would prefer to be killed by a bookcase.”
Presumably, the case is full of books. Death By Empty Bookcase would seem to be pointless.
Can’t help but wonder what books Mr. Stoppard would prefer fill the homicidal shelves prior to their collapse.
[I’m warning you right now that this one has some language in it — language that, if you’re over the age of seven, you’ve probably said at least once today. And if you haven’t said it, then you’ve thought it or heard your parents say it, probably more than once today. But when they’re in print, words are suddenly different. Don’t ask me why. I’m a writer and I still don’t understand the physics of words (supposedly) having more meaning when they’re on the page. Anyway, if you’re under the age of 18 or easily offended, you’ll likely want to skip this one. Just sayin’. bjw]
There’s one in every crowd. The guy who hands you back the fast food garbage you dumped in the Home Depot parking lot. The guy who yells in the theater for you to put away your goddamned cell phone and watch the movie. The guy who whips a rock at your car because you just blew the stop sign while he was walking his kid across the street.
Like I said: There’s one in every crowd.
Usually, it’s me.
*
It’d been a long Sunday: the only worthwhile things being time spent with the wife and kid, pricing bookcases for the new office, and some barbeque and strange conversation at a friend’s house. After that, it was 8:30pm and I was at loose ends. The local Googolplex was showing KICK-ASS at 8:45. I snagged a twenty and headed out the door.
My cell phone and watch were left home on purpose, so I had no idea what time it was when the woman tried to sneak in with the little boy. This was right around the part where Kick-Ass first meets up with the Red Mist in the alley. The kid sits one over from me; she’s on his left. The kid is so small he’s practically swallowed by the seat.
I saw them come in, fresh from either DIARY OF A WIMPY KID or HOW TO TRAIN YOUR DRAGON. The kid was oblivious. She was furtive, clearly new at trying to get away with something and failing hard. It makes no difference who you are; we’ve all done it, all failed to be invisible. Whether it’s your first crack at theater-hopping, shoplifting porn or buying that first box of condoms, we all act the same way and it’s easy to spot.
As God as my witness, I wanted to let it go.
Not that this woman needed to be Tased for sneaking into a movie. Hell, no. Except for under–paid theater managers and over–paid studio executives, nobody gives a shit about that kind of thing because whether anybody is in the theater or not, the movie still runs. So, as long as she stayed off her phone and the kid kept his yap shut, I would count myself among the careless nobodies.
But she brought this little, little kid to this particular movie. This stupid, stupid woman, whose knowledge of the film was likely gleaned from a fast glance at the movie poster, and this kid, no doubt tripping on Mountain Dew and Twizzler Bites, who is geeked to be up past his bedtime on a school night and sneaking into a superhero movie. And who could blame him?
The thing is, I know what’s coming. I’d never read the comics, but had seen enough reviews to know how bad it would be. That I paid ten bucks to see this piece of crap is my problem, my choice. But this kid, he doesn’t have a choice, doesn’t know he has a choice. Even if he did know, he’d still vote to stay. Because it’s a superhero movie.
And I think about the people I know –– personally know –– who let their five- and six- and seven-year-olds watch SPIDER–MAN 3, THE INCREDIBLE HULK, and THE DARK KNIGHT, over and over and over. Especially THE DARK KNIGHT. Because to most parents, the line between THE INCREDIBLES and THE DARK KNIGHT doesn’t exist. Because they are superhero movies.
One of these days, I’m going hit my brakes while the wrong guy tailgates me. One of these days, I’ll tell the wrong woman “you’re welcome” when she fails to smile, make friendly eye contact, say “thank you” while I hold the door open for her. One of these days, I’m going to tell the wrong guy that if he and his buddies want to talk they should go to Denny’s –– otherwise they need to shut up and watch the movie. One of these days, I’m going to get slapped around, have a cigarette put out in my face, get stabbed. Get shot.
One of these days, I’m going to mind my own business.
I lean over the empty seat. I tell the lady, “You know this rated R, right?”
“Oh. It is?” she asks, and means it.
“Yeah.”
I turn to the kid. “Hey, pal. How old are you?”
He holds up four fingers, says he’s three. His eyes never leave the screen.
“He’s four,” she smiles.
I say, “Listen, lady. They already showed a little girl get shot in the chest by her father and it’s only going to get worse. You need to get him the hell out of here. Like, now.”
She says, “Oh,” and starts tugging a jacket on her mesmerized kid. “OK. Thanks.”
“You know the best way to thank me? Read the reviews before you take your kid to the movies. Because shit like this will fuck him up fast. Now beat it before they start having sex and chopping off heads.”
She hustled that kid out with a lot less furtive than she came in with.
One of these days, I’m going to Hell.
–– Chicago, May 2010