Marked For Life; The story of blood, sweat, tears and tattoo needles! Part 4

My  first weeks as a working apprentice.

As a working apprentice,  I had to bring in a couple of my friends and tattoo them for free so Buzz could see what I was doing and how I worked. He sat over me for a total of two tattoos. He corrected me twice while I was working and told me to do a couple of things different. Basically, everything I knew  at this point was things I learned from Mick, Jason, and Baron. Since Jason was Buzz's son, I knew that all he had learned was from his dad, so I really paid attention when he gave me advice on things. After I was done with the free tattoos, Buzz sat me down and started talking a bit about the equipment I was using. He asked to see my tattoo machines so I handed them over. He threw them straight in the trash! I stared at him in disbelief.  "If you wanna learn to tattoo like us, you have to use the same equipment that we do." (I dug my machines out as soon as he left the room, but never used them after that.) At that time, they were using Spaulding machines- one supreme and one lightweight, or puma. I had already bought myself a Spaulding lightweight, but the power supply that I was using had a minimum output of 30 volts, therefore I couldn't use it because it got really hot and still ran way too fast and hard.

Buzz loaned me a small power supply that he had bought from a man called "Creeper". He said "Guard this with your life, because I don't think he makes these anymore!". He then pulled out a large box full of old tattoo machine parts and dug out a frame for a supreme machine. He then told me to see if I could find the rest of what I needed in the box to make a complete machine. I quickly pulled out the other machine I had and began to work on finding the parts to make another. The next day, also with a little help from Jason, I had the machine all put together. When Buzz saw it he just said, "Happy birthday! Now you have to tune it up. But Jason is better at that than I am so you should talk to him!" Jason helped me tune it up, and basically taught me everything I needed to know about a tattoo machine after that.

At this time, I spent a lot of time making the tattoo needles... the most boring part of tattooing, ever... besides scrubbing tubes. I had to do a lot of that too. The coolest part of being able to make your own needle groups is that you know exactly what you are working with when you use them. This seems to be one of those traditional tattoo rituals that have faded out of existence for many of today's tattooists, as we now buy them in bulks of ready to go laziness in a package and then get pissed if they aren't always perfect.  Other than that, it was a lot of the usual... cleaning and keeping the shop in order, talking to customers and just making sure the place was opened each day on time.

As for tattooing, for me it was more or less a "learn by doing" process. Since it was only Jason and myself, Buzz threw me in straight away. Aside from the regular duties, I spent long hours tattooing. It was never really so busy on weekdays, but on weekends you could kiss your social life goodbye. There were days when we showed up to find people waiting at the door for us and by the time we got them in and situated, more were pouring in. Before then, I wasn't a very talkative or social kind of person but soon, the tattoo shop would become my social life. On weekends it wasn't uncommon to see the sun come up with the sound of machines still steady in the shop. The worst was that sometimes when we were just getting done and should have closed the shop, a new wave of people would show up and want work done... And I was always willing to oblige. (Something you can't really expect out of me now, though! :P)

As for when we weren't so busy, Jason and I continued the long-standing tradition of "bar-hopping". We would go out and hand out our business cards so that people knew who we were and where to find us.

One of my most memorable moments with Jason was on his 18^th birthday...

He came in that day and told me that we were gonna do some serious partying that evening! I asked of the occasion and he said it was his birthday and that he was finally "officially legal". Now at this time, Jason looked older than he really was and I had thought that he was a year or two older than me, so I was a little surprised to find out that he wasn't.  Needless to say, we went on an epic "bar-hopping drinking spree"! We, along with Chris Benson (R.I.P.) went to nearly every bar in town (or so it seemed) during the course of the night and along the way, we emptied six bottles of tequila... or at least that was the last number I remembered.  Speaking of remembering things, the next thing I remembered was waking up feeling like I'd been hit by a train and Jason running out the door of his house half naked and screaming something about not being able to find his motorcycle. When I could finally peel myself from the sofa I followed him out and found that my car was parked with the front bumper against the oak tree in the middle of his front yard and his motorcycle was leaning against it on the driver side front fender... neither of us remembered getting there... The only comment I have on that... We are trained jack-asses so don't try this at home! Neither of us have attempted or repeated this amazing feat since!

Stay tuned for more of the story when I can get back and write it, so peace out!

Q:)

Marked For Life; The story of blood, sweat, tears and tattoo needles! Part 3

American Tattoo, 1989-90 continued?

I hung out with Mick for about three months. In that time, I also met Jason, Mr. Buzz's son. He kind of kept the same attitude towards me that his dad did. They acknowledged that I was there, but they didn't pay me a whole lot of attention. At least, that's what I thought at the time. The first chance that I really got to talk to Buzz was when I decided to get a tattoo from him. I decided to get an old nickname tattooed over the top of my right shoulder. I was sitting in the shop and talked to him about it, and he told me to draw it up. I wanted it in the same style of lettering as was used on Motley Crue's album, "Dr. Feelgood". I drew it up and he got all excited about the little skulls and crossbones on each end of it. In the end, he made some changes to it and I was actually glad he did. He made it his own. He wasn't so open about his methods of tattooing as Mick was, but I could see and feel the difference. It hurt more, but I preferred his style. Something about his old school biker demeanor just made you respect him as well. 

Shortly after that, he opened another shop in Mississippi which was 2 hours away. He and Jason spent most of their time there and then came another artist known as "The Baron" or just Baron as we called him. He was from New York, he was big, he was loud, and for me, he was downright intimidating. I spent some time talking to him here and there and still doing a lot of drawing for him and Mick when I could be there. But at this point, I was getting quite a reputation for myself as a "tattooist?". I was tattooing my friends on my days off and they were out showing off my work, which in turn, brought more people to my door.

Keep in mind that this was over 20 years ago, and at that time, tattoo artists and shops were few and far between. Also at that time, tattooing was not near as socially accepted as it is today. In fact, there were still a lot of tattooists that thought latex gloves were cool just because they didn't have to wash the colors off their hands when they were done (never mind all the other funky shit they got on them).

In the meantime, I realized that tattooing was something that I wanted to take seriously, so I quit my job on the boats and looked for something a little more "inland". In the end, I found a job at Wal-Mart, of all places. I was basically a janitor... cleaning floors and doing maintenance work from 10 at night til 7 in the morning. Around 1 in the afternoon, it was time to sling some ink. Within 6 months, I was stressing to get done with the last tattoo so I wouldn't be late for "work".

Just about the time I was starting to rethink my situation of working in some form or another for 15 to 17 hours a day, I got a phone call from Jason. His dad was offering me a "learn as you work" apprenticeship.

Well... he didn't have to ask me twice! I went to Wal-Mart that evening and told them that it was my last night working for them. The next day, without sleeping, I took the hour drive to Houma to talk to Buzz. When I got there, I found out that both Mick and Baron had quit and the shop was closed for almost a week. Incidentally, Mick called me 3 days later to tell me that he and Baron had opened a shop in Cut Off... across the bayou from my mother's house (practically across the street).

One day when I had some time off, my younger brother and I decided to go in and say hello to them. By this time, they had heard that I was working for Buzz and both of them basically started dogging me for it. They were pissed because I didn't drop everything and come and work for them. But as I told them, I was grateful for what they've helped me with, but at the same time, it was Buzz's shop that I learned it in. Not to mention, all the work I had done for them in drawing designs, cleaning up the shop for them sometimes... and nearly getting my nose broke once. As an argument was getting started, I looked down at a portfolio of artwork on the table in front of me. It was Baron's and there was the sailor's crucifix that I drew up for Mick's customer a few months earlier. It was near identical to the first that I drew and signed by Baron. When I called him on it, he said, "What? I added a rope to the anchor!" Then he went into a fit and started yelling at me... "You think you're somebody, you little bastard, but you ain't shit! Maybe in 5 years you'll learn something, but maybe you can get a job cutting hair!" I thought to myself, "Where the hell did that come from? Cutting hair?". Then my brother, who was 15 at the time, cut in... "Quentin's already better than you, so maybe you can learn something from him in 5 years!" I started to laugh! It didn't go over too well. Baron retaliated with, "This is my shop, and it's my bayou now, so both of you get the hell out of here and don't ever come back!" As we left, I told him, "You might think it's your bayou, but I'm local and we'll see how far that New York attitude gets you, down here! Good F#cking luck, pal!" Mick never said a word... which seemed odd to me, but on the other hand, that was Mick. 

The next day at work, I was sitting with Jason and telling him about what happened. Suddenly, four bikers came pulling up at the front door of the shop. Two of the men waited outside in front of the door while the other two came in. One of them was a man we knew as "Pumpkin" or "Pun'kin" as we said it. He was huge and made a full size Harley Davidson look like a Honda rebel 250 when he sat on it... and trust me, that wasn't his scariest quality. He got in an argument with someone and the man pulled out a 357 magnum and shot him in the face. He was missing an eye and half his nose and the fact that he survived from it, told you that he was one tough fothermucker! And he just walked through the door and asked for me... by name. Somehow, I knew they weren't here to invite me to dinner.     As I stood up and introduced myself, he poked his finger in my chest and said, "Who the hell do you think you are, walking into my tattoo shop and saying that you own the bayou?"

Hmm... What goes through your mind when this happens? To be honest... there's not much that doesn't go through your mind. I figured an ass-whoopin' was coming one way or the other, so I might as well speak my piece and take it like a man. And I told him that. Then, I basically explained it just like I wrote it a few lines back. He just stared at me... for a minute... through his one eye... then he said, "Let's get one thing straight... It's my bayou and my tattoo shop, and I don't wanna hear about you setting foot in that place again. You got that?" Well, I'd pretty much made up my mind on that the day before... But I wasn't gonna tell him that. So I just said, "Easy enough!"

Let's face it, if the president of the local bike club is pissed at you and he claims he owns the whole damned world... you can safely assume that he does. But when someone else "stretched the truth" (about 28 miles (which was the distance he had to drive to whip my ass... in which he was either disappointed or relieved that he didn't (more about that later...), I'm sure somebody is going to hear it in the end!

At any rate, when it was said and done, Jason and I just stared at each other... Both of us were a little shocked at what just happened. He called his dad and told him about it. Buzz's reply: "Did anyone get hurt or shot?... Nope...? There's probably nothing to worry about, then! Just try to avoid this sort of thing in the future!" 

Let's just say that "avoiding this sort of thing" was going to be a challenge due to upcoming events? :P

Until next time... May the force be with you... :P

Q :)



P.s. Here's a pic of me and my younger brother... This was taken right about the time we visited that tattoo shop... :P

Marked For Life; The story of blood, sweat, tears and tattoo needles! Part 2

Well, it's been hectic times lately but I've finally found the time to write the next chapter... this is where it began for me as a tattoo artist...

One day a friend came to me and asked if I could design a tattoo for him, and of course, I graciously complied! The thought of someone wanting a tattoo of something that I drew up myself... Well, that was just awesome! So we sat down and drew out a design that consisted of a dragon and some skulls and the remains of an old jailcell that had broken walls. It was a cool concept at the time and a very typical jailbird design. When we were done, he ran off to the nearest parlor (again, at least an hour away) to get it done. Apparently, the complexity and size of the tattoo had added up to quite a price so he came back to me and said that it was a little rich for his blood. Then of course, he came up with the idea that since it was my art, I should do the tattoo. 

At this time, another friend had turned me on to some tattoo magazines that she had laying around. In one of those magazines was an article about a man named Jack Rudy. There was a few pictures of some portraits that he'd done. Among them was a portrait of Jack Nicholson from the movie "The Shining". It was "f@cking amazing!" For what we were seeing in our area, it gave a new outlook on what one could do with a tattoo machine if one had the talent to apply. As for my friend wanting the tattoo from me, I told him I would look into the cost of a tattoo machine and some supplies. Since he'd sat in a bit, he said "Oh don't worry about that! I'll show you how to make one!" In which he did... we didn't have any ink to use for it, and when he was supposed to come back a few days later with some... well he never showed up, and that was the last I'd heard of him. I can only wonder about what ever happened to him.

Needless to say, the little home-made tattoo machine got put away in a drawer for about a month until one day when another friend came over. We were piddling around with something and needed a screwdriver so I sent him to the "junk drawer" to find one. He came back with a little contraption in his hand and said, "Is this what I think it is?" And indeed it was. "Have you tried it? You got some ink? What about needles?" A flood of questions came out of it. To which the answer to all of it was pretty much "no". He ran off and about half an hour later came back with an art pad and some india ink. "I want to do this on my arm!" and he showed me a drawing that he did that consisted of a large flaming skull surrounded by a group of smaller skulls. We had no idea how a stencil worked, so I freehanded with an ink pen... which started to disappear after the first few lines. In the end, the design ended up nearly all freehand with the machine (which by the way, was a really slow piece of shit!). I'm not sure how long that thing took, but time didn't seem to matter.

I ended up doing about 6 or maybe 7 tattoos with the "contraption" as it was affectionately called. It was difficult, as I had to make a new needle and tube setup for each person I used it on. And I must say that my friends and I were very lucky that we were so stupid yet so fortunate as to not end up with infections or worse. 

After those 6 or 7 tattoos, I decided to go to a tattoo studio, (or parlor, as it was called then) and talk to them about an apprenticeship. I drove to Houma, Louisiana and there, I found only one.

American Tattoo: Houma, Louisiana

1989

When I walked in, I was greeted by a tall, slim, biker-looking type... his name was Adam West (like the original "Batman" and the mayor of Quahong on the "Family Guy", believe it or not:P) He was just a guest artist, passing through. I asked if the boss was there and he told me to wait and he went out the back door. When he came back in, he was followed by an older, scruffy biker gent who was wiping motor oil off his hands. He introduced himself as "Mr. Buzz". I told him that I wanted to be a tattoo artist and I was looking for an apprenticeship. I also told him that I'd done a little work with a home-made machine but I wanted to learn to do it with the real deal. He told me "First off, if you wanna learn it right, bring me a thousand dollars, an art portfolio and ten sheets of hand-drawn flash. And if you insist on still using that home-made shit, here's a stack of business cards to hand to your customers. Then they'll know where to get it fixed! Second; you can just come and get a lot of work done and maybe you'll learn something... or maybe not? Either way, it'll cost you around a thousand dollars." He smiled and went back to whatever he was workin' on out back. In an effort not to be discouraged, I stuck around to check out the portfolios of those who were working there and look at all the flash on the walls. After a little while, Adam finally came over and asked me what kind of stuff I liked to draw? "Whatever people ask me to!" was my reply. He asked if I had any tattoos, and at that time I only had three, which I had done myself... He took a look at them and told me he was actually impressed (by at least two of them... The third, is being covered by Vilde). 

A month or so later, I had come back to get my first professional tattoo. This time, there was another guy working there alone. His name was Mick Nickles. As I was talking to him, a guy that I went to school with came in and asked for a custom design. He asked Mick if it was ok that I try to sketch something out for him and it was fine with Mick since it was less stress for him. The design was a "sailor's crucifix" which consists of a cross, anchor and ship"s wheel. Mick was blown away that I pulled that off in 15 minutes and gave him a tattooable design. It was simple, clean, and all you had to do was shade it in. I let Mick do the other guy first and when it was my turn, we got to talk about tattooing and I got to pay close attention to what he was doing. That was about the time that I had just gotten a set of "actual" tattoo machines, a sterilizer, inks, and some tubes and needles. I was working on tug boats at the time, so I worked for 2 or 3 weeks at a time and then had a week off in between. Which I usually spent in the tattoo shop, hanging around and drawing for Mick. Buzz came in from time to time and seen some of my drawings and didn't seem to mind that I was there... He still handed me more business cards and told me "You know what to do with them!" :P

Meanwhile, Mick and I were getting to be quite good friends. I didn't drink at the time, so I didn't mind going out with him and driving him from bar to bar. As I was also learning at that time, that "barhopping" was a tattoo artist's favorite passtime activity! ;) The only real problem was that Mick drank a lot... which was usually followed by a bad case of "diarrea of the mouth" on his part. He'd get drunk and couldn't shut up, so I'd always have to talk "our" way out of a fight, or fight "my" way out of a bar... whereas Mick was already waiting in the car when the talking or fighting was done. :P

Whatever the case, I got to hang out where I wanted to be, and Mick gave up lots of secrets. And all I had to do was draw (and drive... and occasionally take one to the jaw)! :P

Stay tuned for more action and adventure..!

Rock out and keep on rollin? on!

Q

Marked For Life; The story of blood, sweat, tears and tattoo needles! Part 1

Hmmm... where to begin when one tries to explain how it began? From the beginning? BOORRING!
Tattoos! That's where it begins...

My father was a sailor and he had a number of tattoos. As a child, I was fascinated by the fact that they never washed off. As I got older and understood what they were, I was more and more positive that I wanted one too. My dad was cool and I wanted to be like him... His response was basically... "If you turn out like me, I'll kick your ass... no tattoos!" He never layed a hand on me in my life, but somehow, I took him seriously! Still, there was this obsession... art that you take with you... expression... commitment. Once you've expressed yourself, you can't take it back... you wear it on your sleeve for life (no pun intended)! Growing up, I loved to sit with a pencil or pen in my hand and doodle around. Through all the years of growing up and just plain growing, all the changes in interest, there was only two things that remained the same... art and the fact that I wanted a tattoo.

Aside from my dad, the only others in my family that had tattoos was my two uncles who have a couple of parrots on their forearms.I think they were done in the 60's or early 70's. One of my uncles had actually hand poked a tattoo on my mom (my dad's initials). When I was twelve, my youngest uncle came home with a tattoo. It was a devil's head with an iron cross... it was quite a bit different from the pinups and parrots of my dad and other uncles... Incidently., he contracted hepatitis from it. It was a point and a reminder that tattoos aren't always safe. Everyone freaked out when he had to go in quarrantine for 2 weeks... I still remember my great grandmothers words... "Now he done tattooed da devil on him an' he's gonna die!" Pretty serious shit to hear when you are 12...lol.  Still it didn't deter the obsession... I still wanted one.

When I was 16, the older brother of a friend came home with a new tattoo... I don't remember exactly what it was, but I remember that it wasn't that cool of a design. We asked where he had got it and he told us it was from the bar across the bayou. Now there was an old man tattooing in the back room at the "Welcome In". The closest other tattoo parlor was at least an hour away so if you don't have a car and short of money, you won't get far... so me and a friend went to see old man "Frank". When we got to the bar it was no problem to come in... It was dark and a little creepy... Only the bar and pool tables were lit up. There was 3 people at the bar, the bartender and the sound of something buzzing away coming from a half open door to the left. I had my design in hand and was ready to take the leap. As we walked through the door, I met this little old guy hunched down and grinding on his suffering customer... when he turned to greet us, the first thing that got my attention was was the super-thick cokebottle eyeglasses he was wearing (man, those things were probably bulletproof)... Then I could see the piece that he was working on and blood starting to drip down the side of the guys chest from the tattoo... This was the only place you could get tattooed before you were 18... I thought to myself, "It's probably not a bad idea to wait a couple of years!" Needless to say... We quickly found the door.

To be continued......

Rock out, but don't roll over!   Q:)