this appeared in “the heART of Cleveland 2” published by Sott Kraynak 11.2024 . . . the art was to be in the book but space considerations cut it . . . art doesn’t go with piece, was just an idea I had for a paiting in 1972 but couldn’t execute because I lack the talent.
Cliff Note Cleveland
Born in a Bitterroot Mountain mining town in the 1940’s, raised on 40-acre farm on Paradise Prairie in the 1950’s. Moved to Spokane, which led to 9 days in Juvie for stealing 13 cars when 14. A San Diego-Memphis-Bainbridge enlisted path led to Annapolis and the Naval Academy for 2 1/2 years, which led to weed, which led to expulsion and Baltimore and marriage and armed robbery and jail which led to college and computers which led to divorce and Michigan and Phoenix and finally in 1977 coming to Cleveland for another man’s wife, whom I was faithful to for four years, except the one night her husband’s sister and I drunkenly coupled on their living room floor while she watched from the dark hall in silence, furious.
Moved to a downtown warehouse for five years, W. 6th & Lakeside, 4th floor NE corner, 3,000 square feet, 20 foot ceilings, nine 12 foot windows facing the city, four facing the lake, $300 a month. Did a lot of acid. Gave Art Parties every 3 months. Met a plethora of artists, poets, actors, musicians. Found a lot of friends.
43 years later, Sheridan, an edgy Cleveland cartoonist, said there’s a book of Cleveland legends coming out which I should be in, and I laughed. At best I’m a footnote*, mainly because of living illegally in the Bradley warehouse from 1981-85, where one morning we woke to find ourselves headlined in the Cleveland Press as “ILLEGAL LOFT DWELLERS.
So, 1981, there’s a banging on my 20′ x 30′ metal firedoor. I slide it open and this small, thin, drunk punk sneers, “Ya got any drugs?” I say no, but if you find any, come back. He did. That was artist poet publisher provacatuer Robert “Dick Head” Ritchie (a legend), who led me to poet Daniel Thompson (a legend), who introduced me to poet Maj Ragain (another legend) and others, all of whom were big then but now dead and starting forgotten. Dick Head published my art and poetry in his raw vulgar cut & paste zine “Clevebland Rag-O-Zine” which inspired me to start “Artcrimes” which published 577 writers and artists in 21 issues over 20 years.
The warehouse also led to Art Attacks with R.A.T. – the Regional Art Terrorists – led by Field Marshall May Midwest, who’s my favorite legend (still legending in Chicago). My glory was climbing up the side of the Detroit Superior Bridge at 4 a.m. on massive amounts of LSD carrying a 4′ set of red gleaming plywood lips painted by May Midwest on my back. I walked through the abandoned second level avoiding the holes in the road and hung the lips at the midpoint to greet the morning workers on incoming RTA trains. I chained them to the concrete columns, but they didn’t last long.
Meanwhile Spaces Gallery was moving into the bottom floor of the warehouse and I helped them scrape the walls, which led to my first one-person show in 1984, which led to 22 years of decent press for art and “Artcrimes” until my new wife and I left the country in 2006 for 31 months. When we came back half the newspapers were closed and those that weren’t were skinny, and most media folk who once knew of me no longer existed.
That’s that, had my chance, but what a ride.
*My one legendary performance was tearing drunk down the Shoreway at 90, slowing to turn onto the E. 9th street bridge, then flooring it to discover the bridge ahead had a 3′ segment missing, blocked off by a snow fence. It was too late to stop so I floored it – the fence wrapped itself around the car so we couldn’t see what was happening until we landed on the other side, unfazed. Went and bought more alcohol. Did that a lot in those daze. We were stupid, but lucky.
