Bostworld

What kind of developer are you? When you encounter that dilapidated old wooden hovel on an otherwise empty lot, do you think “MacDonalds!!” or do the wheels inside your head begin to spin with all the ways you could retrofit it into a popular night spot, replete with hot fusion cuisine and perhaps a deejay on the weekends, serving up the latest in “chill out” mood music along with the finest local microbrews? Does that burned out shooting gallery of an abandoned hotel or apartment make your heart flutter with dreams of a glorious student housing/gallery combo, ready to take advantage of the soon to be completed downtown annex of the local university? All using only the latest in “green” building techniques?

That’s probably what’s on your mind if you’re developing here in Phoenix. Rennovation is the key to the current building cycle. What with all the doings downtown, all that beat up space south of the freeway is pretty much up for grabs these days. Or it was; you might actually be too late to get in on the ground floor. Happily, there still appears to be plenty of banked vacant lots just waiting for the right deal to come along to pry them loose from their owners. They say that development is running so rampant that Phoenix is experiencing a city-wide crane shortage.

Here at Bostworld, we’ve seen too many of these building cycles of come and go. It’s hard for us to get too excited about them. They say it’s all about attracting entertainment dollars to the downtown area. But it seems most of the money spent downtown is by enthusiast developers, who come in, knock a bunch of stuff down, put up a bunch of crappier stuff, and move on until they find another city to pick on. All this stuff about “putting feet on sidewalks” is just part of the shell game. Even the so-called “renovations” appeal to me less than what was there before. So whenever I get the chance, I like to head downtown with my camera to capture what’s left, before it’s all gone.

I’m not the only person on the web obsessed with Phoenix’s vanishing urban terrain. Some of my favorite sites on the web include John Arthur’s Sierra Estralla site, and it’s magnificent history of Van Buren Avenue, Mitch Glaser’s loving tribute to Smitty’s Big Town, the 4-H’s Club’s photo archive, and the site that stands above all others in my mind, Ron Heberlee’s Vintage Phoenix Photos site. Ron’s pages devoted to the old Art Deco Fox Theater take my breath away. Ron’s poignant description of that building’s demise pretty much says it all:

The Fox theater was probably the most important building in Phoenix left in 1975 so naturally the city wanted to tear it down, for a city shoe box shaped bus terminal that lasted only a few years. There was an auction for the contents of the Fox Theater, The whole thing only brought $8,500! A chandelier that cost $8000 during the Depression brought $250 in 1975.

The masses have spoken: you LOVE The Damon Show! Actually that’s not true. Compared to the numbers that followed Boing Boing’s link to our “The Little Cloud” filmstrip, only a small handful bothered to check out the other material on my YouTube “channel.” But that’s okay; Damon’s fans like it — especially those folks who were actually in the show! This is problematic, since he keeps getting requests for footage that only exists in my collection on old video cassettes buried heaven knows where in one of my closets. I’m a loving brother and all, and certainly the cruddy VCR copies should be preserved one day, but for now, I’m sticking to stuff that’s already in the can.

Which brings us to this week’s offering. One of my brother’s most prolific and constant collaborators on the show was David Martin, who appeared as “Knowledge” in our last “Damon Show” installment, and who features quite prominently this time around. He shares the spotlight with our host in their version of Bertolt Brecht and Kurt Weill’s “Army Song.” Interiors for this piece were filmed in Bisbee’s historic Copper Queen hotel. Martin then reports from a Tucson bookstore, where they unsuccessfully attempt to cover a book signing by Dan Quayle.

The highlight of our second clip is a short piece by Bisbee resident and San Francisco Renaissance expat, Knute Stiles. A noted abstract artist, poet and art critic, Stiles is probably best known for starting the legendary North Beach bohemian bar, The Place. There, along with co-proprietor Leo Krikorian, Stiles started the dadaist open mike events which came to be known as “Blabbermouth Night.” Here, Stiles pays tribute to Bisbee’s “neighborhood rapist,” a particularly aggressive tabby named Max.

I’ll be the first to admit it: I don’t “get” the Las Vegas concept. It promotes several debilitating vices, it’s overflowing with one of my least favorite creatures on earth (human beings) and it’s a model for knocking down cool old shit to make way for ugly new shit. About the only thing I want to do there is fly in, grab a rental car and drive the hell out of town, preferably to some any of the beautiful wilderness one state over. Oh, and that’s another thing: its very hideous presence means there’s necessarily that much less beautiful wilderness on the planet. But you could say the same about any city, so I can’t really deduct points on that count.

I do like visitors, however, and if it’s one thing people can’t get enough of, it’s classic Las Vegas. The number of sites dedicated to preserving the memory of the magnificent edifice that was once Sin City is truly overwhelming. You’d be surprised at how many folks stop by Bostworld just to look at the pictures of old Las Vegas menus that I inherited from my grandfather. As it turns out, my other grandfather liked to visit Vegas too. Though he wasn’t as drawn to the promise of disgusting “fine dining,” he did enjoy collecting postcards.

I suppose it would be stating the obvious to say that most of the landmarks depicted on these cards are long gone. If I spent more time in Las Vegas, I might be able to tell you if any of them are still standing. Fortunately, the tonnage of Vegas ephemera in the net includes historical maps. You can also find a serious slewful of postcards like mine on Flickr, including many that are, for all practical purposes, identical to mine. But since excess appears to be the hallmark of The Strip, I say the more the merrier.

Classroom Filmstrips have been a staple of kitch fans since time immemorial (that’s about four decades, in Kitsch Years), yet the Web still lacks a truly marvellous repository of the things. (Note: You can go here, but they are mostly films.) Collectors are apparently afraid to let them out of their little plastic tubes for fear they’ll crumble in the air. Others would rather compile them onto equally crumbly paper and weigh in on the matter with their own two cents. I found a few promotional items, like this Esther Williams swimming pool endorsement, and some from Ford Motor Corporation. But the only school related material I found relates to the sub-genre of anti-drug propaganda. But I’ve found little that relates to such all-important topics as personal hygene, public safety, good citizenship and religious instruction.

Continue reading ‘The Little Cloud’

If you’re lucky, and you haunt your local dollar bins long enough, you’ll still find albums on the Alshire label. But the best ones are getting harder and harder to find. You’ll still come across the odd 101 Strings album, provided it doesn’t have hot models in skimpy sixties getups on the cover — most of those were snapped up and shipped overseas long ago. But you’ll almost never find records by the Animated Egg, Doctor Marigold’s Prescription or John Bunyan’s Progressive Pilgrims. You also won’t find too many albums by the subject of this week’s featured fetish, the California Poppy Pickers.

Continue reading ‘Blue-Eyed Soul By The California Poppy Pickers’

A couple weekends ago, time and the weather permitted my wife and I the opportunity to hit the road. Naturally, I wanted to take pictures, so I lobbied for a drive to my old fave haunt, the Miami/Globe area.

Miami’s charm is undeniable. Huddled around decrepit mining operations, crumbling homes rub shoulders with shuttered processing plants and massive barren tailing mounds. The best stuff is out of public view, hidden behind locked gates and barbed wire fences on land owned by the mines, which continue to function. But the neighborhoods offer up plenty of wealth on their own. My wife hates it when I hunt for subjects in the residential streets. She feels that homes should be off limits, and says it’s only a matter of time before I earn a confrontation with an irate resident. But these places are clearly empty, and not long for this world. Besides, I can always say I work for a real estate company.

Continue reading ‘Boom Town’

About fifteen years ago, between the time he moved from Bisbee, Arizona to Tucson, and when he finally escaped to the outskirts of Pearce, my brother Damon discovered the awesome Access Tucson, one of the finest public access television providers in the country. Theirs was a great partnership. Suddenly he was peppering me with requests for old cartoons, pictures from the internet, copies of his various recordings, any raw material he could use for a grand project, the outlines of which I could just barely make out. Next thing I knew, he was pressuring me more than usual to drive down to Tucson and help him out with a television program he claimed to be putting into production.

Continue reading ‘The Damon Show, Part One’