Old Stool

By Mr. G

They say hearing is the first thing to go as one ages. I often find it hard to understand what the youngsters are talking about. One thing I’ve noticed on countless occasions―something that could possibly hinder my hearing―is that many young men articulate their voices towards the ground. It appears that these boys are unavoidably grabbing at their oversized jeans which continually slip toward their knees. During conversations with these youngsters, they grab their ever-sliding pants and consequently talk towards the ground as they reposition their trousers. It must be rough growing up with clothes handed down from a significantly larger big brother. I can’t imagine walking around holding my pants up with one hand all the time. I feel lucky, thanks to tattooing, that I am able to buy pants that fit. I can also afford a belt.

Under Construction

I had a customer come in a couple weeks ago and wanted to know where my fancy vinyl hydraulic chairs were. She said she had watched every tattoo television show there was to see and, consequently, felt that our shop was not up to par. For one thing, my face and hands weren’t tattooed. Also, I was well past my mid-twenties. According to her, most lacking was the fact that we didn’t have the modern, giant, bed chairs from the flight deck of the Star Ship Galactica.

I politely began a conversation that explained the lack of Hollywood mega-chairs in our shop, then, suddenly, without warning, I experienced a fantastic moment of truth―OLD STOOL! “Old stool, in fact, became so crystal clear to me that it felt like a diamond bullet had been shot into my forehead.

It’s simple. The reason for not having giant, bionic tattoo chairs is that we are in an old building on the second floor, with narrow doors and stairwells. The older barber chairs and dentist chairs, as well as the latest fancy chairs, would require cutting a hole in the roof and a crane to drop them into our antique habitat. Once located upstairs, in all probability, the chairs in question, being of overwhelming weight, would fall through the floor.

My New Old Stool

The barber chair concept in tattooing has been around longer than the electric machine. The use of barber chairs probably came from tattooing in shops that were located in back of or part of urban barbershops. I have observed a lot of artists who successfully use a barber-style chair. I have been tattooed a few times in the exotic old nickel-plated versions. My first tattoo, in fact, was done in an old, converted barbershop with a throne-style model. Years later, Suzanne Fauser did a wonderful tattoo on me in her Ann Arbor studio from one of those large Victorian engraved antiques. Come to think of it, it was on the second floor. Yikes! My back aches just thinking about getting it up those stairs.

After many years, I do have the “old stool” figured out. I believe it describes a simple work chair that fits the tattooist well. In fact, I have a favorite stool. I call my “chopper chair.” I cut about twelve inches off the center post with a hacksaw. This old stool of mine adjusts up and down by that old fashioned center screw and allows me to sit lower than any chair on the market. By chopping the stool down, I can sit up straight with my head in a position that greatly reduces the discomfort of bending over a client.

My reasons for having simple chairs in our shop comes from times long gone and are tied directly to the early traditions of circus tattooing. My teachers and, more accurately, their teachers were from a generation of tattooists that migrated to find tattoo work. These tattoo legends would follow the navy fleets, military base paydays and the circus sideshows. The root of this migration work style was developed from tattooing with the traveling circus sideshow. A large majority of the tattooists from the mid-1900s till the mid-twentieth century worked with these sideshows.

Norman Rockwell's Old Stool

Heavily tattooed people were a very rare site indeed and in high demand as an attraction for the 10-in-1 marvel acts. They were paid to be on display as tattooed attractions. Some of these acts featured tattooed couples. Many tattooed, female attractions were partners to adept tattooists, whether as lovers or daughters of their tattooed families. The beginning of women in the tattoo trade had their roots in the circus, as they learned to make extra pennies by applying tattoos between shows.

Of course once that mesmerized special person in the audience saw a tattooed attraction, the ancient primitive urge for one’s own tattoo was sparked. I believe this urge is triggered just as dancing or singing sprouts from deep space within our biological psyche. Tattooing flourished across many rural parts of the world because of these circus artists.

Many of the fathers of our industry worked the circus at one point in their career. Paul Rogers, Stoney St. Clair, Danny Denzel. In fact a very large percentage of our forefathers worked the circus, where they would often switch from their stage costume as they stepped from the sideshow platform. They would then quickly change into proper street clothes and squeeze into a small, tattoo exhibit tent space. Sometime it was just a piece of canvas precariously stretched from the roof of their Model-T Ford, ever-ready to drive till dawn for the next orchestrated outdoor performance.

The concept was simple, space in a Model-T or circus wagon was limited. A place for everything and everything in it’s place. Only the basics with little frills. One suitcase for all your clothing and personal necessities, and a durable circus trunk full of all of your tattoo equipment. If you really wanted to pack heavy, maybe a folding chair for the customer. Many tattooers would use the same trunk with a pillow for their work seat. The flash was often pinned to a neatly stretched wool blanket along one side to provide shade. When the day was finished, the flash woven together with shoe lace grommets and cord would fold like an accordion back into the tidy tattoo trunk. The same wool blanket and the pillow from the box-style stool would then serve as a bed.

Those days, of course, are long gone and tattooing has evolved into a fad that is sometimes hard to fathom. No one is complaining. We all are grateful for the new found popularity. And yes I am very well settled into a comfortable permanent studio. I figure, conservatively, I’ve done at least fifteen thousand tattoos from that chair. It has been restored at least four times, due to wear and tear. I hope to tattoo from that chair until the day I die. To paraphrase Charlton Hesston, “They will have to pry it from my cold, dead ass!”

Tattooing; as ancient as time, as modern as tomorrow.

―Mr. G

g@triangletattoo.com

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