{"id":10790,"date":"2015-07-23T11:01:22","date_gmt":"2015-07-23T15:01:22","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/www.portlandmonthly.com\/portmag\/?p=10790"},"modified":"2015-08-04T18:24:54","modified_gmt":"2015-08-04T22:24:54","slug":"imagine-a-townrun-by-artists","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.portlandmonthly.com\/portmag\/imagine-a-townrun-by-artists\/","title":{"rendered":"Imagine a Town\u2026Run By Artists"},"content":{"rendered":"

July\/August 2015 | view this story as a .pdf<\/a><\/p>\n

Sampling 1970s Portland.<\/h2>\n

By Olivia Gunn<\/p>\n

\"Artists-from-the-70-web\"Memories flicker across their faces; secrets dance upon their grins. Over the span of two hours, I\u2019m told the story of the 10 years they spent passionately and wholly devoted to life in a section of Portland abandoned by those who lacked the artists\u2019 eye. Like Neverland, only those who believed it could see it, but I\u2019ll be honest, it\u2019s a tale you\u2019d have to see to believe.<\/p>\n

Characters as vivid as those from the pages of J.M. Barrie challenge my millennial\u2019s imagination, the foundation of which has slowly begun to buckle under student loans, rent prices, and Twitter.<\/p>\n

From Stanley the Stripper, who dressed in drag and hung around the Crow\u2019s Nest; to Hell\u2019s Angel Jake Sawyer; and Dave the Dog Man, whose nine dogs followed wherever he went, I\u2019ve replayed the stories over and over again in my mind and I still can\u2019t tell you if the members of this tribe were the first or very last of their kind.<\/p>\n

Once Upon A Time<\/strong><\/p>\n

It was 1972. Photographer Paul Luise was 21 and enrolled at PoGo (USM) when he went to see a show for artists Denis Boudreau and Howard Clifford at Joe Cousins\u2019s Longfellow Square Gallery. After the show, he was invited back to Cousins\u2019s and Clifford\u2019s studio on the corner of Fore and Exchange streets.<\/p>\n

\u201cWe\u2019re going down Exchange and there are no street lights, no parking meters,\u201d Paul laughs. \u201cSo I\u2019m trying to follow peoples\u2019 voices as we\u2019re walking, and Joe Cousins says to me, \u2018If you trip over something, don’t worry. It\u2019ll either scamper or groan.\u2019\u201d<\/p>\n

You had to scale up three flights to get to the studio.<\/p>\n

\u201cWe start going up the floors, and the place is total chaos. It looks like it\u2019s been bombed out. When we get through all of the grunge,\u201d Paul says, with Denis listening, \u201cI mean the streets smelled like urine.\u201d He smiles, the fragrance coming back to him. \u201cWhen we get up into the gallery, it\u2019s white walls, hanging plants, all this stuff. It was just so cool to see all of this beautiful creativity within this chaos.\u201d<\/p>\n

He shapes the image with his hands, still amazed by what he witnessed 40 years ago when Denis cuts in. \u201cGeodes.\u201d<\/p>\n

Paul looks to Denis, who lost his eyesight in recent years to effects of the Vietnam War, \u201cWhat did you say?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cGeodes. You know, the rock you break open and there\u2019s all kinds of crystals inside.\u201d<\/p>\n

Paul turns to me. \u201cYeah, that was it.\u201d<\/p>\n

As the men\u2019s wives, Sarah and Janet, catch up, every so often chiming with in with their own memories, the two men go back and forth, painting vignettes of their days in the Old Port.<\/p>\n

\u201cWe lived the way we wanted to,\u201d Denis says. \u201cNobody told us what to do. We walked around barefooted, we did what we loved: painting, sculpting, photography. And we were left alone.\u201d<\/p>\n

Left alone because, as the story goes, not even the Portland Police would descend into this part of town unless necessary. The buildings were abandoned. The restaurants and novelty shops we\u2019ve come to associate with the Old Port didn\u2019t exist, and weekends certainly weren\u2019t monopolized by the college crews we see today.<\/p>\n

In fact, when it\u2019s mentioned, Paul says, \u201cThe people who got beaten up the most in the Old Port were<\/em> the college kids. If they insulted a waitress or one of the local women, they\u2019d get their asses kicked.\u201d<\/p>\n

The few businesses that did exist included Zeitman\u2019s Grocery, whose sign lingers as one of the few remnants of the time there was a distinct smell of menthol about the store. Today, Dock Fore Restaurant sits in its place.<\/p>\n

When We Were Cool<\/strong><\/p>\n

Denis tells me it was a place they claimed because of the cheap rent ($40 to $50 monthly) and the fact that nobody else wanted to live here. \u201cWe did whatever we damn-well pleased.\u201d<\/p>\n

Butch Green and Lenny Hatch were already in residence as the pioneers of the Old Port community, having arrived in the \u201960s and taken their place at 45 Exchange Street. Originally, Denis had shared a studio there with Michael Willis, where they paid $7 a month. Friends Jon Legere and George Dole had studios on the third floor.<\/p>\n

A year went by before Legere revealed this perfect space at the Mariner\u2019s Church to Denis, and soon three artists\u2013Denis, Paul, and Jon Legere\u2013split the entire top floor into studios. When Paul arrived, Denis and Jon occupied two-thirds of the floor and offered Paul a side he remembers as rich with the smell of a fire the space had once endured. He paid $50 a month, which he assumed was his portion of the entire rent.<\/p>\n

Legere had the biggest studio, which became somewhat legendary. According to witnesses, he rigged a giant bed that hung from the ceiling 35 feet up, and could be raised and lowered. Perhaps I should have pushed for more details on this topic, but something told me it was best left to the imagination. Denis says the studio was so large it had its own atmosphere. Often, snow would develop from the nails protruding through the frosted shingles.<\/p>\n

Most of the members in this urban arts village were in their 30s or 40s, still struggling with authority and all that comes with it. Instead of conforming to the times, they lived and worked as though it were 1874 in France.<\/p>\n

\u201cI had big impressions,\u201d Paul admits. \u201cI was thinking like the French Impressionists. All these guys were going to be known.\u201d<\/p>\n

Days were spent working in their separate studios. Then, come five o\u2019clock, everyone gathered in one of the two local bars, the Seamen\u2019s Club or Old Port Tavern. It was what Denis calls their \u201cregimen.\u201d<\/p>\n

The Seamen\u2019s Club was where Bull Feeney\u2019s operates today. At five, you\u2019d drop whatever brush or lens you were using and head for happy hour.<\/p>\n

\u201cWe\u2019d meet, and the businessmen in the community would come down and party with us because they wanted to hear all of our crazy stories,\u201d says Denis. \u201cThey\u2019d come through the door and buy everyone a drink, and we\u2019d go there because it was happy hour and there was free food. So, we\u2019d eat and drink all night without spending any money.\u201d<\/p>\n

On one particular evening, Gov. Ken Curtis showed up with his wife and another couple. He was beckoned to the tables of artists, who wanted to talk about funding for their work. After about an hour, Paul remembers someone sending their apprentice out for cold cuts and rolls, which they made into sandwiches under the table during their meeting with the governor.<\/p>\n

From Here To Hyperbole<\/strong><\/p>\n

It doesn\u2019t sound as if there were really designated days of the week, though Paul says he often went back home on weekends to get a break from the parties and the after parties, which both men remember quite fondly.<\/p>\n

During the long winters, it was a race to find a someone with heat at the end of the night, and when all else failed, well, \u201cThere were always women,\u201d Denis says frankly.<\/p>\n

I try not to overthink this, but when \u201cgroupies\u201d are mentioned, I can\u2019t help but laugh. \u201cGroupies. You had groupies<\/em>?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIt made sense then,\u201d Denis says. \u201cStill does.\u201d<\/p>\n

Denis must have had a leg up on the other fellows since he\u2019d managed to find a forgotten gas pipe that had a valve on it in his studio. He went for five years paying $50 rent, heat included.<\/p>\n

On any given night, you could find somewhere to be with something to do and someone to do it with, and the guy who seemed always to have something going on was rebel-man Jake Sawyer.<\/p>\n

\u201cWas Jake an artist, too?\u201d I ask innocently. Paul and Denis crack up.<\/p>\n

\u201cHe was an artist all right,\u201d bursts Denis, \u201ca con-artist.\u201d<\/p>\n

After serving in the Army and winding up incarcerated in multiple prisons including Folsom, Jake joined the Hell\u2019s Angels. When he returned to the east coast, he was a regular in the Old Port. Sorry, not a regular, more like a legend.<\/p>\n

\u201cOne night, Jake told me to hold the front door open, and that\u2019s after he spilt beer on the dance floor,\u201d Denis tells us. \u201cI swung it wide, he started his motorcycle, and he drove it right inside\u2013you know, a big chopper. He drove it past the bar, onto the dance floor, spun around on the wet floor, drove up the stairs, and out the back door.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWhy?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWhy not?\u201d<\/p>\n

Why not<\/em>. I realize there will be no way to truly fathom how these guys lived. Were that to happen in the Old Port Tavern today, most of the police would be downtown in a heartbeat, an impressive force. But then, BC (before craft beers)? It was just another night, and now it\u2019s just another memory.<\/p>\n

As 30-somethings, Paul and Denis lived lives entirely alien to my 20-something existence. Their weeks were filled with what they loved most: their art, their friends, their town. And while we all strive for something like it, I\u2019m not sure a life like that could ever exist again. Not unless you have the money for it.<\/p>\n

Grimmer Tales<\/strong><\/p>\n

But this is not to romanticize every aspect of the time. They, too, experienced the loss and the pain none of us is exempt from. As Denis tells me, \u201cthere were good times, but there was a lot of dark stuff going on.\u201d<\/p>\n

The murder of Nikki Cleveland, a local real estate agent and close friend and supporter of the artists, casts a cloud over the otherwise happy conversation. Cleveland disappeared after showing a cottage in Yarmouth in the summer of 1981; her body was discovered 17 days later. Joel Caulk, who became known as the \u201cWant-Ad Rapist,\u201d was charged with the murder, convicted, and he received a life sentence.<\/p>\n

Then there was Cowboy, a loner who showed up one day and hung around for a while. \u201cA really great guy\u201d until the FBI showed up and arrested him for shooting a cop in the Midwest.<\/p>\n

It\u2019s from these headline-tales that the cultural intimacy of Portland at the time is revealed. \u201cEverything that happened, you knew about it,\u201d says Paul. So, I ask about poet James Lewisohn, and all at once everyone has something to share. Paul starts, \u201cHe would be considered a modern American poet. I was into that group, and in the \u201960s they were all very dramatic guys.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cHe was partying with us that night, and got so drunk,\u201d Denis interjects. He\u2019s referring to the night in 1974 when Lewisohn shot and killed his wife. \u201cHe had an inferiority complex. He was short, very short. And he owned a gun, which is a bad combination.\u201d<\/p>\n

Even so, Lewisohn, convicted murderer, was awarded a $7,500 grant from the National Endowment for the Arts in 1977.<\/p>\n

Growing Up<\/strong><\/p>\n

As a haunt, the Old Port that Paul and Denis knew existed from 1970 to about 1983, though both of them were out by \u201979. Paul moved west for a few months before returning to his home in Limington, and Denis bought a house.<\/p>\n

\u201cDenis said the end was coming when Greater Portland Landmarks asked if they could do tours in our studios,\u201d Paul says. \u201cWe were all anxious because we wanted to sell our stuff, but at the same time, Denis said, \u2018When people start seeing what we\u2019ve done with these places, they are going to start seeing the value.\u2019 He said, \u2018This is the beginning of the end.\u2019\u2019\u2019<\/p>\n

And so it was. Paul remembers the day when rent for his studio above OPT went from $50 to $400 a month. Denis recalls having to rent a secret studio just to get work done because of all the visitor traffic.<\/p>\n

\u201cThere were three stages of the Old Port,\u201d Denis tells me. \u201cThe early stage in the 1800s, when it was the root of Portland for business. Then it was dead for awhile. Then the artists planted the seed and they occupied the Old Port for 10 years before it got gentrified. It was our piece of heaven because the rent was dirt cheap, nobody bothered us, and we were free-range.\u201d<\/p>\n

Having met with Paul and Denis before this year\u2019s Old Port Festival\u2013they lay claim to participation in developing the original idea\u2013I find myself caught up in reflection walking through the over-crowded streets, trying to find just one of the stages. Could it be true what they say? Or were these two spinning me tall tales?<\/p>\n

Standing in the crowd on Fore Street as some folky artist sings of everlasting love, I turn to see the faded Zeitman\u2019s sign and, across from Bull Feeney\u2019s, the Mariner\u2019s Church. Overwhelmed by the swarming streets and hundreds of conversations I can\u2019t help but overhear, in that moment I feel I\u2019d give anything to step around the corner and climb the steps at 368 Fore Street to a whole new lifestyle as Paul did in 1972.<\/p>\n

As we\u2019re wrapping up, it\u2019s obvious Denis could keep going. He says he could go on for days about those times and the friends he so loved, like Jake Sawyer, John Legere.<\/p>\n

\u201cI saw Lenny Hatch today,\u201d he tells me. \u201cHe said the Old Port days were the happiest days of his life. And I can vouch for that. They were the happiest days of my life.\u201d<\/p>\n

There were at least 35 artists living in the studios by the late 1970s, including Maury Colton, Peyton Higgison, Alison Hildreth, Middy Childman, Ken Thomas, and Norman Thomas, all members of the Lost Boys on Neverland Island. Each plays a role in one another\u2019s history and is written into a story that\u2019s shut off to any new chapters.<\/p>\n

Forty years from now, I wonder what story I\u2019ll be written into, if any at all. I wonder if I\u2019ll ever find my Neverland, the place where I\u2019ll never grow old and never forget or if, like Paul, my Neverland will find me.<\/p>\n

To read Portland Magazine<\/em> feature stories that cover this period in depth, including coverage of Harvey Prager, Cathy Moulton, and James Lewisohn, visit portlandmonthly.com\/portmag\/2015\/7\/1970s<\/a>.<\/p>\n

Please click here to comment on this story<\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

July\/August 2015
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