Do You Need a Sign?

Do you need a sign? That was the question that I was asking every one that day. I had only been out of art school for five or six months. I had gone to Myrtle Beach, South Carolina to work with Lee Arthur. Lee, or Leroy as we all call him, is a natural artist. He signs some of his his work Leroi. He is a genius of improvisational construction. Everything he makes (horse carts, sail boats, dinghies, carvings, sculptures, wooden legs, houses, Leonardo Davinci silk screen apparatus, gliders, surf boards, model villages, driftwood sculpture, or whatever endeavor) has a distinctive style and flare.

We had been good buddies at art school, before he left early to ply his trade back home in the Carolinas. Florida is a southern state, but it just isn’t the same. Art school lost its luster by our third year. He didn’t think it was worth the trouble to stick out the final year and graduate. It simply wasn’t necessary for his career path. He was well established as a designer and sign maker in the Carolinas.

I stuck out the grueling program at Ringling. The competition was fierce. By my third year, most of my friends were gone or too busy. I was almost a loner, but not by choice. I was busy too. My style of art was rebellious for the course back then. I felt like I was slugging it out in the trenches, with limited resources. All around me, my classmates were pleasantly enjoying free sailing in a brilliant sea of talent. I couldn’t find a niche. If I planned on making a living, I needed one. I specialized in cartoons, but I couldn’t tap the market.

I didn’t get much encouragement from some of my teachers who pushed the traditional Ringling illustration style that was in demand in big cities like New York, Chicago and Atlanta. That style is a sure ticket to any ad agency or media mill. I didn’t like it. It was too cliché. Half of the things turned in by Ringling students looked like one artist had executed them. There were the top six students, whose work in the style was world class. Several more were good and professional at it. Last, there was a group (I would call hacks) eking it out as best they could. I didn’t want to be another hack.

I worked with Lee Arthur in South Carolina before art school. I had dropped out of Annapolis, because at eighteen, that is the smartest you will ever be for the rest of your life. It was a stupid decision, but I was proud of it at the time. I was staying with my parents. My Dad, an Air force pilot was the new Wing Commander at Myrtle Beach, AFB. I was majoring in journalism with a minor in psychology at the University of South Carolina, Coastal Campus. Coming from the Naval Academy, it was a joke to me. I lost a whole year of serious credit from my resignation circumstances. No one in their right mind would have taken the deal. It was designed to manipulate me into sticking it out and pursuing my career. My Officer Advisor almost broke down begging me to stay. He insisted that I would regret it, and would never live it down. At times . . . I toast to his accuracy.

I started over as a freshman. I refused to undergo the local rites of freshman passage that pale in comparison to being a plebe at Annapolis. My experience with some of the dense locals was entertaining to me, but my humor had few fans. I had to pretend an old friend was around to share the joke with. Most of the locals were affable, easy going and could care less about that sort of thing. They were a joy to be around.

I talked to Lee Arthur at length for the first time during a huge outdoor party that one of the Coastal students threw on his family’s nice farm. They called it a "Pig Picking". There was a ton of food, drinks, smokes and a jamming band. They always do that sort of thing up there. It is a good way for diverse members of the community to mingle. It stimulates friendship and business.

It was a burden for me to live at home. Being the Wing Commander’s son was like living in a fish bowl. I wasn’t much older than the high school kids living on base. One got caught with dope and told the base cops that he got it from me. I didn’t even know the stool pigeon, but I couldn’t put the issue to rest. The goofy OSI officer was forever searching my car and smugly threatening to bring me down. I was forever pushing his buttons and playing games with his head. It became a consternation to my poor Dad. Lee Arthur needed someone to share the rent in his little hovel near the beach in Garden City. I only knew him from surfing at the same breaks, but we already had the mutual respect that accomplished surfers share. We both liked art and music. I took him up on his offer to split the $150 per month.

Lee is a fantastic sign painter. He learned from master billboard artist, Ed Fanjoy, who could replicate old circus and carnival art better than anyone in the business. I thought of him often at my part time job at the Circus Hall of Fame in Sarasota, where Ringling is. I was struggling for rent, and Lee asked me to help him with a billboard he was working on. I was taking art as an elective, and had been encouraged to draw by my Mom since I was old enough to hold a crayon. I never liked coloring books, and just did my own thing. I turned out to be a big help and picked up the skills quickly. There were no computer generated graphics back then. Sign painters were at a premium. My interest was piqued.

After art school, I decided to join Leroy again. I liked painting billboards. The money was good, and Lee Arthur was becoming well known for doing big, funky, carved, sculptural pieces. We liked the idea of doing public works. Most people don’t see real art much. We were doing it on buildings and the side of the road. We were heroes in our own mind. We never officially went into business. We did what work came along and didn't worry if the other guy didn't include us in a pet project. There was plenty of work in those days, and we enjoyed our independence from "the Man" and each other.

Once, after an unpleasant business experience, a friend of mine proclaimed that business and friendship don’t mix. It depends on what kind of friend you are and how you do business. Lee Arthur and I handled our share of cash. We never had a cross word, were always happy with our share, and are great friends to this day. Leroy has a generous spirit.

Leroy built a peculiar little sailboat out of plywood that was rigged like a Chinese Junk. He whittled his own mast out of spruce and found a stand of bamboo somewhere that he tempered and used for the supplemental parts. It was a neat little vessel with a cozy cabin. When Lee finished the boat, he took a few weeks to test and tweak it. When he felt comfortable, he stocked it up and sailed off. He left me with the business and didn’t look back. A couple of years later, when he returned from his voyage, I returned the favor and moved back to Florida.

Welcome to the Nautical Nutcase and Epic Adventure Department!

Lee Arthur did this sign after he took a trip to Jamaica. He did the original pirate out of a single tree trunk in the Jamaican tradition.. His was standing with his good leg on the crook of the sign and looking up into an empty bottle. Some college guys stole it. I got to replace it with this one, since Leroy had sailed off for awhile. Everyone should have a chance to do something like Lee's low budget adventures. Everyday brings anticipation of another happy time.

Drunken Jack is a legend of a drunk pirate who got left on an island in Murrells Inlet along with a huge cache of pirate rum by Blackbeard or the slippery Capt.Murrell. It is in dispute. When the pirates came back for the rum, it was all gone. The empty casks were being guarded by the dead man's bones. At least he died happy.

I have also heard drunken Jack was a Baptist preacher from an inland town who went out there to get drunk with his no good buddies from Murrells Inlet. He supposedly stayed drunk for days and ranted at the devil when he was alone.

On this day, I didn't have anything to do. It was late fall and the tourist rush to the Carolina coast was over. I “got” while the "getting" was good and made my money during the boom. I wanted to keep it for a trip to a secret spot in the Bahamas, where the waves are spectacular, and you can see a hundred yards when you dive. Rent was coming up and I needed pocket money. Myrtle Beach was dead. I pulled out a map to scope out a likely route. My van was rigged for working and camping. If I hit a good vein of work, I could be gone for two or three weeks. Sign painters were scarce in the little towns on the back roads. There was always a diner, BBQ, or an old time roadside market that needed sprucing up. I would pull in with my portfolio under my arm and ask, “Do you need a sign?”

Silk screening can be a lucritive business or a fun hobby.

" Go ahead! Try some Murrells Inlet style seafood & goodies!"

Everyone in Murrells Inlet, South Carolina knows and loves Bubba Love. In a town famous for fresh local seafood and filled with great restaurants, Bubba is the master. He is a great guy and caters parties throughout the year. You don't know what fun can be had if you haven't partied with Bubba Love! The owner of Drunken Jacks paid the hefty bill for Lee Arthur to carve the likeness. People who aren't even drunk walk up and start talking to him.

Woodcarving requires good wood, sharp tools and patience. Try it.