I didn't bring the matter up again, because I knew that was one thing I could rely on Godfrey to do. Sure enough, during my layover in the Phoenix airport, he asked, stressing that I could say no, if I would take Wagner along for photographing at Twin Peaks' sites. Of course I agreed;(1) I'd left just enough room in the carry-on bag for just this eventuality. Wagner was laid to rest, wrapped in the swath of fake ermine we'd bought three years at Southern Imports three years for the crowning finish of our video, "Wagner's Houston," atop a black satin bra.
I was heading northwesterly to visit separate but equal contingents of pals, a couple known as the Two Daves(2) and the endlessly extended family of the mischievous J. The trip was marked by magnificently clear skies(3) and more than my minimum daily requirement of weird, not all of which involved a stowaway.
That night, the late news alerted consumers to a grave danger: wood stain spontaneously combusting. As the voice- over warned of impending disasters, the camera focused on a steel bin stuffed with stain-soaked rags, which, soon and sure enough, ignited. In the next commercial break, the third or fourth in the sequence advertised: wood stain.
I took Wagner, shrouded in his fake ermine, along on a day trip to Vancouver. Signs at the
Canadian border required
declaring any offensive weapons. We passed without incident, even without mentioning our
strange cargo. Wagner did
catch attention, however, at the troll under the Aurora bridge,(5) though only along the lines of "hey, wow, that's really
weird." No one noticed him, however, alongside the sculpture of people waiting under a bus
shelter in Fremont, which
change clothes and signage according to whims of passers-by. I didn't even bother to bring him
out at the house covered
with Jello molds.
At lunch on the golf course in Snoqualmie, C., son of J., announced that he wouldn't be going
along to photograph
Wagner at various Twin Peaks sites after all, because he embarrasses easily. (This from the man
whose initial reaction
to Wagner was that we should roll him in Saran Wrap and put him in the river in front of the
mill.) Despite his
comment, I left the greatest composer of all time on our table. As the meal progressed, C. tore off
a strip of his napkin,
dabbed it with ketchup, and stuck it into the hole in Wagner's forehead.(6) The rest of the napkin he folded into a long
bandage, which he wrapped around W's head. After fastening the ends with a paper clip J. fished
from her purse, he
spooned ketchup onto the spot over the hole.
"[C.] is perverse," his father said that evening, with a smile.
After lunch, without prompting, C. nonetheless facilitated shots of Wagner before the diner,
against mountain peaks
and in the middle of the highway, where, unfortunately, no danger threatened him. At least, not
there. That the Angel
of Destruction was keeping the bust in its sights, however, was brought to our awareness in their
idyllic backyard. Resting
on an umbrella-topped wrought iron table, Wagner was lingering over a coffee cup and a pack of
smokes when I spied a
nook just his size in a bower made of apple tree branches. He fit, but was too heavy to stand by
himself, so I stood him
on the ground. A few minutes later, a terrific crash broke out. A gust of wind had lifted the
umbrella, which had knocked
over the table and jettisoned everything that had been on it down the deck stairs, which were now
littered with dirt and
shards from the flower pot that had doubled as ashtray. The felt beneath Wagner's pedestal was
wet. He'd moistened
himself, and no wonder! I laid him on his back to dry, next to the house, went inside and (sorry,
Godfrey!) forgot
about him. Until
someone asked, several hours later, "Why is Wagner sunbathing on the deck?" J. and I related
the tale of Wagner's near-
demise to her husband and son. "Odd that gust of wind," said the first. "Must have been a Bach
draft," said the second.
Wagner did make it to Snoqualmie Falls,(7) thanks
to J. and her husband, who was charmed by the whole Wagner
nonsense ("You talk just like your zine!" he exclaimed my first night in his house) and dreamed
up shot after shot.
Through his efforts, the plaster menace found its way to the streets of Roslyn, which had earlier
that week lost its
communal livelihood as location for "Northern Exposure." Wagner posed in front of the KBHR
studio, the Brick and
the doctor's office. Outside Roslyn's Cafe, a clerk I'd seen at the hardware store walked by as I
lowered W (8) to change the
film in my camera. "Oh," he said, taking a good look at my charge. "I thought it was an ice cream
cone."
My carry-on bag triggered concern at the Seattle airport. "Do you have a statue in there?" a
security guard asked.
I unzipped the bag and pointed at the fake ermine. She unrolled the cloth, got a look at Wagner's
battered visage,
carefully rolled it up, all without saying a word.
Back in Houston, my friend who'd agreed to give me a ride home
greeted me with the news that he'd parked at Ludwig's castle -- meaning one of the
photos of architectural wonders the airport posts as aids for locating cars in the parking lot. The
door opening was
irresistible. As last act of the trip, my camera captured the tireless model next to an image of his
royal patron's best-known
folly. Visual, that is.
Excerpted from Ladies' Fetish & Taboo Society Compendium of Urban Anthropology
1) Yeah, right, like I was going to say no, after already having lugged
that bust all over hot, humid Houston in a car with malfunctioning air-conditioning; invested
upwards of $75 to accompany it on a helicopter ride over Manhattan; talked my parents into
putting it (and us) up for a night; and held it out the passenger window while I drove by Dealey
Plaza and Godfrey conversed with conspiracy freaks in the park. (back to
text)
Hot Town! '95, Vol. VIII, No. 2
Want more info? Write fortuna@pipeline.com.
More Wagner?
Back to cafe menu
2) whose refrigerator is littered with magnets of the Michelangelo
sculpture
and his sizable wardrobe, which include high heels and a few other cute little items cribbed from
a set intended for Venus de Milo. (back to text)
3) Contrary to Seattle's reputation, the only thing that fell out of the sky on
me was aphid juice. (back to text)
4) and by Annette Funicello warbling a beach party song (back to text)
5) point of scale: its left hand clutches an honest-to-God VW Beetle (back to text)
6) He took a tumble into the Rio Grande, see, after attempting Liebestod
to
impress a statuette named Gretchen...(back to text)
7) And to the Snoqualmie Log, which I found on my own reconnaissance.
"Guess this makes you the Wag-Log Lady," said my personal life commentator Rex. (back to text)
8) How to make a Wagner photo: (1) Become acquainted with Godfrey
Daniels. (2) When he offers you the bust, which he will, sooner or later, especially if you live
near or travel to really cool places, take it. (3) Hold it in your non-dominant hand and stretch
your arm out. (4) Hold a camera in your free (i.e., dominant) hand. (5) Press the button. Viola!
(back to text)