stairs with some cases of beer and waiting at the top of the stairs was a disgruntled customer who some hours prior kidnapped Steve’s wife and had her in a motel room just a few blocks away. The guy was carrying a 357 and unloaded that weapon in to my friend, by boss’s chest. I could not believe what had happened. Normally I’d have been there but I had decided to go do some white water rafting that weekend. I couldn’t believe what had happened; if I were there I’d have been the one carrying beer up those stairs that night. Not that it would have been me who would have got shot, but just that, maybe if I had been there that maybe Steve would still be with us today. Things were never the same after that tragic night, sure the guy was caught, and they put him where he belonged. And Merissa got through the ordeal but it wouldn’t be long before she would sell that quaint little bar and grill called El Pacanti’s. After feeling com-fortable at the bar I began slinging ink on my customers, how great was that, you could not only get a shot but after ours hours the place transformed in “Some Place Else” Some Place Else was the name of my first studio that was born a number of years later after migrating to Sacramento. Well, one things for sure I wasn’t hurting for cus-tomers, hell they sat on there bar stools right their in front off me every evening, Trust me, at least three or five times a week I’d have some one in my make shift studio getting ink. I’d close at 2am and sling ink until 6am and I did it as often as I could. I started with a start up kit, I imagine like every one else, I had gotten mine while I was still doing my think for Uncle Sam. I upgraded my sterilizer and ultra sonic leaner, but other then that I had everything I needed, I was on a mission to prove some people wrong, cause there is one thing you don’t want to tell me is that I can’t. See, I had gone around to a number of studios while in SF try to get a foot in the door. Every one kind of looked at me like I need a check-up from the neck-up. I don’t know weather it was because of my age, at the time being 27, or because I didn’t know anybody in what at the time was a close knit industry. I’m thinking that maybe it was a little of both. Any ways, I wasn’t going to let a couple of slammed doors stop me from what I wanted to do. I’m not sure its something I wanted to do as far a primary source of income, but I wanted to learn more, because up until this point most of what I learned was second had type info, lots of research and that sort of thing. I need to get my ass in a shop where I could really absorb some of the tricks of the trade you hear so much of. So, working till those early morning hours in the middle of the tenderloin I concentrated on putting a portfolio, one that was worth looking at. I did a lot more drawing at this time also and even-tually had a greeting card company interested a line of cards I had designed. I worked in San Francisco for almost five years then mi-grated to Sacramento. There I got my first position in a real shop. The place was called Above All Tattooing, I work there about eight months just long enough to to soak up what I needed by way of knowledge, and believe me, and I took complete advantage of be-fore opening my first shop called Some Place Else. I kept that studio for a couple of years but by then I was getting tired, with my busi-ness partners life style and one day, clear out of the blue I packed up and I was gone. Just like that I left that life behind. There is no hon-or in doing time for another man, and I was tired of putting myself in that spot, I wanted a different life, a life I could call mine. So again I hit the road headed north bound, next stop, Seattle.

. The Olympia studio was a two level studio, the second floor hav-ing a huge multi pained beveled window where the afternoon sun would shine through creating a natural light to work by. And when the sun went down the view from my parking space provided a view like no other. I could see everything. Most the time there had been countless number of girls floating around, half of them didn’t look old enough to by there own smokes, let alone get a tattoo. I guess you could classify them as being groupies of sorts. Most the time the place would look like shit, it seemed none of them knew how to use a mop and for the life of me could not get it through there thick head the importance of clean dust free envi-ronment, to include a floor that didn’t look like someone washed the floor with a heresy bar. So would often spend my first day or so there stripping and waxing floors, in hopes that one of them would see the process, kind of like a “hands on demo with a practi-cal application”. Of course the demo part didn’t work because out of all the times I showed up at that location it seemed the Heresy bandit had done his dirty deed again. A few times I’d pull up and look around finding a tray or two equipped with a smoking appa-ratus near buy. I finally came to the conclusion that they were spending there free time smoking the evil weed instead of dealing with the dirty deed. But all and all that Olympia studio was good to me, its custom layout was a tattoo artist dream working environ-ment. It high ceilings made for an openness about the place, It was one of the only two story designed with the artist in mind. I can remember working on the expanded metal stair case some thirty miles away, in a ware house normally used to build the swift boats used by much of our coast guard, police and sheriff departments through out the country.. The starts were made in three separate sections and hauled in via flat bed. We didn’t know if they were going to fit when put in place. I think it was something like only having a 1/8th of an inch to spare because of the metal eye beam that ran the length of the building, and therefore could not be moved. The staircase fit like a glove, the first time, it was amazing for the simple fact we constructed them our self. I got to give much thanks to Loney and Anthony for there commitment to the project, with out there help I could never have done it.

I also had a shop in Sacramento Ca. The area was a little seedy to say the least, the locals referred to the area as D.P.H. deepest part of hell, for you more conservative readers that translates high crime neighborhood. Why is it, most all capitol city I’ve ever visit-ed had that section of town, just a block or two off the main drag, a wrong right or left and you’ll find yourself in a whole new world. Think about it, every city has one, even our nation’s capitol. You would think local government would do something to fix the prob-lem, because it is a problem. I witnessed a lot of this while getting a start after getting out of the military in the summer of 1983. My last duty station was over on Presidio of San Francisco. Thousands of tourist flock to S.F for a peak of the Golden Gate Bridge, and here I was running across it three times a week, part of our PT. I had a lot of fun there, seems like another life time ago now though. Any how, there I was in San Francisco a civilian, and really didn’t know what I wanted to do at the time, so I thought I’d stay a while. I started tending bar down in the tenderloin area. Yeah, I know, nice neighborhood. Any way’s the place was owned by a couple who bought the place from a retired chief of police. It was that bar where I slung a good majority of ink and it was there where I was introduced to a number of club members and little did I know what an affect they would have on my life while living in California. The owner of the bar was a husband and wife team. She was Spanish and Steve was Irish American, they were great

people. One day after a long day Steve was coming up the

Picture is of my old work station on the second floor of Tat2times

in Olympia Washington.

Wall mural hand painted as you walk up to the second level of

the shop.