Here's to Charlie

Charlie Senter was a sign painter. I followed him around Hartington, Nebraska when I was a boy and watched as he transformed the car and truck doors into interesting advertising for the local business folks. (He took time to redo the sides of my dad's wrecker so Miller Motor was shine and sparkle just as brightly as the People's Store delivery van.)

I watched Charlie demonstrate perfection. An empty door was in front of him and a tray full of brightly colored enamel paint was right next to him. He rough sketched what he wanted to do, and hopefully what the owner wanted him to do, on the car or truck door. Then he bagan to paint. He used a long stick with a little skin bean bag attached to the end of the stick. Later in my life, I would discover that stick was called a Mahl stick and no sign painter worth a lick could paint without it.

Charlie rested his brush with paint hand on the stick and used the other hand on the end opposite the bag to guide the paint hand in a perfect harmony of design. No a wiggle. Not a run. No line where there was not suppose to be a line. He was as perfect as a graphic computer printer with one exception. Charlie was human.

I was taken by Charlie's art and his ability to produce it. As summer came to a close, Charlie was on his way. I asked dad where Charlie was going. "South," he said. "My guess is Florida. He likes to spend his winters there."

I thought I might become a sign painter like Charlie. I got some paint from the body shop and a couple of brushes from Hergert Hardware and made my own stick with, at that time anyway, an unknown name. My lines didn't go where they were suppose to go. My paint ran. My designs looked like 1st grade stuff and I was at least an 8th grader. My frustration grew and before long, the paint went back to the body shop and the brushes into the trash. But Charlie was forever etched in my mind.

One day, the man who owned the Dairy Queen store stopped by the garage. He told dad that his sign out on the highway had seen better days and wondered if I could repaint it for him. He wanted a picture of a Dairy Queen cone and an arrow and the words, "1 mile" painted on it.

Dad assured him I could deliver. I was scared to death but a promise from dear ole' dad was as good as a blood oath. My quivering hand and mind set out on the task and a couple of days later, there was a new sign on the highway. Northern Natural Gas stopped by not long after that. But that was the end of my sign painting career. I was off to college and a careers in advertising and flying.

Now I am the old guy and they are right. Social Security isn't enough. Some say I played too hard during my life and here I am paying for it at the end. I would have to turn to something else. Perhaps another minimum wage job to tide me through.

But I have worked enough of those kind of jobs. I have seen the bad side of Best Buy and Value Place. No benies. No praise. No raise. And in some cases, downright danger.

What could I do that I could make some money doing; enjoy what's left of my life; and let me have some freedom.

Charlie would like the answer. After all, he was the wizard of sign painting and he painted a colorful vision of the future in a small boy's mind.

I decided to do splash painting on car windshields. (That's some of my work in the photos.) That type of painting doesn't have to be perfect. It has to get attention. It has to be colorful. And, it doesn't have to last more than a couple of weeks until the sale is over and the next opportunity presents itslef.

I will never be as good as Charlie was but there are plenty of people who think I am good enough. And that's good enough for me. After all, how many people have a guardian wizard in their back pocket for 54 years and a sudden love for Florida winters?

Cute logo don't you think?