Stephen

July 11, 1967 ###
Journal Entry ###
10:23 p.m. ###
Downtown is blazing. As if projected off a broken mirror ball, lava lamp yellows and oranges swarm in kaleidoscopic clusters. Churning ... twisting ... hovering in suspension... tumbling back into themselves. Appearing out-of-nowhere, a flashing orbit of red dots whirls dervish-style echoing siren songs. Waiting incessantly waiting. ###
As a brilliant spotlight meticulously rakes for its mark, Huey grasps my collar tightly squeezing our bodies into the solid black stripe cast from an alley door. Having ventured out in violation of the mandated police curfew, we must avoid detection. One false step to the left to the right and the cops will show no mercy in treatment of apprehended 12-year old delinquents. He whispers, "dissolve into shadow"..."wait in the darkness"..."wait in silence". ###
In the coffee shops, we had carefully listened to those unfortunates that were caught in the act. Split-lipped narrations of hippies and freaks whose shaved heads revealed protruding Easter egg-hued bumps as well as to the badass bikers, gangers, and Vietnam vets who were clubbed to bloody pulps, striped naked, and sprayed with hoses. Just unlucky or unskilled? We knew the risks but couldn't resist. "become my shadow's shadow"..."follow me closely"..."shift your shape to become that pile of knocked over trash cans"..."follow me". ###
Time slows to free-fall sucking all sound into its vacuum. Steps left left right, belly-crawling to an overturned vehicle, Huey crisply snaps off the radio antenna. I watch him pull the telescoping chrome tube sections apart then the tip ball shaft to desired length. Positioning the widest diameter tub on to the top of a scrap 2 X 4, he pounds it with finishing nails from a Levis pocket. Nailing the tip ball to the 2 X 4 side, he test snaps it forward and backward until it strikes the center of the tube hole end precisely. The .22 caliber bullet slides exactly into the antenna tube. He points to the floodlight bulb over a warehouse door, tip ball hammering bullet in an explosive flash, we continue in darkness. ###
Yeah yeah yeah back in the day more militant or less peacenik types began to handout free how-to-manuals . Protect yourself on the street or at the demonstrations man! These "Zip" guns could be assembled quickly from ordinary found stuff. I did not like the idea and such would be the last thing anyone wanted to hear. but once again, Huey had proved to be one step of the hounds. Almost home, stepping over the railroad trestle spanning the creek, I hear the sound of evidence floating merrily away "plunk", "spalash", "spoloosh". ###
March 25, 2012 ###
Meanwhile...driving in my car...listening to WNYC Studio 360 and imaginging the significant object to be a "zip" gun. Back home, I conclude from the online picture that it is a "shoff-off's zip gun". If one had been a fly on this craftsman's shop wall, observing him calculating plans, selecting highest quality grained wood, curly spiral shavings falling from great-grandfather's razor sharp chisel, boldly signing the stock, one would likely conclude the same. This guy was oblivious to notions of street assemblage or disposing of evidence. In fact, he is described as being "flabbergasted" while officers fingerprint him in the station. One cop angrily quips, "I should a blasted this s--- for brains away. This dim wit moron might as well have been packing a real pistol." He mutters, "Gee whiz fellas, do I get my Zippy back when i get out of here?" ###
Many still remember the coverage in the press as the trial went national because of "The Nutty Professor" label. That photograph of him standing in his shop filled with thousands of strange invention prototypes while holding Zippy to his lips blowing invisible smoke from the barrel. His gadgets disappeared one-by-one from the evidence locker and the photo was useful for determining "provenance". Collectors love "a factual story attached to a specific object". As the story faded...a cop removes the zip gun for a funhouse game of marksmanship at their Annual July 4th barbeque. Turns are taken blasting holes in the neighbor's fence in a connect-the-dots attempt to draw a silhouette of a star. Game over as antenna barrel disengages, loops in the air, then falls between the decking boards. The family dog chews on it then buries it with a bonanza of T-bones. ###
It is lost until a new owner finds it with a metal detector. It is tossed into boxes of estate stuff then into a rented storage container. A local flea market couple buys the contents of the unit at auction then sorts it out for yard sale. Over the years it developes a sun-baked patina (except under a sticky price tag). Catching the eye of a guy driving by, it is purchased despite the blemish. Presently, it is listed in a New York City auction catalogue with value estimated beyond anyones wildest dreams. The seller scoffs, "It is an object that speaks to collectors of all genres." furthermore "It is missing some parts, but, it is of great historical importance."