Never Question My Methods

I lived for about nine years in Bushwick, and a lot of things changed during that time. This video’s from 2007, but the conflict is still going on.

I have mixed feelings about the above video. I don’t like the luxury lofts that are around Bushwick, but then, I don’t like them anywhere. They’re lousy buildings that look more like dorms than anything else.

But it’s really late in the game to start protesting luxury lofts. They’ve been creeping into the community over the last decade, and they’ve all been fairly successful at getting tenants.

And yet, when I see this video, I’m totally ready to protest just about everything. It is beyond parody.

I’m hoping that despite the luxury lofts and the fauxhemian trappings, Bushwick still manages to retain its sense of community and history, and not just be another place to shop.

Also, I hope it retains the great food. Beause I’m just close enough to head over for the tacos arabes, empanadas de guava, pan de yucca, and chilaquiles de pechuga on special days.

I expect to be writing a bit about Bushwick over the next couple of weeks, as it’s been on my mind a lot. But after that I’ll be back to blogging about my favorite American Idol contestants (They are, in order: Blanka, Wario, and Q*Bert).

(This is part five of a five part article. Part one can be found here. Part two can be found here. Part three can be found here. Part four can be found here.)

Despite the fact that there are people dressed up as pirates, knights, and other adventurers, it’s very easy to spot Blackwolf in line for the bus at Port Authority.

He’s first in line, and he’s standing perfectly straight, almost motionless. When I greet him, he suddenly springs to life. I hear a woman say in surprise, “I thought he was a statue . . . “

Not too long after we started conducting interviews, Blackwolf invited me to follow him around at the Sterling Forrest Renaissance Fair, to see it from his perspective, and meet some of his other friends.

He also added that it would put me in good standing with the High Istari, the seven wizards who made Blackwolf immortal, and helped him stop turning into a wolf at night.

I’m not going to turn down an offer like that.

Myself, Blackwolf, and Josh

My friend Josh joined us. I’d been talking about Blackwolf for a few months about this point, and we decided to record our interactions with Blackwolf at the Renaissance Fair, cobbling together this with the previous footage for an audio documentary (1). This meant calling up the Renaissance Fair organizers and getting their permission, and a bit of organizing, but eventually everything was set, and there we were, on an hour long bus ride with New York City’s Unofficial Wizard (2). For the most part, Blackwolf napped while Josh checked out the audio equipment, and I scribbled in a white binder and spilled coffee all over myself. But occasionally we would chat about costumes, fantasy art, and D&D.

In case you’re wondering, Blackwolf is a fan of the artwork–he’s not so wild about the game itself.

We also discussed the final Harry Potter book, which had just been released. “As far as the New York Times is concerned,” snarled Blackwolf, “they can go fuck themselves.”

This took Josh and myself aback. Blackwolf can be, in his own words, very ornery — and make sure you roll your r’s when you say that word — but I don’t think I’d heard him actually use profanity in either day to day life, or on his blog. While Blackwolf didn’t elaborate, and we were a little too surprised to ask what he was talking about, I later learned it was because the New York Times had taken it upon themselves to reveal the ending of the Harry Potter series. Which is precisely the kind of thing that would send Blackwolf, or any other wizard, into a rage.

Overall, Blackwolf’s character at the Renaissance Festival was much more animated than I’d seen previously, and at alternating points, more withdrawn. He would speed off to introduce us to merchants and performers, and then fall into a deep silence when no one was around. He would frequently tell us to shut off the recording device, irritated. For Blackwolf, I think this trip to the fair was like any big event — exciting and incredibly frustrating. He was playing host to hundreds of people, not all of whom knew who he was. And he wanted to be as entertaining and engaging as he could, so he would direct our attention to whatever was at hand.

For a long time, it seemed like this was just going to be nine hours of recording Blackwolf describing fantasy garb and medieval tcotchkes while merchants started at us, wide eyed, wondering what was going on. But every now and then, we would run into someone Blackwolf knew.

(Hello. This interaction really can’t be read. You’re just going to have to take my word for it, and put on your headphones. The slightly confused person that you hear is me.)

There are a three things that are said in the above clip that I’d like to address.

Number one, Blackwolf doesn’t drink. At all. We asked him about it, and he went off on how drinking is the enemy of imagination, it leads to death and afterwards, I don’t think I’ve ever wanted a beer so badly in my life (3).

Number two, I think the reason Blackwolf confused Burton with Alan, is because they are the same person, it’s just that the actor was playing a different role this year. When Blackwolf reads the program for the Renaissance festival, Blackwolf reads the program for the Renaissance festival.

Lastly, Blackwolf did introduce us to some women who he described wenches, and they let us know that they didn’t like to be called that.

We walked on around the perimeter of the Sterling Forrest in the summer heat, and after awhile, we got tired. It wasn’t clear where we were going, we were just kind of wandering around to be seen, which as you might guess, makes for some very thrilling audio.

One of the things that is truly annoying about the festival is that there is a lot of improvised teasing that goes on. Periodically, a merchant, or maybe just an attendee, will sort of call out at people about the state of their costume, or their intelligence, or whatever they think might be slightly amusing. This is something that Blackwolf doesn’t do. But he’s frequently the target it. And because there is effectively nowhere to really go, you just kind of grit your teeth and wait for either the line to move forwards, or for the person to move on to their next target.

Happily, these episodes were counterbalanced with people who had seen Blackwolf on TV and wanted his autograph, or remembered him from festivals previous.

Around lunch time, Josh and I told Blackwolf we needed a break. We went to get some food, and that’s when something funny happened: Blackwolf pulled down his beard to eat his medieval pizza slice, while we were talking to him.

It’s obvious when you look at the photographs, but the white beard that Blackwolf has isn’t real. It’s a Santa Clause beard. For awhile, you find yourself wondering why he’s wearing this fake beard, and then you get used to it.

Seeing him suddenly discard it was very disorienting, and was kind of like seeing someone just throw away part of their face while you were talking to them.

He very quickly pulled up his beard, while we stood there, confused. And then, after something of an awkward moment, we told Blackwolf we were just going to take a minute go over our notes and check the recording thus far. He seconded the idea.

After acquiring some pizza of our own, Josh said the thing that had been on my mind since we were standing in line for the bus:

“I feel completely out of my element here, and it actually makes me a little bit nervous.”

It should go without saying that whether or not we’re with Blackwolf, we’re constantly being stared at, by all the elves, knights, merchants, and musicians. While we’re not wearing costumes, Josh has a set of studio headphones and a microphone, and I’m scribbling in a notebook. And we’re on either side of a wizard.

Occasionally, we’re taunted.

We catch up with Blackwolf, watch some performances, and meet one of his friends, who was dressed up as Henry the Eighth, and eating a giant turkey leg. He declined to be on record. And then we go back to walking the festival’s perimeter.

Throughout this whole day, there’s someone that Blackwolf really wants to talk to, and that’s Queen Elizabeth.

Queen Elizabeth is very busy during the Renaissance fair; she sings, she dances, she actually fights in a duel with a sword, she has a knighting ceremony for the children who attend. I spoke with one of her coaches, who helps with dialogue, etiquette, dancing, everything a Queen might need to know, which is a lot.

Despondent that we’re unable to get an audience with the Queen, who shows up at performances here and there, before darting off to do something else, Blackwolf suggests we go to the children’s knighting ceremony. I grumble to Josh about how this cannot possibly be an interesting event, but we go along.

In this ceremony, you see a lot of people lined up, not just parents, but complete strangers, happily watching children be initiated into the Fair. And I think about just what this might mean to someone who struggled to get along with his father and mother, to see these kids being happily greeted by this queen who is essentially, the spirit of the whole festival. And, for a moment, I stop complaining.

* * *

Throughout the writing and recording of this documentary, Blackwolf has called and emailed to check up on my progress.

Around the eight month mark, I was getting incredibly frustrated with this project. It just seemed like there was a piece missing.

So I did what I should have done . . . the same thing that King Arthur, Dorothy, and various others did before me. I asked the wizard. Or rather, I emailed him. And, like most wizards, Blackwolf got back to me very quickly. For an immortal, this is an easy question:

“I think that, when people hear this audio documentary of my Wizardly person, they should discover the story of a young man who finds himself at the center of two worlds: one, the cold, harsh world of the grim realities of present-day New York City; the other, the mysterious, magical world where Knights, Warriors, Royalty, Barbarians, Mages and so many more of their kind coexist in the continually evolving struggle between good and evil.

“Yours truly — and, by extension, Master Richard — are the embodiment of all these, and so much more — and I think that the Blackwolf story will, if all goes well, allow my fellow New Yorkers to, as I always remind my fans, imagine responsibly.

Blackwolf the Dragonmaster wanders the city from Easter until Halloween. His blog can be found here. There is a rumor that someone will be making a bonafide documentary about him in the future.

And, if you’re thinking of making a fantasy film, he has one rather epic script.

(This is part five of a five part article. Part one can be found here. Part two can be found here. Part three can be found here. Part four can be found here.)

__________________

1. This proved to be a lot more difficult than I imagined. After writing, rewriting, and re-rewriting, and then adding narration, and re-adding narration, the result was the blog entry you’re reading right now. I have so much respect for podcasters as a result of having tried this project.

2. It’s been over a month, and I still haven’t told you why Blackwolf is called New York City’s Unofficial Wizard. As Thor explained it to me, Blackwolf would send letters and try to talk to city officials about being New York’s Official Wizard. As you might imagine, there was a casual interest on the part of the city as having a wizard, particularly in 2000 when the Harry Potter craze was just starting to go into full swing. But the process, in Thor’s words, “Was like banging your head against a wall.”

Sick of the red tape, Blackwolf decided to make a go at being the unofficial wizard, and has gone with that title since.

3. We actually went to get a beer or two, and then discovered that the lad and lass in charge of serving alcohol were, behind the bar, standing in about a foot of water. Presumably a remnant of the rainstorm the night before.

And this just seemed like a bad omen, so we abstained.

Later on in the day, we saw a drunk man in a pink polo shirt chase around a Fair volunteer with what appeared to be the volunteers own sword. There is something about beer and weapnry on a hot day that should be avoided.

Hello! This last entry is taking a bit longer than I’d hoped. I’m thinking it will be done by next Monday. Sorry for the wait!

“Observe, too, his psychological discontinuity with the other actors in the romances and chronicles. He has no stake in the stories; cut him out and they make a distinct gain in homogeneity. He is a waif, an alien, a man born out of his time and among punier men than he, a Rip Van Winkle who wakes into a new world after a sleep of hundreds of years, still trailing clouds of faded glory and escorted by dreams of the past.

– Harold Massingham, The Finding of Merlin

When I tell people about Blackwolf, the first thing they ask me is if he thinks he can actually use magic.

When this happened, I usually refer them to Geoffrey of Monmouth’s History of the Kings of Britain.

Written over eight hundred and fifty years ago, the book is widely credited as being the inspiration for Arthurian legends, and of course, the character who most of us think of as Merlin the Magician.*

When Merlin first shows up in book four, midway through the story, he’s not an aged wizard. He’s a young man, more famous for his ignoble birth than anything else. He has no father, and his mother is in an asylum. And he doesn’t cast spells or summon spirits (See footnotes 1 – 3 below). He has visions and prophecies. And he knows a great deal about dragons.

In the passage that introduces Merlin, there is a tower in the kingdom of King Vortegirn which keeps collapsing. No one can figure out what’s going wrong with the construction until Merlin explains that the tower is built over a secret pool of water, which weakens the foundation.

In that pool, two dragons sleep, and, like Blackwolf, knowing about dragons is Merlin’s specialty.

Author Harold Massingham, quoted at the beginning of this entry, is interested in how Merlin is a man older than the time he lives in, and links him to druids and eastern monks. Massingham deliberately tries to trace where just such a person might have originated from. But many of us know these people — people who aren’t as concerned with the present as the past. Or people who interpret the world as myth. Or people who seem older than they really are.

That, more or less, is the kind of wizard Blackwolf is, or at least how Washington portrays him. He knows stuff; he has magical insight. Which is not to say that he predicts the future or will give you magical advice: he’s just aware of magical forces around him, such as the dragons who people, deprived of imagination, cannot see.

This is not to say that Blackwolf won’t occasionally threaten to turn someone into a frog. It’s just that it’s not really his specialty.

What’s particularly striking about Merlin is that he’s one of the few characters in History of the Kings of Britain who survives the chapter that he’s in, and also has an entire chapter dedicated to his ideas. In which the author steps forward and states:

I had not got thus far in my history, when the subject of public discourse happening to be concerning Merlin, I was obliged to publish his prophesies at the request of my aquaintances, but especially of Alexander, bishop of Lincoln, a prelate of the greatest piety and wisdom. There was not any person, either among the clergy or the laity, that was attended with such a train of knights and noblemen, who his settled peity and great munificence engaged in his service. Out of a desire, therefore, to gratify him, I translated these prophesies, and sent them to him with the following letter.

This is a very strange interlude to the History, which is otherwise a rather dry narrative of people dying on the field of battle, or being assassinated off the field of battle. Sure, there are giants here and there.

Also, you have an author appeasing a fictional character, which is just uncomfortable.

Geoffrey of Monmouth was a monk, and thusly, eventually winds up to the unproven, though well-intentioned conclusion that fewer characters — if not the people they are loosely based on — would not have all died quite so early if they were Christian.

So what exactly is going on with these prophecies? And, for that matter, Merlin? (See footnote 4)

I think that as an author, Monmouth needs Merlin in the storyline the same way Richard Washington needs Blackwolf — to tie everything together. Because Monmouth’s chapters typically kill off all their supporting players, he needs someone in the narrative to link the past, present, and future together.

Merlin is not going to go onto the field of battle and perish like everyone else. He has no interest in acquiring power or money. Merlin is content to watch and interpret.

(This is part four of a five part article. Part one can be found here. Part two can be found here. Part three can be found here. Part five will be posted by Wednesday next week.)

*Also, it was recommended to me by Blackwolf.

1) It may not be an asylum, per se, but she lives with nuns, and she herself is not a nun.

2) Merlin’s absentee father is likely to be an incubus or some such demon. At least, that’s what his mother says.

3) In the kind of discontinuity that appears throughout the entire book, while he cannot cast spells, he does know how to make a potion which alters appearances to the point where, even during coitus, the disguise is undetectable. I would maintain that this is not a spell: It’s probably the most unethical use of chemistry anyone could imagine.

Incidentally, this disguise-via-potion lead to the birth of King Arthur, which may shed a little light onto just why he took out so many enemies on the battlefield, and picked fights with giants. It’s probably hard not to be angry about something like that.

4) Incidentally, although all evidence supports the fact that he wrote it, Monmouth claimed to be the translator for the History, and not its author.

When you start selling out by selling five Power Rangers, and then end up selling five spidermen, that is indeed a Super Change.

Or maybe Spider-Man is a Power Ranger, and I just didn’t know it. Was that a crossover?

A very tense conversation resulted after I took this photo, in which an anonymous owner told me not to take photos. An awkward silence followed as I shrugged my shoulders and said, “OK.”

Me, I just liked the idea that there were these spidermen who all looked the same, in the same blister pack. I imagined some kind of conversation that would go like this:

SPIDERMAN 1: So what do you do?

SPIDERMAN 2: Oh, well, I’m a spiderman.

SPIDERMAN 3: Same here!

SPIDERMAN 4: What is wrong with you? Isn’t it obvious we’re all Spider-Man?

SPIDERMAN 2: It is one thing to look like a spiderman. It is another to Be Spider-Man.

See, that’s all I wanted to do, really.

What this brought to light, however, is just how incredibly awful it must be to run a dollar store–a model for which there is little profit–and be continually in danger of having people patrolling for copyright infringement. Especially when it’s likely that the only thing you really sell are these copyrighted items.

And I’m sure what any toy manufacturer would say is that these toys are copyrighted for a reason, and there’s nothing stopping anyone from selling their own kind of action figure–one that doesn’t look like Spider-Man.

But how many kids really want that unrecognizable action figure? And does anyone else remember trying to play with action figures who didn’t have a cartoon show, or comic book? It went something like this:

KID 1: Let’s play with these action figures.

KID 2: Woah, who are these supposed to be? What are their goals? What are their occupations? What do they fear, and what do they love? What are their secret desires? What drives them, motivates them? Why does this one have a drill for a hand? Did he lose it in an accident?

I don’t want to offend you, but did you check the references of these action figures before you purchased them?

KID 1: You’re right–the hell with it.

Anyway. Five spidermen per pack, for a dollar! A good deal, even in boom times.

“Indeed,” said Merlin with wryness, “I mean just that, Sire. I am a wizard and not a logician, as you are a king and not a philosopher. Any effort to compound this offices is inadvisable.”

–Thomas Berger, Arthur Rex

There was one important thing I had to ask Thor:

“Do you know Blackwolf as Richard, or just as Blackwolf?”

This is because while Blackwolf is a character, he’s also a personality of Richard Washington. This is by no means a secret, Blackwolf mentions the struggles of his mortal alter ego fairly often in blog posts. But I hadn’t yet spoken with Richard, despite numerous conversations on the phone.

“Yeah, I know Blackwolf as Richard, he has several other personaes as well,” Thor told me, “Blackwolf and Richard are the two that most people interact with. Blackwolf is the strongest of his personalities, and Blackwolf keeps everything together.”

I’d also spoken with Boris Hladek, the cameraman for some of the shows that Thor and Blackwolf performed in, and he confirmed that he’d spoken to Blackwolf and Richard, and that Richard was just a regular, quiet person.

So I asked to schedule another with Blackwolf again, and we arranged to meet by the Bethesda Fountain in Central Park.

Initially, it seemed like he wasn’t going to show, and I just sort of stood around. When you plan to meet a wizard, it’s a given that they’ll be easy to spot. After a few minutes, I think heard a jingling of bells, and then, Blackwolf from the top of the steps of the Bethesda Terrace Arcade.

It is a strange thing to hear your name shouted by the voice of an ancient wizard, or someone who sounds very much like one, from afar. Especially in Central Park. Slightly dumbfounded, I called back, “That’s me!” and Blackwolf began his long trudge down the arcade steps.

For a long time, we talked about the same things we had before: his television appearances, the legend of Blackwolf, his costume, and I began to wonder if I was ever really going to get an idea of just how this character came to be. Because if you are a lifetime resident in Harlem, to say nothing of New York City, there are simply less conspicuous costumes you that you could adopt rather than full-blown wizard robes and a jingling staff.

I kept coming back to Richard’s past, and not getting anywhere, and then after a certain point, I just didn’t have any questions. We had gone over everything twice. And then, after a long conversation about Blackwolf’s musical preferences (he is a big fan of Lordi and a few other fantasy-themed heavy metal bands), I asked him if he’d always been a fan of heavy metal. And then Richard came up in conversation:

“Richard was a child of the seventies,” Blackwolf told me, “Ah yes, Frederick Washington and Ola Mae Avery, his beloved parents . . . they were divorcing, and the lad was obviously too young to understand the basic concepts. T’was his mother who obtained physical custody of him.”

Richard’s mother worked as a registered nurse in the psychiatric ward of Bird S. Coler Memorial Hospital, and from what Blackwolf told me, this is when the tension started. “She was of the opinion that her only son and heir was basically a nutcase . . . in other words, a wacky person.”

This is something that Blackwolf doesn’t really like to talk about, but growing up, he struggled with what sounds like a tremendous amount of anxiety. He hadn’t yet seen Star Wars, which he credits as key to understanding how imagination could be applied to every day life. As a child, he could be violent sometimes. This lead to his being prescribed an anti-anxiety and antipsychotic drug called Stelazine.

Angered by the drug’s draining effects, Richard flushed his pills down the toilet and never looked back. He doesn’t take drugs, and he doesn’t drink anything stronger than Coca Cola (he’s not a fan of Pepsi).

After the death of his mother, who died of a heart attack on New Year’s day in 1990, Richard was overcome by grief. He created the character of Blackwolf as a way to overcome the depression and fear that was consuming him. And then, in a costume that was initially comprised of bedsheets (before Thor the Barbarian’s wife, Muninn, made his current outfit), Blackwolf the Dragonmaster walked the streets of New York, and later, broadcast television.

(This is part three of a five part article, part one can be found here. Part two can be found here. Part four will be posted Monday next week.)

[Part one of five.]

New York City’s unofficial wizard can sometimes be found in Central Park. He has a pointy hat, a cloak, and a staff with jingling bells and stars. He also has a long white beard. It’s a Santa Clause beard, actually, but you get used to it.

Sandals are his preferred footwear, and his glasses have been repaired with string. Occasionally during conversation, he will close his eyes in deep thought.

His name is Blackwolf the Dragonmaster, and he isn’t in New York by choice. He was assigned to the city by the High Istari (1), a group of seven mages who realized that New York was in danger of losing its imagination.

I met Blackwolf in June 2006. He was reading AM New York by a fountain in Central Park. Often, you’ll find people from The Daily Show or David Letterman filming segments for the show in this part of the park. I had just bought a small microphone for my iPod, and was walking around recording noises to add to music. Blackwolf’s costume was very elaborate, and there was something familiar about him, so I walked up  and asked him if he was an actor.

“What I am, is New York’s unofficial wizard, sir,” he told me, and then he proceeded to detail his origin as the humble Paidraig of Abbelaix, the high servant of the King in Ireland before the time of Christianity.

While Blackwolf has a natural storytelling ability, I found the written version of the tale on one of his websites. Here is a brief excerpt from the novelette-length story:

Padraig of Abbeyleix, son of Saemus, was the only child of that warrior’s bloodline, his mother having died in childbirth. As a boy, Padraig had always considered his father to be a hero; indeed, the vast majority of Saemus’ moral characteristics would serve him immensely when, in his later years as Blackwolf, he would pass these same qualities on to his own son, the Mage and Sorcerer, Master Yen Sid. But it was during his youth — specifically, his teenage years — that Padraig of Abbeyleix underwent his most important education . . .

Despite being handy with a sword, Padraig preferred being caretaker to the royal court, and was extremely content with this. But his life took a sharp turn when Vasamoose, (see proper spelling bellow) Visomus a bishop, planned to assasinate the High King of Ireland, by planting a poisoned goblet for him at Paidraig’s retirement party.

Paidraig, after singing a song for the King, accidentally knocked over this poisoned goblet. While this was a source of merriment in the dining hall, Vasamoose, Blackwolf told me, “Inwardly seethed with wrath,” and cursed Paidraig to walk in the shape of an old man by day, and a black wolf by night. “Hence, my more legendary name, Blackwolf.”

Eventually he was discovered by the seven mages known as the High Istari, who were impressed at how the legend of Blackwolf had spread throughout the land. They were looking for a Dragonmaster, someone to stoke the fires of imagination throughout the land, and watch after the dragons who cannot live without it. It was clear to them that Paidraig was the man for the job. After a trial period of one year, the dragons decided that Blackwolf should be the permanent dragonmaster, hence he was made immortal.

And then he was dispatched to New York City.

To be continued

(1) Blackwolf describes the High Istari as a group of glowing men in beards and cloaks.

“So I’ve got it all figured out,” said the red-haired kid. He was maybe a year or two younger than me, and this was in 2000, when I spent way too much time in Starbucks.

“I’ll live in my car, save a lot of money on rent, focus on fashion design, work on in here on my laptop, and then work for Nautica.”

Sure! It sounded like the kind of thing people said when they’d had a little bit too much coffee. In fact, I probably would not have heard him had he not had so much coffee, because he was maybe two or three tables away from me. He was talking to someone whose voice was nowhere near as loud as his, and I like to think, nine years later, that this person was trying to talk him out of this particularly lousy idea.

But I know that if this unseen person tried, they did not succeed.

A week later at the same Starbucks, there was a long line for the bathroom. The kind where people start getting angry and there’s stamping and cursing and gnashing of teeth. When the occupant exited, it was the redheaded future Nautica employee. He was damp, shirtless, clutching large empty Evian bottles.

I’m guessing it was because he realized that he could not install a shower in his car.