It was in Cleveland the term, “The Dawgs” caught on, especially after the hit, “Who Let the Dogs Out” and, as the leading expert on cultural development in the Rust Belt, i deem the term, appropriate.
The Cleveland way, redemption by putting in your face, their self-knowlege about their city and its situation. Especailly, after decline since 1952, natives, were more than aware of the humourous view that, generally, working-class losers comprised the city. Like the “n-word” the locals made a great effort to “own” it while saying yeah, that’s who we are. Not Lions, Warriors, Yankees or Dodgers, maybe White Sox, since that was a Cleveland fashion worn, even with a suit. Clevelanders are Browns and Wahoos, Dawgs and Indians.
New York art scene? After a rare show at the Gumpy Valentine gallery, Mr. Guumpy himself, called me the next morning. Noticing who it was, i answered with an exaggerated street-voice, mocking myself, using the phrase, widely used on the streets an in Ohio, where he’s from, “What up, dawg?” Which, of course, on the streets, and in the neighborhood is considered a very friendly greeting. Gumpy proceeded, to tell me not to talk to him like that. He actually lectured me. This punk-ass piece of shit, who likes to fancy himself with a working-class background and some streert smarts, is, like most all artists, simply middle-class. Like most artists, he completely misinterperts, according to the laws of misinformation, by constantly making reality into your own ego.
For years, I struggle to get out of these shit holes. But after experiencing the world of art and entertainment, ironically, i would rather be in a shit hole than hanging out with people who pretend that they don’t hate each other, because if they admitted that, their ambitions would be stifled, and, they wouldn’t get anywhere. Perhaps Gumpy Valentine just sucked in too many humiliations and insults, in order to achieve his art ambitions, that he thought i was insulting him while doing the opposite.
If i’m supposed to be so enamored with truth, reality and integrity, why would i be around these jerks?
This is Continetal Avenue in the Buckeye neighborhood of Cleveland. It was once the largest population of Hungarians, outside of Europe, and, since 1970s, has slowly become a Black neighborhood, until, in 2022, when Joe Jambor died, the neighborhood locksmith, and the last Hungarian on Buckeye. It’s Dave’s home who is the bartender at the Mike’s Boros Café on Buckeye Road which turned out to be the last Hungarian bar in the neighborhood that was once filled with ethnic joints. It closed in 1998, the picture was taken at 1989.
Dave had a liver transplant in 2006 perhaps he’s dead, the person who owned the house, George, another regular at the Bar, died in 1992, and the list of the vanished goes on because it’s a dog’s life, where it’s not hidden, but flipped.