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The Tinkerbell Letters DEC. 2001 - PIZZA MIKE's sighting of Tinkerbell... Next day I bumped into him again. Bought him a beer. It took him an hour to drink it. Alcohol was not his thing. His spirits were high despite all. I never saw him again, or heard about him until your website. I can't tell you how much I appreciate your efforts to keep these characters and personalities alive. Keep up the good work. -- Pizza Mike
APRIL 2003 - The Legend of Tinkerbell... Tinker Bell was a regular customer of mine. He most often came in on Saturdays, late, after a night on the town. He would rarely buy anything, but he loved to look at the newest stuff, try on jeans, and dream about the glam-rock jeans and tops and how gorgeous he would look when his knight in shining armor came along and swept him away with a sackful of groovy threads. He especially loved women's bare midriff tops and halter tops. We were so used to the assorted nuts and lunatics coming in, in fact that was part of the fun of working there, and we didn't care how much time Tink spent loitering about the women's department, or if he tried on as many women's things as he wished. The dressing rooms had communal mirrors, and I clearly remember Tink trying on low rise jeans and halter tops, and dancing around in front of the mirrors entertaining us and shocking mothers who were waiting for their kids. I have so many stories about Tink: the young boys he brought in, acting as their stylist, and choosing fetching outfits for trolling for "dates"; the occasional hapless "straight" business man he would drag in and cajole into buying something for Tink; the endless tales of life on the wild side. Through it all, he seemed childlike, maybe even a little retarded, but definitely decadent and slightly dissipated. He was sweet and dear, always kind and ever so giddy. Was he high? Was he just plain goofy? I never really knew. But my coworkers and I always enjoyed a visit from Tink. He always talked to me when he was in the store about finding Mr. or Ms. Right who was going to take him away from his life of struggles to a magical place full of glamour and cool clothes, strawberries in a silver bowl, and happiness beaucoup. One day he came in with a very beautiful and exotic woman in her early 20's. He introduced her to me as his new patron. He said that she was very wealthy and was going to take him with her to her estate in Bermuda, and he was going to be her companion, house boy, body guard, chef, buddy, etc. He even hinted at possible marriage, and the imminent realization of all his dreams. He said they were leaving the country right away, never to return, and they each needed a whole new wardrobe for their trip. The young woman spoke with a British accent, and seemed to be under Tink's spell. We helped them, and though I don't remember what they bought or how much they spent, I do remember running around the store, pulling stuff for them and then ringing up stacks of clothing. The woman paid with cash, pulled from a large roll of bills. Tink bid me farewell, full of happiness and teary good-byes. I didn't see him again for at least a year or so. I heard he was back in town, and he soon returned to the store to window shop. He seemed faded, sad, lost. I never asked him what happened to his patroness. My friends and I moved on to new jobs, different lives, and I lost touch with the lovely Tinkerbell and all the other crazies who were part of the French Quarter demimonde of the 1970s.
Thanks for asking about Ms. Tinkerbell. |
Here's a photo of Tinkerbell that he gave me when I crossed paths with him in the Greyhound Bus Station in San Francisco in the Summer of 1980. He had everything he owned in a brown paper bag and ate at the local
Mission. No apartment. No job. I bought him a burger at McDonald's.