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From toddler to today, I've always been involved with some kind
of art. I started painting murals as a preteen and took up sketching,
sculpture, and oil painting, around the same time. Then, as a
teenager, I started doing live figure sketching after convincing the
pretty 14 -year-old girl next door to be my model. But being
chased down the road by her father with a Louisville Slugger temporarily
cooled my interest for this type of art.
Having been brought up in an upper-middle-class Jewish family, I was
allowed three choices for a career: medicine, medicine, and possibly
medicine. A few semesters of premed and organic chemistry convinced
me that I should explore the wonderful and exciting world of fast food
or art in some form.
Many folks who know me believe that I'm an architect. My son,
Jonathan, is. I washed out of architecture after a semester and
eventually earned a fine arts degree in industrial design from Parson's
School of Design and New York University.
Soon after I graduated, I won a position with a very fine and well
known industrial firm in New York City: "Oh you are the new kid
from Parsons. Follow me." Wow, thought I as I followed
my new boss down several well lit corridors decorated with beautiful
renderings and photos of projects they had designed. Everyone
there was almost too perfect in both looks and attire. We went
into the main design room where I thought I was to be assigned a work
area, but continued on. Oh boy! My own office! I
was led to a door, which, when opened, revealed many of the utensils
for keeping order in the design and drafting room, but I was in the
industrial design world! After a few days, I did receive my
first promotion -- cutting presentation boards. I could see starting
at the bottom, but in a deep hole? I put up with this for about
two weeks, until I was offered a junior design position with a very
fine restaurant design firm on Union Square. I loved this job
and did quite well, earning my first raise and promotion within two
months.
Then Uncle Sam got me in the late fall of that year, and I wound
up with an 18-year break from art and design, spending most of that
time in the aviation world -- U.S. Army, commercial pilot, and as the
owner of a general aviation business. After almost two decades,
I had to get back to my first loves, which were any kind of art and
old-time string-band music. In 1977, I quit flying altogether
and began an industrial design and architectural illustrating business.
The point of all this is simple. Nothing in the art world,
or at least what I have seen of it, offers as much of an artistic challenge
as model railroading. And nothing else is as comprehensive and
rewarding, at least for me. |
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From
Chapter 20: Getting Paid to Play With Trains
Our interest in train shows began in the early 1970s. Ken,
our friend Bob Hess, and I would go to model railroad shows as often
as they appeared. Our wives were usually glad to rid themselves
of us, unless there were chores to be done. All three of us loved
model trains and the shows, which, at that time, were called "swap
meets."
All shows then were rather small, usually in a firehouse hall, church
basement, school gym, and once in a Masonic temple with huge photos
of grown men in suits on every wall. This was hardly a conducive
setting for model-train buying and selling. Rarely would a show
exceed 125 tables, and most could be seen in their entirety in under
an hour. They would usually begin at 9 a.m. and start wrapping
up around 1 p.m. Just about all of the shows were 90 percent
tinplate models -- mostly Lionel and American Flyer. The food
usually consisted of under-cooked steamed hot dogs on soggy or stale
buns, and terrible coffee that tasted like someone had washed their
feet in it. There was hardly ever a place to sit down to eat,
never mind rest. The aisles were between four and six feet wide
and many shows had the vendor sitting in the narrow aisle in front
of his table I lost out on several neat items just in view, because
I couldn't reach them. There was always some huge mastodon in
front who would not budge.
Bob Hess is tall and slim with a long reach that easily stretches
across any island of tables to snag his prey. He was conceived,
designed, and bred specifically for these shows, as he usually went
where none of us normal-sized folks could ever dream of going. Bob
could have made millions just buying for the many hippopotamus-sized
model railroaders at these shows. He acquired the most choo choos
among the three of us due to these obvious reasons and attributes. |
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From
Chapter 12: Size, Colors, Textures: Keep Them All in Scale
Scenery textures may be used in a similar
fashion as are paint colors on a pallet. A visit to the local
hobby shop will usually put you in touch with Woodland Scenics and
Smith and Sons products. These firms offer many textures in
many realistic colors or, better put, shades of earth tones, greens,
browns, sand, and various types of ballast. Also offered are
various sizes of ground foam from fine to coarse to large foam clusters,
available in quite realistic colors. All of the simulated trees
and bushes are made from these clusters which I rip to various sizes. You
may also want to contact the fine folks at Scenic Express or visit
them at one of our Great
Scale Model Train Shows in Maryland. If it is scenery,
be it product or answers, these are the folks to speak with. Do
stay away from commercial lichen and the Christmas ‘grass mats’ offered
during this season. Plainly put, they are horrible! The
colors offered are unrealistic and the quality is usually poor. A
small 8 oz. bag of lichen may cost several dollars and the only useable
stuff represents around 10% of the content.
click above for full view of the book cover |
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;)