When I was a boy Southern California was Tiki Country and I was Tiki Country's native Son. Until today I didn't realize I had a patron saint of Tiki coolness as well. Of all the people in the whole wide world that I should have known about, why wasn't I clued in earlier to Ernest Gantt?I knew and loved all things Tiki, as we all did back in the early sixties, but somehow I missed living the bigtime tiki life. I never acquired tiki mugs, never achieved tropical drink greatness with my paper umbrella influenced rum, 7-up and fruit cocktail drink and I never made it to the original Trader Vics before it went away. I do remember going to a Beachcomber knockoff, Kon Tiki, for my junior prom, but alas my crew was all too young at the time to sample anything more than virgin drinks from the bar.
I don't remember doing up anything tiki on my trips through Hawaii, but then again, all we were interested in, back in those swaggering sailor days, was knocking back Primo beer and looking for stray round eye tourists to impress. Tiki pretty much passed me by since then and it's no wonder. I have no illusions about my inner savage and knew that it wouldn't be calmed by all that kitchy Tahitian flora and fauna from my childhood anyways. My parents didn't just furtively glance at the post WWII tiki movement, they totally embraced it. It snuck in the house in the form of faux Far Eastern cuisine, bamboo furnishings and culminated in the building of our storied backyard patio, complete with requisite drift nets, dried starfish and potted birds of paradise. Yeah, I thought I graduated from the tiki life and left it behind me, but instead I fell back into it when the grey skies of Washington demanded a dose of sunshine and flowery shirts. I ended up working through five or six Pacific Northwest winter seasons dressed in comfy Hawaiian prints, and I didn't even have to work for Trader Joe's.
Until today I wasn't aware of the legacy of Donn Beachcomber, of his seminal Hollywood bar, of all the famous celebrities who gave creedence to his slice of the tropics. I know that whenever I want I can cross the pond and hit up Archie McPhees and walk away with bags of tiki gear, but never really thought of it as a lifestyle or as a fashion statement outside of wacky houseparty decor. I thought it was a movement that came and went like shag carpet and bell bottoms, but instead of ending up in second hands it left behind a serious wake of detrius in my life. Not just worn out paper umbrellas, dried blowfish and glass fishing floats but snaps of a my life as it was once lived.
I don't have the original anymore, but I do have a color copy of a old photo that was taken back in the late fifties, early sixties, a picture of my Mom standing next to my godmother Estella. They were dressed up in mumus, the middle class party going outfit of the time, tropical drinks in hand, the house resplendant and packed with all the tiki goods the good host could afford at the time. They both were laughing, obviously having a good time, mai tai in hand or not. Looking at that photo I can see that tiki was a big deal in my family life, bigger than I remembered it being. Looking at that snap I have to wonder if Art was really my godfather after all. Maybe it was Mr Gantt. How cool would that be? Pass me a Zombie and we'll talk about it!
Action!
LA Times Magazine: The Story of Don the Beachcomber:
Tiki flavored blogs:
America's sweet embrace of Tiki: Enchanted Tiki Room, Disneyland, CA:
No comments:
Post a Comment