We called him the Aluminum Man, not because of the materials
he salvaged but because of his coat. Once a bright metallic silver,
its time on the streets had given it a dark patina that made him
appear to be encased in one of the aluminum cans he gathered.
He was a familiar sight in Handley, pushing his grocery cart back
and forth along a seemingly random route. "He's harmless," everyone
told us. "He'll be around for a while, then the cops will pick
him up during one of their periodic sweeps and he'll go away but
he always comes back."
Located between Dallas and Fort Worth on a major transcontinental
highway, Handley was a vital blue-collar community in 1946 with
a thriving business district and a rail station. Then forcible
annexation by Fort Worth and the construction of an interstate
highway that bypassed it meant the town withered and deteriorated.
But lack of interest often means lack of change, and from a historical
point of view that can be a good thing. Fifty years after the
annexation, our search for storefront property led us to Handley
and a central business district whose historic structures of the
early 1900s were virtually intact.
My wife, Bettye, and I decided Handley needed an art gallery,
and it was during our year-long renovation effort that we first
noticed The Aluminum Man. He was about 6 feet tall but stooped,
of indeterminate age, dark skinned and, regardless of the weather,
usually sporting a black watch cap and his coat. As we worked
inside we often would find him watching us through the front window.
If we would acknowledge his presence with a smile or wave, he
would avert his gaze and move on, but he always came back to watch.
After the gallery opened, he remained a frequent visitor, staring
through the window at whatever adorned the walls. During evening
receptions we would often see his ghostly gray figure in the light
that spilled out onto the sidewalk. Ours is a contemporary art
gallery featuring painting, sculpture and prints as well as installations,
found-object assemblage and other nontraditional works. This type
of work can challenge our very conceptions about art, but regardless
of the subject matter the Aluminum Man was a regular visitor.
We often wondered what it was that brought him back day after
day. He didn't seem to pay much attention to his surroundings
at other times, eyes fixed resolutely on the ground as he searched
for his next treasure. Certainly the view through our window was
much different from anything he saw elsewhere in the neighborhood.
So it was probably just curiosity that fueled his visits, we decided.
As we were installing our first clay show, composed of abstract
sculpture, hand-built containers and other objects that were far
from the bowls, vases and pots of the traditional potter, we noticed
the Aluminum Man watching us several times. During the opening
reception, I briefly saw him at the window.
After the last guest had left, Bettye went out onto the front
sidewalk to see if any clean-up was needed. A couple minutes later
she called to me, "Don, come here. You've got to see this." I
came out the door and fell silent when I saw what she was pointing
to. There, arranged just so, was a tiny sculpture.
The piece was constructed of found objects; it appeared to be
a vehicle of some kind. It has wheels made of washers and aluminum
can ring pulls, and a bit of plastic for a windshield. We both
immediately knew who had made it. Separated though he was from
the rest of society, The Aluminum Man was still connected to it
by that thread of humanity that we call art. Inspired by others,
he offered his own creation to the world as testament to his existence.
Left outside the gallery, separated from the rest by the glass
and illuminated dimly by the light from inside, it symbolized
its creator who existed outside the everyday world and was barely
seen by that world's inhabitants. Contemporary art is an easy
target for ridicule, dealing as it does with controversy in subject
matter, materials and concepts. But I wonder if any other kind
of art could have moved the Aluminum Man to expression. For months
he had seen artists professing that even the discards of society
possess beauty and value. As one of society's discards, set loose
to wander unseen and ignored, did it have special meaning to him
to see the objects of his world treated with reverence and respect?
The Aluminum Man's gift to us on that evening was tangible evidence
of the power of art to reach man's soul. It's a gift that we are
not often privileged to receive.
We haven't seen the Aluminum Man in some time now. I hope that
means he's found his way back into society, but I fear that is
only wishful thinking. We keep the Aluminum Man's sculpture in
a special place, and it serves as a constant reminder, in this
age when art is considered a luxury, that not all of man's needs
are physical. The spirit must also be nourished.
Don Hicks is an engineer, writer and teacher who lives in Fort
Worth, Texas, with his wife and two dogs. They own a contemporary
fine arts gallery in the Handley district of East Fort Worth.
(July 2005)
