FEATURE ARTICLE — May 2004
ERNO'S STORY by Uncle Tim Heitkotter
Gather ye roun' the fire my children and let me tell a tale of misery and woe. Let me tell you a tale of a journey to the depths of hell and back―and victory against overwhelming odds.
Born August 31, 1949, Erno Gabriel Szabady grew up around Philadelphia, Pennsylvania. The older of two, Erno led a troubled life trying to survive the mean streets of the Kensington district known to the locals as "Fishtown." Constantly in and out of trouble, Erno somehow managed to land an athletic scholarship for his talents in basketball, football and track at the prestigious William Penn Charter High School. His studies and adventures there led to degrees in fine art and education (with graduate courses in children's book illustration) from Temple University. Erno's exposure to the street life tainted him with a knack for experimentation with the popular drugs of the day. Never losing his connection with the streets of Fishtown, Erno's drug use carried well into his young adult life (much of which we can't disclose here, so as to protect all parties involved).
While teaching poor inner-city Puerto Rican grade school kids, Erno became disenchanted with the teaching profession. After asking one child why he only showed up only once a week, the child responded, it was his turn to wear the shoes. An angry Erno pleaded with school officials to help and was met with a "don't get attached" attitude. It was Erno's father (also a teacher) who pushed him into teaching and away from the financially unstable artist lifestyle. After quitting, an angry and confused Erno bought the whole family new shoes out of his own meager paycheck, then turned to drug sales to fill his economic void.
Disconnected and resentful, his new trade led him to occasional trips to San Francisco at the height of the '60s hippie culture, bringing back LSD to supply the hungry psychedelic appetites of Philadelphia consumers. It was here that his fascination began with the West Coast lifestyle. Erno felt drawn to the free wheeling Haight Ashbury way of life and moved permanently to San Francisco in 1977.
Erno took on various jobs making kites and waiting tables while searching the Yellow Pages for anyone who would look at his art portfolio. Finally, landing a job with HJB Books, Erno filled his days animating a children's instructional film and waiting tables at night. Fascinated by tattooing since his receiving his first tattoo by Sailor Jo Jo back in 1970, Erno had already amassed a sizable flash portfolio and had been dabbling with tattooing after purchasing a kit from the legendary Cliff Raven, years before. Buying this kit put him on a mailing list that allowed him to attend the world's first tattoo convention in Houston, Texas, put on by Dave Yerkew back in 1976. With all the big tattoo names gathered in the Lunar Room at the Holiday Inn, Erno got early exposure as to what the world of professional tattooing was all about. It was Erno's dream to become one of these giants and to tattoo in San Francisco.
It was while waiting tables in the City by the Bay that Erno met Lyle Tuttle. Lyle liked Erno's flash so much that he took down his own flash and displayed Erno's at a convention in Reno, Nevada. Erno's flash sold so well that Lyle eventually took him on as an official apprentice. Erno worked under LyleTuttle for seven years. After a falling out with Lyle, Erno opened up Erno Tattoo in the Lower Haight district in 1984, and, later in Santa Cruz in 1994, but, not before getting a chance to work with such greats as Morbella, George Campise, Terry Tweed, Lenny Ardoin and Jonathan Shaw. If this list sounds impressive, it's not as impressive as the list of people Erno taught during his reign as Tattoo King. He broke in such well-known tattoo heavies like Freddy Corbin, Scott Sterling, Dan Higgs, Jason Story, Jamie Trujillo, Pat Conlan, Mandy Flynn, Big Ed Tofoya, and Nalla.
An interesting highlight of Erno's Lyle Tuttle years was Lyle's opening up of the Tattoo Rose Cafe in the late '70s. This was the legendary meeting place for the local tattoo talents of the day. Artists like Greg Irons, Dean Dennis, Leo Zuluetta, Cliff Raven, Sailor Moses, Chuck Eldridge, Henry Goldfield, Ed Hardy and even Capt. Don Leslie regularly took in Open Mike Night and mused over poetry and music. Regular art shows exploded on the walls, showcasing the talents of the Tattoo Rose Cafe patrons. It was there that a non-competitive open forum of tattoo knowledge was exchanged sans jealousy. New ideas and techniques were discussed in a friendly relaxed atmosphere of coffee and oak. (Although Lyle has since sold his tattoo shop, the new owner occupies the old location of the Tattoo Rose Cafe and the old bar is still there.)
Erno's travels took him to Yokohama, Japan, where he lived with Horiyoshi III for a month, while getting worked on by the Asian tattoo master. He also spent a month in Thailand hanging out with Om on Bangkok's infamous Khaosarn Road. In a bizarre twist of fate, Erno ended up in a project to help repopulate Thailand's dwindling sea turtle numbers. He actually had a job tattooing baby sea turtles for the King of Thailand (which paid for his entire trip). Erno himself has been tattooed by other greats such as Cliff Raven, Henry Goldfield, Ed Hardy, Leo Zuluetta and Greg Irons.
One would think that Erno had it pretty good traveling, picking the brains of his new friends and collecting some of the world's best tattoo art. Unknown to most of us, Erno was developing an insatiable weakness for heroin. Experimentation in the early '90s eventually turned into a full-blown habit and had become a dominant factor in his life by 1995. Although he had had several opportunities and half-hearted attempts to quit, Erno kept falling back into the abysmal lifestyle of a common junkie.
Life through the '90s was, at best, a bitter experience for Erno. Dealing with a dwindling list of friends and clients, Erno managed to keep the shop open, just enough to supply his growing habit. Erno himself stopped tattooing in mid-2000, as his right arm had been slowly collapsing since 1995 and was completely useless. His habit had become so desperate he was shooting dope in the festering sores that completely enveloped his shriveling appendage. His left arm was the only choice, and became the new target of his madness. Eventually Erno's left arm shared the same fate and began to fester and collapse. His now lifeless right arm began to show signs of gangrene. There he was, faced with a dilemma. Was he just going to continue and die, or was he going to get help? The claws of heroin addiction had a stranglehold on Erno, and death seemed to be the only way out. It was just a matter of time.
Alone and isolated in the back of his shop, Erno fixed for the last time on October 5th, 2001, and waited for the same Grim Reaper that he'd tattooed on people's arms a thousand times. This seemed to be the end for Erno Szabady.
A MIRACLE
It was through a friend who cared enough to take Erno's limp, rotting carcass to General Hospital, that Erno would have his last and final chance to live. When they reached the front door, Erno, overwhelmed by fear, turned around and left, to give himself a fix just one more time. By some divine, obscure chance, Erno returned to check himself in and would have made it, if he hadn't passed out on the doormat leading to the emergency room door. After discovering his crumpled body, the diligent staff began their frantic efforts to save yet another pitiful junkie that found his way there. The doctors discovered that not only did Erno have osteomyolitus (bone infection), but, he also had become septicemic. This is the medical term for total body infection. The doctors informed Erno's family that they had given up and his chances for survival were highly unlikely. It is extremely rare that anyone recovers from septicemia.
Erno slipped in and out of a coma that lasted five weeks. While he lay there helpless, his shop was cannibalized. Most of his friends had abandoned him and the rumors had begun. The doctors, through some medical miracle, were working to detoxify Erno, in the hope that he would regain consciousness. When Erno awoke, he discovered that the doctors, in their desperation to save his life, had amputated Erno's right arm just below the elbow. They had also informed him that he was opiate free for 30 days. During his coma, Erno had been completely detoxed. Mercifully, he had escaped the dreaded insanity that accompanies withdrawal from heroin addiction. The 6 ft.-3 in., 200 lb. Erno now weighed only 123 pounds. He was clean for the first time in 11 years and scared to death. All he had left was a few friends who, at best, held a guarded concern. On December 17, 2001, Erno checked out of San Francisco's General Hospital and headed back to Philadelphia to recuperate at his mother's house.
One month later, Erno returned to San Francisco with some needed weight on his bones, but still desperately alone. He had nothing. He had no shop, no vehicle, no money and very few friends. Erno spent his next four months sofa surfing and even spent occasional nights under the stars trying to guess what disaster would finally finish him off. It was then and there that Erno decided not to stress his fragile relationships anymore, and checked himself into Walden House with six months clean. He had not used and began an intensive one-year program of recovery. He attended psycho and group therapy sessions and met his mentor, Mike H., who still inspires Erno in his recovery.
Erno finally checked out of Walden House the following April. Armed with a new philosophy, he started making rounds of the San Francisco tattoo shops, clearing his name and giving his side of this incredible story. Erno, in January, '03, received his new prosthetic arm adorned with, of course, a Japanese koi. Eventually, he visited every shop, not only explaining the tragedies, but, looking for his missing artifacts. It seems that the vultures, who had stripped his bones while in the coma, had spread his possessions pretty thin.
While these events transpired, unknown to Erno, action was already being taken by Mr. G. (of Triangle Tattoo in Ft. Bragg) to find a place for Erno to tattoo again. Erno hadn't tattooed for three years by now. It was the farthest thing from his mind. During a phone conversation, Mr.G. suggested Erno should call me. Mr G and I have been friends for a few years, and he knew that we took in occasional guest artists at Studio 13, our shop in Salinas (not far from San Francisco). Since Erno had developed this new "go with the flow" attitude, he figured, why not? Working away from his old environment might do him good.
DRAMATIC DEVELOPMENTS
This is where the story gets really interesting. Mr.G had mentioned Erno's plight in our usual phone sessions. I had heard all the rumors and was intrigued by these new developments. Years ago at the San Francisco Tattoo Tour, Erno actually offered me a job. By that time, we had already opened up Studio 13. I was incredibly flattered and honored that Erno wanted me to work for him. It was because of this. that I felt I owed Erno.
So, I got a call from Erno, and we agreed to meet at the Hollister Motorcycle Rally Friday, July 4. Studio 13 sponsors the tattoo contest every year to raise money for charity. I needed judges, and Erno would be perfect. He showed up looking fit, clean cut and handsome. I was in awe and very happy to see him in such great shape.
The contest went off without a hitch and we even had a chance to visit Bert Rodriguez and Henry Goldfield. They were working the rally as they do every year. There were hugs and smiles for everybody. Erno was not only still alive, he was back and ready to learn how to tattoo left-handed! The thought of returning to tattooing had crossed Erno's mind, but, the deadline kept getting pushed back a year. Then, another year. This time, fate forced Erno's hand.
I have an extra bedroom in the house just for guests. Erno moved in, and, the next day, he hung around the shop to get the feel of a busy tattoo environment once again. Doodling and drawing with his left hand, he chatted and got to know everybody. The energy was incredible, and we giggled like school kids. We laughed, swapped stories and hoped the day would never end. On Sunday, Erno got the tour of our beautiful Monterey Peninsula.
Monday, July 7. We had to find a way to condition Erno's left hand for tattooing. I make tattoo machines, so I went down to the basement and dug up the worst disaster I ever came up with, a bent and welded iron machine better suited for a boat anchor. It weighed about two pounds! Perfect, I thought. We took a #2 pencil, ground off about one-eight of an inch of wood and shoved it down the tube with the lead sticking out of the tip (like a needle). This would make a perfect conditioning tool for Erno to draw with and get used to the feel of a tattoo machine again. Like lifting weights, it had lots of resistance. I was too embarrassed to sell this monstrosity, yet I finally found a purpose for it. Erno used it to draw, every day for three days. He pisses me off, because he draws better with his left hand than I do with my right!
Erno decided that he wanted to do his first tattoo on Thursday. Our days had been filled with the crew tattooing, Erno drawing, answering the phone and helping out. At night we schemed and brainstormed over Raisonettes. In the morning, before we opened, we schemed and brainstormed over coffee. We started thinking about using his existing hook as a stretching device. We fixed it in an open position and slid a half-inch ID gas line in between the claws. Eventually we came up with a simple extension off his prosthetic arm that we made from a six-inch long, half-inch thick, galvanized bolt. We took the grinder and rounded off the hexagonal head and slid another piece of gas line over it, then sanded it to rough it up. We figured this would give us more traction for stretching.
Stretching the skin was the problem. If the skin is not properly stretched, the needles only bounce off and the ink doesn't get to the proper depth. Amateurs are constantly creating scar tissue from going over the skin repeatedly, trying to figure out why the ink isn't going in. They turn the skin into hamburger, and scar tissue is the end result. There have been one-handed tattoo artists before, but they were always dependent on someone to stretch the skin for them. Erno wanted to be self-sufficient. What we needed to do was design a prosthetic that would stretch the skin. We pondered this while we made another bent bolt. This time it would contour more comfortably to the body. Erno and I laughed about the possibility of him having a tool box from which he could pick his weapon of choice.
I think it was Tuesday night, after discussing the possibilities, I had a vision. We could design a V-shaped extension, much like the common claw type, only have it spread as it activates, rather than grasp. How would we do this? After talking it over for what seemed like hours, we decided that we would get our power from a leaning action that would force the "fingers" to open and stretch the skin just enough to get the machine in between them. This is what we came up with. We knew we were on to something. Erno had an appointment with his prosthetic engineers the following week. We didn't have enough time to build it, so we decided to let the professionals do it and use what we had. The time was drawing near.
Thursday, July 10. D-Day! Tension and excitement crackled through the air. We should do something simple, like a kanji, we thought. We thumbed through the Chinese dictionary and found the symbol for recovery and return. Perfect! I helped set up Erno and slid a glove over his left hand. He had plenty of time to relearn the mechanics of setting himself up left-handed. Today, all he had to do was tattoo. Sweat was pouring down Erno's forehead like a whore in church. He used an aluminum Danny Fowler machine I had laying around to pull his first line. After a couple of nervous balks, he shoved it right through my bones and out the other side (it sure felt like it!). Nervous and unsure, Erno scratched and bounced around my skin until, finally, after about three minutes, he found his rhythm. Twenty harrowing minutes later, it was done. Not bad, I thought. Not bad at all!
Erno's face was aglow with the color of victory. After using half a roll of paper towels to dry his face and neck, I set him up again. He tattooed the same kanji on Lisa, and then, I tattooed it on him, to seal our bond. We did everything we could think of to congratulate Erno, including a steak dinner at Dakota Jake's. He was celebrating a milestone in his life, and we were celebrating a new friendship.
Erno stuck around for a few days, after his first left-handed tattoo. He drew and told more stories. For the most part, I think, he just soaked it all in. Even though he had an open mind from the start, he honestly began to believe in himself, and, from that day forward, anything was possible.
UPDATE:
Erno is still on a quest to round up his scattered possessions. Somehow, he managed to regain Santa Cruz Tattoo and is reorganizing there with his new crew. A friend of Erno's put some of his belongings in storage while he was still in his coma. Luckily, Erno's photo collection was still intact and we were able to use some of the photos for this article. The prosthetic engineers at General Hospital were totally fired up about the stretching tool we designed, and it is being built as I write. By the time this story is printed, the stretching prosthetic will be in full use.
Erno continues to show his gratitude by speaking at jails, hospitals and teen institutions about the dangers of drug use. During this adventure and before we met again in Hollister, I have yet to hear from anybody in this trade that wishes anything, but the best for Erno. Everyone is rooting for him!