IN DEFENSE OF WEIRD

     Portland, Oregon has a well-deserved reputation for being weird. It has been called, the Peoples Republic of the Left Coast, and we say it with pride. There are bumper-stickers that say, KEEP PORTLAND WEIRD, one brew-pub has a reader board saying, KEEP PORTLAND BEER'ED. There was a local politician at the end of the 1960s named Frank Ivancie who made several unsuccessful runs for Mayor, he wasn't weird, Republican you know. He lost to such luminaries as Neil Goldschmidt (now disgraced), and Bud "whoop whoop" Clark with his ever-present Kodak fun saver disposable camera. There is a section of the Willamette waterfront walkway dedicated to Frank Ivancie. Those who wonder are not lost.

     In 1973, the old, staid Portland Beavers AAA baseball franchise left Portland for Spokane, a move that would take them five years to regret. The vacuum was filled by an unaffiliated Single-A team owned by a Hollywood actor named Bing Russell, father of Curt Russell. They assembled a roster of bushy-bearded, long-haired misfits who had been rejected by every other club in every other league. They had a southpaw catcher (imagine that throw to first base), an Asian outfielder, and a pitcher who had written an expose of major-league baseball, named Ball Four. His name was Jim Bouton, he was in his late 30s and he was stupendous. Curt Russell played a few games at first base. They were coached by a Portland bar-owner/former MLB player, Frank 'The Flake' Peters. The General Manager may have been the first female exec in sports, this, as the women's rights movement was in its ascendancy. Her name was Lanny Moss. Portlanders didn't just go to the park to take the kids to a ballgame, they loved the Mavericks. The brought broomsticks to the game, signaling sweep, which was often the case. For $500/week, those boys of summer were having the time of their lives and returned the love. Major League baseball was not amused and started to topple this team of misfits from their midst. It took 5 years. Bing Russell was offered $26000 for the franchise he bought for $500, a franchise he had taken from moribund to record attendences every game of each year. Bing sued for $206,000 and won. Even in defeat, he won. Portland still loves him. There is a Netflix documentary filmed by the batboy-turned filmmaker called, The Battling Bastards of Baseball. It was released in 2014. Underground newspapers in the 1960s like The Willamette Bridge, became The Willamette Week and had a steller cast of reporters and investigative journalists that rivaled the publishing giant, Oregonian. The Portland State drama department provided talent to several movies filmed in Oregon. Another professor at PSU, Penny Allen was a playwrite and later an indie movie director. The play she wrote emerged in 1973, a musical comedy of the Middle East situation called Mirage. It was performed in dance clubs and several local venues, at a time when gas was dispensed on odd-even days, determined by your licence plate. The film that Allen produced and directed in 1978 was called Property. Much later I went to a premier of a documentary she produced called, A Soldiers Story. She had met a soldier returning from multiple deployments to Iraq and filmed his story. One of her stable of talents was a local stand-up comic named Carl Corky Hubbert. He liked to call himself a "little person". At about 4 feet tall, he could mimic many well-known celebrities, made feminist jokes which resulted in him being the target of wet cocktail napkins from the crowd, and he was a fine actor. He later went to Hollywood to pursue a career like his idol, Billy Barty. He met with some early success but pneumonia took him. Bands like The Holy Modal Rounders called Portland home and could be seen at local venues. Matt Groenig, the Simpsons cartoonist, grew up in Portland. This was the ground floor of Portland Weird.

     So I was not surprised when I went to H and R Block to file my taxes last week, a tax-preparation business you would expect in other cities to be staffed by men and women in business-wear. I was greeted instead by this guy with a full red beard and a long auburn ponytail. Over his face, but not containing his beard was a green mask with the H&R Block logo.

     "Hi, are you Larry? I'm Mitch (not his real name)."

That was the view of him above the waist, and not unusual in Portland. From the ground up was the view that counted. He wore Birkenstocks, with wool socks over pantyhose. His leg hair was matted beneath the pantyhose. Over that was a mid-length yellow cotton dress, loosely fitted. He accessorized with a single strand of what appeared to be turquoise. He wore no make-up, how do you wear make-up with facial hair?  He was very professional and seemed to know what he was doing. He was able to get me a pretty good refund from state and federal. I could have spent less to E-file, but I gave up out of frustration. Besides, when would I be exposed to this new experience?One I am grateful to have been exposed to. I still don't know what gender he would put down when asked. I don't really care, but it is good to have such confusion.

     There is a coda to this story. The debit card reader was not working that day, and I made a promise to come back on Monday to pay them. When I showed up, "Mitch" was not there so I was helped by another person of a more traditional attire. She couldn't access my account because of an error in recording my Social Security number. I have to wait until Thursday afternoon to get this straightened out. Mistakes happen and I am still grateful for the chance to savor the weirdness that Portland offers so effortlessly. 

 With social distancing and Covid restrictions, such experiences have been rare.