OCR Text |
Show REMEMBERING THE WARHOL IMPOSTER BY KATHERINE ELLIS /ARTS EDITOR THE DAILY UTAH CHRONICLE FILE PHOTO ew scandals occur on the U's campus and even fewer include imposters and artist talks gone awry. But during the swinging '60s, The Daily Utah Chronicle covered one of the most talkedabout events of the year. Picture this: It's October 2, 1967, and you're a U student who for "one night only" has the opportunity to see Andy Warhol in the flesh. The "Father of Pop Are' whose soup cans thrust him onto the art scene, will be on campus to deliver a lecture about his latest motion picture. It costs you $1 to get in, and after waiting 45 minutes in the crowded Union building, Warhol bursts onto the scene. What follows is a lackluster explanation of the film by an overly confident artist who didn't seem to care much about the questions asked following the presentation or anything at all, really. As a fan of Warhol, you're furious. And justifiably so — he didn't prepare a lecture, and a lecture was promised. Paul Cracroft, the Director of Lectures and Concerts at the time, was given a list of names compiled with the intention of receiving a refund. In the months following, students were horrified to learn that Andy Warhol had never even visited the campus. Instead, Alan Midgette, a University of Oregon actor, came in his place. Not only was the Warhol lecture a flop, it was a fraud. Midgette used the $2,600 he was paid for the "lectures" he delivered at U, University of Oregon, University of Montana and Linfield College to go to Europe and star in Italian films. The Chronicle secured an exclusive interview with Paul Morrissey, Warhol's manager. Kay Israel, Chronicle assistant editor, asked blatantly, "Was it Warhol who came to the University?" Morrissey answered, "No, no it was nor When prompted with, "Was there any reason why you did it?" Morrissey said, "Andy Warhol thought his substitute would be better for public consumption. Like a person that was younger and better-looking and better-spoken ... He used the medium of the lecture circuit, you might say, in an original way:' Despite Cracroft's attempts to reach both Morrisey and Warhol following the poorly received event, answers were continually withheld. Morrisey admitted to stalling Cracroft by sending "a letter that didn't make any sense:' He didn't want the bad press to interfere with the other "lectures" they had planned at other universities. The U didn't make any plans to reimburse the students' money from the lecture or even file a lawsuit for a violation of his contract. In the years that followed, speculation surrounding the event has attributed Warhol's actions to just another piece of work from the "Father of Pop Art" himself, a sort of performance that paralleled his work about consumerism and flashy public spectacles. While he seemed to express regret for the trouble he caused, partly on behalf of The Chronicle's consistent digging, he didn't want to appear at the school and thought he could get away with it. He did offer to make an actual appearance at the U following the spectacle, but good old Cracroft denied him the opportunity — the students had already put their Campbell's soup cans with their now infamous labels back on the shelf. k.ellis@chronicle.utah.edu @ChronyArts F CRAPPY PUBLISHING:THEN & NOW Ob ER 1 b, 1987 r FodAy OC BY ADDISON BUTLER /STAFF WRITER DAILY UTAH CHRONICLE ARCHIVE ISSUE — JOHN PECORELLI ver send off a story or poem you were truly proud of to a literary magazine, like, ever? Think about it. What is your first impulse after typing the closing period of that short story you've labored over in the last few weeks? For upwards of 20 million people across the world, the first (and often last) step toward publication is the Internet. It is a luxury taken for granted in the modern world — so long as someone has a computer and access to the Internet, they can publish all the silly, half-baked little thoughts swirling through their minds to the virtual masses at a moment's notice. The convenience and freedom the Internet allows for publishing is a relatively recent phenomenon, however, and for most of the industry's life the opportunity to actually publish one's work was saved for those with money and power. Nearly thirty years ago, Daily Utah Chronicle staff writer John Pecorelli comforted the hopelessly optimistic "future writers" of the U with his article on the Local Scribble, a local literary magazine dedicated to the "underdog" — or rather, the "writer" without a knack for words. Described by Pecorelli as "Salt Lake City's least pretentious literary magazine," the Local Scribble valiantly swore to publish just about any poorly worded poem and crummy essay submitted by Utah's amateur writing community. Dee Wolfe (the mad scientist behind this genius literary experiment) had an admittedly playful stance regarding the Local Scribble. "I'll print anything I get," he told Pecorelli in 1987. "Send me your poor, your downtrodden, huddling, short story manuscripts. Send me that essay you wrote and got a bad grade on but still like. I'll print the damn things:' There's no doubt of Wolfe's intentions here. By running a magazine free from the confines of more "legitimate" publishing, he set out to instill a sense of triumph and hope in the hearts of the writers with guts enough to submit. An added bonus is the destruction of literary conceit and self-satisfaction that would occur in the process. But what does this mean in today's terms? This idea of a purposely modest and triumphantly underground "lit mag" recalls a decidedly punk tang straight from the '80s. Bring power to the people! (Or something like that.) With the universal power to publish any form of writing in an instant, much of the verve and tenacity of Local Scribble would be lost. If someone really wanted to read the unedited babble of lower-tier writers, all they would need to do is scroll through Facebook for 10 minutes. Just about anything goes now, in contemporary writing and "publishing:' It is definitely a little weird to think that someone like Dee Wolfe would outwardly promote sub-par writing, but I think the weirdest part of this retro story lies in the fact that if something like that were to be published today, nobody would even think twice. That's just spooky. a.butler@chronicle.utah.edu @ChronyArts E Questions have again been raised as to whether or not this man who visited Salt Lake was really pop artist Andy Warhol. Mag blasts local scene .1 Ever send off a story or poem you were truly proud f, only to receive a rejecton i slip four to six hours o tlhisaehtreeuhdroba sfin nit eapn,u,oabm eestot w pane .bgN you'd yn?cl the no locally, stuff c o huo sy r s t ' e bily,a''tairssea.ri il teWrbetli la"ho matter how high the established literati lift their noses arid eyebrows. And. we h.aye Local Scribble, Salt Lake City's least pretentious literary magazine, to thank. FUN-O-RAMA al i ii print anything I get," Dee Wolfe, publisher sad. "I won't exclude anyone. Send me your poor, your downtrodden, huddling, short story manuscripts. Send •L.at essay you wrote and got a bad grade on, but .,ke. I'll print the damn things." end there are no limits," he continued. "I won't ense them, edit them or change the spelling. Notning gets changed." There are no limits to subject matter, either. Local Soibble runs poetry, stories, cartoons, essays, letters, p art and photos, just to name a few. Each :)CO' Is about 30-40 pages, comes out quarterly, and for a buck at places like Raunch Records. Some might think that Dee, a 34-year-old English major, is appealing to the lowest common .:13ininator with his, "I'll print anything I get" philosophy. The truth is that Local Scribble is providing a voice for many types of writing most of Utah's yuppie-oriented publications wouldn't print. "I'm not doing this for any literary critic sitting in his little office back East. I'm not doing it for any creative writing department, especially not ours. Most of the stuff I'm printing they'd probably tear to pieces because it's not in the vogue. I'm certainly not interested in vogues at all. In fact, I have infinitely more respect for a housewife who writes a technically clumsy sonnet from the heart than I would for some little turd that's trying to get ahead in the English department." And while Dee only prints about 150 copies of Local Scribble, he has plans to conquer the planet and exterminate conceit in the process. "I hope to build a mighty empire around it," he said. "In the future there will be only two local literary magazines. Right now Utah Holiday rules the local scene. But it will eventually slide into the mire of its own fashion section. Then Local Scribble will climb upon the ruins, thrust out its little arms and proclaim itself king. And then Neo will come crawling up to threaten the crown and I will, with my strings, cause my little Local Scribble to kick Neo in the crotch." Dee's joking, of course. Well, half-joking. Let's face it, much of the literary world is pretty self-satisfied and exclusive. But if you have anything at all (provided it conforms with local obscenity standards) send it to: Local Scribble, c/o Dee Wolfe. P.O. Box 1417, Salt Lake City, Utah, 84101. IT'S TIME GRADUATE PROGRAMS AT WESTMINSTER IN THE FOLLOWING AREAS: Business Communications Community Leadership Counseling Education Nursing c.tanner@chronicle.utah.edu for more information. WESTMINSTER SALT LAKE CITY • LITALI 801.832.2200 10 { THECHRONY I NEWS I OPINION I ARTS I SPORTS I WEDNESDAY, APRIL 8, 2015 } westminstercollege.edu/grad 11 |