The road trip to Chicago was uneventful until our convoy of artists reached the Dan Ryan Parkway. Mickey Hackett had made arrangements for Revella Coffman and myself to participate in the summer show and was in the lead car with her husband George. This being before the days of cell phones we managed our trip with hand signals which Mickey proceeded to do. Holding her hand out the window as a warning for drivers to slow down, the convoy somehow moved over three lanes in maddening, rush hour Friday afternoon traffic.
Setting up our booths early the next morning was as usual an intense several hours. Before the days of pop-up tents, artists hauled tarps and plastic and prayed the show would be rainfree. Once ready for public visitors we relaxed and smiled a Saturday hello to those in booths close to us. Revella was in the booth behind me and Mickey was located across the aisle.
Although the show was crowded the entire day, sales were light. And then it happened. A gentleman had spent considerable time looking at my paintings while I was talking to other visitors. When they moved out of the booth he stepped over to me and complimented me on my work.
I was about to thank him when he said, “I would respect your work much more if I had known it was done by a man.”
It took a few moments for me to realize what the man had just suggested. I had been exhibiting for quite a few years and this was the first time I had been offered a public compliment and had it yanked away in the next breath.
I looked solemnly at the man and said.”Give yourself a few years and maybe you will change your mind.” I tossed my head and turned to talk to another visitor.
A little later when the crowd had cleared, Revella, who had heard the respect conversation came over and gave me a hug. “I would have hit him on the head.” she told me.
I laughed, ”That would not have helped.”
Sunday crowds were dispersed by afternoon rain. We packed our booths in the rain, what every artist dreads will happen. As I helped Revella slide her display racks into her vehicle she paused with sunhat drooping and hair dripping said, ”Someday I am going to walk away and leave this setup on the ground.”
A year later I was talking to visitors at a show and heard someone in the crowd say “Those paintings are by Gerry Furgason”. The companion accompanying him replied, ”Yeah I know him.”
I had to smile to myself, “Yeah, tell that to the man in Chicago.”
Revella left her setup in a pile on the ground after a rainy St. James Art Show. She didn’t tell the rest of us until it was too late to rescue the display boards. She didn’t need them anyway. Shortly after that rainy show closing she left us for a heavenly studio where there is no rain in the forecast.
Me? I have never gone back to display my artwork in Chicago but I still enjoy hearing Frank Sinatra singing that song. Every time I hear it I can’t help thinking about a rainy show where I learned some art adventures are more memorable than others.