If you’ve come here after reading a remembrance of Wayne St. Wayne at the Riverfront Times site, I thank you. I hope it provided some information about his fascinating life and times. I also thank his son David Ermatinger, along with David’s wife Allison Lispki Ermatinger, for filling in some gaps.

What the piece could only hint at, within the constraints of space, was the unique personality of the man. For what felt like years, I saw Wayne on a regular basis, often at Mangia Italiano, but also at other spots around town. When going to clubs along the early Washington Avenue, for example, I can definitely remember visits to the back door of Creepy Crawl, just to say “hello” and to check-in on whatever news story he had to share. These may not be wild, but here’re a handful of quick stories…

Knew this person once. We’ll call her Chrissie, as that was her name. We dated, she moved to Chicago, we broke up. The usual people-in-their-early-20s story. At some point in about 2000, I reconnected for a short visit with her in Chicago, though nothing rekindled on that one level. I did promise her a piece of art, a Wayne St. Wayne original. Asked her what she wanted him paint and she said “corn cobs in space.” I asked Wayne for the piece and he promised to knock it out. Months passed. At least a full year passed. I lost all contact with the painting’s muse. And since 2002, I’ve owned a copy of “corn cobs in space,” which turned out very nice, the helmeted cobs shooting through the universe with fiery tails. So, yeah, a missed deadline on that one…

The flipside here is that you could always luck into a phonecall about a “fabulous deal.” Once, I picked up the phone and Wayne was offering a rent’s-due deal on a piece called “Monster Battle at the Shenandoah Theatre,” which had been hanging in a South Grand storefront for years. He offered to sell the $110 piece for $70. I declined, with hesitation. When he called back with a price of $40, I went up to the shop and paid my cash. It’s another record, a crazy awesome piece. Love it still…

Wrestling. Wayne was a wrestler. He’d tell you stories about his days touring the upper Midwest and central/western Canada. More often, he’d tell stories about Wrestling at the Chase, and all the superstars of the old NWA. He was generous in sharing those stories and, sometimes, pictures. Here’s a little something we collabroated on for thecommonspace.org…

Speaking of wrestling, I can’t remember if I’ve hung up the wash, or taken down the wash, or even done the wash. You know, that today kinda stuff. But I can remember the first time I saw Wayne wrestle, under his alter-ego name of Doctor Blood. It was at Affton High School, on a weekend afternoon show that featured a former WWF/WCW star, or two, who’d play out their careers matched up against local talents. I can distinctly recall Wayne’s general act, with involved a lot of whining to the ref, feigning of injuries, complaints aimed at the crowd and lotsa cheap shots. A sweetheart in real life, Wayne was weirdly-cast as a heel, on one level. But on another, he was so committed to the sport that there’s no way he wouldn’t commit to whatever role kept him in the game. He was good at the job…

Last one. And the difficult one to write. In mid-/late-November of 2018, a friend of Wayne’s reached out to me, noted that his health had taken a bad turn and that he was open to telling some stories. Then he wasn’t well enough to chat, then communications ground down. In reality, I let a day become two, a day become a week. With mortality sort of on my periphery at an unusual amount in the last year, the thought of seeing him ill jarred me; my selfish desire to not be put in an uncomfortable moment outweighed his desire to tell some stories. He’s passed now; it’s too late to make the call. I’d love to say that this will make a great difference in my own communications with people, but I’ll likely fall back into bad habits. I do own Wayne a call, though, and always will. I hope some of these words and the words in the RFT are of use in letting some stories be known…

So that wasn’t the last note. This is. We shot a li’l Pixelvision film back in 1997, inside Mangia and his apartment’s kitchen. Feels like yesterday…

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