In Memory of Professor Don Deaton of Sea Tramp Tattoo Co. Est. 1978

Hi Don, haven’t seen or spoke with you in a long while. Bummed I missed your 87th birthday in October of last. Though I am happy to have at least got some texts in to check in with you and Rosie. And to have received your yearly x-mas card from your shop and crew to mine. I should have visited with you more. I should have pushed my way into your present world with more passion and with intention. Just to get more time with you.
I always loved getting your notes and letters. I will have to dig out my collection of our correspondence I have from you. In need to reprint on my brain, your perfectly timed bits of wisdom, never ending kind words and your grand views about humanity. Your letters always began with a drawing of intention. Some beautiful little illustration leading into your thoughts. I didn’t think you would ever split this planet. Though time did have it’s way with you a bit these last few years. Adding more character lines to your already charismatic face. Besides the grey hair we all are getting. I don’t think you had aged since I first met you.
O’ that brilliant sparkle that would blaze in your eyes when a story of some interest quirked your curiosity. And as you listened, you would prime up with one to match or compliment the one just told. Your voice would grow and bellow deeply, when you saw perhaps the naivete of those near, might be losing their focus to hear where your tale would end. As I sit here trying to remember you and share what I can. Most of my memories are from many days, long gone. I cherish them. And as most stories. I am sure there are more than a few that have been embellished. I am sad that I will not have you to reflect with and straighten out the dulled memories, reorder the specific details and to clarify the names of those blurry faces I can barley recall. You always remembered the details better than I.

To begin.

One of my favorite memories was when you, in your seventies, jumped into the pit while Poison Idea played at Rio’s benefit party we held for him. Seeing you out there, skanking around, was like witnessing a living time capsule. Giving off an overwhelming feeling of some epic deja vu moment that was solidified in the current time lines. Sending many of us back to the days of seeing you in the pit at Satyricon. On a break from the shop. You would bounce in, have a beer, chit chat with some friends, do a few rounds in the pit and get back to the shop to help with whomever needed their precious moments commemorated.

I am happy my apprentices got to meet you in person. I think it gave them some clue as to my own personality and where I had come from. They love you. Took a handful of years to recognize how special you are to the tattoo community. But now, I feel they most certainly have blossomed from their youthful perspectives. And feel proud of their place in your lineage. Much like I did after taking flight from your care and went on my own to fend for myself.
Throughout my own career, I honored you the best I could. Any and all publications. I tried to show those coming up under my watch, as to the privilege it was to have been taught by you. And to honor those that gave us a leg up.

Recently I read some old stories from Deb in Alaska re-telling her nightmarish tales of coming up in this male dominated profession when she did. Her, and others, in our industry have similar stories. Being abused, used, and left behind gates that should never been shut to us. Many of the women that I grew up with were married to their barkers. Husbands jobs acting as artist handlers. The women were the talent. The cash cows to keep the circus going. Many of them were in highly abusive relationships. The majority of men were still in the mindset that women had to know their place. And that place was no where near the top of the pile. Even if the women out mastered the men there. I had been told many times, to take the sock out of my pants. When I would stand up for myself or say my piece. Finally, an awakening happened that I could see, around the time of Deanna’s women only conventions in Orlando. Perhaps, finding a solid community helped many of the women find the courage to escape their unsavory situations. I some how had dodged the married scenario. Running solo was not any easier. I didn’t have someone to protect me, even if that person was my only abuser.
Just read up on what VyVyn went through too. It was a scary world to be in as a woman.
You had to know how to “handle” yourself, not only how to “defend” yourself.

I bring this up, because you were NEVER “that guy”.

You never once tried to take advantage of me. Abuse me. Or come on to me. I didn’t have to fend you off. I didn’t have to worry about losing my job because I would be put in an awkward situation avoiding your or anyone else’s advances. That did happen to me a couple times at other shops. Rejecting someone as a woman in these settings didn’t always go well in our favor. But you never did any of this. I don’t even think you ever really got mad at me for anything that I was aware of. You would directly ask me to change my course if I strayed from your guidance, while under your apprenticeship. I never had to pretend you were my father figure to keep a healthy barrier between us. To keep any sexual tensions at bay. Not once.
You did treat me like a daughter. And as a friend. Genuinely.
I am incredibly thankful to know you are in this light and above so many that were not.

Your Works.
I hope someone that has access to your belongings, puts together a page to commemorate you and your works. There is not a lot out there publicly to show folks your talents. You had mostly retired before the folks in the business currently, were even considering getting tattooed, much less becoming tattooers. I know there has to be an archive of your tattoos and illustrations somewhere. Where is the tarot deck you were working on while I was studying with you in the late 80’s? Or your compilation of short stories packed with character illustrations that were so full of life and only for the strong at heart. All this is out of my hands. And merely a wish to see manifested in honor of you. I have your letters. Perhaps I will share some of them here someday.

Another memory to hold tenderly.
I had just recovered from O’d’ing in SF. I know dumb. It had been a long six months of trying to fit back into my body. But I did it and was out in the world again trying to find out what the universe wanted of me. Throwing myself to her mercy. She whipped me around like I was decaying flower at the whims of a storm. I was doing what I could to figure out why I was still here. I showed up in Houston to celebrate the 20th Anniversary party with my sweet friend Iggy. While at the same time, meeting back up with the person that had stayed with me and brought me back to life after my fuck up in SF. He just happened to live in Houston. I was not prepared that he had fallen for me in a romantic way and was planning on asking me to marry him. I had been given the heads up. Yicks. Talk about a fucking weird situation to be in. I had to kindly let him down. And the rejection made him recoil. It was too much. I had not meant to hurt his feelings. I am entirely thankful he had not left me to die alone in that room at the Phoenix.
And then, You.
I see you walk into that same lobby seconds after this very uncomfortable encounter. You walk up, and dude bails before I can even introduce you to him. Poof. He’s gone. You literally broke the spell I was experiencing. I have not seen him since. But there you were. Smiling and so genuinely happy to see me. You were “our” saving angel in that moment. For both of us.
I was so happy to see you. As we sat there catching up. Danny Dringenberg came around and introduced me to Corey for the first time. Holy moly. Magic man galore. I thought I had just met Jim Morrison’s reincarnation. Fucking Universe was having herself a ball of fun. Ping ponging everything she could into that lobby. That’s how shit went back then. Most of the tattooers, were still magical and powerful creatures. Whirlwinds of chaos would find order in their company. I loved being around it.
That entire weekend was something incredible to recall.
You let me tattoo you.
Keeping with tradition. I free handed your sailor girl logo from memory on to your forearm. She was not nearly as pretty as the ones you created. I did my best. Not an easy thing to do, tattooing your mentor, your Sensai in a public arena. The pressure was palatable. Corey and Danny in the booth next to me periodically looking over my shoulder to see my progress, cameras, crowds of unknown folks and curious old timers coming in to share their opinions. In the middle of the storm. You again were my rock. Thinking back. The timing of your entry. You being there in Houston. Unbelievably perfect. Seeing you in the flesh. Filled me with the courage I needed. O’ Universe. You silly unpredictable creature. On the last day of that convention, Iggy pulled out some twenty year old acid that had been sealed and shared it with a handful of friends. Not you of course. It was the kind that was made with love. We lifted off the planet and gently came back down just before having to board our planes back to our designated parts of the country. That weekend was filled with memories with you, with Kari, Patty, Lyle, Suzanne, Clay, Corey, Danny, Iggy and other glowing humans that were part circus actors and part universal planetary multi dimensional travelers. Epic weekend indeed.
So happy you had been there.

So Don, Thank you. I’ve got a couple more stories that want to be shared. I ain’t quite done saying my peace with you.

Another story in memory of you. That bares witness to how much influence you had with my life.
During the first six months of my apprenticeship. I was in a near life threatening wreck. I had worked the local bike show with Lyon and Rusty. And had just tattooed Marci. A mutual friend of ours named Sleezy asked me to join him and some pals to ride out from the show to go bar hopping. I agreed, since one of the men, who was joining us was a man named Ron. He had zero interest in me. Being tattooed and with shaven head. I had seen him a few months earlier at the Blues festival and had thought upon seeing him. That he was my ultimate dream man. He was so damn fine. Guarded. Stoic. Good looking. Fierce. We took off and somehow lost Ron and the chick he was hot after. Because of this accident, he did later become my man. My first real relationship. But you know that already.
As Sleezy was giving me a ride back to my apartment, we got hit from behind at a stand still waiting for the light to turn green off of Foster and 67th. I didn’t know that we had been hit. I just knew I was flying for awhile after a big boom. And then found myself sliding on top of my bare hands while being pushed down the street. I tried to kick out to get away from what I thought had been the bike. Later to find out that it was the car that had hit us intentionally. And I was stuck under it being pushed nearly two and half blocks before being released into the middle of the road. I had suffered a broken back, multiple third degree burns from being dragged and both hands were de-gloved. I had had a nightmare two weeks prior about losing the ability to use my hands as an artist. In my dream they had been cut off. And here I am in the hospital, not able to walk and both hands severely damaged. The doctors were telling me I would never be able to paint again much the less, tattoo.
After the month and a half of being in the hospital. Two surgeries later and a third dodged. I slowly was able to start getting out of the wheel chair and walk on my own. And was able to start using my fucked up hands enough to hold a fork, pick up a phone and wipe my own ass. It’s the little things that mean so much when you can’t do shit.
You didn’t give up on me.
While the doctors did. And even my fellow tattooers in your shop told everyone I was never going to tattoo again. Hooking my clients in to finish my in-progress pieces. They didn’t think I was going to come back from this experience. But you gave me a chance. You helped me. You let me tattoo Wayne to get my strength and coordination back. He loved Erte’s work as much as I did and let me do a few pieces on him to get back into my groove. Wayne was a homeless artist you had taken in as our shop guy. And gave him a place to sleep, a safe cover and helped him get by. You allowed me to teach him what little I knew and take him on as an apprentice while I was still an apprentice, so he could help me. He was helping me stretch skin while I worked on folks that also were willing to let me work on them while I healed. He was my extra hands. At first it was our shop tramps and later bled into actual clients. Wayne under this odd circumstance, became a pretty good tattooer. As my first apprentice. He tattooed nearly as long as I did before he too passed away a few years back.
You guided us.
Gave us encouragement and support. We were two young broken souls trying to survive.
Because I was able to get back to tattooing. Using it as a form of physical therapy. It helped my injuries heal with less atrophy. The vibration of the machines helped to soften the scarring, kept my joints sliding and not hardening up. And the strength I regained from learning how to stretch skin, so I could tattoo it, helped build up my muscles and dexterity. Of course I had to find some alternative methods to get around my disabilities. But, you were there offering suggestions and helping me experiment to find what would work.
You didn’t owe me anything. But you gave me everything.
I love you forever for this. Thank you for not giving up on me.

Lastly, and only for now.
On February 16th around 5:00am, I woke up from a really bizarre dream.
I finally text Rosie at 6:35 am to make sure you guys were ok.
In my dream, I discovered a unique antique mall style building and found myself wandering it’s unusual halls.
When I finally came upon what looked like a tattoo shop and was pleasantly happy to find you working in it.
You were the man I had first met at the Satryicon. Only difference from yesterday to today was that your hair was brown and longer. Same belt buckle and jeans. Chain on your wallet. Boots and beard. It was you in all your joyous splendor. My friend Star was with me and wanted to get tattooed by you. As you were tattooing her, of course you broke out in your story telling. Running on about ones with me involved, to her. At some point, you scolded me for not bringing back those black frames I had taken down at the shop when I moved on to California, that had my artwork in them. I had promised you I would send them back, with the artwork after I had made copies for my own archive. I never fulfilled that promise. I am sorry. I told you I was sorry and apologized in my dream to you. It was not cool. I should have followed through with my promise. I had left a huge bare area in the front lobby, off the counter wall, at the shop. I know it must have been an eyesore. And yes they were your frames. Having had this exchange with you, like it was finishing unfinished business. It woke me in a fright. I was happy to receive notice back from Rosie that you both were ok. I guess you did come by early to sort out what needed sorting. Thank you.

Ok. One last thing I would like to make sure people remember about you.
Besides your ability to freehand nearly anything on to a person with just a tooth pick and pigment. And besides your amazing bedside manner, humor filled laughter and joyous nature.
You are the only tattooer I know, that used hypnosis on your clients when they were willing and receptive.
It took at least ten years into my career to realize what you had been doing to help folks endure their suffering while I worked with you. Aside from the soapy water in the spray bottle that you called “numb numb stuff” that also worked, most times. You offered them a tool to disconnect to the process. I recall them sitting there calmly, having normal conversations and not being effected by the pain, at all.
Ten years! It took for me to one day have an “aha moment” and think, “holy fuck”. “That’s awesome!”
I was living in Oakland at the time. And reached out to the hypnosis clinic in Berkeley that was offering classes. They finally denied me, once they found out I wanted to offer this technique to my clients while they were getting tattooed.
Guess they thought I would be irresponsible with it’s use.
I can attest you never were. You only used it to help people not suffer.

To softly end.

Don. I am tired. As others I know right now. I didn’t get much sleep last night thinking about you and them.
I have cried my eye balls out. And will most likely keep crying for while when I think of you not being here anymore.
I really hope we meet again soon. In this life if you chose.
Please let me know it’s you, by showing me your ninja stealth actions in the kindly care of others, while waving your mighty pirate flag proudly.
Sound out your joyous laughter so we all can hear you.

Thrive in the Light.
October 1936- March 2023

All my love, M