Chapter 3 - The Craft Screening

An art student joins the veiled culture of San Francisco's Street Artists Program, only to later obsess over a coworker's death while conducting his own murder investigation.

The two-week wait had quickly passed, and today was the day Michael Devlin would present his enameled jewelry before the Screening Committee of the Arts Commission. If the committee verified that the jewelry was indeed work of his own creation, then he could receive a street artists license.

An Arts Commission document, called The Blue Book, described the craft screening procedure and listed what he needed to bring to his screening appointment. He'd have to present his completed jewelry, some of his tools, and his work in various unfinished stages. He'd also have to show the raw materials of the process -- like the copper blanks, and fritted glass enamel that would color the copper when heated inside a kiln.

After loading those and other items into a small tattered suitcase, Michael left Ray and Hanna's apartment and boarded the Polk Street bus that would take him to the Arts Commission building at the city's civic center. Twenty minutes later, he was inside that four-story structure, pushing the elevator's button for the basement level where the screenings would be held.

However, not noticing that the elevator was going up and not down, Michael hastily stepped inside as soon as its doors opened. Smiling after realizing his error, he shook his head and figured he'd just have to wait for the elevator to change directions.

The elevator traveled upward to the fourth floor before it finally stopped. Waiting for its doors to open were two women: a tall brunette in her twenties and a petite, slender redhead who might have passed the end of her forties. The tall brunette's thick hair was awkwardly gathered into a bun, while the redhead's hair was meticulously cut to a pageboy style. While struggling to carry a clipboard and numerous folders, the brunette followed the petite redhead who leisurely strolled in front of her, emptyhanded. Deeply engaged in discussion, the two women seemed not to notice Michael when they entered the elevator.

The tall brunette said, "Look, Ms. Hawthorne, I really don't see what we--"

But before she could finish, she was interrupted by the redhead with a pageboy cut. "Lillian, please... call me Alice. Everyone here calls me Alice!"

  Nervously tucking a loose tendril of hair behind her ear, Lillian said, "Okay... Alice. I know you don't like to deal with them, but they are under the care of the Arts Commission -- we can't avoid this. And I don't think I can do what you ask."

 

"Look, Lillian, you're new here," said Alice. "And they're some things you'll just have to get used to. We can't always do things by the book, especially when we're dealing with a bunch of flakes like the street artists."

 

Catching herself, Alice suddenly realized she and Lillian were not alone. From the corner of her eye, she discretely examined Michael. Now who, she thought, would wear secondhand clothes and carry a dumpy suitcase into this building? And with Alice's hesitation, Lillian also paused, now regarding Michael and his tattered suitcase. Holding a hand near her face, she spoke in a hushed tone.

"Ms. Hawthorne -- I mean, Alice -- perhaps we should discuss this later."

 

Still staring forward, Alice returned a subtle nod, quickly pushed a button for the next floor, and in a moment the two had exited the elevator. A couple minutes later, the elevator stopped at the basement where Michael stepped out and found his way to Room B-9, the location for the craft screenings.

B-9 was a conference room with a small podium at the front and long folding-tables for the members of the Screening Committee. The rest of the room contained many rows of folding chairs, partially filled with craftsmen like Michael. There they waited with cardboard boxes and cases, holding samples of their craft, raw materials, and their tools.

 

Michael had come early, his appointment not until ten A.M., and the screenings had not yet started. He spotted an empty aisle seat near the rear of the room and sat down. Slouching in the chair next to him was a muscular man in his early thirties with shaggy dark hair and a broad mustache. Casually turning toward Michael, the man smiled, extended his hand, and introduced himself.

"Hey dude, I'm Randy Stone." Noticing the bulk of Michael's suitcase, Randy chuckled. "And I'm gonna guess this might be your first screening for a craft?"

Michael laughed. "Is it that obvious? How'd you know I'm new? Oh, and I'm Michael Devlin."

 

"Well, you've got an awful lot of stuff in that heavy suitcase, and you're clutching the Blue Book like it's a hundred-dollar-bill. The screening process isn't that complicated. I already have a street artists license -- I'm just here to add a new craft. Say, what are you getting screened for?"

        

"Enameled jewelry. Did a lot of painting in college, and selling handpainted jewelry seems like a possible way to the hearts of the tourists."

"Great," exclaimed Randy. "Your screening should be easy. Different crafts draw more scrutiny from the Arts Commission than others, but enameled jewelry should be a snap."

"Why's that?"

 

"The Arts Commission's trying to cut back on the people who game the system by selling things they don't make. It's all about money. The more profitable crafts, like silver bracelets, attract the biggest amount of scammers. So the Screening Committee puts more focus on crafts like silver jewelry, but are more relaxed about crafts that involve painting, etc."

 

Michael raised his eyebrows. "Oh, really? Well, how would a scam with metal bracelets work?"

"There're a few major players for silver bracelets who'll run large shops, almost like little factories, that'll crank out the stuff. And then they'll have a team of sellers on the street who don't make anything at all -- they'll simply sell the factory's bracelets for a commission. It's difficult for the Screening Committee, because they can easily see if an item's handmade, but then it's much harder to tell if a seller didn't do the work."

"Interesting..."

"Actually," said Randy, "you may get to see this play out here today, and even catch a little fireworks." He quietly snickered to himself.

Pulling out a piece of paper that listed the agenda for today's meeting, Randy pointed to some text about a craftsman named Walter Moreth, and saying, "See this Walter guy, listed here for 9:30? He's already been caught selling t-shirts he didn't make when he didn't even have a license. And now here he is, applying for a license, and he wants to get screened for silver bracelets. Walter's sitting up there on the left, right next to Frank Barger. Everyone knows that Frank runs the biggest factory for bracelets on the street, so it looks like this Walter guy will be his new seller."

   

"Okay..." said Michael, "so exactly, how do the fireworks come into play?"

Randy smirked as he stroked his mustache. "You see, Frank's already got four other illegal sellers who don't make a f****n thing. And that's really starting to piss off the people who make their own bracelets -- they feel they shouldn't have to compete with people like Walter, who don't make what they sell. Most the street artists are afraid of Frank, cause he's a big tough guy. But some aren't afraid, and they might even speak up during Walter's screening. You just wait. Walter's coming up soon."

  

"Damn, didn't know there'd also be drama -- should have brought some popcorn," said Michael. "Just figured the program was a mellow group of artists and hipsters, who mainly kicked back and didn't really make much money."

Randy laughed. "S**t no, our selling-spots get an enormous amount of foot traffic, and many people make thousands of dollars there every month. But it depends on what they sell: some things sell well, like silver bracelets, and the more obscure crafts sell a lot slower. And of course, where there's lots of money, greed won't be too far behind -- that's the way it is for guys like Frank Barger with his multiple sellers."

 

The meeting was about to start. Four members of the Screening Committee took their seats at the long table in the front of the room, and seated to their left was Milton Marks, the director of the Street Artists Program. Michael had previously met Milton at the street artists' office when he filled out an application for a street artists license.

 

Milton, now master of ceremonies for the screening, stepped up to the microphone at the podium, introduced the members of the Screening Committee, and gave a quick summary of how the screenings would be conducted. Carefully choosing his words, he spoke slowly with moderated tones.

First up was a man in his thirties who was being examined for printmaking of his original art. Milton announced: "First off, we'll meet John Stark, who'll be screened for printmaking."

Randy nudged Michael and spoke under his breath. "No controversy here. The Arts Commission loves it when painters come to the program. Watch, he'll breeze right through his screening."

 

The man displayed some of his original pen-and-ink art, and then some prints that were made from those originals. He also presented watercolor paintings and color prints made from those paintings, having reproduced them with a quality computer printer. There was no question that this was his own work, and it seemed likely there'd be no controversy. His originals and matted prints were rapidly being circulated among the committee members, each member giving only a cursory glance.

Next up was a middle-aged woman, Dolores Hart, who would be screened for macrame wall hangings.

 

Randy again nudged Michael. "And no controversy here either, for this category."

Dolores, carrying a large cardboard box, stepped up to the screening table, handing her pieces to the members as she explained how she produced her craft. The committee members, looking briefly at her work, seemed a little bored by the examination process. Satisfied that this was indeed work of Dolores' own creation, they quickly certified her.

 

Then Milton announced the next person and craft for the screening process. As soon as the words, 'silver jewelry', were pronounced into the microphone, the members of the Screening Committee reacted. No longer looking bored, they sat forward in their seats and carefully digested every one of Milton's words.

Now smirking and enthusiastically nodding his head, Randy gave Michael a hard nudge with his elbow. Then he held up the paper with the meeting's agenda, tapping his finger on the words: "Walter Moreth - Fabricated Jewelry in Silver and Brass."

Recalling that Walter was to become an illegitimate seller for Frank Barger, Michael turned toward Randy, saying, "Frank Barger?"

 

Randy nodded, pointed to the left of the front row, and explained:

"See that guy in a blue t-shirt with long frizzy red hair? That's Frank. To his left is Walter, and the guy to his right, in a suit, is probably Frank's lawyer. You see, the Arts Commission's gotten many angry letters complaining about Frank's sleazy sellers. They're on to him now, and maybe want to shut him down; the last time he brought a new seller before the Screening Committee, they refused to certify her. My guess is that Frank's brought a little extra firepower today, with a lawyer. If the Screening Committee gives Walter any problems, the lawyer will probably step in and put in the fix."

"Really... how could a lawyer help with a craft screening?" said Michael.

"You see, the Arts Commission and Milton are terrified of getting any lawsuits -- especially Milton, cause he wants to protect his job. Even if a lawsuit doesn't have any merit or doesn't even go to court, it still makes big waves at the City Attorney's office. That's because it could explode the limited budget for the Street Artists Program."

"Should've brought my video camera," said Michael. "This is like a daytime soap opera, but without the sex."

Randy chuckled. "Oh, sexy may yet come along, just you wait."

 

Walter Moreth, was deep into his fifties, overweight, and his glasses thick as milk bottles. One of his shoelaces was untied, his rumpled clothes fit poorly, and his shirttail spilled over the belt that surrounded his flabby stomach. From head to toe, Walter was a walking disaster, and yet the jewelry he presented was meticulously constructed and shaped with incredible precision.

 

Michael and Richard could overhear Walter's voice as he explained the process of creating fabricated jewelry. Sounding like a schoolboy reciting the Gettysburg Address, Walter's voice was monotonous and mechanical. Michael had to wonder if Walter even understood half the technology he was using.

 

With increasing skepticism, the commissioners handled and scrutinized the intricate bracelets that Walter was placing upon the table. To most in the room, it was apparent that Walter could not complete such intricate work, and yet Walter persisted with his clumsy presentation. He even produced a stack of receipts for raw silver, written up in his name.

 

Suddenly a woman's loud voice boomed from the right side of the room:

 

"He didn't make those. He didn't make any of it."

Caught off guard by the outburst, Milton's calm professional demeanor was breached. He flinched and slowly turned his head, squinting in the general direction of the woman's voice. After he recognized her face from previous Arts Commission meetings, Milton's eyes began to narrow.

"Hah!" said Randy. "Told you there'd be fireworks. See that cute brunette in a long flowered dress? That's Suzanne Davis, one of our volunteer political activists. Suzanne's deeply involved with the politics of the Street Artists Program and takes it personally when scammers threaten the integrity of the program. The only reason the voters gave us these great selling-spaces is because we said we'd sell handmade crafts of our own creation. If a lot of imported stuff were to show up on the street, it'd make it easy for the Merchants Association to complain, and maybe have the program taken away. Suzanne's actually a sweet person, just so long as you don't try to scam something you didn't make."

 

Fidgeting in his seat, Michael tried to get a better view of Suzanne. Probably in her late twenties, she was sexy in a girl-next-door way, her thick brown hair falling well below her shoulders. Upon her slender frame hung a floor-length print dress, sleeveless, white with purple and blue flowers. But despite her beauty, she came across as a woman of substance: upon her lap sat a clipboard of notes and next to her chair was a large leather bag that contained still more papers.

 

"Hey, she's hot," said Michael.

   

"You bet she is. When she's not making silver jewelry, she sometimes works as a stripper at Mitchell Brothers O'Farrell Theater.

"Really? Always wanted to check that place out."

Clearly agitated and awaiting Milton's response to her outburst, Suzanne nervously tapped with her foot upon the floor. Milton leaned into the mike and spoke with a patient and deliberate cadence:

 

"Now Suzanne... you don't know that. Have you ever been to Walter's jewelry workshop?"

Increasingly angry, Suzanne shot up from her chair, the clipboard sliding from her lap to the floor where it broke and its papers scattered.

 

"Well Milton," said Suzanne, "that's probably because nobody's ever been to Walter's workshop -- because it doesn't exist! How much you wanna bet every one of those bracelets were made in Frank Barger's little jewelry factory, up north?"

At the mere mention of his name, Frank Barger became animated, visibly angry, his face turning beet-red. Reminiscent of a wrestler, his muscular biceps flexed against a tight t-shirt. The man in a suit, now putting his hand on Frank's back, attempted to calm him down. And after a few moments Frank sat back in his seat, trying to cool off, his arms tightly folded, not moving at all.

 

Walter's shoulders slumped as he said, "Well, actually, I like to do my work at Frank's shop, because we're good friends and he's got lots of neat tools."

Suzanne threw her hands up in disgust. "What'd I tell you? All those bracelets came from Frank Barger's little sweatshop."

Springing to his feet, the man in a suit next to Frank began to address the Screening Committee. "If I may, I'm Gerald Webber from the law firm of Amber and Slate, and I represent Mr. Walter Moreth. As we examine the Street Artists Ordinance, there is nothing that forbids an artist from working in someone else's shop."

 

Cautiously approaching the microphone, Milton gulped and said, "Ahh... Mr. Webber is correct, Suzanne. There's nothing in the ordinance that forbids an artist from working in some else's studio, or even using someone else's tools."

"Christ!" said Susanne. "Just look at how intricate that jewelry is, and take a look at Walter. If he can't even figure out how to keep his shoelaces tied, how's he gonna twist silver rods with that much accuracy? Milton, why do you help them get away with this?"

Once again the attorney from Amber and Slate addressed the commission. "In seeking a street artists license, Walter Moreth is only required to present finished pieces of his craft, partially completed work, raw materials, and some receipts in his name for the purchase of those materials. Mr. Moreth has now satisfied those conditions to the Screening Committee and is, therefore, entitled to be approved for a street artists license. And if he were to be denied approval for a license at this stage, then it would be in his interest to sue the Arts Commission -- for the loss of business that he suffered as a result."

Her jaw now slack from exasperation, Suzanne quietly glared at the committee. Grimacing and their lips tightly pursed, not one of the committee members said anything.

 

And after a brief huddle with the committee, Milton spoke into the microphone. "It is the finding of the Screening Committee that Walter Moreth did indeed create the jewelry presented, and that he should be granted a street artists license."

Containing her anger, Suzanne slowly stooped to her knees, gathered her scattered papers from the floor, and stepped out of the room.

Randy turned toward Michael and shrugged, saying, "Welcome to the politics of the street artists program -- no good deed goes unpunished. Suzanne tried to do what was best for the program, but Milton and the Screening Committee members just let her hang out to dry."

"Poor babe," said Michael, "underneath all that rage, she seems like a very cool person."

 

After a few more people were processed through the screenings, it was then Michael's turn to be evaluated. As Randy predicted, he sailed through the screening process and was approved to receive a street artists license, which he acquired at Milton's office later that day.