Character Interview - Jasper Tunney

June 18, 2005

I had originally arranged to speak with Jasper at Mamzelle's bar, right after my interview with Mamzelle and Jean-Louis, but he called to say he was under the gun on a job he had on the go and wanted to cancel. I talked him into letting me meet him at his workshop so we could chat while he worked.

Jasper's house and workshop are on the far side of the lake from Hunter's Corners, not far from Mamzelle's bar. He makes his living customizing motorcycles. His specialty is paint work, and as I waited for him to bring me a glass of lemonade just after I arrived, I wandered around his workshop and was completely blown away by what I saw. The man is a true artist. If he had been applying his paint to canvas, he'd be known from New York to Paris. But his genius flowered on gas tanks, engine covers and fenders, and his buyers were not wealthy art collectors but motorcycle enthusiasts. He had a small but growing circle of "patrons" and he had even had an article done about him in a national biking magazine. He was doing pretty well for himself, in spite of, or maybe because of, living so far off the beaten path.

He comes clumping back from his house with a glass of cold lemonade that seems small in his hand, but when he gives it to me I see that it is a full-sized beer stein. Mr. Jasper Tunney is not a small man. He stands six and a half feet tall in his boots. He wears soft, faded blue jeans and a plaid flannel shirt under a black leather biker vest with no insignia on it. His head is covered with a blue bandana. The bandana and a tightly wound hair elastic are all that contain Jasper's unruly main of thick, wavy, very red hair. I know many women who would kill for Jasper's hair. He also has a generous blazing red handlebar moustache and brilliant blue eyes. He must weigh at least 250 pounds. He is an imposing figure, to be sure. It's very easy to picture him as a Viking warrior.

One might look at him and think he's a scary biker type, especially with the way he stares so intensely at things when he's concentrating on them, but so far he has not said or done anything that has inspired me to be concerned. He seems quite the gentleman, in fact.

PM: Thanks, Jasper! I hope you don't mind - I was wandering around a bit admiring your work while you were gone. I must say, you're incredibly talented!

JT: (smiling sheepishly and...I can't believe my eyes...blushing!). Thanks.

PM: So, I just wanted to ask you a few questions to try and get a sense of what kind of person you are before I start writing this book.

JT: Ok...cool. Do you mind if I work while we talk? I promised this dude I'd have his chopper ready by Tuesday.

PM: Not at all. In fact, I'd like the opportunity to watch you work.

JT: (He smiles at me again as he sits down beside the "chopper" on a tattered old office chair with the back removed. It groans under his weight, but Jasper seems unconcerned. He turns on a portable air compressor beside him takes his airbrush in hand, and bends to his work. He's painting uncannily realistic flames onto a Harley's gas tank. Layer upon layer.)

PM: (I almost hate to take his attention away from what he's doing, but this is the only chance I'll get to speak with him.) So...tell me about yourself...are you from here? How did you get into this business of customizing motorcycles?

JT: (He doesn't answer for almost a minute and I'm just about to repeat myself when he begins to speak. I don't know if he's just the type to think before he speaks, or if he was waiting to get into the rhythm of his work before giving any attention to anything else. A little of both, I think.) No. Wasn't born here. From Milwaukee originally. (he pauses for a moment to give his full attention to some small detail.) Hated it there. Quit school halfway through eleventh grade and got the hell outta Dodge. Rode around for a couple of years, doing odd jobs, sleeping in folks' barns and basements. It was a blast. Met a lot of really nice folks. Wound up here about ten years ago and found out I could paint. People liked my work.

PM: I'm not surprised! Why did you decide to stay? Surely you could get more business in a bigger town or city.

JT: Yeah, I'm sure I could.

PM: Why then?

JT: (He stops for a moment and looks at me with that same fierce concentration he'd been giving to his work. His eyes unsettle me as he seems to be trying to look inside my head for motives and reasons. Finally he seems to decide I can be trusted, his eyes soften, a strange look comes over his face.) Fell in love, I guess.

PM: Ahhh...well, that's the best reason I can think of to stay someplace. (I laughed lightly. I was getting use to Jasper's quick smile, so when it didn't come this time, when I noticed how his jaw was clenching, I knew something was wrong. I was tempted not to dig, but that's what I was here for, so I forged ahead.) Did it not work out?

JT: You could say that. (clench) She died. We'd been fighting at Mamzelle's over some stupid thing, and she was mad at me. Had a really hot temper. Stormed off with a fella from out of town. He was high on pot. Crashed his bike. He was thrown clear and came down on his head. Snapped his neck, the bastard. Died instantly - too good for him. Rita was...(his jaw clenched, his moustache twitched a couple of times)...Rita was pinned under the bike. In a ditch. Broken collarbone. They don't know how long she lay there before someone came along and noticed the bike down there. There were signs that she'd struggled to get out...but she couldn't. They said she eventually passed out and drowned in the muck at the bottom of the ditch. (Jasper had stopped working. It seemed like all the birds had stopped singing. He got up and went into the house for a few minutes. When he came back, he was subdued and his blue eyes seemed even more brilliant than before, but he gave me a small twitchy smile and went back to his work.)

PM: I'm so sorry, Jasper. Really - I had no idea. I feel so bad for bringing back such a painful memory (I knew the image of Rita lying in the ditch, pinned under a motorcycle, slowly drowning, would haunt me for a long time. I knew it would haunt Jasper forever. Obviously, he blamed himself for her death. No doubt he would never forgive himself for the fact that his last words to her were angry ones.)

JT: Forget it. It's your job to ask. Anyway, you wanted to know how I got into all this. Painting and stuff. Rita taught me. Here...I'll show you. (He gets up and goes to a closed cabinet in the back and brings out a teardrop-shaped object that he holds with great tenderness). This was her last commission. I just couldn't sell it, so I told the guy she'd died before it was finished and I did a new one for him myself. (He hands me the tank.) See that workmanship? She was the best. People from all over hired her. She had a real good name. Every biker knows the name Rita Devereaux. Ardee, we called her. And that's how she signed her jobs. (He pointed to the signature, a delicate flourish that had obviously come from a female hand.) There's a lot of bikes out there with her work on them. (I held the tank gently in my hands and admired the exquisite work of Jasper's dead lover. It was breathtaking. The colours, the depth of tone, the mastery of her work was obvious even tio me.)

When I first came here, I'd never heard of her myself. But when I was asking for jobs around town, folks kept telling me I ought to go out and talk to this lady biker who might have some work for me. Well, eventually I did. She hired me the day we met.

At first she just had me doing the mechanical stuff. Taking parts off so she could work on 'em and putting them back on when she was done. Keeping the place clean and stuff. I was only 20 when I came here. She was 29. So she said. She used to get real steamed when I'd ask her if it was true. "Of course it's true!" she'd yell at me. "What, so ya think I'd lie about my age??" (Jasper laughed at the memory and shook his head). Well, we were together for four years before she died, and she never admitted to being a day over 29. I found out from her brother at the funeral that she was just shy of her fortieth birthday when the accident happened. She never did look a day over 29 to me. Anyway, it wasn't long after she hired me that she noticed how curious I was about her painting, so she started teaching me. I didn't think I could do it at first, but she was a great teacher and I guess I had the knack for it, cuz here I am, making a living from it now.

PM: I guess you can say that as long as you're painting, she'll live on in a way.

JT: (He looks at me with a crooked smile). That's it exactly.

PM: (There's a long pause while I digest this sad story and he recovers by applying himself to his work.) So, you know Mamzelle, do you?

JT: (Laughs like a kid) Oh yeah, I know Mamzelle. And Jean-Louis (when he says the name, it sounds radically different than Mamzelle's pronunciation. From Jasper's lips it sounds like "John LOOey".) Great, great people They were really good to me after Rita died. Well, before too. Mam thinks she's my mother now and brings me sandwiches all the time (I laughed and told him about the roast beef sandwich she pressed on me as we were parting the day before. Jasper nodded happily). Yep, That's Mam. She's like a Jewish mama, only with sandwiches instead of chicken soup.

PM: do you spend a lot of time over at her place?

JT: Yeah, I'm over there three or four times a week. No fun cooking for yourself. I head over there for something to eat now and then. Usually some of the guys are there, so we have a beer or three and shoot the shit. (He turns off the compressor and examines his work for a moment, his head turning this way and that, holding the airbrush up just like Rembrandt must have when he paused to reflect on his progress.)

PM: The guys?

JT: Yeah, a few fellas from the Corners who ride. We go out on road trips now and then. Town just starts getting under our skin too much sometimes, you know? (he turns the compressor back on and returns to his work.) You'll see 'em around for sure if you go to Mamzelles now and then. Watch out for Fifty, though. He can be a bit mean when he's drunk. Considers himself a ladies man, too. Bad combination. I've had to settle him down a few times. I'm afraid one day some gal's going to cause a lot of grief between him and me.

PM: You mean, he moves in on women you're interested in?

JT: Naw, I haven't been interested in anyone since Rita died. I mean, I keep having to take him outside like a bad dawg. Give him a shake. He just doesn't get it. Someday he's going to go to far and I'm gonna lose my temper on him. Hate to see it happen though. He's a damn good friend when he's sober.

PM: What about your other friends?

JT: Fisher and Brown?

PM: Sounds like a law firm.

JT: (laughs) Yeah, you're closer to the truth than you think. They sure don't act like one though. A couple of stooges, those two. Fisher's Pa is a lawyer down in the Corners. He helped me settle everything after Rita died. Good man - a terrier in court, but I hear he doesn't always do things quite on the up and up. Fisher likes to fight. He really just seems to enjoy it. His dad has had to defend him in court more than once and bail him out when he doesn't succeed. I guess that's why Fisher avoids his parents for the most part. Brownie's just a good ol' boy. Out for a good time. His old lady has him wrapped around her little finger. When she says jump, he says "how high?"

PM: Sounds like a good group of friends

JT: Yeah, we're the unlikeliest little motorcycle gang you ever saw. (Laughs and goes back to his work).

PM: Well, I think that'll do for now, Jasper. I really appreciate your time. (Jasper sits up and stretches his back, turns off the compressor.)

JT: Good timing. I think this puppy is done. I guess I'll head over to Mam's for a sandwich and a beer. Let this dry awhile. (He clumps toward me with his hand out and my own hand is lost in his as we shake). It was real nice meeting you, Miss. Drop by anytime if you want to talk some more.

PM: Thanks Jasper - I may just do that.

(Just as I'm leaving, the world's unlikeliest motorcycle gang roar up on their Harleys and check me out as I'm walking to my car. It's easy to tell which one Fifty is - he seems to be undressing me with his eyes until Jasper emerges from the barn and whacks him on the back to get him moving inside. Not sure which one's Fisher and which is Brownie, but I'd lay money on Brownie being the one with the well-pressed jeans. Fisher doffs his helmet at me and follows Brownie into the barn.)