Once upon a time, in a galaxy far, far, away called Brooklyn, lived an unfiltered cigarette smoking man named Gordon. With only an 8th grade education and a obvious Brooklyn accent, one would assume him just another "working class" idiot. One would be wrong.
He met his wife when he was still in Sunday school. She didn't know it yet, and refused to believe such rubbish but I can assure you in the end she would say "I do" and they would live out their lives together for over 60 years and die a day apart from each other, but I'm getting ahead of myself.
The year was 1930-40 something, give or take. Befriended by a sharp-tongue, slightly rough around the edge tattoo artist, later to be recognized as a godfather of the tattoo culture, Charlie Wagoner, (he also would go on to perfect the electric coil tattooing machine originally invented by Sam O'Reilly and we haven't changed it much since), Gordon spent much of his spare time hanging in Charlie's tattoo parlor in the Bowery area of Manhattan which would later become famous for the boom of the American traditional style of tattooing. This was a time when you were considered a leper for having any kind of tattoo on you. These days guys are quick to get their necks, hands, and faces tattooed to show they are tough guys and women get infinity symbols and inspirational paragraphs slapped on them to prove they are deep and spiritual. Back then you were considered an outlaw if you had tattoos. So naturally, Gordon got several all over his arms and chest for .25 a piece. (The chest piece cost a $1, he did it in .25 installments). His most treasured tattoo was the name "Margie", his wife's name, though they weren't married yet. (She was still swimming in the sea of DeNile) He also rode a motorcycle which was completely unheard of. Basically, a father's worst nightmare for their daughter.
He became some comfortable and familiar with the tattoo community, he started to pursue an apprenticeship with Charlie Wagoner himself. This even included purchasing his own tattoo starter kit which came with a tattoo machine and 4 basic ink colors. In the end he chose a different route and married the woman of his dreams and became the most epic dad and grandfather the world has ever seen. He passed at the age of 88 peacefully in his sleep, surrounded by his family in the house he purchased with Margie back in 1953. Margie followed him in only a day later at the age of 90. He lived by a very simple phrase. (In a Brooklyn accent of course)
"It's Simple. Ya. Do. What's. Right"
If everyone lived by that, would be really need any other laws?
