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12 of 12 people found the following review helpful:
4.0 out of 5 stars
Sam Steward - the man., February 9, 2007
I met Sam Steward around 1983 when he was quite elderly and I wonder what his friends would have to say about these reviews. I think most of the reviews are kind to him and the only real negativity I see are those in which the authors came to the book expecting a strictly scholarly work. Sam Steward wasn't a researcher in the classic social science sense. He was an energetic scholar, but his greatest interest was in the creation of literature, not in sifting through haystacks of facts to find new scientific insights.
I read this book shortly after I met Sam. I was actually more familiar with him as a writer of gay erotica, but this book tells you more about the kind of man Sam was. He had deep curiosities about the underlying psychological motivations of people and that's really the area in which he spent most of his time. That curiosity it typical of people who enjoy writing and his look into this subculture, one could speculate, is like one the instances any writer takes in which they journey into an objective investigation, knowing they are mining information and insights that will later inform their true love, writing fiction.
There's no doubt Sam took this investigation seriously, but it was never his intention to apply the level or scientific rigor one would expect of someone of the status of Alfred Kinsey. What he did at Kinsey's request was to describe a world, a microcosm, that would give Kinsey enough information to determine if a larger and more serious study was warranted. There weren't focus groups walking into Sam's tattoo parlor responding to a call for papers. They were rough and alienated men, drunks with their defenses down, kids in rebellions, frustrated people acting out. It takes an entertaining personality to get these people to say what they say and Sam Steward, if anything, was a decidely entertaining man; a storyteller who could keep a roomful of people enthralled with his vivid, if not naughty, descriptions of the extremes in society that are right under our very noses; extremes most people cannot see.
I've thought about this book a many, many times; practically every time I see a tattoo. Getting inked has never appealed to me but Sam's understanding of it most certainly does appeal to me. Even two decades after reading it, some things I remember from it make me smile and laugh out loud. There's a kind of deep-seated validation of humanness here that I think will serve many who read this. This isn't a book for everyone, but one thing that can be said is that there's more to it than the average person knows. It's art that goes deeper than the skin.
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9 of 9 people found the following review helpful:
4.0 out of 5 stars
Fascinating look at a sub-culture, August 19, 2001
Back when Sam Steward (aka, Phil Andros or Phil Sparrow, author of gay erotica) was tattoing people in his parlor on south State Street in Chicago, the tattoo sub-culture was very different from what it is today. Certainly the reasons for tattooing haven't changed substantially, but in the last decade or so it's become not only socially acceptable, but a kind of fashion statement for many people. Not so in the fifties and early sixties when a tattoo was a sign that you belonged to a certain class. Women didn't get tattooed at all (I met a girl on a train about a twenty years ago who confessed that her tattoo showing under the lace of her wedding dress made her feel like a tramp.) and the men who did were tough guys, or living within some sort of society where they were an accepted part of life. Steward not only tattooed these men, he studied them, talked to them and learned the reasons why they'd chosen to decorate their bodies in certain ways. He investigated the sexuality inherent in tattooing as well as the social issues. He is not a disinterested observer, nor has he written an objective study. But what he gives us is probably far more interesting in its intimacy. While there is probably information applicable to the current tattoo culture in the US, this book really is dated. It's fascinating for students of the time, and of the milieus he discusses, but won't be right for everyone.
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3 of 4 people found the following review helpful:
3.0 out of 5 stars
Curiosity Piece, November 1, 2006
This interesting book comes from an era that is now far gone. As a child, just after WWII, I saw men with, primarily, service tattoos and wanted one. It was carefully explained to me that "nice men" did not get tattooed and that the service tattoos weren't truly tattoos but the equivalent of service stripes. As a six year old child I found this confusing.
What Dr. Steward has done is gathered impressions of what it was like to be a tattooist circa 1950 on to about 1970. His portraits of sleazy interior malls and the persons who frequented them are chillingly real as are the sad impressions of his clientele.
For me, still un-inked, the larger story here is the conversion from the groves of Academe to the existence of a journeyman tattoo artist. We have his intellectual observations, as well his intimate relationship with the Kinsey Institute,to provide not only a look at the deductive logic behind getting a tattoo, at least at a certain socio-economic level then, are revelatory but perhaps only to then.
The wide spread acceptance of tattooing today (the last statistic I read said over 35% of men today have one)make this interesting reading if not germane to lifestyles today. Yet it has substance and to those with a taste for not only tattooing but the sexual implications, this will confirm much of what may have been thought. Dr. Steward's open acknowledgment of his sexual preferences de-fuses any leering speculation as to what might really have been his motives.
Still, for those who want an atmospheric, well constructed picture of an era, this book will fill in your urge to return to the "greaser" age. And for those of us who wanted one, but were denied, perhaps liberate our minds to, now, go get what we wanted then. If I had the hair, give me a flat top with a D.A. And that knife piercing the bicep just below the pack of Camels rolled in the sleeve of my black T-shirt.
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