JP Patches

Way back when I was a kid, there was this book my mom picked up from the store. That was odd enough—my family wasn't big on books, still aren't, apparently reading too much is a sign of madness. Anyway, we went to this neighborhood by the Ivar's where I sometimes went with my grandparents, by the place where a Whole Foods was last I checked, and around where my uncle would die years later after dozing off with a lit cigarette.

This guy came out of the house, nothing special about him in my eyes, took the book my mom'd brought, scribbled something in it, chatted for a minute, then went back inside and we left and went home. 

A few months later, dad got the book as a gift: JP Patches: A Northwest Icon.

Didn't think much of it. Didn't see why I would. Dad alway made fun of childish things and what was more childish than a clown in makeup?

But a few years later, dad came home from work. It was when I was still young and after he mowed the backyard, he brought up a VHS tape and told me about how he'd loved watching this show as a kid, how much he still adored it, how he mowed the clown's lawn, and how cool it was to think he was still a Patches Pal, and come on, let's go check this out.

So we went inside, he watched about two minutes, then got up, walked out, and didn't come back. Decided it was a waste of his time he couldn't connect with anymore, so he went to read some investment report or something. It wasn't the Jungian approach of, "Let me reflect on why I used to enjoy this as a boy but as a man I'm kinda squirming and uncomfortable." After he left, I sat there and tried to figure out what exactly was going on with this odd improv comedy from a much more amateur time in television.

I didn't get anywhere. Maybe if there had been someone around to say what bits and pieces he remembered and why, it might have helped me along but instead my knowledge remained about as clean and clear as JP's setting: the City Dump.

So I did what I always do: I found a book. And you can guess the one. The one that had been signed by the clown himself. I'd be lying if I said I remembered much of it. 

One story I do recall getting a kick out of was the one about how they would do live advertisements—I believe once it was orange juice they were advertising? And the crew thought up this contraption to replace the juice with hard liquor because Wedes/Patches had to do the ad live. So he intends to take a big ol' swig of juice, instead it's harsh liquor, and he has to hold back his coughing and choking as what should be a refreshing drink instead dries out his throat and he pitches the product, worried the sponsors will be pissed he did a poor job. 

Just lovely antics, gotta enjoy hearing about a lighthearted workplace—even though, you know, sometimes you're gambling with very risky stakes. 

Some might also recognize the Fremont statue of JP and Gertrude, Late for the Interurban (Credit: Wikipedia; artist: Kevin Pettelle)

Unfortunately, I can't say I ever talked to Chris Wedes/JP Patches beyond maybe giving him a bill once or twice or waving. His wife asked me for help once moving some outdoor tables into their backyard shed, was very kind, and they lived in the same neighborhood as the actor Kevin O'Morrison, from Sleepless in Seattle (at least that's what I hear—never talked to O'Morrison nor have I seen the film, there was a tree in his backyard that could make it a real pain in the ass to mow and occasionally require cross-cuts, though).

Like never asking my Grandma more about living in Grantham during WWII, there is a lot worth learning about there that I was stupid enough to pass over because I trusted the family's rough, hand-waving explanations. I suppose this is a decent time to bring in my continually returning to biographies; I find it fascinating to trace people's backgrounds, to see the overlooked but essential details of our pasts. Not only does it help to humanize the marble figures of history, or even the popular, goofy celebrities of today, it also, and arguably most importantly, can help us to reflect on ourselves and learn from these people as well as our own experiences.

And in the case of Wedes/Patches, well: how can you not respect a guy who took joy in bringing happiness to others? Seems like a pretty good way to live life, benefits everyone. Some on-show antics are fun. And the guy didn't live in some mansion or whatever, he lived in quite a humble rambler. He did keep merchandise from his celebrity days in his garage—but not in a narcissistic way, from the little I saw, mainly to give out to people who recognized him and might get a kick out of getting a JP Patches tee or bobblehead from JP himself! 

Which is a pretty cool, thoughtful thing, I think. I respect people who don't come across as self-absorbed but instead thoughtful about others.

As I said, it's been quite some time since I read this book, but I've gotta rank it as a solid 4/5. As an adult, I'm sure I could glean a lot more from it than I did as a child, especially now that I have a better grasp on history and context—and so at some point here, I plan to purchase a copy for myself. Plan to pick up a biography of Ivar Haglund, too, but that one's pretty pricey last I checked. David M. Buerge's discussion of Seattle, as well as the biography he is there speaking about, have been on my mind lately as well—maybe I'm on a bit of a hometown history kick.

Ironic, since I never intend to return to the state, let alone the area.

All the same, the book lingers fondly in my memory for a reason and, given it is the definition of a brisk, easy read (if you can find an affordable copy), I'd recommend picking it up, especially if you're one of those from my old hometown who wants a light introduction to a lighter aspect of local history.

Personally, contextualizing the disjointed memories of childhood is something I find quite helpful in understanding life, to me, and so digging into these sorts of things with books and documentaries and making sense of them is something I find to be of great benefit both for understanding the world as a whole and understanding my place in it as an individual.