Lawrence Christon
A number of news outlets have covered the splashy new coiffure rounding the head of the Bob’s Big Boy mascot, which was nearly crushed by an out-of-control car crash in August. Reports have speculated that someone surreptitiously decorated the head and indomitably merry face in anticipation of Halloween. And we’ve actually seen the result on TV.
Downey Latino News is here to tell you: the remake was an inside job.
On a recent visit to Bob’s Big Boy, server Karissa Prudhomme revealed that a co-worker named Marisol, who only works Fridays, recently set about preparing the legendary diner for a Halloween look. And indeed a tall Frankenstein torso looms in front of a large window facing Firestone, while at a nearby counter, a bare skeleton sits with one bony arm reaching for a cup of coffee.
Prudhomme cited the August carnage (medical emergency, not a DUI), and pointed to the indications of window repair.
“There was a lot of damage from the car hitting a telephone pole and a hydrant,” she said. “But you can hardly see signs of it now.” She did admit, however, that other news outlets had inquired about the mascot’s bold new look, which resembles some kind of novel dessert, a blend of raspberries mixed in with cottage cheese
The question is: why?
It’s only a mascot, not a commissioned sculpture or widely acknowledged work of art. Or is it? Why has it drawn so much attention and comment?
“It’s so specific,” says Gabriel Enamorada, Executive Director of Downey’s Stay Gallery. “ It’s become a landmark in people’s subconscious.”
You might say that that’s a mascot’s purpose: it represents something. The Pillsbury Dough Boy, Mister Clean, Ronald MacDonald, Mickey Mouse. As a rule, they’re cute, happy, harmless, simple, and infantile (The great art critic and historian Robert Hughes, suggested the category “fetus chic,” to describe the mascot representing the 1980 Olympics).
The brilliant Hughes also said, “I feel nostalgic for a world of differences.”
Could that be why we have a blend of categories, where the lines between generic mascot and distinctive art piece increasingly blur? Who doesn’t see Charles Munch’s “The Scream” as a universal metaphor for desperation and woe? Or hear in Ginsberg’s “Howl” a cri de Coeur we’ve all felt at one time or another.
So much art has become a worldwide tourist Mecca (think Michelangelo’s David or one of Warhol’s soup cans). So much mascotry has become representative of something other than itself, especially because it has no self. That’s what our world has become, in Dwight MacDonald’s word for it: masscult.
It’s increasingly here, and we’re all welcome, especially if you have a few bucks to spare.
Lawrence Christon is a former award-winning staff writer for The Los Angeles Times. He was born and raised in New York City, and served honorably in the United States Marine Corps. He has lived in Downey for decades.
