The last spike
I swear, nearly every Armenian knows of another Hai living in California, particularly Glendale. I, too, have cousins there. We visit every few years, hopping on a jet and, hours later, we’re reunited. It wasn’t always so.
Mentally transport yourself to the California Gold Rush of 1849. You had heard rumors gold was so plentiful you could simply pick it up off the street. So how could you get to Placerville, named after the word that means where minerals accumulate? (FYI, I know a fellow who owned property there.) You could travel the indirect land route by wagon, over mountains, through deserts. Ambush was a risk. Or, you could sail a roundabout sea journey around Cape Horn of South America. Be prepared to be sick at sea. Either choice required a minimum three-month commitment. You’d be wise to plan to arrive before winter. By 1869, with the completion of the Transcontinental Railway, the ride by train would take about 10 days. Now, Amtrak will get you there in about four.
Recently, I unintentionally saw for the hundredth time Andrew Russell’s historic photograph East and West Shaking Hands at Laying of Last Rail. I recall reading Stephen Ambrose’s book Nothing Like It in the World: The Men Who Built the Transcontinental Railroad, 1863-1869. Then, I thought of my Dad’s metal art collection. Among the hundreds of artworks he created is his highly polished brass, nearly full-size interpretation of none other than a Railroad Spike.
It’s a long story as to why he would have chosen that lowly object. Nonetheless, I decided I’d make a painting of the momentous train event that combined extraordinary engineering with state-of-the-art construction to join two different railroad tracks in the middle of Utah. I did a Google search of other photos and chose as my model Thomas Hill’s 1881 painting The Last Spike.
With some painter’s magic, I condensed the scores of people portrayed to only those of my family. Dad’s in the center. A bit of a showman, he would have relished the attention showered upon him, though taking issue with comedian George Gobel’s question, “Did you ever get the feeling that the world was a tuxedo and you were a pair of brown shoes?”
Beside Dad is his father, Hagop, whom I’ve depicted with humor, reaching for Dad’s pocket. In front of Grandpa is my railroad worker son, Edward, in a hat reminiscent of the ones Chinese coolies wore. They were the exploited, unlucky dynamiters for the eastbound portion of the Transcontinental. Irish immigrants were the underpaid laborers on the westbound section, though I don’t know what hats they wore.
In the blue suit is my other son, Gregory, who, in reality, almost always wears black. Mom is in the blue/black/pink dress with a parasol. Grandma is beside her, as she usually was. My wife, Becky, and daughter-in-law, Julie, are train engineers.
My favorite, and only, grandson, Bedros, conducts the show, as he is wont to do, and, like Great Grandpa, wears a tux, but with black shoes.
For added visual appeal, I’ve substituted Dad’s Wagon for Hill’s Conestoga in the distance and Dad’s Locomotive for the engine. Lastly, I’m grasping the Golden Spike.
There is great responsibility for holding anything as valuable as a golden anything. A current spike weighs nearly one pound. Gold’s at about $4,000 per ounce. That’s a $64,000 golden spike. Dad’s actual spike is solid brass and weighs nearly 3 pounds. It’s invaluable.
Being the keeper of his collection, I feel I’ve earned my wings as a spike-man in my painting. But we can’t be serious all the time. My paintings are my way of funning with Dad’s art, and I believe honest fun and joy are as good as gold. There’s a worldwide need for this trinity.
I hope my painting’s brought you some joy. You’ll have to get the gold on your own.
