Thank you for your patience, while normal service is restored on the Loonfoot Falls Chronicle-Gazette website.
-Stan Parks, IT Consultant
Saturday, November 15, 2008
Saturday, November 8, 2008
The Remarkable Vision of Dillon Johnson, Interior Designer
The internationally-known interior designer, Dillon Johnson (no relation to the Mr. Johnson who signs my paycheck) was born in Eagle Bay, then lived and worked for several years in Loonfoot Falls before starting his colorful career.
He told me that he was about to quite trying to break into interior design, back in 1974. "Krantz Paint and Supply was a good place to work, but they weren't ready for someone with my sort of vision," Dillon Johnson explained. "I'm grateful, though, to old Mr. Krantz. He's the one who introduced me to Leopold."
After touring a house that Dillon Johnson had worked on, Leopold of New York insisted that this "creative genius" join Chez Leopold's Villa de Supercherie in New York's Soho district.
Loonfoot Falls and Eagle Bay didn't see much of Dillon after that, but we saw his name quite a bit in magazines: long articles about his "indescribable juxtaposition of tonalities," and photos of his work in celebrity lifestyle magazines.
For over three decades, Dillon Johnson commanded top dollar for his talents. From New York City, to Europe and the Orient, Dillon Johnson left his mark around the world: including the mauve and mustard Vandermark salon in Long Island; his rose, cyan, and chartreuse makeover of England's Bedford Parva Abbey; and his famous mural in Tokyo's Ginza, with its yellow cherry blossoms.
Dillon Johnson retired last year. He gave the Loonfoot Chronicle-Gazette the honor of revealing to the world the secret of his unforgettable style.
He's color blind.
He told me that he was about to quite trying to break into interior design, back in 1974. "Krantz Paint and Supply was a good place to work, but they weren't ready for someone with my sort of vision," Dillon Johnson explained. "I'm grateful, though, to old Mr. Krantz. He's the one who introduced me to Leopold."
After touring a house that Dillon Johnson had worked on, Leopold of New York insisted that this "creative genius" join Chez Leopold's Villa de Supercherie in New York's Soho district.
Loonfoot Falls and Eagle Bay didn't see much of Dillon after that, but we saw his name quite a bit in magazines: long articles about his "indescribable juxtaposition of tonalities," and photos of his work in celebrity lifestyle magazines.
For over three decades, Dillon Johnson commanded top dollar for his talents. From New York City, to Europe and the Orient, Dillon Johnson left his mark around the world: including the mauve and mustard Vandermark salon in Long Island; his rose, cyan, and chartreuse makeover of England's Bedford Parva Abbey; and his famous mural in Tokyo's Ginza, with its yellow cherry blossoms.
Dillon Johnson retired last year. He gave the Loonfoot Chronicle-Gazette the honor of revealing to the world the secret of his unforgettable style.
He's color blind.
Saturday, November 1, 2008
A Halloween Story, Conclusion
In the late fifties, in a town near Chicago, five college boys heard about the old Seely place.
One of the college boys was an accomplished amateur actor, and the one they called "Ghost Boy" believed in ghosts. The sensible ones decided to spend Halloween night in the Seely place.
I wrote about Amos Seely last week, and the story that he haunted his old house, looking for someone to release him.
At the last minute, the actor said that he had to go to Chicago for the night. He would drive back before midnight, dress up as Amos Seely, and put on a performance.
An autumn storm roared into town minutes after they arrived. Lightning, thunder and howling wind set a eerie mood. Then the power went out.
Ghost Boy had brought a flashlight, which was almost enough to light the room.
Down the hall, they heard a faint thump-clank-drag coming closer. A pale figure, bound in chains, entered the room. "Release me!" he cried, holding a huge, old iron lock, with a key stuck in it.
"Release me!" he cried again.
Ghost Boy, shaking, walked up to the apparition, and turned the key. The lock snapped open. Chains fell from the figure's arms and legs.
"Thank you!" he intoned, slowly striding back down the hall.
The lights came back on. The telephone rang. It was the young actor. His car had broken down. He was quite apologetic: there was no way that he could make it in time.
One of the college boys was an accomplished amateur actor, and the one they called "Ghost Boy" believed in ghosts. The sensible ones decided to spend Halloween night in the Seely place.
I wrote about Amos Seely last week, and the story that he haunted his old house, looking for someone to release him.
At the last minute, the actor said that he had to go to Chicago for the night. He would drive back before midnight, dress up as Amos Seely, and put on a performance.
An autumn storm roared into town minutes after they arrived. Lightning, thunder and howling wind set a eerie mood. Then the power went out.
Ghost Boy had brought a flashlight, which was almost enough to light the room.
Down the hall, they heard a faint thump-clank-drag coming closer. A pale figure, bound in chains, entered the room. "Release me!" he cried, holding a huge, old iron lock, with a key stuck in it.
"Release me!" he cried again.
Ghost Boy, shaking, walked up to the apparition, and turned the key. The lock snapped open. Chains fell from the figure's arms and legs.
"Thank you!" he intoned, slowly striding back down the hall.
The lights came back on. The telephone rang. It was the young actor. His car had broken down. He was quite apologetic: there was no way that he could make it in time.
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