Drive-By Art : Distributors’ neon sculptures light up the night and also prove to be a bright idea in terms of sales. But traffic snarls can be a problem.
When the first neon sign was unveiled at a La Brea Avenue Packard dealership in 1923, traffic piled up for blocks.
Today, the latest twist in neon is the way in which it’s sold--on top of cars.
Six nights a week, Marcus Jenkins parks his deranged-looking 1979 Chevy Caprice at a busy Burbank intersection. Within 20 minutes, a dour corner is transformed into a wondrous patch of phosphorescent colors. About 30 neon sculptures dot his car--from a cactus, saxophone and sailboat on the hood to palm trees, guitars, flamingos and howling coyotes perched on the top and trunk.
It’s as if Disneyland’s Main Street Electrical Parade got pulled over for a parking ticket. With traffic grinding to a halt wherever Jenkins parks, you’d think that it was still 1923.
The drive-by neon concept was apparently first created by Gary Post, owner of Neon Now, a sign shop in Mesa, Ariz.
“About three years ago, we were running low on cash, so we stuck a generator and some neon on a street corner,” said Post, who has since signed up 12 distributors in Florida, Arizona, Nevada and California. “We sold it in half the time and for half the price of retail.”
After Post opened a glass tube factory in Nogales, Ariz., and a distribution center in Mesa, his annual street-side sales have topped $360,000, more than tripling business since 1989.
Jenkins and other distributors work independently, their only connection to Post being the neon they purchase at reduced prices.
The 2-foot-high neon pieces sell from between $95 and $200. Jenkins says he nets about $200 a night from the business, which he formed two years ago with start-up costs of about $4,000. His greatest challenge is getting folks to park, rather than snarling traffic as they shout questions at 10 m.p.h.
On a recent evening, a towering Carl’s Jr. “Happy Star” and glaring sulfur-colored street lights had little effect in dimming Jenkins’ intense display--parked at Verdugo Avenue and Hollywood Way in Burbank. Jenkins’ only competition was a red-and-white neon “OPEN” sign hanging in a fast-food restaurant nearby.
“The idea is to drape an electrical current down the center of the car,” Jenkins, 33, said as he connected a series of electrical outlet strips to a 1,000-watt generator that hummed curbside. After plugging in the electrical ceramic bases, Jenkins began inserting neon sculptures, a distinctive zzzzfffftttt sounding as a pair of cowboy boots blazed to life.
The result was instant customers. Drivers rolled down their windows, shouting: “How much for the chili pepper?” “How much for the moon?” “Do you drive around with that stuff on your car?”
Some drivers mistake the display for a hallucination. Others think that they’ve had a spiritual vision. Children often believe that it’s a mini-carnival, asking, “Where’s the Ferris wheel?”
Jenkins, a portly man who loves to banter with customers, commutes from his home in Santa Clarita to the streets of Burbank, which allows vending from in or on vehicles. Usual parking regulations still apply.
“We have about three dozen annual street vending permits on file now,” said Terre Hirsch, Burbank’s license and code services supervisor. “This guy’s pretty unique; we don’t have any other people selling neon from their car.”
Street vending is illegal in Los Angeles, although the City Council recently approved a plan that would allow vending from city-issued carts.
Restrictions in other cities are stringent: Glendale’s code requires vendors to move their business 1,000 feet every 15 minutes.
Jenkins thinks of Burbank as a vendor’s paradise. “They have a great Police Department, so I feel fairly safe on the streets,” said Jenkins, who previously worked as a photographer and telephone repairman. “I wouldn’t feel very comfortable setting up in the middle of downtown L. A.
“If more cities allowed this, there wouldn’t be so many people on welfare.”
The same “three L’s” of real estate (location, location, location) apply to the neon-on-wheels business: “I set up near places that have a natural draw,” Jenkins said, cradling a portable phone as he verified a credit card purchase. “On weeknights, it’s usually near a market or strip mall. On weekends, I park near popular nightspots.”
Sales begin at dusk and Jenkins packs up around midnight on weeknights and as late as 2 a.m. on weekends. His favorite spot is between two ATMs at San Fernando and Burbank boulevards.
“It’s a good Friday spot,” he said. “I tell people, ‘Don’t tell me you don’t have any money--you’re surrounded by it.’
“I usually close up before 2 a.m. on weekends. You know why you’re not supposed to turn your flashers on at night if you’re stalled on a freeway? Drunks head for them like you’re a stop-and-go light. Imagine what a drunk would think of my car. So I usually close up before the bars do.”
Dan Bradford, a member of the Lying Nixons rock ‘n’ roll band, stopped to gawk at Jenkins’ display after spying a rainbow-hued guitar.
“I’m going to put it above my amplifier in my room,” said Bradford, dressed in a tie-dyed T-shirt emblazoned with Jim Morrison’s photograph. “Neon reminds me of ‘Dragnet.’ Whenever Joe Friday busted a pot smoker, there was always some sort of neon sign in the background.
“Neon symbolizes the psychedelic period of the ‘60s, but with the technology of the ‘90s thrown in.”
Bradford handed Jenkins a couple of $100 bills for the phosphoric guitar. “See now why I wouldn’t want to do this in the middle of Hollywood?” asked Jenkins, stuffing the bills in his pocket, then turning to Bradford: “So, are you expecting Joe Friday to make an appearance now?”
Jenkins’ future plans include expansion into Orange County, which allows street vending in designated districts.
Other Neon Now distributors take their chances when peddling their wares in cities where the practice is illegal. Dino Homsey often vends along Ventura Boulevard in the San Fernando Valley.
“I was run out of a great Studio City location across from Jerry’s,” said Homsey, 33, referring to Jerry’s Famous Deli. “I worked Highland and Franklin (in Hollywood) all last summer until a sergeant drove by and saw traffic backed up for a block. He shut me down.”
Homsey said many customers stop for a single item that catches their eye, like the guitar Jenkins sold to Bradford. Jenkins added: “Others stop for gifts. Sales really pick up around Christmas and Valentine’s Day.”
A hot pink and red flamingo caused Colene Hughes to slam on her brakes after spotting Jenkins’ car.
“I have a couple rooms full of flamingos--stuffed animals, candles, jewelry, whatever,” Hughes said. “This is about $100 less than what I’ve seen in stores and the quality is better. I’ve seen mostly plastic bases elsewhere; these are ceramic.”
“I collect palm trees too,” said Hughes, writing out a $165 flamingo-embossed check for her purchase. “But I can’t afford two pieces right now.”
Most customers expressed shock at Jenkins’ prices. Those familiar with retail prices, however, found Jenkins’ neon to be well below usual cost.
Perhaps more interesting than what customers buy are their thoughts upon first encountering the luminous sight.
Jenkins said a particularly pesky breed of customer shows up once each night. “They’re attracted to the lights,” he said. “Like moths.”
Such passersby never purchase neon, Jenkins said, “but just hang around for hours staring at it, wasting my time. Neon does strange things to some people, especially when it’s all clumped together on top of a car.”
His comment was especially true for one woman driving down Hollywood Way in a cobalt-blue Mazda Miata. She thought that Jenkins was the leader of a roving New Age cult that venerated neon.
Where and When
Location: In front of Wells Fargo Bank building at corner of Burbank and San Fernando boulevards, Burbank.
When: Dusk to midnight tonight, Saturday and Sunday.
Call: For future locations, (805) 251-4134 or (818) 370-7294.
