Originally published in the August 2018 issue of (614) Magazine
Photo by Megan Leigh Barnard
Chad White doesn’t look like what you’d probably expect from the founder of the Ohio Rum Society. He lacks the sailor’s swagger and pirate’s pedigree some mistakenly associate with the world’s most versatile and diverse distilled spirit. Also absent is the alienating ego that easily identifies pretentious experts in elixirs as unmistakably as a parrot, an eye patch, or a peg leg.
Instead, you’ll find the modest charm and
Midwestern demeanor of a kid from Toledo, captured by the allure of
Columbus more than a decade ago, who carved out his own corner of the
local craft cocktail scene in a category that stretches far past the
fabled shores of the Caribbean.
“I was the victim of really great niche marketing,” White
confessed of his college years at Ohio University and an early affinity
for rum. “It wasn’t until I ordered a flight of premium rums with a
friend at a rum bar in Cleveland that I realized there was more out
there.”
The most familiar names in American rum
aren’t awful, but aren’t exactly transparent either. Adulterated by
artificial flavoring and coloring, many are more like alcoholic soda pop
than true spirits. Luckily, White and his future wife’s shared love of
travel afforded him the opportunity to collect interesting bottles from
exotic locations, a hobby that quickly escalated, perhaps out of hand.
“It wasn’t long before my suitcases were
coming back filled with rum,” he chided. “My wife told me I either had
to drink it or share it—not just the rum, but my passion for it.”
Columbus has a knack for finding or following the next new
thing. From coffee and cocktails to breweries and barbecue, White knew
he couldn’t be the only one in town experimenting at home with his
spirit of choice. What started as just another Facebook group to
exchange articles and opinions on the emerging rum scene didn’t stay
there long.
“That online conversation soon evolved into inviting
friends to my house for tastings,” he recalled. “If there were a bunch
of bourbon drinkers, I’d start out with something dry and well-balanced,
but with a little weight, obviously aged, with bold flavors.”
Further reinforcing the notion that everyone already seems
to know everyone else in Columbus, that first formal gathering at Grass
Skirt Tiki Room quickly grew to connections and subsequent soirées at
Curio, Denmark on High, Blind Lady Tavern, and The Light of Seven
Matchsticks. It turned out there was quite a bit of quiet dabbling
behind local bars as well, substituting rum for traditional base
spirits.
“It connected me with all of these underground rum
geeks—bartenders, proprietors, but also curious cocktailers—people who
love brown spirits like bourbon, or white spirits like tequila. People
who love the craft of fermentation and distillation.”
White is a recruiter for the tech sector by day, a knack
that clearly extends beyond his keyboard. Unlike similar ‘societies’
that simply need to usher a readymade community into the same room,
White had to educate and elevate rum among the masses while roping
everyone into the same orbit.
Two years in, there’s no slowdown in sight, with meetings
nearly monthly, an updated membership program, and a new
name—recognizing the greater geographic reach and influence of his
growing group of self-described ‘rumheads.’
“We began as the Central Ohio Rum Society, but soon
started pulling in members from around the state for our tastings. So
we’re now the Ohio Rum Society, even though our interest is really
international.”
Themed meetings from “January in Jamaica”
to “Rum, Beer, and Revolution” tap into the convergence of history and
chemistry, as well as practical and tactical conversations, like getting
rum into the country a little easier by flying back through Puerto Rico
for a less onerous trip through U.S. Customs.
“I have three bottles of rum I ordered from Europe that
have been waiting for weeks in Customs in Chicago,” he explained.
“Importers are still figuring out if there is enough interest in the
States to distribute here. So that’s part of the hunt.”
Speaking of flights, no conversation
about rum would be complete without one. Like most, I know what I like
even if I lack the keen palette or industry jargon to put it into words.
But that’s where White and his fellow rumheads earn their reputation as
approachable connoisseurs, not another class of liquor snobs. Chad
carefully curated a collection based on my beer and bourbon background.
In fact, he could easily spot each style and brand at a glance, an
impressive feat after more than an hour of cocktails and chit-chat in a
deliberately dim tiki bar.
He described the origin and attributes of each as I sipped
and swished, noting the time and terroir evident in the sweet heat and
woody finish of the aged rums before moving up to the bright bite and
botanical nuances of the rhum agricole, made from distilled cane
juice, not fermented molasses. The journey from 60 proof to 120 was
dangerously delicious, and it’s a flight that might require a copilot to
get home.
“Rum is a shapeshifter,” he explained. “That’s what we love about it.”
Obsession over such subtleties may sound like the musings
of wine wonks. But as an admitted rum amateur, the flavor profiles
actually fit right in line with my inner coffee geek—sometimes spicy,
earthy, or even floral, but never one note.
We wrapped up with shots from his personal stash (a rare
bottle from Barbados actually signed by the distiller) and a couple more
classic cocktails, further burnishing the depth and breadth the right
rum can bring to nearly any glass—not just those with a garish garnish
or bawdy boat drinks in your buddy’s basement.
“None of these rums were available in Ohio when I started,” he revealed, noting the reach of the Ohio Rum Society in creating demand from restaurants to retail. “It’s why rum is still so shrouded in mystery for most, past the major brands. But that’s why we’re here. Columbus is a trendsetter, and we’re fundamentally changing the way people think about rum.” ▩
For more on the Ohio Rum Society, find them on Facebook.
Originally published in the July 2018 issue of (614) Magazine
Photo by Brian Kaiser
Pop Quiz: What does the City of Columbus flag look like?
If you don’t know, you’re not alone. And even if you do, you probably aren’t too excited about it. But maybe that can change, and should change. At least that’s the opinion of an army of armchair vexillologists (flag geeks), who think many of our obscure symbols of civic pride nationwide are overdue for an upgrade.
Citizens from Sioux Falls to Milwaukee are organizing campaigns and committees to rethink the most obvious, yet often inconspicuous, incarnation of their cities. As an emerging epicenter of arts and innovation, perhaps we should join them.
“I didn’t even realize what our city flag looked like. I’m sure I’d seen it before, but never really paid much attention to it,” confessed Paul Nini, OSU design professor, and creator of The People’s Flag of Columbus. “This situation of a city flag like we have is pretty common because they’re generally created by governments, not designers. They just have the official seal and whatever else they throw on there.”
Nini was inspired by Roman Mars, Newark native and host of the prolific design-focused podcast 99% Invisible. Mars also happened to be the keynote speaker at an industry conference Nini attended in 2015 and the idea stuck.
“I tried to follow the basic rules of what makes a great flag. The design should be simple and memorable and have meaning behind the forms,” he explained. “It has negative white spaces that come through the center representing Broad and High, with the star as a symbol that we’re the state capital. The fields of blue and green with a semicircle represent the Scioto River and the Franklinton peninsula, the heart of the city, the original area of downtown. Anything more complicated gets tricky.”
For those who may not know, the current city flag is only the latest incarnation, with several since its inception. Over time, it’s come to incorporate images of the statehouse, Buckeye leaves, and the Santa Maria, along with the typical eagle, stars, and other stuff shared by nearly every flag of the era. But it’s all so cluttered and compressed, you have to squint to even make any of it out.
In contrast, Ohio’s swallowtail burgee is the rock star of state flags, cited by historians and designers alike as a prime example of following the rules, but still breaking them. For more than a century, Ohio didn’t even have an official flag. But Cleveland architect John Eisenmann’s design and the symbolism behind it still feel modern, unlike the Columbus flag, despite being about the same age.
“The original proposal tried to use the original colors, to get the city interested in it,” Nini recalled. “This was before Ginther was elected mayor and was still City Council president. I talked to his chief of staff who essentially said, ‘This is nice, but it isn’t really on our radar.’”
Reluctance is pretty typical as well. The current design was created by a CPD officer, denoted by the shield. That and the contemporary controversy over the city’s namesake are where sentiment and sensitivity collide. Even if our flag wasn’t what critics call a “badge on a bed sheet,” changing it won’t be easy.
“That’s very different than a city like Chicago with its four six-pointed stars embraced by everyone, from city government to its citizens,” noted Nini. “They love it. They use it everywhere. It’s a symbol of pride for the city.”
Nini was raised in Clintonville and still calls it home, but a recent grad school reunion in Chicago only reinforced his resolve that Columbus is a city that is changing, and our flag should reflect that.
“I was at my alma mater and friends and faculty were saying, ‘We keep hearing how cool Columbus is now,’” he said. “That’s what’s happening, and our flag should be a symbol of the city and where we are going. Whether or not everyone is going to get behind it, I have no idea.”
Nini isn’t the only one vexed by our city flag, though his design does seem to have the most traction. There’s an alternate concept that maintains the current color scheme and features a compass rose, a more iconic reference to Christopher Columbus. There’s even a “Bad Flags” blog based in Columbus with the snarky suggestion of a giant ice cream cone as a more accurate and less divisive symbol for the city.
“I decided not to worry about the government and rebrand it ‘The People’s Flag’ and promote it that way — a path of least resistance,” he chided. “Having been involved in lots of things over the years — as a musician, I’ve been in bands — I’ve learned it’s always best to keep your expectations low, because then you don’t get too disappointed.”
All great ideas get pushback. But we live in a branded city in a branded age. Former Mayor Coleman had the foresight to enlist local agency Ologie to help define and design the city’s visual identity. The flag wasn’t included in that effort, perhaps a hint of how truly invisible municipal flags have become.
“Last summer, I finally found a place that would do on-demand printing and fabrication of flags. Everywhere else I found before would make the flags, but I’d have to buy like a hundred of them and handle all of the sales and shipping myself,” he said. “Now you can buy just one, for anyone who wants to fly it. There are also t-shirts, buttons, decals. If you don’t want to buy a flag, you can still show your support.”
Those supporters have swelled beyond his students and the creative community, and literally letting folks put his idea into the wind has been a winning strategy in other cities where initial proposals to update their flags also fell flat. It’s a battle of attrition, but not a bitter one.
“Having grown up here in the ’60s and ’70s, the city has grown up too. People love the city now and appreciate it for what it’s become,” Nini said, hoping that organic adoption and a few influential brand champions can find the inroads that have thus far remained elusive. “If I drive by homes and local businesses that are flying the flag with pride, that’s the point. A flag should be something people can rally around, a brand that brings communities together. Even if the city doesn’t see it yet, hopefully they will. ▩
For more on The People’s Flag of Columbus, visit columbuspeoplesflag.com
Originally published in the July 2018 issue of (614) Magazine
Photo by Brian Kaiser
If an upscale deli sounds like a half-baked idea, you obviously haven’t been to Harvey & Ed’s.
The latest creation from Cameron Mitchell Restaurants combines Jewish comfort food classics with artful execution in a Short North space that evokes the unpretentious ease of an East Coast eatery. Named for best friends and brothers-in-law, Harvey and Ed are the father and uncle of CMR President David Miller, with many of the menu offerings inspired by his childhood and the familiar fare of the family kitchen.
But noshes and nostalgia aren’t enough to build a cohesive brand that carefully couples corned beef with a cocktail bar. That’s why it took a team of talent to craft a dining experience new to Central Ohio, yet still unique among the establishments from which they drew their influence.
“We wanted to do something that felt East Coast,” revealed General Manager Jill Armstrong. She and Executive Chef Jonathan Basch traveled to New York and Philadelphia to find the elusive balance between uptown appeal and downtown authenticity. Both hail from Ohio and started relatively recently with Cameron Mitchell, and in the Short North — Armstrong as a server at The Pearl, and Basch as a prep cook at Marcella’s — affording the first-hand insights necessary to connect with the neighborhood and the clientele.
“We went to Katz’s, which is ‘go-go-go’ and not quite fine dining. We really loved Russ & Daughters and Sadelle’s, which have great vibes,” Armstrong noted. “In Philadelphia, we went to Abe Fisher, which is a high-end, more polished version of what we liked, all the way to Zahav, which is more critically acclaimed with a lot of Mediterranean and Middle Eastern influences.”
“That’s how we wrapped our heads around what Harvey & Ed’s was going to be, the difference between being a delicatessen and deli-inspired, a concept that didn’t really exist in this market, but would fit well in the Short North,” she explained.
The location was already a done deal, though the updated deli counter and dining room bear little resemblance to Rigsby’s Kitchen. Amid construction hassles that abound in the area, foot traffic is brisk, even if parking is still a mess. Despite the newness and faint echoes of the former Italian eatery, the restaurant feels like it’s always been there, or always should have.
“Some people are just excited about the new concept, but we also have people who moved here from New York,” explained Armstrong, noting the table where we were seated served a couple originally from Brooklyn the evening prior. “It’s a mix of adventurous eaters who want to see what we’re all about and transplants to Columbus from the East Coast.”
It’s an easy oversight for ambitious restaurateurs to focus first on atmosphere and aesthetic, and let the menu evolve over time. But Harvey and Ed’s is in many ways new for Columbus — built around a pent-up demand for delicatessen delicacies for some, yet having to essentially introduce ingredients and entire entrees to many. Even I didn’t know Columbus had a dearth of pickled herring until a friend was unwittingly pinched by the TSA trying to bring back a small jar from Russ & Daughters in his carry-on and made him toss it. He still can’t stop kvetching about it.
Though the capital city’s Eastern European roots are represented in the restaurant scene, and with a Jewish community among the largest in the Midwest, some dishes may still require a little deciphering for the uninitiated, offering a new appreciation of why Mrs. Maisel deftly described pot roast as “Methodist for brisket”.
“Not everyone knows what a knish is,” confessed Basch, charged with keeping the menu traditional, approachable, and innovative — which is a tall order for any chef. “We use chicken livers in our chopped liver. Some use beef livers, but there’s a little less iron and they’re sweeter, and we sweat the onions down in schmaltz”.
Bubbe’s Matzo Ball soup is far more familiar, even if it’s the size of a fist, just like Miller remembers them as a kid. Egg Creams are my own long-awaited soda fountain staple, despite the misnomer, containing neither — just Fox’s U-Bet chocolate syrup, milk, and seltzer in perfect proportion.
“Then we got more creative, from the Knoblewurst, which is beef sausage made at The Butcher & Grocer in Grandview, to the Pomegranate Braised Lamb,” he revealed. “Our brisket is confited. It’s so tender, you can cut it with a spoon.”
Purveyors were thoughtfully curated between authentic brands and local sources, a deliberate mix of homage and in-house. Block’s Bagels were a given, with Matt’s Bakery and Orlando for challah and rye, and Turano potato buns from Chicago rounding out the rolls. But the babka and pastries on the deli side are all baked in the back. After some trial and error, Basch decided his Columbus kitchen could hold its own preparing almost all of the fish you’ll find on the menu, from Kippered Salmon to Gravlax. Detroit’s Sy Ginsberg is synonymous with corned beef, closer than Katz’s, and for my money, just as likely make Meg Ryan writhe in her seat.
More sophisticated tastes won’t feel shorted either, from the Latke Royale (with crème fraîche, cured salmon, caviar, fennel, and green apple) to the Seared Seabass (served with vegetable goulash, spatzle, and cucumber yogurt), or keep more Midwest with a Pastrami Burger (aged Havarti, horseradish pickle, tomato, and brown mustard). They’ll even put a fried egg on it if you ask.
Adding a fried egg isn’t the only nod to Columbus culinary expectations. Their brunch expands the menu even further, while their deceptively simple cocktails are the thread that ties the days, nights, and weekends together.
“We don’t serve cocktails with a giant garnish and ten ingredients. We’re more spirit forward, with three or four high-quality ingredients,” explained Armstrong, with the Boozy Egg Cream served in a milk bottle with a metal straw offered as an example of the more playful, less stuffy, cocktail philosophy. “Our seven-day happy hour also includes wine and beer specials, with half-off craft cocktails and noshes as well. We wanted to be sure we reach the bar crowd and keep that a focal point. It balances the restaurant. We want Columbus to know we’re more than just a deli.” ▩
Harvey & Ed’s is located at 698 N High Street. Reservations at harveyandeds.com.
Originally published in the June 2018 issue of (614) Magazine
Bryan Michael Block wasn’t surprised when the phone rang, but it wasn’t the call he was expecting. The conversation was short, but sufficient. He opened the door to his closet and grabbed a gray-striped tie and weathered leather jacket to make sure he looked the part of a police detective. There was a serial killer, it was his job to stop him, and the clock was ticking. But this wasn’t any ordinary case. The murder he was called to solve was his own.
Block has an unsettling stature when the situation requires it. Imagine the disheveled understatement of Harrison Ford in Blade Runner amplified
by the ominous presence of Vincent D’Onofrio on a bad day. That grim
and gritty look is the reason he was originally cast as the lead actor
in the ambitious and acclaimed science-fiction series Aidan 5, which recently returned with its long-awaited second season after starting as a short nearly a decade ago.
“We didn’t know what genre was going to
get pulled out of that hat. It could have been a western or a romance.
With the 48-Hour Film Project it could have been anything,” recalled
Block, whose impulsive and intuitive wardrobe selection set the tone for
the lead character. “When they pulled sci-fi, that’s when they decided
to make a futuristic film noir.”
Professional and lifelong friendships often intersect with
the 48-Hour Film Project, an international competition where local
teams squeeze the entire motion picture production process into just two
days.
“After the acting was done against a
green screen, the backgrounds were drawn and scanned in,” Block
explained. “It was really just pen and pencil on a sketch pad, cut up in
Photoshop, and dropped into a timeline.”
The finished film was low tech, but high concept — a composite comic book look more akin to Sin City than
an A-ha music video. Audiences and the industry took notice, making the
rounds online and at larger festivals, eventually making it all the way
to Cannes. Even William Shatner tweeted his approval of its innovative
techniques and technology with the envious interrogative, “Why aren’t I
in it?”
“Ben Bays, who is also a producer here in
town, approached us after the 48 about turning it into a web series,
how we needed to take this world and expand it,” he explained. “That’s
when we started to explore the details and fill in the blanks on the
future we’d created.”
The original series opens in 2064 with
Detective James Aidan standing over his own corpse, one of several
clones with which Block appears on screen simultaneously, stitched
together digitally in post-production. A world where cloning is
commonplace was a crucial creative device and plot point that propels
the now 30-episode series. The entire production was created and
executed in Columbus essentially as a community film project, with a
cast and crew too numerous to name.
“Season One was shot for no money and was cobbled
together. But we had a lot of help between favors, friends, and
filmmakers willing to show up for several Saturdays,” Block noted.
“Season Two is three and a half hours. Add that to the three hours of
Season One and we have four feature films worth of finished content.”
The new season is still set in the same
dystopian future, and also employed the signature green screen meets
black box theater approach. But unlike the original short or the first
series that followed, Season Two took several years to complete, funded
through Kickstarter to build interest and cover incidentals.
Filming took place in Columbus as well,
minus one notable cameo that was almost too good to be true — Richard
Hatch, best known for roles in both the original and reimagined reboot
of Battlestar Galactica, but also a passionate supporter of streaming series, podcasts, and similar emerging storytelling platforms.
“We reached out to him, but knew it was a long shot. Even
though his scene was small, it was pivotal. We sent him the script and
he said he really liked the series and the part,” revealed Bays,
showrunner and executive producer of Aidan 5. “He specifically
mentioned one of the reasons he was doing it was because he was so
impressed with the production and performances in Season One and liked
working on projects with up-and-coming talent.”
Schedules didn’t align to shoot Hatch’s scene here. But a
green screen can be anywhere, so you’d never know Hatch was in L.A.
while Bays directed remotely.
“I just Skyped in and directed over a laptop,” Bays added.
“There is even a cast photo of everyone in the studio with Richard and
someone is holding up a laptop with my face on the other end.”
Aside from consistent studio space, the
second season also piqued the interest of local talent, with more than
40 speaking parts and dozens of extras populating their imaginary world.
Even the late John Kuhn, artistic director of the Actors’ Theatre of
Columbus read for a role.
“It was the first time we’d ever met him
and his voice captivated us. He had such gravitas we decided to create a
villain around it,” recalled Block, whose contributions also included
casting and helping to create the series backstory. “His performance and
reputation gave Aidan 5 a lot of legitimacy in the local the
theater community, and the episodic nature allowed us to feature local
actors in scenes where everyone felt like a guest star.”
As for the final fate of James Aidan and his clones, Bays
confirmed the series was always intended to be a trilogy — but we may
have to wait a while before the next installment of episodes, just so
everyone can catch their collective breath.
“One of the things about Aidan 5 that we love most is that it is so collaborative. It really is a group of friends working together with the local acting community to create something greater than any of us could do on our own,” explained Bays. “Whether it’s someone like Richard Hatch from L.A. or someone local like John Kuhn, the series creates an outlet for filmmakers, writers, and actors to be a part of something that puts Columbus on the map.” ▩
Originally published in the April 2018 issue of (614) Magazine
As counterintuitive as it sounds, the greatest challenge any city has breaking into the film business isn’t film anymore—it’s bandwidth.
Motion pictures, as they’re less commonly called these days, are no longer a succession of still images deceiving the eyes at 24 frames per second. They’re a stream of encrypted elections protected like state secrets. The online release of an early edit of X-Men Origins: Wolverine (minus most visual effects) not only hurt the theatrical release, but was a warning shot felt throughout the industry. Hugh Jackman’s cigar-chomping alter ego may be bulletproof, but his box office appeal remains very mortal in the age of file sharing. Television isn’t immune either. A couple of years earlier, one of the best pilots never to make it into production was Global Frequency. Based on the comic book series of the same name, Warner Brothers execs were so perturbed by its leak through then-new torrenting technology, they put a swift end to the show before it even started.
That’s why Ohio Film Group is very particular about their post-production. Their local studios offer unmatched speed and security through their own secret internet of sorts, easily integrating studio quality capabilities into productions often thousands of miles away — all in an instant.
“We’re a hub on Sohonet, which is a private internet media-based company that allows us to move dense, heavy data from our facility all over the world securely and quickly,” explained Leonard Hartman, president of Ohio Film Group. “We can move a feature length film — hundreds of terabytes — to New York, L.A., or Paris as fast as walking it across the hall.”
Ohio State football fans may recognize that name. The former offensive lineman turned educator and coach launched his second act in Los Angeles at the American Film Institute, eventually establishing himself as a screenwriter and producer. But after starting a family, the practical challenges of life in L.A. and frequent trips back to Ohio to visit extended family made moving back here and occasionally flying there a better option. It’s a long commute, but one that keeps getting shorter thanks to technology that helps him to be there, even when he’s not.
“It allows us to stay connected to a community of creatives in a way they trust. It’s best in class, and we’re part of the network,” Hartman explained. “It allows us to stay connected with decision-makers in New York and L.A. in a way we couldn’t even a few years ago. It makes us relevant.”
Ohio Film Group’s start was as cinematic as Field of Dreams. It may have seemed like a crazy idea to build a production facility in Ohio, especially to studio executives who probably presume Columbus isn’t far from that fabled cornfield. “Build it, and they will come” wasn’t their strategy, but that’s exactly what happened. Projects that easily, if not surely, would have gone elsewhere landed here—including Aftermath, starring Arnold Schwarzenegger. The speed and security of Ohio Film Group’s “big pipe” made a big difference in the decision to shoot here and stay here.
“We had 20 producers watching the dailies all over the world, watching what was happening here—giving notes, giving feedback—involved in the process from afar,” recalled Hartman. “They could watch the film being made and interact with the team on the ground. That’s just how it’s done now. If you can’t do that, you’re not part of the game.”
That’s not hype or hyperbole. Hollywood has quickly become a shell of its former self, much like the fake city streets and storefront facades that are all plywood and paint, but empty inside. Even those have become ghost towns as actual production has all but left California for tax credits elsewhere. It’s a gold rush in reverse.
“I was at Paramount not too long ago working on a film talking to one of the producers there who said they had a film shooting on the lot for the first time in five years,” noted Hartman. “They’d had a couple TV shows, but they hadn’t shot a movie on the backlot at Paramount for five years? That’s telling. Tax credits are entry-level. If you don’t have them, you’re not in the business. Canada started it years ago, and Georgia has figured it out for sure. Ohio has them, but the way they are structured could use some work.”
The trick with tax credits for film projects is that they are intended to create jobs, but often those jobs don’t last. They tend to be turn-and-burn positions instead of the ongoing ground-level gigs that are the foundation of a persistent film industry.
“If you’re looking at how you develop an entertainment community, it has to be more than productions that fly in for the tax credits, then fly back out. The real advantage is when those productions stay here, when people live here—buy houses, buy cars, buy groceries,” he explained. “Building facilities is how that happens. That’s a much better return on investment for Ohio taxpayers.”
That’s also why would-be film cities set their sights on television instead of just films. Having a TV series creates jobs that stick around long after the blockbusters close up shop. It may not seem as sexy, but it’s steady work.
“Hollywood isn’t just directors and actors. It’s the people who do all of the other stuff. It’s the grips and the carpenters, the set and costume designers—the worker bees. The only way you entice those people to uproot their families and move to Columbus is to have jobs that don’t go away in 30 days,” noted Hartman. “That’s what Atlanta has done; that’s what Vancouver has done—and there are people leaving L.A. everyday because there’s more work in cities that have that permanent creative class.”
Sadly, Columbus is sort of its own secret, and that’s still a challenge. Whether it’s our modest demeanor or Midwestern work ethic, we don’t brag about ourselves often enough. That’s the trouble with branding. You brand yourself, or someone else will.
“When I talk to people in the industry who have never been to Columbus, they don’t get it. They worry about whether they’ll be able to find anywhere to eat, or cows walking down the street. But if we can get them to come here, then they get it,” he explained. “When you show them the city, they’re surprised. They see the development in and around downtown, how we’re a vibrant city, a vital city. They start to see us like they used to see Portland or Austin just a few years ago. We’ve had clients in from Toronto who remark how much Columbus actually reminds them of Toronto.”
That’s why Ohio Film Group is recruiting technical talent from both coasts and abroad back to Columbus from heavy-hitters like Disney, Rhythm and Hues, and Industrial Light & Magic.
“One thing that makes Ohio more attractive is our cost of living is at least 30 percent less than New York, L.A., or even Atlanta. Every day I get a call from someone in one of those markets who says they’d love to come back to Columbus because of the quality of life and the bang they get for their dollar is so much better,” he revealed. “If we’re serious about the creative class and supporting a local film industry, it’s going to take creative thinking. You can buy all of this—the equipment, the fiber runs, all of it—but it still comes down to people. We’re always looking for the right projects, but we’re also looking for the right people.” ▩
For more about the OFG’s team and their projects, visit ofgpost.com.
Originally published in the March 2018 issue of (614) Magazine
Aftermath, 2017. Photo By Brian Douglas/Courtesy Lionsgate Premiere
It’s no surprise action heroes are Hollywood’s single greatest export.
Amid wildfires, mudslides, drought, and rolling blackouts, it’s a wonder the filmmaking capital of the world has survived any better than its on-screen alter ego, regularly ravaged by everything from earthquakes to alien invasions. The cost of living is untenable, the traffic is intolerable, even the most groundbreaking feature film of last year was titled simply Get Out — and like most movies and television series these days, it wasn’t filmed there either.
California has in many ways become the star of its own disaster film. How can you tell? After years of economic malaise and mismanagement, the voters there actually asked Arnold Schwarzenegger to save them, and maybe we in Columbus should too.
This year marks the 30th anniversary of the Arnold Sports Festival, held the first weekend of this month. What started three decades ago as the Arnold Classic, the former bodybuilding championship has ballooned into a four-day health and fitness expo celebrating more than 75 established and obscure sports, from fencing to axe throwing.
But Schwarzenegger’s ties to Central Ohio run much deeper than just a long weekend once a year.
Back in 1970, Worthington Mayor Jim Lorimer invited a 23-year-old Austrian bodybuilder to the World Weightlifting Championship’s new Mr. World competition in Columbus to vie for the title and a cash prize of $500.
Arnold passed. The three-time consecutive winner of the Mr. Universe competition was already scheduled to defend his title in London, but Lorimer wasn’t taking no for an answer. He offered to fly Schwarzenegger back from London to Columbus immediately after the event there so he could compete.
Outside the then close-knit bodybuilding community, Arnold was just some guy who struggled to shop off the rack. That was all about to change. He won both Mr. Universe and Mr. World in the same weekend, a feat that was featured on ABC’s wildly popular Wide World of Sports, introducing him to his largest audience to date.
Schwarzenegger confided in Lorimer his dream of sponsoring his own tournament after he retired from the sport, and a seed was planted. After hosting several successful Mr. Olympia competitions here in the ’70s, and a brief acting hiatus in the early ’80s, Arnold ultimately launched his own competition in Columbus 30 years ago this month.
So what does that have to do with our fledgling film industry? More than you think.
Arnold has become an ambassador for Columbus for more than just sports. His annual health and fitness expo celebrates the city as much as the events and athletes. His own celebrity doesn’t just rub off on us; he’s helped introduce us to new audiences, just like we did for him with that first Mr. World competition.
He could have talked his action hero buddies Sylvester Stallone and Bruce Willis into opening Planet Movies anywhere on Earth, the motion picture rival to Hard Rock Café that coupled a Planet Hollywood restaurant with an upscale movie theater complex. But he chose Easton Town Center, and even though the concept was short-lived, the investment and effort shouldn’t be forgotten.
Action heroes also have a reputation for formulaic personas from one film to the next. Schwarzenegger is the exception, never afraid to try something unexpected or face the critics if an endeavor falls flat.
Yes, he’s been a barbarian, a commando, a spy, a hitman, and a killer cyborg from the future. But he’s also been a kindergarten teacher, Danny DeVito’s genetic better half, and even pregnant. His blockbuster appeal hasn’t stopped him from making fun of his own typecasting or being cast against type. Recent performances in Maggie as the protective father of girl slowly succumbing to a global pandemic that turns victims into zombies, and in Aftermath as an anguished survivor determined to avenge his family’s death from a mid-air collision, show an unexpected range and depth.
As soon as you think you know Arnold, he’s going to do something to prove you wrong.
How did your experience with the Arnold Classic influence the decision to shoot the film Aftermath here? What makes Columbus ideal as an emerging film city?
Columbus is a fantastic place for anything and everything. I’ve spent time in Columbus for 48 years through our bodybuilding championship, that then developed into the world championships in many different sports through our sport and fitness festival. It’s a perfect place that I use as an example, where the private sector and public sector work really well together. They’re very well coordinated. There’s no “we” against “them.” It’s always “us,” and it’s always what is best for the community. It doesn’t matter if it’s Republicans or Democrats in office, they all know they ultimately have to serve in a way to bring more businesses here. I have seen the great growth of the Arnold Classic and how dedicated the city officials are, and also the people at the state level. They’ve helped us every step of the way to make the Arnold Classic Sports and Fitness Festival successful. This is how it became the biggest in the world. This year we have 20,000 participants from 80 different nations. It’s gigantic, and we wouldn’t be able to do it anywhere else than Columbus.
When I did the movie Aftermath, I told the production company when there was a debate about should we go to Atlanta, or New Mexico, or Cleveland, I said to them, “Look, let me explain to you a little about Columbus…”. I told them basically what I told you. It’s an extraordinary place, and that I’ve talked to the mayor many times, the governor many times, and they all said if you come here with a production, we will help you because we want to establish ourselves as a city where you should go to shoot movies. Big movies, small movies, documentaries, whatever you want to do. So I took the risk. I said, “I’m not going to do the movie unless we shoot it in Columbus.” They decided to investigate, to check into it, and this is why after looking around, talking to the film commission, they realized this is a very friendly place where they are opening up their arms to productions. So we shot the movie here and the producers walked away absolutely delighted with one of the best experiences they’ve ever had.
My idea was that this would be the opening, and those production people would go to Hollywood and tell others about it. That’s exactly what happened.
This is why I think it’s a great place. Because people work together, they work tirelessly. People are talented here — the stage crew, the people who build sets — they’re energetic, they’re passionate. This is something you cannot buy. It’s not just tax credits. I made this clear, Columbus maybe doesn’t have the best tax credits, but you will get your money’s worth in many other ways, and it paid off.
Why is it important to take risks in film? Why do actors need to take risks, why do filmmakers need to take risks? Why is it important to get out of your box?
I don’t think there’s a difference from one field to another. One cannot say, why do you need to take risks in movies, why do you need to take risks in the parts that you play, what genre of movies you make? There are people who love to take risks, and there are people who like to play it safe. I think I’ve always been a person who thrives on risk. When I started in bodybuilding back in Austria they said, “You’ll never be a bodybuilder. Austrians are known for soccer and skiing. But bodybuilding? Forget it.” But I took the risk. It’s no different than taking the risk of running for governor. In movies, you have to take risks. Hollywood is a place that loves to put you in a box. You’re the action guy. You’re going to make action movies, and you’re going to do one script after the next — which I did, and that was very successful during the ’80s and ’90s. But there’s a time when I’ve done enough of that, after I’ve satisfied the studios’ needs, to show that I can do other things, that there’s a different Arnold in there than most people know. So I take the risk.
When I did Twins, I said to the studio, I know you don’t want to put much money behind this like an action movie. They said they wanted to make a minimum amount, and I said, “Then, don’t pay me? I’ll take the risk. It’s my first comedy. Why don’t you not pay me or the director or Danny DeVito, and just give us the back end?” We took that risk and it was my most successful movie at that time in my life, and I had a backend of 20 percent.
You couldn’t ever get that deal today. It was all about being able to take that risk.
When you get to be more mature, with age you’re much more believable to play a father in Aftermath or in Maggie, with more acting than action. When you’re younger and an action star, they won’t write material like this for you. They write scenes with great action, but they won’t write scenes with great dialogue and great character building. That’s just the way it is. For me, it was great to take those risks whether it’s Aftermath and Maggie, or Twins and Kindergarten Cop and Junior. I wanted to branch out because there is a side of me that is also like that. So I think taking risks in which parts you take and which productions you choose is absolutely essential.
Typecasting is tough to escape, with studios and with audiences. Is there a role or genre of film that you haven’t done and would like to?
We’re putting together a western. I’ve never really done one, and I’ve always wanted to do a western. It’s being developed with Amazon and it’s going to be eight segments, like a miniseries. It’s a terrific project — very intense, action-packed, great characters. We’ll most likely start shooting next year. It’s being written right now. This year, I’m going to be shooting Terminator in Spain, and Budapest, Hungary. We’re finalizing the script for Triplets, which will be a sequel to Twins with Eddie Murphy as the third twin brother.
The industry and audiences are still divided over the use of computer generated versions of real actors and actresses. As someone who has starred opposite a CGI version of his younger self twice, what’s your opinion on the use and future of computer generated actors?
I want to see movies that are thoroughly entertaining. I don’t look at it as whether it’s computer generated or not. Wise directors like James Cameron who use visual effects will make sure those things he can do in real life, he will shoot in real life. I think if it is well done, it’s okay to use the technology because that’s why it was developed in the first place, to be able to entertain people better. If the script says the Terminator looks exactly the same as he did in 1984, the reality is that my body doesn’t look the same as it did in 1984. So whether you computer generate it, or use someone else’s body, or they enhance your body, or use someone else’s body and put your face on it, depending on what the script says, it may be the only way you can do it. In Conan the Barbarian, I had to fight a giant snake. You could tell that it was mechanically operated, and people didn’t mind because it was the only technology available then. Computer generated technology has a very important part in movie making. I don’t mind it at all if I get enhanced one way or another to look younger — like if my character is supposed to be 50, instead of 70 — any help I can get, I’ll take it.
Speaking of reboots,I’d be remiss not to ask if King Conan rumors are true. Is there another Conan installment we can look forward to with an elder Conan?
That is correct. Those movies were really big hits way back when. It’s a theme in Hollywood, to come back to titles that are well-known. Independent companies take risks with production titles no one has ever heard of or that are new. But studios like recognizable names. That’s why Twins is becoming Triplets, it’s why they’re now writing King Conan, which is why there’s a Terminator 6 — which is all good for me, to keep those franchises alive.
Some parents push their kids into their own profession. Others push them away. The upcoming release of Midnight Sun is your son Patrick’s first starring role. How do you feel about him getting into the family business?
I never discouraged him from going into the movie business. I think it’s a great business to be in. But I also make it clear to all of my kids — no matter which field they get into — they have to be smart with business, and they have to be smart with money. My son is very serious about acting, but he’s also very serious as a businessman. He’s always been entrepreneurial. While I’m proud of him and his work in the movies, I’m also proud of him and his work outside the movies — so that he never ends up being vulnerable. It’s important to have a passion for acting, but it’s also important to be financially independent — not having to sell out and take a role just because they offer good money. He’s really serious about acting, but he’s also really smart about it. I was so proud when I saw his movie, and I think people are going to be surprised by his performance.
As a Midwestern city, Columbus can pretend to be anywhere on film, but many filmmakers don’t realize it. How practical is it to shoot here instead of more familiar film cities?
Columbus has so many different sides to it. When we shot Aftermath, we had no problem finding any backdrops whatsoever. The plane crash site was done a little bit outside of Columbus, we shot in a jail and had free reign over that location. You can find government buildings and high-rises, dangerous looking alleys. If it’s a modern looking shopping mall, there’s Easton Town Center. If you want to find a nice Spielbergian kind of community like you see in many of his movies, you have that in Columbus. You literally have everything that you need. I don’t think there is anything anyone would say you don’t have. If you’re shooting a movie that takes place in New York, I would highly recommend you shoot 95 percent of the movie in Columbus. Five percent of the movie — all of the exteriors, walking on 42nd Street or Broadway, or Central Park or aerial shots of the city — you go to New York to shoot that. But the rest it? You can shoot it all in Columbus. ▩
The 30th annual Arnold Classic will take place March 1 – 4. Aftermath is available for rent on iTunes, Amazon and YouTube.
Originally published in the March 2018 issue of (614) Magazine
I Am Wrath by Brian Douglas
A rare mix of quintessential and gritty interiors and exteriors, and accidental advantages of geography, should make our city ripe for the red carpet. Creating a permanent production presence in the heart of Ohio is fundamental to attracting the caliber of projects and professionals necessary to escape the cycle of movies that blow through town, but are out in 30 days or less—spending welcome dollars for sure, but not exactly adding to our capacity or credibility as a “film city.”
Atlanta has recently reinvented itself as a production powerhouse, rivaling Los Angeles and New York last year for films and television series both within its municipal borders and throughout Georgia. It was an investment years in the making that required a fair amount of faith and financing from the public and private sector to achieve. Just like the latest breakout stars on the big screen, overnight success is hardly ever so. Perseverance, pluck, and a lot of luck play into landing that one big role that suddenly changes everything.
Maybe our time as well has finally come.
“It’s surprising how many people there are from Ohio, and even from Columbus, who are in the industry and want to bring projects back here,” explained John Daugherty, executive director of the Columbus Film Commission. Facilitating production is the primary charge of any film commission, but Columbus is committed to tapping into the collaborative spirit and creative connectivity that distinguish the capital city even from nearby rivals Cleveland and Cincinnati.
“That’s what makes us unique—we bring people together. When someone calls me with an issue in the middle of production, I can usually get on the phone and have a solution in ten minutes because everyone in the industry here wants to help us succeed.”
Columbus also has the benefit of being a burgeoning locale for filmmaking, not one that has been exhaustively overshot for decades. What we may lack in iconic landmarks or familiar facades we more than make up for in backdrops that have yet to be discovered. We may not have the Statue of Liberty or the Bradbury Building, but we also don’t have the baggage that comes with them.
“There’s a lot of newness and freshness, vibrancy to the city. When we talk to producers about shooting here, there is some initial vetting to determine what they want and need,” Daugherty explained. “Then they come in and we show them the locations we have to offer. Once I get them here, it’s a pretty easy sell.”
Often described as a city of neighborhoods, the distinctive style from one to the next allows us to easily pose for another time or place. Period pieces and contemporary stories share the need for immediately transporting an audience. Communities of craftsman homes, quaint 60s suburbs, and more modern urban row houses are all within minutes of each other. From stately Victorian homes on both sides of downtown to picturesque country manors an easy drive away, there probably isn’t another city in the country with a better or broader range of residential architecture. German Village’s narrow brick homes and cobblestone streets could easily pass for Germany itself.
As evidenced by I Am Wrath, even our old barbershops look badass with the right lighting—decidedly, and ironically, unfamiliar. Though impressive locations are only part of the package.
“Because Cleveland, Cincinnati, even Pittsburgh are just a couple of hours away, we can pull crew and gear to Columbus when we need it,” he said, noting that our proximity creates the potential to tap into more robust film resources in surrounding cities, but also to lend our talent and tools as an interim step toward building our own sustainable industry. “If you’re shooting in Cleveland and have to drive to Cincinnati for a piece of equipment, that’s an all-day trip. We use our central location to market Columbus over both as a built-in benefit.”
Though there is certainly rivalry among the big three cities competing for productions, there is also common cause when it comes to tax credits. A staple for states like California, New York, and Georgia (and all of Canada), legislators hoping to create work in motion pictures and television offer various incentives for projects tied to the jobs they generate.
“I keep mentioning Cleveland and Cincinnati because they have their own film commissions that have been around longer than ours, and we all compete for the same pot of money,” Daugherty admitted. “But that’s also one of the areas where we’ve been working together, to raise that tax credit. We’ve increased it from $20 million to $40 million. However, because of the way the tax credit is structured, one production can come in a wipe that all out.”
Daugherty is advocating a restructuring of the program to ensure that doesn’t happen. He’d like to see something more in-line with what other states have done to protect their incentives and prevent huge projects from tapping the entire fund, thus cutting out smaller productions that really rely on it. Capping the maximum amount of credit per project, creating an earmark for Ohio-based productions, or pinning payouts to the number of permanent jobs created are all means used elsewhere to achieve the intended effect.
“Attracting film productions is fine, but that’s not all the tax credit was for. I think most legislators would agree it’s for cultivating and building businesses and production companies that live and breathe in the state,” he explained. “But that’s a process that takes time.”
Sometimes it’s the little things that impress. One concept created to help make Columbus more inviting for filmmakers is a simple card good for discounts on dining and transportation for visiting productions. Daugherty credits the “crew card” for recently drawing at least one producer’s attention away from Cleveland toward Columbus. Hospitality matters.
Investments aren’t always economic. Maintaining relationships with those working in the film industry with Columbus ties is also a long-term proposition, but one that Daugherty hopes can create a recurring series of projects.
“Growing relationships takes longer than landing one film. I’d like to see producers return with future films as well,” he said. “We’re also considering options for an expat incentive to lure filmmakers with local ties to return to Columbus—moving expenses perhaps, enough to give someone that last push they may need to move back.”
Closing the crew gap is a key concern for the Columbus Film Commission. It’s difficult to attract and retain talent without enough work, and challenging to attract enough work unless we already have the local talent required.
“We can still supply smaller productions in Columbus, and larger ones by borrowing crew and equipment from surrounding cities,” he noted. “But a lot of our crew are also working in the commercial industry, which sometimes limits their availability for visiting film projects.”
Much like photographers who shoot weddings on the side so they can afford to follow their passion projects with less pressure to pay the bills, commercial filmmaking is the proving ground and steady paycheck for a lot of local filmmakers.
“That’s how we increase our pool of technical talent. I’d like to see more commercial work staying in Columbus instead of leaving,” Daugherty suggested. “Can you imagine the impact on the local film industry if Nationwide, Wendy’s, and Huntington all agreed to keep just one percent of their commercial business here in Central Ohio—the number of jobs that would create and freelancers that could support?”
Columbus is increasingly ready to jump from supporting character to starring role when the right opportunity comes along. Measures of success in film and television aren’t easy to pin down, but Daugherty has distilled all of these individual efforts down to a simple strategy.
“My goal is to get four films a year and a series of some sort. Between that and more commercial projects, we could keep 300 to 400 people working year round,” he said. “After that, there’s enough experience, equipment, and momentum to bring in bigger projects. That’s how you become a film city.” ▩
Originally published in the October 2017 issue of (614) Magazine
Kimberly Rottmayer is going to make you an offer you can’t refuse. The photographer by trade is as snappy as her shutter, fierce as her fervor, and undeniable as her freckles. She’s disarming, yet demanding. “No” is not an answer. If you’re a dog, she may just be your best friend — and luckily, she’s not alone.
Rottmayer is part of a clever clique of vocal volunteers at the Franklin County Dog Shelter and Adoption Center, a role that shouldn’t be as controversial as it has become. It was barely a year ago when a distemper outbreak resulted in the euthanizing of nearly a hundred dogs, a heart-wrenching decision that polarized animal advocates and shelter officials. Procedures and protocols have been thoroughly reviewed and revised since then, but those aren’t the only things that have changed.
“Being a volunteer dog walker at the shelter can be a very positive experience, working to help dogs get adopted. But it can be emotionally trying,” admitted Rottmayer. “You also get to know the dogs that have been there for months that may only get one walk a day.”
For
perspective, imagine living in a cage or kennel and getting only 20
minutes a day to walk, play, and just be a dog? (Even inmates at a
maximum-security prison get an hour in the yard.)
“Over time, you can see the dogs change — become less interactive, less adoptable,” she explained. “After the distemper incident, lots of volunteers quit coming. Those of us who keep coming do it for the dogs. We’re often the only advocates they have.”
Volunteers are tasked with walking dogs to maintain that human connection and mitigate the behaviors that typically come from extended isolation. There’s a class requirement, but students, retirees, flight attendants, and the like who love canines, but maybe don’t have the schedule or time to commit to a dog full-time, fill the ranks.
Then there’s the “Shelter Mafia”.
“It was just a hashtag I came up with to describe the shelter volunteers,” Cindy Renner said modestly. She has been a volunteer for years and witnessed the fall off in dog walkers first-hand. “We have a great group of new and old volunteers who would do anything for our shelter dogs.”
When
she says “anything” she means it. Sometimes the only barrier between a
dog finding a home and never leaving the shelter is a decent photo.
Renner made it her mission to get one particular dog adopted, so she
started taking pictures of him—lots of pictures. Denoted with the
hashtag #dailysam, the series of snapshots revealed the personality of
the pooch in a way a single image couldn’t. It was a hook and a hashtag
that stuck.
“It’s so easy to take a picture with your
phone, so we all started doing it to promote the dogs on our own social
media accounts. Cindy tagged one of hers #sheltermafia and that was it,”
Rottmayer recalled. “Now all of the extra things we do for the dogs
from enrichment to marketing had a name.”
Among the changes made by the shelter is a new intake process, keeping dogs together that come in on the same day to control exposures, and providing preventive vaccinations. But dogs also go through the system faster now. That sounds good, but it inevitably means dogs that aren’t adopted, go to “rescue” status more quickly, making them less likely to be adopted before they’re put down.
That’s when the Shelter Mafia offers its protection, with a hard social media push of photos, short videos, and persuasive pitches on Facebook, Instagram, Twitter, and in-person to find foster families to buy each dog a little more time, before it runs out.
Despite the mob mentality, no one is set in their ways. There’s no “Godfather” calling all the shots. “New people bring in a new perspective,” noted Renner.
“It’s not all online. During adoption events, we started printing up old school flyers — you know, like bands do — promoting what makes each dog special,” Rottmayer explained. “We’re the ones who know the dogs, their personalities, whether they get along well with other dogs, or are maybe too rambunctious for small children — traits that are hard to see when someone is only looking at a dog in a cage or kennel that may be reactive, shy, or scared.”
Though there is still some conflict, there is also collaboration. All of those canine candids from the Shelter Mafia are now exchanged with the interns who manage the Franklin County Dog Shelter’s own social media presence, so they too can better promote adoptions. The shelter also started sharing posts from its volunteers, which is quite a turnaround following some unflattering hashtags that emerged in the wake of last year’s tragedy.
Metrics aren’t perfect measurements, but in the past five years, the number of dogs that have been euthanized at the shelter has fallen by roughly 75 percent, from 6,275 in 2011 to 1,617 in 2016. More than 10,000 dogs a year still find their way into the shelter. But that number has been trending down as well — and volunteers are an undeniable part of that, even before the Shelter Mafia emerged to employ its strong-arm, social media tactics.
“There’s probably a more scientific name for it, but we call it deterioration. The longer a dog is at the shelter, the less social they become. So we have to become more social,” Rottmayer noted. “You see it happening, but you also see the difference we can make. That’s what keeps us coming back, what gets us up in the morning, even in the snow. Every day, every picture, every post — we know everything we do helps a dog find a home.” ▩
Interested
in adopting a dog, joining the Shelter Mafia, or just taking a walk
once in a while with a four-legged friend? Contact the Franklin County
Dog Shelter and Adoption Center at franklincountydogs.com or
614-525-DOGS.
Originally published in the Fall 2017 issue of Stock & Barrel
Despite the city’s standing as a culinary capital, Columbus still sadly has its share of food deserts — neighborhoods where fresh fruit is foreign and the shelf-life for groceries at the corner store is frightening.
Suburban farmers markets may offer premium-priced produce to conscientious consumers, but urban farmers markets have a different mandate. For many living inside 270 on the west and south sides, they are the only source for vegetables that don’t come in a can.
That’s what inspired Juliette Lonsert and Ruth Thurgood Mundy to found the Westgate Farmers Market last year — not just to serve their own neighborhood, but also the greater Hilltop. The alternating schedule of first and third Saturdays caused initial concern with more than a few prospective vendors. But now some of those same skeptics are fierce defenders of the strategy. It’s a practical interval to keep things literally and figuratively fresh, more so than an every weekend commitment for vendors and volunteers.
There isn’t just one recipe for starting a farmers market, but there are some common ingredients — generous community support and social media savvy are among the most essential.
“Our fundraising so far has been mostly selling t-shirts and yard signs, which we will continue to do because it’s also great promotion for the market,” explained Lonsert. “But we hope to hire a market manager, to handle the operation and volunteers as we continue to grow.”
This summer marked the first step in that expansion with a farm-to-table evening on the lawn of the Westgate Masonic Lodge where the farmers market is held.
“The idea for the farm-to-table dinner was more than just a fundraiser. It was a dining experience you don’t have anywhere near Westgate, and a community experience you don’t really have anywhere else in Columbus,” Lonsert noted.
The seasonal menu was created by Westgate resident and chef, Christopher Vehr. Ingredients were supplied by local vendors, then prepared and served family-style by Vehr and a team of volunteers from the community. Sitting under a canopy of leaves and stars sharing a harvest supper with early autumn in the air and grass under your feet, the connection between the field and the fork couldn’t be more apparent or intimate.
“When you go to a lot of markets, they don’t really have a culinary presence. I think there are a lot of chefs who prefer to use local, seasonal produce. But unfortunately, most restaurant chefs work late on Friday nights, so it’s harder for them to become involved,” Vehr explained. “Events like this create a synergy that’s unavailable even when you go into a restaurant — connecting farmers to the people they serve by showing folks the potential for produce available to everyone at the market.”
Like any nonprofit, annual events fund the ongoing service mission of the organization, covering overhead while helping to reach a wider audience. But even with earthy endeavors, the internet is still integral.
“We couldn’t serve our community without social media. It’s how we best reach our SNAP and low-income customers,” noted Thurgood Mundy. “We also have a great relationship with Local Matters. They come out and do cooking demos based on what’s in-season and available at the market. Knowing how to prepare foods is a large part of the nutrition gap facing many families.”
“Education is most powerful when combined with an access point. Our work with the Westgate Farmers Market is a family engagement, to get everyone onboard with fresh, healthy food grown locally,” said Adam Fazio, Director of Development with Local Matters. “The family context for food is a benefit that’s often overlooked.”
Franklinton is even farther away from traditional groceries. Despite being a major traffic corridor, there isn’t a single grocery store on Broad Street between downtown and almost the outerbelt.
That’s why the Franklinton Farm Stand is so crucial, and why their schedule is different than most farmers markets. Operating Thursdays and Fridays, as well as Saturdays, better serves the needs of the neighborhood where any other source for fresh produce is a drive or bus-ride away.
“A majority of our customers are walk-ups, and it’s a more convenient time to get their groceries, especially their healthy food options,” explained Josh Aumann, the farm stand’s produce distribution coordinator. The farm stand is the retail face of Franklinton Gardens, which has twelve plots scattered across three acres of land (mostly from gifts and grants) that a mix of local volunteers and AmeriCorps service members have turned into a robust, urban farm network.
Outreach is key in underserved areas, which is why home delivery is also an option, with about half of the participants in their CSA, or Community Supported Agriculture program, using EBT and SNAP to help their produce budgets go further.
“The Franklinton Mobile Market is an online storefront. We send out a weekly email to about a hundred households with a list of our produce ready for purchase. They reply, and we deliver it to their doors the next day. Our biggest challenge is getting our name out there,” Aumann said. “The people who live here see us farming. We need to let them know we’re growing this for them, it’s not going somewhere else. We want the people here in Franklinton to have access to the produce being grown in their backyards.”
Starting a farmers market is only slightly harder than keeping one going. That’s the backstory behind the new South Side Farmers Market.
“When members of the Merion Village Farmers Market asked us to take it over, we wanted it to be more inclusive of our neighbors, as we were already the middle point for the south side,” explained Allison Willford, president of the Merion Village Civic Association. “That’s why we changed the name — because it’s everyone’s farmers market.”
The standard schedule had likewise proven restrictive in attracting and maintaining vendors for the former Merion Village market. So the new market was quick to adjust that as well, with an afternoon and evening market anchored by Tatoheads Public House, an already popular neighborhood destination.
“We changed the day from Saturday, because it was harder to compete with some of the more established markets. Thursday nights, people are getting ready for the weekend,” Willford said. “They can come to the market and have a beer, get a bite to eat, and buy fresh produce to take home.”
The geographic reach of the South Side Farmers Market also opened the organization to a larger pool of volunteers. That’s how Ryan Hansen, now one of the organizers, originally became involved.
“A handful of us came together after responding to a food security survey,” he recalled, noting the diverse and collective nature of the new market. “Some of us had leadership experience, some of us just had time on our hands. But that’s what makes it work, not having one person doing everything. This is as grassroots as it gets.” ▩
Writer’s Postscript: If the soulful plant contemplation above seems familiar, that’s Blase Pinkert. We didn’t know each other at the time, but more than a year later, he reappeared in the 28-inch pizza challenge story Pies Wide Shut.
Originally published in the September 2017 issue of (614) Magazine
Just one final sound check as fans shuffled in. Even with the rain, parking was tight as a few latecomers found their floor seats. No one seemed to mind. It was an exclusive, one-night-only performance from an up-and-coming band and the venue was perfect.
But this wasn’t a sold-out stadium, posh theater production, or small club gig — it was Kelli and Matt’s living room. This was a house show.
Making it as an indie band on the road isn’t easy, or cheap. It can cost a small fortune to break even. Gas and lodging are given, so the only real gain is the gate. The club circuit used to champion emerging acts. Now many are hardly any better than arenas when it comes to their cut.
Imagine the allure of a tour with no bookers, bouncers, barflies, or bullshit getting in the way. That alternative is house shows — private concerts in the backyards and living rooms of loyal fans who supply the venue and promote the show, often putting up the band overnight.
When Westgate couple Kelli and Matt Blinn decided to open their home to The Rough & Tumble, a Nashville folk duo they barely knew, they weren’t entirely sure what to expect.
“We actually didn’t meet the band until they showed up at our house,” recalled Kelli. “Our mutual friend, who is close with The Rough & Tumble, called in February and said, ‘My friends have this band and they’re doing a house show tour this year. Would you be interested?’.”
Tiny shows are hardly the next new thing. In my youth, my favorite venue was the Birchmere, outside DC in a then tourist-beware section of Alexandria. It was dark and dank. You had to go through the kitchen to get to the bathroom and the whole joint tipped toward a huge floor drain where they presumably washed away the thin film of beer at the end of the night.
But it was acoustically solid in its simplicity, small enough for everyone to sing to the walls. Established acts used it as a warm-up for bigger shows the following evening. Newcomers found new audiences and made enough to make it to the next show down the road. I once saw Taj Mahal play an epic three-hour set there the night before I saw him again at the Warner Theater. Guess which show was better, and cost less than the average cab fare?
The Birchmere still hosts bands, and for a while even weddings and bar mitzvahs. The location and the neighborhood have changed too, as has the whole club circuit. Cover charges are routinely higher than tickets used to be, but the band sees very little of it. Live music used to be the hook; now it’s just the noise. A glorified gastropub with a poorly promoted band in the background is practically as disconnected from the old club scene as many millennials are from terrestrial radio.
That’s why house shows are the next new thing. They connect the band with the audience free from the traditional gatekeepers.
“House shows were something we stepped into almost immediately because of the sense of community they create,” explained Mallory Graham, whose haunting vocals and menagerie of unlikely instruments form half of The Rough & Tumble.
“I think your songs go a lot further than at a bar or coffee shop. There are fewer barriers between you and your audience,” added Scott Tyler, whose voice and guitar complete the group’s traditional, yet contemporary sound.
The two are true troubadours, with a 16-foot camper and a couple of dogs in-tow, their conversation goes back and forth just like their lyrics — catchy and clever, then stirring and soulful, without ever skipping a beat.
“We played our first house show at a friend’s who had previously hosted David Bazan. He was doing this tour where he called out to people and said, ‘I’m done with venues for a while. Does anyone want to open their living room?’ Our friend volunteered. We went and loved it,” recalled Graham. “When we first became a band, we asked if she’d be interested in hosting our first show as well. It was really our debut to our family and friends in Nashville.”
All traveling musicians have cautionary tales. Folk bands just tend to tell them better — like the gig that was straight out of Twin Peaks.
“The moment I saw the missing girl poster I felt a little suspicious,” Graham noted. “Then when the little person and the giant came in? Well, it wasn’t a giant, but a VERY tall person. Then a woman walked in and put a huge log on the bar, and that sealed the deal.”
“It was a hunting lodge about ten miles from the Canadian border in Vermont,” Tyler continued. “We weren’t sure if people were putting us on, or if our buddies knew where we were playing and had hired actors. But it was definitely bizarre.”
There was also that time when a bartender suggested they set up near the pool tables instead of the stage, because the last time an act inadvertently interrupted the nearby card game, the band needed stitches.
“Had we not been double booked with a metal band, I feel like we might have tried to play that gig. After bowing out and dodging a bullet, we became much more intentional about our booking,” Graham admitted. “We gained self-respect that night. That’s more important than a gig at a bar,” Tyler confessed.
The revelation proved pivotal, and house shows became integral to the band’s schedule and strategy. Admittedly, you won’t find many metal bands doing a living room set. Folk music is a genre of personal persuasion, and you can be just as effective playing to one person as an entire room. But that doesn’t diminish the unique opportunities a smaller space affords, or the advent social media makes possible.
“We were playing a show in South Dakota, opening for a band in Brookings. Some people who had seen us there the year before came out and said, ‘Hey, we were expecting you to play longer?’,” recalled Graham. “They asked, ‘If we can rally 20 people, and find you a venue, will you come back and play Monday night? We saw on your schedule that you’re playing in the next town, so there won’t be a lot of travel.’ They really did their research, so we said sure, and it was awesome.”
“After that show, someone contacted us on Facebook, ‘My sister said you played an impromptu show Monday. I live three hours from there, and you’re going to be passing through to get to your next town. Will you come play for us too?’,” Graham explained. “We ended up playing in a town of 400, and 100 people showed up. They were so generous and excited to have music in their town.”
That’s also the genius of house shows, and tours built around them. The Rough & Tumble once played up to 150 gigs and drove 50,000 miles a year. They’ve been able to scale back that grueling schedule because a legion of supporters at every stop made it possible, and profitable. A suggested donation and self-serve selection of CDs and swag are still better than what most bands make in an average night tearing tickets and managing merch. It sounds complicated and calculated, but it’s much more organic.
“Matt and I have hosted a lot of things, and this was probably the easiest — and we’ve never done anything like it,” Kelli explained. “It was kind of like a potluck, but more ‘bring your own everything’. If we were outside, people would have to bring their own seats and blankets. That really took the pressure off of us as hosts.”
“Everyone introduced themselves to each other as they arrived, which for a concert was weird, but refreshingly weird,” Matt noted.
“There’s always the risk of opening your home to strangers, to the band itself or the dozens of people who might show up,” Kelli said. “I was surprised people would show up to someone’s house who they didn’t even know.”
Like many social media communities, The Rough & Tumble’s fans are connected to each other, not just the band. Though technically strangers, they hardly seem like it, or stay that way for long. The weather was a more imminent concern.
“We had this vision for how our backyard was going to look, and we felt like we could accommodate more people more comfortably outdoors. That was the feel we were going for — an outdoor, summer show,” Kelli noted. “Then when it was calling for rain, we worried that people might not come, or we’d have to figure out how to fit them all in our house. But it rained, and people came, which made it a small, wonderful, intimate show once everyone squeezed in.”
Unlike the typical tour where the band quickly disappears backstage or hides out on the bus, this concert ended where most parties do — in the kitchen. Artists and audience swapped stories seamlessly as insights on old songs and inspiration for new ones ebbed and flowed. From the backstory on The Rough & Tumble’s tribute album to 24 obscure and imaginary holidays to the happy accident of writing a song about cicadas in the same key the alien insects sing, any doubts about the unparalleled interaction of a house show were settled.
“Often we will walk into a show and people feel like they already know us, so we get to take three steps further into our lives because the norm of our abnormal life is already out there,” explained Graham. “The lack of a stage allows for a different kind of connection with the audience.” ▩
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