JUNKYARD JEWELS [The Pueblo Chieftain, Colo.]

Aug. 29--CHERAW -- He has the hands of a farmer. Strong, honest, working hands. Hands that have planted and picked and tugged and twisted and hammered and hoisted and steered and fixed. Capable, creative hands.

All of which helps to explain why Johnnie Allen's property is blanketed by a phenomenal forest of metallic whimsy. There's no doubt: The man likes to keep his hands busy. And his imagination, too. The result? A funky little place he calls Junkrassic Park, a collection of eclectic sculptures that stands as a monument to rustic recycling, artistic vision and bad puns. Really bad puns.

"Yeah," says Allen, with a chuckle. "I'm the village idiot around here."

Don't let his self-deprecation fool you. Allen is one imaginative cuss, and he has 80-plus works of junk-based art to prove it. He's been creating his one-of-a-kind pieces for about 20 years now, and although his pace and production have slowed as he approaches his 80th birthday next month -- "I'm getting pretty decrepit -- and the ideas don't come as quick as they used to," he says -- his rural art gallery remains a remarkable sight.

From a distance, Allen's 3-acre spread (he sold the rest of his farm to one of his sons nine years ago) looks like a mysterious patch of glitter gleaming in the summer sun. Used-car lot? Landfill? Yard sale?

Up close, though, you can see exactly what it is: an outdoor art garden featuring pieces of used-and-abused farm equipment welded and hammered together to make an assortment of figures -- celebrities, animals, vehicles and structures, most accompanied by humorous and/or pun-laden titles and text.

There are heroes: quarterback (John) L-Weigh, movie legend Jon Way-in, musical icon El Vest Pressed Lee.

There are villains: Sue Damned Hussein (motto: I'm Slime Prime Time); Infidel Castro; Oh, sa ya Bin over-Laden (too bad).

There is social commentary: Star-spangled Uncle Sam "wants you to pay up."

There's the 40-foot-tall, half-ton Awful Tier, an amplified windmill made to resemble the Eiffel Tower.

There are disco dancers, a dinosaur, a UFO, G. Rafferty the giraffe (Allen's favorite), a trash truck emblazoned with "Otero County Crap," boxing great MoreHammered L-E, the Enterprizer Dummy (bunny) and . . . you get the idea.

Let's just say that Allen is a man of uncommon vision. Where others see old plastic buckets, scrap metal and barbed wire, he sees body parts, shiny outfits and a giant spider web. He's used anything and everything to build his pieces: oil barrels, gas tanks, pistons, grain augers, tennis balls, pizza pans, swamp coolers, satellite dishes, coffeepots, hubcaps, lawn-mower parts, downspouts, telephone poles, barrels, propane tanks, sink stoppers, tires, fan blades, cream separators, tractor parts, bike handlebars, oil filters, aerosol cans and more.

"Every farmer's got junk," says Allen. "And I've got a bunch of it. I'll never get it all used up."

In the beginning|

Allen began his long-term creative venture after he and his wife, Christina, returned from a trip to the Western Slope; she'd seen a rooster sculpture made from spare parts and asked Johnnie to make one for her. He spent a day with his welding torch and some hunks of metal and, voila, Brewster Rooster was hatched.

"She was pretty well satisfied with it," he says. "And then I just kept doing a little more and a little more."

And before he knew it, the yard began filling up with rogues, critters and things that go creak in the night. People noticed, of course. And now, Allen's place east of Cheraw is one of the area's top tourist attractions (nearby Bent's Old Fort draws its share of visitors, too). Junkrassic Park has been featured in more than one publication about offbeat, off-the-main-drag curiosities, and Allen has become used to a steady stream of camera-toting, wide-eyed looky-loos.

"Most of 'em are surprised (when they see it)," Allen says.

"Some people spend two minutes here and they're done; some spend two hours."

And some ask if they could buy a certain piece. Allen's answer: "I just tell them I don't believe I want to sell it."

There's no admission to see Allen's wonders -- his payment is just to see people smile. He says there have been visitors from four or five foreign countries, as well as folks from motorcycle clubs, school field trips and senior care centers.

"I just put it out there for people to look at," he says. "It's junk when I start out and I try to make it into something so somebody can tell what it is -- and if I do that, I'm pretty happy with it."

A little rusty|

Mickey Mantle, er, Manty Mickle, needs a new head; his old one has fallen off, a victim of time and strong prairie winds. The UFO Mars Car's lights don't work. Uncle Sam and most of the rest of Allen's metallic menagerie could use more than a little touch-up. But somehow, the peeling paint and creeping rust seem right at home in Junkrassic Park.

Says Allen, "I just enjoy making it. . . . I don't like to repair it after it's made."

Allen is slowing down a bit these days, at least when it comes to sculpting. He says he's only made two pieces this year -- a Conestoga wagon and a skunk -- but he points to a big pile of junk on his property and notes, "There's my material."

He says he does his best thinking at 3 or 4 in the morning -- "That's when an idea will come to me. Then I start looking for what I've got to make it out of."

When he's not brainstorming new ideas, chatting with visitors or battling weeds, Allen stays plenty busy. He delivers Meals on Wheels, plays music (piano, guitar, harmonica) to entertain senior care-center residents and writes poetry and short stories.

He's also still dealing with a difficult, life-altering event -- Christina, his high school sweetheart and lifelong love, died in March.

"It would have been 59 years (of marriage) in September," he says. "I'm coping, I guess."

Allen has lots of familial support -- he and Christina had eight kids and a passel of grandkids, and one of his sons is now living with him.

But ask Allen what his family thinks of his sculptures and his ever-present sense of humor emerges.

"Oh, I think they're kind of proud of me on one side and probably a little ashamed of me on the other," he says with a laugh.

He says he doesn't know what will happen to Junkrassic Park when he's gone.

"If they want to pack it up, it's OK by me. I guess it depends on whether they want to leave a legacy of the old man."

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Copyright (c) 2010, The Pueblo Chieftain, Colo.

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