Dan McGleno
Dan “Klecko” McGleno is into patchwork. His 15 tattoos all represent something important in his life—from his family to his dogs to his life calling.
McGleno is a colorful character, starting with the divot of hair standing on the top of his head, down his vividly inked arms and legs ending in the open-laced combat boots the production manager of Saint Agnes Baking Company in St. Paul, Minnesota, always wears, winter or summer.
His first tattoo was of a ticked-off Woody Woodpecker, positioned on his back shoulder blade. “I thought it depicted my personality,” he says. A few years later when he saw that the Nicholas Cage character, an eccentric baker in the movie “Moonstruck,” had a similar tattoo, he was convinced he was on the right track with his views on tattoos and bakers.
The second tattoo is always the statement tattoo, he claims. His is a “bad boy” tattoo, a skull wearing a top hat.
He has since crossed over into “multiples.” “Once you get to four, there's no difference than 100. You're in the fraternity,” he says.
Subsequent tattoos are of his wife's name, his current dogs' names, plus a sassy portrait of his Chihuahua. In memory of another dog, Chili Davis, he has the schnauzer immortalized in front of a stained glass window on his calf. His bicep sports the head of President Ronald Reagan and his calf is a tribute to musician Johnny Cash. “I got Ronald Reagan (tattoo) after he died,” he says, adding, “You can often make my body after you die.” Pope John Paul II already has a space reserved, followed by animal behaviorist Jane Goodall—once she passes on.
On the back of his neck are the numerals, “5/23,” the date of his son's first home run.
His most important tattoo is the one on his thigh of Saint Faustina. “She was the first saint of this millennium, a hot nun who was a crazy baker,” he says. “In the food industry almost everyone has their deity of choice.” At least Catholics like McGleno do.
A Russian baking tattoo on one forearm is in honor of McGleno's trip to Siberia to teach baking for a government-sponsored program. He is in the process of mapping out an American version to match it on his right inner forearm.
McGleno estimates he has about $5,000 worth of ink on his body. And yes, it's painful. “I've seen grown men pass out,” he says. “The outline hurts the most because it has to be deeper. When you're done, it's a high.” Perhaps tattooing is the only art where the recipient suffers more than the artist.
Ask McGleno which is his favorite tattoo, and he looks at you in mock horror: “That's like asking which is my favorite child,” he chides. But, he relents, admitting he's partial to his Ronald Reagan tattoo, with the Chihuahua a close second.
“People think you're trying to show off, but we're not trying to make a statement to other people, it's just our scene,” he says. It may not be for long. “There was a time when it was unique, when tattoos let people know who you were,” he says. “Now tattoos are becoming vanilla compared to piercings.”
As a devout Roman Catholic who can quote scripture from the Bible with ease, McGleno is well aware of Moses's warning in Leviticus. His view is that in the context of the time, Moses was warning against taking the mark of an indentured servant, of selling yourself into slavery. “And, if I'm wrong, oh well, that's why I give free bread to nuns,” he says.
Brian Meyer
Brian Meyer got his first tattoo when he was in basic training stationed at the Army base in Aberdeen, Maryland. “We found a cab company that drove you to Baltimore (45 minutes away) and if you got a tattoo at this place they'd bring you back for free,” the 26-year-old manager of a national coffeehouse chain said.
He rode home sporting a brightly colored pair of jesters' heads on his chest. “People thought I was funny,” he says. “They called me jester because I messed with the drill sergeants.” He grins, adding, “A few more push-ups never hurt anybody.”
Since that fateful cab ride he's had about “48 hours of ink,” including a “sleeve in progress,” on his left arm. A sleeve is a tattoo mosaic that covers the arms like the sleeve of a shirt would. New tattoos overlap the existing ones, building on the one before it.
And while he's currently planning his next trip under the needle, he doesn't see it as obsessive. “Some people call it an addiction. I like to call it a hobby,” Meyer says. He prides himself on unique tattoos, shunning stock designs that hang on walls in a tattoo parlor.
“I would never want to run into someone with the same tattoo,” he says. His collection—“the collection you never leave at home,” he says with a grin—is Irish-themed. He has his first name, “Brian,” enclosed in a Celtic cross on one forearm. His “sleeve” depicts an Irish angel, a pair of dice, the lucky number 13 and a horseshoe for the luck of the Irish. On one leg is a blue tribal design and an unfinished dragon's on the other.
The tattoo on his abs was his most painful. The original one was done in black ink; two years later he decided to add color to it. “I had forgotten how much it hurt,” he admits, grimacing.
Meyer is well aware that tattoos are forever. “I always think about something that's permanent. I'll always be Irish and I'll always be Brian,” he says, so no girlfriends' names and no tattoos on his back for now. “I'm saving my back for something extraordinary,” he says. “There's a lot to work with; it's gotta be well thought out and something you want people to see for the rest of your life.”
Unlike some other tattoo aficionados, Meyer is pragmatic about his appearance. The tattoos on his arms are a quarter-inch from his wrists so that they can be hidden under a long-sleeved shirt if needed. “I know moving up in the company requires a certain degree of professionalism,” he says. That applied to face piercings, too. “At work you can't have facial piercings and it became too much of a hassle to put them in and out,” he says. “(Plus) as I moved up, I felt more professional without a lot of stuff dangling from my face.”
Meyer accepts that some people will judge him based on his appearance. “That's why I go over the top in personality, because tattoos are the first thing people see. I want them to see me, who I am, not just a bunch of ink,” he says.
