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University Daily Kansan
Wednesday, August 18, 1976
9
One of Snyder's favorite spots on campus is the benches to the east of Wescoe Hall. From there he can watch the people as they pass bv.
John Snyder: the man behind the tan
Though it was a scorcher of a July day, 19 in the shade and too hot to walk barefoot on pavement, everyone was avoiding the road, especially the scene, dodging them as if they shot danger.
Everyone but John Snyder. John walked his three-speed bike through the spray in a flowered swimsuit, shirt off, head back, mouth open to catch a few cool droplets. He used his hands on the bench. After he took a red radio mounted on his handlebars and set it beside him on the bench, he tuned it to an all-news station so he could keep an ear on the weather. "Iush anyone who's talking about weather," he comes on so he's sure not to miss them.
A woman, strolling by towards Wescoe who heard it is going to be over a hundred times.
"Good, good, glad a' that," John answered.
John Snyder's 33 years old but younger in his bright brown eyes and easy smile. He's been around Lawrence for nine years, always sunning. His complexion has grown ruddy, and the hair growing long and curly chest and arms has bleached almost white.
"I wish it was summer all the time, but I go without a shirt in winter too," he says. "It gets cold here still some sun to come and we are beautiful for other people. And it's fun too."
He sat grimming in front of Wescow, his summer outfit of ragged blue cut-offs, slumped gray socks and beat brown shoes with tarnished buckles by his side. He clashed his clothes over so a guy with rolled up long sleeves and a notebook could sit down.
"I heard it's gonna be a hundred today, 'cept the radio says probably only high 90%." John said. "What do you think? Think it'll rain?"
"Doesn't look like it," the guy said, searching the cloudy sky.
"Hey, lessee your tan," John said, putting
his arm rest by side with the guy's. "Well, you got a way to go, that's for sure."
The guy smiled and later wished John a good day before going off to class in Wesley.
John has spent all his life in Kansas. He's originally from Augusta and spent a few years there after high school until the small too tiny for him and he came to Lawrence.
"I would've liked to've gone to college — I was interested in all kinds of subjects in high-school — but I didn't have the money," he says.
He says he has liked in a college town anyway, because almost everyone is friendly to him. It was different only during the late 1970s, especially when a curwen was set up.
"It was bad back then 'cause everyone was tense," he says. "The worst that you couldn't walk around, couldn't go outside."
John spends most all his time outdoors when he's not working as a junior at the First National Bank. His favorite sun spots are outside Weecoce, near the pioneer statue by Blake, and, when he's not on campus, South Park.
A few billowing white clouds have blown in from the south.
"Boy, those bits of clouds over there look a little like rain," he said, pointing south. "Boy, I'd sure hate to see it rain. It's time to so."
He snapped the radio back on the bike's handlebars next to a red ribbon a friend gave him for decoration and started down Jayhawk Boulevard, walking his bike to the street with his best friend. To a bearded man with sunglasses took the 14th Street hill he said, "Hi there!"
John mounted up his bike to glide down 14th, erect as the wind rushed by, coasting all the way to Massachusetts Street, where he went into a bicycle shop to use a phone.
The man smiled as he said hello and walked on, head a little higher.
He pointed to a long blond-haired friend of his behind the counter.
"You notice, there's a lota hippies in town? You'll see a lot of 'em on campus," he said, barely concealing a sheepish grin. "And they're all pretty nice too."
Back on the curb he petted a mangle, scanning the Massachusetts Street traffic.
"These damn cars," he said. "There's more of 'em all the time."
Then, in a moment of inspiration, he skipped to the traffic light, pushed the pedestrian button, and gleefully paraded his bike across the street, glad to make the cars wait for a change. He cut through the junior high football field and then rode down New York City, walking away from traffic where he could take his time and coast standing on his pedals.
A couple miles later he was sunning at Park 25 apartment's swimming pool on a wooden deck built over the pool's filter. He looked to a second story balcony where an electric guitar player was jamming rock riffs.
Snyder's job at the First National Bank entails cleaning the offices on the fourth floor
"He's alright—pretty good—he plays all
well." He likes to just let him play,
just let him play again.
John let the sweat spill from his lean body onto the hot wood awaile before jumping off the board and dog paddling in the pool. He bobbed around with his head just above water so that he would see everything else around him. Sometimes rides his bike the 12 miles to Lake Henry, where he can swim nude and show people all of his golden tan.
But this afternoon was getting long and it was time for John to get ready for work. He got out of the water to let the sun dry him on the deck. To a woman next to him rubbing tanning butter on her legs he said, "Lesse. Put your leg down to mine and compare."
After she did so he said, grimming. "You're not too bad, but I'd say I gave it little bit."
Then John rode home to put on a tank top and baggy jeanspants for his night job at the bank. His philosophy is to "live a good life, be good and work like you're supposed to and then relax when you can," and his foreman, J. J. , said he lived up to his work.
"He cleans the 4th and 5th floors of the bank, works well, always comes in on time."
John works six days, about 30 hours a week.
"I wish it would get dark by 8:30 when I
"to go in to work," he says. "Workin's
I'll be up at 7:45."
With his paycheck John takes care of bills and rent, and spends some extra cash on Cokes, cheeesburgers and an occasional beer at the Harbour after work.
That night he left the Harbour and unlocked his bike from a parking meter. For half a block he walked it beside him, and when he was leaving restaurants or other taverns.
"Call me John or call me Taman, I don't matter," he says. "I'll say to hello to you."
Then he was on his bike, riding off down the block. With sit and swimming and parks the next day there was no time to be walking a bike around all night.
Story by G. S. Bashaw
The focal point of Snyder's room is his dresser, from where he starts the day.
Photos by Jay Koelzer
Snyder's three-speed, an ever present companion.