Thinking
back over the last millenium, not many famous Deans spring to mind. Except
James Dean, obviously. And anyway, he’s dead, so automatically acquires the
status of ‘Urban Legend’. But if there’s one Dean who can truly lay
claim to such a title with any degree of convictions, it has to be that of
‘Mascot Monthly’s most coveted interviewee.
Dean The Dragon (he has since dropped his middle name and simply goes
under the title of Dean Dragon) has now reached a plateau in his life, and it
shows. Gone is the manic, menacing persona that once graced album covers-
he’s grown since then. He drinks herbal tea and practices Yoga. He has
become an active supporter of the ‘Full Stop’ scheme of the National
Society for the Protection of Children Charity (N.S.P.C.C) based in the UK and
received a dragonhood only last year. Contemplative and philosophical, this is
his first interview for Mascot Monthly, and he is forthcoming with many
astonishing revelations.
“Sure, I was a bit messed up in my youth,” he concedes. Born and
raised in the kingdom of D’Hood (which has since been overrun with American
rap artists) he was, as all dragons were at the time of his adolescence,
enrolled in the career of ‘Mythical Village Menace’. Despite its flashy
title, it was merely a popular propaganda tool used by kings at the time in
order to restore faith in the monarchy to the local masses. Only now,
fifty-seven years later, is Dean comfortable in revealing the true nature of
his duties.
“It’s
a bit embarrassing, really,” he admits, “I had to fake my death at least
every seven months,”- a skill that proved invaluable in later life. “I
mean, at first, I though ‘Ooh ‘eck, I’m in real trouble here’, ‘coz
the king at the time was called George and if you’ve ever read English myths
and legends, you’ll know why I was so worried. I didn’t exactly want to
peg it before I reached my fully-grown state, you know? As it turned out, he
was a bit of a letdown. Spent a lot of time playing golf and delegating his
duties, from what I heard. I got bored. I was young and naïve, I suppose. I
went off the rails a bit…”
Going ‘a bit off the rails’ to Dean is akin to
describing World War II as a bit of a scuffle. Fuelled by a heady cocktail of
frustration, pent up emotion and crates of Carling Black Label, Dean hit the
lowest point of his life. He had barely reached twelve-foot.
He looks down at his claws and sighs with the memory,
“I
was young and callow. It’s safe to say that I am very ashamed of my actions
at that time of my life.” He sips nervously at a glass of water whilst
contemplating his response.
“It
got to me, I suppose- playing the villain in such an… an intense way. My
life was going nowhere, I mean absolutely nowhere. I guess I just started to
believe the propaganda.
“I started off with the arson: the local bakery, the castle, even
little old ladies’ tartan shopping trolleys; the ones on wheels that they
trundle around ‘Sainsburys’ supermarket with, blocking up the aisles
whilst wittering on about their pensions and the infrequency of the bus
service...” he shakes his head, “I used to set fire to the tartan fabric
whenever they were close to the wine aisle. ‘Cause, one spillage and
suddenly, BOOM!” he mimes the sound of a small explosion, “You’ve
drowned them in sherry.”
There was, of course, the small matter of the local virgins. Dean
becomes surprisingly defensive at this point.
“I
admit, I ate a few, but it was expected of you! Y’know, out with your mates-
down a few pints, breathe on the local kebab shop, then eat a few
virgins…” The somewhat extreme nature of his extra- curricular activities
need not be brought home to Dean. He is already aware of just how close he
came to falling headfirst into an abyss of villainy, pyromania and guarding
caves full of treasure.
What turned his life around was a stint at the local Amateur Dramatics
Society, where an overwhelming passion for performing soon enveloped him.
“It
was an escape, a release,” Dean smiles, unable to contain his natural fevour
for the subject. “I was finally able to express myself in a way I never
could under King George’s employment.”
Retiring from the Royal Forces and armed with a
critically acclaimed performance in ‘The Hobbit’, Dean took to the bright
lights of New York to seek his fortune. But New York wasn’t the place he had
imagined it to be…
“I’d seen ‘Fame’ on the telly, and had this
notion that New York was going to be the place to get my talent spotted, as it
were. Unfortunately, it didn’t quite work out that way. For the next three
years, I did just about everything except what I had set out to do!”
In between struggling to support himself via menial
work at the ‘Hard Rock Café’, he attempted to get himself noticed by
turning his claws to a variety of arts- street theatre, small town musicals
and even portrait modeling. Times, however, were getting increasingly hard.
“I was living on tins of ravioli and pints of
sterilized milk!” he chuckles at the memory, “As well as sharing a flat
with some other guys looking for acting work- the blue crossing fingers hand
was with us until the National Lottery adverts worked out, and the little
pumpkin guy who’s been with Helloween now for as long as I can remember. It
was a pretty rough existence.”
One that changed for the better in 1985 after a
chance encounter with one Wendy Dio, manager of a band well known for their
close affinity for Dungeons and Dragons style music.
“I was coming home from work,” he grins, “She
spotted my equity card and my ‘Hard Rock Café’ uniform and just put two
and two together, I suppose. Thinking about it,” he muses, “I had an aura
that just screamed ‘Out Of Work Actor’!”
But not for long. As fate would have it, after
DIO’s completion of their 1985 album ‘Sacred Heart’, Wendy had suggested
transferring the dragon on their album cover into a three- dimensional centre-
piece of the stage show for their up and coming tour. Having enthusiastically
agreed to the idea, the only problem had been to find a suitable candidate,
which had proven difficult. After weeks of contacting various agencies, the
problem had been narrowed down to the simple fact that most agencies simply
didn’t have fifteen-foot dragons on their books. Not, ironically enough, in
California, anyway.
“Well, I couldn’t get a gig and they couldn’t
get a dragon, so it was a match made in heaven, really.” Dean’s luck had
whirled around faster than Vinny Appice’s stool during a drum solo.
Travelling around the world for most of the year with a top drawing band
proved to be an experience.
“It was great!” he enthuses, “Basically, I’d
stare round at the audience with laser bolts coming out of my eyes for a bit,
then roar for a while whilst Ronnie [James Dio, vocalist and founder of said
band] fiddled about with some tinsel and a big laser sword. It was good fun,
and the crowd loved it. The British Press didn’t, mind, but there’s very
little they actually do like. Everyone else was just, like, really happy with the
situation.”
Everyone that is, with the exception of the band’s
young, Irish guitarist, Vivian Campbell, who during 1987, was famously quoted
in ‘Metal Hammer’ as complaining how he was “...playing second fiddle to
a rubber dragon” during his last tour with DIO. Dean smiles wryly and shakes
his head,
“Yes, well…” He searches carefully for the right words, “I
think he was a bit, resentful of the attention I got, to be frank,” Dean
reveals, “Which I can’t understand- it wasn’t as if he was devoid of it,
what with his ten minute guitar solos, spotlights, fireworks and light- up
guitar. He was… I suppose he was young, and felt that the presence of little
ol’ me was some kind of threat to his, how can I put this? Manhood, I
suppose.”
Campbell’s dissatisfaction didn’t exactly mark
the beginning of the end, but it was one of many events that saw Dean make the
life changing decision to opt out of the fame game.
“It all got too much in the end,” Dean postulates, though he
maintains that his departure was amicable, and that both parties remain on
good terms (with the probable exception of Mr. Campbell). “There was trouble
from all quarters,” he admits, “What with Vivian’s constant outbursts in
the press. And when Jimmy [Bain, bassist in DIO] stepped up his substance
abuse and started repeatedly chasing me… The little things just add up,
y’know?”
Consequently, Dean left the band after the ‘Intermission’ world
tour. His replacement for the following global escapade left him decidedly
unimpressed,
“When Ronnie brought in that spider for the
‘Dream Evil’ tour… I don’t like to attack colleagues in the press,
it’s very unprofessional and I’ve had my fair share of it during my
career, but he was a bloody slacker, that’s all I have to say. He just
couldn’t hack the pressures of a year long tour. See, he was supposed to
come down from the ceiling but towards the end, all he did was creak about on
the floor. No stamina…” he shakes his head.
Flushed with success, though jaded by fame, he began to wonder about
other mascots in his shoes… Suddenly, the brainchild was born.
“I knew a few guys in the business,” Dean explains, “And when I was over in Britain, I bumped into Eddie [The ‘Ed, Iron Maiden mascot], and we had a good old chin wag about the industry,” he chuckles with the memory, “I remember him complaining ‘Did you ever feel just way too tall? I’ve always felt way too tall.’ And he’s only about ten-foot, I think. I just replied ‘Of course I felt way too tall. I’m fifteen foot to begin with, and I worked with Ronnie James Dio, for Christ’s sake!’… I think it transgressed into a discussion about getting a raw deal with our work, when Eddie suddenly pipes up, ‘The band’s we work with, they all have agencies and managers to guide them, but what do we have?’ and I just thought ‘Hell yeah, that’s a bloody good point!’…”
P.R.O.P.S. (Private Revenue from Own Personal Success) agencies was set
up a mere three months later (We were going to call it ‘Plans for
Entertainment: Now Interest the Stars, but I think you can probably see the
drawback of just such a mnemonic). Word got around, and within two years, the
business has flourished, and Dean has mascots from all over the world on his
well heeled books. Indeed, he can count Eddie The ‘Ed, Tidy Ted (of ‘Keep
Britain Tidy’ fame), the Pillsbury DoughBoy and Zippy (most notable for his
part as one half of the Zippy/George comedy duo in the children’s T.V. show
‘Rainbow’), not to mention twenty-two of the Pokēmon characters. As
Dean jokes, “I’m looking to book the other characters. Like the slogan
says- ‘Gotta catch ‘em all!’”
But it was his post- performing career that brought
Dean into contact with another very special person in his life- Sandra,
otherwise known to millions as the Cadbury’s Caramel Bunny. She, like Dean,
had grown weary of her stereotyped image, which had begun with a short-lived
stint as the ‘Playboy’ mascot when she was just nineteen. Finding herself
to be superceded by younger rodents, she fell into the Cadbury’s work, until
a chance glance through her friend’s copy of ‘Stage’ magazine prompted
her to contact P.R.O.P.S. agencies. It was love at first sight, at least for
Dean, though he is somewhat cagey when face with questions concerning his
relationship.
“She felt dissatisfied with the work she was getting offered. She
felt as though she was being typecast- one look at her resume and I agreed
with her. It was all ‘dumb bunny’ scripts, just like ‘Playboy’ and
‘Cadbury’… She was even considering getting into illegal hard-core
pornographic films, but I managed to talk her out of that,” he breathes a
sigh of relief, “Thank God! We got her a part in the cartoon adaptation of
‘Watership Down’…”
Watership Down? Was she one of the ones who died? Dean beams proudly,
“Yup! She’s become recognised as an all round actress now, which is
lovely.” An embarrassed laugh soon follows, “I proposed to her on the
set,” he admits, bashfully, “Just after her death scene. The make-up
artist was still wiping the prosthetics off her face with white spirit at the
time! We run the business together now.”
So, after an eventful existence, Dean appears to have
settled down once and for all. No chance of a reunion with DIO, then? It’s
the question that has been hanging from everyone’s lips these past few
years. “Never say never. I think I wouldn’t say no,” he teases, “After
all, we still keep in touch.” Clearly no truth in the rumour that Ronnie
James Dio tried to kill you for real, then? Dean is obviously amused by the
idea,
All that happened was that Ronnie joked about keeping my head in a barn
somewhere as a souvenir. The press took it the wrong way, they’re all the
same… No offense,” he adds, quickly. None taken!
As Dean prepares to go to Europe to sort out yet another of the many
trials and tribulations that beset performers (“Eddie got too close to the
pyrotechnics last night and set fire to his face whilst Bruce (Dickinson,
singer with Iron Maiden) was finishing off ‘Iron Maiden’. I’ve got to
sort out his insurance.), has he any last words for his many fans that will be
reading this?
“Just one,” he replies, “I know how old Ronnie James Dio really
is. He’s actually about two hundred and twelve. That’s why he’s the
height he is. He was seven foot two in 1805…”
Quite. And so, with a twinkle in his eye and his tongue firmly placed in his cheek, Dean trots off down the runway and takes off towards Antwerp to begin yet another chapter of his eventful life. Suddenly, Luton Airport will never be the same again…
