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After that, Maxfield couldn't stand being seen in public. He was worried that his family in Leominster might read about his past, so he called them and told them, one by one. He confined himself to his room and cried. He says it's times like this that have cured him of any thought of repeating his mistake.
Slowly, with the support of his then-girlfriend, Emily Vander Tuin, Maxfield's embarrassment began to fade. Then one morning he awoke to detectives banging on his door. They had a search warrant, and told Maxfield and Vander Tuin to sit on the couch while they searched the apartment. A boy from Eugene had told police he was sexually assaulted by Pink Man in December, although Maxfield says he wasn't in the city when the alleged assault took place. The cops took all Maxfield's pictures and journals, but found nothing incriminating.
Maxfield believed that the people of Eugene would never look at him in the same way, and decided to flee. His departure would become part of a pattern of highs and lows that would characterize the next decade of his life. Pink Man would show up somewhere and wow everyone. His past would resurface. And he'd move on to a new city of strangers.
From Eugene, he moved to Los Angeles, where he believed his past wouldn't really matter. Soon after he arrived, local media began to notice Pink Man, and Maxfield began to wonder whether he might break into celebrity circles. When a reporter from the Los Angeles Times approached him, he worried about what might come out, but agreed to the story anyway. "It was the L.A. Times, for cryin' out loud," he says. "I couldn't say no. That would be ridiculous." The paper published a glowing profile, but just after it ran, someone from Eugene called to alert the paper of Pink Man's past. The editors decided, to Maxfield's enormous relief, that his history was not newsworthy.
It seemed things were looking up, especially when Maxfield began making connections with L.A. celebrities. He claims to have befriended Malcolm McDowell, and says Martin Short once called him a genius. He read in In Style magazine that Mary Steenburgen's son dressed as Pink Man for Halloween. As proof, he has the magazine in a giant folder with hundreds of newspaper clippings and other Pink Man paraphernalia.
With all the celebrity interest, Maxfield began to wonder if maybe there was a role for him in a film. Maybe one day he'd roll onto the stage and accept an Oscar. He continued to pink L.A. and gain recognition, and in the summer of 1998 he was asked to perform at the Orange County Fair, whose theme that year happened to be "In the Pink." Afraid that somebody might bring up his past, Maxfield asked for what he considered ridiculous compensation: $250 an hour. When the fair director agreed, Maxfield crossed his fingers and bought four new suits.
But the day before the fair, someone faxed the "Troubled Past" story to the fair director and the Orange County Register. Fearing swarms of reporters and hecklers might put a damper on the event, the fair director persuaded Maxfield to resign. As he was escorted out — with a full payment of $3,500 — he distinctly remembers "Accentuate the Positive" playing in the background. To this day, he wonders why the world can't understand the importance of that song. The next day's Register headline read, "Fair Mascot a Child Molester."
It's not that Maxfield doesn't understand people's anger and fear. He has kids of his own. But he wonders when he gets to move on with his life and career. He wishes people could accept that his sole aim is to make people happy. "I'm an example of what to do and what not to do, goddamnit," he says.
Crestfallen over the Register story, Maxfield escaped to Kauai, Hawaii, where Myrica and their children had recently moved. He lived there for a while, sleeping on the beach with a collection of eccentric characters. But soon enough, one of them learned of his past. He would have to move again. And again. And again.
For a decade, Maxfield bounced around the world, pinking it as he went. He pinked Houston, Berkeley, San Francisco, New Jersey, New York, and the Pacific Northwest. In Florida, he pinked Jacksonville, Key West, and Miami. He eventually made it all the way to Vancouver, Tokyo, Paris, and two towns in Germany.
Maxfield financed a small amount of his traveling with money he won in a settlement with a Danish advertising company that used his image without permission. But most of his travel has been bankrolled by generous friends and strangers, who have offered rooms and meals and plenty of financial support. He owes some friends thousands of dollars.
Between trips, Maxfield views the Bay Area as a home base. He's always had friends here, and San Franciscans have seemed largely unaware of his backstory. While Maxfield is nervous about cooperating with this story, he sees it as one final test: "If I can't be embraced in San Francisco, that's it."
Entering the Lafayette BART station on his way to the city, Pink Man is an instant celebrity. As he cruises toward the ticket entrance, people tear through their bags for cameras and beg him to wait: "Can't I get a picture of you?" "My daughter will love this." Pink Man is happy to oblige, but when he notices the time — 11:13 a.m. — he becomes impatient, because November 13 is his birthday, and he interprets this as a sign that he must get going.
Pink Man is really big on signs. He sees them everywhere, and they all point in the same direction: toward pinking. The fact that the flamingo lawn ornament was created in the same town he hails from: That's one sign. Then there's the Energizer Bunny. It's pink, like him, and it never stops. Beyond this feeling that he's supposed to be pinking, there is also the simple fact that after all these years, it's still damn fun.
