Friday, November 27, 2020

A Crowded Life in Comics –

Find the Winning Candidate.

– Joseph Keppler Self-Portrait 

Rick Marschall.

When I was in second grade, my father took me into lower Manhattan on many Saturdays. We had a usual agenda: coffee and nut and spice importers working out of warehouses on Chambers Street, where the World Trade Center later stood, and didn’t. The Record Hunter, uptown, where he would search for then-exotic European LPs of Baroque music. The main destination was Book Store Row, streets south of Union Square where approximately 125 used-book stores lived – cavernous, with balconies and bare light bulbs; or virtual closets off the sidewalks, so small and narrow that they only sold short-story collections, not novels. (No, but they were difficult to navigate if other bibliophiles  were there.)

I was barely able to read, but my love affair with books, even the aroma of old paper, began on those Saturdays. Most of those shops are gone now, and I have read where even the seven-miles-of-books Strand has been squeezed by the pandemic and Mayor di Blasio’s choleric view of the economy.

A counterpart of Schulte’s, and Biblo and Tannen, and Dauber and Pine, and other used-book stores of New York’s yesteryear, I discovered in Paris. No surprise – the legendary Shakespeare and Company. It was not the actual physical location of Sylvia Beach’s 1920s hangout of James Joyce and Ernest Hemingway, but I think some of the dust was from that era.

My pied-a-terre in Paris, when not staying with friends, is the centuries-old, tilted, somewhat aromatic, Hotel Esmeralda. It is on the Seine but requires guests in certain rooms (like no. 16, remember) to, appropriately, lean out the window and twist left in order to see the magnificent Notre Dame. (Why “appropriately”? The Hunchback’s love interest was Esmeralda, as you all know). But other rooms, if they have windows, look out upon the back of the hotel, enclosed on four sides and dreary. But one of the other sides is the back of Shakespeare and Company! Of course I knew I would have to call the Esmeralda, even with creaky, winding stairs and one lone breakfast table, my home – a great neighborhood.

(I would have put down roots at the Esmeralda anyway, as two great cartooning friends – Hugo Pratt and Nicole Lambert – recommended the place. A call from Hugo to Nestor would always somehow open up a room when otherwise booked.)

What a tangent. Forgive me. A Crowded Life in Tangents, I’m afraid.

I was talking about Book Store Row and my kidhood. Early discoveries of my own, encouraged but not initiated by my father, were old copies and volumes of Puck magazine. I have previously written here of “meeting” Keppler, Opper, Zim, Gillam, Glackens, and so many great talents. I also became acquainted with the great text humorists of the day, like Bill Nye.

Because Puck was also a political magazine, I perforce became familiar with the issues and politicos of the day; the arcane debates; as well as social manners and mores through panel cartoons and the great ads.

Here, pertinence: on my first discovery of a stack of 1880s Pucks, dad let me buy one – an 1882 issue with an Opper center spread, for a dollar. But another double-page cartoon in an 1880 issue caught my eye, and has remained a relic of fascination.

It was by Joseph Keppler, the talented founder of Puck, and appeared after the 1880 presidential election. The journal was a weekly, but deadline exigencies prevented the creation of cartoon that could address the campaign’s winner when the campaign was won (usually, of course).

What Keppler did – and I discovered when I assembled a complete run of Puck – was indulge a peculiar talent he had. He had an affinity for hiding faces in drawings. As much a puzzle-maker as a political cartoonist at times, Keppler was to construct such cartoons several times through the years. A realistic drawing, two realistic women representing the parties, a realistic landscape. It was arboreal dell, with a grandmother’s paisley shawl running through it.

The realism made it all the more challenging to embed portraits and caricatures of a dozen politicians. But there they are… if you can find them! Tree branches, rock formations, tangled bushes, all reveal the shapes of the candidates Garfield and Hancock; running-mates, senators, mayors, and crooks.

Why? To reveal the winning candidate, without revealing the winning candidate. Readers of Puck that week engaged themselves in checking lists and holding the magazine at all angles.

I became, through that cartoon, an even greater admirer of Joseph Keppler than I ever would have been, if that were possible.

I was reminded of that summer afternoon on Book Store Row, as an eight-year-old enthusiast; falling in love with Puck and Keppler and vintage cartoons and American history and politics all at once. And awestruck by the technical proficiency of a forgotten master.

... and of presidential campaigns too close to call.

It is bizarre that today, and in the hanging chads in Florida of recent memory, our elections are more difficult to resolve; that computers present challenges rather than facile solutions; that technology has become our enemy (or the friend of cheaters).

Whenever you read this, the United States might have a 46th president. Or maybe not. Another reason that I hold “progress’ to be a faithless, teasing chimera.

Plus which, in those early days, the aroma of Yesterday’s Papers was akin to perfume. Take that to the Electoral College.

–30–

106


Friday, November 20, 2020

A Crowded Life in Comics –

 Who’s Zoo and Who’s What in Sullivant-World.

by Rick Marschall

We all (all of us, right?) love (not merely like) old comics (and cartoons and illustration), right? Elsewise you would not be reading this column. I assume.

I often assume more than I should, but one thing I know our types share is the occasional feeling of discovery and instant affection for the work of one artist or other. There are many greats of the past, but sometimes we find someone’s work that attracts us like few others. We want to know all we can… see all we can… and, yes, even copy all we can.

It is a universal impulse, usually prompted by the same small list of cartoonists. It is their “fault,” not our weaknesses – the essence of genius. It is dangerous to start a list, but George Herriman can be described this way. Cliff Sterrett. Gluyas Williams. Walt Kelly (try drawing like him…)

The list is objective and subjective. But one cartoonist who always inspires universal admiration is T S Sullivant. What makes him even more compelling to cartoon fans is that his work is relatively obscure.

(That will soon be solved. Fantagraphics Books will publish, any week now, an anthology of Sullivant’s work – black and white, and color; his animal drawings and ethnic lampoons – to which I have contributed artwork and a couple essays.) (I will pause until the Huzzahs die down over this news!)

When I was 10 I discovered three of his drawings in Sephen Becker’s book Comic Art in America, and properly was astonished. When I was older I got to know Steve and acquired his collection. Then I saw framed Sullivant originals on the wall of Rube Goldberg’s studio. I acquired two color originals (one reproduced here, an Easter parade of animals) from Rudolph Dirks’ sister Mae St Clair. And so on.

But my real connection – a motivation for my crazy life’s obsessive collecting forays – was through the pages of Judge and the old Life magazines; and the Hearst newspapers around 1903-1910. I have been blessed to have these complete runs in my collection, so my love affair with T S Sullivant was celebrated a thousand times over.

You will see, by these examples, his hallmarks – and his influences: large, exaggerated heads (an inherited approach, directly, from A B Frost; but McNair in Life and Wilder in Puck consciously copied Sullivant); humorous animals (countless imitators in the magazines – J S Pughe, Bob Addams, A Z Baker, et al.) His crosshatching was distinctive; his anatomy, even when comic, was flawless; his compositions were arresting. A hallmark of his mastery was his willingness to draw figures from behind – lending an air of realism to the comic – and always depict full figures. (So did Frost and other greats; E W Kemble was one cartoonist of the age who was content, or insecure, frequently to draw vignettes and avoid feet or solidity.)

Sullivant had two predominant thematic preoccupations: funny animals and funny humans. I am not being sarcastic; his animals with human poses and personalities, sometimes wardrobes, remind me of a description of Christ, “fully God and fully man.” Sullivant drew creatures that were fully animal yet fully human. His actual people were overwhelmingly of ethnic sorts. Today these cultural cliches and stereotyped imagery and traits make some people wince. But they are interesting reflections of the age; they are masterful cartoon creations; and, very simply, fun.

There are people, even cartoon scholars, who would censor these today. Believe me.

Thomas Starling Sullivant (1854-1926) and his pixilated pen sent me on many hunting trips through the decades, as a researcher and as a collector. I always had happy results. In the old NEMO Magazine I featured his work in the first issue; and a cover story in a subsequent issue. The revival of NEMO will highlight his work, too. Then there is the new Fantagraphics book, as per above. In his own lifetime there was a very early anthology published (Aesop up to date, Fables For Our Times) and a posthumous collection, Sullivant’s ABC Zoo.

Other explanations to other drawings here: the Easter parade was drawn as a decorative-piece for the front pages of Hearst Sunday comics for about a year. The political cartoons are a yet-unreprinted trove of his work; daily Hearst papers seldom survived, but Sullivant was hired to draw political cartoons… and they were great. The couple avoiding paparazzi are Alice Roosevelt Longworth leaving her wedding ceremony with her new husband Nicholas, the Congressman. And a “before and after” Sunday proof sheet, from a collection I purchased of vintage proofs from New York papers of the turn of the century. A Sullivant page was brittle, and cracked into several pieces. My cartoon-archive partner Jon Barli is a wizard at restoration and scanning… as seen here.

The best restoration, better than old proof sheets, would be of the reputation, more than the drawings, of T S Sullivant. A dream inherent in those early searches of mine is being fulfilled.

There was speculation that Sullivant often drew to other people’s gags; or that he submitted drawings and let editors supply captions or dialog – unusual, but freedom-embracing in its way. The great Simplicissimus cartoonist Thony did the same thing. Cartoonist Art Young told a story from Sullivant’s time in the Hearst bullpen. Of course it was kidding, not critical: F. Opper noted how frequently Sullivant scratched away at his drawing to make corrections. In those days, drawing papers were of such quality that one could do this and still apply ink lines that would not bleed. Opper kidded: “If Tom Sullivant scratched his head more and his paper less, he’d be a better cartoonist.”

Well, he was a better cartoonist, than almost any one on the block, before or since.


 30 

105


Sunday, November 8, 2020

A Crowded Life in Comics –

 The Anniversary of Great Investments.


 Rick Marschall.

If there can be recurring nightmares, why does it seem that there are fewer repeating good dreams? When I die and go to Slumberland, I perhaps will learn the answer to that riddle of life; but in the meantime I will sleep on it.

This has been a diversionary tactic to camouflage the fact that I will Revisit significant moments in this Crowded Life in Comics, recently having their anniversaries. But I will sprinkle some new insights on the cakes.

October 25 was my parents’ anniversary. And it was the date when I was 12 years old when I lost my virginity. No, not THAT virginity – I mean it was my comics coming-of-age, kind of an early Bar Mitzvah if I were of the Jewish persuasion. I attended my first meeting of the National Cartoonists Society.

It nominally was a mere casual invitation, and Al Smith (Mutt and Jeff), who attended our church, had no crystal ball about what that meeting set in motion. Neither did I; the prospect of a 12-year-old nerd getting to fraternize with legends and heroes was enough: I hoped I would make to the next day. 

I have told here that I attended the business meeting (Al was NCS Treasurer); the “gods” I met, many of whom – Rube Goldberg, Harry Hershfield, Walt Kelly, Dik Browne, Al Kilgore, Mell Lazarus, Russell Patterson, Creig Flessell; Bob Dunn; Mort Walker – sent me inscribed originals afterward; many cartoonists who subsequently became friends whom I served as syndicate editor, or who attended my wedding a dozen years later; the giant scroll Al Smith unfurled for cartoonists to draw their sketches, characters, and greetings.

NCS “poster” 

And I have told of my parents waiting up for Al to drop me back home after midnight, from the old-line Lambs Club in midtown Manhattan, all this on a school night… and how this was a cool anniversary present for them. My father, a lifelong cartoon fan, vicariously enjoyed the evening and the stories no less than I did.

But what I can add is the “after-story” – what flowed from that first evening; what might not have happened without that amazing event; it would have been special if I had been 21 instead of 12, really.

With my “feet wet” (forgetting the virginity wheeze), I made associations and, yes, friendships with cartoonists. Growing up inn the New York- New Jersey- Connecticut area, it was relatively easy to be introduced and recommended, and to visit, other cartoonists. I spent time in studios, and I had my drawings critiqued. Other cartoonists invited me to monthly NCS meetings in New York – Harry Hershfield, Vern Greene, Al Kilgore.

A photo of my family and me (since I mention my parents) ca 1988

Harry Hershfield took a liking to me – he said I was one of the few people (!) who were interested in the business and the artists of the ‘teens and ‘20s, and he did love to reminisce. His crowded old office in the Chanin Building on 42nd Street was always open to me.

The meetings and friendships also enabled me to visit syndicate offices on Christmas, Easter, and Summer breaks from school; and I got to know editors and bullpen artists, also at Dell. 

Eventually, as I said, some cartoonists at that first NCS meeting of mine were artists I eventually edited a decade later as Comics Editor at three newspaper syndicates: Mell Lazarus; Allen Saunders; Stan Lynde; Irwin Hasen; Al Kilgore. Some of the cartoonists became very close friends: Vern Greene; Bill Crawford; Bob Dunn; Frank Fogarty; Jay Irving; Bill Holman. Some of the cartoonists became close enough friends that they attended my wedding: Jack Tippit and several who did not sign the board that evening, including Dik Browne and Mort Walker.

I am not saying that I might not have become a political cartoonist or comics editor or a collector or cartooning historian without the kick-start of that serendipitous invitation. I cannot know. I might have dreamt different dreams, and longer, and more earnest, yet recurring, dreams about a life in comics without Al Smith’s invitation on my parents’ anniversary.

But my life would not have been so crowded. To cartoonists and aspiring cartoonists: Encourage those right behind you in the marvelous line. Whether they will become superstars or only (“only”?) lifelong fans, every kind gesture of yours is a precious investment.

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Friday, November 6, 2020

American Cartoonist –

Produced largely by Jack O'Brien, editor 
with able assist from Lars Benson
 Lawndale, California

VOL. IV, NO. 1, FEB-MAR 1950 


[1]


[2]


[3]


[4]


[5]


[6]


[7]


[8]


[9]

See Also: Operation Blonde, a comic strip no one ever heard of HERE

Scans courtesy Larry Straus


   



Sunday, November 1, 2020

A Crowded Life in Comics –

 Winsor McCay on Election Day.


Rick Marschall.

Short and sweet this week, and I ask the indulgence of readers around the world, who might have heard that the United States is enduring another pandemic this week – a presidential election.

… followed by a quick apology for a cheap joke. Elections are not plagues; or are not supposed to be. There are plague-like aspects, as flies surround a corpse: corruption, lies,  dirty money, uncountable brochures and robo-calls. Democracy is the worst form of government, except, as Churchill said, when you consider all the others.

Elections have also kept alive the profession of political cartooning, the illegitimate father of the comic strip. I was always interested in comic strips, and the very earliest of comic strips, but I began my career as a working political cartoonist. (“Working” always seems a strange word when we enjoy it so much…)

Winsor McCay was a working political cartoonist long before he created Little Nemo. He was a working political cartoonist after he drew his last Little Nemo page; in fact when he died, he left a partially inked political cartoon on his drawing board, and his editors ran it as “finished” with touches by a cartoonist friend. His first work for national magazines was political cartoons.

A legend has arisen (“legend” being a professionally courteous word for “lie”) about Winsor McCay and his political and editorial cartoons. Scholars and fans have been led to believe that McCay was a kind of indentured servant in the employ of William Randolph Hearst; that when McCay joined Hearst after drawing for the New York Herald, he was not an unfettered star but consigned to churn out political cartoons in addition to the revival called In the Land of Wonderful Dreams. Here, the story goes, he was under the whip of the editorially eccentric Arthur Brisbane, Hearst lieutenant; and he eventually abandoned his Sunday page to dutifully produce turgid pictorial political polemics.

This version of history, itself, belongs in a land of wonderful dreams, for those who wish that Winsor McCay, fantasist, was a 21st-century flower child, mistreated by corporate overlords. Fueling such distortions, I have wondered, might be the contemporary disdain for Hearst – borne, perhaps of peoples’ affection for the Citizen Kane version of events, as well as prejudice against Hearst, whose career ended as a notable conservative (having commenced as a radical Socialist).

But Winsor McCay was his own man. He was a celebrity who was lured to Hearst, not kidnapped. It was clear he “wrote his own ticket” – when Hearst discouraged other of his cartoonists from producing animated cartoons independently, he either constrained them, or roped them into his own International Studio. But McCay fathered animation on his own, independent of Hearst, while working for him.

Brisbane was known as a brilliant and persuasive essayist, and his editorials often ran full pages on the back of newspapers in the Hearst chain and beyond. He was Hearst’s right-hand man, and books reprinted his editorials. Yet when McCay’s cartoons accompanied Brisbane’s essays (which was more than any other cartoonist) McCay was the horse and Brisbane the cart. That is, it frequently was made clear that the day’s editorial agenda was set by McCay’s cartoon, to which Brisbane added comments.

… hardly the position of a poor cartoonist chained to his drawing board., the chattel of Massa Brisbane.

And when McCay returned to the Herald (then the Herald-Tribune), 1924-27 for yet another revival of Little Nemo color Sundays… he drew political cartoons again. For syndication. Daily. No record of a gun to his head.

No, Winsor McCay was a man of pronounced political and social views. He clearly relished the opportunity to expound his views, and he poured as much work into his political cartoons – detail, anatomy and perspective, sweeping concepts – as any other work he did in his remarkable career.

And this aspect of his career would be better known, and more honored, today, if not filtered through retroactive and politically correct lenses. His views consistently were anti-war, isolationist, nationalist, anti-immigration, and Christian. When he waxed philosophical, which was frequent, he was a cynical but moralistic old-fashioned preacher.

In 1914 when war broke out in Europe, Winsor McCay drew a black and white cross-hatched masterpiece for the anti-intervention New York American. Recently I discovered a painted version that appeared on the cover of CARTOONS Magazine that I restored and copyrighted, and will be issued as a poster.

Like all of McCay’s work – but no less than his strip, animation, or illustrations – it is part of his enduring legacy. And it speaks to us especially as we plan to vote.

103


Sunday, October 25, 2020

A Crowded Life in Comics –

 Pogo For President.


The 1956 campaign produced buttons almost as large as some of the candidates themselves.

Rick Marschall.

Politics has always been its own “character,” so to speak, in comic strips; an ever-present topic in times of trouble. Or “ever-president,” even. William McKinley visited Hogan’s Alley; Theodore Roosevelt wrestled Foxy Grandpa (and inspired the newspaper cartoon “The Roosevelt Bears”); Calvin Coolidge appeared in Mutt and Jeff; and so forth.

Ever since R F Outcault, many cartoonists have fallen back on presidents and politics and current events for daily gags or entire sequences. Garry Trudeau might be in the aluminum-siding business today if not for Nixon, Trump, and every president in between providing material.


The original strip that Walt Kelly sent me when I was a kid was from the immediate aftermath of Fremount the Bug’s losing campaign. The dialog deals with campaign “promises” (rather than pledges and commitments and other euphemisms), that have reentered the political discourse this year…

Presidents and politics were logical denizens of the funnies from jump street, not only Hogan’s Alley. Cartoon weeklies and newspaper comic sections ran political cartoons before sequential strips were codified, so the evolution was natural.

Even considering Al Capp, who eventually spanned the entire political horizon left to right in Li’l Abner, there was no strip cartoonist before our time who addressed politics more than Walt Kelly. Pogo trafficked in politics heavily (not quite a traffic jam, but occasionally supplanting regular settings and characters); Kelly made slight and sometimes subtle references; he caricatured politicians; he ignited controversy and publicity…

… and Pogo even ran for president. At least twice. In fact as many times as Harold Stassen or Joe Biden. In 1952 and 1956 the possum was a candidate, at least in syndicate PR campaigns beyond the strip. Citizens sported Pogo pinbacks. College campuses held Pogo for President rallies. TIME, Newsweek, and Life ran stories. In the next cycle, Pogo stepped aside as an Okefenokee bug named Fremount ran for the White House.



Walt Kelly made TV appearances with Eleanor Roosevelt in get-out-the-vote drives. 

In 1968 and 1972 actual candidates (not as actual humans, though) romped through the strip, superb caricatures of LBJ, George Wallace, and Spiro Agnew stealing the spotlight. Kelly had been a political cartoonist in the past – between animation and comics books and strip periods – and in his case, it was not evolution, but facilely switching hats. (I recently noted here that he was virtually the only cartoonist who worked in, and mastered, every cartooning genre of his day.)

So politics can provide humor. Even when dealing with grave matters. In that regard, it was from beyond the “grave” that Pogo delved into politics after the death of Walt Kelly. 

In 1980 Walt’s widow Selby worked with filmmakers who wanted a re-“run” of a presidential campaign. Rather than animation (Walt and Selby had met when they both worked at Disney) the production was stop-action in figures made of “Flexiform.” Walt had worked on TV animated cartoon with Chuck Jones shortly before he died, but this production, I Go Pogo – the Movie was all three-dimensional characters, props, and backgrounds.


A rare 8-sheet of the 1980 stop-cation movie I Go Pogo.

The actors who supplied voices in the productions formed a Who’s Who of great comedic talent and range: Jonathan Winters; Stan Freberg; Vincent Price; Arnold Stang; Ruth Buzzi;  Skip Hinnant (who played Schroeder in off-Broadway’s You’re a Good Man, Charlie Brown; and the voice of Bakshi’s Fritz the Cat); and even Kelly’s old New York drinking buddy, columnist Jimmy Breslin.

That was 40 years ago. Various publications and aspiring resurrections of the possum’s quadrennial pastime continued, and still might, for who-knows-how-many ever-lovin’ blue-eyed years.

Win or lose, right or wrong, left or right, it was appropriate that politics was an important component of Pogo’s world. After all, we always hear what a swamp the political game is.

   

102

Monday, October 19, 2020

A Crowded Life in Comics –

 

Bob Weber, 

Forever the Cartoon Fan.

Rick Marschall.

“A Crowded Life,” by definition, is a personal column. It shares personal memories about the most public of expressions, Cartoonists, Dik Browne once said to me, are curious creatures, choosing to live and work in solitude, yet presenting their conceptions of what what is funny, what is interesting, what is memorable, with the entire world. Cartoonists are, like many actors are, basically shy and private; yet they expose their work, their confidence in its acceptance, they expose themselves, to a world that might be waiting expectantly, or… ready to ignore or criticize.

Odd people, cartoonists: men and women who are pixie-dusted combinations of introversion and audacity.

I suspect these semi-philosophical thoughts, although somewhat pertinent this week, are a form of evasion. I have to address yesterday’s news, as I write: the death of Bob Weber. “All good things must come to an end”? I suppose that fits, but it doesn’t alleviate the grief. Bob embodied a lot of good things, and was good – a good cartoonist; a good friend; a good friend and teacher; a good father; he was even a good procrastinator, maybe the best in a profession rife with them.

He was always ready with a smile, a story, and a memory. He was always ready to go to lunch or dinner or midnight snack, not to much to eat as to fraternize. He never outgrew a child’s delight in discovering new cartoons (even if they were 120 years old), discussing styles, meeting and encouraging young artists. He was serious about being silly but – last but not at all least – he was a craftsman who cared about his work, the personality of his characters, the feelings of readers.

Bob taught cartooning at local libraries and schoolrooms in Baltimore and, later, Westport CT, and even the Smithsonian (despite always mangling the pronunciation of “Smithsonian”). He was generous in praise of other cartoonists; his favorite probably was John Gallagher. I have seen him recall Gallagher gag cartoons, possibly for the hundredth time, yet quake with laughter as if he first saw each one.

There were times – I think overlapping – when he would have his good friend (humanity’s good friend) Orlando Busino ghost some Moose dailies and Sundays… while Bob pitched in on his son’s own feature Comics For Kids: Slylock Fox and crew. Crazy merry-go-‘round? Sure! All cartooning, all fun.

Bob was a big, hulking guy well over six feet tall. A beetle brow and Elvis-like pompadour and duck-ass hair. He came from Baltimore, a modest family and a brother whose lifelong hobby was racing pigeons. He wanted me to ask Al Kaline, after I got to meet and sketch the Hall of Famer, if he remembered Bob from the high school they attended together, but Al died before I could.

When the cartooning bug overtook Bob he attended the School of Visual Art in New York City, I think while it was still Cartoonists and Illustrators, and I think with Orlando and with Jerry Marcus, lifelong friends. He submitted to The Saturday Evening Post and other outlets his heroes and friends did.

I began to describe Bob physically, which is a fun part of this task. He always kept the hair; and his outfits of huge buffalo-nickel belt buckles and good-old-boy string ties never were mothballed. In the toney artists community and celebrity-thick Westport CT, he… was one of a kind. What came with the package was a Southerner’s persona, unapologetic and joyful. I attended many country-music concerts with Bob and discussed endlessly our favorite songs and singers and critiques; he loved Merle Haggard but told me he regretted the line from “Big City,” Keep your retirement and your so-called So-cial Security. “Some people really need that,” he cried. Sometimes Bob and Jean, my wife Nancy and me, and Gill and Helen Fox, would spend evenings in country-western bars (yes, Westport had them).

One Saturday morning Bob called me, said he learned that bluegrass pioneer Mac Wiseman was playing at a country fair somewhere in mid-Connecticut that afternoon. That’s all it took – we drove up, spent a lot of time talking to Mac between his shows, and wound our way back home, drenched in Americana.

Part of the formula that made, or maintained, King Features Syndicate as a powerhouse in the 1950s and ‘60s, was Comic Editor’s Sylvan Byck’s idea to recruit gag cartoonists from the magazines’ golden age. Pick the pockets, so to speak, of the Saturday Evening Post and Collier’s, and let the panel cartoonists loose. Those “minor leagues,” and ad-agency cartoonists, swelled the pages of the funny papers.

One of the call-ups was Bob Weber, surely with some of the funniest drawings and funniest gags of the lot. Sylvan once told me that he thought King should have an “answer” to Hall Syndicate’s Andy Capp, and he thought Bob Weber was the perfect cartoonist to create a lovable American counterpart – not exactly industrious; a character who had friction with neighbors; a good heart. A perfect marriage, of cartoonist and creation, at least. Moose was a classic, as it morphed to Moose Miller its became less cliched and more human; finally, as Moose and Molly, it became warm and fuzzy – but also more surreal, as Moose’s unkempt yard sprouted chicken bones, fish heads, fried eggs, and stray cats.

Only in recent months, because of dwindling newspapers and Bob’s dwindling youth (he was 87) Moose and Bob retired, a sad good-bye we noted in these columns.

I had planned to write a few words and then pick my own pocket – cut-and-paste some of the stories and memories, many from these columns. But Bob Weber stories are many, even without repeating much. I will reprint some of the drawings from through the years. (Sometimes, even when he was tight on deadlines [always] and he knew we’d see each for lunch in a few days, he would send a clipping or news item – and invariably festoon the envelopes with bold and colorful real images and faux-promos for Moose.)

So I will share some of the artwork, which says more about Bob than any of my stories. I think the first time we met was at an early Comic Convention in New York City – Seuling’s I think; maybe at the Taft – and he was with Gill Fox. I was with a portfolio full of old artwork. Fast-forward from the ‘60s to recently, a lunch (of course) in Westport (of course) with Orlando Busino (of course) and some new friends like Sean Kelly.

I have referred to Bob’s son Bob Jr, whose ambition and success have, if anything, built upon his father’s, but whose sense of humor – and drawing style – are the old man’s. When Bob Jr and Lisa lived in Westport we would see each other not always in cartooning contexts; and Bob Jr accompanied me to men’s Bible studies and such. In the golden threads of life, the timeline from SatEvePost to Moose to Comics For Kids, and other creations of Bob Jr, is a solid one. Bob Weber’s legacy is not only countless magazine gags and decades of the Moose comic strip, but Bob Weber, Jr., his proudest legacy.

And a final observation about Bob Weber: this is the first time he ever has made any of us sad.

101



Friday, October 9, 2020

A Crowded Life in Comics –

Chi è quell'uomo?

Rick Marschall.

I have been blessed to participate in cartoon festivals, book fairs, and comic conventions around the world. The first for me was Lucca 13 in Tuscany, in1978. I was sent by Stan Lee to scout for artists and properties for the a-borning Epic Illustrated. The trip yielded results – for instance, a strip by Mirko Ilić, the Bosnian artist who subsequently became Art Director of The New York Times Op-Ed page; Art Director of TIME International; and is in MOMA’s permanent collection. And I negotiated Marvel properties with other publishers in Germany and Denmark.

But I returned to Lucca many times, sometimes as the American co-representative with David Pascal; then, often, solo on juries and as speaker; and later at Rinaldo Traini’s ExpoCartoon in Rome. I also attended, for visits, speeches, or awards, at Angouleme, Erlangen, Prague, Frankfurt, Bologna, and elsewhere. Comics + Travel (oh, + food + wine too) makes a Crowded Life easy to take.

A privilege was meeting the world’s greatest cartoonists through the years. I will chronicle Lucca here, especially, and Rinaldo Traini, when I gather my chicks: many stories to tell about this remarkable festival and its great Director. To come.

A lingering mystery is whether I was being watched at those festivals. Not spied upon – I am not paranoiac – but observed, sketched? My friends think so, unanimously about one instance, among the friends I ask.  But I don’t know…

One of the world’s great comic artists, the modest and urbane Italian Vittorio Giardino, is a master of artwork, and of storytelling, pacing, and dialog. His characters are genuine types and accessible. Vittorio’s scenarios are as mature as great novels of the ‘30s, and his graphic narration is on a par with the best movie-makers. As a designer, to use the European parlance, his artwork is realistic though slightly linear – to keep it as comic art – and his coloring employs stunning techniques; for instance, in night scenes, and the interplay of sunlight and shadows upon figures. In short, a master.

His characters have included the memorable and parodic Little Ego; the pre-War risk-taker Max Fridman; the detective Sam Pezzo; and Jonas Fink, a 1950s counterpart of Fridman, a Jew in Communist Prague.

Vittorio has also created uncountable shorter tales for magazines, some purely episodic and with characters exclusive to those stories alone. And that returns us to this column’s “mystery” mentioned above.

One year at Lucca, Vittorio presented me with an album of his work, the lavish paperback (with double-wraparound cover of a beautiful women in a gondola in Venice), entitled Vacances Fatales (this was the French reprint).

I was not familiar with any of the stories, all of which had appeared in European monthly comic magazines, so I eagerly feasted back in my hotel room that night. The rest of this tale is completely subjective, told only from my point of view. I report; you decide.

Two of the stories featured characters that looked very much like the guy I knew from many mornings, in the mirror as I shaved. The same lurking double chin; the same beard; the same Western boots that I favored at the time (and Italians infrequently did); even, in one story, a professorial tweed jacket with leather patches on the elbows (I was, ahem, a teacher at the School of Visual Arts at the time). A pretentious scarf. Even my dopey little nose. One story had a spot-on setting, without identification, of beautiful Lucca in Autumn, atop the ancient walls.

Mostly flattered, I found Vittorio the next day, thanked him, and quickly asked – too quickly – why he had “me” killed in each story. More than that, “I” was a skunk and enjoyed sex and some gun-play and fist-fights in each story before justice was served.

If I hadn’t asked so quickly, I might have received a different response, which seemed to me a somewhat nervous denial that I inspired either character. So I accept Vittorio’s eye-blinking protestations of innocence... and have been disappointed at the Official Version ever since. Friends “see” me, and I was ready to be flattered… up to the point of being unable to share the stories with my grandchildren!

Well, I’ll share some panels, and let the jury decide. I also dug out a couple photos of me from the approximate era. One with Bosnian publisher Ervin Rustemagic at the Frankfurt Book Fair, pranking about some forgotten money matter; and one with Virginia Davis, the “Alice” of Disney’s pre-Mickey cartoons (I brought her to Lucca one year), and friend Jassanne Wallace, then of the Circle Galleries.

Compare. Maybe, of course, I am fooling – or flattering – myself. If you don’t see any resemblances, then you at least have some glorious comic artwork by Vittorio Giardino to enjoy. And that’s never a bad thing, in any language, even when the protagonist gets killed... 


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Thursday, October 8, 2020

Behind the Scenes –


Tour of the Billy Ireland Cartoon Library & Museum


Thanks to Huib van Opstal


Sunday, October 4, 2020

A Crowded Life in Comics –

 The Best Of the West.


Rick Marschall.

My good friend Ferd Johnson, about whom I will write copiously here was a talented and funny cartoonist, who began assisting on Moon Mullins while his bullpen pal at the Chicago Tribune was still assisting Sidney Smith on The Gumps. Ferd was a working cartoonist before Little Orphan Annie was even created. Walking history when I knew him in the 1970s and ‘80s.

And his own strip, signed and full-page color Sunday, commenced about the same time as Annie. And that leads to this “Crowded Life” account. Ferd told me that Captain Patterson, owner of the Daily News, had an abiding belief among his myriad instincts about comics, that a Western strip would be a big hit. 

Potential “hit” or not, he had faith in the theme, and its inclusion among the News comics. So Ferd Johnson created Texas Slim. It was quite a funny strip, well drawn, full of broad visual humor and colorful characters and… resembling Moon Mullins out West. Logically.

When Ferd’s duties assisting Frank Willard on Moon grew too time-consuming – traveling around the country, inking while the boss golfed and drank – he gave up Texas Slim. (By the way, Willard often partied and golfed with Billy DeBeck and George McManus, so Ferd bonded with their assistants Fred Lasswell and Zeke Zekely, respectively.)

This Western obsession also explains the introduction of the classic White Boy / Skull Valley by Garrett Price, who returned to the Trib, where he was a member of the art staff in the late ‘teens.

The Trib experimented with a comic-book sized insert in the 1940s, and Patterson wanted Texas Slim revived; and Ferd did a great job with it. The Western theme still echoed in the corridors of Tribune Tower and another Western strip was launched – Vesta West

The only cause of Slim’s ultimate demise was the demise of Frank Willard… and Ferd was obliged to devote 100 per cent of his time on Moon Mullins.

I hope this has not seemed like a meandering calf needing to be lassoed and roped. The point of the Sagebrush Saga was told to me by Ferd Johnson. When Slim ended, the syndicate still wanted a Western strip in its “stable,” so to speak. 

By serendipity, a young cartoonist from Montana had just submitted samples – well-drawn, funny, and redolent of authenticity – of a cowboy strip. Ferd was not sure whether Stan Lynde ever knew about the coincidences… but that is how Rick O’Shay was born in the late 1950s (a time when TV Westerns were the rage, one season seeing more than 30 cowboys shows on the networks… a fact that did not hurt Stan’s chances, either).

Stan Lynde (whose name rhymed with “lined,” unlike the comedian Paul Lynde) built the strip around the young and somewhat naive sheriff Rick O’Shay; a diamond-in-the-rough gunslinger Hipshot, and side characters like the pretty saloon hostess Gaye Abandon.

My interactions with Stan were relatively often; however – like chapters in a Saturday morning serial – spread apart by intervening years.

When I was about 10 I wrote a fan letter, and Stan generously responded with a nice note and sketch; cherished, always tacked to my wall during high school years.

In 1961, Only around 12 years old, I attended my first National Cartoonists Society meeting, the guest of Al (Mutt and Jeff) Smith. In those days the monthly meeting in Manhattan were elaborate affairs, well attended, with entertainment and featuring a “Shop Talk,” where cartoonists from out of town, or perhaps celebrities who had something interesting to share, would speak and be interviewed. 

At that “inaugural” meeting of mine, Stan Lynde, “creator of that terrific new cowboy strip Rick O’Shay, and a living, breathing cowboy himself,” was the guest at the Shop Talk. He was gracious enough to spend one-on-one with me that evening, and we began a friendship that continued via the Pony Express, or its modern equivalent.

About a dozen years later I became Stan’s editor at the New York News – Chicago Tribune Syndicate. By then – bucking the trend in newspaper strips – the daily Rick O’Shay had evolved from being a humor strip, to a continuity and adventure strip. This reflected Stan’s literary development, intrigued by deeper narratives, serious conflicts, and characters with faceted personalities. He employed violence and emotional dilemmas; rough then, too rough for sissy editors and readers today. Good! but edgy. 

Stan’s art grew more sophisticated too; more realistic. Occasionally, in his efforts at exactitude, he would draw hands with six fingers or figures with two right hands. Such times gave me extra excuses to call his studio.

But attrition – lost papers – was ambushing Rick O’Shay. After I left the syndicate, so did he. After a dispute with his syndicate chiefs, he left, and Rick O’Shay was given to Alfredo Alcala to draw, 

I had moved on to be Comics Editor at Field Newspaper Syndicate in Chicago. Stan had new projects in mind, and many fans will recall his Latigo strip. I could not convince the dunce of a syndicate president, Dick Sherry, to consider Stan’s work while I was there. The sales staff loved it, and around 1970 it bought Latigo. And never promoted it much.

Subsequently I tried my hand at being an agent – taking strips to syndicates, sometimes helping to develop properties, and in the course of that work, and my contacts with European publishers – and Stan asked if I would show his work around. I did, through the offices of Edward J Keating, the legendary sport agent of Cleveland. I forget how he knew Stan (I think he owned a ranch in Montana), but we “schemed” the best we could to get a major publisher, a major syndicate, a major magazine to pick up Stan’s work, old or new. It was exceedingly frustrating.

It was during these years, I believe, that Stan found Jesus in a personal and powerful way, and forever after as a born-again believer, his faith animated his work as much as sagebrush and Western skies and cottonwood (he launched his own publishing imprint for books and graphics named Cottonwood).

So many of our conversations, and some hours spent I think in 1982 at San Diego Comicon, we talked about faith as much as about comics. I was writing books then, in a variety of fields, and Stan was to write, and not only draw, too – a series of respected fiction that is often compared favorably to Louis Lamour. 

Eventually, in a pattern that mirrors the success of Spaghetti Westerns, Stan Lynde’s work found a more receptive home in Europe. Especially in Scandinavia did his work appear in great variety… and longevity: his reprinted work still appears in journals.

In person, Stan was a plausible cowboy, a Gary Cooper type, the strong and silent stereotype. He died in 2013, aged 81. By then a respected painter and novelist – and, always, a strip cartoonist – I don’t know if he died “with his boots on,” or even at the drawing board. But if you can’t picture those scenarios… well, smile when you say that.


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