When weekends are over, we (most of us) get back to work, or think of it. Some of us who freelance write or draw feel like weekends and weekdays are of one demanding sort. Think of cartoonists who draw newspaper strips. Until recently, words like "vacations," "hiatus," and "reprints" were not in their lexicons. (In fact, even "lexicon" was not in many of their lexicons.") More likely, "primal scream" was a term that tempted them.
So I will inaugurate a regular feature in Yesterday's Papers showing cartoonists at their drawing boards. In fact, here and in the imminent revival of NEMO Magazine, I will compile a different sort of trip through comics history -- a chronological compilation of informal photos and snapshots of cartoonists (that is, not promotional photos), sharing what they were like as "normal" (ha) folks; and weaving the narration of comics' growth as an art form. My good friends and great collectors (or vice-versa) Ivan Briggs and Jim Engel will collaborate.
The first subject is almost ironic, for Bud Fisher (Mutt and Jeff) was famous for hardly lifting a pen after the very first years of his strip... except when endorsing royalty checks. Many cartoonists have had assistants; and some abandoned their drawing boards early in their long careers (I will present the case Ron Goulart and I made that Alfred Andriola could barely draw at all, for instance).
Anyway, Bud Fisher was the first major strip cartoonist to employ ghost artists (separate from assistants, which was a rare thing anyway before 1907, when Mutt had his debut). Ken Kling, who later drew Joe and Asbestos, worked for Fisher; C W Kahles ghosted some licensing and ancillary items. Some folks believe that George Herriman subbed for Fisher, but during the few years they worked together Herriman was too big of a "name" to have pitched in anonymously on another strip; it was more likely that Fisher saw another style to swipe. Bill Blackbeard claimed that Billy Liverpool lent a hand, but with no evidence, certainly not in their drawing styles (typically and unfortunately -- for his assertion has made into history books) he admitted under pressure that "Billy Liverpool" was marvelous name that should be enshrined. Trust but verify...
What is true is that around 1916, Fisher hired the B-Team Hearst cartoonist Ed Mack. And Mack thereafter drew virtually every image of Mutt and Jeff -- strips, reprint books, toys and games, ads, merchandise, licensed products -- until 1933. At that point, Al Smith took over the strip 100 per cent. Al (the first cartoonist I ever met, when I was 10 years old; he attended our church, and filled in a lot of history for me) only signed the strip after Fisher's death in 1954.
So... it could be that a photograph of Bud Fisher at a drawing board is a rare thing, or an image of a rare event.
Showing posts with label Al Smith. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Al Smith. Show all posts
Monday, September 16, 2024
CARTOONISTS AT WORK - Bud Fisher
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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Wednesday, December 26, 2018
Sunday, November 4, 2018
A Crowded Life in Comics – National Cartoonists Society
Rick Marschall
My One Evening As the NCS Attorney
| CARTOONIST SKETCHES - NCS poster for RM 1961 |
::
| Rick Marschall & Conan O'Brien, TRA Symposium |
We
all know that comedians like Conan are always kidding, and historians like me
are always desperate for attention, hence this shameless self-promotion. I
returned from New York with a deadly head cold, but actually I think it was a
swelled head. Hashtag-Confession-Is-Good-For-The-Soul.
Back
to the past. October 25 will always be preeminent in my mind because it was the
date, in 1961, of the first National Cartoonists Society meeting I attended. I
was 12, and Al Smith invited me. He was the artist of Mutt and Jeff,
lived in Demarest NJ, the next town from ours, and briefly attended our
Lutheran church. I always suspected that he was chased away by the pastor’s
requests for drawings for church publications and posters, but anyways he
introduced the young cartooning nut, me, to the legendary cartoonist in the
fullness of time.
I
subsequently visited Al enough times, seeking drawing tips and peppering him
with questions about comics history, that he was convinced I was some sort of
true-blue aspirant, or little freak, or something in-between, safe enough to be
exposed to the pros. Or vice-versa.
He
picked me up early in the afternoon because, as NCS Treasurer, his attendance
was required at the Board meeting before drinks and dinner. The monthly meeting
was as big as any other chapters’ around the country, because New York, New
Jersey, Connecticut, and Long Island was still the nexus of American
cartooning. The meetings were held in the Lambs Club, ancient and old-world
elegant clubhouse of the legendary actors’ association. Wood-paneled rooms,
overstuffed leather chairs, and cigar smoke presented me a picture of Heaven;
several old actors (I believe I spotted Brian Aherne) snoozed in easy chairs
and corner sofas.
| Al Hirschfeld, Algonquin Round Table |
The Lambs dignified clubhouse is on East 44th Street – and in a pleasant coincidence, the Harvard Club is on the same block, and that where the Theodore Roosevelt Association met, and I delivered my speech almost exactly 57 (gulp) years later. The Algonquin Hotel and Restaurant – home to many celebrities in ages past, and bon mots first uttered at the Round Table – and I lunched there last week too, a matter of obeisance. Holy ground, West 44th Street.
Al Smith took me up to a meeting room in an otherwise dark upper
floor, and one by one Board members filtered in. Emerging from the darkness was
a white head with absurdly large ears and a large cigar to match. I knew it was
Rube Goldberg and I felt in the presence of royalty. He was kind enough to
engage me in conversation, and spontaneously invited me to visit his studio off
Central Park, when and if (as if not!) I could make it back to Manhattan.
Before the evening was over, he asked for my address, if (as if not!) I would
like an original drawing. Before the week was out I received an inscribed Inventions
and Mike and Ike from the ‘teens.
One of the agenda items for the Board meeting was to meet, or vet,
a new legal representative for the NCS. He never showed, so for the remainder
of the Board meeting, and the entire dinner and program downstairs, I
repeatedly was introduced as the New Lawyer. I sat on the dais for the dinner, between
Al Smith and Dik Browne. I watched Dik, later a great friend who attended my
wedding, for clues on dinner etiquette… but eventually noticed he didn’t touch
his food. I gobbled my salad, and don’t remember whether he actually ate or
not.
| Bill Holman |
Meetings in those days – I wound up attending a fair number of
meetings till I went off to college, the guest of Al, again, and Harry
Hershfield, Vern Greene, and others – featured “Shop Talks,” which were panel
discussions rather sophisticated. Business and tax topics, cartoon history,
interviews, were fodder of the excellent sessions. I think Jerry Robinson
conducted them; and I think Stan Lynde was the guest that evening.
Many cartoonists were stewed to the gills, a rite of passage in
those days. I somehow knew that would be the case (hence my prepared Bob Dunn
pun). I was unable to have a rational conversation with Walt Kelly, for
instance, despite hopes to engage him about T S Sullivant (what a ridiculous
scene, actually); on the other hand I was an impromptu audience for one of the
funniest men I ever met, Al Kilgore.
I met Mell Lazarus and Mort Walker and Jay Irving and Irwin Hasen
and Allen Saunders and legends like Frank Fogarty and editorial and sports
cartoonists I admired. And – as much of a legend as Rube – the iconic cartoonist,
illustrator, designer, muralist Russell Patterson. Like a face from Mount
Rushmore, with longish silver hair (then marking men as actors or artists) and
clipped moustache.
| Al Smith, flanked by Mac Miller and Fred Waring, holding the NCS self-caricature jam. |
After dinner Al Smith unrolled a large sheet of Strathmore. Back
in his studio he had inscribed greetings to “the Richard Marshall Comics Club,”
a weekly gathering of my friends who liked to draw. And at the bottom he drew
Mutt and Jeff saying “Carry on, m’lads! The future of NCS may one day rest in
your hands!” Among the cartoonists who signed and drew their characters (or
caricatures of me) were Holman, Greene, Patterson, Saunders, Fogarty, Irving,
Hasen, Lynde, Mell, and Dunn; and Jack Tippit, Bill Lignante, Bill Crawford,
John Pierotti, Al Liederman, Jack Rosen, John Lehti, Matt Murphy, Mac Miller,
Irma Selz, and Tom Gill.
I could have floated home, but Al Smith drove me through the late
night out of Manhattan, over the George Washington Bridge, and along Route 9W
to my house. My parents had waited up, of course; and I think their best
anniversary present ever was seeing that poster and hearing my stories. My
father was a lifelong comics fan, and he ate up the stories about some of his
own favorite names.
Eventually many of these cartoonists became better friends; others
besides Dik attending my wedding; and I became Comics Editor to more than a few
at three syndicates several years later. In a “crowded life” in comics… that
October 25th was one crowded evening.
::
14
Friday, August 31, 2018
A Crowded Life in Comics – The Great Severins, John and Marie
| —sketch by John Severin— |
by Rick Marschall
I was startled and saddened by the news of this morning, as I write this, that Marie Severin has died. Bagpipes and eulogies all day in the background for John McCain’s funeral, but my mind was filled with memories of Marie, 89, who had been sick, a stroke victim in hospice; and of her brother John Severin.
They were each two of the most talented people to work in comics, especially during that sub-category of the Golden Age, the EC years, the shop assembled by Bill Gaines. John’s work at MAD and Cracked, and Marie at Marvel whilst I was editor there – and the other work they did – are superlatives matched by their personalities.
By nature, in a field populated by a few nasty graspers, they were the nicest people imaginable: friendly, generous, modest.
John I met and became friendly in another of my odd Forrest Gump situations. I grew up in suburban Closter NJ, where the woods (actually, I mean New York City and its suburbs) were full o’ cartoonists. Al Smith (Mutt and Jeff) briefly attended our little church; later I delivered the (Bergen County) Record to his house in Demarest. He introduced me to his sometime assistant Joe Dennett (Al was never really happy with Joe’s work, and he moved on to Harvey Comics), and one day Joe asked me if I knew John Severin.
Of course I knew Severin’s work, but nothing else. Joe told me he lived in Norwood, the other end of his own town. I stink at math, but I put two and two together, remembering that some friends had been talking about a storefront in Harrington Park – another neighboring little town – where they suspected that a cartoonist worked!
| —Robin Hood, 1964— |
He must have been a grouch, or a hermit, because the curtains were always closed. But they peeked in and saw a studio, and a man at a drawing board. The next day I rode my bike there (I was still too young to have a driver’s license), knocked on the door – recalling the Frank Stockton story “The Lady or the Tiger?” – and knocked again. I could tell someone was inside… and he probably was hesitating to respond to Outsiders.
Well, he did. John Severin opened the door. A large presence. Not unfriendly but not effusive. I introduced myself; said I would like to meet him; and I had some of my sketches… would he mind looking at them?
He invited me in, and the ice was broken very quickly. John was not in any way a hermit, but he was very shy. He was not unfriendly, but he was a private person. He was not impatient… not at all. He was very gracious that first day, and we talked for a couple hours. There was never a short visit thereafter with John. No matter what his deadlines.
Pretty quickly he assessed me as someone who knew, and could talk about, comics old and new. He had a lot of books on his shelves, and I remember he was surprised that I knew Heinrich Kley’s work… but I had never seen the editions John had, two 1920s volumes published in Munich. And so forth.
He rented that studio – or old strip-mall space cum studio – to work in peace. His house in Norwood was not large… and neither was his family.
I visited John for years, especially when I had a car to drive, and we talked about everything under the sun. He indeed critiqued my drawings. I still have sketches of hands in many configurations – many artists avoid drawing hands; but John loved to. He borrowed a lot of the old material I collected (as did other cartoonists I was getting to know).
One day he gave me a sketch he did of “Sean of Ireland,” intended (?) as a parody of Prince Valiant for MAD. I think it never took shape, but the character is terrific.
| —Kull the Conqueror, 1964— |
He eventually, or actually in “chapters” of chats, told me why he left the EC crew and MAD. The reasons have never been in histories or interviews with him or others; and never will be. The same with the real reason John, rather abruptly, moved to Colorado. Some humor in the telling… but a lot of sincerely held motivations to leave the East Coast.
We talked politics, a lot, as one of the subjects “under the sun.” John was possibly more right-wing than I was… as was Marie, who we will visit in a moment. He was a devoted Catholic, I think I recall one of the dissidents against Vatican II and the abandonment of the Latin Mass. I can share one aspect of his move to Colorado (which was a state he did not know but struck him as “sane”). His children, of course, all went to Catholic school; and one day he vented to me about the nuns (probably lay teachers) wearing mini-skirts (probably a touch of hyperbole). He would not leave the Church, but he left the East Coast.
I was surprised, almost, that he didn’t move next to a monastery in France or Italy.
When I went off to college he told me about a special “hello” he would send me from afar. John was happily excited that I joined Young Americans for Freedom (YAF), the college youth group founded by William F Buckley. Oh, he wanted to know everything and encourage us all he could. I had a job at the national headquarters in Washington DC, and eventually was State Chairman there and back in New Jersey. John asked me to look out for a coming cover of Cracked Magazine.
One day I saw it: a bunch of gnat-infested hippies, deliriously playing “music,” the magazine’s iconic Sylvester P Smythe playing a musical saw. There, on a huge bass drum, was the band’s name – Yancey’s Appalachian Flukes… YAF!
| —Cracked— |
I was likely the only kid on the continent who understood that. And also maybe the only kid to buy up every copy, probably, in Washington DC. John told me to contact Bob Sproul, publisher, and ask for the original painting.
After graduation, John was in Denver, and our contact was mainly through Christmas cards, although when I was at Marvel (late 1970s) I tried to lure him to the magazine department. “Been there, done that.” I did give work to other heroes not from the bullpen – Lee Elias; Jack Sparling; Frank Bolle; Tex Blaisdell; Leonard Starr… I think. Chad Grothkopf, of all people, lobbied for assignments (unsuccessfully of course; but he was my first landlord after I married, so I was patient with him). I even had Burne Hogarth in to the office; that might have been interesting! I must rattle my brain better.
❉
But, segue. Marie Severin was in the bullpen, in her own little office, then specializing in designing (pencil roughs) covers, and their coloring. We became fast friends too – in the Severin DNA evidently: the nicest person; no oversized ego; generous. Funny! Always laughing, and easy to amuse. Conservative? Oh, yes. We also talked for hours, and would go out for lunch. A lot.
One thing that impressed me, and I thought was… unusual, anyway. Brothers and sisters often look alike, naturally, even when not twins. But John and Marie could have traded roles. Different hair or hairpieces; adjusted vocal registers, and they were alike in every detail – little things like the tic of a brief eye-roll after blinking. Or starting laughs silently, then wheezing, then loudly. It was almost uncanny.
One thing that impressed me, and I thought was… unusual, anyway. Brothers and sisters often look alike, naturally, even when not twins. But John and Marie could have traded roles. Different hair or hairpieces; adjusted vocal registers, and they were alike in every detail – little things like the tic of a brief eye-roll after blinking. Or starting laughs silently, then wheezing, then loudly. It was almost uncanny.
And, of course, their drawing styles, especially the manner of inking, were very close. That is easier to understand or explain, than the rest… I never really stopped noticing.
| —Varmint!— |
Marie always flattered me by liking, and tacking to her walls, caricatures I did. My assistant Ralph Macchio, too, festooned his side of our own two-desk domain with the foolscap impromptu drawings – Shooter (living dangerously); Mark Gruenwald; Roger Stern; Doug Moench; Roger Slifer; the whole Marvel universe, really. Ralph and I both did impressions – he is a master – so life in the Magazine Department was often like dropping in to Rodney Dangerfield’s.
I once drew Mary deZuniga, the wife and constant companion on office visits of Tony, about one-seventh her size. I must have nailed it, at least in Sev’s eyes, because for months, randomly, she would come to my desk with that portrait in hand, laughing uncontrollably.
That reception, from a person and a cartoonist like Marie Severin, was better than winning an Oscar or Reuben.
Speaking of Reubens. And drawings. Marie and I often went to lunch; sometimes alone, often with Ralph and others. I have a sketch here she drew back in the office after a long meal at Pronto’s on Third Avenue. Evidently I hogged the water, and she drew me, a young John Romita Jr – “JR Square,” Gruenwald called him – and herself, always with those big eyes. We exchanged many such sketches – love letters – for a long time.
Another drawing, here, she gave me as a Bon Voyage card. EPIC Magazine was in the works, and Stan Lee deputized me to go to Europe to scout for artists. I attended the Lucca convention, then traveled up through France, Germany, Scandinavia. In 1978 Italy was in political turmoil. Well, it always is. I mean violent political turmoil. In the south, the Mafia was killing prominent politicians, and everyday merchants, at will. In the north, the Red Brigades and other Communist clubs were targeting politicians and businessmen, also frequently at random. You know, terrorism. “Kneecapping” – shooting people in their knees – was their preferred tool of persuasion for a season.
| —sketch by Marie Severin— |
It was all in the news – of course – and inaugurated the policy that still survives here and there in Europe, of soldiers with Uzis at airports and train stations. Knowing all this, and discussing it all, Marie set my mind at ease (and my young wife’s) by depicting me with cartoonist contracts in hand, happily shouting huzzahs on bloody stumps. Grazie bene, Marie! Of course I proudly displayed it on my side of the office… after I returned safely.
John and Marie were “artists’ artists” – they seemingly could draw anything. At any angle. With crazy instructions. John had reference for those Cracked parodies of movies and TV stars, of course; but always nailed ‘em. Everyone knows he loved Westerns and War comics – Civil War, World War II, whatever. Drama; emotions; yeah, testosterone. When called for. The humor, for MAD and Cracked, oozed from every panel.
| —sketch by Marie Severin— |
| —Robin Hood!— |
And Marie? Very similar. Whether coloring and bullpen work for EC; and coloring, bullpen work, designing logos and licensing assignments for Marvel… everything. All things. Masterfully. Both Severins were ready with generous advice. Marie brainstormed with me on the title, as well as logo possibilities, when EPIC was initially discussed. (Oddly, the names we came up with – some as silly logo designs, never serious – have made into some histories as actual working titles. I still have our work-sheets.)
Almost half of Gary Groth’s great book on the Artists of EC is an interview with John Severin. Kurtzman, Wood, Elder, et al., occupy the rest. That is appropriate, and there needs to be due notice taken of John and Marie Severin. John’s modest personality comes through – as does the voice, in the background, of his wife! – but as I suggested above, some of the most interesting aspects of his life will likely never be shared.
| —American Eagle— |
No matter, that small detail: one great thing about cartooning – all art, really – is that the work speaks for itself. We know that aphorism. But ultimately it speaks for the creators too, as words cannot, fully. Memories are great, but need to be shared.
❉
6
Monday, August 27, 2018
A Crowded Life in Comics – Al Smith, Jack Dempsey, John Cullen Murphy
Two Champs
by Rick Marschall
Still back in Old Testament days, so to speak, I remember Christmastide 1973. The National Cartoonists Society New York chapter for all intents and purposes was the NCS back then, in terms of number of members and activities, Orlando and northern Ohio and southern California notwithstanding.by Rick Marschall
There were monthly meetings in the Lamb’s Club, with first-rate panel discussions; the annual Reuben awards festivities invariably were at the Plaza or the Waldorf-Astoria; the officers, workers (for instance, editors of the publications), and the “Scribe” who held us all together, all were New Yorkers; Marge Duffy Devine was a former King Features employee. Many “outside” events were still “close in” to New York City – for instance, the annual bash hosted by legendary bandleader Fred Waring was at his Shawnee Country Club… on the New Jersey/ Pennsylvania border.
(Fred, by the way, whose big band Fred Waring and the Pennsylvanians was a middle-level success on stage and in recordings. But his tinkering hobby led him to invent the Waring Blender – the first of kitchen devices of electric mixers, blenders, food processors – and made his real fortune. He could afford to throw the generous cartoonist weekends. Drawings on easels, especially on tablecloths, were saved by Fred and framed and eventually displayed.)
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One of those traditional and oh-so-New-York events was the annual NCS Christmas party at Mama Leone’s, the legendary Italian eatery in the Theater District. The year I recall here was 1973, even before I worked for any of the syndicates, but I had become a familiar face; and I was the political cartoonist for the Connecticut Herald. I think I was also writing for Cartoonist PROfiles and other publications.
| |
| |
| took the heavyweight championship from Jess Willard |
He was heavyweight champion of the world from 1919 to 1926 (and some say still the greatest) – a bygone era? Yet here he was in our midst. To me this was like strolling around Mount Olympus. Jack was always friendly and happy to recall old times, old boxers, and… old sports cartoonists, which I managed to ask about, despite the hubbub and singing and drinking and the usual boy’s choir from St Pancras Church and their Christmas carols.
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| —Jack Dempsey and John Cullen Murphy at a National Cartoonists Society party— |
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