A Thurber Two-fer

Thurber:mash-up As we move closer to the anniversary of James Thurber’s birthday — he was born  December 8, 1894 — I’ve been spending a little more time hanging out with our Thurber books. Here’s a great addition to any Thurber collection, published in 1936 by Blue Ribbon Books (a New York City publishing house once located at 386 Fourth Avenue). As you can tell by the cover, it combines Thurber’s masterpiece,  My Life and Hard Times (originally published by Harper & Brothers in 1933) with The Owl in the Attic (originally published by Harper & Brothers in 1931). I’m tempted to say that if you have this book and the Thurber Carnival that’s all the Thurber you’ll ever need. I’d say it, but it would be a dumb thing to say.

Cartoon Life 50 Years Ago: New Yorker Cartoonists’ Paperback Collections

Fradon:Breaking the Laugh BarrierBefore my recent interview with Dana Fradon, I did some research — as much as the internet allowed, which wasn’t a heck of a lot — and ran into this first collection of his from 1961. My copy arrived today — the pages yellowed and stiff, but the early ’60s humor intact (over on Mike Lynch’s site you’ll find a scan of the cover and a few cartoons from Mr. Fradon’s second paperback collection, My Son the Medicine Man). I really like these New Yorker cartoonists’  paperbacks — especially when they are original collections and not just the standard reprinting of a hardcover published a year or so earlier. There are a few posted on Ink Spill‘s From the Attic” section, including Al Ross‘s Bums vrs Billionaires. This was probably the closest thing the late Mr. Ross had to a cartoon collection (he also authored Sexcapades and Cartooning Fundamentals, but neither were purely cartoon collections).

 

 

Mischa Richter had a number of these paperbacks as well.  The Ink Spill library has just one (not included yet in the “From the Attic” section): Strictly Doctors (Pocket Books, 1963). Mr. Richter authored  at least two other mass paperbacks The Man on the Couch (Pocket Book, 1958) and Keeping Women in Line (Avon, 1954). The latter seems to be an original collection (it says so right on the cover).Richter: Keeping Women

 

 

 

 

 

 

A Whitney Darrow, Jr. paperback from the late 1940s, Hold It, Florence, is a mash-up of two Darrow collections, You’re Sitting on My Eyelashes and Please Pass the Hostess. 177-1

These little brittle gems are easy to come by online, but it’s always more fun when they show up in a used bookstore wedged between ancient Peanuts collections. There’s a wagon load of un-PC content in some of these books, but considering them as archeological dig finds, they tell us perhaps what we already knew or suspected cartoon life was like half a century ago.

 

Addendum: I did more looking online for New Yorker cartoonist paperback collections (post-war through the early 1960s) and found just one more that may or may not be an original collection: Starke Staring by Leslie Starke, published in 1955.

Starke Staring

 

 

 

New Yorker Cartoons of the Year 2013 plus Index

Cartoons o the year 2013

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The New Yorker‘s Cartoons of the Year 2013 is out today.  It features more features than the previous three installments — it says as much right there along the top of the cover. There are indeed more “features” with a number of single page contributions (Bob Eckstein, Drew Dernavich) as well double page graphic spreads as in past years (one by Zachary Kanin, one by Ben Schwartz, and another by Shannon Wheeler).  The magazine’s “Daily Cartoonists” have their say as well, commenting on the months they toiled to provide fresh material each day.  And finally, Bob Mankoff tells us how to win the magazine’s caption contest (oh, and Ink Spill makes an appearance with a look at its One Club).

Only the first Cartoons of the Year, in 2010, provided an IndexInk Spill has provided an Index for each year since.  Below is the Index for the 2013 collection:

 

Index of Cartoonists

 

Charles Barsotti 7, 10, 12, 51, 125

Harry Bliss 11, 14, 17, 31, 135

David Borchart 94, 101

Roz Chast 28, 36, 39, 88, 94, 131, 144

Tom Cheney 17, 52, 55, 78, 85

Mr. Colby as part of The One and Done Club feature (p.111)

Frank Cotham 9, 10, 18, 87, 99, 131, 136

Michael Crawford 49, 115

Joe Dator 33, 66, 84, 97, 101, 114

Sal Davenport as part of The One and Done Club feature (p.111)

Drew Dernavich 74, 105, 106, 115, feature: The Engraver (p. 142).

Matthew Diffee (cover, repeated on p. 62), 37, 68

Liza Donnelly 41, 83

J. C. Duffy 59

Bob Eckstein / feature: Family Holiday Pain Chart (p.27),  35,  87 (w/Adam Corolla), 130

Emily Flake / as part of the Daily Cartoon feature (p.46), 72, 100,

Alex Gregory 63, 113, 132

Milt Gross as part of The One and Done Club feature (p.110)

Sam Gross 69

William Haefeli 16, 25, 30, 34, 96, 116

Kaamran Hafeez 33, 34, 37, 50, 65, 95, 120

Sidney Harris 137

Trevor Hoey 81

Amy Hwang 89

Carolita Johnson 38, 76, 116

Zachary Kanin 48, feature: Robots: The Future of Cartooning? (pages 56-57), 75, 89, 103, 107, 108

Bruce Eric Kaplan 15, 21, 76, 113, 117

Paul Karasik 32

Farley Katz 50, 52, 63, 104, 109

Ted (Hazel) Key as part of The One and Done Club feature (p. 111)

B. Kliban  as part of The One and Done Club feature (p.110)

John Klossner 97

Edward Koren 98, 112

Ken Krimstein 80

Robert Leighton 23, 53, 93, 123

Eric Lewis 88, 92, 109

Lee Lorenz 25, 133

Robert Mankoff 54, 61, 119, 122, feature: How to “Win” the New Yorker Cartoon Caption Contest (pages 138 – 141)

Michael Maslin /  feature: The One and Done Club (pages 110 – 111), 121

Bill Mauldin as part of The One and Done Club feature (p.111)

Ariel  Molvig 82, 100

Paul Noth 9, 15, 32, 40, 60, 93, 118, 121, 127, 129, 134

John O’Brien 47

Jason Patterson 84

Victoria Roberts 24, 104

Benjamin Schwartz 30, 64, 79, feature: Dr. Strangetoon (pages 90 – 91), 102

Danny Shanahan 7, 21, 24, 41, as part of the Daily Cartoon feature (p. 43), 65, 66, 74, 125

Michael Shaw 98

Dink Siegel as part of The One and Done Club feature (p.111)

David Sipress 8, 18, 41, as part of the Daily Cartoon feature (p.42), 59, 75, 80, 86, 88, 103, 116, 128, 132, 136, 137

Barbara Smaller 17, 26, 31, 36, 38, 53

Edward Steed 5, 73, 78, 81 (a repeat of drawing on p.5), 120

Mick Stevens 53, 61, 67

Ward Sutton 58

Tom Toro 12, 20, 51, 64, 69, 74, 99, 119, 122

Mike Twohy 20, 22, 39,  as part of the Daily Cartoon feature (p.45), 48, 124, 126, 130, 134

P.C. Vey 29, 38, 49, 54, 108, 114, 126

Liam Walsh 23, 29, 77, 106

Kim Warp 116

Christopher Weyant 14, 16, 19, 21, 22, 24, 26, as part of the Daily Cartoon feature (p. 44), 124,  129, 133

Shannon Wheeler 6, 60, feature: Wheelering and Dealering at Comic Con (pages 70 –71),

Gahan Wilson 8

Jack Ziegler 11, 13, 73, 79, 83, 86, 105

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Harold Ross’s Last Cartoonist: Dana Fradon

Fradon:Antic

 

 

By the late 1940s, Harold Ross, The New Yorker’s legendary founder and first editor, had assembled either by happy accident or design (depending on which version of the magazine’s history you want to believe) a stable of magazine cartoonists unrivaled in American publishing.  Some have called that era of the magazine’s cartoons its Golden Age.  The guiding forces of the New Yorker‘s art (besides Harold Ross, of course) were Rea Irvin (who is most known for creating The New Yorker’s signature mascot,  the top-hatted Eustace Tilley) and the magazine’s first Art Editor, James Geraghty,  a former gagman who began working  at the magazine in 1939 and retired in 1973.

 

As mentioned on this site this past summer in a profile of Anatol Kovarsky, there are just four surviving New Yorker cartoonists from the Ross era: Frank Modell, James Stevenson, Anatol Kovarsky and Dana Fradon. Mr. Fradon was the last cartoonist contracted by Mr. Ross, who died in December of 1951.

 

Fradon’s first New Yorker cartoon (below), published May 1, 1948, launched a career that spanned half a century; he went on to contribute nearly fourteen hundred more cartoons, placing him in the stratosphere of such other New Yorker artists as William Steig, Alan Dunn, Robert Weber, Warren Miller, Helen Hokinson, Lee Lorenz, Mischa Richter, Robert Day, and the aforementioned, James Stevenson and Frank Modell.

 

Fradon:1st

 

A native of Chicago, Fradon studied at the Art Institute there, and later, following service in the army during WWII, he studied at The Art Students League in New York. Fellow classmates included future New Yorker colleagues, Joseph Mirachi, Herbert Goldberg, and James Mulligan.

 

In a recent phone and email conversation with Mr. Fradon, who is now 91, we covered a lot of territory, from his beginnings at the New Yorker all the way up to today and whether he’s still thinking up ideas for cartoons.

 

Beginning our conversation, I asked Mr. Fradon if he had any thoughts as to why the Art Students League turned out so many New Yorker cartoonists.

 

“It’s a great school, it’s in New York, it’s cheap, and there were no marks given or attendance taken; a future cartoonists paradise.”

 

Michael Maslin: What brought you to The New Yorker—was it that that was the place to go?

 

Dana Fradon: No, I didn’t know anything about The New Yorker.  My sister married Albert Hubbell and then I heard about The New Yorker [Mr. Hubbell was a jack-of-almost-all trades at The New Yorker, contributing fiction as well as pieces for the Talk of The Town.  He was, briefly, The New Yorker’s Art Editor during WWII when James Geraghty left for service.  He was also a cover artist and contributor of “spot” drawings as well as an in-house idea man, creating captions for cartoonists, including, among others, Mary Petty] I admired Albert and I admired some of the things he pointed out [in the magazine]. I decided that’s where I would channel my work.

 

I did the first cartoon that Geraghty took notice of when I was still in the service. Apparently, when Geraghty showed my work to Ross, he threw Geraghty out of the office.  Geraghty said to me later, with that nice little grin he had that he [Geraghty] didn’t think what I sent in was that bad. It was a panel gag—I still remember it—it was rejected,  but nevertheless Geraghty said, “Keep coming.”

 

MM: I noticed that your first five cartoons in the magazine were captionless—was that happenstance, or was that something you were doing a lot of?

 

DF: I guess that’s what I thought Geraghty thought was funny. In the beginning I had the idea that he was buying only stuff of mine that was rather topical. And I thought that was a restriction—that I could not do the ordinary funny gag—that they were just going to want politically topical stuff. And I thought that would limit me. I didn’t know that it would become, in a sense, my hallmark. I thought at first it was a sign of failure—that I couldn’t do the straight old cartoon. But of course I did end up doing those kinds of cartoons as well.

 

MM: In the beginning you had almost two different styles. You had a heavier style and a looser style.

 

DF: I think the thicker lines came after about five years, ten years—that was still early in a career that spanned 50 years. I went to a felt tip marker that was heavier; I look back at those drawings and I really like them better than some of the thinner line drawings I did later in life. It was not a conscious change—it was a change in paper, and what kind of pen I used.

 

MM: You were trying to find your way?

 

DF: Absolutely. I was trying to find my way for about thirty years.

 

MM: Let’s talk about Geraghty. Obviously he was a huge part of your career.

 

DF: He was a huge part of The New Yorker magazine.  His taste was what guided the magazine—in cartooning and in those days, all the artwork. He bought the spots and the covers. He’s best described by something which has become reasonably common knowledge. He said it to me originally about making a drawing beautiful. He said, “Make it beautiful, Dana. Make it beautiful.”  And very often he would OK a drawing—the final OK would either be Ross’s or Shawn’s—or he would bring to their attention cartoons which were borderline funny but would make magnificent drawings.

 

It was Geraghty’s belief that New Yorker cartoons provoked a chuckle (not laughter) and, of course, much thought. He once went through an act with me imitating a commuter on the New Haven R.R., city bound, opening and skimming through his recently arrived New Yorker. I can imitate every one of Jim’s marvelous gestures and soft grunts (chuckles) to a tee.

 

MM: And the “magnificent drawings” bought—would they be tinkered with?

 

DF: Towards the end under Lee [Lee Lorenz, James Geraghty’s successor as Art Editor], maybe because I was more experienced, there was not much tinkering. But yes, in the beginning there was tinkering down to the last finger. You couldn’t even distinguish where the fingers were [on] my early rough drawings.

 

MM: Did you ever meet Harold Ross?

 

DF: Never met Ross, but nodded to him dozens of times. My only close experience with Ross was at one of the first huge parties the New Yorker threw at the old Ritz-Carleton. Geraghty gave my then wife [the cartoonist, Ramona Fradon] and I an invitation. My wife said, “Fasten your eyes at the guy at the next table.” It was Ross.  So I fastened my eyes on him, and he looked at me like I was a freeloader or something. Everything I know about Ross I heard from Albert [Hubbell]. Albert was the be-all and end-all if you wanted a connection with Ross—he had it and he had total recall.

 

I can’t tell you much about Ross except that I accepted from the beginning that he had impeccable taste.  That was the greatest period of drawing, if not ideas: Arno, and those other guys—Whitney Darrow, Robert Day—all brilliant.

 

MM: I have a list of names I want to run by you, but first, before I forget, I want to ask you if you ever provided ideas for Peter Arno, or anyone else?

 

DF: Yes, Arno, one or two, and for Charlie Addams, half a dozen to a dozen—he was another wonderful artist. You might say Geraghty would look at me and say, “This needs a better artist.” But then it got to where he would give me a trade. He’d say “This would be better if George Price did it.” And he’d give me a simple idea. [Mr. Fradon recalled one idea given to Addams, of Martians coming to the door on Halloween.  It ran in The New Yorker November 1, 1952]

 

MM: When I was researching the Arno biography at the New York Public Library, and looking through The New Yorker’s archives there, I found a lot of interaction, a lot of back and forth—idea-wise—between artists.

 

Fradon:Modell kids

 

DF: When I first started working there—it might’ve been about the tenth cartoon I did—it was a couple of kids watching television, a close-up on the kids. Geraghty didn’t like the faces on the kids.  I couldn’t do kids; now I can, but then I couldn’t at least not on the New Yorker level. Frank did one of the faces on one of my drawings on one of my kids. He [Frank] was sitting out there in the office and Geraghty said, “Just a second” and took the drawing out and Frank did the face and they bought it [the cartoon appears above].

 

MM: We do that around here sometimes.  Liza [Donnelly] will ask me for some help on perspective and I’ll ask her to help me with cats. We have cats here, but that doesn’t help me—I still can’t draw them.

 

DF: Well, certain poses, they’re [cats] hard to draw. You know, Ramona used to do all my horses. It wasn’t until I started doing kids books, and I was divorced, that I learned to do my version of the horse, which is more like a merry-go-round horse. I learned to draw them out of necessity because Ramona wasn’t there to draw them for me. There are a couple of my New Yorker cartoons with horses in them, and she drew the horses.

 

MM: There’s one I have here on my desk…you have an invading army…

 

DF: Is it “Beware of dogs?”

 

 

MM: Yes, yes.

 

DF: She didn’t do the finish, I inked them—but she drew the horses.

 

MM: As long as we’re talking about specific drawings, there’s one I thought would make a good title and cover drawing for a collection: “The gods are antic tonight.”

 

DF: That drawing has a story behind it. Lee put the word “antic” in there. I had the “gods are something-or-other” and I believe he changed it to antic. He asked me, of course, if it was ok.  I didn’t get the fine difference between what I had and he had, but apparently the antic thing was pretty cute, and he knew what he was doing.  “Antic” was not in my vocabulary.

 

 

MM: Can you list for me some of the cartoonists you knew back in those early days. Let’s begin with Arno.

 

DF: Never met Arno, never saw Arno but always felt his presence. Knew fairly well: Sam Cobean, the magazine’s other genius; Charlie Addams, Richard Decker, Frank Modell, Whitney Darrow, Mischa Richter, Bill Steig, Dick Taylor, Barney Tobey and many more. I met, casually, Saul Steinberg (I suppose he’s another genius), Robert Day, Chon Day, Alan Dunn and Mary Petty.

 

MM: Did you know Stan Hunt?

 

DF: A nice gentle soul.

 

MM: James Mulligan?

 

DF: He was left-handed, but because of several car accidents, had to learn to draw with his right hand. His last few hundred cartoons were drawn with his right hand.

 

MM: Rea Irvin?

 

DF: Rea Irvin lived in Newtown [Connecticut] for several years. A really sweet guy. Worked with drawing board held in his lap in a, literally, closet-size studio in a large, beautiful colonial. Actually, HE is the genius of The New Yorker. Did the first cover, designed its typeface, and designed the headings, I think, of the various regular columns. Based on his drawing and the variety and depth of his drawing…he’s the number one guy that everyone always forgets about. Rea just seemed like Major Hoople…“woof woof woof”  while he talked, to clear his throat.

 

MM: Speaking of covers…I couldn’t help but notice there was never a Fradon New Yorker cover.

 

DF: I submitted one cover and after about the tenth time of correcting it and fixing it, I gave it up and went back to doing something I knew better: doing cartoons and ideas. I was doing well on the cartoons and beginning to move into kid’s books, where I got all that color out of my system. I never pursued it. The one I did try lent itself mostly to design—there was nothing funny about it.

 

MM: What about Richard Taylor—you mentioned you knew him.

 

images

DF: Dick Taylor was a lovely man, and sort of a comic on his own.  He had a unique way of drawing. There’ve been Whitney Darrow look-alikes and Bob Weber look-alikes, and dozens of Cobean look-alikes, and Arno look-alikes; when I say look-alikes, they’re not as good—there was a guy who did a lot of ads—nothing but ads—he was a pale version of Arno. I’ve never even seen a pale version of Dick Taylor.

 

MM: His work—his people were too different weren’t they?  With those giant eyes…

 

DF: And the way he did his washes too. Layers and layers before he got the tone, without it going dead. Whereas most of us…I strive to splash it on as best I can.

 

MM: I loved watching the progression of your drawings from the very first ones to where they became very loose. The energy there—your heads would almost be disconnected from the bodies. I could see you were having a really great time doing these.

 

DF: That, and a little bit of writing is the only thing that absorbed me. And playing baseball.

 

MM: How did you work? Did you go to your desk in the morning, five days a week?

 

DF: Yeah, five or six days a week, I made it a point. The first thing I’d do—the first three hours in the morning, when you’re freshest—is think of ideas. I’d just think of ideas five days a week and come up with twenty or twenty-five of them and then let Geraghty comb through and pick out what he thought was funny.

 

The routine for thinking of ideas—you may feel the same way—I have no formula for thinking of an idea. It’s more of free association. You start out with a subject, and you may not end up with that subject.

 

MM: And you write everything down, right, because these things can float away.

 

DF: I had a big pad of paper, 14” x 17” bond paper; I’d make little notes and sketches and see where they’d lead me. Once, when I was giving a talk I said the important thing of thinking of ideas is knowing when to pounce. You kick ideas around in your subconscious and then this one is a straggler and you pounce on it because it seems funny.  And that’s the one you draw up. I drew up a lot of rejections too of course [laughing].

 

Geraghty used to tell new cartoonists—and some of the established ones as well—about how he’d be at a party and someone would tell him a funny story and then say, “Why don’t you make a cartoon out of it?”  He’d turn to them and say, “That’s not a cartoon, that’s a short story.” There’s a hell of a big difference.  You know, they’ll start by saying, “There’re ten thousand people in a living room…” Well, who the hell is going to draw ten thousand people in a living room!?

 

MM: One of the things that fascinated me about Arno’s life was that his career spanned enough time at the magazine, 1925 through 1968 to see a change in the use of ideamen. He began using his own ideas but then shifted into using ideamen in the 1930s and beyond.  Many of his contemporaries used ideamen as well (not all of them did, but a majority). By the time your era came along, late 1940s, early 1950s, your crowd, or most of you, were doing your own ideas. That just sort of happened? Or did someone encourage you?

 

DF: Yeah, it just sort of happened, but it’s also something I think subconsciously that Geraghty was striving for. He probably thought it was taking too much time or thought or energy putting cartoonists together with ideas. If you could do it in one step, that was helpful…it became a real badge of courage to do your own ideas, your own drawings.

 

DF: One person who did his own ideas—I don’t know if you remember him, was Herbert Goldberg.

 

MM: I know his work from the albums, The New Yorker anniversary albums. I’m a sucker for those collections.

 

DF: You live in the world of cartoons.

 

MM: Yes.

 

DF: Well that’s one thing I’ve never have done and I’ve always been sorry for it. I’m not really a cartoonist.  I’m a misplaced baseball player or something like that. But I look at [cartoonist] Orlando Busino and I’m just so envious of people who can get into that. When I drew I was in the world, but I wasn’t really there. I wish I could’ve appreciated who I was.

 

MM: Do you still take a crack at cartoons every once in awhile?

 

DF: For a time, when I thought of a good idea that I thought would go in today’s New Yorker, I stifled it. And then I said to myself: well don’t do that anymore, write ‘em down—so I write them down on a scrap of paper and throw them into a pile.

 

 

Dana Fradon’s books include:

Breaking the Laugh Barrier (Dell, 1961)

My Son the Medicine Man (Avon, 1964)

Insincerely Yours (Dutton, 1978)

Sir Dana: A Knight, As Told by His Trusty Armor (Dutton, 1988)

Harold the Herald (Dutton, 1990)

The King’s Fool: A Book About Medieval and Renaissance Fools (Dutton, 1993)

To see some of Dana Fradon’s New Yorker work, link here to the New Yorker’s Cartoon Bank.

 

 

Portland Group Show of New Yorker Cartoonists; Karasik Speaks; Spiegelman Shows

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Well this looks like fun.  Go see if you’re out/up that way.

Visit Shannon Wheeler’s website for more info.

And even more info here

 

And…

 

As mentioned not too long ago  on Ink Spill, Paul Karasik will be speaking at Comic Arts Brooklyn this coming Saturday.  Info here.

 

And…

 

Here’s information on Art Spiegelman’s  Retrospective at The Jewish Museum, opening tomorrow.