A Soglow…Finally
Back in the 1980s, when I was still working on the foundation of the Spill library and archives, I would visit the Gryphon Bookstore on Broadway on the upper west side of Manhattan (it later became Westsider Rare & Used Books, before closing in the 2019). It was my kind of place: aisles overstuffed with books, sometimes making it difficult to pass from one section to another without brushing up against a leaning stack.
There was a good cartoon section, including some Thurber. To get to the Thurber books and cartoon books one had to climb steps that greeted you almost as soon as you walked in the front door. At the top of the steps, in a sort of small loft like space, there was some peace and quiet — it wasn’t as claustrophobic as he ground level. The street noise was less. Hardly anyone was ever up there when I was up there. If someone did show up, I’d usually go back downstairs.
It was in the Gryphon that I first forked over some serious cash for a Thurber collection (I’d bought many different Thurber titles by then, all of them were inexpensive…a few bucks at most).
The Gryphon had a first edition of Thurber’s classic, My Life and Hard Times, in its dust jacket. It was $35.00. — that’s about $30 more than I was used to paying. The previous time I’d bought a book for more than a few dollars was also the very first brand new hardcover book I ever bought. I was 19, just out of high school, starting college, employed part-time as a janitor in a computer company, ADT, on Rt. 3 in Jersey, just a few miles west of The Lincoln Tunnel. ADT was owned by the future U.S. Senator, Frank Lautenberg. One of my duties every night was vacuuming the thick purple carpet in his office. I was instructed to begin vacuuming at the furthest point from the hallway door, near his private bathroom, and walk backwards all the way to the hallway. The point being that when Lautenberg walked in his office in the morning, his carpet showed no footprints; his would be the first making an impression. But I digress.
Having a job, I felt I could afford to buy a brand new hardcover book. So I paid $15.00 for Volume 4 in the series of James Thomas Flexner’s quartet of George Washington biographies (that copy is shown to the right — of course I held onto it). I remember sweating as I paid — it seemed an indulgence to pay so much, but it also seemed necessary to have the book.
At the Gryphon, many years after that George Washington purchase, an even bigger purchase — the Thurber book — caused a lot of mental see-sawing. I finally caved and bought the book. Glad I did.
On the wall near, and somewhat above the Gryphon’s Thurber books was an original drawing by the late great Otto Soglow (famous for his creation, “The Little King”). It was a two panel drawing (not a Little King in sight). I believe it was the drawing you see to the left — published in The New Yorker October 23, 1937 — but I’m not 100% on this. The cost was $150.00…way beyond my budget (this would’ve been in the mid-to-late 1980s when I’d been working at The New Yorker for a decade).
Every time I went to the Gryphon, I looked at the Soglow. I felt, and accepted, that an original Soglow would likely always be out of reach. Sure, one could buy, at a price, a business card sized piece, signed by Soglow, with a sketch of The Little King.
There are a number of these online — all very similar (one is shown here). For a long long while, I thought that might be the way to go. But it was Soglow’s line that fascinated me. The best thing would be to have more of his drawing on a piece of paper than less.
Cut to mid-July of 2024. I was in the first week of a bout with Lyme disease. Those who’ve been there know what it’s like. A lot of fever and fatigue, and other miscellaneous issues. In the midst of a particularly bad night, during the wee hours, I decided to distract myself by going to Ebay. The first thing I saw when I typed in “New Yorker original drawing” was this Otto Soglow drawing:
As hoped, the distraction of seeing this removed me, briefly, from Lymeland. I looked up the drawing in The New Yorker‘s database and discovered it had been published in the May 29, 1937 issue.
The seller had shown the reverse of the piece. There was Harold Ross’s “R” on the top left, as well as The New Yorker‘s stamp, and the drawing’s inventory number. All of these markings are essential ingredients. For me, the markings are right up there, nearly (but not quite) as interesting, as the art itself.
Of course I bought the drawing (it was not expensive, relatively speaking. It cost just a bit more than the Little King sketch above, and below what Soglow originals generally bring at auction). I believe, if I hadn’t been suffering through Lyme disease, and hadn’t taken a look at Ebay at 3am, or 4am, or whenever it was, the drawing would’ve surely been bought by the time I usually check-out what’s new on Ebay. It had just been listed that early morning; There’d been no bids, no interest shown. Thank you, Lyme disease?
Besides being head over heels about this particular drawing, and finally having a Soglow original, there was one more thing about it that was appealing. The final panel reminded me of my very favorite Liza Donnelly drawing:
