Why I Do What I Do.

The above picture, to me, is worth the proverbial one thousand words.

One of the reasons I loved being the creator of Beanworld is because sometimes I'm fortunate to get the opportunity to meet people who love Beanworld as much as I loved the work of cartoonists work when was a kid and finding my way around in the Realm-Of-Stuff-To-Think-About.

Not too long ago, I received an email from a Facebook friend, John Scrudder. John wrote that he had recently given "the softcover books of Beanworld 1-4 to my seven year old daughter, Meghan after I saw that a teacher was using them in her classroom. She stayed up until 3:30 in the morning apparently (she woke me up at this hour to announce the Pod'l Pool Cuties were her favorite characters.)

Meghan is the artistically inclined and most imaginative out of four children. I just wanted to extend a thanks. She said she wanted to say thanks too... but now she is occupied watching Little Nemo Adventures in Dreamland, If Windsor McKay were still alive I'd send him a thanks as well!"

To my absolute delight, John and his daughter, Meghan, made the 3 1/2 hour trek up from Indiana so Meghan could meet the man who knows the Pod'l'pool Cuties, Beanish and Dreamishness personally.

After the signing John wrote: "It was really nice. Meghan was bouncing off the walls, I've never seen her as quiet with anyone as I have with you (it was her form of "speechless")"
Whenever I meet a kid that young who is as thoroughly plugged into Beanworld as John's daughter is, it's about as gratifying an experience as I can ever hope for as a cartoonist.

Below is a picture Meghan drew on a dry-erase board that she couldn't wait to show me!

Right before I hopped into the car, thinking I was giving myself a lot of time to get to the north side for my signing--it began to rain.
Cold, persistent autumnal rain that had all the freeways, ooops, I mean expressways bumper-to-bumper packed.

Instead of being early I arrived a bit late (to top everything else off there was a Cub's game in the neighborhood of Chicago Comics that was like getting caught in a labyrinth ).

Regardless of all of that--Beanworld fans came.In addition to FREE Beanworld Action Figures, the store had bowls of Jelly Beans and Boston Baked Beans out to snack on. (And I admit, I ate my share!)

And they got their "Secret Sketches"

And received their previews of Remember Here When You Are There!

Ol' pal and Chicago Cartoon Club member, Tim Gagne turned up with a photocopy of a very very early draft of Pop!Pop!Pop! that I don't have a copy of. (He got it from the legendary George Hansen.) That is a cool thing to have. Thanks, Tim.

Here I am with Eric Thornton, Chicago Comics' manager (left) and Eric Kirsammer, Chicago Comics' owner. I'm holding the sketch I did for the store.

Later on, The Moondoggers began traipsing in. These are the folks that I worked with at Moondog's Comicland in the early '90s. We were all veterans of the retail frenzy that erupted in the launch of X-Men #1, Death of Superman, birth of Image Comics and Wizard. It was a crazy frenetic time and we had a fun together.
A lot of fun.

Afterwards, we walked through the rain to Leona's, which was a favorite eatery where Cory and I often dined once upon a time, long long ago.

In a week long chain of reunions; this was another.

And we laughed and swapped stories and closed down the joint.

I'm a lucky guy to have these old friends who came out to see the ol' Bean Guy.

From left to right back row: Vince Smith, Shawn Campbell, Mike Valdez,
Chris"Joe King" Ecker, Larry Marder, Gary "Moondog" Colabuono, Jim MortensenFrom left to right front row: Sue Flaim Laz, Andrea Goldberg

My thanks to Nancy Whiteman and Cathy Thompson for making sure my NSCDS functions went of with nary a hitch and Kate Puccia and Alex Gutierrez for letting me interrupt their classrooms. Additional thanks to Eric Kirsammer, Eric Thornton, and the entire gang at Chicago Comics for their hospitality and enthusiasm.
And an extra special thanks for putting up with the Moondog's Comicland alumni invasion!
And thanks to Gary and the gang!

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Remembering Then When It Was Now!

The Spirit of Art: Now

The Spirit of Music: Now

The Spirit of All of Us: Then

Saturday, day two of NSCDS Class of '69 reunion, summoned real magic.
And the spell was invoked by the intertwining of Art and Music with the spirits of John Almquist and Vincent Allison

Let me try to explain.

A whole bunch of us trekked down from the North Shore and met at the doors of the spanking brand new wing of the Art Institute of Chicago. This building is dedicated to Modern Art so we were quite eager to give it a good look-see.

But the best part was that our tour guide was our friend and fellow '69er, Suzanne Folds McCullagh, who happens to be Curator of Earlier Prints and Drawings of The Art Institute of Chicago. She briskly took us on a whirlwind (but information-packed) tour of the museum. The Art Institute is looking mighty pretty these days having been renovated and reformulated quite a bit since I last had opportunity to take it all in.

Well, truth is, I spent far less time looking at the famous and important pieces and far more time watching my ol' classmates talking to each other as they looked at the famous and important pieces.

There amongst this group of ladies and gents (all now eligible for early-bird specials at the world's finest eateries) were the kids that I studied art with under the late John Almquist. Almquist taught Upper School Art at North Shore Country Day for decades and everyone who went to school there in the second half of the 20th century was influenced by him in some way.

I was influence by him in a big way.
He was an incredible teacher.
He was eccentric, kind, acerbic, caustic, witty, always generous with his time and advice, funny-as-hell, a education visionary, and a perfectly wonderful role model of what an Artist is supposed to be.

We Art Majors were a tight group.
We were supportive of each other but also deadly competitive in a sweet, good natured way.
About 20 years ago, Almquist told me that he remembered our group as the one of the "big paintings." (We did paint on some rather large canvasses. I don't think I ever painted on as large a surface ever again, even in college.)

There is no question that Almquist had an enormous influence on us as individuals and as a group. The gallery in the School is named after him and I had a Beanworld art exhibition there in the early '90s. In fact, I have a few pieces up there now in an Alumni Show.

A lot of these forks are the very same friends I explored the Art Institute with 40 plus years ago when we were kids and were first granted the freedom of movement to drive or train downtown from the 'burbs and explore the delights of the big city.

The new Modern Wing is jaw-dropper. It houses Modern Art, Contemporary Art, Architecture & Design and Photography. As Suzanne pointed out, the museum was built around the artwork and it shows. The pieces all have enough elbow room to breathe.

Do I remember most of what I breezed past?
No.

I was so caught up in the strength of the experience of being there with old friends that the allure if the art was definitely running in second place.

Except for Duchamp, Brâncusi, and Eve Hesse.
Not surprisingly, I had to linger a bit longer at their pieces.

I don't know about the others but memories of John Almquist were vivid and dancing in my mind as we were in the Art phase of our day together.

From there it was back up to Winnetka and our official Class of 1969 dinner gathering at Cook's Corner. The high energy summoned by the Art was still in full force.

When we sat down in smaller groups to eat about halfway through dinner someone observed that our table was comprised of the core of the Yearbook group. The handful of us spent a lot of time together over the course of our senior year creating a yearbook which at the time was considered quite cutting edge. We had 40 some pages in it that showcased drawings, paintings, poetry, photography and even some cartooning. The bonds we formed as a group were very alive as we traded stories and filled in the continuity gaps of each others' memories.

And then we started to sing.

Let me digress.
I can't recall what his official title was when we were in school and I'm not sure what it was when he retired either, but the late Vincent B. Allison was in charge of Music at North Shore Country Day School. We sang a lot at North Shore. Sometimes slides would be projected on a screen ala follow the bouncing ball and Mr. Allison would lead us in song. The slides were low tech even for then. They were typewritten directly on something like a piece of acetate or clear film. They were funky looking. Someone from the school, somewhere along the line, scanned the slides and compiled them into a song book. The songs are very eclectic. Folk songs, campfire songs, madrigals, rounds, Anglo-Saxon and Irish tunes, battle songs, spirituals, church songs. A little bit of everything.

Someone starting singing.


Then everyone was singing.
Music filled the room
Music coming from us, welling up from some deep place inside poured out and around us, through us, in a soft crackle of Magic that was both surprising and thoroughly familiar.

"These are the people I learned these songs with!"
That was the thought and feeling that was all around me.
I have no idea how long we sang but you've never seen such smiles as we were singing four part rounds.

Off the top of my head, I can't remember where I read it or who said it, (Pete Seeger? Robert Crumb? Both?) but the observation was that one of the primary human activities that is missing in Modern Life is spontaneous group singing. Gone are the work songs, the marching songs, the singing-for-the-sake-of-singing in the living room. Generally the only time people sing together nowadays is in church or at a concert.

Well, as we were singing Saturday night, we all knew that we had entered into The-Realm-Of-Something-Else.

"Remembering Then While It Is Now" was the Beanworld-ish phrase that popped into my head.

And now, I'm "Remembering There While I Am Here."

At the end of the day, someplace, somewhere, somewhen, the spirits of Mr Almquist and Mr. Allison were aglow with happiness and pride with the way Everyone-And-Everything-Turned-Out.