1981: Lieutenant Moonlight!

This week’s selection for ReRun Saturday. It’s been interesting working with so many veterans at Nashville State – among other things I’ve learned that I was far from being only soldier trying to reconcile two vastly different worlds…

David R. Deitrick, Designer

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(Boy, that sounds like a Golden Age superhero titles, doesn’t it? Flyer’s helmet and goggles, short cape, boots and a half-moon logo on my chest.)

Ah, but it is not to be. Rather than fighting criminals or “Ratzis” the subject of today’s post has to do with the amount of freelance art work I did while serving in the Army – and it started the summer before my last year of undergraduate study.

Actually, it had been an issue since the day I signed up for ROTC. I knew that there would be a built-in conflict between the two career fields and I would bounce back and forth between planning for a career in the active army and a career in the design field combined with duty in the reserves. I would like to note that it never was a question of whether or not I would serve, but when…

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Sketch Book Figure 20JUL2018

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As I’ve written elsewhere female figures were not my strong suit in the early years and it wasn’t until I reached my forties that I was able to consistently draw women that didn’t look like linebackers in drag. Part of the progression was just “time in” – as classic animator Church Jones put it: “Every one of us had ten thousand drawings inside and the only way to get rid of them is to draw them out.”

There were two other important factors involved, the first being my Beautiful Saxon Princess. Not only has she served as an inspiring subject to draw over the years, she is an incredibly talented portrait in her own right and  double-checks every face I put to paper or wax.

The third factor? There are more ways available now to make women look better. Basic beauty has always been part of the human race but as time and technology progress women are presented in ever-improving ways. The massive explosion in information has given us  cosmetics with a more natural feel, clothes that are better tailored, and cameras that do a better job of capturing images.

Is all the progress beneficial? I’m not so sure – I’ve seen some pretty scary Photoshop treatments but at the same time you have to wonder what Sarah Bernhardt or Rita Hayworth would look like in a contemporary photo shoot.

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Music: Reasons for Waiting (Reconsidered)

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iybAyDFrhhI

 Schadenfreude has never had any appeal to me. I’m convinced that taking “shameful joy” in another person’s failure is both pointless and petty, but there is one failure for which I will be forever thankful.   Ian Anderson of Jethro Tull fame gave up learning to play the guitar when he became convinced that he’d never play as well as Eric Clapton and I applaud that set-back for two reasons:

  • We’ve already got an Eric Clapton.
  • Without Anderson’s skill with the flute we’d never have had “Reasons for Waiting”.

1972

Room-mate Roulette is just one of the challenges a college freshman encounters, but it may be the most crucial. The stress involved in learning to mesh with a complete stranger can have a major effect on both your academic career not to mention your entire life so I’d assumed that careful thought and preparation went into room assignments…so please forgive me for being disturbed when I learned that the selection process was only slightly more sophisticated than a dart game.

Unfortunately I had to go throw the dart board twice. The first assignment worked out well : I drew an upperclassman whose part-time job and interest in the outdoors essentially gave me a private room. Unfortunately he dropped out mid-year and I had to go through the room assignment game a second time and ended up with Scott, a fellow freshman with a heavier footprint requiring  more accommodation and coordination, especially in the following areas:

  • Getting up in the morning
  • Turning in at night
  • House-cleaning
  • Laundry
  • Setting the thermostat
  • Female visitors
  • Post-fart courtesy

…and so on. Music was one of the hardest points to negotiate –  Scott favored hard rock (Grand Funk Railroad/Quicksilver Messenger Service/ Led Zeppelin)  while I preferred progressive rock and acoustic groups (Moody Blues/Crosby, Stills, Nash & Young/America) Playback volume was sticky issue until we agreed on a head-phone truce which unintentionally kept us from mixing our music  and appreciating what the other guy listened to.

It took the simple act of Scott turning over in bed one February morning to change all that. The sun was just peeking over the Alaska Range to the south and was bathing the morning sky with orange, magenta and purple while a train crawled along the track on the other side of the parking lot, building up speed for the day-long run to Anchorage, the exhaust from its diesels adding to the wisps of ice-fog that had come up from the Chena River. As I was taking this all in I was mug-in-hand, leaning on our chest-high window sill with my toes tucked under the heat register when somehow in the process of waking up Scott pulled the headset cord out of his stereo and the first notes of possibly the most beautiful song in rock music poured out into our little basement dorm room.

The soft acoustic introduction of  Jethro Tull’s Reasons For Waiting  leads into a flute solo so beautiful that my eyes welled up — then Ian Anderson started to sing in his slightly wavering tenor:

What a sight for my eyes
To see you in sleep.
Could it stop the sun rise
Hearing you weep?

 Writing under the pseudonym Stendhal, 19th Century French Novelist Marie-Henri Beyle observed that viewers can be overwhelmed by the sight of an art masterpiece and sent into a state of distress much like a panic attack. What I felt at this particular moment was probably a low-grade Stendhal incident: the music, the view, the warmth from the hot chocolate, being in love – I couldn’t catch my breath

Oh –  I  didn’t mention that I had recently fallen in love? My Best Friend and I had spent the first semester playing at being in love – making those first tentative moves: holding hands, sneaking a kiss, whispering endearments hardly understood, but it wasn’t until the separation at Christmas Break that the relationship really found its depth.

We were in capital “L” Love.

You’re not seen, you’re not heard
But I stand by my word.
Came a thousand miles
Just to catch you while you’re smiling.

Notes from the flute become frenzied and erratic but then acoustic guitar steps back in for just a moment to restore the orderly flow of musical notes.

What a day for laughter
And walking at night.
Me following after, your hand holding tight.
And the memory stays clear with the song that you hear.
If I can but make
The words awake the feeling
.

Again the flute become frenzied but just at the point of discomfort, the song explodes into a cascade of violins with Anderson’s flute weaving a thread of notes in an around the strings as they underlie the final verse

What a reason for waiting
And dreaming of dreams.
So here’s hoping you’ve faith in impossible schemes,
That are born in the sigh of the wind blowing by
While the dimming light brings the end to a night of loving.

I’d spent most of the previous evening curled up on the couch with my Best Friend watching television, but by the middle of Night Gallery she’d fallen asleep tucked up against the left side of my chest.  As the closing credits ran I looked over at her snuggled up against me and suddenly Stukas started to fly interdiction against my central pump. I’d never really looked at anyone sleeping much less a beautiful blonde and I just marveled at the soft, open look to her features.

Fast forward to the next morning: that memory from the night before combined with scenic beauty, the music –  h*ll even the mug of hot chocolate –  all combined to create one of the most heart-flutteringly joyful moments of my life,  an instant of gestalt wherein the beauty of the moment outshined the factors creating it. I wanted to break the channel-selector off my life  and stay in that moment forever. In my short eighteen years of life I had never felt anything like that particular four minutes and seven seconds.

…and forty-seven years later just thinking about that moment still makes me smile.

Sketch Cards for Dog King John

2018-06-03 GrandKid Cards JUN 2018

As I’ve written before I take great delight in my role as “papa” (AKA grandfather,  abuelo, old geezer) and even though six out of my seven grandchildren live far away I work hard to keep in contact with them. One of the ways I do that is by regularly sending drawings to them as postcards, starting out with one a month to my sole grandson and eventually expanding to a half-dozen every two or three months.

With these particular sketches  have fun and let my imagination run wild  – for example for my granddaughter Hazel I went through a six month run using yetis as a theme. The Yeti is/was Hazel’s own personal boogey-man and over the span of that half-year I worked to change the yeti’s image from something scary to a comedic figure.

Lately I’ve been using the cards as a design forum for my book project Dog King John and The Stolen Syrup. I want to keep the details consistent so I’m using these drawings to work out details before working on the actual book art .

…some of the cards are just cards though. The younger grandkids don’t really understand the book-thing – for them I come up with something quasi-educational like the “fourteen-flounder” card above

Working Drawings for Cut-Paper Sculpt

PhanGirldiagramEnjoying a motion picture at age 9  entailed a lot more than just sitting in the theater – as  soon as I got home I’d want to “play” the movie and  act out scenes as a way of prolonging the excitement. Reading my Legion of Superheroes books has punched some of the same buttons a movie does  but at 65 jumping off the deck while clad in Spandex just isn’t going to happen. At this stage of my life maintaining a link with the excitement entails some sort of creative work and this time around it will mean a cut-paper sculpt.

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In addition to the actual construction of the figures themselves I use a lot of paper in preparatory work. I carefully draw each figure/component , then make a dozen copies of each drawing. Then I cut each drawing into pieces I will then use as  templates in  making individual parts…and those parts will then be  assembled into major figures.  The  drawings you see here  depict  Phantom Girl, Bouncing Boy and Ultra Boy;   I may be adding another figure (Shrinking Violet) to the composition later on if the design can accommodate her. 

UltBoyDIagram

1970: Steak and Eggs

It is said that the hardest part of being a parent is that the test always comes before the lesson. The same can be said for that last year or so before you leave home – you’ve been taught personal boundaries in home, church and school but the strength of those lessons is not apparent until after something has pushed against them…hard.

It was midsummer of 1970 and I wasn’t having any luck shoe-horning a job into the time remaining until football practice was to begin. I was feeling very sorry for myself and contemplating a very penurious autumn when I heard  my friend Greg was working for a roofer  in Seward and more hands were needed for the crew. Two phone calls later I was on the payroll working for a leading member of our congregation in what had to be the perfect set-up:

  • $8.00/hour
  • Regular hours
  • Room and board at the company’s expense
  • …and I was to start the very next day

My parents were much less enthusiastic with Mom gritting her teeth over the lack of control she’d wield 70 miles away and Dad skeptical that I’d be able to keep up with the work. In the bullet-proof manner only a seventeen-year-old can affect I blew off their concerns and motored off to my new job, passing the time on the trip by mentally spending all the money I’d be making. It seemed the greatest set-up a young man could fall into until I got to Seward and Greg whispered “You are in for the hardest work of your life” just before I got the orientation spiel along with two other new hires.

We’d be working for Eddie Maxwell removing and replacing the roof of the Seward High School. While Eddie had extensive experience working for others this was his first job as an independent roofing contractor and had substantially underbid on the job, and had to make  some changes. We’d be working with a short crew, I’d be paid a much lower wage than promised, and our room and board would consist of sleeping on the floor of the library and eating baloney sandwiches for lunch and dinner. Breakfast was another matter: Eddie made a big production about buying us anything we wanted for breakfast at a local diner as “the only way to get you bastards started in the morning” but he made an equally over-the-top announcement that the day anyone ordered steak-and-eggs would be their last day on the job.

Along with Greg and myself, the crew included two local men and Dan, a middle-aged cowboy who had come up to Alaska to work for the summer. One of the two locals was a competent laborer, but the second man didn’t last the first day. Dan was a bit of a mystery; he didn’t talk much but a broken nose hinted at a rough & tumble youth and when he did talk about  his younger days there were gaps in his narrative that had me wondering how those gaps lined up with train robberies made by the Hole-in-The-Wall gang. Misspent youth aside Dan was a definite asset to the crew with experience, an inclination to work hard and most important to me,  time to help me learn the trade and how to carry my part of the load.

…and there was quite a load to be carried. It was punishing labor as rigorous as anything athletics or military would demand of me at other times. The existing tar & gravel covering had been removed with a wheeled power saw, then new paper tacked down and covered with hot tar spread with fiberglass mops. In support of that basic task, debris had to be moved to a dump truck, then periodically taken to the landfill, rolls of tar-paper had to be carried up 30’ ladders, and hot tar shuttled in five-gallon buckets from the feed pipe to the area of application.

The tar was pumped to the roof top by way of a pipe connected to a trailer-mounted heating pot which had to be monitored and routinely fed with large chunks of solid tar. That trailer was the single item of roofing-specific equipment we had – while equipped with tack hammers and crowbars in those pre-OSHA days we had none of the “ladder-vators” or specialized safety equipment that roofers now use.

The work was hard and conditions spartan but most of the stress I started to feel wasn’t directly related to the job. While Eddie was a member of our church, the seventy miles to the  meetinghouse seemed to be enough to liberate him from maintaining expected behavior and standards. I’ve never met a man more imaginatively coarse, and as the youngest member of the crew I became his  primary target. It truly was amazing how he was able to liken every aspect of my life and behavior to some sort of aberrant sexual practice to include the way I walked, talked,  worked, and wrote a succession of unanswered letters to my Youth Conference crush Eileen. It was bothersome enough to prompt thoughts of quitting, but every time I came close to leaving I’d remember all that money and go back to work.

The only break I got were periodic runs to the landfill located several miles up a side valley; the trip through the forest along a rushing river providing a welcome sixty-minute respite from the intense labor, the smell of tar, and the blue language. I was teamed with Dan for those trips and our conversations became as much a break as the trip itself. He didn’t say much but what he did say was worth listening to – and it soon  became obvious that he also was less than pleased about Eddie’s comments.

It all came to a head four days into the week when we were put straight to work without breakfast in order to make up for time when Eddie overslept. The late start came with the usual customary obscenities but as the day wore on his invective became even more harsh and unrelenting. I kept cool throughout the day but when Eddie’s comments branched into a new category of anatomically impossible acts something snapped.

I turned around with the mop full of hot tar and quietly told him “I’ve had enough”. Eddie laughed harshly and replied with an indistinct obscenity as he turned away to trim some tarpaper overhanging at the edge of the roof – and in the process his elevated attitude of jerk-osity tripped one of my mental circuit breakers. The rage boiled up inside me with the fervor only a seventeen-year-old can muster and  I grabbed one of the mops, dipped it in the hot tar and turned towards Eddy.

…but as I moved Dan caught my eye and quietly said “It’s not worth it”. Eddie was working at the edge of the roof with his back to me – given the poor safety standards there’d have been no suspicions had he gone over the side of the roof. For a moment I stood still with the mop up like a solider at port arms…It was deathly quiet, the only noise a kind of “ssst/ssst/ssst” as intermittent raindrops began to hit the fresh tar…then Dan spoke again – this time a little louder. “Eddie – we need to take another run to the landfill” and the two of us climbed down to a mostly empty truck and left.

This time the trip to the dump involved more than getting rid of old tarpaper. On the trip out Dan hinted at a similar incident in his own youth and I quietly wondered if some of those gaps in his background had involved incarceration of some sort. As I stood at the edge of the landfill I took an inventory.

  • While the money was less than expected I’d still make enough for my needs.
  • I’d proved I could “tough it out” with a difficult job.
  • I’d proved I didn’t need someone hovering over me to keep me on the straight and narrow.

…and I was also concerned about picking up some of Eddie’s “colorful metaphors” in my own internal dialog. I realized that Eddie was no different than any of the other bullies I’d encountered in life and wasn’t worth getting worked up over. It all felt liberating – I wasn’t sure exactly what I’d learned, but I knew I’d learned something and the rest of the day went surprising well. Eddie kept up his diatribe, but I just whistled and kept working – in fact I made a point of working harder than anyone else on the crew for the rest of that day. My indifference to his comments seemed to just make him madder and more obscene, and as afternoon eased into evening the obscenities were replaced with ominous comments about scaling back the crew to save money.

It didn’t bother me, and as hard as the library floor was I quickly went to sleep a smile on my face.

…and the next morning at the diner I ordered steak and eggs for breakfast.

 

 

 

1961: The Sandman

ReRun Saturday + 1. What I didn’t mention in this post was that 100 year old home didn’t last another twenty years. An extended family member had it leveled sometime in the Eighties and put a manufactured home on the lot. Logically I understood the move – the place needed constant repair and was hard to heat/cool but it still broke my heart when I heard the news. It felt like losing a grandparent.

David R. Deitrick, Designer

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The Sandman is a member of what I call second-string mythical characters.  Not prominent enough to rate the massive Disneyfication that would weld him into a universal image, the Sandman has been used in both print and broadcast media for a wide-range of roles ranging from benign wizard to superhero to evil demonic menace. You’re welcome to take your pick of any of these incarnations but personally I know him to be a kindly short little man dressed in mid-19th century British garb.

I know that because I actually saw him in 1961.

Despite the lack of any Romany blood (that I know of) my family and I were gypsies when I was a kid. Using education alone as a measuring stick it was obvious that we never stayed in one place for long; by the time I got to seventh grade I had been a student in seven…

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Amazon Review: Star Trek/Legion of Super-heroes Cross-over Book

TrekLSH Cover

Despite their common use of  visual communication comic books and television shows are not always a good mix. While it is true comic adaptations can work well enough, the product of mixed genres can quickly become as corny and contrived  as the classic 70’s SNL skit What If : “What if the pioneers crossing the plains had to fight dinosaurs but the Man from U.N.C.L.E. went back through time to help them out”?

Luckily the DC/IDW Star Trek /Legion of Super-Heroes cross-over book avoids that trap. Jeffrey and Philip Moy have succeeded admirably in blending the  intense  color and dramatic styling of a superhero book with the late 1960’s visual splash of the original Star Trek series.  More importantly Chris Roberson’s plotting and dialog fits neatly into either books’ universe and he includes just enough fan-favorite Easter Eggs  from both properties to treat  the reader without being patronizing.

…and I will die a happy man after seeing Brainiac 5 and Mr. Spock quibble.

All in all it was a very readable book. I’d planned on stretching it by reading just once chapter at a time, but I had so much fun I got through it all in one night and was left wishing there were at least four more volumes in a series after this one.

The Star Trek/LSH book makes a pretty nifty addition to any  graphic novel library and I highly recommend it. If pressed to make a complaint it would be that I didn’t get to work on the project myself (I painted the dealer-incentive covers for IDW’s Wrath of Khan adaptation) As both a Trek and Legion fan I would have settled for $67 and an old hockey trophy for a chance at working on some as cool as this book.

The Archie Legion

2018-07-01 Archie Legion

I started reading comics at age eleven and have continued reading since that time – but I don’t necessarily read everything. When I find a good combination of story and art  I’ll read a book until the situation changes so when the industry made the big “gritty” change in 1985 I came close to leaving the genre behind.

The Legion of Super-heroes is a two-time favorite. It was one of the first titles I regularly collected and I collected the spin-off Legionnaires in the mid-90s when Chris Sprouse was handling the art. Some fans dismiss that 1994-96 run as lightweight,  referring to it as “The Archie Legion” but I am quite vocal  about liking it.

…and after a late-night text-duel on the matter with my good friend Mark Angell I came up with today’s sketch.