It's my dad's retirement from the Human Services Agency in Merced County, California tomorrow. Mom called me last week to request this drawing for the party tomorrow. That's my dad, and my parent's house in the background. See, it's mom's theory that dad's third career is going to be the lawn. It is quite a big lawn. I lived in that house for a couple years after it was built, and I can tell you -- I'm not mowing another lawn if I can avoid it. That lawn broke me. I still have a runny nose.
It's funny that what started as our hobby on a VIC-20 in 1981 turned into his 2nd career after he retired from the Air Force in 1986. It was touch-and-go for a while after dad left the Air Force, and in total contradiction to his intended career in counseling, he wound up working in the computer department at Merced County in the late 80s. He's got a Master's degree in Counseling, and while it certainly wasn't a prerequisite for a job as a systems analyst, it probably helped a lot for that X-factor in computers, the human operator. So, Dad and Dilbert got their start at the same time and same place (all Cubicle Farms intersect on some hyperdimensional plane, you know they do).
The history behind this
type of drawing is a little (a lot) longer. After I'd left my job as an illustrator and cartoonist at the Turlock Journal in California in 1989, I still had the itch to draw...
a lot. Being sensible, and trying to be more marry-able, I had decided to drop the 4-year career in art, and find a Job that gave health benefits, savings, and tedious reliability. Who needs public acclaim if you're filling your gas tank with pocket change? I needed to provide for my Family. Good hunter. Find food. *Grunt*
But, the artist in me kept digging his way out. I drew at night a lot, for fanzines like Larry Stanley's Valley Comics Update (now online as the
Penguin Comics Update), and trying out for comic book publishers. Eventually, the novelty that I could draw hit the juicy gossip circuit in the Merced County offices where I worked, and I'd bump into people who recognized me as "that guy who draws cartoons." It was a label that chafed me somehow, but I couldn't put my finger on it then. Looking back on it, I suppose it was a reminder I'd been good at something, but not good enough to make lots of money by it. (Yet.)
However, that same fascination those people had translated to them seeking me out for favors. I unearthed a constant side-gig drawing caricatures, particularly as parting gifts for lucky escapees from the County Cubicle Farms who were launched into Retirement Gardening, or work at parallel Cubicle Farms, enviously feted by the co-workers they were leaving behind.
From my college minor in Journalism, and research into the history of cartoons in newspapers, I was very freshly influenced by the cartoonists I'd discovered. My original caricatures usually centered on someone at the job they were leaving, but seen through a Mad Magazine/Walt Kelly/Krazy Kat filter. Walt Kelly, Mort Drucker and Al Hirschfeld are the most polite caricaturists I've found, and can make anyone's features flattering, and instantly recognizeable, so I'd try to channel them. I'd throw in lots of Will Elder-esque tiny sight gags in the background; file cabinets with labels like "In," "Out," "Sideways," "Between," and "Monkeys". Mounds of paper cresting like a wave with a barefoot surfer hanging ten. And a meticulous recreation of the caricaturee's office decoration and desk appearance, littered with surreal details.
It was quite the operation to start a drawing, though. There'd be the initial hushed approach by a contact representing a group pooling gift-money for someone retiring or leaving for another job. They'd ask what I'd need to get started on a drawing. I'd explain how the operation would go: I need a few reference photos both of the mark and their office, and if the contact couldn't get them for me, arrange a time when I could. It sounded so simple, yet so clandestine, you could see the spark in the contact's eyes, realizing they were about to pull a fast one on their co-worker. They'd leave, looking like a poker player on a bad streak suddenly holding a house-breaking straight, trying to put their game face back on.
One day soon, there'd be a call at my desk, and a furtive, breathless voice on the line.
"Hello. Dave Lanphear, Auditor-Controller's office."
"Hi. The mark's out of his office now. He's at lunch."
"I'll get my camera and get over there," resisting the urge to suddenly look over my shoulder.
"Okay. Leave soon," and the conversation was over, an ambient buzz of awareness, adrenaline and danger starting. The gig was on.
Grabbing my camera, and donning my "I belong here" look and my County badge, I'd nonchalantly travel county office halls I'd typically never travel or be allowed in. Eventually, easing through the victim's department door, I'd arrive, ready to conduct my assignment. My contact would meet me, and usher me quietly into the mark's office. I could feel office workers' eyes slide our way as I was whisked out of sight. Hidden in the mark's office, I'd be given a brief rundown on the mark's personality, habits, hobbies, and then be left alone to document what I needed.
Getting snuck into public officials' inner sanctums with a smuggled camera, covertly snapping pictures of an unwitting person's desk and office, and then leaving without a trace, is a big buzz. I was James Bond. Or, at least, Bob Woodward.
The rest of the work was fun. Getting all the Polaroids I'd snapped, I'd start to draw a 1o" x 15" image, leaving a margin on the paper to attach the matte later. After some sketches to study the likeness of my mark, and a little writing to work out the best line the mark should speak to the enchantedly jealous gift-givers, I could begin in earnest. I'd draw the main image lightly in pencil, eagerly anticipating the inking. Inking was usually where I thought the least, at least in words, since I was trying to fit in everything I could think of, and trying not to draw myself into any corners. The final step was some colored pencil in parts of the drawing, since markers were still a bit out of my budget then. I'd leave the drawing on my table for a few hours, dropping by periodically to see if I still liked it out of the corner of my eye, like Scooby Doo backtracking by a mirror trying to see why the mirrored Ghoul seemed out of synch.
The first one of these drawings was for my mom's boss in the late 80s, a nice man named Dale at Sherwin Williams. That was when I discovered my penchant for satire and surreal sight gags. Sherwin Williams is a paint store chain, and Dale's office desk there was a Brazil-like stack of papers. I think that's where I kept riffing that gag from in the later caricatures. In the drawing I did, Dale was sitting at his desk, quite lost. Dance instruction-like shoe prints weaved around the floor and wall in impossible patterns. The Sherwin Williams sign was transformed to "Surefire Millions". I think the gag was he was looking for his glasses, lost in plain sight, comfortably perched on his head. He was so pleased to receive that drawing, that I hear it's probably one of the only things he kept from his old job at the paint store. I hear that a lot of people say they'll keep them, waiting for when I get famous, the unspoken conclusion being "then the drawing will be worth millions." I hope that never happens, because my intention for drawing what I give away is to entertain, and it's a very personal joke between me and the gift-receiver. It would lose a large degree of meaning if some anonymous third party were to get the drawing because my name is in lights and 20 foot letters.
See? That's the great thing about comics; the biggest my name ever gets there is about 10 points!
Anyhow -- happy retirement, Dad! It was a lot of fun to draw you this time. Mom says it's a really cute drawing of you. Maybe now that you've got that career in Home Lawn Maintenance, you can make the side career in Professional Writing, and we can do a comic book together?
ComiXtreme's T.C. Johnson has a fun review of our fun book, The Thing #4! If you didn't understand why you like The Thing yet, T.C.'s probably explained it the best way I've ever read! (Oh, and just for fun, go read this strip from CTRL+ALT+DEL... it's a skewed look at the F.F.!)
