San Diego had a wealth of talented cartoonists in 1982 when I published an article in the Communicating Arts Group newsletter by Betty Abell Jurus titled “Different Strokes, Different Folks.” The article featured interviews with seven cartoonists: Tom Voss, Sherman Goodrich, Rick Geary, Mark Zingarelli, Everett Peck, Mark Kingsley Brown, and Gary Radke.

Cover for Communicating Arts Group newsletter with theme, "different strokes" about San Diego cartoonists.

“Different Strokes, Different Folks” by Betty Abell Jurus

The seven of them love toys. Four fly model airplanes from the ceiling in their work area. The fifth owns a blimp. A sixth has a picture with a plane on it. The seventh collects Eisenhower memorabilia. Six know one or two of the others on sight. Only one had met the other six, but they all know each others’ work. They are defined in one dictionary as “a noun.” Who are these guys?

Find out involves laughter, questions, studios rioting with color and toys, lightning-sitted men with eyes that dance and sparkle with wild notions, and laughing some more.

Their names are Mark Kingsley Brown, Everett Peck, Tom Voss, Mark Zingarelli, Gary Radke, Rick Geary and Sherman Goodrich. They comprise seven of a select group — the cartoonists of San Diego. They also plead guilty to doing illustrations, animation, design, and happily caricatures.

“Cartooning,” smiles Everett Peck, admiring his red and yellow toy car, “is like being a standup comedian, only instead of doing it on stage, we do it on paper.

Sherman Goodrich, Mark Zingarelli, and Mark Kingsley Brown, not content with paper alone, have literally done standup comedy. Sherman went further still. “I once caught the Ellmer Gantry syndrome,” he says, “and went jout as an evangelist, too.”

They love their work. Says Rick Geary, “I’m doing what I like to do. I will always draw.”

“Sketching,” says Everett Peck, “is one of my favorite things to do.

“It’s most satisfying to produce a good ad. That’s beautiful,” claims a happy Tom Voss. I always felt cartooning wasn’t a legitimate career because it was fun. I laugh at my own stuff when I’m drawing.”

Mark Zingarelli grins and adds, “I like bizarre and seedy things … diners and back alleys.”

“My problem,” admits Mark Kingsley Brown, “is that I love cartooning so much I’d do it for free if there weren’t rent and other payments to make.”

The seven generally agree that cartoonists fall into three categories: gag cartoonists (it’s all there in one frame), humorous illustrators (drawings for articles, ads, stories), and comic strip artists. Doing caricatures is a special talent not all share. “I’m a draw-er,” Everett Peck said, and with that, spoke for them all.

Everett doesn’t “remember a time when I wasn’t drawing.

“At age 12 or 13, Mark Zingarelli recalls, I took a mail order, thirty-three lesson cartoon course.”

“As a youngster,” Rick Geary smiles, “I’d create my own little world in cartoons.”

“How long?” laughs Mark Kingsley Brown. “Forever.”

In spite of their pleasure in what they do, they agree it’s not easy to find success. Everett Peck says flatly, “There are no child prodigies in cartooning.” His reaction to a determined student: “Are you sure there isn’t something else…have you considered…?”

“Cartooning,” he believes, “can’t be taught. Drawing can be. There is an innate point of view developed within those who haven’t been in the ‘mainstream’ of life and it comes out of their slightly warped point of view. To be a good cartoonist, point of view is very important. A cartoonist must have the ability to intellectualize his feelings and translate them into a drawing. One must have good hand skills, and needs a certain amount of assessed knowledge and observations, an acute understanding of the human condition, and interaction before beginning to get at least a narrow point of view. Minimum age? Usually, 17 or 18.”

“As a cartoonist,” Tom Voss comments, “concept is the most important thing. More important than the execution of the idea. Chuck Vaden is a gag cartoonist. In a single frame, he says it all.”

“To be a successful cartoonist,” says Gary Radke, “one must have a reasonable drawing skill and a reasonable market for the drawings. Cartoonists see things in an episodic way. It’s the relating of related phenomena, a look at the world sideways. A reasonably friendly look. One can be taught to cartoon, probably, but to make money? Doubtful.”

Rick Geary smiles. “Humor depends on style. I try for the understated. Statement comes out jof personal viewpoint. Mine is whimsical. I feel there’s only one way to teach cartooning. Give them a chance to do it. Watch their progress, help them get feedback, learn self-examination, self-knowledge, and knowledge of the exterior world.”

An amused Sherman Goodrich says, “Cartooning is an esoteric  business. To do either animated or still cartoons, one needs the innate ability to mentally see-slash-feel motion. My criteria is for a good cartoon is a character standing still, yet looking as though he’s just about to do something. There’s energy in this character. It’s an intangible feeling. Gary Radke captures this.”

His criteria for himself? A couple of years ago, feeling unsure about his skills as a gag cartoonist, he sent out two batches of cartoons to separate markets. Each bought. Satisfied, he hasn’t sent any out since. “I am,” he laughs, “blessed with talent and cursed with laziness.”

Mark Kingsley Brown, recently notified of his inclusion in the 14th edition of Who’s Who in California, shared his thoughts on how students become professionals: “Be versatile. Have a thorough grasp of printing techniques. Know how the art will be used. A problem for art directors is that less experienced people don’t know what it takes to produce and ad. Knowing gives the artist more strength. Learn graphics, production, illustration. In school, get involved with the student publication. It’s a great way to get practical experience.”

He thought a moment. “Once a beginner gets versatility going, the portfolio should represent the work you’re strongest in and the type of illustration you’re most comfortable with. The art director will see the artist’s strengths. Those going professional, basically, have good talent. What separates successful from non-suscessful is that “certain look.’ Your unique strengths.”

“The advertising agencies here are open to new talent. With the present quality of art directors, San Diego is becoming more progressive, more willing to take chances with new talent. San Diego is the market of the future. Now is the time to begin establishing yourself.” His airplane hangs above a model of the Titanic.

Getting schooled, started and established happens in odd ways. A young Everett Peck loved the animated cartoons of the 30s and 40s. This led to graduation from Long Beach State and his becoming a freelance humorous illustrator who also teaches at Palomar College and Otis Parsons in Los Angeles. His airplane is bright yellow.

Tom Voss, an art director at Kaufman Lansky Baker, and graduate of Arizona State, bot his start when an article he’d illustrated in cartoon style caught the eye of an art director who encouraged him. “I freelanced for a time,” he says, “but every morning I’d hear the ‘thunk’ of my neighbors’ car doors closing as they went off to work and there I was. I felt left behind. I felt that I should be out there on the freeway, going to work too. Being an art director is fun.” His airplane is red.

Gary Radke, an art director at Lane & Huff, came in from Detroit. His work much praised, but without formal training in art, Gary says that of his various skills “cartooning is the most natural.” His airplane flies in a picture.

At college, Pennsylvanian Mark Zingarelli went to art school first. Then, “I decided I didn’t want to be an artist, so I changed my major to communication.” We wrote comedy for a local radio show, acted in dinner theater, and did standup comedy. Finally, his freelancing career began with animation. He was persuaded west to attend a wedding, and by the promise of a job in a TV production. “Neither came to be,” he laughs. And, he wrote a book entitled, The Ball of Anunset and the Great Pharoah’s Curse, a book that would be “read to a small child, but it’s really for adults.” His airplane flies high.

Rick Geary, freelancer from Wichita, Kansas, graduated from the University of Kansas with a degree in commercial art. He “likes to go do the laundry at the laundromat at 11 at night, and read.” He’s done some workshops, but “it’s uncomfortable being the one who’s expected to stand up there and talk.” He’d rather his work talk for him in publications such as The National Lampoon. Sans airplane, he collects Eisenhower memorabilia.

Sherman Goodrich came from Ohio by way of Scottsdale, Phoenix, and Las Vegas. His is a tale of beginnings. His life as a freelancer began as a caricaturist at the Centerville Ox Roast outside Dayton, Ohio. He drew such a crowd that a photo and story appeared in the Dayton newspaper’s Sunday supplement. Thus armed, he advanced to nightclubs. That went so well, he breached the Playboy Club in Cincinnati. There disaster struck. “The manager,” he relates, “decided the caricaturist should be a ‘bunny.’ I looked wretched in a tu-tu, so I offered to disguise myself as a carrot.”

Failing, he hastened to George E. Rudin’s Polish Restaurant with Circumcised Idols. There, Rudin’s share of Sherman’s earnings was 25%, a situation doomed.

“Lured to Phoenix by friends who sent propaganda, Arizona Highways, for instance,” he settled in the French Quarter, a lounge at Scottsdale’s Executive House. There Paul Shanks took 10%. On Sherman’s first night, he earned $350. Shanks growled, “You’re making too much money. From now on, I get 20%.”

The next night, Goodrich began at Joe Hunt’s, across the street. He stayed there 8 years, and in 1969 caricatured Elvis Presley in Las Vegas for the president of the Sahara, Don Rickles.

Eventually, 450 caricatures of regular customers hung on one restaurant’s walls, and 100 more hung on another’s Not enough. He yearned to do animated cartoons, but had no training. Persuaded to try anyway, he bought a book, Animation in Commercial Art, by Eli Levitor. “I read it. It looked easy. It was.” He produced a ten-second spot film.

Still doing caricatures in clubs, but armed with his film strip, he covered the agencies “promoting animation like a banshee.” He found success, but moved to California.

Bonita is home “because that’s where I found office space.” For 18 months thereafter, no business. It took time to get established, and he is not fond of cocktail parties. “They are uncontrolled situations where people are liable to do anything. This bothers me.” He grins. Eventually, Chuck Vaden and Steve Irwin persuaded him to present himself. When he did, business did too. Above his board, a silver “Goodrich” blimp floats.

From such myriad experiences do cartoonists evolve. “But,” says Mark Kingsley Brown to aspiring cartoonists, “don’t say you’re a cartoonist unless you’re dead serious about the profession. It’s real bad to take up an art director’s time with ‘backyard’ cartooning. They don’t want copying. They want concept. The only way to be a professional is to be able to come up with concepts as well as the ability to illustrate that concept.” He smiles. “One of the big thrills in my life was ordering new business cards. Under my name, for the first time, was ‘Cartoonist.’ At that moment, I was committed.”

His grin widened, a faraway look in his eyes. “Cartoonists. Our view of the world is included in the price.”

Sal Randazzo, the “passionate creative director,” posted the question on the LinkedIn Communication Arts forum, “What typefaces do you think are overlooked and under-appreciated today?”

It is fun to revisit Souvenir and Korinna, two over-used fonts from the 70s, for an informal message. Univers and Avant Garde can still be excellent workhorses for a contemporary message. Univers has the broadest array of condensed faces, which I find extremely valuable for technical information.

Using Avant Garde, I often replaced the “0″ (zero) with a full rounded capital “O” for a more stylish numeral, and the typeface featured a good variety of ligatures of capitals for logos and fancy headlines.

Slab serif typefaces such as Memphis, Rockwell, and Stymie are not used much, but I like the look of Caecilia with the rounded slab serifs.

A very attractive serif text font is Legacy Serif, as is its sans-serif sister, Legacy Sans. Legacy Sans has a nostalgic 1920s flavor, but is still quite nice for contemporary projects. Legacy Serif has become my favorite font overall. It can usually be used in place of Times, Bookman, Caslon, Century, Galliard, Goudy and Garamond for an elegant publication text. I love it.

By John Oldenkamp
This article originally titled “But Will It Float?” for Waterlog (1982)

“Soybeans? Well, they ain’t nothin’. Stick ‘em in and hope it rains. Not much fer eatin’, but the hogs, they loves ‘em, by god.” – Jim Mort, farmer, Peru, Indiana, 1947

If you were lucky and masochistic enough, you found yourself among the employed at General Dynamics Astronautics during the late fifties and early sixties in the so-called Communications Group, an umbrella term that covered art, motion pictures and television, editorial, still photography, a massive slide library, and the technical/reproduction services. Public relations were also part of this network. Your personal mission: to “wordspeak” what is now called “high tech” to the public, the stockholders, and indirectly perhaps the Russians, about things new and wonderful in missilry, intercontinental destruction, space exploration, zero-G, and some other frightening concepts being frontiered and merchandised as part of one remarkable corporate outreach.

There were, consequently, horrible deadlines, thousands of projects on-stream, an unconscionable number of meetings, presentations, conflicts, joys, and depressions as we pursued the sort of excellence that our leader and house whip, Charles T. Newton, envisioned. This was an elite and very much goal-oriented group. We pulled down a number of awards, including a near sweep of the New York Art Director’s show. Time did a cover story on this innovative corporate whispering-out-loud. We were fat and sassy, brash, but prideful.

You were thrown in with a bunch of over-achieving, interesting, and sometimes nasty folk. For my money, they were and are the birthing and the backbone of the current San Diego communication business. A litany of characters: San Diego city manager Ray Blair, designer-art director Stanley B. Hodge, Burton Brockett, Ernest Boldrick, illustrator John Sentovic, Tom Chapman, John Hynd, Leonard Parker, Tom Suzuki, Don Wright, Ole Olsen, J. Lee Anderson, the late Eugene Keefer, et. al. This was indeed the MGM of corporate talk.

There was, of course, a bullpen. We were the unscrubbed strivers, the possessed, driven types. We saved the company every day, or so it seemed, but since our own needs were generally unmet, we reveled in being truculent, upstart, and disarrayed.

We had some reason to be out of control. We were out of control. We were forever putting out twenty-pound ideas on hundred-and-forty-pound stock. We therefore had dire need for outlet. We had napkin-wetting contests wherein beer was the medium. It became necessary to discover and prove how big a ball of rubber cement one could manufacture in eight hours. We cadged free food and drinks at post-presentation presentations. We also jiggered the time clocks, wrote brilliant things on the toilet walls, flirted in the hallways, and occasionally went off-site and got mischievously smashed. Dope was unknown.

One of the inmates of the pen became my semi-confidante, gadfly, mentor, and comforter/co-culprit. His major talent at the time was to unfailingly stick a pushpin properly in any surface from a distance of twelve yards as his wan little arms preternaturally so designated. If you were there, you knew this early vintage Don McQuiston well.

Somehow, we have to connect this pin-throwing phenom to soybeans, communications, and the sea. We have to get a skinny barefoot kid selling Pepsi on the streets of Fresno to the here-and-now. Fact: In the interval between General Dynamics and the associated high jinks, freelancing, later becoming principal to at least two advertising agencies, then freelancing again, this man has become a master designer, typographer, and art director worth touting anywhere. His awards list is pure heavy metal.

He grows a lot of trees. And cats. Has a delightful home-built studio. Is an inveterate fisherperson, and vociferous naturalist. Is overworked. And like many, has mellowed with time.

Is he a mariner? More clearly put, we need to know what would cause an otherwise sturdy and normal adult to spend ten years handcrafting a Baltimore Clipper sailboat replica in the bean-field boonies of Del Mar. It may be pure desire to match hand and eye on whatever seems faraway, commanding his personal mood and fortune on waters ripe for discovery, to relax at fifty, having rubbed spurs on fence posts enough.

Whatever. Space does not permit full chronicle, but memory serves to remind of a 1966 McQuiston phone call, the general excitement of which was an invitation to come help win the Newport-Ensenada race as crew. A certain Earl Schultz had this brand new 65-foot bug-eye sloop, and wanted a seasoned group to whiz her down to Mexico in victory.

I had been sailing the Great Lakes and inland waters for twenty years or better, and had actually been in the Olympic trials in 1957, missing out just barely owing to the slight corpulence of my forward crew person, whose ballast was overly negative. A day sailor, I knew nothing of navigation or ocean racing.

Long stories hopefully get shorter. Suffice to say that we did indeed agree to participate and inaugurated our winning cruise in barging the starting line by at least ten minutes, had to go around thereby giving up another half hour to our competitors, hailing out of Newport Roads somewhat less than gloriously, as planned. It also happened that the owner had cross-wired all the batteries, so that we unknowingly bereft of binnacle, running lights, and diesel engine capability. The rest of the crew, some ten of them, included a famous screen actor; two cops from West L.A.; a builder; and assorted “laid-backs” who had absolutely no idea of what was supposed to happen so spent the first part of the race partying.  Most went to bed sans dinner.

Around midnight, it was evident that we were somewhere between San Diego and Cathay, and the rest of inner space.  McQuiston had out his “charts.” I wondered where the hell he had gotten these specious scraps, inasmuch as I was in charge, fresh hangover notwithstanding. It began to rain. It was very dark. An unfortunate jibe occurred after a strong gust of wind, sending our champion craft suddenly and terminally astray. Miraculously, though, we saw lights on the unknown horizon.

“Aah, Ensenada!” I cried. “Crap, looks like we are the first here! Let’s go below and get those rummies up, and ram the port,” I said with tremendous enthusiasm and authority.

My conviction lasted all of thirty seconds. We were about to beach dead-stick on the old fuel dump some six miles south of Tijuana!  “Pooh,” I said. “No point in waking up those jerks.”

We proceed. We finish last out of 595 entries. We enter the harbor in Ensenada at ten in the morning. Since the diesel is out, we have to swing this big pile of logs quite smartly in order to avoid crashing into the rest of the fleet. They award a spittoon-like device as trophy. I am crestfallen.

McQuiston announces that he has “told us so.” We rent a bumboat and go to the Bahia to play hero. The famous screen actor becomes grumpy and unmanageable. I put him in a sedan bound for the border. The remaining crew dissipates. My girlfriend calls to tell me to stay where I am. She has found something else to do.

Conceivably, the genesis of the McQuiston Baltimore Clipper, as presented here, could have resulted from our infamous and embarrassing Newport-Ensenada Regatta attempt, but probably not. The devil always does his homework. Now, please, back to Del Mar.

Memories of the foregoing flashing like an old movie, I go aboard Don’s still-landlocked vessel to witness a most carefully researched and deliberate effort underway. If the replication is not totally accurate, let us admit and admire the preservation of style as it should exist. The decking, of well-aged teak, is carefully and lovingly in place. There are dovetails, peg joints, and nicely lofted dimensional reductions in great abundance. Below decks, spaces to sustain and sleep eight or ten, take shape under the gloom of a temporary canopy. A bit of brass and stainless gleam in the passageways. A sturdy British diesel motor perches comfortably in the sultry loins of the still-dry bilge. A door here and a dresser or counter there, each beautifully shaped in mahogany, installed and rubbed out to a fine luster, suggest future warmth. A Belgian woodstove will live soon on an oakwood throne backed by tediously laid-on ceramic tiles in the motif of Flemish gentry. The aspect is of impeccable craft and continuity. To cruise and bed down here would be yet another extension of an already brilliant career. One hears the freeboards pounding. The subtle lines of the foredeck risers are noted, as is the delicate airiness of the deckhouse. Solid bronze porthole castings await some labor of love final rubbing out. Looking aft, we spy a gaping hole where the tiller mechanism will soon be installed.

Outside and overhead, there is a shading of elderly and stately mimosa. The soybeans are playing out there adolescence less than fifty feet away. A dog is about. There are legions of squatting spiders. A soiled blueprint or two dominate an otherwise unoccupied and scrupulously neat worktable. The trashcans are empty. It is early on a to-be warm day.

Don McQuiston scratches a non-existent bit deep inside his left armpit. My camera sits ready in the non-shade. A hurried picture or two are committed, but I must leave. I have an appointment God only knows where. I need oil for my car. Non-marine concerns unhappily override.

A Miramar jet scrambles vertically, screwing out my brain. I am no longer at sea, but cruising Sorrento Valley, bound for the office, city and work.

The Baltimore Clipper was forty-five feet on the waterline, about sixty-five from bowsprit to tiller, with a team of fourteen-odd. Very seaworthy. Excellent weather helm. As good off Madagascar as she was in Rhode Island. A distant alluvial event has brought beans and boat together just as that unwarranted jibe on the way to Ensenada proved convincing enough to guarantee the risk we see fulfilling here. God bless us all. There will be ten years’ water under this Lady at Thanksgiving.

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John Oldenkamp was the proprietor of a photography studio located on Adams Avenue in San Diego for many years. His clients included major advertising agencies, graphic designers, and local celebrities including television news anchors, business people and politicians. John was part of the crop of creatives employed at San Diego’s largest private-sector employer in the early 1960s, General Dynamic Astronautics, a company that designed and manufactured aircraft, missiles and space vehicles (specifically the Atlas and Centaur electronically-guided weapons missiles) for the cold war effort. John contributed this article to me in 1982 for a newsletter I edited for the Communicating Arts Group of San Diego. The theme of this particular newsletter issue was “Waterlog,” a specious but fun nautical-themed publication for graphic communicators.  –  Jim Hance

By Betty Abell Jurus, © 1982, © 2011

8:30 a.m. Exit a very quiet and efficient elevator to face two large desks sans people. Behind the furniture is an expanse of glass, and a view of downtown from the tenth floor, the art department of Harcourt Brace Jovanovich. Rubin Pfeffer’s territory.

Rubin enters from the right, smiling, extending a hand in welcome. His office,, at the southwest corner of the building, is a few steps away. The window behind his desk faces Broadway. At a right angle, before the desk, sets a drawing board. Work in progress on a book jacket. Left of his desk, the wall is occupied by a counter-topped cabinet with bookshelves above.

Rubin Pfeffer sits at the desk and begins to talk about the art department. “We handle trade books. That is, books that are sold in bookstores. We are responsible for the exterior and interior design. We also do promotional materials such as poster.”

He offers a tour of the department, which involves walking a square course around the elevator shaft rising through the center of the building. Past the elevator doors, on the southeast corner, Marianna Lee, managing editor for trade books, and Lisa Piscou, her assistant, have a corner office.

Turning left, the east corridor is lined with work areas divided by a wall, but open to the corridor, and also to the outside by virtue of the sweeping windows. There work Joy Chu, senior book designer, and Chuck Wall, managing editor of books for professionals.

The northeast corner office belongs to Warren Wallenstein, production supervisor. The north side of the square is composed of offices with doors open wide. Within are Ginny Anson, associate production manager, Diane Sterling, editor of books for professionals, Michael Aiskin, production editor, and production assistant Sheryl Taylor.

The west corridor has drawing boards as well as desks. Vaughn Andrews, graphic assistant to the design department, works here and, between Vaughn and Rubin Pfeffer’s office, is Mark Likgalter, book designer.

“HBJ,” Rubin says, “keeps the permanent staff small,” preferring to use freelancers “to avoid the danger of sameness in style and approach.” Many freelancers are needed because “our workload is so large” and HBJ wants “a variety of talent for reasons of freshness and creativity.”

Pfeffer believes San Diego’s pool of talent is a large one, but says, “Surprisingly, we’ve had as many people contact us from Los Angeles as from San Diego. I’m disappointed that we haven’t heard more from the local people. I don’t know why,” he added, “that more haven’t been contacting us.” He is obviously and honestly puzzled by this. “We need people with the mechanical skills and the potential to be good designers,” he continues. “Right now, we’re looking for a designer for book interiors.”

He enjoys seeing new work, he says, and needs to know who the local people are and what various kinds of work they’re doing. When asked if interested people should call before submitting work, he exclaims, “Oh, no! Just send samples in. I read all my mail. Submit samples of their work. Show us what they can do by sending a Xerox, a proof, a printed sheet – in whatever area their expertise and interest lies. We also take references from other people. I’m always interested in seeing the work of illustrators, photographers, and designers.”

He glances at the bookshelves. “We deal with a huge variety of books. We deal with none of them as a group. Each book is a new and unique product and is handled individually.”

When Pfeffer is interviewing freelancers, he says, “I’d be looking at the background of experience and the nature of the person. Artistic talent is taken for granted. Experience is important.  The more, the better. I do realize that perhaps the San Diego freelancers haven’t had the opportunities for getting book publishing experience that someone in a major publishing center may have ad, but there are a number of publishers here for whom they may have worked, and that experience is important.”

He gestures toward the cabinets. “I keep samples of submitted work on file. I don’t keep portfolios because I don’t want the responsibility for them. I may not call for two years, but once I’ve seen someone’s work, I remember it.” He walks to the cabinet and extracts a metal holder full of portfolio samples in manila folders. “I use these. When I need a certain type of illustration or photograph, I’ll remember if someone in this ‘active file’ does the kind of work I need. I may not remember the person’s name, but I’ll remember a certain illustration or photograph, get the file, and go through it until I find that piece of work. Then, I’ll contact the artist.”

He pauses for a moment, then continues. “The best way for someone who would like to do freelance work for us to find out our needs is by going to a bookstore and seeing what kind of products HBJ does. We always need good talent. The sample pieces submitted should be representative of a person’s best work, and of the kind of work they prefer doing. The samples should also be self-exploratory. Focus should be in one direction. I’m suspicious when I see a portfolio whose artist seems to be able to do all things. I like a solidly focused portfolio, and if I happen to see — appearing consistently — a definite, high-quality history of concrete work, I’d be very interested.”

Pfeffer went on to say that, on occasion, an author disagrees with the planned design, in which case his opinions and ideas merit consideration. But the final decision must be HBJ’s since “Our work is based on a wider experience with design and marketing than the author is likely to have had. Whatever product it is that bears the HBJ name – book, catalog, or poster – we make it the best that It can be. Quality is this department’s job. Packaging books is major. The package must meet the integrity and content of the book. It must be fair and must not misrepresent the content.”

He smiles. “We don’t work in a vacuum here. Each book goes through many hands, and if its design has a flaw, someone from sales, advertising or editorial will bring it to our attention. In design, we work to match the quality inherent in a book. We use the best talent we can find.”

And since design is based on content, “I read as much of each book as I can. Every book on every list is different and demands a different approach. The marketplace dictates the format of the book,” whether it’s spiral bound, hard or soft covered.

Pfeffer graduated from Carnegie-Mellon University where he majored in graphic design. Wishing to become an illustrator, he went to work for Grossett & Dunlap Publishers. Later, as a freelancer, he designed for MacMillan Publishers, and eventually moved to Harcourt Brace Jovanovich beginning first as an assistant art director. Now, as art director, he has been with HBJ for eight years.

Back at the elevator doors, he repeats, “We haven’t had as many calls from San Diego’s freelancers as we’d hoped for. I really don’t know why. I know the talent is out there.”

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Betty Abell Jurus interviewed San Diego graphic designers and wrote articles for the newsletter I edited for the Communicating Arts Group. Her husband, Skip Jurus, photographed designers, photographers and illustrators for her articles, and he also created a large archive of photography documenting the development of San Diego’s downtown.  This was an example of one of Betty’s articles interviewing the art director for a major book publisher in San Diego in 1982, Harcourt Brace Jovanovich. Her interviewing subjects for these articles helped her in writing and producing her novel on Navy SEAL commandos in the Vietnam War, Men in Green Faces, with Gene Wentz, published in 1992. Before embarking on the writing of the novel, Betty Abell Jurus was an active participant in the San Diego writers scene, regularly attended the Santa Barbara Writers Conference, and operated Writers’ Bookstore and Haven on Adams Avenue in San Diego (the birthplace of the Southern California Writers Conference).

A note about Harcourt Brace Jovanovich: In 1982 when this article was written, HBJ was a San Diego-based publishing firm with a long history of publishing fiction and nonfiction for children and adults. The Harcourt trade publishing part of the company was acquired by Houghton Mifflin in December 2007. Post-merger, the company is now known as Houghton Mifflin Harcourt, located in Boston, MA.   – Jim Hance

“Some Art, Some Aren’t” By Frankie Wright (1982)

[I edited and produced the newsletter for the Communicating Arts Group of San Diego 1980 to 1982. This article by Frankie Wright appeared in Issue 17. Guest art director for the issue was Ted Meyer, with Jeannine Wheelock and Foodmaker, Inc. doing production. However, it appears that I had a lot of influence on the layout and design as well. The theme for this issues was 17 Magazine, "The Magazine for the Young Designer." Printed in glorious black and white on uncoated paper, advertising rates were up to $200 for a full page. -- Jim Hance]

PERHAPS ONE OF THE IRONIES of life is that difficult-to-define words are the easiest to use. Three letters can combine, bound off uvulas, roll over tongues, and define a universe. Place “the art of” in front of any activity and you ennoble it. But try to define “art” and the puckish little word slips into the nearest alley.

The word “art” packs a lot of power despite loose usage. It knows every self-flagellant illustrator’s soft spot. But the beauty of it (if not the truth) is that the art is relative and can only be judged in contrast to whatever has passed before. (Thank you, Camus.)

In our short lives, the space between Pop Art and New Wave may seem like a long Van Winkle yawn (with Op, Minimal, Earthworks, Conceptual, Performance art, etc., dreaming in-between). To Art, it’s at most a quick snort, likely to be forgotten when the next ten movements are inhaled. After all, it has a few years (oh, maybe three hundred) before the innovative three-point perspective was abandoned for the Impressionist studies of light on a single plane. Major changes are pokey, even indistinguishable, without the condensation of time.

Super-industrial, high tech, label grabbing, “fast-lane” scrambles. Hero worship today is understandable if not a form of sanity. The search for mythical archetypes has an historical imperative. The art world star search is no exception. Yet, we may never recognize the stars in our midst in our life spans, nor know where to look for them. The art world doesn’t make it easy, being rather divided. First, there is art (you know, the real art). And then there’s commercial art. The difference between the two (though sometimes blurred) is, in very simple terms: An artist (the real kind), solves artistic problems for himself, whereas a commercial artist solves his client’s problems. (Thanks, [Jim] Crouch.) The distinction is relatively new. For example, what if a young man named Leo submitted the same portfolio to Art Center and UCSD’s art department. Art Center would likely accept Leo based on the strength of his technical drawings and representational sketches and studies. UCSD would likely reject him considering those strengths a weakness for their curriculum. Leo’s last name is da Vinci, by the way.

This may be a reactionary view of the worth of art. Great art is innovative and influential. But in Leo’s time, great art was also solving problems for clients: the church and the aristocracy.

Self-doubting illustrators (and photographers) should put their whips in the closet and remember: If da Vinci were alive today, he would probably be an illustrator.

BOB KINYON planted those above thoughts by once saying, “If Rembrandt were alive today he’d be an illustrator.” It isn’t an apology actually, just a fun thought. This discussion leads to the Kinyon auction on October 22. Here’s how.

When Bob Kinyon died of cancer at 39, his friends wanted to create a memorial in his name. The idea of a scholarship to Art Center for studlents who could not afford to attend but who otherwise qualified seemed like an ideal gesture. (Da Vinci and his masterful cohorts had their apprentices, a practice that lives much more healthily among commercial artists than those real ones nowadays.) Perpetrating quality in the graphic arts by helping young talent costs money however, and those same friends had some experience “raising money” through the [Communicating Arts Group] auctions. An auction of art by old and young lions in the business became their fundraising strategy and has been successful. Two students have been awarded scholarships and are now attending Art Center.

The Robert Kinyon Memorial Scholarship may or may not launch a new art star to be discovered years and years from now. A new Old Master. But in the meantime, it is allowing artists (and soon photographers) to pursue a career in that nebulous “art” world and eventually solve a lot of problems for twentieth century clients.

The work of this year’s Kinyon Auction participants is basically unavoidable. Their list of clients and awards is longer and more decorative than a [Don] McQuiston fish story.

To illustrate:

You’d have to avoid all paperback book racks. Newspapers and magazines are out. Better throw away the TV Guide. Forget records, they come under cover. You’d have to leave your mail unopened — in fact, you couldn’t even look at it, the stamps would get you. So would movie theaters, airlines, billboards, banks, bookstores, national parks, auto dealers, universities, liquor stores, and yes, even football games. That’s just the beginning. If you thought an escape into the bohemian arms of Paris might isolate you, don’t be fooled. Richard Sparks’ work is soon to be exhibited at the Pompidou Center.

Don Weller, Mamuro Shimokochi, Robert McGinnis, Richard Sparks, John Berkey, Alex Gnidziejko, John Dawson, David Grove, and Craig Nelson (for starters) have sent artwork to the auction committee. Local participation includes Millsap, Shed, Watts, Reamer, Kitchell, Hilton-Putnam, and many others who have yet to deliver the goods. (Our thanks to John Oldenkamp who has referred and encouraged many artists and photographers to become involved.)

All auction entries will be on display at the Maple Creek Gallery’s pre-auction show. The gallery opening is Tuesday, October 19th at 5:00, a wine and cheezer. If you can’t make it Tuesday, the gallery will be open Wednesday and Thursday. Sneak over at lunch or after work.

Don’t miss this year’s auction. It’s an opportunity to support the Robert Kinyon Memorial Scholarship Fund. Just by being present you demonstrate that helping  to send talented students to Art Center is a cause that promotes continued excellence in the graphic arts.

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Author Frankie Wright now produces art from her studio in Allston, MA. Her Website is http://www.frankiewrightstudio.com/

I’ve read the literature. Fort De Soto Park Beach was named “#1 Beach” by TripAdvisor. Caladesi Island State Park Beach was named “#1 Beach” by Dr. Beach. And Clearwater Beach was ranked “Best Family Beach” by Fodor. This is a photo I took on Treasure Island Beach. The sandpipers know best. “The beaches are better in Florida.”  –  Jim Hance

“I like to deal with honest people,” Pete says. “In fact, I’d rather deal with a rattlesnake if I knew it was a rattlesnake than to deal with somebody pretending to be something else but actually is a rattlesnake.” Then he tells me a story.

He and a man named Preston quibbled for weeks on the price of a prize-winning, 2,800-pound bull Pete had up for sale. Preston was known for driving a hard bargain, and the two were $16,000 apart in their negotiations. As previous deals with Preston had stretched beyond a two-week span, Pete became exasperated over the current back-and-forth conversations. So he proposed, “Look, Preston, we’re not going to haggle over this forever. Let’s flip a coin. Heads, we go with my price. Tails, we go with yours.”

The man replied, “Only if we can use my quarter.” Pete agreed, and Preston flipped his quarter.

“Shoot,” Preston spat. “You win, Pete. So, okay, I’ll pay you the extra sixteen thousand.” And so he did.

Pete grins as he adds the punchline to this tale: The coin-flipping conversation took place over the phone. Pete was in Texas while Preston was in Colorado.

By Jim Keen

Great Ranches of the West

“It’s true. The early bird gets the worm. So does the late bird, and the bird in-between. Because by design, there are always more than enough worms. In fact, the only bird that doesn’t get a worm is the bird that doesn’t go out to get one.”
— Mike Dooley

I am a new subscriber to Brian Johnson’s Philosopher’s Notes podcasts and downloads, but I am really enjoying his takes on the “new age” philosphy of authors like Eric Butterworth, Deepak Chopra, Wayne Dyer and T. Harv Eker. Every day or so I have been receiving an emailed invitation to download his podcast, about 15 minutes in length, which I copy into iTunes, and sync with my iPhone. I have all of my collected Philosopher’s Notes in a single playlist. My 3-miles hikes through my very hilly neighborhood while listening to Brian Johnson makes the trek seem to melt away in just a few moments.

Brian does a superb job of nailing the “big ideas” of these books, and expressing them in his unique, exuberant style. He doesn’t just read from the featured tomes, but gives his own insight on what these big ideas mean to him. Here Brian is commenting on a big idea by Eric Butterworth, “Why Be Average?”

“…why be an average person? All the great achievements of history have been made by strong individuals who refused to consult statistics or to listen to those who could prove convincingly that what they wanted to do, and in fact ultimately did do, was completely impossible.” [Eric Butterworth]

Love that. I’m smiling as I remember the times in my own life when the “experts” I consulted told me I couldn’t do something. 

The most vivid memory: I was a 24 year-old law school drop out in 1998. The only thing I knew I wanted to do (besides burn my resume was coach a Little League Baseball team. I did that. In the process, I had a vision that within 5 years every team and league in the US would be using the web for everything–schedules, standings, directions to the field, pictures Grandma and Grandpa could check out if they missed the game, etc. I wanted to get 1 million (!!!) teams using a web site I would build. I thought I could do that within 5 years. I talked to some smart, successful mentors who told me it was impossible. How would I, a 24 year-old law school dropout with no business experience, no money and no connections do that?

Just the feedback I needed to get to work. (In a way, they were right, though. It took us 4 years, not 5 to get our first million teams using our site, eteamz.com. [Brian Johnson]

I really hate the idea of being average. In things I can’t be great at, I want to be at least “different,” but not “average,” please. Yes, as both Butterworth and Johnson discuss, we each have the potential to accomplish “the impossible.” But we each have the gifts of a different perspective, different skills, different knowledge and something uniquely special which we bring to our work, our social lives and our associations. Once you get to know someone, how can they ever be “average” again?  [Jim Hance]  

If you’d like to subscribe to Brian’s free newsletter with podcast downloads, direct your browser to:

http://philosophersnotes.com/newsletter/new

I suspect you will become a fan too.

“The safest way to get what you want is to deserve what you want.” — Charles Munger


”Every survival kit should include a sense of humor.” — Author Unknown


”Make visible what, without you, might perhaps never have been seen.” — Film Director Robert Bresson

“Laughter is the shortest distance between two people.”
Musician/Comedian, Victor Borge