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The only examples of my printed output during these years were a few pieces I did for the student magazine, “The Mountain Goat”. One would have thought that these pieces of ephemera would be as irretrievable as the millions of brain cells I burned up during this era, but when I made an email request from one Annie Armour, an exemplary agent of the Sewanee archives, for any issues of the magazine containing my work, she sent me a bundle of “Goats” containing the panel cartoons and complete story featured below. Admittedly, the humor hasn’t held up well over the decades and may seem downright strange to the modern reader. But it does fill up a few pages of the NYTBS, n’estce pas? (sp)
Note to readers: I haven't been able to figure out how to upload pictures yet. This work has a lot of pictures, so I hope I can figure it out soon. But I'll just continue with the text and add them later.
I feel it is necessary to provide a little background information at this juncture before you proceed to the next work, my first printed effort in sequential art. The term “goose” was used to describe a pre-computer nerd type. They were not demeaned for their intelligence and devotion to studies, but for their total lack of any other redeeming qualities. Thus, Marvel Goose, even as a superhero, misuses his powers to advance the reactionary agendaof an administration grounded in the outmoded ideas of a decaying southern aristocracy.
The “Owl Flick” was a live action proto Mystery Science Theater, a midnight showing of a horrible film where all were encouraged to interact with the screenplay with witty and/or downright obscene comments. A zinging comment could add considerable juice to the zingers cache, while lame repartee was rewarded with silence or worse. Occasionally things did get a little out of hand, and I doubt the custodial staff was payed nearly enough to deal with the aftermath.
Note to reader: Pages of story to be added later.
I know I made an oath not to do anything to illuminate my personal life or the lives of friends and family, but after only month on the job of writing a NYTBS, I realize that it would be injudicious of me to take an inflexible stance on anything, if I hope to come up with 250 pages of amusement that will fill the bill. However, I will try to be true to the words my mama told me when I was just a little fawn, “If you can’t say anything exculpatory, don’t say anything at all.”
So it is with some trepidation that I urge you to step into the wayback machine with me to explore my….
Earliest Influences
Sometimes I wonder if I might have written a shelf full of bestsellers by now if I’d had more repression, abuse, family tragedy, and such when I was a kid. It seems that the more hard life lessons you are given the opportunity to learn, the more dedicated/obsessed you become to your craft. Unfortunately, I have been allowed to drift along for decades in reasonably good health, through a happy childhood, a low-paying but rewarding career, wonderful wife, stable family life, great kids, so you see, I am working under a huge handicap.
There’s always the chance that I may have repressed memories of horrors my conscious mind couldn’t handle. I plan to undergo some hypnotic regression therapy as soon as this NYTBS starts to pay off.
But let’s take a trip back to 1944, when I was born. It was a momentous occasion. It gave folks something else to think about besides WWII.
Note to reader: Imagine actual telegram announcing my birth which was sent to my dad , who was stationed in Norfolk, VA during WWll.
My dad was in the Army and Navy, as his postal sorting skills were needed everywhere. When he was stationed at the Norfolk, VA, naval base, he could visit us when on leave. By the time I was 2, I had begun to develop animal mimicry skills to amuse dad that were to be my first attempts at entertaining. I’m told my donkey was the talk of Rugby Blvd., Roanoke VA. Hee-Haw like a mofo in Ro-noke, ya’ll.
Here is an excerpt from a wartime correspondence from my mom to dad which illustrates my budding weird (or droll, as mom put it) sense of humor:
“Mickey misses you more and more each time when you leave. If you ask me he’s spoiled after you. I ask him yesterday where daddy was, and to my surprise, he said, “Daddy gone bromo seltzer. I had to laugh at him. He’s some pumpkin, he is.”
My creative growth was spurred during this period by a succession of strange and wonderful birthday cards.
Exhibit A- This may be considered a “gateway” card, its image stored in my little cerebral curlicues, planted there to manifest later in a predilection for addictive substances.
Exhibits B and C- My first exposure to sequential art came with these cute comic cards.
Note to reader: Pictures of bizarre birthday cards to be posted later
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Posted by mongrel1 on 2009-10-29 12:26:34 | Rating: | Views: 9
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