How I met Dr. Seuss

JDC and Dr. Seuss

JDC and Dr. Seuss

This is an opinion column.

Last week in my ‘If I Ran the Cancel Culture Zoo’ post, I teased: “I met Dr. Seuss, he drew me a toon. I’ll tell you all about it one day real soon.” That day is here. This is my Dr. Seuss story.

Close your eyes and imagine you are five years old. It’s almost Christmas and you’ve just been given the news: You won a trip to the North Pole to meet Santa Claus!

Now you know how I felt when I met Dr. Seuss.

Like most of us, I grew up with Dr. Seuss. He taught us that reading (and drawing cartoons) was fun. In second grade, Tim Dixon and I were in danger of gettin’ the paddle for an uncontrolled outburst of laughter during class. When our teacher, Mrs. Hughes, found we were sneak peeking through some Dr. Seuss books, all was forgiven.

Doodling Sr. Seuss: ‘If I Ran the Cancel Culture Zoo’

Mrs. Hughes was one of my favorite teachers. I zipped through every test so I had time to draw her a picture on the back before I turned it in. A pig, a horse, Batman. Homework? She got the full treatment. The “Write a sentence with each of these 10 words” assignment turned into a one page-long, rhyming Seussian sentence using all 10 words. When she flipped the paper over, there was a full-color pencil and crayon drawing of the 10-word monster, including a hand-scrawled bouquet: “For you, Mrs. Hughes.” Mrs. Hughes and I are still dating.

For better or worse, the good doctor was a huge influence on whatever it was I was and whatever it is I am.

Fast forward to 1986. I was working as a cartoonist for the Fort Worth Star-Telegram, my first job out of college. I had been there almost five years. I loved the newspaper and the people felt like family. I couldn’t imagine working anywhere else.

But then a cartoonist job came open at the Tribune in San Diego, California. In those days, it seemed like almost every cartoonist applied for every job opening, whether they wanted it or not. The 80′s was an ongoing game of cartoonist musical chairs. San Diego also happened to be the site of that year’s Association of American Editorial Cartoonists annual convention.

In May, with all the cartoonists in town at the same time, the San Diego convention turned into a cattle call job interview. Portfolio in hand, I climbed into a cab with 4 of my best buds-at-the-time to interview for the same job. We laughed about it all the way there, then lined up and took our turn. Caravans of cartoonists wore a path to the San Diego Union and Tribune office building that week.

At this point in my life, California had been a place that only existed on TV and in the movies. San Diego in real life was almost too perfect, an idyllic paradise playground. And the cartoonist convention, as always, was a hoot. Lots of memories were made at that convention. I made some nice connections, but I went back to my homey Texas job without giving the San Diego job much thought.

I was shocked a few months later when I got a call-back.

On a 100-degree September day in Texas I flew into a 64-degree September night in San Diego and checked into a hotel. I was just happy for the free trip and cool change of scenery. I already had a job that suited me just fine, I didn’t need another one. I was a young, single, in-the-moment dork. My only game plan on this trip was to keep myself amused.

“Today you are You, that is truer than true. There is no one alive who is You-er than You”

My inner Dr. Seuss taught me to be the You-est You you can be. With that in mind I set my nerves free.

The next morning, I found myself dressed in my spiffiest dark suit – my only suit - and my cleanest Converse All-Stars, sitting in an editorial board room with three gentlemen – Tribune Executive Editor Neil Morgan, Deputy Editor Bob Witty, and Editorial Page Editor Joe Holley. We were having a pleasant, semi-serious conversation about my work and about this job. After a while, I slipped my hand into the pocket of my suit jacket and felt an unexpected prop - a pirate’s eyepatch. Not sure why it was there - probably from a previous Halloween or cartoonist convention - but it was there. I pulled it out and placed it over one eye. The interview continued without a wink or a blink. A few minutes later, I took it off and placed it over the other eye. Nary a stare nor a care. Nobody asked why. Nobody batted an eye.

I guess things were going okay, because later that day I found myself riding in a vintage sky blue Mercedes Benz 280 SE, driven by Neil Morgan, to meet the publisher, Helen Copley, at her private office in La Jolla. It was a picturesque drive, with the Pacific Ocean on one side and steep hills lined with pristine houses and funky trees on the other. Along the way, Morgan pointed towards the top of the highest high peak.

“Ted Geisel,” he said with some flair, “lives right up there.”

“Dr. Seuss? Right up there?” I filed it away. This was turning into a very good day.

Cat in the Hat

Dr. Seuss personalized print

We were having an easy conversation, sharing a few laughs about this and that. But as we neared the publisher’s lair, Neil Morgan was on edge.

“Don’t be nervous about meeting Helen Copley,” he said, with a twitch. “She won’t ask many questions. Just listen, nod politely and don’t say too much.”

All I heard was “Don’t say too much.” From the mouth of a suddenly nervous man who was now talking too much. That’s when it clicked. Damn. This guy really wants to hire me. But he’s afraid I’ll ruin it by just being myself.

I liked Neil Morgan. He was a tall, lanky man in his sixties with an easy smile and charm. After years of living in California, the warmth of a North Carolina accent was still in his voice. I was a preacher’s boy from Kentucky. He was also a preacher’s son from the South. He was amused by my random irreverence, but he didn’t think it would play well with his boss. I got the message.

I only knew a few things about Helen Copley: She had been the secretary to Jim Copley, the former publisher. Then she became his wife. After his death, she took ownership of Copley Press. And she made Neil Morgan nervous.

It was kinda fun watching him sweat as we approached her door.

Backlit by the afternoon sun poring through the windows of her finely furnished office, Helen Copley was a stark, faceless silhouette. As she led us to the other side of the room, her face, stern but pleasant, came into view. I guessed her to be about the same age as Neil Morgan. We were seated next to each other on a deep red leather couch. Copley sat across from us in a matching leather chair. One got the feeling the mahogany in this room had witnessed many meetings, both pleasant and otherwise, and was darkened by oily secrets.

After a few minutes of tea, cookies and light banter, mostly between publisher and editor, Copley turned to me and asked, “Will we have any trouble with you?”

I was supposed to say, “No ma’am.”

I should have said: “YES! I’m a cartoonist, dammit! If I’m doing my job, you’ll have LOTS of trouble with me!”

What I did say, ever-so politely, was “If you ever have trouble with me, Ms. Copley, please feel free to come down to the office and give me a spanking.”

Neil Morgan’s soul left his body and rose to the ceiling.

After the longest moment in the history of long moments, Helen Copley smiled and took a sip of tea. “If I ever have trouble with you, young man,” she said, glaring at the lifeless body sitting next to me, “I’ll deliver the punishment to Mr. Morgan.”

After a round of obligatory nervous laughter, Morgan’s soul returned, we exchanged nods and the meeting was over.

I think maybe I had accidentally just been hired.

The San Diego Union and the Tribune were highly competitive newspapers under the same roof, with distinctive reputations. The Union was the staunchly conservative morning paper, guided by Helen Copley’s heavy hand. The Tribune, the afternoon paper, was considered the step-child of the two. Under Morgan’s stewardship, it was known for a feisty reporting style and moderate voice. Steve Kelley was the Union cartoonist. The Tribune had been without a cartoonist for several years.

On the drive back, Morgan was giddy about his plans for me.

This had been a perfectly surreal sunny day full of serious surprises and deliciously awkward moments. But now the surreal had become a little too real a lot too fast. The discussion of salary and a start date was kind of a blur. It all sounded great, exciting – and scary. This morning I was playing with an eyepatch during an interview and now I have a job offer? How the hell did this happen? I felt like I was cheating on my Star-Telegram family. I wasn’t quite ready to commit.

“I need to go back to Fort Worth and give this some thought,” I said.

Morgan took a moment to size up the situation. “What can we do to make your decision easier?”

“I will accept this job on ONE condition,” I said, taking my own moment. “I want to meet Dr. Seuss.”

Neil Morgan smiled his broadest Neil Morgan smile. “I will make that happen.”

My start day at the Tribune in San Diego was January 1, 1987.

A couple of weeks into a new year, I found myself riding with Neil Morgan in the Mercedes up the winding road to the top of Mount Soledad. The sun was bigger, the air lighter, the sky bluer, the road twisty-er as we corkscrewed up to the tippy top of the world.

Trees jumped from the pages of The Lorax and waved us into the driveway. 27-year-old me turned into a 5-year-old who was about to meet Santa Claus.

The view was breathtaking on this palatial perch high above the ocean. Brick paths wandered through manicured lawns, multi-colored flower beds and well-coiffed playful trees. Did Dr. Seuss draw inspiration from this place or was this place imagined into existence from Dr. Seuss drawings?

Theodor Geisel and his wife, Audrey, met us at the door and welcomed us into their mid-century modern home. Mid-century modern? Excuse me. This home was mid-century magic.

Neil, Ted and Audrey were carrying on like comfortable old friends as I stood in awe, gawking at the treasures that surrounded me.

The house was neat as a pin but loaded with weapons of mess destruction. Thousands of paintbrushes, pencils, pens and pastels lurked in hundreds of glass jars on tables and easels and easels and tables, just waiting to pop out and get busy. Audrey, sweet as pie, sensed my temptation to play and was keeping a watchful eye.

The walls were dripping with doodles, rough sketches, original paintings and too many characters to count. A Cat in the Hat here, a Grinch over there. A star-bellied Sneetch I see. Thing One and Thing Two. Is that a Thing Three?

This magical place on Mount Soledad was indeed Santa Seuss’s workshop. The best treasure of all was the feisty man himself. He had the look of a curmudgeon, but there was an elfin spring in his step that belied his age and exposed a jolly soul.

Dr. Seuss portrait

Dr. Seuss portrait

What I remember most about Ted Geisel were his eyes.

At 83, his bright blue eyes sparkled with little boy mischief. These laser sharp eyes left a mark on all they touched. They were locked in, piercing every moment and darting about, on high alert for the next inspiration.

Neil, Ted and I loaded into the Mercedes and drove into town. We were going to lunch at a high-falootin’ fine dining place in downtown La Jolla. It was a hot spot for celebrities and high society movers and shakers at the time. Neil parked out front and left Ted and I in the car while he went in to check on the reservation.

Ted looked at me with those twinkling eyes and said, “Now’s our chance! Let’s get out of here!” He was probably only half kidding. Mr. Geisel had little interest in hob-knobbing or making public appearances.

Once inside the restaurant, Ted sat on one end of the table and I quickly took the seat to his left. I think there were several other folks who joined us that day, but for the life of me I can’t remember who they were. Raquel Welch, a La Jolla native, could have been sitting next to me and I wouldn’t have noticed. I was chatting with Dr. Seuss.

We talked mostly about drawing cartoons. I think we both had the urge to take out our ink pens and go to town on the fancy linen tablecloth. It was a shame all that empty white space was going to waste. (We also had a few private snickers at the expense of other people in the room, whoever they were.)

As a young, dorky wet-behind-the ears editorial cartoonist, I was still experimenting with styles and trying to find my voice (same as today.) Back then, I added a little smart-ass rat to every drawing. It was usually in the corner offering a snarky comment about the subject du jour. Ted saw my stuff in the paper and was kind enough to offer a few tips.

“I like the rat. You really have something there. But you gotta make it bigger!”

I can’t tell you who else was there that day, or what I ate, but that was one lunch I’ll never forget.

Dr. Seuss sig

Dr. Seuss Green Eggs and Ham signature

Back on top of Mount Soledad, Ted took me into his studio and its jaw-dropping ocean view. He graciously signed some Green Eggs and Ham books for me and my young nephews in Kentucky. Then I watched as he personalized a Cat in the Hat print by drawing a speech bubble that read: “I can lick any mouse in the house! But I wouldn’t lay my paws on a J.D. Crowe rat!”

I ran into him a couple more times before he died in 1991. And he occasionally sent notes to me via Neil Morgan. I still see his feisty blue eyes widen as he makes his point: “Draw that rat bigger!”

I should have listened.

The complicated relevance of Dr. Seuss’s political cartoons

Seuss editorial cartoon

For two years (1941- 42) Ted 'Dr. Seuss' Geisel drew over 400 editorial cartoons about WW II for the liberal New York newspaper, PM.

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JD Crowe is the cartoonist for Alabama Media Group and AL.com and 2020 RFK Human Rights Award winner for Editorial Cartoons. Follow him on Facebook, Twitter @Crowejam and Instagram @JDCrowepix.

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