Thinkin' About Frank

He promised he'd be here.  Today is July 30, my bud Frank Turner's 53rd birthday.  I met him through his art first, up on the wall of Birmingham's first comic book shop back in 1981.  Owner Steve saw me studying this wanna-be upstart's drawings & said, "Yeah, there's another kid in town wanting to do comics!  You need to meet 'im; he's pretty good!"  Well, he was & I didn't like it.  Or him.  But we met & became friends anyway, then good friends, & then brothers-in-arts.  We inspired, competed with, encouraged, critiqued, argued with, forgave & loved each other.  Frank was an insatiable learner, deeply contemplative & one of the most honest people I've ever known.  We played racquetball lots, & though I could beat many, I couldn't him.  Once, when he came back to win from 20-0, I griped, "It wouldn'ta KILLDJA to let me HAVE a point, y'know!"  This seemed to strike him & he thought, finally shaking his head, "No...no, that wouldn't be right."

We planned to work together when we could, me inking his pencils, so of course all our joint efforts were him inking me.  He was more disciplined but I was more focused.  He had more savvy but I had tact.  Frank was driven but I was patient...Together, we made a great artist.

I had my eyes opened to racism & prejudice by seeing how the world treated & considered Mr. Turner.  He had the deck stacked & restacked against him & even after witnessing it for 20+ years, it still shocked me.  And his stillness & pride in living with it made me honored to call him friend.

Frank left us suddenly & quietly--as was his wont--almost 6 years ago.  When he died, he was learning Chinese, reading a textbook on string theory, & planning to print and sell his own comics with an industrial machine-thing that half-filled his living room.  Most of his incredible ideas & amazing stories left with him.  We knew I had a terminal disease & he'd promised that--all those characters & sketches I'd seen for years--he'd finally get it all down for me to read.  Lots I knew, but he had a whole universe in his head & there was SO much more.  He also promised that when health issues returned Janet & me to Alabama, we'd get a place together so he could help take care of us.  We DID move home, though Frank had been gone 3 years, & I swear, part of the house-hunting process WAS my making sure there was enough room IF...by SOME chance, y'know...

Obviously, I could talk about my buddy all night & then some, but I should wrap while it's still his birthday.  Happy 53rd, ya big lug; hope you know how much you're missed!  If not, well, y'shoulda BEEN here!
 

 

There's the boys back 93-ish!  Shades INside, huh?  Shows we were cooool.

 

Here & Gone

A short one today; simply a plea to make good use of your time & health.  The godsons (8 & newly-13) left today after a week with us.  We're sad but too wore-out to be REAL sad yet.  I was disappointed to not be able to DO more with them, to go on most of the outings they had, but thankful for those (like Janet, GranAnn & Alexa) that were & helped the boys have fun.

If there are people you want or need to spend time with, if there are certain things you've not had time for...prioritize.  My healthy times were filled with so much activity that now seems very unimportant & unmemorable.  Go do the stuff worth remembering NOW, dang it, while you FEEL like it!  I promise you, on your deathbed you will not take comfort in that big book of Sudoku you almost finished or even that all your comic books are bagged & boarded.

Plan today to do the most important things.  The other stuff will always fit whatever time's left over.

 

"At the tone, leave your name & message; I'll get back to ya."

Always a bad day to lose a hero; a role model.  As a kid, I wanted to be the coolest guys I knew: Andy Griffith, MisteRogers and/or Bugs Bunny; good, wholesome role models...ennh, 2 outta 3.  Later, creative inspirations Jim Henson, Chuck Jones & Jim Starlin (from comics...if not a reader, think 'Stan Lee also able to draw') became my new idols & got me thinking about what I wanted to DO.  Then one Friday night in 1978, I met a new kind of hero.

Detective shows hadn't grabbed me yet, tho' they eventually would.  Mannix & Ellery Queen, Cannon & Barnaby Jones, Banacek & Columbo...all the same to me back then.  And bo-ring.  Somehow, I was stuck home on a non-school night & one of these generic shows came on; this was before the ubiquitous remote so I was probably too lazy to rise, walk over & change the channel by hand.  It had a weird intro with a phone message left on a machine...pretty funny & turned out every episode had a different one.  Little jokes at the main character's expense that clued you that this show might be different.  After a KICKin' theme, we were ushered into a dingy mobile home where our hero...lived?  Why, this guy wasn't a dashing hero at all; he had a cool car, sure, but made mistakes, avoided fights, was in debt & kept his gun in the cookie jar!  But y'know, danged if he didn't TRY.  Under a cynical, easily-annoyed, put-upon veneer, this fella had a big, loyal & righteous heart.  If you were one of his few friends, he had your back, believe it.  He was sincerely more interested in doing right than making money, in finding justice over revenge, & in tricking the bad guy more than punching him.  'Cos that always hurt his hand!  No Lance White here (ya gotta be a fan)...this guy, I could aspire to.

I came to know James Garner outside of THE ROCKFORD FILES eventually, through MAVERICK(s), SPACE COWBOYS, THE GREAT ESCAPE, MURPHY'S ROMANCE, NICHOLS, VICTOR/VICTORIA, GOD DEVIL & BOB, HOUR OF THE GUN and tons more.  Great actor & many accomplishments.  But Rockford...Rockford was the guy.  Cool but awkward, suave but nervous, secure but maybe not.

 

I suspect Rockford was closest to who Garner was; he made $25/hr in Hollywood as a male model in 1946 (!) but hated it so quit & returned to Oklahoma.  He'd messed his knees up & complained about stunts but kept doing them.  He was generous beyond legal need with staff & co-workers but when done wrong, he fought.  He believed human concern should always outweigh the corporate & stood firm.  He drew lines of conscience that cost him financially.  Using a fairly rough start in life, he grew humbly strong, served his country (WW2 & Korea), became a one-woman family man (in LA!) and fought for his dreams & ideals his whole life.

'Cause that's what your hero's S'POSED to do.  Seeya soon, Jimbo!

James Garner (born James Scott Bumgarner; April 7, 1928 – July 19, 2014)

 

But on the bright side, having ALS will get you out of a LOT.

The intent was to do a couple of these a week.  Still is.  But when you have a pretty nasty chronic health condition, it's quite simple to rationalize NOT doing something.  Not 'feeling like it' carries more weight than when y'all >ahem< normal folks say it; sorry.  I try not to play that card too often but I also find myself not attempting near as much either.  Besides generally feeling poorly, ALS has turned me old & frail decades prematurely & I've started viewing the world as a 93-year-old might. 

It's scary out there--all moving & hard, uneven & pointy.  A simple Target parking lot now looks like the Appalachian Trail to me, full of dangerous terrain & deadly wildlife.  My balance is just about shot so that every step has to actually be thought about.  A crack or uneven place in the pavement can be as disastrous as a rockslide or bear attack out in the wild.  Well, maybe not a BEAR attack...big raccoon, at least.  And fellow humans abound!  A bump will knock me right down (it's happened) & I'm painfully aware nowadays of just how harsh & unforgiving a bitch concrete is.

Even home, I find myself disliking our hardwood floor & craving carpeting.  What foolhardy daredevil chose a stone tile bathroom floor or granite kitchen countertops?  Some YOUNG whippersnapper, betcha, what drives too speedy & stays out too late is who.  Durn kids.  Now...where was I?  Yeah, the world's not worth it, I don't feel good & I'm staying in bed.

My wife, the charming Dr. Janet Austin, has had health issues her whole life, starting with rheumatoid arthritis in her teens.  She came off disability, worked her butt off, got her PhD.  She advanced in her health education career, taking us to Atlanta, then D.C.  She had complications...kept working.  Heart attack...went back to her job.  Until a hip replacement--& my health--sent us back to Birmingham & family, she would not be sidelined.  And after a good rest, Jan's ambitions are in bloom once more.  She's got big plans, a website (http://drjanetaustin3.moonfruit.com/), and is traveling the country again, doing things that matter.  Last week, she fell on a Denver Airport escalator &, when I heard, I could FEEL it.  That panic of tipping over, the pain of impact, the tearing of those horribly-designed steel teeth, that after-dread that this might be serious.  Luckily, it wasn't; the girl's got her angels, seems.  She's off again tomorrow, a week back in Washington, to work & visit friends & godsons.

So, y'know....guess I can write a blog.

 

A Life Well Lived

What constitutes a successful life, a time on this physical plane well-spent?  The accumulation of wealth?  Gaining fame or making something with your name on it?  Is it raising a family or just simply being a decent, honest & responsible person?

I'm currently (well, not THIS second) watching every Disney movie possible, uncut & in order, and am up to a string of films featuring young Bobby Driscoll.  Bobby got his first gig, THE FIGHTING SULLIVANS, at 6 & had several credits already when he became the first live actor signed by Walt Disney.  He starred in one of my favorite childhood movies, the great SONG OF THE SOUTH (1946), TREASURE ISLAND (1950), & was PETER PAN (1953).  Many others.  The kid won an Outstanding Juvenile Academy Award, got a star on Hollywood's Walk of Fame, had a hit record, & toured the country (parades, radio & such) for years as America's #1 young star.  Then he turned 14.  Acne.  His voice changed.  His contracts were dropped.  He returned to public school & was made fun of.  Some TV (2 RAWHIDES!) & stage work followed over the next decade, but drug & alcohol abuse had already started in high school.  The Boy Who Wouldn't Grow Up did so...poorly. 

Arrests & jail, paroles & rehabs...Robert was broke & homeless by age 30 &, in 1967, disappeared into the harsh streets of New York.  When his father's health failed, Driscoll's mother hoped to reunite them all.  Some Disney Studios help got wheels turning but, sadly, they discovered that Bobby Driscoll had died & been buried anonymously in Brooklyn's Potter's Field, months earlier.  When SONG OF THE SOUTH was re-released in 1972, I went to see it at the beautiful Alabama Theatre & wished I could be that boy, with all his human and animal friends.

Bobby had accomplished SO much at such a young age & will live on for generations in his exceptional work.  But was his a 'good life'?  How many would trade theirs for his?  So, popularity & art & legacy...nice-to-haves, but don't necessarily determine a life well-lived.

To be continued...

 

 

Lou Gehrig's Speech

"Fans, for the past two weeks you have been reading about the bad break I got. Yet today I consider myself the luckiest man on the face of the earth. I have been in ballparks for seventeen years and have never received anything but kindness and encouragement from you fans.

"Look at these grand men. Which of you wouldn’t consider it the highlight of his career just to associate with them for even one day? Sure, I’m lucky. Who wouldn’t consider it an honor to have known Jacob Ruppert? Also, the builder of baseball’s greatest empire, Ed Barrow? To have spent six years with that wonderful little fellow, Miller Huggins? Then to have spent the next nine years with that outstanding leader, that smart student of psychology, the best manager in baseball today, Joe McCarthy? Sure, I'm lucky.

"When the New York Giants, a team you would give your right arm to beat, and vice versa, sends you a gift — that’s something. When everybody down to the groundskeepers and those boys in white coats remember you with trophies — that’s something. When you have a wonderful mother-in-law who takes sides with you in squabbles with her own daughter — that's something. When you have a father and a mother who work all their lives so that you can have an education and build your body — it's a blessing. When you have a wife who has been a tower of strength and shown more courage than you dreamed existed — that's the finest I know.

"So I close in saying that I might have been given a bad break, but I've got an awful lot to live for. Thank you."

— Lou Gehrig at Yankee Stadium, July 4, 1939

 

 

This largely sums most of my feelings regarding the comic career I left behind due the effects of ALS. For about 17 unbelievable years (like Lou above), I had the privilege of working with some amazing--& amazingly talented people.  Some, like Bill Mantlo (co-creator of Rocket Raccoon), Len Wein (co-creator of Wolverine & Swamp Thing), George Pérez (co-creator of Starfire & personal inspiration), & Terry Austin (best ink artist ever), were my childhood heroes & made me dream about things...things possible & impossible.

 

I decided to have the absurd dream that a poor, single-parent kid from the wrong side of Birmingham in as-out-of-the-loop-as-a-state-can-get Alabama, with complete ignorance of the publishing/creative process & NO artistic aspirations before age 14, could draw funnybooks for Marvel Comics.  Or at least DC.  I'm talking Manhattan here, that place where TV shows happened.  Of course that was possible; why not?  I'd seen a bookworm bitten by a spider become a superhero & a science geek become the Hulk!

 

Well, I drew--in class, after school & on the bus.  I filled notebooks & got art books from the library &, eventually, started college classes.  In 1980, a COMIC BOOK SHOP opened downtown & OTHER folks with my interests were there!  With their encouragement, I did actual story pages, put a portfolio together &, at 23, headed for New York City.  I got mugged day one.  The new talent guy at DC ducked out & left me sitting in the lobby with a plastic Clark Kent for over 3 hours the second day.  Finally, at Marvel, their man, Eliot Brown, made me wait only 90 minutes before just savaging my work mightily.  Just numb, I asked him if there was any point in my even trying anymore.  "Oh yeah," he nodded, "you'll have work within a year."  And, y'know what?...I DID.

 

It took a while LONGER to get the COVER, tho'.  This'n's by the incredible Kevin Nowlan!