By Paul Carrier
It’s a safe bet that most fans of newspaper comics don’t give them too much thought. They may read Pearls Before Swine with their morning coffee, or scan the latest episode of Pickles before turning to the sports page and then heading out to work.
Some readers are more obsessive about their cartoons, collecting reprints in book form and devouring the occasional biographies that chronicle the lives of, say, Charles M. Schulz (Peanuts), or George Herriman (Krazy Kat) or Al Capp (Li’l Abner).
But for those with the most insatiable appetites, there’s no substitute for an account written by someone who was present at the creation, so to speak.
That’s what Cullen Murphy provides in Cartoon County, a firsthand look at the quirks and the art of prominent American cartoonists and illustrators who lived in or near Fairfield County, Conn., during the mid 20th century. These highly talented and idiosyncratic artists came to be known as the Connecticut School, practicing their craft during an era that Cartoon County’s subtitle describes as “the golden age of make-believe.”
This close-knit but informal club was a who’s who of cartoonists and illustrators from that period: Chuck Saxon, whose cartoons and covers graced The New Yorker for years; Mort Walker (Beetle Bailey); Bud Sagendorf (Popeye); Leonard Starr (Little Orphan Annie); Stan Drake (Blondie); Dik Brown (Hägar the Horrible); and Ernie Bushmiller (Nancy); among many others.
Although Cartoon County ranges afield, offering telling glimpses into the personalities and habits of several cartoonists, its primary focus is on Cullen Murphy’s father. John Cullen “Jack” Murphy illustrated the boxing comic strip Big Ben Bolt during its entire run, from 1950 to 1978. But the senior Murphy probably is best known for his 30-plus years of work on Prince Valiant. He began as an assistant to the Sunday strip’s creator, Hal Foster, in 1970, before assuming the mantle later on.
Born in 1952, Cullen Murphy was old enough to observe his father at work on both strips. Moreover, the younger Murphy took over the writing of Prince Valiant after Foster, who both drew and wrote the strip, called it quits in 1979. Foster's retirement transformed the Murphys into a creative father-and-son team. Jack illustrated; Cullen scripted.
The world described in Cartoon County is no more, thanks in part to the declining fortunes of the newspaper industry and the growth of the Internet as a mechanism for distributing just about anything, including cartoons.
Things were far different when Cullen Murphy was a boy.
“For cartoonists in America, the 1950s were the Cretaceous revolution. Conditions on planet Earth had never been so propitious,” Murphy writes. Back then, the country supported some 300 morning newspapers, 1,500 afternoon papers and 500 that were published on Sundays. “Those Sunday newspapers, with their thick comics sections, had a combined circulation of fifty million,” which exceeded the number of households in America. The Sunday funnies were so popular that, often, the comics section was wrapped around the rest of the newspaper, to assure that a paper’s biggest draw -- the funnies -- were front and center on the newsstand.
Murphy’s recollections are hard to pigeonhole, combining as they do elements of biography, memoir and comics history in a richly illustrated homage to a time and a place that obviously conjure up fond memories for him.
The illustrations alone — there’s at least one on almost every page — justify the price of admission. But Cartoon County has much more going for it than reproductions of photos, cartoons and other artwork. Murphy is a talented and experienced wordsmith who has produced a charming tribute to Jack Murphy and his friends. In addition to writing Prince Valiant for a time, the Amherst College grad is the author of several books, editor at large at Vanity Fair, and former managing editor of The Atlantic.
Armed with a wealth of historical information, a son's devotion to his father, keen insights into the world of comics and delightful anecdotes about some of cartooning's legends, Murphy lovingly resurrects the “vaguely anarchic” world of these Connecticut-based cartoonists who filled in at the drawing board when a pal was laid up by injury or illness and constantly grappled with their own tight deadlines, all within the quasi-puritanical mores of their era. In those long-gone days, for example, women in comic strips could be depicted in bikinis, but there was no tolerance for male nipples, which, Murphy writes, “presented a challenge for strips about prizefighters, cavemen, or barbarians.”
Some readers are more obsessive about their cartoons, collecting reprints in book form and devouring the occasional biographies that chronicle the lives of, say, Charles M. Schulz (Peanuts), or George Herriman (Krazy Kat) or Al Capp (Li’l Abner).
But for those with the most insatiable appetites, there’s no substitute for an account written by someone who was present at the creation, so to speak.
That’s what Cullen Murphy provides in Cartoon County, a firsthand look at the quirks and the art of prominent American cartoonists and illustrators who lived in or near Fairfield County, Conn., during the mid 20th century. These highly talented and idiosyncratic artists came to be known as the Connecticut School, practicing their craft during an era that Cartoon County’s subtitle describes as “the golden age of make-believe.”
This close-knit but informal club was a who’s who of cartoonists and illustrators from that period: Chuck Saxon, whose cartoons and covers graced The New Yorker for years; Mort Walker (Beetle Bailey); Bud Sagendorf (Popeye); Leonard Starr (Little Orphan Annie); Stan Drake (Blondie); Dik Brown (Hägar the Horrible); and Ernie Bushmiller (Nancy); among many others.
Although Cartoon County ranges afield, offering telling glimpses into the personalities and habits of several cartoonists, its primary focus is on Cullen Murphy’s father. John Cullen “Jack” Murphy illustrated the boxing comic strip Big Ben Bolt during its entire run, from 1950 to 1978. But the senior Murphy probably is best known for his 30-plus years of work on Prince Valiant. He began as an assistant to the Sunday strip’s creator, Hal Foster, in 1970, before assuming the mantle later on.
Born in 1952, Cullen Murphy was old enough to observe his father at work on both strips. Moreover, the younger Murphy took over the writing of Prince Valiant after Foster, who both drew and wrote the strip, called it quits in 1979. Foster's retirement transformed the Murphys into a creative father-and-son team. Jack illustrated; Cullen scripted.
The world described in Cartoon County is no more, thanks in part to the declining fortunes of the newspaper industry and the growth of the Internet as a mechanism for distributing just about anything, including cartoons.
Things were far different when Cullen Murphy was a boy.
“For cartoonists in America, the 1950s were the Cretaceous revolution. Conditions on planet Earth had never been so propitious,” Murphy writes. Back then, the country supported some 300 morning newspapers, 1,500 afternoon papers and 500 that were published on Sundays. “Those Sunday newspapers, with their thick comics sections, had a combined circulation of fifty million,” which exceeded the number of households in America. The Sunday funnies were so popular that, often, the comics section was wrapped around the rest of the newspaper, to assure that a paper’s biggest draw -- the funnies -- were front and center on the newsstand.
Murphy’s recollections are hard to pigeonhole, combining as they do elements of biography, memoir and comics history in a richly illustrated homage to a time and a place that obviously conjure up fond memories for him.
The illustrations alone — there’s at least one on almost every page — justify the price of admission. But Cartoon County has much more going for it than reproductions of photos, cartoons and other artwork. Murphy is a talented and experienced wordsmith who has produced a charming tribute to Jack Murphy and his friends. In addition to writing Prince Valiant for a time, the Amherst College grad is the author of several books, editor at large at Vanity Fair, and former managing editor of The Atlantic.
Armed with a wealth of historical information, a son's devotion to his father, keen insights into the world of comics and delightful anecdotes about some of cartooning's legends, Murphy lovingly resurrects the “vaguely anarchic” world of these Connecticut-based cartoonists who filled in at the drawing board when a pal was laid up by injury or illness and constantly grappled with their own tight deadlines, all within the quasi-puritanical mores of their era. In those long-gone days, for example, women in comic strips could be depicted in bikinis, but there was no tolerance for male nipples, which, Murphy writes, “presented a challenge for strips about prizefighters, cavemen, or barbarians.”
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