An eye for a good line

ROBERT GARDNER

Throughout my life, I have harbored the notion that one morning I

would wake up and find myself suddenly in command of a new talent.

Instead of sounding like a mule with colic when I opened my mouth,

I would sing like Sinatra.

Instead of looking like I should be lurching around the upper

reaches of Notre Dame chasing Esmerelda, I would glide across the

dance floor with the grace of Fred Astaire.

At 91, I am running out of mornings for this to happen. I’m

beginning to despair that these little miracles will ever take place,

which means that I probably won’t ever be able to draw, either.

As far as drawings, my ambitions are modest. I don’t have to be

Michelangelo or even Norman Rockwell. I’d settle for being one of

those people at county fairs who, with a few flicks of their pencil,

create a passable caricature. I have so little talent at drawing that

Hangman is a challenge. Fortunately, even if I can’t draw, I have had

the good fortune to hang around with people who could.

On my wall hang about a dozen cartoons done for me by friends such

as Virgil Partch (VIP), Dick Shaw and John Dempsey. The Dempsey

cartoon appeared in Playboy. It features a group of nudists; and I am

among them, hovering in the background. Realizing it might be awkward

for a judge to have to explain why he was appearing nude in Playboy,

Dempsey considerately placed me behind a tree which conveniently

shields my private parts. It’s a very funny cartoon, but of course, I

can’t repeat the catch line in a family newspaper.

In another cartoon, I am at the police station in my bathrobe and

pajamas, clearly having been dragged out of bed by a phone call. Dick

Shaw, who did the cartoon, has drawn himself as very much the worse

for wear. He has his arm around me and says, “Now, here’s what we’re

going to do ... .”

Virgil Partch did a number of cartoons of me over the years, but

one of my favorites is not of me but of my old friend Chuck Masters.

He is seated at a bar, scowling at the bartender. The liquor being

poured from the bottle is coming out in a zigzag.

“I said a straight shot,” he growls.

Not only did I envy their ease with a pen, I marveled at their

offbeat view of life. Who would ever think of a straight shot of

alcohol and come up with such an image? Only a cartoonist.

My granddaughter Samantha and I had a game we played when she was

little. She was cowgirl and I was cowboy, and it was like a serial.

Each week, there was a new adventure with new bad guys. Cowgirl

(Samantha) always saved the day, while I was sort of a Gabby Hayes

character, just there to keep the plot moving.

Knowing my fondness for Samantha, Shaw sketched out a book using

the cowgirl and cowboy characters. Not to be outdone, Partch did his

own book for Samantha, although in his book, she wasn’t cowgirl but

worked in the circus. He was so pleased with the book that he sent it

to a publisher. The publisher wrote back that it was very funny but

wouldn’t work for the target market, which was 5-year-olds.

I guess the publisher didn’t think children that young would get

Virgil’s humor. He’s probably right. Hopefully, not too many

5-year-olds know what a straight shot is.

* ROBERT GARDNER is a Corona del Mar resident and a former judge.

His column runs Tuesdays.