When I was in college, I wanted to become an editorial cartoonist. I had drawn cartoons while in high school and when I hit the campus of the University of Tennessee, I started trying to figure out how to become the editorial cartoonist for the Daily Beacon. They had one — who was pretty good — but I was young, hungry and stubborn. I wanted to see my work in print. My R.A. (Resident Assistant) was a guy named Rusty Gray. Rusty, a go-getter (who later on was elected SGA President and is now a lawyer in Chattanooga) encouraged me to try out. I put together a few examples and headed over to meet with my advisor for a regularly scheduling advising schedule. She looked at my work and gave me probably the worst advice possible — she said, “The Beacon already has a cartoonist.” She’s now a published author but was in graduate school at the time and I’ve always wondered why she said something so discouraging. But it had the opposite effect on me. I marched downstairs and tried out. They picked one of my ideas — it was a cartoon about UT’s parking situation (which I assume is still bad). That’s when my career began.
TAKE A CHANCE
I wasn’t great at first. I’m not even sure I was that good. But I had fire in my belly. I wasn’t published everyday in the beginning but I kept turning in work. There was no greater thrill than seeing my work in the morning when I picked up a Daily Beacon.
My sophomore year, I was given a comic strip. It wasn’t that good but it did teach me deadline discipline. Yet my first love was the editorial cartoons and I kept working hard to get better. I had met my mentor (Knoxville Journal cartoonist Charlie Daniel) thanks to a speech class assignment and was learning more and more about my craft. The editor at the time HATED my comic strip and made a deal with me: Drop the strip and I could do the editorial cartoons daily. I leapt at the opportunity. For the next three years, my worked was in EVERY edition Daily Beacon. (I copied Charlie’s work ethic — he was the Carl Ripken of editorial cartooning)
DO THE WORK
When I graduated, I could not find a job at a newspaper. It was a Catch 22 (if you don’t know this reference, read Catch 22 — Great book, decent movie): you had to have experience to get a job as an editorial cartoonist and I didn’t have enough. But I couldn’t get published to get the experience I needed. I ended up moving back home and being a high school janitor. Like many of you, I did what I had to do — but my attitude sucked. I was like a fart in the elevator — no one wanted to be around me but couldn’t escape me. I stopped drawing for about six months and immersed myself in a pity party. I’ve told this story in other places, but it was a trip to church, a sermon on the Parable of the Talents and an epiphany that woke that monster back up in me. I got busy, won The John Locher Memorial Award for cartoons I was doing at a local university (where I was taking a painting class). The award opened doors. I soon was working at the Marietta (Ga.) Daily Journal (not drawing cartoons) and then at the Conroe (Tx.) Courier (drawing a few cartoons). The pilot light relit inside of me
DO EVEN MORE WORK
It was a work ethic that I maintained until The Clarion-Ledger made me part time in 2010. I drew seven cartoons a week for them and even didn’t miss a paper after I had cancer surgery. I still have a similar dogged worth ethic. When I went “part-time,” I just drew six (for half the pay). I draw six today for Mississippi Today (most of the time) — plus everything else I do. I am a blessed man.
My standard nightmare is that I am back at UT working for the newspaper and I don’t turn in the work. I had it last night but it manifested in a different form: I was my age and it was present day. Last night’s nightmare’s hook was that my work didn’t matter. I was the old guy. It didn’t matter if I published cartoons or not.
I guess relevance is something you worry about when you get older and, Lord knows, if you’ve been in the newspaper industry. I have to admit, I have never worried about it when I am awake. But last night’s nightmare — and yes, it was a nightmare — was a vivid and cautionary tale. I am not Freud but something is rattling around in my head. I am sitting here this morning, drinking green tea, watching church and thinking. Doing the work is important. I have the work ethic. But I also need to make sure I am consistently navigating the storms of change.
DO WORK THAT MATTERS.
P.S. Yesterday, I took the day totally off. I did four drawings that brought me personal joy. They haven’t gotten a ton of likes. But as I get older, I find time for me to do work that I enjoy, too.
DO WORK THAT BRINGS YOU JOY
P.S.S. There is a thread that runs through this post that isn’t lost on me. Most of my growth as an artist and as a person has occurred when things didn’t go my way. I am grateful for that advisor (I later had another one who was a rock star), the editor who hated my comic strip, the fact I was a janitor and the fact I was made part-time at the Clarion-Ledger. All pushed me. I’m also grateful for my mentor Charlie Daniel, the “adults” at the Daily Beacon who were angels without wings for encouraging me. And of course, I am appreciative for my family, who have been on this ride with me. Maybe you do pull up your own bootstraps. But I am know I wouldn’t have had boots or straps or the motivation to yank at them without the help of a lot of people.
YOU DON’T DO THE WORK ALONE.