Classic cartoon: Bill Mauldin, Part Two

I'm tied up for the next few days with some workshops for middle-school journalists, so will be posting some of the classic cartoons I used to show high school students in a presentation on the topic.

This, of course, is a true classic, and one of the great obituary cartoons of all times.

But why?

When I showed this to the kids, they had just seen Thomas Nast's obituary for Garfield, in which Columbia, unarmed and without her armor, weeps bereft. Not only does it provide a nice segue from Nast to Mauldin, but both cartoons succeed where so many others fail by playing off national symbols in a way that transforms them.

It's not enough, as more than 30 cartoonists did in the aftermath of 9/11, to show the Statue of Liberty weeping. We were all sad, and that was a mundane and pointless observation.

But strong, brave, protective Columbia shown as a grieving woman transforms the symbol, and, in this case, Mauldin not only lets a national monument stand in as a proxy for the American people, but he uses a murdered president to grieve for a murdered president, a murdered man to grieve for a murdered man.

A weeping eagle, a weeping Statue of Liberty, would have been forgotten in a day. And Lincoln, sadly standing looking downcast, in a graveyard with his stovepipe hat in his hand, would have been forgotten in a week. But by marrying the man to the symbol, Mauldin created something that will always be in any serious collection of classic American editorial cartoons.

And he did it fast. He was at a luncheon with other journalists, his week's work done, when someone stepped to the podium and announced the news from Dallas. The place emptied in a stampede, and Mauldin raced back to the newsroom to get something ready for the Extra that was about to hit the streets.

The Sun-Times being a tabloid and there being no sports to put on the back, the editors took one look at Mauldin's tribute and ran it full-sized on the back cover. Then, then the bundles hit the newsstands, the newsies simply flipped them over and sold the paper on the basis of that cartoon. It was gone long before the other Chicago papers, and Jackie Kennedy asked for the original.

This came up a few weeks ago at John Read's “One Fine Sunday in the Funny Pages” exhibit in Boston, which coincided with the Reubens and so gave fans like me a chance to rub elbows with the pros who were in town. The exhibit was of strips from one particular Sunday, and Brian Anderson of "Dog Eat Doug" remarked to me that he wasn't all that thrilled with the strip he'd done that week, and wished John had used a date that had been discussed earlier, because he really liked the one he did that week.

Then he laughed and admitted that he rarely knows what strips are going to elicit the most response, anyway, and that it often seems that you do a strip on deadline at the last minute, you're not that crazy about it, and that's the one everyone goes nuts over. And I heard that from other artists, who said that you often find a gem in the piece you didn't have time to overthink.

Well, Mauldin didn't have time to think much about that one, but here's one that does show some long-term pondering. Mauldin did this strip when the Civil Rights Act passed.

Again, I would tell the kids, Mauldin got the symbols right. He could have shown Uncle Sam throwing a Ku Klux Klanner down the steps of the Capitol building, saying "And stay out!"

He also could have picked up on the crow/Jim Crow idea and shown Uncle Sam shooting crows with a shotgun.

But placing Jim Crow at the top of the flagpole is a statement about sovereignty that, once more, transforms simple symbols into much more eloquent and meaningful statements. And the line of dialogue makes it clear that Mauldin is not simply shouting "Hurray for us!"

Quite the opposite. "I've decided ..."

Look at the eagle, I would tell them. Now look at the crow.

Is there going to be a battle? Hardly.

The eagle could have taken back control of the country any time he wanted.

This brilliant cartoon is an indictment, not a celebration.

Comments

[David Spitko]

I am absolutely enjoying this week's walk through history. Again, thank you.

[Fran]

Your analysis of the success of these cartoons demonstrates the basis for your success at teaching kids about political cartooning. I'm so glad you do that. We adults need it, too.

[Mary in Ohio]

Thank you for bringing these back to us!

[Woodrowfan]

my favorite mauldin cartoon.

[Bill Farr]

I'd like to gently disagree with your repeated commenting on the image of the Statue of Liberty weeping as mundane and pointless. Most of us didn't see thirty different versions. We saw one -- in our local paper. Maybe two, if we subscribed to another paper, or if our paper did a round-up of other cartoons. In the shock of what happened, it was a very moving capsule of what we just experienced, and I can't help but think that your distaste for the image has either a) occurred after the fact, with time and distance and seeing multiple versions making it mundane for you; or b) due to you viewing everything as a professional, not as an actual reader. If you opened the papers on September 12, 2001, saw that image, and thought, "Oh, how trite," well, that's jaded professionalism. The artists working on deadline produced something that worked for their readers, powerfully. Easy to look back and say "Now, THIS image is something special and better than the others"... but that's not how political cartoons are experienced. In the moment, as news and commentary on news, after a tragedy -- the weeping Statue was perfect.

[Mike Peterson]

I take your point that the average newspaper reader only saw one, Bill, and also that a lot of people found it touching and appropriate.

Still, cartoonists are paid to be imaginative, and, if 30 people come up with the same idea, that idea wasn't much of an innovation and you have to question whether they put much into it.

Weeper cartoons are a cliche. When Jim Henson died, there were cartoons of weeping Muppets, for example. After the earthquake in Japan, I found a classic watercolor of a Japanese woman, added a tear and posted it on Facebook as a joke, but it got more laughs from my friends after several cartoonists did the same thing at their actal jobs -- and I assume cashed their paychecks without blushing.

What makes the Mauldin Lincoln stand out was his perfect choice of subject, as noted. But generally speaking, weepers may be popular but they're poor art. And you'll see more cartoons here that are obscure but well done than you will cartoons that are popular but predictable.

(But I would also note that this response underlines your observation that I respond from a professional rather than a populist viewpoint.)

[Sherwood]

What sets him apart, then, is that Mauldin wasn't maudlin.

(Admission: I had to google the etymology of maudlin to make sure this crack was appropriate. Boy, is it ever.)