As I'm sure you've heard by now, Playboy
founder Hugh Hefner died. Back in 2013, I wrote a long essay about satirist Harvey Kurtzman (best known for creating Mad
, first as a comic book, and then as a magazine), in whose life Hefner played no small part. It's pretty lengthy, but only part of a larger piece that is almost TWICE as long. So, if you do decide to read it, rest assured you're getting off easy.
These failures didn't happened in a vacuum. I haven't gone much into
Harvey Kurtzman's personal life so far, but he had one. Arguably a
bigger one than most American males of his era as he often worked from
home. He had a wife Adele, whom he married in 1948; a daughter Meredith,
born 1949; son Peter, born 1954; and another daughter Elizabeth, 1957.
Peter was autistic. In the 1950s and '60s, autism was much less
understood than it is today. It was also, for reasons that are not at
all understood
now, much less common than today. All that rarity
and misunderstanding must have cost money. Things were not looking good
for Harvey Kurtzman in 1962.
Hugh
Hefner to the rescue! He wasn't going to give Kurtzman his own magazine
to play with this time around. Instead, he would get a comic strip that
would appear within the pages of
Playboy itself. After years of
failure, Harvey Kurtzman would once again taste success. I mean, the
strip ran for 26 years. It had to have been a success, right?
Originally, this new strip was meant to be just a sideline as Kurtzman
continued with
Help! But before long it was
Help! itself
that was relegated to the sidelines, until it disappeared entirely in
September of 1965. The comic strip would become Kurtzman's mainline, his
calling, his vocation, his occupation, his livelihood, his situation,
his nine-to-five (with plenty of overtime), his bread-and-butter, his
grind.
That
Harvey Kurtzman on the left in the above photo. Will Elder, the class
clown as always, is the man in the center. Jack Davis is on the right.
Though she once famously donned bunny ears and cotton tail as part of an
undercover assignment for
Esquire, the woman in the middle is
NOT Gloria Steinem (though it would have been one helluva picture if it
was), just some anonymous Playboy Club employee pressed into service.
Everyone seems to be having a good time, but, remember, it's a publicity
shot. This may simply be their way of saying, "Cheese!"
Little Annie Fanny was ostensibly a parody of Harold Gray's once-popular comic strip
Little Orphan Annie,
but the similarity ends with the title logo. It wasn't even drawn in
Gray's style. In fact, it wasn't drawn at all but gorgeously painted by
the ever-versatile Will Elder. Originally, Kurtzman wanted to transfer
Goodman Beaver over to
Playboy, but Hefner nixed the idea. So Goodman instead got a kind of sex change operation.
Fanny
told the story of a leggy, buxom, blond naif who was continuously
preyed upon by the mavens of Politics, Industry, and Culture, thus she
represented the Modern Everyperson trying desperately to resist
molestation by impersonal forces beyond her control or understanding.
Well...no.
Little Annie Fanny was never as pointed as all that, but it
could have been. I haven't read every
Annie strip that's appeared in
Playboy, but the ones I have seen weren't nearly as funny as Kurtzman's best stuff from
Mad,
Trump,
Humbug, or
Help! Others have said the same thing. In preparation for an interview with Will Elder in 2003,
The Comics Journal publisher Gary Groth
did
read every single strip, and found the satire "intermittent at best."
For all his reputation as envelope-pusher, sexual humor doesn't seem to
have been Harvey Kurtzman's forte. At least not during his 26 years at
Playboy.
Lets
back up a bit. Sexy, buxom dames, whether drawn by him or one of his
artists, had been tropes in all of Kurtzman's comics in the 1950s and
early '60s. No surprise as he was simply parodying and satirizing the
times he lived in, the Marilyn Monroe/Jayne Mansfield/Brigitte Bardot
era. But the difference between parody and satire depends on how well
one sees through a culture, an era. Though the term "sexual harassment"
wouldn't be coined until sometimes in the 1970s, Harvey Kurtzman seems
to have pointed out its existence in the 1950s. Or was he simply trying
to be funny? In a
Mad parody of Archie called "Starchie" (not to be confused with Beaver Goodman story in
Help!)
the principal chases two high school girls around his desk. As Will
Elder observed nearly 50 years later, "Well, it happens. Some teachers
prey on their students." In "Superduperman" the Clark Kent character
uses his X-ray vision to look through the door of the women's bathroom.
Gloria Steinem wouldn't disagree that a man with such an ability
might do just that. If Kurtzman meant these joke as criticisms, he would
have been way ahead of his time. But since they
are jokes, he very well could have been doing no more than playing for laughs.
Ba-dum-ching!
Annie
Fanny, however, never seemed to realize she was being sexually harassed
until her last shred of clothing had come off. That she was never
out-and-out raped was due less to any vigilance on her part and more to
the fact that her would-be molesters were even dumber than her. The
blind seducing the blind. A typical strip would end with Annie walking,
or running, away, stark naked as her pursuer lay writhing on the ground
in a state of coitus interruptus. That could be funny at times. Except
as this was "entertainment for men" the average male reader might
actually identify and feel sorry for the luckless leches, rather
than feel any relief that Annie had escaped unscathed. The predators
were the Everymen, and
she was the impersonal force beyond their
control or understanding (they just couldn't understand why she didn't
want to get laid.) I doubt Kurtzman really meant for it it to be
perceived that way, and he did make sporadic attempts to satirize the
Playboy ethos. But it's hard to bite the hand that feeds you if the other one has you by the balls.
Little Annie Fanny
originally appeared once a month and ran seven or eight pages. Within a
year it was down to an average of about four pages every other month.
By the 1970s, it was down four or five stories a year, then once or
twice a year in the 1980s. This was wasn't due to any slide in
popularity. As far as Harvey Kurtzman and Will Elder were concerned, it
might as well have been 100 pages seven days a week. The delays had to
with the fact that despite his carefully self-cultivated image as
a laid-back hedonist who never got out of his pajamas, Hugh Hefner
was actually a nitpicking control freak.
In
that 2003 interview, Will Elder tells of Kurtzman informing him after
he had turned in his art that Hefner wants this or Hefner says get rid
of that. "Jeez," Elder thought. "He actually looks at and reads every
detail." Many of those details would have been the background gags Elder
was known for but that Hefner considered high school stuff. Painting
the strip was time-consuming enough, without having to do it all over
again. Elder soon needed help with the art. Kurtzman called in comic
book artist Russ Heath to help. Even that wasn't enough, as Hefner kept
asking for redoes, proving his dissatisfaction extended to gags in the
foreground as well. Other artists helping out were Frank Frazetta, Al
Jaffee and Jack Davis (whose style wasn't really all that compatible
with Elder's; still his trademark flailing limbs seemed appropriate on
the sex fiends who regularly pursued Annie) Throughout the 1960s, until
Elder finally came up with a faster technique, it was not uncommon to
see the art attributed to three different people. All these artists
lived in New York City's tri-state area, but getting the strip out in
time meant extended stays at the Playboy Mansion, then located in
Chicago. There they would work on
Little Annie Fanny, take what
they prayed would be the final version to Hefner's bedroom (truth is
stranger than parody) making sure they removed their shoes before
walking on his white carpet (...as well as satire.) Hef would either
approve, or, more likely, disapprove, and they'd be back at the drawing,
or rather, painting, board again.
To
be fair to Hefner, these were all commercial artists. They were used to
taking orders. It wasn't art for art's sake with them. At least not all
the time. Harvey Kurtzman himself could be an exacting task master.
Beginning with the war comics, Kurtzman would prepare a penciled layout
on what's called a Bristol board, then trace over that with some kind of
tissue overlay, and transfer that to another board, maybe even a board
after that if he was dissatisfied, until it ended up on a
final illustration board. Keep in mind he was doing all this
for other artists,
who might have felt their creativity infringed upon a bit. Elder had no
problem with this technique, as Kurtzman allowed him (until Hefner
intervened) free reign with the background gags. Other artists grumbled
but inevitably went with the flow. Except for John Severin. A friend of
Kurtzman's since high school, he broke with him back in the 1950s over
the layouts. That's one artist who never got to see the inside of the
Playboy Mansion.
If
Hefner's complaints about the art extended beyond Elder's gags, then
they were really directed toward Kurtzman, seeing as he did the layouts.
And it wasn't just the art. He increasingly didn't like Kurtzman's
scripts either, giving 20 page critiques--nearly five times as long as
the average
Little Annie Fannie story. More changes, more time wasted. So Kurtzman, who had written the first 23 issues of
Mad by himself, now needed someone to help him write the bi-monthly four-page
Annie stories. He got that help from Larry Siegel, who had written for
Humbug before moving on to
Mad. Siegel could be a truly hilarious writer, and he's had an interesting career, one that's included three writing Emmys for
The Carol Burnett Show. Unfortunately, the
Annie
stories I've seen with his name on it aren't any funnier than those
with Kurtzman's alone. He seems to have had the same basic problem:
how to top Annie's own toplessness.
Chalk
it all up to the curiously narrow vision of a man who has spent sixty
years insisting he's anything but. For all his reputation as
an envelope-pusher, sexual humor doesn't seem to have been
Hugh Hefner's forte. Look at the other cartoons (many beautifully done in color) that appear in
Playboy.
What do you usually see? A naked woman in the foreground, and a man,
more often than not fully clothed, in the back. A forgettable caption
underneath. A naked woman can be many, many things, but hysterically
funny isn't usually one of them. Quite a few of the cartoonists who have
appeared in
Playboy over the years have also had their work published in
The New Yorker, and they're almost always funnier in the latter. Such is freedom from formula. If you overlook the potential for abuse,
Little Annie Fanny
at least got some comic mileage out of the horny males (and in one
1978 strip, females) clownish pursuit of the title character. But that
made for a one-joke strip, even as the topic, usually a very topical
topic, changed from appearance to appearance. Then again, who picks up
Playboy for the laughs? You read it for the articles.
According to Elder: "Hefner didn't want anything to resemble
Mad magazine. If you understand that, you understand the whole process of
Annie Fanny." OK, fine, but then why the hell hire two guys from
Mad?
I think Kurtzman and Elder weren't trying to relive past glories so
much as simply being themselves. Now they were expected to be like Hugh
Hefner, the failed cartoonist.
Most of what I've told you so far about Harvey Kurtzman's long tenure at
Playboy
was taken from that Will Elder interview. If that's all I had to go by,
I'd just chalk it up as sour grapes from someone who didn't like always
having to repaint his work, especially if that meant erasing all his
little background jokes that never advanced the narrative anyway.
However, there was another witness, and here's where our story takes a
particularly sad turn.
As
the 1960s drew to a close, a new trend had emerged within--no, no,
that's not right. This new trend emerged way, way, way, way
outside
of the publishing industry, as well as neighborhood drugstore magazine
racks. I'm talking "underground comix", written and drawn by people so
obviously radical they refused to use proper spelling. Among them
were Kim Deitch, Spain Rodriguez, S. Clay Wilson, Jay Lynch, Bill
Griffith, Rick Griffin, Vaughn Bode, Denis Kitchen, Victor Moscoso, Skip
Williamson, Rory Hayes, Trina Robbins, Art Speigelman, Aline
Komiskey, Rand Holmes, Jay Lynch, and Gilbert Shelton. Most of these
new cartoonists were inspired by Kurtzman's
Mad when young, and some were even published in
Help! Their choice of subject matter, however, went far beyond the most tasteless
Mad parodies or dirtiest
Annie Fannys, as
their comix were full of explicit sex, explicit violence, explicit drug
use, and even explicit politics. Sold mostly in head shops
(neighborhood drugstores of a kind, except the clientele was
typically under 30) they did not carry the Comic Code Authority seal,
and no one cared. Well, a few judges did, as the stores that carried
them were now and then busted for obscenity. Many of these comics came
off the mimeograph machine, and were on such low-quality materials
they made the faux-cheap paper Bill Gaines favored for
Mad look like it was spun from fine silk. Kurtzman, as I said earlier, never wanted
Mad
or any magazine he worked on to look cheap. By 1969, though, he may
have been having second thoughts. He reportedly flirted with becoming an
underground cartoonist himself. Now, this movement was part of the
larger counterculture, which Kurtzman had made fun of quite a bit in
Little Annie Fanny,
treating it not so much as a threat to the Republic, as others at the
time did, but merely as a passing fad (which in many ways it
was.) Hippiedom nevertheless intrigued him. On a trip to California, the
epicenter for all things groovy, he actually visited a commune. He also
went to a party thrown by some underground cartoonist friends. However,
the loud music and hard drugs proved a little too much for the
middle-aged Kurtzman, and he made a hasty retreat back to the mainstream
that had so fueled his satire. Also, it paid better.
Still,
if he couldn't be an underground cartoonist himself, maybe Kurtzman
could at least introduce some who were to the mainstream media (which by
now included
Playboy.) He set his sights on the most well-known of these cartoonists, his friend and disciple Robert Crumb.
When we last saw Robert Crumb, his first Fritz the Cat comics were just getting published in
Help! Though Fritz would arguably become his first great success, it wasn't until the hipster feline appeared in
Cavalier, a
Playboy
knockoff, that he found a larger audience. Harvey Kurtzman did at least
anticipate that larger audience for Crumb someday, and hoped for a
slice of it himself, if he could just keep
Help! afloat. As part
of an agreement to write and draw about it when he came back, Kurtzman
sent Crumb and his newlywed wife Dana on an all-expense paid honeymoon
to Bulgaria. Not exactly Niagara Falls, but Crumb reportedly enjoyed
himself. He returned to the U.S. with some moody, evocative pictures of
the then-Soviet satellite. Crumb was all set to replace the departing
Terry Gilliam as art director when
Help! folded. And so he went
back to Cleveland and American Greetings. Bored with a job at which he
excelled, he turned to not alcohol but a form of escapism that was
then gaining in popularity: LSD. Still perfectly legal at that point,
Crumb found he enjoyed having his consciousness expanded, until he took
one bad batch that left him in a fugue state for about a year.
Amazingly, this had little effect on his job at American Greetings (and
just think, the first acid-inspired art in the United
States appeared not in head shops but the more traditional drug stores
under such headings as "Birthday", "Commencement' and "Get Well Soon.")
In his spare fugue time, certain characters began appearing to Crumb,
characters whom would someday soon have names like Mr. Natural,
Angelfood McSpade, Eggs Ackley, and Flakey Foont. When Crumb finally
emerged from the fugue, he was more restless than ever. On a chance
encounter in a bar with a few friends on their way to San Francisco, he
decided then and there to join them. He would phone his wife about
it when he got there. Though he wasn't really a hippie himself--he
dressed like some cub reporter out of a 1930s Warner Brothers
movie--he settled somewhere near the intersection of
Haight-Ashbury, the Jerusalem
of the Counterculture. Hooking up with some mimeograph owner who called
himself a publisher, Crumb put out Zap, which he sold himself on
street corners. More comics followed, and soon the whole world, at
least the portion of the world that had turned on, tuned in, and dropped
out, got to know Mr. Natural and friends. Actually, one comic story, if
you could call it a story, did make its way to the mainstream, where it
enjoyed surprising popularity. Though his fan base may have swooned to
the music of Steppenwolf, Jefferson Airplane, and Jimi Hendrix, Crumb's
own tastes ran toward 1920s and '30s country and blues. He turned an
old song by an obscure musician named Blind Boy Fuller into a one page
strip. Characters with big feet and an amazing sense of balance did a
kind of reclining strut under the words KEEP ON TRUCKIN'. Endlessly
reproduced on posters,T-shirts, bumper stickers, and patches, it soon
became one of the most famous images of the late '60s and early '70s.
And now Robert Crumb himself was famous (Blind Boy Fuller,
though, remained an obscure figure.)
Kurtzman
decided it was time for Robert Crumb to meet Hugh Hefner. A job could
be in the offering. The idea that Crumb should appear in Playboy
seems ridiculous now. Though feminists were none too fond of either one,
Crumb's vision of female sexuality varied wildly from Hefner's
(steroids vs. silicone). It probably made sense in 1971, though. Crumb
was famous and Hefner was famous; why shouldn't the two of them get
together? So it was arraigned that Crumb and a few of his underground
cartoonist pals should visit the Playboy Mansion in Chicago. According
to a 1972 interview, Crumb thought it was cool at first. They hung
around the game room and played pinball. Talked to a few bunnies (the
help) that were around to serve them. And just explored the place. There
was a pool, several TV sets, and on every end table and coffee table
was a copy of Playboy. Crumb thought the paneling on the walls
looked kind of cheap. As time went on, and it did go on, the whole place
began to seem to him like the world's largest Holiday Inn. Eventually,
the whole group settled in the dining room, where they ate and waited.
And waited. For hours. Where was Hefner? Turns out he was playing
backgammon. They asked Kurtzman when could they meet him. "Kurtzman was
like sweating," Crumb recalled. "He didn't want anyone to disturb Mr.
Hefner. He was worried that someone, me or Jay Lych or Skip Williamson,
would upset Mr. Hefner." They left without meeting Mr. Hefner. As far as
I know, Crumb hasn't met him yet.
Hefner assistant and
Playboy's
soon-to-be cartoon editor Michelle Urry did contact Crumb a short time
later. She offered him $500 a page and complete freedom, except he
couldn't draw anything explicit. If you've ever seen a Crumb comic done
between 1967 and 1972, you'll know that removing anything explicit would
be like taking the whale out of
Moby Dick. Thus, the
conversation did not go well. Crumb was also upset that Kurtzman seemed
so intimidated by Hefner, and let Urry know that. He turned her down
flat. She got mad herself and told him that someday soon the underground
cartoon fad would fade, and he'd come crawling back to
Playboy begging for a job. She was half right. The fad did fade, and Crumb went through some tough times, but he never worked for
Playboy. Except once, when his art, in reduced form, appeared within
Little Annie Fanny itself (strip regular Ralphie is shown reading an underground comic.)
Harvey
Kurtzman and Robert Crumb remained friends, each writing forwards or
introductions to the other's collections. Sometime during the 1970s,
Crumb visited Kurtzman at his home in Mount Vernon, New York. It was a
big house--Hefner paid well--that was put to good use as he now had four
children, daughter Nellie having arrived in 1969. Kurtzman, who had
been drinking, showed Crumb an
Annie strip that had just come
back from Hefner with all sorts of blue pencil
markings indicating changes that he wanted made. After acknowledging to
Crumb that Hefner had saved him from poverty, Kurtzman began to cry...
You
may have cringed upon reading of Kurtzman's breakdown, as I did when I
first came across it in a book Crumb had written. You may also have
wished that he he'd stuck to his guns, that he'd been more like he
was at the outset of his career, a bold, brash young man who through the
simple art of lampooning could puncture the assumptions and certainties
of a complacent people. But there's a problem. That very boldness and
brashness caused him to walk out on the best publisher he would ever
have, William M. Gaines, so certain was he that he could produce a
higher (and slicker) form of lampoon somewhere else. He stuck to his
guns through
Trump,
Humbug,
The Jungle Book, and
Help!
even as his ammunition was running alarmingly low. When it was near
depletion, he over-compensated (as well as was over-compensated) by
becoming Hugh Hefner's lackey. It was Kurtzman who repeatedly warned us
not to confuse reality with market-driven illusion. As someone who spent
his life in such market-driven industries as comic books and magazines,
he could not help but get caught up in the confusion himself.
Perhaps
we should see the breakdown that Crumb witnessed as a kind of good
thing. Remember me telling you before about "The Organization Man in the
Gray Flannel Executive Suit" from
The Jungle Book? That
earlier, darker version of Goodman Beaver who represses and conforms his
entire personality out of existence? Kurtzman's tears at least proves
that he hadn't. Or, to paraphrase Charles Bukowski, Kurtzman still had a
soul left to lose.
Annie Fanny took off her clothes for the last time in June of 1987. For a change, something of Kurtzman's ended because he
wanted it to end...No, wait,
Playboy,
which owned the copyright, did attempt to bring the strip back ten
years later with a different writer and artist. It lasted all of two
issues.
Not too flattering a portrait of Hefner, is it? Keep in mind, however, that this was basically written from Harvey Kurtzman's (or perhaps Will Elder's and Robert Crumb's) point of view. Hefner, of course, can't now defend himself, and may have gone to his grave completely unaware that he earned such enmity from some of the people who worked under him. At least Hefner's hands-on approach proves that he wasn't quite the pipe-sucking, silk pajama-wearing slacker so often portrayed in the media (including the slice of the media that he himself owned.)
Of course, Hugh Hefner's legacy doesn't begin and end with Little Annie Fanny.
What about the rest of it?
Sorry it took so long, but at least I gave you folks some stuff to look at while I tried to sort out Hef's legacy.
The long-running joke about Hefner's magazine is that if an upstanding member of the community was caught with it in his possession, he could sheepishly defend himself by claiming he read it for the articles. Ha, ha, ha--but how much of a joke was it? Could it be read for the articles? While I doubt anyone ever EXCLUSIVELY perused Playboy for that reason, I'm sure the articles got read. In its own way, Playboy was a general interest magazine, with a sometimes intellectual air about it, and could be appreciated on that level. Kind of like The New Yorker on Viagra. As for the "Playboy philosophy", that you should be able to live any kind of lifestyle as long as you had enough money as Hefner did and could totally escape the economic constraints imposed on the rest of us by the societal concerns of Church, State, and a capitalistic system that occasionally needs to keep its workers in line, was about as accessible to the average prole as a President's Day at an Aston-Martin dealership. Nevertheless, the Sexual Revolution Hefner helped spark and for many embodied in the long run benefited us all, not just A-list celebrities drunkenly trying not to trip over the non-plastic pink flamingos roaming the grounds of the LA Mansion It may be a stretch to say sex education in school and the birth control pill had anything to do with the Playmate of the Month, but all those phenomenons did come to fruition at about the same time. Finally, in 1955, when Playboy published Charles Beaumont groundbreaking science fiction story "The Crooked Man", it proved that Hefner could look beyond his airbrushed human bunnies and champion, or at least tolerate, desires not his own.
 |
| 1926-2017 |
You may be curious about the quote at the top of this post. What does Domino mean he doesn't remember anyone recording that kind of stuff before him? What is he, a raving egomaniac? I doubt it. When he says people didn't play it before him, I think he was talking about folks, particularly white folks, like Elvis Presley and Jerry Lee Lewis, who hit the charts about the same time he did. The fact people WERE recording that kind of stuff before him. 10, 20, even 30 years before Domino. That's absurd, you say? Rock 'n' roll didn't come along until the 1950s. Well, yeah, if you're talking about rock 'n' roll LABLED rock 'n' roll. But listen to pre-World War II jazz sometimes, before Charlie Parker got his hands on it. Artists such as Louis Armstrong and Cab Calloway recorded music that doesn't sound all that different from 1950s rock 'n' roll. Or listen to jazz's kid brother swing. White artists such as Glenn Miller and Benny Goodman (the Elvis Presley and Jerry Lee Lewis of their era)--well, if you had played one of their numbers at a 1959 sock hop, I'm not sure any of the teens dancing in the high school gym would have noticed the difference. Most of all, listen to a sub-genre of swing called boogie-woogie (as well as the closely related jump blues, and the more countrified honky-tonk) Many of the artists and songs are obscure now, but I'm sure you've been exposed to at least two boogie-woogie songs in a rather unusual place: animated cartoons. Ever see the one Tom and Jerry short where the feline dresses up in a zoot suit and sings "Is You Is or Is You Ain't My Baby?" Tell me that song (originally recorded by Louis Jordan) doesn't sound a lot like 1950s rock. Or maybe Walt Disney is more to your liking. Watch Dumbo sometimes. The racial stereotyping is unfortunate, I'll admit, but when Jim Crow and his pals (actually white jazzman Cliff Edwards a.k.a. Ukulele Ike) performs "When I See an Elephant Fly" , it rocks!
