If you want to start at the beginning of this long, meandering memory piece, click here.
As I've mentioned, I used to be real good at forgery…imitating the handwriting and occasionally the drawing of others. There are a number of skills I've lost and not just because of age. In 1979 or thereabouts, I switched from writing on a typewriter to writing on what we then called a word processor. That was about all my first personal computer could do.
Before long, I was working on computers that could do more and more…as were we all. I still kinda marvel at how many things I used to do by hand that I now do on my computer, my iPhone, my iPads, etc. If you're old enough to remember when we didn't have all those things, you probably marvel at what a huge role they play in your day-to-day existence. Believe it or not, I'm using a computer right this very minute and you're using some form of one to read this.
One result of all this technology is that my handwriting — which used to be oh-so-neat — is now terrible. So is my ability to draw and to letter. For years, I would do most of the display lettering and lettering corrections on the comic books I worked on. See these comic book covers?

These are two comic books I worked on and in addition to whatever I did as a writer, I also designed and lettered the title logos — where it says SERGIO ARAGONES' GROO THE WANDERER on one and THE DNAGENTS on the other. I also lettered story titles and some sound effects inside and did some corrections or changes to what the credited letterer did inside — and not necessarily because that letterer made an error. Sometimes, just before a comic goes to press, you decide you want to change some of the copy.
I could do that back then — on paper with a pen and ink and a few other tools. Today, I could not do any of that — or if I did, I'd be doing it on a computer with Adobe Something. My hand lettering now looks like it was done by someone who was sitting on a washing machine while it was in the spin cycle. I'm just not as good at making a pen or pencil do what I want it to do.
Here is a truncated version of a story I told on this blog back in 2013…
My father's best buddy for a time was a fellow named Leo Young who worked in the same office. Leo was a great guy.
He had an 85-year-old father in a nursing home in Florida. Every week, Leo would write a brief letter in longhand to his father and get one back. That was how they stayed in touch. Then Leo died from a sudden heart attack. He was around 60 and I don't recall my father ever being as upset over anything as he was over the death of his friend Leo.
His widow Ann consulted with her father-in-law's doctors and it was decided not to inform him of Leo's passing. He was close to death himself and I guess the thinking was, "Why put him through that grief?" The problem, of course, was those weekly letters from his son. If they stopped coming, he'd know something was wrong. I had an odd skill that was the answer to that problem.
So after Leo died, the letters to his father didn't have to stop. Each week, Ann Young would ghost-write a letter from Leo to his father and I would recopy it in Leo's handwriting, then she'd send it off. The father lived another six months or so and when he finally departed, he never knew that his son had predeceased him.
I only used my forgery skills to be helpful. When I was working on the TV show Welcome Back, Kotter, John Travolta came into rehearsal one day with a box of 500 eight-by-ten glossy photos that he had to sign for the company that was handling his voluminous fan mail. He took half and I took half and I'm pretty sure no recipient could tell the difference. Neither John nor I could.
I did that kind of thing a number of times for people though I never did it for Kirby. Today though, I couldn't do it for anyone…or at least couldn't do it as well or as rapidly. I'm just not as good at it as I used to be. And my drawing has suffered the same way…because it really wasn't drawing. It was just copying what real artists could do.
In an earlier chapter of this essay, I mentioned how a fellow named Richard Turner was the guy who really made me confront the fact that I could never be a really good magician. I had been approaching that admission when I saw other great masters of sleight-of-hand but Richard was the one who was kind of the "last straw."
Similarly, I had been feeling the same way about drawing when I saw Jack Kirby drawing…or Sergio Aragonés — or Dan Spiegle or Scott Shaw! or Will Meugniot or several others. But I'll tell you about the artist who really caused me to say to myself, "Who am I kidding?" It happened while I was working at Hanna-Barbera in the late seventies. There was an artist working there whose skills I found amazing — an artist whose work I'd followed in comic books for years.
I loved some (not all) of what he did in comic books and wondered why someone could be as good as he was when he was good and as bad as he was when he was bad. One day, I watched him drawing and the reason became obvious to me…as obvious as the fact that I could never do what he could do and really had no business acting like what I did was worthy of the word "artwork."
I'll tell you about him in the next installment of this series. He was one of the most miscast and misused talents the business ever had and his name was Mike Sekowsky.
