That's longtime MAD Art Director Leonard Brenner in the photo at above left. It's another one of the many times he also functioned as a photo model.
Lenny was laid to rest Tuesday morning. Many of the magazine's staffers and contributors were present but not Nick Meglin, the longtime Assistant Editor and later Editor of MAD. No one alive worked longer and more closely with Lenny than Nick but Nick was in another state and unable to be there. Instead, he sent the following letter, which was read by Charles Kochman, executive editor at Harry N. Abrams Publishing and a member of the extended MAD family…
Beyond being a great friend to everyone in the MAD family, Lenny (known affectionately as "The Beard") held a unique place in the magazine's formative years. Along with the talented artists and writers who helped shape the look and voice of MAD, Lenny, together with the brilliant, free-spirited art director John Putnam, anchored the art department with solid execution, allowing the creative juices of the staff to flow freely, confident that whatever we came up with, they would make it work.
Lenny also contributed what can best be described as the voice of unreason. His comments were, for the most part, blunt, and at times uniquely decorated with detailed suggestions of what certain individuals should do with their anatomy.
While not an editorial idea man per se, Lenny maintained a throw-all-caution-to-the-wind attitude about what he thought we should be doing more of on the front covers of MAD. His brazen approach led to discussions from which several successful MAD covers emerged — along with one total disaster. During one long, boring cover conference going nowhere, Lenny finally stood up and with a colorful display of profanity stated that he had had it and was going to lunch. Seizing a similar escape route, I followed, flashing a middle-finger salutation saying, "Here's our next cover idea, guys — MAD, The Number One Magazine of Good Taste," and exited.
When everyone cracked up, Lenny did an about face and declared, "Now, that's a great cover idea!" He was dead serious and so insistent that several of creative team started to lean in his direction. I pleaded, "Hey guys, it's just a joke, let it go," but despite my protestation, the group voted to show the mock layout to our publisher, Bill Gaines, the final arbiter of covers (his one editorial involvement in the magazine's content).
Bill asked incredulously, "Do you really want to do this?" I said, "Not me, Bill!", prompting Lenny to describe me in a volley of adjectives of which "chicken-hearted bastard" was the most complimentary and mentionable in mixed audiences. He ended his tirade with, "…and people will be talking about this cover for years to come."
Bill shrugged and said, "Okay, I hope you're right about this, Beard." When magazine outlets, especially super markets and drug stores, saw that cover, they returned the bundles unopened. It proved to be our worst-selling issue of the seventies.
Afterward, Bill sometimes needled Lenny about this cover at one of the countless food orgies we enjoyed together. "Should we have a Burgundy or a Bordeaux tonight, Beard?" If Lenny answered "Burgundy," Bill would ask me, "What do you think, Meglin?" "Bordeaux, Bill." "Sorry, Beard," he would say as he ordered the Bordeaux. "I should have listened to Meglin on that finger cover!"
Lenny was known for being the Garlic King of MAD and would order an extra side dish of lightly sautéed garlic wherever we were, including Italy where garlic was already the prime ingredient. His reputation as such was especially beneficial when we were doubles partners through thirty-plus years of pitiful MAD tennis parties and trips. Lenny believed his prowess at the net kept our opponents at bay, while I claimed it was his breath that kept them anchored at the baseline.
Lenny was always appreciative of art and some of my fondest memories include the museums and galleries that he, Angelo Torres, and I visited, whether on MAD trips or on our own to D.C. and Philadelphia. Needless to say, great food was at least as important as the great art we traveled to experience.
Several weeks ago, Lenny's son Marc contacted Ange and me about his father's weakened condition. Both Ange and I called Lenny immediately. My call lasted longer than I expected. After a few laughs we talked about our plan to visit him in June. Lenny's energy level heightened considerably.
After a few days, Marc e-mailed a photograph of his father's response to my pep talk. It would be the last visual contact I would have of my beloved friend Lenny — giving me the finger. I wouldn't have it any other way.
