Homage to Carl Barks (long)

[Frank Stajano]

I finally completed my homage to the Great Master -- an inadequate and 
belated but sincerely heartfelt thank you that was several sleepless nights 
in the making. The more personal part of it appears below. The full thing, 
complete with many original photographs, is at

http://www.uk.research.att.com/~fms/disney/barks/



He could do magic

One day of many years ago I decided that I couldn't be so lucky as to be 
alive at the same time as Carl Barks without letting him know how grateful 
I was for the joy he had given me with his masterpieces, so I decided to 
write him a letter.

Of course I had no idea of where to send it, so I tried inquiring at the 
Walt Disney company in Burbank, California. I got a polite reply saying 
that they could not give out the personal addresses of any of the artists 
(fair enough) but that I could send my letter to them and they would 
forward it. I had not done this before because I feared that by writing to 
Carl Barks c/o Disney the letter might just be filed away in some archive 
without him ever seeing it. But when they explicitly told me that they 
would pass it along, I went ahead.

I knew that my hero was in his nineties and I imagined that, with the 
number of people in the world who loved his stories, he would get several 
such messages a day; so I certainly did not expect a personal reply. I was 
just happy for him to know that, somewhere on another continent, there was 
yet another reader who really, really liked his work.

I can't even begin to describe how surprised, excited and happy I was when, 
some time later, I received a letter from him! It's just beyond words. This 
man, one of the greatest authors of our century, and one of the people I 
admired most in the world, had taken the time and trouble to write a 
personal letter to a nobody like me! I was over the moon.

We exchanged a few more letters and then, in 1994, I finally got a chance 
to meet him when he visited London as part of his seven-week tour of Europe 
-- he was 93 years old and this was the first time in his life that he was 
out of America! In fact he later wrote to Italian Disney author Carlo 
Chendi that he was happy to have been able to do this trip "while he was 
still young". And he was indeed: he was in excellent physical shape, stood 
tall and straight, and walked without a cane. (During that tour, while in 
Italy he even piloted a motor boat in Lake Como!) He reminded me very much 
of my own grandfather who was slightly older than him (born in 1898) and 
was at the time still equally fit, going out for his regular walk every day.

His visit to that Disney store in London resolved into a two-hour signing 
session, with people queuing up to get his autograph on a comic or on one 
of the leaflets that were available in store advertising the latest 
lithograph from one of his paintings -- a long, horizontal one, based on 
the Golden Fleecing story, that I would see again years later in his living 
room. I asked him to sign the large hardbound volume of Uncle Scrooge 
stories that was one of my most prized possessions when I was little. I 
also took some photographs of him and I got an employee of the store to 
take one of us together. I later send him double copies by mail and he 
returned mine signed. I then framed them and hung them in my living room, 
where they have been since.

Getting to meet him in person was at first perhaps even more extraordinary 
than receiving the letter: there he was, in the flesh, smiling at me. Wow! 
I was so thrilled, even if my quota of time next to him was only of a 
couple of minutes or so. I barely had time to say my name (so that he could 
write it in the dedication) and that I loved his stories, and then it was 
the turn of the next person in the queue. He later wrote to me that, 
unsurprisingly, he had not realised who I was, but that he made the 
connection when he got the pictures in the mail.

Many things happened over the next few years and I lost touch with him. I 
later learned that his "managers" intercepted his mail and that I must have 
been a dodgy character to their eyes because of my association with Don 
Rosa, whom I even visited in 1996 when I was writing a book about him with 
Leonardo Gori and Alberto Becattini. In retrospect, this explains why I no 
longer received any replies from Carl Barks during that period. I shall not 
go into the sad details of the whole story of the Carl Barks Studio, but 
suffice it to say that it all ended up in court and that the bad guys 
eventually disappeared, to everyone else's relief. Those who know the 
background appreciate the "champ" back cover of Uncle Scrooge 314, which 
says it all without the need for words.

In my next letter I suggested to Carl Barks that, now that circumstances 
had changed, the time might be right for a meeting with Don Rosa, who had 
always been one of his most devoted fans. This happened a little later: my 
friend Michael Naiman, another great fan of both authors, accompanied Don 
in his visit to Carl's home in Grants Pass, Oregon, and wrote a brief but 
inspired article about the meeting which apppeared in what unfortunately 
turned out to be the next-to-last published issue (317) of Uncle Scrooge. 
(I hope that I will have to correct this last sentence in the future.)

It was at Michael's home in San Diego in 1998 that I first heard about 
Gerry Tank. Michael had been arranging for Barks fans from all over the 
world to send in little notes for Carl's 97th birthday. He collected all 
the cards and ancillaries (someone had even sent a bottle of liquor) in a 
big parcel that he forwarded to Gerry in Grants Pass, who would take Carl 
out to dinner for his birthday and deliver the surprise box to him. Gerry 
had been the doctor of Carl's wife Garé; he lived not far from the Duck Man 
and visited him regularly. On the day I arrived at Michael's, him and Gerry 
had an animated telephone conversation about some incredible problems, 
worthy of Donald Duck's worst day, that had sent this important parcel 
missing (I am over-simplifying). To anyone whose birthday card was in that 
bundle: you have no idea of what Michael and Gerry went through to ensure 
that it would be delivered against all odds! But all went well in the end, 
and Carl was very pleased to feel the warmth and affection of so many fans 
he almost didn't know he had.

Gerry and I then got in touch via email. Leonardo Gori and I were writing 
another book on Disney comics, this time focused on Mickey Mouse author 
Floyd Gottfredson. I sent Gerry a list of questions we had prepared and he 
interviewed Carl for us. That, too, was a brilliant experience, despite the 
indirection.

But the best was yet to come. Later that year I had to visit the States 
again to speak at a conference; so, with Gerry's invaluable logistic help, 
I took a detour to Oregon for the weekend to visit my hero. The plane that 
was meant to take me from New Jersey to Oregon had a malfunction in 
midflight, so we were flown back to Newark and I had to get on a plane to 
California the next day, and then on a connecting flight to Oregon. I felt 
of course damn lucky not to have crashed (!) but I was also furious that 
this unique chance to spend some time with Carl Barks was being cut short. 
After repeated airport delays, and too many phone calls to my patient 
contact, I finally landed in Medford, Oregon where Gerry had come to pick 
me up. He drove me to Grants Pass, I checked into a local motel and we 
finally arrived at Carl's home in mid-afternoon.

You can well imagine that at that point I was essentially in paradise. Carl 
was in excellent shape and welcomed Gerry and me into his living room. 
Betty, one of his helpers, was also there. I was almost petrified with joy. 
We started to talk about this and that, I retold my adventure of the broken 
plane that had to make a U-turn in midair, then Carl asked about the 
conference that I was going to attend next and I opened my bags to show 
them the large laminated posters I had prepared for it. I also started to 
take out a variety of silly presents that I had brought along: I felt that 
this man had given me so much that I wanted to bring in the moral 
equivalent of an Easter egg the size of a large safe! As we were back 
chatting in the armchairs after I had spread the content of my suitcases 
over the floor of his living room, he suggested that I bring my luggage 
downstairs. I explained that I had already checked in at the Super-8 Motel 
(I still have their plastic card from that afternoon, by the way) and that 
we had only brought the suitcases along because they were full of this 
stuff that was meant for him. At that point he insisted in the friendliest 
of ways that I should be his guest and stay at his house, that he had 
plenty of room, that there was absolutely no reason for me to stay 
elsewhere and that I should cancel my booking at the motel.

So I was taken downstairs to the suite that had been Garé Barks's, with 
Carl assuring me that I would be fine here, and I just could not believe 
it. Could not believe it! Come on, I'll take a real plane crash if that's 
what I get afterwards! If I had felt like entering paradise when he greeted 
me on his front door with his friendly smile, now I was being taken to the 
highest clouds and given the golden keys by the boss!

Carl then took us to his study; it was very luminous despite being one 
floor down from the main entrance, because the house was built on a hill. 
Brushes and painting colours everywhere. Framed duck pictures on the walls, 
but he explained that they were only lithographs (he only had one original 
duck painting in the entire house). By far the most impressive item in the 
room was Carl's famous easel, seen in so many photographs, made of white 
perforated board of the kind normally used to hang power tools to the 
garage wall. In the style of Gyro Gearloose, Carl had designed and 
customised it to make it suit his work style and his necessities. A smaller 
perforated panel could be used to hold smaller paintings at an angle. A 
movable "balcony", a bit like the gizmo used by New York window cleaners, 
could be positioned in the most comfortable place across this panel to act 
as a hand rest. "My hand is no longer that steady", he explained, "but if I 
rest it on this I can still work on the fine details." And finally the 
cutest trick of all: a long wooden stick ending in a hook that he could 
attach to any hole on the board to provide an easily moved support. This 
allowed him to reach any point of a large painting without going to the 
trouble of detaching and repositioning the "balcony".

His study was also full of comics with his stories, not only the American 
ones but also many foreign editions, including the large hardbound Io, 
Paperone that I had brought for him to sign in London (this is the volume 
he is leafing through in the picture with Gerry and Betty), as well as 
translations of these Italian Mondadori volumes from the Seventies in many 
other languages. At my request we then visited the back room where he kept 
his famous collection of National Geographic magazines (I thought of my 
grandmother, a miniaturist painter, who used to love them too, and she had 
almost as many). What a thrill to see the magazines that had taken Carl 
Barks's mind around the world, in preparation for the adventures of his ducks!

That same afternoon Betty took me into town with the car, first to the 
motel to cancel my reservation and then to a Radio Shack to buy a power 
supply for one of the toys I had brought for Carl. The British power supply 
that came with the gadget was of course unusable in America because of the 
different voltage. The gizmo was a special clock that looked like a musical 
metronome with its oscillating stick, but the stick had a row of LEDs that 
displayed time, date and a scrolling message in the air as the clock 
ticked. It was originally meant to count down the number of days until the 
end of the millennium, but I had reprogrammed the message to say "xxx days 
till Carl is 100". We had a good time getting it to work and setting the 
correct time on it once we got back home.

That evening, the four of us went out to a very fine restaurant, where Carl 
generously treated us to some delicious fish dishes. I had a sturgeon, 
which I had previously only seen in encyclopaedias. Then back home, and to 
bed. In that bed! It was almost too much of an honour to lie down on it. 
What a day!

The following day I met another one of Carl's helpers, the Helen Hunicke 
who also acted as his secretary and who had in fact typed that first letter 
I received from Carl many years before. I was very pleased to meet her at 
last. She had brought along a nice painting of a pretty girl with a dog 
sled (yes, just like in "North of the Yukon"). The interesting bit was that 
apparently the girl really existed, was a champion dog sled racer, and 
was... Helen's granddaughter! Helen looked much too young to be a 
grandmother, let alone one with a 20 year old granddaughter, so I thought 
she was pulling my leg. But no, it was all true... Exciting life!

Another interesting thing that Helen did had to do with a therapeutic 
potion made from a tropical fruit called Noni, whose healthy virtues she 
extolled. I was offered a small glass to try, but I found the taste so 
horrible that I couldn't finish it. Carl, instead, drank his like a good 
boy. Since he had it regularly every day, his health and longevity would 
have probably made an excellent testimonial for the makers of this beverage.

I spent the morning interviewing Carl for the book about him I will write 
one day (probably with Leonardo again -- but this time it's got to be in 
English!). His nicest words were for his dear wife Garé. Hanging on the 
wall in front of us was a really beautiful painting of a mountain lake with 
deer. One of hers. "She was born with only this much of a left arm. No 
hand.", he told me. "When her parents saw the newborn baby without a hand, 
they cried." Then he pointed at the painting, explaining how she had to do 
everything she did, including of course painting, with just one hand. The 
love in his eyes, in his body language, in his words, was moving. He 
communicated the joy of the achievement of having created such beauty 
despite the handicap. "When her parents saw THIS, they cried." We both 
laughed, perhaps because we were about to cry too. He really made me feel 
the strength of their bond. It was beautiful.

Carl, Helen and I went out for lunch and had a good time. I seem to recall 
that we talked about our families. Back home, Carl had some rest in front 
of the television (he liked to watch sports programmes) and I went out for 
a little walk in the neighbourhood.

Later that afternoon Carl received the visit of another fan, a doctor 
called Richard Huemer, whose father (also Richard Huemer) had worked at 
Disney as an animator and had been story director for Fantasia. Richard had 
brought with him two interesting artefacts from his father's things: a 
piece of original artwork from Snow White and a wonderful sketchbook. In 
the photograph he is showing us something from the sketchbook and under it 
he holds the framed artwork in his lap. Gerry also joined us, bringing 
along some yummy takeaway food (roast chicken or something like that) and 
we spent an enjoyable evening around the dinner table discussing subjects 
ranging from animation to travelling to medicine to cryptography.

The next morning Carl, Gerry, Helen and I went out for breakfast, which I 
thought was a real treat! Eggs, pancakes and other delicious things that I 
considered fairly exotic (in fact, very comic-book-like) for a breakfast. 
These were our last few hours together and I felt as if I were in a 
beautiful dream with the sad sensation that I was soon going to wake up. I 
told Carl about a vivid memory from my childhood of diving in a mountain of 
golden wheat when I was perhaps 6 or 7 (at the time my grandfather owned 
some wheat fields), and burrowing in it like a gopher, and tossing it in 
the air thinking that I was like Uncle Scrooge.

As we got back home, while Carl was coming out of the car a coin fell out 
of his pocket. I picked it up and gave it to him, but he told me to keep 
it. "My lucky dime!", I said, "given to me by the creator of Uncle 
Scrooge!". One day I will get hold of two velvet cushions and two glass 
bells (I already have two eminently suitable marble columns -- I inherited 
them from my grandparents) and I will place my two lucky dimes where they 
belong. The other one, in case you are wondering, is an 1875 coin given to 
me by Don Rosa.

Back at home I met a third helper of Carl, Anja, who had just spent the 
weekend in Las Vegas with her boyfriend. She had some good Vegas anecdotes 
for us.

Gerry, Helen and Carl drove me to the airport and the time came to say 
goodbye. I flew off to my computer conference in Texas, leaving it one day 
earlier to go to the presentation of my Gottfredson book in Italy. When I 
finally came back home to Cambridge I was exhausted and drained of all 
energy, but happy: I had just lived through some of the most intense days 
of my life. No words can completely describe the ecstatic feeling I 
experienced during these short days. And it had also been heartwarming to 
witness the love and care with which the people near Carl looked after him.

I will never forget the emotion of spending that weekend with Carl Barks. 
Here is one of the greatest men I have ever known, and yet he is so modest 
and unassuming. I am only one out of millions of people in the world who 
are fascinated by his creations, but he makes me feel like a most special 
guest and he welcomes me like a prince. He has a kind heart and a generous, 
contagious smile. As I wrote to him shortly after my visit:

Your ducks will always be there as the testimony of your genius. I trust 
that even hundreds of years from now they will still be reprinted as the 
great classics that they are. You are already immortal as author, artist, 
narrator. What not many people know is how nice and kind you are as a human 
being. I wish I had kids so that I could read them your comics and later 
tell them about you, and inspire their hearts with the story of this 
humble, honest, hard-working man that put a smile on so many millions of 
faces, generation after generation, and yet remained so innocent and modest 
about himself. [...] I'll never forget this visit. And, unless you decide 
at the time that you have more important commitments, as in fact you well 
deserve, I promise I'll be back to take you out for a nice celebration 
dinner when the clock reaches the end of its countdown.

His reply, written a few days before Christmas 1998, mentioned a nasty 
pneumonia that hit him a couple of weeks after my visit, and from which he 
was just recovering:

Well, I am feeling better today. Maybe life will improve soon. The 
millennium clock is still clicking. It gets lots of comments from visitors. 
Today it says "825 days till Carl is 100". I will probably make it.

He almost did. But leukaemia attacked him in 1999, slowly and methodically 
destroying his blood cells; a year later his health started to deteriorate 
fairly rapidly and he asked, with the dignity and wisdom that were so 
deeply engrained in his character, that the medications that were 
prolonging his life be stopped. Gerry acted as a bridge between his fans on 
the Internet and him, forwarding many emails of encouragement, gratefulness 
and love. Carl died a couple of months later, on the 25th of August 2000, 
aged 99. I could not help thinking about the King Khan Khan of one of his 
last and most powerful stories (despite the Tony Strobl artwork) who, after 
having lived for millennia, voluntarily chose to eat the antidote to the 
blue immortality powder.

  Frank (filologo disneyano)  http://www.uk.research.att.com/~fms/