Ku Klux Klan - Ancestor of the Tea Baggers?

Dear readers:

My jaw dropped when I ran across this incredible front page article in the Oct. 27, 1922 issue of The Walla Walla Valley Spectator, where the Ku Klux Klan is treated as if they were like the local garden club. And we're not talking about the Deep South here, this is in Prescott, Washington. Yes, good ol' Blue State progressive Washington that has legalized pot and Gay marriage and has never voted for a Bush for President.

What really struck me as I read through this was how much the Klan spokesman sounded like one of today's Tea Party proponents.

I love Eastern Washington. I was born there. My most prolific period as a cartoonist took place there in the 1980s. It sickens me that it also has a strong element of fear-based people willing to swallow the nonsense of the Klan, "Neo" Nazis, and Tea Baggers, all birds of a feather in my thinking.

Perhaps that good, patriotic, pious Christian, that man who spreads the word of God, the Rev. Burger, was really from the Church of the Nazirene.

Yours,
A Member of the "Adverse Element."

Keep [LOOK AT ME! LOOK At ME!] Weird

The "Keep [Blank] Weird" trend supposedly started in Austin, but has spread like eczema across the cultural epidermis. So sad.

Maybe it was original the first time it was used, but now it is hardly unique or creative.

To me the whole idea of weirdness is that the subject in question is out of touch with common reality and somewhat unaware of their own weirdness. Rotary Club meetings are weird. Most of the small towns in southwest Washington State are weird. The Tea Party is weird. Cats are weird. People who wear bicycle helmets indoors are weird. Silverware is weird.

Actually most of life is weird. But among the things that are not weird are cities, or entire states, that jump up and down and shout "Look at us! We're weird!" That's not weird, that's just marketing, which is pretty mundane. Since my motto is "Drabness is Goodness," I can hardly complain about this "Keep ... Weird" ad campaign, so I'll embrace the paradox as part of normal pop culture.

Morty Comix # 2526

Morty Comix # 2526 was drawn on the skin of my right hand (I am left-handed) and Hettie breezed by to inspect the artwork before I washed it off. This might mark the first time Morty Comix was presented as body art, although it was very temporary. I suspect this is as close as I'll ever come to a tattoo, an adornment which has become a widespread fad for the last couple decades but I must confess is an art form I find unappealing. I'm not knockin' it, it just isn't my deal.

Why? Because I see the creation and consumption of art as ever evolving. Something that captivates me at age 18 will become lame and stupid by the time I am 35, 40, 50. Plus, and believe me I know, our bodies change shape like silly putty as we hurtle through time. And that changes the presentation of the tattoo.


I understand there are at least two people running around out there in the world with Morty the Dog tattoos, although I have not seen them. One of them gained his Morty body graphic long before tattoos became hip. That was a real radical leap and I do respect him for that. But what if I subsequently had suffered a severe head injury and became a member of the Tea Party or the NRA and allowed Morty to be an icon of these hater un-American movements that stand for nothing but fear, greed and ignorance?


But, that being said, apparently the late great underground cartoonist Greg Irons, an artist I admire very much, was a tattoo artist in Seattle working in the city at the same time I was a graduate student at the University of Washington over 30 years ago. And this was before tattoos became fashionable for middle class kids. Back then, the radicals got tattoos, but these days the radicals don't get them. If I had known Greg was in town I would've been very tempted to get an Irons tattoo. The guy was the Durer of our time, a gifted artist, and a big influence on my own cartooning. I loved his work.

As I recall, Bruce Chrislip (who was hosting), Michael Dowers and I were downing a beer or two (er, or more) next to Lake Union late 1984 when Bruce gave us the news Greg had been killed by a bus in Thailand at age 37. It's not fair. We were robbed of several more decades of work by a great artist. Very funny Mr. God, thanks a lot!    

Phone photo 392

Dino Rossi is a three time loser Republican, 2 losses for Washington State Governor, 1 for US Senate. Now seen as a perennial candidate, his supporters never bother to take down his signs and his name has become part of the local landscape-- but to his detriment politically since even though he's not been in the State Senate for almost a decade, the fact his signs are still up paints him as a career politician.

Actually, I don't have anything against career politicians, they are professionals and can get things done if you are lucky enough to be represented by a decent one. However, in Rossi's case, he'll need the Tea Baggers if he wants to ever win. And keeping these signs up even though he's lost three times will not help his case with that crew at this point in history, in spite of the fact he's right of center on the political spectrum.

Retreads 5

1st edition, 1985, Pullman, Washington, 50 copies, goldenrod cover, enlarged digest size. Not released until 1986.

2nd edition, February 1986, 30 copies, salmon cover, enlarged digest size. This is the edition posted here.

1st Danger Room Reprint edition, July 2005, 5 copies, blue cover, enlarged digest size.

Trivia:

Pages 3-7, 23-end was my response to living in a Christian Republican stronghold during the high tide of Reaganism, an era of socialism for the rich and corporations, resulting in the national debt skyrocketing to new heights. Sarah Palin and the Tea Baggers are evidence that all of Ron the Con's massive cuts to education in the 1980s have managed to benefit the Republicans in the long run. So these comix, unfortunately, remain relevant today. I would like it better if these comix were seen as period pieces, charming reminders of when America went temporarily crazy.

Pages 11-15 gave me an opportunity to play straight man to Bruce Chrislip in one of the more unusual formats in comixland.

Pages 16-17 was a jam with Chrislip and Michael Dowers at the former's place near Lake Union in Seattle, December 18, 1984. As I recall, a significant amount of alcohol had been consumed. It was during this visit we all learned of the death of the great underground comix artist (and at that time formerly a recent Seattle resident) Greg Irons, who was one of my favorites of that genre. I always thought Irons had a touch of Durer in his work.

Pages 18-21: Obviously influenced by the Dr. Seuss book, Yertle the Turtle.