Charles Schulz

I adored Charles Schulz. Did you know that precious, unassuming man always had his personal phone number listed in the telephone book?

For five years, I lived in an upstairs apartment drawing every day about my life and feelings and insecurities and daydreaming of becoming a comic strip artist. I would be drawing and then stop and look out my window and send my wishes and hopes and dreams across the park and roof tops. Never knowing, that one of those roof tops I stared at was the roof top of Charles Schulz's art studio!

He and I lived in the same town and it wasn't unusual to see him out and about from time to time. But there was a moment, where our lives crossed and I will never forget it for as long as I live.

I was in a book store flipping through some Calvin and Hobbes comic books, when he gently tapped me on my shoulder and suggested I buy a Peanuts book instead. I looked over at him, gasping, recognized him instantly.. blurting out, "Hi Mr. Browwwn!"

I was wearing a t-shirt with my own comic strip on the front and pointed it out to him, saying he was my inspiration. And being so nervous, I jumbled up my words and expressed I wanted to become a comic stripper because of him.

He smiled and seemed to connect with me and invited me to his studio a few days later.

It was a dream come true.

He gave me a tour and showed me his latest strip he was drawing. He pulled out an unknown, not-yet-published Mutt's comic strip and said, "Patrick McDonnell will have the best strip out there" and I felt warmed that I was seeing all this before it went to print.

He spent a great deal of time looking through my comics and spoke kind and hopeful words to me about them and offered suggestions. Though I arrived there in such a cloak of vulnerability, his kindness wrapped a woolen blanket around me and warmed me to the bone. I believe he recognized parts of me in him and felt a kindred spirit between us.

He personally sent my rough comics out to his syndicate. He even called me a few times. Left messages on my answering machine that I still have on cassette tape. He wrote a couple of notes to me of encouragement. Gave me an autographed book called 40 Years of Life and Art. And, if I wasn't so bashful and if I believed in myself more, who knows what would have happened with my comic career with the help of Charles Schulz? I know he wanted to help me. That's the way he was.

I certainly don't have any regrets today of what happened then, because I'm exactly where I want to be, and I no longer carry the same dream of drawing a comic strip as I once did.

When he died, my heart broke. I went to his Memorial Service and sat up on the left-hand-side of the balcony and cried my eyes out. Santa Rosa felt more empty.

----

About a year after his death, I was showing a friend his studio.
"I don't think this is a good idea, Shawn", she said.

"Oh, c'mon. We'll just peek in the windows."

I pulled into the driveway at One Snoopy Place and the electronic doors swung open and let us through. We parked near the front door and peered into the windows and his studio still looked just like it did when he was alive. I was thrilled!

"Look over there! That's his drawing table!" I shrieked, pecking the window with my finger.

My friend was still nervous, looking around. "Isn't this private property? I think we should leave now..." she said.

And as we got into the car to drive out, the electronic doors didn't open for us.

We were locked inside the gate!

We called Security. They couldn't help us. Their contract ended two weeks earlier and they didn't know who had the code or key to let us out.

It became dark and cold and we sat in my car with my engine and heater on to keep us warm while my friend had that look of "I told you so" on her face.

After a couple of hours, headlights from an oncoming car blinded us for a moment as it drove up through the electronic gates and they opened for us. I darted out as quickly as possible never looking into the oncoming car. I'm sure if I did, I would have seen a face of an angel.

Back at home, she and I talked about our experience of being trapped inside, but it wasn't a scary experience.

We actually felt comforted and safe being there locked inside the gates. Which isn't surprising, really.

Because he was comfortable and safe.

And the world is different without him in it.

Rewriting Burt's autograph

I'm just a kid spending the weekend at Napa's Silverado Country Club when I glance up from collecting lost golf balls when I see this mustached man who recently caused a stir, posing nearly nude in a centerfold. I feel dizzy seeing him in real life. He and his girlfriend, Dinah Shore are chatting with James Brolin about appaloosas when I asked him for his autograph.

I am giddy with excitement when he scribbles his name down for me, but am horrified by what I see. His name isn't legible at all. The kids in school won't believe that I actually got his autograph!

In my childhood brilliance, I rewrite his name over and over again until I write the way I imagine his signature to look. I carry his autograph inside a sandwich baggy to protect it on my way to school to show my friends. They stand around the tetherball pole staring at his neat penmanship with envy while his real autograph is wadded up in a heap of rubble inside the garbage can.

Happy Birthday Julie

Today is Julie's birthday.

She is, happily for me, a good friend of mine.

Years ago, in our early twenties, and before she was married to Buddy, she and I travelled around the country in a mazda with a broken-down air conditioner during the summer that lasted several years.

I remember while living in New York City, for a time, we hung out with the then unknown singer/songwriter Shawn Colvin. Shawn had one of those flats that had a toilet in her kitchen. And, I remember Shawn bathing, while I sat on the toilet while Julie heated water for tea at the same time.

Julie and I didn't have much money back then. We'd practically live off a slice of cheese pizza a day.

I remember one time Julie was opening for another band and as we drove through the City, she waved her dress out the window to iron it out.

Another time, while in Tulsa, we were selling records and Julie never felt comfortable selling records. Ever.

And, one day, I offered to write BUY SETS on the back of her eye lids. I really did believe customers would read her message sublimely and buy an entire set of records. Dear sweet Julie truly believed in me. She handed me her eye liner pencil and I wrote BUY on on eye lid and SETS on the other and to this day, still feel a sting in my heart when I remember that day. Within moments, all Julie had were dark smudges around her eyes. And, I don't recall Julie selling a single record because of my bright idea.

Julie is my lifetime friend. She saved me in so many ways. She is my walking angel in my life.

While nearly murdered and lying in a hospital bed in Olympia, Julie rushed to my side and spent the entire night with me before my mom and sister flew up to take care of me.

I flew into Dallas yesterday.

I met Julie in East Texas. Being back here and coupled with her birthday, I can't stop thinking of her. I spent an evening with friends in the outskirts of Dallas tonight in a small town called Midlothian.

Maybe it's the hot summer night. Maybe it's the way the trees grow out here. Or the stars shining so brightly in the night sky. Maybe it's because Midlothian reminds me of a chapter in the bible.

I miss you, Julie. In a very huge way.

May your birthday bring you all the tender joys and magic life can bring.

You live in my heart forever.