Showing posts with label James Geraghty. Show all posts
Showing posts with label James Geraghty. Show all posts

Sunday, August 31, 2025

Lucretia J. Weed's Copy of Stop Trying to Cheer Me Up! by Frank Modell

Publisher Lucretia J. Weed's copy of Stop Trying to Cheer Me Up! was inscribed to her by cartoonist Frank Modell in 1978, the year of publication. For a collection of Modell cartoons, the title is perfect.


The back cover features a unicorn on a unicycle. What else? The play on words might not be immediately apparent.

Modell inscribed the front free endpaper, but it takes two efforts for him to spell Lucretia correctly.



Half title

Title page

All but four of the one-hundred sixty drawings were first published in The New Yorker. The work spans thirty years in the magazine, 1948-1978.


The book is dedicated to three people. The former Daisy Simon and Irving Modell were the cartoonist's parents. James Geraghty, of course, was the magazine's art editor from 1939 to 1973.

"And when did it first occur to you that perhaps life is not a cabaret?"



Frank Modell
eBay listing ended July 12, 2025


Frank Modell
eBay item description
Sold for a Best Offer of $40.



And for anyone who doesn't get the one cartoon this eBay seller chose to photograph, this might very well help:







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Friday, June 16, 2023

Saul Steinberg: Three Landscape Views

An untitled 1970 work by Saul Steinberg was given by the artist in December of 1971 to Barbara Nicholls, then assistant to The New Yorker's cartoon editor James Geraghty. Later she became a gallerist and art dealer representing a great many leading New Yorker cartoonists. The ink and watercolor composition is enhanced by rubber stamps and a wax stamp. It consists of three postcard-like landscape views.





The presale estimate was $7,000 to $9,000.
Saul Steinberg
Shapiro Auctions listing accessed June 14, 2023


The hammer price of $6,500, meant that the full price was $8,125, including the 25% buyer's premium.This total was within the range of the estimate.





June 28, 2023 Update:  For more information, see the Saul Steinberg Foundation's page on Postcard-Style Landscapes.





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Tuesday, July 5, 2022

James Geraghty's Copy of Thurber Country

James Thurber inscribed a copy of his 1953 collection Thurber Country to James Geraghty, The New Yorker's art editor from 1939 to 1973. The handwriting appears very loose and poorly controlled. By this time Thurber had lost almost all of his vision, but evidently not his spirit. The book is now on the market via the estate of New Yorker cartoonist Claude Smith. The AbeBooks seller James Cummins mentions—but does not reproduce in the listing—a note from Smith describing how he acquired the book from Geraghty.


"For Jim
from Jim
Happy Times"

James Thurber
AbeBooks listing accessed July 4, 2022



Note:  Images of books personalized by James Thurber for other New Yorker writers, artists, and staff are eagerly sought after here for future blog posts. 



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Tuesday, January 25, 2022

Charles Addams: A Fender Bender

Beginning around 1946, the young Frank Modell served as assistant to New Yorker cartoon editor James Geraghty. Working at The New Yorker, he acquired some early original works by Peter Arno that had never been published in the magazine. Possibly, some of these forgotten works were left unclaimed in the office, or they may have been gifts received personally from Arno. 


Now we see that Modell also came to possess an early original drawing by Charles Addams. Apparently, this also was submitted to The New Yorker but not published. The cartoon, somewhat elongated in its proportions, shows two hunters involved in an unusual head-on car accident, no pun intended. The estate of Frank Modell attempted to sell this original at Bonhams, twice.  The auction house listing does an admirable job of summarizing other Addams cartoons on similar subjects. In June, the drawing was given an estimate of $6,000-8,000. Unsold, it was offered again in December with a lower presale estimate of $5,000-7,000. The minimum bid was set at $5,000 but once again the Addams work did not find a buyer.






Charles Addams
Bonhams, December 15, 2021
The earlier June 2021 sale:







June 25, 2022 Update:
  Having twice failed to sell this cartoon at Bonhams, the consignor took this Addams piece to Swann Galleries, where it found a buyer in the June 9 Illustration Art sale at a more reasonable price. A souvenir drawing of Uncle Fester, on the other hand, sold remarkably well.



Charles Addams
Hammer price
Swann Auction Galleries June 9, 2022 Illustration Art sale





Note:
  The blog archive has two posts about Peter Arno cartoons from the estate of New Yorker cartoonist Frank Modell. Find them both here.






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Sunday, January 27, 2019

Charles Addams: Here at The New Yorker Dust Jacket

A current eBay listing for the dust jacket—and only the dust jacket—to Brendan Gill's Here at The New Yorker (1975) provides a full if somewhat glare-laden image of the excellent wraparound cover illustration by Charles Addams. Thirty-six of the individuals who contributed preeminently to the magazine's success during its storied first half-century are framed in the arcades of an hermitage while the New Yorker's mascot Eustace Tilley walks by and surveys them through his monocle. Who are these monastic individuals abiding serenely in their cells yet united in their literary and artistic cause?
Charles Addams
Dust jacket to Here at The New Yorker (New York:  Random House, 1975) by Brendan Gill



Well, I'm glad you asked. I have added my own photo of the key to these figures on the front and back covers. Naturally, founding editor Harold Ross has a position of prominence on the front cover as does his successor William Shawn.
Key
Photo by docnad
This legendary grouping has a few evident quirks as befits a magazine staff which had many. First of all, among the thirty-six figures in the monastery there are only two women, Dorothy Parker and Katharine White, a number equal, oddly, to the number of inconspicuously-placed "unidentified wretches." Furthermore, there are only six artists—Peter Arno, James Thurber, Charles Addams, Saul Steinberg, George Price, and Whitney Darrow, Jr.—as  compared to twenty-nine writers and editors, among whom I will again include Thurber who was, if possible, an even greater figure in the writer's camp than in the cartoonist's. (Yes, E. B. White contributed one naive cover to the magazine, but aside from this curiosity his output was very non-naive words and words alone. James Geraghty was the magazine's art editor and could be counted, if one chose, on the artistic side of the equation, but he was not himself an artist.)

The inclusion of the first and second "unidentified wretch" in the lineup is a mystery. Is there some inside joke here? Isn't there a better use for these two spaces? The omission of Rea Irvin is surely inexcusable. He created the dandy Eustace Tilley who appeared on the very first cover, designed the masthead and many of the section headings, and served as the magazine's founding art supervisor. His profound influence on the New Yorker's look persists to this day. Addams includes his mascot on the cover, but not him.

If we were to be able to include Irvin, there would still be a "second unidentified wretch" to account for. Who should fill his space? This is far from an easy question. There was never any shortage of talent at the New Yorker. It seems obvious that among the artists William Steig surely deserves a place in the pantheon. But what of Otto Soglow and Gluyas Williams? What of Helen E. Hokinson and Barbara Shermund?

Among writers, John Cheever, John McPhee, and Janet Flanner immediately spring to mind. The are each certainly worthy of enshrinement on the monastery arcade. So the strange conceit of having a first and second "unidentified wretch" as placeholders when so many could justifiably be included defies explanation, unless it is to avoid having to make a difficult decision.

There are more worthwhile photos from the eBay seller. It's one hell of a nice dust jacket, and in this case you can judge the (missing) book by its cover.











Note:  In 2017 Michael Maslin wrote about this cover on Ink Spill here.


At press time, the dust jacket is still available for purchase here.

  

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Thursday, May 25, 2017

Blog Post No. 2200: Peter Arno Drawings from the Estate of Frank Modell

Cartoonist Frank Modell (1917-2016) started working at the New Yorker around 1946 as an assistant to James Geraghty, the art editor. Geraghty, among his many responsibilities, personally handled cartoonist Peter Arno, the magazine's most talented and most temperamental cartoonist. A number of unpublished Arno originals now have come to light from Mr. Modell's estate. He had in his possession at least one cover rough and at least five cartoon roughs plus one published drawing. Most of these predate Mr. Modell's time at the magazine. A few lack captions. A few have been carelessly folded and sustained considerable paper loss. While some of these conceivably could have been gifts from Mr. Arno, most of these might very well have been forgotten scraps left carelessly about the office which no one wanted and which Mr. Modell had the foresight to grab and take home before they were lost forever.

Four such cartoon roughs were offered for sale in March by Lotus International Auctions LLC. The lot went unsold. Two other drawings from the Modell estate are now in the collection of the Billy Ireland Cartoon Library & Museum at Ohio State.

We'd better have a look at everything. Let's start with the Lotus auction:

It's never a good idea to lead with a blurry image.

"Now stop and think a minute—did I bite you?"
Peter Arno
Preliminary cartoon art
 The New Yorker, July 5, 1930

Condition aside, it's not bad, but Arno was not satisfied with this image. He went on to lower the vantage point to a dog's eye view in the published version of "Now stop and think a minute—did I bite you?" This lower camera angle gives us a more wide-angle view of the scene with the vertical lines diverging exaggeratedly toward the top. Arno also has repositioned the assailant so that his back is now toward us and we can appreciate the sheer power of his windup. The cartoonish stances seen in the rough have been eliminated and we now have a far less awkward and far more dramatic scene. The two principle figures veer away from each other in a V which exaggerates the diverging lines of the background. Their arms serve as counterweights, transforming the V of the figures into an M. The contrast of light and dark is more pronounced. Thus a gag cartoon that was already worthy of publication in just about any magazine in America was reworked by Arno into something substantially more effective.
Peter Arno
The New Yorker, July 5, 1930, page 14

Caption

The next piece started out as a promising Peter Arno gag, but as we'll see it didn't end up that way:
"And what, may I inquire, were you doing in my house?"
Peter Arno
Preliminary New Yorker cartoon art, c. 1949

"And what, may I inquire, were you doing in my house?"
Peter Arno
Preliminary New Yorker cartoon art, c. 1949

"And what, may I inquire, were you doing in my house?"
Peter Arno
Caption to preliminary New Yorker cartoon art, c. 1949



By the time of publication in the May 7, 1949 issue, this gag was reassigned to the very capable Sam Cobean, but this is problematic. The idea is clearly better suited to Arno's talents and very well may have been written expressly for him—in fact, it reads to this day like a classic Peter Arno gag. So why on earth give it away to another artist, however adept, who simply can't make the most of it? Arno's treatment of the irate husband is palpably funnier than Cobean's ever could hope to be, and while Arno's composition still needs some fine-tuning (note, for example, the impossible angle of the husband's foot), the finished cartoon should have been an instant sensation. Perhaps an explanation, in part, is that instead of working out the problems in this drawing, Arno had to work on the famous sizzling platter cartoon for publication in this very issue, and certainly no one else could have taken on that assignment. It seems likely that James Geraghty was charged with assigning, and sometimes reassigning, ideas from the gag writers to the New Yorker's stable of talented artists, a task which may not always have been so enviable.
Sam Cobean
The New Yorker, May 7, 1949, page 37


Sam Cobean's gag is long forgotten. Arno's contribution to the same issue is a revered classic that provided the title for his 1949 collection Peter Arno's Sizzling Platter:
Peter Arno
The New Yorker, May 7, 1949, page 35



Another unpublished Arno cartoon from the 1920s has suffered every indignity: tearing, creasing, paper loss, and caption loss. Usually the two Whoops Sisters are engaged in a bit of cheeky, low-comedy dialogue but, uncharacteristically, only one sister is present here. Still, there might still be two speakers. My guess is that the first speaker would be the man with the cane who would say something very proper along the lines of "I say, my good fellow, you've gone and splashed that fine lady!" That would be followed by a very saucy reply from the lone Whoops Sister beginning, inevitably, with "Whoops! ..." Note how Arno uses the perspective lines and the cane to lead our eyes to the poor, bespattered Whoops Sister.
["?"]
["Whoops!... ?"]
Peter Arno
Unpublished Whoops Sister New Yorker gag, c. 1920's

Detail

Peter Arno's signature

A final unpublished gag of a hunting party and, it would seem, a car valet looks to be press-ready. It too comes to us missing its caption.
["?"]
Peter Arno
Unpublished New Yorker gag, c. 1930's


September 19, 2021 Update:  It turns out Arno completely reworked this gag before publication in The New Yorker:

"Trapshooting? I thought you said crapshooting!"
Peter Arno
The New Yorker, April 30, 1932, page 14
Image added September 19, 2021
[End of September 19, 2021 update]




Peter Arno's signature

Peter Arno

Lotus International Auctions, LLC Item Description







The Modell estate went to the considerable expense of framing the above four pieces under Museum Glass. The artwork was likely too fragile to be sold otherwise, but opening the bidding at $2,000 was asking a lot for pieces in such sorry condition. Two other works from the estate were donated to the Billy Ireland Cartoon Library & Museum. Here's how the museum went about cataloguing them:


Peter Arno
Franklyn B. Modell Collection of Cartoon Art
The Ohio State University
Billy Ireland Cartoon Library & Museum
And:

Peter Arno
Franklyn B. Modell Collection of Cartoon Art
The Ohio State University
Billy Ireland Cartoon Library & Museum


Both drawings are dated 1939 by the Billy Ireland, but they're obviously much earlier, let's say 1926-1929. The shower drawing is related to a series of "Why, Auntie" drawings Arno did, none of which are as funny as he seems to have thought they were and none of which appeared in the New Yorker. The idea is to present a scene in which "Auntie" is surprised, naked, by her nephew in a compromising situation he is too young to understand. Arno's knowing reader could at once take in the nephew's innocence, Auntie's embarrassment, and the erotic fun inherent in the situation—not a bad formula, really, except that it does involve depicting an underage child exposed to something of a salacious nature to make its point. This drawing is apparently unpublished, but it evolved some forty years later into Arno's Lady in the Shower drawing, which was intended by the artist to be a worthy companion to his madcap Man in the Shower drawing, although really it was never in the same league. The notion that Arno couldn't let go of this singular awkward idea over his entire adult life is one that is perhaps best left unanalyzed.
["?"]
Variation on the "Why, Auntie" drawings and an early precursor to the Lady in the Shower drawing

"Why Auntie—what big eyes you have!"
Peter Arno's Parade (New York:  Horace Liveright, 1929)
Peter Arno's Favorites (New York:  Blue Ribbon Books, 1932)

"Why, auntie! You've got your hat on. Are you going out?"
Peter Arno's Hullabaloo (New York:  Horace Liveright, 1930)
Peter Arno's Favorites (New York:  Blue Ribbon Books, 1932)

"What the hell goes on here, Auntie?"
Peter Arno's For Members Only (New York:  Simon and Schuster, 1935)

Lady in the Shower (New York:  Simon and Schuster, 1967)

Now it's time we move on from a woman being surprised in the shower to...a woman being surprised in the bathtub. It seems this is the only one of Frank Modell's Arno drawings actually to be published, but it appeared in a cartoon collection of his and certainly not in the New Yorker. The Billy Ireland dutifully lists the subjects of this drawing as sexual harassment, sexual lust, and voyeurism, but unfortunately it's the interracial aspect of this voyeurism that Arno found especially funny here. He was amused, it would seem, by Asian men lusting after white women. Along these lines, a New Yorker cover of his from 1928 shows an Asian servant silently contemplating a modern sculpture depicting a voluptuous, nude— and white—woman.
"Hi, Kid, whatchya doin'?"
Peter Arno
Original art
Peter Arno's Parade (New York:  Horace Liveright, 1929)
"Hi, Kid, whatchya doin'?"
Peter Arno's Parade (New York:  Horace Liveright, 1929)


Peter Arno
The New Yorker, December 8, 1928


Note:  Well, that's all for now, but it doesn't have to end here. Readers are asked to contribute their own insights that will further help to place these six drawings by Peter Arno from the estate of Frank Modell in their proper historical context.

Open the floodgates! Are there other drawings in the New Yorker's history worked up by one artist and subsequently assigned to another? Readers are invited to share specific examples of different artists' approaches to a single idea drawing prior to publication in the magazine.

A trove of Peter Arno's work is hidden away out there in private collections. Send in scans or photos of what you've got and let's see what we can figure out together.

Frank Modell also owned a preliminary New Yorker cover by Peter Arno. That one was discussed earlier on the blog here.

Want to know more? Peter Arno:  The Mad, Mad World of The New Yorker's Greatest Cartoonist is Michael Maslin's fascinating biography of the artist published in 2016. It's available on Amazon here.


The Attempted Bloggery Centennial Posts
Blog Post No. 100
Blog Post No. 200:  A Shaggy Dog Story

Quick Links to the Attempted Bloggery Archives:

Peter Arno

Frank Modell

Sam Cobean

James Geraghty

Preliminary New Yorker Cartoon Art

Original Book Illustration Art

Unpublished art


What the hell goes on here?

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