CARTOON: ‘I’ve Never Killed Anyone’

I’ve never killed anyone. And while Mark Twain said the same thing, he also said that he had, “however, read certain obituaries with no small satisfaction.” (Maybe that was Oscar Wilde.) Anyway, I don’t even recall deriving any satisfaction from any obituaries, either. But the same can no longer be said about my cartoons. They have committed murder. At least it was negligent homicide. A brief explanation follows.

A good friend, Sgt. Russ, is a survivor of open heart surgery at the local hospital (which has an excellent reputation in the cardiac surgery area, so if you need a “heart zipper” get it there… er … here). In appreciation, Russ does volunteer work among the cardio-surgical patients in the cardio ward. He invited me a few months ago to visit some cardio-surgical patients and do their portraits. Just for grins.

So one morning, Sarge called me. You gotta meet this guy: a farm boy with a farmer’s tan, tall, thin, salt-and-pepper hair cut in a high and tight flattop and a perpetual grin. He is the spitting image of my Dad, although he outranked my daddy, also an army sergeant. He asked me to go by the cardio unit and look in on a patient fresh from surgery: a woman, which was unusual. I had never seen a female in the ward before. I arrived at the nurses’ station and spoke to the (head?) nurse, a guy whose portrait I had done before. A big, burly, friendly guy, less cute than most of the nurses … is that sexist? (I’m just kidding … about asking. I don’t care whether it’s sexist or not. All this political correctness crap is gonna get us all beheaded. Look at eastern Europe and the recent migration of millions of military-aged young men. Not a woman, old guy, or child among them, but I digress.) Big Burly said it was OK to visit and explained the necessaries. The room was just a few feet from his station. I was a little daunted about just walking in and introducing myself and began to think it was a stupid idea in Russ’s absence with his OSHA green volunteer’s vest.

I poked my gruesome head into the room and around a curtain and introduced myself, quickly mentioning Russ’s name, at which the puzzled expression on her face disappeared. To my relief a smile replaced her initial frown. I couldn’t tell if she had been reaching for the pain meds button or the emergency call button. Anyway, she told me about her recent medical adventure and while she did that, I did her portrait. I don’t think she really understood what I was drawing. A better-looking nurse (than Big Burly) had come in and provided a clipboard, which made drawing easier—which you probably don’t realize is really hard work. The portrait turned out as one of my best cardio-ward portraits. She really liked it, and just as I finished her hubby and son came in with her doctor, which I took as my official cue to get lost. Unfortunately, the story doesn’t end there.

To illustrate how dangerous drawing can be, I must tell you about another story of drawing and surgery. I met a clerk in Clark County District Court once who was a tough dame, or seemed to be such. She was tall and formidable-looking, at least until she smiled, which was almost constantly. (If you are unhappy with what God has given you in the Looks Department, conceal your supposed shortcomings with a big smile. No one else will notice.) Anyway, this clerk bumped into me in a restaurant a few years after our initial meeting and told me that she liked the portrait I did of her at our initial introduction. But she had noticed something that she didn’t like, and she had gone under the knife to correct it. I realized that the pen may be mightier than the sword, and may even lead to the scalpel. Serious responsibility … and you thought I was just screwin’ around. (Her boss was the judge who hears temporary protective petitions. But he’s a completely different story, being from Chicago and always wearing cowboy boots … an ominous combination.)

But back to the cardio patient. She had told me she was a Christian and that her sins were under the Blood of the Maker of Heaven and Earth, so she had no worries. She seemed fine when I exited behind the curtain. But Russ called me a few days later and explained how a few hours after I had gone she slumped down in the same chair she had occupied when I unceremoniously waltzed in. She had died. But as she had explained, God is always in control, and just as she had slumped over in her chair a nurse had walked from behind the same curtain I had ruffled and immediately recognized the situation. The crew came right in and administered the paddles, and she was revived. But I think she died again later and the same tireless crew came back and revived her again. She’s now at home recuperating. God’s plans for our lives trump our own … and those of the Reaper.

As I pondered this curious incident, it occurred to me that maybe the strain of seeing my drawing (or just looking at me) had been too much. So now that I know how powerful my drawings are, I have decided to offer my services to Obama in order to defeat Evil in the Middle East. So, if you talk to him anytime soon, tell him I’m available. And if you are in doubt about the power of drawing cartoons, just ask Boss Tweed about a guy named Thos. Nast. (You thought Mr. Nast had only invented how Santa Claus looks.)