Auchtoon!Comics and Comments from John Auchter
Originally published in the Grand Rapids Press, April 23, 2011
My only additional note is that it’s a bit of a cop out to use a generic “Michigan Politician” here when, of course, we all have a tendency to like our own ideas the best. But that’s certainly more forgivable in cases where we are not elected to represent other people.
Originally published in the Grand Rapids Press, April 16, 2011
I had a history teacher in high school (Mr. Winchester, I believe) who explained one of the major causes for the Civil War this way: Slavery was integral to the South’s economy. The large plantations needed the inexpensive labor it provided. But if it was just that, the large plantation owners alone would not have been able to rally support for and support a massive four year war. Ultimately, they would have found other sources of cheap labor. But slavery was also integral to the South’s society. Poor whites lived largely the same difficult lives as blacks. The only thing the poor whites had going for them was that they felt better about their lives relative to blacks — they had more supposed freedom, more supposed opportunities. It was the poor whites who made the bulk of the soldiers who actually fought the war for the South.
I get a similar vibe these days when I hear and read people talking about things like health care benefits or tax structures. We don’t mind so much having crappy benefits or paying unfair taxes as long as somebody else (like our neighbor) has it worse. In tough times, we trend toward living relative lives when obviously we should be concentrating on solving the actual problems. Best results come from shared sacrifice and shared rewards, not satisfaction in being slightly further ahead than the guy down the street.
That said, if anybody in my family gets more candy than me in their Easter basket, I’m going to throw a fit.
Originally published in the Grand Rapids Press, April 9, 2011
It was easy to draw the raw steak in the first panel. Having been raised on Flintstones reruns, there was at least one raw piece of meat in each episode, and it looked exactly like this. But for the second panel, I searched the web and printed out several raw steak photos and taped them on my drawing board so I could semi-accurately render how fat is marbled. Made the board look a bit like a butchery (or a slaughterhouse). I was starting to take notice of this when what should pop up on my iTunes shuffle but, you guessed it, those 1980s post-new wave, alt-rock, proto-goth boys from Manchester, The Smiths, with their happy-go-lucky lead singer and lyricist, Morrissey, singing that snappy tune, “Meat Is Murder.”
So take a little trip down memory lane (and into a dark, cold, hopeless abyss of guilt and depression). Enjoy your weekend!
Originally published in the Grand Rapids Press, April 2, 2011
The very first cartoons I ever drew starred an angel and devil. I was about 8 years-old, and I can’t remember exactly why I found the whole heaven/hell concepts so fascinating. Part of it I’m sure was being raised a Roman Catholic with churches steeped with Renaissance-era art. Part of it was not ever having seen a newspaper-type cartoon with angels and devils, which appealed to my oddly innate need to always create something new. Part of it might have to do with definable characters writing their own lines — an angel that loses his temper or a devil with a kind soft spot — there is potential for funny there.
So I loved drawing this week’s cartoon. Perhaps a little disturbing to think of cartoon satan as an old friend, but let’s not analyze too much, shall we?
The backstory is that Rob Bell — a local but internationally known pastor from a church right here in Grandville (Mars Hill) — just had a book published called “Love Wins.” I haven’t read it yet, but I would like to at some point. So of course that allows me to make sweeping generalizations about the contents. (What? That’s what everybody else does!) A particular controversy about the book revolves around Pastor Bell’s thoughts about Hell. Who supposedly goes there? Why the fascination with it? Does it take focus away from Jesus’s central messages? Could Gandhi really be stuck there for eternity? Those sorts of things. Then — BOOM! — it blew up, as religious issues often do.
Next week: Guardian angels! (to keep things fair and balanced)
Originally published in the Grand Rapids Press, March 26, 2011
I’m guessing that even for you who live outside of West Michigan this week’s cartoon won’t require too much explaining. Wes Leonard was the young man and star athlete from Fennville, Michigan who on March 3rd collapsed and died after scoring the winning basket in a playoff game. It was an absolutely stunning tragedy, bordering on unreal. It was international news for quite some time as the Fennville basketball team continued to win before being knocked out by the eventual state champs.
Last week, Wes Leonard’s family wrote an open letter to the community, which was published in the Grand Rapids Press. If you have not read it, follow the link. It’s definitely worth it. It struck me as one of the purest, most graceful examples of human dignity I have ever experienced. Something to be inspired by and to aspire to. But it also made me wonder — could I handle something so horrible as well as the Leonards? And it made me wish — I hope I never have to find out.
There was a song by the Mighty Mighty Bosstones called “The Impression That I Get,” which was running through my head as I was drawing. Sample lyrics:
Have you ever been close to tragedy
Or been close to folks who have?
Have you ever felt a pain so powerful
So heavy you collapse?No? Well…
I never had to knock on wood
But I know someone who has
Which makes me wonder if I could
It makes me wonder if
I never had to knock on wood
And I’m glad I haven’t yet
Because I’m sure it isn’t good
That’s the impression that I get.
Originally published in the Grand Rapids Press, March 19, 2011
When I hear the term “belt-tightening,” the first image I get is of my Auchter ancestors. Family lore has it that my great-great grandmother (a severe German-Catholic woman of the late 1800s) wore a rope with knots in it around her waste under the untold layers of Victorian clothes. Whenever she was feeling particularly sinful, she would notch the belt tighter so the knots would dig into her, the pain a reminder for being so awful. (Ah, yes — those wonderful, carefree days of yore when everything was so much better than today….)
The other image I get is of adolescent me. To say I was skinny is to say that salt tastes salty. With most pants, wearing a belt was an absolute necessity. Belts, I might add, that my Dad had to create additional holes on with a leather punch — the extra belt sometimes wrapped through two or three belt loops and ended near my spine. Because I liked to run and play and not have my pants slide off, my belt was often cinched to the last leather-punched hole to keep them tight. At the end of the day, the points of my hips would often be bright red and sore.
So for me, “belt-tightening” means something more than “a little snug.” And having lived in Michigan for the past 10 years, which has been one continuous belt-tightening, my hips points start to pulsate when I hear the term. That, and it makes me somewhat less sympathetic (no, make that “angry”) with those who don’t know what it’s like. Big oil companies, for instance. No matter what, they just seem to keep piling up the cash. And, yes, it’s a gross generalization, and I’m sure there much more to it than that. But I did write “seem to” because that’s the way it feels, especially at the gas pump.
I noticed this week that some sort of gas and oil trade group is running full-page color ads in the Grand Rapids Press. They extol the virtues of gas and oil and gainful employment with lots of smiling, happy people. I’d like to think this is in direct response to my cartoon. But I’m pretty sure it is part of a PR campaign developed long before. Well, I hope they are at least paying full price for those ads. A lot of belt-tightening at newspapers these days….
This was going to be tomorrow’s GRPress cartoon. I really like it. It has a unique style, a nice rhythm, accessible design, stinging punchline. Unfortunately it wasn’t until I got to the point of the rough sketch that I realized (and accepted the fact) there are probably only five people in the world who would understand it. Sigh.
As briefly as possible, here’s what you would need to know:
See now?! What’d I tell you? Awesome cartoon, right? Wait, what? You stopped reading a long time ago? Sigh.
Originally published in the Grand Rapids Press, March 12, 2011
It isn’t often that an editorial cartoonist gets to be a cheerleader for the community. Boosterism isn’t (and, frankly, shouldn’t be) a big part of the job. But then when something exceptional happens, like when private and public communities work together to stage a world-class event and for a more-than-worthy cause, there is no reason why an editorial cartoonist shouldn’t step up and give it some praise.
Presently Grand Rapids just so happens to be staging one of these exceptional events. It’s called Gilda’s LaughFest. From March 10th through the 20th, there will be a wide variety of comedy events held throughout the city (from movies to standup to rubber chicken tossing) with a variety of entertainers (from Betty White to Ralph Harris to Mike Birbiglia) and all for a single cause: to benefit cancer grief and support programs offered through Gilda’s Club of Grand Rapids.
Please check it out!
Originally published in the Grand Rapids Press, March 5, 2011
Back in my college days, I spent a summer as a supervisor in a General Motors foundry in Saginaw. I was a 20 year-old kid supervising adults at least 12 years older than me. (Because of seniority rules, anybody younger than that was laid off.) I didn’t know what I was doing, which was okay because I didn’t actually have anything to do. Well, not anything beyond filling out time cards and searching for bins of parts hidden by the previous shift somewhere in the massive plant. And then there were the cat and mouse games like the one with the raging alcoholic who also happened to be a forklift driver. I felt obligated to find him after the first break to make sure he wasn’t drunk. Generally he was, and I would have to talk him into going to visit the medical office because he was “sick.” (I couldn’t actually demand that he go — even though he was a really nice guy and an amiable drunk; ordering him to go would reflexively trigger the union vs. management dance, and that would keep him on the forklift for the whole night.) So you might assume from that experience that I am anti-union….
One day after getting the besotted forklift driver to sleep it off in the med office, I was sharing my situation with a fellow supervisor — a real one, not an intern. We were up in the supervisor offices high off the plant floor. I hadn’t met many alcoholics and I was not quite sure what to do to help, but I was aware of programs and inquired how I might be able to make this happen. The unhappy with his life supervisor glanced up from his porno magazine (not the girly kind, the horrific gynecological kind), surveyed the room to make sure only the right color ears would hear what he as going to say (re: White), and offered, “F him. Good thing they have a union. If they didn’t, I’d fire all them fing n*****s.” So you might assume from that experience that I am pro-union….
Like most things where humans are involved, management/labor situations are more nuanced than sound bites would lead you to believe. Throw government and taxpayers into that mix, and it gets even more involved. I think it’s better to try to understand the full story and, you know, not assume.
Originally published in the Grand Rapids Press, February 26, 2011
Originally, I used the word “crappy” instead of “lousy.” I liked “crappy” better but ultimately felt (along with my editor) that it drew too much attention to itself. That is, some readers would miss the point by focusing on it (whether being offended or enthused about seeing a semi-naughty word it print). I only tell you this because I quite literally have lost hours of my life (mostly sleep) trying to sort out these type of word issues. Most writers have, so it’s nothing special. It just occurs to me now, though, if I could have invested that time more productively, perhaps my family’s medical insurance wouldn’t be so crappy. Eh. Probably doesn’t matter — we all seem to be heading in the same direction.
