Al Capp

by Denis Kitchen

  Capp had always resisted sentimentality, and he made a conscious effort to avoid it in his final decline. When asked by a reporter if he had any regrets, he responded with typical Capp bluster: “Regrets? I’m sure I’ve regretted every other act—doesn’t everyone? Maybe I should’ve taken better care of my health. But what the hell, I think I’ve managed it so that these days I don’t have an awful lot to regret.”

  He did, however, make some attempt to tie up loose ends. Art Buchwald had written him about his accusation that Buchwald had set him up for negative publicity by turning over information to Jack Anderson. In his letter, the columnist denied doing any such thing and said he was “quite bewildered” by Capp’s charges. “Although we haven’t seen much of each other during the years, I don’t think I would have done anything to hurt you,” Buchwald wrote. “I know you have had a lot of tragedies in the last few years and I have been meaning to write to you and tell you how saddened I have been by it all.”

  Capp responded by thanking Buchwald for his letter and bringing him up to date on his health issues. “For the last few years, I have left my home fewer and fewer times,” he told Buchwald. “In the last couple of years, not at all.”

  In a letter to Elliott, Capp praised his youngest brother for managing affairs in the family and becoming a sort of “father of us all.”

  “Our family has, suddenly, begun to fall apart,” he noted, writing about the deaths of Cathie and Tammy, saying that he would be the next. “I had a pretty good life,” he continued. “It has been the last few years that were dull. After Harvey and Andy left the strip, I made a half-hearted attempt to go on, but there seemed to be no compelling reason to, and I have never regretted giving it up. I thought I would, and I find it odd not to.”

  He never fully reconciled with his other brother. Bence had attempted to offer an olive branch six years earlier, in 1973, and although Capp responded with a letter saying that he just wasn’t up to seeing or speaking to him—“I can’t take any upsetting scenes”—he had thawed considerably from the angry, aggressive tone he’d taken with him in the past. “My dearest wishes to you [and] my thanks for your efforts to try to do something for me,” he wrote in his closing to the letter.

  The decline of his health was rapid now. He was diagnosed with throat cancer. That, along with the emphysema, placed an enormous burden on his heart, leaving him bedridden, with Catherine and Julie attending to him as it became clear that the end was near. He was taken to Mt. Auburn Hospital in Cambridge, where he died on the evening of Monday, November 5, 1979.

  The obituaries were respectful in their accounts of the cartoonist whose work had given so many people pleasure, whose shift in politics had infuriated so many others, and whose missteps had proven to be his undoing. Along the way, he had become “an American institution,” “the Mark Twain of cartoonists.” He had left behind a legacy reflected in the satire in comic strips everywhere, most prominently in Garry Trudeau’s Pulitzer Prize–winning strip, “Doonesbury.” Some of the words and expressions he’d invented for “Li’l Abner”—“as any fool can plainly see,” “double whammy,” “writ by hand,” “oh, happy day,” “going bananas”—had become part of the American idiom.

  “The things Capp said would be said with more refinement and circumspection by others,” noted the Saturday Review. “But nobody said them better, because he spoke the truth with the special confidence of the comedian, who knows that the truth will be recognized even when it comes without formal credentials, and that a good joke will always triumph over a respectable thesis.”

  John Updike, at one time a frustrated would-be cartoonist, might have summed up Capp’s contributions most succinctly when he observed, “Li’l Abner was a comic strip with fire in its belly and a brain in its head.”

  There was no formal funeral service. The family gathered for a graveside service, and Alfred G. Capp was laid to rest. Chiseled into his headstone were two lines from Thomas Gray’s “Elegy Written in a Country Church-yard”:

  The ploughman homeward plods his weary way,

  And leaves the world to darkness and to me.

  In California, the former Nina Luce read Capp’s obituary and remembered a time, almost exactly forty years earlier, when a brash young artist had watched her perform and introduced himself with an autographed drink coaster.

  Her life had taken a direction much different than she had planned in the days when she and Al Capp were romantically involved. After splitting with Capp, she’d held several jobs, eventually working in Oak Ridge, Tennessee, in the high-security site of the Manhattan Project developing the atomic bomb. She’d met Murray Bevis, an engineer and scientist nine years younger; they’d married and had two children, a son and a daughter.

  Although she had once been signed to a recording contract, Nina never recorded an album. Her nightclub days ended, but she never quit singing. At the sight of a piano and pianist, she would break into song, and she could always pull it off, even when she grew older.

  The last two times she had seen Al Capp face-to-face had reflected the nature of their relationship—a dramatic high and low. Capp had visited her in Oak Ridge, when she was already committed to Bevis, and the meeting had been ugly. When he had left, she hoped she would never see him again.

  But there would be another time—a chance encounter that became a humorous story that she would tell her daughter, Rita, when she was old enough to appreciate it.

  In the fall of 1945, Nina and her husband went to Ohio to visit Murray’s parents, Howard and Alma Bevis. Howard Bevis served as president of Ohio State University from 1940 to 1956, and they lived in the president’s mansion. On the weekend Nina and Murray visited, Al Capp was in town for a fund-raiser, and a reception was held at the mansion.

  When Nina and Murray came down to dinner, Alma introduced Capp as the guest of honor, the creator of “Li’l Abner.”

  “In telling the story, my mother would just laugh and tell how Al Capp kept kicking her under the table and grinned during the laughter and small talk. I’m sure my father was steaming because he knew that my mother and Al Capp had had a pretty intense relationship at one time. My father never let on, though, during the entire dinner. He generally just ignored him. As far as my grandparents were concerned, this must have been a special treat for the daughter-in-law from Texas, to meet such a notable guest.”

  After dinner, Nina and Capp found a way to talk in private. Capp had two questions for Nina.

  “Are you happy?” he asked.

  When she replied that she was, Capp asked: “Is your husband happy? If he’s not, he cannot be made happy.”

  Nina read the clipping about Capp’s death with mixed feelings. She knew that she and Capp would never have lasted as a couple even if circumstances had been different and they had reunited as planned in Texas. They were both too strong-minded to be compatible.

  When she finished reading the obituary, Nina placed it in her Bible, where it would remain for the rest of her life.

  Acknowledgments

  Every biography promises challenges to the biographer, and we knew, going into our research, that a biography of Al Capp would require special vigilance. As of this writing, he had been dead for more than three decades, so we had to rely on his interviews, statements, and writings to delve into his feelings about his life and times. Even so, as we mention elsewhere in this book, he had issues with the unvarnished truth, often because he favored a flavorful story in lieu of the vanilla one, which might be fine for the purposes of entertainment, but could be problematic for someone trying to retell the story of his life. In addition, Capp’s memory was faulty, particularly when it came to dates. (In his unpublished autobiography, he even got the year wrong when he wrote about losing his leg, and the date of his marriage.) Then there was the usual issue of revisionist history: people prefer to remember events in a specific way, even if the facts say otherwise. Capp had many professional acquaintances and friends, but very few close friends; most have died.r />
  We spent countless hours constructing timelines, checking and corroborating the facts, reading through thousands of pages of news clippings, letters, and official documents; we watched old recordings of his television appearances. We interviewed, in person, over the phone, and via e-mail, anyone who could supply us with needed information and details. We continued to interview, even after we had submitted the manuscript of this book, and we were able to obtain vital information that we added to the edited version.

  As always, the biography became a group effort, and we want to thank the many people who helped us along the way.

  First and foremost, we wish to thank Julie Cairol, Al Capp’s daughter, for talking about her father and permitting us to examine documents, letters, clippings, and other materials long relegated to storage.

  Colin “Kim” Capp, Al Capp’s son, spoke at length about what it was like growing up in the Capp household; of his experiences at Dogpatch USA; and of the burdens of holding on to one’s identity while bearing the name of someone as famous as his father.

  Todd Capp, son of Al Capp’s brother Bence, provided the authors with a copy of the unpublished manuscript of Otto Caplin’s memoirs, the transcript of his father’s appearance before the Senate Subcommittee investigating communism in the United States, and the often contentious correspondence between his father and uncle. Todd’s notes and comments supplied us with invaluable information for this book.

  William Peirce, son of Capp’s daughter Cathie, offered valuable insight into Al Capp’s life as a father and grandfather, and was very helpful in assisting us in securing needed documents for this book. He offered clarification of some of the events in his grandfather’s life, even though some were painful to remember and discuss.

  Don Caplin, Elliott’s son, supplied us with a copy of his father’s play, A Nickel for Picasso—a two-act dramatization of Al Capp’s childhood and accident, fictionalized for the stage.

  Thanks to other family members for their insights and help: Julian Cairol (Julie’s husband), Louis Gardner (husband of Capp’s sister, Madeline), Tony Gardner (Louis and Madeline’s son), Alexa Gardner Lesser (Louis and Madeline’s daughter), and Caitlin Manning (Julie’s daughter).

  Rita Castillo was extremely generous with her time and help with this book. Her mother Nina Luce’s affair with Capp, aside from his marriage, was the most enduring love affair of Al Capp’s life, and Rita offered the authors access to scores of his letters, as well as to photos and other vital information. Her interviews helped shed light on a side of Capp rarely seen by the public. Thanks also to Louie Castillo, Rita’s husband, for his interview and assistance on archival matters.

  Deepest gratitude to Patricia Harry for her courage in recalling the events in Eau Claire, Wisconsin. These events are still very difficult for her to discuss, more than four decades after their taking place, and it’s clear that it was painful for her to offer details about something that quite literally changed her life. Thanks also to Stephen Caflisch, a radio news director and reporter who followed and covered the story from the beginning, whose memories speak volumes of the exceedingly difficult time Patricia Harry and her late husband, Steve, endured in the months following Capp’s visit to Eau Claire.

  Sally Kuhn, close friend of Capp’s daughter Cathie, offered a clear, concise picture of Cathie’s troubled life, as well as a definitive insider’s look at day-to-day goings-on in the Capp household. Kuhn’s frank memories of Capp’s darker side helped corroborate accounts given by Goldie Hawn, Patricia Harry, and other women who encountered Capp on his worst behavior.

  Thanks to Dr. Alvin Kahn, a psychiatrist, neighbor, and friend of Capp’s, who spent many hours visiting Capp at his home (though never in an official capacity) in the 1970s. Kahn accompanied Capp to his court hearing in Eau Claire and was party to his telephone conversation with Bernie Cornfeld, when Cornfeld offered to help arrange a “hit” on Patricia Harry.

  Dr. Oliver Sacks, neurologist, psychologist, and bestselling author (and Capp’s second cousin), graciously agreed to talk to us about Capp, and while he never formally treated him, he was able to provide us invaluable details about the effects of some of the prescribed medications Capp was taking in the last decade of his life.

  Mort Walker, creator of “Beetle Bailey” and “Hi and Lois,” and longtime professional acquaintance of Capp’s, spoke eloquently about the Al Capp/Ham Fisher feud, the issues that led to the National Cartoonists Society’s eventually expelling Fisher from its membership, and Capp’s ups and downs during the time they knew each other.

  Millie (née Maffei) Selvitella talked about the time she spent as Capp’s secretary and personal assistant, and Laurence May offered unflinching details about the near-decade he worked as Capp’s assistant. Morris Weiss, who discovered Ham Fisher’s body after the “Joe Palooka” cartoonist committed suicide, provided details of Fisher’s last day, as well as information about his feud with Capp.

  There were many others who agreed to interviews, helped us with arranging interviews, and otherwise gave their time to, or offered assistance in, this effort: E. B. Boatner, Andrew Cooke, Randy Dahlk, Kate Edgar, Ann Eisner, Harlan Ellison, Danny Fingeroth, Mike Fontanelli, Kelts Gordon, Michael Gordon, George Hagenauer, Judy Hansen, R. C. Harvey, Tom Heintjes, Karen Henell, Ann Hochberg, Esq., Jeff Hutchins, Esq., Bill Janocha, Nancy LeBlanc, John Lind, Lesleigh Luttrell, Margaret Maloney, Bill Morgan, Peter Poplaski, Dan Rea, Trina Robbins, Rodney Schroeter, Anthony F. Smith, Joe Suggs, Anthony Tollin, Blanche Weiss, and Pablo Yglesias.

  Agent David Black offered guidance and assistance at critical points, and it was greatly appreciated. Thanks also to Allison Hemphill and Antonella Iannarino at the David Black Literary Agency for their help and good cheer.

  Finally, special thanks to Stacey Kitchen, empress of the scanning machine, who put up with it all.

  Michael Schumacher

  Denis Kitchen

  April 2012

  Notes

  1 Flashpoint

  “Al Capp may have been …” Dave Schreiner, “The Storyteller,” Li’l Abner: Dailies, vol. 1, 1934 (Princeton, WI: Kitchen Sink Press, 1988), p. 7.

  “Capp was one …” ibid.

  Fifty-cent piece: In a strange yet unlikely addendum to the story, retold on a number of occasions in years to come, Capp would claim that, when he regained consciousness in the hospital, he still had the fifty-cent piece clutched tightly in the palm of his hand. His mother would take the coin from him, place it in a drawer at home and, from time to time, take it out and look at it, sobbing a little at the memory. She’d hang on to the sacred relic until, a dozen years later, during the Depression, she’d stare at the coin one last time and spend it on groceries.

  “you could get …” Capp, AUTO 1, p. 2. Al Capp would attempt to write his autobiography on two occasions, but as of this writing, neither has been published. The two autobiographies, typed on legal paper, covered essentially the same material—his life up to the creation of “Li’l Abner” and subsequent Fisher disputes—but they differed slightly. In these notes, they will be referred to as AUTO 1 and AUTO 2, accompanied by a manuscript page number. Capp also left unfinished fragments that he intended to work into the autobiography.

  “I hopped on …” ibid., p. 3.

  “There was just nothing …” William Furlong, “Recap on Al Capp,” Saturday Evening Post, Winter 1971.

  “Her expression …” Elliott Caplin, Al Capp Remembered (Bowling Green, OH: Bowling Green State University Popular Press, 1994), p. 128.

  “How are you doing?” O. P. Caplin, Dogpatch Road, unpublished manuscript. Otto Caplin wrote a lengthy autobiography focusing on his eldest son, covering approximately the same time frame of Al Capp’s unpublished autobiographies. The typed manuscript and accompanying book proposal run more than five hundred pages. Elliott Caplin submitted the manuscript to Simon & Schuster on his father’s behalf, but it was rejected. The manuscript was eventually accepted by Prentice Hall, but Otto died before the bo
ok was published and it was withdrawn. Otto Caplin’s account of his son’s losing his leg, while differing from Capp’s in some of its details, is harrowing, and it is the only other known “eyewitness” account of the accident and its aftermath.

  “There is no more …” Capp, AUTO 1, p. 2.

  “They took my leg …” O. P. Caplin, Dogpatch Road.

  “With two legs …” Capp, “My Well-Balanced Life on a Wooden Leg,” Life, May 23, 1960, reprinted in My Well-Balanced Life on a Wooden Leg (Santa Barbara, CA: John Daniel, 1991).

  “Alfred fidgeted …” O. P. Caplin, Dogpatch Road.

  “Shut up, Momma”: Elliott Caplin, Al Capp Remembered, p. 5.

  “My brother never mastered …” ibid., p. 5–6.

  “To this day …” Capp, “Autobiography of a Freshman,” published in My Well-Balanced Life, p. 16. This memoir was also published in Elliott Caplin’s Al Capp Remembered.

  “My rooster toughness …” Capp, “My Well-Balanced Life.”

  “It would have been …” ibid.

  “Dear Chip …” Letter, Capp to Mel “Chip” Dinker, May 28, 1964.

  “Very good, sir …” Capp, “My Well-Balanced Life.”

  2 Young Dreams and Schemes

  Yanishok: To this point, it has always been written that Al Capp’s ancestors were from Latvia. (A few sources even had them originating in Russia.) However, there is no record of a Yonishak—or Yanishek, as Al Capp spelled it in his unpublished autobiography—in Latvia. Research revealed a town by the name of Joniskis—Yanishok, in Yiddish—in Lithuania, a very short distance from the Latvian border.

  “If you walked …” Capp, AUTO 2, p. 1.

  “Any Jewish father …” ibid., p. 3.

  Name change from Cowper to Caplan/Caplin: According to Don Caplin, his father, Elliott Caplin, told him that his grandfather Sam Cowper changed his name on the boat taking him to the United States. “You won’t get business in America if you don’t have a Jewish name,” he was told—an irony, given the popular practice of Anglicizing Jewish names to avoid anti-Semitism.