As she’d promised, Claudia Prescott came to check on Ted on Monday, September 23. She found him sleepy, dropping off even as they tried to have a conversation. “We can do this later,” Prescott told him softly. “Yes, I’m not going to die tomorrow,” Ted said sleepily.
“He was in denial,” recalled Grobstein. “He really believed in magic.”72
The next day, Ted drifted in and out of consciousness throughout the day. Audrey sat near him, quietly talking with him even as he slept. Around ten on the evening of Tuesday, September 24, 1991, Theodor Seuss Geisel died peacefully in his sleep in his studio in La Jolla. He was eighty-seven years old.
* * *
• • • •
While Theodor Geisel may be gone, Dr. Seuss, of course, goes on.
At the time of Geisel’s death in 1991, Dr. Seuss had published forty-eight books in more than twenty languages—and several more Dr. Seuss books, discovered in his bone pile by Audrey and Cathy Goldsmith, would be published after his death, including Daisy-Head Mayzie and What Pet Should I Get? In the years immediately after Ted’s death, Audrey would capably take the reins of the Dr. Seuss organization, aggressively keeping the Dr. Seuss brand at the forefront of pop culture, and fiercely protecting his legacy right up until her own death in December 2018. “You use it or you lose it,” Audrey said of the Dr. Seuss brand. “If we’re not out there—if we don’t keep up the reminders and remembrances—you fall off. And as long as I’m here, that isn’t going to happen.”73 And so, Audrey would approve of and license not only new merchandise, but also sign off on Broadway musicals based on and inspired by his work—including the 2000 show Seussical!, a long-running and reliable staple of regional theaters—as well as new live-action and animated movies inspired by books like The Cat in the Hat and The Lorax. On Audrey’s watch, Dr. Seuss would suddenly seem to be nearly everywhere, in every form of media and social media, a ubiquitous and unavoidable part of pop culture, yet still as familiar as family.
But for Ted, it had always been the books that mattered most—and nearly thirty years after his death, books by Dr. Seuss still sell as well and as fast as ever, rivaled only by the Harry Potter books by the brilliant J. K. Rowling—Geisel’s natural heir, as she reignited the same love for books in today’s young readers that Dr. Seuss had first sparked to life with The Cat in the Hat fifty years earlier. At a time when parents and teachers were concerned children’s minds had been lost to television forever, Dr. Seuss had made reading exciting again. Even today, in a world of Xboxes and iPhones, Dr. Seuss still holds their attention.
It hadn’t always been that way. Dr. Seuss didn’t arrive in the imaginations of children fully formed; rather, he had evolved slowly from a mere pseudonym, a means to an end, signed in distinctive print at the bottom of single-paneled cartoons and then at the bottom of advertisements for insecticides and motor oil. His arrival on the children’s book scene in 1937—when Geisel was already well into his thirties—was a monetary calling more than a moral one. It took World War II—and the tutelage of Frank Capra—to turn Dr. Seuss into the crusader and storyteller who arrived at the Utah writer’s conference in 1949, angry at “Bunny books” that spoke down to children and treated them like a mere commodity. It was there in Salt Lake City that Dr. Seuss put his finger on his true voice and his calling, articulating that the best books for children were those that took them seriously as readers and valued them as people. “Too many writers have only contempt and condescension for children,” Geisel said later, “which is why they give them degrading corn about bunnies.”74
It was a cat, however, that would finally form Ted Geisel into Dr. Seuss. With the arrival of The Cat in the Hat, written as a challenge to the status quo of turgid children’s primers, the landscape of children’s books was fundamentally altered—and Geisel had done it while adhering to a careful pedagogy of vocabulary lists approved by parents and consecrated by educators. As the Cat swept the mess he’d made with Thing One and Thing Two out the door, Dick and Jane went out right along with it. Reading—and learning to read—were officially fun. “In all the morass of children’s books, Dr. Seuss stands out like a particularly welcome friend,” the novelist Shirley Jackson once wrote. “Dr. Seuss makes his own rules, and has managed somehow to cover every step of reading growth from beginning to almost-sophisticated with a rich deposit of nonsense.”75 With Beginner Books in particular, Dr. Seuss had taken pedantics and pedagogies and distilled them through his own unique blend of discipline and coordinated chaos to create something entirely new: books that not only helped kids read, but were also books they liked to read and wanted to read.
For Ted Geisel—and for Dr. Seuss—that love of reading would always be more than enough. “I think I proved to a number of million kids that reading is not a disagreeable task,” he said. “I think I have helped kids laugh in schools as well as at home76 . . . [but] the best thing about my books might be that I’ve never found a child who felt compelled to read them.”77 Ultimately, said Geisel, “I’d prefer they forgot about the educational value, and say it was a lot of fun.”78
And as for becoming Dr. Seuss? Geisel was content with his legacy. Dr. Seuss, from the moment of his inception, had always been there for one reason.
“Just to spread joy,” said Geisel, then broke into a wry smile. “How does that sound?”79
Geisel took great delight in mounting real animal horns on sculpted Seussian animal heads, including this Blue Green Abelard, hanging on the wall of his office. A lifelong cigarette smoker, Geisel regularly tried—and failed—to give up the habit. A frequent effort involved clamping down on a pipe filled with radish or strawberry seeds, which he would water with an eyedropper when he felt the urge to smoke. John Bryson/The Life Image Collection/Getty Images
Geisel’s years at Dartmouth’s humor magazine, Jack-O-Lantern, would be formative in his development as a writer and an artist—and provide some of the fondest memories of his life. Geisel would sign his work with an assortment of names (“Ted Geisel” appears in the 1922 drawing at right, while “T.G.” is signed on the 1924 cartoon above) and pseudonyms, eventually arriving at “Seuss”—his own middle name and his mother’s maiden name—by 1925. Ted wouldn’t sign his work as “Dr. Seuss” until an April 1928 cartoon in Judge magazine. Courtesy of Dartmouth College Library
Bennett Cerf, the smart and rakish cofounder of Random House, recognized the brilliance of Dr. Seuss early and wooed Geisel away from his first publisher. Works by Dr. Seuss, along with titles published under Geisel’s Beginner Books imprint, would help make Random House one of the most successful publishers in the world. Cerf often remarked that of all the authors published by Random House, Geisel was its “one true genius.” Alex Gotfryd/Corbis via Getty Images
Geisel was a strident advocate for American preparedness in the months leading up to World War II. In 1941, he stopped working on children’s books entirely to focus instead on providing editorial cartoons for New York’s progressive PM newspaper, as well as artwork supporting the war effort for the U.S. Treasury Department. Geisel’s portrayal of Asians and Asian Americans reflected the negative stereotypes typical of the era. Bettman/Getty Images
With his background in advertising, Geisel was the ideal artist to illustrate “This Is Ann,” a brochure distributed by the U.S. government during World War II to educate soldiers on protecting themselves from mosquito-borne diseases. The brochure was written by Munro Leaf, author of the children’s book The Story of Ferdinand. Courtesy of the U.S. Government Printing Office
As a captain in the U.S. Army Signal Corps, Geisel was tasked by commanding officer Frank Capra with overseeing the development and production of Private Snafu. Between 1943 and 1945, the popular animated cartoon series instructed U.S. soldiers on military practices and procedures, usually by showing the comedic and sometimes horrifying consequences of not following protocol or instructions. U.S. Departmen
t of Defense/National Archives
While he would travel the world and see countless exotic locales, Ted’s favorite place would always be his studio in La Jolla, with the Pacific coastline visible in the distance. Throughout his life, Geisel would maintain a regular work schedule, sitting at his desk all day, even if stuck for an idea. “For me, success means doing work that you love, regardless of how much you make,” said Geisel. “I go into my office almost every day and give it eight hours—though every day isn’t productive, of course.” Gene Lester/Getty Images
In 1955, Geisel was awarded an honorary doctorate from Dartmouth, his beloved alma mater. As he bestowed the honor, Dartmouth president John S. Dickey noted that “behind the fun [in the work of Dr. Seuss], there has been intelligence, kindness, and a feel for humankind.” Geisel would forever joke that he could now officially call himself “Doctor Dr. Seuss.” Courtesy of Dartmouth College Library
Ted and Helen take in the view at the Tower in 1957, around the time of the publication of the blockbuster The Cat in the Hat. Because Helen was a talented writer in her own right, Ted valued her strong opinions on rhyme and character and insisted she be granted equal partnership in the fledgling Beginner Books imprint. Because Helen was an active member of the La Jolla and San Diego arts scene, her 1967 suicide stunned the community. Gene Lester/Getty Images
Ted signs books for a crowd of enthusiastic children during a visit to Dartmouth in 1958. While Dr. Seuss entertained countless generations of children, the Geisels themselves were unable to have any of their own. He would later develop a close and loving relationship with two stepdaughters, but publicly, his well-rehearsed answer regarding children was:“You have ’em, and I’ll entertain ’em!” Courtesy of Dartmouth College Library
Protective of his name and reputation, Geisel resisted most efforts to license the Dr. Seuss name for merchandising. One rarity was the plastic model kits of Seussian animals he permitted the Revell company to manufacture, beginning in 1959. Typically, Geisel exerted complete control over the project, even forcing Revell to shut down its production line for ten hours until a problem involving the proper fitting of pieces was resolved. John Bryson/The Life Images Collection/Getty Images
Geisel in La Jolla around 1973, with Michael Frith, his editor and art director for the Beginner Books imprint. Frith admired Geisel’s commitment to making his books the very best they could be and appreciated that he insisted writers for children treat children like smart and serious readers. “Never for a second did anybody entertain the idea that we were talking down to anybody,” said Frith. “The kids were just as smart as we were.” Courtesy of Michael Frith
Geisel in his Tower office with Audrey around 1969, only a few years into their marriage. Audrey was a different kind of collaborator than Helen, content to support and encourage Ted from the sidelines, though she would advocate for a softer color palate in works like The Lorax. It was also Audrey who encouraged Ted to grow a beard. James L. Amos/Corbis via Getty Images
While Geisel struggled with vision problems and other health-related issues in his seventies and eighties, his work ethic and creative drive never flagged. You’re Only Old Once! was Geisel’s humorous ode to aging, while his final book, Oh, the Places You’ll Go!, was regarded by many as a beneficent valedictory. Bettmann/Getty Images
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
While writers often lament that writing is a lonely exercise, one of the wonderful realities of publishing is that many books are still a group effort. This is especially true for biographers, who, out of necessity, rely on the assistance, expertise, advice, and—when needed—unbridled sympathy of others. I’ve been particularly lucky, because—as one can likely imagine—living in the world of Dr. Seuss over the past three years has brought me into the offices, archives, and living rooms of some wonderfully interesting, talented, and very funny people.
Michael Frith, who for years served as Ted Geisel’s editor and aide-de-camp, was always very generous with his time, sitting with me in person, on the phone, and over e-mail, where he patiently responded to “just one more question.” His frank stories and funny memories helped bring many of the behind-the-scenes moments colorfully to life, and I am grateful to him for explaining some of Ted’s obscure jokes, as well as for generously providing me with copies of the word lists and number-coded color charts that Ted wielded so deftly in his work.
As a biographer, I’m always grateful to those who’ve explored my subject before—and with Dr. Seuss, I was extremely fortunate to get to know Judith Morgan, who was very generous with her time, as well as incredibly kind about sharing her work and her resources. Her and her late husband’s book, Dr. Seuss & Mr. Geisel, remains an invaluable resource, and I so appreciate having her unique insights, opinions, and commentary on the life and work of Ted Geisel.
I also appreciate the time and courtesy I was shown by Christopher Cerf, who, in addition to talking with me about his parents, also pointed me toward several valuable archival resources; and by Robert Bernstein, whose admiration of Geisel was infectious.
I’m also indebted to a number of Dr. Seuss scholars who had a working familiarity with the archival materials available and generously shared with me their insights and opinions—and, in some cases, their research—as I did my own archival exploring. In particular, I appreciate the help of Dr. Philip Nel, who I could count on not only for assistance in running down and acquiring documents but also for a frank opinion on Ted’s work. I’m also especially grateful to Dr. Charles D. Cohen for the awe-inspiring detective work he’s done in tracking down Ted’s work and influences, particularly from the early part of his career (you can read all about it in his seminal work, The Seuss, the Whole Seuss, and Nothing but the Seuss). Cohen’s careful research sent me looking in other places I hadn’t known about, and his input, encouragement, and enthusiasm helped make this a better book.
This book was also improved by the assistance of countless writers, researchers, librarians, and archivists everywhere, including: Ken Plume and Jake Friedman, who provided invaluable help and insight regarding the collaborations of Dr. Seuss and Chuck Jones; Bob Batchelor, for his help with the history of the Signal Corp; Sonja Williams, for her insights on Dr. Seuss and racism; and the archivists and researchers at the Rauner Special Collections Library at Dartmouth, the collection of Random House/Vanguard/Bennett Cerf papers at Columbia University, and the Mandeville Special Collections at the University of California, San Diego. I also thank Susan Brandt at Dr. Seuss Enterprises in La Jolla for her kindness. In Ted’s hometown of Springfield, Massachusetts, I was very fortunate to have the help of Kathleen Simpson and Joanie Muratore-Pallatino with the Springfield Museums, as well as the aid and encouragement of Roger Bunce, who showed me around the house on Fairfield Street.
One of the most enthusiastic supporters of this project is my extraordinary editor at Dutton, John Parsley. From the moment we hatched this project over lunch, he’s been its greatest fan and my biggest advocate, keeping me focused on narrative, asking the right questions, and gently helping me sort out things at those times when what I was trying to write was not actually what I wrote. Patient almost to a fault, he’s helped me run traps and troubleshoot, kept us on schedule and on target, and his Zen-like demeanor always makes everything better. I appreciate everything about you, John—and my thanks to your family for letting my pages take over more than a few of your weekends.
I’m always grateful, too, for the professional and personal support of my wonderful agent, Jonathan Lyons, who’s had my back for more than a decade now. Smart, kind, and perpetually calm—and there are times I don’t make that easy—I can always count on him to check in at just the right times, with all the right questions and all the right answers. As always, I thank his wife, Cameron, and his boys, Roan, Ilan, and Finn, for sharing him with me.
This book was well cared for by the terrific team at Dutton, and I’
m grateful for every one of them. In particular, my thanks to Cassidy Sachs, Marlene Glazer, Madison Forsander, as well as to copyeditor Nancy Inglis, who saved my bacon more times than I can count. Any errors that remain are mine.
I’m truly fortunate to have the support and encouragement of so many friends, who were excited about this project from day one. My thanks to Angela, Michael, Jazmyn, and Ivy Drayden, Mike and Cassie Knapp, Gail and Dave Noren, Scott Phillips, John Schilling, Loren Monroe, and Marron and Mike Nelson.
I also know I could always count on the love and enthusiasm of my parents, Elaine and Wayne Miller; and my brother, Cris; his wife, Rebecca; and their boys, Dyson and Jacob. And I especially want to thank my amazing and brilliant daughter, Madison, for always being there for me, even when she’s 500 miles away. Love ya, kid.
Finally, none of this would have been possible without the love and support from my extraordinarily patient wife, Barb, who put up with two long years of messes on the tables, walking Grayson by herself, and eating dinner alone. I love you tons. You’re my favorite.
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