October 15th, 2009
Sioux Falls, South Dakota, may not seem like a logical place to find a gentle Viking, or any Viking, for that matter; yet that’s where you’ll find Chris Browne, the inkslinger behind the popular comic strip, Hagar the Horrible. I recently had the chance to hang out with Chris and several other Midwestern cartoonists in Sioux Falls, during our annual North Central Chapter gathering of the National Cartoonists Society.
As a cartoonist, I’m often asked if I know other cartoonists. I’m not sure why people want to know this, and what it is they imagine we must do when we’re together (some of what they imagine is probably true, and if not, go ahead and imagine away), but if ever there were the ideal cartoonist to hang out with, it would, indeed, be Chris Browne. It’s not just because he’s nice, and is a brilliant artist, and isn’t afraid to express his childlike wonder for the world around him. It’s because he tells some of the funniest stories you’ll ever hear.
Chris at his drawing table
Granted, when cartoonists gather, even when alcohol isn’t involved, every cartoonist is hilarious. There’s something infectious about being around all those cartoonists. To name a few from our chapter, in no particular order: Tom Richmond, Paul Fell, Dave Edholm, Dave Phipps, Bucky Jones, Scott Holmes, Ted Goff, Ken Alvine, Bill Whitehead, John Hambrock, Dave Carpenter, Bob Hall, and Dave Mowder (why there are few female cartoonists in the industry is an oddity no one can quite figure out. I’ll try to tackle that topic another time. I swear, it’s not that girls aren’t allowed. Please, if you’re of the fairer sex and can draw, look us up!)
But back to Chris.
There’s a universal quality in all he says and draws, the perfect one-two punch of pathos and humor, always an underlying humanity and warmth—even in the midst of pain and suffering.
Consider the circumstances in which he moved to Sioux Falls. Three autumns ago, he traveled from his home in Florida to Sioux Falls to give a talk at that year’s NCS chapter meeting. He and his wife, Carroll, had already been thinking about moving someplace “colder,” as Carroll put it. Not “coldest,” as Chris would later describe South Dakota. The local university was celebrating its homecoming that weekend, and by coincidence, the school’s nickname? The Vikings. They asked Chris and Carroll if they would be willing to dress up as Hagar and Helga from the comic strip and ride in a Viking ship parade float. Good sports that they are, the Brownes agreed.
Except that there was no actual Viking ship. Unless you count the tricked-out El Camino with a “mast and sail,” in the vehicle’s bed. Chris recalls that the mast was nothing more than a “toothpick” that Chris and Carroll grasped on to during the parade, ropes whipping them in the face. This is an important detail because the only thing separating Chris and Carroll from “certain death” as the El Camino unexpectedly sped up over a hill was that little piece of wood.
The wood snapped, of course, and Chris and Carroll’s dream of one day moving to Sioux Falls nearly ended in tragedy. Later, Chris would say that he was probably the only “Viking” to ever come close to death from a sailing accident in South Dakota.
When the Brownes returned to their home in humid Florida, Chris went out into the backyard and in true Viking fashion, burned their costumes. Apparently, the synthetic material of the costumes had been driving them both nuts for years, and for whatever reason, the time had finally come to put to rest the Viking outfits. Maybe it’s because Chris’ El Camino experience put things into perspective, I don’t know; life is short, after all, too short to ever again have to squeeze into a suffocating Viking costume. Or maybe the burning of those fake outfits in Florida was somehow symbolic to Chris, signaling that his time in the Florida heat had come to an end. Whatever the case, Chris and Carroll eagerly moved to Sioux Falls, their load a little lighter, the air around them, a little cooler.
In some ways, I thought this was the most clever idea, especially since Palin had written her notes on her left hand, the same hand she would place on the Bible for swearing in. Yet, something told me that perhaps this idea was too easy.
When it comes to satirizing someone with anything Mickey—hands, ears—you can’t go wrong. Like the first sketch, however, I worried that it was too obvious.