Why Does Mary Worth Look Different?


[ Edited the 15th of May, 2017 to add: ] I’m grateful you see this site as a place to learn what’s going on in Mary Worth. My most recent story summaries should be at or near the top of this link’s essays, if you are looking for some idea of what’s happening in the stories as stories and not just how they look.


I know people wonder this, and will find my blog while searching for questions like “why does Mary Worth look different” and “is there a new artist on Mary Worth” and all that. In early May Joe Giella retired from drawing the Sunday editions of Mary Worth, which are mostly a recap of what had gone on the previous week but in fewer panels. I mean “had gone on” in the serial story comic sense, which is not to say that all that much happens, but it is doing better than Apartment 3-G. June Brigman and Roy Brigman began doing the Sunday strips.

Narrator: 'Later, as Iris hurries to class'. Iris thinks, 'I have an exam today ... and another tomorrow! At least I'm ready for today's test! I hope Tommy's all right . The painkillers should help!'
Karen Moy and June Brigman’s Mary Worth for the 25th of July, 2016. The first daily Mary Worth not drawn by Joe Giella in something like a quarter-century. In the current storyline, Tommy’s girlfriend broke up with him, it happens, the same day he hurt his back lifting a thing. So he’s taking prescription painkillers, which because it’s a story comic, means he’s abusing prescription painkillers. Meanwhile Iris thinks late July is the middle of the college semester and is bouncing between classes. Don’t tell her.

Monday, June Brigman and Roy Brigman took over the daily art as well. Karen Moy’s blog explains that Giella is retiring, after a long career in the syndicated comics. That follows a long career in comic books, too, so I’m sure he’s taking some time to be by himself and roll down hills made up of his money. Moy points out that Giella does plan to still take commissions for painting and other artwork and that he’ll be at conventions, so this is your chance to commission that Mary Worth fanfic you’ve had in mind for years now.

Ian Shoales: Temp Work


Ian Shoales, as I said in introducing this week, was the creation of Merle Kessler, and he’s a great character: sneering and cranky without, at least for me, losing his likability, even if I probably wouldn’t want to spend too much time with him. Kessler developed Shoales’s persona with a biography full of the frustrated ambitions that sound right for someone aiming to be a creative success and carrying on even though the lottery of fame doesn’t pay out much. Shoales’s life is marked with failed relationships and annoyed bosses and indignities petty and grand. I don’t know whether Kessler, or anyone he knew, ever was sued for libel by his high school principal, but it’s the kind of thing I find easy to imagine happening to someone like him, and to see it mentioned as an aside in an essay on, oh, say, Elvis Presley has an electrifying effect that I didn’t realize I wasn’t getting from Dave Barry or old Bob Newhart records (much as I cherished them).

Here, from 1984, is one of these partly biographically-informed essays by Ian Shoales. I can believe that what he describes in the first paragraph really happened, if not to Kessler then to someone. While it’s all quite funny, to me anyway, it’s also all fairly good advice if you’re hoping to make it as an artist. If I ever give it a try I’ll take this advice.


Temp Work

Along the way to my present success I’ve had to work for a living, usually at “temp work”, as it’s called in professional circles. I have moved furniture, filed, typed, answered phones, and I probably have the world’s record for getting fired. This is because I’d show up at work unshaven, wearing sunglasses, and not wearing socks. I figured, “I’m not an executive, who’s gonna care?” Well, after my third temp job in a week, I finally took Mom’s long-distance advice, and got a beige seersucker three-piece for five bucks at Goodwill. It fit me like a glove, and I wore it to my next temp job. But when the permanent employees saw me approach the water cooler, they all scattered. Nobody would come near me. Finally a little bald guy worked up the courage to ask me who I was. He had me pegged as some corporate honcho checking up on worker efficiency, I guess, because when I told him I was a temp worker, a look of relief passed over his face. Then he replaced that look with one of utter disregard. By noon, all employee fear of me had vanished. So the next day my suit vanished to be replaced by blue jeans, and the next day my job vanished to be replaced by poverty.

But if you’re an artist of any kind, it means you’re going to have to get the kind of job you get till you get to do what you want to do. So let me give you some advice about the temp-worker scene.

  • Never drink beer at your desk. Supervisors don’t like it.
  • Permanent employees probably won’t appreciate your Joe Cocker impression.
  • If you’re moving furniture, don’t move a desk if somebody’s sitting at it.
  • Never call corporate executives by their first name, or ask them if they want to play a couple of holes on Saturday.
  • Don’t try to find Pac Man on the personal computer unless you’re invited by your supervisor.
  • Never ask the supervisor for a date.
  • If you’re answering the company phone, say, “Hello,” not, “Yeah, what do ya want?”
  • I know temp work can get dull, but never rearrange the filing system without permission.
  • Don’t rewrite business letters in blank verse.
  • If you’re supposed to show up at work on Tuesday don’t come in on Wednesday.

I know this is basic stuff, but don’t draw faces with white-out on the desk; don’t make jewelry out of the paper clips; don’t compose melodies on the Touch-Tone phone; don’t ask to borrow the Selectric overnight — remember always, you’re just a ghost in the working world.

Somebody will eventually publish the 1,500-page rock-and-roll novel gathering dust in your sock drawer. Your ship will come in, and then you’ll have temps of your own. And they better not call you by your first name.

         — Not rich, 1/15/84.