An Appreciation of James Marshall

-- Publishers Weekly, 8/28/2008

James Marshall, who created more than 75 books for children, died on October 13, 1992, nearly 16 years ago, at the age of 50. His passing left a hole in the hearts of those who knew him and worked with him, as well as his innumerable fans. This September, Houghton Mifflin is reissuing all 35 of Marshall’s beloved George and Martha stories in one omnibus edition; several authors and artists were invited to write appreciations for the book, and we include a selection of them here.

Jimmers

by Susan Meddaugh

I have a framed piece of Jim Marshall’s art hanging in my kitchen. It’s a wonderful drawing and on the back it’s covered with Jim’s dedications: “For Devine Susan Meddaugh, From Thoughtful Jim Marshall,” “For Good Old Susan, From Handsome Jim Marshall,” “For Ms. Meddaugh, From Mr. Marshall,” and more, all crossed out. Then, down in the corner, he wrote: “To Susan, From Jimmers.”

I was one of the lucky ones who worked at Houghton Mifflin when Jim did his first books, Plink, Plink, Plink, and then the George and Martha stories. I think everyone in the department considered him a friend. I’d start to smile the moment he got off the elevator.

Then he would read a new story. I can hear him as George, and then as Martha. I hear him as Viola Swamp and Miss Nelson. I hear him as Eugene the turtle and Emily Pig. And you can see Eugene and Emily waiting in the wings in “The Amusement Park” in George and Martha One Fine Day.

When I left Houghton to do my own work, Jim found me an apartment in Charlestown, right above his. As such, he was able to monitor my life, make observations, give advice and encouragement—some of it helpful. And of course entertain me with stories of his latest adventures. I loved how he lived his life. I miss him.

But I can still clearly hear his voice when I read his books. I can still hear him when I see his pictures, or come upon the occasional postcards he sent from London or Paris—the best kind of postcards with drawings and brief messages, usually about eating too much or the high price of hotel rooms.

Once, when asked to do a brief autobiography for Houghton, Jim wrote something called “Down and Out in Rio.” Total fiction, I believe, but outrageously funny. That was Jim to the core. He was a combination of all the fabulous characters he created. And an artist of incomparable talent.

An Invitation to Tea

by Nicole Rubel

In 1975 I was attending the Boston Museum School of Fine Arts. During my last semester, my teacher asked our class to draw one object over and over for three weeks. I drew my goldfish in a series of colorful and bold pastels. Then I was given a new assignment; my teacher wanted me to go to a bookstore and look at children’s book illustrations.

“I’m a fine artist, not an illustrator,” I protested. In my mind the word illustrator indicated someone who drew either cute art or realistic watercolors. I didn’t see how it fit me. My wise teacher smiled like a Cheshire cat and said, “Go!”

The next day I wandered over to the children’s section of the Harvard Bookstore. I picked up a few books and shook my head. Then I saw George and Martha peeking up at me. I saw two hippos arguing over a bowl of pea soup. George poured it into his shoe instead of eating it. I started laughing. The artwork was simple, bold, and funny—unlike anything I had ever seen. It was magical! A giant light bulb flashed inside my head. I knew right then, in the bookstore, I wanted to make children’s books for the rest of my life, and I’ve never thought otherwise.

I bought the book and showed it to Jack Gantos, then a writing major at Emerson College. “Look at this!” I exclaimed. He agreed that George and Martha was wonderful!

“Who is James Marshall?” I wondered. Then I did something odd. I opened a Boston phonebook, looked him up, and called. I don’t know why I did this, because thirty years ago I was the shyest person in the world. Marshall answered the phone, and I explained I was an art student in love with his work. He did something amazing. He invited me and Jack to tea!

A few days later Jack and I arrived at his apartment. Instantly we were charmed. His rooms were full of neat things from Texas, and when we looked out his window we saw the Bunker Hill monument, present in so many of his pictures.

Jim was warm, funny, and sincerely interested in my artwork. He flipped through my portfolio and said, “You are really talented, Nicole. Your artwork is original. You should and will get published in children’s books. I’m sure of it. Call Walter Lorraine at Houghton Mifflin and show him your work. But remember... please don’t mention my name because Walter likes to discover his own talent.”

Just as Jim predicted, Walter Lorraine wanted my artwork. More than 30 years later, I still thank George and Martha and Jim Marshall for my wonderful career.

What Would George Do?

by Jack Gantos

I met Jim Marshall when Nicole Rubel and I were trying to figure out how to put together a good picture book. I was writing some fairly dull stories, and she was well ahead of me with her illustrations. We knew we needed some advice. Nicole had seen the George and Martha books and loved Jim’s art, and I had read The Stupids Step Out, which made me feel liberated to write anything. Nicole looked him up in the telephone book and called him, and he was polite enough to invite us over to his place in Charlestown, across the river from Boston.

He lived near the very steep top of Bunker Hill, which was crowned with the Bunker Hill Monument. Nicole and I hiked up the uneven red brick sidewalk and were breathless when we arrived. Jim greeted us warmly and quickly offered us something to drink. Nicole remembers that Jim served us tea, but I distinctly remember that he offered me a scotch and I quickly accepted. When he returned from the kitchen, he handed me an eight-ounce tumbler filled to the brim. He was not only polite but generous.

Perhaps I should have had tea or a glass of water because I was very thirsty. As Jim showed us his art and talked about publishing and manuscript preparation, I steadily sipped on the tumbler of scotch until it was finished. We were there for quite some time and Jim probably thought he had done his duty as a teacher. But, because he was from Texas and so polite, he offered us one more drink. Nicole declined. She was from Florida and knew the offer was simply good manners on Jim’s part. But I said, “Sure!” and held out my glass. Jim retreated to the kitchen and when he returned gave me a second tumbler of scotch filled to the brim. I took one sip when I realized I was supposed to have used my manners and graciously declined the drink and left.

At my first opportunity I slipped the tumbler onto a windowsill and slid it behind a curtain. I felt a little like George when he poured his pea soup into his loafer. And then we left.

Sometime after Nicole and I had taken Jim’s advice and published Rotten Ralph with Houghton Mifflin, Anita Silvey, who was the director of marketing, arranged for a book signing at a department store in Hartford, Connecticut. Anita drove Nicole and I down and Jim was supposed to meet us there.

We arrived on time. Jim was not there, and so we made small talk with the book buyers and sellers and waited. Everyone was getting a little nervous because a few people had gathered, purchased books, and were eager to have them signed. Finally, the manager of the book department was called to the telephone. A minute later he returned and informed us that Jim couldn’t make it. “He has broken his leg while jogging,” the manager said. “I was told it was a terrible fall.”

We were all quite upset. Jim hadn’t said he was a jogger but he was in good trim and I figured he might have slipped or tripped on that treacherously steep sidewalk on Bunker Hill.

The book signing soon began. Anita offered to have autographed bookplates sent to those who purchased Jim’s books. That cheered his fans, but as I looked down at my hand with a pen in it, I hoped Jim had not hurt his.

A few weeks later I was walking through the Houghton Mifflin lobby at #2 Park Street when suddenly Jim came bounding down the steps without any evidence of a broken leg. I desperately wanted to say something about his rapid recovery, but he had been so polite to me, I just checked my thoughts.

“How was the event in Hartford?” he asked when he spotted me.

“Great,” I said, fibbing a bit. I had really missed seeing him.

“Sorry I couldn’t make it.” he added. “Had a bad case of the flu.”

I just smiled to myself and wished him well. After all, that’s what George would have done for Martha, or Martha for George.

A True Genius

by Marc Brown

My first encounter with Jim Marshall was at a small bookstore on Beacon Hill in Boston. My first book, Arthur’s Nose, had just been published by the Atlantic Monthly Press. Jim had become an overnight star with the appearance of his first George and Martha book. Gene Shalit was raving about it on The Today Show. In our business at that time, to be recognized on The Today Show for a picture book was remarkable. This was my first autographing; we were sitting at two tiny tables, like school desks, and Jim was on one side and I was on the other. He had a line going out the door, up the street, and I had two polite people who took pity on me and bought my book. I watched in awe as people paid their respects to Jim.

After this was over, I was lucky enough to walk through Boston Common with him. He was so kind and generous to somebody starting out and encouraged me to “stick with it.” As we were saying our goodbyes, he said, “Marc, don’t ever tell anyone how easy it is, what we do.” I said, “Jim, it’s not easy!”

A couple of years later we both spoke at the Massachusetts School of Art. I remember him standing in the space; he wasn’t a tall man, but he had such a command of the room. He was so generous with these art students, telling them what he knew about creating children’s books. He was always encouraging others. Artists, of course, work in isolation, but Jim gave of himself and shared whenever he came out of the studio.

I was sitting in Walter Lorraine’s office right after Jim delivered the art for Miss Nelson Is Missing! Walter asked me if I wanted to see Jim’s new book. I looked at it and thought it brilliant.

There is no one who can write a better, sharper, more concise line of dialogue. He could establish a character with so few words. I work so hard at distilling the words I use in my books to get that right balance between what the words do and what the pictures do. Jim had such a gift for that.

I did correspond with him during his illness, before his death. I was at a little bed-and-breakfast in Maine when I opened the New York Times and saw his obituary. I knew his death was coming, but it was still so sad. He died much too young. He gave so much joy and comfort to so many families and children. Jim Marshall was one of the true geniuses of the children’s book world.

A celebration of Marshall’s life and work will be held on November 18 at 7 PM at MIT in Cambridge, Mass. Roger Sutton, editor of the Horn Book, will moderate; among the participants are Susan Meddaugh and Anita Silvey, who contributed an afterword to the new George and Martha collection.

George and Martha: The Complete Stories of Two Best Friends by James Marshall. 
Houghton Mifflin, $25 ISBN 978-0-618-89195-5