Tom Wilson - A Little Character Goes a Long Way: A 35-Year Collection of Ziggy Favorites

Other Ziggy BooksZiggy & Friends
Ziggy Faces Life
Ziggys Big Little Book
Life Is Just a Bunch of Ziggys
Alphabet Soup Isnt Supposed to Make Sense
Ziggys Place
Ziggys Ups and Downs
Ziggy in the Fast Lane
Ziggys Follies
Ziggys School of Hard Knocks
Ziggy on the Outside Looking In
Look Out World Here I Come!
Ziggy A Rumor in His Own Time
A Day in the Life of Ziggy
1-800-ZIGGY
My Life as a Cartoon
The Z Files
Ziggys Divine Comedy
Get Ziggy with It
The Zen of Ziggy
Ziggy Goes Hollywood
Character Matters
Ziggys Gift
Treasuries
The Ziggy Treasury
Encore! Encore!
Ziggys Star Performance
The First 25 Years Are the Hardest
Ziggys Friends for LifeFor my dad, Tom Wilson Sr. Its a Friday night, almost thirty-five years ago, and Im sitting on the green cracked-vinyl sofa in our basement, anxiously waiting for a beam of light to shine through the windows and onto the wall above our old TV. My twelve-year-old body is exhausted from five straight days of learning, chasing young love, and hours upon hours of swim-team practice, but I dont dare fall asleep. Tonight is the night that Ive waited for all week. It seems like forever, then, at last! The headlights of Dads car herald his arrival home. My mom and my sister have gone to bed, and finally I hear my fathers heavy footsteps coming down the basement stairs. We share our tired smiles as he takes up his position on the maroon shag carpeting and our midnight Creature Feature begins.

Its here in this room, with Godzilla on the tube, that the two most influential characters in my life lie spread out before me. The first is my superhero as well as the most brilliant man I will ever know. Hes wearing his boxer shorts, a rumpled dress shirt and tie, and with a cigarette in one hand, a pen in the other, hes drawing the second character: a short, little bald guy with a big nose named Ziggy. It doesnt matter that the movie completely sucks or that my dad and I are so physically beat that well never see the end of the show. No, these things dont matter. What does is that this is our time and we both know how much it means to each other without ever having to say so.

I fight the urge to sleep while the great man in his underwear works long into the night, drawing beneath the televisions projection of one classic character as he continues to create another. Ultimately, as Godzilla wreaks chaos and tears apart Tokyo, my tired eyes fix upon the steady stream of smoke from Dads burning Kool menthol, gracefully meandering up, up, and away, taking my consciousness along with it. As I fall asleep, I dont think about the funny little character he draws by night. I havent yet experienced the pressures of syndication deadlines and I dont know that Ziggy is only in eighteen newspapers and struggling to survive. My family never sees whatever fears or stress my dad may carry. Just as we never see that when hes away, my father is building companies and transforming entire industries by virtue of his creative brilliance and charisma.

I only know that I rarely see him and these brief, special times we spend together make everything else thats taking place in our respective worlds stop, so that he might share this part of his life with me. Tom Wilson Jr.

My husband, Rod, and I were in Cleveland to see the folks at American Greetings, and we called up Tom Wilson to see if he had time for coffee. Generous as always, Tom put aside a day to show us around and told us hed pick us up at the hotel in his new car. He described it as being a black Mercedes and he was excited to show it off. It was a sunny day.

He apologized for being late (due to some unforeseen family circumstances), and climbed out of a rusting red Peugeot. The doors jammed badly. We seated ourselves and he grimaced as he closed them from the outside. His daughter had taken the new car and Tom was left with hers. Stones rattled in the hubcaps as we rumbled along the highway toward his house. I have some beautiful horses, he told us as we entered a long driveway.

There was a white fence along the left side. A small barn in a neat pasture was home to two lovely mares who were happily leaning over the fence in anticipation as the familiar car arrived. Youve gotta see them! he enthused. Theyre so friendly! Tom let us out of the car and as we approached, the horses both trotted back to the barn and one pulled the door shut with its chin. We could see their hind ends. They dont like me much.

Theyre my daughters. Tom shrugged. We continued on to the house. I have two dogs. Real nice ones. Wait till you see the dogs! He opened the kitchen door and immediately two brown shapes whizzed past us into the woods.

Tom ran after them, but soon gave up. Theyll be back sometime, he assured us. Come and take a look at my kitchen. Tom had told us about the skylights. They had been specially made with multiple panes of beveled glass, so that when the sun shines, there are rainbows everywhere! It was a neat country kitchen. The sky had just clouded over and there were no rainbows.

Youll have to come back when the suns out, said Tom, sadly. Disappointed by the car, the horses, the dogs, and now the rainbows, he was keen to show us at least one treasure that was a sure thing. Youve got to see my bed! he cried. Its an antique four-posterone of the most amazing designs youve ever seen! We declined. Having only just met him as a colleague, we thought that his bedroom might be too intimate a space to share. Not at all, he insisted.

This is something you really must see! He gallantly pushed the door to his bedroom aside and gestured with a Ta-daaa! motion of his hand. We entered the room and the bed was indeed a showpiece; however, hanging on one of the posts was a pair of worn undershorts that rather took our interest away from the furniture. Tom stuffed the undies into a drawer and, blushing, led us back to the kitchen. Needless to say, the restaurant hed planned to take us to was closed for renovations, but we enjoyed a wonderful evening with him anyway. People ask cartoonists where ideas come from and are the characters really us? We never had to ask if Ziggy was real or imaginary. We spent a day with him! How lucky I am to know Tom Wilson.

Over the years, hes been an adviser, an ally, and an inspiration. He is as kind, as humble, and as endearing as the character he draws so well. Tom Wilson is one of the gifts Ill take with me, wherever I go. Lynn Johnston, creator of For Better or For Worse