Thomas Arthur Turner – Hollywood High School Yearbook Cartoons

Thomas Arthur Turner – Hollywood High School Yearbook Cartoons, circa the years of 1925 to 1930? Not sure when he attended. He was born in 1915 but certainly was into cartooning for the yearbook long before he graduated.

This one is obvious for the “catcher” at some point, an historic blooper, or call, who would know?.  There are the original image, edited image (photoshop), and edited further (CorelDRAW).  A tribute to my very talented and wonderful parent, father, inspiration.

Thomas Arthur Turner – Hollywood High School Yearbook Cartoons

Thomas Arthur Turner – Hollywood High School Cartoons circa 1920, around there,  my father did cartoons for the high school yearbook. I thought i would share them, as originals, from the story boards that he glued them to for photography.

Roller skating….  obviously a nose plant. The image is as a jpg file for the Yearbook. Someone roller skating in a rink… original cartoon drawing by Thomas Arthur Turner for Hollywood high school year book in the early 1920s

Best advice: velveteen rabbit

First published in 1922, the Velveteen Rabbit was Margery Williams’ first and most popular children’s book

“Real isn’t how you are made,” said the Skin Horse. “It’s a thing that happens to you. When a child loves you for a long, long time, not just to play with, but REALLY loves you, then you become Real.”
“Does it hurt?” asked the Rabbit.
“Sometimes,” said the Skin Horse, for he was always truthful. “When you are Real you don’t mind being hurt.”
“Does it happen all at once, like being wound up,” he asked, “or bit by bit?”
“It doesn’t happen all at once,” said the Skin Horse. “You become. It takes a long time. That’s why it doesn’t happen often to people who break easily, or have sharp edges, or who have to be carefully kept.
“Generally, by the time you are Real, most of your hair has been loved off, and your eyes drop out and you get loose in the joints and very shabby. But these things don’t matter at all, because once you are Real you can’t be ugly, except to people who don’t understand.”
“Once you are real you can’t become unreal again. It lasts for always.”
“When a child loves you for a long, long time, not just to play with, but REALLY loves you, then you become Real.”
“When you are Real you don’t mind being hurt.”
“Weeks passed, and the little Rabbit grew very old and shabby, but the Boy loved him just as much. He loved him so hard that he loved all his whiskers off, and the pink lining to his ears turned grey, and his brown spots faded. He even began to lose his shape, and he scarcely looked like a rabbit any more, except to the Boy. To him he was always beautiful, and that was all that the little Rabbit cared about. He didn’t mind how he looked to other people, because the nursery magic had made him Real, and when you are Real shabbiness doesn’t matter.”

My dad’s santa painting

i was a little sad this morning, i am putting notes in the stockings i knit for my mom and dad when i was about 13 (which mom kept…. the name mom on her stocking was a little wonky… an upside down U where i forgot to knit the red yarn at the bottom of the O) and two newer stocking for them, one i knit this year for dad though he has been dead for 29 years, and the one i knit about 10 years ago for mom that are more contemporary, completing a new set, now that mom has passed away also.

In the note I will tell my dad that he was an amazingly dedicated man, both to a wife who liked to push his buttons with vulgar speech and who continually spent more than he could earn, and to his children, though we really didn’t know him that well until he was diagnosed with cancer because he was so restrained.

I will tell my mom she was luckier than hell to have met my dad, but that she also dedicated herself tirelessly to caregiving. First and foremost to us as kids, to people she hardly knew, and family, one of my sons, her second cousins, a seminary student, the little girl down the street whose mother died when she was so young, even to strangers, to baby sitters like Ms. Morrison and to relatives like Aunt Charla, and both her parents, caregiving until there was no life left in them, some of whome she watched them pass peacefully into the hereafter like her own husband. That is an amazing trait. I am not a caregiver, just dont know how she did it.

My dad, ha ha, was an artist…. My brother Russ sent glossy pictures of a santa claus that dad drew early on (i can tell by his signature). i think he gravitated toward santa as a an entity who needed to help others, and also dad needed concrete confirmation that there was infact a good god in the universe. I think the latter was so remote to him intellectually (as a chemist and engineer he just wasn’t able to dismiss the unfathomability of an eternal entity — and like some of my sibs, me and anyone with a even part of a brain we have this constant doubt). He became that santa once for the family gathering after his health began to fail. I have a clear picture christmas morning in LA with daniel tugging on the sleeve of his red santa suit but with dad so into handing out presents that it went unnoticed. I am sure this was one of the most significant days in his life.