"I can remember almost as well as if it were but yesterday my first experience as a ball player at Rockford. It was early in the spring, and so cold that a winter overcoat was comfortable. I had been there but a day or two when I received orders from the management to report one afternoon at the ball grounds for practice. It was a day better fitted for telling stories around a blazing fire than for playing ball, but orders were orders, and I obeyed them. I soon found that it was to test my qualities as a batsman that I had been ordered to report. A bleak March wind blew across the enclosure, and as I doffed my coat and took my stand at the plate I shivered as though suffering from the ague. This was partially from the effects of the cold and partially from the effects of what actors call stage fright, and I do not mind saying right now that the latter had more than the former to do with it. You must remember that I was "a stranger in a strange land," a "kid" both as to years and experience, with a knowledge that my future very largely depended upon the showing that I might make.

Facing me was "Cherokee Fisher," one of the swiftest of the old-time underhand pitchers, a man that I had heard a great deal about, but whom I had never before seen, while watching my every move from the stand were the directors of the team, conspicuous among them being Hiram Waldo, whose judgment in base-ball matters was at that time second to no man's in the West, and a man that I have always been proud to call my friend.

I can remember now that I had spent some considerable time in selecting a bat and that I was wondering in my own mind whether I should be able to hit the ball or not. Finally Fisher began sending them in with all the speed for which he was noted. I let a couple go by and then I slammed one out in the right field, and with that first hit my confidence came back to me. From that time on I batted Fisher successfully, but the most of my hits were to the right field, owing to the fact that I could not at that time successfully gauge his delivery, which was much swifter than anything that I had ever been up against."

From: "A BALL PLAYER'S CAREER" Being the PERSONAL EXPERIENCES AND REMINISCENCES of ADRIAN C. ANSON Late Manager and Captain of the Chicago Base Ball Club (1900)

Supposedly Anson was, like many of his time, a bigot and refused to play in exhibition games versus dark-skinned players. His attitude was stronger than most, however, and he led efforts to exclude blacks from professional baseball. A shame.

Baseball season is upon us. In truth, it has been for more than a month, but with the way I update this website...

...and with that comes talk of the lowly Toronto Blue Jays and their crummy attendance over at the Rogers Centre (formerly the Skydome). It seems that in this rapid fire world, no one has the time anymore to spend a leisurely evening at the ballpark watching their local team go through its paces. That, and the changing face of Toronto. An informative article in The Globe and Mail a couple of weeks back seemed to suggest that with the surge in immigration here, baseball isn't a priority for younger fans. Soccer on the other hand, enjoys sell out crowds. With the World Cup only a month away, the media seems to be gearing up to a fever pitch. Live in Little Portugal or Little Italy, and watch the streets go mad.

Another sore point is the cost. It seems that for a family of four, an afternoon at the ballpark will cost you well over two hundred bucks. Two hundred bucks! And most families leave well before the end of the ninth, because their kids are bored to tears by the top of the third. That's a hell of a lot of dough to shell out for three innings of ball. Five dollar hot dogs (now with more testicles!), and twelve dollar beers make anyone question going.

In the last few years, our attendance has been spotty at best. In halcyon days of yore, Christiane and I seemed to be able to score corporate duckets on an almost weekly basis, and would show up at the ballpark, sit in cushioned splendor under a concrete awning, and watch the team. Now it's the cheap seats in the nosebleed section with the other penny-pinchers. As long as I can listen to the play-by-play, I don't care. The team's doing well - in the early going anyway, to make it even more pleasurable.

Which brings me to the most money I've ever dropped on an iPhone App, MLB 2010. I can listen to the broadcast from the host or opposing team's radio crew, watch game highlights, get the box scores, observe pitch placement, see the overall standings or the players on the field at a glance... it's well worth the $14.99 I paid for it. Of course I note that they call it MLB 2010, meaning I'll have to shell out all over again next year, but I don't care. In the long run, it's still cheaper than a day at the park for a family of four. If that baseball loving family wants to save some money in these tough economic times, go down to Christie Pits and watch the Toronto Maple Leafs ball club. It's free to sit on the grass, and the baseball is very, very good.

Silence is golden. At least when we're talking about film; as for this website, that's another matter.

Feh.

Been quite busy with my alter ego Edison, of late. Las Vegas Weekly, Scholastic, The Wall Street Journal, KPMG... it's been good. I was browsing over my collection of images this morning, and realised that only  a small portion appear on Gerald and Cullen Rapp's site, and not necessarily the pieces that I like best. So, I think I'll create a new website to promote that stuff as well (and then let it collect dust like this one). I'll have a link to it here, once it's up and ready. I'll let you know.

Have completed a few nice projects of late: a few new icons for Scholastic and packaging for Sniffers Dog Treats. Both were done as Edison, my other, not so secret nom de plume. If you're even slightly interested, travel over to the website of Gerald and Cullen Rapp Illustration to see my alter-ego in action.

My old friend Seth just completed the cover for Criterion's release of Leo McCarey's 1937 masterpiece "Make Way For Tomorrow", starring Beulah Bondi and Victor Moore. Moore is a favourite actor of mine, who had a long career on stage and in film, including the wonderful "Chimmie Fadden" series back in 1915, and "Make Way For Tomorrow" is one of cinema’s purest tearjerkers. It has a heart-breaking ending which you'll never forget. My wife cried her eyes out, and I wasn't far behind her. I can't recommend it enough.

When I was last in New York, which was more years ago than I'd care to admit, I finally made the personal aquaintence of one of the illustration representatives at Rapp who I'd had a wonderful e-mail and telephone relationship with, Daniel Zalkus. We found that we shared a love of cinema and illustration of the Fifties and Sixties, and got on like a house on fire. Well, he left Rapp and New York a month or so back to live in Michigan and begin his illustration career in earnest. He sent me a link to his website yesterday, and I've got to share it. I love his work. His line and composition remind me of the late, great Robert Weaver, but with a contemporary twist. Great stuff, Dan.

I've been far too busy of late to do anything really new, but all these sketches around the studio are like promises made but never kept. Better to get them up on the site and out of here. As an example: I had a 'brilliant' concept of doing a series of portraits of Presidents of the United States. That particular  idea lasted, oh, about three days. What did I get out of it? Well...

James Buchanan (1791 – 1868) was the 15th President of the United States from 1857–1861. To date he is the only President from the state of Pennsylvania and the only president to remain a lifelong bachelor.

Buchanan's efforts to maintain peace between the North and the South alienated both sides, and as the Southern states declared their secession in the prologue to the American Civil War, Buchanan's opinion was that secession was illegal, but that going to war to stop it was also illegal; hence, he remained inactive. By the time he left office, popular opinion had turned against him, and the Democratic Party had split in two. His handling of the crisis preceding the Civil War has led to his consistent ranking by historians as one of the worst Presidents in American history.

Worst Presidents in American history? Now there's an idea for a series. Wait a minute - with the exception of a few, it'd be like doing the original idea all over again.

I did this pencil sketch of him not long after we watched Different From The Others. I prefer it as a pencil; I think inking it might have killed the spontaneity of the line.

By the way, one of the few living artists that's a real visual hero of mine is the great Robert Andrew Parker. A brand new, limited edition (100 copies) book of his art and writings has just come out, entitled Travels With Bob. It's got a fairly hefty price tag ($250.00), but if you're as much of a fan of his work as I am, it's a must.

Now I've just got to find the dough.

Here's the cover of a little booklet I'm working on, which will contain a number of portraits of boxers that I think are interesting. Who knows when I'll complete the damn thing, but if you'd like a copy when it's done, email me full details and I'll be sure to send you off one. I'll try to post my portrait of The Boston Strongboy in the next few days.