Hey Vincent, I just talked to a guy named Cy who lived with you, Bob Camp, and Tony Salmons in NYC and he said at the time you had a limp and were on crutches. What happened?
Thats kind of a long story Max. But I'll see if I can bang out the abridged version for you.
Well One dark night, back in the late 20th century.I walked out of the Cartoon Loft at 60 Warren street. I was heading back up town to a friends fancy shmancy Penthouse at 23rd street that I was house/cat sitting. (When living in a loft with 6 or 7 cartoonists and or their girlfriends, one jumps at the chance to sit around fart without ten witnesses)As I'm leaving I see my buddy Bob Camp standing across the street staring up at a fire escape. I go over to see whats up, and he tells me his girlfriend's cat (that he is cat sitting)has wandered out on to the neighbor's fire escape. He is trying to figure out how to climb up and get it down. (Yes I know we're both idiots) Being as I have no trouble with heights. I used to climb up the outside of our fire escape, rather than use the stairs to get to our loft on a near daily basis. So I say "Stand back Bob , I got this." In three grabs and a hoist, I'm on said Fire escape and calling the aforementioned kitty. I should mention here that as soon as I attained the first landing, it started to rain. It was about 3 or 4 in the morning so when I go to lower the ladder. I did so with the greatest of care trying not to disturb the neighbors. I lowered it very quietly down through its' guiding slot. Then turn and pick up the cat. At this point I received a warning from on high in the form a monstrous thunder clap. But do I listen? No I do not. I swing out on to the ladder. At which time my good friend Bob asks the very pertinent question."Is that ladder secure?"To wit I answer "I hope so.'At this time the ladder that I had so gingerly lowered, chose to slip off of the stand pipe that I had inadvertently lowered it on to. So I had two choices. I could A. Watch my left hand that was gripping the now moving ladder, pass through the same slot as the ladder turning my hand into hamburger. Or B. Release the ladder. Toss the cat back to the fire escape and fall the twenty feet or so back to the pavement.Trying my damnedest to get my arms and legs behind me so I don't crush my spine. Since both options included a plummet to the ground. I chose Option B. the less bloody of the two, since I would still have fingers to put behind me to break my fall. While falling I did manage to get my appendages behind me to absorb the impact. My right foot took the most damage. Dislocating the bones across the top of my foot. The left foot only had a couple of smaller bones broken, and whole lot of soft tissue damage. My right wrist I broke one of the small bone between the wrist and the thumb. My left hand was spared some damage no doubt because as I fell, I narrowly missed landing on Bob, all except for his right foot which absorbed the impact of my left hand. As I recall it nicely bruised the top of his foot. The only reason I'm not in a wheel chair is that at the time as in pretty good shape and strong enough to use my arms and legs as crumple zones. I hadn't had my air bags installed yet.
So long story short (Well kind of short)that is how I ended up on crutches and with a limp that lasted almost two years.
Lots of nice things came of it though. While I was laying in a demerol haze in hospital, my good friends banded together and had a benefit party for me. They pulled together what seemed to me a small fortune so that I could keep eating during my recovery.
It was also the accident that pushed me to driving a Limo for Saturday Night Live for a year. Phil Hartman was great tipper until he married that crazy bitch who latter killed him.
man! what an entertaining and painful story. the key question is: was it your drawing hand you busted up?
also, a limo driver for snl...i can't tell if that was a joke or not.
also, also: that year book head guy is hilarious. i'm hoping the top part of his head becomes like a mountain, climbed by some little dudes, slowly turning the picture into one of those stream of consciousness drawings you sometimes do (like that one at a barber's, and a woman swimming out of the mirror, and, and!)
So busy. Sorry for lack'o posts
8 comments:
I need to get me one of those out-of-focus pens.
Hill-larry, Vincent. The classic 'grad book head' pose n' 'book end head' ta' boot. Thanks fer the laugh.
My real one's not much worse. And a bit out of focus too.
- trevor.
My real one's not much worse. And a bit out of focus too.
- trevor.
The use of concrete pillows was phased out in the late '60s. The incidence of oblong heads has dropped drastically since.
Hey Vincent, I just talked to a guy named Cy who lived with you, Bob Camp, and Tony Salmons in NYC and he said at the time you had a limp and were on crutches. What happened?
Thats kind of a long story Max. But I'll see if I can bang out the abridged version for you.
Well One dark night, back in the late 20th century.I walked out of the Cartoon Loft at 60 Warren street. I was heading back up town to a friends fancy shmancy Penthouse at 23rd street that I was house/cat sitting. (When living in a loft with 6 or 7 cartoonists and or their girlfriends, one jumps at the chance to sit around fart without ten witnesses)As I'm leaving I see my buddy Bob Camp standing across the street staring up at a fire escape. I go over to see whats up, and he tells me his girlfriend's cat (that he is cat sitting)has wandered out on to the neighbor's fire escape. He is trying to figure out how to climb up and get it down. (Yes I know we're both idiots) Being as I have no trouble with heights. I used to climb up the outside of our fire escape, rather than use the stairs to get to our loft on a near daily basis. So I say "Stand back Bob , I got this."
In three grabs and a hoist, I'm on said Fire escape and calling the aforementioned kitty. I should mention here that as soon as I attained the first landing, it started to rain. It was about 3 or 4 in the morning so when I go to lower the ladder. I did so with the greatest of care trying not to disturb the neighbors. I lowered it very quietly down through its' guiding slot. Then turn and pick up the cat. At this point I received a warning from on high in the form a monstrous thunder clap. But do I listen? No I do not. I swing out on to the ladder. At which time my good friend Bob asks the very pertinent question."Is that ladder secure?"To wit I answer "I hope so.'At this time the ladder that I had so gingerly lowered, chose to slip off of the stand pipe that I had inadvertently lowered it on to. So I had two choices. I could A. Watch my left hand that was gripping the now moving ladder, pass through the same slot as the ladder turning my hand into hamburger. Or B. Release the ladder. Toss the cat back to the fire escape and fall the twenty feet or so back to the pavement.Trying my damnedest to get my arms and legs behind me so I don't crush my spine.
Since both options included a plummet to the ground. I chose Option B. the less bloody of the two, since I would still have fingers to put behind me to break my fall. While falling I did manage to get my appendages behind me to absorb the impact. My right foot took the most damage. Dislocating the bones across the top of my foot. The left foot only had a couple of smaller bones broken, and whole lot of soft tissue damage. My right wrist I broke one of the small bone between the wrist and the thumb. My left hand was spared some damage no doubt because as I fell, I narrowly missed landing on Bob, all except for his right foot which absorbed the impact of my left hand. As I recall it nicely bruised the top of his foot. The only reason I'm not in a wheel chair is that at the time as in pretty good shape and strong enough to use my arms and legs as crumple zones. I hadn't had my air bags installed yet.
So long story short (Well kind of short)that is how I ended up on crutches and with a limp that lasted almost two years.
Lots of nice things came of it though. While I was laying in a demerol haze in hospital, my good friends banded together and had a benefit party for me. They pulled together what seemed to me a small fortune so that I could keep eating during my recovery.
It was also the accident that pushed me to driving a Limo for Saturday Night Live for a year.
Phil Hartman was great tipper until he married that crazy bitch who latter killed him.
man! what an entertaining and painful story. the key question is: was it your drawing hand you busted up?
also, a limo driver for snl...i can't tell if that was a joke or not.
also, also: that year book head guy is hilarious. i'm hoping the top part of his head becomes like a mountain, climbed by some little dudes, slowly turning the picture into one of those stream of consciousness drawings you sometimes do (like that one at a barber's, and a woman swimming out of the mirror, and, and!)
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