Worry Wart

October 14, 1966

Based on the expression on his face, Wilberforce isn't exactly sure why he painted your chair either. You know when you get an impulse and you just do something? That's what happened to Wilberforce.

"Orange crate" seems oddly specific.

I feel that if I had more money, I'd have fewer worries. Maybe that's just me.

And I feel it's your partner's main job to not make life harder for you, so thank you for the compliment.

Just a Little Burnt...

October 12, 1966

I don't know. Your overreaction to "kids being kids" makes me think Wilberforce here will be doing this again. Maybe even when you are wrapped in a towel about to get in the shower.

They were fine a second ago...

Um, what's holding up that apron? It must be Brutus' ample bosom because I don't see shoulder straps.

Worst Independence Day Ever

It's a sad day in the history of your country when fucking Hi & Lois shows more fight and backbone than a majority of the people actually elected to fight and show backbone. This is a legacy strip, it's only goal is to stay the course, not ruffle feathers, and give readers a light chuckle (not a guarantee). Not upset the populace by suggesting that we might have to fight a tyrannical ruler again.

And look at their faces, with the exception of Trixie, the Flagstons absolutely know that fascism is here, several of their neighbors are Nazis and nothing set up to keep this from happening is going to work. Dot's thrilled to start fighting though.

August 23, 1966

Just to the front door? I would think you could make it to the mailbox or the street (whichever is further). Maybe the bathroom is further away. I could definitely make it to the street with toothpaste at my house.

It's amazing how the Fourth of July turns people into inconsiderate scofflaws. "Hey, my dog gets anxious with fireworks, can you go easy this year?" I'll make sure to point the loud ones at your house. "The neighbor down the street is a veteran with PTSD." Then he should understand that he fought for my right to shoot off loud noise makers. "Why are people shooting off fireworks? It's June 29th." It's our right and perfectly legal. All within the law (law says no fireworks until July 3 and 4). "Our city is thinking about banning fireworks." I'll still shoot them off. It's my right.

You're all jerks!

The Brutus P. Thornapple Memorial Watercooler

March 29, 1987

Why is Brutus wearing a top hat? I've never seen him in a top hat before and I don't think I've seen him in one since. I guess Brutus is trying something different. Something he will probably stop doing because it caused him to fall into the sewer.

Who are those kids? Why are we just creating random children when Wilberforce and Hurricane Hattie are already established characters?

Didn't you hear him? Weren't you listening? Veeblefester specifically said the naming rights would be paid for. My reaction wouldn't be "Golly, Chief!" but "How much is this stupid idea going to cost us? Me, specifically?"

Naming the watercooler for Brutus does make sense since that's where Brutus spends most of his day.

Little India May

On January 7, 1912, dozens of people gathered in the office of Dr. Eva Harding to admire a seven-month old, chubby, hazel-eyed baby girl. The baby girl was being put up for adoption and within twelve hours, hundreds would express interest in Little India May.

India May was born June 9, 1911 in a small town in Oklahoma. The mother was the daughter of a minister and India May had no father. Before arriving in Topeka, Kansas, mother and daughter were residing with a school principal in Oklahoma City. When the principal got sick and she decided to go to a spring, the mother and child were left without a home. They made their way up to Topeka on January 5 to find a relative of India's father. The relative refused to aid them so the mother sought out other help.

She first went to the Orphan's Home, but was turned away because she could not afford the cost there. The Orphan's Home was established in 1888 in a building at 3rd and Fillmore. The orphanage closed in 1947 and the building was gifted to the Capper Foundation. It was later learned that the mother was offered $4 a week to work in the kitchen to pay for the placement, but refused. The mother then went to the Provident Association. The Provident Association was started in 1904 to help people affected by the 1903 flood. It was located in a brick building at 4th & Jackson streets. It would later become Family Service and Guidance Center. However, they had no room to place India May. In desperation, the mother and child came to the office of Dr. Harding.

Dr. Harding and the mother chose a couple late in the afternoon of the 8th. Of the more than a hundred people who were interested in India May, Mr. and Mrs. John R. Graham were selected. "We are tickled to death to get her," Mrs. Graham said. John Graham worked for the Charles Wolff Packing Company as a trimmer and owned a home at 112 Fillmore Street. The Grahams did not any children of their own. "Nothing will be too good for the child," said Mr. Graham.

Information on India May and the Grahams end with the adoption. A John R. Graham is buried in Memorial Park Cemetery in Topeka having died in 1950. His wife is listed as Ada, but no children are listed with them. It could also be a case of mistaken identity as an Ada Moss was married to a John J. Graham who died around the same time. John R. Graham in Memorial Park Cemetery is buried in an unmarked grave.

You Could Also Just Stop Playing

July 8, 1966

I am constantly carrying trays of food and dishes and I've never dropped them--no matter how impressively loud my kid was coming home from school.

What were you even doing? Cleaning up your social club's tea party you had earlier?

Stop hitting the ball twice as much as you have to? I don't have any good golf advice, a lot of what I see about golf is just hit the ball hard toward where the hole is. I don't know. Have you tried doing that, Brutus?

I Don't Think Your Boss Can Talk To You That Way

June 30, 1966

It is a good thing that window was open. The broken glass could've shaved this man's face off.

Is Veeblefester upset because he only has one bag of money on his desk today? Somehow Brutus kept Veeblefester from having two or more bags of money on his desk?

For Ashlea

From where I sat in the park, at a wooden table next to Founder’s Rock, I could see the rose garden, Japanese Friendship Garden, the carousel and playground, and the mini-train depot. It was one of my favorite places to sit and write aside from the arboretum on the west side of the park. It was isolated enough to give some privacy, but practically in the middle of everything. There was a party or something happening at the carousel, so kids were running around, yelling and laughing. The breeze helped carry some of the noise away, but I was at a park, so I expected the noise.

               I was deep into chapter seven of the book I was writing when a figure entered my peripheral. She stood, arms out, hands balled into a fist. Her head was down but she was looking at me. I, at first, ignored her. She then scooted into my eyeline and emitted a low, piercing wail that I was impressed she could hold for so long.

               “Can I help you?” I finally said, and the wailing stopped.

               “What are you doing?” she came over and stood next to me, looking at my notebook

               “I’m writing,” I replied.

               She looked at my notebook like she was trying to read it. I don’t know how much she could understand since my handwriting wasn’t great. “A book?” she asked.

               “Yes, actually,” I replied.

               “I’m at my cousin’s birthday party,” she said. “He’s turning six.”

               “Well, happy birthday to him,” I said and gave the girl a smile.

               “I’m older. I’m seven.”

               She looked younger. She was short with long, blonde hair. She had blue gray eyes with one slightly askew. She had a slight lisp but spoke and acted confidently. “I’m Ashlea,” she said, looking up at me, her eyes slightly fluttering.

               “I’m Michael,” I introduced myself.

               “What are you writing?” she looked again at my notebook, now practically in my lap.

               “It’s actually about a young girl and her growing up and surviving middle school,” I explained. I wasn’t exactly positive about where I was going with the story. I couldn’t figure out a hook for the story and currently had a stupid science fair as a placeholder conflict.

               “What’s her name?” Ashlea asked.

               “Abigail.”

               “What’s her middle name?”

               “Joyce.”

               “Mine’s Rose.”

               “That’s a pretty name,” I replied. “Don’t you need to get back to the party?”

               “Nah. They can see that I’m here,” Ashlea said and leaned over to wave at the people at the carousel. “They know how to reach me.” She took my pencil and began drawing on my notebook. I thought about stopping her but didn’t and watched her draw. She was sketching a flower, a sunflower from the look of it. It wasn’t very good but decent for her age. I could erase it if I wanted to. “Did you know there is a galaxy called the Sunflower Galaxy?” she asked me. “You know, out in space.”

               I stifled a laugh. “No, I didn’t know that.”

               “They say it looks like a sunflower, but I don’t think it does. It’s blue. Sunflowers aren’t blue.”

               She stopped drawing and looked at her work. She added a couple more dots for seeds and put the pencil down. She then walked away back to the carousel. I watched her leave and looked at her sunflower. I continued writing, leaving the sunflower and writing around it. Ashlea came back a few minutes later with a beat-up checkers set. There was a small stack of board games on a shelf in the carousel building. They were pretty beat up and most of the pieces were missing. When Ashlea opened the set, it seemed as if most of the checker pieces were there.

               “Play this with me,” she practically demanded.

               “Do you know how to play checkers?” I asked, closing my notebook.

               “No,” she replied.

               “It’s pretty easy. I can show you. Do you want to be red or black?” I asked.

               “Red,” she said.

               “Okay, you are going to put all your pieces on the dark squares,” I instructed and watched as Ashlea put the red checkers on the dark squares. “Now, you can only move one space diagonally. Like this,” I moved one of my pieces to show her. “Got it?”

               She nodded and moved a piece. We went back and forth a couple of times. “How’s the economy treating you?” I jokingly asked her.

               “Good,” she answered.

               I noticed she could jump one of my pieces and showed her. “And now my piece is captured. I can only get it back when I reach your side of the board and get kinged.”

               She happily jumped over my piece and gleefully yanked it off the board. Holding it, she cackled evilly and was clearly eyeing the board for other pieces to jump.

               After playing for about fifteen minutes, Ashlea won mainly because there was nowhere else to go. She had five kings to my four so I declared her the winner. When we started the next game, Ashlea took it upon herself to make slight, unapproved changes to the game play. She would move single pieces in any direction, jump pieces to the side. “Okay, well, now you’re just making up rules,” I said, pointing to a piece she moved five spaces to jump me.

               “Everything’s made up,” she said and inexplicably kinged one of her pieces.

               I shrugged, nodded, and accepted that argument.

               After Ashlea won again, through her new rules, we played once more, just moving pieces back and forth. “You go to school, right?” I asked.

               She nodded.

               “Do you like it? What’s your favorite thing to do?” I then quickly added “Don’t say recess.”

               “I like reading. But I only read in school. When I’m at home I like riding my bike and drawing with chalk.”

               “I rode my bike all the time when I was a kid. I learned later in life. Fourth grade. I haven’t ridden a bike in years.”

               “You could ride mine but it’s at home.”

               “Thank you. It’s the thought that counts.”

               “Ashlea!” a woman called from the carousel building. “Leo’s opening presents!”

               Ashlea groaned loudly. “I have to get back. Come with me.”

               “I should be going.” I closed my notebook and began to get up.

               “Just come with me,” Ashlea took my hand and led me to the carousel building. “This is Michael. He’s a writer.”

               “Hi,” I nervously waved to the woman who I assumed was Ashlea’s mother. “Sorry. She just hanging out with me and I didn’t want to be rude.”

               “She’s a very friendly girl. She makes friends with everyone.”

               “She’s a really great girl,” I looked down and smiled at Ashlea. “Have a good party.”

               “We should play again,” Ashlea said. “I can write you a letter. What’s your address?”

               I did happen to have a business card with a P.O. box listed on it. I fished one out of my portfolio and kneeled down to hand it to her. “Send me a letter and I’ll send one back.”

               “Okay,” she looked at the card. I stood up and began walking away. “Wait!” she exclaimed and went over to her mom. They talked. I couldn’t hear them but they both pointed at me a couple times. Her mom nodded and Ashlea ran back over to me. “Can I hug you?”

               “If it’s fine with your mom, it’s fine with me,” I kneeled back down and she wrapped her arms around me. I did the same and we hugged for several seconds before she pushed away, running to her mom and then to the carousel building.

               “Bye!” she briefly turned around and waved. I raised my hand in return and then she was gone.

 

🏵        🏵        🏵

               It was almost a year when the forwarded letter arrived at my new P.O. box. It was clearly addressed by a child. I didn’t even realize who it was from until I saw Ashlea’s name scrawled on the back of the envelope. She said she would write but never did. I just assumed she had forgotten and moved on. I about forgot about her over the last few months. Every so often she’d creep back into my brain, usually when I was writing and trying to draw inspiration for the main character. I carefully tore the envelope open with a letter opener, wanting to preserve the envelope. She had drawn a giraffe on the sealed side next to the return address. Outline drawn in a reddish-orange marker, scribbled in yellow, with brown spots.

               Dear Michael,

               I hope this letter finds you well. I am fine. I am sorry I haven’t written sooner. It has been pretty crazy around here. Let me start from the beginning:

               My cousin got a lot of birthday gifts. Then he cried because he didn’t get a basketball like he wanted. He got everything else he wanted so I don’t know why he was a crybaby about that. I just sat alone in the corner eating cake and ice cream.

               For Halloween, I went as a brain guy. Or brain girl. I had a black cloak and a hat that looked like a brain. I wish I could’ve put something on it to make gou gooie slimy but it was cloth. I got a lot of candy and peeople didn’t like it when I said I wanted to see their brain.

               We went to my Grandma’s for thanksgiving. Like every year. For Christmas, I got a lot of Legos. I like building the sets but I like building whatever I want more.

               This boy in my class gave me a spechul valentine because he likes me. I threw it away but I kept the chalklit chocolate. For my birthday (I’m 8!!!)—and she drew a cake with eight candles on it—I had a pool party! It was really fun! One of my friends said I was trying to drown her. I said it was a pool party and when you are around a lot of water you might get a little drownd.

               When school ended, my family and me spent a month in Colorado and New Mexico. I thought about sending you a postcard but I didn’t have your address when I was there. Here it is anyway. The postcard featured the Taos Mountains with the sun symbol in the sky and was folded up in the envelope. We just got back so I thought I’d get this letter written before I forget again.

               We only have a week before school starts again. Clearly Ashlea forgot about the letter and picked it back up several weeks later. A new park with trails opened near me so I’m spending a lot of time in nature or at the pool. When it’s too hot, I stay home and read. That’s how I found this letter. It was in a book I was reading as a bookmark.

               I’m really going to send this letter this time.

               Love,

               Ashlea

P.S. I’ve been practicing checkers for a rematch.

P.P.S. Forgive the lateness of my letter.

P.P.P.S. How’s your book going?

               I smiled at the letter. I was glad it was still able to be forwarded. I had finished my book. It had undergone a major rewrite. I had changed the main character into a girl like Ashlea. She and her parents came from that sunflower galaxy she had mentioned to me. Their planet had been taken over by aliens from another galaxy and her and her parents were now refugees on Earth. The aliens were now heading toward Earth and only these three could stop them. I had turned it into a young adult novel and found an agent who was searching for a publisher.

               The entire book was finished except for one thing. I logged into my laptop and opened up my novel. I had about three pages of acknowledgement, people I wanted to mention that helped me in the process of writing. I didn’t have a dedication page and thought about not having one. It’s clear who the book should be dedicated to. I scrolled to the blank fifth page and typed a dedication. ▩

My Afternoon With Hattie

June 21, 1966

Honestly, I feel you could just connect these panels and call it good.

See? That looks fine.

I've never been a fan of dog whistle jokes. I don't think they are/were as prevalent as movies, TV, and old cartoons lead us to believe.

Yes. My answer would have to be yes.

I don't know. I think Hurricane Hattie would be a fun daughter to have. I've always wanted a daughter so I'm going to grab any opportunity to be a loving father figure to Hurricane-esque girls.

Working 8:59 to 4:59

June 17, 1966

Did medicine have flavors in 1966 like they do now? I know medicine used to be really gross--metallic or bitter-flavored. And let's not forget things like cod liver oil or other gross "natural" things that kept you "healthy".

Everyone loves medicine that makes your head want to collapse in on itself.

Wow. Brutus is clocked in and ready to work at 8:59. Let me document this occasion with a picture. Instead of talking to the reader, you should be going through that in box.

I'm unnerved by the lower case 'a.m.' and 'p.m.'

Everyone Loves Golf

June 9, 1966

Fifner is not a given name. Fifner is a surname. According to Ancestry, most Fifners in the United States settled in Ohio and, I guess, Art Sansom knew them all.

I guess Fifner is kind a of prototype Wilberforce. Like with Quincy Madison becoming the star, I wonder how close we were to "Fifner Thornapple"?

September 1, 2018

This is a favorite? Ok.

I guess it combines two things we all love to see. Brutus getting hit on the head and golf.

Knight Off

June 1, 1966

I know we've seen the name Fifner before, but he looked different and doesn't seem smart enough to magnetize his father. Speaking of magnetized, I thought that was a carpenter's square, but I guess it's a picture frame--which seems weird. Are picture frames magnetic?

And you know all that magnetic stuff is just covered in lead.

1972

GoComics is celebrating 60 years of The Born Loser by posting a comic from each decade this week. The 60th anniversary is on May 10th. They made kind of a big deal about the 50th as well.

Ok. I've been reading a lot of vintage Born Loser over the last three years and the Thornapples (and those who came before them) go to a lot of costume parties. Were those really all the rage back then?

Nyah x 6

May 7, 1966

Case history? Thornapple has a file? And apparently he's some sort of sexual deviant.

I don't care if you are a literal child in grade school, six "Nyah"s seems excessive and makes your argument weaker. Although why Brutus chose to argue with a nine-year-old girl is beyond me. Especially a nine-year-old like Hurricane Hattie.

Late Berate

April 13, 1966

Ew. This is why men are always withholding when showing affection to their children. And it's going to be hell getting the gum out of proto-Brutus' mustache.

Does Brutus think his 8-5 work schedule mean even his commute to work and back home should take place during those hours? I mean, I guess it's worth a try. More power to him.

If you would like to support me or this website, you can utilize the new Support link at the top of the page. Thank you for your support and readership!

No Spoon, Radio

April 8, 1966

I research one-room schoolhouse and the early days of public schools and the stories I read about the mischief pulled on the teachers is always interesting. Usually it's not very violent though. And never have one of the student tried to blow up the teacher.

Can Brutus just not wash a spoon? Do the Thornapples just throw away all their dirty silverware?

Is That Desk Just In the Middle of the Room?

March 4, 1966

I find it funny seeing a kid basically scream "I'm nothing but a tax deduction to you!", but let me tell you kids something: $600 a year ($2000 in today's money) is absolutely not enough to justify having a kid. That money covers basically nothing of what it costs to take care of you.

I tried to do some journaling last year. I didn't like it. It didn't make me feel better or like I was figuring something out. It made me feel depressed so I stopped.

If she's not journaling, then what is she writing? Enemies list?

🎵I'm Free from Your Spell🎶Oh, Free, Free, Free Now, Baby🎵

February 7, 1966

I appreciate this kid's entrepreneurship. Most people I know drink iced coffee in the winter so cold lemonade in the winter is nothing surprising. We drink lots of cold stuff in the winter. I don't know why that one girl is acting so snooty, but we'll show her. We'll show her *slowly shakes fists*

I looked up that "fickle, fickle" thing at the beginning. I found nothing. I guess Art came up with it himself.

Mother Gargle sucks. I know it. Brutus knows it. You even know it! Let her stay in Erie where she belongs.

Watch we'll see Mother Gargle again within the next two weeks. You are never truly free from Mother Gargle.

Channel Changer

Why isn't Seymour Fagin, DDS talking about this girl's cavities with her father? He looks scared of her. Is she a biter?

Is that the dentist? Maybe it's his dental hygienist. So many people look absolutely grotesque in some of these strips.

If Brutus had been paying attention, he would've seen Gladys start to change the channel and could ask "Hey, why are you changing the channel?" Usually there's some way to tell a channel is being changed.

Shut Your Hole, Woman

December 17, 1965

Good! That carpet was due for a good painting.

What's wrong with Brucie's face? Is that a young Elon Musk? Clearly this tiny man has kidnapped and killed Brucie and has taken over his life.

July 26, 2024

The number of alarms refers to the number of peppers in the chili, which I didn't know. I knew it was in relation to how spicy the chili but I didn't know how they came up with the number.

The chili I make would definitely be considered a no-alarm chili because I don't put peppers in mine. You'd hate my chili and I can feel your judging eyes on me.

Cool. I get to talk about work and school during my last week of summer vacation. I would rather be bored than go back to work. Although I do like the money. You can give me some by going into the About section and sending me a tip.

It's also kind of hot and possibly storming in and around Cleveland today so that may be part of his boredom.

Yum. Diner Seafood

November 15, 1965

Albert's just doing what kids do: Eating cake that has been left out on the table hours before it is actually needed. I feel we can assign blame equally in this comic.

If only he had cut the cake out of the middle...

I have a coworker who goes out to eat every day for lunch. Every. Day. He goes to McDonald's. Every. Day. I wish I could do that, but doesn't that get expensive? I also don't think he really cooks dinner. I think he eats out for every meal. Whatever. Not my place to judge.

I bring this up because Brutus eats at this diner (nearly?) every day and each visit is a new worse experience. Is there no where else to eat nearby? What does Brutus get out of this?