n the last month or so, I've seen the death of two masters, two men whose work I loved and admired. They both worked in the sci-fi or fantasy field, one famously, one in almost total obscurity.
The famous one was Chuck Jones, the beloved director of Bugs Bunny and Daffy Duck cartoons, and the prime creative force behind Road Runner. The obscure master? Raphael Aloysius Lafferty, the idiosyncratic author of 20 novels and 200 stories—none of which you've heard of, much less read.
Jones died Feb. 22 in Corona del Mar, Calif. He was 89 and had not been active as a cartoon director for over 20 years.
Is there any sci-fi or fantasy fan who doesn't love the Warner cartoons? Who hasn't enjoyed their mix of slapstick, satire, wit and sheer wonder? I'm guessing not. I grew up watching them on television, and even in some theaters. (Yes, I am old enough to have experienced Saturday matinees. ...) When I was 10, Bugs Bunny and Road Runner were just funny cartoons—funnier than Tom and Jerry, for example.
When I got a bit older, I began to pick up more of the sly humor, the takeoffs on what were then contemporary movies, much as my children, as they move into their teens, begin to appreciate The Simpsons on a different level.
"What's Opera, Doc?" "Duck Amok." The entire Road Runner corpus. And my all-time favorite, "Duck Dodgers in the 24 1/2 Century."
Jones, of course, worked as part of the Warner team. He was always quick to give credit to his co-workers, whether fellow directors like Tex Avery, Bob McKimson, Friz Freleng and Bob Clampett, or writers like Mike Maltese.
The Warner cartoons died in the late 1950s, alas. Jones moved over to MGM for a while, and did Tom and Jerry and the animated How the Grinch Stole Christmas. He largely retired after that, working on books and art.
When I was a junior executive at CBS in 1980, however, I had the chance to see Chuck Jones in action. For reasons now forgotten, CBS had asked him to create a new cartoon as part of a special titled Bugs Bunny is Busting Out All Over. My boss asked me if I, in my capacity as one of the network censors charged with ensuring the purity of material offered by CBS, would be willing to visit Mr. Jones' office and review the material—
I don't remember what the orders were, because I was out the door before they were completely delivered. I drove over to the building in Hollywood where Jones still had an office, and spent a glorious hour with the master, as he laid out his series of sketches on the floor and literally performed the cartoon for me.
I carried away one story from that day: Tex Avery had just died, and Jones had attended his funeral along with several colleagues from the wonderful world of classic animation—most of them now 70 or even older, and prey to the misfortunes of that age. Jones himself had, I believe, recently endured a skin graft in which flesh was removed from his buttock and transplanted to a spot above his wrist.
He related this information to Mike Maltese at some point in the Avery memorial.
Maltese nodded and said, in what must have been perfect Bugs Bunny delivery: "That explains why you're always scratching your forearm."
A past and future master
R.A. Lafferty, who passed away in a nursing home in Broken Arrow, Okla. on March 18 at the age of 88, was at the other end of the celebrity scale from Chuck Jones.
Lafferty was a crusty old man—it's hard to imagine him young—who began publishing his unique short stories in 1959, at the age of 45. Five years later, he would describe himself in print as "50 years old, a bachelor, an electrical engineer and a fat man." He lost weight in later years, got older and retired from the engineering work, but the description seems apt, if you add that he was also a very conservative Roman Catholic whose worldview wasn't remotely that of the 20th century. He seemed rooted in a mystical past.
His stories are like no one else's, dealing with such subjects as The Men Who Know Everything and the Institute for Impure Science. The best known are probably "Continued on Next Rock," "Among the Hairy Earthmen," "Slow Tuesday Night" and "Nine Hundred Grandmothers."
He published a score of novels and probably wrote at least as many that remained unpublished: not just sci-fi, like Space Chantey and Past Master, but historical works such as Okla Hannai and The Fall of Rome.
He never had anything adapted for film or television, as far as I know, though Eerie, Indiana, actually bought the rights to his story "In a Narrow Valley."
He retired from full-time writing in 1984. Was he bitter? I don't know. He was always cranky.
I break no confidences here when I state that Ray Lafferty liked a drink now and then. I was seated with friends at a convention perhaps 15 years back when an elfin man of 70-plus wearing a loud red shirt slowly worked his way past us in a hotel lobby. (He used a cane and was clearly having some difficulty walking.) "That's R.A. Lafferty," someone said. Lafferty sightings were rare at any time.
I wondered where he was going so often, so by and by, I got up and followed him.
He was going into the hotel bar, laboriously sitting down, having a beer, paying for it, drinking it, then, with some difficulty, removing himself from the stool and leaving the bar.
Only to return to repeat the process.
So I went up to Mr. Lafferty, introduced myself as a reader and a fan of his work, and had a marvelous chat. Finally, I had to say: "Mr. Lafferty, I couldn't help noticing that you've been going back and forth for some time, having a drink, then taking a walk. Is there some secret—?"
"Oh, no," he said, with what I can only describe as a twinkle in his eye. "I just believe that gentleman don't linger in bars."
I'm saddened by Jones' passing, but comforted by the knowledge that his work lives on. The classic Warner cartoons are aired daily, all over the world, and probably will be as long as human beings can be amused by smartass talking animals.
Lafferty's death is more tragic. His novels and short stories ceased to be commercial properties 20 years ago—if they ever were commercial properties. Search for them in used bookstores or online, in out-of-print anthologies and small press chapbooks. You'll find them as funny and unique as Warner Brothers cartoons. And you'll give Ray Lafferty a tiny bit of the immortality he deserved.
When not scanning the obituary pages, Michael Cassutt writes in Los Angeles. He's currently writing a TV movie for 20th Television, and a novel.
