Letter From the Editor April

Interview, April, 2000 by Ingrid Sischy

As this issue was going to press we learned that Charles M. Schulz, creator of Peanuts, one of the greatest comic strips of all time, had died. For the millions of people who had loved his work, who had in fact counted on Schulz's characters--the constantly thwarted Charlie Brown, whose face was such a study in innocence and roundness, and the rest of his crew, including Snoopy, Lucy, and Linus--to be their fellow travelers in this often confusing world, it was like hearing that a whole family one had experienced life with had been lost. Of course, the great thing is that there remains the legacy of the work--we can still look at it and learn from it. Even in death, Schulz taught us a life lesson on work and the meaning it can have. I'm sure many noticed that the artist, who had been battling colon cancer, died on the eve of the publication of what was to be his final Peanuts strip. In fact, in an article about why he was concluding the strip, Schulz was quoted as saying, "All of a sudden, one day it's taken. It's gone. I can't do it." He did do that last installment, and then, just as it was about to be read by the world, he passed away. That sequence tells us a lot about how much doing one's work can mean to a person--and to many others.

It's hard to remember the time when the cartoonist's art wasn't appreciated. But Schulz, like many innovators, had his moments of rejection. In his case, it was his so-called "dumb" drawing style that was criticized. It turned out that it was that very simple style, coupled with his understanding of human psychology, that made Schulz's work stand out. As comic artist Cathy Guisewite has said about Schulz, "He always remembered what it was like to be anything--to be heartbroken, to be a failure, to be lost, to be lonely."

Although on the surface it would appear that Schulz would be worlds apart from the subjects of this month's cover story, Hilary Swank, and Brandon Teena, the real-life person Swank plays in the film Boys Don't Cry, they're not. For a start, they all embody a belief in humanity. As is clear from our interview with Swank, which begins on page 136, the actress has a real capacity to remember "what it is like to be anything." She is far from cynical; when talking to Swank, her belief in others shines through. One might say it's all very well for Swank, the actress, to trust in the good of her fellow human beings, since she herself wasn't murdered, essentially for being different, as was Brandon Teena. What's moving, though, is how Teena also seems to have believed that the world would have a place for him. The tragedy is that he never found (or wasn't allowed) that safe harbor he searched for all his life, that sense of safety Schulz so brilliantly captured and called "a security blanket." For a brief moment, Te ena had someone who loved him deeply. But alone, Teena's girlfriend couldn't keep away the hate. Before it took its toll, though, both of them seemed to believe that their bond was greater than the lack of tolerance surrounding them. For their particular lives, they weren't correct; but as their story, and the wide recognition the film has received shows, believing is the beginning of making things happen.