Thirty-one year ago in June 1990 I moved into a funky little Quonset hut (and then shortly thereafter downsized into an even tinier cabin next-door) on Geist Road in Fairbanks. It shared a fence with a McDonalds, where for many years an infamous effigy of Ronald hung from the neighbor’s tree right over the drive-through. That was one clue about the mysterious hidden Eden secreted away right on the other side of the ten-foot fencing: it hid away an oasis of lush gardens + weathered wood that was in complete contrast with the surrounding urban ugliness. My new landlady, Cathleen Doyle, was supportive, kind and accommodating to me while I was at a very fragile stage in my recovery: just over one year clean I had separated from a long-term relationship, breaking off a marriage engagement and taking my cat (Sneakers) to strike out on our own. Picking up the pieces of previous goals, I enrolled in Beginning Drawing with Larry Vienneau in the fall semester. I can still remember slipping out from behind the gate to hike down the road and up the hill to campus, and, still suffering lingering side-effects from residual paranoia, breaking out in a nervous sweat from the exposure to all the strange people in their cars driving past.
Fast-forward to 1998, and I got to proudly give a special preview (pictured) of my thesis show to “Sixcats” at the UAF art gallery. Now, in 2021, after teaching my own students in my own Beginning Drawing class, I left class early to attend her celebration of life, which was held on campus, fittingly enough, at the Georgeson Botanical Garden. From my perspective standing on the fringe of the crowd it was a deeply affirming testament to see the range of relationships she cultivated and the web of wonderful friendships + love that grew from her connections. I chickened out, got overwhelmed and didn’t step up and share what I wanted, so here I am on my blog again, trying to wrangle the words to express what I really meant to say.
One of the very best things about what I do as a cartoonist is getting to see – well, technically hear - a certain, special side of friends, family and fans that is disproportionate to the reality of what normal, everyday experiences most folks have of other people. Meaning, I get to hear a lot of their laughter. And this is where Cathleen is forever etched upon my memory: she had the absolute greatest laugh of anyone I know. More of a guffaw, big and from the belly, loud and free, sharing the joy to all within earshot. Her laughter was literally larger than life, as I heard it reverberate throughout the remembrances shared at the garden, and I can still hear it echo even as I write these words. As a closing note, it was at that residence where I learned about the ol’ eucalyptus-in-the-outhouse trick, and that odor is forever associated with her, especially given her aromatheraputic sidework as a masseuse. I brought a sprig to the memorial in my pocket, as aural is second only to olfactory when it comes to triggering memories. As pictured the main bouquet is in the corner of the current outhouse, reminding me every morning that nomatter how shitty things are, you can always usually catch a whiff of better things ahead.
“Neal Brown has died. The former leader of Poker Flat Research Range and the smiling, suspender-wearing man remembered by many Alaska kids was 82 years old. Born in Idaho, Brown grew up on a farm in Pullman, Washington. He made his way to Alaska in 1963. Here, in 1971, he became the first director of the brand-new Poker Flat Research Range north of Fairbanks, helping space physicists like himself launch more than 200 rockets. After 21 years at UAF’s Geophysical Institute without a break, he then took a professional sabbatical at the University of Colorado in Boulder. There, he discovered a passion — sharing science with non-scientists, especially kids.” - Alaska Science Forum, July 29, 2021, by Ned Rozell
For many months I’d been enjoying seeing samples from Neal's daily doodles, some of which - along with classics like Bullwinkle, Shmoo and Hobbes - were inspired by my own sketches and process posts on social media. They never failed to make my day, and now a month later their absence is a presence that is has left a visual, and emotional space - one that can't ever be erased.
Right up until his hospitalization he was still at it, and I had joked about being glad he’s retired from UAF and moved from Fairbanks because at his rate of production (ten a day!) I would soon be facing some serious competition. One of the things I appreciated about him was his always taking things seriously, which meant he was always really listening and paying attention. The most basic questions from a beginner were always treated with equal respect.
Our initial area of common interest was comics, and Neal had divested himself of his books before the big move to Lebanon, NH. The crown jewel of his collection was Walt Kelly’s “Pogo,” which we had talked about quite often. I had been concocting a scheme to show up back at one of my favorite institutions, the Center for Cartoon Studies, which is a stone’s throw away from his new digs. My plan was to drag him along for a summer workshop so as to further hone his budding talents.
In this original post I made after the commission back in 2013 there’s a process image that shows Neal’s vision he had of himself, somewhat 2-dimensional. While my version might have been the closest thing at the time to realizing his grand vision of conducting the northern lights made manifest, this ten-second sequence (@1.34) captured by the Aurora Chasers is the penultimate encapsulation. Also preserved for posterity is one of his presentations on the aurora here.
Thinking about Neal now reminds me of the fact that even in the bright days of summer, the aurora borealis is always going on, even when you can’t see it. For most of the year it’s just not dark enough, but believe it - it’s always out there shining and dancing away, spreading its awesomely joyous energy. So, not unlike his memory, which is also still with us, that nomatter how much science can explain, there will always still be a little something left of mystery & magic… thanks for the lessons Neal.
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