I.
He watched the yellow leaves drift from the trees; 'twas Halloween There, a child dressed as Mickey, black ears globed against the sky -- Lifting a pencil sitting by his cuff, Sitting back, his deep-lined eyes closed in repose. His first drawing? It was a charming train When a man, in Stanford's ivied halls The days of college passed, his painter's eye When the days of art school were no more, At Fred Moore's side he toiled day and night
Cartoonish costumes skipping down the street
Brought a smile this birthday, sad yet sweet,
The ninety-fifth such day the man had seen.
In his mind, the wheels turned, the old train huffed;
He held aloft an ancient hand, worn and scuffed,
And gave a laugh that melted to a sigh.
With that leathered hand began to lightly draw.
Until that famous mouse he shortly saw.
"Good enough," he whispered, "Still good enough."
Drifting back through time, as dark as ink
That drew his perfect lines on countless cels; he tried to think
Of how it all began, this life he chose.
His name printed neatly on the side
Encouraged in his eager child's pride,
He sketched and drew again and yet again
The brush and paint a magic shadow cast
Upon him as he learned of masters past
Art became his life, his love, his call.
Was shared with one Frank Thomas, a campus friend
Little could they know that fate would send
That friendship to a fame that could not die.
He sought to find a living in his art
When none did fit the passions of his heart,
He followed Frank on through Walt Disney's door
Striving to make his drawings feel and act,
To move, reveal an inner life, react,
Learning his craft, he helped to craft Snow White.
And there, between dwarfs seeking to be born, His talent shone, and Walt could not deny Pinocchio was Walt's first challenge, then centaurettes
Classes, training, practice that consumed the hours,
Enthralled by animation's skill and powers,
He pledged himself to master it, and thus forsworn,
The forms and faces that young Ollie drew
Were poems of structure rare and emotions true.
The time had come to set the standard high.
That pranced through Fantasia. Better still
Was Disney's gracious bow to Ollie's skill:
A leader's role in Bambi, proof of challenge met.
When that film, lovely and beloved, was seen, There came a war, a strike, unsettled days Brer Rabbit, Peter, Alice, many more His friend Frank Thomas, most beloved of all, Upon these men Walt Disney staked his trust He opened his eyes, rose slowly from the chair Had it been so long ago they worked as one? For his part, there was Lady, Perdita, Mr. Smee, The years went by, mostly for the best, Still, age and time lurked closely 'round the bend The Disney shop had strayed into bad ways,
There was no doubt an artist was in bloom;
A brilliant weaver on animation's loom,
Entrancing viewers across the silver screen.
Through it all, his pencil, sturdy as a shield
Drew steadily; more genius was revealed
Even in those times of disarray.
Were born from him, and so his legend grew.
Beside him, eight great Disney artists who
Made animation greater than before.
Eric Larson, Marc Davis, Ward Kimball,
John Lounsberry; the others, minds and fingers nimble:
Woolie Reitherman, Les Clark, and Milt Kahl
His "Nine Old Men" this cadre soon became
Their names now ring with everlasting fame
While works of lesser men have turned to dust.
And to the window he was drawn again.
Memories of the Nine Old Men
Came vividly, as if the men were there.
Even though they sometimes had disputes,
They had a common goal, so resolute
To make their films creative, colorful, and fun.
Three good fairies, and of course, Baloo --
He and Frank both had much work to do;
They wrote a book to seal their legacy
Walt passed on and left the Nine in charge
Though the challenges and tasks loomed large
The animators conquered every test
Rufus the cat, his final crowning feat
Was self-caricature and sparkling treat
As the master animator neared the end
One day, while drawing Fox and Hound,
He took one last and loving look around,
And ended there his animating days.
III.
Here a tightness came unto his throat. Lounsberry was the first, who gave life to Pluto Pup; Within two years the Nine Old Men were four As if to reach for immortality, The new millennium was less than kind, So many others, lost along the way -- Natwick and Culhane, who worked with him,
A tear appeared, to limn his ancient eye.
So many friends to leave his side, to die
Turning into memories remote.
Les Clark was the next of Disney's men.
Death rested six years before it struck again,
Reitherman's years on Earth were then used up.
Although Frank Thomas yet survived,
It seemed that only he and Ollie thrived;
Kahl and Larson passed on through Death's door
Frank and he wrote yet another book,
And gave history a long, fond look,
Appearing in a jolly documentary.
Taking those who shared his long and happy life.
Kimball, Davis, and Marie, his loving wife,
Then Frank left his days on Earth behind.
Geniuses from other studios
Animation lost a host of those,
Leaving him a relic of his day.
Clampett, Jones, and Freleng, Tex and Lantz
One by one departed Life's long dance
The leading lights were growing ever dim.
He felt despair, but it was only brief; Computers had replaced the humble cel Those who practice now this wizardry And as he looked again into the street -- What is age? 'Tis only years gone past Whenever children found true joy, it seems Martin "Dr. Toon" Goodman is a longtime student and fan of animation. He lives in Anderson, Indiana.
Although retired, he never left his joys --
Animation's future brought new toys
And in this wonder he had found relief.
Digital images shining sharp and bright
It seemed a whole new world had come to light
The pencil was replaced by the pixel.
All bowed to him, this wisest sage
That still advised them in this modern age,
A master of unequalled artistry.
Here an Ariel, an Aladdin, there a Belle --
He thought back on the art he served so well,
Accomplishments that time cannot defeat.
What is time? Very much the same --
But lasting genius, true enduring fame
Transcends both forever, and so he knew at last
And one remained a child in one's heart
His life had played a most important part --
The illusion of life to countless, happy dreams.
Links:
[1] http://www.awn.com/imagepicker/image/13795
[2] http://www.awn.com/imagepicker/image/13796
[3] http://www.awn.com/imagepicker/image/13797