Reading and Writing

How did I start on the road to getting a Ph.D.?  Basically, comics and the sports’ section.  They gave me an appreciation for simple stories told well.

The comics, or “jokes” in our house, were a riot of color and humor and adventure every Sunday.  There was Prince Valiant to go with Moon Mullins, Gasoline Alley, Terry and the Pirates and Smilin’ Jack, to say nothing of the surreal Smokey Stover, featuring the fireman with a hinged hat (I think).  If you grew up on these strips, graphic novels aren’t that big a deal.

And then we have Carl Barks.  Who?  Barks was the creator of Uncle Scrooge McDuck, Gladstone Gander and Gyro Gearloose, all of whom lived with Donald Duck in the city of Duckburg; Uncle Scrooge had his Money Bin there.  Barks wasn’t afraid to use the occasional three- and four-syllable word to advance a story, which led me to pick up the dictionary outside of school.  If the folks at Wikipedia are right, Steven Spielberg and George Lucas both claim Barks as an influence.

Of course, I didn’t spend all my time reading comics; I also saved time for the sports’ section.  We were a two-paper family, the Chicago American and Tribune; later came the Sun-Times and Daily News.  The sportswriters I remember most are David Condon and Bill Gleason, though just about anyone else from 1960-1980 employed the same style as those two: subject, verb, object, keep it lively, short and to the point.  Oh, and Harry Shear, because he used the word “Quidnunc” in his column.  It means “gossip,” noun not verb.

I don’t claim to be a good writer, but I know good writing when I read it.  And I don’t know what, if anything, encourages kids to start reading today.  But I’m willing to bet the farm the following sentence will drive the young away from the printed word, unless it appears on their iPhone screen:  “[Bears’ linebacker Christian] Jones has improved his eye discipline against play action.”

A few more years of prose like that, and sports’ journalism will be dead.  No joke.