Remember to tell us your favorite Post cover for our “Reader Favorites” series. The first “Reader’s Favorite Rockwells” begins next week! Email letters@satevepost.org and include your name, along with the title and date or just a good description of your favorite piece.

Armor

Rockwell visited the Higgins Armory Museum in Worcester, Massachusetts, and came away with an idea for this 1962 Post cover. He recreates the setting with remarkable accuracy, except for two key elements: the guard eating his lunch and the hungry horse eyeballing him were strictly out of Rockwell famous imagination. Proof indeed that an artist’s mind can be a strange place, but it does show Rockwell thinking outside the box (or perhaps, outside the ol’ swimming hole). Additionally, the sumptuous display was an ideal setting for his passion for reproducing intricate details.

The Bridge Game

“I have two radio bridge programs,” wrote a reader from Oregon in 1948, and “ever since the appearance of your May 15th issue, I’ve been swamped with mail asking what I think the redhead with the gardenia should do.” (note: in Letters to Editor July 3, 1948, page 8)

If you think Rockwell was a stickler for details, you should get a bridge player started! Many wrote in to say what the redhead should do, citing percentages and probabilities.

The idea for the painting had been fermenting in the artist’s brain for three years, with Post Art Editor Ken Stuart clipping and sending him bridge cartoons to prod him. Rockwell finally did deal the cards, with the assistance of a bridge expert, and produced this delightful painting done from a most difficult perspective.

Circus Artist

Borrowing the “wild-woman” banner for this carnival scene may not seem a big deal, but having two merry-go-round horses weighing in at 365 pounds each shipped to his Vermont studio was, well, for Rockwell, not that unusual, either. “If a convoy rolled into Arlington, Vermont,” claimed Post editors in this 1947 issue, “bearing a stuffed whale, a cast-iron deer and a grandfather clock,” townsfolk would simply point and say, “Rockwell’s house is up that way.” The artist didn’t let much stop him when it came to props, and indeed, the rest of the world was happy to fall in line. “We came home from church one Sunday and he was closing our front door,” former Rockwell model, Mary Whalen Leonard, recently told us. “He said, ‘Oh, I was hoping you wouldn’t catch me! I was up this morning early and I know I had seen this little picture and I thought it was in your house, so I just wandered around and looked through your cupboards.’” He described it to Mary’s mother who simply said, “Oh no, that’s at Ann Marsh’s.” Rockwell replied, “All right, I’ll go to the Marsh’s,” and bade them good day.

The Connoisseur

Forty-six years after his first Post cover, Rockwell embraced modern art. “I attended some classes in modern art techniques. I learned a lot and loved it.”

And he had fun playing Jackson Pollock for this 1962 cover (the scrawled red “JP” in the upper right is a tribute to Pollock). He put the canvas on the floor, dipping into paints and splashing them far and wide. It happened that a worker was painting the windows of his studio, and the artist invited him to help. The man climbed to the top of a ladder and obligingly dumped a can of white paint on the canvas below. One can’t help but wonder whatever happened to the laborer who actually helped Norman Rockwell paint a Post cover! As for whatever happened to the original “Rockwell-Pollock,” it is in the private collection of a gentleman named Steven Spielberg.

The Post has a larger-than-life version of Rockwell’s The Connoisseur in our Indianapolis headquarters. Check it out here.

First Flower

On a blustery March day a man excitedly spies that first crocus peeking through. The man is Gene Pelham, who as a youth had met Rockwell and occasionally modeled for him while living in New Rochelle, New York.

But in 1938, Marcy Kennedy Knight writes in the March/April 2013 issue of the Post, Pelham moved from New York, filled with visions of a country life. When settled, he dreamed of doing some farming in Arlington, Vermont. But a funny thing happened on the way to his dream. Knight writes that Pelham was in his yard one day when a man seeking directions pulled into his driveway and rolled down his window. Pelham looked up and “was amazed to see none other than Rockwell behind the wheel. ‘Norman? What are you doing here?’ he asked.”

What the artist was doing was moving to Arlington too. “Rockwell was delighted to find Pelham living in Arlington when he and his family arrived, and soon hired him as his studio assistant,” Ron Schick writes in Norman Rockwell: Behind the Camera. Pelham “built props, prepared canvases, wrangled models, and was himself a versatile and expressive model,” continues Schick. “The relationship was mutually beneficial: Pelham grew as an illustrator as he learned from his mentor, and Rockwell gained from Pelham’s considerable range of talents.”

Plumbers

Plumbers was one of Rockwell’s most entertaining covers. Pelham (right) and Rockwell’s apprentice Don Winslow are typecast as Laurel and Hardy like characters cutting up in a fancy boudoir, much to the confusion of the Pekingese to the right. Rockwell’s passion for detail works a wonderful contrast between the room with it’s floral wallpaper and frilly vanity and the laborer with their dirty hands and well-used tools. There’s a good chance that Pelham was the one who located the tools. He was key to acquiring props for the artist.

“Dad never threw anything away,” Pelham’s daughter Melinda said in a recent Post interview. “Norman would get these things and say, ‘Here, Gene, take this. I don’t want it.’ I think that’s why he liked my dad so much because my dad could always come up with whatever it was he needed.”

Melinda has had fun over the years, looking at Rockwell’s paintings and recognizing various items. “A lot of the props he would drag from our house. Sometimes I see things in Post covers that are either things I had or someone in my family had.” For example, in Rockwell’s 1943 April Fool cover Melinda recognized the table (“it was my grandmother’s”), the chairs, and the clock that she still owns today.

A more famous prop was Rockwell’s chair, depicted in the cover Blank Canvas. After many years of use, the artist threw the chair out, but Pelham retrieved it and took it home. “Dad used it when he did his own painting,” from then on Melinda told us. And who wouldn’t? After all, America’s favorite illustrator created many iconic images while sitting in that old seat.

New Chair

“My father was a landscape painter mostly,” Melinda says. “My mother used to say ‘You should paint more,’ but he didn’t.” Although he did a “few covers for the Post and Collier’s,” it was difficult to make a living at commercial illustration. The competition was great for magazine and advertisement art, and there was certainly no competing with Rockwell, who was at the pinnacle in these venues. Besides, Melinda says, “Norman kept him busy.”

By the time Pelham created this colorful 1942 cover, it was apparent that his move to Vermont’s countryside was the beginning of a trend. That February, the Post noted another of their illustrators, Mead Schaeffer, had “joined Norman Rockwell and Gene Pelham at Arlington, Vermont, in what promises to become a Post art colony.” They were prophetic words, for the tiny town would soon boast fellow cover artists John Atherton and George Hughes. These renowned illustrators socialized and consulted each other on their projects. We can see the influence of Hughes’ humorous everyday situations and Rockwell’s sense of fun in Pelham’s beleaguered moving man.

The Babysitter

We would like to say that no babies were harmed in the making of this classic Rockwell cover, but the baby may disagree. During Melinda’s first modeling job, as the crying infant in The Babysitter, the artist and photographer couldn’t get her to cry, so someone stuck her foot with a pin. “My mother told me she always felt terrible about that, but it was what it was.”

“Obviously I was too small to remember anything,” she says. “But somewhere I have a photograph of me that Dad took … and I can see my mother’s image. She’s standing and I’m looking at her, and I am sort of looking sad like, ‘Oh, help me!’” Like many illustrators of the period, Rockwell began by painting live models. But around the mid 1930s, he used photography to capture the scene he would sketch out for a painting, calling the model back if necessary.

The Babysitter shows Rockwell’s ability to capture a dizzying array of details, making it one of those paintings where viewers may pick up something new each time they look at it. And still Melinda brought a fresh detail to our attention: “There’s a pin, an actual pin in the painting. The pin is in the diaper that’s hanging over the chair. He put it right through the canvas, he didn’t paint that in there.” It’s a delightful bit of Rockwell whimsy we were unaware of. Melinda has another viewpoint: “When I found out that I was stuck by a pin and I look at that painting, I wonder if that was the pin that did the deed and then he put it in the picture,” she says, laughing.

Despite the prickly offense, Melinda has a good sense of humor about the situation. In fact, she says she (along with the model baby sitter, Lucille Towne Holton) got involved in keeping the painting where the artist wanted it to be. Rockwell gave the original to the sixth graders of Taft Elementary in Burlington, Vermont, in memory of a student who died of leukemia. The school closed in 1978, and the painting was stored in a local bank. In 1995 appraisers determined it would be worth about $300,000. This was welcome news to the cash-strapped school system, which considered an auction. Former classmates protested and were offered an alternative: raise $300,000 and the painting would remain in town. Many townspeople got involved, and Melinda reports, “We raised the funds and it stays forevermore! It’s at the Fleming Museum; and every time my granddaughter goes there, she says, ‘That’s my grandmother!’ She gets a kick out of it.”

Rockwell Ads

We first saw Melinda on a recent episode of Antiques Roadshow, where she was having Rockwell artifacts appraised, including a print of this 1950 Du Mont TV ad featuring her at about age 5. The print was accompanied by a note addressed to her father: “…to reimburse your daughter for the long session of posing. Give her my thanks for helping me out. Sincerely, Norman.” We called to ask her about her memories of the artist.

“I do remember him! I remember very well,” Melinda says, although she was only about 5 or 6 when he moved away from her small town in Vermont. “My sister always says to me, ‘I don’t know how you remember all that, I don’t remember these things.’ Maybe I just paid more attention or maybe I just have a different brain. And my sister didn’t pose for him that often.”

What she remembers was a kind man with a fondness for Cokes. This was a treat because soft drinks were limited to “special occasions” at home. But Rockwell had a Coke machine and the models could help themselves on breaks.

Melinda also recalls that Rockwell was particular about the pose he wanted for this ad. “He was very detailed in the way he wanted you to sit,” she says. And sit she did, for 15 hours. The time “would be broken up,” Melinda says, “so he might be working with the boy or the dog, and they didn’t need me” for a while. She remembers the artist’s wife Mary Rockwell who “would take me into the house so I wasn’t just sitting in the studio all that time. She was great about leaping into the breach. I can remember getting a dish of ice cream.”

“It was a long day,” Melinda says, “but Mary took me on a walk. I remember we walked down the back road, and it was a dirt road that ran along the river. And I remember picking ferns with her and then we went back to her garden and got some zinnias.” Melinda’s mother was laid up with an injury at this time, “and I brought her home this bouquet of flowers that Mary had ‘helped’ me put together. She did it all herself, I was very small, but I remember picking the ferns. She was really very sweet. She was a lovely lady. I have very fond memories of being there as a child.”

Blank Canvas

Painting and drawing appraiser Alasdair Nichol was a bit surprised when Melinda also brought a chair to his table at the Antiques Roadshow, suspecting she had been sent to the wrong area. But when Melinda explained that the chair had belonged to Norman Rockwell and had been depicted in the iconic 1938 cover we see here, he understood. Rockwell’s photographer, Gene Pelham (Melinda’s dad), took the chair after the artist threw it out.

“Dad never threw anything away,” Melinda says. He would salvage discards or “Norman would get these things and say, ‘Here, Gene, take this. I don’t want it.’ Norman was not a hoarder or collector, I don’t think, unless it was something he felt he would need in the long run for paintings—costumes and things.”

But the salvaged chair was special. “To think of the amazing paintings that he did when he was sitting in this chair,” appraiser Nichol said. To see how the cast away chair was evaluated, we have a link to the appraisal, courtesy of the Antiques Roadshow.

Thank you to the Antiques Roadshow for the link to the episode featuring Melinda and to the Norman Rockwell Museum for their assistance in contacting her.

“War Stories”

A number of Rockwell Post covers have become iconic — classics we all recognize right away. Some of the wartime covers we show you here may be some of the illustrator’s finest work, yet they are seldom seen. We view them this Memorial Day weekend to honor those who have served and those who serve today.

“War Stories”

A war hero, holding a Japanese flag, has tales of war to tell, and clearly the memories are not light, the retelling not boastful, and the life-altering experiences he relates are riveting. The news article on the wall shows that the soldier is a local hero. The model was not a former garage employee, but was indeed a decorated Marine named Duane Parks. Rockwell found him in Dorset, Vermont. The other models were, as usual, Arlington, Vermont neighbors of the artist. The man with the pipe leaning in to listen was the owner of the garage, Bob Benedict. The man posing as the policeman was Arlington town clerk and newspaper editor. The young boys Rockwell found even closer to home: the boy sitting next to the Marine was his youngest son, Peter, and the blond boy to the right was his oldest son, Jerry. They, along with brother Tommy, appeared on many a Rockwell canvas.

“The Armchair General”

Tracing each advance and retreat is more than an interesting pastime with this gentleman. The service flag with three stars indicates he has that number of sons serving. May the stars remain forever blue, for a gold star represents a serviceman who will not return home. With his customarily remarkable eye for detail, Rockwell shows a tiny photo of each boy by the flag, photos of generals MacArthur and Eisenhower, a wall map, and an old-fashioned radio.

“The Clubhouse Examination”

Going back to 1917, Rockwell shows us a different kind of “recruitment center.” Even on tiptoe, our would-be soldier doesn’t measure up to the “nesissary hite.” The “recrooter,” decked out in a combination scout/soldier attire, was one of Rockwell’s favorite early models, Billy Paine. Alas, boys sometimes do foolish things in real life and Paine died at age thirteen doing a stunt from a second-story window. He was in fifteen Rockwell Post covers.

“Fisk WWI Soldier – Youth’s Companion” by creator

We found a couple of boxes of a publication called The Youth’s Companion in the archives recently. This was a children’s magazine published in Boston from 1827-1929. By happy accident, we noticed this Rockwell ad for something called “Fisk Boys Club” from a 1917 issue. Rockwell numbered Fisk Tires among his many advertising clients. What was the Fisk Boy’s Club? It was a way for youngsters to participate in the war effort:

They are not old enough to go to the front–but they make themselves useful and their labors in bicycle patrols, delivering messages, Red Cross assistants and so on are excellent training in discipline and character building that develops manly and honorable young men.

“Home at Last”

Back to post-WWII for a restful snooze in a hammock on a quiet, sun-dappled afternoon — who could wish for more for our loved ones returning home?

Rockwell was a borrower for this painting. He borrowed the sailor, soon to return to the Navy, from Williams College. The sailor’s uniform was borrowed from a shipmate, as he didn’t have the decorations on his own. The house was borrowed from a neighbor; the hammock from another neighbor. Rockwell borrowed the pooch from his son, Tommy. The shoes were not borrowed however — they belonged to the artist.

 

“Spring was on the land, and the benignant Vermont sun, having penetrated every other nook and cranny in the town of Manchester, presently made its way into a certain quiet room where six men and one woman sat around a long, plain table. Then, in the following order, came: The song of birds, the fragrance of flowers, and—-Norman Rockwell.

“The last of these three, it developed, wanted something. The ration board, having never had a visitor who didn’t, evinced no surprise. In Rockwell’s case, however, the desideratum was none of the things the rest of us try to wheedle out of our ration boards.

“’What I would like,’ said America’s favorite artist, ‘is the privilege of painting pictures of all you board members.’” – From The Saturday Evening Post, July 15, 1944

 

The board agreed to the painting as long as the artist made them look good.

“If I do,” he bargained, “will you give me a B card?” (A sticker deeming your car essential to the war effort and thereby entitled to a whopping eight gallons of gasoline a week.)

“No, but if you don’t, they said, “we’ll take away you’re A card.” (Allowing you four gallons of fuel.)

As it happened, the artist painted himself into the scene. At left you see a man standing before the board to plead his case, and sitting, observing, is the artist.

How did citizens take to having to appeal to a local board for the right to purchase necessities? “We are about as popular as tax collectors,” wrote Joe M. Dawson in 1943. Dawson served on a Manhattan ration board and described one rather hefty lady who, “despite her coquettish hat and giddy perfume, was quite angry. She had made four trips to the ration board demanding extra gasoline, and each time we decided she was not entitled to it. “I’m an American citizen,” she exploded, waving a scarlet-tipped finger under my nose,” Dawson wrote in “Life on A Ration Board” in The Saturday Evening Post, “You can’t do this to me. I’ve written to that man Henderson; I’ve written to the President. If you don’t give me my gasoline, I’ll write to Uncle Sam!”

“Most people understand it isn’t our fault, and that we give our time and energy without pay, but it is human nature to personalize the irritations and troubles; so we get cussed out anyway,” Dawson wrote in the 1943 Post story. But the good people of the boards felt it was a way to serve the war efforts. “Despite the headaches, it has paid me ample dividends, not only in the satisfaction of doing a necessary job but also in humor, and a fascinating insight into my fellow man which I would not have got any other way. Everybody likes to watch and know about his neighbors, and a job on the board is a front-row seat.”

These words reflect what Norman Rockwell was doing at a Vermont ration board a few months later. He knew he was sketching a unique spectacle, not seen before in America. No one knew how long this experience would last or if it would happen again. But it was a part of American history he knew he should capture.

 

 

For more on this subject see the Post‘s articles by Jeff Nilsson:

“Living for Less in America” and “Family Life in Wartime.”

To learn more about ration coupons, we also recommend The Ames (Iowa) Historical Society.

Classic Art: Rockwell Visits a Ration Board The Saturday Evening Post

]]> http://www.saturdayeveningpost.com/2012/05/17/art-entertainment/rockwell-visits-a-ration-board-2.html/feed 0 http://www.saturdayeveningpost.com/2012/05/11/art-entertainment/norman-rockwell-ad-man.html?utm_source=rss&utm_medium=rss&utm_campaign=norman-rockwell-ad-man http://www.saturdayeveningpost.com/2012/05/11/art-entertainment/norman-rockwell-ad-man.html#comments Fri, 11 May 2012 13:30:19 +0000 Diana Denny http://www.saturdayeveningpost.com/?p=58017 Did you know that Norman Rockwell sold everything from socks to insurance? Like most hard-working artists, Rockwell illustrated advertisements.

Classic Ads: Norman Rockwell, Ad Man The Saturday Evening Post

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Allen A Hosiery
from February 9, 1924

Landing a Saturday Evening Post cover was the pinnacle of success for illustrators in the early to mid-1900s. But scoring a big advertising account was important to illustrators, too. Like most Post cover artists, Norman Rockwell painted a great deal of advertisements.

Allen A Hosiery Advertisement
from February 9, 1924

You know how hard boys are on their stockings. That is, back when they wore stockings. This delightful ad from 1924 with a classroom setting insists that “sturdy boys won’t scuff through” these hose. In the 20s, knickers were worn until age 13 or 14, and getting those first long pants was a major rite of passage.

Mazda Lamp Ad
from July 10, 1920

This appealing family scene is from a 1920 ad for Edison Lamp Works. Showing how much electric light adds to our lives, the text waxes poetic: “from the first candle of youth to the twilight of life, the moments that mean most are etched in memory by the glow of a lamp.” Advertisements today show the work of some outstanding photographers, but it is difficult to imagine a photo as engaging as a Rockwell painting.

Interwoven Socks Advertisement
from November 18, 1922

Rockwell’s turkey-hunting pilgrim from Thanksgiving 1922 is an ad for, of all things, Interwoven Socks. Our guess is that the pilgrims weren’t blessed with this brand of men’s hosiery. According to the ad, though, Interwoven Socks were something to be thankful for.

Little Girl with Jell-O
from May 17, 1924

Like The Saturday Evening Post, Jell-O has been around for eons, and this adorable ad by Rockwell is from 1924. A master at depicting boys (see first ad above), Rockwell felt he wasn’t very good at painting little girls. We have to disagree: the girl, her dress, her Mary Jane shoes, and the pretty dolly combine to make this one a treasure.

Arrow Shirts Advertisement
from April 6, 1929

Arrow Shirt ads were normally associated with artist J.C. Leyendecker, who was as famous for his elegant advertisements for the famous shirts as he was for his Post covers. Thus, we were surprised to find this Arrow Shirt ad from 1929 illustrated by Leyendecker’s friend, Norman Rockwell. If you think a female pilot is a bit fanciful, think again. There were women pilots as early as 1910.

Listerine Advertisement
from January 31, 1931

A tow-headed boy, that faithful dog, and a kindly old doctor — it doesn’t get any more Rockwell than this. The artwork is worthy of a Post cover, but it’s an ad for Listerine mouthwash from 1931.

Mass Mutual Advertisement
from May 13, 1961

Daddy’s home! And dad was busy all day showing other dads “how to be certain there will be the money for college when his kids need it” and assisting in retirement planning. At retirement age himself, Norman Rockwell was still painting Post covers and churning out drawings for major advertising clients like Massachusetts Mutual Life Insurance Company.

Classic Ads: Norman Rockwell, Ad Man The Saturday Evening Post

]]> http://www.saturdayeveningpost.com/2012/05/11/art-entertainment/norman-rockwell-ad-man.html/feed 3 http://www.saturdayeveningpost.com/2012/03/22/art-entertainment/rockwell-in-the-40s-the-ladies.html?utm_source=rss&utm_medium=rss&utm_campaign=rockwell-in-the-40s-the-ladies http://www.saturdayeveningpost.com/2012/03/22/art-entertainment/rockwell-in-the-40s-the-ladies.html#comments Thu, 22 Mar 2012 13:00:03 +0000 Diana Denny http://www.saturdayeveningpost.com/?p=53727 From glamour girls to charwomen, Rockwell had a way with the ladies in the 1940s. Well, a way of depicting them, anyway.

Rockwell Ladies in the 1940s The Saturday Evening Post

]]> Rockwell, of course, painted so much more than kids. In his fourth decade with the Post, he painted some memorable covers of the fair sex. Some look like “Rockwells” (“The Charwomen” and “First Gown,” for example) and some will surprise you.

“Fixing a Flat” by Norman Rockwell

August 6, 1946

How to put together a cover for The Saturday Evening Post: First, get an idea and run it by the art director for approval. Second, find the setting for the scene. Locating a ramshackle cabin in Vermont proved difficult, so Rockwell found a nicely kept hunting lodge and, to say the least, took liberties.

Next, borrow a couple of goats from a neighbor. Finally, choose your models. The lazy, good-for-nothing onlooker on the porch was a friend of the artist who was nothing like the shiftless character portrayed here. The young ladies were daughters of friend and fellow cover artist, Mead Schaeffer. And the landscape? It sprang from the imagination and palette of the artist. “You just couldn’t make it look like Vermont,” Rockwell said, “because in Vermont, they’d yelp.”

“Convention” by Norman Rockwell

May 3, 1941

Rockwell liked faces with “character,” so this pretty young lass is atypical of his models. The scene is somewhat atypical as well—a big city convention. First jobs often consist of being a babysitter or a soda jerk, but a coat rack? Can she remember which black umbrella went with which gentleman?

“The Charwomen” by Norman Rockwell

April 6, 1946

Certainly Rockwell was loved for his paintings of children, but what other illustrator would think of painting two elderly charwomen? Typical Rockwell touches include the minute detail of the patterns on the aprons, a well-worn mop handle, and an environment less than “perfect”—a little debris here and there. That was part of Rockwell’s brilliance—so many artists “cleaned up” the setting, even of kids playing outside.

The ladies in question were well-respected neighbors of the artist, who had reservations about posing as cleaning ladies. Rockwell convinced them they were only acting, and they played their roles very well. They were delighted with the result and said they would pose any time without arguing about the roles to be played. It wasn’t always thus. One matron was “Rockwellized” as a portly maid and never spoke to him again.

“The Flirts” by Norman Rockwell

July 26, 1941

A gorgeous blonde in a convertible? How can it not be love at first sight? Stopped at a red light (which we see reflected in the truck’s mirror), a trucker picks petals to determine if “she loves me” or “she loves me not.” A few questions spring to mind: why did the guy just happen to have a daisy on hand, and how did the lady keep her hat on—never mind her hair perfect—driving an open car? And why, oh why have people complained that this cover is an example of sexual harassment? Oh, please! It’s clearly all in the spirit of fun! (Geez, I thought the blonde in the convertible needed to lighten up…)

Two unique things about this cover: This was the first cover where the artist just used his streamlined initials instead of his full name, and Rockwell played with the masthead as part of the truck signage.

“The Decorator” by Norman Rockwell

March 30, 1940

Another cover that doesn’t look “like a Rockwell.” Hubby’s favorite chair may be in for a bit of spring brightening up, and he may not be pleased with the idea. Or maybe he just wants to enjoy his sports page and pipe in peace.

“First Evening Gown” by Norman Rockwell

March 19, 1949

Far from home in Vermont in late 1948, Rockwell rented a studio while visiting sunny California. Only it wasn’t. That particular winter was rainy, and the poor natural lighting in the studio frustrated the artist to the point that he kept taking this painting into the men’s room to review it in better light. The result, despite the problems, is a delightful bobby soxer checking out her first gown. Somewhere there must be a mother grateful to see the dungarees, loafers and socks disappear, if only for an evening.

Rockwell Ladies in the 1940s The Saturday Evening Post

]]> http://www.saturdayeveningpost.com/2012/03/22/art-entertainment/rockwell-in-the-40s-the-ladies.html/feed 1 http://www.saturdayeveningpost.com/2012/03/16/art-entertainment/rockwell-kids-40s.html?utm_source=rss&utm_medium=rss&utm_campaign=rockwell-kids-40s http://www.saturdayeveningpost.com/2012/03/16/art-entertainment/rockwell-kids-40s.html#comments Fri, 16 Mar 2012 13:00:17 +0000 Diana Denny http://www.saturdayeveningpost.com/?p=51097 Thinking of taking the plunge? That’s exactly why Director Steven Spielberg keeps this Rockwell painting in his office.

Classic Covers: Rockwell Kids of the ’40s The Saturday Evening Post

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“Second Thoughts” from August 16, 1947

"Second Thoughts"
August 16, 1947

Norman Rockwell painted many Saturday Evening Post covers featuring kids in everyday situations, beginning in 1916. Still going strong in the 1940s, the artist remained a master at capturing youth.

“Second Thoughts” from August 16, 1947

"Second Thoughts"
from August 16, 1947

Striving for realism, Rockwell took a long board and stuck it out of a second story window. Then he told son Peter, “I want you to crawl out onto that board and look scared.” Rockwell models became adept at acting a part. Peter was not acting; he was terrified.

“We’re all on diving boards, hundreds of times during our lives,” Steven Spielberg said in a 2010 article in The Oregonian. “Taking the plunge or pulling back from the abyss…is something that we must face. For me, that painting represents every motion picture just before I commit to directing it—just that one moment, before I say, ‘Yes, I’m going to direct that movie.” Hmm, maybe we should all have this one on our walls.

“The Census Taker” from April 27, 1940

"The Census Taker"
from April 27, 1940

In 1790 the U.S. Government decreed that a census be taken every ten years to keep track of the ever-populating land called America. In 1940, this census taker shows up with his big black book to interview an ever-populating housewife. She appears to be much like the old woman who lived in a shoe, with so many children she didn’t know…how to recall all their birth dates. Or perhaps she’s even trying to remember just how many cute little red-haired moppets there are!

“Home From Camp” from August 24, 1940

"Home From Camp"
from August 24, 1940

Just as they do today, droves of youngsters in the 1940s made their way to camps for an outdoor adventure. This particular one came home with everything except the cabin, making it a perfect vehicle for Rockwell’s passion for detail. She seems sad to leave the friends she made and get back to real life, where it remains to be seen if Mom and Dad will go along with the critters she collected.

“Devil May Care” from March 21, 1942

"Devil May Care"
from March 21, 1942

Rockwell and his wife were not blessed with girls, so the artist must have located a young lady’s vanity among his neighbors. The background is even pink to emphasize that this is girl territory. Rockwell did have three boys, however, and this was one of them. If young Tommy Rockwell did have a sister, no doubt the little scamp would be having a ball sneaking a peek at her diary for the juicy stuff.

“Cover Girl” from March 1, 1941

"Cover Girl"
from March 1, 1941

People often call after finding old issues of the Post, thinking they’ve uncovered a gold mine. They often forget that for many decades, it was printed by the millions, and then the would-be nouveau riche take our advice and troll the Internet for sites that sell vintage magazines. They are disappointed to find an issue they thought was old (1940s, for example) may go anywhere from $4.95 to $25.00. On occasion, up to $75.00. With the exception of this issue.

Sure it has an adorable Rockwell cover, but that isn’t why this is the most sought-after issue of the Post. If you can find it, be prepared to pay over $1,000 because of its rarity. And the rarity is because of the groundbreaking Jack Alexander story, “Alcoholics Anonymous.” AA had been showing striking success in the past six years (since its founding in 1935) in achieving sobriety for the “medically helpless.” Thousands of reprints were requested and the article was key to spreading the idea that alcoholism is a disease rather than a character flaw. (Read more about the “Alcoholics Anonymous” article here.)

Groundbreaking story and issue rarity aside, back to our man Rockwell with his Saturday Evening Post cover-within-a-Post-cover. Leave it to Norman to show how yellow socks and scuffed oxfords contrast with perfect make-up and a sophisticated chapeau.

Classic Covers: Rockwell Kids of the ’40s The Saturday Evening Post

]]> http://www.saturdayeveningpost.com/2012/03/16/art-entertainment/rockwell-kids-40s.html/feed 1 http://www.saturdayeveningpost.com/2012/03/09/art-entertainment/rockwell-classics-1940s.html?utm_source=rss&utm_medium=rss&utm_campaign=rockwell-classics-1940s http://www.saturdayeveningpost.com/2012/03/09/art-entertainment/rockwell-classics-1940s.html#comments Fri, 09 Mar 2012 14:00:02 +0000 Diana Denny http://www.saturdayeveningpost.com/?p=50469 You’re going to love our version of Classic Rock! These beloved covers are all from the 1940s.

Rockwell Classics from the 1940s The Saturday Evening Post

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Norman Rockwell “the Artist” – February 13, 1943

Norman Rockwell the Artist
From February 13, 1943

This photo of Rockwell appeared in the Post in 1943. By this time, the man at the easel had been doing Saturday Evening Post covers for twenty-seven years. The forties were a time of humor, anguish, the workplace, and kids being kids. This week: 1940s classics.

“The Gossips” From March 5, 1948

"The Gossips"
From March 5, 1948

A great illustration tells a story, and we all know this tale. Don’t you hate when someone starts a rumor about you? Well, it happened to Rockwell and he didn’t like it one bit. But he had a weapon: a paintbrush and a platform viewed by millions: The Saturday Evening Post cover spot.

It’s fun to look at the expressions: some appalled, some relishing the scandal. Afraid he might offend his neighbors/models (love the lady in curlers and the guy in the bowler hat), Rockwell included his wife and himself among the rumor spreaders. Mary Rockwell is second and third in the middle row and Norman is at the end, first with a “Who? ME?!” expression, then giving what-for to the lady who started it all.

“Rosie the Riveter” From May 29, 1943

"Rosie the Riveter"
From May 29, 1943

We’ll review Rockwell’s covers from the war years soon, but for now—what can be more classic than Rosie the Riveter? With the men fighting the war, women had to step up to the plate and keep factories, farms and offices going at home and this gal looks more than capable. She may have a dirty face, muscles and a crushed copy of Hitler’s “Mein Kampf” under her sensible shoe, but she’s still a girl at heart. A compact and ladylike hanky peak out from one pocket.

“The Babysitter” From November 8, 1947

"The Babysitter"
From November 8, 1947

No babies were harmed in the creation of this cover. In fact, the baby was too darned happy. After some search, Rockwell borrowed a big, strapping baby boy to paint from a neighbor. The artist wanted a big lusty wail, but Post editors inform us that “the baby was as good-natured as a kitten full of milk; he wouldn’t even frown.” The babysitter sat and waited. The artist sat and waited. They gave the boy a cookie and the uncooperative little sod was happier than ever.

Eventually, the tot dropped the cookie and let out a brief yell. Ready with his camera, Rockwell got the shot and had a photo of a squalling kid to paint from so he could finish his artwork. It was the only peep they had out of the baby the whole time.

This is a prime example of Rockwell’s enthusiasm for detail. The attention to the minutiae of the chair pattern and wallpaper is almost enough to make the viewer dizzy. It is easy to miss items like the open geometry book and soft drink the beleaguered lass may never get back to by the lamp. And ever the storyteller, the artist shows us that nearly everything has been tried: rattles, a bottle, a bear, a doll, a coloring book. Let’s hope her booklet, “Hints to the Babysitter,” has something useful to offer—and soon!

“The Three Umpires” From April 23, 1949

"The Three Umpires"
From April 23, 1949

There is a game riding on the weather-related decision these umpires are making. The Pittsburgh Pirates are ahead 1-0 in the sixth inning. The Brooklyn Dodgers, at home here at Ebbets Field, stand to lose if the game is called on account of rain.

Post editors speculated on the conversation between the guys to the right. They figure Brooklyn coach, Clyde Sukeforth, pointing at the sky, is declaring, “You may be all wet, but it ain’t raining a drop!” Whereas the huddled figure of Pittsburgh manager Bill Meyer is probably saying, “For the love of Abner Doubleday, how can we play ball in this cloudburst?”

“The Correct Time” From November 3, 1945

"The Correct Time"
From November 3, 1945

The giant clocks at what was then Marshall Field and Company in Chicago suggested a cover idea to a visiting gentleman named Rockwell. The two massive bronze clocks were electric and controlled by a master, so it was only after a power outage that a workman had to get out the tall ladder, climb the 17 ½ feet and set the hands. It is probably artistic license that this gent is synchronizing the time with his trusty old pocket watch.

For many years, Chicagoans have depended on the time display as they scurry back and forth. Apparently, they weren’t the only ones. To the left and above the 9, Rockwell suggests that the intricate scrollwork was also convenient for birds to build nests.

“The Dugout” From September 4,1948

"The Dugout"
From September 4,1948

Rockwell wasn’t the only artist to paint memorable baseball covers. John Falter’s wonderful cover of Stan the Man and others can be seen in “Great Post Baseball Covers.” But “The Dugout” from 1948 has to be one of Rockwell’s classics. It wasn’t a good year for Chicago baseball, with both the Cubs and the White Sox having a dismal season. This Post cover did nothing to boost the morale of Windy City fans.

At a game in Boston, Rockwell and a Post art editor strode onto the field and chose people to sit above the Cubs’ dugout. The artist would point to a spectator and contort his face into a gleeful or disgusted look asking the fan to emulate him while a photographer snapped them. Later, Rockwell would paint them in, raspberries and all. The happy ones were, not surprisingly, Braves fans: the delighted woman to the left was the daughter of a Braves coach and the lady clutching her hands a few faces over was the wife of a Boston pitcher. (Yes, in 1948, it was the Boston Braves, before they became the Milwaukee Braves, and eventually, the Atlanta Braves.) The Cubbies were actual players (and their manager, second from left in the dugout, living up to his name: Charlie Grimm) and this was an actual Sunday afternoon double header.

Rockwell Classics from the 1940s The Saturday Evening Post

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