Book paints portrait of a celebrated caricaturist
“Hirschfeld: The Biography,” by Ellen Stern (Skyhorse Publishing)
Born in 1903 in St. Louis, he was known as the kid who liked to draw. Because the family was very poor, they flitted from place to place, five in short order. But finally they settled down, after his father abandoned the family, and Al Hirschfeld’s luck changed. At the age of 10, his mother recognized his talent and sent him to a children’s Saturday art class at the University School of Fine Arts, and eventually he enrolled there at the age of 21. He ended up as one of the greatest caricaturists of the 20th Century – some say the greatest. He drew hundreds of sketches each year, 10,000 in all. He died just shy of 100 years of age in 2003. A Broadway theatre is named after him.
When Hirschfeld was 15, his brother – his best buddy – died of bronchopneumonia, one day before a vaccine was discovered. From then on Hirschfeld dreaded illness. But his passion for art didn’t end. By the time he was 18, he was hired as art director for Selznick Pictures, drawing posters for them. And from then on there was no stopping him.
Hirschfeld was quite the globe-trotter. Onward into his 20s, the artist went on thrilling escapades all over Europe, going to Tahiti, Baghdad and Moscow. He met many people on his travels whom he’d eventually draw.
The book’s author, journalist Ellen Stern (“The Very Best from Hallmark,” “Once Upon a Telephone,” “Threads,” and “Gracie Mansion”), gives the reader a stunning menu of the ballyhoo going on in New York City and around the world, describing Hirschfeld in 3D and technicolor.
But Hirschfeld wasn’t just an artist. He also wrote plays and short stories. In short, he was a genius. Bona fide. As with his art, his stories are bold and spirited, somewhat feisty. Nevertheless, the money was not rolling in pre-orpost-1929. The Depression followed him around. He was in Russia and producing “mountains of work,” but his wife saw that their bank balance was $402.10.
Things improved. When he was 40 he drew for six newspapers. The New York Times wanted him to work for them exclusively. He said yes, but they never sent him a contract, so he kept on working at all the papers.
At 42, he became father to a redhead named Nina, and right from the start to herald his daughter, he drew her name in a thin line in every single caricature. People went wild hunting for the name. Hirschfeld called the hunt “a national insanity.” Sometimes there were more than one, bunches of names in fact. Those who have chosen to revere Hirschfeld’s art have enjoyed hunting for his daughter’s name for decades. Nina herself was, apparently, not amused, which didn’t stop the artist.
To draw, Hirschfeld with his massive beard always sat in a barber’s chair specially carried up to his home on 95th Street. Unless he was traveling, he’d produce his black and white sketches (and eventually color, too) in his special chair. He “worked” for seven hours every day, but said, “It’s not work for me. Work is something you don’t like to do.” Nothing distracted him from concentrating on drawing the most famous legends of movie, theater and television, displayed on Broadway posters and in restaurants in New York City and in the production studios of Hollywood.
He also drew U.S. presidents, and was also invited into the boardrooms of the top business moguls around the United States and beyond to draw the captains of industry.
He did more than 100 covers for TV Guide during more than 50 years, his final one being shortly after 9/11 with the nation still grieving. It was a proper American flag and the words “May It Ever Wave” and his signature.
Stern has managed to have the reader fall in love with this somewhat naughty man. She captures how witty he is at every turn. A wild driver, nothing stopped him from parking wherever he pleased in the Broadway area: Find a spot and dump your car there.
It would have been wonderful if a few more sketches had been included in this book, but the reader can surely hunt down more illustrated books of Hirschfeld. In the meantime, the writing in Ellen Stern’s “Hirschfeld” is a delight.