Dick Van Dyke idolized Stan Laurel. They met in the early sixties. Stan declined to be on The Dick Van Dyke Show but watched the episode wherein Van Dyke impersonated him. He later told Van Dyke that it was the best impersonation of him he’d ever seen, but there were a few things he noticed. In the movies, Stan Laurel used paper clips as cuff links. He took the heels off his shoes to alter his walk. And “The hat was a little off.”

“I knew it. Yours and Ollie’s had flat brims. Mine curled slightly. I tried to find one like yours. I even tried ironing the brim on my derby.”

Stan Laurel laughed gently and said, “Young man, why didn’t you just ask me? You could have used mine.”

That’s the kind of guys they were.

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PS: I learned all this today while I was reading Dick Van Dyke: My Lucky Life In and Out of Show Business by Dick Van Dyke. My Steady Girl, Joy, owns the book and has graciously lent it to me. It’s a good read, the more so because the writing seems to be pure, unedited Dick Van Dyke, except, of course, for the Foreword by Carl Reiner.

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The Beatles made a lot of great love music–“Here, There and Everywhere,” “I Will,” “Something,” “I Need You,” and “And I Love Her” spring immediately to mind–but this one has a special place in my heart, which shows you what a sentimental sap I can be. So be it!

The one iconic image that comes to mind when I think of the 70’s is Wonder Woman, that mix of feminism and objectification that invites both celebration and scorn. I’m for celebration, of the lovely and vibrant Lynda Carter, and the prescience of William Moulton Marston, who created Wonder Woman SPECIFICALLY to empower the “Fairer Sex.”

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In the Spring of 1973 I was full of myself, and full of beans as well. (Not much evolvement on either of those fronts has been made.) I was a student at Glendale Community College and my pal Evan Bishop was that year’s editor of its literary magazine, The Traveler. Evan let me inflict my then-meager illustrative talent on the magazine, and I can only hope that not many copies of that misbegotten edition are floating around still. But one drawing, an illustration for a poem about a melting snowman, did have a crude charm. The lady who wrote the poem was happy enough to say, “THAT’S my Snowman!” So I feel as though I achieved some modest success with illustration, even forty-odd years ago.

Today the phrase “snow globe” evoked memories of that snowman, so I brought him back.