We looked and we saw him step in on the mat.
In the annals of American History March 2nd is not the most noticeable of dates. It can be claimed as the birthday of both Desi Arnaz and Mikhail Gorbachev and, for those whose tastes run somewhat darker, it’s the day cowboy actor Randolph Scott died.
Of course, if we Americans were truly students of history, March 2nd would have more meaning: in 1923 the first issue of Time Magazine rolled off the presses. On that same date in 1927, Babe Ruth was listed as the highest paid player in baseball (he earned $70,000 that year) in 1933, King Kong premiered at the Radio City Music Hall.
In 1950 Silly Putty was invented. Fourteen years later, the Beatles would film “A Hard Day’s Night” and in 1974 a federal grand jury would conclude President Nixon was involved in Watergate.
Still, even these events don’t accurately portray the importance of March 2nd.
For that, you must jump back to 1904, where, in Springfield Massachusetts, a young child was born to a family of second-generation German immigrants.
Named after his grandfather, and his mother (her maiden name) he would be called “Ted” around the house. Though, legally, he was Theodor Seuss Geisel. (Years later, while attending Dartmouth, he would supply himself with a Doctorate Degree, co-op his mother’s maiden name and become Dr. Seuss.)
Dr. Seuss. For millions he is known as the author of 47 silly, irreverent (and very funny) children’s books.
Dr. Seuss. For others, he was a subversive who destroyed children’s literature and sought to impose his “liberal views” on the rest of society.
Dr. Seuss. To a select few, he was the childlike friend down the road who loved a vodka martini and enjoyed composing bawdy limericks.
Yet few people really know the real Dr. Seuss.
Seuss’ literary career spanned five decades, included a Pulitzer Price, and yet, he was considered “an average” student at Dartmouth. He attended Oxford University, but never actually won his Doctorate—he just appropriated the title.
He spent years traveling throughout the country promoting reading (and his books), yet he was painfully shy and absolutely hated public appearances.
He was loved by children across the globe, yet he was not particularly fond of anyone under 21 and, never had children of his own.
Today, almost a decade after his death, Seuss is still one of the most recognized authors in the country and, unlike many others, can claim that all of his work remains in print.
But Theodor Seuss Geisel didn’t start out to write children’s books.
During college he served as the humor editor of Dartmouth’s humor magazine, Jack-O-Lantern, supplying drawings and verse.
After marrying his college sweetheart, Seuss struggled at Oxford, dropped out, traveled to France and then returned to the United States seeking work. In the late 20s, he settled in New York and began circulating amongst the advertising agencies and publishing houses.
He got his first real break in 1927 when the Saturday Evening Post purchased a cartoon for $25. Ted signed his work simply, “Seuss” but the editors of the Post added the line, “Drawn by Theodor Seuss Geisel.
It was not an auspicious beginning.
During the late 1920s’ Seuss and his new bride would struggle to make ends meet. And while he had some limited success penning cartoons for the Post and the conservative magazine, Judge, it wasn’t until Seuss signed on with the Standard Oil Company that he got his first taste of real success.
Late in 1928 Seuss penned a cartoon showing a nigh in armor sprawled in his bed as a snarling dragon loomed over him. “Darn it all,” the knight says, “another dragon. And just after I’d sprayed the whole castle with Flit.”
Flit, a bug spray made by Standard, was looking for an advertising campaign.
And, then there was fate.
The wife of the advertising executive who handled the Flit account happened to see Seuss’ cartoon at her hairdressers and urged her husband to call Seuss and sign him.
According to the story (told by Seuss, himself) this hairdresser wasn’t even the woman’s regular. Her regular hairdresser was booked that day and she went someplace else. “Her regular hairdresser was much ritzier and would have never had a copy of Judge in his salon,” Seuss would tell friends.
Whatever the reason, Seuss’ simple cartoon would land him a seventeen-year advertising contract. Seuss even coined the tag-line, “Quick, Henry, the Flit.”
The decision proved to be an astute one for Standard Oil. America embraced Seuss’ campaign—including parodies, songs and the occasional mention by comedians Jack Benny or Fred Allen—and Flit sales increased wildly.
Seuss’ only criticism was a warning by his agency that sometimes his bugs “were too loveable to kill.” The contract allowed Seuss the chance to create more and his work appeared in Life, Liberty and even Vanity Fair.
His sales would continue through the Great Depression. “It wasn’t the greatest pay,” he would tell friends, “but it covered my overhead so I could experiment with my drawings.”
Seuss, who had added Standard’s Essolube 5-Star motor oil, to his list of clients would create a whole new menagerie of creates including the Karbo-Knockus and the Moto-Raspus. With this list—and his career—growing, Seuss began to find new creative outlets for his drawings.
In 1931, Viking Press offered Seuss a contact to illustrate a collection of children’s sayings called Boners. The book, a reprint of a British best-seller, sold well in America and, for a while, led the New York Times nonfiction best-seller list. A sequel followed and Seuss got his first taste of publishing for children.
Later, in 1935, Seuss developed a comic strip for the Hearst Newspaper group, called “Hejji By Dr. Seuss.” Set in the mythical land of Baako, the strip struggled and after three weeks, ended when a telephone call by William Randolph Hearst ordered Seuss’ editor to “fire the last three people he had hired.”
And so, Seuss was let go.
But fate was waiting.
In 1938 Seuss and his wife, returned from an extended vacation. With the rhythm of the ship’s engine still ringing in his ears, Seuss penned a story about a young boy walking home and telling and somewhat exaggerated tale of what he saw.
The result was entitled, A story no one can beat.
And it was rejected by 27 different publishers.
Most told Seuss that his tale was “too different.” Or that it didn’t have a “moral or a message to help children grow up and be good citizens.”
Seuss, who felt that children should be allowed to read for the joy of it, grew disheartened. In fact, after the 27th rejection he bundled he book up and headed home to “burn the manuscript.”
But fate, again, held the upper hand.
On his way down Madison Avenue, he encountered an friend from college, who just hours before, had been named the children’s editor of Vanguard Press.
The pair struck up a conversation and, Seuss’ book was purchased. However, instead of bring printed with the title A story no one can beat, the book saw life as And to think that I saw it on Mulberry Street.
Dr. Seuss had found his calling.
Although briefly sidetracked by World War II, where dabbled as an editorial cartoonist and then, later, produced animated films with Bugs Bunny director Chuck Jones, Seuss continued his efforts for children.
In fact, over the next 50 years, Seuss would pen books that delighted both children and adults. In the 1955, William Spauldin, the director Houghton Mifflin’s education division, hit Seuss with a proposal: write a children’s book using only 225 words that could read by six- and seven-year-old.
It took Seuss a year, and, as he described, “a great deal of getting mad as blazes and throwing the manuscript across the room” before the book was finished
But by the spring of 1957, The Cat in the Hat set the critics on their collective ears. One critic called in the “most influential first-grade reader since McGuffey” and others declared it a “harum-scarum masterpiece…a gift of the art of reading.”
Seuss was off and running and the book publishing industry never looked back.
From the Cat in the Hat, to Yertle the Turtle, Seuss continued to amaze his audience. As his prominence as an author grew he continued to tackle more difficult subjects—including protection of the environment and nuclear war.
In between, he managed to get in a barb at disgraced President Nixon (Marvin K. Mooney Will You Please Go Home!) and write a new Christmas classic, How the Grinch Stole Christmas.
Seuss would also take readers On Beyond Zebra, give them control of both a circus and the zoo and write a sequel to the Cat in the Hat.
Still, despite his success, Seuss’ home life was far different that the riotous books he penned.
Though he had written dozens of best-selling books, created a Christmas classic, and founded Beginner Books (which continues to this day), Seuss’ continual battle with bleak periods of depression, and his wife, Helen’s, struggle with her health, took their toll on the couple.
Then, in October of 1967, Helen Seuss took more than 200 sodium pentobarbital capsules and ended her life. Seuss retreated into his study and channeled his grief in the only way he knew how: his work.
A few years later, Seuss would remarry family friend Audry Dimond and, for another 30 years, continue to dominate the field of children’s literature.
The good doctor would inspire (and often publish) upcoming authors like Stan and Jan Bernstein and Maurice Sendak and then go on to win a Pulitzer Prize.
By the 1980s Seuss had become a celebrity (abiet a reluctant one) in his own right, leaving a permanent mark on American society.
Then, on September 24, 1991, the magic ended and Theodore Seuss Giesel, 87, died quietly at his home in California.
The world would mourn for days and NASA, in tribute, would name is unmanned deep spacecraft the Delta Relay Solar Electric Utility Spacecraft or DRSEUS.
However, not even death could still the Seuss spirit. Even today, Seuss’ work is prevalent. His animated Grinch is replayed yearly, while a feature-length remake hit the theaters in 2000.
Yet, perhaps, the most telling aspect of the Seuss legacy is his printed work. Today, in schools, homes and libraries across the globe, whole sections of shelves sag under the weight to Seuss’ work.
Or, as one librarian said, “We’ve had them for years. They’re worn, dog-eared and they still fly off the shelves.”
Will Seuss continue to withstand the test of time?
Sure.
This year marks his 120th anniversary and Seussical, the Musical is playing through the Americas while sales his collected works continue to outpace many living authors.
Perhaps that’s why March 2nd should be important—to remind us that we can find joy in the silly, subversive sayings of the good Doctor.
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