Marc Tyler Nobleman's Blog, page 2
February 21, 2025
"The New Yorker" at 100 [plus: "Saturday Night Live" at 50, "Survivor" at 25]
One hundred years ago today, my life changed...
That’s the day the first issue of The New Yorker came out.
I wasn’t there, of course.
But when I eventually did come around, the magazine became a consistent influence on me.
It first made my acquaintance in my dentist’s waiting room when I was 15. Already a hardcore comic book and comic strip guy, I was immediately smitten by the single-panel gag cartoons. I couldn’t get enough of them.
I liked the covers, too—alternately wistful, whimsical, or arresting. Almost always transporting. I even got a hefty coffee table book compilation of every cover from 1925 to 1989 and pored over it.
I couldn’t care less about the articles.
While other boys my age hung posters of metal bands and girls in swimsuits, I decorated my room with covers of a magazine that was already a senior citizen.
I continued this into college, at one pointing even taping some on my ceiling; you can catch a glimpse here:
Also in college, I wrote a paper about the journalism and writing style of The New Yorker and drew what I thought were New Yorker-style gags for my college humor mag.
[referencing the then-fairly-fresh-in-mind 1988 movie The Last Temptation of Christ]
I also submitted some of those cartoons to the legendarily competitive New Yorker and was excited to get rejected. Okay, “excited” is the wrong word. It’s just that rejection is closer to acceptance than never trying.
For several years after college, I managed to hold on to the student subscription rate—only $20 a year for a weekly magazine!
I finally noticed the articles in between the cartoons, and read some.
I also attended an event where I got to meet some of the cartoonists and get a book signed. I told Bob Mankoff that my name was “Marc with a ‘c’,” and his response did not miss a b(eat).
In 1998, it was time: I began regularly submitting batches of ten cartoons to the magazine. My strategy: create 100 before sending round 1 so when the inevitable rejection came, I would have enough “inventory” so as not to be deterred. I made copies at Kinko’s and included a SASE. So 20th century.
By 2001, I got to the point where I was invited to come to “Look Day”—the morning once a week [at the time, it was always a Tuesday] when select cartoonists showed their ideas to the cartoon editor at the New Yorker office in person, then went out to lunch as a group to commiserate about all the brilliant ones he passed on. Once in July 2001, then over a four-month period starting in February 2002, I met with Mankoff, then the cartoon editor, 12 intimidating times.
I never sold one, but did get a coveted rejection folder on site. I still kick myself that I never took a photo of it, or of any of the lunch gatherings. [This was all pre-iPhone.]
Those lunches included maybe a couple of others in the 20s-to-40s range and a preponderance of alter kakers who welcomed a wannabe who had not published even a single cartoon in the mag.
I did sell to scores of other publications, so all was not for naught.
I haven’t hung covers in years but I still subscribe to the print edition to save the ones I like.
One day, I’ll submit cartoons again.
And when I do, I will definitely take a photo of my rejection folder.
This same week The New Yorker was toasting its centennial, another Manhattan humor institution was celebrating its 50th: Saturday Night Live. It, too, has had a significant influence on me going back to high school.
Twice for BBYO [Jewish teen youth group] talent shows, my friends and I did our own version of “Weekend Update.”
Around the same time, one of those friends and I attended a comedy show of Dana Carvey, Dennis Miller, and Jon Lovitz—and we brought our own material in case they asked for audience volunteers to come on stage and do a short routine. [Uh, they didn’t.]
All these years later, I still haven’t hosted SNL or sold a cartoon to TNY. I wasn’t even invited to attend the SNL 50th anniversary special. But being a lifelong fan is its own reward.
P.S. Survivor, which turns 25 this year, has also inspired me.
That’s the day the first issue of The New Yorker came out.
I wasn’t there, of course.
But when I eventually did come around, the magazine became a consistent influence on me.
It first made my acquaintance in my dentist’s waiting room when I was 15. Already a hardcore comic book and comic strip guy, I was immediately smitten by the single-panel gag cartoons. I couldn’t get enough of them.
I liked the covers, too—alternately wistful, whimsical, or arresting. Almost always transporting. I even got a hefty coffee table book compilation of every cover from 1925 to 1989 and pored over it.
I couldn’t care less about the articles.
While other boys my age hung posters of metal bands and girls in swimsuits, I decorated my room with covers of a magazine that was already a senior citizen.
I continued this into college, at one pointing even taping some on my ceiling; you can catch a glimpse here:
%20-%20college%203%20-%20New%20Yorker%20covers%20on%20ceiling.jpg)
Also in college, I wrote a paper about the journalism and writing style of The New Yorker and drew what I thought were New Yorker-style gags for my college humor mag.
[referencing the then-fairly-fresh-in-mind 1988 movie The Last Temptation of Christ]
I also submitted some of those cartoons to the legendarily competitive New Yorker and was excited to get rejected. Okay, “excited” is the wrong word. It’s just that rejection is closer to acceptance than never trying.
For several years after college, I managed to hold on to the student subscription rate—only $20 a year for a weekly magazine!
I finally noticed the articles in between the cartoons, and read some.
I also attended an event where I got to meet some of the cartoonists and get a book signed. I told Bob Mankoff that my name was “Marc with a ‘c’,” and his response did not miss a b(eat).
In 1998, it was time: I began regularly submitting batches of ten cartoons to the magazine. My strategy: create 100 before sending round 1 so when the inevitable rejection came, I would have enough “inventory” so as not to be deterred. I made copies at Kinko’s and included a SASE. So 20th century.
By 2001, I got to the point where I was invited to come to “Look Day”—the morning once a week [at the time, it was always a Tuesday] when select cartoonists showed their ideas to the cartoon editor at the New Yorker office in person, then went out to lunch as a group to commiserate about all the brilliant ones he passed on. Once in July 2001, then over a four-month period starting in February 2002, I met with Mankoff, then the cartoon editor, 12 intimidating times.
I never sold one, but did get a coveted rejection folder on site. I still kick myself that I never took a photo of it, or of any of the lunch gatherings. [This was all pre-iPhone.]
Those lunches included maybe a couple of others in the 20s-to-40s range and a preponderance of alter kakers who welcomed a wannabe who had not published even a single cartoon in the mag.
I did sell to scores of other publications, so all was not for naught.
I haven’t hung covers in years but I still subscribe to the print edition to save the ones I like.
One day, I’ll submit cartoons again.
And when I do, I will definitely take a photo of my rejection folder.
This same week The New Yorker was toasting its centennial, another Manhattan humor institution was celebrating its 50th: Saturday Night Live. It, too, has had a significant influence on me going back to high school.
Twice for BBYO [Jewish teen youth group] talent shows, my friends and I did our own version of “Weekend Update.”
Around the same time, one of those friends and I attended a comedy show of Dana Carvey, Dennis Miller, and Jon Lovitz—and we brought our own material in case they asked for audience volunteers to come on stage and do a short routine. [Uh, they didn’t.]
All these years later, I still haven’t hosted SNL or sold a cartoon to TNY. I wasn’t even invited to attend the SNL 50th anniversary special. But being a lifelong fan is its own reward.
P.S. Survivor, which turns 25 this year, has also inspired me.
"The New Yorker" at 100 [and "Saturday Night Live" at 50]
One hundred years ago today, my life changed...
That’s the day the first issue of The New Yorker came out.
I wasn’t there, of course.
But when I eventually did come around, the magazine became a consistent influence on me.
It first made my acquaintance in my dentist’s waiting room when I was 15. Already a hardcore comic book and comic strip guy, I was immediately smitten by the single-panel gag cartoons. I couldn’t get enough of them.
I liked the covers, too—alternately wistful, whimsical, or arresting. Almost always transporting. I even got a hefty coffee table book compilation of every cover from 1925 to 1989 and pored over it.
I couldn’t care less about the articles.
While other boys my age hung posters of metal bands and girls in swimsuits, I decorated my room with covers of a magazine that was already a senior citizen.
I continued this into college, at one pointing even taping some on my ceiling; you can catch a glimpse here:
Also in college, I wrote a paper about the journalism and writing style of The New Yorker and drew what I thought were New Yorker-style gags for my college humor mag.
[referencing the then-fairly-fresh-in-mind 1988 movie The Last Temptation of Christ]
I also submitted some of those cartoons to the legendarily competitive New Yorker and was excited to get rejected. Okay, “excited” is the wrong word. It’s just that rejection is closer to acceptance than never trying.
For several years after college, I managed to hold on to the student subscription rate—only $20 a year for a weekly magazine!
I finally noticed the articles in between the cartoons, and read some.
I also attended an event where I got to meet some of the cartoonists and get a book signed. I told Bob Mankoff that my name was “Marc with a ‘c’,” and his response did not miss a b(eat).
In 1998, it was time: I began regularly submitting batches of ten cartoons to the magazine. My strategy: create 100 before sending round 1 so when the inevitable rejection came, I would have enough “inventory” so as not to be deterred. I made copies at Kinko’s and included a SASE. So 20th century.
By 2001, I got to the point where I was invited to come to “Look Day”—the morning once a week [at the time, it was always a Tuesday] when select cartoonists showed their ideas to the cartoon editor at the New Yorker office in person, then went out to lunch as a group to commiserate about all the brilliant ones he passed on. Once in July 2001, then over a four-month period starting in February 2002, I met with Mankoff, then the cartoon editor, 12 intimidating times.
I never sold one, but did get a coveted rejection folder on site. I still kick myself that I never took a photo of it, or of any of the lunch gatherings. [This was all pre-iPhone.]
Those lunches included maybe a couple of others in the 20s-to-40s range and a preponderance of alter kakers who welcomed a wannabe who had not published even a single cartoon in the mag.
I did sell to scores of other publications, so all was not for naught.
I haven’t hung covers in years but I still subscribe to the print edition to save the ones I like.
One day, I’ll submit cartoons again.
And when I do, I will definitely take a photo of my rejection folder.
This same week The New Yorker was toasting its centennial, another Manhattan humor institution was celebrating its 50th: Saturday Night Live. It, too, has had a significant influence on me going back to high school.
Twice for BBYO [Jewish teen youth group] talent shows, my friends and I did our own version of “Weekend Update.”
Around the same time, one of those friends and I attended a comedy show of Dana Carvey, Dennis Miller, and Jon Lovitz—and we brought our own material in case they asked for audience volunteers to come on stage and do a short routine. [Uh, they didn’t.]
All these years later, I still haven’t hosted SNL or sold a cartoon to TNY. I wasn’t even invited to attend the SNL 50th anniversary special. But being a lifelong fan is its own reward.
That’s the day the first issue of The New Yorker came out.
I wasn’t there, of course.
But when I eventually did come around, the magazine became a consistent influence on me.
It first made my acquaintance in my dentist’s waiting room when I was 15. Already a hardcore comic book and comic strip guy, I was immediately smitten by the single-panel gag cartoons. I couldn’t get enough of them.
I liked the covers, too—alternately wistful, whimsical, or arresting. Almost always transporting. I even got a hefty coffee table book compilation of every cover from 1925 to 1989 and pored over it.
I couldn’t care less about the articles.
While other boys my age hung posters of metal bands and girls in swimsuits, I decorated my room with covers of a magazine that was already a senior citizen.
I continued this into college, at one pointing even taping some on my ceiling; you can catch a glimpse here:
Also in college, I wrote a paper about the journalism and writing style of The New Yorker and drew what I thought were New Yorker-style gags for my college humor mag.
[referencing the then-fairly-fresh-in-mind 1988 movie The Last Temptation of Christ]
I also submitted some of those cartoons to the legendarily competitive New Yorker and was excited to get rejected. Okay, “excited” is the wrong word. It’s just that rejection is closer to acceptance than never trying.
For several years after college, I managed to hold on to the student subscription rate—only $20 a year for a weekly magazine!
I finally noticed the articles in between the cartoons, and read some.
I also attended an event where I got to meet some of the cartoonists and get a book signed. I told Bob Mankoff that my name was “Marc with a ‘c’,” and his response did not miss a b(eat).
In 1998, it was time: I began regularly submitting batches of ten cartoons to the magazine. My strategy: create 100 before sending round 1 so when the inevitable rejection came, I would have enough “inventory” so as not to be deterred. I made copies at Kinko’s and included a SASE. So 20th century.
By 2001, I got to the point where I was invited to come to “Look Day”—the morning once a week [at the time, it was always a Tuesday] when select cartoonists showed their ideas to the cartoon editor at the New Yorker office in person, then went out to lunch as a group to commiserate about all the brilliant ones he passed on. Once in July 2001, then over a four-month period starting in February 2002, I met with Mankoff, then the cartoon editor, 12 intimidating times.
I never sold one, but did get a coveted rejection folder on site. I still kick myself that I never took a photo of it, or of any of the lunch gatherings. [This was all pre-iPhone.]
Those lunches included maybe a couple of others in the 20s-to-40s range and a preponderance of alter kakers who welcomed a wannabe who had not published even a single cartoon in the mag.
I did sell to scores of other publications, so all was not for naught.
I haven’t hung covers in years but I still subscribe to the print edition to save the ones I like.
One day, I’ll submit cartoons again.
And when I do, I will definitely take a photo of my rejection folder.
This same week The New Yorker was toasting its centennial, another Manhattan humor institution was celebrating its 50th: Saturday Night Live. It, too, has had a significant influence on me going back to high school.
Twice for BBYO [Jewish teen youth group] talent shows, my friends and I did our own version of “Weekend Update.”
Around the same time, one of those friends and I attended a comedy show of Dana Carvey, Dennis Miller, and Jon Lovitz—and we brought our own material in case they asked for audience volunteers to come on stage and do a short routine. [Uh, they didn’t.]
All these years later, I still haven’t hosted SNL or sold a cartoon to TNY. I wasn’t even invited to attend the SNL 50th anniversary special. But being a lifelong fan is its own reward.
December 1, 2024
Superman/Batman displays by librarians hosting my school visits
I've had the privilege of speaking at schools in 30+ states and almost 20 countries. School librarians worldwide have a gift for rolling out the read carpet for visiting authors.
With Superman and Batman as my headliners, librarians have a lot of material to play with.
Sometimes that welcome is a splashy display. Sometimes it's a student-driven project. Sometimes it's a cheeky sign to reserve a parking space [not a requirement of mine, only an appreciated courtesy].
My librarian partners have greeted me with custom T-shirts, graffiti, pumpkins, cake, LEGO, ginormous banners, and so much more.
Here is a gallery of memorable efforts I've documented. [These span years and I didn't note every face/location, so no IDs. Speak up if it's yours!]
With Superman and Batman as my headliners, librarians have a lot of material to play with.
Sometimes that welcome is a splashy display. Sometimes it's a student-driven project. Sometimes it's a cheeky sign to reserve a parking space [not a requirement of mine, only an appreciated courtesy].
My librarian partners have greeted me with custom T-shirts, graffiti, pumpkins, cake, LEGO, ginormous banners, and so much more.
Here is a gallery of memorable efforts I've documented. [These span years and I didn't note every face/location, so no IDs. Speak up if it's yours!]
November 15, 2024
Speaking at the Capital Jewish Museum [AKA DC in DC]
This past summer, I reluctantly loaned Bill Finger’s paperweight—one of the only items he owned that still survives—and other items to a Lillian and Albert Small Capital Jewish Museum exhibit about the role of Jews in the comic book industry, with special focus on Washington DC-area contributors.
On 11/11/24, I gave a talk at the museum about Bill—and Jerry, and Joe, and Jews.
I have long compared the dramas of the creators of Superman and Batman to Biblical tales. I liken the conflict between Superman creators Jerry Siegel and Joe Shuster and what is now DC Comics to David and Goliath—an upstart underdog versus a seemingly immovable object. I see the Bill Finger/Bob Kane injustice as a Cain/Abel allegory—brother versus brother. You can’t overlook that homophonic Cain/Kane.
And then there’s the Moses parallel.
Thank you, CJM, both for inviting me to speak with your community and for taking good care of Bill’s bronze bug.
On 11/11/24, I gave a talk at the museum about Bill—and Jerry, and Joe, and Jews.
I have long compared the dramas of the creators of Superman and Batman to Biblical tales. I liken the conflict between Superman creators Jerry Siegel and Joe Shuster and what is now DC Comics to David and Goliath—an upstart underdog versus a seemingly immovable object. I see the Bill Finger/Bob Kane injustice as a Cain/Abel allegory—brother versus brother. You can’t overlook that homophonic Cain/Kane.
And then there’s the Moses parallel.
Thank you, CJM, both for inviting me to speak with your community and for taking good care of Bill’s bronze bug.
November 12, 2024
“Got My Mind Set on You” [1987]: a “Girl in the Video” update
How could something Beatles-related be completely—truly completely—undocumented?
Welcome to the madcap step-by-step on how I finally found a person who appeared in one music video more than 30 years ago and has virtually no digital footprint.
Got my mind set on you indeed!
In 2013 and 2014, I ran a series called “Girl in the Video” for which I tracked down and interviewed 50 women who appeared in 42 iconic music videos of the 1980s and early 1990s.
Some were deep in the shadows. Most had not been interviewed about this before. Some of their stories were amusing. Others were moving.
Though I was thrilled with the people I found and the number who participated, some declined—or eluded me.
TEN YEARS LATER…
10/7/24
I received a message on Facebook from a person who determined possible identifications for the lead woman of two videos: “Should’ve Known Better” by Richard Marx and “Shake Me” by Cinderella. [I am aware that you can’t accurately call that song or video iconic; it’s just one I remembered, and I am steering this Starship.]
He did this by using a facial recognition site called PimEyes. Like plenty online, it can be used for purposes both legitimate [like research for a writing project] and unscrupulous.
The Marx woman did not check out and I’m still waiting to hear back from the Cinderella one.
This launched a related mission that would play out over five days.
I used the site to check some of the other women on my “where can I find a woman like that” list.
Only one ended in success—up to a point.
George Harrison released two videos for “Got My Mind Set on You” [1987], his third and last #1 hit and his last song to crack the top 10 in the U.S. The one that got more airplay on MTV features George playing guitar in a room where inanimate objects moved along with the song. The other video is a girl meets boy scene that takes place in an arcade.
It was the lead girl in the arcade video whom I’d tried to find in 2013.
I thought my best lead would be the boy from that video, actor Alexis Denisof [Buffy the Vampire Slayer]. He kindly replied to me on Twitter. Unfortunately, he did not remember her name, which I can understand given the short shoot and time passed.
Upon plugging a screenshot of the girl’s face into PimEyes, I was directed to a 2022 message board thread about her.
In that thread, a woman posted that she attended the same UK school as the video star, and remembered her name was Sarah. She also remembered that Sarah won a 1986 model contest for a British magazine called Just Seventeen—and she bought a copy of that issue so she could come back and report her last name: REDACTED.
In the UK, many people have the name Sarah REDACTED.
Still, I searched that name with the artist and song title. No luck.
I searched that name with the magazine name and found nothing.
That thread seems to be the only page on the entire internet linking that girl to that video and to that model contest.
On Facebook and Instagram, I did not see someone with that name whom I thought resembled the girl in the video, plus she may have a married/different name now.
I went through an online cover gallery of the magazine. It was a weekly, which initially made me think this was going to be time-consuming, but I soon found a November 1986 issue with Sarah on the cover, announcing her as the winner.
I asked several sources if they could email scans of the article [and masthead], hoping it mentioned details that could focus the search, i.e. city she’s from, name of her parents, etc.
Both a kind eBay seller and a UK university archive did. The eBayer refused my offer to pay him. The university collection is cleverly called Femorabilia.
Alas—and surprisingly—the article had no details about her.
I began tracking down people who worked for Just Seventeen magazine at that time, using both the Facebook page for it and searching for names from the masthead.
It was hard to reach most of them. I’m not connected to any of them on social media and messages sent to strangers on Facebook and Instagram go into “hidden” inboxes that many people don’t know about it and therefore never check.
When names were uncommon, I tried to find emails, and occasionally did.
The few who replied did not know anything about Sarah.
10/8/24
The November issue of Just Seventeen indicated that the contest had been announced in an April issue, so I revisited the cover gallery, found the issue, and again requested scans of it. Obviously Sarah wouldn’t be mentioned in the announcement of a contest she had not yet entered, but perhaps it would include other names I could contact.
It didn’t.
10/9/24
It sunk in that the April and November issues said that readers voted on the models. Therefore, there would be an issue between April and November that lists all the entrants/finalists...and maybe more.
Luckily, revisiting the cover gallery yet again yielded pay dirt because a July cover not only said “You pick the winner” but also showed all 10 finalists.
I requested scans of that interior where, finally, I learned one more piece of valuable info: the city Sarah was from.
However, that was not instantly helpful because, as I said above, her name is common.
After a fruitless search of name + city, I went back to the message board. I knew it was a long shot that the former classmate who posted there about Sarah two years earlier would see let alone reply to a new post, but I asked anyway: what school?
Incredulously—within minutes—she responded with the name.
I asked this person to email me so I would not clog up the message board with my additional questions.
In the meantime, I learned that the school closed years ago. I went back to Facebook to ask groups connected to the school if anyone knows Sarah or knows anyone who might.
You can’t post to certain groups unless you’re a member, and sometimes such groups don’t accept you if you don’t have a direct connection. Sure enough, one of them declined my request.
I searched for articles about the school with the hope that I’d find alum names for whom I could then find contact info.
I tried to find emails for the admins of those Facebook groups, the only members whose names I, a non-member, could see .
I contacted a newspaper archive in Sarah’s hometown, figuring a local model contest winner would have gotten some press and hoping someone would be willing to check, well, most of 1986…obviously a big ask.
10/10/24
The archive suggested posting to a Facebook group for her hometown, which has many more members than the school groups. Also, the archive could research for me for £35 per hour.
While waiting to see if the hometown group would accept me [which it did, after about six hours], I tried another Hail Mary—looking for any of the nine model contest finalists.
I knew they’d all met because they posed for a photo together, but assumed they didn’t learn much about each other that day—or if they did, likely wouldn’t remember it nearly forty years later.
Most of their names were also common. Of the nine, I did a quick search for six. I found that one had spent three years in isolation in Tibet and adopted a Buddhist name:
I found record of another of the finalists, but didn’t pay to access contact info.
I found a third on Facebook and was surprised that she responded quickly [given that my message had gone into that aforementioned hidden inbox]. She did not know about Sarah but kindly said she’d ask around. I thought she meant the “former models” community.
Minutes later, she sent a link to a Facebook profile I’d seen the day before but had quickly moved on from because that Sarah REDACTED [who was wearing sunglasses] did not immediately seem to resemble 1986 Sarah. But that was before I knew that Sarah was from the city of REDACTED…and this profile says this Sarah is from SAME REDACTED.
I messaged this Sarah, but instead of waiting weeks or more for her to stumble upon it [her last post visible to me was from 2014], I found emails for some of her Facebook friends and emailed them, hoping someone could connect us or pass along my request.
10/11/24
Under my post on the Facebook page for her hometown, two kindly wrote that they know Sarah and will notify her. A person I emailed said the same.
Then weeks of silence.
11/4/24
One of those go-betweens told me she was glad to reconnect with Sarah after at least a decade but also reported what already seemed clear: Sarah does not want to be interviewed.
Hugely disappointing.
But also exhilarating to solve at least part of a mystery that lasted five days, and before that 10 years, and before that 26 years.
Appropriately, it was there all along in the lyrics to “Got My Mind Set on You”:
It’s gonna take timeWhole lot of precious timeIt’s gonna take patience and time
Hopefully one day soon Sarah will feel comfortable sharing her memories of that experience.
Welcome to the madcap step-by-step on how I finally found a person who appeared in one music video more than 30 years ago and has virtually no digital footprint.
Got my mind set on you indeed!
In 2013 and 2014, I ran a series called “Girl in the Video” for which I tracked down and interviewed 50 women who appeared in 42 iconic music videos of the 1980s and early 1990s.
Some were deep in the shadows. Most had not been interviewed about this before. Some of their stories were amusing. Others were moving.
Though I was thrilled with the people I found and the number who participated, some declined—or eluded me.
TEN YEARS LATER…
10/7/24
I received a message on Facebook from a person who determined possible identifications for the lead woman of two videos: “Should’ve Known Better” by Richard Marx and “Shake Me” by Cinderella. [I am aware that you can’t accurately call that song or video iconic; it’s just one I remembered, and I am steering this Starship.]
He did this by using a facial recognition site called PimEyes. Like plenty online, it can be used for purposes both legitimate [like research for a writing project] and unscrupulous.
The Marx woman did not check out and I’m still waiting to hear back from the Cinderella one.
This launched a related mission that would play out over five days.
I used the site to check some of the other women on my “where can I find a woman like that” list.
Only one ended in success—up to a point.
George Harrison released two videos for “Got My Mind Set on You” [1987], his third and last #1 hit and his last song to crack the top 10 in the U.S. The one that got more airplay on MTV features George playing guitar in a room where inanimate objects moved along with the song. The other video is a girl meets boy scene that takes place in an arcade.
It was the lead girl in the arcade video whom I’d tried to find in 2013.
I thought my best lead would be the boy from that video, actor Alexis Denisof [Buffy the Vampire Slayer]. He kindly replied to me on Twitter. Unfortunately, he did not remember her name, which I can understand given the short shoot and time passed.
Upon plugging a screenshot of the girl’s face into PimEyes, I was directed to a 2022 message board thread about her.
In that thread, a woman posted that she attended the same UK school as the video star, and remembered her name was Sarah. She also remembered that Sarah won a 1986 model contest for a British magazine called Just Seventeen—and she bought a copy of that issue so she could come back and report her last name: REDACTED.
In the UK, many people have the name Sarah REDACTED.
Still, I searched that name with the artist and song title. No luck.
I searched that name with the magazine name and found nothing.
That thread seems to be the only page on the entire internet linking that girl to that video and to that model contest.
On Facebook and Instagram, I did not see someone with that name whom I thought resembled the girl in the video, plus she may have a married/different name now.
I went through an online cover gallery of the magazine. It was a weekly, which initially made me think this was going to be time-consuming, but I soon found a November 1986 issue with Sarah on the cover, announcing her as the winner.
I asked several sources if they could email scans of the article [and masthead], hoping it mentioned details that could focus the search, i.e. city she’s from, name of her parents, etc.
Both a kind eBay seller and a UK university archive did. The eBayer refused my offer to pay him. The university collection is cleverly called Femorabilia.
Alas—and surprisingly—the article had no details about her.
I began tracking down people who worked for Just Seventeen magazine at that time, using both the Facebook page for it and searching for names from the masthead.
It was hard to reach most of them. I’m not connected to any of them on social media and messages sent to strangers on Facebook and Instagram go into “hidden” inboxes that many people don’t know about it and therefore never check.
When names were uncommon, I tried to find emails, and occasionally did.
The few who replied did not know anything about Sarah.
10/8/24
The November issue of Just Seventeen indicated that the contest had been announced in an April issue, so I revisited the cover gallery, found the issue, and again requested scans of it. Obviously Sarah wouldn’t be mentioned in the announcement of a contest she had not yet entered, but perhaps it would include other names I could contact.
It didn’t.
10/9/24
It sunk in that the April and November issues said that readers voted on the models. Therefore, there would be an issue between April and November that lists all the entrants/finalists...and maybe more.
Luckily, revisiting the cover gallery yet again yielded pay dirt because a July cover not only said “You pick the winner” but also showed all 10 finalists.
I requested scans of that interior where, finally, I learned one more piece of valuable info: the city Sarah was from.
However, that was not instantly helpful because, as I said above, her name is common.
After a fruitless search of name + city, I went back to the message board. I knew it was a long shot that the former classmate who posted there about Sarah two years earlier would see let alone reply to a new post, but I asked anyway: what school?
Incredulously—within minutes—she responded with the name.
I asked this person to email me so I would not clog up the message board with my additional questions.
In the meantime, I learned that the school closed years ago. I went back to Facebook to ask groups connected to the school if anyone knows Sarah or knows anyone who might.
You can’t post to certain groups unless you’re a member, and sometimes such groups don’t accept you if you don’t have a direct connection. Sure enough, one of them declined my request.
I searched for articles about the school with the hope that I’d find alum names for whom I could then find contact info.
I tried to find emails for the admins of those Facebook groups, the only members whose names I, a non-member, could see .
I contacted a newspaper archive in Sarah’s hometown, figuring a local model contest winner would have gotten some press and hoping someone would be willing to check, well, most of 1986…obviously a big ask.
10/10/24
The archive suggested posting to a Facebook group for her hometown, which has many more members than the school groups. Also, the archive could research for me for £35 per hour.
While waiting to see if the hometown group would accept me [which it did, after about six hours], I tried another Hail Mary—looking for any of the nine model contest finalists.
I knew they’d all met because they posed for a photo together, but assumed they didn’t learn much about each other that day—or if they did, likely wouldn’t remember it nearly forty years later.
Most of their names were also common. Of the nine, I did a quick search for six. I found that one had spent three years in isolation in Tibet and adopted a Buddhist name:
Rebecca Tisbury, 23, hugs a friend goodbye as she prepares to embark on 3 years of isolation at the Samye Ling Tibetan retreat, November 7. Rebecca, formerly a top fashion model, will emerge from the retreat in February 1997
I found record of another of the finalists, but didn’t pay to access contact info.
I found a third on Facebook and was surprised that she responded quickly [given that my message had gone into that aforementioned hidden inbox]. She did not know about Sarah but kindly said she’d ask around. I thought she meant the “former models” community.
Minutes later, she sent a link to a Facebook profile I’d seen the day before but had quickly moved on from because that Sarah REDACTED [who was wearing sunglasses] did not immediately seem to resemble 1986 Sarah. But that was before I knew that Sarah was from the city of REDACTED…and this profile says this Sarah is from SAME REDACTED.
I messaged this Sarah, but instead of waiting weeks or more for her to stumble upon it [her last post visible to me was from 2014], I found emails for some of her Facebook friends and emailed them, hoping someone could connect us or pass along my request.
10/11/24
Under my post on the Facebook page for her hometown, two kindly wrote that they know Sarah and will notify her. A person I emailed said the same.
Then weeks of silence.
11/4/24
One of those go-betweens told me she was glad to reconnect with Sarah after at least a decade but also reported what already seemed clear: Sarah does not want to be interviewed.
Hugely disappointing.
But also exhilarating to solve at least part of a mystery that lasted five days, and before that 10 years, and before that 26 years.
Appropriately, it was there all along in the lyrics to “Got My Mind Set on You”:
It’s gonna take timeWhole lot of precious timeIt’s gonna take patience and time
Hopefully one day soon Sarah will feel comfortable sharing her memories of that experience.
September 24, 2024
Authors Against Banned Books panel on censorship
As part of the EveryLibrary Live! Banned Books Week series of virtual programs, fellow authors Shana Youngdahl, Michael Leali, and had a brief chat about censorship with
Drinks in the Library
's Gigi Howard.
We touched on what you can do to speak up for the freedom to read, in only seconds, from the comfort of your home/office/car/favorite coffee shop/local school board meeting.
For an author, a banned book is not a sales boost or badge of honor.
For a child, a banned book is not no big deal. It's a barrier to what could truly be a life-saving collection of words.
We touched on what you can do to speak up for the freedom to read, in only seconds, from the comfort of your home/office/car/favorite coffee shop/local school board meeting.
For an author, a banned book is not a sales boost or badge of honor.
For a child, a banned book is not no big deal. It's a barrier to what could truly be a life-saving collection of words.
September 17, 2024
Batman is first superhero to get star on Hollywood Walk of Fame
Batman is about to become the first superhero—but not the first fictional character—to receive a star on the Hollywood Walk of Fame [and the Guinness World Records title that goes with it].
The first three fictional characters to join the walk were Mickey Mouse [1978], Bugs Bunny [1985], and Snow White [1987]; Snoopy, Godzilla, Big Bird, the Muppets, and the Munchkins are among the others.
Batman, the 2,790th star, will be next to Adam West [2012] and Bob Kane [2015].
Among the other Guinness World Records titles Batman holds [via AIPT]:
Detective Comics: the longest-running comic book (continuously published since 1937)most adapted comic book character in live-action moviesmost Oscar winners to play one superhero (George Clooney, Christian Bale, Ben Affleck)most video game adaptations of a superhero movie
I hope they save a space next to Michael Keaton for Bill Finger…
[rendering, not real...yet]
The first three fictional characters to join the walk were Mickey Mouse [1978], Bugs Bunny [1985], and Snow White [1987]; Snoopy, Godzilla, Big Bird, the Muppets, and the Munchkins are among the others.
Batman, the 2,790th star, will be next to Adam West [2012] and Bob Kane [2015].
Among the other Guinness World Records titles Batman holds [via AIPT]:
Detective Comics: the longest-running comic book (continuously published since 1937)most adapted comic book character in live-action moviesmost Oscar winners to play one superhero (George Clooney, Christian Bale, Ben Affleck)most video game adaptations of a superhero movie
I hope they save a space next to Michael Keaton for Bill Finger…
[rendering, not real...yet]
August 16, 2024
Letting Bill Finger's paperweight out of my sight
Bill Finger's paperweight is going, in a way, back where it came from.
For an upcoming exhibit on Jewish comics creators, the Capital Jewish Museum in Washington DC asked me to loan Finger items.
This includes Bill Finger's scarab paperweight, which makes a cameo appearance in both Bill the Boy Wonder...
...and Batman & Bill.
It has barely left my desk since I inherited it in 2006.
Insurance couldn't replace it.
Agreeing to this made me very nervous.
For an upcoming exhibit on Jewish comics creators, the Capital Jewish Museum in Washington DC asked me to loan Finger items.
This includes Bill Finger's scarab paperweight, which makes a cameo appearance in both Bill the Boy Wonder...
...and Batman & Bill.
It has barely left my desk since I inherited it in 2006.
Insurance couldn't replace it.
Agreeing to this made me very nervous.
June 18, 2024
High school grad reflects on 5th grade author visit
A Maryland elementary school at which I spoke in 2016 would like to bring me back.
For the grant application, librarian Stacey Hazuda deftly tracked down a student I met then and she kindly made a (grainy) video to explain why she thinks her former school should be approved for an author visit.
She just graduated high school. She still has the books I signed for her.
“It really impacted my life and I hope it can impact others.”
For the grant application, librarian Stacey Hazuda deftly tracked down a student I met then and she kindly made a (grainy) video to explain why she thinks her former school should be approved for an author visit.
She just graduated high school. She still has the books I signed for her.
“It really impacted my life and I hope it can impact others.”
May 13, 2024
Acknowledged in magazine about Batman's history
In 2019, Batman's 80th anniversary year, a magazine on all things Batman included Batman & Bill on a timeline of milestones.
This year, a similar magazine called The Story of Batman mentioned me on the final two pages (95-96) of its final chapter, "Bat to the Future":
The chapter ends thusly:
This year, a similar magazine called The Story of Batman mentioned me on the final two pages (95-96) of its final chapter, "Bat to the Future":
...perhaps the most important event in the Batman's history happened in 2015—not in a comic book, movie, TV show, or any other storytelling medium, but in a press release, in which DC announced that it had reached an agreement with Bill Finger's family to add his name permanently as cocreator [sic] on all content featuring the Dark Knight. Finger's granddaughter and sole heir, Athena Finger, at the encouragement of Finger biographer Marc Tyler Nobleman, had been campaigning for the change.
"We were coming up on [Batman's] 75th anniversary, and here I was, the heir, willing to fight for it publicly and talking about the Bill Finger story at comic conventions and participating in the culture," she says. Her position was supported by plenty of historical evidence of her grandfather's key role in the creation of Batman, provided over the years by Nobleman, various comic book scholars, and industry insiders, including [Michael] Uslan and early Batman artist Jerry Robinson.
The chapter ends thusly:
That real-life turn of events is the most satisfying conclusion imaginable to a fictional saga which has no end in sight. After all, if there is one thing that the Batman is all about, it's justice.
