A VISIT WITH CARL BARKS (1971)

Historical traces of Carl Barks' Donald Duck classic In Old California can still be found in the small Santa Barbara suburb of Goleta, off the freeways and between the plastic and neon shopping centers. Nowadays Carl Barks can be found here, too, and it was 1971 Memorial Day Weekend that Mike and Phyllis Barrier, Glenn Bray, Bob Foster, and I drove the 125 miles up the coast from Los Angeles to visit the creator of Uncle Scrooge.

My first visit to Carl Barks and his wife Garé was in the summer of 1960 when they lived and worked in San Jacinto, a small town almost halfway between Los Angeles and the Arizona border, shielded from the desert by only a narrow range of mountains. The temperature that day must have been 110 or more, aggravated by a brush fire raging out of control in nearby foothills, filling the air with ashes and cinders. Uncomfortably hot summers and San Jacinto's growing population caused the Barkses to look for a new home shortly after Carl retired in 1967 from staff writing and drawing for Western Publishing. They dislike the clutter and distraction of noisy, crowded cities, preferring life in smaller, quieter towns, so last year they moved to the more congenial surroundings of Goleta.

On arrival it was reassuring to us (my brother John, Ron Leonard, and myself) to know we'd found the right place when we spotted a small hand-lettered sign over the bell that in the past had provided the plot device for memorable Donald Duck continuity: No Salesmen, Peddlers, or Solicitors.
The door was opened by Garé, looking as fit and trim now as she did when I saw her last, 11 years ago. And at 71 years of age, standing over 6 feet tall, Carl has the vigor and able-bodied manner of a man 20 years younger. Though semi-retired from comic books, he is perhaps as active today as ever.

Just a few days before our visit, Carl and Garé welcomed a European delegation of writers, here on business at the Disney Studio. Part of their trip included presenting him with the Duckster, a handsome bronze statuette of Donald, their personal award of recognition of his comic booke work.
Our arrival made about 30 guests in a week. Barks said he and Garé average one or two each month, from all parts of the country, professionals, fans, and collectors alike.

Their spacious split-level house is filled with his and Garé's paintings, finely crafted oils done for both relaxation and profession. Carl's paintings range from landscapes to still-lives to portraits. Some are serious in tone and subject matter, while others show a faint touch of the comical and fantastic.
Carl said that one reason he gave careful attention to realism in his stories was because he'd always wanted to do straight adventure comics, enjoying particularly the early Superman. He also liked Alex Raymond's Flash Gordon and Harold Foster's Prince Valiant, and, with the ducks, directed his interest in comic art realism toward developing landscaping and controlled detail more sophisticated than those found in the average funny animal comic.
This interest also surfaced briefly in another form some 20 years ago when Barks used caricatured human beings as supporting characters in a few duck stories.

Barks no longer draws for comics, but continues to write regularly for Junior Woodchucks. His storyboard style scripts are remarkably detailed, more so than they probably need to be. I asked him how much extra trouble it would take to put the drawing time he does for scripts into twice up pencilled pages for an inker. Not much, Barks said, and maybe next year I will. Right now I prefer to just write for other artists.
The writing comes no easier for him now than when he started almost 30 years ago. It takes time. It may take two weeks or two minutes. In a business where most writers would consider two minutes too long, Carl Barks, typically, is still willing to spend two weeks.