I have long been a Carl Barks fan, ever since the summer of 1943 when I was 9 years old and my older brother condescendingly told me of a new comic book at the drugstore, which featured Donald Duck in ancient Egypt. Since at the time I equated my brother's veracity and interests in my welfare with that of Adolf Hitler's, I professed not to believe him. But when he wasn't looking I ran up to the drugstore and there it was, a big, beautiful comic book entitled Donald Duck and the Mummy's Ring, with lavish drawings of mummy cases, temples, sailing vessels - all the paraphernalia of an ancient world. Carl Barks had hit a responsive chord within me and even though I did not know his name, I was a confirmed fan of his from that day forward.

Being a subscriber to Walt Disney's Comics and Stories for several years, I had seen and appreciated Carl's Donald Duck short stories beginning with the April, 1943, issue. But they did not completely tower over the other fine work being done those days in Looney Tunes, New Funnies, and Fairy Tale Parade. And I had somehow missed the 1942 Four Color comics #9, Donald Duck finds Pirate Gold. But even its art and story seem a trifle more ordinary than the magnificent drawings and thrill for adventure as evidenced within the pages of the Mummy's Ring.
Here was something new in a children's comic book - characters almost adult-like in the demeanor with artwork that could grace National Geographic. In a day when newsstands blazed with a color and variety not seen since, the works of Carl Barks shown out in the distant summer of 1943 as they did for many years to come.

Just as one tends to take the continued existence of God for granted, so I continued to take for granted each month's fine Donald Duck short story, and at least once a year a great feature-length story in a special comic book. And if I was sharp and hung around a Portland, Oregon Firestone store each December, I could perhaps con a sympathetic clerk out of a free copy of the Cartl Barks Christmas comic giveaway.

1950 was a traumatic year for me with the outbreak of the Korean War and the fact that at 16 I'd soon be cannon-bait unless I started opening my high-school textbooks as often as I opened my Donald Duck comics.
The real trauma of 1950 was when the calamity of calamities struck; Carl Barks, known only as The Good Artist, disappeared from the pages of Walt Disney's Comics and Stories. I probably wouldn't have known or cared if Hemingway had had a heart-attack, but this was terrible! The Good Artist was missing from the sanctified pages of my favorite comic book first in February, then again in April and in May. June saw his last appearence for the year, and in desperation I wrote the publishers but never received a reply. Each month, as the battle seesawed in Korea, I could only wait and hope that next month's subscription copy would see The Good Artist returning to the fold.
Years later I asked Mr. Barks what happened during this period, and he told me that commitments to the larger 25¢ comics and other Disney specials of the time made it impossible for him to fill the pages of the monthly issue. He seemed unaware of what this act had done to millions of his fans throughout the country.
Things went back to normal in 1951 with Carl Barks again appearing monthly and reaching even greater heights.

With peace well-established by 1957 I felt it time to heed my country's call to arms. After basic training and undergoing Donald Duck withdrawal tremens I was sent to Fort Benjamin Harrison outside Indianapolis to the Adjutant General's school. The Army felt it necessary to make me a high-ranking officer's secretary, so I was temporarily relegated to a small office which handled reservists taking Army correspondence courses. Typically, there wasn't much to do, so one day I decided to realize a long-standing desire to write the famous Good Artist of the Donald Duck stories.
It was my good fortune to direct the letter to the Disney studio itself, not the KK Publications or Western Printing, the publishers of the comic book. As I was later to learn from others who had tried this tactic, these organizations had a standing policy of not revealing the name of The Good Artist or his whereabouts. It has been surmised by more than just myself that this policy was an attempt on their part to keep Carl Barks from knowing of his legion of fans, fearful this would lead to him asking for a substantial raise and greater control over his work.

A short time later the Disney studio replied with the name and address of the Good Artist, and the name of Carl Barks was finally revealed to his myriad of fans. But by this time I was editing the new Army Corps newspaper, and this coupled with my extremely small military pay, I did not write Carl Barks at that time.

In fact it was almost 2½ years before I made use of the information, and even then I did not use it to write Mr. Barks directly. I was out of the Army and was just completing my first year of high school teaching in a small town in Washington. For some time I'd been in correspondence with a young man in Aptos, California, named John Spicer (his brother, Bill Spicer, later became active in comic fandom).
At that time John may well have been the only other Disney collector in existence and it was refreshing to write someone with an interest akin to mine. Somewhere along the line I dazzled him with the information that I knew the name and address of the famous Good Artist. Naturally he wanted it, and I provided it.

So on April 11, 1960, John Spicer wrote the first fan letter ever to breach the KK/Western blocade and reach Mr. Barks directly. When John informed me of his success, even to the extent of receiving a reply, this galvanized me into action. So on May 25, 1960, I wrote Mr. Barks myself, thus being the second fan to write him.
Perhaps my letter was more lengthy or effusive than John's, for Mr. Barks told me later he was so surprised by it that he strongly suspected it was a hoax perpetrated upon him by Bob Harmon, the Dennis the Menace gagman, who lived nearby. Evidently Carl could scarcely believe his accumulated work could so overwhelm two readers that actual fan letters would result.

Mr. Barks chose to acknowledge his two newfound fans with the June, 1961, issue of Walt Disney's Comics and Stories in a story entitled Stranger than Fiction. I had already informed him of my abiding interest in science fiction, and how much I wished he'd do more stories with this theme.

My visit to Mr. Barks and his artist wife Garé in early June of 1960 proved to be his second visit from a fan. The Barkses graciously returned my visit in July of 1961 when they visited me in Seattle while I was attending the University of Washington. And when I again visited them in 1963 I took along a tape recorder and undertook the first interview ever made with him.
The interview was difficult as Mr. Barks had forgotten much of his prior work, since like all great artists he thought only of his present and his future works. As the years progressed and he heard from more and more of his fans and underwent increasingly detailed interviews, he reread his earlier works and became much more acquainted with them.

It is a source of pleasure for me to know that while I may have been the first to ascertain the name of Carl Barks, it was inevitable that his name someday would emerge from the shadows of the Disney organization to stand in its own right as one of the finest popular artists and storytellers of the 20th Century. And an added pleasure to know that he has lived to see tremendous honor and recognition given him for the years he spent placidly sitting at his drawing board spinning tales which brought delight to countless fans around the world.