The Short Life And Happy Times of The Shmoo

Before I launch into a review of The Short Life And Happy Times of The Shmoo (Overlook Press, 2002), let me say that Milwaukee artist Denis Kitchen provided the archival material for the 143 page romp. Not to be confused with a schmo or a schmuck, a Shmoo is a bowling-pin shaped critter introduced by cartoonist Al Capp 50-plus years ago.

I need to confess I ate quite a few Shmoo ice-cream bars as a kid, the point being to save up enough wrappers to send away for a genuine inflatable Shmoo. It stood on my dresser, balanced on big flat feet and could be autographed, too.

On my sister’s kitchen shelf is a ceramic Shmoo. Designed to hold an Air Wick freshener (manufactured in Wisconsin), it has a hole on the top of its little head. It’s only one of thousands of spin-offs of the adorable Schmoo.

I grew up with Capp’s capers, on Iowa Sundays sprawled belly down on the floor devouring the Sunday “funnies.” But it wasn’t until years later that I realized that Capp was a cutting-edge satirist. Way ahead of his time in reminding us that poverty and war are bad news, he devised the Shmoo to kick Big Business in the corporate rear end.

Well, not actually kick; the cuddly critters were mild mannered. Their big weapon was kindness. I guess they pre-dated the hippies of the ’60s and ’70s. In some ways, they could strangle you with kindness.

It’s amazing that the cartoonist was able to pull this off before and after World War II. But well folks, not everyone “got it,” because Capp’s stuff could be read several ways…as just plain funny, or as both funny and, if you bought his socialist agenda, true social satire. My father, home from WWII laughed like crazy. He understood, along with thousands of others.

So imagine then, a critter that could morph into eggs, milk, meat, suspender buttons, toothpicks, and not only that, but their hides could provide the softest leather in the world, AND THEY BRED LIKE CRAZY IN THE VALLEY OF THE SHMOON. (The last time I checked, Milwaukee’s Marquette University was still holding their November “Sadie Hawkins Day” race, wherein women captured men. My father threatened to hold one for me when I was in college. Unfortunately, I captured the wrong man, and I wasn’t even a “Hawkins.” Or Moonbeam McSwine.)

For anyone yearning to tell a tale via the art of the ‘toon, this book is it! After an informative introduction, the grey pages are given over to lively Capp

strips drawn in black and white. You’ll meet Shmoos galore, racing across the pages, often in tandem with Daisy Mae and Li’l Abner, those innocent denizens of Dogpatch who are dying to learn more about the birds and the bees, never mind that the aforementioned Moonbeam McSwine consorts with hogs and still manages to attract both flies and guys.

The Beverly Hillbillies and the clan Clampett were direct steals from Capp’s imagination, and so are lots of other things these days. Can you imagine Capp having a satirical romp with the likes of Mike Huckabee (the subject of a big feature in the New Yorker Magazine) and many times wed Rush Limbaugh, and many times wed Larry King, wearing those funky suspenders (which he aims to hang up near his oxygen tank this year) ?

Any one of these characters could have been the twin of Capp’s Marryin’ Sam, who for a fee would do just about anything.

Capp wasn’t exactly a fan of the military either. When flat-topped mobs of soldiers ram forth to eliminate the “Shmoo threat,” Capp drew righteous military types who shout through their clouds of cigar smoke, “Organize all Combat Vets…Arm ‘Em…and Turn ‘Em Loose.” The point was to kill every lovable critter so the world could get back to more important things, like killing each other.

On page 117, leading editors, publishers, radio and television tycoons gather around an oval table behind locked doors at the Pentagon, prepared to face America’s top military brains who express the fear that “Shmoos!! At this very moment, they may be surrounding the Pentagon.”

Fifty years ago this was a good laugh. In many ways it still is, but frankly, all the wars since the one in the ’40s leave nothing to smile about. This world could use a good Shmoo or two.