George Booth’s “Believe”

It’s the season to be jolly, but being happy during the holidays may not be easy for those of us who have to contend with dark thoughts and the passing of loved ones. Whether one is in pain or at peace, there’s no artist who can better elicit a smile than George Booth. On the occasion of a cover earlier this year, I spoke with him and his daughter, Sarah Booth. George, who was then ninety-five years old, told me about drawing inspiration from his childhood in Missouri in the thirties: “I listened to the men and women in my family for a long time. Grandma Booth, Grandma Swindle, but also Grandpa Swindle, Grandpa Booth, Uncle Todd, Uncle Ray, Aunt Pansy—they all pitched in words that fascinated me. Sometimes those words overlapped, just like green beans on a plate.” George passed away this year, on November 1st, at his home in Brooklyn. He had drawn cartoons and covers for the magazine for decades, and he loved to draw scenes and figures related to Christmas. The cover of the December 19, 2022, issue features a drawing that he made later in life. A former marine and a hulking figure, at over six feet, George was tender and kind with everyone, eager to stop by and chat any time he was at the office. I felt that his appreciation for humanity wasn’t in spite of our failings but maybe because of them. I talked with his daughter, Sarah, and asked her to bring him back to life for us at a time when we can all use some of his genuine love and warmth.

George revisited Christmas time and again. What do you think drew him to it?

My family loved the holidays when my cousins and I were kids; each year, my mother or my grandmother would put on a big feast for either Thanksgiving or Christmas, taking turns with who did which holiday and seemingly trying to outdo one another with the elaborateness of the dinners, which usually consisted of rich English fare from stories we’d all read in childhood. It was food such as roast goose or crown roast beef, with Yorkshire pudding, turnips, cream-laden mashed potatoes, and mince pies, which I oddly never developed a taste for even though my cousin the picky eater loved them. All of this feast was served on the best dishes and tablecloths we had. Not only were the meals incredible but my mother collected antique ornaments from garage sales and junk shops and her Victorian Christmas tree was awe-inspiring. I think that because my parents came from little, the joy and anticipation of the day and season far exceeded that of this day and age, when everything is available year-round and gratification is instant.

Growing up, did you think of your dad as a funny person? Did his sense of humor carry over into his parenting style?

I always thought my dad was a very funny person, with whom I spent endless hours laughing and getting into trouble as a kid and even as an adult. We thought we were funny long after everyone else had stopped. My mother would sometimes bemoan that she didn’t have a husband but two children. We would frequently get thrown out of the house for our roughhousing; I can still hear her yelling at him, “George, don’t encourage her!” Unfortunately for her, Mom got stuck with the majority of the disciplining, but dad’s method of a quiet and humorous discussion ended up being effective as well. There was really very little that my dad didn’t approach with humor. Taking him to a doctor’s appointment was particularly challenging, as he didn’t really want to be there so he would make jokes instead of being serious.

You lost your mother, Dione, and your dad, George, within six days of each other. They’d been together for sixty-four years. Do you think their relationship contributed to George’s point of view as a cartoonist?

My folks did everything together to the very last; they really were inseparable. My mother was an incredible autodidact, sharp and creative in her own right. My father often admitted that it was my mother who taught him color and who helped him with his covers. She had an incredible eye for color and design—that’s one of the many things that he so loved about her. It wasn’t unusual for him to turn her offhand comments or statements of whimsy into cartoons. She was a constant source of inspiration and material for him.

You were your parents’ caretaker for years. Do you think that humor has a place in the hard parts of life: coping with old age, illness, and, ultimately, the process of grieving?

We were always a close family, so watching up close as my parents passed into old age and fell prey to disease and inevitably death was the hardest thing I have ever experienced, but at least it was done with humor. Dementia is a cruel disease that is almost as hard on the family as it is on the person with the illness. Often my dad, who I called “DD,” would be up half the night, keeping me up with him. This can make a person extremely cranky, especially over a long period of time, but I tried to keep my sense of humor even if I was exasperated with him. My father remained kind despite his dementia, so I didn’t want to turn into the yelling lunatic that caregiving can make you; it can easily bring you to your knees on a regular basis. We did fairly well, considering the nightmare that dementia and dying is. There were times I would get so frustrated at him that I would yell, “Dad, if you don’t cut it out, I’m going to give you such a flick on the nostril!!” or “I’m gonna pinch you so hard that mom is gonna feel it!” These threats usually got me nowhere, but they made my mother laugh.

I have been experiencing incredible grief, having lost the two people closest to me, but I sometimes find myself laughing through my tears when I think about them. I cannot thank them enough for filling my life with laughter, and I try to remember that during those times when the grief becomes crushing or ambushes me. I remind myself how lucky I was to have them as long as I did.