Starving Writer Seeks Food Stamps in 1970s

On my Facebook page there’s an album titled “My Life as a Cartoon.” It’s shocking how many times, in decades as a freelance writer, I’ve been caricatured. Back in 2019, I stumbled onto this classic cartoon from the long defunct Publick Occurrences newspaper. The plucky little weekly played a gigantic role in preventing shipping magnate Aristotle Onassis–then “the world’s richest man” and married to Jackie Kennedy Onassis – from turning Durham and the Isles of Shoals into an oil refinery.

This illustration accompanied my article “The Unemployment Blues” that appeared in 1975, the year after Onassis was booted out of the region. It bears the unmistakable style of the late ambidextrous artist Bob Nilson. And yes, he could draw with both hands at the same time.

Gerald Ford was president. I was, at the time, collecting rejection slips from some of the finest publications in the nation. In the evenings, I delivered pizzas for $1.90/hour. I would add “plus tips,” but there never were any. After much coaxing by family, roommates, and friends, I summoned the courage to visit the local employment office and apply for food stamps.

Bob Nilson nailed the moment. He even captured my checked Woolrich winter coat. That’s me on the left reading the book that I grabbed off the waiting room table, “The Story of A,B,C.” There was a big crowd and a kid who had to pee dancing the hornpipe in the center of the room. At one point, a toddler clung to my thumb until, looking up, he realized I was not the person he knew and began screaming.

The employment search did not go well. I was not a registered nurse, a licensed pipefitter, or an experienced short order cook. Jobs were scarce in those days, especially for people trained in classical English Literature. And I have a bad habit of writing inappropriate things on government forms. I probably shouldn’t have listed my part-time employment as “pizza chauffeur.” Requested to account for any valuable personal property, “including boats and airplanes,” I had to restrain myself.

A month or so later, I got a job in Massachusetts running a penny candy store for my uncle. I wrote about that experience, too. It appeared in a nostalgia-themed magazine and, sure enough, there was another cartoon of me, digging into the antique candy counter to serve a host of demanding grammar school customers.

I don’t recall ever cashing in my only food stamp coupons. There were needier people than I. The writing biz picked up, but never got lucrative. Like most artistic endeavors, it’s a nuts-and-berries career. No benefits. No retirement. No summer home. But no regrets.

(Bob Nilson illustration from Publick Occurences courtesy author’s collection. “