34465541-95D0-45B0-BEEB-B9E0361A315A

2022-07-26 10:28:06 By : Mr. Patrick Lin

My father, Sid Jacobson, passed Saturday night (July 23rd) at Mission Hospice House in Redwood City, south of San Francisco. He went peacefully after suffering a major stroke during a seemingly mild bout of Covid. He was 92. Dad was remarkable for his good cheer and optimistic way. He had a fearless creative energy. And was a tremendous raconteur, though he often cracked up as he approached the punch line of a story! He was born to Beatrice [Edelman] and Reuben Jacobson. Both had come to America in their early teens. Dad was born and raised in Brooklyn where he had fond memories of the Bensonhurst neighborhood with close relatives nearby, enjoyed many friendships, games of stoopball, and school (Seth Low junior high and Lafayette High School) where he excelled in math, and always displayed a picture from his high school basketball team (the picture shows a mismatched set of jerseys but none less proud) Dad adored his father, a foreman for a pattern-making house as well as a union head in the garment district. He often helped his father out with his union speeches and kvelled until his last days of his father's leadership and passion. Reuben died too young in his early fifties, while dad was still in college- he would never give up his cigarettes despite his doctor's warnings. Dad always regretted that his children didn't get to know or meet him. Dad loved sports and grew up in Brooklyn in the 30's. He had a lifetime love for the Brooklyn Dodgers, whom he never forgave for leaving Brooklyn. Upon his relocation to Los Angeles later in life he reconciled his disappointment with them and became a Dodger fan again. Dad had a more fraught relationship with his Mom who suffered greatly from diabetes. His sister, Shirley, was quite a bit older and with her marriage to Bill Grossman, he became a strong older brother figure. He loved and admired his sister very much and they become close in their adulthood. In his teens, he was a fast-pitch softball pitcher, who once threw a no-hitter (He earned the nickname "No Hit jake". Had a wicked curve and great control. He didn't throw windmill, just a short windup. The New York Times offered him a copyboy job out of high school if he'd pitch for the team (talk about ringers!). He turned them down, a regret in later years. The Times guy, who offered him the job said he was crazy to not take the job. But, a scholarship to NYU was a big deal for a poor kid from Brooklyn. When he couldn't find a journalism job after he graduated from NYU (that Times SOB was right!), he worked briefly for one of the horse-racing papers -- "The Daily Telegraph". There were nine racing rags in NYC at the time Dad told me!). When his sister Shirley began dating a fella from Harvey Comics (it didn't last long -- she soon met Bill Grossman)), Dad wrangled a job there (Comics was a growing industry and open to Jews and other ethnic minorities). He soon was running the editorial department there. He edited most every one of their books for like a 35-year period at Harvey. This included their 50's horror books (wrote "Colorama" a weird story for the Harvey horror book), crime books, romance books and their many comic strip adaptations ("Joe Palooka", "Dick Tracy", "Flash Gordon"). He didn't draw or do any of the visual stuff but edited and wrote stories and with the inimitable, Warren Kremmer, a great artist at Harvey, they created a few well-known comic book characters (Richie Rich, Wendy the Witch, Spooky, Hot Stuff, Little Dot, Nightmare, Little Lotta, Jackie Jokers). He worked with many wonderful comic artists like Gil Kane, Ernie Colon, Jack Kirby and side by side with funny, funny writers such as Lenny Herman, Stan Kay, Howie Post, Joe Simon, Angelo DeCesare (and so many others). Dad's range of freelance projects was mesmerizing. He would continue to make a living spun from his indomitable will and endless pool of creative ideas. In the late 50's he began writing lyrics to songs. I once asked him how he started and he said, "I thought I could do it." And that was him. Not afraid to try and fail. He would see how it went. Well, he has about 100 published torch and love songs (circa late 50's and 60's ("The End", "Warm", "Don't Pity Me") and novelty songs ("Yogi", "The Yen Yet Song" and my personal favorite, "Dr. Poop"). He wrote comedy records performed by folks such as Sandy Baron (both for Sick Magazine -- "Why not Mad?" I once asked. "Mad didn't pay enough!" he told me). He wrote the lyrics to a collection of folk songs about New York City, "The Citizens Sing About a City of People". In the 50's he invested in Loraine Hansbury's original production of "Raisin in the Sun" ("she was a gem who died way too young," he once told me). He even invented a board game "Chairman of the Board", but I have yet to locate a copy. He met my mother, Ruth Rene Allison, at a ski chalet in the Adirondacks, I believe (Avalock?). She owned a small boutique with her mother, my grandmother Sylvia Allison. Alone they did this with not much more than a farthing for inventory. Grandma did all the seamstress work (mostly knock-offs) and my mother would handle the store and business. Their inventory was tiny. They'd do prototypes of dresses and display them, telling customers a shipment was coming that week and to please return. Then Grandma would sow the desired item for that customer. Needless to say the model was flawed and they soon closed the store. But Dad was smitten by Mom's gumption (and figure!) and they were married in a cousin's house in Brooklyn. I was born soon after that and my sister Kathy a year later. I have fond memories of Dad coming home at night with his big brown reel-to-reel recorder. My Mom, sister, and me were the Chipmunks, Dad, our Dave Seville, would play us a demo he and his songwriting partner had made (mostly I remember the voice of Lou Stallman, but he wrote his biggest songs with Jimmy Krondes). It was sure to be a hit! On rare occasions Dad would be singing and sadly, though he had a great speaking voice, he couldn't carry a tune (sadly, none of the Jacobsons' can ;(((). I remember us all dancing to his "Waltzing to Jazz" in our living room in Leonia. Such a joyous moment! I may also remember hearing his "Yen Yet" song on the Captain Kangaroo show. Now that was something amazing! Dad was always coming home with cool stuff. Richie and Casper comics each month stuffed into a gray envelope (with the Harvey jack-in-the-box stamped on the outside). Records of all sorts. Once he came home with two LPs - one for Kathy and one for me. Kathy got "The Beatles Second Album" but I got the better deal! I was given "The Chimpmunks Sing the Beatles". Not even the Beatles themselves could top the Chimpmunks cover of "I want to hold your hand!" In truth, most of Dad's records didn't become "hits". But, he never showed any disappointment about this. "On to the next!" he would say when I asked how he coped with his disappointments. I can remember going up to the Harvey offices on the second floor of the Gulf and Western Building (NOW "Trump" Building, a sad twist of fate) at Columbus Circle. Late 60's, 70's . I'd look down at the sea of busy New Yorkers, one floor below. The guys in the office would be cracking tasteless jokes about big-chested woman or the "joiks and shmoes". They'd often be kibitzing, Lenny Herman was the ringleader, loud and boisterous with a fat cigar always in his clutch. My Dad laughing up a storm. Stan Kay sardonic. Ernie Colon - always so confident. Dad had this wonderful laugh. His soft hazel eyes always dancing with gentle warmth (He was a handsome man and a dapper dresser, make no mistake about it!). Sometimes the Harvey team would take a break and play penny poker in the middle of the day and while I was visiting, one of the Harvey brothers came in unexpectedly on them. Lenny quickly threw someone's coat over the cards, but a few of the cards were sticking out. Everyone made like they were working and tried to distract Mr. Harvey from seeing the cards (he had very poor vision!), but I had to turn away from everyone, unable to keep a straight face, and nearly gave the ruse away! Lenny would sit to Dad's right, usually smoking a cigar and telling a dirty joke. He was the Walter Matthau of the group (he played handball with Walter's brother even!). Ernie might come in with his Richie pages to get Dad's stamp of approval. Dad loved to cajole his band of brothers and wasn't afraid to tell them he was less than happy with the work he received if it wasn't their best, "What kind of fuckin' shit is this!" he would say when he didn't like something. When dad wasn't at his day job at Harvey or writing lyrics, he found the time to write trashy detective fiction ("Dirty Son of a Witch"), or a naughty comic strip ("The Girl from M.O.T.H.E.R") for "Swank" Magazine (these issues I discovered stowed at the bottom of his closet, much to my 7-year old delight!). I remember him telling me he had created a sci-fi cartoon for kids ("Johnny Cypher") but, I have yet to see it. He wrote a woke comic satire, "The Black Comic Book". I was so proud of this comic satire on famous comic strips with the hero's recast as African-Americans who had to deal with the realities of racism! Ernie Colon did the drawings!) He did another one about a Jewish superhero, "Captain Israel and Boychick" (Stan Kay did those drawings!). This one had a guy who looked a lot like Woody Allen as the bad guy! He wrote these books under a pseudonym because Harvey had some claim on his intellectual comic-related material so he called himself "Eric Reuben" ("Erica" was Kathy's middle name and "Reuben" was mine). Years later, he divorced our Mom and met Maggi Rosen, whom he married and had more than 30 great years with. She rejuvenated him (though "The Joy of Sex" on his office shelf was probably not supposed to be seen by us!). She inspired him to write legit novels: historical fiction about Jewish families in America ("Streets of Gold" and "Another Time"). Somehow, he also found the time to start Two sports magazines for kids ("Superstar Sports" and "Team"). Years later, he'd write a biography about Pete Reiser, an immortal Brooklyn Dodger, who the story goes, was always getting concussed and coming back too soon (which ruined a career of tremendous promise). He was an old Dodger fan, who had switched to the Mets when the Dodgers left town. Years later, he moved to LA and had a second love affair with the Dodgers. Yours truly was NOT happy about this betrayal of my beloved, Mets ;)) In the 80's and 90's, when Harvey closed, he went to Marvel comics where he built a new kids' line of comics. But, it was not his best work. He'd always say he had a great time at Marvel, but it would never be Harvey. About eight years later a new principal purchased the company and rights to the Harvey characters, and dad was offered a job in Los Angeles as Editor-in-Chief. His wife Maggi was thrilled to make the move to California and start a life there. Dad missed a lot about New York, mostly friends and family. In 2004, he once again reinvented himself with Ernie Colon (he did so many projects with Ernie, they were like brothers) and they did the "The 9/11 Report: The Graphic Adaption", which became a best-seller, and launched for him a new career in the fledgling field of historic graphic novels. Ernie and Dad later did graphic novels about the Bush presidency, Che Guevara, Ann Frank and Vlad the Impaler. His last book was another graphic history with Ernie Colon -- "3/5s a Man" the story of African-American civil rights. It was a beautiful history book and though commissioned by a major publisher, was never released (probably for political reasons, but no one really knows). Dad was productive into his late 80's, writing several unpublished novels (one of them, "Dating at 80" is pretty funny!) still developing a comic musical about Frankenstein monsters (he was enamored with the Frankenstein story), and with Glenn Rabney, a graphic novel and potential TV series about the Sacred Band of Thebes (a Greek army made entirely of gay lovers)! Dad never cared if some might say it wasn't appropriate for him to tackle certain subjects. I'm blessed to have spent so many days with him. My treasured moments: - Playing catch in front of the house in Leonia. Dad taught me how to throw a curve. Mine never broke as much as his though! - Playing hearts with Dad and Kathy on many lazy evenings during our summer holidays in Cape Cod or our trip out west (where Dad and Kathy would eventually settle)! Dad loved games. He was a good card player (played competitive bridge with Mom) and both Kathy and I remain fond of games. - Shooting hoops with Dad at Woodpark in Leonia. He taught me the bank-shot which I still pull out in games today! - Going to a Jets-Vikings game with Dad four or five years ago (he was in from LA to spend time with his new friend, "Audrey" (they met online, both in their mid-late 80's!) and my boyhood friend, Mike Allen, an artist and character designer now. Dad had published some of his early drawings in Superstar Sports. It was a blustery cold day and he never once complained despite the JETS playing like the JETS! - Dad and I running around the old track at Leonia High School, circa 1965. Just the two of us on that weedy dirt track (a skinny race walker would sometimes show up, who'd do like 8 miles to Dad's 3!). He had read the Canadian Aerobics book and turned over a new leaf and committed to daily fitness for the rest of his days (he took walks every day till his last stroke). He found out early he had high cholesterol and began taking statins and watching what he ate very early on (I remember our having way too much angel food cake and skim milk!) His conscientiousness and commitment to good health and fitness inspire me to this day! - Dad attending one of my JV baseball games in Great Neck. He had begun wearing these weird green "space-shoes" (he had bunions) and I was embarrassed of his feet. Silly me. - Dad introduced us to his second wife, Maggie at his 58th Street apartment near the old New York Coliseum. She was beautiful and smart and they were hopelessly in love. He was so happy to have us meet her. It was strange and wonderful to see him so happy with a mate (Mom and Dad had a rocky marriage). Maggie and Dad would be peas in a pod for the next 25-30 years until she passed many years ago. - His love of all kinds of food! All kinds! We'd drive into Manhattan from Leonia and go to our parents' favorite joint, the Shanghai Caf? in Harlem in the 1960's. I was the Luddite in the family and would not touch anything but the Wonton soup while the rest of the family devoured everything in sight (the hot and sour fish there was a huge hit). Mom and Dad would take unsophisticated me to the greasy hole in the wall around the corner afterward for a couple of dirty dogs! We were no happier when we were eating Mom's cooking or Chinese food! - In the backseat of his car, with Kathy. Maggie in the front. Dad at the wheel. Someone cut us off dangerously. At a red light, he came alongside the car. He was furious and leaned out the window and yelled at the driver "You big...(long pause as he assessed the risk) DODO!" Even when he was angry, he could be so damn funny! - The way he devoured a roast chicken! Like Houdini, Nothing would be left of that chicken when he left the table... but a small wishbone! Some would say this was a leftover from the depression. But, I think that Dad just loved to eat (another quality I inherited)! - Dad's favorite expression of exasperation, "Boy oh boy oh boy!" or when that isn't enough (like now), "Oy, yi, yi, yi, yi!" - Watching the Academy Awards in NYC, ten years ago (?) and surprise, surprise, on comes a commercial for Chobani backed by, what is this? a strangely enhanced version of Nancy Sinatra singing "The End". - Huddling with Dad that last visit. Holding his now emaciated hand. He couldn't say much, his language area had been hit hard by the stroke. We pulled out this great old photo of him as a boy posing with his basketball club. He pointed to one of his old pals and exclaimed "sport!" and then pointed to the next kid and said "sport" and on through the list. When he came to himself, he didn't seem to recognize it was himself, and labeled the photo "sport". That was painful to see this lifelong wordsmith, so lacking words. And, yet, he was right on! He was and will remain always the best of sports! He is survived by my sister, Kathy Jacobson Battat, her husband, Phillip Battat. His grandsons Jacob and Andrew Battat and my daughter, Rebecca Jacobson. In my tears, I will quote the lyrics to his beloved song, "the End": At the end of a rainbow, You'll find a pot of gold At the end of a story, You'll find it's all been told. But our love has a treasure Our hearts always spend And it has a story without any end. At the end of a river, The water stops its flow At the end of a highway, There's no place you can go But just tell me you love And you are only mine And our love will go on till the end of time. At the end of a river, The water stops its flow At the end of a highway, There's no place you can go But just tell me you love And you are only mine And our love will go on till the end of time Till the end of time... Dad, your love and the joy you brought into the world will last forever in my heart and many others...till the end of time!

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