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12 Busy Facts About Richard Scarry

Chances are pretty good that you have a Richard Scarry book or two in your collection—more than 100 million of his books have been sold. In honor of what would have been his 97th birthday today, here are a few facts about the man behind Busytown.

1. HE DREW MAPS FOR THE ARMY.

After being drafted into the army during World War II, Scarry was assigned a job repairing radios. It didn't go well. He was relocated to a job that would make better use of his talents, and ended up spending several years drawing maps, illustrating propaganda, and creating promotional signs. When Captain Scarry was discharged, he went to New York to pursue a career as a commercial artist.

2. SCARRY GOT A JOB AT VOGUE—AND WAS PROMPTLY FIRED.

He quickly landed a dream job: a position in the art department at Vogue magazine. He was only there for two or three weeks before he told he was the "wrong fit" for the job and was let go.

3. IT WASN'T LONG BEFORE HE WAS DRAWING FOR LITTLE GOLDEN BOOKS.

The first was 1950's The Animals Merry Christmas, written by Kathryn Jackson, and it wouldn't be the last. Among the many titles Scarry illustrated for Little Golden Books was Jane Werner's Smokey the Bear, released in 1955. Scarry's depiction of the little cub in a ranger hat cemented Smokey's status as an icon.

4. HE COLLABORATED WITH WIFE PATSY SCARRY ON SEVERAL BOOKS.

Patricia Murphy was writing children's textbooks when she met Scarry. After they married, she used her talent for understanding how children read and learn to write several books for him under the name Patsy Scarry. Some of their joint titles include the Little Golden Books Good Night, Little Bear and The Bunny Book.

5. AT ONE POINT, EIGHT OF THE 50 BEST-SELLING CHILDREN'S BOOKS OF ALL TIME WERE RICHARD SCARRY BOOKS.

The New York Times reported that in 1989, a Publisher's Weekly list showed that eight of the top 50 best-selling hardcover books belonged to Scarry. This 1996 list ranks Richard Scarry's Best Word Book Ever at #18, with 3,798,953 copies sold. Richard Scarry's Best Mother Goose Ever followed at #38, I Am a Bunny at #41, and Richard Scarry's Best Storybook Ever at #46.

6. HIS BOOKS HAVE GONE THROUGH SUBTLE BUT SIGNIFICANT CHANGES OVER THE YEARS.

If you read Best Word Book Ever as a child, and have since purchased a new copy for your own children or grandchildren, keep your eyes peeled for some cultural changes. Stereotypical visual references to "Indians" were removed, both moms and dads are shown preparing meals in the kitchen, and males and females are shown doing jobs that defy dated gender roles. They also removed labels such as "beautiful screaming lady" (being rescued by a male firefighter) and "pretty stewardess." Alan Taylor discovered these differences (and many more) and has posted the before-and-afters.

7. THERE ARE MORE THAN 1400 OBJECTS IN RICHARD SCARRY'S BEST WORD BOOK EVER.

First released in 1963, the book is crammed with a staggering number of things for inquisitive children to discover. "Children like funny situations, detail and lots of action," Scarry once told an interviewer. "Nothing delights me more than to see a child reading a well-worn copy of one of my books held together with tape."

8. SCARRY'S FAMILY IS REPRESENTED IN HIS BOOKS.

The character "Huckle Cat" is named for Scarry's son, Richard Scarry Jr. The illustrator deemed his son "Huck" at a young age after deciding that he looked like "a real Huckleberry Finn." Huck's daughter, Olympia, says that she and her sister are also depicted in her grandfather's books.

9. HUCK SCARRY PICKED UP WHERE HIS FATHER LEFT OFF.

When he was just a teen, Huck helped his father illustrate scenes in the Busytown books, filling in colors for Cars, Trucks and Things That Go. Instead of coloring one scene at a time, their method was to color all of the reds in the entire book, then the yellows, then the oranges, and so on. Huck continued the Busytown series after Scarry passed away from a heart attack in 1994.

10. LOWLY WORM WASN'T SUPPOSED TO BE A STAR.

The little invertebrate wasn't intended to be a main character, but children absolutely loved him. “He was just a little thing kids could look for,” Huck Scarry told Niagara This Week in 2012. “But he started getting fan mail and drawings from kids.” Scarry gave the kids what they wanted: more Lowly.

11. A NEW LOWLY BOOK WAS RELEASED IN 2014.

Huck discovered sketches and an outline for a new book more than a decade after his father's death. Already well-versed in the Scarry style of illustration, Huck was able to complete The Best Lowly Worm Book, publishing it in 2014—and there could be more to come. "The University of Connecticut holds most of my father's original artwork, including sketches," he told Entertainment Weekly in 2013. "I am currently looking at whether there might be something complete which might be brought to a finished book. We'll see!"

12. GRANDDAUGHTER OLYMPIA SCARRY IS ALSO AN ARTIST.

Olympia Scarry has followed in the artistic footsteps of her father and grandfather, but on a slightly different path. Though she specializes in nature installations and performance art, Scarry doesn't entirely rule out illustrating children's books someday: "You never know, maybe I will. My father would love that."

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The Plucky Teenage Stowaway Aboard the First American Expedition to Antarctica
The Ohio State University Archives
The Ohio State University Archives

Documentary filmmaker and journalist Laurie Gwen Shapiro came across the name "William Gawronski" in 2013 while researching a story about Manhattan's St. Stanislaus, the oldest Polish Catholic church in the U.S. In 1930, more than 500 kids from the church had held a parade in honor of Billy Gawronski, who had just returned from two years aboard the first American expedition to Antarctica, helmed by naval officer Richard E. Byrd.

The teenager had joined the expedition in a most unusual way: by stowing aboard Byrd's ships the City of New York and the Eleanor Bolling not once, not twice, but four times total. He swam across the Hudson River to sneak onto the City of New York and hitchhiked all the way to Virginia to hide on the Eleanor Bolling.

"I thought, 'Wait, what?" Shapiro tells Mental Floss.

Intrigued by Billy's persistence and pluck, Shapiro dove into the public records and newspaper archives to learn more about him. She created an Excel spreadsheet of Gawronskis all along the East Coast and began cold-calling them.

"Imagine saying, 'Did you have an ancestor that jumped in the Hudson and stowed away to the Antarctic in 1928?'" Shapiro says. She got "a lot of hang-ups."

On the 19th call, to a Gawronski in Cape Elizabeth, Maine, an elderly woman with a Polish accent answered the phone. "That boy was my husband," Gizela Gawronski told her. Billy had died in 1981, leaving behind a treasure trove of mementos, including scrapbooks, notebooks, yearbooks, and hundreds of photos.

"I have everything," Gizela told Shapiro. "I was hoping someone would find me one day."

Three days later, Shapiro was in Maine poring over Billy's papers with Gizela, tears in her eyes.

These materials became the basis of Shapiro's new book The Stowaway: A Young Man's Extraordinary Adventure to Antarctica. It's a rollicking good read full of fascinating history and bold characters that takes readers from New York to Tahiti, New Zealand to Antarctica, and back to New York again. It's brimming with the snappy energy and open-minded optimism of the Jazz Age.

Shapiro spent six weeks in Antarctica herself to get a feel for Billy's experiences. "I wanted to reach the Ross Ice barrier like Billy did," she says.

Read on for an excerpt from chapter four.

***

As night dropped on September 15, Billy jumped out of his second-floor window and onto the garden, a fall softened by potatoes and cabbage plants and proudly photographed sunflowers. You would think that the boy had learned from his previous stowaway attempt to bring more food or a change of dry clothes. Not the case.

An overnight subway crossing into Brooklyn took him to the Tebo Yacht Basin in Gowanus. He made for the location he'd written down in his notes: Third Avenue and Twenty-Third Street.

In 1928 William Todd's Tebo Yacht Basin was a resting spot— the spot—for the yachts of the Atlantic seaboard's most aristocratic and prosperous residents. The swanky yard berthed more than fifty staggering prizes of the filthy rich. Railroad executive Cornelius Vanderbilt kept his yacht O-We-Ra here; John Vanneck, his Amphitrite. Here was also where to find Warrior, the largest private yacht afloat, owned by the wealthiest man in America, public utilities baron Harrison Williams; yeast king (and former mayor of Cincinnati) Julian Fleischman's $625,000 twin-screw diesel yacht, the Carmago; General Motors president Alfred P. Sloan's Rene; shoe scion H. W. Hanan's Dauntless; and J. P. Morgan's Corsair III. The Tebo Yacht Basin's clubroom served fish chowder luncheons to millionaires in leather-backed mission chairs.

Todd, a great friend of Byrd's, lavished attention on his super-connected pal with more contacts than dollars. He had provided major funding for Byrd's 1926 flight over the North Pole, and helped the commander locate and refit two of the four Antarctic expedition ships for $285,900, done at cost. Todd loved puffy articles about him as much as the next man, and press would help extract cash from the millionaires he actively pursued as new clients; helping out a famous friend might prove cheaper than the advertisements he placed in upmarket magazines. Throughout that summer, Byrd mentioned Todd's generous support frequently.

Two weeks after the City of New York set sail, the Chelsea, the supply ship of the expedition, was still docked at the Tebo workyard and not scheduled to depart until the middle of September. Smith's Dock Company in England had built the refurbished 170-foot, 800-ton iron freighter for the British Royal Navy at the tail end of the Great War. First christened patrol gunboat HMS Kilmarnock, her name was changed to the Chelsea during her post–Royal Navy rumrunning days.

Not long before she was scheduled to depart, Byrd announced via a press release that he was renaming this auxiliary ship, too, after his mother, Eleanor Bolling. But the name painted on the transom was Eleanor Boling, with one l—the painter's mistake. As distressing as this was (the name was his mother's, after all), Byrd felt a redo would be too expensive and a silly use of precious funds. Reporters and PR staff were simply instructed to always spell the name with two ls.

As Billy eyed the ship in dock days after his humiliation on board the New York, he realized here was another way to get to Antarctica. The old, rusty-sided cargo ship would likely be less guarded than the flagship had been.

As September dragged on, Billy, back in Bayside, stiffened his resolve. No one would think he'd try again! On September 15, once more he swam out during the night to board a vessel bound for Antarctica.

Since his visit two weeks prior, Billy had studied his news clippings and knew that the Bolling was captained by thirty-six-year-old Gustav L. Brown, who'd been promoted weeks earlier from first mate of the New York when Byrd added the fourth ship to his fleet. Billy liked what he read. According to those who sailed under Brown's command, this tall and slender veteran of the Great War was above all genteel, and far less crotchety than the New York's Captain Melville. Captain Brown's education went only as far as high school, and while he wasn't against college, he admired honest, down-to-earth workers. Like his colleague Captain Melville, Brown had begun a seafaring life at fourteen. He seemed just the sort of man to take a liking to a teenage stowaway with big dreams.

Alas, the crew of the second ship headed to Antarctica now knew to look for stowaways. In a less dramatic repeat of what had happened in Hoboken, an Eleanor Bolling seaman ousted Billy in the earliest hours of the morning. The kid had (unimaginatively) hidden for a second time in a locker under the lower forecastle filled with mops and bolts and plumbing supplies. The sailor brought him to Captain Brown, who was well named, as he was a man with a mass of brown hair and warm brown eyes. The kind captain smiled at Billy and praised the cheeky boy's gumption—his Swedish accent still heavy even though he'd made Philadelphia his home since 1920—yet Billy was escorted off to the dock and told to scram.

A few hours later, still under the cover of night, Billy stole back on board and was routed out a third time, again from the “paint locker.”

A third time? The Bolling's third in command, Lieutenant Harry Adams, took notes on the gutsy kid who had to be good material for the lucrative book he secretly hoped to pen. Most of the major players would score book deals after the expedition; the public was eager for adventure, or at least so publishers thought. The catch was that any deal had to be approved by Byrd: to expose any discord was to risk powerful support. Adams's book, Beyond the Barrier with Byrd: An Authentic Story of the Byrd Antarctic Exploring Expedition, was among the best: more character study than thriller, his grand sense of humor evident in his selection of anecdotes that the others deemed too lightweight to include.

Billy was not the only stowaway that September day. Also aboard was a girl Adams called Sunshine, the "darling of the expedition," a flirt who offered to anyone who asked that she wanted to be the first lady in Antarctica. (In the restless era between world wars, when movies gave everyone big dreams, even girl stowaways were not uncommon.) Brown told a reporter that Sunshine had less noble aspirations, and soon she, too, was removed from the Bolling, but not before she gave each crew member a theatrical kiss.

As the early sun rose, Captain Brown called Billy over to him from the yacht yard's holding area where he had been asked to wait with the giggling Sunshine until his father arrived. The captain admired Billy's gumption, but it was time for the seventeen-year-old to go now and not waste any more of anyone's time.

As Lieutenant Adams recorded later, "Perhaps this matter of getting rid of Bill was entered up in the Eleanor Bolling log as the first scientific achievement of the Byrd Antarctic expedition."

*** 

From THE STOWAWAY: A Young Man's Extraordinary Adventure to Antarctica by Laurie Gwen Shapiro. Copyright © 2018 by Laurie Gwen Shapiro. Reprinted by permission of Simon & Schuster, Inc.

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The Truth Is In Here: Unlocking Mysteries of the Unknown
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In the pre-internet Stone Age of the 20th century, knowledge-seekers had only a few options when they had a burning question that needed to be answered. They could head to their local library, ask a smarter relative, or embrace the sales pitch of Time-Life Books, the book publishing arm of Time Inc. that marketed massive, multi-volume subscription series on a variety of topics. There were books on home repair, World War II, the Old West, and others—an analog Wikipedia that charged a monthly fee to keep the information flowing.

Most of these were successful, though none seemed to capture the public’s attention quite like the 1987 debut of Mysteries of the Unknown, a series of slim volumes that promised to explore and expose sensational topics like alien encounters, crop circles, psychics, and near-death experiences.

While the books themselves were well-researched and often stopped short of confirming the existence of probing extraterrestrials, what really cemented their moment in popular culture was a series of television commercials that looked and felt like Mulder and Scully could drop in at any moment.

Airing in the late 1980s, the spots drew on cryptic teases and moody visuals to sell consumers on the idea that they, too, could come to understand some of life's great mysteries, thanks to rigorous investigation into paranormal phenomena by Time-Life’s crack team of researchers. Often, one actor would express skepticism (“Aliens? Come on!”) while another would implore them to “Read the book!” Inside the volumes were scrupulously-detailed entries about everything from the Bermuda Triangle to Egyptian gods.

Inside a volume of 'Mysteries of the Unknown'
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Mysteries of the Unknown grew out of an earlier Time-Life series titled The Enchanted World that detailed some of the fanciful creatures of folklore: elves, fairies, and witches. Memorably pitched on TV by Vincent Price, The Enchanted World was a departure from the publisher’s more conventional volumes on faucet repair, and successful enough that the product team decided to pursue a follow-up.

At first, Mysteries of the Unknown seemed to be a non-starter. Then, according to a 2015 Atlas Obscura interview with former Time-Life product manager Tom Corry, a global meditation event dubbed the "Harmonic Convergence" took place in August 1987 in conjunction with an alleged Mayan prophecy of planetary alignment. The Convergence ignited huge interest in New Age concepts that couldn’t be easily explained by science. Calls flooded Time-Life’s phone operators, and Mysteries of the Unknown became one of the company’s biggest hits.

"The orders are at least double and the profits are twice that of the next most successful series,'' Corry told The New York Times in 1988.

Time-Life shipped 700,000 copies of the first volume in a planned 20-book series that eventually grew to 33 volumes. The ads segued from onscreen skeptics to directly challenging the viewer ("How would you explain this?") to confront alien abductions and premonitions.

Mysteries of the Unknown held on through 1991, at which point both sales and topics had been exhausted. Time-Life remained in the book business through 2003, when it was sold to Ripplewood Holdings and ZelnickMedia and began to focus exclusively on DVD and CD sales.

Thanks to cable and streaming programming, anyone interested in cryptic phenomena can now fire up Ancient Aliens. But for a generation of people who were intrigued by the late-night ads and methodically added the volumes to their bookshelves, Mysteries of the Unknown was the best way to try and explain the unexplainable.

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