In my previous entry, without elaborating, I mentioned that editorial cartoonists were treated like “kings” in the past. This was particularly true in the early part of the last century. Most were men, most were paid very, very well for their era, and the very best – like the Chicago Tribune’s John T. McCutcheon – often had their editorial cartoons appearing on the front page of the newspaper. In short, they molded public opinion with an immediacy and power that no editorial columnist could, and the editors and publishers knew it.

McCutcheon – a 1932 Pulitzer-Prize winner who is often referred to as the “Dean of American Cartoonists” – ruled his kingdom at the Tribune for 43 years, retiring in 1946.

Being a cartoonist myself, and knowing a lot of other cartoonists, I’ve always thought of most of our ilk as cloistered drudges who tool away at their drawing boards all day and night, eschewing vacations and other social niceties, in a never-ending effort to keep one step ahead of the next looming deadline.

McCutcheon, by contrast, was an amazing, colorful, and larger-than-life exception. A tough, no-nonsense Hoosier born on May 6, 1870, he traveled the world as a cartoonist-correspondent, visiting exotic locales, going on safari, and deploying with U.S. troops to combat zones during the Spanish-American War, World War I, and other military actions. For example, in 1898, McCutcheon just happened to be aboard the U.S. revenue cutter McCulloch on an around-the-world voyage when the war with Spain kicked off. His warship was suddenly diverted to combat duty at the Battle of Manila in the Philippines – with McCutcheon still dutifully on board

And even when he wasn’t officially on assignment, McCutcheon traveled abroad regularly – “playing hooky,” as his editor called it – visiting places most Americans then only dreamed about. The cartoons invariably followed, but his freedom was something that was, historically, very unusual for most cartoonists.

McCutcheon was also an avid fan of aviation, flying in aircraft when they were held together with little more than canvas, wire, a spindly network of thin wooden braces, and a prayer. He knew the Wright Brothers, and his first flight in 1910 was on a Wright Plane. Later, through an odd set of circumstances during a newspaper correspondence assignment to Europe during World War I, he was possibly the first civilian ever to fly over the battlefield there.

In 1917, at the age of 47, McCutcheon finally got around to two important milestones in his life: He got married, and he fulfilled a childhood ambition by buying his own “pirate island” – Salt Cay in the Bahamas – which he and his family dubbed “Treasure Island.”  During the final three decades of his life, McCutcheon went on to father four children, continue an equally productive career with the Tribune, and win the Pulitzer Prize.

McCutcheon finally passed away on June 10, 1949.  His wife, Evelyn, arranged for Bobbs-Merrill to publish his posthumous autobiography, Drawn from Memory: The Autobiography of John T. McCutcheon, the following year. He's buried in Chicago's historic Graceland Cemetery.