THE PHONE RINGS…
and my mother picks up. It's the fire department calling to ask if her son Richard is home. My mother responds somewhat startled, "Of course, where else would he be?" She hands the phone to my father and runs to check on me. It's a late spring evening in May and as my mom finds me safe in bed, my father remains on the line spelling our unusual last name just before hanging up. "Yes, it’s M-O-N-T-M-I-N-Y...yes, that's right. Yes, I'll be sure to tell him...ok, thank you, goodnight" Walking down the hall to the room I share with my brother my father proudly announces "You WON the contest! The check is waiting for you at the firehouse. We can pick it up this weekend." My brother, sleepily annoyed with all the noise, asks what I've won. "15 bucks!" I blurt out.
And with that tidy sum, my career as a commercial artist had begun.
It was Fire Awareness & Prevention month and the local fire department was running a poster contest through our elementary school. I had submitted my entry weeks before but had to miss the meeting to decide the winner. Most likely it was a little league game that day that had mixed up the schedules. As I reflected on my win I considered a last minute decision. In an attempt to simplify the concept and add impact, I would forgo the use of the word fire and replace it with an info graphic of a fully engulfed house. This was a bold move given the brief clearly stated: Create a poster using the phrase Don’t play with matches. Prevent fires. Seems my creative instincts paid off.
To be honest, at the time I was more interested in setting things on fire then preventing them. A surplus of fourth of July firecrackers had mysteriously appeared earlier that spring, so blowing stuff up was a new blissfully dangerous hobby. But with my new found wealth—or at least my cut after parental taxes and fees—I was torn; continue as a budding arsonist and small munitions expert or channel my energies into my future art career.
Enter my grandmother, an artist named Mary Lagler better know as Nanny Mary. My first art teacher and creative director who recognized some talent. "Why don't you buy some art supplies?" she asked—prompting me to think "Forget art supplies, I need AMMO!". There was fire and destruction to be made that summer...the art world could wait.
"Now is the time to start honing your craft,” she said “so you can make a living someday. Don't wait ‘till you're older, I can teach you the basics and you'll have a head start."
I reluctantly agreed thinking that it might be good to have some extra income stashed in case I had to leave the country—on the run from weapons charges.
Mary, a spry 94 year old, remains my toughest critic and to this day still asks about my career, if I'm busy and what projects I'm working on.
"Very busy" I say.
"Are you still drawing?" she asks.
"Yes, every day." I reply
"What medium?"
"Pencil, maybe pen if I'm feeling it."
"How are your landscapes coming, still at it?"
"Yes, just finished a nice pastel last week. A scene by the reservoir."
"How was the light?"
"Good,” I say ”mid-afternoon full sun so I had to find a good angle."
"And the sky?"
"Full of cotton" I say,
"Cumulus? My favorite!" she says. "Why don't you take a picture like I taught you? You can take your time with a picture."
"I like being outside" I say.
"En plain eir, just like the masters..." she sighs as if remembering her old friends Claude and Vincent. "You keep at it and show me next time you're here." Here being the south Jersey shore. Her home after leaving Florida to live with my Aunt, who's also named Mary. It's a beach house right on a dune with a fantastic view of the Atlantic Ocean. I've sketched and painted it many times over the years and I’ll keep returning to that view. The subjects evolve but the practice never ends. And Mary is still there to teach me.
I don't set stuff on fire or physically blow things up anymore…
but I still thrive in the heat of a deadline or complex creative problem. Nowadays, ideas and concepts are the fuel and ammo, but the thrill remains the same. While I've never had a desire to join a ladder company I still find myself putting out fires now and then. As for blowing stuff up...well, that's just the 8-year-old in me.
—June, 2017
Afterword
It’s now 2025 and Nanny Mary has since passed. She lived to 97. Still doing her daily crosswords and weekly bridge club right up to the end. I think of her often and cherish the love she gave me and the art lessons she taught that I still use to this day.