Jimmy Frise was a living, breathing phenomenon. Once as close as it was possible to be a living legend in the world of Canadian publishing. A genuine character. A twinkling star that shone so bright, one could even catch a glimmer of his light, in a sullen, self-absorbed pubescent daze.
It was probably the winter of 1971. A 13 year-old kid from the farm rides shotgun into town with his mom to get away from his perceived dreary rural existence. She shops for groceries and clothing, while the boy sits in the car, steaming up the windows from breathing as he reads comic books in the Centre Grey County cold. One Saturday, his mother comes back to the car with a surprise. She has gone to the library and borrowed a book called "Birdseye Center" and thought he'd enjoy it. The boy puts down his comic book and begins to read...and is amazed. His first taste of Frise!
Other than cartoons in a book, the boy doesn't know anything about Jimmy Frise, born in the Scugog Lake area, near Port Perry, Ontario. A veteran artillery soldier from the "Great War", losing part of his left hand in a munitions accident. Mailing in a cartoon to the Toronto Star and inadvertently delaying his illustrious fate by many weeks, because he neglected to include a return address. Jimmy Frise did elevate himself to "the master of cartooning" in the boy's eyes.
Frise was a simple man of simple means. He loved people and animals and had a love-hate relationship with his work. While a tight deadline loomed, it wasn't unusual to hear of Frise either hunting, fishing, or at the racetrack playing the ponies. It drove the tightly-wound Star Vice-President and Editorial Director H. C. Hindmarsh to distraction. This brief passage in the 1965 McMillan and Stewart book, "Birdseye Center" said it best.
"There was that great conglomeration of giant presses, engraving departments, stereotyping departments, pressmen in their little square paper hats, mailers, delivery trucks, all waiting. Hindmarsh walked gravely down to the sanctum of the publisher J. E. Atkinson. Putting his earphone to his ear, Mr. Atkinson listened to the tirade. Already, the overtime was in the hundreds of dollars. Did Hindmarsh have the authority to put the law on Jimmy Frise? Anything to bring him to time? Mr. Atkinson took the hearing aid from his ear. "Harry", he said to the great Mogul, and he crossed his arms in a characteristic gesture, "The Star Weekly does not go to press without Mr. Frise. J. E. Atkinson told me this story himself." Such was the gentle force of Jimmy Frise. With the power to bring the world to a standstill, a few hours at the artboard permitted it to resume - and in a better place.
Oh and that young pubescent boy? He was me. I can attest to the fact that then, just as now, there was nothing like a feast of Frise. Do yourself a favor and have Frise as a side to the following links:
Jimmy Frise Online ArchiveJimmy Frise as remembered by Greg ClarkJimmy Frise Biography at Lambiek.net 
