Posted By Dan Greenfield on Feb 2, 2026 | 13 comments

A MORRISON MONDAYS birthday tribute to CREIG FLESSEL…

By BILL MORRISON

You’ve heard the old adage, “Never meet your heroes”? Well, I’d like to offer a slightly modified version, “Never meet your heroes… in the men’s room… or maybe do!” Naturally, such a loaded maxim must have an anecdote behind it, and indeed, it does.

In 2003, I attended the National Cartoonists Society’s annual Reuben Awards weekend, which was in San Francisco that year. My fellow NCS members and I had taken over the Palace Hotel, where most of our weekend activities transpired, including the Saturday night awards banquet.

This affair is, as always, strictly black tie, and as I rode the elevator down to one of the ballrooms for the pre-dinner cocktail party, I caught my reflection in one of the vertical mirror strips that lined the walls of the lift. I was wearing a wing-collar shirt with a black bowtie, and I saw that one side of the tie was behind the collar, and the other in front of it. Plus, it was crooked.

I fiddled with the tie for a moment to no avail before arriving at the floor, and decided to head to the men’s room so I could adjust it with the help of a proper mirror.

Standing at the sink, I found myself alone in the lavatory, except for a tall, older gentleman who was likewise attired in a tuxedo, and also adjusting part of his suit. In this case however, the man was trying to do up his trousers. His tuxedo pants had those side tabs at the waistband that do the job of a belt or suspenders, and he was struggling to get them tightened.

The Palace Hotel

I glanced over at him, and uttered a polite “Hello,” and he responded likewise, adding “Boy, I can’t seem to figure out how these tuxedo pants work.” I’m a naturally helpful type, and before I could stifle myself, I responded, “I’ve worn those before. Maybe I can help.” As the words were leaving my mouth, I thought “Oh man, I hope he refuses my offer. This could get weird!” But alas, the man replied, “If you could, I would appreciate it.”

A moment later, I found myself on one knee in front of a stranger in the men’s room, my eyes at crotch level. The elderly gent looked down at me as I worked on his pants and chuckled out, “Boy, I hope nobody walks in on us right now!”

“Yeah, no kidding,” I replied!

Luckily, nobody did enter while I was in that compromising position, and I managed to get the chap’s slacks nicely fastened.

As the man thanked me and we parted, I shook his hand (another men’s room faux pas!) and introduced myself. He replied, “Nice to meet you. My name is Creig Flessel.”

Creig Flessel at the Palace Hotel in San Francisco during the NCS Reuben Awards weekend. Photo by David Folkman.

Wow, I couldn’t believe it! I was a big fan of Creig’s work in Golden Age comics and newspaper cartooning, and told him so before we both wandered into the cocktail party.

The following morning, after an evening of food, drink, and revelry, the NCS members and their families filed onto a fleet of chartered buses, some bleary-eyed and hung over, for a field trip. Our destination? The Charles M. Schulz Museum in Santa Rosa, where Sparky’s widow, Jeannie Schulz hosted our group for a barbecue, a tour of the museum, and a private performance of “Snoopy on Ice” at the adjacent Snoopy’s Home Ice skating arena.

My friend and comic dealer extraordinaire, Steve Wyatt, was my guest, and as the barbecue wound down I had a few moments to chat with legendary Joker and Robin co-creator Jerry Robinson. I had a sketchbook with me and Jerry was doing a nice Batman drawing in it when Steve interjected to tell me he was off to the rink to get a good seat for the ice show, and that he would save one for me.

A while later, I entered the arena to find that it was really filling up. Most of the seats close to the ice were taken, and only the seats higher up remained open. I found Steve seated in a prime location with a great view of the ice. And sitting beside him was my old friend from the men’s room, Creig Flessel.

From the 1980 NCS album

Steve apologized to me for giving my seat to Creig, causing the artist to stand up and ask, “Oh, is this your seat?” It was clear that he intended to give up his chair to me, and knowing that he’d have to climb up several stairs to get to any available seating, I said, “No, no, please. I’ll find another seat.”

Creig refused to let me do that, and I, in turn, refused to let him vacate the seat. We went back and forth like that for a few moments, both stubbornly refusing to inconvenience the other, and it became apparent to me that Creig was not going to budge. He was determined to give his chair to me and haul his lanky, elderly frame up to the nosebleed section.

Suddenly, realizing that I had my sketchbook in hand, I had an idea that I thought might break the impasse. I told Creig that I would take a drawing in my sketchbook in trade for the seat. Obviously, Creig saw my offer as an easy way to save face and immediately exclaimed, “That’s a deal!”

I handed him my book, thanked him, and began my climb to a spot near the rafters of the arena. Once there, I realized I’d neglected to request a particular subject for the sketch. But no matter, that ship had sailed, so it was now artist’s choice.

After enjoying the dazzling antics of the skaters costumed as Peanuts characters, and wondering how they managed to avoid constantly falling on their rumps wearing those giant cartoon heads, I descended back down to find Steve, alone and waiting for me. Creig had already left, wanting to catch the first bus back to the hotel, but Steve had my sketchbook.

I opened it with great anticipation of what I’d find! Did Creig leave me a drawing of the Golden Age Sandman, which he was well-known for… or maybe a Batman sketch? I hope, I hope, I hope!

Flessel

No, he did not. What he drew was way better than any superhero sketch. Creig gave me a lasting memory in pen and ink, of our meeting in the washroom. And like a true cartoonist, he made it even funnier by adding drops of sweat flying from my brow, and changing the side tabs of the trousers to a stuck zipper!

Oh, and one other thing. I think you’ll agree, he gave me a hilarious story!

Creig Flessel was born February 2, 1912, in Huntington, New York, 114 years ago. I celebrate Creig’s life, and my good fortune to have met him, by sharing this anecdote and his wonderful sketch.

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