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Charles "Sparky" Schulz was born in Minneapolis in 1922. After serving time as an infantryman and eventually a staff sergeant in World War II, Schulz sold his first comic strip to the St. Paul Pioneer Press in 1948, calling his creation "L'il Folks." United Feature Syndicate picked it up in 1950 and to Schulz's everlasting horror renamed it "Peanuts." The first strips did not represent an immediate cartooning revolution. Still, the tone was established early -- immediately, in fact. "Peanuts" debuted with a couple of kids on a step watching Charlie Brown go by. "Good old Charlie Brown," says Patty. "How I hate him!" (As die-hard "Peanuts" followers know, this Patty was not Peppermint Patty, the fine athlete/crummy student introduced in 1966. The original Patty seemed to disappear, along with other secondary figures such as Violet and Shermy.)

Soon the cast of Schulz's little morality plays became part of the public consciousness as no other cartoon figures before them -- the hapless Charlie Brown; the philosophical, blanket-clutching Linus; the sibling/budget psychiatrist/human pothole Lucy; and, perhaps most popular of all, Snoopy, the most complex dog in the history of this or any other creative medium. Although Charlie Brown's fantasy-prone beagle came to represent the happy face of "Peanuts" (and not surprisingly provided the easiest entree into the world of marketing, where "Peanuts" characters are now said to generate a billion dollars annually), the Snoopy of the daily comic strips is not just the carefree, dancing soul seen in the TV specials. He is in many ways a more fully rounded version of Charlie Brown, capable of the same nihilistic observations about our place in the cold universe but, unlike his master, also blessed with a little joie de vivre. And the perspective of a dog. "They always act like they're doing you such a big favor," he mused, preparing to catch an airborne morsel of hot dog.

"Peanuts" characters became worldwide symbols of America on par with Mickey Mouse. (Note that the Knott's Berry Farm theme park hired them to compete with Disneyland just down the road.) Unlike the born-to-be-sold Mickey, though, the commercial overkill surrounding "Peanuts" is in marked contrast to the simple, almost austere spirit of the source material.

Among Schulz's most notable achievements may have been the thoughtful Christian spirituality he injected into the strips on a regular basis, sometimes overtly and sometimes, as Robert Short pointed out in his 1966 book "The Gospel According to Peanuts," by simply mirroring Scripture indirectly. It was no accident. "I liked Biblical things," Schulz recently told Newsweek. He has often spoken of his deep religious faith but, not surprisingly, it is a faith tinged with realism. "Once you accept Jesus," Schulz wrote in Decision magazine in 1963, "it doesn't mean that all your problems are automatically solved."

Charlie Brown and Linus would occasionally sit on the couch poring over some Bible verse that would be punctuated by an afterthought from Snoopy. Thanks to his unassailable position in the cultural mainstream, Schulz could afford to display a gentle irreverence to Scripture that might have gotten another artist into trouble. (As it was, Schulz told Newsweek that the only serious editorial complaint lodged against him came when he introduced the character of Franklin who, depending on your point of view, either integrated the strip or ruined the neighborhood.) Schulz's spiritual curiosity is the sort that can be appreciated even by nonbelievers. It stands in stark contrast to the increasingly heavy-handed pulpit pounding of Johnny Hart, creator of the long-running strip "B.C." Schulz's characters ask questions about God. Hart's spout answers.

The "Peanuts" gang did not age (at least not since the earliest strips, when they appeared to be much younger), but they did change. Charlie Brown's battles with failure and despair never ceased, but in later years he was less often the target of overt hostility. Chuck was even the object of crushes held by Peppermint Patty and her androgynous pal Marcie, and although he never obtained his heart's desire -- the Little Red Haired Girl -- Charlie Brown had something like a genuine fling at camp with a girl named Peggy Jean. He also learned to dance.

Like an adult who has left behind the blatant cruelty and hostility of childhood but still bears the scars, Charlie Brown lies awake at night and asks questions of the void. The "Peanuts" reader always knows whose questions they are. "Everything I am is in that strip," Schulz said recently.

Schulz paid a price for flogging his little wards so mercilessly. The following conversation happened in a coffee shop recently:

"Charles Schulz is finally retiring."

"The 'Peanuts' guy? Gawd, I thought he was dead!"

The strip's daily appearance in the paper evidently wasn't enough to convince this young woman that Schulz was still above ground. Some of the blame for that must surely fall to the excessive marketing that turned his original winsome creations into a monolithic commercial franchise. And if little children look skyward at the Macy's parade and see only the giant inflatable effigy of an insurance salesman, that's a shame. But in no way does it diminish the accomplishment of Charles Schulz. In retirement he leaves behind an important example. "All right," Charlie Brown says after once more receiving assurances from Lucy that she will not pull away the football just before he can kick it. "I'll trust you. I have an undying faith in human nature. I believe that people who want to change can do so, and I believe that they should be given a chance to prove themselves."

Moments later he is, of course, flat on his back. Lucy stands over him, holding the unkicked ball. "Charlie Brown," she says, "your faith in human nature is an inspiration to all young people."
salon.com | Jan. 4, 2000

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