Goodnight, Sweet Penguin

Last week, during the tumult of the presidential election, you might have missed the passing of a comics icon.

In 1980, two years before I began high school, a change swept over the comics page. A sneakily subversive little comic strip called "Bloom County," penned by Berkeley Breathed, debuted, and fused gentle good humor with the rampant, merciless skewering of sacred cows. As a teenager just beginning to form a social consciousness and develop a worldview, I found the strip completely enthralling.

I'd grown up reading comic strips, of course, from "Hagar The Horrible" to "Peanuts," and had even had exposure to "Doonesbury" thanks to a father who was one of the outermost feathers on the left wing of American politics. Being a kid, I usually found Trudeau's humor fairly impenetrable. I knew he was making fun of something, but I didn't have the experience or context to really get most of the jokes. Breathed's stuff was different. He didn't necessarily simplify the issues he spoofed, but his brand of mockery was more easily accessible.

And, most wonderfully, he never, ever, forgot to let his characters have fun. Who didn't want to be one of the passengers on Cutter John's wheelchair when it became the Starship Enterpoop, fleeing the "Death Star" of the AT&T logo or demanding that an Earth woman surrender at blaster-point? What personal crisis couldn't be resolved by a dandelion break in Milo's Meadow? Breathed effortlessly incorporated real-world issues and personalities into his fictional world, and even sparked a presidential ticket (Bill and Opus '88!) that had everything but real, breathing candidates.

Opus the penguin, at first a bit player who wasn't planned to become part of the regular cast, quickly became the emotional center of the strip. Through Opus' eyes, we saw the insanities of everyday life and, especially, politics and were genuinely interested in the answers when he would question something we'd always taken for granted. He was the Innocent abroad in the vast American sea, and we all wanted to spend a little time floating along with him.

This is not for a moment meant to slight the rest of the fine residents of Bloom County. Steve Dallas gave me a healthy skepticism about the legal profession. Lola Granola taught me that it was OK to laugh at my father's loony leftist pals. Binkley, with his anxiety closet, taught me that you're never too old to be scared of the boogeyman, even if that boogeyman is an IRS agent instead of a three-headed goblin.

I'm not sure I learned much from Bill the Cat, but Bhagwan Bill, Fundamentally Oral Bill and Billy and the Boingers were highly instructive.

Most important to my present career was Milo Bloom, 10-year-old newspaper reporter, consummate skeptic and tireless pursuer of truth. He vacillated between Edward R. Murrow and "Hard Copy" as far as his journalistic attitude, but he was always true to himself. His skills as a muckraker were legend, and he wasn't above a bit of high theater (or a prank phone call) to generate a story. He was, in short, what I want to be when I grow up. I'm still trying.

Opus, however, was the character Breathed chose to make the star when he left "Bloom County" behind in 1989 and launched "Outland," which ran as a Sunday-only strip for roughly six years. It had flashes of brilliance, but never quite captured the zeitgeist the way the original strip had. Breathed called things to a halt in 1995, ending with Steve Dallas coming out of the closet and taking off with Mark Slackmeyer (of "Doonesbury") and Opus retiring to Antarctica to live with his mother.

In 2003, Opus' third act began, this time as the eponymous character in another Sunday strip. Where "Outland" had at times thrown knuckleballs, "Opus" nailed pop culture, politics and various other targets with brilliantly thrown fastballs. And yet, still, Opus himself never descended into bitterness or cynicism. Dealt at times the worst hand the world had to offer, he still found ways to look on the bright side. He still retained that inner spark of childish wonder and appreciation for simple comforts.

It was thus appropriate that Opus left us by putting himself into the last page of that children's bedtime classic "Goodnight, Moon," where he will rest forever, tucked in snugly and watched over by a mother bunny. Breathed had announced a few weeks before, appearing as a narrator in his own strip, that things would be coming to an end and had set Opus to finding his own place of final repose.

Sleep well, Opus, from a man who grew up with you and wishes you herring-filled dreams and happy slumber.

Got anything weird going on in your world? Spare bucket of money you need to get rid of? Drop me a line, anytime!