Stalking Charles Schulz

Charles Schulz, the creator of the “Peanuts” comic strip, must have been more than surprised when Peanutsmania swept the country in the nineteen sixties.

But after Charlie Brown’s Christmas aired on TV it was game over – everybody in the good ol’ USA dug the ” Peanuts cartoon.

Merchandising was phenomenal. Soon no matter where you looked it was Peanuts this and Peanuts that. The market was flooded with Peanuts books, shirts, hats, comics, dolls, watches, and even records.

Matty and I must have owned the lion’s share of Peanuts memorabilia. We were totally into the Peanuts. 

My Old Man was pretty cool with our obsession but he drew the line over us playing with Peanuts toys. My Mom said he practically stroked out when he saw us playing with our Linus and Lucy “dolls.”

Anyway, every year around Easter, my Mom would load us kids plus a quarter ton of Peanuts crap into the family station wagon and drive us up to Occidental California to pay our unsolicited respects to the famous cartoonist Charles Schulz. 

Now how she found out about Chez Schulz remains a mystery. But an unverified family rumor had it that my Dad learned about Mr. Schulz’s whereabouts from a golfing buddy at his local Country Club. He then in a moment of weakness passed along the information to my Mother.

Now whether or not the famed Cartoonist ever noticed a blue station wagon parked outside his home for thirty minutes once a year. Who knows?  We were never acknowledged. And he might have already moved to Santa Rosa by the time we started our holy pilgrimage to Schulzland.

Still, I gotta wonder if the following scene played out in his home in Occidental every Spring:

Joyce: (Looking out the kitchen window) “Sparky, (aka Charles Schulz) there’s that blue station wagon parked outside our gate.”

Sparky: “What?! Again?!” 

Joyce: “Yep. Do you know who they are?”

Sparky: (furtively peeks out the window)  “No.”

Joyce: “Do you want to let them in?”

Sparky: Ducking out of sight.”Hell No! They’re probably stalkers.”

Joyce: “It’s weird. Every year around this time they show up and park outside. Then leave after thirty minutes.”

Sparky: (Sitting down) “Have they left yet?”

Joyce: “No.”

Sparky: Sigh…”Just ignore ’em and hopefully they’ll go away soon.”

Joyce: “Well I hope so. I need to make a trip to the market today and they’re blocking our driveway.”

Sparky: “Good Grief!”

Joyce: “Maybe you could go outside and see what they want…they’re probably just some fans who want an autograph or a little sketch of Snoopy.”

Sparky: “What if they’re nuts? I hate dealing with crazy people! Fans I can deal with, but stalkers and psychos scare me.”

Joyce: “They look Okay. It’s just some nice lookin’ lady and her two kids sitting in a car.

Sparky: “Looks can be deceiving.”

Joyce: “Uh, oh. I think they saw me…the woman is honking her horn and the kids are waving books and toys out the car windows.”

Sparky: “See I told ya…they’re a bunch of nuts!”

Joyce: “Oh Sparky… Okay,  they’ve started their car…they’re driving away.”

Sparky: “For God’s Sake Joyce! Don’t wave goodbye…you’ll just encourage them to come back next year.”

Joyce: “They’re gone.”

Sparky: “Thank God. Geez, Louise… I’m all stressed out. Gimme a Root Beer.”…mutters ” they were probably just a bunch of nuts anyway.”  

End of Scene.

Okay,  even though we never got to meet Charles Schulz  – the trip up for us Kids was always a special treat. For several reasons: One – hitting the road was always a “big deal” in kiddom; two –  there was always a chance that we might catch a glimpse of our hero and; three – once we were done visiting the holy shrine of Peanuts –  we’d get to head over to Negri’s.  

Negri’s was an old-school Italian restaurant in Occidental that served patrons ginormous portions of food.

The courses of food were served in a family-style tradition. At least that’s how Mom explained it to us kids. First, you’d get a little antipasto of salami, bread, cheese, and pepperoncini followed by a rich aromatic bowl of minestrone which was delicious.  The next course would be a salad with a traditional oil and vinegar dressing followed by more sourdough bread. And just when you couldn’t eat anymore – the main course. I always got the ravioli and Matty would unimaginatively opt for boring ol’ spaghetti.  Our mother always ordered the duck which I thought was kinda weird. But, at my young age, everything adults did back then was kinda weird. 

By the time the last bowl of spumoni ice cream was licked clean and the food orgy was over, Matty and I would be near comatose from all the excitement and overeating. So on tottering legs Mom would herd us back to the car whereupon we would collapse in the back seat.

The two-hour ride home back to Los Gatos was traditionally anticlimactic as we were usually exhausted from our Spring Bacchanalia. Matty and I would sleep in the station wagon back seat while Mom drove us quietly home.

Clutching our unsigned Peanuts memorabilia, we’d soundly sleep during that ride back, haunted by Vince Guaraldi music and dreams of next year’s visit.

Yeah, next year. We’d catch the sonovagun next year for sure.