Paul Collins writes in the foreword, “Republicans are the greatest doodlers.” Do you think he’s correct, from an artistic standpoint?
Unfortunately, I think he’s right. The pleasure that we've gotten from the doodles of Eisenhower and Reagan is greater than what we’ve gotten from others. But that’s for everybody else to judge. If this were art history there might be some criteria you could wheel in and objectively say, “This painting is not as good as that painting.” But I don’t think the history of doodling—if it does have a history – has criteria for judging something like that. It’s more subjective.
That’s what makes these doodles so special—they make the presidents seem more human, revealing facets of their non-official personas that most of us aren’t aware of. How much about a president can you discern from his doodling?
We thought at one point about bringing in a graphologist or a psychoanalyst. But any attempt to impose interpretations is somehow doomed because there’s no key for these things. Of course that doesn’t mean that there’s nothing to see in them.
My home-brewed idea of Eisenhower has definitely changed as a result of these doodles. I sort of feel for him actually, as a person. Maybe I’m reading too much into it, but I get a sense that no matter what he’s doing, even when he’s taking militaristic action, you can see the public and private split that I mentioned. Some of the doodles were produced during meetings that discussed an intervention in Guatemala and you can see in them that he’s the first of the presidents to really show anxiety about being president.
It’s also very tricky with someone like Reagan. I feel like I can see the naïve, homey persona that he helped manufacture, but I don’t think he’s doing it as part of that same public persona. It really is him. In that sense you can say, “My gosh, this guy really believed in the persona that he put out in the world.” It wasn’t as much a mask as some people think. Here he is in his most private moments, writing a letter to Nancy, and you get a taste of this almost juvenile sensibility, which is full of love and naiveté. I wasn’t a great Reagan fan, but his doodles are charming because you believe that he believes what he is doing.
It’s been noted that Stalin drew hearts and Hitler drew dogs and flowers. What doodles by a U.S. president do you think people would find most surprising?
We found a lot of drawings Franklin Roosevelt made for stamps. If he thought the U.S. should have a stamp for a particular event, he made a drawing for it. He also drew a label cover for rum bottles that the U.S. government was going to put out. The guy is running an entire country, implementing the New Deal, and all this stuff is happening internationally, and he’s also doing these little stamps. Even at Yalta he had his entire stamp collection with him. Roosevelt was extraordinary in that he was a micromanager, probably the first micromanager on that scale.
The title of the magazine you founded and edit, Cabinet, alludes to a cabinet of curiosities, reminding me of a room filled with unicorn skeletons, torture instruments, and photos of circus sideshow stars. How does the magazine reflect that theme in its pages?
A cabinet of curiosities refers to a moment in history, the pre-museum period where whatever was of interest was included and you didn’t try to make distinctions. Natural things and manmade things were all together in the same room and the idea was that knowledge about the world all hangs together. You didn’t have to be a specialist in the way that we’re encouraged to be now. It’s not a question of being a jack-of-all-trades or policing good knowledge from bad knowledge. If you’re curious about the world we live in, you should be curious about everything. Why are bricks made a certain color? Why are they laid out in a certain order? Why are museum walls painted a certain white? All of these things could be of interest to the person who’s curious about the cultural world we’ve made.
Other small-staffed independent magazines such as Found and Topic have gone in a similar direction, publishing things they find on the street and offbeat art and articles, and drawing small, loyal readerships that feel like mini communities.
We’re certainly not alone in our mission. The online magazine Feed was a great thing for us. It’s now defunct, but they understood that the world is full of interesting things and that you shouldn’t just think about your own little specialization. There are other precedents and other people doing this too, of course. A lot of small magazines are now coming forward and proposing various oblique ways of looking at the world. They’re not doing wonderfully – not rolling around in cash or overstaffed or anything—but they’re finding that they can survive somehow.
I used to work at a small, non-profit magazine with 30,000 readers, with a small, mostly unpaid staff working in a cramped quarters. Does that describe Cabinet?
Everyone at Cabinet volunteers his or her time. Our paid staff is probably one and a half, including me, and we’re up to four unpaid volunteers. We have wonderful, incredible interns. Someone with a Ph.D. from Stanford was just trying to get an internship here. They’re all very smart people. They come here because they love the magazine, not because they see it as a stepping stone to someplace else. They’re believers in some way. We’re blessed for that.
How do you go about finding the curiosities that aren’t published elsewhere?
We have a great network of people around the world who send us things, but it’s also a case of reading things obliquely. You might find an article in a mainstream magazine in which there’s one little line that indicates some path not taken. That path is just as interesting, but it doesn’t have the hook required to make it a newsworthy item; it doesn’t have the connection to the present that a lot of publications need in order to be au courant.
Our magazine doesn’t hinge on the idea of the “hook.” Often our first-time writers try to tie their first paragraph to some kind of contemporary phenomenon, but if the story’s interesting you don’t need to torture yourself to hitch it to some contemporary moment. If it’s interesting, just go for it, and trust that your readers will come with you. And they will come with you. Part of our magazine’s mission is to write a new kind of reader into existence—the reader who says, “I trust these people and I’m going to go along with it, I’m going to read about phantom limbs in the nineteenth century. I’ve never thought about it before, but let’s see where it takes us.”
Also, we’re an art and culture magazine, so we have a lot of artists writing about their interests. That incredible hunger and curiosity that they bring to the world around them is a great source of inspiration for us, and also a great source of writing. When you go to artists’ studios these days, they’ll have cut-up images and text on the walls, and that collection on the wall is often more interesting than what they’ll be doing with it. We encourage artists to show their work but also to write about that stuff on the wall.
Where did you locate the doodles? Are they housed in a presidential cabinet of curiosities, perhaps next to the still-breathing head of JFK?
"The George W. Bush Presidential Library" (January/February 2006)
An unauthorized preview, with never-before -seen drawings of the interior. A cartoon sketchbook by Cullen Murphy and Edward Sorel
We were in touch from the start with archivists at the presidential libraries. There’s a presidential library for every president since Hoover. And there’s a full-time staff dedicated to knowing and caring for the manuscripts there. We had interesting reactions. One archivist described one of our most prized doodles as “a bit of doggerel.” Some of them weren’t comfortable with this kind of request, but some of them thought it was great.
My colleagues, Sasha Archibald and Ryo Manabe, went to the Hoover library and came back with all these pictures from the Hoover museum, including something that we didn’t know existed. Hoover was an engineer, and he did these abstract drawings his whole life. He lived a long time, and even when he was very old he still drew them, even though his hand was shaking. The lines become more wobbly as time goes on and you see age take over. He was well known for doodling during his presidency; one of his doodles was picked up and sold for quite a bit of money. Someone decided to manufacture the doodle as a fabric, and these baby rompers were made with his doodles all over them. Little surprises like that would show up at the presidential libraries.
The number of pieces of paper that were kept in the presidential libraries before Carter passed the 1978 Presidential Papers Act was subjective; it depended on the president. Some were resistant and got rid of things that didn’t seem crucial, so there might have been doodles that existed but that were never preserved for us to see. Chester Arthur didn’t like the idea of having a paper trail after him, so the night before his death he burnt three garbage pails of all his papers, each one four feet high. So there’s very little left. For many years the Library of Congress’ Arthur collection had just a single manuscript. That was all that was left of his presidency.
There are better techniques for preserving papers now, and as time goes on, the importance of keeping everything has become clear to everybody. You don’t have as many people right there making decisions about what to keep or not. The tendency on the whole has become to keep everything and then later let history judge which things are important.
In a perfect world, what would the president of the U.S. doodle?
One doodle that would capture everything is tough to imagine, but a president who doodles a lot of solar panels on homes and small, gas efficient cars would be a president I might consider voting for.