Anyone who has read extensively from Schulz’s early, 1950s Peanutes strips (as opposed to the happier, 1970s and later strips that came after the animated TV show royalties made him rich beyond his dreams) would see Schulz had a dark view, not only of human nature, but also of childhood in particular. Schulz was unafraid (at least then) to show in their full ugliness the playground cruelties we’ve all, if we are honest, either experienced or caused.
IMHO, I think Schulz saw the anecdote of Lucy pulling the football from Charlie Brown as a metaphor for life. As would (not that any of us are doctors and capable of diagnosing Schulz postmortem) anyone of us with depression.
PS — Cartooning is a tough life, with the most brutal deadlines imaginable. No wonder Schulz’s protege, Lynn Johnston of For Better or For Worse, has just gone into semi-retirement (and Aaron MacGruder, who once was going to be the African-American Garry Trudeau, burned himself out within a few years).

Wow, thanks for the mention. I’m really flattered. And thank you for your warmth, candor, and ability to make any situation relatable.

Ah, the Shutlz biography. I heard an interview with the author and one of Shultz’s sons on NPR last week.
“it’s not a full portrait. Sparky [Schulz’s nickname] was so much more. Most of the time he loved to laugh.”
It is frustrating to hear how people think that clinical depression is just a matter of being happy (lauging) or sad (depressed). I’m glad
Michaelis stuck to his convictions and wrote about the man he saw, and not the man his second family wanted to sugar-coat.

Even in Schulz’s pencil- and pen-driven lines, you can see his appreciation for tentative, unformed feelings. When one of his characters brooded in gloom, there was so much life brewing inside those lines* that you could feel hope and imagine that the character could come to some sort of acceptance or realize a transformation of mood or spirit.
My husband, year-and-a-half-old daughter, and I went to the Charles Schulz Museum in Santa Rosa last year, after a really hard trip to Northern California for a wedding. It was the shining moment of the trip. We all — even the little one — felt free to be ourselves there amidst the drawings, letters, quotes, comfortable furniture, and fun 3-D art. We felt in the company of a kindred spirit and then realized we were really okay, too — vacation trauma and all.
* inside those lines… an artist would call that the “negative space,” which is a really interesting concept for people dealing with depression and other mood disorders.

Cwnruries ago, Hipporates wrote an essay bow called “Hippocrates Lament” in which he decried the fact that the “best and brightest” (especialy in terms of creativity were so frequently bipolar, so it no longer surpises me to discover that prolific icons such as Charles Shultz suffered from our common afflictio nor were at least occasional visitors to the “deep, dark hole.” I actually find that observation to be the one POSITIVE in terms of suffering deep depressions; at least we’re in good company! Now if we as a society can (FINALLY) reach the point where our loved ones (such as Mr. Shultz’s widow and sons) don’t feel the need to “defend” our darker sides!

Yesterday was not my happiest day. We lost a high school classmate to cancer. I was particularly saddened as I read my other classmates tender and loving comments about our friend. But then, I realized that our sadness was a testimony to a life that had been well-lived and meaningful. His life made a difference. I like the idea of seeing my friends in the glow of truth and in their shining glory – warts and all. It makes the good things they do so ‘good’. They are able to outshine the dark and that is indeed a good thing. Thus is my impression of Charles Schultz. He brought smiles, many smiles. The biographer is not besmirching Charles Schultz’s image in any way – no more than my friends have done so as they honored Pecos with true memories of a friend.
Frank,

Your post reminds me of the following Buddhist story:
A water bearer had two large pots, each hung on each end of a pole which he carried across his neck. One of the pots had a crack in it, and while the other pot was perfect and always delivered a full portion of water at the end of the walk from the stream to the master’s house, the cracked pot arrived only half full.
For two years this went on daily, with the bearer delivering only one and a half pots full of water to his master’s house. The perfect pot was proud of its accomplishments, of delivering a full portion of water. But the poor cracked pot was ashamed of its own imperfection, and miserable that it was only able to accomplish only half of what it had been made to do.
After two years of what it perceived to be a bitter failure, the cracked pot spoke to the water bearer and said “I am ashamed of myself.” “Why?” asked the bearer. “What are you ashamed of?” “I have been able to deliver only half my load because this crack in my side causes water to leak out all the way back to your master’s house. Because of my flaws, you have to do all of this work, and you don’t get full value from your efforts,” the pot said.
The water bearer said, “As we return to the master’s house, I want you to notice the beautiful flowers along the path.” Indeed, as they went up the hill, the cracked pot took notice of the sun warming the beautiful wild flowers on the side of his path. The bearer said to the pot, “Did you notice that there were flowers only on your side of your path, but not on the other pot’s side? That’s because I have always known about your flaw, and I took advantage of it. I planted flower seeds on your side of the path, and every day while we walk back from the stream, you’ve watered them. For two years I have been able to pick these beautiful flowers to decorate my master’s table. Without you being just the way you are, he would not have this beauty to grace his house.”

http://news.yahoo.com/s/nm/20071019/en_nm/arts_schulz_dc
“He [Michaelis] says the bossy Lucy was inspired by his first wife, Joyce, who had no patience with his worrying and used to tell him during his bouts of melancholy, ‘Snap out of it.’”
Oh … my … G-d.
I **MARRIED** Lucy. What a blockhead!!!!
;-P