Take a look at any recent edition of Who's Who, and you'll find the basic biographical data; "Wilson, Gahan, cartoonist, author: born Evanston, Illinois, Feb. 18, 1930; son of Allen Barnum and Marian (Gahan) Wilson; student Art Institute of Chicago, 1948-1952; married Nancy Dee Midyette (Nancy Winters), Dec. 30, 1966." Although a list of his published works is included, what is omitted is the obvious: Gahan Wilson is the greatest cartoonist of the macabre in the world.

And a major influence in the horror genre as well. Anyone who is a longtime reader of The New Yorker, Esquire, The Magazine of Fantasy & Science Fiction, Punch, Audobon, Paris Match, National Lampoon, and of course, Playboy will remember now where that quirky idea for a short story or a movie may have first originated. (I'll confess that the inspiration for my short story, "The Man Who Would Not Be King" was the result of studying the back cover of one of his collections.)

His work has been reprinted in a number of collections, beginning in 1965 with the Ace paperback of Gahan Wilson's Graveside Manner. They include The Man in the Cannibal Pot, I Paint What I See, "...And Then We'll Get Him!" Nuts, "Is Nothing Sacred?" and Gahan Wilson's America. He has also written several children's books and edited two anthologies, one of them appropriately titled Gahan Wilson's Favorite Tales of Horror. He has illustrated numerous children's books for other authors. Beyond that, he was one of the originators of the annual World Fantasy Convention, and even designed its award, the Howard. (In name and appearance after H.P. Lovecraft.)

In spite of the international acclaim he has received as an artist and cartoonist, much less known to the general public are his horrific short stories, which have yet to be collected in a single volume. He has however, increased his visibility lately as an author, with two well-received novels, Eddy Deco's Last Caper and Everybody's Favorite Duck. And followers of the regrettably defunct Rod Serling's Twilight Zone Magazine had the opportunity to enjoy Wilson's skills as a movie reviewer for the entire run of the publication.Whatever the medium, his name continues to be universally associated with the odd, the bizarre - the hilarious.

With his wife Nancy, who is also a novelist and journalist, Wilson lives and works primarily in a brownstone in New York. He is always gracious with his time, and is one of those people who truly deserves to be called "a gentleman." Even if his smile usually reminds you of the cat who's just swallowed a mouse...

WIATER: Going back quite literally to the very beginning, could you relate the tale of having been "born dead?"

WILSON: That's the truth. I came out blue and unbreathing. The doctors were going to forget it, to console my parents and tell them, "Better luck next time." And the family doctor did happen by and looked in and saw the event. He came in and ducked me into hot and cold water...that literally saved my life! What interests me is that it probably did have an effect--I think the whole birth process is pretty fierce, anyway. The French have a marvelous method where they're born in darkened rooms, then immediately slid into tepid water, and it's very peaceful--which makes complete sense to me! The result is that they all have this marvelous sort of Buddha expression on their faces, but I don't think any of them will become macabre cartoonists!

WIATER: A "chicken or the egg" question: Which came first, the macabre drawings or the macabre sense of humor?

WILSON: I don't know. I was apparently always very much into drawing, and also drawing odd things. We came across a fascinating trove several years ago. My mother was always saving stuff-- which I didn't not know about-- and they are cartoons I did when I was a teeny little kid! Monsters, skeletons, all sorts of stuff like that. So I was into that sort of thing way back then.

I don't know when the humor got started, quite honestly. But it's always been there. By and large, I think, people are set at a terrifyingly early age, , so far as their conceptual equipment is concerned. I remember, just the other day, Nancy and I saw this worried baby, and he was a businessman, with that sort of preoccupied little frown. But that's it. You're programmed very, very early on, genetically.

WIATER: Since you've been a film critic in your multifaceted career, I'd like to know what you think of horror movies--especially the much maligned splatter films.

WILSON: I think it's a perfectly acceptable art form. One of the most accepted literary forms is Elizabethan drama, and God knows that's just full of gore! In Marlowe, and Shakespeare, and so forth, you've got people squeezing other people's eyeballs out, and inflicting ghastly tortures on one another--just total Grand Guignol. And grand Guignol has always been an accepted art form. And visually, in the history of art, the church adored paintings of the saints being hideously mutilated. Paintings done by absolutely marvelous painters--practically every classical painter has done the crucifixion of Christ, which is one of the most ghastly torture scenes there is.

WIATER: Yet horror movies never seem to receive any respect from critics, unless they are "classics" such as your favorites, the original Phantom of the Opera and Frankentstein. Why do you think that is?

WILSON: Horror movies have never been the Main Tent--they've always been the sideshow. And serious critical attention has come to very few of them. Usually when they're long gone, and they've become relics, and their historical importance has become obvious. It's the same as in literature: H.G.Wells is still read. He's there; he's a fixture. And Edgar Allan Poe...and Nathaniel Hawthorne. No matter how many times somebody tried to second-rate them, they're now accepted. But with very rare exceptions, horror movies and spooky stuff in the theater have never been accepted as respectable. But that's very much part of their appeal.

WIATER: What I always appreciated about your work, especially in your earlier cartoons, is how you often paid homage to one of the greatest horror writers of all time, H.P. Lovecraft.

WILSON: Oh, Lovecraft has been an enormous influence. I really admire very much what he did--he actually blasted the division between fantasy and science fiction. He really messed it up, and he did it by means of writing horror his own particular way.

WIATER: Has any contemporary writer come to you and admitted that something he wrote was inspired by one of your cartoons?

WILSON: It's happened a couple of times. Steve King told me that one whole section of 'Salem's Lot is based on one of my cartoons, and he brings me up in some other parts of the book, too. But if you just hang around long enough, you sort of become part of these people's psyches. And they grew up with you. So just as various people bent me in different directions--and I'm very grateful for them having done so--I've apparently "bent" a few in turn {laughs}

WIATER: Not to brashly ask, "Where do you get your ideas?" but could you cite an example of where a cartoon was inspired by something you witnessed in real life?

WILSON: At Bloomingdales's, on the escalator, there was a couple of nuns in their habits. And one of the nun's habits actually got caught in the thing. In real life, what happens is that there's a little dohickey that halts the apparatus. But I quickly whipped out my little notebook and jotted the incident down. It later appeared in Playboy--the one where the people are being ground into the escalator. It was something that was simply too good not to use. But usually what happens is that ideas perk through, and eventually what emerges has gone through some change.

WIATER: Fabulous. But how about the other side of the coin--did you ever do a cartoon that later was mirrored almost exactly in reality?

WILSON: Oh, sure! The reality outstripping the fiction? That's constantly happening! The cute little touches that life provides are way better than anything any little artist could ever come up with [chuckles]! I guess the most humiliating one was when I did a cover for the graphic section of, I think, the Miami Herald, and they had me do a Gahan Wilson drawing of people dying in their cars from the gas and fumes. So I made it as ghastly as I could, and I was quite proud of it, and I sent it off to them. And on that very day--that precise day--The New York Times on the front page had a picture of a freeway with fumes that were so much worse than what I had done that I was shamed by it. Crushed! I never really got over that [laughs].

WIATER: One series I always thought was perhaps your most powerful was the splatter cartoons you did for Playboy in the late sixties. For the first time, you had psychos and snipers taking the place of vampires and werewolves as the true monsters in our society.

WILSON: They were definitely splatter cartoons. That was tied in with an absolutely ghastly period in our history when they just started killing everybody Bang!--goes Kennedy! Bang!--goes King! bang!--goes another Kennedy! It seemed that whenever someone of any real interest came along, some moron would blow him apart! And there was Vietnam...it was a very splatter point of history in our time. It was infuriating. So I reacted in rage, really, to a degree. I think I was going through some of the same process that Lovecraft went through, when he first thought of his work as fantasy, and then realized, "Shit! This is the way it really is." He was playing around with contemporary American themes.

But it's the same business; I realized that Frankenstein's monster was small pickings next to the atom bomb. You know, there's an endless range of quite horrible things going on. And I drafted them into the cartoons because they were so horrific. One of the aspects of this business is that humor allows you to examine topics that ordinarily you just blink and don't look at--can't look at. But humor kind of holds you steady and says, "There, there, you can look at it" So you do look at it. And in that way, it's helpful. So I was saying, "Look at it. Look at it. And I still am in various ways.

WIATER: Your work has become steadily "darker" over the years, more openly political in tone.

WILSON: I did get more political. Charles Addams always stayed in the style of the 1930's black-and-white movies, and he worked that theme marvelously. But the world became more violent and nastier, and I just got madder. There was a long period in there--in fact I still am!--pissed of because of the outrageous things that still go on. I mean, the dreadful things that people are doing to each other and to the planet, and they don't seem to be slowing down.

Oil spills. The hole in the ozone. The murders--when you consider that in 1888 how Jack the Ripper was one of the few people who had ever done anything that extreme, and nowadays nobody knows how many serial killers there are wandering around, doing these obscene acts. And these serial murderers aren't even in the running if we're tearing holes in the ozone, possibly killing us all and perhaps destroying irrevocably the planet. It may have already happened. God forbid! So this situation is grim in the extreme, and I'm furious, and that shows in the cartoons.

I like to think that what I do is of some use, but frankly I'm dubious. As I've said on previous occasions, one of the greatest flourishings of humor and satire of all time in the arts was in Germany during the rise of Hitler and that whole period. A lot of satire was directed at Adolf himself. But it didn't do a damn thing to stop him. When push came to shove, he just said, "kill them." And that was that. It didn't even slow him down. But I figure what the hell--full speed ahead. Sometimes it works. Humor is great at saying the emperor has no clothes. So maybe.

WIATER: How long does it take you to produce a small black-and-white cartoon versus one of your larger color cartoons?

WILSON: A black-and-white usually takes a day, or the better part of a day. A color cartoon is at least a couple of days, because I like to fool around with it a bit, to get it right. In the last bunch I did for Playboy, there was one that was technically a swell drawing, but it didn't work--I didn't get the gag right. I goofed. So I had to tear that one up and start fresh with another one. And if I have the luxury of time, I'll let it sit for a couple of days and study it. You do the best job you can on whatever the hell you're doing, but you should always let it rest,and then go back and do it better than before. "Let's improve the damn thing one more time before we throw it out there!" And sometimes you improve it quite dramatically.

WIATER: Is your day anything like the typical nine-to-five day, or is it something geared specifically to your own particular needs as a cartoonist, illustrator, and writer?

WILSON: Oh, it has to be like a nine-to-five day! A freelancer has got to be enormously disciplined. I work very hard. Oh God, I start sometimes at seven-thirty or eight in the morning, and almost always put in a full day, with a dinky lunch break. But I always have the option--which is very nice!--of saying, "Screw it! Today I'm not going to work." Or I'll take the afternoon off. But I have a little calendar, with notes and due dates and so on. But you've got to do it; you've got to be sure to accomplish what is owed, or it's just not going to work. And it gets complicated, because there's always other projects going on--movies, writing. It's a terrific balancing act because you have to make sure you don't shortchange any particular project. Because if you do, it shows. But I find it extremely stimulating to work in a variety of areas.

WIATER: Does anyone still come up to you with the assumption that you're as strange as your cartoons? It's long been the bane of horror writes and filmmakers that they're supposed to be warped in some way.

WILSON: Oh, yes, yes. It's kind of touching--they'd like you to be a lot weirder. Of course, you are weird. But then, so aren't they [chuckles]! Boris Karloff was once asked about this sort of thing, and he said, [imitates Karloff] "Well, one thing that always cheers me, is that even on the brightest, sunniest day, there's always a dark corner...a strange shadow." And he's right; it's always there. It's just part of life, and that's all there is to it.

WIATER: But isn't it unusual that only you and the late Charles Addams made successful careers as cartoonists by blending the macabre with the humorous?

WILSON: I think what happened is that you kind of corner the field and Charlie and I did. But it's like in movies, there was only Boris Karloff and Bela Lugosi--there were some other people, but they were the stars. Karloff was a very intelligent, sweet man. I remember one time an interviewer who really meant well asked him, "Gee, Mr. Karloff, isn't it a shame you've been so typecast and forced to play these kinds of roles. And the public always knows what to expect from them, and they think of you in a certain way." And Karloff raised one blue-veined hand and said, [imitates Karloff] "My dear boy, I'm ever so grateful for them to have done this." And he's right! It's a boon. I mean, Karloff was still working even when they had to wheel him around the set. Lugosi could have done it too, except the poor guy got all tied up with dope and other junk.

That's just the way it worked out for me and Charlie. It's been great, and I'm delighted. But there's another thing to consider--Addams was scary. It's not easy being scary and funny at the same time. It's just not easy. That always may have something to do with it.

WIATER: Which gives you the greatest satisfaction--making people laugh or making them shudder?

WILSON: The primary task is to make them laugh, making a joke. But making them shudder is fun, too. I remember being on a panel back at the very first World Fantasy Convention. And among the very illustrious people on the panel was dear old Manly Wade Wellman. And somebody asked all of us, "Why do you like to do these things that frighten people?" So we all sort of stalled around one way or another, and some tried to answer profoundly, but Manly had the best answer. He said when he was a kid, he remembered they'd be out there in the woods, and sitting around a fire. And he'd start to tell a story, and he'd make it scarier, and scarier, and scarier. And he said, "Their eyes would pop. I loved to make their eyes...pop!" Then he paused and said, "I still do--I love to make their eyes...pop!" [laughs]

And that's true for all of us. But the first duty of the cartoonist is to make them laugh, and after they laugh, then they can shudder. And if you can make them shudder and laugh at the same time, so much the better!

WIATER: You mentioned earlier that you are "weird" quote-unquote, and quite happily so. Yet I have to confess I grew up with parents who thought that reading Famous Monsters of Filmland and seeing Vincent Price movies at the Saturday matinee were somehow going to "warp" my mind." More likely than not, there are still parents out there who'd be more upset at finding Fangoria or Fear in their youngster's room than they would an issue of Playboy.

WILSON: Oh, I'm sure! But I can see how parents are nervous about it. But the basic situation is that the parents have this little savage--which they love dearly--but it's a little animal! It starts out as this very primitive little baby, and it's their responsibility to try to have it later function properly in society. A society that the parents dimly understand themselves. And they're just afraid the the kid is going to go off on the wrong tack. And when they come across an issue of Fangoria, it must very much strike them that their kid is going off on the wrong tack, you know? I can sympathize with them; it can be alarming. but actually all the kid's doing is seeing what's out there, and experimenting. Some will experiment more this way than the other. It's very problematical; I have no righteous feelings about parents. I think they're wrong, and that reading these publications is perfectly okay. But it's understandable why they fret.

WIATER: But you have no regrets over your lot in life to be professionally strange?

WILSON: Oh, God, no! I'm extremely, absolutely delighted, that everybody's accepted it. I adore all this sort of stuff. I always have, and I suppose I always will. I have the greatest affection for monsters. And I think I speak to the idea that we are all "monstrous," that we aren't perfect, and that we have to accept that with grace and amusement.

It's an absolutely horrifying world, and dreadful things are always happening. And you've got to be able to deal with it. And if you can deal with it with gentleness, with a lack of hatred, that's all to the good. But you've got to learn to handle it. The news is a lot worse than anything that's in Fangoria. Monsters and horror are really a kind of primer on how to handle these things. You might go nuts if you really didn't have these aids.

WIATER: The traditional last question: What advice do you have for the fledgling artist or author?

WILSON: Basically, to persist. And if anybody asked me, I would do my best to discourage them, because if I could discourage them, then they've got no business doing it because they're going against incredible odds. And they have to be half mad to think they can succeed. I was. I am! Anybody in the art is. It's impossible to succeed. It's like winning the lottery. Forget it--out of the question. And it's a heartbreaker. Artists always make a big deal out of that--but so is life [laughs]!

Selling insurance is a heartbreaker, you know? Working at a counter is a heartbreaker, too And because of all these sacrifices and absurd risks you take, if you are dishonest and do sleazy junk, God help you, because then you're just a hack. You may make some money, but you'll rot inside. I've seen it happen. So just do it as well as you can--and then do it better.

You'll always find that you can do it better.