What I Learned From Working on Blue’s Clues • Part I
A long time ago, in a galaxy far, far, away… I worked on a little TV show called Blue’s Clues. Maybe you’ve heard of it. If you haven’t, that’s okay. You can catch up on the show’s Wikipedia page. It was an immensely popular cultural phenomenon in the U.S. in the 1990s. I worked on the show from 1999 – 2002 doing storyboards, animation and voice over work. This year (2021) being the 25th anniversary of the show, I thought it would be fun to talk about my time there and what I learned being part of the team.
This is a long story. I have a lot to say and it’s a fascinating tale that sometimes I can’t believe I lived. It’s all true, as much as my memory will allow, anyway. I broke this up into parts. One, to make it easier on you to read and two, to make it easier on me to write well.
Part I: Before Blue’s Clues
With a quick look back, it could seem like an easy, natural step in my life and career to have worked on Blue’s Clues. Sometimes I can forget that I didn’t just walk into Nickelodeon one day and start working. It was a long, challenging road to get into the animation industry and I had no idea what was in front of me, or even possible. Let’s start before the beginning, before anyone had ever even heard of a skidoo-ing blue puppy.
In 1990, I was accepted to a private art school in Chicago. I had never taken an art class in high school, but I created hundreds of drawings and paintings on my own. One night, after seeing The Little Mermaid premier, I was overcome by an intense desire to become an animator. The movie captivated me like no other animated film ever had. The animation was fluid and beautiful, the songs were amazing and the story kept me hooked from beginning to end. I spent the rest of the night fantasizing that I could work on something so incredible. The only thing standing in my way was that I had no clue as to how I could become an animator.
I had been yawning my way through community college with no real direction and I certainly had no connections to anyone in the animation or film industry. This being 1989, there was no email, social media or even internet I could use to find a contact. Living in Phoenix, I couldn’t just drive over to the Disney studios on any given Wednesday and simply knock on the door. I had to get resourceful.
At the time, I worked in a movie theater tearing tickets and cleaning up during the credits. Instead of watching the whole movie over again (which I did later anyway), all I had to do was wait for the end of The Little Mermaid and write down the name of a producer, find an address in Burbank and take a shot at asking, “How can I become an animator?”
I believe it was Disney producer John Musker who wrote back to me, giving me some advice on a path and three top schools where I should apply. The best choice for me was the American Academy of Art in Chicago. I could live with my recently-widowed grandfather and we could help each other out – he would give me a roof over my head and I would supply some much-needed company and help around the house.
I was accepted on my hastily-prepared portfolio and essay, and I soon headed to the snowy Midwest. Going to that school was the first time I worked with peers on art projects and learned real fundamentals, outside of Stan Lee’s Learn to Draw Comics the Marvel Way (a method I still stand by for young artists). Unfortunately, towards the end of my first semester, the school administration started asking me annoying little questions like how are you going to pay for next semester? They were annoying only because I had no clue. I had got in on some of my parents’ money and a small student loan. Those options were no longer available, so once again I had to get resourceful.
At 19, I wasn’t qualified for anything other than retail or restaurant work. Working at minimum wage would take me so long to save up for school that I could only picture myself as old and wrinkled, sitting in a classroom and repeatedly asking the professor to speak up. In hindsight, that’s a very unrealistic outlook but at 19 it was the only future I could imagine, complete with dystopian 1984-style jumpsuits and cubicles.
My answer came in the form of the the G.I Bill. I would contribute $1200 and in return the government would give me $24,000 in money for school. The tiniest little wrinkle was that in order to collect it, I had to serve four years active duty in the military. Hmm. It certainly wasn’t my original plan. In fact, when a friend had previously joined the Air Force, I swore off ever joining the military in any form whatsoever. Joining the military was for other people, not me. Never, no way.
Then I thought about my potentially perpetual floor-mopping future and I joined the U.S. Air Force.
It seemed like I was light years away from my animation dreams. But I had a plan. Sort of.
Not to fear! We will get into tales of a blue puppy and a manchild in a Fruit Stripe gum shirt very soon. Tune in next week for the continuation of What I Learned From Working on Blue’s Clues!