Let me share a little about myself and what I've gone through to get where I am.

My mom and dad would buy me comic books from time to time and I had favorites, like the Fantastic Four. I had been captivated by the art of Jack Kirby and at that point (I was about 6) the only thing that mattered to me was to being an artist and make my living doing what I loved.

My parents and my grandmother and grandaunt would always make sure that I was encouraged and had pencils and pads. I drew what I loved and always used my imagination and was constantly inspired by TV, movies and comics. I'd draw everyday and when I wanted to start painting, I was captivated by the art of James Bama who's immortal Doc Savage covers, which are nothing short of breath taking. Look them up and then look up his western art. You'll be floored. I then found Frank Frazetta and the flood gates were opened.

Years later in my Freshman year at High School, I wanted nothing more then to be the first in my family to go to college. I can from an impoverished background and knew that my family wasn't poor enough and at the same time made just enough so that I couldn't get in on any programs offered at the time. I was on my own and felt that I was a shoe in for an art scholarship. Well life had other plans.

My first day in art class was to be my turning point. We were asked to show what we could do and to draw what we wanted. At the time I was drawing Conan types saving women from monsters, so I drew one. Nothing bloody about it nor was there any nudity. I was surprised when I got it back from the teacher the next day and it has this HUGE, "F" on it. Right across the art. I was then asked to stay after class as that she had wanted to "talk" to me. Well that talk was fun. I was told that what I had drawn was nothing but pornography. I was then told that no matter what I was to do in the class after this, I was going to fail it. Well that was good. Good-bye college. I was then amazed at how she would then give me an "F" on EVERYTHING that I did. It didn't matter if I got every question right or that my work was the best in class. I was flunking the only class that mattered to me.

I was then inspired by my fellow class mates by their actions that would lead me to a lifetime of fighting for what was right. They took matters into their own hands and staged a protest and walked out of the class. They began a sit out everyday until finally I was told that I was to stop this as that they would all be expelled and would then get a failing grade. Though I had nothing to do with the walk out. That had been planed by a fellow student who had known me since grade school. I couldn't have others suffer for me. They, very reluctantly returned to class.

I was then seeing my guidance counselor about what had been going on (I ad been requested to do this by my art teacher). He saw the now famous drawing which was being kept by the art teacher to prove that I was nothing more than a pervert. He had told me how he would bring this to the principal and how this would all be straightened out. He could see nothing wrong with what I had done and disagreed with the teacher completely. At this point I wasn't attending art class. Why attend a class that you're going to be failed in?

A meeting was called by the principal. My guidance counselor, art teacher as well as my dad and I were to attend. My dad had made this BIG speech to me about how he'd make sure that things were going to be straightened out.

My dad was a coward and that came through when we went into the principal's office and we all started talking. My dad sided with them as soon as they started talking. The guidance counselor, for reasons that I never found out, stood with the art teacher, as did the principal. Today I'd be able to fight this by going to the media and then suing the school for every penny. But this was back in 1977 and things like that weren't known and weren't being done. I didn't know about students rights or I could and would have fought them.

I was told that I had to attend the class and it didn't matter if I was going to get a failing grade. I recall my heart breaking and feeling like my whole world had ended. What I had loved, art, was being taken away and I couldn't do anything about it.

I made my decision to drop out of school and get my diploma by way of a GED, which I did.

One way or another art was still going to live and all I wanted was to be a professional artist.