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Not able to find these details flipping through magazines, Crumb persuaded a friend of his — “Stanley Something-or-other” — to drive around commercial strips and “bleak, just-built suburbs” of California with him to take pictures of ordinary street corners.
SF Gate:
Fritz the Cat will be there. Mr. Natural will be there. The Snoid will be there.
But R. Crumb will not.
“Robert wears his nerves on the outside of his body,” explains Crumb’s wife, Aline, as they swap the Sheraton room telephone back and forth. “He appreciates the fact that all these people love him. He wants that love. But he doesn’t know what to do with it. And when he shows up to these things, it takes him a while to recover and get back to work. The only reason he’s in New York City now is because it’s a Valentine’s Day present for me. I eat it up. That’s why I can’t wait to get to San Francisco.”
To call Robert and Aline Kominsky Crumb eccentrics would be too simple a way to describe a very complicated but content couple, who met and started drawing comics together in the 1970s in San Francisco.
Here.