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Good is dead.
Chances are you know Chip Kidd without really knowing him. If you’ve bought or read a book over the last 25 years, then yes, you’ve probably met Chip without so much as a handshake or nod from the across the room. That’s how I met him.
It was 2003. I was in Napa, California for a sort of vacation under the premise of checking out Sonoma State University. On the way back from the campus, I stopped at a small, Mom & Pop bookstore to do what anyone else does when they go to a small, Mom & Pop bookstore. Among the various used and budget-priced titles, one caught my eye. At the time I was into philosophy - it was a bit of a forced habit since I needed supplemental credits to graduate, and I really didn’t want to take anything that involved numbers or science – and after receiving a taste of Nihilism and Existentialism in high school (thank you, Mr. McCarty), anything remotely having to do with Nietzsche made my mouth water. And so, while browsing this small bookstore, my eyes landed upon the blue spine of a hardcover book that said, at a glance, “God is Dead.” I walked over, pulled the book from the shelf, and examined it. I was wrong. It didn’t say “God is Dead.” It actually read “GOOD IS DEAD.”
I flipped it over. The front cover bore the title, “The Cheese Monkeys: A Novel in Two Semesters” by Chip Kidd. The rest of the cover was equally strange, with images cut off at the spine - hell, even the author’s photo was cut off at the bottom of the slip. I say “slip” because that’s what it was – a slip of paper that slid onto the front cover. The edges of the book were adorned with the author’s acknowledgments in tiny, white letters, and when I saw a couple of said acknowledgments went out to Handjobs Magazine and Jergens Hand Lotion, I knew I had a winner. I didn’t even know what the book was about, but I had to have it.
That’s how I met Chip Kidd. That’s how you’ve met him. By his book covers. I didn’t know it at the time, but Kidd is actually the guy who designs the jackets aimed to get your attention in a bookstore. And for his first novel, he designed it all – from cover to layout - and it worked. I devoured that novel, vicariously living the life of an art student in the 1950s and actually learning something about graphic design in the process. At the time I was stuck in a rut with my own work, struggling to finish a novel that was both uninspired and fatally dull, only I didn’t know that yet. Reading that novel taught me a couple of things: 1) That I wasn’t as great as I thought I was (mind you, in 2003, I was only a couple of months past 20, had only had one real writing workshop under my belt, and still didn’t understand anything about the craft itself); and 2) That if I wanted to write a funny, witty story while still upholding some kind of lesson buried between the lines, I had a lot to learn.
Funny thing is, back in high school, I thought I wanted to go to art school. I drew a lot of things. I took all the art classes my school district had to offer. I even dabbled in film - but in the end, I always came back to writing, and so I made my choice. But I never forgot what I learned from those art classes. Reading this novel sort of rekindled what I’d forgotten about art in general. It made me remember how important it is in all aspects of things, even if you aren’t aware of it.
In some ways, I think reading The Cheese Monkeys taught me awareness in terms of visual elements and language when it comes to my own prose. As Bret Easton Ellis wrote in regards to the book, “I also can’t remember the last time I read what is ostensibly a ‘college’ novel that actually taught me something.” I second this.
Back in 2003, when I read that book, it was the first time I met Chip Kidd.
The second time came in 2005.
I’d graduated in May and moved to Pennsylvania not long after. I was working as a copy center clerk for Staples. I’d just returned from a funeral in Kentucky and discovered a job waiting to be completed for a woman named Ann Kidd. I didn’t find any significance with the name. On a day when I really didn’t want to be there, she was just another anonymous customer with a task to complete.
Then I saw the task itself. It was a giant collage of clippings and interviews, including a cover of Time magazine. And the one thing that was consistent across the entire thing was a single name: Chip Kidd. Then it clicked. Ann Kidd. Chip Kidd. I rushed to my manager and asked when the job was brought in. She said it came in a day before, that it was a simple print job and that I could have it if I wanted. She said the woman was his mother, was very nice, and so on.
I met Chip Kidd’s parents that evening when they came in to check on the progress of their printing job (“Take as long as you need,” they said. “No rush.”) and it was difficult not to gush. Okay, I lie. I did gush. I gushed a lot. Apparently I struck a chord with them, because the next day, when Mrs. Kidd came into pick up her printing, she brought me a calendar Chip had designed, with his signature on it. I’ve still got it, too, still in its packaging save the tiny, plastic tear that was made so he could sign it. 
Mrs. Kidd visited frequently over the next couple of months. She always had a giddy smile on her face. During a period of time when I dreaded going to work, seeing her was a nice break from the daily grind. She always had something to be copied. Chip recently had a book - a collection of all his book covers – published in hardcover, and the paperback printing was coming up. For that, he was doing a lot of local promotion since he was from the area, and Ann was doing her part to kick up interest in the community. Every time she came in, she asked how I was doing, how my own writing was coming along, etc.
I worked on Christmas Eve. It was a bad day for me. I couldn’t go home to visit my family, and it was the first holiday I’d ever spent away from them. To make it worse, there were hundreds of idiots coming into the store to buy the most insane crap when they could be home with their own families. I mean, honestly, who the hell buys business cards on Christmas Eve? I’d been out sick the day before, so that didn’t help matters either.
Then I find out Ann Kidd has left a message for me. Her phone number. I immediately called, left her a message with my own number, and went back to work. That evening, while having dinner with Erica’s extended family, my phone rang. I got up from the table, ran upstairs and answered. It was Ann. She wanted to know if I had a few minutes to spare, and could I stop by her home? “I’ve got a little something for you,” she said. Then she put her husband on the line to give me directions. They lived only five minutes away.
Heart pounding, excitement in my feet, I pulled Erica away from the dinner table and told her where we were going. She was equally excited – as a designer herself, she certainly knew who he was, and to meet his folks was an honor. During the brief drive to their house, she wondered aloud, “Do you think he’s there?”
“No,” I said. “He’s probably still in New York, or on his way home.”
And it was really as simple as that. I never thought about it after that. I was riding high on the elation that I could get out of the loud ambiance of Erica’s parents’ house, and I just needed some fresh air. And, come on, let’s be honest – Ann had a little something for me. Who doesn’t get excited when they hear that around Christmas time?
We arrived. They invited us in. We stood there in the doorway, awestruck, staring at the collection of books lining the shelf adjacent to their stairway. There was a copy of every book Chip had designed. Proud parents, indeed. Ann excused herself for a moment while I introduced Erica to Ann’s husband, Tom. Ann returned a minute later with a package wrapped in red tissue paper. A name tag on the top read “To Todd.”
“This is for you,” she said, grinning. “And that’s your name.” She pointed to the tag. “And that’s Chip’s handwriting. Hold on a sec—I’ll go get him.”
To be honest, it never hit me. Those words went right over my head. I was still amazed by the package, at the size and weight of the thing, while my brain tried to figure out just what it could possibly be. Then I caught movement in the corner of my eye, and when I looked up, there he was, coming down the stairs in front of me. Chip Kidd. The author of one of most influential books of my life, standing before me like something out of a Christmas dream.
“Hi Todd.”
“Hi.”
We shook hands and spent about the next 5 or 10 minutes (I forget how long) talking about things, about his work, about my own writing, about his next novel. I gestured to the package.
“Should I open this now or later?”
He smirked and said, “Wait until later.”
We wished them all a Merry Christmas, thanked them for the billionth time, and made our way back to Erica’s folks. That evening, on Christmas Eve, I unwrapped that package. It was a hardcover copy of his coffee table book. On the inside, it was signed, “Hi Todd. This is my life. It weighs 4.7 pounds.”
Of all the years, and all the Christmases, that one evening will be one I remember for the rest of my life. It was one of the best gifts I’ve ever received.
Today is February 19th, and Chip’s second novel, The Learners, is on sale. It’s a sequel to The Cheese Monkeys, and I urge you all to go out and buy it. Visit his website (which has finally been revamped after a hundred years of saying the same thing), watch the funny Youtube video, check out a gallery of some of the book jackets he’s designed (you’ll probably find a few you know and love and had no idea he made them) and show your support for one of the best damn writers (and designers) living today.
And remember: Whatever you do, don’t think of elephants.
TK
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Oh man, that is an awesome story. I didn’t even know who the guy was ’til reading it, but still found it really cool. If only all of us could meet the famous people that matter to us.