Let’s look at the semi-monde of disgraced cartoonists.
Percy Crosby wrote and drew Skippy, the most beloved strip of its day (and the subject of a movie starring Jackie Cooper ). Flush with professional success and too much alcohol, the man started to get extremely wiggy in the early 1930s. He bouht full-page ad space in newspapers for his scattershot political rants, accusing Franklin Roosevelt of being a Communist, J. Edgar Hoover of exceeding his mandate and the Ku Klux Clan of evil bigotry (Okay, hard to dispute at least the last two of those, but most other cartoonists of the Depression era kept a much lower public profile). Eventually, his paranoid politics crept into his strip, which was cancelled in December 1945. He spent his final years suing a peanut butter company for trademark infringement (The suit, concluded last year 43 years after Crosby’s death, eventually favored the peanut butter company; Crosby’s heirs are reportedly considering an appea). He died in 1961.
Ham Fisher created Joe Palooka, the archetypal Prizefighter with a Heart of Gold and the top sports-themed comic strip of all time. The strip was launched in 1930, peaked in popularity during the war (Joe Palooka enlisted in the army, which was great PR for the War Department) and remained a top draw trough Fisher’s death in 1955; subsequent versions of the strip crept along until 1984.
And yet, a mere two years into the strip’s development, events were set in motion that discredited Fisher among his peers and culminated in his suicide. Fisher, you see, could neither write nor draw a comic strip and relied heavily on his assistants to produce the strip while he gallavanted around New York’s posh watering holes and the sights of Europe. One early assistant was Al Capp.
During Capp’s time on the strip, a rival boxer named Big Leviticus was introduced into the strip. Whether this hillbilly boxer was Capp’s invention or Fisher’s was a matter of some contention, but Capp wanted to galavant around to watering holes himself for a change instead of doing grunt work for someone else. He took his hillbilly, renamed him Li’l Abner, and created an even more stratospherically popular strip around him, cutting Fisher out of the equation. This started a long and bitter feud between the two cartoonists.
Fisher went before the National Cartoonists’ Society (Not sure what year, but since Mort Walker was president at the time, I’d guess around 1953) and demanded that Al Capp’s membership be terminated. Fisher brought with him some obviously trumped-up and falsified evidence of sexual imagery barely hidden in the artwork of Li’l Abner. The National Cartoonists’ Society decided that Ham Fisher was a disgrace even by their lax standards and kicked him out. He fell into a miasma of alcohol and paranoia, drove away his assistants and found himself suddenly unable to produce a strip. When his most reliable former assistant, Moe Leff, refused to come back to him, he killed himself.
Al Capp may have been the best artist ever on a humorous comic strip (although like his embittered mentor, he sometimes over-relied on assistants, most notably one Frank Frazetta). For the first 25-30 years of his long-running strip, Li’l Abner, he wrote from the position of populist everyman; from the mid-60s on, he morphed into the role of cranky right-wing asshole (A famous confrontation with John Lennon is archived in the film John Lennon: Imagine; incredibly, Lennon comes off as an even bigger asshole). Still, he was generally respected as a craftsman among his peers until an ill-advised affair with a college girl brought him down in 1977; he quit the strip and died two years later.
Berke Breathed, cartoonist of Bloom County and its two spinoff strips, Outland and Opus, began his career as a painfully-obvious tracer of Garry Trudeau. While he eventually found his own voice, he was held back for years by the “derivative” label (The Comics Journal’s reviewer R. Fiore famously said that “Calling Berke Breathed a master stylist is like complimenting a shoplifter for being a snappy dresser”).
Later in his career, he nominated himself for a Pulitzer Prize for editorial cartooning, and won, despite the fact that he wasn’t, by most people’s reckoning, an editorial cartoonist. This earned him the enmity of Pat Oliphant, but otherwise had no effect on his career for good or ill.
Greg Brooks, artist of the retro-styled Crimson Avenger comic book for DC Comics in the mid-80s, killed his girlfriend with a ball-peen hammer. Presumably still in prison, he hasn’ been heard from since.