A Message from Chris Van Allsburg

A Message from Chris Van Allsburg

Thirty-three years have passed since this introduction appeared in the portfolio version of The Mysteries of Harris Burdick.

In 1984, I wrote the following as an introduction to The Mysteries of Harris Burdick.

I first saw the drawings in this book a year ago, in the home of a man named Peter Wenders. Though Mr. Wenders is retired now, he once worked for a children's book publisher, choosing the stories and pictures that would be turned into books.

Thirty years ago a man called at Peter Wenders's office, introducing himself as Harris Burdick. Mr. Burdick explained that he had written fourteen stories and had drawn many pictures for each one. He'd brought with him just one drawing from each story, to see if Wenders liked his work.

Peter Wenders was fascinated by the drawings. He told Burdick he would like to read the stories that went with them as soon as possible. The artist agreed to bring the stories the next morning. He left the fourteen drawings with Wenders. But he did not return the next day. Or the day after that. Harris Burdick was never heard from again. Over the years, Wenders tried to find out who Burdick was and what had happened to him, but he discovered nothing. To this day Harris Burdick remains a complete mystery.

His disappearance is not the only mystery left behind. What were the stories that went with these drawings? There are some clues. Burdick had written a title and caption for each picture. When I told Peter Wenders how difficult it was to look at the drawings and their captions without imagining a story, he smiled and left the room. He returned with a dust-covered cardboard box. Inside were dozens of stories, all inspired by the Burdick drawings. They'd been written years ago by Wender's children and their friends.

I spent the rest of my visit reading these stories. They were remarkable, some bizarre, some funny, some downright scary. In the hope that other children will be inspired by them, the Burdick drawings are reproduced here for the first time.

Over the past twelve years I have received hundreds of Burdick stories written by children and adults. These efforts show that the words and pictures of Mr. Burdick are indeed inspirational. Classroom teachers and aspiring writers have expressed their desire for larger reproductions of Mr. Burdick's pictures. To that end, this portfolio has been produced. There is, however, another reason for this edition.

Peter Wenders and I were certain that the publication of The Mysteries of Harris Burdick would lead to the discovery of information about Mr. Burdick. Ten years passed without a single clue surfacing. Then, in 1994, I received a letter from a Mr. Daniel Hirsch of North Carolina. He described himself as a dealer in antique books and shared with me the following story.

In 1963 he learned of a collection of books being offered for sale in Bangor, Maine. These books were located in the library of a grand but rundown Victorian home. Mr. Hirsch remembers learning that the owner of the house, an elderly woman, had died recently, leaving the house and its contents to the local Animal Rescue League.

Impressed with the collection he found, Mr. Hirsch purchased the entire library. This included a large mirror whose wooden frame was decorated with carved portraits of characters from Through the Looking Glass.

Two years ago, this mirror, still in the possession of Mr. Hirsch, fell from the wall of his bookshop and cracked. Removing the shards of glass, Mr. Hirsch made a remarkable discovery. Neatly concealed between the mirror and its wooden back was the drawing of the "Young Magician" that is reproduced here.

This drawing is identical in size and technique to Burdick's other pictures. Like those, it is unsigned
and has a title and caption written in the margin at the bottom. The title on this piece identifies it as
another picture from the story "Missing in Venice." I have no doubts regarding its authenticity.

Unfortunately, Mr. Hirsch, who has an uncanny memory for the names and locations of the books in
his shop, cannot remember the details of his trip to Bangor in 1963. In fact, he is no longer certain the
old Victorian house was in Bangor. However, he is certain he still owns one of the books that came
from the library where he purchased the mirror.

It is a rare early edition, in the original Italian, of Collodi's Pinocchio. Inside the front cover is a bookplate bearing the inscription "Hazel Bartlett, Her Book." All efforts to find information about a Hazel Bartlett of Bangor have proved fruitless. Rather than solving the mystery of Harris Burdick, the discovery of the fifteenth drawing has served only to make it more perplexing.

Chris Van Allsburg
Providence, Rhode Island, December 21, 1995

I am sorry to report that twelve more years have not provided any additional clues about Burdick. They have, however, provided me with many more stories. These are sent to me by readers who, when inspired by Burdick's mysterious pictures, have become writers.

This response to The Mysteries of Harris Burdick delighted Peter Wenders, who cared so much about the drawings and believed in their power to stir the imagination.

Sadly, this gentleman of letters and friend of mine passed away in the summer of 2000 at the ripe old age of 91. Over the years, I'd sent him hundreds of Burdick stories, and I believe he read every one. My final visit with him was just a few months before he died. He was still eager to discuss different versions of "Mr. Linden's Library" and "The Seven Chairs" (his two favorite images).

He also seemed eager to talk about Burdick's visit to his office on that fateful day back in 1954. It was as if he knew that with his passing, the memory of Burdick would also die, and he wanted that memory to live on with me.

For the first time I heard details about Burdick's appearance—his fedora hat, an overcoat, and the round glasses that rested atop a prominent nose.

Recently, while looking at the huge stack of stories piling up in my studio (I can no longer send them to Wenders), an idea came to me. I thought a website devoted to Burdick could be an effective way to share the stories that his work continues to inspire.

So, with the description provided by Wenders, I created an image of the mysterious Mr. Burdick and set up this website with the hope that visitors will accept the challenge of solving The Mysteries of Harris Burdick.

Unleash Imaginations and Help Solve the Mysteries of Harris Burdick!

The illustrations in Chris Van Allsburg’s The Mysteries of Harris Burdick have long inspired children to write their own stories. Over the Christmas holidays please write a story to one of the Harris Burdick Mystery drawings, thenemail me a copy, or bring a written copy on the first day back at school.Those who participate will be given the opportunity to “publish” their story through a podcast on our school website using the equipment in our new school media centre.

Here are some examples of stories posted on Van Allsburg’s site:

Rachel Lefebre, Age: 10 Captain Tory

One night in 312 Maple Street a man told his grandchild of the legend of Captain Tory. It all started on a dark night on the OREALLY ship of Captain Tory’s crew. The men were on lower deck telling tall tales of a hideous monster known as the Crack. Suddenly they heard a noise CRECK CRECK!! The men ran up to the upper deck to find it was a storm the storm grew and grew until it took away the ship. The men found themselves on a beach right on the coast of Florida. “What will we do now?” asked one of the shipmates. They had no food, water or a ship. Until they spotted a ship. They climbed on board the ship labeled the Black Mail. They spotted a treasure of jewels and gems riches and gold. Captain Tory wanted that treasure as much as he wanted a ship. Then the crew returned. Captain Tory and his crew hid in panic. The Black Mail sailed off with both crews. Hours later in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean they heard a sound like a million lions screaming at one time. It was the Crack. Its tentacles took the ship in the air. Screams were the last noise the two crews made.

“Did the crack eat the Black Mail?” Asked the boy. "Now don't get ahead of me now" answered the Grandfather. “As I was saying...The Crack slides the boat down in one gulp as if it was the size of a pea. Which it would for a 50-foot monster? The monster disappeared into the water. “Did anyone survive Grandpa” The boy asked, “No one really knows” but the ship is another story. “HUH?” asked the boy. When ever a ship sails through the Atlantic legend tells you will get a visit from the Crack. The boy imagined seeing the Black Mail. "How do you know all this?" asked the boy. There was no answer. His Grandfather Tory just smiled.

Alex Treadaway, Age: 13 The Harp

Grandfather rocked slowly on the rocker, descending back and rising slowly. His dark eyes were cast down on the boy before him. The wrinkles that decorated his lips and skin were sagging. His hair ... it had turned a dark shade of silver that caught the light. "She was beautiful... indeed she was," he quietly said over and over again. "Who was, Grandfather?" The boy replied.

As a mere boy of only eight, he was certainly curious of a great many things. His dirt brown hair fell in a messy heap upon his head. His eyes were alight with the wonderment of a small boy. "Her name was Seline," Grandfather said, gazing towards the window to look past the forest, towards the beyond where the rocks shimmered in the early morning light, and the water from the stream was cool as it touched the skin. How the trees made a canopy with their higher branches in the late afternoon. "The Harp. Everyday I went down there and watched her play it her fingers gliding across the strings," Grandfather smiled, his wrinkly lips turning upward. "And she never once saw me." The boy immediately filled with joy. "Do you think she’s still there!? Oh, let’s go see!" Grandfather laughed, "I haven’t seen her in ages but sometimes at night I can still hear her play the harp."

Muffy, the scruffy Catahoula dog that was lying at the boys’ feet, began to walk around nervously. The boy stood up and walked to the door. "Im going to take her for a walk, Grandfather." Still gazing at the window, the man nodded. The boy had never been in the woods that surrounded the house, but now that he was fumbling with the branches around him, he wished he had. Muffy was ahead, wagging her tail in excitement as she led the boy further into the forest. Suddenly she stopped. And thats when the boy noticed where they were. The rocks shimmered in the early morning light, the trees made a canopy with their branches. The water from the stream looked cool, calm...perfect. Then the water started to ripple and spread apart to make way for a body emerging from the water. She had dark red hair that shimmered down her back, giving her complexion a pale look. She sat silently beside a harp that was placed neatly on a shimmering rock. Her fingers danced lightly on the strings the beginning of an angelic song. So its true, he thought, its really true. She turned her head gently and her soft eyes met with his.

Dasha Homeyer & Dylan Walsh, Ages: 14 The House on Maple Street

Dr.Fleinenstein lived alone in his 1800s style house on Maple Street. Every day, he would get up very early for work. He worked only in his house in the attic. He never stepped outside, only to get his paper and mail. Many neighbors wondered about him. Some didnt even know his name. His latest top-secret invention was building a house rocket. What is a house rocket, you might ask? Dr. Fleinenstein would describe it as "The new way to outer space!" The doctor had many ideas, some were useless once built, but some were helpful in everyday life. One of his past inventions involved a motor and metal hands, which he used to help him with building his inventions.

His new invention was all about getting to space. Dr.Fleinenstein always had a thing for the universe. His house was mostly decorated of space pictures of the earth and many of the planets. His theory was to make somekind of rocket in his basement of the house, strong enough to lift off the ground and into space. On a bright Saturday morning, Dr. Fleinenstein got up and did the usual, a cup of tea, eggs, and bacon. Then, he went off to his office in the attic. His office consisted of old antiques and small gadgets. One of his most prized possessions was kept in a wooden chamber in his office. He took it out rarely, just long enough for him to clean it. But nobody knew what this thing was.

As Dr.Fleinenstein turned on the lamp, he started drawing many shapes and numbers. Once he had an idea, it must be put on paper, or else the idea wouldn’t exist. Once he had all his ideas down, he started off to the basement where all the tools were held. Back and forth he went, until finally he had all his tools. Since the rocket would be underneath the house, Dr. Fleinenstein went to the basement to work. It has been a while since anyone stepped foot in the bottom story of the house, so most of it was filled with cobwebs and boxes. Dr.Fleinenstein got straight to work. He measured and cut every piece of metal to its needed shape.

Weeks later, Dr.Fleinenstein had finished his most possessed project. It was 11:30 PM, and he was getting ready for lift-off. Dr.Fleinenstein strapped himself in. he clicked off all the buttons, and soon after, lift-off began. "It was the perfect lift-off." He saw many things, from the planets to shooting stars. According to his calculations, it would take about 10 hours to get to the nearest planet. Finally he got to the planets atmosphere. The name was planet Unknown. As soon as he landed, he got out and saw many great things. He thought to himself, "Wow! I made it!" He took many samples of dirt and rocks. As he was searching for intelligent life, he stumbled upon a Wallabeast. "What’s a Wallabeast?" he wondered. As he got out his notebook, to take notes, he suddenly thought, "How in the universe am I gonna get home?"

ome people find creating stories difficult because they believe they need to know what their story is before they can write it down. That's not necessary. Most writers start working with only a simple idea, not knowing where, exactly, it will lead them.

For instance, suppose someone sat down to write a story and wondered what it would be like if there really were wizards, and as children at boarding school together and that the most gifted among them was a boy named Harry.

This is a fairly simple idea, but like an acorn growing into a hundred-foot-tall oak tree, so can simple ideas become grand and amazingly complex things. How does this happen?

Well, just as the acorn needs water, sunlight and soil to become a tree, small ideas need something in order to grow into stories. They need imagination.

Very few people can look at Burdick's pictures and captions without wondering what is going on in them. The ideas that are presented (for instance, that caterpillars can spell) instantly fills viewer's minds with questions: Are they really caterpillars? How can they do that? Who is the girl who is holding them? Where did she find them? What else have they spelled out for the girl? What will happen to them? Is this the end of the story Burdick wrote? Maybe it's the middle or the beginning. Is the story a happy one or a sad one?