I'm honored to share that the Catholic Library Association awarded me the 2025 St. Katharine Drexel Award, which recognizes an outstanding contribution to the growth of high school librarianship.
This award goes to one person per year, and the recipient is not always an author.
Among the past honorees who are/were authors: Jason Reynolds, Gene Luen Yang, Jacqueline Woodson, Lois Duncan, Walter Dean Myers, Chris Crutcher, Sharon Draper, and [in 1970] Isaac Asimov.
When I was notified, at first I wondered [and respectfully asked] if there had been a mistake—for multiple reasons:
That's a mighty distinguished list of authors.
My books don't have Catholic content.
I'm Jewish [though I was already fairly confident that was okay].
Most of my work is aimed at kids younger than teens [though I do often speak to teens].
CLA confirmed there had not been a mistake. The nomination process is confidential, meaning they can't tell me who nominated me.
Whoever you are, thank you! I am grateful that you recognized that work like mine can resonate with readers older than the primary target audience.
During my acceptance talk, with a pinch of trepidation, I briefly, organically mentioned my experiences, both negative and positive, saying "gay" during elementary assemblies, and felt warmly understood and supported.
I also showed off perhaps my all-time favorite snippet from the principal of a school that booked me to speak [in this case, a Catholic school in Connecticut].
First, I love that the schedule says "enjoy lunch with the sisters of the convent." Not "eat lunch." Not simply "lunch." Specifically enjoy lunch. I followed that commandment and, no surprise, did enjoy it. [First and last meal with a dozen nuns.]
Second, as you see, this principal was more than a principal. All are, but none like this.
On 4/22/25, I attended my first Supreme Court rally. In fact, though I’ve lived in the Washington DC area for 15 years, it may have been the first time I’d been in front of the Supreme Court.
Despite the impression that photo gives, the rally was well attended.
It coincided with oral arguments for Mahmoud vs. Taylor, a case about a Maryland school district policy that does not allow parents to opt their children out of educational experiences (in particular, picture books) that mention the existence of LGBTQ people.
It happens to be my school district, Montgomery County. I am proud that MCPS enacted this policy and, frankly, furious that people who see the world as it is have to spend so much time (and money) trying to explain the basic principle of “live and let live” to people who expect schools to bend to their intolerant worldview.
Those protesting the policy carried signs reading “Let parents parent” and “Let kids be kids.”
This policy does not prevent parents from parenting or kids from kidding.
When I walked to the opposing side to be available for conversation (knowing no sign would change anyone’s mind), one man civilly engaged, though his position was savagely misguided. A rule he has for his kids: you cannot be gay.
If only he’d learned in school that this is not how it works. Being gay is not a choice (or a performance/disease/brainwashing), as some conservatives believe. It’s simply what some people are.
A parent who has challenged the policy asked me to leave their area. When I politely declined, he tattled on me to a Supreme Court police officer, whose response was “Just don’t shout at them.” (No one was shouting at anyone. In other words, he knew I had every right to be where I was.)
NBC News asked me some questions.
The short clip also includes someone who thinks he is protecting his grandkids from “values” he doesn’t agree with. Based on what we’ve widely seen from Generation Z, it seems likely that those grandkids will reject their grandfather’s repugnant stance.
Among the thousands of comments on YouTube, TikTok, and Instagram, ones disagreeing with me alternate between these points:
Check this guy’s hard drive.
People like you are why Trump won again.
So public schools can also teach the Bible?
(Sometimes this is expressed in language that is decisively not biblical.)
As for the Trump comment, it carries weight. But I’m not one to abandon my principles over an election, even one as ruinous as this one is.
The commenters agreeing mostly echo the sign I held: education does not equal indoctrination.
It is illogical that some adults believe that a relationship between a man and a woman is an acceptable topic for kids but no other kinds of relationships are.
It is illogical that some adults do not associate the mere mention of a straight relationship with sex but do associate the mere mention of a gay relationship with sex.
(It should go without saying, but since the anti-gay crowd brings it up incessantly, apparently this does need to be spelled out: in neither case are responsible adults talking to elementary kids about sex.)
Children who are not LGBTQ and learn that this community exists are not hurt by that knowledge.
Conversely, children who are LGBTQ—or who have LGBTQ families members—are hurt by policy that forbids that topic to even be mentioned. (And when disapproving adults do mention it, it’s to call gay people perverts and sinners, deepening the wound.)
We don’t hear about religious teens committing suicide because they know about gay people.
We do hear about LGBTQ teens committing suicide because their community doesn’t want to know about gay people.
If the opponents to this policy truly cared about protecting kids, they’d switch sides.
Again, what kids learn in school—and in life—does not prevent parents from parenting. Unfortunately, some parenting prevents kids from learning.
That’s the day the first issue of The New Yorker came out.
I wasn’t there, of course.
But when I eventually did come around, the magazine became a consistent influence on me.
It first made my acquaintance in my dentist’s waiting room when I was 15. Already a hardcore comic book and comic strip guy, I was immediately smitten by the single-panel gag cartoons. I couldn’t get enough of them.
I liked the covers, too—alternately wistful, whimsical, or arresting. Almost always transporting. I even got a hefty coffee table book compilation of every cover from 1925 to 1989 and pored over it.
I couldn’t care less about the articles.
While other boys my age hung posters of metal bands and girls in swimsuits, I decorated my room with covers of a magazine that was already a senior citizen.
I continued this into college, at one pointing even taping some on my ceiling; you can catch a glimpse here:
I also submitted some of those cartoons to the legendarily competitive New Yorker and was excited to get rejected. Okay, “excited” is the wrong word. It’s just that rejection is closer to acceptance than never trying.
For several years after college, I managed to hold on to the student subscription rate—only $20 a year for a weekly magazine!
I finally noticed the articles in between the cartoons, and read some.
I also attended an event where I got to meet some of the cartoonists and get a book signed. I told Bob Mankoff that my name was “Marc with a ‘c’,” and his response did not miss a b(eat).
In 1998, it was time: I began regularly submitting batches of ten cartoons to the magazine. My strategy: create 100 before sending round 1 so when the inevitable rejection came, I would have enough “inventory” so as not to be deterred. I made copies at Kinko’s and included a SASE. So 20th century.
By 2001, I got to the point where I was invited to come to “Look Day”—the morning once a week [at the time, it was always a Tuesday] when select cartoonists showed their ideas to the cartoon editor at the New Yorker office in person, then went out to lunch as a group to commiserate about all the brilliant ones he passed on. Once in July 2001, then over a four-month period starting in February 2002, I met with Mankoff, then the cartoon editor, 12 intimidating times.
I never sold one, but did get a coveted rejection folder on site. I still kick myself that I never took a photo of it, or of any of the lunch gatherings. [This was all pre-iPhone.]
Those lunches included maybe a couple of others in the 20s-to-40s range and a preponderance of alter kakers who welcomed a wannabe who had not published even a single cartoon in the mag.
I did sell to scores of other publications, so all was not for naught.
I haven’t hung covers in years but I still subscribe to the print edition to save the ones I like.
One day, I’ll submit cartoons again.
And when I do, I will definitely take a photo of my rejection folder.
This same week The New Yorker was toasting its centennial, another Manhattan humor institution was celebrating its 50th: Saturday Night Live. It, too, has had a significant influence on me going back to high school.
Twice for BBYO [Jewish teen youth group] talent shows, my friends and I did our own version of “Weekend Update.”
Around the same time, one of those friends and I attended a comedy show of Dana Carvey, Dennis Miller, and Jon Lovitz—and we brought our own material in case they asked for audience volunteers to come on stage and do a short routine. [Uh, they didn’t.]
All these years later, I still haven’t hosted SNL or sold a cartoon to TNY. I wasn’t even invited to attend the SNL 50th anniversary special. But being a lifelong fan is its own reward.
P.S. Survivor, which turns 25 this year, has also inspired me.
I've had the privilege of speaking at schools in 30+ states and almost 20 countries. School librarians worldwide have a gift for rolling out the read carpet for visiting authors.
With Superman and Batman as my headliners, librarians have a lot of material to play with.
Sometimes that welcome is a splashy display. Sometimes it's a student-driven project. Sometimes it's a cheeky sign to reserve a parking space [not a requirement of mine, only an appreciated courtesy].
My librarian partners have greeted me with custom T-shirts, graffiti, pumpkins, cake, LEGO, ginormous banners, and so much more.
Here is a gallery of memorable efforts I've documented. [These span years and I didn't note every face/location, so no IDs. Speak up if it's yours!]
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