‘Aventur und Kunst’ in New Zealand 1

Turnbull Library Record, Volume 34, 1 January 2001, Page 87

Noel Waite

‘Aventur und Kunst’ in New Zealand 1

the art of Leo Bensemann

.Anyone with a passion for printing knows that ‘Aventur und Kunsf (adventure and art) 2 is a most apt description for one of the most exacting of arts, but rarely does either the process or the result live up to Gutenberg’s epithet. However, for the first time in terms of the comparatively short history of print culture in New Zealand (but almost 500 years after Gutenberg’s invention), the Caxton Press of Christchurch had in its founding directors, the poet Denis Glover and the artist Leo Bensemann, the necessary talent and vision to fulfill Gutenberg’s simple-sounding prescription.

Leo Bensemann was born at Takaka, in the top northwest corner of the South Island of New Zealand, in 1912, a great-grandson of one of a number of north German immigrants who established a community near Nelson in 1843. Although he was a third-generation New Zealander, he revered his German-speaking grandmother and was particularly proud of his German heritage. 3 Leaving school in 1929 at the beginning of the Depression, he moved to Christchurch and began work as a commercial artist for an advertising agency. He also began attending evening art classes and mixing with a dynamic group of young artists known simply as ‘The Group’. The Group provided a new outlet for young, unconventional artists, particularly those of the modernist avant-garde, and was to count a number of New Zealand’s most significant artists amongst its members. 4

It is not surprising, then, that in 1934 Bensemann met the poet and founder of the Caxton Press, Denis Glover.

Glover’s catalytic energy and enthusiasm for the literature of his own country, and the printing and publishing of it, ensured the Caxton Press was a creative hub in Christchurch. So much so that John Lehmann, writing in his autobiography in 1955, was moved to ask: ‘Why was it then that out of all the hundreds of towns and universities in the English-speaking lands scattered over the seven seas, only one should at that time [the 19305] act as a focus of literature of more than local significance, that it should be in Christchurch, New Zealand, that a group of young writers had appeared who were eager to assimilate the pioneer developments in style and technique that were being made in England and America since the beginning of the century... and to give their country a new conscience and spiritual perspective. ’ 5 However, the poet Allen Cumow, in his Penguin anthology of New Zealand literature, moved to correct what he regarded as ‘a pardonable error’ on the part of Lehmann in conflating the origins of a geographically disparate group of writers. His simple explanation for this ‘error’ was that ‘Denis Glover’s Caxton Press, Christchurch, published them all’. 6

However, in this article I would in turn like to introduce my own corrective to Cumow’s explanation. While affirming the centrality of the Caxton Press, I hope to begin to redress the balance and tell the story of the involvement of Denis Glover’s partner, Leo Bensemann (see Figure 1). This will, I believe, contribute to a fuller understanding of what Morris Eaves described as ‘the history of publishing in the large sense... the sense in which all “published” works influence and are influenced by a complex technological, economic, social and artistic milieu’. 7 It will also demonstrate the way in which such a history is less constrained by the nationalistic rhetoric which so often binds literary histories.

In 1935 five slight volumes appeared from the Caxton Club Press. There was an apprentice nature to much of the work from this period, as Caxton’s remarkably candid 1941 catalogue of publications explains about the printing of the poetry collection Another Argo (1935): ‘There were meant to be 150, but only 70 complete copies survived the paper storm around the machine.’ 8 This volume was significant in a number of ways: it featured three of New Zealand’s leading poets (Allen Cumow, Denis Glover, and A. R. D. Fairbum); it was the first book produced on the new power platen press at their new address; and it was the first to bear the imprint of a talented young artist —in the form of a striking frontispiece of a macabre ship’s prow. Shortly thereafter, this same artist presented a series of drawings which Denis Glover immediately offered to print and, in a not unusual occurrence, the artist was encouraged to assist with the actual printing of the book. 9 Glover’s business partner of the time, John Drew, was unequivocal regarding the significance of this particular occasion: ‘the most important acquisition to the firm and to printing in New Zealand arrived in the form of renowned artist and typographer, Leo Vernon Bensemann’. 10

The result of Bensemann’s efforts was his remarkable Fantastica (1937), a copy of which Glover promptly sent to Eric Gill —and which is now in the William

Andrews Clark Library’s Gill collection at UCLA. In a rare moment of selfcongratulation in their modest 1941 publications catalogue, Caxton recorded that ‘The cylinder press behaved with unwonted docility, and we are proud to have printed this book so well’." A later business partner, Dennis Donovan, revealed that the enduring technical marvel of the book was that the verso text was printed on lightweight tissue which Bensemann had carefully coaxed through their new Wharfedale press." However, perhaps most telling of its success was the responsive chord the book touched in the exiled German poet Karl Wolfskehl. Denis Glover recalled Wolfskehl as being overjoyed by the contents of Bensemann’s book, 13 which inspired Wolfskehl to dedicate a poem to ‘Dem Bildner der “Fantastica”’ 14 (the creator of Fantastica) for his ‘traumentruckte Kunst’, his dreamlike art."

Peter Simpson summarised the attraction of this little-known book: ‘Not only is Fantastica a beautifully made book; it is a book which reveals an imagination steeped in the traditions of both literature and book illustration’. 16 It seems entirely appropriate that the Caxton Press’s first book of art should foreground the art of the book for, although it was Glover who laid the typographic groundwork, Leo Bensemann’s aesthetic eye was to make a lasting impression on the design of Caxton books. Simpson has offered an intriguing reading of Fantastica, arguing that, despite the disparate sources of the illustrations —including Marlowe’s Dr Faustus, Thomas Mumer’s The life and merry adventures of Till Eulenspiegel, and the Brothers Grimm— Fantastica can be read as a kind of novel-in-pictures, what we might call

today a ‘graphic novel’, ‘with recurring characters, a developing “story” and a coherent pattern of imagery and symbolism ’. 1 7 Simpson likens Bensemann ’ s pictorial method to T. S. Eliot’s literary one when he ransacked ‘the mind of Europe’ for The waste land, suggesting a comparable manifestation of Eliot’s dynamic of ‘tradition and the individual talent’. 18

The opening of the book with Marlowe’s Tragical history of the life and death of Doctor Faustus can certainly be read as an invocation of an imaginative heritage that was not confined to the shores of New Zealand. In some sense, this put Bensemann at odds with his contemporaries, both artistic and literary, who vigorously sought to extract a uniquely New Zealand identity from the local landscape. In an artistic climate which valued a mode of taciturn realism and local referents, Bensemann’s wilful and exuberant assertion of the imagination becomes almost Faustian. Books feature prominently in many of the illustrations, and it is almost prophetic of the attraction of the ‘black arts’ of printing and publishing were to have for Bensemann himself. The text Bensemann selected as the title for his towering sorcerer (see Figure 2) has added resonance when the lines are placed in the full context of that introductory speech by Faustus in Marlowe’s play: ‘Lines, circles, letters, and characters: / Ay, these are those that Faustus most desires. / O, what a world of profit and delight/.. ./Is promis’d to the studious artisan!’. 19 As a typographer, Tines, circles, letters, and characters’ continued to occupy him and, as an artist, he demonstrated considerable control over the quiet poles of his imaginative universe.

Bensemann’s fantastic imagination exhibits little concern for objective reality, or ‘the New Zealand thing’ that so obsessed his peers, opting instead to celebrate a rich imaginative heritage rather than refute it. However, what of the sinister egotistical side of Faust? The 1941 Caxton catalogue perhaps offers the most credible answer, noting that ‘ Bensemann’s choice of text is informed by a quiet humour’, 20 in this case a self-deprecating humour, a reminder to the artist of the dangers of excessive pride and over-reliance on book learning. Glover, for his part, immediately recognised Bensemann’s affinity for type and decided to gift him a one-third share in the Caxton Press. Much later, Glover was to describe this as ‘the best thing I ever did’, 21 but this apparent display of generosity needs to be tempered by the knowledge that, as a director, he also assumed the not insignificant liabilities of the company. Similarly, Drew’s assertion that ‘ [f]rom then on Leo became the backbone of the whole show’"' would suggest that more than a one-third share of the responsibilities accompanied the gift of directorship.

As a founding member of The Group, Bensemann added credibility to Caxton’s growing reputation as a patron of progressive arts, but he also proved his worth in other ways upon his arrival at the Press in 1937. He oversaw the installation of their newly imported fully automatic German printing press and the necessary expansion of premises. Caxton was fortunate, both in receiving this press before war broke out, and that their new partner could translate the German instructions which had been sent by mistake. 23

Many of the books from the 1940 s demonstrated a free-spirited willingness to experiment with type. Perhaps the most remarkable is A specimen book of printing types (1940), which Beatrice Warde was still keen to discuss some ten years later with another young New Zealand printer, Bob Gormack. 4 This small volume not only demonstrated the directors’ own unbounded enthusiasm for typography, but also a desire to stimulate in the general public an interest and appreciation of the variety of design available. The book was for sale, but was also given away to any person who requested it when they bought another Caxton publication. Boring lists of alphabets were displaced by entertaining pieces from Edward Lear, Thomas Boswell and Alexander Pope. All was not anecdote, however, and the booklet began with a statement of typographical intent by Stanley Morison and concluded with a

quotation from Eric Gill. 25 Although both quotations virtually amounted to canonical texts at the Caxton Press, humour still informed their choice, including the typographical pun of right-hand justification of the Morison quotation which begins ‘Typography may be defined / as the craft of / rightly disposing / printing material in/ accordance with / specific purpose’. The authors concluded: ‘lt has been our aim to provide enjoyable reading as well as typographical excellence and the book has proved a great success’. 26

While it is now difficult to distinguish the individual inputs of Glover and Bensemann to A specimen book, two pages can be positively identified as the result of Bensemann’s hand. Henry Farley’s ‘Money’s worth’ (p.[l3]) is headed by a Bensemann woodcut that was later reproduced in his A second book of . . . work (1952). The text (which begins ‘To see a strange out-landish fowle’) also appeared in his calligraphy notebook, another of his artistic outlets. 27 Peter Simpson has extended the metaphor, suggesting that Bensemann himself ‘was something of a “strange, outlandish fowl” whose practice is difficult to assimilate to any generalisations one might want to make about New Zealand art’ 28 due to the hybrid nature of his work. However, his oeuvre is all the more interesting for it.

The second example of Bensemann’s contributions to the Specimen book of printing types is a bookplate (p.[27]; see Figure 3). It is significant firstly because it stamps Bensemann’s authority on the volume; as if his brooding, bushy eyebrows keep watch over every detail. 29 However, it is also the choice of typeface (Legend), which became something of a signature type for him, that seems appropriate for the artist effectively twice removed —physically and intellectually, through his

involvement with a nationalistic literary movement —from his cultural heritage in Europe. His legends were not those of Denis Glover, Allen Cumow and Charles Brasch, although he helped to promulgate them. His images speak of absences, and of both the distance from and the centrality of the European cultural capitals. What is perhaps most remarkable in Bensemann’s drawings is the lack of cultural cringe, which, despite the overt nationalism of his literary and artistic

peers, often simmered below the surface. Certainly, all that Bensemann did, in his participation in and material support of the arts, seems to have been fuelled by the simple belief and determination that what could be done in Europe could be done in New Zealand.

There is also a strong Gothic element—typographical and literal rather than literary —in this self-portrayal, and it can fairly be said that Bensemann deliberately cultivated an aura of strangeness, or estrangement. 30 While he enjoying the shared engagement with contemporary art ideas which the Caxton Press and his membership of The Group offered him, his work often reveals an underlying tension, as if he could not fully bring himself to identify with what I have argued elsewhere were the essentially English origins of this particular form of cultural nationalism. 31 Unable to reconcile his dual heritage, Bensemann seems to echo the cry of Goethe’s Faust: ‘Two souls dwell, alas! in my breast.’ As a result, much of his work seems designed to unsettle, and his artistic practice displayed an existential resistance to conventions as well as a recognition of and taking pleasure in the absurd.

It is most telling of Bensemann’s contribution to the Caxton Press that Glover’s departure for war service did not spell the end of the press. With rationing and material shortages to contend with, keeping the press running was no easy task, but it was intensely difficult for Bensemann, who was a conscientious objector. Nevertheless, with the cooperation of friends and the channeling of publishing activities through the Progressive Publishing Society (a partnership jointly owned and managed by the four New Zealand cooperative book societies), 32 Bensemann not only managed to keep Caxton Press afloat, but he also eliminated its debt, an almost impossible feat under Glover’s profligate hand.

Meanwhile, Glover utilised his time in England to visit St Bride Typographical Library and the Monotype Corporation, as well as papermakers, foundries and book cloth manufacturers. He established a number of important contacts with John Lehmann, Dr John Johnson at Oxford University Press, Stanley Morison and Oliver Simon of the Curwen Press. He was clearly enthralled by the array of materials available and communicated this enthusiasm in his letters to Bensemann. Bensemann responded by keeping him informed and supplied with the results of his labours. 33 Despite his exposure to some of the best of British private press printing, Glover was far from disappointed with what was being produced in New Zealand and wrote to Bensemann, ‘your skill astonishes me curiously.’ 34

In 1948, Printing types: A second specimen book of faces commonly in use at the Caxton Press, Christchurch, New Zealand , was released. As the title suggests, there was a greater confidence about this publication, its boldly declared origin rejecting any tinge of provincialism, anticipating as it does a more international audience for their efforts. The dust jacket declared ‘This specimen book is an anthology of agreeable quotations just as much as a parade of printing types: technicalities have been kept for the notes. It has been designed to make good reading and at the same

time to show a wide range of type faces, each in an appropriate setting. ’ Pride of place was given to their Stephenson & Blake Caslon Old F ace (including praise of Caslon’s types by John Baskerville and D. B. Updike), but the seriousness of their typographic intentions is, as usual, relieved by their choice of text, opening with Sheridan’s Sir Benjamin Backbite: ‘To say truth, ma’am, ‘tis very vulgar to print’. Bensemann’s hand is present in illustrated letters, calligraphy, and an illustration for an extract from a Chopin letter (see Figure 4) which, in a light-hearted way, suggests something of Bensemann’s bemused ambivalence to English sensibilities. As if to counter this tendency, Bensemann included ‘A letter from Paris’ of 1470 (from an unsourced original) which pays tribute to Gutenberg ’ s invention, thus locating the Caxton Press efforts in the total history of the printed book in Europe from the birth of printing there. Much later, design lecturer Max Hailstone was to conclude: ‘ln all examples of his typographic design one can identify first a sensitive and responsible attitude towards the traditions and cultural heritage of printing and the printed word.’ 35

Among the lasting contributions made by the Caxton Press to the infrastructure for high quality book production was the establishment of Monoset, a specialist Monotype-setting operation that offered a full range of classic Monotype book type faces and printers’ flowers. This achievement, along with the publication in 1951 of

the first book {The lagoon) by Janet Frame, New Zealand’s most significant author, was to be the swansong for the press’s irrepressible founder, Denis Glover. In 1951 he was fired from the press to which he had brought so much energy and enthusiasm and Bensemann was saddened but resigned to the loss of his friend. However, Glover’s departure enabled a consolidation and stability that had been absent from the press since its inception—a movement from Aventur to Kunst. The tradeoff was an increased focus on commercial printing and a less adventurous publishing programme, but one which allowed more scope for Bensemann’s unique artistic talents.

Fifteen years after the publication of Fantastica, in 1952 Bensemann produced A second book of Leo Bensemann’s work exemplified in twenty drawings, in pen & pencil together with six engravings on wood, and specimens of calligraphy and typography with a grand piece of German text, and other select pieces never before engraved , which was a barely adequate title for a remarkable book that confirmed

the breadth of his talent (see Figure 6). It was also the last of his wholly original contributions to the Press, although all the striking dust jackets and crisp title-page designs which were to be the hallmark of Caxton Press publications for the next 25 years were the result of his meticulous eye. Leo Bensemann retired from the Caxton Press in 1978 and ended his association with The Group the year before, concluding 40 years’ involvement with each—an appropriate conjunction for a man who had done so much to maintain the harmony of art and literature. However, he continued to paint and print, under his Huntsbury Press imprint, until his death in 1986.

During this period, as well as a remarkable resurgence in his painting career, two fine press limited editions should be mentioned. The first, Samuel Taylor Coleridge ’ s The rime of the ancient mariner (1952), combined Bensemann’s talent for calligraphy and assertive typography with his predilection for drawing the grotesque, and the result is a particularly evocative publication (see Figure 5). The volume led one critic to pronounce ‘ [t]his beautiful b00k... is proof that printing has come of age in New Zealand’. 36 The second is the elegantly restrained edition of Oscar Wilde’s The ballad of Reading Gaol, which appeared in 1958. Leo Bensemann, I suspect, would make no such grand claims, and would be content for them to appear under the special category of ‘Printer’s pleasure’ in the Caxton catalogues.

Leo Bensemann’s tentative assessment of the Caxton Press achievements was both accurate and typically modest: ‘We brought a standard, I think, to printing that nobody else had and I don’t know where any of us got it from. It just seemed to grow out of the place.’ 37 While his use of the first person plural is an all too rare acknowledgment of the collective nature of the printing and publishing enterprise, it is difficult to underestimate the imaginative breadth he brought to the activities of the press. It is an imagination in which one can trace the individualistic, antiauthoritarian humanist hand of Renaissance artists, who were themselves intimately bound up with Gutenberg’s invention. Bensemann brought this art to the Caxton Press of Christchurch, New Zealand, but in addition to this he brought a less historically determined and more intuitive art, which negotiated between the overt cultural nationalism of his literary peers and the incongruity of his European heritage in a South Pacific environment. It would be this dynamic combination that so advanced the art of the book in New Zealand, and, I believe, comes close to the humanist conception of the press as an active agent in the spread of knowledge and Gutenberg’s dynamic art.

Turnbull Library Record 34 (2001), 87-98

References 1 This article is based on a paper presented at the SHARP (Society for the History of Authorship, Reading and Publishing) conference in Mainz in 2000, a city then celebrating the 600th anniversary of the birth of Johann Gutenberg. The title is a tribute to both Gutenberg and the language and culture that the subject of this article considered central to his personal and cultural heritage. I am indebted to the Marsden Fund (Royal Society of New Zealand) in association with the Humanities Society of New Zealand and the Alexander Turnbull Library for use of research grant funds to enable me to attend the SHARP Conference. Caroline Otto generously lent me several of Bensemann’s rare printed works produced at the Caxton Press for an exhibition at the conference to complement my paper. Others who made the exhibition possible were Peter Ireland of the National Library of New Zealand Gallery, the print workshop of the Gutenberg-Museum which printed Karl Wolfskehl’s poem dedicated to Leo Bensemann, Eike Durrfeld and Franz Gotz for administrative and practical help, and Paul Otto.

2 The conventional translation of Aventur as ‘adventure’ glamorises the word’s original sense of a high-risk business venture, a description equally applicable to the efforts of New Zealand’s first literary press. 3 lam indebted to Caroline Otto, Leo Bensemann’s daughter, for much of the personal information regarding her father, as well as allowing me access to her remarkable and comprehensive catalogue raisonne of his prodigious artistic endeavours, ‘Drawings, engravings, sculpture’. 4 Bensemann along with Colin McCahon, Rita Angus, Doris Lusk, Olivia Spencer-Bower and Toss Woollaston formed a core of painters who consistently exhibited with The Group until its voluntary disbandment in 1977. See Survey 16: The Group, edited by. Brian Muir & Bruce Robinson (Christchurch: Christchurch City Council and Robert McDougall Art Gallery, 1977). Bensemann’s own description of this artists’ collective is included in the volume, pp. B-12.

5 John Lehmann, The whispering gallery: Autobiography 1 (London: Longmans, 1955), p. 263. 6 Allen Cumow, Introduction, The Penguin book of New Zealand verse ( Harmondsworth: Penguin, 1960), pp. 17-67 (p. 18, note 1). 7 Morris Eaves, ‘What is the “history of publishing”?’, Publishing history, 2 (1977), 57-77 (p. 60). 8 A catalogue of publicationsfrom the Caxton Press Christchurch up to February 1941 (Christchurch: Caxton Press, 1941), p. 9. Unless otherwise indicated, all works referred to in this article were printed and published at the Caxton Press, Christchurch. 9 Denis Glover, Hot water sailor (Wellington: Reed, 1962), p.l 17. 10 John Drew, ‘The Caxton Press and its founders of fifty years ago’, Caxton Press Archive, Christchurch, manuscript. 11 A catalogue ... to February 1941, p. 9. 12 Dennis Donovan, ‘Remembering Leo Bensemann’, Landfall, 157 (1986), 76-85 (p. 76).

13 Denis Glover, Letter to John Asher, 8 August 1955. A copy of Fantastica was also exhibited at the Wolfskehl Centenary Exhibition, Darmstadt, 1969. 14 ‘Dem Bildner der “Fantastica”’, Karl Wolfskehl Gesammelte Werke, Erster Band, edited by Margot Ruben (Hamburg: Claassen, 1960), p. 236. It was also reprinted in New Zealand in J. A. Asher, ‘Wolfskehl in Exil’, AUMLA, 9 (November 1958), 65-70 (pp.6B-69). 15 Karl Wolfskehl: Zehn Jahre Exil: Briefe aus Neuseeland 1938-1948, edited by Margot Ruben & Fritz Usinger (Heidelberg: Lambert Schneider, 1959), p. 87. 16 Peter Simpson, ‘Habitation of the whole: The Takaka rock paintings of Leo Bensemann’, Untold, 2 (1984), 14-38 (p. 17). 17 Simpson, ‘Habitation of the whole’, p. 18. The American wood-engraver Lynd Ward, who trained in Germany in the 1920 s and established the Equinox Cooperative Press in 1932 offers a useful comparison. He also produced stories in pictures, primarily in traditional woodcuts, illustrated a

translated edition of Goethe’s Faust and worked with contemporary American authors like Allen Ginsberg. See Storyteller without words: The wood engravings ofLynd Ward (New York: Harry N. Abrams, 1974). 18 Simpson, ‘Habitation of the whole’, p. 19. 19 Christopher Marlowe, The tragical history of the life and death ofDoctor Faustus (Revels Plays; London: Methuen, 1962), 1.50-60. 20 A catalogue ... to February 1941, p. 21. 21 Denis Glover, Letter to Albion Wright, 15 July 1976, Pegasus Papers 29, Manuscripts and Archives Collection, Canterbury Museum, Christchurch. 22 Drew, ‘The Caxton Press and its founders’. 23 Dennis Donovan, personal interview, 24 August 1993. Audiocassette held by author. 24 Robert Gormack, Letter to Denis Glover, 14 March 1956, in Denis Glover, Papers, Negotiations with publishers: Nag’s Head Press (Robert Gormack) 1956-1977, MS-Papers-0418-065, Alexander Turnbull Library, National Library of New Zealand, Wellington, New Zealand (hereafter referred to as ‘ATL’).

25 ‘The service rendered to the world by printers is best talked about by those who are served. The printer had better confine his attention to the well doing of what he wants to do or is asked to do, namely to print. When the servant brags about his services it is probable that he is stealing the spoons.’ 26 A catalogue . . . to February 1941, p. 30. 27 Detailed in Caroline Otto’s catalogue raisonne, ‘Drawings, engravings, sculpture’. 28 Peter Simpson, ‘From Fantastica to the Paradise Garden: Aspects of the art of Leo Bensemann’, Unpublished address, 3 September 1992, National Library of New Zealand, Wellington. 29 The bookplate was also an art in which he was to distinguish himself, such that he was one of three artists featured in an exhibition of bookplates at the National Library in 1992: Ex Libris: New Zealand bookplates 1925-1950, curated by Barbara Blake (Wellington: National Library of New Zealand, 1992). 30 Peter Simpson discusses this aspect of Bensemann’s art in terms of ostranenie, or estrangement, in ‘From Fantastica to the Paradise Garden’.

31 Noel Waite, ‘lnvisible typography and concealing the matrix’, Bulletin, Bibliographic Society of Australia and New Zealand, 22(2) (1998), 93-106. 32 See Chapter 5, Rachel Barrowman, A popular vision: The arts and the Left in New Zealand 193050 (Wellington: Victoria University Press, 1991). Bensemann was also a member of the Christchurch Cooperative Book Society management board from 1942 to 1946. 33 This correspondence is in Leo Bensemann, Papers, Letters from Denis Glover 16 Jan 1942[1978?], MS-Papers-3983-07, ATL. 34 Denis Glover, Letter to Leo Bensemann, 28 February 1943, in Leo Bensemann, Papers, Letters from Denis Glover 16 Jan 1942-[ 1978?], MS-Papers-3983-07, ATL. 35 Quoted in Garry Arthur, ‘The man who revolutionised printing goes back to his old hand-press’, The Press (Christchurch), 16 August 1978, 21.

36 ‘The printer’s art’, review of The rime of the ancient mariner, New Zealand listener, 25 July 1952, 15. 37 Leo Bensemann interview with Trevor Moffitt (undated). Audiocassette held by author.