Free You Might Remember Me The Life and Times of Phil Hartman by Mike Thomas Page B

projects as they came his way. “You know how some artists have an ego about being an artist?” Dozier says. “He wasn’t like that. But he was real serious about his craft. He’d get cranky if you were interfering with it.” But freelance work was spotty, and Phil’s money was typically tight. What he really needed was another salaried job, though a return to the ad world at Farrell-Bergman was entirely unappealing.
    Fortuitously, John Hartmann and his music business partner, Harlan Goodman, had just settled into swanky offices at Hollywood’s Crossroads of the World complex on Sunset—formerly Alfred Hitchcock’s headquarters. Its walls were paneled in redwood, gray gabardine, suede-leather and tartan plaid. “H&G” (for Hartmann & Goodman) was etched into a small window above the entrance. With high-profile clients like Crosby, Stills & Nash, America, and Poco, John and Goodman needed someone to design album covers. Phil was a natural choice, and before long he set up shop on the second floor of the ship-shaped structure’s bow.
    As a jack-of-all-trades, doing everything from layout to printing and the preparation of artwork, Phil came into the office almost every weekday and was busier than he’d ever been—not to mention earning some coin for his efforts. Although his monthly stipend of $750 plus a small per-album fee (based on the amount budgeted for graphic art, which was generally $7,500) wasn’t much to live on, Phil was again tight-lipped about asking for help. “Quite frankly, he wasn’t happy with John,” Small says. “John would screw him monetarily, and it caused some ill feelings. I had conversations with my wife and Phil when he was debating whether he should stay and do what he was doing or go in another direction.”
    John, though, says he was never aware of Phil’s situation until years later, when Phil admitted that he’d gone through a tough stretch while working at Hartmann & Goodman. “Phil was a very strong character,” Harlan Goodman says, “but such a sweetheart, such a beautiful soul, that there was this great internal struggling [because] he didn’t want to be a burden. So he wouldn’t tell us.”
    Goodman also witnessed Phil’s ongoing search for a concrete identity. “He was constantly trying to figure out who he was. Some days he was a cowboy, some days he was a surfer, some days he’d come in with a jacket and a tie.” A used Porsche 924 and a pickup truck were among his modes of transportation, and Phil’s outfits were always vehicle-appropriate.
    Ongoing money issues aside, Phil’s long H&G tenure—which lasted from 1973 to 1980—saved him from further corporate boredom and provided him with a wealth of professional experience, beginning with his conjuring of cover art for Poco’s 1974 album Seven. Often clad in faded OshKosh overalls, H&G’s newest employee—a one-man art department—could usually be found tucked away in his always-tidy alcove. Besides Seven, other album artwork included a now-famous cover painting for History: America’s Greatest Hits, the minimalist horse sketch that fronts Poco’s bestselling Legend LP and a logo for Crosby, Stills & Nash that is still used as a stage backdrop when they tour.
    After attending band meetings to get a sense of what each group envisioned artistically, Phil regrouped with John Hartmann to hash out further details. Before creating an initial mock-up, he did deep research and sought out other works for inspiration. Things he witnessed in everyday life—people, places, objects—were catalysts as well. His image for Poco’s Legend was spurred by black-and-white Asian brush paintings of horses with dust swirling around their heads that Poco member Rusty Young and his wife came across one day while shopping for furniture. “When I saw that artwork, I thought it was just providence,” Young says. Excited, he phoned Phil and they made plans to meet at the store so Phil could see the paintings for himself.