Travels Galore--plus "The Eye," by two different artists, from the same issue of Detective Eye comics, 1940

Salutations, friends, neighbors and countrymen! I have returned from an extensive tour of our fine continent—almost from sea to sea!

‘Twas a taxing odyssey, at times, but scarcely was it less than rewariding. My first voyage you read of last time on this blog. My father and I took a “road trip,” the better to spend some “quality” time as “father and son” together. Dad, though of advanced years and diminished hearing, is as robust as ever. And, friends, he requires no amplification. Seldom has a human being been gifted with such a resounding thorax, such a majestic sound-box, as dear old “Dad.”

Dorrie wisely insisted I purchase some “Noize-Off” industrial-strength ear plugs. This was perhaps the best buy I’ve made since my bargain win of the rare Our Flag Comics #1 on eBay. I seldom brag, but I must “toot my honr” here… I won said purchase for a mere 19.43! the other Bidders were clearly “sleeping at the wheel” on that day.

But I digress. These flesh-colored ear devices were alleged, on the plastic sack in which they are sold, to “slaughter unwanted noize!” I suppose there is some significant distinction between “noise” with an s and “noize” with a z. Regardless, the plugs helped tone down the volume on “Pops” to a level of normal, courteous conversation. The down side—and is there not always one, friends?—was that they also greatly reduced other sounds, such as the horns and screeching brakes of oncoming motorists.

It took such intense concentration to focus on my father’s now-muffled voice that I seldom heard the “tells” of my fellow travelers. We wound up in a ditch, to my everlasting chagrin, outside of Wheeling, West Virginia. The “Prius” was wedged at about a 60 degree angle for a little over an hour, as the AAA service was exceptionally slow to respond to my distress call. (Thank heavens I had charged the cellular phone sufficiently!)

Why, you may ask, were we outside of Wheeling, West Virginia? Dear old “dad” wished to travel down “memory lane” on our s pecial father-son voyage. As he put it:

“BE NICE TO SEE SOME OF MY OLD STOMPING GROUNDS ONE MORE TIME! YOU KNOW, MACE, I’M NOT EXACTLY A SPRING CHICKEN ANY MORE! NO, SIR. GETTING ON IN YEARS!”

 I’d had “Pop” prepare a “top ten” list of places from his past he most wished to see. (With the stipulation that these spots remain close to the Eastern seaboard, and be no more than two days’ drive inland.) I scanned in his list, and share it with you now:

Seven of his choices no longer existed. Honey’s Bowling Den was shuttered in 1981. In its place was a small correctional facility! “Dad” chuckled at the inherent irony. “BET THEY JUST PUT BARS ON THE WINDOWS AND PAINTED THE THING GRAY,” he commented. “THERE WAS SOME SHADY TYPES USED TO POP IN THAT PLACE.”

I suggested the site of the IBM plant, where he spent a significant chunk of his working career, but he demurred. “SEEN ENOUGH OF THAT SPOT TO LAST ME A WHILE. STILL REMEMBER THE TREES AND SHRUBS. THE CANDY MACHINE ON THE FOURTH FLOOR. NOPE, SEEN ENOUGH OF THAT SPOT, SON!”

“1767 Fletcher Lane” was still standing, and brought back a flash of forgotten memory. This was the house where I was born! We lived there until I was five, and I only recognized it from its appearance as a backdrop to some home movies and blurry snapshots of that era. “SHE’S STILL STANDING PROUD,” my “pater” commented. “WONDER IF THE CRAPPER STILL HISSES FOR AN HOUR AFTER YOU FLUSH ‘ER?”

I wittily suggested that perhaps we might stop to check. “SAY, THAT’S A GOOD IDEA, MACE!” my father said. 20 minutes of curbside debate ensued; I on the “don’t knock on the door and ask to visit the restroom” side, and he holding the “WHAT THE HECK? CAN’T HURT TO ASK” position.

You might guess which side won out. The elderly widow was perhaps startled to see these two road-weary figures at her door. My father introduced himself as “A FELLA WHO USED TO LIVE HERE, ROUND ABOUT 1950, ’51.” The woman kindly invited us in. For all she knew, we might have been escaped lunatics, or encyclopedia salesmen!

“JUST GONNA VISIT THE HEAD FOR A SEC,” my father said. The woman held her hands over her ears and winced at my father’s volume. She asked me to sit with her in the living room. After a minute, a great flush issued from the rest room, followed by a minute of metallic jiggling. An audible, rumbling hiss echoed from the back hall. Shortly, my father returned, and joined us in the living room.

“YEP,” he finally said. “STILL GOT A TENDENCY TO RUN FOR A SPELL. YOU MIGHT WANT TO GET THAT LOOKED AT SOMETIME.”

The woman uncovered her ears. She appeared a bit disoriented. “Y-yes, I reckon I will…”

I explained (in a normal tone of voice) the nature of our trip, and that this was my first home. She brightened considerably. “Well then, you shall have lunch here, just as you once did.” Despite my polite protestations, she went into the kitchen. She returned shortly with a pile of olive loaf and pimento loaf sandwiches, spread with Durkee’s Special Sauce, and a pot of weak but welcome coffee.

As we dined, I attempted to control the conversation, the better to spare our elderly host’s ear drums. But “dad” had many questions. “HANK LEVINE STILL LIVE NEXT DOOR?... DOES THAT PAPER BOY STILL THROW THE DURNED SUNDAY PAPER ON THE ROOF?...CAN YOU STILL HEAR BERT JENKINS SNORE?”—and so on. All these people were, of course, long gone, and the questions simply bewildered the poor woman.

Finally, she cleared her throat. “W-well, I’ve got my shows to watch.” She interlaced her fingers, as if to pray, and smiled weakly but hopefully at us.

“THINK SHE WANTS US TO VAMOOSE,” my father said.

On that ear-splitting note, we exited my first abode, and returned to the road.

‘Twas good that only three of these places still existed. Elsewise, our week-long foray might have lasted a month. I was scheduled to travel to the Pacific Northwest with Dorrie, to attend a series of independent restaurateur seminars in Portland, Oregon, Seattle, Washington and Boise, Idaho. I attended solely out of spousal support. Those endless talks invited Morpheus mightily! Alas, the insistent elbowings of my "lady" assured that my eyes would remain open throughout these calcifying "seminars."

While in Seattle, I responded to an invitation sent months ago by John Gill, who is a fellow “blogger” with a site called “The Trick Coin.” I saw nothing about numismatics anywhere on his “blog,” but it is nonetheless worth a visit or two. (I hope this "linker" will work for you! If not, please let me know.)

John also creates a “pog-cast” for the Internet. Apparently it is some sort of interview program. That was the basis of his invitation.

While Dorrie attended a recipe seminar at the downtown “W” hotel, I visited Mr. Gull’s humble abode, which is surrounded by hospitals and roaring ambulances. Amidst this sonic chaos, I was interviewed for his “pog-cast.” We spoke mainly of my “blog” and of my accomplishments as a panelologist. If you have a few moments, and wish to hear me speak, please visit “The Trick Coin” where the entire program is archived.

And, when you listen, friends, worry not! None of those sirens were to do with Dorrie or the seminar, which passed quite peacefully and in a good spirit of democracy.

Dorrie returned from the seminars abuzz with new ideas for the Diner. She had a notion to christen the northeast sector as “Peking Corner,” and serve Asian cuisine there, and there only.

It is night-impossible to dissuade "the little missus" from an idea, once her mind is set. I tried to suggest that having one distant corner of our diner devoted to Asian fare might puzzle our elderly regular customers. The "sit where you want" policy we have strived to create would be shattered by this small change.

As  is, the idea is "on hold" while a possible menu is prepared. Perhaps the idea will just whisk away, as do many of "the wife"'s bolder notions. Time will tell.

I am no fan of air travel! The seats are painfully uncomfortable, and my ears are ill-prepared to withstand the pressure changes of the climate-controlled cabin. 'Tis fine to be back on terra firma, in the places I know and love.

And, of course, in the proximity of the New Pantheon, with its stockpile of treasures. On a brief visit, to check the smell of the place (pickle and chip scents gone; blueberry Febreze scent rather overwhelming) I opened an archival box, closed my eyes, and reached in. This fabulous artifact was my reward:

This fascinating publication boasts several worthy features, but 'tis a unique twist given its titular character that comprises this post. "The Eye" is among the most godlike of the early panelological creations. Indeed, there is a solemn religious aspect to the feature. The "Eye" is simply that--a floating, disembodied (and rather angry looking) ocular orb. Its mission  is the elimination of evil-doing.

Since it is an eye, and cannot operate machinery, ring doorbells, write letters, et al, "The Eye" must seek  out the aid of corporeal individuals--"ordinary Joes" such as you or I. 'Twas an eerie, unusual notion for a panelological figure.

In a fittingly peculiar twist, two different writer-artists helmed "The Eye"-- creator Frank Thomas and one Mark Schneider. There is, as usual, a fascinating (if somewhat tragic) story behind why these two men presented their differing takes on the "Eye," under the same covers of a comic magazine. I shall relate this after you absorb these two stories. The first is Schneider's; the second, Thomas'.

There are, in fact, TWO episodes of "The Eye" by Frank Thomas in this magazine. I have selected the second, and best, of these efforts:

As is immediately evident, the styles of "Mark Schneider" and Frank Thomas are significantly different. Each aspect of the panelological art--from lettering to the "spotting of blacks" (and I see many throughout both stories) could not be different.

Brace yourself--these two stories were created by the same man!

Frank Thomas, throughout his long career in comic magazines, was certainly a "workaholic." He lived to put pen and brush to illustration board, and to plot his many panelological tales, which included "cartoon critter" exploits for various Dell titles and several ventures into the costumed-hero genre.

In his waking life, Thomas was driven to succeed, although often frustrated by his limitations as a draftsman. He tried hard to imitate the realism of modern artists such as Milton Caniff and Alex Ramyond, but could only create a passable imitation. Thomas' real skill lay in creating softer, more "cartoony" characters. The hard edges of comics realism were seemingly not for him!

But at night, another personality emerged. Thomas was a chronic sleep-walker, and had been so since his childhood. So used was he to his regular noctural excursions that neither he, nor his family, friends and loved ones, gave it a second thought.

If the waking Frank Thomas was a "workaholic," his sleepy-time alter-ego was a "workamaniac," if I may coin a new word. "Mark Schneider," as this alter-ego called himself, was a more accomplished cartoonist, and a devil-may-care jack of all trades. "Schneider" would tune neighbors' cars, paint their houses, fix their roofs, build fences and chicken coops for them--and, if reports are to be believed, "Schneider" once installed a 20-foot flagpole, weighing over 200 pounds, and flying the flag of Prussia, in a distant neighbor's back yard!

When not creating home improvements, or flying a Piper Cub airplane, "Schneider" joined his waking self's love of the comics medium. As Thomas said in a 1965 interview:


I had no idea this was going on. I always woke up, you know, feeling tired. Saw the doctor many times. He couldn't come up with an answer. And the funny thing--I'd find these "Eye" stories on the front seat of my car. Had a '39 Chrysler Royal at the time. Never could tell when these things would show up. A whole story, penciled, inked and lettered! I never met this Schneider fellow. Assumed it was the editor's doings. It wasn't until I underwent hypnosis that I learned this Schneider character was me! I wish I could have collected his paychecks for these darn stories--"he" sure worked hard on 'em!

Hypnosis cured Thomas of this nocturnal double-life in 1955. From then on, Thomas religiously slept 10 hours a night, and continued his panelological career full-speed.

From that same interview, here are his thoughts on "The Eye:"

I remembered a saying my mother had. She'd tell me to always be good, because somewhere, an eye was watching me. I was inclined to be a bit of a rascal--always getting into the cookies--and this was her way to keep me in line. I used to lay up nights, scared to death of that eye. Thinking, 'I bet he's looking at me right now. I wonder what he thinks of me.'


Well, as I grew older, I forgot about this business, but I still had this feeling that something was going on while I slept. And that, of course, was this Schneider fellow, who I was at night. Boy, could that fellow draw! 


He actually came up with the concept for "The Eye." He left the first story on the seat of my Royal, wrapped in red ribbon, with the card attached that read "From A Friend." His idea was really good--and, boy, did it scare the hide off of me, when I remembered the story my mother used to tell me. I figured, 'if this scared me when I was boy, I'll bet it'll excite the children of today!' 

And I was right. "The Eye" was a big hit. I had to drop it when [Oskar] Lebeck hired me at Western. I tried to revive it for some of his titles, but it wasn't the same. And I was happier doing the bee series. Those were nice little stories for a change.

"The bee series" is Thomas' long-running "Billy and Bonnie Bee," which did indeed delight children for several years, and remains among the high points of the "cartoon critter" genre.

"Mark Schneider" illustrated some other comic magazine features before he disappeared from the panelological realm in the mid-1940s. It appears that "Schneider" wrote medical journals, pulp detective thrillers, and instruction manuals until his official hypnosis-cessation in 1955. His vanishment from comics art was a loss to the genre,

Well, this has proved an unusually long posting for me. I confess I'm tired. The couch--and a nap--beckons. I trust that I've no "Mark Schneider" to run colossal errands while I sleep! May your rest be free of highly active alter-egos as well, my friends!

Yarko's Master Speaks: An Interview with William Eisner, 1969

Greetings, friends of panelology! I regret that nearly half a month has passed since my last "posting."

It seems my gout has not significantly improved. My physician, Dr. Doynter, insists that my ureic acid levels are still dangerously high.

I have been sticking to the "microbot" diet he suggested--for the most part. Dorrie made a mocha fudge meringue pie the other night, and I couldn't resist two slices. Talk about the devil in disguise! I've asked Dorrie not to tempt me with her tastebud-bursting treats. She so loves to make sweets and rich goodies... I can't deny her the homemaker's joy of her kitchen concoctions.

On the other hand, I am powerless in their compulsive thrall.

Dorrie is, at present, baking for an upcoming church rummage sale. The heavenly scents of butterscotch brownies, double-dipped fudge bars, and her breath-taking Strawberry Sea-Foam waft through our humble home.

I've locked myself in our study, where I write this episode on a "laptopper" computer I have borrowed from the office. My gout has unfortunately restricted my movement in the world. But I'm still of able mind, if not able body. Thus, I do much of my work at home.

You know, it's a comfortable routine. Dorrie's coffee is far, far better than the brew we drink at the office. And it is much easier to take an afternoon nap at home. Part of me--dare I say it?--wishes my gout would never quite heal!

Yet part of me decries this as balderdash--rot--nonsense! I want to be well again. My vigor for panelology still drives me to hurtle forward, ever in search of the inspirational gems hidden 'neath the yellowing pulp pages of vintage comic magazines.

But today is a day of rest--and of reflection. Thus, I delve into my own past for our posting.

I have been asked repeatedly about the legendary interviews I conducted for various fan-zines in the 1960s and 1970s. I was fortunate to be there when the old masters of panelology were still walking amongst us. For the price of a hot dog, a pretzel or a gin and tonic, various greats would happily sit and reminisce, whilst my borrowed tape recorders captured their timeless talk for the ages.

I vividly recall the interview you are about to experience. It was a humble and great pleasure to speak with the famed William Eisner in New York City, on Sunday, March 13th, 1969, in downtown Manhattan. I was there to visit some fellow panelology buffs, and, on a dare, I dialed Mr. Eisner's number (then found in the common white page phone directory) and asked him to be interviewed.

I fully expected to be told to "get lost, kid!" To my delight, Mr. Eisner agreed to meet with me. "I love to talk about the old days," he said, a smile in his voice.

I only wish that someone had accompanied me, with a camera, to commemorate the event. Not that the photograph would have seen print. In those simpler times, our fan-zines were printed at home, on a foul-smelling hectographic press.

My thumbs bore the purple ink of the hectographic drum for years and years. The fumes of the ink sometimes threatened to knock me unconscious. Drops of sweat from my brow decorated many a page that went "to press" in the basement of the bowling alley (of which I, you'll recall, was assistant manager).

An occasional spot of blood might also touch those paper pages--paper cuts were amongst the frequent hazards of us pioneering "zineists." The same went for staple punctures. These wounds could easily become infected. Frank Fitzgerald, publisher of Wow Bang and Star Spangled Heroes, lost both his thumbs from infected staple wounds. He died a broken man in 1973.

Here, then, from the debut issue of Panelologist's Pride, is the interview of interviews with a man some might contend to be the true "king of comic magazines"--William Eisner!

The time: Sunday morning, 11:15 AM.

The place: a booth of the venerable "Snack Shoppe," in the prestigious outer lobby of the Waldorf-Lipkin Hotel, itself a nexus of the heart of Manhattan.

The objective: to obtain an interview with one of the greats of our panelological realms--William E. Eisner!

Your reporter sat nervously at the table, awaiting the entrance of true royalty. To make myself conspicuous, I sat beside a thick stack of classic Eisner panelology: various issues of WONDERWORLD COMICS, which contained Eisner's true masterwork--YARKO THE GREAT, MASTER OF MAGIC!

Though Mr. Eisner is perhaps better-known for his long-running popular success, THE SPIRIT, I feel that more than enough has been said about this admittedly clever but over-rated effort. It was about Eisner's earlier, more experimental work that I felt compelled to discuss with its creator. I only hoped that the great Mr. Eisner shared some of my appreciation for his own work.

Our conversation began after we shook hands, and we both ordered breakfast specials. From the start, it was evident that he recognized his old handiwork. Held in my own hands was WONDERWORLD COMICS #4--the home of one of Eisner's most fully-realized panelological masterworks.

WILLIAM E. EISNER: (gesturing to comic magazine) Haven't seen that old thing in years and years...

MASON MORAY: Sir, I knew you would recognize it! That is why I chose it as my calling card.

Well, you could have picked a better one! (laughs) Boy, we worked so hard on those things...

Yes. They are clearly labors of love.

(laughs) We were learning on the job! You see, we just batted those stories out. Lou Fine, Bob Powell, George Tuska--we were all kids, so excited to be doing what we were doing. We had so much left to learn...

Fine was great, right out of the starting gate. Man, could that boy draw! You know, when I went in the service, he took over my baby...

I wasn't aware you had children, Mr. Eisner.

(laughs) No, no! I mean THE SPIRIT. I always referred to it as "my baby." You see, I owned the feature. I was one of the first fellows in the field to retain the copyright on his work.

I'm aware that you are somewhat proud of THE SPIRIT. It did very well for you in the comics marketplace.

Well, yes, it did. I had all the fronts covered. You see, it got its start as a newspaper supplement. We sold a newspaper comic book to several prominent Sunday papers. And then we had it as a daily strip for a few years.

Meanwhile, Busy Arnold, over at Quality Comics, licensed the feature to reprint in his comic magazines. And then later, of course, Fiction House got the license for a bit. I didn't like what they did with it that much.

And then, you know, Harvey Comics had a little run with it a few years back. I thought it would sell better, but I guess the timing was off. I'm sure today's college kids would find THE SPIRIT of some interest.

Well, people tend to like what is popular--and THE SPIRIT was popular.

But today I'd like to focus on your really strong work in the panelological form...

Beg pardon?

Panelology. The study of the comic strip or comic magazine.

Panelology? Whew--that's real tongue-twister.

What would you and your colleagues have called this artform, back in its golden era?

Aw, you know--comics, mags, books, monthlies, quarterlies, four-color jobbies. We had a lot of "inside" lingo that we kind of made up on the fly.

(gesturing to WONDERWORLD COMICS #4) So what atrocities did I commit in that particular "mag?"

(paging through it) Oh, yes. "Yarko the Great." (sighs) Well, Fox wanted a magician feature, and by God, we gave him one. Victor Fox--I'm sure you've heard stories about him.

No, sir. But his comic magazines speak for themselves.

(laughs heartily) Oh, do they ever! You know, he really thought he was the king of comics! I'm sure he was in the rackets.

You know, he used to wear a grass skirt around the office. Like the Hawaiian hula girls wore. He'd march around his place, with this damned grass skirt over his business suit, and shout, "I'm the King! The blankety-blank King of Comics!"

He was obsessed with this product he'd dreamed up. I'm serious--it came to him in a dream. It was a soft-drink called--oh, hell. Kubla Khan Cola?

KOOBA COLA. Many a panelologist has dreamed of tasting it...

Kooba Cola! That's it! The crazy thing was--it never existed! Outside of his dreams, this crap wasn't real.

But he featured it on his covers! He ran regular advertisements for the beverage for years...

Fox was a sneak. He thought that if he advertised it, and got a lot of orders for it, he could take the money and run.

But no one wanted it. He never got one single order for Kooba Cola. That's probably for the best. He would have wound up in jail!

Fascinating, Mr. Eisner! You've given me a real "scoop" with this information!

Do you recall anything else about Mr. Fox? He is a real mystery figure in panelology...

(sighs) He was a mystery figure to everyone! It was a mystery he didn't get himself fitted for a cement overcoat!

He sure got me in some hot water! Are you familiar with WONDER MAN?

I once paid a man five dollars to read the story.

Wow! I don't think I made five cents off it! You know, Donenfeld and his cronies took us to court over that one. They claimed it was a rip-off of their SUPERMAN. Which it was--but that's what Fox told us to do. "Make me one of those blankety-blank Supermans!"

You see, Fox would just buy comic books from us, outright. He didn't care what went into them. I could have put in 68 pages of dancing dwarves. As long as it was camera-ready and printable, Fox would've run it.

But this one time, I bowed to pressure, and did something that really went against my ethics. I hated doing WONDER MAN. I suppose it shows in the published story. I couldn't sleep while I worked on that one. I'd wake up in the middle of night in a panic: "What if this thing takes off? What if I'm stuck doing WONDER MAN the rest of my life?"

Of course, that wasn't the case. We only ran that one story, and then the ax fell. And guess who got sweet-talked into appearing in court? Not "King" Fox. No sir, I took the stand and got my knuckles rapped. I had a kind of black mark on me for awhile. If it hadn't been for THE SPIRIT, I don't think I would have lasted in comics.

That's how YARKO was created. We had a contract for the second issue of WONDER COMICS, and SOMETHING had to be the cover feature.

One night I wrote down a list of the types of characters that comic magazines had, and ones they hadn't. Donenfeld had a magician feature already--ZATARA. Freddy Guardineer did that one. Zatara was a take-off of MANDRAKE--an obvious rip-off. So I felt safe in creating another magician. No one could sue me, because everyone else already had a knock-off magician feature!

YARKO was a means to an end.

Some, sir, would disagree...

You've got to be kidding! This was just make-work. Something to fill pages. A way for us to learn how to properly harness this medium of the comic mags.

It's been said that a creator is, by far, the least judge of his or her work...

Who said that?

I read it somewhere. It may have been Norman Mailer.

Huh...

In other words, a creator may have a soft spot for certain ideas that might not be their strongest work. Whereas ideas they consider weak may have more effect on others... such is the case with YARKO.

YARKO was strictly one-dimensional stuff. Now, you take THE SPIRIT... that was where I feel my abilities as a storyteller, and as a cartoonist, began to solidify. I had high ambitions for THE SPIRIT.

We were seeing films like CITIZEN KANE, THE GRAPES OF WRATH, STAGECOACH, HIS GIRL FRIDAY... the look and feel of these landmark movies left a deep impression on us all. Everyone was trying to out-Welles Welles in our comic book stories.

In my humble opinion, THE SPIRIT was a means to an end. A pleasant enough feature, yes. And its success was a boon to you. It was a real crowd pleaser.

I'm sad that it took you away from your more personal, and, to me, fulfilling works in panelology...

You're really serious, aren't you?

YARKO is your obvious masterpiece. Everything you did in THE SPIRIT had already been accomplished in YARKO. In my opinion.

{Eisner looks around} This is a gag, huh? What, am I on CANDID CAMERA? Ha ha ha! You fellas got me! OK, you can come out now... (Eisner gets up from table, looks under booths, behind counter, wanders outside restaurant...)

Mr. Eisner returned to the restaurant some 10 minutes later. He looked flushed and sweaty--and most unhappy.

There weren't any cameras.

No, sir, just myself and my tape recorder...

(Eisner sits down) You mean you're serious? You really like YARKO more than THE SPIRIT?

Quite honestly--yes. YARKO, WONDER MAN, ESPIONAGE, UNCLE SAM, THE DOLL MAN--all superior creations to the over-rated SPIRIT.

Tell me why. Seriously--I'd love to know why you feel this way.

Sir, it is my opinion that THE SPIRIT weighted down your sense of imagination. While undeniably skillful in its approach, and pleasing to the eye, THE SPIRIT was earthbound, where YARKO and his brethren dared to reach for the skies--and fulfill the dreams of young readers.

(gesturing to closing panel of story) Yet you found a place for realism in YARKO. I've always quite appreciated the conclusion of this story. Here, you have a heroic figure--far more powerful than any mere mortal--and yet he feels warmth for the young woman.

I only wish THE SPIRIT had such moments of human interest.

Another instance I would cite is at the conclusion of the WONDER MAN story, in which Wonder Man kisses the unconscious woman he has rescued. It is a genuinely daring moment--one that expanded the boundaries of the panelological form.

I don't condemn you, Mr. Eisner. THE SPIRIT was your "bread and butter" feature. It paid the bills. It kept you going through the 1940s. And it was liked by many who read it.

It had a large regular readership. It was in several big papers. They begged us not to shut it down. But it was going stale. That's why we folded it in late '52. I'd done all I felt I could do with the feature. And I didn't want it continued. I'd seen what happened when less inspired creators took over a feature. It's heartbreaking.

I want to make sure I'm getting you correctly. You honestly prefer THE SPIRIT to all your other panelological works.

Yes. All my other panelol--works in comics were just a dress rehearsal for THE SPIRIT. You've expressed your opinion--I'll express mine.

Are we done?

I must confess I am disappointed by our discussion, Mr. Eisner. I wish you the very best.

Well, I didn't mean to disappoint you, kid. You have some funny ideas about comics.

One last question, if I may.

You might as well.

Any hopes of a YARKO revival? With the growing popularity of Marvel Comics' DOCTOR STRANGE--an obvious knock-off of your early work--I believe a revived YARKO would capture the imagination of comic magazine readers in the same--

I've got a headache. I need to go.

Good luck to you and your fan magazine.

(to waitress) He's covering the check.

With those words, Mr. Eisner left the Snack Shoppe. He remains an enigma, a figure as dark and shadowy as the pen-and-ink figures that fill the panels of his variegated creations. I hope he will change his mind about the YARKO revival. He is missing a sure bet, in this humble writer/interviewer's opinion.

So many years have passed since that interview. I felt frustrated about it, at the time. Truth told, I was reluctant to "run it" as the head feature of my first significant publication. But reader response was strong. Letters, pro and con (mostly the latter) filled the columns of future issues for a year or so.

With all due respect to the deceased, I still feel Mr. Eisner was wrong about his life's work. While THE SPIRIT has paled, and lost its appeal in the years since 1969, YARKO's strengths have only increased. Never did Mr. Eisner's brilliance shine more brightly than in this regrettably short-lived series.

Here is the very YARKO story we discussed in our all-too-brief interview. I'm sure you will acknowledge it as the work of greatness is truly is.

My foot has begun to throb. I had best eat a carrot. I hope to be back sooner than later.

"The Bullet"--and a rare interview with panelologist/fine artist R. E. Butts!

Well! I have been "Blogged!" Yes, sir, this flattering, if bewildering write-up of my humble efforts appeared today! Here is the URAL to read it:

http://www.trickcoin.net/2009/09/let-your-funnybook-freak-flag-fly.html

Now onto today's very special post. I was asked by one of my followers, "Mr. Moray, you attended many of the early 'comic-cons' in the 1960s and 1970s. Did you meet any of the early 'Golden Age' cartoonists? Were you ever able to interview any 'lost legends' for your fanzines?"

I'm happy to give a resounding answer of "yes!" to both questions.

In those halcyon days of panelology, I met and spoke with, among others, the following giants of the artform: Jack Kirby, Carl Burgos, William Everett, Robert Powell, William Eisner, Martin Nodell, Joseph Kubert, C. C. Beck, Vernon Henkel... oh, how the list could rattle on!

Friends, you have no idea of the ease with which an eager young disciple of the panelologic arts could encounter the geniuses who brought our four-color dreams to the printed and inked page!

I managed to do interviews with many of these "key figures" for my best-known fanzine, "Panelological Pleasures."

However, the most rewarding--and fascinating--"Golden Age" artist I had the fortune to encounter was not one whose name might be found in household chat. Richard Evelyn Buttram, A.K.A. "R. E. Butts," never attended any of those bygone "comic-cons." Nor did he receive any of the acclaim that even the least talented craftsman of 1940s panelology might have received, had he simply wandered into the rooms in which said "comic-con" was conducted.

I met Mr. Buttram whilst attending the 1969 Big Apple Comicon. It was my first trip to New York City. I was eager to take in all the sights. At age 22, my curiosity knew no bounds.

Having spent several hours in the sweaty confines of the dealer's rooms at the Big Apple event, I deemed it provident to wander outside and get some fresh air--the latter merely a turn of phrase in smoggy, grimy Gotham.

I strolled into the East Village--then a haven of "beatniks," "yippies" and bohemian artists. I had heard much about the "expresso pads" of the Village, and wanted to sample this "hip" beverage. Friends, it turned out to be plain old coffee--albeit served in a tiny cup!

It was good coffee, tho'. On a crisp autumn afternoon, as I squinted in the sunlight, I chanced upon an outdoor exhibition of paintings. Their creator was a tall, grey-haired man, wearing a striped sweatshirt and a derby hat, just like those worn by Hardy and Laurel in their screen comedy classics.

I had on hand a formidable stack of comic magazines--treasures newly acquired from the confines of the dealers' room. Said pamphlets caught the eye of the elderly painter. Atop the stack was the very issue of Amazing Mystery Funnies from which today's special selection is found.

"Lord God!" the artist sighed. "What memories that brings back!" He pointed to the comic magazine in question.

"Did you read this magazine when it was new?" I innocently asked.

"Read it? Hell, son, I drew for it!" He snatched the precious magazine from my hands and deftly paged through it. He then held up the "splash page" to "The Bullet." He cleared his throat. "Son, that's me. 'R. E. Butts.' That was my pen name for the funny books."

You'll appreciate that I found my heart in my throat. So suddenly, so unexpectedly--here was a "forgotten man" of the "funny book" era!

"You were a panelologist?" I asked, fighting an urge to stutter.

"Speak sense, son! I drew for the funnies! But that was 30 years ago... I've gotten into the fine art racket. Done OK by it, too."

At the time, I was preparing the first issue of my fan-zine, and still "at sea" for a cover feature. I was thunderstruck with a sudden gleaning: here was my interview subject--a man who worked "behind the scenes" and could "tell it like it was" for my curious readership!

"Sir," I blurted out, "might I interview you for my fanzine?"

"Interview?" His brow wrinkled with the effort of thought. "What's it pay?"

At the time, I was naive. It seemed apt, to me, that such talented creators, indeed, should receive pay in exchange for telling of their experiences in the panelological universe.

"Er--would fifty dollars be enough?"

Mr. Buttram's eyebrows appreciably raised. "Hmm... you'd better make it sixty."

I opened my wallet. There were four twenty-dollar bills within. This would seriously hamper my further involvement, as a buyer, in the Big Apple Comicon. But how many of my fellow "fans" could boast that they had bought, with their hard-earned money, a genuine slice of panelological history?

I agreed at once. Mr. Buttram invited me to interview him at his studio that evening at the unearthly hour of midnight! He wrote down his address and said he'd expect me there at the stroke of twelve.

As a token of good faith, I paid him the $60 in advance.

Friends, I was on Cloud Nine! I wandered back to the "con" when another thought struck like lightning. How in the heavens would I record the imminent interview for posterity? At the time, tape recorders were still in the realm of wealth. "Ordinary Joes" such as myself did not have such devices at their constant beck and call.

However, a friend at the "con" owed me both money and a favor. I collected on both.

His name was Wallace "Sparks" Spinkle. "Sparks," may he rest in peace, was a pioneer of panelological fandom. His fan-zines Realms of Tomorrow and Power Blast Phenomenon! set a standard for journalism and ethics seldom equalled, even today.

"Sparks" Spinkle had a portable reel-to-reel tape recorder. I borrowed it from him to conduct the interview. "Sparks" also repaid me 30 dollars he'd borrowed from me, in order to purchase a copy of Action Comics #1. I'd advised him against its purchase.

Talking horse sense, it seemed that one might do better to buy 30--or even 60--comic magazines, for that price, rather than put "all of one's eggs into the basket." "Sparks" was dead-set on acquiring this over-rated piece of panelology.

To my surprise, he'd turned around and resold it--within five minutes--for 50 dollars. P.T. Barnum was right, it seemed! "Sparks" had earned 20 dollars with no effort whatsoever.

I'm sure "Sparks" does cart-wheels in his grave when he thinks how much that comic magazine would fetch in these 21st century times!

To prepare for the interview, I read the story Mr. Buttram had indicated as his work. To put yourself in the frame of mind I shared, in the hours before my interview, here is said story:








You will admit that 'R. E. Butts' had a unique visual and textual panelology style. Indeed, there would be much to discuss. Here was a phantom figure of the dawn age of the comic magazine!

Midnight found me examining a dank basement apartment, fronted by a coal-black hallway. I heard things skitter in the bottomless dark around me. Finally, I found a door, and rapped against it.

"What?" a thick-sounding voice muttered from within.

I announced myself, and recapped our meeting, earlier that afternoon. "Oh yeah," the voice slurred.

A great number of locks slid, clicked and cracked. Finally, the door eased open, and a gentle, orange-hued light mingled with the jet-black of the hallway. I saw that those skittering things were rats! I was truly in the heart of the city.

Mr. Buttram invited me inside. His was a typical "artist's loft"--strewn with paintings, art supplies, underwear, cereal boxes, empty liquor bottles, and, in an eccentric touch, the near-deafening tick of a thousand wind-up alarm clocks.

Said clocks were everywhere--they blanketed every flat surface, and all were set to a different time! On a time-worn "hi fi," genuine "bee-bop" jazz music played in the background.

"D'you bring the money, son?" Mr. Buttram asked.

"But, sir, I paid you this afternoon--in full!"

His face tellingly reddened. "Yes, I recall that you did." He cleared space on a frayed, stained sofa-bed and invited me to sit.

I switched on the tape recorder, my heart beating in time with the myriad alarm clocks clucking and clittering all about me. I was about to conduct my first interview!

Here it is, as it appeared in my maiden effort of panelological commentary, Strange Oddysey #1, which saw print in early 1971.


"They Wanted Me To Draw That Way!"
"R. E. Butts" in the Dawn of Comic Magazines
interview by Mason J. Moray

"It paid the bills," says Richard E. Buttram, as he takes a "drag" from a green bottle of "night train," here in the dark heart of Gotham. The "it" referred to is panelology; the speaker, now a classically-trained artist of fine paintings, is likely unknown to you by his given name.

Try out "R. E. Butts" for size! Yes, this bohemian gentleman, sitting at midnight in his squalid "pad," is the man who created some of the earliest panelological presentations, primarly for the long-departed Centaur Press--launching pad of many a comic-magazine career.

When asked how he entered the panelological "scene," Buttram is modest. "I knew a guy. He knew a guy. It was like that. I needed work. My paintings weren't selling. I couldn't cut it as a magazine illustrator. I didn't have the discipline to hack it.

"I'd seen these 'funny books' around town. It seemed like kid's play to me. I figured, 'get in for a few months,' you know, crap out some stuff, sell it, and then get out of it. And that's exactly what I did."

And, thus, our interview began proper.

Do you have any remembrances of the halcyon days of panelology?

Huh?

What was it like to work in comic books in the late 1930s?

Aw, it was just a bunch of guys in a room, drawing and kidding around. It was something to do, you know...

What was your inspiration in creating The Bullet? Its panelological stylings are quite unorthodox, even for this pioneering period...

Kid, you need to talk English. I just made this crap up as I did it. "Fill seven pages," the editor told me. You heard of "Uncle Joe?"

No, sir. Who--

"Uncle Joe" Holstein. The biggest crap-slinger on Manhattan Island. All talk and no action! Just try and get him to put money in your hand! You'd have to be that magician guy. Oh, what was his name?

Zatara?

No.

Yarko the Great?

Huh? No! It doesn't matter. Nothing mattered, except for two things. Two... things. One: draw the crap. Whatever it is; it didn't matter. Just draw the crap. Two: Get the money. That was the hard part.

Thank God the war came on. The Merchant Marines paid a hell of a lot better than "Uncle Joe." I didn't mind getting shot at. I was making real money in the war!

I saw your exhibit of paintings today in the Eastern Village. Are all of those recent works?

Some of 'em. Some of 'em have been kicking around since the '50s. Tourists buy 'em, mostly. I've sold some to hotels.

What did you like most about working in comics?

The paycheck. When I got it.

What was the worst part of working in comics at the time?

The worst? I'll tell you the worst. You could be [expletive] Michael Anjelo. You could draw like a [expletive], paint the [expletive] Sisteen Chapel ceiling. But when you worked for the funnies, all that went out the window.

You bring that funny book with you?

Yes. Here it--

Yeah, just look at this. [points to several drawings on the page] They wanted me to draw that way!

I remember; I brought in this job to "Uncle Joe." He chewed on a piece of leather. I think it was part of a wallet. Always chewing on that damned thing.

"Uncle Joe" looked at my lead page. [points to drawing of a character's head on page one of story] "OK," he said, "I'll let you have that one. One good drawing. The rest of this--you gotta re-do it!"

Of course, I was shocked. "Re-do it? Why you [expletive]! This is good work!"

I'll never forget get. "Uncle Joe" chewed on that wallet piece, sucked on it, and put his finger tips together, like that game, this is the church, open the door and look at the people? You know that one?

No, sir.

Well, no matter. He patted those fat fingers back and forth. Back and forth. "We don't encourage our artists to draw well. We don't want our artists to slow down on that fancy stuff. We need to get these out the door quick."

Long story short--I had to re-draw all the faces--and do 'em badly! He made me sit in a closet and put Chinese White all over the good drawings. He stood over my shoulder. Anytime I started to draw well, he'd chuckle and say, "Uh uh uh! That's too good."

So this "Uncle Joe" wanted you to draw poorly?

That's the long and short of it!

Is that enough? What else you want to know?

What other features did you create for the comic magazines?

Oh, that was a long time ago. Let me think... [sighs] It all starts to blur together when you get to be my age, son...

Aw, hell. "Tack Dixon." That ring any bells?

No, sir.

"Tack Dixon." He was a prize-fighter who hunted cannibals in Africa. That was one. "Five Deuces;" that was an airplane feature. "Cochita of Laredo." She was a Mexican detective. Imagine that--a Mexican woman who's a dick!

Who were some of your favorite artists in pan-- er, in comics at the time?

Tell you the truth, son, I never even looked at the things. I just did my pages, took 'em in, and tried to tough it out 'til that fat [expletive] paid me off.

Then the war came on. I signed up before the last bombs had hit Pearl Harbor. I'd rather go to war than struggle on in this nonsense. That was the last I saw of comic books. Never looked back.

I see.

That's what I'd do if I were you, son. Turn your back on the whole sorry business. Learn a trade. Don't fool with this bunk. It's just a--

[Our interview was rudely interrupted by the simultaneous ringing of a hundred alarm clocks. Your correspondent nearly leaped out of his skin at that moment.]

Well, friends, that was the interview. It was nearly three in the morning when I shut off the tape recorder and gathered myself to leave.

I'll never forget what happened next. Mr. Buttram looked at me. "You know, it's nice of you to look me up, talk to me about this baloney. I don't mean to sound like an old grump."

He reached, without looking, to a stack of framed paintings that leaned against a wall. He grabbed two and insisted I take them. "I want you to feel like you got something good for your money."

"R. E. Butts" saw me to the door. I found myself alone on the eerily silent streets of the East Village, two oil paintings in my arms, along with "Sparks" Spinkle's tape recorder and the very comic magazine from which today's tale originated.

I still own those paintings today. They hang in our home. I took pictures of them so that I can share them with you today.


"Hat Lady" by R. E. Buttram, c. 1960

"Pretty Scenery" by R. E. Buttram, c. 1967

I never heard of, nor saw, "R. E. Butts" again. Each time I visited Gotham, I frequented the East Village, in the hopes of sighting this panelological legend. It was as if he never existed.

Yet, every day, when I pass by these paintings in my home, I'm reminded of this artist whose pioneering efforts helped to build a panelological empire. This post is dedicated to you, Mr. Richard Evelyn Buttram.

Your work was not in vain. Not in the realms of the Pantheon!

Until next time, I remain your humble friend and servant. Good day.