tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25771547465548005582024-03-13T10:06:26.171-07:00PANELOLOGICAL PANTHEONGuided by a skilled, intuitive admirer, commentator and scholar of the panelological form (commonly known as "comic books"), this blog serves as a forum for the true masterpieces of the comics medium.Mason J. Morayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16288522457980212295noreply@blogger.comBlogger52125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2577154746554800558.post-88852675953038591822015-12-20T10:49:00.001-08:002015-12-20T10:49:41.678-08:00O Friends, Where Doeth the Time Go? The Fatal Rapturous Flow of Life--plus "Shock Gibson"!Dearest friends, I would blame not a soul for thinking that I had, perhaps, given up the ghost, and departed from this tender terra firma. 2015 will go down in my personal history as "The Year of Trials." Never in this life have such tremendouc challenges hurtled themselves at me, like so many full-backs in a basefball game.<br />
<br />
I scarcely know where to begin. Once you have read these words, you will, perhaps, understand, and forgive, if any resentment exists in your soul towards me.<br />
<br />
I must give the saddest news first: two deaths in my life.<br />
<br />
My father, Austin Moray, passed on August 25th of this year, after a long bout with pnuemonia and its various complications. He was robust and active well into July, but once pnuemonia and a lung infection set in, due to his fondness for sleeping outside on warm nights (on a screened back porch), his slide downhill was painfully rapid.<br />
<br />
Dorrie and I spent most of August at his bedside, first at the Emberton Memorial Medical Center, and finally in his humble home. A fighter to the end, Dad said "ain't no way, Jose, that I'm gonna die on one of these #$*@#$^ uncomfortable hospital beds!"<br />
<br />
We all couldn't help but laugh at his "fighting spirit." Even his room-neighbor, a man in a full body cast (the result of a disastrous skiing trip) chuckled at this honestly expressed desire.<br />
<br />
When he was able, Dad and I enjoyed a series of long, "heart and heart" talks. We had formed this habit early on in our relationship. As a child, this meant listening patiently as he discussed the complexities of his scientific work, and of the annoying traits of his co-workers. (One was a man who snored while awake!)<br />
<br />
My father and I were always friends, so we did not so much "make ppeace" as "tie up loose ends." In an eerie similarity to the passing of my dear colleague, "Sparks" Spinkle, my father, on his pentultimate day of life, motioned forme to lean in closely. He said:<br />
<br />
<i><b>Mace, you weren't always the sharpest pencil in the pencil box, but you're true blue. You've always stuck to your guns, and made no bones about it. I admire that about you. Keep up with your coin collecting. You're sure to become a wealthy man someday...</b></i><br />
<br />
(NOTE: For the past decade, my father has been convinced that I am a numismatist. I have considered the hobby, but truth be told: the reading time for an average coin, even with peak concentraion, is perhaps one minute. A single page of a comic magazine can yeild that pleasure 10 times over. Give me the comic magazine over the common coin anyday!)<br />
<br />
My father's memorial service was held on September 11th, at his insistence ("About time something good happened on that day, doggone it!") Over 800 attendees flooded the chapel of St. Anthony's Episcopal, with an overflow literally spilling out into the parking lot. Scores of his work colleagues, old and young, plus friends and family (and, it appeared, a sprinkling of rank strangers) celebrated Austin Moray's long, lusty life and its myriad accomplishments.<br />
<br />
I was touched beyond words by the numerous accolades and warm remembrances that filled that hallowed hall on that day. Afterwards, all present enjoyed a catered lunch buffet that Dorrie and I had nothing to do with. I still do not know who paid for, and had set up, this lavish, tempting spread. It just goes to show that a man's kindness, on this earth, is repaid tenfold.<br />
<br />
Little was I to know that another passage would soon send me into deeper spirals of shock. Friends, prepare yourself for this one.<br />
<br />
On October 3rd, while attempting to parallel park to do routine shopping, my wife Dorrie was killed by a speeding truck. The driver had fallen asleep behind the wheel, and his out-of-control vehcile collided with our Prius at a high speed. I was assured my dear wife's passing was instant, and painless. But the pain inside of me shall not, I fear, dissemble anytime in the knowable future.<br />
<br />
I could not bring myself to save the clippings from our local paper. I was spared the agony of composing a death notice for the paper. In a typical thoughtful move, Dorrie had composed such notices for herself and myself, just in case. I recall feeling a recoil from the morbidity of it all, but she talked sense to me. "No one wants to write one of these after someone has died. Now it's done, and all they have to do is fill in the blanks."<br />
<br />
I have saved her eulogy for me, yet unread. I fear that, were I to read those words, I, too, would pass away.<br />
<br />
I have said, here, that my marriage to Dorrie was one borne of convenience. But, as you no doubt have inferred, there was betweenus a genuine bond of affection. We were closest, I feel, in the heyday of "Dorrie's Diner," during which time we worked side by side, through wonderful days and depressing ones; through customer complaints and unpredecented requests for "seconds" or "thirds" from delighted clientele.<br />
<br />
I spoke at her memorial service, which was held on the 10th, and though not as well-attended as my father's, still notably supplied with friends and family. Many "Dorrie's Diner" regulars showed up, each wearing a colored armband to show their sympathy. There wre numerous requests for the publication of a cook-book of Dorrie's show-stopping recipes. I have, as a result, indefintely abandoned my work on <i>The Golden Age of the Era Panelologic</i> to focus on this memorial compendium of her gifts to flavorhood and the dining arts.<br />
<br />
It has been hard to work on this--or, truly, anything of note--in the aftermath of these dark, dark days. I am in the process of selling the house. My plan is to rent a small apartment close to "The New Pantheon," which has earned its monthly fees a thousandfold over as a private sancturm for my grief and contemplation.<br />
<br />
I have not hidden myself away--far from it. I still make my normal rounds--to the grocery, the drugstore, and the local comic book "emporium"--with a few tried-and-true restaurants also in tow. I smile and wave when I meet friends and acquaintances, and often stop for brief, cheerful chats. TRuly, those moments keep me going. That, and my undying devotion to the panelological arts.<br />
<br />
The solace of a fine four-color saga is stronger than ever I realized. In these dark times, the meaning and wonder of these vintage tales has come to mean more to me than I ever imagined. Perhaps it is a stage of the grief process, as my therapist, Dr. Burlene has called it.<br />
<br />
The payout from the insurance policies of my father and my wife assure me a functional life for the rest of my days. I need not work in the "nine-to-five" world again, unless I desire so for its social aspect. My days are spent in deep study.<br />
<br />
Half of each day is devoted to typesetting my dear departed wife's acclaimed recipes. She preserved them for the ages in an unusual manner. She always felt that the blank pages at the end of a paperback or hardcover book were "a darned shame." Thus, she inscribed her recipes, in a bold, precise hand, on these surplus pages.<br />
<br />
I have spent much time sifting through all the books in our house, to locate all, if not most, of her surviving recipes. Dorrie often bragged that "the best ones are kept up here" (pointing to her head as she spoke). Truly, some of her more popular creations have yet to surface in her squirreled-away notations. There are still books I have not examined--and, I pray, recipes yet untold.<br />
<br />
After a break, in which I "do the town," if you will (a refreshing lunch, a brief stroll) I return to the New Pantheon and peruse items from my vast collection. 'Twas the story I am about to present that inspired me to "break the silence" and make this long-delayed post.<br />
<br />
I have displayed the exploits of "Shock" Gibson <a href="http://panelologicalpantheon.blogspot.com/2010/05/crisis-continues-with-faint-ray-of-hope.html">here before</a>. As one of the "key" features of its golden age (1937-1942), it bears revisiting. This story, from the 11th issue of <i>Speed Comics</i>, is a striking example of "what it's all about":<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjalejjVi2IqXuBERzYKoG2X_Rk-9KxZ6RxKUHn-Ihi3T3UR-9b4qJvegq_NN83zVgYOdbkNecfjxDq9B-II7YRcJNypeM9fdgJrthMjGt-rtRhn2m50jgU_ORiCuXvrvcasKAaI2VoLWrR/s1600/Page03_SpeedComics011.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjalejjVi2IqXuBERzYKoG2X_Rk-9KxZ6RxKUHn-Ihi3T3UR-9b4qJvegq_NN83zVgYOdbkNecfjxDq9B-II7YRcJNypeM9fdgJrthMjGt-rtRhn2m50jgU_ORiCuXvrvcasKAaI2VoLWrR/s320/Page03_SpeedComics011.jpg" width="238" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2HAG2UDQSQJ0HKAA1pS94-SB3y1hxNAyDw5uFGwvIbNDlxiteFtFPFlOL_Bf0ACItO03J9geXtNQch3alIjS9WHkjRY62VkbIdgKGWCS5DE-V4LbK69-NUXA2O2VWD49k-trsZ7tIdDxX/s1600/Page04_SpeedComics011.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2HAG2UDQSQJ0HKAA1pS94-SB3y1hxNAyDw5uFGwvIbNDlxiteFtFPFlOL_Bf0ACItO03J9geXtNQch3alIjS9WHkjRY62VkbIdgKGWCS5DE-V4LbK69-NUXA2O2VWD49k-trsZ7tIdDxX/s320/Page04_SpeedComics011.jpg" width="235" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgw8mzmpjixgFkQiQuK33MfZ5j_pfAA_Adm17IMVXxLFZL_SOMlleeaGgdzYu_5aVTAXmYKtDgUJqv63noDzIl0iawNddazu5akJJXVDsFStq6itpVNrXlgTe8VRXTAOsOZmGEoT7qAtCj3/s1600/Page05_SpeedComics011.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgw8mzmpjixgFkQiQuK33MfZ5j_pfAA_Adm17IMVXxLFZL_SOMlleeaGgdzYu_5aVTAXmYKtDgUJqv63noDzIl0iawNddazu5akJJXVDsFStq6itpVNrXlgTe8VRXTAOsOZmGEoT7qAtCj3/s320/Page05_SpeedComics011.jpg" width="231" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhejFwFcZLw2_M6TimADZ7Ka9JD6JGwGK0vF7qmjpXXAD65X1QCqdVlPtd7NNAodPjCL1TP_5IX-dg2UNS4dVSmq6PzD99Yh1s57q7Lcmd7Lssknsjc3HsenE41xJULmmE59M9ieFW-RiVS/s1600/Page06_SpeedComics011.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhejFwFcZLw2_M6TimADZ7Ka9JD6JGwGK0vF7qmjpXXAD65X1QCqdVlPtd7NNAodPjCL1TP_5IX-dg2UNS4dVSmq6PzD99Yh1s57q7Lcmd7Lssknsjc3HsenE41xJULmmE59M9ieFW-RiVS/s320/Page06_SpeedComics011.jpg" width="238" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOSCIrtxYYWx8qeY6BrjSWp_M2Z4SHJYOizPy3WXJWEccIf-dFwnb8EtbbOilFR1vjVA9XtK9NcsUgCxVKeJ4ec0dzfACzFB6d8YTBnJyZmhNC2z7EOjCgnLQPTy6zkMy197T2UY1hiM8F/s1600/Page07_SpeedComics011.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOSCIrtxYYWx8qeY6BrjSWp_M2Z4SHJYOizPy3WXJWEccIf-dFwnb8EtbbOilFR1vjVA9XtK9NcsUgCxVKeJ4ec0dzfACzFB6d8YTBnJyZmhNC2z7EOjCgnLQPTy6zkMy197T2UY1hiM8F/s320/Page07_SpeedComics011.jpg" width="234" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaRf1e49m_7RfkQwJQShDhURMZ8bp7y-zwGbZvKTfARQAY2Wi0d0zbDdkKUCwnMbtRI6wz4a0-Udu1T1CzXooNQoJVk3XsNph0Vt-feqWaI6rXatOW54C3wDMl3Gj3123rLoltW6nLBN72/s1600/Page08_SpeedComics011.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaRf1e49m_7RfkQwJQShDhURMZ8bp7y-zwGbZvKTfARQAY2Wi0d0zbDdkKUCwnMbtRI6wz4a0-Udu1T1CzXooNQoJVk3XsNph0Vt-feqWaI6rXatOW54C3wDMl3Gj3123rLoltW6nLBN72/s320/Page08_SpeedComics011.jpg" width="234" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjo8wnQKc2Mia9ZOAeKl-Gdic_BxUxUbMFNqP8XToX1gqn9yjEfc-dfzlPfDlAuqCOeGl15MtofCMonxf8g19ABVgZc23kM2qXAZ_V4V1OCZ3NQ1Je0WGyUK-ed-obdD4xb1GOrESbXDbdN/s1600/Page09_SpeedComics011.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjo8wnQKc2Mia9ZOAeKl-Gdic_BxUxUbMFNqP8XToX1gqn9yjEfc-dfzlPfDlAuqCOeGl15MtofCMonxf8g19ABVgZc23kM2qXAZ_V4V1OCZ3NQ1Je0WGyUK-ed-obdD4xb1GOrESbXDbdN/s320/Page09_SpeedComics011.jpg" width="235" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLxfas-te1D180kGeAAGCMgriDGBF7YRimilOpWj1C7WIuFhaMOsV2XfRIYpHeeOQs9BF6WQ3ZNLGVd9EjfqR_CdT5zinq9lTPcMJ6F6aDrCtXk7PgeCR7PLvz203iJ5UvapxE60Diqy_s/s1600/Page10_SpeedComics011.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLxfas-te1D180kGeAAGCMgriDGBF7YRimilOpWj1C7WIuFhaMOsV2XfRIYpHeeOQs9BF6WQ3ZNLGVd9EjfqR_CdT5zinq9lTPcMJ6F6aDrCtXk7PgeCR7PLvz203iJ5UvapxE60Diqy_s/s320/Page10_SpeedComics011.jpg" width="230" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhyphenhyphenulSb04hmF6_ePcWH09dFdzEOmDklMcggAvpWpkcE29L17u6jqs7MDlWUkyrIgI0TQZTeG_rQ-BzA6hyDM7Q-r3V8TpPNNacObLSrYcCItfwdkEW7Dna-0vzik43AFSP5l9ewpiCqkBy/s1600/Page11_SpeedComics011.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhyphenhyphenulSb04hmF6_ePcWH09dFdzEOmDklMcggAvpWpkcE29L17u6jqs7MDlWUkyrIgI0TQZTeG_rQ-BzA6hyDM7Q-r3V8TpPNNacObLSrYcCItfwdkEW7Dna-0vzik43AFSP5l9ewpiCqkBy/s320/Page11_SpeedComics011.jpg" width="235" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8doHpxUFDc8vOKltoPYCX5uUjReu0KnWdmvCvhoSYE4Ec_-XlWjR-81SctNdFM61UlPEWXrn0rgVZhvxg5cgoR-eCntt4Rcc0NFhPjZdmuQqqXBwOIef6N5gYUj-X8nNOlrRRFelS0wB7/s1600/Page12_SpeedComics011.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8doHpxUFDc8vOKltoPYCX5uUjReu0KnWdmvCvhoSYE4Ec_-XlWjR-81SctNdFM61UlPEWXrn0rgVZhvxg5cgoR-eCntt4Rcc0NFhPjZdmuQqqXBwOIef6N5gYUj-X8nNOlrRRFelS0wB7/s320/Page12_SpeedComics011.jpg" width="233" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhkOM_D3naVV-TPjwJHek7f5kkeJPcU4I9t92iMZNDT76HlE18l4CoJoQe1IteUpF5TBwwpM1w-AXTbzATKIKXoVVLJwFkFxmF62MKQqYBMxjBFjGwIxoAooW27FwwnF0qOMFQalWXUD-_/s1600/Page13_SpeedComics011.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhkOM_D3naVV-TPjwJHek7f5kkeJPcU4I9t92iMZNDT76HlE18l4CoJoQe1IteUpF5TBwwpM1w-AXTbzATKIKXoVVLJwFkFxmF62MKQqYBMxjBFjGwIxoAooW27FwwnF0qOMFQalWXUD-_/s320/Page13_SpeedComics011.jpg" width="233" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhksSA2-auzarA1SB634bo5ynCTC9rH4aYUNX4g-zSPo45uyR88wLEij_ZCmONFRt9AK8kEO4EMuKgLBoQf6WmBmm4YP_DUMcxLWp-Cm2ompQIfPWv1iXfwJ7AiFGaqcX5ydEaAb2keYSYR/s1600/Page14_SpeedComics011.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhksSA2-auzarA1SB634bo5ynCTC9rH4aYUNX4g-zSPo45uyR88wLEij_ZCmONFRt9AK8kEO4EMuKgLBoQf6WmBmm4YP_DUMcxLWp-Cm2ompQIfPWv1iXfwJ7AiFGaqcX5ydEaAb2keYSYR/s320/Page14_SpeedComics011.jpg" width="231" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgF3q-KZJlR40y6GIhJFyvlvgyb4JgZPYpnO9AxyEujKhukUwqALVosDAEEXHjIYxSd39UJ1_ojAm5F2QmpzH3gIDcli5kTDXXF1vMSXqcu34sAF1f1PzEhsZ-mmIlWwGDIutEHIYxNIHl9/s1600/Page15_SpeedComics011.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgF3q-KZJlR40y6GIhJFyvlvgyb4JgZPYpnO9AxyEujKhukUwqALVosDAEEXHjIYxSd39UJ1_ojAm5F2QmpzH3gIDcli5kTDXXF1vMSXqcu34sAF1f1PzEhsZ-mmIlWwGDIutEHIYxNIHl9/s320/Page15_SpeedComics011.jpg" width="236" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYL2xR2rTjaAkcuh6Yi50ncx6dSEPegntb2fVcV-nzhdmqDd-nxqCbR0Glb54nKyZXuRUyAgi9in3s-ncOCVf2Bj-G3KsJm90pDUxyqQbnHGaGwRkdMEiYzqFybXAr8l0E4PdJyiow0InM/s1600/Page16_SpeedComics011.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYL2xR2rTjaAkcuh6Yi50ncx6dSEPegntb2fVcV-nzhdmqDd-nxqCbR0Glb54nKyZXuRUyAgi9in3s-ncOCVf2Bj-G3KsJm90pDUxyqQbnHGaGwRkdMEiYzqFybXAr8l0E4PdJyiow0InM/s320/Page16_SpeedComics011.jpg" width="234" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglF3wXG3EoUcP8Sqzq2ACP0lpO9QaI3P1m8-cFi4cheftQbJwKntGHyJZH84JS49HMTnWcvjfzobyyNnUKJ7P83MEzg2vjFLMT8BBI4KkEuGoPVP-r74upAJHv5dsJS05m7QDtFQbP_LvD/s1600/Page17_SpeedComics011.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglF3wXG3EoUcP8Sqzq2ACP0lpO9QaI3P1m8-cFi4cheftQbJwKntGHyJZH84JS49HMTnWcvjfzobyyNnUKJ7P83MEzg2vjFLMT8BBI4KkEuGoPVP-r74upAJHv5dsJS05m7QDtFQbP_LvD/s320/Page17_SpeedComics011.jpg" width="235" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCHRWiPnwNc9oElUU9dXrpecNYk45c82vSkCg0zVZTqlg_9Zj-K3mJjPvwPoWCON0ZOQe2TepjYuLDdggC1R3MWmQMcB02B1FCcYP2XsjEEkCkHa4uyt_HBM3s0Nj11ktfRP1i9k9l_M8b/s1600/Page18_SpeedComics011.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCHRWiPnwNc9oElUU9dXrpecNYk45c82vSkCg0zVZTqlg_9Zj-K3mJjPvwPoWCON0ZOQe2TepjYuLDdggC1R3MWmQMcB02B1FCcYP2XsjEEkCkHa4uyt_HBM3s0Nj11ktfRP1i9k9l_M8b/s320/Page18_SpeedComics011.jpg" width="233" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkGsL5EwbHXyvq3EgEH4pmdKwye2uer7LQz5sYtKSzvXUOsNJBEReXq9ocxWDpbuTL2srto8uKCyBqPTVz6pQZo9TQM-SncbQx3QTJnmDu076V_dmGHf15UHCmQoQWKAU9Q1TbVZi1W5E5/s1600/Page19_SpeedComics011.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkGsL5EwbHXyvq3EgEH4pmdKwye2uer7LQz5sYtKSzvXUOsNJBEReXq9ocxWDpbuTL2srto8uKCyBqPTVz6pQZo9TQM-SncbQx3QTJnmDu076V_dmGHf15UHCmQoQWKAU9Q1TbVZi1W5E5/s320/Page19_SpeedComics011.jpg" width="230" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgozCwRtbmWKpHK2OxFQEjvI1SMFElN9dPtjR8xMvy7O2ZmfnKQKyFPOxI6A5rUY2sPRZP6rX9WSq2qKzrMB-0pZIcvdDGDDj8-8doDr5dnNOYfkRKDAC4XjBxJzKEvGu_RPMRHzOLeB4wt/s1600/Page20_SpeedComics011.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgozCwRtbmWKpHK2OxFQEjvI1SMFElN9dPtjR8xMvy7O2ZmfnKQKyFPOxI6A5rUY2sPRZP6rX9WSq2qKzrMB-0pZIcvdDGDDj8-8doDr5dnNOYfkRKDAC4XjBxJzKEvGu_RPMRHzOLeB4wt/s320/Page20_SpeedComics011.jpg" width="235" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg43lxxsxPA0u5ingGUi5Sa_gfZDXq4eNNzSZM94-CEQw6ZMjbKv913N3CX8Ya-hkP9Z-gIpm6UALeO7JC97e4RZrA3H2Up07LdqIcQAbfuAzHFyR3UdCdTVyxZBUbsVrfHPN_cynOrlTUf/s1600/Page21_SpeedComics011.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg43lxxsxPA0u5ingGUi5Sa_gfZDXq4eNNzSZM94-CEQw6ZMjbKv913N3CX8Ya-hkP9Z-gIpm6UALeO7JC97e4RZrA3H2Up07LdqIcQAbfuAzHFyR3UdCdTVyxZBUbsVrfHPN_cynOrlTUf/s320/Page21_SpeedComics011.jpg" width="234" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6ecn17PQNO_rPOvBgQ13uSYWtK3D8Cz5pmFpQwWnAfK1bRwpRQbPp8rPmwWuviCcXf6wPUsQy4FR0WqzLv29VbN4-eQ1XvoGEkqnSZl_sGTd2okxUf-uead2koVL6LQpCD7MQc6_Kroof/s1600/Page22_SpeedComics011.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6ecn17PQNO_rPOvBgQ13uSYWtK3D8Cz5pmFpQwWnAfK1bRwpRQbPp8rPmwWuviCcXf6wPUsQy4FR0WqzLv29VbN4-eQ1XvoGEkqnSZl_sGTd2okxUf-uead2koVL6LQpCD7MQc6_Kroof/s320/Page22_SpeedComics011.jpg" width="231" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRcDfQ2PW1J-XNiBsj71JqTuC1zalqWaptR52cpLqIOG4-QuIMK9LC2spv-Gd_Ma4nA79WHGKiG9NYJfUQLpA-E4z7GWTL6a5S_TALs9QBScEL8PJJu3dfaCKKmml3pALrsqiZ4BJ2dxLW/s1600/Page23_SpeedComics011.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRcDfQ2PW1J-XNiBsj71JqTuC1zalqWaptR52cpLqIOG4-QuIMK9LC2spv-Gd_Ma4nA79WHGKiG9NYJfUQLpA-E4z7GWTL6a5S_TALs9QBScEL8PJJu3dfaCKKmml3pALrsqiZ4BJ2dxLW/s320/Page23_SpeedComics011.jpg" width="232" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3DhdyL2_JZZKgSC7WhDWFRPkgzn7Ax0GpdP0j_BwAYcntv3Z7S6bcRGjXjnMlnYx0Auu_Z4yalombjxcdeLkqxrburvZS0UTFIgBr3w06buMOzUVs7wqBUyjbQ0NHmAmE1Y1ZJqTQ-D62/s1600/Page24_SpeedComics011.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3DhdyL2_JZZKgSC7WhDWFRPkgzn7Ax0GpdP0j_BwAYcntv3Z7S6bcRGjXjnMlnYx0Auu_Z4yalombjxcdeLkqxrburvZS0UTFIgBr3w06buMOzUVs7wqBUyjbQ0NHmAmE1Y1ZJqTQ-D62/s320/Page24_SpeedComics011.jpg" width="235" /></a></div>
<br />
This stunning comics novella is, arguably, a sequel to the very first "Gibson" story, which is found by clicking on that "link" above. (It took three people an hour each to teach me this seemingly simple process at the Duff Library. Proof that you CAN teach this "old horse" some "new tricks!"<br />
<br />
The graphical vigor of this tale suitably underlines its almost documentary-like depiction of the crises of its times. This is another of Maurice Scott's efforts, and I believe that time has proven him a far superior comics craftsman than his past reputation might impugn. True, he is no Lou Fine, or Reed Crandall. But need all cartoonists hew to such exacting standards? Is not more excitement, more realism, not transmitted via the "dashed off, no-good" drawings of a man like Maurice Scott?<br />
<br />
I wish not to repeat myself, and those who might find Scott's story of interest are asked to peruse that earlier "Shock" posting. I boldly posit that, had Scott's father NOT been in the printing business... had Scott walked into the offices of Alfred Harvey, portfolio in hand, a complete stranger, he would have been hailed and welcomed with a hearty handshake into the world of panelology. Scott's fearless renditions of city-scapes, zeppelins, lighthouses, zombies, dictators, alligators and guillotines are without equal in the artform.<br />
<br />
That moment with the guillotine offers one more nugget of "insider" information. Scott's father was a frustrated historian, with a particular interest in the French Revolution. He had written some 10 plays concerning this event, including a light-hearted comedy, <i>Let 'em Eat Cake</i>, which was almost produced on Broadway. Had Ira and George Gershwin not presented a musical comedy of the same name--on the same day--perhaps the name of Judson Scott would be as celebrated as those musical siblings!<br />
<br />
Undeterred, Judson built an expansion on his Long Island house, and devoted one large room to a small-scale reproduction of the entire French Revolution. At young Maurice's pleadings, Judson incorporated a Lionel electric train set into the landscape, merrily mixing historical eras. Maurice's evident fascination with this highly personal project is reflected in his painstakingly accurate execution (pun not intended) of that bladed machine of death. The reader feels the hairs stand up on the back of their neck as that gleaming blade seems to be coming for them!<br />
<br />
Even after he was hastily drummed out of the comics world, Scott continued to maintain his father's masterful re-creation of a bygone world. As electric train technology improved, Maurice upgraded --and added additional tracks to-- the Gallic landscape. His one-of-a-kind layout was eventually photographed for <i>Look</i> magazine.<br />
<br />
Maurice was able to realize another dream of Judson, when he had his father's play staged (retitled <i>We Shall Have Cake!</i>) at the Potomac Players Summer Theatre, for a three-week run in the summer of 1948. A reviewer from a New York paper attended. While he chose not to write a review of the production, he was overheard, by Scott, to comment, "you know, this isn't half-bad."<br />
<br />
The same might--and must--be said for the work of Maurice Scott. If I find the energy to complete my own magnus opus, I shall include a long chapter on Scott and his work. Critics be damned!<br />
<br />
I have not felt so exuberant as this in a long, long time. It would seem that this "blog" is good for my spiritual health. I hope Dr. Burlene takes notice.<br />
<br />
Thank you in advance for your condolences and good wishes. Worry not--this old "stubborn mule" has many a path to ponder before he cashes in his "meal ticket!" May 2016 bring us all some kind of peace and comfort. Heaven knows, it is needed.<br />
<br />
Merry holiday to you!<br />
<br />
<br />Mason J. Morayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16288522457980212295noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2577154746554800558.post-39610913653306503672014-11-15T13:26:00.000-08:002014-11-15T13:27:20.222-08:00Friends, I Am Back From The Dead...Quite Literally!Sometime on the evening of July 2 of this year, I awoke in the Special Care Unit of Emberton Memorial Medical Center. I heard my dear wife Dorrie's voice as my eyes focused. I did not recognize her for a few dismal moments.<br />
<br />
And then I spoke: "Wh... where have I been?"<br />
<br />
"Oh, Mace," my wife said, tears rolling down her cheek.<br />
<br />
It was all explained to me. I had suffered a severe emotional and nervous breakdown. I still have not gotten "the awful truth," but I have been able to piece together the basic story.<br />
<br />
After the death of my friend and colleague, "Sparks" Spinkle, I simply "lossed my marbles." I apparently ranted and raved all over town, and, in a moment of pique, wrote the prior entry to this blog.<br />
<br />
None of this happened! There is no Culley Harbin. That is the brand name of a leaf blower in my garage. There are no other panelologists of note in this town.<br />
<br />
A gentle-voiced therapist, Dr. Drithers, who has been assigned me case, has subjected me to hours of interrogation, as I shiver in my inadequate hospital gown. In his eyes, my attachment to "your hobby," as he calls it, and the loss of "a significant participator in your hobby," as he calls "Sparks," was simply too much for me. That, combined with the loss of our restaurant location, and the ongoing issues with the business, sent me "across the edge."<br />
<br />
This is the first time I have had access to the Internet since I iwrote that last entry, ladies and gentlemen. I read it in horror and amazement. Although I must say the essay on "Red" Holmdale iis not half-bad! I may include it in my... oh dear, I had best not mention "the book" here again. Lest those threatening notices appear here.<br />
<br />
Those death-threats also aggravated my condition, according to Dr. Drithers. "No one with a... hobby... wishes to see it threatened, or it being the source of a death sentence."<br />
<br />
The doctor campaigned endlessly for me to give up "my hobby" and attempt a "regular life, with regular interests," but I soundly pooh-poohed this treasonable talk.<br />
<br />
I am home on a trail basis, as my emotional and mental progress have been deemed "significant" by Drithers and by my regular physician. Each step I take, each day I awake, seems fragile, distant, dissimilar. This is the first moment I have had to sit in silence and address you, my gone-but-never-forgotten friends of the Internet.<br />
<br />
"Your hobby." Blasphemy! To quote Norman Bates, from the Hitchcock film <i>The Birds,</i> "it's more than a hobby." A hobby is something I equate with balsa wood and airplane glue... with mindless tasks meant to soothe, not edify. Fussing about with paper airplanes! Kites! Let any man, woman or child who is satisfied with such small efforts be welcome to them.<br />
<br />
My life study of the art form of panelology is no more a "hobby" than a toaster is a machine gun! More positive events have occured to me BECAUSE of "my hobby" than if I lived "a regular life, with regular interests."<br />
<br />
I am sorry to burden you with my troubles, but I feel somewhat ashamed of my "spell." Apparently, there are several newspaper accounts of my actions. I am too mortified to read them. Best to just let bygones be bygones.<br />
<br />
I miss "Sparks," but I must accept the cold hard facts that he is gone. There is no one to take his plpace. I spend more time with Dorrie, and we have become closer than anytime in our long marriage. As a show of support, she faithfully paid the monthly rent on the New Pantheon, and inspected its premises weekly to assure the climate was considerate to the vintage newsprint, and that no rodents or harmful insects were "taking up roots" in the longboxes, etc.<br />
<br />
I hacve lost a friend, but I have gained a wife. Dorrie says she understands the importance of my devotion to the art panelologic. She encourages me to resume work on "the book," although it is clear I am far from that point at the present.<br />
<br />
With great irony, I now go outdoors to remove autumn leaves from our deck, using the Culley Harbin Lectro-Jet leaf blower. With this note, I shall consider the events leading up to today closed, past history, and promise to forge ahead stronger than ever in my pursuit of the ultimate study of penalology.Mason J. Morayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16288522457980212295noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2577154746554800558.post-61644687469367676032014-06-09T15:23:00.001-07:002014-06-09T15:26:15.284-07:00My 50th Posting! Grand Day! Meet My New Colleague, Culley Harbin! All This, And "Vapo Man" Too!This is my fiftieth (50th) posting on this fine forum. It has not proven an "easy" post to complete.<br />
<br />
Friends, I am still in a "funk" over the passing of my dear friend ahd colleague "Sparks" Spinkle. Truth told, I battled with the idea of ceasing this "bolg" and perhaps taking a rest from my efforts to preserve panelological history.<br />
<br />
Business has stablized at the new, mobile version of Dorrie's Diner, where we seem to be a lunchtime hit with the locals, and with students from a nearby community college. Apparently there are many courses in welding. A common sight in our lunch line are grease-smeared, apron-clad welders-in-training. They have hearty appetites, and, due to their aporns, may eat recklessly, with no fear of "shirt issues."<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4da7GxzVMiulDxytPxyli8eK_SoJs0L0U8Zb3OfVN5loTAzvhFDi-qGlRFUnm5F6GvNSMCBOjCIPiATIqhaXOYrYfkK7PtCrXlrq8SNy7Shw_n_wCJY5DjeJJZpO2_6GAWSszTvWpHSud/s1600/MasonBookCover1.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4da7GxzVMiulDxytPxyli8eK_SoJs0L0U8Zb3OfVN5loTAzvhFDi-qGlRFUnm5F6GvNSMCBOjCIPiATIqhaXOYrYfkK7PtCrXlrq8SNy7Shw_n_wCJY5DjeJJZpO2_6GAWSszTvWpHSud/s1600/MasonBookCover1.png" height="320" width="247" /></a></div>
'Twas Dorrie herself who nudged me one night last week. "Mace," she said, looking over her reading glasses (a crossword in mid-completion), "it's been ages since you went to your little place." (NOTE: "Little place" is Dorrie's "euphonium" for the NEW PANTHEON, my top-secret, climate-controlled vault of panelological treasure and the home of my as-yet-incomplete magnum opus, THE GOLDEN ERA OF THE ART PANELOLOGIC: 1937-1942.)<br />
<br />
Friends, as you may have noted, certain low cowards have issued several death threats to me, via their vile, insidious comments in my past postings on this blog, because of my work on this massive tome. This I say to them, in all sincerity:<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b><span style="color: #cc0000; font-size: large;">Fiends! I dare you to shed your cowardly raiments and face me in person! What right have you to threaten me and my loved ones? HA! You can do nothing--NOTHING! Lest I further lose my gentlemanly bearings, I must bite my tongue... except to challenge you cringing ywllow curs to speak to me face-to-face!</span></b></div>
<br />
There--the gantlet has been thrown. And now back to more pleasant topics. On Dorrie's suggestion, I ventured out in the pleasant late-spring evening, warmed up the Prios, and drove the leaf-dappled streets of my town to the storage facility that houses the NEW PANTHEON.<br />
<br />
And on that evening, life changed for the better, friends. 'Twas there I met a kindred soul.<br />
<br />
I left the freight elevator, headed for the NEW PANTHRON, when my highly sensitive "beezer" detected the tang, the nutty, rich fragrance that can only be that of the pre-1950 American comics magazine. My heart leaped! Had the NEW PANTHEON been breached? Nae, I said, as I espied the padlock that held yonder door tight.<br />
<br />
Before I could re-calibrate, I heard a mild epithet, sounds of struggle, and then a series of gentle, riffling plop-plop-plops. More mild epithets ("Fish sticks!" was one of them), I heard grunting and yet more plop-plop-plops.<br />
<br />
Curiosity could not be suppressed! I approached the one open door on the floor and saw a sight that made my heart further race! It was a pile of vintage comic magazines--mostly late Chesler titles such as RED SEAL COMICS, PUNCH and SCOOP. An embarrassed young man, clearly startled by my presence, startled with fright as he turned to face me.<br />
<br />
His pale, under-nourished face was flushed, and his glasses sat crooked on the bridge of his nose, below a mop of brown hair. "It's okay," he said, as he wiped his hands on his sweater vest.<br />
<br />
"Vintage comic magazines. From the imprint of Harry 'A' Chesler. Some fascinating titles there."<br />
<br />
Again he startled. "You<i> know</i> what these <i>are</i>?"<br />
<br />
I smiled wryly. "Yes, son, I believe I do." I stepped back to survey the scene within his storage unit. He had several long boxes of what I assumed to contain other vintage comic magazines. In the back of the unit sat a desk, lit by a lone lamp, and flanked by an office chair and a lap-top computer.<br />
<br />
"My name is Mason Moray. Have you a moment, sir?" I extended my hand. The youth looked upset, but reluctantly shook my "paw."<br />
<br />
"Just trying to index a few things here," he said, as if out of breath.<br />
<br />
"A fellow panelologist! In this, of all places!" I exclaimed.<br />
<br />
"Pana-<i>what?</i>" He corrected the askew tilt of his glasses.<br />
<br />
"Follow me," I advised. Fishing for my keys, I approached the NEW OPANTHEON, unhasped the lock, and opened the door. I flipped on the lights and the full splendor of the room alit.<br />
<br />
"Holy fudge!" the youth gasped. His eyes took in the place--its dynamic murals, its stacks of data, its mighty racks of indexed comic magazines--and, friends, I felt he might keel over on the spot.<br />
<br />
He regained his composure, and, goggle eyed, offered his hand. "Culley Harbin. That's my name."<br />
<br />
As you know, 'tis impossible for students of the art panelologic to chat idly. We engaged in a four-hour discussion, illustrated with frequent forays to both our archives, aided with some Internet searches (at which young Harbin is a "whiz").<br />
<br />
We differed in opinion many times--as do many people, Harbin clings to the insistence that the supposedly "major" creators are the best, and he often seemed quite baffled as to my own likes and dislikes--but, friends, a bond was forged on that cool psring night.<br />
<br />
In the course of our long conversation, we revealed information about our lives. I told him about my residency at Dorrie's Diner. He, in turn, disclosed his current position as "information indexer" at the Walter Duff Public Library (which, by the way, did replace those confusing "M"s with new "L"s, albeit with new white plastic letters, noticeably smaller and shinier than their forebearers).<br />
<br />
We agreed to meet again one night the next week. Soon thereafter, Culley made a meek appearance at the Diner, where he enjoyed a Bacon-Blast Burger-Dog. That weekend, I visited the Duff Library to catch Culley on his home-turf.<br />
<br />
At the checkout desk, I inquired about their "information indexer." The librarian, a polite Asian woman, looked askance at me from behind her over-sized glasses. I mentioned Mister Harbin's name and she laughed. "He's just a <i>book shelver</i>. You'll find him out in the <i>stacks</i>."<br />
<br />
I scanned the aisles of shelved tomes. In the non-fiction area, at the mid-700s, I found him, browsing a book that I soon recognized as one by Joseph Kubert. Culley riffled through the pages, shook his head, and said, to himself, "Too heroic. Too durned heroic." He sighed at shoved the book into its rightful place on the shelf.<br />
<br />
I faintly cleared my throat. "Mister Harbin, I presume," I said. Culley started, dislodging some books from the shelved cart-on-wheels that was his mobile work-station. "Mr. Morry," he said, placing wrong emphasis on the last syllable of my surname.<br />
<br />
"Mor-RAY," I corrected, "like the sea creature. How are you, friend?"<br />
<br />
"Indexing information," he said with an embarrassed shrug. He seemed ashamed of his position as a book shelver. We chatted, and I did my best to interject a couple of compliments--such as his peerless adherence to the Dewey Decimal system, which requires an exacting eye and great focus to utilize properly.<br />
<br />
Amidst all this, I made Culley an offer. "I conduct a blog about my findings and studies in the realm of the panelological art. Perhaps you have seen it."<br />
<br />
Culley thought long and hard, and then confessed: "No. I haven't."<br />
<br />
I invited him to peruse the "blog" and, as well, to contribute to it as a fellow peer in the history and cataloging of <i>panelologica Americana</i>, if he so wished. He said he'd have a look at the "blog" and "get back to me."<br />
<br />
After that, I didn't see, or hear from, Culley for awhile. On the few occasions I had to visit the NEW PANTHEON, I found his storage space locked and dark. I wondered: had I done or said something to offend this well-meaning youth?<br />
<br />
Heaven knows, I am out of touch with the younger generation. They inhabit a realm that would have seemed pure "sci-fic" to my generation, in the prime of its youth. To us, the portable, monophonic cassette recorder, and the Polariod camera, were "high teck." Only the rich owned television remote controls. And long-distance phone calls were both unwieldy and expensive.<br />
<br />
The only "web sites" found, in my days of youth, were those in the darkest recesses of one's basement. Those were "accessed" with one quick swing of a well-aimed broom.<br />
<br />
Much to my surprise, a large manila envelope leaned against the door of the NEW PANTHRON, with a type-written note attached:<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">To Mister Moray,</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"></span><br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><br /></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">
</span>
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">I am sorry I haven't visited recently. Inside this envelope you will see why. I hope this essay meets with your approval. Please return the original comic magazine after you have scanned pages 28-34.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">
</span>
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><br /></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">
</span>
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">Please let me know what you think.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">
</span>
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><br /></span></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">Culley</span></div>
<br />
<br />
Here, without alteration, is the debut essay of my protege, Culley Habrin. While I am astonished, and challenged, by some of the assertions of his text, I see in him great potential, and I hope you will agree that his "two pence" are a valuable "asset" to <i>Panelological Pantheon</i>:<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<><><><><><><><></div>
<br />
<br />
THE ACHING ABYSS OF "RED" HOLMDALE<br />
An Analysis and Appreciation by Culley Harbin<br />
<br />
Herbert William Holmdale was a big man. Big in size, big in stature and big in legend. Good natured, brash and inclined towards practical jokes, Holmdale was known as "Red." The appellation did not stem from the hue of his hair, as some contrarians might believe. Rather, it stemmed from his tendency to have a tomato-bright handkerchief in his pocket at all times.<br />
<br />
"You'd always know when 'Red' was in town," fellow free-lancer Fred Guardineer once said. "You'd hear him laughing and humming, chewing gum, and blowing his nose. He'd be hunched over his drawing board like the Phantom of the Opera at his organ. Just drawing away."<span style="font-size: xx-small;"><a href="https://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=2577154746554800558#1" name="top1"><sup>1</sup></a></span><br />
<br />
Holmdale is best-known for his humorous features, rendered in a bulbous, primitive style that resembles the artwork of a rural roadside barbecue stand. His clunky but cheerful character construction, combined with such devices as "flying sweat drops," colloquialisms and agitated lettering schemes, brought a fresh angle to the overworked school of humor features for the American comic magazine (or book).<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhP4xZ_9Zdu7UiEbJ2VDFfx6P6hMqQRHbdIAMt76X5Drh-ml3nVyapaRYsIMDL6cQh1JPUhYIUViJT71skCZqLOAFDqeUP1j3qkM8-vBRWGdE2GvTk48iqW-hQzmczdHZ6GFqtiCYmMsVKv/s1600/pep_61_32.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhP4xZ_9Zdu7UiEbJ2VDFfx6P6hMqQRHbdIAMt76X5Drh-ml3nVyapaRYsIMDL6cQh1JPUhYIUViJT71skCZqLOAFDqeUP1j3qkM8-vBRWGdE2GvTk48iqW-hQzmczdHZ6GFqtiCYmMsVKv/s1600/pep_61_32.jpg" height="400" width="281" /></a></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjW3J0K9Ttja6iMeFqWXE77M-2gG4pmkVm1O9b_5qF1QYt8VlFHuxOJS2DdfnGM1ajgGgEYi2z6sTF_N7ztkUBB4alpQQU6WbUrRmSy0dbY7S19diwO4BJx_AmhB-0_L66UbL4j9jsScRfR/s1600/Exposed+05-44+Detail.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjW3J0K9Ttja6iMeFqWXE77M-2gG4pmkVm1O9b_5qF1QYt8VlFHuxOJS2DdfnGM1ajgGgEYi2z6sTF_N7ztkUBB4alpQQU6WbUrRmSy0dbY7S19diwO4BJx_AmhB-0_L66UbL4j9jsScRfR/s1600/Exposed+05-44+Detail.jpg" height="244" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">TOP: The most typically-seen side of "Red" Holmdale were his lumpen, primitive humorous comic strips, such as this example from The MLJ title <i>Pep Comics</i>; BOTTOM: Splash page detail from "Dave Lance," <i>Exposed</i> no. 5.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
A dark side looms through the entirety of Holmdale's work, which encompassed a wide swath of publishers, from Timely to Fawcett to MLJ. This side was most compellingly seen in a macabre humor series entitled Gloomy Gus The Dispossessed Ghost. The comics historian Frank M. Young has written about this piece, and I highly recommend his essay, "<a href="http://www.trickcoin.net/2008/11/enigma-of-red-holmdale-and-gloomy-gus.html">The Enigma of 'Red' Holmdale and 'Gloomy Gus</a>.'"<br />
<br />
A lesser-known avenue of Holmdale's work resides in his non-humor efforts. Judging by the grotesque, primitive figures of Holmdale's humorous pieces, one would judge him lacking in artistic skill. Like his colleague Basil Wolverton, Holmdale was a frustrated realist who seldom had the forum to convey his hidden skills as a stylized, vigorous renderer of the recognizable human form in cartoon contours.<br />
<br />
Like Wolverton's non-humor work, Holmdale's probably appears primitive at first glance. Lacking in the arduous pen technique of Wolverton, Holmdale used bold, if crude lines to put across his characters and their emotions--the latter usually dark in nature.<br />
<br />
Unbeknownst to the fans of "It Shouldn't Happen To A Dog!" or "Willie the Wise-Guy," Holmdale had a passion for shocking small-town crimes. It has been suggested, by writer Rick Collier, that Holmdale was part of a murder in Illinois sometime in the 1920s.<sup>2</sup><br />
<sup><br /></sup>Despite the writer's allegations<a href="https://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=2577154746554800558#3" name="top1"><sup>3</sup></a>, nothing was conclusively proven. But Holmdale's fascination comes horribly forth in what is probably his most impressive and haunting work for the comics, "The Widow of Death," first published in <i>Underworld Comics</i> issue 3 (D. S. Publications, 1948). Capable of provoking nightmares, this shocking piece shows a path sadly not taken in earnest by the writer-artist.<sup><br /></sup><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDFVEmGEmbcRAbKXfJAxkOrJqmg_cGvaAjJwQnM62HvlS6Prb_oZ1XEyyqjTXfHJSmb3-SYB2Ix9rjD-45GXxGecvKxtnUClPbvVpKDIrBPqmdxBlv0mbXz6BQuQFdCU5loY7tCgc0Mc_h/s1600/Underworld_03-27.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDFVEmGEmbcRAbKXfJAxkOrJqmg_cGvaAjJwQnM62HvlS6Prb_oZ1XEyyqjTXfHJSmb3-SYB2Ix9rjD-45GXxGecvKxtnUClPbvVpKDIrBPqmdxBlv0mbXz6BQuQFdCU5loY7tCgc0Mc_h/s1600/Underworld_03-27.jpg" height="640" width="416" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhH3RTleiw0MTThB1Zv_rsjgICAWgRN_PXGkh25gXMdbTJneNdYr254me7YgkiK7d1gHZTC4Mpw4PLi-50KYL9IT5AGgKLZBRU42niz3FSaenpeSfFAJF9YgZAiqfZhvNKfyCajKnMBXi8R/s1600/Underworld_03-28.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhH3RTleiw0MTThB1Zv_rsjgICAWgRN_PXGkh25gXMdbTJneNdYr254me7YgkiK7d1gHZTC4Mpw4PLi-50KYL9IT5AGgKLZBRU42niz3FSaenpeSfFAJF9YgZAiqfZhvNKfyCajKnMBXi8R/s1600/Underworld_03-28.jpg" height="320" width="204" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8BPmyIehz8_8sl7YuofsSIWq59swau8-bmKPGPjOsAJOzcgnjgUs7ja92RaOAtdoKY-IQ_-vUXXwQwSnBqLgCL9s7TVk8j2l-ueUi22q15UGgT7w8Ajkq6hQJ7dwi24U6iPQmTBrz_hAA/s1600/Underworld_03-29.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8BPmyIehz8_8sl7YuofsSIWq59swau8-bmKPGPjOsAJOzcgnjgUs7ja92RaOAtdoKY-IQ_-vUXXwQwSnBqLgCL9s7TVk8j2l-ueUi22q15UGgT7w8Ajkq6hQJ7dwi24U6iPQmTBrz_hAA/s1600/Underworld_03-29.jpg" height="320" width="204" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhm2_Q-t-J3DiEzLPu1BE2Gz4PAm5o8rAAdCehF4xQ97hJgpTTEmwqxFWYUZUFjVJNY0cC753PsGTxbQmM-NsJR8KBlrpcE3VgAJ_kh0mwOEXRWz1s_liI3ItGxDFoHmtzK3M6jYaT__hXh/s1600/Underworld_03-30.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhm2_Q-t-J3DiEzLPu1BE2Gz4PAm5o8rAAdCehF4xQ97hJgpTTEmwqxFWYUZUFjVJNY0cC753PsGTxbQmM-NsJR8KBlrpcE3VgAJ_kh0mwOEXRWz1s_liI3ItGxDFoHmtzK3M6jYaT__hXh/s1600/Underworld_03-30.jpg" height="320" width="207" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOWIhGux76ExUMQJUHLm19g6FLyJBAwZCk4udL5muQzoZEiFaO-Y-mQTj4qyTltc72KNthARCiN_F0XrRJVJA5itFO0C2rXR0iC8jm9nhDyRiwQ9oiGVY3kD80c7CyhDsJsU4cVh48nhr4/s1600/Underworld_03-31.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOWIhGux76ExUMQJUHLm19g6FLyJBAwZCk4udL5muQzoZEiFaO-Y-mQTj4qyTltc72KNthARCiN_F0XrRJVJA5itFO0C2rXR0iC8jm9nhDyRiwQ9oiGVY3kD80c7CyhDsJsU4cVh48nhr4/s1600/Underworld_03-31.jpg" height="320" width="205" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrk6kVm5fpZLS-VgXnRKQ5yp-sNiHK6XXOTkzjKNkhMXQj3L7Vhzixc3vdXCZXF-DMdyaFZSx4-puiFs7R1CDxrArKlxp_BETrQVEGrNSp5eMcg6dBoNHqAnX1BOrdG-qEPVao6Nn567aE/s1600/Underworld_03-32.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrk6kVm5fpZLS-VgXnRKQ5yp-sNiHK6XXOTkzjKNkhMXQj3L7Vhzixc3vdXCZXF-DMdyaFZSx4-puiFs7R1CDxrArKlxp_BETrQVEGrNSp5eMcg6dBoNHqAnX1BOrdG-qEPVao6Nn567aE/s1600/Underworld_03-32.jpg" height="320" width="205" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_ElpB_tCp1TPzGvRkYsaGsWucSiAEdewmSo5a0-7wKJ5D5iQu1opkr6cNEeuFckiazvCv2KzogdcTYWfBcINQr6D1Jgb_FrGruHsetkevrESzGciIRS9sjv9jYcui-_ZItYw69Kh1LAQ0/s1600/Underworld_03-33.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_ElpB_tCp1TPzGvRkYsaGsWucSiAEdewmSo5a0-7wKJ5D5iQu1opkr6cNEeuFckiazvCv2KzogdcTYWfBcINQr6D1Jgb_FrGruHsetkevrESzGciIRS9sjv9jYcui-_ZItYw69Kh1LAQ0/s1600/Underworld_03-33.jpg" height="320" width="207" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgny9baXqb5ADGCtZkrRuc2Teq9H-1wZhHHOUfwzQvNHrh64CWOUYvVpBflAfS7eW3uZDiMJFvAbc-JszCp_1LmeQTO0BMWZu_a5tJVSJGahk9hIdLOVH61mazFK1teXtYtRmKM3u6yt4Ju/s1600/Underworld_03-34.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgny9baXqb5ADGCtZkrRuc2Teq9H-1wZhHHOUfwzQvNHrh64CWOUYvVpBflAfS7eW3uZDiMJFvAbc-JszCp_1LmeQTO0BMWZu_a5tJVSJGahk9hIdLOVH61mazFK1teXtYtRmKM3u6yt4Ju/s1600/Underworld_03-34.jpg" height="320" width="204" /></a></div>
<br />
As it has been written, "the devil is in the details." And the details of "The Widow of Death" hold us helpless and complicit as its bloody events unfold--not unlike the layers of shredded skin, bone and flesh that are the poor souls who bear the brutal brunt of Belle Guiness.<br />
<br />
Compare Holmdale's eight-page account to this factual history on Wikipedia (read it <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Belle_Gunness">here</a>) and you will ascertain, and see, that, while the artist-writer compresses the facts, makes presumptive choices, and glamorizes the monstrous real-life Guiness, he essentially conveys, in a series of crushing images, the facts of the case efficiently and passionately.<br />
<br />
Perhaps Holmdale had heard the details of this horrifying, century-old case in his childhood. His rendition has, in it, something somewhat akin to that of a folk tale, passed down through the generations. Heaven knows, the real-life account is sufficiently chilling to unsettle, and profoundly affect, a young listener.<br />
<br />
Holmdale contributed several other serious, usually gruesome, crime stories to the D.S. line of publications. While there is an undeniable sort of flair to some of them, none completely haunt the reader as does "The Widow of Death."<br />
<br />
Two close second-place entries in the Holmdale pantheon are found in issue six of the D.S. magazine <i>Underworld</i>. I reproduce their opening (or splash) pages here, for your edification:<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJV1WOW7yEonPloSeF3oTlOgdUzXDlI2F7U0_BL4RjsH25GDRET1CgV8t1-RwzbUBeULWlMG-ATmdopsxpjPTCXYeLDL_61xm7glS1ezsK9dB4N2mFAvw3eioMJcUn1uWP7drcLFxVWF3g/s1600/40.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJV1WOW7yEonPloSeF3oTlOgdUzXDlI2F7U0_BL4RjsH25GDRET1CgV8t1-RwzbUBeULWlMG-ATmdopsxpjPTCXYeLDL_61xm7glS1ezsK9dB4N2mFAvw3eioMJcUn1uWP7drcLFxVWF3g/s1600/40.jpg" height="320" width="213" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjy3FlqFKWE-sjO3vJP9ODD4lpvPPK7a2bU0qQSbjAHD_zwJMzLYXADnGLieOrV3Q-BSBxBW8FxVzgDGklAxbPVlL1sSnu01LbZcn-bxv1qfe7U6UnLrR_m-B0jkIPwBSpWyQpZpBNW12dP/s1600/30.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjy3FlqFKWE-sjO3vJP9ODD4lpvPPK7a2bU0qQSbjAHD_zwJMzLYXADnGLieOrV3Q-BSBxBW8FxVzgDGklAxbPVlL1sSnu01LbZcn-bxv1qfe7U6UnLrR_m-B0jkIPwBSpWyQpZpBNW12dP/s1600/30.jpg" height="320" width="213" /></a></div>
<br />
I appreciate this opportunity to publicly air my interest in the work of this unjustly ignored creator of comic magazine stories. I trust this essay has not been an imposition upon your time.<br />
<hr width="80%" />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">
<b>1 </b>Guardineer, Fred, "An Interview With Fred Guardineer," <i>Galactic Convulsions</i> issue 7, fanzine published 1976.<a href="https://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=2577154746554800558#top1"><br />
</a><b>2</b> Collier, William, <i>Pillagers of the Prairie State</i>, World Class Books, 1954<br /><b>3</b> </span><span style="font-size: x-small;">For those unable to obtain this regionally-published, rather obscure volume, the author indicts Holmdale in a modern-day version of the Medieval "highwayman" scheme. According to the book, Holmdale was part-owner and/or cashier of an obscure rural gas station that made fatal "marks" of its unwary customers. The actual murderer/crooks, Walton James Fallon and Michael "Mick" McMahon, were arrested, tried, and executed in 1927 for their heinous, and regrettable, crimes.</span><br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<><><><><><><><></div>
Well, folks, young Harbin might seem a hard "act to follow," especially with those foot-notes--a touch I never thought to add to my own panelological musings! But I feel compelled to "step up the plate" with a humble offering of my own. Perhaps my tastes are less "intellectual" than that of my youthful colleague, but I believe they will offer their own fascinations and add to the discussion ongoing in which comic magazines are no longer considered the "low feeders" of the popular culture world.<br />
<br />
My goals, in this installment, are perhaps more "academic" than my legion of fans and followers might be let to expect. But it addresses a serious concern that pervades the final sveven chapters of my in-the-works magnum opus.<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
The gradual decomposition of the American comic magazine, due to the real-life threat of the Second World War, hangs thematically over my book like a dark zepellin. The slow, sad downward spiral towards "jingoism" and away from "phantasy realms" was a change the American comic magazine would never fully recover from.<br />
<br />
Some of the more coarse, less artistically-inclined contributors to the comic magazines clung to the political and patriotical fervor incited by this new wave of red-white-and-blue "freedom fighters."<br />
<br />
For the more advanced creators--the "dreamers," as William Eisner named them in one of his late works--this new flag-waving slant was simply a burden to be borne out, for the course of what all hoped was a short and insignificant war.<br />
<br />
Sam Gilman was a significant second-tier "dreamer," with the misfortune to have left the panelological scene as this woebegone shift occurred. His "Vapo Man," a contribution to a hastily-assembled, topical comic magazine entitled <i>Man of War Comics</i>, displays the bridge from early inspiration to wartime hostility to chilling effect. Friends, this is not a good piece of work, despite Gilman's most valiant efforts.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxVamju8N63cTewhxc4Q1QIkPZ0fx6tQaahektGdbYs33glAcSqZbnGLtyyup8Y-_TPcLLziiqteUdEK-32hytQAf-rOKFk_keR_tkOsfGQ4z9EbAOGS5qU0FJrnY8l8iD9OXArAxnJPj0/s1600/11.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxVamju8N63cTewhxc4Q1QIkPZ0fx6tQaahektGdbYs33glAcSqZbnGLtyyup8Y-_TPcLLziiqteUdEK-32hytQAf-rOKFk_keR_tkOsfGQ4z9EbAOGS5qU0FJrnY8l8iD9OXArAxnJPj0/s1600/11.jpg" height="320" width="232" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZpWLJEVbKc9cKa1HlO8GGqfV6gtjBn9aRTtLpqkNHq1A7Zp97aS1WTyZ2nMVQ0o6bLo9Ik24DA7wNBZDPKKUQDRocl13piR6bT23D8Zal8vxWYKfdC5UCv-eMRG5aJhd06XQHAroGZQOe/s1600/12.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZpWLJEVbKc9cKa1HlO8GGqfV6gtjBn9aRTtLpqkNHq1A7Zp97aS1WTyZ2nMVQ0o6bLo9Ik24DA7wNBZDPKKUQDRocl13piR6bT23D8Zal8vxWYKfdC5UCv-eMRG5aJhd06XQHAroGZQOe/s1600/12.jpg" height="320" width="224" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5NGylk1IoAnh1nh2qBKePCourZpC9mAOo9ZZztAZNXZlrarWN5kp20swhlSi2_6ZACHninDe9ZdZCIAxm7gZtPuvrpVKfdOfSggPNBrpnZw2zI_RQJiKEu1vQ1GN7P7bKjymNYKqt1O_e/s1600/13.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5NGylk1IoAnh1nh2qBKePCourZpC9mAOo9ZZztAZNXZlrarWN5kp20swhlSi2_6ZACHninDe9ZdZCIAxm7gZtPuvrpVKfdOfSggPNBrpnZw2zI_RQJiKEu1vQ1GN7P7bKjymNYKqt1O_e/s1600/13.jpg" height="320" width="231" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4p_i5X8k1ZJb3Hyj2vuZ9FD4LomYeMuCIVbGg_SnNm4EMPeOuob-qJeVhOuiupn2599IrGCw6wIorDJ9w5IaabmzIVust4UPBtur3N-7euvq-KP17kGo-MBcEhJZfAeYro0T0kra5TJbl/s1600/14.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4p_i5X8k1ZJb3Hyj2vuZ9FD4LomYeMuCIVbGg_SnNm4EMPeOuob-qJeVhOuiupn2599IrGCw6wIorDJ9w5IaabmzIVust4UPBtur3N-7euvq-KP17kGo-MBcEhJZfAeYro0T0kra5TJbl/s1600/14.jpg" height="320" width="228" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgw3vPmxY55uLo1P039UgEJ67Kqa9Z2UiztgR2GSLVpQ_jaf-ZS_ovDBZ-1atOfmAVyalc7ygiJrkHjuiVW_r3a3_eLEbnfZPG2OZcxhkcETsdhqSBdvzuDI60uRNA2m_yatKlnPbly-a6a/s1600/15.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgw3vPmxY55uLo1P039UgEJ67Kqa9Z2UiztgR2GSLVpQ_jaf-ZS_ovDBZ-1atOfmAVyalc7ygiJrkHjuiVW_r3a3_eLEbnfZPG2OZcxhkcETsdhqSBdvzuDI60uRNA2m_yatKlnPbly-a6a/s1600/15.jpg" height="320" width="231" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXcxNIr_kh9jP8SDp5vZXlQk9p6SzUNY4raj4HXsW1vd3bb8KCBCuZ_K2ZqBznZYl__z8bM1TmTw_yUjcIq9OzNNJ7AZHZfNmxFxgpy3ICNNteue8ihSztMyWsDmZOz4VuhK61NUb4FcV1/s1600/16.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXcxNIr_kh9jP8SDp5vZXlQk9p6SzUNY4raj4HXsW1vd3bb8KCBCuZ_K2ZqBznZYl__z8bM1TmTw_yUjcIq9OzNNJ7AZHZfNmxFxgpy3ICNNteue8ihSztMyWsDmZOz4VuhK61NUb4FcV1/s1600/16.jpg" height="320" width="232" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgv0JZr7c7D-ElW7-XoX_D-8u8EIgETlj6hFJN9ucjhi4JX81-hrY2f6NkEL6QchwAtA9hVahSfY_ATsOBNOsKwHbl7p6sN38mAQk04buLSngKvtC5u1eETmGmpOCoXnEQKRLDalnWGxb6r/s1600/17.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgv0JZr7c7D-ElW7-XoX_D-8u8EIgETlj6hFJN9ucjhi4JX81-hrY2f6NkEL6QchwAtA9hVahSfY_ATsOBNOsKwHbl7p6sN38mAQk04buLSngKvtC5u1eETmGmpOCoXnEQKRLDalnWGxb6r/s1600/17.jpg" height="320" width="228" /></a></div>
<div>
An energetic, and some would say gifted storyteller, Gilman was most at home in the knockabout world of a good, solid detective yarn, or a playful costumed-hero fantasia. While the concept of a "Vapo Man" seems ingenious at first sight, the character's shoddy handling soon becomes a source of depression to this reader and student. The faults are numerous:</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<b><span style="color: #38761d;">NO ATTEMPT TO ESTABLISH AN ORIGIN: </span></b>The character is not even properly introduced to us! He simply appears, and goes into battle mode.<br />
<br />
<b><span style="color: #f1c232;">NO EXPLANATION OF HIS POWERS: </span></b>As might be ascertained from his name, "Vaop Man" is capable of producing a vapor, or fog, that serves to confound and disorient his foes. All well and good. But from whence does this extraordinary ability come? From a muttered oath? A magic ring? Special socks and shoes? Without this necessary, and some would say, basic, grounding in reality, no character can truly convince his or her readership.<br />
<br />
<b><span style="color: #cc0000;">NO NARRATIVE TO SPEAK OF:</span></b> No matter how "farly flung" the early and prime panelology could be, its flights of fancy were always grounded in a recognizable NARRATIVE. A story, to be precise. Cause and effect! Beginning, middle and end! It is a small thing to ask of any comic magazine's contents. Yet "Vapo Man" fails to deliver even in this smallest and most essential manner. 'Tis merely several pages of fisticuffs and explosions, with good meeting bad, and nothing more.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
This sort of drivel would soon infest all comic magazines, leading up to the unbearable year of 1944--the "black hole of Calcutta" of the panelologic arts. I have often contemplated the burning of all 1944-dated comic magazines in my holdings. That is, of course, absurd. But the thought has crossed this writer's sage mind more than twice!</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Pity poor Samuel Gilman! Also known as "Steve Gilman," this creator began his short panelologic career in 1939, for the various titles published by Centaur Publications. His works got off to a promising start, with rousing tales starring the likes of "Dan Dennis, FBI," "The Masked Marvel" and even "A-Man the Amazing Man."<br />
<br />
Somewhat like Martin Filchock, Gilman's work was both primitive and lively. Given time, and experience, his work might have blossomed. But, just as the military agenda interfered with Gilman's creative work, it tampered with--and unfortunately ended--his life. Gilman was drafted in early 1942, and given two weeks' reprieve to hastily finish several stories due to publishers. He worked 'round the clock, mostly to provide some money for his ailing, elderly mother.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
He was shipped off to New Jersey for basic training, and then sent out to the battlefields. He was one of the hundreds who perished on "C-Day," the oft-overlooked "dress rehearsal" for the more popular and legendary "D-Day."</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
There were, in fact, no enemy forces present on "C-Day." This "sham battle" pitted two batallions against each other, in an attempt for military planners to determine the timing of a land invasion from the sea. (Hence the name of this so-called battle.)<br />
<br />
As Alvin Hoffer denotes, in his heartbreaking account of the maneuver, from his book <i>Secret Battles of WW II: Unknown and Unsung</i>, the battle was to be fought with "blank" ammunition, including "grenades" that simply released a cloud of baking powder. Unfortunately, the poorly mimeographed bulletin was blurred, due to a spilled soft drink, and that vital information that the grenades be harmless was rendered illegible.<br />
<br />
The weapons-makers simply shipped crates of highly "active" grenades to this seemingly benign test-battle. All other "ammunition" was, indeed, blank, as that portion of the memo was intact. (How, or why, the suppliers failed to see the discrepancy, is lost to time.)</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
All those participating in "C-Day" were encouraged to hurtle handfuls of these supposedly inert grenades, so that their velocity could be measured by primitive radar and motion-detection equipment. Instead of gathering helpful data, the event quickly became a gruesome bloodbath. As Hoffer grimly states:<br />
<br />
<i>So thoroughly did these grenades do their efficient work--these talismans of casual death--that no one survived the explosive assault. From dogface private to well-intentioned scientist and statistician to war reporter, all lost their lives on that regrettable day. The matter was quickly swept under the rug by top Army brass, and its existence was suppressed until 1971, when papers relating to the planning of the "C-Day" event were accidentally leaked by custodian Hugh Garlin.</i><br />
<br />
"C-Day" is still scoffed at by some war historians--dismissed as "conspiracy theory" or as a tall tale created by bored GIs on patrol--but it was established, via those rediscovered boxes of paperwork, found by the custodian while conducting a routine sub-basement sweeping, that Gilman was assigned to this sham-battle. Did it happen? Was it all a dream? And what of Samuel Gilman?<br />
<br />
I am a patriotic American, but I readily acknowledge that there is much to be ashamed of in our country's history. "Vapo Man" may be a pathetic footnote in panelology, but the loss of its creator is no laughing matter. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I apologize for the negativity of this report. I merely use it to illustrate certain difficulties I face, while shaping my masterwork of research and history. There are many heartaches amidst the triumphs, of the Great Age Panelological.<br />
<br />
But I shan't dwell on the sadness long. There is much joy to behold in this artform's colorful, rampant history. There are side-splitting stories I long to share with you, culled from my interviews of yore. But they must wait until the book itself is completed and released!<br />
<br />
Speaking of "release," I must end this massive missive now, as the Diner is due to close, and I must tally the day's receipts and supervise the clean-up. As with comics, reality is always bound to intrude upon the color and adventure of life.<br />
<br />
Please let us know what you think of Mr. Harbin's essay. Do you wish to see more of his work featured herein? Or should the lad branch out on his own domain? We await your reactions and (I hope) praise! Until next we meet, my warmest wishes for your health and happiness.</div>
Mason J. Morayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16288522457980212295noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2577154746554800558.post-45557145407855212072014-02-04T11:58:00.000-08:002014-02-04T12:00:25.839-08:00Rest Well, Fair Friend: A Tribute To Wallace "Sparks" Spinkle (1933-2014)<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
<w:WordDocument>
<w:View>Normal</w:View>
<w:Zoom>0</w:Zoom>
<w:TrackMoves/>
<w:TrackFormatting/>
<w:PunctuationKerning/>
<w:ValidateAgainstSchemas/>
<w:SaveIfXMLInvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid>
<w:IgnoreMixedContent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent>
<w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText>
<w:DoNotPromoteQF/>
<w:LidThemeOther>EN-US</w:LidThemeOther>
<w:LidThemeAsian>X-NONE</w:LidThemeAsian>
<w:LidThemeComplexScript>X-NONE</w:LidThemeComplexScript>
<w:Compatibility>
<w:BreakWrappedTables/>
<w:SnapToGridInCell/>
<w:WrapTextWithPunct/>
<w:UseAsianBreakRules/>
<w:DontGrowAutofit/>
<w:SplitPgBreakAndParaMark/>
<w:DontVertAlignCellWithSp/>
<w:DontBreakConstrainedForcedTables/>
<w:DontVertAlignInTxbx/>
<w:Word11KerningPairs/>
<w:CachedColBalance/>
</w:Compatibility>
<w:BrowserLevel>MicrosoftInternetExplorer4</w:BrowserLevel>
<m:mathPr>
<m:mathFont m:val="Cambria Math"/>
<m:brkBin m:val="before"/>
<m:brkBinSub m:val="--"/>
<m:smallFrac m:val="off"/>
<m:dispDef/>
<m:lMargin m:val="0"/>
<m:rMargin m:val="0"/>
<m:defJc m:val="centerGroup"/>
<m:wrapIndent m:val="1440"/>
<m:intLim m:val="subSup"/>
<m:naryLim m:val="undOvr"/>
</m:mathPr></w:WordDocument>
</xml><![endif]--><br />
<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
<w:LatentStyles DefLockedState="false" DefUnhideWhenUsed="true"
DefSemiHidden="true" DefQFormat="false" DefPriority="99"
LatentStyleCount="267">
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="0" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" QFormat="true" Name="Normal"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="9" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" QFormat="true" Name="heading 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="9" QFormat="true" Name="heading 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="9" QFormat="true" Name="heading 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="9" QFormat="true" Name="heading 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="9" QFormat="true" Name="heading 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="9" QFormat="true" Name="heading 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="9" QFormat="true" Name="heading 7"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="9" QFormat="true" Name="heading 8"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="9" QFormat="true" Name="heading 9"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="39" Name="toc 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="39" Name="toc 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="39" Name="toc 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="39" Name="toc 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="39" Name="toc 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="39" Name="toc 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="39" Name="toc 7"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="39" Name="toc 8"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="39" Name="toc 9"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="35" QFormat="true" Name="caption"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="10" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" QFormat="true" Name="Title"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="1" Name="Default Paragraph Font"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="11" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" QFormat="true" Name="Subtitle"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="22" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" QFormat="true" Name="Strong"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="20" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" QFormat="true" Name="Emphasis"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="59" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Table Grid"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Placeholder Text"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="1" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" QFormat="true" Name="No Spacing"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="60" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Light Shading"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="61" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Light List"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="62" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Light Grid"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="63" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Shading 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="64" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Shading 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="65" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium List 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="66" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium List 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="67" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Grid 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="68" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Grid 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="69" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Grid 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="70" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Dark List"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="71" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Colorful Shading"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="72" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Colorful List"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="73" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Colorful Grid"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="60" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Light Shading Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="61" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Light List Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="62" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Light Grid Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="63" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Shading 1 Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="64" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Shading 2 Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="65" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium List 1 Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Revision"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="34" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" QFormat="true" Name="List Paragraph"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="29" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" QFormat="true" Name="Quote"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="30" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" QFormat="true" Name="Intense Quote"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="66" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium List 2 Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="67" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Grid 1 Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="68" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Grid 2 Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="69" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Grid 3 Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="70" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Dark List Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="71" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Colorful Shading Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="72" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Colorful List Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="73" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Colorful Grid Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="60" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Light Shading Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="61" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Light List Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="62" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Light Grid Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="63" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Shading 1 Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="64" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Shading 2 Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="65" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium List 1 Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="66" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium List 2 Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="67" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Grid 1 Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="68" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Grid 2 Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="69" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Grid 3 Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="70" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Dark List Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="71" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Colorful Shading Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="72" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Colorful List Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="73" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Colorful Grid Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="60" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Light Shading Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="61" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Light List Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="62" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Light Grid Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="63" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Shading 1 Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="64" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Shading 2 Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="65" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium List 1 Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="66" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium List 2 Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="67" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Grid 1 Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="68" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Grid 2 Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="69" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Grid 3 Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="70" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Dark List Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="71" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Colorful Shading Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="72" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Colorful List Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="73" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Colorful Grid Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="60" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Light Shading Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="61" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Light List Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="62" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Light Grid Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="63" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Shading 1 Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="64" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Shading 2 Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="65" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium List 1 Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="66" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium List 2 Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="67" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Grid 1 Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="68" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Grid 2 Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="69" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Grid 3 Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="70" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Dark List Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="71" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Colorful Shading Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="72" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Colorful List Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="73" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Colorful Grid Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="60" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Light Shading Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="61" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Light List Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="62" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Light Grid Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="63" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Shading 1 Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="64" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Shading 2 Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="65" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium List 1 Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="66" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium List 2 Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="67" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Grid 1 Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="68" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Grid 2 Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="69" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Grid 3 Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="70" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Dark List Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="71" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Colorful Shading Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="72" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Colorful List Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="73" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Colorful Grid Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="60" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Light Shading Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="61" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Light List Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="62" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Light Grid Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="63" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Shading 1 Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="64" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Shading 2 Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="65" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium List 1 Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="66" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium List 2 Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="67" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Grid 1 Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="68" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Grid 2 Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="69" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Grid 3 Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="70" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Dark List Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="71" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Colorful Shading Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="72" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Colorful List Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="73" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Colorful Grid Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="19" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" QFormat="true" Name="Subtle Emphasis"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="21" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" QFormat="true" Name="Intense Emphasis"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="31" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" QFormat="true" Name="Subtle Reference"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="32" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" QFormat="true" Name="Intense Reference"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="33" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" QFormat="true" Name="Book Title"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="37" Name="Bibliography"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="39" QFormat="true" Name="TOC Heading"/>
</w:LatentStyles>
</xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 10]>
<style>
/* Style Definitions */
table.MsoNormalTable
{mso-style-name:"Table Normal";
mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0;
mso-tstyle-colband-size:0;
mso-style-noshow:yes;
mso-style-priority:99;
mso-style-qformat:yes;
mso-style-parent:"";
mso-padding-alt:0in 5.4pt 0in 5.4pt;
mso-para-margin-top:0in;
mso-para-margin-right:0in;
mso-para-margin-bottom:10.0pt;
mso-para-margin-left:0in;
line-height:115%;
mso-pagination:widow-orphan;
font-size:11.0pt;
font-family:"Calibri","sans-serif";
mso-ascii-font-family:Calibri;
mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin;
mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman";
mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-fareast;
mso-hansi-font-family:Calibri;
mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin;}
</style>
<![endif]-->
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Friends, I am certain you’ve wondered of my whereabouts
these past few months. I’ve often intended to “post” here, as this is my forum
to the world at large. But, truth told, there hasn’t been time. I am sure you
will understand once you’ve read the following.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJtO_aMx2inu2Hubj30UcBtZ99lXrBqTCPW1XQfAgNccb2feFFcdkU48MLakk5BzM5wm5eaZ_bQZWkcw7dcWIzAyLQ8nOk_rYwVpZ8i3NQEaPsxJqAH9UWZWctHQiGhPubYxI3HyBVs8XI/s1600/Spinkleobit.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJtO_aMx2inu2Hubj30UcBtZ99lXrBqTCPW1XQfAgNccb2feFFcdkU48MLakk5BzM5wm5eaZ_bQZWkcw7dcWIzAyLQ8nOk_rYwVpZ8i3NQEaPsxJqAH9UWZWctHQiGhPubYxI3HyBVs8XI/s1600/Spinkleobit.png" height="300" width="400" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
A deadly hush has settled over our house since the passing
of “Sparks” Spinkle. Truth told, I knew this was coming, but I could not
imagine it happening. “Sparks” was a human dynamo—constantly “on the move,”
whether it be indexing my panelological archives at the New Pantheon, serving as
a one-man advertisement for “Dorrie’s Diner,” sharing beloved movies, cartoons
and TV shows with me in the den, or just talking—mostly about our shared
passion of comic magazines, but also about the weather, politics, history and
recent meals.<br />
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Sparks” passed on January 29<sup>th</sup>, but only now can
I bring myself to write these words. To know “Sparks” was to love him—albeit the
latter could take longer with certain people. Dear Dorrie, who at first found
him an “odd bird,” grew to appreciate and like him. He was of constant help
around the house. As Dorrie said the other day, “before a glass could fall to
the floor and break, he was there with the broom.”<br />
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I have had to put on hold my panelological passions, over
the past several months, as I and Dorrie have cared for “Sparks”’ health in our
home. A great variety of wheezing, clacking, thrumming medical instruments
filled our guest bedroom. In part, their absence accounts for this awful
silence as I write these words today.<br />
<br />
“Sparks” was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer last October. He took the news in
stride. “They can take your pancreas,” he said, “but darned if they can take
your soul!” We were both deep in work for my sadly-postponed magnum opus, <i><b>The
Golden Era of the Art Panelologic: 1937 to 1942</b></i>, when the news came, as a
follow-up to a seemingly innocent physical “check up.”<br />
<br />
Dr. Doynter caught the cancer in its earliest stages, and immediate treatments were
applied to the area. In these treatments, “Sparks” was hooked up to a machine
right out of a treasured issue of Science Comics, circa 1939, for three hours
daily. What this vast machine did, I still do not know, but it enabled him to
live a normal life for the other 21 hours of each day.<br />
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And live he did! Despite my constant council against it, “Sparks”
continued his spree as “Super Senior,” patrolling the streets of our fair
hamlet by night. Most of his forays were unexceptional, but he did prevent a
carefully-planned robbery of a fur vault. Armed with his harmless-but-irksome
aerosol cans of “Puppy Uh-Uh” and “Kitty No-Go,” he ventured downtown one
November night, in search of after-hours parking meter violations.<br />
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
A sudden flashlight beam attracted his attention and he
crept into a nearby alleyway. There, he heard a volley of hushed voices. Down
the alley he went, and through a door that had been jimmied open. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A group of 11 professional criminals were at
work in the basement of Feller’s Jewel And Fur Box, our area’s leading store of
such luxuries.<br />
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Their evident intent was to break into Feller’s un-alarmed
fur vault, rob it of its morbid resources, and then burrow into the jewelry
store to rob it of its riches.<br />
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Apparently, all was not well with this band of thieves. As “Sparks”
later related to me, “two of ‘em was arguing about how they’d split the money.
One guy, he wanted more than the others, and they had words about it. Started
duking it out, right then and there. And, brother, that’s when I called the
cops.”<br />
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Using a phone in the basement, “Super Senior” phoned in a
tip to local police. Within minutes, the law had arrived. The fist-fight was in
full swing, and it took the police three tries to get the attention of the
thieves. All 11 were arrested. The police publicly thanked the “civic minded
citizen” who informed them of this crime.<br />
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Had the thieves “gotten away with it,” they might have
stolen three million dollars’ worth of assorted baubles and furs. All have been
imprisoned. A court order demanded that Sid Feller install an alarm system for
his fur storage vault.<br />
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Sparks” did not claim boastful credit for this triumph. “Heck,
anybody with two legs an’ a set of eyes coulda spotted it,” he said. Dorrie
made a special victory meal to celebrate this, the final annal in the casebook
of “Super Senior.”<br />
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It should, by all rights, have been the final annal. But,
despite his assurances that he would no longer don the Pepsi sweatshirt, “Sparks”
snuck out, one rainy December night, to do a brief street patrol. A light
winter drizzle turned into an unexpected downpour, and my dear friend was
drenched to the bone. He returned home and failed to properly dry himself off.
He complained of respiratory discomfort the next evening.<br />
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Not even Dorrie’s “Jewish Penicillin” could help him. Pneumonia
set in immediately. From that moment on, “Sparks” never again left his bed.<br />
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Despite this, he demanded that we continue on the book
project. I spent many days seated beside him, in my office chair, as we
examined fragile vintage comic magazines to determine their authors and
artists. “Sparks” had an encyclopedia of panelological knowledge in his head.
The loss of that “data base” is inestimable.<br />
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Each day, “Sparks” was, obviously, a bit weaker, but his
vigor for life kept him going, to the bitter end. In his last days, he ate an
inordinate amount of “Pecan Sandies” cookies. They were his favorites, and we
could not deny him this death-bed treat. Dorrie and I are still finding mounds
of the cookies’ brittle crumbs around the house. His appetite for them was
insatiable.<br />
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I was with “Sparks” in his last moments on this earth.
Dorrie could not be there; she had to run our restaurant, which continues in
its “food truck” capacity, quite successfully. It is so much easier to operate
than a “brick and mortal” establishment. But more of that matter another time.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Sparks” took my hand and said these unforgettable words to
me:<br />
<br />
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: blue;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b>Mace, you’re a pip. Best pal a guy could ever have. You and
the missus have made these last coupla years the best ones of my life. Now, don’t
get all blubbery, Mace. You got to promise me you’ll keep up the good work.
Keep these stories and comics alive. It’s up to you. Promise me you’ll finish
that book.</b></span></span><br />
<br />
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I promised him. He smiled and squeezed my hand. “That’s a
boy. Now how ‘bout a Sandie?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I turned to the container of Pecan Sandies. One cookie
remained. I removed it and turned around to give it to him. Feebly, he grasped
it. I helped him guide it to his mouth. He bit down on the “Sandie” as he
breathed his last.<br />
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It had been a “blue Christmas” in the Moray household, due
to “Sparks”’ illness, but he insisted we celebrate the holidays with the ritual
opening of my safeguarded eBay purchases. How he quivered with anxiousness as I
opened each parcel! How he beamed with joy as we examined each new addition to
the New Pantheon!<br />
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
One unlikely purchase truly sparked “Sparks”’ interest—a copy
of <i>Manhunt Comics</i> #6, from the impossibly late date of 1948. “Sparks” and I
consider the <i>Manhunt</i> title to be the final vestige of panelological greatness—one
last burst of the primal energy that made “the comics” so vivid, so vital.<br />
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Of especial interest was Fred Guardineer’s “Space Ace”
feature. “Sparks” read the story on the spot, and pronounced it “the corker to
end all corkers.” Thus, in memory to Wallace “Sparks” Spinkle, and to his
ever-lasting legacy on the fine art of panelology, I present this “corker” for
your enjoyment. Read it, and think of “Sparks.” His work—and words—shall never
be forgotten.<br />
<br />
And this I promise you, friend—despite death threats,
despite the heartache I feel, I SHALL complete and publish my book. Verily, my
comrade, I shall make you proud!<br />
<br />
I shall resume regular posting here shortly. I want to keep the “good word”
alive and well, for those of us who still believe.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBSX1uucgaSEYHO9OjgGmF0DFgPfLZqY6chxFRaoZgRhpkKaOLKKwp1McGjiVRXj86cFu0tWt4gxJWd6s7HEMkZuCxTgLb_lV34MA6MX0qcCaUjzkyfxS9sB676MqmJ9YYzR-SNfMaGDsH/s1600/scan16.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBSX1uucgaSEYHO9OjgGmF0DFgPfLZqY6chxFRaoZgRhpkKaOLKKwp1McGjiVRXj86cFu0tWt4gxJWd6s7HEMkZuCxTgLb_lV34MA6MX0qcCaUjzkyfxS9sB676MqmJ9YYzR-SNfMaGDsH/s1600/scan16.jpg" height="320" width="225" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1Vjc6ZZuVR-_sJfOZUwTV0QZAdBRiXxMPAFElIKaeewxSG9vdwUHtmLe2_OGW6Gc8rHCNNZHgMuPS-OQDVrRLekHz1Y-3KvyyJC9cU9wUxJgRP8pHRULpn8Yd2lVTiCFIEyblAxFwTPmB/s1600/scan17.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1Vjc6ZZuVR-_sJfOZUwTV0QZAdBRiXxMPAFElIKaeewxSG9vdwUHtmLe2_OGW6Gc8rHCNNZHgMuPS-OQDVrRLekHz1Y-3KvyyJC9cU9wUxJgRP8pHRULpn8Yd2lVTiCFIEyblAxFwTPmB/s1600/scan17.jpg" height="320" width="219" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKrQRikM6qEzdmMSDERMr9RIyeXCHKg5getHUzQ4ExH3H5nzbNAPXaWAyxrTWEmPJs76X4IO0cP4XRSsyN7st9u7R-_pB2TggA7qZM8c3HJAfmdF5QXAuujhtzJwlV4UAQkhijg7RSgXjo/s1600/scan18.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKrQRikM6qEzdmMSDERMr9RIyeXCHKg5getHUzQ4ExH3H5nzbNAPXaWAyxrTWEmPJs76X4IO0cP4XRSsyN7st9u7R-_pB2TggA7qZM8c3HJAfmdF5QXAuujhtzJwlV4UAQkhijg7RSgXjo/s1600/scan18.jpg" height="320" width="219" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkU-SaCJH2ip6mt0Yz8UsqVHRN0nCtbMrynloY_xNEEhdCs-9X8cr_GyNo8JswmUZ8Al2tMFnr1hw4MZ2cmWUpfKcp6yPQsg8VfPUW_7gktSYkAWMx0nCaTfyWUxXXKgQG8BAWeR9ki27w/s1600/scan19.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkU-SaCJH2ip6mt0Yz8UsqVHRN0nCtbMrynloY_xNEEhdCs-9X8cr_GyNo8JswmUZ8Al2tMFnr1hw4MZ2cmWUpfKcp6yPQsg8VfPUW_7gktSYkAWMx0nCaTfyWUxXXKgQG8BAWeR9ki27w/s1600/scan19.jpg" height="320" width="225" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2DfzSOLASI3lrqPZfQXzGxEfsi8JP2RMYL6h7LX9YBXd5xQYjc6j43AT7QFNRBA42XRb4EoKpXCpWdkK09HFMu_UcMKV-OtvJluJMX2saMlrBfjglQJ8-B2JAghwLtwZebbGxKG4IPLiI/s1600/scan20.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2DfzSOLASI3lrqPZfQXzGxEfsi8JP2RMYL6h7LX9YBXd5xQYjc6j43AT7QFNRBA42XRb4EoKpXCpWdkK09HFMu_UcMKV-OtvJluJMX2saMlrBfjglQJ8-B2JAghwLtwZebbGxKG4IPLiI/s1600/scan20.jpg" height="320" width="218" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEga1KtUfpGUTBLsiJQqLl-hxuiypgjqFLxCGTvSpHyQjzeuvlFKC7OAI4Z412aEymuseGizKGy2cVkwJsKU8GXaZ2fg8W9L6SBRXsL85C-WDZ96qlEIGGDTe0fpzTB0G-tyrFmAYgaLwWG4/s1600/scan21.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEga1KtUfpGUTBLsiJQqLl-hxuiypgjqFLxCGTvSpHyQjzeuvlFKC7OAI4Z412aEymuseGizKGy2cVkwJsKU8GXaZ2fg8W9L6SBRXsL85C-WDZ96qlEIGGDTe0fpzTB0G-tyrFmAYgaLwWG4/s1600/scan21.jpg" height="320" width="222" /></a></div>
Mason J. Morayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16288522457980212295noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2577154746554800558.post-91806070867492916712013-09-07T13:28:00.001-07:002013-09-07T13:28:29.610-07:00Oh Glory Day--Mine Book Has Arrived! All This, And More Thrills, From Science Comics! Plus Restaurnat News<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4da7GxzVMiulDxytPxyli8eK_SoJs0L0U8Zb3OfVN5loTAzvhFDi-qGlRFUnm5F6GvNSMCBOjCIPiATIqhaXOYrYfkK7PtCrXlrq8SNy7Shw_n_wCJY5DjeJJZpO2_6GAWSszTvWpHSud/s1600/MasonBookCover1.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4da7GxzVMiulDxytPxyli8eK_SoJs0L0U8Zb3OfVN5loTAzvhFDi-qGlRFUnm5F6GvNSMCBOjCIPiATIqhaXOYrYfkK7PtCrXlrq8SNy7Shw_n_wCJY5DjeJJZpO2_6GAWSszTvWpHSud/s320/MasonBookCover1.png" width="247" /></a></div>
No, dear friends, 'tis not a dream... 'this not a hoax! 'Tis not yet complete, but I felt compelled to share this thrilling cover image for my nearly-half-completed tome on our favorite topic!<br />
<br />
Designed by our local asthete, "Ray-Don," this cover encapsulates all I hold near and dear to my quiverng breast. There are a couple of small refinements (or "tweeks" as my deisgner calls them) to "smooth on out," but I feel 'tis ready enough to share with you, my friends, my world!<br />
<br />
As I continue work on the book, I fnd the page count continues to grow. Friends, this tome could indeed top 4000 pages, least I contain myself and include onlt the most essential and relevant information.When next I post here, I hope to have a "pre view" of the contents. Since so much of my research material is top-secret, and known only to me, I feel that this book will collide onto the scene of panelological history withthe immediacy and power of Halley's Comet!<br />
<br />
'Tis immodest of me to proclaim, but I feel this volume will forever change how we view comic magazines, their creators, and their almighty capred crusader heroes!<br />
<br />
I would like to solicit feedback from you, friends, on this cover design. Please be honest--do not spare me with your feelings, good or bad! One thing I wonder: ought the cover to have more heroic figures 'pon its fair face? Or would that make it too "active?" Do the colors please you? And the typographic "fints"? Be brutally honest Your opinions will only make this a better publication!!!<br />
<br />
And now onto recent news "flashes":<br />
<br />
Concerned about losing our patronage, Dorrie (with the suprising suggestion of mute Katrice) has come up with a creative solution. Perhaps you have heard of the new phenomoenon of the "food truck." 'Tis rather a "meals on wheels" for the non-elderly. The older amongst us will recall the food wagons that once serviced hungry working men during the nation's many lunch hours.<br />
<br />
This is a twist on that old trope. Instead of day-old egg salad sandwiches, bagged cookies and such, "Dorrie's Diner II" offers a short list of the spouse's most famed concoctions. Famished passersby can easily read the six-foot laminated menu board, choose their favorites, and within moments, the mouth-tempting entree will be theirs to enjoy!<br />
<br />
Raphael no longer has the maitre'd/waiter roles, in this transitional state, so he is our grandest promoter. Standing by Highway 11B, dressed in eye-catching colors, he waves and waggles an arrow-shaped sign in one hand, and a checkered flag (seen at the "victory line" of an auto race) in the other. Raphael has a different, and surprising costume, for each day! Yesterday, he dressed as a Frank Buck, "Bring 'em Back Alive" type jungle adventurer. Today, he wears a 1950s prom dress, with a blonde wig and make-up to match.<br />
<br />
His creative flair keeps the mobile diner hopping. Dorrie and Katrice work by the grill. The bulk of their work is done early in the day. With six items on our menu (plus three desserts, fries, and such), the "women-folk" prepare large quantities of each entree. When a customer places an order, they need merely heat up a portion on the grill and viola! An almost instant, gournet-quality meal, for a reasonable price!<br />
<br />
I take orders and tender cash. (We cannot accept debit cards; we accept checks from those we know and trust). Since our menu is so spartan, my shout of "a number four!" or "let's have two fives, ladies" is easily communicated to the culinary brain-trust.<br />
<br />
It is hot inside that vehicle! I have learned to wear only T-shirt and boxer shorts during my sweaty shifts in the "Diner II." No one can see that I'm only semi-dressed. That is, save for one misfortunate Wednesday last week.<br />
<br />
Raphael had determined that one of our rear wheels was a bit loose. The body of the mobile diner was prone to rock a bit during windy days. The rocking and shivering sometimes proved worrisome, but never so much that I cared to check on the wheel's state.<br />
<br />
Due to public demand, we offered large basins of various condiments and sauces, each with its own stainless steel ladel. Our ever-popular "Sloppy Does" tend to be decorated with additional, and sometimes unapt, complimentary doses of ketchup, sweet relish and such. These basins, each with a tight-fitting lid, can be sealed easily at the close of each business days, and stored in our "on-site" refrigerator to await another day's service.<br />
<br />
Sounds convenient, eh? And yes, for a spell, it was "just the ticket" for our eager enjoyers. That sweet spell was intruded upon one calm August afternoon, as a Boy Scout troop appeared, rabid with hunger after a nature hike.<br />
<br />
Orders for "Sloppy Does" and "Bacon Blast Burger-Dogs" flew thick and fast, as the khaki-clad boys surrounded the vehicle. Unbeknownst to us all, two mischevious older Scouts took it upon themselves to "repair" the loose wheel.<br />
<br />
In doing so, they "accidentally" loosened the tire which, at a downward angle, easily slid off its axis. Soon, we all became aware of a constant gentle rocking-and-rolling. Peals of eager laughter was heard. Finally, after one dreadful shudder, I heard multiple voices shout, "RUN!"<br />
<br />
With that, the Diner tipped forward--it lurched, to be more precise. With the lurch, the basins of sauce emptied upon the trouble-prone scouts--a fitting punishment, in retrospect. The sauce-doused boys were still hungry enough to wolf down their sandwiches. Their scoutmaster gave me a sly, knowing smile as he paid the troop's bill.<br />
<br />
The loss of our condiments (and the wheel) caused us to close shop for two days. The wheel proved impossible to restore on our own, so a tow-truck from Hank's Gas-n-"Go" was summoned. The mobile diner was righted, and the wheel restored.<br />
<br />
The combination of sweet and spicy sauces had attracted a swarm of crazed hornets. Our lives were in clear danger! We closed the van and returned the next morning with several sacks of "Kitty Litter." The pummeled clay absorbed most of the saucy damage. The ground was littered with the corpses of over-sated hornets. They had died in a state of rapture!<br />
<br />
Order has since been restored, and the open basins replaced with quart-size pump bottles, which are chained to the counter of the van's opening. 'Tis just as well. What good fortune that, say, the mayor of our fair town, or one of its prominent social "queen bees," was not at the order window in that fateful moment.<br />
<br />
Remarkably, all the entrees on the grill had not moved one iota! Dorrie's food is rib-sticking nutrition.<br />
<br />
Now that stories of the "home front" have been exhausted, onto more pressing matters.<br /><br />I'm sure you all have many questions about my forthcoming tome. Indeed, I, myself, have myriad quandaries about the project. Am I saying too much? Too little? Is my focus biased, rather than objcetive? These are reasonable concerns for any man of letters, or any historian.<br />
<br />
After four decades of constant research, I am still stunned to find new "nuggets of wisdom" in areas where I felt there was no more to be known. Recent research has given me a great "back story" on the life and work of "Lester Raye" (real name: Larry Estee). I'll save these facts as a sort of "teaser" for my upcoming book. I am proud of my chapter on the Fox title <i>Science Comics</i>, which is titled "A Pinnacle Rare." Seldom did the golden age of panelology aspire to greater heights; seldom were such heights so suddenly, heartlessly dashed to oblivion.<br />
<br />
"The Eagle" is a prime example of the comic-magazine feature that blossomed, and too soon withered into a sere nullity, as the war-drums of 1941 beat loudly. Here, for the benefit of you, my dear friend and colleague, is the finest hour of this feature. Savor each panel; prepare to be amazed!<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiM63dN3cfxQTO6RA_Hln7msIPYxAKf5v6gC9NZw_q6Pci9MDgoy0kQ2XKwhRBkG4kuFmbeQigr3hu6WGZoQ1bL7RSQzZ-AovPAcWGA-ec-EYk5_drX-0U00ARpQXqjqSSz_8yk-AjCMNIg/s1600/science+comics+6+pg+00a.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiM63dN3cfxQTO6RA_Hln7msIPYxAKf5v6gC9NZw_q6Pci9MDgoy0kQ2XKwhRBkG4kuFmbeQigr3hu6WGZoQ1bL7RSQzZ-AovPAcWGA-ec-EYk5_drX-0U00ARpQXqjqSSz_8yk-AjCMNIg/s320/science+comics+6+pg+00a.jpg" width="239" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1_w_pH8ZtZUnflV6ZLd6auvr9UaQaBfBZl4m3qEmIoIRNwIDtyw_02dafiN8F2RDjln6LADZ0cgZu7oLoezbUIZvbOZGQMqufSQgRPDfwucYA3ELwj2SoyJkiiclo4Du0eFPMfqSSlm0y/s1600/science+comics+6+pg+01.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1_w_pH8ZtZUnflV6ZLd6auvr9UaQaBfBZl4m3qEmIoIRNwIDtyw_02dafiN8F2RDjln6LADZ0cgZu7oLoezbUIZvbOZGQMqufSQgRPDfwucYA3ELwj2SoyJkiiclo4Du0eFPMfqSSlm0y/s320/science+comics+6+pg+01.jpg" width="233" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmJQ9wWe_ma8O5cXPK38dxPMwfUsE80JFfycuXQvqyLtB09_0hQoo-tfjXm0iFzDfQ46cNzyV7cXfkk37p0tRivjfrCH2yUrELeTy5wkTZKCB7BS4_dPIXrHrJzsLLhU_O_-Xes0ONSQGB/s1600/science+comics+6+pg+02.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmJQ9wWe_ma8O5cXPK38dxPMwfUsE80JFfycuXQvqyLtB09_0hQoo-tfjXm0iFzDfQ46cNzyV7cXfkk37p0tRivjfrCH2yUrELeTy5wkTZKCB7BS4_dPIXrHrJzsLLhU_O_-Xes0ONSQGB/s320/science+comics+6+pg+02.jpg" width="229" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZThg1SkvocOwfJWLwOdTK6-u4crpO9PVEfYwSQ37ni98Ab8LxrcS2eWnrDnTQdwbdA4EZZfOzbWtjt1ADj5ijtYJfWxwPH3j76IMAEBXWmkKdMK_pSNTQu15qcA1oTKXD7c-ID36w1PHG/s1600/science+comics+6+pg+03.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZThg1SkvocOwfJWLwOdTK6-u4crpO9PVEfYwSQ37ni98Ab8LxrcS2eWnrDnTQdwbdA4EZZfOzbWtjt1ADj5ijtYJfWxwPH3j76IMAEBXWmkKdMK_pSNTQu15qcA1oTKXD7c-ID36w1PHG/s320/science+comics+6+pg+03.jpg" width="233" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIKm2cCkeGDQpZ88LODjaZcChhUZYaddZXMLTaKvF41aG8N1zRZ6X1vOZEJr74hbO928wjszj8O0FzVKHBZevy5rGTvAoPojMkYUR0Kkz7-csTYgF1Ji2ztY-pfeJcpTJWsN5Wv5l-aD61/s1600/science+comics+6+pg+04.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIKm2cCkeGDQpZ88LODjaZcChhUZYaddZXMLTaKvF41aG8N1zRZ6X1vOZEJr74hbO928wjszj8O0FzVKHBZevy5rGTvAoPojMkYUR0Kkz7-csTYgF1Ji2ztY-pfeJcpTJWsN5Wv5l-aD61/s320/science+comics+6+pg+04.jpg" width="233" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTwh3KG35Gd_5AftjzhyjPy6ChVJCpgss2Hl6tXZqGybH6qbpH4lZLhYcgTuM2QxZdIfZf06jvf37shlWdOGzbRdrKrOBrYTM-b2XAElagGAFwXL3wezPkyCEa0ZA4Bx_vogcwrV8jVz14/s1600/science+comics+6+pg+05.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTwh3KG35Gd_5AftjzhyjPy6ChVJCpgss2Hl6tXZqGybH6qbpH4lZLhYcgTuM2QxZdIfZf06jvf37shlWdOGzbRdrKrOBrYTM-b2XAElagGAFwXL3wezPkyCEa0ZA4Bx_vogcwrV8jVz14/s320/science+comics+6+pg+05.jpg" width="231" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdrae7Hre9GNwNFB8x2tZejOWTumbZ1lljH-tpGDGWMoiAyu0V9HuKveaas2hBtb_QL5Qf7Fi_6KJLmJJcYZxYUfMu1NaazidtOne329HLBclgZd4g_gSfaKvBPkxE5T7Auv8mIJ-c1zpX/s1600/science+comics+6+pg+06.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdrae7Hre9GNwNFB8x2tZejOWTumbZ1lljH-tpGDGWMoiAyu0V9HuKveaas2hBtb_QL5Qf7Fi_6KJLmJJcYZxYUfMu1NaazidtOne329HLBclgZd4g_gSfaKvBPkxE5T7Auv8mIJ-c1zpX/s320/science+comics+6+pg+06.jpg" width="233" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3zPuEGwoGj5UkD7huCJxdZ3_IgGJqkws_793V-g75I4HOkGHezMyVcaeHzYXZmuli8_ppfetCnPQgNz1TcD_KA_Fa0mNOAPbQJrlIcccen0zluH_VlixNNzMfpMO6kZtyK3XrddqCvIRx/s1600/science+comics+6+pg+07.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3zPuEGwoGj5UkD7huCJxdZ3_IgGJqkws_793V-g75I4HOkGHezMyVcaeHzYXZmuli8_ppfetCnPQgNz1TcD_KA_Fa0mNOAPbQJrlIcccen0zluH_VlixNNzMfpMO6kZtyK3XrddqCvIRx/s320/science+comics+6+pg+07.jpg" width="235" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinZZGvXbGSSPgkqvv_Mmzz49Dk-uwyVlGwCRIS6gVOpVqe1OyALnRo_wgfo5xeru9fn2f0VlTH7qikrBgAOa52ZX4qoTnrFEEcpWXlTraRnC0OxWi51U6RZUBvNeryVPxBSVL8OxVqI8RU/s1600/science+comics+6+pg+08.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinZZGvXbGSSPgkqvv_Mmzz49Dk-uwyVlGwCRIS6gVOpVqe1OyALnRo_wgfo5xeru9fn2f0VlTH7qikrBgAOa52ZX4qoTnrFEEcpWXlTraRnC0OxWi51U6RZUBvNeryVPxBSVL8OxVqI8RU/s320/science+comics+6+pg+08.jpg" width="227" /></a></div>
As more astute readers will realize, "Lester Raye" was an anagram of the talened-but-overlooked Larry Estee. Born in 1911, Estee had no formal art training. Indeed, he had never considered drawing or art before he lucked into a job with the then-successful comic book empire of Victor Fox.<br />
<br />
"I always liked pictures," Estee said in his lone 1969 interview. "But I figured they had some sort of device that made them up. I didn't realize that living people did these things," Estee was hired as a messenger for Victor Fox. "He loved to send what he called 'living telegrams.' Sometimes, you'd have to sing them to a popular tune. I had a good clear tenor voice, and that got me the job."<br />
<br />
Fox's "living telegrams" typically consisted of mean-spirited taunts to rival publishers. "I'd have to walk into [Martin] Goodman's shop, or [Harry] Chesler's, and tell them how successful Victor was, and how much the ladies liked him, how nice his shoes were--that sort of thing. It didn't exactly make me popular. One time, I got hit with a T-square, right on the noggin! I still feel a bump from when that happened."<br />
<br />
Quickly realizing his potential fate, Estee was determined to improve his status with Fox. "I told him I could draw pretty swell, and he bought it.I had really gotten Irving Donenfield one afternoon, with a downright nasty singing telegram from Fox, and he [Fox] was in such a good mood that he hired me as an artist. He sent me home with a script and some drawing paper."<br />
<br />
Despite no formal art training--or any prior inclination to so much as doodle--Estee fearlessly illustrated "The Eagle," which was to be the lead feature in the sixth issue of <i>Science Comics</i>. "It wasn't that hard," Estee boasted. "Heck, half the fellows Fox hired were winos, dummies, or worse. If they could do it, I could do it."<br />
<br />
Through sheer force of will--augmented by "copying the funnies, which everyone else did"--Estee completed the story over a long weekend. The fungus monster, which features so boldly in the tale, was inspired by his mother's house-coat! "She had this ugly old green robe, worn out, with these flowers--I guess that's what they were--on it, She wore that thing night and day, so she was my first model! She didn't even realize it. She never even asked what I was doing in the kitchen with ink and a drawing board. She kissed me when I brought home the paycheck."<br />
<br />
Estee's artwork became more polished, as 1940 wore on, but it also lost some of its excitement. He soon developed a professional style that ensured him a long career with the Fox company. "It was just a job with me. I didn't care a whit about the stories. They were usually the same damn thing over and over. Just crap. But I did them. At one point, Victor gave me a raise to six dollars a page! That was a great day. I still think about it."<br />
<br />
Estee was drafted in early 1943, and he saw military action in Italy. "I didn't even think about comic books in the Army. I was too busy dodging bullets to care! We all did."<br />
<br />
Upon his return to civilian life, in 1947, Estee took advantage of his status as one of "The Big One's" fighting men. "They had a law then, you could go back to where you used to work, and they would fire someone who didn't serve, right there on the spot, and give you his job. Well, that's what I did. The guy was in the middle of a story and they sent him packing. I finished the thing. I was a little rusty at first."<br />
<br />
Estee was a mainstray of Fox's lurid crime, romance and teen humor titles through 1950. "By that time, I got tired of the business. The stories were dirty, and when people found out how I earned my money, they wouldn't speak to me. I was married then, and had a family to think of." With pressure from blue-nosed censors looming, the comic book industry was in peril.<br />
<br />
Estee left at the right time--and changed careers in a surprinsing way. "I became a tight wire walker for Bregmann's Circus. It was a little company that toured the coastal Northeast. They ran an ad in the paper and I just showed up. I got pretty good doing that stuff, and the kids loved it."<br />
<br />
But a "carney's life" was not to Estee's liking. "Those folks made the comic book boys look like priests! Swearing, drinking, gambling--and I was a pretty innocent kid!"<br />
<br />
Thus, Estee again switched careers. "I saw an article about rocket science, and thought, 'what the heck, I bet I can do it.' And sure enough, the government hired me!" Estee was a member of the team that designed various Apollo space missions. "I'm in the history books! Who knew, back when I was drawing 'The Eagle,' that I'd be sending a man into space? I've had good luck, and I admit it."<br />
<br />
Estee died a happy man in 1979--in a rare occurence for the business of panelology. He failed to note one achievement of which anyone would be proud. Given that Estee was a modest man, it's understandable that he might have overlooked this one feat of his life. Recent research has revealed that he held a 1970 patent on an automatic, touch-sensitive dispenser for paper towels--that commonly seen in restrooms around the world.<br />
<br />
If you don't have to touch a crank, or push a button, to receive clean paper towels in public, you're using "the Estee model," as they're called in the field of mechanical service devices. Estee lost the claim to his idea in a 1971 poker game, and others profited highly from his ahead-of-its-time concept. Such is life, and such is business. One man's dreams are most typically another man's fortune. <br />
<br />
POST-SCRIPT: It has been brought to my attention that anonymous threats have been made to me, via the "comments" section of this "blog." I demand that the perpetrator of this heinous misdeed show his or her face, and apologize at once! Apokogies to the rest of you for this airing of my "soiled laundry," but I must ask that this people (or peoples) cease and desist at once. There are authorities and punishments for such seditious acts, as you certainly must realize!<br />
<br />Mason J. Morayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16288522457980212295noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2577154746554800558.post-50053561954559660902013-05-27T11:45:00.001-07:002013-05-27T11:45:12.010-07:00A Life's Dear Dreams... "Up In Smoke"'Tis with great sorrow that I return to the bloggnhg scene. This article, from the local newspaper, tells the story with grea t clarity:<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLXEEIKmyX6Eze0suBc-xDCop4X0hNhAobGuAa-ef-uxndSOmRw12IGgWNu0P2O7fPJydErwsFx8r29mFs-GbYhz0UnINQEbk9ENjpVhFET7eOkNT9OQmP6eEHFu5xoGsgm8mjkGsMX6gb/s1600/Diner-fire-article.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLXEEIKmyX6Eze0suBc-xDCop4X0hNhAobGuAa-ef-uxndSOmRw12IGgWNu0P2O7fPJydErwsFx8r29mFs-GbYhz0UnINQEbk9ENjpVhFET7eOkNT9OQmP6eEHFu5xoGsgm8mjkGsMX6gb/s400/Diner-fire-article.png" width="400" /></a></div>
This dreadful night still reverbates in my thoughts. I am every so grateful that none of us was hurt, and that, yes indeed, we were "insured up the yazoo," thanks to the relentless advice of our next-door neighbor, Burt Liffler. It was imperative that we doubly insure our home, during the time that "Dorrie's Diner" occupied its first spot.<br />
<br />
When we moved to what we thought our permanent location, the insurance contract was transferred, with additional "riders" to accomodate the bistro's placement in an actual, "standing-alone" place of business.<br />
<br />
We are awaiting the red-tape of the insurance inspector's paperwork to "wrap up," but we have been assured that we will be nobly recompensed. It has been intimated to myself, in a "hush-hush" private communique, that our payment may exceed the amount of money we have put into both incarnations of the "Diner."<br />
<br />
So rest assured, dear friends, that we are not in "the harmed way." Rather, we are on "comfy street," despite the horrors that still occasionally jolt us out of a sound night's sleep.<br />
<br />
We are each thankful for what didn't occur. Dorrie is relieved that no one was in the Diner when the accursed fire occured. I am, of course, glad of that too. 'Tis double relief for me. That fateful night, I had almost forgotten to fetch a parcel of precious comic magazines that had sat 'neath the front counter for a few weeks.<br />
<br />
Among the items in the archival quality box were several issues of what I consider the <b>ne plus ultra</b> of the Age Panelological--the Fox Features title, <i>Science Comics</i>. It was, quite simply, too good to be true. While more pedestrian Fox titles flourished, <i>Science</i> was axed after eight mere issues.<br />
<br />
There will not, I'm sad to say, be any panelological gems in today's posting. I have been so busy with research and organization for my ongoing book project that any time spent with comic magazines has been devoted to their close scrutiny and study. <br />
<br />
While "taking a breather," I stopped by my local comics emporium, Killer Comix!, and chatted with its owner, Bart Jaffney. In our talk, my passionate testimony of the wonders of <i>Science Comics</i> moved him to demand an audience with the rare issues. He assured me he would purchase a new pair of Farrago Research Gloves (the finest handling gloves for contact with aging acidic papers), and examine them in my presence.<br />
<br />
Poor Bart! He spent 15 minutes paging through four issues. He uttered an occasional "huh!" or "huh?" before adjudging them as "pretty cool." I could tell he was just humoring me, and that his modern comic magazines, which he vends by the carload, had blurred his vision for the better things.<br />
<br />
I cannot criticize him. It would be as if I had asked a steady consumer of store-brand grape "pop" to tender his opinion of subtle fine wines. They might seem bitter and unpleasant to his palate, so used to carbonation and the chemical artistry of the grape flavoring. <br />
<br />
Similarly, were you to place a platter of fine Sherpa cusine before me, I might moodily pick at it, perhaps taste the corner of one seasoned potato, and deem it "okay." We all have different tastes, and bless the world for this!<br />
<br />
Dorrie and I have been in coupled counselling. We are part of a group entitled "Survivors of Fire: A Healing Community." The group meets twice weekly in the "Bronson Room" of Chip's Broiler, a fine-dining establishment located downtown. The leader of the group, Melinda Marx, speaks in a softly lulling voice that puts me under within 15 minutes' time.<br />
<br />
Parking is iffy, and I am often rudely awakened with a nudge of "the wife"'s elbow and asked for my input. I personally am no survivor of fire--I stood within 300 feet of the blaze, in my bathrobe and house slippers, but that, to me, does not comprise "survival."<br />
<br />
Were there a group entitled "Observers of Fire," I might more boldly partake of the twice-weekly event. It seems helpful for Dorrie, as she seems very upset at the demise of the Diner. Perhaps I take the events too much in stride, as a panelologist.<br />
<br />
We "men of the page" are accustomed to the dashing of dreams. That lone issue that would complete a run remains just out of reach; one cup of water, coffee or cola can destroy a prized periodical in a second's time; if abused in their first years of life, these comic magazines are slowly dying, browning and flaking away before our eyes. We are, thus, more incliged to "wax philosophical" about loss and tragedy.<br />
<br />
The world gives... and it also takes away. But it does keep giving. As a result of the fire, we will be able to take a vacation to Lake Tahoe. There, Dorrie will sunbathe, dip herself in the chilling waters of the great deep Lake, and play volleyball with complete strangers. I will relax in air-conditioned splendor, as I continue my ongoing research for my magnum "opus."<br />
<br />
As well, I have been alloted 3,000 dollars in "madness money," to invest in more vintage comic magazines. I plan to purchase replacement copies and condition upgrades of several key issues in the New Pantheon.<br />
<br />
It just happens that a comic-book convention will be held near Lake Tahoe, on the weekend of the eight-day stay we have booked. I hope to acquire some of these gems in-person. I am accustomed to ebAy, and find it a suitable conduit for new purchases. Still, nothing can replace the thrill of a first-hand "find." The sudden sight of its bright colors, its alluring protective sheath, the shock of its hand-lettered price tag,and the resultant "dickering" with its vendor, are all near and dear to my heart and soul.<br />
<br />
While revisiting some of my early "Fanzine" efforts of the 1960s, I encountered this poem I wrote, at age 19. Its sentiments are as true to me now as they were in 1970, when I first penned it. (At the bottom of the page is the end of the last interview with , who was an inker of Western comic magazines in his final days.)<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmVOpuZMO8EoZcxInghR0cRnMGU-T20GqQI-YfwNm8kyKw1bB893HdzETxY-9_pbOhdoKRM8ybWku6P3_Bt_YudCjPcuD1Q6Ktn7WQ2PSXf10OVhoHiTmRePxArs4dOW2Stu7e73Yj-OqW/s1600/Mason+poem+fanzine.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmVOpuZMO8EoZcxInghR0cRnMGU-T20GqQI-YfwNm8kyKw1bB893HdzETxY-9_pbOhdoKRM8ybWku6P3_Bt_YudCjPcuD1Q6Ktn7WQ2PSXf10OVhoHiTmRePxArs4dOW2Stu7e73Yj-OqW/s400/Mason+poem+fanzine.jpg" width="308" /> </a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
I fully intend to comtinue this blog, and after our return from Lake Tahoe, I shall no doubt have much news to report. For one thing, we've entrusted the household to "Sparks" for the duration of our vacation. I trust<i> this </i>structure will still be standing upon our return! </div>
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />Mason J. Morayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16288522457980212295noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2577154746554800558.post-84661986311077815142013-03-02T09:16:00.000-08:002013-03-02T09:16:21.615-08:00"The Black Orchid"-- and the stunning story of its creators, Albert and Florence Magarian, from the enigmatic Tops Comic BookFriends,<br /><br />Greetings and salutations! I seem doomed to begin these "posts" with an apology for my protracted absence. However, this time it is kustified.<br /><br />I have been recovering from my "nasty spill" of late last year, while also working with efreveish intensity on my masterwork royale: <i>The Golden Art of The Era Panelologic: 1937-1942.</i> My original estimate of a trifling 1,000 pages now seems too modest. Indeed, this tome may well encompass 5,000 pages of fact, history and great comic book work from these six most golden years.<br /><br />I trawl through a lifetime of research, interviews, doscuments and other facts to achieve this goal. It is my hope that this long-overdue book shall be taught in universities and other institutes of higher learning, and live long past my brief stay on this "mortal coil."<br /><br />I am oft made keenly aware of material that falls beyond the scope of my "tome," but which still intrigues me, as it contains the essence of the art panelologic. Great works succeeded the "golden six" years of my book. Thus, I feel an urgency to share it here, while "the iron" is "hot." <br /><br />In 1979, I acquired a most unusual comic book publication. So unique is its format that I had, indeed, forgotten I had it! It was stored, page by page, in a series of archival rice-paper envelopes, tucked in the middle of box W-3.<br /><br />This book is the stuff of which dreams are made. There is a bit of intriguing history behind its publisher. The humbly named Consolidated Book Publishers were what one might wisely call a "journeyman press."<br />
<br />
Their presses rolled night and day, printing everything from newspapers
to banners to coloring books to restaurant menus. Their Apex Laminaster
2200 gave them the "edge" to succeed in printing any documents that
needed protection, via a laminated cover.<br /><br />By 1943, the comic book
boom was duly noted by even the least likely sources. Due to "the war,"
comic magazines were the preferred reqding matter of our boys overseas.
In their shell-shocked state, great work sof literature were beyond the
grasp of "our fighting forces." Whereas, the immediacy, impact and
power of the panelological page spoke directly to their needs and hopes.<br /><br />Thus,
Consolidated hoped to join the comic-book boom. It was seen as "the
right thing to do," and a patriotic gesture of solidarity towards "our
boys." <br /><br />In-between a large run of laminated menus for a railroad
line, they attempted to publish their first, fledgling effort in the
comic magazine realm: <i>Tops Comics</i>. At a bonus 128-page size, the
brick-like booklet would be shipped overseas and dropped, by parachute,
into the theater of Pacific war. Copies, of course, would be sold
"state-side" at news stands, but the idea was to give "the boys" a solid
selection of thrills and laughs--the latter served up with a ream of
"little moron jokes" and the detective spoof of "Dikky Dinkerton."<br /><br />Due
to a misunderstanding of the press operator, the entire run of Tops
Comics was accidentally printed on laminated menu paper. Thus, one
128-page issue weighed some 14 pounds, and had a girth of nearly one
foot! This was deemed unwise to ship overseas (altho' its laminate would
have aptly protected it from the humidity and grime of the Padific
Theater).<br /><br />To make the matter worse, after the loss of revenue in
waste from this printing mishap, newsdealers refused to carry the bulky,
slippery product. One bundled "issue" broke loose in a Minneapolis
hotel on a rainy afternoon. Its loose, laminated pages caused 11
slipping accidents, including one severe head trauma. <br /><br />The
resultant bad publicity ("Mother, 32, Whacks Noggin in Minn
Hotel--Blames So-Called 'Comic Magazine' For Fall," read one national
headline) temporarily derailed Consolidated Book Publishers. The pages
languished in a dank warehouse until 1979, when Kurt Bolton discovered
them and first distributed them to interested "fans." I was among the
first to receive this parcel of musty, yellowing-but-cleanable comics
history.<br /><br />I pried one page apart, out of curiosity, and found that
a perfectly-preserved printed page awaited beneath. I eventually
separated all 128 pages from their time-worn plastic prisons. Since
then, they have remained in their special envelopes, safe from sunlight
or other damanging agents--and, until late last night, from my memory!<br /><br />Most
intriguing of the features accidentally printed on crisp cardstock, in a
variety of color options, is "the Black Orchid," the creation of one of
the most unique family teams in comicdom-- Albert and Florence
Magarian. I shall tell their astounding tale after you have immersed
yourself in the uniquely doom-laden, tense world of "The Black Orchid!"<br /> <br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1_IdgviDe__XUBwZZ2o5PqlRNFH-PNz_qnhkfc8vGtzJ_YtehrrYEJOgmtcORW1wqJ4wKr3erevVUu_GBdarKYfuAOx-VOnCIok0hrA4GYe0cB_n4z5YjOZbYJ_x4tKwVYU8eDU63tzKV/s1600/Topps002.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1_IdgviDe__XUBwZZ2o5PqlRNFH-PNz_qnhkfc8vGtzJ_YtehrrYEJOgmtcORW1wqJ4wKr3erevVUu_GBdarKYfuAOx-VOnCIok0hrA4GYe0cB_n4z5YjOZbYJ_x4tKwVYU8eDU63tzKV/s320/Topps002.jpg" width="203" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGgbNfukWbBC6A81F5mu6fovg_LxeMtzWDesm1Y3yHQGZlyNMPTRRjDFM-iiMPOM68enTOtDHY_zZwH8XABj3pv711ZChyphenhyphenBcrvjgTlykdVMofNuEiAACwIi3_qys7QsxUFdmqdM_fYLUp0/s1600/Topps003.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGgbNfukWbBC6A81F5mu6fovg_LxeMtzWDesm1Y3yHQGZlyNMPTRRjDFM-iiMPOM68enTOtDHY_zZwH8XABj3pv711ZChyphenhyphenBcrvjgTlykdVMofNuEiAACwIi3_qys7QsxUFdmqdM_fYLUp0/s320/Topps003.jpg" width="217" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQba1RPZo5zBLPnsWOxMO3II1y9bV7lAZ8DdXq1I2MVOIbEZVIiXa9a55MRI_ic26Yz8A7NKJ4UDx4jTG4hY4AVF9jeaCODK6TnGqF6QDhEi66Y60jL5mHXQwBYQerUi6YexlEtjUk2yAS/s1600/Topps004.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQba1RPZo5zBLPnsWOxMO3II1y9bV7lAZ8DdXq1I2MVOIbEZVIiXa9a55MRI_ic26Yz8A7NKJ4UDx4jTG4hY4AVF9jeaCODK6TnGqF6QDhEi66Y60jL5mHXQwBYQerUi6YexlEtjUk2yAS/s320/Topps004.jpg" width="214" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZ3YsESP5apw4eCLM9nVimcoP05-AIEjswhJIXm8RszYFKoT1LByqSOZLcBJzQDLAnlsly_ixkuBljFAJHO3Es0CiHs7EksjOUWYnoV3pRx3Ty8mKaMjIhK6TiqHMkqDuytmQQZ4n3lMeM/s1600/Topps005.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZ3YsESP5apw4eCLM9nVimcoP05-AIEjswhJIXm8RszYFKoT1LByqSOZLcBJzQDLAnlsly_ixkuBljFAJHO3Es0CiHs7EksjOUWYnoV3pRx3Ty8mKaMjIhK6TiqHMkqDuytmQQZ4n3lMeM/s320/Topps005.jpg" width="216" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh91M_qbobMN-7EqpBjT_z6NHscf-qNriLCxV06KvvfxwL0bUaUIbXx9YslvTln_mRBRkl_G5oVRPyjOxSv1P5SKShFWzZWw_6RK06WdqIsqZkYPeQNibYLNAMfbsqAHAOu3uaWyimesQAM/s1600/Topps006.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh91M_qbobMN-7EqpBjT_z6NHscf-qNriLCxV06KvvfxwL0bUaUIbXx9YslvTln_mRBRkl_G5oVRPyjOxSv1P5SKShFWzZWw_6RK06WdqIsqZkYPeQNibYLNAMfbsqAHAOu3uaWyimesQAM/s320/Topps006.jpg" width="213" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMODwwvJQUSVI998MKDmKQHfcqWb45K-bj7iLbvHvAjrK_U_HdpJAungQWtDm2Oshi9Snc_qRzV5cZn_BU_AvGaxZLFpH3tNxzDIaBEY3iidxv7VZX6W_WDDaYVsutlxO-wCqThTzAsigx/s1600/Topps007.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMODwwvJQUSVI998MKDmKQHfcqWb45K-bj7iLbvHvAjrK_U_HdpJAungQWtDm2Oshi9Snc_qRzV5cZn_BU_AvGaxZLFpH3tNxzDIaBEY3iidxv7VZX6W_WDDaYVsutlxO-wCqThTzAsigx/s320/Topps007.jpg" width="215" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigMoq6tDwQDn2U59HNjW5P7hpXAOzWPepe-lUs5yJ1YIPV20xZXRjp52NzBC4X6KoZyy7D_z89r9RTDR6dIghzCyhSRJhUhtWIZMCdZtAhZv-p7k4ibF7sWwFuB86ClhwNze5cklU2vdir/s1600/Topps008.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigMoq6tDwQDn2U59HNjW5P7hpXAOzWPepe-lUs5yJ1YIPV20xZXRjp52NzBC4X6KoZyy7D_z89r9RTDR6dIghzCyhSRJhUhtWIZMCdZtAhZv-p7k4ibF7sWwFuB86ClhwNze5cklU2vdir/s320/Topps008.jpg" width="216" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifW9wFGlsYCdYd_AJiiUIu67vnKo3tGyH4wDMj5VYIOc9G_uHPsgSW215S0k51dFw3fA3LGB0Ojj1swnEiWSRYkQlGviml-Mlx-tWN3M0unPVoFCXdo70nRt5jMl-6K7ePbO7THeDpWNOq/s1600/Topps009.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifW9wFGlsYCdYd_AJiiUIu67vnKo3tGyH4wDMj5VYIOc9G_uHPsgSW215S0k51dFw3fA3LGB0Ojj1swnEiWSRYkQlGviml-Mlx-tWN3M0unPVoFCXdo70nRt5jMl-6K7ePbO7THeDpWNOq/s320/Topps009.jpg" width="216" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyVR8h-KSzpvySUNknPtwbQon4-qSKU1qBOwxWFBUjFF-H2umFo8aLg8NfZ23ZmTrc4XvNvIzvgTaYUSVffevqlCYrfr9UUlLAzreFMHEyQBVF9LKhyphenhyphenC8ahEBBJfrAMtkLT66I0BD24jAR/s1600/Topps010.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyVR8h-KSzpvySUNknPtwbQon4-qSKU1qBOwxWFBUjFF-H2umFo8aLg8NfZ23ZmTrc4XvNvIzvgTaYUSVffevqlCYrfr9UUlLAzreFMHEyQBVF9LKhyphenhyphenC8ahEBBJfrAMtkLT66I0BD24jAR/s320/Topps010.jpg" width="216" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiC3iUq3owJY6UXZMMwH-MUPDs9bfelFJNDOlQcGWiiw6TpXXqSocdgNbw_-FAp_cE19XOXduwdmpl27eo3hJqh9WDwU-yeAiJfDLwxfZiy0Zygu31el7RS4eMy0GlmrH3FSIi1yN-xE512/s1600/Topps011.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiC3iUq3owJY6UXZMMwH-MUPDs9bfelFJNDOlQcGWiiw6TpXXqSocdgNbw_-FAp_cE19XOXduwdmpl27eo3hJqh9WDwU-yeAiJfDLwxfZiy0Zygu31el7RS4eMy0GlmrH3FSIi1yN-xE512/s320/Topps011.jpg" width="215" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEQgZ175GoPySpu8w-HNvmGUFudckpuok07ehxiLOBt8S0Wk6cj46hQ62e7jAMjm8MVuLh37MXO2TDrWDhCu2gQiuJgOHzz2geOyrNuoDpKXCOHtAtoxdt2jAEVYISUzLDP95Yjiy7J8ik/s1600/Topps012.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEQgZ175GoPySpu8w-HNvmGUFudckpuok07ehxiLOBt8S0Wk6cj46hQ62e7jAMjm8MVuLh37MXO2TDrWDhCu2gQiuJgOHzz2geOyrNuoDpKXCOHtAtoxdt2jAEVYISUzLDP95Yjiy7J8ik/s320/Topps012.jpg" width="211" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSMGEUNwP0S8HXJFBjaPxaPysZYxefkIZ0iJ88BlbLOAs_xtho56_iGkN5GDAazA2Vp6tXpCx_J4j2UtxlBV2fHvRVbL4lmnWLZlOvooddhaZNU1bPsPN7LeIpEankneB-d2DPcz-gkpu0/s1600/Topps013.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSMGEUNwP0S8HXJFBjaPxaPysZYxefkIZ0iJ88BlbLOAs_xtho56_iGkN5GDAazA2Vp6tXpCx_J4j2UtxlBV2fHvRVbL4lmnWLZlOvooddhaZNU1bPsPN7LeIpEankneB-d2DPcz-gkpu0/s320/Topps013.jpg" width="214" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIJTKp3cC9CEZTOOAKvwh-hP95G1MCxkmrqz3gm1jGmHHzEDCieUq11NlChjuHH9ufiNo7iiggvwBodG_1W1Zl4efCs2QHhw2H2-MGeu5BFjDH6m11lb5pTHeLYV-81pD5ynZ0E20nn4er/s1600/Topps019.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIJTKp3cC9CEZTOOAKvwh-hP95G1MCxkmrqz3gm1jGmHHzEDCieUq11NlChjuHH9ufiNo7iiggvwBodG_1W1Zl4efCs2QHhw2H2-MGeu5BFjDH6m11lb5pTHeLYV-81pD5ynZ0E20nn4er/s320/Topps019.jpg" width="203" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhq-RowLMgUuIQAOuz_ePgxIU1I7Oti9CqoUSaxeYZkq1fRnf8Dqp9pZOdq7BIRnNBdu7MISooq8Kh_1hkR3G7NrumXAV5qKy8PzpVEg-pPJlsyPbtRtZ25ILnJQDUAm3RImu3dBbGdsLgI/s1600/Topps014.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhq-RowLMgUuIQAOuz_ePgxIU1I7Oti9CqoUSaxeYZkq1fRnf8Dqp9pZOdq7BIRnNBdu7MISooq8Kh_1hkR3G7NrumXAV5qKy8PzpVEg-pPJlsyPbtRtZ25ILnJQDUAm3RImu3dBbGdsLgI/s320/Topps014.jpg" width="210" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAxcnTg-MQPr_63NEbwBjExf9Q0NelryKU7To_xqlRn4zAyVFOAr1qjcR8b5wf7vrwkyOQIiwcS3KfLvnkU-3zMadUSTTi8FP8Kvd90t1o6MLvqeiAo0jUkTFpBN7fT4sm4jbhRRk8QvyH/s1600/Topps020.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAxcnTg-MQPr_63NEbwBjExf9Q0NelryKU7To_xqlRn4zAyVFOAr1qjcR8b5wf7vrwkyOQIiwcS3KfLvnkU-3zMadUSTTi8FP8Kvd90t1o6MLvqeiAo0jUkTFpBN7fT4sm4jbhRRk8QvyH/s320/Topps020.jpg" width="196" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaqqmcUxMinJtbJp1DtdVS4aC3qestOKHeLIvwukXqOIO3HyhI63v4e7pXHLGaxdBMCM0U61WJYUO_3Rodpq8QRWl8P7G_isNHO-UoA8FHIL6QQnsXfqgEB3Btvbk09LZPhw1uqj0EEF0P/s1600/Topps021.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaqqmcUxMinJtbJp1DtdVS4aC3qestOKHeLIvwukXqOIO3HyhI63v4e7pXHLGaxdBMCM0U61WJYUO_3Rodpq8QRWl8P7G_isNHO-UoA8FHIL6QQnsXfqgEB3Btvbk09LZPhw1uqj0EEF0P/s320/Topps021.jpg" width="203" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirm73TmR5dXBISexzZD9qeo9Qgb9Km-Fz5jtpioKrgLAXNvSPuhQpTckzzSQ4IZjcdPUD4V04E01ecX3wRHd4Ogg8OOjeaWm1ygJAL6bLkrXPK0SQl5RqH6dxDdLJAmbBOANwm7_r6D3Sx/s1600/Topps022.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirm73TmR5dXBISexzZD9qeo9Qgb9Km-Fz5jtpioKrgLAXNvSPuhQpTckzzSQ4IZjcdPUD4V04E01ecX3wRHd4Ogg8OOjeaWm1ygJAL6bLkrXPK0SQl5RqH6dxDdLJAmbBOANwm7_r6D3Sx/s320/Topps022.jpg" width="205" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHvF90LJCE7ogwhd4W7N75kS-DfZmeECBJy8QevCAjXe3LihwWn97ypCaBdbLj2ZHKCNKoB0OeDB8MsJEa30frdScx7QjdrK7IpC-fJJ_8e1r54sN4fxLahJ-8rPCyKGkfEdznSDyAkHgf/s1600/Topps023.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHvF90LJCE7ogwhd4W7N75kS-DfZmeECBJy8QevCAjXe3LihwWn97ypCaBdbLj2ZHKCNKoB0OeDB8MsJEa30frdScx7QjdrK7IpC-fJJ_8e1r54sN4fxLahJ-8rPCyKGkfEdznSDyAkHgf/s320/Topps023.jpg" width="199" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipHLRbE2pZ7yztXSAft1udHRSNGxb-6Z7bWS-DkjZDt7A-3iok_AloF4XYalrjcKHNP_pXnfkmRY9uy8FI8Hjt49eZ46OxudnppZh39N_IAXzJ601NIkSsieFi3ThIUNphoJbEa5uaU3Cr/s1600/Topps024.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipHLRbE2pZ7yztXSAft1udHRSNGxb-6Z7bWS-DkjZDt7A-3iok_AloF4XYalrjcKHNP_pXnfkmRY9uy8FI8Hjt49eZ46OxudnppZh39N_IAXzJ601NIkSsieFi3ThIUNphoJbEa5uaU3Cr/s320/Topps024.jpg" width="198" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJ7U2Q88sjQXharwKK8Bgs7si4kYwJcbx4UoYY_d1CivhTAhuK9h_oHPpE7fP7WxHl_s_s_0VS7GqNj0q18zFIUhYIkUhWmgPXN6x5-26hA0yi0nKiOQKr2CH5EkonwRM5VjnkZbYD12wY/s1600/Topps025.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJ7U2Q88sjQXharwKK8Bgs7si4kYwJcbx4UoYY_d1CivhTAhuK9h_oHPpE7fP7WxHl_s_s_0VS7GqNj0q18zFIUhYIkUhWmgPXN6x5-26hA0yi0nKiOQKr2CH5EkonwRM5VjnkZbYD12wY/s320/Topps025.jpg" width="206" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQ1CwCtcFouVqn2nU8DnegK9k1-OtOw6WvnsiYV3QqXUTtOxPlntA7iMLcrMQoNvwO3DeI8DxQEKSuNTMc2W0fpRvAxsDsjTt13K7ealR-sC6LgBEDYhFOPaWVeFFsXrcmwOO3D5ZS24bt/s1600/Topps026.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQ1CwCtcFouVqn2nU8DnegK9k1-OtOw6WvnsiYV3QqXUTtOxPlntA7iMLcrMQoNvwO3DeI8DxQEKSuNTMc2W0fpRvAxsDsjTt13K7ealR-sC6LgBEDYhFOPaWVeFFsXrcmwOO3D5ZS24bt/s320/Topps026.jpg" width="201" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhu5JiKCJjWwTuyTrHfRqqdKBdICsFvhCbajORc7shEtJgFrjIFXawklSKC1qyRDWeFXmyKaZh0pJXELPIDxNw9KgHtfkdffW4f65pre1KvzG9jDy9itAbZzBKcmjjHR9D7epGdgARL4-iz/s1600/Topps027.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhu5JiKCJjWwTuyTrHfRqqdKBdICsFvhCbajORc7shEtJgFrjIFXawklSKC1qyRDWeFXmyKaZh0pJXELPIDxNw9KgHtfkdffW4f65pre1KvzG9jDy9itAbZzBKcmjjHR9D7epGdgARL4-iz/s320/Topps027.jpg" width="202" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh862nRu0HM4IppA_Qa4Ozxfo2M1HTV97PU_cseVQSvPztOMSkNViJoah6eLxnBZCM5itVVIC0EOzb6QD_grrRIZCqPGRPTUUpZHTIHnBsAa2_9xwsO5jbhpefHlxHqbaBslQJMFwKa0FZq/s1600/Topps028.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh862nRu0HM4IppA_Qa4Ozxfo2M1HTV97PU_cseVQSvPztOMSkNViJoah6eLxnBZCM5itVVIC0EOzb6QD_grrRIZCqPGRPTUUpZHTIHnBsAa2_9xwsO5jbhpefHlxHqbaBslQJMFwKa0FZq/s320/Topps028.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiESLjk_41djU4bi_FsxsF-3_SRoN_J4P5Dy-c9tukL4654wrsJVwoTiPec4kqFIK0VeV83-wyELLmD-dutUCG-YXGsYmY54gIZuLhFeGBBvYqIKjmy8Mrmi2WdQQcqHlNZWNehRTZTZbVz/s1600/Topps029.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiESLjk_41djU4bi_FsxsF-3_SRoN_J4P5Dy-c9tukL4654wrsJVwoTiPec4kqFIK0VeV83-wyELLmD-dutUCG-YXGsYmY54gIZuLhFeGBBvYqIKjmy8Mrmi2WdQQcqHlNZWNehRTZTZbVz/s320/Topps029.jpg" width="203" /></a></div>
<br /><br />Stunned, eh? I know well the feeling. Now, onto the matter of the creative team behind these stories. One would assume, from the credit of Albert and Florence Magarian, that these creators were husband and wife--rather like the Berenstain family of those charming children's books. Brace yourself for one of the weirdest stories in panelology.<br /><br />Albert and Florence Magarian were Siamese twins!<br /><br />According to<a href="http://www.charmingitaly.com/different-types-of-pasta/"> this website, </a>Siamese twins tend to be of the same gender. Given the endless quirks and quadrants of our DNA, it's no wonder that this roll of the genetic dice rendered a boy/girl co-joined birth. Albert and Florence were born in 1919 in the Bronx. From infancy, both children demonstrated an artistic bent. As one family story recounts, their uncle Farrell witnessed the tots each absorbed in a different creative action. While Albert doodled on the living room wall with a grease crayon, Margaret strained to play the keys of the family's out-of-tune spinet piano.<br /><br />Due to a public outcry against Siamese twins in the 1920s, the Magarians were home-schooled, and seldom, if ever, left their home. In isolation, the brother and sister both turned to drawing. Each excelled in a different area. Margaret, the twin on the left (if viewing from their point of view) was a gifted draftswoman, with a sensitivity to contour and dimension. Albert, on the right, excelled at painting and fine-lined rendering.<br /><br />If ever a team was literally born to create comic book material, it was the Magarians!<br /><br />From 1939 to 1967, Albert and Florence Magarian created some 11,000 pages of comic book story and art. They fearlessly embraced all genres, and astounded editors with their elegant work--and, most impressively, with the speed in which they delivered finished stories.<br />
<br />
Given an assignment by messenger, a script could be "turned about" in a matter of hours (if it were, say, a teenage humor piece) or days (if a more complex Western, war or historial tale).<br /><br />The Magarians never met any of their employers. Their communication was by telegram and telephone. Farrell Safkarian, the afore-mentioned uncle, was interviwed by myself in 1981, and offered these revealing glimpses into a truly hidden life:<br /><br /><b>FS: They never left that two-bedroom apartment. Maybe once, in '52, when Albert had to have a root canal. The headaches got to them both, you see.<br /><i><br />MM: Did you ever see them at work?</i><br /><br />FS: (laughs) When DIDN'T they work? Night and day, they was at that [drawing] board. She sketched in the figures, you see, with her left hand. Albert had the pen and brush ready. He'd be finishing a drawing while she was still sketching it! <br /><br /><i>MM: Twas true teamwork, then.</i><br /><br />FS: It had to be. They were like a married couple. Got on one another's nerves all the time. Albert smoked cigars. Margaret hated the smell. And she had a habit of humming the same tune, over and over, for hours at a time. Boy, would they yell! And fuss! The walls were splattered with ink, from Albert throwin' the bottles at Margaret. Only he could never hit her. She was too close. But those walls, boy. You could smell india Ink the minute you walked in there.<br /><br /><i>MM: Did you see them often?</i><br /><br />FS: I was their errand boy! Got them groceries, went to the publisher's offices and got scripts. That was before they started to write their own stuff. And, of course, I took the big boards in for 'em.<br /><br /><i>MM: Boards?</i><br /><br />FS: The pictures. They did 'em on these big papers. Looked like boards to me. All wrapped up. I don't know who wrapped 'em. But they were always wrapped in butcher paper and tied with twine. Really neat knots.<br /><br /><i>MM: What else did you do for them?</i><br /><br />FS: Changed the radio stations. Albert loved the dramatic programs. I also went to see movies for 'em.<br /><br /><i>MM: Indeed?</i><br /><br />FS: I'd see the picture, memorize the story, and tell 'em about it. I guess they wanted ideas for their comic books.<br /><br /><i>MM: What did you think of their work?</i><br /><br />FS: (laughs) Aw, it was just for kids. I never looked at it. Was always surprised how well they got paid to do that stuff.<br /><br /><i>MM: Well, sir, there are many who declare this 'kid stuff' to be the thing of artistry.</i><br /><br />FS: (laughs) There's one born every minute...<br /><br /><i>MM: Did Albert and Florence ever meet with their publishers?</i><br /><br />FS: Nope. Never left that flat. They were afraid that if the world knew about 'em, bein' joined at the hip, that they'd lose their jobs. They spent their entire life in that apartment. Come spring and summer, I'd move their table by the window. When it got cold, we set it up near the radiator.<br /><br />Albert was a sleepwalker...<br /><br /><i>MM: You don't say!</i><br /><br />FS: I just did. He'd get up at night, walk around the rooms, out like a light. Margaret got used to it. She had me get her one of those miner's hats--you know, with the light on the top. At least she could read while Albert did his business. Then he'd get right back into bed like nothing happened. (laughs) <br /><br />They were something else!</b><br /><br />Indeed, their uncle's summation still proves apt. Albert and Florence Magarian, though they lived behind a curtain of shame, and distanced themselves from society, ironically helped influence the tastes of that tempting outside world. How they must have longed to join the throngs on the street beneath their window! How alluring must those gentle spring zephyrs have been! Yet they never dared expose themselves to the world.<br /><br />Yet they did bear their souls through the medium of panelology. And for this, we remain ever thankful.<br /><br />I am sorry not to have on offer any musings from my own personal life in this edition of the "bolg." My main priority is to present these forgotten works of the art panelologic. Perhaps I might best pursue a second "blog," strictly devoted to a diary of my daily comigs and goings. What think you?<br /><br />Until next time, my comrades of the comic magazine!Mason J. Morayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16288522457980212295noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2577154746554800558.post-79184411813993361562012-12-02T10:06:00.000-08:002012-12-02T10:12:32.345-08:00The Tale of the Tail--I Am Back In Hospital! Plus "Atom Blake, the Boy Wizard" from "Wow Comics" #2<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
<w:WordDocument>
<w:View>Normal</w:View>
<w:Zoom>0</w:Zoom>
<w:TrackMoves/>
<w:TrackFormatting/>
<w:PunctuationKerning/>
<w:ValidateAgainstSchemas/>
<w:SaveIfXMLInvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid>
<w:IgnoreMixedContent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent>
<w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText>
<w:DoNotPromoteQF/>
<w:LidThemeOther>EN-US</w:LidThemeOther>
<w:LidThemeAsian>X-NONE</w:LidThemeAsian>
<w:LidThemeComplexScript>X-NONE</w:LidThemeComplexScript>
<w:Compatibility>
<w:BreakWrappedTables/>
<w:SnapToGridInCell/>
<w:WrapTextWithPunct/>
<w:UseAsianBreakRules/>
<w:DontGrowAutofit/>
<w:SplitPgBreakAndParaMark/>
<w:DontVertAlignCellWithSp/>
<w:DontBreakConstrainedForcedTables/>
<w:DontVertAlignInTxbx/>
<w:Word11KerningPairs/>
<w:CachedColBalance/>
</w:Compatibility>
<m:mathPr>
<m:mathFont m:val="Cambria Math"/>
<m:brkBin m:val="before"/>
<m:brkBinSub m:val="--"/>
<m:smallFrac m:val="off"/>
<m:dispDef/>
<m:lMargin m:val="0"/>
<m:rMargin m:val="0"/>
<m:defJc m:val="centerGroup"/>
<m:wrapIndent m:val="1440"/>
<m:intLim m:val="subSup"/>
<m:naryLim m:val="undOvr"/>
</m:mathPr></w:WordDocument>
</xml><![endif]--><br />
<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
<w:LatentStyles DefLockedState="false" DefUnhideWhenUsed="true"
DefSemiHidden="true" DefQFormat="false" DefPriority="99"
LatentStyleCount="267">
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="0" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" QFormat="true" Name="Normal"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="9" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" QFormat="true" Name="heading 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="9" QFormat="true" Name="heading 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="9" QFormat="true" Name="heading 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="9" QFormat="true" Name="heading 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="9" QFormat="true" Name="heading 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="9" QFormat="true" Name="heading 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="9" QFormat="true" Name="heading 7"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="9" QFormat="true" Name="heading 8"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="9" QFormat="true" Name="heading 9"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="39" Name="toc 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="39" Name="toc 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="39" Name="toc 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="39" Name="toc 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="39" Name="toc 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="39" Name="toc 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="39" Name="toc 7"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="39" Name="toc 8"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="39" Name="toc 9"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="35" QFormat="true" Name="caption"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="10" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" QFormat="true" Name="Title"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="1" Name="Default Paragraph Font"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="11" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" QFormat="true" Name="Subtitle"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="22" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" QFormat="true" Name="Strong"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="20" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" QFormat="true" Name="Emphasis"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="59" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Table Grid"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Placeholder Text"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="1" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" QFormat="true" Name="No Spacing"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="60" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Light Shading"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="61" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Light List"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="62" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Light Grid"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="63" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Shading 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="64" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Shading 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="65" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium List 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="66" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium List 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="67" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Grid 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="68" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Grid 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="69" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Grid 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="70" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Dark List"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="71" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Colorful Shading"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="72" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Colorful List"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="73" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Colorful Grid"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="60" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Light Shading Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="61" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Light List Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="62" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Light Grid Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="63" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Shading 1 Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="64" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Shading 2 Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="65" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium List 1 Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Revision"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="34" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" QFormat="true" Name="List Paragraph"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="29" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" QFormat="true" Name="Quote"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="30" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" QFormat="true" Name="Intense Quote"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="66" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium List 2 Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="67" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Grid 1 Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="68" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Grid 2 Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="69" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Grid 3 Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="70" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Dark List Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="71" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Colorful Shading Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="72" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Colorful List Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="73" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Colorful Grid Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="60" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Light Shading Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="61" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Light List Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="62" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Light Grid Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="63" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Shading 1 Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="64" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Shading 2 Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="65" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium List 1 Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="66" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium List 2 Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="67" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Grid 1 Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="68" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Grid 2 Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="69" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Grid 3 Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="70" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Dark List Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="71" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Colorful Shading Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="72" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Colorful List Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="73" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Colorful Grid Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="60" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Light Shading Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="61" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Light List Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="62" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Light Grid Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="63" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Shading 1 Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="64" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Shading 2 Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="65" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium List 1 Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="66" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium List 2 Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="67" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Grid 1 Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="68" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Grid 2 Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="69" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Grid 3 Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="70" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Dark List Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="71" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Colorful Shading Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="72" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Colorful List Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="73" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Colorful Grid Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="60" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Light Shading Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="61" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Light List Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="62" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Light Grid Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="63" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Shading 1 Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="64" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Shading 2 Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="65" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium List 1 Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="66" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium List 2 Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="67" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Grid 1 Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="68" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Grid 2 Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="69" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Grid 3 Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="70" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Dark List Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="71" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Colorful Shading Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="72" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Colorful List Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="73" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Colorful Grid Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="60" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Light Shading Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="61" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Light List Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="62" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Light Grid Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="63" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Shading 1 Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="64" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Shading 2 Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="65" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium List 1 Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="66" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium List 2 Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="67" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Grid 1 Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="68" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Grid 2 Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="69" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Grid 3 Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="70" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Dark List Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="71" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Colorful Shading Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="72" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Colorful List Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="73" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Colorful Grid Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="60" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Light Shading Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="61" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Light List Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="62" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Light Grid Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="63" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Shading 1 Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="64" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Shading 2 Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="65" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium List 1 Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="66" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium List 2 Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="67" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Grid 1 Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="68" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Grid 2 Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="69" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Grid 3 Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="70" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Dark List Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="71" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Colorful Shading Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="72" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Colorful List Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="73" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Colorful Grid Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="19" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" QFormat="true" Name="Subtle Emphasis"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="21" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" QFormat="true" Name="Intense Emphasis"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="31" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" QFormat="true" Name="Subtle Reference"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="32" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" QFormat="true" Name="Intense Reference"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="33" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" QFormat="true" Name="Book Title"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="37" Name="Bibliography"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="39" QFormat="true" Name="TOC Heading"/>
</w:LatentStyles>
</xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 10]>
<style>
/* Style Definitions */
table.MsoNormalTable
{mso-style-name:"Table Normal";
mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0;
mso-tstyle-colband-size:0;
mso-style-noshow:yes;
mso-style-priority:99;
mso-style-qformat:yes;
mso-style-parent:"";
mso-padding-alt:0in 5.4pt 0in 5.4pt;
mso-para-margin-top:0in;
mso-para-margin-right:0in;
mso-para-margin-bottom:10.0pt;
mso-para-margin-left:0in;
line-height:115%;
mso-pagination:widow-orphan;
font-size:11.0pt;
font-family:"Calibri","sans-serif";
mso-ascii-font-family:Calibri;
mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin;
mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman";
mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-fareast;
mso-hansi-font-family:Calibri;
mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin;}
</style>
<![endif]-->
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Friedns, it hab been far too long snice last we met.
I wirte these words from a hospital bed! It is dififclut to type on my laptop.
But try I shall to endeavor to achieve this goal. For you, my firndrs, are dear
and near to me—tho’ I may nvevr meet you in person, we are brothers of the art
panelologic!</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I have been in room 343 of the Emberton Memroial
Mecidal Center for two weeks now. And, no, dear reader, ‘twas not a bout of the
gout, as they might quip. ‘Tis a most exotic ailment that afflicts me! I have a
broken coccyx! You may well call this “The Tale of THe Tail!”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">‘Twas a pleasant night in Novebmer… the air was mild
and csirp, with the woodsy smell of the autumn season. Typically, Raphael mops
the Diner on Thusrday nights. He has always done it—nveer having been asked,
never having apparently voltuneered for the task. He does artful work with a
mop, bucket and his “</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">mezcla
de mezcla especial”—in relatiy a blend of Comet, Clorox, Pine-Sol and parsley
flakes. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">There—I
have managed to ring for a nurse, and get this bed-table adjusted! What a
difference this makes1 Now I shall try to be a more mindful tpyist. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">On this
fateful Thursday, Raphael had to leave immediately upon closing—he referred,
throughout the day, to a “special errand” and, to be sure, seemed pre-occupied.
His heart was apparently not in his usually zestful role of maître d’ for
Dorrie’s Diner. He merely waved in new visitors, as would a grade school
crossing guard, and let them meander to any apparently open spot.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Among one
such group were a party of toddlers, from a nearby daycare center. A pair of
harried, frazzled young adults accompanied them. There was much talk of “an ice-cream
treat,” the mere mentoin of which whipped this wee group into a frenzy.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">One child
had a mesh sack filled with those “Hot Wheel” cars that have been so polupar
for so many years. His sole focus was on these tiny stylized autos. An endless
array of motor sounds—all quite convincing—issued forth from his young lungs.
Several times, I cringed in anticipation of the sudden impact of a truck into
the vulnerable North Wing of the Diner, which faces a very busy, frantic State
Road.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Much ice
cream was messily consumed, and the sated babes bobbled out the door. The dnier
suddenly seemed quiet—as they say in old war movies, “a little too quiet.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Shortly
thereafter, patrons complained of “that sticky floor.” One surprised elder
gentleman tapped me on the shoulder several times, to get my attention, then
told me. “Almost lost my shoe. Something should be done, sir. Something should
be done!”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">As
foot-traffic commenced, during the dinner hour, the floor became more of a
hazard. Thursday nights the Diner tupically entertains a group of Whist
players. They bring their own cards, a great deal of boisterous good spirit,
and several bags of pistachio nuts, still in their sturdy shells. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Their card
games are “fast and furious,” and tend to shoo other customers out. Fortnately,
these Whist-ers have big appetites, mostly for desserts, and tend to run up a
sizable bill at night’s end. They kept Raphael “hopping” with constant requests
for coffee refills, crème brulee re-orders, and such.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">The
slapping of the cards, the crackling of nut shells, and the constant murmur of
their voices has become a Diner ritual on Thursdays. I was, truth told, anxious
for the day to end.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I had a “four day
weekend” commencing on that Friday, and was eager to spend some “quality time”
at the “New Pantheon,” the better to reconnect with you kind friends and share
some four-color jewels from the “vault.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">In such a
mood, I tend to daydream, and disconnect from the humdrum world around me. I
was lost in a reverie of my discovery of a significant new Fox Features title, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Hi-Tension Comics</i> (which, alas, does not
exist). Such “visions” are fairly common to me, and inevitably result in
confusion and disappointment, as I rifle through my archives in the “Pantheon”
only to realize the title I seek is not in this plane of reality.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">You see, I
have my spiritual side, too! Are we not all complex beings?</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Finally,
the Whist fest came to an end. The bill was paid, and the entourage of
“gamers” went to their abodes to dream of another Thursday. Upon their
departure, I discovered a startling admixture of expended nut shells and the
crispy, brittle candy-like toppings of crème burlee in small mounds on the
floor.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Coffee and whipped cream spills aggravated this catastrophe. On top of
the down-trodden, adhesive remnants of the ice-cream, from earlier that day,
the floor was a disaster area.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">As I
pondered this dire situation, Raphael bid me a cheerful goodnight. He was
dressed in a 1940s style pin-stripe suit, complete with fedora. In one hand he
carried a Whitman’s Sampler. In the other, a well-worn suitcase. “See you soon
amigo!” he cried with delight as he “hit the road.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">The accountancy
of the day’s “take” was a consumptive nightmare that even I, the seasoned CPA,
could barely fathom. One hour of intense “number crunching” and the receipts
were tallied, and the books balanced. At last I could retire for the day!</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Then I
realized the floor must be attended to! </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">With a
deep sigh, I plodded into the back storeroom. I wheeled out the mop bucket, and
fashioned my own blend of Comet, Clorox and Pine-Sol. I could not find a
container of parsley flakes, so I substituted some ground nutmeg.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Before the
mopping proper could commence, I had to sweep, chisel and otherwise bodily
remove the more three-dimensonal aspects of the floor’s contents. My friends,
those pistachio shells were almost ankle-high under the table! I had to use a
metal dustpan to chip away at the brulee accumulation. I must have swept up
100,000 expended nut shells that night… which stressed my lower back
critically, preparing me for my incumbent calamity.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Having
removed the worst of the debris, the mopping wsa a mere formality. It took
several “passes” to render the floor walkable and clean. The pungent blend of
cleaning products tore at my nostrils. Sweat beaded on my weary brow. And then,
finally, the dire task was done!</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Oh, how
weary I was. I am no spring chicken! My lower back creaked as I stood up. I
wheeled the mop bucket to the darkest recesses of the backroom, and left it for
Katrice to empty. (She will empty any open container of liquid she encounters,
as I have discovered when lifting a once-full mug of coffee to my lips, only to
find its contents gone.)</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">I wiped my
brow, gathered myself together, and doused the Diner’s lights. The deposit
could wait ‘til the morning!</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Then, as I
approached the door, my right foot met with one of those accursed “How Wheels”
cars. <i><b>Zip!</b></i> I left the ground. I scrambled to regain control of my footing. Then
my left foot encountered a pistachio nut, forgotten from the Whist players!
<i><b>Zoom!</b></i> Again I lunged, my right foot once again connecting with the “Hot Wheels”
toy. Down went McGinty—er, Moray! </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">I fell
with a thud on my tail-bone. The impact loosened a flock of laminated Diner
menus. These rained upon my head in a dull shower.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Oddly, I
felt no pain. Rather, a curious relief washed over me. I was off my feet. I
stared up at the darkened ceiling, and then thought it best to close my eyes,
to regain my composure for the trip home…</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">“Hey,
fella,” a coarse voice said. Something hard tapped at my shoe. “Let’s see some
ID, fella.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">I had
dozed! I woke with anxiety, and saw a policeman hovering above me. “Wh-where am
I…”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">“Better
come with me and sleep it off, fella…”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">“I beg
your pardon! I am the owner—rather, co-owner—of this establishment. If you’ll
permit me to rise to my feet…”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">And then,
dear reader, my heartache (or backache!) began. As Officer Rutledge, the fellow
who tapped my shoe and roused me, later informed me, I fainted as I attempted
to stand tall. An ambulance was called, and I rushed to Emberton Memorial.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">I was
informed that I had broken an un-needed bone—that of the coccyx, or the “tail
bone.” Like the appendix, there is not need for it in our daily lives, and yet
it has persisted throughout time in our bodies. Curious thing, science!</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">The doctor
said that I would be bed-ridden for at least a fortnight. My legs were slightly
elevated, to reduce pressure to the broken coccyx, and a special pillow (which
was changed five times a day) further cushioned the bruised bone, the better to
speed its healing. My lower back was encased in a curious lattice-work of
plaster, medical tape and some type of medical plastic. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Needless
to say, I was to enjoy a much longer holiday than anticipated!</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">My first
visitor was my compadre in things panelological, “Sparks” Spinkle. He looked
woebegone. “Back in the saddle again, eh, Mace?” he said with a weak grin.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">“I’m not
dying, I assure you. Wipe that sad look off your face,” I said with good cheer.
“I may be trussed up like a Thanksgiving turkey, but I’m in good spirits
overall.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">We talked,
just chit-chat between friends, and in the course of our meanderings I
mentioned my desire to spend some serious time at the “New Pantheon,” studying
the art of panelology and perhaps making some notes towards my forthcoming
encyclopedic history of the Golden Age of the American comic magazine. (But
more on that later.)</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">“Uh huh,”
“Sparks” repeated, nodding gravely. “Mm hm.” He held<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>his chin in his hand, deep in thought. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">“Mace,
where are your keys?”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">“Wherever
my personal belonging are. I awoke in this room. I assume they were taken care
of…”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">As I
spoke, “Sparks” opened drawers and cabinets. I finally heard a muffled “A-ha!”
and a muted jingle. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Then, a clunk as he dropped the keys. Then another jingle,
another clunk, and some soft cursing. “Slippery fellas!” </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">“Sparks”
looked sheepish. “Long story short. You tell me what comics you wanna study; me
an’ Raphael will go an’ get ‘em an’ bring ‘em here for ya!”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">“Oh, you
don’t have to do that…”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">“I… in…
SIST!” was my friend’s fervent reply.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Once
“Sparks” has an idea in his head, there is no stoppage of it. One might better
hope to contain a tsunami in a paper cup. Calmly, I explained that this room
had limited space, and that much leeway must be given for the various doctors,
aides and nurses to do their important work. Thus, I limited him to one
long-box. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">At random, I chose R-11. I could not recall its contents precisely,
so it would be a delight to peruse its 100 bagged and boarded treasures.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">“Better
write that one down, Mace…”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">“I have no
pen or pencil. R-11. Just remember that. R-11.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">“R-11…
R-11…” “Sparks” wandered out of the room. “Be back soon,” he said in the
hallway.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">As I am
wont to do when in bed, I dozed off. How deep my sleep was, I cannot fathom. A
familiar scent roused me from the arms of Morpheus. So rich, so pungent, such a
warm and woodsy aroma…</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Vintage pulp paper!</span></i></b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> Like a child on Christmas morn, I
opened my eyes…</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">The room
was filling to capacity with choice gems from my archives. Several long-boxes
dominated the room, plus armfuls of loose issues, all protected by their
museum-quality bags and boards.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">“Forgot
what box you wanted, Mace, so we brought ya a whole bunch. Take your pick.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">“Si, Senor
Mason, </span><span class="hps"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="ES" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: ES; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">Haga su elección</span></i></span><span class="shorttext"><span lang="ES" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: ES; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">!”<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"> </i>Raphael </span></span><span class="shorttext"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">grinned </span></span><span class="shorttext"><span lang="ES" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: ES; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">from
behind a stack of vintage treasures. A few of them slipped off the pile and
scuddered towards the floor. I </span></span><span class="shorttext"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">grimaced</span></span><span class="shorttext"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: ES; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"> <span lang="ES">as would a man
in pain. </span></span></span><span class="shorttext"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="shorttext"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">“Gentlemen,
I asked for one long box. That is all this room will accommodate.” </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="shorttext"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">“Sorry,
Mace, I kinda got carried away.” A male nurse entered the room, assessed the
labyrinth of panelology, and became instantly indignant. “What’s all this s***?”
he cried.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="shorttext"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">“It
shall be cleared out, sir, it shall be cleared out.” To “Sparks” and Raphael, I
quietly, kindly stated: “Leave one long box. Please return everything else to
the Pantheon. I thank you for your kind effort.”</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="shorttext"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">“Aw…”
“Sparks” looked deflated. “Well, which box, Mace? It’s your shootin’ match.”</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="shorttext"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">“Any
box will do. I am not particular. That one there,” I said, pointing to a
longbox situated within arm’s reach of my bed.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="shorttext"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">“Hokey
dokey,” “Sparks” said with great reluctance. “But don’t come cryin’ to me when
you get bored…”</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="shorttext"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">“<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Ay, que lastima</i>,” Raphael sighed under
his breath. He regathered the loose stack of magazines and left the room.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="shorttext"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">I
heard a myriad of <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">plop-plop-plop</i>
sounds in the hallway. Following them was the skid and clank of medical
equipment. Voices of confusion filled the corridor. Finally, a sheepish “Sparks”
re-entered my room. “We got a casualty, Mace.” He held up a mangled issue of <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Jughead</i>, circa 1953. “She’s still
intact, just a little… dented.”</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="shorttext"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">“No
great loss,” I assured him. </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="shorttext"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">The
remainder of my treasures were carefully removed from the room. I cannot assess
the safety of their journey back to the vault. I am, understandably, somewhat
anxious to be well again, so that I may assure myself they did not suffer the
fate of that lone <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Jughead</i>.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="shorttext"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">It took my friends three trips to successfully remove the excess magazines. It occured to me that my scanner might prove a helpful tool while I rested in thsi room. Thus, before their third trip, I diligently requested that my scanning device (and power cords) be brought to my room. Fortunately, the alert Raphael "grakked" my request and assured me all components would be imported to my bedside.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="shorttext"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="shorttext"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">Thus, I am able to share a seldom-seen treasure from a most unlikely source.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="shorttext"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="shorttext"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">I am not an enthusiast of the Fawcett comic magazines. Their assembly-line production, to my eyes, renders them lifeless and moot. But in the earliest issues of their various flagship titles, some brave souls dared to buck the system and produce tales of fantasy on their own.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="shorttext"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="shorttext"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">Such a rare gem is Russell G. Gorson's "Atom Blake, the Boy Wizard." seldom have such complex motifs of science fiction been so lovingly presented within borders and balloons. Please take time to read this story. I will, of course, have some "commentary" on this unique tale.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9UgFfKI5Lr55j8-5-UJaMRPLhkKKPQ7HFRyhvAfJHGB0dKDsU_EEN9IWq0eyPSQkZl1_aIayZ8cuJn1i1ezwVJwNGvx-YyPxYz4PkDdTAR8M2lPtp18eliSw-jgCfjGgP9dzlwtycDqqB/s1600/scan01.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9UgFfKI5Lr55j8-5-UJaMRPLhkKKPQ7HFRyhvAfJHGB0dKDsU_EEN9IWq0eyPSQkZl1_aIayZ8cuJn1i1ezwVJwNGvx-YyPxYz4PkDdTAR8M2lPtp18eliSw-jgCfjGgP9dzlwtycDqqB/s320/scan01.jpg" width="229" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-1XtHcfXUgqp3SvO_FpU8NFFzdjGmeDPZ0bFovEkPOTKgJ6nV_Iygm6WM6W5CZ9jYuOcWK2FChQtc7Pu7ybkJCfIuKfqBDppGe5TfD7U9Ov3bsuvXKcVn8hLkh6stNJWZX7rxNV3-hzi1/s1600/scan29.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-1XtHcfXUgqp3SvO_FpU8NFFzdjGmeDPZ0bFovEkPOTKgJ6nV_Iygm6WM6W5CZ9jYuOcWK2FChQtc7Pu7ybkJCfIuKfqBDppGe5TfD7U9Ov3bsuvXKcVn8hLkh6stNJWZX7rxNV3-hzi1/s320/scan29.jpg" width="227" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidJYrnLrAz9HcdghjcdqXYhvQs4FXc00SVNven2mdf8Y17UF6mldoA5-kiMD_V8eW9WKa6IsA5xEYr3VbbkylEsR8Va75wpeQ36OpIulv7W4VtEkCc_ZgYbq1pfcVG4tebNnBocX58nIJJ/s1600/scan30.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidJYrnLrAz9HcdghjcdqXYhvQs4FXc00SVNven2mdf8Y17UF6mldoA5-kiMD_V8eW9WKa6IsA5xEYr3VbbkylEsR8Va75wpeQ36OpIulv7W4VtEkCc_ZgYbq1pfcVG4tebNnBocX58nIJJ/s320/scan30.jpg" width="226" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1iPQnoOelhOZtbwd9Ii2VQH4TQVP8mpdi5EN1kRTKRFP4JsCGlZzTbRQe7jvhHsDLrWctn4RiR3t2dAZ-4EfLzfFSwg21VMSs5WhUj1I6bCjVWsvcUMVPIPJzM00ukBczA3SGefZra-zM/s1600/scan31.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1iPQnoOelhOZtbwd9Ii2VQH4TQVP8mpdi5EN1kRTKRFP4JsCGlZzTbRQe7jvhHsDLrWctn4RiR3t2dAZ-4EfLzfFSwg21VMSs5WhUj1I6bCjVWsvcUMVPIPJzM00ukBczA3SGefZra-zM/s320/scan31.jpg" width="230" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhazRxdQtxjcRahEZuiNHGqNRlsBqSz9sK-qyedpUXu75RMLU6bODeIWsWg-P1unxW4teJ51mJ-IV9hi0u6Ttb33KgItIgDSdRUx-PIEM_VwwYIlfY7zm1T5LFOrEr-AMBnWt38sRKi_qSR/s1600/scan32.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhazRxdQtxjcRahEZuiNHGqNRlsBqSz9sK-qyedpUXu75RMLU6bODeIWsWg-P1unxW4teJ51mJ-IV9hi0u6Ttb33KgItIgDSdRUx-PIEM_VwwYIlfY7zm1T5LFOrEr-AMBnWt38sRKi_qSR/s320/scan32.jpg" width="227" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaRqcTApR0Xv45S7ZKr-bitcnmRKMyHRr-EWilcFCWnoGiSAJxXCuvgJxsi6tHmXwBCYBicITp2RWFmqalajy5EXUB3FgzH_m_HHT1BMAF7QUOhEzMnhZz-Eyh1O9lLZaarR6iNkCXn1Of/s1600/scan33.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaRqcTApR0Xv45S7ZKr-bitcnmRKMyHRr-EWilcFCWnoGiSAJxXCuvgJxsi6tHmXwBCYBicITp2RWFmqalajy5EXUB3FgzH_m_HHT1BMAF7QUOhEzMnhZz-Eyh1O9lLZaarR6iNkCXn1Of/s320/scan33.jpg" width="227" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQserzDWyBpfskrSuPHBisn59nNmIMrCihzoLEPzPX0Aaljakv4OouLxw08reNqcF-pqqYqEuf9H37_X3uhcM85HBcVDZ5eXXoUVtjdL3cSbY2ixDhjvAIrZAhK1WkJWhrV5rfO3URfMXr/s1600/scan34.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQserzDWyBpfskrSuPHBisn59nNmIMrCihzoLEPzPX0Aaljakv4OouLxw08reNqcF-pqqYqEuf9H37_X3uhcM85HBcVDZ5eXXoUVtjdL3cSbY2ixDhjvAIrZAhK1WkJWhrV5rfO3URfMXr/s320/scan34.jpg" width="228" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEwidHmomk4khSDiv0xLV5QB4Hh1EH_9U8X-H8BudaO8Rdkmql-avky0G51NRpAxtTeifgVWpLWc65O_X6JjY2HYyTHr0PWnO5Mk1KGTnHjU7YKEfFB53VzNhFaSgl6sDtBapcQ7w2VqJi/s1600/scan35.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEwidHmomk4khSDiv0xLV5QB4Hh1EH_9U8X-H8BudaO8Rdkmql-avky0G51NRpAxtTeifgVWpLWc65O_X6JjY2HYyTHr0PWnO5Mk1KGTnHjU7YKEfFB53VzNhFaSgl6sDtBapcQ7w2VqJi/s320/scan35.jpg" width="229" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSuFJcxkhrQaPyQG53_TFWsFY3tYqVTQXnKkYf1tRUiHxIvMGsua4Fk5eZA4mOKdiE6QZuYc0NYORZEGRFriNcfAZYZ7HuWXc-N10h7KPsIM67yRhIdxaLMnpIuiE0tVfKvSnYpUTO9R1z/s1600/scan36.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSuFJcxkhrQaPyQG53_TFWsFY3tYqVTQXnKkYf1tRUiHxIvMGsua4Fk5eZA4mOKdiE6QZuYc0NYORZEGRFriNcfAZYZ7HuWXc-N10h7KPsIM67yRhIdxaLMnpIuiE0tVfKvSnYpUTO9R1z/s320/scan36.jpg" width="232" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjF9HTrF0UUT5oGlk25VeHtICzmGshufZ8ltkup1JE-gJ5GMeLpy1BgBRXdaxExL3OuEN0XRvJxsvGyEGwYTtintgcNox3tNCY1CS3_ezQ02sZdBAVGrX9MjsUPJDKz_88UXjSgkhTyFvhA/s1600/scan37.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjF9HTrF0UUT5oGlk25VeHtICzmGshufZ8ltkup1JE-gJ5GMeLpy1BgBRXdaxExL3OuEN0XRvJxsvGyEGwYTtintgcNox3tNCY1CS3_ezQ02sZdBAVGrX9MjsUPJDKz_88UXjSgkhTyFvhA/s320/scan37.jpg" width="229" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilmGcbyPU-RhJZ4OrhwX9IauSQK61v43LBwKUJkelq0rbVXfthPeK-ZorFxyCvdQwy3MgIR1axowMvbkx-G0ONp6v8NA-u1M4vH6FSeBOt-hUWORgx29wQ2qtTF46wKxUPPE9zYELFSthp/s1600/scan38.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilmGcbyPU-RhJZ4OrhwX9IauSQK61v43LBwKUJkelq0rbVXfthPeK-ZorFxyCvdQwy3MgIR1axowMvbkx-G0ONp6v8NA-u1M4vH6FSeBOt-hUWORgx29wQ2qtTF46wKxUPPE9zYELFSthp/s320/scan38.jpg" width="225" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span class="shorttext"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">What, upon first reading, seems merely a knockabout boy's adventure, is, in fact, a deeply felt, deeply encoded parable of the suffering of the Albanian peoples during the first World War. Russell G. Gorson was the pen-name of Fisnik Gazmend, a refugee from that forbidding regoin. </span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span class="shorttext"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span class="shorttext"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">During the first War, many Albanians were imprisoned by the Kaiser's army, and forced to abandon their homes and careers to perform manual labor. Young Gazmend and his family, former stock-brokers of considerable wealth, were stripped of their status and clothes and put to work as miners. </span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span class="shorttext"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span class="shorttext"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">The subterranean caves in which they worked are remarkably realized as the wastes of the planet Mercury in this story. To a child of wealth, suddenly removed from his home and given a pick-ax, Hessians barking foreign commands to him, he might as well have been on Mercury!</span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span class="shorttext"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span class="shorttext"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">Gazmend was separated from his parents, whom he assumed he might never see again. This trauma resonates through all his panelological work. It is, one might say, his central theme. Gazmend escaped Albania, was rescued by British troops, and eventually obtained passage on a boat to America. </span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span class="shorttext"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span class="shorttext"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">Once in our country, Gazmend began to realize his destiny as a comic book creator. Of course, he would have to wait until the late 1930s to ply his craft. In the meantime, he found work as a sign-painter, a roofer, a trainer of gazelles and as a math teacher.</span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span class="shorttext"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span class="shorttext"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">Like many refugees of Europe, he sensed the threat of the Second World War, and was compelled to warn young readers of the fate he suffered. His serious autobiographical accounts were shunned by New York publishers. Gazmend was seriously "ahead of the curve ball" in this regard.</span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span class="shorttext"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span class="shorttext"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">Harry Hornfeld, an assistant editor at Fawcett, liked Gazmend's work, knew of his back story, and wanted to help. "Change them Krauts to monsters, an' you'll have somethin' we can publish" was his sage advice.</span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span class="shorttext"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span class="shorttext"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">Gazmend redrew a portion of his 650-page autobiographical story, </span></span><span class="short_text" id="result_box" lang="sq"><i><span class="hps">Jeta ime</span> <span class="hps">i mjerimit</span> </i><span class="hps"><i>të pafund</i> ("My Life Of Unending Misery") as the first installment of "Atom Blake." It was immediately accepted for a new Fawcett title, <i>Wow Comics</i>. Later installments held less of his life's story, and more of stock fantasy elements.</span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span class="short_text" id="result_box" lang="sq"><span class="hps"><br /></span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span class="short_text" id="result_box" lang="sq"><span class="hps">Gazmend patiently waited out the war, and in 1947 he was able to return to his homeland. Remarkably, his parents were still alive and in good health. </span></span><span class="short_text" id="result_box" lang="sq"><i><span class="hps">Jeta ime</span> <span class="hps">i mjerimit</span> </i><span class="hps"><i>të pafund </i>was still in Gazmend's possession, but it found no publishers. Its images held too many sitll-raw memories for the Albanian peoples.</span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span class="short_text" id="result_box" lang="sq"><span class="hps"><br /></span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span class="short_text" id="result_box" lang="sq"><span class="hps">Sadly, this early masterpiece of autobiographical comic book work seems to be lost. Perhaps it shall surface someday in an Albanian attic. It is not known what became of Gazmend upon his return to the homeland. One hopes--dearly--that he had a happy life, even though under the iron fist of Communist rule.</span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span class="short_text" id="result_box" lang="sq"><span class="hps"><i><br /></i></span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span class="short_text" id="result_box" lang="sq"><span class="hps"><i>***</i></span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span class="short_text" id="result_box" lang="sq"><span class="hps"><i><br /></i></span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span class="short_text" id="result_box" lang="sq"><span class="hps">You will recall that, earlier in this missive, I dropped something of a "bomb shell." Yes, friends, I am at work on a 1000-page definitive critical overview and history of the <b><i>Golden Era of The Art Panelologic: 1937-1942</i></b>. (That is, indeed, the working title of this tome.) This book shall be my legacy, as it will contan the fruits of my many years of research and insight. I hope it shall be finished in the next few months. </span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span class="short_text" id="result_box" lang="sq"><span class="hps"><i><br /></i></span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span class="short_text" id="result_box" lang="sq"><span class="hps">I am eager to be released from the hospital so that I might begin work on this volume in earnest. The constant beeps, clicks and hisses of this room are mightily distracting.<br /><br />If Dcotor Milligan's estimate is correct, I should be home in time for Christmas. I hope to end the year with a rousing Yuletide treat, as has become a tradition of kind on this bolg. Until then, rest well, friends, and watch your coccyx!</span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span class="short_text" id="result_box" lang="sq"><span class="hps"><i><br /></i></span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="short_text" id="result_box" lang="sq"><span class="hps"><i><br /></i></span></span></div>
Mason J. Morayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16288522457980212295noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2577154746554800558.post-55436522125312959952012-06-07T14:20:00.001-07:002012-06-22T10:20:48.391-07:00Travels Galore--plus "The Eye," by two different artists, from the same issue of Detective Eye comics, 1940Salutations, friends, neighbors and countrymen! I have returned from an extensive tour of our fine continent—almost from sea to sea!<br />
<br />
‘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.”<br />
<br />
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 <i>Our Flag Comics</i> #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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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!)<br />
<br />
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:<br />
<br />
“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!”<br />
<br />
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:<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5DZcLcPcB0VnFnoixStePvd0xrW39kuYt_pkSNguqbw2y0kQth1GnqhfqxNLjiQFiC6_qgexpROp44_RvKgcDVl0jBS_Bp6RMiZzFlmgSOYR3h72p1plXfeOgP6b0a2raiQ9tt3Vu7sqU/s1600/Dad's+List.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5DZcLcPcB0VnFnoixStePvd0xrW39kuYt_pkSNguqbw2y0kQth1GnqhfqxNLjiQFiC6_qgexpROp44_RvKgcDVl0jBS_Bp6RMiZzFlmgSOYR3h72p1plXfeOgP6b0a2raiQ9tt3Vu7sqU/s400/Dad's+List.jpg" width="257" /></a></div>
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.”<br />
<br />
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!”<br />
<br />
“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?”<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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!<br />
<br />
“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.<br />
<br />
“YEP,” he finally said. “STILL GOT A TENDENCY TO RUN FOR A SPELL. YOU MIGHT WANT TO GET THAT LOOKED AT SOMETIME.”<br />
<br />
The woman uncovered her ears. She appeared a bit disoriented. “Y-yes, I reckon I will…”<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
“THINK SHE WANTS US TO VAMOOSE,” my father said.<br />
<br />
On that ear-splitting note, we exited my first abode, and returned to the road.<br />
<br />
‘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."<br />
<br />
While in Seattle, I responded to an invitation sent months ago by John Gill, who is a fellow “blogger” with a site called <a href="http://www.trickcoin.net/2012/03/60-minute-super-spectacular-all-comics.html">“The Trick Coin.”</a> 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 <a href="http://www.butcher-packer.com/index.php?main_page=index&cPath=85_94_96">let me know.</a>)<br />
<br />
John also creates a “pog-cast” for the Internet. Apparently it is some sort of interview program. That was the basis of his invitation.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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:<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVimwxE3kuTLad5cO8u7iUVYExtxijaCpl-2UGsgdIwAah3PFHoxSaOVHFVO8-5t7rlYg_Vde3RyJPkGo-ae8FW72FNeKh84lpJXaIhdxvSLmFszf6BNiSGawp00oj7KJAaOxzx_uV_cEX/s1600/01.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVimwxE3kuTLad5cO8u7iUVYExtxijaCpl-2UGsgdIwAah3PFHoxSaOVHFVO8-5t7rlYg_Vde3RyJPkGo-ae8FW72FNeKh84lpJXaIhdxvSLmFszf6BNiSGawp00oj7KJAaOxzx_uV_cEX/s320/01.jpg" width="225" /></a></div>
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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'.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoOHLB_lUVpcIKo6R-fNDpk40n8_Q_CmWvUnP5am7aVnQ6mT377af6lZN3Ii-ituFmHGr0YmCoYFCzOyjpI65iyTbl5kXWAkb75Py3SwI6nLdzsYKXYSX_FHjgEZTOn3ivUPMKANNa0A3q/s1600/03.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoOHLB_lUVpcIKo6R-fNDpk40n8_Q_CmWvUnP5am7aVnQ6mT377af6lZN3Ii-ituFmHGr0YmCoYFCzOyjpI65iyTbl5kXWAkb75Py3SwI6nLdzsYKXYSX_FHjgEZTOn3ivUPMKANNa0A3q/s320/03.jpg" width="221" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbgku4KDVChPU6bGDkJfpSLFC_pJMqBBenXf9tL1jDUHA01w56x7HzD8UHwQlXq7mdDcQ8euKxX9Jyh5kyJFvnZC32lRMXxWdS_mmqxuoYDcMe8dxCtRU2_mOV5cDBDQIIctysHEcICUqr/s1600/04.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbgku4KDVChPU6bGDkJfpSLFC_pJMqBBenXf9tL1jDUHA01w56x7HzD8UHwQlXq7mdDcQ8euKxX9Jyh5kyJFvnZC32lRMXxWdS_mmqxuoYDcMe8dxCtRU2_mOV5cDBDQIIctysHEcICUqr/s320/04.jpg" width="220" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7Xsj_qUEqKPQUpj50E2wjH9sT__6FPLADB69j3YzcOYX7RiHM9zevOKvPSMpvTDwaVbZaGyI7B6Da_zKNWtL2HAi0_ztQw9kJST9ckm9cT38453NdrbCrs1ZOkKpF6r3xOvMZiXvyhP2d/s1600/05.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7Xsj_qUEqKPQUpj50E2wjH9sT__6FPLADB69j3YzcOYX7RiHM9zevOKvPSMpvTDwaVbZaGyI7B6Da_zKNWtL2HAi0_ztQw9kJST9ckm9cT38453NdrbCrs1ZOkKpF6r3xOvMZiXvyhP2d/s320/05.jpg" width="221" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEho8K8HZ6HSkkXrp-FvU65I4j4mNMKAuueaKtgtS3-VEWaeBN1VL-zmeOSGOSyPs8tlvoTCMMyHy3R6a-eNifnx_hqNqZeU4Lj2M4my4g3qXjsMsAl_iJl2io3FThzQr4EF2_RJSXExsjN2/s1600/06.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEho8K8HZ6HSkkXrp-FvU65I4j4mNMKAuueaKtgtS3-VEWaeBN1VL-zmeOSGOSyPs8tlvoTCMMyHy3R6a-eNifnx_hqNqZeU4Lj2M4my4g3qXjsMsAl_iJl2io3FThzQr4EF2_RJSXExsjN2/s320/06.jpg" width="223" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtJVtHvATPzRmrCWOeQZTND-guRIwcwvIWlXgiBl4J2-ZSPkdCE6pFzLgD77fluk-IhIs65eu2dS9K04dWBF5Qd_0-F27yKqb5uOfVtf2RDi03bGv9-DDHstiYwRt5sDh51wMmMfgQXp8Z/s1600/07.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtJVtHvATPzRmrCWOeQZTND-guRIwcwvIWlXgiBl4J2-ZSPkdCE6pFzLgD77fluk-IhIs65eu2dS9K04dWBF5Qd_0-F27yKqb5uOfVtf2RDi03bGv9-DDHstiYwRt5sDh51wMmMfgQXp8Z/s320/07.jpg" width="220" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIVeGrmmMEfQjBe3LyD51y4lG0a5kUuoTfL0JVRBOOiXmykLiphd8vJS5MbEK5UEhIhQJ6hMwu_kOfirKFPUh7aSp9W2rLR5_f2q2SjZ7X3UWeSAv6APvNlLbkhyphenhyphen_V2JqiVdcRI8azDw-B/s1600/08.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIVeGrmmMEfQjBe3LyD51y4lG0a5kUuoTfL0JVRBOOiXmykLiphd8vJS5MbEK5UEhIhQJ6hMwu_kOfirKFPUh7aSp9W2rLR5_f2q2SjZ7X3UWeSAv6APvNlLbkhyphenhyphen_V2JqiVdcRI8azDw-B/s320/08.jpg" width="222" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcjhEM0VEuz_kjwsLVg9p1GhHVPyP8zJ-yFtpHa3vH5C1-NGJsavn7hkEaOFVtdxm2TPtXEAW4l5hVV8GykvO9JtaCEGh1Ctv-tP3wkglTX8C2YMb3xSTUW7tWIuqeV1PrDBvy5I2Rx2GD/s1600/09.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcjhEM0VEuz_kjwsLVg9p1GhHVPyP8zJ-yFtpHa3vH5C1-NGJsavn7hkEaOFVtdxm2TPtXEAW4l5hVV8GykvO9JtaCEGh1Ctv-tP3wkglTX8C2YMb3xSTUW7tWIuqeV1PrDBvy5I2Rx2GD/s320/09.jpg" width="222" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOWHL3ue08WF0PVyl_a5H7i2-GyJFN_ujhCZGnAlfq8lkDuxJYMGqSrMpZQV6MUi1F5OgQNtEfQrYbmEPy9kcVEHYQOjIzHynrO2bUuSqmfK6qsr0VJrrkaxPTV3ddTJIUWPNLEsiJRQwA/s1600/10.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOWHL3ue08WF0PVyl_a5H7i2-GyJFN_ujhCZGnAlfq8lkDuxJYMGqSrMpZQV6MUi1F5OgQNtEfQrYbmEPy9kcVEHYQOjIzHynrO2bUuSqmfK6qsr0VJrrkaxPTV3ddTJIUWPNLEsiJRQwA/s320/10.jpg" width="220" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEik6JySZtyQQP4ffbWw3EuTiAosFaVQcCTVIWJh7ecXY-jhG_RI-CTJ0vUHMcaTfI3bmh7zNZpDD7jFAESrN4e9mmcPseiya3kQV4yRltbP3Q2x1OgfyjyAW4_QHBVl9xj_vD3Cn5s4bIo1/s1600/11.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEik6JySZtyQQP4ffbWw3EuTiAosFaVQcCTVIWJh7ecXY-jhG_RI-CTJ0vUHMcaTfI3bmh7zNZpDD7jFAESrN4e9mmcPseiya3kQV4yRltbP3Q2x1OgfyjyAW4_QHBVl9xj_vD3Cn5s4bIo1/s320/11.jpg" width="223" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1R3Jl2FpFUq80ZMop59gDPuzQuApnOmQNaWPgUSl8o_CL17mAwIUBzChkhWp76z-Gavxa7v30hrijLpYqwO1EZz97FJJKjTOGjg6tlfN0XpGnrc7ZRfnwcfeCbS7dP_hShY6srasHo-O8/s1600/12.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1R3Jl2FpFUq80ZMop59gDPuzQuApnOmQNaWPgUSl8o_CL17mAwIUBzChkhWp76z-Gavxa7v30hrijLpYqwO1EZz97FJJKjTOGjg6tlfN0XpGnrc7ZRfnwcfeCbS7dP_hShY6srasHo-O8/s320/12.jpg" width="224" /></a></div>
<br />
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:<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgluCJXD1EN14Em6vpZpICARFRcdQnhK8yPH7khFFkToSAhqICL4cPLxYxe0W9K2CAZnwhdf2YY-iLl_18j3I5_kYMXGfzuHr0oUfx3KDDox6wKr_kaFOq2v9Xw9SiLXyEE9D-mTTOkse50/s1600/36.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgluCJXD1EN14Em6vpZpICARFRcdQnhK8yPH7khFFkToSAhqICL4cPLxYxe0W9K2CAZnwhdf2YY-iLl_18j3I5_kYMXGfzuHr0oUfx3KDDox6wKr_kaFOq2v9Xw9SiLXyEE9D-mTTOkse50/s320/36.jpg" width="212" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCzEJadSvmxFlVl6s60y1RTBWQELwBbnOvganUIYZr60KUVT6VF27rEwL7twyIyPKD0Iv3HDH-NMyWTpFxu5xc2RQ0ZEz7BMltY4XYTz5oEbsJsPTmBYXuAXMF_vA38HgzkjoOxZThE7FP/s1600/37.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCzEJadSvmxFlVl6s60y1RTBWQELwBbnOvganUIYZr60KUVT6VF27rEwL7twyIyPKD0Iv3HDH-NMyWTpFxu5xc2RQ0ZEz7BMltY4XYTz5oEbsJsPTmBYXuAXMF_vA38HgzkjoOxZThE7FP/s320/37.jpg" width="211" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgG-cYvf3ZAwIwwsmftxCEFQLd36QH-amKYevtsqt9QTNUxvzKnilm3ihyphenhyphenvyEk0Bm_mZfDhU_ZSYw1pxxk560eaBxAk4TsEKXoPT_dqoAJmOhu4LLcLzfEJF5wsQRnX8qozZqAqDImMkhiX/s1600/38.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgG-cYvf3ZAwIwwsmftxCEFQLd36QH-amKYevtsqt9QTNUxvzKnilm3ihyphenhyphenvyEk0Bm_mZfDhU_ZSYw1pxxk560eaBxAk4TsEKXoPT_dqoAJmOhu4LLcLzfEJF5wsQRnX8qozZqAqDImMkhiX/s320/38.jpg" width="212" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_K8wEm_c2if-CmE6z3gY3uZTNDd122uGoKvBkSm6lwktqU5jqklsBqcqk20G7UKGWoM64IWbKRxtCmzD2T0VFxeFwpuUvWFMTC7LAUUER2R3tQIr5qhghZJ0o0cvxn0FmwUHvEIpTC7cw/s1600/39.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_K8wEm_c2if-CmE6z3gY3uZTNDd122uGoKvBkSm6lwktqU5jqklsBqcqk20G7UKGWoM64IWbKRxtCmzD2T0VFxeFwpuUvWFMTC7LAUUER2R3tQIr5qhghZJ0o0cvxn0FmwUHvEIpTC7cw/s320/39.jpg" width="211" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8lflNwzt-8du1SNjsIcmw7y-QFoylDsQSBHMuIcsIGLXWbyMsOVuaKHwxf1veaBK0n0ZOqvn8g_4uSr_h0vDZqgJY2ZeaOcFK-LYVZkzh7G4bIUWR-P-IpJBmVqj5ofpbDBeJyO0_4Xda/s1600/40.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8lflNwzt-8du1SNjsIcmw7y-QFoylDsQSBHMuIcsIGLXWbyMsOVuaKHwxf1veaBK0n0ZOqvn8g_4uSr_h0vDZqgJY2ZeaOcFK-LYVZkzh7G4bIUWR-P-IpJBmVqj5ofpbDBeJyO0_4Xda/s320/40.jpg" width="211" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxO4n6UQnqoqugs2Magt6wKlq0_AZGU4q9BEKrOjSrhd6lIfyFB3dBfr6UI5WycTWIYB1j-ezOF3F4Rf74VFFOuB42OgggbsUyzZmPoEiJS8sxsqqAk27YcVOg6_KI4z9cDjk-UMcSvsxh/s1600/41.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxO4n6UQnqoqugs2Magt6wKlq0_AZGU4q9BEKrOjSrhd6lIfyFB3dBfr6UI5WycTWIYB1j-ezOF3F4Rf74VFFOuB42OgggbsUyzZmPoEiJS8sxsqqAk27YcVOg6_KI4z9cDjk-UMcSvsxh/s320/41.jpg" width="210" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitiZW6x7Q4owJPvXWkVSpK05oU8WYwrSSDVeW5bKiRkTHkJE3Ghlc58uVxqnD6ND5o7m0CDPv3lsstFq_PBVYsGVix30reygW_MCQLdwpFnnpf5UtyqiN3YqVxSaNLLIdukLfLRsLB0cFw/s1600/42.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitiZW6x7Q4owJPvXWkVSpK05oU8WYwrSSDVeW5bKiRkTHkJE3Ghlc58uVxqnD6ND5o7m0CDPv3lsstFq_PBVYsGVix30reygW_MCQLdwpFnnpf5UtyqiN3YqVxSaNLLIdukLfLRsLB0cFw/s320/42.jpg" width="211" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvJKFawmOO8BO6aRswJWyjbIlhdCzRt7VK_RMJ7e4NOkXrtdgpTlMmdWJMbfCdVUlScXYB-L0Q46hWjRg8KdgJ6-6dD8S_7cuViNgcb_uPgMSd8JkxbMmwPUnX0u2Wrqsj0dUr86EcKjRG/s1600/43.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvJKFawmOO8BO6aRswJWyjbIlhdCzRt7VK_RMJ7e4NOkXrtdgpTlMmdWJMbfCdVUlScXYB-L0Q46hWjRg8KdgJ6-6dD8S_7cuViNgcb_uPgMSd8JkxbMmwPUnX0u2Wrqsj0dUr86EcKjRG/s320/43.jpg" width="213" /></a></div>
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
Brace yourself--these two stories were created by the same man!<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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!<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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!<br />
<br />
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:<br />
<i><br /></i><br />
<i>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!</i><br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
From that same interview, here are his thoughts on "The Eye:"<br />
<br />
<i>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.'</i><br />
<i><br /></i><br />
<i>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! </i><br />
<i><br /></i><br />
<i>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!' </i><br />
<br />
<i>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.</i><br />
<br />
"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.<br />
<br />
"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,<br />
<br />
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!Mason J. Morayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16288522457980212295noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2577154746554800558.post-79487572069296844262012-04-25T16:15:00.002-07:002012-04-25T16:16:07.619-07:00Long Time No See: News and Anecdotes, plus "The Little Giant," from the sought-after "O.K. Comics" no. 1Salutations, friends of the four-color art! It seems that each post I write must begin with regrets. I dearly wish I had more "free time" on my hands to attend to this "blog" of mine. I know there are friends who enjoy my postings--they are, after all, a literal history lesson in the far-flung fields of panelology.<br />
<br />
Worry not, companions--I've not forsaken my beloved comics art! Life has intruded, as it's wont to do, and kept me away from the New Pantheon much longer than I desired.<br />
<br />
Said New Pantheon was long overdue for an airing out. The last time I had ventured there, with garrulous "Sparks" Spinkle in tow, he had brought along a bag of thick-cut sea salt and vinegar potato chips, with a jar of garlic dill pickles for a chaser. "Sparks" is, of course, forbidden to touch the treasures of the Pantheon with such corrosive agents in his reach.<br />
<br />
No sooner had my hunt began for potential "godies" to post on this blog than a call came--panicked--from the Diner. Katrice had set fire to the ceiling! No one knows, or will ever know, why or how she accomplished this. But our entire ceiling--from kitchen to cash register--had to be sanded and painted. Because of this, we were closed for nearly a week.<br />
<br />
As a lession to Katrice, she was docked three hours' pay for this mischief. It is so very difficult to get a word from her that any possible explanation was literally rendered mute. I know the poor girl felt embarassment for her misdeed.<br />
<br />
No harm was ultimately done. The celing, now painted a pleasant hue of orange, has brightened up the Diner somewhat considerably.<br />
<br />
In our rush to help squelch the ceiling fire, "Sparks"' snacks were left behind, the bag and jar opened. I was unable to return to the Pantheon for two weeks. The overwhelming aroma of stale garlic, pickling spices, sea salt and vinegar nearly made me faint. I have no windows in the New Panthron, so I had to keep the door open and run a couple of big box fans. The smell is just about gone now, but a certain tang has seeped into the vintage pages of all comics not in their protective sealed bags. I suppose that endows them with some character.<br />
<br />
You have not heard me mention my father, Austin Moray, in a "cook's age." He and I have made plans to take a little trip together this summer--to visit a great aunt whose health is failing. "Pop"'s hearing is still poor, but his vigor is remarkable for a man nearing 80.<br />
<br />
As an incipient senior citizen with the requisite aches and pains, I recently asked him what his secret was.<br />
<br />
"IBM did it," he said (loudly). "They had a mandatory calisthenics deal. Every day at 3, a whistle blew. You had a padded cushiony thing under your desk. You pulled it out and did sit-ups, squat thrusts and such for 15 minutes. Somebody played an exercise record over the PA."<br />
<br />
With a chuckle, he recalled one Friday afternoon when the record player's needle became stuck on a groove, and repeated "4... 5..." some 60 times before it was corrected. The entire staff of IBM was exhausted from repeating so many squat thrusts! This was back before the days of "classy action lawsuits," so the computer giant got off scott-free. <br />
<br />
"It kind of got me in the habit," "Pop" said with a smile. "I still do 6 or 7 minutes of calisthenics every day. That's all I need."<br />
<br />
As an early birthday gift, I purchased a "lap top" computer for my father. He's become quite interested in the Internet, and, to my utter surprise, has joined "Face-Book!" If you are so inclined, please drop him a "line"--as I'm sure he would appreciate it!<br />
<br />
Our trip is planned for May 7th. I must say that I'm looking froward to the chance to spend some uninterrupted "quality time" qwith my "dear old dad." Dorrie needs a break, and is, in fact, closing her Diner for the week that I'm gone. Her plans? To putter around the house, and to finish reading 17 different mystery novels she has started over the past five years.<br />
<br />
I presume she can retain those complex plot "threads" in her memory. I've attempted to read some of her mysteries, but, honestly, one needs a physics degree to comprehend them. All that detail to recall! And it's so often dark, rainy and cold in those books. It gives me the sniffles to just think about it!<br />
<br />
Back to our main topic of interest. (Some have complained that I perhaps go "on" too long about stories of everyday life. Well, so be it. This blog is a reflection of myself and the life I live. Were that each moment was spent savoring the vinegar-scented jewels of the New Pantheon! Were I only so fortunate!)<br />
<br />
One of the rarer panelological gems in my Pantheon is the first issue of <i>O.K. Comics</i>, from 1940. How I found this scarce title is an adventure in itself. It was sewn into the side of a steamer trunk--along with a suicide note! I purchased the trunk in 1971 as a storage container for my then much-smaller collection of Golden Age treasures. I noticed the protrusion in the trunk's lid for years, but never felt compelled to further explore it. Finally, as I dediced to donate it to charity in 1983, I took an Ex-Ac-To knife to that bulge. Out slid this breath-takingly rare comic magazine, and a sealed envelope!<br />
<br />
I have lost the letter in the intervening years, but it was typical of a sad person's last words... "give the enclosed to Kathy," the note ended. I assume that "the enclosed" was this scarce comic magazine. There are many Kathys in this world, and, at this late date, I do not possibly know which Kathy to give this grand publication to. "Finders, keepers," I say. Had I not "scratched that itch" of curiosity, a glorious piece of panelological history might have been forever lost.<br />
<br />
An outstanding story in this early, obscure effort is "Little Giant," written and drawn by Mel Carruthers. I herewith present it to you now...<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtDHTeLEfkvYQ0EHhROGAHStbXgv_Frt17RVykiXgQ_xHNM7hAxMZqHOa6_P3q0-LX8IjVdOnjA2qXvWNN9b8DEj7396Qvcq5gWGtHHZELG7poOHhVCrTYSTpojNeRB0WIZht1UD7-tXpG/s1600/OK_001_016+001.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtDHTeLEfkvYQ0EHhROGAHStbXgv_Frt17RVykiXgQ_xHNM7hAxMZqHOa6_P3q0-LX8IjVdOnjA2qXvWNN9b8DEj7396Qvcq5gWGtHHZELG7poOHhVCrTYSTpojNeRB0WIZht1UD7-tXpG/s320/OK_001_016+001.jpg" width="229" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6wKaW3aunsvegqdiqowWW71DS7QyFIbLECBmIspBko8GDA6nMJeULAkU8TdnzMS_E0bpqOC0G0vhSseZH1_LyhOc0QgY0wSI7hWNrOfzupgQFrWFfL35jdHWK2FAdWo36hgI35Otah3Ks/s1600/OK_001_017+001.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6wKaW3aunsvegqdiqowWW71DS7QyFIbLECBmIspBko8GDA6nMJeULAkU8TdnzMS_E0bpqOC0G0vhSseZH1_LyhOc0QgY0wSI7hWNrOfzupgQFrWFfL35jdHWK2FAdWo36hgI35Otah3Ks/s320/OK_001_017+001.jpg" width="231" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAtt4oux9FsFAABlp4dhoz_FqFC4rX0nRArqmON9ZqdzjnYf06Nd1FTLwxqs0NEoxG06j2K7VgVYgn9vZ6IMK4khk8Wnr8IWW6cXX-4XAzXhBtqUngCCOC_I2AnzhlzW1eV3pO-rcL-JWO/s1600/OK_001_018+001.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAtt4oux9FsFAABlp4dhoz_FqFC4rX0nRArqmON9ZqdzjnYf06Nd1FTLwxqs0NEoxG06j2K7VgVYgn9vZ6IMK4khk8Wnr8IWW6cXX-4XAzXhBtqUngCCOC_I2AnzhlzW1eV3pO-rcL-JWO/s320/OK_001_018+001.jpg" width="231" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCxsj1kpgG0bwK3Ap_SluphA3gfIkHK53-3ymMPGU4ZQh_UZdwi69kbc2uVjDDnopTyJTSZzuNCZUpsm-T31W6WSY1pG00G6bGNhipUjxbOmbez_D699REm4qMDk50qzou7dWlDQbGmHE9/s1600/OK_001_019+001.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCxsj1kpgG0bwK3Ap_SluphA3gfIkHK53-3ymMPGU4ZQh_UZdwi69kbc2uVjDDnopTyJTSZzuNCZUpsm-T31W6WSY1pG00G6bGNhipUjxbOmbez_D699REm4qMDk50qzou7dWlDQbGmHE9/s320/OK_001_019+001.jpg" width="230" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhg3Wi5tFrQpreYL__OPmWMCVWF0vdTExUfM_MagXHPRuJ3AkGMU0mQ7AEmMkWigWnSOwqiYtWQZbT6MWaixok3l7Pv5hjhOEHemU2n2g8uszlltkrlvwyNlGMPfxVF_k-QKdKLOuQuYjTT/s1600/OK_001_020+001.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhg3Wi5tFrQpreYL__OPmWMCVWF0vdTExUfM_MagXHPRuJ3AkGMU0mQ7AEmMkWigWnSOwqiYtWQZbT6MWaixok3l7Pv5hjhOEHemU2n2g8uszlltkrlvwyNlGMPfxVF_k-QKdKLOuQuYjTT/s320/OK_001_020+001.jpg" width="228" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvebUNGXnmbf9QMqXS5rOdiTmLWP_whaYIjix2hdTrXh0rkRHuizroNC-bcmmO7RiPwdDOPIsPXKkbTk5kf3RIu5e5vZY4NDqCXHjGGNXBPPzB1jeUySgd1X_HxBt8qIFriQcunJUxKeB9/s1600/OK_001_021+001.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvebUNGXnmbf9QMqXS5rOdiTmLWP_whaYIjix2hdTrXh0rkRHuizroNC-bcmmO7RiPwdDOPIsPXKkbTk5kf3RIu5e5vZY4NDqCXHjGGNXBPPzB1jeUySgd1X_HxBt8qIFriQcunJUxKeB9/s320/OK_001_021+001.jpg" width="229" /></a></div>
I must confess that elements of this story fill me with unease. I cannot quite put my finger on what bothers me about it. Suffice it to say that a certain feeling of dread sweeps over me each time I read these six pages.<br />
<br />
The story begins "in medicas res," or, in English, "in the middle of the action." This was uncommon among early panelological story-tellers, who preferred to start their stories "a la primo," or, in English again, "at the beginning." <br />
<br />
Perhaps it is Professor Rednow's apparent kidnapping of "Rusty," the crippled orphan newsboy. Or his presumption in spraying the lad, from head to toe, with the mystery chemical "impurvogen." Would this chemical not also cut off the boy's pores, and slowly suffocate him in what must certainly be a prolonged, painful death?<br />
<br />
Such lack of attention to detail was a thorn in the side of Mel Carruthers, who toiled in the backwaters of the comic magazine and pulp magazine fields from the 1920s to the mid-1940s. Carruthers got his start writing for the adventure pulps. Somehow, his characters always do things the hardest way possible. An early series of lumber-camp stories, starring "Crush Peters," has its protagonist hurtling himself into the sides of trees, over and over again, sometimes taking days to fell a single oak.<br />
<br />
Simlarly, another "pulp" series called "Speed Rogan" concerned a brash race-car driver who insisted on running behind his car and pushing it. Needless to say, he seldom won a race.<br />
<br />
"Little Giant" was among Carruthers' more coherent storytelling efforts. He previewed this series in a 1938 feature called "Big Midget." In this short-lived series, the world's largest midget, "Stretch" Arvon, who measures an average 5'8", solved maritime mysteries with the aid of "Pepper," a talking raven. Each tale of "Big Midget" would invariably end with a group of policemen nodding their heads in wonder, and saying such things as "He's the BIGGEST MIDGET I've ever seen!"<br />
<br />
Sadly, only one more episode of "Little Giant" appeared, as <i>O.K. Comics</i> folded with its second issue. That story, which I have yet to see, is evidently Carruthers' swansong to the panelological realm, <br />
<br />
When Mel Carruthers wasn't writing improbable stories, he ran, in secret, a vast empire of early pornographic books and pamphlets. A common theme of these anonymous works is that of a scientist abducting a young man or woman and subjecting them to some sort of chemical process that alters their bodies, moods or outlooks. Apparently, this theme ran deeper in Carruthers' work than many might know or understand.<br />
<br />
Carruthers was arrested, and his back stock of prurient publications burned to the ground, in a police raid in July, 1944. A few examples of his notorious "smut" (really, rather tame by modern standards--most of them could be made into TV movies) remains, and resides in several national archives. I have seen a copy of his 1943 novelet, <i>Dark Graces</i>, but its asking price of $25.00 was "too rich on my blood" when it was offered for sale in 1975.<br />
<br />
Carruthers was jailed on federal charges of peddling pornography, and served 19 years in San Quentin. He left the prison a changed man. Now an accomplished painter in oils, Carruthers' specialty was air-borne kites. His six-panel, photo-realistic masterwork, <i>An Ideal Day,</i> hangs in the Smithsonian Institution, and is frequently cited as the single finest painting of a kite ever done.<br />
<br />
He became a recluse in the 1980s. It is rumored that he is still alive, and still painting--his energies turned now to wind turbines, and his long-lived "kite phase" a thing of the past. <br />
<br />
Before I conclude this "message in a bottle," I must satisfy reader curiosity. Yes, "super-Senior" is still in action. He has not found much in the way of crime, and is, I fear, somewhat disappointed in our sleepy little community. Many is the night that he opts to simply watch "The Bob Cummings Show," which precedes "Life of Riley" on weeknights.<br />
<br />
It is just as well. I confess I do not enjoy being "Katto" to his "green Hornet." The life of a crime-fighter's chauffeur is seldom exciting--and often dull. I'd much rather prepare some microwave popcorn in anticipation of our nightly "TV treat."<br />
<br />
It is unlikely that I shall "post" again until after my "father and son" "road trip." So "stay tuned" for "further developments!"Mason J. Morayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16288522457980212295noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2577154746554800558.post-88863327160959672002012-01-20T10:31:00.000-08:002012-01-20T10:31:31.394-08:00Belated But Sincere Salutations for 2012! Featuring "Zardi- The Eternal Man!" From Amazing-Man Comics 16!Friends, comrades, amigos--'tis richly satifsying to be at the keyboard, to construct a new blog post for your edification and enjoyment!<br />
<br />
2011 is gone--nay, these 20 days it's been dead and buried. Who knows what 2012 shall bring? Feast? Famine? Bloodshed? Peace? Only the universe knows for sure... and she seldom warns us in advance!<br />
<br />
Little has changed here, since my last bolg posting in November. The "11" dis-assembled the week before Christmas. Apparently, the lure of clean American socks and underwear, of fresh-baked holiday dinners and doting grandparents, was enough to break up this band of scruffy protesters.<br />
<br />
Only one remained here--a chipper but funny-smelling lad named Jeffrey, whom the Diner has hired as a dishwasher. He is industrious, and of good spirits, but there is a certain vacancy to his presence. I've tried to engage him in conversation many times, but the trail of thought peters out. Soon, in mid-sentence, Jeffrey drops the thread and returns to his dish duties. He hums and hums as he washes our plates and cutlery. I suppose he is happy! Well, more power to him if this is so. If simple suds and hot water, the clanking of china and the tingle of "eatin' irons" is sufficient to please him, then he, i n the words of Hemran's Hermits, is "into something good."<br />
<br />
A certain complacency has settled in with the New Year. In our biggest news item: Bradley Kolger is no longer a resident of our home. He was quietly but firmly ousted two weeks ago.As you no doubt had intuited, his presence grated on Dorrie something fierce. Truth told, he had "burned his britches" with even "Sparks" Spinkle by the end of his residency.<br />
<br />
Mr. Kolger grew fatter and lazier with each passing day. Tell-tale signs were rampant. His lack of clothing, for example. He digressed from simple attire to boxer-shorts to, finally, a ragged beach towel, which he wore like a sarong. Bathing was a rare event in his life, as were other aspects of civilized grooming.<br />
<br />
The "capper" was his hearing of a TV commercial which featured the "la la la" refrain of the Beatles song "Hi Jude." Mr. Kolger took to that sing-song cadence like a drunken lark. At all hours, day and night, he might belt out several choruses of just the "la la la" interval of said song.<br />
<br />
I have described Mr. Kolger's unfortunate tendency of "banjo-humming." "Hi Jude" was subject to that rather unique--and grating--interpretation as well. That was, as they say, the needle that broke the camel's eye! Dorrie, her much-needed sleep broken by this "humming," bolted from bed and stoermd down the hall to Kolger's lair. I heard the following--for I dared not take part of the scene...<br />
<br />
DORRIE: OK, buster!<br />
KOLGER: (banjo-humming)--Hunh?<br />
DORRIE: Pants.... on... NOW!<br />
KOLGER: Do what?<br />
DORRIE: Get. Dressed. And. Leave. This. House.<br />
(silence)<br />
DORRIE: Now.<br />
KOLGER: But it's after midnight, lady...<br />
DORRIE: Now.<br />
KOLGER: You wouldn't throw a senior citizen out on the streets, would you?<br />
DORRIE: (deep sigh) In the morning, then. But. No. More. Humming. Go. To. Sleep!<br />
KOLGER: You don't have to be rude about it...<br />
(door slams; footsteps storm towards bedroom; I feign deep sleep as "the missus" crawls under the covers)<br />
<br />
The next morning, Mr. Kolger was driven to a local senior citizen center and signed up for free lodging there. I supoose it was the right thing to do. Mr. Kolger had proven something of a let-down. How I'd hoped that his memories would provide me with a wealth of panelological data!<br />
<br />
Alas, his accurate remembrances were few and far between. I had the sneaking feeling he was just inventing stories to humor me. Among his more spurious claims was that artist Bill Everett was, in reality, two spinster sisters who lived in rural Minnesota! Having met Mr. Everett at a comic book convention, "back in the day," I can attest that he was neither female nor two people--just one hard-working man.<br />
<br />
I last saw Mr. Kolger posing as Santa Claus, ringing a bell in front of a ShopWay store. It was two weeks after Christmas, but I suppose a man dressed as St. Nick can summon a coin or two from a forgetful soul here and there.<br />
<br />
Before his ousting, Mr. Kolger did, to his credit, remind me of one of the forgotten genuises of what I call the Age Prime Panelological (1936-1942). "Steve Wardell. There was a storyteller," he said.<br />
<br />
"I'm not aware of a Steve Wardell," I said. "Elaborate, please."<br />
<br />
"Steve was an older guy. Looked like one of those photographs of characters from the Civil War. Had a white beard. Wore a string bow tie. Looked like a Kentucky colonel. He brought in a couple of stories while I was still in comics. He did some series about an old man who could become young again. It was great stuff."<br />
<br />
I was sure Mr. Kolger was up to more of his spurios trickery. Later, in conference with "Sparks" Spinkle, we made the connection. "Sparks" sat bolt upright from a deep nap. "Mace! We gotta go to the Pantheon... now!"<br />
<br />
Silently, we shoed ourselves and hopped in the Pruis. "Prince of Zanzibar," "Sparks" said, more to himself than to myself. "Something about Eternity Man..."<br />
<br />
"Sparks" raced to the door of the New Pantheon and was clearly itching to get inside. He did the nervous dance of a man waiting in line for a restroom after several quick beers. I unlocked the door. "Sparks" made a bee-line for box D11. He lowered it to the floor and squatted beside it.<br />
<br />
I saw a colorful flash of covers of the beloved Centaur title <i>Amazing-Man Comics</i>. Among my most cherished possessions is a complete run of this seminal title, which featured stunning achievements of the Age Prime Panelological.<br />
<br />
"Sparks" skilfully leafed through issue after issue, his movements adroit, and respectful to the aging pulp paper. Finally, he cried "Ah, HA!" and stood, again bolt upright. "Maceroony, this is IT! Ol' towel-boy was right!"<br />
<br />
We read the story you are about to experience in aweful silence. 'Tis the way I recommend that you, dear friend, absorb this masterful piece of the art panelological:<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqR8N6fA5hQ7oqGZyS_nlWGGd5GDIfEABCNhV4H1iKKUk48PCDD0WN6fPSYpsDJPGuZ3Y9gZ8MTxWPuU5Rf2IteQEEFuFaXk9uVWJLJ2tvCcsWa3ROtnb2zfajM-ekh71UuxxxDdw2znk-/s1600/Amazing-Man16_57.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqR8N6fA5hQ7oqGZyS_nlWGGd5GDIfEABCNhV4H1iKKUk48PCDD0WN6fPSYpsDJPGuZ3Y9gZ8MTxWPuU5Rf2IteQEEFuFaXk9uVWJLJ2tvCcsWa3ROtnb2zfajM-ekh71UuxxxDdw2znk-/s400/Amazing-Man16_57.jpg" width="281" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEN7j5gB3IpWbMbEDvbyrcccg3RJN3RBL0Yi1PON1657mbh0g0J4BbiLT7cENTuinVXWtmZJ7FIDERYXou8KKmvsr5WwlJN9LuWC6r4QyyQP7HXxawHXhJQYsN3sVt9NcbSggHjbYFDL5F/s1600/Amazing-Man16_58.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEN7j5gB3IpWbMbEDvbyrcccg3RJN3RBL0Yi1PON1657mbh0g0J4BbiLT7cENTuinVXWtmZJ7FIDERYXou8KKmvsr5WwlJN9LuWC6r4QyyQP7HXxawHXhJQYsN3sVt9NcbSggHjbYFDL5F/s400/Amazing-Man16_58.jpg" width="281" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKkJnjWr1y4CZjeRqoBtxS09SetGGQSPK0hr989LGXecb8ABL93UmrNLV5zlNtTpNUSIQUXBqeP8JE2_ElIHElT7fwpVZQsnKyL4l_WuTtGodySw_E40eeTq4azBheTFT1tmF4dtN_cQdO/s1600/Amazing-Man16_59.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKkJnjWr1y4CZjeRqoBtxS09SetGGQSPK0hr989LGXecb8ABL93UmrNLV5zlNtTpNUSIQUXBqeP8JE2_ElIHElT7fwpVZQsnKyL4l_WuTtGodySw_E40eeTq4azBheTFT1tmF4dtN_cQdO/s400/Amazing-Man16_59.jpg" width="281" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQB6jQv16jE0cwyqfvEmd-DFc6Za-miNG3Shkpx-EDRG0lU4a1Xd1k1l5vs1l29bg0lOOubeqHMbpXcya5wqbz95VSGZeOQbn_3eStT6qx3Amkhsjyx3lzjoWUXQIDG97HpCzGTFhKLnCR/s1600/Amazing-Man16_60.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQB6jQv16jE0cwyqfvEmd-DFc6Za-miNG3Shkpx-EDRG0lU4a1Xd1k1l5vs1l29bg0lOOubeqHMbpXcya5wqbz95VSGZeOQbn_3eStT6qx3Amkhsjyx3lzjoWUXQIDG97HpCzGTFhKLnCR/s400/Amazing-Man16_60.jpg" width="281" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsDzPp5J2tDdPUNe66yn1Odem5vCwTXAA_HiOqq8P6Acqam3241mSddPnXbR9k8NdqgXorUUeJ9AHqxExDdVMLMt0gXl4meZ9_barI7CGVl-mHRB1JuJsUVMIe88e0WxHYuYUqGZfjP_Hd/s1600/Amazing-Man16_61.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsDzPp5J2tDdPUNe66yn1Odem5vCwTXAA_HiOqq8P6Acqam3241mSddPnXbR9k8NdqgXorUUeJ9AHqxExDdVMLMt0gXl4meZ9_barI7CGVl-mHRB1JuJsUVMIe88e0WxHYuYUqGZfjP_Hd/s400/Amazing-Man16_61.jpg" width="281" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7udid9wNEQzkIWaDnCP88-PkG3kb5U4qqIpEBC1gI2TbmwIlOUQkoHl33gdtZCmksWEiqbt5b84L-6oWkWd3cP6_xT_njlgd83x0atsEmVOs-VcAAm7pv2L8dJ4HAO1nvC34X3eHIfB9D/s1600/Amazing-Man16_62.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7udid9wNEQzkIWaDnCP88-PkG3kb5U4qqIpEBC1gI2TbmwIlOUQkoHl33gdtZCmksWEiqbt5b84L-6oWkWd3cP6_xT_njlgd83x0atsEmVOs-VcAAm7pv2L8dJ4HAO1nvC34X3eHIfB9D/s400/Amazing-Man16_62.jpg" width="281" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJX9LVxtBcQmMoH6oNudeBcytlg_5-K3aMhZ94QcrFmrnchCwkfXk9yD87FXx3xKMbyimReLpi1WtJcc1GlATuYkVATtii_ERwFnLiIhdJP_kKge2O7NdsG3-pIE03Nmd84WG7NZKCX5h1/s1600/Amazing-Man16_63.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJX9LVxtBcQmMoH6oNudeBcytlg_5-K3aMhZ94QcrFmrnchCwkfXk9yD87FXx3xKMbyimReLpi1WtJcc1GlATuYkVATtii_ERwFnLiIhdJP_kKge2O7NdsG3-pIE03Nmd84WG7NZKCX5h1/s400/Amazing-Man16_63.jpg" width="281" /></a></div>
<br />
This rousing saga is dedicated to those among us who are over the age of 60. How bittersweet the concept of "Zardi" is to us in the autumn of our years! Imagine--being able to summon the vitality of lost youth with one swish of a magic cape!<br />
<br />
Oh, to be spared the back aches, the arthritis, the eczema of advanced years! 'Tis a fantasy far more appealing than that of "Superman," "Captain Marvel" or even "Ibis the Invincible."<br />
<br />
And, to quote my compadre, Mr. Spinkles: "Whillikers, could this guy tell a story! Wow!"<br />
<br />
Wardell's blend of fantasy and stunning realism is stunning. For example. witness the marvelously true-to-life sequence, on page two of the tale, in which Zardi, despite the magic powers at his disposal, chooses to call directory information to secure information about a car's owner! This, from a man who can change his age, be invisible, and cast other phantasmagoric incantations! 'Tis just what I would do, were I Zardi!<br />
<br />
Witness, as well, the poweful symbolism of the villains' attempts to turn living flesh into immovable stone! This, once again, deeply resonates with this particular senior citizen. Many mornings, I feel as though I've been tainted with Kali's treacherous brush!<br />
<br />
"This story inspires me," "Sparks" told me, in strictest confidence, later that evening. "It's time a certain senior citizen crime-fighter went back on the job. There are evils--misjustices--all around us. Things it takes a masked avenger to repair!"<br />
<br />
Thus, once again, I am the chaperone of "Super-Senior," as he seraches out crime on the timid streets of our fair city. We have accosted one litterer and two loiterers. "Sparks" takes great pride in each wrong righted. I am thankful for the excellent mileage of the Prius, and that a nightly 11:30 PM rerun of "The Life of Riley" provides a strong structure to our nightly "crime patrol."<br />
<br />
I've become quite fond of Tom D'Andrea's laconic portrayal of Riley's next-door neighbor, Gillis.<br />
<br />
Oh--I've quite forgotten to add my own historical research to this blog posting. I cannot let this responsibility to the arts panelological lapse!<br />
<br />
Steven Wardell was born in 1876, somewhere in the post-Civil War Southeast. There is very little data available on his life or work. His only panelological works appear in Centaur magazines, and no trace of his work is seen by 1941. He would have been my age when he wrote and drew the adventures of Zardi.<br />
<br />
His draftsmanship suggests a bygone era. There is no sign of the sleek streamlining of younger panelologists. Wardell carefully crafted each pen-stroke, and was a stickler for detail. He owned a complete magician's outfit, including the all-important cane and cape.<br />
<br />
A few younger cartoonists befriended Wardell, and, with his encouragement, strived to better their own work. Said Charles Quinlan, in a 1967 interview:<br />
<br />
<i>Wardell was a wonderful guy. He'd spend months on these six-page stories. He'd do sketch after sketch of key scenes. Any one of them would have been more than fine. But he insisted there was only one way to draw a scene right.</i><br />
<i><br /></i><br />
<i>I still have... he gave me a couple of his sketchbooks. One is all canes! Canes drawn from every conceivable angle, over and over... the other one is all capes. Every wrinkle, fold and angle you could want on a cape is in this sketchbook. I used 'em on Cat-Man and other work I did. Wardell saved me a lot of time, and I'm glad I knew him. He taught me to put my all into every panel. </i><br />
<i><br /></i><br />
<i>Of course, I produced less work that way, and made less money. I used to kind of gently curse Wardell every time I cashed a pay check. But I had a conscience. I had to do things his way. It never quite left me.</i><br />
<br />
One wonders what happened to those fabled sketchbooks! I imagine they would fetch a small fortune on Ebay, or some similar web sight.<br />
<br />
Well, 'tis time to go to the Diner and prepare for a busy day. I can almost hear Jeffrey's humming as I write these words.<br />
<br />
<i><b>POST-SCRIPT: </b></i>Colleagues have informed me of my apparent presence on the popular notworking site, FaceBook. Indeed, some quipster has posed as myself online! This mysterious prank-puller appears to bear me no ill will. I am not a member of FaceBook--this I can assure you. I am too busy correcting Raphael's mathematical mistakes, and prodding Katrice to bus tables, to dawdle online and tell all about my daily minutae!<br />
<br />
Unless, or until, this charlatan attempts to libel my good name, I shall let him (or her) have their innocent fun. I've gained many new e-mail friends from this FaceBook impostor. Person or persons: consider this a polite warning! Do not misuse the name of Mason James Moray! Elsewise, you may suffer the wrath of a certain senior crimefighter. Take care--beware!<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />Mason J. Morayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16288522457980212295noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2577154746554800558.post-1309037572560584272011-11-29T14:23:00.001-08:002011-11-29T15:40:33.222-08:00Holiday Highlights, Local "Occupiers" and Chemical Flea-Men! "Doctor Hormonr" from Popular Comics 58, 1940Hale and hearty salutations to one and all! 'Tis a pleasure to be here again, sharing the joys of panelology with my internet friends and companions. Our little hamlet has been cast into the pelirous waters of modern-day politics!<br />
<br />
I'm sure you've perused the news media and seen accounts of the various "Occupy" movements. Something about 99 per cent of something, and I believe they're after the missing 1 per cent. Seems like something from an old Republic Pictures "chapter play" to me. But I assume there are bigger stakes at hand.<br />
<br />
Believe it or not, we have had our own "Occupy" movement here! True, it consists of 11 bedraggled, unbathed young men and women. They have pitched five tents on the lawn of Mayor Miggins--who, I suspect, has had not a moment of peace since this gaggle of scruffy children "occupied" his prime Kentucky blue grass! (He has it imported from that fair state, via squares of sod and grass, each August.)<br />
<br />We are far, far away from Wall Street and its high-stress concerns here, but the hand of political actisivm is felt nonetheless. These 11 "occupiers" have made Dorrie's Diner a sort of second home. My goodness, how these "young folk" can talk--lecture, more accurately. And how they can eat!<br />
<br />
All of them seem named after something found outdoors--Leaf, Loam, Shallot and Cloud are four names I've learned. Gone, I suppose, are the days of Harry, Sheldon and Frank! But, then again, this i s the 21st century we live in--not the past!<br />
<br />
You might not think me a political thinker. 'Tis true, my thoughts run more to the halcyon pages of my beloved comic magazines of yore. But I keep my finger on the pluse of the new events. This trend goes back to my teen days. You've heard me speak of the musical duo of Mason and Rusty here. True, our repertoire did lean heavily on that of our idols, Peter and Gordon, but we did include a couple of "messager" songs, as those were popular with our peers. I still recall our Peter and Gordon-styled version of "Masters of War." We did it with a softer, bossa nova style of rhythm. Arranged for two voices in harmony, it always went over well.<br />
<br />
We, of course, also sang "Eve of Destruction." I never could get all the words sussed out on that one. Some thing about bodies floating--it still puzzles me, when the original tune plays on my "oldies" radio station. We just mumbled through that part, but it, too, cheered our classmates.<br />
<br />
Back to the present, friends. I'm somewhat impressed that the fire of politics still finds root in the hearts of the young. But I recall that I, at this age, bathed, shaved and changed clothes with far greater frequency. I have attempted to pass on these pearls of wisdom to our "Occupy 11," as they drift in and out of the Diner (which is parallel to their "tent city" on Mayor Miggins' front lawn).<br />
<br />
Alas, the good mayor has temporarily abstained from his twice-a-week visits to our little eatery. Whenever he shows his head outside his home, much like the groundhog on his day, he is assaulted with shouts, grunts and the expert heavings of small moist things. I pity Mr. Miggins--he is a just, fair, good-natured fellow, and I have always experienced him as being the champion of "the under guy."<br />
<br />
Yet, ironically, these youthful crusaders of justice won't given an established "do-gooder" the chance to speak his piece. Truth told, we shall all be glad when this "occupation" is over, and these young lions find something else with which to "occupy" their spare time!<br />
<br />
The "11," as the local newspaper has dubbed them, are inordinately fond of the ever-popular "Sloppy Doe" sandwich. Dorrie and I decided to offer a "Protester's Special." Anyone presently living in a tent, within our fair city limits, is entitled to one of these massive, fragrant, dripping sandwiches for one dollar.<br />
<br />
As said, these hungry youth tend ot "occupy" the Diner, guitars and notebooks in tow. I've impressed them with my special arrangement of "Masters of War," sung occapella to their slack-jawed surprise. Few of them sing! They mostly huddle in a grubby group, while one lazily strums assorted chords over and over again.<br />
<br />
Thanksgiving was a clandestine affair this year--held in secret at the Diner. Truth told, there were two versions of the meal. The one at the Diner featured a streamlined but pleasing spread, including Dorrie's knockout "Fruity Cola Bird" and her "Megaplex Pudding Cake," which features six flavors of pudding, encased in six complementary flavors of fluffy cake.<br />
<br />
Prior to this meal, we had a sham dinner at home. It consisted of turkey bologna, bread, American cheese, and a small tray of crackers. This was for the benefit of a certain certain Golden Age cartoonist (initials B.K.). Dorrie has made clear her abiding
dislike of Brad Kolger, and has told him that he has worn out his
welcome. He is advised to get into his motor home and find another
place of residence.<br />
<br />
This has caused a rift between Dorrie and myself. To be honest, Mr. Kolger has not proved the fountain of panelological wisdom "Sparks" and I might have hoped for. Some of his anecdotes seem a mite suspicious to me! You know well what a stickler I am for accuarcy. Facts, proven and measured, interest me. Mr. Kolger's imagination is evidently still keen, but our food bills have sky-rocketed. Due to his chronic weight gains, we've even had to purchase new pants for him. Otherwise, he wanders about in soiled boxer shorts and a bathrobe, 24-7.<br />
<br />
'Twas while trying to verify one of Mr. Kolger's wilder claims that I came across the name of Bob Bugg. No, he isn't a "funny animal" character! Mr. Bugg was an overlooked, uniquely inspired creator of the Golden Panelological Era. I'd all but forgotten his work until a comment by Mr. Kolger sparked my memory.<br />
<br />
I couldn't recall the magazine in which Mr. Bugg's work appeared. I thought it to be one of the Fox titles, or a Nedor publication. An exhaustive search of my holdings from these imprints revealed nothing--although "Sparks" and I did spend several happy hours reading from these vintage issues. Let the protests of man wail and moan. Let controversy cry out. None of these can dim the brilliant, shimmering light of the "people's art" of panelology!<br />
<br />
Finally, in an act of desperation, I rifled through a box of minor Dell Comics titles. 'Twas then that this issue of <i>Poplar Comics</i> literally leaped out at me. Its protective bag had an air pocket in it that caused it to shoot out of a stack and land, face-up, on my lap. Immediately, I espied the name of Mr. Bugg's magnum opus: DR. HORMONE!<br />
<br />
I've some interesting background material on the strip and its creator. But first, please prepare yourself emotionally for a sutnning burst of panelological art!!<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRR_4UtvYPDuhVcnuPw8YtwBv_zV901inGABh86PJSb-XNMRuHcfRGytfMolihSxiz49p0vb-ahPm5SxWHCyxeLQeb420T0Zdt3roz9B2jikOKxW1Ts8ikMB4wZ1NAUrnBe0oN0ePc8-0O/s1600/20.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRR_4UtvYPDuhVcnuPw8YtwBv_zV901inGABh86PJSb-XNMRuHcfRGytfMolihSxiz49p0vb-ahPm5SxWHCyxeLQeb420T0Zdt3roz9B2jikOKxW1Ts8ikMB4wZ1NAUrnBe0oN0ePc8-0O/s320/20.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1j2oEGnj8B8UFXJABkIxCQ57-jPqtj7jvQv1CFsv0XpCiWiTryQ2GnHwbbKJAktfsGfyG4Q7k8Um9q12dElQrib6Rzk1j36emci22McptIlRtKD2K0UOyVIUOTjCah4ROkJMKsEv7kBWb/s1600/21.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1j2oEGnj8B8UFXJABkIxCQ57-jPqtj7jvQv1CFsv0XpCiWiTryQ2GnHwbbKJAktfsGfyG4Q7k8Um9q12dElQrib6Rzk1j36emci22McptIlRtKD2K0UOyVIUOTjCah4ROkJMKsEv7kBWb/s320/21.jpg" width="239" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgY0e_ckgpYrxPtfNr1t5e41NhG_nFYJKGBbgT46WPmrStmfJFISLbFHQUjKIKzbf5H7pedK9wpsHcRakvG5syIV2i3ss4u8ABR1rRV0d1jDPvQpmOaYozwSAt52kF0c0evjpUJhGD4ZCv9/s1600/22.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgY0e_ckgpYrxPtfNr1t5e41NhG_nFYJKGBbgT46WPmrStmfJFISLbFHQUjKIKzbf5H7pedK9wpsHcRakvG5syIV2i3ss4u8ABR1rRV0d1jDPvQpmOaYozwSAt52kF0c0evjpUJhGD4ZCv9/s320/22.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhs_W4UgIaYrX17HO3Xq7Hx0WFSMvhgbCF2TWgw15AqHzZrfd0d_Aqg8y2VowozeJojeNVJzYpWwuSiCbJd61PYZZH7OKukVJi8QMEY63VaDSLLBzuMNFIXKUdstgA40zGS2nIAxAnqOdP2/s1600/23.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhs_W4UgIaYrX17HO3Xq7Hx0WFSMvhgbCF2TWgw15AqHzZrfd0d_Aqg8y2VowozeJojeNVJzYpWwuSiCbJd61PYZZH7OKukVJi8QMEY63VaDSLLBzuMNFIXKUdstgA40zGS2nIAxAnqOdP2/s320/23.jpg" width="243" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjz9Ub1FkqQ3SA9SmevFTkRfOOPWyhx4WDxeQayHlTjkmc4sNRJwFM6b_tH0Ppyqw2PdYxbyz6ewoZwvgx_JyL5oZPVxV86GeS8a8ywD5-3ZbIhiWLZjUfSUBzB_zx42Kd3N16h_ve0GD8i/s1600/24.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjz9Ub1FkqQ3SA9SmevFTkRfOOPWyhx4WDxeQayHlTjkmc4sNRJwFM6b_tH0Ppyqw2PdYxbyz6ewoZwvgx_JyL5oZPVxV86GeS8a8ywD5-3ZbIhiWLZjUfSUBzB_zx42Kd3N16h_ve0GD8i/s320/24.jpg" width="239" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVlnvBnyOzaf5pJtcToq23XS6mu3w4l4P7Pprbja3DuGa34c3nI3dnOnIfAIcPG3TQrB0xf7gU5K2IuHIO6K9iNaVxOA0-x6uNuSPpt3E3POkPUI8ICF94gO2ROO2eqPBNjSckcn3tkxFt/s1600/25.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVlnvBnyOzaf5pJtcToq23XS6mu3w4l4P7Pprbja3DuGa34c3nI3dnOnIfAIcPG3TQrB0xf7gU5K2IuHIO6K9iNaVxOA0-x6uNuSPpt3E3POkPUI8ICF94gO2ROO2eqPBNjSckcn3tkxFt/s320/25.jpg" width="241" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjB-12NsGkcfc635HlHu6a0ewyCZaNCf51YhsL_Y8-s2ueTU2nNtpRMPIwt8r3OeiG-gugkE7rQoJieU9TdqALFauvwS2ZxRYxW1DqVQh1VAzJUK0Op8kXMQF8HtZ5n_hzWfS1HdbsFp-v7/s1600/26.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjB-12NsGkcfc635HlHu6a0ewyCZaNCf51YhsL_Y8-s2ueTU2nNtpRMPIwt8r3OeiG-gugkE7rQoJieU9TdqALFauvwS2ZxRYxW1DqVQh1VAzJUK0Op8kXMQF8HtZ5n_hzWfS1HdbsFp-v7/s320/26.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
What whimsy and imagination combine to produce the exotic, exciting exploits of "Dr. Hormone!" This tale is highly prophetic of the World War to come. It was created in the autumn of 1940, as the shadows of desctruction loomed large over Europe. "Bob Bugg," in reality a gifted creator named Herschel Roach, saw the war coming to the United States--a full year before the dreaded attack on Pearl Harbor!<br />
<br />
Roach's time in the panelological field was short but sweet. His career began with a bang--his car collided with that of editor Oskar Lebeck in a Manhattan parking lot, one day in 1939. Roach had just--unsuccessfully--attempted to find work with the Harry Chesler studio. Down to his last two dollars, Roach was despondent, and failed to look in his rear-view mirror. Bang! He smashed editor Lebeck's rear fender.<br />
<br />
The impact of the accident unsecured Roach's portfolio. Sample comic-book pages spilled all over the interior of his car. An angry Lebeck, having surveyed the damage done, saw these pages and immediately forgot his fury. For he was in need of his own "Superman"--at any cost!<br />
<br />
Lebeck's concern oversaw a series of comic magazines that were old news in 1939. They existed before the arrival of the paenlological super-hero, and consisted of reprintings from popular newspaper comic strips. These had sold extraordinarily well throughout the middle to late 1930s, but with the arrival of a circus of costumed men of might, the fickle buying public turned away from Lebeck's offerings. He had to act--and fast!<br />
<br />
Lebeck offered Roach a job on the spot. He put him to work, in that pay parking lot, on the creation of a new, vibrant super-character. Roach's favorite novel was H. G. Wells' <i>The Island of Dr. Moreau</i>. He'd long had a notion that a good guy version of the feared Moreau might prove a comic-strip sensation.<br />
<br />
The possibilities were many: via scientific genius, and a series of experimental injections, his Hormone could change man to beast, insect or bird--and back again. It hadn't been done in comics until then. Roach knew he was onto a "sure thing."<br />
<br />
Overnight, Roach created a dozen potential features for Lebeck's perusal. He was less enthusiastic about his other ideas. He clearly wanted "Dr. Hormone" to lead the pack--and it did!<br />
<br />
Lebeck was intrigued by the idea of a scientific genius who was sane, instead of mad, and who helped America, rather than harm it. Dell's other super-hero entries, such as "Phantasmo," "The Owl" and "Marvel Man," had failed to "grab" the comic book-buying audience as Lebeck had dearly wished. <br />
<br />
Roach wrote and drew "Dr. Hormone" with his heart on his sleeve, and his ear on the pulse of current world events. As said earlier, he could see, all too well, the imminent specter of war on our peaceful American landscape. Only by preparing America's impressionable youth for the onset of chaos and destruction could we be ready to face this hitherto-unseen foe, he believed.<br />
<br />
The feature debuted with issue 54 of <i>opular Comics</i>, and ran for the next several issues. Alas, Roach was too much the prophet, and his message was too strong for young minds to take. The feature expired many months before America's entry into the Second World War.<br />
<br />
Unsurprisingly, Roach volunteered for the military before "the day that will live in infamy." Alas, he was, by then, a chronic sufferer of hiccups. The attacks would come late at night, and force him away from the drawing board. He tried every "folk remedy" in the book, but the accursed hiccups plagued him without cease. (He later discovered they were due to an allergy to dijon mustard, which he consumed voraciously.)<br />
<br />
Because of Roach's medical problem, he was deemed unsuited for military service. He continued in comics, penning features as diverse as "Ellery Queen" and "Rocky Hall, Jungle Stalker." One late feature, "The Safety Hasp," chronicled the doings of a super-powered night watchman who "made the rounds" of the criminal underworld.<br />
<br />
"The Safety Hasp" was accepted by Everett Arnold, publisher of Quality Comics, to begin publication in his <i>Crack Comics</i> title in early 1943. 'Twas then that tragedy struck a panelological genius. By this time, he had learned of his mustard allergy, and that it was the source of his frequent hiccup attacks. Roach craved the spicy condiment, knowing full well of its hazards to his health.<br />
<br />
One warm spring evening, having consumed three "red hots" slathered with dijon mustard, Roach descended into the subway, to take a train home. As a packed rail car approached, Roach suffered a violent attack of the hiccups. He lost his balance, and fell in front of the speeding subway car. A potential genius of the comic arts was lost to us that sad day in 1943.<br />
<br />
In this, the finest of Roach's "Hormone" tales, he applies his character's genius to the unlikely form of the common household pest, the flea. Roach was a champion of insect rights, and felt that fleas, spiders and even his namesake deserved fair treatment in this "land of opportunity."<br />
<br />
Were Herschel Roach still alive, I imagine he'd be out there, living in a tent, occupying America with his political fervor. As a tribute to these unbathed, inarticulate youth crusaders, I dedicate this "Dr. Hormone" saga.<br />
<br />
Well, 'tis time to "feed the occupiers," so end this post I must. I trust your Thanksgiving was peaceful and pleasant. May this holiday season shower you with warmth and kindness!<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />Mason J. Morayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16288522457980212295noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2577154746554800558.post-10791357525570925882011-10-03T14:04:00.000-07:002011-10-03T15:20:33.071-07:00Living Legend Proves Trying House-Guest--Plus Thrills from "Cat-man Comics" #20!Friends, 'tis been aeons since your humble pilot last navigated this craft 'midst the sweetly fragrant waters of paneology. Such apologies have become the standard on this "bolg," I regret to say.<br /><br />Life becomes richer, yet more complex, the older I get. Our restaurant thrives in its new "rerto" location--not so new, truthfully! The site has been occupted by Dorrie's Diner for six months now. At last, the scent of "Sloppy Doe" has all but vanished from our humble household. In its stead is the cloying tangle of "Febreze" odors.<br /><br />As "Sparks" Spinkle, my comrade, puts it in his earthy terms: "More tang here than in a New Orleans cat-house!" All of us have had a late occurence of hay fever, with much sneezing and fast liquidation of tissues the norm.<br /><br />Abd, as you may have intuited by today's title, a certain Golden Age panelologist still resides in out home. Oh, how I curse the day I invited Bradley Kolger into our adobe! Never have I known a human being so capable of sheer, relentless EATING!<br /><br />Mr. Kolger has put on considerable weight since joining our extended family. He looks like a little Buddha. His frequent garb of a bathrobe and striped boxing shorts only adds to this effect.<br /><br />As I write, in teh safety of the New Pantheon (thank the heavens for its existence!) I picture him seated on the living room couch, happily munching away on his favorite afternoon snack. Alternating on a large serving plate are stalks of celery filled with peanut butter or Cheez-Whiz. Liberally spirnkled atop the peanut-butter stalks are small nonpareil candies. Atop the cheese-stalks is a garnish of garlic salt.<br /><br />I shudder to recall the sounds of his grazing. First, a steady, march-like crunching, decorated with his unconscious sighs. Then, a ritual licking of each digit on the hand that held the stalk: POP! POP! POP! POP! POP! Five perfect cartoon sound-effects, delivered with cringing precision. Then, after a hearty clearing of the throat, the death-march crunch-munch resumes.<br /><br />I will give Mr. Kolger his due: he has been willing to sit for hours of interviews. His stories about the creators of the Golden Age of Panelology are fascinating, ribald and complex. I hope to have them published in book form soon. Perhaps the next "post" here will consist of highlights from his memoirs. There is an anecdote about Charles Sultan and Rudy Palais that is a side-splitter--I can't wait to share it with you! (Teaser: it involves pigeons and a pencil sharpener.)<br /><br />I am also pleased to announce that Mr. Kolger has resumed his craft as a panelologist. In collaboration with "Sparks," he is apparently at work on a "Super-Senior" graphic novel! I admit some growing cynicism at Mr. Kolger's claims that he has completed "over 100 pages." "Sparks" assures me the work exists, and that it's good. "Gee, but it's a corker, if I do say so myself--and I do!" my friend is fond of boasting.<br /><br />Have I seen one single page? Nay, not a line! This household's answer to Simon and Kirby wish their work to remain unseen until the entire work is completed. "Sparks" did "leak" the graphic novel's working title the other day: <span style="font-style: italic;">They Call Him...Super-Senior--A Man The Whole World Needs! </span>I presume the last half is a sub-title. Otherwise, 'twould be hard to fit all that hyperbole on a single page!<br /><br />How is my dear spouse weathering the presence of Mr. Kolger, you might ask? Answer: not well, not well at all. Were we both not so occupied with the success-story of the Diner, I imagine we would be seeing some counsellor or psychiatrist by now.<br /><br />Mr. Kolger makes his presence constantly known. His habits are those of the seasoned bachelor--of one not used to the constant presence of other people. Though he is an engaging and sometimes-charming fellow, he has his quirks. "Burp-talk" is perhaps the biggest point of contention, from Dorrie's POV. Mr. Kolger consumes a great deal of diet ginger ale, and uses the carbonation build-up to speak entire sentences in the form of a common burp.<br /><br />The man has talent in this area, to be sure. It is rather uncanny to have a long reply rendered in the buzzing tones of gastric release! Being a fellow male, I don't mind it (much), but it drives the "little missus" wild with exasperation.<br /><br />Dorrie laid down the law last Thursday, after one such exhalation from Mr. Kolger. "You. Are. Not. To. Do. This. At. Our. Table. Again," she said, her forehead crimson with rage. He apologized immediately, and has since confined his "burp-talk" to the inner sanctum of our guest room.<br /><br />Said location is where Mr. Kolger purveys another of his creations: "banjo-humming." This effect is achieved by 1) humming and 2) running one's index finger up and down over one's lips while humming. Once again, I admit the effect is impressive, but even "Sparks" has taken issue with this musical habit, and has called him the carpet for it!<br /><br />"Sparks," Mr. Kolger and myself share a fondness for the disturbing television serial "Breaking Bad." Monday nights find us seated in the living room, sweating our way through each new episode. "Sparks" reacts to the mis-steps of Walter White by sitting with his knees folded up, held by his hands in "cannonball dive" position, and uttering "OH, gee! OH, gee!" Mr. Kolger slaps his forehead, and offers Mr. White counsel that he, a fictional character, cannot possibly hear, or benefit from.<br /><br />We all agree that "Breaking Bad" makes us each feel much better about his own life. Not that I have much to regret, at present (save one very obvious and ill-advised decision!)<br /><br />In other news: Raphael has become a local media celebrity! Channel Six NewsTeam members descended on our restaurant, ostensibly to do a "local color" piece on the bistro. So taken were they with Raphael's Latin charm that the story became all about him. I learned harrowing details of Raphael's life that shocked and moved me. It only confirms the faith in my decision to become his mentor.<br /><br />Since the broadcast, Raphael now has a twice-weekly berth on Channel Six's Evening Journal Review (a glorified news program, despite its lofty title). Raphael is interviewed by the show's hosts on a variety of surprise subjects, including world events (in which he is surprisingly savvy!)<br /><br />Needless to say, there is no such thing as bad publicity. His public appeal translates into consumer faithfulness for Dorrie's Diner. To our surprise, he has not asked for a raise, nor displayed other "tells" of a swollen ego. Sweet, dear, down-to-earth Raphael! Dorrie and I plan to increase his salary in November, as a sort of "early Christmas" for him.<br /><br />Not everyone patronizes this "blog" for my small-town chit-chat. I know that many of you are eager to get on with the show. Well, here it is--and what a show!<br /><br />I was reminded of the brilliance of today's twin offering when Box 7-C fell off the shelf last week, sppoking me out of a year's growth! This, the 20th issue of <span style="font-style: italic;">Cat-man Comics,</span> literally fell at my feet. The Holyoke comics titles are a mixed lot, at best, with inspiration, overblown grandeur and tedium mingling 'midst each issue of every publication.<br /><br />First, here's a bloodthirsty scene of Nazi strangulation by the titular hero of the title. Notice the glee with which it is drawn!<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQp59alcFZI0pbRpI8K8H9nnt7poPmq_Q3tot4H_I9jfx4NQwSigbgFZ9Fi3FK94MiHaGZEgWZknd8JHXfTjgX_2KJ1tdEOFU4bHVtmaHl6VlqYomNOpIp7TqRwUhYu2IrIDB4BZ4c-P2r/s1600/Catman_Comics_020_000_fc+001.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 287px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQp59alcFZI0pbRpI8K8H9nnt7poPmq_Q3tot4H_I9jfx4NQwSigbgFZ9Fi3FK94MiHaGZEgWZknd8JHXfTjgX_2KJ1tdEOFU4bHVtmaHl6VlqYomNOpIp7TqRwUhYu2IrIDB4BZ4c-P2r/s400/Catman_Comics_020_000_fc+001.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5659384138083554450" border="0" /></a><br />'Tis not the Cat-man's exploits you'll see today! As is typical, the back-up features far outshine the main attraction! "Ragman" is a haunting, eerie and moody feature, created, written and drawn by Herman Browner. This is perhaps the single greatest installment of the series. Browner's skill at creating and sustaming a mood is most impressive. Notice, throughout, the role of the Afro-American "Tiny," who is billed as "Ragman's Faithful Helper." There is a touching, true-life coda to this story, which you'll read at tale's end, below.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiD-fd4Ygp_FenrV5iaLsw4VAIxpfwaFOnKs1bIXMe_1-CptKPlC2JjpqEllvgyxhlecRBdCRFlT22OlNy-OxE-Nt4RmZfw4_noIhw09PgN6YK3Oz29hqMuTHl9mqZ6c87SAuq6qEL1VJt5/s1600/Catman_Comics_020_017+001.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 296px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiD-fd4Ygp_FenrV5iaLsw4VAIxpfwaFOnKs1bIXMe_1-CptKPlC2JjpqEllvgyxhlecRBdCRFlT22OlNy-OxE-Nt4RmZfw4_noIhw09PgN6YK3Oz29hqMuTHl9mqZ6c87SAuq6qEL1VJt5/s400/Catman_Comics_020_017+001.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5659384132067657954" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgCd0ScQpqb62071DnsQk31FDXoGYMkwq6XOI2yCN3obCHOzyL2t8Nq8WyBQGmCVAeEc5s0p3KV11iRODcZFl2Kl3AsTpRIrp-mIB-wteR4ixrEajGwag_qsUo48f7e4i1y9RGvc4SSLE2/s1600/Catman_Comics_020_018+001.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 297px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgCd0ScQpqb62071DnsQk31FDXoGYMkwq6XOI2yCN3obCHOzyL2t8Nq8WyBQGmCVAeEc5s0p3KV11iRODcZFl2Kl3AsTpRIrp-mIB-wteR4ixrEajGwag_qsUo48f7e4i1y9RGvc4SSLE2/s400/Catman_Comics_020_018+001.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5659384128889764610" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTXzPje7Lz8TffbNPmAz-h5hbDbP0k5abJizsKK55jW_TTe9jbYGgllinE3ufAcYtijB4g8Rf5dUlkLSPIcqSXkPYNDBfdwsRDa0HOp4jTkjaT5ceaXFoJL6H_LK4K4MfgF5zXrglzQCH_/s1600/Catman_Comics_020_019+001.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 298px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTXzPje7Lz8TffbNPmAz-h5hbDbP0k5abJizsKK55jW_TTe9jbYGgllinE3ufAcYtijB4g8Rf5dUlkLSPIcqSXkPYNDBfdwsRDa0HOp4jTkjaT5ceaXFoJL6H_LK4K4MfgF5zXrglzQCH_/s400/Catman_Comics_020_019+001.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5659384126116165426" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_VPrWJJL5gfjUZGIAPYOvLjiwU_WqvUv9aSTzeKT3-s_qCNee5sPrOdc3u8wseE4q4WQcKPOgQzkGvLwqCnNeE-tMLZFLK9z9fZYAlrNruLie5iZ5UNL7rZ87mYvwduXltJaWNu5EQ9vA/s1600/Catman_Comics_020_020+001.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 298px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_VPrWJJL5gfjUZGIAPYOvLjiwU_WqvUv9aSTzeKT3-s_qCNee5sPrOdc3u8wseE4q4WQcKPOgQzkGvLwqCnNeE-tMLZFLK9z9fZYAlrNruLie5iZ5UNL7rZ87mYvwduXltJaWNu5EQ9vA/s400/Catman_Comics_020_020+001.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5659384114886513618" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcUrBxfEOgsIE9pk6ugm2PKlly3tp3xF-gKLFBsV2WyP7tf3lAWRpnhdMFxgGgNMMeMHJNG3nHgzBP9sH1eJLVIcb1Ib5ZiHuUtXV69nehzIpyXbPEuzVtDWCj5InOOOZlXTxz4LlOTe2s/s1600/Catman_Comics_020_021+001.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 294px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcUrBxfEOgsIE9pk6ugm2PKlly3tp3xF-gKLFBsV2WyP7tf3lAWRpnhdMFxgGgNMMeMHJNG3nHgzBP9sH1eJLVIcb1Ib5ZiHuUtXV69nehzIpyXbPEuzVtDWCj5InOOOZlXTxz4LlOTe2s/s400/Catman_Comics_020_021+001.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5659384629275813698" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqr6faztMsDbGRAmV1kR6VkHZ9N3m4-2MLJQPV_8ZZ7eErc89IUWjRpLmKcwJIIsyu8SVSiwmVZGD1raVwBK1_7iqtvowkqsMIMXJ1TbOexvv96Kh2I3_849y5kQs9-qcbAQo8QddS0CjS/s1600/Catman_Comics_020_022+001.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 296px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqr6faztMsDbGRAmV1kR6VkHZ9N3m4-2MLJQPV_8ZZ7eErc89IUWjRpLmKcwJIIsyu8SVSiwmVZGD1raVwBK1_7iqtvowkqsMIMXJ1TbOexvv96Kh2I3_849y5kQs9-qcbAQo8QddS0CjS/s400/Catman_Comics_020_022+001.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5659384621205138354" border="0" /></a>As said at story's beginning, "Ragman" was created, written and drawn by Mr. Browner. You'll notice I did not mention the lettering. Friends, Browner was a gifted illiterate. He had immense talent as a panelological renderer, as you'll no doubt attest, but the man could not read or write in any language.<br /><br />Browner lived in constant shame and fear because of this learning disability. The man tried--and tried--to learn how to read, but claimed "the letters get so mixed up it hurts!" It is believed that Browner suffered from reverse dyslexia, in which, through the afflicted viewer's eyes, the columns of text are a hopeless jumble.<br /><br />Sharing Browner's secret was Manhattan janitor Roscoe "Tiny" Pearl, a seemingly lowly broom-artist who held three college degrees! "Tiny" helped translate Browner's panel-by-panel concepts into literate English. With a deft hand, Pearl neatly lettered each tale, with no one the wiser.<br /><br />Browner's ruse wa ssuccessful for years--until one day in 1948, when he was arrested at a midtown Manhattan bank. Browner was merely attempting to deposit a paycheck, which had a typographical error. The check read "two hudnred and fitfy dollars" instead of two hundred and fifty.<br /><br />Browner had to publicly admit his illiteracy when questioned by the police. He was ousted from comic book work as a result of that confession. Remarkably, Browner went on to greater success as a sign painter! With "Tiny" by his side, dictating each word and letter, Browner was soon among Manhattan's elite "window and card men"--a position he proudly held until his 1963 death. Browner never did learn to read!<br /><br />Up next is a riveting tale of "The Hood," by the team of A. Cornwall and Richard Thresher. (Don't be deceived by the "Al Mandel" on the Hood's cape. That was, in fact, the garment's name!)<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlFAoCvJ3PUnOuKmyyBp2KIaMAKovDn37tyQhhF6dqF1swE85gwoPj7iwS_skOGjN091aEyJtktl-2-a6M0PD2Qu8nmXUZSg3KSsDXVMq3RftvCkJ11_Z1Yn70GEqkFAbUfiuWDdsFNPvC/s1600/Catman_Comics_020_030+001.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 294px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlFAoCvJ3PUnOuKmyyBp2KIaMAKovDn37tyQhhF6dqF1swE85gwoPj7iwS_skOGjN091aEyJtktl-2-a6M0PD2Qu8nmXUZSg3KSsDXVMq3RftvCkJ11_Z1Yn70GEqkFAbUfiuWDdsFNPvC/s400/Catman_Comics_020_030+001.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5659384614785820722" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwR4SbB8KkEXcOTXwdgv14DfH_yn8NIrDyC0CZfoDtljC22g8xnOVrDwkmsFoiVkjY6nD5YAvKNCNok-n3FQtWdRwzvoqWWgbbIIbFGGXnySJEGfQdIqi5d7cgFubIT-3joSsWtMuUSGKN/s1600/Catman_Comics_020_031+001.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 295px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwR4SbB8KkEXcOTXwdgv14DfH_yn8NIrDyC0CZfoDtljC22g8xnOVrDwkmsFoiVkjY6nD5YAvKNCNok-n3FQtWdRwzvoqWWgbbIIbFGGXnySJEGfQdIqi5d7cgFubIT-3joSsWtMuUSGKN/s400/Catman_Comics_020_031+001.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5659384610218373474" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-d8-hsaUtOsegYgJAbffEIBebL-GeXrRYXvnYH1Ip3eHSDeE07EJIQTTis9r2tOM6cGtXYsBOCnffE4LXRFeMeHlwzKrdsQKP4Su6jZBxwLVmfYVUdkMVK643XhD7XHleLIpcl6uelQyt/s1600/Catman_Comics_020_032+001.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 294px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-d8-hsaUtOsegYgJAbffEIBebL-GeXrRYXvnYH1Ip3eHSDeE07EJIQTTis9r2tOM6cGtXYsBOCnffE4LXRFeMeHlwzKrdsQKP4Su6jZBxwLVmfYVUdkMVK643XhD7XHleLIpcl6uelQyt/s400/Catman_Comics_020_032+001.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5659384604993715682" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9Fm5B00wwZNRgttJHPJ3AGH8opgNWbXXmOPwcUuEA4c4-VhWReUsRLNOV46IANqmX525bG9CGclX9UlojTQLO2tvhuGAiiCIBwsztROBpKSGlqvIA_WYxJ4B_xAIpltw_engHE0Lq3rvd/s1600/Catman_Comics_020_033+001.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 298px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9Fm5B00wwZNRgttJHPJ3AGH8opgNWbXXmOPwcUuEA4c4-VhWReUsRLNOV46IANqmX525bG9CGclX9UlojTQLO2tvhuGAiiCIBwsztROBpKSGlqvIA_WYxJ4B_xAIpltw_engHE0Lq3rvd/s400/Catman_Comics_020_033+001.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5659385691022415954" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgY-LBNJIyGebLiOvd4bzhmUI92C5zCCvQaS19OI8xgLf5gMCeJDidd5cmsOtPTeY8DjS5fj_E4e9N270nFC5Qls85JQJZQIIdPeWhWv23c4hkDIEyV-B9xcKk2hyphenhyphen9nK3Z7AJgmIvU2z6RJ/s1600/Catman_Comics_020_034+001.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 296px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgY-LBNJIyGebLiOvd4bzhmUI92C5zCCvQaS19OI8xgLf5gMCeJDidd5cmsOtPTeY8DjS5fj_E4e9N270nFC5Qls85JQJZQIIdPeWhWv23c4hkDIEyV-B9xcKk2hyphenhyphen9nK3Z7AJgmIvU2z6RJ/s400/Catman_Comics_020_034+001.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5659385688898009762" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTgYcm3Zj9ytxCCXnjZwrM1cz3rBG5T6f9kyq3C6B4zkgAnzRn7HRG5TP8MWXS0mCxAAyKodpoPJH_CNJFyKV8tFNDLcY6Y4hGQJV2P07HwhqYsQSQj4ZWffHXSLh0xNHsx9-lD2T16c8H/s1600/Catman_Comics_020_035+001.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 295px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTgYcm3Zj9ytxCCXnjZwrM1cz3rBG5T6f9kyq3C6B4zkgAnzRn7HRG5TP8MWXS0mCxAAyKodpoPJH_CNJFyKV8tFNDLcY6Y4hGQJV2P07HwhqYsQSQj4ZWffHXSLh0xNHsx9-lD2T16c8H/s400/Catman_Comics_020_035+001.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5659385682267417362" border="0" /></a>Little is known about Richard Thresher, due to his over-identification with his creation, The Hood. Thresher wore a mask, night and day, exactly like the Hood's own cowl. His reason for such outlandish garb? Sinus problems! Thresher claimed that wearing the mask helped relieve painful sinus pressure, which plagued him throughout h is adult life.<br /><br />From an interview I did with Arthur Cornwall, in 1974:<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Tell me about the artist on "The Hood," Richard Thresher...</span><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;">Heh heh! What a kook! We all called him "The Hoodlum," which he hated! Made him want to spit nails. I used to bring scripts over to his apartment in Greenwich Village. Even on the hottest summer day, he'd have that fool mask on. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;">That thing got dirtier and dirtier as time went on. We'd sometimes go out to eat, and he'd lift the bottom part of the mask up with a knife, and shovel in food with his fork. He was a pretty good artist, but he had bad aim. Over the years, that thing got caked with gravy, syrup, coffee stains, ketchup and whatnot. But he wouldn't take it off! Not even alone at home.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">What became of Mr. Thresher?</span><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;">He was declared 4-F in World War II, but they finally drafted him into the Korean War. Lord knows how he made it through basic training, with that thing on his face, but he did. Last I heard of him, he was a layout artist for Filmation Studios, out in Hollywood. I'll bet he still has that darned thing on to this day!</span><br /><br />I found Mr. Cornwall a rather bitter, vindictive fellow, with many harsh comments about his colleagues and rivals. To be honest, Cornwall's scripts are the worst aspect of "The Hood." Despite his eccentricities, Thresher showed a certain dramatic flair in his artwork. I particularly enjoying spotting his blacks. They are all over each page, and delivered with confidence.<br /><br />Well, friends, the clock tells me that it's almost time for "Breaking Bad." 'Tis time to join my comrades at home. I'm almost afraid to watch!Mason J. Morayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16288522457980212295noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2577154746554800558.post-66931776625022376292011-07-03T10:59:00.000-07:002011-07-09T18:10:07.883-07:00NEWS FLASH! A LIVNIG LEGEND FOUND! AUTHENTIC GOLDEN AGE PANELOLOGIST SPEAKS!Friends, pardon both my long absence and my excessive use of capitalization. But there is great news! Great ews indeed! Before we proceed, I must confess that the "N" key on this computer is ot workig well today. It tends to stick, and does not always "come through." So please forgive me if I occasionally miss a needed "N."<br /><br />The ew location for "Dorrie's Diner" has taken off like a skyrocket--an apt metaphor for the approachig Fourth of July weekend. Our sales and patronage have tripled since the move. The chage has done us all well. The household finally no longer smells of the "Sloppy Doe" sauce, and whe Dorrie ad I are home, we are well and truly HOME.<br /><br />Ad I thought I was retired! This "second career" has absorbed more of my time ad energy tha I ever reckoned. So little time for panelology anymore--witness my crimial neglect of this blog!<br /><br />But if I had little time for my passion--what with all the accounting, hosting and cash-registering required of me--my passon did not forget me! IT literally walked in the doors of Dorrie's Diner one afternoon in late May, in the form of Brad Kolger. His ame may not ring an alarm, but to the more refined, studied panelologist, such as myself, his is a name to savor.<br /><br />I would not have recognized this man as the panelological giat he was, when he walked into the restaurant. He was wearing well-worn clothes, with a fishig hat, loaded with old, rusted baits, and a hungry look in his eyes.<br /><br />He sat down in a booth and ordered profusely from our menu. Raphael could scarcely keep up with him! After takig the man's order, Raphael came up to me. In a confidetial whisper, he showed me the order--for five different entrees, plus salad, dessert and french fries--and said with concer: "Senor Mason, this man cannot possibly consume so many platters!"<br /><br />But consume he did, ad with relish. He ordered a cup of coffee to go with his Creamy Cinnamon Pie, finished his repast with abundant satisfactio, and then motioned for the bill. It was almost thirty dollars total.<br /><br />The man approached the counter and left this crude sketch as payment:<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqQm9MwuCQNj20cSdvzhyonPZQ_zdoJL_QjM8LPQVFUw3fDuyn0kCdQhbCjgd3mK6_lJqalrN4prhJ6RTAw6H518xd6Qa4Pic3CtXMPi_99S7kK7dTlkKJeizSSL_PIgrmbOubjRRhpxD5/s1600/BradKolgerSketch.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 297px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqQm9MwuCQNj20cSdvzhyonPZQ_zdoJL_QjM8LPQVFUw3fDuyn0kCdQhbCjgd3mK6_lJqalrN4prhJ6RTAw6H518xd6Qa4Pic3CtXMPi_99S7kK7dTlkKJeizSSL_PIgrmbOubjRRhpxD5/s400/BradKolgerSketch.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5627524453147646242" border="0" /></a><br />A wave of shock passed through me as I held this drawing. Here before me--this humble figure--was one of the "lost greats" of comicdom's "Golded Age!" He hurried to the door. "Stop, sir!" I called out.<br /><br />He cringed, shrugged his shoulders and took off his hat. "I didn't think it would go over. So where's the kitchen?"<br /><br />"Sir," I said, with evidet reverence. "You are Brad Kolger--creator of 'Nightshade,' the feature seen in late issues of <span style="font-style: italic;">Amazing-Man Comics</span>?"<br /><br />Agaim, he shurgged. "Guilty as charged." Then his face took on a quizzical hue. "How in the hell did you know that?"<br /><br />"I, sir, am a panelologist. In my realm, yours is an admired name. You are always welcome here."<br /><br />Kolger looked up at me. "No kidding?"<br /><br />"I could not jest about such important things, sir."<br /><br />"Well, in that case..."<br /><br />Kolger ordered a few more items from the menu, and ate them with great relish, "on the house." At one poit, he looked up from his feasting and again shrugged his shoulders. "It's my metabolism. I'm 87 years old, but I still eat like I'm 27!"<br /><br />"Mr. Kolger," I asked, "are you... homeless?"<br /><br />"Hardly!" he replied. "I got my camper. Long as my pension checks keep coming, I'm free to tootle all over the place..."<br /><br />With some argumentation, a persuasive case was made for Mr. Kolger to take temporary residence in our newly-regained spare room (that of the former home bistro space.) I could not let pass this rare opportunity to interview one of the last surviving creators of the finest age of panelology!<br /><br />To those unfamiliar with the work of Brad Kolger, here is his "Nightshade" story from issue 24 of <span style="font-style: italic;">Amazing-Man Comics</span>:<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0nN2q6fzakdzQO2ww3IjMMNGqdJAaI5YMyzbrEeFd5wmDGhad1kvkY4Gr9rYlzN3tI8ZEpPkbB2KxLHsKt2DCAYeGPBmz0u8hu5irURVNdRfL1W8gSi7VEvMfrgMy8tMMwf1XqVSXTkOA/s1600/Amazing+Man+24-60-Nightshade.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 288px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0nN2q6fzakdzQO2ww3IjMMNGqdJAaI5YMyzbrEeFd5wmDGhad1kvkY4Gr9rYlzN3tI8ZEpPkbB2KxLHsKt2DCAYeGPBmz0u8hu5irURVNdRfL1W8gSi7VEvMfrgMy8tMMwf1XqVSXTkOA/s400/Amazing+Man+24-60-Nightshade.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5625188727199498642" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEha9hfM4FAlKf8TjmBYL2XHdPDWkSG8n7yeTNvriNcr7tzycGRuuPm93s96C8Ajdi2Zo8Xu60_7NOD9Jg9pw3zGsKZl2ECV9MChvjt9dhAhsWw8IO_HsWYiOvz6NCk1sPgj6CfFUAUixul9/s1600/Amazing+Man+24-61.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 288px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEha9hfM4FAlKf8TjmBYL2XHdPDWkSG8n7yeTNvriNcr7tzycGRuuPm93s96C8Ajdi2Zo8Xu60_7NOD9Jg9pw3zGsKZl2ECV9MChvjt9dhAhsWw8IO_HsWYiOvz6NCk1sPgj6CfFUAUixul9/s400/Amazing+Man+24-61.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5625188723100382802" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-kIGjRLjdNbcwlcjunNe4LCb5aPMufquIVal8KlJUTJ3quth5agbm-dNCmmTczEAprmxhjDy6rK8O8xn08Pbq5vIgLaey5awGFjKyk8jzV-l1qYgFM0oTY7X_P_88_5sXR3hHT8Jg60ha/s1600/Amazing+Man+24-62.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 288px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-kIGjRLjdNbcwlcjunNe4LCb5aPMufquIVal8KlJUTJ3quth5agbm-dNCmmTczEAprmxhjDy6rK8O8xn08Pbq5vIgLaey5awGFjKyk8jzV-l1qYgFM0oTY7X_P_88_5sXR3hHT8Jg60ha/s400/Amazing+Man+24-62.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5625188310730307426" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtba5l-_EROq0RcYBGSbs7apwRnO036hc5sbVpjIodX7DbIhT9_yHjvzOfYoTZmKvOwt_zr3Mg2gwdCgRXqVwHLP6HXne5DlonnzyLcgRqudFhkDDldNOuNB4_v2SzkDTPdhyphenhyphencmmGi9av-/s1600/Amazing+Man+24-63.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 288px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtba5l-_EROq0RcYBGSbs7apwRnO036hc5sbVpjIodX7DbIhT9_yHjvzOfYoTZmKvOwt_zr3Mg2gwdCgRXqVwHLP6HXne5DlonnzyLcgRqudFhkDDldNOuNB4_v2SzkDTPdhyphenhyphencmmGi9av-/s400/Amazing+Man+24-63.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5625188308339343426" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYOVQF4QkOXARpwBiyhgYnlkYULHV_ehItUe3biZdKdppUIfGgYWx6do8TU1jc0cybLOQWZk5vt2D-uDJFwCjoqxDawY1LfE6AQVzdviepknWBxS2qZ9_Sha0dRvhlgEuCZPyGspZTxP7M/s1600/Amazing+Man+24-64.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 288px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYOVQF4QkOXARpwBiyhgYnlkYULHV_ehItUe3biZdKdppUIfGgYWx6do8TU1jc0cybLOQWZk5vt2D-uDJFwCjoqxDawY1LfE6AQVzdviepknWBxS2qZ9_Sha0dRvhlgEuCZPyGspZTxP7M/s400/Amazing+Man+24-64.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5625188302752541970" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6jRP-4O-AgS58MpDUxYTBmRHKiv6gd12-f1HjwdKmSn-6Ha0veApKVR87H5w76JXeeiytMcCfLR-jKEMAct29fh-gnJYRVKN3UlNIaL0eJxCpAvE0VDLukQbNxKDWS_ZWe0oPSrVmVX4g/s1600/Amazing+Man+24-65.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 288px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6jRP-4O-AgS58MpDUxYTBmRHKiv6gd12-f1HjwdKmSn-6Ha0veApKVR87H5w76JXeeiytMcCfLR-jKEMAct29fh-gnJYRVKN3UlNIaL0eJxCpAvE0VDLukQbNxKDWS_ZWe0oPSrVmVX4g/s400/Amazing+Man+24-65.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5625188293568630658" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMsFXtw26laqIbsF2gwIZr4_28XmmF-kS4S9FXszmFwa9khXgUR8QmZfQsKG1DXtb4cirAh31hmBmxiH6_RSV4PvXR0Xa3nJ89SzhyphenhyphenPZZ-E6DtMHpRJD4XggZDqDPcr6uonaC5dlbxoetu/s1600/Amazing+Man+24-66.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 288px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMsFXtw26laqIbsF2gwIZr4_28XmmF-kS4S9FXszmFwa9khXgUR8QmZfQsKG1DXtb4cirAh31hmBmxiH6_RSV4PvXR0Xa3nJ89SzhyphenhyphenPZZ-E6DtMHpRJD4XggZDqDPcr6uonaC5dlbxoetu/s400/Amazing+Man+24-66.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5625188291447104770" border="0" /></a>'Tis a remarkable tale. Just as fascinating is the real-life story of its creator. "Sparks" Spinkle and myself sat down wtih Mr. Kolger in our home on July 5th and captured this exclusive iterview with a living leged of panelology.<br /><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:worddocument> <w:view>Normal</w:View> <w:zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:donotoptimizeforbrowser/> </w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--> <p style="font-weight: bold;" class="MsoNormal">MM: Mr. Kolger, you certainly were in the right place at the right time! It’s a pleasure to be able to interview you about your career in panelology.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">BK:Pana-what-a-gee?</p> <p style="font-weight: bold;" class="MsoNormal">SS: Comic books. Funny books. All in color for a dime.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">BK: Jesus, that was a long time ago. Hey, do you happen to have any softer pillows? The ones on that bed are kind of hard. </p> <p style="font-weight: bold;" class="MsoNormal">MM: I’ll ask my wife when she returns home.</p><span style="font-weight: bold;"> </span><p style="font-weight: bold;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count:1"> </span>So, please, tell our readership about your work in the comic magazines.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">BK: Jesus, I was all of 17 years old when I started doing those stories. Just out of high school. I was always good with a pencil and a pen. I won some art contests in high school. I went to Burl Madison High School of the Arts and Sciences. It was in Flatbush.</p> <p style="font-weight: bold;" class="MsoNormal">MM: I haven’t heard of that school before. Did any other notable cartoonists attend it?</p> <p class="MsoNormal">BK: You heard of Mike Roy?</p> <p style="font-weight: bold;" class="MsoNormal">SS: He did<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span><span style="font-style: italic;">The Saint </span>comic strip.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">BK: That’s him. That guy had the worst gas! Nobody wanted to sit near him after lunch. That guy could clear a room in 10 seconds. I wonder how his assistants stood it!</p> <p style="font-weight: bold;" class="MsoNormal">MM: I see.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">BK: Of course, now they have that Prilosec. I take it. It’s a miracle drug. I haven’t cut one in six months.</p> <p style="font-weight: bold;" class="MsoNormal">SS: Cut one? That’s a corker!</p><span style="font-weight: bold;"> </span><p style="font-weight: bold;" class="MsoNormal">MM: Yes. [pause] Please tell our readership how you broke into the comic book field.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">BK: Remember “Hoot” Gibson? The movie cowboy?</p> <p style="font-weight: bold;" class="MsoNormal">MM: Yes.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">BK: They had this big national “Draw ‘Hoot’ Gibson” contest. The winner got an internship with King Features Syndicate. They were thinking about a “Hoot” Gibson comic strip.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count:1"> </span>Anyway, I was pretty slick with a brush, and I decided I was going to do a life-size portrait of old “Hoot.” I got the dope on how tall he was at the public library. Then I did a six-foot portrait—really, more of a caricature—of Gibson. I spent hours on it. I wanted that internship bad. Anything to get out of the family business.</p> <p style="font-weight: bold;" class="MsoNormal">SS: What was that business?</p> <p class="MsoNormal">BK: We jarred raw sewage. Farmers would buy it in the winter. Manure would just freeze solid when it got cold. We had seven sizes of jars. The smallest was called a “boomer,” and the biggest was called a “spotter.” It was a terrible business. The stench in the summer was unbearable.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count:1"> </span>So I figured a life drawing pictures was a bed of roses. I guess it was. </p> <p style="font-weight: bold;" class="MsoNormal">MM: Did you win the contest?</p> <p class="MsoNormal">BK: Yep! The judges almost went for a painting done by this English girl. She had horrible breath. Must have eaten onions three times a day. I always kept my mouth clean.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count:1"> </span>Nothing came of the “Hoot” Gibson comic strip. They had me draw up three weeks of sample strips. Fellow named Craig Maxwell wrote them. He had “Hoot” dropped in the African jungle, as a G-man. “Hoot” disguised himself as a gorilla and was on the trail of some poachers who had stolen these top-secret blueprints.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count:1"> </span>It was a good story, but Gibson wouldn’t stand for being drawn in a gorilla outfit. It made him see red! He told King Features to go screw themselves. And that was that.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count:1"> </span>But I had these terrific samples, and I took them around to all these comic book publishers. King Features liked me work, but told me to come back when I was 21. When you’re 17, that’s like a million years. So I took these sample strips everywhere. National liked them, but said they were full up. </p> <p style="font-weight: bold;" class="MsoNormal">MM: How did you wind up working for Centaur Publications?</p> <p class="MsoNormal">BK: Just walked in their office, showed them my strips, and lied about my age. Said I was 20, and they bought it. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count:1"> </span>Their editor wanted a knock-off of “The Shadow.” That radio show was really popular, and some other company did a comic book version. They asked me, point blank, to do a rip-off of “The Shadow.” <span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>They said I could do anything I wanted in the stories, as long as it was just like “The Shadow.”</p> <p style="font-weight: bold;" class="MsoNormal">SS: Did you know Mart Bailey?</p> <p class="MsoNormal">BK: Bart Bailey? No…</p> <p style="font-weight: bold;" class="MsoNormal">SS: No, no, MART Bailey.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">BK: (thinks) No.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count:1"> </span>What were we talking about?</p> <p style="font-weight: bold;" class="MsoNormal">MM: The creation of “Nightshade,” your first and most successful feature in comic books.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">BK: Yeah, yeah. I walked down to the subway station, and it was late afternoon, and thee sun made all the shadows really long. I took a look at those and I said, “Eureka! That’s it!”</p> <p style="font-weight: bold;" class="MsoNormal">SS: Those were your exact words?</p> <p class="MsoNormal">BK: I guess. Why is that important?</p> <p style="font-weight: bold;" class="MsoNormal">SS: Did you know Ed Dobrotka?</p> <p class="MsoNormal">BK: Huh?</p> <p style="font-weight: bold;" class="MsoNormal">SS: Ed Dobrotka. D-O-B-R…</p> <p class="MsoNormal">BK: Uh, yeah. He kept pigeons on his roof. He raced ‘em. Made more money from that than he did on comic books, I’ll tell you that!</p> <p style="font-weight: bold;" class="MsoNormal">MM: I salute you on your ingenious solution to a troublesome dilemma. </p> <p class="MsoNormal">BK: Huh?</p> <p style="font-weight: bold;" class="MsoNormal">MM: Er, your creative approach to “Nightshade.” It’s among the most imaginative concepts in early panelology.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">BK: There you go with that word again! Sounds like a disease.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count:1"> </span>Yeah, I had to put my own spin on it. So I dressed him up like a hoity-toity dude. People used to wear those white suits in summer. That was the opposite of his black shadow. I thought it was pretty clever.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count:1"> </span>I did the first story over the weekend. Took it into Centaur Monday afternoon. They weren’t thrilled with it, to tell you the truth. They really wanted something looked just like Lamont Cranston. But they had a hole in an issue of <span style="font-style: italic;">Mr. Amazing</span>—</p> <p style="font-weight: bold;" class="MsoNormal">SS: <span style="font-style: italic;">Amazing-Man.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal">BK: Why does the name matter? What matters is, they bought the story. Paid me $125.00 on the spot. That was a lot of money in those days.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count:1"> </span>I enjoyed doing that series. I was sad when Centaur folded up their shop. The owner committed suicide. He had run up this gigantic tab at a Chinese restaurant, and he couldn’t pay it.</p> <p style="font-weight: bold;" class="MsoNormal">MM: Where did you work after Centaur?</p> <p class="MsoNormal">BK: I tried to work for Victor Fox for a few months. The bastard never paid me! What an asshole…</p> <p style="font-weight: bold;" class="MsoNormal">MM: Er, let’s keep this talk family friendly…</p> <p class="MsoNormal">BK: Call a spade a spade. The guy was a schmuck! He fancied himself a ballroom dancer. At five sharp every afternoon, he’d drop the needle on this scratchy recording of “Dancing in the Dark.” Then he’d appear, in top hat and tails, and tap dance on top of the drawing boards in the art bullpen. And if you had a page on your desk, it’d have footprints all over it.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count:1"> </span>We got him good one day. Everyone loosened the table tops on their boards. That bastard came tappety-tapping along, and he ended up in the hospital with two bruised knees. That, and the not getting paid part, was enough for me. I left an unfinished story on my board. Just walked out one day at quitting time.</p> <p style="font-weight: bold;" class="MsoNormal">MM: What happened after that?</p> <p class="MsoNormal">BK: Uncle Sam came calling. The minute I turned 18, I got my draft notice. I was just getting established in comic books! National took another look at my portfolio. They wanted me to take over a couple of small features. One was called “The Robot Man.” The other was “Mr. Terrific.” How different my life would have been if I hadn’t gotten drafted!</p> <p style="font-weight: bold;" class="MsoNormal">MM: Where did you serve?</p> <p class="MsoNormal">BK: Some bunghole in Kansas. I never went overseas. Hell, I never went anywhere. I painted signs and posters for three years. I also did girlie drawings on the side for the other guys. That got pretty lucrative.</p> <p style="font-weight: bold;" class="MsoNormal">SS: Did you know Arthur Cazeneuve?</p> <p class="MsoNormal">BK: Why do you keep asking me these questions? Who are you, anyway?</p> <p style="font-weight: bold;" class="MsoNormal">MM: Please, gentlemen, let’s stay on our task. Did you return to comics after the war?</p> <p class="MsoNormal">BK: Sort of.</p> <p style="font-weight: bold;" class="MsoNormal">MM: How is that?</p> <p class="MsoNormal">BK: I never made it back to New York. One of my sergeants worked for the National Undertaker’s Association. They had a monthly trade magazine called “The Casket.” I was hired as art director. I did a monthly comic strip. Three pages in every issue. It was all about the business of undertaking. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count:1"> </span>I created a character called Mr. Tallow. He ran a small funeral home. He was just an average American businessman trying to do a good job. He had an overbearing wife, Sweetie, and a couple of inept assistants. There was also Miss Flotsam, the organist. She had a wig that never stayed on. She’d start to play, and the darn thing would fly off!</p> <p style="font-weight: bold;" class="MsoNormal">MM: How long did this feature last?</p> <p class="MsoNormal">BK: Oh, Lord. I started it in 1947, and retired in 1987. Jesus—40 years! It was quite popular in the funeral home trade. I’d go to conventions, and when it was known that the creator of “Mr. Tallow” was there, brother, that was all she wrote!</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count:1"> </span>They put out a hardback book collection of the strips in 1967. “Twenty Years With Mr. Tallow,” they called it. It was over 400 pages! Just try and find that one now. I wish I still had a copy.</p> <p style="font-weight: bold;" class="MsoNormal">MM: Do you retain any of your original artwork, sir?</p> <p class="MsoNormal">BK: Nope. It all burned up in 1993. Lost my house in a big fire. I lost everything. That was when I decided to hit the road. Bought my home on wheels and set out to see America.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count:1"> </span>(picks up the copy of <span style="font-style: italic;">Amazing-Man Comics</span> #24 and peruses it) Gee, this isn’t bad stuff for a 17 year-old. I had kind of a style going then. The character’s hat was a bitch to draw over and over. I could never get it right. But he had to wear that damned hat! Otherwise, he wasn’t a rip off of “The Shadow.” They wanted that hat in every single panel!</p> <p style="font-weight: bold;" class="MsoNormal">MM: So, “Nightshade” was your only comic book creation, then?</p> <p class="MsoNormal">BK: Thanks to Uncle Sam, yes.</p> <p style="font-weight: bold;" class="MsoNormal">MM: Do you have any stories—any memories of your peers in the comic book business of the early 1940s?</p> <p class="MsoNormal">BK: (chuckles) Brother, where do I start? You ever hear of a fellow named Fletcher Hanks?</p> <p style="font-weight: bold;" class="MsoNormal">MM: Oh, yes. He is held in high esteem in these quarters.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">BK: That guy was an out and out lush! I met him when he got kicked out of the comic book field completely. He worked for Victor Fox, too. He hated to work in the bullpen, because A, he couldn’t drink, and B, Fox would tease him about<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>his shoe size.</p> <p style="font-weight: bold;" class="MsoNormal">SS: Shoe size?</p> <p class="MsoNormal">BK: Shoe size. Fletcher had huge feet! He was a big bruiser, but his dogs were outsized. He wore size 17 shoes. They looked like big loaves of bread! Fox ribbed him non-stop about those feet. “Big Foot,” he called him. Fox had a little song he’d sing when he passed by Fletcher’s drawing table. Something like “Big foot, big foot, is it true what the ladies say about you?” It made some reference to Fletcher’s manhood being small.</p> <p style="font-weight: bold;" class="MsoNormal">MM: What happened between Mr. Hanks and Mr. Fox?</p> <p class="MsoNormal">BK: Oh, lord, Fletcher finally cornered Fox and beat the living crap out of him! We had to pull him back before he killed the guy. When a drunk gets mad, you can’t control him. We walked Fletcher out of the building and told him to go home. And no one ever saw him again. I heard he was a Bowery bum.</p> <p style="font-weight: bold;" class="MsoNormal">SS: Did you know Vernon Henkel?</p> <p class="MsoNormal">BK: Now there’s a name I recognize! Vernon could never find a pair of pants that fit him right. They’d either sag in the seat, or they’d ride up too high. Poor guy was in a constant state of discomfort. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count:1"> </span>He was the best “Monopoly” player I ever met. He got so good no one would play the game with him. It really got him down in his later years.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count:1"> </span>Anything else I can tell you?</p> <p style="font-weight: bold;" class="MsoNormal">MM: I think that’s sufficient for now. Thank you for sharing your memories with all of us.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">BK: I’m going to my room now. Could I have a sandwich and some chips?</p> <p style="font-weight: bold;" class="MsoNormal">MM: I suppose so.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">BK: Just make ‘em and bring ‘em to my room. Don’t bother to knock. (stops to look at the “Nightshade” story once more) I should have kept at it. That war ruined a lot of good things. Well, get me that sandwich, OK?</p> <p style="font-weight: bold;" class="MsoNormal">MM: That I shall do!</p><br />* * *<br /><br />Mr. Kolger remains our guest, and shows no signs of movig on. I do hope we can encourage this sleeping giat to return to panelology once more! In the meantime, our food bill has increased. For such a small man, Mr. Kolger can certainly eat.<br /><br />Before I wrap up today's edition, here is an update. I suppose you recall the local scandal involving the theft of two letters from the Public Library. The theft remains unsolved, but an even greater mystery has sprung from the event. In the dead of night, someone filled in the missing spaces with two Ms. The sign now reads PubMic Mibrary. The new letters were welded on with great skill. I suppose we shall all get accustomed to the sight of it.Mason J. Morayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16288522457980212295noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2577154746554800558.post-87185204968857566732011-04-02T12:27:00.000-07:002011-04-02T21:40:40.805-07:00A New Beginning--And Another Case For "Super-Senior!" All This And "Buzz Crandall of the Space Patrol," Too!Hale, fine friends and panelological peers!<div><br /></div><div>Before you hurl your brickbats and assail me with complaints, please let me explain.</div><div><br /></div><div>Indeed--'tis nearly three months since my last missive here. But, worry not! I've not been idly napping. Big plans have occured--sweeping changes that have, actually, brought peace to our bustling household.</div><div><br /></div><div>Biggest news first: Dorrie's Diner is in the process of moving!</div><div><br /></div><div>Friends, it had to happen eventually. Our business has long exceeded the humble capacity of our in-home facility. Lunchtime found long lines snaking out onto N. Commerce Blvd. This notoriously curving road is a harbinger for accident-prone motorists. Some of our recurring elderly patrons have complained of having their umbrellas, purses and shoes disappear, as they were snagged on the antennae of fast-passing cars and trucks.</div><div><br /></div><div>As well, neighbors have complained of lawn trampling, and of the hearty armoas of cooking food (which, to be fiar, do indeed permeate the area, for at least a three-block radius)! Marek Czyrsky, a barrel-chested Eastern European fellow on our block, launched a formal complaint with the city, and cited "constant cooking smells" as "blight on street and world" (those were the words on his complaint form, which was forwarded to us by the city).</div><div><br /></div><div>Dorrie and I sat down, in the greasy aftermath of a "Sloppy Doe" day a few weeks ago, and decided the time had come to expand. Lady Luck favored our choice, and within days, we were shown a wondrous "retrospective" style 1950s restaurant space, in the heart of the thriving home improvement district.</div><div><br /></div><div>This restaurant was known for years as "Ole Ed's Egg Eyrie." The "Ed" in question was Edgar Corkle, a cantankerous figure in local news who was beloved for his expansive Labor Day decorations, and for his generious donations to Unicef and Cub Scouts troops. His death from congestive heart failure ended a 49-year run of a successful and much-loved bistro.</div><div><br /></div><div>The building had sat vacant since Mr. Corkle's 2008 passage. It was clearly time for another restaurant to take its place. We were shown the property by Gore Burshing, a realtor friend of Dorrie's. He told us it was "a steal," and "prime location" to boot. We had a chore on our hands, as we removed hundreds of sun-faded, hand-scrawled signs which were layered over the main entrance and on the front windows.</div><div><br /></div><div>These signs, ancient expressions of grief and hunger, decried both Corkle's death and the appetite of former "regulars" for "Ole Ed's" greasy-but-delectable butter-coated omelets.</div><div><br /></div><div>Dorrie immediately wanted the property, and the rent was indeed "a stael" by anyone's sstandards. She put Ray-Don on the job of doing a re-design of the exterior and interior. Fortunately, we could import our existing restaurant tables, chairs and booths to the new address. Careful consultation with experts told us that it was also possible to uproot, move and re-install the professional-quality cooking equipment still in our home bistro.</div><div><br /></div><div>Ray-Don immediately submitted this winning concept sketch. I believe he took a photo of the existing structure, dabbled with it in PhotoShop, and added his proposed signage and such. It is a handsome package, don't you think?</div><div><br /></div><div><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizuq1VIigxWAmALj6-rjmca9wxIler4QhpFLB9vMy7lrZf3jH2GuFuWsDLXK7a5vs0mP8871VoTj7-xq2mJBFldzwJPshBcriSQmyvp7NWRuGHqcKKlHetmAGyR_BumBxVJ1fJW1Sl1zER/s1600/Dorrie%2527s_Diner_Special.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 193px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizuq1VIigxWAmALj6-rjmca9wxIler4QhpFLB9vMy7lrZf3jH2GuFuWsDLXK7a5vs0mP8871VoTj7-xq2mJBFldzwJPshBcriSQmyvp7NWRuGHqcKKlHetmAGyR_BumBxVJ1fJW1Sl1zER/s400/Dorrie%2527s_Diner_Special.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5591200886739894242" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>We are in a transitional period. The old Dorrie's Diner is closed, and final touches abound on the soon-to-open new location. Everyone, myself included, is enthused about the move, for many reasons. 'Tis gratifying to have such a "wild cardinal" idea become such a runaway success! And, furthermore, 'tis pleasing to have a substantially less smelly home. </div><div><br /></div><div>The smell of those "Sloppy Doe" sandwiches was beginning to permeate everything in the house. Even my herbal prescription shampoo bore the tang of barbecue sauce-scent! Gradually, those strong aromas are ebbing, and the house seems a rest haven, sans the clanking, sizzling, chinging and thrumping of a popular kitchen.</div><div><br /></div><div>I retain my jack-of-trades position as unofficial manager/accountant at the new location. Raphael cannot wait to inhabit the new space. He is a born maitre'd, and relishes the daily challenges of the job. Our newest hire, Katrice, remains uncannily silent, but does her job with greater skill each day.</div><div><br /></div><div>I sit in my home, entering today's post on a new "EyePad" that Ray-Don insisted we purchase for use at home and at the Diner. It does take some practice to master the diffgicult manner of typinh on this futuristic device. I must use a little wand, which resembles a golf pencil in size, but has a fine wad of bunting on its end, which the "touchy" screen recognizes. Needless to say, there may be some occasonal mistakes in my tping. Please bear with me.</div><div><br /></div><div>I mentioned in today's headline that a certain "Super-Senior" is back in action. Worry not, dear readers. With some careful consultation, "Sparks" Spinkle has changed his ways. No longer does he brandish eye-harming Easy-Off Maximum Strength Over Cleaner, nor Windex!</div><div><br /></div><div>"'Sparks,'" I said in strictest confidence, "criminals are rather like bad-tempered animals, eh?"</div><div><br /></div><div>"You intrigue me, Mace," he replied. "Keep talkin'."</div><div><br /></div><div>"Like naughty dogs or cats, they have simply learned bad habits. Dogs and cats can be trained to un-learn these habits. They are mammals, much like us, aren't they?"</div><div><br /></div><div>"Jeepers, never gave it that much thought before," 'Sparks' mused. "Yep, I guess they are."</div><div><br /></div><div>I then suggested that a certain masked crime-fighter consider the usage of training sprays manufactured to rid household pets of the urges to claw, scratch, bite or urinate. One trip to a "Pet-Smart" store gave us numerous choices. 'Sparks' settled on the popular "Bitter Apple" spray, plus an aerosol product titled "Kitty No-Go!" and another called "Puppy Uh-Uh!" </div><div><br /></div><div>These three non-toxic, nature-based sprays are quite unpleasant, but essentially harmless to the eyes, ears, throat or hands. Better yet, they come in handy pocket-sized dispensers. (They are quite concentrated!)</div><div><br /></div><div>Our gentle town indeed needs the services of "Super-Senior." A vile case of vandalism has our town in tyhe grip of fear!</div><div><br /></div><div>Some sneak-thief removed two letters from the edifice of our town's central library branch. 'Tis a mortal embarrassment to one and all, for the sign now reads:</div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><span class="Apple-style-span">MAIN BRANCH</span></b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><span class="Apple-style-span">PUB IC IBRARY</span></b></div><div><br /></div><div>The metal "Ls," as you might have surmised, were sawed off in the dead of night. Of course, this news soon spread like wildfire, and occasioned an angry editorial in the local newspaper:</div><div><br /></div><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhEVHQj1_TEx66R9uOxxR_F09u0D1iAFibsqW4gAwTMu8DVaiGHDgwqkp81okiXPP9-a0bj_mW448C_P0M_sCRwsKnvW5MxxjWI3dKLZ2A7bjdHUiFccEkGjVDt3SzrHnYqWGA0xHFn0Sv/s1600/oped2.png" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 325px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhEVHQj1_TEx66R9uOxxR_F09u0D1iAFibsqW4gAwTMu8DVaiGHDgwqkp81okiXPP9-a0bj_mW448C_P0M_sCRwsKnvW5MxxjWI3dKLZ2A7bjdHUiFccEkGjVDt3SzrHnYqWGA0xHFn0Sv/s400/oped2.png" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5591200886614859202" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>As a regular patron of the library, "Sparks" was rightfully angered by this act of ruthless hatred. "It's an embarrassment to the whole blinkin' burg, Mace," he said, seething after supper one recent night. "Come into the Crime-Cave and I'll tell you my theories."</div><div><br /></div><div>(READERS' NOTE: The so-called "Crime Cave" is an unused storage closet in the back hallway of the house. There is enough room for two men to stand inside. It is rather stuffy.)</div><div><br /></div><div>"My theory," "Sparks" said, attempting to pace the small footage of the space, "is simple. We look for a fella--or gal--whose first and last name begins with Ls."</div><div><br /></div><div>"Like Lois Lane? Lana Lang?"</div><div><br /></div><div>"...or," "Sparks" said, his face darkening, "Lex Luthor. It's gotta be some character on that order, Mace. A fiend--a fella [I'm guessin' he's a fella] who doesn't give a fig for his fellow citizen. No sir! He just gets his hacksaw and helps himself to a coupla letters. Doesn't even have the courage to commit the crime in the light of day! No sir! No, he hasta do the dirty deed while the city sleeps..."</div><div><br /></div><div>"Sparks" now brandished a copy of the local telephone directory. "He--or maybe she--ain't as smart as they think." He leafed impatiently through the thin pages of the book, and found the "L" listings. He pointed to the grey rows of listings. "Somewhere on these pages is the name of our criminal. It's just a matter of one thing."</div><div><br /></div><div>He paused. I understood that I had to respond. "A-and what is that?"</div><div><br /></div><div>"The... process... of... <i>elimination!</i>" He again smacked the open book with his clenched hand. "A careful study of these pages shows up 16 people whose both names start with an L. I'm gonna haunt their dreams 'til I find the guilty party. And here's where you come in, Mace..."</div><div><br /></div><div>"Sparks" explained, via a "crime-map" he had prepared, that the 16 suspects lived all over the county--beyond the realms of local bus routes, and, in some cases, far beyond my friend's capacity to "hoof it," in his own words.</div><div><br /></div><div>If I wanted to apprehend a fiend, I would serve as the Kato to his Green Hornet. I would chauffeur him to and fro from these far-flung locations. In the dead of night, we could creep down these driveways, tiptoe across vast lawns, in the hopes of finding the "perp" in his or her lair. Perhaps we might catch them holding or admiring the stolen letters, cackling with glee at his or her misdeed!</div><div><br /></div><div>So far, we have examined seven of the 16 suspects. No clues have been turned up. "Sparks" slightly sprained his left ankle as he tripped on a garden hose coiled in the front yard of one Lawrence L____. He has walked with a slight limp ever since. This minor injury has not quenched his thirst for justice! His zeal is inexorable. We are scheduled to inspect the home--and yard--of Lionel L______ this evening after "lights out."</div><div><br /></div><div>All this real-life sleuthing (which, I'll confess, I've come to enjoy) has taken a bite out of my time for panelology. I confess that I've not put much forethought into today's humble offering. It springs forth from the second issue of <i>Planet Comics</i>, an early venture into "sci-fi" comics by Fiction House.</div><div><br /></div><div>This early <i>Planet</i> is part of a box I brought home, one which has suffered significantly from the embedding of "Sloppy Doe" scent. It is among several vintage comic magazines that I've had laid spread-eagle in my den, the better for the scent to dissipate. </div><div><br /></div><div>I've never warmed to the output of Fiction House, save their pre-1940 material. Much of that raw, unfettered "wild frontier" feeling is present in the work of that vintage, including this knockabout space tale, written by Bob Colton and illustrated by Jordan Menger. Their pen-name becomes obvious, eh? </div><div><br /></div><div>They are what I would consider "third tier" panelologists. Theirs was not wild imagination; nor was it listless filler. One looks at stories such as this "Buzz Crandall" opus, and one sees the simple essence of the early American comic magazine. 'Tis an enjoyable tale, if not a medium-shaking one. May you enjoy it!</div><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBOFUOuw7IyzBEpiD0VVaQM6zD-AjvPD-kFhFY62Bqa4xnAvsqwPIMvpghefk23Pg3JuNWzFFRQMU1ipDwCJkebYdYr__QNjh4op9YFLdsy5nwteOAbtYwggUpXROddedgqw_gnfNEjM2H/s1600/Planet_2_38.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 289px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBOFUOuw7IyzBEpiD0VVaQM6zD-AjvPD-kFhFY62Bqa4xnAvsqwPIMvpghefk23Pg3JuNWzFFRQMU1ipDwCJkebYdYr__QNjh4op9YFLdsy5nwteOAbtYwggUpXROddedgqw_gnfNEjM2H/s400/Planet_2_38.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5591204832562960434" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh32a4O4DDodbf3SadfoXHKqGkl24v0z5qVGQbmzXOU5wzcUSgPOqrPxtL05aIAL46beDxLI2IPnd63zAj4YWY4uiJlxI3F3YhBdv0Vz3srexzDWOLJuH4j6gOZ7AHpyk8B0TCJD9T_X7Vs/s1600/Planet_2_39.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 291px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh32a4O4DDodbf3SadfoXHKqGkl24v0z5qVGQbmzXOU5wzcUSgPOqrPxtL05aIAL46beDxLI2IPnd63zAj4YWY4uiJlxI3F3YhBdv0Vz3srexzDWOLJuH4j6gOZ7AHpyk8B0TCJD9T_X7Vs/s400/Planet_2_39.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5591204824344420290" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMDstff7lxtfuMaLsAIZOYz8y9aIFsPtSopAkgEfML4szGjcuZgEUslIVit7s5__yjKJrLzbvu0lZc-215RaZ_y3liKRWm4-kEZ5WpbqWJ54vj8qrC_bPutn_z1aC-_8Jh8_HZ4G-vWDdv/s1600/Planet_2_40.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 293px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMDstff7lxtfuMaLsAIZOYz8y9aIFsPtSopAkgEfML4szGjcuZgEUslIVit7s5__yjKJrLzbvu0lZc-215RaZ_y3liKRWm4-kEZ5WpbqWJ54vj8qrC_bPutn_z1aC-_8Jh8_HZ4G-vWDdv/s400/Planet_2_40.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5591204822740443186" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8b4A9Sx8cnsubcfpzDgTzHXWcuT_7hh5ykdRdb2kFx_GlVVJWGJRD3qtuHshjtUTYbE6HPu5OzbJ4OH5JTlZNE1flx5l-QfI_9W11rsm0Btxk5LwZH6AOVbNqOHse2x0akvILc9t8OKEd/s1600/Planet_2_41.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 293px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8b4A9Sx8cnsubcfpzDgTzHXWcuT_7hh5ykdRdb2kFx_GlVVJWGJRD3qtuHshjtUTYbE6HPu5OzbJ4OH5JTlZNE1flx5l-QfI_9W11rsm0Btxk5LwZH6AOVbNqOHse2x0akvILc9t8OKEd/s400/Planet_2_41.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5591204820983845426" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzwV5ZTbcwPmzbJDQOZB0ckfYEdlZyLh3R0e-uv91n1P1C0NI2gDB3RoMP4lpeC1kALG_xp3wpsGewmvmsrpe_swgu2vZQZcbEL2PpKZwnu0ay-khtriVbsuyPNzZHnlFuscjYL_gv2p1Q/s1600/Planet_2_42.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 288px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzwV5ZTbcwPmzbJDQOZB0ckfYEdlZyLh3R0e-uv91n1P1C0NI2gDB3RoMP4lpeC1kALG_xp3wpsGewmvmsrpe_swgu2vZQZcbEL2PpKZwnu0ay-khtriVbsuyPNzZHnlFuscjYL_gv2p1Q/s400/Planet_2_42.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5591204817916788530" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYyOgpgxfLsHs04vJmMIh82HEIuhaBI9JKv-1pivzoKjC3SwO6StHytH8HXNz1Pni2mw4VP6eBrDLoinjhZZEV8hpWDT7LMvK80sdoH_E82X3eEexzaOKsOK8fIRKHFoLNIDOekt1rKqRf/s1600/Planet_2_43.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 290px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYyOgpgxfLsHs04vJmMIh82HEIuhaBI9JKv-1pivzoKjC3SwO6StHytH8HXNz1Pni2mw4VP6eBrDLoinjhZZEV8hpWDT7LMvK80sdoH_E82X3eEexzaOKsOK8fIRKHFoLNIDOekt1rKqRf/s400/Planet_2_43.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5591205090110978994" /></a><br />Those who recalled the team of "Bob Jordan" did so with a smile. Colton and Menger were inveterate practical jokers. They were admired by Jerry Iger for their ability to churn out stories, like this one, in a single afternoon. So fast were they that they foudn themselves with time over their hands. And t hose idle hands were, indeed, the devil's tool.<br /></div><div><br /></div><div>If Colton and Menger weren't tying innocent inkers' shoelaces together, or to their drawing tables, they were performing their infamous "tag team" pranks. A popular "Bob Jordan Special" would involve one of the duo engaging a busy artist in small talk. While the artist was distracted, the other prankster would light a packet of small firecrackers and drop them down the pants of the innocent artist. </div><div><br /></div><div>Needless to say, many inked panels were suddenly ruined as those tiny fireworks burst in the artist's trousers. A frequent scene would involve the victim racing about the workroom, yowling in discomfort, his hands flailing in the air as the bursting explosions racked his pants. Occasionally, the poor subject's undergarments would combust as well.</div><div><br /></div><div>Another stock Colton/Menger prank involved the company soft drink machine. Ken Ernst was an eye-witness to one such shenanigan, and recalled it in a 1972 interview:</div><div><br /></div><div><i>Oh, boy. Those guys, you had to watch out when they were around. They had a mean streak. They almost crippled Tom Hickey. Put a bear trap just inside the men's room, and poor Tom had to take a piss. Nearly chopped his right foot off.</i></div><div><i><br /></i></div><div><i>They were fast workers, so they would get into trouble. Back then, you could get this laxative called Black Draught. It looked just like Coca-Cola. So they would stock up on it at the drug store. They'd take a T-square and a screwdriver and pry off the cap to a coke bottle. I guess they'd siphon out some of the pop. Then they'd fill the bottle with Black Draught, and whack that cap back on.</i></div><div><i><br /></i></div><div><i>The next chump who got thirsty got more than he bargained for. Ten minutes after he drank that thing, he'd hightail it for the bathroom, and that's the last we'd see of him for a day or two!</i></div><div><i><br /></i></div><div><i>I wasn't surprised when the news came that Bob's head got blown off. Nobody shed a tear over that. The guy had it coming to him. I don't know what happened to Menger. He probably got drafted. Maybe he got it, too. I hate to say things like that, but these guys were bad news.</i></div><div><br /></div><div>The death of Bob Colton, which Ernst refers to, did not occur at the Iger shop. Colton bore an uncanny resemblance to Adolf Hitler, although he had no facial hair--nor did he affect a forelock as did "Der Fuhrer." But, with his hair combed right, and with a smudge of black ink on his upper lip, most passersby would be fooled.</div><div><br /></div><div>One fateful morning in April, 1942, Colton accepted a dare to march down Broadway, dressed as Hitler, "sieg heiling" and goose-stepping past awestruck Manhattanites. A nervous patrolman on the corner of Broadway and 45th shot Colton dead on sight. No more would arcane gags haunt the Iger shop. One of comicdom's prankster princes was dead and buried.</div><div><br /></div><div>Menger did indeed join the war effort--as a chaplain in the South Pacific theater of war. Colton's death had an epiphinal effect on the younger member of the team. He turned to religion, and did an "about face" to end them all. He died during a bombing raid in 1945, clearly on the side of the angels.</div><div><br /></div><div>Well, I must end this missive now. A certain costumed crime fighter is impatient to call on our next suspect. I'm curiosu to see what we find out. I do hope "Sparks" will cease testing the "Kitty No-Go!" spray in the car. It makes me long for the "Sloppy Doe" scent.</div>Mason J. Morayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16288522457980212295noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2577154746554800558.post-50495165170721395222011-01-14T09:36:00.000-08:002011-01-14T10:10:17.820-08:00Merry New Year--featuring "Agent X, The Phantom Fed" from Sure-Fire Comics number 3, 1940<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:worddocument> <w:view>Normal</w:View> <w:zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:punctuationkerning/> <w:validateagainstschemas/> <w:saveifxmlinvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid> <w:ignoremixedcontent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent> <w:alwaysshowplaceholdertext>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText> <w:compatibility> <w:breakwrappedtables/> <w:snaptogridincell/> <w:wraptextwithpunct/> <w:useasianbreakrules/> <w:dontgrowautofit/> </w:Compatibility> <w:browserlevel>MicrosoftInternetExplorer4</w:BrowserLevel> </w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:latentstyles deflockedstate="false" latentstylecount="156"> </w:LatentStyles> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if !mso]><object classid="clsid:38481807-CA0E-42D2-BF39-B33AF135CC4D" id="ieooui"></object> <style> st1\:*{behavior:url(#ieooui) } </style> <![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 10]> <style> /* Style Definitions */ table.MsoNormalTable {mso-style-name:"Table Normal"; mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0; mso-tstyle-colband-size:0; mso-style-noshow:yes; mso-style-parent:""; mso-padding-alt:0in 5.4pt 0in 5.4pt; mso-para-margin:0in; mso-para-margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:10.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-ansi-language:#0400; mso-fareast-language:#0400; mso-bidi-language:#0400;} </style> <![endif]--> <p class="MsoNormal">To all my dearest friends on the InterNet:</p> <p class="MsoNormal"> </p> <p class="MsoNormal">Belated Merry New Year!</p> <p class="MsoNormal"> </p> <p class="MsoNormal">I regret my continued infrequency on this “blog.” It cannot be helped. The continued, growing success of “Dorrie’s Diner” has, quite literally, transformed my life.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"> </p> <p class="MsoNormal">No longer am I the carefree, devil-may-care retired panelologist. I have a new career—one seemingly thrust upon me by the cavalcades of fate, but a role I have come to cherish, and to take seriously.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"> </p> <p class="MsoNormal">Friends, the bistro business can be a thankless grind. We exist to serve one of mankind’s base needs—the desire to eat. When you or I are hungry, our concerns of wealth, fame or art go out the window. All that matters is setting down to a good, solid meal—and consuming same to our satisfaction.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"> </p> <p class="MsoNormal">Thus, we as expectant eaters do not necessarily represent hhumankind at its zenith. The hungry Hono Sapiens can be grouchy, cross, gruff or impatient. Show me the food, he seems to say, and then we shall conduct ourselves with civility.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"> </p> <p class="MsoNormal">Case in point: Thursdays have become “Sloppy Doe Day” at the Diner. Sloppy Doe, you say?<span style=""> </span>Yes, it’s Dorrie’s inspired take on the juicy barbecued meat sandwich. Dorrie uses ground turkey, in place of the traditional beef (it’s healthier, yes, but it’s also quite cheaper than cow meat), and plants cubes of tantalizing swiss cheese into the mix.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"> </p> <p class="MsoNormal">Those who know to ask for it can receive it “fuerte style,” with a legion of finely diced jalapeno chunks, or “a la Norwegian,” in which the sandwich is served refrigerated.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"> </p> <p class="MsoNormal">Needless to day, Thursdays are boom business days at the Diner. Seemingly, no one in a ten-mile radius can resist the siren song of these two-fisted sandwiches. All day long, I hear the spatter of oozing saucy meat, as it is squeezed out of the bread and trickles onto the diner’s plates, our laminated tablecloths, or to the floor. The latter poses a slippery hazard which only builds as the day grows longer. By closing time, the slick tile floor is as deadly as an ice field. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"> </p> <p class="MsoNormal">But I difress. Our Thursday customers are a ravenous lot. I expect they awake with visions of “Sloppy Doe” sandwiches, drizzling and tangy, hot and punguent.<span style=""> </span>By lunch time, these folks have worked themselves into a mood. They slam the door open, scowling and tense. “Where’s a table?” they demand. “And bring me an extra bib!”</p> <p class="MsoNormal"> </p> <p class="MsoNormal">To handle a “Sloppy Doe” is to risk the welfare of one’s clothes. Each bite sends tendrils of juicy, blood-red sauce onto the eater’s face, hands, shirt, pants and shoes. Thus, in order to sustain a robust business, we have purchased several thousand disposable “body bibs” from a New Jersey wholesaler. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"> </p> <p class="MsoNormal">These “body bibs” are not unlike those travel bags one uses for suits and other garments on hangers. The user steps into the “body bib” and then zips it up to his or her chin. Their arms exit through one-size-fits-most arm holes. They then don arm-length paper gloves, which we purchased from a supply house in Oregon. MMM MMM!, they read. WHERE’S THE CHOW? Apparently, there is a national need for pre-printed food gloves. We are part of that chain of supply and demand.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"> </p> <p class="MsoNormal">Raphael is in charge of helping the infirm and elderly don their “Body Bibs,” and of making sure they remove them after their meal. The bibs have no legs, and sated patrons have attempted to leave the premises hopping like some giant earthworm in an old cartoon.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"> </p> <p class="MsoNormal">It bears repeating: our Thursday patrons are a cross lot! Until the sandwiches appear before them, they seem capable of homicide. Their heavy fists pound the tables. Napkins and toothpicks are nervously removed from their dispensers and destroyed via fidgeting. The air is a chaos of tuneless humming and whistling. These fine folks are here to eat, and they want their sandwiches in the worst way!</p> <p class="MsoNormal"> </p> <p class="MsoNormal">All I can do is smile and serve. We use no menus on Thursdays. No other entrees need be prepared. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"> </p> <p class="MsoNormal">The Diner resembles a bloody battlefield after closing on Thursday afternoon. Silently, grimly, Raphael, Katrice and I clean up the aftermath. The pile of used, discarded “body bibs” and those merrily-printed food gloves is enormous. I have a special “Thursday suit” that I wear to dispose of them. Into extra-large garbage sacks they go. Those are loaded into the Prius and chauffered to the city dump. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"> </p> <p class="MsoNormal">The car reeks of “Sloppy Doe” scent for the next several days. Needless to say, none of us who work at “Dorrie’s Diner” have any desire to bite into one of those popular sandwiches! Raphael has come to resent the Thursday sandwiches. He puts on a brave face, as he helps the elderly into their body bibs and watches our patrons plow into the drizzling slabs of bread, sauce and meat.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"> </p> <p class="MsoNormal">Under his breath, he spoke a truth in his native tongue:</p> <p class="MsoNormal"> </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><i>Lo inútil y sucio…</i></p> <p class="MsoNormal"> </p> <p class="MsoNormal">Enough of that topic! I thank you for letting me get that out of my chest. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"> </p> <p class="MsoNormal">What of Christmas, you may ask? I sorely regret not continuing my annual tradition of the holiday super-posting. I was laid up with an ear infection for the entire holiday week. I know not where it came from, but it so affected my sense of balance that I could not walk. I could manage a stagger to and from the bathroom or kitchen, but that was it.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"> </p> <p class="MsoNormal">I did spend Christmas Day out of bed, but stayed in my pajamas, robe and slippers the entire time. We had a small, pleasant holiday meal, with “Sparks” Spinkle, Raphael, Katrice and Burt Liffler. “Ray-Don” and his “companion” were out of town, to attend some family event in Illinois.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"> </p> <p class="MsoNormal">I asked Raphael about his friend, Henri, who, as you’ll recall, partook of our memorable Thanksgiving soiree. Raphael’s normally jolly mood grew dark, and he picked at his food. “It is best, Senor Moray, if we don’t speak of Henri today…” No more was, or could be, said of the subject.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"> </p> <p class="MsoNormal">Raphael soon brightened again (and who could not, given the lavish spread set before them by my dear wife?). Afterwards, we gathered in the living room for an exchange of gifts. For Raphael, I prepared another package of vintage “revistas,” which he accepted with glee. Dorrie got Katrice a gift certificate to Ross Dress-for-Less, which I think she appreciated.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"> </p> <p class="MsoNormal">My purchase for Dorrie was a year’s subscription to a local spa, where she can go anytime to be massaged, steamed, lotioned and sit under a sun lamp with cucumber slices over her eyes. Women love that sort of thing, and Dorrie is no exception.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"> </p> <p class="MsoNormal">“Sparks” insisted that we not “go to any fuss and bother” over him. Having a home, he said, “is enough gift for me.” Nonetheless, I purchased a new Pepsi sweatshirt for him. His prior one had gotten mildewed from being stored under the front steps. This is actually a “hoodey” shirt, complete with a kangaroo-like pouch in the front. I am sure this garb will be described in the local press for<span style=""> </span>years to come.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"> </p> <p class="MsoNormal">As for myself? I had a pleasing pile of vintage comic magazines, accrued over the year and salted away<span style=""> </span>by Dorrie. I tend to forget what I’ve purchased, so the gala end result is always a pleasant surprise. My panelological needs grow fewer as the years pass, but no less meaningful. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"> </p> <p class="MsoNormal">By far, the crown gem of this lot was a beautiful copy of <i>Sure-Fire Comics</i> number three—on the top of my want list for years! This magazine represents the early peak of the panelological art, friends—each and every story is a blazing gem!</p> <p class="MsoNormal"> </p> <p class="MsoNormal">I’ve only time to post one tale from this splendid tome. And here ‘tis—Agent X, The Phantom Fed, as written and drawn by Burt Guthries. Enjoy, friends, and drink deeply of this vintage brew!</p> <p class="MsoNormal"> </p><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZlmDBoqui33RDtdsSRqJMMgq5Aq__mPfsRpU_a5S1zRqhKmKVAyuE9BQzLt-WWNNSCnOeryKl7o9M93EMWr4pRxeFOXupDa2_gThKkgMVEanmrhqo5NNCB73Twy80VdCRA-lSpJ3OkuK3/s1600/01.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 286px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZlmDBoqui33RDtdsSRqJMMgq5Aq__mPfsRpU_a5S1zRqhKmKVAyuE9BQzLt-WWNNSCnOeryKl7o9M93EMWr4pRxeFOXupDa2_gThKkgMVEanmrhqo5NNCB73Twy80VdCRA-lSpJ3OkuK3/s400/01.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5562097728438410066" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcGK8NxSiqxcPd06NXtPXiQDsObVnHOCHjLaYcUxvPV-l79RWn4YirzokIzYY0eg-apCeCFAqASL2cWBC7L1akuwgFU0LNoTHob9tTi8mJTKHbst2P2qAmvGwgX5bPmD605t_kn8ld10h1/s1600/48.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 283px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcGK8NxSiqxcPd06NXtPXiQDsObVnHOCHjLaYcUxvPV-l79RWn4YirzokIzYY0eg-apCeCFAqASL2cWBC7L1akuwgFU0LNoTHob9tTi8mJTKHbst2P2qAmvGwgX5bPmD605t_kn8ld10h1/s400/48.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5562097724857476290" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHBq07gM94xVY5Qf5WR2a9NxkzX652CWfy5rxmsjPGUh2E4ToWGwMKkINSUy7x0xz3G8S4NLMl4ui2ga-cG83HriUw8_PM3fLvX7VwllIau5Rd1MrbwIYWuR5nuk6tauihYgoAmdQsAfwN/s1600/49.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 284px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHBq07gM94xVY5Qf5WR2a9NxkzX652CWfy5rxmsjPGUh2E4ToWGwMKkINSUy7x0xz3G8S4NLMl4ui2ga-cG83HriUw8_PM3fLvX7VwllIau5Rd1MrbwIYWuR5nuk6tauihYgoAmdQsAfwN/s400/49.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5562097712956352242" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEcYPCtrFV6lOHg2b_XCGhn6vWctv1JxtnNwTKdzu0AxsKxSbtiW31kOl5f_f33WhZg-ScmZW5NB3ZHYRQKtq8NhfR3LHwAugnCAO2OyLsey2CN-iDpxSC-PfFUTUfj482-pSkOIjZYoPa/s1600/50.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 282px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEcYPCtrFV6lOHg2b_XCGhn6vWctv1JxtnNwTKdzu0AxsKxSbtiW31kOl5f_f33WhZg-ScmZW5NB3ZHYRQKtq8NhfR3LHwAugnCAO2OyLsey2CN-iDpxSC-PfFUTUfj482-pSkOIjZYoPa/s400/50.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5562097709029532306" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgL-oGK5byTggnbQeGZNbxsPKFYt0iQ2m2B7E56ZnVZ1c4KOFpbH-xSs60e8gDnSg4_YutLx1HH2sf50AnFg5pYJh6Z0fZoh8g7n981H8NyDHOQue2B0FhyphenhyphenCLHirKvv0kyKDs0u7v7Fbi2F/s1600/51.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 284px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgL-oGK5byTggnbQeGZNbxsPKFYt0iQ2m2B7E56ZnVZ1c4KOFpbH-xSs60e8gDnSg4_YutLx1HH2sf50AnFg5pYJh6Z0fZoh8g7n981H8NyDHOQue2B0FhyphenhyphenCLHirKvv0kyKDs0u7v7Fbi2F/s400/51.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5562097694740393906" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgi50f5OJ8zyDWA9kpAl6chTsyjD0B4M4hmH2w1cnhCwQC3gCMVnv2Qmtme3PLJ0mobQTvAFel1EMNh9ozPPiYWP9ZivRPWdDNopRtvRA7ROOE6BILasvLAzBDwBdEf6hqXCmJUuPagN6YZ/s1600/52.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 285px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgi50f5OJ8zyDWA9kpAl6chTsyjD0B4M4hmH2w1cnhCwQC3gCMVnv2Qmtme3PLJ0mobQTvAFel1EMNh9ozPPiYWP9ZivRPWdDNopRtvRA7ROOE6BILasvLAzBDwBdEf6hqXCmJUuPagN6YZ/s400/52.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5562098877629802722" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlq_DqclbrFciW4msm_7nUmofbk2zkZt2pc70JtMQ7YSsRidGbAAet9bZlBaEdZvkp6vwL_oe2iEKgl9AECPyhylPxlabmPIN_bI7c9AYDQDgR5R0seHpYD9Z2emKd6eNnvU8vQVlaCGPX/s1600/53.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 284px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlq_DqclbrFciW4msm_7nUmofbk2zkZt2pc70JtMQ7YSsRidGbAAet9bZlBaEdZvkp6vwL_oe2iEKgl9AECPyhylPxlabmPIN_bI7c9AYDQDgR5R0seHpYD9Z2emKd6eNnvU8vQVlaCGPX/s400/53.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5562098869544993010" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeUPbP7Umq8ryDw5zmjfzULnTZ1oVbvePKWRFOquaL3jCwvCe5AV4hVmLfgph0LQf8yjD6bnsHZVLTpyYOzP00fe9jqSdGdUHCuMKRNfGQrgbPsHVyxg2y8RFNCXRnE6aAgbaxfw52ezAP/s1600/54.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 281px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeUPbP7Umq8ryDw5zmjfzULnTZ1oVbvePKWRFOquaL3jCwvCe5AV4hVmLfgph0LQf8yjD6bnsHZVLTpyYOzP00fe9jqSdGdUHCuMKRNfGQrgbPsHVyxg2y8RFNCXRnE6aAgbaxfw52ezAP/s400/54.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5562098860137690914" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5aJS63P738jWqD-uEGLbwkdPMiW7B4w6aEjfXr-etbnxRhAUGzeV8CLXqFd2lQ1AJSiqesdHBfp9qnmZdyn7idYQHYogXqZfVpFsQ1r0KBBwbe2MO25LG4FdOyraOkVKZtxenUPPlVRrY/s1600/55.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 284px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5aJS63P738jWqD-uEGLbwkdPMiW7B4w6aEjfXr-etbnxRhAUGzeV8CLXqFd2lQ1AJSiqesdHBfp9qnmZdyn7idYQHYogXqZfVpFsQ1r0KBBwbe2MO25LG4FdOyraOkVKZtxenUPPlVRrY/s400/55.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5562098857205023874" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyLDtDpWRgSqsJOed-sE0ECfuMgHehcUukDzLeuAhgeWZh5nOM2iEL89-qaOOBLzNcAJuyDwumecA7qh3Lxs3Rde4jNGKnyXvxpM-z1bNlervtJev0djqqwpwyU-99idOhtCr65jfLmTeO/s1600/56.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 283px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyLDtDpWRgSqsJOed-sE0ECfuMgHehcUukDzLeuAhgeWZh5nOM2iEL89-qaOOBLzNcAJuyDwumecA7qh3Lxs3Rde4jNGKnyXvxpM-z1bNlervtJev0djqqwpwyU-99idOhtCr65jfLmTeO/s400/56.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5562098850927906930" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyrfsZkywj2msI_2pflc2xo3rAezFjOkEGukG5mSrN6tCwXA-3aVPKlqi7v8MvHesHPfrQGkV5l5Fa_a4AB7kDL1YctlI5nCRBtsK9VARm6GU8bUxXfZC2Gcp-1-aXavRtJvwMxGFgPWtu/s1600/57.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 286px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyrfsZkywj2msI_2pflc2xo3rAezFjOkEGukG5mSrN6tCwXA-3aVPKlqi7v8MvHesHPfrQGkV5l5Fa_a4AB7kDL1YctlI5nCRBtsK9VARm6GU8bUxXfZC2Gcp-1-aXavRtJvwMxGFgPWtu/s400/57.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5562099106623599810" border="0" /></a><br />I shall give you a few moments to collect yourself, in the wake of this blinding tale of brilliance. How I gaped and gasped as I first read it! You see, we experienced panelologists expect little of these non-superhero features in early comic magazines. They were, by and large, holdovers from a timid, pre-heroic age of popular fiction. They continued mainly because editors were lazy, and simply wished to fill the pages of their publications as effortlessly as possible.<br /><br />But what of the creators who continued these lesser features, watching on the sidelines as their peers depicted the fantastic realms of heroism and fantasy? Simply put, they believed in their work and its worth.<br /><br />Burt Guthries was a reluctant panelologist, but a voracious one. His career began in the 1910s, as a sports illustrator and courtroom sketch artist for several New York and Newark daily papers. Guthries, a clasically trained portrait artist, had embedded in himself the perfectionist tendencies of a schooled fine artist. As a result, he could be painfully slow.<br /><br />Guthries was fired from one Gotham paper during the landmark trial of Bruno Richard Hauptmann, the kidnapper of aviator Charles Lindbergh's child. Guthries spent so much time on a finely detailed portrait of the fingerprint expert that he missed capturing images of Hauptmann, the case's judges and attorneys, or Lindbergh himself.<br /><br />Guthries drifted to the pulps in the 1920s, where he had to learn to work faster. He developed a technique in which he pencilled with his left hand and inked with his right. This allowed him to double his work-rate—and thus match the speed of the average artist.<br /><br />As pulps began to experimentally feature original comics material, Gurthies transitioned to the arts panelological in the 1930s. His knack for drawing people, cars and buildings made him a success in this burgeoning field.<br /><br />Guthries stuck with the genre of G-men, T-men and Federal agents. As he perfected his two-hand technique, he became the "go-to man" for this type of filler material. "Blake Barton," "Trump Tolliver," "G-Man Garson" and "Treasury Squad" poured from his drafting table.<br /><br />Scorned by his younger, less skilled colleagues, Guthries preferred to work at home, where he could prepare his minor tales in peace. He scoured the headlines for material. In the 1930s, there were plenty of federal-man antics on the newspaper page.<br /><br />One March, 1940 story particularly intrigued him. It told of G-man Chet Weldon, who donned a bear skin, at a remote hunting lodge, to startle and capture wanted racketeer Butch Maddron. Weldon's "bear scare" created a sensation in the world of government agencies, and was much-imitated. Agents donned the skins of wildcats, lions, tigers and other man-sized animals to entrap and baffle wanted criminals.<br /><br />Thus, Guthries' fact-based tale, which you have just read, is really not so fantastic. All its elements are viable, believable and feasible. Their hearty combination—somewhat like the vivid array of ingredients in a "Sloppy Doe"!—creates a superb blend of the factual and the fantastic.<br /><br />Alas, Guthries' masterpiece was ignored. It was wedged into the back half of this comic magazine (although it received second-billing on the cover!) and overwhelmed by the phantasmagorical exploits of its co-inhabitants. It would prove among Guthries' final panelological works.<br /><br />Sometime in 1941, Guthries quit the comic magazine "racket" and became a full-time fine artist. He specialized in harbor scenes. This passion—and his latent perfectionism—cost him his life. One spring morning in 1948, Guthries set up his easel and chair on the precarious cliffs overlooking the harbors of Maine. The scene he painted was to depict a weathered lighthouse, with a sun-withered rowboat.<br /><br />The intricate textures so intrigued Guthries (who worked with binoculars) that he ignored the beginnings of a landslide. The artist, and his final work, were overwhelmed by seismic irregularities. He was inextricably buried under deep mounds of shifted earth and rock. His final, nearly-completed work lay, safe and sound, atop his final resting place. <span style="font-style: italic;">Unfinished Lighthouse and Old Boat</span> is regarded as a masterwork of quiet, understated realism. You may find it elsewhere on the InterNet.<br /><br />Well, friends, I must return home. It's getting late, and I've enjoyed my visit to the New Pantheon. 'Tis time to file my new treasures and enjoy an evening meal. Who knows what panelological thrills this new year holds for us all? In the meantime, may health and joy be yours in every way!Mason J. Morayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16288522457980212295noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2577154746554800558.post-48168600609181919362010-12-05T15:03:00.000-08:002010-12-06T11:12:23.871-08:00Zebra-Man vs. the Human Frog, from Pocket Comics, 1941--plus more news of life and home!Salutations, my fellow patrons of the printed panel and page! 'Tis too long, far too long, since last we visited. The sands of time do tend to get in one's eyes, as blown by the fickle winds of fate, eh?<br /><br />With Dorrie's deft assemblage of her classic Turkey-gouda-pineapple stack sandwich, the last of our Thanksgiving "bird" was done at lunchtime. Dorrie marinates the turkey in two liters of Royal Crown Cola, mixed with one pouch of unsweetened fruit punch-flavored Kool-Aid, and then pressure-roasts it. The result is main course and dessert, all in one dish. Of course, we enjoy pumpkin pie, yams with mini-marshmallows, apple pie and such.<br /><br />We set a festive table, with many guests. "Sparks" was there, looking somewhat better than when last I reported. Raphael and his friend, Henri, whom he says is from his hometown (but who speaks in a French Canadian accent!), Dorrie's half-sister Stephanie, Burt Liffler from next door (dressed in long pants for the first time in memory), Ray-Don and his "room-mate" Clifton, and Jim R., from my former job, joined us for the meal.<br /><br />"Sparks" had to have his meal blenderized, as his system is still delicate. He insisted that Dorrie blend everything together. "It's a meal in a glass!" he commented between each lusty sip.<br /><br />The meal went peacefully until Stephanie was seized with panic. "My bag!" she cried, as she sat up from the table, startled, in mid-chew. "It has my new clarinet in it! Oh, lord..."<br /><br />Stephanie was certain she had left her shoulder-bag in the taxi in which she arrived at our doorstep. A panicked hour or two passed, in which repeated attempts were made to find the driver of the cab she took. To add to the suspense, the cabbie's radio was either off or broken. Apparently, he picked up numerous rogue fares from those who are stranded en route to, or from, their holiday festivities.<br /><br />Stephanie was assured by the cab dispatcher that all lost items are brought into the main cab depot and held in a locked lost and found. She feigned calm, but I could see right through it. Her worry cast a black cloud over the rest of the evening.<br /><br />Dorrie lightened the mood of the room by challenging all of the rest of us, as a team, against her in a titanic match of Scrabble. Stephanie was <span style="font-style: italic;">non comptos mentos</span> from all her worry. The remainder of us gamely took on Dorrie. (That is, with the exception of Jim R., who begged off due to a "hot date.")<br /><br />Raphael's friend, Henri, proved a most formidable opponent for "the missus." He brought the game to a momentary standstill with his daring play of the word ILLUMINERS. Dorrie challenged the word, which would have earned our team 89 points, as it was both a "bingo" and a Triple Word Score.<br /><br />Henri claimed it was a word that meant "lamp-lighters," in reference to the trade of olden days. Back and forth the argument pulsed. I was anxious, as we had drawn the Z and Q tiles, as a result of this play, and were set to play QUETZAL as our next smash move.<br /><br />I had to drive to the New Pantheon, go to an online dictionary website, seek the word ILLUMINERS, and return home. Of course, as I immediately discovered, there was no such word!<br /><br />Before I shut down the computer, I took note of an accumulation of comic magazines atop my desk space. Friends, I think of you, and of this "blot," every day, and wish I had the time and space to make daily posts. I regret these long lapses, when the duties of life take their toll. Why, I was not able to spend precious time in my sanctum for THE ENTIRE WEEK before Thanksgiving!<br /><br />Business at the Diner has continued to grow. Dorrie has had to hire an assistant chef--a mute young woman whose name, I believe, is Katrice. As she is mute (albeit extremely bright), she cannot repeat Dorrie's recipes to the world at large. Katrice has the unfortunate habit of sneaking up behind me, silent as a Sioux, and tapping me on the shoulder. I believe my life expectancy has been shortened by at least 11 months due to several of these incidents. I have learned not to over-react, and therefore not bruise her sensitive feelings.<br /><br />Raphael's recent purchase of a wrist calculator (worn like a watch!) has improved his cashiering skills enormously. Each day, our till has the same overage or shortage: 37 cents. It no longer surprises anyone. If it is an overage, it goes into the tip bucket, to be split by Raphael and Katrice. If not, 37 cents comes out of the tip bucket.<br /><br />Where was I? Oh, yes, this "bog" and my commitments. I have prepared a small stack of choice panelological gems with which to assail you in this and future posts.<br /><br />Today's selection was borne of a common occurrence, as I root through boxes B-44 and B-45. My holdings of a curious series of "half-size" comics resides in these archival boxes. As a fascinating side-street of the panelological world, such titles as <span style="font-style: italic;">Nickel Comics</span> and <span style="font-style: italic;">Pocket Comics</span> are also a bothersome item for serious students and accumulators, such as myself.<br /><br />They so easily lodge into corners of the boxes, fall on their sides, or slide underneath a regular organized stack of comic magazines. After having pulled my copy of <span style="font-style: italic;">Pocket Comics </span>#4 from such a position many times, I opted to remove it, and its pint-sized brethren, and place them in a shoe box. Though it lacks the grandeur of the archival storage boxes that hold my other panelological gems, they are a proud, if dimunituve, part of the Pantheon.<br /><br />I couldn't resist examining the elfin booklet, and soon settled in to read its 100 pages of colorful content from cover to cover. I confess that I fell asleep--'tis the fault of the endorphins in turkey! I awoke two hours later, disoriented, the tiny <span style="font-style: italic;">Pocket Comics</span> perched on my chin. I recalled, with a start, the mission that had sent me here!<br /><br />I could not, of course, find that dubious word on the online dictionary. Oh, my friends, I was in the dog house! I pictured our guests tapping their collective toes in smoldering fury. I meekly tucked the <span style="font-style: italic;">Pocket Comics</span> into my coat pocket--how aptly named the book! It fits perfectly!--and motored home to "taste my medicine."<br /><br />Imagine my surprise to approach the Moray residence and see an ambulance on our front lawn, its crimson lights silently throbbing! I left the Pruis in mid-street and dashed inside.<br /><br />Friends, Stephanie had suffered a minor "attack," borne of her anxiety over the missing clarinet! She was now recovered, and laid groaning theatrically on the living room couch. Beside her stood "Sparks," who hovered like a worried owl, tsk-tsking and pacing the length of the sofa.<br /><br />Dorrie had served the ambulance folks a late plate of Thanksgiving cheer. They sang their praises of Dorrie's Fruity Cola Bird (her name for the recipe) and her mashed potatoes, which are infused with canned green peas and small pieces of salted waffle batter.<br /><br />Apparently, Burt Liffler had gone back home, to shed his un-natural long pants and return to his preferred gymnastic shorts.<br /><br />Raphael and Henri dozed before a vintage episode of <span style="font-style: italic;">Hazel</span> on TV. I do not know the whereabouts of Ray-Don or Clifton. I assume that they, too, tired of the wait and returned to their condominium for an evening's frolic.<br /><br />"There is no such word as ILLUMINERS," I told Dorrie.<br /><br />"I figured as much," she said.<br /><br />"Stephanie... is she--"<br /><br />"Oh, she'll snap out of it. She always does. This is just her way of getting attention."<br /><br />The medical men finished their plates. Dorrie called out, in a voice clear as a Swiss sky: "There's pie!" A drowsy Raphael and Henri stumbled into the living room. "Sparks" looked longingly at the blender in the kitchen.<br /><br />Yes, friends, there was pie. Dorrie's imagination has ne'er manifested itself so boldly as in her 3-in-1 Holiday Pie. Imagine, friends... one large pie with two smaller ones baked inside. A culinary equivalent to those little Russian dolls that all stack together.<br /><br />The outer layer is a mince pie. The second layer is pumpkin. The third, and smallest, inner layer is a delightfully tart apple cinnamon pie. One would think that such distinct and rich flavors might cancel one another out. It is far from the truth! Each forkful combines the sweet, the savory and the tart. One mouthful is enough to make one wish each and every day could be Thanksgiving.<br /><br />"Sparks" had his piece pureed, and sipped it with glee. "Wow!" he exclaimed with each slurp. "Hot dog!"<br /><br />Dorrie made coffee. We all had the serene feeling of a lovely holiday. Despite Stephanie's low moans, all was well in the Moray household.<br /><br />Then the police showed up. Apparently, it is a minor infraction of the law to leave one's car in the middle of the street! I sheepishly brushed pie crumbs off my chest and loped outside to park the car properly.<br /><br />Laughter and a chorus of "Mm-MMs!" greeted my return. Yes, the "boys of blue" had cuaght wind of Dorrie's 3-in-1 pie, and took a pause from duty to enjoy a heaping slice.<br /><br />"Oh boy," "Sparks" cackled. "All we need now is the Coast Guard!"<br /><br />I did, I confess, glance at the front door. I do now know what a Coast Guard member might look like, but that would have been their cue to come marching inside. They did not.<br /><br />Dorrie took on the police and ambulance staff in an epic Scrabble match. Her need for the game had been thwarted earlier. "Sparks" and I retired to my den to examine the issue of <span style="font-style: italic;">Pocket Comics</span>. 'Twas then that today's story leapt out at me. Friends, this is a perfect example of the rewards of panelology. Within a book that most collectors regard as a nuisance, due to its odd size, resided this gripping, atmospheric, staggering tale. Prepare yourself--and I hope you have a slice of your favorite pie on hand! As they say, "it's going to be a ride!"<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieP14gTtc0x4svC7ndaP6eGFAsmNLLLDjkbWFHd21ThBlOmCvnglNCWNNpZLxkUImxDjJnI64C7em_vDrJixu1z6ibcZ0a9Sy5Wx2Xh6GxCNYcXdtpJyC3pGWS3gPU7bhWxglAqFi3TnFf/s1600/pk4p87Zeb.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 270px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieP14gTtc0x4svC7ndaP6eGFAsmNLLLDjkbWFHd21ThBlOmCvnglNCWNNpZLxkUImxDjJnI64C7em_vDrJixu1z6ibcZ0a9Sy5Wx2Xh6GxCNYcXdtpJyC3pGWS3gPU7bhWxglAqFi3TnFf/s400/pk4p87Zeb.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5547630525574434690" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_XktY-sA_5nDcHXlZnrU3mgvlCUfoRSloibMc_1o_vv3yIzR8unbQjnTzIshvsnzlw0rBs3MKsDhmX2W9jcpHeDzaotWlY4bdMS8jp5PhIkf8JTqQmiQgpfN5AVGrXKUAuHPhkT8kRl8C/s1600/pk4p88.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 272px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_XktY-sA_5nDcHXlZnrU3mgvlCUfoRSloibMc_1o_vv3yIzR8unbQjnTzIshvsnzlw0rBs3MKsDhmX2W9jcpHeDzaotWlY4bdMS8jp5PhIkf8JTqQmiQgpfN5AVGrXKUAuHPhkT8kRl8C/s400/pk4p88.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5547630517358317810" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJAmlbCBgto6-73TBw5XhKVh3jKfyjvl2pkjOvqXHm_mp4GTLpUR0i4I_mZFK7xAe2-I74Tb4ERkdJ_rly8UQiSkcW9GuI5lrfKxKia5I8UBHwHJimeFCLqZnrk_ja6ax28ODSgUnxNJol/s1600/pk4p89.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 268px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJAmlbCBgto6-73TBw5XhKVh3jKfyjvl2pkjOvqXHm_mp4GTLpUR0i4I_mZFK7xAe2-I74Tb4ERkdJ_rly8UQiSkcW9GuI5lrfKxKia5I8UBHwHJimeFCLqZnrk_ja6ax28ODSgUnxNJol/s400/pk4p89.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5547630513731827170" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJc-2GKo2AVgfdeJqlpTHIcLXZr8lNnGTrftJwUtUAdcKl_r6ng9Eu2qlIauRiGJ5LS0LRbj4_DjQMsPjmXwRcvqbZGxQKWzKbZXG26utarz6O-6aLlTAWV9suDch9mzydOh3qgcNzTuhz/s1600/pk4p90.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 269px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJc-2GKo2AVgfdeJqlpTHIcLXZr8lNnGTrftJwUtUAdcKl_r6ng9Eu2qlIauRiGJ5LS0LRbj4_DjQMsPjmXwRcvqbZGxQKWzKbZXG26utarz6O-6aLlTAWV9suDch9mzydOh3qgcNzTuhz/s400/pk4p90.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5547630505382611714" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQu6hI-dKSsRnp9qQBkjlhFKpScErxg8_oxKDhryhnt_p2YeiFkC_dtxNvLfw8TNcY949PIpWgd6PMGuUNI0gz-sraot_KsPbL210dyltQ6Rd4hWsQGAlX0SrlDJZuaMHeHkmmBLSPlXrb/s1600/pk4p91.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 268px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQu6hI-dKSsRnp9qQBkjlhFKpScErxg8_oxKDhryhnt_p2YeiFkC_dtxNvLfw8TNcY949PIpWgd6PMGuUNI0gz-sraot_KsPbL210dyltQ6Rd4hWsQGAlX0SrlDJZuaMHeHkmmBLSPlXrb/s400/pk4p91.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5547630500762346514" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgY4QoTz5FM_PQH9fznQPs_udpD6B_JlzQDH3qV-HmykvsdqbgXILYfeDCRPSAS0YoJ0LWAdIL5JLtth0HCcL6ebjem0WhfojwfngFIHym0YmJx6VrFFYwcy9qkA4IIPBA1Id6gGYSjIdlh/s1600/pk4p92.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 272px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgY4QoTz5FM_PQH9fznQPs_udpD6B_JlzQDH3qV-HmykvsdqbgXILYfeDCRPSAS0YoJ0LWAdIL5JLtth0HCcL6ebjem0WhfojwfngFIHym0YmJx6VrFFYwcy9qkA4IIPBA1Id6gGYSjIdlh/s400/pk4p92.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5547630085470185186" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgg_MyYeZZkhQjPI1khT_uFEinS5Cu3XLDBVyHKspRmvo6FejPurirCNXLhWUuvJNgLrAU5HIbctw6As51kLSNGuDV1MPeONSuTZ6HuGZU7vkRPegA8zY6oHhU7BAuxt840Qdp_-OJG68CK/s1600/pk4p93.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 271px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgg_MyYeZZkhQjPI1khT_uFEinS5Cu3XLDBVyHKspRmvo6FejPurirCNXLhWUuvJNgLrAU5HIbctw6As51kLSNGuDV1MPeONSuTZ6HuGZU7vkRPegA8zY6oHhU7BAuxt840Qdp_-OJG68CK/s400/pk4p93.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5547630077962480466" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6n4PiD_-Q9Sj27B32p4Ev_U7G6qJ31GEDqNkIEGmC9nQJJBf3c5LMO50uzepAcLoSyhS4utn1lsVOr_cjKYmtzK_Yglnc7DJfsC5ipekeNdSTJDgL_pdC1PKhOt1bnM7xk48Wz9EVlLLj/s1600/pk4p94.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 276px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6n4PiD_-Q9Sj27B32p4Ev_U7G6qJ31GEDqNkIEGmC9nQJJBf3c5LMO50uzepAcLoSyhS4utn1lsVOr_cjKYmtzK_Yglnc7DJfsC5ipekeNdSTJDgL_pdC1PKhOt1bnM7xk48Wz9EVlLLj/s400/pk4p94.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5547630066505665474" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaqkcGSBEeEbVCFFRMliSTAmSYfIeIgABBsoq2ac9zyiRz1Rh4jFFc2h3tZHFeaVcsUG9RaKDcCgGzPDVtk1eMQTzd1XPIjgwDrC6hXgEOCzWNVhR-BlVfzojpCkpPtGqHLF07IIH4AtDW/s1600/pk4p95.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 267px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaqkcGSBEeEbVCFFRMliSTAmSYfIeIgABBsoq2ac9zyiRz1Rh4jFFc2h3tZHFeaVcsUG9RaKDcCgGzPDVtk1eMQTzd1XPIjgwDrC6hXgEOCzWNVhR-BlVfzojpCkpPtGqHLF07IIH4AtDW/s400/pk4p95.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5547630058025323954" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2i_Haa-i4AzqxCM9fodz5SVFYS5ObiezqCBnnxu8Q1L0ttdVhyphenhyphennj2yaIcgdf3q5GJjUR3A2LMYl1tLWRcwQZa7NZOKHDTlBxKZPYMuQduRqgPjGZcVdBcQHLUBYxc2hLL4lgwaVHhHGtR/s1600/pk4p96.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 270px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2i_Haa-i4AzqxCM9fodz5SVFYS5ObiezqCBnnxu8Q1L0ttdVhyphenhyphennj2yaIcgdf3q5GJjUR3A2LMYl1tLWRcwQZa7NZOKHDTlBxKZPYMuQduRqgPjGZcVdBcQHLUBYxc2hLL4lgwaVHhHGtR/s400/pk4p96.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5547630053635408338" border="0" /></a>As you may have guessed, "Ellery King" is not the real name of the creator of "The Zebra." A team of three men produced "The Zebra." Writer Zeb Mullins had known the life of the "jail bird." Many arrests for littering had him in and out of "the stir" in the 1920s and '30s.<br /><br />Mullins had long nursed the idea of a costumed crime-fighter who was, in real life, an ex-convict. He initially sought to call the character "Barman." Artist Sid Klensky pointed out that this was the title of a tavern-keeper, and, as such, would not be suitable for a crime-fighter.<br /><br />John Creighton, a court stenographer who was friends of the Mullins-Klensky team, quipped that a character with black and white stripes might as well be called "Zebra-Man!"<br /><br />This attempted joke turned into reality. Mullins and Klensky were convinced that the future of panelology lay in these experimental pint-size magazines. They prepared "The Zebra" speficically for <span style="font-style: italic;">Pocket Comics</span>. Editor Grant Meehan approved of the feature, and the creative team was off to a flying start!<br /><br />Creighton, who neither wrote or drew, was a vital member of the creative process. His role was to sit in an office chair and review each page of script. He would then apply this keen eye to Klensky's artwork. Some might call this "micro-management" today, but it assured that the "Zebra" tales were among the most striking--and impressive--features of <span style="font-style: italic;">Pocket Comics</span>.<br /><br />Carnivorous plants--sent by mail or messenger--would prove to be staple of Zeb Mullins' comic book stories. Time and again, in Mullins' world, a mysterious messenger--or cheerful postman--deposits a dangerous meat-eating plant (or the seed of such a plant, as seen in this tale) on the doorsteps of heroes and villains alike.<br /><br />Mullins attempted to develop a newspaper comic strip, in a humorous style, along these lines. No examples are known to exist, but suffice it to say the concept was soundly rejected. Mullins became religious in the late 1950s and disappeared from the ranks of the panelological.<br /><br />His concept was borne out in 1977, with the newspaper debut of <span style="font-style: italic;">Flip and Flytrap</span>, a slyly humorous comic strip about a lonely bachelor and his talking carnivorous plant. As you know, the concept has sired TV series, several movies, and a startling number of hardcover novels. The series' creator, Ned Hempstead, did not know of Mullins' work. Few do, outside the bravest ranks of we panelologists.<br /><br />The next time you encounter a carnivorous plant, or a simple seed, delivered by post office or messenger, in a vintage comic magazine, you can rest assured that it is the work of Zeb Mullins.<br /><br />Few panelological gems can boast a finale as brilliant as this "Zebra" tale. What a stirring moment of utter realism! I should imagine that it would be difficult, in real life, for a costumed crime-fighter to separate his secret identity from his costumed one. To show up in the office of one's secret identity, and request to see one's self, is a metaphorical wrinkle worthy of the finest literature. Which, as we know, is exactly what our beloved panelology so often is!<br /><br />P. S. Stephanie, who tends to mis-remember things, had (A) not brought her bag with her and (B) did not actually own a new clarinet. She had been thinking about it, and had a Selmer catalog open to the clarinets page. Dorrie mentioned that this is one reason who Stephanie is seldom invited to family events.Mason J. Morayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16288522457980212295noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2577154746554800558.post-29737938950746091992010-10-26T10:49:00.003-07:002010-10-26T11:54:24.921-07:00"Dynamic Man and Dynamic Boy"-- from Dynamic Comics 23-- 1947 (!)Warm salutations, friends and countrymen! Dorrie's Diner has revised its hours. We now open at 9 AM and close at 3:30 PM. This affords me more time to devote to my beloved panelology than I've had in eons!<br />As well, "Sparks," now that he is dis-connected to the mysterious breathing apparatus, has bounced back considerably. He is still weak, and Dr. Denner advises him to stick to bed-rest. This edict could not be harder for a human being to follow!<br />"Sparks" earned his nick-name. He has always been an "on the move" type of fellow. Quick on his feet, quick-witted, and, to be honest, nervous!<br />As long as I've known him, he's rarely been in repose. His mealtime habit, unchanged through the decades, is to rock back and forth, rapidly, while humming "Over There," as he shovels down the food on his plate. "Over There" will cease for half-muttered exclamations such as "Gee! Good chow!," "Hits... the... <span style="font-weight: bold;">spot!</span>" and "Crunchy!"<br />"Sparks" will typically finish a meal--plate almost licked clean!--before I, or anyone at the table, has made a significant dent in their dishes. Once he is done, "Sparks" makes eye-contact with me, claps his hands (loudly!) and shouts, "Ho-kay, Macey! Let's get at them comics!"<br />I cannot help but blush when he does this "bit." It is a thorn in Dorrie's heel. She considers the ultimate complement to her cooking to have someone linger lovingly over every bite. I have learned (the hard way!) to chew slowly, and to make an "Mmmm-MMM!" response--somewhat similar to Andy Griffin's on the old "Ritz Crackers" TV commercials.<br />That one civility has kept ours a happy marriage all these years. The best part is that those responses are rarely forced. Dorrie is one heck of a fine chef! She insists on serving green vegetables, but I eat them, as I know they're good for me.<br />After Sunday dinner, "Sparks" insisted that we spend the evening at the New Pantheon. "Mace, we've just gotta go there! Tonight! No kiddin'!"<br />"But, 'Sparks,'" I countered, "Dr. Denner's orders... you're suppoposed to stay in bed--"<br />"Bull cookies!" was "Sparks"' response. "We've got work to do!"<br />Dorrie was disappointed, but agreed with me that it would be good to get him out of the house for a few hours. We took along a new portable "Breath-Pak" device. It is like a rucksack--worn on the user's shoulders, with a face-mask and clear plastic tubes that can easily be attached in case a burst of fresh oxygen is required.<br />"Sparks" insists on wearing the face-mask, which somewhat muffles his speech and distorts it. Thus, most of what I hear form him is "Buzz buzzaty buzz... bz zmm?" In the car, "sparks" rocks back and forth, patting his thighs in a fast rhythm and buzzing old favorites suchas "Mountain of Love," "God Bless America" and "Lollipop." As I said, he's an active sort!<br />We arrived at the New Pantheon. "Open the door, boy, open that door!" "Sparks" barked. He was uncommonly eager to get inside!<br />I hadn't switched on the lights, and already he dashed for Boxes 3-W through 7-W... the miscellaneous publishers holdings. Many of the comic magazines in these boxes are post-1942, and thus of less interest to me. But "Sparks" is noting if not surprising, and he did not fail with his inquisitive, searching nature once again.<br />"A-HAAA!" he cried (the cry more of a buzzing "Z-HZZZZ!" through his mask). He held up a copy of <span style="font-style: italic;">Dynamic Comics</span>. I did not recognize it. I recall buying these with great excitement. Due to their 68-page count, I assumed they were pre-1942. Alas, this was a ploy for a small publisher--Harry Chesler--to carve a niche in the over-crowded post-war comic magazine market. While all other magazines trimmed down to 36 or 52 pages, Chesler chose the pre-war standard.<br />To be fair, these magazines were a hodge-podge of old and new material. Some of it is surprisingly good; some is shoddy and amateurish.<br />"Zzs zs za zun, Zace! Zzs Zs ZIT!" "Sparks" cried out.<br />He opened the cover and demanded that I read the very story I breathlessly presetn to you today. Ready yourself, dear friends... 'tis truly a golden surprise from the post-war era!<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJHEQSZqHodV5qbpd2MmgWwrd__1_TObu9tF5DlXThi3W2-ZnZVr9gXX6jVxi3qD2YGWLJG-fVmtGcLzTkEEKFrCdNngdCt8wa2GogKBeQJVJf7Sh9J0xwnd_OOV8AWAiCPtH6L6HVNU_p/s1600/03.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 267px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJHEQSZqHodV5qbpd2MmgWwrd__1_TObu9tF5DlXThi3W2-ZnZVr9gXX6jVxi3qD2YGWLJG-fVmtGcLzTkEEKFrCdNngdCt8wa2GogKBeQJVJf7Sh9J0xwnd_OOV8AWAiCPtH6L6HVNU_p/s400/03.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5532413925862560882" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYglxDEyeYeDYOYq-RAtTM-g8G-etalGGiFYyyF9xusoba-w7xq3d8O8cl-ljBMWa17go_QB_UDh32b1RxmBzqbpXd4GJETBwQ4H2kNsb9gant1MjTvN60_KTxbx1rQYeWKsAzGZNyIyWt/s1600/04.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 267px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYglxDEyeYeDYOYq-RAtTM-g8G-etalGGiFYyyF9xusoba-w7xq3d8O8cl-ljBMWa17go_QB_UDh32b1RxmBzqbpXd4GJETBwQ4H2kNsb9gant1MjTvN60_KTxbx1rQYeWKsAzGZNyIyWt/s400/04.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5532413922074524130" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoJrK3OAY0JoHJPy9nnfh1w7SU6x-igy8DG6yTKObz_MC5iimdFEG1DbWofI2zMBZ0iC5Sfgu1awfW_ygFqXGa90skUaYyJAujMuBhm_Sj66t7IhPD1a61F1yXi6ClRR52XPr2AczIYMk3/s1600/05.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 267px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoJrK3OAY0JoHJPy9nnfh1w7SU6x-igy8DG6yTKObz_MC5iimdFEG1DbWofI2zMBZ0iC5Sfgu1awfW_ygFqXGa90skUaYyJAujMuBhm_Sj66t7IhPD1a61F1yXi6ClRR52XPr2AczIYMk3/s400/05.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5532413913056441778" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimYtBH2ANB1Uz49tdKN67k_M76_xSQrq2DeuN6qLVulDIZUo9l8VUF5LvRtHvK_pqImIHejVbwGRdJOd6lnz4niFkZruKkj6mCpZZKU5OLELprpaRI1ygC5kGfpCiak9gr6HAjLIPGDKLg/s1600/06.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 267px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimYtBH2ANB1Uz49tdKN67k_M76_xSQrq2DeuN6qLVulDIZUo9l8VUF5LvRtHvK_pqImIHejVbwGRdJOd6lnz4niFkZruKkj6mCpZZKU5OLELprpaRI1ygC5kGfpCiak9gr6HAjLIPGDKLg/s400/06.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5532413907856427218" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQPsOY7icGJltUbwRf8sGcB9gOtkn7JSiNHKNR7CTbouryPlp2FhyphenhyphenWOuu-NIjI32ExpF44W9Nv5e-9L2Kf6Q3TLAicR1TWzuE0UMJtI4TNSe1GcbqRVq_zoMuSw7JK0opmobfx1NHHH1N-/s1600/07.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 267px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQPsOY7icGJltUbwRf8sGcB9gOtkn7JSiNHKNR7CTbouryPlp2FhyphenhyphenWOuu-NIjI32ExpF44W9Nv5e-9L2Kf6Q3TLAicR1TWzuE0UMJtI4TNSe1GcbqRVq_zoMuSw7JK0opmobfx1NHHH1N-/s400/07.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5532413901456839922" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxnFsNTEH5E2t1FoKtsIPZMMr_a52pn8ltkErUJ3EVyWrjdcMkf2ttc9U0zOuxW4yDkJNQQyCLWNlhG-EcyQ3AxY-zUS8jGGOV5lMb80Su8TiWn2Kar8GIEldNiDpKMOSAHxpNQ59CbMuo/s1600/08.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 267px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxnFsNTEH5E2t1FoKtsIPZMMr_a52pn8ltkErUJ3EVyWrjdcMkf2ttc9U0zOuxW4yDkJNQQyCLWNlhG-EcyQ3AxY-zUS8jGGOV5lMb80Su8TiWn2Kar8GIEldNiDpKMOSAHxpNQ59CbMuo/s400/08.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5532414142734230882" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsSyfUX24yovG_Torj6EJ9yaArsASDOxDsVNaOOThNlcAV9D_lK3zIHkYqXvA81IDxVbunwSkX7288PTVZDDtEDz4C95TLEWiIhCz-sxf8yJQd47q0ZAAtRcV5kgYTA8fy_rbTF4Z5hquj/s1600/09.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 267px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsSyfUX24yovG_Torj6EJ9yaArsASDOxDsVNaOOThNlcAV9D_lK3zIHkYqXvA81IDxVbunwSkX7288PTVZDDtEDz4C95TLEWiIhCz-sxf8yJQd47q0ZAAtRcV5kgYTA8fy_rbTF4Z5hquj/s400/09.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5532414135455520258" border="0" /></a><br />In view of today's "gay rights movement," one can long for the days when innocent tales such as this could be read without irony or interpretation. Many costumed comic book heroes do indeed appear "home-erotic" in the light of the 21st century. Their chiseled physiques, tight-fitting costumes and provocative names are fuel for the fire of modern irony.<br />It would surprise some of these modern smirkers to realize that, indeed, some of the 1940s' super-heroes were, indeed, intended to be "gay" or "lebsian" in their orientation. In their highly coded, metaphoric manner, certain of these features were beacons of hope and reason to the hidden, cloistered souls in small towns and big cities who dared to embrace "the forbidden love."<br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Dynamic Man</span> was the brain-child of Hess Merrill, a playwright, gardener and (some have claimed) gigolo who turned to the comic magazines for pocket money.<br />Merrill had created a rash of similar characters in the 1940s, for various small publishers--many of them never printed. Merrill's "MO" was to take an exciting adjective, add "Man" and "Boy" to it, and craft a colorful tale of crime and punishment.<br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Thrilling Man, Exciting Boy, Magnificent Lad, Surprising Man, Aggressive Boy, Energetic Man, Intense Lad</span>--these, and more, were the creation of Hess Merrill. While Merrill was no great shakes as a writer (his tales are highly formulaic and prosaic), he always included a couple of "tells"--as a sort of silent signature to his work.<br />Each of Merrill's stories has a scene just liek this one:<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg24SI7qUA_xFvZ3nJEDCgPd6qOSj5LYhOECtcQv2rVnsxQNxYl1olLf3H0LCOXF8oWFbdmztrqCT-oeeGvn_ASQab8MBEqChmhu631jmAzfOto7OjigR9yxgdlLygeUQWd6QNCGhLcD8O8/s1600/sample+1.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 392px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg24SI7qUA_xFvZ3nJEDCgPd6qOSj5LYhOECtcQv2rVnsxQNxYl1olLf3H0LCOXF8oWFbdmztrqCT-oeeGvn_ASQab8MBEqChmhu631jmAzfOto7OjigR9yxgdlLygeUQWd6QNCGhLcD8O8/s400/sample+1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5532423879391476882" border="0" /></a>This is nothing if not a coded message to the cloistered "gays" of 1940s America! In their daily lives, they also faced such a crisis. What if their "secret identities" were discovered? Was there a "Dymanic Man" living next door to you--or was he your postman, your green-grocer, your ship's chandler?<br />Merrill's other significant "tell" was to conclude his stories with a scene of his heroic couple bathing or showering--and being interrupted by a third party, as seen here:<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPdYGlFRkpoyzSkOsBFyZDueFbKAy1hrmYc_E2y0qjx2vQ-YGSZbe49iHnU7OFtQ9fAdIRjXx8nhVDTw-ZWzV6_vNaR5CRKNBEo_djDWkl5i2f8Yk04qUjo6QN8iz2Llx4XxQMSG3T4wkY/s1600/sample+2.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 397px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPdYGlFRkpoyzSkOsBFyZDueFbKAy1hrmYc_E2y0qjx2vQ-YGSZbe49iHnU7OFtQ9fAdIRjXx8nhVDTw-ZWzV6_vNaR5CRKNBEo_djDWkl5i2f8Yk04qUjo6QN8iz2Llx4XxQMSG3T4wkY/s400/sample+2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5532423864183196338" border="0" /></a><br />In a 1977 interview for <span style="font-style: italic;">Thrust! </span>magazine, Merrill spoke briefly--and cryptically--of this ritualistic "tick":<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold; color: rgb(51, 51, 153);">I felt that the act of bathing--naked, soapy, active--was a sign to my fellow lurkers that they were indeed clean, proper, fit entities for a modern world. It was the world, its sad little self, who failed to take heed of this obvious truth. Poor world; I pity you so...</span><br /><br />Merrill predictably drifted into the twilight world of "adult fiction" in the 1960s. These themes of his panelological work continued, unabated, in his fiction. Merrill made a niche of himself during the "camp" craze of 1966 with a series of tongue-in-cheek super-hero spoofs.<br /><br />Merrill wrote each of these books under a different pen-name. Thus, they are resoundingly difficult to track down. I had the good fortune to acquire my lone Merrill adult novel, <span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;">Wham! Pow! It's Vigorous Man!</span>, at a Girl Scouts rummage sale in Idaho, some 20 years ago.<br /><br />Here are the closing paragraphs of this "Kurt Weedon" novel, copyrighted 1968:<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">Vigorous Man peeled off his sweat-soaked costume. How tight it was! It left nothing to the imagination. And, yes, there was indeed plenty to reveal!</span><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">"What an adventure," Vigorous Man sighed. "I can't wait to get to bed..."</span><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">"I'm with you," Vigorous Lad muttered. He removed his mask and tossed it into the growing pile of sweaty, glistening fabric.</span><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">"Bet I can get undressed before you can!" Vigorous Man laughed.</span><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">"You've lost that bet," said Vigorous Boy. He slowly peeled off his colorful tights...</span><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">The warm water of the shower felt like a million heavens. How taxing, how strenuous were their actions in saving Townville! Yet a long, hot shower, with his faithful crime-fighting partner, was the ultimate reward for their manly feats of derring-do...</span><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">"Soap my back?" asked Vigorous Boy.</span><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">"All that and more!" quipped Vigorous Man. He lathered his young ward's shoulders, and massaged his rippling shoulders, slowly, lovingly...</span><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">Then the door opened. It was Sgt. O'Flannery--flabby, jowly, in need of a shave, smelling of corned beef. "Ah--there you are! Fine work, fellows. Fine work!"</span><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">"Sgt. O'Flannery! Holy potatoes!" cried Vigorous Boy. "W-we can explain..."</span><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">"Ah, 'tis nothin' t' explain, me lads... nothin' t' explain... I'll leave ye t' yer foine washin', noo." </span><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">O' Flannery tipped his hat and exited.</span><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">"We've just got to get a lock for our front door," Vigorous Boy sighed.</span><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">"I'll put up a barricade," Vigorous Man quipped. </span><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">"Brother, we'll need it!" They both laughed, a long lusty and sudsy laugh.</span><br /><br /><br />Hess Merrill died in 1981. Had he lived, I truly believe his ground-breaking trance-gender stories would be hailed by progressives. Instead, they linger in their own cloistered twilight... in the yellowing pages of obscure, unwanted comic magazines.<br /><br />I am, without a doubt, heterosexual. But as a panelologist, I vividly understand what it is like to be outside the margins of acceptable society. What it means to be thought a fool, a coward, and an eccentric!<br /><br />Needless to say, "Sparks" Spinkle has struck vintage gold once again! I've a good mind to let him rummage through the "W" series boxes. I hope to present other unearthed gems via his tireless discoveries!<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic; color: rgb(255, 102, 102);">POST-SCRIPT:</span> As a reward for this outstanding "find," I allowed "Sparks" 15 minutes of crime-fighting in the downtown retail area. We discovered an arsonist, another parking meter cheater, and several litterers. Without leaving the car, "Sparks" put them in their place with a bracing lecture. They stopped in their tracks. Litterers properly disposed of their trash; the arsonist stopped to stamp out his cigarette butt; the meter cheater ran into the night.<br /><br />"We've done good tonight, Mace," sighed "Sparks," as he replaced his breathing face-mask. "Ze've zun zood zoonight."Mason J. Morayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16288522457980212295noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2577154746554800558.post-86346283095198976122010-10-08T17:03:00.000-07:002010-10-08T18:09:10.404-07:00"Flagman and Rusty" from Captain Aero Comics--Plus News Updates of Home and LifeI apologize, dear subscriber, for the long silence since my lsat post. To be blunt, events in my life have not been ideal of late. The month of September was one of much suffering. "Sparks" continues to have ill health.<br /><br />The last week of September was a dark one for us all. My dear friend nearly perished of his health problems. You will recall that "Sparks" was suffering from a collapsed lung. As it turned out, the red and blue ticking, hissing machine that he was hooked up to had something weirdly wrong with it. It was full of Brach's "Neopolitan Sundae" candies!<br /><br />Apparently, someone at the hospital used the inner hatch of the contraption to store their snacks. On-the-job eating is expressly forbidden at Emberton Memorial Emergency Medical Centre Pavillion. Thus, this person (likely an intern) hoarded his or her snacks deep in the bowels of this seldom-used machine! (It has a 1966 copyright on it--the machine, that is... not the candies.)<br /><br />You'll recall that I reported a loud ticking noise--so persistent that it interfered with my sleep. Those 'ticks' were the candies, being bounced around inside the high pressure of the machine's inner chambers! Each fevered breath of "Sparks" sent these sticky rectangles caroming madly around. Finally, one of them became unwrapped, through the sheer force of impact. The rogue "Sundae" was forced through the high-pressure breathing duct. It lodged in "Sparks"' throat.<br /><br />At 4 AM one morning, I awoke to a cacophony of squeaks, thumps and gasps. I sensed something was wrong with my friend and kindred spirit. I rushed into "Sparks"' room to find him purple-faced, contorting like a freshly hooked trout!<br /><br />In my previous job, as insurance claims adjuster, I was officially trained in "CPR" for the office. Thus, I knew at once that the purple coloration was choking-related. I recalled the "Himlich Manuever" and quickly dislodged the tri-colored block from my friend's throat.<br /><br />"Get me out of this monkey house," "Sparks" weakly gasped. Sadly, I could not find the opening to the accursed device's hatch. I did notice a large OFF button, and duly pressed it. "Sparks" immediately began to feel better. At his request, I got him a glass of buttermilk and sat with him, to be sure he was truly among the living.<br /><br />There was no point in going back to sleep. Thus, "Sparks" and I greeted the dawn together. As is constant with our long friendship, the subject of panelology quickly surfaced. "Sparks" has been combing some of my panelological treasures for "forgotten diamonds." He had perused a run of <span style="font-style: italic;">Captain Aero </span>comic magazines, in search of same. Among the lackluster Holyoke line of magazines, it did not yield much of interest.<br /><br />Until issue 11. Hidden in the back of the magazine was an obscure hero, in his equally shrouded wartime adventure. I find, in general, a lack of interest in wartime comic magazines. The jingoism of the war agenda reduced the universe of boundless fantasy to a drab simulacrum of real life. How disappointed 1940s readers must have been by this change!<br /><br />The Period of Greatness in panelology, for me, extends from 1937 to 1942. In those six years, the comic magazine was born, struggled through its growing pains, and soared to sublime heights in 1939 and 1940. Because of publishing schedule lags, the impact of the Pearl Harbor attack--and America's plunge into combat--did not immediately surface in the pages of our comic magazines. But by 1942's end, almost all the fantasy and imagination had been bruited out of panelology. Nazi dictators replaced the phantoms, monsters and scientific fiends who so genuinely embodied evil and so menaced the righteous crusaders of good.<br /><br />The loss was palpable, and to my viewpoint, permanent. Although I do find some mild enjoyment in post-war comic magazines, it is a decidedly muted thrill. Thus, my post-1942 magazines are place-holders, rather than treasures.<br /><br />Still, some imaginations couldn't be curdled by world events. Every now and again, a little zircon would emerge from pulp pages that once bore diamonds, rubies and emeralds. Today's brief offering is one such synthetic diamond on paper.<br /><br />"This one's a corker, Mace," "Sparks" croaked. He insisted I read the story out loud. As I read, he cackled, chortled and applauded the story's events. Immediately, I knew I must make this the next sharing on this "blog."<br /><br />Later that day, as I attempted to total the day's receipts (Raphael's cashiering still leaves much to be desired, although his steadfastness, personal charm and appeal continue to make our little bistro successful), Dorrie came up to me with a newspaper. She looked upset, her face paled.<br /><br />Longtime "Bloggers" may recall my memories of high-school friend, Russ "Rusty" Gortner. "Rusty" was an admirer of the British Invasion duo of "Peter and Gordon." In fact, we fashioned our own musical "act" based on them, called "Mason and Rusty." We were both caught in the thrall of "Bealtemania" and immediately learned how to strum a guitar. We also attempted to grow our hair out. It took much careful combing to hide our hair growth from parents and teachers.<br /><br />"Mason and Rusty" never got beyond a couple of high-school talent contests, but we enjoyed our attempts to re-create the delightful sounds of our English idols. After high school, we inevitably drifted apart. "Rusty" was drafted, and did three tours of duty in Vietnam. I kept in touch with him via postcards and the rare international phone call. But by 1973, "Rusty" was out of touch.<br /><br />I always wondered what happened to my friend of times bygone. Well, on that afternoon, I found out. The newspaper reported "Rusty"'s death in an interstate trucking accident. Embittered by foot problems he gained in the war, "Rusty" became a truck driver. Coast-to-coast treks were his stock in trade. According to the article, hauling livestock was his specialty.<br /><br />"Rusty" died as he worked. Driving a truckload of quail into Fresno (for eventual consumption at the popular chain of family restaurants, "Quail Hut"), he lost control of his "big rig" and tumbled down a steep desert chasm. "Rusty" died in the desert sun. None of the quail died in the accident. They scattered into the desert, spared from death on the dinner plate.<br /><br />As said, I was long out of touch with "Rusty," but his memory stood within me. It was hard to know what--or how--to feel. Yet sadness gripped me. Then the truth of panelology again struck like lightning. The irony shall be immediately evident upon your perusal of the first frame of this graphic adventure. Read on, dear visitor...<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYR3ZkwGVJGyQILslCBX1Kf1pWDhmknwXMcSDbYm8ckzgCauymKvyHJeNCbUwgJlScsxgzO33bzmjRDLIefX-O9tr7SfumSVmPoA_izqEJx1qWD1uPXl0Mrwz7pRwGk2lkt4SZ-_bzFPRZ/s1600/Captain_Aero_Comics_048+001.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 291px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYR3ZkwGVJGyQILslCBX1Kf1pWDhmknwXMcSDbYm8ckzgCauymKvyHJeNCbUwgJlScsxgzO33bzmjRDLIefX-O9tr7SfumSVmPoA_izqEJx1qWD1uPXl0Mrwz7pRwGk2lkt4SZ-_bzFPRZ/s400/Captain_Aero_Comics_048+001.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5525830845027220114" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZLb7fHtOwiB5o2QpJ7CCjYUfi3CfMDzBNBmCLHQTUo459hcdTDFOLaXsEbtMFtCxCAOnzTReQrsNrQp8-eKnfGYxxD4SRUPFsEXEMnKiBAAzv0XncTnrP5J7xhh5yF2pU4Z9pxf3jYS9a/s1600/Captain_Aero_Comics_049+001.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 285px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZLb7fHtOwiB5o2QpJ7CCjYUfi3CfMDzBNBmCLHQTUo459hcdTDFOLaXsEbtMFtCxCAOnzTReQrsNrQp8-eKnfGYxxD4SRUPFsEXEMnKiBAAzv0XncTnrP5J7xhh5yF2pU4Z9pxf3jYS9a/s400/Captain_Aero_Comics_049+001.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5525830837737915458" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjouD_HYfFieLWmaSk6GMLKuOsExSLTXWyi26fpnMudGW-kTe0RuevRlgBbDVeRUO07M-CTaonVky2W8VHW-5tuuXwtwDmXnzx6qs23FaEgcbIz6lz0nHchepTLCJEIoafXWmKBjhIL4BpN/s1600/Captain_Aero_Comics_050+001.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 292px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjouD_HYfFieLWmaSk6GMLKuOsExSLTXWyi26fpnMudGW-kTe0RuevRlgBbDVeRUO07M-CTaonVky2W8VHW-5tuuXwtwDmXnzx6qs23FaEgcbIz6lz0nHchepTLCJEIoafXWmKBjhIL4BpN/s400/Captain_Aero_Comics_050+001.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5525830829060652050" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEii6qlXcR6iFNAwt_4Q1Ixbbtnb6L5QVc68-5BUV06JT3tphEUATuUwr89aYpOjbUO8DYdfyco0Wj0eIbHMnQkjKCFUCMZoBTXwIMrdDs0D6z1FyyJMWSXxSYjqwX1DL36uv9-0_fxQmmGD/s1600/Captain_Aero_Comics_051+001.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 284px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEii6qlXcR6iFNAwt_4Q1Ixbbtnb6L5QVc68-5BUV06JT3tphEUATuUwr89aYpOjbUO8DYdfyco0Wj0eIbHMnQkjKCFUCMZoBTXwIMrdDs0D6z1FyyJMWSXxSYjqwX1DL36uv9-0_fxQmmGD/s400/Captain_Aero_Comics_051+001.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5525831543222505650" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEij9ITF8GT0W_GjUBKwxUlCeP4ZFdKay0r6u6rs4zhJ4u3p6kbTatU8zIDPLitTTiprkDoBK-IMwzboDFEv6Ai9HTp3GTjWge5leBBYjFQ1MSrJmxg-5OZjqY55HleiOWCFjzsnD30zTVTp/s1600/Captain_Aero_Comics_052+001.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 287px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEij9ITF8GT0W_GjUBKwxUlCeP4ZFdKay0r6u6rs4zhJ4u3p6kbTatU8zIDPLitTTiprkDoBK-IMwzboDFEv6Ai9HTp3GTjWge5leBBYjFQ1MSrJmxg-5OZjqY55HleiOWCFjzsnD30zTVTp/s400/Captain_Aero_Comics_052+001.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5525831530658631730" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdPu4jsYMDqxboGp0CRnC1o00yJgJfDnPuVSFO0su_WbmNXBhmpWJl2DbmW15THlr5eLmKCKv7x9IoR95Bz5fbhX3Yl8ZB6C9XTPUuQBL0yPrHSTYhuniTAyKLYYxJHJ9NnLmTGLJaZBAG/s1600/Captain_Aero_Comics_053+001.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 288px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdPu4jsYMDqxboGp0CRnC1o00yJgJfDnPuVSFO0su_WbmNXBhmpWJl2DbmW15THlr5eLmKCKv7x9IoR95Bz5fbhX3Yl8ZB6C9XTPUuQBL0yPrHSTYhuniTAyKLYYxJHJ9NnLmTGLJaZBAG/s400/Captain_Aero_Comics_053+001.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5525831515198148786" border="0" /></a>One hesitates to assign too much significance to any post-1942 panelological piece. Yet this unknown, un-appreciated "Flagman and Rusty" conveys the breathless sense of wonder--and abandon--that categorized comic magazine stories from the Period of Greatness.<br /><br />Writer/artist Herman Tesh labored anonymously in the back pages of many comic magazines. His colleagues teasingly nick-named him "Bookback" as his work never graced the front pages of any publication. Tesh was responsible for dozens of minor features such as "Little Otto," "Mazurka the Mystic," "Bob Mifflin, Air Ace" and the single-page filler features "Officer McBeat" and "Orchestral Ollie." Tesh was equally adept in realism and cartoon comedy, and often created 40 to 50 pages of published material each month.<br /><br />Tesh never signed his name to his work, never won any awards, and is not cited as an influence of any contemporary panelologists. Yet the Herman Teshes of the world were the backbone of the comic magazine industry. Without Tesh and his ilk, publishers would have run short of material, and probably resorted to reprints and longer text pieces.<br /><br />As is overwhelmingly evident, Tesh understood what made for a "good read." I delight in his whimsical approach to the deadly-serious war propaganda. His Hitler and Mussolini are chucklesome characters-- a far cry from the murderous tyrants they were in reality. Tesh was ahead of the curve in his use of a killer gorilla.<br /><br />This theme is, perhaps, Tesh's lasting legacy to the art panelologic. Prior to Tesh, the gorilla was merely a comical figure in panelology. Tesh made this primate a hairy threat to hero and heroine alike. I detect a tongue planted firmly in cheek through this "Flagman" tale--yet it never backs away from thrills and derring-do.<br /><br />Now that "Sparks" is doing better, I've urged him to explore more post-1942 magazines. Perhaps he will unearth more surprises such as this piece.<br /><br />By the way, we found 113 "Neopolitan Sundae" candies, a sack full of "Butterscotch Discs" and several issues of <span style="font-style: italic;">Jet</span> magazine inside "Sparks"' breathing apparatus. The <span style="font-style: italic;">Jet</span>s were all 1975 issues. Perhaps the candies were of similar vintage. "Sparks" insisted on keeping the candies in his room. I suspect he has been snacking on them himself. To each his own, as it is said...Mason J. Morayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16288522457980212295noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2577154746554800558.post-7261091644990134082010-08-27T09:13:00.000-07:002010-08-28T07:59:01.768-07:00And Thus, A New Era Begins!<span style="font-style: italic;">Dearest friends,</span><br /><br />Salutations and humble apologies for my long absence from these plains. 'Tis a time of great industry and joy in the Moray homestead. Dorrie's Diner thrives, even in these grim days of economic despair.<br /><br />Business booms for us; thus we have added a veranda for outdoor dining. This veranda occupies much of the back yard. Alas, the Former Pantheon had to be uprooted. I planned to have it towed to the county junk yard. Burt Liffler, always puttering aimlessly in his alleged garden, got wind of my plans and cornered me, prior to the expulsion.<br /><br />"It's just the thing for my tools," he repeated. "I'll pay you for it."<br /><br />"Nonsense, neighbor," I sighed, "it is yours for the asking."<br /><br />"Please let me pay you 20 dollars, Mason."<br /><br />"It's yours, free of charge."<br /><br />"25 dollars. You drive a hard bargain..."<br /><br />"I repeat: the shed is yours, free and clear. No payment required."<br /><br />Mister Liffler finally pressed two 20-dollar bills in my palm and trotted away with glee. I could not return the monies to him. Thus, I considered it a donation to the New Pantheon. 'Twas well spent on archival backing boards and acid-free comic book bags. A few of my pre-1940 titles are in dire need of a new set of "duds." Comic book bags were made of crude polystyrenes in the early 1970s. Time has not been kind to them. They have yellowed and withered, like the sere flesh of a sunbaked crone.<br /><br />Where was I? Oh, yes--the veranda. It is a sea of maroon-hued cedar planks, decorated with merry dots and dashes--themselves the artistry of Ray-Don, our village's supreme aesthete. The initial expenses of new furniture, umbrellas for daytime dining, and a smattering of tropical plants (the better to give the layout that <span style="font-style: italic;">Southern Pacific</span> "vibe") have all but been paid for by our increased patronage.<br /><br />I've not had as much time to spend in the glory of the New Panthron as I would like. A booming business means increased responsibilities! My role as manager demands that I do the nightly accounting. Raphael is a dear lad, but his increased role as waitstaff-cashier has not been Dorrie's finest hour as a decision-maker.<br /><br />I fear the young man has a slight case of dsylexia. He tends to swap out numbers. An entree priced at $7.50 will be rung up as $5.70 or $7.05. Our master receipt is number-coded as to each specific item. Thus, I can, at a glance, detect which entree was purchased. Typically, we either have a slight overage or a noticeable shortage.<br /><br />To this end, I am in the process of converting the cash register to a series of numbered keys. Dorrie's Sophisticated Sass Omelet, for example, is item 28 on the numeric list. On the keypad proper, its number is 82. This accommodates Raphael's vision problem and assures less accounting time for yours truly.<br /><br />I write this missive, so long overdue, from the cool shelter of the New Pantheon. You may recall that, in my prior post, I reported odd vibrations and accompanying noises issuing from somewhere in the storage facility. As a lifelong panelologist, I am something of an armchair sleuth. I ventured deep into the subterranean bowels of storage to further investigate this phenomenon.<br /><br />I located its source. In the sub-sub basement, back in a dark corridor, is a room even a blind man could locate. For the smell of peanuts--fresh, rich peanuts--suffuses the very air.<br /><br />On the door is a hand-lettered sign that reads:<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);font-size:180%;" ><span style="font-weight: bold;font-family:courier new;" >BUTTER-KING</span> <span style="font-weight: bold;font-family:courier new;" >DO NOT KNOCK</span></span><br /></div><br />The door's edges, near its rusted knob, are smeared with an ochre goo. From within comes a great grinding and jolting vibrations. Friends, we have an illegal manufacturer of peanut butter on the premises! I should be fair; perhaps they have obtained a legal business permit. This I know not as of yet.<br /><br />It poses no threat to me or to the contents of the New Pantheon. I don't believe peanut butter is flammable or airborne.<br /><br />Speaking of flames: today's offering is thematically linked. Today's post, in deed, contains two full-length paneological stunners from the same 1940 comic magazine. The second issue of <span style="font-style: italic;">Wham Comics</span>, published in those wild "fronteir days" before the second World War, offers a brace of astounding four-color fascinations. I share with you today its two top features: "Blue Flame" and "Solarman."<br /><br />I have more news to share, but shall wait until after today's festivities commence. We must have our panelological studies, mustn't we?<br /><br />The greatest thrill of a vintage comic magazine its is bold, emblazoned cover. Such vivid hues! Such promising scenes--a moment forever frozen in permanent time. How I pity those whose pitch does not quicken at such a grand, glorious sight:<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgElvzCwEgKsAqM11mGUC1P7SyFF1bYclvLgerCRkLU_HiQzHbUic-G6l8a8M3iBTIj-OTrC6ss2PCUzMRP1pm5uUlDjWLAf6WHUY0xWT9TAa5mVGW7wNCD7FEY86qRw79WCjGhZn1uooHY/s1600/01.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 283px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgElvzCwEgKsAqM11mGUC1P7SyFF1bYclvLgerCRkLU_HiQzHbUic-G6l8a8M3iBTIj-OTrC6ss2PCUzMRP1pm5uUlDjWLAf6WHUY0xWT9TAa5mVGW7wNCD7FEY86qRw79WCjGhZn1uooHY/s400/01.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5510138529933753890" border="0" /></a>For once, the contents build upon the eternal promise of hope given us by this spectacular cover. All features in <span style="font-style: italic;">Wham Comics</span> are top-flight panelology. I shall mete these out so that you and I might better savor their superior charms.<br /><br />Lew Glanz (with uncredited writer Sherm Blystock) created the most unusual--dare I say surreal?--(I dare!) BLUE FIRE. 'Tis among the most distinctive and imaginative costumed-crusader features of the American comic magazine, circa 1940...<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxfjJYnJdd8KY-ivBUDX5CJWCx__qHom6puDnfbmwSvFrP54GLggk8iBhkZO3GyAF94FXAUy_Ci8wBWrjca-eLITInpuZtfO2hk3xv9ad6vxrVJsVwPZUJl1iU19_0mr0eJMRb_GD80Ipz/s1600/03.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 283px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxfjJYnJdd8KY-ivBUDX5CJWCx__qHom6puDnfbmwSvFrP54GLggk8iBhkZO3GyAF94FXAUy_Ci8wBWrjca-eLITInpuZtfO2hk3xv9ad6vxrVJsVwPZUJl1iU19_0mr0eJMRb_GD80Ipz/s400/03.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5510138522367779362" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiB8iZTjd4CpDn3_0Ti3g4oSJqQIqBV_FRvChMV5-kB5qMK5d43EaDtfz20O9KYVe6osBltEaYW3n1tye88ZF7URZo9bpF8sHN2gGZzP-2pI0Ho2E1VlOrVd8NY2eefjH1g6LTGz0JkzlrJ/s1600/04.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 282px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiB8iZTjd4CpDn3_0Ti3g4oSJqQIqBV_FRvChMV5-kB5qMK5d43EaDtfz20O9KYVe6osBltEaYW3n1tye88ZF7URZo9bpF8sHN2gGZzP-2pI0Ho2E1VlOrVd8NY2eefjH1g6LTGz0JkzlrJ/s400/04.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5510138513403623490" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjb-kdZcSRPWYo_i252RRLugN54IjP_Xa_eqMyTcli1RXDSgnMdUzRW37FimaXoN-MN0Pu1KvD5_Xs4xCSRxJLaaaQW0N_0kglE0Wmmb0uZq-ZcgYTT5dcgP5uXIyflB1FQT1ni3l8YOn2S/s1600/05.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 283px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjb-kdZcSRPWYo_i252RRLugN54IjP_Xa_eqMyTcli1RXDSgnMdUzRW37FimaXoN-MN0Pu1KvD5_Xs4xCSRxJLaaaQW0N_0kglE0Wmmb0uZq-ZcgYTT5dcgP5uXIyflB1FQT1ni3l8YOn2S/s400/05.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5510138494381444530" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_MGo1xnKLN_BKkOiiCaqXaZlWfbF2hlZmrhQ5AwsoD0Q2Wp4EJAWkfMq0pmtbs9Va9qZyjqB5YRHyl3ivrT069RRbhh8_00Z-7MkxCI7uIpUQl7pYC6Bv4Z9YBo1CFI3mWs35300kE5Yb/s1600/06.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 282px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_MGo1xnKLN_BKkOiiCaqXaZlWfbF2hlZmrhQ5AwsoD0Q2Wp4EJAWkfMq0pmtbs9Va9qZyjqB5YRHyl3ivrT069RRbhh8_00Z-7MkxCI7uIpUQl7pYC6Bv4Z9YBo1CFI3mWs35300kE5Yb/s400/06.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5510138481134919634" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiX6sKN7vFHUI90oexcjmMEOaLg6kEkfvi4GLJlfSL88fHk4OGXBAPx68cHHNfza7F7kcNgKF0HCyLIayt4w3p8j9VwySksV4K5qsCH_hRRr1sIWI0t-AK_CV4GCpLhVVIWkxz09yJTFest/s1600/07.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 282px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiX6sKN7vFHUI90oexcjmMEOaLg6kEkfvi4GLJlfSL88fHk4OGXBAPx68cHHNfza7F7kcNgKF0HCyLIayt4w3p8j9VwySksV4K5qsCH_hRRr1sIWI0t-AK_CV4GCpLhVVIWkxz09yJTFest/s400/07.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5510139123682201602" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2BwWxXWCnENS9k0kSCXJtBrUQLL2invxZTdo6_-f3jVyyzkOpOWR8dfqBiHZcZS5tKkqeKts0RcIk5g6OurECD2PS63QImsbfJrvrH_2J0SF8LZHRSNVBx1usAxZU4vRVKNH2L3N1BPP1/s1600/08.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 281px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2BwWxXWCnENS9k0kSCXJtBrUQLL2invxZTdo6_-f3jVyyzkOpOWR8dfqBiHZcZS5tKkqeKts0RcIk5g6OurECD2PS63QImsbfJrvrH_2J0SF8LZHRSNVBx1usAxZU4vRVKNH2L3N1BPP1/s400/08.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5510139119979415730" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4HI58xtDnU7NGDXLaYw2Zcd5N43SSqPEsdZyL37CBeoKVMjrLQt9RuJqnWu_RwBftTr-lcZ_rEznbwB6kIV7wcbGQ_misDLb3vYtGSc2VbIWbvFEFrwyMsjKjEa6ElMl5ngyUM2wOodqy/s1600/09.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 282px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4HI58xtDnU7NGDXLaYw2Zcd5N43SSqPEsdZyL37CBeoKVMjrLQt9RuJqnWu_RwBftTr-lcZ_rEznbwB6kIV7wcbGQ_misDLb3vYtGSc2VbIWbvFEFrwyMsjKjEa6ElMl5ngyUM2wOodqy/s400/09.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5510139111450209570" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEishOecM7b0lNZ8JsttL4qC6PBocSfyDmNwfN-TqmNV8SjDeyl_hlKq9v6DIGX9NWCZ3YpnWdAaAaC-tC5wyAUdgXEqe74_AJ7l41WNA_qVNr16QoTFMPdl7KTD8qm2fC4Qlw28e4oGbDDt/s1600/10.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 281px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEishOecM7b0lNZ8JsttL4qC6PBocSfyDmNwfN-TqmNV8SjDeyl_hlKq9v6DIGX9NWCZ3YpnWdAaAaC-tC5wyAUdgXEqe74_AJ7l41WNA_qVNr16QoTFMPdl7KTD8qm2fC4Qlw28e4oGbDDt/s400/10.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5510139105294428034" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5Zg8lonB6zR43QsopRLD-rZW6LiQj7syT94Aq0EXhD8hOAbaS51uJWpAjC-wQq5xqt6ipX5U6XSe1X4jroclpyoj-9eetKW1O44XsQFQigWLUZ8Y3JQa9-QRl16ptKI_tcDkbloB3GoV8/s1600/11.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 282px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5Zg8lonB6zR43QsopRLD-rZW6LiQj7syT94Aq0EXhD8hOAbaS51uJWpAjC-wQq5xqt6ipX5U6XSe1X4jroclpyoj-9eetKW1O44XsQFQigWLUZ8Y3JQa9-QRl16ptKI_tcDkbloB3GoV8/s400/11.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5510139098229477266" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhU7pp1JfWVFUTqO3u5BezSIjv7vxlhdiynVnY784jRyf0TiRsIcXP8B8RzCyQk3GhmeBGYdH5nYZk-Ru-nr39lYKODcgHSWoVa6Uuk2yhVz1sp6XrBS2onN_DSWPyC-66VmWGfyeiVOxME/s1600/12.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 277px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhU7pp1JfWVFUTqO3u5BezSIjv7vxlhdiynVnY784jRyf0TiRsIcXP8B8RzCyQk3GhmeBGYdH5nYZk-Ru-nr39lYKODcgHSWoVa6Uuk2yhVz1sp6XrBS2onN_DSWPyC-66VmWGfyeiVOxME/s400/12.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5510145109953120114" border="0" /></a>I was fortunate to speak with Sherm Blystock in 1973. I tracked him down to a retirement home in Palisades Park, New Jersey. Mr. Blystock was still "with it," and offered this sardonic view of what most panelologists would regard as his <span style="font-style: italic;">mangum opus</span>:<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">MYSELF: Now, onto the BLUE FLAME...</span><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">BLYSTOCK: No, no! It's BLUE FIRE.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Oh, oh, yes. Fire, not flame. As I'm sure you realize, this was among the more unusual super-hero features of its time.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">(laughs) It was OK, I guess...</span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">What divine burst of inspiration gave birth to this creation?</span><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">(chuckles sardonically) The gas bill.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Beg pardon?</span><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">I needed money to pay the gas bill. We'd just gotten married, and a kid was on the way. Winter was coming on, and we needed the heat.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">(puzzled) Gas bill...</span><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">You know... the gas has a blue flame. I kept staring at the pilot light. It was the middle of the night. I was up with indigestion--those clams weren't so fresh. I needed some sure-fire money. I'd written for the funnies before... KOGAR, STRETCH ROBINSON, ACE BRANSON. Pretty standard stuff. But I knew I needed something new. Something different.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">That pilot light on the stove. It was so blue and bright. And I got it in my thick skull that a fellow who could master that blue flame might make a pretty good character. I got out my pencil and pad and by morning I had the idea down and a couple of stories mapped out.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">The blue flame...</span><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">No, no! BLUE FIRE! </span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Oh. Yes...</span><br /><br />The interview ended abruptly with a call for luncheon. Blystock was wheeled away by a male nurse. I never saw or spoke to him again.<br /><br />Frank Thomas was a heavy-weight in the comic magazine field for many years. Although he later specialized in "cartoon critter" features for Dell Comics, an early forte was his imaginative, boldly designed super-hero and action stories, including the stylish (dare I say chic?) <span style="font-style: italic;">Solarman</span>.<br /><br />I don't usually feature such "big lights" as Thomas herein. As you know well, I prefer the underdogs of panelology. But a tale as good and as startling as this must be seen again. And thus it is!<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgp7wUmbFNxEq8iMeGp03horK8ecmGrGRrxeW-ORvh9iltk8J_t9YtD9iufavTA9lMCXL1IQIcR8kJIDfIPxd1fhHrkrWf-eLKMOfBpNN-02PCbrSI68WBBQ4NQ1uaYD9-dWJ_379Pacu_Q/s1600/13.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 276px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgp7wUmbFNxEq8iMeGp03horK8ecmGrGRrxeW-ORvh9iltk8J_t9YtD9iufavTA9lMCXL1IQIcR8kJIDfIPxd1fhHrkrWf-eLKMOfBpNN-02PCbrSI68WBBQ4NQ1uaYD9-dWJ_379Pacu_Q/s400/13.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5510145100374349858" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjb5DB5EjluhPfKGykrhzxMTnNoAmANNtg-PvWqh_7XFmZ5s8ZRXAVdeYJZ7sCrGmCglQLQS9c7rE1eVJxaVb0GRQl3WYcWWe3E7aIEzACmqQx5JRVOltVHs2GwXcv-9AbjsfIFf_-wnf0C/s1600/14.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 276px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjb5DB5EjluhPfKGykrhzxMTnNoAmANNtg-PvWqh_7XFmZ5s8ZRXAVdeYJZ7sCrGmCglQLQS9c7rE1eVJxaVb0GRQl3WYcWWe3E7aIEzACmqQx5JRVOltVHs2GwXcv-9AbjsfIFf_-wnf0C/s400/14.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5510145093741017586" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBbowm8vF7-80yn1MMJPxgOpLHfcGQQgUnxxvcFAKKDbM1tTqhI83G5koMbmKVcS_pOMNXu1d4oNfZC3Hre3zwlQOy3X3WBpZ6azXQ8_kEBceezUe8zuCwetlQW6PWNIqCTO8nLOHvws1E/s1600/15.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 278px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBbowm8vF7-80yn1MMJPxgOpLHfcGQQgUnxxvcFAKKDbM1tTqhI83G5koMbmKVcS_pOMNXu1d4oNfZC3Hre3zwlQOy3X3WBpZ6azXQ8_kEBceezUe8zuCwetlQW6PWNIqCTO8nLOHvws1E/s400/15.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5510145088386872594" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggoMuLYF7B9J76LHVgCOSbXFTglvQNXWTtx0B9vcG4JbAWK1dm4l2KA9kcT7C2qvt8gF7chJoUJ6HI4eqqZ9lmMmxDvHV5ZuRtI5RbZS9fxVuAWoXem3VPoOicMm8MSr-SGmmZ1nvaVxyu/s1600/16.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 275px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggoMuLYF7B9J76LHVgCOSbXFTglvQNXWTtx0B9vcG4JbAWK1dm4l2KA9kcT7C2qvt8gF7chJoUJ6HI4eqqZ9lmMmxDvHV5ZuRtI5RbZS9fxVuAWoXem3VPoOicMm8MSr-SGmmZ1nvaVxyu/s400/16.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5510145073337309266" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoalih1X-5V8HVAlKMnPSJB84stoPsjvp8GeDKhFildMsmCpCOWbIfzlKTjNKt7vt_f227E1mJJMNBbsjsIKuQFmiyPwEOfEHZE2_BJVAkVT1tHydlp1CwxTHkdV9NDTGmZcVI84bCqzC6/s1600/17.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 275px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoalih1X-5V8HVAlKMnPSJB84stoPsjvp8GeDKhFildMsmCpCOWbIfzlKTjNKt7vt_f227E1mJJMNBbsjsIKuQFmiyPwEOfEHZE2_BJVAkVT1tHydlp1CwxTHkdV9NDTGmZcVI84bCqzC6/s400/17.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5510145600313073730" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3RA-mw0n9JpoBA9xnZ0kknNSGwgQfgQ2BB967gWIPagXuAaUShdTX4jtIUnUc-Juv51aOWO2SHemhmVZOa1ELBJol7LRcWVKNFgG-qVjZy11qEOKEfXen-bYi65TnaEw6jqnDHUdPHLfJ/s1600/18.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 275px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3RA-mw0n9JpoBA9xnZ0kknNSGwgQfgQ2BB967gWIPagXuAaUShdTX4jtIUnUc-Juv51aOWO2SHemhmVZOa1ELBJol7LRcWVKNFgG-qVjZy11qEOKEfXen-bYi65TnaEw6jqnDHUdPHLfJ/s400/18.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5510145591101773250" border="0" /></a>'Twould seem that two features as strong and graceful as these were "shoe-ins" for long-term success. Alas, <span style="font-style: italic;">Wham Comics </span>went the way of so many colorful, promising titles in the wild and woolly early days of the genre. As you'll no doubt agree, it was the world's loss (and ours as well.)<br /><br />And now that news I alluded to earlier...<br /><br />"Sparks" Spinkle has taken ill. He has always been a bit on the delicate side--a truth he would deny vociferously! He is a spry, bird-like fellow, quick-witted and possessed of great vitality, even as he approaches 70 years.<br /><br />However, he has always suffered from asthma, and in the autumn of his years, this condition has worsened. "Sparks" and I were struggling to master Power-Point, the better to prepare a presentation on panelology for the local Shriners group. In the midst of a heated discussion over The Star-Spangled Kid (I despise the feature; "Sparks" adores it), he suddenly collapsed in a wheezing, gasping heap.<br /><br />We rushed him to the Emberton Memorial Emergency Medical Centre Pavillion. I feared the worst. Dorrie and I spent the greater part of that evening in the waiting room, me pacing nervously, she napping quietly.<br /><br />The news eventually came: "Sparks" has a partially collapsed lung! The doctor implored us to see that he has three months of bed-rest. We have installed a special breathing apparatus (which "Sparks"' insurance, thankfully, paid for in full). The machine is painted red and blue. It ticks loudly and irregularly. The ticking has made my sleep fitful of late. The ticks are joined by a raspy sound rather like a fingernail running up and down the bottom string of a bass fiddle. (That, you see, is my friend's inhalation and exhalation, aided by the ticking gadget.)<br /><br />Night before last, "Sparks" called me into his room. He bade me sit down by his bed. "Mace," he said, "as you know, I've been doing what little I can to make sure this fine town is crime-free. Doc says it's three months of lay-down for me. Can't get out and patrol the streets like I used to."<br /><br />I started to speak. "No, no, I know you're against it. But you have to admit I've made a difference around here as 'Super-Senior.'"<br /><br />I nodded. I didn't know what else to do.<br /><br />"Without me, this burg's gonna go back to its lawless ways. Listen--do a pal a favor."<br /><br />"Y-yes...?"<br /><br />"Go out at night. Just make sure everything's OK. You'll find my crime-fighting kit out on the carport. It's in a big Ross Dress-For-Less bag."<br /><br />"B-but I can't... it's not..."<br /><br />"Mace, I've been there for you. More times than I can remember. And now I'm asking you to be there for me..."<br /><br />A tear welled up in my friend's eye. It trickled down his face. He sniffed once, patted me weakly on my arm, and then attached the breathing tube to his nose and mouth. To the tune of ticking and rasping, I left his room.<br /><br />So far, I have made three patrols of our fair city. Not in costume, and not on foot. I've taken slow drives through the main streets, at 10 miles an hour, in search of malfeasance. I did catch one ne'er-do-well who took two newspapers for the price of one. I honked my horn at him, opened the window, and wagged my finger in his direction. I hope he was reformed.<br /><br />Well, 'tis late and the vibrating of "BUTTER-KING" has commenced. I suppose it's time that I head out and give the streets a "once-over." Crime never sleeps, but "Sparks" rests soundly in the knowledge that I am, albeit reluctantly, carrying on his noble cause. Wish me luck, my comrades in comic book artistry...Mason J. Morayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16288522457980212295noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2577154746554800558.post-12530380360896246182010-07-11T18:36:00.000-07:002010-07-11T18:36:00.467-07:00Oh, Glory Day! Wondrous News, Dear Reader! Read On...My time of woe is at last over, friends! Who says real life does not have a "happy ending?" In this case, good has triumped over evil!<div><br /></div><div>Today is my 61st birthday. It began, as have all my birthdays since my union with Dorrie, with her preparation of my official birthday breakfast, "The Leaning Tower of Pancakes." Dorrie is part chef, part artist. She uses nut wedges, whipped cream and strawberries to build the support structure for a vertiginous tower of flapjacks, each one canted a few millimeters here and there.</div><div><br /></div><div>The visual effect is a stunner. When pancake syrup is poured over the top, the 'waterfall' effect is a real doozie. It's almost too pretty to eat. But when you consider what goodies Dorrie mixes into the pancake batter--mini-marshmallows, minced walnuts, maraschino cherries, plain croûtons (for an added crunch) and bits of Heath bars (finely smashed)--admiring it as art is, plain and simple, out of the question!</div><div><br /></div><div>"What are you going to do today, Mace?" my dear betrothed asked from across the table.</div><div><br /></div><div>"I think I shall index the later issues of.... of..." I sighed and dropped my fork. "I beg your pardon, Dorrie. I fear I've lost my appetite." I scooted my chair back from the breakfast nook table, and promptly banged my head on a wall bracket.</div><div><br /></div><div>"Poor Mace," my wife said, as she soothed me. "Poor Mace. You've suffered so much... well, we're going on a little field trip today. It'll be just the thing to cure your blues. Now eat up..."</div><div><br /></div><div>She handed me the fork, and somehow, I fought back the tears. I found the courage to plunge that fork into the tower of pancakes, and take the first savory bite...</div><div><br /></div><div>Many, many bites later, with a final, refreshing mug of coffee, I was ready to bathe, shave and face the world on this, the first day of my 61st year 'pon this green Earth.</div><div><br /></div><div>In the shower, as I sang a Peter and Gordon favorite, "You Don't Have To Tell Me" (a choice track from their first American album, <i>World Without Love</i>), I had what some would call an epihpany:</div><div><br /></div><div><i>I've spent my whole adult life compiling a remarkable gatherum of panelological masterworks. Perhaps now is the time to let them go... to simply cherish their memories. For you see, each story is emblazoned in my heart... printed on the four-color press of my soul onto the fabric of my personal universe. Perhaps 'tis best to hold these visual wonders in my heart...</i></div><div><br /></div><div>Tears streamed down my face as the impact of this thought washed over me. Here was I, so heart-sick for so long. I still had some 800 of my favorite panelological treasures--with the mysterious return of box C-14 (as documented in my most recent posting here). </div><div><br /></div><div>My mind still teemed from the recent demands of my collection's captors. Heaven knows, I've suffered a barrage of verbal slings and arrows since the forced posting of the abominable work of Lee Sherman. I have been called everything from a "gadfly" to "a pitiable, foolish, foolish man" by my detractors. You, my dear friends who remain, know that 'twas not my choice to publish that gutter rubbish of last time. I do hope you can find it in your hearts to forgive me...</div><div><br /></div><div>But I digress. Aglow from my insight, I toweled off and dressed. I wondered what Dorrrie had planned for this special day. A picnic? A day of "garage sale-ing?" Mine was the fate of those who sit and wait...</div><div><br /></div><div>Dressed and ready for the day, I re-entered the living room. Dorrie was dressed, too--in a very <i>chic</i> pants suit. I knew this must be a special occasion. "Got all your things?"</div><div><br /></div><div>I gathered my wallet, keys and such from the bureau. Then I saw this key, which you'll remember from a few posts back:</div><div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpLlspgKWkGynasKBZy1zL7y4U6ZbZXVbmBbl5yw605fN3lUAJ6RqLkD2pN3kEEi5LgKrPY7iPclbEw4Y2DYGHHMYfUCtUwNPYK4-t7ox8_D7-cby69hnTMaaNUES8UkVD-vOKHxhxHRUk/s1600/keyclue.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 404px; height: 355px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpLlspgKWkGynasKBZy1zL7y4U6ZbZXVbmBbl5yw605fN3lUAJ6RqLkD2pN3kEEi5LgKrPY7iPclbEw4Y2DYGHHMYfUCtUwNPYK4-t7ox8_D7-cby69hnTMaaNUES8UkVD-vOKHxhxHRUk/s1600/keyclue.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a>"Accursed thing!" I shouted. "Abomination! Mocking me with your riddle!" I hurled the key in the waste-basket to the right of the bureau.</div><div><br /></div><div>"We may need that," Dorrie said. She retreived the key and pocketed it. With a smile, she led me out into the sunny, bright Sunday morning.</div><div><br /></div><div>Something suddenly struck me: Dorrie was not going to church! I thought better of "making issues" of this most unusual behavior. Perhaps she felt that this, being my birthday, was a sufficient excuse to not attend her house of worship. If so, I was deeply honored. My wife is rather devout in her beliefs.</div><div><br /></div><div>" Would you drive, Mace?" Dorrie asked as we approached the Prias. </div><div><br /></div><div>As we left our driveway, "the missus" b egan a series of confounding directions. "Turn right here... go under the Westridge overpass... take Charnel Street down past the Arby's drive-through..." and so on. I soon had no idea where I was. I was in a part of town I'd never before seen.</div><div><br /></div><div>Finally, I was instructed to park in the lot of Hal's Hide-A-Way Secure Storage. The exterior of the building, painted robin's-egg blue, looked like some merry prison. </div><div><br /></div><div>Indeed, the imposing, towering structure had an armed guard--Sal Sharpley, a fellow "panelologist." Sal's specialty is the 1940s "Green Arrow," as ably delineated by George Papp. </div><div><br /></div><div>Sal, in his too-large security guard "threads," nodded amiably. "Mason! Good to see you, buddy."</div><div><br /></div><div>"Did you ever locate issue 96 of <i>More Fun Comics</i>?" I thoughtfuly inquired.</div><div><br /></div><div>Sal chuckled. "You remembered! Nope, still looking for that one darned issue. That'll complete my 'Arrow' run. Come on in, folks."</div><div><br /></div><div>Sal pressed a keypad. After a battery of bloops and bleeps, we were admitted to the inner sanctum of this cheerless citadel. Sal trailed behind us. Our heels clicked down the echoey corridor. </div><div><br /></div><div>Suddenly, a thought struck like thunder:</div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FF0000;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-large;">Sal Sharpply lives in Cincinatti, Ohio!</span></span></i></b></div><div><br /></div><div>I turned to confront him. "Sal! Y-you're not--"</div><div><br /></div><div>Sal brandished his gun. "Uh uh, Mace. Just keep walking." He patted me on the back.</div><div><br /></div><div>We turned a corner. At the end of a narrow, dimly lit corridor was an elevator. "Get in," Sal said. We did as told.</div><div><br /></div><div>Sal punched the button for the fifth floor. With a shuddering shake, up we went. I could hear Sal's nostrils whistle as he breathed the stale air of the elevator.</div><div><br /></div><div>The door lumbered open. At my feet was my treasured copy of <i>Science Comics</i> #4! </div><div><br /></div><div>A trail of other cherished panelological gems led down a long, shadowy hall. "Wh-what on earth..." I cried. My heart pounded 'neath my chest.</div><div><br /></div><div>"Pick 'em up and keep walking," Sal snarled. I bent down and retrieved one dear four-color friend after another. I cradled them in my arms, so happy to see them yet so puzzled as to why they were here, and why I was here...</div><div><br /></div><div>The trail ended in front of a door, with a proud pile of my beloved <i>Wonderworld Comics</i>! Home of William Eisner's stunning "Yarko" and Louis Fine's elegaic "Flame!"</div><div><br /></div><div>Dorrie pressed the key in my sweaty palms. "Open the door," she said. Sal grinned like a banshee. Friends, I was afraid. Had even my own <b><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#3333FF;">wife</span></i></b> turned against me?</div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFFFFF;">v</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">I was so nervous I had difficulty inserting the key into the lock. But finally I opened the door. With great caution, I stepped slowly into the darkened room....</span></span></div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#33CC00;"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;">S</span></b></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FF6600;"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;">U</span></b></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#6600CC;"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;">R</span></b></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#990000;"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;">P</span></b></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#CC66CC;"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;">R</span></b></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#3333FF;"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;">I</span></b></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#666600;"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;">S</span></b></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FF0000;"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;">E</span></b></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#996633;"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;">!</span></b></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#003333;"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;">!</span></b></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFCCCC;"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;">!</span></b></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFFF00;"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;">!</span></b></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#CC66CC;"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;">!</span></b></span></div><div><br /></div><div>Lights blazed on into a cacophony of color, sound and faces. Friends, fellow panelologists, neighbors, and even my step-brother Frederic were all there, all smiling, and all cheering my name!</div><div><br /></div><div>The fellow named "Ray-Don" greeted me. "How do you like it, Mason?"</div><div><br /></div><div>I looked around the room. A neat set of shelves contained... my panelological treasures! Each and every carton of wonder, as neatly arranged as one could wish for!</div><div><br /></div><div>On the walls were expertly painted reproductions of panels from some of my favorite features: "Shock Gibson," "Mars Mason," "Strongman," Navy U.S. Jones," et all. On the background of the circus-colored walls were emblazoned various panelological sound effects. It was done with a skillful hand, and it must have taken hours of work to render these scenes with such expertise.</div><div><br /></div><div>I was guided to the most comfortable arm-chair I've ever sat in. It faced a simple, tasteful desk upon which stood a new computer and scanner--plus the loose-leaf volumes of my panelology notes.</div><div><br /></div><div>"Welcome to the New Pantheon, Mr. Moray!" a familiar voice crowed.</div><div><br /></div><div>"<i>Si</i>, Senor Moray," another recognizable voice said. <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">"</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><i>Espero que este lugar especial agrada usted</i>!"</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">It was "Sparks" Spinkle and Raphael--dressed in their crime-fighting guises of "Super Senior" and his sidekick "Equis!"</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">"Sorry 'Sparks' and Raphael couldn't attend this shebang," "Super-Senior" said. "They're, uh..."</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">"Away on important business," "Equis" said.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">"Yep, off on important business. But they sent this card. Heck, everyone chipped in on it."</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">It was an unusually large greeting card--the exact size of a Golden Age comic magazine. The 'cover' of the card was an issue of MORAY COMICS, lettered somewhat in the style of WHIZ COMICS. A depiction of yours truly, standing in the very room I was in, holding a pile of beloved comic magazines, was flanked by a blazing legend:</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000099;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">MASON MORAY AND THE NEW PANTHEON!</span></span></b></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">Inside was this inscription:</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><i>Dearest Husband, Dearest Friend:</i></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><i><br /></i></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><i>Thank you for helping me to realize a life-long dream. Dorrie's Diner is a big success--we couldn't have done it without you! You deserved better than that old battered shed in the backyard. Here is your inner sanctum--a place to call your own, where your collection is safe and sound. Believe it or not, it's within walking distance of the house! (Tee-hee!)</i></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">Below this were a gaggle of signed names. As all burst into a rendition of "Happy Birthday," a giant cake was wheeled into the New Pantheon. I'm not ashamed to admit that I burst out into tears--surrounded by so much friendship, such love, and such reverence!</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">The whole saga rushes back in my memory--the mysterious fire at Ngo's Snak-Shak; the lengthy bacchanal on our street; the synchronous dissapearance of my collection at that same time...</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">"Super-Senior!" I shouted. "Did you, or did you not, have a hand in that fire?"</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">"Sparks" looked at me in puzzlement. "What fire?"</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">"The fire," I said. I gestured with open palms. "The... fire..."</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">A glint of memory came into his masked eyes. "Oh, oh oh oh! THAT fire!" He chuckled. "I can't lie, Mr. Moray. Me and my sidekick here, we... we kind of encouraged it along a bit."</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">"Big barrel," "Equis" said, "of animal fats behind the shack. Ignites very well..."</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">"B-but this was arson! And you were all accomplices to this crime?"</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">Dorrie laughed. "The police shut that place down. No one was in there."</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">"It wasn't even an official building," Raydon explained. "They didn't have a permit, or nothin'."</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">"It was a convenient way," "Super-Senior" continued, "of getting you distracted long enough to move your collection to this new location. No crime was committed. If 'Sparks' and Raphael were here, they could explain."</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">"Let's cut the cake," Sal Sharpley and Bart Jaffney (owner of Killer Komix!) cried in unison.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">As the cake was cut (presided upon by the garrulous Burt Liffler, my next-door neighbor), my first thought was to give something back to the friends that had made this nightmare end.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">I dashed for box V-14, rifled through it, and retrieved my copy of <i>More Fun</i> #96. I pressed it into Sal Sharpley's hands. "Now your collection is complete."</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">Sal's jaw dropped. "I... I can't believe it..." He broke into tears. "I never thought this day would come..."</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">To the tune of Peter and Gordon's "Nobody I Know," the party began. Friends, it was an hour or two of utter merriment. "Super-Senior" and "Equis" quickly excused themselves. A few minutes later, "Sparks" and Raphael happened to show up.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">"Well, that important business is all taken care of," "Sparks" said.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">"<i>Si</i>, all is taken care of," Raphael echoed. The two shared a quiet chuckle and helped themselves to cake and punch.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">"Sparks" became the emcee of the soiree. First, he regaled us all with the story of the New Pantheon. It was his idea. He'd taken note of the disrepair of the Former Pantheon, and worried for the safety of my treasures.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">With Dorrie's Diner a booming success, he consulted with all my friends and loved ones to "chip in" for the monthly rental of a climate-controlled storage space. Furthermore, it would be designed as my panelological citadel--a place where I could continue my deeper studies of this art-form without arousing Dorrie's allergies.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">"Sorry to put you through so much worry, buddy," "Sparks" said. "But there's no other way we could have gotten these babies to their new home. Boy, if only these comic books could talk!""</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">He opened box B-6 and retrieved my copy of <i>Leading Comics </i>#2. "Remember when you got this one?" He told its "origin story." I spotted it at a flea market in Ohio in 1977. A little girl wanted to buy it (the asking price: a mere quarter!), and grabbed it first. I had to purchase a heaping stack of <i>Little Lotta</i>s (at three dollars!) to trade her for this invaluable example of the art and story of John Lehti.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">"Doggoned kid went and put those <i>Lotta</i>s on sale! She sold 'em all at a handsome profit--but Maceroonie still got the best of her!"</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">He kept the crowd enrapt with selections from my collection, each endowed with a colorful anecdote of when--and where--I acquired them. Even I was "wowed" by some of my past wheeling and dealing. </span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">Them, by request, "Sparks" and I enacted one of my favorite "Yarko" tales, from <i>Wonderworld</i> issue 5. "Sparks" depicted Vladim, the evil genius, whilst I portrayed the inimitable Yarko. "Raydon" joined us to portray the incidental characters, including the nameless woman who is saved from voodoo doom.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">I'll present the brilliant William Eisner story here as a "capper" and as a souvenir of this wonderful day of my blessed life:</span></span></div><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsf4sOJDurM2kTUtiigz7m10el7EfdfXoqf15SjMFUjuW3CTpPOgvBL3VhxQ8gY835wWIKkZsxRMpgqrRL1abu_yq1lVATVuvkXT7m0giFCmegW4FW9WJswXuJLWHuuc2QUs1T4NAh3IWT/s1600/Wonderworld+Comics+005+(Fox+1939)+012.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 414px; height: 576px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsf4sOJDurM2kTUtiigz7m10el7EfdfXoqf15SjMFUjuW3CTpPOgvBL3VhxQ8gY835wWIKkZsxRMpgqrRL1abu_yq1lVATVuvkXT7m0giFCmegW4FW9WJswXuJLWHuuc2QUs1T4NAh3IWT/s400/Wonderworld+Comics+005+(Fox+1939)+012.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5492327860198691330" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhz8Hs5uPP4KsMO49tRfXoVIKVDIkGZMYaYvZ_ecqeKq8dUnHTjWVZbrkK270Hl1FAwlmMnBoG82k5-f1E_-RroFUqs1eeAkqjeeAQ4IlUBpEx6v9Q9SfaTWf7hHtvPIm8QtEPpnGMVu5vo/s1600/Wonderworld+Comics+005+(Fox+1939)+013.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 414px; height: 576px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhz8Hs5uPP4KsMO49tRfXoVIKVDIkGZMYaYvZ_ecqeKq8dUnHTjWVZbrkK270Hl1FAwlmMnBoG82k5-f1E_-RroFUqs1eeAkqjeeAQ4IlUBpEx6v9Q9SfaTWf7hHtvPIm8QtEPpnGMVu5vo/s400/Wonderworld+Comics+005+(Fox+1939)+013.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5492327852073143570" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgu_Yuvl39UZc272hS2_KahV6fcoCaiZka6Nnm16o6qcQyS5_-uJCk_mi7SqIKJ9y8A0tzQyL4nlpkLVHVr8WFgkYVbi2SM6sv5j6YfPGZkDtMehu_zhNPtxQKaj1zuS5ogEyr-yscNEXm6/s1600/Wonderworld+Comics+005+(Fox+1939)+014.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 414px; height: 576px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgu_Yuvl39UZc272hS2_KahV6fcoCaiZka6Nnm16o6qcQyS5_-uJCk_mi7SqIKJ9y8A0tzQyL4nlpkLVHVr8WFgkYVbi2SM6sv5j6YfPGZkDtMehu_zhNPtxQKaj1zuS5ogEyr-yscNEXm6/s400/Wonderworld+Comics+005+(Fox+1939)+014.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5492327834014113026" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSKnT2VKdJKYDHtq9hv-HIFlmeKPIhFP1XQZsEWSw6FyhvNiVAwHJGAUp3z4k1IQutO873t6D-U9UTPwm0WdFscilBLFNAxnW54muxuBxVFQ3WDiQBs9AFwhCEmJkgCJq5Y_LltT7tz93P/s1600/Wonderworld+Comics+005+(Fox+1939)+015.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 414px; height: 576px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSKnT2VKdJKYDHtq9hv-HIFlmeKPIhFP1XQZsEWSw6FyhvNiVAwHJGAUp3z4k1IQutO873t6D-U9UTPwm0WdFscilBLFNAxnW54muxuBxVFQ3WDiQBs9AFwhCEmJkgCJq5Y_LltT7tz93P/s400/Wonderworld+Comics+005+(Fox+1939)+015.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5492327145009373250" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwRie7_HfxhlqG8bQLEhnmLWF6wOhxn6fbUPKxbzW-obD0wkxankssQinJOBAbrcQHD9ugaBtWJ1LnFv_7aA18KW8xHGRQNAtupFv9TzqlRq6E6MSAnYPjxK4C4sq9rj_1OuqCvQQ3sc_d/s1600/Wonderworld+Comics+005+(Fox+1939)+016.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 414px; height: 576px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwRie7_HfxhlqG8bQLEhnmLWF6wOhxn6fbUPKxbzW-obD0wkxankssQinJOBAbrcQHD9ugaBtWJ1LnFv_7aA18KW8xHGRQNAtupFv9TzqlRq6E6MSAnYPjxK4C4sq9rj_1OuqCvQQ3sc_d/s400/Wonderworld+Comics+005+(Fox+1939)+016.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5492327141079821506" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7GCPEGrmICMlfAnf32w4auZUbJTbkP6_6JUXiFVnlDPBm724MQIPDA88mzkOpidjB6kXWGQkto1d2a87MMMPyH3mkdLIf8m6ZZceL3Oua-KscURiQL1cHU9TZYkUvdJQISHi4lRHgQOzD/s1600/Wonderworld+Comics+005+(Fox+1939)+017.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 414px; height: 576px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7GCPEGrmICMlfAnf32w4auZUbJTbkP6_6JUXiFVnlDPBm724MQIPDA88mzkOpidjB6kXWGQkto1d2a87MMMPyH3mkdLIf8m6ZZceL3Oua-KscURiQL1cHU9TZYkUvdJQISHi4lRHgQOzD/s400/Wonderworld+Comics+005+(Fox+1939)+017.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5492327130203137794" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEho0oQ-H4aWNs1Mt9xxrDiTfEP8GLzKKpZG0HPPE3GePwGc1n7Kgu7IPQoPYTLM0a8dBtyrK2DkG1biJTU1hdcVEMPv3L-919yOZTCJtgqRJI4e2VJsBT48AWx9ykucdks7KASLyk1xetMY/s1600/Wonderworld+Comics+005+(Fox+1939)+018.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 414px; height: 576px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEho0oQ-H4aWNs1Mt9xxrDiTfEP8GLzKKpZG0HPPE3GePwGc1n7Kgu7IPQoPYTLM0a8dBtyrK2DkG1biJTU1hdcVEMPv3L-919yOZTCJtgqRJI4e2VJsBT48AWx9ykucdks7KASLyk1xetMY/s400/Wonderworld+Comics+005+(Fox+1939)+018.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5492327122086745458" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj77oQRqKVTAbrSmlBeP_XJOLhgTRoZ6K_6JKMbHV75YcLaEGXUeVuwPSwKPy7UjkbIby8BlSymdfx6Zue7zVTDm5QzjvFCSJ3Tc_P90nGrJ4mMaGiHw2uMGtYPNd2KFJaxYMOtsXp3Uw0v/s1600/Wonderworld+Comics+005+(Fox+1939)+019.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 414px; height: 576px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj77oQRqKVTAbrSmlBeP_XJOLhgTRoZ6K_6JKMbHV75YcLaEGXUeVuwPSwKPy7UjkbIby8BlSymdfx6Zue7zVTDm5QzjvFCSJ3Tc_P90nGrJ4mMaGiHw2uMGtYPNd2KFJaxYMOtsXp3Uw0v/s400/Wonderworld+Comics+005+(Fox+1939)+019.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5492327111589696242" /></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">What a masterwork! Our impromptu reading (a re-creation of one presented at the 1974 ThunderCon in Wheeling, West Virginia) received voluminous applause. I approached Raydon and said to him:</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">"Son, I have seriously mis-judged you. You are a profoundly talented artist and designer, and I approve of your alternative lifestyle. You are always welcome here and in my home."</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">Raydon kissed me on the cheek--to the roaring approval of all gathered!</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">I did take the moment to ask Raydon why he selected those horrible Lee Sherman stories for my prior post? His answer: "They're just so icky. I mean, look at them. A blind man could have done better." (Little does this young roisterer know the truth of his statement!)</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">Apparently, such dross is celebrated in certain quarters. You, dear faithful friend, have my iron-clad assurance: only the finest in panelological story and art shall appear here from now on! I trust today's offering will do much to "settle the balance."</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">Later, I had a brief chat with my step-brother. Friends, I don't believe I've mentioned him heretofore. Frederic does not share my passion for the arts panelological, but he recognizes the financial worth of these vintage publications. He works as an investor, or regulator, or some such position.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">He refers to the Pantheon's holdings as "a nice portfolio," which I suppose it is. Try as I may, I cannot warm entirely to Frederic. I was secretly amused to see Burt Liffler corner him, later in the party, with his unending chitter-chat about this, that, and the other.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">The party is over. Indeed, friends, the nightmare of the last three miserable months has ceased! I write this from the New Pantheon, which is, indeed, a mere four blocks from the house. (That was some route Dorrie took me on in the car--the trickster!) The New Pantheon is air-conditioned, and even has "wire-fi" internet service.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">I have begun to notice a slight electronic buzzing sound, accompanied by barely-perceptible vibrations, coming from somewhere within this building. Perhaps it is the workings of the "boiler room," or some such place, deep in the bowels of this fortress. The buzzing is just noticeable enough to bother me, if I take notice of it. </span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">But with the music turned up loud enough, I don't notice the buzz. The pulsing is forceful enough to cause me to take notice. It poses no apparent threat to the New Pantheon's holdings. The music, itself, does make it rather hard to concentrate or write. I suppose I shall soon become accustomed to this, and shan't even notice it in the future.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">This is a beginning of a new, and greater era, for the Panelological Pantheon! Hurrah! Cheers! Let the new millenium begin!</span></span></div>Mason J. Morayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16288522457980212295noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2577154746554800558.post-62215404984879761502010-06-25T16:24:00.000-07:002010-06-25T17:07:07.970-07:00The Last Straw: In Which Desperate Measures Are TakenFriends, I am tired of this inestimable, gnawing weariness. Tired of awaking in the darkest hours before the dawn, gripped with anxious fear. My worry for the fate of my treasured collection distracts me from the simple workaway pleasures of daily life.<div><br /></div><div>Earlier today, customers at Dorrie's Diner became exasperated with my preoccupation. "Move it, doorstop!" one old gruff gent crowed at me. I was, indeed, standing in front of the door, blocking his exit. I longed to see again my near-complete run of the Fox <i>Science Comics</i>... to smell the fragrant pulp paper stock of the Nedor issues of 1941... to view the stunning early work of Vernon Henkel.<br /></div><div><br /></div><div>Of course, none of these things are communicable to the "Lay Man." To them, "funny books" are detritus on the trash-heap of life. Far inferior to their preferred TV "sit-coms," trashy best-seller novels, their video-games, X-Boxers and such. </div><div><br /></div><div>I'm singing to the choir with these grousings, I'm all too aware. It would appear that my collection is intact and safe, in the mysterious hands of whomever thieved them from the Former Pantheon.</div><div><br /></div><div>Eerie clues continue to come my way. Last week, I received a post-card (which I have since burned in a fit of pique). Scrawled across it was the enigmatic message PS -- ROADWAY -- A117, followed by a row of "smiley face" stickers.</div><div><br /></div><div>The next day, another card arrived, which simply stated: GOT THE KEY? GOT THE CLUE!</div><div><br /></div><div>That card is being held by the local police, for finger-print sampling and such. I do, indeed, have that curious key. I carry it with me at all times, even when I sleep. </div><div><br /></div><div>Late last night, a feeble tapping roused me from uncertain sleep. Dorrie was "out with the lights" from a busy day's Diner work, followed by a rousing Scrabble play-off at her church. She didn't notice that I left the bed, donned my robe, found my slippers, and shuffled off towards the front door.</div><div><br /></div><div>I peered out the front window. I saw shadowy figures moving in the distance. By the time I unlatched, unlocked and opened the door, they were but faint foot-steps in the misty night. On the front porch was a shocking surprise-- box C-14, its contents (a solid run of early <i>Speed Comics</i>, plus a few issues of <i>Sensation</i> and <i>Shield-Wizard</i>) intact!</div><div><br /></div><div>Taped to the underside of the box's lid was a Manilla envelope. A loud tick issued from within. Fearlessly, I tore open the flap. A small desk clock fell out. Tied to it was a distressing note:</div><div><br /></div><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1J2rt9y6jNdfiJ9umYbgEyjd2LrR3st1T8sNMiwmnGlP7-zBVDc60v8wW2G43bQcXPTPSbHW0QqFC3Zl_kwCorAb__pR22qVfnWz4i8IZ7P4xstQQSvOt-_kei0vup6qOLKxA4lhuT0mW/s1600/Devil+Note.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 316px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1J2rt9y6jNdfiJ9umYbgEyjd2LrR3st1T8sNMiwmnGlP7-zBVDc60v8wW2G43bQcXPTPSbHW0QqFC3Zl_kwCorAb__pR22qVfnWz4i8IZ7P4xstQQSvOt-_kei0vup6qOLKxA4lhuT0mW/s400/Devil+Note.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5486864507645949762" /></a></div><br /><br />I am powerless to defy them. I apologize for the remainder of today's post. These are, quite possibly, the ugliest, most terrible comic-book stories ever perpetrated on a miserable public. The comic magazine in question is an early effort of the moribund Charlton imprint: A dreadful magazine entitled <span style="font-style:italic;">Jack in the Box Comics. </span><div><span style="font-style:italic;"><br /></span></div><div><span>The fiends deliberately picked these stories, as they go against my good taste and intelligence. If it means the return of my treasured collection, then so be it. But note, you scoundrels, that I only do this because I must.</span></div><div><span><br /></span></div><div><span>Here, then, is a selection of execrable stories illustrated by one "Lee Sherman," from issue 15 of this highly regrettable comic magazine.</span></div><div><span><br /></span></div><div><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMAuIxoKlvr6WpE45lK-tHQvY1KTnOlcOj6BVDB7KtYVXMjA2v3Em8wHZsoYWBXjyxt0b_ZUPN7Gq4oTpZc7vp0j-zyrHQc5cCMurP3-aBiDUfodAkb3nhyphenhyphenLWyT3BstdTnuK7MOUKvysvL/s1600/jack_in_the_box_015_0002.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 260px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMAuIxoKlvr6WpE45lK-tHQvY1KTnOlcOj6BVDB7KtYVXMjA2v3Em8wHZsoYWBXjyxt0b_ZUPN7Gq4oTpZc7vp0j-zyrHQc5cCMurP3-aBiDUfodAkb3nhyphenhyphenLWyT3BstdTnuK7MOUKvysvL/s400/jack_in_the_box_015_0002.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5486866390599966658" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhd5YLO-ws8AYr2hWA_QqVZhj7nqMV4sCqjMwUAWBcZFwztfawDHST2l5aecC5_NSuF2YRPQ1g5kuNmtwgueDec-jDrpVLSMBmeBha_8aeD5sFQv8nrsc1jEOuA6KpUsHQQEycWEIGUVm1P/s1600/jack_in_the_box_015_0019.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 263px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhd5YLO-ws8AYr2hWA_QqVZhj7nqMV4sCqjMwUAWBcZFwztfawDHST2l5aecC5_NSuF2YRPQ1g5kuNmtwgueDec-jDrpVLSMBmeBha_8aeD5sFQv8nrsc1jEOuA6KpUsHQQEycWEIGUVm1P/s400/jack_in_the_box_015_0019.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5486866316880264258" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiB6I9IOlw2LGuSw3F3nsVLUiLPOcoyZ6hVEq41haHmZ6mhZMPqo90bgvggiv8IiqHc5iZt43d27qoEstwG0HtpU9tzcNEfxwbZJ0bR4oFSK0-OPbAHcJlcy4wetCgYARL06ywJeNorATDe/s1600/jack_in_the_box_015_0020.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 265px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiB6I9IOlw2LGuSw3F3nsVLUiLPOcoyZ6hVEq41haHmZ6mhZMPqo90bgvggiv8IiqHc5iZt43d27qoEstwG0HtpU9tzcNEfxwbZJ0bR4oFSK0-OPbAHcJlcy4wetCgYARL06ywJeNorATDe/s400/jack_in_the_box_015_0020.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5486866310029197778" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieSbwr5Z-9uwwlQaZdBuP2Jtt3zlBad9iv10E-bXYatynDwKCtyr2M4v9K-DtHSBXLFfJxiR6rOVAYLHorEDeyggdHp-q9g6JEvyajSCy1Q2tvD0w6fHoeFTAxHrC-8N8lt9g4WgVzrSck/s1600/jack_in_the_box_015_0021.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 263px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieSbwr5Z-9uwwlQaZdBuP2Jtt3zlBad9iv10E-bXYatynDwKCtyr2M4v9K-DtHSBXLFfJxiR6rOVAYLHorEDeyggdHp-q9g6JEvyajSCy1Q2tvD0w6fHoeFTAxHrC-8N8lt9g4WgVzrSck/s400/jack_in_the_box_015_0021.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5486866301635143938" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKIo2Fqlb1OIWLonss0l6hLP5c8Z3aLNwwX_DnnOAQZIPuGGmIyu0qwryq1_Ou4cLvY6_YWdL7AGAkz4aUD4YyuaoU4f_KH-D2A3iIskhRiBurCQPQSIf7kUtzVy1OaCsMAJel9qaBYrUC/s1600/jack_in_the_box_015_0022.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 263px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKIo2Fqlb1OIWLonss0l6hLP5c8Z3aLNwwX_DnnOAQZIPuGGmIyu0qwryq1_Ou4cLvY6_YWdL7AGAkz4aUD4YyuaoU4f_KH-D2A3iIskhRiBurCQPQSIf7kUtzVy1OaCsMAJel9qaBYrUC/s400/jack_in_the_box_015_0022.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5486866292720931538" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKmHbLo-A1pJUDRI-AUzmpJ6RFYPFfrCd54dLfRqDhenHJHpw7mwz2BZugOR9Ja-GJ8gD3m6C5MV90arycdDdAfOZtVBvIqimdlqgwpXu_OnUajZRV4pVUbSy1c_vWCRs1Gb8B3VlnO49p/s1600/jack_in_the_box_015_0023.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 258px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKmHbLo-A1pJUDRI-AUzmpJ6RFYPFfrCd54dLfRqDhenHJHpw7mwz2BZugOR9Ja-GJ8gD3m6C5MV90arycdDdAfOZtVBvIqimdlqgwpXu_OnUajZRV4pVUbSy1c_vWCRs1Gb8B3VlnO49p/s400/jack_in_the_box_015_0023.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5486866284734065122" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7fMSHjbeZRGjWc_JVY9ii9o-2pPUV9CO3quOcHr7O0qxgOfPc8pIuo9mr3eruU5oj8d_njWqdMQy8bq-83znPawDhCDSR-WIwOGaiuoDUmHCTGX1gxz1aL02tq0O9-XbaDzukRa-5PjLK/s1600/jack_in_the_box_015_0030.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 257px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7fMSHjbeZRGjWc_JVY9ii9o-2pPUV9CO3quOcHr7O0qxgOfPc8pIuo9mr3eruU5oj8d_njWqdMQy8bq-83znPawDhCDSR-WIwOGaiuoDUmHCTGX1gxz1aL02tq0O9-XbaDzukRa-5PjLK/s400/jack_in_the_box_015_0030.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5486866071999643234" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIn9XeUKxepIf5b9_m5rJHXBq32MWfjqB7Nsv9klIOlr1JuZm32L8BhI5tO4bXAUw1fewl1uZbF5wd0BUsiyyirRb6CeFMuG-4BGJyRhDJNTlCtCM-GSm2ziAYHjdsDN9VGjvXYY6z6Qr0/s1600/jack_in_the_box_015_0031.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 263px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIn9XeUKxepIf5b9_m5rJHXBq32MWfjqB7Nsv9klIOlr1JuZm32L8BhI5tO4bXAUw1fewl1uZbF5wd0BUsiyyirRb6CeFMuG-4BGJyRhDJNTlCtCM-GSm2ziAYHjdsDN9VGjvXYY6z6Qr0/s400/jack_in_the_box_015_0031.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5486866070516755650" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirCd673DM9t4FtmUcqZ9G4-dR5SduErVbEfSWPCvtSv2JgQ03JAAV5j3Y5OCcI0oqgD2atjwE1n96z2iG9tjXYFDg3cREGmGWL2rjRGCGOz4sN9qKJDancXX2goXTe-wv9-Jc_-4HZyNC7/s1600/jack_in_the_box_015_0032.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 268px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirCd673DM9t4FtmUcqZ9G4-dR5SduErVbEfSWPCvtSv2JgQ03JAAV5j3Y5OCcI0oqgD2atjwE1n96z2iG9tjXYFDg3cREGmGWL2rjRGCGOz4sN9qKJDancXX2goXTe-wv9-Jc_-4HZyNC7/s400/jack_in_the_box_015_0032.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5486866058270942978" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh71IjJpznGbeWu6SuL_Uyli6DJSEjzDZZEFOCyLOE59hBQNq5VgW6rCGBV3idXLi8_F4nMBkmwbB3ZcPijMOBliJralYjKnrwLkiom8oEGFUk7D2WtFfcdONBySJ9kT_MUZcjpMa0EhZYs/s1600/jack_in_the_box_015_0033.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 267px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh71IjJpznGbeWu6SuL_Uyli6DJSEjzDZZEFOCyLOE59hBQNq5VgW6rCGBV3idXLi8_F4nMBkmwbB3ZcPijMOBliJralYjKnrwLkiom8oEGFUk7D2WtFfcdONBySJ9kT_MUZcjpMa0EhZYs/s400/jack_in_the_box_015_0033.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5486866047774946850" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQ67CepAaOa_TrfuWgB7yswMQ_T5_PEUai1wDVYMOoU5Zp0qY-zCtPI2gimkMRmhyphenhyphen2N0srdAACEHof47AMc8clzQna_oK77f61n8D6XQRjCQdSRsJQHJzVGFl4Bx_iqNoIsXifskgYcSEH/s1600/jack_in_the_box_015_0034.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 273px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQ67CepAaOa_TrfuWgB7yswMQ_T5_PEUai1wDVYMOoU5Zp0qY-zCtPI2gimkMRmhyphenhyphen2N0srdAACEHof47AMc8clzQna_oK77f61n8D6XQRjCQdSRsJQHJzVGFl4Bx_iqNoIsXifskgYcSEH/s400/jack_in_the_box_015_0034.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5486866039216768642" /></a><br />I hope you are happy, you fiends. To my true friends, I apologize profusely. I do not publish garbage on this "blog"--only the utmost best in panelological material. <span><br /></span></div><div><br /></div><div>I trust that, by fulfilling my end of the bargain, that I shall be in possession of the comic magazines (which are, after all, rightfully MINE) and that this wretched, brutalizing episode shall fade into distant history.</div><div><br /></div><div>Tell me, you monsters--which door does the key open?</div>Mason J. Morayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16288522457980212295noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2577154746554800558.post-29451170549323589742010-05-30T12:51:00.000-07:002010-05-30T14:33:43.283-07:00Our 30th Post: Featuring The "Final Gasp" of "Yank and Doodle"Friends, please pardon my touch of melancholy. For, you see, I am betwixt the devil and the blue deep sea. I'm in a terrible quandary.<br /><br />As you might surmise well, my beloved panelological treasures have yet to surface. Despite a tri-state dragnet of all comic book shops, thrift stores, and whatnot, the heisted boxes--all easily recognizable by their careful codes, written in bold laundry marker--remain in limbo.<br /><br />I am consigned to the small but potent stack of panelological gems that remain in my hands--under the ever-watchful watch of "Sparks" Spinkle.<br /><br />I am, however, closer to the truth than I have been thus far. Two potent clues came into my possession this past week--clues that have spurred me out of a nearly month-long "fonk" to write you, my dear friends, another missive.<br /><br />Perhaps you may recall the unwelcome presence of a foppish flibbertigibbet named "Raydon?" That glad-handing rascal has appeared twice this week at Dorrie's Diner--each time with a coterie of similarly gaudy (and grating) companions. Dorrie made their first visit "on the house." I forbade such mollycoddling on their return, two days later.<br /><br />"Raydon" and his comperes paid the bill without hesitation. He complemented me on the "fine upkeep" of "his" bistro. (As you shall recall, the young strumpet "designed" the premises of the Diner, to the unending delight of "the missus." Thus, your reporter has been obliged to "keep clammed" about his two cents' of opinion.<br /><br />How I detest the purplish hue of scarlet that adorns the Diner's walls! I much prefer the classic "tomato red." Some days, the sight of that nearly-purple red is enough to put me in a foul mood, even if I am otherwise chipper and cheerful.<br /><br />A half hour after his entourage departed the premises, I conducted a routine sweep-up of the area near the cash register. On the ground, I found a curious thing:<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpLlspgKWkGynasKBZy1zL7y4U6ZbZXVbmBbl5yw605fN3lUAJ6RqLkD2pN3kEEi5LgKrPY7iPclbEw4Y2DYGHHMYfUCtUwNPYK4-t7ox8_D7-cby69hnTMaaNUES8UkVD-vOKHxhxHRUk/s1600/keyclue.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 281px; height: 247px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpLlspgKWkGynasKBZy1zL7y4U6ZbZXVbmBbl5yw605fN3lUAJ6RqLkD2pN3kEEi5LgKrPY7iPclbEw4Y2DYGHHMYfUCtUwNPYK4-t7ox8_D7-cby69hnTMaaNUES8UkVD-vOKHxhxHRUk/s400/keyclue.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5477160481209536786" border="0" /></a>The next morning, as I went for the daily newspaper, I found Post-It Notes stuck all over my car, the driveway, and our mailbox.<br /><br />On each of the notes was the number of one of the purloined boxes of comic magazines! P23! B17! Q02! K59! And so on. Each scrawled note sent a new chill down my spine. A quick reference of my Master List (which resides in a series of three-ring binders) confirmed that all 37 of the Post-It Notes corresponded with one missing box of comic magazines.<br /><br />And then, this morning, the greatest shock of all. Stuffed inside our Sunday paper was my copy of <span style="font-style: italic;">Prize Comics</span> #68. Not a particularly lustrous item--it was the final issue of the series, before its dire conversion to a Western comic magazine. I have a complete run of the original 68-issue <span style="font-style: italic;">Prize</span> series--or, rather, I <span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;">had</span> a complete run.<br /><br />It was indeed my copy--it bore my mark on the front inside page.<br /><br />Someone in the know is teasing me with these clues!<br /><br />Most curious of all was this piece of note-paper, tucked into the comic magazine, right at the start page of today's panelological offering:<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiABsGZiWDFT0-oTGM2mb2uBzXZjXUCVp041CObvrb1JB4urcoln12qyE0TG9gOG11llm_8L4G1636TwU98S-KqIT3IoeWn1MV8zffgeiukXDg4Pkl6jrmNcQl_vi1ijHoXZokqrs0MCX3g/s1600/PrizeNote.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 318px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiABsGZiWDFT0-oTGM2mb2uBzXZjXUCVp041CObvrb1JB4urcoln12qyE0TG9gOG11llm_8L4G1636TwU98S-KqIT3IoeWn1MV8zffgeiukXDg4Pkl6jrmNcQl_vi1ijHoXZokqrs0MCX3g/s400/PrizeNote.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5477163878204180498" border="0" /></a><br /><br />This note appears to indicate that the comic magazines are unharmed. But who wrote it? And, most importantly, who crept in the pre-dawn hush to insert note and magazine both into our Sunday newspaper?<br /><br />Just to acknowledge a new play in this intellecutal chess game, I shall endeavor to present the very story the thieves marked with their naughty note! Here, then, is the final appearance of the heavily-buttocked teenage crime-fighting duo, "Yank and Doodle." You will note that, although the logo boasts that the series is "STARRING The BLACK OWL," that he does not appear until the last panel, and most certainly not in his action togs.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMGLhkTH2bMfzVZBS2t8vT09LSBoCFXYrOHlSI3yX_8eDq-yo5AI81wRcHYkBpbB72SVYY_9FXAR-ARDci7FCoW2cgVO3F2YVpuaa6BLaDlsYfRY9r1WHxBRdJNe9iUSkkqBVDLYX4o1P6/s1600/prz68p32ydbo.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 279px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMGLhkTH2bMfzVZBS2t8vT09LSBoCFXYrOHlSI3yX_8eDq-yo5AI81wRcHYkBpbB72SVYY_9FXAR-ARDci7FCoW2cgVO3F2YVpuaa6BLaDlsYfRY9r1WHxBRdJNe9iUSkkqBVDLYX4o1P6/s400/prz68p32ydbo.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5477154097763181026" border="0" /></a><br />\<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgitwkyDyoPEzuiyGTUVZYRE3R4AnsV1zUhdfHVwOHy-7wr2gNRaAx8nk8LoS9oKJ9vaQo_TFWQ_4idHPNMfqmWb0kxyp3aJVdT-RZ_XVLsk3fRQ1pz-UgHawxhbeQarL3ietma8R-9VlQ1/s1600/prz68p33.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 281px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgitwkyDyoPEzuiyGTUVZYRE3R4AnsV1zUhdfHVwOHy-7wr2gNRaAx8nk8LoS9oKJ9vaQo_TFWQ_4idHPNMfqmWb0kxyp3aJVdT-RZ_XVLsk3fRQ1pz-UgHawxhbeQarL3ietma8R-9VlQ1/s400/prz68p33.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5477154087390565586" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhV1OUmRRPz6qzlZsC8lJMsPwqHk8xDdjAB3-2GKLPNBj6yNmKQYSGZSPUBIU3WDE2N7NOTRE077luV0I5BjbC2DSN30DvB5z5CWbmWqq9aDqAfg_g6_pQIXq4PG1sxtVhrk2ezPPIYIHYw/s1600/prz68p34.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 282px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhV1OUmRRPz6qzlZsC8lJMsPwqHk8xDdjAB3-2GKLPNBj6yNmKQYSGZSPUBIU3WDE2N7NOTRE077luV0I5BjbC2DSN30DvB5z5CWbmWqq9aDqAfg_g6_pQIXq4PG1sxtVhrk2ezPPIYIHYw/s400/prz68p34.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5477154082545459954" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6bRkpy5GDM8avh4Hp5jRvpbIIxTjf0Wu4w_bo02SiUiomxykhZ-w5S9t76XaH2qmEZoGHW2lcO-xIndjTzyseDLfAzZDuHhmYB3ywLHQYfOdYDmqSfVw_sv7eM4B5qG_IxHqotkq3SMdP/s1600/prz68p35.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 280px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6bRkpy5GDM8avh4Hp5jRvpbIIxTjf0Wu4w_bo02SiUiomxykhZ-w5S9t76XaH2qmEZoGHW2lcO-xIndjTzyseDLfAzZDuHhmYB3ywLHQYfOdYDmqSfVw_sv7eM4B5qG_IxHqotkq3SMdP/s400/prz68p35.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5477153861013675250" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggWWRMbd4FTEcYFJGRF7d7IX6OoG-pSOmVEbQCczL2mVnQ39Hw1zcipNmiAWtFqmm_UiJEmphyQLTbDLrvy56Z1FK-RSzwMJWxCtG3no2gblQZAYTErT_h8Z0kZjl3OqK5zDWSHoBnYIss/s1600/prz68p36.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 277px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggWWRMbd4FTEcYFJGRF7d7IX6OoG-pSOmVEbQCczL2mVnQ39Hw1zcipNmiAWtFqmm_UiJEmphyQLTbDLrvy56Z1FK-RSzwMJWxCtG3no2gblQZAYTErT_h8Z0kZjl3OqK5zDWSHoBnYIss/s400/prz68p36.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5477153856109312338" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeBnf4uuXP9roh9B5ryyJEhETbvLi6yHvW4O9blHfYkE-nGFZ20020vQpZSqj0yMwHX2_9CD35KlC4FLOflDNCBc2_gTwBh-jMw8_MYw4G6VaAeGsDU0BXC3dfkYGZnUhhvI7dmGc7EQjc/s1600/prz68p37.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 282px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeBnf4uuXP9roh9B5ryyJEhETbvLi6yHvW4O9blHfYkE-nGFZ20020vQpZSqj0yMwHX2_9CD35KlC4FLOflDNCBc2_gTwBh-jMw8_MYw4G6VaAeGsDU0BXC3dfkYGZnUhhvI7dmGc7EQjc/s400/prz68p37.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5477153840658487970" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTE-NewwPny6pMtcmfB3G_iD0y9lsseRhjV1kKXGou-qmnpP-kBD4vFJm0GbrCmr1zofoGGap6w-oyy-BbouHZqWWPiZFuRGdjqxUPl_jvgo8kUatL1ib5y2ZIpY4zbaTFX3YmGovtOIfq/s1600/prz68p38.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 276px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTE-NewwPny6pMtcmfB3G_iD0y9lsseRhjV1kKXGou-qmnpP-kBD4vFJm0GbrCmr1zofoGGap6w-oyy-BbouHZqWWPiZFuRGdjqxUPl_jvgo8kUatL1ib5y2ZIpY4zbaTFX3YmGovtOIfq/s400/prz68p38.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5477153834651320514" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgy7Xixwvpu81OaZExa0xsETdLzUJvkERbWVukJM-ljSmTi-H7rW_JWFjeOFNK4bploAKfF0MdRk-6acLCemb_aQ_AqVTTK8gQz8YELSVg4y1l5oYx6XFAYVrYbt9J7BIVJG8AwzD5pkexK/s1600/prz68p39.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 277px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgy7Xixwvpu81OaZExa0xsETdLzUJvkERbWVukJM-ljSmTi-H7rW_JWFjeOFNK4bploAKfF0MdRk-6acLCemb_aQ_AqVTTK8gQz8YELSVg4y1l5oYx6XFAYVrYbt9J7BIVJG8AwzD5pkexK/s400/prz68p39.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5477153831348186082" border="0" /></a><br />As you may have anticipated, there is a sad and curious story about this story. Like many of the last "Yank and Doodle" pieces, this was written and drawn by a shadowy figure of the late "Golden Age" of panelology--Sheff Rutledge.<br /><br />Rutledge was a painter and illustrator who struggled to find his footing in the world of the comic magazines. His first published efforts were in what were called "he-men sweat mags--" hyper-masculine adventure pulps with such titles as <span style="font-style: italic;">Turgid Youth, Throbbing Male Action </span>and <span style="font-style: italic;">Sweat-Soaked Man Tales</span>.<br /><br />These magazines would probably be termed as "home-erotic" by today's standards. They catered to a presumed audience of masculine men who wished to read--and see detailed illustrations of--stories about other masculine men. This trend ebbed with the onset of World War II.<br /><br />Some of the titles, having a small but loyal readership, struggled on through the 1940s. Seldom were they found on news stands. Their readership was almost 100% subscriber-based. Sheff Rutledge was the star artist of this little-known genre.<br /><br />As the size of these magazines shrunk--to conform to stringent wartime postal regulations--their content became more tawdry and suggestive. Rutledge soldiered on, painting and drawing ever-provocative pieces for the likes of <span style="font-style: italic;">Steel Piston Adventures, Man Cannon! and Army Buddies After Hours</span>.<br /><br />On the side, Rutledge wandered into the margins of the mainstream comic magazines. He was a great admirer of the works of Joseph Simon and Jack Kirby. One can easily see their influence on Sheffield's page layout, and even in his drawing.<br /><br />Where Rutledge departed from Simon and Kirby was in his lush, lovingly detailed renditions of the male "keester." This was considered taboo territory in the comic book industry. As early as 1940, accusations of a hidden "gay" agenda had been hurled at comics publishers. Artists such as Louis Fine, George Tuska and Reed Crandall certainly glorified the male physique in their panelological renderings. But there was no "agenda" in 1940s comic magazines to speak of.<br /><br />Nonetheless, Rutledge's attention to details--not only in the rear ends of his heavily-muscled heroes, but in their "below the belt" region--brought some minor scandal to the latter days of <span style="font-style: italic;">Prize Comics</span>.<br /><br />However, Rutledge got off "scott free" with his panelological efforts. It was his material in the "he-men sweat mags" that ended his career.<br /><br />In 1950, the publisher of many of these "men's magazines," Aesthete Press, was shuttered by J. Edgar Hoover. Many of the regular contributors to these publications--including Sheff Rutledge--were imprisoned for "conspiring to create reading matter of a possibly suggestive nature, sold through the federal mails to unwed middle-aged males." Rutledge served 23 years in prison. The law was informally known as the "Rutledge charge."<br /><br />Upon his release from prison in 1973, Rutledge attempted to return to the comic magazine field. Under an alias, he briefly found work with Harvey Comics. His past caught up with him, and he was relieved of his duties. Nothing is known of his whereabouts after 1975. It is possible Rutledge is still alive.<br /><br />Despite the curious, slightly disturbing nature of Rutledge's imagery, one cannot deny that he was a dynamic Kirby-inspired panelologist. If there were a category of "good rear art," Rutledge would, surely, be considered its Frank Frazetta, or Norman Rockwell!<br /><br />In closing, I say to my apparently playful thieves: I double-dog-dare you to leave more comic magazines--and clues--at my home! Be brazen; be ruthless! But be aware that I am as wily as you, and as willing to play this deadly game--to its final round!<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">POST SCRIPT:</span> I almost forgot to mention this--I have been asked, by a local order of the Shriners, to speak at their "lodge" about panelology in the not-too-distant future. "Sparks" Spinkle has been invited to "co-pilot" this appearance. (Speaking of "Sparks," my apologies for not discussing his crime-fighting exploits of late. That must be saved for our next "blogging.")Mason J. Morayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16288522457980212295noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2577154746554800558.post-89247880823048327542010-05-02T11:57:00.000-07:002010-05-02T15:57:11.886-07:00The Crisis Continues--With A Faint Ray of Hope! In Today's Post: The Stunning Original Tale of "Shock" Gibson, from Speed Comics 1, 1939!!!!Friends, I am still a broken man, and still without the bulk of my lifelong prize possessions. News of my disaster has spread far and near, and I have been showered with an outpouring of comfort and understanding from my friends, fans and followers in the panelological community.<br /><br />As the saying goes, "A good man can't stay down!" In this spirit, I endeavor to present a spectacular posting today. Let the jackals who purlioned my dear comic magazines cackle with offensive glee! They didn't get them all--and they shan't!<br /><br />Here, vile thieves, is one you left behind! You dropped this one--or didn't you notice? You missed one of the crown gems of the Former Pantheon--and one of the most stunning full-length narratives of the GPE (Gilded Panelological Era, 1937-1943).<br /><br />Before we embark on this epic journey, I must make note of one communique that was left on my doorstep--two, in actuality. The first one is sweet; the second considerably bitter.<br /><br />The first missive was from a tyke who lives on our block. She had heard about "the old man who lost his funny books," and she found it in her youthful heart to leave this message:<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXkJtMfpdgQDKYq6nxz-2rxX7iA-aIMU_Q2BLXBoV-8K6ovnFQHUsW_0BbvRH1oe4r6Ukp_vM5khSTw5kIJIB9jVD3QXuf5InhRKYkAmG_O34t5X5tkWwcRv_8GgjeT6lyTeOmGlAk_kpx/s1600/iamsorry.png"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 303px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXkJtMfpdgQDKYq6nxz-2rxX7iA-aIMU_Q2BLXBoV-8K6ovnFQHUsW_0BbvRH1oe4r6Ukp_vM5khSTw5kIJIB9jVD3QXuf5InhRKYkAmG_O34t5X5tkWwcRv_8GgjeT6lyTeOmGlAk_kpx/s400/iamsorry.png" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5466798080357937298" border="0" /></a><br />Attached to the message was a tattered copy of issue #17 of <span style="font-style: italic;">Little Dot's Aunts and Uncles</span>. The thought was profound, and worth its weight in gold.<br /><br />In the wake of this toddler's anonymous donation, a flurry of child artwork has appeared in our household--either left on our porch or solemnly delivered by grave tots, as was this hand-dispatched illustration:<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8ZDxZ-Ch5WL4YMYWTNGW7abLrU4ypYTYPcpli2GdItfIg1VxImZ-TQA_hyphenhyphenOVBTVlfm_1Ci_QU1SZnOUsRtrs16kLaZyefgSoqB-v_vxo8ms_91V3ppSleA6c5q1L-eT0pIxscMFS2an4I/s1600/lola.png"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 375px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8ZDxZ-Ch5WL4YMYWTNGW7abLrU4ypYTYPcpli2GdItfIg1VxImZ-TQA_hyphenhyphenOVBTVlfm_1Ci_QU1SZnOUsRtrs16kLaZyefgSoqB-v_vxo8ms_91V3ppSleA6c5q1L-eT0pIxscMFS2an4I/s400/lola.png" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5466798103648880034" border="0" /></a><br />It is genuinely sweet of these infants to offer their gentle tokens of honor.<br /><br />A more haunting and puzzling visual note was left beneath a plate this week at Dorrie's Diner. On the plate itself, inscribed expertly in ketchup and mustard, was a large ?<br /><br />Beneath the plate was found this image, clipped from a retail sales catalog:<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEOaKA1xgSsgg_ZUmyiybduM1RvZ5v8Eq3ejQ_akX7ZdU4bmY_YOM1Fzfc9Q3HIY9I19hM9grVOYdpXMBQLsTSm01fzHl4Yx5gA8S283RBl_1hnEWtgHIgxdgtgkEo2J-HHOiN6XVe8sxC/s1600/PantheonII.png"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 237px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEOaKA1xgSsgg_ZUmyiybduM1RvZ5v8Eq3ejQ_akX7ZdU4bmY_YOM1Fzfc9Q3HIY9I19hM9grVOYdpXMBQLsTSm01fzHl4Yx5gA8S283RBl_1hnEWtgHIgxdgtgkEo2J-HHOiN6XVe8sxC/s400/PantheonII.png" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5466798256752761954" border="0" /></a><br />I know not what this image bodes. It is, I assume, a Quonset hut. Is this a clue as to the current whereabouts of the Former Pantheon's holdings? Or is this, perhaps, a foreshadowing of a future version of the Pantheon? I have joshingly titled this piece "Pantheon II." In the hopes that the InterNet shall provide some light or leverage, I share this quiddity with you, my dear friends.<br /><br />Tongues clucked and empathy was shared on my recent visit to Killer Komix!, while on an errand of mercy to obtain two containers of Wondra, the highly effective gravy-making product. "Too bad," a fellow named Lyle said, as he inspected the condition of a Charlton war comic magazine. "Theft is the worst fear we face in this racket. Is that Sam Glanzman?" He held the magazine towards me for inspection.<br /><br />I am no expert in post-1950 panelology, but the image bore a large, bold signature, colored red: MILFORD. I pointed this telling clue to Lyle, who was thankful.<br /><br />The shop's owner, Bart, assured me that he, and other significant panelologists in the Tri-States area, were keeping out an eagle eye for any signs of my collection's disbursement on Ebay, Heritage Comic Auctions, and other means of illegal panelological transport.<br /><br />Curiously, "Super Senior" has been curiously silent of late. No newspaper items have documented his actions--not since the last clipping posted here (and that was some time ago). "Sparks" Spinkle shares my deep concern for the fate of my collection, and has placed what does remain--including Marilee's former holdings--under padlock and key in his room.<br /><br />Meanwhile, in Diner news, Dorrie has introduced a breakfast novelty that has taken our customer base by storm--Jaguar Stripe Hotcakes! Their creation was a "divine accident." Some powdered orange food coloring, left over from last Halloween, spilled into a batch of hotcake batter. Because of a reaction between the powder and the batter, it did not mix evenly into the goo.<br /><br />It emerged, in the cooked cakes, as visually delightful bold splotches--rather like the pattern of a jaguar's coat! I profusely apologized to the waiting diner who'd ordered his "cakes," only to find he was delighted by the presentation. "Jaguar stripes!" he cried.<br /><br />I thought better than to correct his faux pas--and, thus, a breakfast sensation was born! They taste no different from any average hotcake, but, as the advertising agencies have taught us, presentation is everything. I'll let you friends in on a secret: Jaguar Stripe Hotcakes cost $1.50 more than regular hotcakes. The cost of the colored powder is minimal. People are willing to pay extra for orange splotches on their breakfast cakes!<br /><br />Raphael informs me that a few customers have asked that their scrambled eggs also have "jaguar stripes" added to them. Dorrie's Diner may well be "in the orange"--all the way to the bank!<br /><br />And now, with no further ado, is today's stunning panelological presentation. Here is the 26 page original origin tale of the wondrous 1939 creation, "Shock" Gibson! Maurice Scott was one of the earliest graphic novelists. He preferred to tell his tales in long, rich doses. When a full page was required for an action, he took that space--without resistance from either his publisher or editor. His secret? I'll tell you after you feast on this <span style="font-style: italic;">entree magnificent</span>!<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjU8qvyMfVenGntDbV1wS19O3sAYawY1ZqEcs6jE2F9OLccSjqRNdJ_DKQ0Su06ZOS2jGZb2t51jVDyIeJb6ng2qK_jsSu3O_zgKoVaeRVCXXBhNnD6vFW8ruAOq4sZRu3pGdHucfV8D1L-/s1600/Speed_Comics_01_p000-cov.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 302px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjU8qvyMfVenGntDbV1wS19O3sAYawY1ZqEcs6jE2F9OLccSjqRNdJ_DKQ0Su06ZOS2jGZb2t51jVDyIeJb6ng2qK_jsSu3O_zgKoVaeRVCXXBhNnD6vFW8ruAOq4sZRu3pGdHucfV8D1L-/s400/Speed_Comics_01_p000-cov.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5466753517893640802" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmjocV3lIAFFddyE8baoCfEW1oG77mCLQZszzSGMeBmi2X1RK6rKQvJq5LkY13Sl4fNw7AB_HVaxYxpnQ9M5hdUfSCsJD9Q-J5cOp4SUXwXfcV250ErPCdL53Iy8jP2sbz2_gyOaxTWowr/s1600/Speed_Comics_01_p001-Shock+Gibson.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 281px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmjocV3lIAFFddyE8baoCfEW1oG77mCLQZszzSGMeBmi2X1RK6rKQvJq5LkY13Sl4fNw7AB_HVaxYxpnQ9M5hdUfSCsJD9Q-J5cOp4SUXwXfcV250ErPCdL53Iy8jP2sbz2_gyOaxTWowr/s400/Speed_Comics_01_p001-Shock+Gibson.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5466753507373100098" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwgMJZwf5ZX9_OCx8AwkPTvA1bFyYwdTFv6DrKY44O_xGW1YbVzaIzBuTx9u5iGpPT0gzk4H29KYanOH1V-hHZNmyauYupjz9Yr3PqmaZxN0U5_VB7UkzjdmJkrXN2QoE003Ik3h-56QEB/s1600/Speed_Comics_01_p002.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 284px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwgMJZwf5ZX9_OCx8AwkPTvA1bFyYwdTFv6DrKY44O_xGW1YbVzaIzBuTx9u5iGpPT0gzk4H29KYanOH1V-hHZNmyauYupjz9Yr3PqmaZxN0U5_VB7UkzjdmJkrXN2QoE003Ik3h-56QEB/s400/Speed_Comics_01_p002.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5466753192398388978" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgf2JEb62qSLCwzdUlQW9rgtLmRu8gbJj_3sHiIel-0-G5IwVAHWjVezsJNV9dOUE7bjsRAka8uRbAsy9J-E__vDfDK3oPlF5hCH8QCDMDjALnBgvMm12qO0B8zNwGgpBZYJ8TGiFgBzZak/s1600/Speed_Comics_01_p003.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 283px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgf2JEb62qSLCwzdUlQW9rgtLmRu8gbJj_3sHiIel-0-G5IwVAHWjVezsJNV9dOUE7bjsRAka8uRbAsy9J-E__vDfDK3oPlF5hCH8QCDMDjALnBgvMm12qO0B8zNwGgpBZYJ8TGiFgBzZak/s400/Speed_Comics_01_p003.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5466753186018320274" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjy5j80GXufTCwmLYKotjXtr2_4bVad_zAbtrVIo6xtY-BxnPP56qOlSr8GC7xoau9_9yEwENVdMKrOEylweiaGIJAPcrblEhUUVNDD4tubeBjnp5NLb8uiC6mGTfZFQ3s3dbL8iU9H09LR/s1600/Speed_Comics_01_p004.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 292px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjy5j80GXufTCwmLYKotjXtr2_4bVad_zAbtrVIo6xtY-BxnPP56qOlSr8GC7xoau9_9yEwENVdMKrOEylweiaGIJAPcrblEhUUVNDD4tubeBjnp5NLb8uiC6mGTfZFQ3s3dbL8iU9H09LR/s400/Speed_Comics_01_p004.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5466753180744095026" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgp0iMAcpPkipPyzMs3BGFQh8iWx55T06a-9EG3ZrPuEU3-Zjxzmw4z4ivQCA7LzDOk4JS9sb0fpmTa0tafTfwHSiInOeS_gqRiG64tkgDa6OeCG_uxWEC_8_TBqLoSzoCrkBHX-Orn0Hu3/s1600/Speed_Comics_01_p005.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 282px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgp0iMAcpPkipPyzMs3BGFQh8iWx55T06a-9EG3ZrPuEU3-Zjxzmw4z4ivQCA7LzDOk4JS9sb0fpmTa0tafTfwHSiInOeS_gqRiG64tkgDa6OeCG_uxWEC_8_TBqLoSzoCrkBHX-Orn0Hu3/s400/Speed_Comics_01_p005.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5466753173010144898" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYaUhgos_6jeY_IgHptarfem5GgOyPwpIHQG4tAv-BirWmQEh_xWKScKe4QWhagMoIMMkRYlpdku-9W7W-Khhiu0VOPpDwCc4ZtqhdGK-psr9KG-ItqgpDZk0HLetg67T7KBEWuuFi4YNu/s1600/Speed_Comics_01_p006.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 288px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYaUhgos_6jeY_IgHptarfem5GgOyPwpIHQG4tAv-BirWmQEh_xWKScKe4QWhagMoIMMkRYlpdku-9W7W-Khhiu0VOPpDwCc4ZtqhdGK-psr9KG-ItqgpDZk0HLetg67T7KBEWuuFi4YNu/s400/Speed_Comics_01_p006.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5466753167621520418" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIqrmAXP5fjLVsqnRcPHJsfJXpO5MHkuUxxGIx1iMBKj3SL9VHsMW2MBVIlIxPH86aBwPGmipEB0aGdn8YOEF5ybHJyMpNFd3C-sVPUQWgi6E7pKTdjNEL07YH3aQlSd627NFABqL2CoSO/s1600/Speed_Comics_01_p007.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 283px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIqrmAXP5fjLVsqnRcPHJsfJXpO5MHkuUxxGIx1iMBKj3SL9VHsMW2MBVIlIxPH86aBwPGmipEB0aGdn8YOEF5ybHJyMpNFd3C-sVPUQWgi6E7pKTdjNEL07YH3aQlSd627NFABqL2CoSO/s400/Speed_Comics_01_p007.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5466752802058332146" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi83Vte-dhvafhwNs8ik_CP1weXUNGYcJLXUwQHXPNfXjuhyphenhyphen7rhBW47Xdqy5nxvkO2Autrblup0dd4xlS4UMQa1q-y5u96tSbR_XznDRDfkmQ-IZG-WzuE4ni407Esy-umjQq4_bChwX8Mc/s1600/Speed_Comics_01_p008.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 292px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi83Vte-dhvafhwNs8ik_CP1weXUNGYcJLXUwQHXPNfXjuhyphenhyphen7rhBW47Xdqy5nxvkO2Autrblup0dd4xlS4UMQa1q-y5u96tSbR_XznDRDfkmQ-IZG-WzuE4ni407Esy-umjQq4_bChwX8Mc/s400/Speed_Comics_01_p008.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5466752791432775362" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipa8Bq7On2nbVFDM-b9wGvVB0Oe3S6WaVgTaUGu4a-fnKpQbyS6-XHj0Nglq1JNuEUpzacyqNE0M72HAr6D0YhbIG_SrPIxBhJaNZv2jyYqH2STMbtgjWjr_BXUEErJrJiCOTjC7HkV_O3/s1600/Speed_Comics_01_p009.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 281px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipa8Bq7On2nbVFDM-b9wGvVB0Oe3S6WaVgTaUGu4a-fnKpQbyS6-XHj0Nglq1JNuEUpzacyqNE0M72HAr6D0YhbIG_SrPIxBhJaNZv2jyYqH2STMbtgjWjr_BXUEErJrJiCOTjC7HkV_O3/s400/Speed_Comics_01_p009.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5466752789387677138" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjMP_aYDxFCuQc2-k4MuVxBAgNmPGaB0B9GR00mMuyxYuMbAjY_p5QQU2RMI0sH_swdkJCDEy4_1ofwMDSbpLpgsqyxfrgJPa_i5J39aBtWUGcnexRDiwxuG-_M_XJcjXG23DJ2O5S5oQC/s1600/Speed_Comics_01_p010.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 295px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjMP_aYDxFCuQc2-k4MuVxBAgNmPGaB0B9GR00mMuyxYuMbAjY_p5QQU2RMI0sH_swdkJCDEy4_1ofwMDSbpLpgsqyxfrgJPa_i5J39aBtWUGcnexRDiwxuG-_M_XJcjXG23DJ2O5S5oQC/s400/Speed_Comics_01_p010.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5466752784563990578" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinttjW4utg3rtwSIWie8TpHBnS5MrprYik3-CsDxvExVGJMmlMgBThNH5Nri7SW4kOty05B8CFgMa6n3gK4UIhDu102ldSuVN6Q08cXLCVhx_QKrTQECNBk9bg6u0dX-eTnkA-66Ps5noy/s1600/Speed_Comics_01_p011.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 283px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinttjW4utg3rtwSIWie8TpHBnS5MrprYik3-CsDxvExVGJMmlMgBThNH5Nri7SW4kOty05B8CFgMa6n3gK4UIhDu102ldSuVN6Q08cXLCVhx_QKrTQECNBk9bg6u0dX-eTnkA-66Ps5noy/s400/Speed_Comics_01_p011.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5466752772121190914" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhairGaaUfWZqzKymwAwEgBbDGE5KrJQ18M93IZyrFHHrBgdcfYUw4nqEVDXcGPynCq-OvQA9p2yzl-Q3ZZQ-qNE7MWgPvWT7XZb_uT_SuozKp_J72BdZUmZFqJEm-5u-CY_7-c3OsapZdp/s1600/Speed_Comics_01_p012.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 291px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhairGaaUfWZqzKymwAwEgBbDGE5KrJQ18M93IZyrFHHrBgdcfYUw4nqEVDXcGPynCq-OvQA9p2yzl-Q3ZZQ-qNE7MWgPvWT7XZb_uT_SuozKp_J72BdZUmZFqJEm-5u-CY_7-c3OsapZdp/s400/Speed_Comics_01_p012.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5466752452706478674" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9sRu-6i0afE88GoqFtyWyTICsOOD0F-nF-SDwvqIoZtd2CwxY4O5D9adCtA4wy32VZMRAu3fhKkTDVGlzuA4mSH3vAuTvY-o9IBN2czyoZaLuQLfB_2RycIz5P1_gT3BpL_QXYuDVrL2-/s1600/Speed_Comics_01_p013.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 285px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9sRu-6i0afE88GoqFtyWyTICsOOD0F-nF-SDwvqIoZtd2CwxY4O5D9adCtA4wy32VZMRAu3fhKkTDVGlzuA4mSH3vAuTvY-o9IBN2czyoZaLuQLfB_2RycIz5P1_gT3BpL_QXYuDVrL2-/s400/Speed_Comics_01_p013.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5466752443561696946" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgOQ5E_4tR0crH_jFdJUE1jaRZ5vrmtMFL6-4B_cKJaI_9IVUSugZwqDMgwC6v1rWE9k7ql6jfZwAiRI0rmbb_QopgL0g5U5ocoFsTXUgiFKfC6nbk7XdXqw_UpOofw_a1VhpoLHC2ulw9/s1600/Speed_Comics_01_p014.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 293px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgOQ5E_4tR0crH_jFdJUE1jaRZ5vrmtMFL6-4B_cKJaI_9IVUSugZwqDMgwC6v1rWE9k7ql6jfZwAiRI0rmbb_QopgL0g5U5ocoFsTXUgiFKfC6nbk7XdXqw_UpOofw_a1VhpoLHC2ulw9/s400/Speed_Comics_01_p014.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5466752434563997170" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsqEY7QzKsCWTF3w5YY4JIlW_i3UNrEMzhunINsw_BeP84WGsW2rzbcFiavFGB3SCOxRY2leuivU4ppLlWj6_JLlz7XHqQCU_46Tgjw5bNlYxOh15AczuOz9xTA_IJ7ZbHKNuoZbBH4Ldp/s1600/Speed_Comics_01_p015.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 284px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsqEY7QzKsCWTF3w5YY4JIlW_i3UNrEMzhunINsw_BeP84WGsW2rzbcFiavFGB3SCOxRY2leuivU4ppLlWj6_JLlz7XHqQCU_46Tgjw5bNlYxOh15AczuOz9xTA_IJ7ZbHKNuoZbBH4Ldp/s400/Speed_Comics_01_p015.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5466752423294351922" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0fzjFUfi8i1gFlCUsPXTLK_xIAExLv7TC4yBas8LLgQcKqqjGyKOPfY0poI_uw0jGgUZ0MdpXkuo0Gjk_iOwfwnZZD3R9NtrksUucACtQaktEfUPVmcXMwslUPfBw2LsXorqelqTtw70j/s1600/Speed_Comics_01_p016.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 291px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0fzjFUfi8i1gFlCUsPXTLK_xIAExLv7TC4yBas8LLgQcKqqjGyKOPfY0poI_uw0jGgUZ0MdpXkuo0Gjk_iOwfwnZZD3R9NtrksUucACtQaktEfUPVmcXMwslUPfBw2LsXorqelqTtw70j/s400/Speed_Comics_01_p016.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5466752418671695410" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuyZkMCNmsPQA4SoV1zUMczGsd_4UdRWxZNb45x1Vu9DyUuwitXsVp66huUs9lyh2MOsowts6aM-2jZ7wOz0qUlvULtyG9Ny_RpGWQzzrCnXls5J_g8Qx7qtNuVjWo68oB8JbaL_g4yiE4/s1600/Speed_Comics_01_p017.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 283px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuyZkMCNmsPQA4SoV1zUMczGsd_4UdRWxZNb45x1Vu9DyUuwitXsVp66huUs9lyh2MOsowts6aM-2jZ7wOz0qUlvULtyG9Ny_RpGWQzzrCnXls5J_g8Qx7qtNuVjWo68oB8JbaL_g4yiE4/s400/Speed_Comics_01_p017.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5466750969772949458" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIfuNaQeQLSvzM3EZqi-P4T_oaSNjzgRh-99C0OQlnFB0tP3fdakPMtFsJb5-uzvlIADhaWrS9p96GCTLNtteoPcE14B24ebMtlfL5KIfdUO8lkJ1TJQT5FWAduUoCwcuIIN8usNeRNNB7/s1600/Speed_Comics_01_p018.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 295px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIfuNaQeQLSvzM3EZqi-P4T_oaSNjzgRh-99C0OQlnFB0tP3fdakPMtFsJb5-uzvlIADhaWrS9p96GCTLNtteoPcE14B24ebMtlfL5KIfdUO8lkJ1TJQT5FWAduUoCwcuIIN8usNeRNNB7/s400/Speed_Comics_01_p018.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5466750959015188546" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlRBHIy0Sa5iZCuA-iLz57CyYmgF8wJHe68yfjj59-8hSMoTI-vm1FA4E0ZyYHcgNRnd70X8wF0kKCn4kOZFeafwzzQZxwnPMclNNgRKfjvAc2QPZxR98sZrIg_YeKc4I0EF-Gn9PNP1yc/s1600/Speed_Comics_01_p019.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 288px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlRBHIy0Sa5iZCuA-iLz57CyYmgF8wJHe68yfjj59-8hSMoTI-vm1FA4E0ZyYHcgNRnd70X8wF0kKCn4kOZFeafwzzQZxwnPMclNNgRKfjvAc2QPZxR98sZrIg_YeKc4I0EF-Gn9PNP1yc/s400/Speed_Comics_01_p019.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5466750949737648242" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVnKdb-tOXODcTwaQZzkFmhWof6A9_bgm2Px5eYlsoVJhLxBVHj3oMTV-8kejH7SSmrpqJeDKCXKBkpAqCtFYysmDBMgE798Jx_de322jiHtbG5jfbs9wI-2-9YnrmNrcuByOx8gMBfSvO/s1600/Speed_Comics_01_p020.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 292px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVnKdb-tOXODcTwaQZzkFmhWof6A9_bgm2Px5eYlsoVJhLxBVHj3oMTV-8kejH7SSmrpqJeDKCXKBkpAqCtFYysmDBMgE798Jx_de322jiHtbG5jfbs9wI-2-9YnrmNrcuByOx8gMBfSvO/s400/Speed_Comics_01_p020.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5466750936460741618" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTWjwT4tZ2OmpnQSfL9xcDz1q4suEwEGL4mcMvUndIfq2-5-Ygotbg6pTtehAWuDNJjveX48_yP7vweE7CbWFpZRbC0Pc45G4KsDA-782f2vZWlkL87GpyANBhVlIZx5Y2kUk-zfhBsZ8-/s1600/Speed_Comics_01_p021.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 290px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTWjwT4tZ2OmpnQSfL9xcDz1q4suEwEGL4mcMvUndIfq2-5-Ygotbg6pTtehAWuDNJjveX48_yP7vweE7CbWFpZRbC0Pc45G4KsDA-782f2vZWlkL87GpyANBhVlIZx5Y2kUk-zfhBsZ8-/s400/Speed_Comics_01_p021.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5466750933373433730" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhi7S9tgta6NXsTwmjZvS9nKEAy8M4jbjIzCqKFj5np4YYlGV0VfV0AlXn3NqKum3_px48RWJdFN-gSMOVgAmoI7HouUKvDWZOWKFn1ycnYiwmPXRWqYSDUALrolFOph9EoEcEIX047qTck/s1600/Speed_Comics_01_p022.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 288px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhi7S9tgta6NXsTwmjZvS9nKEAy8M4jbjIzCqKFj5np4YYlGV0VfV0AlXn3NqKum3_px48RWJdFN-gSMOVgAmoI7HouUKvDWZOWKFn1ycnYiwmPXRWqYSDUALrolFOph9EoEcEIX047qTck/s400/Speed_Comics_01_p022.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5466750666416688738" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9BjGIphdIZ-zy1Ro9DIxV9BxM9L9VxNz18WzAbwIB31tkFBzWSNgkTIgaV50osj8eDAz2OuA50eWqtJ9BB2SueG4N-mEsioUvIJH8HTNkAXT9SnjzferrnuS3i7U5tmbFJV6_tsN3mmqt/s1600/Speed_Comics_01_p023.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 287px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9BjGIphdIZ-zy1Ro9DIxV9BxM9L9VxNz18WzAbwIB31tkFBzWSNgkTIgaV50osj8eDAz2OuA50eWqtJ9BB2SueG4N-mEsioUvIJH8HTNkAXT9SnjzferrnuS3i7U5tmbFJV6_tsN3mmqt/s400/Speed_Comics_01_p023.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5466750652281165890" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQquJqiAjdNXTGC6eqkX6RlAe0yaHsVkFx9aSpmGgqq3nPpWS3n72bAsYsKx0WMtMezwsZ9skRsrKNpSLXUjYQhFjqCsZX_JnlK9mMZTrKvbft19H7sUQHtGAowGhoWMYrasNz2USpd7ik/s1600/Speed_Comics_01_p024.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 292px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQquJqiAjdNXTGC6eqkX6RlAe0yaHsVkFx9aSpmGgqq3nPpWS3n72bAsYsKx0WMtMezwsZ9skRsrKNpSLXUjYQhFjqCsZX_JnlK9mMZTrKvbft19H7sUQHtGAowGhoWMYrasNz2USpd7ik/s400/Speed_Comics_01_p024.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5466750647571840274" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpo4LVF7uBaKi83lcHB5TeRKso4YGu8obZ2DcE5B-BbYKCAAZXoMy0H8ZfxsBJ4AXdZ1XBgk1f9RxcLKT7Jw3hl9hDgxXF_SmCBdzhdmqJrJJJthRH1HhTZm9JVYhsDSSzkvdske464Raa/s1600/Speed_Comics_01_p025.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 285px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpo4LVF7uBaKi83lcHB5TeRKso4YGu8obZ2DcE5B-BbYKCAAZXoMy0H8ZfxsBJ4AXdZ1XBgk1f9RxcLKT7Jw3hl9hDgxXF_SmCBdzhdmqJrJJJthRH1HhTZm9JVYhsDSSzkvdske464Raa/s400/Speed_Comics_01_p025.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5466750638082949378" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3fsOW3MKKOmNX_eYTJ8_TplE2AGigZVEuUEwLXYM-ApLGgtfVb3JbMBDZnQjTxkmS8N5BJxeO-xZmC7Q7WPw0Vjb8r4PUdbG2jdF7ucEcMPg_0KUEIx89nhuRbm2D2C6vhVCM5TRW4FJa/s1600/Speed_Comics_01_p026.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 288px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3fsOW3MKKOmNX_eYTJ8_TplE2AGigZVEuUEwLXYM-ApLGgtfVb3JbMBDZnQjTxkmS8N5BJxeO-xZmC7Q7WPw0Vjb8r4PUdbG2jdF7ucEcMPg_0KUEIx89nhuRbm2D2C6vhVCM5TRW4FJa/s400/Speed_Comics_01_p026.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5466750633814285602" border="0" /></a>"Stunning... breath-taking...sweeping..." These and other laudatory adjectives still usher from the flabbergasted lips of the readers of Maurice Scott, some 70 years after the original publication of this early masterpiece of the GEP.<br /><br />"'Shock' Gibson" engulfed almost half the pages of <span style="font-style: italic;">Speed Comics'</span> premiere issue. This, in an era when most comic magazines sought to pack their pages with a quantity of various features. How--and why--did this title so go against the grain of the industry?<br /><br />Maurice Scott's father owned the printing presses upon which <span style="font-style: italic;">Speed Comics</span> was published! Young Maurice had a compulsive need to constantly draw. With the rise of the comic magazines, his father, Judson Scott, saw a way to channel his son's affliction into some extra income.<br /><br />Maurice made up the stories as he feverishly drew them directly onto Bristol board with a #2 brush. He never knew when--or how--his improvised tales would end. Judson Scott put up 60% of the seed money for <span style="font-style: italic;">Speed Comics</span>. He knew his son's intense, vivid work would appeal to the young reader. He was right.<br /><br />The strain of sustaining this level of high quality work took a quick toll on Maurice Scott. His work became increasingly sloppier and disjointed. After achieving narrative precision and lasting excellence with this debut "yarn," young Scott lost his rudder.<br /><br />While "Gibson" remained appealing to American comic book readers--retaining a typical 22-page length per tale--other <span style="font-style: italic;">Speed Comics </span>contributors, such as Richard Briefer and Robert Powell, openly expressed their resentment at this nepotism. Both men often had only four to six pages in which to tell their panelological tales. Their umbrage is understandable, given the sharp, swift decline in quality that afflicted Scott's efforts.<br /><br />Fate took its ghastly toll on the evening of February 3, 1941. Judson Scott, while inspecting the press run of a dog toy catalog, tripped on an electrical cord and fell directly between two three-ton rolls of paper. He was crushed flat. Bits of his remains dotted thousands of the catalogs, which went out into American homes the next week.<br /><br />With Scott <span style="font-style: italic;">pere</span> out of the picture, Scott junior was given his "walking papers." "'Shock' Gibson," which was owned, part and parcel by Alfred Harvey's publishing company, was quickly passed onto a new creative team. Judson Scott's World Printing Services was shuttered, and its presses sold to the New York <span style="font-style: italic;">Herald-Tribune</span>. It's said that fragments of Judson Scott's remains still lingered in the press's massive gears, and found their way onto thousands of copies of the popular daily newspaper.<br /><br />Maurice Scott may have been "a flash in the bulb," but he deserves to be remembered--and cherished--for his stunning masterpiece of the panelological form. One cannot debate the merits of this exhaustive saga. If this, indeed, be the lone issue of <span style="font-style: italic;">Speed Comics</span> to remain in my collection, so be it. Subsequent issues have their undeniable merits, but only this first issue produced a monumental masterwork of this stripe.<br /><br />Speaking of stripes, I have forgotten Dorrie's need for that orange powder. I must be off to Shakey's Grocery Guild for another bag of "NARANJA NOMBRE OCHO." (This is a Mexican food dye, you see.) Adois for now, and keep the faith, friend! Know that my collection--and panelological passions-- shall continue, no matter what!Mason J. Morayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16288522457980212295noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2577154746554800558.post-83880283283944609352010-04-23T17:08:00.000-07:002010-04-23T18:27:09.268-07:00TRAGEDY STRIKES! THIEVERY DEVASTATES AUTHOR'S PERSONAL LIFE!Friends, a broken man writes these words you now read. Terror, desperation, sorrow, anger and a gaping, deep pain wrack my frail mortal frame.<br /><br />No, it is not illness. Nor is it the death of a loved one. To the outward world--to the fools and gadflies who dabble in the mere surface of life, all is seemingly well here. Dorrie's Diner continues to flourish. Our competition, Ngo's Snak-Shak, suffered a dreadful but poetic end several days ago. The turncoat, Pearl Kroger, nearly died of botulism after her third meal at the Snak-Shak.<br /><br />With the weight of the <span style="font-style: italic;">Courier-Express</span> upon them--as the paper's star reviewer lay in a comatose state of partial paralysis--the godless jackals were escorted to the county line and told where to go.<br /><br />Their pitiful "shak" was burned to the ground, in an eerie recurrence of the original fire that gutted the Herbevaux estate, on that very spot, many years prior. I doubt our fair town shall see the likes of those rascals again!<br /><br />If only this were the most of my woes. Oh, friends, I can conceal the sad facts no longer.<br /><br />My comic book collection has been stolen!<br /><br />Not all of it, I am fortunate to say. Thanks to "Sparks" Spinkle's custodianship of the Pantheon, several hundred of my choicest panelological gems were safe and sound inside the house. Carefully stored in sealed mylar bags, tucked into neat acid-free storage boxes, around 600 of my "babies" were either in "Sparks"' room, or in my "den."<br /><br />'Tis some small consolation. But when you consider the vastness of my collection--in excess of 40,000 comic magazines!--600 is, as they say, a mere "dropped bucket."<br /><br />The scoundrels struck as the Snak-Shak was being burnt to the ground. An effluvium of local residents gathered around the garish, reeking "Shak" with axes, tiki-torches and gasoline. It became something of a block party. All gathered to cheer on the lapping red flames. Off-duty firemen stood at the ready with CO2 devices, in case the fire grew too frenzied.<br /><br />Oh, it was joy. We sang, and danced, and consumed S'mores and deliciously charred marshmallows on sticks. I quickly re-arranged the letters on my sign-on-wheels to read:<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center; color: rgb(255, 0, 0);"><span style="font-size:180%;"><span style="font-weight: bold;font-family:verdana;" >DING DONG THE SHAK IS DEAD!</span></span> <span style="font-size:180%;"><span style="font-weight: bold;font-family:verdana;" >LONG LIVE DORRIE'S DINER!!!</span></span><br /></div><br />It took three of those heavy-duty orange extension cords to stretch down the street, but the sign, with its tinkling strains of Scott Joplin's "Entertainer," proved a big "hit" with the crowd.<br />That is, until general consensus dictated that the sign be shut off. "I can't stand that tune anymore," one young man cried. Fearing mob violence--for a crowd stoked by the roaring flames of destruction are capable of riot!--I unplugged the sign.<br /><br />I had to enlist the aid of several young "turks" to help push the sign back up the street. It is, understandably, rather heavy. The street takes a considerable incline, and I feared I might lose control of the leviathan, only to see it soar into the rapid traffic of East Shepherd Street, where it would be quickly smashed to bits, and the likely cause of several violent deaths!<br /><br />It was not 'til mid-day, the next day, that I noticed the theft. Oh, dear friends, my day had gone so swimmingly to that point! Our diner did a roaring breakfast trade. Dorrie's Mango-Froth French-Toast English Muffins, served open-faced with brandy-flavored syrup, are so popular we can't keep the mango flavoring on hand.<br /><br />We'd just about wrapped up the lunch period. I sensed a lull in business, and ducked out to catch a breath of crisp spring air.<br /><br />Put yourself in my shoes, friend. I so innocently rolled open the sliding glass doors... walked out into the patio area of the backyard... narrowly missed banging my right knee on our gas grill... looked up into the mellow, sunny afternoon... and then, as always, my gaze went out, fondly, to the Pantheon, that humble gatherum of all that is good and kind in the world...<br /><br />only to see the hasp broken--the lock gone--and the doors yawning open!<br /><br />Only a few sad remnants lined the floor of the Pantheon (hereafter, the Former Pantheon, as its security has been inexorably breached for all time). Among them was my incomplete copy of <span style="font-style: italic;">Speed Comics</span> #1.<br /><br />The thugs had left behind a few long-boxes of "cartoon critter" and romance comics--remnants of Marilou's bygone collection. Obviously, these wretched near-do-wells were "in the know" of the most desirable panelological "goodies" hidden in the Former Pantheon.<br /><br />Otherwise, thousands of the comic magazines I have so fervently gathered, since my induction to the hobby, and art form, in the 1950s, were, plain and simply, gone!<br /><br />Naturally, a catastrophe of this stripe soon became part of the public record:<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBFkvykAW0G16NLBpPbjEJLgwq469TgT48qAPSSRvmigLywHtmOLMWeJZNnyhWUKfRgislJqDajKLhJ3TaoCePNFXftxMa5hNRpdzLKFll-pN1cM7Tj6iYzwSLMjfvzfpf0-K9iGfuvg1M/s1600/Comic-book-theft.png"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 346px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBFkvykAW0G16NLBpPbjEJLgwq469TgT48qAPSSRvmigLywHtmOLMWeJZNnyhWUKfRgislJqDajKLhJ3TaoCePNFXftxMa5hNRpdzLKFll-pN1cM7Tj6iYzwSLMjfvzfpf0-K9iGfuvg1M/s400/Comic-book-theft.png" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5463503241254948242" border="0" /></a><br />I won't pretend that I am blind to the condescending tone of this article. The <span style="font-style: italic;">Courier-Express</span> reporters clearly have thicker fish to fry. Had it been a collection of beer cans, or hot rods, the story would be taken seriously, and would have appeared on the front page of the paper. (This piece was buried on the seventh page of the B section, "Local Things," right beside the "Jumble" puzzle game.)<br /><br />You'll note that I concealed the fact that some 600 comic magazines remain in my safe-keeping. Although Dorrie chided me for this lack of full disclosure, I did not want these psychotic vandals to pay me a return visit in the night.<br /><br />I have compiled a list of suspects. I'm not at liberty to name names at this moment, but I shall drop some hints. Might it have been a man who is fond of gym shorts as his chosen attire--a man given to long soliloquies? Or might it have been a mincing "designer" who has been firmly but politely banished from our premises?<br /><br />Or--more sinisterly--might it have been some of the shadowy folk who manned the rival "Snak-Shak?" Surely those sinister foes would bear a grudge against Dorrie's Diner. Their spies might have easily infiltrated our home. Or, perhaps, they heard tell of "the old man with the funny books," as children in this neighborhood are given to call me.<br /><br />I trust you will forgive me for not presenting a panelological tale in today's "post." I am fortunate to still retain the core of my collection--632 of the finest treasures from my "A-list," plus another 487 from Marilou's holdings (which, admittedly, fall outside my general areas of panelological interest, but possess sublime sentimental value).<br /><br />I withheld another nugget of information from the "coppers." Since childhood, I have "branded" my cherished comic magazines with a secret symbol, the meaning of which is known only to me. Said symbol is inscribed, with a #1 pencil, somewhere on the margins of the pages of every comic magazine in my collection.<br /><br />Here 'tis:<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMzGELaHfXzfhkBb6Ap3qOEJ1LokSsqhyphenhyphennodByXJpo1frs3FWTHeWyjXNqXzQ2SpO3IUt1QtG9k7g4NKhSHgRxIdsvTc6kf0kMg4KXZxQ2ygqrpF5xtfvwmjvQobdjLsWWgM24Ub8tLlZw/s1600/MJM-brand.png"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 91px; height: 180px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMzGELaHfXzfhkBb6Ap3qOEJ1LokSsqhyphenhyphennodByXJpo1frs3FWTHeWyjXNqXzQ2SpO3IUt1QtG9k7g4NKhSHgRxIdsvTc6kf0kMg4KXZxQ2ygqrpF5xtfvwmjvQobdjLsWWgM24Ub8tLlZw/s400/MJM-brand.png" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5463507009505788066" border="0" /></a><br /><br />MJM-- for <span style="font-weight: bold;">M</span>ason <span style="font-weight: bold;">J</span>ames <span style="font-weight: bold;">M</span>oray. An insignificant mark to the unschooled eye. Yet this mark, combined with my exhaustive ledgers of the Former Pantheon's holdings, may yet save the day for my cherished comic magazines!<br /><br />Do not let my apparent calm disarm you, friend. I have cried bitter tears over this loss. By day, I am, as those musical Platters once sang, "the greatest pretender." To our clientele, I am jolly, robust, chipper Mason--friend to all, man of good cheer and a glib word. But inside, knives of terror rip my soul with each breath I draw.<br /><br />If the person or persons who stole the greater part of my collection should, by chance, be readers of this "blog," let me stop for a moment to address them.<br /><br /><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic; color: rgb(0, 153, 0);">Fiends! Filthy rats! How dare you deprive me of my life's work? Thugs! Plebeian apes! What care you for the panelological arts? My hatred for you is only exceeded by my pity for your pathetic, mangled souls. You are the scum of the scum of the scum of the earth! May you experience one eternity of pain in your wretched souls for each of the precious comic magazines you have thieved! May the spectre of poverty, despair and illness dog your steps to the end of your cancerous, vulgar days! </span></span><br /><br />My pardons, if such bold and forthright language should shock you, my dear, innocent, panelologically inclined brethren. But consider if such a fate should occur to you. Would you not feel this same welling-up of wrath and bile?<br /><br />Please hold me in your prayers. Despite the terror which clenches my heart with each miserable ticking second of the clock, I feel a faint but compelling sense of comfort. I know that this--my life's work--shall not be in vain! I am assured that my "babies" will return to the fold, none the worse for their unexpected adventure.<br /><span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(102, 51, 255);font-size:85%;" ><br />(Side note: should any local "costumed crime fighters" care to investigate this case further, please note that I have removed the board I recently nailed to the crawl-space beneath the front porch. Feel free to don your action costumes and rescue my panelological treasures!)</span>Mason J. Morayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16288522457980212295noreply@blogger.com0