A Comic-Lover’s Memories
Chapter Two
“Aquaman and the Kents”
Before we go too much further, I have to tell the story of the only comics my mother ever bought for me… at least, that she knew of.
It was early 1963. As far as I can recall, I had two comics to my name, an issue of
Rocky and his Fiendish Friends, and
Star-Spangled War Stories 105. Don’t know that having them around bothered my mother or father all that much. I’m guessing no, because sometime around the 21st of March, 1963 -- which I know thanks to the irreplaceable Mike’s Amazing World (Hosannas to thee, Mike!) --my mother and I and my younger brother were in a candy store, and she bought us each a comic.
I have only the haziest of memories of the event, as opposed to one of the comics in particular. Now my brother was only 6, and was not, nor ever would be a comics reader, so I’m sure I convinced him, in the underhanded and amoral way that older brothers have, not only to pick the comic I recommended for him, but to request of my mother that she buy them for us. As I said, I’m guessing, but I’m willing to bet I schemed my way into those comics by using my younger brother.
I have no idea why it was just the two of us with my mother. That’s the way I remember it, and I may be wrong, because in March of 1963, my mother had a lot more to do than hanging around candy stores with me and my 6-year-old brother.
I also had a sister who’d just turned five, another brother who was going on two and a half and twin sisters who were 15 months old. I’m not sure my mom was driving yet, and we only had one car, so I have no idea why we weren’t home.
All I know is that this was the day the comics hook went completely in; Kid Hal fell for good that day, and there would be no going back to his pre-lapsarian diet of
How and Why books for his reading fix.
I can’t remember what other books surrounded our (read: my) two choices, but in retrospect, and considering my age and relative unfamiliarity with the super-hero comic as a concept, we couldn’t have done much better than the pair of comics we brought home:
Aquaman 9, my brother’s “choice,” and
Superman 161, the one I picked entirely for myself.
The
Aquaman issue had a story kids and older readers would enjoy: magical transformations, a giant crab-monster, an angry King Neptune, a didn’t-see-that-coming twist, and a dangerous threat foiled. That the story was lushly illustrated (not drawn) by the peerless Nicholas Peter Cardy made it that much more memorable. I doubt my brother did much more than leaf through it, but it was a far far better thing he did for me, and I know that although he has no memory of any of any of this, he holds no grudge against me for persuading him to go for
Aquaman 9 rather than, say, a couple of packs of baseball cards.
As fine a comic as
Aquaman 9 was, had it been my only purchase that day, I wonder if I would have continued down the path of comics, or if I had, if I would have done so with as much enthusiasm and determination. You see, that issue of
Superman, which I’m sure lured me with the war-themed cover depicting Superman being fruitlessly assailed by vaguely Japanese-looking, but obviously “Oriental” soldiers drawn in the style of comics and comic strips, firing a machine gun, a bazooka and a cannon directly at his chest. All that’s missing from the fiendish-looking guy on the bottom is a balloon showing him screaming “AI-I-I-EEE!”
Such, I’m afraid, was the world in 1963.
As was often the practice in those days, the cover story was the second story in the issue, probably as a way to force kids to buy the book. I’m sure that Mort Weisinger in particular was banking on an immutable law of nature: as soon as a kid picked up a comic intending to leaf through it, starting with the first page, the cranky guy at the newsstand or the candy store would say, “Hey, kid, dis ain’t a liberry! Buy it or put it back!”
Given these conditions, the poor little kid with just 12 cents to spend rarely had any chance to see if the books with the cool covers looked anything like that inside. It was grab the book you thought would be best and then get the h-e-double hockey sticks out of there.
(And we wonder why so many Silver Age books sold even though the drop-dead gorgeous covers by the likes of Infantino and Anderson hid interiors by the likes of Bill Ely, Lee Elias and Sheldon Moldoff aping Bob Kane!)
Now, that cover story, which involved the entire Planet staff (Perry, Clark, Lois and Jimmy) “invading” a Pacific island alongside a film crew making a movie. I won’t ruin the story, but when what seems to be a Japanese garrison still fighting World War Two resists the supposed invasion, all kinds of Edmond Hamilton goodness happens, including Clark’s being shot, an emergency blood transfusion from Supergirl and aliens that breathe not oxygen, but chlorine. (They’d’ve been right at home in many a community pool of that era.)
However, as good as that story was, it probably would not have made me a comics fan for sure. What did, I think, was the lead story, blurbed on the cover with the kind of urgency that only Ira Schnapp’s lettering could create. Looking back, I do think that I was as attracted to buying that issue of
Superman because of Schnapp’s blurb as I was by the picture of Superman’s chest ricocheting bullets back at th enemy soldiers like Willie Mays firing line-drive doubles into the gap.
“EXTRA!” it read. “The Last Days of Ma and Pa Kent!”
My little life would never be the same.
To be continued...
Bummer.
