1983 Original Dokuzetsu Momohei Tsuyoi Ka Yowai Ka!? manga art by Kimura Tomoe

On our trip to Japan, I tried to track down ephemera relevant to my childhood experiences with their cultural exports with little success. Aside from a few recent manga collections, the only Golgo 13 item I came back with was a tiny figurine similar to a large Heroclix, but with a suction cup in its back. The only English on the item is "ucc Good Coffee Smile" so I'm guessing-- mug decoration? Aside from that, I finally found a small Gatchaman color print at a legit old school comic shop. There were newsstands with manga all over, and we hit several Mandarake, including the multistory one in Tokyo with an elevator. Still, those were mostly filled with 21st century artifacts, and don't get me started on the malls filled with One Piece/Dragonball/Attack on Titan items. No, we only ever found one really dense & dusty popcult tchotchke dumping ground (it was a claustrophobia-inducing number not quite wide enough for any one fat American walk through) and a single true, terribly humid Android's Dungeon deal. That's where my partner finally found a set of water-damaged Candy Candy volumes, and pretty much the only place with original manga art.

So much of the Japanese otaku scene feels prefabricated-- the type of stuff offered every month in the Previews catalog, just flea markets full of stuff you'll see at every domestic con. I've never been big on anime, so my tastes are either for nostalgia for Super Nintendo video games and afternoon cartoons, or just stuff that strikes me as cool. Japan runs on yen, so I had a finite amount of physical currency to last our entire trip. I didn't want to go begging to my girlfriend for toy money, so I was very frugal with my purchases. I mostly bought stuff that I only saw in a particular region to take back as souvenirs for the folks back home. That's why I passed on a ¥3500 Dawn of the Dead movie program, which caused me a bit of non-buyers remorse. Anyway, this one shop had a lot of wicked stuff, including the original art of complete stories in slipcases, like one of those Artifact Editions of the actual artifacts rather than reproductions. Those cost tens of thousands of yen, and in retrospect it would have been totally worth it, but I was still being very conservative. I was also afraid that they might be proofs or something, so I only bought one to take back to the hotel. It was clearly on inspection the original boards, and so we went back for one more, but I should have splurged. It's not like I'm going back to Japan... probably ever, in all honesty. It was a very expensive and fairly arduous trip, and my partner didn't have the best time.

The two pieces I bought were ¥8000 each, so roughly $150. Both were by the same artist, who was unsurprisingly unfamiliar to me. Knowing that I'd never get anywhere with the kanji on the bag, I asked the shopkeeper to tell me what he could about the pieces. He spoke almost no English, which is still a million times better than my Japanese, so I just jotted down a few cryptic notes on his Dumbo Post-Its. "Published in Young Jump. 1984. Poisonous Tongue. Momohira. Strong or weak. Tomoi. Kimura." While searching for some specific missing items and reorganizing in general to take advantage of all the power outages here in Texas, I came across the Post-It again and figured I better take advantage of the reunion before I misplace it again. With a bit of online research, the artist appears to be 木村知夫, or Kimura Tomoe (when the names aren't flipped due conflicting Eastern/Western conventions.) The strip seems to be Dokuzetsu Momohei Tsuyoi Ka Yowai Ka!? (毒舌桃平 強いか弱いか!? 全7巻セット), a shōnen manga (targeting teenage boys.) It's about a young couple willing to die in poverty rather than be separated, and ran from 1983-84, producing a seven volume collection. The writer, Kazuo Koike (小池 一夫), studied under Golgo 13's Takao Saito and is best known for Crying Freeman, both in my limited manga wheelhouse.

Tones are my kink, but the other thing that drew me to these specific pieces was the sensuality. Cheesecake and beefcake are common enough, but the delicate intimacy and tasteful nudity here are uncommon in my experience with comics. You have beautiful male and female forms in vulnerable and romantic situations where the sexuality of the characters isn't compromised. But again, the zip tone usage is extensive and exquisite. These are scans of reduced photocopies, so a lot is lost in translation. On the first piece, the top two inches are solid black, Then the wavy tones are adhered, running to either edge of the page so that but for the scotch tape texture on your fingers, it's tough to spot it. The tone is cut around the central figures, who then have horizontal tones hand cut round their forms and the white areas of the eyes and mouths.

My understanding is that the second piece was made either for a wall poster or some form of promotional work. This one also has two tones, dot pattern for the water and horizontal lines for figure shading. The cross-stitched sky appears to have been exhaustively created by hand, based on the asymmetry and the physical texture on the page. The Japanese boards are much thinner then western counterparts, so enormous delicacy must have been required. The artist also relies heavily on liquid paper for the sea foam and highlights on the figures. Don't miss the ornate back tattoo on the female, which though covered by the horizontal zip, appears to have been custom drawn dot by dot. There's a large "81" written on the back, and some yellowing/browning from actual tape. This was used to apply a tracing paper overlay with kanji suggesting a first chapter with a circled Arabic "1". I've opted not to throw up that scan.

I adorev these pieces, and my only regret is that I didn't grab a third available from the series, this one involving some form of demonic entity and a lot of lumber. Thematically though, this works better as a duology. I want to hang them, but I'm afraid of causing damage, in spite of Japan being about as muggy as Houston and without common use of air conditioning. If they lasted over thirty years under those conditions, many hanging from a thread from a ceiling, how much more harm could I do?

Comic Reader Résumé: Spring-Summer, 1982

ré·su·mé [rez-oo-mey, rez-oo-mey]
noun
1. a summing up; summary.
2. a brief written account of personal, educational, and professional qualifications and experience, as that prepared by an applicant for a job.

March, 1982 was a decidedly off month for me. My copy of Conan the Barbarian #135 by Steven Grant, Mark Silvestri & Josef Rubinstein came out of a grocery store three pack purchased by my father four or five years after publication. I probably bought The Saga of Swamp Thing #2, but only because I was a sucker for photo covers, and that might have just come out of a cheapie bin as late as 1989. I have no recollection of either story.



I definitely picked The Warlord #58-61, because I was really into Mike Grell's riff on The Man in the Iron Mask. I'm just as confident I bought them a year or two after the fact at the flea market, and that I could never force myself to read the Arion back-ups.



By comparison, April of 1982 was boffo. DC Comics Presents #47 came home with me because it was the first Masters of the Universe comic book tie-in, and I was totally into He-Man at the time. Paul Kupperberg's story was okay, I guess, but I totally hated the art by Curt Swan and Mike DeCarlo. I could have sworn Skeletor was killed when He-Man threw his sword into the villain's chest, so I was confused when he turned back up again in another comic. When Conan stabbed somebody, they tended to stay dead. I always found super-heroes mingling with licensed properties weird, and I was somehow savvy enough even then to recognize instances like this where it occurred. I have absolutely no memory of the back-up, "Whatever Happened to Sandy the Golden Boy?"



The Rose and the Thorn had an origin recap in The Brave and the Bold #188, and the multiple personality disorder feminist angle tripped out my unsophisticated brain. The cover and interiors by Jim Aparo were striking, and writer Robert Kanigher had me hooked with the title, "A Grave as Wide as the World." The Nemesis back-up by Cary Burkett and Dan Spiegle was less impressive, as I found the art ugly and a disservice to the reservedly cool look of Nemesis, sort of a Steve McQueen type.



I recall looking through a buddy's copy of Marvel Fanfare #3 with the sweet Michael Golden art, which was likely my introduction to Ka-Zar and the Savage Land. I also really dug my pal's Avengers #221 because of the novel voting ballot cover to select two new team members. I distinctly recall reading Avengers #222 at the beauty salon where my grandmother got her hair done. The team of Jim Shooter, Steven Grant, Greg LaRocque & Brett Breeding did a fine job by my standards, as I retained a soft spot for Masters of Evil Moonstone and Tiger Shark for years. I especially thought Whirlwind was cool, aside from the dippy helmet, because he could deal so much damage while protected by his tornado. Egghead was the odd man out, a wimpy scientist amongst scary villains.



I guess I was a bimonthly reader. I don't believe I bought anything in May, except perhaps the second part of the Rose & Thorn team-up in The Brave and the Bold #189. Just as likely, I fished it out of a back issue box years later. It had nazis, who were pretty ubiquitous thanks to Raiders of the Lost Ark, but it didn't not stick to my brain like the first part.



You would think a kid set loose for the summer would be all over comic books, but these were pretty much dead months to me. In June, I only picked up Weird War Tales #115, around the time the Creature Commandos feature merged with G.I. Robot. Robert Kanigher and Fred Carrillo crafted the affecting tale "You Can't Pin a Medal on a Robot," which impressed me with its stoicism and depressed me with its pathos. Those poor disabled soldiers, fighting for countries that dubbed them freaks and sent them off on suicide missions.



My one new comic for July was Batman Annual #8, which I pulled off a spinner rack at Gemco. I was fascinated by "The Messiah of the Crimson Sun" by Mike W. Barr and Trevor Von Eeden. I had never seen art or coloring like that before, the latter provided by Lynn Varley of eventual The Dark Knight Returns fame. It was beautiful, striking, and had scope of apocalyptic magnitude, up to and including the appearance of a Christlike figure. It was my first Rā's al Ghūl story, who remains one of my favorite villains, Batman or otherwise. Of course, any time I read a Rā's story of less grandeur or with art inferior to the high standards set here, I feel the creators are just plain doing it wrong. I still have my original copy, sans cover and some early pages, plus a complete reading copy. This was the first "graphic novel" I ever read in terms of feel and quality, despite it simply being an annual. Has DC ever collected all the '80s Barr Ra's stories in a trade paperback? I'd much prefer to see something like this in a hardcover than the umpteenth repackaging of Alan Moore stories. I guess that I was so bowled over, I skipped August entirely.

Comic Reader Résumé: February, 1982

ré·su·mé [rez-oo-mey, rez-oo-mey]
noun
1. a summing up; summary.
2. a brief written account of personal, educational, and professional qualifications and experience, as that prepared by an applicant for a job.

February, 1982 was my second month of collecting new comics off the newsstand. I claimed to have bought an entirely new selection for this round, but I have vague recollections of having owned The Brave and the Bold #186, in which Batman teamed-up with Hawkman against the Fadeaway Man. I liked all but one of these characters, so it's possible I bought it new, but the memory is so vague that I can't be sure. I doubt the story by Dan Mishkin and Gary Cohn left much of an impression, although the lame villain couldn't have helped. The only thing that really sticks with me are flashes of Jim Aparo panels, which likely would have been enough to bring me back for more.



While I vividly remember a great many of these books from DC in-house ads and as purchases years later, my actual, factual, confirmed purchases of this month were fairly slight. I still have my copy of The New Teen Titans #19, which was likely never swiped from me by neighborhood kids because it only just barely rates as a comic book anymore. The pages are so brown they qualify as a separate ethnic group in the U.S. census, and scraps of torn pages lie sideways with the intact portions bound by polybag. This may have been my introduction to a team that has stuck with me much of my reading life, and almost certainly my introduction to Marv Wolfman and George Perez (outside spot cover illustrations from the latter.) It's a fantastic looking book, especially Perez's Hawkman, in part due to the artist clearly providing much tighter pencils to resist the wet blanket that is Romeo Tanghal finishes. The story, involving Hindu gods, weirded me out as a kid, especially their rather graphic destruction in the end.



My other new comic of the month, out the same week, was The Saga of Swamp Thing #1 by Martin Pasko and Tom Yeates. I can't honestly state what possessed me to do so. It had a swell cover, and Tom Yeates was a really appealing artist, but the story by Martin Pasko and the heavy atmosphere was way over my head. This would not be the last time Swamp Thing would do this to me, because my only sweet spot with the character was reprints of the early '70s Wein/Wrightson stories. I tried Alan Moore too early at first, then too late as an adult, when his innovations had become tropes. There was also a Phantom Stranger back-up by Bruce Jones and Dan Spiegle. I'd already been introduced to the Stranger through a Jim Aparo Brave and the Bold, but this creepy yarn was a whole other matter. While the story of a black minister fleecing his own people stuck with me, I never really warmed to Spiegel's art elsewhere.



One more maybe before I sign off on this month, Super Goof #69. I know I owned at least one issue of this series, and though I thought it had him battling the Beagle Boys, the character featured here strikes me as reasonable facsimile to facilitate confusion. Funny animals were rarely my bag.

Comic Reader Résumé: January, 1982

I don't believe I'll ever know for sure exactly when I became a comic book fan, most likely because I had a comic collecting uncle in the house in the early years of my life. I had plenty of stuff that stayed in print throughout the '70s, like Power Records and several Whitman coloring books (Captain America, Superman: "World without Water!" I saw Superman: The Motion Picture in the theater, and I can't recall there ever being a time when comic books weren't around. They were certainly always on my short list for purchases at garage sales and flea markets, as well. However, while working on a project, I visited the justifiably named Mike's Amazing World of DC Comics to take advantage of his "Time Machine." Mike took it upon himself to begin offering a chronological listing of every DC book by actual and cover dated availability. What's more, he's recently expanded his Amazing Worlds to include Marvel, Gold Key, and Charlton comics, with all of their assorted monthly titles available on a virtual "newsstand." This has allowed me to determine ground zero for the beginning of my collecting new comics by schlepping down to the 7-11 with my own pocket change: January, 1982.



I can't say for certain that I bought the given issues upon their release, and I'm not sure Mike's dates are ironclad, either. That said, there's a very good chance my first brand new purchase was The Amazing Spider-Man #227 by Roger Stern, John Romita, Jr. and Jim Mooney. It was a fun Black Cat story, and while Mooney's inks weren't choice, it was still a good looking book. I still have my original copy stewing in a polybag, the brown pages surely acidic as all hell and unrestrained by a cover or the first/last pages.

According to Mike, my second comic would be The Flash #308. It was kind of a neat story by the usually swell and highly underrated Cary Bates where the Scarlet Speedster's battle with a mummy was paralleled by some children at play. It may be heretical, but if there's one classic artist I never developed an appreciation for, it's Carmine Infantino. I hate his stuff to this day, as well as many of the people he influenced. However, the reason I bought the book was the embellishment of Dennis Jensen, who did a magnificent job of making Infantino look pretty. Yet, I suspect that despite the solid plot and inks, this would also be the beginning of a lifelong dislike of super speed characters. I could never get into Runs-Fast-Man, in any costume or at any company. The Dr. Fate back-up strip by Martin Pasko, Keith Giffen and Larry Mahlstedt makes a liar out of me, because I could have sworn my introduction to the character was through the Super Powers Collection. I have no recollection of this story, except perhaps the vaguest impression of a half splash to start it off.



Since the Flash was undated, I can't be positive The Brave and the Bold #185 was my third comic. I parted company with the first book quickly, but that Batman, Robin and Green Arrow team-up was in my comic pile next to my grandmother's couch for years. I'd already been turned on to the O'Neill/Adams stuff, and after that Rich Buckler cover, I found the interiors by Adrian Gonzales and Mike DeCarlo quite disappointing. Gonzales mostly stuck to Arak and war comics, which helps explain why your first question was probably "who the hell is Adrian Gonzales?" Writer Don Karr had an even less impressive record, and his story probably helped drive me toward Marvel Comics for most of the '80s. It was just one of the overwhelming majority of Penguin stories that are underwhelming, involving giant bird cages and Ollie not getting his eyes clawed out, damn it.

I suspect that I had a copy of Captain Carrot and His Amazing Zoo Crew #2, but my memory is too hazy to comment, if that was in fact the case. Not too bad of a month for my first as a certified collector, but not enough to make my bona fides, since I didn't stick with any of them going into February. That's a tale for another time, though.

How about yourself, dear reader? Any memories from your first month of collecting comics, or January, 1982 specifically?

2010 "Judd Winick Named DC Comics Editor-in-Chief" Promotional Art by Billy Penn

Click To Enlarge


I recognize there's was a lot of love for Denny O'Neil in the '70s for restoring Batman to "Dark Knight Detective" status and for coming up with Green Lantern/Green Arrow. An alternative view (mine) is that O'Neil was technically a terrible writer. I'd say he exemplified the growing pains between the Silver Age "middle aged white guys writing adventure stories for children" and the Bronze Age "twentysomething white guys writing adventure stories for man-children." Read today, O'Neil's scripts are cringe-inducing in their hoary dialogue, sensationalism and self-importance. In my opinion, it wasn't until O'Neil stopped drinking and embraced the hubris in himself and his characters that he finally earned his stature in the industry.

In a roundabout way, my point is that Judd Winick was the Denny O'Neil of the aughts, and maybe he should start drinking/drugging to improve his writing, before he drives his remaining audience to do so. Certainly, this news announcement has me wanting to call in sick to work and crawl into a bottle. Check it out.

Captain Comet Postcard by George Pérez

I've enjoyed the little walks down memory lane I've taken while discussing George Pérez's 1984 DC Comics postcards, and have decided to continue without the benefit of actual postcards. I'd also like to talk about non-DC characters at some point, and since Pérez has drawn most everybody notable in comics, he'll be my go-to guy for these things. Here, I've altered a panel from 1986's History of the DC Universe #2, inked by Karl Kesel...

CAPTAIN COMET
A mutant born one hundred thousand years ahead of his time, Adam Blake left Earth to explore space, aided by his incredible mental and physical abilities. He returned twenty years later to battle the Secret Society of Super-Heroes with his evolved strength, speed, intelligence, stamina, telekinesis and telepathy.

Captain Comet was in the mid-80s house ad for DC Challenge, but with his nondescript red costume turned mostly toward the back, I mistook him for a generic sci-fi character. Truth to tell, I wasn't so far off, as Comet started his life off as a curious hybrid of bland pulp speculative fiction and a last gasp for the super-hero genre between the Golden and Silver Ages. I want to say my next exposure was thumbing through Secret Society of Super-Villains back issues around 1987, more intrigued by the titular concept, but curious about who exactly was this sole unknown hero tasked with battling a host of bad guys. I learned from somewhere (Who's Who?") that he was the first comic book mutant, predating the X-Men. Besides the Martian Manhunter, Captain Comet was the only official DC super-hero of the 1950s, and with his vast (and similar) powers, I was fascinated by what he must have gotten up to in an era (almost) all his own. I continued to stumble upon Comet over the years, most notably in his '90s revival series, L.E.G.I.O.N. Even with all his potential, he just played straight man to the unethical brilliance of Vril Dox, the amoral mayhem of Lobo, and the more high strung Stealth. Imagine Jim Dial in tights.

I skipped following Comet in his most recent appearances from Mystery in Space, because I was pissed DC broke the mini-series' collection up into two volumes, the first foisting The Weird mini-series onto me in a fairly expensive reprint. I still think there's massive amounts of untapped potential in the character, and fell he's interesting enough to merit his own (long threatened) mini-blog, which I'll subject you to occasionally here at ...nurgh...

1984 Hawkman Postcard by George Pérez

I've had a conflicted relationship with the Hawks. I can't recall a time when I wasn't aware of their existence, and Hawkman had one of the finest action figures in the Super Powers Collection. I salivated over the house ad for The Shadow War of Hawkman, but had to settle for guest appearances and team books to get any kind of fix. Not only were the Hawks mostly exiled from the newsstand, but when Hawkman did appear, he was portrayed as a self-righteous, pushy jerk. I don't think I got serious about the character until the early '90s, when I took a crash course in Thanagarian studies. I picked up a trade paperback of the earliest Silver Age stories from The Brave and the Bold by Gardner Fox and Joe Kubert, the Hawkworld collection "As Above, So Below" by Tim Truman, the Tony Isabella/Richard Howell mini-series and special, and even completed runs of Hawkworld and the 1992 series.

There was so much to like about the Hawks, but also much to hate. Pre-Crisis, Hawkman was a mild-mannered space cop, likable enough, but too milquetoast and narrow to live up to his looks. I preferred the easygoing and clever Hawkgirl/woman, as available. Hawkworld turned her into an irritating ballbuster, but if you could overlook the murder and drug addiction, at least Katar became more introspective. Hawkman eventually began to use his medieval weapons as prescribed, and Hawkwoman's temper was tempered, but any personality they had kind of fell by the wayside. The Golden Age Hawks came into the mix, and the continuity became so toxic, the whole premise went on a shelf for half a decade. I tried the most recent relaunch, and it just didn't do the job. Despite lovely Rags Morales art, an off-game from the usually reliable Geoff Johns put me off.

At this point, I have a hard time getting excited by Hawkman and Hawkwoman. Unlike most DC characters, I'm not even sure who they are. I know the history, but there's so much conflicting characterization, I'm now emotionally detached. I respect the books, but it's tough to claim fandom anymore.

1984 Zatanna Postcard by George Pérez

I probably saw Zatanna for the first time just like this, drawn by George Pérez in the costume he designed for a Justice League of America cover or somesuch. I didn't know then how hard DC was trying to turn her into their own Scarlet Witch at the time, but I do know it never took. I bought her two part guest appearance in early issues of Blue Devil, and like most readers before and since, was more impressed by her girl-next-door approachable quality than the Marvel character's traumatized drama queen style. Unfortunately, DC's never stopped trying to saddle poor Zee with neurosis. They killed off her father before her eyes, subjected her to a magical quasi-rape, sent her off for a time with her assailant, massively reduced her powers, dumped her at Vertigo... it just never stops. As a result, I try to follow Zee's appearances, but not compulsively, attempting to pick the gems from the junk. I don't care near as much about what she can do as how she handles what comes, but it would be nice if someone could figure out the right balance for once.

1984 Black Canary Postcard by George Pérez

P6199


I believe I first encountered Dinah Lance while thumbing through my visiting uncle's copy of Green Lantern/Green Arrow #84. That would have been around 1983, when he paid us a visit after having left the states to live in Hawaii. I remember our visiting a friend of his with a comic collection that filled bookshelves, and being quite envious, even if a lot of it was head comix and Howard the Duck.

This particular issue stuck with me because of the gorgeous Neal Adams/Bernie Wrightson art. Up to that point, I don't recall having seen drawings that were so lifelike, especially the lovely ladies and little details like Ollie's beard and turtleneck. I also wasn't familiar with super-heroes that came across as helpless as Green Lantern after a disguised Black Hand had slipped him a mickey. I haven't even seen a reprint of that story in over a decade, but my mind readily conjures images from the book as I recall them nearly thirty years past.

Of course, this all has little to do with the Black Canary. Like Clea in the stack of Dr. Strange comics my uncle left me, Dinah was just the girlfriend, sometimes in a costume, but rarely more than a few steps above damsel in distress. I didn't much regard Dinah before Justice League International, and even then she was just a straight for the goofier characters to bounce off of. Dinah was gone inside a year, so that she could be victimized and de-powered in Green Arrow: The Longbow Hunters. If I had to guess, I'd say her serial in Action Comics Weekly was the first time she registered as worthy of notice, in part because she'd burnt the terrible replacement costume that reared its truly ugly head in the early-to-mid '80s. I gave her points for sheer audacity, plus the serial was drawn by Randy DuBurke, whose long forgotten style merged Paul Gulacy with Bill Sienkiewicz. This led to my buying her four-issue mini-series, and even a few issues of the ongoing that followed, but the scripts by Sarah Byam left me cold.

As I became more invested in the DC Universe after ditching Marvel in the speculator years, I learned the history of Black Canary. I respected that she was one of the longest active comic book heroines, with membership to major super-teams, and had even been retconned into a JLA founder. Still, I struggled with my respect for what Black Canary represented and the character's shoddy treatment as a hanger-on for decades.

Finally, Chuck Dixon and Gary Frank crafted the first Birds of Prey special, and even though it was Oracle who had brought me to that party, it served as a vehicle for elevating Dinah's regard. Over a hundred issues of the estrocentric team book were fueled by Black Canary, and the premise ran out of gas once she was removed. All in all, I still vastly prefer the original Batgirl and her Earth-2 counterpart the Huntress, but I've always wished Dinah the best, though she rarely gets it.

1984 The Elongated Man Postcard by George Pérez

I believe one of the first times I ever saw the Elongated Man, not to mention the whole of the Justice League (as opposed to "Super Friends,") was on George Pérez's magnificent cover to 1983's Justice League of America #217. I noticed this stretchy guy flinging his neck about in the background, and my response was, "oh, another one." Like most people, I never particularly liked super-heroes with that particular power set. What respect I have for Mr. Fantastic comes from his superior intellect, where I've had to unlearn decades of Plastic Man hate based on his cartoon show and lousy modern comic appearances. Turns out the Jack Cole originals are some of the best comics of the Golden Age.

Leading the discussion back to Elongated Man, I'm already fighting the urge for another tangent. Ralph Dibny was an okay guy, and I liked Sue quite a bit. That doesn't change the fact that as far as I'm concerned, the only interesting thing Elongated Man did in 2 1/2 years of Detroit League service was to pown Vibe in his final outing. His time with Justice League Europe was similarly misspent-- the hero most obviously suited to be in a "funny" League that never pulled any laughs. When your non-powered, unadventurous wife outshines you simply by providing decent supporting work to other characters, you should have your hero card revoked. The only time Elongated Man ever worked for me was as a straight detective, but he was rarely shown in that light, and that was Plastic Man's original territory to boot!

Poor Elongated Man. So little love for you. Many heroes gain a soul with their passing, but even in death, Sue Dibny upstaged him.

Sorry for the lack of flavor text and other details. I don't actually own this postcard, nor DC Comics Classic Library: Justice League of America by George Perez, a recent hardcover that reprints the art from this postcard set. However, I found a pair of pictures on eBay, and doctored them up to preserve here. I understand it's numbered P6197, and was part of a 14 card set, plus a promotional Batman piece. I bothered so that I could offer them up to my other super-hero blog, Justice League Detroit.

1984 The Martian Manhunter Postcard by George Pérez

I'm not 100% sure how I was introduced to J'Onn J'Onzz. I suspect it was either DC Comics house ads circa 1984, or my having bought a heavily discounted Super Powers Collection action figure. I loved that toy, and was given a more thorough feel for the character through his appearance in Crisis on Infinite Earths #7. A saleswoman at Waldenbooks thought I was just too cute in my raggedy Houston Oilers jacket, and gave me the comic for free just before I went on a trip to Colorado Springs. Not only did the Martian Manhunter come off well in the double-sized issue, but in my mind he would always be at his coolest when drawn by the master himself, George Pérez. Also, Supergirl died, but that stuff never takes. There must be something about the nomadic Martian, because a dinged copy of Justice League International #8 was one of the last comics I read in Texas, and a guest appearance in Action Comics #595 was among the first comics I bought when I arrived in Nevada. I'd tried Martian Manhunter#1 in 1988, and was not amused, so I tended to discount any further J'Onn J'Onzz solo reading. I followed the Martian Manhunter's appearance irregularly for years after that, mostly as a result of being a Justice League fan. Alternately, I started buying Justice League Task Force for its Nightwing appearances, and the post-Zero Hour J.L.A. for Wonder Woman and Hawkman. Despite lots of good stories and nostalgia for my action figure, I didn't truly become a diehard fan until 1996, through Mark Waid, Fabian Nicieza, Darick Robertson & Jeff Johnson's Justice League: A Midsummer's Nightmare mini-series. It was like a therapy session had unearth repressed memories. Something about the moment where J'Onzz's family is taken from him again hit me with a tidal wave of emotions related to years of accumulated stories. I was an old lady sitting on the bus sucking humbugs, finally realizing I was a Rider on the Storm. I was a J'Onzz Fan, man! JLA and my introduction to the information superhighway soon followed, and upon learning there were no Martian Manhunter fan sites on the internet, I resolved to one day build the first. It took me a couple of years to get started, by which time a few sites had emerged, but they're long gone now. My Martian Manhunter: The Rock of the JLA lasted a couple or three years, and was a major learning experience. A little over two years ago, inspired by Rob Kelly's The Aquaman Shrine, I decided I would reconstitute my old site material into a daily blog. The Idol-Head of Diabolu has, to this day, barely touched any of the old material. This is one part because I'm a dimwit masochist, another part due to my becoming a better writer, and yet another part due to the format freeing me to both deeper and broader exploration of the character than I would have otherwise considered. Above is one of my favorite images of the Manhunter from Mars, a lovely postcard I picked up on eBay about a decade ago. I used to feature it prominently on my old site, along with the two articles Who is the Martian Manhunter? and J'Onn & Me, neither of which have been restored to the net. George Pérez produced 16 postcards for the unnumbered JLA set. Also featured were the Sword of the Atom (Ray Palmer,) Aquaman, Batman, Black Canary, Elongated Man (& Sue Dibny,) the Flash (Barry Allen,) Firestorm (Ronnie Raymond,) Green Arrow, Green Lantern (Hal Jordan,) Hawkman (and Hawkgirl, of Thanagar,) the new Justice League of America (Detroit Era members Steel II, Gypsy, Vibe and Vixen,) Red Tornado, Superman, Wonder Woman and Zatanna. You can view signed versions of all the cards here. Card Back Text:

THE MARTIAN MANHUNTER Brought to earth by the ill-fated Professor Erdel and unable to return to Mars, J'onn J'onzz adopted human form. His powers include telepathy, super-strength, flight, and invisibility. His only weakness: vulnerability to fire.

Everybody's Tryin' To Buy My Babies

My biggest disappointments from SDCC09 may be found in some of the biggest announcements, acquisitions made by DC and Marvel. I've only read bits and pieces of what on my shores was known as Miracleman, but in its country of origin as Marvelman. This was the Alan Moore series that inspired most of his contemporaries to create deconstructionist super-heroes, who themselves ended up competing with Watchmen years later. I've always wanted to read the whole series, including the Neil Gaiman stuff that ended the run. Both writers can be a bit too remote/precious at times, so I've looked forward to seeing them at a more youthful, emotionally raw place. So long as securing the Marvelman rights from original creator Mick Anglo extends to the later revisions of his work, we've got some very desirable collected editions coming in our future. Heck, Marvel could even milk this thing by rereleasing the book as a maxi-series if they wanted to, so long as they promised the incomplete Gaiman/Buckingham trilogy of arcs would first see print in floppies.

On the other hand, this is Marvel we're talking about. How long after the series has returned to print before someone sees a new ongoing series as a perfect addition to the Ultimates imprint? How long before there are revolving arcs by Paul Jenkins, Warren Ellis, Mark Millar, and God help us, Garth Ennis? From there, how long until the obligatory throwdown with the Sentry in the 616? Marvelman vs. Marvel Zombies. I'm not saying Todd McFarlane's studio was the best home for the property, but at least there was a time a (technical) person was in control, rather than a corporate entity. Reprints aside, won't this all end in exploitation and tears?

I recall when I was a hard core DC fan, and a modest Wildstorm reader, but was ecstatic when the former absorbed the latter. I wanted to see DC pick up some of Wildstorm's edge and talent. Instead, DC poached the creators willing to stick around to grind out the s.o.s. big name books, then nit-picked and generally marginalized the rest. Soon, Wildstorm became a piss poor Vertigo-for-Super-Heroes, as well as a studio to pawn off licensed properties upon. Not only did I lose one place I enjoyed reading comics from entirely, but the appeal of DC has been steadily diminishing as well.

Which gets me to the T.H.U.N.D.E.R. Agents. I was first introduced to them through my back issue dealer in the early '90s, specifically David Singer's Deluxe Comics series on the mid-'80s. Singer brought together the finest artists of the day: George Pérez, Dave Cockrum, Keith Giffen, Jerry Ordway and more to honor the Tower Comics series that did the same in the '60s. Singer had claimed the property had fallen into to the public domain, but lost any moral high ground when it turned out he came to that conclusion while associated with the properties' alleged current owner, John Carbonaro. Previously, Carbonaro had taken several stabs at publishing new T.H.U.N.D.E.R. Agents stories, and to put it mildly, they did not feature the finest artists of their day (although Mark Texeira later improved enormously.) However questionable Carbonaro's claims might have been, and the debate left the door open for a slew of publishers to attempt their own T.H.U.N.D.E.R. revivals at the time, Carbonaro was tenacious enough in his claim to take all comers in a court of law. However, that claim led to one stalled effort after another, so that the T.H.U.N.D.E.R. Agents announced more returns to publishing than had actual issues produced.

I went back and found old copies and reprints of the original T.H.U.N.D.E.R. Agents stories, featuring gorgeous work by legends like Wally Wood, Steve Ditko, Gil Kane, Reed Crandall, Al Williamson and many more. They were perfect time capsule of swingin' sixties attitude, offering super-spy adventures along the lines of Bond and the Man from U.N.C.L.E., but with the same tongue-in-cheek humor as Matt Helm and Get Smart. In other words, already well out of step with the '80s, and absolutely foreign to the new millennium. DC already licensed the property once a few years back, offering a radical new interpretation that Carbonaro found so unpalatable that he pulled the plug on the whole project. Even if Carbonaro was tone deaf to the original material, offering sincere Silver Age pathos in his attempts, at least he wasn't post-modern.

Well, John Carbonaro died this year, and DC seems to now hold the rights to the T.H.U.N.D.E.R. Agents. To some degree, Jim Lee's Wildstorm was a successor to Tower, even if it traded more in overly sober military conspiracies (though the light-hearted cheesecake of Gen-13 would have done Woody proud.) It might have been nice seeing T.H.U.N.D.E.R. integrated into that universe, but I understand they will now be part of the DC proper. I guess I get to look forward to the rape of Kitten, the murder and replacement of the clumsy Dynamo, Iron Maiden becoming a sadomasochist (well, more so,) and NoMan no longer getting his kicks by wasting millions of government dollars on android copies of himself. In the geekiest depths of my heart, I'd always hoped I or some other fanboy could one day sort out the T.H.U.N.D.E.R. Agents rights and do the concept justice. Instead, they've been gobbled up by The Man, and will be treated to inferior, limp efforts while Superman and Batman keep all the names. Just look at DC's much-ballyhoo'd Red Circle line, which was meant to see J. Michael Straczynski go all Supreme Power on it. Instead, he wrote four introductory comics, one for each character, and then passed the actual series on to nobodies.

Well, there's still Vampirella, and most of the Image founders still own their characters. There's a little life for super-heroes outside DC and Marvel. It just makes me sad that the ability to work with actual, built-in history on a property is limited to public domain figures from the Golden Age, and even then there's the compromise of those awful Dynamite Entertainment books.

SDCC For You and Me?

I've been reading through the 2009 San Diego Comicon coverage, and have found most of the announcements pretty boring. There's a few spin-offs, a few revivals-- but neither anything original nor even the usual deluge of the same old shit repackaged. Most of the "announcements" had already been made through the Previews catalog, much less the internet. James Robinson's JLA line-up looks more like a Titans revamp, with a super-gorilla on board for added indifference on my part. Reggie Hudlin gets to continue his dumbed down version of Christopher Priest's Black Panther by having T'Chaka and Captain America meet during World War II again. Brother Voodoo is getting Spain's answer to Mike Mignola on art. Geoff Johns on a Flash ongoing came as such a total and complete shock. The JSA is bringing the Super Squad back and calling it the All-Stars. Robert Kirkman's ending the always shaky Wolf-Man series. Dynamite has Alex Ross' latest chance to fuck up Golden Age heroes with the perpetually short-lived Fighting American. Deathlok is getting another opportunity to fail. The cynical Gen-13 cash-in DV8 is reassurting its trademark. Planetary and Ex Machina are finally ending. I still haven't read Phil Hester's work on The Darkness, which tempers my interest in his Vampirella reboot. It's nice to hear Bob Schreck has landed at IDW, even though I didn't much care for what came out under his eye at DC. How sad is it when some of the best news for me was that Jim Shooter would get another shot at reworking the old Gold Key properties Turok, Magnus and Dr. Solar? I wasn't even all that big of a Valiant fan the first time.

The trend of pricing comic book dealers, artists, and small press publishers out of booths has continued, to the point where it's being projected that actual comic books on sale will have pretty much dried up in the next few years. Well, I guess the Twi-Hards needed more room for their waiting lines, or a video game developer wanted a bigger floorshow. I went to SDCC in 2000, and I'm thinking about digging up my memoir of that time. I think I went at just the right period, when the comics and outside media interests were in perfect balance to inspire wonderment, rather than revulsion. Making the trip and staying at the hotel adjacent to the convention center on somebody else's dime couldn't have hurt my enjoyment, either. My girlfriend has been talking about our making the trip next year, but I don't expect I could ever relive anything like my past experience, so maybe we'll try New York instead.

1985 Grenadier Models Justice League of America & Adversaries Miniatures

These pewter figurines were produced as part of the set 9501 Justice League of America & Adversaries, for use with Mayfair Games DC Heroes role-playing system. The ten figurines were sculpted by Andrew Chernak and John Dennett, and stand roughly 1.25" tall on average. You can see them all in this PDF of Grenadier's 1987 Photographic Compendium.



Good luck making out the individual figures. I managed to find the original box art on the internet, as well as views of what the interior packaging looked like. I also stumbled onto an expired eBay auction with nine of the figures, and swiped the pictures below. Based on past knowledge, fuzzy online references, and supposition, I came up with Darkseid, Superman, Batman, Martian Manhunter, Hawkman, Green Lantern, Green Arrow, Brainiac, the Joker and the Flash. I bought three of these figurines off eBay in the late '90s, Darkseid and two Martian Manhunters. One was to be painted for me by a former customer/friend, but was never seen again, so now I only have the pair.

Photo by Pekita Trotamundos


Darkseid was just becoming a big deal in the '80s through his prominence in the Super Powers Collection.


Photo by Pekita Trotamundos


He seemed pretty flush with the new success...

Photo by Pekita Trotamundos


For more information and pictures of Martian Manhunter, click here.

Godhead, or Icarus Too Close to the Sunlamp

I hate to leave a day open without a post, but between holiday nonsense and my crushing work schedule, something substantial would be pushing it. Instead, I'll backdate a brief anecdote to Saturday. and move forward from there.

Many months back, I raided the music collection of a girlfriend (formerly emphasis in full, now simply on the "friend.") For whatever reason, she specifically wanted me to check out the band Godhead. I did, and found them to be a thrift store smash-up of Smashing Westward and Filter, themselves poor man's Nine Inch Nails. So I'm sorry I was exposed to the indigent's industrial band, assuming as beggers, they can't be choosy.

So I'd been hitting the gym hard and heavy at that time, having at one point come perilously close to 190 lbs. of sedentary girth, now a more svelt 150. Hard labor was my primary tool, but maintenence was required while I was exclusively in a CNA program (which proved unnecessary, as the course was a cakewalk.) Anyhow, I would hit the elliptical for 1-2 hours about five days a week while rockin' the tunage on my MP3 player. All was well with the world. This one night though, I'd really been pushing hard, dripping sweat with the blood pounding in my eyes. I headed out to my car, as I preferred to shower at home, a garbage bag saving my upholstery from the stank. Well, I'd forgotten I had the stereo significantly cranked while Godhead played, and the sonic assault was seriously damaging.

I've always preferrred to sleep with music playing, but that has now become something of a need. Thanks to Godhead, I now have tinnitus, a constant ringing in my right ear. I'm not sure that I would wish a band I liked to have been associated with this affliction, but I am in no way consoled by having to reference a thoroughly unimpressive band as the source of my malady.

Frank L. Delano's Journal of Horror

1983
For much of my young life, I was raised by two women, the pride and joy of my grandmother. I was such a sweet sweet thing, but a side effect was that when it came to horror, I was an utter pussy. To my recollection, the only scary movie I'd seen up to that point is to this day mostly unknown to me. My mother had drug me to the cinema on a date, and my only recollection was her covering my eyes as a woman bounced on a very basic bed, confronted by an unseen ghost/demon/etcetera while a crucifix spun on the wall. For years, I assumed I must have seen a re release of "The Exorcist," but that proved not to be the case. I remember my best friend of the time telling me about seeing the "boogieman" in a film, which left me conflicted, as the term stuck me as less than terrifying. I had a strange attraction/repulsion to the movie poster for the "Rocky Horror Picture Show," which seemed to hang perpetually at a theater we frequented, its crimson lips promising thrills at midnight. I was startled by the book cover for Stephen King's Cujo, and avoided the book rack for a while after. A black and white image in TV Guide promoting the killer ventriloquist dummy from "Magic" haunted me for years. The I caught a few minutes a movie where a human head was found in a soup pot, which I found oddly less disturbing than "Cujo" and "Magic." I loved the concept of werewolves as a child, and even went one Halloween as a wolfman, but the movie poster for "The Howling" unnerved me. A Frank Frazetta cover for Dr. Strange featuring green arms ripping out of the ground to ensnare our hero was transformed by reoccurring nightmares of the same coming out from under the bed as I slept. An advertisement for "C.H.U.D." bothered me so much I hovered outside the door of my now newlywed mother, prompting a declaration from my stepfather that I would not be allowed to finish watching the unrelated "V" mini-series. My oddest fantasy was of miniature versions of Laurel and Hardy who would sever any limbs I left dangling off the bed as I slept. For years I lay in the fetal position, a pillow propping up my feet as a decoy to protect my tiny legs.

1987
They got ahold of me. While still in grade school, I made a crack about "Jason Lives" while my teacher was using one of those guillotine paper cutters, and I was suddenly supposed to be some sort of "horror king." I often wrote short stories for my teacher in my spare time, and prompting from classmates led to my attempting to write one about Freddy vs. Jason. I had barely any inkling of who the characters were, and it showed. My teacher explained the concept of only writing what you know, a lesson I value to this day. Meanwhile, my biological father and other testosterone-fueled kin slowly but surely educated my on Mr. Krueger, Vorhees, and more. I was still a pussy mind. My heart actually skipped a beat upon opening the cover of an issue of Uncanny X-Men to see a Marc Silvestri image of Mr. Sinister, black lips encircling fangs as he snarled at the reader. It just occurred to me that the image combined elements of primal terror felt when I first saw the aforementioned "Cujo" and "Rocky Horror" images. Still, I was developing both a tolerance for gore and an appreciation of horror, especially as my life had become increasingly horrible. I actually found "The Exorcist" and "The Texas Chainsaw Massacre" more laughable than anything. "Halloween" was a bore.

1989
By this point I'd seen all of the "Nightmare on Elm Street" series, which I initially enjoyed, but were becoming increasingly bland and sadistic. I never cared much for "Friday the 13th," but I developed an appreciation for the Michael Myers mythos that only grew with time. My interests began to shift away from blood and guts material toward more psychologically traumatizing material, more along the lines of "Henry: Portrait of a Serial Kiler." I at the time found "Night of the Living Dead" okay, but "Dawn" instantly became one of my favorite movies of all time.

1994
By this point, horror movies were old hat. I laughed along with the "Evil Dead" series and Peter Jackson's "Braindead" more than anything. I experienced a massive sense of diminishing returns though, as horror tends to be a ghettoized genre for lack of craft as much as anything. By this point, even those that would come to be known as "Masters of Horror" were shitting one brick after another.

2007
I still watch horror movies regularly. I cannot fully explain why. I don't enjoy most of them. Looking at my collection, I seem to prefer dark and/or romantic comedies, but still keep up with a steady diet of the not-at-all-scary. With comic books, I still have an emotional attachment to the characters that are with regularity and ever increasing sensationalism molested by the latest hack flavors of the month. When it comes to horror movies, I have to shrug when I ask myself "why do you subject yourself to this shit?" It must be force of habit, or the hope of uncovering some jewel amidst all the detritus of the genre.