March 28, 2006
All Sales Final

   When I was a mere wee twerp, I spent an entire summer with my grandparents in Lakeland, Florida. It was a whole other world from Pittsburgh, but, like Calvin & Hobbes, I savored the seemingly-endless freedom from school-mandated drudgery, doing whatever I wanted, even if it was nothing.

   My paternal grandparents, Lawrence and Helen, aka Pop-Pop & Mum-Mum to everybody in the family, had just retired a few years earlier in a nice trailer park on a private road. This was before trailers accquired the stigma that has served many a commedian since. I thought their trailer was kinda cool, with the little rooms like submarine compartments, yet there was room for all the usual amentities, just less room to run around. For that, thankfully, their neighborhood consisted of substantial yards which spaced each trailer apart. The community orange grove was across the road. Everybody knew their neighbors and the yards were well-kept. The loud boom-box car stereo systems wouldn't be the fashion for a couple decades. If it sounds like an unreal panacea, well, that's what nostalgia's all about, right?

   Mum-Mum doted on me, but could lay down the law when she had to. This was also a time when grandparents or even your friend's parents would dutifully serve as surrogate parents when you'd misbehave (I still recall sitting for an hour at my friend Brian's house, unable to leave the dinner table until I ate the scalloped potatoes I didn't like). Pop-Pop was more old school, enjoying his TV with a can of Miller in his t-shirt, after a day spent doing repairs on the lawnmower or some other such manly chore. He had leathery skin, a combination of his Sicilian heritage and too many hard hours as an interstate truck driver. He kept to himself mostly, but I always knew he'd be there for me if I had a question or just wanted to sit in his easy chair with him. Sometimes Pop-pop would take me to the store in his copper-colored Nash Rambler (with a push-button ignition!).

   One not-so-blisteringly hot afternoon, Mum-Mum took me for a lengthy walk down the dirt road to a paved one where the only convienience store for miles stood. She went to pick up bread and, noticing the hypnotic trance I fell into upon seeing a spinner rack of comics, indulged me by buying me whatever comics I liked. My parents didn't raise me to be a greedy sort (but don't worry, I eventually outgrew that), so I imposed my own limit, which wasn't too hard, as I ruled out the many Harvey and Archies titles which struck me as too juvenile. I was already a comic snob! I also remember this cool Spirit Magazine with the some guy in a blue suit and domino mask running toward me from a train. But I could buy four or five color comics with what this black&white magazine cost, so it too, was out of the running, so to speak.

   Mum-Mum had once comforted me when I had my first nasty experience with fire ants that summer. So when a bug of another sort, the comic book bug, bit me that moment in the store, she encouraged my newfound interest in reading. The irony that I, a 'grown-up' comics professional, now live within driving distance from Lakeland, is not lost on me.

   At a the meager sum of twenty-five cents, I bought Amazing Spider-Man #136: A lot happens in this issue: Peter Parker's apartment - bombed! Mary Jane - hospitalized, causing Pete to dwell on the recent death of Qwen, his previous girlfriend! (Back then, you picked up an issue, you got a succinct history lesson on the character). Spidey does some detective work, then lies in wait in a warehouse under a full moon! Suspense built until the Green Goblin made a dramatic entrance in an impressive double-page spread! Then you learned that Pete's best friend, Harry Osborn assumed his father's mantle of the Green Goblin! With one of the most energetic covers by John Romita, how could any kid resist?

   The other comics I picked up, while good, paled by comparison. Frankenstein Monster #12, Wonder Woman #212, an Avengers reprint book, Marvel Triple Action (#?), a Kid Colt reprint(#?), and a Fantastic Four reprint book, Marvel's Greatest Comics (#?).

   The trip to the convenience store was a world away for the gait of an eight-year old. So, as far as I knew, these six comics were all I'd get during the summer. So I read them countless times until the covers practically fell off.

   Even after playing all day with the other kids in the neighborhood (including the girl next door whom I had a terrible crush on), coming home to dinner, then rereading those comics was the perfect treat. One evening, I didn't feel like going through my reading ritual again, particularly the Kid Colt reprint, as it collected four tame code-approved stories with pat endings. But I really took a shining to the ads in that issue featuring superhero stickers. These stickers were either old Kirby poses or new Romita ones. I'd cut out the figures, arrange them like a storyboard, and add what I considered 'witty banter'. The Wonder Woman, which had DC's version of the same sticker ad, got the chop treatment as well. My grandparents, who must've considered me a goofy, if likable kid, humored me by chuckling at my lame gags. And when company came, they'd ask me to bring out my storyboard, beaming with pride. I suppose I showed some creative initiative or something.

   Growing up, I never met any kid who had nearly as much enthusiasm for comics as me, which is possibly why my almost-unhealthy obsession became my occupation. But in my grandparent's neighborhood, there was one other kid who shared some interest in comics. Let's call him "Paul", not so much to protect his name, but frankly, because I honestly don't recall his name and this story needs a better pronoun than 'the other kid'.

   He was a year younger, and didn't draw but he like to talk comics. Paul would watch me do my limited best to draw some of the poses from the comics I had. I knew of the JLA through the issue of Wonder Woman (the first one, it turns out, where she ditched the "I Ching pantsuit" look for the costume I recognised from cartoons). The Avengers I knew from Marvel Triple Action, etc. I decided to include all the heroes and villains from both Marvel and DC in my own comic, with villains I made up (don't know exactly why, maybe because Green Goblin was the only standout villain from my six comics).

   I used a school tablet with yellow paper and green lines for writing to make my first comic. Far as I could remember, I established the situation in a panel or two, 'cause I wanted to get right to the action. I didn't even finish the story before Paul started asking me to make him a comic too! My first fan! More likely, he was just as bored as I was in 1970's-era Lakeland, surrounded by mostly retirees. I told Paul I didn't know what I'd do in a second comic! After all, this was new territory for me. Paul said he'd buy my homemade comic from me.

   I thought: "Sure! Then I can buy another comic book!". Without hesitation, I told him it'd be a quarter, the going price for a 'real' comic. Paul didn't flinch at the price. He ran down the dirt road to his parents' trailer. He came back quickly with the quarter. Fair exchange of goods and services, right?

   Wrong! Later that evening, Paul showed up at our doorstep, bawling his eyes out. Apparently, his parents got angry with him that he'd paid a whole quarter for my drawings (everyone's a critic). Mum-mum did her best to calm him down, then walked to where she kept her purse, pulled out a quarter and gave it to Paul, who's sobs subsided upon receiving it. To further console him, Mum-mum told Paul to keep the comic I drew! I protested in my typical nasal-whine fashion to no effect.

   This is the kind of childhood experiences that could dampen a young lad's burgeoning entrepreneurial spirit permanently!

   When I came back home that fall, I resumed drawing homemade comics (not for sale this time) with letters pages, staples, fake comics code stamp, etc. It's no coincidence that my school grades began slipping, which I recounted in painstaking detail in the March 2, 2004 blog "Comic Book Probation". Waitaminnit, that blog was more than two years ago? Ack! Now I'm really feeling old! Might be time to purchase a Nash Rambler and drive off into the sunset!
 
 
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