W.B. Origins: The Great Comic Book Heroes

One of my most cherished possessions is a beat-up hardcover book with the spine in questionable shape, the cover and pages battered but not torn with use and overuse. The dustcover reproduced at left is long gone, tattered beyond recognition and finally discarded decades ago.

It is a first edition of The Great Comic Book Heroes, a wonderful collection “compiled, introduced and annotated” by Jules Feiffer, and inscribed, “To Warren — the comic book fiend of 1965, From Dad and Mother, December 25, 1965.”

For the previous year and a half, ever since I found that copy of Amazing Spider-Man #4, I had been feverishly following the adventures of the Marvel Comics universe of characters, and anyone familiar with that universe knows I’d stumbled upon it at just the right time, as the characters found themselves and began to fly.

Feiffer’s book celebrated the heroes of the 1940s, when he was a teenager himself. He turned my age at an even more magical time (at least for the comics), when costumed superheroes were all being introduced for the very first time, and he actually worked as an apprentice for the legendary Will Eisner starting in 1945 at the age of 16.

He writes about each of the heroes in turn, but then the real magic appears: Here are the actual reprinted stories of Superman, Captain Marvel, Batman, the original Human Torch (my first encounter), the Flash, the Green Lantern, the Spectre, Hawkman, Wonder Woman, Sub-Mariner, Captain America, Plastic Man, and the Spirit.

It was a wonderful peek at the Golden Age of Comics, and although I had a problem with some of Feiffer’s conclusions (”Comic books, first of all, are junk. There are a few exceptions, but nonjunk comic books don’t as a rule, last very long.” OK, maybe in 1945 …) I loved Feiffer’s descriptions and histories, and I especially loved the reprints. 

Each character was given a full story to give the flavor of his/her adventures, except there was a single page from Captain Marvel’s origin tale. “More can not be printed without unsettling the settlement between Clark Kent and Billy Batson,” a footnote explains. That enticement led to a curiosity that was not really settled until DC Comics started publishing Shazam! a few years later.
It is not reading and rereading those ancient stories that beat up this first edition, however. The oversized book was slightly bigger than 8.5 by 11 inches, which made it perfect for use as a workbench.

I would sit on my bed with a piece of paper pressed against the inside front cover, and I’d write and draw the adventures of Greatman and Brink The Atomic Man and the Fabulous Five and Captain Zap. I wrote hundreds of songs and poems. It was the beginning of a passion that led, in my later years, to Myke Phoenix and The Imaginary Bomb, and who knows what to come.

Sometimes I look at a memento from the far distant past like this and think, “Wow, that was almost 50 years ago now, it doesn’t seem that long.” Oh, but yes it does. The thousands of days that were lived in the meantime transformed that kid into this guy typing on a computer, and we are two remarkably different creatures who happen to share the same frame.

I continue to metamorphize into something new as time goes on. What an incredible life this is.

W.B.'s Book Report: The Martian

“Cast Away meets Apollo 13” is how more than one reviewer describes Andy Weir’s compelling page-turner The Martian. In a world where everything needs to be a reference to something else, I suppose that description works as well as any.The plot of the book does indeed contain elements that will remind the reader of both movies, although Mark Watney never befriends a volleyball.

And it doesn’t cover Weir’s unique voice, the humor, and the care taken to walk that thin line between realism and the absurd. For all of the headaches and dangers that Weir sends the way of his astronaut stranded on Mars, I never once said “Oh, come on, now you’ve jumped the shark,” or “Oh, please, that solution was way too convenient.”

This is a great novel that takes readers to the real Mars — as real a Mars as contemporary science can speculate — and never lets up until the story reaches its powerful conclusion.

Where'd he go

The day the devices stayed off

Greetings from Analog Saturday. This post began its life as scratchings in a notebook, pen on paper.

After a week in which probably 80 percent of my waking hours were spent staring at computer screens of varying sizes, as I turned off my home computer Friday night I had a sudden “I’m not going to do this anymore” impulse and declared a screen-free Saturday.

One thing I did Saturday morning was nothing. For a few minutes I just sat in the easy chair and looked around the living room and out the window. I could feel tension melt out of my shoulders and hands. I heartily endorse occasionally doing nothing.

Another thing I did was pick up a book. Now, I’ve migrated a lot of my reading to my Kindle, but that marvelous device has the same flaw as a computer or tablet or smartphone — too many conflicting choices. There’s only one book in a print book, nothing to divert your attention.

(Sidebar: Can you guess my book by its first sentence? I wouldn’t have been able: “In the year 1878 I took my degree of Doctor of Medicine of the University of London, and proceeded to Netley to go through the course prescribed for surgeons in the Army.”)

I think our screen-based work and play devices tend to infect us with a bit of attention deficit disorder. The fact that we can do so many things with them is both a blessing and a curse. It’s hard to concentrate on one thing when something else is just a click away.

You’re reading a book and an email chimes in. You’re replying to the email and that reminds you of something you wanted to look up on the web. You’re trying to research that and someone texts you. You’re replying to the text and someone calls.

It’s not a smartphone. It’s a collection of infinite rabbit holes.

It was not easy leaving the devices off all day. In fact, I had to cheat once, to make sure I had enough money in the checking account to take Red on a date Saturday night. (“The Imitation Game,” two thumbs up.) So it was a 99.5 percent computer-free Saturday.

Being disconnected from the world felt a little weird. But by the end of the day, I felt more connected with myself than I had for a while. And at the end of the day, that sense of self is probably the most important connection of them all.

(Oh, and the book was “A Study in Scarlet” by Arthur Conan Doyle, the story that introduced Sherlock Holmes and Dr. Watson. Sorry to keep you waiting. Or did you take a moment and Google it?)

The most effective Super Bowl commercials

Because I need a life, I wrote down all of the ads that ran during Sunday's Super Bowl game and took notes on my instant reaction. I came to an interesting conclusion about which ones were the most effective.

Briefly, here are my favorite ads – not necessarily the most effective.
1. The lost puppy rescued from the wild by his Budweiser Clydesdale friend.
2. Bryan Cranston as Breaking Bad's Walter White in a pharmacy for esurance.
3. Pete Rose "in the hall" of his own home for Skechers.
4. A public service announcement about what it means to do things "Like a Girl."
5. Centenarians speak words of wisdom for Dodge, founded in 1914. "You learn a lot in 100 years."

But the most effective? Jeff Bridges sitting in a chair, running his finger around the edge of an earthen mug, and chanting like a Gregorian monk, with the subtitle "www.DreamingWithJeff.com."

Why is this the most effective, at least for me? Because later that night I went to DreamingWithJeff.com to find out what the heck that commercial was about. I learned about Squarespace and will consider using the product when I get around to redesigning my websites.

And that's the point of spending millions on a single television ad, right? To recoup your investment by making sales. To motivate the viewer to act.

Honorable mention: The trailers for Tomorrowland, an interesting-looking movie I was only dimly aware of, and for Terminator: Genisys, which I wasn't inclined to go watch but now might.

Cross-posted to Uncle Warren's Attic

Super Bowl 49: Mind-boggling plays, puppies and horses, dancing sharks

Super Bowl 49 summary: 

Two mind-boggling plays in the last minute. As for the second one, worst play-call ever. Ever! 

I still love the puppy-Clydesdale ads. Walter White for esurance was best and funniest surprise. Pete Rose in the hall for Skechers also fun. 

Most visually arresting halftime show ever; will see happy sharks and beachballs in my dreams (nightmares?) for years to come.

Cross-posted to Uncle Warren's Attic

It doesn’t have to be what it is

“It is what it is.”

You hear that a lot these days, often with a tone of resignation. Someone is facing adversity, and you express condolences, and they shrug and say, “It is what it is.”

I agree that it is what it is, but you need to know it doesn’t have to stay that way.

Yes: It is what it is, but if you simply accept that fact, you’re in the wrong place.

It is what it is: This is where you start to fix it.

It’s vitally important that you be realistic, that you understand that this is what it is.

But.

Know that it doesn’t always have to be what it is. You have the power to fix what needs to be fixed so it isn’t this tomorrow, or next month, or next year.

Maybe you can’t change some of it all by yourself, and you’ll need help. But you can change something today. Even a little adjustment is a start.

It is what it is. But you can see to it that it becomes something better, starting today.

Mom saves the day with the facts

I hadn’t been alive for very long, and I was pretty sure I didn’t want to die yet. But the little poster in the front window of the barber shop in Little Falls, N.J., told me it might not be long.

In stark bold letters, the poster announced “The 7 warning signs of leukemia.” I didn’t know exactly what leukemia was, but it sounded scary and in the late 1950s it was almost always fatal. The poster said it was cancer of the blood.

I did an inventory for the signs. “Change in a mole or wart” — well, my little body was littered with moles, but I was pretty sure they all looked the same as the day before. “Fatigue” — no, I had plenty of energy; I was a kid after all. “Hoarseness” —

I cleared my throat. Was I hoarse? I did have a little bit of a tickle there, a small frog perhaps. I tried a few words.

“Hello? Hello? Oh no.” My voice was a little ragged.

I might have leukemia! It was a real possibility. The poster said so: My voice was hoarse.

I squirmed my way through the haircut, panic rising in my soul at every clip. Why waste my time with a haircut when I might have so little time to spare?

Afraid to say anything out loud, I was quiet on the way home, and the next time I was with my mother without the brothers around, I approached her and said solemnly, “Mom, I have to talk to you.”

She could tell right away that I was a tad distraught. No doubt she looked around the house to see if anything else was broken, but the look on my face told her this was different from guilt. I led her into a bedroom and closed the door.

“What? What is it?” Now she was starting to get anxious herself.

I threw myself against her apron and hung on for dear life.

“One of the symptoms of cancer is hoarseness and today I’m hoarse!!!” I wailed.

For just a moment there was no sound in the room except for my terrified sobbing.

And then, a soft laugh.

You know the scene in the movie “A Christmas Story” where Ralphie gets in a fight and afterward his brother, Randy, hides under the kitchen sink? When Mom asks what he’s doing there, he screams, “Daddy’s gonna kill Ralphie!”

Mom gives a soft chuckle and says reassuringly, “No, Daddy’s not going to kill Ralphie.”

That’s exactly how I sounded that day and exactly how my own mother sounded when she said, “No, you don’t have cancer.”

Patiently, she told me I needed to have more than one symptom before I needed to consider the most dire diagnosis. I realized I probably was going to live. The fright eased its way out of my tiny frame.

Lesson learned: Wait until you have all of the facts before jumping to conclusions. So often we become afraid because we only understand part of the story. “A little knowledge is a dangerous thing,” says the old proverb — but the emphasis is on the word little. If you don’t have full knowledge, you can make a dangerous mistake — such as being paralyzed by fear.

The leukemia society didn’t mean to frighten a little boy that day, but planting a little fear in your mind is a common motivational tactic. The idea of the poster was to get you to a doctor, but it also works for product advertising and politicians.

When I sought more information from the closest trusted source at hand — my mom — the fears were dispelled.

Are you scared of something you don’t fully understand? Get more information. Most of the time, the situation is not as dire as you fear. And even more often, as I learned by discovering I didn’t have leukemia, the situation is not even a “situation” at all.

This column is an excerpt from the book Refuse to be Afraid.

The night George Bailey saved my life

It was Christmas Eve and I was alone. I knew I deserved to be alone, but I was miserable anyway. My life was not turning out the way I’d planned it.

Dec. 24, 1984, was a miserable day. Oh, I don’t remember the particulars. I just knew I was going to be alone while the rest of the world celebrated Christmas. I was miserable.

I did have a job, and a modest but nice place to live in Green Bay, and a good dog and a cat. That was a start, but I had no human to share the season with. And I was mostly broke. I knew it was my fault and my choices that made it so, but that only made the holiday more miserable.

You might say I was so miserable, I wished I’d never been born.

So I sat down to turn off my brain with whatever dreck the television had to offer. The choices were limited; this was 30 years ago.

Public TV was offering some movie called “It’s A Wonderful Life” with lots of fanfare. They even called it something like “the beloved holiday classic.” Hmmph. I’d never heard of it. How could it be a beloved classic if I’d never heard of it? (Ah, the arrogance of the 31-year-old soul.)

Well, at least it had Jimmy Stewart in the lead. He was a pretty good actor. And there was nothing else on that looked interesting, so I settled my miserable soul down to watch it.

Two hours and a smidge later, everything was different.

The story is as transformative as the Scrooge story, except that George Bailey was not a miserly old curmudgeon. George was a normal, decent guy with big dreams who found himself constantly trading his dreams because people needed his help and he was hard-wired to take care of others. His life was not turning out the way he’d planned it.

Like Scrooge, though, George gets a chance to see what the world would look like if he wasn’t there anymore. As the story approaches its climax, George is so miserable he wishes he’d never been born.

“All right, George, you got your wish. You’ve never been born.”

It turns out the world without George Bailey would have been a nightmare for a lot of people. He was living a wonderful life, after all.

And I could see, with the little attitude adjustment that the movie provided, that so was I.

I was still deservedly alone on a Christmas. I was still mostly broke. But Frank Capra’s amazing fairy tale showed me how we’re never as alone as we think, and we each have the power to make the world a better place.

I hugged the dog and the cat. I called my family on Christmas Day and cherished them. I was Ebeneezer waking up to a fresh, joyful outlook. I was George Bailey finding Zuzu’s petals back in his pocket where they belonged. What do you know about that? Merry Christmas!

I wish I could say I stopped making bad decisions after that Christmas Eve, but I’m human, after all. Still, I’ve never again felt as alone and miserable as I did before I sat down to watch that film.

If all looks bleak and miserable this holiday season, hang on. You never know when things will turn around and get better, but they will. Your life may not be turning out the way you planned it, but you’ll see — it’s a wonderful life, after all.

Cross-posted to Door County Advocate

Goosebumps: The people take action

© Veraseven | Dreamstime.com

My latest for the Door County Advocate ...

I’m starting to get the invitations for my 40th college reunion next summer, which means that next spring I will be completing my fourth decade of doing this “first draft of history” thing.

Some of it doesn’t get old. I still get goosebumps whenever I witness the First Amendment in action, and specifically the part about the right of the people “to petition the Government for a redress of grievances.”

I like working in small towns because it’s here where you see this rite of democracy in its purest form. There’s no more basic expression of the First Amendment than the room full of unhappy citizens letting their local government know why they’re unhappy.

The local government, which is comprised of our friends and neighbors who chose to get themselves elected, usually responds in one of two ways: They listen and change their minds, or they wait out the storm of public opinion and then go ahead and do what they wanted to do anyway. The latter course sometimes has repercussions in the next election.

This week we’re about to bear witness to two such moments. Shortly after typing these breathless words, I’ll be driving to Fish Creek to watch a crowd express themselves to the Gibraltar School Board. And Wednesday night, another crowd will march to Sturgeon Bay City Hall to present petitions to the Plan Commission.

In each case they actually won’t be “heard” in a literal sense. Neither body is likely to take testimony from their spectators. In Gibraltar, the agenda calls for a closed session to discuss the circumstances of Secondary Principal Kirk Knutson’s departure last week. The crowd’s sole purpose is to make a quiet statement of support for Knutson.

It actually has been anything but “quiet” in Northern Door since, by several accounts, Knutson emerged from a meeting with Superintendent Tina Van Meer and an attorney and walked out of the building. The School Board voted to accept his resignation a few hours later. Nearly 1,000 residents and students have joined Facebook pages and sent letters to the board demanding a better explanation than has been given so far.

In Sturgeon Bay, the testimony was taken last week, and it was largely disapproving of the plans for a five-story hotel where the West Side Waterfront Plan originally featured a year-round farmers market and festival area built around the historic grain elevator. Another local commentator calls it “bait and switch,” and it sure appears that way, with all due respect to the folks who have been working on the plans.

In most cases that bring out a crowd, people feel caught by surprise and want more transparency. Very often the surprise is partially our own fault; some people said they had never heard of the waterfront plan until now, even though it’s been the subject of more than one front-page story in this publication, for example.

But very often, too, officials have worked quietly with a sense of urgency that almost suggests a desire to get something done before too many people can get a good look and object – sort of like the football team that wants to snap the ball before anyone takes a careful look at the replay.

I don’t really have a dog in either fight (what an awful expression), except of course for the watchdog – the Wisconsin tradition that assumes the affairs of government by the people must be conducted out in the open where the people can watch if they so choose.

And that’s why moments like these give me goosebumps. Usually the government doesn’t have much of an audience. It’s thrilling when people actually do choose to watch and make their presence known.