It Crept From The Tomb

Edited by PETER NORMANTON

IT CREPT FROM THE TOMB is published by TwoMorrows Publishing, 10407 Bedfordtown Drive, Raleigh, NC, 27614. Phone: (919) 449-0344.

Website: www.twomorrows. com. Editor: Peter Normanton, Publisher: John Morrow, Proofreader: Scott Peters.

All characters are TM & © their respective companies unless otherwise noted. All editorial matter © the respective authors.

Editorial package is © 2018 Peter Normanton and TwoMorrows Publishing. All rights reserved. All illustrations contained herein are copyrighted by their respective copyright holders and are reproduced for historical reference and research purposes. No material from this book may be reproduced in any form, including print and digital, without the express permission of the publisher.

TwoMorrows Publishing 10407 Bedfordtown Drive Raleigh, NC, 27614 www.twomorrows.com email: store@twomorrows.com First printing, January 2018 Printed in the USA ISBN: 978-1-60549-081-6 The Avengers, Captain America, Fantastic Four, Ghost Rider, Human Torch, Journey into Mystery, Manthing, Son of Satan, Strange Tales, Tales to Astonish, Thor, Tomb of Dracula, Werewolf by Night, X-Men TM & © Marvel Characters, Inc. • Action Comics, Adventure Comics, Batman, Detective Comics, The Flash, House of Mystery, House of Secrets, Jimmy Olsen, Lois Lane, My Greatest Adventure, Mystery in Space, Showcase, Strange Adventures, Superboy, Superman, Tales of the Unexpected, Wonder Woman TM & © DC Comics • Tales from the Crypt, Haunt of Fear, Vault of Horror, Shock Suspenstories, Weird Fantasy, Weird Science © Wm. M Gaines Agent • Black Magic TM & © Joe Simon and Jack Kirby Estates • Creepy and Eerie TM & © Warren Publications. All other characters and properties TM & © the respective owners.

Cover by The Gurch

A Word From the Tomb.................................................................................................. 4 The Comic Book Dreams of the Cold War Kid, by Peter Normanton................................ 6 Pieces of Silver, by Pete Crowther................................................................................. 20 Bad American Comics: Bullet in the Head, by Frank Motler (FTT #6)............................. 26 The Exotic Art of Lou Morales, by Frank Motler (FTT #7)............................................... 27 One-Hit Wonders, by Peter Normanton........................................................................ 34 Opening the Crypt: EC Horror Hits Britain, by Barry Forshaw........................................ 37 Leathern Wings in the Night: Comic Book Vampires, by Peter Normanton.................... 44 The Scary Art of Tom Sutton, by Peter Normanton (FTT #18)......................................... 52 Somewhere On the Edge of Time: Grady Lyda, by Peter Normanton............................. 63 Those Objectionable Horror Comics!, by Peter Normanton........................................... 67 The Forgotten Terrors of Al Eadeh, by Peter Normanton............................................... 73 Richard Corben: The Early Days, by Peter Normanton................................................. .. 76 Bruce Jones’ Alien Worlds Is Coming Back Into Orbit, by Paul H Birch........................... 86 The Essential Good Girl, by Frank Motler...................................................................... 92 Jayme Cortez: The Terror From Brazil, by Peter Normanton.......................................... 99 The Interview Panel, by Frank Motler......................................................................... 105 Mystery in Space For A Shilling, by Barry Forshaw...................................................... 109 H.P. Lovecraft Goes Heavy Metal, by Peter Normanton............................................... 118 A Brighter Tomorrow, by Frank Motler........................................................................ 125 The Weird Terror of Don Heck, by Peter Normanton (FTT #14).................................... 136 Resurrected, by The Gurch.......................................................................................... 144 Myth of Creepy and Eerie, by Stephen Sennitt (FTT #26)............................................. 150 Martian Infiltration, by Peter Normanton (FTT #3)...................................................... 153 The Fabulously Cruel World of DC Comics, by Christopher Fowler............................... 159 House of Hammer, by Peter Normanton (FTT #10)...................................................... 164 Marvel Miniatures, by Peter “Doc” Garriock............................................................... 178 The Atlas to Marvel Years of Comic Book Terror, by Peter Normanton (FTT #28)......... 180

It’s just over forty years since I started collecting comics, even though they had been with me from early childhood. To my mind, the words and pictures fitted together so perfectly, bringing a cheer to the most dismal of afternoons. While I enjoyed a good story, it was always the artwork which attracted my eye. On those rain-soaked days, I would spend hours trying to emulate the styles in these pages, in the hope maybe one day, I too could be a comic book artist. Alas to no avail, I was never going to be a match for these talented fellows. All these years later, I wonder what that teenager would have thought if he had come to know that one day he would spend his days reworking the art he so admired, allowing others to share his admiration for their breathtaking vision.

For me, the year 2016 proved quite exceptional, one that would accord me the opportunity to once again bring this artwork to a new gathering. Due to a remarkable sequence of events, I got the chance to request early retirement. By late February, it was official, I would soon be going to pastures new. To say this was a day of celebration is as great an understatement as you will ever hear. My life just couldn’t get any better, then several weeks later, quite out of the blue, John Morrow dropped me a line. To my utter amazement, he was interested in doing something else with From the Tomb. At that moment I was on cloud nine. However, there was a snag, John was looking to have the new book ready for August. Given the pace at which I work (even the snails out in the garden frown at my lethargy), it was going to make this deadline virtually impossible. Moreover, I wasn’t due to depart my employ until mid September. As keen as I was to head off on my own, I still owed my friends, with whom I had worked for many years, a good handover, which would mean dedicating myself to my job until my escape. Thankfully, John was entirely understanding, giving me the time to put together a new selection of articles.

My transition from the banal routine of full time work to dedicating my time to writing and editing, wasn’t without its pitfalls. Try as I might, I could not sit down to get this collection ready. Raking up the autumnal fall of leaves was far more rewarding, dare I mention the lure of experimenting in the kitchen and the chance of going out walking on the moors in front of my house, or, better still, slipping off to visit the pubs of Manchester city centre.

There were just too many temptations. I was getting worried, until my wife put her finger on my little problem.

From the Tomb had always been a hobby, a welcome diversion from the mundanity of the nine while five. Now, I

considered any time spent with From the Tomb to be my job; would you believe, this actually included those once stolen moments with my head buried in an EC or an Atlas terror. She was right; once I accepted this, it became so much easier to assemble this new volume, with a renewed enthusiasm.

This new collection, It Crept From the Tomb, brings together the material intended for the PS Publishing editions of From the Tomb, with a set of recently written articles and several updated pieces from my ten years on From the Tomb. There maybe some amongst you, who are new to From the Tomb. As you would expect its focus was horror comics, mainly from the 1940s through until the 1980s. In its 28 issues its contents also delved into science fiction, crime, romance, war and plain odd ball comics. I have looked to continuing this theme for this new edition.

For those of you who were looking forward to enjoying the PS From the Tomb, we can only apologise. Once the initial draft had been completed, it became obvious PS had too much on their plate. It was a sad day for Pete Crowther when he had to concede there was no way this new venture could go ahead; there just weren’t enough hours in the day, or days in the week. Looking back, I was probably the only one who wasn’t despondent, for I have come to accept From the Tomb just refuses to lie down and die. Furthermore, in my time with Pete, I learned so much, for which I am very grateful.

I would also like to extend my gratitude to The Gurch for yet another diabolical cover, a veritable collector’s item in the making. I have found it wise not to ask from where his ideas take shape, lest I, too, become corrupted by his foul imaginings; it is more befitting to savour the occasion. Additionally, I would like to thank the contributors to this new volume, I only hope I have done their hard work the justice it deserves. A special thanks must go to Frank Motler and Barry Forshaw, who through those dark moments, kept my spirits up. Last of all a big thank you to John Morrow for allowing From the Tomb to make another return. There are still hopes to bring the old magazine back, but more on that at a later date. For anyone who would like to get in touch, I can still be contacted at peter.normanton@btinternet.com.

Peter Normanton 9th May 2017

For over four decades the Cold War held the world to ransom. While the super powers stockpiled an everexpanding arsenal of atomic weaponry, the comic book publishers flourished just as they had during the Golden Age. In one way or another most of us will have memories of these years, some having experienced the duck and cover drills under the guidance of Bert the Turtle, whereas the less fortunate would have endured active combat in south-east Asia. For those of my generation it was the CND demonstrations united in their rallying call to ban the bomb and with it the annihilatory strategies of `First Strike Capacity’, `Pre-emptive Nuclear Strikes’, `Counterforce’ and the seemingly inescapable `Mutually Assured Destruction’. The threat posed by the bomb would transform into the politics of a chilling pragmatism, casting a portentous shadow over our lives and ultimately influencing the content of the comics flowing onto the newsstands. It was these comic books, so many of them consigned to the waste bin by well-meaning parents, that would one day return to shape the dreams of the Cold War Kid. As to when the Cold War actually started is still the subject of considerable debate, but there is no doubt with the collapse of the Soviet Union in 1991 the western world finally breathed a sigh of relief. Almost half a century earlier, the Allies and the Soviets had been united in their quest to destroy the Nazis, but their alliance was never truly stable. When the United States delivered their nuclear payload over the cities of Hiroshima and Nagasaki, relations became even more fraught. The Soviets, recognising they could now face a similar fate, set out to acquire this deadly technology in the hope of restoring the balance of power.

The duplicitous means by which they set out to pursue their nuclear aspirations would inevitably come to light and have far reaching consequences. With this in mind, the Cold War may well have stemmed from a series of events which occurred in Canada during 1946, culminating on the evening of September 5th, when a

member of the Russian embassy, located in the city of Ottawa, slipped away with 109 highly classified documents. These files were to reveal the lengths to which the Soviet Union had gone to infiltrate the most senior echelons of the Canadian government, all the while adding to their knowledge of the western powers’ global operations. When he first became aware of his government’s designs on America’s fledgling nuclear programme, Lieutenant Igor Sergeyevich Gouzenko of the GRU (Glavnoye Razvedyvatel’noye Upravleniye), Soviet Military Intelligence, began to compile a dossier he kept hidden from his colleagues. His testimony would ensure his family safe haven in the United States, but more significantly exposed the underhand nature of the Soviet Union.

This episode and those that followed, inadvertently bolstered a weary comic book industry, desperately in need of a new lease of life. Sales of the morale-boosting superhero comics championed throughout the war years had fallen steadily, with Captain America and his valiant ilk, who had once confronted Hitler’s elite, now reduced to battling petty criminals. The glory which had reigned over the Golden Age of the comic book was now looking appreciably dispirited.

The industry wasn’t entirely without hope, a range of crime and romance titles were to ensure its immediate survival.

Occasionally they would capture the uncertainty of the day, most notably in the pages of Quality Comics’ Love Secrets #32, the Charles Sultan-illustrated “I Fell for a Commie” in the August of 1953.

However, when the Soviet Union detonated its first nuclear device on 29 August 1949, this survival and everything else with it was suddenly thrown into jeopardy.

Panic spread across the free world, but the American press gave their readers an assurance the United States was still well ahead of the game. For all of their bravado, it was impossible to deny, the Soviets were now ascendant, plunging the super powers into an unimaginable arms race, the scale of which could have wiped out everything on Earth.

Worse was to come for the citizens of America. It was discovered certain members of the Manhattan Project had been giving Soviet scientists access to their work; amongst them Theodore Hall

and Klaus Fuchs, who both had Communist sympathies. Further investigations revealed they weren’t alone, the contentious trial and eventual execution of Ethel and Julius Rosenberg, presented the United States with a new menace, one at their very doorstep, Reds Under the Bed. This only exacerbated the hysteria in the newspaper headlines, their perturbation spreading like wildfire into the streets of the country’s town and cities. In the fallout, an unprecedented source of inspiration fell into the hands of the comic book publishers, one they would wilfully exploit, taking every opportunity to unmask the reds in our midst. Further on in these pages we will look at Martian infiltration at a time when Senator Joseph McCarthy was warning of Communist subversion in the highest offices of the land. As thrilling as they were, these tales only touched upon the trepidation seeping into the United States.

The Soviets had detonated their bomb, with the help of a number of spies, thus it was inevitable a succession of espionage-styled comics would come to the fore, a genre that would continue into the 1960s.

While never quite as popular as the crime comics of the day, they still held the imagination of their young readership. Spies had been in evidence in the comics from as early as 1940 with Centaur’s Super Spy, whose two appearances date back to the latter months of that year.

Coupled with this unwelcome change in the balance of power, the first of the nuclear generation’s spy comics, ACG’S Spy and Counterspy, shortly to be retitled Spy Hunters, cover-dated August-September 1949, hit the stands. Avon released another of their many one-off sorties, Atomic Spy Cases in the March of 1950, destined to steal the show with its eye-catching Norman Saunders cover. Marvel followed with Spy Cases in September 1950 and six months later Spy Fighters in the March of 1951. Kent Blake of the Secret Service was very much in keeping with Joe McCarthy’s scaremongering, he set about ratting out enemy spies from the May of 1951, while Pete Trask followed a similar line in Quality’s T-Man in the December of that year. Duke Douglas was Comic Media’s answer to the Soviets’ insidious attempts to assimilate themselves into American everyday life, first appearing on the cover to Danger #6 prior to his assignments commencing in #7. This stream of comics wouldn’t just concern itself with spy activity on home shores, it took its readers to the East-West border and the controlled zones of war-torn Germany.

While playing on the paranoia of the day, these tales of espionage also sought to contain its diffusion, portraying the good guys as still

being firmly in control. The horror and science fiction comics however, had a very different tale to tell. While they had made a mark ahead of the Soviets exploding their nuclear bomb, in the ensuing furore they would carve their place on the newsstands, just as the superheroes had a decade before. These comics would savour every moment of the anti-Communist tide sweeping the length and breadth of their country. The threat of atomic annihilation was evident in the premiere of Ziff Davies’ Amazing Adventures “A Day” in the latter months of 1950, while Durango Kid was forced to confront “Ray of Horror” in his seventh issue dated October 1950. In December of that year Marvel Boy debuted with a post-apocalypse story, which didn’t make for happy reading. “The Zero Hour” loomed but one issue later.

As early as its third issue, EC’s Weird Science was warning of the threat of the hydrogen bomb, a thermonuclear device still two years away from being satisfactorily tested. EC’s science fiction companion title, Weird Fantasy, followed in a similar vein, already immersed in the escalating fear of nuclear catastrophe. In its second issue, numbered 14, they took the world to the brink when triggering the infinitely more powerful cosmic ray bomb.

Atomic stories would evolve into an integral part of these years as did another outpouring of this neurosis, the flying saucer.

The Roswell incident would further the comic book industry’s lust for the bizarre, mirroring the country’s growing psychosis.

Sightings became more common as did their appearance in a multitude of titles. Shadow Comics V7 #10 and Wow Comics #62 led the way in January 1948 with “The Riddle of the Flying

Saucers” and Ozzie’s “Look—Flying Saucers!” respectively. Murphy Anderson’s rendering for the cover to Mystery in Space #15, while being an absorbing piece of flying saucer memorabilia, hints at a technology way beyond its time. We would one day come to know it as the Star Wars weaponry or Strategic Defence Initiative of the 1980s, a proposed defence system that was to prove paramount in the latter stages of the Cold War. EC and Atlas would make the flying saucer their domain, with tales of such incredible creativity they would leave their readership looking to the skies, once, of course, their outlandish content had been thoroughly digested. Only recently there have been suggestions it was Stalin himself who was behind the happening at Roswell.

It’s safe to say, that if the Soviets had developed a flying saucer, the West would have been held over a rather precarious precipice.

One way or another the saucers could be dealt with, but when the Korean People’s Army surprised the world with a full-scale offensive, which saw them cross the 38th parallel into South Korea in the hours before sunrise on 25th June 1950, the United Nations were presented with a more serious problem. This incursion would begin a most acrimonious campaign, one which was to rage for the next three years, leaving 2.5 million people dead, most of them innocent civilians. As the conflict escalated, a new comic book phenomenon emerged: The Korean War comic. These titles enjoyed considerable popularity, thriving upon a war which the United Nations could have brought to an end as early as 1951 when the communists were forced back to the 38th parallel. However, there was a determination to drive these brainwashed aggressors from the Korean Peninsula, little realising the Chinese, still recovering from Civil War, would never accept the enemy encamped on their border. World War III loomed, as MIG fighters piloted by the Soviets and Chinese spiralled across the skies, dogfighting with American jet fighters. Such imagery roused the comic publishers; Exciting War promised `Blazing Korean Battle Action’, while Atlas’s Battlefield pledged `War Tales from Front Lines.’ These tales were indeed exciting, but even amid the excess of the pre-Code comic, the atrocities committed on the killing fields could never be fully

disclosed. Too many of those involved with these comics had experienced the brutality of war only a few years before.

Nuclear strikes across North Korea were now an alarming possibility, as the Soviets, under the leadership of Joseph Stalin, increased their support for the Chinese and Korean communist forces. Again, the publishers preyed upon the hysteria, foremost amongst these were ACE’s release of World War III, St. John’s Atom-Age Combat and Youthful raining unholy destruction with Atomic Attack. The war in southeast Asia appeared so far away, making the threat to mainland America seemingly minimal, so long as those Commie infiltrators hadn’t secreted a bomb on home shores. The situation remained volatile until the death of Stalin, when the incumbent Soviet administration took the decision to reduce their support for the war effort. In so doing they avoided a nuclear encounter. The conflict with the Chinese and North Koreans would continue in many of these comics months after the cessation of hostilities, most notably in Atlas’s highly successful Battle, Battle Action and Battleground, but for all of their valiant efforts they were unable to ameliorate the tenuous stalemate

which has lasted until this day.

The Korean War had been brought to an unsatisfactory close, a situation which brought home the necessity to keep the red tide at bay in the United States. There was a solution, one which had come to the country’s aid a decade before; it was now time for the superheroes to don their costumes and once more take centre stage. Young Men acted as the spearhead in the December of 1953, re-introducing The Human Torch, Sub-Mariner along with Captain America and Bucky. The series would last but five issues, bowing out with issue #28 in the June of 1954.

Within months of their return, these Golden Age icons were each accorded their own title, only one of which would survive the year.

Having recommenced his run with #76 in the May of 1954, a crestfallen Captain America succumbed to poor sales only three issues later, having struggled through to his 78th appearance in September 1954. This wasn’t the world into which Cap had been born, he was now enlisted as a `Commie Smasher,’ an image that floundered with his young readership.

Almost two decades later, Steve Englehart would reveal this Captain America to be an imposter, in his carefully conceived story arc spanning issues #153-156 of the later run of Captain America. Human Torch would suffer a similar fate, beginning his fleeting run with #36 in April 1954, before burning out in the wake of a 38th appearance some months later in the August of that year. Sub-Mariner Comics was the one title to enjoy any real success, casting off in the April of 1954 with #33, before being shelved with #42, eighteen months later in the October of 1955. These issues attempted to muster the youth of North America into the fight against the Red horde, but for them the Iron Curtain was another world.

This band of readers were more inclined to those dwelling in the shadows of their favourite horror comics.

While Atlas was trying desperately to rekindle its Golden Age heroes, Prize introduced Fighting American, under authorship of Jack Kirby and Joe Simon. Issue #3, cover-dated August-September 1954, pitched their star-spangled crusader against the diabolical pairing of Poison Ivan and

Hotsky Trotski. They were swiftly dealt with, but one issue later four more villains from behind the Iron Curtain arrived on the scene, amongst them Rhode Island Red. Issue 6 (April-May 1955) was to be the last for the Fighting American, giving him just enough space to lay waste to another fiendish Red, this time in the guise of Super Khakalovitch. Alas, the time still wasn’t right for the superhero, although ironically twelve months after the demise of Sub-Mariner Comics, the Flash returned in the pages of Showcase #4, heralding the dawn of the Silver Age of comic books.

The advent of the sanitising Comic Book Code came as tensions in Eastern Europe began to deepen. The Hungarian Uprising of 1956 was a brave, but in retrospect foolhardy, move to free the country of its Communist shackles, which would have soon precipitated their withdrawal from the Warsaw Pact. It wasn’t to be; the Soviets crushed the rebellion, taking the opportunity to appoint their own government in January 1957, consequently strengthening their position in Eastern Europe. Western leaders were powerless to act, many of them tactically turning a blind eye to this devastating chain of events. Similarly, the comics of the years were reluctant to comment on this deteriorating situation. When compared to the tales published not so long ago in the days prior to November 1954, these efforts were somewhat feeble. It was hardly surprising, for the publishers who had once had so much freedom, now feared the repression of the Code. If they were to fall foul of this body, they risked the distribution of their product to the country’s newsstands. Such an eventuality would very quickly put them out of business. In this McCarthyite America of the 1950s, the publishers and their editors alike were wary of the scrutiny of this new Code. Although wise in their choice not to offend, their caution was to make these years some of the less memorable in comic book publishing history.

This reluctance to address issues of social and political relevance was put aside when the Cold War presented the industry with yet another lifeline. The successful launch of Sputnik 1 in the October of 1957 sent an unnerving ripple across the United States, one that would wash across the entire country to once again subject people to the vagaries

of endemic paranoia. The San Francisco Chronicle carried a report of the satellite being sighted in the sky above the city, albeit countless miles away. Shielding their eyes to catch sight of this rogue device, those on the ground deliberated as to its intent, could the Reds be spying on them, or worse still preparing to rain down an atomic torrent similar to that threatened on the cover of Mystery in Space #15? In the propaganda war the Soviets had scored a major victory, even though the Communist Party’s newspaper, Pravda, buried any report of this triumph deep within its pages, and only then very briefly, much to the frustration of the team whose realisation had astounded the entire world.

The race into space was now on for the comic book publishers, if only EC’s Weird Fantasy and Weird Science had been able to survive the ravages of the Code. The cover to Charlton’s Outer Space #17 (May 1958) seized upon this new anxiety carrying a warning every American citizen needed to read, distinguishing those who accepted this advice with a rare appearance by Al Williamson in the pages of a Charlton comic. Was there an air of predictability to the title of this story? I’ll let you decide, “The Man From Outer Space.” Space Adventures #26 enticed with a cover echoing this renewed hysteria, using an image reminiscent of Columbia’s 1956 masterpiece, Earth vs. The Flying Saucers. Debuting in October 1959, Space War continually menaced its readers with fears of alien invasion, but with Sputnik now orbiting the Earth, was the real threat now hurtling around our own outer atmosphere?

As the fortunes of the superhero began to prosper, Wonder Woman found herself high above our world for her 99th appearance in the July of 1958. It was around this period, covers depicting the Earth from outer space became very popular amongst DC’s seniors, making our world appear all the more vulnerable yet undeniably spectacular. If these covers were to be believed, there were far greater perils lying in wait than those conjured by the Soviets. The trepidation awakened by the presence of Sputnik wasn’t to abate, soon after Wonder Woman’s clash high above our world Jack Kirby took the initiative to script “The Thing on Sputnik 4” for Harvey’s Race to the Moon #2 (September 1958). This encounter came almost four years before the launch of this craft, going on to earn a deserved reprint in Titan’s The Best of Simon and Kirby.

It would be many years before the reason behind this race into space would be divulged, which had little to do with landing a man on the moon or the ensuing ideological superiority. The super powers were

looking to perfect intercontinental ballistic missiles.

If a man could be thrust into Earth’s orbit, then a rocket armed with a nuclear warhead could be guided along a similar trajectory to explode deep within enemy territory. The scenes depicted in ACE’s World War III and St. John’s Atom-Age Combat were a breath away from turning into a terrifying reality. These advances however, came at a price, as depicted on the cover of Dell’s Four Color #939, featuring Steve Canyon in a desperate bid to escape an exploding missile pad. Such disasters were carefully concealed from the public eye, but were all too commonplace in this ever-escalating arms race.

The rivalry between the super powers almost reached a cataclysmic finale during the October of 1962, when the Soviet Union began to position nuclear missiles on the Communist-controlled island of Cuba, less than 100 miles away from mainland America. President John F. Kennedy was resolute in his declaration that if necessary, the United States would engage in military force to remove this weaponry, placing the world on the brink of fullscale nuclear war. The crisis was eventually calmed when the Soviets withdrew their missiles, in light of the United Nations decision to relinquish similar warheads from within Turkey. However, unknown to the rest of the world, a fully armed Russian submarine had lost contact with its superiors in Moscow. As the Americans rained depth charges on the vessel, the crew submersed below the surface, feared the worst. The captain, Valentin Savitsky, gave the order to ready the nuclear missile, but required the support of his fellow officers before commencing the attack. Vasili Alexandrovich Arkhipov declined his commanding officer’s request, safe in the belief the Americans had not launched an attack. On that day in the October of 1962 Vasili

averted a global catastrophe, yet this honourable man’s heroism remains largely forgotten. The comic books’ response to this crisis was a deluge of comics, each thriving on a succession of mind-blowing monsters, many of them the offspring of atomic tampering at the dawn of one of the most exciting phases in comic book history, the Marvel Age of comics.

Amazing Adult Fantasy, Journey into Mystery, Strange Tales, Tales of Suspense and Tales to Astonish played host to a plethora of atomic-spawned monsters, amongst them Rro, Grottu and Monstro. As exciting as these comics certainly were, Stan Lee was losing his drive, he needed something more challenging. Along with Jack Kirby and Steve Ditko, he embarked upon creating a series of superhero comics. When compared to their polished competitors at DC, this new line was somewhat rough and ready, dare I say primitive, but these humble offerings were to inspire a new generation of readers and ultimately change the medium. The monsters of these nuclear-charged years were replaced by a new breed of hero, one that would all too frequently fall prey to the same fractious whims of nuclear experimentation.

As with many of the tales published by Atlas during the early 1950s, the Cold War was to influence these pioneering Marvel Comics. When The Fantastic Four confronted Latveria’s autocratic ruler Doctor Doom, there were parallels with the totalitarian stipulations enforced by those despotic regimes secreted behind the Iron Curtain. In Tales of Suspense #46 (October 1963) the Crimson Dynamo was ordered to bring down Iron Man in a fiendish scheme endorsed by the Soviet Premier, Nikita Khrushchev. The Soviets’ slippery ways would eventually be their undoing, leaving the Crimson Dynamo to consider following Lieutenant Igor Sergeyevich Gouzenko in defecting to the West.

Six months later, this particular saga resumed in Tales of Suspense #52 (April 1964), when the comic book femme fatale of the day, the Black Widow, entered the United States. Before we continue let’s clear up any confusion, Natasha Romanoff’s alias should not be confused with the short-lived supernatural Black Widow of the Golden Age, created by George Kapitan, whose destiny was to consign the souls of the damned to Satan’s fiery pits; no this was the Soviet Union’s master spy, a Mata Hari for the Cold War. A resourceful line of spies was beginning to assume a similar place in these Silver Age comics; Nick Fury Agent of Shield took up the cause in the pages of Strange Tales, while Gold Key introduced the television syndicated Man From Uncle along with I Spy, which in turn led to Tower’s Thunder Agents.

The United States remained unmoved in their opposition to Communism, but there was a new tide washing over the western world, one of revolution and civil rights. As the Communist forces made gains in Vietnam, Warren Comics released Blazing Combat. Given his success on Creepy and Eerie, Archie Goodwin was the natural choice to take on the role as editor of this new title.

Under his guidance, the magazine took a stand against the war, echoing the sentiments of EC’s Two-Fisted Tales and Frontline Combat; so much so he was to annoy many of his readers. They wanted a magazine depicting the United States in all of its shining glory and the Commies as the lowlifes they truly were.

The series would only last for four issues between the October of 1965 and July of 1966, a seeming failure, but a precursor to that which would follow.

By the mid-1960s the youth of America were more educated than they had ever been, with far greater access to further education in the country’s colleges and universities. They were encouraged to think for themselves and in so doing started to question their government, openly rebelling against the draft and the war in Vietnam. There was a similar situation in western Europe as left wing activists took the streets. This growing counterculture gave the authorities serious concerns as reflected in Detective Comics #395. In the Frank Robbins scripted `Drop Out...or Drop Dead!’ featuring the Boy Wonder, the country’s education system was revealed to have been infiltrated by unseemly

elements originating from behind the Iron Curtain. Marvel Comics were a little more sympathetic to this student movement, principally in the pages of The Amazing Spider-man and Captain America. These tales were a far cry from the image of Superman being drafted in issue #133 of his title (November 1959); the times were indeed changing.

The Soviets would continue to support the spread of their doctrine into the African continent and on into South America as the Cold War almost exploded into nuclear chaos on more than one occasion. The comic book enthusiast would be gifted the underground comix movement, with Commies From Mars acting as the forerunner to The Silent Invasion of the 1980s. The comics of the latter years of the Cold War era would remain every bit as fascinating as their predecessors, and one fine day we will take a look as to how they were influenced by the global tensions of this almost apocalyptic epoch.

Like most old codgers (I turned 60 a few years back, fourth of July), my appreciation of comic books sits squarely in the past—1959-60 to be precise, which is when these wonderful creations first really hit the big time with British kids.

The first ones were dated November and December 1959, though a few Octobers and even, as I recall, one September wormed their way into the metal racks of newsagent shops up and down the country . . . not least Guest’s Greeting Cards emporium in Leeds Market which, in those halcyon days, smelled of fruit and flowers, frying bacon and cigarette smoke. The store itself was run by Alice, a wonderful woman with a mouth of stained teeth which could really be described only as ‘hit and miss’ (thus it became known in our house as Alice’s) and she and the proprietor, Mr. Guest, allowed me to ‘save’ a wad of comics and buy them in twos, threes and fours over the two weeks leading up to the next delivery. Sometimes it stretched to even six comics, if mum or dad were feeling flush—I mean, wow! Four shillings and sixpence (that’s 22.5 pence to most of you reading this).

I was a hardened DC fan, a preference already cemented by a solid collection of one shilling (1/-) black-and-white comics (Big 68 Pages—Don’t Take Less) such as the 13-issue run of Mystery In Space, five

Flashes, four Challengers of the Unknown, most of the 37-strong run of Blackhawk plus lots of Tomahawks and Mr. District Attorneys. Of course, I’d also been buying the British ACG reprints of Adventures Into The Unknown and Forbidden Worlds and the likes of Mystic and Spellbound (plus, later, Zombie and Voodoo) . . . and when the American four-colour wonders hit Blighty in their thousands I even maintained strong runs of Archie and his gang, Harvey titles, Dell titles, Charltons and occasional oddball comics such as Jet Power and The Purple Claw—plus, of course, Famous Monsters of Filmland. But, like I say, it was DC that mattered to me the most. (And thank goodness for Dark Horse for publishing Archives of those wonderful early Archie books! Bravo, folks!)

Maybe it was around that time, the early months of a brand-new year—a brand-new decade, in fact: 1960, filled to the brim with all manner of possibilities— maybe it was around that time that I first decided I wanted to write. I was 10 going on 11, facing up to the dreaded 11plus examination which was to see me granted a place at Leeds Grammar School.

I was already fairly greedy in my reading habits—and precocious, too, notching up paperback noir novels such as Ed McBain’s 87th Precinct yarns and Richard S. Prather’s Shell Scott capers plus scores of paperback short story collections from Ballantine, Pyramid, Ace and many others. (It was such a charge when, many years later, I sat in my office in Harrogate chatting with Ed McBain on the phone. And later still, when we ran an interview with Dick Prather in PS’s Postscripts magazine . . . with Dick even signing the tip sheets! And when, on the Board of Trustees for the Horror Writers Association, I was instrumental in getting a Lifetime Achievement Award for Forry

Ackerman. But I digress.)

Nevertheless, putting all the books aside, I reckon it was the comics that gave me the inspiration to write. Sure, the books probably—certainly, in fact—gave me the ability, but the momentum came from the all-in-colour-for-a-dime items I picked up two or three times a week. And the one that sticks in my memory the most is Strange Adventures #110, November 1959, with that incredible cover painting for ‘The Hand From Nowhere’.

I have a couple of stories about this comic.

The first one involves my learning the art of public speaking. We were asked by the tutor to bring something important to us and then do a ten-minute talk extolling the virtues of this particular item and, perhaps, convincing the audience of its worth. Bear in mind that this was before my writing and editing took off: at the time, I was fairly senior in one of the biggest financial institutions in the UK . . . suited up, shirt and tie etc—and here I was talking to a bunch of similarly-attired highranking people about a comicbook. Needless to say it didn’t work and there came a point in my address that I could see it wasn’t working. I stopped and, placing my beloved comic on the rostrum, stepped around to be closer to the audience, thrust both hands into my trouser pockets and said, “You’re just not buying any of this, are you?” Everyone broke into gales of laughter. And the tutor gave me full marks. “It’s being able to respond to your audience that’s the most important element,” he told me later.

I nodded . . . but all I could think was pearls before swine. Still do.

The second story is a story itself.

thick batch of copies of that book in a metal rack back in 1956. So I decided I wanted to do a new story based ‘The Space Between The Lines’ came about when around Showcase #4 which also acted as a doff-of-the-cap I was asked to write a story for an anthology of tales to another comic story that had stuck with me down the based around the paintings of Alan Clark. I picked the years, this one featuring that wascally wabbit, Bugs Bunny. piece of artwork I wanted to use—not having any idea The story was called ‘The Rocketing Radish’ and it featured what I was going to write—and then kept it on my desk Bugs and Elmer finding a window that enabled them to while I finished up some other projects. Around the cross over into the future. same time, while re-reading a bunch of comics (as I do every now and then between reading regular prose Well, need we say more? No, I don’t think so. A week novels), I was once again taken with that wonderful or so after realising that the two things—the first Silver Strange Adventures story. And about how comic book Age Flash appearance (in fact, as we all know, the actual panels are like movie frames, each one flicking onto dawn of the Silver Age) and that Bugs Bunny yarn—could the one before to make a real moving picture-show. be linked, I started work on ‘The Doorway In Stephenson’s After that, and a drunken idea from some 25 years ago Store’. (It’s worth noting here that this was long before about a man who could hold back the setting of the sun Stephen King’s 11.22.63 appeared—just so’s you know.) by placing magic brown tape across a shadow on his I was asked to do a story about heroes for a new lawn, the story was all ready to write . . . with lots of anthology in the US. So I created my own world of super references to the tale from Strange Adventures. heroes and dastardly villains and (being a big Beach Boys One other comic, I’ll mention. fan from way back) called the resulting tale ‘Heroes and Villains’. (I’ll keep this one brief.)

I’ve never owned a copy of Showcase #4, the first appearance of the Silver Age Flash, though a close It was a lot of fun and it’s a world I want to return friend has had a few copies pass through his hands over to sometime. But the interesting thing about this is my the years . . . and, of course, I’ve spent many a pleasant wanting to use a couple of lines from a song to preface the few minutes sitting flicking (carefully!) through it and tale. The song I had in mind was Nirvana’s ‘Smells Like Teen imagining what it must have been like discovering a Spirit’ and I got in touch with Nirvana’s management to

check out the availability. Imagine my shock when they told me they’d want several thousand dollars to use those two lines . . . an amount that was actually a couple of times greater than what all the contributors to the book (as well as the book’s editor) were getting (and it was a reasonably well-paid anthology). I told them I’d pass and, instead, approached David Bowie’s management to use “We could be heroes/ Just for one day”. “No problem,” the woman at the agency said when she came back to me after speaking with Bowie. “Fifty pounds okay?” If only all tales had such a happy ending.

Projects which didn’t work out include my trying to get the rights to do a prose anthology of Spirit tales from Denis Kitchen (this was when Will Eisner was still alive and he’d okayed the project with my co-editor at that time, Ed Kramer). But nope—we hit a snag with Denis, the details of which are lost to me. And we also stalled on a similar volume of Judge Dredd stories to tie in with the Stallone movie. Nope. Zilch. Nada.

(As it turns out, of course, both films were

ourselves. End. Kaput. such unmitigated disasters—and please, don’t anyone try to defend either of them to me or we’re going to fall But things at DC have changed since then . . . and, of out very seriously indeed—that I was pleased I’d been unsuccessful. There’s no way I’d want anything of mine to course, now I have something to show them so maybe there’s still a slight hope we may yet see Archive-type be so associated.) editions of Space Cabby and Space Ranger and Captain Comet and Space Museum and Star Hawkins and Star Another non-starter—at least, thus far—is this one.

Rovers. Maybe even Jerry Lewis, Pvt. Doberman, The Fox I’ve been wanting to start a subsidiary line to PS and the Crow, Mr. District Attorney, Detective Chimp and Publishing which would concentrate on graphic novels so on. As you can see, I really do need to get out more. and reprints of old stories from those magical days See you in the funny pages! of the Silver Age. (I’ve now done this, as I’m sure you know.) We’re currently concentrating on the stories and Peter Crowther is the recipient of numerous awards for his comics that are now public domain but the ones we writing, his editing and, as publisher, for the hugely successful PS really wanted to do—in beautiful full-colour slipcased imprint (http://www.pspublishing.co.uk). 2010 saw the launch of hardcovers—were some of DC’s old anthology titles that a new poetry imprint (Stanza Press) and PS Artbooks, which has DC was pretty unlikely to be doing themselves. I got my now produced more than a dozen volumes of classic pre-code chum Harlan Ellison to go behind the scenes with Paul horror comics. As well as being widely translated, Peter’s short stories have been adapted for TV on both sides of the Atlantic Levitz (at the time the person to go to for anything at and collected in The Longest Single Note, Lonesome Roads, Songs all to do with DC) and pave the way for me to approach them. Harlan called me back to say Paul said it was okay of Leaving, Cold Comforts, The Spaces Between the Lines, The Land at the End of the Working Day and the upcoming Jewels In to get in touch. So I did The Dust. He is the co-author (with James Lovegrove) of Escardy Sadly, Paul’s tone was unequivocal, with no opening for dialogue or discussion, no opportunity for trying to reason. It was simply we don’t allow anyone to reprint our stuff even though we may not be going to reprint it

Gap and author of the Forever Twilight SF/horror cycle (Darkness Falling already available, and The Death Of Light due later this year or early 2013). He lives and works with his wife and business partner, Nicky on the pretty much permanently windswept Yorkshire coast.

when Don Heck assumed the mantle as cover artist on War Fury, For Those Who Know How To Look!

Don Heck is not usually thought of as one of the bad boys of Horrific and Weird Terror from September 1952, there was a American comic books, but the art he produced at the beginning pronounced change to the image of these titles, plus the new of the 1950s for the fledgling outfit Comic Media, particularly Comic Media logo. The only issue not to showcase one of Don’s the covers, has achieved a clamorous notoriety amongst horror covers was Weird Terror #2, which was drawn by Rudy Palais.

The issues of the above mentioned titles contain the artwork of comic collectors—none more so than his “bullet in the head Don Heck, Rudy Palais, Pete Morisi, Marty Elkin, Al Tewks and cover.” What, until recently, was not commonly known, was Bill Discount. The indicia at the front of each issue attribute these the illo adorning the cover of Comic Media’s cult collector’s item Horrific #3 (January 1953), had been used previously. The titles to Allen Hardy Associates. The last issue of Horrific was image had in fact appeared some four months before as part of re-titled Terrific, cover-dated December 1954, due to the arrival a bigger cover illustration, fronting the premiere of War Fury, of the dreaded Comic Code Authority (CCA). The quality of the dated September 1952. This has resulted in a growing number artwork produced by this small roster of artists was often great, of horror comic fans now wanting both issues! The desirability certainly never less than good. Other titles published by this company, which may be of interest, all with Heck and Co., art are of this debut has been intensified by the appearance of Rudy Danger, Dynamite and the western title Death Valley. These latter Palais, in a seven-pager entitled “The Runt” and Don’s own titles were taken over by Charlton in 1955, but lack the impact “The Unconquered.” of their forerunners due to their being Code-approved. The more committed fans might want to investigate further.

Comic Media (Allen Hardy Associates) The company started out in 1952 as Artful Publications, Don Heck Artist Extraordinaire which may have previously been part of Ajax/Farrell, as both Who’s Who of American Comic Books (1973-6) offers little by used Iger Shop art. The origins of Jerry Iger’s “shop” go back way of biographical information about Don Heck, except that he as early as 1936. Alongside Will Eisner, they produced the worked for St. John and Magazine Enterprises (ME) in the early finished artwork for publishers such as Quality, Fox, Fiction 1950s, predominantly on romance and weird titles. Between 1962 House, and Gilberton (Classics Illustrated). During the 1950s and 1965, he produced stories for Dell and Gold Key’s Frogmen, they continued to package items for Fiction House as well as Ripley’s Believe it or Not, The Man From Uncle etc. He also worked finished comic books for Ajax Farrell, Artful and the Canadian on King Comics Mandrake in 1966, as well as their newspaper strip publisher, Superior. Over the years, many artists worked for The Phantom circa 1972. Following his stint at Comic Media he Iger, notably Dick Briefer, Reed Crandall, Jay Disbrow, Al worked for Atlas/Marvel Comics Group from 1955 on Jann of the Feldstein, Jack Kamen, Jack Kirby, Joe Kubert, Rudy Palais Jungle, Navy Combat (specifically Torpedo Taylor), The Avengers, and the classic “good girl” artists Maurice Whitman and Matt Journey into Mystery, Strange Tales, Tales of Suspense and Tales to Baker. The contribution made by editor and writer, Ruth Roche, Astonish, forming part of a team which would make Marvel Comics should not be overlooked during this period. a major force in a revived comic book industry. In 1975, he rounded his career off illustrating The Defenders, Ghost Rider, Marvel Team The first three issues of Horrific contain Iger’s Up and The Champions amongst others. homogeneous and sometimes bland art styling. However,

Once Upon A Time Little has been written about the comic book artist Lou Morales. I only discovered him by accident! The key was the cover he created for Hot Rods and Racing Cars #8 (July 1952), which I spotted in Ernest Gerber’s essential Photo Journal Guide to Comic Books, while scanning the covers with my trusty 2x magnifying glass. His art, while seemingly crude, had an undeniable energy, quite suited to the covers of these pre-Code years, particularly those reared in the Charlton stable.

I had heard his name in connection with the now notorious “severed tongues” cover, which had graced (or was it disgraced?) Lawbreakers Suspense Stories #11. I then recalled I had an early issue of Hot Rods and Racing Cars, so I hastily dug it out to discover it was issue #9. This, too, led with a Lou Morales

cover. Inside were two stories by the man himself; needless to say, I was hooked.

The Good News I made a list of all of the pre-Code Charltons of which I was aware, and then the search was on.

What a search it has proved to be! Charlton comics are fairly uncommon, but these pre-Code issues proved unusually difficult to locate. For the next twelve years I had to pick them up one by one, whole bunches of these titles just didn’t come up for sale. There was also the problem many of the covers to these comics were not included in The Gerber’s Guide, so a few frogs were kissed along the way, as non-Morales items would sometimes be ordered in error.

The good news was that apart from two or three obvious issues, few people seemed to be looking for these comics. So if you spotted one in a dealer’s catalogue, the chances were it would still be there when you rang through. The other piece of good news was that if it was a Lou Morales issue, it could also be the first time you’d seen it.

A Love Of Mayhem The genres he covered seemed largely confined to crime and hot rod comics. I then discovered

he had illustrated the cover to the first issue to Space Adventures from the July of 1952, along with the cover to Charlton’s infamous horror title The Thing! #5 from the October of that same year. The cover adorning Space Adventures’ premiere depicting a planet about to be destroyed by flaming meteors had originally been pencilled by Charlton editor Al Fago. On the inside back cover was another half page of Morales, in the fact-based story, “The Birth of the Moon.”

The cover to The Thing! #5 was a little more sinister, showing a headless man menacing a rather attractive young lady. She was ever so delicately balanced, her nimble legs teetering on a pair of impossible stiletto heels. Morales’ figures, particularly his women, were often precariously poised, adding to the charm in his work. The Thing! #7 (March 1953), also gifted with one of his covers, revels in its portrayal of a man’s eyes being gouged out by a demon, no less! This image was the lead into John Belfi’s “The Gorgon’s Claw,” which appeared later in this blood-curdling issue. Morales would return with a four page offering for issue #11, “Beyond the Past.” It was, as you can imagine, suitably macabre. He was also a highly capably illustrator, as demonstrated on the inside cover splash for The Thing! #5. It is also worth checking out his splash to the “Hot Rock” story from Hot Rods and Racing Cars #10.

Famous Tales Of Terror Charlton Comics had started life during the mid 1940s.

Early editions of the cult superhero title, Yellowjacket Comics were published by Frank Communale Publishing Co., later The Frank Publishing Co. This company then evolved to become Charlton Publications. Yellowjacket Comics, which ran for ten issues, from September 1944 to June 1946, presented a collection of seven-page tales selected from the works of horror maestro Edger Allan Poe, under the banner “Famous Tales of Terror.” The stories featured were “The Black Cat” in #1, “The Pit ad he Pendulum” in #3, “The Fall of the House of Usher” in #4 and “The Tell Tale Heart” in #6. Issues #2 and #5 did not contain any of these horror adaptations, while from #7 onwards they adopt a more general line of horror fare, each narrated by the “Ancient Witch.” These tales went under the modestly retitled heading of “Tales of Terror,” all of them rendered by Alan Mandel. Fans of Wonder Woman may also want to take a look at the “Diana the Huntress” strip from this run. It would be four long years before the “Ancient Witch’s” familial “The Old Witch” would make her first appearance in Haunt of Fear #16 (2).

New Titles In 1948, Charlton published its first serious comic, Cowboy Western, when Jack in the Box was retitled with #17. Those of you who enjoy the obscure would relish its

further relabelling in 1952, when it became Space Western on its 40th appearance, featuring “Spurs Jackson and His Space Vigilantes.” This unusual premiere rewarded its readers with a two page yarn from Lou Morales.

The year 1951 saw Charlton introduce several additional adult-oriented titles. These new offerings were to include Sunset Carson, True Life Secrets, Hot Rods and Racing Cars plus the crime titles Crime and Justice and Lawbreakers. These were supplemented the following year with Racket Squad in Action, Space Adventures and Charlton’s bête noire The Thing!

Damsel-In-Distress Those of you with a liking for Lou Morales’ work should concentrate on the crime titles Crime and Justice and Lawbreakers. With their fifth and fourth issues respectively, Lou would be assigned to cover duties. Additionally, the contents of Crime and Justice #5 would introduce the first of a series of mystery stories of the husband and wife team “Curt and Merry Chase” rendered by Morales. This style of story had been popularised by the film of 1934, “The Thin Man,” which spawned five sequels.

It starred William Powell and Myrna Loy as the amateur sleuths Nick and Nora Charles, adapted from a story by Dashiell Hammett. Super Mystery Comics had regularly featured “The Adventures of Bert and Sue” since the mid 1940s. The role of the wife in the comic book versions was to be tied up or placed in mortal peril at every possible opportunity; life for Merry Chase was no different. The story entitled “Bait for a Killer” in issue #14 had Curt and Merry in pursuit of a killer who decapitated his female victims, while a couple of issues earlier in “Alias Gegori” Curtis had been confused for the spy Gregori, with obvious results. Merry found herself captured then, as with so many before her, tied up, in this instance by the disreputable Chong. The story is reminiscent of Josef von Sternberg’s film noir thriller “Macao” released Less than twelve months before, starring Robert Mitchum. Jane Russell and William Bendix as the unfortunate U.S. government agent. Seemingly unaffected by the mayhem, Curt and Merry enthusiastically follow up each case with a view of bringing the perpetrator to justice. The Chases, as drawn by Morales, feature in issues #5 to #18, with cover appearances on #5-6, 8 and 10-15. They would make their final appearances in Crime and Justice #19-21, inked by Ray Osrin. Joe Shuster, co-creator of the original superhero Superman, was brought in to pencil these stories. It now seems highly likely issue #22 of this title does not exist, with issues #23-26 carrying the spectre of the CCA stamp of approval.

Death On Wheels The stories drawn by Lou Morales, most notably the “Mr and Mrs Chase Novelettes” are both unusual

and imaginative, while conveying a curious sense of the exotic. When inked by his close friend Dennis Laugen, his layouts were embellished with a rather soft curvaceous finish, making them very easy on the eye. For any of you who have interest in Laugen’s work, why not check out his signed solo story “Getting A-Head,” which appeared in Lawbreakers Suspense Stories #10. His panels have a cartoon-like aspect, similar in certain respects to some of Howard Nostrand’s pages.

Morales also drew covers and stories for the action-oriented Hot Rods and Racing Cars #8-12 (January to October 1953), in a series of comics combining the thrills of full-on speed with episodes of juvenile delinquency and petty crime. The passion evinced in the artistry of these pages constantly shines, making them as enjoyable today as they were over sixty years ago. In the eight-pager “Continental” from Hot Rods and Racing Cars #9, tomboy Kerry was urged to race in her Continental, but this race conflicts with her pending engagement to the foppish cad, Daniel. The good guy of this piece, Bob, dreams not only of winning the race, but also winning the heart of young Kerry. As the proceedings unfold, they go head to head in a chicken run over a precipitous “mountain back road.” The bounder in this debacle, Daniel, fixes her brakes to teach her a lesson. Realising his mistake he leaves a note before absconding to South America. During the race Kerry screams, “Bob! Bob! My brakes are gone!” It’s now up to Bob to save the day and get the girl! As with all of Lou Morales’ tales, this one contains his type of dame, spinning wheels, petty crime and the ever-present oily rag! If you’re gasping for more, you really do need to track these issues down.

Silence Is Golden In January 1953 Lawbreakers went through a change of title to become Lawbreakers Suspense Stories with issue #10. The cover to this issue showcases a man and woman caught in the blast of an explosion, drawn by Stan Campbell as a precursor to the tale “Yesterday’s Murder.” Stan, a Charlton stalwart, is another artist who deserves so much more attention. Lou Morales would sharpen his pencils to give us “”D” As in Death” and the “Voice From the Deep!” but saved his most notorious moment for issue #11, cover-dated March 1953. Here a crouching maniac babbles to a terrified scantily clad girl, “I know you are mute, Miss Kimberley, but even if you could yell, the people downstairs couldn’t call the police. You see… I already cut their tongues out!” Lou delivered the goods with two more stories for the interior pages.

The lead story, “Round Trip Ticket” builds on the cover teaser. As the rain pours from the heavens, an overnight stay at a tumbledown house is forced upon a group of interstate passengers when their bus breaks down. The mute Miss Kimberley, already observed on the appalling cover scene, is one of the passengers. The unnamed owner, not at all like the personable Norman Bates, seems to know all of their darkest secrets. Miss Kimberley becomes increasingly alarmed as one by one her fellow passengers are visited by the spectral remains of an intimate from their past lives. The nocturnal screams drive the almost-dressed Miss Kimberley into the boarded-up loft. In these confines, the cathartic shock resulting from her confrontation with the deathly knife wielding house owner restores her voice. She awakens in a small cafe, her voice now returned, feeling as if it has all been a bad dream, or has it?

Although the second Morales tale for this issue “Explosive!” was mere three pages, it still went off with a bang!

The House Of Whacks December 1953 witnessed the launched of Charlton’s humorous rival to EC’s Mad. Entitled Eh!, issue #1 found room for Lou Morales’ “House of Whacks” in an otherwise Dick Ayers full house.

The style maybe a little sketchy, but is replete with humour and invention. By now, Morales had drawn his last cover and would illustrate just two more stories for Charlton.

The cover to Crime and Justice #16 (November 1953) was to be his last. Issue #17 saw Dick Giordano assume cover duties, as he did with Lawbreakers Suspense Stories from issue #13 and Hot Rods and Racing Cars #12 (July 1953 and October 1953).

Lou’s last piece of work for Charlton would be the memorable “Terror Under the Big Top” for the April/ May 1954 issue of Crime and Justice numbered 18.

This issue also included an early entry from Steve Ditko, going by the name “Radio Patrol: Killer on the Loose!”

The End… Lou then disappeared from comics for two years before gaining employment with Atlas on half a dozen their mystery stories plus an appearance in Tales of Justice #61 (August 1956). Limited to only three or four pages, they barely resemble the work he produced for Charlton. The eagle eyed may spot his tiny signature on the splash. His style is now heavier, resembling the work of fellow Atlas artist, John Tartaglione. As with Bernard Bailey, the Comic Code seems to have stifled this creative maverick. There would be a one-off appearance in Gilberton’s factually oriented The World Around Us #30 in 1961, in the tale “Sunken Treasure,” before Lou bowed out of comic books to head for pastures new.

One-hit wonders, one-shots, call them what you will, these are the comic books that have thwarted even the most ardent collectors since their first publication. None more so than this pairing; published

by Hillman, when the craze for horror comics was nearing its zenith.

Carrying a cover date of October 1952, their impact echoes the zeitgeist of this rapidly expanding comic book industry, each tempting with a typically maleficent intent. While these ignominious depictions blended with the macabre spectacle plaguing the American newsstands, they were in truth the siblings of an almost redundant breed, the crime comic.

Hillman never joined the clamour for these four-colour tomes of terror.

Monster Crime Comic deigned to chill with “Another Hallowe’en” and “The Canvas Tomb,” but neither could be ascribed to the loathsome lore that was corrupting the youth of America.

Alex L. Hillman’s tenure as a comic book publisher can be traced to the Golden Age, debuting in February 1940 with the short-lived Miracle Comics, followed a month later by Rocket Comics, both under the Hillman-Curl imprint. The origins of this minor publishing house go back a few years before to September 1936, when Hillman, the then president of Godwin and Arcadia House, and Samuel Curl, the firm’s sales manager, joined together to embark on a new venture.

In less than twelve months, their Clue Club Mystery line of crime and mystery books began to reap the benefit of extensive circulation across the whole of North America.

This fledgling company soon followed with a series of digest-sized publications, led by Mystery Novel of the Month, prior to the appearance of Western Novel Classic, which promptly spawned an array of gun-slinging offshoots, before Thriller Novel Classic emerged from the shadows to ply its unwholesome trade.

Hillman’s reputation was further enhanced by a string of highly successful true confession magazines coupled with a similarly popular series on true crime, each of which debuted prior to the launch of the general interest journal, Pageant. On the newsstands, Airboy Comics was an unassailable triumph, with two of its characters in particular garnering an

unprecedented following amongst the nation’s enthusiastic comic book readers, Airboy and The Heap.

The covers to Crime Must Stop and Monster Crime Comic bear no relation to any of their interior content, although Crime Must Stop’s femme fatale, observed overseeing the burial of an unfortunate in quicklime, would have played host to any one of the many lurid crime comics from of a few years past. The scene depicted on its companion, Monster Crime Comic, rates as a bona fide horror, and must go down as a blatant piece of deception on the part of Hillman’s editorial team.

As the cost of paper continued to rise, their competitors found it impossible to maintain the long-standing 52-page package for an affordable 10 cents a copy, but Hillman tried to stem the tide and stick to this established format, most notably with Airboy Comics. However, when these new entries were placed on the company’s schedule, they chose a quite daring, if not foolhardy approach, in raising the cover price to 15 cents. The sales on both fell way below the mark. Almost 40 years later Ernie Gerber’s momentous Photo-Journal Guide to Comics Volumes I and II suggested the pair was amongst the rarest titles of the entire period, with few copies ever being offered for sale.

His research concluded that no more than 50 of each were still be in existence, which confirms the disappointing return for these issues when they debuted in the late summer of 1952. Even then, few readers would have been privy to these tales, two of which, were rendered by Mort Lawrence and Bernie Krigstein, both in the pages of Crime Must Stop.

It may be that Alex L. Hillman could see the writing was on the wall and with these two issues was preparing to exhaust his inventory of crime stories, because only a few months later he closed the doors to his failing line of comic books. His attention turned to the more lucrative domain of magazines, such as Homeland and People Today, in addition to promoting the distribution of the right-wing journal Freeman, leaving countless unopened copies of Crime Must Stop and Monster Crime Comic to be needlessly destroyed.

He may be better known these days for his books on crime fiction and films, but as a short-trousered schoolboy in the north of England, Barry Forshaw’s real enthusiasm was for American comics—everything from Superman to Mystery in Space (always in the black-and-white UK reprints which were all that were available in that distant day). But then a taunting school friend’s conversation opened his eyes to an exhilarating new genre in the comics field—a genre which (unbeknownst to him) had already been banned in the UK: reprinted American horror comics....

Superadventure Decades (many decades) later, I still remember it well. As a reading-obsessed boy in Liverpool in the 1960s (just before the advent of The Beatles), I had an ironclad weekly ritual that I looked forward to with keenness of anticipation. It involved walking past the towering walls of Walton jail (always wondering about the unseen miscreants behind that forbidding brickwork—as I still do when I revisit the city from London) and making my way to a small corner shop where I had a weekly standing order for a variety of comics. The plump, motherly ladies who ran the shop knew me well and handed over with a smile the latest Superman, Batman or Superadventure (the latter the awkward UK/Australian retitling of DC’s World’s Finest, which featured both superheroes), and accepted my carefully saved (and meagre) pocket money in

exchange for these 32-page treasures. Who cared that these black-and-white reprints hardly matched the multicolour splendour of the American originals? They still comfortably fed a fantasy-hungry boy in a gray era well before videos (or, in my case, even TV; my family didn’t own one). And there was another local shop which supplied even heftier doses of this fantastic American escapism than the slim sixpenny books mentioned above: chunky shilling reprints of inventive and imaginative American magazines such as Adventures into the Unknown and even a short-lived reprint series of an elegantly drawn superhero dressed all in scarlet, The Flash. All were, of course, excellent—if unthreatening— fare, post-Comics Code, as I later learned, with censorship firmly in place. But intriguing shadows beckoned. I had intimations that there was another forbidden genre of comics that occasionally surfaced and which had already been banned after a government decree in 1955: horror comics—gruesome and lurid tales of murder and monsters.

As Liverpool was still a functioning port city, the occasional pre-censorship book would sneak in from the US as ship’s ballast—such as something invitingly called Adventures into Weird Worlds, which dealt with everything from vampires rapacious for blood to killer robots, with illustrations far more grotesque and unsettling than the post-code material that was my usual fare. But even these rare horror titles paled into insignificance after one playground encounter—the repercussions of which are still (thankfully) with me in middle age.

Tempting talk In the schoolyard of St. John’s Primary School (now as overgrown and derelict as any gloomy setting in any of the horror comics), there was one boy—not really a friend—who enjoyed taunting me with deeply desirable-sounding comics that were simply beyond my reach. With a broad malicious smile, he told me that he had bought some Superman and Superboy comics in full colour—British reprints, what’s more, not the American originals. I didn’t believe him until he produced them: short runs of these books which were haphazardly coloured in this country, before the blackand-white reprints once again took over. But such books were tantalisingly dangled under my nose, never lent or (God forbid!) given—his greatest enjoyment came from teasing. Don’t we all learn about cruelty in the schoolyard?

Preliminary tauntings over, he then came up with a dilly. With a wide grin, he produced a 68-page shilling title that bore the immensely tempting legend ‘Not suitable for children’ (what could be more intriguing?) and showed a scantily dressed young woman at a circus looking in horror as an axe thrown by a fellow performer is aimed straight at her head while onlookers gawp open-mouthed. The book was called Tales from the Crypt—and not only did it promise more gruesome material than anything I’d seen before, but it looked nothing like the other horror comics that had come my way—my tormentor flicked through the pages and I saw that it was much better drawn than most books I’d seen (I was already an aficionado of comics illustrators, having trained myself to

recognise the style of such stellar artists as Gil Kane).

The inflicting of pain Having whetted my appetite with a grin, my ‘friend’ said ‘A shop I know has lots of comics like this—stacks of them!—and it’s been selling them for years—it’s the only shop in Liverpool that does.’ His grin widened: ‘But I’m not going to tell you where it is. And I’m not even going to lend you this comic!’ His triumph was complete— no sadistic monster in EC comics (a company whose existence I knew nothing about, of course) ever enjoyed inflicting pain with such relish, and I tried every kind of plea with him to find out where the shop was—or at least to get him to allow me to borrow the book. To no avail.

He was, inevitably, lying. I was subsequently to learn that the tottering piles of comics he talked about only existed in his imagination—EC horror comics had enjoyed precisely three (or possibly four—we’ll come to that later) reprints in the shilling format in Britain, and, without too much expenditure, as an adult I was able to subsequently acquire them. But—back to the 1960s—how to acquire that copy of Tales from the Crypt that my friend (if I can charitably call him that) wouldn’t part with? I racked my brains for a way to change his mind, but nothing worked—until something occurred to me—a long shot that I knew would put me in bad odor with my parents, but might just do the trick.

The crocodile ploy I had a small stuffed crocodile (yes, really), and after offering my tormentor other comics in vain, this finally did the trick. In a Liverpool back alley, the swap was made: stuffed mammal for horror comic. As I expected, my parents were outraged that I’d traded my precious crocodile for a mere comic when I had stacks of them.

Needless to say, they didn’t know that this book was something special —a comic I was to read and re-read for years until it practically fell apart. I still have that very book, crudely repaired with yellowing Sellotape.

In any case, although I no longer possessed a stuffed crocodile, I had a cherished British edition of Tales from the Crypt. I carefully carried it home, shielded in my jacket against the sudden rain (the book still has some water damage, reminding me of that distant day). Looking again at that lethal axe flying through the air I knew it was time to open the door of the crypt.

As I settled down in the parlour (as we used to call the front room—and which I had taken over from the rest of the family), I noticed something that was simultaneously both mouth-watering and frustrating: this issue of TftC was actually number two—my God, there had been a previous issue! And who knew how many more had followed this one, which was clearly not new? The cover identification also read ‘An ABC Chiller’, and any reference to the original begetters, William Gaines and Al Feldstein’s

EC Comics, had been rigorously removed (the now familiar EC circular logo—then unknown to me—had been overlaid with the words ‘British Edition, One Shilling’). Another thing I did not know was that horror comics, were—and in fact, still are—banned in Britain; the UK had its own mini comics hysteria reflecting the effects of Dr Wertham’s campaign in the States, and I was holding one of only a handful of British EC reprints. But blissfully unaware of such niceties, I opened the book with its dramatic Jack Davis cover (the fact that the illustrator signed the front cover was also something of a novelty) to see another beautifully detailed Davis drawing of a grinning ghoul MC (who I was to learn later in the issue was The Crypt Keeper, master of the gruesome witticism). He was telling the reader: ‘I call this electrifying yarn “Current Attraction”.’

Again—who knew?—this was a prime example of one of EC’s punning titles which (when read retrospectively) cleverly gave away the famous twists at the end of the story. (I should point out that no revelations or spoilers will be found in this piece—don’t you hate it when people do such things?) This first story was drawn in clean, economical lines by another Jack, the artist Jack Kamen (his surname could be seen on the splash panel, which featured an elegantly drawn, shapely female acrobat swinging on a trapeze), and was the story from which the cover illustration came. However, the cover’s potentially gore-splattered image was not to be seen in the story—it

happens ‘off camera’—but take a look at this text from the story: ‘Rufus could see the cleaver raised… See it flying through the air… see it swerve inward… cutting… splitting… The blood… the red raw flesh and bone… The brains…’

My startled adolescent eyes had never read text as grisly as this in the comic book medium (although I was already reading such fare in the Pan Book of Horror Stories paperbacks); the legend added by the British reprint publisher—‘Not suitable for children’—may have been a weak attempt to keep censorship at bay, but it was certainly suitable for the horror-hungry child that I was.

More delicious dread But it wasn’t just uncensored horror writing (courtesy of Feldstein and Gaines) that the book offered. There was the beautifully detailed artwork

by Davis, Kamen and, later, two real discoveries for me: the smooth, hyper-realism of George Evans and the gloriously baroque decadence of Graham Ingels.

At times the graphics of the book were reminiscent of the very best magazine illustration in terms of their impeccable detail—it never occurred to me for a

second that this book in its original incarnation had been in color; why would (I reasoned) the artists lavish such attention on their work if it would require the further finessing of colour? And there was that writing—damn! In precisely the same way I had never seen comics artwork as impressive as this, I’d never seen such literary, adult writing in the medium.

The second story, ‘Come Back Little Linda’ (I was too young to know that this title was a spin on the William Inge Broadway play ‘Come Back Little Sheba’), dramatically rendered by George Evans, showed a cell in an asylum and began with the lines: ‘The old man sat with wide staring eyes and clenched fists amid a foul odour and decay and rot and unremoved human excrements.’

Apart from setting the scene in the manner of Edgar Allan Poe, what about that reference to ‘human excrements’? I certainly didn’t encounter such text when Superman was trying to conceal his secret identity from Lois Lane.

The numbers game The book was a reprint of the American edition of Tales from the Crypt number 41 (from April/May 1954), quite late in the book’s American run, with other fill-ups to bulk up the 68 pages from EC, notably Crime SuspenStories. All were on the same level of sophistication and quality—notwithstanding that not all carried that delicious frisson of horror of the opening stories, since some of them were crime-based.

‘ABC Chillers’, the company responsible for the reprint, was in reality the independent publisher Arnold Book Company which had made its mark as a distributor before facilitating its own reprints when American material could no longer be imported directly. The company specialised in horror material such as Simon and Kirby’s Black Magic, which was more restrained than EC, but the UK reprints of the title were more numerous—there sixteen in all in the run). The company’s product was often cited by campaigners against horror comics in the UK (a strange mélange of moral guardians, librarians and Communist groups with an antipathy towards any American material). Arnold’s notorious reputation was a contributory factor in the parliamentary inauguration of the Children and Young Persons (Harmful Publications) Bill, with such august figures on side as Churchill. The horror comic in Britain was doomed, but at least two issues of Tales from the Crypt appeared before the metaphorical axe fell.

It was to be several years before I managed to track down the extremely elusive companions to this cherishable book (and by then I had acquired the American originals). There was just one other issue: Tales from the Crypt, number one, which was a reprint of American issue #40, and showed a startled diver pulling open a giant shell to reveal a rotting— but living—corpse (it was again drawn by Jack Davis). And the other verifiable book? A single issue—number one—of The Haunt of Fear (US issue #23, with a Graham Ingels cover)—

though neither of these two books bore the line ‘Not suitable for children’, which almost hints that Arnold knew its ploy was a flimsy one. But was there a fourth UK reprint of an EC horror title? It’s the holy grail of British comics collectors, and a mystery that remains unsolved to this day.

We can at least look at the facts we have…

Vanished in The Vault: the missing EC reprint Was there in fact a fourth British reprint of an EC horror title? Did a UK Vault of Horror number one ever exist? This title, which no living British comics expert has ever managed to track down, has been much discussed over the years, and possibly never appeared—or did it? There is one slender clue to the possible existence of this fabled book. In the parliamentary debate that preceded the introduction of the Bill mentioned above, there was cross-party agreement concerning the perceived evil of horror comics—and an urgent necessity to protect the youth of Britain against this material (the notion that such books might be read by adults was given short shrift). Frank Soskice (Baron Stow Hill) was a Labour MP who is said to have brandished a copy of Vault of Horror, against which he fulminated (according to parliamentary records of the day) that the book was designed to ‘appeal to the instincts of sadism and every excitation of one’s most brutish inclinations, taste and feelings’. There is, of course, the possibility that an American copy of the book had found its way into the MP’s hands, and certainly no parliamentarian of the day would be likely to differentiate between an American comic and its British reprint.

Ah, but there is also the possibility that Arnold did in fact publish this chimera of chimeras—but as no records of the company’s publication schedule are extant, we will never know. What’s more, as those people likely to have bought a copy of the book (if it ever existed) would now be very long in the tooth or like The Vault of Horror’s celebrated creators, Al Feldstein and Bill Gaines, would now have shuffled off this mortal coil, there are no avenues still open for a resolution.

A lost era But whether there were three or four British reprints of the glorious EC comics, what remains—however crumbling and age-worn today—is a fascinating snapshot of a lost era and of the time when British schoolchildren (such as I was) had a chance to have their moral fiber corrupted (as the censors would have it) by those terrible American horror comics. I shudder (with pleasure) to remember that it happened to me.

Barry Forshaw is the author of British Gothic Cinema and The Rough Guide to Crime Fiction (available from Amazon) and the editor of Crime Time (www.crimetime.co.uk). He lives in London.

The chilling sight of leathern wings across moonlit skies was in evidence when the comic book was still in its nascence. From these skies, they would swoop down into the streets below, assuming human form, before stealing from the shadows with malice aforethought. In the years preceding the sanctions of the Comics Code, the vampire’s kiss was never a prelude to romance, rather it was borne of evil, with a sole desire to satiate its lust for human blood, and in so doing spread its malfeasance from the graveyards into the avenues beyond.

Long before horror comics became all the rage, the first of the vampire legion stole into four single page instalments in the contents of New Fun, starting with #6, in the October of 1935, when supernatural hero Dr. Occult set out to thwart the machinations of the villainous Vampire Master.

Written by Superman’s creator Jerry Seigel and ably assisted by the man of steel’s artist Joe Shuster, whose

exquisite style embodied this halcyon epoch, this was the beginning of the vampire’s reign in the comic book. Dr. Occult would eventually vanquish his nemesis, but was unable to stem this unholy tide, as the undead returned to leave their indelible mark on the newsstands of North America.

As the 1930s gave way to a new decade, the comic book flourished, just as the world once again prepared for war.

With the democracies of the free world engaged against the slaughter of the Axis powers, the superhero ascended to become the champion of the comic book publishers and the youth of America alike. Shortly after his debut in Detective Comics #27 (May 1939), Batman was bound for Paris in a two part tale, introduced in #31 (September 1939). Initially he was assailed by the unscrupulous Monk,

before venturing on, in the next issue, across Europe into Hungary, where the vampire Dala waited in the shadows. The curtain would fall on their treacherous ways when Batman eventually traced their coffins. Maybe if they had chanced upon Bob Kane’s iconic cover to Detective Comics #31, they would have been a little more wary of Bruce Wayne’s alter ego. Alas, for them it wasn’t to be; they were destined to fall before the caped crusader.

This episode went to press as the Nazis conspired to subjugate Europe in its entirety. It didn’t take long for the vampire horde to enter into a pact with this evil force. When Captain America Comics #24 (March 1943) hit the stands, Cap was thrown into a confrontation with Count Vernis on Vampire Mountain, in the tale `The Vampire Strikes.’ It was a nail biting encounter, revealing this heinous breed at its most lethal. The Count wouldn’t be the only supernatural villain to conspire with the Nazi abomination, zombielike creatures together with demonic entities would follow suit, to gift the comic book its finest moment. These vampires weren’t the misunderstood

victims martyred in the literature of the latter twentieth century; far from it, they were baneful manifestations, impelled solely by their rapacious appetence.

During the 1940s, only one comic book character used the name “Vampire”. She made her one and only appearance in Gem Comics #16, an Australian anthology title published by Frank Johnson in 1948. This issue has become something of an enigma, with collectors finding it almost impossible to locate this long forgotten heroine’s solitary adventure. Apparently her skinhugging outfit, the creation of Pete Chapman, met with an appreciable amount of disapproval amongst the parents of those children who, in this instance, were unusually eager to hand over their pocket money. It has since proved one of the hidden gems of the hobby.

Across the Pacific Ocean, with the war now thankfully at an end, sales of superhero comics suddenly plummeted; it seemed the youngsters of the United States were no longer in need of a costumed daredevil to save the day. The comic book publishing houses, mainly based in New York, were going to have to look elsewhere for inspiration. Initially, romance and crime comics came to the fore, then without warning the horror comic crept onto the newsstands. Eerie Comics was the first, with an unsettling Nosferatu-styled cover, which continues to capture the imagination of the modern day horror comic reader. Visually, on its release, it made quite an impact, but it wasn’t enough for its publishers, Avon, to commit

to a second issue. Fans of this title would have to wait until 1951 for its return, when the craze for horror comics had taken a hold of the youth of an America now beginning to rebuild after the onslaught of war.

In the autumn of 1948 the first ongoing horror comic went into production, Adventures into the Unknown, published by a company not regarded for its excessive take on horror, but with a penchant for the vampire, the American Comics Group. Soon after, a shadow darkened the comic books of North America, eventually working its way across the Atlantic to raise the undead. There would be those who would have preferred these insidious creatures be left to the grave, but the publishers of these comics thought otherwise. It is fair to say that while horror boomed, the vampire was never truly ascendant.

Furthermore, their appearance on covers was a rare event, but those that did make it, gave us something to savour. Of particular note is the winged green figure hanging by its feet on the cover of Mystery Tales #3 (July 1952), and let’s not forget Mystic #17’s (February 1953) “Behold! The Vampire!” Adventures into Weird Worlds #16’s (March 1953) “The Kiss of Death” and Adventures into Weird Worlds #22’s (September 1953) “The Vampire’s Partner,” each of which was published by Atlas. Comic Media’s striking cover to Weird Terror #5 (May 1953), followed by the ensuing issue’s shocker, were a hideous reminder of the vampire’s allure. The accompanying tales, it has to be said, were seldom a match of these deathly

images, yet they succeeded in selling these titles by the tens of thousands.

EC will always be revered for their incomparable line of horror comics, but for a vampire story to be accepted in the contents of one of these titles, it had to deliver an unexpected twist, one that would astound their expectant readers. The legendary publisher Bill Gaines insisted his celebrated creative team avoid the conventions of vampire tradition. He encouraged them to explore a darker path, one that would have his ever growing readership pounding at his door on Lafayette Street for more. His approach was an incredible success, making his deranged portfolio the most sought-after of the period.

Set in Budapest, Haunt of Fear #10’s “The Vamp” (December 1951) was an early effort by EC to sink its fangs into vampire lore. As can be seen from the tales already mentioned in this piece, Hungary’s capital had already become a very popular destination for these pre-Code terrors. Eighteen months later, this same title immersed the vampire legacy into the modern day fear of radiation. While, this may have been the dark age of comics, many scholars of the period have labelled these years the atomic age, citing the morbid fascination with the threat of nuclear holocaust and the creatures that would thrive in this new world order. Setting a vampire loose with a radioactive isotope certainly fitted the order of the day. “Comes the Dawn,” the finale for Haunt of Fear #26, staged its unsettling narrative

in a remote Alaskan cabin, during the darkest months of winter. It was a measured tale, which cleverly mounted the tension, before venting its shocking twist, one that would be resurrected decades later in the ground-breaking 30 Days of Night. EC were no different from their fellow publishers in their neglect of the vampire on the covers of their comics; theirs was a well-remembered predilection for the walking dead. Nevertheless, the covers to Tales from the Crypt #36 (June-July 1953), Tales from the Crypt #42 (JuneJuly 1954), Vault of Horror #40 (December 1954 —January 1955) and Haunt of Fear #16 (July-August 1950) are worthy of anyone with an interest in the vampire. These are quite exceptional renditions, which typically set EC apart from their contemporaries.

If there was a company which promoted the vampire in comic books, it had to be Atlas. They could boast more comic book titles of terror than any other publisher, not to mention a formidable team of writers and artists, amongst them Stan Lee, Joe Maneely, Bill Everett, Russ Heath and Matt Fox. “The Last Vampire” made it for a final stand in the pages of Uncanny Tales #18 (March 1954). “Wings of the Vampire” from Journey into Mystery #6 (March 1953), journeyed back to the year 1900 to reveal an entire town ordered to keep from the streets for fear of the vampire’s curse. Little did they know the creature was hidden within; you wouldn’t have expected anything less from a comic book from these years. An unlikely premise unleashed a vampire tarantula in a Yugoslav village in the pages of Adventures into Terror #15 (January 1953). As far-fetched as it might seem, it was an imaginative narration, diverting the vampire legend along

a quite different course. In the pages of these Atlas titles, the vampire found a welcome home, although they had to be mindful of the sharpened stake at the denouement.

Count Dracula only ever made two comic book appearances during the heyday of the horror comic, the first of which came in the contents of Atlas’s Suspense #7 (March 1951). The splash page set the scene, depicting a rather forbidding image of the Count looming over his victims, in a telling which chose to ignore Stoker’s original cast.

The Count would meet his end in the closing panels, but many young readers must have wondered if he would make his return at a later date. Regrettably it wasn’t to be, these Atlas tales of terror were not interested in developing continuing story lines, a method of storytelling that would come to the fore a decade later. However, two years later, Avon Comics published the twelfth issue of their horror comic Eerie. The cover, illustrated by A.C. Hollingsworth, hooked its readers with a rather chilling likeness of the Count. The contents within were a brave attempt to adapt Stoker’s original novel, but they proved rather makeshift. The four chapters, which make up this story, struggled to capture the atmosphere of the original, but the finale certainly got the pulse racing. It is yet another comic to be overlooked,

largely because Avon’s covers offered so much, yet their interiors were so frustratingly lacking, especially when compared to the excess of their competitors.

This excess spelled the eventual death knell for the horror comic. It wasn’t enough for these comics to feast on the blood of their victims; they had to go that one step, if not several, further. Scenes of decapitation, torture, hangings, electrocutions and mutilation were all too commonplace in what were supposed to be children’s comics. Their depraved content came to the attention of certain groups who campaigned for the abolition of their lurid portrayal. They invited people of all ages to comic book burnings, which were prevalent throughout 1954, when the crusade really gained momentum. The writings of Dr. Fredric Wertham proved a turning point, principally his book Seduction of the Innocent, which detailed how harmful these comics were to adolescents. Although his findings were scientifically dubious, the comic became the scapegoat for the national concern with juvenile delinquency; the real culprits remained untouched. Following the Senate Subcommittee to Investigate Juvenile Delinquency the Comics Code was introduced, although it should be noted this code was not a direct result of these hearings. For a comic to be distributed anywhere in the United States it would have to be scrutinised and carry what would become a recognised seal of approval.

The wilful exuberance found in these comic books was now watered down, very soon the vampire would be legislated out of existence. It would be a long ten years before the undead clawed its way from the crypt to once again terrorise the youth of the western world.

While the horror comic prevailed on the newsstands, not one of its ilk was devoted exclusively to the vampire.

This wouldn’t come to pass until the dawning of a more enlightened era, twenty years later.

Charlton were never high on my wants list when I first started reading comic books; I was a dyed in the wool Marvelite. How I would like to say those garish looking comics grabbed me when I first saw them; but it never happened that way. I can’t have been alone in my misgivings, because, God bless them, those Charltons always seemed to be the last to leave the racks, if they ever did. When there was nothing else to be had I would give one of their titles a go, but the result was invariably the same, leaving me feeling short-changed as they failed to stir my craving for the macabre.

The very appearance of a Charlton comic, during the 1970s, was tawdry when compared to their illustrious

competitors. The quality of the print quality suggested their product was destined for a short life, as it seeped into your pores. E-Man did hit a chord, albeit in the strangest of ways and every once in a while one of their weird tales did induce a degree of other worldliness, but for the most part Charlton’s appeal was lost on me.

Now let’s turn the clock forward to 1991, when I chanced upon a bunch of Charltons for almost next to nothing. The war books I confess were of little interest and a fair amount of the mystery stories weren’t worth the paper they were printed on. However, amongst this bunch was a number of tales which did pique my curiosity, this was owing to the penmanship of Rudy Palais, Pete

Morisi, Pat Boyette, Steve Ditko, Wayne Howard, Joe Staton and most significantly Tom Sutton. Having spent some time with these stories, I finally realised how the company had kept on going. While their mode of production may have been cheap, they did have at their behest a highly talented team, each of whom had a varying approach to his style of storytelling. The more I saw of Tom’s work in these titles, the more I wondered how I could have ever missed this phase in his career. If I had come upon these issues back in the day, I just might have been more inclined to have sought them out and place them alongside my treasured Skywalds. I had previously encountered Tom’s work in issues #9-11 of Werewolf by Night, but the pages he produced for Charlton revealed a darker, almost manic, vision. This enigmatic display should have dignified Charlton a place amongst the loftiest echelons of the comic book macabre, but too much of their output fell short of Tom’s genius.

Born on the 15 April 1937 in North Adams, Massachusetts, Tom came to work for Charlton in 1972, debuting in the ninth issue of Attack (December 1972).

Here, he demonstrated a style reminiscent of the EC war comics produced by the legendary Harvey Kurtzman.

Very shortly, Tom would bring his love of EC to Charlton’s resurgent horror line.

As a youngster, his artistic endeavours were praised by Norman Rockwell. He quite rightly enjoyed the moment, but rather than resting on his laurels pushed himself further, inspired by the giants of the day, Milton Caniff, Alex Raymond and Hal Foster. Absorbing the finer detail of their flair, he garnered his style building on his technique. A few years hence Tales from the Crypt and its babbling acolytes would supplement his desire for the genre, to one day enhance the Charlton horror collective. His admiration for Johnny Craig would inspire the name of the hero he created for Stars and Stripes, although he later confessed it was a cheap imitation of Frank Robbins’ longstanding syndicated strip Johnny Hazard. The tales Tom crafted for Jim Warren reflect these early influences, but they were by no means copies of these past masters, it was already obvious he had his own unique style. His line exhibited a refined sense of creativity, honed while in the employ of several advertising agencies in Boston. This would be developed to even greater heights when he came to work in New York in the employ of Topps; but it was the comic book that was his true calling.

The unusually relaxed approach to management at Charlton was never going to catapult them into the same league as Marvel and DC, but it suited Tom’s designs.

Their editorial ambivalence gave him the freedom to produce some of his most daring work, regularly submitting unsolicited images drawn in the evening after completing his better-paid assignments for Marvel and DC. Some of these pages would inspire, eventually being polished up to adorn the covers to one of Charlton’s titles, once every so often with an accompanying tale. This strange way of working may have never succeeded if Joe Gill hadn’t been on board.

His ability as a writer came to the fore, using Tom’s cover ideas as springboards for a variety of tales, most of which would never have seen publication elsewhere. All these years later it is a mystery as to which of Tom’s cover ideas prompted Joe to take to his typewriter. Unfortunately, those covers that weren’t used were put into storage, but thanks to Nicola Cuti, Tom did have a lot of this artwork returned.

While Joe Gill had climbed through the ranks to become the company’s main writer, he couldn’t do it all. Thankfully, Nicola Cuti was on hand, with Tom intermittently assuming the mantle as scriptwriter; a role to which he readily took. His cover to Ghost Manor #23 (May 1975) was to be the inspiration for his tale “The Terrible Teddy.”

The cover, which has been reprinted on several different occasions, was exquisite in its exposition, yet the opening pages contrasted this lavish display in their apparent minimalism. They seemed at odds with the Tom Sutton we had come to know, but this was Tom now controlling both the script and his pencils. Carl Vled was a ne’erdo-well, exhausted after two days on the run. Only when he stopped to rest did Tom begin to embellish his panels as we know he can, effectively bringing a sense of calm to his narration, before thrusting a quite breathtaking sequence of panels on the reader, designed to accelerate the pace as it raced to the denouement. “The Terrible Teddy” was typically short, but it revealed his acute understanding of the way in which the medium can work.

The editorial laxity at Charlton may have afforded Tom a degree of aesthetic release, but this didn’t mean he wouldn’t receive a phone call insisting he embellish a tale with a twist only he could deliver, in but a matter of days. Tom wasn’t one to disappoint, so

it would be a flurry of activity at the drawing board, inevitably resulting in an occasion to be savoured. It was perhaps as well his concepts fell quickly into place, for Charlton’s pay rates left much to be desired, but this unwarranted freedom was compensation enough. Tom also found the company paid on time, never once reneging on an agreed rate of pay. A steady flow of well-paid work from Marvel, Warren and DC would allow him to make the most of this irregular culture.

His first cover for this neglected horror line came with the centenary issue of Ghostly Tales, along with a complementary seven-page story, which gave this portrayal an unsettling substance. As time went on, he would produce significantly more memorable covers, but this scene would have attracted many a new reader to the fold. His brush strokes in “Crystal Clear” gave the impression they had been applied with amazing alacrity, yet oozed confidence, flavoured by a smattering of Alex Toth and Joe Kubert, along with a hint of Jerry Grandenetti.

These pages were later reprinted in Ghostly Tales #150 (August 1981), still borrowing from the contrived mirth of EC’’s Crypt Keeper. While Charlton may have baffled many comic book fans, this was an issue to savour; Tom’s story stood proudly alongside the artistry of Steve Ditko and Sanho Kim. Competition for the cover spot was tough, with Steve Ditko working his socks off to produce so many impressive images, along with Pat Boyette, Don Newton, Rich Larson and Joe Staton, so Tom’s fans had to wait until Ghostly Tales 105 (July 1973) for another glimpse of his insane vision. They were rewarded with another extraordinary cover, but there was to be no interior pages, this was left to Pat Boyette, Steve Ditko and Pete Morisi. There was nothing unusual about an artist contributing a cover only to be omitted from the table of contents. DC regularly used Neal Adams and Bernie Wrightson for cover duties while assigning the stories to their bullpen of artists, but at Charlton a Tom Sutton cover almost screamed out for one of his excursions into the deranged. Ghostly Tales #110 (February 1974) was a similarly frustrating issue, Tom’s spine tingling depiction of the black cat looming over its victim demanded a release of his bizarre artistry, but it wasn’t to be. To Charlton’s credit, the reader was accorded seven pages of Steve Ditko, in Joe Gill’s account of “The Man Who Hated Cats.”

Ghostly Tales #106 (August 1973) surely made up for these oversights. Behind a

distinguished pen and ink cover, there followed an eightpage telling of the Nicola Cuti-scripted “Those Tentacles.”

Tom supplemented Nicola’s unnerving psychological terror, reminiscent of Edgar Allan Poe, with a damning series of panels. It was evident there was another strand to Tom’s creative genius, an esteem for the dark works of H.P. Lovecraft. His cover alluded to one of Lovecraft’s hideous manifestations, while the artistry within explored the baroque master’s imaginings to reveal a sense of dread of inestimable profundity.

His time at Warren allowed him to explore Lovecraft’s deathly creations, but it was in the employ of Charlton where he was truly able to invoke the fear upon which this dark writer’s mythos had been forged, leading his assembled readership into the nether regions of comic book horror. The choice of Newburyport, Massachusetts, as his hometown, the seaport which had been the inspiration for Lovecraft’s fictitious Innsmouth, was poetically macabre. Here, he would be exposed to the terrifying dreamscape once experienced by his illustrious predecessor, one which would manifest itself on the cover to Haunted #15 (November 1973). This tenebrous image was the prelude to a tale rendered by Steve Ditko, which ignored the Lovecraftian tradition. This shortcoming was

corrected in the twentieth issue of Haunted, when Tom was assigned to both the cover and the contents of the entire issue. This was the perfect opportunity for a descent into a domain conceived a half century before, one that would go further than anything before. Tom didn’t shy from unravelling the terror in his tale, but took due care in supplying the thrills his younger readers would have expected. These 23 pages maybe considered something of an indulgence, with Tom accused of flouting Charlton’s casual editorial style, but for many it is a much admired return to the horror first envisioned in the pulps of a bygone age.

With “Through a Glass Darkly,” the finale for Ghostly Tales #113 (February 1975), Tom went that one step further in his experimentation, crafting his most ambitious project of the period. Presaging his tale, the reader was presented with an overwhelming kaleidoscopic cover, tripping into the caprices of psychedelia, further begging the question as to this piece being an element of deranged self-portraiture.

This painting was a disorienting gateway into the grandest of tours, one that plunged into free fall over the abyss thrown open by Lovecraft himself. Having formulated his story, Tom then finished it in black-and-white, neglecting

any instruction to the colourist. On this occasion he embellished his brushstrokes with a glorious swathe of washes and tones, to leave anyone who chanced upon its delineation lost in its spell.

He was a brave man, for few have ever tried to pass off a black-and-white collection of pages in a four colour comic book, but he had found his seniors at Charlton invariably receptive to his ideas. His gamble paid off, they were indeed appreciative of his efforts, which again contained elements of Jerry Grandenetti’s darker moments.

Prior to these renditions, there had been a suggestion of his admiration for Lovecraft’s unholy majesty evinced on the cover to Ghostly Haunts #38 (May 1974). Joe Gill promptly scripted the supporting tale “The Weirdest Character I Have Ever Known,” which lent itself to Tom’s predisposition for caricature. This wasn’t aimed at the more astute connoisseur of Lovecraft; rather it borrowed from chicanery of EC’s cackling ghoulunatics. More would follow on the cover to Ghostly Haunts #39, with yet another Lovecraft-inspired beast, this time waiting to devour its sacrificial victim. Alas, the story didn’t quite live up to its gory premise.

Haunted, or more accurately Baron Weirwulf’s Haunted Library #22 (June 1975), distorted the

conceptn of the demonic motorcycle rider, bequeathing him a compelling Lovecraft-inspired twist, courtesy of editor Nicola Cuti. The Cthulhu Mythos burned solid rubber as Tom poured his creative fervour into the tentacled beast S’Nngarth, leaving us to ponder on an opportunity lost, as this hell-spawned biker was denied his own regular series.

Enlightened the Code may have become, but few comic books of he period dared go this far.

With their rival publishers’ horror lines on the verge of collapse, Charlton expanded their roster of titles adding Creepy Things to their schedule in July 1975. Tom painted the cover and the short piece “The Well”. His self scripted While Tom readily conspired with the offspring of the tale was the highlight of the issue, a brooding shadow play, Cthulhu Mythos, he also produced one of the most lurid which refused to acknowledge the boom of the last two images of the period. I am of course referring to the cover years was now at an end. In six pages, or 31 panels, Tom of Ghostly Haunts #41 (November 1974). The Comics Code succeeded in delivering a simple but morbidly absorbing may have relaxed its stringent provisions a couple of years tale of an insidious well and the demon lurking within. For before, but this unashamed scene of bondage should have the gore fans amongst you there was the obligatory axe caused alarm even amongst its most lenient of scrutineers. attack, but the ever-encroaching gloom was to hide these Tom’s brazen imagining would have been at home on the morsels of sanguinary delectation. It was an unnerving cover of any one of the more excessive pulps, a helpless girl, end to a fine debut, one that comic book history appears her hands bound, forcibly escorted through the sewers by to have overlooked. its iniquitous denizens, who bear an uncanny resemblance Monster Hunters was another title which set out to to alien cannibals. It’s a classic of its kind, initiated by the ambiguity in its title, “A Lovely Night in Paris!” Tom cleverly defy the seeming declining interest in comic book horror.

Again, there is little mention of Tom and Nicola Cuti’s orchestrated the terror sweeping through these tunnels, while revelling in the sensationalist damsel-in-distress motif. contribution to the ever popular swamp beast, this time

in the pages of Monster Hunters #3 (December 1975).

Tom’s partiality for Bill Gaines’ creations came to the fore in “The Wakely Monster,” not to be confused with Wilbur Whatley of Lovecraft’s “Dunwich Horror.” The beast would menace the closing pages of this issue, culminating in an electrocution finale worthy of any pre-Code terror.

If Charlton had had the nerve to resurrect this particular beast for a later return, they could have had a notorious title on their hands. Regrettably, Monster Hunters #3 was not to become another House of Secrets #92.

Marvel’s horror boom of the 1970s would be the perfect showcase for the work of Mike Ploog, similarly DC would look to Bernie Wrightson as their mainstay; Charlton proudly laid claim to the skills of Tom Sutton.

You could never be entirely sure as to what you were going to get from a Charlton comic, which has probably meant they have been ignored by so many collectors, yet they contain so many hidden gems. Tom’s work from these years reveals a creator at his peak and is worth hunting down.

The snow was falling heavily on the 2nd of January 1979, as it had for the best part of a week, in what was aptly named “the winter of discontent.” This was the prophetic description of the then Prime Minister, Jim Callaghan, when he spoke of these turbulent few months in British political history; albeit with a little help from one William Shakespeare. For those of you who weren’t there, this was the winter when unprecedented strike action came close to crippling the entire country. Britain was grinding to a halt as the industrial unrest became more acute, but worse was the unrelenting weather. We had been seasoned by year upon year of heavy snow and the freezing cold, but this was the winter we feared would never end. In those days the tabloid press made no mention of global warming; their concern was the approach of a new ice age and threat of the Soviet Union.

Thankfully, it wasn’t all doom and gloom. I was just 17, and my Christmas holiday had been extended by a full week. The fuel company were unable to make their delivery, while the bus company were regularly calling strikes. Then there was that quite remarkable day on the 2nd of January. When I awoke the pavements were covered in a mantle of deep snow, yet the network of roads through town remained open, as did the railway route across the Pennines into Manchester. So on that morning I set off with a group of friends, Christmas money in hand in search of comics.

If comic books were your thing in the Manchester area around this time, there was only one place to go and that was Bookchain, tucked away on Peter Street, just a few doors away from the legendary Free

Trade Hall. Having chanced upon this haven only a few months before, my every waking thought was wrapped in the promise held in its spinning racks before the descent to the boxes of comics lying in the basement. Now, trudging through the snow en route to the train station, the anticipation was almost palpable; very soon my dreams would be realised, in a way that would transcend my youthful imagining.

Prior to my discovery of Bookchain, I had sent off for a copy of the Danish Runepress Katalog. I had no idea as to what to expect, but it was free and I was eager to learn more.

When it popped through my letterbox, I was astounded, for within its 28 pages there was such an extraordinary wealth of material. The publications within were predominantly European, yet included a plethora of familiar names, Windsor-Smith, Kaluta, Wrightson, Brunner, Corben, Adams and Kirby. Alongside them were other creators, Moebius, Druillet, Manara and Bilal, whose vision would come to shape my ideas on storytelling and comic book design.

Through the Runepress Katalog, I also learned of Jack Katz’s First Kingdom, Heavy Metal, Cerebus and most significantly Mike Friedrich’s Star Reach. It was the sixth issue of Star Reach that caught my eye, its mouth watering Jeff Jones cover played host to contributions from Alex Nino, Gene Day and Joe Staton, as well as an appearance by my favourite sword and sorcery character of the day, Elric of Melnibone. I knew there was little chance of me ever laying hands on this title; comic books of this ilk just didn’t make it to my hometown, but it didn’t stop me from dreaming.

As we sallied on in our quest to get to Manchester, little did I know the fates had already chosen to smile upon me, for there hidden in one of the racks was a copy of Star Reach #6, cover-dated October 1976, priced at a princely £1.50, something like $3.00 in those days. It was a tidy sum when you consider regular Marvels sold for 12 pence here in Britain or 35 cents across the pond, but the price tag was of little consequence; I just had to have it. There were several other tasty items to be had that day, none of which I can recall, but I am sure they would have been well worth the money. The snow was still falling when we made it back to Rochdale, the sun having long since set and yours truly managing to slip on his backside; but what did I care, I had secured my Holy Grail.

The following day I nestled down by the fire to savour my newfound treasure and was

ushered light years away from the back street where I then lived. Star Reach was the creation of Mike Friedrich, a name familiar to anyone with the slightest knowledge of comic books. He had brought together a team of young creators with a similar outlook to his own, one seeking an alternative to the immensely popular superhero fare of the day. His line of comics, which included Quack, Imagine and Pudge, Girl Blimp, were considered ground-level comics, deviating from the subversive distribution network of the undergrounds in their being able to find a place amongst the comic shops in the locality as well as offering subscriptions via similar comics-related publications. Alongside First Kingdom, Hot Stuff and Andromeda, the content of Star Reach was remarkably different from that of the mainstream giants and would become the catalyst for the boom in independent publishing of just a few years hence. Mike’s drive to keep Star Reach on a regular schedule set him apart from his fellow ground-level publishers. In so doing, he maintained his readership, thus allowing him to attract some of the finest creators of the day, amongst them a newcomer, artist and writer Gray Lyda, who we later come to know as Grady Lyda.

“Out of Space, Out of Time” was the big surprise of the issue. While Bob Gould and Eric Kimball’s “The Prisoner of Pan Tang” set the standard, Grady’s embellishment, allowed this issue to bow out in the most beautiful of ways. The design flowing through these pages was a far cry from the comics to which I had previously been exposed, as exciting as so many of them were. One reading wasn’t enough though; I was drawn to these pages, finding myself immersed in the splendour of this star-spanning tale. The attention to detail and careful use of tone on show in these eight pages would become an archetype for comic book science fiction, yet after all these years so few people know of the man and his artwork.

Mike Friedrich was absolutely delighted when he first saw his submission, but there was one small problem, Grady’s pages were exactly the same size as the actual comic book. In the world of comic book production Grady was only just setting out. This naiveté could have presented difficulties in for the letterer, prompting Mike to blow the artwork up, complete the lettering then scale it down to fit onto the page. You would never have guessed. The process worked so smoothly it gave the impression the original artwork had been substantially larger, demonstrating the strength in Gray’s technique, one that would open doors in areas most comic book artists would never consider.

Over forty years later the amount of love and attention devoted to these pages still resonates; they are truly exceptional. Grady’s female lead seduced in a way few other women born into the pages of a comic book ever could. Just like Grady’s delicately toned panels, she was beautiful; beautiful beyond words, certainly to those teenage eyes.

His skill in rendering the female form would never leave him, but was completely overlooked by the men’s magazines of the period, including Playboy, who chose to look elsewhere.

Twelve months later, Grady again graced us with another glimpse of his limitless imagination, this time in Star Reach #11. Sill scribing under the name Gray, he embellished the first part of his “Tempus Fugit” saga in the detailed style he had employed in Star Reach #6.

Grady had been developing the idea for this tale from as early as 1972, when he was intent on writing stories for Analog and Galaxy. If his youthful plans had ever been borne out, his progenies would have caused quite a stir, for he had an uncanny grasp of the complexities of time travel. Rather than forwarding his ideas to these well established science magazines, he discussed his ideas with Mike, between them they worked to bring his creation to the pages of Star Reach. Issue #11 was just the beginning; this account would continue on into issues #13 and #14 before reaching its mind-blowing conclusion in #15, dated December of 1978, only weeks before my introduction to his work.

“Tempus Fugit” would run to a staggering 56 pages, which for someone so new to comics is a commendable achievement. Over the next few months I managed to track down these issues, to uncover a tale that was in so many respects light years ahead of its time. It would become a fascinating precursor to the ideals of the smaller independent publishers, who would begin to thrive during the 1980s.

Mike Friedrich has long since been lauded for recognising the need for an alternative approach in a comic book industry sorely in need of rejuvenation. For Grady however, “Tempus Fugit,” revealed just how difficult it was to make money as an independent comic book creator.

He wanted to produce work of the highest order, but it was incredibly time consuming. Sadly, his life in comic books was at an end, there was never quite enough. Over here in England, Grady’s work be a shining beacon throughout these darkened months and has remained so in the years which have since followed.

His first professional work dates back to the pages of the Galaxy Magazine for April 1975, when a panel of his artwork was accepted for publication. This would have been a huge moment for the aspiring creator, as he embarked upon following in the footsteps of his brother Chuck Lyda and their father Charles Anthony Wilimovsky, both respected fine artists. While Grady continued in his pursuits his career took him into commercial art and illustration, most notably in the defence and aerospace industry designing technical manuals for Rockwell International.

Grady passed away on December 14th, 2015. The designs for his ongoing series Forever Endeavour, with its ornate temporal space suits, would never see completion, a tale which again drew upon his fascination with time travel. It’s such a great shame, for this tale is resplendent in the vitality fused into its illustrious predecessors. We can only imagine what would have happened if it had made it to the graphic format. Similarly the screenplay to “Tempus Fugit” is yet to be picked up, an epic which would work perfectly in the CGI of modern cinema. There is a great sadness within me for the work we never got to see, but I am still grateful to have been given these stories from a time when I too stared out into the stars.

I would like to thank Grady’s daughter, Elora, for her support in helping me put this piece together. She now carries on the family tradition in adding her vision to world of art.

If yours is the wish to spend a few hours lost in a stack of your favourite horror comics, let’s just make sure you have combed your hair, washed behind your ears and polished your shoes and most importantly ensure your behaviour is absolutely impeccable. To be neglect in any of these details might draw the wrong kind of attention, which in turn may necessitate your beloved horror comics being removed pending a ban by Parliamentary statute. A bit of an overreaction you might think, but all it took, so it would appear, was one ill kept child to change the course of comics in what was then Great Britain. A few years hence, Americanstyled comics would fall under Parliamentary scrutiny, culminating in a mandate which remains on the statute books to this very day.

The war was almost twelve months over when George Pumphrey first considered the possibility of using children’s comics as a viable source of reading material. He was looking to develop the reading skills of the children in his charge at a time when reading material was in very short supply. Poor Mr Pumphrey, his noble intent would never have imagined the iniquity coursing through so many of these seemingly innocent publications. When he set out on this quite admirable quest, he would have been unaware of the disparaging views held by his contemporaries for this cartoon-styled mayhem. As the weeks followed, it became obvious a large amount of these comics fell short of the standard for which he had hoped. It would have been better for all if he had just forgotten his experiment; resigning himself to the fact comic books were little more than a youthful diversion. It wasn’t to be, for when young Ethel shared her choice of reading, his view was forever changed.

A Disgraceful Publication

Ethel was only nine years old, poorly dressed and a tad grubby. She demonstrated an incessant need for attention and as a result was inclined to being unusually naughty.

Furthermore, her temper bordered on the uncontrollable, evincing a cruel streak she readily inflicted on her playmates. These flaws in character paled into insignificance when she handed over the comic in her possession. The Beano and the more gentle Every Girl’s Magazine were no longer her cup of tea, she favoured the tawdry contents of something going by the name Eerie. Given the timeline, there is a very good chance this was the original Avon edition dating back to 1947, as opposed to the later British reprint.

Now, if Ethel had been a quiet young lady, lovingly nurtured in the leafy suburbs of the English home-counties, with a disposition in keeping with the values espoused by the Great Britain of these years, would this offending copy of Eerie have been dismissed by Pumphrey?

Probably not, I am quite certain this copy of Eerie would have still been a cause for grave concern, for the excess he uncovered in these pages was not in keeping with the accepted notion of a children’s comic.

The review of Wertham’s tome, which appeared eight years later in the Times Literary Supplement, would have further exacerbated Pumphrey’s anxiety, but as Martin Barker’s book A Haunt of Fears points out, by this time there were several other bodies driving the campaign to put an end to those American-styled comics, amongst them child protection groups, the

National Union of Teachers and the Communist Party. Prior to their involvement Pumphrey’s campaign had been a cry in the wilderness, although a public opinion poll of 1952 suggested 69% of parents were in accord with a wholesale ban on comics. The Government, however, maintained it was the duty of both parents and teachers to ensure the children in their care were not unduly exposed to harmful comics. Legislation at this juncture was not forthcoming.

The incensed Pumphrey put pen to paper, his consternation documented in his book Children’s Comics: A Guide for Parents and Teachers. As the book quickly unfolded, he mentioned a series of international gatherings condemning these damaging comic books.

These meetings were to lead to the formation of several committees across Western Europe, each seeking to moderate the content of the comics so easily obtainable by young children, although his book overlooked naming these countries. At the same time, the conferences of several professional bodies and trade unions were also expressing their infuriation with these disreputable comics, with the teaching union raising the most serious cause for concern.

Unlike Wertham’s Seduction of the Innocent, Pumphrey’s short book itemised many of those offending comics which had come to his attention. However, there was one comic he didn’t name, a bound volume of these particularly objectionable comics, placed on sale next to the children’s annuals just before the Christmas of 1954. I wonder if this could have been the bumper 160 page Black Magic Album, one of the most highly prized treasures of the entire period.

We’ll never know for sure, but all these years later his efforts have provided a crop of titles worthy of any collection; a veritable service if ever there was one, but not quite what George had intended.

All these years later those comics he considered favourable to the development of young children have failed to stir the interest of the enthusiast in quite the same way as the atrocities he was so eager to condemn. In criticising Wertham for his omitting to supplement his text with an index, he accidentally availed himself to the latter-day collector. The inclusion of an index to Seduction of the Innocent would have consequently avoided so much conjecture, but then maybe that was the point Wertham was trying to make. Regardless, Pumphrey wasn’t about to let Wertham off lightly, accusing him of making out images within the panels of a comic book few people would ever identify. His allusion to pictures within pictures immediately springs to mind, as does Batman’s homosexual affiliation with Robin, although Pumphrey mistakenly referred to Superman rather than Batman. Perhaps the use of the word Superman was to generalise our super powered brethren and their youthful assistants. The accusation, however, still defies belief.

Vile Corrupters of Innocents

Pumphrey was an educated man, but even he wasn’t averse to resorting to outrageous sensationalism, portraying the American comic book industry as a vile corrupter of innocents, whose product had ever so stealthily established a hold on its young readership. The imagery was indeed emotive, a feature which was to prove

prominent in his writing on the subject, but he failed to recognize the more lurid offenders were aimed at an audience a few years older than the children under his tutelage. These offenders he termed “Objectionable Comics.” He was aware that many of their readers would be servicemen bound for overseas, filling their spare time reading all they could, but he was worried these odious comic books could find their way into the hands of impressionable children.

No matter what their content, or more likely as a consequence of their subject matter, crime comics were branded as horror comics, it wasn’t long before they too were labelled objectionable comics. The detail they afforded criminal activity, coupled with the levels of violence and the attractive lifestyle enjoyed by the gangster, alarmed Pumphrey and his contemporaries. He criticised the publishers of these comics for discounting the detection so important to exposing the villain, then went on to extend his disapproval at one of the most popular genres of the period, the western. These tales, he felt, prejudiced the young reader’s attitude towards the Native American, depicting situations akin to the horror comic in their sadistic violence. Science fiction comics, or space comics as they were called in his text, were censured for their inherent scientific inaccuracies; science was too often confused with magic. It would appear there was little, if anything, to redeem the comic books flowing so freely from the United States.

The most objectionable of them all in this country were published by the Arnold Book Company during the summer of 1954; amongst them Tales from the Crypt, The Haunt of Fear and Black Magic. This unsavoury gathering was seen to have overstepped the mark.

Under mounting pressure the Arnold Book Company issued a statement to a trade paper of the day, “In recent weeks I have been meeting with increasing opposition politically and from the trade. The printers have not wanted to print the comics and the distributors haven’t wanted to handle them. To get co-operation I had to pay over the odds all along the line. The profit on them was not big. What with one thing and another, the game is no longer worth the candle.” The Arnold line was to soon disappear, just like its grisly forebears across the Atlantic. Alas, Pumphrey’s book never once alluded to the mythical British reprint Vault of Horror, proving yet another factor in leading experts here in Britain to concede this title never saw publication, even though its name was brandished in the House of Commons.

The Sex Club

Vault of Horror may have been the stuff of legend, but the readers of Pumphrey’s book soon knew where to find the rest of these abominations, secreted in little sweet shops and the general stores in the back streets of everyone of our towns and cities. The picture he painted supplemented their clandestine veil, before making them all the more subversive in those sales attributed to the street stalls, market places and “street hawkers who often did a roaring trade outside schools.” The peddling of these publications garnered a substantial trade amongst second-hand stalls and junk shops, which were like magnets to children of all ages. There was even a mention of comics being traded under the counter which concluded with the inflammatory finale: “There are certain other systems of circulation like that begun by a boy in a London school who bought up a number of sex comics and having formed a sex club, lent out the comics at a small fee. This enterprising youth might well some day become the editor of a certain type of Sunday newspaper.” The imagery was altogether sensationalistic; the very mention of sex in the Great Britain of the 1950s Britain was virtually taboo.

Pumphrey would have been knowledgeable of this, but he was on a roll, insinuating the portrayal of families enjoying normal everyday life was blurred in these stories.

“Women scantily clad share the violent actions of their men folk, sex is perverted into sadistic eroticism, and life ends like an unresolved nightmare.”

The motive of the “makers” of these comics was nothing more than profit, with Pumphrey suggesting their intent was to corrupt “the minds and souls of young people.” His words were indeed provocative, but by the time Children’s Comics: A Guide for Parents and Teachers saw publication, legislation was already in place both in the United Kingdom and way across the Atlantic to ensure such depraved material could never again corrupt impressionable young minds.

Hate, Fear, Sex and Violence

Some things never change; Pumphrey warned of comic books becoming a narcotic used by adults to keep their offspring quiet. Not only did these comic books act as a narcotic, they also contained properties more commonly associated with a stimulant. They were accused of appealing to the most powerful yet primitive emotions, “hate, fear, sex and violence—emotions that cause people to react first with their feelings rather than with their minds.” His proposal was to “remove and unobtrusively destroy those that seem offensive in any way.”

His efforts to stamp out these repellent periodicals were to help in making them scarce, augmenting their notoriety thus adding to their appeal as collectibles. It is hardly surprising the comic evaluation list of 1953 reveals those deemed the most objectionable to now be the most desirable. Pumphrey took obvious exception to these American-type comics, but to his credit never once ignored the other harmful influences of the day, particularly the newspapers and their relish for crime and the seduction of scandal.

In 1964, George returned to his fascination with children’s comics with What Children Think of Their Comics published by Epworth Press. The survey for this very short book was carried out in a small town in the Midlands. The final analysis revealed these children had only a limited awareness of the American-style comics, which had fallen into disrepute almost ten years before. The author had not changed his opinion on these comics even though their content had been tempered by the Comics Code. As far as he was concerned “adult violence and undesirable criminal activities” continued to flourish in their pages. As late as August 1963 the Poole Education Committee was calling for a ban on the import of such publications. George wasn’t content with this; he wanted any form of embargo to take account of the “mats” used during the printing of these magazines in this country. His opinions had become more entrenched at a time when the content of these imported comics had been

deprived of their potency. They may not have had the capability to develop a child’s reading skills, as he had originally hoped, but they were a far cry from the much-maligned publications published by the Arnold Book Company and their counterparts at Streamline. George’s cry was for appreciably British publications, one harking back to the empire he had known as a child. The times however were a-changing.

Feed Them to the Lions

The findings in his survey of 1964 related largely to British comics, rather those

coming over from America or those produced by Alan Class and Miller. A small number of young boys did want to see more stories about monsters and mystery, with one ten-year-old admitting his comic would be improved “if they put more murder stories in it.” None of these were a match for the eight-year-old girl who knew exactly what she wanted from her comic, “Well in Diana something about people falling down a hole with lions in and get eaten up.”

A significant group of twelve- and thirteenyear-old boys at the local grammar school did look upon Superman as their favourite comic with Green Lantern, Aquaman and the Justice League of America also making it to this list. By the age of fifteen the grammar school kids had left Superman and his compatriots well behind, now favouring Mad. Not so those chaps from the secondary school who still held onto Superman. Strangely, Marvel’s new line of titles did not appear on this list; nor did the Miller and Alan Class lines of comics. In Pumphrey’s view, both Superman and Superboy were below average, with their stories being of a poor standard.

While legislation would work to a degree, Pumphrey was understandably concerned the prohibition of these comics would result in complacency, as the law alone would be expected to keep these horrors at bay. He was right. Miller returned only six years after the publication of his book Children’s Comics: A Guide for Parents and Teachers with the preCode tales of terror both he and his acolytes had attempted to stamp out. These comics passed by almost unnoticed, to be overlooked by his own book of 1964.

After all these years, each of these books remains a wonderfully British affair, written in a world very different from our own, but a world which still had to admit to influencing troubled children like poor Ethel. Can I blame George for the eventual legislation following the terrors of the summer of 1954? No, I can’t. Maybe the responsibility for this lies with the Gorbals Vampire and the hundreds of children who gathered in a huge graveyard on the south side of Glasgow intending to put it to rest. Comics again got the blame for this hysteria, although there is talk of a local legend dating back centuries. However, the monstrosity some of the children described was a beast with sharp iron teeth, maybe the same creature tormenting the tale from Dark Mysteries #15 (December 1953) “The Vampire With The Iron Teeth” rendered

by Hy Fleishman. Maybe those horror comics really were to blame!

When the family of Cleveland-born Alfred Richard Eadeh moved to Brooklyn, New York, they brought their son to a city that would one day yield him work as a commercial artist. Only a part of this lengthy career would be spent in the employ of the comic book industry, at what was one of the most fascinating periods in the history of this four-coloured mayhem. Al was to live to a ripe old age, but there is so little known about his time in comics, which amounted to a mere seven years. For all of the ingenuity he displayed at the drawing board, he would never distinguish himself as one of the luminaries of the medium. Only those with a passion for pre-Code horror would have ever truly appreciate his perturbing sense of design, the majority of which was picked up by Atlas for their infamous line of horror titles.

enrolling in the armed forces in Jamaica, New York on 7th March 1941. This was nine months prior to the attack on Pearl Harbour. His enlistment papers reveal he was a single man, employed as an artist. By the end of the war, Private Eadeh had been promoted to the rank of sergeant, while receiving commissions as a cartoonist from the incredibly popular serviceman’s journal, Yank Magazine.

On his return to civilian life, Al’s story was very similar to that of many other young servicemen, in finding it difficult to acquire a steady flow of work. Positions in the city’s advertising agencies were few and far between, but there were a growing number of openings for freelance comic artists. This had the added bonus of allowing him to work from home, away the busy humdrum of the comic book publishing houses.

Having attended the Pratt Institute in New York during the 1930s, he found work as a commercial art, before

An opportunity arose in the studio owned by Joe Simon and Jack Kirby, in which he spent quite some time,

a plethora of unsettling tales in the pages of Astonishing, Journey into Mystery, Journey into Unknown Worlds, Marvel Tales, Mystery Tales, Mystic, Spellbound and Uncanny Tales. While it was a rare event to see his work acting as the curtain-raiser to these tomes of terror, a spot usually reserved for Bill Everett, Russ Heath and Joe Maneely, he became a regular contributor to the company’s chilling line. His layouts took an enormous amount of pleasure in distorting any preconceived notion of perspective, further exacerbating their foreboding aspect, to cast the darkest of shadows. Unlike the dapper chaps who had serenaded his tales of the lovelorn, these stories presented some of the genre’s most unsightly characters. The uninitiated may have found his technique crude, denying him any chance of being in the roll call for the polished Silver Age superhero titles of a few years hence. However, in the insalubrious world of the pre-Code horror comic, his sinister line work suited the requisite malfeasance perfectly, ensuring a welcome home in the pages of each of Atlas’s most notorious titles, namely Adventures into Terror, Adventures into Weird Worlds, Menace and Suspense.

becoming a regular contributor to Prize’s romance titles Real West Romances, Young Love and Young Romance as early as 1949. During this period, his pencils also graced the pages of Hillman’s Real Clue Crime Stories. As he strove to adopt the house style, his earliest efforts appeared somewhat stiff, lacking the fluidity that would very soon characterise his penmanship. With each story his work began to improve, bringing fresh assignments on similar romance titles from Timely/Atlas, principally on Actual Romances, Love Adventures, Love Romances and later on in 1953, Secret Story Romances. Occasional appearances in the company’s western comics would add to his portfolio, bringing him to the attention of several other publishers.

In his time spent freelancing as a comic book artist, he would have been one of many aspirants who made the journey to Atlas’s offices to pick up his next script from the desk of the tireless Stan Lee. With less than two years experience, he had very quickly shown himself to be an accomplished professional, with a capacity to turn his hand to a variety of genres. It was his work on the Atlas stable of weird horror titles that really captured the imagination of his many young readers. This was partially due to Stan Lee, who recognised Al’s potential, as his line of horror comics continued to grow in popularity. So there followed

Maybe his work was just a little too unsavoury for the editorial team at Harvey Comics, for his artistry was limited to just four appearances, debuting in Black Cat Mystery #41 (December 1952) in the deathly finale “Live Man’s Funeral.” He followed this, just one issue later with “Mask of the Murderer”, before unleashing the gruesome “Cycle of Horror” in Chamber of Chills #16 (March 1953). His short tenure at Harvey came to an end with Tomb of Terror #10’s (July 1953) “A Rose is a Rose”. Chamber of Chills’ “Cycle of Horror” epitomised the pre-Code predilection for rancour, setting loose an episode that would have delighted fans of

EC’s Ghastly Graham Ingels. Al wilfully enticed a vengeful corpse, drooling over its putrescence, as an antecedent to encouraging a family of rats in their gnawing through human flesh. It was just too much!

Between 1952 and 1954, while in the employ of Atlas and Harvey, Al continued to produce more than a dozen stories for Jack Kirby and Joe Simon, seeing his work go to press in Prize’s Black Magic. Amongst them was the acclaimed “Ghost in the House” for Black Magic #30 (May-June 1954).

With each new assignment, he thrived on giving life to some of the most hideous creations of the period, ensuring a

regular place in this title’s deranged content. He was also receiving requests from Ace, adding to his reputation as a much sought-after professional. However, the campaign to put an end to these comics was gathering support.

Once the Comics Code Authority clamped down on the publishers of these despicable comics, poor Al struggled to find work. His style as a comic book artist was just too suited to this disturbing phenomenon. He was forced to seek employment elsewhere, returning to the world of commercial art. There would be one last flurry of tales to flow from his brushes in the sanitised years of 1957 and 1958, each published by Atlas, but they were somewhat muted affairs.

Following his departure from comics, his life becomes shrouded in mystery. There is evidence to suggest he later departed advertising to go into songwriting and musicals.

This would lead him away from Brooklyn to the warmer climes of Fort Walton Beach, Okaloosa County, Florida, where at the age of 92 he quietly passed away in 2005.

Several of his tales remain in print, but Al was never destined to stand alongside the most memorable names of the period. However, as a pre-Code horror artist, he was a veritable master with an uncanny comprehension of the genre, one matched by so few of his contemporaries.

I first came upon Richard Corben’s breathtaking artwork as a very impressionable fifteen-year-old, following the excitement of my first trip to London. It was supposedly a school outing to the London Science Museum, but I had one thing in mind, slipping off to the country’s premier comic shop of the day, Dark They Were and Golden Eyed, situated in St. Ann’s Court, just off Wardour Street slap bang in the middle of the capital’s Soho district. During the morning I did as was expected, traipsing around the science museum, which turned out to be a very enjoyable experience, but all the time I was hankering to get through the hustle and bustle of the city to make my way to Wardour Street. How on earth I managed to get there is beyond me; this was the summer of 1977, a long time before the advent of the internet and Google maps. When I think back, somebody up there must have been guiding me, for those who know me well enough, will tell you my sense of direction leaves much to be desired.

Rummaging through the boxes I chanced upon a copy of the fourth issue of Unknown Worlds of Science Fiction, one of my favourite titles of the day. As with so many of the contributions to this magazine’s short-lived run, it was a mind blowing affair, which took me back to the elation I had felt on first reading the Damon Knight-edited science fiction anthologies Beyond Tomorrow and Worlds to Come. Richard’s only appearance in this title, “Encounter at War”, had previously seen publication in the fourth issue of underground title Anomaly, dating back to 1972. This was quite a bold move by Marvel Comics, daring to reprint material from a province considered by many to be utterly anarchic. There’s nothing unusual about violence in the pages of a comic book, but “Encounter at War” escalated the levels of mayhem, taking them to fever pitch. This was the first time I had ever seen an airbrush used in a comic book, having yet to behold Alex Schomburg’s covers for Wonder Comics and Startling Comics. These thirteen pages were a euphoric overload of the senses; surely this had to be comic book nirvana. The excess inundating this tale may have sprouted from the science fiction films of the 1950s and the social turmoil of 60s America. However, the inferno he witnessed as a child, which engulfed his parents’ farm house in Anderson, Missouri, would have left an infinitely more resounding impression.

An admirer of EC’s science fiction and horror titles, Richard insists he started drawing a long time before he was able to read and write, tracing the characters from his elder brother’s comic books, then fleshing them out into something new. In the field of comic books, Frank Frazetta, Wallace Wood, and Alex Toth would be his inspiration, but his interest in art would develop to encompass the masters, Da Vinci, Michelangelo, Caravaggio, Durer, Vermeer, Rembrandt, Parish and quite significantly Rodin, each of whom would play their part in ennobling his stylistic panache. Before being exposed to their genius, Richard completed his first comic book, Trail Comics; a joyous eight part narration recounting the escapades of the family’s pet dog, Trail.

Trail Comics was but the beginning. Alongside his love of art and comic books emerged a fascination for film making, having received his first cine camera as a teenager. The possibilities inherent in this medium would coalesce to expand his sense of creativity, later influencing his approach to comic book design. The flip page animations conceived in his school exercise books were already a thing of the past, replaced by experiments with clay-based animations.

These would culminate in his 16mm film “NeverWhere,” completed while in the employ of a Kansas City industrial film company. Assisted by some of his colleagues, he spliced graphic animation with live-action to win a CINE Golden Eagle.

When he received his BFA from the Kansas City Art Institute, he was still pursuing his quest to develop ideas for science fiction films, which continued to place live action side by side with his elaborate modelling. These imaginative constructions were bringing a three-dimensional quality to the pages he was producing, with one of his futuristic spacecraft designs making it to the cover of the September 1968 Magazine of Fantasy and Science Fiction. Those who would have been poring over its pages in search of Jack London’s latest offering, may have overlooked the potential on show in this cover, one that a few years hence would overwhelm a new generation of fantasy and science fiction devotees.

part to Dennis Cunningham’s extensive research of this medieval scourge. The artwork, throughout, is dark, far darker than would be seen in many of the tales set to leave his studio, yet these pages are essential to any adherent of his bewitching artistry.

Writer and editor, Dennis Cunningham wasted no time in collaborating with Richard on a tale set in the seventeenth century, chronicling an infestation of plague destined to see publication in Weirdom #13. The contents of this issue were later reprinted in 1971, with a few alterations as Tales from the Plague.

Fifteen years later, Bill Leach released another reprint, this time with a new wraparound cover designed by Richard himself. Tales from the Plague was a sullen account, unrepentant in its depiction of human suffering, deserving of each reprint, owing in no small

Richard lived up to expectation, delivering the EC-styled “Lame Lem’s Love,” to the pages of Skull #2 in 1970. Greg Irons and Jack Jaxon were quick to appreciate his talent, spurring him onto even greater heights. So came the bizarre love story “Horrible Harvey’s House,” under the pseudonym “Gore,” published in Skull #3, the antecedent to his interpretation of H.P. Lovecraft’s “Rats in the Walls” for issue #4, released almost two years later. Issue #6 would be Skull’s finale, an issue which would take advantage of Richard’s contribution to Tom Vietch’s “Gothic Tale.” His passion

In no shape or form did any of this work produced between 1968 and 1969 lend itself to the mainstream, it would be another five or six yeas before an occasional illustration would make it to the early issues of Marvel’s Savage Sword of Conan. However, over in San Francisco, Gary Arlington recognised a prodigy in the making in the pieces submitted to Voice of Comicdom and Weirdom. For some time he had been toying with the idea of an underground horror comic styled on EC’s legendary line; It was around this time Richard was introduced to comic book the lavish abandon portrayed in these strips suited his vision fandom, through Dennis Cunningham’s Weirdom. Soon after the perfectly. However, there were those amongst the underground monthly Voice of Comicdom triumphed to become the first fanzine who felt this finesse was not in keeping with the more subversive to publish his strips. The summer of 1968 would be terrorised aspects of the movement. The philosophy of this band of creators with “Monsters Rule” and “Lure of the Tower” as Richard took his was revolutionary, each with a desire to bring change (or was first steps into the world of comic books. These fledgling efforts it havoc?) to the old world order. Gary Arlington ignored these very quickly gained an enthusiastic following, amongst them a mutterings; assured in his belief this virtually unknown artist from young man who had plans to lure him into the underground.

Kansas could bring his dream to life.

for clay modelling brought an unusual three-dimensional quality to each of these black-and-white narrations; one that set him apart from his contemporaries on the underground scene, and indeed anywhere else in the more acceptable avenues of comic book publishing.

His payment for “Lame Lem’s Love” was a bunch of ECs; not much in some people’s eyes, but it was enough to keep him hot in pursuit of one of his many dreams. The horror turned to science fiction and fantasy in the pages of Slow Death #2-5, as his “Gore” persona began to arouse a whole new stream of underground readers. His self-produced Fantagor would premiere in 1970, bequeathing his following three more of his unworldly visions. They would have to wait another eighteen months for anything more, as issues #2-4 dragged their feet in coming off the print press. This was in part due to the nature of the counterculture, as the ideals of the movement placed severe strains upon cash flow, making regular appearances of many titles nigh on impossible. As the decade unfolded, the underground comix movement would wane, providing Fantagor with the opportunity to evolve, showcasing Richard’s peerless line of comics, amongst them Jeremy Brood (1982), Mutant World (1983), Rip in Time (1986) and Den (1988).

In 1969, Rowlf followed in the footsteps (or should I say pawsteps?) of Richard’s childhood pet, Trail. Rowlf was originally conceived as an idea for a film, with a range of models produced with his close friend Dave Holman. It wasn’t to be, but the concept was just too good to be left on the shelf. The time spent modelling would lay the basis for a new strip, which having appeared in Voice of Comicdom #16 and 17, caught the eye of Rip Off Press, who were enjoying a particularly energetic period.

With Richard still hard at work on his day job, he could only complete two or three pages a week, painstakingly rendered during the evening and over weekends. While it may have been early days for his comic art, the tale he told of a dystopian world ravaged by warring demons, maintained an air of cohesion, prior to dispensing a gripping finale, was certainly in evidence. Further to this, these pages indicated how a fluid cinematic flow could invigorate his artwork; thus exciting more and more new

readers as the years passed by. An almost immediate reprint would place the image of Rowlf adorning the back page of the original on the new cover, making this every bit as collectible as the first print from earlier in 1971.

Richard’s time with the underground was already drawing to a close, but further appearances would be made in the Los Angeles Book Company’s Weird Fantasies #1 (1972), with “The Secret of Zokma,” a macabre cover to Death Rattle’s premiere along, with the aptly titled cannibalistic five pager “Gastric Fortitude,” illustrations in Barbarian Comics #2 (1972) and #3 (1974), then came the insightful “To Meet the Faces You Meet” in the one-off Last Gasp presentation Fever Dreams. Once again his love of modelling came to the fore, in a monochrome airbrushed tale desirous of being roused from the page to assume a life of its own.

Grimwit also debuted in 1972. While this issue contained an abundance of material to delight many a Corben fan, the title’s second appearance in 1973 would lead to one of his, if not comic books’, finest moments. Laid before our eyes was the first instalment of the “Den” saga, which when accepted for Heavy Metal’s curtain-raiser in 1977, would run to a full 13 episodes,

with a second series appearing during the 1980s. Prior to this “Den” had been included in the contents of Ariel #1 (1976) and #2 (1977), a ground-breaking publication, which defied the humble origins of the comic book to portray them as serious art. It was hardly surprising Richard’s tale was considered for inclusion. With his artwork now being printed on high quality paper, his colourful airbrushed tones began to electrify with an energy more often associated with the pulse-pounding pencils of Jack Kirby, but this was something very different. Earlier on in this piece I mentioned the influence of the sculptor Auguste Rodin on Richard’s attitude towards art; here more than anywhere, up to this point in his career, was this no more in evidence. The characters were so outrageously proportioned, they could have only ever have found a home in one of these phantasmagorical tales. Yes, there was an exaggerated sexuality coursing through these pages, but it was just another element in this preposterous world, which as with other tales depicted by Richard, hinted at ancient civilisations inspired by the Aztecs and the Incas. True to Rodin’s spirit, Richard had ignited the flame, “Den” would take his place in comic book history.

These were heady times for Richard. In November 1970, his first story for Jim Warren, “A Frozen Beauty” had made it

to the pages of Creepy #36, at the end of what had been a very lean period for the company. By 1973 his draughtsmanship and storytelling technique was flourishing, so would begin a long run on Creepy, with regular inclusions in Eerie, Vampirella and Comix International. Jim Warren’s line of magazines was at long last beginning to thrive, just as it had done at its inception, when Archie Goodwin was at the editorial helm. Richard now found he had regular paying comicsrelated work, which would allow him to leave the Kansas City-based industrial film unit. Creatively, this was a golden period for both him and Warren, but with the chance to bring Den to fruition, his work for Heavy Metal would begin to consume much of his time.

Richard wasn’t quite finished with the underground, further appearances would come in Bizarre Sex #5 (1976) and #6 (1977), with contributions to one of the earliest independent titles, Hot Stuf’ in #1 (1974), #2 (1975), #3 (1976) and #5 (1977). As with Star Reach, Hot Stuf’ endeavoured to give the science fiction and fantasy community something of their own, absorbing the creative vitality of the undergrounds, while making it more accessible to comic book readers like myself.

Hot Stuf’ lasted but a few years, providing the basis for a blueprint many independent publishers would adopt during the 1980s.

Neal Adams would laud Richard’s work, likening his technique to that of the consummate filmmaker.

This overload of the senses and the sequencing of his panels into the overall design, while homing in on critical aspects of his rolling scenes bear testimony to Neal’s praise. I remain grateful to Gary Arlington for closing his ears to those who were so disparaging of Richard’s inclusion in the underground fold, for without Richard I would never have acquired an interest in the underground comix scene. Without him, I would missed the work of Greg Irons, Rand Holmes, Tim Boxell and George Metzger, amongst so many others. The vivacity and energy reverberating through his work has surpassed everything I thought a comic book could be, taking them on into awe-inspiring worlds.

Fresh from his run on Ka-Zar the Savage, one of Marvel’s first regular direct-sales comics titles, writer Bruce Jones established Bruce Jones Associates, along with his wife April Campbell, and began producing comic books for the independent publisher Pacific Comics. Among the titles was the science fiction anthology Alien Worlds, and that fan favourite is returning to the printed page courtesy of Raw Studios.

Bruce Jones has worked as an artist, writer, graphic designer and editor, bringing a fine sense of quality to the many works he has been involved in. He established his professional career in the 1970s, producing horror and science fiction material for black-and-white magazine publishers such as Skywald and Warren, where he would work with world famous artists such as Richard Corben, Russ Heath and Bernie Wrightson, people who he would continue to collaborate with in later years.

Colour work for DC Comics’ mystery and horror series followed naturally, along with a Huntress serial that ran in Detective Comics. While at Marvel he wrote Conan the Barbarian and over 30 issues of Ka-Zar the Savage. He was to collaborate with Ka-Zar artist Brent Anderson again on the Hitchcockstyled thriller Somerset Holmes, that first saw publication at Pacific Comics.

Between 1982 and 1984 Bruce Jones Associates also collected Bernie Wrightson’s work under the series heading Master of the Macabre, debuted the limited series Silverheels, and the genre anthologies Alien Worlds (science fiction), Twisted Tales, and a single issue of Pathways to Fantasy (naturally enough, heroic fantasy) before the Pacific Comics folded. Featured artists on those books included a who’s who of superior talent including John Bolton, Barry Windsor-Smith, Dave Stevens Al Williamson and a fledging Mike Mignola as an inking artist.

Alien Worlds and Twisted Tales were quality produced comics, with many commentators reflecting they were similar to EC Comics in approach, whereas Jones himself commented that it was chiefly in that company’s attention towards design that he may have been influenced, plus the fact that he was producing anthologies. The stories themselves were more akin to the work Jones had written for Warren magazines but with strips pitched towards an artist’s particular visual strengths.

After Pacific, Alien Worlds and Twisted Tales continued for a few issues more at Eclipse Comics,

concluding the work already produced for Pacific, and including a few strips not written by Jones. A year or two later Eclipse would bring out an album-sized issue each of new Alien Worlds and Twisted Tales stories written by Jones, with the promise of them being ongoing series, but this was not to be.

At Eclipse Jones’ previous work would also be collected in graphic novel form, he would also produce short-run mini-series such as Man of War, Hand of Fate, and the adventure thriller Luger, and the company would also reprint his own old illustrated strips under the title The Twisted Tales of Bruce Jones.

Alien Worlds was reprinted at Blackthorne, a company co-established by Steve Schanes, one of the brothers involved in Pacific. Jones is credited as writing several books for that company including a Rambo 3D comic, and his Jack Hunter series (featuring covers

by Joe Kubert and interior art by Delfin Barras) was collected and is worth checking out.

Bruce Jones’ career shifted direction and he began writing screenplays and scripts for HBO’s television series The Hitchhiker, alongside developing further his credentials as a published novelist.

His work for comics during this period naturally petered out. But he did become writer of the legendary Flash Gordon newspaper strip, illustrated by Ralph Reese and wrote possibly his best comic book story in the Rip in Time series published by Fantagor Press.

In Rip in Time, Jones and artist Richard Corben

seemed to take some of the concepts they had developed back in their Warren days and push the envelope even further to take them both to a new creative high. It was a fully-realised action adventure cliffhanger time travel story with dinosaurs, heroics and thwarted love. The better aspects of the original Stargate film owe more than a passing nod of respect to Rip in Time.

The new millennium found Jones returning to the comics field, slowly at first with a few short strips in DC Comics/Vertigo’s anthologies, then taking on The Incredible Hulk at Marvel leading to increased sales and critical attention on the book. His work since has been predominantly at DC including books such as Deadman, Nightwing and Vigilante.

News of the return of the Alien Worlds series came out of the blue, when artist Timothy Bradstreet posted a promotional cover for the book on his Facebook page, leading to a number of delighted fan comments.

Bradstreet further revealed that his art was based on Jones’ story “The Exterminators,” destined for a relaunch rather than a reprint collection of the “classic anthology” to be published by Raw Studios. Raw Studios was the creation of Bradstreet himself and actor Thomas Jane. The company has been developing a number of media projects including comics.

Bradstreet is an Eisner Award nominated illustrator who has worked in many fields aside from comics, including the cover to Iron Maiden’s “A Matter of Life and Death,” as well as production design for films including Blade II and The Punisher. Actor Jane has starred in films such as The Punisher and Stephen King’s The Mist, directed Dark Country, took the lead role in the HBO TV series Hung, while in recent becoming increasing involved in the comics field.

Bradstreet commented that Alien Worlds will be: “Absolutely all new, but temper that statement with the comforting knowledge that the guys doing the new stories are illustrators like Richard Corben, and William Stout, with an equal dose of later generation artists like Rafa Garres, James Daly, and me. Naturally all the stories are by Bruce Jones. It’s gonna be sweet.”

As a longstanding admirer of Bruce Jones’ craftsmanship, I recommend you check out the works noted above, and look out for more of it in the future.

For more information on Raw Studios visit: www.rawstudios.com

The ‘good-girl’ has a long and successful career upon which she can readily call. During the 1920s, our heroine appeared in the pulps of the period as louche, often en déshabillé and promiscuous. This good-girl was an object of unending desire, flirtatious, pliable and persuadable for extra-marital sexual trysts. These risqué titles were often referred to as bedsheets, owing, if for no other reason, to their large format. When it became clear that the carping censors and their noisome acolytes were displeased with her near constant state of undress and wanton tendencies, her role had to be reviewed.

Following this reappraisal, the good-girl was soon fit to be tied, passively awaiting a decidedly horrible fate.

On numerous covers she could be seen clamped within all manner of elaborate devices, each designed to either impale, immolate, immerse or decapitate, at the hands of evil criminals, dwarves or Igor-like henchmen; who in turn were directed by deviously manipulative Machiavellian overseers. These iniquitous men saw the undressing a woman as a focus for humiliation, torture or her ultimate

destruction. On some of these covers, the hero could be seen arriving not a moment too soon, to relieve the luckless good-girl from her distress, whilst restoring offcamera some much-needed clothing. The good-girl’s second coming was initiated by publisher Henry Steeger, in a format which was to become known as ‘weird menace’ or ‘shudder pulp’ magazines. This change in emphasis began late 1933, with a revamped Dime Mystery, followed in 1934 by Steeger’s Horror Stories and Terror Tales. Whilst Steeger was both the progenitor and leader in the field, rival companies soon joined the fray.

Rough Around the Edges

American pulps of the 1930s were crude publications, printed on cheap quality, coarse woodpulp paper. They were designed to be enjoyed, maybe passed on a couple of times, and then discarded. The covers were flimsy affairs, although made of decent coated-stock, which was glued to the interior spine; with the whole left untrimmed. Any rough handling

caused tears or creasing to the cover, thus jeopardising their long term survivability. The cover illustrations however were bright, brash and colourful, designed specifically to titillate and induce an impulse purchase. Ignored at the time, many of these illustrators have since assumed iconic status. The stories inside were violent, often lustful, but always fast-paced and exciting, with an occasional spot illustration to cheer the proceedings.

Their writers were habitually pseudonymous, though ably skilled in their disreputable practice. The point-of-sale copy (as opposed to a dedicated subscription copy) was another innovation; one which allowed the casual buyer to browse and make a chance purchase. This novelty, which seems so ordinary to us, now accustomed to our modern free market lifestyle, was made available by a highly significant group of behindthe-scenes distribution networks, which were seldom noticed by the casual bystander. These networks were able to speed said publications from printer to bindery and hence to the newsstands or other retailers dotted across the vast American continent. An ad-hoc distribution network had been in existence since the 1800s, which acquired an element of coherence during America’s Civil War (1861-1865), with the formation of the American News Company in 1864. Other rival distributors would follow, but ANC remained pre-eminent with an enviable worldwide network and a dedicated retail outlet (Union News) at US railways stations, until the US government enforced its complete dissolution due to unethical business practices, in 1957.

As with their predecessors, the weird menace pulp would also incur the wrath of the officialdom. In particular the National Organisation for Decent Literature (formed 1938), and subsequently by New York City’s serving Mayor, Fiorello Henry La Guardia (1882-1947), who vowed to rid the newsstands of their presence. The United States Postal Service/USPS was the authoriser of postal permits; essential for cheap transit from publisher to customer, and it too actively sought to remove items deemed unsuitable. In an attempt to mollify her detractors, the good-girl became less scantily clad; merely threatened, rather than enduring further acts of torture. Good-

girl covers featuring gun or knife-play, poisoning, or shadowy threatening figures became popular motifs. Due to censorious pressure, Trojan/Culture’s highly risqué Spicy lines (Spicy Adventure, Spicy Western, Spicy Detective) were cancelled in favour of Speed Adventure, Speed Western, and Speed Detective, launched 1943. When Trojan’s Dan Turner—Hollywood Detective was targeted in 1943, it lopped off the hero’s name and continued as Hollywood Detective, until 1950.

Notwithstanding, the pulp lines shrivelled and failed due to several factors, amongst which were the demands of an increasingly sophisticated readership for more presentable publications. This precipitated the rise of the ‘true crime’ magazine, which initially adopted the painted cover style of the pulp, before switching to photographic-style portrayals but staged using actors or models; a style that remains popular to this very day. Within these publications, the good-girl could change guise to become the provocative femme-fatale, and a threat to any unwary male; as exemplified in the hardboiled crime and B-movie film noirs of the 1940s and 1950s. America’s entry into World War II following the Japanese air-strike on Pearl Harbor (December 7, 1941), also heralded the rise of the patriotically oriented flag-waver magazine. Here, the good-girl was adapted to stay-at-home factory worker (Rosie the Riveter et al), enlisted servicewoman or wholesome pinup girl. All of these titles favoured smoother, glossier stock to do the images justice. The text-heavy pulps evolved into the glossy magazine, handsomely illustrated inside, or the pocket-sized digest; edges now trimmed and altogether more attractive. These ran alongside its mutant twin the paperback (initially digest-sized), where the good-girl thrived as a beautiful, voluptuous, amoral, born on the wrong side of the tracks temptress (‘Swamp Girl,’ ‘Tramp Girl,’ ‘Trailer Girl’ et al).

Pin-Up

The 1940s styles pinup or ‘cheesecake’ magazine was led by publisher Robert ‘Bob’ Harrison, with such titles as Beauty Parade, Eyeful, Flirt, Giggles and Whisper; many of which featured the airbrushed cover illustrations of pinup specialist

Peter Driben. Harrison became notorious following the launch of his ground-breaking, but vicious, Hollywood celebrity-tattle magazine, Confidential in 1952, which culminated in the infamous Confidential Magazine Trial of 1957.

In addition, the good-girl was represented via photos of numerous wannabe starlets, or occasionally the genuine Hollywood stars themselves. A staple of these titles was the photo feature of a seemingly plucky, optimistic but ultimately fallible femme. These hapless females were seen in a variety of improbable poses, photographed from all possible angles as they tried to accomplish a task that was plainly beyond their skills. Mostly, these were tasks that men would accomplish with ease; you get the idea... The conceit, she doesn’t realise what is being glimpsed while striving to remain upright, covered and decent. Equally presumptuous, the innocent reader has chanced inadvertently upon these candid photos or illustrations. More knowing, the would-be censors were not always convinced.

Another premise was the natural-history magazine, wherein the native tribe could be photographed in its natural habitat. This was usually accompanied by an obligatory shot or two, featuring bare-breasted tribeswomen.

Here, the native innocence seemed real and hence the viewers’ voyeurism was probably guaranteed. During its formative period, the Hollywood fan magazine also used idealised painted illustrations before opting for the now traditional colour close-up but still ideal photograph. Post-war, the flag-waver would evolve into the adult humour digest, many featuring risqué pinup covers and thinly veiled double entendre. These proliferated from the

war era and on into the 1970s, with a hybrid version featuring a mix of photo pinups, nudity and cartoons.

The digest format would also give rise to a range of risqué exploitation titles, with skimpily dressed females to the fore. Many were prompted by the runaway success of Confidential; the digest format more suited to their cheap ambitions. The females employed were often striptease artists (America’s hidden art form) or pinup models such as Bettie Page, Betty Brosmer, Mara Corday, Irish McCalla et al. Noisily, the otherwise miniature covers vied with each other, with tantalising but ultimately misleading risqué teaser captions much to the fore. Their captions intimated worryingly, everything from news about the atom bomb, spying, Communism, homosexuality, impotence, female frigidity, teenage menace, baldness and possible cures for all, wherever feasible.

Publishers John Raymond, Myron Fass and others reprised the genre into the 1970s, with incrementing adult bias more befitting the age.

An Invitation to Learning…

Almost unnoticed, at least initially, the good-girl crossed into America’s comic books, reprising the role she had been assigned in the pulp magazines, though muted somewhat for its juvenile readership. In the comics, the good-girl became a jungle or super heroine, or even an uncouth gangster’s moll; ‘Where ya goin’ on a night like dis, Tony? Ya ain’t gonna shoot anybody with dat rod, are ya?’ (Authentic Police Cases #6, 1948 but illustrated as ‘An Invitation to Learning’ in Fredric Wertham’s Seduction Of The Innocent, 1954). Again, the good-girl was tethered or imperilled, merely a reason for a heroic male to spring into action. S.M. ‘Jerry’ Iger’s art shop would supply many pages of finished art, featuring the good-girl front and centre.

All output was tailored specifically to suit the needs of client publishers, Fiction House (also a leading pulp publisher), Victor S. Fox, Robert W. Farrell et al. The advent of the ‘Comics Code,’ forbade sexuality, thus sidelining the good-girl to demure, buttoned-up supporting roles.

A role Lois Lane had assumed, with respect to Superman, since 1938. This new code was rigorously enforced by the Comics Magazine Association of America, formed in October 1954 ands its strictures were overseen with vigour by newly appointed ‘Comics Czar’ Charles Murphy

(a former Judge). This affected all comics seeking approval, dated February to April 1955 and thereafter. That is, until Mad, a former comic book reprised good-girl’s suggestive, voluptuous appeal in an uncensored black-and-white magazine format (often in the guise of movie stars Marilyn Monroe, Jayne Russell, Mamie van Doren or the ill-fated, Jayne Mansfield). Other Mad spoof magazines would imitate the style, but for the most part without lasting success.

Romance comics had entered the scene in 1946, and by 1954 there were several titles flouting the boundaries of acceptable taste; while others that appeared downright odd.

Fawcett’s Love Mystery ran long stories with echoes of film noir. Whilst working as an artist, Myron Fass dabbled with psychiatry in Doctor Anthony King, Hollywood Love Doctor, from 1951 through until 1954, a trail blazed by Hillman’s Mr. Anthony’s Love Clinic, 1949-1950.

ACG’s Romantic Adventures and Lovelorn offered fake 3-D stories, culminating in such exotic fare as ‘Heart of a Drunkard,’ ‘I Sold My Baby’ or Ogden Whitney’s delirious ‘Love of a Lunatic.’ All were cut short by the Comics Code Authority. In the pages of the Famous Funnies comics title, Personal Love, artist Frank Frazetta demonstrated his supreme skills with the female form. Vince Colletta was also proficient; offering several fine covers for Goodman’s multifarious romance titles. With publisher St. John, suggestiveness was confined to the covers alone, and who cared if the stories were slight when the subtle vision and effortless beauty of artist Matt Baker was on offer. For many collectors, Baker’s romantic portrayals for Teen-Age Romances, Diary Secrets and Cinderella Love remain an unequivocal high point of the romance genre. Good Girls were also prominent in such titles as Canteen Kate, The Farmer’s Daughter, G.I. Jane, Jetta, My Girl Pearl, Nellie the Nurse, Nyoka, The Phantom Lady, Rulah the Jungle Goddess, Tessie the Typist, Torchy, Wonder Woman etc. These were often endowed by such artistic greats as the aforementioned Matt Baker, Dan DeCarlo, Vince Colletta, Frank Frazetta, Bob Lubbers, Russ Heath, Bill Ward, Maurice Whitman or Wallace ‘Wally’ Wood; with the stylings of Dave Stevens, Frank Cho, Olivia De Berardinis and publisher/artist Bill Black (AC Comics) catering for the modern audience. Apologies if any of your favourites are omitted.

Once the Comics Code took effect, the versatile good-girl returned to the men’s adventure (derogatively referred to as ‘men’s sweat’) magazines, which had evolved from the he-man adventure pulps of the 1920s. A style now enriched by the influx of World War II patriotic pinup covers. Publisher Martin Goodman became the trail-blazer in 1949, with Male and subsequently Stag in 1950 (following abortive attempts during wartime 1942, probably stymied by War-drive paper shortages). The formative issues trace the transition from pinup to heroic male action. America’s involvement in war once more (Korea, 19501953), gave relevance to fighting men in uniform, ably portrayed by a skilled roster of cover artists. Goodman would add Men, Sportsman, For Men Only titles and others into the mix, assuring his position as brand leader. It was the overall package that stood them apart, with the Goodman version merely suggesting the good-girl’s reprise. Only the occasional cover resorted to explicitly violent bondage. Rival publishers were soon to follow. The titles of Arthur Bernhard, Stanley P. Morse and Maurice ‘Reese’ Rosenfield in particular, would leave potential readers in no doubt; as once-again the good-girl was stripped to her coordinated lacy bra and panties, high heels and stockings (plus necessary lipstick, makeup, hair grooming) for further rounds of torture and humiliation. Reprised from the dustbin of history, Nazis or Japanese military became the evil protagonists fronting these covers, which matched the interiors’ staple diet of WWII heroics. These stood in contrast to America’s difficulties in Korea, followed by a stalemate in 1953, which made for much less comfortable reading. The heyday for these bi-monthly men’s adventure titles extended from the mid 1950s to the early 1960s, with more than a dozen titles alternating on the racks each month. Their names were similarly confusing, with Male, Man or Men, often appended by a suitable noun (Action, Adventure, Combat, Conquest, Daring, Life, Only, Today etc, etc). The 1960s saw evil bikers or deranged hippies supplanted as purveyors of torment. This arrangement was brief-lived however, as panels or full-colour photographs prefaced the progressive shift, from heroics to female nudity. A format made increasingly acceptable by the arrival of Playboy in 1953 and a host of adult titles that followed in its wake. Their progress was assured by the many legal skirmishes fought on their behalf.

Wimmen’s Comix…

During the 1940s-50s, artist John Alexander Scott Coutts (1902-1962), signing as John Willie, turned ritualised discipline/bondage/fetish/denigration into a refined art. He is best known for his Sweet Gwendoline misadventures. The style was continued by Gene ‘Eneg’ Bilbrew, Eric Stanton and others. Even Steve Ditko, who assisted Stanton unsigned, when they shared accommodation for a period. The curvaceous model, Bettie Page (1923-

2008) was also available if photo-realism was required. The good-girl was also on hand when the burgeoning and non-Code-approved underground comix movement burst forth in 1967, courtesy of Robert Crumb, ‘Spain’ Rodriguez, Kim Deitch and others. Although these titles offered enlightenment from America’s counter-culture, there was a strong sense that apart from throwing off her shackles, followed by their tops, the role of women role hadn’t improved that much. Crumb in particular has been criticised for his misogyny; and any small indentations seen in the heads of Crumb’s large limbed, but comely females, could well be teeth marks left by this impassioned but gifted artist. The portrayals of S. Clay Wilson’s Dyke Pirates make for similarly uncomfortable reading, especially when in polite company. This time around, however, women headed by Trina Robbins had a voice of their own via such comix as Abortion Eve, All Girl Thrills, It Ain’t Me Babe, Tits and Clits, and Wimmen’s Comix. Although, examples from earlier eras are interesting if more conventionally directed, as both Gladys Parker’s Mopsy or June Tarpé Mills’ heroine Miss Fury demonstrate.

In summary, if this brief thrill ride seems sexist or misogynistic, well, what can I say? Human progress has evolved precisely (if sometimes regrettably) because of the human male’s objective fascination with the female form. Whilst women have curves, they will be the object of men’s desire. In the absence of biological activity, men will be tempted to gaze upon or recreate artistically the majesty of the female form. But having said that, maybe hold off with the clamps, spikes and boiling cauldrons for now, not to mention the plethora of derivative adult comics, with their unskilled fan art that followed the trail blazed by the undergrounds. Please leave it to the experts who know how to draw and hence suggest, subtly. For the avid reader, Carl Macek’s article, ‘Good Girl Art—An Introduction’ lives up to its name (Overstreet’s Comic Book Price Guide #6, 1976). It credits the derivation of the term ‘good girl’ to collector/ dealer David T. Alexander. Originally it was used by fans to describe comics which featured girls and good art (as opposed to bad). The term has now taken on a life and meaning of its own, with GGiP now an accepted abbreviation for ‘good-girl in peril’. Macek, Assisted by Art Amsie reprised the subject with ‘Women in Comics’ for Overstreet #8, 1978. This article corrals in-depth all the major themes, publishers and comics titles, wherein the good-girl resides.

Alongside are colour sections, displaying key examples of the genre and is rounded out with a newly commissioned cover by Bill Ward. It comes highly recommended, if it can be found affordably.

While horror comics became the scapegoat for the delinquency evinced amongst the youth of North America during the 1950s, attitudes in Brazil were appreciably different. Brazilian commentators take great pleasure in celebrating the legacy bequeathed by their country’s horror comics. As with the United States, the boom came at the dawn of the 1950s, but in this instance continued well into the 1960s, before receding in the face of the superhero early in the subsequent decade.

Comic books weren’t entirely without their critics, having been attacked by conservative groups in the country as far back as the 1930s. They were cited for being detrimental to children, with left wing groups questioning the role of the heroes in these tales, considering them distanced from reality. Pressure was also exerted by Brazilian creators, keen to limit the amount of comics entering the country from the United States. They had a need to ensure there was a bountiful supply of work lined up for their studios. Initially

Brazil’s approach to horror was heavily influenced by the comics coming in from the United States, but it wasn’t long before they developed a virtuosity inspired by the local folklore spiced with a dash of racy eroticism.

The 1960s would be harrowed by an unsettled period of intense political turmoil, yet the horror publishers maintained their huge readership. While much of the country suffered at the hands of the oppressive military dictatorship which seized power in 1964, the comic book industry remained largely untouched.

Two years after the American Comics Group released Adventures into the Unknown, the fledgling publishing house Editora La Selva first experimented with a line of home-grown horror comics. It was the beginning of a twenty-year run, which would see their readers, who were supposedly adult, subjected to rivers of blood, as voodoo conspired with blighted bandits, cannibals gorged on the grisly contents of their cooking pots and

tortured lycanthropes prowled the darkened streets, while an untamed vampire breed sought out succulent flesh. This phenomenon would not wane in popularity until the 1970s, when it was consumed by the costumed heroes of the United States. However, such was the draw of the supernatural, the genre survived into the 1990s to witness the publication of seven issues of Cripto do Terror in 1991 by Editora Record.

Cripto do Terror reprinted many of EC’s horror stories in a 100-page black-and-white magazine format, allegedly for an adult audience. Several of these covers were the work of the Rio de Janeiro-born artist Carlos Chagas, whose homage to Jack Davis, Johnny Craig and Al Feldstein has gone largely unrecognised. His inclusion on this title would have come as no surprise to Brazilian comic book fans, for as well as illustrating for newspapers and comic strips, his artistry

had graced the covers of the Brazilian editions of Mad and Cracked. The EC enthusiast might want to check out Carlos’s work, which stands proudly alongside his illustrious predecessors.

Forty years before, just as EC had embarked upon their reign of terror, Editora La Selva, headed by Jácomo Antonio La Selva and the brothers Antoninho and Stephen Paschoal, released O Terror Negro. Initially, there were nine issues, each reprinting tales plucked from the Nedor superhero Black Terror. However, when it was re-issued in 1951, O Terror Negro chose a darker path, while continuing to licence numerous American reprints. Contos de Terror and Sobrenatural Mistérios de Além would follow in 1954, with Histórias

de Terror debuting in 1960. Their names would thrive in a decade now acknowledged as the golden age of Brazilian comic book horror, carrying on into the 1970s. Editora Bloch preferred reprinting American comics during the 1970s, their Frankenstein title opted for some of Marvel’s black-and-white terrors from the same period. Many small publishers would prosper during this period as the country’s fascination with the uncanny refused to go away. Amongst these publishers was Editora Noblet. They released 18 issues of Vampirella, beginning in 1973, which kept their dedicated team of translators very busy.

The Brazillian horror comic industry may have boomed for more than twenty years, but so many of those who contributed to its success have been forgotten, Flavio

Colin, Nico Rosso, Lyrio Aragon, Julio Shimamoto and Jayme Cortez. Jayme Cortez Martins is considered to be the foremost of this creative band.

He was born in Lisbon on September 8, 1926, where he was denied any formal instruction as an artist, but he was exposed to the mastery of Hal Foster and Alex Raymond. Their influence was evident in his first comic strip, accepted by the Portuguese weekly newspaper O Mosquito, in 1944.

He would stay with the paper for the next two years before crossing the Atlantic to arrive in São Paulo in the March of 1947.

This new life wasn’t entirely plane sailing, but after much disappointment he found work as a cartoonist on the newspaper O Dia , before entering the employ of the newspaper Diário da Noite, embellishing their comic strips. His style caught the eye of La Selva when they were looking to expend their roster of artists following the resounding success of O Terror Negro. He was taken on alongside a crop of Brazil’s finest comic artists, which would include Gedeone Malagola, Francisco Oliveira, John Baptist Queiroz, Alvaro de Moya, Sillas Roberg and Miguel Penteado, names that would become synonymous with this burgeoning purveyor of comic books. Jayme would soon be apppointed as the company’s art director, producing a variety of covers for their portfolio of titles.

While the imagery accompanying this piece focuses on his unique grasp of horror, it shouldn’t be forgetten Jayme could turn his pencils to children’s comics, superheroes, westerns, war and the popular adventure tales of the day. Such was the respect for this young artist, he, Alvaro Moya , Miguel Penteado and Syllas Roberg became the organisers of the First International Comics Exhibition, which opened on the 18 June, 1951, in the Culture and Progress Centre in São Paulo. Their desire was to present the comic book as a worthy form of art.

By 1959, Jayme was becoming disgruntled with the way the he was being exploited by the comic book publishers, so he set out with fellow artist Miguel Penteado to create a new publishing house, Editora Continental. Here, he published the first Mauricio de Sousa magazine, seventeen years before going to work for his animation studio. The two creators plied their energy into creating comic books, generating work for Brazilian artists, making them “The Publisher of the National Comic.” This was endorsed by a green-yellow stripe stamped onto the cover of many of its magazines, which read, “Written and designed in Brazil.” Editora Continental was quick to snap up the creativity of Rodolfo Zalla, Eugenio Colonnese, Gedeone Malagola Julio Shimamoto, Flávio Colin, Gutemberg Monteiro, Nico Rosso and Lanzelloti. Brazilian-styled terror soon flourished, spreading like wildfire across the country’s towns and cities. Continental’s, Historias Macabras would continue the evolution of a uniquely Brazilian identity, one gladly shared by its competitors. Selecoes de Terror, Classicos de Terror and Historias do Alem would sit beside Historias Macabras in the local kiosks, while their rivals terrified with Pavor e Terror, Estorias Negras, Sombra do Pavor, Lobisomem and Acripta. The 1960s were indeed a heady period for Brazilian terror.

During the 1950s The Capitão 7 television show had first appeared, transmitted by Record Broadcasting Station. It soon garnered considerable acclaim. Shortly after, Jayme and Júlio Shimamoto were hard at work on the first issue of the Captain’s very own comic book, cover-dated November 1959. He would be the first Brazilian costumed hero, whose comic was to survive beyond his landmark television show.

While Jayme wasn’t alone in his passion for comic book art, the way he addressed the imagery essential to these tales of horror, distinguished him from his fellow professionals. He had an appreciation of his country’s

powerful attachment to the Catholic Church, blending it with the mystic folk tales handed down from generation to generation, to craft a series of comic books which were every bit as terrifying as those that had once tormented the United States. His achievements would be many, going on to become a professor of Art at the PanAmericana School, working as the creative director for the McCann Erickson agency between 1964 and 1976 and then heading off to direct the merchandising and animation at Mauricio de Sousa Productions. In November 1986 he was awarded the Caran D’Ache in Lucca, Italy, for his services to both comic books and illustration.

Sadly he died the following year, aged 61. While almost unknown outside South America, Jayme Cortez is quite rightfully revered as the master of his profession by Brazilian comic book creators and fans alike.

The Comics Code Authority was introduced Oct 1, 1954 by the newly-formed Comics Magazine Association of America (CMAA), affecting all comics of contributing publishers dated February to April 1955 & thereafter. Faced with draconian measures now enforced by the newly appointed ‘Comics Czar’ Charles Murphy, which would severely restrict what could or could not be portrayed, publishers sought to maintain interest in different ways.

Some companies opted for prizes (Prize Mystery, Win A Prize etc.), whilst others moved opted for games or puzzles comics.

Publisher Martin Goodman, whose Atlas comics always boasted striking covers, sought to tempt potential readers

with intrigue. However, such were the forces now mustered against comics, the December 1955 dated Spellbound #25 (a title only recently resurrected from pre-Comics Code period suspension, so effectively the second issue), was criticised by the New York State’s Joint Legislative Committee in their end of year report dated March 1956. Despite its Code-approved cover, the Committee considered the CMAA had suffered a lapse of judgement in approving it; as “the underlying theme of the cover in Exhibit 42 is terror despite the fact that the features of the man are not shown and the comic is not entitled either ‘horror’ or ‘terror’ ” and urged “constant vigilance” and “watchful waiting” (page 88). Exhibit 42 refers to an illustration of the offending cover, which appeared (in black & white) on page 91 of the Report.

As anything remotely evoking horror or terror was thought unsuitable, Atlas experimented with covers broken into three or four panels set in a solid colour surround. This effect was tried on all of their mystery titles except Adventure Into Mystery, Mystical Tales and the aforementioned Spellbound. Many of these panelled covers were drawn or at least drafted by Carl Burgos, each seeking to tempt the casual browser with several story teasers instead of one. This was a period when children would examine items prior to purchase, rather than buy regularly or on impulse; attracted by a high-impact cover. Each panelled cover was laid out individually to sustain interest, with the plain borders coloured attractively to catch the readers’ attention. Its origins go back to 1950, when some covers had a main panel, with three small panels running vertically down the left side. The war title Combat Kelly was the first to utilise the panelled

concept, retaining this layout for its entire run from 1951 through until1957. Atlas’s Jungle Action, Jungle Tales and Men’s Adventures also used this idea, whilst Rugged Action went for three wide panels, as befitting its interior trio of adventure, jungle & war stories.

Its first use on the mystery titles, had been with the May 1955 issue of Uncanny Tales #31, repeated soon after with the August issue, #34. The September 1955 dated Mystic #39, used an original four-panel cover to highlight just one story, John Forte’s “Twenty-One Footsteps.” The bulk of these panelled covers appeared between December 1955 and May 1956, a trial which would be abandoned after no more than four issues on any title. A late runner was Uncanny Tales #56 (September 1957), which proved to be its final issue.

Other genres also dabbled with the four-panel format. Wild Western tried twice, initially with #35 and then #38. Girls’ Life used a panelled sidebar, whilst Secret Story Romances embraced it on two issues, #8 and #10 during 1954. The multi-panel style also had a rival in Charlton, but these were seemingly random interior panels, crudely mixed with offers of competitions and prizes. The Goodman variety were in a class apart by comparison.

The experiment had an odd coda in 1957, when the seemingly unconnected American News Company (ANC) was forced by the US Government to dissolve their vast worldwide distribution business (as well as divest themselves of Union News retail sales outlets), as a result of unethical practices. However, Goodman’s Atlas comics, magazine and Lion paperback lines were being distributed by ANC since 1956 and in the wake were therefore seriously affected. As a result, World of Suspense #8 would be cancelled alongside a host of other Goodman comics titles, but this issue was still in need of a cover. Uniquely for a Goodman comic, it was decided to amend the third page of Richard Doxsee’s “Ghost Ship” story, tilt it slightly, add some copy text to provide the cover. The result can be seen here. Following relocation with Independent News Distribution/IND, Goodman’s comics lines were savaged, with only 16 titles surviving on a bi-monthly schedule. Multiple panel covers would reappear during the Marvel Age, but they would never be as sustained or attractive. The Atlas panel experiment was dead.

Rescued from the Ashes

Among aficionados of comic books, it is fairly well known that Editor Emeritus Stan Lee once lost a priceless collection of comics he had worked on due to a flooded basement. It’s a worrying notion that sometimes haunts my sleepless hours, when I hear a dripping sound in the eaves of my house. Might I suffer similarly distressing water damage to books acquired decades ago? (But water damage from above, rather than below as with Stan Lee?) My cherished comic collection is squirreled away securely in (thus far) drip-free cupboards, menaced only by condensation and a few undernourished moths—but who knows what the English climate has in store for my hundred-year-old, past-its-best house? And it isn’t only rain I have to worry about—what about the cigarette that slips from a sleepy neighbour’s lips in the house next door and results in both houses being consumed by fire? Apart from a wife and a pair of underpants for modesty, what will I grab from that blazing building in the wee small hours to rescue? What comics will I be clutching to my shivering chest as I watch the conflagration of the rest of my collection warm the London night? (And I’m not worried about that sleeping neighbour—he burnt my comics collection, didn’t he?)

13 Precious Issues

That last-minute burning house rescue: a difficult one, isn’t it? But

(for me) it might have to be 13 precious issues (a complete run) of Mystery in Space—not the glossy original American 1950s editions in full colour (they can always be replaced), but the ones that I bought as a grubby-kneed schoolboy and have lovingly cherished over the years (despite some ill-advised, yellowing Sellotape repairs)—namely, the chunky, 68-page Strato/Thorpe & Porter shilling editions which reprinted material from what is probably the most inventive and ingenious period of DC’s definitive science fiction comic. And here I may differ from most admirers of this celebrated title by suggesting that the finest era for legendary editor Julius Schwartz and his creative team (including such stellar artists as a pre-Flash Carmine Infantino and a pre-Green Lantern Gil Kane—the latter Schwartz’s Mystery in Space cover artist of choice) produced their finest work; not in the space opera genre (with which the title’s run both began and ended); that is to say, not the continuing adventures of the Knights of the Galaxy who appeared in the inaugural issue and who commandeered the early issues of the comic (much as the proto-superhero Captain Future did similar service in the Schwartz’s companion SF book Strange Adventures), or in the run of the comic from issue #53, when galactic traveller Adam Strange’s adventures on the planet Rann began—and continued (slightly repetitively) for the rest of the run.

Pre-Adam Strange: The Real Stuff

No, the very best, most distinctive work is to be found in the brilliantly written non-series short stories that filled the issues between the recurring space heroes. Largely penned by the prodigiously talented John Broome and Gardner Fox, later to be key progenitors of the Silver Age of superheroes (often during brainstorming sessions with Schwartz, very much a hands-on editor), these were stories in which characterisation was economical, to say the least; the protagonists of most of these tales were customarily intelligent American scientists thrown into mind-bending scenarios (science running wild, say) and using their wits rather than their mitts. Intelligence was the order of the day, both in the heroes and in the writing and the editing (Ah, those were the days!). Sheer ingenuity was combined with vast imagination to transport the reader into strange and exciting new worlds of wonder, quite the equal of the exemplary science fiction tales in such EC comics as Weird Science and Weird Fantasy, which Bill Gaines and Al Feldstein had conjured in the pre-Code era (the imposition of the draconian Comics Code on DC’s science fiction range was hardly a straitjacket, as these tales never required any elements of the gruesome—which would, in any case, have been strictly prohibited in the Code era).

Overseas Delights

In the 1960s, many British schoolboys looked longingly at the US as the repository of many of the things we loved. We may have had an imperishable literary tradition on our island, but for many like me, that counted as little against the country that produced Superman, EC comics and such science fiction wonders as Mystery in Space.

Certainly, though, for those of us who waited impatiently for the weekly delivery of comics at our local newsagent, it was the brightly coloured American books that really set our pulses racing. As the sour-faced newsagent, cigarette dangling from lip, cut the string on those comics parcels, patience became an elusive virtue.

In the late ’50s, those bright colours could only be found on the covers of such books as Blackhawk and The Flash—the bulky content (68 pages of them, as the covers loudly proclaimed) were black-and-white reprints from the American plates. But did we care? Well—yes and no; we envied our American cousins their four-coloured delights, but—what the hell—the books

were still wonderful, weren’t they? Like many a British comics fan growing up in the Beatles era of the 1960s, my first encounters with American comics had been in the wonderful bumper-sized black-and-white reprints of DC and Marvel material put out by such British companies as Thorpe & Porter.

These distributors would import stats from the US (not the plates or original US artwork) and reprint (in monochrome) some priceless Silver Age material sandwiched between full covers in chunky (and now highly collectable) anthologies. The first half of the book would be a reprint of (for instance) ACG’s Adventures into the Unknown, while the backup material (equally cherished by Brit comic fans hungry for all American material—we were all Americaphiles!)—would be from DC books such as House of Mystery. The existence of the latter title, of course, was completely unknown to British readers—there was no British edition, and the covers to all this backup material were invariably dropped when it was shoehorned into the back of the 68-pagers. Only when American comics began to be imported directly to the UK in the early—to-mid-60s did we realise that there was a far greater universe of full-colour comics out there. We knew, of course, the American readers had the inestimable pleasure of reading these books in colour, as the occasional American book found its way to these shores—in Liverpool, where I grew up, many comics arrived as ballast in the ships, as the city’s days as one of the greatest ports in the world were not that distant. Famous Liverpudlian Paul McCartney was a great comics fans—as both his songs and a recent TV interview demonstrate. We may not have known about House of Mystery, but we certainly knew about Mystery in Space. There was a UK version of that book! (Though not of its US SF companion, Strange Adventures—

however, some material from the latter magazine appeared as backup in the UK MiS—we recognised the clean, strikingly designed artwork of Carmine Infantino, with it pared-down, modernistic ethos, while having no idea who this unsigned artist was.)

Mystery in Blighty

In fact, prior to the highly collectable 13-issue run of Mystery in Space (courtesy of the Leicester packager Thorpe & Porter, who also used an imprint that read ‘Strato’), Brits had enjoyed a nineissue reprint of the title from the British company L. Miller & Son in Hackney, London (the firm’s ex-location is now a cheerless block of flats near Regents Canal that I sometimes walk past, thinking wistfully of the comic book wonders that used to emerge from the building that was on the site decades ago). These nine slim sixpenny issues (1952-1954) covered a slightly earlier era of the book (reprinting, non-chronologically, US issues #20, 22, 21, 23, 18, 24, 19, 17 and #25), and featured redrawn covers on the final two UK issues, #8 and #9). That re-drawn cover syndrome was not to occur in the later shilling editions, although there is one anomalous ‘rogue’ issue, as we will see.

The first 68-page British edition of Mystery in Space reprinted US issue #39 (Gil Kane’s image of the Earth being locked in a ‘cosmic safe’), backed up with other US material, while UK issue #2 (‘Lifeboat in Space’) utilised US #40. The Brit issue three, in which (courtesy once again of Gil Kane) a shabbily-dressed vagabond fires a strange ray gun at a floating jewel (‘The Miser of Space’) is US issue #41.

‘Invaders of the Space satellites’ follows in UK #4—an unusual cover of the comic in that it features no living creatures, either earthmen or aliens (the image is of yellow UFOs firing at a target on Earth; it’s from US issue #43).

The British edition numbered 5—still with no human figures, but with very characteristic green-skinned Gil Kane aliens watching the Empire State building being launched into space (‘Secret of the Skyscraper Spaceship’) is US #42. It’s followed by another surrealistic image of an Earth property propelled into space: UK number six cover-features ‘The Amazing Space-Flight of North America’, and has

that continent being lifted into space (it is drawn from US issue number 4). The seventh British issue, ‘Secret of the Scarecrow World’, is US #48.

By this stage of publication the anticipation for each issue among British readers was intense (would something in each succeeding issue top such indelible images as an earthman riding a robotic horse on a ruined world? Or a machine, long hidden under the earth, that secretly controls the planet’s gravity?) But a hiccup in the UK series was just around the corner.

Fill-ins and Falls from Grace

With the unexciting UK #8 we arrive at the anomalous issue—one I distinctly remember being disappointed with as a boy after handing over my shilling (despite solid interior work from the likes of Nick Cardy). Acceptable fare certainly, but not

as imaginative as usual (as a North of England schoolboy, haunting the docks of Liverpool for mouth-watering comic goodies in the blackened, water-damaged news stall, who knew then that SF comics stories edited by Jack Schiff—the contents of this issue—were less audacious than those from the Julius Schwartz stable?). UK issue number eight (which clearly has the MiS logo with a black star field lifted from another issue of the comic) has superimposed below it an image of men firing at twin aircraft from a rubble-strewn building, and is in fact a reprint of an Airboy cover. No actual Mystery in Space fare—either on the cover or inside the book. But why?

The reason for this fill-in issue is lost in the mists of UK comics history—we will never know why one of the many issues of Mystery in Space available for reprint by Thorpe & Porter was not reprinted, or

why a dull generic cover from another book was used. But soon things were back on track. With UK #9, cover-featuring ‘The Sky-High Man’, we are back in the company of Gil Kane, with a gigantic spaceman measuring what appears to be a tiny earth (it’s US issue #49) and the tenth British MiS (‘The Runaway Space-Train’— Schwartz liked his hyphenated titles) and eleventh (‘Battle of the Moon Monsters’), were, respectively, US issues #50 and #51. The last non-series character cover (for UK issue #12) has one of the most striking Gil Kane images, as a red-suited spaceman (more dynamically rendered than most other comic art of the day) is drawn into transparent glass mountain by a crystalline alien (‘Mirror Menace of Mars’, from US #52).

And then (in 1960) came—sadly—the valedictory UK issue. Intriguingly, given that the red-and-white garbed character of Adam Strange was to inhabit the US editions of the title for the rest of its run, his only reprint appearance in the United Kingdom (apart from the cover of a later album of miscellaneous material), is for the final issue, number 13. ‘Menace of the Robot Raiders’ is from US issue #53. He was shortly to reappear in full colour in the UK as the American books began to be imported, rendering the black-andwhite reprints redundant. (And—here’s a ‘coming clean’ footnote—I’m obliged to confess that when I re-read Mystery in Space these days, it’s the US versions I pick up—I handle the UK books with loving reverence as if they were Shakespearean First Folios). Adam Strange, of course, has shown more legs in terms of his endurance than the other contents of Schwartz’s masterly comic— when the DC Archive series recently reprinted material from Mystery in Space, it was Rann’s champion only, with the inventive and beautifully drawn back stories removed. But give me preAdam Strange Mystery in Space every time.

So if that house fire ever happens... or if the waters of the Thames begin to lap at my door (unlikely, I admit, in Islington), it will be the 13 treasurable UK issues of Mystery in Space that I clasp to my chest as I stand shivering, watching the fire hoses play over the smoking ruins. These books are probably replaceable, but they will not be the issues I had as a boy (which most of them are). For Proust’s narrator in In Search of Lost Time, it is a Madeline biscuit dipped in tea which most acutely brings back his childhood. For me, it’s a Gil Kane cover (with a gorgeous Sol Harrison colour wash) showing a space-suited earthman being ejected from a space lifeboat against a purple star field. Less artistically respectable, perhaps... but then I never liked biscuits dipped in tea.

MYSTERY IN SPACE US=UK REPRINT CODE First Series (1952-1954) (L Miller & Co, Hackney; Cover price: sixpence) UK #1 reprints US #20 UK #2 reprints US #22 UK #3 reprints US #21 UK #4 reprints US #23 UK #5 reprints US #18 UK #6 reprints US #24 UK #7 reprints US #19 UK #8 reprints US #17 UK #9 reprints US #25 Second Series (1958-1960) (Strato/ Thorpe and Porter, Leicester; Cover price: one shilling) (All shilling issues contain backup features from other DC material along with other miscellaneous material) UK #1 reprints US #39 UK #2 reprints US #40 UK #3 reprints US #41 UK #4 reprints US #43 UK #5 reprints US #42 UK #6 reprints US #44 UK #7 reprints US #48 UK #8 reprints non-Mystery in Space DC material UK #9 reprints US #49 UK #10 reprints US #50 UK #11 reprints US #51 UK #12 reprints US #52 UK #13 reprints US #53 (first Adam Strange) [Barry Forshaw is the author of Death in a Cold Climate: Scandinavian Crime Fiction and British Crime Film his latest book is a study of The Silence of the Lambs.]

There are certain moments in your life that never leave you, such was a damp Friday evening in the mid November of 1979, when I was looking forward to getting home from an interview in North Wales. It was the first of my university evaluations, which possibly might account for this long-ago memory, but there was a little more to the tale. In the months that followed I would choose not to include Bangor on my shortlist, although I have since wished I had seriously reconsidered. But on that eve my thoughts were elsewhere, for in my lap was the latest issue of Heavy Metal, number 31, cover-dated October 1979.

In those days, Heavy Metal was an exceptional magazine, distanced from its contemporaries by virtue of its outlandish content. Its slant was wholly different in style, almost at odds with the fare to which I had so long been privy. The contributions for this particular edition had been selected with Halloween in mind, a time of year celebrated across the Atlantic, but back then largely ignored in the United Kingdom. While Heavy Metal was indeed a treat, this issue was even more so, for the entire issue had been dedicated to the legacy of H.P. Lovecraft. The brief editorial revealed a significant part of the content had been taken from the “Homage a Lovecraft” issue of Metal Hurlant, numbered 33bis, first seen just over 12 months before in September 1978. On this showing, the French edition had been extended to 150 pages, carrying an additional 50 pages when compared to the regular issues of the period. As the train coursed along the darkened coast, I learned of the “cult like veneration” the French lauded upon Lovecraft’s hideous vision. I could only wonder if his words assumed a more eldritch guise in their French translation; it has always been, and remains, a beguiling language.

H R Giger had been called upon to craft a typically disturbing cover for Metal Hurlant’s “Homage a Lovecraft,” at a time in his life he would have been working on Alien. The US edition dared to go that one step further, their cover presented Jeff Knight Potter’s photographic portrayal of the baroque prince himself. Jeff set the tone for that which would follow, only four years after his work had first graced the cover of Nils Hardin’s highly collectible Xenophile. The year 1979 would be one Jeff would also remember; Don Grant published his first illustrated book, reprinting H Warner Munn’s Tales of the Werewolf Clan, an omnibus of these stories originally presented in the pages of Weird Tales almost half a century before.

Many of the stories from this issue of Heavy Metal would eventually drift from mind, but Alberto Breccia’s interpretation of “The Dunwich Horror” would come to haunt me. His realistic rendering of this unsettling account, initially conceived in 1974, was but one of nine of his Lovecraft related collaborations with writer Norberto Buscaglia between 1972 and 1975. The others were to include “The Festival,” “The Thing on the Doorstep,” “The Shadow Over Innsmouth,” “The Nameless City,” “The Call of Cthulhu,” “The Colour out of Space,” “The Haunter of the Dark” and “The Whisperer in Darkness,” many of which saw publication in Italy’s Il Mago and later on Argentina’s El Pendulo.

When I first read their adaptation of Lovecraft’s tale, I was yet to savour the original, along with the Uruguayan-born artist’s work, yet found myself captivated by this bleak elucidation. It is impossible to flip through these pages and simply follow the narrative; rather they insist the reader absorb them slowly, with time taken to appreciate Alberto’s assured line, before being consumed by the horror at hand.

There is every possibility I could have seen some of Alberto’s work in the children’s comics of the English publisher Fleetway, during the 1960s, but given my tender years his mesmerising draughtsmanship would have left no impression whatsoever. At this stage in his lengthy career, Alberto was in the employ of the Bardon Press Agency, based in Madrid. Along with many of his fellow comic book creators in Argentina, he had been driven to pick up work on distant shores in the wake of the downturn in his homeland’s once thriving comic book industry. The publishing houses of Argentina weren’t in a position to match the money promised by their European counterparts, forcing them to hire artists whose style was inferior to the likes of Alberto Breccia and his contemporaries, who had done so much to bestow upon Argentine comic books their unique verve.

Alberto’s renditions chosen for this commemoratory edition of Heavy Metal, revelled in his uncanny use of charcoal pencil work, endorsing an application of tone which cast shadows ever deeper into his pages, thus suffusing the dread Lovecraft had originally conceived in the “Dunwich Horror.” The duration of this account drew upon the events attendant to old Whatley’s death, with the portrayal of the dying thing that had once been Wilbur Whatley envisaged in such a way as to induce an overwhelming sense of alarm, yet remaining faithful to the revelations of the erudite Dr Henry Armitage. Alberto’s depiction of the unearthly footprints tracking across the ravaged countryside held my gaze; whatever it was that could leave such devastation surely had to be the personification of absolute terror. The narration accompanying the closing panels was taken directly from Lovecraft’s own words, bequeathing this telling the most fitting, if not hideous, of finales.

Jean Giraud, more commonly known as Moebius in the pages of Heavy Metal, was one of the founders of “Les Humanoïdes Associés”, alongside JeanPierre Dionnet, Philippe Druillet and Bernard Farkas. It was they who introduced the ground-breaking magazine Metal Hurlant to the world of comics, insisting their fellow creators across the globe sit up and reappraise the potential in this overlooked medium. Jean’s contribution to this eldritch tome was “Ktulu”, gloriously laid before the reader in a panoply of breathtaking colour, typifying the otherworldly aura that was synonymous with his grandiose vision. His vignette was quite simplistic, yet beguiled the reader, impelling them to contemplate its substance long after the event. Sometime in the future there exists a world so far beyond our own, known only to the chosen few, where H.P. Lovecraft has become immortalised. The deity, we call Lovecraft, finds himself lamenting the hunt led by a presidential figure, whose dominion rests in the corporations of our blighted sphere. His quarry is the Ktulu; a beast venerated by those who inhabit this strange world. Our glimpse of this oracular reality is fleeting, lasting but five pages, in a tale very loosely buoyed by the Lovecraftian mythos, yet still this minor saga commands an exemplary place in what is a celebratory collection.

Further on into this issue the reader tumbles head first into “The Thing”, a play upon “The Statement of Randolph Carter” by Alain Voss.

Illustrated in a disquieting black-and-white, this is another compelling piece, immersed in the apprehension invoked by this enigmatic writer.

While only six pages in length, it was a nail biting experience to turn the pages for fear of that which lay in wait. While the train stopped and then started between the stations of those isolated communities, Serge Clerc prepared to recount “The Man from Black-Hole”, the chronicle of Howard Phillip Wingate in the Arkham of September 1939. Once again, we are swept into a world where terror lurks in the shadows to which mortal man is oblivious.

Clerc’s style was uncluttered, so very European, yet encapsulated the menace underlying this mythical region. He dares speak of “The Unnameable”, drawing upon his attachment to the original text, with elements of “The Whisperer in Darkness” evident in part. The exposition in his narrative is certainly redolent of the Lovecraft archetype, warranting a welcome return in the small hours of the night, but only when I had safely departed this train and the darkened coastline.

Lovecraft’s god-like, or on this occasion demonic status, in the beyond is suggested in Nicollet’s uncomplicated, but beautifully rendered HPL. The tale resorts to one of the oldest jokes in the book, before unaffectedly discarding it to leave time to reflect on the connotations in HPL’s words. As the master of the macabre spread his leathery wings to ascend into the sullen firmament, we were left to

ponder Nicollet’s connection with Lovecraft’s vision into the abyss, but not for too long, for Chaland and Cornillion’s “Dewsbury’s Masterpiece” was in wait. They regaled the reader with a series of garish renderings, the colours fairly resonating on the page, but who was kidding who with a character going by the name H.P. Dewsbury? In due course the tale tipped its hat to “Pickman’s Model,” and derived inspiration from the spirit of the writer’s perception rather than affording a retelling of the original piece.

Philippe Druillet’s excursions amidst nightmarish realms of delirium have long been acclaimed, his insight into the darkest corridors between this world and those lying beyond was essential to the success of these early years of Metal Hurlant. So many of his revelations hark back to the lore we associate with Lovecraft, this account taken from “The Necronomicon,” is no exception. By now the train had left the coast, heading inland, as I entertained the thoughts of this man Druillet being in possession of an age-old copy of the malevolent text; if not, then he was indubitably a man in utter torment. Here, there are but six pages for our perusal, with the editors having driven themselves into babbling lunacy to ensure we were reduced to madness, for this is without doubt an expression of an insane logic so far distant from our mortal comprehension.

Arthur Suydam, surely not a descendant of his namesake the sinister Robert from

Other Gods,” “L’énigme du Mystérieux Puits Secret” created by Chaland and Cornillon, “A la Recherche de Kadath” from Truchaud and Perron, “Les 3 maisons de Seth” by Hé, Chaland’s solo effort “Les 2 vies de Basil Wolverton,” “Plat du jour” presented for your delectation by Ceppi and Vepy, “Le pont au dessus de l’eau” from Cornillon and “Cauchemar” by Alex Nino.

These could have made it to later issues of Heavy Metal, but in the October issue of 1979 there was no room at the inn, the entire 100 pages had been taken up. The train was drawing in, my journey was at an end, but the contents of this magazine would never quite drift away.

As a footnote, the Swedish version of Metal Hurlant, Tung Metall, which saw publication from 1986 through until 1990, chose not to dedicate an entire issue to Lovecraft, rather single stories would see occasional publication, “Dewbury’s Masterpiece” making it to #24 in 1987 and “Ktulu” appearing in #38 in 1989. Breccia’s “Dunwich Horror” saw publication in #25, dated January 1988, with a possible telling of “The Festival” in the December issue of that year, although I have yet to find a copy. This Swedish variant published by Epix had a page-count numbering anywhere from 68 to 84 per issue.

“The Horror at Red Hook,” provides a moment of light (or should I say dark?) relief in the descent into debauchery “Bad Breath.” These are an amazingly crafted series of pages, liberally revelling in their humorous iniquity. While bearing little, if any, relationship to any of the works of H.P. Lovecraft, the illustrations accompanying this depravity sit proudly alongside their European counterparts.

This story later appeared in the Pacific Comics’ collection Demon Dreams, where it was presented in its entirety, along with more of Arthur’s mesmerising work.

Sadly the readers of Metal Hurlant didn’t get to see this rather stunning artistry, nor were they granted the opportunity to appreciate Terrance Lindall and Chris Adames’ exquisite “Xeno Meets Doctor Fear and is Consumed.”

Similarly, quite a few tales from the September 1978 Metal Hurlant didn’t make it to this issue of Heavy Metal. Amongst them were “Le retour de Cthulhu” Charles R Martens, “La Trace Ecarlate” by Ceppi and Mendez, “Barzai le Sage” Caro’s take on “The

Cultural Attaché Concluding his epic presentation to the House Un-American Activities Committee on March 26, 1947, FBI director J. Edgar Hoover likened Communism to a disease: “Communism, in reality, is not a political party. It is a way of life; an evil and malignant way of life. It reveals a condition akin to disease that spreads like an epidemic; and like an epidemic, a quarantine is necessary to keep it from infecting the Nation.” During World War II (1941-45 in U.S.A), The Soviet Union was considered America’s ally. Post War, however, the Communist ideology and imperial aims exemplified

by Soviet leader Josef Stalin (1878-1953) were seen as an evil influence on World affairs. Allied fears were compounded when Russia (also as: The Union of Soviet Socialist Republics/U.S.S.R) detonated its own atomic bomb on September 24th, 1949. In the East, the ‘Hammer and Sickle’ symbolised the collective strength of Soviet farmer and industrial worker. It was first employed in 1922, following the Russian Revolution of 1917. To the West, the emblem was visual shorthand for evil; similar to the ‘Red Star’ favoured by the Communist Chinese. These symbols would adorn anything or anyone with a Communist taint. Into this fevered climate,

U.S. interest groups released numerous anti-Communist pamphlets, leaflets, articles etc. Many reflecting the tone and rhetoric of Hoover’s testimony. Among them were several comics from the Catechetical Guild Educational Society, based in St. Paul, Minnesota. A publisher founded in 1936

by Father Louis Gales, assisted by Fathers Paul Bussard and Edward Jennings. Catholic Digest premiered that November and remains in print to this day. From 1942, the Guild was the publisher of Topix (until 1952) and other religious comics.

Allthough recorded in Overstreet’s Comic Book Price Guide with nominal values, the Guild’s anti-Communist tracts were largely unseen, before copies materialised in 1979. This occurred, when a Priest attended a comic mart in Philadelphia; his briefcase bearing comics from the defunct publisher’s files. The Cleric was soon involved in intense discussions with three comic dealers, before departing the scene “with a fistful of thousand dollar bills.” (Overstreet #10 Market Report, 1980). The Guild’s anti-Communist titles include: Is This Tomorrow, 1947 (preceded by Confidential; an all-black-and-white pre-publication proof), Blood Is the Harvest, 1950 (uncommon; a black-and-white side-stapled prototype also exists), If the Devil Would Talk, 1950 (Roman Catholic Guild imprint) and The Red Iceberg, from1960.

There was even a slim 64-page 1952 paperback condemning Communist China, Blueprint For Enslavement by Father James A. McCormick, with an evocative cover by artist Stanley Borack. Whilst, The Truth Behind the Trial of Cardinal Mindszenty (1949) was a religio-political comic (with a French-Canadian version from the Montreal-based Editions Fides; La Vérite Concernant Le Cardinal Mindszenty). József Mindszenty (1892-1975) had opposed Communism in his native Hungary, suffering torture, a criminal ‘show trial’ and imprisonment, before living in exile for his final years. The religious leader was also portrayed by actor Charles Bickford in the 1950 movie release, “Guilty of Treason,” based on Mindszenty’s memoirs. Unconquered was a giveaway from National Committee for A Free Europe, Inc, which described the show trial in Communist Czechoslovakia of Milada Horakova (1901—1950), with twelve co-defendants and her subsequent execution, despite pleas in the West for clemency. It is made more memorable by the artwork of Alexander Toth.

America Menaced!

Under an iconic holocaust cover, the Guild released Is This Tomorrow, America Under Communism!, in 1947. With alarming images, the 48-page 4colour story conjures the nightmare scenario how US Communist conspirators could suborn the American democratic system into a totalitarian state. Two priced (10c) and two unpriced versions are known.

The former were distributed by Hearst’s International Circulation Company (ICC). The original unpriced edition can be identified by the flames in top right hand corner, whilst the later unpriced version has a telltale blank yellow circle.

The original unpriced an at least one priced edition were released by the Guild, who also the copyright holder. It was also reprinted in three consecutive issues of the Guild’s Catholic Digest (July to September, v12#9 to v12#11). A later unpriced/undated edition was released by the Chicagobased National Research Bureau. More from them shortly.

With an estimated 4-million copies all told, Is This Tomorrow remains common to this day. The chilling hypothesis was also restaged for foreign markets. It was adapted by author Neil Alexander McArthur, with new cover art and some interior

alterations for the Australian Constitutional League, Melbourne (Is This Tomorrow: Australia Under Communism; 45-pages, black-and-white interiors). There were also adaptations in both English and French by Editions Fides, Canada; again, with new cover art. The latter appeared as A Quand Notre Tour? Le Communisme au Canada. Recently a French Canadian version of the Confidential prototype surfaced (as Message Confidentiel).

The Guild’s Devil was reprinted in 1958, by Impact Press. Whereas the original had a black shadow across the world (as with the uncommon black-and-white proof), with the reprint, the shadow was grey-blue. The Red Iceberg was also an Impact Press release, with an uncommon black-and-white digest known. Both versions carry a 10c cover price. The regular four-colour edition has several variations to the back cover wording. “WE, THE PEOPLE!” is thought to be the original. The Impact version complemented a teaching package for Catholic schools; the main feature was a colour filmstrip, “The Advance of Communism and Turning the Tide” which came with a 12 inch LP or reel-to-reel tape. The film was solicited in several contemporaneous publications, including American magazine: “What distinguishes it from other productions in the field is its concentration, in the second part, on showing that the Red peril has profound roots in the social ills of our world.” In its various forms, The Red Iceberg remains the Guild’s second most common political comic.

Global Warming

Other publishers/interest groups would also release antiCommunist four-colour comics. Some denoted America’s involvement in the Korean War (or ‘Police action’ as U.S. President Harry S. Truman preferred to call it), following the Communist invasion of South Korea, June 25, 1950 by their Chinese backed militant North Korean neighbours. Titles include: The Plot to Steal the World: A Shadow Hovers Over the U.S.A (1948, Work and Unity Group); When the Communists Came, The True Story of a Chinese Village (US State Department, 1950, which was translated and distributed across Southeast Asia, including Hong Kong, Formosa, Taiwan, plus copies in Tagalong for The Philippines, and also as an animated short); America Menaced! (1950, Vital Publications); The Korea Story (M. Philip Copp, 1950); How Stalin Hopes We Will Destroy America (original and reprint, the better-known NYC publisher. In similar format, Standard also released Picture-Story of Jesus. Operation Freedom, The 1951, Joe Lowe Co); Yalta to Korea (1952, 8 pages, M. Philip Copp for the Republican National Party); Korea My Home (1953, Johnstone and Right to Free Speech was an oversized comic (8.25 x 10.5 Cushing for U.S. Information Agency); and Threat to Freedom, a Picture inches) from the Institute of Fiscal and Political Education, Story Exposing Communism (6 x 8.75 inches, 1965, Standard Publishing 1952-53, printed in black-and-white, or red and blue ink, Company). The latter was a Cincinnati-based company from the 1800s, with at least five issues and a smaller ‘advanced proof’ known. Taking chapters from the American Constitution more usually associated with religious publications and unrelated to as its starting point, the period-dressed Joshua Strong acts as a host and takes US servicemen Peter Storm and Tom Preston time-travelling by flying saucer, to illustrate various aspects of the Communist menace. Another example can be found in the eight-page Bullets or Words, made for the U.S. Air Force, Psychological Warfare Division, 1951. Bullets combined writer Herb Block’s texts with the illustrations of Milton Caniff, highlighting the effects of enemy psychological warfare in Korea, on military effectiveness and morale.

There were also patriotic, pro-voting or anti-Union tracts such as: America under Socialism and The Man Who Stole Your Vote (1950 and 1952, National Research Bureau), Freedom or Compulsion and Naked Force (1958-59, Ater; landscape, 7x5 inches), Joe Worker and the Story of Labor (Ater, c 1948), Labor Is a Partner (1949, Catechetical Guild, with an uncommon preview copy also known), and Joseph Musial’s This Is America, 1952 Edu-Graph Productions. From 1949-52, the National Association of Manufacturers offered such political comics as: Fight For Freedom (1949, re-issued 1951), Watch Out For Big Talk, Your Fight’s On the Home

Front and The Story Behind Your Liberty. Your Fight was also released as: Inflation is Your Fight, utilising the same Korean War cover.

Many used America’s War of Independence, to make points about current events and produced by General Comics, Inc, NYC, featuring Dan Barry art. This team also produced: Frontiers of Freedom for the Institute of Life Insurance (1951). The slim 4-page, It’s Time for Reason… Not Treason! was a late addition, in support of U.S. military aims in Vietnam, whilst opposing the aims of greedy industrialists (Malcolm Ater for Liberty Lobby, 1967). How widely or successfully these comics were distributed is unknown, but many are uncommon today.

The Two Faces of Communism

In 1979, Sparkle City Comics released a Rare Book Portfolio. This all-black-and-white edition comprised a folded card wallet, which housed facsimiles, shot from the originals of: Blood, Devil, Iceberg and Stalin. Also included was a numbered certificate and A Brief History of these Rare Books leaflet. Although limited to 500-copies, Rare Book Portfolio can still be obtained by the dedicated collector.

There was also an all black & white, magazine-sized reprint of Blood is the Harvest (1979, Esoteric Press, also limited to 500 copies) and an unrelated horror series from Eclipse (1992).

The Australian-born Dr. Frederick Charles Schwarz (1913-2009), was a former General Practitioner who emigrated to the U.S. in 1953.

There he co-founded the Christian Anti-Communism Crusade (CACC), with an Australian branch co-existent until the 1980s. Originally based in Waterloo, Iowa, the Crusade relocated to Corpus Christi, Texas, then Long Beach, California, until it ceased activity, circa 1998.

Schwarz became an unceasing opponent of the Communist ideology.

Among numerous texts, he authored: You Can Trust the Communists (To Be Communists); 1960, Prentice-Hall). Two Faces of Communism and Double Talk! (1961-62) were comic books, which emphasised the continued evils of the Soviets, under Stalin’s successor Nikita Khrushchev. Originally, Two Faces was 36 pages long with a glossy outer cover. In this version, the last interior panel shows a student meeting. It was also released without a cover and final panel replaced by a caption, in two different colourations. Per their own information, the CACC produced the indigenous language comics: If Communism Comes to Mexico and If Communism Comes to Haiti around 1963; with: If Communism Comes to Brazil in Portuguese, scheduled 1964. Schwarz returned to his native land in 1966, where he remained until his death in 2009, at the remarkable age of 96.

World Literature Crusade was another small press group with strong Christian beliefs. It was founded in 1952 and directed by the Canadian-born Dr. Jack McAlister. His Overseas Director was Johnny Lee, who with others produced the 1980 duck-and-softcover classic, How to Prepare for Armageddon (txt, 111-pages and striking atom detonation cover). Lee was born 1934 in Shanghai (as E. Johann Lee or sometimes, Yohann Lee), but moved as a child to Inchon, Korea, where he survived and finally escaped the Communist regimes; retold in the such booklets as: The True Story of Johnny Lee—Korea’s Living Martyr, 1959, I Survived a Communist Slaughter, 1968 and The Korean the Communists Couldn’t Kill, 1961 edited

by Dr. Jack McAlister; “Johnny Lee tells his own amazing story of Divine protection in the face of almost certain death; preparation for nation-wide ministry; and guidance in a lifelong decision.” For the comic book fan there is: The Adventures of Yohann Lee, illustrated in black-and-white by Russ Manning (1929-1981). The evocative fullcolour wraparound cover offers: “The incredible, real-life adventures of Yohann Lee… Surviving Shanghai’s ghettos… enduring beatings and tortures at the hand of Communist soldiers… directing a force of more than 2,000 men who are out to change the world!” (8.5 x 11inches, 28-pages; copyright USA, 1978)

Design For Survival The agent/publisher, M. Philip Copp (1916-1981) was a specialist in promotional comics, with several examples known. As early as 1950, he was co-opted by the U.S. Office of International Information to supply indigenous language illustrated biographies of ‘Eight Great Americans for Indonesia, Korea, Thailand, Vietnam and elsewhere (Time Magazine, December 26, 1949). This was followed by indigenous versions of: The Truth About Korea. In 1952, Copp released another political comic: Crime, Corruption and Communism, although actual copies have proved elusive thus far (anti-Truman most likely, as it was a campaign slogan of Republican Representative, Robert Tripp Ross). Copp’s most noted release is Atomic Revolution (1957, 36pg), with Ten Men and the Telephone (1961, 28pg; for Bell Telephone Co) and Flight (1953, 36pg) in similar format. These feature black covers, with airbrushed illustrations in white or sepia. The interior visuals are on regular white paper, but enriched by co-ordinating single colour overlays, to form a stylish package. Flight was produced for American Airlines and offers a 50-year history, from the pioneering trips of the Wright brothers (1903), via the atomic bombing of Hiroshima (August 6, 1945), to anticipate rocket travel of the future. The remarkable, Atomic Revolution was illustrated

by Samuel Citron, for the U.S. Atomic Energy Commission. It is another history, covering the formative investigations of Einstein, Rutherford and co, via the earliest atomic test (Alamogordo, New Mexico, July 16, 1945), Hiroshima bombing, ‘The Cold War,’ H-bomb testing, to the use of fusion in medicine, power creation, propulsion etc.

The American Security Council is a private lobby group, founded in 1955 and responsible for several political publications, including Washington Report (1961 on). Their only known comic book, the 1968 Design For Survival was available in somewhatuncommon original form (25c, “Price established to cover cost of production and distribution only”) and two amended versions.

With the first variant, the otherwise original comic has a small panel (re-staging two scenes from inside) stuck to the cover post-it-note style, by its lefthand edge. The panel obscures the jet-powered flying scene, plus Strategic Air Command/SAC emblem and could be the reason it was attached. Attempts to remove the panel will damage the cover surface, leaving a telltale gouge. The final version is an unpriced “Twin Circle Supplement” edition. Here, the appliqué panel forms part of the cover artwork.

Its publisher, the Twin Circle Publishing Company was owned

by Patrick Joseph Frawley, Jr (1923-1998), better known as the manufacturer of Paper Mate Pens. Twin-Circle also published the final two Classics Illustrated, #168-169, plus selected reprints of earlier issues; following the title’s acquisition from original owner, Gilberton (1968). Design For Survival was adapted from General Thomas S. Power’s (Retired) lengthy military biography of 1964 (assisted by Albert A. Arnhym; Coward-McCann) and reflects the gung-ho posture of America’s Strategic Air Command and its nuclear retaliatory strike capability. Power was aide to SAC supremo General Curtis Le May; succeeding him from 1957, upon the latter’s promotion to Air Force Chief of Staff. Crammed into the comics colourful 32 colour pages, are references to ‘The Cuban Missile Crisis,’ the atomic bombing of Hiroshima, Soviet Military Bloc, post-nuclear winter, Stalin, Adolf Hitler, Chairman Mao and much more. On the subject of Mao, there is the curious religio-political one-shot Marx, Lenin, Mao, & Christ, 1977 (Open Door Publishers), featuring impressive Redondo Studios illustrations in colour and a wraparound cover.

The March of Comics

The US tradition, of supplying promotional items free to

these colourful comic books to be sold directly. A success story that continues to this day.

During World War II, comic premiums were produced in limited numbers, to inform serviceman or civilians about Government requirements and aims. From 1946 until 1982, March of Comics was given as a thank-you to youthful customers, achieving an impressive run of 488 issues during its life (one of several titles from vying shoe-stores). Post-war witnessed a boom, as merchants or their promoters sought to promote almost anything in comic book form. In a shift of emphasis, the product was frequently woven into the storylines. This led to a fascinating series of talking hosts, including Miss Gas Flame, Reddy Kilowatt; even a titular milking machine, star of The Story of Johnny Surge (1947; Babson Brothers, makers of Surge Milking Machines). Here are just a few examples of the thousands of different comic promotions produced: Adventure in Leather (In Caves - Out West - Underwater - At Home, 1960), Home Cleaning Made Easy (1950), In Love With Jesus (1952, Catechetical Guild), More Fun With Your Dog (1950, Nutrena dog food), Pioneering the Telephone in Connecticut (Copp), Ricky and Debbie in Sardineland (Maine Sardines), Roy Rogers Meets the Man From Dodge City (Dodge Motors), The Wonders of Wire Rope (1948; MacWhyte; produced by EC) or Woody Woodpecker Meets Scotty MacTape (1953; Scotch Brand Cellophane Tape), where the fearless duo foil a Martian invasion. Finally, the superhero Captain Hadacol, who promoted the eponymous alcohol-based patent medicine, as a beneficial aid for children (2-issues, 1950-51). Largely uncatalogued, the list of giveaway comics continues to grow intermittently, with previously unknown examples appearing even to this day.

Mental Hygiene...

customers, dates back to the 1930s, with the production of many ephemeral items, which included Big Little Books/ BLBs, illustrated storybooks and pop-up books. These promotions featured popular cartoon or newspaper characters of the day, such as: Buck Rogers, Dick Tracy, Little Orphan Annie, The Lone Ranger, Walt Disney’s Mickey Mouse, Tarzan et al. Items were often supplied by post in exchange for a set number of coupons, cut from packaging; a practice that continues to this day. Other promotions were offered by commercial sponsors of radio (later, TV) programmes, where these characters also featured.

Modestly, these vintage premiums only mentioned obliquely the products they were promoting, or via a discreet advertisement. Three of America’s formative comic books, which were actually newspaper-strip compilations, were offered as premiums. They were Funnies on Parade, Famous Funnies: A Carnival of Comics and Century of Comics, 1933) and the brainchild of Eastern Color’s Harry Wildenberg and Maxwell C. Gaines (later, of EC). The promoters of these premiums were Kinney Shoe, Milk-O-Malt, Procter and Gamble, Wheatena etc. They are also significant as they established the format for comic books in size, shape and four-colour contents, printed on cheap newsprint paper.

Furthermore, once the public’s appetite was realised, a 10cent cover price was applied to future releases, allowing

Some promotions were not intended for children, presumably; as Doc Carter - VD Comics, The K.O. Punch, Lucky Fights It Through (EC), Sidewalk Romance discuss venereal disease (1949-50). Elsewhere, Dr. Fraud Confesses quack cures (1949, American Cancer Society), The New York State Department of Mental Hygiene Presents Chic Young’s Blondie (1950 and 1961),

1949). Aptly, Dagwood was narrated by Mandrake the Magician, as each page juxtaposes a humorous illustration with serious text. The feature had debuted in Popular Science (v153#3, Sep. 1948) but in a different form. Here, the illustrations alone form an uninterrupted, silent 4-page cartoon strip.

Rex Morgan, M.D. Talks… About Your Unborn Child (foetal alcohol syndrome, 1980) or you could Escape From Fear, by avoiding unwanted pregnancy (1956, 1962 and 1965).

There were also electoral comics, in addition to the customary lapel-pins, posters, pennants or even umbrellas (Stevenson/Kefauver). The genre had originated as early as 1942, with the production of the Portuguese-language A Vida De Franklin D. Roosevelt (by Copp?) for the U.S. Office of War Information, and destined to be dropped overseas by aeroplane. The prime mover in the political comic arena was Malcolm Ater’s Commercial Comics from 1946, with numerous examples uncovered by researcher Tom Christopher. The genre flowered with such Presidential considerations as: The Story of Harry S. Truman (1948), Ike’s Story (Dwight D. Eisenhower, 1952; Sponsored Comics), A Man Named (Adlai) Stevenson (1952, digest), Forward With Eisenhower Nixon (1956) and the post-election John F. Kennedy New U.S. President (1961). Ater (1915-1992) also produced the pro-segregation comic, “The Little Judge” George C. Wallace (circa 1962). It helped presumably, as Wallace was duly elected, serving as the Governor of Alabama State from 1963-67, 1971-79 and 1983-1987. (In 1972, Wallace survived an assassination attempt, which left him partially paralysed.)

The Mighty Atom

Several comic premiums flatter the notion that atoms are safe. Most were sponsored by the electric power companies that were maintaining atomic powered plants.

These persist, with titles into the 1970s and beyond.

Among the vintage ones are: The Mighty Atom (starring Reddy Kilowatt; several editions, 1959-73), Radiation and Man (1968, digest; Ganes, Canada), with various releases of Adventures Inside the Atom from General Electric (1948-64). The Atom, Electricity and You was also published for several U.S. power companies in different versions, between 1968-75 (Custom Comics, part of ACG).

Dagwood Splits the Atom was produced in 1949, by King Features Syndicate, to promote understanding about atomic fission. It contained a foreword by General Leslie R. Groves (Retired); the chief administrator for the topsecret ‘Manhattan Project,’ which developed and tested the atomic bomb, during WWII. Copies of the comic were available from King’s NYC office, until 1951 at least. It was also reprinted as an issue of Topix Comic (v8#4, Oct. 10,

Another classic of the genre was the premiere issue of Gilberton’s educational series: Picture Parade (v1#1, September 1953); better known by its lead feature: “Andy’s Atomic Adventure.” The cover shows the youthful Andy Wilson petting his dog, Spot, whilst an atomic detonation looms behind. Sensibly, Spot runs away after the blast, causing the child to assail his dad with worrisome questions. Today, the father’s replies about helpful atoms, or Spot’s dusting of fallout without ill effect, seem absurd. There was also a less-common preview copy, which had an additional plain outer cover, with promotional texts.

Known colloquially as the ‘Teachers edition,’ it was mailed directly to educators with a post-paid business reply-card. It told how schools could receive the title each month throughout the school year (September through May). The subjects to be covered were

materialised. As with Topps’s 1962 Mars Attacks card set, Red Menace has become one of the key atom-age ‘nonsports’ card sets to collect. In 1985, WTW Productions released a set reprinting the original cards, plus the previously unpublished add-on set; some, 72 cards in all.

It may require some finding, but the WTW version is far more affordable than the originals.

Freedom’s War was produced by rival company Topps/T.C.G, but in a smaller format (2.125 x 2.675 inches or 5.4 x 6.7cm). The cards were released between 1950 and 1952 in phases, with three different printings (white, tan or grey backs) comprising some 203 cards.

To stimulate interest, actual military colour photographs

outlined, together with the cost per student, 75c for all nine issues. The series was retitled, after four issues; Picture Progress v1#5, (‘News in Review,’ January 1954). A further questionnaire with the May 1955, v2#9 release indicated costs would increase to 10c per-copy. Notwithstanding, the title was cancelled that October with v3#2 issue. Topics covered include: The United Nations (v1#2), The Story of Flight (v2#1), or The Time of the Caveman (v2#8); although, none reclaimed the dizzying heights occupied by the atomic first issue.

Bubble Gum

‘Gum cards’ are included here as they were supplied free as a reward for the purchase of edible gum or toffee.

In practice, children would purchase and chew endlessly, in order to acquire sets. For the Cold-War aficionado there are two notable series. Bowman Gum, Inc’s 1951 release, Fight the Red Menace featured colour illustrations by regular artist, Tom King. Typically, the backs supplied informative texts, plus required captions and numbering.

The set comprised 48 cards (size: 2.5 x 3.125inches/6.35 x 7.9cm). Sadly, the scheduled 24-card expansion set never

complemented the customary painted scenes or portraits of famous U.S. commanders. The set included seven military tank cards (#97-103), which had a die-cut around the top half of the illustration; although later versions were released uncut. The cut versions allowed the surround to be folded back, to make a free-standing figure. However, this increased the risk of damage, affecting their collectability.

Some cards were manufactured in pairs, connected via a serrated cut (called ‘panels’ by collectors) and were sold in packs of 16, without gum. Today, unfolded tank cards or unseparated panels fetch a premium. With no contemporary reprints available, amassing any set of Freedom’s War is an expensive undertaking. The 1938 Don’t Let It Happen

Here (International Chewing Gum Company; 24 cards) is pre-World War II. However, its vehement anti-Communist stance, violence and WTW reprint availability, makes it worth investigating.

Fat Man in the Bathtub*

In this heightened period, the U.S. Government was keen to emphasise the survivability of atomic or nuclear strike by any enemy, but the Soviet Union in particular. America’s relative wealth and space outside of major cities afforded opportunities for families to build their own shelters. To meet this need, suitably numbered plans were made available in booklet form. The formative Family Fallout Shelter (1959; MP15) was an all black-and-white 32-page magazine, including matt paper cover, which remains common to this day. Inside were plans for various subterranean, reinforced concrete or aboveground shelters, with contingent advice. Until 1983 at least, further references were produced, including: Clay Masonry Family Fallout Shelters, Family Fallout Shelters of Wood, Emergency Sanitation at Home, Fallout Protection for Homes with Basements and Family Shelter Designs.

For the concerned family man, there was almost too much information. This came as a plethora of odd-sized leaflets, pamphlets or booklets from the US Government’s Civil Defense (CD) and other departments. Sometimes, these ephemera were presented in a co-ordinating portfolio. Several of the longer publications were reprinted by large corporations, publishers or Regional State bodies. Largely, these kept to the originals, except for a newly created cover illustration or photograph of an actual detonation.

Viewed today, these are scary items. How they were received at the time, when the threat of atomic/nuclear devastation seemed imminent, one can only imagine. Within this reprint category is the Charlton Press version of Family Fallout Shelter (1960; comic-book size, 68pgs). Seldom seen, this is a fabled item for collectors. Unlike the mundane original, the Charlton cover is a striking and colourful assembly of overlaying images, typical of the new decade. Chillingly, the 2-plus-2

Leo M. Langlois, the cartoon’s executive producer; with a complimentary landscape-format, miniature comic book also produced (4.7 x 5.9inches/1.2 x 1.5cm, 16-pages; undated).

Opting for red ink on white paper, the miniature re-stages selected scenes from the cartoon (one per page), with suitable captions. The premise, when children first see a bright flash in the sky, they can learn to ‘duck and cover,’ thus staving off the effects of a nuclear strike. (A procedure shown to ironic effect, in Atomic Café; a movie, compiled from vintage documentary footage, by Jayne Loader, Kevin and Pierce Rafferty, 1982.) This hasty optimism was encouraged

by Richard Gerstell, Ph. D; a former monitor at the Bikini atom tests and Pennsylvania’s Director of Civil Defense (1951-75). Gerstell was the author of: How to Survive an Atomic Bomb (Combat Forces Press, hardcover, 1950 and Bantam paperback, 1952); a formative reference which postulated, the fear of radiation was the bigger enemy and really, it was “much the same as sunlight.” Further, it likened atomic war to “living through a moderately severe storm.”

Burn After Reading…

Ensconced in their bunkers, families could browse one of several comic books espousing post-holocaust survival. family is displayed in outline, so the mushroom cloud in the Among them were: If An A-Bomb Falls (1951), Fire and Blast background, can be seen both above and through them.

(1952), The H-Bomb and You (1954, digest) and possibly The insides are prosaic, however; with extensive extracts In Case of Atomic Attack (“This May Save Your Life.”) The from the 1959 government original, plus its Clay Masonry latter is known only from cover concepts/sketches offered companion (1960; MP-18). Less expected, are the pages

by Heritage Auctions in 2004 and may never have been excised from: Defense Against Radioactive Fallout on the released. Elsewhere, “Alert Today—Alive Tomorrow” Farm; a specialist 16-page booklet from U.S. Department of Operation Survival was a Civil Defense sponsored comic, Agriculture (1958; Farmers’ Bulletin No. 2107). Doubtless, its introduced by newspaper strip star Li’l Abner (32-pages, inclusion reflected the concerns of the rural communities in 1957). The publisher was Graphic Information Service, Inc, Connecticut, where Charlton was based. a specialist producer of giveaways and actually part of Toby Press. The company was run by Elliot Caplin, brother of Al Daffy Duck Capp (Alfred Gerald Caplin), Li’l Abner’s creator. Survival Bert the turtle’s outstanding virtue; the portable shelter starred the adventuresome Jim and Sally of Centerville, in he carried on his back. This was emphasised in Bert the their flying motorboat. Whilst travelling, the siblings hear Turtle Says Duck and Cover; a humorous black-and-white a radio announcement about approaching enemy aircraft, cartoon short from 1952, with an underlying serious with advice to head for their nearest shelter; “THIS IS NOT A message. Sponsored by the U.S. Government, the cartoon TEST!” Safely under cover, the father uses pencil and paper, was written and directed by Raymond J. Mauer and Anthony plus a handy reference book, to inform his children about Rizzo (Archer Productions, Inc). It also featured a catchy the hazards of atomic or nuclear detonation, fallout dust, song composed by Leo Carr and Leon Corday, assisted by the effects of wind or rain and correct usage of specialist detection meters (Geiger, Beta-Gamma, dosi etc). After some tea and a welcome nap, the children learn the enemy has been driven back, before any attack could commence (or was it all a dream?) Untroubled, Jim and Sally visit another disaster; this one detailing first aid, mass evacuation and emergency accommodation. All before restocking their family shelter with much-needed supplies. The comic concludes with a glossary covering the terms used already, plus useful definitions of: alpha particles, biological warfare, Ground Zero, neutrons, Surface Burst, target, thermonuclear bomb etc.

Blanket Coverage…

The 16-page, Fire and Blast was produced for the National Fire Protection Association by Feature Publications (part of Prize Comics). It follows the misadventures of the ill-prepared Walker family when they succumb to an atomic attack. The unfolding catastrophe is chilling to read, before it is shown to be an explosion at the city’s largest industrial plant, rather than an enemy strike. Chastened, father Tom determines to attend defence classes from now on. Malcolm Ater’s If an A-Bomb Falls comic (8-pages, 1951) was never

released in quantity, although copies produced for the States of Delaware, Georgia and Ohio are known to exist.

(Fortunately, it is viewable via Ethan Persoff’s website, see below). The comic also appeared as an illustrated feature in the Sunday, July 15 Washington Post. In either form, its pronouncements make stark reading. In her basement after turning off the gases, Mrs Watts is advised “cover yourself with a blanket;” whilst her husband at work is told, “get under a desk.” Their son, out in the open “should cover yourself with something, a newspaper, coat or something near.” Sensibly, their daughter travelling in a school bus is advised, “brace yourself to prevent being tossed by the concussion.”

A-Bomb’s bluff pragmatism is similar to that endorsed

by Gerstell’s book, Ater’s H-Bomb and You companion, or even Ace’s retaliatory 10-cent comics series (Atomic War and World War III, 1952-53; see FTT #5). Yet, it is debatable what good any improvisations would be against the resulting 200-700MPH storm, or several thousand-degree heatblast.

Let alone, the long-term effects of deadly radiation. Thus, for any conceivable post-war scenario, the outlook is bleak. In 2010, America hosted a 47-nation conference and then U.S. President Barack Obama stated (April 12), “The central focus of this nuclear summit is the fact that the single biggest threat to U.S. security, both short term, medium term and long term, would be the possibility of a terrorist organization

obtaining a nuclear weapon.” Until next time, gentle reader. Keep watching the skies…

Reference:* ‘Fat Man in the Bathtub’ is a song by the iconic American rock group, Little Feat.

‘Fat Man’ was also the name given to the atomic bomb exploded over Nagasaki, August 9, 1945. Thanks to the Collectorssociety for illustrating several antiCommunist comic variant editions. Ethan Persoff’s website has complete copies of the following comics for viewing: America Under Socialism, Atomic Revolution, George C. Wallace, H-Bomb and You, If An A-Bomb Falls, John F. Kennedy, Martin Luther King (FTT #27), The Story of Johnny Surge and Two Faces of Communism. Whilst Digital Comics Museum have copies of: Natural Disasters, Operation Survival and Picture Parade.

If you’re viewing a Digital Edition of this publication,

PLEASE READ THIS: This is copyrighted material, NOT intended for downloading anywhere except our website or Apps. If you downloaded it from another website or torrent, go ahead and read it, and if you decide to keep it, DO THE RIGHT THING and buy a legal download, or a printed copy. Otherwise, DELETE IT FROM YOUR DEVICE and DO NOT SHARE IT WITH FRIENDS OR POST IT ANYWHERE. If you enjoy our publications enough to download them, please pay for them so we can keep producing ones like this. Our digital editions should ONLY be downloaded within our Apps and at

www.twomorrows.com

For those of you who may not be aware, I think it wise to prepare you for a sojourn into the most chilling of the pre-Code terrors. There were many creators who liberally conspired with the abject, but in the next few pages you will to come face to face with one of the genre’s most hideously inspired artists. Dark his work truly was, yet he had an uncanny knack for infusing his vision with a rather wry sense of humour.

When I first wrote this piece some ten years ago, it was in essence a belated apology to one of comic books’ most energetic creators. Amongst his contemporaries his disposition and professionalism combined to make him one of the most admired artists of the day, the volume of invigorating work flowing from his studio combined with the number of regular assignments, surely bearing testimony to this. However, during the 1970s, I was one of those so called comic fans who sided with one aficionado, whose sarcasm alluded to Don Heck’s somewhat under-subscribed fan club. How little did I know of the rich history of the four colour comic book and more importantly how could I have forgotten the excitement of those early issues of The Avengers, which still rate amongst my favourite comic books. Thankfully, my impression of Don’s work was forever changed on Boxing Day 1992, while sprawled in front of the fire with Ernie Gerber’s Photo-Journal Guide to Comic Books. In those precious hours I came upon a couple of titles, of which until then I had only vaguely heard mention, and for the first time experienced the macabre magnificence of Don Heck’s work, at a time in his life when he was but a novice.

Let’s turn the clock back to the first half of the twentieth century, when Don came into this world on the 2nd of January 1929 in Jamaica, New York. As a child he was already demonstrating an artistic flair with a liking for Donald Duck. His was the desire to draw, nothing more, nothing less. His father

recognised his aptitude and as the dutiful parent attempted to guide his son into the respected tradition of architecture.

Don, however, had other ideas. While still a teenager, he enrolled in several correspondence courses as well as classes at Woodrow Wilson Vocational High School in Jamaica. He would later continue his studies at Community College in Brooklyn.

These invaluable years of study provided an essential grounding for his eventual vocation. In 1949, the aspiring cartoon artist was recommended for a position in the production department at Harvey Comics. After an interview with Leon Harvey, late one Saturday afternoon, Don was offered his first paid work in comics. While in their employ he got to see the work of the artists he so admired, as he re-pasted newspaper comic strip photostats into a format compatible with a regular-sized comic book. His days would be spent with the page upon page of work by Jack Kirby, Lee Elias and a notable giant of the syndicated comic strip, Milton Caniff. There couldn’t have been a more suitable education for this young fellow whose aptitude for comic book art would soon elevate him beyond his wildest dreams.

Each and every day, Don was constantly absorbing so much about the comic book process, but his superiors were reluctant to encourage him in his calling, denying him the opportunity to assume that prized place at the drawing board. Their attitude wasn’t to put him off, together with his friend and fellow production artist, Pete Morisi, he parted company with Harvey Comics to pursue a career as a freelance comic book artist. Portfolio in hand, he went across town to meet the editors at Quality and Hillman.

These meetings would prove fruitful, resulting in a series of short mystery stories brought to life by his artwork. His patience was now rewarded. Almost immediately he secured a new client in the guise of Toby Press. They lined his artistry up for the pages of Billy the Kid. These assignments helped further his ambition, but not even this determined fellow could have anticipated that which was about to follow.

An unknown publisher, by the name of Comic Media, was looking to acquire his skills. Allen Hardy’s Comic Media were not a household name, but once Don and Peter Morisi set to work, they would carve their own mark into these pre-Code years. Allen, it soon transpired, had also worked for Harvey in their circulation department.

When Weird Terror premiered in the summer months of 1952, it made quite an impression. Spectacular it surely was, with an air of dread seeping through its hideous dungeon scene, assaulting the senses so as not to divert the gaze of

the casual bystander. If ever a comic was designed to traumatise its readership, this had to be it. Comic Media’s faith in their discovery was such, Don was offered that issue’s lead story, the reviled “Hitler’s Head!” Here his brooding style galvanised the horror at hand in what was a truly shocking account. It was almost as if Weird Terror had been conceived with Don in mind. The pay may not have been brilliant, but Don was still eager to ink his own pencils. He was convinced he could maximise the impact of these tales if he was allowed this element of control over his work. His seniors may have been accused of jumping on this fear-filled bandwagon, but Comic Media’s unrestrained approach gave sanction to some of the most lurid tales of this defamatory era, unwittingly flouting public morality, with Don at the very spearhead of their operation.

In his manipulation of the light and dark, an appreciation of Milton Caniff is so much in evidence. This certainly wasn’t the plagiarism of an uncertain novice; rather Don had made careful note of the great artist’s penmanship, in preparation for the day when he would pour it into his own pages, thus reinforcing his emerging dexterity. As evinced on the cover, and those that followed, the distinctive solid blacks of Caniff were a key

component to his own technique. His brush strokes would embellish the interior panels, lavishing them with an unusual depth, working to draw the reader’s eye deeper into Comic Media’s unnerving narrative.

In just a matter of months, Weird Terror and its companion Horrific would stand out on every newsstand across North America. Don in turn, would invite connections with H.P. Lovecraft’s “Pickman’s Model” when he set to work on a series of the most hideous visages imaginable. His depiction of the lunatic Adolf Hitler had been enough to give anyone sleepless nights, but more worse was to come.

There was an indication of this on the cover to Weird Terror #3, but it was the “bullet in the head” motif heralding Horrific #3, which brought Comic Media and Don Heck to the attention of a new bloodthirsty readership. This cover, as referenced elsewhere in this collection, has an unusual link with War Fury #1; one of the most sought-after images of the entire period. The exposition was appreciably stark, but on this occasion avoided the mainstay solid blacks which were to become a memorable feature of the company’s horror titles.

It isn’t clear as to whether these uncompromising covers were solely the idea of Don Heck, or if his editors had advised him to take this line, but in the annals of comic book terror they remain unsurpassed. Horrific seemed to revel in this disturbing imagery, with Don’s covers screaming out

their intention to chill you to the marrow of the bone. With issue #4, Don resorted to Charlton’s penchant for the shrunken head cover. However, he dared to zoom in far closer than his competitor; with the added shock this one was very much alive.

The painful portrayal of the hapless fellow, but a second away from the bite of Madame Guillotine on the cover of Horrific #7 was exquisitely observed. Such despicable scenes had become intrinsic to the genre, but this episode exceeded anything from this maleficent epoch, with the observer forced to face the solitude of the victim in those moments prior to his sanguinary death. For this unfortunate there would be no going back, his fate had been duly sealed. Take the time to observe the beads of sweat running heavily from his brow; they could have so easily flowed from the brush of fellow contributor Rudy Palais, although Don was appreciably more subtle.

While Horrific was guaranteed a place in comic book history, Weird Terror wasn’t to be outdone, opting for strangling its prey, hacking them to pieces or burning them alive. These scenes were unusually brutal, but as with the covers to Horrific, rendered in a most positively engaging fashion.

The insane look creasing the face of the murderous character burning his victim on the cover to Weird Terror #7 was in danger of arousing the wrong kind of attention. His glee highlighted by the glow of the furnace, was all too obvious, but there was no story in this issue detailing this unsavoury scene; perhaps as well. However, there were a couple of Don’s tales on

show in this issue, one of which left nothing to the imagination when another unfortunate was entombed in a concrete coffin.

Don certainly had a grasp of these macabre narrations, but he had something else in common with Milton Caniff, he could draw the most delightful women. They were beautiful, swathed in a sensuality that has since been lost. Take Dinah Westwood from issue #7’s “Concrete Coffin.” Now, she was a headturner, as was the delectable, if maybe wild, Sally from #9’s “Shadows Before!” What of the seductive Nola from that same issue’s “Barren Beach”? She only had to roll her eyes to make a man’s heart beat that much quicker. The good-girl era has always been associated with the late forties, but Don was definitely intent on keeping this great tradition alive. As a point of interest, this last tale looks to have touches of Pete Morisi’s inks, along with those of Marty Elkin, but Don’s solid blacks once again come to the fore.

A few months later Weird Terror #11 resumed this seductive approach, blurring the line between sexuality and horror, but this shadow-enshrouded

world of comic book horror was coming to the attention of a growing number of unwelcome observers. In a short space of time Don had honed his style, re-inventing the rules at this early stage in comic book publishing. Although he hadn’t been with Comic Media much more than two years, the number of voices who were offended by what men like he was doing, were getting louder. He paid them no heed; these were after all only comics. Who really cared? So, he continued to meet his deadlines, adding to his phenomenal body of work while attracting the eye of one of comic books’ most celebrated names, none other than Stan Lee. On the eve of what would one day prove this greatest triumph, a nasty shock was in wait, the introduction of the Comic Code and the implosion of the entire industry. Comic Media were also losing money, failing to sell the targeted 60% of their print run to break even.

EC could call upon Ghastly, Jack Davis and John Craig while Atlas drew upon Russ Heath, Bill Everett and Joe Maneely, throughout the pre-code years. Comic Media needed only Don Heck; although it shouldn’t be forgotten their bullpen included Pete Morisi, Bill Discount, Rudy Palais and Marty Elkin. His style immortalised both Horrific and Weird Terror, ensuring they would carry on being collectible well into the next century.

Such was their impact they came to the notice of Atlas editor Stan Lee. Stan had already brought Pete Morisi into the Atlas fold. It was he who arranged the meeting between Stan and the man who had done so much to terrorise the youth of America. On September 1, 1954, Don Heck entered a new phase in his career; to one day assume an essential place in the Silver Age of Comics. Events ten years down the line would mean his name would never be forgotten.

I’d like to share a serendipitous and weird background story to a short comic strip of mine. Back in 1990, when producing art for Fantaco publishing, I was pretty much left to my own devices and could throw into the mix anything I wished. This freedom to choose was liberating; thankfully the response to my efforts was very enthusiastic. Coming up with the goodies wasn’t a problem; instead my dilemma was that being new to comic art, I didn’t feel I had a look or trademark style and found myself attempting differing styles and approaches. Due to various reasons, not everything I worked on back then saw the light of day, simply because I chose not to send it in. I preedited the choice if I felt the art was a little bit off or that I could improve on it.

Towards the later issues of Gore Shriek, I worked up one such strip. It was a starker-drawn story and had more solid blacks as opposed to the thin shading lines I used; the storyline featured a wraparound twist to it. I’m not entirely sure why I never sent it into the Fantaco publishing offices. It could have been because I wasn’t too keen on the way it looked, or it could be that this was the first time I experimented gluing printed lettering on and it didn’t suit as well as I expected—plus there was the fact that it had no monsters or actual gore in it.

Whenever a misfire such as this happens, it’s simply classed as good exercise, so into one of my practice folders it went, settling near the bottom of the pile for a long, long time.

Here is quick and basic run through the storyline for the strip that I entitled DEJA-VU. It opens with a guy working alone in a convenience store. He’s the owner and busy stacking bottles of alcohol onto a shelf. Just over his shoulder in the background we can see at the unattended sales counter, a shadowy figure enter, being spotted rummaging around behind the counter. In outrage, the owner yells, startling the intruder who abruptly turns and flees.

The shop owner now realises he has just been robbed, and takes off in pursuit, discarding the bottle he was holding, which smashes on the floor. During this footchase, the shop owner decides to take a shortcut through the back alley and cut him

off. Now ahead, he waits in the mouth of an alleyway. As the robber approaches, he leaps forth, simultaneously surprising the thief, and striking him with a deft punch—a blow which unfortunately kills the crook! As he stands panicking over the still body, the money from his till flutters to the ground. What now? His business will be ruined! A stretch behind bars is all that he could foresee from this. It’s a scary predicament; panicky logic kicks in and he reasons it was late at night and no one bore witness to this episode, so if he gathers up all the cash and returns to his place of business, replaces the money in the cash box and then carries on as normal, no-one would ever know and he could easily pretend it never happened.

He returns, sheepishly enters his store, and goes sneakily to the cash box, trying to remain calm. As he struggles to open the cash box, he hears a yell which frightens the wits out of him. He looks up, and to his confusion and utter shock, there standing at the back of the store is himself as if he was just stacking bottles on a shelf. In an already confused and alarmed state, there is nothing for him to do but run in blind terror. Still clutching the money, he runs along the same route that the original thief took. As he nears the spot where he floored the thief, he’s puzzled to discover the body is already gone.

At that moment a person suddenly jumps forth from the mouth of the alleyway, startling him, and with one punch strikes him dead....

The last page of the strip was an exact copied repeated first page showing the earlier theft, but this time the story plays from our protagonist’s—the store-owner’s— viewpoint, who now finds himself in the role of the “robber,” of course; the idea being that this event will

continue repeating, a horrible perpetual nightmare.

A bit of information about my background: I have happily and mostly uneventfully run my own convenience store for just over 31 years. It’s interesting, yet hard work, with long hours, but provides a very good income. Now journey back to the night of 19 October 2012 with me; it’s nearly Halloween, I suppose, and just a routine night.

I was working on my own in the store, when around 9:30 I looked up to be suddenly confronted by the sight of a man in a balaclava shouting and demanding money. He had a shotgun pointed directly at me. I stepped to the side but he swung his aim at me. I quickly dropped down, a scant second just before he squeezed the trigger and fired. I was in an enclosed corner and I remember clearly that almighty explosive bang of the gun going off and the bottles behind me exploding. Flying glass cut the top of my head; there was ringing in my ears, followed by the odd out-of-body sensation you have when you go into shock. That man just tried to kill me! As I lay on the floor behind the counter, I remember the strangeness of there being smoke in the air and the rare odour of gunpowder.

I realised I had a strong stinging across the top of my head and that there was wetness running down my face.

I knew it was a close call; I’d reacted fast but now feared I had actually been shot in the head! Luck would have it that it was only wine and port from the bottles behind me that had been hit and now trickled down my face, and bits of shot and glass had cut my head. But unluckily for me, the gunman now moved around to my side of the counter and aimed the gun directly at me as I lay in front of him. I froze; everything went into extreme slow motion; happy images of my family materialised in my thoughts followed by a calmness and then peacefulness

came over me—I knew these were my last moments of life.

The assailant then just turned and fled. I stood up, checked my head for injury and instantly took off after him.

It was late and instead of blindly pursuing him I decided to run around the block and cut him off. I must stress here that my intention was not to tangle with him, but simply to make it easier for the police to capture him.

What if he got away and the next time he did this he killed someone, and what if that someone happened to be somebody I knew? I had to follow, I felt it was my responsibility. Perhaps this could have been my Peter Parker moment; thinking back to the original movie, Peter when given the opportunity, fails to stop the robber who then goes on to shoot Uncle Ben. There was a whole lot more to what happened in the following ten minutes after I took off after the would-be robber, but I’ll cut to when I thought I had completely lost him. As I then turned into a darkened alleyway I almost collided with a figure—it was the gunman, he’d just removed his mask and gloves and was busy shoving them into the drawstring bag which also concealed his shotgun. We both froze for a moment staring at each other’s faces; again he turned and fled. I flagged down a passing police vehicle and was taken to safety. Eventually the gunman was caught and imprisoned for eight years.

I had many highs and lows following this incident. On the upside I was awarded a national bravery award, going

up on stage to receive a framed certificate and a medal at a ceremony to a brass band playing; it really was astounding.

On the down side I suffered from PTSD caused by being in the moment of imminent death. It was very difficult dealing with that. I underwent therapy and almost a year to the day of the robbery attempt I was signed off from the treatment as fully recovered. I was at the back of the shop late that night and remember clearly feeling immensely relieved it was all behind me—literally 15 minutes later a masked man armed with a Glock pistol barged in and held me up. Again, as soon as he ran off, I followed. He took the same route as the previous robber had, and again I decided to run around the block to cut him off....

It’s all a very odd coincidence. Truthfully, when I was out there, on both occasions, I actually had moments when I thought I was trapped in that strip of my own making! The similarities are numerous. In the strip a bottle is smashed; in my event the stacked bottles were destroyed by the shotgun.

When I wrote the story and illustrated it, the counter layout was in a different area, but I drew it in a way that suited the story; 22 years later, following several refits, the counter was in the exact position as I had drawn it. It occurred late at night, the streets were deserted on both comic page and in real life. In the strip the guy following decides to go around to cut in to the path of the thief; I decided to do the same. However, I didn’t intend to interact with the armed man, merely to cover ground quickly and without him realising he was being followed. The two characters both come together in the mouth of an alleyway,

which is what happened to me with the first robber. (On the second occasion, the robber had a getaway car waiting.)

Other things like the two thieves, although a year apart and not known to each other, both wore similar clothing, asked for the same items of cash and cigarettes, and used the same drawstring bags. One happened at 8:30, the second at 9:30; one happened 19 October, the other 16 October. They both approached and left in the same direction.

Mid-2016, I decided to sell the business, and in preparing for the move I started to parcel and pack away all my art materials. It was also the year that Gore Shriek Resurrected was re-launching and there had been much interest and requests about the work that I had previously done for Fantaco. I came across a folder and found this comic story; it was all inked and lettered but never sent on its way to be published. Looking at it again after all those years, there was one caption that really caught me off guard. It read, “I ran down George Street.” The strange thing was that all those years later I actually pursued the gunman along a George Street—there was no way of predicting this detail so many years in advance.

In the story the main man decides to hide it all by acting like it never happens, comparable I suppose to me storing away and forgetting these pages I’d drawn. Of course, it’s a given that all of the above would have been a little bit more substantiated if I had actually published the strip in the first instance, but I suppose it just wasn’t meant to be. I now plan on redrawing the strip properly, and who knows? Just maybe, Fantaco will get to run it in an upcoming issue.

The Gurch

A curious, nay mind-warping, fallacy has been perpetuated through the years regarding the quality and content of the Warren magazines after the departure of editor and creative story-writing supremo, Archie Goodwin. It goes something like this: “1. From Creepy #17/Eerie #11 onwards, Goodwin’s last issues as editor, nothing of any lasting value other than reprints of the classic early issues (worth getting only if you missed these stories the first time around) appeared in the pages of Creepy or Eerie until around late 1972 with the full emergence of the ’Spanish invasion’ artists, and the onset of the ‘series’-styled stories in Eerie.

2. Not until the regular appearance of writers and artists identified with Warren’s second wave of greatness, such as Sanjulian, Jose Ortiz, Esteban Maroto, Berni Wrightson; Jim Stenstrum, Bill DuBay, Budd Lewis, et al, do Creepy and Eerie become worth collecting again. Even these relatively more desirable issues still can’t compete with the Goodwin issues, which featured such brilliant artists as Frank Frazetta, Angelo Torres, Al Williamson, Steve Ditko, etc. etc.”

Now I’m not saying there isn’t some truth in this view, but like all ‘sweeping statements’ it is ill considered and almost

ridiculously overstated. Whilst Creepy and Eerie were swamped out with reprints for a few issues after the departure of Goodwin and his staff of ‘the world‘s Greatest Artists‘, many good new stories continued to appear, and a number of new artists began to emerge, such as the prolific Tom Sutton, Ernie Colon, the brilliantly scary Pat Boyette, Ken Kelley and Carlos Garzon, to name but a few.

Artists such as Jerry Grandenetti, Neal Adams and Reed Crandall continued to appear intermittently, and there was a number of outstanding Frazetta covers in this so-called ’fallow’ period, notably Creepy #27, 32 and Eerie #23.

On top of this, stories began to get weirder in a ‘far out’ sense, reflecting the mind-expanding times of the late ’60s, something underlined by the continuous appearance of names from the underground comix scene, such as Roger Brand, Larry Todd, Richard Corben and the warped Vaughn Bode, with two mind-blowing covers for Creepy #31 and Eerie #26.

Into this not inconsiderable milieu also came a few young men with very, very strange tales to tell, including one Alan Hewetson, whose tales for Creepy and Eerie presaged and foreshadowed the awesome ‘Horror-Mood’ makeover he would achieve for Warren’s main ’70s rivals, Skywald Publications.

Hewetson brought a freshness and ironic post-modernist sensibility to Warren in tales such as “Only in it for the Money” which tells a story of the exploitation of head hunting ‘primitives’ and their subsequent revenge in a narrative which directly addresses the reader, and which is somewhat prescient of Ruggero Deadato’s notorious, but very clever film, “Cannibal Holacaust.”

Hewetson tales appear in the ‘fallow’ period Creepy #31, 33, 34, 35, 39 and 40 and in Eerie #26, 28 and 34.

The aforementioned Pat Boyette is probably the other ‘stand out’ of the period with some really very dark and effective gothic tales beginning with Creepy #18’s unforgettable Raymond Marais-scripted ‘The Rescue of the Morning Maid’, in which Boyette kindly co-credited the then-recently deceased Rocke Mastroserio, though in fact he had only barely roughed out the pages before his untimely death.

Boyette’s uncannily scary rendering appears in self-penned tales too, in Creepy #33, 35, 37 and 39, the outstanding one probably being a grisly and gory tale of torture, ‘Justice’, in Creepy #35.

Though this article has been only very brief, I hope it goes a little way towards illustrating that the notion of Creepy and Eerie’s ’fallow’ period is an unbelievably inaccurate misnomer. Unless there are horror comic fans out there who don’t like ’trippy’ tales of bizarre space monsters, crumbling gothic castles and malevolent head-shrinkers written by the likes of a ‘pre-Archaic‘ Al Hewetson, and drawn by Pat Boyette, Tom Sutton, Syd Shores, Dan Adkins, Ken Barr, ad nauseum , I would suggest giving the Warren’s c.1968-1971 a re-think!

The fear of aliens descending from the skies to lay siege to our world— especially those hailing from Mars—was a common theme in the comic books of the early 1950s. The pleasure these tales derived from terrifying their readers with this threat from the red planet bordered on the insane, as did its denizens’ schemes to tear our world asunder. As mentioned earlier in these pages, the comic books of these years not only promulgated the Martian directive to subvert our species, they drew upon a paranoia quite particular to the United States of the early Cold War. When Mars attacked, rarely did they come armed with the gargantuan array of atomic hardware evinced in Journey into Mystery #52’s (May 1959) “Menace

From Mars!” rendered by the legendary Jack Kirby.

In the year 2306, a voyage of 34 million miles, maybe more depending on the orbit of the two planets, was about to touch down on alien soil. This was to be a momentous chapter in the history of mankind; first contact with the citizenry of Mars. The futuristic cityscape laid before our eyes would shape Jack’s vision of fabled Asgard a few years hence, but in his pages this revolutionary architecture harboured a species technologically far ahead of our own, yet marred by their enmity for our world. His fate of should have been sealed, but our intrepid space traveler would outwit this belligerent horde to lay bare their Achilles heel.

His resilience in the face of such an unimaginable force

would bring comfort to many young readers, who may have had doubts as to their future at a time of such great uncertainty.

Space Western Comics was one of those curious hybrid titles, merging the contradictory frontiers of the wild west with those way beyond the fringe of Earth’s orbit. Issue #40 (Sept-Oct 1952) brought the “Saucer Men” from Mars down upon us. Only Spurs Jackson and his Space Vigilantes stood in the way of this bloodthirsty squadron, undaunted by the splash panel depicting four saucer-shaped objects glowing in the night sky. Again, it looked as if we were doomed, but the very air we breathe proved our saviour, keeping these Martian fiends at bay. If they were to have been exposed to our atmosphere they would have suffered an excruciating death. This ill-fated foray should have been over, but Spurs found himself captured, then escorted to Mars to stand before the Martian queen. Thula truly was a queen, but as with many before her, she fell victim to the charms of our Spurs, allowing him to safely return to Earth. The same could not be said for the EC staff at 225 Lafayette Street, when Weird Science #21 (September-October 1953) appeared on the newsstands.

“EC Confidential” was brutal in its portrayal of these evil minions,

which had swarmed from Mars. EC have Messrs Feldstein and Wood to thank for what could have been the company’s early demise, which I am sure you will agree would have had the anticomics crusaders rubbing their hands in sheer delight.

Demon-like Ghosts

Head-on confrontations were all very well, but when Mars adopted a more surreptitious approach, their invasion plans proved all the more successful. Eerie #11’s (April 1953) “Robot Model L2—Failure!” documented how quickly their legions overran most of South America. Eltoo had been trained to terminate the Martian infiltrators, but when he killed one of their spies, he was also blamed for the deaths of his creator and his grand-daughter. This duping of ordinary men and women into the betrayal of their compatriots indicated a sinister development in the Martian stratagem, aligning their treachery with the machinations of the Soviets. This subterfuge became all the more pernicious in “Ghosts From Mars” when it was brought to light in the third issue of Dark Mysteries (October—November 1951) the Mars-Men were orchestrating the release of demon-like ghosts from their saucers circling the Earth as a harbinger to invasion.

Infiltration

The Cold War psychosis intensified when the Martians went undercover in the show stealer, “Here Come The Martians,” from Adventures into Weird Worlds #24 (December 1953). John Forte’s meticulous pencils could be considered a complement to Jack Finney’s “The Body Snatchers,” adapted for cinema in 1956 as the revered “Invasion of the Body Snatchers,” yet precede Collier’s magazine serialisation by almost nine months. In this version, a hysterical writer was hauled away to the asylum having said just a little too much at a science fiction convention. As he ranted and raved he tried to convince the attendees of the Martian plan to become assimilated into our day-to-day life using the bodies of newborn infants. Upon reaching adulthood, they would then realise their Martian heritage, bringing woe upon mankind. From confines of the sanatorium he continued to babble, but no one would listen. Our only hope resided with the Scanners, almost twenty-five years before David Cronenberg announced their existence in his cult masterpiece. Away from the convention, Sam Taylor, an everyday kind of guy, chased through the rain-soaked streets of Philadelphia. Not until this moment had he any awareness of his Martian ancestry, or his unparalleled ability to master the Scanners. Time, it would appear, was of the essence for our beleaguered world.

Just one month later, Adventures into Weird Worlds #25 returned to this portent, although this episode was in no way a continuation of

the previous storyline. “The Men From Mars” was drawn by that Atlas favourite, Bill Everett, in a tale depicting a character’s descent into madness. Henry could no longer take the strain, certain that those around him were not of this world. He was right, virtually the whole of humanity had been transformed by the Martian enemy, leaving him isolated and utterly traumatised. As with so many of those caught up in the lunacy of these tales, there would be no escape, only the inevitability of the suicide suggested in the closing panel. Prior to Bill Everett’s efforts, Russ Heath had astonished the readers of Journey into Unknown Worlds #4 (April 1951), with an amazing splash panel for “Return from Mars,” which focused on a hapless figure falling through the void of space towards Earth. The insecurities endemic to these years were once again cast under the spotlight in a tale pre-dating so much of its memorable ilk. Traffic cop, Michael Reardon, had come to learn the Martians were assuming some of the most senior positions on our ruling councils. This newfound dominion would facilitate their escalation of our global discord into full-scale war. In the aftermath there would be no obstacles to their colonisation of our ravaged world, which would subsequently relieve their over-populated cities. When Reardon made his return from the red planet he knew he had the unenviable task of bringing peace to a species hellbent on its own destruction.

The shocker “Infiltration” rendered by Joe Orlando, in a style reminiscent of his associate Wallace Wood, was included in the contents of EC’s Shock Suspenstories #7 (Feb-Mar 1953). The denizens of Mars had made significant progress in their scheme to invade our planet. These four-legged belligerents, never seen in any of the Martian invasion stories of the day, could assume human form by creating a hypnotic screen. In keeping with so many tales from the EC stable, the twist at the finale did not bode well for any of us. Our efforts to develop the technology capable of countering the Martians was frustrated by a “Dream Girl,” on this occasion in Journey into Unknown Worlds #32 (December 1954). When Lara entered his life, short-sighted Perry Maxwell was on the brink of delivering the design for an atomic engine, with the capacity to take a ship to Mars. Blinded by love, he failed to realise she was no ordinary girl; well not until it was too late. For reasons beyond his comprehension he too was swiftly conducted to an awaiting asylum, never to see his genius go any further than the drawing board. The smokescreen was finally unveiled when he removed his glasses; the luscious Lara was lost to the human eye, now shrouded in a cloak of invisibility. Only when these strange glasses were in use, could the wearer distinguish these innovative conspirators.

This cloak of invisibility was obviously not available when Dhan Dtarl Than made his way to Earth in DC’s Strange Adventures #6 (March 1951) extravaganza, “The Confessions of a Martian!” Before making his way to Earth, he had endured a lengthy process to give him a human form. His mission was to safeguard his people from the potential hostility threatened by our world. Thanks to his surgeon’s mastery of human physiology, he was able to enter a research facility unchallenged. However, unknown to him, his superiors on Mars weren’t assembling their forces to defend the home-world; they were looking to bring the Earth under their control.

More Martian Saucers

When Uncanny Tales #28 (January 1955) introduced “The Martians!” they weren’t holding back on their plans, proclaiming, “The time has come …. our saucers are ready … the moment of our supreme Martian destiny is at hand … we will invade Earth!” A thousand Martians had been ingeniously altered, possibly following a similar process to that witnessed in Strange Adventures #6. Amongst this group was one with a conscience, who attempted to alert our authorities, but found himself on a familiar path to a home for the “feeble minded.” Our fate would appear to have been sealed.

Remember Michael Reardon, the man who fell to Earth in Journey into Unknown Worlds #4? His plea to the leaders of our world may have fallen on deaf ears as evinced in the first issue of Journey into Unknown Worlds #36 (September 1950). “The End of the Earth” revealed a landscape devastated by the fourth atomic war of annihilation.

The few who had survived managed to assemble a communicator to enable contact with both Mars and Venus. Shortly after, the would-be conquerors from Venus land in the vicinity of the equally inhospitable Martians. They both mistake one another to be from Earth, forcing them to leave this radioactive wilderness in the belief those

who have withstood this war are an aggressive race beyond trust, not unlike themselves. This theme was reiterated in “The Aliens,” illustrated by Wallace Wood for Weird Science #7 (MayJune 1951). This account, also narrated from the Venusian perspective, explained the Martians’ unsympathetic attitude. The two races were at cross purposes when the Venusians attempted to signify their peaceful intent, which to protocol of the Martians was a gesture to raise arms. Venusian and Martian exploration teams also landed during the testing of atomic weaponry at White Sands, New Mexico, in the pages of Mystery Tales #42’s (June 1956) “We Claim This Planet,” drawn by Lou Morales. The devastation caused by the ensuing explosion was played down, allowing both parties to escape. As they hurried away, a flying saucer was sighted hastily leaving the scene, further exacerbating the hysteria of these years.

Every once in a while, the manipulations of the Martian in trying to secrete undercover agents onto our streets would backfire. The dose of paranoia supplied by Journey into Mystery #15’s “The Man Who Was Nobody” (April 1954) introduced a Mr. Garlan, who was in need of a well-earned holiday. Acquiring a passport, however, was infinitely more difficult than he could have ever imagined. For some strange reason there was nothing to prove he had ever existed. The use of a truth serum, an essential ingredient during any period of alien infiltration, served to confirm everything he had ever known about himself, which amounted to being a typically unremarkable life. He never guessed he had been subjected to an exhaustive process of indoctrination after undergoing extensive surgery, transforming him into the perfect spy. The Martians were fastidious in their concealing of his existence, obliterating Garlan in one of their disintegrators after securing him in yet another one of those dread asylums, before destroying his records on Mars.

Was the Martian hypnotic screen at work when Journey into Unknown Worlds #34 (April 1955) appeared in the tale “Personality Zero,” which really did find our intelligence agencies wanting? With a name like Mr A. Lien someone should have picked him up, but not a soul seemed to care. This particular infiltrator was in many ways an amusing stereotype, very much the main man, blessed with unusual physical fitness, yet devoid of personality. This distant aspect to his character may well have made his accession to city mayor quite an easy task, presenting his fellow Martians with an opportunity to follow in his footsteps.

Thankfully, Mystery Tales #36’s (December 1955) “The Unseen Enemy!” threw mankind a lifeline. Having failed to convince America’s armed forces of the threat posed by a spate of flying saucer sightings originating from Mars, Colonel Roehm was unable to convince his superiors on the red planet of life on other worlds.

There was no sign of this threat drifting away in the closing months of this memorable decade; House of Mystery #89 (August 1959) conferred a new twist to the Martian’s diabolical schemes in “They Called Me a Martian.” He should have returned it to sender, but once Jay Drews donned this unusual costume, it fused with his body. Now, with little more than a glance he could eliminate anything which stood before him. If an army of men were ever possessed in such a way, the Earth would be forfeit to those calculating Martians. “The Parasite” adopted a similar mode of attack in Adventures into Terror #8 (February 1952) when it secured itself to the convicted criminal, Monk Gibson. This parasitic creature singled out its victims then assumed their life force, ultimately dooming them to a most unpleasant end.

Masters of Robotics

If that wasn’t enough, the Martians were also making advances in the field of robotics. In the tale “Unharmed” taken from Journey into Unknown Worlds #26 (April 1954), young Eric Sands received a rather special birthday present, a kit to build a Martian. The creature, which resembled a miniature robot, withstood a series of rigorous tests. Amongst these tests was a mini atomic explosion, which, not surprisingly, decimated the Sands’ home. The fate of the Sands was inevitable, for the hour was too late when they learned they had in their possession a prototype for the Martian invasion of Earth. Journey into Unknown Worlds #8 (December 1951) “When a Planet Dies” addressed this theme in a quite different way. Anthony Rogers had been chosen to have his will transferred into a robot, constructed to do battle with a similar being from Jupiter. This bout would decide the future of the now powerless Mars.

Eventually, Rogers’ determination proved stronger, bringing victory to this downtrodden world. Rogers wasn’t finished, he then sanctioned the robot to destroy the threat on Jupiter before returning it to Earth in preparation for its next set of instructions. As Rogers soliloquised on the pragmatism of self-sacrifice for one’s homeworld, he disclosed his Martian heritage.

Plan 9 From Mars

Perhaps the most sinister invasion plan ever conceived by the Martians was unearthed in the premiere of Uncanny Tales (June 1952). “While the City Sleeps,” as told by Stan Lee, was accompanied by the embellishment of Russ Heath. There were vague parallels with Ed Wood’s 1957 cult classic “Plan 9 From Outer Space,” when a Martian flying saucer made its landing in a secluded cemetery. Soon after its unsightly occupants were burrowing into the graves to induce a series of abominable resurrections. Employing a procedure beyond our mortal ken, the invaders animated the decaying corpses using their own life-force, with the intention as ever of destroying our world. In the customary paranoiac style of the 1950s, our hero, FBI agent Nick Kent, was becoming increasingly uncertain as to who he could trust. Neither his boss nor the press would believe his bizarre account; who could blame them? The morning light would prove our salvation, when the Martian invaders were revealed to have a dread of sunlight, which meant they were no longer able to hold onto their ghoulish aspect. This, however, was a pre-Code horror comic, anyone expecting a happy ending should think again; Nick never had the opportunity to exploit this debility in the Martian constitution.

Uncanny Tales #14 presented “The Hidden Martians” in a tale hailing from the year 2650, with the art of Dick Ayers.

Mars had been drained of resources, its populace exploited by the colonists from Earth. It had only taken a few centuries for us to turn the tables on Mars, but in that time we had become just as belligerent. Recently married Bill Hamilton had been assigned to effect a thorough scan of one of the Martian vessels readying to take off from Marsport. Unknown to him, the Martian capacity for infiltration was still in evidence; in our arrogance we had forgotten the paranoia of the mid twentieth century. Now, Bill learned one of his own fishing friends was a Martian. In the skirmish that followed, he was knocked out.

Perhaps as well, for he was never to hear his wife signalling to her Martian accomplices the moment of attack, nor did he ever learn his beloved was their leader.

This abiding hostility can be explained. In Journey into Mystery #51 (March 1959), “The Prison Planet” broke the news Earth was never anything more than a Martian penal colony.

A chilling thought. If the Cold War years left anything in their wake for the next generation, surely these paranoiac tales should be included, or I’m a Martian’s uncle.

I have a theory about the comics of my early childhood.

With their broken panels, frustrated antiheroes, sexily-outfitted gals, and brick-busting sound effects, Marvel pulled in the kids who fancied themselves as tortured rebels. Marvel had an overwrought, druggy writing style and lurid artwork that was like a rainbow being sick across the page.

DC’s stern fundamentalist superheroes were framed in neatly boxed panels and could only ever be on the side of the establishment. Like good Christians they kept expanding the family,

so that just when it looked like Superman could get away with having dead parents, he was lumbered with a super sister, a super dog, a super cat, a super horse and even Beppo the Super Monkey. And his friends were stiffs. Jimmy Olsen wore a bowtie and Lois Lane had gran-hair. DC artists really liked drawing offices, and weren’t imaginative enough to come up with decent aliens. DC appealed to Conservatives.

One story called ‘The Death Of Superman’ bore the tagline ‘Not a hoax, not a dream, but REAL!’ DC had got themselves into this ‘Having-To-Explain-It’s-Not-A-Hoax’ situation because they had made their hero so invincible that he killed most dramatic storylines. Superman had two flaws— he could be irradiated by chunks of his home planet and he couldn’t see through a sheet of lead, dubious scientific gambits on a par with shampoo herbs mending split ends.

Was adult life going to be like this, I wondered? Would I wake up one day to discover it had all been a hoax, a dream, and not real at all? Nearly every plot was about Superman tricking someone or being tricked. I therefore became fascinated by him for all the wrong reasons. I wasn’t interested in battles with Lex Luthor and tearful Krypton reunions. I wanted to see how much more absurd Superman’s psychological gambits could become before something cracked and they all went mad.

Lois Lane and Jimmy Olsen were particularly instructive because they took the hoax-plot to a surreal level. The Man of Steel’s sidekicks were clearly in love with him, but he didn’t love them. Lois would be humiliated, bullied, deceived and taught a lesson. Her single status was endlessly mocked. She would be duped by millionaires who always turned out to be Superman in disguise (punishing her for some perceived failure of judgement), fake superheroes who were revealed as gangsters, and cleft-chinned historical figures like Robin Hood or Julius Caesar, usually as the result of hitting her head on a rock and erroneously thinking she’d been hurled back into the past.

I read these surreal scenarios with an increasing sensation of puzzlement. Why would a vengeful gangster pretend he was Astro-Lad and jilt Lois Lane at the altar? Why not just shoot her? In one issue Lois spent the entire story with her head in an iron box, too ashamed to go out, because she’d been given the head of a cat. Sometimes all of her friends were in on these humiliations, but couldn’t tell her because they were being watched from space. No wonder she often ended up in a straitjacket.

When Lois finally got Superman to church, it turned out to be a dream caused by her falling off a pier. Sometimes she was given super powers only to have them snatched back. In issue after issue she was transformed into a fat freak, a widow or a murderess, and was cruelly led up the aisle to be repeatedly dumped just before ‘I do’. Lois was terrified of becoming an old maid, and this had added poignancy because we already knew it was her destiny. Superman gave her the old ‘Any wife of mine would be a target for my enemies’ speech, but we knew this was a pile of toss. If you had his powers you wouldn’t want to be tied to Lois, you’d want to shag around on other planets.

In ‘Lois Lane’s Kiss of Death’, every girl’s worst nightmare came true as Lois actually managed to poison any man she snogged. In ‘Lois Lane’s Secret Romance’, the sobbing reporter cried ‘Superman’s surrounded by gorgeous hussies and he LOVES it! I’m leaving!’ Later he proposed to Lois but rather took the edge off the moment by proposing to every ugly woman in Metropolis (he’d been hypnotised).

But Lois was her own worst enemy. Given a signal watch, she summoned Superman from his busy schedule of saving whole universes because the heel had come off her shoe. To attract Superman’s attention Lois fell off cliffs and chucked herself out of office windows, into his waiting arms. Either she had become desperately needy or she had some kind of balance problem. Had she thought of removing her heels before leaning over rooftops?

Lois was never sexy. She was a contrary career-gal prone to early-onset shrewishness, and her seduction by anyone in a two-tone leotard with big arms always led to sadomasochistic psychodrama. I couldn’t see that the comics were aimed at teenaged tragedy-queens, and since I did not know any girls, I was not able to understand the psychology of someone who would spend a week with her head in a metal box just to get a date.

In every issue of Lois Lane, Superman did one of three things; he turned bad, died or got married, and it always turned out to be a hoax. The Man of Steel required his girlfriend to pass an endless series of tests; she would have to go without sleep, remain silent, become invisible or be turned into a witch or a baby in order to prove her loyalty. One of the most revealing story titles was ‘Lois Lane, Hag!’ What Lois feared most was being ignored by men.

Lana Lang didn’t fare much better. She overplayed her only card, unappealingly reminding Superman that she used to be his sweetheart, and was forced to suffer the knowledge that she would never get to power, like the Green Party. The only other rival for the Man of Steel’s affections was a mermaid, and that presented another set of physical problems.

Sometimes she got her legs back, only to lose them before she could use them.

Jimmy Olsen wasn’t the kind of guy you’d want to sit next to at a party, so his life was enlivened with a series of grotesque transformations (Turtle Boy! Human Skyscraper!

Wolf Man! Elastic Lad!) and masquerades, the most notorious of these being ‘Miss Jimmy Olsen’, in which he takes to drag rather too readily, noting ‘Hmm… this dress needs pressing!’

Superman demanded such terrible sacrifices from his friends that you wondered whether it was worth knowing him. He was good, so he could do no wrong, and the ordinary humans with whom he surrounded himself could only get hurt. He was the opposite to Jesus; everyone else had to suffer for him. But I loved him because he was a stern fingerwagging patrician who told everyone what to do, and was therefore unconsciously homoerotic. You always knew where you were with Superman. A man’s most attractive quality is the ability to make a firm decision, even when he’s incredibly wrong.

DC floundered after the liberation movement of the Sixties.

Suddenly nobody respected Superman anymore. Only Batman was allowed to freak out. Superman may have had big biceps but there was obviously nothing much going on in his pants.

The genius of the DC Silver Age was to reflect the secret fears of children, and may explain much about falling comic sales among the over-confident teens of the present.

The kid wanders into his local newsagents having dodged the local thugs. It’s early on a Sunday morning, so the lowlifes will still be wallowing in their pits and morning mass is but a distant memory. He pores through the magazine rack in the hope of finding something special, even though the horror magazines have been scarce of late, including his beloved Dracula Lives which has merged with his other favourite, Planet of the Apes. Poor kid, he is still looking for one of those deranged Skywalds. Maybe a copy of Nightmare or that really sick-sounding Psycho. Ah, but this is the autumn of 1976 and the Skywald Publication Corporation had bitten the dust more than twelve months ago, victims of the escalating cost of paper, which had precipitated the demise of this latest fad for the horror comic. The kid wasn’t to know; how could he?

The revolving rack did carry a rather pleasant surprise though, two issues of a magazine he hadn’t previously seen,

each evocative of the inveigling Skywald horrormood. The covers to these, the second and third issues of House of Hammer, insisted he dip into his pockets to secure the pair.

However, there was a snag, an all too common one: The price tag. These magazines were thirty-five pence a go, and what was left of yesterday’s pocket money would only run to a single issue. He stumps up the pennies and five-penny pieces from his pocket in exchange for a copy of the second issue. If it hits the mark he will be back next week to pick up the one he has had to leave behind.

Hit the mark House of Hammer most certainly did, but that following week there was no sign of anything bearing its name on the revolving rack, now laden with more adult fare. It would be another twenty-five years before I tracked down that elusive third issue.

Back in the world of 1976, this second issue proved a veritable trove of terror. The cover, painted by former RAF man Brian Lewis, encapsulated Hammer’s first major horror, Curse of Frankenstein, but it was the content within which was to broaden my horizons and convince me to seek out more. Page upon page of sumptuous comic book art were lying in wait, alongside highly informative text pieces, amongst which was a lurid summation of the decade’s most frenzied of films—well certainly to this teenager’s mind—The Texas Chainsaw Massacre. The kids at school excited themselves with lurid accounts of the abomination its title presaged, but it would be many years before any of them would be subjected to Tobe Hooper’s grindhouse masterpiece.

The text pieces were indeed enjoyable, but at heart I was a comic book fan and this issue had more than its fair share of quality artwork. Alberto Cuyas’s rendition of Hammer’s 1957 The Curse of Frankenstein once again called to mind the Skywald horrormood, while further into this issue Captain Kronos bludgeoned his way through five pages of terror, pencilled by one of the country’s finest, Ian Gibson. The finale was a “Van Helsing’s Terror Tale,” a semi-regular grand guignol of horror, which was never afraid to explore the gory underbelly of the genre. As the months went by, each storytelling would give its fervent readers the requisite amount of blood and guts, all in the cause of satiating their sanguinary cravings. “Highway of Hell” placed Brian Lewis abreast the greatest names of the day, with a mouth-watering sequence of renditions. A matter of hours later I turned the last page of this issue; it was over too soon, and unbeknown to me that third issue had already flown from the spinning rack.

It wasn’t only the third issue that would give me the slip; the following three issues were also conspicuous by their absence. I could have been forgiven for thinking House of Hammer was no more, but I later learned there were problems with distribution, making it difficult to get an already low print run out into the provinces. The returns from this country were also being shipped out to an eager band of readers down in Australia; great news for them, but not quite so good for those of us in these northern climes.

House of Hammer was the protégé of Dez Skinn, who had recently joined Top Sellers from IPC. Here he was brought in to expand their juvenile line of comics.

He was quick to revive Monster Mag, a poster magazine aimed specifically at fans of Hammer horror, but the format was very limited. Given the success of Monster Mag, the resourceful Mr. Skinn mocked up a magazine using artwork and articles already in his possession, together with a painted cover swiped from the Marvel black-and-white magazine Dracula Lives #6. The pet name for this project was Chiller, soon to assume the more auspicious mantle of House of Hammer.

It was as if the stars were aligned; Hammer House was only five doors away from the offices of Top Sellers and the daughter of Dez’s boss shared a flat with the son of Michael Carreras, who was heading up Hammer.

One of his script editors, Chris Wilkes, had also been a regular reader of Fantasy Advertiser when Dez had

been at the helm. Dez, however, still had to convince the elders at Hammer House; he wasn’t the first with a pitch for publishing a magazine dedicated to their macabre classics.

Thankfully, Chris had already had a rather favourable view of his work and was equally enthusiastic about the package now on offer.

Cover-dated October 1976, although probably appearing some months before, the inaugural issue of House of Hammer made its way off the print press, but not without some internal dispute. For many devotees of the horror genre, Dez’s original design using the dark border captures the tone of the horror magazines of the day, thus enhancing Joe Petagno’s canvas. The sales director thought otherwise, leaving posterity with the yellow border coupled with the red masthead. I still think I know which one I prefer.

Comic book fan Joe, who had only recently created the then unknown Motorhead crest along with Led Zeppelin’s Swan Song insignia, was assigned as cover artist. Joe, whose uncle was a passionate comic book collector, had been an avid reader of the Steve Canyon strip, as well as Blackhawk and Men at War. This, however, was a rare excursion into comics for an artist whose only comics-related work appears to be on the Hipgnosis-published The Pink Floyd Tourbook, dated 1975, along with a few appearances for the British underground publisher of the period Cozmic Comics. Rare it may have been, but he placed an indelible stamp on Hammer’s 1958 masterwork, Dracula, to resounding effect just as the BBC was preparing to release their version of Bram Stoker’s novel. Once within, Paul Neary took over, mesmerising with a 21-page adaptation of the undead count’s Hammer debut. Paul had previously graced the pages of Jim Warren’s magazines and with the expertise on show in the pages, he would soon garner a new horde of followers.

True to his comic book roots, Dez acquired the unmistakable pencils of Ian Gibson as he looked to expand on Hammer’s initial narrative. Captain Kronos was the first of the company’s characters to adventure beyond his celluloid origins. The finale for this issue was the first of Van Helsing’s Terror Tales, “Voodoo Vengeance”, illustrated by science fiction paperback artist Angus McKie, using an approach the comic book publishers across the Atlantic would have gladly welcomed.

It was a tremendous start, but without the space to store his returns, Dez burned countless copies of this issue, making it all the more scarce. The third issue would soon become as rare, concluding Curse of Frankenstein as the adventures of Captain Kronos continued in their new vein with Trevor Goring providing the brush strokes for

the Van Helsing offering “Swamp Fever”. There were elements of the penmanship of Ghastly Graham Ingels and Bruce Jones in these pages as Trevor placed his years of study before an eagerly receptive readership.

In the publishing world it is an accepted fact the print run invariably falls after the first issue, but issue #4, in terms of the percentage of the total print run, turned out to be the company’s best-selling release. There has been a suggestion these sales had something to do with the “Win a Trip to Transylvania” competition, but let’s not forget the 15-page adaptation of The Legend of the Seven Golden Vampires.

Whatever the reason House of Hammer was now assured its place in the newsagents of the United Kingdom.

Issues #5 and #6 had already been readied for the print press prior to the figures being confirmed on #4. Even though they too had to endure a low print run, they in turn would make their mark. Brian Lewis provided a gory death in space cover for #5 with Paul Neary returning to produce an eyecatching set of pencils for this issue’s presentation of Moon Zero 2, which was very much in vogue with the science fiction of the day. However, it was the next issue which set the standard for this burgeoning publication.

Sequestered behind Brian Lewis’s Dracula cover was John Bolton’s rendition of Dracula Prince of Darkness; words can never truly describe the mastery shown in this telling. In those 15 pages, the largely unknown Bolton took his place alongside the masters of the genre. The skilled use of tone set against

his luxuriant brush strokes was simply magnificent. The craft exhibited in this tale transcends the notion of it being an everyday assignment; rather it pays homage to the memory of what was a truly chilling film.

Those improved sales figures for #4 allowed the print run to be increased for the next edition ready to go to press.

House of Hammer #7 turned up in my newsagents in March of 1977, on one of those bitterly cold days which come with the onset of Spring. This led to a day wrapped up by the fire with the contents of this issue for company. By now Brian Lewis was firmly established as the resident cover artist.

Here his stylised depiction of Peter Cushing as Gustav Weil from Hammer’s Twins of Evil proved one of the magazine’s finest moments, one of many; a fitting reminder that this was the same artist who had once been involved in the science fiction fandom of the 1950s.

Chris Lowder produced a formidable job in moulding this Hammer original into such a gripping strip, while attention to detail observed by Blas Gallego elegantly complemented his words. Blas, who was also in the employ of several reputable women’s magazines at this stage in his incredible career, exhibited a carefree sense of design, experimenting with the medium to throw off the binding stipulations associated with stringent editorial control. His vision ably captured the muted eroticism of the original, reflecting a time when Hammer gleefully laced their films with an effusion of provocative suggestion. I was hooked. Thankfully, my newsagents, who I had known since infancy, were

confident they could arrange for a regular order; all was well.

About a month later, I raced to my newsagents and there it was, as promised, House of Hammer #8. This time Brian’s cover pulsed with an almost luminescent hue, reminiscent of the glow-in-the-dark figures, which had been so much a part of my life. John Bolton returned for the second of the “Father Shandor” strips, evincing welcome elements of the past mastery of both Messrs Frazetta and Williamson—not that I would been aware, not for a few years at least. It was Brian Lewis who was handed the task of delineating the opening five-page installment of the Quartermass Xperiment. From the covers he had already gifted this title, it was clear he was at home with a palette of vibrant colour, but when he put his energies into working with a drawing pen, he revealed an unusually accomplished eye for the specifics of detail. While he exhibited so much of the joy of British comics, I can only think Jim Warren or the defunct Skywald would have accommodated his panache.

The next chapter in the “Van Helsing’s Terror Tale,” “The Midnight Coach” was conferred to John Colquhoun, who favoured an approach very much in-keeping with the infamous horror titles of the pre-Code epoch. The graphic bullet-throughthe-head panel would have had the anti-comic book crusaders screaming in outrage! It was perhaps as well for all concerned the legislation set down in this country wasn’t always adhered to.

Summer was on the way when House of Hammer #9 arrived, although it did seem like an eternity since the last

issue. The Quartermass Xperiment was now ready to divulge its dread secret. Having already drafted an imaginative cover, Brian Lewis set to bringing this tale to its unnerving conclusion. This was my first encounter with a full-length story adorned with his elaborate panels, and as the pages unfurled he really got into his stride to bestow the rarest of treats. These pages may be of interest to Bernie Krigstein’s admirers, for Brian showed himself a dab hand at condensing his art into the most claustrophobic of panels, all in an effort to ensure his pictures told the story without being encumbered by boxes of intense text.

The Van Helsing offering for this issue “Food For Thought,” a somewhat familiar title, toyed with cannibalism in a way few comic books ever dared. For House of Hammer regulars this was just par for the course; I don’t think any of us were all that shocked. The artist assigned to this tale was Jim Baikie, who had already acquired a considerable reputation in the British comics scene, before being endorsed by publishing houses in the United States. His art is so easy on the eye, never detracting from the narrative flow, luring the reader into the content of his panels, then delivering the stomach-turning denouement.

House of Hammer was now on a roll. There was nothing that could get in its way and #10 turned out to be a landmark issue.

If there was ever a cover to seize hold of the innocent bystander, Brian Lewis’s werewolf cover was certainly the one. The impact of his painting was immediate, no doubt bringing in scores of new readers. Steve Moore was the man appointed to the task of adapting John Elder’s screenplay, inspired by Guy Endore’s novel The Werewolf of Paris. Steve made it look deceptively easy,

but it was John Bolton’s dynamic black-and-white artwork which stole the show. Being a werewolf fan, The Curse of the Werewolf was a film I particularly enjoyed, but the comic book version left an even greater impression, largely due to the electrifying energy displayed in John’s draughtsmanship.

There was drama coursing through these pages, each engaging the eye before hauling the reader to be tormented in the darkest shadows. Wisely, Dez chose not to feature another strip in this issue. It would have difficult for any of his worthy team to follow this grandeur.

There was also reference to an innocuously entitled film, Close Encounters. In just a brief piece, there was an allusion to something a little unusual going in a restricted area of North America, something involving the twenty-eight-year-old Steven Spielberg. There was so much intrigue in these words, making them impossible to dismiss.

Brian Lewis’s brushes assumed a darker guise for the magazine’s next tribute to The Gorgon. Alberto Cuyas once again weaved his magic in an account due to climax a full month later. Sheer torture, but it would be worth the wait. By comparison to his British contemporaries contributing to this title, his art appears fairly simplistic, but he made up for this with his strength to tell the story at hand. The cover to the concluding episode of this tale had Brian Lewis teasing with the prospect of a Frankenstein saga; instead we were granted a rather entertaining piece on the Frankenstein creation’s cinematic history. Steve Parkhouse’s “The Demon at the Gates of Dawn” played the lone pipe to the bring the curtain down

on this issue. His artistry whisking us back to an ancient Japan where gore fans could gorge on the habitual furore of blood and guts.

Things had been going well for House of Hammer in this part of the world, but problems with distribution again came to the fore. My newsagent was having difficulty in locating a copy, but the second-hand book and comic stall on Rochdale market, one of my regular haunts, was securing a few copies of each issue. Perhaps as well, to have missed issue #13 would have meant missing out on the combined artistry of Trevor Goring and Brian Bolland on Plague of Zombies. To those teenage eyes, Brian Bolland wasn’t quite a John Bolton, but he wasn’t half bad. Indeed, the sequence illustrating the zombie rising from the grave was equivalent to anything I had seen in a horror comic.

Before you had chance to put this issue down the “Van Helsing Terror Tale” delivered its customary gore-fest in the tale “The Curse of Cormac.” If, maybe, the profusion of blood wasn’t to your liking, then the art of Brian Lewis would have provided due recompense. Ancient curses, a warrior chieftain and a pick-axe guaranteed something for everyone, well almost. Star Wars enthusiasts might want to include this one on their wants list; a five-page preview with words from George Lucas.

One Million Years BC roared to life only one issue later, in a 15-page account, exquisitely embellished by John Bolton, behind an equally compelling image of Raquel Welch painted by Brian Lewis. Again there was a touch of Frank Frazetta to John’s artistry, most notably evinced on the third page of this story when he salutes the legendary cover to Weird Science-Fantasy #29. True to one of those traditions of British comics, John concocted a centrespread, laying his artwork across both pages to ensure his readers’ eyes never left the page. This was a breathtaking submission, this prehistoric world affirming John Bolton as a true master of the comic book medium.

For the enthusiast of those old dinosaur and wild monster movies, this edition should be marked as being an absolutely essential addition to your collection. The following issue paved the way for “The Mummy’s Shroud” illustrated by David Jackson, whose linework adhered to the conventions of the British comic book, harking back to the

adventure series popularised during the 1960s. The Van Helsing offering “Wilbur’s Whisky” continued the Ancient Egyptian theme, with the age-old fascination for embalming.

There was an appreciable change to the cover of issue #16; Brian Lewis was replaced by a still from Star Wars, in the hope of attracting the attention of an even wider cinema-going audience. It certainly wasn’t my favourite cover, but if House of Hammer was to proudly stand alongside its competitors, then so be it. A total of nine pages were afforded to George Lucas’s cinematic sensation, with room aplenty for the horror devotee. John Bolton returned to produce another scintillating six pages of “Father Shandor,” “River of Corpses… Tower of Death”, which is probably the best remembered of this short-lived series. The issue concluded with the essential “Van Helsing Terror Tale,” “A Spot of Blood”. I will leave this one to your imagination.

Normal transmission was resumed one issue later, when Brian Lewis returned to take his rightful place on the cover. His vampire was implicit in its design to seduce the unsuspecting passerby, and then inadvertently become an icon of its kind when it made the cover to the premier of the American edition House of Horror. Brian Bolland assumed the art chores to produce a polished version of the Hammer classic Vampire Circus, using the original script rather than the film fans around the globe

have come to know. The dark carnival would be used to usher this issue’s finale, the “Van Helsing Terror Tale” “Carnival of Fear,” scripted by Steve Parkhouse with the highly effective line of Sergio Goudenzi delivering the artistry. While there had been problems at senior levels with Brian Bolland’s gory display in this issue, the same people appeared oblivious to Sergio’s bloodlust just as time was beginning to tick down on Dez Skinn and his merry crew.

Change was in the air when the March 1978 issue appeared. This edition, numbered 18, gave us a new cover artist in the shape of Bill Phillips, who, while accomplished, was not a Brian Lewis. Further to this Dick Giordano and Neal Adams had been brought in, prompting me to write to Dez. My edited fan ramblings appeared several months later in issue #23, praising the Hammer crew for their stepping up to the mark. In my defence, it was an engaging tale and a rare opportunity to see the work of Neal Adams. There was only ever one appearance from a recognised American artist after this issue; that was Bernie Wrightson in the pages of issue #21. In hindsight it would have been so much better if we had remained with a British team. I know many readers thought that way, but it was an unusual chance for the youngster to get so see of his favourite creators.

As Dez looked to taking his magnum opus to America, he was advised by his new distributor, the Curtis Circulation Company, to rework the title. Hammer’s House of Horror now vied for a place with the other horror magazines of the time, refined only two issues later to become Hammer’s Halls of Horror. The seniors at Curtis were averse to the word “Hammer”; to them it sounded like it evoked images of a do-ityourself magazine. Jim Warren also looked to thwart Dez’s plans when he released an ashcan edition of House of Horror. The 500 issues which went on sale gave him the rights to the title in the United States, prompting the new Hammer’s Halls of Horror. Creatively the magazine was as strong as ever, with Ramon Sola submitting a quite beautiful cover for what was now Hammer’s House of Horror #19. This image is thought to have been rejected elsewhere, why is anyone’s guess. It wasn’t Brian Lewis, but there was no need to grumble because once within there were ten pages of his penchant for detail in the latest adaptation The Reptile. This was to be his last strip for this title before his death in December of that year, although he would contribute a spectacular image of Christopher Lee as Kharis for the cover heralding issue #22’s adaptation of The Mummy. One issue before, John Bolton had made a welcome return to complete what would be the final chapter in the quest of “Father Shandor,” “The Devil’s Dark Destiny”, but there was now a sense of finality to this well-loved magazine.

The end was indeed nigh; only two years after laying hands on this title, it was to fade away with its 23rd issue. It went down in a way to remember, bringing David Lloyd to these pages. His rendition of Quartermass II Enemy From Space was redolent of that Cold War period from the end of the late Fifties. Few artists have quite been able to re-create the flavour of the era, but here David set himself head and shoulders above the rest. It was a fleeting moment, and maybe if Hammer’s Halls of Horror had continued, we would have seen even more of his work, but comic book history had other plans for both him and Dez’s magazine.

Halls of Horror would return with an all-comics special reprinting seven of the tales included in this piece, before finally bowing out with its 30th issue. Unfortunately the later issues failed to capture the imagination of the readership which had played its part in making House of Hammer the best-selling British film magazine of its time.

Reading the letters page to this magazine gave me an assurance I wasn’t alone in my love of horror movies and comic book terror. These pages were also an invaluable link to both horror and comic book fandom. It is fair to say without this magazine and the fan publications of the day, there would never have been a From the Tomb. For many of us over here in the United Kingdom, House of Hammer will always be the Number One magazine for horror films. As with the Hammer horrors it strove to celebrate, it had a charm very much of its own making.

Hmm … I have no idea as to when I first saw these, my collection of comics has always been all-encompassing. I bought Miller’s Mystic and Spellbound straight off the racks, enjoying the sheer number of weird and horrific stories in each. In addition to these, I also picked up these little digest comics from Miller, along with four-colour Atlas Comics and US reprint material. This would sometimes be in black-andwhite, other times in lovely colour, as in the Ajax and Okay Annuals from T.V. Boardman, which to me were even more desirable owing to the thickness of the paper and their being printed in full colour.

My library became a permanent fixture when one evening, going back to my flat in Bristol, I passed the window of a used bookshop, just off the road to the Vic Rooms in Clifton on the road down to Hotwells. Inside, were stacks of what I could make out to be American 10c comics, titles such as Tales of Suspense and Fantastic Four. There seemed to be at least 400, maybe 500 comics. I rang the door bell to the shop, as it was

long past its closing time. Miraculously, a window to an upstairs flat opened and a man told me to come back the next day at 8.30, opening time. How much did he want for the whole lot of comics in the window? This was years before (decimalisation), one old penny each, this meant 240 comics for a pound and I’m sure I paid a lot less than £5 for the lot. This little library of books turned out to be a virtual complete collection of Marvel and Atlas titles dating back years, the core of my collecting for decades after.

Years later, I remember sorting through stacks of books in my flat in Newcastle and rediscovering the little Miller digests which I must have bought in Bristol, but not as early as my big library buy. It was not till years later that I traced the origins of the books, which seemed to be Atlas post code comics, with the covers appearing to be the ubiquitous ‘tea boy at Miller’ recreations of the original Atlas covers. I also remember the books as they

had companions, the Nero Wolf detective books (also digest-size) along with a cowboy series and a romance series. I took them to the annual pulp con in Dayton, Ohio, surreptitiously showing them around, as the organiser of pulpcon, Rusty Havelin, made it a rule no comics at pulp con. Not surprisingly there was overriding interest in the Nero Wolf books, and a mild curiosity about the Marvel books, yet another incarnation of American comics from abroad!! They have since turned out to be quite a rarity.

There has been a lot of interest in the Oz reprint line of US books, Superman in black-and-white and Batman helped by the re-reprinting in annuals, which were sold in the UK. But there is also an earlier incarnation of Superman, in colour, which does seem to have been forgotten. The quality of these books is as good (in terms of colour reproduction) as the original US version. Interest in these Oz books has overshadowed the huge output from Miller, Streamline and the other reprint comics from the UK and these little digest books from Atlas have all but disappeared.

The Golden Age of comics revelled in the glory of the ascendant superhero, yet kept an eye out for those foul manifestations that made the darkest hours their own, as exemplified by Captain America Comics #10 and #19. Alex Schomburg’s pulse-pounding artistry also made ample use of this unsavoury phenomenon as you will shortly see in the gallery collected at the end of this piece. Timely seemed to enjoy their dalliance with these horrors, but were reluctant to explore its potential, even when their superhero schedule began to falter in the years immediately after the war. It was only with ACG premiering Adventures into the Unknown in 1948, a year after Avon’s one-shot Eerie #1, Timely jumped on the band wagon, replacing Sub-Mariner Comics with Amazing Mysteries with its 32nd issue in the May of 1949. The appearance of The Witness in this issue may not have been the most auspicious of starts, but it was a brave step into the unknown for a company with grave concerns as to the ongoing freefall in the market. The iconic Captain America Comics became Captain America’s Weird Tales with #74 (October 1949), forcing Cap to descend into the pits of Hell for a showdown with the Red Skull. One issue later it was all over as Cap was unceremoniously sidelined in his own title then suffered the humiliation of cancellation.

It would be a period of further change as Timely moved on to assume the name Atlas and with it came a rapid transformation for their fledgling assembly of terror. The Atlas globe began to appear as early as November 1951, with its celebrated image emblazoned on every one of their titles within the next couple of months. Creatively this wasn’t a particularly high point, both the artwork and stories were subjected to an unflattering house style, which when compared to their later output would make them seem somewhat prosaic.

With Amazing Mysteries and Captain America’s Weird Tales having been withdrawn, new ideas were very soon afoot. In less than two years more than half a dozen weird and wonderful titles would take their place on the company’s roster. These would include Marvel Tales #93 (August 1949), Suspense #3 (May 1950), Venus #10 (June 1950), Journey into Unknown Worlds #36 (September 1950), Adventures into Terror #43 (November 1950), Mystic #1 (March 1951), Astonishing #3 formerly Marvel Boy (April 1951) and Strange Tales #1 (June 1951), with the science fiction adventure series Space Squadron debuting in June 1951. While a house style was encouraged in these early issues, which bore an uncanny resemblance to the company’s crime books, not all of their employees could adhere to its uninspiring rudiments. Bill Everett was but one of this band; his covers insisted the kids hogging the newsstand shell out for one of these titles.

Similarly, Russ Heath proved impossible to contain; his cover to Adventures into Terror #43 was of a truly macabre ilk. There were other artists hidden away in these titles who included Gene Colan, Sol Brodsky, Mike Sekowsky and a man who would evolve to become fundamental in fashioning Atlas’s in-house design, Joe Maneely. Together with Messrs Everett and Heath, his role would be essential in crafting the look that has since become synonymous with the Atlas horror line.

There was another seasoned illustrator at work during these early years, one Basil Wolverton. In 1951 Atlas seemed rather disposed to his bizarre approach; five of his pieces made it to this relatively new line of comics. One of these tales, from Marvel Tales #102, so typified the paranoia of the era, the damning, “The End of the World.” Three more would see publication between 1952 and 1953, when Atlas had at last come into their own.

This initial explosion spawned two of the company’s most notorious titles, the former crime anthology Suspense and Adventures into Terror, which had started life as Joker Comics in 1942. They would be joined by Adventures into

Weird Worlds in January 1952 and Menace, which although it appeared a month before the last issue of Suspense, is acknowledged as its replacement on the Atlas publishing schedule. Men’s Adventures now changed its attack to for the next six issues to send a chill down its readers’ spines (#2126) between May 1953 and March 1954. These titles were shameless in their predilection for bondage, decapitation, dismemberment, mutilation and extremes of violence. They also played host to some of Atlas’s finest artists; Menace #1 showcased the work of Bill Everett, Russ Heath and Joe Maneely.

Alongside these artists, other names also started to make their mark, each of whom would make any comic carrying the Atlas globe a symbol of quality; Joe Sinnott, Robert Q. Sale, Tony Dipreta, Mac Pakula, Matt Fox, Pete Morisi, Pete Tumlinson, Jerry Robinson, John Romita, Reed Crandall, Ross Andru, Don Perlin, Myron Fass, Bill Benulis and Dick Ayers to name but a few.

To ensure this talented bullpen was kept in gainful employ, Atlas portfolio was further expanded. And so there came Mystery Tales #1 (January 1952), Spellbound #1 (March 1952) and also in the same month Amazing Detective Cases joined this horrifying legion with #11 and finally as late as June 1952 Journey into Mystery arrived at the same time as Uncanny Tales #1.

There are still those observers who are dismissive of Atlas for

their moments of whimsy and (dare I say it?) silliness, but on the whole, they imparted their readers spine chilling series of tales, very much in keeping with the mood of the day. Atlas science fiction was also looking to the psychosis of these years and their take on horror all too often had you looking over your shoulder. The excess on show in Alex Schomburg’s Golden Age covers was now rife in the contents of these comics, rendered by this new crop of artists eager to entertain in the foulest ways imaginable.

A storm was beginning to rage across the United States, one which would inevitably engender a significant change to this mood. The paranoiac fear seeping through this frantic nation was no longer just searching for those reds under the bed or looking to the skies for fear of an all-out saucer attack; it was now targeting the humble comic book. The offensive content enjoyed by the youth of America was cited as an antecedent to their delinquency. In the wake of this allegation, comic books were summarily led to the slaughter of the Senate investigations. By the end of 1954, Atlas and every other comic book publisher would have to examine their product with a view to safeguarding their readership. Failure to adhere to the stipulations of the new Code would minimise their chances of survival in this new world order.

The Comics Code was to be the death knell for many publishers who had prospered during this fleeting boom. For Atlas however, it would once again be the beginning of something new. Comic book readers still had money to spend and a gap now appeared in the market. They learned to adapt, very quickly shaping a new format that would ensure they maintained their place on the newsstands. As they had in the past, Stan Lee and his team of editors developed a formula that would secure their future, sanitising the macabre element of their tales, yet still enlisting a thought-provoking portfolio of titles. Only months before, their narrative had been satiated in gruesome retribution; now it held out the hand of worthy redemption.

The Code no longer had a place for the dissolute rhetoric of the likes of Adventures into Terror, Adventures into Weird Worlds and their partner in crime Menace, which not surprisingly, were all cancelled with immediate effect. In their place came Strange Suspense Stories #5 (October 1955), Strange Tales of the Unusual #1 (December 1955), World of Suspense #1 (April 1956), Adventures into Mystery

#1 (May 1956), World of Fantasy #1 (May 1956), World of Mystery #1 (June 1956) and Mystical Tales (June 1956). Spellbound having been cancelled with its 23rd issue in June 1954, it was tamed prior to being re-introduced to the roster in October 1955. This continued activity would guarantee regular work for their existing bullpen, while providing ready employment for some of EC’s former stalwarts, amongst them John Severin, Al Williamson, Angelo Torres, George Woodbridge, Bernie Krigstein and Al Feldstein, who worked for a few short months scripting Yellow Claw before returning to work with Bill Gaines on Mad. The covers were every bit as compelling as before, although in keeping with the Code not quite as terrifying as their predecessors. Their interiors would continue to host some wonderful artwork, although the stories in this cleanedup world were never the match of their preCode counterparts. The company was once again the good guy, as it had been during the war when it championed the fight for freedom and played its part in disposing of the Axis.

This proved to be a period of great achievement, with their titles retaining their readership thanks to this talented creative team.

In 1956 there also came change to the company’s system of distribution.

Business Manager Monroe Foehlich Jr. engaged a dubious operation known as The American News Co.

(ANC) in a five year contract to handle the distribution of Atlas’s now stabilising line. ANC were under government scrutiny, but Foehlich was eager to augment his influence at the highest echelons in the company. Strangely for a man of his acumen, Martin Goodman seemed oblivious to these issues, taking a back seat as his distribution network was dismantled. This was to be a costly error.

ANC ran into severe problems which resulted in the Atlas empire teetering on the edge of collapse as all but two of its fantasy titles faced cancellation. Only Strange Tales and World of Fantasy were to escape the axe.

Martin Goodman had little choice, he instructed Stan Lee to dismiss virtually the entire bullpen. For Stan this was the worst day in his working life, as the door was closed on one of the finest teams in comic book publishing. It was left to Stan to oversee what was left of the creative operation. Now considerably down-sized, the quality in the company’s output witnessed a remarkable improvement. This would eventually lead to a revolution in both the company and the comic book industry as a whole. Alongside the cancellation of so many of their comics, the Atlas globe was to be another casualty of this implosion, now removed from their remaining titles.

Stan, together with a couple of artists whose work had turned up two years before in 1956, took the remnants of Atlas in a new direction, one which owed its origin to the global preoccupation with atomic experimentation. The creators in question were Jack Kirby, who had supplied both ideas and stories to Timely between 1940 and 1942, and an artist still learning his trade, Steve Ditko. This triumvirate would emerge to become the most celebrated of the era, but their future was far from assured. Steve had been in the employ of Charlton Comics when Stan asked him to work on a new range of science fiction titles. Jack had parted company with DC following a series of editorial differences to

reunite with Joe Simon on The Shield and The Fly for Archie Comics. His move to Marvel was driven primarily by a need for stability, which is surprising given the precarious position of his new employer.

From the ashes came the short-lived Strange Worlds, debuting in December 1958, with Tales of Suspense and Tales to Astonish following a month later. Journey into Mystery returned, commencing its new life with issue 49 that same month. In a very short space of time Marvel had a half dozen science fiction titles at their behest, with Jack Kirby drawing the most incredibly mind-blowing monsters ever seen in the pages of a comic book. Diablo, Cyclops, Goom, Orrgo, Zog, Gomdulla, Mummex, we just couldn’t get enough of them, but where on Earth did they get their names? It didn’t matter to their army of readers who lapped up these outrageous monsters. They would have been so bedazzled by their gargantuan appearance they would never have noticed how formulaic the stories quickly became, which was soon driving Stan to absolute distraction. Steve Ditko’s penchant for a more mature take on science fiction maintained Stan’s sense of imagination, precipitating an unusual and now very collectible anthology, Amazing Adult Fantasy, formerly Amazing Adventures. The stories in Amazing Adult Fantasy were very much ahead of their time, garnering them a devoted following, but sales on the book were poor. Could this have been down to that word “Adult” so brazenly displayed in the logo, triggering alarm amongst the wholesalers? Echoes of the McCarthyite Senate hearings were still unsettling the comic book world as late as 1962.

Don Heck and Paul Reinman; both veterans of the Atlas years, had also stepped into the fold. Their styles would come to form part of the look of these new comics, as Stan moved away from an art-based house style to a specific format for each of his titles, in a way reminiscent of the editorial approach adopted by Bill Gaines and Al Feldstein.

For the most part it worked with the exception of Strange

Worlds and the beleaguered Amazing Adult Fantasy. By then, it was 1962 and the Fantastic Four had already made their first stand, ironically battling one of Jack’s infamous monsters. Amazing Adult Fantasy dropped the “Adult” with #15 and so followed the glory of the Silver Age; the monsters would now assume human form, attiring themselves in armoured plate and lycra.

Charlton and Gold Key continued to submit a string of weird anthology titles to the newsstands with varying degrees of success. Under Joe Orlando’s expert direction, DC returned in 1968 with House of Mystery, House of Secrets and The Unexpected. It wasn’t until September 1969 when Marvel finally took the plunge and made their return to horror comics in the guise of Tower of Shadows and then a month later Chamber of Darkness. Marvel’s focus was understandably on their highly lucrative superhero universe, so their macabre offspring were never afforded the time or consistency in editorial control. The result was inevitable, poor sales followed by a premature cancellation little more than twelve months into their respective runs, with one-off specials appearing late in 1971 and early 1972.

They did, however, contain a gathering of artists who were destined to make quite an impact, Jim Steranko, Barry Smith, and Bernie Wrightson. Roy Thomas and his fellow editors weren’t entirely blind to the possibilities held in this revived phenomenon, but they chose to use reprints from the past in a plethora of titles which began with Where Monsters Dwell (January 1970), Where Creatures Roam

(July 1970), Fear (November 1970), Monsters on the Prowl (February 1971) and Creatures on the Loose (March 1971).

There was another change in the wind, when towards the end of 1971 the pernicious Comics Code was relaxed, allowing comic book creators to edge that little bit further. In the February of 1972 Marvel Spotlight introduced Werewolf by Night using an idea conceived by Roy Thomas for its premise. Gerry Conway provided the final script, with Mike Ploog producing the artwork. The rest is of course history.

Later that year Jack Russell’s tortured alter-ego was granted his own title, Werewolf by Night, whose pages would be graced by the artwork of Mike Ploog, Gil Kane, Tom Sutton and former Atlas artists Don Perlin, Jim Mooney and Paul Reinman. Marvel Comics had once again returned to the dark side of comic book publishing, this time merging the supernatural into their meticulously regulated superhero universe.

Marvel Spotlight continued with Ghost Rider (#5) and Son of Satan (#12), each of which received its own title in September 1973 and December 1975 respectively.

When placed next to the terror that was unearthed in the April of 1972 these titles paled, Tomb of Dracula was to rise from the grave to become Marvel’s talisman. Gerry Conway was brought into the discussions with Roy Thomas to exhume the Count from his eternal slumber. Gerry penned the script, with Gene Colan assigned to embellish his narrative. By the time issue #7 appeared Gerry had moved onto other chores to be replaced by Marv Wolfman, while Gene’s pencils were being inked by Tom Palmer, a team that would survive the eventual demise of horror comics in 1975, taking this title through to the end of the decade. The enduring popularity of this saga wasn’t entirely due to the devious Count; Marv Wolfman built upon the work of Gerry Conway to create a very strong supporting cast, one subsequent revisions of the series have foolishly chosen to ignore.

A revamped Journey into Mystery premiered in the October of this year, the first five issues containing tales drawn by Neal Adams, Gil Kane, Mike Ploog, Jim Starlin and Ralph Reese with adaptations of stories penned by past masters such as Robert E. Howard, Robert Bloch and H.P. Lovecraft. That same month Adventures into Fear returned to a character whose origins could be found in Savage Tales #1 (May 1971), Manthing. When Steve Gerber took over the writing of this shambling monstrosity, Marvel Comics found themselves with yet another winner, one since blighted by several failed comebacks.

Supernatural Thrillers would follow a month later, again adapting the works of past masters before introducing another prospective talent Val Mayerik, on yet another supernatural entry, The Living Mummy. While they had considerable flair at their disposal, Marvel was unable to match DC in the area of horror anthologies in the way they had done two decades before, forcing Journey into Mystery into a familiar pattern of reprint material. The decision to include The Living Mummy amongst their roll call reflected the company’s aim to take ongoing trademarks, which could become potentially lucrative; so followed The Frankenstein Monster as the new year dawned, rendered by the company’s answer to DC’s Bernie Wrightson, Mike Ploog. The reprint titles continued to debut for the next twelve months, amongst them Chamber of Chills, Beware!, Vault of Evil and Dead of Night.

With horror now very much in vogue the year 1973 would see Marvel make their move into the world of black-and-white terror, which had once been in the stranglehold of Jim Warren. Monsters

Unleashed, Dracula Lives, Vampire Tales and Tales of the Zombie made it to the newsstands that summer with Haunt of Horror lying in wait for another twelve months. Comic book terror had truly been given a new breath of life, with the House of Ideas dominating the newsstands. It really did look as if nothing could stop them, until the cost of paper began to escalate. In the early months 1975 this would bring about the demise of the horror comic, one from which it would not be so quick to recover.

For Marvel Comics there has never been a return to this boom in horror. Financial difficulties within the company, beginning at the end of the 1980s extending into the early 1990s, have insisted they stick to what they do best. They haven’t entirely ignored the horror genre, making worthy use of Clive Barker’s Hellraiser in 1989 with artwork by John Bolton and Bernie Wrightson, along with their dubious Marvel Zombies series, saved by Arthur Suydam’s sensational covers and the pinnacle of their achievement coming from Richard Corben, whose remarkable Edgar Allan Poe and H.P. Lovecraft collections are a reminder of Marvel’s penchant for terror. Their twenty-first century rationale has resorted to sending bands of trained assassins against supernatural characters using Blade, Morbius and a recent version of Tomb of Dracula. Understandably this scenario has not managed to capture the imagination of the true horror devotee. The Manthing and Werewolf by Night have also stepped from the shadows, neither of which has lived up to its incarnations of thirty years past. For the moment Marvel’s fortunes lie elsewhere, but they have bequeathed us a caliginous legacy, one few publishers are likely to match.

All characters TM & © their respective owners.

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