Happy Thanksgiving!

(with semi-sincere apologies to Alan Moore and Dave Gibbons)

The Making of Star Trek

Once upon a time, when some of us were in high school and junior high, there was this TV show that was SO COOL. It was called Star Trek, and it was about the future. It had adventure and fun, and cool aliens, and a neat spaceship.

If you went into your local Git-n-Go or 7-11 or such, you might have found this book on the paperback spinner in September 1968.

This is the cover of the first edition.

Yes, new, fat (400+ pages) paperbacks with dozens of photo pages DID sell new for 95 cents.

This was, and is, a treasure-trove of fun and interesting facts and maybe-facts, with the advantage of presenting its information (100% accurate or not) while the whole idea was still new and fresh, before the overlay of decades of wishful thinking and mythology started to tint recollections.

One of my favorite memories of reading the book at age 12 is the discussion of network sensors' objections to the marvelous draperies that exposed acres of ripe womanflesh. It says something like, "NBC would allow a costume to reveal the TOP of a woman's breast almost down to the aurolae, but showing the underside of the breast was verboten. Perhaps they believes that moss grew under there."

This, the first printing, is so "fresh" that, in the back where you have episode titles & cast credits, the 3rd season isn't included, because it hadn't happened yet! Later editions, besides changing the cover, also included information for the 3rd season.

Byrne & Smallville, Be Damned!

Once there was a wonderful age, a wonderful time to be a wide-eyed innocent American child. A time when I was young enough to take at face value the strict right-and-wrong values shown me in comic books and TV shows featuring upright guys (and gals too) who strove mightily to protect my chance for an innocent childhood.

During this time, DC Comics had a character called Superboy, whose comic book featured "The Adventures of Superman When He Was a Boy!" And, it made sense. Because (although I didn't know it) way back in Superman's origin story we were told that even as an infant he had mighty muscles.

And yes, during this more innocent time, we weren't thinking about Super-Projectile Diarrhea, or what if Superbaby gave Ma Kent a BIG HUG. No, these were cute stories where things were resolved quickly, and we were shown a world where -- although evil existed -- other people were helpful and good-natured, unless their actions proved otherwise.

As Elliott S. Maggin put it so very wisely, "There is a right and a wrong in the universe, and most of the time the choice is not difficult to make." After all, most of the time our life decisions are not as complicated as those depicted in movies or on TV. The characters in The Unit may have to decide whether to let someone live or die, but for you and I, it's pretty easy to see the right and wrong in letting somebody in front of us merge onto the highway, or holding the door open for somebody.

These books are little, 20-page children's books that were published in 1980, when execs at DC were trying to extend the life of the Superboy character wo a further generation. However, by now most buyers were probably nostalgic types like me.

Remember, you have choices. Do right! Help other people!

3D Superman!

This oversized comic was published in 1953. My copy is missing the Super Glasses, so I have to use the Batman 3D Glasses I have from my Batman 3D comic.

You can decide for yourself (if you have some red-green 3D glasses kicking around) how effective the images are. For me, the ocean wave looming over Metropolis at the bottom of this page is pretty scary!

I understand that Curt Swan, premiere Superman artist, felt that this comic was whre he really began to hit his stride in drawing Big Blue.

Stories contained are

"The Man Who Stole the Sun!" -- art by Swan, the source of the page shown here;

"The Origin of Superman!" -- art by Wayne Boring;

"The Man Who Bossed Superman!" -- again with art by Curt Swan.

Also of note is that the inside covers of the book aren't covered with any ads or other material, they're just *gasp* empty and white.

Great Jazz-Classical Music

If you are amused or enraptured by Rimsky-Korsakov's Scheherazade, and you're not a *gasp* literalist, then you should know this music! If you look it up on Amazon, it was re-issued on CD in 1990 and credited to the "101 Strings."

But as you can see from this, the original cover, the performers are the Video All-Stars, a likely pseudonym for somebody or other. The performing group has lot of woodwinds and brass, players probably NOT featured in the "101 Strings" ensemble.

The subtitle for Scheherajazz is "...for Symphony Orchestra and Jazz Band." It's a wonderful take on the piece!

And as for the girl on the cover...va-va-VOOM!

An Interesting Book

This is a fun book. Read it with a grain of salt, and you too can "leap career obstacles in a single bound."

Well, maybe not, but Alan Axelrod does a pretty good job of doing what you might guess -- adapting aspects of the Superman mythos as traits to emulate at work.

Some of them are really important, like knowing right and wrong, and sticking to what's right. Others may be less so -- emulating Clark Kent's fashion sense as a newsman at WGBS in the 1970s or as Dean Cain in the 1990s.

But still, a fun book still to be found on closeout tables at a bookstore near you.

Plus, as an added bonus, you get a great example of the "Curt Swan fingers" on Perry White's right hand, as seen here!

Anybody Remember Reel Wild Cinema?

This show was on USA network around ten years ago, always in the overnight hours. This one-hour show featured host Sandra Bernhard talking trash about trash cinema.

Most times we'd have interviews with cult directors or stars.

The main wonderful feature of this show was the footage from various cult or Z-grade films and short subjects. They edited out the good stuff so we could enjoy only the BAD STUFF.

Lots o'fun, friends. Too bad you can't buy the series on DVD. Probably getting the rights to all the various properties would be not only expensive but super-complicated.

I'm gonna have to burn my dubbed-from-TV VHS copies onto DVDs pretty soon, before they deteriorate!

A Silly Earth Shoe Story

You know, it's amazing how easily some people, sometimes, will take something as believable, when it's really not. I'm not talking politics or religion, just a silly statement that -- with a little consideration -- would be laughed out of the ball park.

Example in point: About twenty years ago I had a pair of Earth Shoes (see yesterday's entry) that I wore when working the overnight shift at Coastal Mart (gas/convenience store). Once in a while, if I were in transit from stocking or sweeping to the cash register, a customer might notice my shoes and comment on them.

I'd always stop and turn my shoes sideways so that the customer could see that they were in fact, "genuine" Earth Shoes, and that the heel part really rode lower than the front of the foot.

"Y'see how the front of my foot is higher than my heel when I have these on?" I'd ask. Yup yup, the customer would reply.

"Well, you see, when I wear these Earth Shoes, if you measured my height, I'm actually shorter with them on than when I'm barefoot," I'd say. Hmmm, the customer would reply.

"See?" I'd say, turning the shoe again so they could see that the heel was (again) lower than the front. "You see how the heel is lower? That's why! The heel is lower than the front of my foot, so when I have these on I'm actually shorter than when I'm barefoot."

At this point, most customers would nod their heads and say, "Huh. Cool!"

And then I would try to keep a straight face until they left.

See you Monday, Super-Friends!

More Paper Ephemera

As you may deduce, this is a flyer handed out to announce to the world the arrival of Earth Shoes in Stillwater, Oklahoma. I'd bet the date is around 1975.

Earth Shoe ads were also plastered all over the back pages of Rolling Stone magazine. This was back in the days when, in Firestarter, Stephen King could legitimately suggest it as a news source that hadn't "sold out to the man." Sadly, nowadays, the Stone HAS indeed sold out, to a strange mix of Far Left editorials and complete Music-Establishment hype.

Anyway, Anne Kalsǿ would always tell us that when walking on the beach, she had noticed that in barefooted footprints, a person's heel was always pressed deeper into the sand. Voila and of course. That meant that shoes were supposed to MAKE your feet positioned the same way when walking!

So, as you can see, Earth Shoes raised the front of the foot so that it was higher than the heel. Results were supposed to be back comfort, increased energy, and a smug assurance that you were walking the way Nature intended you to walk.

In reality, the main of wearing Earth Shoes were a loud, clunky walk, and a 90-degree-angled shape callous at the back of each heel.

And no, the present line of "Earth Shoes" has no relation to the original, unless perhaps they paid Kalsǿ's heirs for the name.

Another Jigsaw Puzzle from 1983

As you can see, this puzzle features Superman standing off against three Phantom Zone baddies. Obviously they are NOT intended to be the three actors from Superman II.

No, these are Zod, Faora, and whats-his-name (I forgot) -- maybe Kru-El. Zod is the guy in front, wearing the lavender baseball cap . He wears that because he's bald underneath.

On the back side of the puzzle is a bright and cheerful dpiction of the Man of Steel appearing to welcome us to his ultra-secret Fortress of Solitude.

Despite earlier stories that the key to the Fortress was hollow (Batman hid inside it in "The Super-Key to Fort Superman!") or could be lifted by Earthly technology (Batman & Robin airlifted it with the Batplane once -- in the latter days of the Real Superman's tenure, before 1986, we were told that the key was made from material from a dwarf star, so heavy that only super-strength could budge it.

Superman Saves the Day

This right hyar (that's Okie-talk for "here") piece of Supermanica is a 1983 frame-tray puzzle. Also known as jigsaw puzzle.

Being just a kid toy, there's no artist listed. But I can tell you with fannish certainty that this art is based on Curt Swan pencils. You know, Curt Swan -- the greatest Superman artist of all time (so far).

The tip-off is in the details. The blond kid's face is pure 1970s Swan, also the parents' faces.

Curt's pencils were best treated in the 1960s, when his overstrokes and fuzzy dileneations were boiled down to a single inked line. The inker for this piece chose enough of the "wrong" lines that this Superman face doesn't look like "Swan standard."

Still, it's Curt's art, and it's Superman, and it's a kid coming home to his happy parents. What could be better for today?

Tales of Kryptonite

In the November 1964 issue of Superman, number 173, was a story that began an occasional series, "Tales of Kryptonite." Art was by not-my-favorite Al Plastino. The first instalment was of Green K. But the next chapter turned the Green Kryptonite Red, so that's why this post is about tales of ---- (insert your own color here) Kryptonite!

When you read the first issue of the new comic Superman Confidential, I hope you see the connection. Boy, was I thrilled when I understood what the first few pages were about. I thought I was the only one who remembered the good ol' "Tales of Kryptonite"!

Of course, as an eight-year-old or whatever, you didn't question the fact that, just by passing a piece of Green Kryptonite through a RED cosmic cloud, its properties would somehow be transformed and it would suddenly become RED!

That's kind of like painting a Ford a different color, and all of a sudden it's a Chrysler.

Of course, in the grand scheme of things, we have to just accept the kaleidiscopic presto-changeo of Kryptonite. Just like I have to accept my wife's word that the the universe would end if I left the closet doors open. Or maybe just mine?

More Movie Monsters Are on the Loose!

From the back cover of Superman 173 (November 1964), we have an ad for Aurora's second line of monster models. The first wave is featured in the background.

For several years prior to this, the original models sold for 98 cents. Which was perfect for a kid growing up in Oklahoma. 98 cents plus all applicable state and local taxes came to One Round Dollar!

And that wasn't too hard to come by, since usually on your way to the shopping center where the TG&Y was, it was easy to find enough glass bottles to feed the fix! You got a 2-cent deposit back from the grocery store for each pop bottle you turned in, and if you put that together with a 25-cent allowance or lawn-mowing money, you were sitting m-i-g-h-t-y f-i-n-e every few weeks or so, with another strange creature coming home to take up roost in your room!

Superman Vitamins, An Idea Whose Time has Came and Went

Here we have some of the Superman Vitamins promised yesterday. We have boxes and bottles, that is. Not the vitamins themselves.

If you still had a few of these, they would be 20 years old! If you munched 'em, you might find yourself eroding, like Rudy the Parasite in the one-shot "The Pernicious Parasite" Filmation Superman cartoon from the 1960s. In that tale, Superman figures out that the way to handle the Parasite is to let him get his fill of Super-energy, whereupon the Parasite...explodes!


Commments the Man of Steel, "He forgot that the body of a human could not contain the energy of a man from Krypton!"

Paper Ephemera

This is a fancy term for things that were designed to be of transient interest, and then discarded. Used to be, this applied to comics books too. Not any more!

However, other examples are promo advertising things like the things pictured here. The Wolfman Sticker came with Doritos, and is from roughly 1990.

The Superman III stickers from Ziploc are from 1982. As you can tell, these are not from that film at all, they are simply more poses of Reeve taken to promote the first Superman movie.

Tomorrow! Superman Vitamins Ahoy!

Curt Swan Gave Us the Finger(s)

Well, figuratively!

One of the trademarks of this great Super-Artist’s work was his occasionally quirky method of drawing characters’ hands with the middle finger and ring finger touching, and the index finger and pinky finger separated from this grouped pair.

The top three rows are from covers drawn in the 1960s.

The bottom three examples are from later on. Even though Curt had died earlier in the year, 1996’s Superman: The Wedding Album still was able to print some of his art, drawn from an earlier, unprinted tale. It was printed in the Wedding Album as a flashback. In this way Curt’s great artwork was able to appear in this landmark in comics history.

Speaking of landmarks in comics, the last two examples are from the Alan Moore tale printed in 1986, “Whatever Happened to the Man of Tomorrow?” which was printed in the “final” issues of Superman and Action. Alan Moore’s deep, resonating-with-history story was perfectly accompanied by Curt’s penciling, inked by George Perez in Superman 423 and by Kurt Schaffenberger in Action 583. The covers were both inked by another DC great, Murphy Anderson.
Ah, when the arts of adulthood are thus applied to memories from childhood, great and moving, even inspiring pieces of art can be created, and absorbed, by the young in spirit.

Growing Up with Halloween

AT LAST IT CAME. The gang had been waiting since the first of September, as the air turned chill for the first time, and mothers had joked that it would snow any day now, and the trees’ summer whispers had become autumn whistles, and the leaves were not quite green any more, and the sun had begun to come in through the school windows that faced south.

At last it came. They had been ready long before the grocery store had set out the pumpkins; and before the ten-cent store had stocked the masks, noisemakers, and little peanut-butter taffy twists wrapped in black and orange paper; and before the teachers had put up the bulletin board with black cats and jointed paper skeletons. At last it came.

Halloween.

Tommy sat at the supper table impatiently. The sun had not yet gone down; but it didn’t look as bright outside as it had a moment ago. The trees cast darker shadows. He squirmed a bit in his chair and kept his eyes on the window.
Mr. Gregson smiled as he seated himself across from Tommy. He said, “Don’t worry, Tommy. We’ll be through eating before it gets dark.”

“But, Dad,” Tommy exclaimed fervently, “I’ve got to get ready. And Mitchell and John Eric will be over in only fifteen minutes!”

“You’ll have plenty of time,” his father reassured him, “you’ll see.”

It was nothing short of torture to sit still through supper. More than once Tommy suspected his mother or father of spooning out more macaroni onto his plate when his head was turned looking fretfully out the window. But he survived the meal somehow, blurted “Excuse me, please,” and dashed for his room.

He threw himself onto the floor, stretched under his bed, and pulled out the much-wrinkled grocery sack that held his Gypsy costume. He dumped its contents unceremoniously onto the floor and rummaged through them. Eyepatch, torn pants, bright purple-dyed shirt, overvest, shoes from his dad half-packed with newspapers, rubber knife, a false moustache: It was all here.

Tommy put it all on, except for the eyepatch. He headed back down the hall to the living room and through it to the kitchen where his parents were cleaning up the dishes.

“Which eye should I cover up, Mom?”

“Just a second, dear,” Mrs. Gregson replied. “Oh -- Glenn, could you help Tommy?”

Mr. Gregson turned from putting up the plates, closed the cupboard door, and squatted down, wiping his hands on his towel. “Wow, you look good!” he said.
Then, “Let’s figure it out. Where’s your knife, Tom?”

“Here,” replied Tommy, pulling it from his belt. He offered it to his father.

“No, you hold on to it,” responded Mr. Gregson. He placed his hands on Tommy’s shoulders and gave his son a half-turn so that the boy faced the table at the other end of the kitchen. Dad pointed to one chair, still pushed back from the table. “Now, see that chair?” Tommy nodded. “Now just imagine,” Dad continued, “that that chair is a man who says you’re not the best violin-playin’ Gypsy that ever lived. So, you pull out your rubber knife and get ready to throw. Aim, aim carefully,” Dad half-whispered with his eyes on Tommy’s face, “and throw!”

Tommy threw, from the shoulder. The knife passed between two slats in the chair back, its rubber hilt striking the wall with a clear thwack! sound, and fell to the floor.

“Got him in the ribs,” Mr. Gregson commented.

“Glenn!” exclaimed Mom, properly disapproving.

“It’s all right, Suzanne. He missed the window by at least six inches.” Dad turned to make sure she knew he was joshing her. They exchanged a smile. He bent back down to Tommy and said, “Go get it and come on back.” The boy did. “Now do it again, but just aim, don’t throw it.” Tommy complied. “There,” said his father, “what are you doing right now?”

“Well, my hand’s in the air, I’m squinting my -- no, I’ve got -- my left eye’s closed!”

“Then,” summed up Dad, “that’s the eye you can cover up. You aim with your right eye, so you need it more, yes?”

“Yeah! Thanks, Dad!” Tommy turned to his mother. “Now, Mom, you said I could use some of your old pancake stuff --”

“Yes,” said Mom. “How dark a Gypsy do you want to be?”

“So no one can guess who I am!”

+ + + + + +

It was six o’clock. The dusk was growing deeper. Tommy sat on the couch, impatiently drumming his hands on the cushions, watching alternately the clock on the living-room wall and the window, through which he saw grey trees shaking their arms in the wind. His parents were sitting together in the big double rocker. His dad was reading the doubled-over newspaper and trying not to stick it into Mom’s face, while she looked through the TV Guide.

“And now, until the late news, have a good evening -- and a safe and Happy Halloween.”

The doorbell rang.

Tommy sprang up and ran to the door, yanking it open.

On the porch stood two figures, one taller and the other about the same size as Tommy. The taller was Count Dracula, replete with painted widow’s peak, pale skin, black cape, and sharp teeth. The other was in a Frankenstein’s Monster costume from Kresge’s.

The duo chorused, “Trick or treat!”

“Come on in, you guys, I’m just about ready.” Tommy held the door open for them, ushered them into the living room, and left them there as he headed for the bathroom.

“Hello, boys.” Mr Gregson smiled at them from the double rocker. “Let’s see. You’re John Eric,” he said, pointing to tall Dracula, and you’re Mitchell,” he said to short Frankenstein.

The monster giggled. “Nope, we fooled you,” said Dracula. “I’m Mitchell. He’s John Eric.”

“Really?” Tommy’s father scratched his head in puzzlement. “You hear that, Suzanne? I would’ve sworn ­--” and then he winked at Tommy’s mother.

At this point the bathroom door slammed open and Tommy emerged. “Ready to go?” he asked the pair.

“Yeah. G’night, Mr. and Mrs. Gregson.”

“Goodnight, boys.”

“See you later.”

Dad walked with them to the front door. “See you later, son. Don’t be out too late, and be careful.”

“Yeah, Dad.”

And they were gone. Mr. Gregson let the screen door close and flipped on the porch light.

Dracula, Vordak the Gypsy, and Frankenstein’s Monster turned right and began working their way down the hill in the early night darkness. There was just enough of a breeze to catch their empty Trick-or-Treat bags and billow them open behind them like parachutes. They ran to the first house down from the Gregsons’, the Rices’. Tommy-Vordak pressed the lighted doorbell twice.

The door opened, and before Mrs. Rice had appeared from behind it, the three called out, “Trick or Treat!”

“Hello! Hello! Just a minute!” Mrs. Rice turned and picked up a wicker basket from somewhere out of Tommy’s sight. She opened the screen door, held it open with her left hip, and dropped one white popcorn ball into each eagerly outstretched sack.

“Thanks! G’night!” the three boys called over their shoulders, already following the trail of more candy treasures, already hurrying down the driveway and down the slope to the Abrahamson’s house.

Just as they were leaving the Abrahamson’s porch a minute later, haloed by the porchlight over their shoulders, they met two more souls. One was in a plastic step-in astronaut’s costume; the other was a fairy princess; both were in Tommy’s class at school.

“Hi, Stevie,” said Mitchell-Dracula.

“Hi, Mitchell,” replied the astronaut.

“Hi, Tommy,” ventured the fairy princess.

“Oh -- hi, Jennifer,” responded Tommy-Vordak. Sheesh, why did she single him out to say hi to? Even if Stevie was her brother, she was a girl.

“Where ya been?” asked Stevie.

“Oh, we just started up at Tommy’s house,” answered Mitchell-Dracula.

“I got a popcorn ball,” asserted John-Eric Frankenstein proudly, holding open his sack. C’mon kid, grow up! Tommy thought, then felt pride that he and Mitchell were adult enough to put up with the little kid.

“That’s nice, John-Eric,” Stevie answered with similar indulgence. See you guys later!” He and Jennifer headed up the Abrahamson’s porch. Gee, Stevie was always a good sport about being stuck doing things with his twin sister. But, sheesh, now she’s --

“Bye, Tommy,” called Jennifer, singling him out for her attention.

“Bye, see ya later, g’night!”

The trio continued down the hill. They had just left the Dornmans’ house at the foot of the hill and were beginning to cross the street back uphill the other side when they were confronted with the bane of any nine-year-old’s existence: the big kids.

Dan Berry was a pirate with a black beard and big black boots. Gary Andrews was a clown with a red rubber nose and a greasepaint frown. Freddie Spencer was a Martian with green skin and wire antennae. Jimmy Trent was a bent-over hunchback with a pillow hump and mascara scars. They were all 12, except Dan was 13, and sometimes wore their ages like a license to kill.

“Arr, avast there, maties!” Dan spread his arms and his three companions stopped with him.

“Ahoy, maties! Who be ye?” he called to Dracula, Frankenstein’s monster, and Vordak the Gypsy.

“Hello, Dan,” said Mitchell. “Gee, you guys look neat.” This was a safe thing to say.

“Sure’n don’t we now? We’ve planned many a long week for this night, right me lads?”

Somehow, on this night of nights it did not seem at all out of place to see a clown, a Martian, and a hunchback raise their arms in salute and cry together, “Aye, Captain!”

“Well,” growled the placated captain, “ye’d best be behavin’ yerselfs tonight, or else ye’ll hear from Cap’n Kidd -- and ye’ll walk the plank! D’ you hear me, lads?” he snarled, leaning over towards the three younger friends.

Tommy wasn’t sure how much Dan was joking, or if he was. Ever since September, when he’d gone to junior high, Dan had been acting all grown up and only noticed the others with disdain.

Tommy looked at Mitchell, who was also unsure of what to do next. They nodded and said, more or less together, “Aye, aye, sir!”

“Good lads!” responded Cap’n Kidd. “Well, mates, let’s shove off!” The quartet headed on past them, and vanished into the shadows under the trees.

Trick or Treat!

Have I got a long-suffering, wonderful family, or what!

This is a NEWSpaper, Vincenzo! We print NEWS!!!!

Ah, yes. Carl Kolchak, iconoclast supreme.

I first met him on ABC-TV, on January 11, 1972. The Night Stalker was an ABC Movie of the Week, which were shown every Tuesday night. These were the original made-for-TV movies.

Doubtless after a week of heavy promotion, The Night Stalker aired. I wasn't the only adolescent who wanted to watch a movie about vampires on TV: after the ratings came in, The Night Stalker had posted as the Number One rated TV-movie of all time.

I next met ol' Kolchak through TAB, the Teen Age Book club, a month or so later. I saw that title in the catalog, and knew I had to have it. I also ordered the second "official" Kolkchak book, The Night Strangler, which promptly showed up as an ABC Movie of the Week about a year afer the first one.

The Night Strangler's January 16, 1973 showing was just as cool as the original's, with the added character roles played by Wally Cox (aka Underdog) and John Carradine (Dracula in House of Frankenstein, and loads of other horror roles) making it more fun.

As you can guess, these are the front and back covers of those paperbacks. You sure can't entice an adolescent male any better than with the salacious blurb on the back cover of Strangler: "A Belly Dance of Death." Hmmm.

Check back tomorrow, kiddies, on Halloween itself, where a piece of fictional prose will attempt to depict for you the magic of Trick-or-Treats and fun, safe, American Halloween in the 60s. 1960s that is.

Scary Monster from the Past

Anybody remember having to read Beowulf in English class? For some of us, it wasn't a *groan* chore. We saw behind the forced reading to find the adventure.

Dude, Beowulf went swimming with sea monsters! As an old fart, he killed a dragon! And in the main part of this poem, he plays dead while a giant bigfoot-type monster (named Grendel) prowls through the room, and then jumps up and wrestles the beast, yanking its arm out of the socket! Then he follows the trail of blood underwater to the hellhole Grendel came from, and fights the critter's even meaner mom!

First is the paperback cover of John Gardner's Grendel, which tells the Beowulf tale (part anyway) from the monster's point of view, in first person.

It made a big impression on me in high school, as evidenced by this relic from the past -- a version of the cover that I drew in 11th-grade art class.

See you tomorrow in our countdown to Halloween with some characters created by Jeff Rice (that's a hint) that were an inspoiration for a TV show last season (another hint).