Four Color Heroes
I got hooked on comic books at a young age. My father is to blame for that.
Unlike many of his peers, he didn't throw away (or have thrown away) all of his old comic books. There weren't many, just a couple dozen issues of Detective Comics, Superman, Batman and a handful of other random titles. Most of them were DC comics, there were only (if I remember correctly) four Marvel comics in the bunch (Amazing Spider-man, two issues of Tales to Astonish and Iron Man). Some issues were in better condition than others--and some stories were better crafted than others--but these Silver Age treasures hooked me from the first time I was allowed to pick them up.
Since it was the early 1980s, the Golden and Silver Ages of comics were long gone and a new age of comics was just taking off. Marvel was just reaching the peak of it's game and new comics were being created every month.
You could also find a good variety just about anywhere.
In those early years, I didn't pick up any DC comics. They were all so different from what I had read in my father's collection that they didn't jump out at me. Marvel, on the other hand, had just released G.I. Joe. I started collecting that sporadically at issue #6 and by the time I picked up issue #11, I was a loyal fan.
Of course, it helped there was a cartoon and toys that soon followed, but it was really the comic that got me started.
From there it was on to Transformers, which I'm proud to say I started right with issue #1 of the limited series. Needless to say, I was thrilled when they expanded that limited series into a regular book--and did it without losing quality. (And the quality of the comic, I must point out, was better than you could find in the cartoon--at least until the movie came out.)
Those two titles were my main diet for a year or so. Then I started with Marvel's bread and butter--the superhero comics.
Before long, my list of monthly purchases included Amazing Spider-Man, Spectacular Spider-Man, Web of Spider-Man, Avengers, West Coast Avengers (later re-titled Avengers: West Coast), Uncanny X-Men, X-Factor, New Mutants, Iron Man and Captain America.
Needless to say, it wasn't long before my collection dwarfed the one small box that held my father's old books.
Over the next fifteen years there were many more titles I collected, mostly from Marvel. I liked the continuity their universe held to. Browsing through issues of the then current DC comic, I saw too many disconnects from the stories and characters I had become familiar with through the Silver Age comics. Marvel, on the other hand, actually had references to the few Silver Age mags my father had kept around.
That was my first lesson from comics: Continuity is king. This is a lesson I'd later apply to my writing, but more importantly, to my life. There needs to be some sort of matching between actions, reactions and consequences. I saw this play out every week in the comics where something a character had done 20 issues ago could re-surface and cause him problems or help him save the day.
There were many other lessons that I can trace directly back to these four color heroes of my youth.
Spider-Man not only helped my build my vocabulary (he was, by far, the most loquacious hero swinging through Manhattan--and a wise-ass college student, to boot!) but taught me one of the greatest lessons anyone can ever learn (and that everyone should): With great power comes great responsibility.
If more people lived by those words, we would all be better off.
A lesson started when I picked up my first issues of G.I. Joe was firmly cemented once I was regularly reading Captain America (who is still my all-time favorite hero). From those very military-themed comics, I learned about the power of patriotism and how it can both supplement and take away from idealism. I learned that standing up for what is right is more difficult and more important than simply following orders.
From the tales of the Avengers it became clear that you never know when an enemy can become an ally or what may drive a friend to turn on you. More importantly, it showed that a cohesive group is greater than the sum of its parts.
Nowhere was diversity more explored than in the pages of the various mutant books, commonly called "the X-books" (Uncanny X-Men, X-Factor, New Mutants, etc.). Here I saw my first glimpses of racism and triumph over social oppression. Since I missed out on most of the civil rights movement, the battle for equality and understanding between mutants and normal humans educated me well enough to understand how important such equality is. I also learned from these books that everyone, no matter how different they may be, has some ability that can help others.
There were many other lessons from many other books, some more important in the scheme of things than others. What is important is that they were there. In the stories.
I know now that while I was reading these comics that there were more out there that I had never heard of at the time. Even as Marvel's "iron-clad" continuity was sucked away by marketing decisions and artists with egos larger than their characters' lives, I was missing out on what are now considered seminal works of illustrated masterpiece (like Watchmen and DC's Vertigo line)
The books I read were mythology, plain and simple. The deeds and lives of the characters often matched closely with the classic literature that I was never taught in school. They gave me a point of view of how life should be lived--and how it shouldn't be lived--that helped me make it through my toughest times growing up.
No matter how bad things got, I could always lose myself in something bigger and more interesting than my own life. Yet even those mythic, bombastic, adventure-filled stories were based solidly in character. That character was exhibited by individuals with history, with emotions, with real problems that I could relate to. No, I didn't shoot laser beams out of my eyes if I didn't wear my ruby-crystal sunglasses--but I couldn't see a darn thing without my glasses on. No, I wasn't blue and furry--but I did feel like an outcast in the society of my peers.
They were my heroes then. More so than any real people I've ever known.
And, as long as I can go back and revisit those now meticulously bagged old issues, my heroes will never let me down.
Unlike many of his peers, he didn't throw away (or have thrown away) all of his old comic books. There weren't many, just a couple dozen issues of Detective Comics, Superman, Batman and a handful of other random titles. Most of them were DC comics, there were only (if I remember correctly) four Marvel comics in the bunch (Amazing Spider-man, two issues of Tales to Astonish and Iron Man). Some issues were in better condition than others--and some stories were better crafted than others--but these Silver Age treasures hooked me from the first time I was allowed to pick them up.
Since it was the early 1980s, the Golden and Silver Ages of comics were long gone and a new age of comics was just taking off. Marvel was just reaching the peak of it's game and new comics were being created every month.
You could also find a good variety just about anywhere.
In those early years, I didn't pick up any DC comics. They were all so different from what I had read in my father's collection that they didn't jump out at me. Marvel, on the other hand, had just released G.I. Joe. I started collecting that sporadically at issue #6 and by the time I picked up issue #11, I was a loyal fan.
Of course, it helped there was a cartoon and toys that soon followed, but it was really the comic that got me started.
From there it was on to Transformers, which I'm proud to say I started right with issue #1 of the limited series. Needless to say, I was thrilled when they expanded that limited series into a regular book--and did it without losing quality. (And the quality of the comic, I must point out, was better than you could find in the cartoon--at least until the movie came out.)
Those two titles were my main diet for a year or so. Then I started with Marvel's bread and butter--the superhero comics.
Before long, my list of monthly purchases included Amazing Spider-Man, Spectacular Spider-Man, Web of Spider-Man, Avengers, West Coast Avengers (later re-titled Avengers: West Coast), Uncanny X-Men, X-Factor, New Mutants, Iron Man and Captain America.
Needless to say, it wasn't long before my collection dwarfed the one small box that held my father's old books.
Over the next fifteen years there were many more titles I collected, mostly from Marvel. I liked the continuity their universe held to. Browsing through issues of the then current DC comic, I saw too many disconnects from the stories and characters I had become familiar with through the Silver Age comics. Marvel, on the other hand, actually had references to the few Silver Age mags my father had kept around.
That was my first lesson from comics: Continuity is king. This is a lesson I'd later apply to my writing, but more importantly, to my life. There needs to be some sort of matching between actions, reactions and consequences. I saw this play out every week in the comics where something a character had done 20 issues ago could re-surface and cause him problems or help him save the day.
There were many other lessons that I can trace directly back to these four color heroes of my youth.
Spider-Man not only helped my build my vocabulary (he was, by far, the most loquacious hero swinging through Manhattan--and a wise-ass college student, to boot!) but taught me one of the greatest lessons anyone can ever learn (and that everyone should): With great power comes great responsibility.
If more people lived by those words, we would all be better off.
A lesson started when I picked up my first issues of G.I. Joe was firmly cemented once I was regularly reading Captain America (who is still my all-time favorite hero). From those very military-themed comics, I learned about the power of patriotism and how it can both supplement and take away from idealism. I learned that standing up for what is right is more difficult and more important than simply following orders.
From the tales of the Avengers it became clear that you never know when an enemy can become an ally or what may drive a friend to turn on you. More importantly, it showed that a cohesive group is greater than the sum of its parts.
Nowhere was diversity more explored than in the pages of the various mutant books, commonly called "the X-books" (Uncanny X-Men, X-Factor, New Mutants, etc.). Here I saw my first glimpses of racism and triumph over social oppression. Since I missed out on most of the civil rights movement, the battle for equality and understanding between mutants and normal humans educated me well enough to understand how important such equality is. I also learned from these books that everyone, no matter how different they may be, has some ability that can help others.
There were many other lessons from many other books, some more important in the scheme of things than others. What is important is that they were there. In the stories.
I know now that while I was reading these comics that there were more out there that I had never heard of at the time. Even as Marvel's "iron-clad" continuity was sucked away by marketing decisions and artists with egos larger than their characters' lives, I was missing out on what are now considered seminal works of illustrated masterpiece (like Watchmen and DC's Vertigo line)
The books I read were mythology, plain and simple. The deeds and lives of the characters often matched closely with the classic literature that I was never taught in school. They gave me a point of view of how life should be lived--and how it shouldn't be lived--that helped me make it through my toughest times growing up.
No matter how bad things got, I could always lose myself in something bigger and more interesting than my own life. Yet even those mythic, bombastic, adventure-filled stories were based solidly in character. That character was exhibited by individuals with history, with emotions, with real problems that I could relate to. No, I didn't shoot laser beams out of my eyes if I didn't wear my ruby-crystal sunglasses--but I couldn't see a darn thing without my glasses on. No, I wasn't blue and furry--but I did feel like an outcast in the society of my peers.
They were my heroes then. More so than any real people I've ever known.
And, as long as I can go back and revisit those now meticulously bagged old issues, my heroes will never let me down.