The Library

My wife put down the evening paper and stared at me.

"I just don't understand your generation," she sighed..,

"My generation?" I asked, somewhat puzzled. "We're about the same age you know, Honey. Don't you mean our generation?"

"No, I mean your generation," she insisted.. "The one that read comic books."

I began to squirm.

"I just can't see what, all the fuss is about," she went on. "Here's an article that says grown men are eager to buy comic books from the nineteen thirties and forties that they'll pay as much as a hundred dollars for one of them."

"Well, that's only... " I started to answer, but she cut me off.

"Everywhere you turn there's something about your silly old golden age of comics. The New York Times has had at least four pieces on it in the last year or so. And then people actually waited in line at theatres to pay good money to see all fifteen episodes of an old Batman and Robin serial. At one sitting too! Now we have Batman on. television... not to mention Batgirl."

"But dear... "

"And I saw how much you paid for that Jules Feiffer book on The Great Comic Book Heroes. Almost ten dollars, that's how much!"

"The Times reviewer liked it."

"That doesn't matter, you would have bought it anyway. What's more, I know you have some ancient comic books in that box upstairs. Why don't you sell one of them for a hundred dollars so we can get a new rug for the dining room! "

"Dear, I use those books in my lectures in mass communication. Today's college students wonder what the old comics looked like."

"Phooey! Your generation is simply acting foolishly about those ridiculous super-heroes. Why don't you. admit it?"

I admitted it.

"One more thing," she pressed on. "Twenty-five years from now will our boys be acting just as absurdly as their father? What great big super-heroes are they going to make a fuss over?"

Now I sensed that I was to make a reply. I began in my best professional manner:

"You are asking me to make a prediction about tomorrow's nostalgia, aren't you. I'm not sure that I can."

"Try," she said acidly.

"All right," I replied. "Let me take the first question. I doubt that in the 1990s there'll be as much retrospective interest in the comic book as there is today."

"Oh?" my wife said, undoubtedly relieved, that her boys would be spared the foibles of their father.

"Yes," I went on. "Things are a little different now. Today's kids grow up with comic books and super-heroes. Yesterday's saw them come into being."

For a moment my wife seemed stunned by the thought that there has not always been a Superman.

"At the beginning of 1938," I pointed out, "there were no comic books as we think of them today. Just some bound reprints of Sunday funnies and a new venture into original crime features called Detective Coimics. Then, in that year in which everyone was worrying about a Munich crisis --- and a radio invasion from Mars --- the Man of Steel sprang forth in long underwear and cape to meet the challenge. The corner magazine rack would not be the same again.

"Almost immediately Superman was the talk of the neighborhood gangs. When Batman appeared, in 1939, there was no question that something special had been created in the way of entertainment for boys. One after another the super-heroes marched forth to battle, and to a place in today's nostalgia. They stand as reminders of former innocence, of a time in which youngsters discovered something new and for themselves alone. Without that excitement of discovery, today's kids might look back at their old comic magazines in a less enraptured manner."

"Let us hope so," said my wife,

"Tne War played its part too, " I added, warming to my lecture. "It took away most of the old comic books., They were sacrificed in the collections of scrap materials. Tied in tiny bundles, the paper dwelling places of Submariner and The Crimson Avenger were sent off to do their part in the war efforts Very few of them escaped the call to woodpulp glory, Those that did became lost treasures, forgotten for a time --- by those who were busy growing up.

"And so, tucked away in attics or closets around the country, the well thumbed volumes increased in value --- both commercial and sentimental --- each year. Perhaps if they had been more accessible during that lost period, as old movies were on TV, they might have acquired less of the aura of the distantly remembered."

"Perhaps," said the better half, already losing interest in the subject as she does when I become too much the pedant.

It was just as well. I wasn't prepared to answer her other question --- about the nature of the present day super-heroes. For, to be honest, as well as I remembered the old comic books, I didn't know much about the new ones.

I deftly changed the subject by asking if the thump I heard upstairs was the baby falling out of bed. Then I vowed to learn something about the comic books of the 1960s.

There is no reason to go into my method of attack --- from visits to slightly-used-magazine stores and discreet peeking over the shoulders of youthful acquaintances, to frank and open purchase of new editions at the local card shoppe. This last manner of obtaining my research materials was by far the most difficult, for it carried with it the frigid, and sometimes pitying, stares of the little old ladies behind the counter.

Yet at length my task was accomplished. I knew enough about the comic books of the 1960s to carry on a reasonable discussion with the twelve year old down the street. And I had discovered that things within the shiny covers of today's publications are not entirely as they were when Superman, Batman, and friends first blazed across the horizon. The heroes that middle-aged males will recall with some fondness twenty-five years from now might not be anything like the figures so prominent in today's nostalgia or pop art.

In the first place, they might not be as pretty. More and more of the new characters are what comic book writers call mutants. In less sympathetic discourse they would be called freaks. It would be difficult for the average person not to so regard the hulks, things, ice-men, rubber-men, iron-men, half-men, and beast-men that publishers are dreaming up to outdo each other in the bizarre.

These creatures, bear in mind, are the good guys. Some of them, unable to resume normal appearance at the end of a caper, are tragic figures who cannot be accepted in any ordinary community. They must roam the earth like Frankenstein's monster, occasionally losing patience and smashing the nearest Rolls Royce or atomic generator. No wonder editors find it hard to decide whether a few of their creations are heroes or villains.

As a matter of fact, there are few of the comfortable old black and white distinctions in today's comics. While super-heroes, always have had Achilles heels of a physical nature, they now have noticeable flaws of character too. It may be fairer to say that their psyches are normal, whatever their physical strengths and skills.

When an ultraswift member of a group called The Avengers, Pietro by name, was confronted recently by a giant minotaur, he knew exactly how to use his super-speed. He turned tail and ran. Safe in the arms of his waiting colleagues he cried, "Tell me I was dreaming! Say I imagine it! It can't be real! Nothing so horrible can exist!"

An oldtime comic book reader can only say, "Tsk, tsk." The task of calming poor Pietro fell to The Avengers' leader, Captain America, who himself is given to brooding about his ability to lead the group, And not without reason. The good Captain is a reanimated relic of World War II days whom the younger heroes call "Old Folks." His is an unending struggle to keep his company in action, and on speaking terms with each other. Captain A was realistic enough not to chastise Pietro for retreating to summon assistance. Yet, deep down inside, he must have been thinking that the speedster's counterpart of the 1940s, The Flash, would have lit into the Bogeyman without batting an eye.

The Flash, bless him, was accustomed to working alone. He needed no associates to fall back upon. In contrast, the heroes of the 1960s operate in groups as a rule, encountering all the problems that come from group relationships. Sometimes they spend as much time quibbling as they do fighting evil. Their disputes may be of a "My super-powers are better than yours" nature, or they may be little more than name-calling.

Not long ago in an episode of The Doom Patrol a character known as Robotrnan, disgusted at the way a case was progressing, turned on his partner, Negative Man. "It's your fault, Gauze-Face," he snarled. "You blew it!" Did Neggie take this reprimand in unflinching silence? Not on your life. He cracked his associate on the head with a vase of roses.

Setbacks come often to today's super-heroes. The Fantastic Four lost their offices for non-payment of rent. And things went so badly for one peerless group a short while back the city council issued a court order calling for them to disband. No wonder. In vain pursuit of a villainess named, the Enchantress, they had demolished, among other things, a deserted tenement and an entire subway train.

In the old days costumed crime fighters never worried about official approval of their derring-do. Indeed, they frequently found it necessary to elude the police in order to accomplish their purposes. Now the long underwear boys work in cooperation with legal officials, who summon them when tough cases crop up. Hence, it was perfectly natural for one of the gallants to respond to the demand for disbandment by saying, "We've no other choice. We cannot defy a legal court order."

Not only are the paladins of the 1960s most respectful of legal process, they are concerned, about public image. During the aforementioned difficulty with the Enchantress, a female member of the crimesmashing team moaned, "This is terrible! The press is calling us menaces --- saying we should be arrested! The public is beginning to think of us as irresponsible troublemakers!" What would David Riesman think of that lamentation?

Yet, if today's avengers are worried about image and legal sanction, they are not impressed by sacred cows. When an apprentice member of a cape and cowl team was led into the group's laboratory --- a vast chamber "fitted with every conceivable electronic device" --- he was not awed.. "What are we supposed to do," he asked, "gasp in amazement? I've seen more impressive sights in Disneyland."

Perhaps some of the skepticism in today's comic magazines derives from the youth of many of the costumed figures. Although boy assistants have been around since Batman's Robin appeared in 1940, we have teenage principals now. In fact, The Amazing Spider-Man, and The X-Men are not full grown males at all. They're high schoolers. Youthful readers must find it easy to identify with jaunty young Galahads who go into action shouting, "Why are we procrastinating? We've heard the clarion call to battle. Let us sally forth and slay some dragons!" Once upon a time all comic book heroes were that plucky. Today such braggadocio is found primarily in the younger battlers. Mature avengers are more circumspect.

But what about those Devil-may-care heroes of old? Aren't they to be found in new comics? Well, yes and no. In the late forties and early fifties the old warriors disappeared. Television, horror comics, and a few other things dealt them fatal wounds. Even the mighty Captain Marvel uttered his last Shazam and went the way of Spy Smasher, The Masked Marvel, Starman, Doctor Fate, The Hour Man, Hawkman, Dr. Mid-nite, and the original Flash and Green Lantern. Their passing went unnoticed by those now engulfed in the wave of nostalgia for the great heroes of yesterday. Early comic hook fans were by that time too old to read the magazines and too young to look back upon them fondly.

Now, with super-heroes coming to the fore again, manv of the old battlers are being revived --- as items of historical interest. They come complete with footnotes on their dates of origin. Surprisingly, the youngsters are most respectful of the idols their dads once held near and dear. Still, they may prefer to develop their own nostalgia, thank you.

There are two heroes who have hung on since the 1930s: Superman and Batman. The latter, now a Low Camp Figure, has been sadly used in his television show, as has his youthful helper. At the same time, relatively unadulterated comic book adventures continue to please the kids, who have their own ideas of what is In and Out and know nothing of Camp. The Dynamic Duo well may be among things pleasantly recalled, in the 1990s, whatever their fate at the hands of those who decree what is In, Out, High, Low, and Middle.

Superman is another matter. National Comics claims that his book is the "World's Best-Selling Comics Magazine." Undoubtedly it is. And, in a way, that may be the Man of Steel's only flaw. He is so good, so big, so perfect that youngsters enjoy read.ing his exploits, but do not take him to their hearts as they do other heroes. It is difficult to tuck an institution into that tiny corner that will become reminiscence.

Perhaps a desire to make Superman appear more human has induced his publisher to put him into some pretty silly situations lately. On one cover he is tossed through the air by a young lady in a sarong as he exclaims, "For the first time in my life, I've been beaten by a girl!" On another the once stolid strongman dances the Krypton Crawl (Yah, Yah, Yah) to the accompaniment of some red-haired Beatle-types.

Superman, moreover, is the victim of too many "imaginary" stories --- not to be confused with "real" stories. The conventional plot devices exhausted, the great adventurer's authors have moved to the hypothetical: "If Superman Had Turned to Crime," "If Superman Couldn't Save the World," "If Superman Retired." Periodically the Man of Steel is involved in fanciful matrimony: "The Imaginary Marriage of Lois Lane and Superman," "The Imaginary Marriage of Lana Lang and Superman," "Superman's First Wife." Other journeys into the other life of Superman have been "Clark Kent's First Haircut," "Superbaby in Scotland Yard," and "The Amazing Confession of Super-Perry White." Not too long ago even the late President Kennedy appeared in an adventure, disguised as Clark Kent!

But don't think readers are blissfully acceptant of everything that goes on within the glossy covers. Comic magazines contain letters to editors now. Pleased or displeased purchasers comment on everything from art design to scientific accuracy. Editors must answer barbs without alienating the reader or destroying the dramatic illusion. Particularly facile in this are the people of the Marvel Group, the greatest threat to National in the adventure market. Marvel is turning out what readers want right now and its circulation figures must be encouraging to those watching the store. Devotees of this company's dozen or so magazines eagerly enlist in the Merry Marvel Marching Society (dues $1.00). More money comes in for such things as T-shirts with florid images of Marvel's heroes emblazoned on the front. Fifteen dollars will buy all eleven of the shirts that are "so in that even the few remaining 'Brand Echh' fans have been ordering them like crazy." (The garments come in adult sizes too, which may suggest that Marvel's publications are, as their editors claim, "America's most erudite comic hooks.") Most of the Marvel characters, by the way, spring from the mind of one writer, Stan Lee. Currently his is the hottest typewriter in comicbookland.

Looking at the creations of Mr. Lee and rival writers collectively, we can see that, as in the 1940s, most of the heroes are costumed figures possessing supernatural strength or powers. Batman was, and is, an exception. He has held his own with his more gifted brethren through Spartan training, cunning, and gadgetry. Of the few current day counterparts of Batman, the most likely to succeed, is Daredevil, who possesses the "skill of a trained acrobat" and the "strength of a jungle stalker" although he is completely blind. This character receives both the admiration and sympathy of his readers. Heightening the interest is a love affair that so far has not ripened because of the hero's blindness. Daredevil's triumphs despite his handicap are more impressive than the relatively easy victories of the supermen.

The supermen, of course, predominate and we might look at a few of the more interesting ones. The original specimen possessed his immense power because he came from another planet. Few imitators employed this gambit, copyright restrictions being what they are. It was much simpler for publishers to produce supermen by artificial means. They went into the laboratory and came out with a host of characters chock full of ersatz powers, ranging from enormous strength to unbelievable speed.

The new crop of test tube powerhouses may be represented best by Iron Man, another hero with a handicap. He is Anthony Stark, "a millionaire bachelor as much at home in a laboratory as in high society." On a scientific mission, to Viet Nam a piece of shrapnel was lodged so near his heart that he had to construct an electronic body to keep it beating. The therapy gave him great strength. In a transistorized costume more streamlined than the metal shell he first devised, Iron Man fights evildoers, especially titanium men, wherever they may he found. He knows, however, that he cannot set aside the source of his power and be like other men without facing almost certain death.

When scientific know-how is at a minimum, super-heroes can be produced by mere chance. In the old days this was the genesis of Captain Marvel and The Green Lantern. A current beneficiary of the serendipity method is The Mighty Thor, just a sickly scientist limping through Europe with the aid of a cane until some stone men from another planet started chasing him. By a remarkable stroke of luck he fled into a cave whose rear exit was blocked by a boulder he could not move, even with the aid of a gnarled stick. But when in disgust and despair he struck the stick against the rock, Aha! It turned out to be not a stick at all but the Hammer of Thor. Feeble Dr. Don Blake found himself ultra-strong and looking like a character in "Gotterdamrerung." Now to attain his power at any time he simply raps the stick firmly on the ground. Just once. Two raps bring rain and snow that grow into a raging tornado. This comic book Siegfried is no one to fool with.

Another new superman-by-chance is The Amazing Spider-Man, a high school science whiz who acquired his strength and agility by being bitten by a radioactive spider. Now the traditional super-hero when so blessed would immediately rush to the aid of miscellaneous oppressed souls. Peter Parker took a different course. Bitter at being rejected by the high school crowd, he fashioned, a fancy costume and flaunted his skills on a television show. When a fleeing burglar raced by, Parker ignored his obvious duty as a superman. Only when the burglar he failed to stop killed his beloved uncle did Peter Parker become an avenger --- albeit one with an enormous inferiority complex and a somewhat mercenary character. The something less than heroic nature of Spider-Man probably contributes to his popularity with young readers. They can cheer a teenager turned superman and at the same time know that he is not so perfect that he never makes a mistake.

An even more complex human powerplant is The Incredible Hulk. This half man, half monster once was Dr. Bruce Banner, inventor of the Gamma Bomb. Poor chap, he picked up a dose of something-or-other when he raced into a nuclear test to save a careless teenager. In a few hours he was transformed into a colossus the Green Bay Packers could use at offensive tackle.

The Hulk seems to spend a lot of his time inside a mountain after being pursued there by a ragtag army unit that must have been left over from King Kong. When not engaged in apparently endless scuffles, he is alternately wooed by forces of good and evil, both of whom would like to have him on their side, shabby clothes and all. Marvel's "popular roving hero-villain" may simply sign with the scout offering the biggest bonus.

For those who like their bizarre heroes less complicated, Marvel offers The X-Men, five healthy mutants who are clearly on the side of the law. Like several other comic book groups, they are led by a brilliant, but crippled scientist, in this case Dr. Charles Xavier, a mutant himself. The X-Men have the resources to cope with almost any situation. Warren Worthington III, The Angel, has the wings of, while Scott Murdock, Cyclops, can send out disintegrator beams from his eyes. Pretty Marvel Girl's telekinetic powers allow her to rearrange a room in a flash, the dream of all housewives. When the services of a walking snowball be needed, there is Bobby, The Iceman, And last and least spectacular of the five is Hank McCoy, alias The Beast, whose forte is hopping around barefoot,

Not all comic book mutants are as easygoing as the X-Men (or as natty as The Mighty Crusaders, super-heroes 1940s style). Beast Boy, a werewolf deluxe who can transform himself into any animal, has been called "the most irritating combination of juvenile guts and ego in the world." Perhaps this is because in his natural state he is green from head to toe. He is a freak and is sadly aware of it. Another who smarts under the yoke of a hideous appearance is The Everlovin' Thing. Yet he is a Hulk with a pleasant disposition, good sport enough to cover his scaly hide with an overcoat and go department store shopping with his girl friend.

Another chap who doesn't let his appearance halt his social life is Metamorpho. He can do everything the other mutants can and more. In a single story National Comics' "amazing chemical accident" changed all or part of himself into a magnesium auto lift, a giant clown balloon, a copper grid, a cobalt hammer, a unicycle, a magnesium hammer, an observation balloon, an iron shock absorber, a manganese missile, a two level suspension bridge, a cobalt projectile, and a plain old chafing dish.

Like The Thing and The Hulk, Metamorpho would just as soon give up his special talent --- and the gruesome physical form that goes with it --- and go back to being Rex Mason. His extra incentive is Sapphire Stagg, a female more alluring than most who are found in books approved by the Comics Code Authority. Sapphire would take The Element Man just as he is, but Mason knows he would be a truly unstable husband and insists they wait for a return to normalcy. His attitude is both charitable and realistic, for at the end of one adventure what was left of him was being gathered in a vacuum cleaner by Sapphire's scientist father. If a restoration job didn't work out, mark the end of one super-hero.

In the old days there were always a few mystics around in comic books. They're appearing again, particularly in the former horror comics, whose fortunes went down hill with the code. Dr. Strange and Prince Ra-Man are two of the modern day Mandrakes, complete with mustaches and morning suits. Noman --- a wizard who favors the long underwear for his operations --- is a member of the T.H.U.N.D.E.R. Agents, His human brain survives in an android body.

Nemesis, another mystic, is noteworthy in that he died on page five of his first episode. He is a currently practicing super-hero only through the generosity of "the latest in the line of grim reapers." This most unlikely heavenly gatekeeper once owned a "nice little night spot outside Chicago." Then the Mafia put an end to it and to him. With this kind of background he naturally is sympathetic when the late Steve Flint, another Mafia victim, asks to return to Earth as Nemesis to give the evil organization a few licks.

Nemesis is not the only dead hero of the comic book. Nukla and Captain Atom hardly could be called alive after having been atomized during test flights. It's hard to explain their present condition except in the words of Matthew Gibbs (Nukla): "Cogito, ergo sum. I think! Therefore I must exist, therefore --- I am!" Whatever they are, the two heroes with the debt to Descartes can do almost anything. They can even kiss girls. When in human, form, Nukla is fastidious in his attire. He likes "a silk and mohair suit and silk shirt with matching accessories." Comic book writers read their lan Fleming too...

The ultimate non-living heroes are robots. National has introduced one called Automan, "the most outstanding graduate of Robot Tech, a brand new institution of higher learning for computer men!" He is a hero without blemish because he is programed that way, a modern day equivalent of the guileless Westerner who once rode the Hollywood range.

Much more fun are National's other robots, the Metal Men. Dr. Will Magnus created them each from a different metal. But he has the worst kind of time convincing his collection of nuts and bolts that they're not human. In fact, with Tina, the shapely platinium girl, young Dr. Magnus seems to be losing the battle. She's in love with her Pygmalion. And no scientific explanation can discourage a female when in her responsimeter she knows she's right. Magnus is becoming so involved with his shiny Galatea that his normal lovelife is suffering. The fellow needs help. Before long we may see the birth of a new champion called Superpsychiatrist --- it will happen sooner or later by the look of things.

But should, we call forth heroes yet unborn? Those already with us are sufficient for any purpose. Certainly they are the only ones who matter to tomorrow's lawyers, and businessmen, and college professors, who even now are selecting images of pen and colored ink that one day will be treasured reminders of carefree youth, reminders of a time in which older people worried about transit strikes and steel prices and other Earth-centered problems that will seem charmingly innocent when man has reached the moon and all space beckons.

If it appears that the shrines of memory will be filled, by beings who are somewhat inelegant and, perhaps, too quarrelsome, or insecure, or introspective, let us not pass judgment. We have our own childhood fancies to explain --- from the dime novel and The Perils of Pauline to the singing cowboy and Captain Midnight.

Are we prepared to say that the milieu of those protagonists of yore was more realistic than that of today's super-heroes? Were the feats of Buffalo Bill and Deadwood Dick more credible than those of Iron Man --- whose great power at least is explained as coming from science? And just as important; were yesterday's crusaders, dauntless as they were, very interesting as human beings? How many of these models of Victorian probity had the dimensions of character found in a Spider-Man or Daredevil?

It just might be that the kids of today require much less of their idols than we did of ours. They're willing to take them warts and all. Maybe that's a sign of progress. The icon makers of the Marvel group could in their peculiar way be following the advice of John Ruskin:

One more thing. If you fear that the comic book heroes do not offer the youngsters enough in the way of wish fulfillment, do not feel that they have no way to turn. They have only to look over their elders' shoulders at the character the older generation will someday have to explain. Fear not that the day of the Gargantuan daydream has totally passed. Agent 007, the spy who reached the White House, is fantasy figure enough for us all.