My Misspent Youth — Black Panther by Jack Kirby

I read a lot of comic books as a kid. This series of posts is about the comics I read, and, occasionally, the comics that I should have read.

Well before there was a comic book industry press eager to cover every instance of a noted creator signing up to work with one publisher or another, there was only person whose place on the payroll was notable enough to be an event in and of itself. And he was the King.

Artist Jack Kirby effectively co-created the Marvel Universe, and it’s reasonable to infer that the loftiest, boldest inventions came straight out of his pencil. When, fed up with his treatment, he left Marvel to join the distinguished competition, it was an event touted with breathless excitement in full-page ads. And when Kirby had his House of Ideas homecoming, it was similarly cause for fevered promotional celebration.

Reflecting his rampant, restless creativity, Kirby largely devoted himself to crazy new concepts, even if he had to shoehorn them into titles based on licensed material. There were exceptions, including a return to Captain America, a character he’d helped create over thirty years earlier. Because of my abiding affection for the Fantastic Four — and Kirby’s legendary, transformative original run with the characters — nothing from the King’s nineteen-seventies Marvel stretch so quickly stirs up for joy for me than his tenure on Black Panther, a series he launched with a first issue cover dated January 1977.

Black Panther 001-004

Kirby was the co-creator on Fantastic Four #52, published in 1966, which introduced Black Panther and much of the lore around the character, including the African nation of Wakanda. According to his son, it was Kirby’s idea to introduce some notable diversity into the Marvel Universe, though, as with all things in the fruitful, fraught partnership between Kirby and writer Stan Lee, differing memories abound.

“I recall during the winter or early spring he asked me what I would think of a black superhero in the comics. Of course he was very much for it, as we all were at the time,” Neal Kirby recently told The Hollywood Reporter. “My father was a very social liberal person. He would have been the Bernie Sanders of his day. He very much believed in social justice and equality, so he honestly thought it was time. Why shouldn’t African Americans have their own superhero?”

Some ten years later, Kirby was both writer and artist on a series starring Black Panther, largely ignoring the history of the character that had built up in the interim, opting instead to plunge him into bold, colorful stories that bent reality in a way only possible in the comics and allowed for plenty of patented Kirby Krackle.

Black Panther 002-010

Marvel Comics in the nineteen-seventies were inclined toward wild flights of fancy, but no one could go wilder than Kirby. His opening storyline involving frog statues imbued with metaphysical powers that could send or beckon figures hurtling through time. This, naturally, led to Black Panther being pressed into battle from a strange being from millions of years in the future. And there was more and more, the universe of Kirby’s ideas truly so boundless even he sometimes couldn’t describe what he concocted.

Black Panther 002-012

As Kirby’s son Neal noted, the great comic book creator had strong political beliefs, but those usually didn’t intrude in an overt way to the stories he created. Social issues were given no more than glancing attention. Instead, Kirby honored a character like Black Panther by simply giving him the same platform he’d give any other figure. Although I doubt he would have used this precise language, he knew that representation mattered. He was a hero. And he was super.

Black Panther 003-010

Previous entries in this series (and there are a LOT of them) can be found by clicking on the “My Misspent Youth” tag.

My Misspent Youth — The Amazing Spider-Man by Roger Stern and John Romita, Jr.

I read a lot of comic books as a kid. This series of posts is about the comics I read, and, occasionally, the comics that I should have read.

I believe Spider-Man was supposed to be my generation’s gateway into superhero comics. When I transitioned from ravenous consumption of the childish fare published by Harvey Comics — particularly the boy plutocrat Richie Rich — into highly mature tales of physically-alarming beings who squeezed into spandex outfits to fight crime, I larger steered clear of Marvel’s famed wall-crawler, for reasons that are entirely unclear to me. This was the character who regularly appeared on Electric Company — and starred in a corresponding kid-friendly comic series — so he should have been the likeliest character to ensnare my attention. I bought loads of Marvel comics, but I resisted Spider-Man’s titles.

But I also learned my Marvel Comics history quickly and with studious devotion. As new comics hit the spinner rack, I knew a major event when I saw it. So when Amazing Spider-Man #238 arrived, bearing a cover dominated by a new villainous character who evoked the stylings of Ol’ Web-Head most fearsome — and long-departed — foe, I knew I had to get it. This, I was certain, was going to be big.

In a story written by Roger Stern and drawn by John Romita, Jr. (and inked, in the first issue, by his namesake pop, who plied his pencils on some of the greatest Spider-Man stories ever published), our friendly neighborhood Spider-Man is up to his usual do-gooding, but one the small-time crooks he’s after slips away. The miscreant finds his way into a secret underground lair.

asm green goblin lair

The Green Goblin was Spider-Man’s arch-enemy, having delivered the cruelest emotional turn in the hero’s life many years earlier. The Green Goblin himself perished not long afterward, and the various creators never quite filled the hole left by the character’s absence, despite some misguided attempts. (Back then, characters who perished largely stayed dead, a standard Marvel abandoned with increasingly tiresome frequency later.) Stern’s fine idea was bypass any sort of strained revival and instead start anew with a character who evoked the bygone adversary.

The hood who found the Goblin costumes and weaponry leads a shadowy figure to the stash of goods. Bringing his own panache to the design, this dastardly fellow emerges as the character sensation of 1983.

hobgoblin

With the Hobgoblin, the Spider-Man saga was jolted by the familiar presented as something striking and new. Although it was technically a new character, Stern was able to take advantage of transferable menace before our hero had even set eyes on the crafty criminal.

spiderman in action

In setting up the new foe, Stern even replicated a bit of storytelling lore around the Green Goblin. The earlier villain’s secret identity was hidden from the readers for ages, with little hints parceled out, always implying it was a member of Spider-Man’s supporting cast. By some accounts, the creators themselves weren’t all that sure about the Green Goblin’s alter ego, even squabbling about it so much that the dispute is often cited as the motivation for artist Steve Ditko — Spider-Man’s co-creator — jumping ship from Marvel.

With the Hobgoblin, the strategy was repeated (as were the internal disagreements). The reveal was teased out to a ludicrous degree. And I loved every bit of it. I couldn’t have named it at the time, by the ongoing tale was exactly what I was looking for in my superhero comics. It was twisty and thrilling and rewarded an appreciation for the arcana of Marvel continuity without being overly reliant on a knowledge of it. Individual issues read fine in isolation, but familiarity with the whole span of the story made the material seem richer and little more audacious. It might have taken me a while to get to The Amazing Spider-Man, but its web was all but inescapable when I finally arrived.

 

Previous entries in this series (and there are a LOT of them) can be found by clicking on the “My Misspent Youth” tag.

 

My Misspent Youth — Moon Knight by Doug Moench and Bill Sienkiewicz

I read a lot of comic books as a kid. This series of posts is about the comics I read, and, occasionally, the comics that I should have read.

When I started collecting superhero comics, I adored first issues. There was probably some speculator instinct I picked up by osmosis, since this was the beginning of the era when comic books were occasionally positioned as a potential boon for nerdy investors by an aghast and amused mainstream press. Mostly, though, I loved the idea of being with a character from the very beginning of their existence. The true Marvel heyday of spectacular character debuts coming at a rapid pace was nearly twenty years before I started seriously scrutinizing the offerings propped up in the spinner rack, and I was envious of my ancestors in the pastime of feverishly consuming comics.

Although I didn’t really know it at the time, the boldly announced PREMIERE ISSUE of Moon Knight didn’t actually contain the first appearance of the title character. Moon Knight was introduced roughly five years earlier, tangling with Werewolf by Night. He then romped through some tryout adventures in Marvel Spotlight and the back pages of The Hulk!, a full-size magazine starring Marvel’s resident green goliath. Hoping to grab a more mature audience than the kids who usually read their monthly mags (you might not know it from inspecting the average clientele in a comics shop these days, but there was a time in the not-so-distant past when the periodicals were primarily aimed at and read by individuals too young to get a driver’s license), the magazine tried to deliver slightly racier and artistically-refined content. That motivation undoubtedly helped direct the choice of artist Bill Sienkiewicz to join writer Doug Moench.

The team of Moench and Sienkiewicz obviously made an impression with the fans, allowing Moon Knight to graduate to his own comic series. It was the first issue of that ongoing title that I eagerly grabbed off the stands. Maybe it wasn’t the true debut of Moon Knight, but, in mighty Marvel fashion, it absolutely played that way, presenting the superhero’s origin story.

moon knight 1

The short version is that Marc Spector was a mercenary on assignment in Egypt when a villainous African in the same line of work beats Spector and leaves him for dead. Spector’s heart does stop at one point, but he awakens fully alive in front of a statue of the Egyptian moon god Khonshu. Naturally, that prompts Spector to dress up in a costume and fight crime. Because, you know, comics.

Not content to operate with a single secret identity, Spector takes on a whole portfolio of alter egos.

moon knight 2

The concept behind Moon Knight seemed to be: What if Batman was actually crazy? Moench’s writing played up the idea that the character sometimes struggled with maintaining understanding of the realities of the separate personae he’d cooked up for himself. And then there was the looming Egyptian god statue that held sway over his confidence.

The moody, inky art of Sienkiewicz melded perfectly with Moench’s inclination to send Moon Knight into the seedier corners of Marvel’s Manhattan. Moon Knight was a kindred spirit to the original Daredevil run crafted by Frank Miller, which held my imagination tight.

moon knight 3

Where Miller pitted Daredevil against mobsters and ninjas, Moench took Moon Knight into far more bizarre territory. Before long, the cowled crusader was doing battle with all sorts of supernatural forces. It was a bizarre contrast to the more conventional villain-of-the-month fare that shared space in the Marvel publishing line. At times, I could barely wrap my growing brain around the material dished up by Moench and Sienkiewicz. That only made me appreciate it more.

Previous entries in this series (and there are a LOT of them) can be found by clicking on the “My Misspent Youth” tag.

My Misspent Youth: JLA by Grant Morrison and Howard Porter

I read a lot of comic books as a kid. This series of posts is about the comics I read, and, occasionally, the comics that I should have read.

For a little while in the nineteen-nineties, I was prepared to follow writer Grant Morrison just about anywhere. When I made that unstated pledge, it never occurred to me that I’d be following him to the Justice League.

I knew of Morrison’s work because of the writing he did on the fringes of the DC Universe. In a way, Morrison set the template for the publisher’s Vertigo imprint, launched in 1993. He took on authorship duties with characters from DC’s history — most notably Doom Patrol and Animal Man — but brought a whole other creative cunning to their adventures, indulging in devious meta shenanigans and otherwise plunging them into dark, warped stories.

In the mid-nineteen-nineties, after following those wondrously weird tendrils of imagination, Morrison received an assignment that initially seemed perplexing. He was given a revived version of DC’s superteam, branded with the hip acronym JLA.

The Justice League of America had been around for ages, though it had long strayed from the model of bringing together the publisher’s biggest heroes, opting instead for unloved also-rans and then flagrant comedy. Morrison was allowed his own version of a back to the basics approach, with the biggest names in the DC comics stable (although the ever-flailing DC editorial approach occasional left him saddled with bad ideas like sparking blue Superman). I didn’t always gel for me, but when Morrison’s sensibility melded with a perfect story concept, it was irresistible, no more so that the when Starro muscled into the panels.

Starro dated back to the very first appearance of the Justice League of America, published in 1960, making it natural that Morrison would want to use the villainous being at one point. The story also made room for a more recent figure.

JLA sandman

Sandman was already considered writer Neil Gaiman’s comics masterpiece, making it fairly audacious that Morrison took the central figure and plopped him down into a big ol’ superhero story. But by employing the cryptic deep thinking, Morrison had a mechanism for engaging in some of the sideways thinking he brought to his mainstream far, such as Green Lantern having his mind blown by the reference to his tool of choice as a “wishing ring.”

Even better, Morrison back then had a particular skill for honoring the tropes of the superhero mythos while simultaneously extrapolating to get at deeper truths that could be easily overlooked because of the familiarity of the rhythms of a comic book adventure. Villains show up, the heroes fight the villains. Morrison took the time to think about the impressions that might be generated by these strange creatures populating the story. For example, wouldn’t a giant outer space starfish that controlled minds be, you know, pretty scary?

JLA starro

The oddness of Howard Porter’s art could make the more conventional moments a little off, but he was well-suited to bringing the freakiness.

Morrison told dense intricate stories, but working on JLA opened up his sense of grandeur. The scope could be titanic. These heroes weren’t going to spend a lot of time stopping bank robbers. Most of them could comfortably cross out of the planet’s atmosphere and cavort among the stars, so Morrison regularly veered into appropriate levels of spectacle.

jla starro in space

Still, no matter how much mischief Morrison got up to, these stories go the way they go. Starro is bested and the heroes recline in the satisfaction of their victory.

Sometimes, Morrison’s ideas got too big for the comics page, and it seemed he was only able to type out about a third of what he had in mind, leaving sprawl and uncertainty on the page. That was present in JLA (I might argue the flaw first manifested here), but it was energizing to see a creator go big with ideas instead of just spectacle, reversing a dire trend of nineties comics. Even when it got a little bogged down, this take on the Justice League was worth the effort.

jla ending

Previous entries in this series (and there are a LOT of them) can be found by clicking on the “My Misspent Youth” tag.

My Misspent Youth — Marvel Team-Up Annual #7 by Louise Simonson and Paul Neary

I read a lot of comic books as a kid. This series of posts is about the comics I read, and, occasionally, the comics that I should have read.

When I started reading superhero comics, I had only a passing interest in Marvel Team-Up, which routinely paired Spider-Man with other costumed do-gooders, albeit ones who weren’t quite as amazing or spectacular as him, at least when it came to sales numbers. For some reason, the exception was the title’s yearly Annuals, one-off, double-sized adventures that were published in the summer months, presumably because kids were patrolling the spinner racks with a little more money in their pockets thanks to lawn-mowing gigs. (It was a different time, friends.) These thicker periodicals I found more difficult to resist, especially if favorite characters were sharing the masthead. And in the summer of 1984, the Canadian crimefighters of Alpha Flight were high on my list.

I was already a devotee of the Alpha Flight series, written and drawn by John Byrne, but my feelings were especially intense at the time the characters crossed over to Marvel Team-Up Annual #7. My nerdy little brain had been recently been blown by the landmark Alpha Flight #12, in which the team’s leader, Guardian, had been killed. I was feverishly committed to reading every last Alpha Flight story I could get my hands on. (It was around this time that I spent way too much to procure a copy of the X-Men issue that held Alpha Flight’s first appearance.) Seeing them on a comic book cover compelled me to make a purchase, even if they were joining Marvel’s flagship character in grappling with an oversized pink snake.

Written by Louise Simonson and penciled by Paul Neary, the story begins with the wall-crawler’s alter ego, Peter Parker, suffering some typical workplace indignity, as Daily Bugle editor Joe “Robbie” Robertson chastised him for a numbing sameness in the subject of his photojournalism efforts.

mtuann pix

Though Peter’s word balloon has his boss’s name spelled with a y, I swear the way I typied it above is correct. Also, I’m aware that few things illuminate the comic fan pedantry I still carry than an urgent, mid-post fact-check of a minor narrative detail. I’ll take my No-Prize now.

Shortly after Robbie tells Peter that Spider-Man shots aren’t really needed, another figure develops a very different theory about the desirability of wall-crawler memorabilia. Although, in the case of the intergalactic figure known at the Collector, the desired trinket is the super-powered man himself. So, a few panels later, Spider-Man finds himself ensnared, with the added indignity of being tossed by a multi-headed genie into the prison of an oversized oyster shell.

mtuann oyster

Yay, comics!

Meanwhile, a member of Alpha Flight, the slick-swimming Marrina, was also scooped up by the Collector along the way. That brings the charging Canucks into action.

mtuann af

As if often the case in these impromptu collaborations between superheroes, things don’t exactly proceed smoothly. In keeping with the deliberately disparate storytelling that epitomized the Alpha Flight title — though technically a team book, the characters spent most of the periodical’s first year engaged in solo adventures — and the group’s recent loss of leadership, the heroes from the north spent a lot of time bickering, much to Spider-Man’s annoyance.

mtuann fight

Just as the turmoil was predictable, so was the ending. Rescues and escapes were perpetrated, and justice was done, everything wrapped up before the final page.

I remember the issue fondly enough, but it’s also one that helped teach me an important lesson about how to select which comics I’d read. At the time, I completely bought into the notion that the proper was to pick favorite characters and stick with them, through and through.

But this issue of Marvel Team-Up Annual wound up presenting me with a contradicting experience. Although Simonson hit all the right details in her presentation of the characters — such as Aurora’s claustrophobia inducing the emergence of one of her multiple personalities, Northstar’s arrogance, and Sasquatch’s scientist certainly existing somewhat incongruously with his furry colossus physical figure — something seemed off about my beloved Alpha Flight. They were written correctly, and yet they didn’t have the same zing as I found in their primary publishing home. I wasn’t a fan of Alpha Flight, it turned out — I was a fan of Byrne’s version of Alpha Flight. It was about the creator, not the brand, which was really driven home when Byrne left Alpha Flight about a year later and the title got so bad, so quickly.

As far as life lessons go, it’s not a bad or particularly traumatizing one. And, as a bonus, it did have that giant pink snake in it.

mtuann end

Previous entries in this series (and there are a LOT of them) can be found by clicking on the “My Misspent Youth” tag.

My Misspent Youth: Fantastic Four #191 by Len Wein and George Pérez

I read a lot of comic books as a kid. This series of posts is about the comics I read, and, occasionally, the comics that I should have read.

Once I threw my heart into the fierce grasp of superhero comic books, there were certain older issues that I intensely coveted. Largely, my desired prizes weren’t the four-color publications that naturally set speculators’ hearts aflutter, like Action Comics #1, or Amazing Fantasy #15, or even the more recent landmark tales like the issue of The Incredible Hulk that introduced the world to Wolverine (though, as a true believer, I knew the cantankerous Canadian actually debuted in the final panel of the previous issue). I wanted to fill out my collection with a handful of comic books that simply caught my eye as I perused back issue stacks, promising little more than a rollicking or stirring story inside. One of the first specific comics I remember pining after was Fantastic Four #191.

Written by Len Wein and penciled by George Pérez, the issue held a special significance in the history of Marvel’s first family.  The issue’s cover said it all. It’s a close-up of the feet of all the members of the do-gooder quartet. They are walking away, a battered issue of The Daily Bugle on the pavement. The headline: “F.F. RESIGN.” Entirely uncharacteristic for the era, there’s no other promotional copy on the cover, promising scintillating adventures inside, the florid description finished with a bursting exclamation mark. That choice alone bestowed solemnity, finality, and class in my dewy eyes. Of course, I knew the break-up of the super-team wasn’t going to last, but it didn’t matter. I needed to read this comic.

ff 191 hug

I eventually got my hands on it, shelling out exponentially more than the thirty-five cents it went for off the spinner rack just a couple years earlier (which still means it only cost me a buck or two). It did not disappoint, providing everything I looked for in my superhero stories: melodrama, superhuman fisticuffs, wry humor, and a strong sense of place within the sprawling Marvel Universe.

The Fantastic Four were ceasing their operation as a going concern, largely because the team’s leader, Reed Richards, had lost his powers of exaggerated elasticity. Even as the various members are in the midst of the sorrowful trek away from their Manhattan skyscraper headquarters in the famed Baxter Building, the inevitable attack by an opportunistic supervillain takes place.

ff plunderer

Since heroes are always heroes, the portion of the Fantastic Four still equipped with heightened traits smashes into action.

ff191 fight

The issue’s villain, the Plunderer, is ultimately fairly weak tea when pitted against the might of the Fantastic Four, and he’s accordingly dispatched in quick order. That’s not the point, anyway. It’s Wein’s way to provide a brief fake-out, while also fulfilling the mandate of the time that, come on, there’s gotta be a brawl, no matter what other heavy drama is happening in the issue.

The Fantastic Four are back, but only for a moment. Despite the hearty hopefulness stirred up, the team sticks with the plan to hang up their uniforms, seemingly for good.

ff 191 baxter “YOU’D BEST NOTE THE DATE, EFFENDI, FOR A LEGEND DIED HERE THIS DAY … AND THE WORLD MAY NEVER SEE ITS LIKE AGAIN!!

There was a time when superhero comics were deliriously fun to read, built upon zippy ideas and filled with language that somehow intermingled luscious vocabulary with bounding chumminess. It was the Marvel creative voice, set a generation earlier by founding scribe Stan Lee. For a time, those who followed him took it as their duty to preserve that approach, even as they put their own stamp on the characters. Wein did so beautifully. And he had a unique skill at finding enticing hooks for his stories. There’s a reason the basic premise of the story, depicted simply of the cover with little of Marvel’s trademark showmanship, was enough to set me reeling.

Fantastic Four #191 was Wein’s last issue on the title. He jumped ship back to DC Comics, which was always his most natural home. That’s where he co-created Swamp Thing, presided over a beloved run of The Phantom Stranger, and served as a steadying editorial hand, especially with the combustible genius Alan Moore. Still, his plan for the next few issues of Fantastic Four were roughly followed, with each of the characters getting their own little showcase away from the now — and briefly — defunct team, all leading up to the momentous two-hundredth issue. It was a great idea, perfectly executed. I knew it then, and I know it now.

A special hat tip to the proprietors of the couple of websites which unwittingly provided me with images for today’s post.

Previous entries in this series (and there are a LOT of them) can be found by clicking on the “My Misspent Youth” tag.

My Misspent Youth — The Fourth World saga by Jack Kirby

I read a lot of comic books as a kid. This series of posts is about the comics I read, and, occasionally, the comics that I should have read.

I hold a certain piece of comic book publishing in my memory with a specific narrative, and I don’t care to fact-check it. I like it the way it is.

Artist Jack Kirby was one of the primary creators of the Marvel Universe, taking an integral role in the development of characters who now dominate practically every sphere of entertainment. Even without getting into the persnickety particulars of whether Kirby deserves more credit than writer Stan Lee for the stories they spun — from the Fantastic Four to the Avengers to the X-Men, and a dazzling portfolio alongside those foundational figures — it’s undeniable that Kirby’s bold, forceful design aesthetic defined the Marvel publishing house when it was a scrappy upstart and then for the years of dominance that followed.

So Kirby jumping ship to the distinguished competition in the early nineteen-seventies was the biggest of big deals. DC touted the imminent arrival of Kirby with breathless house ads.

kirby ad dc

 

Legend says that Kirby told DC Comics leadership that he would take ownership of the lowest-selling title on the roster, in a simultaneous act of humility (feeling it would be inappropriate to oust other creators from a popular book) and hubris (feeling he could turn around the dismal sales numbers). And that’s how Jack Kirby was assigned writing and penciling duties on Superman’s Pal, Jimmy Olsen.

In prior hands, the series starring a the cub reporter supporting character to DC’s flagship hero was a repository for the loopiest ideas. In a way, that heritage suited Kirby perfectly. He possessed a wild imagination and an utter fearlessness about presenting the bizarre and fantastical as if it made perfect sense, or was at least an extension of the myth-making that was a hallmark of human storytelling from the beginning. Where other comics creators tried to spin similar yarns only to get mired in eye-rolling hokeyness, Kirby had the verve and panache to make such material archly cool and casually grand.

kirby robot

Jimmy Olsen was only the beginning for Kirby at DC. And it was a fraction of the fantastical vision he had. Within a few months Kirby was also presiding over a trio of brand new titles: Mister Miracle, The Forever People, and New Gods. At Marvel, Kirby participated in the sea change that led comic book storytelling from interchangeable larks from issue to issue to an ongoing continuity, rewarding regular readers and creating a more urgent incentive to pic up every issue. Miss an issue of Superman in the nineteen-sixties and all that was lost were a couple stories that would never be referenced again. Miss an issue of Fantastic Four in the same era and there would be a nettlesome gap in the big puzzle of the Marvel saga.

Kirby’s four titles — known informally as the “Fourth World” — took the mighty Marvel model the next logical step. They introduced a vast new internal mythos for the DC Universe, filled with Shakespearean evil, heroism, and familial strife. And the respective titles didn’t necessarily explicitly connect, but they all commented on each other, giving a sense of a whole by concentrating on the inventive minutiae of each individual segment.

And, since it was created by Kirby, there were plenty of fabulous monsters.

kirby monster

I didn’t read the Fourth World comics when they were published. I would have been too young for them. Even a few years later, I wouldn’t have been able to wrap my head around their beautifully ludicrous spectacle. Only years later, when I’d shed my defensive pretension that comics needed to be serious to be appreciated could I see the specialness of Kirby’s creativity at its most unguarded and unhinged.

More than any comic creator before or since, Kirby was able to render big ideas as zippy pop art infused with a childlike storytelling logic, invested in headlong progression rather than heady themes. His stories had weight because they were preoccupied with morality, but Kirby didn’t theorize or pontificate the way his former Marvel collaborator Lee did. Instead, there was a purity of purpose — a smashing delight in working in this dismissed art form — that carried the day. Anything was fair game to Kirby, from star-spanning wonders to a knockabout story teaming Superman with Don Rickles and a weirdo doppelgänger named Goody Rickles. The message printed across the top of a second issue guest-starring Rickles was the perfect credo for the romping Fourth World comics: “KIRBY SAYS: ‘DON’T ASK! JUST BUY IT!”

kirby tomorrow people

Previous entries in this series (and there are a LOT of them) can be found by clicking on the “My Misspent Youth” tag.