It’s funny how the simplest thing can trigger strong memories. It happened to me again today. I went outside to the front of the garage to grill a couple of hamburgers and it started to rain. The drops were slow, but pretty big, and next thing I knew, it was a soaking torrent. So much for grilling!
I went back inside, and rather than dig a George Foreman grill out of storage, I just took out a frying pan and turned a stovetop burner on. Just as soon as I dropped the patties in and they started sizzling, the combination of sound and smell transported me back to the summer of 1986. I was living with five young college women on West Dutton Street in downtown Kalamazoo. It was what they called the “student ghetto” back then. They were all friends of my fiancee at the time, and I was subletting my fiancee’s room for the summer while she moved back home with her parents. I just needed a place to stay between semesters at school, because I lived in the dorm all four years. Believe it or not, it was cheaper for me to do so because of my financial aid. The house was, shall we say, not nice. I spent a good many evenings catching mice with homemade traps made out of grocery bags and string.
I was broke and hungry for the first half of the summer. I was taking a summer class up on main campus, and I needed to commute every other day to get there. I bought a bike to help with the commute. My brother had destroyed my beloved 10-speed when I was gone on vacation one year while I was away, so I had to buy a new bike. I bought a new Huffy for about $100 at Toys R Us, where I worked, and I rode that up to campus and back. I assembled it myself to save money, and while doing so, I twisted off the nut that held the wire for the brake calipers in place. It was cheap, soft metal, and it just snapped. I took the bike back. Rather than just giving me a new nut, they replaced the entire bike, and I had to put another bike together all over again. I was very careful with the tightening that time.
I rode the Huffy up to campus on Mondays and Wednesdays, and I worked part-time at Toys R Us on Tuesdays and Thursdays, and some Saturdays. My housemates were generous enough to give me rides to work, because no one wanted me riding a bike down the busiest street in Kalamazoo at 9:30 at night. I was only working 20 hours a week at minimum wage, but that was more than enough to pay my share of the rent and to pitch in for food. My request each week was two pounds of ground beef and a pack of hamburger buns. And my caloric intake was a bowl of community cereal with milk in the morning and about a 1/3-pound hamburger each afternoon. One of my housemates taught me how to season and fry a hamburger, and I was good to go.
Not a lot of food for a 21-year-old, but it was enough to sustain me. I had the occasional box of Meijer brand macaroni and cheese. I had grown up eating that, after all.
I spent most of my time in the house reading, because I was stupid enough to take an English class on 20th century American authors. The books were long and boring. The other time I spent drawing, which paid off for me in an unexpected way. When the young women saw that I could draw, one asked me to draw a sketch of her. I had drawn from life in my freshman year, and I wasn’t bad at it, so I agreed. What I didn’t realize is that she wanted me to draw her in her underwear for her boyfriend. I tried to be professional about it. The model I had drawn in my studio art class had been nude, so I didn’t act like a total dork, but I was still nervous because this was someone I knew. When the rest of the ladies saw the result, I suddenly had a steady stream of customers. I guess that’s really the right word, because I exchanged my art skills for free rides to work. So, that made for a truly interesting summer, that’s for sure. I’m not sure how their boyfriends took having me see their girlfriends in their underwear, but they never mentioned it to me. Who knows, maybe the sketches weren’t really for them? The exposure didn’t only go one way, as I got walked in on while showering more than once, and we didn’t have a shower curtain.
At Toys R Us, I truly was in my element. I quickly became known as the “King of the 300 Aisle.” The 300 aisle was where the action figures and Barbies were stocked. I knew every toy line and I knew them well. Because there were few superhero shows at the time (can you imagine?), I watched the various cartoons that went with them. There were Transformers (Generation 1), GI Joe, Masters of the Universe, Warlord, Dungeons and Dragons, Chuck Norris Karate Kommandos, Thundercats, Silverhawks, Super Powers, Secret Wars, Star Wars Droids, and there were even some carded Mego Hulks still on the pegs, most of them with at least one broken leg.
A common sight back then…
I collected the Super Powers line myself, and had a complete set of every figure released, except one. I had never seen a Cyborg figure myself. I opened every case of Super Powers that came in that summer and still never saw a Cyborg figure. I started to suspect that it wasn’t real.
Someone got one somewhere, but it wasn’t Kalamazoo, Michigan!
This was where I first started dabbling with toy scalping. On certain weekends I was helping my friend Marc Newman do comic book conventions. Marc had awful night vision, and in exchange for comics and pizza, I drove him to and from cons, also providing raw muscle. Back then, I thought nothing of carrying two long boxes at the same time. Boy, those were the days! At one such convention, I noticed that two GI Joe figures, Snake Eyes and Storm Shadow, were selling for $20 apiece. I didn’t understand that, because I was still shelving them regularly in my evening job. The dealer said that they were hard to find in the wild, as he put it. I asked Marc if it would be okay if I grabbed a couple from work and put them up for sale at his table. he said he didn’t mind at all. So, the next week, I went to the back of the store, opened up two fresh cases of GI Joe figures, and spent $16 of my meager paycheck to buy two Snake Eyes figures and two Storm Shadows.
And sure enough, that weekend, I sold them for a total of $80! Bear in mind, I was making minimum wage, $3.35 an hour back then, so the $64 I earned in profit was the equivalent of 19 hours of labor! I couldn’t believe it. I did that for the rest of the summer. At least I could finally eat better!
The only drawback to working at Toys R Us was that I had to walk past the animatronic Teddy Ruxpin teddy bear. It had a motion sensor, so every time anyone walked past it, it began to sing, “Come Dream With Me Toniiiiiight.” And since it was on an endcap, at least 50 times a day, I heard that stupid song until I finally learned how to disconnect the motion sensor.
Bite me, Teddy
The summer passed pretty slowly, and things got heated for a bit, both literally and figuratively. We had no air conditioning. We all walked around in various states of undress as it got into the 90s. That, combined with not seeing our significant others on a regular basis due to crazy work schedules led to a great deal of frustration. I remember one night when we all sat in the living room, reading aloud stories from Penthouse Forum. I think we were all pretty much feeling it at that point, but certain people were sending pretty clear signals to me and some of the other ladies got jealous, even though I wasn’t responding to them. That caused friction among three of the five for some time.
Another point of tempation came when we got robbed. While we were all out of the house, someone broke in through the back French doors, and took the television, the stereo, and…the Trivial Pursuit game. Honestly of all those things, the Trivial Pursuit game hit us the hardest because we didn’t have cable anyway. We played the board game more than we watched the TV. But that sense of violation made us feel insecure. I was invited to sleep with two of my housemates for a week after that. No funny business, mind you, just sleep. Yes, the thought did cross my mind. I was 21 years old and had seen every one of them in their underwear. I have a feeling I could have, but I was engaged at the time, and remained faithful.
I ended up with a B in the summer reading class, and I don’t think I even read the last two books on the list. But I knew I could BS with the best of them and I did on the written final exam, and at the end of summer, I was almost grateful that it was time for me to move back into the dorm. At least I would eat better. All of my possessions put together fit into the trunk of one car. But what to do with my bike? Well, I’m not especially proud of this, but coincidentally, I tightened the brake caliper nut too hard (it was always coming loose) and snapped it again. I still had the receipt, so I returned the bike to the store for a refund. It was obviously faulty because it happened twice, so I got my money back instead of yet another replacement. I basically got the use of a 10-speed bike for the summer for free, courtesy of the Toys R Us where I had worked all summer.
Strangely enough, I was not invited to sublet with the five young women again the next year. Ironically, I sublet a room in the house that their boyfriends rented together. I look back on that summer now, and I’m kind of grateful that cell phone cameras were not a thing then, because I did not share stories of the summer of 1986, except for the fact that I knew how to cook hamburgers.
One of my favorite things about spring and summer was going to the Copemish Flea Market with my Grandma McClain. Held every Saturday, my grandma would always prefer to get fresh fruits and vegetables there from a farm stand, rather than the limited selection available at the local grocery store. They would hold us over until her massive garden started yielding carrots, peas, tomatoes, corn, rhubarb, and blackberries. I only remember growing potatoes once, because they were so inexpensive at the flea market.
I, on the other hand, would be on the hunt for more unusual fare. There was the comic book dealer, who not only sold older comics cheap, but would also trade two for one. But there would also be other stuff, like frog spears, rubber band guns, and other hand-carved toys. I mostly stuck to comic books, always in search of something I missed at the grocery store that served as my only other source. He also had paperback books, something that my grandfather enjoyed immensely.
My Grandpa McClain had his daily routine as a retired ornamental iron worker. He’d get up at 4 AM, make coffee, and then go out to the garage to putter. When my grandma got up at seven, he’d come back to the house for breakfast, and then putter around until lunch at noon. After lunch, he’d lie on the couch, reading a Zane Grey western until he fell asleep in the sunlight, which streamed through the window. He’d still have his cheaters (glasses) on, and his mouth would be wide open. I always thought, wow, that’s the life. He’d go back out to the garage until dinner, then watch the news and whatever show Grandma wanted to watch until bedtime at 11. If baseball was on, everyone was happy, and in the springtime, baseball was on just about every night.
We had a cabinet full of Zane Grey and Louis L’Amour westerns. I was free to read whatever I wanted from the cabinet, but I found the westerns to be pretty repetitive. Grandma and Grandpa also had a subscription to Reader’s Digest, which I looked forward to, and their Condensed Books anthologies, which had abridged versions of popular novels of the time. When I found Peter Benchley’s Jaws on the shelf in Volume 98, I knew I had to read it. Just a couple of years before, when I was still living with my mother, we had gone to the drive-in theater, where they played a kids’ movie first, and then a popular movie more geared for adults second in a double feature. The expectation is that the kids would go to sleep for the second feature.
We had a station wagon at the time, and we kids were supposed to lie down and go to sleep in the back. When we went to the show and Jaws was playing, though, I could not go to sleep. That John Williams music was so suspenseful, and the sounds I heard played like the most exciting radio show I’d ever heard. So, I kep sneaking peeks over the back seat. I gave myself away during the scene when Hooper was diving on Ben Gardner’s boat and the fisherman’s severed head floats out through a hole in the boat. I let out an audible gasp and I was busted. My mom figured the damage was done at that point, and let me climb over the back seat to watch the rest of the movie. I was 10 years old, and the memories of feeling like a grown up would stay with me for a long time.
My mom had the original novel, but I wasn’t allowed to read it. I argued that it wasn’t fair because I’d already seen the movie, but it was useless. She wouldn’t let me. So, when the opportunity came up to read the Condensed Book version in my grandparents’ cabinet, I didn’t ask. I had been given carte blanche, remember. I was stunned. Hooper and Brody’s wife? Organized crime? Where was all this in the movie? And the ending was, shall we say, radically different from the movie. I have to tell you that this was a whole lot different than the Hardy Boys books I had read just a few years before. It was closer in tone to the Cyborg novels upon which The Six Million Dollar Man was based. I was starting to get the impression that novel reading was a whole lot more exciting than most people made it out to be and they definitely weren’t all for kids.
I still enjoyed my funny books, but the world was suddenly a much larger place, thanks to Reader’s Digest.
It is the summer of ’85, I’m 20 years old, and I’m driving home from my bagger job at Meijer on Westnedge Avenue in Kalamazoo. I’m cruising north on US 131 in my ’78 Buick LeSabre, windows down, the radio on loud. Voices Carry by ‘Til Tuesday comes on over the speakers. I like this tune, and I’m singing along to it:
“Hush, hush, Keep it down now, Voices carry.”
When the music fades, there’s a short pause, and then the song mysteriously plays again. That’s strange, I think, and I listen to it again. As I said, I like it. Then it plays again. And again. And again. I arrive home after the 20-minute drive, and I run upstairs to the attic room that I rent from my grandmother. I turn on my JC Penney stereo that my mom had found for me at a garage sale, and it’s still playing.
The song played 22 consecutive times that night before the station played a commercial. I felt like I had to see the mystery through to the end, but I never found out why. No explanation was ever given, no mention of it ever made again.
After high school graduation, I went to work in the same factory where my dad worked: Four Winns Boats. I started at $4.25 per hour, which was significantly better than the minimum wage at the time, $3.35. I was a vinyl puller, also known as an upholsterer. I was one of the people who took the wooden frames that made boat seats, stapled foam on the boards, and stretched the sewn vinyl seat covers over the frames, stapling them down with an air-powered staple gun. It was repetitive work, as there were only two kinds of seat frames I was responsible for, the ones that formed loungers. There was a seat and a back. Each set was two seats and two backs. Someone down the line would assemble them together so that the back-to-back boat seats would expand out so that you could lie down on them. In very short order, I was the fastest puller they had. It was virtually mindless work, and I enjoyed it after four years of high school.
The only problem with the job is that it came with a price. I had to quit my high school baseball team, while we were still playing in the state tournaments. My dad had arranged this job, and if I continued on in the tournament for two more weeks, the job wouldn’t be there anymore. Regrettably, I folded up my uniform and turned it in. I felt like I was letting my friends, teammates, and coach down, but on the other hand, I felt like it was time to grow up. I would need this money for college, especially because my dad lived by the philosophy that since I was 18, I had to pay my share of the rent, even though I didn’t even have my own room in his one-bedroom apartment. I slept on a futon in the living room. I also needed to buy a car, and soon.
Ironically, my high school graduation gift from my parents was a car, a 1974 Chevy Nova that my dad had bought for himself. He got my mother to donate $350, half its perceived value of $700, and he gave me the car; allegedly. My mother was furious. Basically, she paid him $350 for his car and he “gave” it to me. Until he didn’t. Right about that time, my aunt and uncle’s car broke down completely and they needed a replacement immediately. My dad gave them my car. How he gave them MY car, I’ll never know, but like Vin Diesel says in those stupid Fast & Furious movies, it’s about family. I guess. So, there I was, without the car that had been given to me as a gift. It took a few weeks, but along with the graduation gift money I had received from some of my more scrupulous relatives, I scraped up enough to buy myself another car, this time a 1974 Ford Pinto station wagon. Since I paid cash for it, this one had a title in my name and no one was giving it to anyone! I loved that car. It was orange and had mag wheels for some reason. I removed the AM radio it came with and installed an AM/FM/cassette boat stereo and speakers from Four Winns in it with my own hands. Electronics class at the Wexford-Missaukee Area Vocational School really paid off! I even bypassed the normal fuse box so that the stereo could play without the key in the ignition. Now I had freedom that no one would ever take away from me. Because my dad worked second shift and was a supervisor, I was not allowed to work on the same shift, so I worked days. That and having a car freed up my evenings to do whatever I wanted.
One of the first things I did was go to a movie by myself. Yes, I could have gotten a date, but this was special. Return of the Jedi was out in theaters, and I didn’t want to embarrass myself by taking a girl to see it. I had already suffered enough jibes from my former classmates for liking this genre. It wasn’t like it is now. So, one evening, I plopped down in a seat by myself in the Cadillac theater with a big bucket of popcorn and a Coke, and settled in. Toward the end of the movie, an unfamilar emotion washed over me. You see, Star Wars had come out when I was 12 years old, the summer before I started junior high. Luke Skywalker was a simple farmboy. When its first sequel, The Empire Strikes Back was released, three years later, I was a high school sophomore. I literally drove my family to see the movie with my learner’s permit in hand. Luke was in his adolescence very much the same as I was at the time. And now, at the end, Luke’s hero’s journey came to fruition, as he proclaimed himself an adult. “I am a Jedi, like my father before me.” I didn’t need to be beaten over the head to recognize the parallels. I had come of age. Young, yes, but I was paying my own way. I had a job and a car that I had bought with my own money, and would soon be on my way to college and the rest of my life. The possibilities were endless.
June was filled with graduation parties, so there was always somewhere to go in the evenings. I loved grad parties. All the turkey, ham, and roast beef you could eat, always on the same rolls. I think everyone used the same service to get their food. There was almost invariably a keg, too, but I wanted nothing to do with beer. Pop was my drink of choice, and Mountain Dew was my favorite. Coke would do as well, though. Since I was now paying for my own food, I appreciated free dinners almost every night! Quite often, when I stayed until the end of a party, I would do my good deed and help clean up, and parents would often beg me to take home leftovers. I would, and those became my lunches at work, wrapped up and packed in my Igloo cooler that I had bought the previous summer for the Christmas tree trimming patch. I took that cooler everywhere, even to the drive-in for movies.
When my brother Jeff, who was 12 at the time, came for visitation that summer, I took him to the drive-in so that we could see some cinematic masterpiece like Spacehunter: Adventures in the Forbidden Zone. We made a bag full of popcorn using the air popper my dad and I had gotten when I was in eighth grade, and put a six-pack of pop in the cooler with ice. I had a dub of Michael Jackson’s Thriller on cassette, and my brother thought it was the greatest album ever made. We played it again and again. It felt good to be a big brother, because I knew what he was going through at my mom’s house.
I took girls to the Cadillac drive-in, too. You might as well just queue up Bob Seger’s Night Moves, so I don’t have to go into detail. I know I remember going to see Flashdance at the theater with one of my high school crushes, but I didn’t see much of the movie.
Later on in June, I traveled down to Kalamazoo for Western Michigan University’s orientation. I had to take a couple of days off work to do it, and I didn’t appreciate losing the money, but it was highly recommended for incoming freshmen. I had never driven a long-distance trip like that before, so it was exciting. What was not exciting was driving the Pinto, which didn’t have air conditioning. When I got there, I saw parents dropping off their kids everywhere, and I was just all by myself. It felt strange but exhiliarating at the same time. We got marched all over campus, touring the facilities, taking placement tests, even applying for work-study for fall. We were also introduced to some of the slightly off-campus offerings, like Bilbo’s Pizza. Named, of course, for the main character in The Hobbit (which I had never heard of), it was a Middle-Earth-themed pizza place, complete with round oaken tables and dark lighting. The only pizza restaurants I had ever sat down in were Pizza Hut and Little Ceasar’s, which yes, had sit-down locations back then.
This was well before Hot ‘n Ready, and even before Pizza! Pizza! was a thing. It was still a cheap-looking place, nothing at all like Bilbo’s. So my small-town self was impressed by the ambience that a real pizza place provided. And the pan-style pizza was pretty good, too!
That visit made me excited. I could hardly wait to start a new life on campus. I had kind of walked away from several of my high school friends at the time. When my two best friends (I thought) planned their graduation parties together and left me out, I got the message that I was not wanted. So, I started making new friends. One of my newer friends was Brian Goodenow, a Pine River student I knew from my class at the Wexford-Missaukee Area Vocational Center. We had been in the same electronics class. Brian was a DJ at WATT, AM 1240, which was only a short drive from my apartment. I spent a lot of time hanging out with him while he was on the air. And I made another new friend at work, Ron Radawiec, who had also gone to Pine River. Ron’s dad had just opened up the very first video rental store in Northern Michigan, so Ron and I would often rent movies to watch at his house when we had nothing else to do. I found the video cassette recorder to be a magical tool, and I envied theirs. Of course, you couldn’t afford to own movies. No, the average cost of a VHS movie was $80-90 back then. That’s why you rented them! Three-dollar rentals were expensive, but nowhere near the cost of a newly released movie. And because of my Pine River connections (it was the high school where all of my Tustin Elementary friends went), I even got a visit one night from Janet Johnson and Robin Byers, my sixth grade crushes, with whom I had also reconnected at the vocational school. They were there for nursing. It seemed like my world was getting bigger than the isolated Mesick High School experience.
Moreover, it felt like my life had come full circle, going back to when I first went to live with my dad. Like Luke Skywalker, I had completed the first leg of my hero’s journey.
Superboy #240, cover by Mike Grell and Joe Rubinstein
Normalcy was not something I was used to. And my life at 13 was, I want to say, as close to normalcy as I ever had. I had school, I had friends, I had a loving family, and I had my weekly trips to the grocery store to buy comics, trading cards, or candy
It’s kind of funny, reading back over the stories that I’ve told thus far. The stories seem focused on the things that I bought. And I guess, in a way they are, because I was not allowed to have these things for a long time. In the five years that I lived with my mom and stepfather, candy, for example, was strictly forbidden. We could occasionally be allowed half a stick of gum, and it was only Wrigley’s Doublemint. Visits to Dad’s and Grandma and Grandpa McClain’s house were exceptional. But to not be able to have the simple joy of an occasional jaw-breaking Bazooka Joe or a bag of M&Ms just seemed oppressive.
I’ve written before that my favorite candy bar was the Marathon bar, but there were other times when I just wanted to try something I had always seen on a grocery store shelf and wanted to try. Bottle Caps became another favorite of mine.
Bottle Caps are, as you can see, “The Soda Pop Candy,” and it came in the different flavors of pop. Strawberry, orange, grape, cola, root beer, I enjoyed them all. I still remember wondering if adding some to water would make a kind of pop without the fizz, but that was a failure. But hey, at least I was free to try! The great thing about Bottle Caps is that I didn’t have to eat them all at once and could save them over a couple of days. I still occasionally indulge in these when I buy groceries. I save them for family movie night.
The other candy I could savor was Spree.
Spree was fun because the flavors were so bright. There was a candy coating, but once you got past that, the phosphoric acid took over.
We had open lunches, even in junior high, and could walk downtown if we so chose. Many of my friends would go and get food or candy, and that’s how trends started. And while Jolly Ranchers were popular, the Jolly Rancher Stix candies were more popular with our crowd. They were long, flat versions of Jolly Rancher flavors that could be sharpened down to a shiv. The most popular one, though was the Fire Stix.
Fire Stix were a bargain because they lasted forever. If you were careful how you unwrapped it, you could put the wrapper back on and put it in your pocket to enjoy later. I loved cinnamon candy in general, and when I stayed with my dad, I often got a pack of Big Red gum, which became available in 1975! Way better than that old Doublemint.
If I was really lucky, I could get a Plen T Pak!
17 sticks of gum!
It just seems so odd to think about these things now as a highlight of adolescence. They should just be things that were part of every kid’s life. But to me, now, they represent something else. It’s no wonder I still indulge in these sweets. They bring memories of happiness, lifted spirits, and finally having the freedom to make decisions for myself.
Action Comics #484, art by Jose Luis Garcia-Lopez and Dick Giordano
There’s a certain bait-and-switch that happens with comic books. Quite often, the cover doesn’t match the contents of the interior. This one was no exception, although the marriage of Superman and Lois Lane does take place within. It’s just that it was the Superman and Lois Lane of Earth-2, the world of the golden age of comics instead of the continuity of the Superman of 1978. And while the outstanding image drawn by Jose Luis Garcia-Lopez sold this comic, the interiors were drawn by Curt Swan, the stalwart Superman artist whose work spanned decades. There is nothing wrong with Curt Swan’s artwork. It’s like comfort food to me. But the dynamism of Garcia-Lopez and just the pure joy expressed on his subjects’ faces always sold me on a comic book. I hoped that one day he would succeed Curt Swan as the regular Superman artist. And then, the very next week, I practically got my wish.
DC Comics Presents #1, art by Jose Luis Garcia-Lopez and Dan Adkins
On the stands was a new title, DC Comics Presents, sort of a companion title to Brave and the Bold, which had been a Batman team-up book for several years at that point. I loved these sorts of team-ups. If I didn’t know anything about The Unknown Soldier, for example, I could learn about him when he teamed up with Batman in B&B. Outside of actual story, it was a way for DC to maintain their trademarks on dormant characters. DC Comics Presents was Superman’s own team-up book. I’m sure they were gearing up for the upcoming Superman movie that people were talking about. There had already been casting rumors flying about in trade magazines, with names like Robert Redford and Sylvester Stallone in the running. But Starlog Magazine #11, earlier in the year, had a photograph of the new Superman, Christopher Reeve!
Unlike the previous week’s Action Comics #484, DC Comics presents had Jose Luiz Garcia-Lopez art throughout the entire book. And it was gorgeous. It was kind of a silly story written by Martin Pasko, featuring a race across time between Superman and The Flash, who had been drawn into a civil war between aliens, but I loved it anyway. As it turned out, years later, I found out from Marty himself that it was not his favorite story. He and I became Facebook friends and had many interactions. My favorite came on his birthday one year:
“Okay, Marty. I’m going to tell you the same thing I told Elliot S Maggin when I met him a few years ago. And it’s the same thing I told Dennis O’Neil when I met him a few years before that:
“I grew up being beaten every day from age seven until age 12, when my mother allowed me to go live with my father, for fear that her new husband was going to beat me to death. The worst thing he did to me was not the beatings, but burning my comic books in front of me, simply as an act of cruelty. My father was not an abuser, but he was also not a very good example to follow. It was his cheating that led to their divorce and my subsequent abuse. But at least he let me (and encouraged me) to read comics. I didn’t have adult male role models in my life. At least not any in the real world. The men who provided that example for me were Batman and Superman. And those heroes were written by real human beings whose names I knew, and you were most certainly one of them. From various issues of Action, up to and including #500 (one of my personal favorites), to DC Comics Presents #1 to various issues of JLA and World’s Finest, you did your fair share of shaping my life going into manhood. I still believe in the values those characters once embodied to this day.
“I’m 53 now, a middle school teacher for the past 31 years. I help shape the lives of young people. I also create comics, and not in the modern sense that we see Batman and Superman now, written for adults. My comics are written for me at age 12 and 13. They’re written for kids who need them, like I needed you guys.
“My 12-year-old daughter reads comics now too, and she also knows your work from Batman: Mask of the Phantasm. At the risk of turning you into the monster you fear, I wanted you to know just how much your comics meant to me as a child, an adult, a teacher, and a father. I don’t know if I’ll get the chance to meet you face-to-face one day, but I wanted you to know all of this before you got another year older.
“Thank you and happy birthday.”
To which he replied, “I’m literally speechless (yes, that’s a joke from Mr. Motormouth, moi). But, honestly and sincerely, Jim McClain: Your deeply moving and beautifully articulated comment is the greatest compliment I’ve ever been paid.”
Marty died not long after that exchange, and I am so very grateful that I had the chance to tell him what his writing meant to me. They say, never meet your heroes, but I think in this case it was one of the highlights of my life.
I also happen to be Facebook friends with Jose Luis Garcia-Lopez. But him, I’ve met in person. I was so looking forward to reading more of the DC Comics Presents series just to see his Superman in every issue, but again, the distribution in my small hometown of Mesic left a lot to be desired, and I never saw another issue of DCP until #26, a couple of years later. I never even got to read the second part of the story that it opened with until I was in college. I admire the Maestro, as he’s sometimes called. He defined what DC characters looked like for an entire generation. You may not know his name, but you know his art.
The 1982 DC Comics Style Guide
1984 Super Powers Action FigureDC Heroes Roleplaying Game
