Although May 1977 is forever tied to Star Wars, it wasn’t for me because I didn’t see it that month. I was still in school, in Tustin, and we just didn’t go to the movies that much while living with Peggy and her daughters. Freaky Friday, Airport ’77, Black Sunday, The Car, we saw none of them. The weather was warmer, though, and that meant two things: Playing baseball and picking up some extra money mowing lawns. I mowed our lawn for free. I didn’t even get an allowance, nor did I expect one. But the neighbors I could walk to paid me to mow their lawn, which didn’t take any time at all. I was a champion lawn mower from way back.
When my mom and stepfather bought a house on Gun Lake Road just outside Hastings, where we had lived in a rental house for just over a year. I was still in third grade when we moved. To stay in the same elementary school, I had to ride a bus full of high schoolers, and then transfer to an elementary bus at the high school. I got quite the education riding the high schoolers’ bus. When I would get to the high school each morning, about a hundred kids were lined up along one wall, smoking. They had a designated smoking area. I was scandalized! Almost as scandalized as I was living with my dad and Peggy. Her daughters, aged 17 and 16, both smoked–in the house!
But back to Hastings. My mom and stepfather were so proud of that house by Gun Lake, though. It was a three-bedroom ranch-style house on a one-acre lot. And yes, that meant the lawn was just short of an acre and it fell on nine-year-old me to mow it, which I did every Saturday. It took three hours and three tanks of gas to mow that yard. And how much did I make for my effort? Two dollars. I did it all that spring and all that summer. Bought a brand-new fishing rod and reel with my money, too. So, to be paid two dollars in 1977 for mowing the neighbor’s lawn, which took me at most 30 minutes, I thought I was getting away with grand theft! No longer limited to church money, I was free to make major purchases every week! The first one was indeed grand.
Limited Collector’s Edition #C-51, cover by Neal Adams
When I saw this Neal Adams wraparound cover featuring my favorite character, Batman, with Robin lying apparently dead on the ground, I HAD to have this oversized comic book. What had happened to Robin?? I had to know. Now, I hadn’t been able to read any Batman comics for the previous five years, so I didn’t know that this book reprinted Batman #232, #242, #243 and #244. Ironically, the last comic book I got before my stepfather burned all of mine was Batman #238, which almost immediately preceded most of these stories, and also sported a Neal Adams wraparound cover.
Batman #238, cover by Neal Adams
So, this story was completely new and surprising to me. I had no idea who this Ra’s Al Ghul character was, but he looked completely terrifying on that cover. And I was not disappointed. Ra’s Al Ghul had discovered Batman’s secret identity! His daughter and Robin had been kidnapped by the same people! This was a darker Batman than the one on the TV show, but I had been in on the ground floor for that transition from pop-art star to dark detective. I also loved the goofy Batman of the 50s in reprints. It was perfectly acceptable to my 12-year-old mind that these were all the same character. I read this whole comic probably 20 times the first week I had it. And it took its place with pride among the other Limited Collector’s Editions I owned.
If you’re not familiar with the Limited Collector’s Editions from DC Comics or the Marvel Treasury Editions, they were glorious in their time. While an ordinary comic book from the Bronze Age measured 7.25″ by 10.5″, the LCEs and Treasuries were printed in luxurious 10″ by 14″ dimensions. The others that I had were all bought for special occasions like Christmas presents by my grandma, and they still hold a special place in my heart to this day, but that’s a story for another time. This was the first time I had bought one with my own money and I was about as proud as I could be.
One of the first things I found different when I moved in with my dad is that I was permitted to take showers. That’s not to say that I didn’t bathe. Of course I did. But for 95% of the time I lived with my mom and stepfather, I took baths, and it was not a pleasant experience.
Because we saved money in any and every way possible, all of us kids took baths in the same bathwater. I went first, and then my brother and sister would be bathed at the same time. When my stepfather ran the bathwater, it was scalding hot. And I had to get in before it cooled off. It was very uncomfortable, and I got back out just as quickly as I could. I had to wash my hair while in the bath, and instead of rinsing my hair under running water, I had to submerge my head in the bathwater, again, still scalding hot.
There were no toys allowed in the tub. No bubble bath. Just Ivory dish soap, 99 44/100 percent pure. For how uncomfortable the bath was, I wouldn’t have wanted a toy in there with me anyway. It was all business, in and out. And if I was judged not clean enough, as happened more and more frequently as puberty began to set in? Well, the following bath would be given to me by my stepfather, who was, shall we say, not gentle with the washcloth. I might as well throw a trigger warning in right here.
Not only would he practically scrub the epidermis off me, but as dandruff was becoming a problem for me, instead of using a shampoo to treat it, I was given additional rinse time. He would grab me around the neck and the back of my skull and hold my head under water. And hold it. And hold it. He would hold my head submerged until I had to literally fight for breath. These struggles were probably part of what made my mom give me to my dad. She told me much later, when I was 29, that she thought that Steve was going to eventually kill me, and I have to admit, that as an 11-year-old, I thought that, too. There were some occasions where I was close to passing out or drowning. This process continued until the first pubic hair appeared. And from that point on, my baths were my own.
I was also given deodorant to use to combat the effects of puberty: Secret. “Strong enough for man, but made for a woman,” the slogan went. My mother had tried Secret, but it didn’t agree with her body chemistry, so I had to use the rest of the roll-on. Nothing like going to a sixth grade classroom smelling like your mom. It was humiliating to say the least.
When I went to live with my dad, though, everything changed. I was able to take showers without worrying how long I was in there. I was given Speed Stick to use as a deodorant, the same as my dad used. No one in my new family had ever used an anti-perspirant before, so I still pitted out my shirts regularly, but at least I didn’t smell bad. I wore a baseball cap to cover my always-greasy hair. Puberty was a rough go from the beginning for me. It didn’t matter when I showered, night or morning, my hair would be oily in just a few hours. I even wore that cap to school, despite school rules. This is probably another reason why Mr. Hunter was an incredible teacher. I didn’t realize it at the time, but I do now. That’s the kind of man he was. When I think about him and the teachers I had later in junior high and high school, is it any wonder I became one myself?
As a growing 12-year-old boy, I was pretty nearly always hungry. It became a thing. We would have a cookout, grilling hot dogs, and Dad would buy two eight-packs. Dad, Peggy, and my step-sisters Debbie and Barb would split an eight-pack of hot dogs. The other eight-pack of hot dogs was for me. That’s no joke. I would eat eight hot dogs, with buns, with no difficulty. And I would eat dessert afterward.
It was a joke to them, and I laughed too, but I had just spent several years not being able to eat as much as I wanted at dinner. I was called a pig, and was accused of gluttony. Remember the McDonald’s story with the Happy Meal? It was my job to clean up after dinner every night back then. I would literally sneak a last big serving spoon full of whatever was left as I put away the leftovers and loaded the dishwasher. It was so bad at one point when I was in sixth grade (before I went to live with my dad), that my blood sugar crashed one night and I almost passed out. I spent an entire day away from school, in a doctor’s office, getting my blood drawn every half hour. Four times in the right arm, and three times in the left. I also had to drink some nasty orange stuff. I’m guessing now that it was for a glucose tolerance test? There’s no one left alive to ask, so we’re going to go with that explanation. Anyway, the cure for the condition was simple: feed your child. Unbelievable. There was one upside to spending a half a day at the clinic. They had comic books to read! The one that stands out in my memory was Superboy #205. One hundred pages! And I read it over and over again.
Superboy #205, cover by Nick Cardy
In “The Legion of Super-Executioners” story, Ultra Boy has reportedly gone insane, and is set to be executed by the Legion. Superboy, visiting with his girlfriend Lana Lang on her birthday, tries to get through to Ultra Boy but is overcome by his friend, who ties him up in his own cape. When Superboy discovers the secret that only Ultra Boy, who can use only one ultra-power at a time, is actually the only one not under the control of The Master, he and Lana are set to be executed as well. The story, written by Cary Bates and drawn by one of my all-time favorite artists, Mike Grell, remains a key reason why Ultra Boy is my favorite Legionnaire. The fact that he has to think about how to use his powers makes him a more interesting and compelling character to me than Superboy or Mon-El.
The nurses there were so nice, that since they saw me reading this comic over and over again the whole time I was there, they let me keep it! I hid it away so that Steve wouldn’t take it away and burn it like he had all my others. When I moved in with my dad in January, it came out of hiding and was stored with the others that I rescued from my grandma and grandpa’s house.
Now that I was free to eat as much as I wanted, I did. They started teaching me to cook as well, which allowed me to experiment with different food. The only rule was that I had to eat what I made, even if I didn’t like it. And I did. One of the things I already knew how to make was pancakes. My dad’s second wife had mad chocolate chip pancakes one time when I was visiting, and I really liked them. But when we were out of chocolate chips? I opened a can of sweet corn and added kernels of corn to the batter. Topped with butter and sugar instead of syrup, I thought they were delicious. No one else did, but that just meant more for me.
Another of my inventions was inspired by candy. I loved Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups when I tried them. It became one of my favorites, as they already were one of my dad’s. So, when we had chocolate sundaes one night, I added a big scoop of Jif creamy peanut butter to my sundae. All the women acted like they were grossed out, but my dad liked it too. He got what I was trying to do and he joined me. It became a loving moment that I never experienced with my mother or stepfather. That simple gesture meant the world to me, and cemented the bond between us.
The next day, my dad started teaching me to drive. He had a 1976 Ford E-150 Econoline van that he planned to customize, as so many people back in those days did.
A 1976 Ford E-150 Econoline Van
It has one sliding door with a window on the passenger side, but the driver’s side was just a blank panel behind the driver’s door. There were only two seats in the front, and none in the back. We put an old swivel living room chair in the back for when we drove up to Mesick to visit my grandparents. Seat belts? What for?
The van had a three-speed standard transmission with the gear shift on the steering column, so when I learned to drive, it was with a clutch. Since we lived on a dirt road in the country, it was fairly safe. And within an hour or so, I was shifting through all three gears and driving smoothly. I was never so proud of myself in my whole life at that point. Twelve years old, and I could drive a stick! I couldn’t wait to tell my friends at school. Having grown up for five years being told I was stupid and irresponsible and would never amount to anything, this was like heaven on Earth.
To this day, I think of my dad kindly whenever I eat ice cream with chocolate syrup and peanut butter.
I’ve said before that my teacher at Tustin Elementary, Mr. Hunter, was excellent, and I’ll say it again. Tustin being a small town, Mr. Hunter thought it important that we engage with the larger world outside, and widen our reading choices. He took it upon himself to drive us kids, three at a time, to nearby Cadillac, so we could get library cards at the much, much larger Cadillac Public Library. When it was my turn to go, I couldn’t have been more excited. Not just because I was going to be able to see more books, but also because of the random selection of my travel companions. One was my friend, David Horan, but the other was my crush, Janet Johnson.
When we got to the library, I signed up for my card and selected a biography of Harry Houdini. I had just seen a TV movie called The Great Houdinis, and I wanted to know more about him. And what a treat. We got to stop at McDonald’s for dinner, and I used some of my gift certificates from Christmas!
On our way back, we dropped David Horan off at his house, and then I got to talk to Janet all by myself. I thought she was gorgeous with her dark hair and eyes. Unfortunately, she was going with Ron Bianchi. Still, I asked for and got her phone number, figuring nothing would ever come of it, but you know, nothing ventured, nothing gained. And the following Saturday, I summoned the courage to actually call her. It was the first time I ever called a girl on the phone. I was so nervous. I have no memory whatsoever about what we talked about, but I’m sure it was innocent and sweet.
Don’t worry, Janet gave me this photo from the 6th grade yearbook.
The next day, Sunday, I bought Justice League of America #144.
JLA #144, with the classic giant villain/tiny hero theme
Following the events of World’s Finest #245, this issue of JLA had another appearance of J’onn J’onzz, the Martian Manhunter! I had remembered him being part of the Justice League back when I was a little kid, but he seemed to be making a comeback with two appearances in consecutive months. He had also appeared in three recent issues of Adventure Comics, according to the blurbs in World’s Finest. They even made him a cool logo:
Manhunter from Mars logo, designer unknown
In this particular issue, though, Green Arrow bursts in on Green Lantern and Superman, who were playing cards, demanding to know why the JLA’s records were apparently a lie and that the League had been formed before Hal Jordan had even become Green Lantern. As the story unfolds, taking place in 1959 (!) the true story of how the JLA got together. This kind of comic was my favorite back then. The more heroes, the better, and this one featured 30 superheroes!
This began the back-and-forth battle in my life between geek stuff and my interest in girls. We now know that it’s not an either/or proposition, but in 1977, it sure seemed to be, particularly in the rural areas. It would have been interesting to find out if it was a dealbreaker for Janet Johnson, but I never found out. She was still going with Ron Bianchi even at the end of the school year, and I never saw her again…until I did, 36 years later!
One of the best parts of living in our time is remaining in touch with our childhood friends. Janet and I eventually reconnected, having found each other on Facebook back in 2012. Ten years ago, we both happened to be in northern Michigan at the same time and we met for lunch in Cadillac. I was up north on my usual camping trip, and she was home from Florida, taking care of her mom.
Janet and me, summer 2013
Janet’s been helping me with my 1977 project, since she’s the only one I’m still in contact with from Tustin Elementary. She’s a wonderful friend, even now!
With my newfound wealth, I was able to buy Justice League of America #143 at its new price of sixty cents, but then the money started burning a hole in my pocket the next Sunday after church, even with no new issue of JLA to buy. First, I had to buy some BBs. I had received a Daisy BB gun for Christmas from my mother, and an ample supply of BBs to last quite a while. Fortunately, the same general store that carried my comic books also had tubes of ammunition. At 50 cents each, that gave me an alternative when there were no comics I wanted.
I had taken hunter safety in sixth grade, and already knew how to handle actual firearms safely, so a BB gun was good practice for me, even though I had fired real guns by this time already.
When I wasn’t out shooting up the woods with BBs, I was still reading and drawing all the time. And now that I wasn’t restricted in enjoying superheroes, I started making up my own characters, and even combining superheroes with Star Trek-like ships that I created. After all, the Legion of Super-Heroes had their own cruiser that looked like a cross between the Enterprise and a Klingon ship. It clearly borrowed quite a bit from Star Trek.
The Legion Cruiser
When the next Sunday came along and I still had money to burn, I did something that was near-unthinkable. I spent a dollar on a comic book. A whole dollar! It was crazy, but the Neal Adams cover beckoned to me.
World’s Finest #245
Batman and Superman fighting Martians? Eighty pages? I had to have it! I hadn’t seen stories with the Martian Manhunter since I was a little boy, reading Justice League of America. This is why covers are so important. They sell comic books! Sadly, the interior art left me a little cold. There’s nothing wrong at all about Curt Swan’s art. Nothing at all. But he wasn’t Neal Adams. However, there was a logo for the Martian Manhunter which I thought was one of the coolest logos I’d ever seen.
That wasn’t the story that caught my attention the most, though. That was the Black Canary story later in the book. My 12-year-old eyes were drawn immediately to the circular panel.
I think this was the first time I had ever really considered a woman taking her clothes off, let alone a woman superhero, and it made me feel strange. I couldn’t name the feeling or describe it in words at that time, so I just tried to shrug it off and finish reading the comic. But for some reason, I kept coming back that page to stare at it. How many people can name the day when puberty first hit them hard? For me, it was Sunday, March 20, 1977.
On Sunday, January 30, The Hardy Boys/Nancy Drew Mysteries premiered on TV. I could not wait for this show!
Reading was incredibly important to me during the abuse years. I had read every Hardy Boys book in the library of whichever elementary school I was attending, and it was my intention to read every last one of them. Yes, they were formulaic. Yes, they slightly unrealistic. Two teenage boys who not only had their own car, but owned their own speedboat (the Sleuth)? Talk about fantasy for a young boy! But read them I did. If we were going on a car trip with hours worth of driving, I always maxed out my library borrowing with two Hardy Boys books that I hadn’t read yet. And my backup book was the 1974 Guinness Book of World Records, which was one of my most prized possessions. It clocked in at 672 pages, and I didn’t have to worry if I stopped in the middle of reading it. I wasn’t going to lose the plot.
But here we were, seeing the Hardy Boys on TV? Wow! The first thing I remember is their hair. Parker Stevenson played dark-haired Frank, and pop star Shaun Cassidy played blond-haired Joe, the younger brother. But something was wrong. These boys had long, feathered hair.
Joe Hardy (Shaun Cassidy) and Frank Hardy (Parker Stevenson)
The Frank and Joe I knew didn’t have long hair like hippies! They were all-American boys!
Suddenly, I realized I sounded just like my stepfather, Steve. He had a firm rule about my hair. It was not allowed to touch the top of my ears. Keep in mind, this was the seventies. Are you kidding? My hair was kept shorter than Archie Bunker’s; shorter than Hawkeye Pierce’s; shorter than Barney Miller’s! That put a little seed into my brain that I thought I would try to sow later. I was going to ask my dad if I could grow my hair longer, so that it touched my ears. I felt like a conspirator.
When he said yes, I thought I was getting away with murder. I started asking for more crazy stuff. I asked if I could wear blue jeans and tennis shoes to school. He looked at me like my head had spun all the way around. “Of course you can!” I couldn’t take these things for granted, because previously, I had had to wear slacks and dress shoes. Tennis shoes were for gym class only, I can’t tell you how much fun it was wearing hand-me-down platform shoes out at recess.
The next day of school, Monday, January 31, I walked in like I owned the place. I had the 1977 equivalent of swag, with my informal pants and shoes. And I could almost feel my hair growing out already, and it was all thanks to Frank and Joe.
