Tuesday, June 30, 2020

Voting Is Your Super Power!

Here's a very important new book that both Rene and I worked on a while back. Take a look and, if you are able, support its Indiegogo campaign, please. 

"Of the estimated 25,000 different promotional/giveaway comics of the ’50s and early ’60s, a little more than a handful were devoted to the subject of voting. Sadly, these comics are the most relevant of all the mid-century titles in today’s world. The comics reprinted in Voting Is Your Superpower that were done first in the Cold War period and then in the Civil Rights era contain essential messages for today’s public."

"And this exciting  buzz-worthy book is hosted by a new super hero for our times... General Election! In her first appearance General Election is ablaze with voting power on our special cover by Eisner nominee Sanford Greene the fan-favorite artist of Bitter Root."

"In this 104 page book are rare, cool, vintage, comics collection, you will find a timeless and compelling message of inspiration, motivation, and duty to exercise your right to cast your vote for progressive action so badly needed today. And when you finish and put down this book you will not only have been entertained and enlightened, but you will have realized voting IS your superpower, more formidable than a bat-a-rang, x-ray vision, spider-sense, and a magic-lasso assembled together!"

"Ironically Voting is Your Super Power is introduced by Julie Newmar, infamously known as a super-villain! Here the Tony-winning star of stage and screen known for her role as Catwoman now heroically roars to get out the vote!" 

Best of all, it contains the first ever reprinting of a rare Silver Age Marvel comic book!


Sunday, June 28, 2020

The Return of Johnny Dynamite

Been reading this new JOHNNY DYNAMITE book this week. MAN, these old 1950s stories really are hard-boiled!! The sex scenes are off-stage but described in such a way that you feel like you need to go wash up after you read 'em. Drugs are all over the place, "call girls" are a fixture, and the violence is cold, gory, plentiful, and unforgiving! And yet all done up nicely in PAM's smooth and stylish photo-referenced art! It really is like watching a noir film on paper or reading a Mickey Spillane novel with pictures. The stories are terrible...but in a weirdly GOOD way!

Monday, June 22, 2020

The Lon Chaney Murder


 I had never heard of this. The trial was in 1929. 

Friday, June 19, 2020

My Father's Accident-1978

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This is not a tragic story. A sad story, yes, but not tragic. My father, Frank Thompson, was a working class laborer for most of my life. In my first 10 years, my dad worked in factories, foundries, he was a security guard, an insurance collector, and a liquor store clerk (for one day-long story). When I was about 10 years old, an upstairs neighbor pulled some strings and got him a civil service job as a janitor at the main Cincinnati post office. It may not sound like much but it paid better than he had ever been paid before and had excellent benefits. Best of all, he enjoyed the job! 


Thus, all during my teenage years, he had steady work for the first time in my life. When I was 14, he even took on a second janitorial job for the Social Security office building right next door to our apartment house. My mother and I helped him with that one. For a few hours each night, we would go next door and clean. My mother would wash down all the tables and desks and vacuum the carpeted areas. I would empty all 50 trashcans and probably twice that many ashtrays and clean the restrooms, while my dad would mop and buff the entire floor. Most of the time, the employees were all gone so I could crank up music or, later, Sally Jessy Raphael, while I worked.


In 1977, at age 18, I graduated high school near the top of my class. No one at the school had ever discussed college with me so I had no idea what to do next. At one point, at the last minute, I was offered a full ride to NKU but I turned it down because I was ignorant and confused and felt I had been abandoned by the system. I didn’t even realize what that meant and it was never explained to me.


So that’s where we were a year later in 1978. I was living at home and had taken over most of the office building janitorial position next door as my job. My mother was still working in a factory as she had done since the 1930s, and my dad was still at the post office. 


On December 28thof that year, age 68, he walked uptown for a quick trip to the bank one day and was going to bring me home some coney islands from Covington Chili. It should have been a half hour trip, tops. He never arrived home. 


I was home alone. I considered going out looking for him but was afraid I’d miss him if he DID show up back home. I called my mom at work. She was frantic and told me she was coming straight home. We had only one car, though, and my other didn’t drive so she had to take the bus and that took about an hour. Just before she got home, I got a telephone call from the hospital, which was literally just a block and a half away from our apartment! He was there. He’d been hit by a car but he was okay. A broken shoulder, a lot of bruises, something wrong with one leg, and everything fractured. We had had to get an unlisted phone number after a series of harassing phone calls the year before so they had to wait until they could get him to give the number before they could call me. 


I waited until my mother arrived, explained the situation to her, and off we hurried on over to the hospital. He looked bad. Real bad. I don’t recall for sure but I believe they kept him for a night or two. 


The next day, we saw he had made the front page of both newspapers! What a weird feeling! First of all, why was “Man Gets Hit by Car” front page news? Second, why did both papers send a photographer? And why did each photographer snap such odd pics—one with the passerby just staring down at him and the other with the cop’s rear end dominating the shot? Oh, well. Being the archivist I was even then I dutifully clipped them out. Later, when he saw them, he was amused. 


The woman in the one picture is the woman who hit him. It was a cold, sunny afternoon, and by all accounts both she and he had the sun blinding them. He was crossing the street at the crosswalk next to the Public Library, just three blocks from our house, and she was turning from the side street. He supposedly told first responders to take the coney islands home to me so they could tell me what was going on.    


When he finally came home, he had his arm in a leather brace covering a fleece lined pad. They said he was to never take it off, even in the shower. Since we didn’t even have a shower, that part was easy. He started walking with a cane. The physical bruises slowly healed but he just seemed very depressed all the time.


The insurance rep for the woman who hit him contacted us. She was a young black woman. As I’ve written before, my dad was typical of many old school prejudiced white people. He disliked every black person he NEVER met! Once he met them, he rarely had a problem with them. In this case, both he and the insurance agent bonded over one thing. Both of them were put out that the driver never came to see him at the hospital nor contacted him in any way to see how he was doing after he got out. Ultimately, the insurance agent arranged a $10,000 settlement. 


A lot of money, yes, but things changed from that point. He couldn’t work anymore. Since he was already past the age of retirement by several years, he officially retired, taking his generous pension and social security, and thankful that his civil service years had put him in such a good position. As for the next-door janitor position, I took it over completely. It became my job. 


He couldn’t drive anymore. Or at least he chose not to. Neither my mother nor I could drive, either, so our car sat in front of the house for the following year. Finally, someone complained and my dad was given a ticket. He drove it once around the block, then paid a neighbor to drive it out to his brother’s house in the country, where it sat until he sold it a while later. Since we lived just a block or two away from then main bus route, as well as within walking distance of downtown Covington AND downtown Cincinnati, we could still get to most places easily.


Although both my mother and I had convinced ourselves that this was the beginning of the end for my dad, we were both proven wrong. In the months that followed, his sense of humor slowly returned. His interests came back. He had had to give up horseshoes after years as a champion on several state levels. But he tried it again, brace and all. 


The brace…stunk. When they said not to take it off, they meant NEVER. I checked. So it stunk. Always. After a while, he was set up with physical therapy and I would go with him on the bus to that. I would also accompany him to his monthly doctor checkups. Since the doctor was in Florence, we would come out and then take the bus further out to nearby Florence Mall where we would have lunch at his favorite barbecue place in the food court.


Once, the doctor said his shoulder wasn’t setting right and he needed to re-set it there in the office. He gave my dad some heavy painkillers and then essentially rebroke his shoulder in front of me so he could reset it. As he was doing it, my drugged-up father was moaning something awful but afterwards the doctor asked him how it felt and he replied calmly, “Didn’t feel it at all.” Against my better judgement, we went on out for our regular barbecue and, naturally, that’s when the anesthetic wore off!


Months went by and he got slowly better. He FELT slowly better! He started going places on his own again, walking uptown via the same route he had taken the day he had been hit. Sometimes, he even helped me at the office next door again. 


After another solid year, he was allowed to take off the leather arm brace for good! He made a big deal of tossing the smelly old thing but the fleece pad was washed and stuck up in a closet for some reason. 


By 1980, things were back to what felt like mostly normal, except we had no car anymore. I didn’t drive because I had motion sickness issues, and I was feeling tremendous pressure, not from my parents but from other relatives, to now learn. I started looking again at moving out, getting a better-paying job and my own apartment. I had even found one I liked and later taken my parents to see it.


Then one day, my mother said her co-workers were commenting that she looked a little jaundiced. A diagnosis of pancreatic cancer followed along with an emergency operation. My dad had been declared diabetic some years earlier. He was so nervous about my mother’s  operation that he dropped his controls and ended up in the hospital himself that day in a coma. Worst day of my life, with BOTH parents in the hospital. First time in 21 years I was home completely alone overnight.


My dad bounced back quickly, again, though, and for a while it seemed my mother would, too. Six months of chemotherapy took their toll, and she said later if she had to do it again, she would choose to pass on the treatments. But by mid-year of 1981 she was looking good again and preparing to return to work. My dad and I were both pleased and once again I considered moving out on my own. But then the cancer returned and she went downhill rapidly. She passed just before Christmas.


My dad was devastated. In some ways, he never got over her passing. More than once, I caught him placing my mother’s photograph on her side of the bed and lying down next to it. I felt lost, myself, too, and decided once again NOT to move out as we needed to take care of each other.


But in other ways, the 1980s would prove to be surprisingly active and exciting for him. Having rarely flown before, he decided to join a travel group. They saw plays and attended festivals. He flew or took the bus to all sorts of destinations, including Las Vegas! He even flew out with me to San Diego and went twice with me to Chicago for comic book conventions.


I gave up the night janitor position and began my long bookstore career. We remained in the same apartment I had lived in since I was 7 years old and yet so much had changed. We were now roomies as much as father and son and the new dynamic allowed for us to get to know each other differently than when I was growing up.


I had always loved my father but now I liked him quite a bit, too, and his eternal resilience set the example for me, showing me that one can choose to just give up or one can choose to bounce back from almost anything, no matter how life-threatening, no matter how devastating. 


Even when he was hit by a massive stroke in 1990, he bounced back more than expected, and survived another 16 months before leaving us for good not when the doctor said but when HE was ready to go, when he was sure he had taught me all he could teach me. One of the last things he said that we could understand, after Rene and I were married, was that now he wanted grandkids. 


On this Father’s Day weekend, in this time of uncertainty, I hope I have learned the lessons. I hope I have passed them on to his grandkid. 


Oh, and that fleece pad that got stuffed up in the closet? Years later, when we got our first cat, Chauncey, we dug it out of storage as a cheap toy for Chaunce. He took to it like I’ve never seen a cat with a toy! He carried it everywhere, he spoke to it, he wrestled it, he padded it, he slept with it. When Chauncey passed, 17 years later, we had it cremated with him. We weren’t allowed pets in our building when I grew up but my dad was a cat person. I think he would appreciate the legacy of that accident all those years later. 

Thursday, June 18, 2020

40 Years Ago Today--My Showbiz Debut

It was 40 years ago today! On June 18th, 1980, I entered show business for the first time. The Ohio River Swim Club was the comedy group I had joined in Cincinnati earlier in the year. Members came and went but we had settled down (for a while, at least) to 8 folks—Pat (our founder), Alex, Mindy, Cordelia, Ed, Joe, Judy, and myself, all of whom had been there since the first meeting. Alex, Pat, and I wrote sketches and we met at various members’ houses once or twice a week to rehearse our material. 


Pat had arranged our first gig, at a trendy bar in Covington, KY that just happened to be at the opposite end of the alley from the apartment house where I lived, age 21, with my parents. Recently I found the diary I kept during that period. Just in case we became famous, I wanted to be ready to write our book. Sadly, that never happened. I always say we did one club show, one live show on Cincinnati’s Fountain Square, one local TV show, recorded skits for an LP that went unused, and then we broke up in a haze of pot smoke and sexual politics. The actual fact is that that was my personal experience with ORSWIC. There had been, in fact, one earlier tryout show that I did not attend, and Pat did at least one or two shows with nearly all new members after I left, taking a couple members with me to create my own brief comedy group—Central Casting. 


But Coco’s was our real debut! We wanted to be different so along with our live comedy bits, we had pre-recorded some fake television commercials to run on the TV in the bar. Whoever heard of a bar with no TV? So Pat borrowed three sets and was down there all day the day of the show hooking them up along with a Betamax to run the ads we had recorded a the night before.


From my diary:


“June 15: It’s three days away from the show at Coco’s—we were even mentioned in today’s paper! —but we’re at least three weeks out from being well-prepared! I have no doubt that we can throw together some of our better material by Wednesday, but with no real time for last-minute rehearsals, can it work?”


 Some of the titles of our mostly long-forgotten sketches:

            Ham Acting School

            The Apartment

            Mansion in the Sky

            S & M Detectives

            Lude and Blend

            Dishwashing Liquid


Eight Ball Lite

            The Disease of the Month Club

            The Map


            Baseball Announcers



Those last two were written by me and I still think they were pretty good, especially Baseball Announcers, which featured Ed and Mindy. We would later perform that one before a noontime crowd on Fountain Square and then still later in our television appearance on Bob Shreve’s all-night movie show.


Overall, though, our comedy bombed before a crowd of regulars used to light jazz. The TV ads were paced wrong and hard to hear. I seem to recall one of the TVs didn’t work right, either. A rolling picture or something. Our dressing room was a tiny, smelly storage closet in a back hallway. Outside of catching a glimpse of one of our women partially undressed as we were both preparing for the next sketch, it was a nightmare.


As to the actual sketches, my glasses were in my pocket in the Vampire! sketch when Ed jumped at me as per the script, but knocked them out and nearly stepped on them. As I was only in about a third of the sketches, I was off the floor the rest of the time but I got the impression that just nobody cared. At the end of the night, Pat attempted to salvage the evening (I guess) by starting a totally random singalong of “Happy Birthday” to Paul McCartney, who turned 38 that day. Today, Paul turns 78. Time flies. Happy birthday, Paul. 


By the way, Coco’s apparently didn’t think we were funny enough to pay, so a couple of our guys stole a case of beer out the back door. I didn’t hear about that until later.


The only laugh I heard all evening came consistently from one of Pat’s girlfriends who came down to watch our show. I had met her just before the show started. Her name was Lisa. Over the next few weeks, I would talk Pat into letting her in the group. Over the next few months, I would start going out with her, and when I left the group in October to form my own one-shot comedy group for Alex’s radio show, I took Lisa and Mindy with me. 


So my first major (?) writing gig and my first acting gig—40 freakin’ years ago tonight!

Tuesday, June 09, 2020

Lone Ranger Restaurants

Seen here is a 1969 comic book that was given out free at the Lone ranger Restaurant chain that flourished for a few years in Southern California. At various times Roy Rogers, Bonanza, Ponderosa, Kenny Rogers, Minnie Pearl, Ed McMahon, and even Archie Andrews had restaurant chains, so why NOT the Masked Man?

Fully licensed by the Wrather Corporation, who had purchased all rights to the character, they even wisely got Clayton Moore to do ads for them (about a decade before the debacle that led to him wearing shades rather than his mask).

Anyone ever eat there?

Friday, June 05, 2020

Review: The Adventures of Spike the Wonder Dog by Bill Boggs

I’m more of a cat person myself, although we do also have a dog so I found myself very much able to relate to the protagonist of Bill Boggs’ hilarious novel, The Adventures of Spike the Wonder Dog. 

Not that one needs any background to enjoy the book on its own merits but it helps. Author Bill Boggs is a renowned talk show host and writer going back a number of years. His track record makes him about as much an industry insider as anyone can be. Although Bill writes himself into his book as an actual character, another character, Bud, seems clearly based on him as well. It’s all very meta, you see. Bud is the owner of Spike, the Wonder Dog, a bull terrier who drops more pop culture references per page than a 1980s Stephen King novel.

Inspired by a real bull terrier, Spike is our hero, and the book’s narrator. Was it Alan Moore, or perhaps Lewis Carroll, who said if you ask your reader to accept one impossible thing, the rest shall follow naturally? The impossible thing Bill Boggs asks is that we accept that the dog is capable of narrating his own story to Bill, who wrote it all down for us to read. 

And the story is a doozy! Bud is a small time TV host/reporter who becomes popular when his dog Spike gets involved in his career. Spike gets so much fan reaction that he’s made an official employee of the station where Bud works. He also appears at various local and eventually national events, while Bud is wooed away to the big time in New York City. 

But fame has its perils and in Spike’s case, that involves, amongst other things, getting kidnapped to be used for dogfights! How he gets out of it and reunited with Bud makes up the last part of the book but the real fun is in how Spike describes the events in his world through his own bizarre mix of pop culture and canine sensibilities. At first it’s a bit jarring to have him telling the reader about his ancestors, whom he couldn’t possibly know about, or quoting characters from some old TV sitcom he couldn’t possibly have ever seen, or cared about if he had, even if dogs paid attention to sitcoms. With a non-stop barrage of such thoughts from our four-legged friend, though, one quickly gives up any questioning and just accepts that Spike somehow is exceptional enough to just KNOW all the things he talks about. 

Other characters come and go, and sometimes come again, often parodies of some of the more vacuous show business types that surely our author has run into many times in his career. My favorite is Ike “I Got Money” Piles, aka “Money Piles,” a pro boxer turned millionaire who loves to throw his money around in any and all ways, no matter how ludicrous, impulsive, or impractical those ways might be. Money takes a liking to Spike from their very first meeting in a TV green room and is frustrated when Bud won’t sell him at any price! Bud does, however, take advantage of some of Money’s drugs and women.

Oh, did I mention that The Adventures of Spike the Wonder Dog is VERY politically incorrect? It’s dirty, racist, misogynistic, and whatever else might qualify it for an NSFW rating. But it’s FUNNY! It’s not in any way being mean-spirited, just unashamedly and unabashedly non-PC.

As far as the writing, the only thing even close to a complaint I have about the book is that it feels…well…written. As much as we’re meant to buy that Spike himself is narrating his adventures, I can sense Bill taking his sweet time to find just the right words here or come up with just the right expression there. Not a bad thing because he succeeds admirably. Just an observation.

Along the way, there are lots of digs at various over-the-top celebrity types, lots of veiled social commentary on the excesses of the pre-pandemic world, and lots of dog poop jokes. If you’ve ever had to clean up after a dog you loved, you’ll split your sides laughing at all the messes Spike has to have cleaned up by the end of The Adventures of Spike the Wonder Dog. Read it to your own canine pals but don’t let it give them any ideas!

Excitement, intrigue, mystery, romance, and most of all, humor. I literally LOL'd at this book more than any book in recent memory.

Booksteve recommends.

Thursday, June 04, 2020

Me and Frank-1977

In the news this week is the removal in Philadelphia of a statue of former Mayor Frank Rizzo. This brings to mind the time I actually saw him in 1977, when he presented the Philadelphia Medal of Freedom to Francis Albert Sinatra at independence hall on the 4th of July. My parents had accompanied me to Philadelphia for the Comic Art Convention that weekend and on the 4th, before going to the Con, we went for a walk around town. We stopped in at a wax museum and then stumbled on several hundred or more folks in front of Independence Hall for the ceremonies detailed above, which we stayed and watched. Never got to see Frank sing but I did get to recite the Pledge of Allegiance with him that day. I remember Gary Maddox but I don't recall Andrea McArdle. We may have arrived after her.