« Would you pay me a pound for every grain of sand in my hand? » — Ben Knox
Here we are again / The start of the end / But there’s more. As far as I’m concerned, Steve Ditko (preferably in tandem with his favourite scripter, Joe Gill) defines Hallowe’en. To quote a dear old friend and fellow cartoonist (though he remains *far* more dedicated to his craft that I ever was), who obligingly reviews my Hallowe’en posts each year: « …and at this point, I was thinking: “Where the fuck is Ditko?!” » Well, who am I to deny a guy his candy?
It’s funny how a lot of people deem themselves Ditko fans, but only manifest interest in his Marvel superhero work… 1963-1996… a blip; on the next level, there are those who also deign to include his Charlton work… but only if ‘Action Heroes’ Captain Atom, The Blue Beetle and The Question put up an appearance.
As you might have surmised by now, I’m really in it for the spooky stories, arguably — I’d certainly argue so — Ditko’s true element. Here, then, is a surly, sultry, Ditko-Gill gem from 1970.
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It was only after my recent rereading of this story that I realised how much it shares with one of my favourite movies, Local Hero (Scotland, 1983; written and directed by Bill Forsyth). I mean… the oil man sent into a beautiful wild place to prospect for resources, in all likelihood spelling another eden’s destruction; the canny native playing dumb; the eleventh-hour realisation of the pristine habitat’s boundless value…
It strikes me that hardcore Randian Ditko would have been normally objected to the environmental message of Gill’s tale: after all, industrialists should not be criticised. But Gill’s politics, from what I’ve gathered from his writings, were far more nuanced and complex than Ditko’s. Maybe he won Steve over with this one. We’ll never know, but it’s nice to dream.
Treasure of the Swamp originally appeared in Ghostly Tales no. 80 (June 1970, Charlton); while it wasn’t the featured story, Pat Boyette‘s dandy defenestration cover was too striking to leave out.
And by the way, Happy Hallowe’en!
-RG
P.S. As I’ve stated earlier this month, there’s been no Hallowe’en countdown this year, but rest assured that the musty catacombs of our archives await your pleasure, should you be so deplorably inclined. We therefore propose the following time-saving links to allow you to bask — forthwith! — in the lugubrious glow of the sinister season:
Who are the Santos Sisters, you may ask? A detailed analysis may be found over at The Comics Journal, but in short you can expect a superheroine pastiche with fluffy teen-romance trimmings and juicy squirts of surreal humour. Ambra and Alana, denizens of the fictional Mexican town of Las Brisas, toggle between fighting crime (magical medallions on) and navigating life as your garden-variety attractive young women (magical medallions off).
Authors Greg & Fake, who also go by Greg Petre (illustrator) and Fake Petre (writer), are not, as far as I could tell, brothers, except arguably in spirit. According to this article (fair warning – it’s in French, though you can always run it through a translating app) they met in college in Chicago, and have been flourishing as an artistic duo ever since. Weirdly enough, I kept finding the same information about them couched in the exact same sentences (including a page that quotes, without giving a source, the literally translated text from the aforementioned French article). On the other hand, it’s nice to encounter a little bit of mystery in this age of arguably too much information, all of the time.
The Santos Sisters are also highly appropriate to this season, as their multiple encounters with spooks, ghouls and ghosts will attest – check out this Hallowe’en special.
Greg & Fake surely can be accused of having excellent taste, as they’ve partnered up with the phenomenal and joyously baffling Bob Burden to create a three-part series, featuring a Santos Sisters crossover with the Flaming Carrot. I was surprised (and a little appalled) to remind myself that in WOT’s some nine years of existence, neither RG nor I have dipped our dainty little toes into those churning Daucus carota sativus waters, but then Flaming Carrot is both ‘obvious’ and challenging to talk about. This is (still, yet) neither the time, nor the place to dive into that, so follow the links above for more information if you require it, and otherwise let’s head to the ghostly section of this post.
Variant cover for Santos Sisters Fun Special no. 1.
Let’s take a quick peek at a few pages taken from Santos Sisters Fun Special no. 1 (Aug 26, 2026). As the girls say, ghosts! treasure! and even a Frankenstein monster limb:
We end on a cliffhanger, but you’re just going to have to purchase the issue to see what happens next! Meanwhile, go check out some lively photos for the Santos Sisters Vol.1 signing here.
« The artist must bow to the monster of his own imagination. » — Richard Wright
The legendary Jack Davis (1924-2016) casts a gigantic shadow over all things Hallowe’en, and not strictly by virtue of being a very tall fellow. In 1959, Topps released the first monster card set, a 66-card set optimistically titled You’ll Die Laughing, bearing splendid watercolour illustrations by Mr. Davis. Here’s a smattering of them — my collection remains far from complete — but you’ll get the notion.
For further samples and a sprinkling of historical perspective, check out this informative piece.
This is card no. 6.This is card no. 23.This is card no. 24.This is card no. 35.This is card no. 39.This is card no. 40.This is card no. 42.This is card no. 52.This is card no. 53. Here, David pays tribute to the controversial title critter from the 1957 film Night of the Demon (directed by Jacques Tourneur and based on Montague Rhodes James‘ 1911 short story Casting the Runes; read the tale here). « It’s in the trees… it’s coming! » This is card no. 56.This is card no. 60.
The cards backs also boasted a lovely Davis halftone illustration; the jokes, however, were not of the same calibre. Here’s one of the least underwhelming.
« It’s a perfect likeness of the Count… right down to the most celebrated proboscis this side of Transylvania. »
A few months back, while sorting some old magazines, I came across a stack of early issues of Fangoria. Therein, I rediscovered a strip I’d just about entirely forgotten: WOT favourite Howard Cruse‘s short-lived (as a strip, not a bloodsucker) Count Fangor. A fitting topic for a Hallowe’en post, I thought… and so it is!
I haven’t seen issue one, but Howard Cruse was listed among Fangoria’s contributors from at least issue two. Truly a complete artist, Cruse provided lovely headings for various review columns in his distinctive lettering, as well as this subscription advert.The Count’s — and his family’s — introduction, from Fangoria no. 6 (June, 1980), reportedly the first issue of the magazine to turn a profit though, I hasten to say, not through the strip’s intercession.
At first, Fangoria’s brass got behind the Count, but after a few full colour page appearances, he began his slow fade, his tee-shirt going out of print, his strip losing its full page *and* colour privileges.
In the tried-and-true Warren Magazines fashion, a Count Fangor mask even made the rounds. I wonder how scarce these are.
This vestment is apparently quite a collector’s item nowadays. The difficulty of landing the right size only adds to the thrill of the chase. Dixit the Count, « Let No Blood Go Unsucked! »
I suppose Cruse’s bon enfantapproach was at odds with the magazine’s ambitions. All too soon, poor Fangor was reduced to page filler panel cartoons, fine as they were.
« Fangoria was a magazine series that ran for 344 issues, from 1979 through 2015. »
Despite my being a small-town teenager, Fangoria’s editorial direction and my interests soon went separate ways. I was more attuned to mood and mystery than the magazine’s average reader, who craved unlimited gore and grue. As slasher films came to predominate the genre’s cinematic palette, I retreated into other interests — à chacun son goût! — and, judging from my collection, the last issue I picked up was no. 23 (November, 1982). In the end, the far subtler Twilight Zone magazine was more my speed.
“Now I know what a ghost is. Unfinished business, that’s what.” ― Salman Rushdie,The Satanic Verses
When I was once again cornered into producing a Hallowe’en-adjacent post, I naturally opted for ghosts as a topic, probably my second favourite mainstay of the season (the first being black cats, naturally). I received 100 Ghosts: A Gallery of Harmless Haunts as a gift sometime last year, and this cute little book was just biding its time until now.
“Doogie Horner” is a heck of a name, so you won’t be too surprised to find out that the author of all these ghosts is a comedian on top of being an illustrator/cartoonist. Go check his Instagram account here.
I won’t include the captions under each image so you can try guessing what kind of ghost is pictured — answers are at the bottom of this post!
Answers, as promised: clumsy ghost, ghost full of bees, genie ghost, nudist ghost, llama ghost, marsupial ghost, ghost eating spaghetti, used car lot ghost, and last but not least, ventriloquist ghost. If you guessed them all, I owe you a ghost cookie (which is either a cookie shaped like a ghost, or one that’s actually the lingering memory of a cookie eaten last year).
Here we are back in October already. I’m afraid there won’t be a full Hallowe’en Countdown this year. However, as this remains — no controversy there — our favourite period of the year, we’ll still be indulging our undying passion for all things moody, creepy and spooky.
For my opening salvo, I’ve chosen to spotlight the striking cover art of a particular horror title of comics’ Golden Age, namely Harvey’s Witches’ Tales (28 issues, 1951-1954).
This is Witches’ Tales no. 1 (January 1951, Harvey). Cover by Al Avison. Read this issue here!This is Witches’ Tales no. 2 (March 1951, Harvey). Cover by Al Avison. Read this issue here!This is Witches’ Tales no. 8 (March 1952, Harvey). Cover by Lee Elias. Read this issue here!This is Witches’ Tales no. 16 (December 1952, Harvey). Cover by Lee Elias. Read this issue here!This is Witches’ Tales no. 19 (June 1953, Harvey). Cover by Lee Elias. Read this issue here!Here we have the miraculously surviving layout sketch by MVP art director Warren Kremer, who designed each of these dark gems, and indeed thousands more, for Harvey Comics. Since it’s preferable to show, not merely tell, here’s a nice brace of them.This is Witches’ Tales no. 20 (August 1953, Harvey). Cover by Bob Powell, né Stanley Robert Pawlowski. Read this issue here!
I now skip over two of my very favourite covers in the series, nos. 21 and 22, having featured them in an earlier post. Do check them out!
This is Witches’ Tales no. 24 (April 1954, Harvey). Cover by Elias. Read this issue here!This is Witches’ Tales no. 25 (June 1954, Harvey). Cover by Howard Nostrand (he always comes to mind when I take the subway in Brooklyn), doing his best Jack Davis impression. Read the issue here, and while you’re at it, Bhob Stewart‘s insightful article about Nostrand and his œuvre.Another surviving layout by the estimable Mr. Kremer.
As far as I’m aware, Harvey horror is renowned for exactly two classic stories: one of them is the innovative Bob Powell tour de force Colorama, originally published in Black Cat Comics no. 45, (August 1953), and widely reprinted since. Read it here, and check out the excellent Kremer-Nostrand cover it bears. And the other? Why, it’s WT no. 25’s cover story, actually entitled What’s Happening at — 8:30 P.M... and having nothing to do with the striking (sorry!) situation depicted above, though also illustrated by Mr. Nostrand.
This is Witches’ Tales no. 26 (August 1954, Harvey). Cover by Lee Elias. Read this issue here!This is Witches’ Tales no. 27 (October 1954, Harvey), another Elias cover. Read this issue here! It’s a competent but disappointing image, and it turned out that there was a good reason for its relative restraint.… and that reason was self-censorship. The writing was on the wall, the dreaded Comics Code was about to come into force, and the Harvey brass — devoid of anything to match EC honcho Bill Gaines‘ brass balls — had opted, to ensure its survival, to preemptively play the squeaky-clean card for the duration. Gone is the soon-to-be verboten term ‘horror’, swapped with the gentler ‘suspense’. The censored cover aside, the issue consisted of timorous reprints from the title’s milder days. No story entitled ‘Dig That Grave’ appears to have been published by Harvey, though it would have been nice to recycle the script with, say, Richie Rich buried alive… which would explain how he became Casper.
It’s interesting, I think, to see how the tone of these covers reflected the industry’s moods: the earliest ones are light and goofy, then things get darker and darker, reaching a zenith of sorts with issue 25’s notoriously gruesome scenario. Then, under the cloud of censorship and public opprobrium, they threw up their hands and eased off the accelerator.
-RG
P.S. While I’m resting on my laurels out here, should you crave more, always more, here’s a most convenient stack of links leading to the only slightly mouldy archive of our past Hallowe’en-themed efforts. Those of you yet blessed with a functioning attention span should find plenty therein to while away the long autumn nights :
« Rockets, canoes, bagpipes, fish, good old chaps with patches on their elbows and jokes about Derrida: Glen Baxter’s world is always instantly recognisable. » — Harriet Lane
As our more astute readers — just kidding: you’re all astute — have surely noted, WOT? is a safe harbour for surreal and absurd cartooning. And so it was only a matter of time and fate that we would spotlight Glen Baxter (1944-2026).
He’s been much eulogised and analysed, and so I won’t bother with rehashing his history or trying to explain his work. Instead, I direct you to the Lambiek Comiclopedia’s exhaustive biography.
The Guardian’s Baxter obituary declares: « The genius of the cartoonist Glen Baxter was the happy result of a childhood in postwar Leeds – periods of dreariness interspersed with trips to the local cinema to watch black-and-white cowboy B-movies, and afternoons spent reading Boy’s Own annuals and the adventures of Dan Dare in Eagle comics – combined with an artistic education influenced by Magritte and André Breton. »
I’m terribly sorry, but that sounds like tidy, simplistic reverse-engineering, a pat ‘origin story’ wherein the artist does little more than randomly recycle and recombine the sights and sounds of their childhood. The man’s œuvre surely added up to far more than the rote sum of its parts.
That said, I’ve plucked out an even dozen favourite Baxters for your consideration. It wasn’t duck soup, I assure you.
The sort of thing Roy Lichtenstein might have produced if he’d possessed a working sense of humour.
In this household, we’d take the more direct route and just eat it.
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Indeed! Meanwhile, here’s a recipe for one of my favourite Szechuan dishes, Yuxiang Eggplant.
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Thankfully, the situation’s evolved, and the Society no longer has to hide in the shadows and gather in a clandestine way.
Although I love greens now, I can’t help but shudder at the way my poor mother — bless her soul — used to ruin spinach and broccoli by boiling the dickens out of them. I’m happy to say she experienced a culinary epiphany, a few decades on, when she learned to sautée asparagus… to fine effect.
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-RG
*thus spake Edward Gorey on the subject of Baxter. I, for one, am inclined to trust his judgment.
Hello all — I write this post under duress and internal protest. Given all the shit going on in the world, and the online omnipresence of larcenous AI, I readily admit that my desire to share any thoughts (let alone beloved stories) with the world at large is nearing zero. I’d prefer to merge with the large bush of gooseberrries in our yard, as a matter of fact. But co-admin RG begged for a week’s break, so here we are, after much hemming and hawing.
I read Grimm’s Stories no. 7 (Jan. 1973, Western) the other day and was pleasantly surprised at the strength of writing throughout the issue. My expectations were grim (he, he) but the over-dramatic stories I was dreading did not come to pass. The issue is, may I say, downright dignified in its treatment of all manner of ghostly topics. Of particular interest was the first story, The Ghost of Hell’s Kitchen, scripted by Arnold Drake and pencilled/inked by Frank Bolle. This merry duo has already had a Treasured Story installment here, which either means that our team has predictable tastes, or that the Drake-Bolle combination is a truly solid one (take your pick).
Why don’t you read it first —
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This is indeed a fairytale, but not because of the supernatural element. Who’s still surprised by ghosts in this day and age? Of more importance, we get a shady character with eyebrows Brezhnev would be proud of, surely even more set in his ways after having been a ghost for many years, who’s perversely willing to be reasonable. He’s told that he’s a fool right to his face… and instead of roaring into attack, flinging any remaining furniture at his nephew, retreats quietly. The ghost’s children, though they’ve grown up with a silver spoon, are good people. The businessman is an honest and hard-working head of the company, and by the end of the story, a great landlord as well. What kind of warped universe is this, and how can we teleport into it?
« Denmark is like a secret little place with its own special language. » — Helena Christensen
Here’s a post that has been a looong time coming. To wit: back on May 14th, 2015, I wrote: « From the pen of a Scandinavian cartoonist who signs his work “Norholt” comes this elegant eye-opener, pulled from a collection entitled “Best Cartoons from Abroad, 1955: A Collection of the Best Cartoons from the Outstanding Publications All Over the World“. Edited by Lawrence Lariar and Ben Roth. Sadly, any search for the mysterious Norholt leads me right back to this selfsame book, an indication that this was perhaps the talented lad’s only English-language publication. Sigh… »
This is what I had:
Incidentally, P.I.B. Copenhagen, founded in 1899, was (and remains!) the principal Danish press agency, not unlike America’s King Features Syndicate… but even older.The Best Cartoons from Abroad collection actually featured *three* Norholt cartoons. Here’s one of the others.
Then, in 2022, a Norholt original turned up for auction at Heritage. They seemed to know even less than I did, and wrote: « Humorama Artist Breezy October-1957 Gag Cartoon Original Art (Timely Features/Humorama Publ., 1957). A statuesque nude dominates this choice selection from an artist signed as “Norholt” (perceived spelling, lower left). Splendid spontaneity in the brush technique. Production notes (reverse) document an origin in the Humorama line’s Breezy magazine (10-57), with an encore in either Gaze or Gee Whiz (the “G” initial is ambiguous). » People may not have known what it was, but they had eyes: it changed hands for 780 dollars (plus commission and shipping).
« This way, we save the anesthetic, you see… »
I still kept an eye out, and earlier this year, discovered the existence of an abundantly illustrated, Danish-language biography authored by Povl’s daughter, Kirsten, an actress likely better known than her father ever was. Which, thankfully, might have been why this precious book saw publication at all.
As it says on the cover, « Kirsten Norholt talks about her father, the cartoonist Povl Norholt ».For comparison, another take on the same basic situation, but slightly less fanciful.
I then learned, through the biography’s helpful Sources section, of the existence of a slim collection entitled Povl Norholts bedste tegninger fra Hudibras (Chr Erichsens Forlag, 1984); I found myself a cheap copy for my library, but you may freely peruse the entire volume right here!
From this website, we expand somewhat on what little we knew: « Povl Norholt (December 3, 1908 – August 23, 1993) became a student from the Metropolitan School and was employed by A P Møller for a while before he decided to become a draftsman. He was co-founder of the humorous magazine Hudibras and created the beautiful Miss Sylvia, who became the epitome of a Norholt girl. And if it was a drawing of her on the cover, the circulation increased noticeably.
Povl Norholt had a style that could certainly have led to world fame if he had accepted the offer to draw for the American magazine Esquire*. He did not, however, but found a wife in Denmark, which daughter Kirsten Norholt is happy about. She became an actress but has also written a book about her father. It is simply called ‘Norholt’. She has donated part of her father’s work to the Museum of Leaf Artists, which is located at the Royal Library.
By the standards of the time, Povl Norholt’s drawings were tantalizing and erotic, executed with taste and professionalism. When he was asked late in his career if he wanted to make a poster for a Bedside movie, he declined. It was too flat and vulgar. »
« That was certainly not the point of the assignment “My most exciting experience” »« No more, Ejler… you’ve already had enough! »« Oh, she’s trying to attract the waiters’ attention… »Norholt was also a skilled watercolourist, not to mention a master of mood.I’ve seen two slight variations of this cartoon: this one bears the caption « It’s strange though… now I suddenly can’t remember what I was supposed to ask… », while another, where the kiosk is ‘Complaints’, goes « No, little miss, I really have nothing to complain about! ». In each case, barely a joke, but the visuals fully compensate for the inanity. Despite being decades older, this piece — in terms of colour, tone and technique — brings to mind Bill Sienkiewicz‘s palette and especially Kyle Baker‘s painted/mixed-media work from the late 1980s (think Justice Inc.)Now, some might wonder, why does a Danish cartoon feature an English caption? Fair question: it’s a reference to a classic black vaudeville routine, which in turn became a song recorded by many. I daresay, though, that its finest hour was the delightful 1947 Louis Jordan (and his Tympany Five!) recording. Enjoy! « I’m getting tired of looking at the same faces every night! »The unflappable elderly gentleman**, which we encounter in the midst of all sorts of outlandish situations, appears to be the mascot of Hudibras Magazine, founded in 1943 and miraculously still around, though it should frankly be put out of its misery.Selective landscape perception. « The painter here could be my father’s alter ego. He certainly has a clear sense of what is most marketable in this beautiful autumn landscape. »« No, I don’t want to go… I don’t understand a word of French! » Le Bal Tabarin was… well, you’ve got eyes. It was open from 1904 to 1953, so you’ve missed it, I’m afraid. As Michel Delpech famously sang, « Un Tabarin en moins, un Palladium en bus ». And speaking of the French… « Novel illustration. The painter Toulouse-Lautrec or the ladykiller Landru? »
-RG
*Oh, how Esquire (and Norholt’s American agent) tried to get him to move to America! That most amusing negotiation is deliciously recounted in his biography. Daughter Kirsten concludes: « In reality, I think it was never my father’s dream to come to America. He was comfortable and safe in Denmark among friends and family, and his dreams of going abroad were more towards England, where his two sisters lived. »
**Obviously modelled after E. Simms Campbell‘s Esky (« the white mustachioed, pop‐eyed, bulbous‐nosed connoisseur of female beauty »), Esquire Magazine’s mascot, who first appeared in 1934.
While I’m a late-blooming romance comics fan — the flamboyant Enrique Nieto drew me in, and I stuck around — I’m strictly a Charlton man: with precious few exceptions, DC’s take on the genre is histrionic and insincere. These were the books no-one at National wanted to be stuck editing. Also, and it’s always worth noting: wayyyy too much Vince Colletta. As for Marvel: Stanley Lieber was, not to put too fine a point on it, relentlessly sexist… ’nuff said?**
It’s not for nothing that Charlton was tops in romance, publishing a dozen or so titles at a time when the Big Two put forth a third of that number at most… with plenty of reprints tossed into the mix. Obviously, given Charlton’s tremendous romance output, it wasn’t all gold… but nuggets turned up with sufficient frequency to justify one’s continued interest.
Let us then flash back to 1971, and a nugget from Teen Confessions no. 69 (Aug. 1971, Charlton). Almost certainly written by Joe Gill and definitely pencilled and inked by yet another talented Argentine, Nestor Olivera.***
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Having the bully/sexual predator wear a big YES on his shirt — though never quite show it — is a cleverly appropriate touch on the part of the artist.
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A typical Joe Gill touch: a character may be introduced, speak one line, advance the story, reinforce its logic… and never reappear. Take a bow, Hugo.Max makes the most of his chivalrous four-panel rôle; in a refreshing twist, there are no strings attached to his gallant turn.
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Parents who aren’t utter dimwits also frequently feature in Joe Gill’s romances. Awakening was the cover story. While former Colletta assistant Art Capello is credited — and he signed it, too — I strongly suspect the heavy hand of editor Sal Gentile in the layout and finishes. Why? Because Gentile’s leading men always tended to resemble actor George Chakiris.Compare and contrast: other than romance, the versatile Olivera demonstrated his chops in Charlton’s war titles. This is the opener of The Dam Yank Army, another Joe Gill yarn, cover-featured in Fightin’ Army no. 74 (June 1967; Dick Giordano, editor).
-RG
*By all means read the full interview for some insight (beware!) into Kanigher’s thinking. He continually caroms from insight to delusion, from sagacity to madness… just like his work, one might say.
**Re: Marvel… I may someday devote a post to the question of why early 70s Marvel romance’s dream man was presented as a dead ringer to the, er… controversial Jim Shooter. Probably mere coincidence.
***By ‘talented Argentine’ (Spanish-Argentine, technically), I refer to none other than José Luis García-López. Also from ’71, and in a totally different style, check out his Emancipated Amanda.
