Author: gasp65

Anatomy of a Swipe

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« Taking something from one man and making it worse is plagiarism. » — George Augustus Moore (1852-1933)

A fortnight or so ago, I came across an image that looked… familiar. It wasn’t slick enough to be AI, so I presumed it was a swipe. My first guess was Fiction House’s Planet Comics, but I initially came up empty. Then I realized my error: I was looking for a reproduction of the whole scene, involving both figures.

After a second pass… bingo: two issues of Planet Comics. At least the swiper was consistent: both covers were drawn by the same guy, Joe Doolin (1896-1967), a prolific pulp and comic book illustrator. Check out his interesting biography.

This is Planet Comics no. 26 (Sept. 1943, Fiction House), cover by Doolin. Frankly, it’s easy to imagine this one recycled, with minor changes, as a Sheena-style jungle scene, another of the publisher’s specialties.
As for the source of our second figure, here’s Planet Comics no. 57 (Nov. 1948, Fiction House), cover by Doolin.
This is Planet Comics no. 59 (Mar. 1949, Fiction House). A mere two issues later, Doolin virtually reused the same pose*, though obviously, he wasn’t so lazy as to not redraw it from scratch. Pretty nifty outfit on the heroine. Who are these bozos? Inbred descendants of the Savage Dragon and Razor Fist? Jeepers.

I mentioned the clumsy swipe in question to a long-time friend and colleague (salut, Éric!), who informed me that the ‘Space Sluts’ had been making the social media rounds (as they would), and that an alarming proportion of commenters had been fooled into thinking the piece was an artifact of some ancient origin, instead of a recent ‘creation’. No great shock there, as your average Joe Schmoe can’t recognize AI slop either when he sees it (but adores it indiscriminately).

I mean, it’s all wrong: the depressing 21st century desaturated colours (denizens of our current dystopian nightmare shun bright, saturated colours (see graphic below) like a vampire eschews garlic), the telltale phoney brushstrokes of digital art, the incorrect cropping (no art would have been published with the space beyond the edges showing), methods of shading, the ‘dust and scratches’ being the same colour as the printed ink,.. I could go on all night, but I’ve got better things to do.

Then there’s the title. The art is insult enough, but was the shaming necessary? On Facebook, some mooncalf pointed out — incorrectly — that ‘slut’ didn’t have the meaning we’re familiar with until the 1960s. Nope (read on), but it likely wouldn’t have made it into print, and certainly not on the cover of a mainstream pulp magazine. I turn to a favourite reference work, Hugh Rawson‘s Wicked Words (1989, Crown) for the nitty-gritty:

slut. A slovenly woman, one of loose morals, a prostitute, HUSSY, or JADE. “He got very drunk and brought back a sluttish girl to the house. He woke me later to tell me that he had rogered her and her mama, too.“ (Evelyn Waugh, Remote People [in Kenya], 1931).
An old word, perhaps related to SLATTERN, slut was applied to women long before the nineteenth century, when it sank to the animal level, becoming a euphemism for a she-dog, or BITCH. In very olden times, it was not restricted to women, e.g. “Why is thy lord so sluttish“ (Geoffrey Chaucer, The Canon’s Yeoman’s Tale, 1387-1400). The feminine senses developed early, however, and they soon became dominant, which is usually what happens when “bad” words have both male and female meanings. Nowadays, only women are sluts or sluttish, the men having managed to get to escape the derogatory designation, just as they did with, for instance, GIRL, HARLOT, and SHREW.

As a side note, Doolin himself was no stranger to swipes, though technically these were above-board, publisher-commissioned recreations.

« The publisher of Fiction House, Thurman T. Scott, was notorious among pulp artists for repeatedly demanding additional revisions before granting final approval of his cover art. Most pulp publishers understood that good covers resulted in good sales, but Thurman T. Scott was obsessed with perfecting an unbeatable formula for maximum sales. The most obvious element of his formula was a big sexy pin-up. This same mania is reflected in the bizarre reappearance of Fiction House pulp covers on Fiction House comics. »

At left, Planet Stories no. 11 (Summer 1942, Fiction House), a cover painted by WOT? favourite Norm Saunders; at right, Planet Comics no. 45 (Nov. 1946, Fiction House), a line art remake by Doolin.
At left, Planet Stories no. 14 (Mar. 1943, Fiction House), a cover painted by Jerome George Rozen (1885-1987); at right, Planet Comics no. 40 (Jan. 1946, Fiction House), a line art remake by Mr. Doolin, with a couple of minor modifications tossed in.

-RG

*I expect more from Doolin than from, say, Ross Andru, who used the same basic pose on every single 1970s cover he drew, and I’m barely exaggerating.

At Eight o’clock in the Morning… They Live!

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« “Obey the government“, said one croak. “We are the government“, said another. » — Ray Faraday Nelson

I’ve been juggling several ideas for posts, most of them leaning more or less to the light-hearted and poetic, save one… and since that outlier is more suited to the current state of affairs, here goes.

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Nada appeared in Alien Encounters no. 6 (Apr. 1986, Eclipse; cat yronwrode, editor). An early work by cartoonist/animator and fine art painter* Bill Wray, he’s gloriously channelling all of his influences at once: Eisner, Steranko, Stout, Reese, Elder, and perhaps a smidgen of Thorne.

You guessed it, the story was adapted by John Carpenter for his 1988 film They Live, one of the great science-fiction films of that decade that bombed at the box office and were later reconsidered… more lucidly. Think Carpenter’s The Thing** (among others… poor guy!), Ridley Scott’s Blade Runner, and this one. At least it didn’t suffer a pointless remake or a Denis Villeneuve sequel. Yet.

Anyway, Carpenter recounted, in an interview published in the venerable American Cinematographer (Sept. 1988), soon after the film’s release: « They Live began three years ago with a comic book I bought called ‘Nada’. It was published by Eclipse Comics, a company which puts out very beautifully rendered science-fiction stories. This particular strip was taken from a short story called ‘Eight O’Clock in the Morning’ by Ray Nelson. » [ source ]

How refreshing it is to hear a filmmaker directly credit his source of inspiration, even if said source might be viewed as ‘low-brow’ by the holy arbiters of intellectual standing. Compare that to, say, avid comic book collector George Lucas, who brazenly pilfered elements from Jack Kirby’s Fourth World and Pierre Christin and Jean-Claude Mézières’ Valérian for his space opera, then pretended he’d been instead inspired by the scholarly comparative mythology theories of Joseph Campbell‘s Hero With a Thousand Faces. Riiight, George. And don’t get me started on Spielberg.

Related aside: on They Live‘s imdb.com page, some lout quite misunderstood the purpose of a FAQ — objectivity, for one thing — and took it upon himself to malign Ray Nelson’s essential contribution. To the question « What are the differences between the short story and the film? », he frothed forth:

The short story, titled Eight O’Clock In The Morning, is an exercise in awful writing. The protagonist goes around murdering “Fascinators” without any discussion of what changes him from a compliant citizen to this state.

What John Carpenter’s story does, in essence, is add fat, muscle, a brain, and pretty much everything else a living organism needs, to a skeleton in the most literal sense. Everything that fills out John Nada’s back story and makes him seem like an actual person who thinks and feels is all John Carpenter’s idea.

Ahem. It seems to me that there just *might* be a slight difference, in terms of expansiveness, between a 94 minute motion picture… and a five page short story. Well, you be the judge: read it here, in its original context and everything!

-RG

*I simply must point out that, though I like Mr. Wray’s work as a cartoonist, I am in absolute awe of his paintings. Here’s how he helpfully puts it: « Making his living as a cartoonist who specialized in painted subjects, he spent many years coalescing a eclectic array of art styles, ultimately finding his voice in a contemporized reflection of traditional California regional painting that focus on humble subject matter rarely considered as fine art. » His paintings are so very *soulful*, demonstrating a glorious grasp of colour and composition, to say nothing of subject and technique. Take a leisurely look here.

**Farewell to The Thing actor T. K. Carter, who passed away just today. What a cast that was!

Treasured Stories: New Year’s Revolutions (1954)

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« New Year’s Resolution: To tolerate fools more gladly, provided this does not encourage them to take up more of my time. » — James Agate

And another one gone… another one bites the dust, in the immortal words of John Deacon. Adios, 2025.

To send off the annum, and instil some hope into the ceremony, I turn to the superlative Carl Barks (1901-2000), « The Good Duck Artist », and this classic — but not overly familiar — ten-pager from Walt Disney’s Comics and Stories no. 173 (Feb. 1955, Dell)*, scripted, pencilled and inked by Mr. Barks and lettered by his wife Garé, a superb artist in her own right. Take it away, folks!

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The boys’ ironic recycling of the giant bird stilts is a brilliant touch.

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One of Barks’ most refreshing innovations is that he steered Donald’s nephews away from the typical, simplistic ‘little devils’ characterization they were saddled with at their conception. Barks made them crafty but essentially noble, in marked contrast to their Unca Donald.
The issue of WDC&S that our story premiered in didn’t feature a New Year’s-themed cover, so here’s an earlier one, from none other than Walt Kelly. This is Walt Disney’s Comics and Stories no. 88 (Jan. 1944, Dell).

At the end of this wretched, truly merciless year, I dedicate this post to our beloved cat, Barnabas, who left us — peacefully — just this afternoon. May he be 2025’s final innocent victim.

Goodbye, Barnabas (2009-2025). Rest easy, beautiful friend.

-RG

*However, I opted for the superior reproduction values — trust me — of the reprint featured in Walt Disney’s Comics and Stories no. 623 (Apr. 1998, Gladstone). Kudos to Susan Daigle-Leach for the tasteful latter-day colouring.

Christmases, Both Sour and Sweet

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« In the bleak midwinter, frosty wind made moan,
Earth stood hard as iron, water like a stone;
Snow had fallen, snow on snow, snow on snow,
In the bleak midwinter, long ago. » — Christina Rossetti

Christmas is nearly upon us, but while a great many will opt to retreat into the miasma of nostalgia to forget what an annus horribilis it’s been, I’ve picked something a bit more appropriately sombre in tone to nail down the occasion.

But with a more hopeful chaser… to balance things out a bit.

When the indefatigable Carmine Infantino (1925-2013) stepped down from his multi-hatted rôle of publisher, editor-in-chief, cover designer and art director — and so on — at DC, he found that no-one was beating his door down to offer him a similar position.

So he went back to drawing, as a freelancer. As Infantino put it: « Jim Warren was the first comics publisher to contact me after DC. I said “I’ll do work for you, but nothing full-time because I’m busy with other things.” He said, “Okay, whatever you’re willing to give me.” I wasn’t really comfortable with the Warren material — it was the sexiest work I’d ever done! Jim had an older audience and wanted it that way. My feelings about the material never affected the mutual respect Jim and I had for one another. » [ source ]

All told, Infantino pencilled around forty stories for Warren in a span of four years. There was even a brief period when he just about monopolized individual issues of Creepy and Eerie, which was offset by pairing him with wildly disparate inkers. Sometimes the results sang, sometimes they croaked.

Here’s a case of rarely combined styles that nevertheless meshed beautifully: Infantino and John Severin. Let’s face it, who’s more reliably excellent than Mr. Severin?

And so this is… Bloodstone Christmas, written by Gerry Boudreau, pencilled by Infantino, and inked by John Powers Severin (1921-2012).

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I won’t pretend that the entire cast isn’t peopled with stock characters, but its sting in the tail lands satisfyingly, prefiguring the flavour of weird westerns by Joe Lansdale, for one.

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This is Creepy no. 86 (Feb. 1977, Warren). Cover by Ken Kelly (1946-2022).

And now, for the sweeter part of our double-header.

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Night Prowler was an early collaboration by Swamp Thing‘s co-creators, writer Len Wein and artist Bernie Wrightson. It was published in House of Mystery no. 191 (Mar.-Apr. 1971, DC). Joe Orlando, editor.

Oh, and Happy Holidays to you, esteemed readers!

-RG

p.s. Oh, and speaking of carmine, the colour, not the man: I just read, a few days ago, in Steve Ettlinger‘s superb Twinkie, Deconstructed (2007), that « the fascinating, rich magenta carmine, also known as cochineal, is extracted from the dried body of the female cochineal insect », and that « the output of the Canary Islands is used almost exclusively to colour the Italian apéritif Campari. » Caveat emptor, then! Ironically, « carmine dye is produced from the acid that females naturally secrete to deter predators. » Not, however, industrious humans.

The Frescoes of Flanders

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« The mind loves the unknown. It loves images whose meaning is unknown, since the meaning of the mind itself is unknown. » — René Magritte

Last month, we flew off to explore the wonders of Belgium, most specifically Flanders. All other attractions aside, I thought I’d share with you some of the marvels of the country’s comics culture. Hop on!

At Ostende’s cozy Le Touquet seaside restaurant, we were shown the shortest path to the loo by no less a personage than the legendary Cowboy Henk, touting local drink Blonde Kuif.
This group scene from René Goscinny and Albert Uderzo‘s Astérix was appropriately located in a schoolyard, with kids eagerly playing ball just a few metres away.
In a different range, this mural suitably pays homage to French ‘ligne claire‘ master Yves Chaland (1957-1990).
It was nice to see the frescoes maintained. This one, located in Antwerp, celebrates Flemish cartoonist Jeff Nys‘ Jommeke: « It seems fitting that this wall by artist Jef Nys, the greatest Flemish cartoonist for children, is in an area surrounded by schools. His most popular comic was Jommeke, a story about a young boy, with a pet parrot named Flip, who goes on some crazy adventures along with his best friend Filiberke. Nys started Jommeke in 1955 and created close to 300 comic albums. They have sold over 51 million albums alone in Belgium, making Jommeke the second best-selling comic series in the country. » [ source ]
I’ve no idea who these characters might be, but I raise my glass (of Belgian beer, naturally) to the vibrant creativity of the nation’s graffiti practitioners.
Another lovely one saluting one of Belgium’s bédé superstars, Maurice de Bevere, alias ‘Morris’ (1923-2001).
We found that Brussel’s streets were frequently adorned with striking mosaic markers, such as this one, featuring André Franquin‘s Marsupilami. I forget what thoroughfare this was, I’m afraid.
This one captures Philippe Dupuy and Charles Berberian‘s Monsieur Jean and his presumed and entirely laudable and justified appreciation of Belgian beer, the world’s finest — you can keep your IPAs, thank you.
A mural devoted to Michel Greg and Daniel ‘Dany‘ Henrotin’s Olivier Rameau, fittingly painted on the side of a Fireworks store at 9, rue du chêne, Brussels. Top to bottom: Ebouriffon, Olivier Rameau, Colombe Tiredaile, the 3 Ziroboudons, Alphonse Pertinent.
Despite having no Belgian roots that I can figure, Hugo Pratt‘s Corto Maltese clearly is beloved in these parts. He landed no fewer than *four* murals, all neatly in a row. Here are my two favourites.
A most unusual — and striking — composition.
And now we come to my Holy Grail, Brussel’s Gil Jourdan mural… there are two more in Maurice Tillieux‘s hometown of Auderghem (here’s one, and the other, and yet another in the bédé-themed Janson metro station in Charleroi). The author appears for size comparison.
Local graffiti artists come to the rescue: it seems inconceivable — to me, anyhow — that there isn’t a mural devoted to Willy ‘Will’ Maltaite‘s characters. There used to be a lovely « Isabelle » fresco in Brussels, but, citing damage, it was painted over in 2017. However, here’s an unofficial, and brilliant one featuring Tif et Tondu… and their archnemesis, Monsieur Choc. Take a bow!

-RG

It Was… the Day After Doomsday!

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« May the man who has his finger on the button have a lovely day today / Hope nothing hangs him up or ticks him off or bums him out in any way / Lord, help him keep his cool cause he could pull the final curtain on my play / May the man who has his finger on the button have a lovely day today. » — Larry Wilkerson (as warbled by Bobby Bare)

The idea for this post came to me a couple of days ago, and this afternoon, while cobbling together the visual components, it dawned on me that today’s Memorial Day (Remembrance Day for Canadians, and ‘Victory Day‘ for those afflicted with brain worms and/or syphillis), and therefore quite à propos.

DC’s The Day After Doomsday series first turned up — of all places — in the pages of The Witching Hour, a page and a half bit of filler fluff by Len Wein and Jack Sparling. It must have struck a chord, if not with readers, then with its creators, for the feature stubbornly kept a-rising from its post-apocalyptic grave.

In spite of its episodic and arguably slight nature, TDBD enjoyed surprising longevity. It truly found its home in the Joe Orlando-edited Weird War Tales (1971-1983, DC’s gateway title for war fans into ‘horror’ and vice versa), where most of its dispatches saw print. You never know what’s going to catch on with the unwashed masses.

A most humble beginning for a series, this brief scene appeared in The Witching Hour no. 9 (June/July 1970, DC). Script by Wein, art by Jack Sparling (1916-1997). Dick Giordano, editor.

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Humour rears its homely head in the concurrently appearing second instalment — too close to call! — this one from House of Secrets no. 86 (June/July 1970, DC). Same creative team.

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My candidate for the series’ finest hour, this episode elegantly riffs both on the Vietnam War Draft and on Fredric Brown‘s classic 1948 short-short ‘Knock‘, wherein «The last man on Earth sat alone in a room. There was a knock on the door… » 4-F, incidentally, signifies « Registrant not acceptable for military service. To be eligible for Class 4-F, a registrant must have been found not qualified for service in the Armed Forces by an MEPS under the established physical, mental, or moral standards. » And let’s hear it for perennially under-appreciated artiste Bill Draut (1921-1993).

That issue had a splendid cover, and so here it is!

This is Weird War Tales no. 30 (Oct. 1974, DC); cover pencils and inks by Luis Domínguez, from a probable design by publisher Carmine Infantino.

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A scroogey teaming of WOT? favourites Steve Skeates and Alfredo Alcala, this turned up in Weird War Tales no. 35 (March 1975, DC). I’ll bet they had trouble deciding whether to run it in Plop! or WWT.

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Finally, this one appeared in Weird War Tales no. 48 (Sept./Oct. 1976, DC). Script by Skeates, art by Buddy Gernale.

-RG

Hallowe’en With George’s Cousin Emil!

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« Before he can become a wolf, the lycanthrope strips naked. If you spy a naked man among the pines, you must run as if the Devil were after you. » — Angela Carter (1940-1992)

First of all, Happy Hallowe’en! On this finest of occasions, I bring you a wonderfully novel take on the hoary theme of the werewolf, handled by one of the truly unsung — save, it would seem, but some of his most distinguished peers* — draughtsmen of the Golden Age, namely Emil Gerswhin (1922-1999).

And yes, *that* George. Just like, say… the Partches, Virgil and Harry, genius clearly ran rich throughout the Gershwin line.

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I wasn’t alone (Steve Bissette saw it too) in concluding that the terrific Mitch O’Connell just has to be Mr. Gershwin’s most direct — and worthiest — artistic progeny.

*By « distinguished peers », I mean the likes of Alex Toth, Al Williamson and Stephen Bissette.
The latter wrote, in his introduction (essential reading alert!) to PS Artbooks’ Adventures Into the Unknown Volume 4 (March 2013, PS Artbooks): « Like almost all of the ACG horror comics, Gershwin’s work was the antithesis of the festering, tactile rot that made celebrated Pre-Code genre artists like Graham Ingels, Jack Davis, and Basil Wolverton so indelibly iconic: horror comics you could almost smell. Gershwin’s imagery is comparably sterile, even antiseptic, but his storytelling is as direct and no-nonsense noir as the best of Johnny Craig, his energetic pen-and-brush work as crisp and razor-sharp as Jack Davis‘ (sans the grit and grue and bits of meat and dirt spattering every motion), his staging as audacious as that of any cartoonist of his day. »

Bissette goes on to quote Williamson on Gershwin: « Oh, God, Gershwin was good. … he and [Ogden] Whitney were their best ever! A real draftsman, a solid cartoonist all-around. You should look him up, you could learn a few things. »

As for Toth, check out — his handwriting’s always a treat to see — what he wrote to Emil’s daughter Nancy over the course of their correspondance.

Again, our spotlighted tale isn’t the cover feature, but I nonetheless felt it my sacred duty to share this unusual beauty by Ken Bald (1920-2019). This is Forbidden Worlds no. 34 (Nov.-Dec. 1954, ACG), the title’s final Pre-Code issue. In 1955, FW would return to the stands after nine-month hiatus and take its final bow in 1967 after a sprightly run of 145 issues.

-RG

P.s. And while I dodged the headache of our traditional countdown this year, nothing — least of all me — is preventing you from raiding the boneyard of our past efforts, shameless ghouls that you are. Here are some handy links to put you into Hallowe’en orbit for a good long while :

Hallowe’en Countdown VIII

Hallowe’en Countdown VII

Hallowe’en Countdown VI

Hallowe’en Countdown V

Hallowe’en Countdown IV

Hallowe’en Countdown III

Hallowe’en Countdown II

Hallowe’en Countdown I

Treasured Stories: “Silver From a Dead Man’s Eyes” (1975)

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« Don’t pay the ferryman!
 Don’t even fix a price! 
Don’t pay the ferryman… until he gets you
to the other side. » — Christopher John Davison

Grimm’s Ghost Stories (60 issues, 1972-1982, Gold Key/Whitman) is a title I’ve been, in my usual fashion, lazily collecting for decades. I’ve always found in the Gold Key ambiance a soothing respite from the obsessive continuity and slam bam histrionics of DC and (the chief offender) Marvel.

While writer Arnold Drake‘s numerous credits at DC (and, to a lesser degree, Marvel) are well documented, his passage at Western/Gold Key in the mid-to-late 1970s is unjustly shrouded in obscurity. Let’s just say he — along with his young colleague Freff — brought complexity, warmth and wit to the publisher’s frankly formulaic fare.

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This isn’t the spookiest ghost story of them all, far from it, but that’s hardly the point, is it? Fun fact: the practice of putting coins on the deceased’s peepers was poetically called ‘Charon’s Obol‘.

I love the well-developed characters… despite the tale’s brevity. The willful stepson whose only sin is that of being a free thinker; the grave-robbers who can keep their wits about them in all circumstances; and the pragmatic miser’s spectre who’ll trade one act of revenge for another in a pinch.

I’ve already expounded on the merits of Frank Bolle (1924-2020); for more of the tawdry details, have a look at The Truth About UFOs: The Hoaxmaster Knows — and Tells All!

While ‘Silver’ wasn’t the cover-featured story, I wouldn’t pass up the chance to spotlight such a fine, understated Luis Domínguez painting. This is Grimm’s Ghost Stories no. 27 (Nov. 1975, Gold Key). For our gallery of this Argentine master’s finest, check out Luis Domínguez (1923-2020): A Farewell in Twelve Covers.

-RG

(Not Quite) The Most Uncanny Tales Ever Told!

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« The sacred is found boring by many who find the uncanny fascinating. » — Mason Cooley

I’ve expressed many a time my ambivalent affection for Golden Age Atlas horror comics: in short, despite their slapdash, often incoherent writing, they had a solid stable of artists (which makes the thin writing all the more disappointing); but most of all, they generally had eye-catching covers, splendidly coloured (easy a task to underestimate!) and blessed with a light touch absent on the insides.

Today, I’ve picked out my favourite covers from Uncanny Tales (fifty-six issues, 1952-57). Enjoy!

This is Uncanny Tales n. 5 (Feb. 1953, Atlas), cover art by Bill Everett, colours — consistently fine! — presumably by Stan Goldberg in all cases.
This is Uncanny Tales n. 6 (Mar. 1953, Atlas), cover art by Bill Everett.
This is Uncanny Tales n. 13 (Oct. 1953, Atlas), cover art likely a collaboration by Sol Brodsky and Carl Burgos.
This is Uncanny Tales n. 17 (Feb. 1954, Atlas), cover art by Bill Everett.
This is Uncanny Tales n. 18 (Mar. 1954, Atlas), cover art by Russ Heath. For a gallery of further Heath spookies, check out this entry from last year.
This endearingly goofy one is Uncanny Tales n. 20 (May 1954, Atlas), with cover artist Robert Q. Sale giving it his best Joe Maneely imitation.
Surely the leading candidate for “Most understated Marvel cover of the 1950s”… if not of all time. Stan must have been away from the office. This is Uncanny Tales no. 23 (Aug. 1953, Atlas); Art by Russ Heath. I’m understandably reminded of that old-timey jibe, « Walk East until your hat floats ».
This is Uncanny Tales n. 27 (Dec. 1954, Atlas), cover art by Max ‘Carl Burgos‘ Finkelstein.
And one post-Code entry, since it’s so outstanding. This is Uncanny Tales no. 48 (Oct. 1956, Atlas), Another subtle one by Russ Heath, but in a totally different register. Kudos!

-RG

An Update and a Mission… accomplished

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« True friends stab you in the front! » — Oscar Wilde

First, the update: we’re off to Belgium for a much-needed vacation… which is frankly incompatible with our usual Hallowe’en Countdown.

Surely you can still get into the spirit of the season by revisiting any of the eight previous editions.

We’ll still try to post as often as possible, and I promise you that the topics all will honour the mischievous spirit of All Hallows’ Eve.

To wit: a few years ago, George, exalted founder of trefology… and assiduous friend of WOT?, asked me to track down — and hopefully feature — an elusive story he recalled from his callow youth. He described the plot, which rang a bell… at least that’s what I said at the time. Last month, he gently reminded me of my mission and, this time, I’m seeing it through.

And so here’s The Harmless Knife from Ghost Stories no. 14 (June 1966, Dell), later reprinted in Ghost Stories no. 34 (Oct. 1972, Dell)… which is where George encountered it.

Here’s his reaction:

THAT’S IT! Ah, I remember it well.

I’m pretty sure I bought that comic at a little roadside grocery near Strawberry, CA. We usually spent most of the summer on the beach, and comic books were an essential part of my day.

My mom loved the area so much she eventually moved there (with all my comics in tow—so, in a manner of speaking, my Dell horror comic returned home).

As was generally the deplorable case with Dell, no credits. Therefore… writer unknown, but pencils and inks by Frank Springer (1929-2009).

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Amusingly, I’d featured another story, A Room With a Dreadful Secret — from the very same issue! — a few years ago. Read it so I won’t have to repeat myself needlessly… thanks!

-RG