« 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.
Ah, the nineteen seventies… and their Satanic panic, in which we can recognize so closely the roots (or at least relatives) of today’s disinformation maelstrom, before the politicisation and weaponisation of septic paranoia and lies had become honed to such an anti-science. In a lot of sordid ways, Lawrence Pazder was an Andrew Wakefield of his day.
Here’s a story that I first encountered around the time of its release, remembered, but didn’t revisit until a couple of weeks ago, when a good friend (merci, Keith!) helpfully snapped up a copy for me. This deceptively dark tale was created by writer Arnold Drake (I surmise), penciller John Celardo and mysterious inker Wanda Ippolito, who may have a been a spouse or relative of Celardo’s. It’s odd to find someone else inking Celardo, as this was his chief, most enduring and distinctive strength. For comparison’s sake — and presumably, reading enjoyment — here’s another Drake-Celardo outing, The Anti-13!
I won’t make any claims that this is great art: by this time, Gold Key’s printing was shoddy, they barely bothered with the colouring (straight Magenta and Cyan and Yellow everywhere — how lazy can you get?)… but I treasure this one because of the story. Given its moral — what moral? — it’s hard to imagine The Comics Code Authority giving this one a pass, as it merrily violates several of its key precepts. I’ve got another such blasphemous entry in the pipeline… this one duly Code-Approved! Just you wait…
I had a childhood friend who was a lot like Marvin (minus the devil worship — for all I know)… he was incredibly talented, but also scarily unpredictable, and not in a good way. One day, he just disappeared.
On the other hand, the accompanying cover is spectacular.
« Why Can’t You Be More Like Marvin? » originally appeared in Boris Karloff Tales of Mystery no. 63 (Aug. 1975, Gold Key), which bore this masterfully disquieting cover by Luis Domínguez. It would have made it into my Domínguez retrospective, Luis Domínguez (1923-2020): A Farewell in Twelve Covers but for the fact that I didn’t own a decent copy of the issue.
And as (nearly) always, a bonus for context: Celardo had a long and fruitful career, and I’m sure one of its highlights was to number among Fiction House’s elite cadre of cover artists. I’ve said it before, but despite their mind-numbing repetitiveness, FH covers were tops in the Golden Age in terms of draftsmanship and production values.
Aw, poor Ka’a’nga — always left at home to feed the jackals while Ann Mason goes off on escapades with her other boyfriends. And who insisted on adopting them in the first place? Ann, that’s who! This is Jungle Comics no. 98 (Feb. 1948, Fiction House). Judging from his ability in the jungle antics genre, it’s no wonder that Celardo was picked to illustrate the real thing (at least comics-wise): the Tarzan comic strip, from 1954 to 1968, between Bob Lubbers (another FH cover artiste!) and Russ Manning. And here’s one of Celardo’s Tarzan Sundays (March 27, 1954, United Feature Syndicate).
« Trouble with you is the trouble with me / Got two good eyes but we still don’t see / Come round the bend, you know it’s the end / The fireman screams and the engine just gleams » — Robert Hunter
Another quite slight tale, but I’ve always loved this one for its nocturnal, storm-tossed ambiance. And it takes considerable illustrative skill to bring to life such a compact vignette with clarity and visual interest. Especially while hobbled by pedestrian colouring and hazy printing.
While the scripter goes uncredited (though it’s presumably editor Murray Boltinoff), the artist is Rodolfo “Rudy” Florese (1946-2003); he was one of the band of solid Filipino craftsmen that brought extra style and diversity to the US Comics industry in the 1970s. The lion’s share of Florese’s American contribution went to DC’s Tarzan titles. Take it away, boys!
Yeah, that’s right: in such stories, Death always betrays himself by picking an oddball moniker like “Mort Todd” or some such dead giveaway. To be fair, Satan and Dracula also indulge in the corny practice. Dr. Shreck, anyone? Think it never happens in “real” life? Let us consider the case of smarmy Albertan reprobate Pierre Poilièvre, whose name basically translates as Pierre Pea-Hare.
The Roaring Coffin originally saw print in Ghosts no. 40 (July 1975, DC), which bore this enticing Luis Domínguez cover.
Who's Out There? 