Author: Mindy Newell

DC released Young Romance this week, using the title of one of the overlooked and (imho) underappreciated gems of comics history, the seminal romance comic that was created by Joe Simon and Jack Kirby and was published from 1947 to 1975. I’m old enough to remember many of the stories contained within those pages; they were attuned to the morals of the times, and regularly told tales of unrequited love, of compromised love, and of love triumphant.

The characters were easily identifiable: there was the bad girl, the bad boy, the good girl, and the good boy.

The bad girl (think Betty Rizzo in Grease) smoke and/or drank, wore too much makeup and perfume, wore incredibly slinky dress that didn’t leave much to the imagination, preyed on other women’s men, and was quite free with her, uh, favors. Not that anything was ever shown except for kisses, but somehow Simon and Kirby – especially Kirby with his magnificent art – definitely got the message across of what followed that forbidden kiss off-panel, even to a young and innocent girl like me.

I always rooted for the bad girl.

The bad boy (think Johnny Strabler in The Wild One) smoke and/or drank, rode a Harley or drove a wicked muscle car with fins, wore a leather jacket with a one-size-too-small undershirts and jeans, had a ducktail and a comb, dropped out of high school and worked at the gas station, and was always hot for the good girl.

I always wanted the bad boy.

The good girl was a secretary or a librarian or a nurse or a high school senior or a college freshman. She wore modest clothes and flats, pink lipstick, no jewelry except for her grandmother’s pearls, and never smoked or drank.

She was so boring.

The good boy was a doctor or a lawyer or an engineer or the BMOC (big man on campus) or the high school football team’s star quarterback. He wore a suit and tie or chinos and a windbreaker, never showed body hair, and always obeyed the speed limit in a Chevrolet or Oldsmobile – definitely your father’s car – and above all respected the good girl and would safely see her to the door after a date and say good night with a chaste kiss, saving “the act” for the marriage bed.

No thanks.

My preference for the “little bit of naughty” also made me veer towards those characters in the superhero world, caped and non-, that I imagined had some, uh, good times, when not saving the world.

I think Adam Strange’s relationship with Alanna moved quite quickly into intimacy, even before they were married. After all, Adam could not control when the Zeta-beam would either take him to the planet Rann or return him to Earth, so there was no time like the present, right? Though I do hope that that damn Zeta-beam didn’t snatch Adam away right at wrong time, if you know what I mean, for Alanna’s sake.

Certainly Sun Boy, a.k.a. Dirk Morgana, was an out-and-out roué: check out a little story called Triangle in Legion Of Super-Heroes #320, February 1985, a tale I dialogued over Paul Levitz’s plot, with artwork by penciler Dan Jurgens, inker Karl Kessel, letterer Adam Kubert, and colorist Shelly Eiber. But I always had a thing for Rokk Krin, a.k.a. Cosmic Boy. Maybe it was the black hair and the blue eyes, but there was just something about Rokk – I knew he was not above stopping by the 30^th century’s version of the Bada Bing or hitting on the boss’s wife. And succeeding.

I know the newest couple in comicdom is Kal-El of Krypton and Diana of Themiscrya, but the pairing of these two, the classic “good boy” and “good girl” of DC, just doesn’t float my boat, y’know. Now Diana’s mother, Hippolyta… that’s a woman whom I suspect walked a bit on the wicked side in her youth. She just too worldly just knows life, with all its ups and downs, triumphs and tragedies, too well. It’s in the way she holds herself, the way she talks, the way she rules.

Lana Lang may have started as a “good girl” in Smallville, but I think once she left home she had some fun. Getting over Superman throwing her over for Lois, she let the “bad girl” come out in college, cutting classes, never missing a beer bash, smoking the ganja, and saying yes to whoever asked. As an adult she may be the “sadder-but-wiser-girl,” but damn, the woman knew how to party.

And of course there’s Selena Kyle, who brings home the bacon and fries it up in a pan. Hey, the lady knows what she wants. I’d like to see her paired up with Wolverine, the “bad boy” of comics. Hard-drinkin’, hard smokin’ Logan hooking up with Catwoman.

Oh, yeah…

TUESDAY MORNING: Emily S. Whitten

TUESDAY AFTERNOON: Michael Davis

No, this is not a column about that. Get your minds out of the gutter, people!

I was working in the Special Projects department at Marvel Comics as an assistant editor when my boss, Executive Editor Bob Budiansky, called me into his office.

“I have something for you that will be absolutely perfect,” he said, “because you’re the only one in the department who will really appreciate it. I talked about it with Tom (DeFalco) and he agrees with me.”

“Okay,” I said, a bit apprehensive and yes, curious.

“The NFL approached us about doing a magazine aimed at kids who love football.”

“Okay,” I said, getting excited.

“It’s going to be like Sports Illustrated For Kids, only concentrating on football, of course.”

“Okay,” I said, trying stay dignified and professional.

“Each issue will also feature a full comic, plus news, articles and tidbits about Marvel.” “Okay,” I said, really trying to stay dignified.

“You’re going to be the editor.”

“O-KAY!!!!” I said, totally forgetting about dignity and professionalism and giving Bob a hug.

NFL Pro Action had its debut at Super Bowl XXVIII, January 30, 1993, where the Dallas Cowboys met the Buffalo Bills in Atlanta’s Georgia Dome for the right to claim the Vince Lombardi Trophy (Dallas won, 30 – 13). More than 71,000 fans found a copy of the magazine waiting for them in their gift seat cushions packs. Wolverine and Cyclops also distributed copies of NFL Pro Action at the inaugural NFL Experience, a celebration of football that has now become an annual four-day event, starting on the Thursday before the game and ending after the game on Super Bowl Sunday.

It was a true labor of love for me, for, as regular readers of this column know, I am a die-hard Big Blue fan and lover of football, having grown up in a family in which every Sunday during the season revolved around going to the game. My Dad got tickets to the Giants from a buddy of his who worked at the now-defunct Jersey City Herald-Tribune newspaper when he returned stateside from World War II.

The magazine had a broad mix of pop culture, trends, NFL and Marvel-related topics, including a comic. The kick-off issue of NFL Pro Action featured Troy Aikman about to get sacked by Wolverine, who was tearing through the cover. (Yeah, Wolvie hates the ‘Boys, like any good Giants fan.)  In addition to an Aikman profile and trading card inserts of NFL superstars and Marvel’s super heroes, the magazine also included a look at the “little people” (5’9” and under) of the NFL, including the great Cowboy running back Emmit Smith at 5’9” and Barry Saunders of the Detroit Lions at 5’8”, an article about the Punt, Pass & Kick program which had been recently revived and spotlighted NFL players who had participated in PP&K as kids, an opening day photo shoot of Niners rookie Ted Kelly and – especially poignant yesterday – strength tips from the late, great, 10-time All-Pro, 12-time Pro-Bowler and member of the NFL 1990s All-Decade Team Junior Seau – yes, I met him, too, and he was also a wonderful, wonderful man.

Each issue of NFL Pro Action also included a 16-page custom comic and the premier issue starred the X-Men and Howie Long – who held up a copy of NFL Pro Action on FOX NFL Sunday, got a ribbing from Terry Bradshaw, and said that his kids were more impressed with his appearing with the X-Men than anything else he had done. The story, by Ralph Macchio, Chris Maarinin, and Keith Williams, with lettering by Dave Sharpe and colors by Ed Lazzerlli, featured Wolverine getting his ass whooped by Long in the Danger Room – the X-Men’s holographic “gym” – and then, humbled yet inspired by this encounter with the NFL star, Wolverine used what he learned from Long against the evil mutants called Morlocks, who live beneath New York City in forgotten subway tunnels.

It also featured Rogue’s Tailgating Tips. Turns out Rogue “favors baby back ribs smothered in barbecue sauce fresh from San Antonio, dim sum, shrimp dumplings, and sticky sesame rolls from Hong Kong, foot-long hot dogs smothered in ‘craut, peppers, onions, ketchup and mustard from Coney Island, and Cajun crawfish, crab legs, and roast pork from the best restaurants in N’Orleans.” Of course, it helps if you can fly to all these places on the morning of the game.

It was a fun gig, and, yeah, there were perks besides going to Super Bowl XXVIII to make any football fan drool. Going to an absolutely scrumptious 12-course dinner with the guys from NFL Properties on the Friday night before the game at a five-star Atlanta restaurant where waiters in white gloves and tuxedos stood behind you and gave you fresh silverware – and I mean sterling silver – for each new plate, and poured a fresh bottle of wine especially picked to match the new cuisine on each new plate, which included a fine champagne to go with the sherbet offered between the lobster and the filet mignon to “wash my palate” – yeah, I got drunk, and it was fun – while sitting next to and yakking with Peter King from Sports Illustrated, meeting Troy Aikman and Steve Young and Emmit Smith (again) and Sam Huff and Junior Seau (as mentioned) and Alex Karras and Dan Reeves and John Elway…

And then there were the not-so-much-fun things that happened, like missing the bus back to the hotel after the Super Bowl and getting lost in Atlanta on a Sunday night after the game…yes, and getting back to the hotel was an adventure, let me tell you. I wandered into a hotel, where a snooty hotel clerk wouldn’t let me use the phone to call a cab, for one thing. I got back to the hotel about two hours after the game, finally having hailed a cab out in front of the hotel – and a big thank you to those folks from California who let me share that cab with them.

And the big wing-ding, ultra-faaaaabulous Saturday night Super Bowl party, at which I met a member of the Atlanta’s city council, and had an interesting conversation, which went like this:

“So, how y’all like HOTlanta?”

“It’s a beautiful city.”

“Y’know, y’all think we’re a bunch of rednecks, down hyah, but let me tell, sugah, we’all treat our niggers down hyah a hell of a lot bettah than y’all do up there in Hymietown.”

“Thank you, I’ll be sure to tell my rabbi that.”

And the guy who thought I was a hooker, and followed me back to my room expecting to get action.

PRO action.

Yeah.

That kind of action.

TUESDAY MORNING: Emily S. Whitten

TUESDAY AFTERNOON: Michael Davis

Last week I told you about my family’s celebration of my dad’s 90^th birthday. This week I’m going to talk about another birthday.

The Doctor’s.

Doctor who?

That’s right.

He turns 50 years this year, plus another 1000 – give or take. And tonight – uh, last night, actually – all us Whovians are – uh, were, actually – being treated to the first of a series of special events celebrating his golden anniversary, with The Doctors Revisited: The First Doctor, which is going to be – uh, was, actually – on at 9:00 PM, to be followed – uh, was followed – by a re-airing of the sixth episode, The Aztecs. I’m surprised – I mean was surprised – that the producers didn’t choose to air the first episode, An Unearthly Child.

In that episode, schoolteachers Ian Chesterton and Barbara Wright become – became – curious and concerned about their 15-year-old student, Susan Foreman. Although the girl is – was – brilliant in science and history, but she doesn’t – didn’t – know how many shillings there are – were – in a pound. In fact, she says – said – that English currency is – was – on the decimal system. And she argues – argued – that she cannot – couldn’t – solve an equation about dimensions with only “a.” “b,” and “c” – there must be a “d” and an “e,” she insists – insisted. They follow – followed – her home one evening and discover – discovered – that Susan apparently lives – lived – in a police box sitting in the middle of the junkyard. Shortly afterwards, Barbara and Ian break – broke – into the police box and meet – met – Susan’s grandfather, a churlish old man who introduces – introduced – himself as the Doctor.

And that’s when they discover – discovered – that the police box is – well, actually, the police box is still the – a TARDIS, a strange machine which is bigger on the inside than it appears on the outside – well, actually, it still is – and which travels through space and time – well, actually, it still does, though it can’t return to fixed points in time, as we saw in this season’s The Angels Take Manhattan. The Doctor is – was – afraid that Barbara and Ian will – would – tell the authorities what they have seen, so he activates – activated – the TARDIS and takes – took – them all to the Stone Age.

I’ve never seen any of William Hartnell’s episodes – uh, well, actually, now I have – and I’m really looking forward to seeing The Aztecs – uh, I mean, I was looking forward to it.

It was really good.

Wasn’t it?

TUESDAY MORNING: Emily S. Whitten

TUESDAY AFTERNOON: Michael Davis

Last night the whole family went out to dinner to celebrate my father’s 90^th birthday. And as regular readers of this column know, this is a birthday to truly celebrate. Less than a month after suffering a stroke with seizure complications, less than a month from bringing him home to die, my father is up and about. Not only has he recovered 99% of the use of his left arm and leg, he’s able to dress himself and perform most of the ADL’s (that’s Activities of Daily Living for you non-medical types) without assistance. Yes, he’s walking with the aid of a walker, but let me tell you, folks, I wouldn’t place odds against him in a race against The Flash. He’s zooming down the hallways of the rehab center like a bat out of hell.

And the best sign of all? He’s grumpy again, turning around to harummph at my mother to “keep up, Laura” as he did a loop around the floor and complaining that he wants to go home. How miraculous is this? Well, last night at the restaurant – for those of you who live in the Cherry Hill, NJ area and are looking for a great dining experience, it was Caffe Aldo Lamberti, a very fine Italian restaurant at the intersection of Route 73 and Haddonfield Road – we bumped into one of my father’s doctors from Cooper University Medical Center, who didn’t even recognize him. “The last time I saw him,” the doctor said, “he was literally at death’s door.”

And while we were out celebrating and toasting and laughing and stuffing our faces – so wildly boisterous, in fact, that our waiter came over to tell us that there was a complaint from one of the tables, to which I said “Screw them!” and my brother said, “My father is 90 years old, he was a death’s door, and if it wasn’t for him they’d be speaking German right now!” – yeah, we were all pretty drunk; even my father had a couple of sips of Glenn’s Kamikaze and my mother’s Pinot Noir – Isabel told me about two wonderful graphic novels she had just finished, Smile and Drama, both by award-winning graphic novelist Raina Telgemeir.

Smile is an autobiographical novel in which Ms. Telgemeir tells the story of the accident which led to the loss of her front teeth when she was 12 years old and its resulting agony of surgeries, implants, and false teeth. Parallel with all of this was Ms. Telgemeir’s experience with her corresponding puberty, with all the roller-coaster joys and terrors of that time in all our lives – crushes, maturing bodies, middle-school cruelties, and changing expectations in herself and from her family.

The New York Times Book Review said about Smile “It hits home partly because there is nothing else out there like it.” Kirkus Reviews said “An utterly charming graphic memoir of tooth trauma, first crushes and fickle friends, sweetly reminiscent of Judy Blume’s work. . . . Irresistible, funny and touching – a must read for all teenage girls.” And Publisher’s Weekly said “A charming addition to the body of young adult literature that focuses on the trials and tribulations of the slightly nerdy.

Drama is the story of a girl named Callie, who is a total theater geek. But she prefers the smell of the greasepaint and the roar of the crowd from backstage, so Callie is the set designer for her school’s production of Moon over Mississippi. And Callie is determined to bring Broadway-worthy sets to her middle school, even if the budget doesn’t exactly match that of Annie. And even if Callie doesn’t know a thing about carpentry. And even if tickets aren’t exactly selling like hot cakes.

And even if Callie’s crew isn’t what you could call a Band Of Brothers. Plus there’s all this “drama” going on between the actors, and those two realllly cute brothers who join the production.

Ada Calhoun of the New York Times said Drama has “an inspirational message for girls, and it’s communicated more subtly here than in Smile. What makes Callie happiest is not catching the eye of that week’s crush, but winning the coveted position of stage manager and finding her place in the world.”

Raina Telgemeir is also the author of four Babysitters Club graphic novels that made the American Library Association (ALA) Top 10 Graphic Novels for Youth 2007 list, as well as being selected by the Young Adult Library Services Association (YALSA) as a Great Graphic Novel for Youth that same year. Ms. Telgemeir also co-authored X-Men: Misfits, a graphic novel that was on the New York Times Graphic Books Bestseller list. She has been published by Random House, DC, and Nickelodeon Magazine, and her comics have been nominated for the Ignatz, Cybil, and Eisner awards.

Accolades that are all very prestigious. Accolades that are all very deserving.

But Isabel said it best:

“There are sooooooooo good.”

TUESDAY MORNING: Emily S. Whitten

TUESDAY AFTERNOON: Michael Davis

Is it Khan Noonian Singh or is it Gary Mitchell? Or could it be someone else from out of the Star Trek TOS mythos?

Ever since the first teaser debuted on theater screens around the world, Trekkers have been debating the identity of the villain.

Here’s my take: I don’t think it’s Khan.

There are two big reasons, I think, that many fans are convinced it’s Khan.

First, the voiceover talks of vengeance and watching loved ones die, and every good Trekker knows that Khan was driven by a need to avenge himself on Kirk for several reasons: (1) Kirk, a product of “ordinary” conception, defeated the “superior intellect” of the genetically manipulated Khan; (2) Kirk never bothered to check up on Khan and his followers, essentially marooning them on Ceti Alpha V, and (3) most probably, psychologically most importantly, that historian who betrayed Kirk and the Federation just because Ricardo Montabalm was one hot, sexy roll in the hay, the one who went into exile with Khan? (BTW, I never understood why Khan would love and respect a traitor. This was a man who goes on and on about loyalty.)  She died, killed by one of those scarab-eels that was the “planet’s only remaining indigenous life form.

Second, there’s that scene in the trailer that’s especially evocative of The Wrath Of Khan in which, separated by transparent aluminum(?) paneling of the dilithium chamber, Kirk and Spock’s hands form mirror images of each other in a “live long and prosper” symbolic good-bye.

But…

Khan Noonian Singh was never in Starfleet and the trailer and other promotional material points to someone within the organization. The trailer also gives the impression that the bad guy is someone with immense, inherent power, and Khan, for all his intellect, still had to depend on scarab-eels and the Genesis devise to do his dirty work.  And this is just a minor point, but Khan Noonian Singh’s heritage is Punjabi, not British Isles. Of course, J.J. Abrams doesn’t have to stick with that, but so far in his reboot, all the characters have remained true to their traditional genomes.

I think it’s Gary Mitchell.

Gary Mitchell, for those of you who have never seen the episode (Where No Man Has Gone Before) was Jim Kirk’s best friend. Mitchell had saved Jim’s life more than once, and had even maneuvered a blonde lab technician into Kirk’s orbit. Ostensibly this little blonde lab technician was Carol Marcus, whom Kirk nearly married. But at some point in their careers, Kirk reported Mitchell for failing in his duty, and Mitchell’s chance at promotion was downgraded. Still, Kirk believed in his friend’s potential, and brought him onto the Enterprise as helmsman.

On an exploratory mission to the edge of the galaxy, the Enterprise hits some kind of energy barrier that does enough damage to the ship that Kirk orders the ship out of there. The energy barrier also kills a bunch of crewman, and knocks out Mitchell. Upon wakening, his eyes glow silver, and he begins to display psionic powers, including telepathy and telekinesis.

Eventually Mitchell becomes so powerful that “absolute power corrupts absolutely.” Spock advises Kirk to kill Mitchell while “he still can,” but Kirk can’t bring himself to do that, deciding instead to maroon Mitchell on a planet. But Mitchell has now mutated into a being with god-like power, and Kirk is forced, in the end, to kill him.

Anyway, what I’m thinking is that in the reboot version, Kirk was able to maroon Mitchell on the planet; only now Mitchell has escaped, and has returned to wreak not only vengeance on Kirk and those he loves, but on Starfleet for daring not to appreciate Mitchell’s abilities.

And the official teaser from Paramount reads:

In the wake of a shocking act of terror from within their own organization, the crew of The Enterprise is called back home to Earth. In defiance of regulations and with a personal score to settle, Captain Kirk leads his crew on a manhunt to capture an unstoppable force of destruction and bring those responsible to justice. 
As our heroes are propelled into an epic chess game of life and death, love will be challenged, friendships will be torn apart, and sacrifices must be made for the only family Kirk has left: his crew.

Unstoppable force of destruction.

That would certainly describe Gary Mitchell, a.k.a. John Harrison.

And a chess game is mentioned. 


In the original episode, chess is played, and it’s a theme in the story. (Okay, I’m reaching.)

Then again, it could be Q.

TUESDAY MORNING: Emily S. Whitten

TUESDAY AFTERNOON: Michael Davis

I was listening to NPR the other day – I think it was Leonard Lopate’s show – and the guest was television critic Alan Sepinwall, who used to write for New Jersey’s Star-Ledger and now has a regular column discussing television on Hitfix.com. Mr. Sepinwall is the author of the just published The Revolution Was Televised: The Cops, Crooks, Slingers And Slayers Who Changed TV Drama Forever, in which he hypothesizes that the same old same-old television drama in which the hero wears a white hat, the bad guy is in black, and truth, justice, and the American way prevails by the end of an episode, with all elements of the plot neatly wrapped up with a bow and placed under the Christmas tree (or Hanukah menorah) and with no messy, lingering thoughts to bother the viewer – is dead, gone the way of the dodo bird.

I found the conversation extremely interesting, especially as the shows Mr. Sepinwall believes are responsible for the new landscape of television drama are those usually associated with the word cult.

Cult, according to the Merriam-Webster dictionary, has several meanings, but in this case the one that applies is: a great devotion to a person, idea, object, movement, or work (as a film or book); especially such devotion regarded as a literary or intellectual fad; (b) the object of such devotion; (c) a usually small group of people characterized by such devotion.

As in “the cult cop show The Shield.”  Or “the cult science fiction show Battlestar Galactica.” Or “the cult teenage horror-fantasy show Buffy The Vampire Slayer.” Or “the cult late 1950s – early 1960s drama Mad Men.”

I think this usually means that the person describing these shows really thinks “I haven’t seen it, but my colleague/competitor is raving about it, so I’d better get on the bandwagon so I can sound just as cool and auteur as he/she does.” It can also mean “everybody is talking about it in the office, and I don’t want to sound like I don’t know what they’re talking about, so I’ll just go along with whatever they’re saying.” Or it can mean “I tried watching it, and I just don’t get it, but my wife/kids/best friend/boss loves it, so I better pretend like I do.”

It also usually means that the shows don’t have the greatest ratings, but the network executives love the prestige and the publicity and being thought of as brilliant by the television critics who rave about the shows. (Hey, who doesn’t love an ego boost?)

These are the shows that Mr. Sepinwall believes ushered in a new “golden age” of television drama:

Oz (HBO, 1997 – 2003)

The Sopranos (HBO, 1999 – 2007)

The Wire (HBO, 2002 – 2008)

Deadwood (HBO, 2004 – 2006)

The Shield (FX, 2002 – 2008)

Lost (ABC, 2004 – 2010)

Buffy The Vampire Slayer (The WB, 1997 – 2003)

24 (Fox, 2001 – 2010)

Battlestar Galactica (Sci-Fi Channel, 2004 – 2009)

Friday Night Lights (NBC, 2006 – 2011)

Mad Men (AMC, 2007 – Present)

Breaking Bad (AMC, 2008 – Present)

Mr. Sepinwall also gives note to those shows he believes were the “building blocks” of this new millennial golden age of television:

Hill Street Blues (NBC, 1981 -1987)

St. Elsewhere (NBC, 1982 – 1988)

Cheers (NBC, 1982 – 1993)

Miami Vice (NBC, 1984 – 1989)

Wiseguy (CBS, 1987 – 1990)

Twin Peaks (ABC, 1990 – 1991)

Homicide: Life On The Street (NBC, 1993 – 1999)

NYPD Blue (ABC, 1993 – 2005)

The X-Files (Fox, 1993 – 2002)

ER (NBC, 1994 – 2009)

I never considered Cheers or ER or even The Sopranos cult hits. But reading the book, I understood why Mr. Sepinwall included them – all of the shows took chances, whether it was in the scripts or in the use of the production values such as camera work or even simple casting. I also found, as I read the book, that it was really not so surprising that so many of the people involved both behind and in front of the camera have intertwined histories, or that at one point or another in their careers they believed themselves to be “hamstrung” by the parameters of the shows with which they were involved, whether through executive interference or through mythology.

Ron Moore described the mythos of Star Trek as a “fly stuck in amber.” Bottom line, every single one of them, whether network executive or producer or writer or actor, had a desire, an eagerness, a need to break barriers. Sometimes it was because, as in the case of the WB and Buffy, a “what the hell, what have we got to lose?” attitude, as a network tried to establish itself as a viable competitor to the “Big Three” and cable. And sometimes it was because one executive believed in the vision of one writer, as in the case of Bonnie Hammer and Ron Moore.

If you’re a cultist like me (also known as a nerd or a geek), I recommend you read this book.

•     •     •     •     •

On a personal note… The Newells have been participants in an honest-to-God miracle.

My father suffered a stroke on Christmas Eve that progressed to continuous seizure activity. After four days in the hospital, with nothing left to do, we brought him home to die surrounded by the family he loved him.

On New Year’s Eve, he woke up.

He has no memory of that week. He has residual left side weakness, but he is getting stronger every day with the help of physical and occupational therapy. And he has the appetite of an elephant. Yesterday all he wanted was a pastrami sandwich on rye with mustard, which he ate vigorously.

He’s not out of the woods yet, but he’s got his throttle all the way open, and his nose up in the air and he’s pushing the envelope, chasing the demons that live in the sky.

TUESDAY MORNING: Emily S. Whitten

TUESDAY AFTERNOON: Michael Davis

This is a story I told to Joe Kubert. He loved it, said to write it up and he would use it as a backup in Sgt. Rock.

1943. Somewhere over Burma. The Dragonfly Squadron, inheritors of the famed Flying Tigers, is returning to base after flying a coverage mission for Merrill’s Marauders. First Lieutenant Meyer “Mike” C. Newell is flying wingman to his best bud, First Lieutenant Benjamin “Blackie” Blackstone. They met in training, and have been flying together ever since. The P-51D’s are pretty banged up, but the planes are the workhorses of the CBI and the pilots are confident that they will make it back to base, even though Johnson’s aircraft is leaking hydraulic fluid.

It is the rainy season in Burma and the landing strip, cleared out of the jungle overgrowth by Army engineers and sun-baked and rock-hard during the dry months, is a quagmire of mud that sucks at the wheels of P-51s as they touch down. The pilots must come down fast and hard with their throttles all the way open to clear the runway.

Three succeed, but Johnson’s plane, with its loss of hydraulic fluid, doesn’t have the power. Even with the throttle all the open the plane comes in slow and dodgy, and the mud captures the P-51 halfway down the runway. Johnson quickly gets out of the plane, and with the aid of the ground crew, is working to move the plane off the landing strip.

Blackie is already making his approach when the flare is sent up warning the other pilots off. Unable to veer off, he is forced to come in, still flying hard. As the wheels hit the ground, Blackie pulls back on the throttle and hits the brakes, but the inertia drives the P-51 forward and up onto Johnson’s plane. Blackie can’t shut off his engines, and the propellers are chopping their way through the other plane’s fuselage. That bird is still leaking hydraulic fluid. Blackie tries to open his canopy, but it is stuck. He is trapped.

Up above, Mike Newell, preparing his landing, sees the flare and pulls off, circling over the airfield. There is radio silence; no one knows what is happening below, though they know it is bad.

Admiral of the Fleet Lord Louis Mountbatten, First Earl of Burma and Supreme Allied Commander, Southeast Asia Command (SEAC) is visiting the base. He and his aide-de-campe (they have been together for many, many years) are watching the disaster on the landing strip unfold.

Fire is dancing from the Johnson’s plane, and billowing black smoke is making the work of the ground crew even more difficult as their eyes tear and their lungs fill with the noxious stuff. Blackie is still alive; he can be seen struggling to open his canopy.

Suddenly the aide-de-campe runs to Blackie’s plane, jumps up on the wing, and works to free Blackie…

The fire is inching closer. It is an inferno consuming both P-51’s…

They explode.

The air is heavy with the smell of fuel.

Bits of burnt fuselage dance in the air like dust motes.

There is nothing left.

The runway is clear.

A second flare is sent up. Mike Newell resumes his approach.

He lands cleanly.

The remaining pilots bring in their planes, one by one, without incident.

They report for debriefing.

Late that night, Mike Newell is sitting on the wing of his plane, a bottle of Scotch in his hand. He swills it frequently, staring at the now silent and empty runway. It is raining again.

A shape approaches him in the darkness, and a clipped British voice says, “May I join you, Leftenant?”

Mountbatten swings himself up onto the wing as Mike moves over.

“This buggered war.” says Mountbatten.

“Yeah,” says Mike Newell.

“May I have some of that?”

Mike hands him the bottle. Mountbatten takes a swallow.

The two men sit in silence, sharing the Scotch.

•     •     •     •     •

Lord Mountbatten was the Last Viceroy and First Governor-General of India, overseeing the transition of that country into an independent republic. The IRA, who planted a bomb aboard his yacht when Mountbatten was vacationing in Ireland, killed him. First

Lieutenant Meyer C. Newell, awarded the Distinguished Flying Cross and many other medals and honors for his service in the Army Air Corps, survived the war, came home, and married Loretta Yontef. They had two children, Mindy and Glenn. He stayed in the Army Air Corps – which became the U.S. Air Force – until the middle of the 1950s. His unit was called up during the Korean War, but never saw active service. The new Israeli Air Force sought him out, offering him a high commission if he would join them. Worried about losing his United States citizenship, he refused. In 1985 he received the Medal of Honor from China for brave and decorous duty for the Chinese Republic during World War II. The Dragonfly Squadron received the Congressional Medal of Honor for their service to the United States of America several years ago. Last year, a student at the Air Force Academy wrote his graduate paper on the CBI theatre, the Dragonfly Squadron, and First Lieutenant Meyer Carl Newell, P-51 fighter jock.

Sgt. Rock was cancelled and the story of Blackie, the aide-de-campe, Lord Mountbatten, and my father never saw print. Until today.

My father, who will be 90 in January, is dying. We brought him home from the hospital. He is receiving hospice care. Every now and then he will talk to us.

Yesterday I said to him, “Dad, it’s Mindy.”

“I know,” he said.

“I love you, Daddy.”

“I love you, too.”

I bent over and gave him a kiss. He moved his head, weakly gesturing for me to come closer.

He gently kissed me on my cheek.

According to many interpreters of the Mayan calendar, December 21, 2012 was to be the last day of the world. Were we going to go quietly, or in another Big Bang? No one knew. But some portents started happening as December matured.

A woman slept while a tornado ripped off her home’s roof.

More than 100 UFOs are seen along the India-China border.

A contestant on The Bachelor claims the producers brainwashed her.

Karen Berger resigns as Executive Editor of Vertigo.

And on December 9, 2012 (or thereabouts), Gail Simone is told her services as the writer of Batgirl are no longer required… via fucking e-mail!!!!!

Although I did once work at a hospital where the Director of Anesthesiology fired one of his staff via FedEx, and although Editor Mike Gold tells me that this is simply the snafu way that corporations use to rid themselves of the suddenly tainted, I personally think this is an unbelievably putrid, cowardly and totally unprofessional way to be axed, corporate or otherwise.

Gail Simone displays superb class; only tweeting I am very proud of what we accomplished with Batgirl and it was an honor to get to write Barbara Gordon again. Love that dame, as well as a longer post at her blog Ape In A Cape in which she thanks Scott Snyder, Bobbie Chase, Brian Smith, others at DC, and her fans for supporting her.

And the shit, in Newell’s unclassy words, hits the fan.

The comics world, not waiting for December 21^st,explodes!

Twitter accounts overload. E-mail boxes are stuffed. Phones ring off the work. Websites, (ComicMix, BleedingCool, Wired, The League of Women Bloggers, The Beat) are “hot off the presses” with the news. Fan forums are abuzz.

Friday, December 21, 2012.

What happens in the Bat-offices will most likely remain between Gail and DC, although there will sure to be many rumors spread by many pundits. Fan outcry? Pushback from other pros? Some even speculate that it was a massive marketing ploy…

Friday, December 21, 2012.

According to some expert on the Mayans and their calendar, the date did not signify the end of the physical world, but simply the death of one cycle and the beginning of another.

Friday, December 21, 2012.

And for one extremely talented and deserving woman, it sure was!

Friday, December 21, 2012.

Gail Simone tweets: Here’s the thing. Gail Simone is the new Batgirl writer. 

Hmm….

Maybe those Mayans were on to something. Congratulations, Gail!

But don’t breath easy yet, girlfriend. According to the Huffington Post, German scientist and Mayan calendar researcher Nikolai Grube says the 13^th Baktun (or cycle) may not actually be over until December 24, 2012.

That’s today, boys and girls.

TUESDAY MORNING (assuming there is one): Emily S. Whitten

TUESDAY AFTERNOON (assuming there is one): Michael Davis

One of my favorite episodes of Buffy The Vampire Slayer is Season 2’s “Lie to Me” in which a friend of Buffy’s from her old school in Los Angeles comes to Sunnydale with the (secret) intention of giving Buffy to Spike in exchange for having Spike sire him… i.e., turn him in to a vampire.

Buffy escapes the death trap, and, in the coda, she and Giles are in the cemetery, standing before her friend’s grave.

It turned out that Buffy’s friend was dying (as described by the friend, it sounds like some form of cancer) and he was so desperate to live that he was willing to make the “devil’s bargain” with Spike. Buffy is trying to make sense of this, and as her friend rises from the grave.

“I don’t know what I’m supposed to say,” says Buffy.

“You don’t need to say anything,” says Giles.

“It would be simpler if I could just hate him. I think he wanted me to. It’d make it easier for him if he was just the villain of the piece. Really I think he was just scared.”

“Yes, I suppose he was,” says Giles.

“Nothing’s ever simple anymore. I’m constantly trying to work it out. Who to love, or hate, who to trust. Seems the more I know the more confused I get.”

“I believe that’s called growing up.”

“I’d like to stop then, okay?” says Buffy.

“I know the feeling.”

“Does it ever get easy?” Buffy asks her Watcher.

As that moment, Buffy’s friend rises from the grave, a vampire. Buffy makes quick work of him, and as his dust settles to the ground, she stops and looks at it, and continues the conversation.

“Does it ever get easy?
“You mean life?”

“Yes. Does it ever get easy?”

“What do you want me to say?”

Buffy looks at him. “Lie to me.”

Giles pauses for a brief moment before answering.

“Yes, it’s terribly simple. The good guys are always stalwart and true, the bad guys are easily distinguished by their horns or their black hats. We always defeat them them and save the day, and no one ever dies, and everyone lives happily ever after.”

“Liar,” Buffy says.

On Friday, December 14, a young man named Adam Lanza killed his mother in their home, and went to the Sandy Hook Elementary School in Newton, CT, and killed six adults, including the principal and the school psychologist, and 20 children, ranging in age from 6 to 8.

Why?

On Friday, December 14, the Michigan State Assembly passed Bill 59, which allows an individual to carry a concealed weapon into what were considered so-called “gun-free” zones: schools, churches, synagogues, mosques (all places of worship), day care centers, sports arenas, bars, hospitals, college and university dorms, and casinos. Governor Snyder said he will sign it.

Why?

Lie to me.

TUESDAY MORNING: Emily S. Whitten

TUESDAY AFTERNOON: Michael Davis

I met Karen Berger in 1983.

Thirty years ago.

Thirty years is a long time. A lot can happen. And a funny thing happens as the years pass. You look back and you can see how you ended up where you are today. How the chalk drawings of your life have made a graphic novel starring you. It’s a story made up of page-turners and cliffhangers, of happy endings and endings that leave you nauseous with Vertigo.

Like so many others, I was, frankly, shocked when the news broke that Karen is leaving DC this March. (I believe my words were “Holy shit!”) Is this her decision? Is she being pushed out? I’ll leave that issue to others.

This column is, simply put, a love letter to Karen Berger.

Last week Mike Gold wrote, im-not-so-ho, a brilliant column about Karen and her lasting imprint on the comics field, in which he stated – I’m paraphrasing – that “Karen fostered and molded and taught her staff.” I can attest to that. Though I was never part of her staff per se, if it was not for Karen Berger and her nurturing of whatever talent I may possess as a writer…well, my life would have been very, very different, and I’m sure I would not be here at ComicMix now.

If you want to know the “ins-and-outs” of how Karen taught me the craft of writing comics and nurtured me and helped me expand my professional credits, look up my column dated August 8, 2011, How I Became A Comics Professional, Or, How The Fuck Did That Happen, Part Two. This is about how she helped me find myself.

In 1983 I was a single mom, and apart from the joy Alix gave me, I was a very, very unhappy and lost woman. I was lonely. I was, if not in darkness, in a fog as thick as pea soup. I could not put a finger on what was wrong, I only knew that something was lacking. There was an emptiness in my life. It was as if I was standing in the center of a compass, and I didn’t know in what direction I should walk.

Whatever possessed me to sit down that day and write a brief synopsis of what would become Jenesis, the story that got me into DC’s New Talent Showcase? Was it hope? Was it, as my therapist likes to say, a core of steel somewhere buried deep within me that enables me to always pick myself up no matter what, and to and continue to put one foot in front of the other? Was it the hand of God, or the Goddess, or Fate, or Karma, or whatever higher power is out there? Or was it pure chutzpah, born out of a need to do something to change my life? For me, and for Alix? (I tend to think that it was God giving me that hope and core of steel and the chutzpah, but that’s just me. You can decide for yourselves.)

But nobody, despite what they may boast, does it all alone.

The day I came home from my first meeting with Karen was the beginning of the end for me: the end of feeling chained down, the end of feeling mislaid and misplaced, the end of feeling alone. I had met a woman who saw something in me that I had lost the ability to see – my ability to dream. My ability to accomplish.

Karen was not only my editor. She became my friend. I was there as she and Richard fell in love, broke up, got back together, and got married in an absolutely beautiful wedding in brick townhouse in Greenwich Village. She was the first person that I ever told about my agoraphobia – we were sitting in a restaurant on Columbus Avenue.

“I’m having a panic attack,” I said.

“You are?”

“Yeah, I know it’s stupid, but I’m freaking out.”

“About what?”

“That something is going to happen to me and I’ll end up lying on the floor,” I answered.

“And what, do you think I would ignore you, that people would just walk over you getting to their tables?” she asked?

And we laughed.

And though the anxiety attacks continued – I still get them sometimes – I’ve never again let them hold me back.

Comics…and an editor and friend named Karen Berger helped me to learn to believe in myself again.

May the road always rise up to meet you, Karen.

And thank you.

From the bottom of my heart.

TUESDAY MORNING: Emily S. Whitten

TUESDAY AFTERNOON: Michael Davis