Comic Books - That Ain’t Funny!

    

It was a horrible, sickening phone call.  Within a few seconds, my hopes and dreams were crushed like someone stepping on a Coke can. And to think my mom did it. My own mom!  

Let me elaborate. Growing up, I was a comic book kid. Beginning about the age of 8, I began to make monthly pilgrimages to a couple of nearby drug stores. There I would spend my allowance in 12 cent increments to follow the escapades of Superman, Batman, Green Lantern,  Green Arrow, and Aquaman.  I  especially loved Batman because of his gadgets, his secret Bat-cave, and his sidekick Robin.  A teen-aged superhero was something I could relate to. So I got my crayons, and began coloring an old T-shirt until I had a poor facsimile Robin’s uniform.  An old piece of cloth became a mask, and an unfinished bathroom in our basement became my Bat-cave.  I became a pre-puberty superhero, who’s job was to patrol our neighborhood and stop any crime that I saw - of which there was none. And it’s a good thing, because with a utility belt full of homemade weaponry, I would’ve been a formidable opponent for any bad guy (or another 8 year old).I especially liked one device I created - a long piece of string with large wooden spools tied to each end. Properly thrown, the twine would wrap around a supervillain’s (aka my little sister’s) legs, causing them to trip and fall. Then while they tried to untangle themselves, I would douse them with a packet of itching powder I had bought at a downtown magic store. Take that, you law breaker. 

One day my superhero world changed forever when I saw a new comic on the drug store rack. The title was The Amazing Spiderman. Spidey was a wisecracking, smart-alec whose alter ego was an insecure high school kid.  I could understand the issues he faced: bullied by  classmates, couldn’t get the girl. I was hooked from the first page. Soon, I began buying other Marvel comics, like The Fantastic Four, The X-Men, Daredevil, and The  Avengers - where I discovered Captain America. It was goodbye Robin.  Soon I was using my red, white, and blue Crayolas on an old metal garbage can lid to make a poor replica of Cap’s famous shield. 

During this time, my comic collection began to grow exponentially.  My old DC comics and the newer, cooler Marvel ones began to fill up several cardboard boxes in our basement. From about 1961 to 1967 I bought them, read them, and saved them.  Nowadays comics from those years are what collectors call the Silver Age. And Silver Age comics are worth a lot of gold.  What did I know?  Back then, I just bought them to enjoy. Over and over again I read about the Avengers fighting Loki, and the Fantastic Four battling Doctor Doom. 

As I got older, my interest in sports grew. Eventually, my mom bought me a subscription to Sports Illustrated, which pretty much ended my monthly comic purchases. However, I kept a soft spot in my heart for superheroes that extended well into adulthood. When the Superman movie with Christopher Reeve was released, I was the first in line.  I loved that superheroes were finally getting the treatment they deserved. 

Fast forward to the nineties. I was in a little store getting a watch battery replaced. Neatly lined on the walls were quite a few Silver Age Marvel comics that I immediately recognized. 

“I remember at lot of those.”, I said, pointing at the wall.  I began quoting the story lines of several of the old comics until the store owner stopped me. 

“Do you still have any of these?”

“All of them,” I replied innocently. “They’re in cardboard boxes in my Mom’s basement.”

The man’s eye’s widened and he pointed to a comic.” Let me show you something,” he said. Then sweeping and gesturing his hand across the wall he said,” Two hundred, three hundred, seven hundred, nine hundred, eleven hundred.”

Now I spoke, asking, “ That’s what those comic books are worth?”

He nodded. 

I dropped my Seiko. Those boxes full of comics could be worth thousands of dollars. Properly invested, the money  from my comic book collection could pay for my kid’s college!  I left the watch on the counter, ran to my car, picked up the phone, and called my mother. 

When she answered, I cut short the pleasantries and yelled, “Mom, mom!  I need to come get my boxes of comic books today!” I was already counting the money.  

There was a pause that I immediately picked up on, so I frantically said, “ Mom, why the pause? Why are you pausing?” The pause is never good in a situation like this. 

She responded flatly, “Those?  Oh, I threw those boxes away about six months ago.” 

My heart fell through the floorboard. The last time I felt this way was when my wife told me Elvis died.

“Wh-wh-why did you do that?” It was more a plea than a question.

She said, “Well, I decided to clean out the basement, so I got rid of all those old comics. I did save the Sports Illustrateds because I thought you might want them.  Wait! Joe, why are you crying?”

You’ve heard of money down the drain?  Well, this was money in the landfill. 

I finally got over it, but not before I computed my losses to be well into five figures. Then, a few years later I went in a comic shop that had a big sign on the cash register that said:

                     $100 Fine 

     Every time we hear how your

     Mom threw away your comics

   

I kept my mouth shut. I figured it was better to suffer in silence.