Spin Rack and Ruin
I walked as fast as I could, tripping over stacks of out-of-town newspapers, as I hastened to reach the Holy Grail. A few more steps and here I was, face-to-face with an entire wall filled with the four-color wonders. Overwhelmed by such a bounty, I stepped back, right into a rack of hobbyist magazines. A copy of Air Progress hit the floor. I quickly picked it up and placed it back on the rack next to Model Railroader. Finally, things were right and I turned again to, what I later termed, “The Great Wall” and made my selections.
It had only been weeks before when I’d received my first comic book. Pneumonia had set in for the third time in my young life and on one of my parents’ Wednesday night forays to the grocery stores, Dad had come home with a 12-cent treasure for me, Superman # 181. Its bright yellow cover made a spectacular backdrop as Superman swept across the sky. He appeared to be spanning the time barrier as a list of his ancestors went by: Superman I…Superman II…Superman III…Superman IV and so on. The story was “Introducing The Future Superman of 2965” and from just looking at that cover, I was hooked.
In retrospect, I could never have received a finer gift: one that cost so little, yet gave so much pleasure, spawning a lifelong fascination with this art form. I devoured that comic from cover to cover, soaking in the Curt Swan illustrations, the engaging Edmund Hamilton story, the goofy ads. I studied that book so much that even today I remember the names of those kids on the back whose testimonials made thousands of kids nationwide want to sell seeds for valuable prizes. I wonder how “William Hanlin” of Missouri and “Mary Zimmerman” of Wisconsin are today?
Needless to say, Dad’s get-well gift was an instant hit. Little did he or Mom know how those little pamphlets would consume me in the years ahead. Almost immediately, I was a constant menace to their peace of mind, badgering them incessantly for a spare quarter here or there, begging to go on shopping trips to discover which of the three groceries spawned my fetish. Surely, there was more to be had, for I’d read the house ads in the Superman book. I knew Supergirl and Wonder Woman were in peril from Multi-Face in Brave and the Bold # 63 and that Robin wept while holding a newspaper with the headline, “Batman Killed” in Detective # 347. I wanted them so badly, and I knew I wouldn’t rest until they resided in the box under my bed.
The next week, I conned my way into accompanying my parents and I too became a weekly visitor to Food Queen in Neenah, and to our own Red Owl and Super Valu stores. The Red Owl proved to be a bust and the Super Valu had a cranky store manager who didn’t appreciate my hanging around his magazines. He must have thought I was some ordinary kid! A word from my Mom set him straight, but the lone spin rack there was poorly serviced and had more Archie and Jughead than I cared for. Food Queen proved to be the winner of the comic book derby. No simple spin rack there; instead there were bookstore-quality magazine displays across from the refrigerated section to satisfy me…for awhile. There, I discovered that DC didn’t have a commodity on superheroes; an outfit called Marvel was prevalent there with heroes I’d never heard of: Spider-Man and the Fantastic Four and a big green guy called the Hulk. But still, it wasn’t enough. I couldn’t put my finger on the feeling I’d had, but the remedy proved to be a short bike ride downtown, next to Menasha Furniture on Chute Street.
It was my Dad who had casually mentioned a place called Rudy’s Magazine Rack one night at dinner and I probed him with questions until he cracked. Until then, he had considered my comic book obsession with detached amusement, but my mother, obviously tiring of my nagging, blurted out, “For God’s sake Phil, take the boy downtown, will ya?!” That Saturday, after we mowed the lawn and cleaned up, we drove downtown and found my Mecca.
Rudy’s Magazine Rack was several businesses in one. It doubled as a newsstand and smoke shop and was also the local ticket office for the Greyhound bus line. The store was long and narrow with creaky floorboards that alerted the clerk to my every move. I was never treated badly, but being 9, 10, 11 years old, I often felt as if I was under surveillance. It was understandable since I never saw any other kids in the place, only gruff older men grabbing a paper and a box of El Productos before hurrying out the door. At the back of the store behind the Great Wall was an office/work space where the periodicals were sorted and inventoried. I often heard movement and dull thuds emanating from the back as bound piles of magazines, newspapers, and my precious comic books were tossed around before being freed of their bonds and prepared for entry into the selling area for eager eyes like mine. And the smell of the glue and the ink! To me, it was pure heaven.
What made the Great Wall were the eight heavy duty wire racks that stretched up and down the wall for maybe five feet. I remember it was taller than me because I couldn’t reach everything at the top and now and then I’d need to get help. All the major publishers were represented- DC, Marvel, Charlton, Dell, Gold Key, Harvey, and other lesser companies. The overflow that didn’t make it to the racks, lined a bottom shelf built at floor-level against the wall. Sometimes, I’d run across a copy of something alien in the stacks- magazines with strange names like Playboy, Stag, or Gent. I was only too eager to toss these aside, not realizing that within a few years, I might have been a bit more reluctant to dismiss them so fast!
DC Comics became my brand of choice, probably owing more to that first Superman comic than anything else. And while Superman was my favorite, his fellow Justice Leaguers Batman, Flash, and Green Lantern all became my trusted friends, too. DC Comics introduced me to parallel universes, alternate Earths, time travel, and even some factual science. Many of these books, as I learned later, were edited by former science fiction writers and literary agents so it’s little wonder that they eventually led me to conventional science fiction and Asimov, Bradbury, and others. And, wouldn’t you know it, Rudy’s had racks of that kind of book, too. But that was years in the future.
Rudy’s was my mainstay for the middle part of the ’60s, the Silver Age, as it is now called. In time though, my enthusiasm faded. Change had welled up in the comic industry- price increases came quickly, a new-found emphasis on realism took hold, and many of my favorite titles were discontinued. Comics were still great, but as these changes became more and more pronounced, I found new interests. The “divorce” was final for many years to come.
Rudy’s went out of business when I was in high school and its demise was lamented by few people I knew of and, sad to say, even me. My friends tell me today if I still had all those comic books, I’d be a wealthy man now. As a collector, I know better, yet the simple pleasure of being immersed in the comic culture of that era far surpasses any monetary gains that any online auction houses could bring me today. The thought of that little store on Chute Street still puts a smile on my face and you can’t put a price on a memory like that. You always remember your first love.
