Before the memory of past events fades beyond my ability to
accurately recall, I now cast the spotlight of history upon WORLD'S
FINEST COMICS #178, which I had when I was a boy of between eight
or ten years old. My original copy of this comic was torn into tiny pieces
at one stage (don't ask, I can't remember) and for two or three years the
scraps littered the layers of insulation fibre between the floor joists in my
loft. In fact, I wouldn't be at all surprised if fragments yet lurked there
to this day, forty years after my family moved from the house.
The scans you're currently looking at come from a replacement copy
I acquired a good many years ago. It's true to say that I've had it for a
far greater period of time than I ever had the original, but in all that span,
I've never yet managed to read the story's conclusion in the next-but-one
issue, number 180. (179 was a Giant-Size reprint issue.) One day I must
apply myself to tracking down a copy of the comic and finding out what
happened, although it'll be a strange sensation to finally read the
resolution of a tale I first started 45 years before.
Whenever I look at this comic, memories come flooding back; images
of CORSON'S, the shop from where I purchased it; the bedroom of my
old house and the gloom of the loft where it met its final fate. If you had
this comic as a child then you'll have your own set of recollections to
accompany it. If so, cast now your eyes over the following select pages
and enter again that hallowed haven of yesteryear when the world was
a much simpler, safer place and the future still a long way off.
And just think - somewhere out there is bound to be someone who read
#180 all those years ago, but never saw #178. Ain't life strange?