WILL YOU TAKE THE MONEY OR OPEN THE POD...? (Updated)

It only took 54 years, but I finally managed to track down a replacement jeep

You've all read me rabbit on before about how certain items, whether they be comics or toys, can take you right back to the time and place (in your mind at least) when you first owned them.  And here's yet another example.  A while back I managed to obtain a JR21 TB2 toy, though without the little green jeep that sat in the pod.  I used a stand-in until recently succeeding in obtaining an original TB2 jeep, and whenever I look at it, I'm right back in the bedroom of my previous residence back in the '60s, so strongly do I associate the item with the house.

It's an odd sensation, because it's almost like inhabiting two different places at the same time.  Or in my case, five different places, because I have things (or replacements of things) from almost every house I've ever lived in.  One exception to this feeling, even though certain items yet survive from my time there, is the tenement apartment in Glasgow's West End, from which we moved when I was only one-and-a-half and therefore have no memory of having stayed there.

Anyway, forget that load of ol' pants, 'cos this is just an excuse to show you my TB2 again, but this time with the (out-of-scale) jeep it would've had when first manufactured back in the '60s.  Oh, happy day!  However, I feel compelled to tell you the full story.  (Don't worry, it's short.)  I actually had to buy another TB2 to obtain the jeep/land-rover, so I now have a spare JR21 TB2.  Although I'm by no means decided on whether I'd part with it, if anybody would like to make me an offer, I'd certainly consider it.

The elusive jeep (or is it a land-rover?) - mine at last

My two JR21 Thunderbird 2s.  Enough to make you green with envy, eh?

My 2nd TB2 with stand-in jeep, with TB4 looking neglected in the background.  I've got
a set of decals somewhere, so the missing 2 on the cockpit will be getting replaced soon

Update: Typical!  A couple or so weeks before I obtained my second (third if you count my original one back in the '60s) JR21 TB2, I found spare decals for another TB2 model I had.  However, when it came to finding them again so that I could replace the missing '2' decal on the nosecone, I just couldn't remember where I'd last seen them.  Nothing for it then but to make one myself, so I lettered a '2' on an adhesive label, cut it out, and applied it to the nosecone.  Not too bad, eh?  (See pics below.)  It'll do 'til I find those darn decals.   

CLASS - SOMETHING YOU'VE EITHER GOT OR YOU HAVEN'T - JUST ASK ALAN...

Copyright relevant & respective owners

As far as I can recall, I now own (or re-own) every Alan Class (and AC-type comic) I ever had (or read) in my life.  That comes to around 18 comics in all, out of the 20 I now have in my collection.  Of that number, 12 are my original copies (11 of which were returned to me by a friend 30-odd years after I'd given them to him), with at least 6 of the remaining 8 being replacements and one or two perhaps being 'new'.

Anyway, I've shown them on the blog before, but I thought it might be a good idea to do an 'Omnibus Cover Gallery' of every single one, so that they're all in the same post for future reference.  So no point hanging about - paste your palpitating peepers on these power-packed periodicals, and then leave a comment saying which ones you owned (or own) and which of them is/are your favourite/s.

Come on now, don't be shy.  If you're reading Crivens, you clearly have nothing else to do.  What I'd love is if someone revived these titles and reprinted the same strips, but this time in colour - wouldn't that be something?!  Is there anyone else out there who'd like to see such a thing, however unlikely it is to ever actually happen?

All the pence issues on display started life as 68 page titles and originally cost only one shilling.  By the time the '70s rolled around, the page count had been cut to 52, including the covers, and the price gradually increased to the decimal equivalent of two shillings - then three, then four.)

Anyway, Crivs, hope you enjoy these cover images from yesteryear.

This one's spine-stapled, not 'square-bound'

This one's by L. MILLER.  Terribly lettered logo

This one's spine-stapled, not 'square-bound'

STOP! DON'T NOT READ THIS POST...

As all loyal and adoring Crivvies know, I am the most modest and humble of men.  Not for yours-truly the brash, arrogant boasting and self-aggrandising pronouncements of a braggart, in conceited attempts to shout my talents from the rooftops.  Truly it can be said that humility is my middle name.  However, on this rare occasion, I feel it behoves me to shyly draw your attention to the above record which I received today, and softly point out, from the seller's photos, how the cover looked in his possession and its current state now that it belongs to me.

Oh, stuff all that!  Didn't I make a feckin' brilliant job of making it look quite a bit better than it was?!  You're darn tootin' I did.  Now tell me how amazing I am!  It won't hurt and you'll feel good about yourselves for being able to recognise a gifted individual when you see one (you know who I mean).  Line up for the comments section - the 'praise-fest' starts now.  (My photo of the front cover looks slightly darker than the seller's, but that's because I dulled the flash to reduce the glare after a few attempts at taking it.)

And yes, you've seen the cover before on this blog, but it was a replica I made from someone else's original around 25 or more years ago.  I obtained a coverless record a few months back and united the two items, but the record had quite a few snaps, crackles and pops.  However, just a few days ago, I saw an original cover with record on eBay for an unbelievably low price (I'm surprised it wasn't snapped up by someone else), and I'm happy to report that the record plays virtually perfectly - which, considering it's 58 years old, is remarkable. 

And so that you can compare the difference a little more easily, I've included split-screen side-by-side screen-shots of the front and back.  Click on images to enlarge so that you can examine them in more detail.

A discreet colour touch on the corners and open edge makes a great difference

The lamination on the cover flaps had shrunk, leaving a dirty 'tide mark' where
it had once been, but I managed to clean it up okay and improve its appearance

Sheesh!  Going by the lack of comments so far, I can only assume that my sense of humour is perhaps not quite so obvious as I perceive it to be.  Oh well, you win some, you lose some.

A 'REPAIR' To LEAVE YOU SPELLBOUND...

Copyright relevant owner

You'll doubtless be bored of seeing this cover by now, but there's a good reason for yet another appearance.  You see, a whopping 52 years or so after first reading this comic in a former neighbour's house when my mother, brother, and myself were back visiting one night in the late '60s, I finally took possession today of my own copy of this mag.  However, I'd already told you I'd bought it a few posts back, so there's another reason for featuring it yet again.  First, though, it behoves me to reiterate that I never actually owned this mag when I was a kid, I merely read it, but the lead story left such an impression on me that I never forgot it.

This is a British mag, but this copy came from Australia, so I assume L. Miller and Alan Class comics were also sold over there, or maybe this one was taken back by a visiting Ozzie who'd been holidaying in this country.  Who knows, who cares?  (If you don't, then neither will I.)  Incidentally, Alan Class bought Miller's inventory of stories in 1963, so there's a possibility that the lead tale might have later turned up in one of Class's own mags.  Anyone know for sure, and if so, which mag it was? 

Anyway, I'll get to the point.  The comic was far from pristine condition (though certainly not falling to pieces), but it had a few colour creases.  Nae bother to the big man!  (Yes, that's me - whit aboot it?)  With my trusty acrylic inks and sable brush, I soon transformed it from how it looked above (seller's photo) to how it now looks below.  The 'foxing' is more obvious on my scan, but that's only because I obviously have a better scanner than the seller.  I didn't go overboard, there are still signs of wear, but I think it looks a lot better for my handiwork.

Don't be shy about telling me you think so too, as my ego is a little itchy and needs a scratch.  The comments section awaits - who'll be the first cavortin' Crivvie to get their name in print?!

So you can compare them better, below is a split-screen screen-shot of the 'before and after' versions side-by-side.  Click to enlarge.

YOU CAN ALWAYS BANK ON YOGI...

On the off-chance that anyone might be interested, I thought I'd show you some more of my money banks.  Here are four Yogi Bear ones, from the '60s, '70s, '80s, and '90s.  Next up is Dougal from The Magic Roundabout, which is also from the '90s.  Still more to come when I find them (you may be disappointed to know.)  Ever have any of these banks, Crivvies?  If not, but you could have one now, which would it be?  Or is there one not shown here that you'd prefer - like a David Bowie bank or perhaps some other celebrity, fictional (like Bugs Bunny, etc.) or otherwise?  Tell all in the you-know-where.

BABE Of The DAY - SYBIL DANNING...

Someone showed me this photo

and said "Hasn't Sybil got lovely blue

eyes?"  "I'll tell you when I get there,"

 I said, "I'm working my way up." 

REDISCOVERED - The FORGOTTEN SUPERMAN POEM From The 1940s...

Copyright DC COMICS

In 1942, Russian writer Vladimir Nabokov (then living in America) wrote a poem about DC's Superman which he submitted to The New Yorker magazine, only to have it rejected.  However, he delivered a public reading of his poem where it was apparently well-received, before it vanished into the limbo of his personal files and was forgotten for nearly 80 years until being rediscovered by Andrei Babikov in a Manuscript Library at Yale University.  Thanks to my old school buddy 'Peter Pedant' for alerting me to this piece, and you can read the full details of its history at the following link.  The poem is presented below for your personal perusal.

 

                            The Man of To-morrow’s Lament

                            I have to wear these glasses – otherwise,
                            when I caress her with my super-eyes,
                            her lungs and liver are too plainly seen
                            throbbing, like deep-sea creatures, in between
                            dim bones. Oh, I am sick of loitering here,
                            a banished trunk (like my namesake in “Lear”),
                            but when I switch to tights, still less I prize
                            my splendid torso, my tremendous thighs,
                            the dark-blue forelock on my narrow brow,
                            the heavy jaw; for I shall tell you now
                            my fatal limitation … not the pact
                            between the worlds of Fantasy and Fact
                            which makes me shun such an attractive spot
                            as Berchtesgaden, say; and also not
                            that little business of my draft; but worse:
                            a tragic misadjustment and a curse.

                            I’m young and bursting with prodigious sap,
                            and I’m in love like any healthy chap –
                            and I must throttle my dynamic heart
                            for marriage would be murder on my part,
                            an earthquake, wrecking on the night of nights
                            a woman’s life, some palmtrees, all the lights,
                            the big hotel, a smaller one next door
                            and half a dozen army trucks – or more.

                            But even if that blast of love should spare
                            her fragile frame – what children would she bear?
                            What monstrous babe, knocking the surgeon down,
                            would waddle out into the awestruck town?
                            When two years old he’d break the strongest chairs,
                            fall through the floor and terrorize the stairs;
                            at four, he’d dive into a well; at five,
                            explore a roaring furnace – and survive;
                            at eight, he’d ruin the longest railway line
                            by playing trains with real ones; and at nine,
                            release all my old enemies from jail,
                            and then I’d try to break his head – and fail.

                            So this is why, no matter where I fly,
                            red-cloaked, blue-hosed, across the yellow sky,
                            I feel no thrill in chasing thugs and thieves –
                            and gloomily broad-shouldered Kent retrieves
                            his coat and trousers from the garbage can
                            and tucks away the cloak of Superman;
                            and when she sighs – somewhere in Central Park
                            where my immense bronze statue looms – “Oh, Clark …
                            Isn’t he wonderful!?!”, I stare ahead
                            and long to be a normal guy instead.

                            Vladimir Nabokov
                            June 1942

WHICH LOOKS BEST ON BOB...?

Okay, peeps, here's your opporchancity to help me out.  As related in an earlier post, the jacket on my recently acquired Bob Hope action figure started falling to bits once I opened the sealed box.  I ordered a jacket from China, even though it was different from the original, and also contacted Hasbro, who were useless.  I then decided to use another jacket which I already had (which I did), but then the jacket I bought arrived.  The cuffs were really too narrow to allow the hands through without risking damage to the flimsy material, so at first I decided against using it.  Then I changed my mind (please, no jokes) and gave it a go, and managed to get it on the figure without ripping the sleeves, though I suspect I wouldn't be able to remove it without inflicting damage.

So here's where you come in.  Compare the photos and tell me which jacket you think looks best on Bob, as I'd welcome your opinions and may decide to go with whichever one you Crivvies think is the better of the two.  Vote now.

The MASK Of YOGI...

Back in the early '60s (around '63 or '64) my mother bought me a Yogi Bear Hallowe'en mask from Woolworth's.  It was made of 'papier mache' (I think) and felt like a cardboard eggbox, but it was shaped, not flat, and had the 3D contours of Yogi's front facial features, with his collar and the knot in his tie just like in the cartoon.  I remember the smell of it, but had forgotten until recently when something reminded me.  However, more about that shortly.  (Oh, the suspense.) 

Sometime in 1964 I took it into school with me for some reason (not sure why after all these years) and placed it under my desk at the front of the class.  At some stage the pupils were circulating around the room (during a break perhaps) and I watched with alarm from a distance away as another pupil, under the pretence of trying to hoist himself up to sit on top of my desk and failing, squashed Yogi's fizzog with his foot as he came down again.  As I said, the mask was under my desk, so it could have been nothing less than a calculated, deliberate move on his part, the horrible little weasel.

He denied it when I confronted him and there wasn't a lot I could do but take poor Yogi home and try and manipulate his face back into shape.  For all the much-vaunted 'innocence of youth', there's a cruel, nasty, malicious streak that runs through the makeup of some children, and I believe I witnessed an example of it on that day.  I had something that the other boy didn't, and if he couldn't have it, he didn't want me to either.  Or perhaps it was just my obvious pride in the mask that set him off, and he just wanted to deflate me.  Sad, but there it is.

Anyway, another couple of houses and a school away, I got another Yogi mask from Woolies again, exactly the same as the previous one.  I no longer recall how long I had it, but I remember it fondly and would love to find another.  Due to the fragile nature of the mask though, I doubt that many (if any) of them survived.  However, two or three years back, I saw a plastic Yogi mask on eBay and bought it, though it was a more recent piece of merchandise than my original.  It was slightly contoured too, but without the collar of my original mask.  Still nice to have though.

The mask itself wasn't too expensive, but the postage from the States was (needlessly so in my opinion), but at least it was nice to have a Yogi mask again, even if I was never going to wear it anywhere.  Recently, I saw another modern Yogi mask (and when I say 'modern', I mean it could've been made anytime within the last 30 years or so), this time with his collar and tie knot, so I took the plunge and purchased it.  It's also plastic, but strangely, on the one time I held it over my face, it smelt like the papier mache one from my childhood (or at least enough like it to remind me of it).

The first and second pics are the seller's photos of my new mask, the third is my own photo of the one I got a wee while back.  You've probably already guessed that this post is just an excuse to ask if any of you might have an example of the '60s papier mache Yogi mask lying tucked away in a cupboard somewhere, and whether you'd like to sell it.  If so, let me know.  Even if nobody has one, do any of the older Crivvies out there (yes, I mean you, McS) remember the '60s mask at all, or was I the only kid in the world who had one (twice)?

(Update: In 2022, I managed to obtain a cardboard Yogi mask same as the one[s] I used to have when I was a kid.  I'm happy as a pig in sh-erbert!)

FAVOURITE COMICS Of The PAST - PART FIFTY-NINE - The X-MEN #49 - COVER & SPLASH PAGE...

Copyright MARVEL COMICS

I believe it was in Largs in 1969 that I bought my first issue of X-Men #49, making it around 52 years between then and my replacement copy popping through my letterbox this morning.  As a 10 year old, I remember being transfixed by the drawing of Marvel Girl, and she certainly set off tingles in my heart and, to be honest, nether regions.  In fact, I couldn't state with perfect truthfulness that she still doesn't.  I'd say that Steranko's figure work on The Beast is seriously dodgy, and even Cyclops is far from perfect, but Marvel Girl is the star of that cover anyway, so what does it matter about the others?

Apparently this issue is a big collectors' item these days, due mainly to the cover as the contents are nothing more than standard fare.  I paid a little more than I'd have liked to, though less than many copies (in less than perfect condition too) of this ish appear to command.  There were a few minor creases and colour scuffs - nothing major - so, regardless whether it affects value or not, I applied some minor colour retouches just to improve its at-a-glance visual appeal.  Anyway, while you wish you also had this issue in your collection (if you haven't already, obviously), I'm off to re-read it.

Ah, just one look and I can smell the sand and hear the gentle lap of the waves, as well as the seagulls overhead.  Did any of you Crivs have this ish, and what are your memories of and associations with it, if any?  Tell all, or I'll send a couple of Jehovah's Witnesses round to chap your door, and I'll tell them not to leave 'til you buy a Watchtower.  That reminds me of the time that Bob Hope was asked whether he was a witness for Jehovah.  "Hell, I didn't even know there'd been an accident!" was his reply.  Oh, he was a card.

REFLECTIVE REPOST: LETTER In A SHOEBOX...

You know what it's like - things start to pile up and make the place look untidy.  If you're like me, you start stashing things away wherever you can find a space for them.  With yours truly, that space is usually an old shoebox, of which I have several.  Old letters (some unopened), bank statements, leaflets and the like.  I was going through one such repository of assorted items earlier this evening and discovered a letter from 1990 amongst the contents.  It was a nice 'thank you' letter from the woman who'd once lived in the very house in which I now reside, before swapping residences with us back in 1972.

As related in an earlier post (here), we lived in her old house for eleven years before moving elsewhere, only to move back again just over four years later.  We'd been back only a few months when a friend informed me that the field I'd played in as a boy (across the road from the house we'd vacated in 1972) was due to have amenity housing for pensioners built upon it, which, to me was very sad news indeed.  I always feel much the same when I hear of a childhood landmark about to bite the dust - there goes my past.

Anyway, one night I boldly chapped the door of my old abode and clued in Mrs. MAISIE MITCHELL (who remembered me from all those years before) about the upcoming fate of the field across the road.  Would it be all right to come along some day and capture it on film before it disappeared forever?  Mrs. Mitchell was agreeable to accommodating my over-developed sense of nostalgia, and, some months later, for the first time in sixteen years, I crossed the doorstep of my childhood home.  (Well, one of them.)

I got some good photos and made another couple of trips over the next few weeks, to grab a few more snaps of what I'd missed first time around (she'd kindly let me take some pictures all around the house) and, on the last occasion, to present her with a box of chocolates and a little ornament to thank her for her kind indulgence.  I also gave her a cassette tape of JIM REEVES and said I'd give her some other music the first chance I got.  Sometime later, I duly posted them to her as I didn't want to wear out my welcome by turning up on her doorstep yet again like the proverbial bad penny.

Some weeks (if not months) later, on the 14th of June 1990 to be precise, I received a letter from Mrs. Mitchell, thanking me for the cassette tapes and informing me that she'd now moved to another address.  (If I remember correctly, she told me in a subsequent conversation [either by 'phone or in person] that the tapes had been forwarded to her from the old address to which I'd sent them.)  She was only in her new flat for a few short years before she died, making the effort of moving seem more trouble than it was worth to my way of thinking, but obviously she had no way of knowing what the future held for her.  (Who does?)  Interestingly, her new home was quite close to ours, being only a few minutes away in the same neighbourhood.  It's a shame she never got to enjoy it for longer.

As I re-read her thank you letter, it brought back memories of my old home and my visits back there.  (I returned in 1991 to shoot a video, by arrangement with the new tenants who'd swapped with Mrs. Mitchell only the year before.)  It struck me as being somehow oddly significant to be reading a letter from someone who'd once lived in this very house, addressed in her own hand to her previous residence - while probably being completely unaware of the profundity inherent in such a situation.  When I'd posted her the cassettes, I was only too well aware of how strange it seemed to be sending something to an address that was still all-too familiar to me - that still felt like 'my' address, not someone else's.  However, I realize that not many people think in quite the same way I do, which, on reflection, is probably a good thing.

Anyway, I cleared out quite a few things from that old shoebox, but I decided to hold on to Mrs. Mitchell's letter.  It somehow seems right at home here.

BABE Of The DAY - SYBIL DANNING...

Stunning Sybil Danning graces us

with her presence today, Crivvies  It just

so happens I'm desired by 'hot' babes every-

where due to my rugged handsomeness, but

unless you're as attractive as Sybil D, don't

even think of asking me on a date as I'd

 only say no.  (I'm a heartbreaker!)