BABE Of The DAY - JENNIFER BEALS...

Lovely JENNIFER BEALS

graces us with her presence today.

Looks sunny in the photo, but clearly

there's a bit of a nip in the air.  (Ooh,

 I am awful - but I like me!)

SCHOOLTIME SCANDALS - PART THIRTEEN: PUSHED IN A PUDDLE...

Scene of the 'crime':  The foot of the grassy slope, several feet along from the stairs.
The puddle was at the edge of the grass in the foreground.  The school is just out of
view on the right side of the photo

Me and Ewan Shepherd weren't exactly what you'd call pals.  However, between classmates, there existed a kind of unwritten rule that it was acceptable, in the absence of one's usual friends, to pass the time in the company of whichever fellow pupil was available when required.  A sort of 'surrogate' pal in effect.

Such was the case on this particular day.  School had finished and Ewan and I found ourselves in each other's company as we exited from the school gates.  We made our way to his house, a mere two minutes (if) away from my own, to dump his schoolbag, but he met with an objection from his mother at going back out again.  He pleaded, begged, cried, and implored until his poor mother relented.  "15 minutes - no more!"

So we made our way to the swingpark beside a playing-field between our two houses.  On the way, we ran into his older sister (Laura Isobel by name), who enquired where he was going and why he wasn't already home.  She then took his hand and started to lead him back towards their house.  Unsurprisingly, Ewan burst into tears and protested that he had permission to be out, but she was having none of it. I timidly piped up at the back "His mum said he could stay out for 15 minutes", whereupon she turned and looked at me as if I were a bad smell.

Then she simply shoved me hard in the chest.  I fell backwards and landed in a large muddy puddle.  As I lay there, spreadeagled and stunned into silence in my surprise, Ewan looked at me, ceased his crying, and burst into the irritating girlish giggle for which he was so renowned and ridiculed in equal measure.  Then he simply turned his back and accompanied his nasty bitch of a sister home.  Treacherous b*st*rd!  This was my reward for my intercession on his behalf?

I would've thought, at the very least, in shame at his sister's behaviour, he'd have assisted me to my feet and apologised for her shocking act, but no, Ewan found it highly amusing.  I was left on my own to extricate myself (with much squelching) from the sodden, muddy puddle and make my way home, there to explain my dufflecoat's soiled condition.

Needless to say, I took nothing to do with the wee pr*ck after that.  Even amongst 'fill-in' friends, a certain degree of loyalty was expected, and Ewan had been found sadly lacking and fallen at the first hurdle.  Perhaps to this day he looks back and wonders why he wasn't particularly popular at primary.  (Certainly not with me anyway.)

If so, guess what?  I could tell him!

Me and Ewan in a class photo.  He's standing on a kerb
behind me, hence the seemingly immense difference in
our height 

RECOMMENDED READING: GOLD KEY STAR TREK SPECTACULAR From IDW...

Images copyright PARAMOUNT & IDW

IDW have just released this 100-page Super Spectacular reprinting GOLD KEY STAR TREK tales from the 1960s and '70s.  It's a neat little package, no doubt intended to whet the appetites of fans for the Gold Key Archive editions, the first of which was released in 2014 and are still ongoing.  (This mag reprints Gold Key issues #s 1, 8 & 14.)

It's reassuring to know that we Brits weren't the only ones to get things wrong with our home-produced Star Trek strips when we first started publishing them; Gold Key were also 'off-model' from the TV series in several ways with their attempts to cash-in on GENE RODDENBERRY's 'space western', as is detailed in an essay by JOSEPH BERENATO.

A great item for all Star Trek and Gold Key fans, killing, as it does, two birds with the one stone.  Available now from all good comics shops.  What're you waiting for?!

I'm sure you can stand repetition, as this is the original

PART TWELVE Of SCHOOLTIME SCANDALS: TRIPS, TEACHERS & TEARS...

The incident described occurred just to the left
(and out of sight) beyond the closed fire door

When I was a young lad at primary school, there was a boy in my class by the name of Ewan Shepherd, who giggled like a girl and was slightly effete.  I never realised it back then, but looking back many years later, it struck me that such was the case.  Ewan may well be a big manly man now, but it would come as no great surprise to me to learn that he made the journey to Denmark at the earliest opportunity after leaving school.

But Ewan isn't the star of this post - his is nothing more than a cameo role in this true tale from the dim and distant days of my childhood, when I was only about 8 years old.  Ewan and myself were part of the double line of pupils waiting at the foot of the stairs one day, ready to ascend to the rooms above.  One of us accidentally tripped as the line started to move, placing us slightly out-of-step with our fellows, and Ewan (or is it Euan?) emitted a giggle.  Suddenly, Mr. Halliburton descended upon us and violently yanked us from the ranks.

Pushing us against a wall, he started to shout at us, and was either going to belt us or give us 'lines'.  (Can't recall with certainty after so many years - it was one or the other.)  I'd had an encounter with Halliburton before (see here) and was determined not to let him intimidate me. "I'm going to tell my dad about you!" I declared, and started to move towards the door leading to the playground.  (I lived at the top of the road, so my house was nearby.)  He grabbed me by the lapels and pushed me back against the wall, glaring at me menacingly.

At this point Ewan burst into tears, eliciting a look of contempt from Mr. Halliburton, who then eyed us while he deliberated his next move.  An internal struggle seemed to be taking place - then he ordered "Get to your class!"  As Ewan moved off, Halliburton pulled me back, lowered his voice and muttered "Don't ever threaten me with your father again."  Yeah, that'd be right - adults wouldn't put up with his p*sh, but kids could be easily intimidated.  Except for me that is.

I caught up with Ewan as he dabbed his tears away with the back of his hands.  He forced out a giggle - "Hee hee - that always works" he whimpered, sheepishly and unconvincingly.  Yeah, sure - but even so it was no excuse to abandon dignity and self-respect.  However, Mr. Halliburton never tried to bully me or lay his hands on me again in all my remaining time at primary.  That's what I call a result!

Next:  Another tale about the tears of Ewan.

KLASSIC U.K. KOMIC KOVERS 'POT LUCK' OMNIBUS...

Images copyright relevant owners

It's always nice to look back on the familiar, isn't it?  So, even though you've seen them all before, I thought it would be fun to do an 'omnibus' edition of some classic U.K. covers.  Featured in their sequential order, any absentees this time around may pop up in a future post.  Hey, that's something to look forward to, eh?

BABE Of The DAY - JERI RYAN...

JERI has a couple of great features which

are totally entrancing - her lovely blue eyes.

That's not to say she's restricted to just a pair

of perfect peepers, though you don't need me

 to tell you that - now do ya, Crivs?

DAVE STEVENS' The ROCKETEER...

Images copyright relevant owner

It was in Glasgow's VIRGIN MEGASTORE in 1982 that I saw PACIFIC PRESENTS #1, and probably bought it primarily for STEVE DITKO's The MISSING MAN strip.  However, there was really only one star of the mag, and that was The ROCKETEER by DAVE STEVENS, which had first appeared as a back-up in STARSLAYER #s 2 & 3 after an ad for the strip in the first ish.  (Never bought them and therefore missed Rocky's debut.)

After two issues of Pacific Presents (dated October '82, and April '83 respectively), The Rocketeer next showed up in the November '84 dated Special Edition, The Rocketeer #1 (published this time by ECLIPSE) - only to promptly vanish again.  The Rocketeer Adventure Magazine #1 (dated April '88 and published by COMICO), was the next venue for Stevens' high-flying hero, with a 2d issue the following year (dated April '89).  Six years later, a 3rd (and final) issue, this time published by DARK HORSE, hit the stands, dated January '95.

In '85, Eclipse published a collected edition of the first five chapters, and IDW followed suite in 2009, with a very handsome, recoloured hardback volume of all eight chapters.  Sadly, Dave Stevens died in 2008, aged only 52, after suffering from leukemia for several years.  His Rocketeer series remains a high benchmark in the world of graphic storytelling, and it's certain that this very fine artist will not soon be forgotten - if ever in fact.  Here's to you, Dave.

******

And now a word from our sponsor - namely me.  I kept the first two issues of Pacific Presents in the drawer of the writing bureau beside my bed, where they remained in the new house my family moved into in 1983.  Subsequent appearances of The Rocketeer have joined those two issues over the years, though I missed the 3rd issue of Adventure Magazine in 1995.  However, I managed to track one down and it arrived today, and has now joined its companions in that drawer.

As regular readers know, I returned to my former home after four years, so it gives me a glow of satisfaction to know that The Rocketeer's comics journey eventually ended in the very same drawer of the same desk, in the exact same room of the same house in which it began, 35 years before.  That's what you call full circle, eh?

Now, check out Dave Steven's great art, and then leave a comment of appreciation for the man and his work in the you-know-where, if you'd be so kind.

DAVE STEVENS

CARESSING The KEYS Of MEMORY...

This is another of those tales that I know I intended to relate a while back, but can't remember if I ever actually did so or not.  Anyway, back in 1972 when my family first took up residence in my present abode, the family with whom we swapped houses left a piano behind.  I can no longer recall how long we kept it, whether it was a year, two years - maybe even going on three, but my parents, at some stage, decided to dispense with its seldom-used services.

None of my family played the piano, and apart from a rare visitor occasionally tickling its ivories, the poor 'box in the corner' lay neglected for the most part.  So my father donated it to the town's hospital, and a contingent of youths in the charge of an adult (I have a vague memory they may have been Scouts, but I'm not certain) came to our home one day and wheeled away our unwanted house-guest.  I wonder how it felt being so unceremoniously evicted?

I've long been afflicted with a tendency to imbue inanimate objects with sentience, feelings, emotions - even personality.  What can I say?  I'm off my head!  But did you know that, apparently, when plants and trees are pruned, they scream?  (It's far beyond the ability of human ears to detect, but scientists have registered the 'sound' on audio machines attuned to a certain wavelength.)  True, plants and trees are 'alive' in a sort of way;  they grow - not something that a piano (or any other inanimate item) in the corner of the living-room does.  (As far as anyone knows anyway.)

However, if you cut a leaf in half, and then subject it to a certain kind of infra-red spectrum analysis, the image shows the outline of the full leaf.  So, imagine if a tree, even after being chopped up and made into furniture, yet retains a part of whatever measure of 'awareness' it may have had when it was growing in a forest or field somewhere?  Too far-fetched?  Perhaps, but who can say for sure?

Anyway, where am I going with this you may be wondering.  Years after the fact, I learned that our old piano had been passed onto the church situated across the road from our former abode.  The fellow who told me was one of the boys who had helped remove the piano from our house.  It transpired that he was a friend of a friend, and what's more, coincidentally lived next door to another of our previous homes, though not when we'd lived there.  (Which is neither here nor there, but it's an interesting example of how 'fate' unfolds.)

The woman who now lived in our former residence would undoubtedly have been in that church on occasion, even if only for a jumble sale or a coffee morning.  Given my over-active imagination, I found myself wondering if she might ever have passed her/our old piano without recognising it, and whether it had called out to her in its inaudible voice, not understanding why someone it knew was now ignoring it.  "Hello, it's me - don't you remember me?  I lived with you once and then you went away one day and left me behind.  What did I do wrong?  Did I offend you by being out of tune perhaps?  Why won't you acknowledge me?"

Same goes for myself.  Although no longer living in the area, I was back in that church many a time over the years.  As was my mother in fact, as she attended its Sunday services every week.  I restricted myself to jumble sales and Christmas and Summer fayres, but I surely must have passed the piano, or even stood close to (or against) it on one of my many visits over a period of nearly 20 years.  Did that poor piano also call out to me (or, on separate occasions, my mother), unable to comprehend why we turned a deaf ear to its cries?

The church was demolished around '91 or '92 (due to structural flaws) and a new (and different) building was erected in its place.  I took numerous photos, both inside and out, before the old church (which had only been completed in 1965 or '66) was erased from the face of the planet, and our old piano - if it hadn't been replaced or dispensed with by that time - is surely in one of those pics.  It was a large church, with two or three pianos in different halls, but I think I got photos of all of them.  Trouble is, they're in a box in the loft at the moment, so I can't check - or illustrate this post with a piccie.  I'll add one later when I find them.

In the meantime, I've used a stock photo of a piano, which will have to do the job for now.  I guess it's always possible that the piano yet survives in the new church building, and now that the thought has occurred to me, I'll make a point of visiting one day to see if it is.  If it's there, I'll be sure to say hello to it, and run my fingers over its keys, just for old times' sake.  If it isn't, I'll gaze upon it's image in one of my photos and bid it goodbye.  After all, it's a friend from the past, and doesn't deserve to be forgotten.

Whatever its fate, hopefully it had a happy life being played for the enjoyment of hospital patients and church groups.  Had we kept it, it's entirely probable that it would never have got to fulfill the purpose for which it was created, and merely been a surface on which to place framed photos or vases.  It was made to make music, and I like to think  that's what it got to do.  (And hopefully yet does.)

Feel free to tell me that I need 're-tuning'.

******

Update: Below are three photos of two pianos (I think - could be the same one in two different halls).  I took them in the church sometime in the early 1990s, and I'm hoping that one is the piano we had temporary custody of at the beginning of the '70s.  There's no reason why one of them shouldn't be 'ours', so I prefer to believe that one of them is.