• Content Count

  • Joined

  • Last visited

About SeniorSurfer

  • Boards Title
    I am gonna miss that car.

Personal Information

  • Comic Collecting Interests
    Golden Age
    Silver Age
  • Occupation
  • Location

Recent Profile Visitors

799 profile views
  1. I did see some "Dornes" but it wasn't until I started buying up missing back issues, at which point I - kid that I was - wondered what happened to that Rockwell guy and who's this? Turns out from his Wiki page that Dorne was the one who founded that Famous Artists School along with 11 other illustrators including Rockwell. It also notes that Dorne influenced John Buscema, Al Avison and Arthur Suydam. A later picture shows he would have been a shoo-in to play Dr. Sivana.
  2. I know this guy became famous. Probably owed it all to comics too.
  3. "Well, Art is Art, isn't it? Still, on the other hand, water is water. And east is east and west is west and if you take cranberries and stew them like applesauce they taste much more like prunes than rhubarb does. Now... you tell me what you know." Certainly words to live by.
  4. "You call this a party? The beer is warm, the women are cold and I'm hot under the collar. In fact a more poisonous little barbecue I've never attended."
  5. As to the preparation which you originally mentioned, I second (or third) the idea of having 1-2 boxes of the super valuables separated from the regular books for compactness, ease of removal, ease of transportation and ease of identification in case of emergencies. To deter ease of thievery, maybe code the boxes with numbers (take only the last odd number boxes for example), longer numbers that mean nothing except maybe if they end in a "27" (take 103727, not 104528) or even simple reverse dollar sign meanings ("$" are actually the expensive boxes to grab, not "$$$$"). Generally thieves don't have a lot of time to sift through boxes after they yank TVs off the walls, pull computers from their moorings and look for jewelry/cash.
  6. That's my answer. From relatives and schoolmates to casual acquaintances, everyone would just sneer or note that they were "just for little kids." Oddly, my parents never made fun of them as they saw another way to get me to read (though they would put the brakes on how many they/I would buy and when boxes started to accumulate they raised an eyebrow). Later on, these classmates couldn't string together two sentences while I was reading at college level in Junior High and taking Advance Placement classes in High School, owed - I always claimed to anyone who would listen - to years and years of reading Stan's verbose prose. His stories might have been too fantastic or bereft of logic at times but he never spoke down to the readers and as a kid I found myself running to the dictionary to find out what "distaff" or "brobdingnagian" meant. Still later as an adult, some folks would surreptitiously approach me because they had heard I knew about comics and their value and BTW "what would be the best titles to buy for investment?" Silly rabbits. You buy them because you like to read them.
  7. Congrats to the winners and again, to Mr. Prune for being so gracious as to host this contest and share his CGC prize.
  8. (Just thought I'd sneak in an old story before deadline. Win or lose, I laud your give-back to the community) My grandfather used to tell me stories about his comic collecting days. To hear tell, he had a collection where Edgar Church paused to doff his cap and genuflect when he passed gramps’ house. But even then, gramps knew the value of protecting his beloved books so he would tell me that, to ensure they would be around for generations, he would encase each one in steel and weld them shut. “Gee gramps… how could you tell which book was in which steel slab?” “Easy… I’d use some old Seabiscuit glue and slap a paper label on the outside of each one. Thousands of ‘em. All safe and sound and preserved for my future grandson to open and read. ” My eyes grew wide and I blurted out “WOW!” Let me at ‘em gramps!” He leaned back in his rocker with a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. “I gave ‘em all up in the WWII metal drives. They were needed for the war effort and by gum, I was going to do my part.” I looked at him incredulously. “But… but gramps… didn’t you open the cases and get the books out? You could have just donated the steel!” “No time for that!” he exclaimed. “The Axis was breathin’ down our necks and that steel was needed fast. If I hadn’t moved right-quick, we’d all be Sieg Heilin’ right about now and eatin’ bratwurst for breakfast. And you know,” he leaned forward conspiratorially, “how much I hate bratwurst.” I looked at him with newfound perception and awareness. On one hand, the story had the wisp of truth to it and I would hardly be blamed for the mixed emotions it elicited in me. I pictured myself beaming with pride at his sacrifice, all the while repeatedly clubbing him senseless with my Louisville Slugger™. Yet on the other hand, it could have all been a fabrication as gramps had been hit one too many times by foul balls and he wasn’t the most reliable. In any case, I quickly left his house and made my way home as it was getting dark and he would soon be out on the porch with his gun shooting at anything that moved – animal or human . “They’re all varmints” he would chuckle, as he lined up the victims in his rapidly fading eyesight.
  9. I do remember his bags were strong, with some a little miscut. They lasted a long time too. When I went through my boxes re-bagging with the newer stuff after many, many years, his were still on there tough as the day they went on albeit yellowed. Each old one I'd take off I put in a pile, one on top of the other, and by the time I got to about 10-20 the film on them when held to the light was probably as efficient as a Blu-Blocker. No doubt a lit match anywhere near the vapors would have blown up the place like a powder keg.