Rare, Collectible, & Otherwise

Tag: Catoosa (Page 74 of 101)

Bligh’ me, yer a smart one Weazel!

Suddenly, Pat hurls himself at the maniac Weazel!

Can’t ask for much more excitement than that, don’t ya know… In fact, before even hitting Page 1, there’s a scary pop-up in which Connie must peel potatoes or lose his ears. Sounds like my childhood! Zowie! (Kidding there, Ma…)

Almost eighty-years ago, a young fellow named Milton moved to New York City. The kid could draw. Got himself a job with the Associated Press in the features department – that’s the bunch in charge of comic strips. The head of a competing art syndicate liked Milton’s work, and hired him to draw a comic strip he had envisioned.

It hit the papers in 1934. Terry and the Pirates.

Loads of action and adventure. Great artwork. Terry was a cabin-boy type on the ship of the worldly Pat Ryan, who had some outlandish confrontations with Dragon Lady, the Pirate Queen of the Orient.

Milton Caniff drew the comic strip for a dozen years, but – back in those days – the publication rights and ownership of the character belonged to the syndication group. Caniff was paid a salary for his efforts.

As anyone who has ever hoisted a Dilbert coffee mug will realize, there’s Gold in them-thar Marketing Rights.

Caniff quit adventure on the high seas and traded it for adventure in the clouds – leaving Terry and the Pirates and creating his own strip called Steve Canyon. The high-flying Air Force hero appeared in newspapers nationwide, enjoyed by millions of readers. He continued the comic until his death in 1988.

A year after Terry and the Pirates made its debut, Caniff wrote and illustrated a hardback book version, complete with three “Pop-Up” pictures. It’s not politically correct these days, but its Oriental dialogue-affectations might be compared to the dialects in Mark Twain’s Tom Sawyer adventures.

Needless to say, the book is scarce in any condition. With all three pop-ups completely intact, it’s a rare find and nice addition to the shop’s offerings.

I’ve long been a fan of the newspaper comic strips. As a kid, I aspired to draw that sort of thing for my living. (Bligh’ me, yer a smart one Weazel! …another pipe dream, busted.) I remember admiring artwork like The Spirit, another action hero drawn by Will Eisner – a contemporary of Milton Caniff.

I still read the “funnies” in the Tulsa World, but the artwork just isn’t the same. You can click on the image to compare the portraits of Steve Canyon and “Dilbert” – the creation of cartoonist Scott Adams. (The humor in the Dilbert strip is as sharp as anything out there, and particularly sharp on the modern office culture.)

But it ain’t Terry and the Pirates:

THEN, out of the South came the great terror of the China Sea – TYPHOON!

Here that wind, Limey?” exclaimed Weazel. “We strike now!

And how they struck! They cut the ropes on all but two of the lifeboats, scuttled the ship, took command of the entire crew at the point of guns! Dmitri carried out his foul part of the scheme, too. Drawing a gun, he shoved Mr. Drake, Normandie, and Terry, who had come to warn them, into a closet and tied them up.

Suddenly Connie remembered something. He ran to the place he had hidden the life preservers. “Yipple Dipple!” he exclaimed. “Come now lickity-skip!”

It doesn’t get much more exciting than that, huh?

Come visit, lickity-skip!

McHuston

Booksellers & Irish Bistro
Rose District
122 South Main Street, Broken Arrow OK!

Tagged in this post…

It was almost a hundred years ago and a young man was half-a-world away from his family’s farm. No one from Cass County Missouri had ever ventured so far away. Around his neck he had tied a cord and dangling on that was a round piece of metal about the size of a poker chip.

He hoped no one would ever have to take it in hand and read the letters stamped on it, because – if that happened – nothing else would ever matter. In the center of the disk were the letters U.S.A. Following the curve of the edge, his name was stamped into the metal.

John W. Huston.

My grandfather.

After a year-and-a-half, I’m finally getting around to the office, still sorting odds and ends from the move. Nailed up a couple of pictures that had been buried under a junk pile. Found a box and opened it up.

I’ve since sold the glass showcase, but the items in this box were displayed there at the old location, and pretty much forgotten about until this evening. What a mish-mash of stuff. The sort of treasure that pirates might hoard in a chest – if the ship that sported its Jolly Roger was confined to Skiatook Lake and the raiding of garage sales.

Looking over the items, I was trying to figure out where they’d come from. I recognized my sister’s Mickey Mouse watch. It broke and she was going to toss it. I was going to repair it. It’s still not working. A cardboard pressed recording of Richard Nixon’s nomination acceptance speech from August 8, 1968. I think I walked into his campaign’s local office (for some reason I was collecting election bumper stickers), and walked out with a “Nixon’s the One” 33 1/3 rpm Auravision recording.

Then, there was the metal disk with the hole punched in it. Looked it over for a couple of seconds, trying to remember what it was. Flipped it over and saw his name.

I’ve held it before, but the history of it never really struck me. In four years time it will be one hundred years old, and that long ago – this thing now in the palm of my hand was around the neck of a 23-year-old Missouri boy who would manage to survive his time in France. After the Great War he would come back to the US wearing the dog tag and eventually put it in a box.

He’d get married and have kids and they’d give him grandchildren – one of whom would wind up in a bookstore in Broken Arrow, Oklahoma. I remember sitting on his lap as a little kid – him asking me what I wanted to be when I grew up.

Bookstore owner, I told him. (That’s a bald-faced lie. I actually answered that I wanted to play for the New York Yankees. “Gonna start in the minor leagues?” he’d asked. “Nah,” I replied. “Just wanna play baseball for the Yankees.”)

Well.

A lot of years have passed since that discussion. Regrettably, my naiveté hasn’t improved much since that conversation with Grandpa Huston. Too trusting. Always expect the best from people. Believe what people tell me. I’ll admit that I’ve been taken advantage of and have been disappointed at times. Sometimes folks say things to me that turn out not to be true. I’m surprised every time it happens.

But I’m not so naïve as to think that I’d be sitting in front of this keyboard in a bookshop in Broken Arrow, Oklahoma, if it wasn’t for the man who left the farm and went to France and faithfully wore his dog tag and served his country, and then married that pretty telephone operator in Parsons who placed his call back home.

Thanks, Grandpa – for everything. Wish I’d had the chance to sit across the table from you. Maybe ask you a little bit about France and the big war.

Holding this little piece of metal tonight makes me feel as though I met you again for the very first time. I’m thinking there may be a spot in the shop where I can treat it with a little more respect. I’m thinking it has a lot more miles on it than I do and I’m happy to keep it safe – even out of my treasure box.

The other token in the image? A mystery coin that I found in the front yard about the time I was young enough to talk Yankees with my Grandfather. But that’s a whole ‘nother story!

Come visit!

McHuston

Booksellers & Irish Bistro
Rose District
122 South Main, Broken Arrow, OK!

Go to the light… Go to the light!

Nah. It’s not a post-apocalypse Zombie movie set. That’s downtown BA in the pic. I would say “downtown Broken Arrow after dark” but it is clear the dark is still there. Nothing AFTER about it. It stays this way until the morning hours.

Sometimes they kill the generator-powered lights down by Fiesta Mambo (the tiny pin-point of light in the lower-right in the pic). They might cut the power to those after the Tex-Mex margarita machine is powered off. Lights and mixer – same electrical circuit? You decide. The ensuing darkness? I believe that’s the Zombie’s cue. (I know they’re out there. I’ve seen Zombie droppings.)

Here’s the word. (Actually it is hearsay from another business owner, but amongst ourselves we consider that to be The Word. Similar conversations might be called ‘gossip’ elsewhere.) The Word: Demolition that will eventually lead to construction will begin in front of the bookstore next week.

Fine.

The sooner started, the sooner completed. Boomer.

It can’t get any darker out there, and the end result will work toward my primary hope: Slower traffic.

We used to have talks about the OLDER generation and the YOUNGER generation. Later, it was broken down demographically. GEN-X. GEN-Y. The MILLENIALS. (Couldn’t gin up a Gen for them, I guess.) These are social study descriptions for various age groups. It’s a lot too complicated for me.

Here is what it really boils down to: Cars.

Not what kind of car you drive, or car you’d like to drive. Not cars you owned or wrecked or stole. It’s what you do when you’re inside that big steel honker. Need a label? Fill in your own blanks.

1. In a car seat or strapped in the backseat = Gen _____
2. Finally got a license and personal set of keys = Gen _____
3. Driving with a car seat or strap-ees in back = Gen _____
4. Paying insurance premiums for Group 2 = Gen _____
5. Complaining about driving of Groups 2, 3, & 4 = Gen _____
6. On a pillow to see over dashboard and Groups 1-5 = Gen _____

Now, we’ll play Guess the Group:

Me, on the phone: “…not only that! It’s a construction zone. I’m sure they’re doing 50! And it’s dark!”

Daughter (Hint: Accompanied by several Group 1-ers): Well, Dad. Maybe they need to be somewhere in a hurry.

Me, sounding a lot like Billy Crystal (Google him) when he affects a Jewish dialect: And they don’t have an alarm clock so they can leave earlier to get there on time? And not kill the rest of us?

You see, these are the kind of things that are concocted in your head after staring up at the brilliant police spotlights in downtown BA. It isn’t a near-death experience. Just the gas-powered spotlights in the Rose District. At least, it isn’t a near-death experience – unless you are a member of Group 5 or 6… And get out of your car.

The rest of you – (Editor’s Note: The atmosphere on Main Street in Broken Arrow does not really involve Zombies, Billy Crystal, speeders, or near-death experiences. Group 5’ers tend to get worked up.) Well, then – ALL of you:

Come Visit!

McHuston

Booksellers & Irish Bistro
Rose District
122 South Main, Broken Arrow OK!

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