Looking For "Tub" In All The Wrong Places: Proto-Tubby Stories from Our Gang Comics 15, 1945 and New Funnies 107, 1946

While working on my just-released bibliography of John Stanley's 1940s comic book work, I gave every non-Little Lulu Stanley story from that decade another look. I re-appraised a couple of pieces I had previously passed by. That they share a plot theme--a kid's desire to go toboggan-riding--struck me as more... than... coincidence... Thus, these two stories comprise today's post.

I've written before about Stanley's comedic archetypes. None are stronger, nor more present throughout his work, than the character I call "the Tubby type." This character is a Rosetta stone for determining whether an obscure story is--or isn't--John Stanley's work.

This archetype's mulish determination, blended with rose-colored self-regard, allows him/her to fearlessly step forward into scenarios of potential humiliation, ostracization and belittlement. Blinded by their usually flawed assumption that they're unerringly right, Stanley's Tubbies typically succeed. Not without some emotional scars, but they do win in the end.

Their victories are relevant to our daily lives. We seldom outright win, or outright lose, in personal events with high stakes. It's usually a muddled mix of the two. This, too, is the "win" scenario for Stanley's Tubbies.

Their societal rewards, always fleeting, exist just long enough to further convince these Tubbies that they're on the right track. Their stubbornness is often the agent of success.

A brief diversion: notable comics predecessors to Stanley's "Tubby Type" are the richly detailed characters of Major Hoople and Judge Puffle, from Gene Ahern's long-running features Our Boarding House and Room and Board. I've come to wonder if Ahern was an influence on John Stanley as a comedic writer.

The two share a bent for dryly absurd humor. Both also excel at escalation-comedy which always ricochets off the quirks and shortcomings of their eccentric characters. Ahern, if anything, was comics' closest equivalent to the comedic vision of  W. C. Fields. Both men shared a penchant for quirky domestic humor--tempered with unexpected doses of the surreal/absurd. As well, both Ahern and Fields wasted no time making their focus figures likable or heroic.

Stanley shows us the errant sides of his Tubby Types--indeed, that's the most interesting thing he sees in them. They suffer ridicule, but are tolerated, if not adored, by their more stable companions.

Ahern's Quixotic figures suffer a far worse fate than Stanley's. They are openly mocked by friends and family. They consider themselves learned men of the world, but are clearly regarded, at best, as dubious company by their neighbors and acquaintances. What might be heartbreaking theater-of-cruelty humor is salved, in Ahern's work, by these characters' unerring self-belief.

More of Stanley's Krazy Kat: from issue #5, 1952 with a chaser from '55

It's been nearly two years since I posted examples of John Stanley's curious take on the cult classic George Herriman comic strip Krazy Kat.

This series was an apparent challenge to Stanley. The first two issues show him struggling to get a grip on these felicitous characters, and the whimsical settings--both at odds with his prior, mostly urban/suburban material. Of course, just as he was getting into the Kokonino Kounty groove, Dell had to cancel the series.

These are some stories from the last issue of the first KK run. This untitled "Ignatz Mouse" story is very similar to a couple of contemporary Little Lulu stories. "Space Kids," from LL 56 (September, 1953), shows Tubby an' Th' Gang [TM] attempting a similar space-age mind fudge on Lulu and Annie. In "Trip To The Moon" (LL 86, August, 1955), the rascals fake-out Lulu into believing she's gone to--I don't need to finish typing that sentence, do I?

This theme surfaces other times in Stanley's LL and Tubby stories. Free to portray the "Tubby Type" in its apotheosis, Stanley lets Ignatz run rampant in his astro-prank, as you'll see...

Lively cartooning, imbued with that unmistakable "Stanley Spike," sells the antic events of this story swimmingly. My favorite moment: the worthy-of-Samuel Beckett Page Four, Panel Two.

Air travel is a theme in this issue. This longer story takes more time to explore its absurd set-up, and is peppered with sprightly word-play. Stanley let himself romp on the pages of this funnybook...

Ignatz' single-minded pursuit of an exhausting, complex prank again reminds us of Master Tompkins. This story plays as a sort-of Tubby daydream. There is an air of wish-gratification in the careening events: the kind of mid-day fantasia a bored Tub might have, fighting off post-lunch sleepiness in the back of Miss Feeny's class.

As freewheeling theater-of-the-absurd entertainment, these Krazy komix have their undeniable charms. As with the recently posted New Terrytoons material, this isn't first-rate John Stanley. But there is a sense of joy and abandon. While he continues to work within the formulae of Little Lulu, he is able to take greater risks with the characters--which he clearly enjoys. Unlike Lulu, Krazy is a sort of Zen airhead. His/her lack of emotional reaction to Ignatz' mischief is disarming.

There is displayed a certain reverence for the original Geo. Herriman conception of the strip. Stanley, who was usually prone to re-invent the cast, add new characters, and otherwise slant the personas of his adopted, licensed figures, stays fairly true to the vibe of the original. He is, perhaps, more clever than Herriman--one does not sense the intellectual struggles that make Herriman's work fascinating and transcendent.

When I read Herriman's Krazy, I strongly sense the hard effort of thinking. I don't feel that funny stuff came to him as automatically as it did to Stanley. Herriman and Carl Barks have this in common: their work feels ponderous (altho' in a good way). While Stanley's work has obvious smarts to it, I don't think he puzzled over his work. It feels as though he got 'in the zone' and just produced these stories in a burst.

I can't say for sure. This remains the "Rosebud" of John Stanley: I still know almost nothing about the man. I have been in contact with Stanley's son, James, and with a former Dell Comics editor, with whom I hope to do an interview, who worked with Stanley in the 1960s. It is my hope that both these individuals can help me shed some light on who Stanley was as a person, and how he developed his sense of humor, and appreciation of the absurd.

For now, I'm just wondering out loud here. I appreciate your humoring me while I ramble a bit.

For a chaser, here's the title-free Ignatz story from the 1955 "Four-Color" KK #619. While its frantic events are kinda kontrived, Ignatz' poetic monologue, on the opening page, is Tubby-Talk at its most profound.

While the goings-on in this '55 story are more brassy and bold than amusing and clever, Ignatz' anti-social behavior is too gleeful to resist.

In contrast to the 1952 stories, this seems rather dashed-off. Stanley's workload was more regulated in the mid-1950s. Though he was drawing the quarterly Tubby, which may have consumed more time than usual, he wrote some 480-odd pages of Little Lulu material--for the monthly comic and one 100-page giant. Assignments such as this and the Little King one-shots may have been squeezed in to fatten the ol' paycheck.

In closing, I hate to contradict Dell's advertising copy, but, rest assured--no goodness, or entertainment, could be had in either funny-book pictured in that filler ad.

The Tragicomic Debut of Peterkin Pottle: Raggedy Ann & Andy #32, 1949

Fireworks make me uneasy, and hot dogs make me queasy, so here's my way of sellybratin' the 4th with you! (Truth told, I'm going to a 4th soiree that promises to have both hotdogs and fireworks. I'll do anything for a clever opening sentence!)

Here is the long-sought debut of Stanley's first original character for the comic books: Peterkin Pottle.

He rated a significant fanfare for Raggedy Ann and Andy. They re-did the logo, and gave Peterkin a memorable front-cover send-off. Speaking of which...



Ad per the new house policy, no yakkin' from me 'til after the story. I apologize for the spectacularly poor printing job Western Publ. and Litho. did for this story. Could those reds be anymore off-register? It detracts from one's appreciation of Stanley's cartooning grace. Said grace, and complementary verbal wit, still shine through strongly...












Wow... a sweet, charming ending! This story may surprise those Stanleyphiles who groove to the harsher, darker, mean-streets side of our hero's writing. Indeed, this maiden voyage of Pottle differs from subsequent episodes in several ways.

From the start, poor Peterkin's fate as alienated schlub is set in stone. When reading this story, I had the sudden realization that, via Peterkin, Stanley got a handle on the character of Tubby Tompkins, from his million-selling Little Lulu comix.

Before PP, Tubby is a more generic wise-guy character, all bluster and little or no neurosis. In "Pottle"'s wake, Tubby gains some of Peterkin's psychological profile. By writing and drawing this feature, Stanley got the elements that made Tubby the most fascinating member of Lulu's dramatis personae.

Peterkin anticipates some of Tubby's classic self-absorption in the fantasy sequence. Peterkin's intro as the hero is handled with sublime understatement. As with Tubby, Peterkin is, in his own mind, the cool/calm/collected master of his universe... able to leap tall buildings in a single bound, etc., etc., etc.

This discrepancy between Peterkin's inner world, and the harsh reality of real life, becomes a core of Tubby's persona in the 1950s. This is a classic Stanley anti-hero trait. Woody Woodpecker displays this same flight from reality in several of his Stanley-authored stories.

Altho' Peterkin is immediately subject to neighborhood cruelties, he seems less malformed--and more misunderstood/sympathetic--than he'd be in later episodes. Indeed, the improbably touching wrap-up is unique to this series.

I prefer Stanley with dark and light interwoven, as in this story, and as in the best Lulu stories. "Pottle" gets amazingly grim and harsh in its later episodes. There's a Walter Mitty-ish aspect to Pottle, in this story, that is lessened as the series rolls on.

Stanley's darkness is so intense, and so effective, that it can be hard for me to take. I think it reminds me a little too much of my own troubled childhood (heck, let's make that adulthood, too, while we're at it).

My unease at the dark side of John Stanley is a testament to his effectiveness in that regard. He could get under the reader's skin, and dig into the nerve center, while ostensibly serving up a souffle of "kiddie komix" a la Dell.

Note that Stanley illustrates this story with pen and ink. He switched to brush for later Pottles. Stanley got great with the brush in his 1960s comix. He was much stronger with the nib in the '40s and '50s.

This is beautiful cartooning--dig those animals, for example! Tigers, elephants, rhinos, gorillas, lions--all rendered with impressive grace and style! Stanley's lumpen human figures contrast strinkingly with the bold, expressive images of animals. That tiger on p.3, panel 4 is spectacular cartooning!

Western Publ. and Litho. were idiots not to realize--and exploit--Stanley's talents as a "name" cartoonist, as they did with Walt Kelly. Small wonder Stanley became embittered in later years. He (and Barks) got a raw deal in the long run.

At the time, as they did their greatest work, both creators were given a great deal more free room than most of their comix colleagues. Imagine a Barks or Stanley working for DC, or Timely...no, I take that back. I can't imagine it.

Creative freedom vs. public acclaim... a few fortunate comic book creators (Jack Cole, to name one) had both, but the combo proved most elusive and rare.

Come back tomorrow, as I've got yet another treat for you--from this same funny-book! Yow!

Enjoy today's hot dogs, watermelon, numerous beers, fireworks, and traffic jams! Drive safely and responsibly--I want to see you all here tomorrow!

Love finds Woody Woodpecker: from New Funnies 90, 1944

Here is an charming early Woody Woodpecker story written and drawn by John Stanley. Though the on-screen Woody had, by 1944, received a most attractive make-over by Walter Lantz layout artist Art Heinemann, the comic-book version retained the butt-ugly pre-1944 look.

Someone finally noticed that the funnybook Woody didn't match up with his most current screen version, and fixed the situation.  Woody looked best in his John Stanley-written stories when Stanley drew them himself. (You'll find some later, more refined examples of Stanley-drawn Woodys throughout this blog's past posts.)

This story anticipates Stanley's soon-to-happen assignment to do the comic book version of Marge Buell's Little Lulu. Woody and his human girlfriend, Patricia, could be exchanged for Lulu and Tubby without altering much of the story.

The piece shows Stanley's ability to juggle hard-knocks comedy and a more sensitive emotional approach. The combination works very well, and would continue to serve Stanley well for the 15-year run of Little Lulu.

The children in this story look like refugees from contemporary Famous Studios "Noveltoons" cartoons. Famous animators moonlighted in comics for Western Publications in the early '40s. John Stanley's distinctive lettering provides the "tell" that this is his work as an artist. That said, another hand may have inked the drawings. The spike and zing of Stanley's pen line aren't evident here.

Woody's closing lines are pure, Grade-A "Tubby talk." Stanley was ready to write Little Lulu--whether he knew it or not!

A Stanley Clinker And A Little Gem, both from Our Gang Comics #48, 1947

I'm back after a long spell of no time to post. I've been recovering from a horrid case of sinusitis, aggravated by my growing chemical sensitivity... I had to abandon my apartment for a week while they tore up the dusty, filthy old carpet in the hallways, sprayed pesticide all over the place, then laid in new, formaldehyde-fragrant carpeting. Pretty soon I'll be starring in the made-for-cable movie, The Middle-Aged Guy in the Plastic Bubble.

To conclude a "Tom & Jerry" trilogy, here are two stories from Our Gang Comics #48. The first story is a Stanley rarity: a not-so-hot effort.

The Mortal Kombat format of the "Tom & Jerry" animated cartoons is loutish, at best. Despite their lovely, flowing animation, the Hanna-Barbera MGM cartoons perennially cater to the lowest common denominator.

(AFTERTHOUGHT: I do like several of the 1940s Tom and Jerry cartoons, especially Mouse Trouble and Mouse in Manhattan. In my estimation, there are probably a dozen truly great Tom & Jerry theatrical cartoons from the Hanna-Barbera unit. I stand by my general opinion of the series. There are too many pedestrian, mechanical and needlessly brutal T&Js for my taste as a cartoonophile.)

In his first round as writer of the T&J comic book series for Our Gang, John Stanley took advantage of the free rein Western's creators were given with licensed materials.

He catered to the chase-and-clobber format of the cartoons, but Tom Cat was always a supporting character. Stanley's sympathies, as usual, went to the two mice, Jerry and diaper-clad Tuffy. They were perfect Stanley fodder: two outsiders, making their way through an uncertain, unexplained world.

Their reactions to the everyday experiences of human life make for marvelous comedy. As well, Stanley could not help but infuse the crude routine of the cartoon version with some genuine wit.

As we saw in my last post, Stanley's identification with the mice still produced first-rate stories upon his return to the Our Gang book in 1947/8. When required to include Tom, Stanley entered awkward territory.

Not to say the following story is necessarily bad. It isn't a willful act of self-sabotage, a la Carl Barks' "Somethin' Fishy Here," a backup story required for the second issue of Uncle Scrooge when one of his masterworks, "Back To The Klondike," was castrated by Western's Los Angeles editors.

"Somethin' Fishy Here" seethes with indignation, and is a surprisingly sharp screw-you to the indifference of Barks' editors. Barks was picked on as a creator much more than Stanley. Of course, he worked with a much hotter property--a Disney entity--and stricter rules applied, perhaps unfairly. Barks delivered an appealing, compelling Donald Duck. The Disney animated cartoons did not.

That said, Western's East Coast offices appear to have exercised a much looser editorial hand than the LA branch. The comics from this office are much more homogenized and bland than the New York material.

Thank goodness Stanley was on the East Coast. He regularly indulged in morbid, dark themes in his 1940s and '50s work, and was only apparently censored once, for the 1950 Little Lulu story "The Bogeyman."

This untitled story requires Stanley to buy into the standard "Tom & Jerry" format. He is clearly uncomfortable with the series' demands. There is a bit of that "Somethin' Fishy Here" vibe to this story. He still sides with the mice. They're placed in a high-stakes narrative--the dark flip-side to the frequent boys vs. girls stories in Stanley's Little Lulu classics.

The story, to me, falls flat--this is Stanley on a rare off-day. As such, it is fascinating to study. All the elements are there. What is missing is Stanley's personal involvement in the piece. Without that quality, it's merely a better-than-average, very ordinary comic-book story.












Made it through that? Here's your reward!

A sub-feature of Our Gang, as it morphed into Tom and Jerry Comics, was "The Adventures of Tom." This mouse-free feature showed us Tom's frustrations in the dating scene.

In this surprisingly strong story, Stanley casts Tom as a proto-Tubby-- a disgruntled misfit. Like Tubby, Tom, in this story, is utterly convinced of the rightness of his worldview, and of his actions.

Notable is Tom's failed attempts to master musical instruments--including, most recognizably for LL fans, the violin.

The SKREEEKs and SKRAAAKs Tom produces on the instrument--harsh tones that threaten the dental (and mental) health of anyone who hears them--aniticipate Tubby Tompkins' similar lack of violin mastery, in many a 1950s Lulu story.

As well, the story's supporting characters seem like extras who wandered over from New Funnies. This visual overlap confirms Stanley's obvious hand in this story.

In the first story here, Stanley seems burdened by the cat characters. In the second story, Stanley makes a virtue out of Tom, who was doomed to be a one-dimensional, homicidal villain in most of his media appearances.

These two stories provide us an unusually vulnerable side of Stanley the comix creator. There are surprisingly few outright flops amongst the thoustands of comic book stories Stanley wrote and drew. And tho', as said, the first story here isn't bad, it's clear that Stanley needed to connect with his characters--for their flaws more often than their virtues--to do his best work.