Stanley Shards from various Dell Christmas comics, 1950-1960

Western Publications' comics editor, Oskar Lebeck, had an apparent ambition to transcend the rough-house action and slapstick that filled most Dell comics. In the 1940s, he pursued a line of gentler, slightly more literary fare, aimed at the market's youngest readers.

Walt Kelly wrote and drew some of the earlier examples of this Lebeck trend, including Dell's Fairy Tale Parade series and some "Four Color" one shots such as Christmas With Mother Goose. Kelly made this genre work without seeming treacly or condescending. Dan Noonan, a cartoonist whose '40s work is a ringer for Kelly's tighter cartooning, also created toddler-set comics that didn't patronize their audience.

A great deal of these kinder, gentler comics now seem faintly patronizing and extremely dull. Much of them are not actually comics, per se, but stories with illustrations, songs, plays and other material. Though they're called "funnies" and "comics," they're more accurately children's storybooks or activity books slumming on the funnybook rack.

They were well-intentioned, and their creation was no doubt a challenge to all who participated.

As the author of a first-grade reading level book, I am familiar with the experience. I finally arrived on a winning formula--I wrote all sentences as if they were spoken by Lennie, from John Steinbeck's tragicomedy Of Mice and Men. That created an editor-pleasing ideal lexile level, although I had the urge to add "George" to the end of every sentence.

The worst tendencies in writing for the very young is to under-estimate their smarts. Children are much sharper than most adults would like to admit. Though they don't necessarily understand the nuances of adult life and interactions, they catch everything. Every kid I know appreciates having their intelligence respected and gently challenged. If they notice condescension, they usually reject the work in question, and move onto something better.

My inner child frequently rolls his eyes at much of Dell's "for the wee ones" comics. Thank goodness that John Stanley participated in this trend.

He never received any credit for his work in Dell's toddler line--unlike other Team Lebeck stalwarts such as Kelly, Noonan, Frank Thomas, Morris Gollub and Tony Rivera.

Indeed, Lebeck's atypically generous credits are the only way it's been possible to put names to some of these artists. Here are two examples from a comic-storybook, authored by Lebeck, that appeared in Dell's one-shot series in 1950:

Stanley's work in this vein appeared in Animal Comics, Raggedy Ann and Andy and the Christmas comics Dell published, either as stand-alone series or as part of the "Four Color" line.

Here is obvious evidence of Stanley's work in the Christmas comics--done in the very loose brush style of his contemporary Little Lulu covers, from Santa Claus Funnies FC 361, published in 1951:

Last holiday season, I ran this story from a 1961 Santa Claus Funnies. At that time, I hadn't examined the other issues of this annual book, nor of its partner, Frosty the Snowman.

Closer scrutiny of these titles reveals several stories which I can confidently attribute to John Stanley. They are dialed-down Stanley, to be sure. His tell-tale character quirks, sound effects and other tip-offs are evident. As well, unlike the other stories in these books, they are funny, entertaining and have decent narrative stakes.

These are stories you can share with your kids. They may be a few notches below Stanley's Little Lulu work, but they have something in common with those better-known, more iconic stories.

I don't have too many more of these surprises left in my trick bag. I've just about exhausted all the obscure back-roads of Dell's comics line. I'm happy to share these minor-but-charming pieces with you.

From the November, 1950 edition of Santa Claus Funnies come two stories which appear to be written by Stanley.

In our first offering, "Teddy Bear in Toyland," illustrated by Mel Crawford, notice the genuinely anti-social antagonist, who is very smitten with his cognitive biases, and the cinematic timing of the action sequences (which are tricked out with vivid, often funny sound effects).

Tiger Cat's aggressive agenda distinguishes this story. He's just a little too into his personal delusions, and too fervent about carrying them out. There's also some gentle fun-poking at the wide-eyed cutesy world of fairy-tales.

Also from the November, 1950 SCF is the slightly zany, droll "Santa's Christmas Presents." I believe the artist to be Mo Gollub.

Aggressive SFX, including a tell-tale bonging clock, almost-incongruous slapstick, and the elf Blinkey's grouchy, self-absorbed persona signify "Santa's Christmas Presents" as Stanley's work.

A similarly self-deluded elf dominates "Christmas in November," a piece from the 1954 edition of Santa Claus Funnies. The dialogue is curiously strained in spots, but the story's innate comedy still comes through clearly.

Rufus' insistence that his bad eyesight isn't an issue brings a touch of the Tubby TypeTM to "Christmas in November." Rufus gets his comeuppance, and the one thing he truly needs, in the story's amusing finale. Without his misbehavior, and his stubborn insistence that he is unerringly right, this story would have little to recommend it.

We now leap to the end of the 1950s, with this manic piece from the December, 1960 Santa Claus Funnies. With spiky artwork by Fred Fredericks, "Santa's Problem" feels like an out-take from New Terrytoons.

"Santa's Problem" features a deluded team of Tubby-types. The three reckless, inept polar bears invite themselves inside Santa's workshop, and amusingly destroy everything they encounter. Wise Santa averts economic ruin by enlisting the bears' spazzy playful nature to "test" potential gifts. I suspect those rainbow-hued sleds will soon be kindling, but it's the thought that counts.

"A Surprise For Santa," from the same edition, appears to be drawn by Tony Rivera, a name I've just discovered. Slowly but surely, more Dell puzzle pieces emerge from the black hole of history.

The squatter mice provide this otherwise-meager story with an identifiable Stanley kick. Otherwise, this is cheerful filler.

For our holiday chaser, here's a story from the Frosty the Snowman book of December, 1961--the end times for Dell's connection with Western Publications. The cover's sherbet jollity doesn't reveal the internal tensions that Dell and Western faced in this darkest hour.

"Frosted Frosty" is drawn by longtime Stanley collaborator Lloyd White. As the Frosty character has a touch of the Tubby self-delusion, the lumpen quality of White's art seems apt here.

Static, repeated images and in-your-face SFX are tells of Stanley's hand in this agreeably silly story.

None of these are stories on the level of "Five Little Babies," "The Guest in the Ghost Hotel" or the best of Stanley's 1960s work. They weren't meant to be masterpieces. They helped enliven holiday anthologies which were truly team efforts.

They provide a window into Stanley's gentler side, as he consciously wrote holiday stories for younger readers.

Stanley couldn't avoid writing humorous situations, or building up the narrative stakes for reader interest, in any of these stories. That they are genuinely amusing, and sometimes archly surprising, is no small feat.

See you in 2011! May your holidays be festive, peaceful and not at all tense.

Two Stories From the Second Little Lulu Comic: Art and Story by John Stanley

I see that this post is the most popular one ever to appear on Stanley Stories. It gets more hits than anything else on here. Well, give the people what they want, sez I.

The only story left from the first "Lulu" comic was reprinted in The Smithsonian Book of Comic-Book Comics, seminal tome from 1981 that can be had for peanuts on Amazon.com.

Time to move on to #2. The pair of stories I've selected today both are animal-themed. Both also show much more of John Stanley's fine cartooning style than the prior issue.

These aren't hi-grade scans. It's better to read these in color, as originally published, rather than try the pallid traced versions of the Another Rainbow and Dark Horse reprints. Those suck the life and soul out of Stanley's deft drawings.

Exhibit A, "...has family trouble," is among Stanley's rare cat-centric pieces. With this still-larval version of Lulu as his protagonist, Stanley captures the innocence and curiosity of childhood in a way the series would quickly avoid.

This story is an upbeat twin to a dark, disturbing "Li'l Eight-Ball" story Stanley wrote for New Funnies #101, also published in 1945. A sense of melancholy informs this story, too, but it's played for a much gentler effect.

This is as close to genuinely charming as John Stanley gets. Still, since it is a Stanley story, there is one moment of violent (but amusing) discord:

This encounter is unlikely to better socialize Mr. Gripe. This is the first appearance of a sinister social archetype of Little Lulu's world: the seriously anti-social, violence-prone loner, who typically has a Dickensian name like "Krank," "Gruff," "McGrouch," et al.

Mr. Gripe is on the gentlest end of this anti-social spectrum. To experience the Stanley Sociopath at his darkest and scariest, read this.

As well, this story offers two protagonists--Lulu and Christopher the cat. Christopher's inner monologue adds another level to the narrative. We are privy to her thoughts about Lulu and the other "pink ones," which is played for rich humor.

As is often the case in Stanley's world, the least empowered character is the wisest. Lulu's mother is oblivious to the kittens' need to still be with their mother. Christopher, who knows best, ingeniously retrieves her offspring.

Lulu and the cat trauma-bond in the ninth frame of p.7, in an echo of the "Li'l Eight-Ball" story's scenes of crying. However, Christopher is just playing; she's in charge of the situation 100%.

Stanley's feline drawings have great charm. I have a feeling that Stanley was a "cat person."

A couple of pantomime gag pages...

and then Lulu and Tubby "Goes On a Picnic." (Bad grammar is intentional.)

A tightly composed piece with conscious pay-offs, "Picnic" is connected to the prior story. Tubby's brag that he "almost killed a cat" with his toy bow-and-arrow reminds us of "...has family problems."

We see early signs of Tubby's self-absorption; it doesn't really occur to him that it was the Jensen's Groceries delivery truck that nearly did in the feline. At story's end it is the Jensen's truck that delivers Lulu and Tubby from their sylvan escapade and allows them to finally have their picnic.

The relationship of Lulu and Tubby is rather primitive, by later "Lulu" standards, in this story. The two kids are much more childlike here--antagonistic and stubborn, given to whims and acting out. Hints of Tub's future Quixotean self are already evident.

It's Lulu's terser, less expressive persona that makes the major difference. She is not the kidult she would be in 1950. She is closer to Marge Buell's imp than to the classic John Stanley version.

Stanley puts Lulu and Tub through some very funny slapstick paces here, and milks much humor from their bickering and over- or under-reaction to stakes-raising events.

We see more Stanley animals in "Picnic." Their presence, over these two stories, shows how much at odds Stanley's own drawing style was with the Marge Buell look and feel. All the human figures look stiff, awkward and generally unappealing. Stanley was a long way from making these characters work, visually, on his own terms.

Not to say that these are poor drawings, by any means. They're full of life, and Stanley does what he can to infuse them with character. His true colors emerge in the drawings of animals, in both these stories. Some hints of his masterful 1960s cartooning can be seen in those brief moments. His backgrounds, though simple, express a strong sense of space and depth.

It must have been frustrating for Stanley to work with Buell's primitive designs in these early Little Lulu one-shots, but he does his best, and the results, while stiff, are workable.

In Stanley's cartooning, the drawings are always humbly in service of the story. Stanley possessed one of the least distracting cartoon styles. It's just solid, unassuming line work, the better to sell his narratives--which, after all, is why we read his stories.

Stanley's Texting: "Lulu's Diry," from Marge's Little Lulu #1-5, 1947/8

I've meant to discuss the Lulu's Diry text pieces since I started this blog. So let's get it done, what say you?

(crowd cheers)

In order to classify for second class postal rates, which made subscriptions economically feasible, series comic books had to have at least two pages of typeset textual matter.

This smacks of disdain to me--an early blow against the comic book as an agent of illiteracy. If comics went through the U. S. Post Office, by God, it wasn't going to be so that morons could drool over their gaudy, tawdry pictures.

Never mind that comics stories typically have a fair deal of text, and that the best writers used those words in an intelligent and deliberate way.

Comics publishers needed that cheap postage, so they agreed. This gave birth to the letters column, the editor's page, "Stan's Soapbox," et al. Well-meaning assistant editors wrote columns on hobby tips, the history of the camera, the riches of Nigeria. Mickey Spillane, years before his pulp-fiction breakthrough, penned rank adventure tales for Timely's fillers. No one gave a sh!t about these things. They had to be done.

Who read them? Who looked forward to them? Even the most entertainment-starved, bored persons might impatiently scan them, attempt to get absorbed in them, and give up around the fourth paragraph.

When Marge's Little Lulu was officially launched as a regular series, in late 1947, Western had to comply with this rule. The nine tryout issues of Little Lulu in the Dell "Four Color" series weren't sold by subscription, and thus didn't need the filler. But all of Dell's regular titles had to comply.

Lulus Diry is a remarkable exception to the cruel rule of funnybook filler. Unlike, oh, 98.9% of all fiction-based comic book text pieces, these were always witty, sometimes surprisingly subtle, and frequently very funny.

I have no documentation that John Stanley wrote these. That they (a) line up with his typical Lulu scenarios, (b) are often quite funny and (c) use language in a comical way leads me to this conclusion. It is clearly Stanley who provided the sorta-kids drawings that grace these two-page installments. The tell-tale spikiness of his vivid line-work can't be mistaken.

Here is the first Lulus Diry-- a droll, detailed and low-key first-person account, with just a touch of fourth-wall noodging and a vast array of clever typos and mis-spellings.

No other text fillers created as subtle and vital a relationship between words and pictures as did Lulus Diry, from its inception. The illustrations are amusing and inviting. They also serve as a breakdown of what's going on in those badly-typed fields of text. The seemingly arbitrary mix of people and objects supports the text and bolsters its humor.

At the time, Western's text fillers tended to be namby-pamby, at best. In comics such as Our Gang and Raggedy Ann and Andy, these pieces were considerably longer. Oskar Lebeck and others at Western may have been concerned about parents' disapproval of comic books, and made sure there was enough typeset material to give them legitimacy.

Lulus Diry offered Stanley a way to get to know his main character better. By writing from her point of view, Stanley slowly increased Lulu's humanity, and changed her from the acerbic imp of Marge Buell's magazine cartoons to the complex, distinct individual she was by 1950.

I don't think this was Stanley's plan with these pieces. That he, and Lebeck, sought for a creative alternative--i.e., to make these Dirys something readers might actually look forward to reading--was impressive enough. That Lulu's personality emerges from this prose is a remarkable perk.

Diry Too is particularly funny. Lulu's typos and mis-spellings inform the humor of the two segments. Part one reads like a typical early "Lulu" comics story, only with the delightful addition of Lulu's fractured prose, and her surprisingly opinionated look at the world around her.

The illustrations add value to the humor of the prose. Note the "Paint Box Which I Diddent Want Any Way"--a beautiful garnish to the first segment's finale.

In the second segment, Lulu's recalling of the exact number of times her doll said "Mama" is laugh-out-loud funny. It's this specificity that makes Stanley's best work so enjoyable and rich.

By Diry Three, the accompanying drawings, which include icons of childhood, and of the Lulu landscape, correlate more directly to the amusing text. It's fascinating to see the process of this feature get tweaked with each new installment.

The use of run-on sentences, and an artful lack of punctuation, makes the laff-value strong throughout this installment. The first bit, about the mud cakes, again reads like a classic Lulu comics story. Tubby's egotism and Alvin's obliviousness, seen through the lens of Lulu's persona, are practically drawn with words. The pauses in the action also suggest how Stanley might have broken the story down into panels and pages.

The second bit digs deeper into the self-centered psyche of Tubby Tompkins, and earns more laughs by the assiduous mis-spelling of magnat.

The brief third bit offers a genuinely sweet moment amidst all the comedic chaos.

The fourth installment went for less kid-like drawings. Note, too, that the typos are soft-pedaled. Mis-spellings and malapropisms still enliven the text, but the X'ed out words, keyboard blunders, and other more childlike touches are gone.

The drawings are quite close to the other artwork in this issue. The neater, trimmer affect doesn't dim the charm of this long single story.

The real-ness of this Diry's contents, their leisurely presentation, and the small details that only a child would notice endow this installment with a subtle humor that reserves its belly-laugh moments for the second page. The butcher's comments to Lulu, and Tubby's actions during his visit to Lulu's sickbed, are delightfully funny. "He drank the whole bottle of sweet medicin because it was sweet."

The fifth Diry was printed on the bottom halves of four consecutive pages, with the comics story "The Burglary" on the upper berth. I've reformatted the text into its typical two-page spread. Note that the sloppy drawing style and Xed out words are back. The drawings are now even more scrawly and kid-like. They're not quite Jacky's Diary, but they're considerably cruder than what came before.

This firth Diry is less focused than its predecessors, but no less amusing. Tubby leaves a wide swath of destruction, each action 101% justified in his mind. Lulu's reluctant participation (for which she accepts no culpability) is made funnier by her telling of the event.

A rigged marbles match, in which Lulu spins the ol' karma wheel, and wins, ends this installment.

Lulus Diry outlasted Stanley's tenure on the book. Its innovations were soon thinned out. With the tenth installment, the mis-spellings and  X'ings out were no longer part of the format. Lulu's lack of punctuation, and her malapropisms, remained, but were gradually toned down in the mid-1950s.

In this period, the font size changed to a non-typewriter style, and got larger, as did the illustrations. While the Diry was still amusing, it was simpler, and had less content than these early installments.

With issue 82 (April 1955), the feature shrank to one page. At this point, the Diry becomes perfunctory. I think Stanley had burned himself out on this segment--or handed it over to another author.

As you've seen, the early Lulus Dirys are detailed, funny, and show Stanley's persuasive skills as a prose writer. Stanley wrote other text pieces, including those for the Dunc 'n Loo series. Because of their cohesion to, and enhancement of, the characters and their world, Stanley's Lulus Diry, in its early installments, is major work that has, because of its humble species, been overlooked by many.