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HERO FOR HIRE: "The Life and ( Very Hard ) Times of Marvel Comics' LUKE CAGE " (Part One)

(This page -- along with all following pages for this entry -- have been made possible by the mind-boggling generosity of site regulars William Brackeen and David Phelps: genuine heroes for free.)

Next to Captain America, The Black Panther and The Black Widow: my single all-time favorite Marvel Comics character. Ever.

I've always been a sucker for this particular "type," really: the solitary, embittered "hard luck" hero. The one who does what he does in spite of the fact that society at large holds him in the same overall high esteem as a chancre sore on the mouth of a magazine supermodel. The one who -- ninety-eight times out of every one hundred -- spits in the communal "eye" of his fellows in the spandexed fraternity, and says (in essence): "... on my terms, and my terms only. Dammit."

Luke Cage is -- quite simply -- the original "hard luck" poster child of the Marvel Comics universe.

Not that he wouldn't punch your @#$%ing lights out if he thought for one moment that you actually felt sorry for him, mind.

"Out of Hell -- a Hero!" [LUKE CAGE, HERO FOR HIRE #1; June, 1972; Archie Goodwin, author; George Tuska, penciler] opens with a shot of Seagate Prison: "... a maximum security prison" (the accompanying caption helpfully provides) "... from which no one has ever escaped. Seagate. Sometimes called 'Little Alcatraz' by its inmates... more often called Hell."

We observe as (then-)inmate Lucas is released from an overlong stretch in "the Hole" -- close, sunless solitary confinement -- by racist, bullying prison guard Captain Quirt; and back into the general prison population, overall.

(We're never told just why Lucas had been given that extra little "taste" of durance vile, really. As tough as this prison is, however... I'm thinking some other inmate got folded into one of the laundry room steam pressers. Either that, or else: "Unsanctioned After-Hours Mass Pillow Fight.")

Out in the prison yard, Lucas is approached by another inmate -- a savvy, jive-talkin' prison politico by the name of "Shades" -- seeking to enlist his aid some nebulous sort of mass "demonstration," in order "to set this new warden straight." [See panel reproduction, below]

"You been awful quick to speak for the brothers ever since you came here, Shades," a Sphinx-like Cage observes. "Sounds like now you gonna be quick gettin' their heads broken, too. If mine goes under the club, it's gonna be 'cause I put it there, not you!"

Apparently, Shades isn't the only one lobbying hard for Lucas' support, re: this whole "new warden" business; the old warden -- one "Rackham" by name -- has Lucas hauled up into his office a short time thereafter, counseling him rather forcefully to the effect that "Man like you -- with no love for them smart-talkin' punks -- could do himself some good. Just have to help me learn what that bunch is up to, an' when they plan to make their move [...] You scratch my back, boy... an' I scratch yours."

Oddly enough, calling Lucas "boy" doesn't prove quite as effective an inducement towards Big-Time Prison Stoolie Recruitment as one might otherwise be willing to believe (it's a "Dale Carnegie" thing; you wouldn't understand); and -- after blandly informing Rackham that the latter is suffering from a noticeable and severe case of recto-cranial inversion -- the forthright Lucas is once again afforded an opportunity to hum a few tuneful bars of "All Alone Am I" whilst appearing at Seagate's fabulous Solitary Confinement Lounge Room. ("... Tuesday nights are Shower Room Surprise Nights!")

The arrival of the aforementioned new warden heralds the Seagate debut of one Doctor Noah Bernstein, as well: newly appointed prison Medical Shaman emeritus, and a man with an intriguing little personal theory, re: "... the electro-biochemical stimulation of human cell regeneration."

(We learn at this point, incidentally, the particulars of Lucas' inopportune incarceration: how he "grew up on the streets" in Harlem; how he allowed himself to be used by childhood-friend-turned-ganglord Willis Stryker, resulting in his [Lucas] being framed for Drug Possession With Intent To Sell; and how [again, in Lucas' own words] "Now I'm livin' for one thing, and one thing only -- to get out! Get out an' get Willis!") (This origin recap to be read while listening to the '70's Al Green or Curtis Mayfield "blaxploitation movie" soundtrack of your choice. Your low ridin', jive talkin', fightin'-the-power Unca Cheeks heartily recommends SuperFly. Boom-shakka-wakka-wakka... boom-shakka-wakka-wakka...!)

Well: with the promise of an early parole being dangled before him, in return for willingly playing the amenable guinea pig, Lucas hops into Doc Bernstein's bubbling alchemical bathtub brew quicker'n you can say: "... when suddenly -- !"

... when suddenly: a cranky and out-of-sorts Rackham -- demoted from warden to lowly prison guard, upon the arrival of the new guys; and not feeling all that darned swell about it, actually -- pops up; pops the unsuspecting Bernstein, right on the ol' noggin'; and cranks the settings on the Doc's super-Lipton-Cup-A-Soup atomic wading pool allllllll the way up, and then some.

[CHEEKS' ASIDE: recently discovered "lost artwork" to this pivotal '70's Marvel comic detail an excerpted sequence in which the despicable Rackham goes even further, by tossing in a few potatoes; some peas; and a carrot or two, at the very last moment. This panel, of course, was struck down by the Comics Code Authority without a second thought, on the grounds that no comic book hero should ever be shown being "stewed." Boom-shakka-wakka-wakka.)

In any event: an agonized and enraged Lucas batters his way out of Doc Bernstein's hopped-up hopper, and lays a good'un right across a frantic Rackham's porcine kisser.

"... he's out like you used a hammer," a disbelieving Bernstein informs Lucas, re: Rackham. "This is serious."

Furious with himself over jeopardizing his already marginal chances at winning parole ("For the luvva --! Did I live through that brimstone bath just to get set up for this? If that worthless scum dies -- !"), a provoked- beyond-all-endurance Lucas slams one massive fist against the nearest stone wall...

... and makes a fist-sized hole in same, in so doing.

Whereas Our Man Lucas has never been portrayed as being in either Hank Pym's or Reed Richards' class, cogitation-wise: neither has he ever evinced any indication of being an out-and-out chowderhead. Confronted with the possibility (however remote) of being charged with Rackham's not-quite-untimely demise -- or the option of freedom! NOW! -- the hero-to-be selects the latter as his personal behavioral polestar.

In other words: he's outta there.

"... and here," the following captions exposit for us, "begins long months of working his way north [...] a man without modern society's cards of identity... a man forever set apart from others by fantastic chemistry gone berserk. A man sustained solely by a driving need for... revenge!" A man, in short, just plain kicking himself for not having taken the extra five minutes and boosting himself a nice convertible, on his way out of Seagate.

A chance encounter with a lone gunman attempting a diner robbery inspires Lucas to turn his unique physiognomy into a distinct entrepreneurial advantage, by dealing himself in as a player in the Great American Spandexed Sweepstakes.

("[...] to turn what I got goin' for me into a livin' !" as Lucas phrases it. "An' this costume shop's the place to start!") (This is probably as good a place as any, really, to offer up a silent -- yet sincere -- prayer of thanks that said "costume shop" wasn't down to a single nurse's outfit... or maybe a big, pink, fluffy bunny costume, even.)

This segues us along quite nicely into issue #2 ["Vengeance Is Mine!"; August, 1972; Archie Goodwin, author; George Tuska, penciler], where Lucas -- now having re-christened himself as Luke Cage: "Hero For Hire" -- makes the formal acquaintance of one Doctor Claire Temple: one of a pair of committed, street-level medicos running a storefront clinic for the urban unfortunates of Hell's Kitchen.

Right from Word One, there's an almost palpable chemistry between healer Claire and hero Luke... but: said sparks very nearly end before they can decently begin, once the latter discovers that the former's partner in patchwork is none other thaaaannnnnnnnn --

... Doctor Noah Bernstein!

Boom-shakka-wakka-wakka.

There's some fair-to-interestin' stuff as to precisely why Ol' Doc Bernstein just happens to have ended up -- with the entire length and breadth of the continental U.S. in which to wander -- within a few city blocks of his former laboratory rat...

... but: screw that noise. Let's see this issue's super-villain!

It seems that -- while in the process of making a reasonably marketable name for himself in the "hero-for-hire" game -- Luke has repeatedly found himself athwart the low-level criminal machinations of old friend (and turncoat) Willis Stryker...

... a.k.a., Diamondback.

Having earned his super-criminal sobriquet by dint of his nearly preternatural abilities with balanced throwing knives, Diamondback prepares a trio of very special weapons to be used in the event of his confronting Luke under the properly advantageous circumstances: a "hyper-sonic dagger"; a "gas dagger"; and (I do hope you're all taking careful notes; this is all going to show up on your final exams, you know) an "exploding dagger."

(In retrospect: it's just a damned pity and a shame that this guy never crossed four-color paths with DC Comics' Green Arrow. I mean... just the possibility of actually seeing a "parachute dagger"... or a "boxing glove dagger," even...

(... well: there's the dream... and then, there's the grey and unfortunate reality.)

Meanwhile: someone's finally remembered that -- in all the fun and excitement of origin this and Diamondback that -- no one's yet gotten around to blessing Luke with an actual, honest-to-Ramada place to live, for the luvva Odin. This being an early '70's Marvel Comics series: that all but inevitably translates into "Introduction of Quirky-But-Endearing Supporting Cast Character"...

... or, in other words: "Say hi and howdy to the inimitable 'D.W. Griffith.' "

(Actually, ol' "D.W." ["I'm Dave Griffith. My movie freak friends call me D.W. ... after the director, y'know?"] isn't all that unbearable an intrusion, as quasi-sidekicks go; sort of an updated "Snapper" Carr or Rick Jones, minus the pseudo-"hip" snappy patter and the incessant, "Lucy Ricardo"-style whining to tag along on various and sundry adventures.

(And -- whatthehell -- at least they didn't opt for a dog. With a cute little metal headband, mebbe. You read enough of these things, over the years: you learn to be good and bloody grateful for even the smallest of favors. Boom-shakka-wakka-wakka.)

Moving right along, however: Diamondback decides to speed things along, story-wise, by taking the most intensely stupid action imaginable under the circumstances (i.e., kidnapping Reg'lar-Saturday-Night-Thing- To-Be Claire Temple... and then making darned good and certain Luke knows who did it, on top of that), apparently for the sole purpose of finally getting to use those nifty (and tres expensive) trick knives of his.

"Knew you were every kinda mean, Willis" a quietly confident Cage observes, at one point. "Did you just get stupid lately?" To this brittle bon mot, the villainous Stryker responds, in turn [Pick One]:

A.) " 'Stupid'? 'Stupid' -- ? Dash it all, man! Just because a fellow elects to run around in broad daylight dressed like a herpetological hooker doesn't make him stupid! I'm a pervert, f'chrissakes!"

B.) "HA! Shows how much you know, Mister Smartyboots! I've been stupid for years and years, already!"

C.) "Shyeah. Right. And this, mind you, from a guy who's going to be fighting guys named 'Cockroach Hamilton' and 'Mister Fish,' a few years from now."

D.) "Lookit, pal... I'm being drawn by George frickin' Tuska here, awright? My head is so flat, you could balance a beer can on it, and I've got teeth like a @#$%ing beaver! You try looking more intelligent than Rob Liefeld under those circumstances, whydon'cha...?"

E.) "Kiss my asp."

Actually, the climactic "battle scene" -- thanks, in no small measure, to some typically intelligent choreography on the part of the late (and sorely missed) Archie Goodwin -- is a good deal more exciting and emotionally involving than it really has any business being, given that one of the combatants therein (i.e., the one not wearing the big, waycool chain around his waist) is a Grade-"A," accept-no-substitutes four-color dorkasaurus.

(It's only a myth that the species died out in the late '50's/early '60's, incidentally. Misguided "comics conservationists" -- i.e., fanboys -- have been selectively breeding the few remaining animals on privately owned and operated preserves for decades, as of this writing. That's why you keep seeing the likes of Batroc the Leaper and The Tattooed Man popping up, every so often. Proof positive that Comic Books and Political Activism -- no matter how well-intentioned -- simply. do. not. MIX.)

The story ends with Ol' "Walnut Head" Stryker meeting the end he so richly and manifestly deserves, when his dorky "exploding dagger" -- much like the man himself -- goes off prematurely.

With these two issues, Marvel Comics -- in launching the first ever ever ever continuing series headlined by an African-American super- hero -- not only made four-color history; they successfully introduced one of the most intriguing and dynamic characters in the mainstream adventure comics canon right smack-dab in the epicenter of their meta-fictive universe. Luke's (comparatively) high introductory "profile," in other words, served as storytelling "notice": this "Hero For Hire" was bound, ultimately, for anyplace but comics obscurity.

We'll be continuing our overview of Luke Cage's early years...

... right here, next week.

C'mon. You all didn't just get stupid lately, did you...?

Boom-shakka-wakka-wakka.

LUKE CAGE: Hero For Hire: PAGE TWO

LUKE CAGE: Hero For Hire: PAGE THREE

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