Unca Cheeks the Toy Wonder's Silver Age Comics Web Site!
HARD EVIDENCE OF A WASTED YOUTH
... or: "My Dinners With
Dick Giordano and (kinda; sorta; almost) Charlton Comics" (PART
TWO)
Okay.
So.
Unca Cheeks killed off DC Comics' NEW TALENT SHOWCASE, then.
Whaddya want outta me, f'chrissakes... blood? 
Sometime around late '87 or early '88 -- the advent of years has been no kinder to Unca Cheeks' failing mental faculties than they have to his hairline, alas -- a friend of a friend of a friend (you know how these things work) took him aside, during an especially long and dull New Years Eve party; and informed him, sotto voce, that long-dormant company Charlton Comics was readying corporate sword and shield for yet another brave attempt at four-color comics publishing...
... and: that they were actively recruiting (in the hushed and
conspiratorial tones of my putative confidant) "new blood, bubelah."
Having tasted flesh -- or (rather) wood pulp -- once before: Your Little Plush Pal was all too, too eager to dine upon the whey-faced
and innocent once again.
Following the same game plan as before -- i.e., Updating a Long-
Vanished (at that particular juncture, at any rate) Character Conceptualization Enough So That He Could Affix My Name To It With a Reasonably Clear Conscience -- Unca Cheeks turned his twisted attentions towards a character from the Golden Age of comics: one Wesley [SANDMAN] Dodds, to be precise.
The "premise" for DOCTOR MORPHEUS [see character reproduction, below] hinged upon the shameful chapter in American history during which time our government -- yielding, regrettably, to the twin tidal forces of paranoia and rank xenophobia -- brutally herded and imprisoned whollly blameless Japanese-American citizens, circa World War Two.
Extrapolating from the well-known historical example proferred by Harriet Tubman and the Underground Railroad -- which provided a much-needed egress towards freedom for countless slaves, during the American Civil War -- I posited a silent and shadowy figure providing much the same level and sort of covert aid to imprisoned Japanese-
Americans: stealthily slipping into one "internment camp" after another, in order to liberate persons no less desperate or deserving of their own measure of succor.
Their were several intriguing (or so I thought, at any rate) "twists" attendant to this conceit: one of these being that "Doctor Morpheus" actively pursued and encouraged a public perception that he was nothing more than your standard, rock-jawed and resolute WWII-era "crime-buster" type; coolly and efficiently taking down lower-echelon gangsters and smugglers and suchlike, in the commonly accepted manner (welllllll... in comics, I mean) of such early four-color "mystery men."
Yet another such "twist" was that my series' hero was (let's not beat
around the bush, here, shall we?) a transvestite.
Convincingly "bulked up" in specially padded men's clothing -- and her voice electronically distorted by her one-of-a-kind gas mask -- Cheryll Lynn Yamaguchi adopts the male persona of "Doctor Morpheus" in order to provide an additional "layer" of protection between her true identity and her costumed one. (The Good Doctor's covert camp-busting actions, obviously, being grounds for a charge of treason, were she ever to be apprehended and brought to trial.)
Oh, yeah... and there was one more little "gimmick" laid out in said series' proposal, come to think:
In the very first issue: Doctor Morpheus finds herself mysteriously shuttled approximately one thousand years into the future...
... and into an "America" which (horrifyingly) resembles one gigantic, coast-to-coast "internment camp," essentially.
... meaning: the lady (all of a sudden, like) has her work well
and truly cut out for her.
At some point between then and now, you see: the American government underwent a transformation (for reasons which were to have been explicated, as the series progressed) from representational democracy to unfeeling and repressive dictatorship; with the overwhelming percentage of its native population reduced to a bitter, subsistence-level sort of day-to-day existence, in service of the needs of a (for lack of any more elegant description) a religious plutocracy.
The chiefest strong-arm man and "trouble shooter" for said monied sector of the populace was the cruel, chill uberscientist known as Doctor Rubrik Mayhem (Unca Cheeks is a firm believer in the Jack "King" Kirby School of naming comic book characters, don'cha know); an implacable and nigh-emotionless "overseer," if you like, whom artist friend Bob Blanton (the grinning, misbegotten little so-and-so) elected to "bless" with Unca Cheeks' own real life facial features, whilst whipping up character sketches and suchlike. [See character reproduction, below]
Bob, ol' buddy, ol' droogie, ol' pal... if you're out there, somewhere, reading all of this:
Payback, baby.
If it takes me the rest of whatever remains of my life:
P-A-Y-B-A-C-K.
In any event: Unca Chee --
... ummmmm... I mean: Mayhem's most fav'ritest "enforcer" was the lumbering (yet lethal) BioVamp -- a human/mechanoid hybrid capable of draining an opponent's bio-energies, until the latter ended up resembling nothing so much as a "spent" barbecue briquette; and "powered" by the transplanted, dimly aware brain of Mayhem's luckless (and clinically retarded) elder brother. [See character reproduction, below]
The series' final "gotcha!" -- a mystery (if you like) which would have unfolded for a good year or so, if memory serves -- involved one of the time-tossed Doc Morpheus' scant few futuristic allies: the wise-cracking (and mildly unhinged) street vigilante known as Steelwyckette. (The name being a locutional amalgam of "steel" and "Pywyckette" -- the latter, the traditional name givven by a witch to one of her feline familiars.) [See character reproduction, below]
You see: the aforementioned Steelwyckette -- who (like Morpheus) seldom, if ever, removes his identity-concealing headgear in the presence of others -- is (unbeknownst, initially, to either of them) the direct lineal descendent of one Ms. Cheryll Lynn Yamaguchi...
... a.k.a., the increasingly luckless and besieged Doctor Morpheus.
An umpty-umpteen times removed descendent (it should go without saying) who will never even get the chance to exist, unless The Doctor can find her way back home, first.
Lookit: maybe this convenient flow chart would help
Well... anyhoo: the whole elephantine, telephone book-sized series outline (complete with initial twenty-four issue summary; the full, dialogued scripts for issues #1 and #2; AND eleventy gazillion fully rendered character sketches and suchlike) went out to the gentleman whose name Unca Cheeks had been given, re: Charlton Comics' fledgling editorial and/or submissions department(s)...
... and, for the second time in as many tries: got the big "okey-dokey"
back by registered mail.
The "editor" with whom Unca Cheeks trustingly dealt, over the months which followed (a status which I am only willing to accord him, by the by, accompanied by exculpatory quotation marks; for reasons which will soon, sadly, be all too painfully self-evident) blue-skied him shamelessly and relentlessly. (e.g.: "Hey! I just signed Bill Sienkiewicz to do full, painted covers for DOCTOR MORPHEUS!" "Hey! We just got the rights from Hanna-Barbera to do a HERCULOIDS limited series! Can you cobble up a proposal for me by the end of week after next?" "Hey! We just got the rights back from DC for all the old Charlton heroes they aren't using! You wanna dialogue a revived SON OF VULCAN series for me?")
... and: eager to demonstrate his ready willingness to be the ultimate
"team player"... Unca Cheeks spent every last available moment of what he (laughingly)
refers to as his "free time" cranking out simply reams and reams of proposals
and precises and assorted typewritten potpourri for this lying
little jerkweed.
You see, chill'uns: this weaseling, duplicitous little such-and-so (as Unca Cheeks painstakingly pieced together, in the weeks and months which followed) was -- in actual point of fact -- the great-grandnephew (or somesuch; accounts varied) of some long-deceased Charlton editor from the late '60's and early '70's; an acne-scared adolescent con artist who simply opted to... well... appropriate the Charlton Comics name and trademark, in order to swagger and shark his way into Big-Time Comics Publishing, after witnessing the sales success being enjoyed by such (then) low-cost direct sales phenomena as BORIS THE BEAR; TEENAGE MUTANT NINJA TURTLES; and (God help us all) ADOLESCENT RADIOACTIVE BLACK BELT HAMSTERS.
He had no intention whatsoever of paying any of his growing "stable" of freelance writers and/or artists.
Ever.
He simply wanted an easy, disposable and (ultimately) deniable source of character and series concepts he could "shop around" to every other comic book company out there.
With his own NAME penciled in under the words: "Created By -- ."
Once we all found out what time it really was, "Charlton"-wise: the various writers and pencilers unwittingly roped in by this low-rent Pied
Piper of Hamelin (we'd all managed, by this point --singly, and in pairs; in
dribs and drabs -- to make contact with one another, by phone and by
mail) all withdrew their submissions, post haste; as well as engaging
suitably formidable legal representation to hammer out sternly worded
"cease and desist" letters. (The magic word "lawsuit" was mentioned more
than once, if fading mem'ry serves.)
Cutting to the chase, then: that's the last that anyone ever heard of Charlton Comics, from that day to this.
Just call me the "Typhoid Mary" of modern-day comics companies.
Your rapidly-turing Unca Cheeks would be remiss, at this juncture, in not giving at least cursory mention to former (sometimes) writing partner and backstop Kenneth Wayne Jobe; whose own (concurrent) submissions to various comics companies of the day were well-conceptualized and intriguing ones.
Take, for instance, the gentleman referenced directly above: Tempus, the 24-Hour Man.
Originally conceived as an updated reworking of the Golden Age Hourman concept, Tempus was Kenneth's brave attempt to break the (then-)prevalent comics "mold" of having every single last African-
American super-hero hailing either from:
a.) ... the ghetto;
b.) ... professional sports; or --
c.) ... prison.
Tied heavily into pre-CRISIS DC "Earth-Two" continuity (since this was well before said series, after all), TEMPUS was a ringingly Silver Age-flavored proposal, squarely in the venerable John Broome/Gardner Fox tradition; unapologetically plot-driven and soundly grounded in the physical sciences.
It woulda made for one swell ongoing DC Comics series, you damn betcha.
... as, too, would have his even niftier (in Unca Cheeks' jaded opinion) super-hero series, THE SWORD AND THE STONE. [See character reproductions, above and below]
The Stone was a cocksure (if not borderline arrogant, in fact) African-
American youth, whose powers of enhanced strength and limited invulnerability manifested themselves in the latter part of his teens; and who decided, therefore, that such a situation was simply tailor made for his making his mark in the world as a brand, spanking new super-hero.
Fortunately (or, rather, unfortunately; depending upon which one you asked): said tyro's greying and cynical father was of the opinion that Junior might best benefit from the counsel of an older, wiser gentleman; one long since retired from the spandexed community.
Oh... wait:
Did Unca Cheeks forget to mention that said Daddy Dearest was a retired costumed
super-villain...?
Wielding his old glowing, sentient (and unfailingly sarcastic) magic blaade on his son's embarassed and resentful behalf: The Sword ventured into costumed battle against any number of (former) criminal allies; alongside any number of suspicious (former) super-heroic foemen; and made a battle cry out of the shouted warning:
"Hey! YOU! That's my kid you're shooting at, dammit!
HEY -- !"
Unca Cheeks woulda paid big, BIG bucks to have read this'un each and every month, by golly...
... if only to sit back and cackle like a freaking loon over whatever
ended up happening the first time these two lovable yo-yo's crossed paths
with DC's Batman.
Now: which one of you wanted to open the bidding, re: Unca
Cheeks' sending in a fast, unsolicited submission or three to -- oh, say --
an unsuspecting Todd McFarlane...?
"Awright! Awright! I'm Answerin' the
Freaking Mail, Already -- !" (PAGE ONE)
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