It didn't use to be cool for a person to admit to liking comic books. For a while in the '40s, it wasn't such a bad thing, as soldiers, sailors and fly-boys read them for quick and cheap entertainment. But in the '50s, it was pretty shameful for an adult to be caught reading comic books (the exception being Walt Kelly's Pogo—that was a hip trip). In the '60s it was cool to read Zap and Fat Freddy's Cat and anything by Crumb or Jaxon. Then the '80s started the trend toward adults frequenting comic shops and finally the industry pretty much relies on adult obsession with pulp adventures. Mea Pulpa.
I'm an old guy, and I've always loved the funnies in whatever format they came, some of them not so funny. Although, I haven't always wanted anyone to know that. They're certainly not my only interest, as I love the whole spectrum of printed matter and I'm a social type person as well. But here's a confession that some of you might understand: when I'm feeling blue and overwhelmed and frustrated with life, I retreat to a cozy spot and pull out the OLD comics to revel in their primary colors, bold drawing styles, and esPECIALLY to bury my nose in the pages and smell that old musty pulp smell that the comics used to have even when they were new and in 'mint' condition. I close my eyes, take a deep whiff and all my troubles melt away.
I LUV COMIC BOOKS (the old ones).
A.C. Holly — Inspector Roc — from Famous Crimes Comics — 1948
In these days when comic book stories drag on for issue after issue after issue, it's enlightening to know that in the old days a mystery could be told in ONE page, and even have you share in trapping the killer.