Before Screens, There Were Panels: Remembering Childhood Comics

Dear Lovely Nieces:

For our first letter, I’ve decided to start somewhere in the middle and share a story from my childhood. Let me walk you from “not so long ago” to the “mid 70s in Peru.”

I’m walking to one more Drawing class, it is September of 2016…in my memory. I'm at the School of Visual Arts in New York City; I see the hallways lined up with bulletin boards. I say to myself: “this side of the school must belong to the Cartooning Department” because of the many cartoon strips neatly stapled on the boards. I walk slowly, enviously contemplating the strips made by actual students. I’m a Continuing Education student; I won't be receiving credits or a degree for any courses that I take. Truthfully, I don’t care. All I care about is the “at home” feeling I get during those few hours that I play with Art. Even breathing in the air of an art room is familiar and comforting to me. Besides, I have a BA in Business and a full time career already. I do Art to nurture my soul. That is how I became a forever student of art and other subjects.

I can assert that I’m not an envious person; if anything, I feel happy when I see others doing lovely things. I admire them. I’m content fully knowing that I can follow their footsteps if I was inclined to do the same. So I was surprised by my memory of the feeling. It never occurred to me to want to become a cartoonist. What’s more, I thought of cartoonists as gifted artists with a flare for witful writing and knowledge of politics, current events, and keen observation of the every day life - all the things I ignored on purpose.

I question my memory: “what if it wasn’t envy?” What if my emotional body’s response was something else quickly labeled by my mind as envy? but important enough to be remembered, important enough to try to grab my attention, again.

Back to today…it’s been a couple of months since I asked for your permission to publicly share letters that I write to both of you. I had a clear idea of how I wanted the letters to be. However, each time I sat down to write, each letter took a direction of its own. Since the moment you both agreed, I've been flooded with memories of my own childhood. Lovely memories that want to be part of our letters. So today I would like to share my earliest memories about comics!

My memories about reading comics had been tucked away so deep in my memory bank that if you’d asked me that day on the halls at SVA if I’d read any comics, I would’ve said: ”no.” Yet, the fact is that I read a lot of comics! And the fact is that I loved reading comics more than books. Unfortunately, I never brought my comic books with me when we moved because I didn’t read as a collector. I read for the joy of reading. And my love of something doesn’t imply I carry what I treasure everywhere with me, it implies I will always consume it, and assume there will always be more of it for me to consume. Exploring this memory today, I see that possibly things that I loved to in my childhood hid themselves from me to stop me from feeling sad. Once hidden, they moved to a deeper place in my mind until now.

I made this visual board to show you images of the comics I loved to read. Comics in Spanish translates to “chistes.” And while searching for these images I learned that comics in Spanish are also called as “historietas.”

Visual Board of Vintage Comics. Credits go to the original comic writers and illustrators.

I've also gathered for you some links to information about these comics. Information such as the authors and illustrators behind the comic. And what the comics were about. I’m giving you homework to last you a while. As an artist, I’m delighted in learning about the creators of each comic. As always anything I do with love for you, turns out as a wonderful learning and enriching experience for me. And I’m forever grateful to have you both in my life. I enjoyed gathering these details to convey to you my love for comics.

Condorito some of the jokes within the comic were hard for me to grasp at my young age, but I was a child so without a problem I skipped to the other parts of the stories. And what I loved the most? The parts where Condorito was rendered falling flat on his behind with large letters that said PLOP!

Visual Board of Condorito and the word PLOP! Credit goes to the original comic writer and illustrator of Condorito Comics.

La Pequena Lulu was one of my favorites. I couldn’t wait to read about Lulu and Toby getting into some sort of trouble, arguing, competing, playing, all the things best friends do. But there is one story I found so sad as if it had been real…Lulu befriends a snow man. There wasn’t snow where I lived. So I didn’t know anything about the childhood tradition of making a snow man. Anyway, this snow friend went everywhere with Lulu until summer when he turned into a big puddle of water. Silly, I know!

Archie another one of my favorites! oh how I wished Archie would finally fall in love with Betty! I rooted for Betty every time she strategized to get Archies attention, the kind of attention he paid to Veronica. But he liked her as a friend.

Mafalda was a comic strip published in a popular newspaper. There was always a newspaper in our house. As much as I loved reading Mafalda in my childhood, the humor of the comic strip is only making sense now. What Mafalda and I have in common: I have a fun, sometimes rebellious six year old child within me and I hate soup as much as Mafalda.

Popeye el Marino. I think I may have watched Popeye as a cartoon on tv rather than read the comic. But leaning towards having read the comic, because I illustrated invitation cards for your daddy’s 3rd birthday party, I recall copying Popeye from somewhere. I was 10 years old. He must have liked Popeye as much as Eli liked Sponge Bob. Or maybe I was just hoping he did.

El Pato Donald, Spider Man, Superman, Batman. I placed these together because as much as I enjoyed reading these comics I don’t have a recollection other than finding it normal to see the progression of these characters from comics to movies. But I also wonder if reading all these comics prepared me for a life in the US. Peter Parker’s fictional city was New York City (where I worked for many years). Clark Kents fictional metropolis also resembled New York City. Batman’s Gotham city resembles a fictional blend of New York City and Chicago. And some of Donald Duck’s stories centered around everyday life, the American experience and society with humor.

And last, not included in the visual board, because all I recall are images of Vikings. But I’m not sure if it was Thor or Hagar the Horrible. Anyway, I must emphasize comics were my introduction to a lot of topics. Topics that were not taught in school, Vikings, would be an example. I must have read many other comics because I knew about all the Marvel and DC Comics characters even before the movies came out. How else would they already be in my subconscious?

My most vivid memory is of my dad walking through the door, comics, magazines and newspapers under his arm. Comics for me, magazines and newspapers for himself. I’m mentally transporting myself back to the mid 70s in Peru… I see small kiosks or stands everywhere where newspapers, magazines and comics were sold. I also see newsies carrying newspapers, magazines and comics. They stand and wait for the traffic light to turn red, ready to approach the cars that stop. Some newsies are fearless, daring to walk in moving traffic between the rows of cars to show their products. My dad opens his window, the newsie stops by his car. He asks the newsie for the latest magazines.

In writing this, I’m as delighted as I was back then seeing my dad walk through the front door of our home. I can’t recall if he read the comics or if he got them just for me. In my mind I see him on his bed reading a book or a popular current events magazine. His bed was his reading spot, actually… his bed and the bath tub. And my favorite reading spot? The back of our Volkswagen during long road trips on vacation. Since I forgot I ever read comics, I don’t recall ever asking for a specific comic.

Now I understand why Eli preferred reading Graphic Novels at the same age; however, the ones she read were age related. Most of the comics I listed were not about characters in my age group, nor were the topics. I wonder, at what age would children today be allowed to watch Marvel or DC Comics Movies? Let’s look at Condorito as an example; the comic was considered to depict “clean wholesome humor” geared to all family members, but I recall jokes that I was unable to understand. Children in my time were treated like little adults in comparison to today (it is agreed that adulthood begins at age 18 in most countries). Girls in my age group from my school (the super smart ones and note we were not even in our teens yet) were already reading classic novels written by Gabriel Garcia Marquez or Mario Vargas Llosa.

One last memory before I wrap up our letter. In my childhood home, my parents’ headboard consisted of wall to wall book shelves. I recall pulling random books from my dads’ side of the shelves and placing them back on the shelves very quickly. The books were incoherent to me, even the alphabetical encyclopedias were too complex. I was able to rescue most of these hardbound books, now stored in our basement. They were possibly a gift from my mom because she made sure to bring those with us when we moved. My mom’s side of the shelves, however, were filled with lovely picture books. Your Abuela was a teacher. Believe it or not, she taught English! So it makes sense that while our native language is Spanish, most of those books were written in English. I spent so much time sitting on the carpeted floor, with my back leaning on her side of the bed, flipping through those picture books. I marveled at every page, slowly admiring each illustration, wondering who had been able to draw such beautiful images. It never occurred to me back then that illustration could be a profession. Those images were so beautifully rendered; I also never imagined I could possibly draw like that. I still can’t. My goal in practicing is to one day maybe come close to illustrating the way those artists did. The stories in those picture books were classic tales and have been re-drawn many times by numerous artists, but I have yet to come across similar illustrations from the beautiful books that my mom had in her shelves.

How is it that I forgot these beautiful memories? Maybe the memories were trying to come out that day while walking the halls of the Cartoon Department at SVA. But maybe back then the sadness was so overwhelming that it decided to remain hidden a little longer. God’s timing is perfect! the sadness has been transformed by the love I feel for both of you, making these memories feel sweet, nostalgic, happy as I write about them.

Love you!