FORWARD: 

When I started writing my Deck Log almost two years ago, I didn’t expect to attract a large following.  First, because my ability as a writer falls far short of such luminaries as Craig “Mr. Silver Age” Shutt and our own Captain Comics -- Andrew Smith.  Second, because I was writing about the narrow field of comic books and restricting myself to the even-narrower sub-set of the Silver Age.  I figured to pick up a following mostly of the old fossils, like myself, from Captain Comics Message Board.   

So certain I was of that that even now, I remain surprised to see that the number of hits on most of my Deck Log articles number into the hundreds, some as high as four- or five hundred.  That surely exceeds the number of Silver-Age fans that we have in our little group, so I must be attracting readers from outside the Legion of Superfluous Heroes.  (Either that, or the Good Mrs. Benson spends her lunch hour clicking and re-clicking on my columns to boost the hit totals.  She’s a good wife.) 

I do know, from the comments on Deck Log message-board threads, that I have a dedicated following among you, my fellow Legionnaires, and I thank you for that.  But I have to state that my two most loyal readers come not from the Legion’s ranks, or even among comic-book fans. 

Doug and Lonie Ward are two dear friends.  The story behind how we met would be worthy of a column itself, except it has nothing to do with comics.  Nor do Doug and Lonie,   They know about comic books, of course, and read them as kids, like every other youngster.  But they didn’t hold on to them as an interest or a hobby, like we do.

Yet, ever since they discovered that I do this column, they have been staunch readers.  They never miss one, and I never fail to hear from them after each one appears.  I can count on an e-mail in my box from them every time, offering praise and commentary.  And if I miss a week, as I so often do, believe me, I hear about that, too.  Probably nothing inspires me more to sit down and prepare my next entry as much as the thought of catching hell from them if they don’t get their weekly “fix”. 

I’ll be the first one to point out that much of that loyalty comes from our friendship, from the fact that they know me personally.  But it also plants a lingering concern that nags me slightly every time I write one of these.  I write for comic-book fans, and the history and conventions of the genre are common knowledge to us.  I don’t have to explain the background upon which I base many of my articles, since I can take for granted that comic-book fans, even those who aren’t particularly fond of the Silver Age, are familiar with it. 

But that doesn’t hold for folks like Doug and Lonie.  Now, I get a break with them in that they are both accomplished people with a long list of achievements.  And moreover, they are versed in science fiction.  (In fact, they have recently had their first book published -- the SF novel Lightspeed: the Quest, which didn’t scrimp on the “science” part of science fiction and still entertained my lowly brain.)  So, what they don’t know about comics, they are sharp enough to extrapolate.  Still, every once in a while, I wonder if I write an article which leaves them, and other readers like them, in the dark, because I know that you comic-book fans know what I am talking about, but maybe they don’t. 

So that’s where my idea of “For Those Who Came in Late” entries came from.  Occasional primers on the basic elements of comic history, to bring the non-fans up to speed.  I’ll try to include enough stuff to make them interesting to you “veterans”, but they are really meant for the Dougs and Lonies out there. 

* * * * *  

The comic book, in the format we recognise to-day, was introduced in 1934, with the title Famous Funnies.  For those first few years, publishers cast about for the type of material that would be most popular.  Funny animals.  “Bigfoot” cartoons.  Westerns.  Mysteries. Sea tales. You name it.  But it wasn’t until 1938 that National Comics (known later as “National Periodical Publications, and known even later as “DC Comics”) struck gold with the introduction of Superman in Action Comics # 1.  The concept of a super-powered hero proved to be phenomenally popular.  Other publishers, eager to grab their piece of the pie, launched their own costumed heroes.  While there were some flashes of inspiration, most of these characters were unimaginative or derivative; others were ill conceived, even by the lower standards of the day.  But the good and the bad, together, served to define the archetype of the super-hero. 

While there were good ideas all around, National Comics was the big dog, producing more of the most popular super-heroes, memorable for the novelty of their concept, or the brilliance of their execution, or both.  Success enabled National to hire the best writers and the best artists, and the company eventually developed the reputation as the Tiffany of the Industry. 

This first period of booming popularity is known as the Golden Age of Comics, and it lasted until the end of the 1940’s.  By the start of the 1950’s, though, interest in super-heroes was dying.  Smaller companies folded up shop; larger ones converted to other genres, such as Westerns or crime dramas or horror.  As the big gun, National held out on super-heroes the longest, but by 1953, their costumed stars had hung up their capes and masks for good -- with three notable exceptions.  Sales on Superman, Batman, and Wonder Woman were still respectably high, so their titles cruised along right through the decade without a break in publication.  Otherwise, National was doing what every other remaining comics publisher was doing:  looking for the next Big Thing in comics. 

For the next few years, National -- which, by now, was informally called “DC”, even if it hadn’t changed the name on its letterhead, yet -- looked for the next “star”.  It tried cowboys and spacemen and reporters.  Animal leads, such as Rex, the Wonder Dog and Detective Chimp, were given a chance.  The editors even dug though history and tried Vikings, pirates, and knights of old as headliners.  Most of them did O.K., but nothing was setting the world on fire. 

In 1956, DC editor Julius Schwartz decided it was time to give super-heroes another shot.  He decided to revive one of DC’s most popular heroes from the Golden Age -- the Flash.  But he wasn’t going to just dust off Jay Garrick’s petasus and send him off on new adventures.  Oh, no.  Schwartz realised that the more modern era called for a more modern version.  This Flash had a different secret identity, a different origin, and a new costume.  By the time Schwartz was done modernising and revamping the character, just about the only things that remained the same were his name and his power of super-speed. 

The new Flash was slotted into the fourth issue of DC’s try-out title, Showcase.  (Indicative of what had been tried before, the first three issues of Showcase featured firemen, nature adventures, and Navy frogmen.)  Showcase # 4 (Sep.-Oct., 1956) launched the revised super-hero in “The Mystery of the Human Thunderbolt.”  The story made one concession to the Flash of the Golden Age, by depicting him as a character from the old Flash Comics.  But within the fictional conceit of the plot, the new hero was the one and only “real” Flash. 

Bingo!  Showcase # 4 sold off the spinner racks, and DC knew it was on to something.  To make sure it wasn’t a fluke, three more issues of Showcase starring the new Flash were published in 1957 and 1958.  All three of those issues spiked in sales, too.  Well, Julie Schwartz didn’t need any houses to fall on him.  In 1959, he revived the old Flash title, and even though it continued the numbering of the old Golden-Age series, the stories within were strictly those of the new Flash. 

There was more.  Before the ink was even dry on The Flash # 105, Schwartz had turned his attention to reviving another popular DC hero.  In the Golden Age, the Green Lantern had been a radio engineer who stumbled across a magic lantern which bestowed upon him a magic ring with the power to do anything.  The new Green Lantern was a test pilot chosen by a dying alien to take his place as a member of an interstellar corps of lawmen.  Schwartz kept the ring and the lantern, now called a “power battery”, only instead of magic, he gave them a pseudo-scientific explanation.  As with the new Flash, this was a completely new character otherwise, with a new civilian identity and a new costume.  This Green Lantern debuted in Showcase # 22 (Sep.-Oct., 1959).  And once again, DC’s cash registers rang. 

In due time, Schwartz revived two more Golden-Age heroes -- the Atom and Hawkman.  As with the Flash and Green Lantern, everything about the characters was changed and updated, except for the names and the basic powers.  (And in the case of the new Atom, even his powers were changed.)   

By now, it was clear that super-heroes were once again hugely popular.  To be sure, Julius Schwartz wasn’t the only contributor to this renaissance.  After taking over the Superman titles in 1958, editor Mort Weisinger had redefined the Man of Steel, emphasising his Kryptonian heritage and establishing a solid continuity of background, characters, and relationships.  The end result was DC was devoting its efforts to super-heroes, and so were the small fry in the industry which DC considered -- laughably, at the time -- its competition.   

This period became known as the Silver Age of Comics, and only someone who was there at the time can fully understand what a refreshing and exciting change it was.  Though a far cry from the maturity of to-day’s comics, the Silver Age represented the first efforts to make comic books a respectable art form, to give them depth and drama and pathos.  

O.K., that takes care of Comics History 101.  I concentrated on DC because of the topic of this entry in my Deck Log:  the concept of parallel Earths. 

By 1961, DC’s super-heroes were flying high.  Superman, always DC’s best-seller, was even more popular under Weisinger.  The refitted versions of the Flash and Green Lantern had graduated to their own titles.  Schwartz’s new incarnations of the Atom and Hawkman were waiting in the wings for their shots at the big time, while Aquaman, a second-string character who had made it all the way through from the Golden Age, was currently enjoying a four-issue run in Showcase.  (All three heroes would eventually receive their own titles.) 

In 1960, Schwartz unveiled his ultimate revival, in The Brave and the Bold, which in those days was also a try-out title.  Back in 1940, writer Gardner Fox had created the first team of super-heroes, the Justice Society of America.  The Justice Society’s membership comprised DC heroes who had their own series.  (If one of them earned his own title, he was relegated to honorary membership in the group and his place was taken by another hero who needed the exposure.)  In 1960, Schwartz once again turned to Fox to create the Justice League of America.  It was the same concept -- established DC heroes who came together when the need arose.  The original line-up of the Justice League was Superman, Batman, Wonder Woman, and Aquaman (four heroes whose publication had never stopped since the Golden Age), along with Schwartz’s revived versions of the Flash and Green Lantern.  Rounding out the group was the Manhunter from Mars, who debuted in November, 1955, as an Earthbound sleuth from Mars, but had gradually evolved into an outright super-hero.  Eventually, three more heroes would join -- the Green Arrow (another Golden-Age second-stringer who had managed to avoid the axe) and the Atom and Hawkman (Schwartz’s last two revamped characters). 

As with the new versions of the Flash, Green Lantern, et al., nothing in the introduction of the Justice League made reference to the fact that there had ever been a previous super-hero group.  Clearly, the DC universe of the Silver Age was meant to stand alone, unconnected, except by homage, to the Golden Age. 

That was the convenient way to do it.  Schwartz, like most people in the comics industry, understood comics to be a transient thing in the readership’s lives, something they read as kids then moved on.  The current crop of youthful fans, Schwartz reasoned, weren’t around during the Golden Age, wouldn’t know anything about the original versions of the heroes, and would only be confused by mentioning them.  It was one of Schwartz’s few misjudgements. 

The sophistication of the Silver-Age comics was drawing more older readers, and these older fans had long memories.  DC began to receive letters asking about the original versions of the Flash and the Green Lantern.  What happened to them?  Where had they been all this time?  Schwartz was caught between satisfying the older fans’ questions and not confusing the younger ones.  As usual, he came up with an elegant solution. 

Not surprisingly, the answer came from the typewriter of Gardner Fox.  “The Flash of Two Worlds”, from The Flash # 123 (Sep., 1961), would forever alter the composition of the DC universe. 

The story opens with the Flash performing for a charity fundraiser at the Central City Community Center.  While demonstrating a super-speed trick, he vanishes from sight.  From the Flash’s viewpoint, he has mysteriously appeared on the outskirts of the city.  As he speeds back to town, he discovers that he is not in Central City, but rather, Keystone City.  This further puzzles the Scarlet Speedster, since he recognises “Keystone City” as the fictional home of the Flash in the Flash Comics he read as a boy. 

He remembers that the secret identity of the Flash from the old comics was Jay Garrick (as it was in the actual Flash stories published by DC in the Golden Age), and on a hunch looks up “Garrick, Jay” in the telephone book.  Finding him listed, the current version of the Flash changes to his own secret identity of Barry Allen and shows up at the door of “Garrick, Jay.”  Within seconds, he is face to face with someone whom he had known only as a comic-book character. 

Jay Garrick is equally amazed and confused by a perfect stranger who knows the private details of his life, including the fact that he was the Flash.  The two men compare notes, and gradually the truth dawns. 

There is more than one Earth, more than one universe.  Barry Allen explains, “They vibrate differently -- which keeps them apart!  Life, customs -- even languages -- evolved on your Earth almost exactly as they did on my Earth!”  Because there are slight differences, the man who became the Flash and the manner in which he did so were different on both Earths. 

Jay Garrick is, naturally, surprised to learn that he is a comic-book character on Barry’s Earth.  Barry has an explanation for that, too.  The old Flash Comics stories he read as a boy were written by a man on his Earth named Gardner Fox.  (They were written by a man on our real-life Earth named Gardner Fox, too.)  Fox claimed that many of the stories he wrote came to him in dreams.  “Obviously, when Fox was asleep, his mind was ‘tuned in’ on your vibratory Earth!” explains the Barry-Flash.  “That explains how he ‘dreamed up’ the Flash!”   

The parallel-Earth model resolved a great many issues.  It provided an explanation for different heroes bearing the same name, and it did it in a manner clearly understandable to younger readers.  It also accounted for why the older heroes were not seen fighting crime or involving themselves in the world-threatening crises that their newer versions often confronted. 

Eventually, the two Earths would be distinguished by the nomenclature “Earth-One”, which was the Earth of the Barry Allen-Flash and the other DC Silver-Age heroes, and “Earth-Two”, the home of the Jay Garrick-Flash and DC’s Golden-Age heroes.  Many, including Julius Schwartz himself, consider this to be backward; the argument is that since the Golden-Age super-heroes appeared first, their world should be Earth-One.  That might be the sentimental view, but it doesn’t fit the rationale for the naming of the Earths that DC ultimately provided. 

Admittedly, that rationale took a long time in coming.  But in DC Comics Presents Annual # 1 (1982) it was established that the Earths were numbered in order of discovery.  Since it was Barry Allen who discovered Jay Garrick’s Earth and not the other way around, it was Barry’s world that was designated “Earth-One” and the next one discovered was Jay’s “Earth-Two”. 

Best of all, as far as the fans were concerned, the establishment of a parallel Earth on which the heroes of the Golden Age lived allowed for team-ups of the old and new heroes.  Initially, only the two Flashes shared an occasional adventure.  But with each look at Earth-Two, more and more of the old Golden-Age heroes was revealed.  Usually, this was in flashback, since it had been established that the super-heroes of Earth-Two had retired (in keeping with how much time had passed since the real Golden Age of Comics). 

But the door had been opened.  Older fans were thrilled to see their boyhood heroes back, and the younger readers weren’t confused, at all.  They were excited to discover a whole new world of super-heroes.  Both camps sent in letters, asking to see more of Earth-Two. 

They wouldn’t have long to wait.