Punch Up: “To Me My ❌-Men”

Chapter Forty Eight

1964 & 1987

August, 1964, Daredevil Vol 1 No. 4 by Orlando, Colletta, (M. Severin, S. Goldberg, ?), Rosen, & Lee

March, 1987, Alpha Flight Vol. 1 No. 48 by Shoemaker, Nowlan, Leialoha, H. Barta, Glynis, Bruzenak, & Mantlo + Potts

Mixtape Tracks: Blue Star by The Ventures; The Passenger by Siouxsie and the Banshees

Chapter 48 of “to me my ❌-Men,” were Jessica Jones arch Killgrave enters into our story through 1964 Daredevil and 1987 Alpha Flight...all so can post some Robotech and Akira. Discussions of my diagnosis infecting this diary is bonus material.

Previously, on “to me my ❌-Men,” we saw Matt, in 1986, battling Sabertooth; on the edges of the Mutant Massacre, in the, what is formerly, the Morlock tunnels now; saving a strawberry blonde human girl. Equally forgettable, Alpha Flight with the Avengers were last seen by us, under the ocean, searching for Marrina; not Jean…a separate time Namor was in the water encountering a woman; finding her transforming, about to mate with a sea creature of sorts; until the Canadian and American teams rescue her, so Namor and Marrina can get hitched, and then the sex can be kosher. Never you mind, Spiral folding time; the picking up pieces after a massacre; Psylocke, Longshot and Ali joining the “official” ❌-gang; our POV Kitty bing unphased; our icon Logan lacking trust in his senses; or our fearless leader Ororo being hunted by Murder Grandpas.

We return to reading comics and writing this diary: after a road trip with the old man through the coastal and central Northern Californian and southern Oregonian mountains and valleys, bookend by a visit home to The Bay. Armed now (because my family are all therapist who decided to reveal their truth to me…finally) with a, new to me, diagnosis. One obvious to everyone in my life.

Coupled with painfully understood, since a small child…the super power of Dyslexia AKA viewing the Forest from the Tree…I now have a name for the part of that Venn Diagrams with my established clarity of easy forest and fucking hard tree viewing of a tree: “you can’t call it Aspergers” (the FUCK I can’t) AKA level 1 on the spectrum. I exist where the Autism and Dyslexia coexist on the top of a hedge between enlightenment and darkness.

No wonder I am big on balance. The depth of nothingness and the brightness of the light…I want for neither. Paradox, my old friend.

I seem to exist on the edges of neurodivergent, like I do “ethnic,” and “non-binary.” Enough to pass as one of these, enough to empathize with those who present fully, and to have questions all the time like; “I get who you are, BUT who is Ben?, what just happened…no…not the hard to see part…the obvious bit? why is this happening…never mind…I don’t care…actually I do to much? how come you can’t see what is going on…it’s right there…that tiny shrub is missing in the shadows of the forest?” Never be confused as to, “where and when.” Basically I can glean more clearly…and am super okay with my paradoxical existence till I die. Knowing what I know, and not what I don’t. So helpful to you…I know.

Meanwhile, the three of you who bother to check in on this (I really appreciate you…and respect you…I am very curious what your take is…and about the other subjects your mind wonders to…especially in that moment…of wondering)…well we have new clarity on what’s the deal with the verbose and wondering verbiage of this diary.

Not only does concentration on a singular element require great energy and causes me to be irritable when interrupted in focusing in on it (I am so sorry…I value your agency over my own…I can handle it…promise…really), but I am obsessively focused when it is within my curated wheelhouse. A place where I can plug in your interests its interesections and foster connective tissues that balance our relatiohsips in communication…

…wait…where did you go?

I come off as a narcissist (it runs in the family…not through me though)…that’s a mask…I am an empath.

Having given it “not a name I can say,” I can see, I have been needing to see, honestly crazy time sucks through: a process that will result in word smithing a crafty pithy statement that will be at the ready to answer more appropriately, the casual conversation we were trying to engage in over a year to three decades ago.

In the meantime, I will collect incomplete micro communication evidence, creating for me “oh so wonderful, failed, basic to you understandings,” while also seeing with nearly incredible quickly discerned exacting intimate understandings (you honestly prefer I didn’t pick up…and put a to pithy word precision); I glean there is a secret conspiracy throughout the community designed to keep me in the dark. (I am not this important. None of us are….I have know this…just in my feels for a sec). As in one sense, I know you as well as you know yourself, in a microbial moment, and have no clue in this same moment, what you are intending for me to understand from the most basic casual communications.

I will in turn, turn into a tumbleweed and disapear from your lives. Valuing our encounter at a highest of possible relative impact on my personal journey. Hopefully for me before direct communication of your reasonable boundary setting are to be felt as an attack. I must take time with them, to come to terms with accepting…that’s on me…you were absolutely being reasonable. I am big on personal responsibiily, hyper empathic, and yet super comfortable with boundaries…once I recognize that I can’t actually phase through them.

I human.

It’s a whole thing, that directly plugs into being a cartoonist, reading comics, and the always present accompanying music; all existing on the fringes of outside the box. My home. The one place you will find me. Not in, but not entirely out either. The fence sitters paradox. Thus the comics I make, as a comfortably obscured cartoonist, and this momentary for me, glacial for you obsession with “to me my ❌-Men.”

So naturally, we turn from 1986, towards 1987, via, 1964…because spinner racks and comics.

Also, but, this be my diary, and I be this diary.

This will be our oldest issue presented in “to me my ❌-Men.” It is not a Paul Gustavson’s 1939 Angel comic…could you image?!…yeesh. I have browsed everything Marvel, from then up to this project…and I have plenty more that is my thing…like mid century Strange Tales, but talk about on the fringes of relevancy.

The curation of this story doesn’t include any of Jack Kirby’s ❌-Men, never mind the rest of the 60’s pencilers: Jay Gavin, Werner Roth, Dan Adkins, Ross Andru, Don Heck, Marie Severin, Jim Steranko, Barry Windsor-Smith (who we see in the 80’s), nor Neal Adams. There seems to be an increasing of aesthetics from the Werner Roth/Dan Adkins work through Don Heck, and obviously Steranko, and Adams periods. But none of it relates to Kitty’s era in any useful ways. So Kirby and Steve Ditko’s 60’s doesn’t play a part, beyond setting the table…that was built in the late 30’s-Atlas era of the 50’s. We actually are sampling one comic from 1939 through the 60’s. A Daredevil issue. Only it’s not even Wally Wood’s.

We will turn to Joe Orlando.

Only out of respect and kismet, we need to talk this Kirby cover.

I can only assume Stan Lee and Sam Rosen took a brake from editing...like I am constantly doing...'cause there are so many beautifully rendered words on this cover. They take up half the page.

The other half is a basic pyramid layout of one point perspective from a worms eye view, a foreshortened “THE PURPLE MAN” with a yellow suited Daredevil and a classic Kirby drawn sturdy Karen Page. NYC skyscrapers framing the effects of Matt and Karen coming at us from above nearly out of the cover.

A frustration through Stan Lee’s editorial era here, is the lack of credit on the colorist. We know Marie Severin was hired on in a more permanent position this year. Having been freelancing around magazine and comics with her husband over the previous decade plus. She had worked at Marvel (Atlas) before, and was skilled and respected humorist and illustrator. Her comics are foundational to Marvel. She began running the colorist work in the Bullpen at this point. Maintaining that positions for well over a decade going forward. Where many husbands and wives collaborated on Marvel comics. My other thought is this could be Stan Goldberg who was part of that tradition, and seemed to be getting credit at times during this era. But honestly I don’t know, and this issue specifically holds up, as it showcases and intentional and high level of storytelling with the use of coloring. It’s pretty smart how color plays in the aesthetics and narratives here.

The highlight on this cover is Karen’s dress.

The lettering does its best, but the wordiness in this issue by Lee, who edits himself, is rough. It continues on the title page…and throughout the issue. Barley letting up on any page.

We are here though because of Joe Orlando’s interiors. Specifically his expressive and leaning into realism facial expressions. The “acting” is excelent, and evokes a reference to film, photo or live models. All used by cartoonists, as needed. I have a feeling Colletta fails us a bit here in the subtleness of the penciled lines. But Orlando is not perfect in figures here wither. Anatomy and stiffness, overwhelm any gestural drawing, and efforts to have figures fit naturally in their enviornement. Which is mostly well rendered…though it is obvious throughout they are leaning on hardened perspective sessions…a city often does.

A number of times, the colorist and Orlando, come together, held by Colletta’s inks, to present a Killgrave who is hauntingly to humorously expressive in a seemingly a real way that makes this comic compelling.

Compelling is what Killgrave does. As he manipulates the emotions and actions of the folks around Matt.

Killgrave ends up jail, but then when Karen in a peach jacket, and Matt, leave Foggy in a pink suit at the office, to visit the Purple Man in jail, Matt becomes more aware of Killgraves manipulations of others. Meaning Killgrave walks out without an issue. Only Matt may not be influenced…because he is blind? The are portraits a charisma, by Purple Man. He and Karen are confronted by Daredevil, and Killgrave is ready to show who is better on the crowded streets of nYC. Shout out to the folks in green.

Matt’s will is to strong…but Killgrave has other ways to manipulate him. He simply places Karen in jeopardy. Matt swings around trying to find them…but is left to return to the office. Where he tells Foggy he lost Karen. Foggy lets Matt have it. But blames himself for not going with them.

Meanwhile, Killgrave has a gym of muscle men under his influence…but they are not all aligned…and a scuffle breaks out. Killgrave has them get back to work easy enough though. They head to a hotel and have the hotel manager evict an entire floor of New Yorkers, so Killgrave has some offices.

Matt ponders…and then devises a plan to record Killgrave with the mini tape recorder he keeps in his billy club. He climbes up a wonderfully light green with light purple shadowed building. Across the city, he confronts and fights Killgrave and his men. Killgrave gets the jump on him…tells his WWII purple nerve gas accident origin story….and Matt having recorded the entire story takes off with Karen…this the Kirby cover. Killgrave sends everyone including the cops after him…but Matt captures him in a sheet…thus causing his powers to loose thier effects on the people of NYC. When Foggy shows to save Karen, and Karen shares with Matt…he would not believe her day. Where the comic ends with belittling of women and the blind…while crediting Matt and Karen…kinda…not really.

Having traveled back 22 years, we now head back to the 80’s and a few months after where we left there…now in 1987. West, across North America, and north across the boarder into British Columbia, Canada. Where we are dropping into the seventh appearance of Bill Mantlo & David Ross’s Kara Killgrave AKA Purple Girl, forms he first appearance of Stan Lee & Joe Orlando’s Zebediah Killgrave AKA Purple Man. Kara is not yet a member of Alpha Flight, but this is the only scene she is none to be apart of, after debuting in Alpha Flight No. 41. Of those Alpha Flight on the Nowlan cover, Kara is the highlight.

I am inclined to place some blame in Leila’s inks, but I am also calling Shoemaker’s pencils average late 80’s. Maybe Hillay Barta is improving the line work with her pass at these pages inking. The printing bleeding is a feature and not a flaw. Mantlo and Bruzenak contribute the average spinner rack find feels. It’s possible I stole this issue. I was part of a crime ring at the time…Mill Valley’s economy nearly collapsed under our gangs pressures in 1987. KIDS!

On Tamadind Island, in thier isolated mansion, the government’s team, Rogair is trapped in a bubble. He is not in Box…or controlling Box. Aurora apparently lured him into a trap, and now he is surrounded by her concerned twin Northstar, contemplative Heather AKA team leader VIndicator, Rogair’s replacement in The Box, Madison Jeffries, his best friend, and a surprised Kara. Jeffries deescalation technique is a little to direct.

Apparently Rogair was trying to murder Aurara, because she is a “tramp.”

The had a thing.

Damn…Northstar is on Rogair’s side. Telling his sister, he was in his rites to hate her…I guess drawing the line at murder.

Puck, arm in a sling, to short for the provisos page; adorable…and Wanda, formerly Walter, kinda awesome…AKA Sasquatch, was simply to far to the left of the page. Wanda is clearly also Walter, as she remember how Northstar would never have publicly said such a thing about his twin.

Alpha Flight is an ❌-Men comic…not because it debuted as such…but because…queer coded drama!

Puck is trying to provide an olive branch of support to Rogair as he self deprecates himself in his own head.

Rogair rejects them all. They are not his friends.

Oh…Walter “died” and then was resurrected as “Wanda.” AND Aurora loved Walter…sought comfort with Rogair…and then when Wanda showed…Aurora crushed Rogair’s heart…but also is resentful to Wanda, for no longer being what she once was…Walter.

Wanda: “caught me by surprise, too, beautiful!”

See…totally ❌-Men comic.

On cue, Heather reassess her leadership…inheriting dead husbands power suit; the injured Puck; Northstar who has had a “koff’ KOFF” from Pestilence (a Four Horsman of the Apocalypse now, but last scene by us as Plague as Apocalypse “rescued her” from the Mutant Massacre, along with Angel); Aurora is borderline nuts; Snowbird left replaced by an albino Sasquatch (wait is Wanda, Snowbird and Sasquatch, in one?!); and Purple Girl is just a powerful kid (the POV Kitty of the team). Heather can only really trust the New Box. Madison Jeffries. And now we are caught up. Thanks to Stan Lee’s traditional methods.

Wanda: “A penny for your thoughts, Vindicator?”

When Northstar defuses they must murder Rogair, and Jeffries attacks Northstar in defense of his best friend…and Pupler Girl and Puck sit back, as Kara asks…is this scene always this crazy.

Puck: “No. Kara-somtimes it’s worse.”

Maddison exits box, as Heather steps in. He picks up the phone to call for help from his brother, Scramble. Not our Scrambler. Northstar loves the idea, and Heather does not!

Scramble is a mad scientist type…who gave Heather body dysmorphia and Northstar, is basically like…I have this nagging koff…he is a doctor…he can cure Rogair from being insane…and my Plague. He apparently botched the job with Rogairs legs…thus Box.

They end up at the New Life Clinic. Where Scamble AKA Lional Jeffries heals Puck’s arm by touching him. His assistant is fixated on Kara…distracting him from working on Rogair.

As they wait, we get an advertisement from the soap I would watch during this ear;
Shōji Kawamori’s Robotech, and then Wanda has a moment, giving Northstar a lesson in curtesy.

Meanwhile, the Jeffries bros converse and Maddsion learns Lionel is a Dr. Frankenstein…using the dead’s bodies (even killing) to create super humans. He then touches his brother, giving him w warping organic deformed arm…

Katsuhiro Otomo’s Akira

The team splits up, naturally wondering away, exploring the space, as they are lost in their own minds. Aurora comes across powered beings in glass jars. Northstar encounters a Jeffries transforming. He is then repelled by this and runs into the rest of the team. They are attacked by Lionel, now in a mosnterspous form himself, “Omega.” Within the lab is both the assistant Knapp, and Maddison…who seems to be still infected a bit…but so is Knapp.

Maddison: “Knapp! Something’s happening to Knapp!”

Hint: We LOVE KNAPP!”

Comic ends with a Klaus Janson (tip your hats) w/ Mike Baron scribing, comic ad; Punisher Vol. 2. Last time saw Frank was Chapter 3; a reminder here, he is still working on background.

Next: Daredevil c. 1972 & Elektra c. 1986