I might have mentioned once or twice, that my father’s dream from a young age, was to be a comic strip artist. The story goes that when he was in his early teens, he went to New York with his father. While there they visited “the syndicate” where he spoke to someone, who looked at his work and told him to come back when he finished school, and they could get him a job. But by the time he finished school (or college, or the air force–it isn’t exactly clear) the man he’d spoken to had moved on, or maybe died.
And so, instead of being a comic strip artist he went to grad school, and got married, and got his doctorate, and had kids and told them how he almost became a comic strip artist*…and for over forty years these stacks of comics lived in a large flat box in the attic. Today was the first time I’d ever seen these: