HOW BRONZE AGE COMICS SAVED THE DAY By Geoff Jackson

I bought my first comic book when I was about 10 or 11 back in 5th grade, from the Abington Pharmacy — sometime around 1980 — which puts me firmly in the Bronze Age of comic book collecting. The Bronze Age is roughly considered the period of time between 1970 and 1985, following the Silver Age (1956-1970) but preceding the Modern Age (1985 to the present). Some collectors and historians conceive of a Copper Age (1985-1991), but I think that that distinction isn’t particularly helpful or valuable; it simply feels negligible at 6 years duration.

In my opinion, comic books in the Bronze Age started to look and feel radically better. The artwork improved greatly (thanks to wizards like John Byrne, Walt Simonson, Bob Layton, Dave Cockrum, and Keith Giffen, among others), and coloring techniques evolved to offer richer and more vibrant panels, reflecting greater skill and better nuance. Not that there weren’t great artists and inkers in the Silver or Golden Ages (1938 -1956) — there were, particularly the iconic Jack Kirby and the amazing Steve Ditko — it’s just that artwork took off as storylines became more complex.

For example, issues like teen angst, racism, addiction, feminism, and spousal abuse came to the fore. Even as a teenager, I realized that mature topics became a thing of cultural intrigue and personal peril for comic book superheroes. Relationships between characters also became more intricate, reflecting a greater awareness of social trends and changing demographics.

As a fanboy, I’d like to share with you a few brief storylines I read “back in the day” that stuck with me all these years — some of these situations making their way as plot points within the plethora of superhero films and TV shows currently assaulting our collective unconscious.

** Full disclosure: I’m a MARVEL fanboy and I primarily concerned myself with Marvel’s product over all others, particularly those from DC comics. (I always thought DC sucked, and even today their movies are comparably terrible). “Make Mine Marvel” was a corporate rallying point back in the Bronze Age of comic collecting, and I live it still in my patronage of Marvel movies over those from half-assed competitors. **

So let’s roll:

DEMON IN A BOTTLE

Demon in a Bottle was the storyline of how Iron Man’s alter ego, Tony Stark (known to millions as the film character portrayed by Robert Downey Jr.), almost lost everything when he descends into the life of a raging alcoholic. Over nine issues, Stark loses his grip on sobriety while his armor malfunctions and kills someone inadvertently — and he later drunkenly insults his friend and butler, Jarvis, who quits working for him. Iron Man also comes close to almost losing a few important battles. Ultimately, a girlfriend talks to Tony about his problem and helps him quit drinking cold turkey — undergoing withdrawal but having the hope to do important things in coming issues, like regaining control of his company through stock-option buybacks.

I was twelve years old reading this run at Southampton Day Camp, and when I reflect on what I read then, and who I spoke with about it at that time, I can still feel the loss and challenge this character experienced to rebuild his life and get things back together. It gave me an appreciation for the real struggles millions of people deal with every day regarding their addictions.

AFFIRMATIVE ACTION

Every so often, comic book publishers change up a team’s superhero roster to keep things fresh and provide new and better storylines for committed readers. In the late 1970’s, Marvel’s Avengers were due for another reboot — as they’d been scrambled and reassembled many times before. What made Avengers #181 interesting was that a little-known government functionary named Henry Peter Gyrich had authority to enact affirmative action on the unsuspecting heroes. This was openly discussed in extraordinary panels where the character of Hawkeye (always one of my favorites) got replaced by Captain America’s sidekick, The Falcon, an African-American, to showcase greater team diversity.

Hawkeye ultimately rode off into the sunset, but my 13-year-old mind was blown! What were the underlying reasons for the loss of one of my favorite characters? Basic issues of diversity, equity, and inclusion were broached for young readers more than 40 years ago. [I should note, Bronze Age comics saw the advent of many African-American superheroes: Black Lightning, Black Panther, Black Goliath, and a few others who had the insensitive descriptor “black” added-in to qualify their name … but it still was a time of progressive change and better representation.]

“MUTIES”

The X-Men were always a team of mutants, meant to represent social outcasts and the omnipresence of “The Other” in larger society. I’d read somewhere that even the name “X” was chosen as an homage to Malcom X for his work and significance within the civil rights movement. The first issue of X-Men launched in the late 1960s when social tensions ran high. But in the early 1980s, the story line “Days of Future Past” launched to explore a dystopian future where Nazi-like concentration camps become the norm for all mutants — heroes and villains. At the start of this two-issue story arc, there’s a political assassination of a closed-minded Senator which sets tragic events into motion.

We’re shown many forms of prejudice, hatred, fear, and intolerance (but also hope, heroism, and reconciliation) — and these comic book storylines were largely depicting what Hitler’s Germany would’ve meant for millions more people had he won WW2. As a young reader, Marvel introduced me to xenophobia and prejudice, and I believe some of these things even presaged our recent flirt with national populism and immigration control under President Trump. (Sorry MAGAs!)

“DON’T YOU SEE?”

Back to the Avengers: in 1981, I read a storyline about Yellowjacket and the Wasp and their marital troubles. Yellowjacket was the third or fourth superhero identity for the character of Hank Pym (the original Ant-Man). Pym was more interesting to me when he was in his normal, everyday form, as a scientist and a leader. So Marvel was tasked with making his D-list superhero self interesting or controversial, and slowly they started seeding a storyline where he became outright physically abusive toward his wife (see the panel above). Yellowjacket had done something edgy or questionable toward a villain the team had fought, and he sought to create a false threat that only he would be able to prevent, thus redeeming himself in the eyes of his teammates. His wife, the Wasp (Janet Pym), caught wind of this and tried to stop him — and that’s where Hank took matters into his (open-faced) hands. (Sorry if that pun was too HEAVY HANDED!)

He was the first wife-beater in comics I knew about. He might’ve been the first wife-beater I ever knew about at all up until that time, though I think learning of Ike Turner wasn’t too far off back then. It was kinda confusing and upsetting, but I knew it reflected a sad reality for many women out there in the real world. It’s funny that the Yellowjacket character was later used in the Paul Rudd Ant-Man movies as the chief antagonist. I think that that evolution can be traced back to his Bronze Age origins wherein Hank was recast as a huge dick of a husband.

DEAD, DEAD DYING — NEVER TO RETURN

My final walk down memory lane with you (if you’re still with me, Dear Readers) is to present the issue of finality itself in comic book lore. Here’s the story about Death with a capital D: “The Death of Captain Marvel.” A big deal back in 1983. As I understand it, there was this throwaway character named “Captain Marvel” — created primarily as a trademark swipe to get the name from DC Comics, who at that time had their own character (he of the magic word SHAZAM) also using the moniker “Captain Marvel”. Since Marvel Comics felt like it should have a character with the actual name “Marvel” in it — and not their competition — they waited until DC accidentally let Shazam’s trademark lapse, and they swooped in and got the name. So Marvel’s version of Captain Marvel was always a bit contrived for readers and probably had a limited shelf-life. But he still was pretty damn cool — flowing blonde hair, flying through space with sparkles under his arms, with some pretty cool powers and badass wrist bands.

I’d read in later years that one of his creators, I believe the great Jim Starlin, had suffered a personal family loss with the death of a close loved one. Starlin thought to explore the universal reality of death that we all face in comic book legend as a way to expose young readers to this heady-concept humanely. In the plot, an old villain named Nitro exploded himself (that was his superpower, unpredictable explosions) near a chemical plant that inadvertently exposed Captain Marvel to toxic, carcinogenic radiation. Captain Marvel basically died of cancer and related complications, the way many of us will, too. Powerful stuff. What makes this so interesting is that it was always known that the character would die and stay dead; you see, a common trope among superhero comics is that no deceased character actually ever stays dead-dead. Superman died once in the 1990s, Captain America was killed in the mid-2000s, Spider-Man was murdered and revived, and the list goes on: Hulk, Moon Knight, Wonder Man, Wolverine, Phoenix, Iron Man, Thor, Hawkeye, Ares, and more — all dead and all brought back to life for readers. Not Captain Marvel. And that made him exceptional and awesome. Very existential stuff for my 14-year-old brain to comprehend!

And that’s about it, Folks. Let me know your thoughts on this post — and if you have any memories yourself of interesting storylines from the Bronze Age of comics.

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Geoffrey W. Jackson, 4/4/2023