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The Precisely Rendered Blam: Alley Oop in 1939

It was the Dr. Who of the 1940s, a comic strip that traveled though history with verve and panache — not to mention lots of wisecracks. Only, instead of charming, eccentrically dressed Englishmen wielding sonic screwdrivers, there was a practically naked caveman with a stone ax. Begun in 1932 by Vincent Trout Hamlin (1900-1993), Alley Oop continues to this day, ably written and drawn by Jack and Carole Bender and appearing in about 600 newspapers.

Alley Oop is an iconic American newspaper comic strip character. His nipple-less, six-packed, Popeye-armed body is as memorable and weird as Dick Tracy’s hooked nose and Little Orphan Annie’s blank eyes. No history of 20th century American comics, no matter how slight, would be credible if it didn’t include Alley Oop. Aside from that iconic status, why should anyone today care about the early years of this ancient, dusty comic strip?

For me, a comics nut who was occasionally and momentarily drawn in by Hamlin’s singular visual language, but never fully “got”Alley Oop before, the answer lies in the strip’s seventh year, a good chunk of which can now be found between the slate grey covers of Alley Oop 1939 (Dean Mullaney, editor, introduction by Michael H. Price, IDW Library of American Comics Essentials, 2013). This spiffy little volume presents, with the typical smart design and good production qualities we’ve come to associate with Dean Mullaney’s Library of American Comics books, the daily episodes of the strip’s first time travel adventure, from March 6, 1939 to March 23, 1940. You read that right: time travel.

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This sequence of comic strips is, in my mind, a touchpoint of the school of clever and skillful meta-storytelling; a breakthrough example of a series growing, stretching, and turning itself inside out. When a popular science fiction series like, say, J.J. Abrams’ television show Fringe (2008-2013) used an impressive-looking device to yank characters from one alternate universe to another (and even in a memorable episode, into a cartooned simulacrum of reality with Leonard Nimoy as tour guide) and played with its own storylines and structure in artful and clever ways, believe  it or not, it was walking the same trail that Alley Oop helped blaze in 1939.

In early 1939, after seven years of penciling and inking the tens of thousands of crisply drawn rocks, trees, and pubic-hair-fuzzy loincloths that that constituted the prehistoric world of his popular daily comic strip, Vincent Trout Hamlin (who preferred to be called “V.T.”), cartooned a time machine, pulled his anarchist-outsider caveman into the present (which in this case was 1939) and exploded his sharply defined fantasy with a precisely rendered blam.

Alley Oop April 10, 1939

In 1939 and the years that followed, Hamlin wove into his daily humor fantasy increasingly ambitious stories about modernity, technological progress, social order, the cycles of history, gender politics, and ethics. And there were nutty scientists, wall-sized banks of delightfully complex electric dials and vacuum tubes, and a host of hugely entertaining historical personages. It could be argued that if Hamlin hadn’t spent the previous years establishing the rock solid foundation of his cavepeople comic strip, the 1939 time travel maneuver wouldn’t have worked as well. When Hamlin introduced time travel into his series, he effectively turned the previous seven years of strips into a very long first chapter to the time travel years.

Cartoon dinosaurs and the everyday lives of cavepeople were well established in American comics by the time Hamlin tackled them. Fossilized dinosaur bones were discovered in North America in the mid-1800s and became a national sensation. Illustrators and comic strip creators, always on the hunt for novel concepts, jumped on the dinosaur mania like a velociraptor on a fat, slow-moving businessman. For example, the enormously gifted and now virtually forgotten illustrator-cartoonist T.S. (Thomas Starling) Sullivant (1854-1926) drew, among his many subjects, ugly, near-naked cavepeople and elegant dinosaurs in his cartoons in the pages of Life and Judge for decades, starting in the 1890s.

A typical cavepeople cartoon by T.S. Sullivant, created decades prior to Alley Oop. Virtuoso drawing  and a stale mother-in-law joke.

A typical cavepeople cartoon by T.S. Sullivant, created decades prior to Alley Oop. Virtuoso drawing and a stale mother-in-law joke.

Another artistic T.S., Thomas Stamps Allen (also a member of the First Initials Club),  created an unnamed daily panel (sometimes referred to as Adam and Eve) about prehistoric cave-dwellers that started in 1898 and continued until 1902.

T.S. Allen's cavepeople panel ran in the New York Evening Journal from 1898 to 1902. (image and information courtesy of Allan Holtz's Stripper's Guide blog).

T.S. Allen’s cavepeople panel ran in the New York Evening Journal from 1898 to 1902. (Image and information courtesy of Allan Holtz’s Stripper’s Guide blog).

The accomplished illustrator who became an innovative sequential graphic gag-man and comics master Frederick Burr Opper, best known for his Happy Hooligan comic strip, created Our Antediluvian Ancestors (1900-1904) a weekday panel and a color Sunday topper in which anatomically dubious but nonetheless charming dinosaurs and primitive people engaged in Opper’s patented screwball-slapstick chaos. A book collection was published in 1903, and Opper briefly revived his strip for a few months in 1926.

OUR ANTEDILUVIAN ANCESTORS by Frederick Opper, from 1901. (Image courtesy of Stevwn Stwalley's blog, Stwallskull)

OUR ANTEDILUVIAN ANCESTORS by Frederick Opper, from 1901. (Image courtesy of Steven Stwalley’s blog, Stwallskull)

Most famously, Winsor McCay animated a dinosaur named Gertie in 1914, and more than once leveled New York City with lost, lonely, childish dinos in his comics.

Winsor McCay's little-known  1934 DINO (Image courtesy of Ohio State Univerity)

Winsor McCay’s little-known 1934 DINO (Image courtesy of Ohio State Univerity)

In fact, the history of comics reveals a volcanic eruption of cavepeople and dinosaurs in the early 20th century. The subject is so rich that comics scholar, author, book designer, and publisher  Ulrich Merkl (The Complete Dream of the Rarebit Fiend, 2007 — a volume that is, sadly out of print and which at the time of this writing commands prices as high as a rare prehistoric fossil) has created a richly illustrated volume on the evolution of dinosaurs in comics and pop culture. The book is forthcoming from Fantagraphics and, Merkl tells me with tongue firmly in cheek,  has the current mammoth-sized working title of Taxpayers Wouldn’t Like This: Winsor McCay’s Lost Dinosaur Strip, The Evolution of Dinomania, The Origins of the Giant Monster Movie, The Iconography of King Kong, and the Irresistible Urge to Destroy New York. Merkl’s extravaganza includes further excavations of forgotten cavepeople comics, such as Jack Abbott’s jaunty Gay Stone Age (1929), in which our antediluvian forebearers wore fetching animal skin vests, pants, bras, and shorts and were hep to the jive.

GAY STONE AGE by Jack Abbott

GAY STONE AGE by Jack Abbott (Image courtesy Ulrich Merkl)

Prehistory, it seems, had quite a history by the time V.T. Hamlin created, and then torched his Oop the Mighty comics in 1930. These were his first works about cavepeople and dinosaurs (and, by the way, Hamlin was a student of history and well aware that humans came along after the dinosaurs died off), and a run-up to his next strip,  Alley Oop, which he sold to the tiny Bonnett-Brown Syndicate in 1932 and then to the larger operation of NEA in 1933.

Generally, the idea with prehistoric comics was not to depict life as it actually might been in primitive societies (as some writers have done, including William Golding in his 1955 novel The Inheritors and Jean M. Auel in her celebrated Clan of the Cave Bear series of the 1980s), but rather to satirize contemporary times. Certain aspects of human nature, particularly the war between the sexes, seemed to be cast into sharp relief when played out by pen-and-ink caricatures of our primordial forbearers – the meta-gag being that some things never change. Plus, cartoons of dinosaurs, stone axes and half-naked people have a certain goofy charm, especially if the dinosaurs are bright yellow with black polka dots.

From Literary Digest, 1934, when Alley Oop was just a caveman comic and nothing more

From Literary Digest, 1934, when Alley Oop was just a caveman comic and nothing more

The early years of Alley Oop and his fellow Moovians are full of charm. Hamlin delivered a rollicking adventure comedy with art that just got better and better. He proved to be adept at character development. However, after seven years, Hamlin’s strip was in crisis: its author was running out of ideas. Comics artist Frank Stack (who worked in underground comix as Foolbert Sturgeon, drew some of Harvey Pekar’s best stories, and was  Professor of Art at Missouri University for forty years), an expert on V.T. Hamlin, has quoted Hamlin as saying that by 1939 he felt like he had “overgrazed the pasture.” In his thoroughly researched Hamlin chronology, “The Winding Path of V.T. Hamlin and Alley Oop” (published in Alley Oop: Mystery of the Sphinx, Kitchen Sink Press, 1991), Stack notes that as early as 1936, “Hamlin has trouble inventing fresh material for his Moovians.”

The restless V.T. Hamlin, at a drawing board in an Arizona desert. (Courtesy of The University of Missouri)

The restless V.T. Hamlin, at a drawing board in an Arizona desert. (Courtesy of The University of Missouri)

Hamlin, a bold risk-taker not unlike his famed comic strip character, saved himself by trying something fundamentally different, and this is where the story gets really interesting because the time travel idea was so much more than a story gimmick. The result of Hamlin’s experiment transformed him from a comic strip author who told stories and made drawings about more or less the exact same characters and place for years (admittedly with some cool cartoon dinosaurs) into a virtuoso visual storyteller tasked with rendering a vast parade of people, places, and times.  Instead of caves and rocky precipices, Hamlin drew, with great detail (as his eyesight worsened), the gadget-strewn lab of Dr. Wonmug, the orderly streets and interiors of small town America, and the cities, boats and armor of the ancient Trojans. He went from rendering cartoonish dinosaurs to the Trojan horse. And he was just getting started. It must have felt like leaping out of a mud puddle and into the ocean.

Alley Oop first time travel strip

The first time travel episode, April 9, 1939.

The idea was simple: introduce a time machine into the strip and get Oop into new settings where he could interact with new characters. The concept came from Hamlin’s wife, Dorothy, who also lent a hand on the art chores (joining the society of uncredited wifely collaborators on great comics, the ranks of which include Carl Barks’ artist wife, Garé, who contributed elegant lettering to his duck comics). Hamlin was so struck by the idea that he went straight from his mother’s funeral in Florida to the syndicate offices in Cleveland to pitch it. It took a little convincing, but the new direction won a green light.

In the 1939 Sunday page strip published on April 9, Hamlin yanked his cocksure, wise-and-skull-cracking cave man into modern times (the America of 1939), and his readers into the start of one of the more interesting, accomplished sagas in twentieth century newspaper comics – Alley Oop’s time (and space) travel adventures. Readers of the strip must have been as dumbfounded as Bob Dylan fans were in 1969, when the official voice of their generation recorded Nashville Skyline, a country album in which he crooned a song that rhymed moon with spoon. In Hamlin’s case, the abrupt shift proved to be a particularly brilliant strategy.

As the weeks and months of the new continuity unfolded in the newspapers of 1939, Hamlin bounced Oop back and forth from the present and the past, to the events of Homer’s Iliad and Odyssey. From that point on, all bets were off as to where the strip would go next. Hamlin, a restless and ambitious man who traveled all over the country looking for success in a dozen or more professions, including football player, boxer, reporter and movie actor (sadly, there are no films with Hamlin as he screen tested but failed to land any parts) before creating his popular comic strip, seemed to relish taking the strip into new historic time periods, all resplendent with new details to savor and new characters to develop.

Alley Oop 1939 collects the black-and-white daily strips, but not the full page color Sundays, which are also part of the continuity. However, the story flows just fine in the dailies collection. Because some newspapers only ran the dailies and others only ran the Sundays, Hamlin had to artfully build his continuities so that they made sense read apart as well as together.

Previous entries on the Library of American Comics Essentials series

Previous entries in the Library of American Comics Essentials series

The book, like all of the entries so far in the Library of American Comics Essentials series, is oddly shaped as a long rectangle; the shape of a comic strip. The daily comics are printed one to a page, “allowing us to have an experience similar to what newspaper buyers had many decades ago – reading the comics one day at a time,” as the back cover copy explains. And indeed, the act of turning the page does somehow resonate with the story’s original structure, an adventure told in few hundred serial pieces. It’s interesting to consider that the classic continuity comic strips of mid-20th century America embrace sequential art by telling a story from one panel to the next, and also through carefully constructed groups of these short sequences.

There’s something about Hamlin’s precise line (as clear in its own way as the famed lines of Hergé’s Tintin) and intelligent, design-oriented arrangement of visual and story elements that seems particularly well suited to the idea of a long story told in a sequence of smaller sequences. Reading the strips in this volume imparts a satisfying sense of structure, similar to walking through a well designed building.

His gradient cross-hatching, used sparingly throughout his strips to great effect, has the best of Hamlin’s technique – disciplined, logical, and filled with zest.

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The compositions one finds in these strips are often dense and dramatic, with word balloons layered over the edges of narration boxes that are dovetailed into opening scenes that include newspaper front pages and skillful figure groupings. This is an approach that Will Eisner would soon adopt in his Spirit strip, which was just around the corner (and which sometimes played with time travel stories).

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Even Hamlin’s lettering is packed with design. Sound effects are arranged to direct the eye through the narrative. In the August 5, 1939 strip, Hamlin uses Oop’s dialogue to propel us to the last panel, as he leaves the current day and starts a journey to the past, saying “Okay doc! I’ll be seeing yooooooooo!” The last word stretches across the gutter between panels three and four. We can see the boxes of a sequential graphic narrative as liner flashes of time – and therefore Oop’s “yooooooooo!”  caused by his time travel in the story, is mirrored by a literal stretching across time represented graphically.

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It must have been both a challenge and a joy for Hamlin to draw new settings. He appears to have taken on the challenge with the swagger and competency of his famed cave man.  For a few weeks, as Oop wanders aimlessly around the present, causing comical chaos, Hamlin creates some impressive depictions of 1939 small town America. In one panel, from the June 5, 1939 strip, Hamlin draws a raised view of a four-point intersection with 17 people, three automobiles, a horse, and an overturned milk truck (it would seem that some towns in 1939 still received home milk deliveries from horse-drawn wagons).

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Despite the radical shift in setting, Hamlin’s art never falters. His storytelling doesn’t weaken, either. Oop’s first days in 1939 offer some great moments, as when he confronts a speeding railroad train, which to him seems like another dinosaur. Oop reacts to the brutal force of human-made technology in a way that is similar to how William Faulkner describes a train hurtling through a forest as a living being in his story “The Bear.”

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Oop is not the only time traveler from the prehistoric past. His girl, Ooola, comes with him. Hamlin then splits the narrative between Oop’s countryside and small town wanderings, and Ooola’s story as a strong, capable woman finding ardent admirers among 20th century American men. She dons fetching boots and jodhpurs and learns to shoot a gun with deadly accuracy. Ooola’s progress resonates with the story of gender equality in America, even as she exclaims, “But I’m not a modern girl!”

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Perhaps inspired by his feminist theme (and as Michael H. Price’s awfully fine introductory essay informs us, it was Hamlin’s wife , Dorothy, that suggested introducing time travel into the strip – although it’s not noted that, in 1935, Harry J. Tuthill did a time travel feminist comedy story in his Bungle Family strip — an adventure that is reprinted almost too small to read in Bill Blackbeard’s Comic Strip Century), Hamlin takes his narrative back into the past and collides with Helen of Troy, she of the face that launched a thousand ships.

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Hamlin builds his sturdy narrative around the Trojan horse ploy, which is so vividly drawn that it made me wonder for the first time if the soldiers inside had to sit in their own pee and excrement as they hid inside the horse for days. It’s only a matter of time before Ooola and Helen erupt into a furious, erotic catfight.

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As the weeks tick by, Hamlin weaves in multiple characters, from historical figures to brilliant-but-nutty mad scientists (Price’s essay in the book reveals that Dr. Wonmug’s name is a pun on Einstein, which translates as “one mug,” as in a beer stein, get it?).

The larger-than-life promise of the anti-hero, agent-of-chaos character of Alley Oop is fully realized in the time travel stories, which continued after 1939 and, as Michael H. Price informs us in his intro, toured “the Crusades, the Southern and Western frontiers of 19th-century America, and 18th-century sea piracy.” Hamlin also took Oop to ancient Egypt and the moon. You want interesting stories? Good old Vincent Trout had ’em.

When V.T. Hamlin took his caveman outsider figure and began jumping through time with him, he did it without any preamble. It was as jarring as it would have been if, after the first seven years of its existence, Peanuts morphed into a western. Against all odds, Hamlin’s artful storytelling and convincing visual style made it seem congruent with what had come before, and even inevitable. For my money, the 1939 Alley Oop time travel shift is one of the more interesting moments in the history of American comics, and a darned good read, besides.

 


9 Responses to The Precisely Rendered Blam: Alley Oop in 1939

  1. Great piece! This is the first time I’ve read a piece on this transitional period of Hamlin’s work. It was a daring move, but good for the strip. Hamlin had a lot more elbow room to pursue different eras and themes. It was probably a relief to be able to draw trucks and drug stores after all those rocks and dinosaurs!

  2. What a treat! Packed with delicious details and crisp writing throughout! I definitely have to look into this.

  3. Ralphe Ostrander says:

    Great article. I see Sullivant is mentioned… are we ever gonna hear why FBI had their Sullivant book listed and then it disappeared a couple years ago? Too busy shilling MegaHype or whatever it’s called?

  4. Mark says:

    Great article, which has inspired me to give Dark Horse’s Sunday Alley Oop collections a try, but the following (“…good production qualities we’ve come to associate with Dean Mullaney’s Library of American Comics books…”) gave me pause. Personally, I’ve been disappointed by several of IDW’s LoAC archival volumes. The Archie and Bloom County newspaper strip collections contain dozens of poorly scanned or rendered strips, in which the lineart is distractingly fuzzy. This is particularly baffling in the Bloom County books, which presumably had Berkeley Breathed’s cooperation. (IDW’s collections of old Archie and GI Joe comics also contain dozens of poorly scanned/rendered pages, but I realize these aren’t affiliated with the LoAC.) Reprinting very old strips is a difficult business, but in my opinion Fantagraphics, Dark Horse, and D&Q have much better track records for producing high-quality books than does IDW. Can anyone confirm that IDW’s Alley Oop collections are better than their previous efforts?

  5. Mark: Thanks for your comment. Did Dean Mullaney do the IDW Archie, G.I. Joe and Bloom County collections? I haven’t seen these books. That doesn’t sound like stuff that would be in his areas of interest. To clarify, Dean Mullaney is not interchangeable with IDW — he’s an editor, designer, writer, restorer, book packager who works with IDW. There’s others who work with them, as well.

    Dean does the Library of American Comics series. The one that keeps winning Eisners (and this year beat out the book I co-edited and worked on, The Art of Rube Goldberg, published by Abrams). Check out any of the Library of American Comics books, such as the Dick Tracy and Little Orphan Annie books and you’ll see what I meant by “typical smart design and good production qualities.” These books are works of art in themselves, with beautifully restored comics, excellent intros, and all sorts of great little touches, such as the actual publication dates on each strip and retaining the strip titles. The Alley Oop book includes a sewn in satin ribbon bookmark. . In fact, I was just speaking with Dean today and he mentioned to me the great care he took in restoring the Alley Oop strips for ALLEY OOP 1939. The amount of work in restoration alone his books represent is mind-boggling to consider.

    As far as Dark Horse goes — it’s funny, but I sorta have the opposite opinion. Some of their reprint books have been on coated stock, which I think makes the art look wrong. And, the books I’ve seen had some recolored and clumsily restored art. Maybe there’s other books by them I haven’t seen that are better. I can’t speak to their ALLEY OOP Sunday books.

    Maybe they look great — I haven’t seen ’em. But — if you found my essay about the time travel stories interesting, then the only place to read the daily continuity, aside from the original strips, is to get the IDW book — the one I write about in this essay. BTW, my fuzzy scans in the above essay don’t do the actual pages justice.

  6. Mark says:

    Thanks, Paul. Your reply is a relief, and I’ll confidently order a copy of Alley Oop now. The Bloom County and Archie (newspaper strip) collections are both under the Library of American Comics imprint, but I don’t know if Dean Mullaney had anything to do with them personally. (I didn’t buy copies of either after I’d flipped through them at the store, so I can’t check the credits.) The GI Joe and Archie (comic book) collections aren’t a part of the LoAC imprint, so the problems in those books are on IDW (and whatever packager they used, if any) alone.

    And I completely agree with you regarding Dark Horse’s use of glossy paper. I dislike the use of glossy paper for any comic book material at this point (not to mention reprints of old children’s books, e.g., The Story of Ferdinand; Robert Lawson’s lineart looks so much better on the original printing’s uncoated stock). And I know what you mean about some of Dark Horse’s recoloring efforts; but taken as a whole, anyway, I find their efforts better than what I’ve seen on IDW’s end. Even so, I readily acknowledge that some of this comes down to entirely personal opinions and aesthetics. Thanks again for your reply.

  7. Mark — thanks for your kind note. I also acknowledge that a reprint book’s format in part comes down to personal preference. I just checked on Amazon and it looks like the Bloom County books by IDW have the imprint “The Bloom County Library.” Maybe that’s a part of “The Library of American Comics” imprint or maybe not. A friend lent me a copy of the Dark Horse SILVER STREAK VOLUME ONE, and while I was glad to see that it was on non-glossy paper, I noticed the art was recolored. I compared it to scans of the original comics and can see they used those as a guide — but instead of the textured gradient colors that occurred in the pulpy old comics, there’s just flat, lifeless blobs. Every publisher has to sort through a lot of complications to produce the best book they can — which is why I celebrate it when someone puts out a reprint book I adore — and so far my short list includes Dean Mullaney’s books, Peter Maresca’s SUNDAY PRESS books, and some of the Fantagraphics books.

  8. Mark says:

    Ah, recoloring. I’ve never been as disappointed in a reprint as I was with Dark Horse’s reprints of Barry Smith’s Conan, with that horrid computer coloring they used. Marvel’s “Essential” Conan reprint of issues 1-25, in black and white, was so much nicer (though Barry Smith is one of those comic book artists whose work always looks better without color). Which is to say, yes, it’s very hard to find a reprint (especially in color) that meets one’s own personal preferences! I’m glad you’ve found a reliable source, at least. :-)

  9. Lois MacLaren says:

    Actually – it wouldn’t be all that unusual that milk was still being delivered by horse-drawn wagons in 1939. When we moved from Nebraska to Colorado in 1944, our ICE was delivered in an ice drawn wagon. Several years later, I visited a friend, and spent the weekend with her family, who lived on a farm in Broomfield – now a suburb of Denver, Colorado. In those days, their milk was STILL being delivered by horse-drawn wagon. In fact, in those days, the family left the front door unlocked and the milk man would arrive – pick up the “used” milk BOTTLES – and put the fresh milk into the Ice Box – which stood next to the door.

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