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Nostalgia April 2017

One More Story...

Comic Capers

By Bill Vossler

Superman battling Lex Luthor, crime and deadly kryptonite; the Justice League of America tackling foes; The Lone Ranger and Tonto; and the dynamic duo of Batman and Robin fighting fiends. In a willing suspension of disbelief I lost myself in the fantastic stories while faint footfalls of customers trod around me.

As a kid, the week of Thanksgiving was no different for me than earlier weeks. Even in snow, once a week I rattled my bike three blocks up to Wiest Drug Store. The store was filled with exotic figurines on glass shelves, alien scents swirling in the air, and a magazine rack.

I dallied by the figurines, picking up and examining one or two, causing Eugene Wiest to frown, because some were expensive. If I dropped one, who would pay for it? I filed through the record albums, edging toward the magazine rack, keeping a wary eye on Eugene behind the pharmacist's counter. Though we both knew what I was up to each time, we continued the charade.

When he turned his back to work on a prescription, I grabbed a couple of comics and dropped onto the floor, behind the book rack, out of sight, and sighing with satisfaction, sat there cross-legged, and started reading.

Superman battling Lex Luthor, crime and deadly kryptonite; the Justice League of America tackling foes; The Lone Ranger and Tonto; and the dynamic duo of Batman and Robin fighting fiends. In a willing suspension of disbelief I lost myself in the fantastic stories while faint footfalls of customers trod around me. Occasionally Eugene might angle to observe me from behind the counter, eyeing me with a sad look.  

During that era pretty much everybody believed they were poor, and our family, my single mother with three active boys, was no exception. Sometimes Eugene bore down on other comic-reading youngsters: "Long enough!"  Or "This isn't a library, you know!"  But he never admonished me. Sometimes he gave me stacks of coverless comic books, and for years I didn’t think about the incongruity. Lost in the dream worlds created by those pages, my imagination started to soar, and I began writing my own stories.

Twenty years later I owned a store, Books ‘N Things. I was waiting on a customer at the back of the shop when the bell above the door tinkled. A moment later a middle-aged man stood at the magazine rack, his back to me, sifting through magazines, then comics. His posture and gray head reminded me of someone. But who? I shrugged. "A grandpa buying comics for his grandkids," I thought.  "How nice."  He selected one, opened the cover, and to my astonishment, sat down on the floor cross-legged, and began reading, occasionally rattling the pages.

My jaw dropped. What mature adult would do such a thing? I rang up the other customer‘s books, continuing to glance at the man out of the side of my eye, and when the door clicked shut on my buyer, the comic reader turned his gray head, and with eyes alight said "Remember when you used to do this in my store?"

“Eugene!” I said. 

A couple entered just then, and eyed him dubiously, edging around him, but Eugene stayed on the floor reading comic books. When we were alone once more he heaved himself up and we shook hands.  He held my hand for a long time as we reminisced about the old days, smiling and chuckling. 

He glanced at his watch, and said it was time to go. “We’re proud of you, Billy,” he said.

“You’ve done well.” I fought tears as he disappeared out the door.   Seconds later he poked his head back in, pointed at the comics, and said, "Now we're even."  

Even? Not hardly, Eugene. Not hardly. 

 

A Life section columnist for the St. Cloud Times, Bill Vossler produces four daily Facebook photos, as well as discussing gondola rides, or foggy trees. One of the Writer-in-Residence’s ebooks is Polishing Your Prose: How to Write Better, along with 15 others.

Meet Bill