Dispatch #259: The Hoosier Plagiarist

     On most mornings, I usually enjoy reading the Fort Wayne Journal Gazette, but that routine is occasionally soured for me by an unhinged rant from some right-wing crackpot on the letters page or the appearance of an editorial by Tim Goeglein.

     You'd think the Journal would know better than to publish someone who in 2008 was found to have plagiarized material in at least 20 pieces he wrote for their former rival newspaper, the Fort Wayne News-Sentinel. 

     Nancy Nall Derringer was the first to uncover Timmy's poaching back then. You can read all about it here. 

     So far, no one's come forth with evidence that Goeglein's been up to his old tricks in his latest material, but shame on the JG for giving him a platform in the first place given his past actions. 

     Journalistic integrity aside, the JG would be better to remember that old proverb, "fool me once, shame on you, fool me twice, shame on me."

     There's more to come in the next dispatch.

     ©2023 SummitCityScribe

Dispatch #258: Hulk Smash!

 

Marvel Treasury Edition #5, April 1975

   In the in spring of 1975, my mother gave me a Commemorative Bicentennial Coin Set consisting of one penny, nickel, dime, quarter, half-dollar, and dollar coins minted to celebrate the 200th birthday of the United States.

     The sets had been advertised in newspapers and magazines back in December 1974, and my mom had seen one of these adverts and ordered me one, which arrived around St. Patrick's Day, 1975.

The U.S. Bicentennial Coin Set

     "Hang onto these," my mother advised me as she handed me the coin set, "they might be worth something someday."

     

     While I certainly appreciated the gift, I really was not much of a numismatist at that young age. I was, however, a die-hard Marvel maniac, collecting as many of the company's comic books as I could within the constraints of my $5.00 weekly allowance.

     It should come as no surprise, then, that I rather quickly disregarded my mother's advice regarding those shiny commemorative coins. 

     In fact, just a few weeks after Easter, on a Saturday trip to the Scott's Grocery on Decatur Road, I stumbled across an item which meant certain doom for that coin set: Marvel Treasury Edition #5: The Hulk on the Rampage!

     Understand, this was no ordinary comic—it was a tabloid-sized 10'' x 14" full-color reprinting of 6 classic stories featuring Marvel's Jade Giant, the Incredible Hulk, and all for only $1.50! From the moment that I saw it peeking out of a pocket in the magazine section at Scott's, I simply knew that I had to possess it.

     Unfortunately, as I'd already spent the majority of my allowance on other things, I didn't possess the buck-fifty required to purchase the glorious, oversized issue. Or did I?

     Driven to extremes by my desire to clutch that tabloid comic in my hot little hands, barely an hour after I returned home from the store, I took my Bicentennial Coin Set out into the back yard and cracked open its clear plastic protective case with a ball-pein hammer. Not the most subtle tactic, to be sure, but one I imagined Dr. Banner's gamma-ray infused alter ego might approve ("Hulk Smash!").

     With state sales tax included, the purchase price for Marvel Treasury Edition #5 came to a grand total of $1.54. Now that I had $1.91 in gleaming Bicentennial coinage in my sweaty palm, I knew had enough to purchase it, but would the comic still be there when I returned to the store? What if some other Marvel Maniac got there before me and took that Hulk Treasury Edition home? 

     Fortunately, when I returned to the grocery on Sunday afternoon, the Marvel tabloid was still peeking out of that pocket in the magazine section. I wasted no time in taking it up to the nearest checkout and carefully placing it on the rubber conveyor mat before the cashier.

     When I handed the shiny, uncirculated coins (consisting of a silver dollar, half-dollar, and nickel) over to her, she took a moment to inspect them before asking, "honey, are you sure you want to spend these?"

     "Oh, yeah!" I replied, with nearly the same enthusiasm as she'd asked if I wanted some chocolate cake.

     The cashier shrugged and processed the sale, although as I left the cash wrap with the oversized comic book clutched in my hands, I observed her place $1.50 of her own money in the till and claim the Bicentennial dollar & half-dollar for herself. Much like my mother, she seemed certain of those commemorative coins' future value.

     Now, 48 years later, I wondered just how wise my trade of coinage for comic book had been back then. Of course, it's all purely academic now—I sold my entire comic book collection (including Marvel Treasury Edition #5) back in 1991—but I was curious just the same.

     In my online research, I found the Bicentennial Coin Set could be found for anywhere from 6 to 25 dollars, while the incredible Hulk tabloid ranged $35 to as much as $192. 

     As a kid, I did feel a momentary twinge of regret as I hammered open the coin set my mother had given me (a feeling which was forgotten the instant I purchased that over-sized Hulk comic book).

     Now, almost fifty years later, it's comforting to know that—despite my mother's belief those coins might be worth something someday—the Hulk comic that I bought with them is actually worth more. Hulk Smash, indeed!

There's more to come in the next dispatch.

©2023 SummitCityScribe

Dispatch #257: Kryptonite Rocks!

 

     Ever since I was a little kid, I've always loved things that glowed in the dark, an affection likely spawned by drifting off to sleep in my childhood bedroom under the comforting glow of my Aurora Monster Model Kits.

     In 1978, I added a new bit of glow kitsch to my collection with the addition of a pair of green-hued rocks—advertised as pieces of Kryptonite to tie in with the recently released Superman film starring Christopher Reeve.

     In that film, Gene Hackman's Lex Luthor sardonically describes Kryptonite (which is lethal to all Kryptonians) as a "little souvenir from the old hometown" before cruelly wrapping a necklace adorned with a Kryptonite bauble around the Man of Steel's neck.

     Fun Fact: Kryptonite made its first appearance in the Superman radio show before becoming a staple of the hero's comic book lore.

     I must have seen that first Chris Reeve Superman film a half-dozen times over the harsh winter of 1978 (its score by John Williams remains one of my favorites). At some point around that same time, I stopped into the Keltsch Pharmacy at the Rogers Market shopping center in the 5500 block of South Anthony Blvd near Paulding Road in Fort Wayne.

     The items stocked around the drugstore's checkout area are designed to influence impulse purchases, and the display featuring Kryptonite rocks certainly worked its magic on me. I headed home that day with two pieces of phosphorescent Kryptonian rubble, which, during playtime, I would often place in close proximity to my Mego Superman action figure.

    45 years later, I no longer have that Mego Superman, but I do still have those two "little souvenirs" from Kal-El's hometown. They rest on the corner of the nightstand in my bedroom, where each night I sleep under their comforting glow.

     There's more to come in the next dispatch.

     ©2023 SummitCityScribe  

Dispatch #253: Censorship, Orwell, and a Kindly Librarian

 

     Not long ago, while reading an interesting opinion piece by Emory Earl Troops in the Fort Wayne Journal Gazette on George Orwell's 1984 and efforts to restrict the books available to students, I was reminded of an experience I had 45 years ago. 

     Back in the 1970s, I was an avid viewer of the NBC's Weekend, a Saturday evening program hosted by journalists Lloyd Dobyns and Linda Ellerbee. Weekend was a newsmagazine, but unlike the staid, establishment demeanor of 60 Minutes over on CBS, Weekend could be funky and irreverent. 

     For example, the show opened with the guitar riff from the Rolling Stones' Jumpin' Jack Flash and at the end of each episode, the anchors signed off with "...and so it goes..." a phrase from Kurt Vonnegut's Slaughterhouse Five.

     One particular Saturday in 1978, Weekend profiled the attempt by General Electric (then NBC's parent company) to patent an oil-eating bacterium. Host Lloyd Dobyns said something along the lines of: if you thought the idea of corporate patents on microorganisms sounds like something out of George Orwell's classic novel 1984, you're not alone.

     As a science-fiction fan, that wry, off-hand comment by Dobyns piqued my curiosity, and so early the following week I stopped by the main branch library in downtown Fort Wayne, pulled a copy of Mr. Orwell's book from the shelf, and took it up to the front desk to check it out. 

     There was no self-serve scanning of library books back then—you handed your selections to a library employee, and they stamped the return date on the little cards tucked into the manila pockets glued inside the books' front covers before handing them back to you. 

     On that day back in 1978, however, when I handed the grey buckram-covered copy of 1984 over to the librarian behind the desk, she examined me very closely before asking a couple of a questions. 

     This had never happened before, as most of the books I had checked out at the library up to that point had been light-weight juvenile tales such as Robert Arthur's The Three Investigators mystery series or Isaac Asimov's Lucky Starr space adventures. 1984 was the first book from the adult section of the library that I'd ever attempted to check out.

     First, the lady librarian asked me if I knew what 1984 was about, and I replied with a vague statement about authoritarianism that I'd cribbed from Lloyd Dobyns—even if I wasn't entirely sure what he meant at the time. 

     Next, she asked me if I thought I was old enough to understand Mr. Orwell's book, and I replied with great pride that I was one of the most advanced readers in my class (as I'd recently been told by one of my English teachers).

     The librarian, who, like many of her peers back then, seemed to be of indeterminate age—not quite young but not really old, either—paused for what seemed like an eternity while peering at me through her cat's eye-framed eyeglasses before, apparently satisfied by my answers, finally processing the book and handing it over to me.

     At the time, I was simply happy to have successfully checked out a book I'd been curious about, and only later would I come to appreciate how George Orwell's cautionary tale helped prod me to move beyond books offering simple escapism and explore more challenging narratives. 

     Don't get me wrong—As a teen I still loved reading about John Carter of Mars and Doc Savage, but not long after reading Orwell's 1984, I was inspired to check out novels by Joseph Conrad and Theodore Dreiser from the library, books I may not have discovered until much later if not for that nameless (but perceptive) librarian downtown.

     For that reason, I agree with Mr. Troops, the author of that opinion piece in the Journal Gazette—kids are smarter and more resilient than we give them credit for, so censoring the books they have access to does them a great disservice.

     I often think about how my life would have been different if that librarian had decided 1984 was unsuitable for me back in 1978. Sure, I would have eventually read Orwell's book in high school (which I did—and it was one of the easiest assignments ever thanks to my previous familiarity), but I would have missed out on all the great adult fiction I'd read in the interim—slowing my advancement both as a reader and a critical thinker.

     By trusting me to handle Orwell early on, that anonymous librarian opened the door to a whole new world of more challenging fiction, for which I'll always be grateful. 

     There's more to come in the next dispatch.

     ©2023 SummitCityScribe

249: Misguided Monument

 

Fort Wayne's Civil War Monument in Lawton Park.

 Allen County has had a monument to its Civil War dead since October 1894, when the one pictured above was dedicated in what is now Fort Wayne's Lawton Park. A plaque on that monument identifies it as a "Tribute for the patriotic citizens of Allen County who fell in defense of the Union 1861-1865". You can read more about the memorial here and here.

Of the over 4,000 soldiers Allen County sent into battle to defend the Union, 489 were lost. Two members of my own family served in Indiana's 85th Infantry Regiment (Company C) and lived to return home. A third Midwestern ancestor was not so lucky—captured by the Confederates, he died in their notorious Andersonville prison.

Because of that family connection, I was angered by the recent unveiling of a brand-new memorial at the Veterans National Memorial Shrine and Museum on O'Day Road in Fort Wayne.

The new "War Between the States" memorial

Rather than simply honor those who from Indiana who served in defense of the Union, this new monument stands for all veterans in The War Between the States—a term, by the way, which originated in the American South. 

An online article over at fwbusiness.com even states the monument was designed "to honor soldiers who fought and died in that conflict on both sides". In addition, the slab displays a map highlighting both the Union States and the Confederate States as well as blue and grey soldier's caps.

To me, this smacks of the very fine people on both sides comment made about Charlottesville back in 2017. The U.S. Civil War was a conflict between the States loyal to President Abraham Lincoln and the Union versus the rebel Confederate States who seceded from the Union and took up arms against it. Those Confederates—traitors who fought against the U.S. Army—were responsible for the deaths of over 300,000 Union soldiers (including my Midwest ancestor who died in Andersonville). 

The idea that there is now a memorial honoring Confederate soldiers in my hometown of Fort Wayne, in the historically Union-supporting state of Indiana, is outrageous to me. Any Civil War memorial in Indiana should only honor the brave soldiers who left their Hoosier homes to defend the Union, not the Confederate traitors who killed nearly 500 of those same men. 

There's more to come in the next dispatch.

©2023 SummitCityScribe

Dispatch #246: Life is Cheap

      On April 19th of this year, FWPD Sgt. Joshua Hartup, 46, struck and killed pedestrian Henry Najdeski at the intersection of Main and Calhoun Streets in downtown Fort Wayne. Najdeski, 52, had the green light and was in the crosswalk when struck by Hartup's vehicle.

    Recently, Sgt. Hartup appeared in court before a local magistrate, where he learned the penalty for recklessly ending a human life:  a $35.50 fee for failing to yield the right of way. Thirty-five bucks. 

     Even though Sgt. Hartup had four other incidents while behind the wheel and had received both letters of reprimand and a suspension, Allen County Prosecutor Michael McAlexander declined to prosecute Hartup in Najdeski's death. 

     Najdeski's senseless death remains heart-breaking but Hartup's slap on the wrist is an outrage.

     Update: 21 September 2023—Najdeski's family has begun a scholarship in his honor at Fort Wayne's Canterbury School, a worthy tribute to which Joshua Hartup, Michael McAlexander, and every dues-paying member of the Fort Wayne Patrolmen's Benevolent Association should contribute.

 There's more to come in the next dispatch.

 © 2023 SummitCityScribe

Dispatch #240: Tales from the Litterbox

 

click to enlarge.

   As a life-long feline aficionado, I really love this cute cat cartoon by artist Tracy J. Butler.

There's more to come in the next dispatch.

©2023 SummitCityScribe

Dispatch #239: The Big Move

 

     Question: Hey, where did all the posts go?

   Answer: I've moved all material connected to my e-book, Samantha Stanton and the Mysterious Library, to a brand-new online home. 

   All content from Dispatches from Aldeburgh concerning my young adult fantasy series, The Samantha Stanton Adventures, can be found there, and everyone on this blog's mailing list should have already received a link to the new location.

   Out of the 200-plus Dispatches I wrote here since I began this blog in October of 2020, I'll be leaving two of the most popular up here for now: a memory of seeing the first Indiana Jones movie in 1981 and also a tribute to my late mother from 2021. All other content regarding my e-book (including the full text of the first Samantha Stanton Adventure) can be found over at the new site.

     I'll be posting about other stuff here in the future, so stay tuned.

      There's more to come in the next dispatch.    

     ©2023 SummitCityScribe

Dispatch #200: Indiana Jones and the Dial-In of Destiny

 

This summer moviegoers will see the fifth (and reportedly final) Indiana Jones film starring Harrison Ford, Indiana Jones and the Dial of Destiny. All the press surrounding this latest big screen adventure got me thinking about the time I got to see an advance screening of the very first Indy film, Raiders of the Lost Ark, in the summer of 1981.

Back in the pre-internet era, information on upcoming films was pretty scarce. I didn't have access to industry trades like Variety or The Hollywood Reporter when I was younger, so often the first time I found out about a new film was when I saw the coming attractions trailer for it at my local movie theater.

 This all changed with my discovery of Starlog Magazine in 1977. After its debut, I finally had a place to learn about the latest science-fiction/horror/fantasy films & TV shows in development. 

An early mention of Raiders in Starlog #32 (1980)

A few years later, in early 1980, I began to read brief news items in Starlog about the thrilling possibility that two genre film titans—George Lucas & Steven Spielberg—were about to embark on a new film project together.

A Raiders update from Starlog #33 (1980)

 As with most properties involving either filmmaker, secrecy was extremely tight around the Raiders project, so for many months all I saw were notices in Starlog about casting, filming locations, and one about John Williams' hiring as the film's composer (welcome news but not a huge surprise). By the time the movie was "in the can" as they say, I still knew nothing at all about the plot.

The Nazi Flying Wing, from Starlog #48

 In fact, secrecy was so tight, it was less than two weeks prior to Raiders' release before I saw any still photographs from the film—in the pages of Starlog #48. The issue has a cover date of July 1981, but I remember buying it the first week of June at my local comic book store (the Broadway Comic Book and Baseball Card Shop at the corner of Broadway and Scott Avenue in Fort Wayne—which, sadly, is now the parking lot for the Philmore theater).

Indiana Jones at the Well of Souls, from Starlog #48

The three pics in the magazine—which accompanied an interview with star Harrison Ford—included the first one I ever saw of him as Indy in his battered fedora, a shot of a Nazi flying wing in the desert, and a third still of Indy lowering himself into a snake filled Well of Souls. A brief plot synopsis was included before the interview moved on to other subjects, namely Ford's work on future projects Blade Runner and Return of the Jedi.

The Raiders plot synopsis from Starlog #48

The synopsis really wasn't very much to go on, and I remember being slightly disappointed—because of the presence of Nazis, it sounded more like a straight-ahead WWII adventure to me (I was thinking Guns of Navarone) than the rollicking special-effects epic I expected from Lucas and Spielberg. Little did I know!

Then, one Friday afternoon in early June 1981, a local radio station announced that in just a few minutes, a few lucky callers would have a chance to win tickets to an advance screening of the latest Steven Spielberg movie, Raiders of the Lost Ark. Boy, talk about a Dial of Destiny (or maybe I should say a Dial-In of Destiny)! 

I already had the station's request line memorized, so I grabbed the phone, called in, and was thrilled when the DJ picked up and informed me that I'd just won two tickets to the Raiders screening at the Georgetown Theaters on East State Boulevard in Fort Wayne. He also told me the special screening would take place that very evening—in about two hours. Now all I needed was someone to accompany me.

Of the first two people I immediately thought of asking, one wasn't at home when I called (this was the pre-cell phone era) and the other had to work that night. What followed was a mad telephone scramble to connect with any of my other friends who I thought might want to go. 

Frustratingly, almost none of them were home (to be fair, it was a late Friday afternoon in June)—that is until I finally got through to my old elementary school friend, Danny (who's currently an elementary school teacher/coach over in Kosciusko County, Indiana, and now prefers to be called Daniel). 

Danny seemed vaguely interested but wanted to know more about the film. I told him that all I really knew was that it involved Harrison Ford (in my excitement, I might have actually said Han Solo) fighting Nazis. 

My friend sounded uncertain, "I don't know...that theater is all the way across town...", so I reminded him that it was a free movie and that I would drive him to and then home from the screening—all he had to do was buy his own soda and popcorn. 

That did the trick, and seconds after I hung up the phone, I sprinted out the door to my '72 Chevy Impala in the driveway. Fortunately, I didn't get a speeding ticket during the whirlwind trip to pick up my friend and make it across town to the theater on time.

Danny still seemed a bit wary as we sat down inside the Mallers/Spirou-operated theater less than an hour later, "I sure hope this doesn't suck," he said before taking a sip of his Pepsi as the house lights went down.

Personally, I was hooked from the moment the Paramount logo dissolved into a South American mountain peak, but I could tell Danny wasn't on board until the tense sequence inside the Peruvian temple with Indy and his traitorous sidekick, Satipo (Alfred Molina). 

By the time that gigantic boulder rolled down toward Indy, everyone in that theater knew they were in for one heckuva ride. Indeed, most of the film was a straight-ahead action-adventure flick, but the supernatural fireworks in the finale did deliver the state-of-the-art special effects I'd expected in a joint project from George Lucas and Steven Spielberg. 

As we walked out of the theater into the warm June night afterward, Danny gushed that it was one of the best movies he'd ever seen—and in that moment, who was I to argue?

There were many elements that made Raiders a success, but for me a big part of why I enjoyed the film was how little I knew about it beforehand—leaving me constantly surprised and amazed by the rollercoaster ride of action and thrills onscreen. These days it's hard to experience a big-budget summer blockbuster the way I saw Raiders—not with the plethora of spoilers, leaked script pages, and early footage available online. 

For that reason alone, I can't remember when I've had a better time at the movies since that free screening back in 1981. It was a blast.

There's more to come in the next dispatch.

©2023 SummitCityScribe

Dispatch #163: Mysterious Library Book Trailer

 

     Here's a little project I recently had some fun with—embedded directly below is a video trailer for my two-part e-book, Samantha Stanton and the Mysterious Library. 

     For those curious about the music heard in the trailer, it's by one of my favorite film composers: Emmy & Oscar-winner Jerry Goldsmith—and was written for an episode of Rod Serling's Twilight Zone.

     BTW, if you're interested in reading my e-book, you can contact me here. Any feedback on this blog can also be sent to the same address.

     There's more to come in the next dispatch.

     ©2023 SummitCityScribe