In his "Deus ex Comica" series of essays, Adam Besenyodi is taking a look at the impact of comic book pop culture on a personal level, from the Marvel titles' influence on his mid-'80s preteen and early teen years to the friendships formed around the books and characters, to what it's like rediscovering that world as an adult.

The new Marvel 1985 limited series is getting fantastic reviews for the art, and the nostalgia of the storyline seems to be striking a chord with many fans of my generation who were deeply immersed in the Marvel Universe at the same time Doc Brown was first firing up his De Lorean and Bono was jumping into the crowd at Live Aid.  The title is right in my wheelhouse and, frankly, I'm dying to read it, even though I have been steadily moving more towards a trade paperback and hardcover collection mentality -- especially when it comes to miniseries.  Still, just the idea of the series has prompted me to take a closer look at where I've come from in the comic book sense.

In 1985, I was 14 going on 15 and in my last year of full-on Marvel immersion.  Books like G.I. Joe, Uncanny X-Men, Avengers, Alpha Flight, The Thing, West Coast Avengers, and Marvel Super-Heroes Secret Wars regularly found their way into my hands by way of direct subscriptions and trips to the convenience store at the end of my street.  And there was a glut of fantastic miniseries that year, like Vision and the Scarlet Witch, Iceman, Kitty Pryde and Wolverine, Beauty and the Beast, and Machine Man.  To be sure, I was firmly caught in the House of Ideas' crosshairs: a small town teen not yet swimming in the peer-pressured waters of high school.

My friend Mark's influence on those early years seems more obvious now than it ever has before. I have 17 comics in the Original Collection cover dated between 1975 and 1979 that include a couple of 2001: A Space Odyssey, a handful of Nova, Invaders, and Spider-Woman issues, and some Avengers.  The space theme has Mark's fingerprints all over it.  Sure, we were both into Star Wars, but Mark was more of a pure sci-fi guy in the books he read and movies and TV shows he watched.  I can't for the life of me figure out where the Spider-Woman issues came from.  Maybe they were the result of a trade of some kind.  I really don't know.  But among the titles from that era, Avengers is the only one I'd stick with for the long haul.

I have four comics with 1980 cover dates: Star Trek #1 and #2, Marvel Premier #55 (the cover touts it as Wonder Man's first solo tale), and Uncanny X-Men #136.  (Part of the Dark Phoenix Saga, I believe this was the first issue of X-Men I purchased when it was originally published.  Even so, I wouldn't revisit the X-Universe again in earnest until '84.)  Again, the Star Trek must be all Mark: I either traded him for them or bought them under his sway, because I have never been a fan of any incarnations of the franchise.

In '81 and '82 the collection numbers began to climb: a dozen one year, a few dozen the next.  Star Wars and James Bond offered that first taste into the larger world of comic books.  Easing me into a more steady diet of staple-bound escapism, they were familiar.  Star Wars?  Sure!  I loved Star Wars.  James Bond?  He's suave and cultured and even though the Roger Moore years were characterized more by their jokiness, the character still remained sexualized in a way that could confound and transfix a preteen boy.  So a handful of Star Wars comics found their way into my collection, along with "The Official Marvel Comics Adaptation" of For Your Eyes Only.

But those recognizable movie themes soon gave way, and I was exploring the alien territory of G.I. Joe, Avengers, and Daredevil.  These were the titles that really focused the addiction, and suddenly it seemed I was continually forking over whatever change I had to get my fix at the Lawson's corner store.  Comic prices jumped from 50 cents to 60 cents over those two years, with annuals and double-sized issues setting you back an extra couple of quarters.  And they would hold steady there for another few years before finally hitting the 75-cent mark.

More than half of the Original Collection -- around 225 comics -- came from 1983 and '84.  I was easing into regularly reading about Xavier's students and the formation of the West Coast Avengers.  Peter Parker revealed his identity to Black Cat in one title, and Spidey fought with his new black costume in another.  This was also a time for Baxter-papered reprints of classic tales from the Marvel stable.  I caught up on Nick Fury's history, intergalactic relations of the Kree-Skrull War, and the untold story of the Phoenix because, even though they cost a little more, these thick issues were easily accessible.

Around this same time I was picking up vintage issues of the Avengers and Uncanny X-Men at comic book and card conventions my mom would take me to in the summers.  These weren't mega-affairs with celebrities and premieres, these were local events in the common areas of malls filled with table after table of long boxes and trading cards.  I'd go armed with my saved-up allowance money and my softcover copy of the Overstreet Comic Book Price Guide #14 from 1984 (the one with Katy Keene on the cover).  I remember trying to haggle with the vendors -- grew up going to flea markets, too -- but I have no idea if I was really striking good deals or not.  They felt like it, though, and I guess that's all that matters.  Looking back, I never did get my hands on The Incredible Hulk #161, the issue where the Mimic dies, to go with my copies of his first appearances in X-Men #19 and #29.

Which brings us to 1985.  I pulled in 70 or so comics that year, which was certainly a decline from the previous few years, but respectable nonetheless.  There was plenty to recommend: the second volume of a Vision and the Scarlet Witch miniseries, all kinds of Alpha Flight-y goodness, and a She-Hulk-eriffic Fantastic Four.  But this would be the last time I would top more than 25 comics in a single year until 22 years later when I would rediscover the medium with a vengeance.

I have other comic-related artifacts from the era that also provide a window into who I was as a kid.  For starters, there's a little off-white card box filled with index cards, arranged with alphabetical dividers.  Each index card lists a comic book title neatly written in blue ink on the top red line, with all the individual issue numbers I own precisely written in pencil in numerical order below.  Where appropriate, some of the cards have the word "Annuals" written about two-thirds of the way down, and immediately under it I would list the annual number and the cover date year.

In the front of that plastic box, I have an index card with three lines that read "Started collecting - June 1982; # of Titles - 63; # of Comics - 403."  Everything's written in that same blue ink except the number of titles and comics, which are written in pencil in spots that show obvious wear from my constant erasing and updating the tallies back in the day.  Behind that are four index cards labeled "Subscription - Alpha Flight", "Subscription - G.I. Joe", "Subscription - The Thing", and "Subscription - X-Men."  (Alphabetical, of course.)  Below those headings, with exacting penmanship, I list eight perfect columns of issue numbers and little blanks for me to place a penciled "x" on the line to designate the book's arrival.  I even have little pencil marks to indicate when my subscription would be ending and need renewed so I would be sure not to miss an issue!

Type A, even as a child.

I also have three index cards up front listing stores -- one local, two outside of Ohio -- where I purchased back issues from.  One of the stores listed is Robert Bell, and I actually still have a complete packet from them postmarked May 29, 1985.  Inside the yellowing envelope is a green card-stock-bound catalog labeled "Robert Bell's Comic Book Price List" and "Expires June 1, 1986."  The center page order form was carefully removed along the perforation and filled out in my 14-year-old handwriting.  It seems odd that this was never sent: I'd already written my return address on the provided envelope and put a 22-cent stamp on it.  Like Pompeii, it's as if the lava of changing interests suddenly washed over this whole process, keeping me from submitting my order and preserving the unfinished act forever.

More than likely, though, I had just never saved up the $5.50 needed for the two issues I wanted to buy.

Having left behind all the other Marvel titles I had previously followed so avidly, I bought just 30 comics in 1986 and '87 combined, and they were exclusively G.I. Joe and Uncanny X-Men.  And these books were evidence of my last gasps before succumbing to girls and summer jobs and new friendships and music and all those other distractions of high school.  Thinking back to that time when I was struggling on the trailing edge of childhood, I realize how strange it was wanting so much to be thought of as a young adult while still clinging to those things that make being a kid so special.

Miss an installment of "Deus Ex Comica?" Here you go:

Part 1: Gateway Drugs

Part 2: Judging a Book by its Cover

Part 3: Ignoring Personal History

Part 4: "Sweet Christmas!"

Part 5: Bound for Greatness

Part 7: A Real American Hero

Part 8: It's a Sickness

Adam Besenyodi loves to talk pop culture. He is a former editor and staff writer for PopMatters, a participant in the Pop Conference and a freelance writer. Check out his blog, Random Thoughts Escaping.

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