Twelve-Cent Archie: New edition with full color illustrations 9780813594484

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More Praise for Twelve-­Cent Archie by Bart Beaty “Twelve-­Cent Archie is engaging and readable, funny and thoughtful, and worthwhile for fan and scholar alike. Beaty successfully demonstrates that there is much worthy of discussion in Archie comics and, perhaps more importantly, much work left to be done. This is not a comprehensive study of Archie, nor does it profess to be. It will leave a curious reader thinking about Archie and his pals in new and useful ways, and will hopefully spur more discussion, engagement, and scholarship. Bart Beaty has, I hope, challenged readers to reject the existing assumptions about popular comics in favour of a more nuanced, and therefore more fruitful, approach.” —­Brenna Clarke Gray, The Comics Grid, Journal of Comics Scholarship “For readers interested in the history and form of comics as art, Beaty offers analyses of visual humour, borderless panels and the central authors and illustrators of this era. Twelve-­Cent Archie will satisfy cultural critics, Archie fans and comics fans more broadly . . . This book is as fun and satisfying as reading an Archie digest.” —­Alberta Views “In its analytical vignettes on such a wide variety of topics, Twelve-­ Cent Archie attempts—­and succeeds—­not in ending our questions about Archie, but in showing us how many more questions we ought to be asking.” —­Children’s Literature Association Quarterly “Whether you’re interested in the differences between Harry Lucey’s Archie and Bob Montana’s, or simply haunted by the signifying structure that is Betty Cooper’s ponytail, there’s something here for everyone who’s ever read an Archie comic.” —Scott Bukatman, author of The Poetics of Slumberland: Animated Spirits and the Animated Spirit

“An academic text as unconventional as its subject matter  .  .  . Twelve-­Cent Archie proves both fascinating and remarkably easy to read.” —­The Mary Sue “Twelve-­Cent Archie is engaging and readable, funny and thoughtful, and worthwhile for fan and scholar alike.” —­The Comics Grid “An entertaining, diverse read.”

—­Comics Worth Reading

“Highly entertaining . . . what makes Twelve-­Cent Archie such a congenial read is that Beaty is a free thinker about comic books, going wherever, and with whatever improvised opinion, through his 100 brisk, chatty chapters.” —­The Arts Fuse “Beaty has crafted his larger critique into bite-­sized, self contained mini-­essays that help to keep you glued. Any given essay stands on its own and, honestly, you don’t even really have to read them in the order they appear in the book —­just like the best Archie comics, really. And Beaty’s attention to the minutiae of Archie comics is beyond astounding . . . By the time you get through Beaty’s astonishing triumph of scholarship, you will wish that all books about comics could be like this.” —­Vermicious

T W E LV E- ­C E N T A RCHIE

Comics Culture Edited by Corey K. Creekmur, Craig Fischer, Charles Hatfield, Jeet Heer, and Ana Merino

Volumes in the Comics Culture series explore the artistic, historical, social, and cultural significance of newspaper comic strips, comic books, and graphic novels, with individual titles devoted to focused studies of key titles, characters, writers, and artists throughout the history of comics; additional books in the series address major themes or topics in comics studies, including prominent genres, national traditions, and significant historical and theoretical issues. The series recognizes comics of all varieties, from mainstream comic books to graphic non-­fiction, produced between the late 19th-­ century and the present. The books in the series are intended to contribute significantly to the rapidly expanding field of comics studies, but are also designed to appeal to comics fans and casual readers who seek smart critical engagement with the best examples of the form. Bart Beaty, Twelve-­Cent Archie Noah Berlatsky, Wonder Woman: Bondage and Feminism in the Marston/Peter Comics, 1941-­1948 Ian Gordon, Superman: The Persistence of an American Icon Andrew Hoberek, Considering Watchmen: Poetics, Property, Politics Paul Young, Frank Miller’s Daredevil and the Ends of Heroism

T W E LV E-­C EN T A RCHIE Bart Beaty

Rutgers University Press New Brunswick, Camden, and Newark, New Jersey and London

Library of Congress Cataloging-­i n-­P ublication Data Beaty, Bart. Twelve-­Cent Archie / Bart Beaty. pages cm.—­(Comics Culture) Includes index. ISBN 978-­0-­8135-­9046-2 (hardback)—­ISBN 978-0-8135-9045-5 (pbk.) ­ISBN 978-0-8135-9446-0 (e-­book) 1. Andrews, Archie (Fictitious character) 2. Comic books, strips, etc.—­United States. I. Title. PN6728.A72B38 2015 741.5’973—­dc23 2014017498 A British Cataloging-­in-­Publication record for this book is available from the British Library. Copyright © 2015 by Bart Beaty All rights reserved No part of this book may be reproduced or utilized in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without written permission from the publisher. Please contact Rutgers University Press, 106 Somerset Street, New Brunswick, NJ 08901. The only exception to this prohibition is “fair use” as defined by U.S. copyright law. www.rutgersuniversitypress.org Manufactured in the United States of America

This overriding interest in close detail of the human condition is the first pointer to an understanding of working-­class art. To begin with, working-­class art is essentially a “showing” (rather than an “exploration”), a presentation of what is known already. It starts from the assumption that human life is fascinating in itself. It has to deal with recognisable human life, and has to begin with the photographic, however fantastic it may become; it has to be underpinned by a few simple but firm moral rules. —­Richard Hoggart, The Uses of Literacy Eep! Omigosh! —­Archie

CO N T E N T S

The Twelve-­Cent Archie

3

How to Write (Archie) Comics 8 Story Length

11

The Archie Hierarchy

12

Archie Andrews

16

How Well Does Archie Speak French?

19

Archie Giant Series

43

Invisible Paint

44

Archie Comics versus Art

46

Betty Cooper

49

Riverdale’s Racial Problem 52 Fashion 55 Betty’s Ponytail

56

Self-­Plagiarism

57

Archie’s Sweater Vest

61

Jughead Jones

63

Beatniks, Hippies, and Other Undesirables

66

Footnote 33

Dilton Doily

68

“Why Is It Always between Archie and Reggie?”

34

Moose 69

Archie’s Jalopy

37

It’s as Easy as A-­B-­V

38

Bowling 19 Harry Lucey’s Rhythm

21

Veronica Lodge

26

Riverdale, USA

29

The Daily Strip

31

Reggie Mantle

70

Jealousy 73 “Are You Familiar with Shakespeare, My Young Ignoramus?” 76

United Girls Against Jughead 41

H ix

x   Contents

“I Never Squeaked a Pip, Either!” 78 Jughead’s Hat

79

Fantastic Elements

82

Archie’s Joke Book

83

Often Imitated, Never Duplicated 84 The Historical Archie

88

Mutually Assured Destruction 90 Betty = Veronica

91

Head over Heels

92

Mr. Weatherbee

94

Caveman Archie

95

Life with Archie

99

Eep! Omigosh! And Other Unusual Contributions to the Language of Comics 119 Archie’s Black Book

121

Laugh and Pep: The Residual Titles 122 Pureheart the Powerful

124

Errors 127 Midge 128 You Can Take the Boy Out of Riverdale . . . 130 Archie Club News

132

Veronica’s Mother

133

Mr. Lodge

133

Betty’s Parents

137

What Is the Zip Code for Riverdale? 102

Jingles 137 Li’l Jinx

139

Cover Art

103

Archie’s Gender Politics

140

Fairy Godmothers

106

Should Archie Marry Betty or Veronica? 143

Dan DeCarlo’s Foreground Portraits 107

Big Ethel

145

Archie as an Adventure Comic 108

The Mayor of Riverdale

148

Text Pieces

111

Previously on Archie

113

Archie the Klutz

150

Celebrity Culture

153

Jughead’s Dipsy Doodles

154

Notes for the Norton Anthology 115 Archie : Arch : Archiekins 118

Worst. Archie. Story. Ever. 149

Imitation Is the Lowest Form of Flattery 156 Surf and Ski

158

Contents   xi

Samm Schwartz’s Art

160

Self-­Referential Metafictions 163 Riverdale High

166

Who Cut Veronica’s Hair? 167 Little Archie

169

Credits 173 Juvenile Delinquency

174

Teenese 176 The Archies

177

Pop Tate’s Choklit Shoppe 182 Unusual Panels

184

Smithers 185 The Archie Archive

186

Fads and Fashions

189

Borderless Panels

190

A Comic About Nothing

192

Fred (and Mary) Andrews 195 The Banjo in Archie Comics 196 Wordless Stories, or Nearly So

197

Hot Dog

201

Dan DeCarlo’s SplitH ­ orizon Girl

203

The (Nearly) Perfect Archie Story

206

The Myth of Archie

209

Archie and Me

210

Index 213

T W E LV E- ­C E N T A RCHIE

THE TWELVE-­CENT ARCHIE What is the value of Archie comics? Economically, very little. Relatively speaking, Archie comics are not particularly sought after or in demand in comparison to other comics from the period in which they were most popular. Culturally, probably less. For people of a certain generation, Archie is like the air—­he is everywhere, but he is very little remarked upon. That Archie continues to hold some social relevance is evidenced by the fact that every time Archie Comics makes a major change—­introducing a gay character, proposing to have Archie marry Betty or Veronica—­it induces headlines around the world but still generates relatively little in the way of sales to the public. In the second decade of the twenty-­ first century, Archie’s circulation is barely existent in comparison to its postwar peak; its cultural cachet is even lower. Despite ongoing attempts to make Archie relevant for new generations of readers, the titles are widely regarded as old-­fashioned, outdated, a relic of the way that the American comic-­book industry used to work. Beyond the confines of the comics world, for the gatekeepers of legitimate culture, Archie may as well not exist at all. One of the most lowbrow examples of a particularly lowbrow art form, Archie is virtually untouchable. Take, for example, the 1994 film The Shawshank Redemption. When Tim Robbins’s Andy starts his prison library, he risks a spell in “the can” when he plays Mozart’s “Sull’aria,” from The Marriage of Figaro, for the prisoners over the loudspeaker. As he does so, the guard who is supposed to be watching him is shown locked in the bathroom reading a copy of Jughead 9 (December 1951). The

H 3

4  T WE LVE - C ENT ARCH IE

contrast between the soaring Mozart duet and the lowly secondhand copy of Jughead (literally, toilet reading) could be neither starker nor more indicative of the low esteem with which Archie comics are held. Nostalgic (Andy received his money for the library, in story terms, only in 1955, so the issue of Jughead was already old), lowbrow, and completely out of fashion, what can there be to say about a topic as self-­evident as Archie? Academics have found extremely little to say on the subject to date. Ron Glasberg, a colleague of mine at the University of Calgary, published a 1991 article in the Journal of Popular Culture, “The Archie Code,” in which he suggested that the Archie-­Betty-­Veronica love triangle is the central narrative of the comic-­book universe and, further, that Betty’s blondness represents “goodness and pure love” and that Veronica “with her dark hair, suggests wealth—­with its attendant and potentially corrupting temptations.” Glasberg argues that Archie presents a theme of choosing between material success and interpersonal intimacy and, further, that this theme is “of potentially universal significance” insofar as the good girl  / bad girl differentiated by hair color can be located in pairings as diverse as the Munro sisters in James Fennimore Cooper’s The Last of the Mohicans and Ginger and Mary-­Ann on Gilligan’s Island. I will dispute this reading later in this book with reference to the presentation of Betty (who, it seems to me, represents neither goodness nor pure love), but at this moment it is sufficient to observe that the broadly thematic analysis offered by Glasberg is remarkable as the only critical cultural analysis of Archie previously published. Alexis Tan and Kermit Joseph Scruggs’s 1980 Journalism Quarterly article “Does Exposure to Comic Book Violence Lead to Aggression in Children?” does not even offer a reading of the comics. Instead, the authors exposed two groups of children to comic books—­half read a single issue of Marvel’s Daredevil, while the other half read an issue of Betty and Veronica (selected for its lack of violent depictions)—­and they were then asked to take a survey that would measure their proclivity toward resolving fictitious problems through the use of physical violence. The results of this primitive media-­effects study are insignificant, other than to note that by 1980 Archie comics were generally synonymous with inoffensive comics. It is striking that so little scholarly work of any kind has been done on Archie. Having been published uninterrupted now for more than

Th e Tw elve- ­C ent A rchie  5

seventy years, the character himself is a household name. Until approximately 1974, his adventures were selling millions of copies per month, and he has been the subject of plays, films, television shows, and, of course, a series of hit pop songs. Archie is as American as apple pie, and the vast quantity of material produced about him might suggest that he would be the subject of endless inquiry. Yet scholarly study of comics, as it has developed in universities over the past quarter century, has tended to focus on those comics that best fit the literary scholarly traditions. Works with a single author, or to which a central authorship might be attributed in the case of collaborative works, have been strongly, indeed overwhelmingly, preferred. It should be no surprise, given the emphasis on literariness as the dominant criterion of value, that autobiographical works have been favored with attention that well exceeds the proportional place that they occupy in the field of production. Scholarly work focusing on the “popular,” on the other hand, has tended to concentrate attention on superhero characters, much of it increasingly driven by the same auteurist interests as exist in the study of so-­called alternative comics. Thus, auteurism has been the key to the cultural legitimacy of comic books, and it is no surprise that scholars trained in a literary tradition that is so strongly structured around an auteurist canon would transpose that tradition onto comics. In this way, the field of comics has simply sought to duplicate the canon-­erecting tendencies of the literary hierarchy in miniature within the comics field, transplanting everything that is wrong with that structure (its elitism, its narrow-­mindedness, its ideological blind spots) onto this new research area. A great deal of comics studies (and I will include my own work in these comments) has been an attempt to demonstrate that the marginalization of the form is misguided. Scholars have focused nearly exclusively on those works that can be most easily reconciled within the traditions of literary greatness (Art Spiegelman, Marjane Satrapi, Alison Bechdel) or those of contemporary cultural politics (studies of Wonder Woman, Batman, and Superman). This cultural cherry-­picking has left enormous gaps in both the history and cultural analysis of comics. To my mind, the exclusion of the genuinely popular has obscured the actual history of the field. Arguments about the centrality of Marvel Comics in the 1960s fail to note that in 1967, at the height of the Stan Lee–­Jack Kirby collaboration on that title, sales of Fantastic Four

6  T WE LVE - C ENT ARCH IE

were only a fraction of sales of Archie and trailed even Betty and Veronica. Arguments about the “mainstream” of American comic-­book publishing are all too often willfully blind, excluding children’s comics and humor comics in order to make an artificial argument about the cultural importance of superheroes and their centrality to the economics of the industry in a post–­Comics Code publishing period. Comics studies has rarely focused attention on the truly popular, opting instead for work that can be presented as groundbreaking—­ work that is formally innovative and inventive, that explores new expressive ground, and that tackles taboo themes or subjects. I would like to suggest, however, that in its blindness, comics studies has a long history of misunderstanding and misrepresenting the contributions of the past, particularly when those contributions can be found in genres that are out of favor—­such as the children’s humor comic. Archie comics in the 1960s were replete with the kinds of self-­referential formal play that is celebrated as avant-­garde when it was done by Art Spiegelman in the 1970s. Wordless comics, metareferential comics, and avant-­garde and abstract visual tendencies can all be found in Archie (and elsewhere) in the muck of the unserious comics industry of the 1960s, and our collective failure to account for these basic facts has been a detriment to scholarship. In this volume, I have attempted to right some of the scholarly wrongs done to Archie by addressing the works as both typical and exceptional. Rather than trying to deal with more than seventy years of comics publishing, and tens of thousands of comic-­book stories, I have deliberately opted to limit my study. As John Goldwater, Archie Comics editor and copublisher, was so instrumental in the implementation of the 1954 Comics Code, I had thought to begin there and to conclude with the creation of ABC’s hit television show Happy Days, which in many ways is a televisualization of the same material and whose debut coincided almost exactly with the collapse of Archie comics’ sales. As I began to research, however, it appeared to me that this selection was too broad. The most interesting period in Archie Comics publishing seemed to me to coincide with the long run of Harry Lucey as the lead artist on Archie, the arrival of Dan DeCarlo at the company and his work on Betty and Veronica, and Samm Schwartz’s art contributions to Jughead. To my mind, the team of Lucey, DeCarlo, and Schwartz was the comic-­book equivalent of Tinkers,

Th e Tw elve- ­C ent A rchie  7

Evers, and Chance, the renowned double-­play team for the Chicago Cubs of the nineteen-­teens—­they were the best at what they did, and their names are now the stuff of legend. While this trio overlapped for only a short period of time (Schwartz left Archie Comics in 1965 for Tower Comics), that time coincided nicely, but not exactly, with the period when Archie comics cost twelve cents. Archie Comics raised the per-­issue price from a dime in the comics cover-­dated December 1961 and held it there until raising it to fifteen cents in July 1969. This seven-­and-­a-­half-­year period corresponds with the peak years of the comics’ production. While strong work was done both before and after the twelve-­cent era, I have focused my attention on these books. This study is a reflection of my reading of every single Archie Comics comic published in those ninety months across all seventeen titles. Though I have been critical of auteurist tendencies in comics studies as needlessly obscurantist, I will note that in this volume I myself regularly fall into the trap that I have decried. Auteurism is a powerful and persuasive organizing system. As Michel Foucault argued in his 1977 essay “What Is an Author?,” the very creation of the concept of the “author” is the privileged moment in the history of literature, philosophy, and science; it is no less so in comics. In this volume, I have paid particular attention to the work of Harry Lucey, Dan DeCarlo, and Samm Schwartz. My attributions of their work have relied on a combination of factors, since none of their stories were formally credited at the time of publication. IDW has recently released eight volumes of The Best of  .  .  . this trio of artists (four volumes of DeCarlo, two each for Schwartz and Lucey), and the indexes at The Great Comics Database have been helpful, if sadly incomplete. While I have only cited artists and writers in cases where I believe I have a high probability of having correctly identified their work, the likelihood of misattribution still exists, and I have very rarely attempted to identify the role played by inkers and letterers (and never colorists). Finally, as a glance at the table of contents is sufficient to demonstrate, this is not a typical scholarly monograph, just as Archie Comics was not a typical comics-­publishing enterprise. I have authored this book in such a way that I believe a reader could dip into any of its one hundred chapters in any order. Indeed, this volume was not written in the order that the chapters are arranged here. It is my hope that each chapter, like every Archie story, could exist independent of the rest, although the chapters are

8  T WE LVE - C ENT ARCH IE

arranged deliberately, if not exactly chronologically. The most interesting thing about Archie comics, it seems to me, is their lack of continuity, their brevity, and their independent functioning within a larger narrative system. I have sought, in a small way, to take this as a model for my scholarship on the subject, allowing the work itself not only to dictate my readings but to suggest the very form of this book. I approached this volume with no predetermined theoretical or methodological orthodoxies. I had not read Archie comics in more than thirty years when I began this project, and I had little idea what I would find in their pages. At one point, I had hoped that the one hundred chapters of this volume would allow me to approach this corpus from every conceivable angle and using every appropriate model. In the novel Changing Places, David Lodge paints the image of Morris Zapp, a literary scholar who aspires to “a series of commentaries on Jane Austen which would work through the whole canon, one novel at a time, saying absolutely everything that could possibly be said about them. The idea was to be utterly exhaustive, to examine the novels from every conceivable angle, historical, biographical, rhetorical, mythical, Freudian, Jungian, existentialist, Marxist, structuralist, Christian-­allegorical, ethical, exponential, linguistic, phenomenological, archetypal, you name it; so that when each commentary was written there would be simply nothing further to say about the novel in question.” Like Zapp, I have failed in this goal. The truth is that I discovered in the Archie comics of the 1960s a level of complexity and interest that was entirely unexpected. With their complexities and contradictions, these comics may well be inexhaustible—­like all the best works of culture. Ultimately, I have relied on a combination of close readings contained within short, loosely connected chapters. My more modest goal has been to offer a scholarly version of the Archie textual digest, in which I hope to demonstrate the efficacy and cogency of the interrelated short-­story comics form as a significant alternative to graphic novels self-­ consciously modeled on literary parameters.

HOW TO WRITE (ARCHIE) COMICS There can be absolutely no question that the Archie comics published in the twelve-­cent era were the product of a semi-­industrialized system. Having, at the time, twenty years of previous publishing history

8  T WE LVE - C ENT ARCH IE

arranged deliberately, if not exactly chronologically. The most interesting thing about Archie comics, it seems to me, is their lack of continuity, their brevity, and their independent functioning within a larger narrative system. I have sought, in a small way, to take this as a model for my scholarship on the subject, allowing the work itself not only to dictate my readings but to suggest the very form of this book. I approached this volume with no predetermined theoretical or methodological orthodoxies. I had not read Archie comics in more than thirty years when I began this project, and I had little idea what I would find in their pages. At one point, I had hoped that the one hundred chapters of this volume would allow me to approach this corpus from every conceivable angle and using every appropriate model. In the novel Changing Places, David Lodge paints the image of Morris Zapp, a literary scholar who aspires to “a series of commentaries on Jane Austen which would work through the whole canon, one novel at a time, saying absolutely everything that could possibly be said about them. The idea was to be utterly exhaustive, to examine the novels from every conceivable angle, historical, biographical, rhetorical, mythical, Freudian, Jungian, existentialist, Marxist, structuralist, Christian-­allegorical, ethical, exponential, linguistic, phenomenological, archetypal, you name it; so that when each commentary was written there would be simply nothing further to say about the novel in question.” Like Zapp, I have failed in this goal. The truth is that I discovered in the Archie comics of the 1960s a level of complexity and interest that was entirely unexpected. With their complexities and contradictions, these comics may well be inexhaustible—­like all the best works of culture. Ultimately, I have relied on a combination of close readings contained within short, loosely connected chapters. My more modest goal has been to offer a scholarly version of the Archie textual digest, in which I hope to demonstrate the efficacy and cogency of the interrelated short-­story comics form as a significant alternative to graphic novels self-­ consciously modeled on literary parameters.

HOW TO WRITE (ARCHIE) COMICS There can be absolutely no question that the Archie comics published in the twelve-­cent era were the product of a semi-­industrialized system. Having, at the time, twenty years of previous publishing history

Ho w to W rite (A rch ie) Co mi cs   9

to rely on for the development of characters and settings, and having a strict level of editorial oversight, Archie Comics was a well-­established entity. The comic books were highly conventionalized in terms of look, layout, and design. While individual artists occasionally stretched the limits of what was permissible and treated material with their own distinctive rendering styles, the goal of Archie Comics was not to produce a widely disparate set of stories but to provide readers with essentially the same material month after month, with only as much variation as would be required to keep them coming back for more. While it might be possible to imagine a somewhat distant future when Archie would graduate from Riverdale High, go to college, begin a career, marry Veronica (much to Betty’s consternation), live a full and meaningful life, even die, these were only imaginings. They were not plots to be developed (although some of them were by later generations of Archie Comics artists in the first decade of the twenty-­first century). Constancy was the key, and constancy required repetition, which required formulae. Moreover, formulae necessitated a system of production that endures beyond the terms of individual creators. It is, of course, one of the tasks of the literary or cultural critic to determine the underlying formulae that undergird an ongoing creative enterprise such as Archie Comics. It is necessary to plot certain vectors—­story length, character interaction, the rise and fall of dramatic tension—­in order to determine the core elements of the Archie narrative. It is the required labor of the critic to sort and to catalogue, to graph and to chart, and to report on the ideal form of the Archie story. Or it would be, had Frank Doyle and Harry Lucey not done that work already. In one of the most atypically typical of Archie stories, “How to Write Comics,” the lead story in Archie’s Pals ’n Gals 34 (Fall 1965), writer Frank Doyle and artist Harry Lucey present a five-­page story with no dialogue. All of the text is contained in the captions at the top of (almost) every panel. These captions demonstrate for the reader the entire operating system of the Archie machine. “Anytime,” Doyle tells us in the first panel, “you start your story with a combination of action and pretty girl you’re halfway home.” Under this caption, Lucey depicts Betty, falling off a skateboard and into the waiting arms of Archie. With this one panel, Doyle and Lucey

Frank Doyle and Harry Lucey literalize the process of writing an Archie Comics story. From Archie’s Pals ’n Gals 34 (1955).

S to ry Length  11

have encapsulated the vast bulk of the appeal of the comics that they were producing. This combination of sex plus action (“kiss kiss bang bang” to use the title of Pauline Kael’s collection of criticism) also describes many of the world’s most popular entertainments. “Halfway through the tale,” we are told on the third page, “get everybody angry with everybody!” Here Lucey depicts Veronica angry at Archie for flirting with Betty, Archie angry at Veronica for flirting with a passing boy, and Betty angry at Archie because he is angry at Veronica, which, of course, only makes Veronica angry with Betty, once again. “And, of course, we need a villain!” Doyle says, adding Reggie to this already volatile mix. And while the villain is able to elude the heroes who pursue him, disaster strikes as Archie and the flirting stranger run headlong into each other in a typically Luceyan depiction of physical mayhem. With the heroes knocked out in a heap, Doyle concludes with this piece of advice: “Never forget that the villain must get his just desserts!” as Reggie unwittingly steps on Betty’s skateboard and knocks himself silly. With the boys all sprawled on the sidewalk seeing stars, Veronica raises her hands in mock surrender: “Don’t overdo the happy ending bit! Remember, variety is the spice of life!” Interestingly, in the Archie comics of the twelve-­cent era, variety was most assuredly not the spice of life. In story terms, the degree of repetition can be startling when one consumes large quantities of these comics all at once, and a genuinely innovative piece of writing—­ such as this—­is all too rare. Nonetheless, Doyle’s ability to enumerate the precise conventions of the successful Archie comic, from the introduction of a device (the skateboard) that promises impending doom to the deferral of the payoff on page 2, and from the gradual introduction of tension among the cast on page 3 to its amplification by the arrival of Reggie on page 4, demonstrates the knowing metafiction of the Archie structure, even while it ironizes it. It is an extremely clever story, and by crafting it so beautifully, Doyle and Lucey have saved me the task of writing it for them.

STORY LENGTH During the twelve-­cent period, stories about Archie appeared in almost every conceivable shape and size. Typical issues contained twenty-­two

S to ry Length  11

have encapsulated the vast bulk of the appeal of the comics that they were producing. This combination of sex plus action (“kiss kiss bang bang” to use the title of Pauline Kael’s collection of criticism) also describes many of the world’s most popular entertainments. “Halfway through the tale,” we are told on the third page, “get everybody angry with everybody!” Here Lucey depicts Veronica angry at Archie for flirting with Betty, Archie angry at Veronica for flirting with a passing boy, and Betty angry at Archie because he is angry at Veronica, which, of course, only makes Veronica angry with Betty, once again. “And, of course, we need a villain!” Doyle says, adding Reggie to this already volatile mix. And while the villain is able to elude the heroes who pursue him, disaster strikes as Archie and the flirting stranger run headlong into each other in a typically Luceyan depiction of physical mayhem. With the heroes knocked out in a heap, Doyle concludes with this piece of advice: “Never forget that the villain must get his just desserts!” as Reggie unwittingly steps on Betty’s skateboard and knocks himself silly. With the boys all sprawled on the sidewalk seeing stars, Veronica raises her hands in mock surrender: “Don’t overdo the happy ending bit! Remember, variety is the spice of life!” Interestingly, in the Archie comics of the twelve-­cent era, variety was most assuredly not the spice of life. In story terms, the degree of repetition can be startling when one consumes large quantities of these comics all at once, and a genuinely innovative piece of writing—­ such as this—­is all too rare. Nonetheless, Doyle’s ability to enumerate the precise conventions of the successful Archie comic, from the introduction of a device (the skateboard) that promises impending doom to the deferral of the payoff on page 2, and from the gradual introduction of tension among the cast on page 3 to its amplification by the arrival of Reggie on page 4, demonstrates the knowing metafiction of the Archie structure, even while it ironizes it. It is an extremely clever story, and by crafting it so beautifully, Doyle and Lucey have saved me the task of writing it for them.

STORY LENGTH During the twelve-­cent period, stories about Archie appeared in almost every conceivable shape and size. Typical issues contained twenty-­two

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or twenty-­three pages of comics material, two or three pages of text, and five or six advertisements, while Archie Annuals, Archie Giant Series, and Archie’s Pals ’n Gals typically ran to eighty pages in total. Normally, the comics material was broken down into four stories, with a lead story that was only six pages long. Longer stories, particularly in Life with Archie, were generally separated into two or four chapters, although a stand-­alone twelve-­page story can be found on very rare occasions (Betty and Veronica 153, September 1968, for example). Very occasionally a comic would be composed of a single story of more than twenty pages, although these tended to be more serious and adventure oriented than the shorter gag pieces that are the hallmark of the series. Two-­page stories were relatively common, and single and half-­page gags were more frequent still. Splash-­page-­sized gags and pinups were a particular specialization of artist Dan DeCarlo. Archie, it seemed, was a story-­ generating system that could be shaped to virtually any length necessary to fill the page of the magazines. While the six-­page story is the norm in Archie comics against which pieces of other lengths are contrasted, seemingly the only absolute editorial prohibition during the 1960s was against stories that continued in another issue entirely. All Archie stories in the twelve-­cent era were entirely self-­contained in the magazine in which they appeared.

THE ARCHIE HIERARCHY Unlike many other successful comic-­book franchises of the postwar period, the twelve-­cent Archie era was not defined merely by the success of a single title. In the period from the end of 1961 to the middle of 1969, Archie Comics produced seventeen ongoing monthly, bimonthly, and quarterly titles devoted to the gang at Riverdale High, as well as a number of short-­lived titles featuring the same characters. Archie made his debut in Pep Comics 22 (December 1941), a sixty-­ four-­page anthology comic featuring the adventures of the patriotic superhero The Shield as the lead feature. Pep contained backups that included The Hangman, Danny in Wonderland, Sergeant Boyle, Jolly Roger and His Sky Pirates, Kayo Ward, and Bentley of Scotland Yard. When Archie was introduced as “America’s newest boyfriend,” it was as a back-­pages feature about a teenager who hates the name Archie

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or twenty-­three pages of comics material, two or three pages of text, and five or six advertisements, while Archie Annuals, Archie Giant Series, and Archie’s Pals ’n Gals typically ran to eighty pages in total. Normally, the comics material was broken down into four stories, with a lead story that was only six pages long. Longer stories, particularly in Life with Archie, were generally separated into two or four chapters, although a stand-­alone twelve-­page story can be found on very rare occasions (Betty and Veronica 153, September 1968, for example). Very occasionally a comic would be composed of a single story of more than twenty pages, although these tended to be more serious and adventure oriented than the shorter gag pieces that are the hallmark of the series. Two-­page stories were relatively common, and single and half-­page gags were more frequent still. Splash-­page-­sized gags and pinups were a particular specialization of artist Dan DeCarlo. Archie, it seemed, was a story-­ generating system that could be shaped to virtually any length necessary to fill the page of the magazines. While the six-­page story is the norm in Archie comics against which pieces of other lengths are contrasted, seemingly the only absolute editorial prohibition during the 1960s was against stories that continued in another issue entirely. All Archie stories in the twelve-­cent era were entirely self-­contained in the magazine in which they appeared.

THE ARCHIE HIERARCHY Unlike many other successful comic-­book franchises of the postwar period, the twelve-­cent Archie era was not defined merely by the success of a single title. In the period from the end of 1961 to the middle of 1969, Archie Comics produced seventeen ongoing monthly, bimonthly, and quarterly titles devoted to the gang at Riverdale High, as well as a number of short-­lived titles featuring the same characters. Archie made his debut in Pep Comics 22 (December 1941), a sixty-­ four-­page anthology comic featuring the adventures of the patriotic superhero The Shield as the lead feature. Pep contained backups that included The Hangman, Danny in Wonderland, Sergeant Boyle, Jolly Roger and His Sky Pirates, Kayo Ward, and Bentley of Scotland Yard. When Archie was introduced as “America’s newest boyfriend,” it was as a back-­pages feature about a teenager who hates the name Archie

Th e A rch ie Hie rarch y  13

(“call him ‘Chick’”) and whose debut misadventures revolved around his attempts to impress his new neighbor, Betty Cooper. In the dozen issues that followed his introduction, Archie remained a backup story in the anthology title, only appearing on the cover (jointly with The Shield) for the first time on the thirty-­sixth issue. He began sharing the cover with The Shield from issue 41, gradually displacing him altogether. Nonetheless, Pep remained an anthology comic until the mid-­ 1960s, and the superhero adventures of The Fly helped fill its pages even during the twelve-­cent period. Archie, the comic-­book title, was spun off from Pep in 1942, less than a year after the character made his first appearance. Archie remained the flagship title in the series throughout the 1960s, and it was always the best selling of numerous Riverdale books, averaging more than 450,000 copies sold per month during the 1960s and peaking in 1968 at more than 566,000. The tandem of writer Frank Doyle and artist Harry Lucey dominated the title throughout this period. Lucey was known for the amazing pliability of his characters and the variability of his poses. He was a dynamic cartoonist who stressed the sexiness of Betty and Veronica, while playing the expressive antics of Archie, Reggie, and, particularly, Mr. Lodge to their fullest. Doyle produced many of the most memorable Archie stories during this period and kept his stories more grounded in the reality of day-­to-­day life in Riverdale than did many of his peers. While Archie began appearing in a second anthology title, Laugh, in 1946 alongside features such as Katie Keene, the first genuine spin-­ off among the Archie titles was Archie’s Pal Jughead in 1949. Jughead had been introduced in the first Archie story in Pep Comics 22 and quickly emerged as the most popular supporting character. Over the course of the 1960s, he was given several additional titles, including the unfortunately short-­lived Jughead’s Fantasy (which featured full-­ length fantasy adventures for only three issues in 1960) and Jughead’s Jokes (1967). The flagship Jughead title (which shortened its name in November 1965) was drawn by Samm Schwartz until issue 126 (November 1965), when the artist left Archie Comics to produce the knockoff Tippy Teen for Tower Comics. Schwartz was the defining Jughead artist during this period, and the title floundered creatively under his replacement, Bill Vigoda, until Schwartz returned in 1969. Archie’s Girls Betty and Veronica was launched in 1950, a year after

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Jughead received his own title. While Archie comics were always popular with a young female audience, this title heightened that appeal with its emphasis on the female costars, and it quickly emerged as the second-­most-­popular title behind Archie, averaging well over three hundred thousand copies sold per month. Dan DeCarlo was the predominant artist on the title during the twelve-­cent period (often working on stories written by Frank Doyle), and he emerged as the dominant in-­house Archie Comics stylist as the decade progressed. Late in the 1960s, DeCarlo produced the majority of Archie covers, even on titles that were drawn by Lucey or Schwartz. Eventually DeCarlo became the best known of the Archie artists, and he came to define the house style to such a degree that other artists were encouraged to draw like him. Having established the five core Archie titles in the 1940s—­Archie, Pep, Laugh, Jughead, and Betty and Veronica—­Archie Comics continued to add new titles at the rate of almost one per year in the decade that followed. The bonus-­sized Archie’s Pals ’n Gals was launched in 1952, and Archie’s Joke Book (which frequently recycled material from Bob Montana’s syndicated newspaper strip) followed a year later. A second oversized title, Archie Giant Series, was launched in 1954 as a series of rotating one-­shots not unlike Dell’s Four Color series. In 1956, Bob Bolling’s Little Archie debuted, presenting the young childhood adventures of the cast (this was joined by the extremely short-­lived Little Archie Mystery for two issues in 1963). Life with Archie, which featured longer stories, was released in 1958. The success of Mad Magazine led to the creation of Archie’s Madhouse in 1959, although the main Archie cast only appeared in gags found in the earliest issues before the title evolved into a place for non-­Riverdale absurd humor. Archie Comics took a break from developing new titles until the mid-­1960s. The year 1964 saw the creation of Archie and Me, which focused, perhaps unexpectedly, on Mr. Weatherbee as the “me” of the title. The following year, Betty received her own title (Betty and Me), and the year after that, Reggie received his third title. Reggie was a consistent failure in the marketplace. Archie’s Rival Reggie had debuted in 1949, around the same time that Jughead was given his own title, but Reggie’s series lasted only fourteen issues. In 1963, Archie Comics tried again with Reggie, but this time only four issues were produced; and then in 1966, Reggie and Me became a success, running until 1980. In 1968, the similarly long-­running Reggie’s (Wise Guy) Jokes debuted,

Th e A rch ie Hie rarch y  15

as part of the expansion of the gag-­book formula that also included Jughead’s Jokes and Archie’s Joke Book. Additionally, three superhero titles featuring the Archie gang were developed in 1966 and 1967—­Archie as Pureheart the Powerful, Archie as Captain Pureheart, and Jughead as Captain Hero—­but they only lasted sixteen issues collectively. In May 1969, the oversized Everything’s Archie debuted as a tie-­in to the newly developed television program and The Archies records. In addition to the almost two-­dozen Riverdale titles that composed the twelve-­cent period, Archie Comics produced the adventures of Josie (and, later, the Pussycats). Josie had debuted in Archie’s Pals ’n Gals and regularly appeared in both Laugh and Pep. Her adventures occasionally crossed over into the Archie universe. Archie Comics also released its own semiknockoffs, Wilbur Comics and That Wilkin Boy, both of which had only tangential connections to the Riverdale stories during this time frame. It is significant that while Veronica shared a title with Betty throughout the twelve-­cent era, no title was ever specifically developed for her (she only received her own magazine in 1989). For a company that developed a title expressly to showcase the exploits of a high school principal to have ignored the character who is, arguably, the second-­ most-­important player in the Archie cast seems indicative of the way that the Archie-­Betty-­Veronica love triangle was understood by readers. While the Archie titles of the 1960s are at pains to establish the lopsided nature of this triangle by repeatedly suggesting that Archie and Veronica are a semidevoted couple that Betty is at pains to break up, the girl next door is, nonetheless, the one for whom a title was developed. Veronica, the child of privilege, too regularly plays the role of a bully to be an effective heroine, and much as Reggie’s titles struggled to find ways to make him both funny and sympathetic (eventually giving up: Reggie’s (Wise Guy) Jokes might as well have been called Jokes Too Mean-­Spirited for the Regular Archie Titles). The constantly put-­upon Betty, the sympathetic heroine, is the one who can carry her own title, and this realization helps push the love triangle onto more equal footing as the years pass. The sales success of Betty and Me is indicative of her popularity and, thus, the necessity of balancing her relationship with Archie and with Veronica, a process that begins slowly in the late 1960s before accelerating in the 1970s and emerging as a dominant aspect of the Archie story lines from the 1980s onward.

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The hierarchy of the Archie titles (with Archie, Betty and Veronica, and Jughead—­until Schwartz’s departure—­at the top) reflects the hierarchy of the cast in the less central titles such as Laugh, Pep, and Archie’s Pals ’n Gals. Archie, of course, is almost always the dominant character in stories that include all or most of the cast. Only in Jughead are there consistently stories in which he does not appear (although these are uncommon). Betty and Veronica are the key supporting characters, ahead of Jughead (except in his own title) and well ahead of Reggie. Reggie is, at best, a minor major character, who cannot be counted on to appear in every story or even in most of them. He is, by far, the character that is most frequently not included among the core cast. Of the supporting characters, only Mr. Weatherbee ever warranted his own title (and, even then, not under his own name), although Mr. Lodge is by far the most frequently appearing character outside of the core five. He is the major minor character, particularly in the pages of Archie and Betty and Veronica, where he can be found in at least one story in every issue and usually more. Moose, Midge, Dilton, Big Ethel, and the rest of the cast are little more than occasional bit players who were apparently never considered for their own titles and, in the 1960s, were rarely even the lead characters of individual stories. Despite the obvious hierarchy that existed among the titles, it is difficult to assess any of them as absolutely central. Archie was the most venerable and, by a wide margin, the best selling, while Betty and Veronica and then Jughead trailed behind. Pals ’n Gals, Giant, Pep, Life with Archie, and Laugh consistently sold about 250,000 copies per month, with only Little Archie regularly falling below the 200,000 mark. As there was no continuity in the Archie titles of this period, it was in no way necessary for readers of one title to read any of the others, so while there was a hierarchy of importance and also one of sales, the actual effects of this structure had little or no impact on readers, who were free to move among the titles at will.

ARCHIE ANDREWS Archie Andrews is an atypical comic-­book protagonist. He is a young man to whom things happen; he is not someone who makes things happen. Only rarely is he the central actor in any of the plots in which

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The hierarchy of the Archie titles (with Archie, Betty and Veronica, and Jughead—­until Schwartz’s departure—­at the top) reflects the hierarchy of the cast in the less central titles such as Laugh, Pep, and Archie’s Pals ’n Gals. Archie, of course, is almost always the dominant character in stories that include all or most of the cast. Only in Jughead are there consistently stories in which he does not appear (although these are uncommon). Betty and Veronica are the key supporting characters, ahead of Jughead (except in his own title) and well ahead of Reggie. Reggie is, at best, a minor major character, who cannot be counted on to appear in every story or even in most of them. He is, by far, the character that is most frequently not included among the core cast. Of the supporting characters, only Mr. Weatherbee ever warranted his own title (and, even then, not under his own name), although Mr. Lodge is by far the most frequently appearing character outside of the core five. He is the major minor character, particularly in the pages of Archie and Betty and Veronica, where he can be found in at least one story in every issue and usually more. Moose, Midge, Dilton, Big Ethel, and the rest of the cast are little more than occasional bit players who were apparently never considered for their own titles and, in the 1960s, were rarely even the lead characters of individual stories. Despite the obvious hierarchy that existed among the titles, it is difficult to assess any of them as absolutely central. Archie was the most venerable and, by a wide margin, the best selling, while Betty and Veronica and then Jughead trailed behind. Pals ’n Gals, Giant, Pep, Life with Archie, and Laugh consistently sold about 250,000 copies per month, with only Little Archie regularly falling below the 200,000 mark. As there was no continuity in the Archie titles of this period, it was in no way necessary for readers of one title to read any of the others, so while there was a hierarchy of importance and also one of sales, the actual effects of this structure had little or no impact on readers, who were free to move among the titles at will.

ARCHIE ANDREWS Archie Andrews is an atypical comic-­book protagonist. He is a young man to whom things happen; he is not someone who makes things happen. Only rarely is he the central actor in any of the plots in which

A rch ie An dr ew s   17

he is involved. Only on occasion is he the character who takes the first action. In character terms, he is actually little more than a cipher—­a blank space on which stories are written. A high school junior, Archie is the quintessential everyman—­the typical American teen. Early in the twelve-­ cent era, he is distinguished by his orange checked pants, green bow tie, and black sweater vest emblazoned with the Riverdale R, which he wears Archie Andrews, wearing his traditional everywhere unless the story specifiRiverdale High sweater vest. From Archie 142 (1963). cally calls for different clothing—­at a formal dance, for instance, or at the beach. Once he gives up his trademark getup in the mid-­1960s, his most distinctive trait becomes his orange hair, a “warm crimson thatch turning to a roseate peony on the sides,” as it is described by a casting agent in Laugh 205 (April 1968). The Andrewses live on Elm Street in the anyplace town of Riverdale, the product of a typical middle-­class professional family. Archie might have been notable in his era as an only child in a nuclear family, were it not for the fact that everyone in Riverdale is an only child—­it is a town curiously devoid of siblings. Interest in Archie derives from his few defining characteristics. He is in love with Veronica but will date other girls, including Betty, when the opportunity arises. He is a good student or a bad student, a strong athlete or a poor one, nimble and agile or clumsy and maladroit, all depending on the particular needs of any given story. The trappings that surround him—­his parents, his friends, his car—­are all more thoroughly consistent than he is, and all are more commonly used as story prompts. The most common depiction of Archie is as a teenager who is always in need of additional funds. Archie has no regular after-­school or summer job, although his decision to find employment is a common story line. Dating the spectacularly wealthy Veronica is consistently damaging to his wallet, and consecutive stories find him struggling for money. For instance, over the course of a three-­issue stretch of the flagship title in 1968, Archie’s cash problems become

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a running theme. In “Money Makes the Scene” (Archie 181, April 1968), Archie lacks the three dollars that will buy him entry into the local discotheque, so he takes a job setting up the lights, which earns him free admission (and a scolding from Veronica when he inevitably fouls up the job). In “All Work and No Pay” (Archie 182, June 1968), Archie finds free passes to the very same discotheque (“Why! That saves three dollars a person admission!” says Betty) but is under pressure to generate the additional cash required to treat Veronica to the first-­class date that she expects. Again he takes a job in the disco during the day, this time lugging refreshments, only to discover that he cannot cash in his free passes because they are not valid for employees. In “Work It Off ” (Archie 183, July 1968), Archie refuses to take a loan from Veronica (“I’ve got pride!” says Archie. “But you don’t got money!” replies Veronica) so that they can attend the dance, but he takes an advance from Pop at the Choklit Shoppe so that he can attend (of course, Pop requires him to work at the same time as the dance). Three issues later, in “Root of All Evil” (Archie 186, November 1968), Veronica works to cure Archie’s money problems once and for all. Recognizing that he is too proud to accept her charity, she strategically hides cash all over Riverdale in places that he would be likely to discover it, in the hope that she can pay for her own date. Of course, even this plan backfires, as Archie becomes obsessed with the money that he has found, hiding alone in his room in the dark rummaging through his new piles of cash. Archie’s need for money is not so much a character trait as it is a prompt for a series of ongoing stories. Unhappy when he is without money because he cannot date Veronica, he is unhappy when he has money because his working life leaves him unable to date Veronica. His is the central paradox of the privileged middle class. Stories do not begin from a flaw in Archie’s character but are situational. He needs money only when the story needs him to need money—­it is not intrinsic to his characterization, and at times when the writers have other plans for him, he is always flush. Archie himself is not a particularly generative character, but he is a fundamentally useful one: he is the lovable, affable, cheerful doofus to whom things happen, a vessel for all kinds of misadventures. Fundamentally, Archie Comics’ creators are spared the challenge of developing him any more fully than he already is.

Ho w We ll Does A rch ie Spe ak F r en ch ?   19

HOW WELL DOES ARCHIE SPEAK FRENCH? One of the central attributes of the Archie stories is that they are entirely free of narrative continuity, allowing elements that might seem counterfactual in one story to take center stage in another. For instance, Archie’s scholastic abilities shift according to the needs of any particular story. In Betty and Veronica 135 (March 1967), both Betty and Archie win scholastic prizes (she for math, he for history), and Veronica calls him a “brain”; but in Jughead 86 (July 1962), he scores a zero on an English exam that both Betty and Veronica ace. Most typically, in Archie 138 (July 1963), he is identified as a C student in contrast to Betty, the A student. What then is to be made of the story “Tongue Twister” in Archie Annual (1967)? The piece opens with Veronica and Reggie berating Archie for receiving a score of one hundred on a French test. “It’s not,” Veronica sniffs, “a required subject! I plan my social calendar during French class!” Later, at the Choklit Shoppe, Veronica and Reggie are incapable of helping a crying young girl when they realize that she is speaking French (“After ‘Toujours l’amour’ and ‘Chevrolet Coupe’ I’m speechless!” says Reggie). When Archie arrives on the scene, he comforts the girl, returns her to her father—­the French ambassador who is in Riverdale for some completely undetermined reason—­and earns a trip to Paris, where he will be wined and dined. As Archie poses for the media, and Reggie and Veronica turn to their French-­ English dictionary (“. . . Sot! . . . Fou! . . . Bouffon!”), the reader is left to wonder, Did Archie ever actually take that trip to Paris? Why is Archie so good at French and so poor at English? Why does he never speak French in any other comic of the entire era? Does Riverdale High even have a French teacher?

BOWLING In the year between Archie 119 (June 1961) and Archie 128 (June 1962), writer Frank Doyle and artist Harry Lucey presented three lead stories that featured members of the cast bowling. How might we explain this unusual fact? Was there a particular explosion of public interest in

Ho w We ll Does A rch ie Spe ak F r en ch ?   19

HOW WELL DOES ARCHIE SPEAK FRENCH? One of the central attributes of the Archie stories is that they are entirely free of narrative continuity, allowing elements that might seem counterfactual in one story to take center stage in another. For instance, Archie’s scholastic abilities shift according to the needs of any particular story. In Betty and Veronica 135 (March 1967), both Betty and Archie win scholastic prizes (she for math, he for history), and Veronica calls him a “brain”; but in Jughead 86 (July 1962), he scores a zero on an English exam that both Betty and Veronica ace. Most typically, in Archie 138 (July 1963), he is identified as a C student in contrast to Betty, the A student. What then is to be made of the story “Tongue Twister” in Archie Annual (1967)? The piece opens with Veronica and Reggie berating Archie for receiving a score of one hundred on a French test. “It’s not,” Veronica sniffs, “a required subject! I plan my social calendar during French class!” Later, at the Choklit Shoppe, Veronica and Reggie are incapable of helping a crying young girl when they realize that she is speaking French (“After ‘Toujours l’amour’ and ‘Chevrolet Coupe’ I’m speechless!” says Reggie). When Archie arrives on the scene, he comforts the girl, returns her to her father—­the French ambassador who is in Riverdale for some completely undetermined reason—­and earns a trip to Paris, where he will be wined and dined. As Archie poses for the media, and Reggie and Veronica turn to their French-­ English dictionary (“. . . Sot! . . . Fou! . . . Bouffon!”), the reader is left to wonder, Did Archie ever actually take that trip to Paris? Why is Archie so good at French and so poor at English? Why does he never speak French in any other comic of the entire era? Does Riverdale High even have a French teacher?

BOWLING In the year between Archie 119 (June 1961) and Archie 128 (June 1962), writer Frank Doyle and artist Harry Lucey presented three lead stories that featured members of the cast bowling. How might we explain this unusual fact? Was there a particular explosion of public interest in

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bowling in 1962? Was bowling the topic of hit films or television series? The answer to both of these questions would be no. The simplest explanation might be the most appropriate—­stories about Archie bowling just seemed to write themselves. If we begin from a presumption that the Archie writers were required to produce a large quantity of stories about the Riverdale gang in a very short period of time, it would seem logical that certain story prompts might appear to be more productive of the creation of punch lines than others. Given a very limited set of character types, writers needed to develop situations in which certain predictable results would be generated. Archie Comics of the 1960s was, in effect, a machine for the creation of humorous stories that were grounded in the possibilities of everyday life in middle America, taken to certain logical or narrative extremes. Postulate an unusual object or setting, insert the characters into it, and, because they were so well established and relatively fixed in their uses, a plot instantly suggests itself. That Doyle should string a series of bowling stories together in relatively close proximity likely tells us something about his working methods. Imagine a notebook with story prompts and the word “Bowling” written at the top of a page. If one ruminates for only a few moments on the possibilities raised by the popular leisure activity, several stories might immediately spring to mind. The combination of the clumsily unlucky Archie and a bowling ball at Riverdale High leads almost automatically to several promising sight gags—­ Mr. Weatherbee hit by the ball, the ball rolling into the chemistry lab and causing an explosion, the ball falling from a top shelf in Archie’s locker. Similarly, the suggestion of Archie teaching Betty and Veronica how to bowl leads to a different (but related) series of sight gags, including the ball being dropped on Archie’s foot, a stray ball causing damage at the lanes, and a ball crushing Archie’s hand. To paraphrase Anton Chekhov, if a bowling ball is shown on the first page, it must be dropped on someone’s foot on the final page, because in the world of Archie, any newly introduced element necessarily suggests its own outcome—­if it is breakable, it will be broken; if it is round, it will be tripped over. Bowling is such a natural story prompt because it contains the essential element required of all Archie stories—­the promise of controlled chaos. If the Archie comics are a story-­generating machine, one important

H arr y Lu cey ’s R h yt hm  21

element to note is that it is a machine that can be endlessly reset. Since the comics lack any real sense of continuity, any given character may be a great bowler one day and a complete novice the next. In Archie 122 (September 1961), Archie and Reggie teach the girls how to bowl, and they are completely incapable—­dropping a ball on Reggie’s foot and smashing Archie’s hand in the ball return, just as any reader may have imagined, while in Betty and Veronica 139 (July 1967), Betty is an expert bowler and in Archie’s Pals ’n Gals 28 (Spring 1964), she is significantly better at the game than is Archie. As all Archie stories exist independently of all other Archie stories (at least in terms of continuity), this is not a case of Betty having improved her skills over time—­it is a reflection of the fact that different stories have different needs, and if it is narratively useful to have Betty excel at a sport, it is just as easy as having her fail at it. Archie’s creators in the 1960s were not interested in expressing the truth of their characters or in the inconsistencies that varying stories would produce. Rather, they were concerned with spinning out an endless stream of content that remained true to the spirit of the Archie universe. Story logics are circumstantial, and they stem from the collision of characters that retain a roughly fixed form with an endlessly generative series of new story prompts that can be infinitely recycled until they have been exhausted of comic potential.

HARRY LUCEY’S RHYTHM As far as I am concerned, Harry Lucey was the greatest Archie artist of the twelve-­cent period or of any other period. As the lead artist on the flagship Archie title for the entire 1960s and into the 1970s, not only did he create, with writer Frank Doyle, the most memorable Archie stories, but he crafted the definitive look and style for many of the characters. While the best Jughead will always be that of Samm Schwartz, the best everyone else is almost always Harry Lucey. His Betty and Veronica were the most alluring and his Archie the most elastic. His characterizations were rooted in a comic-­book aesthetic that owed a great deal to the physics of animation. His characters did not take simple pratfalls but were propelled through the air with tremendous violence. One of the great masters of comic-­book storytelling through body language, Lucey was seemingly incapable of drawing a meaning-

H arr y Lu cey ’s R h yt hm  21

element to note is that it is a machine that can be endlessly reset. Since the comics lack any real sense of continuity, any given character may be a great bowler one day and a complete novice the next. In Archie 122 (September 1961), Archie and Reggie teach the girls how to bowl, and they are completely incapable—­dropping a ball on Reggie’s foot and smashing Archie’s hand in the ball return, just as any reader may have imagined, while in Betty and Veronica 139 (July 1967), Betty is an expert bowler and in Archie’s Pals ’n Gals 28 (Spring 1964), she is significantly better at the game than is Archie. As all Archie stories exist independently of all other Archie stories (at least in terms of continuity), this is not a case of Betty having improved her skills over time—­it is a reflection of the fact that different stories have different needs, and if it is narratively useful to have Betty excel at a sport, it is just as easy as having her fail at it. Archie’s creators in the 1960s were not interested in expressing the truth of their characters or in the inconsistencies that varying stories would produce. Rather, they were concerned with spinning out an endless stream of content that remained true to the spirit of the Archie universe. Story logics are circumstantial, and they stem from the collision of characters that retain a roughly fixed form with an endlessly generative series of new story prompts that can be infinitely recycled until they have been exhausted of comic potential.

HARRY LUCEY’S RHYTHM As far as I am concerned, Harry Lucey was the greatest Archie artist of the twelve-­cent period or of any other period. As the lead artist on the flagship Archie title for the entire 1960s and into the 1970s, not only did he create, with writer Frank Doyle, the most memorable Archie stories, but he crafted the definitive look and style for many of the characters. While the best Jughead will always be that of Samm Schwartz, the best everyone else is almost always Harry Lucey. His Betty and Veronica were the most alluring and his Archie the most elastic. His characterizations were rooted in a comic-­book aesthetic that owed a great deal to the physics of animation. His characters did not take simple pratfalls but were propelled through the air with tremendous violence. One of the great masters of comic-­book storytelling through body language, Lucey was seemingly incapable of drawing a meaning-

22  T W E LVE- C ENT ARCH IE

less pose. The least effective Archie artists allowed a rote neutrality to enter into the body language of the cast, as if each character was constantly at rest, relying on the dialogue—­often the weakest part of any Archie story—­to carry the humor. Not Lucey. No opportunity to tell a story through body language was ever lost to him. His characters were dynamic and fluid—­when they rested, he drew them actively at rest. Lucey could have made a career simply out of drawing Veronica’s father. The silver-­haired Mr. Lodge, constantly set upon by Archie, is a tremendous comic foil, and Lucey played him for all he was worth. A simple five-­page story, “The Patient” (Archie’s Pals ’n Gals 42, October 1967), demonstrates the skills that Lucey was able to bring to even the slightest Archie story. “The Patient” is ostensibly the story of Archie repeatedly injuring himself at the Lodges’—­he skins his knee after tripping on a garden hose, and Veronica overreacts, dressing herself in a nurse’s uniform and Smithers as a surgeon. The heart of the piece is the reactions of Mr. Lodge. The genius of the piece lies in Lucey’s ability to carry that character through a rising and falling series of rage incidents. Across the five pages of the story, Mr. Lodge is depicted in twenty-­ one of the story’s twenty-­four panels. He is absent from the half-­ splash that opens the story (Archie trips on the hose, Veronica calls for Smithers to help) and is almost hidden in the only other first-­page panel, standing in the doorway as Archie is ushered into the house on a stretcher by Veronica and Smithers. Here we are given Mr. Lodge at rest, a surprised look on his face and a bend to his knees that makes the drawing lively and that echoes Archie’s pose on the stretcher, creating a slight equivalence between the two that suggests where the story is headed. The second page is a classic six-­panel grid (three tiers of two panels), the most common Archie page layout throughout the 1960s. Mr. Lodge appears in every panel. The first two panels are rests, though the first is more animated than the second. Mr. Lodge displays annoyance at the disruptive intrusion and complains about Veronica’s nursing fixation (“Since you got this nursing bug, this place looks like a hospital!”). The third panel is the payoff for the controlled annoyance of the first two—­as Veronica emerges in her nurse’s outfit, her exasperated father smacks his head in frustration. The rightward lean of his body carries the reader in the fourth panel, in which he storms

The rhythmic patterning of Mr. Lodge losing his mind. From Archie’s Pals ’n Gals 42 (1967).

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through the house in a Y-­shaped rage, his arms flung out to his sides, his head pointed toward the heavens. Here Lucey beautifully echoes Doyle’s dialogue, as the overreacting Mr. Lodge screams, “Extremes! Extremes! She never does anything in moderation!” The next panel, with Mr. Lodge in a full rage, pounding on his desk, sets up the final punch line on the page, the forward-­thrusting expression of shocked disbelief when Smithers enters the office in a full surgical gown and mask. Paying attention only to Mr. Lodge, the second page begins from a place of emotional calm and moves through three panels of escalating anger, only to be deflated by an expression of incredulity. Like the second page, page 3 is a six-­panel grid. Fuming now, Mr. Lodge storms out of his office in one of Lucey’s trademark depictions: shoulders hunched, arms straight downward, fists balled, a knee high to the chest, anger radiating in waves. This stomping is followed by a fist-­shaking exit (a pose commonly used by Dan DeCarlo for Mr. Lodge) and then a dramatic trip over Veronica’s oxygen tanks, which propels his body into a full diagonal fall. It is the fall that releases the dramatic tension established in the first two panels and on the previous page. The fourth panel depicts Mr. Lodge prostrate on the ground, incredulous—­a half rest. The fifth panel is the flip side of the second, Mr. Lodge passing through a door with his fists shaking above his head—­in musical terms, it is the same note struck a second time. The final image is another rest, as Mr. Lodge turns wide-­eyed to face the reader, caught off guard by Archie’s emotional outburst. It is the knowing, self-­referential look that is so common to acting. The third page, therefore, with its alternation of rages and rests is the deescalation of Mr. Lodge’s anger that builds to the look that he shares with the readers. The fourth page necessarily has to wind Mr. Lodge back up. It opens with a pensive pose, Mr. Lodge reflecting on the moment that he has shared with Archie, stroking his chin. His sudden realization that Archie is wearing his robe sets him in motion—­a dramatic pointing gesture that threatens to knock the boy backward and out of the panel. In the third panel, we return to the straight-­armed, shoulder-­ hunched, fist-­balled fuming of the previous page. With Mr. Lodge back at his desk, all is calm in the fourth panel, but the fifth, and final, panel echoes the final panel of page 2—­the shocked forward momentum of Mr. Lodge rising from his seat in disbelief, this time as Archie

H arr y Lu cey ’s R h yt hm  25

arrives in his office on a golf cart. This page allows the drama to abate so that it might be paid off at the end. The fifth and final page is an explosion of bodies. Mr. Lodge spikes his pen in a contortion of rage in the first panel and chases Archie from his house in a dramatic diagonal motion in the second. He is absent from the second tier, which depicts Archie once again tripping over the garden hose, and in the final page-­width panel at the bottom of the page, he fumes as Archie beats a hasty retreat—­his knees, as in the first image of him from page 1, slightly bent, but this time with his fists balled at his side. Focusing exclusively on Mr. Lodge, “The Patient” depicts a rise, fall, and rise of anger that concludes with a dynamic explosion of rage. In Lucey’s twenty-­one drawings of Mr. Lodge, he repeats Mr. Lodge’s pose only once—­and even that one instance is for dramatic effect, and he reverses the framing (the first depiction is of Mr. Lodge storming out of a room; the second shows him storming into another). Other poses slyly echo prior iterations of the character to provide uniformity across the length of the short story. No drawing of Mr. Lodge is wasted, and no opportunity to bring vitality and humor to his poses is passed up. Not every drawing of Mr. Lodge is inherently funny, but each page (except the first) provides at least one drawing in which Mr. Lodge’s body language is the punch line of a gag, and the third page contains two. Indeed, page 3, which opens with foot-­stomping rage and concludes with the knowing glance at the reader, is a marvel of layout and composition. Punch-­line drawings of Mr. Lodge appear in the first and sixth panels, Lucey provides echoing reverses in the second and fifth panels, and the third and fourth panels, which compose the middle tier, place him in a pair of horizontal poses that effectively bifurcate the page top and bottom. The entire page is a series of mirrors: the second panel and the fifth panel in particular are direct inversions of each other, as are the third and fourth panels. The humor of the first and sixth panels, which share a much more subtle mirroring, is amplified by the overall mise-­en-­page. In particular, the dramatic diagonal trajectory of Mr. Lodge’s leg in the first panel and his flailing arm in the third visually point to the stunned quietude of his facial expression in the sixth and final image on this page. Everything on the page works to pay off that particular sight gag. Of course, Mr. Lodge is not the sole character in the story. Attention

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can be paid to the variety of Veronica’s poses—­the arms akimbo running after Archie, the single raised finger that dismisses her father’s concerns, her careful concern for Archie’s well-­being, and the tremendous final drawing of her calling for Smithers a second time. Similarly, Archie’s pratfalls and dynamic running carry a great deal of humor as well. In the hands of a cartooning master such as Harry Lucey, we are reminded that comics have much more in common with the visual arts than they do with literature. As a story, “The Patient” is unbelievably minor. As a support for Lucey’s compositions, it is a marvel to behold.

VERONICA LODGE Like most of the other characters in Riverdale, Veronica Lodge is a mixture of character traits that are consistent and intrinsic to her portrayal (her wealth, most notably) and those that come and go depending on the needs of any given story. In Archie 165 (July 1966), for example, it is made clear that Veronica is a terrible cook, unable even to boil water. The same characterization can be found in a wide range of stories in the pages of Archie comics, but when she is called on to cook fudge in Betty and Veronica 105 (September 1964), she does so completely without incident (“Oh there’s nothing like a batch of fudge, to give a boy that final nudge,” she sings to herself as she prepares it). As the ability to cook is not central to her characterization at any given time, her proficiency comes and goes according to the whims of the creators. Other attributes are much more constant. Central to the portrayal of Veronica is her romantic relationship with Archie. In Betty and Veronica 76 (April 1962), Veronica realizes that she has the actual power to control Archie with the movement of her finger (“It must be that we’ve been close for so long! We’ve established some sort of mental telepathy between us!”)—­when she bends it, he bends; when she drums it on the tabletop, he bashes his head against the table. This power is never referred to again, of course, but it is a central metaphor in the depiction of their relationship as fundamentally one-­sided. In Archie 172 (April 1967), Archie is unable to stand up to Veronica when he is angry with her, because, as Jughead points out, “she has you too tightly wrapped around her finger,” and in the

26  T W E LVE- C ENT ARCH IE

can be paid to the variety of Veronica’s poses—­the arms akimbo running after Archie, the single raised finger that dismisses her father’s concerns, her careful concern for Archie’s well-­being, and the tremendous final drawing of her calling for Smithers a second time. Similarly, Archie’s pratfalls and dynamic running carry a great deal of humor as well. In the hands of a cartooning master such as Harry Lucey, we are reminded that comics have much more in common with the visual arts than they do with literature. As a story, “The Patient” is unbelievably minor. As a support for Lucey’s compositions, it is a marvel to behold.

VERONICA LODGE Like most of the other characters in Riverdale, Veronica Lodge is a mixture of character traits that are consistent and intrinsic to her portrayal (her wealth, most notably) and those that come and go depending on the needs of any given story. In Archie 165 (July 1966), for example, it is made clear that Veronica is a terrible cook, unable even to boil water. The same characterization can be found in a wide range of stories in the pages of Archie comics, but when she is called on to cook fudge in Betty and Veronica 105 (September 1964), she does so completely without incident (“Oh there’s nothing like a batch of fudge, to give a boy that final nudge,” she sings to herself as she prepares it). As the ability to cook is not central to her characterization at any given time, her proficiency comes and goes according to the whims of the creators. Other attributes are much more constant. Central to the portrayal of Veronica is her romantic relationship with Archie. In Betty and Veronica 76 (April 1962), Veronica realizes that she has the actual power to control Archie with the movement of her finger (“It must be that we’ve been close for so long! We’ve established some sort of mental telepathy between us!”)—­when she bends it, he bends; when she drums it on the tabletop, he bashes his head against the table. This power is never referred to again, of course, but it is a central metaphor in the depiction of their relationship as fundamentally one-­sided. In Archie 172 (April 1967), Archie is unable to stand up to Veronica when he is angry with her, because, as Jughead points out, “she has you too tightly wrapped around her finger,” and in the

Ve r oni ca Lo d ge   27

very next story, the point is driven home when Veronica tricks Archie into signing a legal document that permits any of the town’s boys to clobber him if he is ever seen with another girl—­which they do every time Betty stops to be friendly to him. Veronica is described by Archie as very possessive (“she’s even jealous of Jughead!” he tells Betty), and Betty tells Veronica in Betty and Veronica 88 (April 1963), “you treat him like a piece of cake Veronica Lodge, reluctant good girl. that you’re saving for a late snack!” The From Archie 187 (1968). asymmetrical nature of Veronica’s relationship to Archie—­he must always pursue her; she never has but to wave her finger in order to compel his presence at her side—­is crucial to the ongoing depiction of Veronica as coldly aloof and slightly cruel. This aspect of Veronica’s character is considerably heightened by her relationship to her best—­and often only—­friend, Betty Cooper. The essence of Veronica’s relationship to Betty is her disdain for her. Consider, for example, a scene in Life with Archie 84 (April 1969) in which Veronica complains that her father’s actions—­once again throwing Archie out of his house—­have cost her a date with Archie: Veronica: Oh Daddy, how could you? Now you’ve driven him right into the arms of that washed out blonde! Mr. Lodge: What washed out blonde? Veronica: My best friend, Betty, of course! How many washed out blondes do I know? Veronica’s central problem is that she hates the only friend that she has. Though she is immeasurably rich and Betty has comparatively little, Veronica conspires to destroy Betty’s new dresses whenever she buys or, more commonly, makes one. In Betty and Veronica 125 (May 1966), Veronica “accidentally” spills lemonade on Betty’s dress before her big date with Archie, and in the very next issue, she spills hot chocolate on Betty for the very same reason. The dress despoiling is such a recurrent theme involving Veronica that it was parodied in Betty and Veronica 126’s “Double Oh Lodge” (June 1966), in which Veronica

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is portrayed as having an elaborate computerized spy network whose sole purpose seems to be to destroy Betty’s clothing. Sending out commands to her henchmen by radio, her efforts to thwart Betty’s happiness are undermined by a mole in her operation—­her own father, who has provided Betty and Archie with the tools required to combat his daughter (“It’s not good for the balance of power if one side gets too strong!”). That Mr. Lodge is compelled to undermine his own daughter is indicative of the fact that in many of the Archie stories, Veronica is presented exclusively as a spoiled heiress. Her negative attitude is perfectly captured by the title “Devil Woman” (Betty and Veronica 105, September 1964), in which we learn that her only goal for a school day is to ruin everyone else’s day: she wears a new cashmere sweater only to make Betty feel self-­conscious for wearing simulated cashmere (“It’s nice of Betty to help me decide what to wear every morning,” she thinks to herself); when she spies Archie (“My own dear lover boy!” she thinks), she immediately asks Reggie to walk her to class so as to enrage him; she ruins Jughead’s lunch, and she sics Moose onto Reggie, all to please her own vanity and her own ego. Veronica’s character flaws stem from her outrageous wealth. As she herself explains to Betty in “Battle Lines” (Betty and Veronica 144, December 1967), “I’m rich! You’re poor! That makes me better than you!” The sheer scope of her wealth is depicted in Betty and Veronica 150 (June 1968), as she walks distractedly through her house, filled with its cinema, world-­class gymnasium, and indoor swimming pool, all of which leave her feeling unhappy and unfulfilled. The same story is essentially told again only two issues later, when Betty is given a tour of Lodge Manor when she comes to sleep over for the night (“You know, I think your room is the same distance from the stairs as my room is to Philadelphia,” Betty complains). It is the money that is the root of all of Veronica’s pathologies. In “The Men behind the Woman” (Laugh 200, November 1967), we learn that Veronica has an army of coaches and other professionals on constant hire to train her to be better than all of her friends at anything and everything. All of the traits essential to the characterization of Veronica—­the hypercontrolling attitude, the intolerance of others, and her desire to win at all costs—­are shorthand for the spoiled heiress that she is. Her atypicality is both a function of class privilege in a fictional

Ri v erdal e, US A   29

world in which class otherwise does not exist and an indictment of that privilege at a time when middle-­class privilege was beginning to be naturalized for the first time. Veronica is the residual product of a backward time in American culture before the golden age of bucolic suburbanism. That Betty is more popular with readers than Veronica is a reflection of the shift from the unattainable-­goddess version of American womanhood that was common to the popular culture of the Depression era to the all-­American girl next door that supplanted it in the 1960s and 1970s.

RIVERDALE, USA Where is Riverdale? When a television show produces a program depicting life “inside teen-­age America” in Life with Archie 23 (October 1963), newscaster Hink Brinkley tells his viewers, “We travelled from north to south . . . from east to west . . . To find a typical community . . . and in that community, a typical teen-­ager! And finally we found it . . . Riverdale, U.S.A.!” while in “Dullsville” (Archie 153, March 1965), Archie bemoans the fact that “nothing ever happens in Riverdale!” an observation that is belied by the events of the story (which occur unnoticed by our titular lead) as well as by the cumulative events that structure the Archie series as a whole. Like Springfield in The Simpsons, Riverdale is the product of no particular state in the Union. When the gang takes a field trip to the United Nations building in New York (Archie Giant Series 29, December 1964), it is only a three-­hour drive, while at other times, New York is a destination to which they have to fly (for example, Archie and Me 14, April 1967). Founded by General Mossbunker (Betty and Veronica 126, June 1966), Riverdale is a medium-­sized city or perhaps a suburb of a larger city. Like most things in Archie comics, the facts about it cannot be easily reconciled. It is clear that Riverdale is located in a region that has four distinct seasons ranging from the very warm in the summer to extremely snowy in the winter. Indeed, it must be in a snow belt given the enormous piles of snow accumulation that are regularly featured in winter-­set stories. It is on or extremely proximate to the ocean, because the gang frequently drives to La Goona Beach to go swimming and surfing. It is also on a lake, as the Lodges have a lake

Ri v erdal e, US A   29

world in which class otherwise does not exist and an indictment of that privilege at a time when middle-­class privilege was beginning to be naturalized for the first time. Veronica is the residual product of a backward time in American culture before the golden age of bucolic suburbanism. That Betty is more popular with readers than Veronica is a reflection of the shift from the unattainable-­goddess version of American womanhood that was common to the popular culture of the Depression era to the all-­American girl next door that supplanted it in the 1960s and 1970s.

RIVERDALE, USA Where is Riverdale? When a television show produces a program depicting life “inside teen-­age America” in Life with Archie 23 (October 1963), newscaster Hink Brinkley tells his viewers, “We travelled from north to south . . . from east to west . . . To find a typical community . . . and in that community, a typical teen-­ager! And finally we found it . . . Riverdale, U.S.A.!” while in “Dullsville” (Archie 153, March 1965), Archie bemoans the fact that “nothing ever happens in Riverdale!” an observation that is belied by the events of the story (which occur unnoticed by our titular lead) as well as by the cumulative events that structure the Archie series as a whole. Like Springfield in The Simpsons, Riverdale is the product of no particular state in the Union. When the gang takes a field trip to the United Nations building in New York (Archie Giant Series 29, December 1964), it is only a three-­hour drive, while at other times, New York is a destination to which they have to fly (for example, Archie and Me 14, April 1967). Founded by General Mossbunker (Betty and Veronica 126, June 1966), Riverdale is a medium-­sized city or perhaps a suburb of a larger city. Like most things in Archie comics, the facts about it cannot be easily reconciled. It is clear that Riverdale is located in a region that has four distinct seasons ranging from the very warm in the summer to extremely snowy in the winter. Indeed, it must be in a snow belt given the enormous piles of snow accumulation that are regularly featured in winter-­set stories. It is on or extremely proximate to the ocean, because the gang frequently drives to La Goona Beach to go swimming and surfing. It is also on a lake, as the Lodges have a lake

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house where they store their various boats. That lake is possibly connected to the river that gives the town its name. Surprisingly, given the name Riverdale, the river is not an important landmark, and, indeed, it is only very occasionally mentioned and even more rarely depicted. It cannot be a very important river, as it is never named and, as we learn in Betty and Veronica 159 (March 1969), it is not dammed. The town is alternately surrounded by vast forests, by farmland, by rolling hills, and by mountains. Indeed, a ski hill is located close to the town, perhaps no further than the beach. The town does have an airport or is at least close to one in a neighboring city, as the gang frequently flies away for exotic adventures. Riverdale, apparently, has no churches, or at least none of them are ever depicted in the stories featured in the twelve-­cent era. The key to the narrative functioning of Riverdale is not the idea that it might be an actual place but rather that it could be any place. The few attempts to depict maps of the town are completely contradictory, and the distance between any two points—­say, Archie’s house and Veronica’s house—­is constantly shifting. Does Archie need to pass by Veronica’s on his way to Riverdale High? It depends on the needs of the story. Neither the architecture nor the urban plan is fixed in any way. In his 1887 book Gemeinschaft und Gesellschaft, German sociologist Ferdinand Tönnies defined Gemeinschaft as a society in which social ties are bound by personal relationships and simple social structures, where direct loyalty outweighs the indirect social control of governmental institutions. This is precisely the case in Riverdale. In Gemeinschaft, the town is an extension of the family, a space in which everyone is known to everyone else, and behavior is regulated in that way. Thus, when Hink Brinkley looks for the typical American teen in the typical American town, even strangers on the street are able to recommend Archie Andrews to him, because everyone is familiar with the boy and his antics. Socially, Riverdale is exceptionally homogeneous. There are virtually no people of color in the entire town and very few who are not at least middle class. While stratification does exist in class terms—­a point is repeatedly made that the Andrewses do not belong to the same country club as do the Lodges and the Mantles—­ there are only upper-­and middle-­class individuals in Riverdale. While laborers are shown to exist in Riverdale, it is not clear that they actually live there. In most ways, Riverdale is the bucolic suburban utopia

Th e D a i ly St rip   31

of the 1960s, in which social divisions—­particularly those brought about by racial difference—­do not exist. Riverdale in the 1960s was a wish-­dream of white privilege and normative sexualities, where all difference could be banished and where opportunities were eternally endless.

THE DAILY STRIP Archie was introduced to comic-­book readers in the December 1941 issue of Pep Comics. That first story was created by Bob Montana, an artist only a few years older than the characters whose adventures he was chronicling. Born in 1920, Montana was one of hundreds of young and hungry freelancers who populated the art schools of New York in the early 1940s and sought work in the fledgling comic-­book industry. After producing work for True Comics and Fox Comics, among the least reputable and lowest paying of the publishers in the industry, Montana was asked to create a high school story and created Archie and his gang when he was only twenty-­one years old. When the story was a success, he was subsequently assigned the first issue of Archie (November 1942), and his career was on a roll. Interrupted by the Second World War, during which time Montana worked in New Jersey for the Army Signal Corps, he returned to Archie Comics and was chosen to take on the creative duties for the Archie daily and Sunday comic strips that were launched by syndicator King Features in 1947. Eventually appearing in more than 750 newspapers around the world, Montana’s version of the characters was in many ways the version with which American readers were most familiar. Despite the fact that Archie Comics sold millions of copies every month, many more millions of readers consumed the daily four-­panel gag strip, allowing Montana to define the characters that he had initially created. Montana was the writer-­artist for the Archie newspaper strip from 1947 until his death from a heart attack in 1975, at which time Dan DeCarlo, then the preeminent Archie Comics artist, replaced him. Constrained by the spatial limitations of the daily newspaper strip, Montana pushed the Archie universe in directions that were quite different from the comic books. While the best comic-­book stories tended to rely on the superb slapstick drawing of artists such as Harry

Th e D a i ly St rip   31

of the 1960s, in which social divisions—­particularly those brought about by racial difference—­do not exist. Riverdale in the 1960s was a wish-­dream of white privilege and normative sexualities, where all difference could be banished and where opportunities were eternally endless.

THE DAILY STRIP Archie was introduced to comic-­book readers in the December 1941 issue of Pep Comics. That first story was created by Bob Montana, an artist only a few years older than the characters whose adventures he was chronicling. Born in 1920, Montana was one of hundreds of young and hungry freelancers who populated the art schools of New York in the early 1940s and sought work in the fledgling comic-­book industry. After producing work for True Comics and Fox Comics, among the least reputable and lowest paying of the publishers in the industry, Montana was asked to create a high school story and created Archie and his gang when he was only twenty-­one years old. When the story was a success, he was subsequently assigned the first issue of Archie (November 1942), and his career was on a roll. Interrupted by the Second World War, during which time Montana worked in New Jersey for the Army Signal Corps, he returned to Archie Comics and was chosen to take on the creative duties for the Archie daily and Sunday comic strips that were launched by syndicator King Features in 1947. Eventually appearing in more than 750 newspapers around the world, Montana’s version of the characters was in many ways the version with which American readers were most familiar. Despite the fact that Archie Comics sold millions of copies every month, many more millions of readers consumed the daily four-­panel gag strip, allowing Montana to define the characters that he had initially created. Montana was the writer-­artist for the Archie newspaper strip from 1947 until his death from a heart attack in 1975, at which time Dan DeCarlo, then the preeminent Archie Comics artist, replaced him. Constrained by the spatial limitations of the daily newspaper strip, Montana pushed the Archie universe in directions that were quite different from the comic books. While the best comic-­book stories tended to rely on the superb slapstick drawing of artists such as Harry

32  T W E LVE- C ENT ARCH IE

Lucey and Samm Schwartz, Montana relied more on verbal elements. While he is justifiably celebrated in the history of comics for his varied layouts and his superb characterization through body language, it was the pacing of his gags that set him apart from many of his peers on the newspaper page. His most important contribution to the history of the American comic strip was his ability to exploit a potentially unwieldy cast and his willingness to let his characters bump up against one another. Unlike the vast majority of newspaper strips, which were seemingly obligated to feature the lead characters on a daily basis, Montana had no qualms about turning the spotlight on secondary or even tertiary characters. Those who remember Archie as little more than a love triangle involving the titular lead with the vixenish Veronica and the bubbly Betty would be surprised to see how little of a role that romance actually played in the dailies. Restricted to a series of four-­panel daily gags, Montana was still able to extract considerable value from the format. The relatively large Archie cast was particularly well suited to the gag-­a-­day format. The strip is not so much about Archie as it is about the interaction of all those characters that exist in his orbit. Montana bounces from pairings such as Jughead and Miss Grundy to Betty and Pop Tate without batting an eye. Unusual pairings are provocative—­none more so than the regularly recurring duo of Mr. Weatherbee and Miss Beazley, a character that Montana frequently relied on even while she was virtually absent from the comic-­book series. Like the setup, the gags themselves are highly classical and traditional. Montana largely eschewed topical references in his work (even Christmas is allowed to pass without notice) as a way to home in on character-­driven humor. He boiled the Archie style to its core elements.

A typical gag by Bob Montana from the Archie daily newspaper strip. From Archie (1963).

Footnote   33

Despite the incredible accomplishments of Montana’s many Archie heirs on the monthly comic books, it was the daily strip that remained the most distilled essence of the characters. For thirty years, Montana crafted a quintessential image of the bucolic life of the American teenager. Day after day, gag after gag, he refined the Archie style to its essence, providing a counterpoint to the Archie comic books that featured longer, more visually oriented storytelling. Montana’s work occasionally landed itself in the comic books—­most frequently when his gags were colored and rerun in Archie’s Joke Book or as filler in the other titles—­where it sat unevenly with the comic-­book version of the character. The differences between newspaper comics and comic books were so stark during the twelve-­cent era—­newspaper strips being so much more financially lucrative and, therefore, aesthetically cautious—­that the strip and the comic books are as dissimilar as they are the same.

FOOTNOTE Forced to observe Betty and Veronica waiting on Archie hand and foot all day after they lose a bet to him about the population of Peru1 in Laugh 162 (September 1964), Mr. Lodge attempts to drive Archie away from his backyard pool by spiking his hamburger with hot sauce. As per narrative dictates, Mr. Lodge receives his comeuppance when he drinks a glass of lemonade that has been prepared by the girls with alum. A footnote in the final panel explains that alum is an “astringent to contract or draw together organic tissues.” The presence of this note, whose sole purpose is to explain the sight gag in the panel in which it appears, speaks to the generation gap that existed between Archie’s creators and his audience. The ingestion of alum, causing the mouth to severely pucker, was a staple of gag-­reel comedies of the 1920s and 1930s and persisted in Looney Tunes—­particularly those featuring Sylvester Cat and Tweety Bird—­into the 1940s, but by 1964, it was clearly considered too hoary a joke to be sensible to a predominantly preteen readership. Both the book that you are currently reading and the entire run of Archie comics produced in the twelve-­cent era share in common the fact that they contain but one footnote. 1. The population of Peru in 1964 was 11,272,000.

Footnote   33

Despite the incredible accomplishments of Montana’s many Archie heirs on the monthly comic books, it was the daily strip that remained the most distilled essence of the characters. For thirty years, Montana crafted a quintessential image of the bucolic life of the American teenager. Day after day, gag after gag, he refined the Archie style to its essence, providing a counterpoint to the Archie comic books that featured longer, more visually oriented storytelling. Montana’s work occasionally landed itself in the comic books—­most frequently when his gags were colored and rerun in Archie’s Joke Book or as filler in the other titles—­where it sat unevenly with the comic-­book version of the character. The differences between newspaper comics and comic books were so stark during the twelve-­cent era—­newspaper strips being so much more financially lucrative and, therefore, aesthetically cautious—­that the strip and the comic books are as dissimilar as they are the same.

FOOTNOTE Forced to observe Betty and Veronica waiting on Archie hand and foot all day after they lose a bet to him about the population of Peru1 in Laugh 162 (September 1964), Mr. Lodge attempts to drive Archie away from his backyard pool by spiking his hamburger with hot sauce. As per narrative dictates, Mr. Lodge receives his comeuppance when he drinks a glass of lemonade that has been prepared by the girls with alum. A footnote in the final panel explains that alum is an “astringent to contract or draw together organic tissues.” The presence of this note, whose sole purpose is to explain the sight gag in the panel in which it appears, speaks to the generation gap that existed between Archie’s creators and his audience. The ingestion of alum, causing the mouth to severely pucker, was a staple of gag-­reel comedies of the 1920s and 1930s and persisted in Looney Tunes—­particularly those featuring Sylvester Cat and Tweety Bird—­into the 1940s, but by 1964, it was clearly considered too hoary a joke to be sensible to a predominantly preteen readership. Both the book that you are currently reading and the entire run of Archie comics produced in the twelve-­cent era share in common the fact that they contain but one footnote. 1. The population of Peru in 1964 was 11,272,000.

34  T W E LVE- C ENT ARCH IE

“WHY IS IT ALWAYS BETWEEN ARCHIE AND REGGIE?” One of the most striking narrative elements of the twelve-­cent Archies is that each and every story is set in the eternal present. Provided with characters that need never age, mature, grow, learn, or develop in any manner, Archie’s creators opted to begin every story in the here and now. Few of the stories are strictly “entry level,” as almost every story created in the 1960s assumes a reader’s knowledge of at least the basic biographical details of the characters and their relationships. Nonetheless, each story can be understood by a first-­time reader, and no story has a lasting effect on any other. There are no consequences in the Archie universe beyond the last panel of any story. The characters are devoid of memories, and as a result, there is no need to make stories align with each other. Given a readership that is assumed to be fleeting, certain plots are endlessly recycled, and even certain gags are allowed to recur. If the members of the Archie gang are sixteen in 1968, it does not matter that they were also sixteen in 1962 because, from the point of view of the latter story, there has never been a 1962. Every first panel is the only first panel. Given the ability of certain narrative elements to generate a wide range of plots, several are returned to constantly and cause tremendous contradictions for those who would seek to impose a continuity on the Archie stories. Few story ideas solidify the recursivity of Archie so much as the election of a new class president. Archie’s eternal present is cemented by the fact that in the seven and a half years that constitute the twelve-­cent era, Riverdale High holds at least nine elections for student council president. The commonplace nature of this endless campaigning is itself the subject of a winking joke in Life with Archie 85 (May 1969), when Reggie suggests to Archie, “I guess it will be between you and me again.” Indeed, during the 1960s, Archie and Reggie squared off for this position no fewer than five times. A brief history of the battle for the Riverdale High student council presidency illustrates the productive nature of the story kernel: 1962: In Betty and Veronica 84 (December 1962), both girls decide to support Archie in his floundering campaign. Veronica opts to beguile all the boys into backing Archie, which alienates all their

“W h y I s It A lwa ys b et ween A rch ie a nd Reggie?”   35

girlfriends, leading to a halt on dating for which Archie is blamed by the boys. Betty takes another approach, seeking to win the support of key opinion leaders around the school, including sorority queen Midge. Midge’s support for Archie leads Big Moose to jump to the wrong conclusions, resulting in a badly battered Archie. 1963: Reggie seemingly has Archie defeated in Archie 135 (March 1963), only to fall victim to one of the most moralizing conclusions ever to appear in an Archie story. Archie’s position that the student body should be “well represented” proves to be no match for Reggie’s popular promises—­carpeted halls, cola in the water fountains. In the end, Archie is elected unanimously (“Even Reggie didn’t vote for Reggie!” Jughead tells Archie) because while everyone had “a wing-­ding” on Reggie’s campaign, when you leave the students alone, “they usually come up with the right answer!” 1964: The rematch between Archie and Reggie is off and running in Archie’s Pals ’n Gals 31 (Winter 1965), but Betty and Veronica are this time reluctant to choose between the two of them. When they enter Jughead as a write-­in candidate without his knowledge, he wins in a landslide, only to reject the office that the student body has thrust upon him. When Mr. Weatherbee is forced to void the election, the story resumes from the beginning, with Betty and Veronica fuming while Archie and Reggie campaign. 1965: Passed, for whatever reason, without an election. 1966: Seemingly to pick up the forgotten 1965 campaign, 1966 saw two elections held at Riverdale High. The first, documented in Pep 191 (March 1966), finds Betty nominating Veronica for class president, to the bewilderment of Archie, who cannot imagine a girl even wanting the office (“Girls aren’t leaders! They just don’t how to get things done!”). Met with banners and placards denouncing his sexist attitudes, Archie agrees not to stand in the way. Responding to his decent gesture, Betty and Veronica decide that he would make a good class president and concede the race to him. Masculine hegemony is restored. Meanwhile, in Archie and Me 8 (June 1966), an unusual four-­part book-­length story charts the epic third election contested by Archie and Reggie. When Betty misses the vote due to illness, and when the election results in a tie, she is compelled to make the final decision—­and she hands Reggie another disappointing defeat.

36  T W E LVE- C ENT ARCH IE

1967: In Reggie and Me 25 (August 1967), Reggie seeks his revenge by trying to discredit Archie in his role as student council president, only to be undone when his plan is revealed to the entire school by Jughead. 1968: The fourth contest between Archie and Reggie looks grim for the redhead, with Reggie offering everything but the kitchen sink in Laugh 205 (April 1968). When campaign manager Jughead rebrands Archie as “the candidate of love,” offering a matchmaking service for every voter, he is undone by Big Ethel’s demands for a date with Jughead. With Archie revealed as a politician who repudiates his own promises, his candidacy is scuttled, while Jughead is drafted by the student body because, in refusing to date Ethel even if it would have guaranteed the election for his best friend, he proved that he had the courage of his (woman-­hating) convictions. 1969: The fifth and final election between Archie and Reggie hits a pothole when Veronica again throws her hat in the ring in Life with Archie 85 (May 1969). When Jughead observes that Veronica would never date someone who ran against her, both boys try to back out of the contest, but Archie is picked by his class to stay in. Archie realizes that his romantic life is dependent on the acclamation of Veronica, so he convinces everyone in school to vote for her—­including her campaign manager, Betty, who only agrees on the condition that Archie take her out on a date. Typically, in the end, Veronica loses by winning as she watches her boyfriend disappear with her campaign manager on the evening of her greatest triumph. The Riverdale High student council elections are replete with contradictions: Jughead is both willing and unwilling to hold the office; Veronica is both interested and uninterested in running against Archie; Archie is both the default selection (in Pep 156 (August 1962), he is referred to as class president even though he has yet to be elected) and the dark-­horse candidate. In a narrative universe that lacks both past and future, the eternal present allows each of the annual elections to be the only election. The subtle shifts in characterization do not imply growth so much as they posit unique narrative realities that begin each time from scratch, the contradictions not a flaw in the system but rather the unique element that allows the apparatus to function at all.

A rch ie’s J alopy  37

ARCHIE’S JALOPY Throughout the 1960s, Archie’s jalopy functioned as a metonym for the character himself and his endearing but occasionally calamitous nature. The car generates endless story possibilities because it is constantly broken down, breaking down, or recently repaired. When it is hit by a missile in an issue of Jughead (88, September 1962), it remains undamaged, on the pretense that it was already a wreck, and when Archie is pulled over by traffic police, his simple question “Was I speeding?” causes the officers to engage in a full page of fitful laughing before they return to him the parts that had fallen off onto the road. The trade-­in value is perpetually the value of the gas in the tank. A two-­page feature in Archie Annual 20 (1968) outlined the “authentic” attributes of Archie’s jalopy without noting a make or model. Arrows on the diagram note that “real black smoke comes out of the exhaust” and that all four tires are “threadbare and guaranteed to go flat.” The jalopy itself is something of a mys- The breakdown of Archie’s broken-­down jalopy. From Archie tery car. Always red, Annual 20 (1968).

38  T W E LVE- C ENT ARCH IE

always a four-­door, and always a convertible, little else about it is consistent across time and titles. In Pep 172 (August 1964), it is identified by a car dealer at the Centerville antique show as a “perfect specimen” of the 1927 Model T Ford touring car, but just twenty-­nine issues later, in Pep 201 (January 1967), Mr. Lodge borrows the car from Archie to win a $500 prize with “this genuine 1916 Model A.” Mr. Lodge was presumably disappointed to lose the contest, as Ford did not manufacture a Model A until 1927, the last year that it produced the Model T that the antique dealer so dearly craved.

IT’S AS EASY AS A-­B-­V Even the most casual readers of Archie comics know that the central organizing tension of the series is the long-­established love triangle between Archie, Betty, and Veronica. The centrality of this motif is encapsulated in the most celebrated Archie cover image: Bob Montana’s “three on a straw” (Archie Annual 4, 1952), which depicts the trio drinking from a single soda. This cover locates the principal dramatic tension in the entire series: whom will Archie choose? Betty or Veronica? Yet, in the twelve-­cent era of the 1960s, at the very least, the centrality of this premise was nothing more than a myth. Stories depicting Archie torn between Veronica and Betty are exceedingly rare, not simply because the creators found other tales to occupy the pages of the magazines but because there is no genuine love triangle to depict. Let me be perfectly clear: throughout the 1960s, Archie is not torn between the brunette and the blonde; rather, he is engaged in a long-­term relationship with Veronica that Betty is constantly attempting to disrupt (often, it should be noted, with great success). This is not a relationship between equal rivals but an asymmetrical tale of love challenged by an interloper. The vast preponderance of evidence in the twelve-­cent period points to the fact that Archie and Veronica have a regular, ongoing—­ if highly vexed—­romantic relationship. No less than three separate stories in the 1960s depict Archie and Veronica making the decision to “go steady.” “Successful Failure” (Pep 181, May 1965) finds Veronica forsaking all others (“especially Reggie!”) and announcing that the couple is now an official item. Archie, with a trio of hearts haloing his

38  T W E LVE- C ENT ARCH IE

always a four-­door, and always a convertible, little else about it is consistent across time and titles. In Pep 172 (August 1964), it is identified by a car dealer at the Centerville antique show as a “perfect specimen” of the 1927 Model T Ford touring car, but just twenty-­nine issues later, in Pep 201 (January 1967), Mr. Lodge borrows the car from Archie to win a $500 prize with “this genuine 1916 Model A.” Mr. Lodge was presumably disappointed to lose the contest, as Ford did not manufacture a Model A until 1927, the last year that it produced the Model T that the antique dealer so dearly craved.

IT’S AS EASY AS A-­B-­V Even the most casual readers of Archie comics know that the central organizing tension of the series is the long-­established love triangle between Archie, Betty, and Veronica. The centrality of this motif is encapsulated in the most celebrated Archie cover image: Bob Montana’s “three on a straw” (Archie Annual 4, 1952), which depicts the trio drinking from a single soda. This cover locates the principal dramatic tension in the entire series: whom will Archie choose? Betty or Veronica? Yet, in the twelve-­cent era of the 1960s, at the very least, the centrality of this premise was nothing more than a myth. Stories depicting Archie torn between Veronica and Betty are exceedingly rare, not simply because the creators found other tales to occupy the pages of the magazines but because there is no genuine love triangle to depict. Let me be perfectly clear: throughout the 1960s, Archie is not torn between the brunette and the blonde; rather, he is engaged in a long-­term relationship with Veronica that Betty is constantly attempting to disrupt (often, it should be noted, with great success). This is not a relationship between equal rivals but an asymmetrical tale of love challenged by an interloper. The vast preponderance of evidence in the twelve-­cent period points to the fact that Archie and Veronica have a regular, ongoing—­ if highly vexed—­romantic relationship. No less than three separate stories in the 1960s depict Archie and Veronica making the decision to “go steady.” “Successful Failure” (Pep 181, May 1965) finds Veronica forsaking all others (“especially Reggie!”) and announcing that the couple is now an official item. Archie, with a trio of hearts haloing his

I t ’s a s Ea sy a s A- B­ -­V   39

head, insists that this is what he had “always wanted!” though the relationship quickly fizzles when Veronica begins to micromanage every element of his life. In “That’s All” (Pep 198, October 1966), Veronica again announces that the couple are “going steady.” This time it causes Archie to panic, worrying that they are too young to tie themselves down. In the end, they break up and plan to celebrate by seeing a movie together that night and going to the dance the next night. Meanwhile, Archie Giant Series 148 (November 1967) reprints one of the few Archie stories written almost entirely without punch lines or gags. This very special Archie story, “Is He Ready to Go Steady?” finds Archie, now with seven hearts surrounding his rapturous face, announcing that he and Veronica “have finally decided to go steady.” When Reggie and Jughead shake his conviction in the rightness of his decision, he seeks the advice of his father, who advises him, “in my day we moved a lot slower about these things.” When Archie decides that he is actually too young for such an important commitment, he tries to break the news to Veronica, who preempts him with her revelation that she has reached the same decision (“I’m very fond of you Archiekins—­I sort of like the idea of going steady! But I decided I’m just not ready for it, yet! Not mature enough, maybe!”). Here Archie Comics adopts the tone of midcentury moralizers who frowned on “going steady” because it was feared that it would lead to sex. Teenagers were encouraged to “play the field” as a way of keeping them from getting too narrowly focused on one possible partner. As the idea of sex with love became acceptable among young people in the early 1960s, popular culture was forced to struggle with this idea, and Archie Comics did so by unequivocally rejecting it. Significantly, while every story depicting Archie and Veronica’s decision to go steady concludes with the couple undoing their commitment, there is only one story in the 1960s in which Archie and Betty make a similar decision. In “The Challenge” (Betty and Veronica 120, December 1965), Veronica announces that she has everything in life that she could ever want and, thus, is bored—­there are no challenges left for her to confront and overcome. To solve this crisis, Archie reluctantly agrees to go steady with Betty (“Well, okay, but I’m not sure if I like this idea!”) so that Veronica will have to break them up—­something that she has absolutely no trouble doing. This story, in which the clever Betty has no genuine chance of separating Riverdale’s

40  T W E LVE- C ENT ARCH IE

supercouple, is indicative of the trio’s relationship throughout the decade. Indeed, there is an abundance of material that suggests that Archie has no significant romantic investment in Betty at all. In Pep 224 (December 1968), he tells Betty that she is his “true blue loyal friend,” and worse, in Betty and Me 11 (December 1967), he says, “ol’ Betty’s like a sister to me!” If these verbal revelations were not bad enough for readers pulling for an Archie and Betty coupling, the situation runs deep with further examples of Betty being dumped on by the man of her dreams. In Laugh 133 (April 1962), Archie is accidentally given a truth serum by a doctor. Wandering the streets, he is led to insult Jughead’s appalling appetites and the miserable color of Veronica’s new dress, but when Veronica suggests that he take out Betty if he finds the dress so unpleasing, he responds with the brutal truth: “I only go out with Betty when I can’t get you! I can date her anytime!” Similarly, in Betty and Me 9 (August 1967), Reggie and Betty seek to brainwash the happy couple into falling for them. Reggie and Betty are successful in their use of psychology: Archie admits that his true love is now Betty and promptly begins addressing Veronica as Betty. On a date with Betty in Archie’s Joke Book 64 (August 1962), Archie wins a wish from a wishbone, and Betty is instantly transformed into Veronica. The examples run on forever. Betty is, as a caption in Betty and Veronica 142 (October 1967) calls her, “a losing girl.” While it is true throughout the 1960s that both Veronica and Betty are in love with Archie, it is equally true that he is predominantly faithful to his true love, Veronica. The erroneous misconception that the Archie stories involve a love triangle stems from three different factors. First, and most importantly, Veronica is a terrible girlfriend to Archie. As he himself notes, virtually all his dates with Betty are the direct result of his inability to get a date with Veronica, generally because she has opted for Reggie or another wealthy rival simply to make Archie jealous. It is Veronica herself who constantly opens the door to the possibility of an Archie-­Betty pairing through her own manipulations. Second, Betty’s desire to win Archie’s heart is absolutely central to her characterization and motivation. As Archie is often the only thing that she ever thinks about, stories centered on Betty propel the possibility of the love triangle to the heart of the narrative, often providing the illusion of equality between the girls where it does not actually exist. Third,

U nite d G i rl s Ag a inst Jug he ad  41

the Archie Comics creators do, in point of fact, begin to shift the stories toward greater balance by the end of the decade. The fact that Archie Comics launched a Betty and Me title in 1965, with no equivalent title for Veronica, indicates that it saw Betty as a character with a stronger attraction for its readership. By the summer of 1968, right at the very end of the twelve-­cent era, the scales began to shift ever so slightly toward parity in the fight for Archie. “Hard Choice,” in Archie 184 (August 1968), is the first Archie story of the period to depict the decision of whom to invite to the dance as a genuine fist-­pounding-­ the-­walls-­in-­frustration conflict (“You’re both such wonderful girls that I couldn’t decide between you!” Archie tells them after he opts to go dateless to the dance). A mere two issues later, we learn that Archie has a flip photo frame on his dresser with each girl on opposite sides. As Archie Comics moved into the 1970s, the love triangle began to occupy a position of greater prominence, rising over time to become the central animating element in the storytelling that has become nearly synonymous with the franchise. Yet this is a late development in the history of the characters. During the twelve-­cent era, the battle for Archie’s affections was always one-­sided.

UNITED GIRLS AGAINST JUGHEAD Jughead possesses two personality traits that are most commonly used as story prompts—­his unappeasable appetite and his utter contempt for romance. It was the latter that was the subject of an ongoing concern in the pages of Jughead throughout the entire range of the 1960s. In a half dozen stories from 1962 through to 1968, readers are introduced to the machinations of United Girls Against Jughead (UGAJ), a secret society dedicated to the eradication of “Jugheadism.” When a red thumbtack is placed in the upper right corner of the “Keep Off the Grass” sign in the park, UGAJ meets. Concerned that Jughead’s attitude might spread to the other boys, UGAJ tries to lure him into female companionship through the use of food and, in Jughead 134 (July 1966), even uses a sophisticated propaganda campaign to combat his antidating ideology. While a running story prompt such as UGAJ is not entirely unusual in the pages of Archie, what is out of the ordinary is the fact that some late UGAJ stories

U nite d G i rl s Ag a inst Jug he ad  41

the Archie Comics creators do, in point of fact, begin to shift the stories toward greater balance by the end of the decade. The fact that Archie Comics launched a Betty and Me title in 1965, with no equivalent title for Veronica, indicates that it saw Betty as a character with a stronger attraction for its readership. By the summer of 1968, right at the very end of the twelve-­cent era, the scales began to shift ever so slightly toward parity in the fight for Archie. “Hard Choice,” in Archie 184 (August 1968), is the first Archie story of the period to depict the decision of whom to invite to the dance as a genuine fist-­pounding-­ the-­walls-­in-­frustration conflict (“You’re both such wonderful girls that I couldn’t decide between you!” Archie tells them after he opts to go dateless to the dance). A mere two issues later, we learn that Archie has a flip photo frame on his dresser with each girl on opposite sides. As Archie Comics moved into the 1970s, the love triangle began to occupy a position of greater prominence, rising over time to become the central animating element in the storytelling that has become nearly synonymous with the franchise. Yet this is a late development in the history of the characters. During the twelve-­cent era, the battle for Archie’s affections was always one-­sided.

UNITED GIRLS AGAINST JUGHEAD Jughead possesses two personality traits that are most commonly used as story prompts—­his unappeasable appetite and his utter contempt for romance. It was the latter that was the subject of an ongoing concern in the pages of Jughead throughout the entire range of the 1960s. In a half dozen stories from 1962 through to 1968, readers are introduced to the machinations of United Girls Against Jughead (UGAJ), a secret society dedicated to the eradication of “Jugheadism.” When a red thumbtack is placed in the upper right corner of the “Keep Off the Grass” sign in the park, UGAJ meets. Concerned that Jughead’s attitude might spread to the other boys, UGAJ tries to lure him into female companionship through the use of food and, in Jughead 134 (July 1966), even uses a sophisticated propaganda campaign to combat his antidating ideology. While a running story prompt such as UGAJ is not entirely unusual in the pages of Archie, what is out of the ordinary is the fact that some late UGAJ stories

42  T W E LVE- C ENT ARCH IE

The thwarted schemes of United Girls Against Jughead. From Archie’s Pal Jughead 119 (1965).

refer to earlier ones. “Scheme Supreme” (Jughead 154, March 1968), for instance, refers directly to two earlier UGAJ stories when Betty reminds the girls of past attempts to win Jughead over to the cause of romance. Particularly noteworthy is the callback to “Pardon My Computer” (Jughead 119, April 1965). In that story, UGAJ attempts to find the perfect mate for Jughead by using a computer, which, of course, explodes under the stress of the impossible task. Not only does Betty cite this failure in “Scheme Supreme,” but the art used is a direct copy of the art from the earlier issue, complete with the unspooling data tape reels and the computer’s pained final printout, “I give up!” Unlike the Marvel Comics of the era, no editorial footnote directs the reader to where the story might be found. This is a degree

A rch ie G ia nt S er ies   43

of continuity higher than any other found in Archie comics of the period. While Betty’s flashback could be read as simply a stand-­alone part of the story (it is sufficiently self-­explanatory to function as its own punch line), for readers familiar with the story from three years earlier, it is the rarest moment of continuity that can be found in any Archie comic of this period.

ARCHIE GIANT SERIES Launched in 1954 as an annual oversized Christmas issue, in 1960 Archie Giant Series became a regular quarterly publication that would change its title in rotation: Katy Keene followed by Betty and Veronica Summer Spectacular followed by World of Jughead followed by Around the World with Archie and eventually others. The title has one of the most unusual publishing histories of any Archie Comics release, as it twice mysteriously altered its numbering. One hundred issues of the comic went missing when the numbering jumped from 35 directly to 136 in 1965, and when the title was reduced from its giant size to a regular thirty-­two-­page comic in 1976, it leapt another two hundred issues, moving from 251 to 452 in the space of one month. As early as 1966, Archie Giant Series became a place for reprinting older Archie stories, a practice that had, until that point in time, been largely limited by the publisher. The three issues that constituted Samm Schwartz’s tragically short-­lived title Jughead’s Fantasy from the fall of 1960 were reprinted in their entirety in Archie Giant Series 136 (November 1965) and 143 (November 1966). The gap between original stories and reprints narrowed considerably as time went by. “The Looker,” a Captain Hero story originally appearing in March 1966 in Life with Archie, was reprinted in October of the same year in Archie Giant Series 142. Certain issues of Archie Giant Series contained nothing but pinups, with the pace of reprinting accelerating to a ridiculous level in Archie Giant Series 32 (June 1965), which contained two pinups reprinted from the previous issue. By the 150s, Archie Giant Series had essentially stopped publishing original comics, and it became a reprint title for the rest of the decade. Archie Comics, much more than any of its rivals, made good use of its extensive back catalogue of stories. While the reprinting of old-

A rch ie G ia nt S er ies   43

of continuity higher than any other found in Archie comics of the period. While Betty’s flashback could be read as simply a stand-­alone part of the story (it is sufficiently self-­explanatory to function as its own punch line), for readers familiar with the story from three years earlier, it is the rarest moment of continuity that can be found in any Archie comic of this period.

ARCHIE GIANT SERIES Launched in 1954 as an annual oversized Christmas issue, in 1960 Archie Giant Series became a regular quarterly publication that would change its title in rotation: Katy Keene followed by Betty and Veronica Summer Spectacular followed by World of Jughead followed by Around the World with Archie and eventually others. The title has one of the most unusual publishing histories of any Archie Comics release, as it twice mysteriously altered its numbering. One hundred issues of the comic went missing when the numbering jumped from 35 directly to 136 in 1965, and when the title was reduced from its giant size to a regular thirty-­two-­page comic in 1976, it leapt another two hundred issues, moving from 251 to 452 in the space of one month. As early as 1966, Archie Giant Series became a place for reprinting older Archie stories, a practice that had, until that point in time, been largely limited by the publisher. The three issues that constituted Samm Schwartz’s tragically short-­lived title Jughead’s Fantasy from the fall of 1960 were reprinted in their entirety in Archie Giant Series 136 (November 1965) and 143 (November 1966). The gap between original stories and reprints narrowed considerably as time went by. “The Looker,” a Captain Hero story originally appearing in March 1966 in Life with Archie, was reprinted in October of the same year in Archie Giant Series 142. Certain issues of Archie Giant Series contained nothing but pinups, with the pace of reprinting accelerating to a ridiculous level in Archie Giant Series 32 (June 1965), which contained two pinups reprinted from the previous issue. By the 150s, Archie Giant Series had essentially stopped publishing original comics, and it became a reprint title for the rest of the decade. Archie Comics, much more than any of its rivals, made good use of its extensive back catalogue of stories. While the reprinting of old-

44  T W E LVE- C ENT ARCH IE

er stories was a commonplace among publishers targeting younger children (such as Dell, Gold Key, and Western), publishers producing work for adolescents were remarkably less effective at recirculating older material, often reserving it for backup and filler slots in such things as annuals and special issues. Archie Giant Series clearly demonstrated to the publisher the viability of bringing older material back for a new readership, a policy that was undoubtedly abetted by a narrative structure that completely eschewed continuity. The reprint model became the lifeblood of the publishing company in 1973 with the creation of Archie Digest, the smaller, thicker, pocketbook-­sized publishing format that soon became a staple of supermarket checkout lines and that continues to this day. Freeing Archie Comics from the necessity of producing new stories, the reprinting model allowed the Archie characters to continuously circulate even as sales of the traditionally sized comic books slumped in the 1970s and eventually collapsed completely.

INVISIBLE PAINT Given the sheer number of Archie stories published in the 1960s, it is not at all surprising that the writers and artists were occasionally prone to tell versions of the same story again and again. Indeed, while an argument could be made that all Archie stories are essentially the same thing over and over, there is a genre of story that is specific enough to be quasi-­unique but whose theme is reused in a manner that does not descend to the level of self-­plagiarism. One such example would be the disappearing body part. In “Like Real Gone” (Archie’s Pals ’n Gals 19, Winter 1962), Veronica and her father visit one of his nuclear-­reactor-­equipped manufacturing plants to check on some top-­secret work. When Veronica blithely wanders through a door marked “Danger! Keep Out!” she is given a low dose of radiation that, she is told, should quickly wear off. Reunited with Archie and Betty, Veronica learns the unexpected consequences of her exposure to radiation when her hand becomes invisible. In the final three pages of the five-­page story, first her hand, then her legs, then her head, and finally her clothes (and her body underneath them—­this is a Comics Code–­approved story!) become

44  T W E LVE- C ENT ARCH IE

er stories was a commonplace among publishers targeting younger children (such as Dell, Gold Key, and Western), publishers producing work for adolescents were remarkably less effective at recirculating older material, often reserving it for backup and filler slots in such things as annuals and special issues. Archie Giant Series clearly demonstrated to the publisher the viability of bringing older material back for a new readership, a policy that was undoubtedly abetted by a narrative structure that completely eschewed continuity. The reprint model became the lifeblood of the publishing company in 1973 with the creation of Archie Digest, the smaller, thicker, pocketbook-­sized publishing format that soon became a staple of supermarket checkout lines and that continues to this day. Freeing Archie Comics from the necessity of producing new stories, the reprinting model allowed the Archie characters to continuously circulate even as sales of the traditionally sized comic books slumped in the 1970s and eventually collapsed completely.

INVISIBLE PAINT Given the sheer number of Archie stories published in the 1960s, it is not at all surprising that the writers and artists were occasionally prone to tell versions of the same story again and again. Indeed, while an argument could be made that all Archie stories are essentially the same thing over and over, there is a genre of story that is specific enough to be quasi-­unique but whose theme is reused in a manner that does not descend to the level of self-­plagiarism. One such example would be the disappearing body part. In “Like Real Gone” (Archie’s Pals ’n Gals 19, Winter 1962), Veronica and her father visit one of his nuclear-­reactor-­equipped manufacturing plants to check on some top-­secret work. When Veronica blithely wanders through a door marked “Danger! Keep Out!” she is given a low dose of radiation that, she is told, should quickly wear off. Reunited with Archie and Betty, Veronica learns the unexpected consequences of her exposure to radiation when her hand becomes invisible. In the final three pages of the five-­page story, first her hand, then her legs, then her head, and finally her clothes (and her body underneath them—­this is a Comics Code–­approved story!) become

I nv isi bl e Pa int   45

invisible. Drawn by Dan DeCarlo, the story is generally cute in the blinking on and off of her body parts, and Archie’s exasperated reactions, but very little is done with the gag. Beyond alarm, there are no consequences that stem from the initial joke, and nothing transpires other than Veronica’s friends deciding to return her to the plant to get her the medical attention she so certainly needs. Overall, one might argue that “Like Real Gone” is a waste of a good story prompt. In contrast, “The Brushoff ” (Pep 215, March 1968), demonstrates the way that Harry Lucey is able to bring the exact same notion to life. When Dilton invents invisible paint, an explosion of the residual gas literally blows him through the wall of his house and out onto the street in a dynamic splash page. It is Reggie who provides the evidence of the paint’s success when, arriving on the scene for the sole purpose of stealing the invention, he is shown to be wearing invisible pants. As in the previous story, both the pants and what they cover are invisible, but unlike in the DeCarlo version, which uses a lot of empty backgrounds behind Veronica as she disappears, Lucey pushes the gag further by placing Reggie in front of fully rendered scenery. Thus, we can see through Reggie’s pants to the house or hedge behind him—­ providing a much fuller sense of the villain as a pair of shoes separated from a walking torso. When Dilton unleashes Moose on Reggie to get the paint back, the chase is on. Reggie paints a hole in the wall of a dead-­end alley so that Moose sees through it to the street behind, and then Reggie hides behind some trash cans as the big clod knocks himself unconscious with a head-­first collision. Arriving at Riverdale High, Reggie accidentally orchestrates a collision between a car and a

Never play with invisible paint in the hallway. From Pep 215 (1968).

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fire hydrant that floods the school with gallons of water, so that when he inevitably runs headlong into Mr. Weatherbee and the pursuing gang, the pileup in the final panel erases huge swaths of their bodies. Centrally, “The Brushoff ” is a much more dynamic version of the invisibility story than is DeCarlo’s: the chase scene that stems from Reggie’s theft gives the piece an energy that is entirely lacking in the DeCarlo version, while the postures—­with the missing elements—­are more interesting and thoughtfully developed, and the story makes greater use of the specificities of the comics form. Whereas the DeCarlo is staid and traditional, the Lucey is lively and unconventional. One of the most interesting things about the Archie comics of the twelve-­cent era is that all of their creators were working within a highly constrained narrative system, with the same characters, locales, and setups. When a story prompt such as invisible paint comes along and is developed by more than one artist, it foregrounds the differences in their storytelling approach, allowing for a focus on aesthetic execution rather than a concern with theme or subject.

ARCHIE COMICS VERSUS ART Looking at an abstract painting in a gallery, Archie notes, “I like its linear harmony and spatial relationship . . . and notice its dynamic composition!” only to laugh to himself afterward and admit to Veronica, “I don’t know the first thing about modern art! Boy! Did I fool the nut I was talking to!” (Archie’s Joke Book 91, August 1965). The conviction that contemporary art is some sort of scam is a commonly recurring theme in Archie comic books and may be suggestive of a certain degree of anxiety on the part of the creators about their second-­class status in the domain of the plastic arts. In the 1960s, particularly after the explosive rise of Pop Art, including the comic-­book appropriations of Roy Lichtenstein and Andy Warhol, it was impossible to view the relationship of comics to gallery art as anything other than unidirectional. Comics were the fodder that “real” artists transformed into gallery art, a position that left comics akin to a can of Campbell’s soup—­degraded and disposable. It is no surprise, therefore, that artists who plied the inky trade would continually poke at contemporary painting and suggest that it was little more than a con job.

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fire hydrant that floods the school with gallons of water, so that when he inevitably runs headlong into Mr. Weatherbee and the pursuing gang, the pileup in the final panel erases huge swaths of their bodies. Centrally, “The Brushoff ” is a much more dynamic version of the invisibility story than is DeCarlo’s: the chase scene that stems from Reggie’s theft gives the piece an energy that is entirely lacking in the DeCarlo version, while the postures—­with the missing elements—­are more interesting and thoughtfully developed, and the story makes greater use of the specificities of the comics form. Whereas the DeCarlo is staid and traditional, the Lucey is lively and unconventional. One of the most interesting things about the Archie comics of the twelve-­cent era is that all of their creators were working within a highly constrained narrative system, with the same characters, locales, and setups. When a story prompt such as invisible paint comes along and is developed by more than one artist, it foregrounds the differences in their storytelling approach, allowing for a focus on aesthetic execution rather than a concern with theme or subject.

ARCHIE COMICS VERSUS ART Looking at an abstract painting in a gallery, Archie notes, “I like its linear harmony and spatial relationship . . . and notice its dynamic composition!” only to laugh to himself afterward and admit to Veronica, “I don’t know the first thing about modern art! Boy! Did I fool the nut I was talking to!” (Archie’s Joke Book 91, August 1965). The conviction that contemporary art is some sort of scam is a commonly recurring theme in Archie comic books and may be suggestive of a certain degree of anxiety on the part of the creators about their second-­class status in the domain of the plastic arts. In the 1960s, particularly after the explosive rise of Pop Art, including the comic-­book appropriations of Roy Lichtenstein and Andy Warhol, it was impossible to view the relationship of comics to gallery art as anything other than unidirectional. Comics were the fodder that “real” artists transformed into gallery art, a position that left comics akin to a can of Campbell’s soup—­degraded and disposable. It is no surprise, therefore, that artists who plied the inky trade would continually poke at contemporary painting and suggest that it was little more than a con job.

A rch ie Co m i cs ve rsus A rt   47

In “Odd Appreciation” (Betty and Veronica 150, June 1968), Miss Grundy takes her class to the local art gallery to learn about the old masters: “I’m going to teach them all about Michelangelo, Rubens, Cezanne and Van Gogh,” she tells Mr. Weatherbee, in the first hint that Riverdale is home to one of the world’s great art collections. When the still lifes make Jughead hungry and the Picasso causes Reggie to stand on his head (“it looks much better upside down!”), she is forced to give up and admit that the group just is not ready for this sort of high culture. In “The Strange Case of Patient X” (Life with Archie 27, May 1964), the gang solves a mystery that involves the theft of a painting from the local art museum. When the boys visit, the jokes are identical to those in the previous story, except this time it is Archie who stands on his head to make sense of an abstract canvas. As a single-­page gag in Jughead 101 (October 1963) explains, the Riverdale gang seems destined to appreciate television over painting every time. Of all the characters in the Archie comics, it is Jughead who has the closest—­and most vexed—­relationship to the art world. Samm Schwartz’s “Dipsy Doodles” posited an ongoing series of one-­and two-­page gags in which a beret-­wearing Jughead had the ability to bring his paintings to life, and several longer stories depicted Jughead’s decision to pursue a creative career. In Jughead 115 (December 1964), for example, he decides to become an artist and begins to carve a totem pole on the grounds of Riverdale High. In “The Painter” (Jughead 143, April 1967), Jughead’s abstract paintings are misunderstood by his classmates as well as his teachers (Miss Grundy uncharitably demands that he throw his abstract portrait of cats into the garbage behind the school). As the story repeatedly demonstrates, Jughead has an innate ability to see the world through the eyes of other animals. His painting of birdseed, incomprehensible to the class, attracts a flock of seagulls, while his painting of nuts does the same for squirrels. Here, art is used as a means to explain the particularities of Jughead’s oddball worldview, and he is provided with an ability—­and an empathy—­that is lacking in the rest of the cast: “They didn’t understand Picasso at first either!” he notes. By way of contrast, in “Art for Art’s Sake” (Jughead 99, August 1963), Jughead is forced to take Professor Paletto’s art class because he is short two points on a cultural subject and is too terrified to take horseback riding. Hoping to be expelled from the class, he does the worst work that he can imagine, which is then purchased by “zee

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famous art critic, M’sieur Jaques Baques,” who pronounces Jughead’s dismissively tossed-­off abstract work “Magnifique! Sensational! Wunderbar!” When Jughead is stumped by an audience question at the ensuing press conference (“Young man, do you think Abstract Expressionism will be supplanted by Neo-­Realism, or do you favor non-­ objectivity?”), he decides that he must dedicate himself to producing his best possible work, which, of course, results in sophomoric still lifes and landscapes that cost him his exhibition. That a Jughead story would have a legitimate question about the cultural place of Abstract Expressionism in the contemporary art market might seem remarkable at first, but it is symptomatic of a cultural anxiety that was common in the comics world at the time and that expressed itself in the form of both gentle mocking and outright hostility. While cartoonists, including Schwartz, who produced “Art for Art’s Sake,” may have faced unease about the place of abstraction given their commitment to pictorial realism, they saved their truest scorn for Pop Art. Public interest in Pop came very quickly after the first major exhibitions of Lichtenstein and Warhol—­it was a contemporary art movement that garnered much greater public interest and support than had those that came before it (Abstract Expressionism) or after it (Minimalism and Conceptualism). For cartoonists, watching so-­ called fine artists become wealthy and famous by repurposing work that they themselves had produced in low-­paid anonymity, the rise of Pop Art was particularly galling. Pop Art was a frequent target of the Archie artists. On the cover of Jughead 134 (July 1966), the gang examine a faux-­Lichtenstein (a large portrait of one comic-­book superhero punching another) and a faux-­Warhol (“Camp’s Tomatoe [sic] Soup”), while Jughead, with a fistful of comic books, opines, “All my life I’ve been an art lover and I never knew it!” Four issues later (Jughead 138, November 1966), Archie and Jughead try to win a cake-­baking contest but burn their entry and then mistakenly ice it with toothpaste. Their disgusting blob of an entry is declared “a magnificent piece of Pop Art!” as they win the prize. While this story is no different from the earlier stories that depict the world of contemporary art as a scam and use it as a cultural shorthand, a very specific critique of Pop Art is developed in “Champ of Camp” (Laugh 209, August 1968), a story whose title makes deliberate reference to Susan Sontag’s influential 1964 essay “Notes on Camp.”

Betty Cooper  49

Arriving at the Lodges’ to practice archery, Archie sits on an old soap box in the driveway and fires at a target hanging from a nearby tree. A panicked Mr. Lodge arrives to tell him that he “just put creases into an original Pop Art masterpiece by Sandy Airhole!” and that the target is “a priceless Casper Jim original!” that he had opted, somewhat inexplicably, to hang from a tree in his front yard. When the critic from Smart Art Review, Joshua Sponge, assesses the damage, he is won over (“You’ve added a new dimension to his creation with the addition of these creases!”). The story is remarkably specific in its use of Warhol and Jasper Johns as plot points but entirely traditional in its contempt for the art world, which it sees as full of phonies and know-­nothings. Archie’s creators, recognizing that they were on the losing end of the battle for cultural legitimacy relative to the art world, had only one arrow in their quiver—­populist disdain about an art world that was organized around values that seemed incomprehensible to the typical Archie reader and that were, therefore, ripe for gently mocking satire.

BETTY COOPER There are certain facts about Betty Cooper that are indisputable. She is sixteen and a quarter (Betty and Veronica 111, March 1965). She is the world’s worst cook in some stories (Betty and Veronica 121, January 1966), and yet cooking is the only area where she is clearly superior to Veronica in others (Betty and Veronica 130, October 1966). She is a whiz at geography (Laugh 135, June 1962), although this is the kind of revelation that never factors into a single story after it is introduced for the first time. Most importantly, of course, she is the “nice girl” in the Betty and Veronica pairing. She is loyal, honest, and essentially decent, and these qualities account for the fact that she is fundamentally better liked by the readership than is Veronica. She is the ideal girl next door, and Archie’s failure to recognize her many charms is frequently held to be his greatest failing. Betty Cooper has everyone fooled. The truth of the matter is that Betty Cooper is one of the most misunderstood characters in the history of the American comic book. The Archie comics of the 1960s did not operate on a simplistic good girl  / bad girl binary; rather, Betty and Veronica functioned on the

Betty Cooper  49

Arriving at the Lodges’ to practice archery, Archie sits on an old soap box in the driveway and fires at a target hanging from a nearby tree. A panicked Mr. Lodge arrives to tell him that he “just put creases into an original Pop Art masterpiece by Sandy Airhole!” and that the target is “a priceless Casper Jim original!” that he had opted, somewhat inexplicably, to hang from a tree in his front yard. When the critic from Smart Art Review, Joshua Sponge, assesses the damage, he is won over (“You’ve added a new dimension to his creation with the addition of these creases!”). The story is remarkably specific in its use of Warhol and Jasper Johns as plot points but entirely traditional in its contempt for the art world, which it sees as full of phonies and know-­nothings. Archie’s creators, recognizing that they were on the losing end of the battle for cultural legitimacy relative to the art world, had only one arrow in their quiver—­populist disdain about an art world that was organized around values that seemed incomprehensible to the typical Archie reader and that were, therefore, ripe for gently mocking satire.

BETTY COOPER There are certain facts about Betty Cooper that are indisputable. She is sixteen and a quarter (Betty and Veronica 111, March 1965). She is the world’s worst cook in some stories (Betty and Veronica 121, January 1966), and yet cooking is the only area where she is clearly superior to Veronica in others (Betty and Veronica 130, October 1966). She is a whiz at geography (Laugh 135, June 1962), although this is the kind of revelation that never factors into a single story after it is introduced for the first time. Most importantly, of course, she is the “nice girl” in the Betty and Veronica pairing. She is loyal, honest, and essentially decent, and these qualities account for the fact that she is fundamentally better liked by the readership than is Veronica. She is the ideal girl next door, and Archie’s failure to recognize her many charms is frequently held to be his greatest failing. Betty Cooper has everyone fooled. The truth of the matter is that Betty Cooper is one of the most misunderstood characters in the history of the American comic book. The Archie comics of the 1960s did not operate on a simplistic good girl  / bad girl binary; rather, Betty and Veronica functioned on the

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principle of bad girl / worse girl, particularly as they engaged each other. While Veronica’s central characteristics were venality, snobbery, and self-­involvement, Betty, in contrast, was conniving and opportunistic. Take, for example, “Remember the Daze,” the lead story in Archie 171 (March 1967). The story opens in medias res with Archie, having suffered “a sock in the head at baseball practice,” kissing Midge. Suffering from amnesia, he no Betty Cooper, the all-­American obseslonger remembers who he is or what the sive next door. From Archie 171 (1967). social rules are of Riverdale High—­such as do not kiss Midge when Moose is around. When Mr. Weatherbee places Betty in charge of restoring Archie’s memory, she has no hesitation in taking advantage of his enfeebled mental state: “I’m Betty! We go steady! You love only me! You’ve loved me for years! There are no other women in your life! Someday we will be married! Just keep remembering how you love me!” Betty shows no fundamental decency in this piece and behaves every bit as self-­interestedly as Veronica does in many other stories. Moreover, the story is not atypical of the portrayal of Betty during the period. Even within a narrative system whose central organizing principle is the exaggeration of broad comedy, Betty’s behaviors often border on the pathological. In “Liberty Belle” (Betty and Me 2, November 1965), she proudly announces that she has gotten over her infatuation with Archie, having gone three complete hours without thinking of him. Her friends pity her (“Tsk, poor Betty!” says Veronica to Reggie and Jughead. “That torch she’s carrying will never burn out!”). Similarly, in Betty and Me 14 (June 1968), on the tenth anniversary of the first time she met Archie (a date that she recalls with disturbing levels of detail: “He was pulling his little red wagon and I was pushing my doll carriage!”), her own mother counsels her that she is unhealthily obsessed with the object of her affection (“Your friends are right, Betty! Boys like girls who are hard to get!”). If everyone in the Archie universe knows that Betty’s fixation on Archie is unhealthy and unrequited, what is the nature of that relationship? Archie creators across all titles repeatedly and consistently

Betty Cooper  51

depict her as a stalker. In Betty and Veronica 88 (April 1963), for instance, it is explained that Betty is always on Archie’s wavelength and that she has the uncanny ability to track his movements. The clearest indications of the unhealthy nature of the obsession can be found in the repeated “Betty’s Diary” segments that are a staple of the Archie canon. Each installment of “Betty’s Diary” operates in exactly the same manner, with the text, written in the form of Betty’s first-­person captions, being contradicted by the images. As Betty narrates her own life to herself, she is fundamentally delusional, crafting an idealized picture of a relationship with Archie that does not exist. In Archie Giant Series 23 (September 1963), for example, Betty narrates a six-­page story about the events of her day, painting a picture of a girl who is always in demand from a wide range of boys, while the images tell a completely different story. Frequently, the young Miss Cooper is portrayed as a doormat. She is able to date Archie only when Veronica allows it or when she is cunningly able to outmaneuver her rival for a brief instant. Archie has no genuine romantic interest in her, but he will allow himself to be wooed by her on occasion—­especially if she is paying. The common exceptions are the stories in which Betty takes extreme measures to win her man. One of the more unusual of these stories appears in Archie 143. “The Kisser Strikes” is a rare eleven-­page story (in two parts) in which all the girls of Riverdale High are mysteriously kissed by someone whom they are unable to identify. The boys develop a plan to capture the culprit. When Archie is struck on the head by a low-­hanging branch in a darkened park, he himself is kissed by the kisser, leading him to the (correct) conclusion that the kisser must be Betty, who has kissed all the girls in school only to throw everyone off her trail so that she can kiss him. While the story is incredibly convoluted and takes on unusually odd gender dynamics with its homoerotic undertones and disturbing attitude toward sexual assault (some of the female students hope the molester is not stopped), it is indicative of the way that the Archie creators read Betty’s obsession with the redheaded hero as borderline psychotic. A story a year later, in Archie 156 (July 1965), pushes these boundaries even further when Betty, scorned one time too many by Archie for Veronica, attempts to murder him by felling a tree on him, hitting him with a red wagon full of rocks (the same red wagon that he was pulling on the first day that they met?), and dropping a

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plant on his head. While outrageous slapstick violence was a hallmark of Archie comics, particularly those crafted by Frank Doyle and Harry Lucey, it is the murderous intent that is unusual here. The deliberate attempt to injure a cast member is generally reserved for stories featuring the Archie-­Reggie rivalry, and even these are somewhat rare and do not go to such extremes. Yet, in this case, Betty moves from charmingly cute Archie stalker to criminally dangerous Archie obsessive. It is a far cry from the popular misconception of the character as the innocent naif next door and one of the fundamental textual misreadings of the Archie comics of the twelve-­cent era.

RIVERDALE’S RACIAL PROBLEM The myth is that Riverdale was a typical American community. The fact is that the almost total absence of nonwhite characters makes Riverdale one of the least typical locales in the United States. Until the introduction of Chuck Clayton in Pep 251 (September 1971), it is likely that not a single African American appeared in an Archie story set within the Riverdale city limits. Through the height of the civil rights movement, Archie comics willfully ignored the social transformation taking place around them, clinging to a vision of a “preracial” America where the only reference to people of color could be found in stories such as “Which Is Witch?” (Archie 137, June 1963), when Reggie and Archie meet a new (white) boy in town who has just returned to Riverdale from Africa: “He and his father spent eight years among the savages!” Archie explains. The only blacks to appear in any Archie comic of the twelve-­cent period can be found in a wacky adventure of The Archies (Life with Archie 65, September 1967), in which the gang takes Mr. Lodge’s airplane to the Caribbean island of St. Thomas, where several black characters are shown in the background. The story depicts one woman carrying a basket on her head (“Ooh, look!” says Betty. “I wish I had my camera!”) and “an old voodoo lady” whose only story function is to set off the following dialogue exchange: Betty: Ask her! Veronica: Ask her what?

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plant on his head. While outrageous slapstick violence was a hallmark of Archie comics, particularly those crafted by Frank Doyle and Harry Lucey, it is the murderous intent that is unusual here. The deliberate attempt to injure a cast member is generally reserved for stories featuring the Archie-­Reggie rivalry, and even these are somewhat rare and do not go to such extremes. Yet, in this case, Betty moves from charmingly cute Archie stalker to criminally dangerous Archie obsessive. It is a far cry from the popular misconception of the character as the innocent naif next door and one of the fundamental textual misreadings of the Archie comics of the twelve-­cent era.

RIVERDALE’S RACIAL PROBLEM The myth is that Riverdale was a typical American community. The fact is that the almost total absence of nonwhite characters makes Riverdale one of the least typical locales in the United States. Until the introduction of Chuck Clayton in Pep 251 (September 1971), it is likely that not a single African American appeared in an Archie story set within the Riverdale city limits. Through the height of the civil rights movement, Archie comics willfully ignored the social transformation taking place around them, clinging to a vision of a “preracial” America where the only reference to people of color could be found in stories such as “Which Is Witch?” (Archie 137, June 1963), when Reggie and Archie meet a new (white) boy in town who has just returned to Riverdale from Africa: “He and his father spent eight years among the savages!” Archie explains. The only blacks to appear in any Archie comic of the twelve-­cent period can be found in a wacky adventure of The Archies (Life with Archie 65, September 1967), in which the gang takes Mr. Lodge’s airplane to the Caribbean island of St. Thomas, where several black characters are shown in the background. The story depicts one woman carrying a basket on her head (“Ooh, look!” says Betty. “I wish I had my camera!”) and “an old voodoo lady” whose only story function is to set off the following dialogue exchange: Betty: Ask her! Veronica: Ask her what?

Ri v erdal e’s R ac i al Pr obl em  53

Betty: Ask her, do you do voodoo? Archie: Do who do voodoo? Betty: You do? Veronica: Voodoo? Archie: Who do? The sum total of black people depicted in the nearly four thousand Archie stories of the twelve-­cent period then is three, none of whom appear in Riverdale and none of whom are given a speaking role, let alone a name. If the nondepiction of blacks during this time frame is highly problematic, it is nothing compared to the depiction of characters of Asian descent. Archie comics were an equal opportunity offender of Asians in the 1960s, with the exact same depiction used for characters of Japanese, Chinese, Filipino, and Korean ancestry. In Life with Archie 14 (May 1962), a series of related stories explores the possibility of Archie finding a million dollars and what he would do with the money. Besides buying his father a Rolls Royce and building a swimming pool in their backyard, he hires a Filipino houseboy (Charlie Ying, “first class fine number one Filipino house boy”), a grotesquely buck-­toothed racial caricature who refuses to work in a house “where peoples don’t dress for dinner!! Charlie Ying have speaken!” The lone exception to this deplorable trend occurs in 1967, in Betty and Veronica 133 (January 1967), in which Veronica pays a Chinese restaurant owner to provide the superstitious Betty with an anti-­ Archie fortune cookie. Mr. Lee, who is actually given a name, is presented in a nonracist manner: he wears a suit, runs a nice restaurant, and speaks perfect English. It would be nice to be able to suggest that the tension between Charlie Ying and Mr. Lee demonstrated the Archie creators grappling with racial stereotyping and problematic depictions over the course of the decade, Archie hires Charlie Ying, a Filipino housebut there are so few nonwhite charac- boy. From Life with Archie 14 (1962).

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ters in Riverdale that there really is no evidence of this kind of struggle. Evolution cannot be said to be taking place in a story system that has entirely bracketed off the consideration of racial difference. For example, in the Archie comics of the 1960s, the characters interact with Native people and their culture on only three occasions. In the first, “Strike Up the Band” (Archie 143, February 1964), the Native character is a simple punch line. The students of Riverdale High go on strike demanding the return of their canceled dance class, and in the end, Mr. Weatherbee accedes to their demand by hiring Mr. Lone Wolf, who, in full headdress, teaches them to rain dance. In the second, “Storm Center” (Pep 184, August 1965), Archie wears a loin cloth, moccasins, and headdress in order to demonstrate tribal dances, and when he dances while chanting “Uga yom akimbo cuk!” he is able to create isolated thunder storms in the hallways of Riverdale. The third can be found in a travel-­adventure comic, “Westward Ho Ho Ho” (Giant Series 35, October 1965), in which Mr. Andrews takes the whole gang to Arizona to visit the Grand Canyon. Entering a “Hopi Indian village,” Reggie spots a man with a blanket over his arm, and the following dialogue ensues: Reggie: Greetings, Chief! Me come from land beyond the big waters! Bring-­um heap friendly talk! How? Hopi man: Say, Alice! Come here! Like, there’s some kinda creep tryin’ to make the scene, but I don’t dig him! For the first, and only, time, the joke is on Riverdale. A one-­off gag, this was in no way typical of the Archie comics of the period, which resorted to vulgar racial characterizations on the very few occasions that they did not maintain their dominant racial strategy of erasure. The Archie comics of the 1960s were lily white, hoping to present a world free from racial tension by creating a fictional universe free from racial difference. That few of their competitors in the American comic-­book industry could be said to have been significantly better on this score is not an excuse for an extremely retrograde editorial policy. Riverdale’s racial problem is a serious mark against the comics. Moreover, the marginalization of racial difference was not incidental to the comics but speaks directly to a large part of their appeal with certain audiences: in a time of tremendous social change, Riverdale represented a nostalgic vision of a preracial America that was perceived to be in open decline. As the

Fa shion  55

1960s progressed, the image of nostalgic middle-­class whiteness that existed in the pages of Archie comics became increasingly divergent from popular culture generally. A youth-­targeted comic book that completely ignored, for instance, the musical influence of Motown in the 1960s inevitably seems old-­fashioned, and the collapse of Archie comics’ sales between 1972 and 1974 in part reflects their inability to accurately depict the America that existed, rather than depicting the one that some Americans would have liked to have seen exist.

FASHION Among the most common subjects for gags—­particularly for the Dan DeCarlo–­produced pinup gags—­was fashion. A focus on clothing was unrelenting in the pages of Betty and Veronica, where the girls read Hooper’s Bizarre and Vague to keep up on the latest trends in the fashion industry. Indeed, Archie comics are dominated by attention to fashion faddishness—­from the miniskirt to the maxiskirt, to the tyranny of distinctions between Savile Row and Carnaby Street—­and the Archie archive portrays a somewhat lagging history of the evolution of 1960s fashion trends. (Riverdale is always, at best, a few months behind the cutting edge of Continental fashion, as the creators clearly drew their influences from other magazines that would break styles in the United States before being incorporated into the wardrobes of students at Riverdale High.) Issues of Betty and Veronica are replete with nongag pinups with titles such as “Betty’s Fashion Page,” “Veronica’s Fashions,” and even “Betty’s Bell Bottoms.” Stories about fashion are all culled from a very limited repertoire of plots. Middle-­class Betty is unable to compete with the wealthy Veronica in fashion terms and is constantly undermined by her rich rival whenever it appears she might get a leg up. Veronica, who literally runs home in tears when she spies other girls wearing a dress that is the same as her own (Betty and Veronica 73, January 1962), is in a constant war to win the fashion battle. Whenever Betty buys a new dress, Veronica will have the original flown to her from Paris, and if Betty wears something nice, Veronica will make sure that she wears something nicer. There is an entire ongoing subgenre in which Veronica deliberately ruins Betty’s fashions out of spite.

Fa shion  55

1960s progressed, the image of nostalgic middle-­class whiteness that existed in the pages of Archie comics became increasingly divergent from popular culture generally. A youth-­targeted comic book that completely ignored, for instance, the musical influence of Motown in the 1960s inevitably seems old-­fashioned, and the collapse of Archie comics’ sales between 1972 and 1974 in part reflects their inability to accurately depict the America that existed, rather than depicting the one that some Americans would have liked to have seen exist.

FASHION Among the most common subjects for gags—­particularly for the Dan DeCarlo–­produced pinup gags—­was fashion. A focus on clothing was unrelenting in the pages of Betty and Veronica, where the girls read Hooper’s Bizarre and Vague to keep up on the latest trends in the fashion industry. Indeed, Archie comics are dominated by attention to fashion faddishness—­from the miniskirt to the maxiskirt, to the tyranny of distinctions between Savile Row and Carnaby Street—­and the Archie archive portrays a somewhat lagging history of the evolution of 1960s fashion trends. (Riverdale is always, at best, a few months behind the cutting edge of Continental fashion, as the creators clearly drew their influences from other magazines that would break styles in the United States before being incorporated into the wardrobes of students at Riverdale High.) Issues of Betty and Veronica are replete with nongag pinups with titles such as “Betty’s Fashion Page,” “Veronica’s Fashions,” and even “Betty’s Bell Bottoms.” Stories about fashion are all culled from a very limited repertoire of plots. Middle-­class Betty is unable to compete with the wealthy Veronica in fashion terms and is constantly undermined by her rich rival whenever it appears she might get a leg up. Veronica, who literally runs home in tears when she spies other girls wearing a dress that is the same as her own (Betty and Veronica 73, January 1962), is in a constant war to win the fashion battle. Whenever Betty buys a new dress, Veronica will have the original flown to her from Paris, and if Betty wears something nice, Veronica will make sure that she wears something nicer. There is an entire ongoing subgenre in which Veronica deliberately ruins Betty’s fashions out of spite.

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One of the most unusual commentaries on the Betty and Veronica rivalry is presented in “Clothes Conscious” (Betty and Veronica 90, June 1963), a story that is actually narrated by the girls’ outfits. Betty’s clothes are a yellow sweater (with patches on the arms), a plaid skirt, and green socks, and they self-­describe as “a reasonably priced outfit marked down to dirt cheap! Picked up by Betty for cover and comfort!” Veronica’s outfit, on the other hand, is a slinky red dress and black evening gloves: “a Paris original whose price is so high it would be vulgar to mention it! My purpose is to nail Archie’s hide to the wall!” says the dress. The story, such as it is, unfolds as a debate between the two sets of clothes, with Betty’s arguing that she knows the “real” Archie, while Veronica’s dress only ever meets “Archie’s stiff and unfamiliar suits.” Veronica’s outfit counters only with the effect that it has on Archie—­a three-­panel explosion (ten hearts!) of head-­over-­ heels pratfalls that literally bounces Archie through a window. While fashion is also a concern for the boys (except Jughead, who abjures it), it is only the girls who are the subjects of fashion spreads, and the predominance of stories featuring the girls concerned with fashion helps establish it as a particularly feminine concern. In “Past Present” (Betty and Veronica 121, January 1966), when the girls dress in jeans and sweatshirts, convinced that boys of their generation no longer go for “window dressing,” they are quickly and definitively disproven. Archie’s message to young female readers on the subject of clothing was always crystal clear—­fashion never goes out of style.

BETTY’S PONYTAIL One of the most consistent visual elements across the Archie books is Betty’s ponytail. So central is it to her characterization that the ponytail itself received its own origin story (“Pony Tail Tale” in Betty and Veronica 125, May 1966), in which it is revealed that she grew out her short hair only because she saw Archie fooling around with a girl with a ponytail. Powerless to get his attention, she allowed her hair to grow to more than twice her own height, before using it as a lasso to snare the object of her desire. Unable to untie herself from Archie, he cut her hair to the length that it remains in virtually every story featuring Betty ever since. Stories in which Betty appears without her ponytail are rare, but

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One of the most unusual commentaries on the Betty and Veronica rivalry is presented in “Clothes Conscious” (Betty and Veronica 90, June 1963), a story that is actually narrated by the girls’ outfits. Betty’s clothes are a yellow sweater (with patches on the arms), a plaid skirt, and green socks, and they self-­describe as “a reasonably priced outfit marked down to dirt cheap! Picked up by Betty for cover and comfort!” Veronica’s outfit, on the other hand, is a slinky red dress and black evening gloves: “a Paris original whose price is so high it would be vulgar to mention it! My purpose is to nail Archie’s hide to the wall!” says the dress. The story, such as it is, unfolds as a debate between the two sets of clothes, with Betty’s arguing that she knows the “real” Archie, while Veronica’s dress only ever meets “Archie’s stiff and unfamiliar suits.” Veronica’s outfit counters only with the effect that it has on Archie—­a three-­panel explosion (ten hearts!) of head-­over-­ heels pratfalls that literally bounces Archie through a window. While fashion is also a concern for the boys (except Jughead, who abjures it), it is only the girls who are the subjects of fashion spreads, and the predominance of stories featuring the girls concerned with fashion helps establish it as a particularly feminine concern. In “Past Present” (Betty and Veronica 121, January 1966), when the girls dress in jeans and sweatshirts, convinced that boys of their generation no longer go for “window dressing,” they are quickly and definitively disproven. Archie’s message to young female readers on the subject of clothing was always crystal clear—­fashion never goes out of style.

BETTY’S PONYTAIL One of the most consistent visual elements across the Archie books is Betty’s ponytail. So central is it to her characterization that the ponytail itself received its own origin story (“Pony Tail Tale” in Betty and Veronica 125, May 1966), in which it is revealed that she grew out her short hair only because she saw Archie fooling around with a girl with a ponytail. Powerless to get his attention, she allowed her hair to grow to more than twice her own height, before using it as a lasso to snare the object of her desire. Unable to untie herself from Archie, he cut her hair to the length that it remains in virtually every story featuring Betty ever since. Stories in which Betty appears without her ponytail are rare, but

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Betty Cooper without the ponytail is a hopeless wreck. From Archie 159 (1965).

they almost always signal a significant change in her characterization. In Archie 159 (November 1965), for example, she stops wearing her ponytail when she despairingly decides to give up on Archie and renders herself unattractive to him: her unkempt hair is a sign of her depression. When she ditches her ponytail in order to play a “hard, brash loud blonde night club singer” for a school play in Betty and Veronica 133 (January 1967), her new attitude begins to win Archie’s admiration: her stylish new look indicates an end to her innocence. In Betty and Veronica 80 (August 1962), Betty fantasizes about becoming a Hollywood starlet and returning to Riverdale with short hair to win Archie from Veronica: her hair becomes a symbol of her wealth and sophistication. Across a wide range of changes to Betty’s hair, the constant understanding among the Archie creators is that the ponytail is integral to any claim about Betty’s innocence as the girl next door. Indeed, the near constancy of the ponytail and bow are not only her main signifiers; they are the central attributes of her character. Good or bad, naive or knowing, innocent or cunning, Betty is her hair.

SELF-­PLAGIARISM A Betty pinup by Dan DeCarlo in Betty and Me 15 (August 1968) tells a very straightforward gag: Betty waits in front of a movie theater, where the following dialogue unfolds:

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Betty Cooper without the ponytail is a hopeless wreck. From Archie 159 (1965).

they almost always signal a significant change in her characterization. In Archie 159 (November 1965), for example, she stops wearing her ponytail when she despairingly decides to give up on Archie and renders herself unattractive to him: her unkempt hair is a sign of her depression. When she ditches her ponytail in order to play a “hard, brash loud blonde night club singer” for a school play in Betty and Veronica 133 (January 1967), her new attitude begins to win Archie’s admiration: her stylish new look indicates an end to her innocence. In Betty and Veronica 80 (August 1962), Betty fantasizes about becoming a Hollywood starlet and returning to Riverdale with short hair to win Archie from Veronica: her hair becomes a symbol of her wealth and sophistication. Across a wide range of changes to Betty’s hair, the constant understanding among the Archie creators is that the ponytail is integral to any claim about Betty’s innocence as the girl next door. Indeed, the near constancy of the ponytail and bow are not only her main signifiers; they are the central attributes of her character. Good or bad, naive or knowing, innocent or cunning, Betty is her hair.

SELF-­PLAGIARISM A Betty pinup by Dan DeCarlo in Betty and Me 15 (August 1968) tells a very straightforward gag: Betty waits in front of a movie theater, where the following dialogue unfolds:

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Cashier: Betty, the show starts in five minutes! Maybe Archie isn’t showing up, again! Betty: He’ll be here . . . I’m treating! It is not a very memorable bit. In fact, it is so unmemorable that eight months later, in Betty and Me 20 (April 1969), Dan DeCarlo drew a second Betty pinup, which depicts Betty sitting at the counter at Pop’s Choklit Shoppe, with the following dialogue: Pop: You have a date with Archie?? What makes you think he’ll show up this time? Betty: He’ll be here!! I told him I’m treating!! Given the rapid-­fire production of a vast number of Archie gags during the twelve-­cent period, conceptual repetition would seem almost inevitable. That Archie creators might work certain themes again and again is not at all surprising—­there are, for example, at least three different stories during the decade in which Veronica breaks a string of pearls, which results in her friends taking pratfalls as they try to round them all up. Similarly, in both Betty and Veronica 134 (February 1967) and Pep 151 (November 1961), there are stories in which Betty tries to impress Archie with her desirability by sending herself flowers to make herself look as if she is in great social demand. In both these cases, however, the jokes, while remarkably similar, do have significant differences in execution. What is so striking about Betty’s “I’m treating” gag is that the self-­plagiarism is so blatant and that it happened in the same title within less than a year’s span. How might we explain this gag duplication? Occam’s razor might simply suggest shoddy editorial oversight. page illustrations with some small Pinup gags, which are single-­ amount of humorous dialogue appended, were clearly not a huge priority for the Archie Comics editorial team. Classic filler material, they would be significantly easier to produce than a single page of a longer story (since they involve only one drawing) and are likely to have been approved very quickly. Whether DeCarlo generated his own gags or used those generated by Archie’s writers, it is likely that he had a large set to draw on, and no one bothered to make note of the fact that the same material had been so recently used. This explanation would see

A Betty pinup plagiarized. From Betty and Me 15 (1968).

A plagiarized Betty pinup. From Betty and Me 20 (1969).

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the repetition as a breakdown in what is a fairly well-­organized system of checks and balances. Essentially, an editor was inattentive to the recent contents of one of the publisher’s midlevel titles. A more cynical explanation would be that either the publisher or DeCarlo himself is running a low-­grade scam, deliberately recycling material. This theory might have some credence given the way that Archie Comics began recycling pinups in Archie Giant Series issues at a very quick pace, which is suggestive of the possibility that the publisher or its employees were, in fact, trying to pull a fast one on an inattentive and partially captive audience. Still, if this were the case, one would anticipate finding a greater number of such occurrences. While there is sometimes a high degree of overlap between the material in Archie’s Joke Book and the daily Archie newspaper comic strip by Bob Montana, Archie Comics did generally play remarkably fair with its readers. One possibility would be to attribute laziness to a creator such as DeCarlo—­it is simply easier to draw the same gag twice than it is to come up with a new one. This also seems unlikely. DeCarlo was an expert at the pinup and, presumably, turned them out quickly. He generally worked with gag writers on these cartoons, and so it is entirely possible that he did in fact forget that this one had already been used. The joke is so slight, and the pinups are so numerous, that it seems unlikely that he was simply stuck for an idea. Finally, the drawings themselves are extremely different. The first is a full-­body drawing of Betty, standing and facing forward. In the second, she sits with her back to the reader at a counter. There is no copying going on here, and while the former is probably a more successful drawing than the latter, the second in no way seems quickly tossed off. One final suggestion would be that Archie Comics and the creators felt that repetition simply did not matter. There is probably some level of truth to this suggestion. Given the fact that Archie comics were the type of thing that might only be read by audiences for a short period of time, generational change must have been assumed to happen quite commonly. From the point of view of the publisher and the artists, a reader in 1962, at the start of the twelve-­cent era, was highly unlikely to still be a reader in 1969, at the end of it. These two gags appear so quickly one after the other that this seems to be an unlikely explanation in this particular case, but it would help explain why Harry Lu-

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cey re-­created one of his stories, “The Interpreter,” virtually panel for panel twice in the same decade. It would be difficult to determine with any exactitude which of these reasons might be the correct one. What is clear from the Archie comics of this era is that an absolutely enormous amount of work was being published very quickly by a large number of artists and writers using a very narrow set of story ideas and characters. Indeed, the most surprising thing about the self-­plagiarism is the fact that it did not occur more frequently than it did.

ARCHIE’S SWEATER VEST Like many of the most popular comic-­book characters of the 1940s and 1950s (a period dominated by superhero and funny-­animal comic books), Archie was initially known for his distinguishing costume: his orange hair, coupled with his outfit of checked orange pants, a green bow tie, and a black sweater vest, adorned with a large Riverdale “R.” The vest itself was something of an oddity given how infrequently Archie was depicted as a success in sports. If it was a letter vest for Riverdale High, by what means could he have possibly earned it? Worn virtually everywhere—­with rare exceptions that were dictated by story circumstances, such as at the beach or at a formal dance—­the sweater vest was symbolic of his commitment to his school and to his town, a loyalty that was fundamental and unwavering. In the twelve-­cent era, however, something happened to the sweater vest. Beginning in 1962, stories began to appear, infrequently at first and then with greater regularity, in which Archie would wear different outfits at times when the sweater vest would have been appropriate. He suddenly had new shirts and slacks. For some reason, an entirely new sweater was introduced to Archie’s closet—­an identical black sweater vest but without the conspicuous “R” in the middle. In both Archie 125 (February 1962) and 126 (March 1962), he wears the “R” vest in two stories and the “R”-­less vest in the other two. In Archie 127 (April 1962), he is back full-­time to the Riverdale sweater vest, but in 128 (June 1962), he wears it only in one story. The first Archie comic of the twelve-­cent period in which the “R” vest is completely absent is Archie 137 (June 1963), in which the nonbranded sweater vest makes

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cey re-­created one of his stories, “The Interpreter,” virtually panel for panel twice in the same decade. It would be difficult to determine with any exactitude which of these reasons might be the correct one. What is clear from the Archie comics of this era is that an absolutely enormous amount of work was being published very quickly by a large number of artists and writers using a very narrow set of story ideas and characters. Indeed, the most surprising thing about the self-­plagiarism is the fact that it did not occur more frequently than it did.

ARCHIE’S SWEATER VEST Like many of the most popular comic-­book characters of the 1940s and 1950s (a period dominated by superhero and funny-­animal comic books), Archie was initially known for his distinguishing costume: his orange hair, coupled with his outfit of checked orange pants, a green bow tie, and a black sweater vest, adorned with a large Riverdale “R.” The vest itself was something of an oddity given how infrequently Archie was depicted as a success in sports. If it was a letter vest for Riverdale High, by what means could he have possibly earned it? Worn virtually everywhere—­with rare exceptions that were dictated by story circumstances, such as at the beach or at a formal dance—­the sweater vest was symbolic of his commitment to his school and to his town, a loyalty that was fundamental and unwavering. In the twelve-­cent era, however, something happened to the sweater vest. Beginning in 1962, stories began to appear, infrequently at first and then with greater regularity, in which Archie would wear different outfits at times when the sweater vest would have been appropriate. He suddenly had new shirts and slacks. For some reason, an entirely new sweater was introduced to Archie’s closet—­an identical black sweater vest but without the conspicuous “R” in the middle. In both Archie 125 (February 1962) and 126 (March 1962), he wears the “R” vest in two stories and the “R”-­less vest in the other two. In Archie 127 (April 1962), he is back full-­time to the Riverdale sweater vest, but in 128 (June 1962), he wears it only in one story. The first Archie comic of the twelve-­cent period in which the “R” vest is completely absent is Archie 137 (June 1963), in which the nonbranded sweater vest makes

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several appearances. Nonetheless, the “R” vest returns in the next issue and then disappears for a few issues. The last story featuring the “R” vest in Archie is “Get the Message,” the third story in Archie 142 (December 1963), though the vest also appears in the first story in that same issue. It can be seen again on the cover of Archie 144 (February 1964), but then it disappears for good from the title. Nothing in particular happens to the sweater vest in these final stories, and no mention is ever made that he is retiring it from his wardrobe. Similarly, in the pages of Betty and Veronica, the “R” sweater vest is phased out over time, although it persists longer than it does in the flagship title. By the hundredth issue of Betty and Veronica (April 1964), the sweater vest makes only infrequent appearances, perhaps one story out of every four. It can be seen for the final time in two stories in Betty and Veronica 104 (August 1964), and then it disappears, never to be seen in the title again. The final appearance of the sweater vest seems to have been in “Rash Promise” (Betty and Me 2 [November 1965). When the vest is pulled from the back of the closet for a date with Betty, the “R” has mysteriously turned blue for the first three pages of a five-­page story, and then (on the next day in story terms) it inexplicably turns red for the final two pages (or he has another sweater or two). In a second story in the same issue, the vest is back to being white, before it is retired once again. So what became of Archie’s sweater vest? In narrative terms, absolutely nothing. Very few stories focus on Archie’s wardrobe choices (particularly in comparison to Betty and Veronica, whose clothes are a common story prompt). He does purchase a new jacket in Archie 129 (July 1962), but no mention is ever made of a decision by the character to change his look, nor was any story writing the sweater vest out of his life ever published. In terms of the character, it is simply forgotten. From the point of view of the creators, it is clear that there is a general relaxation of Archie’s sartorial choices over time, likely dictated by editorial fiat. The “R”-­less black sweater vest is a step in the direction of phasing the look out entirely, and Archie stories mixed sweater and nonsweater works into the same issue as a way of changing the look gradually over time. Across the titles, the transition is largely seamless, and when the issues are read in rapid succession, it takes time to even notice that the vest is finally gone. Abandoning the vest in the mid-­1960s had the effect of modernizing a character that had not

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noticeably changed his style in two decades and was likely regarded as an important editorial update. It also allowed the artists considerably more flexibility with the character. Like Betty and Veronica, Archie was drawn with entirely new outfits in almost every story from 1964 onward, providing the sense that he had an endless clothing allowance and a bottomless closet. Only Jughead remained with a relatively fixed look, something that helped identify him as the neighborhood oddball. Perhaps the most shocking part of the sweater-­vest saga is the fact that it suddenly returned in the summer of 1968. In both Laugh 208 and Life with Archie 75 (both July 1968), the sweater vest makes a miraculous—­and unremarked-­on—­return. A potential retro revival for the old look of the character? Or, given that the two titles were low on the totem pole, the burning off of inventory stories that were produced before the new clothing mandate? Impossible to say. Though it is reassuring to know that the sweater vest is still out there, in a closet somewhere, and that it could return at any time.

JUGHEAD JONES When I talk to adults about Archie comics, the character that they inevitably want to discuss is Jughead Jones. The nose, the hat, the woman-­hating attitude—­Jughead is the most fully developed, and therefore interesting, character in Riverdale. People seem to be fondly drawn to his laconic attitude and his relaxed zen-­like sense of being. He is, as he is described in Jughead 87 (August 1962), “the sweetest real live kook in the school!” The key to the characterization of Jughead is the fact that he always walks with his eyes closed. Rarely depicted with open eyes (generally only when he is in shock or terror), Jughead exists in such a state of absolute calm that he is able to stroll the streets of Riverdale without looking. In “Open and Shut Case” (Jughead 100, September 1963), this quirk drives Reggie to distraction (“Nobody! Nobody can see better with eyes closed than open!” he screams at Jughead), and he tries to force Jughead to see the world with open eyes. The result, of course, is that Jughead crashes into trees and signposts and trips over the curb. “Leave me alone in my nice, clear darkness!” he tells the gang.

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noticeably changed his style in two decades and was likely regarded as an important editorial update. It also allowed the artists considerably more flexibility with the character. Like Betty and Veronica, Archie was drawn with entirely new outfits in almost every story from 1964 onward, providing the sense that he had an endless clothing allowance and a bottomless closet. Only Jughead remained with a relatively fixed look, something that helped identify him as the neighborhood oddball. Perhaps the most shocking part of the sweater-­vest saga is the fact that it suddenly returned in the summer of 1968. In both Laugh 208 and Life with Archie 75 (both July 1968), the sweater vest makes a miraculous—­and unremarked-­on—­return. A potential retro revival for the old look of the character? Or, given that the two titles were low on the totem pole, the burning off of inventory stories that were produced before the new clothing mandate? Impossible to say. Though it is reassuring to know that the sweater vest is still out there, in a closet somewhere, and that it could return at any time.

JUGHEAD JONES When I talk to adults about Archie comics, the character that they inevitably want to discuss is Jughead Jones. The nose, the hat, the woman-­hating attitude—­Jughead is the most fully developed, and therefore interesting, character in Riverdale. People seem to be fondly drawn to his laconic attitude and his relaxed zen-­like sense of being. He is, as he is described in Jughead 87 (August 1962), “the sweetest real live kook in the school!” The key to the characterization of Jughead is the fact that he always walks with his eyes closed. Rarely depicted with open eyes (generally only when he is in shock or terror), Jughead exists in such a state of absolute calm that he is able to stroll the streets of Riverdale without looking. In “Open and Shut Case” (Jughead 100, September 1963), this quirk drives Reggie to distraction (“Nobody! Nobody can see better with eyes closed than open!” he screams at Jughead), and he tries to force Jughead to see the world with open eyes. The result, of course, is that Jughead crashes into trees and signposts and trips over the curb. “Leave me alone in my nice, clear darkness!” he tells the gang.

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Jughead is the outsider. His perspectives are atypical of the gang, and as a result, he is frequently not integrated into their activities, offering commentary from the outside rather than acting as a forceful presence within the stories. Jughead is a narrative catalyst—­he makes things happen to the other characters but is not affected by events himself. In the darkness that is his view of Riverdale, Jughead is the character that finds wisdom. In the hormonal Archie universe, Jughead is unique for his asexuality. Often his disdain for women is read as a suggestion of queerness, though there is no textual evidence in the corpus of works that constitute the twelve-­cent period that would lend much credence to the reading that suggests he is actually in love with Archie. Asexuality is not the same as presexuality. The latter is suggestive of a kind of

Jughead Jones walks the streets of Riverdale with his eyes closed. From Archie’s Pal Jughead 100 (1963).

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arrested development—­it is a stage that will be later outgrown—­while asexuality is itself a sexual subject position. It is true that frequently Jughead’s relationship with Betty and Veronica is impacted by his desire to keep Archie all to himself—­from this perspective, Jughead’s relationship to his best friend is rooted in his ambivalence about carnal sexuality: he cannot find value in romantic relationships and has trouble understanding why others have. “You know what I don’t like about Archie?” he asks Veronica in “All about Archie,” Giant Series 28 (September 1964). “You and Betty! Whenever he and I are up to some man type jazz, you females are about somewhere!” Jughead’s relationship to Archie is one of the strongest presentations of the asexual male pairing in popular culture, rivaling that of Sherlock Holmes and Watson or Jack Aubrey and Stephen Maturin in Patrick O’Brian’s novels. Jughead is frequently aligned with Betty, particularly in their own titles, as he thinks that, relative to Veronica, she is the lesser of two evils. While he can tolerate Betty’s pursuit of Archie, he absolutely abhors the thought of any girl’s interest in himself. The female pursuit of Jughead is one of the most common Jughead plot points. Early in the 1960s, a number of characters—­Cricket O’Dell, The Brain, and Big Ethel—­were introduced as young women with an interest in Jughead, with only Ethel sticking around for the long haul. He wakes from a nightmare that he loves girls in Jughead 129 (February 1966), and his elaborate plans for avoiding girls is laid out in fine detail in Archie’s Joke Book 88 (May 1965): the “Show No Interest in Girls Method” is an obvious failure, because nothing attracts girls more quickly than a diffident attitude. Of course, the converse, playing easy to get, was “the biggest mistake of [Jughead’s] career as a girl hater,” because nothing drives a girl wild so much as attention. The Jughead method is to use not your head but your feet—­which is why he is constantly on the run. So complete is Jughead’s disinterest in romance that he refuses to use his given name, Forsythe P. Jones, because “females go ape when they hear that name!” (Jughead 159, August 1968). Jughead’s lack of interest in the opposite sex is more than compensated for by his unhealthy interest in food. Certainly the most common Jughead plot point, particularly in stories in which he is only a supporting character, involves his unrestrained appetite. “The boy with the cast iron stomach,” explains Archie, “would like to be a glutton, but he never has enough money!” (Jughead 98, July 1963). End-

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lessly on the hunt for additional funds to feed his addiction to food, Jughead always scarfs the entirety of the buffet table at any dance and can clean out even Mr. Lodge’s well-­stocked larder. According to a theory advanced by Dilton in “Phood Phobia” (Jughead 165, February 1969), “girls frighten Jug and in his fear he reaches out for the satisfaction of food!” Through observational analysis, Dilton and Archie come to realize that Jughead does not eat constantly and that he is only hungry when girls threaten him. Dilton’s diagnosis, “Phood Phobia Phrom Phemales,” makes Jughead realize that he only eats because of girls, leading him to declare, “no girl is going to make me happy! I’ll never eat again!” Jughead’s unusual combination of qualities is what accounts for his popularity. Rarely the active figure in any story, he sits on the sidelines and comments wryly as the activities of the story unfold around him. He does not scheme, as do Betty and Veronica, and he does not fight, as do Archie and Reggie; he simply exists. As Veronica notes, “in the wonderful world of Jughead there is no winning! There is no losing! . . . There’s just eating!” (Giant Series 28, September 1964).

BEATNIKS, HIPPIES, AND OTHER UNDESIRABLES Archie comics had a vexed relationship with the youth culture of the 1960s. The conservative worldview of Riverdale was an awkward fit for the increasing political militancy of campus culture. Since Riverdale existed on a planet where there was no Vietnam War and no civil rights struggle, the issues that motivated American youth in the Age of Aquarius were simply unable to penetrate its borders. Riverdale was squaresville, and it liked it that way. A pair of pinups in Betty and Veronica 123 (March 1966) and 133 (January 1967) used essentially the same gag: cut your hair. In the first, a young man with a guitar case, short sideburns, and very slightly shaggy hair asks for directions to Main Street and North Avenue, to which Betty replies, “the barber shop is on Main and Division Street!” In the second, Veronica needs a dime to make a phone call and suggests that she might borrow it from Danny, a boy with vaguely shaggy hair. An outraged Betty asks her, “Are you kidding?? He doesn’t even have a dime for a haircut!!” To contemporary eyes, these are slightly shocking Dan DeCarlo gags,

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lessly on the hunt for additional funds to feed his addiction to food, Jughead always scarfs the entirety of the buffet table at any dance and can clean out even Mr. Lodge’s well-­stocked larder. According to a theory advanced by Dilton in “Phood Phobia” (Jughead 165, February 1969), “girls frighten Jug and in his fear he reaches out for the satisfaction of food!” Through observational analysis, Dilton and Archie come to realize that Jughead does not eat constantly and that he is only hungry when girls threaten him. Dilton’s diagnosis, “Phood Phobia Phrom Phemales,” makes Jughead realize that he only eats because of girls, leading him to declare, “no girl is going to make me happy! I’ll never eat again!” Jughead’s unusual combination of qualities is what accounts for his popularity. Rarely the active figure in any story, he sits on the sidelines and comments wryly as the activities of the story unfold around him. He does not scheme, as do Betty and Veronica, and he does not fight, as do Archie and Reggie; he simply exists. As Veronica notes, “in the wonderful world of Jughead there is no winning! There is no losing! . . . There’s just eating!” (Giant Series 28, September 1964).

BEATNIKS, HIPPIES, AND OTHER UNDESIRABLES Archie comics had a vexed relationship with the youth culture of the 1960s. The conservative worldview of Riverdale was an awkward fit for the increasing political militancy of campus culture. Since Riverdale existed on a planet where there was no Vietnam War and no civil rights struggle, the issues that motivated American youth in the Age of Aquarius were simply unable to penetrate its borders. Riverdale was squaresville, and it liked it that way. A pair of pinups in Betty and Veronica 123 (March 1966) and 133 (January 1967) used essentially the same gag: cut your hair. In the first, a young man with a guitar case, short sideburns, and very slightly shaggy hair asks for directions to Main Street and North Avenue, to which Betty replies, “the barber shop is on Main and Division Street!” In the second, Veronica needs a dime to make a phone call and suggests that she might borrow it from Danny, a boy with vaguely shaggy hair. An outraged Betty asks her, “Are you kidding?? He doesn’t even have a dime for a haircut!!” To contemporary eyes, these are slightly shocking Dan DeCarlo gags,

Be atniks, Hippies, a nd Ot her Un desi rabl es  67

Hippie scam artists and freeloaders. From Archie’s Girls Betty and Veronica 132 (1969).

because neither of the boys being criticized has what would be considered long hair. Archie comics could handle the consumer side of 1960s youth culture—­the record collecting, the fashions imported from Carnaby Street—­but they were at a total loss to deal with unconventional lifestyles in any way other than diminishing them. In Life with Archie 34 (February 1965), Veronica begins dating a beatnik named George Reale, who has recently arrived in town from Greenwich Village. When the grubby George wins the disapproval of Mr. Lodge, Archie conspires with Veronica’s father to drive the beatnik away. Mr. Lodge introduces George to the CEO of the Bow Wow Dog Food Company, who offers the coffeehouse poet $1,000 for a commercial slogan. George, of course, leaps at the opportunity, and Veronica drops him like a hot espresso. In “The Playboy” (Betty and Veronica 161, May 1969), Veronica begins dating an international jet-­setting duke named Monty. When Betty and Jughead overhear him with his hippie friend Chaz (complete with bare feet and ragged red poncho), they realize that he is, in fact, a hippie freeloader attempting to sponge off the Lodges by pretending to be royalty, and they chase the duo “back to selling love beads.” In both cases, the seemingly “authentic” lifestyle of the beatnik and the hippie is revealed to be fraudulent. Similarly, in “Flower Power” (Betty and Veronica 154, October 1968), Jughead temporarily becomes a hippie, wearing his hair longer and disdaining shoes. When Veronica takes him home (“Wait till the crowd at the

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country club sees what I’ve got! They’ll turn absolutely green!”), he is repeatedly tossed in the trash by her father and by Smithers. Again, this story plays to the notion that the counterculture is all an elaborate put-­on, with Betty yelling at her friend, “Come off it, Juggie! That’s not the real you!” In Archie’s world, authenticity resided comfortably in middle-­class conformity, not in its rejection.

DILTON DOILY Introduced into the Archie daily strip by Bob Montana in 1948, Dilton began appearing in the Archie comic books in the 1950s. In the comic books of the 1960s, the character was featured only sporadically. Described as “diminutive—­but mentally he’s a giant among midgets,” he is rarely the hero of his own stories. Typical of the use of Dilton is a story in Betty and Veronica 151 (July 1968) in which a series of coincidences leads Archie to believe that Dilton has become the most desirable bachelor in Riverdale. The humor is derived jointly from the screwball misunderstandings and from the unlikelihood that the short, brainy teen wearing a suit and tie and round glasses could ever be attractive to girls. Dilton is given a rare starring role in Archie 187 (December 1968; “Dilton in Archie Come Home”), when he temporarily becomes Mr. Lodge’s financial adviser. Frank Doyle stretches his dialogue skills (“If you hedge your fiduciary backlog with four ounces of platformate your gold reserve will dow your jones to bull the bear right out of his fern!”) but finds very little else to do with the character until Mr. Lodge comes to realize that he prefers the much simpler Archie to the irritating know-­it-­all Dilton. Dilton’s general underuse is reflective of the fact that his central trait—­his intelligence—­can so easily be passed on to other, better-­ established characters. Almost any of the Archie gang can be used to perform the role of scholastic overachiever for a story or two, thereby rendering Dilton superfluous. Further, postwar youth culture placed little premium on excessive braininess. In a culture in which the category of the “nerd” had yet to be fully established, the well-­rounded combination of athletics and scholarship mattered more than genius. Additionally, Dilton’s sexlessness means that he has little to contribute to the central themes of the Archie stories, particularly given that he is

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country club sees what I’ve got! They’ll turn absolutely green!”), he is repeatedly tossed in the trash by her father and by Smithers. Again, this story plays to the notion that the counterculture is all an elaborate put-­on, with Betty yelling at her friend, “Come off it, Juggie! That’s not the real you!” In Archie’s world, authenticity resided comfortably in middle-­class conformity, not in its rejection.

DILTON DOILY Introduced into the Archie daily strip by Bob Montana in 1948, Dilton began appearing in the Archie comic books in the 1950s. In the comic books of the 1960s, the character was featured only sporadically. Described as “diminutive—­but mentally he’s a giant among midgets,” he is rarely the hero of his own stories. Typical of the use of Dilton is a story in Betty and Veronica 151 (July 1968) in which a series of coincidences leads Archie to believe that Dilton has become the most desirable bachelor in Riverdale. The humor is derived jointly from the screwball misunderstandings and from the unlikelihood that the short, brainy teen wearing a suit and tie and round glasses could ever be attractive to girls. Dilton is given a rare starring role in Archie 187 (December 1968; “Dilton in Archie Come Home”), when he temporarily becomes Mr. Lodge’s financial adviser. Frank Doyle stretches his dialogue skills (“If you hedge your fiduciary backlog with four ounces of platformate your gold reserve will dow your jones to bull the bear right out of his fern!”) but finds very little else to do with the character until Mr. Lodge comes to realize that he prefers the much simpler Archie to the irritating know-­it-­all Dilton. Dilton’s general underuse is reflective of the fact that his central trait—­his intelligence—­can so easily be passed on to other, better-­ established characters. Almost any of the Archie gang can be used to perform the role of scholastic overachiever for a story or two, thereby rendering Dilton superfluous. Further, postwar youth culture placed little premium on excessive braininess. In a culture in which the category of the “nerd” had yet to be fully established, the well-­rounded combination of athletics and scholarship mattered more than genius. Additionally, Dilton’s sexlessness means that he has little to contribute to the central themes of the Archie stories, particularly given that he is

Moose   69

never the subject of romantic jealousy. He is commonly used in more recent Archie comics as an inventor, but he rarely played that role in the 1960s. One obvious comedic pairing is the contrast between Dilton and Big Moose, in which the large/small, dumb/smart dynamic could be developed. A story in Laugh 202 (January 1968; “Moose ’n’ Dilton in Spell of Trouble”) hints at that as a possible future teaming, but it is never developed—­possibly because that story can find no better comedic hook than Moose’s inability to spell. In the end, Dilton proved to be a character too one-­note even for Archie comics.

MOOSE One of the most important minor characters in the Archie universe, Big Moose (whose real name is Edgar, as we learn in Archie’s Joke Book 73, September 1963) delivers punch lines as a line of punches. The character is as one-­dimensional as anyone in Riverdale, defined by his three central attributes: his size, his stupidity, and his jealousy where his girlfriend Midge is concerned. Archie’s creators made very little effort to explain the Midge-­Moose romantic relationship. The partnership is only necessary insofar as it allows for stories in which Moose threatens physical violence to anyone going near his “gurl.” Moose is the immovable object in the Riverdale universe, a force of nature that, when provoked into action, is rarely halted before a bone-­ rattling blow has been struck on an impertinent foe. Often, of course, stories involving Moose stem from a fundamental misunderstanding. His lack of intelligence and his jealousy combine to make him a figure with whom there is no reasoning, and he is as suspicious of woman-­ hating Jughead as he is of Reggie and Archie, both of whom have a legitimate interest in Midge. Throughout the 1960s, Moose was essentially the main character in Archie’s Joke Book, a title that is little more than a series of gags strung out to cobble together a comic book. In this venue, Moose plays one role—­the dumb guy. From out of his mouth streams an endless string of inanities: “I’m having lotsa trouble with this boomerang, Archie! I bought a new one, but can’t throw this old one away!” These are lines that could be uttered by any character in any comic strip at any point in history and that have all the wit and sophistication of gags from

Moose   69

never the subject of romantic jealousy. He is commonly used in more recent Archie comics as an inventor, but he rarely played that role in the 1960s. One obvious comedic pairing is the contrast between Dilton and Big Moose, in which the large/small, dumb/smart dynamic could be developed. A story in Laugh 202 (January 1968; “Moose ’n’ Dilton in Spell of Trouble”) hints at that as a possible future teaming, but it is never developed—­possibly because that story can find no better comedic hook than Moose’s inability to spell. In the end, Dilton proved to be a character too one-­note even for Archie comics.

MOOSE One of the most important minor characters in the Archie universe, Big Moose (whose real name is Edgar, as we learn in Archie’s Joke Book 73, September 1963) delivers punch lines as a line of punches. The character is as one-­dimensional as anyone in Riverdale, defined by his three central attributes: his size, his stupidity, and his jealousy where his girlfriend Midge is concerned. Archie’s creators made very little effort to explain the Midge-­Moose romantic relationship. The partnership is only necessary insofar as it allows for stories in which Moose threatens physical violence to anyone going near his “gurl.” Moose is the immovable object in the Riverdale universe, a force of nature that, when provoked into action, is rarely halted before a bone-­ rattling blow has been struck on an impertinent foe. Often, of course, stories involving Moose stem from a fundamental misunderstanding. His lack of intelligence and his jealousy combine to make him a figure with whom there is no reasoning, and he is as suspicious of woman-­ hating Jughead as he is of Reggie and Archie, both of whom have a legitimate interest in Midge. Throughout the 1960s, Moose was essentially the main character in Archie’s Joke Book, a title that is little more than a series of gags strung out to cobble together a comic book. In this venue, Moose plays one role—­the dumb guy. From out of his mouth streams an endless string of inanities: “I’m having lotsa trouble with this boomerang, Archie! I bought a new one, but can’t throw this old one away!” These are lines that could be uttered by any character in any comic strip at any point in history and that have all the wit and sophistication of gags from

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bubble-­gum wrappers. Writing Moose in Archie’s Joke Book is a shortcut to which the creators happily returned time and again. In the hierarchy of Archie characters, possession of a solo title (Archie, Jughead) is indicative of a top-­tier character, while a shared title (Betty and Veronica) is a slight step down (ironically, this classification at certain times places Reggie ahead of Veronica). Among the minor characters that were unlikely ever to have their own titles, certain of them nonetheless had their own distinctive title logos for stories featuring them within the generic Archie-­universe series (Pep, Laugh, the Joke Book series). While Moose rarely had his own feature stories in the other titles, he was in fact blessed with his own title logo within the pages of the Joke Book series, positioning him as a major minor character (ahead, for instance, of Midge, for whom no logo was ever produced). The few extended stories featuring Moose as a protagonist took a common and predictable direction. In “A Splitting Headache” (Laugh 212, November 1968), whose logo identifies it as a Reggie story, Moose is hit in the head by an out-­of-­control surfboard, predictably turning him into a well-­spoken gentle giant (“I think that crack on his cranium has cooled his thinking!” says Midge, dancing with Reggie). Deploring any sort of violence, Moose refuses to stand up for Midge or become jealous of Reggie until, of course, a second blow to the head restores his true nature and Reggie is pounded into the sand. There were few other extended stories told with Moose during the twelve-­ cent era, when the sole effective plot was the humor of the big galoot acting against character. As he is the subject of so few stories, Moose plays no major role in the Archie series, but his consistency makes him a near-­perfect plot device for stories that necessitate a high degree of slapstick violence.

REGGIE MANTLE The most minor of the major characters, Reggie is the easiest of the five primary members of the gang for any story to do without. While only a small minority of Archie stories involve every member of the primary quintet—­ Archie, Jughead, Betty, Veronica, and Reggie—­ when one member of the cast sits on the sidelines, it is most often

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bubble-­gum wrappers. Writing Moose in Archie’s Joke Book is a shortcut to which the creators happily returned time and again. In the hierarchy of Archie characters, possession of a solo title (Archie, Jughead) is indicative of a top-­tier character, while a shared title (Betty and Veronica) is a slight step down (ironically, this classification at certain times places Reggie ahead of Veronica). Among the minor characters that were unlikely ever to have their own titles, certain of them nonetheless had their own distinctive title logos for stories featuring them within the generic Archie-­universe series (Pep, Laugh, the Joke Book series). While Moose rarely had his own feature stories in the other titles, he was in fact blessed with his own title logo within the pages of the Joke Book series, positioning him as a major minor character (ahead, for instance, of Midge, for whom no logo was ever produced). The few extended stories featuring Moose as a protagonist took a common and predictable direction. In “A Splitting Headache” (Laugh 212, November 1968), whose logo identifies it as a Reggie story, Moose is hit in the head by an out-­of-­control surfboard, predictably turning him into a well-­spoken gentle giant (“I think that crack on his cranium has cooled his thinking!” says Midge, dancing with Reggie). Deploring any sort of violence, Moose refuses to stand up for Midge or become jealous of Reggie until, of course, a second blow to the head restores his true nature and Reggie is pounded into the sand. There were few other extended stories told with Moose during the twelve-­ cent era, when the sole effective plot was the humor of the big galoot acting against character. As he is the subject of so few stories, Moose plays no major role in the Archie series, but his consistency makes him a near-­perfect plot device for stories that necessitate a high degree of slapstick violence.

REGGIE MANTLE The most minor of the major characters, Reggie is the easiest of the five primary members of the gang for any story to do without. While only a small minority of Archie stories involve every member of the primary quintet—­ Archie, Jughead, Betty, Veronica, and Reggie—­ when one member of the cast sits on the sidelines, it is most often

Reggie M ant le   71

Reggie, whose status as Archie’s frenemy requires that he be carefully deployed. In “Dependable” (Jughead 88, September 1962), Jughead makes a compelling case that Reggie is the most consistent character in the Archie universe. He points out that while Veronica runs hot and cold in terms of her relationship with Archie, Reggie is completely predictable: “When Reggie wakes in the morning, he wakes as a rat! Through breakfast, lunch, dinner, school, play, dates . . . He’s always ratty! Neither wind nor hail nor dark of night has any effect on his smooth, consistently miserable personality!” And when Reggie throws Jughead in a mud puddle for these comments, the observation is borne out. The notion that Reggie is a rat—­that he is the anti-­Archie (note the similarities in their names, the fact that Reggie is rich while Archie struggles to find cash, that Reggie drives a series of new cars while Archie drives a jalopy, that Reggie is a star athlete while Archie is clumsy)—­is well established in the Archie universe. Introduced for the first time in Jackpot Comics 5 (Spring 1942), Reggie was nothing more than another wealthy potential suitor for Veronica. By 1949, when he was given own short-­lived magazine, even the title was Archie’s Rival Reggie. At the time, Reggie was a full-­blown bully (in the first issue of his own title, he forces a “freshie” to serve the detention that he has been given by Miss Grundy), and by the 1960s, he had mellowed only the tiniest bit. In the pages of Reggie 15 (September 1964), the series that was relaunched in 1963, he addresses the reader directly, arguing that he is misunderstood when people call him a cheat, a sneak, and a louse, but in the very next issue, he notes to Betty that if he were declared king for a day, he would issue in a reign of terror: “I’d make Ivan the Terrible look like Rebecca of Sunnybrook Farm!”; and in Reggie and Me 19 (August 1966), one of his thought balloons literally reads, “dirty evil scheme!” The core ele- Reggie Mantle develops an evil scheme. From Regments of Reggie’s vileness are gie and Me 19 (1966).

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his self-­absorption, his lack of generosity, his boastfulness, and his conceit. The reason that Veronica gives for refusing to date him is the fact that when they are together, Reggie always wants to talk about himself (Archie 169, December 1966). Nonetheless, and despite Jughead’s observations, Reggie is not really any more consistent than the other major Archie characters. Quite commonly, Archie and Reggie are presented as genuine friends, albeit ones who have a healthy rivalry and who occasionally play pranks on each other. In the pages of Jughead, for instance, Reggie and Archie are often portrayed as friendly, while in Archie, they have a relationship built on mutual antagonism. Typical is a story such as “Takes Two to Tangle” (Archie 125, February 1962), which opens in medias res with Archie unconscious in the school hallway and Reggie nursing a sore hand. Even though Mr. Weatherbee inexplicably lets Reggie off the hook, Reggie still blames Archie for almost getting them in trouble. When Archie walks Reggie back through their incident, this time he hauls off and decks Reggie, for which he is caught by Miss Grundy. By the end of the story, the high school staff are fighting, but Reggie and Archie are, if not exactly friends, on peaceable terms. That is just the way it is. Archie and Reggie have been fighting each other since kindergarten, according to a Little Archie story in Archie Annual 14 (1962), yet at the same time, they are still double-­dating with Betty and Veronica. There is a lack of genuine enmity in their relationship by the 1960s. Archie calls Reggie his “beloved old enemy” in Archie 137 (June 1963), while a caption in Betty and Veronica 142 (October 1967) calls him an “unfriend.” This last is probably closest to the truth, as Reggie is unfriendly to the rest of the gang, while at the same time they are happy to have him around. At times he is clearly meant to be a very close friend of Archie and Jughead (as when the three of them form The Archies, for instance), while at other times they fight over Veronica or simply fight for the sake of fighting. Central to the image of social relations painted by Archie comics in the twelve-­cent period is the idea that those who are your enemies are, deep down, actually potentially close friends—­a somewhat reassuring belief. Because Reggie is so different in characterization from the rest of the core Archie characters, he is a tremendously useful character. Whether as a spur that allows tragedies to befall Archie or as a schemer

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whose plans constantly blow up in his own face, Reggie is consistently an important character in any story in which he appears. One of his best is “The Wrong End” (Archie 158, September 1965), in which Reggie drenches Archie with a balloon full of water. Racing to Veronica’s, Archie is forced to change out of his wet clothes and into a frilly pink dress with bows. Seeing this sight, Reggie literally falls on his knees in gratitude and, tying a string to Veronica’s door (“Fortunately us evil geniuses always carry a piece of string,” he thinks to himself), he locks Archie out on the street, where Archie is quickly arrested for the way he is dressed. Archie is bailed out by his father, and the two of them pass Reggie and Veronica walking arm in arm down the street. Archie, still in his pink dress, sighs, “I never thought I’d see the day! When Reggie would come out ahead of me in one of these stories! Whoever heard of the villain getting the girl?” Who indeed?

JEALOUSY The central organizing dynamic of Archie stories is jealousy. This is particularly the case in stories developed around Betty and Veronica and around Archie and Reggie. Jughead, who only occasionally displays any element of jealousy (when his time with Archie is interrupted by the plans of Betty and Veronica), is the most exceptional character in this regard, and the absence of jealousy narratives in stories about him is one of the key reasons that he appears to be such an outsider in the group, despite his centrality and omnipresence. The jealousy theme is most commonly associated with Moose, whose degree of romantic control over Midge is portrayed as dangerously pathological: in a story narrated by a green-­eyed monster, we learn that “if Moose had his way he’d put his girl in a big crate and carry her everywhere.” (Archie 151, December 1964). While Moose is used as the example of morbid jealousy taken to an unhealthy extreme, the emotion sets more plots in motion than any other vice. Significantly, despite the vast economic differences that exist between Veronica (and, to a much lesser degree, Reggie) and the rest of the Riverdale gang, envy only rarely generates story prompts. Class resentment plays very little role in the Archie universe, where the myth of class mobility (represented, most frequently, as the possibility of

Je alousy  73

whose plans constantly blow up in his own face, Reggie is consistently an important character in any story in which he appears. One of his best is “The Wrong End” (Archie 158, September 1965), in which Reggie drenches Archie with a balloon full of water. Racing to Veronica’s, Archie is forced to change out of his wet clothes and into a frilly pink dress with bows. Seeing this sight, Reggie literally falls on his knees in gratitude and, tying a string to Veronica’s door (“Fortunately us evil geniuses always carry a piece of string,” he thinks to himself), he locks Archie out on the street, where Archie is quickly arrested for the way he is dressed. Archie is bailed out by his father, and the two of them pass Reggie and Veronica walking arm in arm down the street. Archie, still in his pink dress, sighs, “I never thought I’d see the day! When Reggie would come out ahead of me in one of these stories! Whoever heard of the villain getting the girl?” Who indeed?

JEALOUSY The central organizing dynamic of Archie stories is jealousy. This is particularly the case in stories developed around Betty and Veronica and around Archie and Reggie. Jughead, who only occasionally displays any element of jealousy (when his time with Archie is interrupted by the plans of Betty and Veronica), is the most exceptional character in this regard, and the absence of jealousy narratives in stories about him is one of the key reasons that he appears to be such an outsider in the group, despite his centrality and omnipresence. The jealousy theme is most commonly associated with Moose, whose degree of romantic control over Midge is portrayed as dangerously pathological: in a story narrated by a green-­eyed monster, we learn that “if Moose had his way he’d put his girl in a big crate and carry her everywhere.” (Archie 151, December 1964). While Moose is used as the example of morbid jealousy taken to an unhealthy extreme, the emotion sets more plots in motion than any other vice. Significantly, despite the vast economic differences that exist between Veronica (and, to a much lesser degree, Reggie) and the rest of the Riverdale gang, envy only rarely generates story prompts. Class resentment plays very little role in the Archie universe, where the myth of class mobility (represented, most frequently, as the possibility of

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marrying into Veronica’s wealth) is alive and well. It is sexual jealousy that animates the narrative and drives much of the conflict. Indeed, without sexual jealousy, the Archie stories would be remarkably different, relying on intergenerational conflict as the main driver of plots (indeed, the Little Archie stories, in which sexual jealousy is totally absent, have an entirely different logic and seem to take place with an entirely different set of characters). Jealousy is the very core of the Archie experience, producing more stories and action than any other single element. It is the central dramatic tension that exists within the gang, and it animates the majority of the stories to at least a certain degree. Jealousy, evolutionary psychology tells us, is hardwired into the human brain, and women and men react to emotional and sexual infidelities quite differently. This explanation, which fails to adequately explain the vast differences that have been identified in cross-­cultural analyses of emotional responses to infidelity, has a commonsensical appeal to it that seemed to be generally supported by the Archie comics creators. It is not simply because Harry Lucey and Frank Doyle occasionally portrayed the Archie gang as cavemen that they were driven to create stories that are classically aligned with the explanations of jealous behavior offered by Darwinian sociobiologists. All the hallmarks of sexual jealousy are routinely found in Archie comics: resource display (virtually every story in which Reggie attempts to humiliate Archie with a new car or stylish clothing); mate concealment (a classic recurring plot line in which Veronica must be hidden from Reggie); submission and debasement (almost every story concerning Betty’s relationship to Archie); and threats and violence (again, Moose). Typical of the jealousy motif in the Archie system is a story such as “Sports Lovers” (Betty and Veronica 85, January 1963). In this tale, Betty manipulates Veronica by flirting with every boy in Riverdale except Archie. Threatened by the possibility that Betty will steal all the available boys in the field (“She’ll make me look like a failure!” Veronica fumes), Veronica retaliates by filling her date schedule for the next three weeks, leaving Archie available to Betty for that duration. Betty is able to count on Veronica’s extreme overreaction because jealousy is such an important psychological attribute in the series. The very slight story in “Sports Lovers” works so easily because Archie’s creators made jealousy the central theme to their work. Indeed,

Je alousy 75

they spell out the role of jealousy on a number of occasions. “The Human Handbook,” the lead story in Pep 189 (January 1966), would make an ideal first Archie story for any reader. Eschewing dialogue, the story is narrated by a series of Frank Doyle–­penned captions that depict and explain the six primary Archie characters (including Mr. Lodge) and establish their core social relations as if they are being portrayed for the very first time (“The boy type, Archie, is pursuing the girl type, Veronica, and he will catch her when she wants him to!” Doyle explains over an image of the duo running through a park). This primer is astonishingly blunt in the way that it interprets the behaviors of the Archie cast: “Sometimes Veronica likes Reggie just to make Archie jealous!” we learn. The final page spells out each pairing exclusively in terms of competition: “Jealous is like Betty not wanting Archie with Veronica . . . Or maybe Archie doesn’t want Veronica with Reggie . . . Or like maybe Veronica’s old dad doesn’t want Archie around his little girl . . . Or Jughead wants to go fishing with Archie and Betty and Veronica want to . . .” This page is remarkable for its directness (and for the fact that it establishes the relationship of Mr. Lodge to his daughter in disturbingly incestuous terms). Doyle and Lucey use a similar approach in another story in which the psychology of the characters is laid bare by the captions, “Take a Day . . . Any Day” (Archie 173, June 1967). We learn in the very first panel that “the pampered, the spoiled, the wealthy Veronica Lodge,” who is shown doing sit-­ups immediately upon waking, “presents her morning sacrifice to the idol of jealousy.” The theme of rivalry and competition is established by Veronica’s intonation: “Bend and stretch, strong and steady, may the wind of misfortune blow on Betty!” The rest of the story strikes similar chords, with the entire cast (except Archie) caught up in a display of false friendship and hypocrisy. Each line of dialogue is revealed by a following thought balloon to be a lie. Greeting each other as bosom friends, Betty and Veronica hope only to undermine each other as rivals and work to make “accidents” happen to the other. Reggie seeks to humiliate Archie on the football field, under the mantle of helping him to get ahead, while Jughead conspires to hide Archie from the girls so that he might be alone with him. In this story, which revolves around each of the cast member’s relationship to Archie, only he is free of jealousy, and only he is denied a psychological interiority.

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In the vast majority of Archie stories during the twelve-­cent period, jealousy exists as a theme or a potential theme. Of course, unlike a work such as Shakespeare’s Othello, in which morbid jealousy is taken to a destructive conclusion, the jealousy on display in Archie comics is always contingent—­it can strike virtually any of the characters at any time and for any purpose—­and is always tempered by the central narrative rule in Archie that no story may impact any other story. It is the lack of consequences as much as it is the requirements of a humor comic book that forestalls the potential of tragedy in the Archie universe. In a fictional setting that must be constantly reiterated, Reggie can never play the completely convincing Iago, and no true harm can befall Veronica’s Desdemona.

“ARE YOU FAMILIAR WITH SHAKESPEARE, MY YOUNG IGNORAMUS?” As I neared the completion of work on this book, I sat in on a series of honors seminar presentations for senior students in my department. After one of my own honors supervisees had finished her presentation on a comics project, the question-­and-­answer period became a minireferendum about the place of comics in an English undergraduate program. I sat on the sidelines, of course, allowing the students to grapple with these questions, to explore, to question, and to defend their presuppositions. Finally, one student whom I did not know well shot up her hand and volunteered, “I suppose that some comics could in fact be literature, but not, you know, Archie.” As a number of the students in the class were aware of my current writing project, this brought a barrage of inappropriate tittering directed at the student who was presumed to have misspoken in front of an authority figure (I was the head of the department at the time). Since there was absolutely no reason that she should have been aware of my work, I assured her that her comment was in no way troublesome, and I added that William Shakespeare “was probably a lousy cartoonist anyway.” Some of the students were taken aback that I might fault Shakespeare’s drawing ability given the sublimity of his poetry. Their reaction revealed something of their inherent biases, none of which are uncommon among students of literature. When one has been taught to see the achievements of human culture through the lens of litera-

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In the vast majority of Archie stories during the twelve-­cent period, jealousy exists as a theme or a potential theme. Of course, unlike a work such as Shakespeare’s Othello, in which morbid jealousy is taken to a destructive conclusion, the jealousy on display in Archie comics is always contingent—­it can strike virtually any of the characters at any time and for any purpose—­and is always tempered by the central narrative rule in Archie that no story may impact any other story. It is the lack of consequences as much as it is the requirements of a humor comic book that forestalls the potential of tragedy in the Archie universe. In a fictional setting that must be constantly reiterated, Reggie can never play the completely convincing Iago, and no true harm can befall Veronica’s Desdemona.

“ARE YOU FAMILIAR WITH SHAKESPEARE, MY YOUNG IGNORAMUS?” As I neared the completion of work on this book, I sat in on a series of honors seminar presentations for senior students in my department. After one of my own honors supervisees had finished her presentation on a comics project, the question-­and-­answer period became a minireferendum about the place of comics in an English undergraduate program. I sat on the sidelines, of course, allowing the students to grapple with these questions, to explore, to question, and to defend their presuppositions. Finally, one student whom I did not know well shot up her hand and volunteered, “I suppose that some comics could in fact be literature, but not, you know, Archie.” As a number of the students in the class were aware of my current writing project, this brought a barrage of inappropriate tittering directed at the student who was presumed to have misspoken in front of an authority figure (I was the head of the department at the time). Since there was absolutely no reason that she should have been aware of my work, I assured her that her comment was in no way troublesome, and I added that William Shakespeare “was probably a lousy cartoonist anyway.” Some of the students were taken aback that I might fault Shakespeare’s drawing ability given the sublimity of his poetry. Their reaction revealed something of their inherent biases, none of which are uncommon among students of literature. When one has been taught to see the achievements of human culture through the lens of litera-

“Ar e Y ou Fam iliar wit h Shakespe are, My Young Ignoramus?”  77

Archie feels the need to read a good book. From Archie’s Pals ’n Gals 30 (1964).

ture, writing becomes the measuring stick against which all other cultural material is examined (and, often, found wanting). Other cultural forms—­television, video games, comic books—­are deemed appropriate for literary study only when they closely mimic or aspire to the conventions of the literary forms, as with The Wire, Mass Effect 2, or Alison Bechdel’s Fun Home. Works with no such aspirations can be difficult for literature majors to place, falling, as they do, into that great genre slag heap of nonliterature that includes Harlequin romances, self-­help books, and choose-­your-­adventure novels. The hierarchy of the arts, which literature students are taught for the four years of their degree, is self-­evident: comics are worth studying when, and only when, they aspire to the status of literature. Archie comics, of course, never aspired to literary merit, any more than Shakespeare aspired to be a cartoonist (had such a category even existed in his day). Archie comics not only had no interest in being like literature; it is not even clear that they liked literature. Yes, of course, Archie’s creators constantly tweaked the nose of literary culture. In “Laugh It Up” (Archie 135, March 1963), Reggie compares Riverdale’s super couple, Archie and Veronica, to the great romantic couplings of literary history: Psyche and Eros, Orpheus and Eurydice, Dido and Aeneas, and, of course, Romeo and Juliet (before, naturally, settling on Beauty and the Beast). When Archie fails to be sufficiently literary for Veronica in “Poetic License” (Archie 177, November 1967), he heads to the library (in summer!) in the hopes that he can pick up the flavor

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of literary culture. His resulting dialogue—­“Granteth a boon to your heartsick swain!”—­earns him a wallop and brings Rudyard Kipling to his lips: “A rag and a bone and a hank of hair but the fool he called her his lady fair . . .” That this is a misquote probably makes the joke all that much funnier. The fullest engagement with literary culture to be found in any Archie comic of the period also, somewhat bizarrely, quotes Kipling’s Mandalay. “Dawn comes up like the thunder!” Archie tells Jughead at the opening of “Don’t Quote Me” (Archie’s Pals ’n Gals 30, Fall 1964), a story in which Veronica begins dating a bespectacled member of the literati (“that’s latin for egg headed snobs!”), Chauncey Bilgerat, president of the local literary club. Archie’s attempt to win back Veronica’s attention by memorizing a book of famous literary quotations results in this: “Time and tide wait for an ill wind, which blows from a fool and his honey, which drips like gentle rain from heaven will protect the working girl! Unquote.” When this, not surprisingly, fails to impress Chauncey, Archie is forced to rely on the tried and the true—­he wallops his opponent in the head with the heavy leather-­bound edition of verse. The punch line is obvious and unsubtle and in perfect keeping with the logic of an Archie comic. The Archie comics of the twelve-­cent era evince very little status anxiety about their relationship to literature (and considerably more about their relationship to visual art). It is unlikely that any of their writers considered what they were doing to be “literary,” which is why it makes so little sense to discuss these works with reference to the literary standards. To do so would be to willingly disregard their central appeal—­the visuals—­in favor of a focus on narrative structures that were commonly used only as an excuse to generate opportunities for drawing action. Bringing the tools of literary judgment to bear on Archie comics is akin to judging a top-­forty hit by the standards of the epic poem, when all you want to do is dance.

“I NEVER SQUEAKED A PIP, EITHER!” In “Snow Job,” the second story in Archie 144 (March 1964), when Mr. Lodge demands a snow shovel from Archie, calling him a “young whippersnapper,” the boy is incredulous. “Whippersnapper?” he asks

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of literary culture. His resulting dialogue—­“Granteth a boon to your heartsick swain!”—­earns him a wallop and brings Rudyard Kipling to his lips: “A rag and a bone and a hank of hair but the fool he called her his lady fair . . .” That this is a misquote probably makes the joke all that much funnier. The fullest engagement with literary culture to be found in any Archie comic of the period also, somewhat bizarrely, quotes Kipling’s Mandalay. “Dawn comes up like the thunder!” Archie tells Jughead at the opening of “Don’t Quote Me” (Archie’s Pals ’n Gals 30, Fall 1964), a story in which Veronica begins dating a bespectacled member of the literati (“that’s latin for egg headed snobs!”), Chauncey Bilgerat, president of the local literary club. Archie’s attempt to win back Veronica’s attention by memorizing a book of famous literary quotations results in this: “Time and tide wait for an ill wind, which blows from a fool and his honey, which drips like gentle rain from heaven will protect the working girl! Unquote.” When this, not surprisingly, fails to impress Chauncey, Archie is forced to rely on the tried and the true—­he wallops his opponent in the head with the heavy leather-­bound edition of verse. The punch line is obvious and unsubtle and in perfect keeping with the logic of an Archie comic. The Archie comics of the twelve-­cent era evince very little status anxiety about their relationship to literature (and considerably more about their relationship to visual art). It is unlikely that any of their writers considered what they were doing to be “literary,” which is why it makes so little sense to discuss these works with reference to the literary standards. To do so would be to willingly disregard their central appeal—­the visuals—­in favor of a focus on narrative structures that were commonly used only as an excuse to generate opportunities for drawing action. Bringing the tools of literary judgment to bear on Archie comics is akin to judging a top-­forty hit by the standards of the epic poem, when all you want to do is dance.

“I NEVER SQUEAKED A PIP, EITHER!” In “Snow Job,” the second story in Archie 144 (March 1964), when Mr. Lodge demands a snow shovel from Archie, calling him a “young whippersnapper,” the boy is incredulous. “Whippersnapper?” he asks

Jug he ad ’s H at   79

Veronica. “I never snapped a whipper in my life! . . . I never even saw a whipper! At least I don’t think I did!” It was only in the hands of writer Frank Doyle that Archie ventured into the arena of wordplay and drolleries. Seemingly acknowledging the secondary role that text plays in the Archie comics drawn by his frequent partner, Harry Lucey, Doyle crafted stories (including this one, which features a ski race between Archie and Veronica’s father) that allowed the artist’s flair for visual humor to occupy the foreground and drive the plot. Nonetheless, Doyle’s witty asides are one of the central hallmarks of his contribution to Archie’s fictional universe and the clearest signature in his storytelling.

JUGHEAD’S HAT A metonym for Jughead’s character, his hat—­a button beanie—­not only is a visual trademark but is in many ways the very definition of who he is. Based on a short-­lived and faddish hat style from the period when he was first created (Jughead debuted in Pep 22 in December 1941), because his hat has not been fundamentally updated—­although it has been allowed to evolve over time—­it looks more and more strange with each passing year. That Jughead holds on to this distinctive chapeau in the face of all fashion trends just makes him that much more of an independent thinker. Jughead’s button beanie finds its origins in a late-­1930s fashion trend begun by mechanical workers who wore hats on the job to keep grease out of their hair and eyes. As they were working with heavy equipment, brimless hats, which allowed for unrestricted vision, were preferred. The beanies—­discarded felt fedoras turned inside out, with the brim trimmed away in a jagged pattern—­became a short-­lived part of American youth culture and can be seen in films from the period, including Angels with Dirty Faces (1938), in which a beanie is worn by Bim, the dead-­end kid played by Leo Gorcey. Capitalism functioning the way that it does, the beanies were soon mass-­manufactured, and when young people began to adorn them with buttons—­to make them more distinctive—­cereal manufacturer Kellogg’s began to give them away with two box tops from Pep cereal (the cereal, ironically or not, that shared a name with the comic book in which Jughead first

Jug he ad ’s H at   79

Veronica. “I never snapped a whipper in my life! . . . I never even saw a whipper! At least I don’t think I did!” It was only in the hands of writer Frank Doyle that Archie ventured into the arena of wordplay and drolleries. Seemingly acknowledging the secondary role that text plays in the Archie comics drawn by his frequent partner, Harry Lucey, Doyle crafted stories (including this one, which features a ski race between Archie and Veronica’s father) that allowed the artist’s flair for visual humor to occupy the foreground and drive the plot. Nonetheless, Doyle’s witty asides are one of the central hallmarks of his contribution to Archie’s fictional universe and the clearest signature in his storytelling.

JUGHEAD’S HAT A metonym for Jughead’s character, his hat—­a button beanie—­not only is a visual trademark but is in many ways the very definition of who he is. Based on a short-­lived and faddish hat style from the period when he was first created (Jughead debuted in Pep 22 in December 1941), because his hat has not been fundamentally updated—­although it has been allowed to evolve over time—­it looks more and more strange with each passing year. That Jughead holds on to this distinctive chapeau in the face of all fashion trends just makes him that much more of an independent thinker. Jughead’s button beanie finds its origins in a late-­1930s fashion trend begun by mechanical workers who wore hats on the job to keep grease out of their hair and eyes. As they were working with heavy equipment, brimless hats, which allowed for unrestricted vision, were preferred. The beanies—­discarded felt fedoras turned inside out, with the brim trimmed away in a jagged pattern—­became a short-­lived part of American youth culture and can be seen in films from the period, including Angels with Dirty Faces (1938), in which a beanie is worn by Bim, the dead-­end kid played by Leo Gorcey. Capitalism functioning the way that it does, the beanies were soon mass-­manufactured, and when young people began to adorn them with buttons—­to make them more distinctive—­cereal manufacturer Kellogg’s began to give them away with two box tops from Pep cereal (the cereal, ironically or not, that shared a name with the comic book in which Jughead first

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debuted his hat). The slang term for someone wearing such a beanie was “jaghead,” which is only a short leap to the nickname bestowed on Forsythe P. Jones. Over time, the simplification of art in Archie comics led to a change in the look and shape of Jughead’s hat. Less a beanie with a turned-­up brim, by the 1960s, it had become a gray felt crown with a pair of buttons perpetually facing front, no matter which angle the hat was drawn from. Much has been made about the fact that Jughead’s indistinctly rendered buttons are always a circle on the left and a rectangle on the right—­a dot and a dash, or the Morse code for A, or for Archie. Whether this was a conscious decision on the part of the Archie creators is a matter of great speculation. Jughead’s hat is the kind of thing that is only occasionally commented on in the comics themselves. It has a taken-­for-­granted aspect that makes it less remarkable than his girl hating, his gluttony, or even his ability to walk with his eyes closed. In “Hats Off ” (Jughead 121, June 1965), the wind carries away his “one of a kind hat,” and when it blows into a haberdashery, it is almost purchased by Mrs. Vandersnoot, the local style setter. When Jughead learns that if she buys it, everyone else will want to wear one, he imagines it on everyone in Riverdale (even Mrs. Grundy and Mr. Weatherbee), before quickly snatching it away from her. In “Hats a Plenty” (Jughead 122, July 1965), he is talked into buying a new fedora by a clever salesman, but, inevitably, it is immediately soaked in a puddle, has its brim ripped off by a dog, and is torn to shreds, so that it looks precisely like a beat-­up version of the hat that he has always loved. Finally, in “Button Business” (Jughead 161, October 1968), Archie ignites a short-­lived Riverdale fad for button beanies thirty years after the original one and, upon learning that Jughead crafts his own buttons, tries to convince his pal to go into business with him. When, after a night’s sleep, Jughead opts out (“try to understand that this hat and buttons is a symbol of my individuality!”), he is dismayed to learn in the final panel that everyone in town is now sporting a colorful knockoff of his beanie. What is interesting about Jughead’s hat is how the creators and editors clearly regarded it as absolutely central to the character. While Archie is gradually modernized into the 1960s by the replacement of his sweater vest, no similar effort is made with regard to Jughead, who remains fundamentally unchanged throughout the twelve-­cent period. As the decade wore on, Jughead’s hat increasingly became the very

The nightmare of having the same hat as everyone else in town. From Archie’s Pal Jughead 121 (1965).

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symbol of nostalgia in Riverdale (his hat gradually sheds its origins in working-­class labor, becoming a pure symbol of personal style). Given the relentless focus of Archie comics on a preracial, presexual, and postlabor framework of nostalgia, Jughead’s hat becomes a metonym not only for the character but for the Archie worldview generally.

FANTASTIC ELEMENTS Although the strongest Archie stories are those that are solidly based in the quotidian interactions among the characters, Archie’s writers and artists were occasionally attracted to stories that dealt with the place of the fantastic in Riverdale. Drawing on one of the central advantages of comics—­the fact that unusual elements can be depicted as easily as normal ones—­virtually every creator relied on magical storytelling devices from time to time. Whether it was Dan DeCarlo ridiculously transforming Betty and Veronica into deformed versions of themselves when they look into a funhouse mirror (Betty and Veronica 75, March 1962) or Samm Schwartz giving Jughead a pet dragon (Jughead 80, January 1962), the opportunities for visual innovation were seemingly too great to turn down. In the flagship Archie title, Harry Lucey drew half a dozen stories featuring scientific and magical impossibilities in 1962 and 1963. Beginning with “Heads Up” (Archie 125, February 1962), in which Archie accidentally invents a potion that turns parts of him—­and, inevitably, Mr. Weatherbee—­invisible, Lucey and writer Frank Doyle explored visual elements that would have been difficult, or even impossible, to produce in film and television with the technologies available at the time. In Archie 126 (March 1962), for example, Archie meets the world’s smallest monster—­essentially a speck with a word balloon attached to it—­and, in another story in the same issue, accidentally radiates a basketball so that with every throw it returns magically to him, against every law of physics. In Archie 130 (August 1962), he is divided into two versions of himself, generating a lengthy argument, and in Archie 137 (June 1963), he and Reggie meet the son of a witch doctor recently returned from Africa who transforms Reggie into the literalization of the ass that he often plays. Each of these stories plays to Lucey’s strengths as an artist, introducing (briefly) a single element

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symbol of nostalgia in Riverdale (his hat gradually sheds its origins in working-­class labor, becoming a pure symbol of personal style). Given the relentless focus of Archie comics on a preracial, presexual, and postlabor framework of nostalgia, Jughead’s hat becomes a metonym not only for the character but for the Archie worldview generally.

FANTASTIC ELEMENTS Although the strongest Archie stories are those that are solidly based in the quotidian interactions among the characters, Archie’s writers and artists were occasionally attracted to stories that dealt with the place of the fantastic in Riverdale. Drawing on one of the central advantages of comics—­the fact that unusual elements can be depicted as easily as normal ones—­virtually every creator relied on magical storytelling devices from time to time. Whether it was Dan DeCarlo ridiculously transforming Betty and Veronica into deformed versions of themselves when they look into a funhouse mirror (Betty and Veronica 75, March 1962) or Samm Schwartz giving Jughead a pet dragon (Jughead 80, January 1962), the opportunities for visual innovation were seemingly too great to turn down. In the flagship Archie title, Harry Lucey drew half a dozen stories featuring scientific and magical impossibilities in 1962 and 1963. Beginning with “Heads Up” (Archie 125, February 1962), in which Archie accidentally invents a potion that turns parts of him—­and, inevitably, Mr. Weatherbee—­invisible, Lucey and writer Frank Doyle explored visual elements that would have been difficult, or even impossible, to produce in film and television with the technologies available at the time. In Archie 126 (March 1962), for example, Archie meets the world’s smallest monster—­essentially a speck with a word balloon attached to it—­and, in another story in the same issue, accidentally radiates a basketball so that with every throw it returns magically to him, against every law of physics. In Archie 130 (August 1962), he is divided into two versions of himself, generating a lengthy argument, and in Archie 137 (June 1963), he and Reggie meet the son of a witch doctor recently returned from Africa who transforms Reggie into the literalization of the ass that he often plays. Each of these stories plays to Lucey’s strengths as an artist, introducing (briefly) a single element

A rch ie’s Joke Book   83

Archie punches a hole through his second self. From Archie 130 (1962).

of the fantastic into an otherwise normal Riverdale universe that can be exploited for its comedic potential and then instantly dropped before the beginning of the next story. The ability to suspend the laws of physics was one of the great storytelling advantages that comics held over other visual media in the 1960s (hence the rise of the superhero genre), and, consequently, it was one that artists such as Lucey exploited to great effect.

ARCHIE’S JOKE BOOK Of all the titles in the Archie Comics stable during the twelve-­cent period, it was the Joke Book series—­Archie’s Joke Book, Reggie’s (Wise Guy) Jokes, and Jughead’s Jokes—­that did the least to advance the brand and the development of the characters. Featuring gags as short as a single panel and, occasionally, jokes that ran as long as two pages, the Joke Book series relied on the most one-­dimensional portraits of the characters. With the characters reduced to their most basic traits (Reggie = cruel; Jughead = hungry; Veronica = vain; Moose = dumb), the comics had little to say and generated very little humor that was specific to Riverdale. For the most part, the jokes in Archie’s Joke Book could be told using the characters from virtually any comic-­book series of the period or any newspaper strip or humor magazine that might have taken them. The quality of the jokes was such that almost

A rch ie’s Joke Book   83

Archie punches a hole through his second self. From Archie 130 (1962).

of the fantastic into an otherwise normal Riverdale universe that can be exploited for its comedic potential and then instantly dropped before the beginning of the next story. The ability to suspend the laws of physics was one of the great storytelling advantages that comics held over other visual media in the 1960s (hence the rise of the superhero genre), and, consequently, it was one that artists such as Lucey exploited to great effect.

ARCHIE’S JOKE BOOK Of all the titles in the Archie Comics stable during the twelve-­cent period, it was the Joke Book series—­Archie’s Joke Book, Reggie’s (Wise Guy) Jokes, and Jughead’s Jokes—­that did the least to advance the brand and the development of the characters. Featuring gags as short as a single panel and, occasionally, jokes that ran as long as two pages, the Joke Book series relied on the most one-­dimensional portraits of the characters. With the characters reduced to their most basic traits (Reggie = cruel; Jughead = hungry; Veronica = vain; Moose = dumb), the comics had little to say and generated very little humor that was specific to Riverdale. For the most part, the jokes in Archie’s Joke Book could be told using the characters from virtually any comic-­book series of the period or any newspaper strip or humor magazine that might have taken them. The quality of the jokes was such that almost

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none of them are memorable, and they often have a quality that suggests Archie Comics was the publisher of last resort for some of these bits. With Archie’s Joke Book 127 (August 1968), the series added the phrase “Laugh In” to its front cover in smaller lettering in order to create the impression of a connection with the then-­popular comedy series Rowan and Martin Laugh-­In, which had debuted in January of that year on NBC, marking Archie’s Joke Book as a halfhearted copycat. Ironically, Laugh-­In was the program that replaced The Man from U.N.C.L.E. on NBC, another program that Archie Comics had ruthlessly ripped off in the pages of Life with Archie. The titles in the Joke Book series were marginally differentiated. Archie’s Joke Book was consistently the wittiest, while Reggie’s (Wise Guy) Jokes was the most mean-­spirited and Jughead’s Jokes was the loopiest. Betty and Veronica, presumably, do not make jokes.

OFTEN IMITATED, NEVER DUPLICATED When Jughead hides out from the rest of the Riverdale crew in the hope of avoiding an invitation to a party at Veronica’s, he takes off his hat, dons a shaggy wig, and plucks a guitar while singing a song about Josie. Reggie and Archie call out to “Albert,” asking if he has seen Jughead, and after Jughead has misdirected them, he says to no one in particular, “Why, Albert isn’t even in this book! He’s in Josie Comics! Any fool could . . . ,” interrupting himself as he stumbles on Betty and Veronica. That Jughead and Albert, the shaggy beatnik boyfriend of Josie in the early and mid-­1960s iteration of those characters, are so easily interchangeable speaks to the simple nature of the Archie formula. A small cast of high school types in a bucolic suburban setting not only is sufficient to keep the Archie machine moving forward but fueled more than half a dozen imitators and knockoffs during the twelve-­cent period. As the example of Josie and Albert suggests, no one imitated Archie Comics quite so well as Archie Comics. She’s Josie, as the title was called at its debut in February 1963, was an inversion of the Archie system, placing a female redhead in the central role, courted by good friends Albert and Alexander (the latter of whom becoming more Reggie-­like

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none of them are memorable, and they often have a quality that suggests Archie Comics was the publisher of last resort for some of these bits. With Archie’s Joke Book 127 (August 1968), the series added the phrase “Laugh In” to its front cover in smaller lettering in order to create the impression of a connection with the then-­popular comedy series Rowan and Martin Laugh-­In, which had debuted in January of that year on NBC, marking Archie’s Joke Book as a halfhearted copycat. Ironically, Laugh-­In was the program that replaced The Man from U.N.C.L.E. on NBC, another program that Archie Comics had ruthlessly ripped off in the pages of Life with Archie. The titles in the Joke Book series were marginally differentiated. Archie’s Joke Book was consistently the wittiest, while Reggie’s (Wise Guy) Jokes was the most mean-­spirited and Jughead’s Jokes was the loopiest. Betty and Veronica, presumably, do not make jokes.

OFTEN IMITATED, NEVER DUPLICATED When Jughead hides out from the rest of the Riverdale crew in the hope of avoiding an invitation to a party at Veronica’s, he takes off his hat, dons a shaggy wig, and plucks a guitar while singing a song about Josie. Reggie and Archie call out to “Albert,” asking if he has seen Jughead, and after Jughead has misdirected them, he says to no one in particular, “Why, Albert isn’t even in this book! He’s in Josie Comics! Any fool could . . . ,” interrupting himself as he stumbles on Betty and Veronica. That Jughead and Albert, the shaggy beatnik boyfriend of Josie in the early and mid-­1960s iteration of those characters, are so easily interchangeable speaks to the simple nature of the Archie formula. A small cast of high school types in a bucolic suburban setting not only is sufficient to keep the Archie machine moving forward but fueled more than half a dozen imitators and knockoffs during the twelve-­cent period. As the example of Josie and Albert suggests, no one imitated Archie Comics quite so well as Archie Comics. She’s Josie, as the title was called at its debut in February 1963, was an inversion of the Archie system, placing a female redhead in the central role, courted by good friends Albert and Alexander (the latter of whom becoming more Reggie-­like

Of ten Im itated , Never Dupli cated  85

over time). In the 1960s, Josie is supported by her best friends Pepper (a brunette) and Melody, a naive blonde-­bombshell character whose speech balloons are adorned with musical notes. The premise of the book revolves around the misadventures of the three girls with different hair colors, but it is Melody, whose attractiveness causes eternal chaos as men pursue her, who prompts much of the slapstick in the series. Created by Dan DeCarlo as a potential newspaper strip, the Josie characters were brought to Archie Comics in 1963 after DeCarlo himself had moved over from working on Marvel’s Millie the Model. She’s Josie was rebranded as Josie in 1965 and completely remade as Josie and the Pussycats in December 1969. It is the Pussycats version of the characters that are the best known iterations, having launched an animated television series as well as a live-­action movie. This version replaced Pepper with Valerie and Albert with Alan, each of whom essentially, and mysteriously, slides into his or her role without fundamentally redefining the operation of the system. Significantly, Josie and her friends were residents of Riverdale and very occasionally crossed over into the Archie universe proper, and stories about them appeared in both Pep and Laugh. Josie was notable because it was the venue in which DeCarlo produced much of his best work and where he seemed to give the freest rein to his imagination. Any typical DeCarlo Josie story is better than the typical DeCarlo Betty-­and-­Veronica tale. Archie Comics also presented two other teen series during the 1960s, but only barely. Wilbur Wilkin, the star of Wilbur, debuted in Zip Comics 18 (September 1941), three months before the first appearance of Archie. An extremely similar concept to Archie, Wilbur was pursued by a brunette (Laura) while he was primarily dating a blonde (Linda), the inverse of the Archie love triangle. Wilbur was only mildly successful relative to Archie, and the title was placed on hiatus in 1959, returning for three annually published issues in 1963, 1964, and 1965 before being permanently discontinued. At the end of the decade, barely squeaking into the twelve-­cent period, Archie launched a new title, That Wilkin Boy, featuring the adventures of Bingo Wilkin and his dog, Rebel. Drawn by DeCarlo, the series had no direct connection to Wilbur, despite the fact that he and Bingo share the same last name. Though the title lasted until 1982, it was never published more than quarterly. Sabrina, the teenage witch, a more successful Riverdale spin-­off, played no role in the 1960s: her title launched in 1971, al-

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though analogues of her character (a blonde witch named Samantha) had appeared in Jughead in the 1960s. As the comics industry was completely shameless in its tendency to duplicate any halfway-­decent publishing fad, rival publishers were as quick as Archie Comics to attempt to cash in on the successful genre that Archie had created. As early as 1948, DC Comics was publishing Leave It to Binky, which predated the similarly named television show about the Cleavers by almost a full decade. Apparently it could not survive the overlap, as it was canceled in 1958, only to return briefly in 1968. Swing with Scooter sought to capitalize on nascent Beatlemania in 1966 and ran to 1972. With its Stan Goldberg art, it was a particularly striking visual clone of the Archie aesthetic. In 1969, Date with Debbi arrived, like That Wilkin Boy, at a moment of expansion in the Archie clone genre. Date with Debbi featured art by Samm Schwartz and backup stories featuring the Leave It to Binky cast. It ran eighteen issues and, like Swing with Scooter, was canceled in 1972. Marvel Comics had a longer tradition of publishing for young girls than did DC, releasing Millie the Model in both its Timely Comics and Atlas Comics incarnations. Though the title debuted in 1945, the peak of its run was the decade from 1949 to 1959, when Dan DeCarlo wrote and drew it, before he moved to Archie Comics. Following DeCarlo’s departure, and during the twelve-­cent era, Millie was only nominally an Archie analogue, as the title shifted increasingly toward soap-­operatic storytelling throughout the 1960s. A nearer analogue was Kathy, which ran from 1959 to 1964 and, like the DC titles, featured the work of Stan Goldberg before he arrived at Archie Comics. Patsy Walker and its various spin-­off titles (Patsy and Her Pals, Patsy and Hedy, and A Date with Patsy) was the other Marvel teen comic of the era, running from 1944 to 1965 and featuring the work of Al Hartley before he himself migrated to Archie Comics. Patsy was eventually transformed into a superheroine, Hellcat, in 1972, as Marvel increasingly eliminated nonsuperhero titles from its publishing line. Other publishers also sought to leap onto the bandwagon. In 1966, Harvey Comics began publishing for a slightly older readership than read its flagship titles, Casper the Friendly Ghost and Richie Rich, launching Bunny (“Queen of the In-­Crowd”), though the long-­lived title is not particularly fondly remembered. Myron Fass’s MF Enterprises began publishing Henry Brewster that same year. The series barely

Of ten Im itated , Never Dupli cate d  87

attempted to obscure its plagiaristic intentions. Henry was joined by a cast that included Debbie, his girlfriend; Melody, the rich girl who is trying to steal him away; Weenie, a brainy Dilton copy; and Animal, who was a soft-­spoken Moose. Fass folded his entire comic-­book line after only a year and a half, opting to focus on his black-­and-­white horror-­comics magazine imprint, Eerie Publications, which was a success throughout the 1970s. Arguably the best of the Archie knockoffs was Tippy Teen, produced by Tower Comics for four years from November 1965 to October 1969. Tower Comics was a company run by Harry Shorten, who had, with Bob Wood, created the superhero character The Fly for Archie Comics in 1940. He launched Tower when he hired Wally Wood as an editor and gave him a free hand to direct a new comics line. When Wood’s work on T.H.U.N.D.E.R. Agents wound up taking up most of his time, Shorten hired Samm Schwartz away from his role as the primary creator of the Jughead comics and placed him in charge of all non-­Wood publications at Tower. Schwartz, who was arguably the number-­three man at Archie behind Lucey and DeCarlo at the time, created Tippy Teen, a blonde, teenage all-­American girl next door whose best friend, Go-­Go, was a folksinger dating a football star named Animal (the same name that Fass had used for Henry Brewster—­apparently after Moose, there is a limited array of dumb jock names available). Tippy Teen was a moderate sales success, spinning off one companion title

Tippy Teen and Go-­Go discuss dating one of their high school teachers. From Tippy Teen 1 (1965).

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(Tippy’s Friend Go-­Go, later changed to Tippy’s Friends Go-­Go and Animal) after its first year. While the first issue had stories featuring art by Lucey and DeCarlo, the bulk of the series was drawn by Schwartz when he was at the peak of his creative powers, carrying on the high quality that he had brought to Jughead, making Tippy Teen, by far, the most engaging of the knockoff titles during this period. When Tower Comics, a division of Tower Books, discontinued the line in 1969, Schwartz moved to DC and Date with Debbi, before returning to Jughead and reviving that title from the creative doldrums. The large number of Archie knockoffs during the 1960s does not mean that there was a wide range of Archie knockoffs. While some titles were superior to others because of the creators involved, none was able to improve on the well-­established Archie formula, and, indeed, the most successful of the imitators were the titles that clove most closely to the Archie Comics aesthetics. The one-­dimensionality of most of the teenage characters in the 1960s, including the Archie cast, meant that they could be shuffled by simply changing a minor detail such as hair color, or they could be copied outright, as with Moose and Dilton. That a character such as Josie’s friend Melody is so memorable simply because of her combination of two disparate qualities (raw sex appeal and youthful guilelessness) is the ultimate indication of how thin the parts of the system were. Creators such as DeCarlo, Goldberg, and Schwartz could move effortlessly from publisher to publisher telling what were essentially the same stories and using the same kinds of sight gags and slapstick because the level of product differentiation was essentially nonexistent. What differentiated Archie in the marketplace was not necessarily the strength of its idea so much as the power and longevity of its brand.

THE HISTORICAL ARCHIE It is the emptiness of the Archie characters that allows them to be so easily transplanted into history. Throughout the 1960s, creators such as Harry Lucey and Samm Schwartz took great pleasure in crafting Archie stories set in the distant historical past, reimagining their familiar characters in completely different settings. These stories inevitably relied on the most conventional takes on each of the characters, fixating

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(Tippy’s Friend Go-­Go, later changed to Tippy’s Friends Go-­Go and Animal) after its first year. While the first issue had stories featuring art by Lucey and DeCarlo, the bulk of the series was drawn by Schwartz when he was at the peak of his creative powers, carrying on the high quality that he had brought to Jughead, making Tippy Teen, by far, the most engaging of the knockoff titles during this period. When Tower Comics, a division of Tower Books, discontinued the line in 1969, Schwartz moved to DC and Date with Debbi, before returning to Jughead and reviving that title from the creative doldrums. The large number of Archie knockoffs during the 1960s does not mean that there was a wide range of Archie knockoffs. While some titles were superior to others because of the creators involved, none was able to improve on the well-­established Archie formula, and, indeed, the most successful of the imitators were the titles that clove most closely to the Archie Comics aesthetics. The one-­dimensionality of most of the teenage characters in the 1960s, including the Archie cast, meant that they could be shuffled by simply changing a minor detail such as hair color, or they could be copied outright, as with Moose and Dilton. That a character such as Josie’s friend Melody is so memorable simply because of her combination of two disparate qualities (raw sex appeal and youthful guilelessness) is the ultimate indication of how thin the parts of the system were. Creators such as DeCarlo, Goldberg, and Schwartz could move effortlessly from publisher to publisher telling what were essentially the same stories and using the same kinds of sight gags and slapstick because the level of product differentiation was essentially nonexistent. What differentiated Archie in the marketplace was not necessarily the strength of its idea so much as the power and longevity of its brand.

THE HISTORICAL ARCHIE It is the emptiness of the Archie characters that allows them to be so easily transplanted into history. Throughout the 1960s, creators such as Harry Lucey and Samm Schwartz took great pleasure in crafting Archie stories set in the distant historical past, reimagining their familiar characters in completely different settings. These stories inevitably relied on the most conventional takes on each of the characters, fixating

Th e Histo r i cal A rch ie   89

Archirunatdames and Reggileptimen discuss the Saracens. From Laugh Comics 154 (1964).

on their one-­dimensionality in order to reduce the cast members to their very essence. Historical stories never cast the Riverdale gang in a new light; rather, they tended to amplify their existing social relations. The most useful character in the historical stories was Reggie, who was also the most uncommon member of the cast. With Reggie being the perpetual villain, in the historical stories, there is no halfhearted suggestion that he and Archie are merely friendly rivals—­in the past, he is generally attempting to murder Archie. In “Teaser for Caesar” (Archie 180, March 1968), Harry Lucey and Frank Doyle depict the evil Regibus plotting, with his slave (Moose) and the unfair Veronica, to depose Archie as head of the Roman Empire. The exact same plot transpires in “The Egyptian” (Laugh 154, January 1964), a Samm Schwartz story in which Reggileptimen plots with Veronicapet to poison the pharaoh, Attuamentahauashutup (Jughead). In “The Forest of Prime Evil” (Jughead 117, February 1965), set in the days of Robin Arch, though Reggie does not appear until the fourth page of a six-­page story, there is never really any doubt that when he does appear, it will be as the Sheriff of Nottingham. One of the striking elements of the historical stories is the fact that Veronica is also often cast as the villain. She does not appear at all in the Robin Arch story (Betty making a much superior Maid Marian to be held captive), but she inevitably appears in the Cleopatra role if there is an emperor. This is a function of wealth and class, of course, but it also shades her characterization slightly to the negative

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for stories set in Riverdale. Reading repeatedly about the scheming Veronica in historically set stories inevitably leads one to distrust her intentions in stories set in the present day, particularly since she has such a strong proclivity toward manipulating Archie by flirting with and dating other boys. Betty, on the other hand, can play no role in the past other than faithful servant. In “Teaser for Caesar,” for example, she is Archie’s newest slave (“only thirty drachms!”), who overhears the plot against him and switches the poisoned goblets, while in “The Egyptian,” she is “a low-­born, simple peasant maid” in love with the guard captain (Archie) who informs him of the plot against Jughead. Jughead and Archie, on the other hand, occupy varying roles that are more dependent on which title the story appears in than anything innate to their characterization. In the Samm Schwartz stories from Jughead, the title character is much more likely to occupy the lead role of pharaoh, while in the Harry Lucey–­drawn stories in Archie, it is Archie who plays Caesar (Juginus is simply a gluttonous friend in this story). One of the key elements of the Archie titles is that there was a high degree of internal consistency to them. Jughead is the star of Jughead, and so stories in that magazine place him in the position of greatest prominence, with Archie tagging along in a sidekick role. In Betty and Veronica, which had few historically set pieces, the titular duo is most central, with the other characters not even necessary for the functioning of the stories. The logic of these internal hierarchies was not cast off for the historical works, and, if anything, it was structurally reinforced by the focus on core character elements.

MUTUALLY ASSURED DESTRUCTION The fundamental basis of the relationship between Archie and Reggie is rivalry, not simply when they both seek to court Veronica but as a general rule. This rivalry is not simply one-­sided, with the nefarious Mantle boy pulling pranks on a harmless Archie (although he does do that). Archie’s enmity for Reggie is as strong as it is the other way around, and he is just as prone to strike first. In “Use Your Head” (Archie 124, December 1961), the equivalence between Archie and Reggie is explicit. When Jughead gets a “bean bouncer”—­a balloon tethered to a head strap that allows the wearer

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for stories set in Riverdale. Reading repeatedly about the scheming Veronica in historically set stories inevitably leads one to distrust her intentions in stories set in the present day, particularly since she has such a strong proclivity toward manipulating Archie by flirting with and dating other boys. Betty, on the other hand, can play no role in the past other than faithful servant. In “Teaser for Caesar,” for example, she is Archie’s newest slave (“only thirty drachms!”), who overhears the plot against him and switches the poisoned goblets, while in “The Egyptian,” she is “a low-­born, simple peasant maid” in love with the guard captain (Archie) who informs him of the plot against Jughead. Jughead and Archie, on the other hand, occupy varying roles that are more dependent on which title the story appears in than anything innate to their characterization. In the Samm Schwartz stories from Jughead, the title character is much more likely to occupy the lead role of pharaoh, while in the Harry Lucey–­drawn stories in Archie, it is Archie who plays Caesar (Juginus is simply a gluttonous friend in this story). One of the key elements of the Archie titles is that there was a high degree of internal consistency to them. Jughead is the star of Jughead, and so stories in that magazine place him in the position of greatest prominence, with Archie tagging along in a sidekick role. In Betty and Veronica, which had few historically set pieces, the titular duo is most central, with the other characters not even necessary for the functioning of the stories. The logic of these internal hierarchies was not cast off for the historical works, and, if anything, it was structurally reinforced by the focus on core character elements.

MUTUALLY ASSURED DESTRUCTION The fundamental basis of the relationship between Archie and Reggie is rivalry, not simply when they both seek to court Veronica but as a general rule. This rivalry is not simply one-­sided, with the nefarious Mantle boy pulling pranks on a harmless Archie (although he does do that). Archie’s enmity for Reggie is as strong as it is the other way around, and he is just as prone to strike first. In “Use Your Head” (Archie 124, December 1961), the equivalence between Archie and Reggie is explicit. When Jughead gets a “bean bouncer”—­a balloon tethered to a head strap that allows the wearer

Betty = Ver oni ca  91

to repeatedly bounce the balloon using one’s forehead—­both Reggie and Archie want one. Quickly tiring of his new toy, Archie devises to play a trick on Reggie, as does Reggie on Archie. They both come up with exactly the same ploy—­fill the balloon with cement so that it will knock their rival unconscious—­and the story concludes with Archie’s damaged skull and Reggie’s broken foot, as both balloons cause maximal damage. A similar story can be found in “Get the Message!” (Archie 142, December 1963), in which Archie finds a message for him chalked on the sidewalk. As he gets down on his hands and knees to read it, he slowly backs himself into a fence until a loose board causes a bag of rotten tomatoes to fall on his head. Seeking his vengeance, he plans the exact same gag for Reggie, who, recognizing it, does not fall for it but rather leaps over the fence into a barrel of water, just as Archie had known that he would. “His weakness,” Archie tells Veronica as he comes to reclaim her for their date, “is underestimating his opponents! My strength is in knowing my enemy!” The recurring theme with regard to practical jokes in the Archie universe is that, as in Mad Magazine’s “Spy versus Spy,” they almost always backfire on the person who pulls them, or they are reciprocated in such a way that no one comes out ahead. It is the clearest demonstration of the natural equivalency between Archie and Reggie that exists in the Archie universe.

BETTY = VERONICA For many readers, the central question in the Archie comics is this: Why does Archie struggle to choose between Betty and Veronica when, for all intents and purposes, they are exactly the same person? While it is true that each has distinguishing personality traits, in physical terms they are identical save for the color of their hair and the fact that Betty wears a ponytail. Not only are they the same height, weight, and build, but their facial structure is absolutely identical. In Archie’s Pals ’n Gals 24 (Spring 1963), each girl wears the same wig, and Archie is completely incapable of distinguishing the one from the other. In Archie’s Joke Book 75 (February 1964), Dan DeCarlo pushes things even further. In a panel in which Betty and Veronica imagine

Betty = Ver oni ca  91

to repeatedly bounce the balloon using one’s forehead—­both Reggie and Archie want one. Quickly tiring of his new toy, Archie devises to play a trick on Reggie, as does Reggie on Archie. They both come up with exactly the same ploy—­fill the balloon with cement so that it will knock their rival unconscious—­and the story concludes with Archie’s damaged skull and Reggie’s broken foot, as both balloons cause maximal damage. A similar story can be found in “Get the Message!” (Archie 142, December 1963), in which Archie finds a message for him chalked on the sidewalk. As he gets down on his hands and knees to read it, he slowly backs himself into a fence until a loose board causes a bag of rotten tomatoes to fall on his head. Seeking his vengeance, he plans the exact same gag for Reggie, who, recognizing it, does not fall for it but rather leaps over the fence into a barrel of water, just as Archie had known that he would. “His weakness,” Archie tells Veronica as he comes to reclaim her for their date, “is underestimating his opponents! My strength is in knowing my enemy!” The recurring theme with regard to practical jokes in the Archie universe is that, as in Mad Magazine’s “Spy versus Spy,” they almost always backfire on the person who pulls them, or they are reciprocated in such a way that no one comes out ahead. It is the clearest demonstration of the natural equivalency between Archie and Reggie that exists in the Archie universe.

BETTY = VERONICA For many readers, the central question in the Archie comics is this: Why does Archie struggle to choose between Betty and Veronica when, for all intents and purposes, they are exactly the same person? While it is true that each has distinguishing personality traits, in physical terms they are identical save for the color of their hair and the fact that Betty wears a ponytail. Not only are they the same height, weight, and build, but their facial structure is absolutely identical. In Archie’s Pals ’n Gals 24 (Spring 1963), each girl wears the same wig, and Archie is completely incapable of distinguishing the one from the other. In Archie’s Joke Book 75 (February 1964), Dan DeCarlo pushes things even further. In a panel in which Betty and Veronica imagine

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themselves bald like a Mexican hairless dog, the twinned depictions are absolutely indistinguishable. One might further note that virtually every teenage girl in Riverdale (with the notable exception of Big Ethel) is a similar clone of the body type outfitted with a different hairstyle. Given the fact that there is a tremendous range of teenage-­ boy body Betty and Veronica imagine themselves with the types in Riverdale (from Dilhairstyles of various dogs, including a Mexican hairton to Jughead to Moose), and less. From Archie’s Joke Book 75 (1964). given the fact that the ubiquity of the same female body type is rarely the subject of story prompts, the best explanation of this phenomenon undoubtedly resides in the appeal that drawing physically idealized nubile young bodies had for certain postwar American comic-­book illustrators.

HEAD OVER HEELS Of all the dozens of artists who contributed to Archie Comics in the twelve-­cent era, the best, by far, was Harry Lucey. The artist on the top-­selling flagship title, Archie, Lucey created depictions of the cast that are the definitive versions—­his Archie is the most wide-­eyed, his Betty and Veronica are the most alluring, and his Jughead is the most relaxed. Lucey was the quintessential Archie artist because he understood best where the humor lay—­not in the plots (which were often half-­baked), not in the dialogue (which could be sharp when penned by Frank Doyle but is never the hallmark of the series), but in images of the cast captured hurtling through the air head over heels. In “Oil’s Well” (Archie 154, April 1965), Archie is carrying a can of motor oil to the machine shop when it springs a leak. Reggie warns him to clean it up before “something like that will happen!” The “that” in the intervening panel is an unnamed Riverdale High student slipping on the oil while running to class. This poor individual winds up upside down,

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themselves bald like a Mexican hairless dog, the twinned depictions are absolutely indistinguishable. One might further note that virtually every teenage girl in Riverdale (with the notable exception of Big Ethel) is a similar clone of the body type outfitted with a different hairstyle. Given the fact that there is a tremendous range of teenage-­ boy body Betty and Veronica imagine themselves with the types in Riverdale (from Dilhairstyles of various dogs, including a Mexican hairton to Jughead to Moose), and less. From Archie’s Joke Book 75 (1964). given the fact that the ubiquity of the same female body type is rarely the subject of story prompts, the best explanation of this phenomenon undoubtedly resides in the appeal that drawing physically idealized nubile young bodies had for certain postwar American comic-­book illustrators.

HEAD OVER HEELS Of all the dozens of artists who contributed to Archie Comics in the twelve-­cent era, the best, by far, was Harry Lucey. The artist on the top-­selling flagship title, Archie, Lucey created depictions of the cast that are the definitive versions—­his Archie is the most wide-­eyed, his Betty and Veronica are the most alluring, and his Jughead is the most relaxed. Lucey was the quintessential Archie artist because he understood best where the humor lay—­not in the plots (which were often half-­baked), not in the dialogue (which could be sharp when penned by Frank Doyle but is never the hallmark of the series), but in images of the cast captured hurtling through the air head over heels. In “Oil’s Well” (Archie 154, April 1965), Archie is carrying a can of motor oil to the machine shop when it springs a leak. Reggie warns him to clean it up before “something like that will happen!” The “that” in the intervening panel is an unnamed Riverdale High student slipping on the oil while running to class. This poor individual winds up upside down,

He ad o ve r Hee l s  93

his arms spread-­eagled with his right leg pointed straight away from his body in an angle greater than ninety degrees and his left leg bent backward at a painful angle, while his books and papers flutter away from him—­a concussion for sure (he sees stars in the next panel), likely a broken collarbone. And that is just on the first page. The entire point of the story, such as it is, is an excuse for Lucey to draw Jughead sliding through the hallways on one foot, the principal spun like a dervish, Betty and Veronica dancing an oily jitterbug, and Mr. Weatherbee and Miss Grundy dancing a tango with their feet cut out from under them. Indeed, this story has essentially no plot—­the oil can leaks, for reasons that are never established (was it simply faulty? did Archie do something to damage it? it does not really matter), and people slip in the oil. The end. Yet the beauty of the piece resides in Lucey’s compositions—­no one draws a pratfall better than he does. The same story is told with a different cast only four issues later in “Pushbutton” (Archie 158, September 1965), when Veronica uses a spray aerosol that “aids in dusting and leaves a wax film!” Again, that is the entire plot. Veronica dusts with a waxy product. When Archie leans against the desk, he rattles his jaw as he slips and falls on its edge. When Mr. Lodge rushes in to check on the boy, “Eeyipe!”: upside-­ down, arms spread-­eagled, head tucked (no concussion! he’s learned to fall properly after so much practice!), right leg extended straight behind him, left leg bent at an awkward angle—­he lands in a heap on Archie, joined moments later by a crashing Smithers. Mr. Lodge takes an even worse fall in “The Most Dangerous Game” (Archie 141, November 1963), when he steps on a croquet ball that has rolled near some bushes. Here Lucey presents the same fall but from a different angle—­we see Mr. Lodge hurtle toward concussive impact while he is facing us, with the emphasis placed on his legs. The examples are endless. Indeed, it would be possible to suggest that all of the strongest Archie stories feature at least one character falling head over heels and suffering a concussion. It is an easy gag, but it always works. Of course, head over heels also has a different meaning when love is involved. Few artists represented the expression of teenage desire anywhere near as well as Lucey did. In “The Cure” (Archie 127, April 1962), Archie is afflicted with the hiccups, and the gang is unable to find an appropriate cure. Veronica says that she can “practically guarantee that hiccups will be the farthest thing from his mind!” as she grabs

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him, dips him, and smacks him on the lips (generating a five-­heart response in the air). Archie is literally swept off his feet—­the thick motion lines leading from the ground to his toes now three feet above his head, his arms spread-­eagled in the classic Lucey concussion-­fall position, and his hands bent limply at the wrist, pointing helplessly toward the ground. The element that sells the impact: she literally kisses his shoes off. Similarly, in “Signs of Peace” Veronica sweeps Archie—­and his shoes—­off (Archie 157, August 1965), Betty chalhis feet. From Archie 127 (1962). lenges Archie to “do something super!” and he grabs her and hauls her into the air, her feet above her head, her arms straight out behind him as if she is falling, as he smacks her with a four-­heart-­generating kiss that has her extended straight in the air like a trumpet and that, in the following panels, leaves her cross-­ legged and teetering as he proudly examines his fingernails. The head-­over-­heels pose is used repeatedly throughout Archie comics, both as the literal depiction of a catastrophic fall (it is remarkable how few stories are set at the hospital given the way that the cast hits the ground) and as a figurative example of the power of sexual attraction. While virtually all the Archie Comics artists used the technique (“The Kiss Off,” in Betty and Veronica 162, June 1969], is one of the best examples of Dan DeCarlo mining the same territory), Lucey’s comic abilities fundamentally outstripped them. His characters fly higher, and his midair poses are more dramatic. The absolute master of body language in the Archie Comics stable, Lucey renders a controlled chaos that makes the airborne cast member a perfect punch line—­no element is wasted in the search for comic impact and impactful comics.

MR. WEATHERBEE To suggest that Mr. Weatherbee is a one-­dimensional character is almost to be too generous. He is less a character than he is a blue (or

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him, dips him, and smacks him on the lips (generating a five-­heart response in the air). Archie is literally swept off his feet—­the thick motion lines leading from the ground to his toes now three feet above his head, his arms spread-­eagled in the classic Lucey concussion-­fall position, and his hands bent limply at the wrist, pointing helplessly toward the ground. The element that sells the impact: she literally kisses his shoes off. Similarly, in “Signs of Peace” Veronica sweeps Archie—­and his shoes—­off (Archie 157, August 1965), Betty chalhis feet. From Archie 127 (1962). lenges Archie to “do something super!” and he grabs her and hauls her into the air, her feet above her head, her arms straight out behind him as if she is falling, as he smacks her with a four-­heart-­generating kiss that has her extended straight in the air like a trumpet and that, in the following panels, leaves her cross-­ legged and teetering as he proudly examines his fingernails. The head-­over-­heels pose is used repeatedly throughout Archie comics, both as the literal depiction of a catastrophic fall (it is remarkable how few stories are set at the hospital given the way that the cast hits the ground) and as a figurative example of the power of sexual attraction. While virtually all the Archie Comics artists used the technique (“The Kiss Off,” in Betty and Veronica 162, June 1969], is one of the best examples of Dan DeCarlo mining the same territory), Lucey’s comic abilities fundamentally outstripped them. His characters fly higher, and his midair poses are more dramatic. The absolute master of body language in the Archie Comics stable, Lucey renders a controlled chaos that makes the airborne cast member a perfect punch line—­no element is wasted in the search for comic impact and impactful comics.

MR. WEATHERBEE To suggest that Mr. Weatherbee is a one-­dimensional character is almost to be too generous. He is less a character than he is a blue (or

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green—­it depends on the colorist) three-­piece suit and a title. Mr. Weatherbee is a role—­the symbol of middle-­class conformity. He is the helpless authority figure who is constantly frustrated by the antics of the students at the school that he is condemned to run. Unable to grasp the social mores of the current generation, he is out of touch with the way that they speak and act, desperately trying to maintain some semblance of control through the exercise of unchecked authority. Detention is really the only thing that he has to offer. Introduced in October 1964, Archie and Me was, bizarrely, a title intended to showcase the adventures of Mr. Weatherbee, the “me” of the title. Few of the stories found original approaches to the character, with the vast majority revolving around Archie’s ongoing chaos—­falling off ladders, tripping on mops, and generally making everyone work a little harder at Riverdale High. Attempts to flesh out the characterization of the school principal were few and far between. In “What If?” (Archie and Me 9, August 1966), the bachelor Mr. Weatherbee wonders what would have happened if he had had a son like Archie. The answer is that all the girl chasing and inattentiveness would have driven him crazy in exactly the same ways that Archie constantly bothered him in his role as principal. Nothing, not even paternity, can alter the relationship between Archie (a function of disorder) and Mr. Weatherbee (the avatar of order). When, in “One for the Books!” (Archie and Me 14, April 1967), Mr. Weatherbee accidentally writes a national best-­seller about his experiences with Archie (My Daze with Archie), the duo is feted around the town and flown to promotional appearances in New York, where they are mobbed by crowds of young girls and praised by television interviewers (“You have given us a modern day Tom Sawyer”), until they simply get tired of being famous and return to the Riverdale that knows them so well. One of the most unchanging elements of the Archie universe, Mr. Weatherbee is the rock against which almost any boat can be crashed, setting in motion an endless array of plots, almost all of which are exactly the same.

CAVEMAN ARCHIE Of all the historical versions of the Archie characters, none was so commonly revisited during the twelve-­cent era as the caveman ver-

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green—­it depends on the colorist) three-­piece suit and a title. Mr. Weatherbee is a role—­the symbol of middle-­class conformity. He is the helpless authority figure who is constantly frustrated by the antics of the students at the school that he is condemned to run. Unable to grasp the social mores of the current generation, he is out of touch with the way that they speak and act, desperately trying to maintain some semblance of control through the exercise of unchecked authority. Detention is really the only thing that he has to offer. Introduced in October 1964, Archie and Me was, bizarrely, a title intended to showcase the adventures of Mr. Weatherbee, the “me” of the title. Few of the stories found original approaches to the character, with the vast majority revolving around Archie’s ongoing chaos—­falling off ladders, tripping on mops, and generally making everyone work a little harder at Riverdale High. Attempts to flesh out the characterization of the school principal were few and far between. In “What If?” (Archie and Me 9, August 1966), the bachelor Mr. Weatherbee wonders what would have happened if he had had a son like Archie. The answer is that all the girl chasing and inattentiveness would have driven him crazy in exactly the same ways that Archie constantly bothered him in his role as principal. Nothing, not even paternity, can alter the relationship between Archie (a function of disorder) and Mr. Weatherbee (the avatar of order). When, in “One for the Books!” (Archie and Me 14, April 1967), Mr. Weatherbee accidentally writes a national best-­seller about his experiences with Archie (My Daze with Archie), the duo is feted around the town and flown to promotional appearances in New York, where they are mobbed by crowds of young girls and praised by television interviewers (“You have given us a modern day Tom Sawyer”), until they simply get tired of being famous and return to the Riverdale that knows them so well. One of the most unchanging elements of the Archie universe, Mr. Weatherbee is the rock against which almost any boat can be crashed, setting in motion an endless array of plots, almost all of which are exactly the same.

CAVEMAN ARCHIE Of all the historical versions of the Archie characters, none was so commonly revisited during the twelve-­cent era as the caveman ver-

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sion of the gang. Introduced in Archie 137 (June 1963) in a story featuring art by Harry Lucey, these versions of the characters were revisited half a dozen times over the remainder of the decade, including on four more occasions by Lucey. Established in the first story as one of Archie’s dreams, all the subsequent Neanderthal stories eschew any framing that would position them in this way. Moreover, these stories do unfold an extremely slight continuity over a very long period of time, with each story laying the foundation for the ones that might follow it. The idea for caveman versions of the Archie gang seems to have been borrowed from the success of The Flintstones, which had been a hit on ABC for three years before Archie opted to rip it off. In the first story, “Cave Man Casanova,” Archie wears an orange animal skin with black spots that is a near-­perfect copy of Fred Flintstone’s outfit, with Betty and Veronica wearing cheetah and zebra swimsuits while arguing over which one of them should be clubbed in the head by Archie first. The influence of The Flintstones is clearly evident, not only in the setting but in the way that dinosaurs are repurposed as everyday objects for the use of the characters (as “glof ” carts, for example, in a story in which no one can agree if the newly invented game should be known as “glof ” or “golf ”). At the same time, there are significant differences. First, the caveman Archie stories do not take place in a prehistoric analogue of Riverdale but in the wilderness by a watering hole. So undeveloped is the caveman setting that when Archie sets out to explore the globe, Jughead tells him that it could take “all day.” Second, unlike The Flintstones, whose dinosaurs are never dangerous and are always domesticated, in the Archie version of the stories, dinosaurs are still wild, hunted, and, on occasion, highly carnivorous. Established as the fundamental origin not just of the Archie gang but of civilization as we know it, the caveman version of the gang allows for the resetting of established jokes. In “Cave Man Casanova,” for example, Archie meets Jughead for the very first time (the latter is eating a roasted mastodon leg) and complains that nothing has yet been invented (“No tv, no radio, no cars, bikes or roller skates!”). Archie does not realize that his purpose in life is to pursue the girls and bash them in the skull with a club, and he is disappointed to learn it. Archie has, miraculously, come up with an invention that he calls “ouch,” fire produced from a Zippo lighter. He trades it to Reggie with

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Caveman Archie makes his mark. From Archie 188 (1969).

this promise: “It’ll make you the life of the party! Fool your friends! Be popular!” Reggie trades him “his catch”—­Betty and Veronica, who beg to be dragged off to Archie’s cave. The ensuing caveman stories were rolled out only after considerable time. The second appears almost two years later (Archie 153, March 1965). At this point, Archie and Reggie are friends and allies but are from a different tribe than are the girls. The two tribes speak different languages, and each side is making it up as it goes along (Archie’s language uses “kiss” to mean “punch,” and “foot” to mean “head”). A second lengthy hiatus occurred before the next caveman story, a non-­Lucey story that appeared three years later in a March 1968 issue of Life with Archie (71). The next month’s issue had the Lucey-­drawn story in which glof is invented. It was at this point that the caveman version of the characters became more common. While Life with Archie 81 (January 1969) had an additional non-­Lucey story, the premise became increasingly one of his signatures as time moved on. Late in the decade, Lucey produced two additional caveman stories in Archie 183 (July 1968) and Archie 188 (February 1969), and he continued to produce the stories in the pages of that magazine at regular intervals until his health forced his retirement from Archie Comics in 1976. All told, dozens of caveman Archie stories were produced over a period of thirteen years, making it the longest running alternative-­universe version of the Archie characters.

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Certainly the most interesting aspect of the caveman stories is not their limited and slow-­building quasi-­continuity but the fact that, beginning in the summer of 1968, they were used for social and political purposes. To say that Archie comics, as a rule, avoided dealing with the important social issues of their day would be a vast understatement. Archie lived in a world in which geopolitics simply did not exist: the Vietnam War was replaced by the battle over Archie waged by Betty and Veronica, and social injustices had nothing to do with voting rights and everything to do with allowances that were too small. Even in the most generous reading, these were not metaphors for the larger social ills. However, this was not the case in the Lucey-­drawn caveman stories of the late 1960s. In “First Peace” (Archie 183), Betty arrives to inform Reggie and Veronica that bashing women in the skull was no longer the way to say “I love you”—­it had been replaced by giving flowers (“Flower power is in! Love is gentle this season! Soft, sweet!”). What we must do, Betty tells Veronica at the end of the story, “is spread the word of love!” Soon the elders are convinced. Archie’s father bemoans the fact that “ever since the world began ninety two years ago it’s been nothing but fight, fight, fight!” Mr. Lodge acknowledges that while he has built his fortune on weapons of war, he does not sleep nights and so is happy to burn them. The high school staff hopes that maybe this will mean an end to the draft of the third grade. “Nothing,” Mr. Weatherbee says while sitting beside a roaring fire, “gives a warmer glow than burning weapons of war!” In the context of the Archie comics of the 1960s, this is the most fulsome commentary on contemporary social issues ever offered—­an endorsement of the antiwar values espoused by the contemporary counterculture that is in no way undermined (unlike the Dan DeCarlo–­drawn antihippie stories that populated other titles). The next caveman story (Archie 188), which is about exploring, ends on a very similar note, when Archie carves a mark into a rock so that he will be remembered for all time. Although he cannot read it (since the alphabet has yet to be invented), it is lettering that spells out “PEACE.” Jughead calls it a nice-­looking mark, while Archie declares, “Someday all people may learn to make that mark and then everybody will be happy to the ends of the earth!” As social statements in Archie comics go, the most direct were those that the characters could not fully comprehend.

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LIFE WITH ARCHIE The least typical of the Archie comics published in the twelve-­cent era was Life with Archie. Generally, each of the Archie comics titles had a low level of differentiation from the others, which was based on the title character (stories in Jughead tended, not surprisingly, to feature Jughead as the lead, while stories in Betty and Me focused on Betty, but otherwise the titles were structurally similar) or the creative team (to the extent that readers might be cognizant of those differences). Life with Archie was the true outlier. Debuting in September 1958, it featured longer stories—­generally two per issue rather than the typical four—­and stories that were more dramatic than humorous. These adventures, involving shipwrecks, smugglers, haunted houses, and so on, were not unlike the exploits of the Hardy Boys, reformatted to include the five primary cast members. Typical of the dramatic turn in Life with Archie is the seventeenth issue (November 1962), in which Jughead is afflicted with appendicitis. The issue-­long story features atypically ominous narration captions (“Soon Jughead is on his way to the hospital, rushed through dark streets in a fast ambulance with a wailing siren”) and a full-­page splash of the boy on the operating table with a dramatic jagged caption asking, “Will Jughead make it?” Similarly, Life with Archie 18 features a story in which Archie is placed on trial for stealing the Riverdale student fund from the high school safe. Both issues break with the established conventions of Archie comics in important ways. First, the stories are the length of the comic book itself, far in excess of the six-­page stories that were typical of the other titles at the time. Second, each has a cover that explicitly spells out the subject of the issue (Jughead in a hospital bed, Archie with his lawyer in a courtroom), which is a break from the tradition that Archie covers are stand-­alone gags that do not in any way reflect the interior story elements. Third, the stories are more novelistic in their use of drama and, in particular, narration captions to advance the action. With very few exceptions, Archie comics during this period eschewed captions—­except in cases in which they were the exclusive textual element in a story (as in the parodies of primers) or were being used ironically as a counterpoint to the images in the panels (as in “Betty’s Diary”). The dramatic issues

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of Life with Archie that were the hallmark of the early 1960s focused on more conventional narratives and used all the conventions of noncomics forms of writing. Significantly, the stories contained in these two issues of Life with Archie demonstrate a clear reliance on well-­worn television genres. The medical drama was a prime-­time staple, with Dr. Kildare and Ben Casey on the air at this time, as was the legal drama (Perry Mason). As the rise in television viewership led directly to a decline in comic-­book sales in the United States beginning from 1952, it is not surprising that Archie Comics would experiment with comics that directly mimicked successful television genres. Indeed, Life with Archie’s television aesthetic was well established, and it was crystallized in the twenty-­first issue (July 1963): “Teevie Jeebies.” In this story, Archie is accidentally trapped inside of the Joneses’ television set when he attempts to repair it. With Jughead unable to get him, he calls for Dilton Doily, who, after a lengthy informational monologue on how televisions operate, accidentally loses Archie’s signal. From there, the story proceeds predictably, with Archie appearing on various channels (drawn in black-­and-­ white, in panels with rounded corners to mimic the shape of television tubes of the period): he interrupts a gunfight on a western, appears in an oven during a cooking program, features as both a surgeon on a medical drama and the lawyer, the accused, the judge, and all twelve jurors on a legal drama. Ultimately Dilton is unable to free Archie from his electronic state, but when he tosses the owner’s manual at the television, Archie reappears. As stories go, “Teevie Jeebies” is not a good one—­the humor is forced and the premise hoary and the payoff virtually nonexistent. Yet the story was typical of Life with Archie during the early part of the twelve-­cent era, when the clearest narrative influence was surely television. Life with Archie was essentially the televised version of the character and, in particular, the sitcom version. Like the sitcoms of the time (Andy Griffith, Leave It to Beaver, Dick Van Dyke, My Three Sons, all of which were on the air), each issue played out the entirety of a single plot with no subplots, focusing on a situation that would be introduced and resolved in the allotted time and that would not carry forward to the coming week’s episode. The essential difference is that Life with Archie occasionally ventured into the realm of the fantastic: in the thirteenth issue, (March 1962), the gang is threatened by a giant,

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four-­armed, metal-­eating alien named Geeko, while in the sixteenth, (September 1962), they visit the underwater world of Neptunia. The Life with Archie formula began to change in 1965, when the single-­story format was abandoned in favor of one featuring two stories. The cover to the thirty-­second issue (December 1964) promoted both stories equally (the gang takes a trip to Venice, and Archie’s father has to decide whether to raise his allowance), as the title maintained its tradition of linking the covers to the interiors in a promotional manner. This tradition held for most of the year, even as the new formula began to fade. The forty-­first issue (September 1965), for example, announced that six adventures could be found in its pages (plus a “surprise” seventh), with Archie and his friends traveling the globe to the Amazon, to Africa, to the Matterhorn, and to the North Pole. By this time, the format had begun to collapse on itself, and a dramatic shake-­up was necessitated. Over the ensuing years, Life with Archie changed format a number of times and was clearly used as a stalking horse for new publishing ideas. In 1966, the title became the primary home for stories featuring Pureheart the Powerful and, as the year went by, The Man from R.I.V.E.R.D.A.L.E. In 1967, it was the launching point for stories featuring The Archies, particularly in the band’s short-­lived Monkees-­ inspired misadventures. Throughout this period, it remained a midrange title in the line, continually selling well above a title such as Little Archie but well behind the more traditional humor comics. The Pureheart period saw an initial circulation bump before it was abandoned, and the title lost significant sales during the wacky Archies period (which is likely why the band concept was significantly recast). By 1968, the publisher had seemingly run out of new ideas to experiment with, and in 1968, Life with Archie became all but indistinguishable from titles such as Pep and Laugh, relying on nonspecific gag covers, four short stories, and all the conventions of the Archie comics of the period. With the conclusion of the great experiment, circulation rose considerably (Life with Archie increased its circulation by almost fifty thousand copies per month from 1967 to 1969, when it was at its sales peak of 326,000 copies), suggesting that issue-­long stories and wacky parodies were not the kinds of things that Archie comics readers were most interested in. Despite the atypicality of Life with Archie, or because of it, the se-

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ries produced very few truly memorable issues during the 1960s. As the Archie gang was a poor fit for the adventure genre (or, really, any of the other genres that the creators experimented with during the time period), none of the work is particularly well remembered. While the Pureheart material has its fans, those stories were just as prominent in other titles, and the other experiments such as the Monkees version of The Archies are barely recalled at all. If Life with Archie proved anything, it was the strength of the primary Archie formula of short gag stories based on the everyday misadventures of the kids from Riverdale. Transplanted into longer formats and other genres, the work consistently fell flat, and Life with Archie had its biggest successes at the end of the decade, only when the publisher and creators stopped trying to make Archie into something that he was not. Life with Archie, with its extended plots and serious themes, was the most self-­consciously literary of all the Archie titles of the period, and, not coincidentally, it was also the worst.

WHAT IS THE ZIP CODE FOR RIVERDALE? One of the most unusual Archie stories in the 1960s is “Letter Perfect” (Betty and Veronica 139, July 1967), a story in which the main characters are Veronica, Betty, and workers at the United States Postal Service. The plot is straightforward: with Archie away on a vacation in the South, Betty has written to invite him to a sorority dance. Veronica does the same, but as she does not include a zip code on her letter, it is never delivered. Conscientious Betty, who does use the five-­digit zip code, has her letter arrive on time, and Archie plans to return to Riverdale early in order to accompany her to the dance. The story concludes with Veronica hanging signs in her house that read, “Don’t be a drip . . . Use your zip!” What makes this story out of the ordinary is how direct it is in its moralizing tone. The story establishes a good and bad use of the mail, with a postal carrier constantly haranguing Veronica about her inappropriate use of the address label, and her ultimate punishment for her failure to use the zip code. If the piece sounds like a paid advertisement for the USPS and the zip code, there is very good reason to presume that it probably was.

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ries produced very few truly memorable issues during the 1960s. As the Archie gang was a poor fit for the adventure genre (or, really, any of the other genres that the creators experimented with during the time period), none of the work is particularly well remembered. While the Pureheart material has its fans, those stories were just as prominent in other titles, and the other experiments such as the Monkees version of The Archies are barely recalled at all. If Life with Archie proved anything, it was the strength of the primary Archie formula of short gag stories based on the everyday misadventures of the kids from Riverdale. Transplanted into longer formats and other genres, the work consistently fell flat, and Life with Archie had its biggest successes at the end of the decade, only when the publisher and creators stopped trying to make Archie into something that he was not. Life with Archie, with its extended plots and serious themes, was the most self-­consciously literary of all the Archie titles of the period, and, not coincidentally, it was also the worst.

WHAT IS THE ZIP CODE FOR RIVERDALE? One of the most unusual Archie stories in the 1960s is “Letter Perfect” (Betty and Veronica 139, July 1967), a story in which the main characters are Veronica, Betty, and workers at the United States Postal Service. The plot is straightforward: with Archie away on a vacation in the South, Betty has written to invite him to a sorority dance. Veronica does the same, but as she does not include a zip code on her letter, it is never delivered. Conscientious Betty, who does use the five-­digit zip code, has her letter arrive on time, and Archie plans to return to Riverdale early in order to accompany her to the dance. The story concludes with Veronica hanging signs in her house that read, “Don’t be a drip . . . Use your zip!” What makes this story out of the ordinary is how direct it is in its moralizing tone. The story establishes a good and bad use of the mail, with a postal carrier constantly haranguing Veronica about her inappropriate use of the address label, and her ultimate punishment for her failure to use the zip code. If the piece sounds like a paid advertisement for the USPS and the zip code, there is very good reason to presume that it probably was.

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The USPS introduced the zip code (and two-­letter state abbreviations) on July 1, 1963, as a nonmandatory routing suggestion. While early polls of mail users demonstrated that the practice was not popular with the public, it was also clear that greater efficiencies would save the USPS millions of dollars per year. The USPS sought to publicize the use of zip codes with a cartoon character, Mr. Zip, who appeared on signs and buttons in post offices nationwide. Faced with a slow adoption of the new technology, the USPS initiated a national campaign to encourage the adoption of zip codes in 1967, at the same time that the zip code was made mandatory for bulk mailing and commercial mailing rates. It is almost impossible to read a story such as “Letter Perfect” and not believe that it was part of an advertising campaign by the USPS. Archie Comics reached millions of young readers every month, which would make it a desirable partner for the campaign, and the tone of the piece is so hectoring and obvious that it is clearly not a parody of the then-­current advertising. Everything about the story screams partnership, something that Archie Comics avoided in all other cases during the twelve-­cent period. One of the only pieces of pure advocacy ever produced by the publisher during the twelve-­cent period, “Letter Perfect” fails to answer the only question that readers would be most interested to know: what is the zip code for Riverdale?

COVER ART One of the most unusual aspects of comic-­book publishing is the fact that multipanel comics, the bread and butter of what is being sold to the reader, are so rarely depicted on the cover of the magazines themselves. In the vast majority of cases, publishers opt for a more eye-­catching display. While most Archie covers, with the exception of early issues of Life with Archie, bore covers that had no relation to the story contents inside, they would provide a general sense of the substance of the issue by featuring a gag of some sort involving the Archie crew. During the 1960s, Dan DeCarlo became established as the go-­to artist for Archie covers, producing vastly more of them than any other single Archie artist. DeCarlo, who was also the king of the interior pinup gags, had a familiar style that generally used a setup/

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The USPS introduced the zip code (and two-­letter state abbreviations) on July 1, 1963, as a nonmandatory routing suggestion. While early polls of mail users demonstrated that the practice was not popular with the public, it was also clear that greater efficiencies would save the USPS millions of dollars per year. The USPS sought to publicize the use of zip codes with a cartoon character, Mr. Zip, who appeared on signs and buttons in post offices nationwide. Faced with a slow adoption of the new technology, the USPS initiated a national campaign to encourage the adoption of zip codes in 1967, at the same time that the zip code was made mandatory for bulk mailing and commercial mailing rates. It is almost impossible to read a story such as “Letter Perfect” and not believe that it was part of an advertising campaign by the USPS. Archie Comics reached millions of young readers every month, which would make it a desirable partner for the campaign, and the tone of the piece is so hectoring and obvious that it is clearly not a parody of the then-­current advertising. Everything about the story screams partnership, something that Archie Comics avoided in all other cases during the twelve-­cent period. One of the only pieces of pure advocacy ever produced by the publisher during the twelve-­cent period, “Letter Perfect” fails to answer the only question that readers would be most interested to know: what is the zip code for Riverdale?

COVER ART One of the most unusual aspects of comic-­book publishing is the fact that multipanel comics, the bread and butter of what is being sold to the reader, are so rarely depicted on the cover of the magazines themselves. In the vast majority of cases, publishers opt for a more eye-­catching display. While most Archie covers, with the exception of early issues of Life with Archie, bore covers that had no relation to the story contents inside, they would provide a general sense of the substance of the issue by featuring a gag of some sort involving the Archie crew. During the 1960s, Dan DeCarlo became established as the go-­to artist for Archie covers, producing vastly more of them than any other single Archie artist. DeCarlo, who was also the king of the interior pinup gags, had a familiar style that generally used a setup/

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punch-­line format, often with the characters—­particularly Betty and Veronica—­drawn in an unusual or provocative form. Nonjoke covers were almost unheard of during this time frame, reserved for the very occasional “serious” Archie story (in Life with Archie) or for a more iconic take on the characters, as with the image of Betty and Veronica simultaneously kissing Archie under the mistletoe on the cover of the Christmas-­themed Archie Giant Series 10 (February 1961). Four-­panel comics covers had been common on issues of Jughead during the ten-­cent period, generally setting up a relatively complex joke, but they largely disappeared by the time the price was increased the extra two cents. Nearly one hundred issues later, Jughead had a brief resurgence of multipanel covers in the summer and fall of 1966, including an extremely rare three-­panel cover for Jughead 137 (October 1966). Typically, there was no difference in these cases between jokes used for the cover and the kind of jokes that would be included as filler material in the interior. In retrospect, it seems somewhat at odds with the logic of good marketing to make no differentiation between a cover—­whose sole purpose is to generate sales—­and filler, which is often the least compelling part of the magazine. Archie itself rarely had anything but pinup covers, though Samm Schwartz provided a two-­panel gag for Archie 151 (December 1964) and Harry Lucey did the same for Archie 154 (April 1965). The magazine that used the multipanel gag most frequently was Archie’s Joke Book, in which very little distinction seemed to go into separating the magazines’ contents from their covers. Given that the Joke Book series relied overwhelmingly on one-­page gags, extending that format to the cover seems to have had a certain industrial logic to it. Bizarrely, the cover gags are often not the best ones from the magazine, an unusual choice in marketing terms. At the end of the decade, Pep was the title most likely to use multipanel gags. By this point in time, the practice was so uncommon (not just with Archie comics but in the industry as a whole) that it contributes to the sense that Pep is a relic of an earlier period in the history of the medium. The gradual shift during the decade toward Dan DeCarlo as the sole Archie cover artist tended to give the publishing line a unified look and feel, but it also helped strip the titles of the sense of individuality that they had once contained. DeCarlo himself trafficked in a small number of habitual gestures that characterized his covers, including

The Riverdale gang laugh in open-­jawed appreciation of Moose’s misunderstanding. From Pep 229 (1969).

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the full-­toothed reaction laugh. Found on literally hundreds of covers, this tic involved one character delivering a punch line while the rest of the cast—­not involved in the joke directly but gathered as an appreciative audience in the interest of placing as many characters on the cover as possible—­reacts by overselling a usually very traditional joke with an eyes-­closed, open-­mouthed roar of laughter. Frozen in time as the Archie gang is, DeCarlo cast it as a perpetually cozy society of good-­ natured friends, providing cover images that were strikingly at odds with many of the stories contained within the magazines themselves.

FAIRY GODMOTHERS Harry Lucey’s attraction to the fantastical in the pages of Archie was matched in the twelve-­cent era by Dan DeCarlo’s fascination with stories about fairy godmothers. While magical stories featuring Archie and the boys often featured scientific interventions—­crazy chemical concoctions or a basketball irradiated by nuclear-­powered machines—­ similar stories about the girls generally took on magical overtones. Significantly, in the stories drawn by Dan DeCarlo, the upsetting of the natural order has much more to do with the expression of a character’s innermost desires than it does with scientific breakthroughs. In 1962, DeCarlo drew stories in three consecutive issues of Betty and Veronica dealing with supernatural wish granters. In “Power Failure” (Betty and Veronica 73, January 1962), Betty gets a modern genie in a flashlight (“You can call me ‘Flash’!”) who grants her wish to bring Archie to her and to humiliate Veronica, but he is only able to partially fulfill her third wish for a dress that will wow her beloved because his batteries run out of power. The next month, a fairy godfather (“I’m one of those characters that no one ever takes seriously!”) brings Veronica’s ruggedly handsome ice sculpture to life, though he freezes her solid whenever he kisses her. Finally, in “Mr. Inferno” (Betty and Veronica 75, March 1962), Betty quickly agrees to sell her soul to the devil in exchange for the opportunity to win Archie’s heart, but when it turns out Veronica has already struck the very same deal, all debts are necessarily canceled. Wish fulfillment is a powerful narrative tool in a comic series in which the characters are so clear about their desires. When Jughead

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the full-­toothed reaction laugh. Found on literally hundreds of covers, this tic involved one character delivering a punch line while the rest of the cast—­not involved in the joke directly but gathered as an appreciative audience in the interest of placing as many characters on the cover as possible—­reacts by overselling a usually very traditional joke with an eyes-­closed, open-­mouthed roar of laughter. Frozen in time as the Archie gang is, DeCarlo cast it as a perpetually cozy society of good-­ natured friends, providing cover images that were strikingly at odds with many of the stories contained within the magazines themselves.

FAIRY GODMOTHERS Harry Lucey’s attraction to the fantastical in the pages of Archie was matched in the twelve-­cent era by Dan DeCarlo’s fascination with stories about fairy godmothers. While magical stories featuring Archie and the boys often featured scientific interventions—­crazy chemical concoctions or a basketball irradiated by nuclear-­powered machines—­ similar stories about the girls generally took on magical overtones. Significantly, in the stories drawn by Dan DeCarlo, the upsetting of the natural order has much more to do with the expression of a character’s innermost desires than it does with scientific breakthroughs. In 1962, DeCarlo drew stories in three consecutive issues of Betty and Veronica dealing with supernatural wish granters. In “Power Failure” (Betty and Veronica 73, January 1962), Betty gets a modern genie in a flashlight (“You can call me ‘Flash’!”) who grants her wish to bring Archie to her and to humiliate Veronica, but he is only able to partially fulfill her third wish for a dress that will wow her beloved because his batteries run out of power. The next month, a fairy godfather (“I’m one of those characters that no one ever takes seriously!”) brings Veronica’s ruggedly handsome ice sculpture to life, though he freezes her solid whenever he kisses her. Finally, in “Mr. Inferno” (Betty and Veronica 75, March 1962), Betty quickly agrees to sell her soul to the devil in exchange for the opportunity to win Archie’s heart, but when it turns out Veronica has already struck the very same deal, all debts are necessarily canceled. Wish fulfillment is a powerful narrative tool in a comic series in which the characters are so clear about their desires. When Jughead

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is granted a genie, he inevitably wishes for food, while Betty is unwavering in her desire for Archie’s heart. Characters whose desires are not central to their characterization—­such as Reggie—­are rarely involved in these fairy-­godmother plots, as there is so little to gain. The stories themselves are highly conventionalized, as even the brief overview provided here indicates. Since Betty is a loser in love, her fairy godmothers are never able to deliver on their promises. In “Shell Shock” (Betty and Veronica 89, May 1963), her apprentice genie brings her Jughead in a black “R” sweater vest rather than Archie. Where the characterization is fixed, as in Betty’s love life, there are some things that even divine intervention is unable to alter.

DAN DECARLO’S FOREGROUND PORTRAITS One of the most idiosyncratic signatures in the history of comics, Dan DeCarlo’s regular use of a noncharacter portrait in the foreground of his panels appeared frequently in his work for decades. The consistency of their use is remarkable. Always female, the noncharacter will interrupt the flow of the story by appearing in close-­up in the foreground of a panel, generally in the bottom left or right corner. The main characters will be temporarily relegated to the background, even if there are dialogue balloons that continue to drive the momentum of the story. The foreground girl is a temporary break from the narrative and a design element that is intended to direct attention momentarily away from the story and its characters. The foreground girl is never involved in the plot in a more direct manner Dan DeCarlo inserts a noncharacter into the and never reappears in the story. foreground while Betty and Veronica are relegated Not a character, she is a design to the back of the panel. From Archie’s Girls Betty element—­purely decorative. and Veronica 132 (1966).

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DeCarlo had certain repetitive tendencies in the use of the foreground girl. Overwhelmingly she had short hair, oen a bob, in a story in which almost all the female characters wore their hair long. She never looks at the lead characters or engages with them, and most commonly she is depicted looking o panel at some action outside the frame. In Archie Giant Series (August ), for example, she waves to someone unseen on the beach. She is almost always wide-e­ yed, and her eyes are directed away from the reader. She rarely gazes forward (a notable exception can be found in Betty and Veronica (September ), where the foreground girl wears large sunglasses, shading her eyes and allowing a forward glance). Serving no narrative function whatsoever, the foreground girl is used by DeCarlo repeatedly ­ although never more than once per issue ­as a means to vary his compositions and keep his layouts lively. By occasionally pushing his lead characters into the background, he lls that space with portraits of attractive girls. One might be tempted to look for a deeper meaning in these asides, were it not for the fact that DeCarlo particularly excelled at drawing pretty girls, and this seemed to be his primary interest as a drasman.

ARCH IEASANADV ENTU RECOMIC By the s, cartoonists had conclusively demonstrated that their art form was particularly well suited to the adventure genre. From the classic exploits of HergØs boy reporter Tintin to the daily serialization of Terry and the Pirates, Little Orphan Annie, and Flash Gordon, comics were widely used to present the exciting ongoing adventures of beloved characters in a wide variety of exotic locales, all around the globe and even into outer space. Given the wide-­ranging success of the genre, it is no surprise that Archie Comics would attempt to capitalize on the demand by adding adventure to the Archie formula. What is surprising is how completely and utterly those attempts failed. Genre-­crossing adventure comics are, of course, quite common. e best- ­selling American adventure comics of the s and early s were those featuring Disneys Uncle Scrooge, who raced around the globe in a never-­ending series of entrepreneurial exploits, plotted

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DeCarlo had certain repetitive tendencies in the use of the foreground girl. Overwhelmingly she had short hair, often a bob, in a story in which almost all the female characters wore their hair long. She never looks at the lead characters or engages with them, and most commonly she is depicted looking off panel at some action outside the frame. In Archie Giant Series 147 (August 1967), for example, she waves to someone unseen on the beach. She is almost always wide-­eyed, and her eyes are directed away from the reader. She rarely gazes forward (a notable exception can be found in Betty and Veronica 153 (September 1968), where the foreground girl wears large sunglasses, shading her eyes and allowing a forward glance). Serving no narrative function whatsoever, the foreground girl is used by DeCarlo repeatedly—­ although never more than once per issue—­as a means to vary his compositions and keep his layouts lively. By occasionally pushing his lead characters into the background, he fills that space with portraits of attractive girls. One might be tempted to look for a deeper meaning in these asides, were it not for the fact that DeCarlo particularly excelled at drawing pretty girls, and this seemed to be his primary interest as a draftsman.

ARCHIE AS AN ADVENTURE COMIC By the 1960s, cartoonists had conclusively demonstrated that their art form was particularly well suited to the adventure genre. From the classic exploits of Hergé’s boy reporter Tintin to the daily serialization of Terry and the Pirates, Little Orphan Annie, and Flash Gordon, comics were widely used to present the exciting ongoing adventures of beloved characters in a wide variety of exotic locales, all around the globe and even into outer space. Given the wide-­ranging success of the genre, it is no surprise that Archie Comics would attempt to capitalize on the demand by adding adventure to the Archie formula. What is surprising is how completely and utterly those attempts failed. Genre-­crossing adventure comics are, of course, quite common. The best-­selling American adventure comics of the 1950s and early 1960s were those featuring Disney’s Uncle Scrooge, who raced around the globe in a never-­ending series of entrepreneurial exploits, plotted

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and drawn by Carl Barks. The genre transplant, which is what Archie Comics was attempting, though more rare, was not entirely unheard of. Archie Comics had had great success with a formula that focused primarily on the quotidian aspects of its characters. Archie and his pals and gals were presented as typical American teens, and the best Archie stories remained true to that initial formulation, eschewing complex and lengthy plots in favor of tightly paced gag stories with a strong slapstick element (particularly when Harry Lucey was the artist). At the end of the 1950s, with the creation of Life with Archie, the company experimented with the possibility of re-­creating Archie as a globe-­trotting adventurer. Typical of this effort is Life with Archie 16 (September 1962). The cover depicts Archie and Reggie scuba diving around a sunken ship. Its dialogue is dramatic rather than humorous: Reggie: Archie! You must get that door open! Jughead’s air supply can’t last much longer! Archie: The door won’t open! Jughead is trapped! A few things immediately suggest themselves. The first is the redundancy of the dialogue, reiterating the same factual information (Jughead is trapped behind a locked door) in both instances. The second is that the cover artist was confused about how Archie and Reggie might speak to each other underwater while breathing through air regulators—­their dialogue is presented in thought balloons, which may account for the redundancy since neither character can hear the other. In any case, the cover is intended to convey a sense of danger and drama that is otherwise generally absent from Archie comics. Moreover, the cover is directly related to the story contents, which do take place under the sea. The story in Life with Archie is presented in four distinct chapters, all of which begin their numbering with the first page as if they could have been included in different issues. The first chapter, “Hi-­Jinks and Deep Divers,” opens off the coast of Florida, where the core Archie gang is vacationing on Mr. Lodge’s yacht (the SS Veronica). After Mr. Lodge explains the etymology of the word snorkel, a brief dramatic scene unfolds in which Archie is menaced by a shark only to be rescued by Charlie, the yacht’s captain. When Jughead and the girls go

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into town for ice cream, Archie and Reggie decide to stay to explore a shipwreck. Archie’s decision to explore a shipwreck without a trained diver at his side moments after he had to be rescued from a shark in the same waters is, needless to say, never explained. The second chapter opens with a semi-­re-­creation of the cover: Reggie and Archie struggle to open a door that has been sealed for hundreds of years. Notably, there is no urgency here, because Jughead is not running out of air—­he is eating ice cream with Betty and Veronica. Inside the sunken ship, the boys spiral down a bizarre chute, landing in a heap on some sand, where, fortunately, there is air, since they lose their scuba equipment along the way. Greeted by a cohort of Neptunians in “the secret city beneath the waves,” they learn that Neptunia is covered by a “huge plastic pressure-­dome” and inhabited by descendants of Atlantis. Visiting the local Neptunian malt shop, Reggie and Archie learn that they are to be fed to a giant clam, and not surprisingly, they decide to run for their lives. Chapter 3 depicts a very limited hunt for the boys, who hide in trash cans, escape to a cave, and are briefly menaced by a giant lobster. Gathering up their discarded scuba equipment they attempt to flee but are caught by the local police in giant nets. The final chapter finds the boys transported to an area containing the giant clam (an enormous billboard announces its presence), where they are loaded into an antechamber to await their doom. Fortunately, Neptunian police are renowned for their incompetence, as the boys are left with their scuba equipment and are also able to obtain an unsecured piece of steel with which to lodge open the mouth of the giant clam before swimming out through an unlocked inlet pipe and back to the surface. Back on the yacht, Archie dissembles to Veronica since, he says, “nobody would believe our story!” and the comic draws to a close. Significantly, this issue of Life with Archie is neither funny nor dramatic. The few gags that are thrown into the mix are halfhearted at best (as the two boys prepare to die, Reggie tells Archie, “You’re pretty lucky, boy! Now you won’t have to get up the 43 cents you owe me!”). Worse, the tension in the comic is almost nonexistent. Confronted by the Neptunian police, the boys simply run away. Faced with a giant lobster, they simply run away. Menaced by a giant clam, they simply swim away. Their escapades require no special skills or particular feats

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of derring-­do, and they are freed as a direct result of the Neptunian incompetence rather than their own thoughtfulness. It is a most unsatisfying adventure, and sadly, it is typical of Archie Comics’ attempts in this genre.

TEXT PIECES Due to governmental regulations, comic books during the twelve-­cent era were required to include text pieces in order to qualify for reduced bulk-­mailing rates. In the vast majority of cases, Archie Comics fulfilled this requirement by running Archie Club News, a series of essay contests and announcements that would run in all its regular titles. While other titles, particularly from the major superhero publishers Marvel and DC Comics, regularly ran fan letters, Archie Comics did not adopt this policy during the period. The one exception was “Dear Betty and Veronica,” an advice column introduced in Betty and Veronica 139 (September 1967). The advice column replaced the earlier text pieces that had been unique to Betty and Veronica. It is clear from these text pages that the publisher always assumed this title to have a higher percentage of female readers than the rest of the Archie line, and the text pieces particularly bore out that presumption. Many of the essays that had run exclusively in Betty and Veronica over the previous years would not have been particularly out of place in any magazine targeting teen and preteen girls during the era. Topics included articles on shampoo styling, nail care for girls, winter skin problems, and how to shape your eyes. In Betty and Veronica 75 (March 1962), readers were informed that marriage engagement was one of the most wonderful times in any girl’s life, while in issue 108 (December 1964), the advantages of a career in librarianship were promoted. Many articles featured profiles of then-­popular film stars and performing artists, including The Beatles, Ricky Nelson, and Ann-­Margret (“Beautiful Teen Bombshell”). While the stories in Betty and Veronica featured feminine-­themed stories much more than the other titles did, it was the text pieces that really set it apart as a title of interest to a young female readership. “Dear Betty and Veronica” was as close as Archie Comics ever came

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of derring-­do, and they are freed as a direct result of the Neptunian incompetence rather than their own thoughtfulness. It is a most unsatisfying adventure, and sadly, it is typical of Archie Comics’ attempts in this genre.

TEXT PIECES Due to governmental regulations, comic books during the twelve-­cent era were required to include text pieces in order to qualify for reduced bulk-­mailing rates. In the vast majority of cases, Archie Comics fulfilled this requirement by running Archie Club News, a series of essay contests and announcements that would run in all its regular titles. While other titles, particularly from the major superhero publishers Marvel and DC Comics, regularly ran fan letters, Archie Comics did not adopt this policy during the period. The one exception was “Dear Betty and Veronica,” an advice column introduced in Betty and Veronica 139 (September 1967). The advice column replaced the earlier text pieces that had been unique to Betty and Veronica. It is clear from these text pages that the publisher always assumed this title to have a higher percentage of female readers than the rest of the Archie line, and the text pieces particularly bore out that presumption. Many of the essays that had run exclusively in Betty and Veronica over the previous years would not have been particularly out of place in any magazine targeting teen and preteen girls during the era. Topics included articles on shampoo styling, nail care for girls, winter skin problems, and how to shape your eyes. In Betty and Veronica 75 (March 1962), readers were informed that marriage engagement was one of the most wonderful times in any girl’s life, while in issue 108 (December 1964), the advantages of a career in librarianship were promoted. Many articles featured profiles of then-­popular film stars and performing artists, including The Beatles, Ricky Nelson, and Ann-­Margret (“Beautiful Teen Bombshell”). While the stories in Betty and Veronica featured feminine-­themed stories much more than the other titles did, it was the text pieces that really set it apart as a title of interest to a young female readership. “Dear Betty and Veronica” was as close as Archie Comics ever came

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to a letters column, although the letters did not comment on the stories in any direct way but rather sought generic advice. Given that the column was not announced in advance, and no questions were ever solicited from the readership, it seems highly unlikely that the letters, particularly in the earliest installments of the column, were legitimately from readers. The letters in Betty and Veronica 139 (July 1967) were initially attributed to pseudonyms (“Boiling Mad” in Wantagh, L.I.; “Something Fishy” in Denver), but initials were adopted beginning in the next issue (O.S. in Tampa, FL). Almost all the letters were typical of the advice-­column genre for teens of the era, including questions about dating, tagalong siblings, and boyfriends who phone too rarely or too frequently. In issue 140 (August 1967), a particularly bad piece of advice is provided to J.M. of Medford, Massachusetts, who wrote in to say that a “dear friend” of hers insists on wearing miniskirts despite being overweight. Betty and Veronica, the personification of an unattainable teen body type, heartlessly replied, “Your friend has a bigger problem than her weight! Your short skirted pal is short sighted and is unrealistic to her shortcomings! You’ve done all you can! She’ll have to catch on by herself!” This feedback served to reinforce the implicit cattiness and crass consumerism that was endemic to the Betty and Veronica stories of the period. Given the fact that the letters seeking advice were undoubtedly the product of an assistant editor, the column offered surprisingly ironic advice on occasion. A letter from “Mad” in Pine Bluff, Arkansas, in Betty and Veronica 143 (November 1967) asked, “I have a big problem! My girlfriend seems to have the same taste as mine—­especially in my boyfriends! I just found out they both are going on a date without letting me know! What should I do?” Bizarrely, of course, this is a central plot prompt in an overwhelming number of stories in Betty and Veronica. Indeed, it might be the single most common story told in Archie comics of the period. If the editors were pulling the legs of the readership with such an obviously ironic query, the response is even more confusing: “I noticed you used the word ‘friend’ in talking about both of them! If I were you—­I wouldn’t waste loyalty on either one! Find other ‘friends’ who know what real loyalty is.” Here the text piece is used to contradict the entire narrative construct of the Archie universe, and the readership is told, essentially, to ignore the moral of every story that the company has ever told.

Pr e vious ly on A rchie  11 3

PREVIOUSLY ON ARCHIE Before we were interrupted by the text piece on text pieces, we learned that Archie Comics produced poor adventure comics because there is a fundamental discontinuity between the humorous expectations of the audience and the conventions of the adventure genre. To recap: menaced with death by a giant clam, Reggie and Archie are simply able to swim away under their own power, in a story that fundamentally lacks dramatic tension. What tension that does exist is further minimized by the story structure, which unnecessarily breaks the action into four distinct chapters, each of which opens with a brief recap of the material that took place before the interruption caused by the intervening text piece. Why does this happen? A story such as the one contained in Life with Archie 16 (September 1962) can be read completely by an average reader in a matter of a very few minutes, and even a child with rudimentary reading skills would presumably finish it in a period brief enough that he or she would be able to retain the entirety of the plot. When reading about the adventures in A recap of everything that has happened in the previous Neptunia, for example, eighteen pages of the story. From Life with Archie 21 (1963).

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any reader will be able to note that the cover is a complete fabrication, that none of the action involves a threat to Jughead, and that he never reappears in the story after he leaves to buy ice cream. Presumably, Archie Comics felt that a threat to the beloved Jughead would sell more comics than would the threat of a giant clam and thereby justified lying to its readers. Recaps are extensively used in serialized fictions; whether episodic television (“Previously on . . .”), serial movies, or novels published one chapter at a time, a certain level of mental refreshment is an expected part of the genre. In comics, daily newspaper strips frequently contain dialogue in the first panel that can seem redundant when the strip is read in collected form but served as a brief refresher for readers encountering the strip on a daily basis. Similarly, in the American superhero comic-­book tradition, it has been common to have characters reflect on recently passed occurrences in order to bring readers of a following issue up to speed (as trade paperback collections of superhero comics have become the norm, these recaps have been increasingly banished to the paratextual apparatus so that they can be eliminated in the collections). What is striking about recaps in Archie comics, however, is that none of these examples pertains: Archie comics during the twelve-­ cent era never continued in a different issue. This was an absolute prohibition. Nonetheless, many of them, particularly in Life with Archie, are structured as if they were to be serialized. Take, for example, the previously discussed Life with Archie 21 (July 1963), in which Archie gets trapped inside a television set. This story is broken up into four chapters of eight, six, four, and five pages. None of the chapters is interrupted by an ad or a text piece, but each individual chapter is separated from the ones that proceed and succeed it by nonstory elements (an ad for the Made Simple Self-­Teaching Encyclopedia; an ad for Archie Annual 15; a Li’l Jinx one-­page gag, in which, ironically or not, she declares, “I want to be on television!”; an ad for a hypnotism program; the two-­page Archie Club News insert; and ads for popsicles, kangaroo shoes, and secret zipper money belts). The final chapter of the story, “Welcome Home!,” opens with “a brief review of the incredible events that have taken place so far” and four panels that depict what has happened in the previous eighteen pages. To be clear, this very simple twenty-­three-­page story has a full-­page recapitulation of the

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complete plot on its nineteenth page, as if weeks or months may have passed in the time it has taken the reader to move through the interrupting four pages of nonstory material. Given the number of times that Archie comics contain unnecessary recaps of events from earlier in the same issue, what seems clear is that the editors of the magazines worked on the assumption that Archie comics would be read from beginning to end in their entirety—­ads, text pieces, and all. If one presumes that a reader, on reaching the conclusion of the third chapter, has taken the time to read the hypnosis ad (and its incredibly tiny print), as well as the list of winners of the Archie Club News contest “Why My Bike Is Important to Me” and the announcement that an “Archie Pilot Film” has been completed by Columbia Studios and is being shopped to advertisers (unsuccessfully, as it turned out) and the following ad, with its silent dog whistle and parachute for sale, it is at least conceivable that that same reader might have lost the thread of the Archie story being told. Indeed, given the reliance on story recaps, it must be the case that Archie Comics conceptualized its advertising material as akin to ads on the television and radio—­something that readers were sitting through in their entirety before reengaging with the story. That this consumption pattern seems highly unlikely is an understatement, but it is also the only logical explanation for the narrative structure of a comic such as Life with Archie 21.

NOTES FOR THE NORTON ANTHOLOGY Comics are rarely anthologized for classroom use. Yale University Press has produced two volumes, both edited by cartoonist Ivan Brunetti, that get some adoption in institutions of higher education, and both are highly idiosyncratic volumes focusing on the postunderground independent and autobiographical comics movements. Archie comics rarely feature prominently on university syllabi or in the anthologies that might be taught to classrooms full of eager undergraduates. Nonetheless, the day will surely come, and at that time, Norton or another publisher will find itself needing to insert notes into the texts to explain to readers of future generations the meaning of certain words and phrases, just as today Hamlet’s most famous soliloquy requires

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complete plot on its nineteenth page, as if weeks or months may have passed in the time it has taken the reader to move through the interrupting four pages of nonstory material. Given the number of times that Archie comics contain unnecessary recaps of events from earlier in the same issue, what seems clear is that the editors of the magazines worked on the assumption that Archie comics would be read from beginning to end in their entirety—­ads, text pieces, and all. If one presumes that a reader, on reaching the conclusion of the third chapter, has taken the time to read the hypnosis ad (and its incredibly tiny print), as well as the list of winners of the Archie Club News contest “Why My Bike Is Important to Me” and the announcement that an “Archie Pilot Film” has been completed by Columbia Studios and is being shopped to advertisers (unsuccessfully, as it turned out) and the following ad, with its silent dog whistle and parachute for sale, it is at least conceivable that that same reader might have lost the thread of the Archie story being told. Indeed, given the reliance on story recaps, it must be the case that Archie Comics conceptualized its advertising material as akin to ads on the television and radio—­something that readers were sitting through in their entirety before reengaging with the story. That this consumption pattern seems highly unlikely is an understatement, but it is also the only logical explanation for the narrative structure of a comic such as Life with Archie 21.

NOTES FOR THE NORTON ANTHOLOGY Comics are rarely anthologized for classroom use. Yale University Press has produced two volumes, both edited by cartoonist Ivan Brunetti, that get some adoption in institutions of higher education, and both are highly idiosyncratic volumes focusing on the postunderground independent and autobiographical comics movements. Archie comics rarely feature prominently on university syllabi or in the anthologies that might be taught to classrooms full of eager undergraduates. Nonetheless, the day will surely come, and at that time, Norton or another publisher will find itself needing to insert notes into the texts to explain to readers of future generations the meaning of certain words and phrases, just as today Hamlet’s most famous soliloquy requires

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clarifying notes about the archaic words such as “fardels.” To this end, I suggest the following: • “Slide, Kelly! Slide.” In the final issue of Reggie (18, November 1965), when Reggie pours liquid wax on the floor, Archie slips on it as he goes to work out a problem on the blackboard. Reggie catches him and yells, “Slide, Kelly! Slide!” This phrase cites the name and chorus of one of the earliest known popular music hits. Written in 1889, the song concerned the Boston baseball player Mike “King” Kelly, who was the greatest American celebrity of his era. A hit on vaudeville, Kelly’s story inspired a 1927 film starring William Haines. The song’s chorus is “Slide, Kelly, slide! Your running’s a disgrace! Slide, Kelly, slide! Stay there, hold your place. If someone doesn’t steal yer, and your batting doesn’t fail yer, they’ll take you to Australia! Slide, Kelly, slide!” A second note about Australia in the 1880s would probably help as well. • Ben Casey and Dr. Kildare. On the cover of Archie 131 (September 1962), Veronica has sprained her ankle, and Archie brings a first-­aid kit. She tells him, “Oh. If only Dr. Kildare and Ben Casey could help me!” Although Dr. Kildare was a character developed for film in the 1930s, and who appeared on radio in the 1950s, this cover undoubtedly references the twinned medical dramas, both of which debuted on television in the fall of 1961 (Dr. Kildare on NBC, Ben Casey on ABC), both of which featured handsome lead actors. This cover appeared just as the second season of each series was set to debut. • Chester and Mr. Dillon. When, in “Bulb Snatcher” (Archie 140, September 1963), Archie tries to bring a new fluorescent light bulb to Pop Tate, he naturally repeatedly breaks them. Opting to hide a bulb in his pants, he clomps down the street, until he is greeted by Reggie, who calls, “Hyuk! Hey there, Chester! Where’s Mister Dillon?” This 1963 story refers to Gunsmoke, the long-­running television western starring James Arness as Marshal Matt Dillon, in which the role of the sidekick, Chester Goode, won Dennis Weaver an Emmy in 1959. Chester was notable both for his loyalty to Dillon and for his pronounced limp. • Teddy Boys. When Veronica returns from a trip to London in Archie 175 (August 1967), Jughead asks her, “Is it true what they say

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about those teddy boys?” “Teddy Boy” was a term coined in 1953 to refer to postwar British dandies who adopted the clothing favored during the reign of King Edward VII at the beginning of the twentieth century. The Teddy Boys were seen as the first youth group to distinguish itself as a specifically teenage subculture. Some of the gangs were noted for their violence. • A Dewey button. In Jughead 86 (July 1962), Jughead surveys the contents of his wallet, his clothes, and his piggybank, coming up with no more than “an old bus token, an Indian head penny, another bus token, a free pass to the Chicago World’s Fair of 1933 and a Dewey button!” In 1962, when the story takes place, that button might have been older than Jughead himself, as Thomas E. Dewey, the governor of New York, ran as the Republican nominee for the presidency in both 1944 and 1948, losing first to Franklin Roosevelt and then to Roosevelt’s successor, Harry Truman. In 1962, Jughead would have been born in 1946, making him either two years older or two years younger than the button. Dewey himself was a symbol of failure in the 1960s. Widely anticipated to win the presidency in 1948 by a rout of the extremely unpopular Truman, he did not campaign hard so as not to risk making mistakes, and he allowed Truman to overtake him at the polls. Jughead may have been attracted to a candidate noted for a lazy campaign. • The Jock Mahoney Elephant Joke. Possibly the most obscure bit in any Archie comic of the period, “The Elephant Tale” (Pep 170, May 1964) features Archie having a falling-­out with Veronica. When he takes Betty to the Choklit Shoppe in a bid to make Veronica jealous, he tries to dazzle her with his sense of humor, and he tells a series of elephant jokes, all of which Betty fails to find funny. Finally, Veronica turns to Archie and asks, “What did Jock Mahoney say when he saw the elephants coming thru the clearing?” to which the answer is, “Here come the elephants through the clearing!” Archie erupts in thunderous, indeed earth-­shattering, laughter, and two depart together, while broken-­hearted Betty goes home to read a book titled Elephant Jokes and cry. This story draws on two items that may seem inexplicable to the modern reader, the brief 1960s vogue for elephant jokes and the fame of Jock Mahoney. First, elephant jokes became an important cultural fad in the United States in 1962, and by 1964, when this story was published, they had gained

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mass appeal. Elephant jokes were deliberately absurdist and often strung together in bizarre sequences (as are Archie’s in this story). Veronica’s joke is a variation of a standard elephant joke involving Tarzan. Here she substitutes the name Jock Mahoney, a Hollywood stuntman-­turned-­actor who played Tarzan in Tarzan Goes to India in 1962 and in Tarzan’s Three Challenges. As Archie comics commonly sought to develop stories that would be timeless, topical jokes and references were extremely rare in the series. This is one of the reasons that stories from the 1960s and before are still regularly reprinted in Archie Digests. There is no indication in the Grand Comics Database that “The Elephant Tale,” the most topical Archie comics story of the twelve-­cent period, has ever been reprinted, indicating the extent to which cultural specificity is the enemy of timelessness in the Archie universe. After all, an Archie story requiring an academic explanation is probably not the best Archie story.

ARCHIE : ARCH : ARCHIEKINS Boys in Riverdale have names that can be shortened, and all boys shorten each other’s names. Archie is “Arch” when Jughead is directly addressing him and when Reggie wants something from him. When Jughead and Reggie are discussing him in the abstract, or in his absence, he remains “Archie.” “Reggie” is commonly shortened to “Reg” on those rare occasions when the boys are on good terms, and “Jughead” is frequently reduced to “Jug.” Girls in Riverdale have names that can be shortened but only selectively and only by boyfriends. Veronica is often “Ron” to Archie and sometimes “Ronnie” to Reggie but is almost never anything but “Veronica” to Jughead. Betty is only occasionally “Bets” to Archie because he does not really care enough about her to frequently abbreviate her name. The girls in Riverdale can lengthen the name of any boy by adding the suffix “-­kins” to it. Veronica is the opinion leader on this front, commonly using the term “Archiekins” when she wants something from him and less frequently using the term “Reggiekins” for the same reason. Betty too uses the term “Archiekins” when the opportunity arises, which is infrequent. Betty never seems to use “Reggiekins,” as

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mass appeal. Elephant jokes were deliberately absurdist and often strung together in bizarre sequences (as are Archie’s in this story). Veronica’s joke is a variation of a standard elephant joke involving Tarzan. Here she substitutes the name Jock Mahoney, a Hollywood stuntman-­turned-­actor who played Tarzan in Tarzan Goes to India in 1962 and in Tarzan’s Three Challenges. As Archie comics commonly sought to develop stories that would be timeless, topical jokes and references were extremely rare in the series. This is one of the reasons that stories from the 1960s and before are still regularly reprinted in Archie Digests. There is no indication in the Grand Comics Database that “The Elephant Tale,” the most topical Archie comics story of the twelve-­cent period, has ever been reprinted, indicating the extent to which cultural specificity is the enemy of timelessness in the Archie universe. After all, an Archie story requiring an academic explanation is probably not the best Archie story.

ARCHIE : ARCH : ARCHIEKINS Boys in Riverdale have names that can be shortened, and all boys shorten each other’s names. Archie is “Arch” when Jughead is directly addressing him and when Reggie wants something from him. When Jughead and Reggie are discussing him in the abstract, or in his absence, he remains “Archie.” “Reggie” is commonly shortened to “Reg” on those rare occasions when the boys are on good terms, and “Jughead” is frequently reduced to “Jug.” Girls in Riverdale have names that can be shortened but only selectively and only by boyfriends. Veronica is often “Ron” to Archie and sometimes “Ronnie” to Reggie but is almost never anything but “Veronica” to Jughead. Betty is only occasionally “Bets” to Archie because he does not really care enough about her to frequently abbreviate her name. The girls in Riverdale can lengthen the name of any boy by adding the suffix “-­kins” to it. Veronica is the opinion leader on this front, commonly using the term “Archiekins” when she wants something from him and less frequently using the term “Reggiekins” for the same reason. Betty too uses the term “Archiekins” when the opportunity arises, which is infrequent. Betty never seems to use “Reggiekins,” as

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she has no interest in him except when they are working together to break up Archiekins and Ronnie. “Jugheadkins” is a term that is never used by anyone, but “Juggiekins” is occasionally used by Big Ethel. As the central romantic couple in the narrative, Archie and Veronica will occasionally abandon their given names altogether. At these moments, terms including “poopsie-­pie,” “lamb’s lettuce,” and “angel fluff ” can drive the rest of the cast to distraction. When Veronica calls Archie “poopsie” in Betty and Veronica 82 (October 1962), everyone makes fun of him for it.

EEP! OMIGOSH! AND OTHER UNUSUAL CONTRIBUTIONS TO THE LANGUAGE OF COMICS As the predominant visual stylist at Archie Comics during the 1960s, Harry Lucey helped define the look and feel of the Riverdale gang using dramatic character poses that emphasized the elasticity of the human body. While Archie comics were not particularly known for experimental formal tendencies, Lucey did allow atypical stylistic tics to enter his work on occasion. The most noteworthy visual signature employed by Lucey, and frequently adopted by other Archie artists, is what might be termed an “Eep! Omigosh!” for the phrase that regularly accompanied it. This is the series of circles or ovals that emanate directly from the head of a character in a diagonal V, like a pair of antennas. A classic response to an unexpected rejoinder, this is not a typical emanata signifying pain or rage but depicts a disorienting blow to the psyche, often from a surprise. More than any other Archie artist, Lucey deployed the “Eep! Omigosh!” as the exaggeration of a visual punch line. The stylistic element has been infrequently picked up by cartoonists outside of Archie comics, most notably in the Jaime Hernan- Archie reacts to Betty’s awful joke dez’s Love and Rockets, where it is used on with an “Eep! Omigosh!” From Archie 124 (1961). occasion as a nod to Lucey.

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she has no interest in him except when they are working together to break up Archiekins and Ronnie. “Jugheadkins” is a term that is never used by anyone, but “Juggiekins” is occasionally used by Big Ethel. As the central romantic couple in the narrative, Archie and Veronica will occasionally abandon their given names altogether. At these moments, terms including “poopsie-­pie,” “lamb’s lettuce,” and “angel fluff ” can drive the rest of the cast to distraction. When Veronica calls Archie “poopsie” in Betty and Veronica 82 (October 1962), everyone makes fun of him for it.

EEP! OMIGOSH! AND OTHER UNUSUAL CONTRIBUTIONS TO THE LANGUAGE OF COMICS As the predominant visual stylist at Archie Comics during the 1960s, Harry Lucey helped define the look and feel of the Riverdale gang using dramatic character poses that emphasized the elasticity of the human body. While Archie comics were not particularly known for experimental formal tendencies, Lucey did allow atypical stylistic tics to enter his work on occasion. The most noteworthy visual signature employed by Lucey, and frequently adopted by other Archie artists, is what might be termed an “Eep! Omigosh!” for the phrase that regularly accompanied it. This is the series of circles or ovals that emanate directly from the head of a character in a diagonal V, like a pair of antennas. A classic response to an unexpected rejoinder, this is not a typical emanata signifying pain or rage but depicts a disorienting blow to the psyche, often from a surprise. More than any other Archie artist, Lucey deployed the “Eep! Omigosh!” as the exaggeration of a visual punch line. The stylistic element has been infrequently picked up by cartoonists outside of Archie comics, most notably in the Jaime Hernan- Archie reacts to Betty’s awful joke dez’s Love and Rockets, where it is used on with an “Eep! Omigosh!” From Archie 124 (1961). occasion as a nod to Lucey.

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In the 1960s, Lucey drew two stories in which Archie is afflicted with the hiccups. The first, “The Cure” (Archie 127) from April 1962, used a visual trick in which Archie’s head is drawn doubled to depict the quick, contracting up-­and-­down motion of his head in a single panel. One set of eyebrows but two pairs of eyes underneath them signifies the motion. By 1966’s “Repeat Performance” (Archie 165, July 1966), Lucey had advanced the depiction of the hiccup considerably. In a notable panel, Archie’s face is tripled, as are his shoulders and arms, while the lower half of his body remains fixed and unitary. The elongation of his face—­which includes a second face where his forehead should be and a third on top of that—­creates a highly unusual, and slightly disturbing, portrait of the young man in midconvulsion. A similar technique is used in Pep 212 (December 1967) to depict the rattle of Archie’s jalopy. A particularly unusual Lucey image appears in “The Big Blowout” (Life with Archie 67, November 1967), when Mr. Lodge overloads an outlet and electrocutes himself. The “Zap!—­Yeeow!” combination results in Mr. Lodge’s entire body being converted into a riot of wavy lines while his hands and face remain relatively distinct—­ironic given that the end result of the story is that his hands are severely burned. When Samm Schwartz electrocutes Reggie (in Jughead 89, October 1962), by contrast, Reggie’s face is badly distorted, rendered in a series of jagged lines. Lucey’s waviness is at odds with decades of cartooning conventions that suggest that, in semiotic terms, electricity is jagged. Finally, “The Worker,” a story in Pep 208 (August 1967), finds Lucey working in a highly atypical manner. Archie is charged with aiding his father in painting the living room of the Andrews house and is an unmotivated and unproductive assistant until Veronica invites him to her house. With Archie having only an hour to finish the work, Lucey unfolds a trio of wordless page-­width panels in which nineteen depictions of Archie can be found. The explosion of productivity—­ panels each for painting, rearranging the furniture, and showering and dressing—­represented by multiple examples of one character in a single panel, is a widely used comics technique but is highly uncommon in the context of Archie comics. Here Lucey uses the trope in two different ways. The first and second panels, in the living room, depict Archie as everywhere at once (in the second panel, he simultaneously carries or pushes six different pieces of furniture, plus the

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ladder). The third panel, on the other hand, depicts the passage of time through the single panel reading from left to right—­the sequence of events (undressing, showering, redressing, combing his hair) is clearly chronological. What is unusual here is that the panel does not depict a unitary space (unless we presume that Archie has a shower in the middle of his bedroom) but is a conflation of disparate locales unified in an unconventional manner. With the exception of the “Eep! Omigosh!” psychological explosion, none of the visual treatments originates with Harry Lucey. Precursors abound in the history of comics. Nonetheless, they are suggestive of the limited way in which cartoonists such as Lucey worked through the visualization of problems, particularly within the limiting context of an Archie comics aesthetic that was so relentlessly focused on a continuity of visual style. It is in problem-­solving moments of visualization that the personality of the artist is permitted to shine through.

ARCHIE’S BLACK BOOK What is in Archie’s black book? That is the mystery that is introduced in “The Little Black Book” (Archie 129, July 1962). Although the opening line of dialogue (“Veronica! Look! There it is again!”) might suggest that this is a returning motif, this is, in fact, the first of three stories in which Archie mysteriously takes notes about his friends. Everyone at Riverdale High believes it to be ominous—­Betty and Veronica think he is making notes about girls; Jughead and Reggie assume he has plans to blackmail them for their hijinks; Coach Kleats believes he is selling basketball signals to opposing teams. And while they concoct an elaborate plan to get the book away from him, in the end it comes to naught. A closing caption reads, “What is the secret of the black book? Watch for more of this great mystery!” What is notable about Archie’s black book is that it was the first, and possibly only, time in the twelve-­cent period that Archie comics attempted to seduce readers with an offer of continuity. While the annual appearances of Jingles, Santa’s Christmas brownie, introduced a slight element of continuity, the black book was a deliberate appeal—­ readers were consciously encouraged to purchase further issues to find out if the mystery would be resolved.

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ladder). The third panel, on the other hand, depicts the passage of time through the single panel reading from left to right—­the sequence of events (undressing, showering, redressing, combing his hair) is clearly chronological. What is unusual here is that the panel does not depict a unitary space (unless we presume that Archie has a shower in the middle of his bedroom) but is a conflation of disparate locales unified in an unconventional manner. With the exception of the “Eep! Omigosh!” psychological explosion, none of the visual treatments originates with Harry Lucey. Precursors abound in the history of comics. Nonetheless, they are suggestive of the limited way in which cartoonists such as Lucey worked through the visualization of problems, particularly within the limiting context of an Archie comics aesthetic that was so relentlessly focused on a continuity of visual style. It is in problem-­solving moments of visualization that the personality of the artist is permitted to shine through.

ARCHIE’S BLACK BOOK What is in Archie’s black book? That is the mystery that is introduced in “The Little Black Book” (Archie 129, July 1962). Although the opening line of dialogue (“Veronica! Look! There it is again!”) might suggest that this is a returning motif, this is, in fact, the first of three stories in which Archie mysteriously takes notes about his friends. Everyone at Riverdale High believes it to be ominous—­Betty and Veronica think he is making notes about girls; Jughead and Reggie assume he has plans to blackmail them for their hijinks; Coach Kleats believes he is selling basketball signals to opposing teams. And while they concoct an elaborate plan to get the book away from him, in the end it comes to naught. A closing caption reads, “What is the secret of the black book? Watch for more of this great mystery!” What is notable about Archie’s black book is that it was the first, and possibly only, time in the twelve-­cent period that Archie comics attempted to seduce readers with an offer of continuity. While the annual appearances of Jingles, Santa’s Christmas brownie, introduced a slight element of continuity, the black book was a deliberate appeal—­ readers were consciously encouraged to purchase further issues to find out if the mystery would be resolved.

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Four months later, in “The Black Book Returns” (Archie 132, November 1962), Archie continues to terrify his friends with what he might be writing about them. When both the duo of Reggie and Jughead and the duo of Betty and Veronica scheme to swap his book with a look-­ alike, they wind up with empty blanks, the final caption prodding the readers to wonder with what the book is filled: “Ah! There-­in lies the mystery—­anybody want to guess?” The final story featuring the black book appeared in Laugh 149’s “Black Book Bluff ” (August 1963), in which Veronica forces Archie’s hand by threatening to go steady with Reggie unless he reads to them from the black book. Backed into a corner, Archie relents but warns, “one of you is going to be mighty unhappy upon hearing this!” With each member of the gang fearing that his or her darkest secrets may be revealed to the others, they all agree to let the matter lie. This concluded the epic three-­part story of the black book, with the reader never learning what it contained and with Archie Comics learning that serialized stories were not its forte.

LAUGH AND PEP: THE RESIDUAL TITLES Archie Andrews debuted in Pep 22 (December 1941), a middle-­of-­the-­ book feature in one of the anthology titles published by MLJ Comics. While it took only a few years for Archie to become the most important feature of that comic and to rename the company, it took another forty-­six years for Pep Comics to run its course. Pep, which shortened its name by dropping the “Comics” with the 137th issue in February 1960, was, by the twelve-­cent era, more of a legacy title in the Archie hierarchy than it was an important venue for new material. Pep sold, on average, about a quarter million copies per month through the 1960s, a healthy number but only about half of what was sold by the flagship, Archie, and considerably less than titles such as Jughead and Betty and Veronica. Well into the twelve-­cent period, Pep remained only partially an Archie-­universe book. Pep generally featured four short stories, like most Archie comics, as late as the 1950s, and readers would still encounter the ongoing adventures of non-­Archie superheroes The Fly, The Jaguar, and Fly Girl. Pep also regularly featured longer stories featuring Joe Edwards’s Li’l Jinx. Beginning with Pep 161

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Four months later, in “The Black Book Returns” (Archie 132, November 1962), Archie continues to terrify his friends with what he might be writing about them. When both the duo of Reggie and Jughead and the duo of Betty and Veronica scheme to swap his book with a look-­ alike, they wind up with empty blanks, the final caption prodding the readers to wonder with what the book is filled: “Ah! There-­in lies the mystery—­anybody want to guess?” The final story featuring the black book appeared in Laugh 149’s “Black Book Bluff ” (August 1963), in which Veronica forces Archie’s hand by threatening to go steady with Reggie unless he reads to them from the black book. Backed into a corner, Archie relents but warns, “one of you is going to be mighty unhappy upon hearing this!” With each member of the gang fearing that his or her darkest secrets may be revealed to the others, they all agree to let the matter lie. This concluded the epic three-­part story of the black book, with the reader never learning what it contained and with Archie Comics learning that serialized stories were not its forte.

LAUGH AND PEP: THE RESIDUAL TITLES Archie Andrews debuted in Pep 22 (December 1941), a middle-­of-­the-­ book feature in one of the anthology titles published by MLJ Comics. While it took only a few years for Archie to become the most important feature of that comic and to rename the company, it took another forty-­six years for Pep Comics to run its course. Pep, which shortened its name by dropping the “Comics” with the 137th issue in February 1960, was, by the twelve-­cent era, more of a legacy title in the Archie hierarchy than it was an important venue for new material. Pep sold, on average, about a quarter million copies per month through the 1960s, a healthy number but only about half of what was sold by the flagship, Archie, and considerably less than titles such as Jughead and Betty and Veronica. Well into the twelve-­cent period, Pep remained only partially an Archie-­universe book. Pep generally featured four short stories, like most Archie comics, as late as the 1950s, and readers would still encounter the ongoing adventures of non-­Archie superheroes The Fly, The Jaguar, and Fly Girl. Pep also regularly featured longer stories featuring Joe Edwards’s Li’l Jinx. Beginning with Pep 161

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(March 1963), Josie began to make appearances on a monthly basis, at which time the superhero stories were discontinued. Pep’s publishing partner was Laugh Comics, another anthology title. Launched in 1946, after the initial flush of success that the Archie characters created, Laugh, like Pep, was canceled in 1987. Also like Pep, the title ran the adventures of The Fly and The Jaguar until well into the 1960s, before making way for Li’l Jinx and Josie. Throughout the twelve-­cent period, both Laugh and Pep were, frankly, second-­tier titles. New ideas for comics were debuted there (most obviously, Josie), and material that was clearly past its sell-­by date (the superheroes, pale imitations of the work produced at the time by Marvel and DC) continued to have a foothold. Even when, by the end of the decade, the titles were completely given over to Riverdale material, there was an astonishing lack of consistency in them. It seems clear that the low-­selling titles were the venues where new hires were given extended tryouts, and most of the material paled badly in comparison to the best work produced by Harry Lucey, Dan DeCarlo, and Samm Schwartz. Fill-­ins and inventory stories seemed to dot the pages of these titles, which were very inconsistent. Pep 208 (August 1967), for example, contained two stories featuring art by Harry Lucey, and the issue is generally quite good. The next issue, however, contains nothing by Lucey and is generally very poor. Similarly, by the 190s issues, Laugh seemed replete with low-­grade filler material. Laugh 193 (April 1967), for example, has a story in which Archie foils some robbers and another in which he visits a haunted house, neither of which show any flashes of inspiration or originality. Perhaps the best that can be said for the long-­running residual Archie titles is that the publisher did not give up on them. Faced with low sales, Pep embarked on a yearlong quest in 1962 to deceive its readership by charging Schwartz with crafting a cover featuring aliens virtually every month. Six of seven straight issues carried an alien-­themed cover that bore no relationship to the content of the magazine itself, clearly because someone at the publisher believed that this would be a boost to sales on a title whose story material was, at best, second-­ rate. One thing is for sure, buyers of those issues certainly got a high-­ quality cover for the twelve cents, but those hoping for alien-­themed stories were sorely disappointed. Fool me once, Schwartz, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me. Run the same scam every month

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for a full year—­that was the American comic-­book industry of the 1960s.

PUREHEART THE POWERFUL Given the importance of the superhero genre in the era of the Comics Code, it is not surprising that Archie comics would so frequently lampoon their publishing rivals through jokes about caped crusaders. Archie Comics, in its incarnation as MLJ Comics, had a long history of publishing superhero adventures in the initial flush of interest in that genre during the Second World War, and even into the twelve-­cent era, the adventures of The Fly and The Jaguar appeared in issues of Pep and Laugh as they had since the 1940s (and those superheroes make a cameo appearance on the cover of Jughead 132 (May 1966), pushing shopping carts at a “super market”). Nonetheless, most superhero content in the Archie comics of the early 1960s was parodic one-­offs. In “Superjug” (Jughead 99, August 1963), Jughead finds a space rock that makes his whole arm tingle and gives him unexpected superstrength (“He’s as strong as Danny Baron!” says Veronica, in a comment that will surely have to be explained in the Norton anthology) and superspeed, while in Archie Giant Series 19 (December 1962), aliens select him as a typical teen to provide with superpowers, transforming him into SuperDroop. As Jughead was the character most closely associated with fantasy stories throughout this period, it is not surprising to find that he was the star of these occasional parodies. Archie Comics took a decided turn toward the use of superheroes in October 1965, clearly seeking to capitalize on the resurgent interest in the genre that was the result of the innovations at Marvel Comics. The first appearance of Pureheart the Powerful was published in Life with Archie 42, which carried an October 1965 cover date. That two-­part, thirteen-­page story, written by Frank Doyle with art by Bob White and Marty Epp, was followed quickly by stories in Pep 187 (November 1965) and Life with Archie 44 and 46 (December 1965 and February 1966). The Archie Club News bulletin in all of the February 1966 Archie Comics titles celebrated the success of the Pureheart rollout: “Almost immediately our editorial offices were overwhelmed, flooded and deluged with regular mail, air mail, special delivery, registered

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for a full year—­that was the American comic-­book industry of the 1960s.

PUREHEART THE POWERFUL Given the importance of the superhero genre in the era of the Comics Code, it is not surprising that Archie comics would so frequently lampoon their publishing rivals through jokes about caped crusaders. Archie Comics, in its incarnation as MLJ Comics, had a long history of publishing superhero adventures in the initial flush of interest in that genre during the Second World War, and even into the twelve-­cent era, the adventures of The Fly and The Jaguar appeared in issues of Pep and Laugh as they had since the 1940s (and those superheroes make a cameo appearance on the cover of Jughead 132 (May 1966), pushing shopping carts at a “super market”). Nonetheless, most superhero content in the Archie comics of the early 1960s was parodic one-­offs. In “Superjug” (Jughead 99, August 1963), Jughead finds a space rock that makes his whole arm tingle and gives him unexpected superstrength (“He’s as strong as Danny Baron!” says Veronica, in a comment that will surely have to be explained in the Norton anthology) and superspeed, while in Archie Giant Series 19 (December 1962), aliens select him as a typical teen to provide with superpowers, transforming him into SuperDroop. As Jughead was the character most closely associated with fantasy stories throughout this period, it is not surprising to find that he was the star of these occasional parodies. Archie Comics took a decided turn toward the use of superheroes in October 1965, clearly seeking to capitalize on the resurgent interest in the genre that was the result of the innovations at Marvel Comics. The first appearance of Pureheart the Powerful was published in Life with Archie 42, which carried an October 1965 cover date. That two-­part, thirteen-­page story, written by Frank Doyle with art by Bob White and Marty Epp, was followed quickly by stories in Pep 187 (November 1965) and Life with Archie 44 and 46 (December 1965 and February 1966). The Archie Club News bulletin in all of the February 1966 Archie Comics titles celebrated the success of the Pureheart rollout: “Almost immediately our editorial offices were overwhelmed, flooded and deluged with regular mail, air mail, special delivery, registered

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Pureheart the Powerful fights to save the citizens of Riverdale from The Ice Cube. From Life with Archie 42 (1965).

mail and post cards. . . . Naturally, all of the editors, assistant editors, artists, script writers and all and sundry who had participated in creating, contributing to and developing Pureheart The Powerful were delighted, gratified and satisfied with the unsolicited, spontaneous and instant response to a new, different and unusual characterization of Archie and his friends.” Cash prizes were offered for the best written letters of comment on this new direction for the character, and the stories of the superteens were rolled out to all the lowest selling Archie titles of the period in an effort to bolster sales. Pureheart the Powerful was the alter ego of Archie Andrews, who is transformed into a crime fighter by the power that stems from his own inner goodness. Pureheart is introduced battling a villain called The Ice Cube, and his adventures were decidedly goofy, with slapstick elements and incongruous jokes (transformed into a rabbit in that first story, he is slathered by his supervisor with bat wings and maple syrup before being lit on fire in order to be transformed back into himself—­the image of the burning white bunny is one of the most disturbing in any Archie comic of the period). At the conclusion of the first story, Archie is shown awakening from a dream, and it is clear that the superhero aspect of his life is not real. Four issues later, in Life with Archie 46 (February 1966), the cover promises to reveal the origin of Pureheart. Archie’s transformational power is learned from a book, Happy Hallucinations and How They Happen, which teaches

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him to use his “PH factor,” which, when concentrated on, is able to grant him superhuman strength and transform his clothing into “a keen set of threads.” Ambiguity about the “realness” of his powers is introduced with the revelation that the PH factor “blankets the minds of ordinary beings, smothering all memory of the heroic events taking place,” leaving open the possibility that these events may or may not be occurring in the Archie continuity, such as it is. In the earliest Pureheart stories, Archie fights villains who are external to the conventions of Riverdale. By April 1966, this changed to make the superhero stories more reflective of the internal Archie dynamics, with the introduction of Evilheart. In Life with Archie 48 (April 1966), Reggie is introduced as Pureheart’s nemesis, with little more explanation than “for every up there’s a down! For every back there’s a front! For every good there’s an evil.” Initially, Evilheart appears only through the power of jealousy—­when Reggie fears losing the girls to Archie, a “black mist” rises in him so that he may take revenge, using his “metallic destructo ray.” In most ways, Evilheart is a much more fully developed character than is Pureheart. In the pages of the low-­selling Reggie and Me, Evilheart becomes a lead character (Reggie’s transformation into Evilheart appeared in the title banner of the first four issues) and, drawing on Reggie’s relative wealth, is provided with an endless array of new superweapons: a Reggiecycle, a Reggieball, and Reggieshoes in the twenty-­first issue and, in a pocket of his Evilcape, Evilweeds that “blow in the direction of greatest evil.” The Evilheart character is used in a number of stories to refine and strengthen the depiction of Reggie as not simply self-­absorbed and vain but actively evil. When The Wishing Werido, a gypsy character with spell-­casting abilities, threatens to transform Evilheart’s great love, it is Reggie himself who changes form. Over the ensuing months, the other core cast members became more thoroughly involved in the Pureheart stories. Betty is transformed into Superteen, the “mightiest heroine of them all,” in Betty and Veronica 118 (October 1965), and her adventures appear regularly in the then newly launched Betty and Me (Superteen’s origin can be found in the third issue), as well as in Archie’s Pals ’n Gals. An ad in Betty and Veronica 132 (December 1966) promised the adventures of Superteen in every issue of Betty and Me, making it clear that, for a time at least, the superheroic stories were perceived as a way of driving

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readers to lower-­selling titles. Jughead’s contribution to the superheroics was the character Captain Hero, debuting in Jughead 126 (November 1965) with a hamburger icon on his chest, whose “gravitational beanie” gave him the “powers to fly, fight and fluff!” Captain Hero’s beanie had transformational powers akin to those of Plastic Man, and he would regularly transform it into useful crime-­fighting tools. Collectively the superpowered teenagers were The Union when they fought alongside one another. Veronica, interestingly, was never given a superpowered secret identity. In September 1966, Archie Comics demoted Pureheart to a pair of bimonthly titles (Archie as Pureheart the Powerful, the name changing with the fourth issue to Archie as Captain Pureheart, and Jughead as Captain Hero) before canceling them with issues 6 and 7, respectively. By the time Pureheart launched as the stand-­alone titles, the trend had already clearly exhausted itself. The superhero stories had already disappeared from Life with Archie (replaced by those featuring the band The Archies) after a mere seven issues as the cover feature and also from Betty and Me and Reggie and Me. On the whole, while the Pureheart material is remembered—­and collected in contemporary trade editions—­for its novelty within the Archie universe, it is clear that the innovation was not a particular success. Pureheart stories were kept out of the main title (Harry Lucey contributed a Pureheart story to Pep 187 (November 1965) but otherwise seems to have steered clear of the phenomenon) and only appeared once in Betty and Veronica. The combination of Archie sensibilities and superheroes paid few dividends. The stories were generally very broad in their humor, relying on easy slapstick pratfalls and minimizing character interactions. As superhero stories, they clearly paled in comparison to the more serious material being produced by Marvel and DC Comics, while as parodies, they were quite thin. No one was seemingly able to combine the genres in an effective manner, and the entire experiment quickly fizzled away.

ERRORS Nobody is perfect, probably least of all the proofreaders at Archie Comics. While the misuse of language was a common complaint

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readers to lower-­selling titles. Jughead’s contribution to the superheroics was the character Captain Hero, debuting in Jughead 126 (November 1965) with a hamburger icon on his chest, whose “gravitational beanie” gave him the “powers to fly, fight and fluff!” Captain Hero’s beanie had transformational powers akin to those of Plastic Man, and he would regularly transform it into useful crime-­fighting tools. Collectively the superpowered teenagers were The Union when they fought alongside one another. Veronica, interestingly, was never given a superpowered secret identity. In September 1966, Archie Comics demoted Pureheart to a pair of bimonthly titles (Archie as Pureheart the Powerful, the name changing with the fourth issue to Archie as Captain Pureheart, and Jughead as Captain Hero) before canceling them with issues 6 and 7, respectively. By the time Pureheart launched as the stand-­alone titles, the trend had already clearly exhausted itself. The superhero stories had already disappeared from Life with Archie (replaced by those featuring the band The Archies) after a mere seven issues as the cover feature and also from Betty and Me and Reggie and Me. On the whole, while the Pureheart material is remembered—­and collected in contemporary trade editions—­for its novelty within the Archie universe, it is clear that the innovation was not a particular success. Pureheart stories were kept out of the main title (Harry Lucey contributed a Pureheart story to Pep 187 (November 1965) but otherwise seems to have steered clear of the phenomenon) and only appeared once in Betty and Veronica. The combination of Archie sensibilities and superheroes paid few dividends. The stories were generally very broad in their humor, relying on easy slapstick pratfalls and minimizing character interactions. As superhero stories, they clearly paled in comparison to the more serious material being produced by Marvel and DC Comics, while as parodies, they were quite thin. No one was seemingly able to combine the genres in an effective manner, and the entire experiment quickly fizzled away.

ERRORS Nobody is perfect, probably least of all the proofreaders at Archie Comics. While the misuse of language was a common complaint

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about comic books in the pre-­and postwar period, Archie comics have a higher incidence of misspellings than do most comic books of the period. Dropped letters are the most common foul-­up introduced into the pages of Archie. In one example, Reggie refers to Pop Tate as a “septic” (admittedly, this may have improved the gag, if not the tone of civility). Straight misspellings are also depressingly common: “dilighted,” “risist,” and “declair” all made their way into the pages of Archie comics during this period. In Betty and Me 19 (February 1969), Archie says that Jughead has the right “additude” about women, but, sadly, this was not a deliberate pun. Other errors seem to be miscommunications among the creative team. Archie 145 (April 1964) contains a misplaced word balloon so that Archie refers to himself when he discusses “Arch and I,” while a letterer has for some reason depicted Veronica and Archie using thought balloons when they are whispering to each other in Jughead 112 (September 1964), which provokes the very odd sensation that they may be communicating telepathically. In Life with Archie 34 (February 1965), Veronica commits what may be the best miscue of the entire decade’s snafus when she announces, “He so intelligent.” Dozens of other similar mistakes abound in the Archie comics of the 1960s, which is not entirely surprising given the extensiveness of their output and the number of hands through which the work passed. All errors of fact in the volume should be read as an homage to the miscues in the Archie comics of the twelve-­cent period.

MIDGE A strong case can be made that Archie’s true love is not Veronica, and certainly not the pathetic stalker Betty, but Midge. In “Push-­Button Peace” (Archie 129, July 1962), Jughead gives Archie a spray can of wild-­animal tranquilizer. Sprayed in the face of Reggie, it turns him completely docile. When Archie demands to borrow it, Jughead is easily able to read his mind: “Give my regards to Big Moose!” Without hesitation, Archie runs to Midge’s house and asks her for a date for that evening: “I’m tired of dating Veronica,” he tells her, and while she fears for his safety (“You must be tired of living!”), he is able to sedate the wild beast with a shot of the aerosol spray. Although the date falls through when Archie is unable to sedate Veronica, who beats him to

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about comic books in the pre-­and postwar period, Archie comics have a higher incidence of misspellings than do most comic books of the period. Dropped letters are the most common foul-­up introduced into the pages of Archie. In one example, Reggie refers to Pop Tate as a “septic” (admittedly, this may have improved the gag, if not the tone of civility). Straight misspellings are also depressingly common: “dilighted,” “risist,” and “declair” all made their way into the pages of Archie comics during this period. In Betty and Me 19 (February 1969), Archie says that Jughead has the right “additude” about women, but, sadly, this was not a deliberate pun. Other errors seem to be miscommunications among the creative team. Archie 145 (April 1964) contains a misplaced word balloon so that Archie refers to himself when he discusses “Arch and I,” while a letterer has for some reason depicted Veronica and Archie using thought balloons when they are whispering to each other in Jughead 112 (September 1964), which provokes the very odd sensation that they may be communicating telepathically. In Life with Archie 34 (February 1965), Veronica commits what may be the best miscue of the entire decade’s snafus when she announces, “He so intelligent.” Dozens of other similar mistakes abound in the Archie comics of the 1960s, which is not entirely surprising given the extensiveness of their output and the number of hands through which the work passed. All errors of fact in the volume should be read as an homage to the miscues in the Archie comics of the twelve-­cent period.

MIDGE A strong case can be made that Archie’s true love is not Veronica, and certainly not the pathetic stalker Betty, but Midge. In “Push-­Button Peace” (Archie 129, July 1962), Jughead gives Archie a spray can of wild-­animal tranquilizer. Sprayed in the face of Reggie, it turns him completely docile. When Archie demands to borrow it, Jughead is easily able to read his mind: “Give my regards to Big Moose!” Without hesitation, Archie runs to Midge’s house and asks her for a date for that evening: “I’m tired of dating Veronica,” he tells her, and while she fears for his safety (“You must be tired of living!”), he is able to sedate the wild beast with a shot of the aerosol spray. Although the date falls through when Archie is unable to sedate Veronica, who beats him to

Mi d ge   129

a pulp, the core of the story reveals a potential truth: Archie secretly prefers Midge to Veronica, but he is too afraid to act on his true feelings because he is terrified of her boyfriend (“I’m afraid of a moose!” he confesses to her in Archie 151, December 1964). Throughout the 1960s, Archie’s creators told us very little about Midge. A truly minor minor character, Midge has no real presence in the Archie titles except as the motivation for Moose’s jealous overreactions. While her boyfriend can perform some roles when she is not present, the same is not true about her; and consequently, she never appears in any Archie story without Moose also appearing, while Moose frequently appears in stories that do not include her. Since she has almost no discernible character traits, her role as an attractive girl who is neither Betty nor Veronica can be played by virtually any newly developed character in any story. Since all girls in Riverdale are essentially the same person, with only their hairstyles marking any fundamental difference, in story terms, they are all roughly interchangeable. In Betty and Veronica 84 (December 1962), Midge is referred to as “the sorority queen,” a fact that is never broached again because it is entirely irrelevant to her (lack of) characterization. Midge is somewhat regularly used in stories featuring Reggie, and she is even content to conspire with him on occasion to cheat on Moose—­although it rarely works out for the best. If Midge is a noncharacter, defined primarily by her relationship to her overprotective bully of a boyfriend, what is it that attracts Archie to her? In Archie 171 (March 1967), when he is temporarily afflicted with amnesia, Archie’s true nature emerges, and he begins to kiss Midge, because he is unable to recall the fact that Moose poses a significant physical threat. In “The Cave Man Caper” (Betty and Veronica 114, June 1965), a series of misunderstandings leads to Moose flirting with Veronica, Midge expressing her own jealousy (which rivals that of Moose), and Archie being pursued by the big man. When Moose accidentally knocks himself unconscious, Archie surveys the wreckage of the scene and declares that “to the victor belong the spoils,” and in front of Veronica, he promptly tosses Midge over his shoulder and runs off. In Jughead 89 (October 1962), Archie dates Midge every night for a week when Moose is out of town (“when the cat’s away the mice will play!”), and when Reggie threatens to reveal all, Archie even surrenders Veronica for a month as penance for the time spent with

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Midge. There is considerable textual evidence that attests to the fact that Archie prefers Midge to Veronica. So why is the story idea not more fully developed? Veronica understands that Archie only wants Midge “because she’s unavailable” (Archie’s Pals ’n Gals 21, Summer 1962), and the creators understand that, absent the threat of Moose, there are few significant story possibilities involving Midge. She is a nonentity within the Archie universe, with her only appeal being her unavailability, which is hardly the stuff to build a comic franchise around.

YOU CAN TAKE THE BOY OUT OF RIVERDALE . . . Travel is a recurrent theme in the Archie comics, as the creators constantly sought to generate potential new stories by shifting locales. Taking the cast out of Riverdale generally had no impact on characterization—­Jughead is hungry wherever he goes—­but it does allow for an entirely new series of puns and one-­liners. The Archie cast members were remarkably well traveled, although, since there is no continuity to their stories, they were never able to recall their earlier voyages. In “Stop the World” (Betty and Veronica 105, September 1964), the girls decide to take an afternoon trip after spending some time with the travel club, and Mr. Lodge offers to send them “everywhere” on his experimental jet that will circumnavigate the globe. Unfortunately for them, the XL7 (which looks remarkably like a red stealth fighter) requires no refueling and, consequently, never sets the girls down in any of the exotic locales that they hope to see. In the space of a day, they see the whole world from a comfortable height of thirty thousand feet. Much more typical of the travel adventures were stories such as “Pharoah Foul” (Archie 179, February 1968). The misspelling in the title is indicative of how much research apparently went into the story, which inexplicably finds the gang hanging out in an Egyptian tomb that Mr. Lodge hopes to excavate in order to find “the lost treasure room of Queen Shetup!” When Jughead miraculously falls through the sandy floor and into the secret room, he and Veronica find the treasure (clearly Mr. Lodge has hired the wrong crew to do his excavating; Veronica simply walks through a secret door to the treasure

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Midge. There is considerable textual evidence that attests to the fact that Archie prefers Midge to Veronica. So why is the story idea not more fully developed? Veronica understands that Archie only wants Midge “because she’s unavailable” (Archie’s Pals ’n Gals 21, Summer 1962), and the creators understand that, absent the threat of Moose, there are few significant story possibilities involving Midge. She is a nonentity within the Archie universe, with her only appeal being her unavailability, which is hardly the stuff to build a comic franchise around.

YOU CAN TAKE THE BOY OUT OF RIVERDALE . . . Travel is a recurrent theme in the Archie comics, as the creators constantly sought to generate potential new stories by shifting locales. Taking the cast out of Riverdale generally had no impact on characterization—­Jughead is hungry wherever he goes—­but it does allow for an entirely new series of puns and one-­liners. The Archie cast members were remarkably well traveled, although, since there is no continuity to their stories, they were never able to recall their earlier voyages. In “Stop the World” (Betty and Veronica 105, September 1964), the girls decide to take an afternoon trip after spending some time with the travel club, and Mr. Lodge offers to send them “everywhere” on his experimental jet that will circumnavigate the globe. Unfortunately for them, the XL7 (which looks remarkably like a red stealth fighter) requires no refueling and, consequently, never sets the girls down in any of the exotic locales that they hope to see. In the space of a day, they see the whole world from a comfortable height of thirty thousand feet. Much more typical of the travel adventures were stories such as “Pharoah Foul” (Archie 179, February 1968). The misspelling in the title is indicative of how much research apparently went into the story, which inexplicably finds the gang hanging out in an Egyptian tomb that Mr. Lodge hopes to excavate in order to find “the lost treasure room of Queen Shetup!” When Jughead miraculously falls through the sandy floor and into the secret room, he and Veronica find the treasure (clearly Mr. Lodge has hired the wrong crew to do his excavating; Veronica simply walks through a secret door to the treasure

Y ou C a n Ta ke t he Boy O ut o f Ri v e rdal e  .  .   .   131

Mr. Lodge encounters Archie on the streets of Paris. From Archie 134 (1963).

room by knocking on one wall) but manage to collapse the entire edifice around them, ruining the search. Here we see the norm for Archie travel stories—­the exoticization of the destination, a pathetic attempt to make the story somewhat educational, and all in the service of the sight gag of Jughead and Veronica in pharaonic robes. For the most part, these stories are poorly established and, because they have no consequences of any kind, do little to develop the characters or the relationships. They simply paste the Archie gang onto hoary travel narratives. Probably the best story about Archie set outside Riverdale is a two-­ parter, “Bon Voyage,” in Archie 134 (February 1963). Seeking to escape from Archie by spending two solitary weeks in Europe, Mr. Lodge is inadvertently joined on the trip by the redhead when Archie accidentally stows away on the airplane while trying to belatedly deliver the baggage. The genius of this story is that it follows, over the course of eleven pages, the twinned adventures of the wealthy Mr. Lodge and the penniless Archie (“Stranded in Paris without a centime to my name!”) as they travel across France and Italy—­without ever being aware of each other. While Mr. Lodge repeatedly spots Archie on the streets of Paris, Pisa, and Venice, each time he is convinced that it simply cannot be the boy from Riverdale but must be a continental look-­alike. Archie, for his part, never notices Mr. Lodge—­not when he is working at Café de la Paix in Paris, nor when he is laboring as a gondolier in Venice. Unlike the Egyptian tale, Harry Lucey draws “Bon Voyage”

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with a high degree of realism (within the limitations of the established Archie aesthetic), with both the canals and the streets of Paris being recognizable. Further, the story, set as it is in so many locales, has a logical pacing, with Archie noting that he has found that “jobs are easy to get, but hard to hold!” in Europe as a way of explaining the various odd jobs that he takes on that move him across the continent. We never see why Archie was fired by the café after only six hours as a busboy, but given any familiarity with the character, it is not difficult to guess. Like the stories when Archie and his friends are moved to another time, the travel stories are used as a way to break up the regularity of stories set in Riverdale without making any fundamental changes to the story logic. Archie is Archie, whether in a loincloth or wearing a beret while chomping a baguette on the Champs-­Élysées.

ARCHIE CLUB NEWS The Archie Club never seemed like a particularly good deal. Membership was fifteen cents, slightly more than the cost of a single Archie Comics comic of the period. Members were promised a “handsome, authentic Archie Reporter Press Card,” which made very little sense because Archie, unlike Clark Kent or Tintin, was not a reporter, and a “dressy, colorful Official Archie Club Button.” Members also had the right to enter contests for cash prizes by writing essays and letters to Archie Comics on such topics as “My Cat, Fluffy.” The newsletter of the Archie Club was, ironically, printed in almost every issue of Archie comics, which implied that the members themselves were not receiving much additional information in the mail for their fifteen cents. The two most notable installments of the Archie Club News during the twelve-­cent period involved television. In the newsletter printed in June 1963 (Archie 137 and elsewhere), it was announced that an “Archie Pilot Film” had been shot by Columbia Studios and that it was being shopped around to television networks. Starring John Simpson (whose only other screen credit is as a zombie in Night of the Living Dead) as Archie, the pilot was never picked up, but it did air on ABC as a special. The notice of a more successful spin-­off could be found in issues dated November 1968 (Archie 186 and others). The “swingingest news of the year” was the announcement of the Saturday-­morning

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with a high degree of realism (within the limitations of the established Archie aesthetic), with both the canals and the streets of Paris being recognizable. Further, the story, set as it is in so many locales, has a logical pacing, with Archie noting that he has found that “jobs are easy to get, but hard to hold!” in Europe as a way of explaining the various odd jobs that he takes on that move him across the continent. We never see why Archie was fired by the café after only six hours as a busboy, but given any familiarity with the character, it is not difficult to guess. Like the stories when Archie and his friends are moved to another time, the travel stories are used as a way to break up the regularity of stories set in Riverdale without making any fundamental changes to the story logic. Archie is Archie, whether in a loincloth or wearing a beret while chomping a baguette on the Champs-­Élysées.

ARCHIE CLUB NEWS The Archie Club never seemed like a particularly good deal. Membership was fifteen cents, slightly more than the cost of a single Archie Comics comic of the period. Members were promised a “handsome, authentic Archie Reporter Press Card,” which made very little sense because Archie, unlike Clark Kent or Tintin, was not a reporter, and a “dressy, colorful Official Archie Club Button.” Members also had the right to enter contests for cash prizes by writing essays and letters to Archie Comics on such topics as “My Cat, Fluffy.” The newsletter of the Archie Club was, ironically, printed in almost every issue of Archie comics, which implied that the members themselves were not receiving much additional information in the mail for their fifteen cents. The two most notable installments of the Archie Club News during the twelve-­cent period involved television. In the newsletter printed in June 1963 (Archie 137 and elsewhere), it was announced that an “Archie Pilot Film” had been shot by Columbia Studios and that it was being shopped around to television networks. Starring John Simpson (whose only other screen credit is as a zombie in Night of the Living Dead) as Archie, the pilot was never picked up, but it did air on ABC as a special. The notice of a more successful spin-­off could be found in issues dated November 1968 (Archie 186 and others). The “swingingest news of the year” was the announcement of the Saturday-­morning

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CBS animated show, as well as the revelation of the first recordings by The Archies. The creation of The Archies, and their pop-­chart successes, ushered in the fundamental transformation of the Archie Comics titles at the end of the 1960s, as they transitioned from comic-­book characters into a fully developed merchandising franchise.

VERONICA’S MOTHER Even a regular Archie reader should be forgiven for believing that Veronica has no mother. Appearing in fewer than a handful of stories in the twelve-­cent era (but not infrequently as a generic parent in short gags in Archie’s Joke Book), she is the quintessential Archie noncharacter: a part that does not cause the Archie machine to spring into motion and who is, as a result, completely unnecessary.

MR. LODGE The relationship between Mr. Lodge and his daughter, Veronica, is significantly shaded by the fact that Mrs. Lodge is almost entirely absent from the Archie comics of the 1960s. While Mrs. Lodge is clearly not dead, she is also clearly not around. In the vast majority of stories, Mr. Lodge never refers to her, and he lives his life—­as does Veronica—­in a manner that suggests she simply does not exist. This absence often requires Veronica to take on roles that would normally be reserved for her mother. When Mr. Lodge travels to Europe, she accompanies him, or she is the one who drops him at the airport. When he hosts a business meeting, she is called on to entertain the inevitable son or nephew of the potential business partner. That the pair is so close seems to be one of the compelling reasons for Mr. Lodge’s hatred for Archie—­although, to be fair, Archie does provide him with an awful lot of reasons to be disliked. When Archie’s wish that “Veronica were all mine” is magically granted in Archie 128 (June 1962), he is suddenly, and somewhat creepily, transformed into Mr. Lodge. There is considerable inconsistency in the facts surrounding Mr. Lodge, beginning with the very basics of who he is and what he does. In at least two stories, “Martian Menace” (Archie 141, November 1963)

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CBS animated show, as well as the revelation of the first recordings by The Archies. The creation of The Archies, and their pop-­chart successes, ushered in the fundamental transformation of the Archie Comics titles at the end of the 1960s, as they transitioned from comic-­book characters into a fully developed merchandising franchise.

VERONICA’S MOTHER Even a regular Archie reader should be forgiven for believing that Veronica has no mother. Appearing in fewer than a handful of stories in the twelve-­cent era (but not infrequently as a generic parent in short gags in Archie’s Joke Book), she is the quintessential Archie noncharacter: a part that does not cause the Archie machine to spring into motion and who is, as a result, completely unnecessary.

MR. LODGE The relationship between Mr. Lodge and his daughter, Veronica, is significantly shaded by the fact that Mrs. Lodge is almost entirely absent from the Archie comics of the 1960s. While Mrs. Lodge is clearly not dead, she is also clearly not around. In the vast majority of stories, Mr. Lodge never refers to her, and he lives his life—­as does Veronica—­in a manner that suggests she simply does not exist. This absence often requires Veronica to take on roles that would normally be reserved for her mother. When Mr. Lodge travels to Europe, she accompanies him, or she is the one who drops him at the airport. When he hosts a business meeting, she is called on to entertain the inevitable son or nephew of the potential business partner. That the pair is so close seems to be one of the compelling reasons for Mr. Lodge’s hatred for Archie—­although, to be fair, Archie does provide him with an awful lot of reasons to be disliked. When Archie’s wish that “Veronica were all mine” is magically granted in Archie 128 (June 1962), he is suddenly, and somewhat creepily, transformed into Mr. Lodge. There is considerable inconsistency in the facts surrounding Mr. Lodge, beginning with the very basics of who he is and what he does. In at least two stories, “Martian Menace” (Archie 141, November 1963)

Ve r oni ca’s Mot her  133

CBS animated show, as well as the revelation of the first recordings by The Archies. The creation of The Archies, and their pop-­chart successes, ushered in the fundamental transformation of the Archie Comics titles at the end of the 1960s, as they transitioned from comic-­book characters into a fully developed merchandising franchise.

VERONICA’S MOTHER Even a regular Archie reader should be forgiven for believing that Veronica has no mother. Appearing in fewer than a handful of stories in the twelve-­cent era (but not infrequently as a generic parent in short gags in Archie’s Joke Book), she is the quintessential Archie noncharacter: a part that does not cause the Archie machine to spring into motion and who is, as a result, completely unnecessary.

MR. LODGE The relationship between Mr. Lodge and his daughter, Veronica, is significantly shaded by the fact that Mrs. Lodge is almost entirely absent from the Archie comics of the 1960s. While Mrs. Lodge is clearly not dead, she is also clearly not around. In the vast majority of stories, Mr. Lodge never refers to her, and he lives his life—­as does Veronica—­in a manner that suggests she simply does not exist. This absence often requires Veronica to take on roles that would normally be reserved for her mother. When Mr. Lodge travels to Europe, she accompanies him, or she is the one who drops him at the airport. When he hosts a business meeting, she is called on to entertain the inevitable son or nephew of the potential business partner. That the pair is so close seems to be one of the compelling reasons for Mr. Lodge’s hatred for Archie—­although, to be fair, Archie does provide him with an awful lot of reasons to be disliked. When Archie’s wish that “Veronica were all mine” is magically granted in Archie 128 (June 1962), he is suddenly, and somewhat creepily, transformed into Mr. Lodge. There is considerable inconsistency in the facts surrounding Mr. Lodge, beginning with the very basics of who he is and what he does. In at least two stories, “Martian Menace” (Archie 141, November 1963)

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and “The Letter” (Archie 154, April 1965), he is explicitly identified as J. P. Lodge, but in “The Riverdale Hillbillies” (Life with Archie 28, July 1964), his first name is Albert, although it is not entirely inconceivable that his unreliable second cousin Clem is simply wrong about his name and J. P. is too polite to correct him. How Mr. Lodge makes his money is also not clear, as he seems to own as many businesses as are necessary to direct a large number of plots. In “Martian Mr. Lodge works the phones to strike a new Menace” (Archie 154), for example, he deal. From Archie 177 (1967). is the owner of Lodge Labs, which is in the process of landing a man on Mars, while in “Comeback” (Archie 185, September 1968), he owns Lodge Studios in Hollywood. In many stories about The Archies at the end of the decade, it is clear that he is well connected in the entertainment industry, as he is able to help his daughter’s band achieve success. Of course, Lodge Labs and Lodge Studios need not be mutually exclusive for a man of his wealth and stature. His wealth is also a matter of some speculation. In “The Big Blowout” (Life with Archie 67, November 1967), Mr. Lodge tells Archie that he stopped counting his money when he topped thirty million, but in “Little Miss Fortune” (Betty and Veronica 79, July 1962), “the Lodge dynasty is crumbling to dust” after he suffers a financial setback that costs him over a quarter million dollars, leaving him down to “his last four or five million!” Continuity is never allowed to get in the way of storytelling in Archie comics. Mr. Lodge is defined by two central characteristics: he is the overprotective father, and he is the happy face of the capitalist entrepreneur. Beginning with the latter, his adventures in finance are among his noteworthy attributes. When he first meets Cricket O’Dell, the short-­lived character who is absolutely obsessed with money, she faints from excitement. He revives her by waving a fifty-­dollar bill in front of her unconscious face, and she immediately springs to life and is able to identify the denomination by its aroma. Shocked, Mr. Lodge

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(with a handful of Harry Lucey swirls around his face) proclaims, “she has a nose like mine! A natural nose for money! . . . I thought I was the only one in the world with your talent!” and he tells her to stop by any time. In this story, it seems that Mr. Lodge is, like Carl Barks’s Scrooge McDuck, simply a natural moneymaker. In “Inspiration” (Archie 159, November 1965), however, we learn that nothing could be further from the truth. The story unfolds with Mr. Lodge’s voice-­over narration, which is ironized by the pictures that allow the reader to know that he is putting the most generous possible spin on his own origin. In Mr. Lodge’s mind, he is the contemporary Horatio Alger story—­beginning as a newsboy, attending military school, graduating from university, only to work in a variety of menial jobs (dishwasher, elevator operator, bookseller) until he meets his future wife. “You still haven’t told me how you made your fortune!” Archie reminds him, when he concludes his tale with his marriage, to which Veronica chimes in, “Oh I can tell you that! When he married mother she had forty million dollars!” “Inspiration” provides one possible explanation for Mr. Lodge’s hatred of Archie, his daughter’s suitor. A failure in his own careers before marriage, Mr. Lodge lucked into great wealth, which is precisely what Archie threatens to accomplish. His issues with Archie run deep—­ twice he is depicted as requiring psychiatric care to deal with the problems that Archie creates for him, and the boy haunts his dreams. In “Dream Boy” (Archie 165, July 1966), he has a nightmare that Veronica marries Archie and that he is obligated to give his new son-­in-­law a job at his airplane-­manufacturing plant, where Archie (and his assistant, Jughead) designs aircraft based on the models that he knows from his youth (paper planes, elastic-­band slingshot planes, and orbiting capsules based on paddle balls). Mr. Lodge’s disdain for the boy stems from his deeply held conviction that Archie is a screwup, that he would destroy the company as sure as he has destroyed an endless parade of golf clubs, prized dahlias, and Ming vases. Ironically, Mr. Lodge appears most often not in Betty and Veronica, the magazine chronicling the adventures of his daughter, but in Archie. Frank Doyle and Harry Lucey had more interest in him as a character than did any of the other creative teams, and indeed, hardly an issue of Archie passes without at least one story in which he appears. In Archie, the flagship title, Mr. Lodge is a more prominent character than

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Reggie (by a wide margin) and is almost as prominent as Jughead—­ there are even regular stories depicting Archie and Mr. Lodge in which Veronica does not even bother to appear. He is the most major of the minor characters, not the least because he makes such a perfect foil for Archie in Lucey’s slapstick stories of wanton destruction. “Just being in the same room with him is flirting with death!” he tells Smithers in “What’s in a Word?” (Archie 157, August 1965), before he falls off a balcony, landing head first in a vase, runs full speed into a wall (since he cannot see), shattering the vase and causing a painting to fall on him, slips on a rug, and knocks himself unconscious. It is typical of the riot of misfortune that befalls Mr. Lodge in any issue of Archie in which the titular redhead makes an appearance at his house. Indeed, so powerful is the threat of Archie that in “Destruct” (Archie 177, November 1967), a story in which Archie does not even appear because he is on vacation, the very slightest doubt that Archie might not in fact be out of town causes Mr. Lodge to fear for the safety of the Wentworth china collection (“the most delicate art treasures on Earth!”), so much so that he hires movers to take the stuff to his vault. Needless to say, the movers smash the china when they trip over a messenger on the doorstep, delivering a telegram from Archie. Given Mr. Lodge’s major-­minor character designation, he cannot be entirely hostile to the boy who might someday become his son-­in-­law (if time were ever allowed to pass). Just as Reggie is sometimes sympathetic to Archie and not his unwavering enemy, Mr. Lodge frequently is brought around to seeing the appeal of the young man. In “Cover Up” (Archie 134, February 1963), he borrows Archie’s jacket for a trip to the store and is mistaken for him by Reggie (who kicks him in the ass) and beaten senseless by Moose, who sees him asking Midge for directions, and pelted with a tomato thrown by his own daughter. Faced with such ignominies, Mr. Lodge confesses to Veronica, “I hope Archie and I can become the best of friends! . . . That poor boy has all the enemies he needs!” Similarly, in a heavily narrated story in Archie 138 (July 1963), we are told of Mr. Lodge that “he enjoys this thorn-­in-­side, pain-­in-­neck, nuisance! It’s like having an itch you can scratch! He actually looks forward to Archie’s visits, because it feels so good to eject him!” Ultimately, no one in the Archie universe is permitted to hate the boy forever, and stories about his charm winning over his enemies (Mr. Lodge, Reggie, Mr. Weatherbee) are a staple throughout this period.

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BETTY’S PARENTS The asymmetrical structure of the Archie-­Betty-­Veronica love triangle finds its mirror in the relative importance of the parents of the girls. A case can be made that Mr. Lodge, alongside Mr. Weatherbee and Miss Grundy, not only is one of the three most important adult characters in the Archie universe but actually occupies a place of prominence well above the second-­tier teenage characters such as Midge, Moose, and Dilton. The Coopers, conversely, are barely present in the Archie comics of the 1960s and play no significant role in any of the stories. Outside of the pages of Betty and Me, where each story revolves around Betty, her parents can barely be located. In Life with Archie 73 (May 1968), we learn that her father owns a drugstore, but little other information is shared about her parents. The closest that Betty’s father comes to playing a significant role in any story comes in Betty and Me 12 (February 1968), when Betty falsely announces in the school newspaper that she and Archie are engaged to be married. Betty’s father arrives at the school to demand an explanation but otherwise plays no important part in the resolution of the plot (the person most upset by the news, of course, is Veronica). If Betty and Veronica were genuinely equal rivals for Archie’s affections, it should logically follow that Betty’s parents would appear with greater regularity. While the wealthy Mr. Lodge generates story prompts in a way that a middle-­class druggist is unlikely to do, the absolute disparity in their use is indicative of the fact that second-­tier love interests such as Betty are surrounded by fourth-­tier bit players such as her parents.

JINGLES “You remember Jingles! One of Santa’s brownies! He was here last year!” says Archie to Jughead in the long Christmas-­themed epic “Jingle Jangled” (Archie Giant Series 25, January 1964). It is an improbable story in an Archie comic, in which the eternal present ensures that there never is and never was a last year of any kind. Christmas, as a story prompt that is developed every single year by Archie Comics, is a particular problem for Archie’s noncontinuity. Literally dozens of

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BETTY’S PARENTS The asymmetrical structure of the Archie-­Betty-­Veronica love triangle finds its mirror in the relative importance of the parents of the girls. A case can be made that Mr. Lodge, alongside Mr. Weatherbee and Miss Grundy, not only is one of the three most important adult characters in the Archie universe but actually occupies a place of prominence well above the second-­tier teenage characters such as Midge, Moose, and Dilton. The Coopers, conversely, are barely present in the Archie comics of the 1960s and play no significant role in any of the stories. Outside of the pages of Betty and Me, where each story revolves around Betty, her parents can barely be located. In Life with Archie 73 (May 1968), we learn that her father owns a drugstore, but little other information is shared about her parents. The closest that Betty’s father comes to playing a significant role in any story comes in Betty and Me 12 (February 1968), when Betty falsely announces in the school newspaper that she and Archie are engaged to be married. Betty’s father arrives at the school to demand an explanation but otherwise plays no important part in the resolution of the plot (the person most upset by the news, of course, is Veronica). If Betty and Veronica were genuinely equal rivals for Archie’s affections, it should logically follow that Betty’s parents would appear with greater regularity. While the wealthy Mr. Lodge generates story prompts in a way that a middle-­class druggist is unlikely to do, the absolute disparity in their use is indicative of the fact that second-­tier love interests such as Betty are surrounded by fourth-­tier bit players such as her parents.

JINGLES “You remember Jingles! One of Santa’s brownies! He was here last year!” says Archie to Jughead in the long Christmas-­themed epic “Jingle Jangled” (Archie Giant Series 25, January 1964). It is an improbable story in an Archie comic, in which the eternal present ensures that there never is and never was a last year of any kind. Christmas, as a story prompt that is developed every single year by Archie Comics, is a particular problem for Archie’s noncontinuity. Literally dozens of

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stories take place on Christmas Day, and since the cast does not age as the years go by but remains perpetually sixteen, these contradictory stories all have to take place on the exact same Christmas Day. The chaos of continuity is avoided by simply erasing all its traces, so that multiple Christmas stories may appear all at once, even in the same issue. Jingles introduces a powerful exception to this erasure. Jingles, one of Santa’s helpers, was introduced to the Archie cast during the ten-­cent era. He makes his first (re)appearance in Archie Giant Series 20 (January 1963), an all-­yule-­themed issue, in a story titled “The Return of Jingles.” Miraculously, when Jingles appears to Archie in his bedroom, Archie is able to recall the fact that the two have met in the past, referring to him as “that half-­pint powerhouse of prestidigitation.” Indeed, all of the Archie cast recall their previous interactions with the elf as he teleports Archie around Riverdale to the homes of his friends. When he reappears the next year in “Jingle Jangled,” he uses his magic to help Archie undermine Reggie at the high school Christmas party, and the enmity between Jingles and Reggie will become a running theme in these stories. Whenever Reggie is thwarted by unusual events in the week before Christmas, he knows that Jingles is to blame, demanding that the “little spell-­weaving snake in the grass” show himself. What is striking about Jingles is that his stories imply a very low level of continuity within the Archie universe. Since each Jingles story takes a moment to introduce the character as one of Santa’s helpers who has a friendship with the Riverdale gang, it is not necessary to have read any previous Jingles story to understand his sudden appearance in any other story. Nonetheless, the signaling of his return—­of the very fact that a longtime reader should remember him, should, indeed, anticipate his annual pilgrimage to Riverdale—­is utterly at odds with every other rule in Archie comics that mandates that all stories should stand completely alone. During the twelve-­cent era, Jingles appeared exclusively in the pages of Archie Giant Series and, specifically, in the annual Christmas issues known as Archie’s Christmas Stocking. As holiday specials, the recurrence of special characters such as Jingles could be seen as part of an annual tradition. From this perspective, Jingles is an emblem of the miracle of Christmas; he brings with him not the joyful spirit of the season (Jingles is, truth be told, somewhat cruel minded, particularly

Li’ l Jinx   139

in his relation to Reggie) but a very slight escape from the otherwise ironclad prohibition against memory in Archie comics. The ability of Archie to recall what happened last Christmas—­which is, by the bizarre time loop that exists in Riverdale, also this Christmas—­is the biggest miracle associated with a holiday that is otherwise stripped of all religious and spiritual connections in the pages of Archie comics.

LI’L JINX Created, written, and drawn by Joe Edwards, Li’l Jinx made her first appearance in Pep 62 (July 1947) and continued to appear in that title (and others) in stories by Edwards until 1982. For thirty-­five years, Joe Edwards was responsible for the character, making her one of the longest running supporting strips in the history of the American comic-­ book industry. Archie Comics attempted twice to give Li’l Jinx her own title. Six issues of Li’l Jinx were published in 1956 and 1957, while eleven issues of Li’l Jinx Giant Laugh-­Out hit the newsstands between 1971 and 1973, the latter including numerous reprinted stories. For the most part, during the twelve-­cent period, long Li’l Jinx stories (five or six pages) would appear regularly in Pep and in Laugh, while one-­and two-­page stories would be used as filler in the top-­tier Archie titles. Limited in the use of characters, most stories depicted a comic generational clash between Li’l Jinx, a young girl at Riverdale Elementary School, and her long-­ suffering father. The humor was derived from seeing the world of adults through the eyes of the young Jinx, not unlike Hank Ketcham’s long-­running daily comics panel Dennis the Menace. The writing was noticeably more accessible than even the main Archie stories and sometimes seemed to serve an entirely different (younger) readership. Jokes revolved around simple Joe Edwards’s long-­running filler feature Li’l miscommunication (the difference in Jinx. From Pep 218 (1968).

Li’ l Jinx   139

in his relation to Reggie) but a very slight escape from the otherwise ironclad prohibition against memory in Archie comics. The ability of Archie to recall what happened last Christmas—­which is, by the bizarre time loop that exists in Riverdale, also this Christmas—­is the biggest miracle associated with a holiday that is otherwise stripped of all religious and spiritual connections in the pages of Archie comics.

LI’L JINX Created, written, and drawn by Joe Edwards, Li’l Jinx made her first appearance in Pep 62 (July 1947) and continued to appear in that title (and others) in stories by Edwards until 1982. For thirty-­five years, Joe Edwards was responsible for the character, making her one of the longest running supporting strips in the history of the American comic-­ book industry. Archie Comics attempted twice to give Li’l Jinx her own title. Six issues of Li’l Jinx were published in 1956 and 1957, while eleven issues of Li’l Jinx Giant Laugh-­Out hit the newsstands between 1971 and 1973, the latter including numerous reprinted stories. For the most part, during the twelve-­cent period, long Li’l Jinx stories (five or six pages) would appear regularly in Pep and in Laugh, while one-­and two-­page stories would be used as filler in the top-­tier Archie titles. Limited in the use of characters, most stories depicted a comic generational clash between Li’l Jinx, a young girl at Riverdale Elementary School, and her long-­ suffering father. The humor was derived from seeing the world of adults through the eyes of the young Jinx, not unlike Hank Ketcham’s long-­running daily comics panel Dennis the Menace. The writing was noticeably more accessible than even the main Archie stories and sometimes seemed to serve an entirely different (younger) readership. Jokes revolved around simple Joe Edwards’s long-­running filler feature Li’l miscommunication (the difference in Jinx. From Pep 218 (1968).

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the verbs sawed and saw), and longer stories had simplistic plots and very basic morals. As the strip did not use the traditional Archie visual aesthetic—­Edwards’s art was more cartoony and rounded, appropriate given his background in funny-­animal comics—­they read in the magazines as interruptions. They are noticeably not akin to the Archie material, and since they were frequently placed with other items such as in-­house advertising and Archie Club News, they could be made to feel superfluous and unimportant; and the longer Li’l Jinx stories in Pep and Laugh helped contribute to the sense that they were not among the important Archie titles by the end of the decade, as too little space was given over to the adventures of the primary Riverdale gang. Li’l Jinx generated few truly memorable stories and struck a consistently different tone than the rest of the magazines. The character’s central use appears in retrospect to be as a part of the magazines targeted at the younger siblings of Archie comics buyers—­a gateway comic for young children who may have found the Archie stories themselves too sophisticated.

ARCHIE’S GENDER POLITICS The depiction of female characters in the Archie universe is, at best, ambivalent throughout the 1960s. In the hands of artists such as Dan DeCarlo and, especially, Harry Lucey, the female characters were specularized and sexualized. The prevalence of the bikini-­clad teenage girl in pinup poses was a staple of both the covers of Archie comics and their interiors. All the teenage girls in Archie are drawn in an identical fashion, and all (with the notable exception of Big Ethel) share the same precise body type: long legs, thin waist, large breasts. The female body in Archie comics is constantly on display. IDW’s 2012 book The Art of Betty and Veronica culls examples of this treatment and packages them in a collection of sexy pinups absent any significant narrative content whatsoever. The visual pleasure is clearly intended for a heterosexual male reader. In the introduction to The Best of Harry Lucey, it is noted that he commonly submitted penciled pages to the publisher in which Betty and Veronica were depicted nude, and the lines indicating clothing were only added by his inkers. Indeed, the combination of innocence and eroticism is a large part of the appeal

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the verbs sawed and saw), and longer stories had simplistic plots and very basic morals. As the strip did not use the traditional Archie visual aesthetic—­Edwards’s art was more cartoony and rounded, appropriate given his background in funny-­animal comics—­they read in the magazines as interruptions. They are noticeably not akin to the Archie material, and since they were frequently placed with other items such as in-­house advertising and Archie Club News, they could be made to feel superfluous and unimportant; and the longer Li’l Jinx stories in Pep and Laugh helped contribute to the sense that they were not among the important Archie titles by the end of the decade, as too little space was given over to the adventures of the primary Riverdale gang. Li’l Jinx generated few truly memorable stories and struck a consistently different tone than the rest of the magazines. The character’s central use appears in retrospect to be as a part of the magazines targeted at the younger siblings of Archie comics buyers—­a gateway comic for young children who may have found the Archie stories themselves too sophisticated.

ARCHIE’S GENDER POLITICS The depiction of female characters in the Archie universe is, at best, ambivalent throughout the 1960s. In the hands of artists such as Dan DeCarlo and, especially, Harry Lucey, the female characters were specularized and sexualized. The prevalence of the bikini-­clad teenage girl in pinup poses was a staple of both the covers of Archie comics and their interiors. All the teenage girls in Archie are drawn in an identical fashion, and all (with the notable exception of Big Ethel) share the same precise body type: long legs, thin waist, large breasts. The female body in Archie comics is constantly on display. IDW’s 2012 book The Art of Betty and Veronica culls examples of this treatment and packages them in a collection of sexy pinups absent any significant narrative content whatsoever. The visual pleasure is clearly intended for a heterosexual male reader. In the introduction to The Best of Harry Lucey, it is noted that he commonly submitted penciled pages to the publisher in which Betty and Veronica were depicted nude, and the lines indicating clothing were only added by his inkers. Indeed, the combination of innocence and eroticism is a large part of the appeal

A rch ie’s G en d e r Po l iti c s   141

of the Archie comics of this period, and there is a clear connection between the sales success of Archie comics and the degree of sexualization of Betty and Veronica. It is worth noting that some of the most eroticized images of Betty and Veronica appeared regularly on the artwork that Lucey supplied for the subscription coupons, suggesting that the publisher was well aware of the adage “sex sells.” Given that Archie comics were sexy, did it necessarily follow that they were sexist? On the level of visual depiction, the case is compelling. If Archie had muscles the way Betty had curves, that might actually help to somewhat justify the narrative of his irresistibility. Narratively, the central story line (Betty and Veronica’s rivalry for Archie’s affections) can be criticized for its depiction of boy craziness, but that only skims the surface regarding their basic lack of character. The girls’ relationship is noticeable mostly for its cattiness and pettiness against each other on all fronts: dates, school, clothes, you name it. One is left to wonder, if either girl ever lost interest in Archie, would the other necessarily follow suit? Of course, the counterargument would be that both girls demonstrate high levels of feminine skill, ingenuity, and even agency in their determination to ruin the life of their best friend. This argument would be a celebration of narcissism, crass consumerism, and self-­absorption. A slightly more productive argument would be to cite the legion of preteen girls who cut their teeth on Betty and Veronica comics and who spent countless hours debating which of the two really “deserves” Archie but who nonetheless grew up without emulating their behavior. This kind of “resistant reading” accepts that it is possible to enjoy sexist comics without necessarily taking their moral lessons to heart. Nonetheless, it would take a huge leap of logic to suggest that there is a way to read Betty and Veronica as feminist heroines in the 1960s. The most regular, and depressing, examples of sexism in Archie comics work to combine the sexualized depiction of the female characters within a narrative framework that minimized their autonomy, independence, and accomplishments. One of the most egregious examples is a two-­part story in Life with Archie 45 (January 1966), “Chicken in a Basket,” in which a new gym teacher, Passionata Van Clutch, organizes a girls’ basketball team. When the boys viciously humiliate them (“It’s a man’s world, honey!” says Archie, sneeringly to

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Veronica), Coach Van Clutch encourages the girls to defeat the boys not by playing better basketball but by playing the boys. The resulting match, in which the girls perform while wearing miniskirts and bikini tops is, as Coach Kleats complains, “grossly unfair!” Unable to score a basket, despite a completely distracted boys’ team, Betty charms one player into throwing the ball into his own net on her behalf. The girls dominate when they give the ball to Midge and she insists that Moose keep his teammates away from her. With the boys cowed in the backcourt (“Would you rather lose the game or your life?” one asks), the girls cruise to an easy victory, and the reader is treated to five pages of female bodies to ogle, all while emphasizing the natural inferiority of the girls as athletes. Throughout the 1960s, it was only on extremely rare occasions that Archie comics engaged in direct commentary about changing gender expectations. One such example is “The Rebel,” the lead story in Pep 174 (October 1964). Following a romantic dinner at the Lodges’, Archie and Veronica must wash the dishes, as it is the night off for the staff. When Betty phones to say that she has a new dress, Veronica departs, leaving a be-­aproned Archie to do all the work himself. When Jughead arrives, he explains that Archie is doing “woman’s work” as part of a “female plot.” Jughead makes clear that “women are plotting to take over our world!” by wearing pants, men’s hats, and boots and by taking men’s jobs (cabbies, police officers, and lab technicians). In a series of three consecutive panels, Jughead’s nightmare world of equality is spelled out: the female firefighter who cannot decide which trench coat to wear; the female paratrooper afraid of ruining her perm; the hapless female surgeon (“Scalpel! Sponge! Clamps! Lipstick!”). Nothing in the story serves to mitigate Jughead’s concerns about gender equality, and indeed, in the end he wins Archie over to his point of view. The piece is one of the most politically trenchant stories of the period, and its strident antifeminism is remarkable and disappointing in a comic with such a high proportion of female readers. As with Riverdale’s racial problem, it is worth noting that the depiction of gender in Archie comics was hardly out of step with much of popular culture (and the comic-­book industry) of the 1960s. Yet, unlike race, which was easier to ignore within the suburban cloister of Riverdale, Archie’s metanarrative of teen life and loves—­and the centrality of Betty and Veronica to the story lines—­offered a rich op-

Sh ou ld A rch ie M arr y Betty or Ve r oni ca ?   143

portunity for the creators to depict the changing gender and sexual dynamics of 1960s America. Instead, they clung to a nostalgic—­not to mention mean-­spirited—­depiction of women who could not be trusted and who needed to know their place.

SHOULD ARCHIE MARRY BETTY OR VERONICA? In Pep 205 (May 1967), a robot encountered by the Riverdale gang has the power to see into the future. Although the robot is unable to tell if Archie will marry Betty or Veronica, it is qualified to determine that he will marry one or the other. The mystery of whom Archie will eventually marry is understood to be one of the key governing elements of the Archie mythology, particularly in the post-­1960s era in which the rivalry between Betty and Veronica for Archie’s affections was placed on more equitable footing. Interest in this particular topic reached a boiling point in 2009 when Archie Comics earned international headlines by announcing that Archie would choose between Betty and Veronica in a story line beginning in Archie 600 (October 2009). Three issues chronicled his proposal and marriage to Veronica, while the next three dealt with his marriage to Betty. In the end, both marriages were revealed as imaginary possible futures. The decision of Archie Comics to have its cake and eat it too by allowing both weddings can be read as nothing more than a cynical marketing ploy, but it highlighted the importance of the Betty-­or-­Veronica debate for contemporary understandings of Archie’s cultural importance. As Archie Comics itself was unable to resolve the issue through storytelling, it is possible to propose, if you will forgive me, an entirely different model to resolve the crisis. To this end, I have enlisted the aid of a colleague in the Department of Economics, Robert Oxoby, to resolve this crisis on more empirically valid grounds. His response is as follows: To begin, let θ ∈ {B,V} represent marriage candidates, where θ = B and θ = V denote Betty and Veronica. Let υ θ/τ represent Archie’s returns from marriage to candidate θ in period τ, where marriage takes place in period τ = 0. We assume that Archie is uncertain regarding the longevity and success of his marriage to either candidate. Let ϕθ ∈ (0,1) represent the probability of

Sh ou ld A rch ie M arr y Betty or Ve r oni ca ?   143

portunity for the creators to depict the changing gender and sexual dynamics of 1960s America. Instead, they clung to a nostalgic—­not to mention mean-­spirited—­depiction of women who could not be trusted and who needed to know their place.

SHOULD ARCHIE MARRY BETTY OR VERONICA? In Pep 205 (May 1967), a robot encountered by the Riverdale gang has the power to see into the future. Although the robot is unable to tell if Archie will marry Betty or Veronica, it is qualified to determine that he will marry one or the other. The mystery of whom Archie will eventually marry is understood to be one of the key governing elements of the Archie mythology, particularly in the post-­1960s era in which the rivalry between Betty and Veronica for Archie’s affections was placed on more equitable footing. Interest in this particular topic reached a boiling point in 2009 when Archie Comics earned international headlines by announcing that Archie would choose between Betty and Veronica in a story line beginning in Archie 600 (October 2009). Three issues chronicled his proposal and marriage to Veronica, while the next three dealt with his marriage to Betty. In the end, both marriages were revealed as imaginary possible futures. The decision of Archie Comics to have its cake and eat it too by allowing both weddings can be read as nothing more than a cynical marketing ploy, but it highlighted the importance of the Betty-­or-­Veronica debate for contemporary understandings of Archie’s cultural importance. As Archie Comics itself was unable to resolve the issue through storytelling, it is possible to propose, if you will forgive me, an entirely different model to resolve the crisis. To this end, I have enlisted the aid of a colleague in the Department of Economics, Robert Oxoby, to resolve this crisis on more empirically valid grounds. His response is as follows: To begin, let θ ∈ {B,V} represent marriage candidates, where θ = B and θ = V denote Betty and Veronica. Let υ θ/τ represent Archie’s returns from marriage to candidate θ in period τ, where marriage takes place in period τ = 0. We assume that Archie is uncertain regarding the longevity and success of his marriage to either candidate. Let ϕθ ∈ (0,1) represent the probability of

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divorce, which we assume to be stationary over time. Finally, let Dθ denote the cost of divorce from candidate θ. As such, Archie’s choice to marry Veronica is utility maximizing if where δ ∈ (0,1) is Archie’s intertemporal discount rate, we have ruled out the possibility of remarriage, and (although love is timeless and contrary to publication evidence) we have assumed Archie’s life is of finite duration Τ. We make several assumptions regarding parameter values. Assumption 1: Given Archie’s ability to constantly screw up, ϕV = ϕB. This assumption is relatively uncontroversial to any reader. Archie could screw up any relationship with equal probability, given his seeming myopia and susceptibility to the advice of Jughead. Assumption 2: Given the millions of dollars Veronica has accrued through the Lodge estate and her seeming inability to exhaust her budget, υ V/τ > υ B/τ > 0∀τ. Readers of the comic will have noticed Veronica’s inability to consume on the boundary of her budget set as, given Mr. Lodge’s apparent financial empire, Veronica’s budget set is unbounded. From Archie’s perspective, while money cannot buy love, it can certainly rent it for a while, making the instantaneous utility from marriage to Veronica greater than that from Betty. Assumption 3: Given the apparent love of readers for Betty’s wholesome all-­American-­ness relative to Veronica’s spoiled child behavior, DV < DB. As the evidence of the greater prominence of Betty in the publication hierarchy of Archie comics in the mid-­1960s indicates, the relative shift of audience sympathy toward Betty and away from Veronica (who was the only first-­tier character lacking her own solo title) is indicative of a strong preference for the blonder suitor. It is therefore relatively innocuous to assume that the costs of divorcing Betty are higher than those of divorcing Veronica. Divorcing Betty involves breaking the heart of an all-­American girl through infidelity or some basic form of stupidity. Divorcing Veronica means losing some material well-­being (see Assumption 2) but is not accompanied by the derision that would accompany any actions that would make Betty cry.

Big E t he l  145

Given these parameters, we have the following: Theorem 1: If Assumptions 1, 2, and 3 are satisfied, Equation 1 holds and Archie’s best choice is to marry Veronica. Note that our analysis ignores the possibility of remarriage to candidate θ after divorce from candidate θ′ ≠ θ. Including remarriage would only strengthen our main result. We have also excluded any returns or cost of children. Thus, although we can anticipate extensive vitriol regarding Archie’s choice to propose to Veronica, we believe that this is largely a result of a misunderstanding regarding the costs and benefits associated with marriage to either Betty or Veronica. We hope that this analysis assuages the apparent anger of Archie readers, an anger that should be unabashedly reserved for Reggie’s antics. These results may not hold if there is an introduction of a new love interest, such as Cheryl Blossom. Hopefully, this analysis ends that debate once and for all.

BIG ETHEL One thing about Archie comics is that they were very rarely cruel: all the characters were equally maltreated by their so-­called friends, and rarely were any of them singled out for special treatment. This does not generally hold true, however, about Big Ethel, who received nothing but shabby treatment not only from the characters but from the creative teams. Big Ethel’s naiveté was constantly played for laughs as the characters set her up for embarrassment, disappointment, and outright humiliation. Introduced as a punch line, she was most commonly used as a punching bag. Big Ethel first appeared in “Electronically Yours” (Jughead 84, May 1962), a story in which Dilton invents a machine that will select the perfect mate for any teenager. When the gangly and bucktoothed Ethel asks to be the first to use it, the machine spits out the name Jughead Jones. Earlier in the story, Ethel had confessed to herself, “Nice fella that Jughead! I’m not too sure though that he’s really my type!” Now

Big E t he l  145

Given these parameters, we have the following: Theorem 1: If Assumptions 1, 2, and 3 are satisfied, Equation 1 holds and Archie’s best choice is to marry Veronica. Note that our analysis ignores the possibility of remarriage to candidate θ after divorce from candidate θ′ ≠ θ. Including remarriage would only strengthen our main result. We have also excluded any returns or cost of children. Thus, although we can anticipate extensive vitriol regarding Archie’s choice to propose to Veronica, we believe that this is largely a result of a misunderstanding regarding the costs and benefits associated with marriage to either Betty or Veronica. We hope that this analysis assuages the apparent anger of Archie readers, an anger that should be unabashedly reserved for Reggie’s antics. These results may not hold if there is an introduction of a new love interest, such as Cheryl Blossom. Hopefully, this analysis ends that debate once and for all.

BIG ETHEL One thing about Archie comics is that they were very rarely cruel: all the characters were equally maltreated by their so-­called friends, and rarely were any of them singled out for special treatment. This does not generally hold true, however, about Big Ethel, who received nothing but shabby treatment not only from the characters but from the creative teams. Big Ethel’s naiveté was constantly played for laughs as the characters set her up for embarrassment, disappointment, and outright humiliation. Introduced as a punch line, she was most commonly used as a punching bag. Big Ethel first appeared in “Electronically Yours” (Jughead 84, May 1962), a story in which Dilton invents a machine that will select the perfect mate for any teenager. When the gangly and bucktoothed Ethel asks to be the first to use it, the machine spits out the name Jughead Jones. Earlier in the story, Ethel had confessed to herself, “Nice fella that Jughead! I’m not too sure though that he’s really my type!” Now

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Big Ethel does not know her own strength. From Archie’s Pal Jughead 87 (1962).

armed with science, she begins her pursuit of the woman hater, shaking and pounding him in an attempt to win his love. When Jughead protests and pressures Dilton to alter the machine so that Ethel will find a different mate, the machine refuses to cooperate—­spitting out Jughead’s name once again because, as Dilton thinks to himself, “It was afraid to lie to Big Ethel.” This first Ethel story set the stage for her characterization for the remainder of the twelve-­cent period: unattractive, obsessive, lacking self-­awareness, and physically dominating enough that she frightens even inanimate objects. Big Ethel’s physical strength is the central ongoing gag concerning her in the 1960s. Ethel’s difference from the other girls in Riverdale is marked by her body—­tall, thin, and flat chested, she is the only girl in the high school who does not look as if she were poured from the same mold. Her athletic nature is constantly noted in her earliest appearances in the Samm Schwartz–­drawn Jughead series. In Jughead 87 (August 1962), when she pursues her man, she shakes him until his eyeballs rattle and bounces him—­with one arm—­on his head. “You’ve got the strength of ten gorillas,” Jughead tells her. “You say the sweetest things,” she replies. The same joke—­bounce him like a yo-­yo and rattle his eyes—­is used twice in Jughead 93 (February 1963), and by the time of “The Return of Big Ethel” (Jughead 101, October 1963), even Jughead has become accustomed to the gag:

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Ethel (violently shaking Jughead): If I saw you with another woman, I’d shake her till her teeth fell out! And then! Jughead: I know! I know! You’d bounce her like a yo-­yo! Exactly two years after Ethel’s first appearance, Schwartz told a variant of her introductory story, with Jughead paying a penny to a machine to get a picture of his future bride. The resulting chaos features some of the artist’s finest slapstick, with Ethel bouncing Jughead up and down, swinging him like a lasso, and Jughead’s desperate attempts to escape on a stationary bike. It is the same joke time and again—­ Ethel loves Jughead, and to prove it, she physically abuses him—­with familiarity making it funny only because of Schwartz’s skilled execution of the joke. Depictions of Ethel deteriorated as time moved on. With the initial gag quickly running its course, refinements did little to improve it. In “Fortune Hunters” (Jughead 114, November 1964), drawn by Dan DeCarlo, Ethel is suddenly demoted. No longer merely unattractive in comparison to Betty and Veronica, with whom she is dining in a Chinese restaurant, she has now lost significant IQ points (“I love Chinese food! ’Speshully when it’s cooked Italian style!”). Told by a fortune cookie that she will marry a tall man with blond hair, she assumes that the cookie means Jughead (“Jughead is very tall fer his height . . . and he’d definitely be a blonde if his hair wuzn’t so dark!”). If this indignity were not enough, the final panel—­an all-­text panel in which the creators speak directly to the readers—­offers a glimpse at Jughead’s fortune cookie: “You are doomed to be chased by large, stupid girls!” It is “Fortune Hunters” that specifically recast Ethel in a completely negative light. By dumbing her down, DeCarlo and company did not make her a female version of Moose—­who is portrayed as lovably addle-­minded and both popular and attractive (he is, after all, dating Midge, a girl so desirable that Archie would give up Veronica for her). Ethel is portrayed as both unintelligent and unattractive. The humor no longer stems from woman-­hating Jughead pursued by a girl but from woman-­hating Jughead pursued by this particular girl, in whom no sane person could possibly be interested. Ethel’s fate rarely improves for the remainder of the decade, and she remains little more than a laughingstock. In “The Bathing Beauty” (Laugh 199, October 1967), Reggie, Archie, and Jughead are appalled

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when she enters the bikini beauty contest in a 1920s bathing suit and work boots, but they conspire to make her feel better by casting a sympathy vote for her. When she inevitably wins (the trio does not bother to decide who should cast that vote, so they all do it), Veronica threatens to punch them out, such is the ignominy of losing to her ugly friend. Ethel is arguably the most unusual character in the Archie universe insofar as she is so often portrayed as having nothing to offer. The object of pity and ridicule, Ethel is the one character who proves that not everyone can be happy in Riverdale. Rather than offering the opportunity for some kind of critical self-­reflection, Ethel’s inadequacy is used to suggest that all-­American happiness is the right of only the young, the rich, and the beautiful.

THE MAYOR OF RIVERDALE The Mayor of Riverdale appears in only one Archie story during the twelve-­cent period, “Rise and Shine” (Archie 171, March 1967). He chastises the Archie gang when he sees them hanging around an antique cannon in a public park, and they counter by accusing him of allowing Riverdale to become dirty and run-­down (an observation borne out by exactly no other stories during this era and, actually, not even by this one). When the mayor hires his brother-­in-­law to polish the cannon, the act of nepotism lands him in hot water from the electorate, so the brother-­in-­law is fired and the polishing is given over to Archie and his friends. They are subsequently arrested for vandalizing the cannon, which leads to an outraged visit from Mr. Lodge, Mr. Andrews, and, as a tiny drawing in the background, Mr. Mantle (also in his only appearance in any story of this period). With the mayor reduced to polishing the cannon himself, his popularity soars when the local paper notes that no job is too small for Riverdale’s “working mayor.” It is a minor story, to be sure, but what makes it interesting is its relationship to the Comics Code. Adopted in 1954 by the Comics Magazine Association of America, an organization presided over by Archie Comics editor and copublisher John Goldwater, the Comics Code included a laundry list of narrative elements that were explicitly excluded from Code-­approved comics from 1954 until it was amend-

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when she enters the bikini beauty contest in a 1920s bathing suit and work boots, but they conspire to make her feel better by casting a sympathy vote for her. When she inevitably wins (the trio does not bother to decide who should cast that vote, so they all do it), Veronica threatens to punch them out, such is the ignominy of losing to her ugly friend. Ethel is arguably the most unusual character in the Archie universe insofar as she is so often portrayed as having nothing to offer. The object of pity and ridicule, Ethel is the one character who proves that not everyone can be happy in Riverdale. Rather than offering the opportunity for some kind of critical self-­reflection, Ethel’s inadequacy is used to suggest that all-­American happiness is the right of only the young, the rich, and the beautiful.

THE MAYOR OF RIVERDALE The Mayor of Riverdale appears in only one Archie story during the twelve-­cent period, “Rise and Shine” (Archie 171, March 1967). He chastises the Archie gang when he sees them hanging around an antique cannon in a public park, and they counter by accusing him of allowing Riverdale to become dirty and run-­down (an observation borne out by exactly no other stories during this era and, actually, not even by this one). When the mayor hires his brother-­in-­law to polish the cannon, the act of nepotism lands him in hot water from the electorate, so the brother-­in-­law is fired and the polishing is given over to Archie and his friends. They are subsequently arrested for vandalizing the cannon, which leads to an outraged visit from Mr. Lodge, Mr. Andrews, and, as a tiny drawing in the background, Mr. Mantle (also in his only appearance in any story of this period). With the mayor reduced to polishing the cannon himself, his popularity soars when the local paper notes that no job is too small for Riverdale’s “working mayor.” It is a minor story, to be sure, but what makes it interesting is its relationship to the Comics Code. Adopted in 1954 by the Comics Magazine Association of America, an organization presided over by Archie Comics editor and copublisher John Goldwater, the Comics Code included a laundry list of narrative elements that were explicitly excluded from Code-­approved comics from 1954 until it was amend-

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ed in 1971. The Code’s General Standards (Part A, Section 3) reads in full, “Policemen, judges, Government officials and respected institutions shall never be presented in such a way as to create disrespect for established authority.” As this is the sole presentation of a municipal official in Archie comics (though police officers are not completely uncommon), it is interesting to note how close the publisher walks the line in this story. The mayor is corrupt at a very low level—­hiring his brother-­in-­law in an action that he knows to be wrong—­and he schemes to get rid of Archie and his friends by fobbing off unpaid labor onto them. He is, at the very least, slightly disreputable, if not actually “disrespected.” Given the limitations that the Code placed on the representation of government officials, it is not difficult to understand why they would be so seldom used in Archie stories—­without at least the possibility of disrespect, they have very little in the way of entertaining story prompts.

WORST. ARCHIE. STORY. EVER. In a publishing period covering the better part of a decade, nearly a thousand comic books, and multiple thousands of stories, jokes, and gags, not every piece is going to be a winner. Nonetheless, my nomination for the worst Archie story of the decade is “Desk Jockey” in Jughead 114 (November 1964). Credited to Frank Doyle and drawn by Samm Schwartz, the piece features the talents of two of the best creators at Archie Comics, but it fundamentally and consistently misfires on all levels. The story begins with Jughead having broken Mr. Weatherbee’s prized begonia, a fact that is never mentioned again after the splash panel. Ordered out of the office, Jughead realizes that he has forgotten his hat. Unable to live without it, he sneaks back to the office, but when Mr. Weatherbee returns unexpectedly, Jughead is forced to hide himself in a rolltop desk. Of course, it locks. Unable to free himself, he manages to use the telephone to call Reggie and Archie at the Choklit Shoppe. While they make groan-­inducing jokes (“I never thought Jug would wind up with a desk job!”), they are unable to open the desk with a crowbar, a paperclip, or a handsaw. The story ends with an abrupt final panel in which a miraculously freed Jughead turns toward the reader and says, “Don’t

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ed in 1971. The Code’s General Standards (Part A, Section 3) reads in full, “Policemen, judges, Government officials and respected institutions shall never be presented in such a way as to create disrespect for established authority.” As this is the sole presentation of a municipal official in Archie comics (though police officers are not completely uncommon), it is interesting to note how close the publisher walks the line in this story. The mayor is corrupt at a very low level—­hiring his brother-­in-­law in an action that he knows to be wrong—­and he schemes to get rid of Archie and his friends by fobbing off unpaid labor onto them. He is, at the very least, slightly disreputable, if not actually “disrespected.” Given the limitations that the Code placed on the representation of government officials, it is not difficult to understand why they would be so seldom used in Archie stories—­without at least the possibility of disrespect, they have very little in the way of entertaining story prompts.

WORST. ARCHIE. STORY. EVER. In a publishing period covering the better part of a decade, nearly a thousand comic books, and multiple thousands of stories, jokes, and gags, not every piece is going to be a winner. Nonetheless, my nomination for the worst Archie story of the decade is “Desk Jockey” in Jughead 114 (November 1964). Credited to Frank Doyle and drawn by Samm Schwartz, the piece features the talents of two of the best creators at Archie Comics, but it fundamentally and consistently misfires on all levels. The story begins with Jughead having broken Mr. Weatherbee’s prized begonia, a fact that is never mentioned again after the splash panel. Ordered out of the office, Jughead realizes that he has forgotten his hat. Unable to live without it, he sneaks back to the office, but when Mr. Weatherbee returns unexpectedly, Jughead is forced to hide himself in a rolltop desk. Of course, it locks. Unable to free himself, he manages to use the telephone to call Reggie and Archie at the Choklit Shoppe. While they make groan-­inducing jokes (“I never thought Jug would wind up with a desk job!”), they are unable to open the desk with a crowbar, a paperclip, or a handsaw. The story ends with an abrupt final panel in which a miraculously freed Jughead turns toward the reader and says, “Don’t

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worry, folks! They finally got me out . . . And I’ll never get in trouble again!” The combination of elaborate setup, humor-­ free punning, endlessly repeated drawings of a locked brown rolltop desk with panicked word balloons emanating from it, and a setup for which apparently no one could even be bothered thinking of a punch line combine to make this the worst possible Archie story. Indeed, Jughead locked in a rolltop desk. And then out of it. seemingly the single purFrom Archie’s Pal Jughead 114 (1964). pose of a story of this type is to reveal Jughead’s clever means of escape, and absent that, it serves absolutely no function whatsoever. The best that might be said is that “Desk Jockey” demonstrates the minimum level of humor, story construction, and craft that were required by Archie comics in the 1960s.

ARCHIE THE KLUTZ Many character traits of the Archie gang are consistent over time—­ Jughead is a girl hater, Betty is unhealthily obsessed with Archie, Reggie is mean, and Veronica is spoiled—­but others come and go over time. Archie, in most ways the least interesting character in Riverdale, is inconsistently credited with the character trait that is most generative of humor within the universe: he is accident prone. Given the centrality of slapstick humor, particularly in the pages of the Harry Lucey–­drawn Archie, it makes perfect sense that as Archie is pushed away from his characterization as “the typical teen,” the central personality quirk chosen for him would be one that played to the series’s central themes and narrative constructions. Once cast as a jinx, Archie can be used in multiple ways: his fumbling becomes the active driver

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worry, folks! They finally got me out . . . And I’ll never get in trouble again!” The combination of elaborate setup, humor-­ free punning, endlessly repeated drawings of a locked brown rolltop desk with panicked word balloons emanating from it, and a setup for which apparently no one could even be bothered thinking of a punch line combine to make this the worst possible Archie story. Indeed, Jughead locked in a rolltop desk. And then out of it. seemingly the single purFrom Archie’s Pal Jughead 114 (1964). pose of a story of this type is to reveal Jughead’s clever means of escape, and absent that, it serves absolutely no function whatsoever. The best that might be said is that “Desk Jockey” demonstrates the minimum level of humor, story construction, and craft that were required by Archie comics in the 1960s.

ARCHIE THE KLUTZ Many character traits of the Archie gang are consistent over time—­ Jughead is a girl hater, Betty is unhealthily obsessed with Archie, Reggie is mean, and Veronica is spoiled—­but others come and go over time. Archie, in most ways the least interesting character in Riverdale, is inconsistently credited with the character trait that is most generative of humor within the universe: he is accident prone. Given the centrality of slapstick humor, particularly in the pages of the Harry Lucey–­drawn Archie, it makes perfect sense that as Archie is pushed away from his characterization as “the typical teen,” the central personality quirk chosen for him would be one that played to the series’s central themes and narrative constructions. Once cast as a jinx, Archie can be used in multiple ways: his fumbling becomes the active driver

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of plots, but it can also function even when is in a secondary or passive role. There is no end of plots that can be generated from a bumbling Archie. All-­American boy is a good starting point for a successful comics franchise; trouble-­prone all-­American boy is a great one. The template for the unfortunate-­Archie story of the period is provided in “One of Those Days” (Archie 127, April 1962), a 1962 story depicting the events of a Friday the thirteenth. “Run,” Mary Andrews calls to Jughead, “he’s having one of those days!” The story is little more than a series of sight gags: Archie falls on his face leaving his house, knocks down a fence when he pounds it in frustration, kicks a can that ricochets off a fire hydrant and through Pop’s plate-­glass window. Barred from attending school for the day by Mr. Weatherbee, Archie sits on a hillside overlooking the town as all its inhabitants are evacuated in a civil defense drill: “Chee! The whole darn town is leaving! . . . It’s enough to give a guy an inferiority complex!” he moans. The conception of Archie as fundamentally accident prone is a recurrent gambit in Lucey’s comics. In “More Bounce to the Ounce” (Archie 147, July 1964), Archie constructs a rubber-­band ball that has only two obvious functions: first, to fire random stray rubber bands off at all angles and to hit everyone in school in the back of the head or in the eye and, second, to become large enough that once bounced it will careen through Mr. Weatherbee’s office and destroy everything in its path. In Archie 150 (November 1964), Archie is permanently banned from Professor Flutesnoot’s chemistry class after he pours acid on the floor and it opens up a gaping hole. In Archie 156 (July 1965), he trips over a dandelion and almost knocks himself unconscious. Perhaps the pinnacle of the abuse that Archie inflicts on himself can be found in “One Lump or Two” (Archie 168, November 1966), in which a riot of sight gags is unloosed from Lucey’s pen. “Crrump!” says the tree that Archie runs into at full speed. In the pages that follow, he accidentally kicks the shin of Big Moose, resulting in a reciprocal kick to the shin that sends him skyward, as well as a full-­fledged boot to the butt that almost puts him through a stone fence. When he walks through a game of jump rope, he is tied in knots and assaulted with an umbrella by an overprotective mother, and as he runs for his life, he trips over a tree root headlong into a second tree. “Whack!” says the tree. It is not sufficient for Archie to be accident prone, though he is that. His problems run far deeper. In “Wham Wham Whammy”

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That has got to hurt. Big Moose punts Archie into a brick wall. From Archie 168 (1966).

(Archie 183, July 1968), it is revealed that he is particularly susceptible to whammies. As he roller-­skates, Veronica tells him that he is headed for a fall, and he promptly does. When Betty accuses him of having rocks in his head, or Jughead of having egg on his face, he is by turns hit by a stone and by a carton of Doyle’s Farm Fresh Eggs that falls off a passing truck. The same theme is explored again only four issues later in “Don’t Read This!” (Archie 187, December 1968), as whenever Archie is instructed not to do something (“Don’t trip!” “Don’t be late for class!” “Don’t let Mr. Weatherbee catch you loafing in the halls”), that is exactly what happens to him. In these stories, the crises and pratfalls that befall Archie are beyond his control—­he is under the spell of others. The inverse is a story such as “Moving Target” (Archie 166, August 1966), in which every single character accidentally hurts his or her own hand while trying to slap Archie, punch him, or pat him on the back. Archie’s bad luck runs both inward and outward, endangering not only himself but also those around him (especially Mr. Lodge). Perhaps the most unusual stories in this genre exist on its periphery. Published in February and December 1962, respectively, “Unbalanced” (Archie 125) and “The Unbalanced” (Laugh 141) examine Archie’s extremely rarely displayed preternatural talent for balancing objects. For reasons that are never fully explained beyond the fact that it is funny for a klutz to have the unique ability to balance objects of any kind and any size, Archie is an absolute whiz at constructing teetering towers of glass-

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ware and Mr. Lodge’s vases. The punch line inevitably stems from the fact that no one trusts the clumsy one to dismantle his own work, and everyone else always fails to take them apart as well. Archie, of course, resents getting the blame for everyone else’s clumsiness (“That’s a pretty careless way to treat a fortune!” he tells Mr. Lodge after the older man has failed to take a Ming vase from atop a diamond-­encrusted cane). Throughout the 1960s, Archie was both clumsy and facile, susceptible to whammies and liable to put the jinx on others, always as the story needs dictated. His ability to generate chaos was not an intrinsic characteristic that could be found in every Archie story but was a commonplace one that could be located in many. Insofar as this in/ ability cut to the very heart of the Archie comics aesthetic, it could be contained as one of the central tropes of the Archie universe—­and it could be occasionally made to be one of the defining character traits of an otherwise uninteresting lead.

CELEBRITY CULTURE Archie’s engagement with celebrity culture was remarkably dualistic, shifting effortlessly from a world jointly inhabited by the Riverdale gang and its readers, and a completely different world in which celebrities were analogues of their real selves. The former, which is the much less common version of celebrity, can be found on the cover of Betty and Veronica 82 (October 1962), where Veronica holds an autograph book while sitting beneath Betty’s more impressive collection of celebrity trophies: Elvis’s shoe, Chubby Checker’s hat, Fabian’s sock, and so on. This cover gag was fleshed out as a fully fledged story, “Fan-­ Atics,” almost four years later in Betty and Veronica 127 (July 1966), in which Betty introduces Archie to her friend Gloria, who trains teenage girls in the physical art of memento claiming. Like Betty, Gloria has a wall filled with artifacts belonging to real-­world celebrities. By way of contrast, in Archie 163 (April 1966), the gang goes to a taping of The Ned Sullenpan Show, and in Archie 191 (June 1969), The Archies blow their opportunity to perform on The Johnny Caron show. Given that neither Sullivan nor Carson is actually depicted in the comics, it is unusual that two competing approaches have been taken to refer to celebrities. This was not simply a function of the difference between

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ware and Mr. Lodge’s vases. The punch line inevitably stems from the fact that no one trusts the clumsy one to dismantle his own work, and everyone else always fails to take them apart as well. Archie, of course, resents getting the blame for everyone else’s clumsiness (“That’s a pretty careless way to treat a fortune!” he tells Mr. Lodge after the older man has failed to take a Ming vase from atop a diamond-­encrusted cane). Throughout the 1960s, Archie was both clumsy and facile, susceptible to whammies and liable to put the jinx on others, always as the story needs dictated. His ability to generate chaos was not an intrinsic characteristic that could be found in every Archie story but was a commonplace one that could be located in many. Insofar as this in/ ability cut to the very heart of the Archie comics aesthetic, it could be contained as one of the central tropes of the Archie universe—­and it could be occasionally made to be one of the defining character traits of an otherwise uninteresting lead.

CELEBRITY CULTURE Archie’s engagement with celebrity culture was remarkably dualistic, shifting effortlessly from a world jointly inhabited by the Riverdale gang and its readers, and a completely different world in which celebrities were analogues of their real selves. The former, which is the much less common version of celebrity, can be found on the cover of Betty and Veronica 82 (October 1962), where Veronica holds an autograph book while sitting beneath Betty’s more impressive collection of celebrity trophies: Elvis’s shoe, Chubby Checker’s hat, Fabian’s sock, and so on. This cover gag was fleshed out as a fully fledged story, “Fan-­ Atics,” almost four years later in Betty and Veronica 127 (July 1966), in which Betty introduces Archie to her friend Gloria, who trains teenage girls in the physical art of memento claiming. Like Betty, Gloria has a wall filled with artifacts belonging to real-­world celebrities. By way of contrast, in Archie 163 (April 1966), the gang goes to a taping of The Ned Sullenpan Show, and in Archie 191 (June 1969), The Archies blow their opportunity to perform on The Johnny Caron show. Given that neither Sullivan nor Carson is actually depicted in the comics, it is unusual that two competing approaches have been taken to refer to celebrities. This was not simply a function of the difference between

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titles, as in Betty and Veronica 138 (June 1967), the girls think that they have run into “Sean Corny, the James Bun actor” (Bond was a recurrent reference in the mid-­1960s Archie comics). Not surprisingly given both the time frame and the demographics of Archie’s readership, the most important celebrities in the Archie universe were The Beatles. The eruption of Beatlemania in the United States began at the end of 1963 and was cemented by the band’s performance on The Ed Sullivan Show on February 9, 1964. The earliest mentions of the pop group in the pages of Archie comics comes in Jughead 111 (August 1964), in a comic that would have been on the stands in June and, thus, likely drawn around April. In “The Scalper,” Jughead dons a Beatles wig in an effort to amuse Mr. Weatherbee, and soon the entire school is doing it. Another Beatles wig story appeared in the following month’s issue of Betty and Veronica (105, September 1964), in which Veronica gifts one to Archie, who, true to the comics’ disdain for the counterculture, at first believes it to be a wild animal and tries to kill it. Over the course of the next two years, The Beatles were referred to dozens of times, with Archie singing “I Want to Hold Your Hand” to Veronica (Archie 150, November 1964) and with local sightings of Bingo Skar, drummer for The Bottles (Archie 155, June 1965). Probably the highlight of Archie’s fascination with the Fab Four was a two-­page strip drawn by Samm Schwartz in Archie’s Joke Book 89 (June 1965), in which Miss Grundy attempts to lecture about England—­its balance of trade, geography, and demographics—­without eliciting responses from the class about the band. The preoccupation that Riverdale’s teens had for the band helped cement the idea that they were “typical American teens” and that their interests were of the same kind as those of their readership. This injunctive is certainly better served by the reference to real celebrities than it is to the fictionalized Jingo Starr (Betty and Veronica 123, March 1966). In the world of celebrity references, a little realism probably goes a long way.

JUGHEAD’S DIPSY DOODLES While the Archie comics of the twelve-­cent era had a somewhat vexed relationship to art, the character with the most consistently close connection to his own creativity was Jughead. A recurrent motif in

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titles, as in Betty and Veronica 138 (June 1967), the girls think that they have run into “Sean Corny, the James Bun actor” (Bond was a recurrent reference in the mid-­1960s Archie comics). Not surprisingly given both the time frame and the demographics of Archie’s readership, the most important celebrities in the Archie universe were The Beatles. The eruption of Beatlemania in the United States began at the end of 1963 and was cemented by the band’s performance on The Ed Sullivan Show on February 9, 1964. The earliest mentions of the pop group in the pages of Archie comics comes in Jughead 111 (August 1964), in a comic that would have been on the stands in June and, thus, likely drawn around April. In “The Scalper,” Jughead dons a Beatles wig in an effort to amuse Mr. Weatherbee, and soon the entire school is doing it. Another Beatles wig story appeared in the following month’s issue of Betty and Veronica (105, September 1964), in which Veronica gifts one to Archie, who, true to the comics’ disdain for the counterculture, at first believes it to be a wild animal and tries to kill it. Over the course of the next two years, The Beatles were referred to dozens of times, with Archie singing “I Want to Hold Your Hand” to Veronica (Archie 150, November 1964) and with local sightings of Bingo Skar, drummer for The Bottles (Archie 155, June 1965). Probably the highlight of Archie’s fascination with the Fab Four was a two-­page strip drawn by Samm Schwartz in Archie’s Joke Book 89 (June 1965), in which Miss Grundy attempts to lecture about England—­its balance of trade, geography, and demographics—­without eliciting responses from the class about the band. The preoccupation that Riverdale’s teens had for the band helped cement the idea that they were “typical American teens” and that their interests were of the same kind as those of their readership. This injunctive is certainly better served by the reference to real celebrities than it is to the fictionalized Jingo Starr (Betty and Veronica 123, March 1966). In the world of celebrity references, a little realism probably goes a long way.

JUGHEAD’S DIPSY DOODLES While the Archie comics of the twelve-­cent era had a somewhat vexed relationship to art, the character with the most consistently close connection to his own creativity was Jughead. A recurrent motif in

Jug he ad ’s Dipsy Doo dl es   155

Jughead’s own title was “Dipsy Doodles,” a series of (generally) wordless single-­and double-­page gags in which Jughead appears as a painter, complete with easel, smock, and, presumably because that is what painters wear, a beret. The “Dipsy Doodles” always had the same plot: Jughead paints something on a blank canvas, and that thing springs to life—­usually

The starving artist paints a snack. From Archie Giant Series 22 (1963).

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with disastrous consequences. While the earliest “Dipsy Doodles” were done with traditional Archie coloring (backgrounds composed of muted pastels), the creative team began using color more effectively in 1964, with Jughead, his easel, and his surroundings depicted in black-­and-­white and only the painting itself in color. This contrast helped emphasize the fantastic nature of what he was doing. A typical “Dipsy Doodle” would see Jughead painting a landscape, only to have a storm cloud roll in and lightning emerge from the canvas to hit him, or painting a fireplace on the wall of his freezing cabin, lighting the logs and then having the fire burn out of control. Rote and predictable in their plotting, the “Dipsy Doodles” drew their value from Schwartz’s strong page layouts and figure drawing, generating a lighthearted metafiction that drove home the association of formal play with the language of comics and the fantasy-­based elements that were connected to perpetual daydreamer Jughead.

IMITATION IS THE LOWEST FORM OF FLATTERY With the failure of Archie as an adventure comic-­book character, Life with Archie began a constant search for an identity to call its own in 1964. The creators apparently being starved for ideas, one option seemed to be to simply rip off successful television series of the time and to insert the Archie cast into them. The best example of this tendency appeared in Life with Archie 28 (July 1964). In a full-­length story drawn by Harry Lucey, “The Riverdale Hillbillies” imagines a world in which Mr. Lodge must raise $400,000 in a single week or he will lose his entire fortune. His only hope, it is determined, is to borrow the funds from his second cousin Clem, from the Ozarks. Given the story’s title, it will come as no surprise to learn that Clem is drawn to resemble Buddy Ebsen precisely and that his son, Mildew, has the look and build of Max Baer, Jr. The Beverly Hillbillies had been a hit for CBS since the fall of 1962, and here it is borrowed from shamelessly. The fish-­out-­of-­water nature of the story is an exact duplicate of the television show, with the hillbillies running around the mansion and completely unable to adjust to their wealthy new surroundings. Worse, Clem has no money to lend Mr. Lodge, so his prize dahlias are being trampled for no purpose. In the end, of course, the Lodge

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with disastrous consequences. While the earliest “Dipsy Doodles” were done with traditional Archie coloring (backgrounds composed of muted pastels), the creative team began using color more effectively in 1964, with Jughead, his easel, and his surroundings depicted in black-­and-­white and only the painting itself in color. This contrast helped emphasize the fantastic nature of what he was doing. A typical “Dipsy Doodle” would see Jughead painting a landscape, only to have a storm cloud roll in and lightning emerge from the canvas to hit him, or painting a fireplace on the wall of his freezing cabin, lighting the logs and then having the fire burn out of control. Rote and predictable in their plotting, the “Dipsy Doodles” drew their value from Schwartz’s strong page layouts and figure drawing, generating a lighthearted metafiction that drove home the association of formal play with the language of comics and the fantasy-­based elements that were connected to perpetual daydreamer Jughead.

IMITATION IS THE LOWEST FORM OF FLATTERY With the failure of Archie as an adventure comic-­book character, Life with Archie began a constant search for an identity to call its own in 1964. The creators apparently being starved for ideas, one option seemed to be to simply rip off successful television series of the time and to insert the Archie cast into them. The best example of this tendency appeared in Life with Archie 28 (July 1964). In a full-­length story drawn by Harry Lucey, “The Riverdale Hillbillies” imagines a world in which Mr. Lodge must raise $400,000 in a single week or he will lose his entire fortune. His only hope, it is determined, is to borrow the funds from his second cousin Clem, from the Ozarks. Given the story’s title, it will come as no surprise to learn that Clem is drawn to resemble Buddy Ebsen precisely and that his son, Mildew, has the look and build of Max Baer, Jr. The Beverly Hillbillies had been a hit for CBS since the fall of 1962, and here it is borrowed from shamelessly. The fish-­out-­of-­water nature of the story is an exact duplicate of the television show, with the hillbillies running around the mansion and completely unable to adjust to their wealthy new surroundings. Worse, Clem has no money to lend Mr. Lodge, so his prize dahlias are being trampled for no purpose. In the end, of course, the Lodge

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fortune is saved, and Clem and his kin are dispatched and never spoken of again. A year later, in Life with Archie 39 (July 1965), the title took on another popular television show, The Munsters, which had begun airing on CBS the previous year. When Archie meets a beautiful witch named Wendy, he and Veronica accompany her back to her haunted house to meet her parents—­who are absolutely identical to Fred Gwynne and Yvonne De Carlo. Each of these pieces was limited to a single appearance, and while they clearly attempted to capitalize in the maximal way on the popularity of the television shows (both stories were cover featured, for example), they limited the extent of the copying to a sufficient degree that it did not become overbearing. The same cannot be said for The Man from R.I.V.E.R.D.A.L.E., an ongoing adventure story that began in Life with Archie 45 (January 1966) and ran through to the sixty-­first issue (May 1967). By that point, The Man from U.N.C.L.E. had been airing on NBC for two years and was well established in the espionage genre. The comics version posited Archie as Bonaparte, the analogue for Robert Vaughn’s Napoleon Solo, and Jughead as Gorilia, a take on Illya Kuryakin as played by David McCallum. The World Protective Association, for which they worked, was run out of Riverdale High, with Mr. Weatherbee playing the role of The Chief. In the first Man from R.I.V.E.R.D.A.L.E. story, Veronica and Reggie are enemy agents (and Moose is soon added to that group); but over time, they are recuperated for the forces of good, and Archie moves from working for the Works Progress Administration to P.O.P.—­Protect Our Planet. Running for a year and a half, The Man from R.I.V.E.R.D.A.L.E. was the most substantial pop-­culture homage that can be found in the Archie comics of this period. Overlapping with the era of the Pureheart superhero stories and, at the tail end, with the Monkees-­inspired tales of The Archies, the spy parody is not particularly well remembered. Like the Pureheart material, it suffered relative to the straight adventure material that was being produced by other comics publishers of the day, and frankly, its parodic intentions were not particularly sharp. The Man from R.I.V.E.R.D.A.L.E. suffered from having no particular point of view about the spy genre and so paled in comparison to a television show such as Get Smart, which not only began before the Archie parody of U.N.C.L.E. but which featured a more sustained parodic take on the genre.

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Archie comics never succeeded well when they ventured into parodic territory, regardless of whether they were one-­offs or long-­ running bits. The strongest Archie stories were always the ones most rooted in the everyday reality of life in Riverdale, and the characters were both too specific and too thin to thrive well when used for satiric purposes. Indeed, they always felt like they were putting on an amateur show. The reliance on external idea generation—­the tendency to simply copy what was a success elsewhere—­moved the creators away from what they did well, which was allow the Archie engine to work as an internal driver of stories.

SURF AND SKI The incredible inconsistency of the Archie universe is probably best demonstrated by the two types of stories that are, for all intents and purposes, inversions of each other. In the summer, the Archie gang goes surfing, resulting in outrageous wipeouts. In the winter, the Archie gang goes skiing, resulting in outrageous wipeouts. Just who is wiping out, and for what reason, is the only factor that need be determined in order to set a story in motion. In “Ski Skirmish” (Betty and Veronica 137, May 1967), Betty is a hopelessly inept beginner skier, while Veronica is a highly skilled expert, hanging out with ski champion Eric Yodelhop. A year later, in “Queen Scene” (Betty and Veronica 149, May 1968), Betty is an expert skier, and Veronica refuses to ski at all, instead spending her time constantly changing outfits in the hope of being named Miss Snow Queen of Riverdale. One year after that, in “Lost Weekend” (Betty and Veronica 161, May 1969), Veronica refuses to ski again (“Can you picture me out there on those icky ski slopes!” she asks). If the writers and artists cannot agree on whether Veronica is an almost-­pro skier or a nonskier, it is because it does not fundamentally matter. All that is necessary is that there be ski-­related stories for the winter issues. The same is true for the summer, when the opportunity to draw teenagers in bikinis mandates that the Archie gang spend its spare time at the beach. Here it is most commonly Archie who has eternally variable skill levels. In “Board Game” (Archie 167, September 1966), Reggie is the expert surfer who is able to impress all the girls, while Archie is a

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Archie comics never succeeded well when they ventured into parodic territory, regardless of whether they were one-­offs or long-­ running bits. The strongest Archie stories were always the ones most rooted in the everyday reality of life in Riverdale, and the characters were both too specific and too thin to thrive well when used for satiric purposes. Indeed, they always felt like they were putting on an amateur show. The reliance on external idea generation—­the tendency to simply copy what was a success elsewhere—­moved the creators away from what they did well, which was allow the Archie engine to work as an internal driver of stories.

SURF AND SKI The incredible inconsistency of the Archie universe is probably best demonstrated by the two types of stories that are, for all intents and purposes, inversions of each other. In the summer, the Archie gang goes surfing, resulting in outrageous wipeouts. In the winter, the Archie gang goes skiing, resulting in outrageous wipeouts. Just who is wiping out, and for what reason, is the only factor that need be determined in order to set a story in motion. In “Ski Skirmish” (Betty and Veronica 137, May 1967), Betty is a hopelessly inept beginner skier, while Veronica is a highly skilled expert, hanging out with ski champion Eric Yodelhop. A year later, in “Queen Scene” (Betty and Veronica 149, May 1968), Betty is an expert skier, and Veronica refuses to ski at all, instead spending her time constantly changing outfits in the hope of being named Miss Snow Queen of Riverdale. One year after that, in “Lost Weekend” (Betty and Veronica 161, May 1969), Veronica refuses to ski again (“Can you picture me out there on those icky ski slopes!” she asks). If the writers and artists cannot agree on whether Veronica is an almost-­pro skier or a nonskier, it is because it does not fundamentally matter. All that is necessary is that there be ski-­related stories for the winter issues. The same is true for the summer, when the opportunity to draw teenagers in bikinis mandates that the Archie gang spend its spare time at the beach. Here it is most commonly Archie who has eternally variable skill levels. In “Board Game” (Archie 167, September 1966), Reggie is the expert surfer who is able to impress all the girls, while Archie is a

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complete novice who has to tie himself to the board and still winds up with his head planted in the sand like an ostrich. In “Bad Day at Boulder Beach” (Archie Annual 19, 1967–­1968), Archie declares, “I don’t grab surfing yet, and it’s downright embarrassing the way the girls out-­class me!” so he concocts an elaborate plan to use glue on his feet to hold himself to the board (naturally, the gang winds up having to drive home with him strapped to the roof of Jughead’s car—­possibly the only time that Jughead is ever shown driving). In Pep 210 (October 1967), Archie is expert enough that he enters a tandem surfing contest with Big Ethel, but a year later, in a Bob Bolling–­drawn story (Pep 221, September 1968), he needs to consult an instruction book in order to ride his board. Because skiing and surfing jokes are visually dynamic, there are dozens of them in Archie comics (indeed, surfing is a constant theme for cover gags, appearing more than a dozen times during the 1960s), but there is less continuity in these areas than almost any other. The habit of beginning every Archie story as if it were the first Archie story is strongly felt in this area, because each Archie surfing story is the first Archie surfing story. One of the most common elements of the surfing story is the declaration of skill level. “If he can do it, I can do it!” Archie insists to Jughead in “Board Game,” establishing his skill level for the readers. “Reggie and Betty look like sure winners for the surfing contest this afternoon,” Archie tells Veronica as the first caption in “Shore Losers” (Life with Archie 66, October 1967), as they prepare for a tandem surfing contest. “You’ve got to help me, Jug! I’ve never skied before!” Archie admits from the gondola in Reggie and Me 29 (May 1968). Skill declarations are necessary setups in every surfing and skiing story simply because each story has to begin from a hard reset, where absolutely nothing can be taken for granted. Indeed, due to the complete disregard for ongoing continuity, the declaration of interests and attitudes is a central element of all kinds of Archie stories, involving not only summer and winter sports but the operation of Riverdale High, the relationships between the characters, and even the dating situation. Among the most common opening lines in Archie comics is the declaration of a well-­established fact (“Arch! You’re being grossly unfair! I don’t hate you just because you get more dates with Veronica!” says Reggie to reestablish the facts of their relationship in Archie 142 (December 1963). “I’m not that small, that petty, that picayune! I hate you for yourself alone!”) that reiterates a commonplace on

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the assumption that every story must be told as if it were the reader’s first. Because of this, any story can appear in any order, no matter how contradictory they might be—­so whether Archie is an expert surfer or a novice skier matters not, so long as the fact is explicitly established in one of the earliest panels.

SAMM SCHWARTZ’S ART A significant part of Jughead’s appeal stems from the fact that Samm Schwartz drew his adventures. As the artist on Jughead through much of the 1950s and up until he departed to edit Tower Comics line in 1965, Schwartz crafted the definitive depictions of Jughead and created the look of his best known suitor, Big Ethel. Schwartz was second only to Harry Lucey in his ability to make good material great and mediocre material tolerable. His departure from Jughead marked the greatest single decline in the quality of any Archie comics title during the decade. Schwartz’s absence from Jughead for the last four years of the period rendered the title almost completely forgettable, while previously it had occupied the number-­two position, behind Lucey’s flagship Archie. What Schwartz brought to the table was the ability to take a completely unremarkable story and make something valuable out of it simply through the lively invention that he brought to his depictions. One such example is “Tough Question,” a single-­page gag published in Archie’s Joke Book 133 (February 1969). The dialogue, presented in four panels, is almost cringe inducing: Archie: Ronnie if you could have any present in the whole world what would you like to have? Veronica: Let me think! Hmm! Archie: Well? Veronica: That’s a tough question, Archie! Archie: Why? Veronica: Because I can have anything in the world I want! This joke, which barely needs the four panels (the second and third, textually, are fillers—­this could be a simple two-­panel gag), is almost

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the assumption that every story must be told as if it were the reader’s first. Because of this, any story can appear in any order, no matter how contradictory they might be—­so whether Archie is an expert surfer or a novice skier matters not, so long as the fact is explicitly established in one of the earliest panels.

SAMM SCHWARTZ’S ART A significant part of Jughead’s appeal stems from the fact that Samm Schwartz drew his adventures. As the artist on Jughead through much of the 1950s and up until he departed to edit Tower Comics line in 1965, Schwartz crafted the definitive depictions of Jughead and created the look of his best known suitor, Big Ethel. Schwartz was second only to Harry Lucey in his ability to make good material great and mediocre material tolerable. His departure from Jughead marked the greatest single decline in the quality of any Archie comics title during the decade. Schwartz’s absence from Jughead for the last four years of the period rendered the title almost completely forgettable, while previously it had occupied the number-­two position, behind Lucey’s flagship Archie. What Schwartz brought to the table was the ability to take a completely unremarkable story and make something valuable out of it simply through the lively invention that he brought to his depictions. One such example is “Tough Question,” a single-­page gag published in Archie’s Joke Book 133 (February 1969). The dialogue, presented in four panels, is almost cringe inducing: Archie: Ronnie if you could have any present in the whole world what would you like to have? Veronica: Let me think! Hmm! Archie: Well? Veronica: That’s a tough question, Archie! Archie: Why? Veronica: Because I can have anything in the world I want! This joke, which barely needs the four panels (the second and third, textually, are fillers—­this could be a simple two-­panel gag), is almost

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Samm Schwartz adds considerable value to an otherwise forgettable joke. From Archie’s Joke Book 75 (1969).

dead on the page. There is no zip to the writing and nothing that makes it verbally worthwhile. Yet the joke, as drawn by Schwartz, is incredibly well executed. The first panel depicts full-­figured renderings of Archie and Veronica, floating in the space of a pale blue background with no horizon line—­a sort of eternal rendering of the couple. The second panel, which places Veronica in close-­up in the lower left while Archie trepidatiously hops up onto a fence, introduces some tension due to the relative size of the figures and Archie’s dramatic body language. The third panel is the best—­a drawing from behind in which Archie is ever so carefully perched on the fence. The attention to detail

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is incredibly strong here—­not only the balancing position of Archie’s arms but also the way his left foot is turned ninety degrees to the line of the fence to position his weight more equitably. It is beyond a minor touch, but it is the accuracy of observation that makes the piece lively. The final panel, with Veronica looking up at Archie on the fence for the first time and him tumbling down—­a pratfall occasioned by the sheer self-­delusional honesty of her response—­pays off a gag that did not have to be there. A lesser artist could have drawn this sequence with the couple merely walking down the street or sitting at Pop’s Choklit Shoppe or under a tree. It is the particular genius of Schwartz to a take a joke that is almost completely devoid of humor and to layer onto it some comic potential. In other words, Schwartz was able to recognize the special ability of comics, through the use of visual storytelling, to be comical. Schwartz’s ability to make lemonade from the lemons his scriptwriters often presented him stemmed from his unusual approach to composition. More than the other Archie artists, he focused on full-­body depictions, frequently eschewing close-­ups altogether. He also regularly minimized the use of backgrounds, presenting his characters in open fields on the page. This tended to emphasize the figure-­drawing aspects at which he particularly excelled. “Lazy Laddie,” a one-­page joke in Archie Giant Series 157 (December 1968), opens with a high degree of white space surrounding Veronica, in scuba gear, talking to the seated Archie, whose feet extend downward and out of the panel, resting on the Jughead logo in the third panel. Compositionally, this is a striking and unusual use of the page for an Archie comic and, again, brings vitality to a gag that is otherwise unremarkable. In the best cases, when Schwartz was presented with a strong script, he would really make it sing. “Who Laughs Last” (Jughead 100, September 1963), credited to Frank Doyle, is a piece worthy of the best Archie artists. A typically quotidian story in which nothing much happens in plot terms, it finds Reggie and Archie frustrated by Jughead’s use of horrible puns and stale gags—­when he walks down the street with pencils protruding from both ears, we get this very Doylean dialogue: Reggie: Hey! Jug! Hold it! You’ve got pencils in your ears! Jughead: What? Reggie: Pencils! In your ears! In the ears! Ears! . . . Pencils!

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Jughead: Sorry! I can’t hear a word you say! You see, I’ve got these pencils in my ears! It is an easy bit, but the exasperated and exaggerated body language of the yelling Reggie, the “Eep! Omigosh!” in the page’s last panel, the slow burn that follows, and the final epic launch of Reggie through the air on the final page—­an epic pratfall that would make even Harry Lucey jealous—­all combine to make a short story about stale jokes come alive. The genius of the best Archie Comics artists—­and Schwartz was surely that—­was their ability to bring more to the page than could ever be conveyed through the dialogue and to take otherwise weak material and spin it into gold through the subtle manipulation of body language that came to define the characters. With innovative splash pages, unusual panel layouts, compelling figure rendering, and minimal backgrounds, Schwartz carved out a highly distinctive oeuvre that essentially defined Jughead as the comic book for oddballs through much of the 1960s.

SELF-­REFERENTIAL METAFICTIONS In “Guess Again,” the lead story in Laugh 142 (January 1963), Archie and Reggie battle for the right to escort Veronica to the frat formal. Unable to settle the quarrel with fisticuffs, they ask Betty to resolve the dispute. Without hesitation, she chooses Reggie, which, naturally, leaves Archie dateless and able to accompany her. When Archie cries foul on the basis that Betty was not impartial, a stranger is approached for his opinion. After giving Veronica the once-­over (she bats her eyes at him as hearts appear above her head), he chooses “the redhead.” As the cast departs, the stranger speaks directly to the reader: “You thought I’d end up taking her, didn’t you? Well, in the first place, I don’t belong to their frat! And besides, where’s the fun in reading a story if you can figure out the ending? Better luck next time!” There can be little doubt that Archie comics were among the most conventional publications of their time. The machine that allows the Archie universe to turn can only be twisted and pulled in so many directions, and the rote repetition of themes and gags was commonplace. Indeed, it is a testament to the skill and creativity of the cartoonists

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Jughead: Sorry! I can’t hear a word you say! You see, I’ve got these pencils in my ears! It is an easy bit, but the exasperated and exaggerated body language of the yelling Reggie, the “Eep! Omigosh!” in the page’s last panel, the slow burn that follows, and the final epic launch of Reggie through the air on the final page—­an epic pratfall that would make even Harry Lucey jealous—­all combine to make a short story about stale jokes come alive. The genius of the best Archie Comics artists—­and Schwartz was surely that—­was their ability to bring more to the page than could ever be conveyed through the dialogue and to take otherwise weak material and spin it into gold through the subtle manipulation of body language that came to define the characters. With innovative splash pages, unusual panel layouts, compelling figure rendering, and minimal backgrounds, Schwartz carved out a highly distinctive oeuvre that essentially defined Jughead as the comic book for oddballs through much of the 1960s.

SELF-­REFERENTIAL METAFICTIONS In “Guess Again,” the lead story in Laugh 142 (January 1963), Archie and Reggie battle for the right to escort Veronica to the frat formal. Unable to settle the quarrel with fisticuffs, they ask Betty to resolve the dispute. Without hesitation, she chooses Reggie, which, naturally, leaves Archie dateless and able to accompany her. When Archie cries foul on the basis that Betty was not impartial, a stranger is approached for his opinion. After giving Veronica the once-­over (she bats her eyes at him as hearts appear above her head), he chooses “the redhead.” As the cast departs, the stranger speaks directly to the reader: “You thought I’d end up taking her, didn’t you? Well, in the first place, I don’t belong to their frat! And besides, where’s the fun in reading a story if you can figure out the ending? Better luck next time!” There can be little doubt that Archie comics were among the most conventional publications of their time. The machine that allows the Archie universe to turn can only be twisted and pulled in so many directions, and the rote repetition of themes and gags was commonplace. Indeed, it is a testament to the skill and creativity of the cartoonists

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that they repeated themselves as seldom as they did. Nonetheless, the reliance on convention is not necessarily a failure of the system any more than it is a failure of the sonnet to contain only fourteen lines. Constraints are challenges to be overcome, and the constraints bring with them the likelihood that they will be challenged and reversed. Archie comics are only occasionally self-­aware and self-­referential. Those impulses did not run strongly through the publications during the twelve-­cent era, although the top creative team—­writer Frank Doyle and artist Harry Lucey—­was the most prone to poking fun at the conventions and limitations of the Archie universe through the play of formal elements. Archie 124 (December 1961), for instance, includes a highly unusual story in which Archie is accidentally dosed with chemical X-­5D and switches consciousness with a sheepdog. While the concept is a familiar one, the execution is remarkable. Rather than simply play out a rather conventionalized fantasy of interspecies body swapping, Doyle and Lucey turn the story into a metacommentary on the construction of the comic itself. The dog, in Archie’s body, points to his own word balloons, and Archie, in the dog’s body, says, “Sorry, pal! That’s your balloon!” On the following page, the dog tries to use Archie’s hands to reclaim the power of speech—­pulling on a word balloon and stretching it out—­as Archie tells him, “It’s no use, chum! I’ve got all the lines, now!” The ability of the Archie cast to see formal elements of the comic books that they inhabit is not unheard of. Dan DeCarlo uses a ver-

A talking dog and a word balloon that you can grab ahold of. From Archie 124 (1961).

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sion of the visible word balloon when Veronica’s text is printed upside down in Betty and Veronica 117 (September 1965) as she stands on her head. Lucey, again, allows Veronica to glare a hole in a panel border that separates her from Betty and Archie in Archie 139 (August 1963), and Samm Schwartz has Reggie pogo-­stick right through the gutter in Jughead 89 (October 1962), something that Jughead is able to remark on (“Man! You sure messed up this panel!”). In Betty and Veronica 74 (February 1962), when Archie arrives for a date in his sweater vest and orange plaid pants, Veronica calls him a schnook. When he asks what is wrong with his outfit, she replies, “Darling, I don’t have the time now! This is only a five page story!” Arguably the most playful depiction of self-­awareness in an Archie comic appears in a Doyle-­Lucey story from Archie 182 (June 1968), “The Line,” whose central concern is aptly summed up with this dialogue: Betty: What’s that line? Archie: It goes right across the panel! Veronica: But, why? And, with that, Reggie is promptly clotheslined by it (Archie: “That’s reason enough for me!”). Over the ensuing six pages, the gang attempts to discover the purpose of the line that runs through all the panels and across all the gutters, always with the knowledge that they exist in the drawn universe of a comic book: Archie: Got an eraser? I’ll rub this thing out! Reggie: If we were supposed to have an eraser, the artist would give us one! Veronica: Hah! He’s the jerk who left this stupid line our story! Betty: The writer wasn’t too bright either! In the end, the purpose of the line is never established, although Jughead is able to twirl it like a lasso in a manner that allows him to spell out “The End.” The Archie metafiction reaches its apotheosis with the nonuse of Archie imagery. In a story featuring The Archies from their “wacky” period, Veronica has a room full of “nothing,” which is revealed to be an empty panel (Life with Archie 64, August 1967). Schwartz de-

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ployed this story idea in the pages of Jughead in two successive issues. In Jughead 94 (March 1963), Jughead and Archie each have the power to erase things from the Archie universe by uttering the word “begone”—­a dictionary, the school, Moose (which allows Archie to hit on Midge one more time, before Jughead accidentally begones the newly happy couple), trees, the entire town of Riverdale, and ultimately, the story itself—­resulting in an imageless panel. The very next month, in “Read at Your Own Risk,” Jughead steals a magician’s magic wand and, while attempting to demonstrate that it is merely a useless prop, is unknowingly able to make items appear and disappear at will. At the end of the story, he warns Archie that such a device would be inherently dangerous: “Suppose it got into the hands of some jerk who was mad at the world? Hah! He’d say ‘Begone, cruel world,’ and . . . ,” before closing on an entirely blank panel. Schwartz’s use of the same gag in successive comics is not entirely unheard of in Archie publishing, and because of Jughead’s close association with fantasy, the stories seem entirely in place. Metafictional elements are not out of place in the Archie comics of the twelve-­cent era, suggesting that clever cartoonists, when faced with the overwhelming restraint of an extremely closed narrative system, will inevitably pick at the edges of that system to see just how self-­aware it can be made.

RIVERDALE HIGH High school in the Archie universe is a slightly bizarre place, not least because the most important employee in the school is Mr. Weatherbee, a remarkably involved principal and one of the least likely lead characters ever to appear in a comic-­book series (Archie and Me). Miss Grundy, the gang’s English teacher (although, on cover gags, she also regularly teaches math, history, and cooking—­apparently Riverdale High suffers a significant staff shortage), is the only other faculty member with an important presence, but during the twelve-­cent era, she was not a fully fledged character, even relative to Mr. Weatherbee. Miss Grundy’s relationship to Mr. Weatherbee was roughly akin to Smithers’s association with Mr. Lodge—­she was there to be a sounding board for dialogue and a sympathetic figure to react in shock when chaos breaks out. Mr. Weatherbee was much more likely to be the vic-

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ployed this story idea in the pages of Jughead in two successive issues. In Jughead 94 (March 1963), Jughead and Archie each have the power to erase things from the Archie universe by uttering the word “begone”—­a dictionary, the school, Moose (which allows Archie to hit on Midge one more time, before Jughead accidentally begones the newly happy couple), trees, the entire town of Riverdale, and ultimately, the story itself—­resulting in an imageless panel. The very next month, in “Read at Your Own Risk,” Jughead steals a magician’s magic wand and, while attempting to demonstrate that it is merely a useless prop, is unknowingly able to make items appear and disappear at will. At the end of the story, he warns Archie that such a device would be inherently dangerous: “Suppose it got into the hands of some jerk who was mad at the world? Hah! He’d say ‘Begone, cruel world,’ and . . . ,” before closing on an entirely blank panel. Schwartz’s use of the same gag in successive comics is not entirely unheard of in Archie publishing, and because of Jughead’s close association with fantasy, the stories seem entirely in place. Metafictional elements are not out of place in the Archie comics of the twelve-­cent era, suggesting that clever cartoonists, when faced with the overwhelming restraint of an extremely closed narrative system, will inevitably pick at the edges of that system to see just how self-­aware it can be made.

RIVERDALE HIGH High school in the Archie universe is a slightly bizarre place, not least because the most important employee in the school is Mr. Weatherbee, a remarkably involved principal and one of the least likely lead characters ever to appear in a comic-­book series (Archie and Me). Miss Grundy, the gang’s English teacher (although, on cover gags, she also regularly teaches math, history, and cooking—­apparently Riverdale High suffers a significant staff shortage), is the only other faculty member with an important presence, but during the twelve-­cent era, she was not a fully fledged character, even relative to Mr. Weatherbee. Miss Grundy’s relationship to Mr. Weatherbee was roughly akin to Smithers’s association with Mr. Lodge—­she was there to be a sounding board for dialogue and a sympathetic figure to react in shock when chaos breaks out. Mr. Weatherbee was much more likely to be the vic-

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tim of Archie’s damage to the school, with Miss Grundy looking on in dismay. The relationship between the two was purely platonic, except in a rare instance in Betty and Veronica 75 (March 1962) when the cast is transformed as a result of a funhouse mirror, and Mr. Weatherbee suddenly begins flirting with the English teacher. The remainder of the staff during this period can only charitably be called one-­dimensional. The overweight Coach Kleats has no role outside of gym class, and Professor Flutesnoot barely exists outside of his science lab. The cafeteria worker Miss Beazley made only very rare appearances in the comic books of the 1960s (although she was a semiregular staple of Bob Montana’s daily Archie comic strip), and the poor custodian Mr. Swensen lacked even the dignity of his own name—­he is called Johnson, Jensen, and even Jenkins in various stories across the period, playing a significant role in but one.

WHO CUT VERONICA’S HAIR? While it is clear that Archie Comics was structured by a high degree of editorial control, this control was never absolute. The initial introduction of new story elements was always awkward and halfhearted. That the writers and artists were unable to agree on just who played what instruments in The Archies, for example, or who was Hot Dog’s owner is indicative of a publisher that was not afraid to push new ideas by editorial fiat but that still allowed a great deal of authorial autonomy. What is also clear from reading the Archie comics of the twelve-­cent period is that they were not all on the same publishing schedule. Some titles were clearly in the vanguard of change, and some were laggards. As creators produced more material than might be published in a given month, a back stock of material would be accumulated, much of which could be used as fill-­ins in cases when publishing schedules might run afoul. Life with Archie 67 (November 1967), for example, is an atypically strong issue from the most unfocused of all the Archie titles in which three of the four stories are drawn by Harry Lucey. While normally these might have been reserved for the flagship Archie title or parceled out to Pep and Laugh, they are seemingly dumped here in the lower-­selling title as a way of filling space in an issue that may have been behind. It seems to be an inventory-­clearing issue.

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tim of Archie’s damage to the school, with Miss Grundy looking on in dismay. The relationship between the two was purely platonic, except in a rare instance in Betty and Veronica 75 (March 1962) when the cast is transformed as a result of a funhouse mirror, and Mr. Weatherbee suddenly begins flirting with the English teacher. The remainder of the staff during this period can only charitably be called one-­dimensional. The overweight Coach Kleats has no role outside of gym class, and Professor Flutesnoot barely exists outside of his science lab. The cafeteria worker Miss Beazley made only very rare appearances in the comic books of the 1960s (although she was a semiregular staple of Bob Montana’s daily Archie comic strip), and the poor custodian Mr. Swensen lacked even the dignity of his own name—­he is called Johnson, Jensen, and even Jenkins in various stories across the period, playing a significant role in but one.

WHO CUT VERONICA’S HAIR? While it is clear that Archie Comics was structured by a high degree of editorial control, this control was never absolute. The initial introduction of new story elements was always awkward and halfhearted. That the writers and artists were unable to agree on just who played what instruments in The Archies, for example, or who was Hot Dog’s owner is indicative of a publisher that was not afraid to push new ideas by editorial fiat but that still allowed a great deal of authorial autonomy. What is also clear from reading the Archie comics of the twelve-­cent period is that they were not all on the same publishing schedule. Some titles were clearly in the vanguard of change, and some were laggards. As creators produced more material than might be published in a given month, a back stock of material would be accumulated, much of which could be used as fill-­ins in cases when publishing schedules might run afoul. Life with Archie 67 (November 1967), for example, is an atypically strong issue from the most unfocused of all the Archie titles in which three of the four stories are drawn by Harry Lucey. While normally these might have been reserved for the flagship Archie title or parceled out to Pep and Laugh, they are seemingly dumped here in the lower-­selling title as a way of filling space in an issue that may have been behind. It seems to be an inventory-­clearing issue.

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The timing of the various Archie titles is reflected in the developments imposed by editorial dictate. Thus, near the end of 1964, Lucey cut Veronica’s hair. Up to that point in time, Betty and Veronica both had long hair, Betty’s worn almost exclusively in a ponytail. In Archie 150 (November 1964), however, Lucey, whether to further differentiate the one from the other or simply to make Veronica’s look slightly more contemporary, began drawing Veronica’s hair noticeably shorter than he had previously. In Archie 149 (September 1964), Veronica’s hair comfortably reaches her shoulders, but in three stories in Archie 150, it ends at her jaw, in a flapper-­like bob. Lucey kept Veronica’s hair this length (with a certain amount of variation) for two and a half years, drawing it long again only with Archie 172 (April 1967), with the exception of stories in which she appeared in her cavegirl form (in which case her hair comes down to the middle of her back). Lucey’s intervention into Veronica’s hairstyle had an impact on the other artists. It took ten months before her hair in Betty and Veronica was styled to match the way it looked in Archie (Betty and Veronica 117, September 1965), and it was only kept short in that title until February 1967, reverting to its previous length three months before Lucey changed it back in Archie. She began wearing it short in the pages of Jughead before she did in her own title (Jughead 123, August 1965), indicating perhaps that artists for other titles were compelled to pick up on Lucey’s development. We can offer several guesses about the state of Veronica’s hair. The most logical seems to be that it was cut by Lucey in the pages of Archie without any consultation with the other artists. The fact that Veronica’s hair was short only in Lucey-­ drawn stories for almost the entirely of 1965 indicates that this was a decision that the artist made on his own with little input from his editors or peers. The lag between Lucey’s innovation and its adoption line-­wide could be acVeronica Lodge gets a new hairstyle. From counted for as the natural publishArchie 150 (1964).

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ing lag. If Archie’s editors allowed Lucey to pilot the short-­haired look for six months to gauge reader reaction to it before imposing it on the rest of the artists, this would account for the nine-­month gestational separation between the look’s appearance in Archie and Jughead. If the editors decreed that Veronica must have short hair only in mid-­1965, this would also explain the one-­month marginal distinction between when the look appeared in Jughead relative to Betty and Veronica. If the latter title had a larger completed story inventory (which seems possible given that DeCarlo was apparently the fastest of all the Archie Comics artists), there would be a small gap in the standardization of her appearance while the remaining inventory was burned off. If, on the other hand, we think of it as a unilateral editorial decision imposed all at once, it is difficult to account for the lengthy gap between the titles. It seems improbable that DeCarlo could have been working nine months ahead of Lucey. Similarly, Veronica’s hair is back to being shoulder length in Betty and Veronica 134 (February 1967) and returns to its previous length in Archie 172 (April 1967). In this case, it appears to be Lucey who had a greater inventory of unused stories. The most likely explanation is that Lucey initiated the change but that it was ended by an editorial decision late in 1966. That a change such as this takes time to take hold across all the titles is reflective of the different publishing schedules. Betty and Veronica was monthly at this time, while Archie was published only nine times per year; so even if DeCarlo and Lucey produced stories at the exact same rate, there would be a lag in the Archie title as they skipped months, unless the stories were moved to a venue such as Life with Archie, Pals ’n Gals, Pep, or Laugh. Absent internal documentation, it is impossible to do little more than speculate about editorial matters at a company such as Archie Comics, because its ability to release stories in any order meant that inventory could be used very differently than it could have at a crosstown rival such as Marvel Comics, which had by then developed a rudimentary continuity for the adventures of its superheroes.

LITTLE ARCHIE Little Archie was so different from the main Archie titles as to bear almost no resemblance other than the character names. Created in 1956

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ing lag. If Archie’s editors allowed Lucey to pilot the short-­haired look for six months to gauge reader reaction to it before imposing it on the rest of the artists, this would account for the nine-­month gestational separation between the look’s appearance in Archie and Jughead. If the editors decreed that Veronica must have short hair only in mid-­1965, this would also explain the one-­month marginal distinction between when the look appeared in Jughead relative to Betty and Veronica. If the latter title had a larger completed story inventory (which seems possible given that DeCarlo was apparently the fastest of all the Archie Comics artists), there would be a small gap in the standardization of her appearance while the remaining inventory was burned off. If, on the other hand, we think of it as a unilateral editorial decision imposed all at once, it is difficult to account for the lengthy gap between the titles. It seems improbable that DeCarlo could have been working nine months ahead of Lucey. Similarly, Veronica’s hair is back to being shoulder length in Betty and Veronica 134 (February 1967) and returns to its previous length in Archie 172 (April 1967). In this case, it appears to be Lucey who had a greater inventory of unused stories. The most likely explanation is that Lucey initiated the change but that it was ended by an editorial decision late in 1966. That a change such as this takes time to take hold across all the titles is reflective of the different publishing schedules. Betty and Veronica was monthly at this time, while Archie was published only nine times per year; so even if DeCarlo and Lucey produced stories at the exact same rate, there would be a lag in the Archie title as they skipped months, unless the stories were moved to a venue such as Life with Archie, Pals ’n Gals, Pep, or Laugh. Absent internal documentation, it is impossible to do little more than speculate about editorial matters at a company such as Archie Comics, because its ability to release stories in any order meant that inventory could be used very differently than it could have at a crosstown rival such as Marvel Comics, which had by then developed a rudimentary continuity for the adventures of its superheroes.

LITTLE ARCHIE Little Archie was so different from the main Archie titles as to bear almost no resemblance other than the character names. Created in 1956

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by cartoonist Bob Bolling, Little Archie starred in his own quarterly giant-­sized comic book all through the twelve-­cent era. Bolling was the main creative force behind the title for its first decade, but he was removed from Little Archie in 1965, when Dexter Taylor took over the series and radically altered it. Certainly the high point in the history of the character was during Bolling’s run on the title, when it was one of the most unusual children’s comics ever published. Little Archie has a strikingly different tone than do Archie comics generally. Bolling’s work could be sentimental, but it could also be genuinely scary. He used a much larger cast than did the regular Archie comics, and the relationships between the characters were, because of their age, completely different. With the romantic tension surrounding Archie-­Betty-­Veronica almost completely absent, the dynamic was fundamentally altered. Bolling focused his stories not in the realm of humor, although there was a great deal of that, but in horror and adventure. Little Archie was considerably darker than anything else that Archie Comics published at the time, ironic given the fact that the title seemed intended for readers who were presumed to be too young for the regular titles. Bolling’s Little Archie was drawn in a completely different register than the work of his colleagues was. In Little Archie 21 (Winter 1961–­ 1962), for example, a thirteen-­page story, “Pirates,” mixes aesthetic conventions freely. Little Archie and Veronica are drawn in the style of children’s humor comics, all rounded heads and overlarge eyes. At the same time, the titular pirates are drawn much more realistically, and the ships at sea are drawn in an even more naturalistic style still. This blending of humor and adventure visual styles provides the title with its slightly unnerving tone—­Little Archie seems to move through an adult world that is depicted as completely alien to him and to his friends because the adults are rendered so differently. Bolling varied his depiction of adults quite widely, with Mary and Fred Andrews being drawn in a cartoony style in gag stories and a more conventionally realist one in the adventure stories. Bolling was allowed to produce stories that were considerably longer than what was the norm for Archie comics during the twelve-­cent period. Outside of Life with Archie, which began as a series of issue-­ long stories and developed into a two-­story title in the mid-­1960s before becoming a conventional four-­story book by the end of the decade,

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Mushrooms and dead trees in the spooky fields of Little Archie. From The Adventures of Little Archie 20 (1961).

only Little Archie consistently had stories that ran longer than six pages. Bolling, given the opportunity to pace himself, gave his stories greater scope and breadth. While the regular Archie titles had very few convincing adventure stories during this period, Bolling was able to generate legitimately memorable exploits. One of the reasons for this was that he did not shy away from potentially dark stories. In “The Secret Room” (Little Archie 21), for example, Bolling tells a twelve-­page story in which Veronica is kidnapped from her bedroom while sleeping. If this plot is not sufficiently terrifying for a young reader, Archie winds up looking for her in a mysterious hidden dungeon under the Lodges’ mansion, and the mysterious kidnapper is set on fire as the children escape. Bolling’s willingness to take on nightmarish story concepts was matched by his visual aesthetic. Even his lighthearted work had a dark undertone to it. In “Buzzin Cousin” (Little Archie 20, Fall 1961), the Little Archie gang casually walks through a field; Bolling’s background features a leafless tree that looks as if it has been hit by lightning, and the foreground has a dark black patch filled with mushrooms. Bolling’s Riverdale is a world with constant threats and ugly elements, even when he plays things for laughs. The most detail oriented of all the Archie artists (only late-­era Harry Lucey comes anywhere close to him in the fullness of his backgrounds, and even Lucey is not that close), Bolling strove to create a very identifiable world from the perspective of a young child.

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Where Little Archie differs most clearly from the “real” Archie is in the casting. Bolling was a tireless inventor of new characters and would continue to use them—­unlike his peers, who were mostly content to work within the confines of the existing cast. While the entire concept of Little Archie is simply that the characters will be miniaturized versions of their teenage selves—­Little Archie even wears a black sweater vest with a lower-­case “r” on it—­the reality could not be more removed from the truth. Of the characters, perhaps only Mr. Weatherbee and Miss Grundy, here cast as the principal and teacher at Riverdale Elementary, seem to be performing the same roles. Betty, for instance, has a cat (Caramel) as well as a much older sister (Polly Cooper), and while she remains jealous of the Archie-­Veronica relationship, the prepubescent version is fundamentally different because it is more innocent. Bolling’s additions to the cast include the shy Evelyn Evernever; the bullying Fangs Fogarty and his girlfriend, Penny Peabody; Ambrose Pipps, who is constantly bullied by Little Archie; the overweight Bubbles McBounce; and Spotty, Little Archie’s dog. The expanded cast, and expansive generic range of Bolling’s work, made Little Archie seem quite different from the core titles, which may have contributed to the reason that Bolling was pulled from the title in 1965. Little Archie was always the lowest selling of all the Archie comics (averaging around two hundred thousand copies per month through the 1960s), although the title’s sales did rise slightly after Bolling was moved to the main Archie titles and replaced by Taylor. With Taylor in charge of the title, it changed markedly. Quickly eliminated were the dark elements and the lengthy adventure sequences, the cast was trimmed back, and the remaining characters were brought into closer alignment with their teenage selves. Developments in the mid-­1960s Archie titles were mirrored in the pages of Little Archie, so for instance, in the forty-­second issue (September 1967), The Little Archies were introduced alongside stories about Little Pureheart. The tone of the series was completely different, with the adoption of brighter coloring, less crowded panels, the abandonment of any realist elements, and an increased focus on the five core Archie gang members, who behaved much more like the familiar versions of themselves. The decade that Bob Bolling spent in charge of not only Little Archie but also the spin-­off titles (Little Archie in Animal Land and

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Little Archie Mystery Comics) is without precedent in the history of Archie Comics. Given a very free hand, and even license (beginning with the second issue of Little Archie) to sign his work, Bolling was free to produce a comparatively low-­selling title that was filled with personal idiosyncrasies. Why Archie Comics allowed the artist such artistic liberty is something of a mystery, but the result was a comic book remarkably at odds with the company’s aesthetics and traditions that lasted well into the middle of the twelve-­cent period.

CREDITS While Bob Bolling signed many of his Little Archie comics, for the most part the comics published by Archie Comics throughout the twelve-­ cent era were uncredited, and many remain unattributed. While certain artists have a visual style that is easily recognizable to fans—­Dan DeCarlo, Samm Schwartz, and Harry Lucey being the most notable in this regard—­a high degree of uncertainty exists about the attribution of scripting and inking credits. Not unlike the artisans who crafted the great cathedrals of Europe and who often inserted their own likenesses into adornments such as gargoyles, the Archie artists frequently dropped clues that signaled their own presence or playfully nodded to their colleagues. The pages of Archie comics are dotted with cement mixers from Doyle Concrete and foodstuffs purchased at Samm’s Super Market and clothes bought at DeCarlo’s Men’s Wear. In the lead story of Betty and Veronica 107 (November 1964), the splash panel contains a park bench that has been well engraved with the names of passing lovers, including Dan and Josie (DeCarlo). DeCarlo was fond of attributing the authorship of various books in the Archie universe to himself. A Coaches Manual 1966, for instance, is credited to “Dan DeCarlo” on the bottom of the title page in Betty and Veronica 127 (July 1966). Probably the most unusual example of an unofficial art credit can be found in Archie Giant Series 10 (February 1961). There a Dan DeCarlo pinup is credited as having been suggested by Dan DeCarlo Jr., and a home address for the artist is included at the bottom of the page. In the 1960s, the comic artist’s desire for recognition seems to have overcome even the desire for personal privacy.

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Little Archie Mystery Comics) is without precedent in the history of Archie Comics. Given a very free hand, and even license (beginning with the second issue of Little Archie) to sign his work, Bolling was free to produce a comparatively low-­selling title that was filled with personal idiosyncrasies. Why Archie Comics allowed the artist such artistic liberty is something of a mystery, but the result was a comic book remarkably at odds with the company’s aesthetics and traditions that lasted well into the middle of the twelve-­cent period.

CREDITS While Bob Bolling signed many of his Little Archie comics, for the most part the comics published by Archie Comics throughout the twelve-­ cent era were uncredited, and many remain unattributed. While certain artists have a visual style that is easily recognizable to fans—­Dan DeCarlo, Samm Schwartz, and Harry Lucey being the most notable in this regard—­a high degree of uncertainty exists about the attribution of scripting and inking credits. Not unlike the artisans who crafted the great cathedrals of Europe and who often inserted their own likenesses into adornments such as gargoyles, the Archie artists frequently dropped clues that signaled their own presence or playfully nodded to their colleagues. The pages of Archie comics are dotted with cement mixers from Doyle Concrete and foodstuffs purchased at Samm’s Super Market and clothes bought at DeCarlo’s Men’s Wear. In the lead story of Betty and Veronica 107 (November 1964), the splash panel contains a park bench that has been well engraved with the names of passing lovers, including Dan and Josie (DeCarlo). DeCarlo was fond of attributing the authorship of various books in the Archie universe to himself. A Coaches Manual 1966, for instance, is credited to “Dan DeCarlo” on the bottom of the title page in Betty and Veronica 127 (July 1966). Probably the most unusual example of an unofficial art credit can be found in Archie Giant Series 10 (February 1961). There a Dan DeCarlo pinup is credited as having been suggested by Dan DeCarlo Jr., and a home address for the artist is included at the bottom of the page. In the 1960s, the comic artist’s desire for recognition seems to have overcome even the desire for personal privacy.

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JUVENILE DELINQUENCY The American comic-­book industry peaked in sales terms in 1952, after which it was inexorably damaged by the rising prominence of television in the home. At the height of the industry’s sales success, comics attracted a great deal of unwanted attention from civic reformers and cultural critics who decried the influence of the comic book on American youth. One of the most damning criticisms was the suggestion, made by psychiatrist Fredric Wertham in his 1954 book Seduction of the Innocent, and by others elsewhere, that the influence of comic books was correlated to the rising tide of juvenile delinquency in postwar American culture. The juvenile delinquent had emerged after the war as an important social concern, with films such as Blackboard Jungle and Rebel without a Cause, both from 1955, helping to crystallize the image of the delinquent as a threat to middle-­class American normativity. Caught up in the concerns about out-­of-­control youth and damaged by some extremely poor publicity following a Senate subcommittee investigation into the influence of comics books on youth, the comic-­book industry responded by creating a voluntary industry organization (the Comics Magazine Association of America) in 1954 that would guarantee the appropriateness of all comic books for young readers and attest to their wholesomeness with a Comics Code logo that can be found on every Archie comic-­book cover produced during this period. Archie Comics editor and copublisher John Goldwater served as the president of the CMAA for twenty-­five years and was a major force behind its founding and early operations. Archie comics, of course, had always fallen well within the strict confines of the code and so required little retooling when the new standards were brought into effect. In many ways, Archie Comics supported the moral panic over juvenile delinquency rather than working to undermine it. It was only on a few occasions that the Archie stories of the 1960s touched on the delinquency troubles of the 1950s that had helped reshape the entire industry in ways that brought it closer to what Archie had always done. The most significant story to deal with juvenile delinquency as a concept in Riverdale was “The Reject,” the lead story in Archie 130 (August 1962). When Archie approaches his father with the confession that he believes that he has become a juvenile delinquent,

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Archie is a rebel without a clue. From Archie 130 (1962).

his father erupts in laughter. Archie protests that he smeared Pop Tate’s plate-­glass window with a bar of soap, and so his father conducts a quiz to find out whether he is a real delinquent. As Fred Andrews produces scenarios for Archie to role-­play, he and his gang are depicted as the black-­leather-­jacket-­wearing Ravens, and Betty and Veronica are shown wearing tight black pants and heavy eye makeup, a stark contrast to the sweater-­vest-­wearing Archie who was still the norm at this time. Archie loses points for his willingness to allow his gang to call him a chicken and for thinking that if his girl was seen with a member of a rival gang, he should clobber him—­any true delinquent would round up his gang and wait to make sure the target was alone and outnumbered. In the end, of course, Archie lacks the stuff to make a decent delinquent, as he is missing the core quality—­stupidity. Armed with this failure, he skulks off to wash Pop Tate’s window. One of the more moralizing Archie stories of the period, “The Reject” seeks to model appropriate teen behavior by delineating the difference between youthful hijinks and antisocial hooliganism. The story indirectly references Rebel without a Cause with the references to “chicken”—­the name-­calling that puts that film’s plot into motion—­ while the rebellious sartorial choices made by Archie’s gang are a nod to the leather jacket worn by Marlon Brando in The Wild One (1953). Like beatniks and hippies, rebels, in the Archie universe, do not spark outrage in Riverdale so much as they generate contempt and derision. When delinquents are taken seriously as a threat to the social order,

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it is only to reaffirm the Riverdale gang’s internal loyalties. In “Protection” (Archie 151, December 1964), Moose safeguards Archie from a gang of “toughs,” who are identified as such by their scowls, their stubble, and the fact that one of them smokes a cigarette. No other character in the decade smoked cigarettes, though Mr. Lodge and Fred Andrews both smoke cigars. Similarly, in “Light Work” (Archie 155, June 1965), Archie is charged with carrying home a new lamppost from the hardware store (leading to a bounty of Frank Doyle wordplay: Archie is lamplighter; it is his shining hour, and so on). When Archie and Jughead run into a gang of tough-­looking boys, they make a run for it but are outfoxed. Trapped, Archie defeats them single-­handedly by using the lamppost as an inadvertent weapon. In an era when youth culture was becoming increasingly synonymous with countercultural rebellion, Archie comics’ resolute stance against disruptions of the bucolic social order of suburbia created a space of pure nostalgia unmoored from both current events and history. Their success depended on an industry kept in check by self-­ interested gatekeepers and by a captive audience of prepubescents who were not yet primed for the vicissitudes of post-­Eisenhower America. Once these factors became less dependable, the cultural primacy of Archie comics collapsed.

TEENESE A recurring bit in Archie comics, “teenese” was one of the few indications that Mr. Weatherbee was actually competent to do his job. As the central authority figure in the Archie universe, Mr. Weatherbee has the essential role of threatening discipline that is almost always thwarted. Detention, sporadically enforced, seems to be only the slightest disincentive toward bad behavior at Riverdale High, and in the vast majority of stories in which Mr. Weatherbee appears, he is trampled, stampeded, blown up, or otherwise harassed by Archie and his friends. Teenese, a teen-­management strategy that is used in a number of stories, is his best method of asserting control. Variably defined according to the needs of any particular story but always identified by this made-­up word, teenese is a “round about questioning technique to make you volunteer information,” such as

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it is only to reaffirm the Riverdale gang’s internal loyalties. In “Protection” (Archie 151, December 1964), Moose safeguards Archie from a gang of “toughs,” who are identified as such by their scowls, their stubble, and the fact that one of them smokes a cigarette. No other character in the decade smoked cigarettes, though Mr. Lodge and Fred Andrews both smoke cigars. Similarly, in “Light Work” (Archie 155, June 1965), Archie is charged with carrying home a new lamppost from the hardware store (leading to a bounty of Frank Doyle wordplay: Archie is lamplighter; it is his shining hour, and so on). When Archie and Jughead run into a gang of tough-­looking boys, they make a run for it but are outfoxed. Trapped, Archie defeats them single-­handedly by using the lamppost as an inadvertent weapon. In an era when youth culture was becoming increasingly synonymous with countercultural rebellion, Archie comics’ resolute stance against disruptions of the bucolic social order of suburbia created a space of pure nostalgia unmoored from both current events and history. Their success depended on an industry kept in check by self-­ interested gatekeepers and by a captive audience of prepubescents who were not yet primed for the vicissitudes of post-­Eisenhower America. Once these factors became less dependable, the cultural primacy of Archie comics collapsed.

TEENESE A recurring bit in Archie comics, “teenese” was one of the few indications that Mr. Weatherbee was actually competent to do his job. As the central authority figure in the Archie universe, Mr. Weatherbee has the essential role of threatening discipline that is almost always thwarted. Detention, sporadically enforced, seems to be only the slightest disincentive toward bad behavior at Riverdale High, and in the vast majority of stories in which Mr. Weatherbee appears, he is trampled, stampeded, blown up, or otherwise harassed by Archie and his friends. Teenese, a teen-­management strategy that is used in a number of stories, is his best method of asserting control. Variably defined according to the needs of any particular story but always identified by this made-­up word, teenese is a “round about questioning technique to make you volunteer information,” such as

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when Mr. Weatherbee is investigating who hit him in the head with a ball in Archie 178 (December 1967). Alternately, teenese is the practice of making teenagers believe that they are acting contrary to your wishes, as in Betty and Me 14 (June 1968). An advanced form of reverse psychology, teenese is seemingly the only weapon in Mr. Weatherbee’s arsenal that is capable of keeping his students under control, and it was one of Archie comics’ only significant efforts to introduce a new term into the lexicon of American English. Given the current obscurity of the term, it is clear that both Archie comics and Mr. Weatherbee were largely unsuccessful.

THE ARCHIES As the Archie creators were working with a cast filled with teenagers, it is not surprising that they regularly found ways to integrate the kids from Riverdale High into a variety of rock ’n’ roll bands throughout the 1960s. In Betty and Veronica 127 (July 1966), Archie is invited to join Reggie’s Rockers (composed of Reggie, Moose, and a completely unidentified male character), but he declines because of his fear of groupies. In early 1967, interest in stories about bands became a normal part of the Archie stories. In Archie’s Joke Book 108 (January 1967), the male characters perform as Archie’s Archers. When Veronica says that they sound like every other combo on the scene, they change their instruments to tuba, bagpipes, and gong. Archie’s Archers return in the very next issue of Archie’s Joke Book, before disappearing entirely. In Pep 201 (January 1967), the same trio performs in Beatles wigs under the unlikely name The Rockin’ Robins. All of these outfits appear in retrospect to be little more than dry runs for the development that came to define the final years of the twelve-­cent era: the creation of The Archies. The first appearance of The Archies under that name—­with Archie on guitar, Reggie on bass, and Jughead on drums—­can be found in Life with Archie 60 (April 1967). Life with Archie had recently stopped running pieces featuring Pureheart the Powerful but had not yet abandoned the long-­story format. The first tale featuring The Archies, “Once upon a Tune,” is an eleven-­page opus that established the early format of The Archies stories as completely unsubtle imitations of The

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when Mr. Weatherbee is investigating who hit him in the head with a ball in Archie 178 (December 1967). Alternately, teenese is the practice of making teenagers believe that they are acting contrary to your wishes, as in Betty and Me 14 (June 1968). An advanced form of reverse psychology, teenese is seemingly the only weapon in Mr. Weatherbee’s arsenal that is capable of keeping his students under control, and it was one of Archie comics’ only significant efforts to introduce a new term into the lexicon of American English. Given the current obscurity of the term, it is clear that both Archie comics and Mr. Weatherbee were largely unsuccessful.

THE ARCHIES As the Archie creators were working with a cast filled with teenagers, it is not surprising that they regularly found ways to integrate the kids from Riverdale High into a variety of rock ’n’ roll bands throughout the 1960s. In Betty and Veronica 127 (July 1966), Archie is invited to join Reggie’s Rockers (composed of Reggie, Moose, and a completely unidentified male character), but he declines because of his fear of groupies. In early 1967, interest in stories about bands became a normal part of the Archie stories. In Archie’s Joke Book 108 (January 1967), the male characters perform as Archie’s Archers. When Veronica says that they sound like every other combo on the scene, they change their instruments to tuba, bagpipes, and gong. Archie’s Archers return in the very next issue of Archie’s Joke Book, before disappearing entirely. In Pep 201 (January 1967), the same trio performs in Beatles wigs under the unlikely name The Rockin’ Robins. All of these outfits appear in retrospect to be little more than dry runs for the development that came to define the final years of the twelve-­cent era: the creation of The Archies. The first appearance of The Archies under that name—­with Archie on guitar, Reggie on bass, and Jughead on drums—­can be found in Life with Archie 60 (April 1967). Life with Archie had recently stopped running pieces featuring Pureheart the Powerful but had not yet abandoned the long-­story format. The first tale featuring The Archies, “Once upon a Tune,” is an eleven-­page opus that established the early format of The Archies stories as completely unsubtle imitations of The

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Monkees. That short-­lived but popular television series had debuted the previous fall, in September 1966. Given the lag time between the initiation of a story idea, the creation of the story, and the advanced sales date of an April-­dated comic book, it is likely that the decision to knock off The Monkees was made in the first few months after the show debuted on NBC. The Monkees was noteworthy for its indebtedness to the Beatles. First a television series, then a pop band, the show featured a large number of then-­innovative formal techniques, including frequent use of absurdist cutaways and joke inserts, the breaking of the fourth wall, and a highly self-­aware and self-­referential narrative sensibility. The Monkees television series was derivative of the Beatles’s 1965 film Help!, which was itself largely inspired by the tone of the BBC radio comedy series The Goon Show (1951–­60, featuring Peter Sellers, Spike Milligan, and Harry Secombe). The combination of ludicrous plots and surreal humor was a hallmark of The Goon Show that can be traced all the way forward to the initial conception of The Archies. In this way, The Archies were a fourth-­generation copy of a British radio series. “Once upon a Tune” provided the framework for the madcap adventures of The Archies as they were originally understood and presented in Life with Archie as a series of semiabstract gags strung together into a story. Stories about The Archies were little more than series of mildly related short gags—­they are not unlike an issue of Archie’s Joke Book cobbled together to form a rudimentarily coherent plot. The story opens with Dilton arriving to tell the band that the school is on fire. As they race out of Pop Tate’s Discotheque in firemen’s outfits that they were not wearing in the previous panel, we get the following dialogue: Jughead: Man the hoses! Reggie: I’d rather hose the men! Archie: Clang! Clang! In the next panel, the outfits have disappeared, and the trio arrives at the school to catch Mr. Weatherbee in a net as he jumps to safety, promptly bouncing him into the stratosphere. The plot breaks down from there, with Archie experiencing a flashback to his caveman life before the band chases the girls while (collectively) riding a unicycle. As with the introduction of Pureheart, the story concludes with the

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editors soliciting feedback on the new feature. In the following issue, the editors thank those who had already provided written feedback (impossible, of course, as the cycle of publishing would have necessitated that Life with Archie 61 (May 1967) be finished before the sixtieth issue had even gone on sale). “The Go-­Go Club” amplified the non sequitur nature of the humor as the band chases an industrial spy on the backs of ostriches, Jughead appears as a cigar-­store Indian, Reggie appears as The Great Mysto, and Archie miraculously transports the gang to the desert and then to Custer’s last stand. Significantly, The Archies stories were formally innovative in the sense that each panel contained the entirety of its own continuity, and the logic could literally change from any panel to the next. This avant-­garde storytelling technique, which later became a staple of underground comix, positioned Archie comics well ahead of their time. From this point of view, The Archies had seemingly limitless comic potential, but like the television show on which it was based, it quickly ran out of steam. The zany version of The Archies lasted only six issues in Life with Archie, as well as one story in Archie’s Pals ’n Gals 44 (February 1968), before the concept was abandoned. As Veronica correctly notes, “You know, at first their crazy antics don’t seem very funny—­but after a while they get positively depressing.” What could be called “The Monkees Phase” of The Archies was quickly and unceremoniously brought to a close, lasting not even as long as other unsuccessful Archie Comics ideas such as Pureheart and The Man from R.I.V.E.R.D.A.L.E. It was only a year later, after a brief interregnum in which no stories featuring the band appeared, that The Archies returned to the pages of Life with Archie. In “Labor of Love,” Jughead and Archie both play bass, while Reggie, sporting the same red army jacket that the previous incarnation of the band had worn, plays drums. In each of the following issues, the band becomes more integrated into the typicality of the Archie Comics aesthetic, and the band settles on a lineup featuring Archie on guitar, Reggie on bass, and Jughead on drums. Stories revolve around their search for a place to rehearse—­by far the most common plot involving the band—­and to perform. Mr. Lodge practices with them in one issue, and in another, he chases them from his house with a group of bagpipers. As the idea of the band began to take off at the end of 1968 and move to other titles, as in Laugh 215

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(February 1969), Mr. Lodge’s frustration with his daughter loaning the band rehearsal space became a regular motif. The revived version of The Archies was directly related to the development of a band by the same name releasing albums on Calendar Records. Produced by Don Kirshner, who had just been fired from the set of The Monkees, a trio led by singer Ron Dante was hired to perform as The Archies with songwriting by Jeff Barry and Andy Kim. The band released six studio albums on Calendar Records and on Kirshner Records between 1968 and 1971, with six singles charting in the top one hundred in the United States and one, “Sugar Sugar,” reaching number one on the hit parade in 1969, before settling comfortably into its ongoing existence as one of the longest lasting ear worms in the history of American popular music. The success of the manufactured band was tied to the syndicated Saturday-­morning animated television series, The Archie Show, on which many of the band’s singles could be heard. The continuity between the television show and the comic books was often vexed—­Betty and Veronica were members of The Archies on television, but, at least initially, in the comics they were not. In Pep 213 (January 1968), Betty auditions to become their singer, but that story, like all others, is instantly forgotten when it concludes. It is clear that as the twelve-­cent era drew to a close, the other media properties became the priority for Archie Comics. In February and March 1969, in-­house ads promoted the release of the first album (and stereo 8 cartridge tape!) by The Archies, while the Archie Club News printed the lyrics to their hit songs. One of the most bizarre stories published in any Archie comic also appeared as the insert to the first album. “The Music Man” (Archie 189, March 1969) appeared at the very end of the twelve-­cent period. When the band is thrown out of Swin-­Dell Records, Veronica decides that it is time to call on the resources of her father, who is a close personal friend of Don Kirshner. The inclusion of The Archies’ real-­life record producer within the fictional world of Riverdale produces a truly unusual metareferential story. Kirshner is referred to (correctly) by Reggie as “the guy who developed The Monkees,” a sort of promotional pitch for sales of the record even as it harks back to the earlier conception of the band as a deliberate Monkees rip-­off. When Kirshner enters the comic, the contrast with Harry Lucey’s depiction of the Archie cast and the real-­life music impresario is striking. Lucey had by this point

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in his career stripped down his style until it was almost a pure distillation of the cartoonish Archie aesthetic. Here he uses his most dynamic poses for the band but draws Kirshner in a semirealist manner that makes him seem to stem from an entirely different pictorial universe. When the band perform “Truck Driver” and “You Make Me Wanna Dance” (both from their first album), Kirshner declares, “You’re the most exciting group I’ve heard in years,” and promptly signs them to the (real-­life) Calendar Records. The story concludes with a facing-­ page ad for the album whose origins we have just read about. By the end of the twelve-­cent era, the single season of The Archie Show had run its course (though it lived on in reruns), but the band continued to have chart hits for two more years. The comics consolidated around the image of the band that could be found on the

Don Kirshner auditions The Archies. From Archie 189 (1969).

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cover of its first album, with Betty playing tambourine and Veronica performing on keyboards. By the time of Pep 227 (March 1969), Mr. Lodge is driven to distraction by the success of the band, whose album cover (in a case of real life intruding into the fictional Archie universe) appears as a life-­size poster in his living room. Two issues later, Dilton is shown singing their songs “Truck Driver” and “Feelin’ So Good” when Archie asks for his help with an electrical issue, while in the same month’s Laugh 218 (May 1969), an ad at the bottom of a page urges readers to ask at their local record store for a copy of “Feelin’ So Good.” As the decade drew to a close, The Archies—­the real-­life bubblegum band—­brought Archie to its pinnacle of popularity. A surge in circulation for many of the titles, the television series, radio airplay, and daily newspaper comic strips collided into a supernova of media supremacy before it suddenly flamed out.

POP TATE’S CHOKLIT SHOPPE One of the most regular settings in all of the Archie comics, Pop Tate’s Choklit Shoppe is remarkably free of story prompts despite its ubiquitous presence. The Choklit Shoppe is an important location because it is a logical gathering spot for the gang outside of school. Commonly used as the site of dates and both pre-­and postdance get-­togethers, the Choklit Shoppe enables most of the key themes in Archie stories—­in particular, romance and Jughead’s overeating—­without actually initiating very many of them. It acts as neutral space, little more than a background on which actions already set in motion are allowed to unfold. Pop Tate himself is not much of a character. One of the many surrogate fathers for Archie and the gang (hence the name “Pop” and his physical resemblance to both Fred Andrews and Mr. Weatherbee, Archie’s other father figures), Pop is the sympathetic listener who has no authority over the teens. He can provide food to them and demand that they settle their running tabs (one of the few story prompts to genuinely emerge from the setting) but otherwise takes a backseat role. There are very few stories in the twelve-­cent period that feature Pop Tate as the focus. One of these is “Given the Business” (Jughead 153, February 1968), in which he promises Jughead, his most loyal cus-

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cover of its first album, with Betty playing tambourine and Veronica performing on keyboards. By the time of Pep 227 (March 1969), Mr. Lodge is driven to distraction by the success of the band, whose album cover (in a case of real life intruding into the fictional Archie universe) appears as a life-­size poster in his living room. Two issues later, Dilton is shown singing their songs “Truck Driver” and “Feelin’ So Good” when Archie asks for his help with an electrical issue, while in the same month’s Laugh 218 (May 1969), an ad at the bottom of a page urges readers to ask at their local record store for a copy of “Feelin’ So Good.” As the decade drew to a close, The Archies—­the real-­life bubblegum band—­brought Archie to its pinnacle of popularity. A surge in circulation for many of the titles, the television series, radio airplay, and daily newspaper comic strips collided into a supernova of media supremacy before it suddenly flamed out.

POP TATE’S CHOKLIT SHOPPE One of the most regular settings in all of the Archie comics, Pop Tate’s Choklit Shoppe is remarkably free of story prompts despite its ubiquitous presence. The Choklit Shoppe is an important location because it is a logical gathering spot for the gang outside of school. Commonly used as the site of dates and both pre-­and postdance get-­togethers, the Choklit Shoppe enables most of the key themes in Archie stories—­in particular, romance and Jughead’s overeating—­without actually initiating very many of them. It acts as neutral space, little more than a background on which actions already set in motion are allowed to unfold. Pop Tate himself is not much of a character. One of the many surrogate fathers for Archie and the gang (hence the name “Pop” and his physical resemblance to both Fred Andrews and Mr. Weatherbee, Archie’s other father figures), Pop is the sympathetic listener who has no authority over the teens. He can provide food to them and demand that they settle their running tabs (one of the few story prompts to genuinely emerge from the setting) but otherwise takes a backseat role. There are very few stories in the twelve-­cent period that feature Pop Tate as the focus. One of these is “Given the Business” (Jughead 153, February 1968), in which he promises Jughead, his most loyal cus-

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tomer, that he will give him the shop when he chooses to retire. When Pop subsequently slips on the ice, has snow from his awning fall on him, and is bowled over by a runaway trash can, he begins to fear that Jughead and Archie are out to get him, and he quickly recants his promise. It is a thin setup and not particularly character driven because Pop himself has so little to distinguish him in the Archie universe. On another occasion (Jughead 101, October 1963), when Pop is angered that the gang has started to play practical jokes on him, he counters by seating them at his best table on freshly varnished chairs. It is a bizarre and particularly damaging prank for a grown man to pull on teenagers, especially since the gang’s jokes had risen no further than placing plastic insects on their own ice cream. The lack of realism here seems to stem from the inability of the creators to generate stories for Pop, leading them to treat him inconsistently as an adult moral authority figure on the one hand and as an irresponsible teenager himself on the other. The most common stories generated by the Choklit Shoppe are those that begin with the threat that it will be taken away. Here the taken-­for-­granted nature of the setting is troubled by an external threat—­always a rival shop or pizza joint across the street or around the block. Both “Sundae Best” (Pep 217, May 1968) and “Comeback” (Archie 185, September 1968) open with a “closed” sign hung in the window of the Choklit Shoppe and a dejected Pop Tate hitting the bricks. In both stories, naturally, the gang conspires to revive the business out of their sense of loyalty. In “Comeback,” the better of the two stories, they realize that Pop is too proud to take their charity, and so they conspire with Mr. Lodge to drive business to the shop by having a movie scene shot there. Cast as a soda jerk, Pop allows the bright lights and Hollywood action to go to his head—­he changes his name to Clark Tate (“You think maybe ‘Tyrone’ would be better?”) and begins to sell autographed napkins. In “Sundae Best,” on the other hand, the gang conspires to make the Choklit Shoppe “the real ‘in’ place” by presenting “Mr. Archie and his custom ice cream creations,” sundaes that are made to look like the people who might order them. This particular story takes an uncharacteristically maudlin turn, with Pop crying while crafting an Archie sundae (“I use syrup because you stick with me through thick and thin!”). Nonetheless, beyond the threat that the shop will be taken away, the Choklit Shoppe has remarkably

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little power to create stories, and Pop himself has very little to add despite the number of times he appears. Given the shop’s relatively nongenerative status, it is all the more curious that the tradition of the Choklit Shoppe has maintained such centrality in teen-­themed stories (think of Arnold’s in Happy Days or The Peach Pit in Beverly Hills 90210, both of which are essentially direct copies of Pop’s) as an iconic touchstone that denotes a carefree youth.

UNUSUAL PANELS Experiments do not always work, and formal experiments are sometimes attempted for reasons that may seem interesting at the time but that prove to be ultimately fruitless. Life with Archie, the least focused title in the Archie Comics stable, was the site of a good deal of unusual experimental work. In “The Riverdale Hillbillies” (Life with Archie 28, July 1964), when Mr. Lodge races from plane to helicopter in order to find the paperwork that will save his fortune, Harry Lucey uses three tiers of page-­width panels—­an unusual configuration in Archie comics to begin with. The bottom panel is rotated ninety degrees to depict the rise of the helicopter upward from the tarmac into the air. Here the word balloons, also rotated ninety degrees, draw attention to the device in an ironically self-­conscious way: Veronica: Ooh, Archie! Isn’t this the wildest? Archie: Yeah! The artist even had to turn the page around to draw it! In a story about The Archies in Life with Archie 62 (June 1967), the band battles a trio of thugs who menace Betty and Veronica. When Reggie notices weak floorboards in the department store that they have entered, one of the thugs promptly plummets through three tiers of the comic-­book page, crashing to the floor in a heap. Notably, in this instance, the space of the page is literalized when the broken gutters are transformed—­only at the point of the break—­into brown floorboards that crack in half under the thug’s weight. Finally, by the end of the 1960s, Lucey had begun to increasingly play with the structure of the three-­tiered Archie page that was the

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little power to create stories, and Pop himself has very little to add despite the number of times he appears. Given the shop’s relatively nongenerative status, it is all the more curious that the tradition of the Choklit Shoppe has maintained such centrality in teen-­themed stories (think of Arnold’s in Happy Days or The Peach Pit in Beverly Hills 90210, both of which are essentially direct copies of Pop’s) as an iconic touchstone that denotes a carefree youth.

UNUSUAL PANELS Experiments do not always work, and formal experiments are sometimes attempted for reasons that may seem interesting at the time but that prove to be ultimately fruitless. Life with Archie, the least focused title in the Archie Comics stable, was the site of a good deal of unusual experimental work. In “The Riverdale Hillbillies” (Life with Archie 28, July 1964), when Mr. Lodge races from plane to helicopter in order to find the paperwork that will save his fortune, Harry Lucey uses three tiers of page-­width panels—­an unusual configuration in Archie comics to begin with. The bottom panel is rotated ninety degrees to depict the rise of the helicopter upward from the tarmac into the air. Here the word balloons, also rotated ninety degrees, draw attention to the device in an ironically self-­conscious way: Veronica: Ooh, Archie! Isn’t this the wildest? Archie: Yeah! The artist even had to turn the page around to draw it! In a story about The Archies in Life with Archie 62 (June 1967), the band battles a trio of thugs who menace Betty and Veronica. When Reggie notices weak floorboards in the department store that they have entered, one of the thugs promptly plummets through three tiers of the comic-­book page, crashing to the floor in a heap. Notably, in this instance, the space of the page is literalized when the broken gutters are transformed—­only at the point of the break—­into brown floorboards that crack in half under the thug’s weight. Finally, by the end of the 1960s, Lucey had begun to increasingly play with the structure of the three-­tiered Archie page that was the

Sm it h e rs   185

norm throughout the twelve-­ cent period. In “Lip Service” (Life with Archie 78, October 1968), Archie accidentally electrocutes Mr. Lodge by throwing an electric guitar into the swimming pool. Archie is forced to perform mouth-­to-­mouth resuscitation on the unconscious Mr. Lodge, and when Veronica’s father opens his eyes to see Archie, he leaps into the air while covering his mouth. Lucey presents this action in a highly unusual L-­shaped panel in which Mr. Lodge rises in the vertical Archie revives Mr. Lodge in a bizarrely shaped panel. From Life with Archie 78 (1968). portion of the panel, while Archie is tossed backward in the horizontal portion. The complexity of the panel actually seems to work against the joke here—­this is one of the least well executed head-­over-­heels flips that Lucey draws in his entire run on the Archie titles—­suggesting that the artist’s increasingly baroque visual style in the late 1960s may have reached a natural limit or that the simple humor of the Archie slapstick is best served by a very straightforward presentation. Each of these unusual panel orientations was used only once in the vast archive that was the Archie comics of the twelve-­cent period. While some experiments were a success, and therefore never needed to be demonstrated again, others just failed to prove (or improve) the concept and were quickly abandoned. In any case, the result was the same.

SMITHERS One of the most frequently occurring minor characters, Smithers, the Lodges’ butler, serves several distinct functions in the Archie universe. As a signifier of Veronica’s obscene wealth, Smithers in many ways occupies the space vacated by the constantly absent Mrs. Lodge. He

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norm throughout the twelve-­ cent period. In “Lip Service” (Life with Archie 78, October 1968), Archie accidentally electrocutes Mr. Lodge by throwing an electric guitar into the swimming pool. Archie is forced to perform mouth-­to-­mouth resuscitation on the unconscious Mr. Lodge, and when Veronica’s father opens his eyes to see Archie, he leaps into the air while covering his mouth. Lucey presents this action in a highly unusual L-­shaped panel in which Mr. Lodge rises in the vertical Archie revives Mr. Lodge in a bizarrely shaped panel. From Life with Archie 78 (1968). portion of the panel, while Archie is tossed backward in the horizontal portion. The complexity of the panel actually seems to work against the joke here—­this is one of the least well executed head-­over-­heels flips that Lucey draws in his entire run on the Archie titles—­suggesting that the artist’s increasingly baroque visual style in the late 1960s may have reached a natural limit or that the simple humor of the Archie slapstick is best served by a very straightforward presentation. Each of these unusual panel orientations was used only once in the vast archive that was the Archie comics of the twelve-­cent period. While some experiments were a success, and therefore never needed to be demonstrated again, others just failed to prove (or improve) the concept and were quickly abandoned. In any case, the result was the same.

SMITHERS One of the most frequently occurring minor characters, Smithers, the Lodges’ butler, serves several distinct functions in the Archie universe. As a signifier of Veronica’s obscene wealth, Smithers in many ways occupies the space vacated by the constantly absent Mrs. Lodge. He

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is the confidant of Mr. Lodge, the character who sympathizes with him about the awfulness of his daughter’s friends and suitors. He is the man who must clean up the vases that Archie constantly shatters and who is tasked with throwing the redhead out onto the street by his collar (in a story in Laugh 131 (February 1962), he explains that throwing Archie out onto the street is “one of the fringe benefits” of his job) Smithers’s primary role is to respond. He rarely initiates any actions of his own. The one story told from his point of view during the twelve-­cent period, “The Quitter” (Archie 152, February 1965), sees him giving up the battle against Archie and resigning his position with the Lodges—­his justification is so convincing that Mr. Lodge decides to leave with him. His only real function in the narrative universe is to react in horror to the chaos that Archie brings into his tightly controlled workspace and thus to provide a sympathetic dialogue partner for Mr. Lodge when he is venting his frustration.

THE ARCHIE ARCHIVE The research that was required for this book necessitated assembling an archive of Archies because the Archie comics of the twelve-­cent period have not been widely republished, except in an unsystematic way in various Archie digests. While Dark Horse Comics has begun a comprehensive program to republish the earliest Archie comics from the 1940s, and while IDW has published “best of ” volumes featuring the work of Dan DeCarlo (four volumes) and Harry Lucey and Samm Schwartz (two volumes each), featuring work primarily but not exclusively from the twelve-­cent period, these collections would not be sufficient for a project with the scope of this book. While I have endeavored to cite examples from those collections whenever possible so that readers might see the work in a fuller context, a volume such as this cannot be produced with the constraint of another editor’s views as to what constitutes the “best” work. Moreover, I have not always, or even often, in this project been interested in the “best” Archie comics—­I have focused much more closely on the “typical” Archies. Given the dearth of libraries that have systematically collected Archie comics, it fell to me to create my own collection. Using the online tools at the Grand Comics Database, I established the range of issues

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is the confidant of Mr. Lodge, the character who sympathizes with him about the awfulness of his daughter’s friends and suitors. He is the man who must clean up the vases that Archie constantly shatters and who is tasked with throwing the redhead out onto the street by his collar (in a story in Laugh 131 (February 1962), he explains that throwing Archie out onto the street is “one of the fringe benefits” of his job) Smithers’s primary role is to respond. He rarely initiates any actions of his own. The one story told from his point of view during the twelve-­cent period, “The Quitter” (Archie 152, February 1965), sees him giving up the battle against Archie and resigning his position with the Lodges—­his justification is so convincing that Mr. Lodge decides to leave with him. His only real function in the narrative universe is to react in horror to the chaos that Archie brings into his tightly controlled workspace and thus to provide a sympathetic dialogue partner for Mr. Lodge when he is venting his frustration.

THE ARCHIE ARCHIVE The research that was required for this book necessitated assembling an archive of Archies because the Archie comics of the twelve-­cent period have not been widely republished, except in an unsystematic way in various Archie digests. While Dark Horse Comics has begun a comprehensive program to republish the earliest Archie comics from the 1940s, and while IDW has published “best of ” volumes featuring the work of Dan DeCarlo (four volumes) and Harry Lucey and Samm Schwartz (two volumes each), featuring work primarily but not exclusively from the twelve-­cent period, these collections would not be sufficient for a project with the scope of this book. While I have endeavored to cite examples from those collections whenever possible so that readers might see the work in a fuller context, a volume such as this cannot be produced with the constraint of another editor’s views as to what constitutes the “best” work. Moreover, I have not always, or even often, in this project been interested in the “best” Archie comics—­I have focused much more closely on the “typical” Archies. Given the dearth of libraries that have systematically collected Archie comics, it fell to me to create my own collection. Using the online tools at the Grand Comics Database, I established the range of issues

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for every Archie title that fell into the twelve-­cent category (for Archie’s Pals ’n Gals, Archie Annual, and Archie Giant Series, of course, these titles were never actually twelve cents but were twenty-­five), and with these lists, I set about purchasing every Archie issue published over the eight-­year span. As I reached out to back-­issue comics dealers in person and online, I communicated my desire to find readable copies of the issues only, assuring dealers that I was not interested in the “best” available copies or those in the highest grade but was seeking intact copies for the lowest possible price. This turned out to be a blessing, not only because of the money saved but because high-­grade copies of most Archie comics from this period do not seem to exist on the market. While it is possible to find some Archie comics in remarkably well-­preserved condition if one is willing to pay for them, much more available are copies that have been treated in the ways that they were intended—­copies that show the well-­worn tattering of having been read and reread repeatedly by children. My copy of Archie 185 (September 1968), for example, described by the dealer as existing in “fair” condition, has a completely rolled spine that is torn in four places. The entire bottom-­right corner of the cover has been torn away so that all that is left of the image of a laughing Jughead is the tip of his nose. The staples are loose, and the center spread has become detached. This is a comic that looks like it has been stored in a drawer or box for a long time—­and, indeed, it probably was. More interestingly, many of my copies bear the traces of previous owners. My copy of Life with Archie 21 (July 1963), for example, comes with a notation across the yellow banner at the top, in the cramped handwriting of a young girl, “owned and read by Diane Metheny.” The word “and” has an error with the “a”—­as if Diane started to write another word altogether and then corrected herself. By far my most fascinating Archie comic is my copy of Pep 216 (April 1968). This one has a truly damaged spine that only barely holds the cover in place. The center spread is detached and so heavily dog-­ eared that it is difficult to return the issue to its plastic sleeve if I take it out to read it. On the cover, someone has mysteriously written “Gul” above Dilton’s head in the logo. The stories themselves are quite poor (Pep was a second-­tier title when this issue was published in the spring of 1968), with the highlight probably being a long metafictional Li’l Jinx story in which she speaks directly to the readers. It is, frankly, not

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a good comic book. Yet what makes it fascinating is not that a young woman named Yasmin Ibrahim has written her name, in capital letters, below the indicia on the first page but that young Yasmin clipped out the subscription coupon for Archie Giant Series. While that is not unusual—­Archie comics did have a large number of subscribers, and many or even most of those subscribers likely began by submitting a coupon—­what is truly striking about this copy is that Yasmin made a new coupon to replace the one that she cut out. She has cut out a piece of lined paper and written, “Name—­Address—­City” on it. Above that, she has placed squiggly lines to replicate the mailing address for Archie Comics (241 Church Street in New York), and she has taped this replica of the coupon that she cut out back into the comic. Further, and more tellingly, she has copied this coupon on the one that she cut out and not another from a different issue or an abstracted Platonic ideal of a subscription coupon. How can I know this? Because on the reverse of the coupon, Yasmin has redrawn or traced the portions of the three panels of the Li’l Jinx comic that were damaged by removing the coupon. She fills in Li’l Jinx’s boots from the splash, a panel of Li’l Jinx running (and the dialogue), and a portrait of Daddy sitting reading the newspaper. She has even aligned the sections of Daddy’s dialogue perfectly with the remaining partial text in the broken frame. Moreover, Yasmin has done all of this in a style that is a strong ap-

The amateur restoration of a copy of Pep. From Pep 216 (1968).

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proximation of Joe Edwards’s drawings, and even more to the point, she colored her drawing. Then she, again, wrote her name in capital letters at the bottom of the page—­signing her work, as it were. My fondness for this copy of Pep comes not from the quality of the work that it contains, which is, in all honesty, substandard, but from the mystery of the word “Gul” on the cover (it is a unisex name and also a surname: a friend? a sibling? a previous or later owner of this same copy?) and from the great care that Yasmin has taken to restore a copy of a comic book that was, by the time it reached me, battered almost beyond readability. Children do not mend toys that they do not care about, but this comic book has been lovingly restored. They do not reread stories that do not interest them, but this one has been read nearly to pieces. Somewhere in 1968 or after lived a young woman who cherished this particular comic book. I will keep it in my collection for her, until she asks for it back.

FADS AND FASHIONS It is not that Archie comics occasionally repeated themes, plots, story lines, and gags—­they could get positively stuck in a rut. Since Betty and Veronica was the title that catered most directly to a young female readership, it was the one that most frequently addressed couture issues and included fashion pinups. In 1967, Archie Comics caught up, slightly belatedly, with the “swinging London” scene that had become an international fashion sensation, and then it would not let it go. The cover to Betty and Veronica 135 (March 1967) finds the girls wearing the latest fashions from London, as Veronica notes, “We mods get the nods,” and on the cover two issues later, Mr. Lodge suggests that “color blind friends” are the perfect accessories for mod outfits. The cover for issue 140 (August 1967) finds Archie, in a conservative blue suit, winning the prize for “most unusual outfit” at a mod party, and on the cover of issue 142 (October 1967), he suggests that a zebra at the zoo is a mod horse. Over the course of eight issues of Betty and Veronica, mod clothing is the subject of four cover gags and several stories. Veronica orders new mod cheerleader outfits from England in one story, and when she dumps Archie for Reggie for the “camp-­ mod dance,” Archie whines, “But, Ronnie . . . My outfit comes straight

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proximation of Joe Edwards’s drawings, and even more to the point, she colored her drawing. Then she, again, wrote her name in capital letters at the bottom of the page—­signing her work, as it were. My fondness for this copy of Pep comes not from the quality of the work that it contains, which is, in all honesty, substandard, but from the mystery of the word “Gul” on the cover (it is a unisex name and also a surname: a friend? a sibling? a previous or later owner of this same copy?) and from the great care that Yasmin has taken to restore a copy of a comic book that was, by the time it reached me, battered almost beyond readability. Children do not mend toys that they do not care about, but this comic book has been lovingly restored. They do not reread stories that do not interest them, but this one has been read nearly to pieces. Somewhere in 1968 or after lived a young woman who cherished this particular comic book. I will keep it in my collection for her, until she asks for it back.

FADS AND FASHIONS It is not that Archie comics occasionally repeated themes, plots, story lines, and gags—­they could get positively stuck in a rut. Since Betty and Veronica was the title that catered most directly to a young female readership, it was the one that most frequently addressed couture issues and included fashion pinups. In 1967, Archie Comics caught up, slightly belatedly, with the “swinging London” scene that had become an international fashion sensation, and then it would not let it go. The cover to Betty and Veronica 135 (March 1967) finds the girls wearing the latest fashions from London, as Veronica notes, “We mods get the nods,” and on the cover two issues later, Mr. Lodge suggests that “color blind friends” are the perfect accessories for mod outfits. The cover for issue 140 (August 1967) finds Archie, in a conservative blue suit, winning the prize for “most unusual outfit” at a mod party, and on the cover of issue 142 (October 1967), he suggests that a zebra at the zoo is a mod horse. Over the course of eight issues of Betty and Veronica, mod clothing is the subject of four cover gags and several stories. Veronica orders new mod cheerleader outfits from England in one story, and when she dumps Archie for Reggie for the “camp-­ mod dance,” Archie whines, “But, Ronnie . . . My outfit comes straight

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from Carnaby Street!” Separate stories depict both Betty and Veronica being forbidden to wear miniskirts, which, of course, in an entirely different story, they do anyway. As the influx of British fashions demonstrates, there was little that the Archie creators would not pursue until they had used up every available gag—­particularly if it allowed them to draw Betty and Veronica in short skirts.

BORDERLESS PANELS With only a very few exceptions, page layouts in Archie comics of the twelve-­cent era tended to be extremely traditional. The six-­panel grid was the norm from which occasional variations were tolerated, and semisplash pages, usually with a single panel filling the upper two-­ thirds of the page, were commonly used for the lead stories in any given issue. Truly innovative layouts seemed to be discouraged. In 1963, Life with Archie featured two highly atypical Archie page layouts, each of which eschewed panel borders and backgrounds in order to present an action scene against a plain white background. While panels are implied—­as in the work of cartoonists such as Jules Feiffer—­by the placement of figures in space, gutters and panel borders are dropped in order to produce an aesthetic effect. In Life with Archie 20 (May 1963), a four-­part story depicts Archie training in karate, complete with a racist caricature of a Korean instructor. When Archie is called on to use his skills to fight off two juvenile delinquents at the end of the issue, he does so in a blur of white space that unifies his actions through time. Similarly, in Life with Archie 24 (November 1963), Archie fights a pair of communist spies—­drawn to look like Nikita Khrushchev and Fidel Castro—­in precisely the same manner. Apparently recalling his previous karate training, Archie moves through a series of fighting poses on a page with borderless panels and a plain white background. Both pages are clean and, because they are so unusual, highly dramatic action sequences in a comic series that often struggled to portray serious fighting action (as opposed to slapstick pratfalls, at which they excelled). If these depictions were recognized as a serious advance at Archie Comics, there is no evidence of it—­they disappeared from the pages of Archie comics as suddenly as they had appeared.

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from Carnaby Street!” Separate stories depict both Betty and Veronica being forbidden to wear miniskirts, which, of course, in an entirely different story, they do anyway. As the influx of British fashions demonstrates, there was little that the Archie creators would not pursue until they had used up every available gag—­particularly if it allowed them to draw Betty and Veronica in short skirts.

BORDERLESS PANELS With only a very few exceptions, page layouts in Archie comics of the twelve-­cent era tended to be extremely traditional. The six-­panel grid was the norm from which occasional variations were tolerated, and semisplash pages, usually with a single panel filling the upper two-­ thirds of the page, were commonly used for the lead stories in any given issue. Truly innovative layouts seemed to be discouraged. In 1963, Life with Archie featured two highly atypical Archie page layouts, each of which eschewed panel borders and backgrounds in order to present an action scene against a plain white background. While panels are implied—­as in the work of cartoonists such as Jules Feiffer—­by the placement of figures in space, gutters and panel borders are dropped in order to produce an aesthetic effect. In Life with Archie 20 (May 1963), a four-­part story depicts Archie training in karate, complete with a racist caricature of a Korean instructor. When Archie is called on to use his skills to fight off two juvenile delinquents at the end of the issue, he does so in a blur of white space that unifies his actions through time. Similarly, in Life with Archie 24 (November 1963), Archie fights a pair of communist spies—­drawn to look like Nikita Khrushchev and Fidel Castro—­in precisely the same manner. Apparently recalling his previous karate training, Archie moves through a series of fighting poses on a page with borderless panels and a plain white background. Both pages are clean and, because they are so unusual, highly dramatic action sequences in a comic series that often struggled to portray serious fighting action (as opposed to slapstick pratfalls, at which they excelled). If these depictions were recognized as a serious advance at Archie Comics, there is no evidence of it—­they disappeared from the pages of Archie comics as suddenly as they had appeared.

Archie fights off ruffians in one of the rare borderless panels. From Life with Archie 26 (1964).

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A COMIC ABOUT NOTHING The genius of the Archie system is on best display in the work of Frank Doyle and Harry Lucey, the creators who most clearly understood the core principles that animate life in Riverdale. Frequently when Archie comics fail, they fail because they attempt to superimpose themes, plots, and story ideas that simply do not fit the structure. The adventure stories in Life with Archie, for example, are attempts to make of Archie something that he is not—­a globe-­trotting adventurer, a crime-­ fighting detective, an action hero. This awkwardness reaches its apex in the superhero stories featuring Pureheart the Powerful or the spy tales of the Man from R.I.V.E.R.D.A.L.E., both of which come off as forced, arbitrary, and fundamentally at odds with the characterization that is established in the other books. The best Archie stories do very little. Thirty years before Jerry Seinfeld gained global fame for a television show featuring the nonadventures of a small group of friends, Doyle and Lucey were crafting finely tuned comics in which nothing significant happened. The Doyle-­Lucey team demonstrated that it is was the everyday life of Riverdale that housed the soul of Archie’s misadventures and that it was the very slightest prompt that could produce the best stories. Take, for example, “The Joke” (Archie 124, December 1961). On a beautiful spring day, Betty runs up behind the daydreaming Archie: Betty: Oh, Archie! . . . You Hoo! Archie! Archie: Oh! Did you call me, Betty? Betty: Now why in the world should I call you ‘Betty’? You don’t look a bit like Betty! Now, me! . . . I look like Betty! I have the same hair, the same . . . Having had no intention other than pulling that joke, Betty wanders away, leaving Archie fuming. When Jughead awakes him from his interior monologue, we, of course, get this: Archie: Oops! Sorry! Were you calling me, Jughead? Jughead: You’re confused, Arch! Why would I be calling you

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‘Jughead’? You don’t have the long stately nose, . . . the graceful king-­sized ears! The distinctive little chapeau! No, Arch! I could never mistake you for . . . And so it goes. The story, as described here, is beyond slight. There is no moral, no message; indeed, there’s barely even a punch line. In literary terms, it may have no value whatsoever. As a comic, however, it is a tiny gem. The coloring, which fills in the negative space around Lucey’s characters with a rotating assortment of muted pastel pinks, greens, yellows, and blues, provides a softness to Riverdale that is a perfect contrast to the increasingly agitated Archie. Moreover, Lucey’s renderings carry the weight of the work. As the joke itself is self-­ evidently awful—­indeed, the awfulness of the joke is the very reason for the story—­the humor resides in the way that Archie responds to it every time. The glare that he gives Betty, hip thrust out, fingers drumming on a low wall around a park, one eye angrily closed, is the punch line. The anger he displays toward Jughead catching him a second time combines a wordless panel with Jughead’s feet sticking up out of the bushes where Archie has planted him as he storms away, his fist emanating stars. The “Eep! Omigosh!” radiating from Archie’s bug-­eyed face when an elderly woman pulls the joke on him for the third time, coupled with his dramatic swoon of denial and the final wild-­eyed direct gaze at the reader when Pop Tate gives him the opportunity to vent all of those frustrations: “Did you call me, Archie?”—­it is not the story that is funny; rather, it is the execution of the story that is funny. The very best Doyle-­Lucey stories are those that begin from a simple premise and that enable the artist to run roughshod over his characters. One of the strongest Archie stories of the decade is “Cream of Contentment,” the lead in Pep 203 (March 1967). In this piece, Archie’s mother dispatches Archie and Jughead to the bakery to buy a pair of cream pies. Veronica, arriving on the scene, tells them, “Today I’m the happiest girl in the world!” to which Reggie, always on the scene when needed, says, “How about that! I didn’t realize that you had a date with me!” When Archie takes the expected action—­throwing one of the pies at the interloping egoist Reggie—­the inevitable happens: Reggie ducks, and the pie “splats” Veronica in the face with such force that even Jughead is drawn in open-­eyed shock. Jughead and Archie flee the scene, leaving the remaining pie in the box, where Veronica,

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now tired of Reggie herself, storms off. Betty, trying to lend a hand by reclaiming the remaining pie, which is now all over Reggie, buys two new ones. Reggie takes a second pie to the face from Betty when he reminds her that “Archie is only happy when he’s with Veronica!” and finally Betty is “splooshed” accidentally by Archie when he attempts to keep the final pie out of the clutches of a hungry Jughead. Four pies. Four pies to the face. It is the way that it has to be. Once again, the plot, as written, is almost completely unremarkable. The pies fly where they need to fly and in ways that are unsurprising. Doyle gets some additional value out of Veronica’s opening declaration of happiness. While we never learn why she was so happy—­after she creams Reggie, she storms off and never returns—­the ongoing discussion of happiness animates the remaining five pages. It is Lucey’s ability to time the action that is the strength of the story. Veronica with a pie cocked behind her head while Reggie pontificates, completely unaware of the danger he is facing, while Betty races helplessly to the scene, is a frozen moment of tremendous comic value. The facing page, which opens and closes with Reggie and a face full of pie, is wonderfully balanced. The diptych panels in the bottom tier—­Reggie insulting Betty; Reggie with a second face full of pie—­are a wonderful compression of time, the humor deriving from the before-­and-­after and Lucey’s realization that the actual delivery of the pie to the face is not as funny as the aftereffect of the same.

Reggie is about to get his just des(s)erts. From Pep 203 (1967).

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Throughout the 1960s, there was a tremendous variation in the quality of Archie stories. An issue such as Laugh 193 (April 1967) might be bogged down with tiresomely atypical depictions of Archie foiling a robbery and then visiting a haunted house. Neither of these plot lines played to the strengths of the characters in any way. Yet the very next issue would open with a Doyle-­Lucey masterpiece such as “Relief,” in which Archie advances the theory that it is healthy to let off steam by hitting things—­in his case, a board that he attempts (unsuccessfully, of course) to karate chop in half. The subsequent flurry of blows he suffers—­kicking a fence, hit in the head by an apple thrown by Reggie, run over (twice!) by a racing gang of children, swatted by Veronica for taking a girl named Gloria to the movies, and kicked in the butt by Jughead for no real good reason—­play to the strengths of the Archie system. Not only do we get two beautiful Lucey head-­over-­heels Archie poses (one where he flies so high that he almost crashes through the tier of panels above him), but we are reminded that the fundamental appeal of the Archie stories is the relations between characters. It is Reggie popping up unexpectedly and improbably to get Archie in trouble with Veronica that plays to the strength of the core Archie appeal. In using the quotidian, Doyle and Lucey perfected the Archie story as a series of running gags involving the core cast, a series strung out from the simplest of conceits. It was when the Archie stories were stripped down to the sparest of elements that they were best able to shine.

FRED (AND MARY) ANDREWS Riverdale’s most tolerant parents, Fred and Mary Andrews met when Fred was running the Ace Professional Driving School (Archie 176, September 1967), an exotic job totally at odds with the typicality of his life in Riverdale as a middle-­class family man. Described by Mr. Weatherbee as “one of our leading citizens” (Archie 151, December 1964), Fred spends his time worrying about his son, losing sleep at the thought that he has failed him by not being a more forceful presence. As he bemoans in “Not Guilty” (Archie 151), “If Archie’s a failure, then I’m a failure! That’s what I am! A failure as a parent!” Given the fact that Mr. Weatherbee occupies the role of Archie’s disciplinary parent by extension, meting out detentions in order to keep the lad on the straight and narrow, Fred is

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Throughout the 1960s, there was a tremendous variation in the quality of Archie stories. An issue such as Laugh 193 (April 1967) might be bogged down with tiresomely atypical depictions of Archie foiling a robbery and then visiting a haunted house. Neither of these plot lines played to the strengths of the characters in any way. Yet the very next issue would open with a Doyle-­Lucey masterpiece such as “Relief,” in which Archie advances the theory that it is healthy to let off steam by hitting things—­in his case, a board that he attempts (unsuccessfully, of course) to karate chop in half. The subsequent flurry of blows he suffers—­kicking a fence, hit in the head by an apple thrown by Reggie, run over (twice!) by a racing gang of children, swatted by Veronica for taking a girl named Gloria to the movies, and kicked in the butt by Jughead for no real good reason—­play to the strengths of the Archie system. Not only do we get two beautiful Lucey head-­over-­heels Archie poses (one where he flies so high that he almost crashes through the tier of panels above him), but we are reminded that the fundamental appeal of the Archie stories is the relations between characters. It is Reggie popping up unexpectedly and improbably to get Archie in trouble with Veronica that plays to the strength of the core Archie appeal. In using the quotidian, Doyle and Lucey perfected the Archie story as a series of running gags involving the core cast, a series strung out from the simplest of conceits. It was when the Archie stories were stripped down to the sparest of elements that they were best able to shine.

FRED (AND MARY) ANDREWS Riverdale’s most tolerant parents, Fred and Mary Andrews met when Fred was running the Ace Professional Driving School (Archie 176, September 1967), an exotic job totally at odds with the typicality of his life in Riverdale as a middle-­class family man. Described by Mr. Weatherbee as “one of our leading citizens” (Archie 151, December 1964), Fred spends his time worrying about his son, losing sleep at the thought that he has failed him by not being a more forceful presence. As he bemoans in “Not Guilty” (Archie 151), “If Archie’s a failure, then I’m a failure! That’s what I am! A failure as a parent!” Given the fact that Mr. Weatherbee occupies the role of Archie’s disciplinary parent by extension, meting out detentions in order to keep the lad on the straight and narrow, Fred is

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permitted to take on the role of the friendly father who makes bets with his son and genuinely acts with concern and good humor. The creators depend on the notion that there is nothing that the Andrews couple will not do to accommodate the madness of their son’s life. In “A House Is a Home” (Archie 155, June 1965), an extremely rare visit by Veronica to the Andrews home occasions a panic. Archie requires that his parents dress for the visit, and so Fred dons his tuxedo. When Veronica does not even bother to enter their house—­she is just dropping off his science homework on her way to Betty’s—­Fred loses his cool, but he cannot sustain any anger for Archie. He is the good father—­generous, understanding, and kind—­that any Archie reader would covet. Indeed, Archie has multiple fathers throughout the comic series. There is Fred, of course, who is supportive almost to a fault. Mr. Weatherbee is the disciplinarian who always challenges Archie to be better than he is. Pop Tate, who sagely listens to Archie when he is having problems, is the father figure in whom Archie can confide and who sees him in his social setting. To a far lesser degree, Mr. Lodge (whom Archie occasionally calls “Dad”) is also a father figure to the boy, although the fact that he does not share the Archie-­father gene pool (bald, round belly) of the other three positions him in a more tenuous position as the bad father, the one who constantly rejects Archie’s love. Remarkably, Riverdale is almost completely free of mothers and surrogate mothers. Not only is Mrs. Lodge only seen on rare occasions, but Mary Andrews also plays almost no significant role in the comic series. A homemaker, she is generally shown in the kitchen preparing breakfast as Archie dashes out (late) to start his day, and the primary interaction between Archie and his mother, in plot terms, is when she asks him to run an errand on her behalf. A highly patriarchal culture, Riverdale is unable to afford any significant roles for mothers in story terms, and Mary Andrews is largely reduced to bemused offerings of loving support. For the record, Mary Andrews believes that Archie should be with Betty rather than Veronica (Betty and Me 13, April 1968).

THE BANJO IN ARCHIE COMICS Bob Montana, who drew the earliest Archie comic-­book stories and the Archie daily newspaper strip for more than a quarter century, was

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permitted to take on the role of the friendly father who makes bets with his son and genuinely acts with concern and good humor. The creators depend on the notion that there is nothing that the Andrews couple will not do to accommodate the madness of their son’s life. In “A House Is a Home” (Archie 155, June 1965), an extremely rare visit by Veronica to the Andrews home occasions a panic. Archie requires that his parents dress for the visit, and so Fred dons his tuxedo. When Veronica does not even bother to enter their house—­she is just dropping off his science homework on her way to Betty’s—­Fred loses his cool, but he cannot sustain any anger for Archie. He is the good father—­generous, understanding, and kind—­that any Archie reader would covet. Indeed, Archie has multiple fathers throughout the comic series. There is Fred, of course, who is supportive almost to a fault. Mr. Weatherbee is the disciplinarian who always challenges Archie to be better than he is. Pop Tate, who sagely listens to Archie when he is having problems, is the father figure in whom Archie can confide and who sees him in his social setting. To a far lesser degree, Mr. Lodge (whom Archie occasionally calls “Dad”) is also a father figure to the boy, although the fact that he does not share the Archie-­father gene pool (bald, round belly) of the other three positions him in a more tenuous position as the bad father, the one who constantly rejects Archie’s love. Remarkably, Riverdale is almost completely free of mothers and surrogate mothers. Not only is Mrs. Lodge only seen on rare occasions, but Mary Andrews also plays almost no significant role in the comic series. A homemaker, she is generally shown in the kitchen preparing breakfast as Archie dashes out (late) to start his day, and the primary interaction between Archie and his mother, in plot terms, is when she asks him to run an errand on her behalf. A highly patriarchal culture, Riverdale is unable to afford any significant roles for mothers in story terms, and Mary Andrews is largely reduced to bemused offerings of loving support. For the record, Mary Andrews believes that Archie should be with Betty rather than Veronica (Betty and Me 13, April 1968).

THE BANJO IN ARCHIE COMICS Bob Montana, who drew the earliest Archie comic-­book stories and the Archie daily newspaper strip for more than a quarter century, was

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according to his biography the child of a Ziegfeld Follies girl, Roberta Pandolfini, and a professional banjo player, Ray Montana. Undoubtedly as a tribute to the founder’s father, banjos abound in Archie comics. Midge is shown playing a banjo on the cover of Archie’s Joke Book 112 (May 1967), and Fred Andrews plays one in Life with Archie 32 (December 1964) when he shadows Archie for a week to learn the cost of being a contemporary teenager. Surprisingly, the most ardent banjo player in Riverdale is Mr. Lodge, who, in Archie’s Pals ’n Gals 32 (Summer 1965), threatens to bludgeon Archie with his “old banjo” after the boy electrocutes him with a guitar and who, in Betty and Veronica 101 (May 1964), retires to his office to play his banjo when he succeeds in “accidentally” breaking Archie’s guitar. The combination of the old-­ fashioned southern instrument and the nouveau-­riche Mr. Lodge is a tempting punch line for the Archie creators, who found in the banjo a piece of Americana as fundamentally unhip as, well, Archie comics.

WORDLESS STORIES, OR NEARLY SO Of the dozens of artists who worked on Archie comics during the 1960s, three were clearly head and shoulders above the rest: Dan DeCarlo, Samm Schwartz, and Harry Lucey. With the exception of Schwartz, who departed Archie Comics for Tower Comics middecade, they were the artists synonymous with the brand throughout the twelve-­cent period. While each brought specific approaches and skill sets to the titles, the question of who was the “best” Archie artist during this period is highly subjective. Responses are often shaped by factors external to the art. Lucey, for example, benefited from working predominantly with a writer, Frank Doyle, who was quite a bit more inventive and funnier than others associated with the company. While there is no “fair” method by which the trio of artists might be compared, one of the most interesting is to look at the stories that best foreground their artistic skills: the wordless (or nearly wordless) stories that popped up with a certain frequency across the period. Each of the artists worked in this particular genre, and it allows certain conclusions to be drawn. Dan DeCarlo was the predominant Archie artist of the period, producing the greatest quantity of work and (by far) the greatest

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according to his biography the child of a Ziegfeld Follies girl, Roberta Pandolfini, and a professional banjo player, Ray Montana. Undoubtedly as a tribute to the founder’s father, banjos abound in Archie comics. Midge is shown playing a banjo on the cover of Archie’s Joke Book 112 (May 1967), and Fred Andrews plays one in Life with Archie 32 (December 1964) when he shadows Archie for a week to learn the cost of being a contemporary teenager. Surprisingly, the most ardent banjo player in Riverdale is Mr. Lodge, who, in Archie’s Pals ’n Gals 32 (Summer 1965), threatens to bludgeon Archie with his “old banjo” after the boy electrocutes him with a guitar and who, in Betty and Veronica 101 (May 1964), retires to his office to play his banjo when he succeeds in “accidentally” breaking Archie’s guitar. The combination of the old-­ fashioned southern instrument and the nouveau-­riche Mr. Lodge is a tempting punch line for the Archie creators, who found in the banjo a piece of Americana as fundamentally unhip as, well, Archie comics.

WORDLESS STORIES, OR NEARLY SO Of the dozens of artists who worked on Archie comics during the 1960s, three were clearly head and shoulders above the rest: Dan DeCarlo, Samm Schwartz, and Harry Lucey. With the exception of Schwartz, who departed Archie Comics for Tower Comics middecade, they were the artists synonymous with the brand throughout the twelve-­cent period. While each brought specific approaches and skill sets to the titles, the question of who was the “best” Archie artist during this period is highly subjective. Responses are often shaped by factors external to the art. Lucey, for example, benefited from working predominantly with a writer, Frank Doyle, who was quite a bit more inventive and funnier than others associated with the company. While there is no “fair” method by which the trio of artists might be compared, one of the most interesting is to look at the stories that best foreground their artistic skills: the wordless (or nearly wordless) stories that popped up with a certain frequency across the period. Each of the artists worked in this particular genre, and it allows certain conclusions to be drawn. Dan DeCarlo was the predominant Archie artist of the period, producing the greatest quantity of work and (by far) the greatest

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number of covers. He was later to be named the artist on the Archie daily newspaper strip, and new artists were encouraged to draw like him; many were successful at aping his style. DeCarlo drew no fewer than four wordless Archie stories in the 1960s, two of them (in Betty and Veronica 144, December 1967] and Pep 183, July 1965) with the same name, “Sound Off.” Looking at the version from Betty and Veronica 144, what is striking about DeCarlo is his use of focal distance. Of the twenty-­nine panels in this six-­page story, twenty-­ six feature the characters drawn in full body, occupying the space slightly above the bottom of the frame and slightly below the top. In cinematic terms, DeCarlo relies heavily on midrange shots, interspersing them here with one medium close-­up of Archie and a full close-­up of a scheming Veronica. The other “Sound Off ” has a very similar ratio of midrange drawings. “Speck Trouble,” from Betty and Me 13 (April 1968), is a much superior work, particularly because of a two-­page sequence when, after Archie winks at Betty, she backflips, handsprings, and bunny hops with elation. DeCarlo drops back into his habit of relying on midrange drawings but uses the single extreme close-­up (Archie being punched in the eye after inadvertently winking at Midge) to comic effect. His most creative wordless story is “Ssssh,” from Betty and Me 9 (August 1967). Here Betty fears the effects of a Friday the thirteenth and arms herself with lucky charms to avoid misfortune. When Reggie throws a tree branch at Archie, missing him and hitting a police officer, the officer spins around to see who threw it by grabbing the top of the panel border, crinkling it where his hands hold it. It is an inventive gesture in an otherwise fairly predictable story. Samm Schwartz, who worked almost exclusively on stories featuring Jughead, is the premier chronicler of that character. Not unlike Michel Havanavicius’s film The Artist, which draws attention to the artifice of its silent nature with two lines of spoken dialogue at its conclusion, Schwartz’s wordless comics are notable for the inclusion of “spoken” punch lines at their end. In “The Sound of Music” (Jughead 85, June 1962), he showcases some of the visual traits that make him so interesting, including body movements that extrude subtly from one panel and into another on three of the six pages and a highly varied framing. Schwartz only rarely uses the DeCarlo style of midrange position, opting instead for a mixture of very dis-

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tant drawings in which the characters are rendered unnecessarily small and tight close-­ups. Schwartz also eschews the six-­panel grid favored by DeCarlo (who uses it almost exclusively). While Schwartz also uses three tiers, he very commonly includes three smaller panels in the middle tier, giving his pages greater variation. Schwartz, much more than any other Archie artist, was fond of the borderless panel, an affectation that helps to break up the monotony of his page designs. In this particular story, he concludes with a page featuring three page-­width panels—­the first absent any characters at all but filled with shattered doors and a whooshing set of speed lines, the second featuring a more extensive speed line and characters tossed carelessly aside, and the final panel depicting a wonderfully rendered pairing of Mr. Weatherbee and Miss Grundy suspended awkwardly in midair, while a tiny Jughead disappears through the cafeteria doors in the background. It is a wonderfully cinematic page that highlights the artist’s skillful construction of a page. By contrast, “Shopworn” (Jughead 106, March 1964) is far more conventional, relying on DeCarlo-­style midrange drawings and a quite-­restrained six-­panel page layout. The piece does little to highlight Schwartz’s peculiar skills. “Impossible Journey,” the nearly wordless lead story in Archie 178 (December 1967), uses a similar layout to the DeCarlo pieces but is differentiated by more unconventional framing (the scheming Reggie occupies several off-­center panel positions) and its detailed rendering. While DeCarlo often merely suggests backgrounds in his stories, Harry Lucey (particularly at this point in his career) provided very detailed rendering and backgrounds, taking the time to depict trees, shrubs, and even bricks in great detail. Further, Lucey takes the use of body language to a much further degree than do Schwartz and DeCarlo. When Archie trips over the wire that Reggie has tied across his front stoop, he becomes airborne in a manner that is truly a joy to behold. Lucey’s attention to the fine detail of characterization is what sets him apart, and it can be seen on the semiwordless story (five of the six pages have no dialogue, although the sixth is rife with it) “Over-­Joyed” in Archie 123 (November 1961; technically, the last very last Archie comic of the ten-­cent period, appearing one month before the price increase). In this piece, which depicts Archie finding a roller skate and falling on his face, being hit in the head by a loose fence

Jughead heads for the cafeteria. From Archie’s Pal Jughead 85 (1962).

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board (twice), being punched by Big Moose, falling into a tree, and being rocketed skyward by a kid on a scooter, before nearly breaking his foot kicking a hidden oil intake, Lucey’s control over bodily expression is unparalleled. The elasticity of Archie’s body as his careens through the air or leaps about on one unbroken foot is so fluid and the pratfalls lead so effortlessly from one to the next that it is easy to see how Lucey developed an unrivaled reputation for physical comedy. The wordless, or nearly so, story is an Archie comics staple and one that allows the differing competencies of their artists to come to the fore. A showcase for penmanship where character rendering, layouts, and page design are allowed to carry the story exclusively, these stories, more than any other, illustrate the relative strengths of the illustrators.

HOT DOG Even more than the introduction of The Archies as a band that recorded real-­life records, it was the introduction of Hot Dog that signaled the end of the twelve-­cent Archie era. Hot Dog was announced, rather than introduced, in the Archie Club News that ran in the November 1968 cover-­dated issues (for instance, Archie 186); readers were told of

A tripwire. A wheelbarrow full of tar. The end of a date with Veronica. From Archie 123 (1961).

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board (twice), being punched by Big Moose, falling into a tree, and being rocketed skyward by a kid on a scooter, before nearly breaking his foot kicking a hidden oil intake, Lucey’s control over bodily expression is unparalleled. The elasticity of Archie’s body as his careens through the air or leaps about on one unbroken foot is so fluid and the pratfalls lead so effortlessly from one to the next that it is easy to see how Lucey developed an unrivaled reputation for physical comedy. The wordless, or nearly so, story is an Archie comics staple and one that allows the differing competencies of their artists to come to the fore. A showcase for penmanship where character rendering, layouts, and page design are allowed to carry the story exclusively, these stories, more than any other, illustrate the relative strengths of the illustrators.

HOT DOG Even more than the introduction of The Archies as a band that recorded real-­life records, it was the introduction of Hot Dog that signaled the end of the twelve-­cent Archie era. Hot Dog was announced, rather than introduced, in the Archie Club News that ran in the November 1968 cover-­dated issues (for instance, Archie 186); readers were told of

A tripwire. A wheelbarrow full of tar. The end of a date with Veronica. From Archie 123 (1961).

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the Archie animated CBS Saturday-­morning television program that was to be launched imminently. In a letter to readers signed by Archie, he noted, “all my pals will join in the fun festival, including Jughead, Reggie, Betty and Veronica, and last, but not least, Hot Dawg, a new groovy member of our group.” A two-­page CBS ad in the same month’s issues offered the first depiction of the dog as a tail-­wagging sidekick to The Archies, around whom the show was to be based. Developed as part of the animated television show and then imposed on the comic books, Hot Dog (as he was soon known) shows the influence on the Archie brand of external forces, in this case, the television producers and network. Archie had dogs as pets in the past: In “Canine Capers” (Pep 188, December 1965), he gets a sheepdog (more realistically drawn than Hot Dog, who is the same breed) named Precious who menaces Reggie and tramples Mr. Lodge’s flowers, while in “Man’s Best Friend” (Pep 219, July 1968), he has a smaller white-­and-­black dog called Noname. Neither of these dogs was ever seen again, of course, but the fact that Noname was introduced and quickly dropped only four months before Hot Dog made his debut in Archie indicates how the creation of the character was not well thought through and was likely imposed on the creators with little notice. Considerable confusion seems to have accompanied the arrival of the big, white sheepdog as the mascot for The Archies (he notably appears on their first album cover, seated beside Veronica’s keyboard). Hot Dog’s first appearance in an Archie comic book is in “Father Knows Beast” (Pep 224, December 1968). At this point, he is clearly and explicitly Archie’s new dog, and the story tension stems from the fact that he is unwanted by Fred Andrews, who, secretly, walks, bathes, and sleeps with him. Two months later, Hot Dog makes his first appearance with The Archies in “Howling Success” (Archie 188, February 1969), in which his howling disrupts their band practice and he bounds through one of Reggie’s drums (Reggie being the drummer in this particular story for reasons that are unclear). Again, Hot Dog is explicitly identified as Archie’s dog, a trend that carries over to the same month’s “Dog Gone” (Betty and Veronica 158, February 1969), his first appearance in a story featuring the girls. Hot Dog does not appear again for two months, but when he does, in Archie’s Pals ’n Gals 51, he has his own logo and, suddenly, the ability to have his thoughts read by the reader (“Friendly! That’s what I am! Friendly!”). This story

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introduces Hot Dog’s enmity toward Veronica (who does not like him because he is not pedigreed) and shifts his ownership to Jughead (Veronica asks Archie, “Would I blame you for the action’s of Jughead’s dog? Would I?”), even though the young Mr. Jones does not even appear in the story. In June 1969, Hot Dog appears in “Dumb Animal” (Archie 191), again targeting Veronica (who calls him a “dumb dog”) and owned by Jughead, who, again, is absent from the story. Indeed, Hot Dog’s first appearance in a Jughead story is not published until that same month, when he appears in “The Beast” (Jughead 169, June 1969), his only appearance in any Jughead issue during the twelve-­cent era. While the introduction of Hot Dog was complicated and contradictory, the creators did eventually agree on the fact that he belonged to Jughead, who had heretofore been the most independent of all the characters. The relationship between the two soon came to resemble the relationship of Shaggy to Scooby-­Doo (a television show that debuted at the same time as The Archies), wherein the large dog was aligned with the overeating outsider. During the early 1970s, Hot Dog’s prominence continued to grow, and he became a semiregular character in the Archie comics, while he appeared in only half a dozen stories during the twelve-­cent period. The introduction of Hot Dog is the end of the twelve-­cent period. He signals not only the arrival of the fifteen-­cent era but the end of the dominance of the comic books in the Archie mediascape. He is, essentially, a television character imposed onto the comics, symbolic of the shift that defined the Archie comics after the conclusion of their peak period.

DAN DECARLO’S SPLIT-­HORIZON GIRL The most unusual splash page in any Archie comic of the 1960s—­ perhaps in any comic book of the 1960s—­is the split horizon girl drawn by Dan DeCarlo for “Bikini Beat” (Archie Giant Series 164) in September 1969. A totally forgettable story in which Betty and Veronica rant and rave about their inability to hold the attention of Archie and Reggie with such a large crowd of bikini-­clad beauties filling the beach, the piece is notable only for its exceptionally unusual splash. Split over two page-­width panels (top and bottom), a

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introduces Hot Dog’s enmity toward Veronica (who does not like him because he is not pedigreed) and shifts his ownership to Jughead (Veronica asks Archie, “Would I blame you for the action’s of Jughead’s dog? Would I?”), even though the young Mr. Jones does not even appear in the story. In June 1969, Hot Dog appears in “Dumb Animal” (Archie 191), again targeting Veronica (who calls him a “dumb dog”) and owned by Jughead, who, again, is absent from the story. Indeed, Hot Dog’s first appearance in a Jughead story is not published until that same month, when he appears in “The Beast” (Jughead 169, June 1969), his only appearance in any Jughead issue during the twelve-­cent era. While the introduction of Hot Dog was complicated and contradictory, the creators did eventually agree on the fact that he belonged to Jughead, who had heretofore been the most independent of all the characters. The relationship between the two soon came to resemble the relationship of Shaggy to Scooby-­Doo (a television show that debuted at the same time as The Archies), wherein the large dog was aligned with the overeating outsider. During the early 1970s, Hot Dog’s prominence continued to grow, and he became a semiregular character in the Archie comics, while he appeared in only half a dozen stories during the twelve-­cent period. The introduction of Hot Dog is the end of the twelve-­cent period. He signals not only the arrival of the fifteen-­cent era but the end of the dominance of the comic books in the Archie mediascape. He is, essentially, a television character imposed onto the comics, symbolic of the shift that defined the Archie comics after the conclusion of their peak period.

DAN DECARLO’S SPLIT-­HORIZON GIRL The most unusual splash page in any Archie comic of the 1960s—­ perhaps in any comic book of the 1960s—­is the split horizon girl drawn by Dan DeCarlo for “Bikini Beat” (Archie Giant Series 164) in September 1969. A totally forgettable story in which Betty and Veronica rant and rave about their inability to hold the attention of Archie and Reggie with such a large crowd of bikini-­clad beauties filling the beach, the piece is notable only for its exceptionally unusual splash. Split over two page-­width panels (top and bottom), a

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DeCarlo foreground girl fills the front of the page. Significantly, and in a break with the tradition of DeCarlo’s decorative use of the foreground girl, this young lady is drawn in medium close-­up, with her entire body above the waist visible in the bottom panel. The drawing of the foreground girl is contiguous across the two panels, with an interruption in the drawing of her face as the gutter runs across between her lips and nose, not unlike a moustache. What is important about the composition is the way that the background shifts. In the top panel, the viewer is positioned slightly behind and to the side of Veronica and Reggie, gazing with them out toward the water, while the foreground girl looks backward toward the beach (though, as is typical of DeCarlo, not directly back at the reader). In the bottom panel, on the other hand, the reader is positioned along the beach from a point of view that has rotated almost 180 degrees, yet the body of the foreground girl is intact. Further, in the first panel, we look slightly up at the foreground girl, while in the second, we look slightly down at her. Due to the shift in viewing locations, there is no way to account for the girl in both places. If the standpoint were consistent, the changing background might be attributed to the girl turning quickly—­though nothing else supports a sense of movement (her hair hangs limply, for example). As it is, she cannot be both behind Reggie and in front of Archie at the same time—­it is a physical impossibility—­and the dialogue and Veronica’s sudden head swivel (which is accompanied by the markers of sudden movement) confirm that she cannot have relocated quickly enough to make this panel explicable. Two possibilities exist. First, the image might represent two drawings of two different girls, who just happen to have the same hair highlights. Given the uniform body type of all teenage girls in Riverdale, this is not entirely out of the realm of believability. Second, this might be a single girl who exists across time and space, a symbol of timeless and universal sexual desirability that defines the Riverdale beach scene. With this explanation, the laws of the physical universe established by DeCarlo need not apply, and Archie and his gang are shown to reside in a world of the pure visual spectacle of the female form. Needless to say, the second answer seems a lot closer to the truth than does the first.

The mysterious split-­horizon girl can confound time and space. From Archie Giant Series Magazine 164 (1969).

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THE (NEARLY) PERFECT ARCHIE STORY At no time in the twelve-­cent era did Archie Comics produce a perfect Archie story. By this, I mean that it was never able to craft a single story that brought together all the comics’ best elements in a form that provided everything that you might want from an Archie story. While the company did produce some positively superlative issues (Archie 172, April 1967), for example, has four Harry Lucey–­drawn stories that are all genuinely very good and that collectively provide an excellent sense of the range of storytelling possibilities available to the creators), there is no single story to which I would point and say, “There! That is the one that has everything!” That said, there are a number of nearly perfect stories, and one of the best of these is “Mad Plaid” (Laugh 166, January 1965). Scripted by Frank Doyle and penciled by Harry Lucey (with inks and letters by Mario Acquaviva), the six-­page story is the lead in an issue that also contains one other Lucey piece. A description: Archie is wearing a blue plaid jacket, extremely atypical of his sartorial style. The jacket has a small rip on its back seam, and Reggie exacerbates the problem by tearing it in half. Betty arrives and offers to mend the jacket, noting to herself in a thought balloon that this act of kindness will make Archie obligated to her. On the third page, a boy named Burton arrives and offers to have his father, a tailor, repair the jacket for her, noting to himself that this will obligate Betty to him. Donning the repaired jacket (Burton and Archie are the same size), Burton runs to find Betty, only to crash headlong into Veronica, knocking her into a garbage can, which then rolls down a hill and smashes into a telephone poll. Veronica does not see who hit her but will always remember that distinctive coat. Burton returns the jacket to Betty, who returns it to Archie, who immediately runs over to Veronica’s house to show off “poppa bird’s fancy new plumage.” Veronica, instantly recalling the jacket while she bandages the cuts on her head, is irate, and the story ends with Archie unconscious on the sidewalk, with the jacket in tatters. “Some people are just hard on clothes!” Betty tells Burton as they walk on by. What this story lacks, and what keeps it from perfection, is the presence of Jughead. Clearly, a perfect Archie story should contain all five of

Archie never even learns what he did wrong in the nearly perfect Archie story. From Laugh Comics 166 (1965).

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the major characters. That it revolves so much around a character, Burton, who will never be seen again is its weakest point. Certainly it would have been possible to substitute Jughead for Burton; but it would have required a different sense of obligation (hamburgers?), and Jughead’s father had never been established as a tailor. Still, the presence of Jughead in the final panel could have made the story even cleverer than it is. What the story has, however, is virtually everything else that makes Archie comics of this period remarkable. First, the story uses a very everyday sort of plot. There is almost no story here—­a torn jacket repaired and a case of mistaken identity. It is the quintessential Archie story about nothing, where no one learns any lesson. Archie has no idea why Veronica is angry with him, Veronica never finds out that it was not Archie who bowled her over, Betty is left in the dark as to why Archie is lying in the street, and Reggie simply rips and runs. Second, it begins with a very simple plot prompt (torn jacket), and all the action flows from the traditional characterization. Reggie’s destructive pull on the small tear is completely consistent with his frenemy disdain for Archie—­it is pointless and mean-­spirited and wonderfully in keeping with the ways that he is conventionally written. Betty’s volunteerism stems not from her natural good-­hearted nature but from her scheming side. When Archie says that he is obliged to her, she thinks, with a malicious look on her face, “‘Obliged’—­that means obligated! Obligated means he’s in my debt! In my debt is where I love to have Archie!” Hers is a conniving kindness. Veronica’s ire with Archie is her seminatural state, as she is the character in the cast most liable to fly off the handle, particularly after having been manhandled. Finally, Archie’s utter innocence in the story—­he is simply walking down the street when Reggie attacks his new jacket unprovoked, and he is beaten up by Veronica for reasons that he will never ascertain—­ continues the long tradition of Archie as a nonprotagonist. In this story, as in so many, he is the boy to whom things simply happen. The story has many other elements to recommend it. Significantly, it has a wonderfully self-­referential moment on the third page. When Burton volunteers to have the jacket repaired for Betty, she echoes Archie’s comments to her by telling him that it is “mighty obliging” of him. Burton thinks to himself, “‘Obliging’ means obligated and all that jazz like on the preceding page and I love to have a doll like that in my debt!” Burton’s scheming is made all the funnier not only because

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his attitude so clearly mirrors that of Betty but because he is privy to her thoughts as he is inexplicably able to the read the story as it has unfolded up to that point. Moving forward, the story is not wordless, as many of the cleverest Archie comics are, but it has a significant wordless pratfall element when Veronica is knocked into the garbage can, and the can rolls down the hill. Spread over a page and a half, Lucey provides a good (but not all-­time great) head-­over-­heels moment when Burton and Veronica collide, and Lucey nicely scatters the crowd on the street. While the story lacks a classic “Eep! Omigosh!” it does give us a half “Omigosh!” when Burton realizes what he has done (a rarity, truth be told, in which this visual effect is shown on only one side of a character’s head), and it also includes a well-­crafted Veronica slow burn, in which four curling lines of anger radiate from her frowning face. Fundamentally a story about fashion, about Betty’s scheming plans to win Archie from Veronica, including well-­executed pratfalls and comic violence, with a long wordless sequence, trademark visuals, a metareferential gag, and well-­grounded characterization, “Mad Plaid” has everything that you could want in a great Archie story. Except Jughead.

THE MYTH OF ARCHIE In their 1972 essay “The Myth of Superman,” published in the journal Diacritics, Umberto Eco and Natalie Chilton describe a story that is unable to consume itself because each Superman plot breaks down the time of the story by eschewing a chronological unfolding of the narrative. The authors suggest, correctly, that were any given Superman story to pick up directly from the one that preceded it, the character would “have taken a step toward death” (16). The genius of Superman’s creators, therefore, is to have removed Superman from the law that leads through time, a law that afflicts serial newspaper adventure comics (the authors cite Harold Gray’s Little Orphan Annie), which are forced to extend the life spans of their characters through the use of unconventional conceptions of the passage of time. Of continuity in Superman comic books, Eco and Chilton write, “The stories develop in a kind of oneiric climate—­of which the reader is not aware at all—­ where what has happened before and what has happened after appear

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his attitude so clearly mirrors that of Betty but because he is privy to her thoughts as he is inexplicably able to the read the story as it has unfolded up to that point. Moving forward, the story is not wordless, as many of the cleverest Archie comics are, but it has a significant wordless pratfall element when Veronica is knocked into the garbage can, and the can rolls down the hill. Spread over a page and a half, Lucey provides a good (but not all-­time great) head-­over-­heels moment when Burton and Veronica collide, and Lucey nicely scatters the crowd on the street. While the story lacks a classic “Eep! Omigosh!” it does give us a half “Omigosh!” when Burton realizes what he has done (a rarity, truth be told, in which this visual effect is shown on only one side of a character’s head), and it also includes a well-­crafted Veronica slow burn, in which four curling lines of anger radiate from her frowning face. Fundamentally a story about fashion, about Betty’s scheming plans to win Archie from Veronica, including well-­executed pratfalls and comic violence, with a long wordless sequence, trademark visuals, a metareferential gag, and well-­grounded characterization, “Mad Plaid” has everything that you could want in a great Archie story. Except Jughead.

THE MYTH OF ARCHIE In their 1972 essay “The Myth of Superman,” published in the journal Diacritics, Umberto Eco and Natalie Chilton describe a story that is unable to consume itself because each Superman plot breaks down the time of the story by eschewing a chronological unfolding of the narrative. The authors suggest, correctly, that were any given Superman story to pick up directly from the one that preceded it, the character would “have taken a step toward death” (16). The genius of Superman’s creators, therefore, is to have removed Superman from the law that leads through time, a law that afflicts serial newspaper adventure comics (the authors cite Harold Gray’s Little Orphan Annie), which are forced to extend the life spans of their characters through the use of unconventional conceptions of the passage of time. Of continuity in Superman comic books, Eco and Chilton write, “The stories develop in a kind of oneiric climate—­of which the reader is not aware at all—­ where what has happened before and what has happened after appear

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extremely hazy. The narrator picks up the strand of the event again and again, as if he had forgotten to say something and wanted to add details to what had already been said.” (17) They should have written about Archie comics.

ARCHIE AND ME Comic books have shaped my entire life. I have the ability to recall the places where I bought or read most of the comic books that profoundly affected me. I know, for instance, that the first comic book I ever acquired with my own money was a 1978 Dynabrite Disney reprint comic that republished the great Carl Barks’s story “The Golden Fleecing” and that I purchased it on a family vacation to Florida and read it repeatedly in the back of my father’s station wagon. I also know that the first comic book I ever bought when I had decided, spurred by several of my classmates, to begin reading superhero comics (Marvel only; DC was too old-­fashioned and boring) was X-­Men 137 (September 1980), “The Fate of the Phoenix!,” which I picked up at a gas station in Parry Sound, Ontario, because it was double sized, because it introduced all of the team members by name, and because the cover looked exciting. I read a lot of Disney comics when I was young, and I could never figure out why “The Golden Fleecing” was just so much better than the ones with Chip and Dale. Only decades later did I learn the name Carl Barks. I read even more Marvel Comics, but it took me a few years to realize that Chris Claremont and John Byrne’s “The Dark Phoenix Saga” was going to be about as good as superhero stories were ever going to get. Sheer chance led me to exemplary examples of those particular genres. I do not recall what was the first Archie comic that I ever read, but I do know where I read it. When I was seven years old, my parents bought a piece of lakeside property about two hours north of Toronto and built a cottage on it. I was fortunate that our neighbors, the McClures, had one son who was six months older than I was and another son eighteen months younger. For two months every summer, we spent every day together on that lake. There was a small community of kids our age, and we circulated cottage to cottage like the gang in Riverdale. The McClures had, for reasons that remain unclear to me even to this very day, a fruit box filled with beat-­up old comic books under the stairs,

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extremely hazy. The narrator picks up the strand of the event again and again, as if he had forgotten to say something and wanted to add details to what had already been said.” (17) They should have written about Archie comics.

ARCHIE AND ME Comic books have shaped my entire life. I have the ability to recall the places where I bought or read most of the comic books that profoundly affected me. I know, for instance, that the first comic book I ever acquired with my own money was a 1978 Dynabrite Disney reprint comic that republished the great Carl Barks’s story “The Golden Fleecing” and that I purchased it on a family vacation to Florida and read it repeatedly in the back of my father’s station wagon. I also know that the first comic book I ever bought when I had decided, spurred by several of my classmates, to begin reading superhero comics (Marvel only; DC was too old-­fashioned and boring) was X-­Men 137 (September 1980), “The Fate of the Phoenix!,” which I picked up at a gas station in Parry Sound, Ontario, because it was double sized, because it introduced all of the team members by name, and because the cover looked exciting. I read a lot of Disney comics when I was young, and I could never figure out why “The Golden Fleecing” was just so much better than the ones with Chip and Dale. Only decades later did I learn the name Carl Barks. I read even more Marvel Comics, but it took me a few years to realize that Chris Claremont and John Byrne’s “The Dark Phoenix Saga” was going to be about as good as superhero stories were ever going to get. Sheer chance led me to exemplary examples of those particular genres. I do not recall what was the first Archie comic that I ever read, but I do know where I read it. When I was seven years old, my parents bought a piece of lakeside property about two hours north of Toronto and built a cottage on it. I was fortunate that our neighbors, the McClures, had one son who was six months older than I was and another son eighteen months younger. For two months every summer, we spent every day together on that lake. There was a small community of kids our age, and we circulated cottage to cottage like the gang in Riverdale. The McClures had, for reasons that remain unclear to me even to this very day, a fruit box filled with beat-­up old comic books under the stairs,

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and these were pulled out on days when it rained after we had tired of playing cards or whatever other indoor activities were available to us. This was the late 1970s, but all the comics dated from the mid-­to late 1960s: Archies, Little Dots, Richie Riches, Baby Hueys. All the comics were older than my friends, so it was obvious that they could not have been the ones who purchased them. They dated from a moment when the McClures themselves would have been newlyweds, and so they were unlikely to have bought them. The McClures, like my father, built their cottage themselves, so a previous owner had not abandoned them. I think that I surmised that every cottage in Ontario came with a box of tattered comic books preinstalled. Perhaps they still do. I have very clear memories of reading through that heap of Archie comics every summer for years. In time, I tried to add to it, buying my own Archie comics at gas stations and convenience stores; but it was clear to me that the late 1970s comics of Dan DeCarlo and Stan Goldberg were lacking something that could be found in that magical box, and eventually I turned my comics dollar to Cracked and, then, Mad Magazine. Still, there was something about Archie that I found infinitely fascinating. For a while, I tried tracing the figures from the comics onto paper in order to try to assemble new adventures for the gang. As it turned out, I was, and remain, a terrible artist. When that failed, I cut them out of my copies and rearranged them as if they were action figures to be cast into new stories. Even then, I realized that Archie comics were a narrative system that could be endlessly redeployed. I am certain that the Archie comics I read at that time left a lasting impact on my comic-­book aesthetic sensibilities. When I began reading every Archie comic from the twelve-­cent era in anticipation of beginning this project, I had—­again and again—­an incredible sense of déjà vu. Comics that I did not recognize from their covers I would instantly know from the splash pages, recognizing them and recalling their sight gags and punch lines across an intervening span of more than thirty years spent not reading Archie comics. When I came across issues such as Archie 155 (June 1965) and Archie’s Pals ’n Gals 52 (June 1969), I knew them so intimately because I had read and reread them so thoroughly in that box under the stairs that I was instantly transported back in time. As I reread these comics, now middle-­aged and with all the cares

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and responsibilities that come with time, I was carried back to a world without consequences. To a world in which even your worst enemy might also be your best friend. To a time when any interest in romance seemed incredibly distant and unreal. To a world very unlike my own, where kids passed through fences with loose boards (always causing them to swing and bash someone in the face) and where an entire town would have lawns guarded by low stone fences, on which the youth eternally rested. I had never seen a low stone fence in my life—­yet nothing seemed to define “home” to me more clearly. Riverdale was Edenic for a white kid growing up in a well-­to-­do suburb of Toronto in the 1970s. It was my privileged world, only better. Rereading these stories after all this time, I was instantly and definitely struck by the fact that every single Archie story that I loved as kid was drawn by Harry Lucey. The cavemen stories, in particular, had long been favorites of mine, and I could not understand why they did not just do a “Caveman Archie” title and be done with it. Lucey’s line work, his use of body language, his page compositions—­these defined Archie for me at the time, and rereading them now, it is clear that they still do. In various ways and in different manners, it turns out that I have been thinking about Archie my whole life. As I have been writing this book, my own son has been reading my newly collected Archies. They are not piled in fruit boxes—­they are carefully sorted and arranged on shelves so that they can be pulled out and referenced at any moment. Once I write about them and place them on the floor to be refiled, I watch him, the same age now as I was when I read my first Archies at the McClures’ cottage. The media world in which we exist has changed completely. We read Archies because our cottages had no televisions. There were no video games for us, no Internet, and we only got one radio station—­CHAY-­FM, which played nothing but elevator music. My son lives in a media environment of unrestrained plenitude and on-­demand access to entertainment. Still, he reads the cover gags and wonders what is inside them. He sorts them by title and by number, and he asks me if he may read them. Then he lies on the couch beside my desk and raptly immerses himself in the world of Riverdale, just as I used to do. I see Archie entering his consciousness, and I wonder what, if anything, these same Archie stories might mean to him in another thirty years. Perhaps I will leave a few for him, tucked away under the stairs in an old fruit box, where they belong.

IN D E X

“A House is A Home” (story), 196 “A Splitting Headache” (story), 70 Acquaviva, Mario, 206 Alan (character), 85 Albert (character), 84 “All About Archie” (story), 65 “All Work and No Pay” (story), 18 Ambrose Pipps (character), 172 Archie (comic book), 6, 13–­14, 17, 21, 26, 29, 31–­32, 35, 41, 50–­52, 54, 57, 61–­62, 70, 72–­73, 75, 77–­80, 82–­83, 85, 89–­ 94, 96–­98, 104, 116, 119–­122, 128–­136, 148, 151–­154, 158–­160, 164–­165, 167–­ 169, 174–­177, 181, 183, 187, 195, 199, 201–­203, 206, 211; sales of, 6, 13–­14, 16 Archie (comic strip), 31–­33, 60, 68, 167, 196, 198 Archie and Me (comic book), 14, 29, 35, 95, 166 Archie Andrews (character), 5, 9, 11–­13, 16-­31, 33–­41, 44–­46, 48–­­54, 56–­58, 61–­ 63, 65–­75, 77–­78, 80, 82–­85, 88–­102, 107, 109–­110, 113, 116–­117, 123, 125–­ 126, 128–­133, 135–­139, 145, 147–­154, 156–­167, 174–­179, 182–­183, 185–­186, 189–­199, 201–­204, 206–­209, 212; accident-­prone, 150–­153; American-­ ness, 5, 17–­19, 33, 151, 154, 197; balanc-

ing talent, 152–­153; and his car, 37–­38; and his sweater vest, 61–­63, 80, 172; as cipher/role in stories, 17; hair, 16–­18, 95; as Pureheart the Powerful, 101–­102, 124–­127, 157, 177–­179, 192; as the Man from R.I.V.E.R.D.A.L.E., 101, 157, 179, 192; lack of money, 17–­ 18, 37; rivalry/friendship with Reggie, 52, 71–­72, 90–­91, 163 Archie Annual (comic book), 12, 19, 37–­ 38, 72, 159, 187 Archie as Captain Pureheart (comic book), 15, 127 Archie as Pureheart the Powerful (comic book), 15, 127 Archie-­Betty-­Veronica love triangle, 4, 15, 17, 32, 38–­41, 49–­52, 91–­92, 98, 136, 141, 143–­145, 170, 196 Archie Club News, 111, 114–­115, 124, 132-­ 133, 140, 180, 201 Archie Comics: academic treatment of, 4–­6; adventure genre, 99–­102, 108–­111, 113–­115, 192; and art, 46–­49; and the US Postal Service, 102–­103, 111; circulation, 3, 5–­6, 13, 15–­16, 31; continuity/lack of continuity, 7, 16, 19, 21, 29, 34, 41–­43, 76, 96–­98, 114, 121–­122, 130, 134, 137–­139, 158–­159;

H 213

214  IN D EX Archie Comics (continued) copied stories and art, 14–­15, 57–­61; credits/attributions, 173; cultural relevance/relationship, 3, 6, 18, 29, 49, 52–­55, 66–­68, 82, 95–­96, 98, 109, 140–­143, 148, 153–­154, 174–­176; house style/aesthetic, 14, 52, 88, 99, 119–­ 121, 190–­191; in/and other media, 5, 15, 100–­102, 114–­115, 132–­133, 153–­154, 156–­158, 177–­182, 201–­203; length, 12; production, 8–­9, 12, 14, 19, 21, 43–­44, 58, 127–­128, 167–­169, 195; race/gender in 12-­cent era, 30–­31, 35, 51–­56, 64, 66, 111–­112, 140–­143, 146, 196; readership, 14; repetitiveness of 12-­cent era stories, 11, 34, 44, 57–­61, 158–­160, 211; reprints, 140, 186; stories, nature/complexity of, 6, 8, 36, 46, 102, 109, 122, 163–­166, 178–­ 180, 184–­185, 187, 190–­191, 211; story length, 11–­12, 99; value, 3 Archie Digest (comic book), 44, 118 Archie Giant Series (comic book), 12, 14, 16, 29, 39, 43–­44, 51, 54, 60, 65–­66, 104, 108, 137–­138, 162, 173, 187, 203, 205; Archie’s Christmas Stocking, 138; Around the World with Archie, 43; Betty and Veronica Summer Spectacular, 43; Katy Keene, 43; World of Jughead, 43 Archie Show, The (television show), 180–­181, 202 Archie’s Joke Book (comic book), 14–­15, 33, 40, 46, 60, 65, 69, 83–­84, 91, 104, 154, 160–­161, 177–­178, 197 Archie’s Madhouse (comic book), 14 Archie’s Pals ‘n Gals (comic book), 9–­10, 12, 14–­16, 21–­23, 35, 44, 78, 91, 126, 130, 169, 179, 187, 197, 202, 211 Archie’s Rival Reggie (comic book), 14, 71

Archies, The (band), 15, 52, 101–­102, 127, 133–­134, 153, 157, 165, 167, 177–­182, 184, 201–­203; precursors in comics, 177 “Art for Art’s Sake” (story), 47 auteurism and cultural legitimacy of comics, 5, 7 “Bad Day at Boulder Beach” (story), 159 banjo, 196–­197 Barks, Carl, 109, 135, 210 Barry, Jeff, 180 “Bathing Beauty, The” (story), 147 “Battle Lines” (story), 28 “Beast, The” (story), 203 Beatles, The, 154, 178 Ben Casey (character), 100, 116 Betty and Me (comic book), 14, 40–­41, 50, 57, 62, 99, 126–­128, 137, 177, 196, 198 Betty and Veronica (comic book), 6, 12–­ 14, 16, 19, 21, 26–­30, 34, 39–­40, 47, 49, 51, 53, 55–­58, 62, 66–­68, 70, 72, 74, 82, 90, 94, 102, 106–­108, 111–­112, 119, 122, 126, 129–­130, 134–­135, 141, 153–­154, 158–­159, 165, 167–­169, 173, 177, 189, 197, 202; sales of, 6, 14 Betty Cooper (character), 4, 9, 11, 13–­21, 27–­29, 32–­33, 35–­36, 38–­44, 49–­53, 55–­59, 62–­63, 65–­68, 70–­75, 82, 84, 89, 91–­94, 96–­98, 102–­103, 106–­107, 110–­111, 118–­119, 121–­122, 126, 128, 137, 140–­145, 150, 152–­153, 158–­159, 163, 168, 172, 175, 180, 182, 184, 190, 193–­194, 196, 198, 202, 206, 208–­209; as disruptive influence to Archie and Veronica, 38–­41, 49–­52, 150, 172; as Superteen, 126; attempted murder of Archie, 51–­52; hair, 4, 38, 56–­57, 91–­92, 168 “Betty’s Diary” (stories), 51, 99

IN D EX  215 Beverly Hillbillies, The (television show), 156 “Big Blowout, The” (story), 120, 134 Big Ethel (character), 16, 36, 65, 119, 140, 145–­148, 159–­160 Big Moose (character), 16, 28, 35, 45, 50, 68–­70, 73–­74, 83, 88–­89, 92, 105, 128–­129, 136–­137, 142, 147, 151-­ 152, 157, 166, 176–­177, 201 “Bikini Beat” (story), 203 Bingo Wilkin (character), 85 “Black Book Bluff ” (story), 122 “Black Book Returns, The” (story), 122 Blackboard Jungle (film), 174 “Board Game” (story), 158 Bolling, Bob, 14, 159, 170–­173 “Bon Voyage” (story), 131 bowling, 19–­21 Brando, Marlon, 175 “Brushoff, The” (story), 45 Bubble McBounce (character), 172 “Bulb Snatcher” (story), 116 Bunny (comic book), 86 “Button Business” (story), 80 “Buzzin’ Cousin” (story), 171 Byrne, John, 210 “Canine Capers” (story), 202 Captain Hero (character), 127 “Cave Man Caper, The” (story), 129 “Caveman Casanova” (story), 96 “Challenge, The” (story), 39 “Champ of Camp” (story), 48 Chekov, Anton, 20 Cheryl Blossom (character), 145 “Chicken in a Basket” (story), 141 Chilton, Natalie, 209 Choklit Shoppe, The, 18–­19, 117, 149, 162, 182–­184 Claremont, Chris, 210 Clayton, Chuck (character), 52

“Clothes Conscious” (story), 56 Coach Kleats (character), 121, 142, 167 “Comeback” (story), 134, 183 Comics Code, The, 6, 148–­149, 174 comics creators contempt for art world, 46, 48–­49 comics studies, 5–­6, 76–­78, 115–­118, 162 Cooper, James Fenimore, 4 “Cover Up” (story), 136 “Cream of Contentment” (story), 193 Cricket O’Dell (character), 134 “Cure, The” (story), 93, 120 Dante, Ron, 180 Date With Debbi (comic book), 86, 88 DC Comics, 86, 88, 123, 127, 210 “Dear Betty and Veronica” (text feature), 111 DeCarlo, Dan, 6–­7, 12, 14, 24, 31, 45–­46, 55, 57–­60, 66, 82, 85–­87, 91, 94, 98, 103–­104, 106–­108, 123, 140, 147, 164, 169, 173, 186, 197–­199, 203–­205, 211; on Archie daily strip, 31, 198; and the Archie style, 14; as artist on Betty and Veronica, 6, 14, 55–­56, 106–­107, 169, 198; and Fairy Godmothers, 106–­107; foreground portraits, 107–­ 108, 203–­205 Dell Comics, 14 Dennis the Menace (comic strip), 139 “Dependable” (story), 71 “Desk Jockey” (story), 149–­150 “Destruct” (story), 136 “Devil Woman” (story), 28 Dewey, Thomas E., 117 Dilton Doiley (character), 16, 45, 66, 68–­69, 88, 92, 100, 137, 145–­146, 178, 182, 187 “Dilton in Archie Come Home” (story), 68 “Dipsy Doodles” (stories), 47, 154–­156

216  IN D EX disappearing body parts, 44–­46, 82 Disney, 108, 210 “Dog Gone” (story), 202 “Don’t Quote Me” (story), 78 “Don’t Read This” (story), 152 “Double Oh Lodge” (story), 27 Doyle, Frank, 9–­11, 13–­14, 19–­21, 24, 52, 68, 74–­75, 79, 82, 87, 89, 92, 124, 135, 149, 162, 164–­165, 173, 176, 192–­195, 197, 206; as writer on Archie, 13, 19–­ 21, 68, 89, 135; as writer on Archie’s Pals ‘n Gals, 9, 11; as writer on Betty and Veronica, 14 Dr. Kildare (character), 100, 116 “Dream Boy” (story), 135 “Dullsville” (story), 29 “Dumb Animal” (story), 203 Eco, Umberto, 209 Edwards, Joe, 122, 139–­140, 189 “Eep! Omigosh!,” 119–­121, 163, 193, 209 “Egyptian, The” (story), 89–­90 “Electronically Yours” (story), 145 Epp, Marty, 124 Evelyn Evernever (character), 172 Everything’s Archie (comic book), 15 Evilheart (character), 126 “Fan Attics” (story), 153 Fangs Fogarty (character), 172 fashion, 27–­28, 55–­56, 61–­63, 67, 79–­82, 96, 111, 189–­190, 209 Fass, Myron, 86–­87 “Fate of the Phoenix!, The” (story), 210 “Father Knows Beast” (story), 202 Feiffer, Jules, 190 “First Peace” (story), 98 Flash Gordon (comic strip), 108 “Flower Power” (story), 67 Fly, The (character), 13, 87, 122–­124 “Forest of Prime Evil, The” (story), 89

“Fortune Hunters” (story), 147 Foucault, Michel, 7 Fred Andrews (character), 17, 54, 98, 101, 148, 170, 174–­176, 182, 195–­197, 202 “Get the Message” (story), 62, 91 Gilligan’s Island, 4 “Given the Business” (story), 182 Glasberg, Ronald, 4 “Go-­Go Club, The” (story), 179 Goldberg, Stan, 86, 211 “Golden Fleecing, The” (story), 210 Goldwater, John, 6, 148, 174 “Guess Again” (story), 163 “Hard Choice” (story), 41 Hartley, Al, 86 Harvey Comics, 86 “Hats a Plenty” (story), 80 “Hats Off ” (story), 80 head over heels position, 92–­94, 151, 185 “Heads Up” (story), 82 Henry Brewster (comic book), 86 Hernandez, Jaime, 119 historical/caveman stories, 88–­90, 95–­ 98, 168, 178, 212 Hot Dog (character), 167, 201–­203 “How to Write Comics” (story), 9 “Howling Success” (story), 202 “Human Handbook, The” (story), 75 “Impossible Journey” (story), 199 “Inspiration” (story), 135 “Interpreter, The” (story), 61 Jackpot Comics (comic book), 71 Jaguar, The (character), 122–­124 Jealousy, 73–­76 “Jingle Jangled” (story), 138 Jingles, Santa’s Christmas Brownie, 121, 137–­139

IN D EX  217 Johns, Jasper, 49 “Joke, The” (story), 192 Josie (character), 15, 84, 88, 123 Josie (She’s . . .), (comic book), 84 Josie and the Pussycats, 85 Jughead (comic book), 3–­4, 6, 13–­14, 16, 19, 37, 41–­42, 47–­48, 63–­66, 70–­72, 80–­82, 86–­90, 99, 104, 117, 120, 122, 124, 127–­129, 145–­147, 149–­150, 154, 160, 162–­163, 165–­166, 168–­169, 182–­ 183, 198–­200, 203 Jughead Jones (character), 13–­14, 16, 21, 26–­28, 32, 35–­36, 39–­43, 47-­48, 50, 56, 63–­67, 69–­72, 73–­75, 78-­84, 89–­90, 92–­93, 96, 98–­100, 106–­107, 109–­110, 114, 116–­117, 121–­122, 124, 127–­128, 130–­131, 135-­137, 142, 144–­ 147, 149–­151–­152, 154–­157, 159–­160, 162–­163, 165–­166, 176–­179, 182, 187, 192–­193, 195, 198–­200, 202–­203, 206, 208–­209; appetite, 41, 47, 63, 65–­66, 80, 182; as Captain Hero, 127; and his hat, 79–­82, 84, 127; misogyny/ asexuality of, 41–­43, 63–­65, 80, 146, 150; as narrative catalyst, 64, 66, 114; outsider/oddball world view, 47, 63–­ 66, 73, 124, 154–­156, 166; relationship with art, 47–­48, 154–­156 Jughead as Captain Hero (comic book), 15, 127 Jughead’s Fantasy (comic book), 13, 43 Jughead’s Jokes (comic book), 13, 15, 83–­84 Kathy (comic book), 86 Katie Keene (character), 13 Ketcham, Hank, 139 Kim, Andy, 180 Kipling, Rudyard, 78 Kirshner, Don, 180–­181 “Kiss Off, The” (story), 94

“Kisser Strikes, The” (story), 51 “Labor of Love” (story), 179 Last of the Mohicans (book), 4 Laugh (comic book), 13–­17, 28, 36, 40, 48–­49, 63, 69–­70, 85, 89, 101, 122–­ 124, 139–­140, 147, 152, 163, 167, 169, 179, 186, 195, 206–­207 “Laugh It Up” (story), 77 “Lazy Laddie” (story), 162 Leave It to Binky (comic book), 86 “Letter Perfect” (story), 102 “Letter, The” (story), 134 “Liberty Belle” (story), 50 Lichtenstein, Roy, 46, 48 Life With Archie (comic book), 12, 14, 16, 27, 29, 34, 36, 43, 47, 52–­53, 63, 67, 84, 97, 99–­104, 109, 113–­115, 120, 124–­128, 134, 137, 141, 156–­157, 165, 167, 169–­170, 177–­179, 184–­185, 187, 190–­192, 197 “Light Work” (story), 176 “Like Real Gone” (story), 44 Li’l Jinx (character), 114, 122–­123, 139–­ 140, 187–­188 Li’l Jinx (comic book), 139 Li’l Jinx Giant Laugh-­Out (comic book), 139 “Lip Service” (story), 185 Little Archie (character), 72, 74, 169–­173 Little Archie (comic book), 14, 16, 101, 169–­173 Little Archie in Animal Land (comic book), 172 Little Archie Mystery (comic book), 14, 173 Little Archies, The (band), 172 “Little Black Book, The” (story), 121 “Little Miss Fortune” (story), 134 Little Orphan Annie (comic book), 108, 209

218  IN D EX Little Pureheart (character), 172 “Looker, The” (story), 43 “Lost Weekend” (story), 158 Love and Rockets (comic book), 119 Lucey, Harry, 6–­7, 9–­11, 13–­14, 19, 21–­26, 31–­32, 45–­46, 52, 60–­61, 74–­75, 79, 82–­83, 87–­90, 96–­98, 104, 106, 109, 119–­121, 123, 127, 131, 135–­136, 140–­ 141, 151, 156, 160, 163–­165, 167–­169, 171, 173, 180, 184–­186, 192–­195, 197, 199, 201, 206, 209, 212; as artist on Archie, 6, 13, 19, 21, 82, 89–­90, 96, 104, 106, 119, 135, 160; as artist on Archie’s Pals ‘n Gals, 9, 11; head over heels position, 92–­94, 151, 185 “Mad Plaid” (story), 206–­209 Man from R.I.V.E.R.D.A.L.E. (character), 101, 157, 179, 192 Man from U.N.C.L.E., The (television show), 157 “Man’s Best Friend” (story), 202 “Martian Menace” (story), 133 Marvel Comics, 42, 86, 123–­124, 127, 169, 210 Mary Andrews (character), 17, 151, 170, 193, 195–­196 Melody (character), 85, 88 “Men Behind the Women, The” (story), 28 Midge (character), 16, 35, 50, 69–­70, 73, 128–­130, 136–­137, 142, 147, 166, 197–­198 Millie the Model (comic book), 85–­86 Miss Beazley (character), 32, 167 Miss Grundy (character), 32, 47, 71–­72, 80, 93, 137, 154, 166–­167, 172, 199 “Money Makes the Scene” (story), 18 Monkees, The (band and television show), 178–­180 Montana, Bob, 14, 31–­33, 38, 60, 68,

196–­197 “Moose ‘n’ Dilton in Spell of Trouble” (story), 69 “More Bounce to the Ounce” (story), 151 “Moving Target” (story), 152 “Mr. Inferno” (story), 106 Mr. Lodge (character), 13, 16, 22–­25, 28, 33, 38, 44, 49, 52, 66–­68, 75, 78–­80, 93, 98, 109, 120, 130–­131, 133–­137, 144, 148, 152–­153, 156, 166, 176, 179–­180, 182–­186, 189, 196–­197, 202 Mr. Mantle (character), 148 Mr. Swensen (character), 167 Mr. Weatherbee (character), 14–­16, 20, 32, 35, 46–­47, 50, 54, 72, 80, 82, 93–­ 95, 98, 136–­137, 149, 151–­152, 154, 157, 166-­167, 172, 176–­178, 182, 195, 199; as Archie’s father figure, 95, 182 Mrs. Lodge (character), 133, 135, 185, 196 Munsters, The (television show), 157 “Music Man, The” (story), 180 nicknames, 118–­119 “Not Guilty” (story), 195 “Odd Appreciation” (story), 47 “Oil’s Well” (story), 92 “Once Upon A Tune” (story), 177–­178 “One for the Books” (story), 95 “One Lump or Two” (story), 151 “One of Those Days” (story), 151 “Open and Shut Case” (story), 63 “Over-­Joyed” (story), 199 Oxoby, Robert, 143 “Painter, The” (story), 47 “Past Present” (story), 56 “Patient, The” (story), 22, 25–­26 Patsy Walker (comic book), 86

IN D EX  219 Penny Peabody (character), 172 Pep (comic book), 12–­16, 31, 35–­36, 38–­40, 45, 52, 54, 58, 70, 75, 85, 101, 104–­105, 120, 122–­124, 127, 140, 142–­ 143, 159, 167, 169, 177, 180, 182–­183, 187, 193, 198, 202 Pepper (character), 85 Peru, population of, 33 “Pharoah [sic] Foul” (story), 130 “Phood Phobia” (story), 66 pinups/covers, 43, 55–­61, 103–­106, 140, 173, 189, 198, 203–­205 “Pirates” (story), 170 “Playboy, The” (story), 67 “Poetic License” (story), 77 Polly Cooper (character), 172 “Pony Tail Tale” (story), 56 Pop Art, 46–­49 Pop Tate (character), 18, 32, 116, 128, 151, 162, 175, 178, 182–­184, 193, 196 “Power Failure” (story), 106 Professor Flutesnoot (character), 151, 167 Professor Paletto (character), 47 “Protection” (story), 176 Pureheart the Powerful (character), 101–­102, 124–­127, 157, 177–­179, 192 “Push-­Button Peace” (story), 128 “Pushbutton” (story), 93

21, 28, 34–­36, 38–­40, 45, 47, 50, 52, 54, 63, 69–­77, 82–­84, 89–­92, 98, 107, 109–­110, 113, 116–­117, 120–­122, 126, 128, 135–­136, 138–­139, 147, 149, 157, 159, 165, 177–­180, 184, 189, 193–­195, 198–­199, 202–­204, 206, 208; as Evilheart, 126; rivalry/friendship with Archie, 52, 71–­72, 90–­91, 163 Reggie’s (Wise Guy), Jokes (comic book), 14, 83–­84 “Reject, The” (story), 174 “Relief ” (story), 195 “Remember the Daze” (story), 50 “Repeat Performance” (story), 120 “Return of Big Ethel, The” (story), 146 “Return of Jingles, The” (story), 138 “Rise and Shine” (story), 148 Riverdale, 17–­18, 29–­31, 47, 52–­56, 61, 66, 74, 82–­83, 85, 102–­103, 148–­149, 166, 171, 174–­176, 192–­193, 196, 204, 212 Riverdale Elementary, 172 Riverdale High, 19–­20, 30, 34–­36, 45–­ 47, 50–­51, 54, 61, 92, 95, 99, 157, 159, 166–­167, 176–­178; student council stories, 34–­36 “Riverdale Hillbillies, The” (story), 134, 156, 184 “Root of All Evil” (story), 18

“Queen Scene” (story), 158 “Quitter, The” (story), 186

Sabrina (character), 85–­86 “Scalper, The” (story), 154 “Scheme Supreme” (story), 42 Schwartz, Samm, 6–­7, 13–­14, 16, 21, 32, 43, 47–­48, 82, 86–­87–­90, 104, 120, 123, 146–­147, 149, 154, 156, 160–­163, 165–­166, 173, 186, 197–­199; as artist on Jughead, 6, 13, 120, 146, 149, 160–­ 163, 198 Scooby-­Doo (television show), 203 “Secret Room, The” (story), 171

“Rash Promise” (story), 62 “Read At Your Own Risk” (story), 166 Rebel Without a Cause (film), 174–­175 “Rebel, The” (story), 142 Reggie (comic book), 14, 71, 116 Reggie and Me (comic book), 14, 36, 71, 126–­127, 159 Reggie Mantle (character), 11, 13–­16, 19,

220  IN D EX Seduction of the Innocent (book), 174 Shakespeare, William, 76–­78 “Shell Shock” (story), 107 Shield, The (character), 12–­13 “Shopworn” (story), 199 “Shore Losers” (story), 159 Shorten, Harry, 87 siblings, absence of, 17 “Signs of Peace” (story), 94 Simpsons, The (television show), 29 “Ski Skirmish” (story), 158 Smithers (character), 22, 24, 68, 93, 136, 166, 185–­186 “Snow Job” (story), 78 Sontag, Susan, 48 “Sound of Music, The” (story), 198 “Sound Off ” (story): B&V 1967, 198; Pep 1965, 198 “Speck Trouble” (story), 198 “Sports Lovers” (story), 74 Spotty (character), 172 “Ssssh” (story), 198 “Stop the World” (story), 130 “Storm Center” (story), 54 “Strange Case of Patient X, The” (story), 47 “Strike Up the Band” (story), 54 “Successful Failure” (story), 38 “Sugar Sugar” (song), 180 “Sundae Best” (story), 183 superheroes, 15, 43, 101, 122–­127, 157, 169, 172, 192, 210 Superman, 209 Superteen (character), 126 Swing with Scooter (comic book), 86 “Take a Day . . . Any Day” (story), 75 “Takes Two to Tangle” (story), 72 Taylor, Dexter, 170, 172 “Teaser for Caesar” (story), 89–­90 “Teevie Jeebies” (story), 100

Terry and the Pirates (comic strip), 108 That Wilkin Boy (comic book), 15, 85 “That’s All” (story), 39 “The Line” (story), 165 “The Most Dangerous Game” (story), 93 Tintin, 108, 132 Tippy Teen (comic book), 87–­88 “Tongue Twister” (story), 19 Tönnies, Ferdinand, 30 “Tough Question” (story), 160 Tower Comics, 87–­88 travel stories, 130–­132 “Unbalanced” (story), 152 Uncle Scrooge McDuck (character), 108, 135 United Girls Against Jughead (UGAJ), 41–­43 “Use Your Head” (story), 90 Valerie (character), 85 Veronica Lodge (character): 4, 11, 13, 15–­22, 26–­30, 32–­36, 38–­41, 44–­45, 49–­53, 55–­58, 62–­63, 65–­68, 70–­79, 82–­84, 89–­94, 96–­98, 102–­103, 106–­107, 110–­111, 116, 118–­122, 124, 127–­131, 133, 135–­137, 140–­145, 148, 152–­154, 157–­163, 165, 167–­171, 175, 177, 179–­180, 182, 184–­185, 189–­190, 193–­196, 198, 201–­204, 206, 208–­ 209; destruction of Betty’s dresses, 27–­28; hair, 4, 38, 91–­92, 167–­169; instability of characterization, 26–­ 27; relationship with Archie, 4, 15, 17, 26–­27, 38–­41; wealth, 26, 28, 150 Vigoda, Bill, 13 Warhol, Andy, 46, 48–­49 Wertham, Fredric, 174 “Westward Ho Ho Ho” (story), 54

IN D EX  221 “Wham Wham Whammy” (story), 151 “What If?” (story), 95 “What’s in a Word?” (story), 136 “Which is Witch” (story), 52 White, Bob, 124 “Who Laughs Last” (story), 162 Wilbur Comics (comic book), 15, 85 Wilbur Wilkin (character), 85

Wild One, The (film), 175 Wood, Bob, 87 Wood, Wally, 87 “Work it Off ” (story), 18 “Worker, The” (story), 120 “Wrong End, The” (story), 73 X-­Men (comic book), 210

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Bart Beaty is a professor of English at the University of Calgary. He is the author of, among other works, Fredric Wertham and the Critique of Mass Culture, Unpopular Culture: Transforming the European Comic Book in the 1990s, and Comics versus Art. He is the editor of the seven-­volume Salem Critical Survey of Graphic Novels. He has translated Thierry Groensteen’s The System of Comics, Jean-­Paul Gabilliet’s Of Comics and Men, and Thierry Smolderen’s The Origins of Comics. With Ann Miller, he is the editor of The French Comics Theory Reader, and with Charles Hatfield, he is the editor of the Cambridge Companion to Comics.