Sunday, December 9, 2018

Christmas With The Cartoonists


Three animators' cards
a. Walt Disney 1930
b. Max and Dave Fleischer
c. Otto Messmer
a.
b.
c.
🕭

Friday, December 7, 2018

Tuesday, December 4, 2018

Thieves’ Literature: Three centuries of Penny Bloods, Sensational Literature & Popular Melodrama — an Introduction


— by John Adcock —♠

[1]
Thieves’ Literature:

Three centuries of Penny Bloods, Sensational Literature & Popular Melodrama, from the early 1600s to the early 1900s



The greater the crime, the larger the woodcut.  Nothing Like Example, All the Year Round, 1868

Table of Contents

INTRODUCTION

I. LAST DYING SPEECHES, BOG-HOUSE MISCELLANIES, AND BLAZING STARS

II. BARDS OF THE SEVEN DIALS

III. PENNY-A-LINERS

IV. JACK SHEPPARD, PENNY GAFFS, AND JUVENILE DEPRAVITY

V. PENNY BLOODS AND NEWGATE EPICS

VI. BLACK BESS, THE NEW JACK SHEPPARD, WILD BOYS, AMATEUR CASUALS, AND THE LONDON POOR

VII. CONVENT MYSTERIES, EDWARD VILES, AND EQUESTRIAN SPECTACLE

VIII. FAST WOMEN OF LONDON, ANONYMA, AND THE LADY DETECTIVES

IX. SPRING-HEELED JACK, THE DANCE OF DEATH, AND CHARLES PEACE THE BURGLAR

Introduction

In its wider range, thieves’ literature embraces obscene prints, flash songs, immoral books, and degrading performances in low theatres and penny gaffs. — Thieves and Thieving,’ The Cornhill Magazine1860 [1]

Traditional studies have identified the penny blood, or penny dreadful, as an evolution of the gothic novel popular in the late eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries. Bibliographer Michael Sadleir first suggested the theory, which was repeated by Montague Summers in 1940 [2]. The first chapter of E.S. Turner’s popular study Boys Will Be Boys was titled The Gothic Hangover [3]. I have found it more fruitful to widen that view, identifying the penny blood as just one string in a long cultural evolution rooted in the last dying speeches, criminal biographies, and Newgate Calendars popular in previous generations. The Spectator in 1845 noticed that “the sermons and biographies of the Newgate Ordinary are the great originals of the Jack Sheppard and Paul Clifford schools of romance [4].”  


By the 1830s, to keep printing presses from lying idle, publishers and printers of unstamped newspapers, political pamphlets and anti-clerical tracts turned to weekly accounts issued in penny numbers composed of true and fictional crimes, supernatural wonders, and domestic romances. Some of the penny bloods, such as Wagner the Wehr-Wolf, and Vileroy; or, The Horrors of Zindorf Castle, drew their inspiration from the Gothic novel, but the Gothic influence was filtered through the fierce popular melodrama of the London stage. Also influential was the catchpenny press whose dying confessions, broad-sheets and street ballads were bawled about the suburbs of London from dawn to dusk.


The term “penny bloods” refers to the penny parts works published in the thirties, forties, and fifties by publishers like Benjamin Davey Cousins, Edward Lloyd, and George Purkess [5]. Thomas Frost, who wrote a variety of bloods in the forties, described them as “Newgate romances.” In contemporary articles and newspaper accounts these sanguinary works were described as “highwayman literature,” “literature of the rails,” “gallows literature,” “thieves’ literature,” “criminal literature,” “Tyburn literature,” “felon literature,” “yellow literature,” “foul literature,” “kitchen literature,” “literature of horror,” “obscene literature,” “gutter literature,” “literature of the people,” and “literature of the lower orders.” In later centuries, they were the “literature of vice,” “mischievous literature,” “literary sewage,” “pernicious literature,” “satanic literature,” or “sensational literature.” 


In 1886 author Thomas Frost conveyed a sensational story to the proprietor of a large circulation illustrated popular periodical who he does not name. “I am unable to say,” Frost wrote, “whether this publication is one of those which we sometimes hear spoken of as “penny dreadfuls,” because I have never heard that term defined, or any publication assigned by title to that category [6].”


The term “penny bloods” did not exist before 1892, except in phrases such as “bloody-bones school” and “penny blood and thunder.” The phrase was an invention of early penny “blood” collectors like Arthur Edward Waite, Barry Ono, John Medcraft, and Frank Jay. These collectors and booksellers popularized the term to describe the bloodthirsty literature they craved for their book-shelves and recalled from their childhood reading. The Melbourne bookseller J.P. Quaine used to address his letters to these old boy’s book collector’s as “Dear Blood Brother,” and sign off “thine in gore.” 


Writing to a customer in 1951 Quaine explained the view of collectors: “The use of the word “Blood” and “Dreadful” seems a matter of choice. It is generally accepted that a Penny Dreadful should be used to describe wildly imaginative or school stories, not necessarily of a gory nature, while the “blood’ means the really fierce and gory yarns of pirates, highwaymen and cut throats generally. But all the old journals had a bit of both and they would be hard to classify; however, most of the Hogarth’s, Fox’s and Brett’s were bloods purely and simply, especially the Hogarth House lot [7].”


The first known use of the term “penny dreadful” was in The Bookseller of February 28, 1867, and in 1874 a new edition of John Camden Hotten’s Slang Dictionary defined the phrase as “an expressive term for those penny publications which depend more upon sensationalism than upon merit, artistic or literary, for success [8].”  James Greenwood coined a similar term, “penny awfuls,” in 1869 [9]. Researches in Cheap Popular Literature, from The Social Science Review, 1864 describes the serial weekly Halfpenny Gazette, which it later identifies as having a “youth” audience, as being vulgarly known as the “A’penny Orrifier.” That is very close to a “penny dreadful.”
  
Unlike the early “bloods” of Edward Lloyd, George Purkess, and William Clark, which were in the main adult literature, the “dreadful” came to represent a peculiar form of children’s literature of the late sixties and seventies, written almost exclusively for boys, and published in installments in weekly story papers, penny parts, and bound novels. From 1887, on into the twentieth century, reprints of American dime novels were known in Australia and New Zealand as “Deadwood Dicks.” The pejorative term referred to the popular Deadwood Dick tales, which were issued in the 6d. Life and Adventure Library. The publisher was The Aldine Publishing Company of London, which shipped and sold reprinted dime novels with flaring color covers throughout the British Empire.

To avoid confusion, I (arbitrarily) adopt the term “penny blood” for sensational parts literature published in penny numbers between 1832 and 1859, chief among which were Ada the Betrayed, The String of Pearls, Tyburn Tree and The Mysteries of London, and “penny dreadful” for literature published in penny numbers from 1859, when James Malcolm Rymer began writing penny dreadful romances for Reynolds’s Miscellany, until 1933, when the Aldine Company, the last of the penny dreadful publishers, shut its doors for good. Most of the Aldine’s published after 1895 were not strictly speaking penny dreadfuls — Aldine dropped serial penny numbers in the 1890’s to concentrate on boys’ story papers and complete stories in booklet form. The Aldine building, which contained Aldine’s file copies, was destroyed in the London Blitz [10].


A concise description of the penny dreadful is found in an article titled 
The Literature of Vice, from The Bookseller, Feb 28, 1867. Penny dreadfuls were “issued in weekly numbers, at a half-penny or a penny each number. They almost uniformly consist of eight pages of large octavo, printed in double columns, in minion or brevier type, on paper quite equal to that of the ordinary penny newspapers. They are all illustrated with wood engravings; and of the woodcuts themselves we may observe, that some of them are little, if at all inferior, in drawing or engraving, to those commonly seen in the London Journal or the Leisure Hour.” Penny numbers were published weekly, every Saturday.



[2]  J. P. Quaine in his Melbourne bookshop 

Most penny dreadful serials inhabited a strange, weird, and mysterious territory between the two extremes of wealth and poverty. “Our scenes will range from the highest to the lowest...,” wrote James Malcolm Rymer in one penny romance, The Dark Woman; or, Plot and Passion, from 1861. Plots of penny serials introduced readers to a polluted underworld of corrupted royalty, twisted aristocrats, high-toby-men, prison-breakers, and artful dodgers, with background scenery which shifted from the scented bed-chambers of royalty to the meanest hovels above the sewers of London. The road to Newgate Prison was short and quick, with Calcraft The Hangman, or Jack Ketch, with his name like a raven’s caw, waiting at the edge of the scaffold. The critics main complaint was not against the blood, violence, and sexuality exposed in sensational penny numbers, but the contempt for Queen, State, Church, and Law which had its origins in radical freethinking movements of the early nineteenth century.

The struggle with the difficulties of nature, or with savage foes, or with wild animals, which so greatly attracts all English lads, is exchanged for a struggle with the law, its agents, and civilized society [11]. — The Revival of Newgate Literature,’ The Spectator, June 271868

The plots of nineteenth century romances, melodramas, penny bloods and penny dreadfuls consisted of abandoned orphans of mysterious parentage, stolen wills, lost inheritance, masks, disguise, ambiguous sexuality, and emotional and physical violence. Vice was punished, and virtue rewarded, just as it happened on the stage. Many of the heroes — or anti-heroes, were figures from criminal history such as Jonathan Wild, Jack Sheppard and Blueskin (real name Joseph Blake). Female characters were defined as spotless saints or fallen women. Material events were driven by divine providence, coincidence, and fate. For the most part the Victorian public, who we are accustomed to view as prudes, shying at naked table-legs, viewed criminal romances with equanimity and read them for pleasure. Perhaps it is significant that most criminal romances were written under the shadow of the scaffold, with public executions a near monthly occurrence in the United Kingdom until the year 1868.

Killing time has come round again. The Judges are performing their periodical circuits; and, here and there, as the grave impersonation of the law’s majesty departs from the assize town, some guilty wretch, “under sentence,” is “left for execution.” A considerable relaxation in the severity of prison treatment at once takes place towards the condemned. He is more kindly treated than heretofore; he is better fed, more commodiously lodged; friends are allowed to visit him, and a pious chaplain devotes himself to his spiritual welfare. But, notwithstanding all this sympathy, certain dread arrangements are put into progress. 

JACK KETCH slips down from Town early, and by a night train, and the fatal proceeding dawns. The time is not far distant when we shall look back with as great horror at the practice of public executions as we now revert with indignation to the torture which our forefathers applied. 

Great, no doubt, has been our advance along the road of civilisation within the last few years — the mitigation of our criminal code being amongst the best systems of national improvement. But we have improved but slowly. It was only in 1790 that the law for putting criminals to death by burning was repealed. And some of the present generation can recall the frequent Monday morning’s work at the Old Bailey, when you turned your head away, and buried your eyes more deeply in the straw of the hackney coach you sat in, because the crowd at the top of Newgate-street announced that some half-dozen sheep stealers, &c., including a woman or two, were expiating their offences, as it was called, by undergoing strangulation. 

These sickening proofs of lingering barbarism are past. We do not presume to say that capital punishment is now more often inflicted than the safety of society demands; but we wonder that its public exhibition can still be tolerated, being confident that this must eventually be withdrawn, as a brutal and most brutalizing practice [12]. — Public Executions, The Era, 1854

Even when romantic scenes were set in the distant past the cardboard heroes and villains of the penny numbers walked, laughed, and fought in the real streets of London in Wych Street, Hyde Park, Fleet Street, and the Seven Dials. The contemporary reader of the fifties and sixties could shudder as he/she imagined the highwaymen, resurrection men, foot-pads, and boy burglars walking the same streets on view from their own bedroom windows.

There is scarcely a writer at the present day, I believe, connected with the periodical press, but who has written picturesque, humorous, or descriptive sketches, upon the sights, characters, and curiosities, natural and physical, of the Great Metropolis, the Great Wen, the Modern Babylon, the World of London, the Giant City, the Monster Metropolis, the Nineveh of the nineteenth century, etcetera, etcetera, etcetera [13].  Curiosities of London, Household Words, 1855

[3] 
London’s streets and alleys were redolent with history and romance. A boy who read Edward Viles’s Blueskin, a Romance, could personally visit the locations mentioned in the book, which began with a scene set in Wych Street.

On The north side of Wych Street, nearly about the centre, is the entrance to New Inn, through which in the daytime there is a thoroughfare into the dismal region of Clare Market. In a narrow court of this street the notorious Jack Sheppard served his apprenticeship to Mr. Wood, the carpenter; and in White Lion passage stood the ‘hostelrie’ of the “White Lion” the scene of many of the events in the career of that prince of “cracksmen,” who used nightly to meet in the tap-room his professional friends and acquaintances, and with whose feats and various adventures the pen of Mr. Harrison Ainsworth has made us so familiar [14]. — Old and New London, Edward Walford, vol. 3

In the nineteenth century penny dreadfuls were considered ephemera; the writers, illustrators, and engravers carried out their tasks in anonymity, and few mourned their passing. In our own time, we are more tolerant of the lower class attributes of popular culture, the literature of the masses. The lives and adventures of the purveyors of “gallows literature,” are as fascinating as they are elusive.

NOTES

[1] Thieves and Thieving, The Cornhill Magazine, Sept. 1860, p. 337

[2] Preface, A Gothic Bibliography, Montague Summers, London: Fortune Press, 1940, p. ix

[3] Boys Will Be Boys: The Story of Sweeney Todd, Deadwood Dick, Sexton Blake, Billy Bunter, Dick Barton, et al by E. S. Turner, was published in London by Michael Joseph Ltd. in October 1948. A new revised edition followed in 1957 and a further new revised edition in 1975.

[4] The Great Unchanged, The Spectator, May 3, 1845, p.420

[5] The earliest mention of fictional “penny parts” I could find was in the Durham Chronicle March 26, 1825 in which we discover a description of street boys selling cheap knock-offs of Memoirs of Harriette Wilson in penny and two penny numbers.

[6] Reminiscences of a Country Journalist, Thomas Frost, p.176

[7] Dec 6, 1951, Papers and Correspondence of Stanley Lorin Larnach, The University of Sydney

[8] “Put the Pernicious Things into the Fire;” The Perceived Menace of the Penny-Dreadful,  E.M. Sanchez-Saavedra, Henty Society Bulletin, No. 121, 2010

[9] The Seven Curses of London, by James Greenwood, London: S. Rivers & Co. 1869

[10] Speaking of Aldines, Charles Wright, The Collector’s Digest Annual, Christmas 1957

[11] The Revival of Newgate Literature, The Spectator, June 27, 1868, p.764

[12] Public Executions, The Era, March 26, 1854

[13] Curiosities of London, Household Words, June 23, 1855

[14] Old and New London, Edward Walford, vol. 3, p.34

[4] 
Illustrations

[1] Edith the Captive; or, The Robbers of Epping Forest, By James Malcolm Rymer, Illustrated by C. F. Sargent and C. Bonner, 104 Nos. London : John Dicks. May 12, 1860

[2] Photograph of Melbourne bookseller J.P. Quaine,The Advocate, Burnie,Tasmania, Sept 20, 1948

[3] Blueskin: A Romance of the Last Century, By the author of “Black Bess; or, The Knight of the Road” &c. Illustrated by Robert Prowse and others, Edward Harrison, Salisbury Square, Fleet Street, Aug 2, 1863

[4] The Work Girls of London; Their Trials and Temptations, London: Newsagents’ Publishing Company, 147 Fleet Street. Illustrated by Harry Maguire and Robert Prowse, 1864, (colorized image)

CONTINUED IN OUR NEXT

I. LAST DYING SPEECHES, BOG-HOUSE MISCELLANIES, AND BLAZING STARS





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A Page From The Early History of Great Britain

♠️
WILLIAM RALSTON
The Graphic
Dec 24, 1904
♠️

The comic strips of The Graphic and The Illustrated London News
♠️
The Demon Cat; A Naval Melo Drama
♠️

Christmas With The Cartoonists


CHARLES KUHN 
("Grandma")
🕭
RM
🕭

Monday, December 3, 2018

Saturday, December 1, 2018

A Crowded Life in Comics – Charles M Payne


by Rick Marschall


TOP: Color post card announcing CM Payne’s Sunday page, ca. 1900, when he joined a reorganized merger of papers. When Payne left Pittsburgh he was succeeded on the staff by a young Billy DeBeck.

Charles M Payne – “S’Matter, Pop?”

Serendipity, initiative, and geography were responsible in my early days as a fan of cartoons and comics – which were my earliest days overall, for I had the “bug” from the start – to meet many cartoonists.

With no offense meant at the time to Mort Walker and Dick Hodgins and Dik Browne and other idols of the funnies, my biggest thrills were meeting Rube Goldberg, Harry Hershfield, Rudolph Dirks, Russell Patterson, Ken Kling, and other pioneers. Frankly, the big cartoonists of the 1950s and ‘60s were in awe of the legends, too.

An old-time cartoonist was rescued from obscurity about that time. My friend Vernon Greene (who had drawn The Shadow and drew the daily Bringing Up Father when I was  young, and who took me under his wing) somehow learned that Charles Payne was still alive, and living in New York City. He invited him to a meeting of the National Cartoonists Society. Monthly meetings, well attended and well organized, were held at the legendary Lambs Club on West 44th Street, as I have noted here.

Charlie Payne became an instant hit. In his 90th year, but upright, spry, funny, and clever, he danced with the hat-check girls and regaled everybody with stories of the old times. “Old times?” Born in 1873, he joined a paper during the first Bryan campaign, and began cartooning in the first decade of the century. For the Pittsburgh Post he created a Sunday page about hillbilly woodland creatures, Coon Hollow Folks, later titled (perhaps when he switched to the Gazette-Times) Bear Creek Folks. His style was whimsical, and even the aggressive characters were rather silly and sentimental. His drawing style, while in these strips a bit reminiscent of Uncle Remus illustrator J M Conde, was set from the start – minimalist, few backgrounds, bursts of action, and (unique for the time) frequent eye-contact with readers.


He moved, or was lured, to Philadelphia (the Inquirer) then New York City around 1912, where for Pulitzer’s New York World he created a few strips like Honeybunch’s Hubby (which he revived through subsequent decades) and the immortal S’Matter, Pop? This strip was nominally a domestic strip; or nominally a kid’s strip; there was a mother in the household, seldom seen. Almost every gag focused on the interplay between Pop and his sons Willyum and the baby whose only utterance was “Sk’booch”; and the mercurial neighborhood roustabout Desperate Ambrose, always in some fantasy pose, dark but innocent.

Through the years the strip subtly changed titles – Say, Pop!, Nippy’s Pop, and others – and venues: the World; New York American; back to Pulitzer’s World and its syndicate; Bell Syndicate. He kept drawing the page into 1950 (he claimed to me, but I have seen no examples later than the early ‘40s), but, forever ambitious and creative, he drew funny features, including his old forest folk, for early comic-book companies. To the end he prepared samples of strips for syndication… full of his old-timey humor and slapstick, unfortunate anachronisms by that time.

His later attempts included a semi-realistic G.I. Daddy, about returning servicemen; and a hillbilly strip filled with charm and character and rural accents (title forgotten) that would have become a classic. His style, especially in S’Matter, Pop?, was even more sparse: few backgrounds or props; very thin lines for the characters; sometimes with enormous sold-black splotches immediately behind characters, to set them off, or fill spaces.

The minimalism pushed Payne toward surrealistic touches, not the formal silliness of George McManus’s interacting picture frames, but odd wall hangings, strange lamps, and bizarre throw-rugs. All charming.

And, as I noted, he was charming to a new generation of cartoonists at the NCS, where some of the big names of the day did not even know about S’Matter, Pop? Dapper. A jokester when prodded. Dancing with distaff members, who he insisted call him “Popsy.” He took to me and was generous with memories, and some old scrapbook items like vintage proof sheets and such.


He wrote an elaborate letter to me, proud of his 90th year, and confident he had found secret of a long life, something he called Reason 7. He was sure that he could sell his story to Reader’s Digest. The letter was written on a hand-made letterhead with the Reason 7 logo, and an oval cut-out photograph of himself, smiling and youthful.

He enclosed a couple of “old sketches” he “dug up for me.” Bless his heart, they were not old, but drawn specially on shirt cardboard – and, believe me, more special for it. I will reproduce the charming letter, part of which explains the charming drawings. Reproduced here, too, are those “old” drawings produced in the last year of his life.


Charlie Payne charmed everyone he met, just about, but his daily life was not charming. He lived in severe poverty, in Harlem. I will quote from his last letter to me, written in a scrawl that would not reproduce well, on small note-paper:

A year ago, a negro mugger slipped into the elevator here behind me – the first thing I knew he was there he was swing [sic] both fists on my jaws and broke both of them in 4 pieces.

They had me spotted as a rich guy. There was three of them, the police learned (I don’t know how) one at half up and one standing at top door, 6th floor, in case another tenant rang the bell. The muggers idea was to kill me as they always do. He picked me up and went through my pockets and dropped me like a rag, and ran out when the automatic elevator door opened and ran out and down the stairs at the right of elevator.

NOW GET THIS: I hopped up before the automatic door closed and ran to the nearest apartment, messing the place up with BLOOD. That was the first time I found out that I could not be knocked out! Boxers can be knocked out wearing 5-oz gloves. Not so long ago in a light weight fight a fighter was knocked on the ropes and got less of a beating than I got but he never came to, and died....

“Pop” Payne – “Popsy” to the girls and to the end – died less than a year later, in 1964. He had outlived the Biblical forecast of a full life (“three score and 10”) but he might have continued more years, we will never know, drawing, dancing, and charming everyone, just about, who met him. Fifty years of his trademark animals and kids are his legacy, and our treasures.

18

Christmas With The Cartoonists,


Billy DeBeck 
(Barney Google)
🕭
Barney Google and (the great) Bunker Hill Jr
Barney Google, Lowizie and Snuffy Smith
🕭
RM


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Friday, November 30, 2018

Christmas With The Cartoonists


Bill Mauldin

(Pulitzer Prizes for political cartoon;
 Willie and Joe in WW II)

RM
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