If anything can be said about the large community of comic artists and writers (and to an extent, readers), it’s that they function like a small town - everyone knows everyone else, has had some interaction with them, might have some ongoing political debate that the rest of the world has no interest in or awareness of, but ultimately, there’s a closeness and an innate desire to help each other out when times get rough. We’ve seen our share of illnesses and deaths, and I’ve never experienced an instance where respect was not properly paid.

So, the comic-reading audience collectively mourned in late 2006 when we learned that notable creator and artist Dave Cockrum passed away due to complications with a long-time illness. He’s most noted for being a co-creator to some staple X-Men characters, including Colossus, Storm, and Nightcrawler, as well as redesigning and thus redefining DC Comics’ Legion of Superheroes. In addition to that, he’s had a hand in just about every comic you can name, in one way or another - Fantastic Four, Iron Man and Spider-Man covers, Batman and Justice League interiors, Marvel’s Star Trek comics, and even pre-career letters to the editor found in the back pages of a handful of comics. When he passed, a significant creative force passed as well.

As most comic creators are, he was also a comic collector, and as collectors here, we’ve all idly wondered what our poor families are going to do with our stuff when we’re no longer around to deal with it. After his passing, his widow was left with a significant comic collection.

Enter Clifford Meth : writer, advocate for comic creators, and close friend of my most favorite author, Harlan Ellison (which terrifies me to no end) - mostly because I’ve always imagined Mr. Ellison at the top of a gargoyle-riddled watchtower with a typewriter, a shotgun, and the largest NO TRESPASSING sign known to man. You could see it from space. Even before Dave Cockrum’s death, Clifford Meth (along with Neal Adams) arranged a benefit to help Cockrum’s failing health and increasing poverty, and while that afforded him some more comfortable final years, Meth’s efforts still continue, providing continuing comfort for the family.

Meth has single-handedly been arranging the sale of Cockrum’s vast comic collection, eschewing the fee-riddled venue of eBay and depending on word-of-mouth and the admiration of comic fans - which shouldn’t be underestimated. Nothing says ‘disposable income’ like income that’s spent on costumed superheroes. Meth stopped by the blog here a few days ago to make mention of this, and I thought that it deserved a much larger mention that a blog comment. The frequently-updated comic listings can be seen at his blog, The Clifford Method. Each comes bagged, boarded, and with seal indicating that it has come from the Estate of Dave Cockrum. Beyond even this, Mr. Meth is selling some of his own comics, all checks payable to Paty Cockrum.

There’s a certain appeal to owning a comic that’s been read and appreciated by someone intimately involved with the medium. Included in the assortment are comics that Cockrum referenced while drawing his own art, books that he’d worked on, and books that he just liked. Swing on by the blog and buy some books, and don’t think of it as charity - think of it as genuine and well-deserved appreciation.

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Gotta Collect? Then You Gotta Connect - Join our Collectors’ Community!

In the spirit of Derek’s recent exploration of collecting albums based on multi-LP themed sets (and man, do I have some killer hi-fi zither compilations for you), I humbly present to you the idea of the comic omnibus. Omnibus, one might note, is latin for ‘crazy-huge everything-book that weighs more than your grandma’.

I’ve mentioned the benefits of collecting trade paperback comics, and even a little about hardcover collections, as an alternative to collecting the individual issues of a comic, which have a tendency to be fragile, and if published after 1975, probably worthless anyhow. Trades are a good way to cheaply assemble an entire story arc of a comic and read it all at once, without the dramatic month-to-month cliffhangers and copious shelf space.

The Omnibus is undoubtedly the Cadillac of comic compendiums, in both quality and (unfortunately) price. While your average ‘trade’ collection will collect from six to twelve issues of your favorite comic into book form, the Omnibus almost guarantees thirty or more issues, amounting to (in some instances) almost one thousand pages of comic glory, and if you’re lucky, it’ll be rife with behind-the-scenes art and ideas and insights. Sure, you’ll never get the original context (complete with ads and rusty tetanus-filled staples) again, but at least you’ll have a volume heavy enough to kill someone with. But only if you really, really need to. Like if they try to steal your Fruity Pebbles.

Having a 30-pound comic book tome is, of course, almost as impractical as toting around a stack of disintegrating comics, but for many older comic issues from the dawn of the art form, it’s the only way to read these stories in full. The market for classic comic tales doesn’t seem to be as strong as the market for these newfangled tales, so the reprints and collections are printed in limited quantities, which makes them more expensive volumes.

I mention this now because Marvel is finally reprinting the first volume of their Fantastic Four Omnibus edition, which reprints the first 30 issues of the comic, as well as the first ‘annual’, running a total of 848 pages and one hundred bucks, with an expected release date of November. In the meantime, you can still find the second volume, collecting the next 30 issues, three annuals and running another hundred dollars. In addition to this, they’re also reprinting the 1000+ page Amazing Spider-Man and X-Men Omnibuses, though the latter begins in 1975 with X-Men #94 when Chris Claremont began writing the series, ignoring the classic original stories. Anyone seeking the original x-Men stories can find them in the fifty dollar Marvel Masterworks collections.

While not nearly as deadly in size, DC’s Fourth World Omnibus editions collect a slew of comics based on the writings and art of Jack Kirby during a certain time period. Also of note is DC Comics’ Deadman Collection, which doesn’t collect just one series but features about 20 of eclectic hero Deadman’s appearances throughout other series in a 356-page, slipcased volume.

Madman Gargantua, while also not featuring ‘omnibus’ in the title, is a collection of about 30 early issues of Mike Allred’s Madman over 852 pages, and since only 2500 were printed, it runs a hefty 125 bucks. Of course, I always argue that purchasing large volumes of comics is an investment towards the study of graphic literature, which I both create and teach to high school kids. I wonder if that’ll fly on my taxes.

Jeff Smith’s Bone series features the most accessible omnibus of all, since the One Volume Edition tops 1300 pages and can be bought for only 40 bucks - less, if you shop around. Within one volume, you’ll get the entire epic adventure from page one to the thrilling conclusion. It’s also one of the rare HUGE editions that’s released in paperback - presumably to make it more available to children, since it’s a title that had a strong appeal to the tween crowd. Paperbacks, however, do not as readily withstand the trials of time.

Of course, the word ‘omnibus’ is sometimes used loosely, just like the words ‘collectible’ and ‘love’. If a comic had a short run, and it’s all collected in one place, it’s an omnibus, and even though the word ‘omni’ implies ONE thing, they can come in multiple volumes. Somehow, ‘multibus’ just doesn’t have the same ring, and ‘pluribus’ has been usurped by the rear-sides of pocket change.

They’re not for the faint of heart or wallet, but when it comes to comic collecting for the sake of reading them, partake of the filet mignon that is the omnibus.

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Gotta Collect? Then You Gotta Connect - Join our Collectors’ Community!

For a second time, I was called upon for my curatorial expertise in filling the display case in the childrens’ section of the library. The basic instructions? Bring in something you have a lot of, preferably relating to books. And, oh yeah, fill four shelves with it.

Immediately, my mind spun into the possibilities… collections of robots or dragons, Star Wars or Trek, Batman… what DON’T I collect? I settled on my Marvel character collection, exclusively in Marvel Legends form (with one Marvel Select, but who’s counting?). I’ve lamented and rhapsodized over these figures before, their shaky transition between the hands of ToyBiz and Hasbro, excitement over future figures and disappointment in how the final produced figures might have looked, but I figured that I could absolutely fill four shelves with them… and I had to make it good. I was going to set it up this time.

There was a time when I was unconcerned with what character fit onto which team, as long as they all looked neat together. Having a Dr. Octopus right next to a Hulk didn’t create any cognitive dissonance, but as I became more familiar with the literary history and exploits of the characters, these concerns emerged. Sure, I’ve always kept my Marvel stuff and my DC stuff in very different areas of the room, lest we be stuck in some kind of poorly-written Marvel / DC crossover (because really, they all sucked bigtime), or even worse, another Amalgam universe. Or, holy jeez, another ‘Stan Lee re-writes the DC Universe’ train wreck and the survivor’s guilt that we all felt. So Marvel was going to take a trip to the library, and DC was staying home this time, perhaps for a later display.

[An array of Avengers, including Thor, Giant Man, Wasp, Spider-Woman, Iron Man, Ms. Marvel, Quicksilver, Captain America, She-Hulk, Luke Cage, Hawkeye, Vision and Scarlet Witch]

I settled on dividing the display shelves into four main areas : the X-Men, the Avengers, some Bad Guys and the Fantastic Four & Miscellaneous other heroic folk. The library’s director had made a comment that the orcs from my previous Lord of the Rings display might alarm children, so I decided to keep the bad guys on the top shelf, out of the eyeline of smaller children. I was also told that my Scarface-with-ape-head shirt might scare kids, and to stop dropkicking the more obnoxious runts into the stream. I’m not allowed to do anything, man.

Ultimately, though, any display including a 16” Galactus would be an automatic winner. He’s my piece de resistance. Which is French for ‘awesome space-conqueror’.

[Thanos, Green Goblin, Loki, MODOK, Galactus, Dr. Doom, Mojo, Blob, Magneto]

I’ve never really has such a nice space to display these guys in, since I’m usually relegated to Wal-Mart-purchased do-it-yourself shelving in a very dusty area of the house. I made an effort to determine the most widely recognized and traditional costumes for these characters, since many Marvel figures have movie versions, Ultimate versions, ‘New’ versions, First Appearance versions, and even ‘that one time in 1992 when Rob Liefeld got ahold of us and we still have nightmares about’ versions.

The thing about the childrens’ floor is that it’s a sweltering little division of Hell itself. Not so much in theme or content or even amicability, just in temperature. For some reason, out cooling units have perennial problems, and the upstairs floor is nigh unbearable. Since plastic is such a pliable, resilient and ultimately malleable material, even slight fluctuations in temperature will cause knees to expand and buckle, toppling figures from wherever they might be standing. I know it’s summer not by the crickets or leaves on the trees or my thoughts turning to romance, but by being woken up at 4 AM by Martian Manhunter clattering to the floor and taking Flash and Mr. Terrific with him. These things don’t happen in the winter, leading me to conclude that either our ghosts hibernate, or it’s a product of atmospheric heating.

The display figures take the occasional faceplant. It was at least two days before I got back into the display case and thwarted Dr. Doom’s obvious attempt to project himself through the restraining glass. More often than not, though, the Marvel display is met with delighted inquiries and enthusiasm, and I bashfully admit to ownership of the items contained therein. I’ve met a woman who used to illustrate for Marvel Comics right in my own hometown, and when someone asked “Top shelf, far left?”, I could tell them, “Why, that’s Ultron! Enemy of the Avengers!” I very quietly added ‘please kill me’, but no one heeded my pleas.

I’ve found so much more pleasure in interacting ABOUT the collection than owning it, and just keeping it in Tupperware drawers until I find the next opportunity to display it. In addition to continually inspiring me, the odd guilt I have about collecting (and not, you know, saving the world) is being alleviated by being able to share the fun and joy that I get from looking at these things with the strange denizens of my tiny mountain valley town.