Jack Cole (1) (1914–1958)

Jack Cole drew all of these stories. He may have written most of them. This can't be determined, in part according to editor Craig Yee, because the publisher archives are vague, and perhaps in part, according to my guess, because the authors were so ashamed of their writing that they didn't want to take credit for it. These stories are hackneyed tales of vengeful ghosts and psycho killers and island cults and deal-making devils in top hats. (I did notice the almost interesting proto-Twilight show more Zone story.)

Well, so what. This is an homage to an artist, not a writer. I find art as hard to describe as music. If I told you that nearly everyone in the stories walked around as if they were either catatonic or poisoned with strychnine and that in either case they seemed to be moving in a fever dream, you would get the idea. I found it melodramatic and overdone but enjoyable. I did think that if I had read them as a little boy in the 1950s, I wouldn't have been corrupted, but I would have had nightmares for days afterwards. show less

There's no doubt that these stories were wildly ahead of their time. I've read enough Golden Age comics to know there's nothing else like them. The art isn't spectacular, but the storytelling is miles ahead of what else was happening during that period.

When [author:Jack Cole] killed himself in 1958 with a .22 caliber Marlin rifle, he left behind an impressive artistic legacy. His most famous creation, [book:Plastic Man], not only introduced arguably the first pliable superhero – decades before the Fantastic Four frontman, Mr. Fantastic – but also influenced generations of artists with his outlandish sight gags and superior draftsmanship. In the early 1950s, Cole left his zany stretchable character and joined the staff of the fledgling show more Playboy, where he pioneered the watercolor paintings that came to typify the publication's cartoons. Not satisfied with two iconic creations, Cole invented and sold a daily strip to the Chicago Sun-Times Syndicate in 1958. Betsy and Me collects for the first time the complete run of Jack Cole's final artistic endeavor.

In this domestic farce, Cole related the daily life of the nebbish narrator, Chet Tibbit, and his dysfunctional family, wife Betsy and genius 5-year-old son Farley. By using the then-radical approach of images that contradict the delusional narrative prose, Cole successfully created many humorous moments within the framework of a stereotypical 1950s family. Cole further demonstrated his artistic prowess by embracing a sparse ultramodern abstract style, deviating radically from his previous efforts. The resulting creation proved popular, running in more than 50 newspapers.

Betsy and Me offers an insightful snapshot of 1950s America through sequences such as the family's move to suburbia and their sudden "need" for a car after they realize everyone else owns one ("We were the last of a dying race"). Nothing more typifies the era than everyone's uncomfortable reaction to the supersmart Farley and their resultant fear of alienation.

In his excellent, informative introduction, R.C. Harvey explores the genius of Cole's talent and the mystery of his suicide in a scant 21 pages complete with many illustrations. One fact emerges from reading the introduction and the strips: This masterful collection of the extant Betsy and Me further establishes Jack Cole's reputation as one of the signature cartoonists of the 20th century.

This review originally appeared in The Austin Chronicle show less

A collection of "Betsy and Me" comic strips from 1958 by Jack Cole, multi-talented creator of "Plastic Man", an early contributor of "Playboy" cartoons, and successful cartoonist who inexplicably shot himself in August of that year after a mere 2 1/2 months of his new strip. "Betsy and Me" is about a typical young couple who give birth to a super-genius child. A decent strip, not a great one; Cole will probably forever be most remembered for his "Plastic Man", but the rest of his work was show more well-accepted and of good quality. show less