Michael Uslan - The Boy Who Loved Batman: A Memoir

The Big Bang that 13.7 billion years ago begat all life in the universe and, according to Justice League of America #21 and 22, a string of possibly endless parallel universes, had nothing to do with me, my life, or my very existence. For me, the only true Big Bang occurred when Krypton blew up in Action Comics #1, page 1, panel 1. That explosion not only rocketed baby Kal-El to earth, bequeathing our struggling planet its very first superhero, a veritable Superman, it also showered us in a stream of glowing green Kryptonite, rocky remnants of that once proud planet, and transformed a normal human boy into a super comic book fan whose character and story would be shaped forever by the all-powerful weekly doses of four-color fantasy illuminating his imagination. My name is Michael Uslan, and thats me.

Me in Comic Book Heaven! At age 8, it doesnt get better than this!

My mom may have given birth to me, but my comic books formed me and made me who I am. Published every Wednesday of my lifetime, they were always the next adventure lurking around the next corner of my mind, they provided new vocabulary to my literary arsenal at age eight from foe to origin to indestructible to invulnerable and they were the protective secret sanctum Bat Cave where I could escape from the real world and find friends, heroes, and damsels-in-distress who didnt make fun of a boy who read comic books. They were a safe place to curl up, whether in a quiet, out of the way corner of the playground, up in our backyard treehouse, or under my blanket at night with my Cub Scout pocket flashlight.

Who am I? Im the little kid whose preconceived notions about high school and dating came from reading Archie Comics, Betty & Veronica, and Jughead. Im the fella who, hearing the word Kent, thinks superhero not cigarette. Im the lad who got the A on his Red Badge of Courage book report, never having read the book but only the Classics Illustrated comic book version. Im the fan who scanned every panel of every story in every issue of every comic book looking for boo-boos I could write letters to the editors about and maybe even see my very own name in print in a comic book that has Bruce Waynes name printed in it near mine. Bruce Wayne? Alfred? Dick Grayson? The Joker? The Catwoman? The Penguin? Two-Face? The Riddler? Batwoman? I knew them all. Personally. I knew everything about them. I knew their secret origins (once I found out from my mom what origins were). I knew where the Batmobile was parked.

I knew the name of the street where Bruce Waynes parents were shot and killed. I knew Commissioner Gordons first name and Alfreds last name (both of Alfreds last names; there were two a boo-boo!). I knew every word Bruce Wayne said when, As if in answer, a huge bat flies in the open window I knew every trophy in the Bat-Cave and the one real date on the giant penny. Why do I know all his and have a head stuffed with data, details, and delineations that dont matter to you but were all that mattered to me growing up? Why, on the inside, did I never really, actually grow up? The answer is to know me. Yes, my name is Michael Uslan. But thats not exactly who I am really in my secret identity.

Im the Boy Who Loved Batman.

Wednesday! It was the best day of the week! Better than The Mickey Mouse Clubs Wednesday Anything Can Happen Day. Gimme a break! If you truly wanted to be somewhere on a Wednesday where Anything Can Happen it was at a candy store or drugstore on comic book day! Wednesday was the day each week the new comics went on sale all over America. For a kid born in Jersey City, New Jersey, living for three years in Bayonne, New Jersey, growing up first in Wanamassa, New Jersey, and then, starting in sixth grade in Deal Park, New Jersey, just north of the legendary Asbury Park, I found myself embroiled in layer after layer of New Jersey that made me feel like I would never be able to escape my Garden State if I ever needed to. For me the only true escape was to the sacred eight places that sold comic books in and around Wanamassa that were within a human boys leg power to pedal to on his bike: Wanamassa Pharmacy; Rickys; Deal Pharmacy; Deal Soda Shop; Allenhurst Pharmacy; Andys Soda Shop; Flos, next to the Asbury bus station; and, only as an absolute last resort when all the other places were sold out, that pit-of-terror candy and tobacco store ruled with an iron fist and a tongue of fire by the monstrous proprietor, Old Man Tepid. These were my eight temples to my superhero gods that I faithfully prayed in every Wednesday, poring over the next treasured issue of Fantastic Four, Challengers of the Unknown, Brave & Bold, and countless others.

Comic books were 10 cents. The summer I turned ten, I plucked off the Hey, Kids! Comics! rack at Wanamassa Pharmacy the new issues of Supermans Pal, Jimmy Olsen; Action Comics; and Supermans Girl Friend, Lois Lane; and handed Mr. Lieberman, the pharmacist who owned the place, a quarter and a nickel. He looked down at my three-prong purchase and said, That will be thirty-SIX cents, son. I smiled and said politely, no, the comic books are 10 cents. He turned the Jimmy Olsen around and pointed to a box at the top that made no sense to me. In fact, I could not and totally refused to believe it. The box that had always said either 10 or Still 10 now said 12. I stared hard at it, waiting for it to change back to 10. It didnt. At age ten, I had my first deflating lesson in a thing called inflation something no kid should ever have to know about. I was forced to put back one comic book. I couldnt! How could I leave behind any one of these three issues? I NEEDED them! Lois Lane #30 had a mermaid on the cover! In Jimmy Olsen #57, he was a human yo-yo for a Martian! A Superman

Lois Lane #30 was my first harsh lesson about inflation, while Superman chases tail!

monster made entirely out of Red Kryptoniteand drove me back to Wanamassa Pharmacy before someone else bought Lois Lane. She gave Mr. Lieberman 12 cents for me plus an extra nickel for a package of Topps baseball cards with a hard pink slab of gum dusted with some sort of white powder I dont ever want to know about.

My mom saved the day for me at Wanamassa Pharmacy. On the car ride home, I got to thinking about how parents/caregivers dont make out as well as their kids do in comic books. Think about it: