Clip 'Em and Collect 'Em--Marvel Value Stamps!

 

In 1974, you may recall seeing the beginnings of a curious promotional concept popping up in the letters pages of Marvel's line of comics:

Thus began the push to "clip and collect" Series A of the new Marvel Value Stamps, consisting of numbered, recycled images of Marvel characters in postage stamp form. I imagine that people might have been hesitant to immediately begin clipping the first stamps which were spotted, since Marvel had yet made no announcement as to their purpose, much less why one might want to collect them; in addition, naturally you might have been reluctant to take a pair of scissors to the comics you'd just bought, particularly since in some cases you might have inadvertently clipped out part of that issue's story on the page's other side.

Nevertheless, the stamp of approval is given to yet another

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Marvel Trivia Question

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What were the benefits of clipping and collecting Marvel Value Stamps?

The Marvel Style Of Comics

 

Having gone down memory lane recently with a certain armored arch-villain, it seems fitting to shed some light on some of Marvel's relentless house ads, which were unavoidable when turning the pages of stories published during the Silver and Bronze Age periods. On occasion, such ads featured new art tailored to the caption(s) provided; but often it was one's skill with existing art placement, combined with whatever copy had been prepared and the creativity of the letterer, which were depended on to make the ad come alive and tempt the reader.

Of course, whatever form the final product took, looking over the copy was almost a reading experience in itself--at times even tapping into whatever was trending in pop culture at the time.

Hopefully Sonny and Cher were Marvel fans and didn't object to the for-profit allusion to their song title. On the bright side, the company was in the clear when tapping the drug culture with a blatant reference to the "Marvel mind explosion," daddy-o.

Provisionally Yours, The Paragon Collection

 

And speaking of Chris Claremont...

A curious, but potentially profitable, product offer began making its way into advertising outlets (including Marvel's digital line of comics and, needless to say, websites) in late 2020:

The Paragon Collection, bound collector's volumes containing selected stories of a featured Marvel writer. I'd be interested to know if any of you alert PPC readers took the Hou$e of Idea$ up on this series--and apparently, that information was crucial to whether or not Marvel would proceed with this project at all. The premier offering, a 448-page hardcover book which celebrates the legacy of Claremont, was packaged with a bundle of enticements and made available in a special pre-order sale, which included some eyebrow-raising fine print: If the "minimum threshold" of 1,200 pre-orders wasn't met by the deadline (in this case, December 4), the product wouldn't be moved into production, and all pre-orders would be refunded. If, however, that threshold was met, the product would be shipped in March of the following year. Translation: What level of interest can be expected with this sort of product in the long run--and would this method of marketing produce a favorable return in perpetuity?

Offhand, I suppose the level of interest would be determined by whatever talent is chosen for a particular volume, which makes it improbable that each of these volumes is going to appeal to every comics reader who takes an interest in the Paragon series. And not to be morbid, but if the pre-orders continue to be signed by the featured writer, that person will still have to be among the living. The upside for the talent is that, presumably, they'll be offered remuneration for the use of their name and whatever new material they contribute. (In addition to signings, script notes, etc., Claremont and artist Salvador Larroca will produce a new 20-page story as well as a new Wolverine comic.)

As of December 5, the pre-order threshold was reached and exceeded, with 2,105 orders placed. At $199.00 per bundle (heaven forbid they just slap on $1.00 and round off that number), that works out to nearly $419,000.00 for Marvel (with the buyer responsible for tax and shipping costs)--a nice jumping-off point to general sales, since it's fair to assume "pre-order" implies later retail sales at some point. Whether or not retail outlets will be marking up the price when the product reaches stores (local or Internet) is anyone's guess; Marvel may even consider the $199 amount a special pre-order price and bump up the retail price to take into account their own distribution costs, though outlets such as Amazon might offer special opening deals of their own.

As for the content, the lithographs and other enticements are the real draw here, since quality reprint collections such as Marvel Masterworks and the Omnibus books cover most of the bases being addressed in the Paragon Collection, the difference being the subjective nature in the Paragon inclusions of what constitutes "the most iconic" stories of the writer. For those of you who have dedicated shelving to your comics memorabilia, there's also the lure of a leather-bound series of volumes to tempt you, depending on how many volumes this series produces as well as how completist you are in terms of springing for each and every one of them (though the slipcase each set arrives in will probably be what you end up shelving, à la the Lord of the Rings DVD set). Consider, however, that the leather of these volumes will be different from, say, your leather-bound Gutenberg Bible or your leather-bound collection of the works of Mark Twain, in that it will be "faux-leather" and not genuine; but for the conservationists among you, that may be more of a draw for you instead of a deal-breaker.

I can't help but be curious as to whether this series will be solely focused on writers or will at some point include artists. (Maybe a Volume II series devoted to different artists.) If the profits are encouraging, I suppose it's an option--but a series such as this is perhaps more attractive as a limited series, and with the thought in mind that a $200 price tag isn't going to be sustainable for buyers. But please, what do I know--one glance at the price of an individual comic book and you have to wonder if there's any reticence from comics buyers in emptying their pockets for packaged collections such as this.

With my collecting days behind me, I'll be giving the Paragon Collection a pass, but if you're sufficiently intrigued there's more information on its offerings and content, as well as a few YouTube vids on the subject.

 

Holy Markup, Batman

What in the...?

"Facsimile" editions? Collectible reprints?

Is this some kind of joke?

All The News That's Fit To Disclose

Thanks to my investment advisor, who's known for some time of my fixation on comics, I've indulged in some fascinating reading lately on Marvel's annual reports from the 1990s--a topic which normally wouldn't elicit much interest from the average comic book reader, considering that annual reports generally make for pretty dry reading. What makes the subject a little bit different in this instance is that, with the company's IPO in mid-1991 which made 40% of its stock available for public trading, its annual reports to its new shareholders were presented in (what else?) comic book format, with all the facts and figures cleverly folded into a fully-produced story.

Yet the true draw here is that these reports, begun when Marvel Entertainment Group had every reason to believe the company's outlook was rosy, chart decisions, acquisitions, divestments, and various other factors which would eventually lead to Marvel filing for bankruptcy at the end of 1996--though you'd never know that was on the horizon from the positive spin of the tale featured in its (to my knowledge) final report from 1995, where not even a hard news man like J. Jonah Jameson is interested in digging for the real story.

The plot of the story by Gary Fishman is easy reading: Essentially, the Impossible Man--all for the sake of fun, of course--has stolen the Bugle's pages on the Report, leaving it up to Spider-Man and a number of other heroes to recover them in time to meet Jameson's deadline.

For a more unvarnished look at Marvel's financial straits during the '90s, I'd recommend two sources: First, the Wikipedia entry* on the subject, which very briefly breaks things down by year--and then, for a more investigative approach, a well-written article** from 1998 in The New York Times which does an excellent job of bringing to light everything and everyone that was involved. What I found particularly interesting in the article was the importance placed on speculators, whose penchant for buying multiple copies of a single issue and hanging onto them on the assumption that they would be worth far more than their cover price over time gave Marvel a false sense of how many consumers were actually fueling the market. (Which makes me strictly bush league in that regard--on occasion I'd buy an extra copy, maybe two, of an issue I thought likely to increase in value substantially, but the article speaks of people who would buy twenty copies of issues across the board, many of whom would become retailers in their own right.)

*Marvel Entertainment: Public offering and acquisition; Bankruptcy and Marvel Studios
**Adam Bryant, "Pow! The Punches That Left Marvel Reeling" - May 24, 1998

I haven't delved into the pages of the '91-'94 reports, but I found some of the names that popped up in the company's Board of Directors to be surprising:

Wrapping up the story was a page which offered a look at plans for increasing its exposure in other venues--most notably its "Marvel Mania" themed restaurants which fared poorly, and a Marvel Universe section at Universal's Orlando theme park (which ended up recycling the Marvel Mania concept and toning down the Marvel "universe" to a simple theme store.

On a closing note, and in the interest of full disclosure, my advisor treated me to not just one but two copies of the '95 report--which leads me to believe he knows more about being a speculator than he's willing to let on.

BONUS!

Covers from the 1991-94 Annual Reports.

One Linguine Team-Up and a side of Fantastic Fries, please!

In 1998, Universal Studios in Hollywood opened a new theme restaurant/bar with no small amount of fanfare--but then, what other kind of opening would you expect of something involving Marvel Comics?

And gee, did Marvel Mania (not to be confused with Marvelmania) sound like a great place to stop in for a burger while you were spending the afternoon seeing the sights of Universal, judging by its press release:

A "Marvel-ous" Place to Eat: Southern California restaurant goers can now tell their waiter to "Make mine Marvel" when they go out and eat at Marvel Mania at Universal Studios in Universal City. Owned by Marvel Comics*, the theme restaurant is patterned after other successful eateries like The Hard Rock Cafe and Planet Hollywood, and offers fans a wide variety of comic-related activities and delicious food.

*A slight exaggeration; Marvel Mania was reportedly co-owned and operated with Universal Studios Hollywood and Planet Hollywood.


Highlights include a mini-museum, gift shop, game room and bar. Fans can purchase everything from videos and T-shirts to comic book art and mouse pads, all featuring classic Marvel comic heroes.

Favorites on the Marvel Mania menu include various "Stanwiches" (named after Marvel Founder and comic book legend Stan Lee), Captain America burgers and Fantastic Four Cheese Pizza. The servings are generous and will satisfy even the heartiest of super-hero appetites. Kids of all ages also will enjoy watching television series and films based on Marvel characters on big-screen TVs while they eat.

The younger set will enjoy seeing their favorite Marvel super heroes in person as costumed characters make the rounds posing for pictures. Thankfully, no super villains have yet been sighted!

And of course Stan Lee, in his dusted-off Stan's Soapbox column, couldn't help but give it a rave:

But, hold on a minute--did that release mention Planet Hollywood? The same Planet Hollywood that declared bankruptcy twice, and whose nearly 100 former locations (emphasis on the word "former," with many falling under the category of "planned" or "proposed" and never opening) have since been scaled back to around 9? It turns out the timing of Marvel Mania opening its doors was unfortunate, since Planet Hollywood was taking a beating in the late '90s financially. The company had gone public in mid-1996; but starting in '97, it entered into some failed start-ups based on its brand, and suffered more losses by expanding too quickly, both domestically and internationally. By 1999, its share price had sunk to less than $1.00. You can probably guess the fate of Marvel Mania, celebrating its opening in February of '98 only to be shuttered in September of '99 after less than two years in operation.

The facade that once showcased Marvel Mania went through several different makeovers over the years, as one attraction after another occupied the 25,000-square-foot facility where you used to be able to stop in for a "Cap's Battle Burger." Thanks to "The History of Universal's House of Horrors," we have an idea of what occurred following Marvel Mania's unceremonious end.

The building in which House of Horrors is located can be traced back to the beginning of the Entertainment Visitor’s Center (otherwise known today as the Upper Lot). With such famous restaurants as Victoria’s Station and Marvel Mania, this location was primarily built for one purpose--to be a restaurant. Marvel Mania (which was far before its time) was a heavily themed restaurant operated by the Planet Hollywood franchise company. With financial difficulties plaguing the company, the Marvel Mania Restaurant was closed without notice to its employees after the summer of 1999--operating less than a year. [sic]

With small traces of the Marvel Mania building being removed, the venue remained dormant for the off-season of 1999 and reopened as a behind-the-scenes attraction known as the Chicken Run Maze in June of 2000--utilizing only one level. Even the Marvel Mania carpet and restrooms remained themed to Marvel Mania, though the area was not accessible to the public.

Of all the facilities that rose in Marvel Mania's place, Universal's House of Horrors appeared to be the most successful, its entrance ringing slightly familiar to those who remember dining at Marvel Mania towards the end of the 20th century.

And speaking of dining, let's crack open one of those menus!

(They even had a special menu for kids.)

Artist Chris Bachalo also rendered a poster for the opening.

From what I understand, the "Marvel Mania" concept was later adapted by Universal to welcome visitors to a simple theme store (though the Universal park in Orlando would allocate a more generous amount of space to Marvel's characters).

(Chances are Disney puts them both to shame.)

BONUS!

No doubt there would be Marvelites in '98 with their cameras rolling at this place, eh?

The Told And The Untold

"By October 1979, morale at Marvel was low enough to attract the attention of The New York Times, which quoted anonymous staffers grousing about middling-quality comics and a focus on licensing toys and Sharpee cups and bath towels." -- Sean Howe

Slowly but surely I've been making my way through Sean Howe's 437-page book from 2012, Marvel Comics The Untold Story, which I unwind with just before bedtime. I enjoy reading very much, but if I don't set aside time for a book, I never have the time to sit down with one; the fact that I picked up Howe's book years ago and am only now plowing through it should tell you something. Also, I'm one of those people who becomes so relaxed by rare moments of "down time" that, unfortunately, I can only read a few pages of a good book before I feel myself losing focus and inevitably nod off. (You can imagine how long it took me to get through a stack of comics for the week. Answer: a week.) With all due respect to Mr. Howe, his book is a page-turner, but not one which I could apply the phrase, "you can't put it down" (though that doesn't diminish his work in the slightest). But for what it's worth, it does occupy a place on my nightstand, an honored place for any tome as nightstands everywhere can attest.

Lately, the book has been helpful in bringing to light and exploring fascinating information from behind the scenes of Marvel's production process, such as Sal Buscema taking off the gloves on an issue of Incredible Hulk, for example--though I've found myself raising an eyebrow at times during the reading process. Howe has been diligent in documenting his sources from quoted material--yet there is an almost necessary tendency for any author of biographical or other nonfictional material to fill in the blanks in an effort to provide the complete picture, and that can often take the form of speculation or conjecture, even taking into account "the personal recollections of more than 150 individuals, and relatives of individuals, who worked at or with Marvel Comics," as Howe states in his acknowledgments. (I haven't conducted a fraction of the interviews that Howe has, and look how often I've indulged in conjecture.) There's a point, for example, in litigation where counsel will at times object to testimony and note that "the witness is drawing a conclusion," which cautions that the witness's opinion is essentially that of a lay witness, not a person qualified as an expert; in other words, they can testify to facts, but not offer opinions, inferences or conclusions. In Howe's case, I have to take what supposition he offers with a grain of salt. His interjections make for interesting reading, but what I'm reading may not necessarily be factual. Even quoted material can be suspect; for instance, a passage in the book that reads, " 'I saved Marvel's ass,' Kirby told an interviewer...", which Howe documents in his notes as originating from an "Unpublished Leonard Pitts interview with Jack Kirby." Putting aside for the moment that the key word there is "unpublished," the reference could also be interpreted as the comment possibly having been declared "off the record" at the time of the interview, which calls into question not only its authenticity but the decision to deem it repeatable in a book being prepared for publication.

The behind-the-scenes nugget that's the subject of today's post is a good example of how connecting the dots can take a zig-zag route and have one wondering if the facts are adding up correctly; yet the foundation of the actual chain of events, at least, is stable enough to recount. The situation dates back to when the decision was made to bring the character of Jean Grey back following her demise in 1980 after artists Bob Layton and Jackson Guice successfully pitched to Editor In Chief Jim Shooter the idea of reuniting the original team of X-Men for the new X-Factor title, a concept that carried the potential of a marketing juggernaut. Even Chris Claremont, who initially resisted the idea, came on board with it--and after taking the crossover frenzy of the reading list leading up to X-Men #200 off his plate, he was curious to see how FF writer/artist John Byrne was handling Jean's reintroduction in Fantastic Four. And that's where the fun begins.

"Claremont took a look at how Byrne was handling the backstory of Jean Grey in Fantastic Four and petitioned Shooter for a chance to rewrite Byrne's two-page flashback sequence, which X-Factor penciller Jackson Guice then drew in his best faux John Byrne style. This was Shooter's chance to appease his star writer, still stinging from the way Jean Grey's return had been commanded, and even John Byrne didn't have enough clout to stop it."

All The Donny Osmond You Could Want

Part of the fun of flipping through what my parents used to call "funny books" was the plethora of ads tucked between those pages that caught my eye, all interesting in their own way and many of them tempting to answer, if only out of curiosity. But in the '70s, when I was discovering the advantages as well as the pitfalls of mail-ordering, I found myself grabbing for handholds to extricate myself from one of the most aggressive marketing blitzes ever to grace the inside of a magazine, funny book or otherwise--the "what a deal!" approach of the mail-order record clubs, offering discounts galore to the LP buyer as long as you followed a few simple procedures during your membership, like keeping careful track of what you were being sent, agreeing to buy X number of selections, and returning response cards promptly.

Wait--keeping what? Returning what? Agreeing to what?

I remember joining a couple of these clubs (dropping one, replacing it with another), but there were a number of them in play (ha ha! get it?) in a wide spread of newspapers and publications, comic books among them. Columbia, Capitol, and RCA were affiliated with their respective record labels; there was also Citadel Record Club, Record Club of America, and various offshoots. (RCA would later change its name to the BMG Music Club, though I used to wonder if RCA and Record Club of America were one and the same.  They weren't.) The clubs came into prominence in the 1950s with stars like Peggy Lee and Andy Williams, updating through the decades and giving the turnover of recording artists ample visibility in the ads--and why not? You couldn't ask for better pitchmen/women, since their images gave the illusion that they were endorsing the clubs and the artists were in sync as far as wanting to make you happy.

The ads varied little from company to company, usually occupying two full pages and plastering a sampling of the music they offered while a hard-to-resist start-up offer in enlarged text made sure you were tempted to read a little further to see if these guys were on the up-and-up.

Given the deals they were offering, you tended to skim through the terms and conditions that were peppered with exclamation points and words like "benefits," "free," and "hundreds of selections" and convince yourself that you could manage whatever hoops you had to jump through to get your money's worth. If memory serves, Columbia snagged me first--so let's say I joined in 1972 (give or take a year) so that the pictured ad serves as an example for describing the basics of how the pricing worked. Basically, you selected 14 LPs from the choices shown in their ad and paid $2.86.  Once you sent in your form, you became obligated to purchase ten regularly-priced records within the next two years. If you wanted tapes instead of LPs, you paid the same $2.86 for eight tapes, and agreed to buy seven more tapes in the same time frame. (The ratio of LPs vs. tapes in the initial deal was obviously unequal; you also had to purchase nearly the same amount of tapes to complete your obligation. Perhaps 8-tracks and cassettes were more in demand.) I don't know about you, but in 1972 I wasn't really chomping at the bit to crank up my stereo with Mantovani, Jim Nabors, or Vikki Carr, so Columbia's introductory selections were obviously designed to avoid having the company eating any losses from quality contemporary albums being swept up by this deal.

That takes care of the front-end of this arrangement. Then, every month, you'd receive a catalog magazine from which you could make selections for purchase that would incrementally satisfy your part of the agreement. Albums in 1972 averaged around $6.00 each, so paying for ten more at "regular club prices" of $5-$6 over a two-year period was a guaranteed win for the company and not too bad for the buyer.

BUT...

There was a little more to this deal that you had to keep in mind for the next 24 months.

• Unlike shopping at a record store, you're not only limited to choosing from the records being offered in the company's club magazine^*, but you're also coughing up shipping and handling fees for the item(s) you choose to buy.
• With the magazine, you're also sent a "response card," which you have to act on one way or another by a certain date. Either mail it back, with or without choosing any record(s)--or do nothing, which whether you realized it or not indicates that you want the company to automatically ship you its selection that's geared to the musical interest you've previously checked off, and for which you'll be billed. On the bright side, at least it's one less record you'll have to keep track of--on the other hand, you may find yourself having to explain to your cool friends why "Engelbert Humperdinck's Greatest Hits" is on your shelf.
• On occasion--the word "occasion" having a different meaning for you than it does for the record company--you'll be offered "special" selections which fall under the same conditions for accepting or rejecting. This is where the "keeping track of" part of this arrangement comes into play. You'll probably want to stock up on postage stamps. Starting a log wouldn't be a bad idea, either.

^*"Selections," as the company refers to them--i.e., you don't simply get to choose from the company's entire music catalog. Wouldn't that have sweetened the deal?

The light at the end of this tunnel is that you could cancel your membership once you'd fulfilled your obligation. But I found the company's "we want you back!" follow-up solicitations to be relentless, somehow obtaining my new address whenever I moved--dogging me for years after cancelling. All those music celebrities beckoning me... I could have started a scrapbook with all of those updated album covers.

Given such a niggling experience, where I'd spent way too much time macheting my way through the business side of music and not enough time enjoying the actual music, the terms offered by Record Club of America hit me like finding a lush oasis on Tatooine.

No cards to return... you're sent only what you order... you can defer your introductory choices and instead make them from an expanded listing... and you save a minimum of 33% with each record you order. In return, you pay a one-time membership fee of $5 (though you're still charged shipping and handling costs). I have a dim memory of signing up with this club, but I honestly don't remember much about whether or not I was pleased with their offerings or service. I do remember that they didn't pester me about renewing my membership to nowhere near the degree that Columbia buried me with such mail--more on that in a moment.

Over the years, these clubs and others would substantially cut their prices in their introductory deals as their market diminished, even after shifting over to CDs. (Columbia, for instance, would offer "8 CDs or 12 cassettes for 1¢"--would the subscriber actually have to enclose a penny with their sign-up form, I wonder?) But many of them hung on longer than you might expect, to the point that when they did fold it came as a surprise that they were still doing business. RCA/BMG closed up shop in mid-2009; four years earlier, BMG had acquired Columbia, at which time the latter shifted to a mail-order DVD club before finally filing for Chapter 11 in August of 2015, with debts of over $60 million and assets at just a fraction of that amount. At last report, Columbia's high point as a record club was reached in 1996, with profits of $1.6 billion. How the mighty had indeed fallen.

By comparison, Record Club of America had a short run--all too short, staying in business only from the late 1960s to the mid '70s. At some point they'd made deals with record companies to allow them to acquire their record inventories at wholesale prices; but whereas normally-pressed records were guaranteed returnable to the big labels if they didn't sell, the new arrangement that allowed the record club to label their stock "Manufactured by Record Club of America" stuck the club with those unsold records and tapes, with no reimbursement. In other words, "Oops." (That probably explains why I'd lost touch with them.) You might enjoy comics enthusiast John Simcoe's nostalgic visit to the club's dormant warehouse in York, PA, decades later--still standing with its sign welcoming passers-by, as if enticing you to one more great bargain.

Marvel In Your Mailbox

It wasn't until the mid-1970s when I began spotting Marvel cranking up its own subscription service. At the time, dedicated comic book stores were still a ways off, and those of us who were getting our feet wet with comics collecting were forced to make the rounds at newsstands or the spinner racks at drug stores or mini-markets to pick up the books we wanted--locally covering as wide a radius as possible, in order to compensate for walk-in traffic that may have hit our spot(s) before us, or a particular vendor possibly not stocking a title or two on our list. Eventually, it made more sense to take advantage of some of the mail-order comics vendors who were popping up in the nested ads pages found tucked into our comics, featuring dealers who stocked in bulk and offered to pull, package and mail your monthly books to you, a method which seemed (you'll excuse the phrase) made to order for those who didn't have the time or perseverance to "hunt" for their comics, while also allowing buyers to get their books in as pristine a condition as possible.

If you went that route, you had to shop around for the most reliable company to meet your needs, and cost was definitely a factor in your decision since you had to consider shipping costs along with the sticker price of your books; there might also have been miscellaneous "handling" fees attached, since these vendors had to make sure their business made a profit. It also stood to reason these private vendors may not have been cut a deal by Marvel for buying in bulk--and like any distributor, they would have had to monitor supply and demand carefully and adjust the cost of their service accordingly. (Usually in the upwards direction.) And they weren't the only ones who had to keep an eye on things. I remember finding a vendor in Canada that provided good service, for awhile at least--and then there were unexplained delays that had me on the phone with them (on my dime, at that) more often than not, finally making it necessary to find another supplier.

When local comics dealers began popping up, a lot of that hassle became a thing of the past, since these shops also offered to maintain "pull lists" of the books you wanted. Each time you came in, your books were waiting for you, practically guaranteed; when the books arrived at the shop, those customers with lists received priority and had their books pulled and stashed immediately, assuring that even a book that was likely to sell out quickly would be in your stack whenever you made it into the store. To encourage a steady customer base, most of these stores also cut the buyer a deal and discounted the cost of your stack (usually around 10%, which wasn't bad and was pretty consistent with other such stores)--and since the stores wanted to remain competitive with each other, there were no other fees to deal with, which eventually became the kiss of death for mail-order vendors who began shifting much of their focus to back-issue sales.

Yet back in the day, when Marvel got their foot in the door and offered their own subscription service, it obviously put them in direct competition with independent mail order suppliers--though Marvel weren't necessarily the best choice simply because you were getting your books straight from the source. Clearly Marvel saw the value of advertising the fact that you were assured of getting each and every copy on your list, as opposed to taking your chances in finding them on your own; but despite the implication that shipments were timely, their mailings tended to lag behind their competitors, sometimes to the tune of weeks. (And since Marvel made no mention of shipping costs, the cause of delay was likely attributed to how efficient their operation was at collecting and packaging the books and getting them to the post office.) In addition, you had to sign up for a 12-month subscription for each book you ordered, a cost which you paid up front--which in turn forced you to keep a careful accounting of receiving the full year's shipment of every book on your list. On the bright side, the cost markup seemed reasonable; depending on the price of the comic at the time you subscribed, Marvel was making a 40-50¢ profit on each subscription, which was probably funneled into postal costs.

If you decided to wait until the '80s to become a Marvel subscriber, you were rewarded for biding your time since Marvel, like many subscription services, eventually found it necessary to offer enticements to its subscribers and forgo its profit in favor of a larger customer base. For instance, at the time that Dr. Doom was drafted into being a common sales hawker, the price of a comic was 50¢, which meant that each 12-issue subscription at $5.00 was saving you $1.00, a cost that Marvel ate (along with postal costs) in order to get your business. The good doctor's terms saved you even more if you subscribed to at least four titles, giving you one subscription at no cost.

In essence, Marvel's subscription service amounted to a method to drum up business. It was no doubt your best deal if you preferred to get your books by having them shipped to you, albeit with certain drawbacks that weren't present with independent suppliers. But with the proliferation of local comics retailers, and with those stores cutting their own deals with customers, mail order subscription services mostly went the way of the dinosaur domestically and in other parts of the world where such shops sprung up and thrived. Yet in their heydey, they certainly did their part to fuel the collecting bug that had bitten many of us, something which may also have waned with changing times.

The Future Was Then

Given the time and effort that was spent in
breaking with the style of Marvel's 20th century roots...

...why the need to reach back to those books to market its newer product?

Earth's Mightiest Spinoffs

You have only to glance at practically any assemblage of Avengers by artist George Perez to acknowledge one hard fact:

There are a LOT of Avengers.
(Guardians of the Galaxy, the Thing, and Mar-vell notwithstanding.)

In this case, a beautiful 1994 lithograph to mark the team's 30th anniversary (which also featured the work of colorist Tom Smith).

As a comics collector who finally tossed in the towel and took possession of his last pull stack roughly ten years ago, the Avengers were the perfect example to me of how the phrase "the old order changeth" eventually lost its significance as a mark of an Avengers roster change that presented itself as a significant comics event--one that, at one time, represented a piece of comics history. But though history indeed marches on, the Avengers charged on--to the point where their history became inapplicable to the team's evolution. At this point in time, the Avengers are more of a brand than an institution, with no foundation to speak of other than their place in future Disney-Marvel projects.

By any measure of corporate objectives, the Avengers represent a success in terms of a 50-year-old concept that has borne fruit. You will find no present-day editor bemoaning the fact that both the Avengers and Marvel itself have left their respective pasts in the dust. As the saying goes, you can't argue with success--and with its characters being split between (at last count) four media companies, all expecting their piece of the Marvel pie to yield profitable returns, Marvel is unquestionably big business.

Out of curiosity, I was taking a look at the recent collection of Avengers titles, and couldn't help by slowly shake my head in astonishment at, despite swelling ranks, how thinly spread the Avengers seem these days following the Secret Wars crossover event where the Marvel Universe as we once knew it came to an end. Giving these books only a cursory glance, I'd advise tacking on the words "from what I can tell" to each of the following summaries (so do correct me if I'm in error with any of them):

• Avengers Assemble - based on the animated series
• New Avengers - (a/k/a Avengers Idea Mechanics), led by Sunspot--appears to have a focus on A.I.M.
• Uncanny Avengers - the remnants of the Avengers Unity Division, originally formed to unify humans and mutants
• All-New All-Different Avengers - represents a more familiar core group of Cap, Thor, Iron Man, Ms. Marvel, Vision, and Spider-Man, but with different identities for each
• A-Force - the all-female team

Perhaps the thought by management here is that the Avengers should be doing more with their resources and abilities, and therefore operate more effectively split into separate groups that focus on separate goals. If so, it would certainly help to capitalize on the preferences of different readers who like the concept of the Avengers but have different ideas on what the team should be doing and who they should be battling, thereby casting a wider net in terms of Avengers readership. On the other hand, with all of these groups operating under the banner of "the Avengers," the team's name (rather, the collective team name) carries little significance; i.e., one team's mission to avenge a wrong has no direct bearing on the agendas of any of the other four, and the cry of "Avengers assemble!" is localized rather than a reflection of the entire team's fighting spirit.

Given that Steve Rogers has (I'm guessing) signed off and is presumably keeping tabs on all of these groups of Avengers, he appears to have adjusted his thinking quite a bit in terms of the team's concept and the possibility of it losing its meaning. Granted, another look at Perez's group shot would suggest that ship had already sailed in the '90s; but the fact that Cap reflects openly about it in an early 1992 Avengers story by writer Bob Harras seems like an omen that, in hindsight, appears to herald the inevitable.

And you can only wonder: Would the Captain America basking in the Disney-Marvel formula of success for the Avengers agree with himself here? Or would he resort to a phrase that he's often been forced to admit himself, as a man suddenly finding himself in a world decades from everything he knew in the past: "Times change."