The Dr_S want list

[wpbooks]

First, how the hell do you order from them? Second, you inspired me. I found the list of all issues from 1-72. Here the link for those interested.
http://cfa-apa.blogspot.com/2007/09/cfa-apa-issues.html

It looks like it's just a bibliographic website, as opposed to a vendor selling off stock.  The prices are probably what the compiler thought were the original selling prices.  That's how that site appears to me, anyways.

[dr_s]

That was the one I was referring. Guy said there was a site that had a book for $30. Check his comments. The issue that was mentioned  was the Hal Foster issue. the site I listed just had the list of themes and some later covers. Still, the first site that I found that  lists them all.

[50Cent #II (1st print)]

Here's some info. I found on one of your want list items.  LuCiD (Being Bad).  It's actually "The Being Bag" by LuSiD (1966?).  There is a whole chapter (6) dedicated to this in the book "Memories of Drop City" (2006), I haven't read it though because my local libraries don't seem to carry it.

[Reverend]

That's right, that is the full title. And there were only 60 copies printed back then.

This is an e-mail that I received from one of the artists back when I was researching this comic:

The comic was titled "The Being Bag"
I have a partial copy - I don't know of one that's complete.

P.S Drop City was founded in 1965 - the comic was "published" in 1966 - 60 copies (silk-screened).

[Reverend]

Here's Chapter 6 of the aforementioned book (the whole book is available free online):

Chapter 6

THE BEING BAG

I got a letter from Patt. She was behind schedule and wanted to meet me a week later than we'd planned. She sounded very distant, reserved.

The next day I drove into Trinidad with Curly, Drop Lady, and Poly Ester in an old Dodge that barely chugged along at thirty miles an hour. In addition to this classic, Drop City owned a couple of other dilapidated cars, a station wagon, two pickups, and a scooter, some of them working, some not. Legally they were all owned by individuals, but the group used them as if Drop City owned them.

Many of the little kids in town, particularly Chicano kids, flashed us V-signs as we drove by. We flashed them back. I was really surprised, even though Curly had already told me this would happen.

Drop Lady and Poly went into a store while Curly and I walked around. "This town's a lot less cowboy than I expected," I said.

"Yeah, Trinidad's a great place," Curly agreed. "Not too much bullshit."

"I can almost imagine living here."

"Well, why don't you become a Dropper? I'm serious. Forget about the Coast. Stay here. It's better out here. Build yourself a dome. Stay as long as you want."

"I really appreciate that. But I've got to go to San Francisco first. I want to see what it's like. I'm also meeting my girlfriend out there."

"The old puss call. Well, drag her back with you. Convince her to come. The more the merrier. Bring back a few of the ladies. The single guys have been having a hard time meeting chickadees here; the local beauties are into their own thing. But don't spend all your coin and come back broke. Plan for being here a long time. That's what I'm doing. I'm planning on being here a long time."

"If I do come back, I'll bring some money. How much really does it cost to build a dome?"

"Two hundred, more or less. I ain't shitting you. Bring five big ones, if you can. The baby needs protein."

We stopped at the post office and picked up a package. Inside was a bundle of copies of the East Village Other, the New York underground paper, with a full-page spread on Drop City, from the interview Curly and Jo did when they were back visiting the City in the spring. The article declared Drop City to be one of the avatars of the new underground culture. The Other got distributed in underground enclaves all over the country. This was Drop City's first national publicity.

I tried calling Patt again, but there was still no answer.

When we got back to Drop City, there were visitors, an artist couple who were living in the hills above Trinidad, Denton and Leeda, and a woman who was staying with them. Denton was stocky, blonde, with a Roman nose and feet planted firmly on the ground. Leeda had searching green eyes and long carrot hair. Clard and Lard had known them in Boulder. They seemed to be a peaceful couple.

"This is our friend Marigold. She's a painter." A big-boned girl with a round face, straight brown hair. When she smiled the corners of her mouth drooped. She looked like a sunflower in the rain.

"I think a friend of mine back in New York knows you," I said. "Her name's Cori."

"We're like sisters."

Everybody chattered about the newspaper article for a while. Then Clard and Lard pulled out twenty paintings from a lean-to covered with tarps, and spread them out all over. I'd just seen a few of their paintings before. They were all abstract patterns and geometric shapes, molecular or crystalline, in brilliant acrylic colors. They seemed to deal in a mental physics with feelings, and seemed to extend beyond the canvases. Lard and Clard were both painting in a similar vein, but were noticeably different. Clard's were powerful, full of ideas, replete with dynamic harmonies and discords. Lard's were flatter and more decorative, but also rich in color. They casually critiqued each other's work but didn't seem too competitive.

We straggled into the kitchen.

Denton and Leeda brought out their portfolios. I liked some outdoor pieces they had set up at different depths along the road outside their house so, as you drove past, elements came together into a composition then broke apart again.

"Why don't you two move down here and become Droppers?" Clard asked.

"Denton's too anti-social," Leeda replied.

"I'd like to live around more people," Denton remonstrated. "But this place is too exposed. I want a hideout on a beautiful mountain."

"I rather be here in the desert," Lard interjected. He was stretched out on the floor.

"I agree with Lard," Curly said. "It's too beautiful in the mountains. Just all that picture postcard stuff. It's trite."

"Why would you rather live in the desert?" Denton asked.

Lard sat up and pulled a little stub of a pencil out from his shirt pocket. "See this nib? People always borrow your pencil and don't give it back. But nobody ever takes your nib."

"We've been talking about raising money to start another community in the mountains near here," Leeda said.

"That would be great," Clard replied. "We need more places to visit."

"Tat ti tit," Curly exclaimed.

"What?"

"Tat ti tit."

"He's just being the Baron," Clard explained. "Haven't you seen The Being Bag ? It's some kind of obscure allegory about Drop City."

Clard pulled out a pile of hand-made black-and-white silk-screened comic books, drawn mostly by himself and written by Curly.

"It's supposed to be the beginning of a series," Clard went on, handing out the comic. "But we've only been able to sell a couple of copies, so I don't know if we'll ever do another issue."

Curly wiggled his eyebrows at Denton. "Maybe you'd like to buy some."

"Does everybody know Alteresio Smith?" Lard interjected. "He did the screening. He's thinking of moving here."

Leeda crinkled her nose. "I know him. He's awfully moody."

"You say that about all the guys," Denton parried.

Everybody sat around reading The Being Bag. It was the adventures of three characters, the Baron, Cleveland Troothsearch, and Ratsy Eatsit, who looked suspiciously like Curly, Clard, and Lard, spiritual seekers journeying through a bizarre geometric landscape, an LSD multi-dimensional domed world, trying to liberate the world's consciousness. The Baron seemed halfway between a shyster and a guru, the only one with any possibility of answers or elucidations, offered in the mysterious phrase, "Tat ti tit," which in context seemed to mean something like, "That's it," and at the same time became a kind of mantra or magic spell.

"The problem with The Being Bag," Denton said, "is that it raises all these important questions but doesn't answer them."

"That's the way life is, ain't it?" Curly replied. "So why shouldn't a comic book be like that too? Anyway it's just the beginning of the story."

"What's going to happen in the next issue?" I asked.

"Look, the important part isn't what will happen next," Curly went on, "The real issue of The Being Bag is: why are these guys traveling together in the first place, since they don't even know where they're going? That's the real issue in Drop City too. We don't have a clue as to where we're going or what'll happen when we get there. All we know is that for some unknown reason we're all traveling together. A motley brigade of Quixotes. A fellowship without no ring. Psychedelic musketeers waiting for Godot. One for one and all for all! Ain't that right, me hearties?"

"That's not how it goes," Drop Lady said. "It's 'All for one and one for all!'"

"That sounds too much like a fraternity," Clard intoned. "I hate fraternities."

"Drop City is not a fellowship of just our little group," Curly went on. "Nobody's excluded from Drop City. We're just stand-ins for the whole humanship. The humanship on spaceship earth. But what do we owe each other? Can we trust each other? Will we do right by each other or will we do each other in?" Curly looked around and raised a glass of apple juice. "To the humanship of the Droppers. One on one and all in all!"

I touched my coffee cup to Curly's glass. Rabbit clinked a jelly jar against the others. Everybody stood, raising up some object, and cried, "One on one and all in all!"

"Tat ti tit," Curly exclaimed.

Denton pulled a pill jar out of his pocket. "Let's shake this up to a new level." He carefully shook out a half dozen small capsules onto the table. "The real thing. I guarantee it."

"Very smooth," Marigold said in a throaty tone.

"You've tried it?" I asked.

"For most of last week."

Curly carefully lifted one in two fingers and held it to the light. "Man, I got to work tomorrow."

"You're cautious as a possom," Rabbit cracked, sidling his elbow onto the table. "It's all work." He grabbed a capsule, flicked it into the air, tried to catch it in his mouth, but it bounced off his chin. He grabbed it in the air and triumphantly popped it in his mouth.

"You're going to be up all night," Leda said.

Drop Lady shot a disapproving glance at Curly, and turned away. Nani walked out.

Curly popped the cap into his mouth, grimaced, stuck his nose into the air like a heron, and scarfed it down. One by one Clard, Lard, and I followed.

Drop Lady and Frinki slunk off into a corner together and spoke in low tones.

Marigold licked the left corner of her lips, then the right corner, stuck out her tongue very far, placed a cap near the end, let it hover there a moment, then slowly pulled it into her mouth and grinned. She glanced around and looked at me. "Anybody want to go swinging?" She gave a little shrug and disappeared out the door.

I waited a few minutes, then stood. Leeda grabbed my arm and whispered, "Don't be fooled by her bravado. She's really hurting."

I caught up with Marigold near the big cottonwood tree.

"How do you know Cori?" she asked me.

"Through friends."

"How's she doing?"

"Cori's a resilient girl. She always comes out on top."

"When we were little she was my best friend in all the world. We were in a play together in second grade, and now she's a New York actress. It must be the most exciting place in the world."

"New York is great if you've got money."

"Do you paint too?" she asked.

"I write. How about you?"

"Mostly watercolors. I don't take it too seriously."

She climbed onto the swing. "Come on. There's room."

We each held one rope and pushed off with our feet.

"You're staying with Denton and Leeda?"

"Just for a little while. I was sitting in on a class of Denton's in Boulder. My parents started calling the school looking for me, so I had to get away. That's why I came down here."

"You're hiding?"

"Kind of."

"You're not under age, are you?"

"I'm an escapee. From a mental hospital in Michigan. They took away all my rights. My parents sent me there for refusing to be like them. The nurses strapped me to my bed because I wouldn't take their drugs. You're from New York, aren't you?"

"Born there."

"I'd love to see The City. Are you going back soon?"

"I'm on my way to San Francisco."

"I have an old friend there too. When you get to San Francisco, check out a place called the Greta Garbo Home For Girls. Kind of a rooming house. Another girl I was real close with in high school is staying there with her boyfriend. She says it's really cool. Her real name is Sophie but she calls herself Dawnrider now. Me and her and Cori used to be a team. Remember the old joke about whenever three teenage girls are friends they take on roles? Well, Dawnrider was the smart one and Cori was the pretty one."

"I never heard that joke. What's the third one?"

"The slut."

Just then the LSD hit me. I'd almost forgotten I'd dropped. The world was suddenly soft, everything made of clay. For an instant I was alarmed, then realized it was funny.

"Let's go for a walk." Marigold's eyes were clouds at sunset. The colors and shapes in them kept changing in the most amazing ways. She spoke in a disembodied voice, and floated away like a wraith. My mouth was fuzzy and dry. I was very high. Dusk was falling. We strolled, mostly in silence, along the fence draped with art objects circling the land, and wound up in the theater dome. We sat on a mattress piled with a few sleeping bags where visitors sometimes slept. Through the open panels I could see Orion and the milky way.

"Cori gave me something for you," she said. "If I give it to you, will you come up and visit me at Leeda's?"

"Sure." I could barely pronounce the word. "What is it?"

"A hug."

"She gave me one for you too."

We wrapped our arms around each other and sank into a sweet kiss.

When I woke it was morning. My head felt filled with sand. I wasn't sure where I was. Everything was jumbled. I could still taste the LSD. Then I remembered Marigold. I was alone. I tried to piece together what happened. I thought about Patt and began to feel bad. I stumbled down to the kitchen. Marigold, Leeda and Denton were gone.


* * *


My time in Drop City passed before I knew it. I didn't see Marigold again; I didn't get up to Denton and Leeda's place and they didn't come down again. I never reached Patt by phone, although I tried. It was just as well, since I was wary of getting into a long distance fight with her. I wrote her a stiff letter instead, confirming that we'd meet in San Francisco.

I waited to catch a ride out to the Coast, but none showed up when I was ready to go. Everybody said it was better to start hitching in New Mexico, where the Highway Patrol left you more alone. Then Lard decided to ride the scooter to Albuquerque and invited me to ride with him.

"I got a notice from my Draft Board in Boulder. That's why I'm going to Albuquerque. I've got to change my registration to down there. In Boulder everybody's trying to get a 4F. Down in New Mexico they've got plenty of kids who don't know how to get out, or even want to go in. It's easier to get off there."

So I stayed another few days until he was ready to leave. We made our farewells. I told everybody that I planned to be back in a couple of months, hopefully with five hundred dollars and Patt. I felt like I'd finally found a home in this world.

Lard kicked the scooter starter a few times, the engine sputtered and finally roared. I hopped on.

"DON'T FORGET THE MONEY!" Rabbit shouted over the noise.

Curly pounded his fist. "We're counting on you, man. Bring home the bacon. This is your family. Vegetarian bacon."

Lard took off with a lurch. With my backpack and Lard's bags tied to the scooter, we barely chugged along, swaying dangerously off balance. I looked back and waved, thinking Drop City was the greatest place in the world.

The mountains between Colorado and New Mexico were spectacular, every gust of wind threatening to blow us over the edge. We finally reached the outskirts of Albuquerque after dark and crashed on a rug at Luke Bear's adobe, frozen and barely alive.

[50Cent #II (1st print)]

Thanks, here's a poster by the main artist by the way (1969).

[Reverend]

Strange poster. It looks like a placemat.

[dr_s]

I know who had a complete copy. Kennedy!!!! When I bought the Toplitz or Bachner collection about 25 years ago, as described in one of the Cascades, Kennedy got there first and cherry picked it. Ah, the comic rivalry even back then.

[50Cent #II (1st print)]

JK has it pictured in his guide.

[dr_s]

Not on my official want list, that is reserved for the illustrated checklist items and Corben, but still a major want. $110 including postage. VF or better except for the stains.

[Reverend]

Not on my official want list, that is reserved for the illustrated checklist items and Corben, but still a major want. $110 including postage. VF or better except for the stains.

I have to wonder if the Don Calfa credited with the photos on pages 8-10 is the same Don Calfa who is a famous actor. The comic was printed in Staten Island, New York and Calfa hails from Brooklyn.

[dr_s]

That's weird. It was from Staten Island and. except for possibly Kennedy, none of the top 8 collections in NYC had it.

[Reverend]

I guess the print run on this (as well as Artchie Strips) must've been painfully small.

[dr_s]

Another one, that even Kennedy needed was Salt of the Earth Comics. Another SI publication. I bought a vg copy at a street fair. The only one I ever saw.

[Reverend]

Would you mind posting a scan of it? I'd be curious to see it.