How Awesome Was Game 6 In 1991?

In short, it was super-awesome! But allow me to expand…

In 1987, the Minnesota Twins won their first World Series since moving to the Twin Cities from Washington, DC in 1961. The win, admittedly, was a bit of a fluke. The Twins benefited from winning a weak division, but comported themselves very nicely when facing the Detroit Tigers, whose regular season record was 98-64, in the American League Championship Series (ALCS). The Twins, with a regular season record of 85-77, beat the best team in baseball that year in five games. They went on to beat the St. Louis Cardinals (95-67) in the World Series in seven games, winning their four home games. The boys really did enjoy home field advantage that season, with a record of 56-25 at home (best in the majors in 1987) and 29-52 on the road.


1987 World Champion Minnesota Twins

And for Twins fans, which I am one, it was glorious!

It had been decades since Minnesota had a championship-winning professional team. It was 1954 when the Minneapolis Lakers won their last NBA Championship. They moved to Los Angeles in 1961, taking the greatest team name in all of sports with them. (I know whenever I think of Los Angeles, I think of lakes, don’t you?) The Minnesota Vikings had lost four Super Bowls by 1977 and have never been back. The Minnesota North Stars had lost the one Stanley Cup Finals they had been to in 1981 (they would make it back in 1991 and lose and then left the state in 1993). The Minnesota Timberwolves wouldn’t begin their futile existence until 1989. The Minnesota Wild wouldn’t begin theirs until 2000. (Minnesota did get a consistent championship-caliber team with the Minnesota Lynx in 1999. That Women’s National Basketball Association team has won four championships. Kudos!)

So, in 1987, Minnesotans were pretty damned pleased with the Twins. In fact, after the boys beat the best team in baseball in the ALCS, there was an impromptu gathering of fans in the Metrodome, the home of the Twins and the Vikings. The word went out earlier that day that the doors would be opened at the “Dome” and fans could come in to greet the returning American League Champions. The team was told they would be heading to the Dome for a fan celebration, but they did not anticipate the number of fans that would be there and the shear outpouring of love and gratitude. The greeting brought third baseman Gary Gaetti to tears. It was a beautiful thing. It’s even getting me a little misty as I write this.

Four years later, the Twins were back in the post-season. This time it wasn’t fluky at all. With a regular season record of 95-67, they were a team to be reckoned with. They still had a few of the core team from 1987 on the roster: Kirby Puckett, Kent Hrbek, Greg Gagne, Al Newman, and Dan Gladden. They had added an outstanding rookie, Chuck Knoblauch, and a wily veteran pitcher, St. Paul (my hometown) native Jack Morris. Morris had been one of the most dominating pitchers in the 1980s and he still had some gas in the tank.

When the Twins faced the Atlanta Braves in the World Series in 1991, both teams having finished in last place in their respective leagues the season before, no one knew just how great that series would be. It’s legendary! I’ve seen it ranked as the greatest World Series of all time, beating out the 1975 series between the Cincinnati Reds and the Boston Red Sox. And, like the ’75 Series, it had one of the greatest Game 6s of all time.

The Twins were down three games to two when the series returned to the Metrodome. As in 1987, the two teams involved had won their home games. Twins fans (and some of the players) were a little worried about this must win Game 6, but Twins great Kirby Puckett told his teammates to climb on his back. He would see them through to a win.

He was true to his word. He had multiple hits, drove in a run and scored a run, and made a spectacular catch at the wall, which prevented a multi-base hit and at least one run from scoring. As was the case with most of the previous five games (only one game was a blowout), this one was a nail-biter. It went into extra innings and Kirby wasn’t done.

In the bottom of the eleventh, Kirby came up to hit against Atlanta’s left-hander Charlie Leibrandt. Puckett told his teammate Chili Davis that he thought he might be able to bunt for a hit. Davis said, “Bunt, my ass!” and encouraged the slugger to put the game away. Puckett worked the count to two balls and a strike, which is unusual for him being a free swinger and all, when Leibrandt hung a change-up right where Kirby wanted it.

Then came six of the most memorable words in baseball. The baseball announcing legend Jack Buck said, “And we’ll see you… tomorrow night!


And that tomorrow night brought us possibly the greatest pitching performance in World Series history, and I’m including Don Larsen’s perfect game in Game 5 of the 1956 Series. A perfect game is a marvel to behold, but being Game 5, the series was not on the line. In 1991, Jack Morris’s brilliant 10 innings of shut out baseball in the final game of the Series was phenomenal, considering the game was scoreless until the bottom of the tenth, when Gene Larkin drove in Dan Gladden. And the Minnesota Twins won their second World Championship. (Third if you’re pedantic and include the Washington Senators‘ only World Championship win in 1924.)

Great story if it ends there (apologies to the Dana Gould Podcast), but there is more to tell.

I worked evenings in those days, so I would hurry my way through work to catch as much of the games as I could. However, Game 6 was on Saturday night, so I could head on down to the local watering hole and take in the entire game. I was sitting next to one of the elder regulars, a fellow named Chic. Chic was known to all the bartenders in the area. He didn’t do much other than drink. I think he was in his 60s, but he appeared to be at least twenty years older.

Oh, well.

At the same time, down in a sports bar in Florida, was a group of Twins fans taking in the game. This group included the sister of a friend of mine. The group were the only ones in the bar cheering on the Twins, Florida being so close to Georgia, the rest of the patrons were pulling for the Braves.

As I said, the game was a nail-biter. Until, we fans of the Twins saw that Leibrandt was being brought in to pitch against Kirby Puckett. You see, the Braves’ pitcher had played for the Kansas City Royals, a team in the Twin’s division, and our boys were familiar with Charlie. They knew how to hit against him very well. They had had good numbers against him already.

As Kirby stepped into the batter’s box, the Minnesota contingent in the Florida sports bar began to cheer. The Braves fans looked at those Minnesotans as though they were crazy. In Minnesota, I turned to Chic and said, “We’ve got this game!”

After making my declaration to Chic, I turned back to the TV and saw Puckett hit the ball out!


It was fantastic! I hope we are all in store for another outstanding Game 6 in this year’s World Series.

Packing Peanuts!

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Hang on! Vince Colletta Inked This?


Comic books? Check. Hair helmet? Check. Safety glasses? Check. Girlfriend?

By my sophomore year of high school (1980/81), I was a few years into seriously collecting comic books. I had even been drawing my own with a friend since the fourth grade. And in that year’s yearbook there was a brief profile on me and my comic book fandom. It included a photograph of me with a few selected items from my collection.

When the yearbooks were handed out and we were all feverishly defacing them by getting our friends and favorite teachers to sign them, a fellow sophomore approached me. He asked how many comic books I had in my collection. When I told him he complained that I shouldn’t have been profiled. He said, “My collection is a lot bigger than yours!”

My sister is on the yearbook committee,” was my somewhat snarky response. You see, it was my sister who wrote the blurb. It’s not what you know, it’s who you know.

High school drama aside, do you that page just below and to the right of the Son Of Origins Of Marvel Comics tome? That is the one piece of original comic book art that I own. I bought it for a mere 12 dollars, which was right in my budget.


Here’s a better look at the page.

The page is from the original Sub-Mariner series by Marvel Comics. It’s the second page of issue #72, the last of that series. The artist is Dan Green and the inker is Vince Colletta.

However, when I shared this image on a comic book fan group page on Facebook, there were plenty of people who questioned if Colletta really did ink this page. Well, the credits in the book say it was him, as does the comic book database site So, I went with those sources.

However, I can see why it’s questioned, because Vince Colletta had a very recognizable inking style. His inks have a feathered feel to them. His shading lines tend to be thinner than what we see on the page from Sub-Mariner #72. In fact, the first few pages of that issue don’t look as though Colletta had inked them, but by page 10, his work is unmistakable.

Here’s a good example of his inks. This panel was drawn by George Tuska.


Note the shading and shaping lines on Angel’s arm, chest, and hair. Those are all signs of Colletta’s inking.

Here are a couple of the first few pages of Sub-Mariner #72. It’s difficult to see any of the Colletta style:

Sub-Mariner Page 1

Page 1

Sub-Mariner Page 7

Page 7

Compare the original art page and these other two pages to that panel with the prone Angel. There doesn’t seem to be any of the Colletta feel. Perhaps a little in the creature’s left arm in the first panel of page 7.

Now compare those to these next two pages, also from Sub-Mariner #72.

Sub-Mariner Page 10

Page 10

Sub-Mariner Page 11

Page 11

I think it is very clear that Vince Colletta inked these two pages. His style is all over them. So, it may be possible he did not ink those first few pages. Maybe Dan Green inked them, he is primarily known as an inker. However, unless someone with direct knowledge as to the creators responsible for the artwork, I’ll go with the credits given in the comic book itself.

Can anyone provide that insight?

Oh, in case you’re curious as to how the original page I own looks when colored and printed, here it is:

Sub-Mariner Page 2

Packing Peanuts!

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A Great Comic Cover From The Days Before Zombies Were Played Out. (They Are Played Out, Right?)


The best month of the year has once again arrived. Seriously, it’s awesome. The weather, at least where I live, is so much more pleasant than any other time of the year. Baseball’s postseason kicks off and, boy, I hope the Hated Yankees lose. (You should, too!) My wife and I celebrate our wedding anniversary. And the best month is capped off by the best holiday – Halloween!

Come on! How could any month be better?

Since the capper is Halloween, it’s my tradition to declare a comic book cover that depicts the macabre as great. So, this October I declare the cover of Batman #453 (Late August 1990) to be great. It was drawn by one of my favorite artists Mike Mignola, with inks by George Pratt.

Mignola is one of those artists who when he first started in the field attempted to conform to a more traditional superhero drawing style. Fortunately, he began to draw the way he wanted to and his work got so much more interesting. At least, to me.

This cover of Batman came out during the later stage of his change over in his style. And it’s great. Batman is best when he’s depicted on the macabre side (Kelley Jones also excelled at the macabre Batman) and Mignola’s deceptively simple line work is on par with David Mazzucchelli’s work on the Batman: Year One storyline from 1987. (A terrific story arc!)

Just look at it! Stark contrast, muted colors, a graveyard with a demon-headed tombstone, the Dark Knight, and the undead! It’s great, I tell ya! Great!

Packing Peanuts!

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Innocence Dented (Or A Nice Walk Spoiled)

Writer’s note: You are about to read a piece I wrote on my personal blog at way back in October, 2010, when my son was seven years old. With fall having been reached on the calendar and the wonderful autumn weather just around the corner, I thought I would re-post this tale of a nice fall day with a father and son walk and the necessity of turning graffiti and another… uh… item into a teachable moment.


This past Sunday afternoon was one of those glorious fall afternoons which I wish I could save to enjoy on a mid-winter day. Clear blue sky, cool air, and crisp leaves underfoot.

Mere minutes after his friend had left from their play date, my boy asked if I wanted to take a walk to the bridge. It’s a pedestrian bridge that takes walkers, joggers, and bikers over the nearby railroad tracks. The bridge is just a few blocks away, not far to walk. Considering the pleasantness of the day, I thought it would be an excellent time for the impromptu walk with my son.

It was a pleasant walk. He ran ahead, just a little, as he likes to do, asserting a smidgen of independence at the age of seven. Boy! He’s growing up fast. He was mindful, however, not to get too far ahead of old Dad. Bad knees, don’t you know?

We arrived at the bridge (we have yet to actually get there as a train passes under, but perhaps someday). It was apparent someone had been there before us. They had left their mark: Graffiti. Vulgar, crude, sexual. It became time for an unscheduled lesson in life for my boy.

“What’s a n—ga, Daddy?”

“Va joy joy?”

My son reads really well. Fortunately, some of the writing was so bad and much of it misspelled that he didn’t quite get it right. I didn’t correct him. (It was “va jay jay”. I let that one pass.) I did, however, do my best to explain that ‘n—ga’ is an offensive word. I told him it’s a word used to describe people who happen to have a different skin color than us. And that I didn’t like the word and never use it. I advised him to never use it either.

Walking away from the tags, hoping to get past lesson time, I heard my boy ask, “What’s this?”

There in his hand was a used condom.

“Drop that, right now!” I said.

He dropped it and I kicked it through a crack in the bridge pathway. I say it was “used,” but I can’t be certain of that. It was out of its package, but it didn’t appear to be… full.

“What was that, Dad?”

“Ah geez! Thanks a lot, a—hole!” I said silently to myself, addressing the person responsible for the item so carelessly tossed aside.

I told him it was sort a balloon for adults. Something adults use. And something he didn’t need to be concerned about for now. He told me he thought he might know what it was for. He said, “Is it for your privates?”

Well, then I answered yes. I told him that sometimes men wear that on their privates. Worn to prevent pregnancy on certain occasions when men and women are “together.” I again told him that it was something he didn’t need to be concerned about yet. That I would talk to him all about it when he gets a little older. He was happy with that.


We walked back home, my boy grown up just a little bit more than before that walk. A little less innocent.

We arrived home and I sent him straight to the bathroom to wash his hands. As he was washing up, I told his mother of the incident. She immediately had him wash his hands again.

I think I’m going to bring some paint and a brush down to that bridge. Got some graffiti that needs cleaning up.

Packing Peanuts!

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Elementary, My Dear Jeremy Brett!


Basil Rathbone. Benedict Cumberbatch. Christopher Plummer. Nicol Williamson. Robert Downey Jr. Dozens of actors have played the role of literature’s greatest detective – Sherlock Holmes. Or, as he would call the profession of which he was its sole practitioner, consulting detective. Whatever he’s called, Holmes has been a favorite literary character since his first story, A Study in Scarlet, was published in Beeton’s Christmas Annual in 1887. He was created by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, who, although the stories made him famous and wealthy, thought these mysteries were not part of his important work.


“By Jove, I’d better kill off Holmes, so I can concentrate on more important work, such as promoting the paranormal.”

So, he was a snob about his own creation. So what? Holmes fans couldn’t care less.

In 1984, The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes debuted on American television as part of the PBS series Mystery! Part of what is great about this PBS program is that the host takes the time to give a little history about the mysteries they show. In 1984, the host was Vincent Price and he was perfect. Watch his introduction of one of Holmes’ greatest mysteries here to see what I mean.

It was the British television company Granada TV (now ITV Granada) that produced The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes as well as three other Holmes series: The Return of… (1986), The Case-Book of… (1991), The Memoirs of… (1994); and two TV movies: The Sign of Four (1987) and The Hound of the Baskervilles (1988). In all, 41 of Conan Doyle’s  Holmes mysteries were produced.

The actor who took on and, in my opinion, mastered the role of the legendary sleuth for Granada TV was Jeremy Brett. Admittedly, I haven’t seen every portrayal of the detective, but when I read the original stories it’s Brett that I picture. Much of this has do to his talent and skill as an actor, but much is also due to the production’s intent to accurately depict the settings, language, attire, and culture of England in the late 19th and early 20th centuries. And each episode carefully follows the source material as closely as possible.


Jeremy Brett

Jeremy Brett portrays all the qualities of Holmes brilliantly. The intellect, the bravado, the confidence, the annoyance of those whose intellect he finds wanting. He’s both rude and sensitive, civil and rough. He gets bored when the criminal element goes quiet or lacks imagination. More than once he laments that the days of the great cases are over, only to have a great case present itself.

The actor also gives Holmes a graceful quickness to his physical actions. He’ll drop to the floor or ground to search for clues without any care to his appearance or propriety. In that first series, Brett is incredibly spry. In the episode of The Red-Headed League, he hops on and leaps over the back of the couch in the sitting room at 221B Baker Street to prevent his friend and colleague, Dr. John Watson, from leaving the room. It’s astonishing.

Sadly, as each new series or movie premiered, the actor’s health could be seen to deteriorate. Brett’s skin became paler, he had put on weight, and his breathing became more and more labored. There was wheezing in his otherwise magnificent voice. No longer would he drop to the ground or leap over a couch. As the series progressed he would be seen sitting most of the time. Gradually, the gracefully quick physical actions were limited to hand movements and the flourishing of his ever-present walking stick.

older brett

Of those later episodes, his co-star Edward Hardwicke said that, though the great actor’s health was poor, he was always prepared and never complained. When the cameras weren’t rolling, he would rest and appear quite tired, but when action was called he came to life. He was Sherlock Holmes once again. However, Brett’s health became so bad that in the final series, there were a few episodes that needed to be adapted so that Dr. Watson handled the lion’s share of the investigating, with Holmes appearing briefly throughout the show to advise and then, at the end, to provide the solution.

Another wonderful aspect of these shows was in its handling of the character of Dr. John Watson. Watson was Conan Doyle’s way of explaining to his readers the incredible abilities of Holmes. Watson was an every man. He was us. But he wasn’t dimwitted as he was portrayed in the Basil Rathbone/Nigel Bruce adaptions. Bruce’s Watson was much too clueless and bumbling for my liking. Those productions used his character for comic relief. Given Holmes’ reluctance to suffer fools, I find it difficult to accept he would associate, let alone be friends with, such a man.

In Conan Doyle’s stories, Watson was also the record-keeper of the mysteries that his good friend solved. He wrote and published the accounts for a fascinated public. (Pretty meta, wouldn’t you say?) Although Holmes did not approve of the lurid, romanticism of the doctor’s stories, he did highly value his steady and loyal friendship. This dynamic was well-preserved in the Granada TV series.


“I say, Holmes, could you maybe not stand so close to me?”

Watson was played by two actors: David Burke and the aforementioned Hardwicke, son of actor Sir Cedric Hardwicke, who is best know for his portrayal of Pharaoh Sehti in the ridiculous but awesome The Ten Commandments (1956). Burke handled Watson in the 13 episodes of the first series, Hardwicke took over after that.

brett hardwicke

“Some detective you are, Holmes! You haven’t even noticed I’m a different actor.”

Of the two I prefer Hardwicke. David Burke is a fine actor and his portrayal of the doctor is very good, if a little too much on the wide-eyed naivete side for my tastes. Edward Hardwicke’s Watson has a more experienced wisdom. Although Watson may not possess his friend’s talents for observation and deduction, Hardwicke gives the doctor an intelligent confidence that fits better with Jeremy Brett’s Holmes. Both Watsons were also allowed to have a greater appreciation for the social graces and they could properly take Holmes to task whenever his rudeness surfaced.


David Burke (left) and Edward Hardwicke. These images hint at the differing portrayals of Dr. Watson.

There have been plenty of actors who played the great consulting detective, but Jeremy Brett is the best. There are several episodes available on YouTube. You really ought to check ’em out!

Packing Peanuts!

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A Pedant Watches Close Encounters of the Third Kind


Warning! Spoilers ahead.

On my podcast, Dimland Radio (available on iTunes & Podbean) I do a semi-regular segment I call the Dimland Radio Pedantic Moment. It’s a moment in which I’ll get all pedantic on some usually minor thing I’ve noticed. For example, in one of those life insurance TV ads Alex Trebek does he mentions the three P’s of life insurance offered by a particular company. They are Price, Price, and Price. A Price you can afford, a Price that cannot change, and a Price that fits your budget.

Um, Alex? A price that fits my budget is a price I can afford. So, it’s really only two P’s then, isn’t it?

See? Like that.

Sometimes my pedantic moments are rather lengthy. On last week’s show my moment was a long one. It covered much of what I didn’t understand about Steven Spielberg’s 1977 classic Close Encounters of the Third Kind. A listener to my podcast attempted to assist me in getting past my pedantry, but some of it is still mystifying to me. I thought I’d go over the problems I have with the film here, as well.

Don’t get me wrong! I really like the movie. It’s just that…

The plot.

A super-advanced, extraterrestrial species, which had been visiting our planet and kidnapping our people for decades (unless you believe they built the Egyptian pyramids – they didn’t, humans did – then they’ve been coming here for thousands of years), had decided to make themselves known by driving average people crazy by implanting an image of Devil’s Tower in their minds without any explanation as to why. The people are just compelled to figure it out and go there.


“Huh. Where have I seen that before?”

The aliens are kinda jerks.

They also steal a four year old boy right from his terrified mother’s arms. Because they needed just one more human, I guess.


“It’s OK, lady. We’re just going to do a few experiments on him.”

No, the aliens aren’t kinda jerks. They are complete ——–!

(I prefer not to swear on this blog, but you know what I mean.)

They have also been leaving clues for the government to come meet them at Devil’s Tower. The government scares off the locals and builds a base which includes a landing strip, for some reason, and wait for our interplanetary neighbors to show up.

The pedantry.

Something the government people picked up on is a series of five musical notes coming from the spacemen that they think means something. They think it is important. This is where I get a little lost. There’s a meeting of the government people in Carnegie Hall or some similar facility, in which the head man demonstrates some hand signals matched up with the music. The hand signals come from a method of teaching music developed by a fellow named Zoltan Kodaly.

Screen Shot 2018-09-13 at 2.05.35 PM

“It’s been my life-long dream to play a reel-to-reel tape machine to a live audience.”

This is received with thunderous applause from the government people in attendance. It was met by me with a confused, “Huh?”

Screen Shot 2018-09-13 at 2.06.51 PM

“Hot crowd! Hot crowd!”

So, at the end of the movie, the alien mothership shows up and the humans and ET have a musical conversation. But, how do we earthlings know what to say in response to whatever it is that the little grey men are saying? Sure, some fellow says the aliens are teaching us a basic tonal language, whatever that means. Another says it’s the first day of school, but how do we know what the tones mean? How do we know what to play back?

On my first day of school, if my teacher had asked me to spell cat without first teaching me the alphabet, it would be pretty futile, wouldn’t it? If the aliens are trying to communicate with us using musical notes, we would need to know what the notes represent first, wouldn’t we? And yet the government men somehow know how to respond. One of them tells the musician what to play; at first, eventually a computer takes over. The musician is the only one who seems to understand my confusion. He even asks, “What are we saying to each other?”


The musician (in the middle) is thinking to himself, “Well, at least it’s a payin’ gig.”

Remember Star Trek IV: The Voyage Home in which a massive space probe is destroying the earth trying to talk to extinct humpback whales? It was the Enterprise crew that figured that out, so Admiral Kirk suggests that they respond by reproducing humpback whale sounds. Mr. Spock correctly points out that though they could make the sounds, they don’t know the language. “We would be responding in gibberish.”

Isn’t that what the humans were doing in that scene in Close Encounters?

My pedantic moment continued with my discussion of the return of the hostages these heartless aliens had been picking up on their numerous visits. Out of the mothership pile several confused people, some of whom had been gone for decades. Just how thrilled will they be to learn their loved ones had moved on or even died. “Thanks a lot, alien buddy old pal.”

Screen Shot 2018-09-13 at 2.16.15 PM

“Welcome back. You’re wife has remarried and she’s in her 60s.”

They could comfort themselves by saying, “Well, at least, I haven’t aged.” Because the aliens must have been traveling at light speed the entire time they had held these people captive. And this led to a remark made by one of the government men when another said that Einstein was right about the whole the relativity thing and aging. The remark was, “Einstein was probably one of them.” Them being the aliens.


“Don’t look now, but isn’t that Ash from Aliens standing behind us?”

When I was a kid I thought that line was profound. Now I find it incredibly irksome. The suggestion that the human species can’t produce someone as intelligent as Einstein is profoundly insulting. Much the same way believing the ancient Egyptians weren’t capable of building the pyramids is profoundly insulting.

And here’s the pedantic thing: The government people were expecting these hostages to be returned. They had a checklist of names and a big board of photographs. How did they know? We hadn’t even learned to communicate yet! Remember? It’s the first day of school!

And just how do we know these people weren’t replicants as in Blade Runner or pod people as in The Invasion of the Body-Snatchers? They could have be sent here to take over the world! Look, the aliens have shown they don’t care about the loved ones left behind when they take prisoners. They pulled cute, innocent, trusting, little Barry right out of his mother’s arms. They didn’t give a damn.

I don’t trust them.

I don’t know. Maybe I’m thinking too much about it. It’s still a great movie.

Packing Peanuts!

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Little Dot Returns On Another Great Cover

This cover of Little Dot may be less troublesome to folks who suffer from trypophobia (fear of holes) than the one I featured last September. But they still might want to take care.


Almost makes you feel like dancing, eh?

Colors! This month’s great cover (Little Dot #119, October, 1968) is almost all about colors. I say almost because there is the overall composition and that great, well disciplined, and simple line work. As was the case with that other Little Dot cover, I don’t know the identity of artist. Last September, a couple readers made the educated guess that that cover was by Warren Kremer. This may be his, too. He did a lot of covers for Harvey Comics in those days.

It’s a playful cover showing Little Dot dancing to her favorite song. Hmm. 1968? I’m going to guess it’s Yummy Yummy Yummy by Ohio Express. Or it could be Richard Harris’s classic MacArthur Park. Perhaps it’s (in a thematic throwback to last week’s blog) Simon & Garfunkel’s hit Mrs. Robinson. Not matter. It appears to be a swingin’ tune.

And, yes, the colors. This cover pops right out of that black background. All those bubbles of multicolored notes swirling through the air make this one jump off the page. The white outline around our hero helps to define her form and keeps her from getting lost in the bubbles.

This is one of the funnest covers I’ve ever written about it this series.

It really is a great cover.

Packing Peanuts!

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