Like the rest of us, Popeye came from nothing. The pug-faced, squinty-eyed, semi-literate Terminator of the sea blessed with forearms of exploding Zeppelins began as an ancillary character. A throwaway, the Star Trek crewman never before seen and doomed never to reappear after the next scene with the spandex monster. BWaaghYAA! No more. Yes, one of the most enduring, ubiqitous, and fundamental personalities of twentieth century popular culture emerged from the primordial muck as a mere plot device. But first some history. Some moments after the Big Bang, in 1919, a strip entitled "Thimble Theater," a name now humbled by the sandblaster of time, seeped from the head of one E.C. Segar, tunnelled through the nib of his fountain pen, and saturated the New York Journal's fibrous pages for the first time. Olive Oyl, the walking stick heroine, graced the strip's very first panel. Much later her brother, the haphazardly entreprenurial Castor Oyl, waddled his way to major character status. The bendy Ham Gravy completed the trio as Olive's beau. Until 1928 these characters held "Thimble Theater's" top spots. No one challenged their authority. No one dared. Ham loved Olive, Olive loved Ham. Castor schemed. So on it went. Then, in 1928, one year before the financial catastrophe that signaled the Great Depression, Castor Oyl's Uncle brought home an elusive Wiffle Bird. This bird, quaintly named Bernice, brings good luck to those that rub her tiny pea head. Her powers are no secret. Others stalk Castor and covet the feathery fortune. A high-heeled shadow with shapely legs, the "Black Ghost," apprehends Castor and reveals the valuable secret he carries. Her employer wants to win bajillions by exploiting the Whiffle Bird's powers at a Casino called Dice Island. Castor catches wind of this plot, escapes with Bernice, and plans his own trip to the remote water locked casino. Of course he needs a boat. And to operate the boat he needs... a sailor. "'Ja think I'm a cowboy?" one of the most serendipitous accidents of comic history squacks on his first appearance in early 1929. So humbly began Popeye. Plot spackle. But, unlike most of us, he soon came out swinging hammer fists that pulverized morality into a morass of violence and tenderness.
As this coffee table sized book begins, the Whiffle Bird has just arrived from Africa. Apart from Castor's exclamation "Well, I'll be pop-eyed!" the sailor with the face like a "ship wreck" doesn't appear until page twenty-seven. The book thus provides adequate setup for Popeye's momentous entrance. Once he does appear he steamrollers his way onto center stage. First, he outsmarts Castor by using the Whiffle Bird against him. This allows him to buy a new shirt "Ain't she hot, cap'n?" Soon after he slugs Ham Gravy, the strip's soon to be previous alpha male, right in the chewer. Popeye's ubiquitous "Blow me down!" becomes a hilariously entrancing mantra that reduces other catch phrases to the insignificance of fleas on Sasquatch. With volcano punches and an imperviousness to bullets Popeye hails the era of superheros that would dawn a decade later. But his morality differs greatly from the Americana glory that Superman became. The 1920s Popeye never hesitates to solve problems with a sock to the face. Someone's after Olive? Smack 'em! Someone's giving me trouble? Whack 'em! Someone's contradicting me? Zap! Fist to the head! Like Batman and the very early Superman, Popeye has a dual nature. He bullies his way to justice, openly defies the law, breaks out of jail, smacks anyone acting as an inconvenient obstacle, all while claiming that he's a "@*!!mm!! good man!" When Olive enters the picture and kisses him by accident, Popeye shows his sensitive side. He melts. In the Sunday pages, which follow a completely different storyline from the dailies, he gives $10,000 to a homeless family. Castor thinks he gambled it all away on craps. And one particular memorable Sunday strip, in the heat of the Great Depression, has Popeye confronting a hot dog stand owner. The owner has refused a hot dog to a hungry child. Popeye hauls off on the owner and shreds the stand. On the last panel the boy walks away, eating from a wreath of hot dogs around his neck, while Popeye proudly states "I feels exter happy now on account of I done a good deed." Heavy handed justice, indeed. This book, dense as a neutron star, ends after Popeye and Castor solve "The Mystery of Brownstone Hill" and just as they shove off to tackle "The Wiltson Mystery." A mixture of comedy, adventure, and romance, the tall packed pages turn like waving flags as the various plots unfold. Never a dull moment.
The Popeye many have grown up with, from the famous Fleischer or Saturday morning cartoons, does not appear in this book. Not once does he yank a can of spinach from his shirt, nor does Bluto ever kidnap Olive. In fact, Bluto doesn't even appear. And Popeye faces rather fiendish competition for Olive Oyl. As always, the jackhammer fists provide the solution. The Popeye that does appear drifts from second banana obscurity and morphs into one of the most devastatingly clever powerhouses ever known to the comics page. His personality is a mash of appalling, endearing, crass, magnanimous, and self-actualized "I yam what I yam" wonder. E.C. Segar stumbled unknowingly into astonishing new territory by merely developing a storyline. Serendipity pays. A masterpiece resulted. This incredible book preserves the origins of that timeless and confounding legend who blasticated his way into Depression-laden hearts. He stands well poised to sock his way into many more.
