As a preschooler, I was so eager to learn what the guy in the bat suit was saying in the white balloons that I pestered my mother for a translation, with a barrage of "What's this word?" demands. As a result of my fascination with those four-color marvels (as well as a few preschool workbooks also supplied by my mom), I was actually a reader by the time I hit first grade. As a matter of fact, I read the Fun with Dick and Jane reader while it was being passed out to my classmates. A few years later, one of the nuns at my school was horrified when she caught me carrying a comic into class and wasted no time sending me packing. My mom wasn't too upset, but asked if I could please keep the comics at home. Did I mention I loved those comic books?
Up the street from my house was a newspaper box where a local paper, The Enterprise Courier, was dumped twice a week for pickup by a neighborhood paperboy. I was fascinated by the fact that these bundles were wrapped in blank newsprint, the same sheets that the paper itself was printed on. The Courier had great Sunday-style color comics inside and, better yet, carried strips, such as Russ Manning's Tarzan, not to be found in the pages of its much larger competitors. The idea that those left-behind blank sheets of paper were identical in size and shape to the "funny pages" inspired me to put the abandoned newsprint to use, and I started drawing my own strips on them. I would fill one complete sheet of paper with a series of four-to-eight-panel comic strips featuring characters I created (amazing titles such as Pat & Mike, featuring my brother; Sgt. Strong, about a gun-toting spaceman; and best of all, Mr. E, a title proving to myself just how clever I was) and then proceed to copy it as closely as possible onto the next sheet. I'd repeat this process as many times as my attention span would allow, usually about ten times. Once "production" was complete, I would walk door to door along Thirty-fifth Street and sell the copies to our neighbors for a dime, or a quarter, or whatever an indulgent grownup would deem fair. Each "edition" sold out, which was a source of pride for an eleven-year-old would-be storyteller. Did I say I loved comics?
As the years of my youth passed, I collected every comic I could get my hands on. My closet was filled with boxes of the books, and I did my best to keep up with virtually every title in existence -- well, at least the titles that showed up locally. There was an art to finding specific titles. DC comics were pretty much everywhere, as were the Archie and Harvey titles. At first, Marvels could be found only at Lew's Market at the bottom of Thirty-second Street, but later showed up at the little store about two miles up the road. The Price Rite Market on Main Street carried Charlton comics in bags, but Adventures of the Fly, as well as its companion, The Jaguar, could only be found at the Food-O-Mart miles away on McLoughlin Boulevard. I sure loved those comics.
I fell away from comics during my high-school years. Aside from my brother giving away my treasured collection to a high-school buddy (never to be returned), comics just weren't considered "cool." I was often tempted to look through the spin racks I passed, but always found the strength to resist. This resistance was finally overcome some years later with the first issue of Conan the Barbarian. An art major at the time, I was immediately taken by the artwork of Barry Smith and gave in to the urge to buy the book. With the barrier down, I soon discovered new talents such as Michael Kaluta, Bernie Wrightson, Jim Starlin, and, of course, I realized that Jack Kirby was better than ever. Before I knew it, I was filling up boxes again. My passion for these four-color gems was reignited, and it wasn't too long before I sought a few like-minded people, and Dark Horse was born. Do you get the feeling that my association with comics is not a recent thing? I hope so.
Did I
tell you I loved comics? Okay, okay. I know that I've made my
point, but in an era in which comics are created as springboards
for movies and games and downloadable content and seemingly every
other purpose but that for which they were originally intended, it
bears repeating. We here at Dark Horse work on comics by choice
(well, most of us), because we love the comics we work on. We love
working with the creators (well, most of them), and formats, and
color palettes, and cover design, and whatever else is involved.
There is passion (that word again) in the process. If a movie or
game comes along based on one of our books, that's great, because
it means we've created a terrific comic. Bottom line, we make
comics because we like to read 'em. Particularly ours.You'll be hearing much coming out of Dark Horse in the near future about our love of comics. We want you to understand that there is a very real passion for the medium here, and if you are reading these words, there is a good chance you feel the same way we do. So, if you do love comics, you are with friends . . .
At Dark Horse, we love comics, too!
Best,
Mike Richardson, Publisher