Enter into Fanger's realm and learn how the Paranormal Wolf-Being got his start. Not to mention meeting some of his 'relations' & 'acquaintances' along the way.
Traditionally, we've been educated upon two precepts in life from Day One: (1) Those who ignore the Past are doomed repeating it, and (2) What goes around, comes around. Apparently these two proverbs ring true whenever censorship comes into perspective, especially with children's entertainment. For instance, EC Comics (Tales of the Crypt, Suspense Stories, Weird Science) always comes to mind whenever you bring about comic censorship into the conversation. However, what most tend overlooking is that comic censorship had reared its ugly head once more in Texas. Except it had arrived during the early Seventies, when many PTA and watchdogcommittees had deemed the superhero comic (DC, Marvel, Charleston, etc.) as being for too intense and violent for kids. As a result, the Texas Comic Restriction Act of 1970 had made its debut, setting some odd standards of what kids could, and could not, read inside the pages of comic books.
Texas distributors back then (convenient stores and newsstands) were only permitted selling kid publications to children. Naturally, what we had been given were these offerings: Harvey, Charleston, Gold Key/Whitman and (in a bizarre twist)DC Comics. Everything else, which was Marvel and other independent horror and crime publications were strictly off-limits. In fact, the only place one could obtain them were specialized comic shops.
The only superheroes we had during this temporal crisis (besides Superman & Batman) were Underdog, The HoundCats, and Mighty Mouse. Ironically, the parents behind this ACT had received a horrible Reality Check, when around 1972, The Comics' Code Authority (CCA) had taken the Texas Legislature to court.
The CCA was not unlike the Good Housekeeping Seal for comics. Meaning before a comic book could be sold to the public, it had to bear the acceptance seal (an A plunged into a sideways C). Therefore, it was considered acceptable for family reading. The CCA felt the TCR Act had violated their guidelines and felt it withholding certain publications from children had been unconstitutional. As with many legal cases in Texas, the battle went on for about five years, until in the Summer of 1977, the Act had been revised where one could purchase superhero comics, providing they were approved by the Comics' Code. Anyway, the Revised Act of 1977 had also pelted the airwaves (not to mention the stores) with many superhuman programs, such as the reruns of 1960's Batman and Hanna-Barbera's version of the Superfriends.
Strangely, the superhero style did not put a dent in the current Sci-Fi fashion, thanks to Star Wars. Confidentially, most people believed the superheroes actually enhanced the Science Fiction realm, sparking a new Scientific Revolution. Theories dealing with Space and Time travel kept popping up like weeds, and scientists began analyzing almost every aspect of life to the point of ludicrousness. Despite the technical speculations and complex hypothesis, I had seriously doubted if any scientist would have foreseen the outlandish product which spawned from these revolutionary fads. Specifically since the said product would be known as Phoomy (pronounced poom-ee) Man!
The Adventures of Phoomy Man! Phoomy Man! was the first true major component with the Fangarian Evolution, if not unlikely, and possesses a rather unique origin. Observing the illustration, you'll note Phoomy Man (or PM) is definitely not a wolf, but a Jay Wardesque superhero, whereas you can view a very early (and disgruntled) version of Fanger looming in the background. So it does make one wonder how such a creation came into The World of Fangarius' evolution in the first place. Just like the standard superheroes, Phoomy Man! had entered Toondom solely on controversy, except this time it had dealt with an unwarranted transformation of New Caney's school publication. The New Caney Times and UltraComix After the Fink! Disaster (and some other schools abusing their own publications) The NCCT had been abruptly cancelled by our Third Grade year (1977-78). Due to heavy complaints with some PTA members, and the State Education Board, the Texas Education Association (TEA) had issued an order requiring all school publications have fundamental material published instead of nonsensical fluff.
Translated, schools were now committed on publishing only educational subjects, whether it was fact or fiction, providing these stories fit within the State Board's strict guidelines. Without warning, The New Caney Times (NCT) had completely taken over our publication altogether, and I had been appointed the Science Research Staff for our class. For approximately two months (August/September) my job basically had been translating complex, scientific, innovative stories into simple, easy-to-comprehend newsstories for our students to read. Also as a researcher, I had to investigate certain stories for their accuracy, ensuring there was nothing controversial in them before submitting them into the NCT. By the end of September, I had nearly suffered a major burnout from reviewing endless amounts of technical jargon and intricate theories about space.
During a playday (sort of a holiday at school, no work whatsoever) in October, I had met James A., who was a classmate in Mrs. W's room. Since James had just transferred to New Caney, we had instantly discussed NCT's earlier incarnate. He had immediately knew the predicament I had undergone, since at his last school, he had also been involved with a totally, mundane publication. Scott P. and Ricky H. then had entered the conversation, and before we knew what had occurred, we had decided on formulating our own publication. Sensibly, before we could name it (let alone, produce it), we had to determine on what kind of characters we were going to use.
Fangdini and Fink! were out-of-the-question, because at the time, they were still under contract with NCCT (I had made a three-year committment with them, luckly the rights reverted back to me when the contract had lapsed). And if we attempted using them in an independent publication, the NC Independent School District could cite us with unauthorized publishing of school property. While attempting on formulating something, I came across some of my old writings, recalling the most hilarious convention I had attended one weekend at Greenspoint Mall. Ever since man had stepped on the Moon in 1969, space travel slowly lost its edge with our imagination. In a stranger mass of events, Time Travel had subtly replaced transversing the Cosmos. And ever since Einstein gave us his famous Theory of Relativity, other would-be scientists and physicists were providing extremely unorthodoxed theories focusing on entering the Fourth Dimension.
Totally engrossed with these unique discussions, my mind sent me back to my own wonderful Past, where Time Travel began with my favorite programs: Peabody's Improbable History and Mission: MAGIC.
(Since most people know about Mr. Peabody and his WABAC machine, I'll just go ahead and briefly describe the famous Filmation series.)
Mission: MAGIC dealt with the adventures of Miss Tickle and her class, the Adventurers' Club. The concept sort of was reminiscent of Charlie's Angels or Mission Impossible, because Miss Tickle wouldn't embark on an adventure without first establishing contact, Rick (voiced by Rick Springfield, who wrote and sung the theme song). Afterwards, Miss Tickle would summon her stone familiar (a cat called Tut-Tut), who provided access through her magic door. The magic door was automatically drawn upon the blackboard (or some other available surface), becoming a gateway into another dimension, and literally pull the students and Miss Tickle inside. What I had preferred about this show specifically was, you didn't have to be a rocket scientist to enjoy it. For there was no technical jargon or scientific nonsense to bog it down, it was pure fun.
It was this memory, in which I had recalled how exactly PM got started. There was one physicist, Dr. Jean-Luc Dubois (I believe that was his name), who theorized the reason we had failed in transversing the Time Realm. Basically he claimed we erroenously overlook the fact Time and Space are not three-dimensional, and Dr. Dubois added, inorder to pierce the Fourth Dimension, you need something with astronomical force in doing so. In his case, something equivant as a small neutron bomb. However, all I had gotten from it was if you exploded yourself through Time (and somehow surviving possible mortal injuries), you lost any basic control over your destination.
Utilizing this rather original, if not bizarre, method of Time Travel, I had expediently sketched out a character who used explosives to travel through the Fourth Dimension. Thus, creating Phoomy Man!, which chronicled the misadventures of a superheroic Time traveler who implemented phoomy bombs for shattering the Time barrier.
Within the shadows of Fink!, PM usually stumbled into trouble and unwittingly helped History along, especially since he had absolutely no control on when his explosion would take him amidst the Past, Present and Future of Earth's Time Line! As a quirky, back-up feature, I created a nice, little penguin called Mr. NUNU, who loves to jump out and scare the heebejeebees out of people and things.
Regrettably, Phoomy Man! was turned down by the school newspaper, going under the misapprehension I was mocking what was believed to be a serious theory of science. However, this didn't stop Scott, Ricky and James from forming their own underground publication, UltraComix. It was here Fanger had emerged on the scene with PM on November 1977.
Of course, Fanger was actually created one month beforehand. After making effortless rehauls on Fangdini, extracting the snaggletooth, shrinking the Tazesque jaw, and placing medieval clothing on the character, the original version of Fanger was starting to form. The top hat had been replaced with a wizard's hat, giving Fanger a similar appearance similar to his First Incarnation.
As for Fanger's name, it was my own accidental doing on my part. When I had started drawing Toons, I possessed the appalling nature of making them extremely slim. When my aunt had first witnessed the prototype character, she laughed, stating it was no bigger than her 'fanger.' My cousin usually protests to this fact, stating I had wanted to name the character something more appropriate and Fanger had just seemed the likely choice.
Whatever the case, the premise behind Fanger's basic form was this: PM and him secretly worked for a Time Agency, ChronoAgency, if you will. Unknown to PM!, because he's been a screw-up for the most part, the ChronoAgency has placed him on probation. Fanger came from an unknown race (later I'd denote it as the Wolf-Beings) who was sent to the ChronoAgency for assisting others. Due to a malfunction with his omnisuit, Fanger's has mysteriously defaulted to a wizard's, medieval attire (with the crimson F emblazoned on the chest).
Since Fanger has the penchant for implementing magic for problem-solving, the ChronoAgency ends up assigning him to PM. Basically because they want Fanger to start solving problems using his wits than his witchery. Thus, he ended up becoming PM's sidekick, rescuing the hapless hero from himself. Regrettably, the ChronoAgency usually mistook Fanger's intervention for PM's so-called resourcefulness at times.
As a result, Fanger was anything but the standard, hero-worshipping, supportive sidekick. Instead, Fanger became a total wiseacre, wondering just why he was always having to save PM's butt. Yet, Fanger had still managed retaining my beliefs about wolves as I had with Fangdini, usually berating anyone who made mythological references about his nature.
Phoomy Man! had premiered in November 1977 and had ran from then until March 1978. Despite the humorous content, Fanger had unintentionally upstaged PM in many aspects. This resulted in the stories devolving more into pure slapstick than adventure. By March 1978, the audience had completely chosen Fanger over PM, giving the wolf his own temporal series.
Fangalot Fink (aka Fink!): The Sci-Fi SuperSpy Age
When 1976 had finally passed, 1977 had propelled us into a completely altered dimension. Science Fiction literally ruled the media and the fashion. Especially with the Jetsonesque modern furniture of the late-Seventies, and the endless TV shows which had primarily centered around some form of space travel. From 1977 until 1980, the airwaves were bombarded with such programs as Buck Rogers in the 25th Century and Quark (no relation to the DS9 Ferengi, sorry)--a Star Trek parody focusing on the exploits of Interplanetary Sanitation Workers in deep space. These shows ironically competed with more 'down-to-earth' shows like The Dukes of Hazzard and SuperTrain.
However, while the small screen and literature had concentrated on the sci-fi genre, the silver screen had decided (excluding Lucas' Star Wars) in resurrecting the SuperSpy craze with James Bond. Overall, kids of the mid and late-Seventies were now replacing the typical western/action heroes with Luke Skywalker and Flash Gordon.
Observing the transformation with the weathering trend, I had instantly realized I'd have to drastically re-invent the format form which Fangdini had failed acquiring with his former audience. Confidentially, if I had known then what I know now, I probably would've never pursued this concept, and settle for being a Star Trek researcher for the NCCT's Sci-Fi Department.
Notwithstanding, requiring some intricate research, I had began viewing every current sci-fi show which had been available on television (remember, this was the pre-TVR/DVD age, folks). After watching endless amounts of space operas, time travel and the usual schlock, I had realized why it had taken me awhile getting used to science fiction: the formulas always came out a bit too serious for entertainment. Admittingly, some shows did attempt injecting a little humor, but the process would always revert back into pure, hard adventure. Even though I could see nothing faulty with having adventurous tales, I had wanted something slightly more fun and entertaining for audiences to enjoy. After all, during the Seventies' Sci-Fi, one had always felt intellectually deficient whenever one would view a hardcore program. When all you really wanted was some good, old-fashioned escapism instead. Taking these intriguing factors into account, I had conjured up a new series that was a hybrid of Quark and Get Smart. The yield product came in the form of a new character known as Fangalot Fink. Fink! - The Illustrated Series Fink! was the infamous series about an intergalactic, wolf-detective known as Fangalot Fink, who was known purely by his wondrous reputation for his ingenious, investigative skills. In reality, not unlike his predecessor--Maxwell Smart (Agent 86)--Fink would normally bumble into these mystifying cases, and somehow, miraculously solving them by pure luck. But unlike his human counterpart, Fink wore a trenchcoat, spoke with a Humphrey Bogart voice, and was a freelance private investigator. Strangely, it had always appeared out-of-the-ordinary most of Fink's cases centered around an infamous criminal organization known as PLUNK (to this day, I have never deciphered what the letters had originally stood for).
PLUNK had been headed by the (then) anonymous, nefarious Dr. Fangerstein, who unceasingly despised Fink's uncanny knack for dismantling his most carefully thought out schemes for dominating the Free Intergalactic Worlds. But what had definitely infuriated the fiendish Dr. F to no end, was the perplexing fact an incompetent detective like Fink, could successfully manage on ruining most of PLUNK's intricate plans. One prime example was a case where Fink had been hired to locate a missing IntergalacPolka CD Program (Fink! had been remarkably advanced for its Time, and researching Omni magazines and watching old Jetson episodes, didn't exactly hurt either.). During his investigation, he accidentially uncovers PLUNK's latest diabolical plot: Dr. Fangerstein has developed a sinister invention, The YaYa RayCannon, and intends on using it for overthrowing the Intergalactic Leaders.
Apparently what makes this scheme works is this: whenever the YRC's beam attacks a person, its bizarre emissions renders the victim into a helpless, dance-like trance. They end up moving their bodies rhythmically up-and-down while uttering a peculiar chant: ya-ya-ya-Yo-yo-ya-ya-ya (get the picture? Hey, considering the strict guidelines at NCE, it was the best we could go for). By sheer coincidence, Fangalot unwittingly defeats Dr. F's plans by inadvertently sabotaging the weapon's programming system. Mistaking the YRC for a new CosmiDisc Player, Fink removes theYaya/Chacha Programming Disc, and replaces it with the recently discovered I-Polka Disc.
When the YRC activates once more, Fink unintentionally causes the Intergalactic Worlds to undergo an Intergalactic Polka craze, which enigmatically spreads throughout the Universe. As always, the result ends up annoying and baffling PLUNK and Dr. Fangerstein to no end, not really certain on how Fink managed screwing up his invention in the first place.
Taking such creative episodes, one would expect Fink! to last for about two years at least. Unfortunately, Fangalot had never gotten the chance to last over three months. This time the cause wasn't poor readership, but instead a live-action Saturday Morning show being re-aired, which threatened Fangalot Fink's Toon career.
Fangalot Fink vs. Lancelot Link One thing about the late-Seventies, the economy had taken its toll on everything. Because of this, some networks would recycle old shows from their vaults in order to save on production costs. On March 1977, NBC had temporarily re-aired episodes from Lancelot Link, Secret Chimp, as a midseason replacement. And this is where the controversy had begun. For those who used to view it on Nickelodeon, you already know the concept. If not, imagine Get Smart amalgamated withPlanet of the Apes, and you'll obtain a clear image of the program. Seriously, however, even though both characters had similar names, I hadn't seen any problems, since Fink! had nothing else in common with LLSC, and nobody had seemed on caring about the dubious circumstances.
Mainly because I, myself, had never actually seen the show until 1985 (specifically because when NBC re-aired it, I was usually watching other programs, or going out with the family), most of the NCCT fans had preferred Fink! over Lancelot. And that's when the real trouble had begun.
First off, Fink!'s obligations had gotten drastically altered from its two-year committment to one month, then a transfer student, Sheila, had developed the delusion the producers of LLSC had been in cahoots with Mr. Parsons. Despite the fact LLSC had been created in 1970, six years prior to Fangalot's creation. But when you're a second grader, you don't consider the chronological nature of things, and Sheila kept on developing many conspiracy theories against LLSC and Fink!
One was the delusion the LLSC producers had sneaked in an agent, who stole my concept, then gave it to them. Whereas they simply then took the concept on a more 'down-to-earth' level and substituted live chimps for the cast. As if things weren't confusing enough, Sheila had insisted the school take legal action against LLSC for copyright infringement of my clever idea. As I had aforementioned, since (at the time) I had never witnessed a LLSC Episode, I had merely considered the whole shebang as nothing more than an inexplicable coincidence. Nevertheless, due to Sheila's constant persistance, and the possibility of getting NCE involved in a ridiculous, messy lawsuit, my teacher and I had sagely chosen to cancel the series.
Although Fink! had ended, the character was hardly forgotten. Later when I did a FANGARIUS/Tenchi Muyo crossover, Fanger admitted Kiyone was his cousin, and her father happened to be Fangalot Fink. Whereas she recalls being the one helping Fink solve his cases, which is why she has such patience with Mihoshi.
Dr. Fangerstein was eventually spun off later from the series in 1983, except here he was reanimated into a wacky, mad scientist due to technique being botched in Texsylvania. Of course, Dr. F and Edgar (his Lurchesque manservant) would make obscure references about Fink from time-to-time.
Anyway, after Fink!'s cancellation, my drawing and reporting abilities were far from over. For the remainder of the second grade, I had been appointed as NCCT's freelance cartoonist, scientific reasearcher, and proofreader. During that time I had made infinite experiments with other characters, however, none of them were quite alluring as Fangalot Fink had been. And like him and Fangdini, I had never predicte my next school year would hear another odd creation. A creation which would end up being the most unlikely component towards Fanger's on-coming existence.
As with Chester, The Great Fangdini began originally as a manuscript creation, but still had managed on entering the Toon World. Fangdini spun the incredible adventures about a Wolf-magician (possessing W.C. Fields' voice) who traveled to far-off, exciting locales. In essence, Fangdini served as a children's version of Gulliver's Travels, since the mystical traveler always visited places dealing with the problems kids had to contend with in the late-Seventies. Despite the similar concepts, and Fangdini's backfiring magic, the real message behind these intriguing tales had always been clear: always be proud of what you are, and be yourself (I think there's an old commercial in there somewhere).
Amazingly, people began developing open-minds towards Fangdini. For one thing, he never used his spells for bullying people, but instead as a unique method of teaching them about themselves instead. Although more wolf-propaganda films continued to be produced, people seemed on accepting Fangdini as a gentle being, rather than another demented creature of destruction.
Nonetheless, even with this small success, I had never imagined Fangdini would become illustrated. That is, until a strange event had taken place at New Caney Elementary.
The Toonerization of Fangdini Whenever you start watching a Seventies cartoon that's been produced by an independent studio (not Hanna-Barbera, Filmation or Rankin-Bass), you've probably wondered why the characters resemble something a child might have dreamed up than a writer. Chances are, the characters probably were. In fact, Fangdini's transformation from the literary to the illustrated world originated from a very unique scam which some unscrupulous cartoonists would pull on unsuspecting kids.
You're probably thinking: what kind of desperate schmuck results to stealing from kids? Similar to our Internet, the Seventies was a time where you could literally get away with most things. Except for murder, naturally, and around this decade, kids didn't have many rights as they do now. Especially when it came to owning literary works, illustrations, or animation. Back then, minors weren't permitted to legally reserve, or copyright, such properties. Apparently, state and federal laws considered adults as the exclusive, responsible party in handling such legalities, therefore, if you wanted to copyright something [while under 18], you technically could do so through your parents [if they were willing].
Regrettably, this temporal, legislative oversight (In 1977, a Texas Bill came out protecting kids' rights for copyrighting properties.) gave many corrupt artists fro the Animation Underworld the chance for conjuring elaborate schemes of snatching ideas which were solely drawn and developed by kids. At the time, most got away with the crime since technically the ideas had not been copyrighted, and they were willingly donated to the person. Thus, no actual laws were broken. Unless, of course, the schemer ends up misrepresenting his/her self, and a possible illegal cash transaction was made in the bargain as well.
On October 1976, the unspeakable, aforementioned fate had befallen the students of New Caney Elementary. And I had also nearly fell victim for the alluring mechanization myself. The incident had occurred when a stranger [whom I'll refer to as Jack Parsons] had come to NCE. Parsons had spun a wild tale about his studio conducting a character-search contest. The contest required us in creating a supplementary character for the studio's residential werewolf Toon. Common sense promptly took a back seat, as my mind instantaneously went Hollywood, for I had seen this as an opportunity for Fangdini to transfer himself into the Tooniverse.
Previously, about several months earlier, The Great Fangdini had been sent into limbo, since I had begun working on other ventures within the Toon realm. One particular project was for a temporal local kids' publication, Orange You Nuts? when I had stayed in Orange during the Summer of '76. Orange You Nuts? (OYN) was sort of Orange's version of Mad for Kids, it had showcased parodies and alternate realities of popular characters and shows. My brief stint for OYN had been the superhumanization of Harvey Comics, in the form of Super Casper & Wonder Wendy (neat names, eh?). Thus, it had seemed reasonable for me wanting to Toonerize one of my own, personal charcaters for an animation studio.
Ironically, when I had gone on a Fall weekend visit to Orange, in for Li Chan (a Japanese friend, who I'll tell you about later) assisting me with Fangdini's prototype, I had never suspected Scott would save me from making an erroneous mistake.
Toiling feverishly on a Fangdini prototype, Li and I had finally produced the primary image for The Great Fangdini. Obviously Fangdini was a magician, so we dressed him in the standardized tuxedo and top hat. We went with the Loopy-De-Loopesque design over the Fangface template everyone had been using. One reason was as a fail-safe measure, meaning if he was rejected by the studio, I could still safely use Fangdini in other projects. After the initial image was finalized, we realized Fangdini required some props.
Long before Harry Potter came upon the scene, Fangdini utilized his mystical feats with a wand and a spell book. Before revealing anything to Mr. Parsons, something had forewarned me to first show the Toon to Scott. As with all good artists, I had essentially wanted an unbiased opinion upon the character before unleashing on an unsuspecting public.
Scott liked the character and had inquired about what I had intended on with Fangdini. Considering OYN had now gone out of print and there were no other kids' publications out there at the time. When learning about Jack Parsons, Scott had forewarned me about a similar scheme which had occurred in Bridge City. Except here, the school board had the common sense investigating the so-called representative's claim before allowing the contest to begin. Consequently, they had discovered the whole thing was a scam, with the representative stealing the submissions for himself. They also learned by the time most schools realized the ploy, it had been far too late to legally pursue these guys.
Returning to Conroe, I had immediately contacted one of the school board members, who in turn, contacted our principal. They promptly checked out Parsons' story with the studio. Turns out, not only was Parsons dismissed from the studio, they had claimed he had been dismissed for (get this) copyright infringement. The authorities were called in, and Parsons was arrested. Fortunately, I had felt relieved my suspicions had prevented me from giving Mr. Parsons any cash (he claimed there was a $15 entry fee), and not showing him any preliminary sketches.
When the disturbing news had reached the NCE classes, everyone who had painstakingly contributed to the contest were less than thrilled, feeling ultimately betrayed and hurt. Although I had managed in recovering their works, it was like when offers you chocolate cake and you get carob cake instead. One of my New Caney friends, Scott P. had come up with an idea: recalling how I had worked on OYN, he had wondered why couldn't the NCE produce a similiar publication. Taking into account the effort the students had gone through, my teacher and principal had immediately consented. And The New Caney Comical Times had been forged.
The New Caney Comical Times (NCCT) ran comic strips and articles produced and written by the students, and it was here The Great Fangdini had emerged upon the illustrated scene.
Yet, despite Fangdini's Toon debut, his mystical hijinks had only produced an episode count of ten strips. And unlike his literally persona, taking the Classic Harvey Comics route, the strips were shorts of Fangdini performing malfunctioning tricks and spells. Ironically, it wasn't because Fangdini was a wolf that did him in, but rather the changing fads at the time. Thanks to George Lucas' upcoming film, Star Wars, as well as Star Trek reruns hitting late-night TV, the genre had slowly shifted from fantasy to science-fiction. Space travel expediently had submerged such lands like OZ and Wonderland. The result had sent Fangdini into his final disappearing act around January 1977.
The Great Wolf Debate Back in 1972, my foray into art started back in Ms. Bracken's (I used to call her brack-king, so I'm not too certain upon the name) preschool where I had created colorful explosions out of painting numbers (nasty habit I acquired from Sesame Street). Nonetheless, the trouble actually started when we heard about Grimm's Fairy Tales: specifically tales about The Three Little Pigs and Little Red Riding Hood (ever notice how everything in kids' stories are little) where the wolf was portrayed as the bad guy. Also came the fact these tales never made any coherent sense to begin with.
For example, we know if, say, Yogi Bear, replaced the wolf in Red Riding Hood, he wouldn't attempt on devouring Red, but would conceive an elaborate scheme for procuring the kid's 'Pic-a-nic' basket. Therefore, I had always wondered why the wolf just simply didn't do the same if he was truly starving.
Then consider the third pig. If he was so intelligent, why didn't he offer the wolf a roast, or some other edible substitute for him to try, rather than boil the poor thing in a pot of water?
Ms. Bracken had felt I made some excellent arguments on the subject, and had decided on letting us rewrite our own versions of these tales where the wolf turns out to be the good guy. Thus, the first incarnate of The Great Fangdini was born. However, in these altered stories, the magician wolf was actually a wizard named Chester. The Tales of Chester Despite the illustration here, Chester started off as the only pre-Fanger character never to have been drawn. He was an entirely prefabricated, drafted work, where he actually helped shed the truth behind the libelous tales the Grimm Brothers had written. For instance, in Red Riding Hood's case, Chester helps the heroine by foiling a bunch of greedy hyenas from making off with her food basket. Consequently, Chester disguises himself as Red's grandmother, not as a means for devouring the little girl, but in an elaborate scheme educating the hyenas not to steal from others.
In the Three Pigs, Chester contends with a con-artist who sells the Pigs shoddy building materials. Naturally the man plans on swindling them out of their money, but Chester saves the day by tricking the phony contractor with a magically-constructed building. When the man enters the place, the building instantly transforms back into a pumpkin. Chester promises to release the man but only on the condition he make good with the pigs. As a result, the pigs not only get their cash back, but the man ends up helping them construct a proper place of residence. Although Chester was definitely an innovative approach to the classics, sadly, due to the consensus programming of the originals, the character was never really accepted and quickly faded into obscurity. That is, until about 1982, when Chester was finally illustrated for a Wonderland scene, where he later became one of Fanger's cousins. Meanwhile back in the Seventies, about two years would pass, 1974, when the Wolf Debate returned, and at an unlikely source: a classic Universal horror film. The Great Wolf Debate: Myth vs. Reality Four years into the Seventies, censorship began deteriorating slowly with the local programming. Before all these specific guidelines came out from ACT, the FCC and the usual watchdog groups, there had been only one Universal rule to censoring programs: keep the shows immaculately clean during family viewing hours (later, these hours were denoted as prime time). Simply translated, the local stations could air anything they wanted during the late hours of the night, which is why some kids can recall seeing such items as classic horror, or sex-oriented, films past their appointed bedtime. It was this peculiar set-up which sparked the first Great Wolf Debate.
Back in 1974, my mom was attending Lamar University (the Orange Annex), earning her teaching degree, while my dad worked at West Orange Jr. High (what middle schools were refered to back then), where he taught history and helped out with athletic events. Because of this, my mom would sometimes attend a night course, and my dad would have to attend, a basketball or football game. Consequently, I ended up spending the night at my grandmother's house, where Uncle Joe usually babysat me.
Now unlike my other family babysitters, Uncle Joe would always let me stay up and watch late night television. Automatically, I'd fall asleep halfway through the shows, then wake up early the next morning, so my parents had never realized I had stayed up past my bedtime. Anyway, one late Friday night, I had ended up watching my first horror movie, The Wolf Man. Since I was different to begin with, I didn't even scream towards this bizarre film. Ironically, the movie had brought back some unnerving, conflicting facts. The werewolf appeared more like a lean Tasmanian Devil to me than any type of wolf I had ever seen. Also came the occurrence the monster lacked any verbal skills like its Toon, or storybook, counterparts. As with all kids presented with confusing evidence, I had proceeded pelting my uncle with an inquiry about the werewolf's unrealistic actions. In other words, why didn't it speak or act like he storybook wolves? At first, he had intended on simply dismissing the interrogation with the basic difference that one was on television, while the others were mere pieces of fiction (like that really clarified things), but he had unwittingly ended up contemplating over the confounding question.
Of course, I had never received any legitimate answer, and my Uncle Joe had acquired a major dose of insomnia that night over my perplexing inquiry. Adding to this mystification, my Ranger Rick magazine had an article about wolves, which completely dispelled any myths and rumors to the assumptions we had made about them being vicious beasts. Nevertheless, the real fire behind the debate ignited in 1976, with my friend Scott. Scott lived in my other grandparents' neighborhood. Considering himself the resident know-it-all of Orange, Texas, he always took sheer delight in getting the best of me. No matter the topic, he invariably produced an answer I never could counter back. The result would normally transform me into an infuriated Daffy Duck whenever I dared fight back. The debate began when my family had been preparing for our move to Conroe, and I was staying the summer with my grandparents in Orange. To be more precise, the incident occurred when Alec Brown had just received Showtime (back then, the only pay-movie channel) and had invited Scott and me to come over and watch some horror films. Mysteriously, the first film we had seen was an Agatha Christiesque werewolf movie, The Beast Must Die. The movie sounded like an episode straight from The Addams Family. In this tale, an eccentric millionaire has a fetish for the supernatural, especially where lycanthropy (art of transforming one from human to beast) comes into play. So like all wild sportsman, he invites a bunch of people to his mansion, knowing one of his guests is a werewolf. Whatever the plot had been, I can clearly recall I had made a joking comment that it would be fascinating to be a wolf. Scott immediately berated my suggestion, claiming it was completely asinine, since I'd transform into a mindless, killing machine. Before the typical battle erupted, Alec miraculously came to my defense upon the subject. One, he informed Scott what one sees in the movies does not authenticate its belief system. Namely, Scott had been going on some inaccurate assumptions, since his beliefs on werewolves were purely based on folklore, rather than hardcore facts. Therefore, Alec had questioned our current knowledge of werewolves, and wolves in general. Due to the atrociously, unjustified film, King Kong, we had been grossly incorrect about the normal gorilla's behavioral patterns. Rather than carry on the debate, Scott just gave me and Alec a disturbing expression before leaving.
Still, The Great Wolf Debate had been resurrected, because due to the Seventies overload, we as humans have developed an incurable habit of mislabeling things at face value. However, what actually had fueled the next creation in Fangarian evolution was Scott taunting me for believing in such wild ideas. Little did he suspect he'd be eating his words when I had spawned my second creation..
Whenever I start talking about Fanger, many find it hard believing the Fangarian Ancestry originated back to the infamous era known as the Seventies. Despite a sitcom, and the Retro-Hype from some cable channels, from my POV, the Seventies were anything but a tied-dyed, bellbottom experience.
The Seventies: The Pollyana Years
Many people recall the Seventies as a bizarre, rollercoaster decade: America was still reeling from the Sixties' Fallout with JFK's Assassination, the Vietnam War and Woodstock. In fact, before the Seventies even got off the Chrono Launching Pad, it first years were fraught with many weird disasters.
Although the Vietnam War officially ended in 1975, the US Gov't. had withdrawn our troops about two years earlier. Despite being saddened (at least I thought we were back then, considering I was only six) by the unwarranted losses during the war, America didn't give our vets any welcome back parades or any type of commemoration or commendation. The famed Vietnam Veterans Memorial would not be constructed until about 1982, where it had been designed by Maya Ying Lin, a Yale architectural student and was dedicated in Washington, DC.
In 1974, President Nixon had gotten embroiled with Watergate, ending up as the only American President ever to resign from office rather than be assassinated or impeached. And if things weren't bad enough, The Cold War between the US and the Soviet Union had cropped up the age-old Red Scare, coupled with the threat of nuclear war. Even with all the peace treaties from Arms Control being established between the Superpowers in Geneva. Amazingly, the Seventies themselves hadn't even reached its mid-life yet.
Although we began starting working on fixing our planet socially and ecologically, it seemed at the time the nation was more concerned with our own problems. Like the economy and energy crisis. And if you were a child growing up in a small Texas town, these problems had never existed in the first place.
Entering this world on October 3, 1968, I spent half the Seventies in a town known as Orange, Texas. Like most Southeast Texas residencies, Orange could be best described as a modern-day Mayberry without Sheriff Taylor or Deputy Fife. Back then, everyone knew everybody, crime wasn't a major concern and you could purchase a lot of stuff for just one dollar (okay, perhaps about ten or twenty comic books, since they were only 35 and 50 cents in those days). Overall, people just wanted to forget about the Past in general and focus on living in the Present (which wasn't easy since DePalma kept directing those Vietnam films every chance he got!)
The most peculiar thing behind the Seventies in Texas was, although Texans had never gone remotely mod, our television and the media definitely did, and the insidious transformations first started with children's programming.
The ACT of Children's Programming
The Action for Children's Programming, or ACT, was first established in 1968, but its true influence didn't come into play until the Seventies. ACT was responsible for the Children's Television Workshop coming into play for shows like Sesame Street and The Electric Company, and was originally designed for enforcing educational programming for public broadcasting. Regrettably, ACT also inspired a lot of parent/teacher 'watchdog' groups which, in turn, gave the network censors major headaches.
Besides regulating advertising within children's programming, ACT petitioned for the networks and the FCC to provide some type of safe programming for children, which supported healthy values (and you wonder why Barney and Friends didn't get created in this era!) with a minimal amount of violence (meaning blood, guts and gore. Apparently hitting someone seemed to be more socially acceptable back then, than blowing their brains out with a gun!) The result produced this daily format:
After an hour (or so) of network news, you were allowed broadcasting a children's show of live-action, cartoons and puppets. In this case, the popular kids' show of the Seventies was Captain Kangaroo, which lasted for about one hour. For reasons totally known to the networks themselves, the next children's program, Sesame Street, would not air until about four hours later (if you lived in Texas, where it aired around noonish.).
The final children's time slot (other than Saturday Morning) of the day would consist of old cartoons and children's shows in the late afternoon, until it was time for the local news to come on. Due to all the Texas 'watchdog' groups, Channel 6 (KDFM; CBS Affliate), would air reruns of Hanna-Barbera's The Flintstones during prime-time, since some of the early-Seventies' shows had once been considered unsuitable for kids. Taking all of this into account, you're probably wondering why we kids didn't protest this, after all, everybody had seemed to be protesting about one thing or another. First off, you must remember this was the pre-Nickelodeon Era, and about this time I was only about three. Not to mention, kids who were old enough to protest, either never watched television, or were usually too mesmerized by the tube to complain.
So what does all this have to do with Fanger? Amidst the Seventies, my protests weren't so much about the children's programming, which ACT and 'watchdog' groups were so intrinsically were keeping safe for us. But rather instead with some conflicting facts about nature and the standardized children's fairy tales we were allowed to read.
of the Superhero Craze of Texas
g it, and (2) What goes around, comes around. Apparently these two proverbs ring true whenever censorship comes into perspective, especially with children's entertainment. For instance, EC Comics (Tales of the Crypt, Suspense Stories, Weird Science) always comes to mind whenever you bring about comic censorship into the conversation. However, what most tend overlooking is that comic censorship had reared its ugly head once more in Texas. Except it had arrived during the early Seventies, when many PTA and watchdog committees had deemed the superhero comic (DC, Marvel, Charleston, etc.) as being for too intense and violent for kids. As a result, the Texas Comic Restriction Act of 1970 had made its debut, setting some odd standards of what kids could, and could not, read inside the pages of comic books.
(convenient stores and newsstands) were only permitted selling kid publications to children. Naturally, what we had been given were these offerings: Harvey, Charleston, Gold Key/Whitman and (in a bizarre twist) DC Comics. Everything else, which was Marvel and other independent horror and crime publications were strictly off-limits. In fact, the only place one could obtain them were specialized comic shops.
had during this temporal crisis (besides Superman & Batman) were Underdog, The HoundCats, and Mighty Mouse. Ironically, the parents behind this ACT had received a horrible Reality Check, when around 1972, The Comics' Code Authority (CCA) had taken the Texas Legislature to court.
f Phoomy Man!
ers' Club. The concept sort of was reminiscent of Charlie's Angels or Mission Impossible, because Miss Tickle wouldn't embark on an adventure without first establishing contact, Rick (voiced by Rick Springfield, who wrote and sung the theme song). Afterwards, Miss Tickle would summon her stone familiar (a cat called Tut-Tut), who provided access through her magic door. The magic door was automatically drawn upon the blackboard (or some other available surface), becoming a gateway into another dimension, and literally pull the students and Miss Tickle inside. What I had preferred about this show specifically was, you didn't have to be a rocket scientist to enjoy it. For there was no technical jargon or scientific nonsense to bog it down, it was pure fun.
