Unca Cheeks the Toy Wonder's Silver Age Comics Web Site!
The (KINDA)(SORTA)Super-Heroic
Legacy of Ralph Dibny: THE
ELONGATED MAN
[ Part One ]
I've got this friend, see...?
I met said friend online, in the course of the cybernetic choraling that I've come to realize is part and parcel of this whole weekly "Unca Cheeks Shoots His Great, Wide, Flapping Yawp Off About Old Funny Books" business.
I run a comics-oriented web site; he runs a comics-oriented web site.
It was pretty much inevitable that we'd cross paths, sooner or later.
We have considerably more in common than we do positions from which we stare
across at one another, divided. We both enjoy and prefer the various DC
Comics, Inc. characters rather more than we do their less iconic Marvel Comics
counterparts. We're both decidedly more "writer"- centric than we are
concerned over things less overtly visual (i.e., penciling and/or inking).
We both firmly believe fellow online smartass Louise Freeman is
the bee's knees; that the rac.dcu message boards are proof incontrovertible
of Satan's foul, fell dominion over the earth; and that I'm pretty much infalliably
omniscient, all things being equal. (Oh, he's never actually come right
out and stated that last bit, maybe... but: good golly! It
only stands to reason, doesn't it...?)
He's a good egg and a square-shooter, then: this buddy of mine.
He only has this one itsy-bitsy, teensy-weensy little personal foible, really.
He thinks the Elongated Man is a really waycool comics character.
All right.. all right: let's all just settle down, then,
shall we...?
Granting the obvious and the indisputable, right from the very git-go, then (i.e., that the character -- straightaway from his four-color introduction, really -- was none-too-cagily conceptualized as a poor man's Plastic Man; namely, a ductile crime-fighter with an amiable, long- suffering sidekick and an endearingly goofy outlook on life): it should be stated, nonetheless, that DC's rubberband-come-lately did possess his own unique (if derivative) charm; that a great many of the Silver Age stories featuring said character were pleasant and diverting ones; and that the very best of these, certainly, more than merit the fond backwards glance... and (possibly) even allow us to ascertain A Larger Truth or three, re: the mainstream adventuere comics of their period overall.
"The Mystery of the Elongated Man" [FLASH #112; April, 1960; John
Broome, author; Carmine Infantino, artist] -- being the first ever
appearance of the redoubtable Mr. Dibny -- is as good a place to begin as any,
I suppose.
The two heroes first run into one another (almost literally, in this particular instance) whilst simultaneously attempting to prevent an (inexplicably) plummeting kitten from become a furry street pizza.
Boy... that Central City: one hot, toddlin' town,
huh...?
"Newbie" hero the Elongated Man reaches the fallen feline just ahead
of "The World's Fastest Human," which -- I readily grant you -- doesn't make
much sense on the face of things, certainly. (On the other hand,
however: neither do spandexed men running at umpty-ump times the speed
of light. Or spandexed men "elongating" themselves the length of
a city block, as far as that goes. So: I suppose it
isn't quite on the same level as -- oh, say -- stumbling across little green
men in a Hemmingway novel.)
A throng of admiring onlookers (including the Flash's then-fiance, Iris West) gather about the stretchable stalwart, making appreciative little ooohs and ahhhs of admiration; and leaving the Scarlet Speedster to fume impotently on the sidelines.
"Well," the Flash muses; "... this is a new experience for me! I'm being ignored... while Iris and those other people flock around that Elongated Man!"
Nor is this to be the only instance in which Central City's newest "guardian angel" steals its long-time champion's thunder, as -- time and again, in the weeks to follow -- the guy in the baggy purple union suit manages to stay one half-step ahead of an increasingly frustrated Flash, just-in-the-nick-of-time-wise.
" [...] he seems to be on the spot especially when Flash is in the vicinity," Our Hero frets at one point, succumbing -- albeit briefly -- to a good, old-fashioned bout of High Paranoia. "It's as if he wants to rob him of popularity... or to eclipse him in the public eye! Hmmmm... I can't help wondering..."
This rather unflattering Portrait of the Super-Hero as a Raving Jealous Egomaniac being what it is (I mean: geez, fellah... would Superman sit around sulking like a schoolgirl, just because someone else decided to pimp-slap Lex Luthor around on alternate Tuesdays and Thursdays? Loosen up the ol' cowl a mite, wouldja please? Get a bloody grip, f'chrissakes -- !): author Broome is quick to reassure the readers, at any rate, that the mysterious "Elongated Man" is a good'un, via the time- honored expediency of Origin Flashback.
A young Ralph Dibny -- "the second son of an average midwest American family" -- lays wide, staring eyes on his very first "India Rubber Man" at the impressionable age of nine, while visiting "a traveling sideshow."
"Come on, Ralph," his older brother nudges, evidently bored. "There's other things to see here!"
"Lemme alone!" the (plainly) enraptured Ralph all but snarls. "I'm gonna stay here and watch him some more!"
(If any of you reading along, at this juncture, were to venture the opinion that small boys obsessing over limber older men in trunks is just a weeeeeeee bit on the sick side of the attitudinal railroad tracks...
(... well: you won't be getting any arguments from your upright and
aghast ol' Unca Cheeks on that score, by golly, by jingo.)
Things get even steamier for the more squeamish among us, one scant panel later, as Our Ralph slips his way unannounced into the "India Rubber Man's" private quarters, and lisps desperately:
"Excuse me, Mister India Rubber Man... but could you tell me how you stretch yourself that way?" To which the sideshow denizen smartly responds, in turn [Pick One]:
A.) "Sorry, young feller... but I can't tell you! You see... it's a trade secret!"
B.) "Painfully. Very, very painfully." [*rimshot*]
C.) [turning away from the wall of advanced alien machinery, scowling]: "It's too bad you had to see this, little Earth manling. Too bad, that is... for you..."
D.) [kindly]: "Why... by patient and protracted tugging
upon my respective body parts, my little cherub." [stands up;
drops pants] "Here. Allow me to demonstrate..."
Undaunted, the pre- adolescent and length- obsessed Ralph Dibny (who -- manifestly
-- is wrestling with some way, waaaay serious inner demons, Male Adequacy-wise)
slouches his disconsolate way towards adulthood; never relenting in his quest
to prove that Size, indeed, Does Matter.
"I'm beginning to think that there is no 'secret' how they do it!" a ragged (if not slightly unhinged) Ralph mutters darkly, after experiencing yet another setback in his personal, ongoing hegira. "I think that first one long ago was just having a joke at my expense!"
Shortly thereafter, however: Dame Inspiration sneaks up behind the Soon-To-Be-Stretchable Sleuth and kawallops him a good'un with her mystic croquet mallet. To wit:
"What Ralph Dibny [...] suddenly remembered was this... that in every India Rubber Man's tent [...] there had been a bottle of a soft drink called Gingold! But -- what did that mean?"
"I've found out," an intense Ralph Dibny muses, reflectively, "... that the India Rubber Men don't drink Gingold because they think it will make them stretchier... but only because they happen to like it! But if they all like it, isn't that some kind of clue?"
(They "all liked" be-bopping about in their underwear in front of paying customers and hanging out with Jo-Jo, the Dog-Faced Boy, too, come to think. Geez... I guess we're all just blamed lucky that the "India Rubber Men" in question didn't "all like" infant cannibalism, if that's what passes for Logical Deduction in the non-Gotham portions of the DC Comics universe.
(What a maroon.)
Well... this being a Silver Age super-hero origin: author Broome shoehorns in the (then-)obligatory larding of pseudo-scientific claptrap atop the whole awkward mess ("I've learned that the main ingredient of Gingold is the juice of a little- known tropical fruit! And I've isolated the essence of that fruit by chemical means... enough to affect me... if it has any effect!")...
... and -- one rapidly downward-accelerating flower pot later -- voila!
Instant career second-stringer!
"This uniform of mine is made along the lines of stretch
nylon," a gleeful Ralph informs us, mere panels later. "Now I'm ready
to realize my ambition!" (Yeah... his "ambition" to become the
super-hero equivalent of Nathan Lane, maybe. I mean: just check out the last panel, directly overhead. Looks like Peter
Scolari in BOSOM BUDDIES, f'chrissakes. I'm just sayin', here,
is all.)
Well... be that as it may (and it certainly is, if I'm any judge of spandexed horseflesh): we need to take momentary leave of "Puff-Puff, the Ssssssensitive Super-Hero," in order to check in with The Right Honorable Barry Allen, Esq.; a.k.a., The Flash.
It seems there's been a rash of "impossible thefts" taking place within the boundaries of Central City, these past few weeks: "An outside window [...] forced open on the twentieth floor of a skyscraper, and the safe inside looted"-type stuff.
The Flash -- all but certain that his newfound riival for the affections and adulation of Central City's populace is the costumed cutpurse in question -- sets a trap for the unwary Ralph Dibny, involving some rare and tempting antique vases...
... and (Zut Alors!) catches him at the scene of the crime!
Ralph attempts to escape from the Flash on foot (Idiot Notion #1); then briefly entertains the notion of engaging in combat by "stretching myself around [a] tree" (Idiot Notion #2); and then answers the question "Now... where are those vases?" with a chirpy: "In the garage behind the warehouse... where I put them!" (Idiot Notion #3)
Some are born to greatness; some have greatness thrust upon
then; and some couldn't spell "greatness" if you spotted them two vowels.
In all perfect fairness, however: it turns out that the terminally well- intentioned tyro hero only "took" said vases in order to keep them safe from the real art thieves; stashing them in the garage (along with a couple of convincingly cold-cocked gunsels) only long enough to place a phone call to the Central City police department.
"Then you came here early in order to capture these robbers... and clear your good name?" a startled Flash inquires of the Elongated Man.
"... which is Ralph Dibny, by the way!" the rubbery rookie responds.
(Well... maybe it's not all that "good" a name, really. I mean: Ralph DIBNY -- ?!?)
"Say," the Flash blurts, suddenly; "... I recognize those men! They belong to the Perry Veto gang! But where's their ringleader?"
"There was a third man," a shame-faced Ralph confesses; "... but he
escaped me, Flash!" (Oh. Well. Color me thunderstruck,
by all means.)
Quicker'n you can say "... this looks like a job for a real super-hero": the Flash is off and... ummmm... running; scouring the city at hyper- velocity for the aforementioned Veto, and whirlwind-ing the latter's car right off the road.
All's well that ends well, then; as Flash and Elongated Man end up scoring a tie later that same week, re: the coveted PICTURE NEWS "Man of the Year" award. (PICTURE NEWS being newsgal Iris Allen's journalistic employer of record.)
"How about the two of them shaking hands?" one of the banquet attendees asks, jovially.
"Right!" Ralph responds, agreeably. "Just sit where you are, Flash!" He extends himself, courteously; occasioning the following jape on the part of a grinning Scarlet Speedster [Pick One]:
A.) " *Whew*! Talk about a 'boardinghouse reach!"
B.) "... huh? Why's he extending just one finger, f'pete's sake? I... hey! SAME TO YOU, FELLAH -- !"
C.) "He said hands, Degenerate Lad! Hands!
HANDS -- !"
Okay. So. I've maybe played just a wee li'l bit rough with ol' Ralphie Boy in the course of this here retrospective-slash-Friar's Club Roast.
Just a minuscule tad, mind.
On behalf of all you pained and outraged Ralph-aholics out there, then, the whole wide world over -- oh, yes, yes, yes; all eight or ten of you, for goodness' sakes! -- allow me to make heartfelt amends, by all means.
Two weeks from today, I mean...
... in Part Two of SOMETHING OF A S-T-R-E-T-C-H: The (Kinda) (Sorta) Super-Heroic Legacy of Ralph Dibny: THE ELONGATED MAN!
Be here, won't you...?
Unca Cheeks will be doling out free cookies and ice-cold gingold, immediately
afterwards.
"MORE COMIC BOOKS," YOU SAY...?
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