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Long before reading became a digital habit, comic books offered mayhem, mischief and adventure for just 10 cents. As someone who will even read the same cereal box morning after morning, I was an enthusiastic customer.
The comics sat in a rotating drugstore kiosk, where I browsed under the watchful eye of an employee determined to prevent free reading. After making my choice, I placed a dime on the counter and took home a new story.
Donald Duck was my favorite, particularly when Huey, Dewey and Louie joined the action. Uncle Scrooge made an appearance even better. With a fortune capable of rescuing the group from nearly any predicament, he was the Warren Buffett of the comic-book world.
Later, thicker 25-cent editions delivered longer adventures and seemed worth every penny. The extra pages allowed Uncle Scrooge and his companions to venture abroad, including expeditions to Egyptian tombs overflowing with gold and jewels.
Comics also functioned as childhood currency. We negotiated trades—perhaps one Donald Duck for two Little Lulus—but protected our favorites so we could reread them. Owning a large collection brought social standing and plenty of bragging rights.
Lending books could be risky. The children next door were not allowed to have comics, and their mother regularly searched their rooms and discarded any issues hidden beneath their mattresses.
Classic Comics served another purpose. More than one high school athlete managed to get through English class with help from an abbreviated comic-book version of Romeo and Juliet.
By my teenage years, I had left the ducks behind for Archie and his circle. I favored blond Betty over the spoiled and sometimes unkind Veronica. Archie, Reggie and the perpetually clueless Jughead also had to stay alert for their disapproving teacher, Miss Grundy.
Those affordable books contained the essentials of a satisfying story: heroes, villains and happy endings. They also left behind unexpectedly useful knowledge. Years later, I immediately knew the answer to a crossword clue asking for the duck nephew who wore red: Huey. Sometimes an old-school education pays off.