More Fun Comics #73(cover November 1941, 10 cents, 68 pages), put on sale on September 19, 1941, from the publisher who became DC Comics. Creation attributed to Death Weisinger and George Papp . Disconcerting feature: the character's name does not appear anywhere in the summary— the story which introduces it bears a plot title, like the nine others. Only one edition exists, with no variations.
Here is a rare case: a first appearance that the booklet itself does not indicate.
Neither the cover, nor the summary, nor the title of the story mention the character. The information that makes this object valuable is entirely external to it — and that changes the way we search for it, authenticate it and pay for it.
A summary that does not mention it
Let's start with the strangest feature of this booklet.
The catalog gives the complete summary: around ten stories, plus the usual advertising and mail pages. None of these entries are named after the character. The story that introduces it is titled after its plot – a case of murders linked to homonyms – and nothing in this title lets us guess who the hero is.
This is not a cataloging anomaly: it was customary. In 1941, an anthology title announced a brand, not a casting. The reader bought “the issue of the month”, discovered what it contained, and the recurring characters were identified by their logo in the first box rather than by a table of contents.
Three very concrete consequences for today's buyer.
No search by name works inside the object. You must know the reference — series title and number — before searching. This is the opposite of the usual approach, where we start from the character.
A seller may sincerely not know what he has. A batch of anthologies from the 1940s, inherited or purchased en bloc, bears no indication. The booklet that concerns us is sometimes found there without anyone having identified it — that's where the best deals in the field are made, and they become rarer every year.
Authentication is through the content, not the cover. To verify that a copy is what it claims to be, open the booklet. We come back to this below.
How do we know the on-sale date?
Here is a point of method which goes far beyond this character, and which few buyers know.
A comic from 1941 has no on-sale date. It bears a cover date – here November 1941 – which was systematically two to four months later than the actual arrival on the shelves. This delay served to delay the withdrawal of unsold items.
So where does the date come from?September 19, 1941?
From an administrative document. The catalog specifies that this date comes from deposit made with the United States Copyright Office, and that this deposit designates the publisher by name. A publication had to be registered to be protected, and the registration stated its effective publication date.
In other words, the most reliable date we have on this issue does not appear in the issue: it was found in the archives of an administration.
This detail has a practical use. When one ad describes the item as "a 1941 comic" and another as "November 1941", both are correct, and neither says the same thing. On pre-war booklets, always ask for the cover year: it is the only printed mark, and therefore the only one verifiable on photo.
Sixty-eight pages for ten cents
The format deserves our attention, because it determines the state in which these copies reach us.
The booklet counts 68 pages and sold 10 cents. Compared to what a comic contains today, it's two to three times more material for a price that was already low.
This generosity is explained. The anthological format responded to newsstand logic: an object was needed thick enough to be seen in a display, varied enough not to disappoint anyone, and cheap enough to be purchased without thinking. Ten different stories guaranteed that at least one would please.
The material consequence is less happy.A block of 68 pages held by two staples undergoes constraints that a thin booklet ignores. The weight of the paper pulls on the staples, the spine opens fan-shaped, and the central notebooks come off before everything else.
This is the characteristic defect of these objects, and it must be checked as a priority: ask for a photo of the booklet held by the cover, back towards the lens. A block that yawns, staples that have torn their housing, a central notebook that moves - these faults are frequent, difficult to correct honestly, and have a serious impact on the grade.
Weisinger and Papp
The creation is attributed to Death Weisinger for the concept and the scenario, and to George Papp for drawing. The catalog confirms the presence of the two men in the credits of this issue.
A precision of method is necessary here, and it applies to all the anthologies of this period. The recorded credits cover the entire booklet, not story by story: around ten screenwriters and designers appear pell-mell. On this type of publication, it is therefore impossible to demonstrate the attribution of a precise story based on the catalog alone. It is the editorial history, widely documented elsewhere, which establishes who did what.
We're reporting this because it regularly produces errors. An ad may display, in good faith, the names of creators who have not worked on any of the pages of the character sought. Always check which story a name relates to.
Weisinger was first and foremost an editor, with a formidable sense of what would work. Papp, for his part, permanently fixed the silhouette: a green suit, a hood, a bow – an immediate legibility that has survived eighty years of reinvention.
A character built on a boss
We have to say things frankly, because the market will draw the consequences.
The character uses a structure that already worked with the same publisher: a wealthy man without power, a young partner, a vehicle and a thematic lair, a panoply of accessories available endlessly. Parentage is assumed from the beginning.
This lineage has a precise commercial translation.A derived creation does not benefit from the invention bonus. The market pays very dearly for booklets which introduce a new idea, and much less for those which apply a proven recipe - even when the result proves more durable than many originals.
Hence a situation that surprises buyers: with a comparable vintage and rarity, this booklet is traded under less narratively important golden age keys. The gap is explained neither by the state nor by availability, but by this tacit hierarchy between the invented and the declined.
For a patient buyer, this is obviously an opportunity rather than a defect. We develop this reasoning in ourrating analysis.
What the story contains
The inaugural episode takes up a few pages, like all those from this period.
It sets up the essentials in a handful of boxes: the outfit, the partner, the register – an urban criminal investigation, without supernatural or science fiction. It's an illustrated detective story, driven at full speed, with the density of dialogue typical of 1941.
What is striking, upon rereading, is the total absence of an original story. The character arrives constituted, without explanation: neither accident, nor oath, nor mourning. These elements will come later, added retroactively by other authors.
A reader coming from the modern versions, where the genesis occupies entire volumes, will therefore find something very bare here. This is also what makes these pages instructive: they show that a lasting character can be born without mythology, and then build on it for eighty years.
One clue is worth noting, because it provides information on the reception given to this creation. The catalog shows that the section reappears immediately in subsequent issues — put on sale October 20, November 18 and December 16, 1941, then continuously. There was no trial period, no pause, no editorial hesitation.
This is more significant than it seems. Many characters launched in 1941 disappear after two or three episodes, for lack of convincing. Immediate and continuous renewal signals that the formula worked from the start - which, in retrospect, explains a longevity of more than eighty years without real interruption.
Check a copy
Four points, in that order.
The content. Since the cover doesn't mention anything, ask for a photo of the first page of the story in question. This is the only direct proof that the copy actually contains what you are being sold.
The completeness of the block. On 68 pages, something is often missing. Have it explicitly confirmed that all pages are present, including the central notebooks, which are particularly exposed in this format.
The back and the staples. The weak point of the format, as explained above. Photo of the back, obligatorily.
The printed vintage. It appears in the legal notices, in small print, generally on the first inside page. This is what distinguishes a period copy from a later reproduction.
Where to start
Three possible entries, very different in budget.
The original booklet. Rare, expensive, and to be reserved for collections already installed. Almost all of the copies in circulation are in low condition, which is normal for an object from 1941 sold as a consumable item.
Subsequent issues of the same title, put on sale on October 20 and then on November 18, 1941, where the character became a regular feature. Much more accessible, and interesting to see the formula stabilize.
Modern reissues. These stories have been republished in volumes, which remains by far the most reasonable way to read them.
For the stories that really made the character's reputation - all very later - see ourbest runs.
What collectors ask for
More Fun Comics #73, cover dated November 1941, sold for 10 cents for 68 pages. It was put on sale on September 19, 1941. The creation is attributed to Mort Weisinger and George Papp. Only one edition exists, with no price variation or foreign edition.
Because in 1941 an anthology title announced a brand, not a casting. The ten stories in the issue have plot titles, and the one that introduces the character is no exception. The information which gives the object its value is therefore entirely external to it: you must know the reference before searching.
By filing with the US Copyright Office, which stated the effective date of publication and named the publisher. The comic itself only has a vintage cover, systematically two to four months later than when it hit the shelves. The most reliable date therefore comes from administrative archives, not from the fascicle.
The back and the staples. A block of 68 pages held by two staples undergoes constraints that a thin booklet ignores: the paper pulls, the spine opens like a fan, and the central notebooks come off first. Always ask for a photo of the booklet held by the cover, back towards the lens.
With caution. On an anthology, the credits recorded cover the entire issue and not each story: around ten names appear pell-mell. An ad can therefore display in good faith creators who have not worked on any page of the character sought. Always check which story a name relates to.
Because the character takes up a structure that already existed with the same publisher: wealthy man without power, young partner, vehicle and thematic lair. The market pays very dearly for invention and much less for variation, even if successful. The gap is explained neither by state nor by availability, but by this tacit hierarchy.
No, and it’s striking. The character arrives constituted, without founding accident or oath: the outfit, the partner and the register are installed in a few boxes, then the investigation begins. All of its mythology was added retroactively by later authors, sometimes decades later.
By opening it, since the cover proves nothing. Ask for a photo of the first page of the story in question, explicit confirmation that all 68 pages are present – including central notebooks – and a view of the legal notices, which shows the printed year which distinguishes the era from a later reproduction.
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