It Was Frank Castle's Fault I Broke the Law

Jay here.

When I was a kid nobody fucked with Frank Castle.

A marine veteran, Frank would turn to the darker side of justice when his wife and two children were gunned down after being caught in the middle of shootout between mobsters in Central Park, NYC. Since then he would pledge himself to eradicate crime and take down the mob. What made him different was that he was willing to kill to get the job the done. Yes, here was the ultimate antihero. Also, that skull on his torso was bad-ass.

Of course, I'm talking about The Punisher, Marvel Comics' most brutal and dark vigilante. While the colorful and heroic superheroes of the 60's and 70's began to fade in popularity, fans of the medium in the 80's and early 90's began to gravitate to more realistic and morally ambiguous fare. The Punisher had been around since 1974 when he first appeared in The Amazing Spider-Man #129. But it wasn't until the end of the Reagan era that he first began to garner some mainstream success, and one young thirteen-year-old boy was there to devour every page.

Frank Castle, a.k.a., The Punisher

For me, The Punisher was a transition into a different kind of comic book. It was somber, serious and brutally violent in ways that the X-Men, Avengers and Spider-Man could never be. Even Batman, compared to Frank and his brand of justice, seemed tame by comparison. I was hooked.

I couldn't get enough of Marvel's seemingly psychotic vigilante. I collected both of his titles -- The Punisher and The Punisher War Zone. One of my favorite limited runs was the very popular Punisher vs. Wolverine series, penciled by infamous comic artist, Jim Lee. In one of those rash, impulsive decisions adolescent boys are prone to make I traded my copies of this treasured storyline to my best friend, Nick for a copy of the Spider-Man video game on the Sega Genesis. Even hours and hours of 16-bit web-headed awesomeness couldn't make up for this dumb transaction. I believe he may still have those comics today. At least I imagine he pulls them out every now and then, maniacally laughing at how much he duped me.

A page from The Punisher vs. Wolverine two-parter.

There wasn't a comic book shop near where I lived in Virginia Beach, VA, so most of the ones I bought came from grocery stores, the local 7-11, or drugstores. One such drugstore was just a few shops down from Boykin's Music, where I had to go for piano lessons every Thursday night. It was apparent early on to my mother that I lacked the desire or the athleticism for sports, so she tried to tap into my more artistic side.

I loved both movies and music. I would pull out her records and listen to Simon and Garfunkel and the Eagles over and over again. I would try to belt out "Desperado" just like Don Henley, imaging a captivated audience that has gathered to hear me play for them. I'm sure there are many kids who have acted out such fantasies when they are home alone in the precious hours before mom and dad get home from work. But, you see, I was always a daydreamer as child. Much more interested in the made-up lives of comic book supermen, video game heroes and big screen action stars than any of the real people around me,

So, piano lessons it was. I am sure my mother thought it would be good for me to learn something that would be a better outlet than watching TV and playing Nintendo.

Her name was Emma Fountain. She must have been nearly 80 years old. She was the picture perfect image of everyone's grandmother. Every Thursday I sat next to her on a piano bench and tried my best to play the piano. The first complete tune I learned was "The Entertainer". Yes, I was a ragtime maestro, beating out that Scott Joplin ditty so many times that I could simply play it without really thinking about it. Even today, I can still cozy up to set of ivories and play that song - purely from memory. Strange, the things we never forget.

So, my mom would drop me off to play piano in a tiny, cramped room with Emma Fountain, while she either went back home or grocery shopping. To be honest I don't remember where she went, but she always returned to pick me up and write out a check to give to Emma. My mother was delighted with the old lady and to this day she loves to bring up my piano teacher who only taught me one song.

"Remember when I used to take you to piano lessons with that sweet, old lady? What was her name?"

"Emma Fountain, mom."

"Emma Fountain!! What a sweet lady. And what a great name! You should write about her some day, or at least use that name."

Touché.

On the way to my lesson one night, my mother told me she had an appointment and that my stepfather, Luis, would be picking me up after. She explained to me he might be a bit late so I should go down to the drugstore on the corner and wait for him there. She had already written a check for Mrs. Fountain and she handed it me to give to her.

The lesson was uneventful and boring as usual. More practice of scales in different keys, etc. By the time I was leaving the music shop it was dark outside and a little chilly. I didn't have a jacket with me that night so I hurried down to the drugstore. It felt like the wind behind my back was pushing me toward my destination as I swung the door open and quickly walked in. The chimes of small bells rang out from the door announcing my arrival. The clerk did not seem to notice me as she was already busy helping some other customer. I made my way to the comic book rack, which was located three aisles away.

The comics were displayed on one of those simple spinner racks. It couldn't have held more than 30 titles in all. Quite a few of these were of the Archie variety - more kid stuff than what a 13-year-old would want to read. At least that's what I thought. There was all  the most popular series from DC and Marvel on display. The Uncanny X-Men, The Amazing Spider-Man, Detective Comics and Fantastic Four were all there. As I spun the rack around it made a subtle squeak that seemed like a siren in the quiet store. Finally my eyes settled on something unexpected . . . .

It was The Punisher #47.

This particular issue of The Punisher had a cover that seemed to depict our hero in the Middle East, Baghdad to be exact. He appeared to be in the midst of an attack by several Arab men. One of them, he was holding up by the front of his shirt. The coloring was interesting due to the fact that Frank was inked in red, with a setting sun behind him, giving the effect of dusk in the desert. The caption on the bottom read, "Caught-- in a Desert Storm!" It was 1991, and America's first conflict with Iraq was in full swing and, as often is the case in comics, stories reflect what is going on in the real world.

The Punisher #47 - April 1, 1991

 

I started thumbing through the pages, excited about finding a Punisher comic and also frantic because I knew Luis would be pulling up any minute and I wanted to read the whole story. As I started to read the first page a sudden thought occurred to me, 'Why don't I just take it with me?' I had no money to buy it and I knew Luis, who was a frugal man to say the least, would never buy it for me. It seemed so simple and I even had the foolproof means to perform the crime. Beside me on the floor was my piano lesson book. Much bigger than the comic, I could easily slip the issue between the pages of my music book and walk out with it unnoticed. I quickly, in one move, slipped it in place, hidden from view. Then I stood up and headed towards the drugstore's exit, unaware of the headlights from the parked car that had been shining on me through the window as I made my escape.

When I got outside I was relieved that I had made it out with my prize without incident. That relief was instantly replaced with surprise when I found my stepfather's car already parked in front of the store with Luis waiting for me behind the steering wheel. I climbed into the passenger seat as I gripped my piano book tightly, not wanting anything to slip out. The instant I got into the car and looked at my stepfather I knew something was wrong. He was looking at me strangely, and seemed to be disturbed by something. He didn't mention the comic book or that he had seen what I had done, but as we drove away toward home my stomach began to tie itself into a horrendous knot as the realization began to dawn on me -- HE KNOWS . . . .

Luis and my mother had married when I was twelve. Mom and I lived in Richmond, VA, where I was born and raised, living for a good chunk of that time in a split-level house with my aunt, uncle, cousin and grandmother. Yes, it was a crowded house but it was what I was used to. My parents had divorced when I was merely two years old, so I had never known a traditional nuclear family type life until my mother met Luis and we moved down to Virginia Beach and into his condo off of Lynnhaven Inlet.

Living with Luis was very different from what I was used to. He worked for the Navy as an architect. He liked order and cleanliness. His house was decorated pretty sparsely and he had nice things. He liked those things to remain nice so I had to be careful to not make a mess of any sort. Having been a bachelor for his entire adult life, it seemed to me that he was the kind of man who had gotten very used to having things his way and was not accustomed to having a young boy in the house. Especially one as messy and disorganized as I was. He was Cuban and a Catholic, while my mom was raised Baptist and I wasn't raised anything. This made him a bit old fashioned in my view and this background manifested itself in how he would treat my mother and I sometimes when he was frustrated or not getting his way. He could be demanding and short-tempered. He was the kind of parent who would react very strongly to seeing his kid steal something.

We drove the rest of way home in silence.

As we entered our house I made quickly for the stairs that led to my bedroom, clutching my lesson book tightly as I climbed the first couple of steps. Behind me, Luis cleared his throat.

"Are you taking your piano book to your room?," he asked. "Why don't you put it away in the piano bench?"

I stopped in my tracks, turning back to look at him. My mother's piano was in the living room. The bench in front of it had a lid that could be lifted where all of her music books were placed. It was here that I always left mine as well. It made no sense that I would take the book with me to my bedroom. What was I going to do, hum the notes? I knew now that he had me.

"No, I'll just take it with me," I replied innocently. "I was gonna look at it some."

"Don't be ridiculous," Luis said, "Just leave it here. You don't need to take it with you."

"It's okay. I just wanted to take it with me. I'll bring it back when I'm done."

"Just leave the book here," he commanded firmly.

What could I do? I wasn't going to be able to argue with him until he gave in. It was obvious he had seen me steal the comic somehow. I walked across the living room and placed the piano book, Punisher #47 inside, deliberately inside the bench on top of the other ones. Luis watched me as I turned and headed down the stairs to my bedroom. I closed the door behind and waited for the inevitable confrontation.

But it didn't come.

At least not the way I thought it would. When the knock came at my door, it was not Luis, but my mother, who had since returned home from her appointment. She wanted me to come upstairs and speak with them. She told me that Luis had seen me place the comic in my piano book through the window when he had pulled up. When I came upstairs I was lectured harshly by Luis about stealing. He and my mother told me that I now had a choice. I could return with them back to the drugstore with the stolen merchandise and confess my crime to the clerk there, or I could return to my bedroom, collect every comic book I own in a box and throw them in the dumpster outside as punishment. By throwing them all away I would be spared the embarrassment of having to admit to the theft, but I gathered both my mother and stepfather would prefer I just 'fess up and go with them back to the store.

To any comic fan who owned dozens of issues, carefully sealed in plastic for safekeeping, the choice seemed obvious. No kid would sacrifice years of collecting just to avoid a few minutes of shame, would they? I mean these were my most prized possessions. Many of the stories I knew by heart. It was a no-brainer.

I chose to throw them all away . . . .

I know, I know. What a dumb decision, huh? Trust me, if Adult Me could go back and talk to Kid Me I would tell myself to suck it up and take the few minutes of abuse because it would only be a passing moment. Getting rid of every comic I owned was permanent. I guess when we're children we don't think of things that way, or at least I did not. I was absolutely terrified of going back to that drugstore and having to face my crime. Maybe I thought the owner would call the cops, or I wouldn't be allowed back there. Possibly Emma Fountain would find out and she would look at me like I was some juvenile delinquent with those grandmotherly eyes. These thoughts were ridiculous, of course, but they were racing through my mind as I slowly trudged back to my bedroom.

I opened the bi-fold doors of my closet where I was greeted by shelves of comic books neatly stacked. I grabbed the first one I saw, The Uncanny X-Men #244. Here was the first appearance of Jubilee, a X-Man I never much liked, but I winced because I knew this would be a collectors item someday if the character ever became popular. Here was Wolverine #1, a very desirable issue to have. Released in 1982 and written by Chris Clairemont with art by Frank Miller, I had procured it from some kid at school who thought it was in too bad a shape to ever be worth anything. It only had a few creases so I didn't see the big deal. Issue after issue, I started to place them in a cardboard box as tears started to run down my face.

Wolverine #1 by Clairemont and Miller. Yes, I threw this away . . . .

"Why had I even taken that stupid Punisher comic," I began to think. It probably wasn't even that good. It wasn't worth all this trouble that's for sure. The colors from the covers of my comics seemed even more bright as I continued to pile them into their box of doom. Halfheartedly I was holding onto a secret hope that my mother would change her mind and have mercy on me and my collection.

I came back into the living room with my box full. My mom and Luis looked on as I opened the front door and walked out into the night towards the dumpster which was on the opposite side of the parking lot. I got to the big metal garbage bin, placed my box on the ground and strained as I peeled open the sliding door that was always tough to pry loose. I held my breath as the stench of all our neighbors' collective waste rose to greet my nostrils. The thought of throwing my most prized possessions into a giant box with all that refuse and rotted food made me even sicker to my stomach.

After bending down to pick up the box again I hoisted it up through the dumpster's door and as the tears continued to flow I slowly pushed it until it rested just on the edge. While I stood there, the box teetering on the edge, only being kept from tumbling in by my light grip on it, I grew angry. I was pissed at Luis for fucking everything up by marrying my mom and thinking he could be a father to me. I was mad at my mom for making me do this and not just scaring me and then backing down. Why did she have to marry this guy anyway? I was mad at myself for making a dumb decision. But I was also mad at Frank Castle himself. How dare he be so cool and kill people with such effortless bad-assness. If his comic wasn't so appealing to the inherent violent nature of my pre-adolescent self, maybe I wouldn't be in this predicament.

I slid my fingertips off the box, watched it fall and heard the thud as it became one with the trash inside the dumpster. I went back inside and went to bed without dinner.

It wasn't long before I started collecting comics again. As time went on my collection grew once more, but I never forgot the lesson I was meant to learn that night. Luis and my mother split up shortly after the incident with the Punisher comic. Years later, she would tell me the epilogue to the story. A chapter I never knew.

Once I had gone to bed, Luis went out to the dumpster. Somehow he was able to reach inside and retrieve my collection from its unavoidable demise. My mother was asleep also. He brought the box back inside and stored it on top of the china cabinet where both my mom and I were not likely to find it. I'm guessing his plan was to give them back to me eventually, once he felt I had essentially learned my lesson. The irony is that soon after that their marriage ended and he never told either of us about it until we had moved out leaving it behind, never to be returned to me. I never laid eyes on my collection again. Who knows what Luis did with it after we were out of his life? I never saw him again.

I would think about that night from time to time. It was one of those childhood memories that seems to stick in your brain. As I prepared to attend the San Diego Comic Con in 2013, I remembered that Punisher comic I had stolen and I realized that one of the vendors there would most certainly have it for sale. For some reason, probably because I lean towards sentiment and nostalgia, I felt I would attain some catharsis from tracking it down, buying and reading it - for the first time. I know, it's silly, but it made sense to me.

Soon, it was July 2013, I was 36-years-old, and I was walking into the vast chaos of the exhibit floor at the world's biggest comic book convention. Thousands upon thousands of people walked around the great room, many dressed as all sorts of characters from pop culture. It was so crowded it seemed to take forever just to walk a hundred yards. If you've never been to this event, it can only can be described as a gigantic carnival of geekdom, where everyone comes to celebrate their love of comics and pop culture in general. It is an assault on the senses that is overwhelming and glorious at the same time.

Near the center of the room was a vendor who claimed to have nearly every comic available to buy. I moved down the aisles where cartons upon cartons of carefully filed issues were stored. The amount was staggering. Tabs that stuck out the top advertised the series that resided in that box. My eyes scanned them looking for the "P"'s that would lead to my quarry. Finally, I located the hundreds of Punisher books lined up in waiting. Unfortunately, I did not, at that time, know the number issue I was looking for. I could have done my research online before coming, but my decision to locate Punisher # 47 was kind of spur-of-the-moment. I thought I would just come across it.

You can find almost any comic ever printed at the annual San Diego Comic Con.

My fingers danced across the issues as I flipped them forward, waiting for the jolt of recognition when I would see the cover. It wasn't long before it came. There it was! #47, just as I remembered it. Memories, both good and bad flooded back as I lifted the comic from the others and looked at it. The price tag advertised the price of $5.

"I'll sell it to you for $3," a voice said from behind me.

It was the vendor himself. He had seen me looking at the issue. It was now that I realized something that was so improbably stupid that I could laugh at how fate is truly not without a sense of humor.

"Do you take cards? I don't have any cash."

"No, sorry. Only cash here."

You've got to be kidding me, I thought to myself. How could I not bring any cash? I turned red as I  laughed inside at the irony.

"Well, can you please hold this for me while I go get some cash?", I asked the guy. He looked at the comic and then at me with an exasperated look. I'm guessing that this was a common issue for him. I have to say, though, it was 2013 and this guy hadn't updated to credit card purchasing?

"Just take it. It's fine. You can have it for free."

Something clicked inside of me. It would have been easy to just walk away with the comic. Hey, I had found it, hadn't I? The guy was willing to give it to me, so why not save the $3?

But, I couldn't do it. There was a voice inside of me that was speaking very clearly and it was telling me a truth that could not be ignored. If I took this guy up on his offer, my quest of redemption would be over. I had to pay for this comic! In my insane attempt at logic, I had convinced myself that by paying for this issue, I would achieve some sort of closure with a brief episode in my life that in reality meant nothing, but for some reason I had convinced myself meant something. Taking it for free because I had no cash was almost like stealing it again. Stealing it with permission, of course, but still I was not paying for it. What if this guy wasn't the owner? What if he was just some deadbeat with questionable ethics who was tired of dealing with guys like me who have no cash? It would be stealing all over again. I couldn't do it.

"No, I'll just go find an ATM and get some cash. I appreciate the offer, but I insist on paying," I replied to vendor. I started to walk away.

"Dude, it's ok. Just take it. It's not worth anything," he replied.

"No," I continued. "You don't understand. I have to pay for THIS comic. It's worth something to me."

"Ok. Whatever, man."

Later, after finding a cash machine I would return with cash in hand. The vendor had returned the issue to its original location on file. He admitted he didn't think I was going to return, since so many had said the same thing and not come back. He found it for me. I gave him the full amount for it - $5, not the $3 he had offered. I walked away with it in my hands. I enjoyed the rest of my time at Comic Con and I was able to go this year as well. It is an experience anyone should take advantage of.

It is interesting the events we remember clearly from our childhood and the importance we place on things that others may find trivial. I collected comics as a child because I loved the stories. Stealing that comic and the aftermath of being caught had an impact on me that reverberated into my adult life. Now whenever I see Frank Castle, a.k.a., The Punisher, I think about the lessons he taught me that night and how interesting it is that it happened to be his title that I swiped. I too was "punished" for breaking the law.

I should have stolen the X-Men issue instead . . . .



Matt says ... "Hey, man! You should've just asked me for it. I've had it since it was released in '91!