Comic Book Prose: “Pro-Belligerent”
In the 1940s and 50s, publishers included prose text pages in their comic books in order to qualify for discounted postage rates. These short prose pieces were written as filler — readers purchased comic books for the comics, not prose fiction; the stories were only expected to satisfy the postal inspectors.
In this feature, MEANWHILE shares a forgotten prose story from the “Golden Age of Comics”: “Pro-Belligerent” was published in The Eagle #1 (Fox Publications, 1941); the credited author is N. N. Nathaniel.
Patrolman Pat Cassidy stopped in front of Schmalz’ delicatessen. Schmalz was a German, hence a potential fifth columnist, Quislingist, and Nazi.
The fat Irish cop shrugged. He entered the store. It was not Schmalz’ generous belly that attracted his attention. Rather it was an oversize pickle resting in the bottom of a glass jar filled with pungent smelling liquor. Without a word, Cassidy dipped his fingers into the jar and yanked out the prize pickle.
“Well, Schmalz, ar’ya a German?” Cassidy barked, his mouth full of juicy pickle.
“Ja und nein,” Schmalz responded, “I’m a citizen now. Look, herr, I got mine second papers yesterday.”
“Huh? Wha’ d’ya thing of Hitler?”
Schmalz’ vocabulary of abusive epithets was certainly extensive! Cassidy raised his eyebrows in surprise.
“Vy should I be afraid?” Schmalz challenged. “I got no folks in de old Vaterland. De verdamnt Gestapo can’t punish them for my thoughts.”
Hardly had he finished, when two tall rough-looking men entered this delicatessen. One glance at them told Cassidy he disliked them. However, he was due to report by telephone to the precinct sergeant.
As he walked along the street, loud, scuttling noises behind him reached his ears. He turned in time to see the two huskies speed out of Schmalz’ store, followed by the proprietor himself, wielding a huge knife. He would never imagine that the fat hulk of the delicatessen store owner could move so fast.
Running as fast as he could, he arrived on time to stop the outraged Schmalz from cutting off one of the huskies’ coat tails.
“Stop! You can’t moider!” Cassidy yelled.
“Mudder? Dat’s too gut for dem! Gestapo agents! They tried to make me join deir secret front!”
“Who? Them guys?” Cassidy gasped. The two had jumped into a sleek coupe and driven away.
Fortunately a taxi was cruising by. Cassidy gripped Schmalz by the collar and yanked him into the cab. The driver was none too enthusiastic about the prospect; there was no profit in working for the law. But he obeyed Cassidy’s booming voice and pursued the fleeing coup.
The two huskies saw the pursuing car. They coaxed more speed out of the the coupe, rushing through Times Square, Herald Square, and into the horrible maze of streets in Greenwich Village. The cab driver, though reluctant before, took this as a challenge and doggedly kept on the coupe’s tail.
The fugitives could not keep up the grueling flight. Their new coupe wasn’t prepared for it. The brakes screamed as they gave up the fight. The coupe careened and crashed headlong through an art store window. Paintings flew in all directions.
The cab driver pulled to the curb triumphantly. The cab door flew open and 250 pounds of Cassidy shot out, heading swiftly for the wrecked art store. Schmalz followed at his heels.
The second husky staggered out of the coupe. Perhaps his actions were unconscious, but he assumed the boxing stance. It was enough for Cassidy. He swung his ham-like fist and caught the husky squarely in the jaw, lifting him into the air. The husky’s flight ended on the lap of a satyr statue.
“Ain’t bad, huh!” Cassidy beamed with satisfaction.
He yanked the two huskies to their feet and snapped handcuffs on them. He searched them. They carried no concealed weapons.
“Now what charges d’ye prefer agin’ these gorillas?” Cassidy asked Schmalz.
The fat German scratched his head with a frown. “Dun’t know. Dey said dey ver agents from de Bund, dat’s all.”
“What?” Cassidy screamed with agony.
He pictured himself being laughed out of the precinct. He could arrest them for speeding, but it would hardly satisfy the Police Emergency Squad that now gathered outside the store and would momentarily invade it. Nor was it reason for giving the Riot Squad so much trouble keeping crowds of curious onlookers from the store. The spectators were already whispering “Dillinger” and “Another Dutch Schultz.”
Inspector Hanrahan barged into the store, followed by a dapper man with a waxed mustache.
“Patrolman Cassidy,” the inspector said, returning his salute, “Who are these gorillas? Never saw them before.”
Cassidy opened his mouth weakly. But he never had a chance to say a word. The dapper man brushed past Cassidy. He took one look at the huskies and his face beamed with satisfaction.
“Congratulations, Patrolman,” the dapper man said. He turned to the inspector, “I’d call it a piece of brilliant detective work. He succeeded in what the F.B.I., the Army Intelligence, and the Naval Intelligence tried for months to do and failed. These men are Count Manfred von und zu Kirchkrieger and Baron Hamm von Berchtold und zu Lowenfeldt, the two most dangerous Gestapo agents in the world!”
After a cordon of the toughest cops of the Riot Squad escorted the two agents out of the store, the inspector turned to Cassidy and said, “See me tomorrow at ten. Perhaps you’d like an appointment as detective, Junior grade.”
NOTES:
“Pro-Belligerent” is in the public domain, and can be found at the Digital Comic Museum’s website.
“Comic Book Prose” is a feature that showcases the prose text pieces published in Golden Age comic books.
Images of the original text pages are below:
