Confesiones a un Árbol: Comic Books and Photo-Novels

COMIC BOOKS AND PHOTO-NOVELS

In my favorite children's book, The Wonderful Wizard of Oz, Lyman Frank Baum tells the story of a girl in Kansas named Dorothy who is swept away by a tornado and lands in an imaginary world inhabited by good and bad witches, a talking scarecrow, a cowardly lion, a tin man, and other fantastic characters.

In Chimbote, Peru, in the mid-sixties—back when I still didn't know how to read or write—an equally fantastic tornado lifted me up and carried me to a magical world where I lived, completely absorbed, for several years. This tornado was the world of comic books and photo-novels.

I must have been about five years old. My father owned a corner store at the intersection of Aviation Avenue and Union Street in the San Isidro Barrio, and in that business, he had a section of comics and photo-novels for rent (neighbors would take them home and return them within twenty-four hours for a small fee).

Nowadays, this kind of business would be unthinkable, but I grew up in a different world. Suffice it to say that black-and-white television didn't arrive in my home until May 1980... when I was nineteen years old! It is no coincidence, then, that many children of my generation, without television, had to take refuge in reading.

Before I could read or write, I devoted entire hours and days to deciphering stories through their drawings. My familiarity with the world of comics was such that I became my father's “purchasing advisor.”

Let me explain: every so often, a distributor of comics and photo-novels would come to the house. My father would call me to decide which copies he should buy. And I, without knowing how to read or write, would point my finger: “this one, yes” or “this one, no.”

A few years later, the comics at home became "too small" for me, and I started visiting the neighboring kiosks dedicated to the trade. I frequented “Pacherres’ Kiosk,” located in front of the old San Isidro cinema on Aviation Avenue, and also a stand on the fringes of the 21 de Abril market, overlooking Balta Street.

I read every genre of comic, even the so-called cultural ones like Vidas Ejemplares, Vidas Ilustres, and Joyas de la Mitología Universal. I read the latter not because I pretended to be a “good boy,” but because I was a compulsive reader who devoured entire kiosks from end to end.

Kalimán, the Incredible Man, was my favorite. My hero fought the forces of evil using self-defense, sleep darts, hypnosis, and a dagger. He was accompanied by the young Solín, and his philosophy was summed up in one phrase: "He who masters the mind, masters everything.”

After Kalimán, I liked the publications of José G. Cruz: Santo, el Enmascarado de Plata, Juan sin Miedo, El Valiente, and La Tigresa. For some reason, I preferred Blue Demon over Santo, and Batman over Superman.

Eventually, the neighborhood kiosks were no longer enough, and I began my ventures into the “major leagues.” At the time, I was shining shoes on the streets of Chimbote, and that’s how I ended up at the famous magazine rental stands of the Modelo Market, in the very heart of Chimbote, stationed on the seventh block of Espinar Street.

These were small canvas shacks, where the magazines hung from horizontal ropes held by clothespins. In a deathly silence, we unrepentant addicts enjoyed our reading. Back then, I was less than eleven years old.

Other favorite comics included: Memín, Little Lulu, Blondie, Salt and Pepper, Porky Pig and Friends, The Fox and the Crow, Woody Woodpecker, Capulina, Mighty Mouse, and Disney productions.

I also adored the cowboys of the Far West: Red Ryder, The Lone Ranger, Roy Rogers, Gene Autry, and Hopalong Cassidy. Likewise, the adventures of Tarzan, Mizomba the Untouchable, Turok, Son of Stone, Tawa, the Gazelle Man, Tomahawk, and Mawa of the Jungle.

At night, my mother put me in charge of a small candy business that I ran at the entrance of the Olaya Cinema. There, I met “Regalo,” a young man who sold comics, photo-novels, and pulp literature on the theater's sidewalk. He was my best candy customer and let me read his magazines for free. By then, I had left Kalimán and my other heroes behind, preferring horror comics like The Mad Monk and Dr. Mortis, and romantic ones like Archie and Susy, Secrets of the Heart.

At this point, I was awakening to adolescence and lulled myself into the bittersweet lap of photo-novels. An endless succession of love stories passed through my hands. The Spanish photo-novels Corín Tellado and Selene were my favorites, as were the Mexican ones, Cita and Chicas. I admired the leading men: Junior, Fernando Larrañaga, Ernesto Alonso, and Fernando Allende; and the beauty of Rocío Dúrcal, Irlanda Mora, and above all, Angélica María—who was the first muse of my adolescence.

A short time later, the photo-novels were also left behind. As I closed the last of their pages, a world of soap bubbles began to fade away. Beyond fantasy, girls of flesh and blood awaited me... the world of reality.

And that was the beginning of another chapter.

New Hampshire, USA

February 2012