The Mixed Record of Herb Galewitz,
Editor of Pioneering Anthologies of Vintage Comics
by Rick Marschall
As an anthologist laboring in the vineyards of popular culture for half a century, I have subscribed to the economic dictum, paraphrased to the context of comics, cartoons, humorous essays, and such, that "Bad money drives out good." Gresham's Law, as promulgated by Sir Thomas Gresham in the Tudor Era, recognized that inflated currency, an economy based (or debased) by fiat, will always be to the disadvantage of sound money. (Does this sound familiar these days?)
Fifty years ago it was nearly impossible to persuade galleries, museums, schools, and publishers to respect popular culture. I am not the only editor who has scars to prove what prejudices existed against scholarly treatments of jazz and comics, and movies and folk music. Of course there were exceptions, but it was lonely work. At first it was the French and Italians who taught America that comics and jazz were art forms; and my own work with museum shows and books on comics, television history, and country music were not the first, but among the first to plow the ground. My friends Woody Gelman, Bill Blackbeard, and Maurice Horn were staking claims.
But vintage comics' unfortunate example of Gresham's Law was a frequent presence in those days when the doors tentatively opened to comics' respectability: Herb Galewitz.
Comics fans generally never know much about Galewitz (1928-2017), but his several collections of vintage strips appeared from the 1970s into the '90s... and were popular enough to be on bookstore tables and library shelves, often at the expense of better-produced books and handsome editions. Many were published by "promotional-book" houses like Crown.
Galewitz might have scratched the itches of nostalgists who recalled strips of their youth; but he might also have accelerated more than he did the appreciation of the art form of the comic strip, as others worked to do. Instead, his books featured scant background information; bad reproductions; and casual, scrapbook-standard continuities. He worked from syndicate proofsheet archives which, when spotty, Galewitz made no effort to fill.
Nevertheless, he churned out collections of Bringing Up Father, Toonerville Trolley, The Gumps, and Dick Tracy. Perhaps his most celebrated, or certainly discussed, book was the awkwardly titled Great Comics Syndicated by the New York News and Chicago Tribune Syndicate. Again, it clearly was assembled according to whatever piles of proof sheets and clippings the syndicate could gather -- never the best of any of the features, which included the great characters like Tracy, Little Orphan Annie, Moon Mullins, Terry, and the Gasoline Alley cast; and arguably lesser lights like Winnie Winkle, Harold Teen, Smilin' Jack, Brenda Starr, and Sweeney and Son. Even more obscurities were there -- Teenie Weenies; Texas Slim; The Neighbors; Little Joe -- but none of them, great or modest, from their glory years. There was absurdly meager bibliographical information in the book; and, most offensive of all, bizarre feats of graphic legerdemain were committed, stretching strips to fit on the printed page, border-to-border. It looks like every strip (already tiny and inexplicably fuzzy) was placed under a pile-driver. In all, an embarrassment that likely scared readers and other publishers away from being near an anthology of vintage comics.
But "back in the day" -- now a vintage season in itself, 1972 -- it was virtually the only book that hungry fans could cling to. We had the book, and some of us brought it before the artists whose work was manhandled between its covers.
In 1980 I attended a Phil Weiss auction on Long Island, and met the aforementioned Herb Galewitz among the bidders. We struck up a conversation, and I found him to be a modest and friendly fellow. Eventually I learned that he had other pursuits: as a literary agent and record producer he was associated with the Curious George character; with the record You're a Good Man, Charlie Brown; and an anthologist of quotations.
He lived in Orange CT, and as my town of Westport was on his way, I invited him to stop by and see my collection, and talk comics. This he did, for a pleasant couple of hours, and I brought out my copy of his Great Comics volume. I never mentioned the visual abortion I saw it to be, and did he, whether he regretted its production or not. But I was happy to share what "redeemed" the copy on my shelves.
Through the years cartoonists had drawn their characters on the end pages, and several had inscribed them to me. I share them here. Galewitz was happy to see them, and impressed by my collection too, so he added his own contribution -- "To Rick Marschall, a great collector, and I do mean great." It was nice, and from a nice man, even if he was liable to be served with a Citizen's Arrest for violating Gresham's Law.