As I may have mentioned before, I have an inexplicable fondness for Wildcat. Ours is a relationship based on unfamiliarity, my own penchant for B-grade heroes and sidekicks, and the simple fact that Wildcat appeared in one of the first comics I bought with my own money.
I’m fairly certain what I bought was a copy of All-Star Comics presents the Justice Society of America. I was familiar with Superman and Batman, and this being the 70s, I also knew Wonder Woman and Captain Marvel, thanks to their respective TV shows. All four of those heroes were powerful, competent and straight as rulers — and that was the extent of my knowledge of the DC universe. Wildcat, who probably appeared on all of three pages in that long-lost comic, is the character who made an indelible impact on my young brain. Here was a costumed superhero who was dumb — his JSA friends and teammates often refer to him as “punch drunk,” and they don’t mean it as a compliment — hot-headed and the entirety of his powers consisted of him being a retired heavyweight boxer. Batman was a boxer, and also a genius and the world’s greatest detective — why did the JSA need Ted Grant?
Because Wildcat is one of the pulpiest pulp characters to ever pulp. I didn’t know that then, but on some level I appreciated that Wildcat was special because he was essentially normal. No powers, no alien gifts, no strange visitor from another planet background — he has a cat-themed persona and he didn’t even think to add claws or fangs. All he has going for him is a devastating left hook and dogged determination to always go down fighting. There is something incredibly satisfying about a character whose solution to every problem is to shout at it or punch it.
I recently picked up volumes 1 and 2 of the Justice Society trades that reprint a large chunk of All-Star Comics 70s years. The stories are a hoot, and not just because they’re from the Earth-2 era. Volume 1 features some of the earliest Power Girl appearances, and she takes militant feminism to new heights. Ted Grant, being a product of the 40s, refers to her variously as “girlie,” “chick” and “broad” rather than use her name, leading to various kerfuffles between the two. I suspect it’s because the books had male writers, but Ted comes across as likable even when being spectacularly sexist.
Wildcat at his best is like that reprobate old uncle found in most families; he doesn’t eat anything but steak, he drinks scotch at 9 in the morning, he swears in front of the kids, and he relies on the “pull-my-finger” joke way too often. He also punches out TV screens, various walls and occasionally decks a bad guy here and there, because he’s a *hero*. Despite his flaws, Wildcat has a sense of right and wrong (let’s ignore that time he framed a dude for murder, mm-kay?) and an exceptionally old-school approach to the problems of the world.
As much as I like the big furball, I don’t buy too many of the modern JSA books, mostly because when I do pick one up I don’t find them very entertaining. Which is a shame, really, but it keeps Wildcat fresh. I still smile every time I see him on a cover, and when I do buy a book he’s in, I enjoy every wisecrack, boxing metaphor and punch he throws. I’d enjoy it even more if someone built a short arc around the very young Wildcat set in the 40s, and made it so pulpy and noir that the ghost of Kenneth Robeson choked on it, but I don’t think it will happen. Wildcat is purely second-string only, and I love him for it.
And just like the nameless jamook in Tom Waits’ “Going Out West,” Ted Grant’s got hair on his chest and he looks good without a shirt.
Yeesh. No wonder Power Girl put up with his crap. Ted Grant puts the “sexy” in “sexist.”
-Paul
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