This column originally ran in April 2010, shortly after an issue of Action Comics #1 set a then-record price at auction. This figure was eclipsed by a private sale in 2021, which only cements my answer even more firmly.
Whenever a vintage comic book sells for big money – as Action Comics #1 did last week, netting a record-breaking $1.5 million – my non-comic friends will ask if I would ever pay that kind of money for a copy.
My answer is always the same: heavens no.
Actually, usually “heavens” is replaced with a stronger word, one that expresses my surprise that something that once sold for a dime can command the kind of prices usually reserved for real-estate deals and headline-making lottery wins.
Not that I don’t comprehend the historical significance of Action Comics #1. The book features the first appearance of Superman, that brainchild of Cleveland kids Jerry Siegel and Joe Shuster, who sold their creation in its entirety to DC Comics (then National Publications) for the princely sum of $120, or about 0.008 percent of the cost that one rabid collector paid for that Action Comics issue recently.
The world’s first super hero, Superman went on to spawn a merchandising empire that includes movies, toys, games, and television shows, in addition to serving as the template for virtually every costumed hero that followed. For $120, National Publications bought, for a fire-sale price, a property that netted it (and later Time Warner) billions.
That first issue is scarce, with experts estimating about 100 in existence, making it the Holy Grail of comic-book collecting.
But as I tell my friends who wonder if I dream of adding a copy to my own collection, I am a comic-book reader, not a collector or speculator.
A reader buys titles he enjoys, perhaps because he likes the character, writer, artist, or some component of the story. Readers may keep their books in pristine condition so that they can reread them later, or they may dog-ear their edges and spill pizza sauce all over their four-color contents. (I aim to be the former, but occasionally am the latter.)
Sometimes, a reader will morph into a collector, aspiring to own every appearance of, say, Superman (may good fortune and a fat bank account be yours), or every comic book illustrated by a favorite artist. Sometimes they will collect particular genres – for instance, titles with giant apes on the cover (there are more of these than the layman might imagine) – or the output of one particular company (all Marvel Comics).
Only rarely does a collector devolve into that most odious specimen, a speculator, who buys titles based solely on their perceived market value. I once met such a slug outside a comic-book store, where he clandestinely ushered me over to the trunk of his car, as if it contained an illegal substance. Instead, it was overflowing with copies of the current issue of Batman. His scheme was to buy up all local copies of the issue and then sell them at vastly inflated prices.
There has to be an easier way to make a buck.
As a reader, I already own a copy of Action Comics #1. Before you check my work schedule and jimmy open my door, know that my edition is a reprint from ten years ago with a value of about $5. But it contains the same material as the original, and I get the same joy of experiencing the birth of a genre as I would from reading the $1.5-million original.
Maybe more, because if I spill a bowl of cereal and milk all over the Man of Steel’s first appearance, it won’t be the end of the world. Or the demise of a million-plus-dollar investment.
My answer is always the same: heavens no.
Actually, usually “heavens” is replaced with a stronger word, one that expresses my surprise that something that once sold for a dime can command the kind of prices usually reserved for real-estate deals and headline-making lottery wins.
Not that I don’t comprehend the historical significance of Action Comics #1. The book features the first appearance of Superman, that brainchild of Cleveland kids Jerry Siegel and Joe Shuster, who sold their creation in its entirety to DC Comics (then National Publications) for the princely sum of $120, or about 0.008 percent of the cost that one rabid collector paid for that Action Comics issue recently.
The world’s first super hero, Superman went on to spawn a merchandising empire that includes movies, toys, games, and television shows, in addition to serving as the template for virtually every costumed hero that followed. For $120, National Publications bought, for a fire-sale price, a property that netted it (and later Time Warner) billions.
That first issue is scarce, with experts estimating about 100 in existence, making it the Holy Grail of comic-book collecting.
But as I tell my friends who wonder if I dream of adding a copy to my own collection, I am a comic-book reader, not a collector or speculator.
A reader buys titles he enjoys, perhaps because he likes the character, writer, artist, or some component of the story. Readers may keep their books in pristine condition so that they can reread them later, or they may dog-ear their edges and spill pizza sauce all over their four-color contents. (I aim to be the former, but occasionally am the latter.)
Sometimes, a reader will morph into a collector, aspiring to own every appearance of, say, Superman (may good fortune and a fat bank account be yours), or every comic book illustrated by a favorite artist. Sometimes they will collect particular genres – for instance, titles with giant apes on the cover (there are more of these than the layman might imagine) – or the output of one particular company (all Marvel Comics).
Only rarely does a collector devolve into that most odious specimen, a speculator, who buys titles based solely on their perceived market value. I once met such a slug outside a comic-book store, where he clandestinely ushered me over to the trunk of his car, as if it contained an illegal substance. Instead, it was overflowing with copies of the current issue of Batman. His scheme was to buy up all local copies of the issue and then sell them at vastly inflated prices.
There has to be an easier way to make a buck.
As a reader, I already own a copy of Action Comics #1. Before you check my work schedule and jimmy open my door, know that my edition is a reprint from ten years ago with a value of about $5. But it contains the same material as the original, and I get the same joy of experiencing the birth of a genre as I would from reading the $1.5-million original.
Maybe more, because if I spill a bowl of cereal and milk all over the Man of Steel’s first appearance, it won’t be the end of the world. Or the demise of a million-plus-dollar investment.
chris.schillig@yahoo.com
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