When he was roped into re-vamping Batman in 1964, Infantino had already played a key role in launching comics’ “Silver Age,” having re-introduced The Flash with a deceptively simple-looking costume that broke with “cape-and-shorts” tradition and actually looked like something a guy could comfortably run in.  His fluid designs, nimble figures, space-age skylines and dynamic layouts were about as far as you could get from the stiff, flat, lantern-jawed take on Batman that Bob Kane’s ghosts had been churning out for decades, and considering the Caped Crusader’s sales were in the toilet, just the shot in the arm he needed.

It’s probably hard for modern Bat-fans to appreciate how huge a deal the shift in art styles was back in 1964.  Batman has attracted so many stellar artists for so long that it’s easy to forget he was locked in one art style for an incredibly long period, and that that style could most charitably be described as “primitive.”  Infantino’s comparatively realistic and far more contemporary style — known then and now as  ”New Look” Batman — was such a jolt it sent fans into two camps; those more than ready for a change and those who thought Batman, like Dick Tracy, could only be drawn properly by his creator (a debate that played out in the pages of fan magazine “Bat-Mania” which, if you’re off a mind, can be downloaded for free here).  It was in that same forum that fans would soon learn Batman’s “creator” had in fact not drawn the strip in years, and may not even have been the “creator” at all, but that’s another story.

The point is, Infantino helped give the character the boost he needed to reverse his sales slump and get him back on the map with readers, which in turn led to the TV show, followed by a cartoon series that used Infantino’s designs, and all that groovy bat-gear.

As I get older, it gets ever harder for images to stick in my mind, but certain ones from early childhood remain as vivid now as they were the first time I saw them: Oddjob throwing his bowler hat, the Beatles in their Yellow Submarine, Steve Austin running in slow-motion, and comic images like the one below, created as a pin-up by Carmine Infantino and recycled endlessly on posters, album covers, statues and the cover to one of the most-prized books in my collection, “Batman From the 30s to the 70s,” not to mentioned being, along with the covers to Action Comics #1 and Spider-Man #1, one of the most imitated, parodied and plain old ripped-off comic book images of all time:

Then there was the “arms akimbo” pose that was used on tons of merchandise, including a version that was embossed on the bottom of everyone’s favorite die-cast vehicle toy, the Corgi Batmobile:

Infantino’s pin-ups of Batman villains the Joker, the Penguin and the Riddler were, likewise, the definitive images of those characters for a generation:

None of which is to imply that Infantino’s career began and ended with Batman.  He was one of the few talents to be around almost from the beginning and stick with it for decades, starting in the “Golden Age” of the 40s by introducing the Black Canary, evolving his style through the 50s with work on fantasy, sci-fi, adventure and Western strips and in 1956, as noted, ushering in a second era of superhero dominance with the re-imagined Flash.  As the 60s gave way to the 70s, he took the unusual post of “cover editor,” drawing roughs for the covers of almost all of DC’s titles and establishing a “house style” to be followed by such luminaries as Nick Cardy, Neal Adams and Murphy Anderson.  In the early 70s, with DC more or less on the ropes as Marvel Comics dominated the field, Infantino became the first artist ever to serve as Publisher of a major comics line, hiring on a new generation of artistic talents and creating an atmosphere of creative freedom that eventually wooed even Jack Kirby away from Marvel.  In short, he created “my” DC, the comics I started with and which inspired a lifelong interest.  More recently, reprints of his Silver Age work on The Flash and Adam Strange have made a comics fan of my son, Jason.

Of course the down side to being a constantly evolving artist is that sometimes you evolve too far for your audience, and as Infantino’s art became more and more stylized and quirky, he left a lot of readers behind, including yours truly.  By the late 70s and early 80s, I started actively avoiding his work on titles like Star Wars because it was just too angular and cartoony for my tastes.  Back on The Flash again in the 80s, he drew what seemed to me an utterly interminable storyline called “The Trial of The Flash,” which between lasting literally for years and featuring that ever-more oddball art style pretty much led to the character being killed off in 1986′s “Crisis on Infinite Earths.”

And so he became a sort of poster boy for the cycle that defines all truly innovative artists with an individual style and a desire to keep growing;  you start off with folks calling you an  ”exciting young talent,” progress if you’re lucky to “genius” and “giant in the field” and end up with “meh, I liked your old stuff better.”  But oh, that old stuff!

I was lucky enough to meet Mr Infantino at a late 90s convention and got him to sign, among other things, a poster of that “rooftop” image, which was pretty awesome.  He seemed like a nice guy, if a bit tired, but then I’m guessing he had that image shoved in front of him about a zillion times over the years.  To him, it was old news, one of countless jobs he cranked out in a long career, if for some reason just more popular than a lot of the others.  But to me, it was one of the most powerful images of childhood, one that unlocked a whole universe of imagery and adventures and a lifetime love of comics.

I’ve often thought it must be awesome to connect, really connect with an audience on a meaningful level, whether through a portrayal, a song, an artwork or whatever.  I hope Mr Infantino knew that he made that kind of connection with a lot of readers.  Either way, he’ll live on through his work, and that’s not a bad legacy to have.

One of the (many) other things we’ve been remiss in doing is getting professional photos taken of the kids.  I realized how bad it had gotten when I noticed the photo of Grace on my desk at work was taken around her first birthday.  She’s now 4.  Anyone who’s met our photogenic princess knows that’s a crime, but happily one of Laura’s friends was able to help us out with a fun session near her home.  I thought the images turned out phenomenally well.

Otherwise, it was a month of R&R for me, as I took just over two weeks off from work to hang out with Laura and the kids.  Not that it really felt like two weeks, mind you; what with the shopping and baking etc that goes with the holidays, and various odd jobs that needed doing around the house, the time passed in the blink of an eye.

As of this writing, the Christmas tree is still up.  I’ve long since given up trying to talk Laura into letting me take it down each year before I return to work, and now she’s produced the results of a “Today Show” poll that says a majority of folks think it should stay up until Jan. 6.  As anyone can tell you, there is no opinion that matters to me so much as that of the average Matt Lauer fan, so I guess the issue is solved once and for all, now.

Along with the tree and a small army of nutcrackers inherited from my grandmother, the house is also “decorated” with various toy and game boxes that haven’t yet found a permanent home, and probably about a million tiny Lego pieces awaiting their date with destiny (ie: the vacuum cleaner) behind, under and around the furniture in every room in the joint.

Luckily we’d gone ahead and stocked up on presents for Christmas, despite the dire predictions of the end of the world.  The kids had as much fun with that foolishness as anyone; all day long on Dec. 21, Gracie kept turning her head to say, “Ka-BOOM!” as if from off-stage, only to turn back to me and add, “Really!  It wasn’t me that time!”

The presents went about as you’d expect; multiple chess sets for Jason (one electronic, another a “four-way” version), scads of Legos for Scott, a pile of Hello Kitty and Lala Loopsy stuff for Grace and video games and books galore.  Also,  Jason was happy to get his “Risk 2210″ game, since regular Risk, which he’d only had for a couple months, is so passe.  (After all, without the 2210 upgrade you can only take over the world, and not moon bases).

On New Year’s Eve, we let the boys stay up to watch the first Harry Potter movie on DVD and Jason made it to midnight to see what a big deal the Times Square ball drop is(not).  Now we’re positioned for a new year of fun adventures, some of which might hopefully even end up chronicled here.  To any and all who still follow the goings on at this blog, Happy New Year from all of us.  We hope it’s a great one.

I knew there were folks who were into re-enacting Civil War battles, but it never occured to me there could be similar fans of just about every period of military history.   There was lots of vintage ordinance on hand; some of the costumes were originals and others were homemade, but in most cases you’d be hard-pressed to tell the difference.   Judges wandered the grounds interviewing the presenters and rating them on historical accuracy and, I’m guessing, their ability to answer questions “in character.”   We missed a recreation of a battle late in the day, but by then we’d moved on to Yorktown for an artillery demonstration, so we weren’t complaining.

Here’s a shot of the kids watching the complicated and time-consuming process of suiting up for battle in the middle ages:

A few camps down the way, Scott answers the call to enlist in Rogers’ Rangers, and has his commission papers drawn up with quill and ink.

A hundred years later and we’re still not ready to “text,” so Jason and Scott send a message by heliograph, courtesy of the British Army.  ”H-O-W  L-O-N-G  U-N-T-I-L   L-U-N-C-H-?”.

There were also “civilian” re-enactors on hand to show what life was like off the battlefield.   Here, Jason and Scott pause for a truly “old school” game of hoops:

There were vintage Jeeps and other vehicles on hand, including a first-generation Volkswagon built for the German army.  But our girl Gracie’s on the side of the Allies, so here she’s stopping for directions to the front lines. That, or the picnic area.

First, though, Jason has to sweep for landmines and make sure the route is safe.

Having once more made the world safe for democracy, the kids confer with the Commander In Chief before heading back to the hotel.

All in all, a fun day, especially since we had no idea it was even in the works when we made our trip to Jamestown.  We seem to luck into this kind of thing a lot on trips, but next year we’ll be sure to have it on our calendar ahead of time.

By the time I was old enough to stay up for prime time viewing, The Andy Griffith Show had already morphed into the tepid Ken Berry spin-off, Mayberry RFD. I never quite warmed to the “Perry Mason by way of Cracker Barrel” routine of Matlock. Oddly, my introduction to Mr Griffith probably came with Salvage 1, a kooky show (but not a comedy!) about a salvage expert who builds a space ship out of junk parts and manages to get it to the moon and back.  And while I liked that show(!), he didn’t especially stand out for me.  Anyway, as a kid I was all about the futuristic adventure of Star Trek and glamorous globe-trotting with James Bond; down-home, “country” shows were all Hee-Haw junk in my book.

It wasn’t until high school and syndication that I was able to watch The Andy Griffith Show, but by then I’d changed enough to enjoy it, because by then I was old enough to understand the appeal of nostalgia.

Yes, I know you can’t feel nostalgia for a place you didn’t live and a time you were too young to remember (if you were alive at all), but the beauty of Mayberry was that it could have been any small town, and for millions of viewers it was theirs.  For me it was the small Virginia town where I spent my earliest years, and which — after a passage of years and miles — my hazy memories had rendered as idealized and near-mythical as the backlot sets of Mayberry.

The real appeal of the show for me, though, was in the relationships between the characters, especially the father-son dynamic of Andy and Opie, which was touching and real without — at least for my money — tipping over to maudlin.

Andy Taylor was, for me, a lot like Ward Cleaver; a good dad who made his share of mistakes, and often ended up with egg on his face, but whose heart was in the right place.  By the 70s,  sit-coms woudl shift their focus away from the parents to the kids; the stars of the shows were precocious pre-teens, and the dads — to the extent they got any screen time at all — just showed up to play straight man and act hopelessly befuddled by pretty much everything.  This is a trend that continues to the present, with no end of cable shows on Disney and what-not starring nominal “kids” who live essentially as little grown-ups, with parents who are mainly absent and when they do show up, an annoyance.  (Delivering two lessons modern generations have embraced all too readily: One, Never involve your parents in your life because they just don’t get it, and Two, perpetuate childhood as long as you can, because ”grown up” is worse than dead).  For me, those older shows proved there’s lots of comedy potential in parent-child relations without making the parents into cardboard caricatures, or kids into smart-mouthed trouble-makers (though they were around then, too. See “Dennis the Menace”).   Andy and Ward often wandered in over their heads when it came to being dads (who doesn’t?) but they were never played as buffoons.

Ironically, one of the scenes I remember best from the Andy Griffith Show was actually about the folly of excessive nostalgia.  Andy, Opie and Aunt Bea are sitting on the front porch one summer night and the exchange goes more or less like this:

ANDY: “Opie, when I was a boy on a hot day like this, the ice man would drive his wagon through town and we kids would all run along behind it, trying to snatch off a hunk of ice to chew on.  Of course we’d usually get a piece of straw in there with it, but it still tasted great.  You know, something’s gone out of life since then…”

BEA: “Yes…Typhoid!”

The message — if any — being that it’s easy to overlook the down side of the “good old days,” and to forget that, after all, back then we were all working towards and dreaming about our future…which is now.  Better to enjoy the day at hand than pine for the one that’s gone.

Or something.  But it’s still hard not to yearn for a time when life was slower and simpler, when the “social network” centered on the annual town picnic and  “friending” someone involved actually meeting them, when all it took to keep the peace was a sherrif and a deputy with only one bullet between them (and that one kept in a shirt pocket), when the only resident of the jail was “the town drunk” and being drunk was pretty much harmless, when families talked to each other over dinner every night and then moved out onto the front porch to talk some more.

Yes, it’s hard not to pine for those things even if you never actually experienced them.  Maybe especially if you didn’t.  Even though we know Mayberry wasn’t real, we feel it should have been, so we massage our own memories until our home towns are Mayberry, when none of them really were.  As newsman Maxwell Scott says in The Man Who Shot Liberty Valance, “when the legend becomes fact, print the legend.”

And so as he embodied the protector of Mayberry and its values, we can mourn the loss of Andy Griffith, the actor.  But since he was only ever an idealized symbol in the first place, we needn’t say goodbye to Andy Taylor.  He’ll live on in reruns, as will Mayberry itself, not so much a real town, in Griffith’s words, as “a state of mind.” Meanwhile as a dad, I’ll keep trying to give my kids what I had; a great childhood that, looking back as adults, they’ll remember being even better than it was.

I didn’t have much luck this year catching snapshots of the action, partly because I had the camera in the wrong mode and only figured that out towards the end of the day. But there was this one fun image from the finish line of one of the Tiger heats, with the nose of Scott’s #49 car just slipping into focus in Lane 2.

Jason also took “best design,” which for me was the coolest part, since he put a lot of thought and labor into bringing to life his vision for the car. He was determind to work in flames from the “exhaust” and a pair of lighting bolts on top, the latter presenting no end of headaches until we finally settled on cutting them from yellow craft foam and gluing them on. If it had been up to me, I’d have given up on those things pretty early on, but I have to admit they did give it a unique look.

Scotty’s plan was simpler; copy the design of the car he built last year, but was unable to race. Jason’s other new trick this year was to tape off sections for cleaner paint lines, though Scott was in too much of a hurry to go through all that. Topping off both cars were plastic “Halo” action figures.

At the end of the day, both boys finished in the Top 10, time-wise, and Jason’s only regret was that he didn’t get a better look at the car that beat him out for fastest-in-the-pack. Every year he incorporates elements from every car that outdoes his, and now his schemes are thwarted.