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  • A Civil Passion
  • James Fowler (bio)

In New York in the early 1960s, when I was still not quite school age, I first learned what it means to collect things. This isn't to say I became a serious collector, ever on the lookout for objects of desire in mint condition. That kind of exacting expertise seems not to be in my nature. Rather, I found something mass-produced that spoke to me as if designed with my personal delight in mind. The fact that my older brother started collecting the series first only introduced a sharpening note of sibling rivalry. If any other kids collected these cards, they were off my limited radar. As far as I knew, my brother and I divided the world's spoils between us, subject to our mother's approval.

The Topps Company, best known for its sports trading cards, also issued other sets calculated to catch young boys' eyes. Moviegoers will remember Tim Burton's adaptation of the Topps science-fiction series Mars Attacks, faithful in look if not in tone to the grisly original. The cards that enthralled me, however, while comparable in style, portrayed "actual" events in vivid shades of blue, gray, and red—especially red. If this was the Civil War, I was its customer.

Civil War News, as the series came to be known, after its gazette-like report on the back of each card, offered images of brutality and mayhem sufficient to satisfy the most demanding boy's bloodlust. This was stuff sure to draw the fire of squeamish parents and teachers. Strangely enough, however, my mother, generally so protective, did not forbid her sons this gory attraction. The nickels necessary to purchase the card packets would have come from her change purse.

I seem to recall buying the cards out of a machine at the front of a store. It displayed samples to whet the appetite. Anyone who has collected cards knows the diminishing returns as decks grow more complete. After a while you are thankful to get one new card out of a pack. My brother and I traded, of course, after heated negotiations. We must have quarreled over ownership too; a few of my cards bear the name Jim in my mother's hand.

Any such marks, of course, seriously lessen a card's value. Kids these days are savvy about market considerations, but I was only concerned with immediate enjoyment. According to the Checklist (the last card in the series), there were eighty-eight cards available, and I methodically filled in each little square upon acquiring numbers that had previously eluded me. It simply would not have occurred to me that one day, in the mists of my adult future, an immaculate Checklist might sell for $100.

Then again, I cannot imagine parting with a single card. I keep my collection, [End Page 90] made complete one recent Christmas due to my brother's persistent online bidding, on a corner of my desk. No plastic sleeves, no album. This is a hands-on possession. I periodically revisit the images that are as engraved in my memory as the great paintings of the Western world, these Civil War scenes being of longer acquaintance. Should I feel at all embarrassed that a bit of juvenile pop culture has had such a lasting effect on me? Perhaps, but I don't.


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"The Topps Company, best known for its sports trading cards, also issued other sets calculated to catch young boys' eyes. The cards that enthralled me, however, while comparable in style, portrayed 'actual' events in vivid shades of blue, gray, and red—especially red. If this was the Civil War, I was its customer." "Hand to Hand Combat," courtesy of the author. All card images reprinted courtesy of Topps, Inc.

Apparently the cards owe their visual impact to a team of five men: Len Brown and Woody Gelman—initial concept/rough sketch; Bob Powell—detailed pencil rendering; Maurice Blumenfeld and Norm Saunders—painting.1 Their skill in composing a variety of memorable, usually violent, scenes is remarkable. As a kid I was taken with the uncensored, bloody action, more thrilling...

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