Prior to Wertham and the EC-Comics-Are-Ruining-Our-Youth congressional hearings, America experienced several other, smaller outbursts scapegoating comics for perceived problems. (If you're at all interested in this type of thing, I heartily recommend David Hadju's The Ten Cent Plague)
As a response to these early bouts of bad publicity, various comic companies tried to establish PR fig leaf "boards" of "experts" to sign off on their products as wholesome and safe for America's youth. Some companies established panels exclusively for themselves; some tried to establish a voluntary industry-wide group (but none ever received that level of cooperation).
Most had vague standards at best, and never spelled out their rules or methods. And for the most part, these precursors to The Code existed just so the publishers could say, "Look, we are policing ourselves."
With that in mind, allow me to point out World's Finest #39 (1949), wherein DC used a half-page to trumpet their "Editorial Advisory Board":
The other side of that ad showed a list of all of DC's contemporary publications, and asserted that the existence of the Board "guaranteed" their comics were pure and noble:
(Annoying note: they alphabetize A Date With Judy under "A"? Grrr...)
If this board operated as similar outfits did, the experts involved probably just provided DC with some vague list of criteria their stories should meet; it's unlikely they actually read every issue and signed off on them.
DC doubtless paid them some stipend for the use of their names, and whatever standards they came up with. Not a bad job, I guess. Than again, maybe they did actually read every issue. It somehow warns my heart to think of Dr. W. W. D. Sones, Professor of Education, reading each issue of Animal Antics to make sure it didn't stray too far afield, and getting paid for it. Or Dr. C. Bowie Milligan poring over each and every story in Boy Commandos, making sure it was appropriate for youngsters...and getting paid for it.
I need one of those jobs.
Hey, here's a fun little thought experiment: imagine that, through a quirk in the space-time continuum, were we able to send this back to our Editorial Advisory Board in 1949:
Love to be a fly on the wall when they read that...
As a response to these early bouts of bad publicity, various comic companies tried to establish PR fig leaf "boards" of "experts" to sign off on their products as wholesome and safe for America's youth. Some companies established panels exclusively for themselves; some tried to establish a voluntary industry-wide group (but none ever received that level of cooperation).
Most had vague standards at best, and never spelled out their rules or methods. And for the most part, these precursors to The Code existed just so the publishers could say, "Look, we are policing ourselves."
With that in mind, allow me to point out World's Finest #39 (1949), wherein DC used a half-page to trumpet their "Editorial Advisory Board":
The other side of that ad showed a list of all of DC's contemporary publications, and asserted that the existence of the Board "guaranteed" their comics were pure and noble:
(Annoying note: they alphabetize A Date With Judy under "A"? Grrr...)If this board operated as similar outfits did, the experts involved probably just provided DC with some vague list of criteria their stories should meet; it's unlikely they actually read every issue and signed off on them.
DC doubtless paid them some stipend for the use of their names, and whatever standards they came up with. Not a bad job, I guess. Than again, maybe they did actually read every issue. It somehow warns my heart to think of Dr. W. W. D. Sones, Professor of Education, reading each issue of Animal Antics to make sure it didn't stray too far afield, and getting paid for it. Or Dr. C. Bowie Milligan poring over each and every story in Boy Commandos, making sure it was appropriate for youngsters...and getting paid for it.
I need one of those jobs.
Hey, here's a fun little thought experiment: imagine that, through a quirk in the space-time continuum, were we able to send this back to our Editorial Advisory Board in 1949:
Love to be a fly on the wall when they read that...
I wouldn't. I hate to see grown people cry in agony. It's bad enough that I have to.
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