At the time, I didn’t know how doomed I was when I started to worship G.I. Joe. I couldn’t get enough. If I could have crushed and snorted G.I. Joe, I might have done it.
While watching the G.I. Joe: A Real American Hero mini-series in 1983, I saw several commercials promoting the battles of G.I. Joe and Destro (a alley of Cobra) in Marvel Comics’ G.I. Joe: A Real American Hero Issue #18. “On sale wherever comic books are sold!,” it said. One problem. I happened to live in back-ass-wards town! Where the hell do they sell f-ing comics in Roswell? I could only think of two places: the Walgreen’s on North Main. (this is where I regularly begged my mother to drive me on Sundays so I could buy an issue of Teen Titans) and the Newsstand on 3rd Street (they had a wobbly wire spinner rack). There was no freaking time to wait. I had to have the comic now! The Newsstand was helluva lot closer than the Walgreen’s. If I told my mother I was going to CBs house, I could make it there and back within an hour and half via my Black n’ Gold Huffy. Riding my bike to and from was all kinds of dangerous and my mother would have definitely whipped my ass with that humungous leather belt of hers if she found out. It was worth the risk. With a pocket of cash (most likely a dollar forty-five in coins; paper money was only for rich kids!) I began my trek.
Two hours later, I laid on my bedroom floor turning pages of that kickass comic. I think I read it three times that day. I had the buzz. I gotta have more. Yet, I had no way of getting every issue. The Walgreen’s never seemed to get a constant selection of comics (Teen Titans may be there one month and it might not). I couldn’t count on the Newsstand either. But there was one place that was more reliable. It was Yucca Newsstand in Alamogordo. I called my Grandmother and asked if she could go down there every week and look for G.I.Joe. She didn’t sound too excited about the request. But she agreed because she loved her little Grandson! I sweetened the deal. I told her that if there wasn’t a G.I. Joe comic there, she could pick up Teen Titans and/or Justice League. She accepted her mission. And I routinely sent my Grandmother an envelope with a few dollars in it to cover the books. (remember, comics back then were only .60 cents!) Thanksgiving weekend was the first time I could visit and she had a handful of comics waiting for me; including, G.I.Joe #20! Unfortunately, I missed #19 in the transition but I didn’t care. I was reading G.I. Joe! This would continue for another 11 years until it ended with issue #155 in 1994. (And I would get all the back issues.)
If G.I. Joe comics were Crack, then the figures were my Heroin. Not sure how I accomplished it but I bought over twenty figures between 1984 and 1985. Almost died trying to take Blowtorch home.
After school one day, I took all my money to ALCO and shuffled through all the figures. The coolest by far was the G.I. Joe team’s flamethrower. He was in this red and gold suit; he had a helmet with mask, tank and the flamethrower! I bought him. Then, I jumped on my bike to go home. He was just too cool for my flipping backpack so I decided to carry him home. One hand on the handlebars, one had holding my little 3 ¾ inch fucking flamethrower! This is wear I almost died. While riding along the side walk, I decided to spin the card around and look at all the other Joes (and Cobras; Cobra was always much more wicked). I dreamed. I drooled. And if not for the nice man racking leaves in his lawn, I would have slammed into a parked 1979 Ford Bronco. In that few nano-seconds, this man saw I was more preoccupied by my new toy, saw the impending disaster, and yelled, “watch it!” His shout snapped me out of a G.I. Joe induced trance and I looked to see the Ford blocking my path. I quickly reversed my peddles and skidded to a stop! Whew! A foot to spare to boot. Slamming into that truck would have been bad. I know. I could have been killed or worse (damaging the action figure of course!) Yet, I avoided death and Blowtorch was safe in his little plastic chamber.
Like all addicts, I denied my problem. I could stop whenever I wanted. I was in control. Wasn’t I? Of course!
The G.I. Joe addiction was only half the battle. It would start a downward spiral of addition after addiction. These addictions would pinnacle twenty years later. But man! It was one helluva a ride! (I’ll get that later…)
