The path to that first Thanksgiving held in the New England territory of what would someday be the United States of America had been fraught with hardships.
The two-month voyage on Mayflower, bringing the Pilgrims to the New World, had been miserable. Actually, “miserable” is too good a word for it. The one-hundred-two colonists had been jammed into holds designed for hauling supplies, not passengers. The conditions were cold and damp. They survived on meagre rations of hardtack and dried meat and beer. The overload of passengers and provisions caused Mayflower to roll like a barrel on the high seas, causing rampant seasickness. Incredibly, only one colonist was lost during the arduous sixty-six-day crossing.
When the ship arrived at Plymouth Rock on 09 November 1620, the Pilgrims probably thought the worst of it was behind them. They were woefully mistaken.
The original plan had been to land in Virginia. The reasons why Mayflower, instead, anchored in Cape Cod Bay are varied and in dispute. The upshot though was, rather than a mild southern winter, the Pilgrims were beset by a harsh New England December of snow and bitter cold. With no time to complete their lodgings, the settlers were exposed to the extreme elements. The food supplies quickly ran out and starvation set in. If that wasn’t bad enough, an epidemic devastated the already weakened colony. Seventy-eight per cent of the women succumbed to disease.
By the spring of 1621, only half of the original party---twenty-two men, four women, and twenty-five children---remained. The survival of the fifty-one colonists lie in the hands of one of the indigenous tribes, the Wampanogs. An English-speaking member of the tribe, Squanto, acted as liaison. Through him, the Wampanogs taught the Pilgrims how to cultivate corn, catch fish, and avoid poisonous plants.
But the Indians’ generosity wasn’t motivated by altruism or friendliness. Illness and intertribal wars had reduced the Wampanog population such that they were outnumbered four-to-one by their chief enemy, the Narragansetts. The Wampanogs sought the Pilgrims as allies against their aggressors.
In the autumn of 1621, when the Wampanogs joined the Pilgrims to celebrate their first successful harvest in the New World, it was still with one eye over their shoulders, wary of an attack by a hostile tribe.
Even so, the adversity faced by the Pilgrims in 1621 was nothing compared to the perils faced by the people on . . .
The Cold War, like the Great Depression or the Dust Bowl, is one of those things you can’t truly understand unless you lived through it. In 1949, the free world shuddered when the Soviet Union test-exploded its first atomic bomb, and Americans’ nervousness increased in October, 1957, when the Soviets pulled ahead of the U.S. in the space race by successfully launching the first artificial satellite, Sputnik, into orbit. All of our rockets were still blowing up on their launch pads.
Communist spies, as proven by the Venona papers, were working within the structure of our government. Senator Joseph McCarthy shamelessly exploited and enflamed this fact for personal power, and though McCarthy would eventually be brought down, his actions stoked fears of Soviet conquest into a sense of panic. When Soviet Premier Nikita Khrushchev declared, at an address to Western ambassadors, “We will bury you!”, Americans took it as an intention of nuclear war. Some responded by burying their heads in the sand; others, by spending thousands on installing survival shelters in their backyards.
The Emergency Broadcast System was frequently tested over the airwaves (all of you remember those announcements breaking into our television-viewing, right?), to make sure we would be notified of incoming Soviet ballistic missiles. And the Office of Civil Defense Mobilization distributed publications, posters, and films informing the public of what to do in the event of nuclear attack.
Maybe it seems silly to you now, but not then. Then, it was grimly possible.
In the summer of 1960, National Periodical Publications---what is known as DC Comics, now---decided to use the possibility of nuclear holocaust as a springboard to a new series . . .
The caption on the splash page of “The Rise of the Atomic Knights”, from Strange Adventures # 117 (Jun., 1960), explained the situation.
World War III---the Great Atomic War---is over . . . and in its wake lies an Earth in ruins! Of plant life, there is none! Of animal life, only a small number of humans lingers on! There is no government, and the prevailing law is Might Makes Right!
The story proper begins in the year 1986, where, in ruins of a valley town, Durvale, a man in combat fatigues is fleeing a starving mob. After eluding his pursers, the man, Sergeant Gardner Grayle, late of the U.S. Army, pieces together fragments of his memory, dazed by an atomic explosion that wiped out the rest of his unit. He recalls the last terrible moments of World War III, which lasted only twenty days!
After replenishing his strength with a packet of K-rations, Grayle comes to the aid of the rampaging mob’s next target, school teacher Douglas Herald. The two manage to drive off their attackers, and Herald brings Grayle up to speed on the state of the world.
“The war killed all plants and animals! Food can’t be grown anymore! The only remaining food is the huge stacks of food that had been stored here and there prior to the war!”
The mob that attacked them wasn’t after money---currency is useless, now. It was after a tin of food that Herald had found in the ruins of a museum. You see, explains the former teacher, all of the food supply is in the hands of the Black Baron, the leader of a band of marauders. Having gotten their hands on a cache of weapons, raguns and radiation grenades, the Black Baron and his gang took over Durvale and confiscated all of the food supplies. He now rules from a stronghold on the hill, doling out rations to those willing to lick his boots.
At that moment, the foraging mob returns, and spotting Grayle and Herald, hurls a radiation grenade. The pair take cover behind a display of Mediæval armour just before the R-grenade explodes. Believing their targets dead, the thieves depart. The thing is, Grayle and Herald should be dead---from the radioactive rays of the grenade. But, somehow, through some quirk of science, the armour of the Mediæval suits protected them.
If the armour will protect them against R-grenades, then it should protect them against raguns. They now have a way of combatting the Black Baron.
From the remaining peaceful residents of Durvale, Grayle and Herald enlist four more volunteers to fill out the six suits of armour: brothers Wayne and Hollis Hobard, two more ex-soldiers; Bryndon, one of the few remaining scientists; and Marene Herald, Douglas’ sister.
To cut to the chase, Grayle and his armoured team drive off the Black Baron and his underlings, distribute the food supplies to the people, and set up a provisional government in Durvale. Realising that other settlements need their aid from similar abuses, the sextet becomes the Atomic Knights.
The series showed the readers the grim realities of nuclear devastation. No electricity, no mechanical transportation, no animals to employ as food or as beasts of burden. Eventually, the water and ground became free of atomic radiation, but with no plants, there were no seeds, and thus, no way of growing any food. Therefore, the food tins had to be rationed. All labour was manual, with only the simplest of tools to make work easier. Anything more advanced was out of the question. Science itself was suspect, seen as the cause of the world’s destruction (making scientist Bryndon something of a pariah outside of the Knights).
Over the course of the Atomic Knights’ adventures, we see the slow re-evolution of mankind over the next three years, represented by the development of Durvale. Eventually, generators are built, and radio is reëstablished, thanks to the sole communications satellite still in orbit. Now, the various settlements across the continent are able to contact each other.
In “World Out of Time”, from Strange Adventures # 129 (Jun., 1961), the Atomic Knights discover an island which is still lush and green with foliage, animal life abounds, and sophisticated structures are visible. Upon investigating, the Knights are captured by the war-like residents. From their captors’ appearances and the architecture, Bryndon concludes that they are on Atlantis, somehow thrust from its ancient age, before it sank into the ocean, to the present.
The Atomic Knights manage to escape to the sea just before fate catches up to Atlantis, and a massive groundquake sends the island to the watery depths. Fortunately, Marene Herald had the presence of mind to collect seeds from the various fruits and plants before the disaster. This sets the stage for the next tale.
“Thanksgiving Day---1990”, from Strange Adventures # 132 (Sep., 1961), jumps ahead several months from the time the Atomic Knights returned with the seeds appropriated by Marene. Now, Durvale boasts groves of fruit-bearing trees and gardens of vegetables, thanks to an accelerated process of cultivation developed by Bryndon. Believing it right to share their bounty with the other struggling American settlements, Gardner Grayle invites those he can reach by radio to come to Durvale for “a Thanksgiving feast---the first in America since the Atomic War!”
Unknown to the Atomic Knights, the warlord of Atlantis, Khagan, and three shiploads of his warriors also escaped the sinking of their island. Their advanced instruments led the three vessels to the ruins of a coastal city in America. Occupying the abandoned city, the Atlanteans have been monitoring the air-waves, collecting information on the various settlements. They intercept Grayle’s broadcast invitation to a Thanksgiving feast---and Khagan devises a deadly plan.
Within a few days, the leaders and residents of the surrounding colonies have made their way to Durvale. Gathered at long benches, the assembled guests are served dishes made from fresh fruits and vegetables, the first produced on Earth since the Atomic War. The folks dig into the treat heartily. For the first time, they have hope for the new world which remains for them.
But, it doesn’t last.
As the afternoon sun begins its decline, casting long shadows, a band of warriors attacks the gathering! From their previous adventure, Douglas Herald recognises them as soldiers from Atlantis.
The attackers wield bizarre mirror weapons which discharge heat rays at the fleeing guests. Herald is one of the first to fall. Gardner Grayle snatches him up in a fireman’s carry, as he and the other Atomic Knights take cover behind a near-by barn. Weaponless---their last ragun ran out of power a few days earlier---the colonists are helpless to prevent their massacre.
Then, suddenly, the Atlanteans break off their assault, drawn by the fruit and vegetables on the tables. The warriors, too, have gone without fresh food for months. They pause to gobble down the inviting morsels. That gives the Atomic Knights the chance they need to sprint for the shed which houses their armour. They make it safely and suit up, as the Atlanteans resume their attack.
Rather than risk a frontal assault, the warriors use their mirror weapons to set the shed ablaze, figuring the men inside will die in the flames. Instead, the now-armoured Atomic Knights emerge through the fire and charge the surprised Atlanteans.
The Knights discover that, fortunately, the same peculiar molecular change in their armour which protects them from radiation enables them to resist the heat rays of the Atlanteans’ mirror guns. Consequently, it takes Our Heroes only three panels to overpower the invaders.
Converting one of their storage buildings into a makeshift guardhouse, Grayle and his team confine the warriors and interrogate them. But no answers result. The prisoners don’t understand English---or are pretending not to. Gardner assigns Wayne Hobard the job of jailor.
“No privileges until they do talk, understand?” orders the leader of the Atomic Knights.
The news isn’t all bad. Douglas Herald will survive the heat-ray blast that struck him.
As night falls on Thanksgiving, 1990, from atop the hill, Gardner and Marene watch the moon rise over Durvale. Marene addresses the uncomfortable open ending to the day’s events.
“If we don’t know who those men are or anything,” she says worriedly, “we can’t be sure we won’t be attacked by others like them?”
“That’s right,” admits Grayle. But he has more to say on the subject.
I think Gardner Grayle (or, actually, writer John Broome) also put his finger on the meaning of that first Thanksgiving in 1621. It was to give thanks for the harvest, yes, but more important, it represented hope. Hope for freedom. Hope for prosperity. Hope for a better life in the New World.
In essence, we all wish for the same things: a good life for ourselves, for our loved ones, and, in general, for our fellow man. Where we often disagree is on the best way to get there.
Over the last several years, that disagreement has polarised our country. We’ve gotten more contentious and personal about it. Where it was once “John, I think your idea is stupid,” now it’s “John, you’re stupid.” We’ve lost sight of the fact that men can disagree and still be people of good will.
There is certainly evil in this world. But the goodness, the decency, the humanity that exists in all of us outweighs it. We couldn’t have made it this far if it didn’t. For all of our failings and abuses in the past, and with those we still need to correct, mankind is better off than it was three thousand years ago. And we’ll get better, still.
Every home has disruption on Thanksgiving. The minor kind, like your uncle who wants to change the channel from football to the parade, or the cousin who insists that this year’s dinner should be vegan. That’s part and parcel for the holiday.
But the big things shouldn’t keep us apart. Not today. Thanksgiving is more than just giving thanks for the blessings, large or small, that have come our way this past year. It also expresses our hope for a better life, for ourselves, for those we love, and for others in the forthcoming year.
And we all can agree on that.
* * * * *
From Cheryl and myself, to all of you, our fondest wishes for a Happy Thanksgiving, and many more of them!
Replies
Happy Thanksgiving to everyone on the Board!
Happy belated Thanksgiving, everyone! I completely missed the annual post until today.
It has been a very busy weekend and just had a chance to read your Thanksgiving Day post. Another good one. It is always fun to read about the Atomic Knights - one of the under appreciated Silver Age gems.
Happy belated Thanksgiving, everyone!
For anyone interested, "The Atomic Knights" is available in its entirety in its own color collection...
...or as part of the "Great Disaster" Showcase edition in b&w.
The hardback finally enabled me to catch the one story that wasn't reprinted in Strange Adventures back in the late Silver/early Bronze Age.
Fantastic post, Commander! I hope everyone had a wonderful Thanksgiving.
Happy Thanksgiving y'all.
As someone who writes about pop culture and history in various venues, it's very strange to sometimes have to explain the Cold War. But as you say, Commander, it's one of many things that look strange to anyone who wasn't there.
And I do love the Atomic Knights. They managed to deftly balance between "this is really grim" and "yes, there's still hope."
Thanks for all the kind words, fellows. (Though, I'll confess, when I saw no replies for the first day or so after I posted this, I began to wonder if I'd outlived my value here.)
This Deck Log Entry was a "Hail, Mary!" I had procrastinated in coming up with a Turkey-Day topic; Thanksgiving is more difficult to find material for than is Christmas. Finally, six days before my column was due, I went to the Grand Comics Database, typed "Thanksgiving" in the search engine, and crossed my fingers. I got lucky when that Atomic Knights tale from Strange Adventures # 132 popped up.
After the Star Rovers, the only DC science-fiction series to which I really paid attention was the Atomic Knights---and that was on the strength of Murphy Anderson's imepccably detailed art. (I'm not a big fan of "mankind rebuilds after the world is devastated" stories.) What impressed me was that Mr. Anderson gave each of the six armoured suits of the Atomic Knights a different design. The differences were subtle enough that one doesn't notice them readily (except for the streamers from Gardner Grayle's helmet). But, if one looks closely, each Knight wears an armour distinguishable from the others'. That had to be a real headache for Mr. Anderson to keep track of.
Once I read "Thanksgiving Day---1990", it was a simple matter to compare it to the struggles of the Pilgrims who came over on Mayflower. My concluding paragraphs also came easily---which surprised me, as the closings of my entries are usually the most difficult part. We all know how polarised our countrymen have become over the last several years, and it's gotten worse in the post-election interregnum before Thanksgiving. Some expressed their determination to skip the holiday with their families based on who voted for whom. We can't let ourselves be divided like that. If we can't put aside our differences to spend one day in fellowship with our loved ones, how can we ever achieve a meaningful, respectful discussion with those on the other side of the political spectrum?
I have one sibling, a younger brother, whom I haven't seen in over a year, even though we live ten miles apart from each other. That, in itself, is not strictly unusual. Our family dynamic has always been to see each other only when the orbits of our individual lives happen to intersect (something which our wives, who come from the "talk to your relatives every day" school, can't understand). But, this past year, I suspect that a decision in my brother's life---one with which he knows I disagree (non-political), though I have never told him so---has kept him from picking up the phone. Aye, I disagree, but I'm not about to tell him how to live his life, and I'm not sure he knows that. The one constant is that he always invites me and Cheryl to his home on Christmas Day.
I'll be expecting his call. If we aren't invited this year, I think I'll e-mail him this column.
Good luck. Those disagreements can be tricky to navigate but it's doable.
I'll have to look at some of the stories and see the armor designs.
I normally check you regularly and I knew you'd have a column up, but Thanksgiving I stayed off the computer. Then the rest of the weekend got way busy (good things to be busy with though).
My brother called last night to invite the Good Mrs. Benson and myself to his home for Christmas this year. I was able to infer that he did not make the bad decision to which he hinted last year. The long silence was simply our family dynamic in action. (Which drove the GMB crazy; all this year, she wanted me to call him to find out.)
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