Free Seduction of the Innocent by Max Allan Collins Page A

“Guards! Escort that man out!”
    Allison continued to shout his protests as a pair of uniformed guards yanked him bodily from the audience and hauled him struggling out of the chamber.
    Price didn’t have to whisper, because a general murmur of excitement filled the courtroom as he informed me, “Will illustrated the story that creep said was bigoted. It’s an anti-bigotry story, Jack. That bastard Frederick has to know that!”
    “And misrepresented it, to take a cheap shot.”
    “Damn right.” Price’s eyes were tight behind the glasses, and he was shaking that big oblong head. “Well, that’s it— I’m gonna get that bastard.”
    And Price soon got his chance: he was the next up to testify. Once again, Dr. Frederick had warmed up a chair for him. In his loose-fitting, rather bulky pale gray suit, Price looked even heavier than he was, and he was already sweating. He brought a briefcase to the witness table, removed his prepared speech and other notes, and took his seat.
    “Gentleman,” Price said, “I would like to make a short statement.”
    This was allowed, and the comic book publisher gave his name and outlined his credentials, including his certification to teach in New York City public high schools. He reminded them that he was there as a voluntary witness.
    What followed was an admirably well-written, if haltingly delivered history of his father’s beginnings in “the comic magazine” field, a business which Leo Price had “virtually created,” in so doing fostering an industry that employed thousands and gave entertainment to millions. He moved on to his own involvement, after his father’s passing, which included continuing to publish his father’s beloved Bible stories comics.
    (This was something of a white lie: Leo had printed way too many copies of his Bible comics, and all son Bob did was fill from the warehouse the occasional Sunday school orders that came in for them.)
    Then Price opened the door: “I also publish horror comics. I was the first publisher in these United States to publish horror comics. I am responsible. I started them. Some may not like them, but that’s a matter of personal taste.”
    The boldness of that was appealing. In fact, the whole statement was fine, just swell, only he was just reading it, never looking up, occasionally stumbling over his own words, pausing to dab the sweat from his brow with a hanky, and that leg of his was shaking again. More violently now.
    “My father,” he said, “was proud of the comics he published. I am proud of the comics I publish. We use the best writers, the finest artists, and spare nothing to make each magazine, each story, each page a work of art.”
    Maybe it was a good thing Price was looking down at those typewritten pages: he was spared the skeptical expressions the senators at the bench exchanged, some glancing back at the looming grotesque comic-book cover blow-ups.
    “Reading for entertainment has never harmed anyone,” Price was saying. “Our American children are for the most part normal and bright. But those adults who would prohibit comic magazines see our kids as dirty, sneaky, perverted monsters who use the comics as a blueprint for action. Are we afraid of our own children? Are they so evil, so simple-minded, that all it takes is a story of murder to convince them to murder? A story of robbery to inspire them to robbery?”
    Finally, he set down his papers and began to speak from his head and his heart—perhaps not a wise move, but even as well-crafted as his prepared statement was, I was pleased to see him stop reading and just talk to the panel.
    “I need to point out that when Dr. Frederick spoke of one of our magazines preaching racial intolerance, he was indulging in an outrageous half-truth. Yes, the word ‘Spick’ appears in it. But the doctor neglected to tell you what the plot of the story was—that it was one of a series of stories designed to show the evils of race prejudice and mob