The memory is distinct yet indistinct, in a way memories often are. I was four, maybe five years old, in the apartment of a relative or friend of the family that my parents were visiting. The Sunday News comics section was laying on a table and caught my attention; the stylized drawings glowed colorfully and hypnotically. I don't know why that moment holds sway over so many others. It certainly wasn't my first encounter with Dick Tracy, since the New York Daily News was a staple in my household - my older brother John would often be sent out by my father to buy the paper, and if it was sold out at Angelo's (our closest candy store) he would have to venture from store to store until he found a copy. I was always fascinated by comics, both books and strips. The images drew me into their world. I poured through the funnies every Sunday, paying particular attention to Little Orphan Annie and Dondi, but Dick Tracy , who held court on the front page each week, was especially
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