The date was May 8, 1956...Alfred E. Neuman makes his first appearance on the cover of MAD magazine. Neuman was indirectly named for Alfred "Pappy" Newman, a noted film composer. He was responsible for the scores of literally hundreds of movies including 'Airport', 'The Man Who Shot Liberty Valance', and 'The Hunchback of Notre Dame', winning nine Academy Awards in the process.
He also composed the
20th Century Fox theme. His brother
Lionel Newman won an Oscar for his
Dr. Doolittle score. And nephew Randy
Newman continued in the family tradition
writing award winning music for such
films as Toy Story. (Randy Newman also
played the singing bush in Three Amigos)
When writers were putting together the
Henry Morgan Radio Show, they named one
of the characters Alfred Newman after
the composer. A few years later some
cartoonists were looking for a name for
their mascot, a character borrowed from
a turn of the century dental
advertisement. Mad Magazine first dubbed
the toothless grinning red head Malvin
Koznowski, but decided instead to steal
a name from the Henry Morgan Radio Show.
The "What Me Worry" kid became known as
Alfred E. Newman.
What year did MAD magazine start?
MAD was first published in 1952 as a comic. It had a cover date of October / November 1952. Starting with issue #24 (July 1955), MAD became a magazine.
What was the original cover price?
The MAD comics had a cover price of 10˘.
The price increased to 25˘ when it
became a magazine (issue #24). Some of
the confusion results from an error in
the Trivial Pursuit game. The question
was: "What was the price of the first
Mad magazine?" and its answer of "Ten
cents". But now we all know the correct
answer.
Who were the original publisher and
editor?
William M. (Bill) Gaines was the
publisher and founder of MAD. Harvey
Kurtzman was the editor. Kurtzman left
MAD after issue #28, July 1956. Albert
B. (Al) Feldstein replaced Kurtzman
starting with issue #29, September 1956.
Where are the MAD offices?
The current location is 1700 Broadway, New York NY. Other locations, staring at the first, included: 225 Lafayette St, 850 Third St, and 485 MADison Ave, all in New York city.
What other countries published versions of MAD?
The following counties published versions of MAD, with the status if the country is still publishing: Argentina, Australia (current), Brazil (current), Canada (Quebec French), Denmark, Finland, France, Germany (current), Great Britain, Israeli, Italy, Mexico, Netherlands, Norway, Puerto Rico, South Africa, Spain, Sweden (current), and Taiwan.
What is the correct spelling of the MAD lexicon words?
Axolotl, borscht, frammistan, farshimmelt, furshlugginer, ganef, halavah, moxie, poiuyt, potrzebie, and veeblefetzer.
How many paperback books were published?
MAD started publishing paperback books with The MAD Reader in December 1954 and ended with Spy vs. Spy The Updated Files #8 by Bob Clarke and Duck Edwing in August 1993. MAD has started reprinting the paperback books again. Between 1954 and 1993, 220 paperbacks books were released. Ninety-four contained previously published material, MAD Stew was credited to Nick Meglin. Bristling MAD (#93, June 1993) was the last reprint book.
Who produced the most books under the
MAD title?
Not counting the Big Books, Sergio Aragones and Al Jafee each released 16 books. The others: Dave Berg, Frank Jacobs, and Don Martin – 13; Duck Edwing – 12; Dick DeBartolo – 10; Antonio Prohias – 6; Stan Hart and Lou Silverston – 5; Tom Koch, Nick Meglin, and Larry Siegel – 4; Paul Peter Porges – 3; and Max Brandel, Paul Cokers, and John Ficarra – 1.
How many Big Books were published?
There are 10 MAD Big Books. Al Jaffee has 3 under his name and with 1 each: Sergio Aragones, Dave Berg, Dick DeBartolo, Mort Drucker, Frank Jacobs, Don Martin, and Antonio Prohias.
What was the name of the MAD movie?
MAD's answer to National Lampoon's Vacation was "Up The Academy", released in 1980. The movie was so bad Bill Gaines paid to have the MAD logo and references removed from future releases and advertisements. The actor Ron Leibman also demanded that his name not be used in connection with the film.
When did Alfred E. Neuman first appear in MAD?
Alfred E. Neuman's first appearance was on the cover of The MAD Reader paperback book, released December 1954. He next appeared on the cover of MAD #21, March 1955. Alfred E. Neuman became the cornerstone for MAD starting with issue #30, December 1956.
When did Alfred E. Neuman get his name?
Alfred E. Neuman's name first was attached to him in issue #24 as the answer to the Photoquiz, even though none of the multiple-choice answers were Alfred E. Neuman. The name stuck with issue #30, which is the classic Alfred E. Neuman for President drawing by Norman Mingo. What were his other names in MAD?
Alfred E. Neuman had previous names of Melvin Coznowski (#24) and Mel Haney (#25 and 28).
What is the earliest image of Alfred E. Neuman?
This is a tough one because different people can see or not see his likeness in early images. Also many of the early images are not dated. Most collectors will agree that the earliest dated image that is definitely Alfred E. Neuman is from the Atmore's Mince Meat Plum Pudding ad dating from 1895. The ad can be found in the Illustrated London News (the New York City edition).
"I want to talk to the publisher," the boy said.
"I am the publisher," said the person. The boy blinked. The person he was talking to was a shaggy, rumpled hulk, dressed in a faded, pink sport shirt and baggy, unpressed trousers. Most of the bespectacled face was buried behind a hopelessly un-trimmed beard. The rest of the head was enshrouded in a puzzle of hanging hair, styled only by the force of gravity.
"You've got to be kidding," the boy said.
A still from the MAD movie, "Up The Academy"
No, it was true. William Maxwell Gaines, publisher of MAD, millionaire, gourmet, wine expert, practical joker, King Kong fanatic, zeppelin enthusiast, hater of exercise, and one of the least probable men in the world.
"We all have our many sides," says his sister, Elaine, "but Bill seems to have so many more of them."
Gaines runs MAD on his own terms and would like to run the rest of his life the same way. Shortly after the magazine moved into its present offices at 485 MADison Avenue, he toddled down for a chat with the manager of the building's restaurant, Morgen's East.
"I'm going to be in this building for at least ten years and I'm going to eat in this restaurant, sometimes with guests, at least four times a week, forty to fifty weeks a year," Gaines said. "The only thing I wish is not to wear a tie. If you insist on my wearing a tie, you will lose a lot of business."
"I'm sorry," the manager said, "but we can't let anyone eat here without a tie."
"Okay," Gaines said, and left, crossing the place off his list. Several years later, the restaurant lifted its ban and allowed guests to dine tieless. If Morgen's East thought Gaines would now become a patron, Morgen's East was mistaken. "There is no way I will ever set foot in the place," he says. This is, in some ways, a pity, because Gaines likes comfort and convenience in his life, and the restaurant offers both. But, as he says, "There are some things you can't forgive."
If Gaines had his way, the outdoors would be air-conditioned in summer and heated in winter, and all stairs would be replaced by escalators. For the present, however, he must make do with the imperfect world he has been deposited in.
One night he and I were strolling to a
restaurant.
"Frank, please," he objected.
"What's wrong?" I asked.
"You mustn't walk so fast. We are going
one degree uphill."
Gaines's mind is a nest of compartments, each programmed to make day-to-day living easier. He has special routes for getting about New York and has been known to walk three blocks out of his way in order to avoid a short stretch of uphill climbing. Of course, these are one-way routes. When he leaves the MAD office to lunch at a place, say, five blocks downhill, he will return in a taxi.
One night he and I watched home movies
taken during his boyhood. During a party
sequence, he directed my attention to a
young man jitterbugging. "Look at him,"
Gaines said. "I'll have you know that he
now wears a pacemaker in his heart. Can
there be any doubt why?"
Gaines has danced twice -— the first time when he took a lesson, the last time at a high school prom when he tried out the step he learned at the lesson. As a boy, he played softball once. He recalls getting one hit, which turned into a home run after the other team Made four successive throwing errors. He might have played a second time, but someone told him he threw "like a girl," which ended any dreams of sandlot glory.
Gaines has skiied once. He gave it up after twenty minutes because of two handicaps: he couldn't bend over to fasten his skis, and when he finally got them on, he would soon fall and lie in the snow, like a beetle on its back, unable to right himself.
Gaines has aquaplaned once. Again there
were physical problems. He required one
hand to hold on to his horn-rimmed
glasses (without them he can't see), and 
he required the other hand to keep his
swim trunks from falling, which they did
whenever the boat picked up speed. This
left no remaining hand with which to
hold on to the ropes.
But why dwell on one man's inadequacies? There are a number of things that Gaines does well — traveling, eating, wine-tasting, laughing, and, in between all these, publishing MAD.
"My staff and contributors create the magazine," he has said. "What I create is the atmosphere."
During MAD's early years, Gaines employed a stockroom boy named Anthony, a well-behaved, industrious chap, who suffered from only one character flaw — extreme gullibility. One day Gaines revealed that he had a twin brother named Rex.
"Watch out for him, Anthony," Gaines warned. "Rex looks exactly like me except that he has a scar on his cheek and talks loud and mean and nasty. He doesn't have any money, so he steals from other people. If you see him, he'll be wearing my clothes because he stole them from me."
A few days later, Gaines walked out of the office, applied a rubber cement scar to his face, and walked in as Rex. Anthony was appalled to see Rex stride through the office, shouting terrible oaths, bullying the employees, even rifling the petty cash box in Gaines's office. Anthony saw and Anthony believed.
Rex's visits continued. He would demand to see his twin brother, refusing to believe Anthony's explanation that William Gaines was out. Sometimes Rex had a scar on his right cheek, sometimes on his left — Gaines could never remember which he'd used the time before — but Anthony remained a believer. Years passed, and Gaines feared that Anthony was catching on. One morning the phone rang in Gaines's office. "Anthony, it's for you," Gaines shouted. Anthony picked up the phone and, while Gaines looked on, heard Rex's voice, tape-recorded, on the other end: "Anthony, don't say a G**damn word — just listen!" The voice screamed on for thirty seconds, then hung up. Gaines's mother visited the office and was cornered by Anthony.
"Mrs. Gaines, you wouldn't lie to me. Do you really have another son named Rex?" "I'd rather not talk about it," she said.
Anthony was an aspiring playwright. After he left MAD, he wrote a play cal-led The Canary Cage and sent it to Gaines to read. A few weeks later, Anthony phoned to get Gaines's reaction. Rex answered.
"Anthony, I just wantcha to know I'm producing a musical with Rodgers and Hammerstein called The Gilded Canary Cage."
Rex proceeded to describe the plot, which, of course, came from Anthony's script. "That's my play!" Anthony protested. "Yeah," growled Rex, "but can you prove it? I stole it from my brother when he wasn't here, and now it's mine and you can't do anything about it."
Anthony became so hysterical that someone in the office — Gaines never found out who — broke down and revealed the hoax for what it was. Gaines was sorry the gag was blown because he had been planning to end it himself in more appropriate fashion.
"We were going to kill Rex off, stage a funeral, and put up his tombstone in a cemetery, carved for real — 'Rex Gaines, Born 1922 — Died 1959.' It would have been the perfect ending."
More than a decade has passed, and MAD continues to be Gaines's private circus. Financially, the magazine is big business, bringing in a yearly profit in millions, but, unlike other publishing operations, there is a refreshing dearth of pomp and self-importance. This spirit was reflected on the cover of MAD's centennial issue: MAD PROUDLY PRESENTS ITS 100th ISSUE (Big deal!)
The staff works hard to sustain MAD's worthless image. The magazine puts itself down as a cheap rag, containing trash, garbage and other unworthy components. Gaines frets each time inflation forces the magazine to raise its newsstand price. For years MAD flaunted its price as "25˘ – Cheap."
But rising costs forced up the price to "30˘ –Highway Robbery." In 1971, MAD raised its price another nickel. For the next several issues, Gaines tried to placate his readers with these successive front-cover comments: "40˘; Ouch!" "40˘ ; Outrageous!" "40˘; No Laughing Matter" "40˘ ; Relatively Cheap!" "40˘ Cheap (Considering!)" "40˘ Cheap?" and, finally, "40˘ Cheap."
This kind of self-deprecation is unusual for a magazine, but, then, Gaines is not your usual kind of executive. Other publishers may insist their employees punch a time clock. Not Gaines, who lets his people come and go as they please. Other company heads may demand quiet and decorum. Not Gaines, who summons his staff with an interoffice shout and who once gleefully filled the office water cooler with five gallons of white wine and roared with laughter as the day rolled on and he and several of his staff got gloriously swacked.
Gaines's laugh is large and rolling and fills a room, but, then, so does he. "There is no more musical sound in the world than Bill Gaines laughing" says art director John Putnam. "Gaines has an infectious laugh, and if you stand too close to him you can catch a fat flu," says writer Larry Siegel. Even Gaines's ex-wife, Nancy, agrees that he is one of the greatest audiences in the world, although, reflecting on their stormy marriage, "I can't remember ever having done anything that amused him."
Gaines is not the marrying kind, although he has tried it twice. The closest thing in his life to a perfect union occurred when he began publishing MAD. Gaines and MAD, like a boy and his frog, are inseparable.
This personal anecdote from a young babyboomer tells the story of MAD Magazine and the effects of its unique satire better than any biography could. Enjoy!
1967 was the year for me. A blizzard to top all blizzards arrived on my13th birthday, a run for class president (Vote for Harrison, there's no comparison). And the event most bragworthy, a visit to MAD magazine. The trip to New York wasn't exactly meant as a pilgrimage to my shrine- at least not as my mother planned it. But from my perspective, shopping could be done anywhere. Only in Manhattan could an acolyte find the MAD temple, and I was determined to seek it out.
We showed up uninvited on a Saturday afternoon, which wasn't a very good choice of days to come calling, and sure enough, no one answered the door. We knocked and knocked and knocked. As we stood in the hallway waiting for either divine intervention or the onset of surrender, a man from a neighboring office poked his head out and asked if he could help. My mother explained that we had hoped for a tour of MAD's office. He told us he'd give them a call to see if anyone was there. A moment later the door opened--MAD's door.
We were greeted by a very familiar face. In fact, the only face--apart from Alfred E. Neuman himself--that I could possibly have recognized. It was Leonard Brenner. While the names of the entire masthead were as familiar to me as my own family, Mr. Brenner was the only face I had seen before. It had appeared in scores of the ad parodies that adorn MAD's back cover. So when his bearded, bespectacled mug welcomed us in, I couldn't have been more excited.
This
was no office flunky showing us around;
we were being escorted by the one person
who personified the magazine for me.
Although the office disappointed me with
its bland modernity-- I had hoped for
something gothic, cobwebbed, and
labyrinthine--the wonderful clutter of
toys, office supplies, and artwork made
up for it.
Leonard was extremely kind to me, pressing a MAD badge and one of the MAD paperbacks into my eager hands. And he was glad to pose for a photo, placing a spiked military helmet on my head while my mother focused. He showed us the original color drawing that would be the cover for the upcoming issue. I looked it over carefully and thought deviously how I could parlay this secret information to my advantage back home among the members of my MAD club.
Our visit was over sooner than I wanted,
though my mother's recollection is that
we were given a complete and leisurely
tour. I couldn't bear to leave so soon.
I lingered in front of their bland steel
door for a moment or two just to hold on
to my experience a little longer. The
antiseptic hallway, the linoleum floor,
the shiny drabness--it was all reduced
to insignificance by the proximity of
the MAD logo
on the door--the very
emblem of rebellion, frantic energy, and
irony.
I was going to end this by
reflecting on how the present-day MAD is
not what it used to be. And then I
thought I'd better take a look at the
current issue before I dismissed it so
cavalierly. So I went to the newstand
and had a look--the first close
examination I'd had of it since I
'graduated' to 'The National Lampoon' in
1970.
I'd long
ago noticed the absence
of Norman Mingo's classic covers, and in
their place, the wordy, silly covers of
today. They've been enough of a turn-off
to keep me away these past 25 years.
But looking inside now I see
that MAD is
much the same as it's always been. Some
of the artists whose work I had grown up
with are no longer there, but the tone
and the style are little changed.
The easy conclusion to draw would be
that I've changed--and, of course, I
have--but what brought about my apostasy
back in 1970 had more to do with MAD's
influence on my life than a decline in
its quality.
I had become the
converted, and MAD no longer had
anything to teach me. I realize now that
I had become completely and utterly
indoctrinated. The MAD outlook had
become my own. I didn't need the
magazine any longer, because its message
was within me. I had learned to question
all icons, to look skeptically at every
institution of American society; from
Hollywood to Greenwich Village, from
religion to psychoanalysis, from
military intelligence to Madison Avenue.
And I learned to find humor
in unlikely
places. In the lies that politicians
tell. In the conceits of the
'Organization Man' and the beatnik
alike. In the evening news and Sunday's
sermon.
So I thank you, MAD, for being such a good influence, and I thank you, Leonard Brenner, for being at work on a Saturday afternoon 28 years ago.
by Tim Madigan
The following article is from the
Secular Humanist Bulletin, Volume 11,
Number 4.
Mad Again. MOE does not necessarily
agree with the ideas in this article but
speech is free where I live,
dudes.
Recently a
subscriber sent me a few
pages from MAD magazine. It had been
many years since I'd seen this
particular publication. During my
grammar school days I had read it (if
you'll pardon the expression)
religiously, but I had long since put
away childish things.
The excerpt in question was entitled
"The Academy for the Radical Religious
Right Course Catalogue," and featured
dead-on caricatures of Pat Robertson,
Phyllis Schlafly, Donald Wildmon, Ralph
Reed and the other usual suspects (MAD
has always been noted for its
outstanding art work). The
article begins: "Funda-Mental
Institution Department: Why do members
of the radical religious right think the
way they do? Are they born like that?
Did they have a bad accident as a child?
A tragic love affair that soured them on
the world? The answer is: none of the
above! You have to be taught to be so
self-righteous and narrow-minded! It
takes years of schooling at a highly
specialized learning institution! And
we've managed to get our grimy little
hands on a brochure for such a
place." The piece then gives
examples of the core curriculum, such as
"Philosophy 101 - The Trap of Thinking:
This introductory course examines the
secular humanism that has infected our
culture as demonstrated by rock music,
PG-13 rated movies and `Gilligan´s
Island´ reruns (which depict several
unmarried men and women alone on a
desert island) . . . All enrollees are
invited to a special seminar in which
the seemingly contradictory theses of
supporting capital punishment while
fighting to protect the lives of the
unborn are empirically
justified." There are also
hilarious cartoons of House Speaker Newt
Gingrich making a surprise appearance at
the Academy, hanging Big Bird in effigy,
and Pat Robertson wielding the bible in
one hand and a wad of money in the
other, "speaking on the theological
connection between donations and
salvation."
This is hard-hitting stuff. I had
forgotten just how explicit and
unrelenting the satire in MAD could be.
But what should one expect from a
magazine that proudly bills itself as
offering "humor in a jugular vein"?
Reading this parody caused me to
reconsider the influence MAD must have
had on my own worldview. While I like to
credit my coming into humanism (and my
falling out of Catholicism) to reading
such sources as James Joyce, Friedrich
Nietzsche and Jean-Paul Sartre, in
hindsight it would appear that my
voracious explorations of MAD during my
parochial school days primed the pump
for my apostasy. In MAD, one
can truly say that nothing is sacred.
This message must have sunk into the
deep recesses of my psyche - even as I
sat through catechism and confirmation
classes, my MAD collection was never far
from my side.
If you are interested in knowing more
about this wacky and wicked publication,
I recommend the book Completely Mad: A
History Of The Comic Book And Magazine
by Maria Reidelbach (Little, Brown and
Company, 1991). Many of the examples
given in the work demonstrate MAD's
irreverent take on religion, such as its
"Religion in America Primer" in issue
#153: "The Priest: This is a Catholic
priest. His church believes in
many things. It believes in miracles.
The priest helps Catholics in time of
need. He helps them solve business
problems, even though he has never been
in business. He helps them solve
marriage problems, even though he has
never been married. He helps them solve
sexual problems, even though he has
never had sex. Now you know why the
Catholic Church believes in miracles!"
But the magazine has doesn't only poke
fun at Catholicism - it skewers all
denominations.
The guiding genius behind MAD was its
founder and long-time publisher, the
late William M. Gaines. I was not
surprised to read in Reidelbach's book
that Gaines was an explicit atheist.
Gaines may well have been one of the
most influential freethinkers of all
time - his magazine has always been in
the forefront of giving the raspberry to
dogmatism wherever it appears. He should
take his rightful place in the pantheon
of humanist heroes, although I'm sure
his first act would be to slip a whoopy
cushion under Voltaire's seat. Gaines'
motto was "don't take anything too
seriously", including satire
itself.
Just to prove that MAD is continuing in
its non-inspirational ways, I picked up
the October 1995 premier issue of Big
Bad Mad: A Collection Of Classic
Out-Of-Print Mad Paperback Insanity Not
Seen In Years! (Big Deal!). It contains
a parody of the film Ghostbusters II,
and in one panel a priest accosts the
Bill Murray character and states "As
clergymen, we're against people
believing in fantastic nonsense like
supernatural superstition", to which
Murray replies: "Yeah. You want people
to believe in everyday stuff like Noah
and the Ark, Jonah and the Whale, and
talking serpents with apples!"
So the next time organized religion and
superstition has you down, don't get
even -- get MAD!
"I first fell in
love with EC comics
around '52. I discovered them just as
MAD comics was starting, so Bill Elder,
who was always the most out there of the
MAD artists, caught my eye immediately."
Said the late Jerry Garcia in one of his
last interviews, "He's part of American
wealth. For me, the fifties were Rock 'n
Roll and EC comics. That was pretty much
it, culturally speaking, that was the
hot stuff."
In the fall before his death, Jerry
Garcia was presented with about thirty
different things that were being
requested of him. One of which was to do
an interview with Will Elder's
biographer. Garcia chose to do two
things, the first of which was to talk
about Will Elder. Elder, according to
Garcia, had a major impact on his youth,
filling him with laughter and enough
gags per-inch to keep him going back and
re-reading the stories to find new ones!
Garcia continues, "I always liked that
thing of overdoing it, and Bill Elder
was, for me, the model of over-doing it!
I thought this guy really knows what
overdoing it is all about.
Al Jaffee, creator of the MAD back cover
fold-in and childhood friend says of
Elder, "Willy is one of the most natural
funny men I have ever known. I think he
is probably at the very top as a funny
cartoonist. He's like an explosion on
the page, he puts in everything that
comes to mind, he just has an instinct
for what is funny in a drawing."
MADMAN'S
SPEECH
French Quebec issue. MAD takes nothing seriously, nothing is too "sacred" to be satirizedTHE MAD
CARTOONISTS: WILL
ELDER
Will Elder
is considered one of the finest,
funniest
and most popular cartoonists on the MAD
staff.
[Look for him at San Diego Comic Con in
July, 2000.]
Will's last public appearance at a comic
convention was in 1976 in NYC. The
guards have finally let Crazy Willy out
to participate in another Comic
Convention. The late legendary Jerry
Garcia of The Grateful Dead was a major
fan and good friend of Will's.
Elder's recent water
color of the late Jerry Garcia
Will & Jerry,
Backstage at Madison Square Garden in
October of '94
