"Mr." Steve's Storytime

at Vroman's Bookstore

"Good morning, and welcome to Storytime."

They call me "Mr." Steve, and I've been the Storytime Reader at Vroman's Bookstore (in Pasadena, CA) since about 1992.

I was a film student when I was hired, with no experience with children's books beyond what I had read as a kid.

A little over a year later, they hired a young woman to take charge of the Children's Department. She had a long list of credentials: teacher, actress, reading therapist, etc.

She was the first (and only) professional children's storyteller I had observed prior to inheriting her job when she left the company.

My mom also influenced my story telling style. She used to incorporate different voices and sound effects when she would read to read to me and brother.

I also borrowed heavily from the "Electric Company" (the PBS companion to "Sesame Street," which ran in the '70s), and their "reading can be fun" attitude.

I've seen the same kids come back week after week--sometimes for years--until they outgrow me, or they have to start school.

Since the parents are the ones who have to get up early on Saturday mornings, rustle the kids, and drive them over to Vroman's, I try to pick books that will appeal to kids AND the adults who cared enough to bring them to Storytime.

About once a month, we have a "special guest" after Storytime.

Below are some photos of a few of the "guests" that have visited Vroman's Bookstore over the years.

Peter Rabbit (yep, that's me in there.)

The Peter Rabbit suit is terrific, and allows for more movement than most costumes.

I'm able to hunker down here, but I'm over 7 feet tall in that thing.

Why is this kid in shock?

I mean, it's only a hug from a seven-foot-tall rabbit!

Curious George always gets asked, "Where's the Man in the Yellow Hat?"

We characters are never supposed to talk, so I'd just pantomime something: usually a shrug, and/or blow a kiss.

(I learned from "the greats" at Disneyland.)

I still have that picture this little girl drew for Curious George (somewhere).

That's not a doll on my lap; it's a girl with the Arthur mask she just colored. She did a great job.

We both look just like Arthur.

As Arthur's popularity grew, so did the number of fans that came to see him!

Here's another favorite who benefited from TV exposure: Clifford the Big Red Dog.

Ever see kids cry when they get up close to Santa Claus or The Easter Bunny at photo ops?

When I got a look at the Miss Spider costume, I thought that even the bravest kids were going to lose it.

(Here is Miss Spider, wondering if babies taste like flies.)

Miss Spider looks like she should be fighting the Power Rangers!

So I made it a point to warn the kids and the parents several times before we brought her out: "She looks scary, but she's nice."

Then I went away for a few minutes, and came out dressed like this:

No tears. We all had an awesome time.

That's me again, as "The Bear" from"We're Going On a Bear Hunt."

Unlike a lot of costumes that don't "talk," this one has a lever in the hand that allows the wearer to move the mouth.

Oddly enough, The Bear never speaks in the book.

Go figure.

Recognize The Shadow? At least you can see part of my face in this costume.



This little girl's mom is the one who started calling me "Mr." Steve.

(That is a TOY gun I'm holding; and strictly for "character authenticity.")

--------------------------------------------------

These are just a few of the characters who have visited Vroman's Bookstore.

Others (not pictured) include The Cat In the Hat, The Berenstain Bears, Spot, Angelina Ballerina, Garfield, and Winnie the Pooh.

Storytime is lots of fun, with or without a celebrity guest.

Stories happen every Wednesday and Saturday from 10:00AM, until the kids get fidgety (which usually takes about an hour). Then everyone lines up at the air tank, where I start handing out free balloons...

(I wish the rest of my job was this much fun.)

Until the next (Story)time,
"Mr." Steve

Deco City: An fx Gallery

In the late '80s, I placed an ad in the Comics Buyer's Guide, stating that I was a writer looking to collaborate with an artist.

I received a small packet from France that contained comic pages, spot illustrations, and other samples drawn in a style that I had never seen before. The artist's name was Laurent Cilluffo.

(Art Copyright 2007 Laurent Cilluffo)

I was completely blown away.

Laurent kept sending me samples.

I knew that I had to write something that we could develop together.

Laurent's samples was an abstract picture of what appeared to be a man in a jumpsuit, with the lowercase letters "fx" emblazoned across his chest. He seemed to be floating above a fantastic city, among balloon-like objects that were also airborne.

(Art Copyright 2007 Laurent Cilluffo)

My contribution was the back story: Dave Dobson was a scientist who was developing a formula that would allow humans to breathe underwater. Crooks broke into Dave's lab; when he resisted, they attempted to kill him with an injection from an untried sample. Instead, Dave Dobson can float through the air when he holds his breath.

Another art sample had what looked like a man sitting on a small seat that had a mini helicopter propeller sticking up from the back. Laurent indicated that the character's name was "Mr. Unknown," but that was later changed to "Mr. Anonymous" (or "Mr. A"), so he wouldn't be confused with the masked editor of From Parts Unknown Magazine.

I was again inspired by Laurent's images: John Doe (not his real name) is an anti-social bad boy with a mysterious past. His father had ties to the criminal underworld, but John rejected his old man's violent ways, taking up science and inventing over killing. He changed his name, and was accepted at Deco City's Tower of Science, where he has been able to continue his mysterious experiments in secrecy.

(Art Copyright 2007 Laurent Cilluffo)

Laurent draws terrific architecture and cities. His art style doesn't really fit the popular definition of Art Deco, but he loves comic strips from the '30s and the '40s (the Art Deco period), and I was very influenced by pulp novels from the same era.

I set the story in Deco City, which set the tone for a time and place that looks vaguely like Dick Tracy's world, where all of the gangsters talk like James Cagney and Edward G. Robinson ("See?").

(Art Copyright 2007 Laurent Cilluffo)

That was how fx, Mr. A, and Deco City came to be...

(Art Copyright 2007 Laurent Cilluffo)

fx (always lowercase) was originally conceived as a series of humorous adventure stories with a somewhat avant-garde slant.

The first story I wrote involved a robbery at Deco City's art gallery.

Joe Nitro and his gang blast their way in, only to find a sub-human, troll-like creature trying to steal the nude paintings ("Noodz!")

(Art Copyright 2007 Laurent Cilluffo)

Rival vigilantes fx and Mr. Unknown (as he was then-called) pick up a police report about the break in.

(Art Copyright 2007 Laurent Cilluffo)

Their arrival at the crime scene adds to the confusion, the result being a free-for-all between the crooks, the brute fixated on "Noodz," fx, and Mr. Unknown.

(Art Copyright 2007 Laurent Cilluffo)

Laurent Cilluffo's style has evolved over the years. His early artwork was brilliant, if somewhat abstract.

The first fx story was re-drawn at four times. The samples above are from three of them (the page with the dark, maroon red is the oldest), and it's not the entire story.

The story got easier to follow with each subsequent version. (The page below is the newest.)

(Art Copyright 2007 Laurent Cilluffo)

Editors from Dark Horse Comics and Tundra went wild when they saw Laurent's work. Unfortunately, they were unable to convince their publishers to take a chance on fx.

Ironically, Laurent's illustrations have since appeared in the New Yorker, the New York Times, the Chicago Sun-Times, and many other major magazines and journals. (The link below should take you to a gallery of Laurent's spot illustrations.)

http://www.wandanow.com/Art_Home.asp?ArtistID=25

He has also illustrated a graphic novel called World Trade Angels. Written by Fabrice Colin, it's a haunting love story that takes place around the events of 9/11. One reviewer called it "certainly the finest comic to have been produced about the events of 9/11 to date." World Trade Angels is available in different languages throughout Europe. However, due to the conservative nature of the American comic book industry, it has not been translated into English, and (as of this writing) has not been picked up by an American publisher.

At least one American reviewer recognized World Trade Angels for the amazing work that it is. (To read the full review, click below).

http://www.comicsreporter.com/index.php/briefings/eurocomics/8315/

After taking a breather, Laurent and I are back in action; this time, in a new medium.

In addition to the story about the museum robbery, we had completed an official origin story for fx and Mr. Unknown (now called Mr. Anonymous).

Laurent and his wife, Valerie, adapted most of the comic book into a short, animated film, complete with voice actors, music, and sound effects.

For a preview, click the link below. Then click on the images, which will open pop-up windows for the Quicktime movie files.

http://www.illustrissimo.com/lezanim/index.php?id_illu=108

The animated movie is very true to our comic, but we're looking to expand the concept into a full-blown series or an illustrated novel; preferably both.

The project is now called Deco City, and the city itself plays a major role in the story. At midnight, the blocks, buildings, and railways rotate like a giant clockwork toy. In theory, this was supposed to discourage areas from subdividing into insular little neighborhoods; all of Deco City was to be one big community. The idea backfired, and now the city is a confusing mess, it's people gripped by paranoia and instability.

The heroes are now teenagers. There is an expanded supporting cast, which includes the Doc Savage-like superhero/scientist who designed Deco City, and who also acts like a pseudo father to Dave Dobson and John Doe.

I'm very excited about Deco City. Laurent's artwork has never been better, and it's exciting to see his images with movement and sound. The new version of the story reflects my current interests, and I can honestly say that I haven't seen anything else like it.

THE ORIGIN

OF

LOCA SANCHEZ

The Chesty Sanchez

Gallery (Part 1)

Welcome to the

GALLERY!

In the late '80s, Lyndal Ferguson (a brilliant artist working for a popular title called Rock 'n' Roll Comics) asked me to write a short story for an anthology of "adults only" comics that he was developing.

Far from being "adult," my story about the Thing from the Outhouse was loaded with toilet humor; this was before Nickelodeon and the Captain Underpants books brought "naughty" poo and fart jokes from the schoolyard into the mainstream.

(Art by Carlos Tron)

Many "adults only" comics can be quite juvenile in nature, but they're not for kids because they contain S-E-X.

I chose not to be explicit, and created a "sexy" new character with a tantalizing name:

Chesty Sanchez.

(Art by Carlos Tron)

Chesty's name proved to be ironic; she was to be curvy and voluptuous, but with realistic proportions. Mexican movie and pop stars were Chesty's archetypes; I wanted to avoid the exaggerated, top-heavy physiques that afflict female comic book characters.

At the time, there weren't many female heroines in mainstream comics. Most of the superhero women--like Spider-Woman, and She-Hulk--were based on popular male counterparts, and their comics didn't sell well.

There was also a lack of Latino, particularly Mexican, comic book characters. Once in a while, a publisher would introduce a character with an Hispanic surname that spoke a few words of high school Spanglish, but the names and the costumes were usually uninspiring, or based on stereotypes (without any sense of satire or irony).

(Art by Carlos Tron)

In the script for my four-page story, Chesty battles a monster in a roadside cantina, while her sidekick relates a brief version of her origin to the reader.

After I wrote the story, Lyndal's "adults only" comic was changed from an anthology to a long, single story. He never did draw the Chesty Sanchez story, so I retained all of the rights, and was free to find another artist.

Fortunately, Ben Dunn and the guys at Antarctic Press liked the Zetraman series I was writing for them, and they were receptive to my idea of expanding Chesty Sanchez into a three-issue miniseries.

(Art by Carlos Tron)

Artist Carlos Tron had moved from Mexico City to the Los Angeles area, hoping to break into the American comic book market.

Destiny worked overtime, and he was hired as the new Zetraman artist. Carlos was living relatively close to me, so we met, and we became friends.

(Art by Carlos Tron)

Shortly after we wrapped up the three-issue Zetraman series, Carlos had to move back to Mexico. I visited him on his home turf, and got an insightful, ten-day insider's view of Mexico City that few tourists ever get to see.

Unfortunately, Carlos' new day job, distance, and pre-Internet communications prevented him from drawing the miniseries.

However, Carlos did complete some of the short story, and a few brilliant pieces of promotional art.

His Mexican friends were blown away by his sketches of Chesty battling dinosaurs at landmarks around Mexico City. They had never seen a Mexican superheroine, fighting Hollywood blockbuster-style menaces around familiar local sights, rendered in an American comic book style.

(Art by Jay; coloring by Patrick Thornton,
who went on to be a digital artist for Robert Rodriguez)

The Chesty Sanchez miniseries was eventually released in 1995.

The interior art was by Scott Michaud, who had drawn our T.R.A.S.H.Team story that had been published in Mangazine.

Finishing touches were by Jay, who also drew the covers for the first two issues.

(Art by Scott Michaud and Jay)

Chesty Sanchez was one of the first comics with a lucha libre/Mexican wrestling theme.

In those years before Mucha Lucha and Nacho Libre--even before trailblazers like Santo Street, or From Parts Unknown Magazine--there weren't many sources of information in English that I could use for reference.

One of my biggest influences was a "classic" Mexican film called Wrestling Women vs. the Aztec Mummy. It had been dubbed into English, and was popular among cult film fans.

Historically, most male Mexican wrestlers have worn a head-covering mask (or "hood") that is a part of their in-ring image. (That tradition continues to this day.)

The titular Wrestling Women were very beautiful, so their faces remained uncovered.

(Masks should have been worn during the action scenes: their stunt doubles were obviously men wearing wigs.)

I chose Chesty's skimpy, face-revealing mask as a compromise between the bare-faced Wrestling Women and the disguises worn by classic pulp heroes like Zorro, the Domino Lady, the Phantom Detective, and the Spider, who also provided inspiration for Chesty.

(Cover art by Jay)

Her black leather mariachi costume, the big gold boots, and the gold metal gloves with the tricked-out gauntlets were entirely my ideas. Every artist who has drawn Chesty Sanchez has put their unique spin on her look.

Most artists seem to prefer to draw her wearing black leather gloves.

"Why?" you ask?

I couldn't tell you.

(Front cover art by Ignacio Montes)

Scott Michaud and Jay did a terrific job drawing the first two issues, but I had to find a new art team to wrap up the story for the third issue.

Enter Alex Dai and J.R. Gervais.

Chesty Sanchez was their first professional work, and there were a lot of dense, action-packed pages, but Alex and J.R. proved to be fast, reliable, and up to the task.

I co-wrote the script with African-American writer John Ingram, based on my plot. Antarctic Press' proofreader extraordinaire Doug Dlin did his fine-tooth-comb editing.

The cover painting was by an artist I found at a swap meet. There, Ignacio Montes displayed several gorgeous paintings of Mexican celebrities; for a nominal fee, he could take any photograph and transform it into a flattering portrait.

The reproduction on the cover just doesn't do justice to Ignacio's original. The painting, Chesty's eyes and skin tones as vibrant and life-like, and the details on her jacket shimmer with actual, painted-on glitter.

(Art by Ignacio Montes)

Laura Molina (www.lauramolina.com), who is the founder and publisher of the wonderful, ground-breaking, door-opening Chican@ Art Magazine, has a very sharp and ironic sense of humor.

She painted a beautiful, incredibly detailed piece that was originally going to be the front cover, but much of her work was not visible when the image was reduced to fit the title, bar code, company logo, etc.

(The image below is too small to be appreciated in all of its glory.)

(Art by Laura Molina)

However, it did fill the back cover very well.

Laura's Chesty Sanchez was also displayed in a San Francisco art gallery, as part of a show for Latino artists who blasted racial stereotypes in pop culture with their own satirical images and parodies.

It was seen seen in Univision's TV news coverage of the art show.

El Gato Negro Copyright and TM Richard Dominguez
(Art by Richard Dominguez)

Another gallery-worthy rendition of Chesty was by Richard Dominguez, creator of Mexican-American superhero El Gato Negro, and head honcho of Azteca Productions.

It was displayed in an art show held at East L.A.'s Self-Help Graphics. Richard is the founder of the Professional Amigos of Cartoon/Comic Art Society (P.A.C.A.S.), and the show gave many members the opportunity to show their work to the public.

All of the characters depicted on the poster behind Chesty and El Gato Negro were created by P.A.C.A.S. members.

Sonambulo Copyright and TM Rafael Navarro
(Art by Rafael Navarro )

I asked my fellow P.A.C.A.S. members to contribute pin-ups for the last issue of the Chesty Sanchez miniseries.

Here with Chesty is Rafael Navarro's Sonambulo character, a Mexican wrestler-turned-hardboiled private eye. Sonambulo doesn't sleep, but can read people's dreams.

Burrito: Jack of All Trades Copyright and TM Carlos Saldana
(Art by Carlos Saldana)

Like his Burrito character (above), Carlos Saldana is a jack of all trades.

He wrote, drew, and self-published Burrito: Jack of All Trades in the early days of independent comics, then moved on to produce Flash cartoons for his www.toonist.com website.

After recording a series of song parodies, Carlos is (as of this writing) a touring stand-up comedian.

El Muerto the Aztec Zombie Copyright and TM Javier Hernandez
(Art by Javier Hernandez)

Here is El Muerto: The Aztec Zombie, created by Javier Hernandez.

Javier's El Muerto comics were adapted into a feature-length film titled The Dead One, starring Wilmer Valderrama (Fez from That '70s Show). It's now available on DVD from Amazon, and most major DVD sellers.

El Muerto is like a Mexican-American version of the Crow, only with more humor, Aztec mythology, and Day of the Dead imagery.

(Blonde Avenger created by Cindy Johns; art by P.M. Butler)

Femme Fatales Magazine was prepared to publish a story about me and Chesty Sanchez.

The article was written by New York Times bestselling author Marc Shapiro, but there was a shakedown at the publisher just before it saw print. B-movie starlets, scream queens, and alternative comic characters were out; mainstream TV actresses and blockbuster film stars became almost exclusively their focus.

I thought it would be a good idea to accompany the article with artwork that paired Chesty with popular, buxom characters from the comic book fringes, like the Blonde Avenger and Ms. Victory (below).

So far, these images have never been published.

Ms. Victory Copyright and TM AC Comics
(Art by Mark Heike)

Ms. Victory is an all-American superheroine, currently appearing in Femforce comics.

I like this image of "United States/Mexican friendship."

(Art by Ben Dunn)

When From Parts Unknown Magazine was published on a regular basis, I was going to contribute a Chesty Sanchez story written in the style of the post-World War II men's adventure magazines (Man's World, Wildcat Adventures).

Those stories had great titles like "Hideous Secrets of the Nazi Horror Cult," "Women Who Wrestle for Fun," and "Weasels Ripped My Flesh!"

That tale remains untold, but Ben Dunn started what was to be the accompanying illustration, featuring new character Brawny James. Missing is the angry horde of scantily-clad native women.

After Chesty Sanchez was published, a short-lived television show called "Queen of Swords" featured a Zorro-like heroine. Hmmm...

Lady Rawhide made her debut (after Chesty) as a supporting character in an officially-licensed Zorro comic.

Topps' comic book company was a division of a major trading card manufacturer, and the creators were well-known among comics fans, which made Lady Rawhide fairly high-profile, for a while.

Ironically, Lady Rawhide's idealized physique and impractical costume represent the very things I was trying to avoid in Chesty Sanchez.

In the years prior to the release of "Legend of Zorro," there were rumors that Catherine Zeta-Jones would wear a mask and costume in the sequel to "Mask of Zorro."

(She didn't, but she did do a lot of sword fighting.)

Chesty Sanchez was my original concept, but I have since eliminated the mask, and any other Zorro-like attributes.

I have re-worked the characters, and changed her name to one more family-friendly...

Loca Sanchez.

You can read a Loca Sanchez story in another blog post.

Additional classic Chesty Sanchez art to follow...

THE ORIGIN

OF

LOCA SANCHEZ

The Chesty Sanchez

Gallery (Part 2)

Welcome once again to the

GALLERY!

If you've already seen Part One, then you are familiar with the evolution of Chesty Sanchez, and the artists who have brought her image to life.

Here you will see additional character studies and pin-ups, covers to the Mangazine issues that contain the Chesty Sanchez/Warrior Nun Areala text story, and read about Chesty's "official" transformation into Loca Sanchez.

A gorgeous "good girl" headshot by AC Comics/Femforce artist & editor Mark Heike.

An action pose, also by Mark Heike.

This must have been based on Laura Molina's back cover painting, because here Chesty's has black leather gloves, a whip, and a revolver that do not appear in the comics.

A Vargas-style, "good girl" pose, by the ever-awesome Richard Domingez.

The mask worn by El Gato Negro, Richard's most famous creation, is dangling from Chesty's toe.

Nobody, but nobody, can draw a sexy woman holding a smoking gun like Rafael Navarro.

In his Sonambulo comics, Rafael shows that he is a master of light and shadows. His artwork can tell a story with just a brush strokes.

Rafael simplified Chesty's costume somewhat, but I have always been wide open to different interpretations.

Here is Rafael Navarro's (previously unpublished) gothic rendering for the Chesty Sanchez/Warrior Nun Areala story that ran in Mangazine.

Graveyards are another of Rafael's specialties.

This is the cover for Mangazine #12, which ran the first installment of the Chesty Sanchez/Warrior Nun Areala crossover.

It was a text story, with spot illustrations by Richard Dominguez.

Ignacio Montes' painting was used on the back cover to promote the story.

(See lower right corner.)

In the second installment, just about every major character created by members of the Professional Amigos of Comic/Cartoon Art Society (P.A.C.A.S.) teams up with Chesty to combat a threat that menaces all of Mexico City.

Laura Molina's painting graces the back cover.

(See lower left corner.)

Mangazine has been reincarnated several times over the years over the years. It was one of--if not the--first showcases for American artists influenced by Japanese manga and anime (comics and animation).

Mangazine Vol. 3 (shown here) combined four full issues of Antarctic Press' top color titles for that month with several black and white pages of comic stories, anime news and reviews, and short stories (including my Warrior Nun Areala/Chesty Sanchez crossover).

Once again, Laura Molina's artwork represents Chesty among Antarctic Press' galaxy of superstars.

-----------------------------------------------

After the crossover with Warrior Nun Areala was published, I felt it was time to make a final break from Chesty's "adult" comic roots.

So the re-vamped version of Chesty Sanchez is heretofore known as:

LOCA SANCHEZ.

I re-edited the Chesty Sanchez/Warrior Nun Areala text story, changing names and tweaking descriptions to bring everything in line with my current vision of the character and her world.

I won't completely abandon Chesty Sanchez; after all, there are several very different versions of Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, each aimed at different audiences and age groups.

But Loca Sanchez represents the future of the comic and the character.

And you'll have to read the Loca Sanchez/Warrior Nun Areala story to see the major changes her sidekick, Trompeto, went through...

LOCA SANCHEZ

&

WARRIOR NUN AREALA:

Alebrije Part 1

LOCA SANCHEZ
&
WARRIOR NUN
AREALA

- Tales from Pedro's Cab -
Alebrije

Story by
Steve Conrique-Ross
Art by
Richard Dominguez

Edited by I.C. Ross
Warrior Nun Areala created by Ben Dunn

Revised version of a story that originally appeared in Mangazine #12, published by Antarctic Press.

- - - - - - -

Hey, pretty lady! Come, get in my cab! I'll take you anywhere you want to go.

You don't mind if I smoke this cigar, do you? I mean, with all the smog here in Mexico City, it's not like this little thing is gonna--hey!--he cut me off! Hold on, lady!

You need fast reflexes to drive in this city: traffic laws are more like suggestions here. But I'm used to it--my family moved here from Sinaloa when I was very young. I've been driving these streets since my feet could reach the pedals.

Are you from around here, lady? I didn't get a good look at you--I can usually tell locals from turistas on sight. Something tells me that you've been away, and maybe you're just now returning home.

Maybe you would like one of my ten-peso tours. And just for you, lady-no extra charge. Mexico City is so big that even the locals see things they hadn't noticed before.

You know, a lot of gabachos think Mexico is just one big desert, with only tumbleweeds, cactus, and sleepy little villages. Or, they think the whole country is like Tijuana--God help us. But Mexico City is one of the biggest capitals in the world. Some modern buildings have been used in science fiction movies.

Hey--talking about science fiction, have you seen the news the last few days? It's been the feature story on Primer Impacto every single day.

I--myself--was directly involved in the situation, from the beginning. I know no-one recognizes me without my mask, but, I'm Trompeto! That's right, that's me: La Loca Sanchez's trumpet-playing sidekick. Our costumes are mostly for show biz--we don't have secret identities, or anything.

You see, by day, I'm Pedro Alvarez: Cab Driver, at your service. My grandpa--God rest his soul--always said to keep a day job to fall back on, so I do.

But when I'm not driving my cab, I have another job, with the Frijoles del Oro Company. I'm one of their sponsored superheroes. Maybe you saw me on one of the ads that are all over the city?

So anyway, no matter what you heard on the news, what really happened is this:

It was December twelfth, the night of Las Mananitas. As is our tradition, thousands made the pilgrimage--some even crawled for miles on bloody knees--to the Basilica of the Virgin of Guadalupe, to pay homage to the Goddess of Mexico.

On that night, inside the church, crowds of people shuffled down the center aisle, carrying the pictures and statues of the Virgin that they usually pray to in their homes.

They walked past the actual tilma worn by Juan Diego. The miraculous image of the Virgin is still on that tilma, to this day.

Many celebrities have special seats in the church, and in the area reserved for Mexico's most famous masked wrestlers, I sat with my friend--and former "Queen of Lucha Libre"--La Loca Sanchez.

So Lucero and her mariachis had just finished serenading Our Lady with a ranchera, when the unthinkable happened.

Through the main doors, over the heads of the swarms of people, flew two alebrijes! You know what those are, lady?

They're those little folk art, papier-mache, monster-creatures that are sold to turistas. You know--some of them look like bug-eyed dragons or demons or animals; they're painted bright colors, like pink or green or purple; and they're covered with lots of tiny details, like dots or scales.

So two of those alebrije-things were alive. And they were big ones, too--they were about four feet high. Flapping their bat-like wings, they fluttered into the Basilica of the Virgin of Guadalupe. And they weren't graceful flyers, either--they sort of just tumbled through the air.

Well, you can imagine the panic that caused. But it gets worse--they fluttered right up to the sacred image of Our Lady, took Her from the wall, and carried Her off!

People were screaming and running in every-which-direction. I thought I would go deaf!

And then, legendary wrestlers Mil Mascaras and Blue Demon jumped into the action.

They shielded old ladies and children with their bodies and herded them out of the church.

As the alebrijes carried the Virgin toward the exit, La Loca Sanchez made one of her high-flying leaps off the back of one of the pews.

She caught one by its foot. Together, they flew a short distance over the crowd. But when the alebrije crashed through a window, La Loca was smashed into the wall beneath it--she let go, and just slid downward.

Luckily, another wrestler--Tinieblas, el Gigante--was standing just beneath her.

Unluckily, he's six-one, and she's six-three-he caught her, but they both went down hard.

Those wrestlers may be Mexico's superheroes, but they're only human, you know?

I tried to see where the alebrijes were headed, but I had a hard time seeing over everyone's heads, and the crowd kept shoving me. So, I did my best to calm the people around me. . .

- - - - - - - - - - - - - -

High tech circuits hummed behind wooden panels; control panels were hidden in a heavy oak desk. Father Gomez's study was patterned after M's office, which was appropriate, since he used it to brief Magic Priests and Warrior Nuns on dangerous missions that were worthy of James Bond.

However, Sister Shannon--Warrior Nun Areala--did not toss her habit onto the hat rack, nor did she exchange witty double-entendres with the receptionist. Without so much as a knock, the Warrior Nun strode into Father Gomez's study.

"Ah! Sister Shannon, I've been expecting you. Please, have a seat." Father Gomez indicated the leather-upholstered chair in front of his desk, and then sat in his own heavily padded swivel chair.

Usually kind and laid-back, the middle-aged, balding Puerto Rican priest was well-loved by his New York parishioners. He also commanded a great deal of respect from the Warrior Nuns who served under him, due to his intensity when battling demonic forces.

Sister Shannon sensed that Father Gomez's intensity was unusually high. Without wasting any time on niceties, he asked, "What do you know about the Virgin of Guadalupe?"

"Not much," she began, collecting her memories. "As you know, the story is not widely-taught in Catechism classes, except maybe in Hispanic neighborhoods."

The light reflected off of Father Gomez's spectacles, which made his eyes appear to glow. It gave Sister Shannon the uncomfortable feeling that she was under interrogation.

Then Sister Shannon recited:

"In 1531, Mexico had been conquered by the Spanish. There was a big push to convert the natives to Catholicism. On December twelfth, one of the Indians, who had been given the Spanish name Juan Diego, passed a hill called Tepeyac on his way to church.

"There, he heard a female voice call his name. When he looked up, he saw a beautiful, dark-skinned teen-age girl, draped in shining blue robes. The girl spoke Aztec, and told Juan Diego that she was the Mother of God, and that she wanted a church built on that hill for her Son.

"Juan Diego passed the message on to the local bishop, but the bishop wanted a sign to prove that he was telling the truth.

"Juan Diego returned to the hill, to convey the bishop's answer. There he found several white roses, which were out-of-season for that time of year. The apparition appeared again, told him to pick the roses, gather them in his poncho, and take them to the bishop. And he did.

"When Juan Diego opened his cloak, the white roses spilled out, and the image of the Virgin of Guadalupe was imprinted on the poncho's fabric. Those signs got results: they built that Basilica, and Juan Diego's poncho is on display inside."

Father Gomez cracked a barely-perceptible smile, and nodded slightly.

"There are other legends, about the garment itself," Sister Shannon continued. "Some of the color dyes in the image defy identification. The poncho's fabric is similar to that of a potato sack; it should have deteriorated centuries ago. And yet, it has remained intact for nearly five hundred years; despite hundreds of people handling it, chemicals being spilled on it, and exposure to the elements. And--some people say--the image of Juan Diego is reflected in the Virgin's eyes."

Father Gomez raised a hand to interrupt. "Excellent. I see you've been watching the Spanish-language channels again?"

"Yes. I saw what happened at the Basilica. I knew that it would affect me, somehow."

"Not just you--but millions of Catholics who have adopted Our Lady as part of their Catholic faith. The Virgin of Guadalupe is a symbol of hope to many Hispanic people. Take away hope, and people will give in to despair, and then they'll start to do desperate things.

"In addition to the Virgin-related riots in Latin America, there have been serious problems in Latino neighborhoods here in the States. At the current rate of escalation, Southern California, New Mexico, and Texas could be war zones within a week. In a month, this whole hemisphere might be torn apart by internal strife.

"So you see, this mission isn't just about rescuing a holy artifact: it's about pacifying fellow Catholics, restoring their hope and peace-of-mind, and preventing them from hurting themselves, and each other."

"I see," said Sister Shannon. "I'm a little embarrassed: until now, I hadn't considered the size of the Latino population living in the United States."

Then she asked, "So what are the Mexican Warrior Nuns doing about the situation?"

Father Gomez shifted uncomfortably in his chair. "I'm afraid," he said, "there are no Mexican Warrior Nuns."

Sister Shannon was surprised, but before she could say anything, Father Gomez continued, "Although most of the Mexican people are Catholic, the Mexican government is uncomfortable with our Church having an armed militia in their country, even though our weapons are only used for spiritual warfare.

"Given the extenuating circumstances, we've made special arrangements for one Warrior Nun--you--to team up with one of Mexico's national heroes and solve this problem."

"So I get to work with one of those stocky masked wrestlers?" chuckled Sister Shannon. "I don't mind working with El Santo--'The Saint'--but I'm not comfortable teaming up with someone who calls himself Blue Demon."

"Actually, her name is Loca Sanchez. And, even though she used to be a masked wrestler, a very reliable source has told me that Maria Adelita 'La Loca' Sanchez is a good Catholic girl, who would be honored to 'show you the ropes,' as it were."

Sister Shannon stared at Father Gomez in disbelief; she was no stranger to the fantastic or the supernatural, but this mission was becoming surreal.

Sister Shannon knew that, in order to succeed in a foreign culture, she would have to smile, observe, learn--and then act. Practicing her smile, she stood up.

Father Gomez smiled back. "I am aware that aspects of this mission will seem odd to someone who didn't have a Latino upbringing. I'm pleased that you're taking it well, and I know that you will learn to adapt to your surroundings very quickly--for you are, after all, a first-rate Warrior Nun."

Then Father Gomez rose from his chair, and handed her a Spanish phrase book.

"You have three hours to pack, and brush up on your Spanish," he said, concluding the briefing. "Vatican Three takes off for Mexico City at zero-nine-hundred."

Sister Shannon bowed slightly and said, "Gracias, Padre."

Father Gomez, acting strangely restrained, waved with one hand, and dug into his pocket with the other.

After Sister Shannon left the room, he pulled out his keys--which dangled on a Virgin of Guadalupe keychain.

He kissed the image of the Virgin. "You commanded me to send my best one to fight alongside your champion, My Lady," he whispered. "It's in your hands, now."

Vatican Three landed at Mexico City's Benito Juarez airport without incident.

Although she had the appropriate permits and papers for her sword and other weapons, it still took two hours for Sister Shannon to get through customs.

She had lost her left forearm in a battle with demons, and usually wore a prosthetic replacement that was nearly indistinguishable from a real limb. However, the Warrior Nun had opted to arrive in Mexico prepared for action; she had brought her bulky, armor-plated gauntlet with the glowing green gem. Her dangerous-looking cybernetic forearm had been the head customs officer's cause for concern.

At the front of the line, a young, dark-skinned, barrel-chested man was screaming into a cell phone while arguing with another customs officer.

They were speaking in Spanish, too fast for Sister Shannon to fully understand the problem. It appeared that the barrel-chested man was trying to bring undesirable printed matter into the country. She was also able to surmise that the man worked for a store, the magazines were supposed to be for stock, and whoever was on the other end of the phone was the man's boss.

The boss must have said something that made the man smile. He abruptly stopped arguing, and turned off his phone. With a sly grin, he withstood an onslaught of verbal abuse from the customs officer.

Sister Shannon was cleared, and her papers were stamped. She walked past the now-docile troublemaker as the officer re-packaged books and magazines with covers that made the nun blush.

Before the box could be confiscated, a terrified crowd stampeded around a nearby corner. "Alebrije! Alebrije!" could be heard over otherwise unintelligible cries.

The Warrior Nun pushed through the ever-increasing rush of bodies, against the flow of panicked human traffic. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the barrel-chested man take advantage of the confusion: he grabbed his box of magazines, and got lost in the crowd.

Sister Shannon rounded a corner, and found herself in the airport's main lobby.

There, she saw an enormous, nine-foot, dragon-like creature; it looked like animatronic, papier-mache folk art. When it snapped at anyone who tried to run past it, Sister Shannon realized that the dragon-creature was alive and dangerous.

She drew her sword and charged the creature, just as a tall woman and a short man walked through the main entrance.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - -

La Loca Sanchez and I walked into that airport ready to chew chicle and kick butt, and we were all out of chicle.

People think La Loca has that cool swagger because she's so sure of herself, but it's really a hip injury from her wrestling days that never healed right.

So anyway, we're standing there, in the doorway, and here's what we saw:

People screaming and running all over the place, just like at the church a few nights before; some giant, dragon-like, alebrije-thing; and some nun, hacking away at it with a broadsword.

Right away, La Loca climbed onto a nearby counter. She didn't tell me what the plan was, because she always uses the same plan for everything: jump on top of whatever's causing trouble, and try to wrestle it to the ground. And most of the time, it works.

La Loca did a perfect back flip, and landed on the creature's neck--but the wrestling part was more of a problem, this being our first nine-foot, papier-mache dragon and all.

I'm not sure if La Loca really thought she was going to stop that dragon, but she did distract it. While it thrashed around, trying to get her off its back, I ducked-and-rolled myself into position.

And then I--Trompeto--did my thing: I blew into my golden sonic trumpet, and unleashed the loudest, highest note that can be heard by human ears!

I thought that the noise would hurt the creature's ears, and hoped that maybe the force from the sound waves would knock it for a loop.

But no: my sonic blast cracked the hard papier-mache shell--then blew it off, in crusty flakes! As it lost its coating, the monster made a noise for the first time: a deep growl.

La Loca lost her grip and fell. But, like all professional wrestlers, she knew how to absorb the impact with her back, so she was only winded when she landed.

The creature's black under-skin looked soft and baggy. It takes me at least a minute to work up enough wind for another blast. Somehow, the thing knew that I was the one who had caused it pain, so it came after me. I called to La Loca, but she was still dazed.

Then I heard a hum and felt a dull buzz. I looked over my shoulder and saw the nun, with a bright green light coming from the gem in her glove. She drew back her sword, then stabbed the thin-skinned dragon, right where its heart should have been.

The monster let out a roar that was almost as loud as my trumpet. It flared up, then burned up, from the inside out.

The fire did not spread-it fizzled out when the last of the alebrije-dragon turned to ash.

Later, the Warrior Nun told us that the dragon-thing must have been a demon, because her weapons only harm demons.

We must've really looked like something--the three of us standing there, in full costume, shaking hands, making introductions. We had to explain to Sister Shannon that I'm the only one who says "La" Loca--basically, I'm calling her the crazy woman.

Have you seen our costumes? Our pictures are on Frijoles del Oro products, in all the supermarkets.

La Loca wears the black leather mariachi outfit with the gold trim; the big ol' golden metal boots and gloves; and big bra-thing covered in red, white-and-green sequins.

As for me, I've got the cowboy hat, the wrestler's hood, the fancy duster coat, the cowboy boots, and--of course--my golden trumpet.

And then there was Sister Shannon--that was the Warrior Nun's name. She wasn't dressed like any of the nuns that taught me in grade school: her skirt had some mighty high splits on it. She told us that the Warrior Nun uniforms were designed for combat-maybe to distract the enemy.

So then a crowd started to gather around us, but we didn't have time to stop and sign autographs. We headed for our car, which was parked right out front.

The Frijoles del Oro Company designed the Gold Rider to be a cross between the Batmobile and Oscar Meyer's Weenie-Wagon--it was supposed to promote the company, so they wanted everybody to recognize it. The first Gold Rider was sleek, but then they decided to go for something that would appeal to our "amigos"--Frijoles del Oro buyers--North of the Border. So now we drive the Gold Rider II: a fifties-vintage Low Rider--a tricked-out bomb--painted gold, of course.

I could tell Sister Shannon was impressed--she gasped when she saw the car.

We were on our way to the Frijoles del Oro building. It's the corporate headquarters, and it's La Loca's and mine's, too.

I decided to take the scenic route, down the Paseo de la Reforma, to give Sister Shannon one of my ten-peso tours.

She looked out the window, and noticed that many of the street vendors sold folk art that looked like the dragon we had just fought.

I told her that they were copies of the Linares family's style of art, and they were the first ones to create the papier-mache creatures--they were also the first to call them alebrijes. (It took some effort, but Sister Shannon learned to say "Ah-lay-bree-hays.")

The day after Our Lady had been stolen the Linares family had been called in for questioning, but they were definitely innocent. Their style is so easy to copy--alebrijes are sold everywhere, because they can be made by anyone.

Then Sister Shannon creeped me out when she said that she saw some street vendor's alebrijes' eyes follow us as we drove by. I still wonder if she was just kidding.

As we were getting near El Angel, the beautiful Independence monument, I got ready to give my two-minute speech about its history. Traffic had come to a dead halt. When I looked at the golden monument ahead, I saw why:

A big swarm of live alebrijes was attacking El Angel!

They were trying to pry El Angel off her pedestal, and carry her away. To lose El Angel would be a blow to our nation's soul, second only to losing Our Lady!

Sister Shannon grabbed her sword. La Loca grabbed her whip. I grabbed my trumpet. We jumped out of Gold Rider II, and used the hoods of the cars like stepping stones through the huge river of traffic.

Dozens of alebrijes--of all shapes and sizes--saw us coming. They swooped down and started to attack us.

We fought our way to--and then up--the pedestal, but we were surrounded on all sides.

Ay, no! Red light! Hold on, lady. . .

END OF PART ONE

LOCA SANCHEZ

&

WARRIOR NUN AREALA:

Alebrije Part 2

LOCA SANCHEZ
&
WARRIOR NUN
AREALA

- Tales from Pedro's Cab -
Alebrije
Part II

Story by
Steve Conrique-Ross
Art by
Richard Dominguez

Edited by I.C. Ross

Warrior Nun Areala created by Ben Dunn

Revised version of a story that originally appeared in Mangazine #14, published by Antarctic Press.

- - - - - - -

Pedro "Trompeto" Alvarez--cab driver, and Loca Sanchez's trumpet-playing sidekick--has picked up a female passenger. While giving his fare a "ten-peso tour" of his beloved Mexico City, Pedro tells her about his part in the cataclysmic events of the last few days.

The Virgin of Guadalupe was stolen by hideous, unusually large alebrijes: papier-mache, folk art creatures that have magically come to life. Panicked Catholics were rioting; Latin America, and Latino-populated areas of the United States, were becoming battlegrounds.

The Vatican sent Sister Shannon--Warrior Nun Areala--to Mexico. There, she teamed up with local heroes Loca Sanchez and Trompeto. After battling an enormous alebrije in Mexico City's airport, the trio headed for the Frijoles del Oro building, Loca's base-of-operations. En route, they saw that El Angel, an Independence monument close to the hearts of the Mexican people, was under savage alebrije attack. . .

- - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Okay! A green light! We're on our way now, lady.

So, let me see, where was I? Oh, yes-we were climbing up El Angel's pedestal, swatting at all those alebrijes: La Loca with her whip, Sister Shannon with her sword, and then me blasting them with my trumpet.

There were maybe thirty alebrijes. Just like the ones who stole the Virgin, they were really clumsy fliers, but they were strong. La Loca is sure-footed and a good climber, but when those things kamikaze-dived into her, they nearly slammed her off El Angel.

Many of the alebrijes had claws and spikes. The three of us concentrated on keeping them away from us, so we wouldn't get gouged or stabbed.

I climbed onto El Angel's head. Then I--Trompeto--blew out my loudest and longest sonic trumpet blast! I sprayed the whole area with sound waves: high and low, back and forth.

And then, just like the alebrije at the airport, my blast tore the papier-mache shells right off more than half the creatures. They went crazy when their ugly, black, baggy skins were exposed.

They had been silent when they had their fancy, bright, hard coating--but naked? They started all kinds of scary screaming and chattering--I gave myself the Sign of the Cross!

Like I said, it takes a minute or two for me to work up enough wind for each blast. All I could do was swing my trumpet at them, like a club.

Lucky for me, La Loca and I always watch each other's backs. I heard her whip crack, and I saw it lash around El Angel's neck. Then--gripping the whip's handle--she made a flying leap, grabbed the alebrije closest to me, swung down toward Sister Shannon, and pitched the disgusting thing at her.

It was incredible! The green gem in Sister Shannon's gauntlet glowed, her Sword of the Spirit hummed with Holy Power, she swung--and hacked that alebrije-demon in two! The halves burned up and turned to ash even before they hit the ground.

Those two ladies kept playing alebrije baseball--pitching and hacking, pitching and hacking--until the other monsters got the message. Then they flew off, screeching and banging into each other--they couldn't get away fast enough!

But you know, I was a little disappointed, 'cause I was all ready to unleash another really loud trumpet-blast.

We could hear police sirens as we climbed down from El Angel. The Frijoles del Oro Company has a special arrangement with the police department concerning La Loca, but many police officers don't like her being a free agent. So, to avoid several hours of questioning, La Loca, Sister Shannon, and I hurried back to Gold Rider II.

As we were getting into the car, some charred scraps of paper fell on the windshield. The sky around El Angel was full of ashes and burned paper: it was from the alebrijes' papier-mache coating.

You know how most papier-mache is made from newspapers? Well, when I was taking those shreds off the windshield, I noticed that they were from horrible, sleazy norteamericano books and magazines.

Before you say anything, I know that Mexico has its share of scandal sheets, and tabloids with bloody crime scene photos.

But it's the United States that has the money to distribute things that would get a publisher or a printer arrested in Mexico. There's no way we could produce something as shocking and extreme, yet polished and glossy, as the stuff that comes from el Norte--north, from the United States.

So anyway, Sister Shannon saw those half-fried pages in my hand, and she got all excited.

"The man at the airport," she said. "He was trying to bring a box of those into the country, but the customs officer refused. Then, during the alebrije attack, the man grabbed his box, and that was the last I saw of him."

I had no idea what she was talking about, and I could see the police officers getting closer to our car.

"Good day, officers," I said in my deepest voice. The cops stopped in their tracks. "My partners and I have defeated the forces of evil, so you fine public servants may solve this traffic situation unmolested."

With a swish of my long coat, I jumped into the car, and gunned the engine. Antonio Banderas could not have been more dashing.

I maneuvered the car around El Angel, onto a clear street. From there, we continued on to the Frijoles del Oro building.

"We'll just go to all of the shops that import adult magazines from America, and find the one where that man works. I'm sure I can recognize him," said Sister Shannon, all excited by her simple plan.

La Loca and I looked at each other. I said, "I'm afraid it's not that easy, Sister. You're talking about hundreds--maybe thousands--of bookstores, swap meets, and news kiosks. We'd be criss-crossing all over this city for days, maybe weeks!"

Then La Loca told her, "It would be better if we first check in at GoldBase."

"GoldBase?" said Sister Shannon. "I thought we were going to the Frijoles del Oro building."

"We are," said La Loca. "GoldBase is inside the Frijoles del Oro building. It has high-tech equipment, and people who know how to use it. We can add the description of your man to any leads they may have found. Maybe by cross-referencing all that information, we can save ourselves some time."

Then, out of the blue, Sister Shannon asked La Loca, "So how did a female professional wrestler end up working for a food company that has its own crime-fighting operation?"

You see, La Loca Sanchez is not proud of why she had to leave wrestling, or why she works for the Frijoles del Oro Company.

I thought that she would give Sister Shannon one of her usual half-answers, but she really told her everything: The Whole Story. Maybe La Loca felt that telling her story to a nun was like confessing to a priest, 'cause she went all the way back.

"Well, I was always a big girl," La Loca said. "My father had prayed to the Virgin of Guadalupe for a boy, but he got me. Maybe my size and strength was the Virgin's way of making up the difference.

"When I was seventeen, one of the boys in my class bragged that he had had his way with me. He dishonored me, and insulted my parents; so I let him have it.

"In the village plaza, right where everyone could see, I made a show of beating him until he begged for forgiveness. A vacationing wrestling promoter happened to catch it. From the crowd's reaction, he saw that a woman who could beat up men could get some cheap laughs.

"I signed a contract that put some money in my pocket, moved to Mexico City, and began my training. The promoter came up with the 'La Loca' Sanchez name, because I had a habit of losing my temper in the ring. It was embarrassing, and the costume was even more impractical than this one I'm wearing, but it was a start.

"Anyway, within a couple of years, I was the undisputed 'Queen of Lucha Libre.' A couple of movies, telenovelas, and hit records later, and my parents and I were living very comfortably.

"So that was my rise to glory."

Sister Shannon wanted to hear more. "Why did you quit? Did the Frijoles del Oro Company offer more money?"

La Loca said, "Yes." She could have left it at that, but again, something inside made her tell everything that had happened.

"But first, I was forced out of wrestling. During my career, I had seriously injured several wrestlers. It was usually out of self-defense, or they were cheating because they didn't want to lose to a woman. And an enraged woman--who's a lot bigger than most of the men she's fighting--can be terrifying, and a gigantic blow to a wrestler's machismo.

"In America, wrestling is all about personalities, spectacle, and storylines. There is very little mystery: the fans know the wrestlers' real names; they even know who writes the scripts for the shows.

"But that's not how it is here. In Mexico, wrestling is almost like a religious ritual. The masked characters and the audience play off of each other. We wrestlers become symbols of good or evil, and the Mexican people identify with our struggles on an almost spiritual level.

"I was the ultimate tecnica, or female good guy: a role model for little girls, an ideal woman to their fathers. In the ring, I usually played by the rules; when I went berserk, my righteous anger was always aimed at injustice. On my days off, I visited orphanages.

"An opponent with a grudge hired some third-rate gangsters to 'fix' one of my matches. In the ring, he faked a serious injury. Meanwhile, his cronies planted money and drugs in my dressing room, and threatened my parents' lives.

"It was easy enough to prove that I was innocent, but seeds of doubt had been planted in the minds of the people.

"Because the scandal was 'real-life,' and not part of a wrestling angle, the major promoters refused to give me work. And the men in the smaller promotions were either on their way up, or on their way out; none of them wanted to lose to me. In a couple of months, I could have changed my image and re-started my career, but then the dirty-minded opportunists stepped in.

"I was accused of everything from child molesting to Satanism. There was a tell-all book, hundreds of magazine articles, and 'sworn testimonies' on the Christina show; my enemies--and I had made a lot of them--crawled from under their rocks and said that I was the 'Queen of Evil.'

"If I was so violently upset by the bragging of one teenage boy, you can imagine how I felt about all of those liars. Only this time, there were more people than I could punch-out personally.

"I left the country, hoping that people would lose interest, and that the stories would stop. My parents stayed in Mexico and tried to defend me. They used up most of our money on legal fees to silence the scandalmongers, and I was eventually cleared of everything. When I returned home, there was barely enough left for us to open a small grocery store.

"Because most people would rather believe the worst, some thought that I had somehow managed to fool the authorities--that I was still hiding some guilty secrets. When it became known that I was working in my parents' grocery store, the negative publicity made our sales drop to almost zero."

I could tell by the quiver in La Loca's voice that she still felt responsible for her parents' misfortunes, and that maybe she was going to cry.

So I said, "And that's when I found her. The Frijoles del Oro Company hired both of us, dressed us in these costumes, made us into corporate mascots, and here we are!"

And there we were: in front of the Frijoles del Oro building. We passed the big fountain with the enormous rotating golden bean, and I turned Gold Rider towards the parking garage.

Sister Shannon patted La Loca's shoulder.

That was nice, don't you think?

In one of the sub-basements of the Frijoles del Oro building, we waited as the gigantic golden door--with Mayan symbols carved into it--slid open.

When we stepped into GoldBase, I was a little disappointed by Sister Shannon's reaction--I was hoping for a gasp, like when she first saw Gold Rider, but she only smiled a little smile.

So I thought that maybe Sister Shannon had seen more incredible sights--but to us, GoldBase is a fantastic mix of Mexican, Japanese, and American technology. We have three full-time employees, who monitor the computers and communications consoles at all times. They did a double take when they saw the Warrior Nun. Then Senor Hector Diaz and Mister Hunter Chamberlain greeted us.

Senor Hector Diaz is young, and--in my entirely macho opinion--very handsome. He used to be the third-generation owner of the Frijoles del Oro Company, but some corporate sleight-of-hand swiped the position away from him. He was re-hired as a consultant, and he pretends to be a team player, but it's no secret that he did not like losing the family business. Still, he tries not to take Hunter Chamberlain's co-management personally.

Mister Hunter Chamberlain works for the American company that bought out Frijoles del Oro. He looks a little like a young Nick Nolte. Mister Hunter does not understand the Mexican people, which makes him seem a little slow at times. He's not a bad guy--he's just doing his job.

So anyway, Senor Diaz extended his hand and said, "Ah! Sister Shannon! We've been expecting you."

Introductions were made, hands were shaken, and all parties were brought up-to-speed.

Then Senor Diaz turned to the screen-monitoring personnel for a report.

"Not good," was the answer. "More riots, more violent crimes, more looting, and still no sign of the Virgin."

I half-heard Mister Hunter say, "I still can't believe that one holy relic can mean so much to so many people."

Senor Diaz was the first to speak up: "It was the Virgin of Guadalupe who directed me to give Loca Sanchez a second lease on life by representing this company. Acting on the Virgin's wisdom required some faith on my part: at that time, Loca was very unpopular."

Then, others testified on the Virgin's behalf: She cured one aunt's gout; She broke a baby brother's fever; She delivered rent money, just before they would have lost their home, and so on.

Suddenly, one of the screen-watchers called out, "Watch the main screen. Waldo's going to speak!"

Everyone in the room--myself included--stopped in their tracks, and riveted their attention to the main screen. Sister Shannon looked around, but no one made eye contact, until she spotted Mister Hunter.

Silently, Sister Shannon mouthed, "Who's Waldo?"

Mister Hunter shrugged. "Some kind of TV psychic," he whispered. "At first, I thought Waldo was a middle-aged woman: he wears lots of make up and rings and robes-you could say he's the Liberace of Leaf-Readers." Mister Hunter started to laugh, but somebody shushed him.

Just then, an image of the universe was on the screen. The camera zoomed in on a star. With cheap computer effects, the star "morphed" into a jaguar's eye, and the jaguar transformed into Waldo.

And there he was: Waldo Carniceria!

As always, he was poised, and gestured elegantly with his hands.

"Waldo has heard the cries and lamentations of his people," declared Waldo Carniceria.

"Waldo has consulted the stars, and they have told Waldo where the alebrijes will strike next. And now, Waldo will share this information with everyone--everyone who calls Waldo's psychic hotline, at three dollars U.S. per minute."

The phone number flashed on the screen. Without waiting to hear Waldo's signature farewell of "Love, peace, and prosperity," GoldBase's technicians raced to the communications consoles. Even though they dialed quickly and furiously, there was already a logjam of calls and busy signals.

It was Senor Diaz who shouted, "Use the Line Ripper!" The Line Ripper sent a priority signal through the phone lines, and reached Waldo's number.

"We're through!" someone said. There was a short cheer from the group.

Sister Shannon shook her head in disbelief as she watched all the excitement. "You have got to be kidding! Some 'mystic' drag queen tells you that he-she has inside information, and you believe him? I'd say that this 'Waldo' person is a prime suspect; one that I need to talk to."

Then she spun around, and headed toward the door. I don't know where she thought she was going, but La Loca and I blocked her way.

"You don't understand," I tried to explain. "You don't question Waldo Carniceria. He's an icon--like the Virgin of Guadalupe, or El Angel. He's loved by everyone!"

Again Sister Shannon was bombarded with testimonies--this time, they were pro-Waldo: A cousin won the lottery based on one of Waldo's predictions! A sister found the love of her life, based on Waldo's horoscope readings!

Sister Shannon said nothing. She just stared at us, breathing heavy, as things quieted down.

Finally, slowly and deliberately, she said, "As a Catholic, I know what it's like to be called 'superstitious,' so I will hold my tongue. But if you people are not going to follow up every lead, then I'm just wasting my time, and--"

"We'll talk to Waldo," La Loca interrupted. Everyone took a step back, and gave La Loca a funny look.

"It's a sin to waste a nun's time," she explained. "But before we go to the television studio, we have to make a side-trip. Did anyone get Waldo's predictions for the attack locations?"

Someone in the far corner answered, "Yes!" She waved her notes in the air.

"Good. I have some numbers I want you to call."

So then later, we were at the famous Arena Mexico. La Loca, Sister Shannon, and I--Trompeto--stood in middle of the same ring where generations of legendary wrestlers had fought in epic matches.

The arena was dark, except for the lights directly above us. La Loca has a knack for the dramatic, carried over from her wrestling days.

I could see that the first several rows were filled. Even through the dimness, I could make out the masked faces: Blue Demon; Mil Mascaras; Tinieblas, el Gigante; Sombra Vengadora; Medico Asesino; El Frenetico and Go-Girl; Reina Arana and Mister Unknown; El Gato Negro-old and young-and El Gato, Crime Mangler; El Muerto, the Aztec Zombie; Cihualyaomiquiz, the Jaguar; Sonambulo; Burrito, Jack of All Trades--and dozens of others.

La Loca Sanchez had put the call out, and had gathered her friends--Mexico's greatest heroes--to help with the alebrije crisis.

La Loca delivered a short speech, and the masked avengers were more than ready to go! Now they were an organized strike force, with a strategy for fighting the alebrijes, based on the locations where Waldo had predicted attacks.

La Loca finished the rally with her own version of El Grito, the famous speech that sparked the struggle for Mexican Independence. After every exclamation, I struck the timekeeper's bell, for emphasis:

"Long live the Catholic religion!" La Loca cried.

Ding! went my bell.

"Ole! Orale!" cheered the masked heroes.

"Long live Our Lady of Guadalupe!"

Ding!

"Ole! Orale!"

I don't know where they came from, but sombreros flew into the air.

"Long live the Americas, and death to the alebrijes!"

Ding ding ding ding!

"Ole! Orale!"

Then everyone jumped from their seats, and there was a stampede for the parking lot.

Motorcycles, custom cars, vintage cars, dune buggies, and even a biplane were fired up. Engines gunned.

And then, the largest group of Mexican superheroes ever assembled drove into battle!

Later, La Loca spotted the famous smiling mouth logo on a billboard.

We had arrived at Telerisa Studios.

Frijoles del Oro sponsors a lot of Telerisa's programming, so La Loca and I had no problem getting us to Waldo's dressing room.

We knocked. When Waldo opened the door, the smell of incense nearly knocked us off our feet. Inside, every flat surface was covered with mystical stuff: Buddhas, crystal balls, crucifixes, statues of Catholic saints and Hindu gods--the works. He even had a couple of alebrijes.

"My children, how may humble Waldo be of service?" Waldo asked. His makeup cracked a little when he smiled.

Sister Shannon stepped forward, but La Loca grabbed her shoulder and pulled her back.

"With great respect," La Loca said, "we've come to see if you've had any more insights. We pray that your cosmic wisdom can tell us how to fight the alebrijes."

"When ones so lovely supplicate themselves before Waldo, how can Waldo refuse them?" Really--that was what he said. And with an elaborate hand gesture, he invited us into his dressing room.

But then a huge man--at least as tall as La Loca--stepped from behind the door. He was wearing a chauffeur's uniform, and carried a crowbar.

Before any of us could react, he smashed the crowbar on the back of La Loca's neck, and then on Sister Shannon's head.

And that was the last thing I saw, before I was knocked out!

The next thing I--hold on again, lady! That car in front--no brake lights--have to stop!

END OF PART TWO

LOCA SANCHEZ

&

WARRIOR NUN AREALA:

Alebrije Part 3

LOCA SANCHEZ
&
WARRIOR NUN
AREALA

- Tales from Pedro's Cab -
Alebrije
Part III

Story by
Steve Conrique-Ross
Art by
Richard Dominguez

Edited by I.C. Ross
Warrior Nun Areala created by Ben Dunn

Revised version of a story that originally appeared in Mangazine #16, published by Antarctic Press.

- - - - - - - - - - - - -

The Virgin of Guadalupe was gone!

The famous image was stolen from Her basilica in Mexico City by alebrijes--grotesque folk art creatures--that were mysteriously brought to life.

Riots were tearing apart cities with large Latino populations. The Catholic Church sent Sister Shannon--Warrior Nun Areala--to Mexico City; there she joined forces with ex-wrestler Loca Sanchez, and her trumpet-playing sidekick, Trompeto. The trio fought alebrijes at the airport and around El Angel, a treasured national monument.

Androgynous television psychic Waldo Carniceria claimed to know where the alebrijes would strike next.

Sister Shannon, Loca Sanchez, and Trompeto rallied Adelita's former wrestling colleagues, and sent them to the locations where the attacks had been predicted.

The trio then visited Waldo, to question him. In Waldo's dressing room, his bodyguard/chauffeur knocked them unconscious!

That was a few days ago. Now, Trompeto--as cab driver Pedro Alvarez--continues to tell his first-hand account to a female passenger . . .

- - - - - - - - - - - - -

Whew! That was a close call, lady! I told you I have great reflexes. So where was I? Oh, yes--

So there we were, down for the count, but La Loca's masked friends were still fighting alebrijes. They had positioned themselves at the locations we had gotten from Waldo's psychic hotline, and waited for the creatures to attack.

It wasn't long before nearly every famous landmark in Mexico City was a battleground, with masked wrestlers and Aztec superheroes battling hundreds of those papier-mache covered demons!

La Loca, Sister Shannon, and I woke up in an old warehouse. We were lying on the floor, all tied up--but we weren't gagged or blindfolded. We could see that the warehouse was filled with national treasures and religious artifacts. And there, leaning against a wall, still safely in her frame, was the famous image of the Virgin of Guadalupe!

Waldo and his men surrounded us.

There was Waldo's chauffeur--who was tapping a tire iron in the palm of his hand--and a big, hairy, devil-masked wrestler. I recognized him as El Diablo Rojo. La Loca and El Diablo Rojo were old enemies--a few years ago, they had a knock-down, drag-out feud both in and out of the ring.

A fat, dark-skinned man was with them. Sister Shannon told us that he was the guy from the airport: the one who was trying to get his box of hardcore books and magazines past customs.

Waldo stepped forward. He started speaking gracefully with his hands and his soft, lispy voice, "Yes, yes, yes. Waldo admits that Waldo is behind the alebrije attacks. Who but Waldo could have conceived such a brilliant plan?"

Waldo was playing to a captive audience, but two of us only half-paid attention: La Loca was staring at the chauffeur's tire iron, and I kept glancing over at the Virgin of Guadalupe. Only Sister Shannon was interested in Waldo's self-love sermon, so he spoke to her.

"Waldo is a jealous god. Waldo has been stockpiling symbols of faith and inspiration, carefully removing any potential competition to Waldo's reign as the Supreme Source of Wisdom and Hope in Latin America. And soon--very soon--the whole world will love only Waldo."

"I demand a rematch!" La Loca cut in. "You suckered me with a foreign object!"

(That's wrestling talk for the tire iron.)

Waldo was amused. "As for you, Miz Sanchez, it was only a matter of time before you ended up here. You must see now that a role model--and champion of fair play--such as yourself is a direct threat to Waldo? You see, Waldo has no other option, but to leave no other options . . . except Waldo."

Sister Shannon tried to distract him: "So how did you make the alebrijes come to life?"

Her question put Waldo on the spot, which made him nervous.

"Waldo does not to share Waldo's secrets with a Warrior Nun! Let us just say that Waldo's vast knowledge of the supernatural includes a Santeria spell that summons demons, and traps them within the papier-mache shells."

He grabbed an open box from a stack behind him, and threw it at us. Shredded paper scattered everywhere.

"The paper scraps used must be from the most horrific printed matter available, and some of the best raw material fitting that description comes from the United States."

The dark-skinned man smiled--he must've enjoyed picking the raw materials that he had smuggled into Mexico.

"But now, the time has come for Waldo to destroy the evidence. Waldo was going to wait a few days, so the alebrijes could acquire more idols, but you three have forced Waldo to do it now!"

He snapped his fingers. Sparks fell from his hand to the paper shreds--they immediately started to burn.

"This barrio has not been repaired since the last big earthquake. There are so many broken gas pipes beneath these streets that yet another fire would not be suspect.

"And now, Waldo bids you love, peace, and prosperity." He tapped his heart, kissed his fingers, and then threw the kiss at us: Waldo's famous farewell. He made a dramatic about--face, and left the burning room, followed by the chauffeur and the dark-skinned man.

In true rudo fashion, El Diablo Rojo kicked La Loca in the ribs a couple of times--then, with defiant and obscene gestures, he stalked away.

La Loca and Sister Shannon started thrashing around on the floor, struggling to get free. Waldo had used sturdy nylon ropes, and Waldo's henchmen had tied them tight.

I--Trompeto--heard a woman's voice call my name. I looked around. It wasn't La Loca, and it wasn't Sister Shannon--they were trying to untie each other, but with no success.

I looked over to the Virgin of Guadalupe.

Our eyes locked: I could see myself, reflected in the Virgin's eyes. I heard the voice again, and knew that it was Her.

"Pedro," She said, using my real name, "Pedro, you must do what must be done."

Then my head was filled with images so unthinkable that they never would have occurred to me on my own.

"But why me?" I whispered to her.

"Because you looked to me in your time of need," she answered. "Because you'll put faith before religion and tradition, and act."

I didn't have time to doubt: the room was an inferno! Flames were everywhere, and the heat and the smoke were starting to choke us.

I struggled to stand up. La Loca and Sister Shannon stopped to watch me. I half-staggered, half-ran, right towards the Virgin of Guadalupe, and. . .

And I kicked the glass with my steel-toed cowboy boot!

As the glass shattered, La Loca and Sister Shannon started screaming, "No! Trompeto, no!" But I just ignored them--I had to.

A piece of glass from the frame cut through my bonds as if they were string. I thought about cutting La Loca and Sister Shannon loose, but I knew that they could--and would--physically overpower me, once they saw what I was going to do.

Coughing from the smoke, eyes watering, I removed the tilma with the Virgin's holy image from the frame, and. . .

And I used Her to smother the flames!

La Loca swore like she was in a locker room--I doubt those words were in Sister Shannon's phrase book. La Loca was so desperate free herself that she endured intense heat and pain, and used the flames to burn through her ropes.

By the time she was on top of me, almost one-quarter of the fire had been put out. It was then that we witnessed the miracle:

(Please excuse me lady--I still get choked up when I talk about it.) Because you see. . .

As I beat out the flames, white roses--just like the ones the Virgin gave to Juan Diego on December twelfth, 1531--fell from beneath the cloth!

Although the fabric was warm and smoking, the sacred image of the Virgin was completely undamaged--another miracle!

La Loca was too shocked to say anything, so she just untied Sister Shannon.

When the last of the flames were out, I aided in the third miracle, courtesy of the Virgin of Guadalupe: I picked up one of the roses, and tossed it at the heavy, locked door.

It was just like I had thrown a grenade: the door exploded!

"Holy Mary, Mother of God!" whispered Sister Shannon.

Out of the corner of my mouth I said, "You got that right, Sister."

I told La Loca and Sister Shannon that we had to gather up all of the white roses. We loaded them into any usable crates that were lying around the warehouse, and made makeshift sacks out of tarps and canvases.

Then we called Frijoles del Oro for a pickup for ourselves, and the surviving artifacts.

It was already night when we left the warehouse. I drove the Gold Rider at dangerous speeds so we could meet with La Loca's friends.

Now, keep this in mind, lady:

Very few of La Loca's friends have superhuman powers--most of them are masked wrestlers, who do a little crime fighting in their spare time. GoldBase reported that they were having trouble with the supernatural threat of the alebrijes.

When Gold Rider skidded to a stop at Plaza Garibaldi, we saw just how bad things were.

The five members of the Champions of Justice--Blue Demon, Mil Mascaras, Tinieblas, Sombra Vengadora, and Medico Asesino--have fought mad scientists, vampires, aliens, and the Mummies of Guanajuato: enemies that could be punched, kicked, or body slammed.

But now the Champions were outnumbered: several hundred flying alebrijes to their five.

It takes a lot to bring Mil Mascaras to his knees, but wave after wave of alebrijes did just that. The other Champions barely held the alebrijes back. Their bare arms and torsos were covered with cuts and slashes from the creatures' claws.

I knew something had to be done, so I--Trompeto--blew my gold-plated trumpet! The ear-piercing, earth-trembling sound distracted the alebrijes from the wrestlers.

But then they came after us!

Sister Shannon hacked at a few of them with her sword. Pushing our way through fleeing mariachis, La Loca and I ran toward the alebrijes, carrying boxes of white roses.

When we reached Sombra Vengadora's side, La Loca pulled out a rose, and lobbed it at the closest alebrije. It exploded, and burned so thoroughly that only a wisp of ash remained--and then that blew away.

Sombra Vengadora got the message: he dug into the boxes, grabbed as many roses as he could hold in his arms, and started throwing them furiously! The sky looked like it was filled with fireworks, and the air smelled like white roses.

Soon, the other Champions joined us.

All night long we drove through the city, giving white roses to La Loca's other friends, who were defending their posts.

Explosions rocked the city! I don't know how Waldo Carniceria was able to make so many alebrijes--but, miraculously, we had the exact number of roses needed to destroy all of them!

When the sun came up, I noticed that the usual polluted smell of the city air had been replaced with the fragrance of white roses. For the first time in decades--maybe even centuries--the air around Mexico City was clean.

Our last stop was Telerisa Studios.

La Loca Sanchez, Sister Shannon, and I busted into Waldo Carniceria's dressing room.

I took on the stocky, dark-skinned guy. I'm not too bad in a scrap, and La Loca has taught me some sneaky moves.

La Loca could hardly wait to pound on El Diablo Rojo. It's funny to watch her in a "real" fight, because she never broke the habit of stomping her foot when she throws a punch.

Whomp! Whomp! Whomp! Whomp!--then a finishing move, and El Diablo Rojo was down for the pin.

Sister Shannon dueled with Waldo's chauffeur. The chauffeur was a big, strongly-built guy, but he fought like a sissy, and was too worried about protecting his good looks. His tire iron clashed against Sister Shannon's sword, but she quickly disarmed him.

Then La Loca caught the chauffeur with a clothesline maneuver, which slammed him to the floor. She leaped on top of him, and started hammering his face with her fists.

"Use-a-for-eign-ob-ject-on-me-will-you?" La Loca growled between punches. Sniveling, the chauffeur tried to protect himself, but he was unconscious within seconds.

Finally, I conked the stocky guy with my trumpet. As he slid to the ground, we all turned to Waldo Carniceria, who had been cowering in the corner the whole time.

With no-one left to defend him, he suddenly tried to act brave and defiant. But it was hard to take him seriously, since his hair was done up in curlers.

Waldo started making mystical gestures with his hands.

Then he said, "W-Waldo still has Waldo's magic!"

At that moment, a cameraman from the studio arrived on the scene. When Waldo realized that he was taping us, he got an instant jolt of courage.

He shouted, all dramatic, "Fangs of the Jaguar!"

Maybe he did have some kind of magical powers, because I would swear that I saw him start to "morph," just like in his commercials.

Sister Shannon jumped at him. From somewhere in the folds of her habit, one last rose rolled out, and gently landed on Waldo.

Waldo's robes burst into flame! He pitched to the floor and started rolling, but the flames would not go out.

The cameraman dropped his equipment, and hurried to Waldo's side, but Waldo waved him back.

He kept shouting, "No! No! Keep taping!"

The cameraman went to pick up his camera. Then all of a sudden, Senor Hector Diaz and Mister Hunter Chamberlain--our bosses from the Frijoles del Oro Company--rushed into the room.

Senor Diaz ordered, "Adelita! Extinguish those flames!" Mister Hunter struggled to block the cameraman's lens.

After a moment's hesitation, La Loca jumped, flipped, and splash-dived on top of Waldo. Then she started patting out the flames--much harder than she had to.

Waldo winced and whimpered under her slaps.

The flames were out, but La Loca kept on "patting," until Senor Diaz and Mister Hunter pulled her off of Waldo. They left him on the floor, rocking back and forth, moaning and groaning. Sister Shannon stood nearby, keeping an eye on Waldo and his bodyguards.

Senor Diaz pulled La Loca and me to one side, and spoke to us in a hushed--but sharp--voice.

"We can not do anything against Waldo Carniceria," our boss explained. "There is no concrete evidence that he was involved with the alebrije plot."

"What do you mean?" interrupted La Loca. "The three of us are willing to testify. The word of a nun has to be worth something!"

But Senor Diaz just shook his head. "It's just your word against his. And now, Waldo has video footage of you assaulting him."

We looked at Waldo, staggering to his feet. We looked at the cameraman, still scuffling with Mister Hunter.

Senor Diaz continued, "Besides, Waldo is just too beloved by too many people; too many people believe that his predictions have improved their lives.

"Telerisa is a multimedia giant that could easily sway the public's opinion in Waldo's favor. Enough backlash and negative P.R. could destroy all of us--then no-one who knows the truth would be left to stand against Waldo."

By this time, Waldo was on his feet. He looked arrogant and triumphant as he adjusted himself. Then he stuck his tongue out at us.

Can you believe it, lady?

Defeated and disappointed, we all turned to leave--all except Sister Shannon.

Suddenly, Sister Shannon spun toward Waldo, and pointed her gauntlet's green gem at him.

Waldo was as shocked as the rest of us. He was bathed in a green light so intense that we could see his skeleton.

She glared at Waldo and said, "Acts Sixteen: Sixteen through eighteen!"

Then, without another word, she turned and left.

La Loca asked her, "What was that?"

Sister Shannon barely glanced over her shoulder.

"It's in the Bible," she said, "look it up."

And so I did--I just had to know. It's a story about Saint Paul.

On his way to church, he met a slave girl who made a lot of money for her owners by fortune telling. Saint Paul performed an exorcism--he commanded the fortune-telling spirit to leave the slave girl. And with that, she lost her powers.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Later, at Benito Juarez airport, Sister Shannon passed through the metal detector for the fifth time. Once again, the alarm went off.

She had already surrendered her sword, her gauntlet, her belt, and her metal-buckled boots. She fished through her pockets, digging to the very bottom corners, looking for any coins or metal items she may have missed.

Her fingers touched an odd-shaped, heavy object. With a quizzical expression, she pulled it out of her pocket.

It was a golden bean: a souvenir left by Loca Sanchez after every adventure. Inspired by the Lone Ranger's silver bullet, they were created by the Frijoles del Oro Company's advertising department. Somehow, Loca had managed to slip one into her pocket.

Sister Shannon smiled, tossed the frijole del oro into the air, and then caught it.

When the airport security people saw the bean, they knew that she was a friend of Loca Sanchez. Smiling and nodding, they let her pass on through without any further trouble.

- - - - - - - - - - - - -

And ever since Sister Shannon put that whammy on him, Waldo Carniceria has not been able to make one single accurate prediction.

His popularity has dropped so much that he hasn't dared to try any more crazy plans.

You know, lady--we've been driving around all this time, and I've been going on and on, telling you my story--but you never did tell me where you wanted to go.

Oh, look! Here we are, where it all began: The Basilica of the Virgin of Guadalupe. Now why did I bring you here?

"That's all right. I belong here."

Oh. Okay, lady. Then, about my fare. . .

"Please accept this, along with my thanks, Pedro 'Trompeto' Alvarez."

Hey, lady--I can't buy gas with a kiss and a. . . a white rose?!

Lady! It's you! Holy Mary, Virgin Mother of God!

Please forgive me, lady--Our Lady! Before, I didn't get a good look at you. I. . .

She's gone.

People wonder why I--Trompeto--"Protector of Mexico" still drive my cab, to this day. . .

I do it because of the words my grandpa said to me--about always having a day job to fall back on. . .

And because I like sharing my stories--and the sweet smell of roses that She left in my cab--with my passengers.

~ THE END ~

We Are ZETRAMAN!

"Zetraman was of my earlier comic book scripts,
but it still holds up."
--Steve Ross

"Zetraman made me laugh out loud."
--Richard Sakai (Producer, "The Simpsons")

"The world can be saved by steam!"
--Professor Steamhead

"Steam On!"
--Zetraman

Zetraman first appeared in Ninja High School #07, created by Ben Dunn and published by Eternity Comics (which later became a part of Marvel Comics).

(This is one of the few Zetraman stories I didn't write.
The cover was signed by Ben Dunn.)

Zetraman began as a three-man team, even though the word "Zetraman" is singular. (A tribute to Japanese attempts at "Engrish.")

The initial line-up was:

MIKEY (Zetra Blue):
African-American, unofficial team leader,
"the intellectual one"; water powers

HOWARD (Zetra Red):
Tall, blonde, and Nordic; looks for the simplest solution;
"the strong, silent type"; Earth powers

PHRANK (Zetra Yellow) :
Possibly Hispanic, wears glasses; a bit of a lech;
"the comic relief"; wind powers (usually gas-related)

Ben Dunn and I are big fans of Japanese live action superhero shows. We loved the Super Sentai series long before they were re-edited with American-shot footage, and made their American debut as the Power Rangers.

Ben especially liked a show called Sun Vulcan. Zetraman's "Have a (Zetra) Day" badges are a parody of the ones worn by the Sun Vulcan team.

(Limited edition replicas of the Zetra Badges were manufactured and sold by Antarctic Press. Now they're rare collector's items!)

Since Ben and I were on the same Super Sentai page, he let me write the next Zetraman story, which appeared in Ninja High School #27.

In "Three Zetramen and a Baby," I fleshed out Mikey, Howard, and Phrank's characters, since their first appearance was little more than a series of funny gags.

I also introduced Dertoza and Leiola: brother-and-sister villains who have since become recurring characters in the Ninja High School series.

The story also features UltraBaby.

UltraBaby's origin is a parody of the first Superman movie.

UltraBaby is a cute, "super-deformed" take off of the iconic Japanese superhero Ultraman.

A 3-issue Zetraman miniseries followed shortly after NHS #27 was published.

In "Venus Needs Men," female invaders from Venus have their sights set on Zetraman's Zetra-powered genetic material.

But when the boys discover that repopulating a planet is not the fun-filled adventure they thought it would be, they fight for their freedom the Zetra Way: with lots of martial arts, and giant robot action.

The first miniseries introduced two Zetra Women:

ALEKA (aka Zetra Green):
Green-haired, former Venusian officer, brilliant strategist,
"the fish out of water"; powers unspecified

TERRI (aka Zetra Pink):
Strawberry blonde, former police officer, the most mature
member of the team, "the den mother"; powers unspecified

The miniseries was successful, even though it was by an unknown writer-artist team.

The good news was that we had beat the American debut of the Mighty Morphin' Power Rangers by almost a year.

The bad news was that our parody came out before most readers would "get" what we were parodying.

(Be that as it may, they liked it anyway: it stood on its own merits.)

(Cover art by Usagi Yojimbo creator Stan Sakai.)

Antarctic Press publishes an annual Ninja High School Yearbook, which allows fans and pros to contribute short stories based on Ben Dunn's characters.

The 1994 Yearbook featured a 12-page Zetraman story by Yours Truly entitled "Caspia: The Very Friendly Ghost."

Zetraman: Revival! was the second Zetraman miniseries. It consisted of three issues.

When Professor Steamhead, one of the teachers from the regular Ninja High School series, gave the Zetra people their powers, he mixed the radiation from an ultra-rare element called Zetranite with steam.

After the initial treatment, all it took was a strong gust of steam (usually from their gimmicky Zetra Watches) to trigger the transformation into Zetraman. (Thus, "Steam on!")

When the Zetraman: Revival! miniseries begins, Mikey, Howard, and Phrank had lost their Zetra powers while battling giant monsters in Ninja High School #35.

A new source of Zetranite has been found that could revive the boys' powers, but it's in the possession of rival (and evil) Steamanologist, who plans to create a rival team: Zetra Force.

Zetraman: Revival! also introduces yet another Zetra character:

COLEN (aka Zetra Black):
Purple-haired (dyed brown to "fit in"),
rebel leader from the villain's homeworld,
the best Zetra fighter, "the loner";
aside from enhanced strength,
she doesn't need special powers

The Zetra Women do most of the fighting in the first couple of issues.

The last couple of pages of Zetraman: Revival! have the team watching--and complaining about--Fox TV's bastardized version of their "true" story (the Power Rangers).

Although Ben and I were inspired by the shows that the Power Rangers' producers had licensed from Japan, we remain convinced that they "borrowed" some of our ideas for their Americanized version.

(We were just slightly ahead of our time.)

Zetraman: Revival! was far more ambitious than the first miniseries, with a larger cast and a complex plot.

I would love to see a Special Edition someday, with revised scripts, re-drawn and decompressed art, and modern computer coloring.

Eternity Comics reprinted early, black-and-white issues of Ninja High School in color.

The first Zetraman miniseries is technically outside of regular Ninja High School continuity, but Ben Dunn liked it so much that he incorporated it into the color series' 12-issue run.

Terri/Zetra Pink never actually uses the Zetra Nunchucks in this issue, but I think they're a neat idea!

Around the time that the final color issue issue was published, Ninja High School returned to Antarctic Press, after a long run with Eternity Comics.

In 2006, Ninja High School celebrated its 20th anniversary.

It's one of the longest-running independent comics, and one of the first to incorporate manga and anime style, and Japanese storytelling techniques.

The Cheerleader Commandos were the stars of this reprint collection, but it also contains my "Three Zetramen and a Baby" story (NHS #27).

The Ninja High School Textbooks are fat, phone book-sized tomes that collect all of the early issues.

This one (above) also includes my Zetraman story from #27.

Once again, NHS #27 is reprinted; this time in an inexpensive, pocket-sized format.

(And it's still in print!)

This beautiful example of early CGI was by Zetraman: Revival! artist Danny Fahs. It was supposed to be the cover for the third issue, but somebody got their wires crossed.

(A running joke is that the Zetra Robo always gets demolished at the end of every adventure, so they're constantly getting a new, improved model; not unlike the Starship Enterprise from the "Star Trek" films, or Kenny from "South Park.")

Finally, for your coloring pleasure:

(Ben Dunn's original black-and-white cover artwork from Ninja High School in Color #09)

Over the last few years, Zetraman--as a team, and the individual members-- have made Zetra-cameos in various Antarctic Press comics, but they haven't enjoyed a "big" adventure since Zetraman: Revival!

Will they "Steam On!" again?

That's up to Ben Dunn, and the readers.

I admit that I'm biased, but I think Zetraman deserves a second look...

And, perhaps, a second REVIVAL!

----------------------------------------

Thanks to Ben Dunn and Antarctic Press for giving me carte blanche to reproduce their covers and artwork.

Ninja High School and related titles and characters are Copyright and Trademark Ben Dunn.

The artwork on the covers of Zetraman #01-#03 was by Greg Espinoza; the cover to Ninja High School Yearbook '94 was by Stan "Usagi Yojimbo" Sakai.

The Zetra Robo was rendered by Danny Fahs.

All other artwork was by Ben Dunn.

The sentai and Ultraman stuff are Copyright and TM their respective owners.