labrys, études féministes/ estudos feministas
janvier / juin 2013  -janeiro / junho 2013

Wimmen's Studies, Abstract

Trina Robbins

Abstract

Wimmen’s Studies relates the earliest history of women’s underground comix, from the founding of It Ain’t Me, Babe to Wimmen’s Comix and Tits & Clits.

The 1970 San Francisco comix scene was more than merely a Boys Club. Male underground cartoonists included graphic violence against women in their comix, portraying this violence as humor.  Women who thought panels of rape, torture and murder were not funny were often told by men that they had no sense of humor. In 1970 I joined the staff of It Ain't Me, Babe, the first Women's Liberation newspaper in the country, contributing a comic to the back pages and drawing covers for the front pages. Perhaps because of our political backgrounds or perhaps because we were women, the collective's methods differed from those of the male underground.

Key-wsords: women, underground, humor, comic

I decided to publish an entire feminist comic book with the moral support of the Babe staff.  Hearing that a new publisher, Last Gasp, which had so far published an ecology comic, was looking for a “women’s liberation” comic, I phoned the publisher, Ron Turner, and told him I had an entire “women’s lib” comic put together. He came right over and handed me a check for $1,000, in those days an enormous sum of money. Working with the Babe women, and especially putting out that comic -- which started the entire women’s comix movement -- worked magic on my shattered self esteem.

From the first issue, we drew  on our personal experiences, and those of other women.  We tackled subjects like abortion, lesbianism, menstruation, and childhood sexual abuse. Because they had been left out of comics by men, the women of Wimmen's Comix were inclusive, and all women were invited to submit their work.  The collective had a rotating editorship, so that no one woman could ever be dictator, and everyone looked at the submissions and gave feedback. 

By 1972, Ron Turner wanted to publish a second book.  Patti Moodian, working at Last Gasp, called together nine women for a meeting at her house, to found the Wimmen’s Comix Collective.Meanwhile, unknown to us, two Southern California women, Joyce Farmer and Lynn Chevely (under the pseudonym "Chin Lively") were reacting to the sexism in male underground comix by producing their own title, Tits & Clits. That book arrived on newsstands two months before Wimmen's.

Wimmen's Comix sold well in the days of head shops, but the head shops closed and the only place to find comics was comicbook stores,  whose owners preferred to sell superhero comics. By the time Wimmen's Comix folded in 1992, there were more women creating comics than ever before, and many had gotten their start in Wimmen’s Comix.

In 1970 San Francisco, birthplace of the undergound comix movement,  the comix scene was more than merely a Boys Club. In part reacting against the repressive mainstream Comics Code, in part following the hippie dogma to "let it all hang out,"  definitely influenced by the misogynist comix of counter culture hero Robert Crumb, in most San Francisco comix circles it was almost de rigeur for male underground cartoonists to include violence against women in their comix, and to portray this violence as humor.  To these guys, and to their many male readers, graphic rape scenes were boffo, beheaded women had them rolling in the aisles. 

Women who thought panels of rape, torture and murder were not funny were often told by men that they simply had no sense of humor. To many male underground cartoonists, criticism of Crumb was heresy.  Such attitudes did not help get the only two women underground cartoonists in San Francisco invited into most of the guys' books. 

Then somebody showed me the first issue of It Ain’t Me, babe -- I couldn’t believe it! A feminist underground newspaper! [1]

In 1970 I joined the staff of It Ain't Me, Babe, the first Women's Liberation newspaper in the country. Thereafter, I again was taking the bus into Berkeley periodically, on pasteup nights, but I was also contributing a comic to the back pages and drawing covers for the front pages. I drew a cover that started a kind of mini movement; it was a portrait of Angela Davis, saying “Sister, you are welcome in this house.”  The idea was to put it into your window.  Soon other people were making posters like that too, for their windows.  And when my daughter was born, I did a cover just for her, showing a woman and a baby with the words, “This child is born free.”

My comics, on the other hand, were none too subtle propaganda, the continued hapless plight of Belinda Berkeley, who works a wretched office job to support a pig of a husband who hopes to write the Great American Porn novel.  They were loosely based on my real life sitiuation: a sexist “old man” who was drawing misogynistic underground comix and living off my welfare.

Then I got the idea to do something I could never have done without the moral support of the Babe staff: an entire feminist comic book.  The Print Mint, a Berkeley-based comix publisher, expressed interest; they had already published my comix in their comix anthology, Yellow Dog [2] It wasn’t easy finding women to contribute, but I wrote to two women in NY who I knew drew comix, and included Willy Mendes, who at that time was the only other woman in San Francisco besides me who was drawing comix (and who was also feeling left out by the guys), I got two beautiful pages by Socialist cartoonist Lisa Lyons, and 4 terrific pages by a Point Richmond woman, Michelle Brand and the entire Babe collective worked together to produce a 4 page comic in which Petunia Pig, Little Lulu, Betty and Veronica, and Supergirl finally rebel and join together against their oppressing male characters.

My cover echoed that theme, with Olive Oyl, Wonder Woman, Little Lulu, Sheena, Queen of the Jungle, and Elsie the Borden Cow all marching together, fists raised, looking pissed-off.

Print Mint didn’t publish the comic afer all, because I heard that a new publisher, Last Gasp, which had so far published an ecology comic, was looking for a “women’s liberation” comic, so I phoned the publisher, Ron Turner, and told him I had an entire “women’s lib” comic put together and he came right over and handed me a check for $1,000, which in those days was an enormous amount of money!  I’ll always remember what Ron did for me and always be grateful to him for it. Later, when the guys from the Print Mint asked me why I hadn’t given the book to them, I answered truthfully that Ron had come right over with a check. We were so in demand!

Working with the Babe women, and especially putting out that comic -- which really started the entire women’s comix movement -- worked magic on my self esteem, which was in rags from the way I was being treated by the guys, and kept me going.

By 1972, I had already published my own comic book, Girl Fight, and together with Mendes, put together All Girl Thrills, while Mendes had published her own book, Illuminations.  It Ain't Me, Babe, the book that started it all, had done well enough that publisher Ron Turner, of Last Gasp, wanted to publish a second book.  However, I had been dissatisfied with the quality of It Ain't Me, Babe,  and didn't want to produce another issue.     

Patti Moodian, working at Last Gasp, learned of Turner's desire to publish a Women's Liberation title, and called together nine other women (the "founding mothers") for a meeting at her house. Of the original founding mothers, Lee Marrs was the most experienced, having assisted newspaper cartoonist Tex Blaisdell on his strip, Little Orphan Annie, and  contributed gags to Mort Walker's strip, Hi and Lois.  In 1971, along with Mal Warwick,  she had formed the Alternative Features Syndicate (AFS) to distribute news, features and comics to college and underground papers.  She was already working on her first solo book, Pudge, Girl Blimp, which would not see print for another two years.

Another founding mother, Sharon Rudahl, had drawn political comics for the Madison, Wisconsin underground paper, Takeover, and was now living in the San Francisco Good Times commune, and working on their underground paper.

Perhaps because of our political backgrounds or perhaps simply because we were women, the Women's Comix Collective's methods differed from those of the male underground from the start.  In a 1979 interview in Cultural Correspondence magazine, founding mother Terre Richards says:

We...decided that...we would function as a collective, a term rather loosely used in those days to mean there would be no leader or editor, but instead a rotating editorship, with everyone contributing their energy to the paperwork and general supportiveness of the group.

It took us three meetings to settle on a name.  While coming up with such bizarre suggestions as "Queen Kong," we kept repeating, "What shall we call this women's comic?'  Finally we realized that we had known its name all along, and thus, with a small spelling change, was born Wimmen's Comix . 

From the first issue, we drew  on our own personal experiences, and those of other women.  We tackled subjects that the guys wouldn't touch with a ten-foot pole; subjects such as abortion, lesbianism, menstruation, and childhood sexual abuse.  Aline Kominsky produced what was probably the first autobiographical comic, a subject that is still in vogue today among women cartoonists.

Because they had been left out of comics by the men, the women of Wimmen's Comix were inclusive, and from the beginning, all women were invited to submit their work.  The first issue featured the first ever comic about a lesbian, "Sandy Comes Out," by Trina Robbins.  By issue no. 4, the collective printed the first comic by a lesbian, "A Modern Romance," by Roberta Gregory.  By issue no. 5, they were including in their comic women cartoonists from England, Italy, and France.

The collective had a rotating editorship, so that no one woman could ever be a dictator, and everyone looked at the submissions and gave feedback.  By issue no. 8, it became a two-woman editorship, making it even more impossible for one person to force their will upon the others -- a true collective.

In a strange case of California synchronicity, although the founding mothers didn't know it at the time, two Southern California women, Joyce Farmer and Lynn Chevely (under the pseudonym "Chin Lively") were reacting to the sexism they found in male-oriented underground comix by producing their own title, Tits & Clits.   Although Wimmen's Comix is generally thought to be the first women's underground title, Farmer's and Chevely's book actually arrived on newsstands two months before Wimmen's.

The first few issues of Wimmen's were uneven, as so many contributors had much to learn about drawing comics.  I sometimes despaired that the book would remain a kind of lady's auxiliary, because many contributors were wives or girlfriends of male cartoonists, but as cream rises to the top, less talented contributors dropped out and better artists emerged. Highly regarded cartoonists Melinda Gebbie (Lost Girls) and Roberta Gregory (Naughty Bits) both drew their first comics for Wimmen's, in 1973 and 1974 respectively.  In later issues, Wimmen's published work by Phoebe Gloeckner, Shary Flenniken, Dori Seda, Krystine Kryttre, and Lynda Barry.  Farmer and Chevely contributed to our books, and we contributed to theirs.

It was not always smooth sailing.  Lesbians accused us of heterosexism.   We were criticized for being an all-white group, but during the entire twenty year run of Wimmen's, we never received one submission from an African-American woman cartoonist.  MS magazine refused to accept our ads. In 1973 we received hate mail, accusing us of being F.B.I. informants, or, as the letter writer put it, "crewcut she-pricks."  Of course there were fights.  Because of disagreements with the editors, I dropped out of two issues, but I always returned for the next issue.

Our libertarian publisher didn't make judgments, but at a certain point we started feeling uncomfortable about being included with such comics as Horny Biker Sluts, and we looked for a new publisher.  In fact, we went through two new publishers, each one selling fewer and fewer numbers, before we decided to call it quits.

Wimmen's Comix had sold well back in the days of head shops, but the head shops closed and the only place to find comics was comicbook stores, owned or managed by superhero fans who preferred to sell superhero comics to other superhero fans, and who understocked, or simply didn't carry, "chick books." Caryn Leschen, editor of the last issue, expressed our feelings when she wrote in her editorial:

The print run was too small and all the stores, as usual, will sell out, but they won't reorder because "Women don't buy comics."  Bullshit.  How did they sell out in the first place?

Wimmen's Comix finally folded in 1992.  By this time, there were more women creating comics than ever before. They self-published or were published by small presses.  They were already beginning to put up their comics on websites on the internet.  Wimmen's Comix opened the door for them all, and the door is still open.

Biography

Writer and herstorian Trina Robbins has been writing and drawing comics since before she produced the first all-woman comic book, It Ain't Me,
Babe, in 1970. She also writes award-winning graphic novels for young readers and books about women: women who draw comics, women who kill,
women from Ireland, women who happen to be goddesses. She lives in a 108-year-old house in San Francisco, California. In 2013 Trina was elected into the Will Eisner Comic book Hall of Fame.

http://www.trinarobbins.com/Trina_Robbins/Welcome.html