"Billfold of Bills"

 Imagine you subscribe to Walt Disney's Comics and Stories in the 1940s, at the same time that Barks starts his run of ten-pagers.  Pretty sweet deal.  Obviously you don't know Barks' name, but you know that SOMEONE is writing these, and you're not naive enough to believe that all Disney comics are written by Walt himself (if only because they're so stylistically varied), so you know you're witnessing someone's artistic progression (You" here is "you" as an adult, by the way.  From personal experience, I can say that kids are less discriminating).  So how JARRING must it have been when 1950 rolls around and, for reasons unknown to me, Barks takes a semi-hiatus from WDC, and most of the ten-pagers are written (or at least drawn; who knows who was writing them) by Jack Bradbury or Paul Murry.  And we can historicize all these stories and appreciate their good aspects as we find them, but at the time--I don't know.  I guess it's impossible to really conceptualize.  There have to have been a fair few discerning adult and even child readers, and they would have to recognize that the ducks in these Temu ten-pagers are NOT the same as the ones they were used to following.  What is HAPPENING?! I imagine them wondering, clutching their brows.  Well, time to take a look and see what they saw.  Not that I plan on covering ALL of those stories.  But this one in particular I'd say is at least worth a look.

(Holy shit, "Temu ten-pager," what an awesome turn of phrase; everyone must pay me homage, and also money.)

(And as for the name I've given this, it was printed titleless and, not surprisingly, never given one retroactively; I don't find any of the foreign-language titles that inspiring, so I'm officially declaring the three-word English description on the inducks page to be the title.  That's right, OFFICIALLY!  Quail before my might!  It kinda sounds like it was written by a non-native speaker, it doesn't make a lot of sense, and it's not actually related to the story in any discernible way. So, you know.  But at least it has a bit of character!

So.  This is Bradbury, and there is one notable thing about it, depending on how you define "notable:" it's his first duck story, and possibly his first Disney story period, not counting one-pagers; I can't tell for sure because the other option is a giveaway that doesn't list a month.  That's a fact, Jack!

Bradbury's artwork has an appealingly loose style, but this debut is a bit rough, looking more like some kind of outsider art than an official Disney story.

But while I don't love the art here, that's not the main issue.  We can see how this is kind of an impossible story right from the opening.  Right.  So Donald's upset because he feels that HDL are financially constraining him with their constant demands for this and that.  He's spoiled them!  Okay, next:

Here, I would like to invite the reader to make a prediction.  Mull it over for a moment.  We don't know exactly where the story's going to go, but we can see that this counters the narrative we saw above.  It turns out the kids are being responsible and working to get money for their new clubhouse--seemingly doing what Donald would want them to be doing.  So you have to think that the story, in some way and to some extent, is going to deal with this tension between his conception of his nephews and the reality.

But, I'm sorry to say, you would be a BLITHERING IDIOT for thinking this.  Here are the very next panels:

Were you expecting this?  No, you were not, on account of what an insane reaction it is.  Forget them being spoiled; let's get freaked out at the thought of being asked--by people who are for all intents and purposes your children, let's remember--to participate in a charity raffle, to the extent that you are hiding your money, like we're in Silas Marner or something.  I mean, come on.  I'd say this has more in common with cartoon than comic Donald, and not in a good way.

Look at how he's not just tucking the money into the hole; he's throwing it.  Also, "radium dial;" there's a sign of the times.  It is just hair-raising, the danger we put ourselves in for no reason.  Good thing we've learned from that!  Ha.  Hahahahaha. 

Oh.  Yeah.  Sure.  I DO sorta kinda enjoy this stuff, but let's face it, it's only because of how stupid it is.  Yeah, I'm sure the kids'll be fooled into thinking you're suddenly in penury if you rip up your clothes.    After all, it's not like they, I don't know, live with you or anything.  Kee-rickey.

A RUINED DUCK!  Those are some odd-looking nephews.  You'd expect them to immediately see through this idiocy on Donald's part, but as it turns out, they don't seem to react to it at all.

I mean, I guess this "fuck you, pay us" attitude is kind of a reaction, but not one that really addresses the main issue.  Their angry "You'd better buy it! You might win a piano!" is for my money the funniest thing in the story, though I wouldn't argue much if you went with "Oh-how can you talk of raffles and pianos at a time like this?"

And we're off.  What do you think a ticket costs?  Ten cents?

Not to keep harping on it, but that there in the first panel is one of the worst drawings of Donald I've ever seen, though admittedly it's from an odd angle that many might struggle with.

Also, look how smug he is, because, oh ho, it turns out that his yard "needs" a bunch of random giant holes to be dug for no reason.  What are we doing here?

Yeah, so this nonsense proceeds apace, but I do have to give Bradbury credit for this part, because that's a fairly neat chain of reasoning HDL have going there.  And he DID plant the "radium dial" thing in advance, meaning he was, at least to a limited extent, thinking about the story as a whole and not just making it up as he went.  Well done.  You might have potential, kid, as long as you can keep the egregious dumbness to a minimum, which admittedly is a big if.

I might be missing the point if I went on about how insanely dangerous it was for them to cut down the tree and let it just fall like that, uncontrolledly.  Still, if I were Donald, I'd suggest that the damage they did to the property obviate the need for me to buy a dang ticket.

The inside of their mouths being all yellow like that is a fairly glaring coloring error, but that's neither here nor there.  The question is, what did they expect Donald was going to do with a piano?  Well, if we're being realistic, given how concerned he seems to be about money I'd expect him to sell it and come away with a tidy profit.  But this works too, I guess.  Sort of.

In the end, all I can say is: Jack, you weirdo!