When I was real small like, I dunno, eight-or-so years old, I remember my dad taking me to an old news stand that was closing in Lowell, MA called “Harvey’s”. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing when I walked into the place. Stacks and stacks of comic books filled the store. Mountains of magazines towered over me, making it difficult even for me to walk between them. The memory’s foggy, but this is what I remember.

The comic books were clumsily tied in bundles with twine. Each bundle had a piece of paper slapped on it reading “200, $2″. My dad saw my brother and me gawking at the piles of books and bought us a bundle to take home. Two-hundred comics for two dollars.

I remember reading all of the comics many times over. At the time I thought nothing of comics and mint condition value, so I didn’t take too much care of how I handled them. Richie Rich, Scooby Doo, Casper — those I know for certain were among what I read. I also had no sense of how old these comics really were, since these were cartoon characters I was watching on TV at the time.

In the back of many of these old comics were ads for all sorts of zany gimmicky items — X-Ray vision glasses, the infamous Atlas book, selling Grit Magazine, etc. One thing I remember really wanting was the Polaris Nuclear Sub. I drooled over that thing like Ralphie did over the Red Rider B.B.Gun in ‘A Christmas Story’. Here was something that said it could go underwater! Fire rockets! With a real working periscope! It fits two kids! And holy shit, it was only $6.98! I have $6.98!

I dreamed of arriving home from school one day to see a huge fricken crate in my back yard, my newly purchased Polaris Nuclear Submarine. I’d rub my hands together in delight with an evil laugh. I’d throw it in my dad’s pickup and have him haul it down to the nearby pond, where I’d spend the entire summer exploring the underwater world of Long Pond, shooting nuclear missiles at passing boats and sneaking up on swimmers as I peered at them with my real periscope. I was giddy at the thought.

Alas, I didn’t realize these comics were over ten years old. I never did try to send away for the sub. Who knows what would happen to my hard earned allowance money once it arrived at the defunct company’s mailbox. Maybe he’d buy some weed with it. Or at least a beer.

Many many years later, when I realized old mint comics = cash, I tore apart my basement searching for the huge stack of 200 comics. Unfortunately most of them were lost in the move to our new house, and I was only able to recover one comic — a 1967 Richie Rich. The interior is good, but the cover is ripped in corners. I bagged it anyway and still have it.

Two hundred comics for two dollars. Yeah, that may be a destination to put on my “where to go with my time machine when someone invents one” list.