BACK in 2015 we posted a bunch of correspondence between Henry Steeger, Robert J. Hogan, and Bob Swift that Pulp Historian Don Hutchison handed us at PulpFest. The letters with Bob Swift concerned a feature article he was writing for the Miami Herald Sunday Magazine. Although Don had given us the letters, the package did not include the Miami Herald Sunday Magazine feature story. But thanks to Newspapers.com, we have finally got a copy of it to share with our readers.

Without further ado, here is Bob Swift’s feature:

G-8: Spy King of the Pulps

by BOB SWIFT | The Miami Herald, Miami, Florida • 8 July 1962

Remember before TV, when the lurid pulp magazine was the boy’s best friend? Remember Bob Hogan’s fabulous heroes, G-8 and His Battle Aces?

ENTER the Depression era small town boy, bicycle-borne, legs pumping, frayed and faded school books bouncing in the bike basket, dime burning the clenched fist like a nugget of lye.

Past the candy store with its dubble-bubble. Past the movie with Hoot Gibson. Past the drug store and the root beer float. Here. The news stand. Padded clatter of Keds on the wooden floor. There. Row upon lurid row, garish and glorious, the pulp magazines of the 1930’s.

Were you a fan, back In those beautiful days when the pulp was king? It was before TV (what you did, you listened to I Love a Mystery, the Green Hornet and Jack Armstrong on the radios). And what you did, you read the pulps.

There was Doc Savage, the man of bronze; the Shadow, whose flaming automatics piled crooks like cordwood; Nick Carter, the master detective; the Spider, soaring on a silken web; Wild West Weekly and Western Story Magazine.

But what really made that school literature book a volume of tepid pap was a brassy book called G-8 and His Battle Aces, a seven by 10 inch pulp magazine whose contents palsied the hand, dried the mouth, popped the young eyeball and packed a bigger kick than a surreptitious Domino cigaret.

America’s Master Spy. who could pilot a Spad pursuit plane in circles around any World War I ace. Master of makeup, crack shot, superb physical specimen, noble and true, ruthless to the enemy. That was G-8 as created by Robert J. Hogan, one of the most prolific pulp writers of his day.

Robert J Hogan wasn’t just the communal pen name for some stable of writers who took turns writing some of the pulps of that era.

Hogan was—and is—Hogan. Today. Bob Hogan lives in Coral Gables, 829 Granada Grove Ct.

He fondly remembers his pulp hero.

“I love G-8.” says Hogan, a spare, balding man of 64. “G-8 was good to me, supported me for 11 years, built our summer home in New Jersey.”

Bob, a preacher’s son from Buskirk, NY, learned to fly in World War I, demonstrated private planes after that, found himself almost penniless when his company closed in the Depression’s early day. He happened to buy a pulp aviation magazine, snorted, “Hell. I can write better than that.” and did so. He sold his first story to Wings Magazine for $65, was off on a writing career.

“Does anyone remember a series called The Red Falcon?” wonders Hogan. “Or the Smoke Wade stories in Dare-Devil Aces magazine?”

But other pulp fiction publishers began turning to novel length stories featuring the same character each month . . . the Shadow, Doc Savage. Hogan’s chore: Dream up an air hero. Driving home from his publisher’s office one day in 1933. Hogan’s racing brain came up with G-8 and His Battle Aces.

There was G-8 himself, the Master Spy. There were his sidekicks, little Nippy Weston (”Hey, you dumb ox!”) and burly Bull Martin (”Holy herring!”) and Battle, their English butler.

That first novel was called The Bat Staffel, the latter being a German word meaning squadron. Then came the whole great series that ran from 1933 to 1944, a series of novels whose titles had a certain zing, such as: “Death Rides the Ceiling,” “Skies of Yellow Death,” “Patrol of the Mad,” “Scourge of the Steel Mask,” “Wings of the Juggernaut,” “Vultures Of the Purple Death,” “The Death Monsters,” “Wings of Invisible Doom,” or “The Staffel of Beasts.”

Imagination unlimited was the rule of the pulp magazines and G-8 fought monsters with tentacles, men with beast brains, flying zombies, marching skeletons, mad scientists, mysterious gas, flying bombs, monster tanks with spiked treads and flame throwers, armored dirigibles, magnetic rays.

Particular villains plagued G-8 for years. One was the horrifying Steel Mask. Another was the yellow peril, Dr. Chu Lung. But the adversary who gave G-8 the creeps the longest was the wretched evil genius, Herr Doktor Krueger:

“Emaciated beyond description . . . shrunken, half-paralyzed body . . . head huge at the top . . . ‘Ha, ha.’ cackled the little fiend doctor . . . a cackling, high-pitched laugh left the ugly mouth of Herr Doktor Krueger …”

And talk about television blood and mayhem! G-8 beat today’s fare by a gory mile. The Master Spy never got through an issue without shooting, stabbing or otherwise disposing of a dozen or so enemy pilots, soldiers, guards, spies, madmen or monsters.

How about this scene from “The Sword Staffel” of June, 1935:

“There was a sword covered with blood. It measured at least six feet in length . . . the handle was large and gripping it tightly was a ponderous, human arm. The flesh was seared like a half-broiled steak . . . it was severed at the shoulder as though it had been torn off.”

Whew! Heady stuff. And we loved it.

In one novel the mad scientists boiled bodies in cauldrons, sent zombie-like skeletons marching against the Allies.

“My editor became nauseated.” says Bob Hogan with some relish. “Had to leave his desk.”

There was “Wings of the Glacier Men,” wherein the Germans found a whole army of Vikings frozen in a glacier, brought them to life, used them as hideous soldiers.

Aerial combat played a big part in G-8’s adventures, too:

“G-8 was sure his bullets had spattered into the lead pilot’s body, but he was still flying. Instantly, G-8’s brain flashed to the time when Germany had sent over the gorilla men who could not be killed. Were these men wearing bullet proof armor, too? Tac-tac-tac! Spandeau bullets snapped past his head . . .”

Hogan wasted no time inventing complicated names for his foreign characters. He glibly tossed off handles like Monsieur Chapeau, Herr Schmaltz and Herr Butscher, injected a few ach du liebers and violas and went merrily on with the plot.

There was even a female spy with the lovely name of R-1. She was what you might call the love interest if you stretched a point, although romance in a G-8 novel was tailored to the tastes of the 14-year-old, with the result that any cuddling between G-8 and R-1 was roughly akin to that between Roy Rogers and Trigger.

No matter. When that G-8 novel was finished, the short stories digested and the G-8 Club news read (sometimes all this occurred by flashlight under the covers), it was time to begin the impatient waiting until next month’s issue.

Even the ads were wonderful. Johnson Smith & Co. offered courses in Ju Jitsu, Whoopee Cushions for a quarter. French Photo Rings and Boys. Boys, Learn to Throw Your Voice. Charles Atlas stared from the page and sneered. “You can have a body like mine.” You were entreated to buy yeast for those pesky pimples. And for the more mature reader, it is hoped, there was the ad for Crab Orchard Whisky, guaranteed a mellow 18 months old.

When G-8 was in his prime. Bob Hogan turned out 200,000 words a month, pacing his Sparta, N.J. home with the radio full blast, bouncing a rubber ball on the floor, dictating to two secretaries at once.

At one incredible time, Hogan was writing the G-8 series, a cops and robbers series called The Secret Six and a Chinese menace series called Wu Fang, each calling for a 60,000 word novel a month plus enough short stories to fill the back of each magazine. In addition, he ran the fan club (”Hello, gang, this is G-8 speaking.”).

A Readers Digest article called him one of the world’s most prolific writers.

Hogan’s orders were to turn out the copy. Don’t edit it, said his publisher, don’t rewrite it, don’t even read it. Just turn it out and mail it. And that’s just what Hogan did.

“I have yet to read a G-8 story,” he says with wry curiosity. “Wonder if they were any good?”

“G-8 was aimed at boys about 14 years old, but I had fans ail ages and all over the world. One was president of a street car company in Scotland. Another was a Bengal Lancer in India.’

Hogan still gets letters from old fans who wish their own kids could read G-8. But alas, that’s almost impossible. A mint copy which once sold for 10 cents might bring $50 today, if you could find one.

Hogan himself has a complete set of G-8 at his lodge in New Jersey, “The House That G-8 Built.” There, too, are Hogan’s mementos: airplane struts serving as curtain rods, engine parts for andirons, bomb casings for lamps.

G-8 appeared in about 1OO novels, finally died in World War II.

“Production costs killed the pulps.” sighs Hogan. “And, of course, in the day of the B-29 and radar, the demand for stories about Spads and the Kaiser sort of wore itself out.”

G-8 buried and mourned, Hogan turned to slick magazines, westerns, juveniles, TV. One of westerns became a movie, The Stand at Apache River. A juvenile novel, Howl at the Moon was considered a classic boy-dog story. Many of his books have been translated into foreign languages.

Hogan has slowed a bit lately. He and his wife Betty, winter in Coral Gables, summer in New Jersey. But the typewriter still clatters though the pace has relaxed. What Hogan would like to do now is re-issue G-8 in some form or other, for nostalgia fans maybe make G-8 a TV show.

We can hope so. In the meantime, go back in spirit to the hot summer day, the ceiling fan turning in the news stand, the rows of lurid covers, the swap of hand-heated coin for shiny book, the long walk home with open magazine, palpitating heart and great risk to life and limb.

Turn the pages slowly. Savor the deathless prose:

‘ . . . he knew a fiend had turned his pals into a Squadron of Living Death. He knew that the remedy lay in a will to fight and fight and fight . . . a low, vibrant chuckle left the lips of G-8 . . . the Master Spy shot his fist up in a signal to the Battle Aces . . . the Spad howled up in a steep climb . . . Fokkers thundered from the sky . . . tac-tac-tac! the machine guns clattered a hymn of hate . . . tac-tac-tac! tac-tac-tac!

• Download “G-8: Spy King of the Pulps” (8 July 1962, The Miami Herald Sunday Magazine)

A few years ago, writer and frequent Age of Aces contributer Don Hutchison came up to our table at PulpFest and handed us a manilla envelope, entrusting us with its contents. When we opened the envelope, amung other things, there were letters from Robert Hogan to Harry Steeger and back again.

The correspondence continues. Bob Swift’s G-8 piece has been published in the Miami Herald Sunday Magazine Sunday July 8th, 1962. (Steeger did not include a copy of the article with his correspondence files and we have been unable to get a hold of a copy of this article otherwise). . .

July 12, 1962    

Dear Harry:

    The G-8 piece finally came out and we all feel it was well worth waiting for. I saw Bob Swift yesterday and he said hed sent you a copy and returned the G-8 magazines you had sent him. So you should see it for yourself if you haven’t already.

    Bob Swift feels very strongly that G-8 should be a TV series and so do we all, of course. They’ve had about every type now except the World War One flying stuff and G-8 should do it well. I think if j:e could get a piece like this or this piece itself or an enlargement of this G-8 piece in a national magazine we might be on our way to the TV moneybags.

    We’re heading north July 26th so we’ll be there during August and probably the fall and hope I can drop in for a hello when we get into New York.

    A chance came along to rent our home down here to some nice folks until November 1st. They had to get in right off so we’ve taken an apartment here where we’ve been on similar occasions. Third floor and nice and cool.

    If you write after the 26th of this month better address us at our old stand:
                                    Box 248
                                    Sparta
                                    New Jersey

                    Best,
                    Robert J. Hogan

— ✪ ✪ ✪ —

July 16, 1962    

Dear Bob:

I enjoyed hearing from you. It’s good to know that the G-8 piece finally came out and I shall look forward to having a gander at it. So far it hasn’t arrived.

We’d have great fun with, a G-8 TV shov and it’s a tribute you certainly deserve. I’ll keep ay finders crossed that something will happen.

I’m in New York City during the week during the summer and out on the Island for weekends. It’s nice and cool out there, but I remember from the past that you said Florida was comfortable even in the summertime.

Hope to say hello to you one of these days.

                    Best,

— ✪ ✪ ✪ —

 
And to Bob Swift at the Miami Herald:

July 18, 1962    

Dear Bob:

That’s a great article! I got such a kick out of it that I practically drooled nostalgia all over my desk.

The Miami Herald Sunday Magazine and your letter arrived just a few minutes ago and I read each of them immediately. You did the job to perfection and I congratulate you for having captured so well all the delights and joys of a 14-year-old’s heart. I know Bob Hogan himself enjoyed your article very much because I had a letter from him yesterday in which he told me about it. I hope it gets around to all the places where it will do the most good. If Bob could sell a TV show from it, he would indeed be a very happy feller.

I am glad you had such gratifying results from the story. I started publishing as soon as I was out of school and G-8 was one of the first publications. In about 3 years from the standing start we had the largest pulp magazine house in New York – and we were still in our 20’s. In fact, we eacj borrowed $5,000 to get it started, and no one ever had it so good as did we during the war! After that, rising costs killed off the pulp market and people became interested in a more ritzy product. It took us several years to get ARGOSY really rolling and each issue costs anywhere from 30 to 50 times what a pulp magazine would have set us back.

I wonder if it would be possible for you to send me 2 more copies of the Sunday Magazine. I’d like to send one to John Fleming Gould, illustrator for the G-8 stories, because he, too, enjoyed doing this work so much. I’d like to send the second one to a New York advertising agency in the hope that some interest might be sparked for a TV show.

Thanks for sending back the copies of G-8 and His Battle Aces – and good luck.

                    Regards,

— ✪ ✪ ✪ —

Dear Harry:

Here are a oouple more issues of the magazine. Hope John Gould enjoys seeing his old stuff in print again. Bob Hogan is probably en route north by now so expect you’ll see him shortly. I hope either you or Bob will let me know if you do anything further with G-8, in print or on TV.

Regards,
Bob Swift

— ✪ ✪ ✪ —

August 9, 1962    

Dear Bob:

Many thanks for sending along the two copies of G-8. I’ll use them where they’ll do the most good, I hope, and if there are any TV or other offers I’ll keep you advised.

Kindest regards.

                    Sincerely,

— ✪ ✪ ✪ —

 
And to Edward J. Degray of Degray & Associates:

August 9, 1962    

Dear Ed:

I have a possibility in mind for a TV show. It may be remote and unusable, but you are the guy to judge. It’s concerned with an old magazine we published called “G-8 And His Battle Aces”. This was pure kid stuff but it appealed to kids all oyer the United States and, like the Model A Ford, copies of G-8 are now selling for 50 bucks apiece.

The author wrote me recently, saying there had been some talk of a TV show and, as usual, the letters TV brought you immediately to mind. I have an article from the Miami Herald Sunday Magazine telling all about G-8 And His Battle Aces – and if you’d like to have a gander at it, please let me know and I’ll shoot it along.

Kindest regards.

                    Sincerely,

As far as we’ve been able to assertain, a possible G-8 and his Battle Aces tv show never got beyond the talking stage. Sadly, Robert J. Hogan would pass away the following year

A few years ago, writer and frequent Age of Aces contributer Don Hutchison came up to our table at PulpFest and handed us a manilla envelope, entrusting us with its contents. When we opened the envelope, amung other things, there were letters from Robert Hogan to Harry Steeger and back again.

The correspondence continues but this time with a series of memorandums between Henry Steeger and Bob Swift, editor of the Miami Herald Sunday Magazine, as he prepares to publish the article on Robert J. Hogan and G-8 and his Battle Aces. . .

Feb. 17, 1962    

Dear Mr. Steeger:

Sorry to be so late returning your file copy of g-8, but my color lab people kept experimenting to see if they could get a better reproduction of the cover.

I’m just about set to go with the story about B0b Hogan. But first, can I impose on you to send me a few more copies of G-8? I really would like to quote from more than one novel and use illustrations from several books if I can. Besides, I’d like to read the damned things. They take me back, with all that jazz about Spandaus and tarmac and ach du liebers.

Thanks again for your help.

Sinceraly,
Bob Swift, Editor
Sunday Magazine

— ✪ ✪ ✪ —

February 26, 1962    

Dear Mr. Swift:

I got quite a kick out of going through that copy of G-8 myself. I’ll try to dig up a few mora for you and shoot them along. I’d appreciate it if you’d return them to me when you’ve finished with them so that we can restore them to the files.

I’ll be looking forward to your article.

                    Sincerely,

— ✪ ✪ ✪ —

March 13, 1962    

Dear Mr. Swift:

Thanks for returning the June 1935 issue of G-8 AHD HIS BATTLE ACES.

We’ve dug up three more issues – October, November and December 1936 – and these are enclosed, You can shoot them back when you’ve finished with them.

                    Sincerely,

— ✪ ✪ ✪ —

July 11, 1962    

Dear Harry:

Here are your copies of G-8, and I must say I return them with great regret. There’s a great deal of nostalgia about the pulps and I mourn their passing, as you may gather from my story about Bob Hogan and G-8.

The response to the story has been gratifying, with a great deal of comment from balding, bespectacled guys in their 30’s and early 40’s. Most of that comment concerns the nostalgia they felt for the old days in the small towns, journeying to drug store or news stand for G-8 and all the other pulps, the whole flavor of being 10 or 14 or so during that era.

Actually, I cheated a little. I was only four years old when G-8 first appeared and didn’t actually pick up on him until about 1939 or 1940. But I made up for it by buying all the old copies I could find in the second hand book stores.

Anyway, thanks for your help and patience. By the way, if you’d like to run a story about Hogan and G-8 in one of your present books I’d like the assignment. Perhaps a similar story?

Regards,
Bob Swift