What Books Did Malcolm Wheeler Nicholson Publish First?

I still get a little excited saying his name—Malcolm Wheeler-Nicholson is one of those early comics figures who pops up in the footnotes of bigger stories, and yes, there are scholarly treatments about him, though they tend to be nested inside broader works on early comic-book history rather than long, standalone journal articles focused only on him. If you want solid, book-length scholarship, start with Gerard Jones's 'Men of Tomorrow' and Paul Levitz's histories like '75 Years of DC Comics'—they dig into Wheeler-Nicholson's role founding National Allied Publications and the legal and financial fights that cost him control. For peer-reviewed journals, you’ll mostly find chapters or articles in journals that cover early American popular culture and comic studies: 'Journal of Graphic Novels and Comics', 'Studies in Comics', and periodicals like 'Journal of Popular Culture' often include research that references him. Using Google Scholar, JSTOR, and ProQuest with variants of his name (Major M. W. Wheeler-Nicholson, Malcolm Wheeler Nicholson) helps surface theses and conference papers too. So yeah: scholarly material exists, but be ready to read him as part of larger analyses of the comic book industry, legal disputes in publishing, or the emergence of superheroes rather than expecting a treasure trove of single-subject academic articles dedicated solely to him.

I've dug into dusty special-collections catalogs for far less glamorous names than Malcolm Wheeler-Nicholson, so I can tell you how I’d go about finding his papers and where to look first. Start with the big aggregated discovery tools: ArchiveGrid and WorldCat are my go-to. Type in "Malcolm Wheeler-Nicholson" (and variations like "M. W. Nicholson" or "Wheeler-Nicholson") and see which institutions pop up. The Library of Congress Manuscript Division and major university rare-book libraries often turn up for early-20th-century publishers and creators, so if you find a call number or a finding aid there, that’s a golden ticket. I also search the Billy Ireland Cartoon Library & Museum catalog (Ohio State) and the New York Public Library’s Manuscripts & Archives — both collect comic-industry materials. If the online trail is thin, email the special collections reference desk at whatever library seems closest to a hit. I always include a short note about what I’m researching, a few dates, and ask whether the item is digitized or requires an in-person visit. Finally, don’t forget corporate archives: DC’s early paperwork sometimes ended up with publishers or corporate successors, so contacting DC Comics’ archivists (or Warner Bros. Archives) can help. Happy hunting — these papers can be scattered, but once you find the right finding aid, the rest falls into place.

When I dive into the early days of American comics, Malcolm Wheeler-Nicholson always pops up as one of those scrappy pioneers who gave many artists a place to experiment. He founded National Allied Publications and launched titles like 'New Fun' (1935) and 'New Comics' (1936), and those books were staffed by a mix of newspaper strip cartoonists, pulp illustrators, and the fledgling comic-freelancers of the era. Some of the better-documented names connected to his early enterprise are Vin Sullivan (an editor-artist who later played a big role at what became DC), Sheldon Mayer (who created strips and later shepherded talent into the company), and the team of Jerry Siegel and Joe Shuster, whose Superman became central once the company evolved. Beyond those marquee names, Wheeler-Nicholson’s pages saw work from freelancers coming out of studios like the Eisner & Iger shop, meaning people such as Will Eisner’s circle and other packagers indirectly fed art into his titles. Records from the mid-1930s can be spotty, so when I’m tracing credits I like to cross-reference original issue indicia, contemporary ads, and modern histories. If you’re curious, checking scans of the early issues of 'New Fun', 'New Comics', and early issues of 'Detective Comics' gives a pretty clear picture of who showed up in those formative pages.

Whenever I dig through old comic history, Malcolm Wheeler-Nicholson sticks out like someone who threw a wrench into a well-oiled machine and made everything change for the better. Back in the mid-1930s he gambled on something most publishers weren’t doing: original comic-book content. He launched 'New Fun' in 1935, which was one of the first magazines built entirely from new material rather than newspaper strip reprints. That sounds small, but it was huge — it made comics a place for writers and artists to tell short, serialized stories specifically for the format. His next moves helped create the infrastructure of the modern industry. He started titles like 'New Comics' and the early run of 'Detective Comics', and even though financial troubles and business squabbles led to him losing control of the company, his groundwork is the reason the publisher that became DC existed at all. People who love vintage issues know the thrill of holding those early pages: you can feel the raw experiment that later allowed superheroes to explode onto the scene. For me, finding a faded copy at a flea market felt like touching the moment comics decided they could be their own thing.

I still get a little giddy thinking about the sheer audacity of what Malcolm Wheeler-Nicholson tried to do in the 1930s. He wasn’t a corporate suit or a magazine tycoon — he came from the world of pulp fiction and adventure writing, and he wanted to bring original, illustrated storytelling to a new audience. In 1934 he founded National Allied Publications, and the next year he put out 'New Fun: The Big Comic Magazine' (1935), which is important because it was the first U.S. comic book made entirely of original material instead of newspaper strip reprints. That tiny shift felt revolutionary to me the first time I leafed through a scan of that issue: someone actually thought comics could be their own medium, not just a re-run of the funny pages. From there he launched titles like 'New Comics' and then helped start 'Detective Comics' in 1937. Money, though, was the giant obstacle. He partnered with people who controlled printing and distribution—guys who had cash and reach—because the distribution system for periodicals back then was brutal unless you had deep pockets or powerful allies. Those relationships led to a business arrangement with Harry Donenfeld and Jack Liebowitz that initially allowed 'Detective Comics' to exist, but eventually the financial pressure forced Wheeler-Nicholson out. The company kept growing and, after a few reorganizations and mergers, the initials 'DC' (from 'Detective Comics') became the shorthand for what we now call DC Comics. I love telling this story when I'm digging through old scans or chatting with fellow collectors. It feels like a bittersweet origin myth: Wheeler-Nicholson is the scrappy visionary who lit the match, even if he didn’t get to sit by the campfire while the rest of the world warmed up. If you’re curious, hunt down images of 'New Fun' and the earliest 'Detective Comics'—they have a charm that still sparks the imagination for me.

There’s something almost romantic about stumbling across the earliest roots of the medium I love, and Malcolm Wheeler-Nicholson is one of those origins you trip over and then can’t stop thinking about. I’ve found myself holding a yellowed copy of 'New Fun' in a tiny shop while thinking that this man gambled on original comic content at a time everyone else was reprinting newspaper strips. That gamble is huge: he founded National Allied Publications and insisted on publishing new material, which is basically the spark that led to the comic book as we know it. Without that, we might’ve kept getting recycled dailies instead of the weird, wonderful worlds that grew into superheroes and genre variety. Beyond that single innovation, his life reads like a cautionary tale. He launched titles that evolved into 'Detective Comics' and helped create the publishing lineage that became DC, but he was squeezed out financially and legally by partners who took control. I always feel a little sour pride when I think of him — the creative pioneer who lost the business game. Still, his legacy isn’t just in titles and companies; it’s in the very idea that comics could be original storytelling rather than just reprints. When I explain him to friends who only know Batman or Superman, I point to that risk-taking and to the later historians who rescued his name from obscurity. He didn’t get the riches or the spotlight, but he handed future creators a stage. That, to me, is the core of his legacy — an accidental architect of the industry who believed original comics were worth publishing, and whose influence still ripples every time someone launches an indie title or fights for creator rights.

I still get a little thrill thinking about finding a battered copy of 'New Fun' in a thrift shop — that’s how I first dug into Malcolm Wheeler-Nicholson’s story, and it hooked me. He wasn’t just another publisher; he was the kind of stubborn creator who wanted comics to be more than cheap pulps. He launched 'New Fun' and then 'New Comics' because he thought there was room for original, literary-style strips, not just reprints. That idealism is key to why he ultimately left the business: his goals didn’t line up with the hard-nosed economics of 1930s publishing. What sank him practically was money and partners. He lacked the distribution muscle and working capital to scale, so he turned to Harry Donenfeld and Jack Liebowitz for help. Those relationships bought him breathing room but cost him control. When debts mounted and creditors pressed, the financiers maneuvered to protect their investments, and Wheeler-Nicholson’s companies were effectively taken over. By the late 1930s he’d been pushed out via foreclosure and reorganization — not a dramatic cinematic betrayal so much as a slow evisceration of ownership driven by cash-flow trouble and legal pressure. Beyond the bookkeeping, there’s a personal angle: he was, by most accounts, not the most business-savvy or ruthless operator, and that made him vulnerable in an era when comics were becoming big money. Still, his legacy lived on in what became 'Detective Comics' and eventually the company we now call DC. I walk away from his story both annoyed at the jerks who played hardball and grateful that his early risk-taking gave the medium room to grow.

Whenever I dive into the dusty margins of comic-history, Malcolm Wheeler-Nicholson pops up like this scrappy, slightly tragic pioneer who basically said, 'let's try original stories in a cheap magazine format' and then went on to shake the table. In 1934–35 he founded National Allied Publications and launched 'New Fun: The Big Comic Magazine', which was radical at the time because it featured all-new material instead of recycling newspaper strips. That simple editorial choice created a space for new kinds of characters and storytelling rhythms that made serialized, character-driven adventures viable on a monthly schedule. His next titles, like 'New Comics' and the very important 'Detective Comics', built an anthology model where multiple short features could be tested and iterated quickly. That experimental structure is basically the blueprint superheroes grew from: try a masked hero here, a weird sci-fi strip there, keep the ones that hooked readers. Financial trouble forced Wheeler-Nicholson into bitter dealings with distributors, and the company reforms and mergers that followed—ultimately leading to the formation of what became DC—were the commercial soil in which 'Superman' and 'Batman' sprouted. It’s easy to overlook him because he lost control early, but I always feel a little guilty for liking giant franchises like 'Superman' without tipping my hat to the guy who paved the publishing path. Next time I flip through a reprinted 'Detective Comics' issue on a slow afternoon, I’ll think about his stubborn taste for original fiction and how risky that was back then.