welcome to the deep dive hi everyone we have
a premise for you today that um honestly it sounds
entirely made up it really does but i promise
you it is 100 true i want you just picture the
scenario for a second how does an underground
comic strip about an anthropomorphic feline exotic
dancer lead directly to the creation of a major
industry -wide legal defense fund yeah it sounds
like a randomly generated mad lib sentence exactly
it sounds totally absurd but today we are pulling
from a really comprehensive set of sources mainly
anchored by a detailed wikipedia historical overview
to explore the history the legal controversy
and the profoundly human story behind a comic
series called omaha the cat dancer which was
created by Reed Waller and Kate Worley. And setting
aside the sheer wildness of that elevator pitch,
our mission today is to explore a very specific
and impactful intersection. We're going to look
at the world of underground comics, the really
intense reality of legal censorship, and incredibly
complex long -form storytelling. Because the
true story here, you know, it's a fascinating
analytical study of how art... pushes boundaries
and how the real life tragedies and triumphs
of these creators fundamentally shaped the narrative
behind the scenes. OK, let's unpack this, because
to understand how we get to a major First Amendment
legal battle, we have to go back to the origins,
specifically to the year 1976. Right. The mid
70s. Yeah. So Reed Waller founds a fanzine called
Voodie. And the whole purpose of Voodoo was to
promote what was known as the funny animal comic
genre. You know, like cartoon animals doing human
things. Very niche subculture at the time. Very
niche. But then a contributor writes in with
a very specific and honestly somewhat baffling
complaint. They argue that there simply isn't
enough sex in the funny animal genre. Which,
I mean, is an observation that really only makes
sense when you look at the landscape of the 1970s
underground comic scene. How so? Well, for decades,
mainstream comics were heavily sanitized by the
Comics Code Authority. The underground scene
was a direct rebellion against that. It was defined
by breaking taboos, counterculture expression,
that sort of thing. Oh, like Robert Crumb. Exactly.
Creators like Robert Crumb had already pushed
the envelope with properties like Fritz the Cat.
So within that specific subculture, inducting
adult themes into traditionally innocent formats,
it was actually seen as a legitimate artistic
frontier. That makes sense. So that complaint
sparked something in Waller. He doesn't just
draw a quick, shocking cartoon. He actually takes
his sketchbook and physically visits local strip
clubs in St. Paul, Minnesota. Wow. Yeah. He sits
there sketching the dancers, observing the environment,
and reading newspaper articles about local political
attempts to shut these bars down through zoning
and morality laws. He's really grounding this
idea in reality. He's doing the journalistic
legwork. He is. And around this time, another
contributor... to the Voodie magazine, Jim Shumeister,
pitches a concept called Charlie's Bimbos. The
pitch is basically about a group of strippers
who champion personal liberty in the face of
strict Puritan oppression. A very 70s concept.
Very. But that combination of real -world observation
and Shumeister's pitch, that's the spark. That
is the exact moment Omaha is born. And the setting
they choose for this narrative is a place called
Mipple City, Minnesota. which is a play on the
old postal abbreviation for Minneapolis. MPLS,
right. Right. Originally, the story began as
a localized satire focusing on the tension between
the adult entertainment industry and local politicians
trying to enforce moral standards. But what started
as a regional satire quickly evolved into a much
larger, surprisingly sophisticated narrative.
I mean, imagine being a reader picking up an
underground comic book in the late 1970s. You
see these cartoon animals on the cover. You're
probably expecting a quick, crude joke or some
cheap shock value. Sure. Instead, you find yourself
pulled into this layered, sprawling narrative.
It wasn't just a gadstrip. After debuting in
Voodie in 1978, the characters started gaining
traction. They started popping up everywhere.
Yeah, appearing in publications like Kitchen
Sink Press's Bizarre Sex magazine, showing up
in first... comics e -man running in dope comics,
it was building this dedicated cult following
because it offered something readers just weren't
getting anywhere else. What's fascinating here
is how the creators handled the mature content.
And this is crucial to understanding the book's
legacy. Omaha the Cat Dancer was among the very
first comic books published in the early 1980s
that integrated explicit sex organically into
its storylines. Organically being the key word
there. Right. In a lot of underground comics
of that era, the explicitness was the entire
punchline. It was there purely to shock the reader.
But here it was treated as a natural part of
the characters lives, their relationships and
the dramatic progression of the plot. And the
plot itself turns into an absolute soap opera.
The character web is incredibly detailed. To
give you a sense of the scale, you have our protagonist,
Susan Jensen. Who goes by Omaha. Right, Susie
or Omaha. She's a Midwestern model turned anthropomorphic
feline stripper who, in just a great bizarre
detail, eventually gets a pet ferret named Squeak.
I love that detail. It's so weird. Squeak is
just a normal, non -talking ferret, which adds
the strange grounding element to a world entirely
populated by walking, talking cats and dogs.
It anchors the domestic side of her life. You
know, it makes her feel like a real person who
just happens to be drawn as a cat. But the narrative
quickly spirals out from Omaha's domestic life
into high stakes drama. It really spirals. You
have her lover. Chuck Cat, who seems like the
struggling artist, but turns out to be the secret
heir to a massive business empire. And that empire
is controlled by his father, Charles Tabby Sr.,
who is this powerful, mentally ill tycoon. The
family dynamics are intense. Oh, completely.
Then you have Shelly Hine, a bisexual exotic
dancer and Omaha's best friend. They were actually
lovers in the early comics. And her arc takes
an incredibly dark turn when she's caught in
the crossfire of a completely different plot
line. She gets gunned down. by a media mogul
named Andre Duroc, which leaves her in a wheelchair.
Heavy stuff for a funny animal comic. Very heavy.
But the character who really exemplifies the
depth of this comic is Senator Calvin Bonner.
Senator Bonner is the perfect distillation of
the comic's core themes. He is a state senator,
a business tycoon, and a highly vocal public
morality crusader trying to clean up Mipple City.
Yet behind closed doors, he is an abusive regular
client of a prostitute named Joanne and his storyline
culminates in a massive political scandal. It's
a classic hypocrisy arc. Exactly. Joanne sets
up a session to compromise him. She brings in
a photographer to take incriminating blackmail
photos. And right in the middle of this blackmail
session, Senator Bonner is murdered by an unknown
assassin. Wow. And just a reminder, this is playing
out in a comic book where the characters are
drawn as cute funny animals. But the contrast
is exactly why it was so effective. Anthropomorphism,
you know, using animal characters to tell human
stories, it's a really powerful literary tool.
It lowers the reader's defenses. How do you mean?
Well, if you draw a hyper -realistic comic about
political corruption, hypocrisy, sudden violence,
and explicit sexual blackmail, readers might
find it too gritty or just off -putting. Right,
they might tune out. Exactly. Yeah. But by filtering
these incredibly heavy, dramatic themes through
the visual aesthetic of cartoon cats and dogs,
the creators bypassed those initial defenses.
It completely subverted expectations and allowed
them to explore the messy reality of human relationships
in a way that resonated deeply with their audience.
It's that exact uncompromising blend of explicit
adult reality and provocative political themes
that eventually put a mess. massive target on
the comics back. Yeah, the legal troubles. Here's
where it gets really interesting. Let's talk
about the obscenity controversy of 1988, which
honestly changed the comic book industry forever.
It centers around a suburban Chicago comic book
store called Friendly Franks. Local authorities
raided the store and the owner was fined $750
for selling what the authorities deemed to be
obscene material. And just to be clear, we are
neutrally reporting the legal actions here. We
aren't taking a stance on the explicit content
itself, just discussing the historical impact
of this raid. Right, absolutely. Just stating
the facts of the case. And one of the specific
titles cited in this bus was Omaha the Cat Dancer.
This is a historic pivot point for the entire
publishing industry. A $750 fine might not sound
like a world -ending sum today, but for a small
independent retailer in the late 1980s, it was
devastating. It could put you out of business.
Exactly. Furthermore... The implications were
massive. If local authorities could successfully
prosecute a retailer for selling this material,
it creates an immediate chilling effect. Distributors
become afraid to ship independent comics. And
other stores pull titles from their shelves out
of fear of being arrested or fined. So the comic
book community realized they were facing an existential
threat. The authorities pursued legal action
based on the explicit content integrated into
the comic, and the industry recognized that they
needed a unified defense. They couldn't just
fight it store by store. Right. So this exact
bust, the $750 fine over titles, including a
funny animal soap opera, led directly to the
formation of the Comic Book Legal Defense Fund.
An entire foundation created to protect the First
Amendment rights of creators, publishers, and
retailers was born from this moment. And the
legal scrutiny didn't stop in Illinois either.
The fallout actually went global, illustrating
just how provocative the material was considered
at the time. In 1990, authorities in New Zealand
seized issues of the comic At the Border. At
the Border. Yeah. The country's obscene publications
tribunal eventually reviewed the material and
declared that the series was not indecent, allowing
it to be sold. But the initial seizure demonstrated
the intense international spotlight the book
was under. And then you have the situation in
Toronto that same year, which is... almost hard
to believe the toronto case is wild it really
is police in toronto seized issues of the comic
but the rationale was entirely different they
labeled the material as depicting bestiality
bestiality yes and they based this claim entirely
on the fact that the characters were drawn as
anthropomorphic animals because they were cats
and dogs walking on two legs dealing with adult
situations the authorities literally applied
the label of bestiality Which is just a profound
misunderstanding of the literary device of anthropomorphism.
But if we connect this to the bigger picture,
you can see how polarizing the reception of Omaha
was. You had international law enforcement seizing
the books, yet the critical reception in the
literary and comic communities was simultaneously
treating it as a masterpiece of modern fiction.
The critical divide is staggering. You have a
reviewer named Martin A. Stever writing for Space
Gamer Fantasy Gamer magazine. He praised the
comic to the highest degree, stating the plot
was so rich it would be a disservice to try and
sum it up. He went as far as to write that the
story rings more true to the values of our time
than anything short of Tom Wolfe. That is a massive
comparison. Comparing an underground comic about
a cat dancer to the literary weight of Tom Wolfe,
it's incredible. It is high praise, but it certainly
wasn't universally loved. Alex Heard a writer
for Entertainment Weekly, totally panned the
comic. He criticized the story's pacing, feeling
it moved too slowly, and he quoted a disgruntled
fan who asked, my God, where did you dredge up
those horrid characters? So people either loved
it or hated it. Exactly. It was a piece of art
that demanded a strong reaction. It forced readers,
critics, and the legal system to confront their
own boundaries regarding what comic books were
capable of being. But behind all the legal drama,
the international seizures, and the high -minded
critical debates, there is a deeply human and
frankly tragic story about the creators themselves.
In 1984, Reed Waller was working on the series,
and he had a profound creative wall. Writer's
block. Yes, severe writer's block. He found himself
unable to continue the story on his own. This
is the moment Kate Worley stepped in to help
write the third chapter, and she ended up taking
over the writing duties for the series moving
forward. Their collaboration was really the turning
point for the narrative. She gave it that depth.
She did. They managed to begin more regular publication
by 1986 through Kitchen Sink Press, which was
a major hub for independent and underground comics
back then. But soon after, a series of severe
personal hardships began to derail their lives
and their work. Yeah, this part of the story
is really tough. In August of 1988, just as the
comic is reaching new heights of complexity,
Kate Worley was severely injured in a car accident.
Oh, that's awful. The recovery process was long
and grueling, and it inevitably slowed down the
frequency of the comic's publication. The fans
were waiting for the story to continue, but the
creators were just trying to survive. And the
hardships compounded. In November of 1991, Reed
Waller was diagnosed with colon cancer. Wow.
Yeah. The medical bills started piling up. The
physical toll was immense and production on Omaha
ground to a complete halt. This is where the
story shifts from a narrative of personal tragedy
to just an incredible showing of industry solidarity.
The comic book community recognizing the artistic
value of the series and the dire situation of
its creators rallied around them. They really
stepped up. They did. In 1992, Kitchen Sink Press
published two volumes of a benefit book called
Images of Omaha. All the proceeds from these
books went entirely to pay for Waller's medical
expenses. And the list of contributors to those
benefit books really illustrates the level of
immense respect the industry had for Omaha. You
had major, iconic creators stepping up. Titans
of the medium like Alan Moore, Frank Miller,
and Dave Sim contributed their art and writing
to support Waller. That's a powerhouse lineup.
It really is. Yeah. You also had literary figures
like Neil Gaiman and pioneering creators like
Trina Robbins providing introductions to collected
editions of the series. The community actively
supported the creators in their time of need.
Furthermore, the comic itself was recognized
with multiple Eisner Award nominations. Which
is the highest honor in the comic industry. Exactly.
They got nominations in 1989 and 1991 for categories
like Best Continuing Series and Best Black and
White Series. But even with all that support,
the journey to finishing the story was agonizingly
long. By 1995, Waller and Worley officially ceased
production of the series. They were dealing with
the fallout of their health struggles, and it
seemed like Omaha might remain one of those great,
forever unfinished masterpieces of the medium.
It happens so often in comics. It does, but then,
in 2002, they made a final vow. They agreed to
come back and complete the story once and for
all. Sadly, the tragedies did not end there.
The very year they agreed to finish the comic,
Kate Worley was diagnosed with lung cancer. It's
just heartbreaking. She began undergoing chemotherapy
and radiation treatments, fighting to complete
the narrative she had spent years building and
refining. She worked on the scripts as much as
she could, but on June 6, 2004, Kate Worley passed
away before the story could be fully completed.
It is a devastating turn of events, but her husband,
James Vance, who was also a writer, stepped in.
He took on a huge burden. A massive emotional
and creative task. He edited and completed those
final chapters based on her extensive notes and
drafts. He made sure her vision was realized.
Finally, starting in 2006, the concluding chapters
of Omaha the Cat Dancer were serialized in a
magazine called Sizzle. They saw it through to
the very end, honoring her legacy. It is a remarkable
testament to artistic persistence. The narrative
arc of the creators themselves mirrors the dramatic
tension of their work. They faced seemingly insurmountable
obstacles, but found a way to push forward through
community support, dedication, and just an unwavering
belief in the story they were telling. So what
does this all mean? We started with a guy sitting
in a St. Paul strip club with a sketchbook looking
for a way to add mature themes to a funny animal
fanzine. And we ended up navigating international
obscenity laws, witnessing the creation of a
massive legal defense fund that still protects
creators today, and following a heartbreaking
but ultimately triumphant story of illness and
persistence. If we synthesize all of this for
you, the listener. The ultimate takeaway is that
Omaha the Cat Dancer is proof that profound human
resilience, community support, and wildly complex
storytelling can be found in the most unexpected
formats. A comic that featured anthropomorphic
animals and explicit material managed to spark
a vital industry -saving conversation about First
Amendment rights and artistic freedom. It proves
that a medium often dismissed as purely juvenile
can tackle the heaviest aspects of the human
condition. It fundamentally challenges how we
assign value to different types of art. Which
brings us to the end of our dive today. But before
we go, we want to leave you with a final thought
to mull over, looking at how the landscape has
shifted since the days of Omaha. This raises
an important question. We spent a lot of time
discussing how physical comic books were seized
by police in the 1980s and 90s, leading to high
profile court battles where creators could actually
face their accusers and fight for their First
Amendment rights. Right. There was a physical
process. Exactly. But today, independent creators
largely distribute their work digitally. If an
obscure, boundary -pushing comic from the 80s
could trigger international police action, how
vulnerable are niche... independent creators
today when a single opaque algorithmic flag on
a social media platform or payment processor
can completely erase their digital livelihood
in an instant. Without a trial. With no trial
and no comic book legal defense fund to step
in and fight the algorithm. A completely different
kind of censorship for a new era. Thank you for
joining us on this deep dive. Keep questioning,
keep learning, and we will catch you next time.