Next year, McKinney, who studies American History and drives a shuttle bus when he's not busy curating, will have other things to worry about--he'll be serving in the Peace Corps in Gabon, Africa. "There are no comic books there," he says, "which is kind of a bummer." No formal plans have been made for succession of the Czar's throne, but Quincy House observers are keeping their eyes on Paul Isaacs, a sophomore whom many say is being groomed for the job. "I'd really like take over the collection," says Isaacs. "There's a couple of comics that aren't there now that I'd really like to see. Like Zippy the Pinhead."

QUINCY HOUSE officials speak of the collection with much pride. "I've always supported the comic collection," says Charles W. Dunn. chairman of the Department of Celtic Languages and Literature and Master of Quincy House for 15 years. "A few people have thought it undignified. I'd rather not say who--let's just say certain dignified academics. I've explained that it's part of a curriculum in folklore."

Confessing that he has only recently become acquainted with the collection, David A. Aloain '49, who, with his wife Mimi, will succeed the Dunns as Co-masters this July, calls the collection "one of the legends of the place." He continues, "I don't know that I believe anyone's going to do a great piece of scholarship of the comics, but I suppose that in their way, they reflect something about the human experience and have some value."

Paul Erickson, the Quincy House librarian, who is doing doctoral research on Herman Melville and American literature, does not qualify his enthusiasm for the collection. "We have to do our bit to keep up the great traditions of Western literature," he says. "I learned to read from comic books and I can see that the more distinguished students at Quincy House did too. It shows; they're got the right"--he searches for the word--"pizazz."

A group of seniors sunning themselves outside the library steps bear out Erickson's words. "The only time I go into the library is to check out the comics," says one. He pauses, and then corrects himself: "I guess I read National Lampoon there, too." "You don't study in the library," volunteers another. "You take breaks. And the incentive to take breaks is there."

By the "Panthero" pinball machine in the lobby of New Quincy, another crowd of residents agrees. "It's our finest American institution," says John Hawkins a Quincy House junior who is president of the Republican Club. "It gives us heroes to emulate."

THIS SORT OF contentment is music to an autocrat's ears. "The one thing I like about running the Quincy House comic collection is seeing people get exposed to comics," McKinney says. "I see people picking them up for the first time, instead of reading a textbook or something." He pauses. "It was really one of the things that made me come to Quincy had a comic collection in the library said a lot about the House."

Today, by his own account, McKinney is as much a Quincy House institution as the collection he has rebuilt. "People around here commonly call me the Comic Czar," he says, nodding at his private collection which he estimates at more than $1500. "You know--'Hello Czar' or 'Good morning, Czar.'" As he speaks, a Quincy House neighbor walks by, bows deeply, and intones, "Salaam, Czar, salaam."

McKinney rules his czardom with a hand that would do Iron Man proud. "I don't buy any Archie or war comics," he says. "Those are below me. I don't buy too many D.C. Comics like Superman or Batman--they're geared for kids." Occasionally, his despotism provokes unrest among the Quincy House kulaks. A suggestion book in the library contains the following note, signed "Fidel": "Keep our comic book library up to date with new issues of Sergeant Rock. He only shows up with a new issue sporadically. We need our blood and guts on a regular basis." Another note in the book is more terse: "We need new Sgt. Rock comics!"

"It's true," says McKinney, "people are big on Sergeant Rock." But the Czar, as always, has the last word. "Fuck 'em."