I loved Mad magazine as a grade schooler, apparently "reading" every one of their reprint collections. Back then the family lived in unincorporated Kane County, Illinois in one of the many developments springing up around the country to accomodate the veterans of America's wars and we baby boomers, their offspring.
The Meadowdale development had no sidewalks, no lawns, no shopping areas, no school when we moved there. I was five and didn't mind not having to go to kindergarten. Kids of my age abounded and no one seemed to worry about our safety as we ran around all day, every day, in greater and lesser herds.
The Oak Ridge School was in place in time for first grade, and so were a few sidewalks, even a shopping mall: the Meadowdale Shopping Mall, home of the world largest one storey department store under one roof. It was there that I obtained some of the Mad Readers--purchases the parents didn't mind because they kept me quiet while they shopped.
The best place at the mall was the furniture store, especially on rainy days. The mall was walking distance and its immense surrounding parking lots always had enough deposit bottles laying around to allow us, if we were diligent, to collect money sufficient for a five cent ice cream sugarcones or fresh pops. Then, surfeited with sugar, we'd descend on the furniture showrooms.
The great thing about the furniture store, other than it always being dry and warm, was that they had it set up as a series of fake living rooms, each with a television. Back then, televisions weren't universal. My family didn't have one until the grandparents gave dad their old portable. These televisions, the ones in the fantasy living rooms, were top-of-the-line items, much bigger than any family we knew owned. So we'd turn one on, tune it in and sit, more or less quietly, until it dawned on one of the managers that we weren't attached to adult customers. Then we'd be told to scoot--and scoot we did, to another living room arrangement governed by another manager on another side of the store. This could go on for hours.
I also eventually got a subscription to Mad Magazine itself, but didn't keep it long. The early stuff, the stuff from the fifties which was written more for salacious adult males than for clueless kids was the stuff I liked. The old art was better. The magazine was too tame.