Jim Shooter's Blog, page 15

The Secret Origin and Gooey Death of the Marvel/DC Crossovers – Part Two

Plan "B"

Once the contracts were buttoned up and signed we started work on Superman and Spider-Man.  I picked Marv Wolfman to write the book for a number of reasons:  he was a marquee name and deservedly so, he was in New York, conveniently, he was absolutely reliable, and most of all because he really, really wanted to do it.  Our other two superstars were Roy and Archie.  Both were pretty solidly booked up, Roy was in California and Archie was way too slow. 

So, we had Marv, a top tier guy writing, John Buscema, our number one penciler doing breakdowns, and Joe Sinnott, our premiere inker finishing.  A dream team.

Marv understood without discussion that this wasn't a writer/editor project, one of those I'll-do-it-on-my-own-you-check-it-when-I'm-done things.  I was the editor on the Marvel side and Joe Orlando was responsible for approvals on the DC side. 

Marv started working on a plot.  He had a lot of ideas.  He always had a lot of ideas.

At his request, we had several discussions about the story.  We decided that the main villain should be Doctor Doom, with a DC hench-villain (or villains) to be named later.  It made sense.  Marvel's number one villain, Doctor Doom was a worthy foe for number one heroes Superman and Spider-Man together.   

One of our conversations took place at Marv's house one evening, I think.  Could be wrong.  I remember looking at this huge bottle full of pennies in one corner of his dining room while talking.  But maybe I'm remembering that from another visit.  Anyway, we batted plot ideas around a lot.

It's hard, at this point, to recall which bits of the plot were mine and which bits were Marv's.  I suspect that Doom's plan to destroy the world's energy supply was Marv's.  That's a very Marv-like idea, high-concept and compelling.

Somewhere in the middle of plotting, Marv's employment agreement expired.  We weren't able to come to terms on a new one.  More on that later.  He, of course, had an offer from DC, and opted to take it.

So, Marvel was obliged to provide another acceptable writer.  In a hurry.  We were losing time.  I didn't want to fall behind schedule on the first book of the series.

Time for Plan B.

I was the only Marvel writer who had written both Superman and Spider-Man.  I didn't have a lot of time on my hands, but neither did the other leading candidates. 

So, I took it on.  DC had no objection.  Springboarding off of some of the concepts Marv and I had talked about, I wrote a plot and submitted it to Joe Orlando for approval.

And waited.  And waited.  And called to bug him, though I never was able to get him on the phone.  I left messages.  And waited.

(NOTE:  This particular instance of waiting for a response from DC isn't the only one in this series of posts.  You'll see.)

Meanwhile, a few interesting things happened….

I spoke with some minion at DC who, per my request, sent over definitive Superman reference for John Buscema.  It consisted of a batch of model sheets and drawings by the brilliant José Luis Garcia-Lopez gathered in a binder.

John Buscema happened to be coming into the city from his home in Port Jefferson, 10.000 miles out on Long Island (or so it seemed the few times I drove there).  So, he came by my office to visit and pick up the reference.

Sitting in the guest chair across the desk from me, he noticed some Neal Adams artwork amid the clutter….

Neal had sent me a package of a few full size, high-quality reproductions of pages of a project he was working on to show me what he was up to and, I guess, to see if Marvel had interest.  Or, it could have been just to show off his new, blue-line coloring technique.  Whatever.  Anyway, I had these pages of his.  The story featured the Frankenstein monster, the Werewolf and Dracula.  Classic monsters.

Stan had stopped by my room earlier and seen those pages sitting on my desk.  He picked them up and shuffled through them.  He did not know who drew them!  Now, one might expect that Stan would recognize Neal Adam's style, but no, I swear, he had no idea whose artwork it was!  He thought it was a "new guy."  I asked him what he thought of the pages.

Stan was unimpressed.  He said, words to the effect, "You need to get this guy to work on his storytelling."  He pointed out several shots he felt were unclear, undramatic, static or weak.  One in particular I remember was a panel in which a bad guy—the Werewolf, I think—was attacking someone.  The frozen moment in that panel showed the Werewolf in mid-swing of a slashing strike.  "Dull" said Stan.  He should be either reared back all the way or all the way followed through on the blow.  As it was, Stan felt there was no power in the gesture.  For all we knew, said Stan, the Werewolf could be about to give the victim a light paw-slap.

So, back to John, a little later….

John Buscema picked Neal's pages up and shuffled through them.  He too, had no idea who had drawn them.  John was sufficiently out of touch with most of what was going on in comics (for example, he needed reference for Superman!) that it seemed reasonable that he might not recognize Neal's style at a glance.  Besides, John lived 10,000 miles away. 

"What do you think?" I asked.

John said, words to the effect, "This guy can't draw for &#@%.  Look at this figure.  He's not standing on the floor.  He's floating in the air.  See that's what happens when you're one of those light-box guys.  And this figure, look at his shoulder.  Is he a hunchback?  "  Etc.

"Here's your Superman ref," I said.

John started to page through the binder, at first with that casual disdain look on his face that he got when viewing the work of mere mortals.  Then, suddenly he started looking closely.  His expression changed.  He seemed impressed.  I might go as far as challenged.

"This guy is good," said John.  "Who is he?"

I told him.  As he tucked the binder in his portfolio, John said, exactly, "Any chance we can get him to ink the book?"

(NOTE:  I have no idea whether or not Neal, himself, actually drew the pages in question.  They were in Neal's style, but all that means is that they were produced by his studio.  They looked like Neal's work, but they could easily have been done by artists and assistants working for him.  Or not.  Whatever.  If I haven't made it clear enough along the way in this blog, I think Neal was and is one of the greatest artists and creators ever.)

RE: the plot approval:

Days gathered into weeks, weeks into months.  Still no word.  Seasons changed.  Armies marched.  Empires fell.  Still no word.  Civilizations collapsed.  New civilizations arose from the ashes.  Still no word.  Stars died and cooled.  From swirling gases, new stars were born.  Still no word….

It's not as though I were sitting there tapping my fingers waiting.  I had plenty to do to distract me.  I didn't follow up relentlessly ten times a day.  But I did call Joe Orlando often.  "He'll get back to you."  "You'll get comments by next week."  "Joe is checking with some of the other editors."  "Any day now."

What to do?  Go over his head?  Call Jenette?  That didn't seem right.

Almost exactly four months after the plot had been delivered, after I did finally get relentless, insistent and a little menacing, word came from Joe.  The word was "okay."  Plot approved, no comments.

I never did actually speak to Joe.  The word came by messenger.

It took DC four months to say yes.

Anyway, I sent John the plot and he got started.  Finally.  John was fast.  I figured he'd make up some of the time lost.


NEXT: The Urge to Kill.  Twice.

The Secret Origin and Gooey Death of the Marvel/DC Crossovers - Part One

One morning in mid-1980, Jenette Kahn called and asked me to lunch to discuss an idea she had.

In those days, I usually came to work wearing a sport coat with an open-collar shirt.  When I knew I was going to have civilian visitors ("civilian" means non-comics people, in case any of you civilians out there don't know) or there was a business meeting on the docket I wore a tie.  Sometimes a suit.

This particular warm, sunny day however, I had come to work with no tie, no jacket.  Nice clothes, presentable enough.  Like what we used to call "school clothes" back in the sixties. 

Anyway…I met Jenette at the restaurant she suggested, a place only a few blocks from 575 Madison where Marvel's offices were and near 75 Rockefeller Plaza where DC was located. 

They wouldn't allow me in!  Jacket and tie required.  They actually had a few loaner ties and jackets for barbarians like me, but, wouldn't you know it, no jacket even close to a 48 extra-long.

That was embarrassing.

So, we went elsewhere.  Another nice place, not quite as snooty.

We talked about various things, the business in general and our common goal of bringing comics back to the forefront of American entertainment media.  Jenette was all in favor of the two big companies being friendly and cooperative.  I didn't mention the fact that many DC-ers came over to our place after work to hang out and socialize, but I did mention that if the weather was decent, Marvel and DC people would usually meet in Central Park after work to play volleyball.  She didn't know that.  I also mentioned that we had a publisher's league softball team and wondered why DC didn't.  She said they might put together a team, if only just to play us in a "Championship of Comics" game.  More on that later.

Finally, we got to the main subject.  Jenette brought up the first Marvel/DC crossover, Superman vs. the Amazing Spider-Man, published in 1976, which she thought was a wonderful idea.  Why not do it again?

Okay.

We talked about who might be the stars.  On the DC side, the leading candidates were Batman, Teen Titans and the Justice League of America.  On our side, the Hulk, X-Men and Avengers.  Jenette proposed doing one each year.  I agreed.  That way, we could eventually feature and gain exposure for lesser-selling but great characters like, on their side, Wonder Woman, Green Lantern, the Flash, the Legion of Super-Heroes and more.  On our side, Thor, Captain America, Iron Man, the Fantastic Four and more.  I suggested that if it was going to be a series, we ought to relaunch it with a second book starring our headliners, Superman and Spider-Man.

The deal was simple, and we agreed on the key points right there.  The companies would take turns producing the books.  The non-producing company for each would have editorial approval.  After costs, all revenues would be split 50/50.

For some reason we decided that Marvel should produce the first one, Superman and Spider-Man.

I went back to the office, wrote a budget and a deal memo and walked the proposal through the vetting process.  The sales and accounting people estimated that Superman and Spider-Man would add $300,000 to the bottom line.  Not bad in those days.  President Jim Galton was thrilled.  Our business affairs people called DC to confirm and codify.  DC was already drafting the contract. 

Joe Orlando was to be DC's editorial representative for approvals.  I picked Marv Wolfman to write it, John Buscema to draw it and Joe Sinnott to ink it.  I intended to supervise on our side.

And, away we went.

P.S.  For the rest of my time at Marvel, every single day I wore a jacket and a tie to work.


NEXT: Plan "B"

The Secret Origin and Gooey Death of the Marvel/DC Crossovers - Part 1

One morning in mid-1980, Jenette Kahn called and asked me to lunch to discuss an idea she had.

In those days, I usually came to work wearing a sport coat with an open-collar shirt.  When I knew I was going to have civilian visitors ("civilian" means non-comics people, in case any of you civilians out there don't know) or there was a business meeting on the docket I wore a tie.  Sometimes a suit.

This particular warm, sunny day however, I had come to work with no tie, no jacket.  Nice clothes, presentable enough.  Like what we used to call "school clothes" back in the sixties. 

Anyway…I met Jenette at the restaurant she suggested, a place only a few blocks from 575 Madison where Marvel's offices were and near 75 Rockefeller Plaza where DC was located. 

They wouldn't allow me in!  Jacket and tie required.  They actually had a few loaner ties and jackets for barbarians like me, but, wouldn't you know it, no jacket even close to a 48 extra-long.

That was embarrassing.

So, we went elsewhere.  Another nice place, not quite as snooty.

We talked about various things, the business in general and our common goal of bringing comics back to the forefront of American entertainment media.  Jenette was all in favor of the two big companies being friendly and cooperative.  I didn't mention the fact that many DC-ers came over to our place after work to hang out and socialize, but I did mention that if the weather was decent, Marvel and DC people would usually meet in Central Park after work to play volleyball.  She didn't know that.  I also mentioned that we had a publisher's league softball team and wondered why DC didn't.  She said they might put together a team, if only just to play us in a "Championship of Comics" game.  More on that later.

Finally, we got to the main subject.  Jenette brought up the first Marvel/DC crossover, Superman vs. the Amazing Spider-Man, published in 1976, which she thought was a wonderful idea.  Why not do it again?

Okay.

We talked about who might be the stars.  On the DC side, the leading candidates were Batman, Teen Titans and the Justice League of America.  On our side, the Hulk, X-Men and Avengers.  Jenette proposed doing one each year.  I agreed.  That way, we could eventually feature and gain exposure for lesser-selling but great characters like, on their side, Wonder Woman, Green Lantern, the Flash, the Legion of Super-Heroes and more.  On our side, Thor, Captain America, Iron Man, the Fantastic Four and more.  I suggested that if it was going to be a series, we ought to relaunch it with a second book starring our headliners, Superman and Spider-Man.

The deal was simple, and we agreed on the key points right there.  The companies would take turns producing the books.  The non-producing company for each would have editorial approval.  After costs, all revenues would be split 50/50.

For some reason we decided that Marvel should produce the first one, Superman and Spider-Man.

I went back to the office, wrote a budget and a deal memo and walked the proposal through the vetting process.  The sales and accounting people estimated that Superman and Spider-Man would add $300,000 to the bottom line.  Not bad in those days.  President Jim Galton was thrilled.  Our business affairs people called DC to confirm and codify.  DC was already drafting the contract. 

Joe Orlando was to be DC's editorial representative for approvals.  I picked Marv Wolfman to write it, John Buscema to draw it and Joe Sinnott to ink it.  I intended to supervise on our side.

And, away we went.

P.S.  For the rest of my time at Marvel, every single day I wore a jacket and a tie to work.


NEXT: Plan "B"

More Strange Tales - Why I Dropped Len on His Head

It was Stan's fault.

Once upon a time, while I was associate editor at Marvel, a bunch of us were hanging around the office after work.  This often happened during that brain-dead hour or so when the words you were trying to edit started swimming around on the pages. 

Often, DC guys showed up to hang out with us.  Staff and freelancers weren't allowed to hang out at DC's offices after work.

Mostly, it was just guys hanging out.  Occasionally, a woman or two joined the slug-fest (in the sense of a festival of slugs).  There weren't that many women in the biz then.  Fewer than now.  Weezie was among us sometimes…maybe Mary Jo, once in a while…Glynis…not many.

For some reason, besides talking comics, arm wrestling had become a popular goofing off/horsing around activity.  I remember that few men could beat Glynis.  Petite (relative to me, anyway), sweet, gentle Glynis!  Who'd have thought?  She'd win or draw, usually.

But on the evening in question, it was all guys, I think.  Len Wein, Roger Stern, me, of course, and a few others.  Anyone care to identify himself?

It occurred to me to ask why comics people couldn't stay after hours at DC.  Len Wein, abetted by witnesses and wags adding details and derisive humor, regaled us with the tale.  It seems that Len and Neal Adams got into a wrestling match one evening, and in their thrashing managed to knock down the wall of a cubicle and do other minor damage.  A small price, says I, for the glory of the sport.

Anyway, we got around to arm wrestling.  I guess Len and I comprised the heavyweight division.  As I recall, I beat him right handed and he beat me left handed.  Whatever.  It was pretty even.

In our second round, after much grunting and striving to no advantage on either side, Len decided to escalate the conflict.  He started to pull me across the desk.  Dived on me.  Going for the pin.

Len was and may still be part grizzly bear.  He was…hmm…stocky conjures the wrong image.  Robust?  Pretty big, even relative to me.  Strong.  (And, for your information Neal Adams was, too.  I would have loved to have seen their match.)

You should have seen Len hit when we played softball.  Talk about power.  But he was a line-drive doubles guy.  If he had gotten some loft under the ball, he would have hit a lot of homers.

I was in pretty good shape.  Not as sturdily built as Len, but because of my height, the weights came out pretty even.  And I'm a damn good wrestler.  Could'a been a contender.

Roger Stern was standing near the open door to the wrestling venue, watching King Kong take on Godzilla with amusement.

I got a sort of cross-body grip on Len and managed to yank him off his feet.  Did I mention that he was heavy?  My plan was to put him down on his back gently enough so as not to break the floor.  Len, meanwhile, was working on removing my head from its moorings.

As Len's feet came up off the floor, one thrashing leg swung out and whacked Rog.  Rog was/is no lightweight piece of fluff.  He's average height, but rock-solid.  If you bump into him, it'll leave a Rog-shaped dent.  Anyway, King Kong kicked him, sending him reeling backward…

…and out the door…

…and slamming into the wall across the hall…

…narrowly missing Stan, who was on his way out.

Stan always walked fast, with long strides, so he was, as usual, making excellent time.

Stan's head swiveled and his gaze followed Rog's trajectory as Rog careened across his path.  Thump.  Into the wall.

While Rog melted down the wall (now marred by a Rog-shaped dent), one rapid stride put Stan even with the door and his head swiveled again to look into the editorial room/gladiatorial arena to see what might have propelled the human cannonball.

What he saw was me holding Len almost upside down at this point, ringed by hooting and honking wrestling fans.  Who abruptly fell silent when they saw Stan.  Oh, no!  An adult!

Nah.  It was Stan.

Stan just kept going.  As he rounded the corner heading toward the rear exit, without looking back he exclaimed, exactly, "Stay alive, men!"

So we started laughing, I lost my grip, Len fell on his head, and that's why he is the way he is.

Oh, all right, I'll tell it straight.  Though off the floor, Len still had a death grip on me.  We, meaning I, since at that point I was responsible for vertical stability, were/was way off balance.  All fall down.

Laughing hysterically eased the pain of impact.

We stayed alive, called it a draw and we all went off to Steak & Ale or some such food place, got as soused as one can get on Diet Coke and ate heartily.

I think when Stan arrived the next morning he probably checked for bodies.

No after work bans were imposed.  But I think we stuck to arm wrestling after that.

NOTE:  I know I've got this one right.  Rog and I, along with an unsuspecting volunteer from the audience acted this event out at more than one convention.  And at the World Con in Philly, what was that, 2002? Len and I were on a panel together and we acted it out for the amusement of a large crowd.   


NEXT:  The Secret Origin and Gooey Death of the Marvel/DC Crossovers

JayJay here. Here's a comment and answer you may find interesting.

More Strange Tales

HAPPY BASTILLE DAY!


Len Wein Teaches Me a Lesson (and, oh, by the way, Roger Stern, too)

Roger Stern started working at Marvel in December of 1975, two weeks before I did on the first working day of January 1976. 

Rog came from Indiana.  He had previously published or co-published a slick fanzine called CPL (Contemporary Pictoral Literature, I think.) that had been devoted to Charlton Comics.  He had been hired as an assistant editor.  Among his first duties, I think, was editing letter columns.

(NOTE:  Letter columns were commonly put together by the writers of the individual books, who would sort through the fan mail, select letters to be printed and write the answers or comments.  A few lettercols were written by someone other than the book's writer.  If that person couldn't or didn't want to do his or her own letter column, a staffer or other freelancer would do it.  For instance, lettercols for the Kirby books were done by someone other than Jack.  Writing a lettercol in those days paid $25, I think.)

I had been hired as associate editor.  Rog and I both sat in the big editorial room outside the Editor in Chief's office, which took up a corner of that room.  We were the two new guys.  We became friends, and remain friends…at least until he reads this.

Rog wanted to write comics.  He hadn't done any writing for DC or Marvel at that point.  I don't know whether he had any published work for Charlton.  Anyway, being his buddy, his pal, I wanted to help.

(ASIDE:  If Rog is reading this, right now he's wondering "Where is that big lug going with this?"  And by the way, I haven't checked any of this with him.  Rog, if you wish to rebut or correct anything, have at it.  Me.  Whatever.)

When I took the associate editor position, I still owed editor Murray Boltinoff at DC three Legion of Super-Heroes scripts.  Editor in Chief Marv, who hired me, gave me the okay to finish that work on my own time.  I had "springboards" approved by Murray, but not detailed plots.  I invited Rog to kibitz on those plots and scripts.  Thought maybe I could teach the guy a trick or two. 

Somewhere along the way, I rented a room from Dave Cockrum who had a huge, three bedroom apartment out in Queens.  I remember Rog, Dave and me hanging around discussing the stories between dinner at the Brew Burger and a pie-run to the Silver Moon Diner.

Anyway, Rog was more than a kibitzer on those LSH stories.  He made some cool contributions.  He's a smart guy.  Lots of ideas.   

Even before we worked on those scripts, I had been coaching Rog, explaining how to approach writing a story.  All through the process, I coached him, and after those scripts were done, I coached him.  I talked about Aristotelean principles, the underlying philosophies, how to think about it…the linguistic roots of story architecture, the visual-verbal language, point of view, pacing, themes, counter-themes, subplots, insight, establishing characters, character development, dialogue…blah, blah, blah.

Rog listened eagerly.  Or maybe he was just humoring me.

Anyway, his chance finally came.  We needed someone to dialogue an Omega story plotted by Steve Gerber and drawn, I'm guessing, by Jim Mooney.  Marv let Rog take a crack.

Rog delivered.  I edited the script.  It was…how shall I say this?  Not good.

I touched it up some, as best I could with the time I had.

After Steve Gerber read the (printed) book, he flipped through it with Rog, making comments.  I was within earshot.  Steve was very polite, very nice, generous with his compliments.  One thing he pointed out was that Rog referred to the character as "Omega" a few times.  Steve made a point never to call him anything but the "caped man" or some such.  My fault as much as Rog's.  Sigh.

Shortly thereafter, Len Wein needed someone to dialogue a Hulk story he had plotted, drawn, I think, by Sal Buscema.  He gave Rog a shot.  I heard him talking to Rog before Rog embarked on the script.  Len kept saying "Do this," and "Don't do that."  Simple instructions.  Rules.

Rog wrote the script (we used "script" and "dialogue" pretty much interchangeably at Marvel, for work done Marvel style).  Again, I was in earshot when Len went over it with him.  Len talked about the rhythm of the dialogue, "hearing" the voices, being cognizant of basic information that had to be delivered.  "Do it like this, not like this."  I think Rog made a few, very few, corrections.  Then the thing was handed over to me to edit.

It was really good.

And the little light bulb went on. 

Don't try to give new writers (or creators in general) the entire How to Write course at the get-go.  Start them off with easy-to-follow instructions.  Rules, if you will, until they get their feet under them.  Then worry about the nuances.

And wasn't that how I learned…?  First, from the Ultimate Rule-Giver, Mort Weisinger, then onward on my own, once I felt myself on firm ground.

One story with Len helping and Rog was off and flying.  And, once he had Len's rules etched into his brain, then, all of the sudden, he could more easily grok all the complexities I had been throwing at him. 

The rules describe a neighborhood in the universe of writing, a safe place, from which one can venture into the limitless possibilities when one is damn good and ready.

Roger became ready quickly.  He GOT it!  Just like that.  Well, maybe not just like that, but he was soon on his way.

Rog is now, and has been for a long time, one of the best writers in the business.  Always solid, often brilliant, capable of those moving, stick-with-you moments.  Thanks in good measure to Len.

Thanks, Len, from me, too.

I got it.  After that I concentrated on building foundations before erecting the spires.

Example:  Early on, I made newbie Frank Miller draw a couple of stories using the Kirby windowpane grid.  Strictly enforced.

He got it.  Soon and in abundance.  Perhaps you've noticed.

So, thanks again for the lesson, Len.

And I'm really sorry I dropped you on your head….

NEXT:  More Strange Tales – Why I Dropped Len On His Head

Superman, the Playboy Club, Decorating Higgins, the Secret Theater and More Strange Tales

Superman 

My first year as Marvel Editor in Chief was a tough one in many ways for everybody on staff.  We all worked our butts off to get caught up, make things better and keep Marvel alive.

I suppose I could look up the date, but I'm pretty sure it was late in the year, during cold weather, anyway, that the long-awaited Superman movie came out.

I figured the editorial and production people deserved a perk.  An early Christmas present, if you will.  No, I'm not going to say "holiday present."  I'm old.  I get the senior citizen discount.  Give me a PC break.

Anyway…the movie opened strong.  It was a hit.  With a large group, the only sure way to get in without standing in line for hours, at least for the first few weeks after the premiere, was to go to the first show in the morning.  No, I'm not going to say "standing ON line."  I'm from Pittsburgh where one stands IN line.  I get the Allegheny Plateau discount.  Give me a west-of-the-Hudson break.   

So, I gathered up the troops one morning, all of us, I think, and we marched en masse over to the theater in Times Square to see the 10 AM show.  There were about 30 of us.  I paid for the tickets.

I didn't make a lot of money back then, but I was happy to shell out for what I felt was a meaningful experience.

I thought the movie, and the implications it bore for our industry as a whole were extremely important.  I thought it could be, and in many respects it was a watershed in the history of our medium—the first serious, successful super-hero movie.  I wanted us to see it all together.

We had a blast.

We talked about it all the way back to 575 Madison and for days afterwards.  The reactions were overwhelmingly positive.  One thing—someone said they spent $44 million making the movie, an astronomical sum at the time.  What they should have done was spend another couple of thousand dollars and hired any one of us to fix up the story a little.  But, it was good.  Great.  Don't get me wrong. 

When we got back to the office, Stan asked me where everybody went?  He couldn't figure out why the place was suddenly deserted.  I told him.

He seemed verklempt.  He said he wished he had gotten to go with us.  He wished he had been the one to take the staff to the movie.  He thought it should have been him.

He was like a kid who was the only one not to get ice cream.

I felt bad.  It never occurred to me to ask Stan to come.  I don't know why.  "Hey, Stan, we're going to go goof off for a few hours, wanna come?"  Those words did not leap easily to mind. 

He made me promise that if I ever did such a thing again, I'd include him.  A good lesson there.  Stan the Man was, and still is, I suspect, Stan the Fan as well.        


The Playboy Club

A year or so into my tenure as Editor in Chief, Stan told me I should become a member of the Playboy Club on 59th Street, just east of Fifth Avenue, two street blocks and one avenue block away from the office, an easy walk.  Stan told me it would be okay to put the membership on my expense report.

Okay…why?

Stan said that it was a great place to entertain visiting freelancers, especially out-of-town types.

Okay.

So I signed up.  Yes, the place had beautiful women, many dressed in bunny suits, but beyond that, it was a really nice place.  It was a palace.  It had a great restaurant for lunch and an excellent fine dining restaurant on the top floor.  It had a nightclub, which, at that time was a discothèque, of course.  And more amenities.

Stan was right.  It was a great place to take artists, writers and others for business lunches or expense account entertainment.  Artists and writers, locals as well as out-of-towners loved it.  When they visited, the Brits loved it.  Painter Peter Ledger, who was from Australia, who worked on our Weirdworld book loved it. 

I guess for some people I took there, it was a sociology field trip, but no one ever complained.  It was a good lunch place, and if nothing else, it was interesting to see the place where Gloria Steinem once wore ears and a tail.

Other industry people were also members there, including some DC Comics brass.  One of them organized a roast for Marty Pasko (somebody correct me if I have the roastee wrong) and booked the discothèque for the festivities, including dinner, dancing and comedically eviscerating Marty.  Steve Mitchell was the emcee, I think.  The hot new dance at the time was the "Bump."  

I let the membership lapse when Marvel moved down to 387 Park Avenue South in the early 80's.  It was too far to go, the place seemed to be in decline, and truthfully, its time had passed. 


Decorating Higgins

I believe that only twice during my time at Marvel did the board of directors visit our offices.  Probably because they were in the city on other business….

The first time was early on in my tenure, late 1978 or 1979, I think.  We had a new guy in the production department, Mike Higgins.

Mike's art table was the nearest the door in the production department.  The first thing you saw when you opened the door was him.  He was a Grateful Dead fan.  I don't know if it's fair to call him a Deadhead, but he dressed like one, for the most part.  Tie-dyed tees.  Deadhead-hip ragamuffin clothes.  Okay by me and everyone else.  Nobody cared what you wore.

One morning, I went to the production department for something, and there was Mike, working away, headphones on, bobbing up and down in time to the music.  For some reason he had a hard hat on.

Oh, well.  Whatever.

Later, I got a call from the receptionist on the ninth floor, the executive floor.  She warned me that the board members were being given a tour by Marvel President Jim Galton, and that they were on their way down to our floor, the sixth floor.

I ran to our reception room and warned Josie the receptionist to be at her professional best, then I started down the hall, spreading the word, office by office, room by room, essentially saying "Bigshots coming through on a tour.  Don't do anything weird for at least ten minutes."

The tour group came in.  I was literally preceding them down the hall by a barely safe distance.  I could hear Galton trying to conduct the tour.  He had very seldom been to our floor before, and probably only to Stan's office, so he was a lousy tour-giver.  I heard him say things like, "Here are some artists drawing Spider-Man," pointing to three guys doing paste-ups for the British department.  And "What are people working on?" to an editor and his assistant.  Please don't say "comics" I thought.  "Comics" said the editor.

At the end of the hall was the production room.  I opened the door to sound the intruder alert.  And there was Higgins….

Someone had attached a helium balloon on a string to the top of his hard hat.  Someone had pasted a big thought balloon, beautifully lettered in big, display letters to the balloon that said "What me worry," or something equally inspired.  Someone had made horns and taped then to the hat.  And more.  You get the drift.  Higgins, his table and his area were thoroughly decorated.  Absolutely oblivious on purpose, Higgins was still bouncing, be-bopping and working, utterly unconcerned.

The tour group was coming around the corner….

If I could have done anything in time, I wouldn't have.  I hid and watched.

Galton flung open the door and announced that this was the production room.  And saw Higgins.  The whole board did.  Red-faced, Galton quickly pulled the door shut and got very busy showing the group the photostat room, the last stop before the back door beyond which was the mailroom and mercifully, the elevator lobby.

I somehow managed to restrain howling laughter until they were safely gone.

The events of the tour were never spoken about upstairs.


The Secret Theater 

When I was associate editor, I worked on a number of Don McGregor's scripts.  Killraven.  Power Man.  What else?  The Black Panther?  Somebody help me.

Anyway, I thought his writing was outstanding.  Really interesting and thoughtful.  A bit too wordy, sometimes.  For instance, on more than one occasion he would write a lengthy caption describing something that appeared in the panel.  Why?  And then he'd place the caption over the thing being described, covering it completely.

Hmm.

Anyway, I had a great deal of respect for his stuff.  He'd come into the office fairly frequently.  I'd go over whatever comments or proposed corrections I had. 

Don took great pride in his work.  He didn't want me or anyone rewriting his words.  We always worked it out to his satisfaction, I believe.

(ASIDE:  I'm talking about early 1976 here.  I believe Archie Goodwin had to let Don go later that year, shortly after taking over as Editor in Chief.  Don did some fill in work for me a couple of years later, when I was EIC.  That didn't go quite as well, possibly because they were someone else's stories he was being asked to dialogue.)  

Don showed me a page of his that Marv Wolfman had rewritten.  It was a splash page.  Don had written a caption or several expressing thoughts about the "nuclear family" in Killraven's time.  Marv misunderstood the reference and rewrote the captions so they spoke of bombs falling.  The book went to press that way.  With Don's byline.

I think Don believed that I was actually trying to help.  He thanked me when I caught slip-ups.  He could tell, I think, even when we didn't agree, that my goal was making the book better.  Like I said, we worked things out.

Anyway, we were friends, or friendly, at least.

One evening, after work, Don asked me to come with him.  He wouldn't tell me what the destination was, but assured me that it was great.  We walked west.  Way west.  Past Eighth Avenue below 42nd Street.  Maybe past Ninth.  Not the nicest neighborhood in those days.  Old buildings, in various states of decay.  Street people in various states of decay.  A little creepy for a kid from the burbs of Pittsburgh.  Don walked through the Dark Side of Manhattan with ease and confidence.

We arrived at a door to a brick building that had long ago passed the "aging" stage and maybe the "condemned" stage. 

Don knocked on the door.  A secret knock?

A guy slid open a little peephole.  Like a speakeasy, I kid you not.  I restrained myself from saying "swordfish."

The guy recognized Don.  He was suspicious of me.  Don assured him I was okay.

We were allowed in.  The inside matched the outside.  Don led me down dark hallways to a room in the back.  There were a dozen or so men sitting on mismatched chairs watching the end of a movie.  An old movie.  Black and white.  A western.

So.  A totally illegal underground theater.  Showing old oaters. 

When the film ended, a guy who seemed to be in charge walked over and greeted Don warmly.  He was suspicious of me.  Don assured him I was okay.

He said, words to the effect, "Hey, you're in luck.  We've got a Hoppy coming up next.         

So we watched Hopalong Cassidy.  I'd seen that one before, as a little kid.  It was great seeing it again.


Enough for now.


NEXT:  More Strange Tales and Stuff

EPIC Interference

A Little Back Story

Sergio Aragonés came to visit me one day to pitch an idea for a humorous comic book starring a funny, cheese-dip-loving barbarian character.  Just one thing—he said he knew that Marvel had to "own everything," but he wanted to retain some small interest in the character.  He knew Marvel had to own and control it, but he would like—he held his thumb and forefinger an inch apart—a  little piece.

I told Sergio we could do better than that.  No reason he couldn't own it lock, stock and cheese dip.  Marvel would be perfectly willing to publish his comic book series under a normal, real world publishing agreement, that is, specified rights, all negotiable, for a specified term.

He didn't believe me.  I introduced him to Publisher Mike Hobson.  Mike assured him that I was empowered to make such a deal.  We were willing to draw up a deal memo on the spot that Sergio could take to his legal advisors.  Sergio said he had no time right then because he had an appointment somewhere else, after which he was going back to the Coast, but he'd be back in New York in two weeks.

A couple of weeks later, however, Pacific Comics announced that it was publishing a new comics series by Sergio Aragonés called Groo.

What?

Not long after my meeting with Sergio, and completely independently, Frank Miller, Walt Simonson and Jim Starlin came to me in a group.  They each wanted to do a non-work-for-hire series for Marvel.  To create and produce titles to which they would retain the underlying rights. 

I said, "Okay."  I think I shocked them.

Why was everybody so surprised?  I'd talked about Marvel publishing creator-owned work publicly, loudly and often ever since I'd started as Editor in Chief.  And we were already publishing EPIC Illustrated.  I guess they thought I was wishful thinking out loud or talking through my softball cap.

So, I took them all to see Mike Hobson.  We agreed in principal on the spot.


First EPIC Interference

Straight from Mike's office I went to Archie Goodwin's office.  I said, "Hey, Arch, I have a great idea.  EPIC Comics!  Regular monthly series but creator owned!"

He blew his top at me.  Now, Archie, to my knowledge, never actually yelled at anyone, but he could get this edge, this tension in his slightly-raised voice that told you you'd better back off because he was five-foot-three, one hundred and forty pounds of razor-edged twisted steel.

The gist of what he growled was: Are you out of your mind?  I don't have time for this!  We (Mary Jo Duffy and he) are overworked as is!  "Get rzzlefrzzlegrrr out of my honketyhoot room or frgglk die."  Something like that.

I backed off.

Now what?

So, later I went to Al Milgrom and asked him if he's like to edit EPIC Comics.  He was pleased as purple punch.

The next day, I'm sitting at my EIC desk dealing with one of the disasters du jour as usual.  Archie came storming in, again, in full Archie-style fury. 

The gist of what he growled was:  Are you out of your mind?  How the rzzlefrzzlegrrr DARE you give EPIC Comics to Milgrom?!  EPIC is MY department!  EPIC Comics are MINE!  (Insert inarticulately snarled death threats and rude implications about my ancestry here.)

By the time he left my office, Archie had EPIC Comics back and the budget to hire a second assistant.  And I had my life.

Milgrom was loathe to give up EPIC Comics peacefully.  Especially since one of the first ones, Dreadstar, was going to be authored by his long-time buddy, Jim Starlin.  But he cooperated, sort of.  You'll notice that Milgrom shares editorial credit on the first issue of Dreadstar.


Second EPIC Interference

Sometime a couple of years later….

EPIC Comics were doing okay, but not setting the world on fire.  They were a critical success and absolutely essential for Marvel's image.  We needed to be a place where creators wanted to bring their ideas.  And, I figured, sooner or later, an EPIC Comics title would take off, make some creator wealthy, and then the floodgates would open. 

A few EPIC Comics were losing money.  None were contributing much to the bottom line.  Dreadstar was probably the most successful. 

President Jim Galton spoke with me about possibly cancelling the line and devoting the resources to more profitable endeavors, say, another dozen X-Men titles.  I told him EPIC Comics had something great, a big seller coming up, and secured a stay of execution.

So I went to Archie's office and proposed that we publish a limited series Frank Miller and Bill Sienkiewicz had been talking about doing—Elektra Assassin.  If it came out through EPIC Comics, it could be grittier and edgier than if it had to bear a Code Seal and go on those "Hey, Kids!  Comics!" spinner racks.  Which would suit Frank.

(ASIDE:  What else did those racks say?  Something about "wholesome entertainment?")

Archie replied in full Archie-style fury. 

The gist of what he growled was:  Are you out of your mind?  EPIC Comics are CREATOR OWNED!  No rzzlefrzzlegrrr Marvel characters!

I started growling that unless we had a bestseller RIGHT AWAY there might not be any EPIC Comics any more.  I was six-foot seven, two hundred and thirty-five pounds of rusty pencil sharpener blades.

He backed down.

I walked out with Archie's promise to contact Frank.  And he had EPIC Comics' life.

The eight issue Elektra Assassin limited series sold over two million copies.  While not creator owned, the contract was far more beneficial to the creators than the normal (and excellent, by the way) Marvel deal.  Advance against royalties, more participations, a generous share of international revenues…and more.

That kept them going for a while.

Now this….


No Interference, But Righteous Wrath

Sometime before the Elektra drama, Sergio parted company with Pacific Comics, I believe because they were in the midst of the financial turmoil that led to the company's collapse.  Sergio turned up on EPIC Comics doorstep, and was welcomed in.  We began publishing Groo the Wanderer.

(NOTE:  I never checked EPIC publications before they went to the separators.  Never felt I had to, with Archie at the helm.  The first time I read most EPIC books was when the printed copies came in.)

As I recall, the first page of the first EPIC Comics issue of Groo featured a cartoon of Sergio at his drawing board, speaking directly to the readers.  I don't have a copy, so I'm doing this from memory, but Sergio was explaining that he had taken Groo elsewhere at first because Marvel wouldn't let him keep the rights to his creation, but now that Marvel had finally seen the light, he was happy to work with EPIC.

WHAT?

I was furious.  It was probably the only time I ever spoke harsh words to Archie.  How could he allow that?  It was NOT TRUE, and in our OWN PUBLICATION we were giving credence to a LIE.

After I calmed down, I realized that Archie probably didn't know about my meeting with Sergio years earlier.  Not his fault.  Sorry Archie.  

Sometime later, I ran into Sergio at a convention in Victoria, British Columbia.

Sergio and I had always been friendly.  We, and other folks, occasionally got together for food or a beverage or three at cons or after work.  He regaled us with his stories.  He listened to ours.  We got along.  He even came to play volleyball with us in Central Park after work a few times when he was in town.  Sergio and I always had a great deal of mutual respect.  Still do.

But I was very unhappy about the Groo intro page and told him so.  He wouldn't give me straight answers.  He waffled around about it.

That told me it was probably the doing of his co-writer/assistant/whatever, Mark Evanier, either out of ignorance or spite.

Anyway….

Other than that, everything EPIC was pretty groovy.

A final aside, apropos of nothing.  A few years ago I was sitting beside Sergio on a panel at the Baltimore Con.  The panel was taking questions.  Someone in the audience asked me if I was aware that, in terms of years of service, I was the eldest comic book writer still active.  I said, that can't be.  What about Sergio?  Sergio said to me, "I started in 1967, my friend.  When did you start?"

1965.  It's been a long road.

NEXT:  Superman, the Playboy Club, Decorating Higgins, the Secret Theater and other Strange Tales

Righting the Ship – Part Three

First, this….

I'm very grateful for your comments.  I appreciate your knowledge, wisdom and insight.  I love it when you fill in details that I leave out, when you deepen the discourse and especially when you catch me if I slip up.  You're the best editors anyone could hope for.  I look forward to reading what you write.  It's a highlight of my day, every day.  Thanks.


An EPIC Deception

Late 1979.  We needed an Editor for a new magazine we had in the works, working title Odyssey.  It was intended to appeal to the adult readers we already had, attract others and open the door to creators worldwide who wanted to work on properties they owned rather than do work for hire on Marvel's established properties. 

I spoke with Stan about it.  Getting the right editor was critical.  I suggested that we offer the position to Archie Goodwin.

I didn't think Archie would take the job if it meant reporting to me.  First of all, working for someone who used to be your assistant is usually awkward.  Given the drama that arose from my replacing him as Editor in Chief, I figured it was a non-starter. 

Unless….

I proposed that we make Odyssey an entirely separate department not under my purview.  Bring Archie back on the same level as I was, not reporting to me. 

Stan was opposed to that idea.  No one doubted Archie's editorial abilities, but, Stan was afraid that he would have no patience for dealing with upstairs and business baloney.  Just like when Archie was EIC.  Stan thought Archie had to report to me. 

So I said, words to the effect, "What if he doesn't know he reports to me?  What if you offer him the job and I stay out of it entirely.  I'll never bother him, but I'll discreetly make sure the trains run on time and take care of all the bureaucratic crap.  I'll pave the road for him."

Though Stan's "publisher" title was largely ceremonial, it was credible that he might be taking an active role as publisher of Odyssey, since he'd been a huge proponent of the idea from the beginning.  He agreed.

Archie, after he left the EIC position, had taken a contract to be writer/editor of three color comics a month, which, I guess was the minimum necessary to make the money he needed .  But, he couldn't keep up with that workload.  He was the best writer, but by far not the fastest.  He was steadily falling further and further behind on his quota.  A staff position that paid well was, therefore, attractive.

Stan offered Archie the job.  I was conspicuously not involved and not mentioned.  When Archie asked who he would report to, Stan said, "Me."

Archie took the job!

Soon thereafter, we discovered that there were trademark issues with the title Odyssey, and so the name was changed to EPIC Illustrated.  I think that was Archie's idea.  Or possibly Stan's.  I don't know.  I stayed away from EPIC editorial like the Kingpin from Jenny Craig.

But, I wrote the EPIC business plan.  I drafted the budget.  I helped put together the creator contracts.  On the sly. 

Archie had to pick up the pieces that Rick Marschall had left him, and at the beginning had help from various staffers.  Archie pulled it together masterfully.  What could have been a hodgepodge mess came out fine, and thanks to Archie, EPIC got off on the right foot with a Frazetta cover on the first issue.  It did very well.

There was a provision in the budget for an assistant for Archie.  I made it clear that I had no problem with Archie hiring one of the color comics assistants if he wished, since it would be a little more money and maybe a little more prestige, some would say.  Also, it was a chance to work closely with Archie, not a small consideration.  I don't remember exactly when, but eventually Archie hired Mary Jo Duffy.  Good choice.

Meanwhile….

I focused on the regular comics and black-and-whites.

But, I did the EPIC bureaucratic crap.  I did the wrangling with circulation, legal, international licensing and accounting.  I represented EPIC's interests in the executive staff meetings. 

I paved the road.

Early in 1980, Stan moved to the West Coast to devote more time to developing film and TV projects.  Soon thereafter, President Jim Galton hired Mike Hobson as Publisher. 

That's another story in and of itself, but I'll tell you later.

Mike spent his first month reading comics and getting the lay of the land.  That impressed me. 

After a few months, Mike asked me what was up with EPIC?  Why was it that I did the administrative stuff sort of on the Q.T?  I explained.

Mike wasn't okay with the EPIC deception.  He called Archie in.  Mike said, "Archie, I want you to know that you report to Jim."

Archie said, "I know."

I think he always did.

Not much changed after that.  I still didn't interfere with Archie.  (Well, except for a couple of times.  Those make for pretty good stories, coming soon.)  I still did a lot of the wrangling.  Mike, however, took on some of the heavy-duty contract stuff and executive arm-wrestling.  The three of us, Mike, Archie and me, worked together pretty well. 

One final note:  I don't think anyone but Archie could have done what he did with EPIC.  No way I could have.  The Frazetta cover, for instance.  I probably could never have gotten past Frazetta's wife and Gatekeeper, Ellie.  Archie was well known to the stars and legends.  If stars and legends who weren't actively working for Marvel had heard of me at all, to them I was a former DC writer who was Marvel's new, whip-cracking, Blue-Meanie EIC.  Everybody loved Archie.  I ranked between Mussolini and Torquemada on the popularity scale.  He did a magnificent job, and I'm proud to have filled in some of the potholes in front of him on the way.

Now, for your amusement, one of Archie's interoffice memos, a response to my query about proposed annuals:

Righting the Ship – Part Two

Reinforcements arrive.  And NO GREEN BACKGROUNDS!

When I was promoted to Editor in Chief, I was supposed to move from the small office I was in to the larger, nicer Editor in Chief office down the hall. I couldn't take the time to move, though. I was too busy being overwhelmed. After that office sat empty for a few days, Sol Brodsky, by no one's leave, pounced on it and moved in. I didn't care. The little room I had was in a corner of the big editorial room and closer to the bullpen. In the middle of the action, you might say. Except, since we were short-handed, only a couple of assistant editors and me, there wasn't a lot of "action" in the editorial area besides my frantic scrambling around.

Besides, that small room had been good enough for Roy, Len, Marv and Gerry. Only Archie had occupied the bigger office. Why? He had been editor of the black-and-white magazines, and that room had formerly been the B&W editorial office, where Archie and one or two or other editorial people sat. Like me, after he'd been promoted, he hadn't the time to move, and so he stayed put, and thus, the big room became the EIC office. I had been installed in the little room along with the B&W editor who replaced Archie. Roger Slifer, as I recall.

Slifer is a story all by himself. Later. He wasn't there too long. He quit and went freelance.

Anyway, when I took over as EIC, I didn't have a B&W editor or a color comics editor.

Roger Stern became the first editor on board. He had been one of the assistants previously.  He's wicked smart, an excellent writer, comics savvy and capable. And he knows all the words to every Weird Al Yankovich song. And he'll sing them for you. Be afraid. Be very afraid.

I had convinced upstairs that one editor for 45 color comics wasn't enough, and I had the budget to hire more.

The second color comics editor I hired was Bob Hall, who had been doing some penciling for us. Bob was a playwright, among other things. He knew story structure, was literate, was a visual thinker and knew comics. He had no editorial experience, but I figured that he'd catch on quick. I was right.

Bob had written a play that was running at the Cherry Lane Theater in the Village called The Passion of Dracula. Very successful. It ran for a long time.

(ASIDE:  Bob also wrote, years later, a play about the beginning of the Comics Code entitled Never Bigger Than Her Head. The title comes from a bit of advice John Buscema gave students about drawing women's breasts.)

One of the people I interviewed for the B&W magazine editor job was a man named Rick Marschall. He had been recommended to Stan by someone, actually, so Stan wanted to meet him. He had some experience working with newspaper strips or reprints of same, but no comic book or comics magazine background. A pretty thin resume. Stan, who has an abiding reverence for syndicated strips, was impressed with Marschall. Me, not so much.  But I went with Stan's gut, not mine and hired him.

(ASIDE: Funny thing about Stan. I'm not saying he doesn't love the comics, because he does—but in his heart of hearts, what he really wanted was a successful syndicated strip or a successful "real" magazine. 

Remember, Stan grew up in the day when comic books were the lowest rung on the ladder.  Comic books were where you ended up after schlepping your portfolio around to every single syndicate, showing your brilliant samples of the next Terry and the Pirates or Abbie an' Slats and being rejected by everybody. Or, where you scrounged a living while waiting for the syndicated world to acknowledge your genius. Working on comic books was an embarrassment. A lot of people changed their names for their comics work to keep their real name untainted. Like Stan Lee, who wanted to reserve his real name, Stanley Lieber, for his strip, his magazine, or, who knows, the Great American Novel.

I used to argue with him. I'd tell him he made comics huge, and comics made him a worldwide icon. Why not stick with that? He'd say yes…pause…but someday I'd really like to publish a real magazine!

(Sigh.)

Anyway, we hired Marschall. 

And early on, we cancelled most of the B&W magazines, which weren't selling. We were adding some color comics at the same time, so we actually increased the number of pages per month we produced, so there was still plenty of work to go around.

Writer/editor Roy handled Savage Sword.  Ralph Macchio was his in-house liaison. So Marschall handled…hmm…a Howard the Duck B&W? A Dracula magazine? Somebody help me.

The Hulk was on television then, so we introduced the full color Hulk Magazine, which Marschall edited. And he edited a movie adaptation or three. And, he took over development of a project initiated during Archie's time, a color magazine intended to feature creator-owned material with the working title Odyssey.

Meanwhile, with our blessing, Bob Hall left to look after his play, which was being produced in London and Boston.

But more reinforcements came on board: Al Milgrom. Then Denny O'Neill and Larry Hama, who started on the same day, and Louise Jones (who later married Walt Simonson).

Things started to get organized.

I finally had more time to spend on improving the books.

One of the first things I addressed was the coloring of the covers. Before me, when the inked cover art came in, a photocopy was given to the Editor in Chief, who wrote the copy—blurbs and what have you, and indicated placement. The copy went to the production department. The display lettering (for, say, the title) was done and the blurbs, if any, were lettered. The logo, trade dress, Code Seal and copy were pasted up. Then a stat of the cover was made and sent to George Roussos' office. George colored all the covers. Often without being so much as glanced at by anyone in editorial, they went to the separators. 

I was very unhappy with the cover coloring. The first thing I did was make sure I saw the covers before they left the house. I always had corrections. Lots of corrections. There were a lot of mistakes. Like part of a spaceship colored brown and shaded like a rock because George thought it was a rock. Or Atlanteans who weren't colored blue. That sort of thing.  Allowing the mistakes to happen then correcting them seemed inefficient….

So, I told George to bring me each and every cover before he started coloring, so we could discuss it first.

George probably wasn't thrilled to have some kid less than half his age giving him instructions, but he dutifully complied. And it went well the first few times. I headed off some problems. I pushed George in the direction of clarity and depth.

And, I started to understand where George was coming from. He had been given a lot of rules by a lot of different people during the many years he'd been coloring covers. He wasn't thinking like an artist any more. He was just doing this because you're supposed to and that because you must. In the case of conflicting orders, he followed the last ones or those given to him by the higher-ranking person. Getting rid of all the nonsense he'd been shackled with was the main problem. That theme continued with writers, pencilers, etc.  You'll see.

Anyway…

One morning George brought me a Master of Kung Fu cover he was about to color. It was pretty static, so George suggested going with a stark color treatment, a "knockout." I said fine. How about we do the figures and the logo in yellow and color the background a cool green?

George looked like I'd ordered him to eat a live tarantula sandwich.

He said, "You CAN'T color a background green!"

I'd never heard that rule before. 

I can't recite it line by line, but it turned into a major argument! With George! Sweet, cooperative, nice, George. He adamantly refused to color the background green. Stan, he said, wouldn't like it! He, George, would be fired! 

I tried to tell him that it was okay, no one was going to fire him. That didn't make a dent.  Finally, I demanded that he color the cover as instructed. No more argument. Go. Now. Do it.

George shambled away, muttering.

A minute later, Marie Severin came to my office. "Why are you doing this to George?" she asked. I wasn't doing anything to George!  I just wanted the damn cover colored. As instructed.

Marie, in grave tones, warned me that there would be serious repercussions. Stan would be really angry. Stan HATED green. She pleaded with me not to make George color the cover green. By this time, my heels were firmly dug in.

Marie left. George came back. He refused to color the background green and that was that.  I told him if he didn't do as I asked I'd send him home. And I assured him that whatever consequences for green there were, I would bear them, not him.

So he did it. Green background. I took the cover and asked George to follow me.

Stan's office door was open so I walked in. George stayed outside, sort of timidly standing by the door. Even though he was with me, he would never have considered walking into Stan's office uninvited.

I showed Stan the cover. I said, "What do you think?"

Stan said, "It's GREAT!"

I thanked Stan and left. Though George had overheard, I repeated it. "Stan said it's GREAT."

Here's the scoop. Stan probably did at some point say "never make a cover background green." Stan is prone to speak in hyperbole and exaggerate for effect. What he meant—and I guessed this immediately, knowing Stan well from working closely with him in general and in particular on the strip—was that medium-value background colors like green present difficulties when choosing a color for the logo. Better to go with a VERY DARK background color against which a light colored logo will "pop," or a VERY LIGHT background color against which a dark colored logo will pop. Rather than launch into a lecture on color theory, Stan made an idiot-proof rule: never use green.

But my yellow logo popped nicely against the cool green background, so no worries. That was/is Stan's real concern—does the logo pop? Yes.

After that, George and I really started to work well together. I convinced him to scrap the rules, that we were picture-makers. I unleashed the artist in him. And he taught me tricks I never knew, about "spotlighting" characters and building mood with color.

Pretty soon, our little discussions about how to approach covers became highlights of my day. Fun. I think he enjoyed them too.

I'll do another piece about George, a quiet, smart, super-talented gentleman soon.

Meanwhile….

As an editor, Marschall was marginal at best. He made a lot of mistakes. The worst was failing to get licensor approval on a movie adaptation—Planet of the Apes, I think, prior to going to press. The licensor rejected the book. We had to scrap 600,000 copies. (for more info, see comment)

A couple of days after that went down, Marschall asked me if he could have the next several days off because relatives of his from Germany were visiting. I turned his request down. One of his books, an important one, another movie adaptation, I think, had to get into and out of the house in the next few days and his presence was required—especially after the last debacle. 

So, he called in sick.

Meanwhile, it had come to the attention of President Jim Galton that we'd had to scrap a print run. He ordered me to fire Marschall. I called Marschall and left a message saying he must come in the next day, a Friday. He didn't. So, I called again, got him and fired him over the phone. 

He later got a friend at the New York Times to write a major article for the business section all about how I was driving talent like him away from Marvel. Whatever. Good riddance.

I hired Lynn Graeme to replace him as editor of the magazines. New to comics, but a very smart woman. 

I thought, however, we needed someone with experience, a real heavyweight to take over the Odyssey project…. 

NEXT:  An EPIC Deception

Righting the Ship

Early 1978.  Dark days for Marvel Comics.  Bad sales, late books, bad books, waste, corruption, contentions over the new copyright law, general unrest, chaos in the ranks…. 

Stormy seas.  The ship was sinking.  I was the captain.  It was my job to right the ship.

One big problem was that some of the sailors didn't know I was the captain.

A little back story.  If you've been following along, you know most of this:

Stan was the publisher, but only ceremonially.  He had no business responsibilities, no day-to-day management role.  His job was being Stan.  He was the resident creative guru, the face of Marvel, number one pitch man and ambassador.

I'm not saying Stan was powerless.  If he chose to weigh in on something, people listened.  I was hired on his recommendation.  But, it was the President of the company, Jim Galton, who hired me, and he was the one to whom I reported.  Stan's authority came from being Stan, not by virtue of his title.          

Sol Brodsky was "V.P. of Operations."  That was a phony baloney job.  When his friend Sol was out of work, Stan invented that job and convinced Cadence that it was necessary and important.  Mostly what Sol did was serve as Stan's assistant.  If Stan needed presentation boards for a pitch, Sol had them made.  If Stan wanted books for reference, Sol acquired them.  Etc.

Sol also constantly ferreted out things to do, things he could take charge of.  Anything.  If a door lock needed changing, Sol had it taken care of.  If a light bulb was burned out you might see Sol on a ladder.  The warehouse?  He took charge.  No one was doing much in the way of facilities management, so Sol scooped up those duties.  Anything to justify his employment.

Any vacuum of authority, Sol rushed in to fill. 

Sol acted as though he had a role in the comics publishing and so he did.  I don't know about Roy or Len, but Marv, Gerry and Archie seemed to believe that Sol was the boss, or at least in charge of some areas.  If Marv wanted to give a freelancer a raise, he went to Sol and asked for a raise for said person, and was happy if Sol "approved" the raise.

What?

So…Sol had somehow wheedled his way into a de facto position similar to the one he had legitimately while working with Stan in the sixties.  Just like Stan used to, the EIC would bring to Sol anything financial or legal and he would handle it. 

As associate editor, I observed this and wondered why.  All Sol did was pass any financial or legal issues on to the financial officer or counsel upstairs.  Why the EIC didn't do that himself, I couldn't fathom.

Anyway….

During the three weeks or so before I took office as EIC, while Archie was playing out the string on his tenure, Production Manager John Verpoorten died and Art Director John Romita left staff.

Sol hired Len Grow to replace John Verpoorten and Marie Severin to replace John Romita.  He also hired his son in law as assistant production manager.  He had no authority to do any of that.  But upstairs bosses either didn't know that, or assumed that Sol was acting with Archie's or my consent.  No.  Sol was just further reinforcing his de facto status as the business half of a two-headed publishing operation.

When I was in the discussions that led to my being hired, I found out that Sol was not only not in charge of anything to do with publishing, but he wasn't even on the table of organization.  He was a footnote.

I could have objected then to Len and Marie being hired without my consent but 1) I had enough to worry about already, and 2) Len had been a good assistant production manager.  I might have hired him anyway.  And Marie Severin is a genius-National Treasure-Hall-of-Famer, so….

When I started as EIC, I started making changes in procedures, most notably the vouchering procedure.  Len Grow seemed annoyed.  Resentful.  He had this "who-the-hell-do-you-think-you-are?" attitude.  Every time I went to the production department to have something done, I got that same attitude.  They did what I said, but grudgingly, it seemed. 

Meanwhile, Marie Severin was taking the "Art Director" title literally, and was directing the art!  If you read this post (link to the "When Is an Art Director…." post) you know that the Marvel Art Director's job, at least as constituted when I arrived, didn't involve any direction of the comic book art.

Marie had asserted control over assigning coloring and had stopped giving work to certain people whose coloring she didn't like, and assigned it to people she thought were better.  Trouble was, we had obligations to a couple of the people she cut out.  And, while generally unhappy with the coloring at the time, I didn't think they were worse than the others.

I tried to talk to Marie and got that "who-the-hell-do-you-think-you-are?" attitude. 

Later Walt came in enraged.  Marie had seized one of his books that was in production and was making "art corrections."  Walt doesn't take well to having his work redrawn.  He assumed that it was being done on my orders, so his rage was directed at me.

I told Marie to stop and took the pages.  I think Walt fixed them back the way they were.  Now Marie, one of the nicest people you'll ever meet, was furious and seething at me. 

Lenny took me aside and told me off.  Who the hell did I think I was?  How dare I interfere with Marie and him?  He muttered something about going to Sol about this.

So, finally, the little light bulb came on.  This guy didn't know he reported to me.  Okay, I should have known, I'm as dumb as an oyster.  But, hey, I had a lot on my mind then. 

I went to my office, got the publishing Table of Organization Barry Kaplan had given me and showed it to Lenny.  Me at the top.  Director level.  Little lines connecting to Lenny and Marie, below.  Manager level.  No Sol.

P.S. Yes, Art "Director" was a manager-level job.  Go figure.

Len apologized.  I went back to my room.  A minute later, Marie showed up.  Len had told her.  She apologized. 

Sol had given them to understand that he was in charge, and that we three, Marie, Len and me, were a triumvirate of equal rank under him.  Which is what he hoped to engineer.

They didn't know.  No harm, no foul.  All okay.  Start over.

I was told that later Marie gave Sol a piece of her mind.

At least, then, aboard our sinking ship, there wasn't a misinformed mutiny going on.

IMPORTANT NOTE!  As Production Manager and Stan's right-hand man, Sol Brodsky was an important part of Marvel Comics during its break-out years in the 1960's.  I mean in no way to diminish his contributions from that time, or to impugn him as a man.  But during the mid-to-late seventies, for a while, he was a man without a real job.  He was struggling to hang in and survive.  As were we all.  Those years weren't his finest, in my opinion, but stay tuned.  He wasn't finished making significant contributions.

NEXT:  Reinforcements arrive. And NO GREEN BACKGROUNDS!