Our friends at Marvel Comics have informed the world that “the biggest Marvel event of all time” will come to an end four weeks from today, on January 13, 2016.
Of course, the “biggest Marvel event of all time” is in the mind of the beholder. Personally, I would have picked the release of the first Fantastic Four #1 back in 1961, or the release of Marvel Comics #1 back in 1939. But that’s just the way I see it, and I’m the one digressing from the point.
They’re talking about the release of the ninth and final issue of Secret Wars, the third such dull mega-event employing that title. The penultimate issue came out last week, and that one was late. This one is later. In fact, it is so late that the entire Marvel Universe which was supposed to be upended by this series (opinions differ) already has been upended to the extent that it was to be upended, and the “All New All Different” #1s started shipping last month. The House of Idea delivered something like six second issues this week alone, plus one or two third issues, plus two All New All Different first issues. Again, I’m talking about what arrived in the stores today.
So, to the extent that the “event” was an event, the ending is not. Well, maybe a little, as Alex Ross’s beautifully subtle cover suggests (as does Scottie Young’s variant cover, but it’s done is a somewhat different style). I’m not knocking the series itself; it’s pretty much as good as those things get and, having stewarded one of these things myself, I know how difficult that is. Well, maybe not: I worked for Dick Giordano and not for the ghost of Walt Disney.
But most all of the cats are out of the bag, and the one or two left in were clearly in need of kitty litter. Once you blow the ending in many dozen comics that precede the finish, you’ve got no finish. Just one long, nicely illustrated footnote.
Secret Wars 2015 has been a fiasco. Counting the number of comics that tied in to the series is a lot like guessing the number of jelly beans in the jar at the voter’s registration office: it could be done, but it’s far easier to just talk a walk. There were Ultimate tie-ins, 2099 tie-ins, Age of Apocalypse tie-ins, Marvel 1602 tie-ins, House of M tie-ins… and something called “Battleworld.”
I read a number of the many Battleworld mini-series, and some of those were pretty good. Therefore, some were not. But, really folks, we used to get those sort of stories in one sitting in a giant-sized comic book called What If?Battleworld should have been titled Why Bother?
Having talked with my fellow comics fans at a ridiculous number of conventions and store appearances lately, I know I am not the least bit alone in saying this. “All New All Different” is just more of the same old same old, to be dicked around with in next summer’s Big Event.
Marvel said Secret Wars 2015 wasn’t a reboot, and as far as I can tell it mostly sort of wasn’t. It’s a reboot in the way that the Doctor Who revival a decade ago was: some things have changed, but that change came in a linear fashion. However, there is one important difference: the Doctor Who revival was quite, quite good.
I’ve been a Marvel Comics fan since Fin Fang Foom was a hatchling, so I don’t want to end on a downer. So I’ll say this: despite its many problems, its overreach and its oversaturation, Secret Wars 2015 made a hell of a lot more sense than Convergence.
Yesterday I had the privilege of joining fellow ComicMixers Martha Thomases and Adriane Nash and a standing-room-only crowd at Columbia University to hear Congressman John R. Lewis talk about graphic novels.
Make no mistake about it: Congressman Lewis is a genuine hero. I realize that’s a word we toss around rather lightly these days, but believe me, he is the real thing. A recipient of the American Medal of Freedom, the highest honor we bestow upon civilians, Congressman Lewis was one of the original leaders of the 1960s civil rights movement. As such, he organized (with others, of course) the Freedom Riders, the civil rights march on Washington, the march from Selma to Montgomery Alabama, and a great many other actions that helped make real the concept of America to all Americans. A student and cohort of Dr. Martin Luther King Jr, he has been beaten, fire bombed, left for dead, and arrested over 40 times. He has talked the talk and walked the walk, and ours is a better nation for it. Far, far better.
Congressman John R. Lewis is also a graphic novelist.
Along with co-writer Andrew Aydin and artist Nate Powell, Congressman Lewis has produced the three volume graphic novel March. Please note the third volume, which is the longest of the trio, will be released this coming summer. We have reviewedMarch here at ComicMix. In fact, twice.
Congressman Lewis’s speech, joined by co-writer Aydin and hosted by comics legend Paul Levitz, was certainly about his life and his work. But it was equally about graphic novels and how ours is an important medium for the sharing of ideas – just ask Art Spiegelman. He also disclosed how he was inspired by a 1956 comic book that was edited by Dr. King, The Montgomery Story. You might want to check it out for yourself.
After the event, Adriane said we should have more non-fiction graphic novels. That’s a passion of mine as well, and I thank Congressman Lewis for making such future efforts significantly more feasible.
Of course, that’s towards the bottom of the list of things for which I thank this true hero. March is the story of America, and it is the story of a man who put his life on the line repeatedly to make America … America.
Of course we need more such heroes. But, basking in the inspiration from this great man, I am truly grateful we have Congressman John R. Lewis.
Most of us are aware of the professional sod Jeremy Clarkson, who is now working for Amazon teevee (coming soon to an AppleTV near you). I haven’t been burdened with him as long as our British friends and therefore my opinion of the guy is somewhat more favorable than that found across the Great Pond.
Clarkson was co-host of the BBC teevee show Top Gear, which is to reality shows what, well, Jackass was to reality shows, although much more funny and somewhat less inspirational. He just did a 2 1/4 minute commercial for Amazon’s threatened drone delivery service. Perhaps you’ve seen it; if not, here’s the link.
This is a highly political move. Amazon isn’t selling a service it offers presently, and they can not and will not be able to in the near-future. Right now, the service Amazon is proposing is illegal, at least here in the States. The Senate is considering laws that would render such commercial use impractical – proposed by my very own Connecticut Senator Richard Blumenthal – by prohibiting such craft from flying above 400 feet. You will note Clarkson quite specifically states “400 feet” in the promotional video. If passed, this is bad news for Amazon.
The purpose of Amazon’s video production is to create a demand for their half-hour drone delivery service, a demand that they hope will be so strong the politicians will be swayed from their jobs of protecting the public. I know, it’s hard to imagine such people selling out the electorate to extend the interests of corporate America.
Of course, Blumenthal is a Democrat so it’s likely his bill will go nowhere, or, more likely, be eclipsed by a Republican bill making Amazon Prime Drone Delivery mandatory for the shipment of firearms and ammunition.
Personally, I think Amazon is barking up the wrong tree. The first time they drop a package through the wrong person’s roof, that great American is going to pick up one of his many high-powered weapons and shoot one of those delivery birds right out of the sky. As we know from our cultural history, this quickly would start a fad akin to shining laser pointers into the eyes of airplane pilots, which has been quite the rage for several years now.
If I’m going to lust for an airborne delivery service, I’m going to call Planet Express. I trust Hubert Farnsworth a lot more than I trust Jeremy Clarkson.
Several decades ago the American comics medium in general – and Marvel Comics in specific – were criticized by some in fandom for being overly formulaic. I realize it is possible for a few fannish souls to overreact, but I have to admit there was an element of truthiness in their concern.
Today we can clearly see a contemporary incarnation of this issue. Not that plotlines are being rubber-stamped; slavish adherence to ever-shifting continuity undermines such creative shortcuts. No, today we are suffering from a different sort of redundancy: overexposure to such a degree that most truly successful superhero characters have become akin to amoebas.
I was just thumbing through the sundry Diamond catalogs announcing comics and related effluvia ostensibly set to ship this coming February. Out of convenience and a desire to meet my deadline, I am going to focus on Marvel’s output – but DC, and to a lesser extent other superhero publishers, are also guilty of sequential overexposure.
This coming February, Marvel is supposed to be shipping (in the unlikely event that my math is correct) no less than three Captain Marvel books, seven Avengers titles, four Deadpools, seven X-Men, three Inhumans titles, six featuring the Guardians of the Galaxy…
… and no less than fifteen titles featuring Spider-Man and his Spiderverse. Fifteen. Back when people were criticizing Marvel for recycling plots, they didn’t publish fifteen different titles a month! I guess that’s pretty damn good for a character that can’t even hold onto a major movie franchise.
Of course, the sundry Spideys also appear in various Avengers titles, as do most if not all of the aforementioned properties. And many of the other Avengers like Iron Man, The Hulk, Thor, and Captain America have their own titles as well.
It is true that this sort of thing has been going on for a long, long time. Maybe not quite as long as it may seem to geriatric fans who recall Superman appearing in seven different titles in the late 1950s (Superman, Action Comics, Superboy, Adventure Comics, World’s Finest, Lois Lane, and Jimmy Olsen), but only two of those were published monthly. The rest were published bi-monthly or every six weeks. Still, five titles a month is a lot. Fortunately, continuity was weak at best and if you had an aversion to pill-box hats you could safely avoid Lois Lane (and her omnipresent scissors) and still understand what was going on in the other titles.
However, we have not previously seen such character redundancy to this degree. Not even when the original Captain Marvel and his family were featured in eight different titles back in the 1940s. Not all were monthlies, although the Big Red Cheese did see his own book go out every three weeks for a spell. Then again, in February at least two Spider-Man titles double-ship, and, for the record, February 2016 only has four ship weeks. It’s pretty rare that Leap Year Day falls on a Wednesday.
So, why is this a problem? Well, if you’re a massive Spider-Man fan, it might not be. However, ComicMix columnist Emily S. Whitten is a proud Deadpool fan, but having a job, a life, and a commitment to writing one of the best comics and pop culture columns on the Interwebs, so even Emily has a hard time keeping up with the nutty merc.
This is a problem because it undermines the uniqueness of the character. It’s called overexposure. We used to have three or four Punisher titles; in February 2016 Marvel won’t be releasing a single one.
Sure, as I said, all this goes for DC as well. They’ve been pushing Batman titles out as though they were Cheerios, and they out-X-Men the X-Men by having several thousand different characters all named Green Lantern.
At least Image only produces one Bitch Planet a month… and that’s on a good month. A very good month, in my opinion, but your mileage may vary.
I was walking through Grand Central Terminal yesterday on my way to one of our more entertaining ComicMix senior staff meetings. Grand Central is my favorite place in all of New York City – the massive cathedral ceilings, the stunning pre-Great War architecture, the clean and open lanes for pedestrian traffic… It’s really very inspiring, and, indeed, I was inspired to write this particular column.
For absolutely no reason whatsoever, I started thinking about Superman’s adolescence. Oh, I was influenced by the first issue of Max Landis’s Superman: Alien American, a solid and worthy start to the mini-series. But that, in turn, reminded me of some of my favorite Superboy stories from my ancient and decrepit youth – those where Pa Kent patiently taught his son how to manage, deploy and exacerbate his Kryptonian powers.
Those were sweet stories with which most members of its target audience could identify. Our parents were busy teaching us how to ride our bikes, build model planes and monsters, and make decisions based upon common sense and not on impulse. Learning how to fly was just one step beyond.
We already knew that young Clark would make it into adulthood, but discovering the hows and the whys was quite comforting. However, given the Comics Code Authority as well as the marketing sentiments of the time, there were areas undocumented in Superboy and in Adventure Comics.
I am speaking of the dreadful but necessary curse of puberty, and I am addressing this subject from the perspective of boys in the very early Sixties. Girls had their own crosses to bare, but neither Clark nor I are in any position to comment from experience. I’d say something like “but I can only imagine” but that would be really creepy.
Obviously, Clark would start growing hair in places previously barren of foliage. Being smart than the average bear, he would have understood this and probably feel he was becoming a man. But those are super-hormones kicking in. That would be particularly messy, and it could have been rather dangerous to his family, to the farm animals, and to the buildings on the Kent Farm property. We’re better off not knowing. For one thing, the cover shot would be against Code.
As puberty intrudes, Clark’s voice would start to change. To be specific, it would crack. I do not know what sort of impact such cracking sound would have on nearby windows, champagne glasses, eardrums… think of the Grateful Dead using a chalkboard as a heavily amplified musical instrument. Before long, his voice would settle down into a nice adult groove, but I think Clark might “keep” his pre-puberty voice for Clark and his post-puberty voice for the Man of Steel. Hey, it worked for Bud Collyer (pictured above), the first actor to play the role on radio and in the Fleisher cartoons.
He’s also go through rather amazing growth spurts that would wreck havoc with Clark’s civilian clothing and the Kent family budget. All parents go through this, but not on a Kryptonian scale. He’d shred his clothes and shoes, and probably confuse the hell out of Krypto.
Of course, if Clark was a typical American Earthling entering adolescence – and he was raised to be just that – that X-Ray vision would help him get though many a dark night. No need for him to smuggle in copies of Playboy and Caviler. But, being raised in Kansas by caring members of society, I would think that Clark would quickly understand that with great hormones comes great guilt.
At least I’d hope so.
A few years later, The Who would record “I Can See for Miles.” Well, Clark could do that already. Would his concern for his secret identity stop him from reacting to Lana Lang slipping out with Pete Ross? I doubt it.
Being of that age, Clark would quietly use his powers to turn that date into the road show for Carrie. He’d stop Pete and any other potential suitors cold. If Clark Kent were Reggie Mantle, Archie Andrews would be a priest.
Thankfully, Clark Kent is not Peter Pan. I’m sure he would endeavor to do the right thing. But, puberty is a bitch… and high school is worse. All this is in preparation for one single event.
The most disturbing thing that happened to me in comics – non-violent, that is – occurred more than 30 years ago during the early days of the real First Comics. In fact, it didn’t even happen to me directly. It happened to then-associate editor Rick Oliver. That’s how disturbing it was to me.
We had published a story, damned if I remember what it was, about evil robots doing what evil robots do – murdering humans and generally raising a ruckus. That’s been a popular theme over the years, and if you think about it that’s just what Stephen Hawking, Elon Musk and Bill Gates were talking about last August when they were talking about the dangers of artificial intelligence. As an aside, any time that kind of brain trust agrees on anything, I pay attention. But I digress.
A gentleman called us quite perturbed that we published such a story. Actually, perturbed isn’t quite the right phrase. Hysterical would be more accurate. He went apeshit because we did a story that violated (actually, ignored) Isaac Asimov’s Three Laws of Robotics. In case you’re not up on such things, those laws go exactly like this:
A robot may not injure a human being or, through inaction, allow a human being to come to harm. A robot must obey orders given it by human beings except where such orders would conflict with the First Law. A robot must protect its own existence as long as such protection does not conflict with the First or Second Law.
An admirable plot device, and Dr. Asimov held to it consistently for decades… in his fiction. Fiction. He never said it was science fact. Actually, he did say he wasn’t the guy who came up with it, that it was something writer/editor John C. Campbell said to him in December of 1940. On the other hand, Editor Campbell claimed that Author Asimov already had the Three Laws in his mind. But I digress. Again.
If this were an in-person conversation at a comic book or a science fiction convention, the caller would have been arrested and taken to a mental ward for observation. Seriously; he was that upset. When Rick told me about the call, I had newfound gratitude for Alexander Graham Bell.
Most of us understand that there are whack jobs out there (I’m sorry I don’t recall the politically correct phrase for “whack jobs”), and we’ve all seen more than a few hanging out around our Great Comic Book Donut Shop. This gentleman didn’t recognize that the Three Laws were merely a good idea and a great fictional plot device. Hell, he didn’t even recognize we had yet to create robots that are useful enough to need the Three Laws. Today, even drones have human controllers.
He desperately needed to get a life… and probably some lithium. But he represents a danger that we see in all of us who are passionate about our hobbies. You see this sort of thing at media conventions all the time – fans who are disappointed that actors aren’t as familiar with their work as they are. Plenty of times I’ve heard fans say that one actor or another was stupid (or worse) because he/she/it didn’t remember some minutia from a teevee series from many years past.
So. Why am I reminded about this now?
Simple. The fourth Republican debate was on teevee last night.
Quentin Tarantino, one of our most popular heroic fantasy movie writer/directors, has pissed off the nation’s police community with police unions in Chicago, Houston, Los Angeles, New Jersey, New York and Philadelphia as well as the National Association of Police Organizations (NAPO) calling for a boycott of his work.
These sundry organizations were joined by Quentin’s own father, Tony Tarantino. “I love my son and have great respect for him as an artist but he is dead wrong in calling police officers, particularly in New York City where I grew up, murderers.” Wow, I guess Thanksgiving at the Tarantino house is going to be one fun-filled laugh epic.
According to the statement on NAPO’s website, “We ask officers to stop working special assignments or off-duty jobs, such as providing security, traffic control or technical advice for any of Tarantino’s projects … We need to send a loud and clear message that such hateful rhetoric against police officers is unacceptable.
“As a high profile figure, Tarantino’s language is utterly irresponsible, particularly at a time when the nation is seeing increasing and persistent calls for the killing of officers,” NAPO uttered. “Anti-police rhetoric like Tarantino’s threatens the safety of police and citizens alike. The police he is calling murderers are the same officers who were present along the protest route to ensure the safety of protesters, who provide security when he is filming, and who put their lives on the line to protect our communities day in and day out.”
Holy crap. What did Tarantino actually say? Maybe it was more the venue than the language. At the New York City Black Lives Matter rally on October 24, Tarantino discussed the recent horrific wave of killings of primarily unarmed young black people at the hands of our boys and girls in blue, many of which have been videotaped. What he said was “This is not being dealt with in any way at all. That’s why we are out here. If it was being dealt with, then these murdering cops would be in jail or at least be facing charges. When I see murders, I do not stand by. I have to call a murder a murder, and I have to call the murderers the murderers.”
Like most of us, Tarantino has seen the videos and he has expressed an informed opinion. He did not call for the blanket conviction of these officers; he asked that we treat police under such suspicion the same way we treat everybody else. Well, maybe not all white people, but that’s different topic. Note that the director did not say all police, or even any police committed these killings. But that’s not the only outright lie being told by the NAPO.
They also repeat the overworked meme that there’s a national conspiracy of individuals who are wantonly killing police officers. This is not true and, in fact, on-the-job slayings of cops is bordering on a 40-year low.
Sometimes people with shallow imaginations protesting these types of police actions compare the cops to Nazis (to which even Lenny Bruce responded “Nazis? I’m the mailman, motherfucker!”) But this reaction to those who stand up against police violence is right out of the Joseph Goebbels’ playbook. And just watch that sentence get taken out of context.
On the other hand, ever since the incidents in Ferguson Missouri early last August, many cops have been forced to wear television cameras to record their behavior. Because of this, many have cut back on their activities in protest. Because of that, crime has gone up in recent months. It’s as if the petulant police are saying “If you don’t let us do whatever we want, we’ll do nothing at all.” While staying on the public payroll, I might add.
Of course, these cameras cut both ways and can be – and have been – used to exonerate cops from bullshit complaints of police brutality. Nonetheless, police are sworn to uphold the law and the constitution, and that includes those troublesome provisions for freedom of expression and assembly. Historically, they’ve had a great many incidents of difficulty with this concept.
I’ll be at the opening of Tarantino’s next movie, The Hateful 8, in Manhattan on Christmas, the movie’s opening day. I don’t think I will be alone, but I do suspect I’ll be crossing a police picket line before I get my popcorn. The movie goes national the following week.
Quentin Tarantino did not call all cops murderers, nor did he call for the killing of cops. But there is sufficient evidence that a few are murderers and should be investigated.
By the way. As it turns out, Quentin Tarantino has not killed any unarmed black kids.
I hate being bored, so over the years I’ve managed to shorten my attention span to the point when the good stuff runs out, so do I. Therefore, from time to time I have a little to say about a lot of things. For example:
DC / Warner Bros finally gave credit where credit has long been due: appending Bill Finger’s name to Bob Kane’s as the men who made Batman a Day-One success. It is marvelously ironic that the first time I’d seen the “Created by Bob Kane with Bill Finger” line was on Cartoon Network’s Robot Chicken DC Comics Special 3: Magical Friendship, which, for the record, I enjoyed – certainly a lot more than the second one. Hawkman vs Robot Chicken? Priceless. Anyway, Bill’s name is supposed to be deployed in similar fashion on all future Batman stuff, including their electronic comics (left). It’s about time. And lawyers. And egos.
I’m looking forward to Marvel’s upcoming Red Wolf series, even though it clearly indulges in usually needless future-continuity winks such as Sheriff Steve Rogers and Mayor Wilson Fisk. Nonetheless, I’ve always been amused to see the standard Marvel heroic fantasy from the standpoint of earlier times – 1872, in this case, or World War I or whathaveyou. Our ComicMix pal John Ostrander has written more than a few of these for Marvel and they always conveyed a sense of fun. Same thing with Howard Chaykin. Red Wolf might be a little-remembered Marvel character – as was the Phantom Eagle – and I have no doubt there likely will be some sort of SHIELD reference. OK, that’s part of the fabric of the Marvel Comics Universe and sometimes it’s difficult to by-pass the opportunity to get cute. If this new series is half as much fun as Skottie Young’s variant cover (right), it’ll be completely worthwhile.
Hey, Supergirl teevee producers! If you actually say the word “Superman” on your television show, just who is going to sue you? Warner Bros? Well, actually, I know one producer who wound up being sued by his own company, so I shouldn’t be quite so sarcastic. But, hell, I am who I am. After a while going so far out of your way to not say “Superman” takes the viewer out the story. If you don’t want to say Superman, you shouldn’t be allowed to use the Big Red S. It was very conspicuous by its absence. And annoying.
On the other hand, I’m surprised I’m enjoying Gotham so much this season. I was ambivalent about it after the end of the first season, but two weeks into this season ComicMix columnist Marc Alan Fishman said I should check it out. He was right: the show improved significantly, particularly with respect to Bruce Wayne and Jim Gordon. Of course, the addition of Michael Chiklis to the cast as Gordon’s boss also added to the fun. The story itself ebbs and flows and is too often carried by bravura performances by Chiklis, Sean Pertwee and Robin Lord Taylor – not to mention Carol Kane, who is a national treasure. But it’s fun.
Ed Catto did a wonderful tribute to Murphy Anderson in this space a few days ago, and I second each of his statements. I’d like to bring to your attention his work on a different piece of our modern history. The very first issue of Ms. Magazine featured a story abut Wonder Woman, a worthy idea for the start of America’s first mass-market feminist magazine. The cover featured one of the best Wonder Woman pieces I’ve seen. This cover (left) was penciled and inked by my old friend, Murphy Anderson. Of course we will miss him, and of course he left us with a lifetime of wonderful artwork. A true master of our medium.
She is, rightfully, symbolic of strong women who can take care of themselves, stand up for themselves, and help others – men and women alike – do the same. These are very good things. She started out before America entered World War II, so you can’t really attribute “Rosie the Riveter” juju to her origins: she was created at a time when most strong women were to be found in movies, and by then almost always in front of the camera and not behind it.
To be sure, there were plenty of other women super-heroes in comics. Some were spin-offs or sidekicks to male superheroes – Mary Marvel, Bulletgirl and the original Hawkgirl come to mind – but others were stand-alone creations: the original Black Widow (1940), Phantom Lady (1941), the original Black Cat (1942), Liberty Belle (1943), and my personal favorite, Miss Fury (1941), the only one of the bunch that was created, written and drawn by an actual woman. Wonder Woman thrived and was the principle reason DC Comics bought All-American Publications for the simplest and best of reasons: she was the most fully realized of them all.
But in lesser hands than those of her creators, she encountered her own glass ceiling.
Wonder Woman got her start in All-Star Comics #8, December 1941, as a nine-page feature backing up the usual Justice Society of America story. It was a bonus for the readers, as pages were added to the issue for the story. No mention was made of any of this on the cover. One month later, her series debuted in Sensation Comics #1 and she was so popular she was awarded her own title several months later.
She would return to All-Star Comics in 1942 when the Justice Society guys voted her in as their first female member, something long denied to Hawkgirl or Liberty Belle or even Merry, Girl of 1,000 Gimmicks (don’t ask). This was only a few months after the publication of Wonder Woman #1, and only 10 months after her debut appearance in All-Star.
Talk about the fast track. But, sadly, it was the fast track to that glass ceiling.
Wonder Woman joined the Justice Society not as a full-fledged member, but… wait for it… as the Society’s secretary.
No shit. While the readers’ moms were working at the defense plant, the phenomenally popular super-heroine was relegated to taking notes about the adventures enjoyed by the men. In fact, just like Rosie the Riveter her position was only guaranteed “for the duration of the war.”
Whereas she occasionally played an enhanced role in the story, Wonder Woman did not become a fully active member of the team until All-Star Comics #38, December 1947, six years after her debut in the same title. Coincidently, that story also offered a guest-shot from Black Canary, who was asked to deliver a message (“everybody else in the JSA is dead”) to Wonder Woman. In turn, WW picked up the bodies of her fellow JSA members – her fellow JSA fellows – and brought them back to life using the Amazon’s Purple Ray, a staple in the Wonder Woman series.
Amusingly, it was Black Canary who saved the JSA members at the end of the story. As a reward… no, she wasn’t made the new secretary… she was given the team’s thanks and a nice pat on the back and was made an honorary member. Three issues later, Black Canary finally was given full membership.
When the Justice League of America debuted in 1960, Wonder Woman was there as a fully involved member of the team. I’d say this represented progress, and I guess it did but those initial stories only had five fighting members of the team, Superman and Batman being “too busy” to join in the fun. That only left four other DC superheroes plus Wonder Woman. But there was no relegation to second-class status for the iconic heroine… and that does represent progress.
It would be a while until women were regularly involved in creating Wonder Woman’s stories, not to mention those of the other DC superheroes which were expanding like amoebas. But, hey, Eisenhower was president. The New Frontier didn’t start until the following year.
My boy Marvin Haynes and I just knew we were going to get caught, go to jail if lucky, get shot if not.
Nassau County in Long Island New York once (maybe still) had the highest paid police force in the country. Some of the homes in the Five Towns area of the county were so grand as a young child I thought they were department stores. That highly paid police force made sure nary a worry would the residents of Inwood, Lawrence, Cedarhurst, Woodmere, and Hewlett have.
There was very little crime in Nassau County and no black people. The only place you would see people of color in Five Towns were the shopping malls or the cotton fields. Cotton fields? Can’t say I ever saw them, but I was born free.
Give that a second…
This was a community African Americans were not welcome in and the towns made no attempt to hide that. The city council must have been high when they green lit a shopping mall that featured low cost anchor stores black people loved. Most likely they were unaware that black people could read or perhaps figured we wouldn’t
But I think they were high.
Mays, Times Square Stores, (TSS.)and Korvettes were Mecca to poor black people back in the day. Throw in a Robert Hall store and poor black people living in the hood would gladly travel a great distance at least once in their lives to shop there. The funny thing is poor black people lived rather close to Nassau County but distance does not equality make.
Marvin and I lived in Far Rockaway Queens or as we called it, the Rock. He lived in Redfern, I was from Edgemere. Both were housing projects in different hoods and if you were from one you didn’t even think about going to the other.
Think, Hatfield’s and McCoy’s, Crips and Bloods, Yankees and Red Sox, Ted Cruz and a clue.
Five Towns was surprisingly close to both of us. That’s because for some reason Far Rockaway is considered Queens and not Long Island. That’s mighty curious considering you have to pass Nassau County to get to Far Rockaway coming from most places in NYC. Just the name alone, Far Rockaway, would make those unaware of its location assume Long Island.
I wonder if it has something to do with all the poor people of color living there and Long Island property values. Far fetched? Maybe, but consider the world famous Beverly Hills California street Rodeo Drive. It’s pronounced ro-DAY-o. Fun Fact: Rodeo Drive runs from Beverly Hill all the way to the hood. However, where working people of color live it’s no longer Rodeo Drive (ro-DAY-o Drive), it’s now simply rodeo and its pronounced rodeo, as in bucking broncos and the like. That must be because of all those black cowboys who live there.
Whatever.
Marvin and I met at Five Towns that cold September Saturday night to have our first meal as future Masters of the Universe. There were no suitable eateries for such a moment where we lived, so it was off to Long Island.
That night became the most important night of my life up to that point. That evening we changed from boys to men and did so in the belly of the all-white beast. That night we faced down the beast that had wrought our lives in the past by limiting our future.
That was the night the future became our future. That September we became who we are today. So much happened that night but I remember it all without much help from my journals. I can’t believe how crisp in memory that night is to me still, It seems that night was both forever ago and yesterday.
Oh, and we robbed a white boy.
Yeah, we robbed a white boy, that’s why we were running. We crossed Rockaway Blvd at breakneck speed. It’s a miracle we didn’t actually break our necks. My cousin, Ronnie, had both legs broken when he tried that stunt a few years earlier. That was forefront in my mind. So why risk being crippled or perhaps death?
Let’s see, arrested in Five Towns or death?
No contest.
Our destination was Mays and its connected mall. That’s if by some divine miracle we made it, we figured we could lose ourselves amongst all the other black people there. But two black kids alone and outside in Five Towns we had no chance and we knew that.
I’m sure there were and are people in Long Island that welcome African Americans as they would any other American with respect and kindness. I know because I met one a long time ago… on that very night.
Rockaway Blvd. is a massive street, 4 lanes of traffic heavy with cars, the preferred route to JFK airport and the two massive shopping centers positioned on opposite sides of the Blvd. We were now across (thank you, Jesus!) the Blvd. and the bright red neon lights of Mays lit the way to our escape route, its connected mall.
We stopped running and resisting the urge to skip in happiness as we approached the welcoming doors of Mays. About 20 feet from the entrance the door opened and an officer appeared walkie-talkie in hand. He held the door and motioned us in… shit.
Part 2. Take The A Train
Two Years Earlier…
It was my first day at the High School of Art & Design. I didn’t know anyone, nor did I care. This was the first day of a true to life dream come true. From that moment in 6th grade when I was told there was a high school where you could study art I was determined to be admitted there.
I have never wanted anything so bad before or after. It was at Art & Design I started to develop a keen sense of my own life and what would be important to me. Somehow, I knew those scant years I spent at A&D would be the best years of my life, and they have been.
I was filled with joy but I was also a kid from Edgemere so when I met this Marvin from Redfern I was on guard. Edgemere and Redfern were always at war and I had to represent the best I could.
We unofficially met on the walk from the Lexington Ave 59 St. Subway Station. But I noticed him when I made the switch from the A Train at Broadway Nassau to the 5 Train. You tend to notice people from other Hoods more when you are away from yours.
Before long it was obvious we were going to the same place, but neither of us said anything to the other. This was our ritual for about two weeks. He would get on at the beginning of the line, Far Rockaway Mott Ave. Four stops later I would get on at Beach 60th Street.
Our official meeting came on a cold winter’s day when I had taken train back to Mott Ave. There was a little chance of me getting a seat at 60th street and in the cold of a Far Rockaway winter I wasn’t the only person backtracking to Mott Ave. There were so many people doing it the odds of Mott Ave. riders getting a seat was greatly reduced as well.
At Mott there were a ton of people waiting to get into the car. Marvin was one of the first into the car, on impulse moved my backpack off the seat next to me to allow him to sit down. “Thanks” and “Sure” were our first words exchanged.
Before long we had worked out a system. Depending on the time of year it was pretty easy to figure out when the seating situation would warrant action. To that end I’d save Marvin a seat if I backtracked and he’d save me a seat if I didn’t.
We soon became good, no, great friends.
The day Marvin told me he was a Fashion major, I was amazed at how much I’d grown since entering A&D. My first Redfern friend and he was gay on top of that!
To my surprise I had no problem with it. Up to that moment I’d spent my entire life thinking gay meant faggot and that meant sissy, punk, homo, pussy and assorted other names I’d knock a motherfucker out today for calling any of my gay friends such.
Back then I was a product of my environment. The atmosphere today in the black inner city is not much better and the black church isn’t helping much. But that’s another story someone can bitch about having no superheroes in.
It wasn’t until I saw Marvin leaving the 5th floor bathroom heading towards the up staircase to return to his 7th floor class, I learned he wasn’t a homosexual. “Why didn’t you just use the 7th floor bathroom?” Marvin stopped, looked at me then he started laughing. “Good one, Mike.”
At Art & Design, the 7th floor restrooms were unofficially reserved for homosexuals.
This was part of the magic of the High School of Art & Design. Two black kids from warring hoods could become the best of friends, a tradition of stupid prejudices wiped away in a few weeks and life long friendships you would know were going to be just that, life long friends.
One of the happiest and saddest days of my life was the same day. My graduation day was so bittersweet, even now thinking about it I’m moved from a huge smile to tears. It was that day Marvin and I decided we would not drift away as friends. So, a few months later there we were in Five Towns enjoying what, to both of us, was our first ‘adult’ meal at a real restaurant. Beefsteak Charlie’s was an upscale eatery as any Marvin and I had ever encountered.
Our waiter was Jim, a white boy not much older than we were. Jim explained the menu items, but patrons who were getting up, placing some money on the table and leaving without so much as a goodbye to the woman at the cash register. Their waiter or the guy who leads you to your seats captivated both of us.
This was a culture shock like no other. There was no way we would even think about rolling out like that in the places we eat at in the hood. After the novelty had worn off and Marvin and I settled down for our first mature feast and it was what we thought it would be. All the talking on the phone about our new lives as college men and our bright future seemed to truly be within our grasp.
Then Stevie Wonder ruined everything.
Part 3. Songs In The Key Of Life
Long before Twitter, Facebook, Google, or even the Internet, word of mouth was the social network. Without a doubt the biggest buzz in every hood (it seemed) all over the world was the release of Songs In The Key Of Life that very day.
As if the world knew it would be, it became Stevie Wonder’s masterpiece.
Once Marv and I got on that subject we talked of little else. “Man, if we didn’t have dinner we could have brought the album…”
And that, boys and girls, is how Marvin and I ended up running across Rockaway Blvd after ripping off Jim at Beefsteak Charlie’s. To this day whose idea it was to fold a single five dollar bill so it appeared to be a few five dollar bills, making a false run to the bathroom, which was inches away from the entrance, then calmly walking out only to brake into a crazy run as soon as we were out the door, has been the subject of the longest debate of my life.
Marvin swore it was mine and I swore the idea was his.
I could tell you precisely who came up with what part of our master plan from memory and Marvin could also. This was part of our routine. We would embellish the story each time we talked. After a while all it took was one word from the story such as Mays or Jim to crack us up. Man, that story never got old and never ceased to get a laugh from each other or whomever we told it to.
Laughing was the last thing on our minds when the officer holding the door open at Mays said, “The store’s about to close, you guys better hurry up.” Hurry up? Hurry up and get arrested? When we got to the door the cop turned out to be a security guard who was locking the doors because Mays was closing.
He wasn’t looking for us. It seemed no one was looking for us.
“I saw you guys jet across the freeway, whatever you want must be important. “ Marvin and I could not believe our luck. That luck continued when Songs In The Key Of Life was on sale.
Around 11 pm Marvin called my house to see if I had gotten home, I had. The bus we took from Five Towns let his lucky ass off right in front of Redfern. I still had a decent click to go. He had already started playing the album and I soon joined him while still on the phone. This was the back in day, Google Hangout.
We talked about the evenings adventure and our laughter would always peak when we talked about Jim. Jim the white waiter, Jim, whom two black kids from the hood ripped off. No idea at what time of the morning Jim stopped being funny or when Marvin and I realized we were better than that “from the hood” shit.
The High School of Art & Design made us much better than that so the next day we went back with Jim’s money. Jim was off but the lady at the cash register remembered us and knew exactly why we had come back. She put the money in an envelope, wrote Jim’s name on it and placed it in the register. She did this with a huge smile on her face the entire time.
She’s the reason I know there are people in Long Island who see black people as equals. Her boss on the other hand came at us like a mad man. He refused to listen to his cashier and demanded we wait for the police. Art & Design aside, we were still two kids from Edgemere and Redfern. In mid-rant he realized his situation when Marv and I stepped in his direction he stopped screaming.
“Tell Jim we’re sorry.” Marvin and I said to both the manager and cashier then we were out. We walked to the bus stop but then decided to just walk the rest of the way to Redfern. I’d get the bus from there. Best walk I ever had. I began the walk as a boy by the time I reached my house I knew I was a man.
Marv and I were true to our word and stayed in touch. There were pockets of time when we fell out of contact for a bit but never for long. He was the first of my A&D family to come to L.A. to see me. Years later he asked me to look after his daughter Ashli when she got to L.A. She’s an awesome actress and as Marv is like a family to me, she is also.
Ashli called me a few months ago and ripped me apart on a matter. Although, I didn’t agree with her reasoning, the last thing I should have done was debate her, but I did.
Bad, bad move.
She caught me pissed and feeling sorry for myself so I did what I do when that happens, I react like I don’t give a fuck and usually I don’t but she’s family and I should have been better. Yes, I’m dealing with severe depression but that isn’t any excuse. My illness is no excuse for anything except damage done to me. I know that shit. I wondered if I should have run the conversation by Marvin but I decided against it. I figured I’d call him after offering Ashli my apologies. I’m smart enough to wait until I’m better suited to handle disputes with people I care about so I haven’t yet.
Once it works itself out, I’ll call Marv and we’ll have a good laugh.
I haven’t been laughing much lately. I could do with the always-hilarious trip back to Five Towns via Memory Lane.
I’ll see Marv on Memory Lane many times in the future but we won’t make any more trips there together. My friend, my brother, my boy, Marvin Aaron Haynes, passed from this earth Oct. 1st 2015.
That was over two weeks ago. Since then I’ve done little but write this and write my shrink a check.
So much for my weekly return to Bleeding Cool, ComicMix and life as I knew it.
Earlier I joshed about someone bitching about no superheroes or for that matter comic’s related fodder in what is now the longest single article I’ve ever written.
Fair enough.
I went to A&D to become a cartoonist ended up never taking cartooning. I went another way. Those types of things are to me infinitely more interesting and informative than another, you can see Spiderwoman’s ass cheeks article. Yes, these are personal insights and not for everyone but there are plenty of people who write for everyone.
I write for those who want to see beyond the narrative of an article. An artist’s work is his life and my art, regardless of the medium, is fueled by events from my life. This particular event was to be the backstory for the Static Shock / Rocket, Milestone graphic novel, ‘the roof, the roof is on fire’ I wrote more than 20 years ago for the original Milestone.
It was to be Vigil’s coming of age story taking place in the future. When I was part of M2.0 I was going to revisit and update it. Now I’d consider doing that with M2.0 but I’m done waiting for answers.
Lastly I write for those out there who want to do what I’ve been lucky enough to. To achieve any level of success those who mentor, advise and teach you must share more than what any book or website can teach you. They must share real life facts about any profession in all its gritty reality. That goes especially for those who mentor black kids. Tell them the truth warts and all. I’m sharing this for everyone who has a person in his or her lives there the moment you became you and regardless of who you become they accept that person.
Hopefully that person not only shares that moment but also joins you in it. Like Marv and me. The following is just for Marvin but you’re welcome to read it.
Marvin,
Only love could get me back to Rockaway, and I loved you but damn Negro, could you have waited a click? You knew long before my bout with depression how much i dread flying. Once I was diagnosed, flying was something even my shrink said was a bad idea. Dude, because it was you, I brought a plane ticket and reserved a hotel room for the trip back to Rockaway for your New York memorial. You know I’ve much respect for those who live and work in the Rock, I’m from Edgemere and proud of it. That said the Rock took half of my family, so I’d just as well stay the fuck away.
Sunday night I arrive at LAX and all is well. Checking in, finding my gate and boarding could not be easier and as luck would have it, I’m in an exit row. You looking out for me, Aaron? Yeah, it took a while but you knew I’d call you the ‘A’ name before I saw you again.
Now about seeing you again…a funny thing happened on the plane. I started to have a panic attack the moment my ass touched the seat. I left the plane, left my luggage, laptop and meds, exited the terminal, and went to my car and for the next hour cried like a little girl.
I thought you’d like that. Yeah, I cried, Negro, you would have also, that was a brand new Mac.
Our friends at Marvel Comics have informed the world that “the biggest Marvel event of all time” will come to an end four weeks from today, on January 13, 2016.
But most all of the cats are out of the bag, and the one or two left in were clearly in need of kitty litter. Once you blow the ending in many dozen comics that precede the finish, you’ve got no finish. Just one long, nicely illustrated footnote.
