Category: Michael Davis

Michael Davis: The Problem With Jaden

Jaden Smith

With the possible exception of the Black Panther, no other black franchise has garnered as much “it’s going to be a major movie or TV show” hype within the fan rumor mill than Static Shock. Finally the Black Panther is going to happen. As for Static Shock … kinda.

In 2018 the Black Panther movie will be released from what is now the best superhero moviemaker bar none, Marvel Studios. Static will make his way to the Internet as part of Warner Bros’ Digital arm later this year.

I find that rather disappointing.

More than any other black property, Static pretty much already owns the Internet. The massive amount of love Static has on the net is nothing short of extraordinary. In the 22 years since Static burst on the scene the admiration for the character has only grown and at no point shows signs of waiving.

That’s simply remarkable and considering the half of a half ass way Warner Bros. has “supported” the franchise. Unbelievable. I will concede, on one hand it makes perfect sense to exploit the immense allure Static enjoys on the net.

But…

On the other hand, Static is the only African American superhero with the overwhelming popularity created by African Americans and boy would it be nice to see him with a couple zillion dollars budget on the big screen or just a billion dollar budget on television.

Two white guys, Marv Wolfman and Gene Colan created Blade and I’m happy to say, Marv’s like family. I said as much to a sold out crowd at The Magic Johnson Theater on Blade’s opening night. When his name appeared in the credits, I could not control myself (story of my life). I leaped up and clapped like a maniac.

“What you clapping for?” Said a rather large black guy who was not amused at my outburst. Imagine that, someone pissed in a black theater over a loud outburst! Silly me, I should have remembered to only shout out during the movie.

“I know him.” I said, while eyeing the exits.

“Yeah? Is he a brother?” He retorted. Then I realized everybody black was now paying attention and except for a white girl some idiot had brought with him, everybody was black. Shit, I had to think fast…

“Yeah.” I said trying to sound hard. “He’s my brother.”

Big smile from the big guy and cheers from the audience. I sat down and my date put her arm around me. “Yo, white girl, what you doing?” I said as I took her arm from around my neck and whispered, “Hey, here’s some cash, take a cab back to my place.”

What?

Todd McFarlane created Spawn…Oh! Some of y’all didn’t know Spawn was black? Yep. Al Simmons, Todd’s black pal, was the real life inspiration for Al Simmons a.k.a. Spawn. I guess that means Spawn is no longer in the running for the Tea Party’s favorite comic book character.

Todd’s a friend, and as far as I know still white. Cyborg is another character from my brother Marv and George Pérez. George’s a great guy also a friend and he’s Latino. That’s close, but not black.

Luke Cage was created by Archie Goodwin and John Romita Sr. Both white guys, both part of comic book, each a dear friend. Archie gave me my first professional job in comics and when I met John I quickly forgot how I planed to kidnap him and hold him until Marvel brought back Gwen Stacy, my second love after Laurie Partridge.

What??

So, I had a thing for white girls! Get over it. I did!

Archie died in 1998, leaving a comic book legacy that will stand forever. He’s still widely regarded as the best-loved comic book editor, ever.

Sabre was created by Don McGregor and Paul Gulacy. Both white guys … sort of. Don’s so cool he could be black.

Don means the world to me so much so I’d take a bullet for him. He’s a wonderful writer (one of the best) and just as wonderful a person. I’ve never met Paul but he’s on a very short list of artist I wanted to draw like at one time.

There’s a few more famous black superheroes but trust me all were created by white guys, the grand daddy of them all, the Black Panther having sprung from the two coolest white boys, nah, scratch that, the two coolest creators in comic book history, period.

Stan Lee and Jack Kirby.

Stan was and still is the man and Jack will always be the king. Stan and I used to have lunch a couple times a week. His office at Marvel productions a floor above mine at Showtime in the Westwood Los Angeles office tower at which both companies were housed. I became friends with Jack a few years before the king of comics left the building forever. Sad, sad day.

Unless one of those fantastic creators are hiding a past which includes a white sheet and a southern drawl, African Americans had no better friend in comics. Much like those in Hollywood who dared create movies and TV shows around black people that were not bellboys, slaves or servants these men fought our fight before we were allowed on the battlefield.

Imagine the sheer balls it took Columbia Pictures to green light and then distribute the ground braking film, Guess Who’s Coming To Dinner? That film, a love story about a black man and white women, is still not shown in certain parts of the south. Released in 1967 during the height of the C=civil rights movement more than a few death threats were issued.

Now, imagine its 1966 a year after the assassination of Malcolm X. There’s another side emerging from the civil rights movement. The Reverend Martin Luther King’s non-violent approach was being challenged by those who cultivated Malcolm’s original “by any means necessary” doctrine.

No group was more ready to go to war against there oppressors than the Black Panther Party.

With that as a back drop Stan and Jack create the Black Panther in 19stillhanganiggerincertainpartsofAmerica66. That takes the kind of balls reserved for those few men and women with a sense of purpose, a goal, and selfless heart.

In a very real way the sons of Stan and Jack created Static Shock. Co-created by my former Milestone Media partners and I a great deal of our inspiration was the Black Panther, Luke Cage and Stan and Gene Colan’s Falcon. As a kid seeing those Black superheroes I have no doubt they brought us where we are today, African American comic book creators.

Static Shock may not be as well known as those black heroes but without a doubt it’s the most well known black superhero created by black people. It’s time that black kids see fully what they are capable of.

Any positive black face on television or in a film is important but we all know people of color are still the stuff of, “wow there’s a black (fill in the blank)” or “the (ditto) now has a black (ditto, ditto).”

Shock and awe still accompany way too many occurrences in America when a person of color is placed in a station denied until then. Kids of color need for those occurrences to become as commonplace as images of the black thug, lazy welfare mom or absent father.

That, my friends is my long-winded reason I find a live action Static Shock debuting on the net rather disappointing. The most successful black superhero created by black people will be seen in media outlets where black kids have less access than any other group.

Not a whole lot of MacBooks in the hood. Hell, not a whole lot of any book or computers. If there is a computer the odds are it’s the family computer. Everyone having their own is about as realistic as Ted Cruz giving a fuck about poor people.

Why Warner Bros. Consumer Products never made Static Shock toys when the cartoon was a mega hit is just as curious to me as to why Static has never been a movie or why a live action version can’t be on television.

Speaking of the live action version, there’s been a pretty hot rumor flying around that Jaden Smith will be playing Static Shock. People are losing their damn minds, clearly hating on the kid because of his off screen antics or secondly saying he can’t act and he will kill the show.

Bullshit. Jaden Smith will do fine.

Reggie Hudlin is the show runner and a better person to spearhead Static I can’t think of. If Jaden sucked (he does not) there is no way he would have that gig, Will Smith or not, Reggie wouldn’t cast someone not right.

I’m amazed people who call themselves fans of Static want that kid to fail.

Newsflash, fan boys and girls. If he fails so does Static.

I know a bit about Static.

Trust me, I should know, I’m not just a co-creator I’m the lead creator having created the Static Universe as part of the Milestone Dakota Universe. Static’s world is based on life and family growing up.

Despite what you’ve read as few so-called entertainment “journalists” do any background vettes Static’s my baby. Funny, an entire lying myth has been created, a lie, based upon lazy journalism printed somewhere else and copied over and over has now become reality to most.

That “reality” doesn’t make it true.

I’m the lead creator of Static Shock. I based him on my family and my life. That’s the truth. A lie may prevent most from knowing but like global warming the truth won’t go away and neither will I.

Jaden Smith is a good actor his personal life doesn’t make him a bad actor.

That’s also the truth. Hating him for no other reason except his idiosyncrasies is the stuff of simpleminded fools. He’s not playing himself, he’s playing Virgil Hawkins, A role he was born to play, in my opinion.

The problem with Jaden isn’t his off screen antics or his haters. The problem is a great many kids he was created for won’t be able to see him until some genius at the WB realizes just how important Static is.

That may take another kind of Static.

 

Michael Davis: It’s Hard Out There For A Dick

I’m a dick.

Or more to the point, a lot of people think I’m a dick.

Most times I’m of a mind to simply dismiss those clearly inferior beings, loudly and with purpose. Not so many years ago, nothing made me happier than to double down when those who opposed me dared call my conduct uncouth or outrageous and labeled me among other things, a dick.

I didn’t start off with the intention of being a dick. I didn’t even start off trying to be in comics Oh, my greatest wish growing up in the hood was to be a comics artist.

Technically, my greatest wish was to stay alive but being a comic artist was RIGHT behind that. Well, technically it was right behind not getting hooked on drugs or getting a girl pregnant, oh and avoiding being shot.

Let’s just say this, after surviving my environment; becoming a comic book artist is all I wanted to do. That was my plan and that plan didn’t include becoming a dick.

Then my famous artist cousin had ‘the talk’ with me. “Michael.” Said my famous artist cousin; “If you become a cartoonist, you will starve and die.”

So, at the High School of Art & Design and the Pratt Institute I majored in illustration. My plan then was to become a big time illustrator.

That was my plan and that plan didn’t include becoming a dick either.

I can pinpoint the exact moment when I became said dick. (more…)

Michael Davis: The Cosmic Cube Revised: The Perfect Storm

This was originally written for ComicMix. The perfect storm of self doubt (Me??) my paranoid thoughts (yeah, that one fits) prompted me to send it to Bleeding Cool instead.

ComicMix has an article of mine sitting in its cue that’s been sitting there for weeks.

No doubt because of another perfect storm fueled by Murphy’s Law. Just one of those things I’m sure was no one’s fault.

When I saw it still wasn’t up today, my willingness to be THIS forthcoming evaporating like the last vapors of a meth pipe I pulled the trigger and sent it to Bleeding Cool instead of a kick ass article on Brotherman that will have to wait until next week.

As is my policy I don’t duplicate the same article for BC and CM but if something’s important enough to me I want it t be seen on both sites so I’ll go back and add or edit things accordingly.

I don’t see why this isn’t a common practice (is it?) attitudes and points of view change with the wind and if writers are honest and are given the chance why not go back in and write what the hours or days have brought since the original piece was written.

If by chance you’ve read this on Bleeding Cool, it’s the same article with added insight and perspective. I hope you give it a read also.

This story begins with me sitting on the floor of my bedroom. How long ago is really to chilling even for me to write so y’all will just have to use your imagination. After enduring yet another night of uncontrollable pain, fueled by severe insomnia, migraines and painful memories, I was convinced putting a bullet my head was the only way to stop the agony.

Not wanting to give up hope I started to pray. That will come as a surprise to many but I’m trying to get closer to God. Yeah, freaks me out also.

After praying for the usual, deliver me from etc, etc, I prayed for a Cosmic Cube.

Clearly I was desperate.

The Red Skull wielding the Cosmic Cube: Tales ...

The Red Skull wielding the Cosmic Cube: Tales of Suspense #80 (Aug. 1966). Cover art by Jack Kirby and Don Heck. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

For those reading this not aware of what a Cosmic Cube, is allow me to enlighten you. Captain America first encountered the Cube when fighting the Red Skull back in the good old Lee and Kirby (Stan Lee and Jack Kirby) days of the sixties.

You’re seen the cube, it’s the shiny, energy box thing in the Avengers and other Marvel movies. That’s a Cosmic Cube, although they call it some other silly ass name.

What does it do? Simple, the Cube can make anything real.

Yep, desperate.

When you’re in the kind of pain I was in it makes perfect sense to pray for something you know doesn’t exist but I wasn’t doing that. It does exist. I know, because I have one, or I did.

All I needed was a minute, hell, less than a minute with the cube and all would be right in my world. Throughout the day, no cube materialized. Nah no cube, I did however, have a gun.

(more…)

Michael Davis: Another Paige

paigeart1 peg copyDraft number one of this narrative was written not 24 hours after I met yet another amazing young lady named Paige. This draft is number 15, and at almost six months this is the longest it’s ever taken me to finish a single article.

More than two years ago, I wrote about a talented young artist whose name was also Paige.

It seems like yesterday when I met that Paige. A 14-year-old artist who so captivated me with her talent and self-possession at that young age, I wrote an entire article about her. The only other artists I’ve devoted entire articles to were Bill Sienkiewicz and Denys Cowan.

My editorial was a plea for Paige to consider comics and its related businesses as part of what will certainly be a fantastic career in art. She’s a woman, she’s black, and she’s an artist.

A Compton office for the Klan would not be as rare a combination in this industry.

What are the odds I’d meet two black girls named Paige? What are the odds that both Paige’s would be artists, beautiful, and brilliant young ladies? They even look a bit alike – although the Paige I recently met is much darker, they could fool a person or two into thinking they were related.

They have so much in common, share so much, and couldn’t be more different if one was born in outer space.

The original Paige’s story was one of a bright young artist without a care in the world. Her smile as bright as the sun, her story and future a happy one. This Paige’s story is not a happy one, her future is anyone’s guess and her smile is dim and sad.

I talk a lot of smack – some think my smack is spun hype. It’s not. Unfortunately, it’s my life. Those ‘boys in the hood’ survival stories are all true. I’ve survived some shit that people I’ve known for 30 years thought was smoke-and-mirror bluster to underscore my badass image.

Nope – all true. Where I grew up, threats to one’s life weren’t uncommon. Twice someone tried to kill me. I survived mostly by luck and a bit of street smarts.

Compared to Paige’s ordeal, my brushes with death now seem comical.

Paige was raped repeatedly for a week, brutally and without mercy, when she was eight years old. I’m sorry, there was no easy way for me to say that, lord knows I tried 14 times. The attacks were at her school and came from older kids Paige had to see every day.

I survived my brushes with death mostly by blind luck, a well-connected sister, and an incredible mother. I was helped and still just barely endured. Paige not only survived her hell, she beat the shit out of the devil in the process, and up until very recently did so on her own.

Paige, like her namesake, is a remarkable young lady. To be so young and so well put together is rare. Unfortunately, what happened to Paige is not nearly as rare. Most black women (yes, most) I know have had some type of sexual assault committed on their person. Paige fell hard into that category. A horrible and all too-common classification.

Paige’s horror, at the time, did have an uncommon distinction: kids raped her. Eight years later it’s not so uncommon. I can’t fathom in the least the nightmare her 8-year-old self lived. I’ve written about violence against women I’ve known much too often, and always at some point I rant about how I’d like to see the rapists suffer.

I’d like to hope and pray for a time machine, confront those miserable little bastards before they reached the bathroom where the attacks took place, and erase them.

Fuck the space-time continuum.

But are the kids to blame? Yeah, they sure as hell are. I don’t give a damn how liberal I am, kids past a certain age know full well what’s right and what’s wrong. I will concede they most likely lacked the care other kids were afforded, having the misfortune of being born to worthless parents.

How I came to know Paige’s story is both humbling and empowering. Paige’s mom is producing a documentary film looking at the alarming amount of sexual assaults there are on America’s college campuses. For women of color, three out of five will be subject to the violence of rape.

For more than 20 years I’ve been involved in efforts to bring attention and ultimately end widespread violence against women. I prefer smaller venues like high schools and community centers. There’s an intimacy in a smaller setting that never fails to unite the audience. It also emboldens those to seek help or counsel in the midst of a supportive group.

On occasion, I’m lucky enough to do a large event that manages to produce the same kind of closeness. Such was the auction benefiting battered women that my dear friend and idol Harlan Ellison and I co-hosted at DragonCon in 1995. It was with that in mind I accepted a speaking engagement at a large event targeting a vast, ill-informed, and unsuspecting audience.

Think about this for a second – three out of five women of color confronted with violence on a college campus where they should expect to be safe. That’s unacceptable at any level for any woman, black, Asian, white, or fucking green. That should shock every parent of a young lady bound for college.

Before the event, I got to know Paige and we became close very quickly. I’m pretty sure Paige read some of my articles on women in my life. This year I’ve written reams about my mom Jean and my sister Sharon, the real life models for Jean and Sharon Hawkins, Static’s mom and sister. Late last year I wrote a series of articles about my beloved high school art teacher, Mrs. Darwin.

All of the articles deal with loss and pain. All of those incredible women met with untimely deaths – in the case of my sister and grandmother, violent ones. I’m convinced Paige was somehow moved by what I wrote and decided to share with me what she had not shared with anyone else.

“I’m not sure how to ease into this so I guess I will just go for it. It’s taking me a long time to be able to write let alone say these words. Nine years to be exact. Its affected me physically and most of all emotionally. I am not proud of how I used to handle what happened but this is the truth.” 

“When I was eight years old, I was raped by boys at my school. It went on everyday for an entire week.”

That’s how my young friend began her letter to me. The rest of the letter is a heart-wrenching description of her torment, which succeeds in doing what I thought impossible. Paige’s account succeeds in making me cry the moment I think of it.

I thought I was cried out from my year of death and betrayal. I thought wrong.

As of this writing, Paige has told her mom she was raped. Nonetheless, she has not shared with her mom what she shared with me and I’m not sharing it here. Trust me, you don’t want to know. I’m panicking some people with my constant balling and that includes myself.

This incredible young woman lived with this gargantuan nightmare by herself for 9 years. Not just any nine years, her childhood years. It’s hard to imagine what kind of strength that takes if you’re an adult, let alone a child.

I couldn’t do it. That kind of pain? Alone? No way. I’m nowhere near that strong. I’m nowhere near that magnanimous. At eight, Paige was afraid of what to do, ashamed of what happened and confused. As she got older, her choice became clear to her: to protect her mom from the realization that would (did) knock her off her feet as hard as a Mike Tyson right hook.

Why am I telling Paige’s story here?

Fate.

This from a guy who does not (did not) believe in fate, destiny, providence or any ‘outside force’ that dictates my life on a pre-ordained path.

I have no other way to describe the ‘why’ of this and yeah, I tried – 14 times before this, I tried. Thousands and thousands of words later, fate is as accurate a word to describe the chain of events as wet is to describe water. It’s my belief fate intervened and you, dear reader, are just the latest stop on its path.

Paige’s mom starts working on a film about women of color and the epidemic of sexual abuse on college campuses. She had no idea that Paige, at 17 about to enter college, was abused. Paige and her mom were godsends during my dark days dealing with my mom’s death. Paige confides in me, when I had no strength. None.

Yet somehow her trust in me gives me strength, not just for her, but also for me.

What are the odds?

After almost 10 years Paige is moved to unburden herself and thought her mom strong enough to handle it. She wasn’t, she was floored, understandably so. But as hard as her daughter’s revelation hit her, Paige’s decision to go public with her story uplifted her.

Yeah, Paige is going public with her story. Like I said, compared to Paige, I’m a little bitch.

I sent this article to my first Paige before it was published. I wanted to make sure I wasn’t exploiting her uplifting story to try and tell the heartrending story of her namesake. She would have to be okay with it or I would not mention her. The parallels and dissimilarities between the two Paige’s are remarkable and my take on the story would suffer for sure. I know, more than a few drafts taught me that.

She said yes, as I knew she would. She’s cool like that.

She was easy – my job was hard: write, then convince myself what I wrote was worthy of a young lady’s incredible act of selflessness and generosity. Fourteen drafts later, I felt I wasn’t even close. On top of that, I imagine many of you are wondering what the hell this story is doing on a pop culture site where the primary objective is to regale you with news of superheroes. that I’ve got covered: this story is of a superhero, or more accurately, it’s the continuing story of a superhero.

The two Paige’s are as different as night is from day and as similar as Clark Kent and Superman, because the two are the same person. Like Superman, Paige hid her secret identity from her friends and family to protect them. Deciding to fight the almost decade-long battle by herself.

Until now.

I first wrote about an incredible 14-year-old girl. Then I wrote about a scared 8-year-old child and the 17-year-old teenager. I’m sure I’ll be writing about Paige again – how could I not? She’s my superhero.

All that’s missing is her Invisible Jet.

Or… is it?

 

Michael Davis: A Comic Book Tale – The Director’s Cut

Fair warning: this one is long and a bit sappy. I would, however consider it a personal favor if you would give it a read and send me a hug.

I need one.

OK, another version of this article will be appearing on Bleeding Cool but this is the Mike Gold special edition, chock full of what’s not in the BC article.

A week or so ago I was writing the fuck you article to beat all fuck you articles. You would think with the year I’m having, I’d be ranting away all the time but somehow that’s not been my aspiration. Nope. Some how I’ve avoided ranting anywhere but on Facebook. I don’t have a lot of Facebook friends as I choose to police my page like Ferguson P.D. so anyone I don’t know, I shoot down their friend request like a unarmed black kid.

Even there, I’m not as rant crazy as I was once. Lately I’ve just been sad, very sad and no one wants to read that so my articles have been, well, tame. I’ve been tame where I write and sad where I live.

Then I read the comedy stylings of Kevin Maher and it was on. Man, I’m writing what I think will be my rant masterpiece. I’m so pissed at this guy’s Esquire article I could scream. Except, I don’t really feel like screaming.

What, in the world of fuck, is wrong with me?

All, it seems, of my fire and brimstone, righteous, (or not even) indignation and could give a flying fuck attitude are gone. The Facebook rants? Those are like an exhibition game; as such, they don’t count.

As I did with my Spider-Woman – Milo Manara drew her ass is up in the air, so Marvel thinks girls are sluts – article I was going to wait to put both feet in the ass of Mr. Maher after everyone else had their moment. I wait because the comics industry still does not get it. This guy blasts the industry and what does the industry do?

They agree and tweets about it.

In case you’ve not aware, he thinks comics are just the lowest form of shit and Hollywood should treat them as such. He didn’t say that exactly but it was real close.

That was the start of the article. I went to town. Then Mike Gold sent me an email, just asking how I was. Out of the blue he did the one thing I needed at the exact time I needed it.

That’s when I needed to stop what I was writing and write this…

A True Story

My mother threw out a very good-condition copy of Superman #1.

She did not throw out the copy of John Byrne’s Superman #1; I did that after I met John. He turned out to be a dick. I kid! I joke! John has always been nice to me, although each time I see him I have to explain to him I’m not Denys Cowan.

It wasn’t John’s Superman or any of the who-knows-how-many #1’s and reboots the Man Of Steel has had. This was the granddaddy of the Superman #1’s. My mother threw out Superman #1 from 1939.

This, as it says above, I assure you, is an absolutely true story.

My mother Jean Davis, the inspiration for Static’s mom Jean Hawkins, was an incredible woman.

Raising my sister Sharon and me in what is considered one of the worst housing projects in New York City would have been a superhuman task for a full-time stay-at-home mom, even with support from a father.

A father? In the projects? You’d have more luck finding a black, gay ex-marine pastor at the Westboro Baptist Church. There was no father in my house. I knew one family with a dad, they were the Harrison’s – they were strange.

By herself, my mother was working seven days and two jobs to get us out of there.

She and the other single mothers in the hood were bona fide Superwomen. They knew well the one rule that may keep your kids alive in a crime-infested community: keep them off the streets.

One thing above all kept me off the streets: comic books.

“I don’t think so.”

That, in my most grown-up serious way, was what I said to my then-best friend Julian Butler. That was the very day I became a playa in the comic book world.

Julian wanted me to trade him my favorite comic book ever, Fantastic Four #73, guest-starring Thor, Spider-Man, and Daredevil, for a Batman comic that featured Batgirl.

This was a big deal because Batgirl was on the Batman TV show and this book was something everyone coveted. No way anybody would have traded that book except for something so cool you couldn’t resist.

That was Fantastic Four #73. The same FF #73 I almost broke a bully named Ronnie Williams’ back for. That’s another absolutely true story I wrote about some time ago. That should tell you how important that comic was to me.

Nowadays, characters show up in each other’s books so often you forget which book you’re reading. Not so back in my day – one guest star was a big deal, so imagine three, and the book was drawn by Jack Kirby. I was 10 years old and a huge comic book fan, and it’s all I thought I’d ever want in life.

Julian asked for FF#73 because he knew how badly I wanted that Batman comic. I did, but that wasn’t my real objective. My real objective was Fighting American, a another comic he had. This book was not put out by Marvel, but it was drawn by Jack Kirby in what looked like a new style. How could that be? All my comic book trading buddies could not believe weak-ass Harvey Comics was able to get Jack Kirby away from Marvel.

They didn’t. The book was a reprint of Fighting American stories drawn in the 50s by the King. But for all we knew, it was a new comic and new Kirby style. I wanted that book bad, and was willing to do what it took to get it.

And I got it, and I have my mother to thank for it.

“I’ll trade you FF#73 for Batman and Fighting American,” I said to Julian.

Fighting American was Julian’s favorite, Fantastic Four #73 was mine, and we both knew it. This deal was our AOL buys Time Warner, Disney buys Marvel – this was a deal no one ever thought would get done among my comic book pals. These two books were Babe Ruth and Mickey Mantle, and they weren’t going anywhere.

But, in a trade heard around the world (that world being P.S.105), we did it.

Julian traded me Fighting American and the Batman for FF#73.

That was the moment, even at 10 years old, I knew I would always get what I wanted in a comic book trade, all thanks to Jean. Yes, I called my mother Jean, it’s a black thing. That trade made me the Donald Trump of comics, at last claiming the best-trader title from my hated archenemy, Karl McKenzie.

From now on Karl would never stand a chance against me. He would fall just as Julian did because my mother told me the meaning of “ace in the hole.”

Earlier that day, my mother brought me home another copy of Fantastic Four #73 along with some other comics someone left at her nursing home job. I was going to give my copy to Julian, but she told me to trade it and not tell anyone about having two copies.

That brilliant, brilliant, brilliant, woman.

She knew how important my comic book collecting and trading were to me, and she helped with building my comic book empire. She became very interested in my hobby a few before, when she watched a news report about the comic she threw away, Superman #1.

The day I returned from spending the summer in Alabama, I made a beeline to my room looking for my prized possessions: Golden Age comics I had paid a cousin one dollar for. They included Captain Marvel, All-Flash, Superman, Daredevil, and a Justice Society.

I loved those books.

I looked everywhere for those comics only to discover my mother had thrown them out “because they were old.”

“Because they were old.”

I was devastated. Those books were irreplaceable, and at 10 I knew that. No 10-year-old should know what irreplaceable means. Knowing something you love is irreplaceable at 10 years old is a terrible cross to bear. My mother never really understood what those books meant to me. To her, they were just… old.

For months I was miserable and mad at my mother. One day we were watching the news when, during the broadcast, a report on how much Superman #1 sold for prompted my mother to ask me “How come you don’t have a comic like that?”

I said, “I did a comic like that, I had that comic.” My mother turned from the TV as quick as I’d ever seen anyone move. “What? You did? What happened to it??”

“You threw it away.”

She didn’t.

Superman #1 was not one of the Golden Age comics thrown away by my mother. I lied and didn’t feel one tiny weeny bit guilty. Over the years that became my get-out-of-jail free card for anything and everything. Anytime I needed some emotional ammo, I’d pull out the ol’ Superman #1 guilt.

I had every intention of telling her that it wasn’t Superman #1, but time ran out for me to do so when she died June 21st of last year. For three weeks my mom hung in there after having both her legs amputated due to a leg aneurysm, and I told her everything I could to keep her spirits up, saving the Superman story for when I really thought I would need it.

My mother Jean Davis was the real life inspiration for Jean Hawkins. Static’s mom had a great sense of humor and would have gotten a kick out of an almost 40-year old joke.

Joke’s on me. I waited too long.

The night before my mother died, she called me and left me a message telling me that I should let her go. She clearly knew I wanted her here. If I had not been asleep when she called, I’m sure I would have pulled out the Superman #1 guilt as a reason she couldn’t leave me. My mom would have gotten the irony and maybe stayed a while longer. When I got the phone call telling me she passed, I flashed back to packing up her apartment during the three weeks she tried, I’m absolutely sure for my sake, to stay on earth. The plan was to take her back to L.A. to live with me.

That was the plan, and as we all know, the best laid plans…

While going through a closet my childhood, which I thought I’d lost, hit me in the face. There, where I’d left and forgotten it 30 years ago, was my trunk. My trunk was a real WW II army footlocker given to me by my Uncle Red. I kept all my important possessions in there. I thought I’d lost it forever when a New York storage company sold the contents of my storage unit, in error.

I must have been a real asshole in my last life because karma is kicking my ass: I’ve lost the possessions I valued most three times. The things I own that I value most have no value to me monetarily, even if it’s a copy of Superman #2, which is the actual comic my mom threw away and must be worth, although I never checked, a great deal of money.

The value I assign to material things is always memories. Three times those things which preserved my strongest memories were lost to me.

The first time I’d felt that heartbreaking loss and despair was when my Golden Age books were thrown away. The second was when my complete Silver Age collection of Marvel and almost complete DC were, among other things, sold from that storage company. Sold because my credit card info was credited to another account. I found this out when I got a check from the storage for $123.00, which was what was leftover from the sale.

My collection was appraised in the high six figures. Because of a mistake, a near complete Marvel Silver age collection was gone, just like that. Most of the important books from DC’s silver age, including complete runs of the original Teen Titans, Doom Patrol and AGGHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!

Let’s just say some great shit was in there. That was in 2001, and that was the last time I set foot in the dealers’ room at the San Diego Comic Con. I can’t bring myself to see my remembrances hanging from a dealers wall.

I could care less about the monetary value – gone was most of my childhood and a great deal of my teenage and young adult years. My comics, school records, most of my artwork from when I was a kid, thru the High School Of Art & Design and Pratt Institute as well as tons of books, toys, and a great deal of my personal written history.

But with the discovery of my trunk, maybe some of my childhood could be salvaged.

It was.

Inside were about one hundred silver age books, including both Fighting American and Fantastic Four #73. How incredibly cool and just wonderful was this?

I forgot about the trunk again while planning my mother’s funeral. After the service I went back to L.A. I was in NYC for a month and there was nothing left for me to do until probate was done. I couldn’t go back to the apartment until I could prove I was legally able to remove my mother’s belongings.

Months passed and with each month I dreaded going back to Rochdale Village where my mother lived for 40 years. When the courts finally declared me her sole heir, NYC was hit by a blizzard and there was no way to get there, so I was unable to clear her apartment then. My second attempt was met with similar weather.

When I was ready for my third attempt, I’d managed to talk myself into a fairly decent place. After all, my mother was gone, but she left me a massive amount of love and would want me to try and be happy. Then, as if confirmation that she wanted me to try and be happy, I remembered waiting for me was a big slice of my childhood, secure in my trunk.

But it wasn’t waiting.

Once again the joke’s on me, and yet again everything thing I valued was gone.

Somehow Rochdale managed to evict my mother, treating her belongings as trash.

Seven months earlier, and every month since, management was made aware she was dead, I was her son and I gave them all manner of how to contact me.

They never contacted me, although I’d been in touch with them the entire time regarding the apartment. They were informed in writing, and I spoke to the management confirming my arrival each time in addition to the email.

Why?

Because I’m just fucking anal, nothing beats a paper trail, and just in case the other guy is an idiot. They evicted a dead woman, the other guy was.

Last year, my entire home flooded. State Farm, who I’ve paid for 20 years, filing only two small claims, one which was rejected, at first balked at my claim. Treating me as if it was my fault or my idea to flood my fucking home. After a month I got all up in their asses, then they paid.

Then they canceled my policy.

That was pretty bad but just the beginning of a series of unfortunate events that got worse from there. 2014 was the worst year of my life on a personal level – on the business side, could not have been better and that stopped exactly zero tears.

I start 2015 off with high hopes for a great year! This is the year a number of my long term projects will finally see the light of day.

So far in 2015, the agony that was Milestone 2.0, the end to a friendship I thought would never end, a betrayal of unimaginable scope, impending surgery and now my mother’s belongings thrown away like she meant nothing, have killed that high.

What doesn’t kill me makes me stronger? Who comes up with this shit??

This is now the longest article I’ve ever written and damn if I don’t feel a little better after having written it. Writing this comics tale has kept me off the street and kept alive, albeit bittersweet, memories of a good friend, good times, and a mother who outsmarted her smart ass kid every single time, save one, but I needed Superman’s help that one time.

Speaking of Superman, I know I said this was a true story and except, Superman #1 was actually #2 it was true.

Please forgive me if put off by my fib, I’ve had a rough year. ;)

Thanks Mike.

 

 

 

Michael Davis: From The Edge – The Hidden Beach

This will be hard to believe, but the truth is I seek neither understanding nor accolades regarding my work here and at Bleeding Cool. The bravado and swagger I write with is, more often than not, part of the attitude I’m trying to convey in the article. Frequently, that does not come through – what does is my seemingly “I could give a damn” attitude.

Once that becomes the takeaway from what I’ve written, admittedly I do enjoy throwing fuel on a fire. That is a dick move and it’s clear I can be a dick.

That’s not hard to believe.

There is a reason and a purpose behind everything I write and how I write it. It’s not just the rewards that come with it. One day I’ll write the “Why” of what I do, but today I’d like to give my little contribution to Black History Month.

My secondary goal in the comic book industry is to grow the industry. Grow it with people of color who come in with a keen business sense and unquestionable professionalism. My Bad Boy Studio Mentor Program has done a pretty decent job at that. Unlike a great many studios that produce talent, the artists and writers who come out of my studio, don’t draw or write like me (Thank you Jesus! is now being shouted at DC Comics) that’s never been my thing. I’m about young creators being successful to that end; I’m not looking to influence anybody with my technique.

That’s my secondary goal and for years I’ve tried to do away with it as a goal, I’ve been unable to.

Surprise! Yeah, I’m tied of all that mentoring shit. What I really want to do is direct.

Unfortunately, try as I might to leave the future of creators of color to others, so I might pursue my real first love (Directing? Nope; was joke) unrestrained by the wailings of those bastards ungrateful for my invaluable teachings. Alas that is not to be, I’m simply much to good at it and vanity prevents me from leaving. Yeah, I’m vain. That cannot news to anyone.

In certain circles I have a reputation as a deal maker and I do so love to close a good deal. With that in mind, some may believe my first goal is business. How little you people must think of me if money is what above all is what I seek.

It most certainly is not.

It’s money and power.

Remember, first you get the money, then you get the power, then you get the pre-nup, then you get the woman. What?

Okay, bad jokes aside, my first goal in comics, what I delight in, is the creation of a new universe.

My greatest joy professionally is constructing worlds, building narratives filled with infinite possibilities limited only by my imagination. Yes, they feature but are not limited to characters of color, but just as important to me is making something so damn cool it boggles people’s minds that it has not been done before.

But to do that, I had to take care of some business first. A business that started a longtime ago in a housing project far, far away…

For as long as I’ve been in the industry, I’ve wondered why certain things that seem obvious to fans are seemingly impossible tasks to achieve in the industry. Since I was a kid, a shared TV and movie universe was a dream all of my fellow comic book fans wished for. We just did not understand why it couldn’t be.

The biggest superhero television moment of my life is still when The Green Hornet showed up on Batman, and that was 40 plus years ago! It’s incredible; although I was decades away from being born I remember that. What?

Almost 50 years since Kato kicked the crap out of Robin, Marvel now has a shared film and television universe and DC is trying to establish theirs. How Barry Allen showed up on Arrow was lame but I’ll take it. The comics industry only seems to act when pushed. Case in point: Disney had to buy Marvel before a Justice League film became a reality. So in a very real way, Marvel green-lit DC’s movie.

Twenty years ago, while speaking at Pro Con, I proposed to the industry we set up Ad Council. One of the things I wanted to do was a comic book TV commercial. I thought it was a real easy sale. It made sense and I volunteered to pay the entire up front costs to set up the council and the first commercial.

I would have gotten more interest if I suggested we start doing snuff comics.

I know what you’re thinking and I’m with you – I still can’t figure that one out.

What I’ve learned to do is not wait for the comics industry. That’s enabled me to get comics into markets sought after but not served by the rest of the industry. I’ve been able to get major comic book lines into the African American Church and mainstream Christian market, public schools, hospitals, and related health care facilities. The series are distributed nationwide, and in the case of The Guardian Line, nationwide and Africa.

These are really major comic book and graphic novels, produced by major comic book creators. Creative and production costs for each, The Guardian Line published by Urban Ministries Inc. and the Action Files published by Simon & Schuster and Pearson Learning, were budgeted well over a million dollars.

The Guardian Line debuted 10 years ago. The Action Files turns 20 this year. Each universe is still sold today. One of the reasons the lines were successful in aimed markets is with targeted television (gasp!) commercials and venues.

More than two decades ago at the same Pro Con I saw my Ad Council and commercial idea shot down like an unarmed black kid, I suggested targeting conventions, tradeshows, and book fairs outside of the comic book market. My Pro Con pitch to creators and publishers netted me a big “you stupid” from the audience – it simply did not add up for them.

Maybe it’s the new math, they’re having a problem adding up. Let’s see now, take 20 years in the schools add 10 years in the African American Church and Christian market, that equals 30 years of revenue.

Who’s stupid now?

Publishers scoffed at my new market suggestions; however, some retailers embraced them. In a series of articles I wrote for Diamond Retailer, my recommendation was met with a resounding thumbs up. I received tons of thank you letters from retailers who followed my advice or were intending to do so.

Underserved markets can still be reached with very little outlay of capital.

Black Expos, Latino Festivals, Block Parties and civic organizations are ripe for the comic book market. And not just for books that feature characters of color. Comic books are great sellers regardless at these venues.

The end user is very often not who is buying the product at these forums.

Parents and grandparents buy for their kids and teens. Siblings and significant others of comic fans purchase for them. Extended family, friends, and teachers are among the many types of folk who would not typically be inclined to go to a comic book store. This approach makes sense for retailers and creators who are trying to build an audience outside of the mainstream comic book market, which is a mess. Comic book publishers still and have always cannibalized off each other. Everyone’s chasing the same buck.

Back in the day this was a concern to publishers. Now, they could care less about the comic book market. Disney didn’t buy Marvel to sell comics. They bought Marvel to sell everything based on comics. Make no mistake – the real play in comic book publishing is the movie or TV deal and the merchandising that intellectual property will generate. Comics are still the redheaded ugly stepchildren of Hollywood and their corporate parent companies.

How ugly? So ugly, Time Warner rarely included DC Comics as anything but a line item in its Annual Report to stockholders.

That ugly.

While this article and many before have focused on the comic book business, that’s a secondary objective to me. I seek alternate markets, distribution, and new talent to reach diverse audiences who continue to be underserved because the industry gave me little choice but to do so.

So, back to me my greatest joy…

My greatest joy professionally is constructing worlds, building narratives filled with infinite possibilities limited only by my imagination. Yes, they feature but are not limited to characters of color, but just as important to me is making something so damn cool it boggles people’s minds that it has not been done before.

I think I’ve done that. I hope I have.

The Hidden Beach is the story of a very near, dark future, where the government dictates music, art, literature, relationships, and worship to the citizens of the United States. Anything that isn’t sanctioned by the current administration has been outlawed.

Anything.

You will pay the IRS one way or another, you will obey the law. If the police knock on your door, there’s been a mistake. They no longer knock. All government agencies regulate and enforce the new world order with extreme prejudice.

Any citizen caught enjoying unapproved music, worshiping the wrong God, loving the wrong person is subject to severe persecution. In a very real way, any free will you think you have, you don’t. The government of these United States of America wants to own what makes you… you.

America wants to own you – and if it were possible, your soul as well.

In the midst of this time of total and absolute subjugation, a talented Los Angeles singer named Angie Fisher continues to make illegal music in underground concerts, where the audience shows approval through hushed whispers of respect rather than loud applause. She’s resigned to her life of unlawful music and black market performances, but she’s heard whispered rumors of a group fighting the government and a place where she and others like her can live freely.

If they exist, the Guardians of Soul are said to be seven men rumored to have incredible abilities. Alone, they stand against the new American sovereignty with a singular purpose: to protect the one last thing the government needs to kill all hope of its citizens, the legendary safe haven for America’s soul – the Hidden Beach.

Angie prays the Guardians are real – they have to be. If not, she’s dead. The IRS is looking for her, and except for $2000, they are the only thing that can save her life.

Yeah, it’s one of those “in the not too distant future” yarns…with a twist.

Angie Fisher is a real person. The ‘7’ are real people with incredible abilities. The Hidden Beach is a real entity. Most of the supporting characters in the story are real also.

The American government I speak of is real…almost.

Think if you will what would happen if the most extreme of the extreme of any political group comes to power. It happened before in Nazi Germany and it’s happening now in North Korea and a few other places.

Both Angie Fisher and the 7, known as Naturally 7 have added something to this new universe, never done before….

Naturally 7

A soundtrack.

This is not a gimmick. This is a merger of music and comics I’ve been trying to accomplish since my days at Motown Animation.

The universe was created to be a part of the music. Indeed some music was created just for the universe. Its never been done before, except in the minds of comic book fans.

It’s got a beat and you can read to it. The Hidden Beach Graphic Novel Book One: Hidden In Plain Sight hits the stores December 2015. Angie Fisher’s IRS and Naturally 7: Hidden In Plain Sight, the album on sale now, notice the album design with artwork by yours truly and Bad Boy Studio alum Felix Serrano.

The beginning…

 

Michael Davis: Milestone 2.0 – I Was There, I Didn’t Get It.

There’s much more to this story at Bleeding Cool.

On January 21st of this year, the Washington Post broke the story of the return of Milestone. Missing from the Post and every article since about the new Milestone 2.0 was any mention of me. I’m a founder and co-creator of the original Milestone’s best-known property, Static Shock.

There was to be a statement from Milestone explaining my absence, but in the three weeks since the story broke, Milestone 2.0 has not issued any statement.

Because there was no statement, comic book fans, Milestone fans, and my fan (I had two, one died) took to social media speculating as to why I was missing. Missing from news stories and missing from interviews, which was curious. I was no longer a part of the new venture, but in all the interviews, I was missing from the history of Milestone 2.0.

When I did begin showing up in the news about Milestone 2.0, the articles were about me…missing.

I assumed I was left out because when interviews took place I was no longer involved with Milestone 2.0, even if I didn’t know that. Deciding not to mention me at all was a mistake. If consulted, I would have pointed that out. I did point out what a mistake it would be not to issue a statement once the story broke. I was told they would, but they didn’t. As it turns out, I was right.

I should clarify “right” in this instance. I think not mentioning an original founder, more active than all of the partners combined in keeping the Milestone brand in the public eye in the four years since we decided to re-launch, was a bad idea. It became a distraction, which could have and should have been avoided.

Milestone just may not see things the way I do, and “may” is a bit of a stretch. I think it’s safe to say “does” in place of “may” – all things considered. For their purposes, perhaps it was a good idea. Although what purpose that could be is beyond me. I freely admit I’m a different type of bird. Three weeks ago for a bit I wished I wasn’t – I wished I could just go with the flow. I did this wishing while crying like a little bitch. I actually started to wonder whether or not I’d made a mistake.

Before I continue, I think it’s wise to address my new readers I know are out there. I know this because of the massive amount of emails being forwarded to me since this started.

I write with few inhibitions – I am who I am. I cry when in pain. My favorite movie is My Best Friend’s Wedding. I collect Barbie dolls. When I met Barbara Streisand, my first words were “Now I can die.” She gave me this huge hug and I wept.

Yes, I’m gay. I’m a lesbian. I like women.

I also grew up in what’s now considered, one of, if not the worst housing project in New York City. Two of four of my immediate family were murdered. My sister Sharon Davis, the real life inspiration for Static’s sister Sharon Hawkins among the two. The last two people who stepped to me regretted it instantly and I ended up in jail, see theme song below.

My life can be summed by my motto: Each One, Teach One, and my theme song is Ice Cube’s, “Wrong Nigga to Fuck With.”

But I digress. Peter David owns that line. I stole it; I had to – look where I’m from. Many people think my bravado is from the hood I came from. It’s not. I get that from my mother. It was because of my mother that I thought for a few days that perhaps I should adapt my outlook.

And it was because of my mother I was crying so fucking hard. The Milestone decision piggybacked onto her death, still as fresh as the day it happened. Don’t misunderstand me, I was crying over the Milestone decision, but the severity of my outburst had much more to do with pain I was already in.

Otherwise, it never would have hit so hard because I saw it coming.

I knew years ago it might turn out like this. In fact, I documented my thoughts in writing and in person. I shared my apprehension with some of the biggest names in the industry.

In emails, phone calls and face-to-face meetings, I’ve had the, “It seems the way this is moving may prevent my involvement” talk with 10 people. If ever something I claim is questioned I’m not going out like some bitch, I’m providing proof. Brian Williams, I am not. If I say a bomb hit me, out comes the videotape.

And a bomb did hit me. Believe that. I keep telling people I see the future, but no one listens. Pity.

I’ve wanted this (Milestone 2.0) and worked towards it for 16 years. On Bleeding Cool I wrote 15 years, but that was wrong – I double-checked and it was 16. Yeah, I keep everything, and I keep it forever.

16 years ago I met with Bob Johnson, then CEO and owner of Black Entertainment Television (BET), and one of outcomes of that meeting was BET’s interest in funding Milestone. Also present in that meeting was Debra Lee, who is now CEO of BET, and my producing partner E. Van Lowe. The meeting took place at Mr. Johnson’s suite at the Four Seasons Hotel in Beverly Hills.

That night I was on the phone with all three Milestone founders, but not together.

I talked to two on one call and spoke to another separately. We were all to sleep on it and decide whether or not to pursue it. Founders were knee deep in their own careers, so it wasn’t an easy decision.

The next day I was again on the phone, first with two founders, then with the other. On one of those calls, the idea was floated to do the BET deal without one of the original founders. This was a business decision, for whatever reason.

I said no.

It was my deal; once I said I wouldn’t do it unless we all did, the deal was dead. For a long time I was conflicted on whether I’d made the right choice.

Nah. I wasn’t. I was fine with it.

16 years later, here we are again, kinda. Dwayne’s gone. The big guy was more Milestone than all of us put together. There’s some talk that Dwayne and I were on the outs when he died and that’s just bullshit. I’ll be addressing that in an article fairly soon. Like I said, I keep everything, and there’s a lot of history Dwayne and I shared few people know of.

Dwayne’s gone and Reggie Hudlin has joined Milestone. There’s talk that Reggie is replacing Dwayne. More bullshit. Reggie has been interested in being a part of Milestone for as long as I can remember. In fact, Reggie was on our short list when Denys and I went over names to invite in. That was the very weekend when Denys came up with the idea for Milestone at the San Diego Comic-Con 22 years ago.

I don’t remember if we asked him and he said no, or we didn’t think he’d be interested because even then Reggie was making big movies. Whatever it was, it does not change and no one can deny that Reggie has always been a major supporter and fan of Milestone. Thinking anyone could replace Dwayne is as stupid as thinking Reggie would even try. Before Dwayne died there was talk of Reggie becoming a part of Milestone.

That would have been something – really, really, something.

Denys Cowan and Reggie Hudlin have been a team on a few projects, all great. Partnering to do Milestone is a motherfucking throw down to the rest of the industry to look the fuck out. Yes, the rest of the industry. Not just those who do Black Comics.

Milestone never did “black” comics. Milestone is and has always been a black-owned company, yes, but producing comics that feature but is not limited to people of color.

Three weeks ago, I was sad at first. Then I was livid. Livid because of things that were said to me and how they were said. Now? Now, I’ve moved past all of that. I can do that because I see the future and I can prove it. Remember how I was left out of the Milestone 2.0 announcement?

Kinda like this:

All the Milestone partners, save one, will receive credit. 

Let the name of Davis be stricken from every book and tablet

Stricken from all press and news

Stricken from every mention of Static.

Let the name of Davis be unheard and unspoken,

Erased from the memory of Milestone, for all time.

So let it be written, so let it be done.

I wrote that for a ComicMix article last November. Scary eh?

Like I said, I’ve moved past anger and sadness, like Jay Z: I’m off that. 

I’m off that, but I’m on a path, both creative in practice and righteous in my mind. It was right for me to make a stand for all four founders in 1999. To me that wasn’t business, that was the right thing to do. That was my mother’s influence and I’m my mother’s son.

I’ve gotten quite a few emails from people telling me they won’t support Milestone without me.

No. Wrong. Don’t do that. The world needs Milestone 2.0.

The world needs Darryl to keep on making comics, DMC, Mad Square Enterprises, Boondocks, Aaron McGruder, The East Coast Black Age Of Comics, Brandon M. Easton, N. Steven Harris, Watson and Holmes, Paige Tibbs, The World Of Black Superheroes, Ryan Fraser, Erika Alexander, Tony Puryear, Concrete Park, Joe Illidge, Walter McDaniel, David Walker, Shaft, Maia Crown Williams, MECCAcon, Reggie Hudlin, Denys Cowan and Derek Dingle. Hell, the world needs Ania and Big City Comics. The former did horrible books and hated me then; the latter does fantastic books and hates me now.

And the world even needs Tyrone Cash, if, for no other reason, than to show how not to do a black character. We need as many African American comics, creators, and publishers as we can get. We cannot let anger, righteous or not, keep our eyes off that prize. Although there are some who don’t think so, they need Michael Davis. They will find that out soon enough. I do big things and what I’m about to do is the biggest.

Like I keep saying, I see the future. To be fair, I was wrong, once. Nah. That’s bullshit. I’m never wrong.

Those who are interested, watch this space. Those who doubt me, watch me work.

 

Michael Davis: No Respect. No Wonder. Part 2

Part 1 of this series can be read at BleedingCool.com

static comicmixHollywood, I’m sorry. I’ve been wrong.

You’re not responsible for the overwhelming opinion the general public has of my industry being just for kids. Yes, SDCC is our house, but our house is all fucked up. We deserve to be viewed as nothing but geeks, nerds, and children. We are not ready to play at your level, not even close.

We’re selfish, shortsighted, and stupid. Not all the time, but so often we’ve become a joke to the French and Japanese comics industries. Comics, one of the few original American art forms, are recognized as such by a country whose ass we had to save and a country whose ass we nuked. Yet we’re the joke.

And we deserve to be.

As an example, in about two weeks it will be a year since I sent an email to Variant Comics. It was my tongue-in-cheek attempt to be funny while addressing an important issue. The fantastic video they produced featured wrong “created by” credits.

The response I received wasn’t exactly what I expected. They said they would correct the issue: “We have already added a correction in our next episode to explain that we missed you and Denys as additional creators.”

But they did not think I was funny:

“I have not responded (quicker) because I do my best to steer clear of rude or aggressive correspondence.”

They thought I was being a heavy-handed bastard. Not my intention, and I immediately apologized with the following:

I bear you no ill will. I was being sarcastic, and if you read my Bleeding Cool piece, you will see I underscored time and time again how much I admire what you are doing. My goal was to show how a great piece with wrong information could do some injustice, but in no way did I ever think you guys would take to heart my FB email. I “liked” your page, I took every chance I got to say just how good your stuff and site is.

Clearly you don’t remember we met some time ago, and as such I thought you would get the joke.

My bad.

Really. My bad.

On the real, I meant to do nothing but poke fun and draw attention to the credits; it was never my intention to insult (except in jest) you or your people. Please accept my apology. It pains me (really) to think my attempt at satire fell short.

If need be, I will say what I just said to you privately in public.

I have no problem with that.

Again – I’m sorry. Try as I might, sometimes I just don’t see what others do. Truth be told most times I care not. This time I do.

The Bleeding Cool article I was referring to foreshadowed possible future events and the real damage that short film could do. That article was not the only article I wrote about this over the year – there were several. Some here on ComicMix, some on Bleeding Cool, and some on my Facebook page, and yes, they were tagged.

Occasionally, I wrote another lighthearted appeal that ended when the “possible” became reality, and the damage sure as hell followed. Since then, I’ve been that Nigga.

Variant has changed nothing on the Static Shock film, and they have had a year to do it. The credits are still wrong. If they added Denys and I to the “next episode” explaining the oversight, how the fuck would anybody know? Those watching an episode of what may be a totally unrelated “History Of” may not even give a fuck.

Anyone going to the History of Static Shock video will see what I’ve asked to be rectified for over a year: the wrong credits. Nothing has changed there.

Nothing.

In that same year, plenty has changed with Static Shock.

Static’s getting a live action television show; Milestone 2.0 was announced; my mother, Jean Davis, the real life inspiration for Static’s mom Jean Hawkins, died. In death Jean (that’s what I called my mom) joins my sister, Sharon Davis, the real life inspiration for Static’s sister, Sharon Hawkins.

As I predicted, the credits cited for Static Shock when the two major media announcements were made are exactly the credits cited in Variant’s film.

I predicted this. The film was so damn good people assumed it was the official version put out by Milestone. The Static live action show and the Milestone announcements went all over the world.

The death of Static’s real life mom?

Nope. No one knew. Not even some young Static fans, cousins of mine from North Carolina who I met for the first time at my mom’s funeral. I’m not naïve enough to think my mom would have gotten a “Static” mention when she died. She wouldn’t have. But it sure would have been nice if my newfound cousins knew who she was before I met them.

Not caring about getting a creator’s credit right is just one example of the unprofessional, childish antics that are commonplace in comics. Missing deadlines, missing shipping, quitting books, taking advances and not delivering work.

Some publishers paying established talent page rates far below what they are worth while using any excuse they can to justify it. Some creators having no choice but to take pennies on the dollar. Artists and writers blackballed on someone’s personal whim regardless of what work they have produced or what they bring to the industry. Been there, had that done.

Hollywood fires and/or sues people who pull what’s routine in comics. Try pulling that missed deadline dead grandmother bullshit at DreamWorks. You’re gone. Take an advance from Disney and decide not to do the work. Rumor has it Tupac and Biggie did that. Yeah, that’s a joke, but once Disney gets done with you, you may well wish you were dead.

Hollywood does not play our games. Disney wouldn’t wait a week after the initial letter sent to you to fix some something that was wrong. Ignoring them, just like I’ve been ignored, (not a word since my apology almost 12 months ago) would just make them increase the level of legal pain they will inflict on you.

And if they think you fucked with their brand, costing them revenue? Wow. Just wow.

Despite our flaws, I love the comic book industry. I love this business even though some in the industry have not loved me back. On a few occasions some serious power players have tried killing me in the industry.

I roll like a boss; people are always trying to kill a boss. They try. I survive and grow stronger. I don’t go public when these things happen – what good would that do? Give Hollywood another thing to look at, point and say, “Look what these children do to their own kind.”

But sometimes … sometimes, there is no other choice.

I don’t want to hurt or hinder Variant in any way. I don’t want to sue or threaten to sue. They do great work, are good for the industry, and I really do like their site.

However, they have done serious damage to my brand. Repeatedly over the course of a year they have been reminded that they were doing so. I’m not alone in being ignored. Those who posted comments echoing me were treated the same.

I’d very much like them to correct the credits on their Static Shock film. I’d like the same credits that appear in every episode of Static Shock and Milestone comics, with one exception: add Christopher Priest. He was a creator and he deserves credit.

Variant, I’m asking you once again, make this right and at least in this instance prove Hollywood wrong. Static was created by Dwayne McDuffie, Derek Dingle, Denys Cowan, Christopher Priest, and Michael Davis.

Let’s show the world we know how to act in matters like this. I’m sorry to say that if no action is taken, you leave me just one option.

End, Part 2. Part 3 can be read on Bleeding Cool and ComicMix next week.

 

Michael Davis: Never Say Never

AjalaHappy New Year!

I was never so glad to say those words as I was at midnight, seven days ago.

2014 was the best year of my life professionally. Without saying why, that’s saying something. On the flip side, 2014 was the worst year of my life personally.

All my life I’ve known that money can’t buy happiness. This pass year I’ve learned money can’t buy anything of real value. Not in my life anyhow, or so I thought.

What I want and need, I can’t have. Dead Presidents can do a lot but raising the dead it can’t and with that, way to telling line, I’m done with my self pity shit.

In six days, if Mr. Gold is nice and runs this piece today or in five days if he runs it tomorrow, the crowd funding efforts of Bad Boy Studio alumni, Eisner Award Nominee, N. Steven Harris and writer/creator Robert Garrett, will come to an end.

Hopefully it will come to a successful end because what they are attempting to fund is nothing short of fantastic.

Ajala: A Series Of Adventures is a coming of age story about a young black girl growing up in New York City’s Harlem. Among her series of adventures, discovering what it means to be a hero in a time and place where just being can be trouble is worth the price of admission.

Promoting a crowd funded project is something I’ve never done and for good reason. Once done, I can no longer tell people, “if I do it for you I’ll have to do it for everybody.”

Yeah, that’s out the window, just like I was when her husband came home. Be that as it may, this project is incredible, so I’ll gladly make an exception. I wrote earlier that money couldn’t buy anything of real value but added, or “so I thought.” Well, after seeing what this creative team has done I stand corrected, this story has value, this project has value.

If you take a look and find it interesting, please, drop some coin on the project and lets make it real.

Again, Happy New Year. Make it a good one.

 

Michael Davis: Without A Doubt

My beloved New York City had, until recently, a law on the books known as “Stop and Frisk.” In a nutshell, it meant if a police officer suspects, for any reason, that you may be up to no good, they can detain and search you. Guess who the majority of people being stopped are?

Black and Latinos. Or, as they are known to NYC cops, niggers and spics.

A New York State Of Mind. Nov. 1, 2012 Michael Davis World

I forgot that I’ve written about this racist bullshit law before. (Stop and Frisk) NYC is going to appeal the court ruling. Of cause they are, because NYC is run by a bunch of racist motherfuckers. The law has done nothing to curb crime, and the vast majority of people stopped are young black men. What’s funny is the vast majority of people found with weapons were white guys.

Seriously. Check the stats.

I Read The News Today, Oh Boy, Aug. 16, 2013 Michael Davis World

What happens when I don’t take my meds and voicing my ire on Facebook is not enough? What happens when I’ve had enough of seeing Unarmed Black men choked because They Were Black? What happens when I realize that I don’t eat skittles anymore because it just reminds me of an unarmed Black Child Killed Because He Was Black?

The Middleman Aug. 15, 2014 ComicMix

My life is not my own. It belongs to any cop having a bad day. Any D.A. wanting to get an uppity nigger, regardless of proof. My life belongs to any white racist punk ass bitch drunk in a bar or any racist coward with a gun who hates hoodies.

Like I said, why not cut out the middleman out and kill myself?

The Middleman Revised Aug. 15, 2014 Bleeding Cool

Despite the often-racist policies of City Hall and its Choke-An-Unarmed-Black-Man-to-Death police force, NYC will always be my home.

The Great New York Con Oct. 29. 2014 ComicMix

No resistance, whatsoever. None. Nada. He made No Move to resist while they were choking him nor did he make any aggressive move Before they threw him to the ground. While on the ground he repeated, “I can’t breathe. I can’t breathe.” His death was Ruled a homicide by the Medical Examiner.

Oh, did I mention the choke hold the officer applied was illegal? That’s right,

NYPD Forbids the use of that particular way of restraining someone.

Why? Because, it may cause severe injury or death. Watch the video on line; don’t take my word for ANY of this.

So, with none of this in dispute, it’s clear to me the officer will not have to stand trial.

Why? He was an unarmed black man.

Duh.

My Facebook Status in response to: New York bracing for grand jury decision in police chokehold case. Dec. 1, 2014 2 days before the Eric Garner Grand Jury announcement. Yahoo News (AFP)

As if there was any doubt.

My Facebook Status in response to: Grand jury declines to indict officer in chokehold death of Eric Garner. Dec. 3, 2014 day of the Eric Garner Grand Jury announcement. (PIX)

No. No doubt at all. Those are just a few of thousands of words, in dozens of articles, I’ve written about race over the years. Most have been rants about how black men are targets nearly all have forecasted the trend of killing unarmed black men will continue.

My Facebook status on Dec. 1 if this year, wasn’t my reaction upon hearing the cop who shot Mr. Garner was free to live his life. I let everyone know two days before there was no doubt he would walk. No black person I spoke to beforehand thought the cop would get indicted.

Not a one. My Facebook post described the overwhelming evidence against this man. The tape was clear as day, this man was guilty as sin and I wanted it on the record I knew that cop would walk.

He walked.

Perhaps, for some, who believe I often play the ‘black card,’ my foreseeing this outcome with such certainty, would demonstrate to them racism does indeed exist in the age of Obama.

Not only does it exists it targets black man.

That’s the reality of black men in America. No, it does not happen to everyone, however, if you are not black but know someone who is black, they know someone it happened too, if not them.

I guarantee it.

I knew the cop would go free, but I wondered what explanation would the ‘man’ give when asked how that conclusion was reached. I would concede whatever bullshit reasons those fucking murderers on Staten Island gave for taking his life if they explained just one thing to me.

I’d accept, agree and explain why regarding the following:

Murderers: He should not have resisted.

I agree. His hands were up while stepping back. Clearly he was readying his Black Panda Strike.

Murderers: He was really fat.

Yep! Thousands of fat people die from choking every year. Mama Cass allegedly choked on a sandwich! She was Fat. Simple changes in his lifestyle, drinking more water, exercise, avoiding being Black. If he only did the latter, I’m sure he’d be alive today…and thinner.

Murderers: He should have not been breaking the law.

On this I could not agree more! This man’s crime, selling cigarettes is the reason this country is going to hell. Put him down. Put him down like the animal he and that other unarmed black fat kid shot in Ferguson were. I mean what is it with these fat black kids? The kid shot in Ferguson committed the second worst crime known to man, shoplifting.

Our police officers put themselves on the front line every. Let’s not forget that! Remember the confused young man whom shot all those people at a Batman screening? My God that poor misguided young man had enough firepower to start a war. The police managed to secure him without firing a shot! Now that young man can get the help he needs.

Just the other day some 12-year old black child was shot three seconds after the police rolled up. He was in a playground, playing with a toy gun. What else could the police do? Park their car a safe distance away and, using that for a shield, speak to the child through a loud speaker, which every police car has for reasons just like that?

No, absolutely not!

Someone may have shown up at the empty playground and if the child had a real gun no doubt would have been killed.

Again I’d concede every bullshit point to the murdering bastards of Staten Island, say one. His death was ruled a homicide by the Medical Examiner.

The Staten Island Medical Examiner.

Just on the basis of that, the Grand Jury should have ordered those cops to trial. Funny, no one addressed that during any of the post press conferences.

Those police officers murdered that man. Eric Gardner was murdered and the world knows it. How can anyone look at that tape and tell me how does this man deserve to die?

All he did was raise voice in frustration, telling the officers he did not feel like being harassed and choose not to be someone’s bitch that day. If this had happened to a white guy, Y E A H R I G H T, it would be the funny story he’d be telling at his company Christmas party. It would be a joke.

Well, the joke’s on Eric Gardner. He’s dead.

Some months ago I wrote an article about cutting out the middleman, “middleman” being the officer who’s going to put a bullet in my head if I dare to look at him the wrong way one day.  Why don’t I just put a bullet in my own fucking head because any fucking white cop can decide I’m the wrong nigger in the wrong fucking place at the wrong time.

More than one of my friends thought I was going to commit suicide. I’d just lost my mother she was everything to me the last of my family consequently, I’m now all-alone in the world.

At my annual dinner at the San Diego Comic Con last July, I broke down in front of some of the biggest names in entertainment, sports and finance, when that thought hit me while welcoming my guests. Trust me, you have not lived until you’re crying like a little girl and Neyo gets up and hands you a handkerchief.

This has been the best professional year of my life and the worse, absolute worse year of my life personally. So it’s fair to say my mental state is not one where a confrontation with a police officer because I’m just not in the mood to be treated like my fucking name is Toby is out of the question.

That’s fair to say but what’s blatantly unfair is ending up dead because I know my rights and the day I decide to practice them by not remembering my place, I’m choked or shot to death.

This is appalling beyond measure and as you can see from the new shootings almost every day of unarmed black boys and men, it’s common. Those on the far right no longer have to wonder why so many black people hate the police. It’s simple; many Black people hate the police for the same reason Americans hate terrorists.

They are killing our young men for no other reason than they feel they have a right to do so. They don’t, and America is letting them know it as I write this.

Dwayne McDuffie, Denys Cowan, Derek Dingle and I created Milestone to give young kids of color heroes that looked like them. The police were represented as heroes and role models and they are; just not where poor black kids live. Not where I grew up. I don’t live in the hood anymore but still feel the same way about police and with good reason. Since I’ve been living in my nice house on my nice hill, I’ve been stopped repeatedly and arrested once.

I don’t hate the police. I fear the police. This is not North Korea; no American should hate or fear the police except criminals. In guess that does mean I’m allowed, technically, I am a criminal, having taken a plea deal, rather than go to court on a charge, even with videotape evidence of my innocence.

That’s how much I fear the police and the courts. I still can’t bring myself to hate the police because I’m too smart to paint all police with one brush. It would appear that although I hold out hope that things will get better, as a black man, I feel it’s best for me to hold on to my fear and I will.

I don’t hate the police but without a doubt, some police hate me.

Because of that, in America today, I can’t breathe.