Tagged: All In Color For A Dime

Michael Davis: Weekend Without Bernie

This past weekend a giant of entertainment left us. Chuck Berry was 90 years old, and I must admit I would from time to time wonder if Little Richard, Chubby Checker or Chuck were still with us.

I’ve not only had the pleasure of meeting each of these legends, I spent time with them. I worked in the music industry running the film and television arm of Motown Records for a click. Although a fantastic dancer and unbeatable in a lip-synch battle, I have no real musical talent, and at Motown I had almost zero to do with the core business.

Didn’t matter. Motown provided me access to anyone and everyone in the music industry. The music business can be very much like you see in TV and movies.

Sex drugs rock and roll complete with groupies’ wild parties and wilder people. What you see in the media does indeed happen, folks. Been there, done her, got video. I have, in my musical narrative, played many roles. What you may find hard to believe is this to some is commonplace and necessary to do their jobs.

I’ve seen a record company executive put coke on his expense account. I’ve done that as well, but my Coke came in a bottle. On occasion I’ve been cast as a witness-alibi-go between- victim-judge-jury-referee-bodyguard and bodyguarded. I’ve had some crazy days and nights.

None were crazy as when I met Chuck Berry.

I planned on telling that tale today, but as John Lennon kinda said, “life is what happens while you’re making up shit to stall so as not to write something that will tear your heart apart.”

This was to be the week I went back to running different articles on Bleeding Cool and ComicMix. I don’t like running the same article on both sites I tried running some articles part one here part two there and vice versa but neither Rich Johnston nor Mike Gold over at ComicMix said rather or not that was ok.

I like the idea of funneling readers between both sites. I think it’s a win-win, but I fixate on rather or not it’s OK and nobody wants to tell me it isn’t. Oh, I’m told who is not my bitch, but I’d better leave that be less I risk saying something that will not end well.

Yep. Still stalling.

If you’re wondering why I just don’t tell the Chuck Berry story, I don’t blame you.

That story is a perfect mix of real life craziness comics and return to the swagger that will inevitably invoke my haters on BC to chime in with why they hate me.

But as much as I like pushing people’s buttons to tell that story before I related this story would be inappropriate.

Enough stalling.

As you’ve no doubt heard by now, Bernie Wrightson died over the weekend. For my money, Bernie was just a big a star in comics as Chuck Berry was in music.

Swamp Thing #7 guest-starring Batman turned me on to Bernie’s work, and in turn, I took a significant leap in my education, and I do mean education when it needs it most in grade school.

I never wanted to draw like Jack Kirby even though I loved Kirby’s art. As a kid who loved to draw, I never thought I that I copied artists. When I would copy from comic books, I’d copy characters, not artists. It didn’t matter who drew it if the character was in an excellent pose that’s what my grade school mind was telling me I was copying.

When I discovered Bernie, all that changed and Batman swinging across the pages of Swamp Thing #7 changed it. I had to draw that way.  I kept that book as part of my never trade and would kill you your mother sister father dog and cat if you even asked me.

When Ronnie Williams bullied me though 2nd and 3rd grade, I had finally had enough when he took my Fantastic Four # 73 in the 4th grade. I picked up a metal backed wooden chair and cracked him over the head with it.

If it had been Swamp Thing #7, he took from me my weapon of choice may have been the Saturday night special (a cheap handgun) my sister said I should use on Ronnie – jokingly.  My mother acquired the gun to keep in the house after a series of robberies in our building.

She thought my sister Sharon and I didn’t know where she hid it. We knew, under the mattress along with the shells. Everything my mother hid we found.

Parents, that’s what kids do they find shit.Get a fucking gun safe.

Another stall.

I just want this fucking pain to go away, and anger may help, but I can’t get there from here so my apologies.

This article is as hard a thing for me to write as any tribute I’ve ever written.

Bernie’s artwork made me read comics that had no superheroes in it and by read, I mean read look at the words try to pronounce them and figure out what they meant. I was already becoming a decent reader from the horrible how the fuck do I spell ‘I’ student I was.

I was beginning to like reading, but all I liked to read were comics. Bernie’s work on House of Secrets  which I sort out had no superhero in it.

Seeking out that book was dangerous and enlightening. I lived on Beach 58st in Far Rockaway Queens. I got my comics from a mom and pop store on Beach 51st.

There was another store on Beach 40th and one on Beach 77st. Yeah, that’s a lot of beaches. All stores were a quick bike ride away but only (B51) was in my hood. If I wanted to go to the others, I risked a beat down or worse my bike stolen.

So, I walked. Looking for more of Bernie’s art was well worth a black eye.

Nowadays you hop on the computer and you can find anything. Back in my day, I had no idea if there was even any other Bernie art out there. I had no clue what Swamp Thing was. I purchased the book because I saw Batman on the cover.

I mentioned Bernie’s art helped my education here’s how. My sister had a cheesy romance novel paperback which featured a cover font very similar as the title of the House of Secrets comic book.

I thought it was. Because there were no superheroes in the comic somehow my mind thought it was possible this featured some Bernie artwork.

When I discovered it didn’t and had no art at all, I did the unthinkable.

I read it anyhow. All I can tell you is my little mind was blown.

Who knew there could be that much adventure and excitement in a book where nobody was drawn? All I had to do was skip all the girly parts, and I had discovered a new love, paperbacks.

Then I found Conan in paperback no girly parts to skip over and Frank Frazetta on the covers. From there I began reading hardcover books and spent my entire first paycheck ($10 bucks working for my cousin) on a hardcover book, All in Color for a Dime.

Bernie started all that.

Years later…

Denys Cowan and I were leaving DC Comics in 1988. We were going to grab a bite to eat. As we were departing in walks this guy. “Hi, Denys,” the man said. “Hey!” Denys said.

“Bernie, I want you to meet my friend, Michael Davis. Michael, this is, Bernie Wrightson.”

I lost what little mind I had.

Bernie was there for a meeting and was rushing. I did something I have only done three times in my life, and he was the first: I asked for an autograph.

I’ve met some of the most famous people in the world and only asked for an autograph three times. Each time I had something for them to sign. Jack Kirby signed a comic book, James Brown a CD cover.

I had nothing for Bernie to sign I didn’t care I just wanted something to remember the moment.

I didn’t get it.

Bernie apologized but was late for a meeting, so he ran in.

That stung.

All though our meal Denys kept telling me what a great guy he was and not to worry I’d see him again yadda yada yadda. I was thinking; yeah… right.

I realized with a start while looking for something for Bernie to sign I’d left my portfolio upstairs at DC. I told Denys I’d be right back and hurried to get it. When I entered the office there by the statue of Clark Kent was my case and coming out of the door to the inner offices was Bernie.

There was a God!

“Hey Bernie!”  The voice came from behind him calling him back.

And he hates me.

I grabbed my case left the reception area to wait for the elevator which quickly arrived with a ping!

“Hey hold it,” Someone said. I was in no mood to hold the elevator and make small talk with someone, and for a moment I considered being a dick but slapped the door to make it recede nevertheless.

“Here you go,” Bernie said with a smile. He reached in and handed me a sheet of DC stationary with his autograph and a quick ball point pen picture of Batman.

He then ran back into the offices. I never even got a chance to say thanks.

Bernie and I became friends over time and as such would grab a bite at a convention or a NY deli if we ran into each other in Manhattan.

As always, he would brush it off my gushing over him with sincere thanks but clearly didn’t think he was such a big deal.

Then I ended all of that and started to refer to him as simply Mr. Living Legend. I didn’t think he liked it, so I stopped.

The last time I saw Bernie was walking the SDCC convention floor with Wayne Brady. When we ran into Bernie, I introduced Wayne with a “Wayne, this is Bernie Wrightson.” Bernie put his hand on my shoulder gave me an affectionate squeeze and said “That’s Mister Living Legend, get it straight Michael.”

Wayne, who loves comic books said gleefully; “Yes sir, you are indeed a legend.”

A legend yes without a doubt.

Also an inspiration to a poor black kid the man he became and the one he hopes one day to be.

Ed Catto: No More Shh-ing in the Library

Seymour LIbraryIf you’re passionate about Geek Culture, you probably should (1) promote it by bringing new people into the fold, and (2) prune your collection to keep it robust and manageable. I’m typically pretty good at the first and pretty bad at the second. But last weekend I tried something new and I had an experience that was better than expected.

First, a little background. I grew up in Auburn, a small town in New York State’s Finger Lakes region. I was surrounded by about a million Italian relatives, a downtown that could have been the basis for Smallville, and an outstanding library. It was called the Seymour Library and was built around the turn of century by the firm of Carrere and Hastings. You may know them from another one of their works – the New York Public Library.

My mom led us on weekly excursions to return and borrow books. She’d choose a bunch from the new fiction/mystery section, read the best one or two, and then repeat the process the following week. Likewise, my brother and I would do the same in the children’s section. I’d shift my focus from time to time. I’d be interested in Hardy Boys books for a while, then Robin Hood books (he was big back then), then sports books (Matt Christopher was a favorite) and then dinosaur books. Always dinosaur books, in fact.

After I had checked out every dinosaur book in the children’s section at least once, I got a little pushy. I boldly told our beloved librarian, Mrs. Pine, that she needed to get more dinosaur books. I was a bit of a brat, eh?

Library Lisa Carr Books DonatedBut my real passion was comics. Back then, there were only a few books about comics. To me that universe was confined to Jules Feiffer’s The Great Comic Book Heroes, Batman from the 30’s to the 70’s (and the Superman companion book) and Les Daniels’ Comix: A History of Comic Books in America. One other one, All In Color for a Dime by Don Thompson and Dick Lupoff, was like Bigfoot/ I just knew it was out there but never saw it.

So, flash forward to 2015. I’m a guy with overgrown collections of comics and books about comics. It’s time to prune those collections. And I thought my hometown library might be good pass along some of these books.

My Aunt Marcia, a well-read and supportive relative, introduced me to Lisa Carr, who is now the Library’s Director. She’s the energetic type that makes you realize how far libraries have come. I can’t imagine her ever shh-ing anyone in Seymour Library.

She’s all about creating excitement and addressing the ever-changing needs of her community. I explained that I’d like to make a donation of comic related books and graphic novels. She was both excited and gracious.

Lisa, and her staff, welcomed me with open arms (literally) as I brought my donation into the library. We chatted about Batman and Raina Telgemeier and how things had changed over the years. She then showed me the graphic novel section that they had built and I was so impressed. I checked out IDW’s The Outfit by Darwyn Cooke for my dad, in fact.

One of the other librarians explained that the character Nightwing was her favorite. My eight year-old self would never have believed that one day I’d be talking about Nightwing, essentially a grown-up Robin, to an authority figure in the library. It’s amazing how far Geek Culture has come.

So, a nice little chunk of my collection now resides in the Seymour Library Graphic Novel section. It was a great experience for me and I’d encourage any fellow hoarders collectors out there to consider the benefits of donating. Mrs. Pine, that wonderful librarian who fanned the flames of my passion for reading all those years ago, would be pleased to know that each of my donated books will have a special bookplate with a dedication to her.

And I think they have plenty of dinosaur books now too. I can’t really help with that.

Michael Davis: May 23, 1994

don thompsonMay 23, 1994.

My wife (now ex) came home to find me wailing like a wounded animal. Seeing this started her crying also, convinced yet another tragedy had taken yet another member of my family.

She was right.

Lots Of Years Earlier…

That was my first day on my first job and I was looking forward to my first paycheck. I’d never had that kind of bank all at once. This was to be a day of firsts, after I’d gotten my scratch; I was going to shop at my first bookstore. The 8th Street Bookstore in New York City to be exact. My visit there would see me purchase my first hard cover book as this was the first time I saw value in one thing as opposed to many things.

My first paycheck, my first visit to a bookstore to buy my first hardcover book and the first time I saw value in one thing as opposed to many things?

You’re thinking I was either:

  1. Really stupid
  2. An illiterate adult
  3. A really stupid illiterate adult
  4. All of the above

It’s E, none of the above. Why is E not listed? Why’d you think it had to be one of those? Yeah, right.

I was 10. I said it was a lot of year’s earlier, sheesh.

This was the first day I was going to work in my cousin’s studio. My cousin, William T. Williams, is one of the 20th and now 21st century finest artists. Don’t take my word for it; Goggle him or check out the Janson History Of Art for the last 20 years or so.

I was going to work every Saturday at my cousin’s studio because I’d shown an interest in art. But the real reason is my mother and cousin had cooked this up to keep my ass off the mean streets of Rockaway Queens during the weekends and summer.

I was told I would get paid at the end of my day, a day I spent learning how to carry a painting. Trust me, it not as easy as you think, especially when some of the paintings were twice as big as me.

My cousin handed me my day’s wages and I made a huge mistake when I took the money. It taught me one of many lessons I’ve learned from him – but that’s another story. The moment I had that $10 bucks in my greedy little hands, visions of dozens of new comic books danced in my head.

That was the most money I’ve ever had at one time and nothing was going to stop me from overdosing on candy which I’m sure would include Black Cows, Now & Laters, Mike & Ike’s, Red Hots and Blow Pops. Yeah, back in the day they knew how to name the stuff that one day we would regret ever eating…not!

My plan was to binge on all that sugar love while reading my 50 or so new comics I was sure I could now afford. My cousin suggested we visit a bookstore with my newfound wealth.

“They got comic books?”

“I’m sure they do.”

That’s all I needed to know. On the way he asked if comics were the only books I buy. Nope, in fact I’d just brought my first paperback, 101 Elephant Jokes, a paperback costing an entire 25 cents, so there.

The 8th Street Bookstore did have comics but they were unlike any I’d ever seen before. The Furry Freak Brothers and Fritz The Cat captured my attention because there were a lot of naked people (and cats) having sex in black and white. For a moment I couldn’t care less that there was no Batman, Avengers, Spider-Man and the like. When I was told I was too young to buy them, all I wanted was to get the hell out of dodge, quick, fast and in a hurry.

Then I saw it!

I saw it and after finding the color section within this hard cover goldmine, I had to buy it, but there was wee bit of a problem. All In Color For A Dime cost $11.95, which was more than the $10 bucks my cousin had paid me for working in his studio. There was another problem, if I somehow managed to get the other $1.95 that left no comic book or Black Cow money. When my cousin handed me the two bucks I completely forgot about the candy and the comics, I can’t explain it but I just had to have that book.

Imagine what kind of impact that must have had on me. 10 years old giving up comics & candy for a book costing all the money I had in the world.

Almost Two Decades Later:

Yet another first, I find my “dad” when Don Thompson comes into my life.

It was also the first time I totally lost it upon meeting someone. I squealed like a little girl when I met Don at the old Chicago Comicon with his wonderful wife Maggie.

Maggie, bless her heart, reassured me it’s all right as I could not stop apologizing for my enthusiasm and downright giddiness. Don, along with Dick Lupoff, were the masterminds behind All In Color For a Dime, so to me, he was a god.

I’d spent countless hours reading All In Color and it became and still is one of my most prized possessions. Somehow, at 10 years of age I knew that book would change my life. When I met Don and Maggie, who at the time were the editors of the weekly The Comics Buyer’s Guide (CBG), I knew they would also. CBG was their baby, they were more than the editors and the face of the publication, they were its the heart and soul.

Those two wonderful people became two of my most cherished friends, valued advisors and are directly responsible for my writing career, which has lead to my own imprint among other things. Picture This was the name of the weekly column I wrote for CBG starting way back in 1989 or 90 (I think) don’t quote me on that but I know I started before Peter David.

Peter’s column, But I Digress, went on to become a must read for the entire industry and is considered the gold standard of weekly comic book opinion columns. Nobody even remembers Picture This (PT) and even I can’t recall what the other column name I wrote under before or after PT at CBG.

Forget This, does seem really close.

But I digress…

Don & Maggie, along with their kids Steven and Valerie became like a family I never knew I had. Every big move I made in comics I’d seek council from Don and Maggie. When they met me I had just began working in comics. Before comics I was a full time illustrator, my comics industry involvement was pretty much hanging around with Denys Cowan at conventions and comic book stores.

Someone must have spiked Mark Nevelow’s Diet Coke or had blackmail photos of him because Mark, the editor and supreme overlord at DC’s groundbreaking new imprint Piranha Press, gave me the assignment to illustrate ETC, the first offering from Piranha.

I had hit the big time and just knew after ETC, the comics’ world would bow at my feet. I would show these ‘artists’ just how to do a painted comic book!

Err, nope. Did not work out that way. The reviews were mixed; when they were good they were great. One reviewer wrote that ETC was ‘”one of few books which deserved the deluxe format and the price.” Like I said, when they were good they were great. When they were bad, ouch. Well, I knew CBG would have a positive review.

Err, nope.

Don Thompson wrote a review handing me my ass.

That broke my heart and he knew it. He spent a couple of hours on the phone with me explaining what was right (very little) and what was wrong (that took the two hours) with the book. After talking to him I was a much better artist.

Maggie on the other hands dismissed ETC entirely. That dismissal was not a grueling review but a personal insight she shared with me. “Michael, there will be other comics, that’s not what’s needed in this industry. What’s needed is your mentor program. What’s needed is what you’re doing there.” Don co-signed soon after, adding to a growing library of wonderful advice I’ll never forget.

If not for those two, my Bad Boys Studio (before Diddy) Mentor program may have ceased to exist. I was looking for more time to do comics and cutting that was looking pretty smart until Maggie and Don set me straight.

Before I accepted the position of President/CEO of Motown Animation & Filmworks I once again sort council from Don and Maggie. I flew to Iola Wisconsin (population 0 black folk) and spent a wonderful day with my “mom & dad.” It would be the last time I’d see my adoptive father.

May 23, 1994.

My wife (still now ex) came home to find me wailing like a wounded animal. Seeing this, started her crying also, convinced yet another tragedy had taken yet another member of my family.

She was right; the news that Don had died destroyed me for a few days. I’ve seen a lot of death in my life and when it happens I cry. Sometimes I sob so uncontrollably I’m amazed it ever stops. There are those who think men crying are a sign of weakness. Where I’m from, any black man crying is branded a little bitch or worse.

Whatever.

I cry for those I love. I cry for those I need but lose or leave. I cry when people I love hurt me. The day I had to leave Milestone 2.0 I cried. Like a little bitch I cried. I have no pride when it comes to pain in my life so I cry. If I didn’t cry I’d be the crazy motherbadsword some people think I am. Don’t get me wrong; I am a crazy motherbadword but only to those who come at me with malice and cruelty.

There was no malice and cruelty intended by M2.0. Yes, I was hurt and I cried over the lost of a dream. A dream I worked towards only to see it realized then fade away then vanish. People all over the industry are still waiting for the war I’m going to bring. News flash: I don’t live a life where I have to avoid something or someone for fear of a lawsuit or fear of losing face.

When things go south in my life I always (after pricing hit men) reach out to those whom I’m having the problem with. Especially if there was once love there. That’s a lesson many in the black entertainment space should learn. Often when I’ve reached out, I’m ignored.

What have I done when ignored? If for whatever reason those at odds with me refuse to even acknowledge me, then I move on, I leave it alone. Those who have squandered their chance to be kind and civil will one-day regret it. That’s not bravado, that’s the truth. The truth is those who create but don’t face the problem are always, always the worse for it.

Karma, my dear friends, Karma can be a real badword.

Don Thompson broke my heart with that review. It really wasn’t even the review, it was my hero, my ‘dad’ crushing me, that is what hurt most of all. I can’t comprehend on any level reaching out to Don after that heartbreak and Don ignoring me. He wouldn’t and neither would Maggie. I was thinking just that about Don on the eve of the 21st anniversary of his death.

March 23, 1994, that’s when I wanted my article on Don to run but couldn’t finish it. Thinking about him with all the badword I’m dealing with brought a new wave of sadness followed by a torrent of tears. Then, I was just angry. Angry at the last two years of my life, angry at Don for leaving but most of all angry with myself.

Indeed, I felt the most anger towards myself. Considering a final solution to my world of pain that I’m sure Don would find deplorable made me angrier and once I had that thought about Don an abundance of fury was undone as I imagined disappointing the rest of my departed family.

I was ashamed and my humiliation fueled my anger and I certainly couldn’t write about my “dad” angry. So I waited and wrote other things where my anger would be better served. I returned to this remembrance in the middle of the night weeks later, hoping I’d be able to finish my tribute and pay my respect to Don’s memory.

And I will. Don is still helping me. His light is still guiding me, his council easing some of my pain and some of my anger. I knew this for sure when Maggie tweeted me at the exact time I’d just written her name.

My regular readers will notice “badwords” instead of my usual bad words. That’s because there’s a pretty good chance Maggie may show this to some people who don’t know me. Like any good son I’d like to make mom proud. The knowledge she has a black son will likely be shock enough profanity would be too much. ;)

I love you, mom, more than any words I can say. I miss Don more than any words I could write.

 

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