Tagged: Julius Schwartz

Mike Gold: Apes… Lots of Apes

Gold Art 130619About every dozen years or so, I sit myself down and ogle King Kong. It’s a great movie, all the more impressive as it only offers a merely adequate cast (by and large). It ain’t Casablanca or Citizen Kane, and some (often me) say Mighty Joe Young is a better ape flick. But King Kong is responsible for two major events: it taught the moviegoer that movies are capable of playing to our sense of wonder on an astonishing level… and it gave birth to the whole ape-fad thing.

Outside of movies circa 1930s and 40s, nowhere is this phenomenon more visible than in comics. To this very day, massive primates threatening our safety if not our sanity are common to the comics racks. While Hollywood keeps on grinding out pathetic great ape imitations and senseless remakes of the original, comics seem to churn out contemporary simians like clockwork.

A partial list – very partial – of simians both sinister and simply silly includes The Ape Gang (Judge Dredd), Axewell Tiberius (Monkeyman and O’Brien), Brainiape (Savage Dragon), Captain Apemerica (MCU), Congorilla (Congo Bill), Cy-Gor (Spawn), Djuba (B’wana Beast), The Gibbon (MCU), The Gorilla Boss of Gotham City (Batman; a personal favorite), Gorilla Grodd (DCU), Gorilla-Man (Atlas/MCU), King Solomon (Tom Strong), Kriegaffe (Hellboy), The Mod Gorilla Boss (Animal Man), Monsieur Mallah (Doom Patrol), The Primate Patrol (Nazi gorillas; go figure), Sam Simeon (Angel and the Ape), Solovar (The Flash), Super-Apes (Fantastic Four), Titano (Superman), and the Ultra-Humanite (Superman, his first continuing villain)… and that doesn’t even count the apes who dominated Julie Schwartz’s science-fiction line or who possess their own planet, as well as those many apes who answer to the name Cheeta or to “Bolgani” or “Mangani.”

Many of these very apes made it to the animated incarnations of their host characters.

The reason for all this is so obvious I won’t insult your intelligence by stating it. However, to update this for the modern Doctor Who fan, “apes are cool.”

So. Why did I choose to bring this to your attention?

Because I haven’t seen Man of Steel yet… and, gosh-darn-it, I like apes!

THURSDAY: Dennis O’Neil

FRIDAY: Martha Thomases

 

Dennis O’Neil: Superman and Me

O'Neil Art 130613Look, up in the sky…It’s a bird! It’s a plane! It’s…

…a whole lot of really, really numerous photons striking a large, white rectangle.

Or: it’s remembered images and sounds careening around the inside of my skull because, pay attention now, Superman and I go back a long way.

He’s one of the first fictional people I can recall meeting, though whether our first encounter was in one of the comic books Dad bought me after Sunday Mass or as voices emanating from Mom’s kitchen radio…the details of Supes’ and my initial acquaintance I do not remember, and who cares?

I next saw Supes on a movie screen, perhaps smaller and shabbier than the one mentioned in the second paragraph above, but serving pretty much the same purpose and.. Was I outraged? Disillusioned? Shattered? Or mad?

The problem was the flying. The grade-school me was anticipating watching the Man of Steel leave the ground and zip around he sky because… well, that would be an exciting thing to see. Then – the big disappointment. First the Easter Bunny, then Santa Claus, and now…What kind of bushwa was this? Superman goes behind a rock or something and then he flies up, up. and away. Only it wasn’t him flying. No, even to a kid it was obviously some kind of drawing, like the animated cartoons that often appeared before the cowboy pictures Iliked. Movie magic? Or a dirty stinky cheat?

But I wasn’t done with Superman, nor he with me. I won a story-writing contest that was fostered by the Superman-Tim club. Club membership, which cost Mom a dime, consisted of a card, a Superman pin and a monthly magazine that featured contests and jokes and puzzles and stuff. I don’t know how many contestants won prizes – maybe everyone who entered. And the prize wasn’t great: some kind of cheesy board game with cardboard cutouts that got moved. But hey – I’d gotten rewarded for writing a story! Wonder where that might lead!

Next came the Superman television show shown in St. Louis on Sunday morning well after Dad and I returned from church. Not bad. Okay way to kill a little time before the Sunday pot roast.

Then a long hiatus. Bye for now, Superman. Was it to be bye forever?

No. Years later, by then a freelance comic book scripter living in Manhattan, an editor named Julius Schwartz asked me if I’d like to have a go at Superman. I had some misgivings. Superman was… too establishment for me. Too goody-two-shoes. And too powerful. Melodrama turns on conflict. So how do you create conflict for a dude who could tuck all the gods of Olympus into an armpit, his suit apparently lacking pockets, and still have room there for the gods of Egypt and a few sticks of deodorant? Could I do that every month? I had some doubts. But I was a professional with mouths to feed and so I took the gig. Julie agreed to let me dial down the superpowers thing and let me make another change or two and off I went. For a year. I walked away from Superman and I’m not sure why. Just because I wasn’t enjoying it much? A lot of freelancers might consider that a pretty lame reason for dumping a paying gig and I’m not sure I’d disagree with them. But dump it I did and once again, sayonara Superman.

But never say never. I’m going to the movies, probably this weekend.

FRIDAY: Martha Thomases

SATURDAY: Marc Alan Fishman

 

Carmine Infantino: 1925-2013

Carmine ArtCarmine Infantino, the legendary artist, editor, and co-creator of the Black Canary, the Barry Allen Flash, Elongated Man, Deadman, Human Target, and Batgirl, and onetime publisher of DC Comics has passed away at the age of 87.

Carmine was born in his family’s apartment in Brooklyn, NY, on May 24, 1925. He started working for comics packager Harry A. Chesler during his freshman year of high school at the School of Industrial Art. His early career included stints on Airboy, The Heap, Johnny Thunder, the Golden-Age Green Lantern and Flash, and the Justice Society of America.

In 1956, Julius Schwartz teamed Carmine with Robert Kanigher to attempt to revive superheroes by creating a new version of the Flash in Showcase #4, an event which marked a beginning of the Silver Age of Comics. Carmine designed the streamlined look of the series, down to the familiar red and yellow costume. He also had famous runs on Adam Strange and Batman, ushering in the “New Look” in Detective Comics #327, complete with yellow oval around the Bat-symbol on his chest.

In late 1966/early 1967, Carmine was tasked by Irwin Donenfeld with designing covers for the entire DC line. Stan Lee learned of this and approached Carmine with a $22,000 offer to move to Marvel. DC Publisher Jack Liebowitz confirmed that DC could not match the offer, but instead promoted Carmine to the position of art director. When DC was sold to Kinney National Company in 1967, Infantino was promoted to editorial director, where he made artists Joe Orlando, Joe Kubert and Mike Sekowsky editors. New talents such as artist Neal Adams and writer Dennis O’Neil were brought into the company, and in 1970, Carmine signed on Marvel Comics’ star artist and storytelling collaborator, Jack Kirby, to a DC Comics contract.

Carmine was made DC’s publisher in early 1971, during a time of declining circulation for the company’s comics, and he attempted a number of changes. In an effort to raise revenue, he raised the cover price of DC’s comics from 15 to 25 cents, simultaneously raising the page-count by adding reprints and new backup features.In January 1976, Warner Communications replaced Carmine with magazine publisher Jenette Kahn, and he returned to freelance work, doing Spider-Woman, Star Wars, and Nova for Marvel and numerous stories for the Warren family of comics magazines. He returned to DC in 1981 on the Flash, Supergirl, Red Tornado, Dial “H” For Hero, and the Batman syndicated newspaper strip.

In 2004, he sued DC for rights to characters he alleged to have created while he was a freelancer for the company, including Kid Flash, Iris West, Captain Cold, Captain Boomerang, Mirror Master, Gorilla Grodd, the Elongated Man, and Batgirl. He wrote and contributed to two books about his life and career: The Amazing World of Carmine Infantino and Carmine Infantino: Penciler, Publisher, Provocateur. He appeared at conventions promoting these books up to the end of 2012.

Carmine was often quoted as saying his favorite character was Detective Chimp.

He won numerous awards over the years, including the National Cartoonists Society Award in 1958 for Best Comic Book and eleven Alley Awards, plus a special Alley Award in 1969 for being the person “who exemplifies the spirit of innovation and inventiveness in the field of comic art”.

Dennis O’Neil: Fredric Wertham, Superhero?

O''Neil Art 130328Did Fredric Wertham imitate superheroes? And if so, did he realize that he was doing it?

But let’s back up and give you latecomers an establishing shot or two. Way back in the early 50s, Dr. Wertham, a New York City psychiatrist, wrote a book provocatively titled Seduction of the Innocent which claimed to use science to demonstrate that comic books were corrupting the nation’s youth. Comics were already being attacked by editorial writers and at about the same time as the book’s publication, a senator named Estes Kefauver was convening hearings to investigate the same charge. The result of all this accusing was twofold: comics publishers went out of business leaving over 800 people suddenly unemployed, and the ragtag remnants of the business created The Comics Code Authority to censor their publications and thus placate the witch hunters. The comic book enterprise went into sharp decline, both financially and artistically until the late 50s, when Julius Schwartz and Stan Lee reinvented the superhero genre.

A sorry story. But ancient history. Well, not quite. Dr. Wertham was back in the news last week. According to the New York Times, Carol L. Tilley of the University of Illinois, examined Wertham’s papers and found numerous examples of research that were “manipulated, overstated, compromised and fabricated.”

Wow. And ouch. Not only did the doctor help put hundreds of decent folk out of work and, arguably, cripple an American art form, but he cooked the books to do it. There have been, for decades, doubts about Wertham’s methods, perhaps the most prevalent of which was that he ignored the validity of control groups. (Okay, goes the narrative, the doc found a hundred young lawbreakers who read comics, but he disregarded the thousands of Eagle Scouts who were also comics readers.) But until now, nobody has accused him of outright lying

Apparently he did lie.

I wonder why. Did he find these entertainments so unutterably vulgar that he was able to convince himself that they were also malign? Was he a zealot who honestly believed that these comic books were pernicious! and corrupt! and evil! and were obliterating the decency of American youth? And did he feel that he was justified in using any means available to quell this menace? That seems to be how zealots like to think.

Or was he a superhero? Consider: the bad guys in superhero stories may blather about ruling the world or getting rich or attaining revenge or, like zealots, proving that they’re right, but the real reason they exist is to give the hero a chance to show his stuff. We like heroes, and we like them to do magnificent deeds, and villains provide the circumstances for superheroic action.  So, Dr. Wertham: did he see, in the anti-comic book excitement, a chance to get famous and cement his reputation and maybe grab a royalty check? Were comics his supervillains, giving him his big opportunity? He was already respected and, on the whole, he seemed to be a pretty decent guy, but maybe he had his share of hidden demons.

I don’t know. I’ll probably never know, and neither will you. But we might find a lesson in the Wertham saga: don’t trust authority figures. I hope that isn’t news to you.

FRIDAY: Martha Thomases

SATURDAY: Marc Alan Fishman

 

Martha Thomases: We’re Back In The Sixties Again

Screen Shot 2013-02-19 at 3.57.00 PMAmerican Comic Book Chronicles: 1960-64 by John Wells, TwoMorrows Publishing, $39.95 retail hardcover; $11.95 digital

When Editor-in-Supremo Mike Gold asked me to review American Comic Book Chronicles: 1960-1964, I said, “It sounds like my childhood between two covers.” So he sent it to me.

First, the bad news. This isn’t a bunch of reprints from the early Sixties. I realize that would be a nightmare in terms of getting all the necessary permissions, but that’s what I wanted. The book is lots of cover shots and panels and ads for other comics, with text in the middle.

Text. Lots of text.

I didn’t read it all. I didn’t have time. So this isn’t really a review. I just read the parts about comics I liked, or might have liked if I’d known about them when I was seven.

Seven is, as we all know, the Golden Age of Comics.

I think the book tries to cover too much ground. They consider comics to include newspaper strips and humor magazines like Mad and Help. These are interesting subjects, but I think covering them dilutes the main story.

The main story is really cool, too. In the 1960s there were so many different kinds of comics. There were superheroes, of course. There was Archie and other teen comics. There were war comics and comics pitched to the military, like Sad Sack. There were romance comics and science fiction comics and funny animal comics and doctor comics. There were comics based on television shows, and comics based on movies. There were comics for girls, comics for boys, comics for men and comics for women. That’s because comics were sold at newsstands, then, which offered magazines to all those potential readers.

The book shows you the ways that the times influenced the comics, whether it was the Beatles, the election and then the assassination of President Kennedy, or the civil rights movement, sometimes all at the same time.

It’s also just about the time that the guard changed. Boys (almost always boys) who grew up reading comics were old enough to write, draw and edit them. They started fandom. They wrote long, thoughtful letters to the letter columns.

And their involvement caused the characters to evolve. I remember reading the story of Lex Luthor’s marriage, on the planet Lexor where he was a hero. It made me feel something for him, like he was a person with feelings. That was a new insight for pre-teen me.

The stories started to have higher page counts, sometimes running across more than one issue. Characters had deeper relationships with each other and, therefore, with the readers. And yet, comics were still disposable enough that publishers would take ridiculous chances, so that, for example, they gave the Batman line to an editor whose only experience was in science fiction.

This is my favorite quote, from Julius Schwartz commenting on fan reaction (which was almost entirely positive) to the New Look Batman of 1964. “There’ll always be the diehards who resist any change, and we can always count on the nostalgic type who fancies that nothing in comics published today can match the so-called Golden Era of Comics.”

I hope to read more of the text in the future. And I definitely look forward to the next book (which I assume will cover the next five years of the Sixties), when underground comics emerge, and LSD makes such an impact on the public consciousness that even people who didn’t take it acted all trippy.

SATURDAY: Marc Alan Fishman

SUNDAY: John Ostrander

 

Dennis O’Neil: Our Christmas Funnies

If memory serves – and how often does that happen? – I saw my first 2012 Christmas decorations in late summer. In Miami, maybe? At the merchandise mart that adjoined the convention hotel? Anyway, months before anything resembling the start of the Holiday Season, which seems to have climbed into the vicinity of Halloween.

(And are you now bracing for one of my hate-Christmas screeds? Am I preparing to validate Fox News’s diatribes against The War On Christmas, ho ho ho? Naw. Maybe next year.)

What I am wondering, though, is whether any of our comic book bretheren still produce the annual Christmas story. In fact, I’m wondering if they ever did. I know that I wrote at least a couple of them, two featuring The Dark Knight (ah, but was he a silent knight? a holy knight?) and a third, I think, starring one of his favorite adversaries, that feminine feline funster, Catwoman. Two of these were commissioned, produced by editorial fiat, and what the hell? We’re pros, right? Guy behind the desk says Christmas story and we say, how many pages and when? The other, a Batman, may have been my idea, or, more likely, it may have originated with My Favorite Editor, Julius Schwartz.

And, o holy holly, while typing the above, I forget the weirdest Christmas-Meets-Batman of them all: A Slaying Song Tonight. This eight-pager appeared in an anthology, Batman Black and White, and I’m pretty sure it was my idea to make the thing a Christmas story and if you insist on my telling you why, I’d guess that I hadn’t done a Christmas piece in a long time and I felt like revisiting old turf. Maybe I shouldn’t even mention this because it surely wasn’t an annual anything: rather it was, as they say in the British publishing dodge, “a one-off.”

(An oddity concerning Batman Black and White: the book was conceived and edited by DC’s color editor, Mark Chiarello. And for those of you who haven’t seen it: yeah, every story in it was in black-and-white. And consider this a Recommended Reading. And finally, to end this windy digression – Mark, if Slaying Song was your idea, I apologize.)

Where were we…? Wondering if comics do Christmas stories anymore. Well, if they aren’t published, or if there are fewer of them than in days of yore, it may be because these stories, from Dickens onward, were focused on one day, a holiday, Christmas. Well, Christmas isn’t a day, not for a while now. A … what? Season? That’s closer. What it has evolved into, this Christmas, is something we don’t have a name for. Not yet. Shall we coopt a bit from an old Seinfeld and call it “festivus”? Or how about frumalackel? You like that – frumalackel? Sleep on it.

Frumalackel or Christmas, I’m not complaining. It is what it is – what it has become, and it is not wise to argue with reality, and so I won’t. Not this year.

Next year? Who knows?

FRIDAY: Martha Thomases

 

Dennis O’Neil: Truth, Justice, and the American Press

 “I was taught to believe you could use words to change the course of rivers – that even the darkest secrets would fall under the harsh light of the sun. But facts have been replaced by opinions. Information has been replaced by entertainment. Reporters have become stenographers. I can’t be the only one who’s sick of what passes for the news today.”

Well said, Clark!

The words that begin this column were spoken by Clark Kent as he quit his job at Metropolis’ greatest (and only?) newspaper, the Daily Planet.

Clark has been a journalist at the Planet for either five years, or 74 years, depending on whether you prefer comic book years or the kind of years most of us measure time by. Either way, what Clark did was a noble gesture.

This is not Mr. Kent’s first stray from the Planet city room. Some forty-one years ago he accepted a job in television and though, if memory serves, he didn’t completely sever all ties with the paper, he didn’t report for work there, either. Instead, he bopped around the city in a van seeking opportunities for on-the-spot, live coverage of news events. His secret – well, his newest secret – was that the van had an concealed escape hatch through which Clark could exit, unseen, when his alter ego – and you know who that is – was needed.

So Clark’s (temporary) change of status wasn’t dictated by ethics; he was just a working stiff doing what his boss wanted. And, not incidentally, what Superman’s biographer’s editor wanted. This was the splendid Julius Schwartz, who felt that Clark’s reporting gig was becoming a bit dated and that maybe shunting him into the electronic media would give him a dash of contemporaneity. You know, spiff him up a little.

I don’t remember what happened to Clark’s video career. Obviously, it didn’t last.

Now, he’s again cut loose from the only serious job he’s ever had, and I applaud him.

I expect that you applaud him, too, when you think about the egregious farce we’ve all just survived. It was called “an election” and it produced millions of words. Words spoken into microphones and in front of cameras and printed on paper: words used incorrectly and irresponsibly; words used to obfuscate and obscure; words that angered and irritated and infuriated; some words that distracted from the truth, some that denied the truth, some that seemed to bear no relationship to the truth.

Clark complained of “what passes for news today.” Does he mean all the print and broadcasting that details opinions and misadventures of instant celebrities – inconsequential nattering that once would barely have qualified as back fence gossip? Global warming? Palestine? Syria? The economy? Well, yeah, those get mentioned too, but maybe not a lot and besides, they’re not as interesting as Justin Bieber’s split with his girlfriend.

Are they?

RECOMMENDED READING: Satanic Verses, by Salman Rushdie.

FRIDAY: Thomases. Martha Thomases

 

Mindy Newell: Ruminations, Ramblings and Rumblings

So what’s in Mindy’s head today?

I haven’t been to a convention in a long, long time, but reading about some of the ComicMix crew’s sojourn to Baltimore (here and here) lit up my temporal lobe – that’s the part of the brain responsible for memory, for you non-biology majors out there. James Doohan (Chief Engineer Montgomery “Captain, the engines canna take it” Scott of the U.S.S. Enterprise NCC-1701) in the “green room” at ICON spilling his coffee all over my new outfit and his gentlemanly response as he went to wipe my chest and then blushed, stopping himself just in time. London in 1986 – walking through London with Archie Goodwin, Mark Gruenwald, Louise and Walter Simonson. Meeting Neil Gaiman and John Wagner. Forgetting that I met John Higgins and then marrying him 17 years later. The British Museum. The Tower of London. Breakfast with Mike Grell and Tom DeFalco. Toronto: sitting on a panel with Chris Claremont. Chicago: Meeting Kim Yale and John Ostrander and Joyce Brabner and Harvey Pekar. Michael Davis in the audience lending support and trying to fluster me (“Number Nine. Number Nine.”) during the Women In Comics panel. Hanging out at the pool with a bunch of comics pros and getting such a great tan that my coworkers back home thought I had gone to the Caribbean for the weekend. Sitting next to Julie Schwartz at the DC booth. Being followed into the bathroom by a fan wanting an autograph.

Over at The League Of Women Bloggers on Facebook, I found out about a troll who has been sexually harassing and threatening women pros and their families on the net. As I said there, “I would like to know why it took Ron Marz and Mark Millar (and kudos to them for doing so) to take the asshole on. Having never been subjected to the troll’s attacks, I was ignorant until I read about it here. However, I will say that if I had been attacked like this, I would not have stayed quiet. (Anyone who knows me should not be surprised.) I would have taken him on, language for language, and if it had continued, I would have contacted the authorities. So, girlfriends, I do have to say…why didn’t anyone who was being attacked by this asshole not take him on? My graduate paper for school was ‘Horizontal, Lateral and Vertical Violence in Nursing.’ It’s a worldwide phenomenon in the field. What this trolling ogre has been doing is the same thing (and it occurs on the net in nursing, too.) And every peer review paper I read, every person I interviewed, said the same thing – those who are attacked in this manner must come forward. It’s the only way to stop it.”        

Reading comics as a kid taught me the meaning of “invulnerable” and that the sun is 93,000, 000 miles from Earth. (Thanks for the editor’s notes, Julie!) It opened my mind to the infinite possibilities of “life out there” and the wonders of the universe. It taught me that guns are bad and life is precious. It taught me to love reading. I mentioned this to daughter Alix’s husband, Jeff, who is a professor in the City University of New York system and teaches remedial English, suggesting that he use comics as part of his syllabus. He’s looking into it.  If he can get into his office. The key the administration doesn’t open the door. Ah, CUNY.

Conspiracy moment: It might be my writer’s brain, but can’t help having a suspicion that the release of The Innocence Of Muslims (the video that launched horrific demonstrations against the U.S., Israel, and the Western world all over the Middle East, Indonesia, and Malaysia, and resulted in the deaths of our Libyan ambassador and three others) was an act of Al Quada, especially as it occurred on September 11, and especially as Ayman al-Zawahiri, who took over as head of the terrorist organization, released a message on the net calling for an uprising. Laugh if you must, scoff if you will, but I won’t be surprised if the New York Times reports that a link was found by our intelligence agencies.

The Giants lost their opening game. They deserved to lose. They looked horrible. Their offensive line is non-existent. For this I missed Bill Clinton’s speech at the Democratic Convention?

Martha Thomases’ fashion police column last week made me want to see a spread featuring the very fashion-forward women of comics. Hey! New York Times! How ‘bout it?

La Shonah Tova, everybody! That’s a big Happy New Year to all of you!

TUESDAY MORNING: Emily S. Whitten

TUESDAY AFTERNOON: Michael Davis

 

 

Mike Gold: Joe Kubert, Personally

One of the hardest questions for me to answer begins with the phrase “What is your favorite…?”

My Top 10 movie list has over 100 movies on it. My Top 10 television shows list must first be categorized: is it fair to compare Rocky and Bullwinkle to The Prisoner? Well, maybe that’s a bad example, but I think you get my point. If you were to ask me to name my favorite musician, I’d go into a fugue state and you’d get scared and leave.

There is one exception. If you were to ask me who my favorite comics creator is – and you were to ask me this question at any time in the past half-century – I would immediately and firmly respond “Joe Kubert.”

As we reported, Joe died Sunday evening. It was one of those moments when time… simply… stopped. For the past decade I’ve been in amazement that Joe was still giving us a graphic novel and a mini-series or special or something every year. Jeez, if I make it to 85 (and I’m nowhere in as good a shape as Joe was) I’m planning on lying there bitching until somebody changes my Depends. Joe was still at it, producing great stuff.

I was fortunate to know both Joe and his wife Muriel (predeceased by four years); Muriel knew the depths of my affection for her husband’s work, Joe knew it as well and was quite gracious but, as to be expected from an artist of his caliber, I could tell he wasn’t connecting with my praise for something he had finished months ago. He already was on to the next thing. Or maybe the one after that.

When I first started working at DC Comics back in 1976, my office was two doors down from Julius Schwartz. Denny O’Neil had the office next to me. Joe Orlando – Joe Orlando! – was a few doors down from that. And, three days a week, there was Joe Kubert. The best of the best.

I was a 26 year-old fanboy and if I wasn’t breathing I would have thought I had gone to heaven.

Kubert had been my favorite comics creator since the day my mother bought me Brave and the Bold #34, cover-dated February-March 1961. It featured the debut of the silver age Hawkman. We were getting on Chicago’s L, headed towards the Loop for my first visit to the eye doctor. I was anxious to read the comic; it looked really cool. Exciting. Different. And new superheroes were few and far between in those days of buggy whips and gas lamps.

Of course, my eye doctor did what eye doctors do: she put those serious drops in my eyes and everything got all blurry and then she exiled me to the outer office while my pupils dilated to the size of manhole covers. I was told to sit there quietly for an hour. I was ten years old; the concept of “sitting quietly” was well beyond my understanding. Certainly, not with that awesome-looking comic book on my lap.

I tried to read it. My mother started to scream about how I’d permanently ruin my eyes. She was supportive of my reading comics, she just had odd theories about how I’d go blind. Being me, I continued to try to read the Hawkman debut but now more defiantly, with purpose and determination – despite the fact that each panel was more blurry than the previous. I went through that book several times, trying my damnedest to understand it. To see it.

The book was astonishingly great – a tribute to writer Gardner Fox and editor Julie Schwartz as well as to Joe. After I finally read the comic in focus, it was clear to me that it was worth all the effort. That’s probably what made me a Joe Kubert fan.

By 1976 I had learned first-hand that a lot of the public figures I admired weren’t really worthy of such tribute on a personal level; if you were going to meet a lot of celebrities, you had to learn how to divorce yourself from the person and remain married to that person’s work. This is a lot less the case in the comics field, I’m happy to report.

And it most certainly was not the case with Joe Kubert. We could be diametrically opposed on certain political and social issues, and we were, but it didn’t matter one bit. Part of that came from Joe’s upbringing in the Talmudic arts where discussion and debate is encouraged and honored. But most of that came from Joe’s simply being a great, great guy.

That’s what I have to say about Joe Kubert. He was a great, great guy.

Here’s what I have to say to Joe Kubert.

Thank you.

THURSDAY: Dennis O’Neil

 

Dennis O’Neil: Are Comic Books… Invulnerable?

Call comics “the little issues that could?” Or maybe the “phoenix of mediatown?”

At least twice in my long – ye gods! – long association with the form, I thought they were going down. Not all the way down: I thought, sure, comics will survive, the way poetry and harpsichord music has survived, as entertainment for aficionados, the loyal few who are willing to make a sacrifice or two to keep something they love alive. But as something vaguely resembling a mass medium? Huh uh.

Comics’ first decline began in the late40s-early 50s, after a lot of self-righteous souls and maybe a few who were just plain ambitious condemned the funnybooks as either amusement for the mentally challenged or the devil’s pulp, luring the nation’s youth into wicked thoughts and, Lordy, Lordy, who knew what kind of naughty behavior? Dozens of publishers bit the big one and those that survived barely survived.

Then… something happened. I’m not sure exactly what. Part of it was that the country became aware and accepting of popular culture and, in the Kennedy era, maybe a little less anal, and part of it was that our two giants, Julius Schwartz and Stan Lee, reinvented superheroes and those characters were pretty much identified with the medium that begot them.

In the mid-seventies, when general interest magazines were virtually extinct – wha’d I do with my latest issue of Collier’s, anyway? – and it was becoming harder and harder for a kid to get his monthly Batman (Spider-Man, Herbie the Fat Fury, et. al.) because the small stores and newsstands where a kid could find his favorites were also becoming extinct, that crazy New Jerseyite Phil Seuling and a few like-minded visionaries created the direct market and suddenly comics had what Colliers and the other slicks and the pulp fiction magazines didn’t have: a place to sell the stuff. The direct market was a direct descendant of fan activities – the clubs, the conventions – and so, takes a bow, fans. You did your bit.

About a decade later, comics’ suffered an artificial boom when innocents with disposable income were led to believe that comics were investment: buy a hundred copies of Spawn #1 and put yourself through college! Well, no. It took the world about four years to realize that while Action Comics #1 could fetch over a hundred K at auction, it was mostly because there weren’t many copies left on the planet. It wasn’t hard to find a copy or two of the first Spawn. The boom was bust and some publishers vanished and the survivors suffered, having swollen to a size that accommodated the boom’s demand and was too big and too costly for the bust.

When I walked out of an editor’s office for the last time, a dozen years ago, I wondered if I wasn’t feeling the deck list beneath my feet. But, no. The news is that comics are again on an upswing, moving into the digital age, learning from past mistakes, benefitting from enormously popular film adaptations.

Okay, sooner or later comics publishing will end. But so will you and so will I.

FRIDAY: Martha Thomases, Bookie

 

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