I’d thought enough time had passed that I could forgive Jack Kirby. But I just learned I was wrong.

I was on staff at Marvel Comics in the mid-’70s when the King returned and tried to pick up where he’d left off. At the time, as I sat there in the Bullpen with my blue pencil and proofread the original art for some of his initial issues of titles such as Captain America, which he not only drew, but wrote and edited, I was horrified. The art could still be the stuff of dreams at times, but the words that came out of his characters’ mouths seemed more like a nightmare.

The buzz from us kids in the office wasn’t kind. I’ll admit it. Kirby was a god to us for what he did during the ’60s, but what he was doing at Marvel in the ’70s made us wince, and we didn’t have the tact or maturity to say it appropriately. So we acted like ungrateful punks. But now that the years have passed, as I read some of those issues of Captain America over again, I’m wincing still.

The reason I’m subjecting myself to them once more is because two of the backup stories I wrote at the time have been reprinted in The Essential Captain America Vol. 6, and after first rereading my own work (of course!), I decided to give Kirby’s another shot.

The powerful artwork still made me smile, and the frenetic pacing caused my childhood to rush back again, but as for the words on the page—Ouch!

Not only do none of the characters talk the way people actually talk—or even the hyperbolic, melodramatic way superheroes talk—but they are barely coherent. And what’s worse, in Captain America #207, old winghead, after discovering that a tyrannical dictator in a banana republic was torturing his people, decided to do NOTHING, basically declaring it none of his business!

Here’s that disturbing panel.

Until this rereading began, I was only offended by the crudeness and incomprehensibility of Kirby’s dialogue, but now, decades later, I’m also repulsed by Cap’s decision, no matter how well or poorly it was phrased.

Shame on you, Captain America!

If I ever needed a reminder of how much Stan Lee and Jack Kirby needed each other, neither ever creating separately at anywhere near the level they did when together, man oh man, this was certainly it.

I normally tweet my dreams, but this one turned out to be too intriguing to condense into 140 characters.

I dreamt I was nominated for a Hugo Award, and had entered an area by the side of the stage where a cocktail party was being held for the nominees. Once inside, I mingled with friends until I came upon one of my old Marvel bosses, the long-dead Archie Goodwin. While chatting with him, and wondering in what category the comic book writer/editor had been nominated, I was strangely unsurprised to see him there alive (in the waking world, he died in 1998), looking much as he had when I’d last known him in the early ’80s.

While wandering the room and continuing to schmooze, I suddenly noticed that I wasn’t wearing the suit I usually would for such an event—I was instead In a tie-dyed t-shirt and a pair of jeans shorts.

What I found so interesting about the dream is this—here is where it could all have veered into anxiety dream territory, with me stumbling about, crying “Oh, no,” and wondering how the heck I could get back to my hotel room and change into a suit in time. I could have felt embarrassed over my state, or started to worry about how silly I’d look if I won that night and had to take the stage dressed that way.

Instead, I immediately found it funny.

I told a seated George R.R. Martin that this oversight might be a good omen, that I’d lost the Hugo all four times I’d previously been nominated and showed up wearing a suit, and so perhaps this time, dressed like that, the universe was playing a joke on me and would have me win so I’d have to go up in front of thousands of people that way. That turned the whole dream around, banishing any anxiety that might have arisen, and I found it all hilarious, instantly thinking of how much fun I could have laying it out that way in my acceptance speech.

And as I went around the room sharing this silliness with friends, I woke happy, not just because of that dreamworld realization, but also because of the real-world realization that I’d turned what could have been an anxiety dream inside out. I was glad that, even unconscious, I could look on the bright side of life.

No idea what category I was nominated in, though.

A few weeks ago, I found a bunch of rejections from Paul Levitz for stories I’d submitted to DC’s House of Mystery, and then last week figured out exactly which stories he’d passed on. And because I’d found two of those unused plots, and have no shame, I told you I’d let you see the synopses I’d submitted.

If you can look past the typos and handwritten corrections of a pre-computer age, you’ll see the format in which I was submitting ideas to DC’s mystery line (even though the plots failed to win over Paul). Luckily, as you can see here, I had more hits than misses.

First up, “A Ghastly Tale,” which Paul rejected with the note, “No in-joke industry stories please.” As you’ll see, it was about a comics artist patterned after the EC great Graham Ingels.

Next up, “Video Vengeance,” which Paul rejected by saying, “Good little story — but would cause legal problems, I’m afraid. Sorry.” (more…)

Just to show how seriously the Marvel staff took its softball, the memo below will fill you in. VERY seriously.

The June 30, 1976 memo to the Ruling Board of the Publishers’ Softball League—which was written by co-captains Jim Novak and Irene Vartanoff (hmmm … where have I heard that second name before?)—protested a loss to MacMillan that apparently occurred due to a violation of the rules.

Reading this 35-year-old memo, what I find most fascinating isn’t the intricate plea for justice, but one of the league rules that now seems quaint, and shows how far we’ve come.

You’ll note on page 2 that rule #4 states, “All teams are co-ed with at least 4 women in line up.” That alone isn’t the interesting part—but the fact that there were so few women in publishing at the time, or so few women in publishing willing to play softball, that SEVEN of the teams, including Marvel, were allowed an exemption, IS.

That’s right. In 1976, Marvel, in addition to New American Library, Franklin Watts, New Times, Saturday Review, Screw, and the Society of Illustrators, couldn’t reliably find four women to play softball each week.

Based on the league’s current rules—a league which says that it has been “bringing you the inept athletic stylings of the book and magazine industry for more than 40 years”—no such exemptions are allowed. The current rules regarding gender balance state:

A team must have a minimum of four women in the lineup at all times. A team may play the game with six men and three women, but in that case, the team must list four women in the lineup, leave the fourth outfield position vacant and take an automatic out each time the missing woman’s place comes around in the batting order.

That’s progress, right?

For those who didn’t catch the correct answer when it was guessed, I figure I’d better announce here the identity of the comic book artist I challenged you to identify.

My first clue was that the artist’s “style became the signature look for a well-known character.”

But that wasn’t enough of a clue for any of you to solve the mystery, as all that resulted were a couple of dozen wrong answers. So I gave a second clue, this time that “this artist previously worked for a comics company that was sued by the company he or she eventually ended up defining that character for.”

That was enough to give it away. Within 15 minutes, Jacque Nodell, she of the wonderful blog Sequential Crush, popped up with the correct answer, which is … below, after the pic, in case you want one final chance to guess it on your own.

Give up? (more…)

Today’s my birthday, as hundreds of you reminded me with your wishes on Twitter and Facebook. And as people tend to do on birthdays (and New Year’s Eve, too), I’ve been thinking a bit about how the heck I got here.

And one of the reasons I did get here, got my wife, got my life, is a guy named Duffy Vohland, who’s sort of a forgotten figure in comics. So it’s appropriate that I share today a birthday card I received from him that featured a caricature he had Paty Cockrum (then still Patry Greer, I believe) draw for the occasion.

Here’s the image that was on the front of the card, and as anyone who knew him will tell you … yeah, that was Duffy.

I say that was Duffy because he died in 1982, one of the earliest vicims of AIDS. I wish he was still around so I could thank him today for what I’ve got, but he’s gone, so I’ll tell you instead. (more…)

Remember those four late-’70s rejection notes I shared that were written to me by DC editor Paul Levitz for stories I’d submitted to the company’s horror books such as House of Mystery and House of Secrets? At the time, I said I had no memory of which four plots had been rejected, and no way of finding out.

Turns out I was wrong. Because all I had to do was turn those notes over, which I discovered by accident.

This afternoon, I happened to glance toward a far corner of my desk, and noticed some scribbled blue pencil marks on a small sheet of paper. When I picked up the page and looked at it, I realized—this was one of the rejects face down, and what I’d scrawled was the name of the story being rejected.

Here’s what I discovered.

The story that Paul described as “too light-hearted” was called “Gingerbread Witch,” and I’m fairly confident that I eventually sold my concept to the TV series Tales from the Darkside as the episode titled “Baker’s Dozen.” Though somewhere along the way it became much less light-hearted. (more…)

I’ve enjoyed Doc Hermes’ series of mystery photos for years, so when I spotted the following image online, I thought, well, two can play at this game.

So here’s a photo of a comic book artist whose style became the signature look for a well-known character. And that’s the only hint I plan on giving.

Who’s brave enough to take the first guess?

A recent post over at the always wonderful Giant-Size Geek sent me scurrying to the vault. Richard Guion posted pages of Bullpen photos from the 1975 Mighty Marvel Convention booklet, which happened to include pics of both me and Irene.

In case you don’t remember those pics from previous posts, here we are again.

Didn’t we used to be cute? (Well, Irene still is. Though as for me … )

But never mind that. We’re here today to talk about the cover. Here’s the cover con attendees saw back in 1975.

If you ever wondered how that layout came to be, I’ve got the answer—because among my many other Marvel staff duties at the time, I edited that program book, and I still have Marie Severin’s original sketches showing off two possible designs. (more…)

Because one taste of Steve Gerber isn’t enough—at least, not for his true fans, of which I suspect there are many of you out there—here’s an additional chunk of my 1975 interview with him which had somehow gotten separated from the first part.

This section is entirely about his plans for Crazy magazine, which he had just taken over as editor. The sound quality on this section isn’t the best, but if you love Steve you’ll be willing to put up with it.

Those of you who do struggle through will hear him discuss how his (then) year and a half of therapy qualified him to edit the humor magazine, why he got the gig in the first place, how he once thought he might go into television until he realized he was too ugly, and more.

And near the end, you’ll also get to hear a few (insulting) words from Don McGregor.