Kudos to the editors of The Paris Review for including an interview with R. Crumb in their Summer 2010 issue. That magazine has published interviews with writers and poets since it began, but this is the first time it has ever featured an interview with a comics creator.

I’m not so happy that the interviewer described Crumb as “perhaps the most influential cartoonist of his or any generation,” since, even though he’s a great talent, I wouldn’t consider him the most influential. There are many other candidates for that position. No Joe Shuster, no superheroes. No Jack Kirby, no Marvel Universe. And as Cortney Skinner just pointed out to me, can you imagine a world with no Walt Disney?

But that wasn’t what so horrified me I felt compelled to set the issue down and come tell you about it. No, what disturbed me was one of the things Crumb had to say in answer to a question about which art supplies he uses. His response caused smoke to erupt from my ears and nostrils, and I had to stop and vent.

When asked what kind of paper he used, Crumb said:

Well, I use the old Strathmore vellum surface paper, which is the best paper you can get in the Western world for ink line drawing. It has a good, hard surface. I have it mailed from the New York Central Art Supply in New York. For a while I was using this old Strathmore paper from fifty years ago that some guy sent me, it had bad comic art on one side, hacked-out comic work from 1959, 1960, but the paper is superior to anything you can get now. It just holds the ink better. I ran out of that and now I use this new stuff that’s not quite as good.

I don’t often go WTF, but Crumb—WTF? Say it ain’t so!

Alas, I fear that it is.

Can any Crumb experts out there attest to validity of this statement? And—assuming it’s true—can you let the rest of us know what original mainstream comics artwork is now hidden on the flipside of Crumb drawings?

Oh, the humanity!

Long before I worked with or beside either of these guys as a comics professional, I interacted with them both in the role of annoying fan with a sketchbook. So to annoy them even further, I present two sketches I got from today’s birthday boys long ago and far away.

First up, a drawing by Neal Adams done at a July 4th Seuling con during those much more innocent days before he started charging $10.00 per sketch in ’72 or so. (And who knows what he’s charging now!)

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Mark Evanier reports that Tony DiPreta, best known (to me at least) as the artist of the Joe Palooka comic strip from 1959-1984, has died at the age of 88. I don’t think Palooka is much remembered today outside of comics aficionados, but it was once one of the top newspaper strips in the country, and I enjoyed it as a kid when New York had far more newspapers than it does today.

I only met DiPreta once, on September 26, 1971, at the same 75th anniversary celebration for the U.S. comic strip at which I also met Sy Barry. One reason I’m so sure of the date can be seen in the sketch I obtained from him that day.

If you click on the image below to view it at a larger size, you’ll be able to see that Joe Palooka’s right eye (well, his left actually, but it’s to your right) looks a bit … odd.

That’s because as we stood in front of the Central Park bandshell, a few raindrops fell. Two landed to smudge DiPreta’s name, and the third got the old prizefighter right in the eye. Since that event was the only time I ever begged for sketches outdoors, there can be no doubt as to the date.

I share this tidbit of info not only so you’ll take a moment to remember DiPreta … but also to show that, as some of you have hinted, why, yes, I have met almost everyone.

In response to repeated requests (OK—make that one request), here’s a column I wrote for The Comics Journal back in 1978. It was pointed out to me that though I posted the text of all of my mid-’80s TCJ Ethics columns here, I never shared my much earlier one-off which I’d called “Bullpen Bull.”

As you’ll see, I used to scribble down quips made by my fellow Bullpenners, and once I was no longer on staff, I decided to share my favorites.

My favorite from among my favorites? The day production manager John Verpoorten, bemoaning how late our books had become, walked into the Bullpen, towering over us all, and said, “I was just speaking to our printer. He was wondering if we were still in business.”

Back in 1976, Gerry Conway wrote the introductory memo below laying down the law as the newly installed Editor-in-Chief of Marvel Comics. A lot of what he had to say made sense, because Marvel was a train wreck as far as scheduling was concerned, always falling victim to what was then known as the Dreaded Deadline Doom. But Gerry wasn’t around to see all his plans implemented, because he was only in his position for three weeks.

Or was it four? Or maybe even six?

I’m no longer sure, because though I’ve been remembering his term as lasting only three weeks, I’ve heard others who are equally as sure insist that it was one or the other of those two additional time periods. So until someone turns up further documentation, I’m keeping an open mind (and an elastic memory).

One thing I am sure of, however, is that though this memo is dated March 12, 1974 … that really wasn’t when it was written. After all, I hadn’t started working for Marvel yet by that date, and neither had Gerry. Since it was packed away in my files between a memo from me to Stan Lee dated February 12, 1976, and a letter from Gerry to Len Darvin at the Comics Code dated March 15, 1976, I can safely assume that the date on the memo is off by two years. (more…)

Back in December 2008, I wrote about Patricia Highsmith’s work in comics, and how surprised I was never to have heard of it before. Now that I’ve gotten my hands on a copy of The Talented Miss Highsmith: The Secret Life and Serious Art of Patricia Highsmith, by Joan Schenkar, I don’t feel quite so ashamed of my ignorance.

Because that’s the way Highsmith would have wanted it.

It turns out she did her best to erase all evidence of her history in comics. And if she didn’t want me to remember her, why feel bad for not doing so?

Here’s what Schenkar wrote about that history:

Pat systematically erased from her life every single thing that had to do with comics; she threw away every comic script, every proposal for a comic script, and every scenario for a comic book story she ever wrote. There would have been thousands of pages of comics work to cull—and she culled every one of them,. Nor did she keep any copies.

It turns out that the only evidence Highsmith kept of her extensive comics work was by accident. On the back of a page of French vocabulary can be found these notes toward a story about the character The Golden Arrow. (more…)

I’ve been so busy working on Wire this week I had no time left over to blog, so I thought I’d come up for air to post this quickie. (Well, maybe I had some time, but after a long day’s work, I often had no brain left over!)

Al Williamson, one of the great EC Comics artists, whose drawing style is extremely romantic and lyrical, turned 79 today, which means it’s once more time for me to dig into the portfolio I carried at comic-book conventions when I was an annoying kid with a sketchpad.

If you’re not familiar with Williamson’s work, these classic EC Comics tales will easily convince you of his greatness.

I wrangled the drawing below out of Williamson at the EC Fan Addict Convention in 1972. (Click if you’d like to see the lizard a little larger.)

Happy Birthday, Al!

That’s me below at a party being hosted by Marvel Comics, circa 1975.

Why was Marvel Comics hosting this party? I have no idea. Nor does my wife, who was also working at Marvel then. Though when this picture was taken, she was not yet my wife.

To get to this party, I took an elevator to the top floor of a tall building. There was an amazing view. Could the party have taken place at the Rainbow Room? Yes, it could. But I can’t be sure.

Why were we there? I told you, I can’t remember.

Could it have been a Christmas party? Hmmm … I don’t think so. But, again, I can’t be sure.

Why was a life-sized Doctor Strange cutout there? I can’t remember that either.

Why am I sticking my head through the hole where Doctor Strange’s face should be? Because that’s what you do when you see a superhero without a face.

Why was there someone on hand snapping our pictures? I may never know.

Of course, if anyone reading this happens to have been there back in the old days of the Marvel Bullpen and has any memories of this event … maybe I have a chance of knowing after all.

Anyone?

(And BTW—the reason this photo came to mind today? Because Stan Lee wants an Oscar.)

All I was looking for was a clip of Larry “Bud” Melman greeting passengers at the Port Authority bus terminal with hot towels, but you know the way things work once you get to YouTube. I of course had to click on one of the recommended videos—Johnny Carson’s final TV appearance.

And because that second clip turned out to have been posted by Alan Light—no, not the Spin magazine editor-in-chief Alan Light, but rather the Alan Light who founded The Buyer’s Guide to Comics Fandom—I ran across the fascinating (for those of us who bleed four-color ink) video below.

It turns out that on June 18, 1977, World Color Press held a celebration it called “Magazineland USA.” World Color Press, located in Sparta, Illinois, printed all of the comic books at the time, and when the company threw open its doors for a tour, Light was there with his 8MM sound camera.

When I press my nose close to the screen, I swear I can smell the ink.

Phil Seuling, who ran New York’s early comic conventions, can be seen at the 1:00-mark complaining about how non-fans were mistreating the books he’d brought for sale.

Wish I could have been there!

Letterheady is a relatively new site that’s quickly become one of my favorites. It was started a few months ago by Shaun Usher, who also runs the wonderful Letters of Note.

Letterheady is devoted to posting interesting … well … what does it sound like?

A few of my favorite letterheads have been those belonging to Nikola Tesla, Harry Houdini, and Robot Salesmen. I liked the site so much I even decided to share old Marvel Comics letterhead with them.

Browsing the site today, I discovered letterhead for an event I’d never heard of before, something called Macy’s Superman Adventure.

Macy’s Superman Adventure? What the heck was that?

I have no idea. I feel as if I should, but I don’t. And except for a few vague facts, it doesn’t look as if the Internet has much of an idea, either.

Here are a few things I was able to discover.

I was able to find out that it was a 1940 promotional show sponsored by Macy’s Department Store and WOR Radio 710. (Though, of course, that was already apparent by the strip at the bottom of the sheet.)

I was able to find a letter which had been accompanied by two complimentary passes to the event given to semi-finalists from Superman Day at the 1939 New York World’s Fair. (Now that’s an event that’s been well-documented, since it was the first public appearance of Superman in costume.)

I was able to find a poster promising that “Before your eyes the World’s mightiest Comic Book and Radio hero COMES ALIVE in a spectacular action filled adventure for all ages.”

But what I wasn’t able to learn is … If I’d gone to Macy’s 5th floor, what would I have seen? What actually happened during that spectacular adventure?

I know that out there, someone knows. So—if you know, would you please let me know?

And would it be too much to hope for pictures?