SATURDAY, FEB. 24, 4:16 PM
There I was in Room 1E12/13 at the Jacob Javits Convention Center, waiting for the next panel at the New York Comic-Con to start: “NYCC’s Behind the Panels: The 60s Marvel Bullpen.” The panel was supposed to have begun at 4 PM, but for fifteen minutes I’ve been watching people milling about on the right side of the hall.

Finally, at 4:16 PM Stan Lee himself, Marvel’s editor in chief and head writer in the 1960s, took charge and commanded that the panel begin.

Moderator Adam McGovern of TwoMorrows Publishing introduced what he called a “very distinguished panel” comprised of members of the Marvel “Bullpen” of the 1960s, “a critical mass that changed comics history.”

First McGovern introduced Marvel senior editor Ralph Macchio, whom he called a “link from the first Marvel Age to the present.” Well, that was actually a bit of a stretch. Ralph started at Marvel in 1976, when Stan Lee was still based in the New York offices, but in the role of publisher, having ceded the post of editor in chief back in 1972. So Ralph wasn’t part of Marvel’s Silver Age revolution of the 1960s; during that decade he was a fan reading Marvel comics just like other Boomers who later became comics pros. He was one of the first Boomers to join Marvel editorial, and now he’s virtually their Last Boomer standing.

Next McGovern introduced the great inker of Jack Kirby’s Fantastic Four art, Joe Sinnott. Stan pointed to Sinnott, and the audience applauded. Then McGovern presented Gene Colan, the Silver Age artist of Daredevil, Iron Man, Sub-Mariner and more, sitting down at the end of the table, and there was tumultuous applause. McGovern praised Colan as “the painterly genius” and “master of moods.” McGovern then turned to Stan’s secretary in the Sixties, “Fabulous” Flo Steinberg, who endures at Marvel as a part-time proofreader. Stan, sitting between Flo and Joe, pointed to her and applause burst forth once more.

Finally, McGovern said, there was “a man who needs no introduction.”

”They always say that!” exclaimed Stan the Showman, enacting his comedic public persona. “For once just give me an introduction!”

After complying with Mr. Lee’s request, McGovern attempted to open a discussion about working at Marvel in the 1960s, and noted that Colan had come to the company “from other places.”

”Makes you sound very mysterious, Gene,” commented Lee. “’Came from other places,’” Stan repeated ominously.

But Colan’s ability to respond was handicapped by his lack of a microphone down at his end of the long table. Ever practical, Stan solved the dilemma by giving Ms. Steinberg’s microphone to Colan. “You have nothing to say anyway,” Stan assured Flo. Then Mr. Lee advised the audience to pay attention to Colan: “When this guy talks, the world listens.”

Colan explained to the audience that he thought comics would be a “great place to be,” and that he was “very influenced by film” in drawing comics. “I don’t know where I’d be if not for Stan,” Colan said.

“Probably rich and famous,” speculated Mr. Lee.

Stan wasn’t being serious, but Colan was. “Other people couldn’t see what I could do,” Colan continued. “Stan could,” he told us, and “gave me my break.” The audience was very still, intently listening to Colan’s quiet voice.

“See,” Stan commented, “the big thing is, we got ‘im because he worked cheap.”

Taking this in stride, Colan told us, “Stan always reminded me of Jack Lemmon.”

“He always compares me to dead people!” Stan exclaimed in mock protest.

“I told him that when he”–meaning Lemmon–“was alive,” Colan informed the audience, explaining that Stan had the same “energy” that one sees in Lemmon’s performances.

As if waving Colan’s compliments aside, Lee declared, “Joe Sinnott’s dying here,” thinking that “they’ll never get to me.” But then Lee went on to extol the cinematic aspect of Colan’s artwork. “Every strip he drew was a storyboard,” Lee said, meaning that it looked like a shot-by-shot breakdown for a film. “He viewed all of his artwork as if it was a movie.”

But Stan did not stay serious for long. “Joe Sinnott, on the other hand,” he continued, is “a man of little talent and great charm.” Lest anyone take that at face value, Lee quickly added that Sinnott was a “great inker” and “also a great penciler,” but, shifting back into facetiousness, “we didn’t tell anyone because Kirby would get jealous.”

Sinnott also made his gratitude to Lee plain, telling the audience “I’ve been working for Stan for fifty-three years.” (It would be more precise to say that Sinnott has worked for Marvel all those years, but Stan Lee was either editor or publisher for most of that time.) Sinnott told us that he once worked in the cement industry and “if not for Stan, I’d still be there.”

Once again, Lee resorted to what seems to be one of his favorite lines: “What they don’t realize is these people worked cheap.”

“Don’t believe that,” Sinnott instructed the audience. Then Sinnott began, “You could almost expect when Stan was going to give you a raise. . . .”

Before Sinnott could expose him as a generous man, Stan hurriedly changed the subject and turned to Ralph. “We’ve got a Johnny-come-lately” on the panel, Stan said, claiming that Ralph was just “out of his teens” and yet had ended up “on an old-timers’ panel.”

Ralph told Stan he had actually started at Marvel in the 1970s, taking Mr. Lee somewhat aback. Then Ralph started reminiscing about the days when Lee was still based in Marvel’s New York offices, and took obvious pleasure in recounting a time when he heard Lee sharply criticizing a certain Marvel writer/editor of that time.

“This is great for me,” Stan said happily, “because I have no memory!” He told us “I’m learning” things about his own past just by being there.

Then Ralph too voiced his gratitude to Stan, recalling how Lee “would call me into the office, and since I was the new kid. . . He would sit down on the couch with me like there was no one else in the world and for twenty minutes he’d show me” how to do “word balloon placement.” Macchio summed up, “There was energy there working with Stan that you couldn’t deny.”

“He was the only guy who would listen,” explained Stan. “He was the new kid.”

Then Mr. Lee turned to Ms. Steinberg. “It’s Flo’s turn. I have no idea what she’s doing here.” Then, referring to times past, he added, “I don’t know what you were doing there.”

Flo, however, can see right through Stan’s act. “Working at Marvel was SUPER,” she told the audience, audibly putting the word in capital letters. As for Stan, she assured us, “He was a joker, too.”

“She means the villain,” noted Stan.

As for the differences between Marvel Then and Marvel Now, Flo wisely observed that in the 1960s Marvel “wasn’t the corporate place it is now,” and that it “had a greater sense d’estime,” slipping into French.

“She was Fabulous Flo,” Lee said. “What were you, Ralph?”

”Reliable Ralph,” Macchio responded.

“We could’ve gotten you something better than that,” Stan responded.

Turning back to the subject of Flo, Lee told us that “we thought at first Flo was putting on an act.” He recalled that once she was all upset, and it turned out that it was because the office had run out of staples. “You can’t find anyone like that! She cared!”

Joe Sinnott added that it was a pleasure dealing with Flo over the phone: she “had the sweetest voice when she called.”

“You were never mean,” Lee told Flo onstage, setting her up for another gag. “You were wrong often, but never mean.”

On the other hand, Stan claimed “I was scared of Gene.” More precisely, “If I wanted to make a correction, I was scared to criticize Gene, because he took it so seriously:  ‘Do you mean a hand has to have five fingers?'”

Commenting on the way the panelists were interacting, moderator McGovern remarked, “It was a family then and a family today.”

Shortly afterwards, Flo mentioned “little MMMS,” the company’s in-house fan club in the 1960s, the Merry Marvel Marching Society.

“Small MMMS!?” retorted Stan, as if insulted. Referring to the club’s theme music, he maintained, “It was a great song.”

“Every morning before work we’d sing,” Flo told the audience, being something of a joker herself.

“You think we forgot?” asked Stan, who then, as he had on his panel the previous day, launched into singing the Merry Marvel Marching Society anthem. The audience clapped along, merrily and marvelously. Then, when Stan finished, he apologized, “Excuse me, I should have stood up when I sung it.”

Then Lee was asked about the time that the great Italian film director Federico Fellini (8 1/2, La Dolce Vita) dropped by the Marvel offices in the 1960s. According to Stan, his receptionist told him, “Stan, there’s a Fred Felony to see you.”

“Nobody ever visited me,” Lee told us. “I’d see anybody.”

When Lee saw Fellini, “All of a sudden I recognized him.” Fellini wasn’t alone: “he had four other associates with him,” Stan said. Moreover, “They were in descending order of height,” with Fellini, in the lead, as the “tallest.” Stan continued, “And they were all in black raincoats.” Fellini had his over his shoulder. Though Lee did not say so, this was clearly a Felliniesque sight. “I have no idea what he wanted. He had a thick accent,” explained Lee. “But apparently he was a fan. I wanted to talk about him, but there was no way I could communicate with him!”

The moderator asked Lee, “Didn’t you work with famous film directors?’

“Oh, yes,” joked Lee. “They wouldn’t make a movie without me.”

Actually, Lee did work with one famous foreign filmmaker back then: Alain Resnais, a member of the French New Wave, and the director of Hiroshima, Mon Amour (1959) and Last Year at Marienbad (1961). If you’ve seen either film you will find it hard to believe that Lee and Resnais have much in common aesthetically. But, as Lee told us, “Alain Resnais wanted me to write his first English language movie.” Moreover, “He said he had read Spider-Man for years.” Lee explained, “I wasn’t going to say no. It was very flattering.”

So Stan, who was then inexperienced in movies, wrote a screenplay, and, he told us, “it wasn’t very good”: “it was 120 pages filled with dialogue.” Still, a producer was interested, but wanted the dialogue pruned down. Stan said he would have been willing to do it, but “My idiot friend Alain said, ‘Stan will not cut a word of it.’”

And so Lee and Resnais never sold the project. “If that nut had let me cut it, I might be someone famous!” lamented Lee.

Then the moderator inquired how the comics business had changed since the old days. “The most gratifying thing,” Ralph Macchio responded, “is to see it [Marvel] penetrate popular culture.” He explained, “The things we enjoyed when we were kids are now billion-dollar franchises, and that’s due to Stan.”

As he had done at his Friday panel, Lee again shared credit with the artists he worked with. “Believe me, Marvel is not a one-man show.” Then he added, “Oh, maybe I was the greatest.”

In that sweet voice Joe Sinnott had so commended, Flo Steinberg quietly observed, “Stan was always very modest.”

Then Lee praised two of those 1960s artists who were right there with him, Colan and Sinnott. “They have style,” Lee said. “That’s not easy to achieve. You may not like it when you see it, but you recognize it.”

Lee continued, “Flo, on the other hand, doesn’t write, doesn’t draw. What is it you’re doing here?” But soon thereafter, with a touch of hyperbole, Stan acknowledged Flo’s secretarial prowess: “She practically ran the company!”

Flo, who is indeed a modest, self-deprecating person, said she felt “humble.”

“A quality I will never understand,” commented Stan.

Called upon to reminisce, Flo said she would “try to think of a funny story.”

“You’ve never thought of one all these years,” Stan replied. “Why start now?”

So Ralph told a story that demonstrated what Flo meant to comics fans in the 1960s. He recalled that as a kid he was puzzled over Thor’s inability to smash a goblet with his hammer in a Tales of Asgard story. “I was determined to find the answer. So I called up Marvel and talked to Flo, who told me that in Asgard, everything was enchanted,” so that’s why Thor’s enchanted hammer couldn’t smash the enchanted goblet. “I was totally satisfied,” declared Ralph, who was easily pleased back then.

Having listened to all this, Stan the Man pronounced his judgment: “Ralph is obviously a survivor. The thing is, nobody knows what he does.” On these two points, Stan Lee, Marvel’s All-Knowing All-Father, is absolutely correct.

On numerous occasions other comics pros have asked me about just these subjects. What does Ralph do? I have no idea. Why is Ralph still at Marvel? Beats the heck out of me. And yet he survives and prospers, invulnerable to all the upheavals and downsizings that claimed so many of his contemporaries. It’s like the way that Inspector Clouseau escapes all those assassination attempts through seeming strokes of sheer luck. Maybe it’s because he and Stan share the same birthday.

Years ago Ralph used to be nicknamed “K. D.” for “Kiss of Death,” inasmuch as during his long, seemingly interminable apprenticeship as an assistant editor, every one of the editors he worked for got canned. Then Ralph finally got promoted to editor, and since then, virtually everyone of his generation at Marvel got canned. It’s as if he’s safe at the eye of the hurricane, which wipes out everyone around him. It reminds me of I, Claudius. (I don’t have time or space to explain the reference to those of you whose idea of serious literature extends no further than The Dark Tower; look it up.) All we have to do to end the war on terror is to get Ralph a job with Osama bin Laden, maybe as editor of Ultimate Jihad. Within a few years, Ralph would be the only person left in Al Qaeda.

Inspired by Ralph’s anecdote about Thor’s hammer, Stan commenced a brief lecture. “People don’t realize how scientific Marvel is,” he began.

“Superman has no visible means of propulsion,” Stan pointed out. “Even a bird flaps his wings.” So how does Superman manage to fly?

In contrast, Stan continued, at Marvel “we want to be scientifically accurate.” He wanted Thor to be able to fly, so “We gave him the enchanted hammer Mjolnir,” Stan said, pronouncing the name carefully.

Stan instructed us to observe how “authentic and scientific” Marvel was in explaining how Thor could fly. Thor’s hammer, he pointed out, has a strap that fits around the thunder god’s wrist. So “Thor whips the hammer” around above his head, building up momentum, and then hurls it into the air. And because the strap is attached to Thor’s wrist, the hammer pulls Thor up into the air as well.

“Nobody can say that isn’t scientifically sound,” proclaimed Mr. Lee. And then, quietly, he added, “That’s just a small example of the difference between DC and Marvel.”

This was Stan the Showman with the audience in the palm of his hand. Of course Stan’ explanation of how Thor can actually fly is utter nonsense. We know it, but Stan also knows it, he knows we know it, and we know he knows we know it! As he said on Friday, part of Marvel’s appeal was that it was like an inside joke that we all shared. And Stan’s explanation, scientifically unsound though it may be, still has more surface credibility than Superman just going “Up, up and away!”

And Stan basically won the war with DC Comics decades ago, and DC adopted the innovations Stan had pioneered at Marvel. But the good-humored pleasure that Stan takes in poking fun at DC the way he used to back in the Sixties is infectious, and the audience just ate it up.

When the moderator asked for questions from the audience, the first questioner surely spoke for everyone there. Referring to another groundbreaking team of the 1960s, he said, “We’re not going to get a chance to meet the Beatles”–not all of them, anyway–“or thank them.” So then he thanked the people on stage for their contributions to comics.

There was a little boy in the question line who asked that classic fan question, “Who’s stronger–Thor or the Hulk?” I suspect this lad had been prompted by an adult Marvel fan.

Stan turned the question over to Gene Colan, “and he’s not going to give you a hastily considered answer.”

Colan responded rather philosophically, “Whoever thinks he’s stronger is stronger.”

Impressed, Stan commented, “You know, Sophocles couldn’t have given a better answer.” I think Stan meant Socrates, but at least here’s proof that Frank Miller isn’t the only comics pro who knows classic Greek literature. (Oh, all right, there’s Roy Thomas and Eric Shanower, too.)

Nonetheless, Stan delivered his own judgment in favor of Thor, because “Thor’s a god.”

Then the small boy asked if he could have Stan autograph his T-shirt. The Man assented, and the boy went up on stage. “And he’ll remember this moment for at least another hour,” Stan noted.

Signing away, Stan worried aloud that “I’ll ruin your short, your mother’s going to kill me, and I’ll give you my lawyer’s address.” There you have it: the Master had turned the signing of a T-shirt into a three-act drama, with suspense, symbolic death and rebirth, and a happy ending.

The tyke’s less than fifteen minutes of stardom completed, Stan sent the lad on his way, bidding him, “Don’t let the fame go to your head!”

And the panel turned to another question, about how to “revitalize characters.”

Stan passed the buck to Joe Sinnott: “Joe is so desperate to answer that question.”

“I wasn’t even listening,” replied Sinnott.

“That’s what he used to say when I gave him instructions,” commented Stan. And so the Bullpen panel memorably went.

SATURDAY, FEB. 23, 5:30 PM

Originally I was supposed to do a signing for Marvel Encyclopedia and X-Men: The Ultimate Guide at the DK Publishing booth at mid-afternoon on Saturday, and moderate a Golden and Silver Age panel at 5 PM. Then, on Friday, I was asked to moderate the “80s Superhero Renaissance” panel at 2 PM instead. So, with the blessings of the good people at DK, I rearranged my schedule. And if you’ve been reading my con reports you know that I ended up being the only panel member on stage for a half hour because the organizers forgot to tell the other panelists to show up!

So now I was doing my DK signing at an off-peak time, from 5:30 to 7 PM Saturday evening, when presumably people are heading out to dinner. Not only that, but the convention had assigned DK a space towards the back of the hall, away from the main routes of customer traffic. Still, I was kept busy enough when I started this signing session.

I’ve found I quite enjoy doing signings: not only do I get to feel like a minor celebrity for a little while, but it’s also relaxing in comparison to moderating panels, reporting or them, or just trying to get through a crowded convention floor.

I also enjoy the company at the DK booths, which, apart from a gent or two, are invariably entirely staffed by friendly, charming and attractive ladies. It’s sort of like John Byrne’s LexCorp in his Superman books, but benign.

When you’re sitting at a booth, the rest of the convention tends to pass by before you. So, for example, former Marvelites Glenn Herdling (see “Comics in Context” #150) and Steve Geiger stopped by, and we got to chat about that perennial topic, Marvel Then and Marvel Now.

Despite the wintry temperatures outdoors, the convention floor had been so crowded all afternoon that it was getting downright hot. This, however, was a perfect temperature for Princess Leia, who walked past wearing her slave girl costume from Return of the Jedi, brightening my day. Soon afterwards a spectacular Dark Phoenix wandered past in the opposite direction. It’s as if I was seated at the crossroads of the multiverse.

Speaking of the Princess, you may recall that last summer at the DK booth in San Diego, I discovered that I was sitting right behind Carrie Fisher, who was in the next booth. This time in New York when I turned around, it was animator Bill Plympton who was sitting in the booth behind me.

When my allotted time at the DK booth ended at 7 PM, I stopped by Artist’s Aerie (so dubbed by the Beat due to its lofty location) once more, but not getting enough sleep the last few nights was catching up with me, so I decided against trying to enlist any dinner companions. After all, I had one more day of the convention to go.

SUNDAY, FEB. 25, 11 AM

And there I was, back at the DK booth on Sunday morning for another scheduled signing. It was another off-peak time, and the convention floor was relatively and rewardingly uncrowded. Nonetheless I signed and sold the last remaining copy of Marvel Encyclopedia at the DK booth during this morning session. I also got to see a resplendently costumed Darth Vader stride menacingly by: it’s a good thing he showed up on a different day than Princess Leia.

By the way, when I’m signing books I try to make sure that the ink has sufficiently dried before I close the book. I wouldn’t want the recipient to get the book home and discover the signature has smudged.

SUNDAY FEB. 25, 12 PM

Ascending the escalator on my way up to Artists’ Aerie, I look around myself at the interior architecture of the Jacob Javits Convention Center. Just being in the San Diego Convention Center lifts my spirits: it is a marvel of postmodern architecture, designed by Canadian architect Arthur Erickson to evoke the ships in the nearby harbor, with the building’s triangular fiberglass “sails,” and enormous circular windows resembling portholes. Even on the main convention floor, despite the lack of windows, the hall somehow seems open and bright. In sharp contrast, the Javits Center’s network of crisscrossing steel beams seems to me grim, dark, unlovely and oppressive.

Last year the New York Comic-Con took place during the controversy over the Danish cartoonists who had drawn cartoons about the prophet Muhammed. A vocal supporter of the embattled Danish cartoonists, writer and artist Colleen Doran, who was attending the Con, offered to give one of her sketches to anyone who brought her something having to do with Denmark, and to donate a dollar per person to the Comic Book Legal Defense Fund. So I brought her a Danish pastry (see “Comics in Context” #123). This year when I stopped by her table in Artists’ Aerie, she offered me some delicious Danish cookies. I had the feeling of a circle being completed.

I also went over to say hello to artist Amanda Conner and Claypool Comics editor Richard Howell. Amanda drew all the covers for the Claypool series Soulsearchers and Company (see “Comics in Context” #38), but she and Richard had not seen each other for many years, corresponding instead by telephone. But now, just before the final issue of Soulsearchers was to come out, Amanda and Richard found themselves sitting alongside each other in Artist’s Aerie. I picked up a copy of Amanda Conner’s Book of $#!* You May Have Never Seen! #1, a showcase of the wit, sexiness, and visual charm of Amanda’s art.

She also inscribed something on the cover of the copy she gave me, but once I had transported it home in an enormous Dark Horse bag I had found, it had smudged so much as to be indecipherable. Damn! I fell into the very trap I usually try to avoid!

Towards 2 PM I ventured back to the lower level with the meeting rooms to attend my final panel of the convention, a tribute to the recently deceased comics artist Dave Cockrum.

Exactly a month after the convention weekend, another major comics artist who first made his mark in the 1970s, Marshall Rogers, passed away on Saturday, March 24.

If I were asked to select my favorite run of issues from the entire comic book history of Batman, it would be the six issues of Detective Comics, #471-476, from 1977 and 1978, written by Steve Englehart, drawn by Rogers, and inked by Terry Austin (see “Comics in Context” #84). Although they were recognized as instant classics by discerning comics aficionados of the time, it was not until nearly thirty years later that DC Comics commissioned Englehart, Rogers and Austin to create a sequel. I hoped that their new stories would live up to the high standards set by their original run on Detective, but was that hoping too much? No: the 2005 Batman: Dark Detective miniseries was another triumph (see “Comics in Context” #84, 87-88, 90, 93, 104). Englehart and Rogers already had a further sequel in mind, and I was enthusiastically looking forward to it. And now it won’t happen.

With the mainstream media’s new, more welcoming attitude towards comics as an artform, obituaries for Rogers have been appearing in numerous newspapers, including the March 29 New York Times. I am becoming annoyed by the fact that there have been so many important figures in American comic book history–not just Cockrum and Rogers, but even Jack Kirby, Gil Kane and Alex Toth–of whom the Times took no notice until after they were dead. The Times, the “newspaper of record,” has a great deal to catch up on in covering the comics artform and its history.

I did not know Marshall Rogers well, but I spoke with him in person or by telephone several times over the decades, including conducting an interview with him, Englehart and Austin at the Museum of Comic and Cartoon Art two years ago. Marshall was always friendly, and always a pleasure to speak to.

It has often been said that Marshall’s Joker was something of a self-portrait, but in person Marshall’s smile was always warm and benevolent.

You should all read Fred Hembeck’s affecting tribute to Marshall in the March 27 entry on his blog, and listen to Englehart, Austin, writer Roger Stern and inker Joe Rubinstein reminisce about Rogers on the March 28 “Comic Zone” Internet radio show. Then write to Marvel Comics to ask them to collect the Roger Stern/Marshall Rogers run on Doctor Strange, long overdue for reprinting, into a new trade paperback.

It is sad when any person dies at a relatively young age. But when a creative artist dies, all of the potential work that he or she could have created perishes as well. I will return to this subject next week, when I wind up my convention coverage with my report on “Dave Cockrum Remembered.”

ADVERTISEMENTS FOR MYSELF

I shouldn’t do a column about Stan Lee’s appearance at the New York Comic-Con without again recommending that you all go see the survey of his career which I co-curated, “Stan Lee: A Retrospective,” now running at the Museum of Comic and Cartoon Art in Manhattan’s SoHo.

As I’ve mentioned in the past (see “Comics in Context” #58), comics–and even the graphic novel–were invented not in America but by a Swiss scholar, artist and satirist named Rodolphe Topffer in the early 18th century. You can read my article about the first English language compilation of his work, Rodolphe Topffer: The Complete Comic Strips, in the latest edition of Publishers Weekly’s online newsletter Comics Week.

–Copyright 2007 Peter Sanderson

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