tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-73459416209534835002024-03-13T03:03:23.933-07:00Scott DunbierOriginally from New York, now living in San Diego. Married with two kids. Formerly Executive Editor of WildStorm Productions, an imprint of DC Comics. Currently planning for the future.Scott Dunbierhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16455845923720545450noreply@blogger.comBlogger34125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7345941620953483500.post-84322823521815919852009-12-15T20:18:00.000-08:002009-12-15T21:00:37.864-08:00December 16th is Rocketeer Day!<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoaxD-pVxO8qYynlGZVgpBsJ3f9QHB8oWuIMElwB-PesXGG7E8vEBT8oa6n5CWLoyjwGIHt7Zlf59tfkPgRN10QXHY92XvOP27TRqWWMs_-K2qzuD-rO5tFlrb082EMelJIHJRzyz4MgA3/s1600-h/rdx1.jpg"></a>God, it's been a long time since I posted here. Gotta change that, have a few more I will try and put up before the new year.<br /><br /><div> </div><div>In the meantime, here are some images from <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">The Rocketeer: The Complete Adventures Deluxe Edition</span>, by the sorely missed Dave Stevens. The book collects both Rocketeer stories, as well as about 130 pages (!) of extra material, most that has never been seen before, and almost all shot from original art.<br /></div><div><br /></div><div> </div><div>A lot of people worked hard to make this the best book possible and it shows—brand new coloring by Laura Martin and stellar design by Randy Dahlk cranked it up several notches, and Tri-Vision, our printer, went above and beyond. I don't know if Dave would have been completely happy with it—he was the ultimate perfectionist—but his mom loves it, and that's good enough for me. </div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoaxD-pVxO8qYynlGZVgpBsJ3f9QHB8oWuIMElwB-PesXGG7E8vEBT8oa6n5CWLoyjwGIHt7Zlf59tfkPgRN10QXHY92XvOP27TRqWWMs_-K2qzuD-rO5tFlrb082EMelJIHJRzyz4MgA3/s400/rdx1.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5415693201869170834" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px; " /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238);"> </span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238);"> </span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238);"> </span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238);"> </span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238);"> </span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238);"> </span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238);"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjZ-Qkh5aj4Q8QFpoFQy1d5H-drKZs8tS9mzxap7iWCGEigQCKx3W7NIGsWJvcUo8tZk02TeUV7FKirCUuq5fNwNt-kujMvy6YQrAOF6yh4roXR6H2DxIVe_RhDZH2jh2XEZkY1tcMv0nc/s400/RDX3.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5415691078104752962" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px; " /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238);"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1zueg2DsO7Iq36Me0Bkp1Qg-K2UsMDCm-ehA6NxiQhZ8k1IKdhRj37-p4CEGbae_pKpVdyu6pbggBXCaOuOYE3sKfNmjDELhBQDN6s0qXyqsVOOHV-0afK7dTpDAyRYNwDA2I-Eubku-q/s400/rdx4.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5415691088041864866" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px; " /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); "><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238);"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUNE_PdL9ll5UQEf3qvua93y1j6D1XBmK_kgQVzJG-FSmHGzVCQsBSq-QiqA6KALx6k9wrFLIWJv7Nh6e1JZaB9JQ2pk26oZio4_6MXjqaeO1VzkOJ_a3AbLnRwpqQtDidpG63S5DLWIac/s400/rdx6.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5415691430576634786" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px; " /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238);"> </span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238);"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyb1x6KsGI8uaGY7xY379-Rq3pjh8VEtIMjkaegcxU87AMotpKv1mzVtYmS2Tlfq-6aPvPfkU4MGiC9_n1ZgOgNn-Z7QhyphenhyphenXAFG9NfQa9ga3mArcmw7xc9ArvNh9I4P5RgDy3stm4p5bo0I/s400/rdx7.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5415691439482134162" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px; " /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238);"> </span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238);"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHYOkEGD0IxFsCzUMsXocnAWZjEopDqWj5Qp6pcgIwuLNxp0_2VlC7dvq7RpRRGXcQR76agax-5MRF3jyxHoSwgIHOsU0HrTdenxLI6mPXLbxjvWdq_SA_y2o7334NTSAa3qMAei5YHd4C/s400/rdx8.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5415691442442931826" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px; " /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238);"> </span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238);"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjG84LkhbWLftYXw3VjTazFRQx3LM1Kx_tBykD4TBqYadPEQSPRJp_LoPpj3kQVHZwmztMr-btCPEr9MCE2_MwUZHkmFbAe9Y2VYJb1Jyp4bdj1e2-rkE0IGje9wM0dscj4Q8Y3b2S9p9ly/s400/rdx9.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5415691446287777906" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px; " /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238);"> </span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238);"> </span></div><div> </div><div> </div>Scott Dunbierhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16455845923720545450noreply@blogger.com54tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7345941620953483500.post-59669266955208734352008-04-23T23:25:00.000-07:002008-04-24T07:50:27.212-07:00Liberty has its price, this time it’s $3.99 for 32 color pages!What do Arthur ADAMS, Sergio ARAGONES, J. BONE, Ed BRUBAKER, J. Scott CAMPBELL, Darwyn COOKE, Garth ENNIS, Mark EVANIER, John Paul LEON, Mike MIGNOLA, Mark MILLAR, Sean PHILLIPS, Darick ROBERTSON & Rick VEITCH have in common?<br /><br />LIBERTY COMICS.<br /><br />All proceeds raised by this benefit book go directly to the CBLDF. All the writers, artists, colorists, letterers, designers, production people, publisher, etc., have freely donated their time and talents. The book will have ALL NEW material done especially for this comic. No filler stuff! <br /><br />Stories by:<br />Ed Brubaker & Sean Phillips provide a CRIMINAL tale<br />Garth Ennis & Darick Robertson bring us THE BOYS<br />Mark Millar & John Paul Leon give us their take on DRACULA<br />Darwyn Cooke delivers something entirely new<br />Mark Evanier & Sergio Aragones take us on a tour of the CBLDF<br /><br />Additional material by:<br />Arthur Adams, J. Bone, and Rick Vietch (The return of BRAT PACK!)<br /><br />Beautiful covers are provided by Mike Mignola & J. Scott Campbell.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFs6AzO7_mA7xWmNs5JcUqUz0VW9dL0ueKpvfjZ5XG9D9hxQWcV6zzGSN4SJLKeRI_D8djktYnh2Kt4_8a012bPL17Zb1xBiTp8FDM-SRpFWwrgGiNDuKSDhuWNyG7fZJ9a8n6H1nhHav9/s1600-h/liberty_hb.jpeg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFs6AzO7_mA7xWmNs5JcUqUz0VW9dL0ueKpvfjZ5XG9D9hxQWcV6zzGSN4SJLKeRI_D8djktYnh2Kt4_8a012bPL17Zb1xBiTp8FDM-SRpFWwrgGiNDuKSDhuWNyG7fZJ9a8n6H1nhHav9/s400/liberty_hb.jpeg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5192694611350791698" /></a>Hellboy cover by Mike Mignola<br /><br />Like many people, the Comic Book Legal Defense Fund is a cause near to my heart. Last year, finding myself with some unaccustomed free time, I offered my services to the CBLDF. Over the years I’ve done a few things for the Fund, mainly putting together some charity art auctions and collecting money from players in a poker game I run every year at the San Diego Comic Con. But I wanted to do something a little more ambitious this time. So I called up my pal Chris Staros, who put me in touch with Charles Brownstein, the driving force behind the CBLDF. I suggested a benefit book.<br /><br />I spent a few weeks calling up various folks to corral them into participating. It was actually pretty easy, the CBLDF crosses all boundaries, no hard sell required. The book is being solicited in the current issue of Previews, the one that went on sale this week. It’s in the IMAGE Comics section, on page 158. If you are a comic shop owner, please make sure to check out the solicits for it. If you are a comic reader, please bug your local comic shop to carry it. On sale date is July 23rd.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeuzRs-h39wYbos7DaReH9Msiw-36WHo8ft76XQAgeykLz7j8gNS7i8LG_IqOEcYJ0cReGuuhxXT9aH1d-02FqVrpVTL36wLBQdSBmqeQ5zcfO7BFXHenaMQoR16zidpbhvgBFi4TGqJoi/s1600-h/liberty_dg.jpeg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeuzRs-h39wYbos7DaReH9Msiw-36WHo8ft76XQAgeykLz7j8gNS7i8LG_IqOEcYJ0cReGuuhxXT9aH1d-02FqVrpVTL36wLBQdSBmqeQ5zcfO7BFXHenaMQoR16zidpbhvgBFi4TGqJoi/s400/liberty_dg.jpeg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5192695191171376674" /></a>Abbey Chase Danger Girl cover by J. Scott Campbell<br /><br />$3.99 is a small price to pay for Liberty!Scott Dunbierhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16455845923720545450noreply@blogger.com99tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7345941620953483500.post-2270477743454017612008-03-31T23:59:00.000-07:002008-04-01T00:04:38.495-07:00The Editor Who Came In From The ColdIt’s just past midnight here in San Diego, April 1st, 2008. In the morning I’ll be starting as Special Projects Editor at IDW. A very appropriate day to begin a new job, don’t you think? It feels almost like when I came out to WildStorm in April of 1995, but I’m even more excited… and nervous as Hell. <br /><br />Going to post this and then off to bed, I’ve got a big day ahead of me tomorrow. But I wanted to share something with you before I sleep, a present from my good friend Gene Ha. It showed up quite unexpectedly last week in my e-mail (followed soon after by a package with the original art). Something to commemorate the end of one life and the start of another, the note said. Gene calls it Scott Free. I like the sound of that.<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj59grfDlXYYFPqlq-SOBKXVzZ77NlR-Yy2oNQqIN4CG4gZJ0q0yR6ouucmqe89bA8MQM_sLiRcLymvK1n0GIRseHqQ4jTP4u378azX5Tco06ZzvJXMagZvbSsmxw-ckx32ysmOPw-plRm7/s1600-h/ScottFree-A01.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj59grfDlXYYFPqlq-SOBKXVzZ77NlR-Yy2oNQqIN4CG4gZJ0q0yR6ouucmqe89bA8MQM_sLiRcLymvK1n0GIRseHqQ4jTP4u378azX5Tco06ZzvJXMagZvbSsmxw-ckx32ysmOPw-plRm7/s400/ScottFree-A01.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5184168421675843202" /></a>Scott Dunbierhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16455845923720545450noreply@blogger.com69tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7345941620953483500.post-5669153550253547042008-03-11T14:50:00.000-07:002008-03-11T17:50:11.618-07:00Dave StevensLooking back, remembering the artists whose work I’ve loved, it’s usually very difficult for me to be sure of the first time I saw someone’s work; most blur into a steady haze of images that don’t correspond to time or place. But I very clearly remember the first time I ever saw the art of Dave Stevens. It was in Starslayer #1, back around 1982. The Rocketeer began as a back up series in the second issue of Starslayer, but the first one had this image on the back cover (although this version is from the next issue, with slightly different text):<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNjbORFcWhaPBlXPO0jjOrn3yni1AgLFIrxqVziAiPSVmwQaMtJAcCLVu41qF5Lj-jrIUbwXs_kV0_cZiq8ViTKlHFvRBKAvmXZmiipLyNsUR94mng14GzCWJLe7xurQLDC5QxklQgQHZW/s1600-h/stevens.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNjbORFcWhaPBlXPO0jjOrn3yni1AgLFIrxqVziAiPSVmwQaMtJAcCLVu41qF5Lj-jrIUbwXs_kV0_cZiq8ViTKlHFvRBKAvmXZmiipLyNsUR94mng14GzCWJLe7xurQLDC5QxklQgQHZW/s400/stevens.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5176605374722482018" /></a>I was floored by it. Here was an artist I had never heard of, one who captured many of the styles that I loved while not aping them. The piece had elements of Frazetta, Eisner, Crandall, and Wood. But it also had its own new twist. And, man, it was just pure excitement! I don’t ever remember buying a comic before only for an ad, but I did with this one.<br /><br />I didn’t know Dave particularly well but in all our dealings he was a straight shooter and a nice guy. A few years ago I tried to intervene on his behalf to get a Rocketeer/Superman mini-series going after it had stalled out at DC years before. Dave mentioned it to me at a show and then sent along his initial proposal. It was, as you would expect, a fun period piece, involving the Mercury Theater’s famous War of the Worlds broadcast. Dave was going to write it and draw the covers. unfortunately it was not to be, the project fizzled again, this time for good. <br /><br />I would suggest all of you <a href=" http://www.newsfromme.com/archives/2008_03_11.html#014911">click here</a> to read a fine remembrance by Mark Evanier, someone who knew Dave far better than I. And, lastly, here’s a great cover by Dave from the final issue of DNAgents. Its elegant simplicity has always made it one of my favorites by him.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1OYSYybdQWU-Ia-_eYoKTE_JzHuVOVsr4ZVGmTcJuodssfmxFIQsGpyiN-ewP2-m_dSwjqEsEgGLy8iquFDrpIj3xFwUXmUNGzFOaBhSnZw14_aH-2TBIprQ0qtwJd-Dxkadr2JW6J9vd/s1600-h/stevens+2_dna24.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1OYSYybdQWU-Ia-_eYoKTE_JzHuVOVsr4ZVGmTcJuodssfmxFIQsGpyiN-ewP2-m_dSwjqEsEgGLy8iquFDrpIj3xFwUXmUNGzFOaBhSnZw14_aH-2TBIprQ0qtwJd-Dxkadr2JW6J9vd/s400/stevens+2_dna24.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5176605636715487090" /></a>Scott Dunbierhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16455845923720545450noreply@blogger.com41tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7345941620953483500.post-5561179119595383992008-03-09T23:22:00.000-07:002008-03-10T00:51:10.417-07:00That Damn FluSo it turns out that nasty cold I've been battling more than a month now is actually the flu. Went to the doctor a few days ago and got several intense meds that seem to finally be doing the trick, including a very scary cough syrup that warns, "Taking more of this medication than recommended may cause serious breathing problems." So, won't bore you with more of this except to note it is why my blogs have been even more infrequent lately than usual. Should be posting a couple in the next few days and more next week--including some news on a very cool project I've been working on.Scott Dunbierhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16455845923720545450noreply@blogger.com18tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7345941620953483500.post-73412756198597077042008-02-23T09:00:00.000-08:002008-02-25T21:24:56.938-08:00Wonder ConHere's a batch of pictures, all taken Friday. For the sake of expediency I’m going to try and keep this briefer than my usual verbose descriptions.<br /><br />Okay, you know you're in the right hotel when you walk in and see this.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjthg0XNkCTt9intp-yGbk2lV7XYeGpnpUkPxL93OuJwIXwkp83CfVQy8SLqn9VxGX0iPN4O5MK8gbKPlOnGrXmU688JWXibOcDjJ6uDqK8xzaXOrVMZ-tk-CeXUly1SKgE1g8UHYxMZvfB/s1600-h/stormtrooper.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjthg0XNkCTt9intp-yGbk2lV7XYeGpnpUkPxL93OuJwIXwkp83CfVQy8SLqn9VxGX0iPN4O5MK8gbKPlOnGrXmU688JWXibOcDjJ6uDqK8xzaXOrVMZ-tk-CeXUly1SKgE1g8UHYxMZvfB/s400/stormtrooper.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5170223270706536034" /></a><br />Here's Jim Lee and his art dealer, <a href=" http://www.albertmoy.com/">Albert Moy</a>, caught in the midst of heavy negotiations--gotta keep those art dealer types in line!<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVe05GiIMBJ7_PD7WMzx4d3iAVaKsIr4trqLir6vGmDnaEU4u89f0uLn_52gD7vaEUM4bvrrCrCXF4jqSz0qLjeGU_9HEps-pE-6rrJrWKrfAaYWIOVWm3DNyDnIrSTnA6q-Ni29jRpoaW/s1600-h/jim_albert+good.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVe05GiIMBJ7_PD7WMzx4d3iAVaKsIr4trqLir6vGmDnaEU4u89f0uLn_52gD7vaEUM4bvrrCrCXF4jqSz0qLjeGU_9HEps-pE-6rrJrWKrfAaYWIOVWm3DNyDnIrSTnA6q-Ni29jRpoaW/s400/jim_albert+good.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5170224112520126066" /></a> Oh, and is it me, or does that hat Jim's wearing look familiar...?<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAqo7POtR09FieYQYhJ8yjrYXWoHotwrdEwrrKfco58LbIYa2ZhC9CrS-nx70JW7RRB0WpQ-XlYJZMhLKd5fvO_6XIlrkTaINV6U3M-GfhMhSNk_bywjjMJSThyuuUarZ1kZ5Nbz0XiA7Z/s1600-h/Fidel_Castro.gif"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAqo7POtR09FieYQYhJ8yjrYXWoHotwrdEwrrKfco58LbIYa2ZhC9CrS-nx70JW7RRB0WpQ-XlYJZMhLKd5fvO_6XIlrkTaINV6U3M-GfhMhSNk_bywjjMJSThyuuUarZ1kZ5Nbz0XiA7Z/s400/Fidel_Castro.gif" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5170227067457625730" /></a><br />Here's a shot of writer/publisher <a href=" http://www.activeimages.com/">Richard Starkings</a>. Besides being the driving force behind Elephantmen, Richard also dabbles in lettering.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-sO_6e2Mdo2sjQfs15pP1mMAkH3diqOGlOQpykZLZ7E-GqheXT2b5gW68GX8_xaEZ2l4zO9_ZdBdPTL1Py959Y7fDxwYtvztash57ZQukQWQi_V4m467EMeEi-_cCspVXwttcVYMxRYoN/s1600-h/Starkings.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-sO_6e2Mdo2sjQfs15pP1mMAkH3diqOGlOQpykZLZ7E-GqheXT2b5gW68GX8_xaEZ2l4zO9_ZdBdPTL1Py959Y7fDxwYtvztash57ZQukQWQi_V4m467EMeEi-_cCspVXwttcVYMxRYoN/s400/Starkings.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5170233303750139538" /></a>On the left is JG Roshell. JG is the very talented designer who, amongst others, is responsible for the look of Astro City.<br /><br />The gentleman below is my old buddy Peter Maresca who published the finest Winsor McCay book of all time a couple of years ago, <a href=" http://www.sundaypressbooks.com/">So Many Splendid Sundays</a>. Keep 'em coming, Pete!<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiFhs0VpPpLUG1EBroqd8wERaXmpo6vljAiXvjgPk0eDfAtKYknbKgn8RLwBYKCeT54Vf3SsLwCqESOaUuyg7thM923Djb-z7mwxNbOJWAqdhn5M8iePWWC9ZvSULRLwrPTOSABjswuGrn/s1600-h/maresca.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiFhs0VpPpLUG1EBroqd8wERaXmpo6vljAiXvjgPk0eDfAtKYknbKgn8RLwBYKCeT54Vf3SsLwCqESOaUuyg7thM923Djb-z7mwxNbOJWAqdhn5M8iePWWC9ZvSULRLwrPTOSABjswuGrn/s400/maresca.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5170236370356788898" /></a><br />Darwyn Cooke on the left, with his sometime collabortor J. Bone. I worked with these two fine gents on The Spirit and it was a pleasure to catch up with them again here. The animated version of Darwyn's The New Frontier will be screened tonight at the show, looking forward to catching it.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiM6L20ju1lZXY2jypyG3J4hey67MAH47INkEdUCNqphWVGG9NKcPPMQpksJJubI4xYlGhePP6TK-XuSmKnngvOttTguG1wTjDGmPOHttRgC2dN2jPmA6iFp_qjuUUHfj3Prx4JZzFDXa0t/s1600-h/darwyn+bone.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiM6L20ju1lZXY2jypyG3J4hey67MAH47INkEdUCNqphWVGG9NKcPPMQpksJJubI4xYlGhePP6TK-XuSmKnngvOttTguG1wTjDGmPOHttRgC2dN2jPmA6iFp_qjuUUHfj3Prx4JZzFDXa0t/s400/darwyn+bone.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5170239638826901170" /></a><br />A happy Arthur Adams manning his spot in artist's Alley.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidR7cOZoA8ttNpL7czj0gshVgmFQzTROAnuf-2HaQs7sR4rnMkW9FC4cbFM7dhAxuZq6MSM6734H5JdXckaY10oxVKycIktfF-EGKDORp4UTd2OSUfwRBUz41J7CrTohA9Vfty5SJKluaQ/s1600-h/arthur.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidR7cOZoA8ttNpL7czj0gshVgmFQzTROAnuf-2HaQs7sR4rnMkW9FC4cbFM7dhAxuZq6MSM6734H5JdXckaY10oxVKycIktfF-EGKDORp4UTd2OSUfwRBUz41J7CrTohA9Vfty5SJKluaQ/s400/arthur.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5170242997491326658" /></a><br />A few seats down from Arthur is Jeff Campbell, who was also riding shotgun on the drive up to San Francisco. Jeff's good company on a long drive, he can talk almost as much as me... almost.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUAU16Opxz9A02FZ1UNT-i422TofFJffZEZNaB6-4PxUQR3-JnWeiR7nF1KyGHfajYYNe-iOE3L63pTOEct5U4z-APfQI2kBJevTo1t234rn0XG7ubP3phc5gZK9TPzapfIBbboErcty4p/s1600-h/jeff.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUAU16Opxz9A02FZ1UNT-i422TofFJffZEZNaB6-4PxUQR3-JnWeiR7nF1KyGHfajYYNe-iOE3L63pTOEct5U4z-APfQI2kBJevTo1t234rn0XG7ubP3phc5gZK9TPzapfIBbboErcty4p/s400/jeff.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5170246643918560978" /></a><br />Bob Wayne, gazing off dreamily, getting a peck on the cheek from Mimi Cruz of <a href=" http://www.night-flight.com/">Night Flight Comics</a> in Utah. I asked Mimi if it was okay to post this shot to my blog and she said sure, just not to tell her husband. So, anyone reading this, please keep mum--there are reputations at stake here.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXyoesB4Tro4WEcylVwooGOx1msvyYwLpc_n5EmT0yGJacZ_jiMwkfv-rgm8nol9XBmKdkAKuidd9vVtM429i2LKss0djD3P3LvUdv0zDxf1uPPxihnWMDHcocW5huraLYXVVYGRB90ail/s1600-h/bob+mimi.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXyoesB4Tro4WEcylVwooGOx1msvyYwLpc_n5EmT0yGJacZ_jiMwkfv-rgm8nol9XBmKdkAKuidd9vVtM429i2LKss0djD3P3LvUdv0zDxf1uPPxihnWMDHcocW5huraLYXVVYGRB90ail/s400/bob+mimi.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5170249929568542434" /></a><br />Howard Chaykin, one of my favorite phone pals, and Glen Gold, writer of <a href=" http://qurls.com?i=33193">Carter Beats The Devil</a> as well as a short story in Spirit #13.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGAiW9AMlrXUf7eeRTMvzuLgJTI0AmhaE2AfvMOZ6BJS0iLPGHH4Mj_UbhXSJ5qLalzF2zqFskpuwpVuLWanmpCkn_bOohzrL8vJp-q5H-zSxuvY7U6wUSuzjtynlqpwgtLexhfuZeUMss/s1600-h/howard+glen+good.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGAiW9AMlrXUf7eeRTMvzuLgJTI0AmhaE2AfvMOZ6BJS0iLPGHH4Mj_UbhXSJ5qLalzF2zqFskpuwpVuLWanmpCkn_bOohzrL8vJp-q5H-zSxuvY7U6wUSuzjtynlqpwgtLexhfuZeUMss/s400/howard+glen+good.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5170251845123956466" /></a><br />I couldn't decide if I should put "The dreaded Wolver-Noto!" on this one or, "Crap, I forgot I owed Phil Noto money!" You decide.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGsw1yQYSbB5xcP2ukLH12I0dy68tug2gToe4-eoBNcEzbkmwitDuOjZacm6UX1kr1qb4duGHeBDTgXgPF6saARi_J60ZVcP5DC-xe20fAc90G9t3UW7pjOE3qSXWKrwPa23L4bJbbiz5z/s1600-h/phil+2.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGsw1yQYSbB5xcP2ukLH12I0dy68tug2gToe4-eoBNcEzbkmwitDuOjZacm6UX1kr1qb4duGHeBDTgXgPF6saARi_J60ZVcP5DC-xe20fAc90G9t3UW7pjOE3qSXWKrwPa23L4bJbbiz5z/s400/phil+2.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5170252712707350274" /></a><br />These pictures have been all out of order but this was the last one of the night so I'm ending with it too. My old friends Mike Mignola and Mike Carlin. We didn't close the bar, far from it at our age, but had a lot of fun and much laughter talking and telling stories with them.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQeypJoFDIBT3U8d33_aViZjnnLQRlZRSKM-z4do55b8wnppripYU8nwg6RQffzNveOX5fZb9XWwMB6qM0iZclg38l_JNhuNAdPTGmmSaeMx1nLqs0mxsfmUyDVZ_4B8ZgoYxfCzi7_kOF/s1600-h/Mignola+carlin.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQeypJoFDIBT3U8d33_aViZjnnLQRlZRSKM-z4do55b8wnppripYU8nwg6RQffzNveOX5fZb9XWwMB6qM0iZclg38l_JNhuNAdPTGmmSaeMx1nLqs0mxsfmUyDVZ_4B8ZgoYxfCzi7_kOF/s400/Mignola+carlin.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5170254198766034706" /></a>And, I gotta say, Mike (Mignola) made my day when he told me how much his wife likes my blog--thanks, Christine, this one is dedicated to you.Scott Dunbierhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16455845923720545450noreply@blogger.com19tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7345941620953483500.post-34047180872621422602008-02-20T21:51:00.000-08:002008-02-20T21:52:58.024-08:00San Francisco BoundI’ll be heading to San Francisco first thing in the morning. Driving up with a good friend, hopefully we’ll arrive early enough to meet some other pals and get dinner. This will be my first comic convention in a year; the last was the previous Wonder Con. Looking forward to seeing friends, catching up, sharing some good meals. I’m bringing my camera and will try and post some pics over the weekend. That’s the plan anyway. Only one scheduled thing at the show, the Darwyn Cooke Spotlight on Friday from 4:00 to 5:00, the rest of the time I’ll be enjoying my first con in 20 years without doing booth duty. If you see me wandering the Moscone halls feel free to say hello.Scott Dunbierhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16455845923720545450noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7345941620953483500.post-88354084733644495452008-02-11T03:02:00.000-08:002008-02-11T03:26:35.055-08:00What Do You Mean?I previously wrote about my odd habit, from bygone art selling days, of flipping coins occasionally to determine the final price of a piece. The original post was about a deadbeat, the only time anyone had ever reneged on a flip, you can read about it by <a href=" http://scottdunbier.blogspot.com/2008/01/flip-of-coin.html">clicking here.</a> Today’s story is also about a flip, and just as unique in the way it transpired, but with a much finer conclusion. Actually, I can’t think of any other flip that was so memorable or as much fun.<br /><br />It happened maybe 13 or 14 years ago. I was set up at a comic convention, don’t recall which one but probably a Great Eastern show at the Javits Center, on the far West Side of Manhattan. Klaus Janson stopped by my booth as he was making his rounds, checking out the dealer’s wares. It was always nice to see Klaus; we were friendly acquaintances who used to run into each other on line at movie theaters, usually to see the new Woody Allen picture.<br /><br />As Klaus and I exchanged pleasantries and caught up he checked out my display of original art. Hanging in the center was a drop dead gorgeous Jack Kirby pencil drawing of Dr. Doom. It was big, about 17 x 22 inches, and with a sticker price to match: $5000. Klaus liked the piece very much but at five grand he wanted to think it over. Who wouldn’t? He asked me to give him a call in a few days if I still had it so we could discuss.<br /><br />The drawing didn’t sell at the show so early the following week I phoned Klaus. He said he’d like to buy it but the price was a bit steep; could I do any better? Sure, I’d knock off ten percent, making it $4500. Klaus laughed and said what he’d like to pay is $4000. I thought for a second and posed a question: was he a gambling man? “Why?” he asked.<br /><br />I said to Klaus, “You can have the piece for $4500. Or we can flip for it, $4000 if you win, $5000 if you lose.” I can’t describe with any degree of justice the response I got back. Simply put, he said, “What do you mean?” But that doesn’t begin to convey the excited glee behind those four little words. If you know Klaus you know he has a great laugh. This was a hybrid of that; half laugh, half scream: “WHATTAYOU MEAANNN??” I explained it to him one more time, in greater detail. Once again, and in the same manner, “What do you mean?” was his response.<br /><br />When he wrapped his head around the concept he said, “So when would we do this?” I told him we could do it right now. He said, “On the phone?” I said, “Yeah.” Then Klaus offered, a bit sarcastically, “And I suppose you’ll flip it!” I said, and probably with a certain degree of flamboyance, “No, you flip it, I’ll call.” For the third and final time, and just as before, Klaus said, “What do you mean?” “Go ahead,” I said, “I trust you!”<br /><br />Klaus thought about it. I think it was a feeling of outlandish adventure, coupled with the sheer, unabashed idiocy of the proposal that pushed him over the edge; he agreed to the flip. So, with me sitting in my Upper East Side apartment and Klaus in his Greenwich Village one, we decided to go for it. The ground rules were simple, same as every flip; the coin goes up and lands on the floor, it’s legal no matter what it hits or where it lands. Klaus had a quarter in his hand and told me he was ready. All at once he yelled, “Call it!” I shouted back, “Tails!” There was a moment of incredible anticipation as I waited to hear the outcome. Suddenly a shrill scream came over the line: “SHIT!!”<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgz1c2OAT9A2WiCaxV96iwA4GTkXWXcOkZSp5CCGq6qmzNvTwzpmeAWiHdY76FiAFguu7hGBjCgnTaRnk-hojhmAYGOp4Duu_kYag13P5i8eIFCZ5-dTRTr1p1hbyHCWcZ_j4iZpjMc6G8r/s1600-h/KirbyDrDoom"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgz1c2OAT9A2WiCaxV96iwA4GTkXWXcOkZSp5CCGq6qmzNvTwzpmeAWiHdY76FiAFguu7hGBjCgnTaRnk-hojhmAYGOp4Duu_kYag13P5i8eIFCZ5-dTRTr1p1hbyHCWcZ_j4iZpjMc6G8r/s400/KirbyDrDoom" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5165676794420649554" /></a>Dr. Doom as drawn by Jack Kirby. From the collection of Klaus Janson.Scott Dunbierhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16455845923720545450noreply@blogger.com87tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7345941620953483500.post-59538197446347854782008-02-04T03:04:00.000-08:002008-02-08T19:30:57.823-08:00Who Is This Really?One day in the early 90s I came home to find my answering machine blinking. Not unexpectedly as an original art ad had just broken in the Comic Buyers Guide and calls would be starting to roll in. I hit the play button and heard, “Hi Scott, this is Graham Nash of Crosby, Stills, & Nash and I want to buy some art from your ad. I can’t leave a number because I’m on tour. I’ll call back later.”<br /><br />The next message came on, “Hi Scott, this is Graham Nash again, from Crosby, Stills, & Nash. I’ll call back later.” The following two messages were pretty much the same, and in each he said “Crosby, Stills, & Nash.” I had just finished listening to the final one when the phone rang. The voice coming over the line asked for me and then said, “Scott, this is Graham Nash, from Crosby, Stills, & Nash, I want to buy some art from you.”<br /><br />It was one of those moments when you just have to look at the phone. I said, “Okay, who is this really?” The voice came back, “Really, this is Graham Nash!” I asked him which band he had been in before CSN and he replied, “The Hollies." I told him everybody knew that. I said if you’re Graham Nash sing something. I was actually pretty sure at this point it was Graham Nash but I thought it would be funny to have him do a few lines of “Our House."<br /><br />So the person who was apparently Graham Nash tells me he wants to buy a number of originals from my ad. But there’s a catch: he won’t be home for a couple of months because of the tour. And he’s anxious to get the pages. He tells me that CSN will be playing in New Jersey in a couple of weeks and asks if I could deliver the art to him there. He’d arrange for tickets and back stage passes to be left at the Will Call window and we’d complete our transaction before the concert. Oh, and he wanted me to bring along more art.<br /><br />I hung up the phone and started to get a nagging feeling. Maybe this wasn’t what it appeared to be; maybe one of my friends was playing an elaborate prank on me. I had no number for him (in those dawning days of cellular) and no payment was en route to me. But, what the Hell, the worst that could happen was I schlep a portfolio out to New Jersey for a few hours. <br /><br />So on the appointed day my girlfriend and I take a cab down to the Port Authority and are herded onto a bus bound for Holmdel, New Jersey, home of the Garden State Arts Center. When we arrived it was still a couple of hours before the concert and the crowd wasn’t too bad yet. We found our way to the Will Call window where…my name wasn’t on the list.<br /><br />I was stunned. All I could think of was that depressing bus ride back to the city, what a drag it was going to be. We started to walk away and then I stopped. Screw it, they were going to have another look. This time the lady checked a different list, the one that had backstage passes. Voilà, we’re on the sheet. Guess we didn’t fit the standard VIP type.<br /><br />So we headed down towards the stage, showed our passes, and were escorted to a waiting area inside. There were a lot of people standing around; some who I presumed were with the band, some with the Arts Center, and some who looked out of place (just like us). They had won a radio station promotion. The guy who ushered us in goes to tell Graham we’d arrived and a few minutes later Graham Nash comes out to meet us. He says hello and tells me he has to take care of something before we can talk art. He walked over to the contest winners and introduced himself. He’s a charming fellow, polite and funny, and he treated them like people. It was a nice sight. When he’s done he walks over and says, “Okay, Whattaya got to show me?”<br /><br />I heft a large portfolio onto a table and open it for him. First he looked at the pages he called about and then puts them aside. Next he scrutinizes the three-inch stack of art he requested I bring. He started separating art into two stacks, one short, the other tall. When he was done he looked at me and asked, motioning to the larger stack, “How much for these?”<br /><br />After adding it up I gave him a number. He asked if I could do any better. Soon we had a deal and he wrote me a check. In the background there was a guy who had been leaning over now and then to check out what was going on, he seemed very interested. When Graham and I were done he stepped up and pulled out one of the pieces that remained, a Beetle Bailey comic book cover. He asked how much it was. I told him $90. He said, “I’ll give you $75 bucks, cash!” I laughed and said sure. He was positively giddy as he walked away.<br /><br />We said our goodbyes and walked out to be with the paying customers. The Garden State Arts Center is an open-air venue and it was a pleasant evening. We enjoyed the concert, it was my first time seeing CSN, and then headed out towards the parking lot when the show was over. Buoyed by a lighter portfolio and a fat check, I decided to spring for a cab back to New York and home…paid for courtesy of Stephen Stills’ $75 bucks, cash.Scott Dunbierhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16455845923720545450noreply@blogger.com28tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7345941620953483500.post-72919842467569699072008-02-02T17:37:00.000-08:002008-02-03T11:21:55.800-08:00Shell GameYears ago I used to sell Brian Bolland’s art. Brian, besides being a very fine and meticulous artist, has a wry sense of humor. He’s also quite the Badminton player. Anyway, years ago we were talking and I complimented an Animal Man painting he had done, one that featured a beautiful portrait of a lobster. Brian thanked me for the compliment, as well as giving credit to his wife Rachel for assisting him on it; she excels at painting animals. <br /><br />Brian went on to tell me that the comic the cover appeared on had a missive in the letters column (remember those?) from an irate reader. The fan was upset by acts of cruelty perpetrated on some creatures in an earlier issue. Apparently, from what Brian said, the editor replied a bit cheekily, “No animal was harmed in the production of this comic.” Brian then revealed, “That’s not entirely true. I went down to my local market, picked out a lobster, and they killed it for me.” Brian then took his newly acquired model home and set about to immortalize it. The cover took Brian a week to complete, at the end of which he had a lovely piece of art…and a rather rank crustacean.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJkhe7ytcGqcJAjEhG712g_qr9-N7J21A8iI3qEKyliWgrppkUpgqXAh31o8vyPy7dEuRRc6QqRYk5ah7vLlQicYJZxhBrjcCvOoVHd1ivXz3YYbWuxtr6iSZiFbUuHaM4gHnvLd_-p5c4/s1600-h/Bolland_AM_Cover.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJkhe7ytcGqcJAjEhG712g_qr9-N7J21A8iI3qEKyliWgrppkUpgqXAh31o8vyPy7dEuRRc6QqRYk5ah7vLlQicYJZxhBrjcCvOoVHd1ivXz3YYbWuxtr6iSZiFbUuHaM4gHnvLd_-p5c4/s400/Bolland_AM_Cover.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5162562748204563970" /></a>The cover in question--hopefully Brian didn’t go to similar lengths to ensure realism with all elements of the piece.Scott Dunbierhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16455845923720545450noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7345941620953483500.post-38938280993367937512008-01-22T19:08:00.000-08:002008-01-22T19:24:59.248-08:00Who Was Frank Godwin?Frank Godwin died nearly 50 years ago and is virtually unknown today. He was an illustrator who segued into comic strips and occasionally comic books. He is best known for his work on Connie, followed by Rusty Riley, which he drew until his death.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpvdnSxlAx_yb28_n3n-IY581m26Ie68Un3jrNsut2UkEuXN6qymdpKPWKZhJQyNEBtKwynirnQR4LPYFnsm8ElzAFmBZV1iG9QOCZPHOX9zOir-K9iUbkngpvjFnzk0kGwH4Gun8Jj2ee/s1600-h/rusty+daily.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpvdnSxlAx_yb28_n3n-IY581m26Ie68Un3jrNsut2UkEuXN6qymdpKPWKZhJQyNEBtKwynirnQR4LPYFnsm8ElzAFmBZV1iG9QOCZPHOX9zOir-K9iUbkngpvjFnzk0kGwH4Gun8Jj2ee/s400/rusty+daily.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5158504485146181090" /></a><a href=" http://davekarlenoriginalartblog.blogspot.com/2008/01/frank-godwins-rusty-riley.html"> Dave Karlen does a nice write up on Godwin over at his well-researched and informative art blog, which you can go to by clicking here.</a> The article is accompanied by some lovely scans, worth looking at. It should be noted that Godwin maintained an incredible level of consistency throughout his long career, on a par with that of Hal Foster; the daily reproduced above was drawn when the artist was 66 years old.Scott Dunbierhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16455845923720545450noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7345941620953483500.post-89751820085242894392008-01-20T20:37:00.000-08:002008-01-20T21:32:28.757-08:00The Flip Of A CoinWhen I used to deal in original comic art I had a certain eccentricity. If a person showed interest in a piece but was unsure, I would offer to flip a coin to determine the final price. For example, if a page was $100 I might suggest flipping with a $20 spread, making it either $90 or $110, depending on the outcome of the flip. The amount would always be the same distance in either direction from the asking price, whether a few bucks or double or nothing. Before you ask--yes, on rare occasions I’ve done double or nothing flips. I think the oddness of the offer enticed some people into pulling the trigger on a page they were otherwise on the fence about. And, really, it was just fun. <br /><br />Almost all the flips were pleasant and went off without incident, but there was one time (and one time only) when someone reneged. It was at the Chicago Con in the mid 90s. As usual, I had a couple of booths with lots of art for sale. There was one particularly nice Jack Kirby Thor page on display, with a beautiful panel of Donald Blake transforming into the Thunder God. The price was $600, a reasonable sum at the time.<br /><br />A collector stopped by early on the first day of the show and spotted the page. He looked at it for a while and then asked if I would take $550 for it. I told him no, I had just gotten the piece a few days earlier and felt it was fairly priced. He really wanted the page but also really didn’t want to pay $600. As he stood there and pondered I offered an alternative; he could either buy the page for the regular price or flip for it, $550 or $650.<br /><br />He was a bit taken aback by my proposal, didn’t understand why I wouldn’t sell it to him for the $550, especially since I was willing to do so if we flipped for it. I explained that this was a bit of fun, as well as a gamble for both of us; we each had an equal risk at stake. He could always buy the page at the asking price, flipping just afforded him the chance of paying the lower price he coveted…but with the distinct possibility of paying more if he lost.<br /><br />After hemming and hawing for a while the guy eventually decided to go for it, the price would be determined by the flip of a coin. A fair bit of time had gone by and a few people who had overheard us talking were milling about in anticipation of the brief show. I flipped the quarter and he called heads as it arced in the air. The coin bounced a few times before coming to a rest, tail side up.<br /><br />He looked at me for a minute and then said, “I’ll give you $600 for the page.” I laughed, thinking at first he was kidding. I told him the price was $650, as we agreed. He said, “You wanted $600 for the page, that’s what I’ll pay you for it.” He pulled out his wallet and tried to give me $600, which I refused to accept. <br /><br />I told him that if he had won I would have had no problem letting him have it for the lower price. But he didn’t see it that way. He was holding the money in his hand and had an expression on his face like I was being unreasonable. I told him he had two choices; he could either buy the art under the terms we agreed or he could walk away. But, if he chose the latter, he could come back in 10 minutes and I wouldn’t sell him the page for $1000. He laughed and once again said he’d pay $600. I shrugged and put the page back up for sale. <br /><br />He hung around for a few more minutes and then walked away. I noticed him a couple of times passing by to see if the page was still available. Then, maybe an hour or so later, he walked up to me and said, “Okay, I’ll pay you the $650 for the page.” I said I was sorry but the page wasn’t for sale, not to him. I think he was actually shocked that I refused to let him buy it.<br /><br />Once or twice more he hovered on the periphery of my booth, never actually coming in again. The last time I noticed him was when I was pulling the page down for the gentleman who was buying it for $600. He had seen the page and said he would take it; I never had a chance to offer him a flip. I think it would have been funny if the eventual buyer and I flipped and I had lost, with me selling the page for $550…as my former flipping partner looked on.Scott Dunbierhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16455845923720545450noreply@blogger.com20tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7345941620953483500.post-45599196070746362882007-12-27T11:11:00.001-08:002008-02-02T21:16:12.872-08:00Christmas CookiesThis is a silly little story but I like it.<br /><br />Amanda’s mother hosted a party on Christmas Eve. We all had a very nice time, enjoyed tasty food and good company. On the way home we stopped to pick up a cake ordered for our own family gathering on Christmas day. The bakery we use is called <a href=" http://www.bigjoyfamily.com/">Big Joy Family</a> and it’s our favorite in San Diego. We happened upon the place quite by accident a couple of years ago, it being next to a Vietnamese restaurant we go to from time to time. Whenever we have a family function Big Joy Family is our go to place for cakes. All of which really has nothing to do with this story except for my own self-serving motivations; I really would be sad to see them go out of business.<br /><br />Anyway, I walk into the bakery, leaving Amanda and the boys in the car. The woman who runs the place goes to the back to get our cake. She brings it out, beautifully decorated. As I’m about to turn and leave she offers me Christmas cookies for Alex and Sam. Once back in the car I tell the boys the nice lady from the bakery gave me cookies and they could have them for dessert when we get home. Which reminds me of something. I tell Amanda we need to stop on the way to get cookies for Santa. Sam is two and didn’t pay it any mind. Alex, on the other hand, is six and took note of what I said. He thought about it a bit and then, in a very serious voice, volunteers to give up his Christmas sugar cookie so Santa could have it. Amanda and I looked at each other and smiled. I told him it was okay, we would stop at the supermarket near our house so Santa could have his own cookies. <br /><br />It was a holiday filled with many wonderful moments but I think this was my favorite.Scott Dunbierhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16455845923720545450noreply@blogger.com15tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7345941620953483500.post-4899526280627644632007-12-24T03:27:00.000-08:002007-12-25T01:14:46.983-08:00Tis The Season: Christmas Themed Original ArtIt’s Christmas Eve and I thought I’d share a few pieces of art that touch upon the holiday. <br /><br />First up is a Chuck Jones storyboard from How The Grinch Stole Christmas, adapted from the classic Dr. Seuss tale. This is the moment when the Grinch discovers the meaning of Christmas. Love them stars!<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizTl9cqL_1tXVL_WjZlsbFgskq5JhPkDvlNyC-vPmFIui86aZWzC5OPOtxUcDRrYxk_fHbwxZbH9ns0B3D0xixbTagMsFpa_C-uBnemhm3j57BwG_M2yGyLHI8u2DZSN8LbbZ8HTkRcpaV/s1600-h/Christmas_grinch.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizTl9cqL_1tXVL_WjZlsbFgskq5JhPkDvlNyC-vPmFIui86aZWzC5OPOtxUcDRrYxk_fHbwxZbH9ns0B3D0xixbTagMsFpa_C-uBnemhm3j57BwG_M2yGyLHI8u2DZSN8LbbZ8HTkRcpaV/s400/Christmas_grinch.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5147500121832511090" /></a>Bil Keane’s Family Circus has been a favorite of mine since I was a kid. Sure the strip is corny, but it also has a genuine warmth that appeals to me. Several of my friends also appreciate my fondness for Keane’s work--because it gives them endless opportunities to mock me. This particular daily reminds me of my son, Sam.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrkt1Ov7gYDlbTNO4MJuCvfwEUIuOTN-2taZp6hqrBBqoOMCPBw9pm1Srzn36v5zreHxrOpuG8HkJSJElNBynTmaNjLnXmtUjsM9GLH4dxQOk2QOgDHrty806WN5lg0ZzTyjwndOgsH1cf/s1600-h/Christmas_fc.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrkt1Ov7gYDlbTNO4MJuCvfwEUIuOTN-2taZp6hqrBBqoOMCPBw9pm1Srzn36v5zreHxrOpuG8HkJSJElNBynTmaNjLnXmtUjsM9GLH4dxQOk2QOgDHrty806WN5lg0ZzTyjwndOgsH1cf/s400/Christmas_fc.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5147504472634381954" /></a>Dan DeCarlo, to me, was the quintessential Betty & Veronica artist. He was to Archie what Jack Kirby was to Marvel and Carl Barks was to Ducks. This cover showcases his wonderful sense of humor. Dan was a real character, he always reminded me of the guy who would chase the secretary around a desk at the company Christmas party. But I imagined that if he caught her he’d talk about his wife, Josie. I miss Dan; he was a terrific guy.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsJBMgUYyt7WKxMNq5Iy-LluBLjdQVe9i7th8abiVVKZPbDqDV67ukYgWDqdNqU6j65U66qnXSkbR75EgSUiTvCH5TihhDV7igeYPlN-MRP2SOQkf7_-MHPN-fuhqyJ9Us1Rr6x8wYuPd0/s1600-h/christmas_decarlo.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsJBMgUYyt7WKxMNq5Iy-LluBLjdQVe9i7th8abiVVKZPbDqDV67ukYgWDqdNqU6j65U66qnXSkbR75EgSUiTvCH5TihhDV7igeYPlN-MRP2SOQkf7_-MHPN-fuhqyJ9Us1Rr6x8wYuPd0/s400/christmas_decarlo.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5147505108289541778" /></a>Reid Fleming, the World’s Toughest Milkman, isn’t generally associated with Christmas; David Boswell, in his unique way, manages to capture the spirit of the season.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOw_dQe5JvppOP02kHiaPyYVrp0M8E_-goy9M7GM1MWsrM2btns-uo2m9J_5TwJd_APMLuPOk3BIrN5ltuflRpDBr7a0t46rvIgS3GLLQbWnWBaXe8RH3PIo-sBKW3lrM2YpROO2PRqssy/s1600-h/christmas_boswell.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOw_dQe5JvppOP02kHiaPyYVrp0M8E_-goy9M7GM1MWsrM2btns-uo2m9J_5TwJd_APMLuPOk3BIrN5ltuflRpDBr7a0t46rvIgS3GLLQbWnWBaXe8RH3PIo-sBKW3lrM2YpROO2PRqssy/s400/christmas_boswell.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5147505559261107874" /></a>Dick Moores stepped into some big shoes when he took over Gasoline Alley from Frank King. A lesser talent would have stumbled along; Moores danced to a different tune but it was nearly as beautiful.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLBNuEBvHmQl0oUL_NqhVy7oj4x_eVJ-tctALkeYsink8UxvkaMoaGPQ2k-Ls198Y9GRLu2heU7hQtNOUwWRp3lvZS5OHjAZwnZ6qI9271B7ItPCQ3BiXfkth92bJRn-eZi3j4lAoThNUR/s1600-h/christmas_moores.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLBNuEBvHmQl0oUL_NqhVy7oj4x_eVJ-tctALkeYsink8UxvkaMoaGPQ2k-Ls198Y9GRLu2heU7hQtNOUwWRp3lvZS5OHjAZwnZ6qI9271B7ItPCQ3BiXfkth92bJRn-eZi3j4lAoThNUR/s400/christmas_moores.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5147505821254112946" /></a>Here's a nice piece of art that my best friend, <a href=" http://shawnmcmanus.net/">Shawn McManus</a>, did for me nearly 20 years ago. It’s one of a series of original art ads that ran in the Comics Buyers Guide. I wish the scan did the delicate line work justice.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeaJqAz3G3QJz5WXTgnR_tKNHDWKN3XYk4DpWhVcBw8jR1qUEDt-vp_aabAL7CdyCo0tWURZ8-HDjbEQP0a1V5bvS0L9yyo6HJDxXNhqYB_oVlQRy9XvGrmSe6kUmLz9vchmmHGqVyu66P/s1600-h/christmas_mcmanus.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeaJqAz3G3QJz5WXTgnR_tKNHDWKN3XYk4DpWhVcBw8jR1qUEDt-vp_aabAL7CdyCo0tWURZ8-HDjbEQP0a1V5bvS0L9yyo6HJDxXNhqYB_oVlQRy9XvGrmSe6kUmLz9vchmmHGqVyu66P/s400/christmas_mcmanus.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5147506091837052610" /></a>If you feel like exploring more original comic art, holiday themed or not, check out <a href=" http://www.comicartfans.com/">comicartfans;</a> it's a great way to pass an hour or two.<br /><br />Best wishes to everyone for a happy holiday and a fine new year!Scott Dunbierhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16455845923720545450noreply@blogger.com22tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7345941620953483500.post-56748085169705370032007-12-17T08:08:00.000-08:002007-12-17T08:54:44.501-08:00The GodsonIn the early 1980s, when I was 19, I lived in New York City on the Upper East Side. Like so many people who make their living in this business, at one time I had a job in a comic book store. The name was Action Comics and it was on Second Avenue between 84th and 85th streets. It was a fairly new business and I was the only employee aside from Stephen, the owner. I had already started dealing a bit in original art and one of the perks of working at the shop was being able to display and sell art.<br /><br />One day a teenager walks in, maybe 13 or 14, and we start talking about comic art. He was a smart kid, I sort of remember him being better dressed than the usual comic fans. He had come in before and liked some of the art that was hanging in the poster rack and now wanted to buy some. He picked out a page or two and paid with $50 bills. It didn’t strike me as odd because this was an affluent neighborhood and it wasn’t out of the norm for kids to have that kind of cash, usually from birthdays or bar Mitzvahs. Over the next couple of weeks he came in a few times and bought more art. <br /><br />A couple of days after the kid’s last purchase I was in the shop and the phone rang. A woman’s voice that seemed vaguely familiar came over the line and asked to speak with Scott. I told her I was Scott and she said, “Hi, Scott, this is Shelley Winters.” I recognized the voice as soon as she said her name. It was a surreal moment, I had never talked to an Academy Award winning actress before, let alone have one call me. I said hello Ms. Winters and asked what I could do for her. She asked me if her godson had been coming in to the store to buy art and paying with $50 bills. I said, “Why yes, he has been.” Sounding relieved, she said “Oh good. He’s been stealing that money from me but I was afraid he was buying drugs.” We talked for a few more minutes, about her godson. He was a good kid, she said, but he needed a friend. She asked me if I could take him to a baseball game sometime, do something with him. I politely declined; he seemed like a nice boy but I was 19 and had a girlfriend and didn’t want to hang out with a kid.<br /><br />I never heard from Shelley Winters or her godson again. Their story became one of a number of anecdotes I would tell to friends from time to time. But these things have a limited shelf life; new stories gradually made their way to the front of my mind and I told this one less and less. Eventually it fell out of the rotation entirely. I didn’t give Shelley Winters and her godson much thought at all for a very long time, <a href=" http://man-size.livejournal.com/2006/01/14/">until I saw this blog by Dean Haspiel.</a><br /><br />As I read about the death of Dean’s godmother I put two and two together; he was the boy who bought the art from me all those years ago. I felt sad for his loss but couldn’t help but be amused by the revelation. I told my pal Heidi MacDonald about it and we shared a laugh. It wasn’t the kind of story I would widely spread, it didn’t exactly cast Dean in the best light, but it was okay between a couple of discreet friends. <br /><br />Fast forward to a couple of months ago. Heidi and I were once again talking, I was filling her in on my soon-to-be-launched blog. Immediately she said I should run the Dean Haspiel/Shelley Winters story. I wasn’t so sure. I had already decided not to recount anything that would hurt someone’s feelings or damage a reputation; I felt this fell into both categories. Heidi told me that Dean had a good sense of humor and he would find it funny. Since a fair amount of time had passed since his godmother’s death, I decided it couldn’t hurt to give him a ring.<br /><br />I called Dean and we had a brief chat, got reacquainted. Dean and I don’t know each other very well but we had spoken a couple of years ago about a project at WS. While the book didn’t work out we parted on good terms. Then I dove in and told him about my blog--and that one of the stories I was toying with writing involved him. Understandably, he was surprised; as I said, we don’t have a lot of history together. I tentatively asked Dean if he remembered that we had met before, many years ago in New York. He did not. I asked if he remembered Action Comics. He vaguely did. I asked if he remembered buying some comic art there when he was a kid. He thought about it and said he never had. He said it in such a way that it left little room for doubt. Now I was perplexed; it’s one thing to not recall something, it’s another to be sure you didn’t do it. I laid all my cards on the table. None of it sounded familiar to him…until I got to the part about Shelly Winters and her godson. That triggered a realization; Dean hadn’t been that young boy who so worried his godmother--it was his brother, Mike.<br /><br />Dean told me about Mike, how he had been stricken with Juvenile Diabetes at a young age and had experimented with a variety of drugs. Hence the phone-call from Ms. Winters; She really was relieved to hear he had bought art with the money instead of drugs. I asked how his brother was doing. Dean told me he had passed away a couple of years ago from complications of his condition, with his history of drug abuse being a contributing factor.<br /><br />I told Dean I was sorry if this brought back any painful memories but he said it was okay. He had never heard the story before and he said it made his brother come alive for him again, if only for an instant; he was grateful for that. Then Dean asked if I would run the story in my blog. I told him I didn’t think so, that before it was just some goofy little story with a happy ending. Now it was something else entirely. Dean said he’d be okay with me writing it up if I wanted to. We left it at me seeing if I could manage to do it in a way I thought was appropriate. I had my doubts.<br /><br />Last week I got an e-mail from Dean. He told me he had been reading my blog and liked it. Then he asked if I planned on running the anecdote or if it was canned. I thought about it a bit and wrote back saying I would give it a shot; if I was happy with the results I would send it to him. He replied, “Yeah, take a crack at it and see what you can come up with. No need to play it too safe…Just be kind and fair.”<br /><br />So I started writing. I don’t know how happy I am with the way this has turned out but, if Dean agrees, I will post it. I can’t help feeling guilty. I know that probably sounds odd, but sometimes I wonder what would have happened if I had just taken Mike out to Yankee Stadium on the #4 train and watched a couple of games.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjM_Dhm5i9b-leSSHrrm1ccNLoWeWoBscsUxyKUjBE6pdMANdJU2zcgmrV_YNTVvWL0wG3GwUBEcaGshxuleGz9CYlUHSLgOT46UlHW8gWoyGIiS-rWI6ktaa6xwTNGdAQzpslE0OrcJVwX/s1600-h/mike.dean1.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjM_Dhm5i9b-leSSHrrm1ccNLoWeWoBscsUxyKUjBE6pdMANdJU2zcgmrV_YNTVvWL0wG3GwUBEcaGshxuleGz9CYlUHSLgOT46UlHW8gWoyGIiS-rWI6ktaa6xwTNGdAQzpslE0OrcJVwX/s400/mike.dean1.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5144975183573636690" /></a>Mike and Dean Haspiel, circa early 1970s<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxwMjdqbwPlAWmNHsbV3CSdN3bBHkPf8qhZhyaMn8tQZ89zTVeIl7SH2-0LqWLwXgO2ijKF9K4DddgQbkoO8JcY02RAWEgBjPXr0-cdCy7YqypgKcweG5atBKu1oMFQuI-u_0IyqmojhgC/s1600-h/mike.dean2.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxwMjdqbwPlAWmNHsbV3CSdN3bBHkPf8qhZhyaMn8tQZ89zTVeIl7SH2-0LqWLwXgO2ijKF9K4DddgQbkoO8JcY02RAWEgBjPXr0-cdCy7YqypgKcweG5atBKu1oMFQuI-u_0IyqmojhgC/s400/mike.dean2.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5144975823523763810" /></a>The last photo of the Haspiel BrothersScott Dunbierhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16455845923720545450noreply@blogger.com28tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7345941620953483500.post-85011880089421614692007-12-04T08:05:00.000-08:002007-12-04T08:46:14.786-08:00Me, Mignola, And The CorpseIn the early 90s Mike Mignola and I used to go out to lunch on a fairly regular basis. At one point neither of us were able to get together for five or six weeks but we still talked often enough. In that span of time Mike was working on a 24 page Hellboy story that was going to be serialized in the old Capital City order form (anyone remember when we used to have more than one distributor?), two pages monthly for a year.<br /><br />When Mike and I talked he would go on about how very badly the story was coming. Week after week I’d hear about his career being finished; not only was this the worst thing he had ever done but he was sure he’d completely lost his ability to draw. Bear in mind that this went on every couple of nights for about six weeks. All the relentless negative reinforcement eventually wore me down. By the time we were going to get together for our long-overdo lunch I was convinced; I knew the story would be bad, I just hoped I would be able to find something--anything--positive to say.<br /><br />We met at a natural food place down on Spring Street and Mike handed me a manila envelope with a stack of lettered copies in it. “Here, read it,” he said. So I read it. And as I did, Mike sat across from me sweating. When I finished I started to laugh. He looked at me with something close to terror in his eyes. Mike has a very expressive voice, there really isn’t any way to describe it; you need to hear it to understand, especially when he’s doing his characters. Anyone who has spoken to him for more than five minutes knows what I mean. Now, in panic mode, his voice was something akin to a high-pitched shriek. “What’s wrong?!” he asked. “You,” I said. “Why?!” “Because”, I told him, “you are a $%#@ing idiot.” “WHHYYY?!” he cried. “Because not only is this the best story you’ve ever done but it is probably the best story you will ever do.” Mike sat back in his seat and in a voice calm and sure, and with no room for doubt, said “You’re nuts.”<br /><br />We sat there and ate lunch and disagreed on the story. Me telling him it was brilliant, him saying I was crazy and that is was awful. I even tried to buy the art from him (for my collection) but Mike felt it was so bad he didn’t want to foist it on anyone. He wasn’t fishing for praise; Mike honestly thought it was the worst thing he had ever done and that he had lost any meager talent once possessed. But, of course, he was wrong. The story in question was The Corpse and I still think it’s the best job Mike has ever done. <br /><br />Years pass. Mike and Christine (who, by the way, is as benevolently patient a wife as my own) moved to the west coast. I did too shortly after, but further south. Mike and I didn’t talk as much after we left New York but we’d catch up when our paths crossed. One year, at the Chicago comic convention, I was with Mike and a few other people at the hotel bar. We’re all talking about various topics and suddenly he says, “The best story I ever did was The Corpse.” I remember being surprised as I said “The Corpse? When I told you that was the best thing you ever did you said I was crazy.” Mike looked at me, as calm and sure and matter of fact as he was at our lunch in New York, and said “Craig Russell told me it was the best story I ever did.”<br /><br />A few years ago I was sitting in my (now former) office at WildStorm and Mike called me up out of the blue. He said that I was the first person to tell him how good The Corpse was and he wanted to thank me. He said he’d like to give me a page of my choice from the story. It was a wonderful act of kindness and I was touched. I asked if I could think about it and call him in a day or two; this would be a tough decision to make. He said sure. A few days later I called Mike back and asked about a couple of pages, specifically the ones with the mother and baby at the beginning of the story. It turned out he had traded those, of course, to Craig Russell. My alternatives were the pages with Jenny Greenteeth stealing the Corpse’s arm. Mike had both but I couldn’t make up my mind which to choose, the consecutive pair made such a great sequence. I asked if he would consider selling me the second one so I could have the scene in its entirety. Mike, in a slightly grumpy voice, tells me he’ll just give me both pages. I ask him if he’s sure, that I’d be happy to pay for the second page. He says no, that he’ll give me both. I thank him for his great generosity and ask that he remember to inscribe them to me. To which Mike, in a classic Mignola curmudgeon moment, says, “Inscribe them? Won’t that make it more difficult to SELL them?!”<br /><br />Less than a week later a package arrived with the two pages inside. They were beautiful. And Mike did go ahead and put an inscription after all: “To Scott--with great appreciation--Mignola.” Oh well, guess I’m stuck with them now.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiz9UxZoBKhyphenhyphenJ0n_Zho25y7sb1FH4qUc5N5XVBNn06P9lkG48_8S9ytekH8tW3DaMoejsdY1j0dupDatHEUVbabAAHAPGN1ooo9VRDsmdD2sOQ7kW5aA5JgVajxqkM82oQQb3N8m3htuLU4/s1600-h/mignolahb2pgb.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiz9UxZoBKhyphenhyphenJ0n_Zho25y7sb1FH4qUc5N5XVBNn06P9lkG48_8S9ytekH8tW3DaMoejsdY1j0dupDatHEUVbabAAHAPGN1ooo9VRDsmdD2sOQ7kW5aA5JgVajxqkM82oQQb3N8m3htuLU4/s400/mignolahb2pgb.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5140150337297902290" /></a>The Corpse by Mike MignolaScott Dunbierhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16455845923720545450noreply@blogger.com25tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7345941620953483500.post-72020466763370208072007-12-02T09:38:00.000-08:002007-12-02T14:53:43.207-08:00Cheap At Twice The PriceAs a comic art dealer I would occasionally buy entire collections, sometimes hundreds of pieces at a time. There would usually be a few pages that weren’t the most desirable to collectors: not having main characters, be drawn by a less than stellar artist, that sort of thing. Eventually I had a fair sized stack of these, my own little Island of Misfit Art that never got put out for sale at any of the shows. So, as a goof, I started taking a few of these pages to conventions and mixing them into the stacks of art that weren’t in display portfolios. On the back of these, where I’d normally write the price in pencil, I’d scribble “FREE” on them. From time to time someone would happily come up to me and claim their “purchase.” <br /><br />Once, during a slow stretch at a convention, I noticed a guy looking through a pile of art. He was very deliberate as he scanned over each page and then turned them over to check the price. Bored, I watched for a few minutes until he got to the free page. He picked it up and gave it the once over. Then, like all the others, he looked at the back of the page for the damage. He stopped for a minute...and then he put it back in the pile and continued on with his meticulous inspection. Guess he just thought it was overpriced…Scott Dunbierhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16455845923720545450noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7345941620953483500.post-66800153044376147892007-11-28T00:37:00.001-08:002007-11-28T01:17:42.295-08:00P. Craig Russell's Art CollectionFilmmaker Wayne Alan Howard is working on a P. Craig Russell documentary. There is a clip on youtube that has Craig giving an insightful tour of his art collection and discussing a number of pieces. I especially enjoyed his comments on Chester Gould’s Dick Tracy strips and Mike Mignola’s Hellboy pages. Do yourself a favor and<a href=" http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QDGu9DEH9P0"> click here to see it.</a> The finished film promises to be something special.<br /><br />Also, if any of you are fans of American Splendor, Wayne has posted a number of shorts featuring the legendary Toby. You can check them out<a href=" http://www.youtube.com/user/waynealanharold"> here.</a> It’s really great stuff.<br /><br />Then go and visit Craig’s wonderful website,<a href=" http://www.pcraigrussell.net/<br />"> found here.</a>Scott Dunbierhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16455845923720545450noreply@blogger.com32tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7345941620953483500.post-72451202538141289872007-11-27T15:39:00.000-08:002007-11-27T16:16:46.126-08:00Hold The HamBack in the early 90s I was still in New York City and making my living as a comic art dealer. One day I got a call from an editor at Marvel Comics who was trying to help a young freelancer find an agent to sell his originals. The artist was new to comics and didn’t know the ins and outs of the business. The editor, wanting to help a raw newbie out, contacted Al Williamson (whom he had worked with) to see if he could recommend a dealer that would treat the guy right. Al suggested me, which was why I got the call. The editor spoke in glowing terms of the artist; he had a lot of potential, if he worked hard he could make a name for himself. I told the editor I’d be happy to look at his work and said “What’s this kids name?” The editor replied, “Stan Drake.” A bit surprised, I asked if he had ever met the young Mr. Drake in person or if their dealings were exclusively on the phone and through the mail. It was the latter. Which made sense. For those of you who have never heard of <a href=" http://www.drake.org/Stan/Stan.html">the great Stan Drake</a>, he began his career a number of years before I, or his editor, were born. But, while Mr. Marvel may not have been up on his comic history, his heart was very much in the right place.<br /><br />Which reminds me of a story from roughly the same time, one that peripherally involves Stan Drake. I was meeting a fellow comic art dealer by the name of Al Czarnecki. Al is one of the good guys in comic art, a straight shooter. Anyway, Al had bought 600 Heart of Juliet Jones strips and asked if I would be interested in going in for half. It’s not every day you are offered 300 Stan Drake strips at a good price so I readily accepted. The plan was for Al to come in from New Jersey with the art and we would meet at a local Brew & Burger to have lunch and finalize the deal. A Brew and Burger, for those who have never been to one, is pretty much what it sounds like: A coffee shop with dark wood.<br /><br />So Al and I meet at B & B, both armed with portfolios, and sit down in a roomy booth—the better to spread out big piles of art. The waiter comes over to take our order and Al goes first. When it’s my turn I ask for a grilled cheese sandwich with fries. At the time I was a vegetarian, had been for about a year and a half after reading a book called Diet For A New America. Not being a salad guy this was pretty much my default diner meal. Should be pretty simple, never had a problem with it before or after. Except this time the waiter says “We don’t do that.” I look up at him, not getting what he means, and ask what they don’t do. He says “Grilled cheese sandwiches, we don’t do that.” I laugh and say something along the lines of “Come on, it’s a grilled cheese sandwich.” Again, he says no, they don’t do that. So I open up the menu and scan the sandwich listings. Finding what I want I say, “Give me the grilled ham and cheese…” I waited a beat as he dutifully scribbled it down “…hold the ham.” I swear, he nearly doubled over. He raised his voice and said emphatically “We don’t do that!” He then went into this odd little tirade saying he had traveled all over the world, he had been to France and eaten butter on sandwiches—whatever that meant. I felt like I had wandered into an outtake from Five Easy Pieces. I looked at him and said, “Just go over to the cook and give him the order, he’ll make it.” Brew & Burger had one of those traditional diner set-ups, an open view to the kitchen and the spinning wheel where tickets are hung. Our server indignantly marches over to the wheel and says in a voice that got louder as he spoke “There’s some guy out here who wants a grilled ham and cheese…WITHOUT THE HAM!!” To which the cook evenly replies, “A grilled cheese sandwich, no problem.”Scott Dunbierhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16455845923720545450noreply@blogger.com58tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7345941620953483500.post-20638071660692354972007-11-23T10:39:00.000-08:002007-11-23T10:48:33.113-08:00My Brilliant Criminal Career Part ThreeAfter leaving Lenny and New Orleans behind me I started making my way north towards home. On the trip up, I planned to visit a friend who lived in Grand Bay Alabama. His name was John and around this time he would be moving to California and then getting married. Unfortunately, while I had his address, I didn’t have his phone number with me; not knowing the exact timetable for his plans it was a 50/50 proposition whether he would still be there. <br /><br />I got a lift to Grand Bay and asked directions at a gas station to John’s address. It was about five miles, but the day was nice and I was young. An hour and a half later I knocked on the front door of his house but there was no answer. A neighbor confirmed he had moved the previous week. There was nothing to do but start that long walk back to the highway.<br /><br />On the way I stopped at a little store, not much more than a shack, and bought a seven ounce bottle of Coke and a pack of peanuts. I enjoyed my snack while walking and when done, since there were no trashcans to be found, I stuck both in my pocket. Nearing the highway I noticed a sound and looked back; about 20 feet behind was a police car, matching my pace and slowly following me. There was nothing to do but keep on walking.<br /><br />Shortly we came to the Stuckey’s that sat by the highway. If you’ve been to the south you’ve been to a Stuckey’s Pecan Candy Shoppe. I walked into the parking lot and threw away the trash that had been sitting in my back pocket for the last hour. Which, of course, prompted screeching tires and sirens. As the dust settled, three enormous cops exited the vehicle, pulling their pants up as they did. The first of the trio asked “what you throwing in that trash can, boy?” to which I replied “trash.” When further quizzed on the details I gave a more accurate accounting. The second cop then inspected the evidence and said, “He’s right, Slim.” The last one asked if I knew there was a three-cent deposit on the bottle. I told him he could have it. The first cop wanted to know why I didn’t “just throw it in the street like everybody else?” I don’t remember what I said but they were the words of an idealistic youth spouting off about the environment. That was the final straw; he said, “You got five minutes to get out of my state.”<br /><br />I walked to the highway, looking back to see if my friends would come and arrest me for hitchhiking. Apparently they were more interested in my leaving than for me to become a guest of the county. After a few minutes a car stopped and, even though there was purple shag carpeting and chicken bones sewn on the ceiling, I got in. But only until the next exit, where I eventually found a more comfortable ride, free of dead poultry. A couple of days later I was back home.<br /><br />These last three blogs have concentrated on a thin slice of my long ago trip to New Orleans. The wider pie was something wonderful. Like the first time I had grits in what must have been the worlds biggest truck stop; or walking down Bourbon street at the height of Mardi Gras festivities, throwing beads at girls on veranda’s; completely by accident coming across the warehouse housing all the beautiful floats for the parades and sneaking in to explore. These are all cherished memories that I won’t share now; but if you run across me at a show sometime feel free to ask—I’d be happy to relive them for you.Scott Dunbierhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16455845923720545450noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7345941620953483500.post-16272996779620866652007-11-21T08:53:00.000-08:002007-11-21T08:55:25.046-08:00My Brilliant Criminal Career Part TwoIt took about an hour to make my way over to the part of town where I was staying. After getting off the bus I walked through deserted streets, stopping at a 24-hour market to get a drink; I was parched. Back outside, Gatorade in hand, my night was finally coming to an end. Or so I thought.<br /><br />Now on the same block as the house, I noticed a police car driving slowly in the opposite direction. Suddenly everything was screeching tires and flashing lights. Apparently they took note of me also. As the patrol car came to a rest on the sidewalk in front of me, two officers crouched behind their doors with drawn guns pointed at me. Arms and Gatorade raised, I asked what I did. While being handcuffed and put in the backseat they told me it was illegal to have an open glass bottle on a public street. If only I had the foresight to drink my Gatorade from a plain paper bag. So once again I found myself en route to central booking. The cop in the passenger seat asked me where I was from. I told him New York and he turned back in his seat and muttered “Goddamn Yankee werewolves coming down here and ruining our Mardi Gras.” Back I went to the Ticketron lines, with presumably a different crowd of customers standing with me, once again waiting to pay $50 bail to get out. I didn’t bother making a phone call this time.<br /><br />There was a baseball player in the 1930s named Johnny Vander Meer who holds what I believe is the only baseball record that will never be broken. People can talk all they want of great batting and pitching records. Someday Joe Dimaggio’s consecutive game hitting streak will fall. But no one will ever break Johnny Vander Meer’s record of two consecutive no-hitters. You know why? Because to break it someone would have to throw three consecutive no-hitters. Which just ain’t gonna happen. And this is how I used to look at being arrested twice in one day; it could never be surpassed because to break that record you would need to be arrested three times in one day--and how the Hell could that happen? I have since learned that this is not as uncommon as one might think. Go figure. So maybe Mr. Vander Meer should be looking over his shoulder after all.<br /><br />By the time I got back to their house the sun was coming up. We couldn’t raise the $500 for a bail bond to get him out so he sat in jail through Fat Tuesday, which is the big day of Mardi Gras. I showed up for my court appearance indigent as only an 18 year old can be. When the judge called my name I stood up and walked forward. My friend was brought out and he stood next to me, wearing handcuffs and in obvious pain. We both pled not guilty and a trial date was set for the following month. Before Mr. 49 Chevy was taken back to jail I told him I would come back to testify on his behalf, tell the court what really happened. He looked at me with none of the bravado from days earlier. He said he was afraid they would hurt him, maybe even kill him, if he tried to press charges; he wanted to drop it and get on with his life. After he was taken back to the lockup I saw the bailiff to get paperwork for the new court date. I remember telling him I would return to fight the charges against me. He looked at me like someone who had seen way too many people who just didn’t understand the world. He said “Kid, are you crazy? If you don’t come back they’ll just fine you the $50 bail you already paid and it’ll be done.” Of course he was right but it took a while to sink in. <br /><br />As I was heading towards the door I heard my name called for the second time that morning in the court—I had completely forgotten about my big Gatorade caper. I turned to face the judge again. He looked down on me with some disdain and said in an annoyed voice “you again?” Finally, inexplicably, when I told him my story reason actually prevailed; he said it was an antiquated statute for which it was ridiculous to be arrested. He threw the case out. 24 hours later, between me, Lenny and his girlfriend, we were finally able to raise the $500 to get a bail bond and spring the Chevy man. <br /><br />A couple of days later Lenny and I left New Orleans, and for reasons I can’t recall we went in different directions. He was heading west and I was going home, to New York. Once again I was standing on a road with my thumb out in search of a ride, this time by myself. I was looking forward to an uneventful trip home. Yeah, right.<br /><br />Final chapter goes up on Friday.Scott Dunbierhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16455845923720545450noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7345941620953483500.post-56438928617890198262007-11-20T09:52:00.000-08:002008-02-11T11:14:48.376-08:00My Brilliant Criminal Career Part OneOkay, I warned you. This is the first of several completely non-comics related posts. Read at your own risk.<br /><br />In 1981, when I was 18, my friend Lenny and I hitchhiked to New Orleans from New York City to attend the Mardi Gras. It was a cold January and we decided we needed to enjoy some warmer climes. Most of the journey was courtesy of a long-haul trucker that stopped for us near Newark Airport. In between dozing off at the wheel he would regale us with stories of sex-crazed college girls he supposedly had brief affairs with when he’d pick them up hitchhiking. I remember he offered to let us crash in the back of his cab but neither Lenny nor I wanted to risk falling asleep for fear he would as well. More than once we had to grab the wheel as he drifted off to dreamland.<br /><br />He dropped us off on the outskirts of New Orleans and our thumbs went out one more time, searching for that home stretch ride. It came in the form of a 1949 red Chevy pickup truck. I’m not a car guy but this was a thing of beauty. We climbed into the back and started off towards downtown. On the way, our benefactor asked where we were from. When I told him we’d hitched down from New York for the Mardi Gras he asked if we had a place to stay. We told him no and, much to the annoyance of his girlfriend, he offered us a place to stay, which we happily accepted. Lenny and I enjoyed the company of our new friends (whose names sadly escape me after all this time) for the better part of a week. They were nice people, not very well off, who freely opened their home to us and shared what they had. <br /><br />At some point I wound up in the middle of the French Quarter, a day or two before Fat Tuesday, with Mr. 49 Chevy. We were enjoying ourselves, just driving around, until his truck developed engine trouble. We stalled out in the middle of the street, blocking traffic, so we get out to push it off to the side. As we maneuver the vehicle towards the curb, three cops standing in front of a hotel on the corner start calling out for us to “get that piece of shit” out of the road. <br /><br />Now, I’m from New York, I’ve seen my share of incidents involving the police. My instincts generally tell me to keep a civil tone when speaking to law enforcement types, and never to yell at them. Unfortunately my friend wasn’t quite as discreet. His reaction to their verbal abuse was to yell back, in an equally obnoxious manner. Oh, did I mention both of us had hair below our shoulders? I guess it was guilt by proximity because the next thing I know we are being handcuffed and arrested. <br /><br />Here’s where it gets interesting. Rather than take us to the patrol car parked next to them, the three members of New Orleans finest bring us into the hotel. We get hauled along to the elevator and taken down to the garage. Okay, I think, their car is parked there. Except they walk us over to the attendants office and knock on the door. When it opens three pairs of eyes look out, taking in the motley crew before them. Then, without a word, the three vacate the office and the five of us go in.<br /><br />To say I was scared wouldn’t quite describe it. There was a sense of dread that only deepened as I was shoved into a chair off to the corner and my none-too-bright chum once again started to mouth off to the cops. He got about three words out before the first nightstick hit him in the head. The beating must have gone on for a minute or two but it felt much longer. At one point one of the boys in blue poked me in the back of the head with a pen and asked if I wanted some of this. “No, officer” I replied.<br /><br />Several minutes later I was escorted out of the room, followed by my friend who was dragged. We were tossed into the patrol car that we passed earlier and taken to central booking. I had never been arrested before so I had no idea what to expect. When we arrived we were split up; I was placed in a line that reminded me of a ticketron, one of those places where you buy concert tickets. There were more than a dozen windows with long queues stemming from each. In the front of each line was a payphone; I was told I could make a call. I had the 50 bucks in my pocket so I could make bail; I didn’t need to call anyone to get me out. But when faced with such a surreal situation I needed to share the moment with someone. I called my friend Sonja and had a short but funny chat with her. I then paid my bail and was given information on when and where I should report to court, in three days time. I was being charged with being drunk and disorderly. Which, given the situation, seemed appropriate; I hadn’t had a drink all day. Mr. 49 Chevy, I was told, was being held on $5,000 bail; His charges were longer than mine, it seems he broke three of his ribs while resisting arrest.<br /><br />When I was finally released it was close to midnight. I got on a bus and started back to my friend’s house.<br /><br />Part two goes up tomorrow.Scott Dunbierhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16455845923720545450noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7345941620953483500.post-1202879204749464312007-11-19T20:22:00.000-08:002007-11-19T21:11:50.585-08:00American Idol HeidiI love Heidi McDonald. She’s smart, funny, and a good person. She also may be the one person on Earth who can make my singing voice sound good. My dog cried when I played this. If you don’t believe me <a href=" http://uk.youtube.com/watch?v=Ho50g6O8-3w"> click here.</a><br /><br />Send your write-in votes now!Scott Dunbierhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16455845923720545450noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7345941620953483500.post-54640026962177690642007-11-13T07:29:00.000-08:002007-11-13T10:16:46.796-08:00Michael Moorcock: Found in TranslationA few years ago I had the good fortune to work with Michael Moorcock and Jerry Ordway on a Tom Strong story. While it’s always a pleasure to have Jerry draw any comic, it was a special treat to have Michael write it. His stories really hit me as a teenager, especially Behold The Man, which I read at just the right age for it to make a lasting impression. <br /><br />Michael and I enjoyed several friendly chats during the course of our working relationship, mostly about old comics. On one such occasion he told me a wonderful story of his unofficial stint as writer of the Tarzan newspaper strip, and how he entered into a creative partnership with the likes of Hal Foster and Burne Hogarth--the catch being it was a full 10-20 odd years after those strips initially saw print.<br /><br />I sent Michael an e-mail recently asking if he would mind recounting that tale again for me so I could share it on this blog. He graciously agreed and forwarded a fine remembrance of the events that would lead to this most unusual collaboration, the details of which begin here:<br /><br />In the mid-to-late 1950s I was working on Tarzan Adventures in the UK. The magazine was fronted every week by a Tarzan strip reprinted from both daily and Sunday newspaper strips bought from, as I recall, Universal Features Syndicate. I was a great fan of both Foster's and Hogarth's Tarzan but absolutely hated Rex Maxon's, so I did everything I could not to buy Maxon-drawn strips. Eventually the time came when we ran out of available Hogarth (we'd never run Foster for some reason) material and I begged the syndicate for some older Foster or Hogarth material. None was available. The plates from which we worked had been destroyed in an incendiary attack during World War 2.<br /><br />Wasn't there ANYTHING we could use, I asked the Syndicate chief in London. He was sorry, he said, but the only plates still known to exist were in Spanish. My publisher shrugged his shoulders. "Well, that's that," he told me. "It's got to be Maxon or nothing." I was desperate not to use Maxon. I was seventeen years old and at that time had only been to France for a few weeks and never traveled anywhere else, nor spoken any other language, but desperation made me come up with a lie. "Oh, I speak Spanish," I told him, "It would be nothing for me to take those plates and translate them into English." He was surprised, but agreed, and the plates were duly delivered. <br /><br />I didn't speak a single word of Spanish and would have been hard put in those days to tell you what 'Hola!' meant. So all I had to work with were the strips themselves and make a guess at what the Spanish meant. I also had to work very quickly, since we were on a weekly schedule. For the fun of it, I also decided to use the names of friends in the science fiction community, which is how you can easily tell which strips are by me and which by the original writer--my story lines, of course, are also subtly different, but they also carry characters like the evil Benford twins (Greg and Jim Benford were then teenagers living with their military dad in Germany), Ken Bulmer, Lars Helander, Ron Bennett and various other well-known UK SF writers and fanzine fans of the day. <br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEO2DHIt9BA5YTfyv85CcQ69Vlf8XIEw1W39VQLrloj-5zCo4KSUXZDNT5z_PW3DNxPHI5K7UqcFD5IbDj322SFcAMtL79j_ULLixl0N3VDF3Kdk2swkkbD6jZG7aCoQLIR0HNyg9LUXVV/s1600-h/tarzan_hfoster.gif"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEO2DHIt9BA5YTfyv85CcQ69Vlf8XIEw1W39VQLrloj-5zCo4KSUXZDNT5z_PW3DNxPHI5K7UqcFD5IbDj322SFcAMtL79j_ULLixl0N3VDF3Kdk2swkkbD6jZG7aCoQLIR0HNyg9LUXVV/s400/tarzan_hfoster.gif" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5132348328025508002" /></a> Tarzan as originally published<br /><br />I ran these 'translations' for as long as the Spanish plates kept coming--essentially covering the period where Foster was reaching the end of his work on Tarzan and Hogarth was taking over. Eventually, I left the magazine and the new editor (an octogenarian who had been my assistant and strongly disapproved of most of my policies, which was to run text sword and sorcery stories and new ERB-type strips by Jim Cawthorn) had no such preferences. As I recall, I was delivering one of the last of my 'translations' after I had gone to work for Fleetway and to my surprise saw Cawthorn artwork in the guy's wastepaper basket. Tugging it out, I saw that a couple of my fantasy stories were still attached to the artwork. The new editor told me that 'healthy boys' didn't want that kind of trash. Out went Rakhir, Warrior Priest of Phum and in came 'Jock the Engine Driver' (or some such). Maxon returned. A few months later, to mixed emotions, I heard that the magazine's circulation had slumped and Tarzan was axed. Clearly, not enough healthy boys to support it.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilIHrTRD16mqF7v4EhE6Fqpfw64UNh_m_l9lRT6pVC4N3omfFc61_kDnu6X-1azaMJv3v0jH3cZMAkuHPwKCSoPoBXJ2Tj4AE7LDBKoVTZzYKr_AjFdNh_NU7EUgOJaSzAOLdAWqXMhSpH/s1600-h/tarzan_mm.gif"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilIHrTRD16mqF7v4EhE6Fqpfw64UNh_m_l9lRT6pVC4N3omfFc61_kDnu6X-1azaMJv3v0jH3cZMAkuHPwKCSoPoBXJ2Tj4AE7LDBKoVTZzYKr_AjFdNh_NU7EUgOJaSzAOLdAWqXMhSpH/s400/tarzan_mm.gif" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5132348813356812466" /></a> Tarzan as scripted by Michael Moorcock<br /><br />I think there are examples comparing the original text and my text still available in the image vault of my website, Moorcock's Miscellany. My Spanish hasn't improved a great deal since then but I'm still available for translation work in any language you choose--so long as the artist is Foster, Hogarth or some other artist I admire. And if you don't mind your own name turning up somewhere in the story.<br /><br />Michael Moorcock<br /><br />Michael is right; the above comparisons were taken from his fine website, which you can visit by clicking <A HREF="http://www.multiverse.org">here.</A> And if anyone happens to have copies of the reworked versions I would love to see scans of them.Scott Dunbierhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16455845923720545450noreply@blogger.com40tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7345941620953483500.post-1013320130400420072007-11-04T21:24:00.000-08:002007-11-05T02:36:05.568-08:00Sam Phone HomeA couple of Sunday’s ago Amanda was out for the day and I was watching the boys. We had a nice time, first running a few errands and then going out to lunch. At 3:00 or so we came home and I settled in with the newspaper while Alex and Sam went upstairs to play and watch cartoons. A couple of hours later I realized that my reading hadn’t been interrupted by any crashes or screams from upstairs. Naturally I became concerned.<br /><br />I went up to check on them. We have an open area on the second floor that we use as a playroom. Alex was sitting on the floor contentedly watching a DVD. But Sam was nowhere in sight. Usually they are pretty inseparable, Sam sticks to his older brother like glue and Alex includes Sam in most of his shenanigans. I asked Alex if he knew where Sam was and he said he hadn’t seen him in a while. Curious where he got off to I started looking around for him.<br /><br />I went into their room, no luck. Next stop was our bedroom, followed by the Bathrooms and then the closets. Now I was starting to get a little anxious. I searched around the upstairs, checking every room. No sign of him. I rushed downstairs—maybe he snuck down and I somehow didn’t notice. Nope, he wasn’t on the first floor either. Now I was worried. I hurried to the front door; it was still locked, thank God. <br /><br />As I headed back up the stairs I was greatly relieved to hear Alex call out “Daddy, I found him.” <a href=" http://members.cox.net/sdunbier/sam_loft_bin_full_small.jpg"> When I got to the top I looked around but still didn’t see him. </a> Alex, standing in the middle of their playroom, lifted up his arm and pointed. There, in plain sight, was Sam; the little guy had climbed into a toy storage bin filled with some of their stuffed animals and fallen asleep. <a href=" http://members.cox.net/sdunbier/sam_loft_bin_crop_small.jpg"> He was quietly snoring away, no doubt dreaming of Reese’s Pieces, as I settled down with Alex to watch cartoons.</a>Scott Dunbierhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16455845923720545450noreply@blogger.com89