Marvel Comics In The 1970s: Expanded Edition by TwoMorrows Publishing

Chris Claremont

Neal Adams

George Tuska

Dave Cockrum

P. Craig Russell

Jack Kirby

Frank Brunner

Gil Kane

Mike Ploog

Sal Buscema

Steve Gerber

B Doug Moench

Don McGregor

Jim Starlin

Steve Englehart

Herb Trimpe

Marv Wolfman

Pierre Comtois was born and currently resides in Lowell, Massachusetts. A freelance writer, Comtois has had dozens of articles and short stories appear in magazines as diverse as Nocturn and The Horror Show, Military History, Civil War Magazine, Comic Book Marketplace, and Comics Source and books such as The Ithaqua Cycle, Book of the Dead, Lin Carter’s Anton Zarnak: Supernatural Sleuth, The Way the Future Was, an anthology of science fiction stories, and Our Lives, Our Fortunes, Our Sacred Honor: Capsule Portraits of Figures From the American Revolution. The success of his previous volume Marvel Comics in the 1960s led to this new book on Marvel Comics’ 1970s output. You can visit Pierre on the internet at www.pierrevcomtois.com.

Paul Gulacy

Ross Andru

John Byrne

52995

9 781605 491035

TwoMorrows Publishing Raleigh, North Carolina

ISBN 978-1-60549-103-5 $29.95 in the U.S. Jim Shooter

By Pierre Comtois

ISBN-13: 978-1-60549-103-5 ISBN-10: 1-60549-103-9

y popular demand, TwoMorrows Publishing presents Marvel Comics in the 1970s, the sequel to Pierre Comtois’ heralded first volume on the 1960s! This book covers Marvel’s final historical phase: the twilight years of the 1970s, after the initial ’60s wave of popularity pushed the company to the forefront of the comics industry, and made many of its characters household names. This full decade of pop-culture history saw Stan Lee’s role as writer diminish as he ascended to Publisher, the stunning departure of Jack Kirby to DC (and his later return to Marvel), the rise of Roy Thomas as editor (and eventual Editor In Chief), and the introduction of a new wave of writers and artists who would expand the boundaries of comics beyond super-heroes, while planting the seeds for the company’s eventual self-destruction. Comics such as the Spider-Man “drug” issues, Conan the Barbarian, Tomb of Dracula, Master of Kung Fu, Howard the Duck, the new X-Men, and more are covered in detail—along with the creators who wrote and drew them, including Chris Claremont, Barry Windsor-Smith, Gene Colan, Marv Wolfman, Steve Gerber, John Romita, Gil Kane, Sal Buscema, and many others. So don’t be satisfied with only half the story! Check out Marvel Comics in the 1970s and find out why Marvel was once hailed as The House of Ideas!

An Issue By Issue Field Guide Marvel Comics in the 1970s: Expanded Edition to a Pop Culture Phenomenon

Roy Thomas

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TwoMorrows Publishing

Marvel Comics in the 1970s: Expanded Edition

An Issue by Issue Field Guide to a Pop Culture Phenomenon by Pierre Comtois

TwoMorrows Publishing Raleigh, North Carolina

Marvel Comics In The 1970s: Expanded Edition

An Issue by Issue Field Guide to a Pop Culture Phenomenon

Written by Pierre Comtois Edited by John Morrow Designed by Richard J. Fowlks Proofreading by Rob Smentek

TwoMorrows Publishing 10407 Bedfordtown Drive Raleigh, North Carolina 27614 www.twomorrows.com • e-mail: twomorrow@aol.com © 2021 Pierre Comtois and TwoMorrows Publishing Second Printing (1st Expanded Edition) • February 2021 • Printed in the USA Softcover ISBN: 978-1-60549-103-5 ALSO AVAILABLE: Marvel Comics in the 1960s by Pierre Comtois (ISBN: 978-1-60549-016-8) Marvel Comics in the 1980s by Pierre Comtois (ISBN: 978-1-60549-059-5)

Dedication

Dedicated to Roy Thomas, Gene Colan, Rich Buckler, Doug Moench, Don McGregor, Paul Gulacy, Gerry Conway, Neal Adams, Barry Smith, Marie and John Severin, Wally Wood, Tom Palmer, Klaus Janson, Gil Kane, Syd Shores, Joe Sinnott, John Romita, John and Sal Buscema, Jim Starlin, Steve Englehart, Frank Brunner, Jim Steranko, Herb Trimpe, Craig Russell, Mike Ploog, Dan Adkins, and everyone else in the bullpen who helped make Marvel in the 1970s such a great time to be a fan! Also, to fans like such fellow Marvelites Maximi as: Henry Vester PMM (letter published in Chamber of Darkness #7); Clint Ard PMM (letter published in Marvel Team-Up #15); Dale Nelson, PMM (letter published in Chamber of Darkness #3 and Sub-Mariner #24 and #27); and George J. Brousseau (letter published in…Kamandi #26?!) who have provided me with years of wonderful discussion about the comics that made growing up so much more fun than it otherwise would have! Visit www.pierrevcomtois.com.

Marvel Comics in the 1970s

Contents Introduction: The Twilight Years. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

PART I: 1968-1970. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

PART II: 1970-1974. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

PART III: 1974-1976. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

171

PART IV: 1976-1979. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

219

Creator Spotlights:

Roy Thomas. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Gene Colan . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Neal Adams. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Gil Kane. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Joe Sinnott. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Gerry Conway. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

102

Marv Wolfman. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

155

Jim Starlin. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

162

Jim Shooter. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

213

John Byrne. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

226

Frank Miller. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

234

Key Marvel Moments:

Marvel Con. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

191

Marvel Comics in the 1970s

Copyrights The following images (as indicated by the page number each appears on) are copyright © Marvel Characters, Inc. Used with permission. Marvel characters (5-239) Ant-Man (95, 149) Avengers (26, 37, 39, 67, 95, 98, 99, 108, 227, 228) Black Widow (73, 110, 117) Brother Voodoo (153) Captain America (23, 47, 57, 186, 219) Captain Marvel (143, 168, 188) Captain Savage (12) Chamber of Chills (131) Champions (229) Daredevil (98, 110, 117, 221, 231, 236) Deathlok (184, 222) Defenders (205) Dr. Doom (15) Dr. Strange (119, 151, 167, 175, 181, 217, 218) Dracula/Tomb of Dracula (106, 129, 154, 164, 165, 179, 180, 238, 239) Falcon (86) Fantastic Four (15) Green Goblin (9) Howard the Duck (200) Inhumans (51) Iron Man (29) Ka-zar (71, 74) Killraven (195, 214) Kull (148, 160) Living Mummy (134, 187) Man-Thing (79, 200) Master of Kung Fu (185, 207, 208) Monster of Frankenstein (158) Morbius (172) Spider-Man (9, 62, 82, 112, 123, 125, 144, 146, 177) Spidey and his Amazing Friends (145) Thor (65) Warlock (197, 211) Werewolf by Night (114, 141) X-Men (30, 203)

Jimmy Olsen, All-Star Squadron, Justice Society, Arak, Hopalong Cassidy, My Greatest Adventure, Secret Hearts, Detective Comics, House of Secrets, Girls Romances, Forever People, Green Lantern/Green Arrow, Wonder Woman, Superman, New Gods, Night Force, Adventure Comics, Dr. Fate, Captain Atom, Blue Beetle, Batman TM & © DC Comics.

Dracula, Frankenstein, This Island Earth TM & © Universal Studios

Hit Comics, The Prisoner, Ben Casey, Mitras, Dangerous Visions, Children of the Lens, Adam Link, Dragonflame and Other Bedtime Nightmares, Destroyer TM & respective © holders.

The Organization, Thunderball TM & © United Artists

All in Color for a Dime TM & © Don & Maggie Thompson and Dick Lupoff Steranko History of Comics TM & © Jim Steranko/Supergraphics

I Was a Teenaged Werewolf TM & © American International Pictures Jason and the Argonauts TM & © Columbia Pictures Dirty Harry TM & © Warner Brothers

Dick Tracy TM & © Tribune Media Services Prince Valiant TM & © King Features Syndicate Frankenstein TM & © Bernie Wrightson Doomsday+1 TM & © Charlton Comics

Return of the King TM & © Ballantine Books

Eerie, Creepy TM & © Warren Publications

Planet of the Apes, Fantastic Voyage TM & © Twentieth Century Fox Film Corporation

Kung Fu TM & © ABC Television

Conan the Conqueror TM & © Robert E. Howard Estate

Dracula TM & © Dan Curtis Productions

Tarzan and the Golden Lion, A Princess of Mars TM & Edgar Rice Burroughs Inc. Haunt of Fear TM & © EC Comics Terry and the Pirates TM & © Chicago Tribune New York News Syndicate

Dracula AD 1972 TM & © Hammer Films

Demon Hunter TM & © Seaboard Periodicals (Atlas Comics) Twisted Tales, Alien Worlds TM & © Pacific Comics/Bruce Jones Howard the Duck film TM & © Lucasfilm Incredible Hulk & Twilight Zone TV shows TM & © CBS Television

Bibliography The World Encyclopedia of Comics (1977), Maurice Horn, ed; Avon Books Alter Ego Magazine, Roy Thomas, ed (various issues); TwoMorrows Publishing Comic Book Artist Magazine, Jon B. Cooke, ed (various issues); TwoMorrows Publishing Marvel Comics Group (various comics and magazines) Various on-line sources 4

Marvel Comics in the 1970s

Introduction: The Twilight Years

n volume one, Marvel Comics in the 1960s, it was mix, vaulting Marvel Comics into a pop-culture shown how the development of the company’s new movement that threatened to overwhelm established line of super-hero books introduced in that decade notions of art and its role in society. As a result, Lee could be broken up into four distinct phases: the came to be seen as Marvel’s front man, and through a Formative Years, the Years of Consolidation, the combination of speech making, magazine interviews, Grandiose Years, and the Twilight Years. Led by and his often inspiring comic book scripts, he became editor Stan Lee, who was allied with some of the a sort of pop guru to many of his youthful readers. best artists in the business including Jack Kirby, However, by 1968, Marvel Comics had reached its Steve Ditko, Don Heck, John Romita, John Buscema, zenith in terms of its development and sheer creative Jim Steranko, and Gene Colan, Marvel moved quickly power. Soon after came an expansion of the company’s from its early years when concepts involving continuity line of titles and a commensurate dilution of the and characterization were introduced to new features with little thought given to their revolutionary impact on the industry to the Years of Consolidation when concepts of characterization, continuity, and realism began to be actively applied. In the Grandiose Years, Marvel’s growing popularity among older readers and the counter culture, as well as some limited attempts at merchandising, spurred Lee and top writer Roy Thomas to incorporate contemporary concerns about race, the environment, the anti-war movement, and feminism into sprawling stories of outsized characters and concepts By the late 1960s, Stan Lee’s self-transformation from a stuffy office manager type to pop-culture guru was complete. A bona fide that frequently took the universe celebrity, Marvel’s Madison Avenue digs would become too small itself as their setting, rather than for his ambitions, leaving him vulnerable to the glamor of restrictive confines of Earth. Hollywood. Taken together, it was a heady Introduction: The Twilight Years

talent that had made its first years great. By then, it had lost the services of Ditko, and soon Kirby would leave as well; both artists who’d been instrumental in the creation of some of the company’s most enduring characters. After 1970, Lee himself would begin a slow retreat from active scripting and day-to-day management of his comics. It was the beginning of the fourth phase of Marvel’s development: the Twilight Years. Characterized by a combination of a growing lethargy among the company’s established titles and the rise of imaginative new features and professionals, the Twilight era was the longest and most drawn out of the four phases. Those looking for a clear line of demarcation between the Grandiose Years and the Twilight Years, however, will be disappointed. Like the previous phases, the change from one era to the next wasn’t

Marvel’s Carnegie Hall extravaganza marked the high water mark in the company’s dizzying rise to the top of the pop-culture heap. Afterwards, though its comics continued to sell, the company seemed to abdicate its leadership role choosing to follow trends instead of setting them.

Marvel Comics in the 1970s

obvious; it came gradually, almost imperceptibly, and unlike those earlier phases, the period of overlap between the Grandiose Years and the Twilight Years is a lengthy one. And despite the temptation to use Jack Kirby’s departure from the company as marking the end of the Grandiose Years, the fact is, no era can be demarcated by a single event. In fact, it’s the contention here that Marvel’s exit from the Silver Age began almost two full years before Kirby left. Begun in the triumphant glow of the Grandiose Years, this final era in Silver Age Marvel’s development wound down slowly as the once vibrant dynamism of Lee, Kirby, Ditko, and Heck became spent; the visual skills of their successors Romita, Buscema, and Colan for a time held their ground; and new writers like Roy Thomas, Gerry Conway, and Doug Moench steered their most creative energies away from the books that had become the bedrock of the line. As the changeover from the old guard to the new was completed and the company entered fully into its final phase (a phase whose elements and style of storytelling became as different in their sensibilities from those of the three earlier phases, as those phases had been different from comics produced before Marvel’s revolution), the Twilight Years became a kind of epilogue to what had gone before as the long night of mediocrity slowly settled over the company. For his part, Stan Lee had always yearned for success outside the narrow confines of the comics industry, and with the success of Marvel Comics, he found an opening that allowed him scope for his ambitions. It began simply with college lecture tours during the Years of Consolidation and Grandiose Years culminating in the Carnegie Hall gig in 1972; then, as Marvel’s super-heroes began to

achieve iconic status, Hollywood beckoned and Lee became the company’s spokesman and chief salesman with tinseltown’s wheelers and dealers. When Marvel Comics passed out of the control of Martin Goodman and was acquired by a succession of corporations and Wall Street investors, Lee found himself promoted to publisher and eventually relinquished almost all of his writing and editorial chores to Roy Thomas, who’d been prepared to take over the job for some years. Except for the occasional special issue or his scripting on the long-running Spider-Man newspaper strip, Lee left the Marvel offices permanently in the 1980s and moved to California to become the company’s deal maker in Hollywood. Before Lee’s departure however, Marvel had lost artist Jack Kirby, whose dissatisfaction with Lee’s stardom, and his own loss of control over characters he had helped to create, prompted him to look for greener pastures. Kirby’s frustration had begun to be apparent long before he actually announced his decision to depart when his art on the Fantastic Four and Thor strips began to flag. There was less energy there and the inventiveness that had defined the strips in the Years of Consolidation and Grandiose Years was noticeably absent even after he had been given more, if not complete, control over the plotting. Preceding Lee to the West Coast, Kirby had locked himself out of any chance for a permanent position within the company, and he began to consider the radical thought of leaving Marvel. By the early Seventies, the only real option was rival DC, with whom he signed an exclusive contract in 1970 that allowed him unprecedented freedom from editorial control. But even Kirby’s personal store of energy wasn’t limitless, and having already passed his creative peak while at Marvel, at DC he failed to duplicate the amazing successes of the previous ten years when his ambitious “Fourth World” concept involving a series of interconnected books fell short of expectations and were soon cancelled. Disappointed with his experience at DC, Kirby returned to Marvel in 1975 where he was given the same kind of editorial freedom. But for those readers who looked forward to seeing him back, Kirby proved a disappointment. If he wasn’t working on new titles of his own invention, he was ignoring one of the most important aspects of Marvel’s success with readers, the continuity among its titles. In taking over the books of two characters with whom he had been previously identified, Captain America and the Black Panther, Kirby defeated readers’ expectations by ignoring previous storylines as if they’d never happened. Such an attitude toward the Marvel Universe and its characters didn’t endear him either to the readers or his editors, and as the

Jimmy Olsen #144: Declaring his independence in 1970, Kirby left Marvel for DC where he attempted to show what he could do without such partners as Stan Lee or Joe Simon. The result was a mixed bag with his uneven work on Jimmy Olsen being a good example. Fans initially gave him the benefit of the doubt, but soon gave up.

years passed, Kirby became all but irrelevant. When his association with Marvel finally ended in 1979, he dabbled with smaller independent companies before leaving comics more or less for good in favor of the more lucrative animation industry. In the meantime, Don Heck found work drying up at Marvel and also migrated to DC. Heck followed in the footsteps of Steve Ditko, who’d been the first of Marvel’s trio of founding artists to leave the company in 1966. Ditko lingered at DC for only a short time before moving on to former employer Charlton Comics, and from there began working with a series of independent publishers to produce some of the most eclectic, idiosyncratic material of his career. Artists such as John Romita, John Buscema, and Gene Introduction: The Twilight Years

Roy Thomas, who took over from Lee as Editor-in-Chief at the start of the twilight years, encouraged new talent and new ideas, but with an ever growing line of books, the work eventually overwhelmed him.

Colan, who had followed Kirby, Ditko, and Heck to Marvel during the Years of Consolidation, had since progressed beyond their early tutelage under Kirby to become hugely popular for their own distinctive styles. They became the bedrock upon which a new foundation would be raised made up of fans turned professional who joined the company in the 1970s. Younger artists such as Barry Smith and Jim Steranko would progress quickly and prove influential beyond the limited number of pages they produced and move on to other fields. Finally, as the 1970s passed mid-decade, the era of the old time professional writer and artist passed away and the comics industry was given over to the fan creator who had grown up reading, collecting, and enjoying comics and who was fired by a determination to turn what had been a passion into a career. After Lee became publisher, Thomas was at last promoted to Editor-in-Chief at Marvel and began his tenure presiding over a new renaissance of creativity. Begun under Lee’s guidance, greater freedom was made possible after the Comics Code Authority loosened some of its regulations allowing for, among other things, the reintroduction of the horror comic. Taking advantage of the opportunity, Marvel launched new features based on the old Universal Studios monsters and a plethora of tryout titles that hosted different, original characters every month, many of which graduated into their own titles. With the introduction of the horror books, the company’s line of comics suddenly 8

Marvel Comics in the 1970s

became far too much for any single person to supervise. Swamped in work, Thomas was unable to keep up, and writers soon found themselves with a new freedom that resulted in a slew of eclectic features that included Man-Thing, Howard the Duck, Jungle Action, War of the Worlds and a host of black-andwhite magazine titles. But with all the new, exciting features, came a concurrent loss of control over production. Deadlines were missed with increasing regularity, and reprints had to be substituted for work not submitted in time; some titles became half original material and half reprint. Shipping dates were missed, and some work was even printed directly from the artist’s pencils without benefit of an inker’s polish. In response, writers were allowed to become their own editors, further fragmenting editorial control. Under the increasing pressure and frustrated at not having the time to pursue his own writing projects, Thomas resigned as Editor-in-Chief and was replaced by a number of successors including Gerry Conway, but none of them remained on the job for long. The slide into editorial chaos was only stopped in 1978 with the arrival of Jim Shooter, who had begun his career in comics as a teenager writing scripts for DC. Shooter imposed much needed discipline at Marvel and restored order to the company, but his methods alienated a number of employees, including Thomas himself, who eventually quit and moved to DC. Through all these changes, the Twilight Years moved on beyond the 1970s and into the 1980s as a kind of atrophy began to set in on the company’s older, established titles that had once led the Marvel revolution. Although humor became stale, formula trumped originality, and elements such as characterization and realism began to fade from such former trendsetters as Spider-Man and Fantastic Four, the irony was that they continued to outsell the oddball books and new features that often showed the creativity that had originally set Marvel apart from its competitors. And so, as the Twilight era faded out, and memory of the glorious triumphs of the earlier phases dimmed, an air of somnambulism crept into Marvel, only to be jarred into wakefulness when, at intervals, rising creative stars occasionally shook it from its slumber. The years would stretch into decades and reach beyond the scope of this work as flashes of creativity, the last echoes of Marvel’s fabled Silver Age (such as that of John Byrne’s stint on the X-Men and Fantastic Four, Frank Miller’s work on Daredevil and the Roger Stern, John Buscema, Tom Palmer team up on the Avengers), became more and more infrequent until flickering out completely.

1968

Part I:

1968-1970 The Spectacular Spider-Man #2

It was 1968, the year of the Tet Offensive, the Democratic National Convention, and the assassination of Robert Kennedy, and Marvel was experiencing the first major expansion of its line of comic book titles in over a decade. Sales were climbing and its characters sank deeper into the public consciousness. But even as artist Jack Kirby’s tenure at the company was drawing to a close; the philosophically confused Silver Surfer was launched in his own book; Steranko reached a crescendo on Nick Fury, Agent of SHIELD; and new life was born to members of the Fantastic Four. Editor Stan Lee remained eager to escape the comic book spinner rack (“Hey, kids! Comics!”) and reach out to the older readers he was increasingly identifying with at speaking engagements and visits to college campuses. But how to do it while retaining the comics format that seemed to have intrigued the counter-cultural element who were as likely to visit a head shop as they were to drop in at the corner tobacco store? Lee’s solution was to create a comic book that didn’t look like a comic book but a magazine. Capitalizing on Marvel’s growing penetration of the market, he decided the new magazine should spotlight SpiderMan, the company’s most popular character and presumably, the one with the most cache among college students. To further separate it from regular comics, the new magazine would be printed in black-andwhite and due to its greater dimensions, sold on the magazine rack beside Time and The New Yorker instead of with its four-color peers. But first, Lee would have to convince publisher Martin Goodman who wasn’t crazy about doing magazine-sized comics. At the time, black-and-white comic magazines were the province of fly-by-night outfits that exploited blood

“The Spider-Man Saga”; Stan Lee (script), John Romita (pencils & inks) “The Goblin Lives”; Stan Lee (script), John Romita (layouts), Jim Mooney (pencils), Frank Giacoia (inks)

Spectacular Spider-Man #2: Marvel’s first attempt to break out of its four-color straightjacket and capture the notice of a wider adult audience was short lived but yielded two great extra-length tales by Lee and Romita at the height of their powers!

Part I: 1968-1970

Roy Thomas

One of the first comics fans to break into the business and turn professional, Roy Thomas had a rough start in 1965 when he was hired as an assistant to DC comics editor Mort Weisinger. If he had any illusions about the sweet life working in the comics industry however, he was quickly disabused by the tyrannical Weisinger and fled at the first opportunity. That opportunity came in the form of Marvel editor Stan Lee who took him on as an assistant and writer. It was the beginning of a long and influential career that culminated in 1972 when Thomas replaced Lee as Editor-in-Chief. Born in 1940, Thomas fell in love with comics early attracted especially by DC’s roster of super-heroes. Immersing himself in fan circles, he took over publishing Alter Ego, an early amateur magazine that he would revive decades later in a much more professional incarnation. A graduate from Southeast Missouri State University, Thomas taught high school English for a few years before being accepted at George Washington University in New York City. But he never attended, having accepted the assistant’s job from Weisinger. At Marvel, he quickly climbed the ladder, mastering the individual styles of the company’s growing line of titles while assuming editorial duties on the side. When he finally took over as Editor-in-Chief, he was instrumental in expanding Marvel’s line-up outside of traditional super-heroes led by Conan the Barbarian, a strip he had championed and scripted for over 100 issues. After giving up the role of Editor-in-Chief, Thomas continued to write for Marvel in the capacity of writer/editor but after clashing with Editor-in-Chief Jim Shooter, returned to DC where he continued to create new titles including All Star Squadron and Arak, Son of Thunder. Drifting from DC, Thomas tried his hand at film and television script writing and in the 1980s freelanced for Marvel. Some independent projects followed but by then it was clear his time in the comics industry had passed. In 1999, however, he revived Alter Ego and has been instrumental in preserving the history of comics with articles and in-depth interviews with professionals. 10

Marvel Comics in the 1960s

1968 and gore and mild sex to seduce scarce quarters out Man, a set-back that would take a few years to of unwary teenagers. In addition, Goodman already overcome when Marvel once again tested the blackhad a line of men’s magazines, holdovers from the and-white magazine waters with a new concept far glory days of the pulps, that filled that niche nicely removed from the world of costumed heroes. In the enough. But Lee was persuasive and when he finally meantime, Lee would return his attention to the got the green light from Goodman, the first 52-page regular comics but the idea of doing something speissue of The Spectacular Spider-Man duly appeared in cifically for college aged readers was never far from his July of 1968 under the “Non-Pareil Publishing Corp.” mind. In 1974, he would team up with underground label. For who knows what reason, the book was publisher Dennis Kitchen to produce Comix Book produced only “under the auspices of the Marvel (“It’s new, it’s strange, it’s subterranean!”), a shortComics Group.” Goodman, it seemed, was up to his lived title that went belly up with its third issue. old accounting tricks again! Keeping to his plan to gear the new book toward an older audience, Lee Capt. Savage and His Leatherneck teamed with artist John Romita to tell a street-level Raiders #5 story about a political campaign and corruption in high “Mission: Destroy the Invisible Enemy”; Arnold Drake places…a subject frowned upon by the Comics Code (script), Dick Ayers (pencils), Syd Shores (inks) which, as a magazine, Wow! Was this the Spectacular Spider-Man was same Dick Ayers who able to ignore. Although penciled those less than the merciless demands of stellar Human Torch and scheduling didn’t permit Giant-Man stories from time to find out how sales the Formative Years and had been on the first Years of Consolidation? issue of the book before Answer: it sure was, but production began on this time he was partSpectacular Spider-Man #2 nered with inker Syd (Nov. 1968), some inkling Shores (yup! the same of Goodman’s nervousguy who was transness might have been forming Jack Kirby’s penindicated with the introcils on Captain America duction of color to a story into things of beauty). written by Lee and once Although Ayers had alagain penciled by Romita ways been good on deTeamed up on Capt. Savage and his Leatherneck (and inked by Jim Mooney Raiders, penciler Dick Ayers (left) and inker tail work (it was what Syd Shores’ power packed art lent this late and Frank Giacoia). Other made him such a great inning war strip the chops to give Marvel’s evidence of back pedaling inker over Kirby in super-hero titles a run for their money! included the use of a the pre-hero and early typical comic book superyears) and when he villain like the Green had the time to lavish Goblin, who was featured front and center. Be that attention on a particular illustration (take some as it may, beneath a painted cover by Romita, Lee of the covers he did for Sgt. Fury for instance), pulls out all the stops in a 58-page tale filled with the his weakness had always been the human figtightly wound angst that Peter Parker was known for ure itself. He seemed to have a penchant for posiand scenes that shift easily from the university class- tioning them across a panel in unnatural ways, room to Peter’s uptown pad to glam shots of Gwen often seeming as if they were about to fall into and MJ. The action finally winds up with the Goblin a split! But with a sturdy inker, his work could becoming a victim of one of his own “psychedelic rise to more than acceptable, even exciting levels, pumpkins,” a clear drug reference made a full two as it does here in Capt. Savage and His Leatherneck years before Lee would challenge the Code directly Raiders #5 (Aug. 1968). The book was launched a on the subject in the regular Amazing Spider-Man few months earlier when Marvel was suddenly book. Unfortunately, the writing was on the wall for able to expand its line of titles. At a time when Lee’s bold excursion beyond the four-color world of it had not been immediately apparent that Marvel Comics. Finding little encouragement in sales, super-heroes were to be the wave of the future, Goodman chose to discontinue The Spectacular Spider- the sales of Sgt. Fury and His Howling Commandos Part I: 1968-1970

must have been encouraging enough for editor Stan Lee to take a chance on another war book patterned on Fury’s successful formula. He probably didn’t have to look far for the book’s subject though as fans had been demanding for years to see and learn more about a character known only as “the Skipper.” The submarine captain had been appearing infrequently in Sgt. Fury whenever the Howlers needed to be transported secretly to the Continent for one

Capt. Savage and His Leatherneck Raiders #5: The feature’s strong combination of art by Ayers and Shores and occasional tie-ins with the contemporary Marvel universe made for an eclectic take on the traditional war comic.

Marvel Comics in the 1970s

of their impossible missions. Now, the Skipper had a name and rank: he was Captain Savage and not too surprisingly to readers, he came with his own Howlers-like squad of commandos: the Leatherneck Raiders. As the name implied, they were made up of US Marines (including one Little Bear, their very own Gabe Jones ethnic equivalent), a sailor, and an Australian. Over 19 issues, the Raiders would wage war in the Pacific against the Japanese Imperial Forces on missions every bit as impossible as the Howlers. But where the Howlers mostly stuck close to regular Nazis, the Raiders quickly left the expected path and veered into Marvel style fantasy. Soon after their debut, they tangled with Baron Strucker and an early version of Hydra, SHIELD’s old nemesis from Marvel’s current continuity. Although the Raiders are back on more familiar ground foiling a counterfeiting plot aimed at Australia this issue, the series featured an interesting, action-packed script provided this issue by DC veteran Arnold Drake, who seemed in much more comfortable surroundings here than he’d been over in the X-Men. Dialogue is smooth and natural sounding and the singleissue story moves quickly while leaving nothing dangling. All in all, it was too bad the series ended as soon as it did; but the writing was already on the wall, even if no one at the time could quite make it out. With young people throwing off the values of their elders and anti-war sentiments growing (not to mention the increasing popularity of super-heroes in a shrinking marketplace), war comics like Capt. Savage were doomed to extinction.

1969

Fantastic Four #84

“The Name Is Doom”; Stan Lee (script), Jack Kirby (co-plot & pencils), Joe Sinnott (inks)

To fans reading Marvel comics in 1968, it probably wasn’t immediately apparent that an era was passing. Not just from the Grandiose Years to the Twilight period, but all of Silver Age Marvel itself was slowly winding to a stop. On the surface, it might’ve seemed as if nothing had changed. Lee and Kirby were still producing monthly wonderment on such books as Thor and the FF, and Lee in partnership with others was still writing most of the rest of the features including the Silver Surfer, Spider-Man, and Daredevil. Roy Thomas was still very dependably scripting some of the more dynamic of the company’s books including the Avengers and Dr. Strange and the art styles of such professionals as John Romita, Gene Colan, and John Buscema were still evolving in exciting directions. As a phenomenon, Marvel comics continued to ride high in other media and it remained chic for celebrities—from European film directors to rock stars—to visit its Madison Avenue offices. Still seen as a kind of guru to his youthful admirers, Lee’s popularity peaked with “An Evening with Marvel” at New York’s Carnegie Hall in 1972. Complicating things from a reader’s viewpoint was the fact that the end of the Silver Age (the larger, overarching period in the history of comics within which Marvel’s four phases developed), didn’t necessarily coincide

with the end of the company’s Grandiose phase, and blurring things still further, there was no such thing as a clean break between the Grandiose and Twilight Years. For almost the first two years of the Twilight phase, from 1968 to 1970, there was overlap with the concluding Grandiose phase. Even as books such as the X-Men, Avengers, and Spider-Man were reaching their respective crescendos, new features were starting up and the first wave of fan creators began making their appearances in the bullpen. But for those who bothered to look, there were definitely signs of the approaching end. Ditko had long since gone from the company, Heck’s once great powers of illustration had withered, and even Romita wasn’t doing full pencils on Spider-Man anymore. But most of all, Kirby himself, the “King,” was clearly past his most exciting years. After the Psycho Man story in FF #77, the strip began to suffer the beginnings of a drawn-out decline that would end only with Kirby’s departure after #102. Following #77, a few ill conceived stories of living Indian totems and another foiled plot by Maximus to take over the Inhumans was interrupted by the strip’s last extended story of the Silver Age as Dr. Doom returns in Fantastic Four #84 (March 1969) for another go at our heroes. No one knew it at the time, but as weak an entry as it was, it would be Kirby’s last worthy contribution to the Grandiose Years.

Fantastic Four #85

“Within This Tortured Land”; Stan Lee (script), Jack Kirby (pencils), Joe Sinnott (inks)

Taking over sole plotting on late issues of the FF, Kirby would come to rely on television and film for inspiration. His take on the British made television show The Prisoner starring Patrick McGoohan featured in FF #84-87 was by far the most successful.

By Fantastic Four #85 (April 1969), Lee had long since loosened his hold on the books with which he was a partner with Kirby. The two men’s relationship had evolved from the early days when Lee had supplied full scripts and concepts for each issue and assigned writing chores on other features to brother Larry Lieber. Gradually, the full scripts were dropped in favor of the “Marvel method” in which the two men would discuss an upcoming issue’s plot, Kirby would draw the book, and when he turned in the completed pages, Lee would add the script. Lee however, retained the crucial role of editor and so, the final word on any particular subject. As time passed and Lee’s workload and commitments outside the Marvel offices increased (and perhaps sensing dissatisfaction from Kirby at his position in the company), he relinquished more and more of the decision making power to Kirby until, sometime in 1968, he seemed to have given the artist virtual carte blanche to direct the strips as he wished. Now, as Kirby Part I: 1968-1970

With his outside interests growing, Stan Lee (left) began to lighten his scripting chores including those for the Fantastic Four. In the twilight years, he confined himself to scripting the book following Kirby’s (right) plots.

assumed full plotting chores, the familiar credits located on the splash pages of the books gave equal kudos to both men. This change in status became painfully obvious in the last twenty issues of the FF as Kirby apparently followed the path of least resistance. Taking his cue from the popular media around him, Kirby simply began turning his plots into unofficial adaptations of popular television shows or movies of the time (a source of inspiration he’d take with him to DC when he finally left Marvel in 1970). There was the old Star Trek plot involving alien worlds mimicking the American gangster era and pilferings from films such as The Creature From the Black Lagoon (1954) and Invasion of the Body Snatchers (1956). Another such borrowing is also obvious in this issue’s story (begun in #84) in which the FF are captured by Dr. Doom and held captive in a quaint Latverian town where their every need is taken care of: wined and dined, they can never leave. This is precisely the premise of The Prisoner, a British television program then being shown on American TV. Here however, the FF are lured to Latveria (the tiny nation-state of which Doom is absolute monarch) to investigate reports of the development of robots more deadly than any yet devised. But despite its origins in another medium, Kirby yet manages to inject into this four-part epic much of the majesty of the grand style, setting up the plot with some wonderfully executed scenes including a kind of “pre-credit” sequence last issue 14

Marvel Comics in the 1970s

in which a hapless prisoner attempts to escape from Latveria only to be stopped by Doom himself (shown in a full-page portrait oozing with patented Kirby menace). Next, the FF themselves are seen in plainclothes at a border checkpoint trying to sneak into Latveria. Communist troops warn them that to go any further is “most unwise,” but of course they proceed anyway and are immediately attacked, captured, and hypnotized into not using their powers. Throughout, Kirby’s pencils (with the dependable Joe Sinnott on the inks) still pack the wallop they always did, but around the edges, slack is definitely beginning to show. The same lines, poses, and layout were appearing over and over again, a fault that would become increasingly unfortunate as the years passed. Lee’s scripting meanwhile, continued as smooth and efficient as ever with just the right words coming from each of the characters’ mouths.

Fantastic Four #86

“The Victims”; Stan Lee (script), Jack Kirby (pencils), Joe Sinnott (inks)

Words became increasingly important to strips under Kirby’s control as he had a tendency to give scenes that developed characterization short shrift. Thus, it usually fell to Lee to put words in characters’ mouths that not only moved the plot forward, but helped reveal nuances in their personalities. In the fast-forward action of this four-part Doom epic, Kirby leaves little opportunity even for that. In Fantastic Four #86 (May 1969), Doom unleashes his horde of deadly robots onto the village where the FF are held captive, but on the way to some sensesstaggering action, a funny thing happens: although the FF themselves get very little attention, other members of the cast manage to catch a lot of it. For the first time, readers are treated to prolonged exposure to the ordinary people who must live under the heel of Dr. Doom. Glimpsed briefly in past stories and here more extensively, they were always depicted as colorful east European types, terrorized by Doom, but more or less unconcerned about him. But in a single scene in #85, Lee brings their plight into focus. “Despite the banners and the bands, the people move around like sleepwalkers!” observes Johnny of the village “whose inhabitants go about their daily tasks in grim and fearful resignation!” “The mood of fear, and oppression is so thick and heavy, you can almost touch it!” agrees Reed. Later, as the villagers realize that their monarch has chosen to sacrifice them all in his attempt to kill the FF, they side with his enemies and participate in a heroic last stand. On the other

1969

Fantastic Four #87

“The Power and the Pride!”; Stan Lee (script), Jack Kirby (pencils), Joe Sinnott (inks)

The Dr. Doom epic that ends in Fantastic Four #87 (June 1969) was in every way a product of the Grandiose Years, from its pumped

hand, there’s Dr. Doom himself. Always one of the most fully rounded, complex, and realistically motivated villains in the Marvel Universe, with this series, his character is honed to its sharpest degree as the contradictions inherent in his hate for all mankind and the responsibilities he inadvertently assumed when he seized control of Latveria clash in the dramatic climax of this story. It begins with the timely arrival of Sue Richards and the FF’s attack on Doom’s hilltop fortress. The heroes become separated with Sue and Crystal finding their way into the castle’s dining room where Doom awaits them with a multi-course meal. In a scene somewhat reminiscent of the cultured villains from the James Bond films (but in a villainous tradition that goes back at least as far as Hollywood’s depiction of ruthless, aristocratic Nazi officers), Doom disarms the two women with a question: “Have you chosen a name for your son, yet, Mrs. Richards?” With the meal concluded, Doom next treats the women to a piano recital, playing “his own composition,” even as the rest of the FF move cautiously through endless halls crammed with some of the world’s most valuable art treasures. “I wish only to live with beauty, with culture, to enjoy the simple pleasures that life has to offer,” professes Doom just before he kills an aide who threatened to damage the art collection. Eventually, the battle is ended, not because the FF win, but because Doom decides victory is not worth the price his kingdom must suffer for it.

Fantastic Four #87, page 6: In Dr. Doom, Kirby grounds the master villain in a combination of artistic sensitivity and deadly intent to help reinforce a sense of three-dimensional characterization, a practice he would largely ignore after leaving Marvel for DC.

Part I: 1968-1970

Gene Colan

At the start of the 1960s, who could have predicted that by the 1970s, a virtually unknown romance artist for DC Comics would become the common denominator of some of the most exciting comics to come out of Marvel in the company’s Twilight Years? Well, it happened, and the artist’s name was Gene Colan! Born in the Bronx in 1926, Colan early on displayed a talent for art and after graduating from George Washington High School, moved on to the Art Students League of New York where he rubbed elbows with fellow students Milton Caniff and Syd Shores. In 1944, Colan broke into comics at Fiction House just before enlisting in the Army Air Corps. After mustering out two years later, he immediately went to work for Stan Lee at Timely Comics where he drew everything from war to westerns. When Marvel downsized in 1948, Colan had no trouble finding work at DC, where he continued working in all genres until settling down with the company’s romance books. By then, Lee had managed to revive Marvel’s fortunes and as his line of titles increased, there was a need for more artists. Falling back first on artists that had worked for him in the past, Lee reached out to Colan (among others) and assigned him to the Iron Man feature in Tales of Suspense. At first operating under a pseudonym, Colan quickly became a mainstay at Marvel until, with the departure of Jack Kirby, Don Heck, and Steve Ditko, he became the company’s most exciting artist, setting his stamp on seemingly every key book of the decade. In the 1980s, Colan joined the exodus of many Marvel creators to DC where he penciled a number of strips including Batman, a likely dream assignment for many fans. 16

Marvel Comics in the 1960s

1969 up, heroic figure work to its larger than life characterizations of such personalities as Doom himself to its extended multi-part format. Transcending its roots in a contemporary television program, it became a towering monument to the gargantuan nature of Doom’s personality and his long-standing rivalry with Reed Richards. Unfortunately, the story also suffered from a formularization of the grand style. There was characterization, but not the kind of in-depth characterization that writers like Thomas were using to actually drive many of their own plots. There was some internal consistency with past events, but little reference to the wider Marvel Universe, a sense of continuity whose increasing sophistication would become a hallmark of the Twilight Years. Even Kirby’s sense of panel layout was becoming almost too familiar. But despite the artist’s creative slowdown, the grand style he’d developed over the eight years of Marvel’s Silver Age was still powerful enough, in association with a sympathetic inker, to still move even the most jaded of readers. And even if Sinnott too was slowing down on his figure work, Kirby’s backgrounds could hardly be better served than with the fine detail provided for his Latverian village scenes. And at least once in each part of the storyline, Kirby renders a full-page shot of Doom that somehow, even through expressionless armor, manages to endow the villain with menace, anger, or benevolence. It was a shame then, that this heroic effort would be Kirby’s last inspiring work for Marvel. Already, the seeds of banality were being planted with a sub-plot involving the purchase of a new house by the Richards, which turns out to be another world-threatening gizmo constructed by the Mole Man. Riddled with more inconsistencies than readers this late in the Silver Age could be expected to swallow without abandoning their suspension of disbelief, it would fail as a good FF story and lead into a string of even more disappointing stories. Some might say that Kirby, still dissatisfied with his position at Marvel, was holding out on his good ideas until he left, but when he finally jumped to rival DC, the good ideas still failed to turn up. The reality was, without a level headed decision maker and writing partner, Kirby was like a ship without a rudder. Never again would he experience the success he’d had in partnership first with Joe Simon in the 1940s and 50s and then with Stan Lee in the 1960s.

Daredevil #49

“Daredevil Drops Out”; Stan Lee (script), Gene Colan (pencils), George Klein (inks)

By contrast, Lee and Colan were doing everything right in Daredevil #49 (Feb. 1969). What the FF lacked in characterization, Lee supplied in plenty; where Kirby ignored continuity, Lee followed in Thomas’ footsteps by reaching back to previous stories and wrote new ones by extrapolating from events of the old; and where Kirby was mired in the six panel grid, Colan’s layouts were all over the map including even the cover! If proof was ever needed to verify Lee’s retreat from active involvement with the plotting of the FF, or of Kirby’s need for his skills, no more would be required than this issue of Daredevil! In stark contrast with the almost arid quality of the books dominated by Kirby, titles such as DD, SpiderMan, and Captain America in which Lee had complete control, were driven by characterization in which protagonists suffered constantly from fear, doubt, and the pangs of love. The first four pages this issue for instance begins with a soliloquy by Matt Murdock on the complications in his life engendered by his role as a costumed crime fighter. “I wasn’t satisfied to live out my life as Matt Murdock,” muses DD. “I wanted the excitement, the glamour, the adventure of a super-hero’s life!” “I spent years making a legend out of Daredevil, making my costume a symbol of courage and skill!” but “It can’t put its arms around me, or kiss me goodnight!” Meanwhile, consequences of past actions catch up with him when Biggy Benson, the

Communist soldiers checking papers at Checkpoint Charlie. When Kirby depicted a similar scene on the Latvian border in FF #84, US foreign relations were still defined by the Cold War.

Part I: 1968-1970

man he sent to prison after events in #47, hires a deadly robot to kill Murdock. Defeated, DD is only saved by the timely arrival of Willie Lincoln, now an employee of the Urban League. Throughout, Lee’s script is beautifully served by the fluid art of Gene Colan who sets a tone of fast moving action beneath a cover split into three panels. Page one continues the theme of constant movement with an all black splash page punctuated by a series of three panels showing a door slowly opening to reveal the sombre visage of Matt Murdock. Inside, Murdock wanders through an empty, shadowed apartment until attacked by the robot in a visually stunning fullpage scene. Next, Colan (assisted by inker George Klein), presents a furious sequence of overlapping panels that conveys to the reader the same confusion suffered by DD as the attack leaves him no time to think. After an interlude with Willie Lincoln and Biggy Benson, the action follows DD as he returns to his apartment to wait for the robot to strike again. As expected, the creature appears and Colan winds up his first, uninterrupted run on the title with an exciting fight scene involving big, half page panels with figures twisting and contorting in furious action. Coupled with Lee’s bare as bones dialogue (narrative blocks were practically non-existent in DD by this time, significantly increasing the rhythm of the story), the pace of this issue made Kirby’s concurrent FF work seem like it was standing still!

Daredevil #50

“If In Battle I Fall”; Roy Thomas (script), Barry WindsorSmith [as Barry Smith](pencils), Johnny Craig (inks)

Readers were perhaps understandably shocked when they opened Daredevil #50 (March 1969), since there could hardly be any more contrasting styles than that between the superbly cool Gene Colan, who’d practically turned the title into a personal fiefdom since taking it over with #20, and newcomer Barry Smith, fresh off of some unimpressive issues of the X-Men! The change would prove only temporary, but readers didn’t know that; for all intents and purposes, it looked as though Smith would be staying on as the new regular artist for DD. And although by the evidence of this first issue, readers could’ve been forgiven for having little faith in the Britisher. By the time the very next issue rolled around and especially with his last with #52, Smith’s style had begun to evolve in a manner that was actually becoming exciting to look at! By the end of his three-issue run, he had readers convinced that if push came to shove, he wouldn’t be a bad permanent replacement for Colan after all. But for this issue 18

Marvel Comics in the 1970s

In Daredevil #50, veteran artist Johnny Craig (right) would help give newcomer Barry Smith’s (left) rather loose layouts enough weight to keep them from flying apart.

anyway, Smith was still obviously feeling his way through the thickets of neophytism that had led him to choose Kirby as his prime influence (not a bad place for any beginning comic book artist to start). But since his work on the X-Men, a new influence had crept into his work. Sure, his figure work was still in the bulky, Kirby style, but a loosening of his layouts definitely indicated that the more visually innovative Steranko was becoming his new pole star. Suddenly, he was using multi-frame shots to indicate movement over a period of time and creating strobe effects by depicting a tumbling figure in different positions in the same panel. He abandoned Kirby’s strict adherence to the six panel grid and began varying the sizes of his panels, overlapping them, and using different camera angles to heighten effect: all tricks first introduced by Steranko. But through it all, there was still an underlying feel of individuality. A low-angle shot of the robot crossing a field of long, waving grass and another of the heat blurred figure of Starr Saxon as seen through a wall of flame were early precursors of layouts Smith would use to good effect on Conan. With all of that, the fact that this would also be Lee’s last script for Daredevil almost goes unnoticed. But it shouldn’t. Marking another milestone in Marvel’s transition from the Grandiose to the Twilight Years, it comes at a time when Lee was at the top of his form on the Daredevil book. It’d taken him a while to work out just the right tone for the feature, and when he finally found it, he ran with it. Matched with Colan, the two men made

1969

up one of the all time greatest writer/artist teams in comics history, and with Daredevil, parted company at the very peak of their partnership. Roy Thomas would take over the scripting chores with the next issue and later Gerry Conway would take it to its one hundredth issue; but for most of that time, despite Colan’s continued involvement, the strip would never quite reach the heights of perfection it had under the sure guidance of Stan Lee.

Daredevil #51, page 15: Following in the footsteps of Steranko and Colan, artist Barry Smith offers his own take on alternative layouts. Fun Fact: the poster of Cap in panel 5 is the same one that appears in Captain America #110!

Daredevil #51

“Run, Murdock, Run!”; Roy Thomas (script), Barry Windsor-Smith [as Barry Smith] (pencils), George Klein (inks)

Marking a sea change for the strip, Daredevil #51 (April 1969) featured a completely new creative team with Roy Thomas writing and Barry Smith on the art. It was the first time that fans turned professionals formed the primary creative team on a Silver Age book (not counting Lee’s editorial input). Picking up where Lee left off, Thomas had the “plastoid” robot follow Matt Murdock’s trail to the prison where Biggy Benson is being held, and in the ensuing battle, the former crime boss suffers the fate he’d intended for the blind lawyer. Meanwhile, the incident galvanizes Murdock into giving up his identity of Daredevil just as the robot’s inventor, the somewhat effeminate Starr Saxon, discovers his secret ID! “And now, I’d better say it out loud, before the proverbial house falls on me! Matthew Murdock is Daredevil!” Bugging Matt’s apartment, Saxon begins plotting his revenge. But more fighting is the last thing on Daredevil’s mind as, making up with girlfriend Karen Page and former law partner Foggy Nelson, he decides to hang up his cowl for good. “We’ve got things, like futures, to discuss!” he tells Karen. “Also, I have something to tell you, a secret.” But that particular revelation would have to wait a few more issues as Saxon makes his move, harassing DD and wheedling his way into Karen’s confidence. It was a serviceable first effort for Thomas whose script was made harder to follow than it should’ve been due to Part I: 1968-1970

Smith’s continued use of Steranko-style layouts which, instead of helping the story, only made it more confusing. Overlapping of panels (many hardly bigger than the size of a postage stamp!) and multiple points of view within the same frame made it difficult to judge the proper placement of text blocks and word balloons and when finished, the final product still left room for doubt as to how the story was to be read (from left to right or up or down?)—but the important thing was that he was trying. Artists like Steranko, Gene Colan, and Neal Adams had shown beyond doubt that comics stories need not be confined to grids of square and rectangular panels; now the picture frame could be molded in accordance with the needs of the story whose pace could then be controlled by the shape, angle, and direction of panel borders. But the effect could be abused as it was this issue. An artist needed to master (and more importantly, to understand), the storytelling function of the traditional grid format before experimenting with more complex arrangements. Smith needed a little more experience under his belt for that, but before he could get it, he’d be given a strip (again in partnership with Thomas) for which unusual layouts would prove unfit.

Daredevil #52

“The Night of the Panther”; Roy Thomas (script), Barry Windsor-Smith [as Barry Smith](pencils), Johnny Craig (inks)

If Thomas had one failing as a writer in these years, it was his tendency to overuse a particular pop culture angle when he stumbled across one. Excited with the discovery, he’d weave it into his script, frequently going overboard in his enthusiasm. When he expanded on Lee’s use of familiar literary phrases, it was to come up with not one, but two phrases, spreading titles across two and even four pages of a book (Avengers #61 and 64) or even complete poems around which he’d arrange a whole page. Later, he’d use the titles of science fiction films and books for his Kree/Skrull War saga and name-drop rock bands for an Ant-Man story. Here, in Daredevil #52 (May 1969), it’s movies. In the 1960s (long before the invention of DVDs or even video tape for convenient home viewing), classic films were only to be seen on late night television or small movie houses catering to film fans. New York City was filled with them and they were frequently the destination of choice when they became the scene of a local revival of the work of Alfred Hitchcock, Humphrey Bogart, or Orson Welles. 20

Marvel Comics in the 1970s

Consequently, it’s not surprising if Thomas may have fallen temporarily under the spell of this cornucopia of classic films (perhaps as a recent transplant from Missouri, he’d had little opportunity to indulge his taste for classic movies) and in his exuberance, lace his scripts with references to them. Thus, with as little prodding from Karen Page as “Don’t just sit there, smirking like the villain in a bad “B” movie!” Starr Saxon (who’d shown no hint of such inclinations in his previous appearances) spends the rest of the issue making references to the movies: “Does he think I can’t see him out there, skulking about like Lon Chaney, listening, lurking?” “He’ll race in like Errol Flynn, if he thinks you endangered!” “Don’t you recognize standard movie villain procedure when you see it?” Even DD gets into the act: “You were expecting the Keystone Cops?” But at the last minute, Thomas manages to salvage what was fast becoming tedious schtick with an insightful final scene as Saxon tells Daredevil “Got to play it like a winner, even in defeat, eh, DD? Coming on like the matinee idol, who’ll conquer all odds in next week’s chapter, kiddies! Well, I’ve got my own movie going for me, and in my screenplay, it’s I who am the hero, while you, Murdock, are the villain!” Aiding and abetting Thomas for his third and final appearance on the strip (Colan would be back in the next issue!) was Barry Smith, who

In the late 1960s there was no such thing as cable TV, video cassettes, or DVDs. But millions of people were rediscovering classic films from the Golden Age of Hollywood on late night television. No doubt, writer Roy Thomas was among them!

1969 arranges here a story much easier to follow than the over-rendered #51. Right off the bat, Smith presents the reader with an exciting splash page of a brightly lit New York City street; then, in a remarkable double-page spread, introduces guest-star the Black Panther as he leaps among the rooftops only to be stopped in his tracks by a police spotlight in the final panel. When the two heroes finally team up, they conveniently pose for an eye-catching full-page shot (where Smith wears his Kirby influences on his sleeve!) before catching up with Saxon for his final exit lines. All in all, Smith’s three issues made for an interesting interlude before the return of the “dean” and presented him with an opportunity to further refine his style. A style whose evolution could be observed taking a more radical, and personalized, direction in a series of anthology books Marvel would release in a few more months. All in all, it was a peek into the future of comic books. For good or ill, Lee, Kirby, and Ditko, through the Years of Consolidation and especially the Grandiose Years, had launched the comics’ world into uncharted waters of subject matter, visual style, and even of breaching the Comics Code. The movement would continue into the Twilight Years and eventually infect even Marvel’s strongest competitors (they’d have to adapt or go under). But was it responsible for the sorry state comics would find itself in beyond the 1970s? It was a difficult question to answer but such elements as the eventual loss of the institutional memory of the industry’s older professionals would be a blow from which the comics business would never recover.

Captain America #110

“No Longer Alone!”; Jim Steranko (plot & pencils), Stan Lee (script), Joe Sinnott (inks)

In danger of having his disappointing stint on the X-Men being remembered as his last regular assignment at Marvel, Steranko came roaring back with one of his most spectacular jobs, one that would stand as a fitting monument to his brief, but trailblazing stay in comics. Perhaps lacking in many of the special graphic effects fans had come to expect from his work, Steranko nevertheless made up for that in the sheer style and visual pizzazz of Captain America #110 (Feb. 1969)! Once more in complete control of his work (with the obvious editorial indulgence of a cooperative Lee, who also supplied the script), Steranko was able to give it not only his full attention, but his not inconsiderable enthusiasm

After Jim Steranko had proven himself on Nick Fury, Agent of SHIELD, he adopted a different approach to his stint on Captain America that was in some ways reminiscent of the Simon and Kirby style of the Timely era.

as well. And that made all the difference! Gone was Arnold Drake’s corny dialogue and John Tartaglione’s inappropriate inks; instead, Lee himself provides the slick narration and natural sounding prose while Joe Sinnott does the finishes. Avoiding the pyrotechnics that’d become a trademark of his SHIELD work, Steranko instead concentrates on layout and further use of filmic techniques to tell the story of Cap’s fight first with the Hulk (who never looked so handsome!) then with the hordes of Hydra (led by another of Steranko’s green goddess types, Madame Hydra). In between, the artist’s approach to anatomy seemed to have subtly changed. In what would become obvious a few months later with the release of his legendary History of Comics, Steranko here displays the influence of such comic book artists of the 1940s as Lou Fine, Reed Crandall, Mac Raboy, and especially the early work of Kirby himself, in his figure drawing of Captain America. Throughout the issue, the layout is punctuated by full-body shots of the star spangled Avenger as he seems to break out from one panel, leap across the page, and land in another. In each shot, Cap’s body is a mass of twisting, straining muscles pulling at the limits of acceptable contortion and artistic license! Especially stunning is the double-page center spread of Cap as he leaps among a surprised group of Hydra goons deep beneath the city streets. And with Steranko replacing Kirby on the Part I: 1968-1970

strip, Lee wasted little time in giving Steve Rogers the kind of self-introspection that he’d given Matt Murdock over in the Daredevil strip. Enlarging on the theme of alienation that he’d touched upon in #109, Lee continued to emphasize the anachronistic aspects of Cap’s personality. “…haunted by the past. Plagued by memories such as few have ever known. Ever tortured by doubt, yet driven by duty…this man, Steve Rogers!” More symbol than personality, Captain America had almost always been treated as the living embodiment of the American spirit rather than a flesh and blood man. Now Lee moved to give him more personality than he’d had since making his Silver Age debut in Avengers #4. Except when punctuated by the action required of the super-hero formula, Captain America would be transformed in the next few years into

a mostly grim, brooding character, haunted by the feeling of being responsible for the death of his young war time partner, Bucky Barnes. “Just a few hours rest is all he’ll need! If only all our lingering ills could be so easily cured! But, there are wounds that no amount of rest, no amount of time, can ever heal! Just as there are memories, that can never be…erased!” The issue ends with a warning in the shape of a street worker’s sign— “Caution Danger Ahead”—but did it refer to the danger posed by Hydra or was it a foreshadowing of the inner turmoil that was bound to plague Cap for much longer? Fun Fact: The poster of Captain America featured on this issue’s splash page was reproduced by Barry Smith in Daredevil #52 as Matt Murdoch apparently stumbles into the very same alley where we find Steve Rogers at the beginning of this story!

Captain America #111

“Tomorrow You Live, Tonight I Die!”; Jim Steranko (script & pencils), Joe Sinnott (inks)

Hit Comics #5: Draftsmanship such as that displayed in this eye catching cover by Lou Fine leaves no doubt why the artist exercised great influence not only over his peers but a generation of others who followed him into the comics industry including Steranko.

Marvel Comics in the 1970s

It was danger that appeared most directly ahead on the very first page of Captain America #111 (March 1969) as Steranko offers a kaleidoscope of fractured imagery that ends with Steve Rogers getting a fortune card with the story’s ominous title: “Tomorrow You Live, Tonight I Die!” It would prove to be the opening shot of Steranko’s latest visual extravaganza as he returned to the form that first rocked fans onto their collective heels with his work on the SHIELD strip. Building upon a mood of strangeness cultivated in #110, but only brought into sharp focus here, Steranko’s world was one much closer to the nastiness of reality than Kirby’s ever was. Where Kirby reveled in the soaring fantasy of Sleepers and the gleaming newness of super-scientific technology, Steranko preferred the meanness of the street corner beating and the cold-blooded sidewalk hit. The difference in tone between the two approaches couldn’t have been made more plain than with the wide-open, even prosaic fill-in issue by Kirby in #112 before Steranko continued the Hydra plot in #113. Kirby’s interlude issue was composed of mostly quarter-page panels with nary a shadow to be seen in stark contrast to Steranko’s efforts which depended on constantly changing panel sizes and arrangements in order to better control the pacing of the story. Shadows were everywhere, symbolically emphasizing the new, uncertain landscape of Cap’s state of mind. Still struggling with the memory of Bucky Barnes, Cap now allows Rick Jones to replace him. But the

1969 along Cap’s shirt spoke volumes about the new kind of ruthlessness Steranko had introduced into the strip), and Captain America himself is brought down in a hail of bullets. It was one of the earliest examples of the new sensibility that was coming into comics, a signpost to the shift in emphasis from the straight ahead fantasy and science fiction that had characterized the first three phases of Marvel to more down to earth crime, drugs, and human passions that would dominate the most artistically successful features of the Twilight Years. Captain America #111, page 14 by Steranko and Captain America #112, page 15 by Kirby. A good study in contrasts: notice how Steranko variegates the viewpoints in panels 1, 4, 5, and 6, then uses the final shot (no pun intended!) as a visual coda to the action of the previous panels. Kirby, meanwhile, preferring larger, fewer panels to depict no less furious action, emphasizes full figure shots in a more traditional layout.

belief that he was responsible for Bucky’s death prevents Cap from treating Rick differently. He finds himself driving the youngster too hard, forcing him to go too far, too fast, and dangerously eroding his self-confidence. (“Every time I think I’m getting it, he makes me feel like a stumble-bum! How did Bucky ever make the grade?”) But the training was more necessary than ever, as nothing and no one could now be trusted, not even Captain America himself, as Rick discovers when he’s plunged into a Daliesque fever dream (an inspired choice by Steranko to help symbolize all the fears and doubts that permeate the story…much in the way director Alfred Hitchcock used the artist’s work in his film Spellbound [1945]) and, coming out of it, finds that his mentor is dead! And death, at last, never seemed so immediate before, as a Hydra assassin is poisoned by the ruthless Madame Hydra, another is shot in cold blood to prevent him telling what he knows of Hydra’s plans (a simple panel showing his clutching hand as it slides down in death

Part I: 1968-1970

Captain America #113

“The Strange Death of Captain America”; Jim Steranko (script & pencils), Tom Palmer (inks)

Following a pattern established while working on the SHIELD strip (in which he was unable to meet the demands of a monthly schedule), Steranko was spelled on issue #112 by Kirby before returning for the final chapter of his Hydra saga in Captain America #113 (May 1969). In what would prove to be his final appearance on a regular feature, Steranko knocked ‘em dead in a tour de force of mood, style, and action that became a worthy monument to his all too short, but influential, career in comics. (Just as the monument to Captain America on the cover of this issue was a tribute to the memory of another not so fallen hero?) Aided here by Tom Palmer (whose inks proved more compatible with the artist’s style

Interested in exploring other media, Steranko took his first steps away from comics in the early 1970s applying his design skills to Comicscene, a tabloid style newspaper covering comics and film, the Steranko History of Comics, and alternative formats for comics such as the digest-sized Chandler.

Marvel Comics in the 1970s

than Sinnott’s had been), Steranko concludes his Hydra trilogy with the origin of the sexy Madame Hydra and the triumphant return from the dead of Captain America. As he did in #111, Steranko again uses full-page compositions (for which he was growing increasingly expert) to encapsulate whole themes and ideas in an integrated pattern of images. Thematically unified in Hydra green, the concluding page of the origin of Madame Hydra, for instance, beautifully captures her ruthlessness (she assassinates Hydra’s entire upper echelon to assume power) and motivation (her face scarred as a child, Madame Hydra’s vanity exaggerates the relatively slight deformity to gigantic proportions—visually emphasized by a series of panels focusing on her senses of sight and touch; her emotions reaching an unbearable crescendo, the final panel shows her arm as it crashes into an offending mirror). The return of Captain America is heralded in another double-page spread as the Star-Spangled Avenger crashes into the midst of a group of Hydra agents involved with skullduggery at Drearcliff Cemetery. What follows is a ballet of forced perspective action culminating in a climactic full-page shot of Captain America atop a pile of struggling Hydra goons all trying desperately to drag him down. “How do you destroy an ideal, a dream?” asks the accompanying caption rhetorically. “How do you destroy a living symbol, or his indomitable will, his unquenchable spirit? Perhaps these are the thoughts which thunder within the murderous minds of those who have chosen the way of Hydra, of those who face the fighting fury of freedom’s most fearless champion, the gallant, redwhite-and-blue-garbed figure who has been a towering source of inspiration to liberty-lovers everywhere!” This issue was a fitting farewell for a man who gave to comics one of its most unique artistic visions. But although immensely respected and admired by everyone involved in comics in those heady days, Steranko had few imitators. It seemed that, while he succeeded in raising the consciousness of those working in the field about what could be done with the medium (and credit Lee for accommodating an artist whose labor intensive work made making deadlines almost impossible), his personal artistic style (which was about so much more than mere figure work) was too much for the younger artists that came up after him. Instead, many would look to Neal Adams, his immediate rival (whose realistic style, stripped of Steranko’s graphic pyrotechnics, would prove more accessible) for more direct inspiration. In any case, as Adams’ star was rising with high profile assignments at Marvel, Steranko began to retreat from active comic

1969 book production, first supplying a couple of short pieces for anthology titles then taking on the duties of production design for Marvel’s FOOM magazine. A scattering of covers would follow before the artist left the company for good to begin his own publishing projects including the groundbreaking two-volume Steranko History of Comics and Comicscene Magazine.

Silver Surfer #5

“And Who Shall Mourn For Him?”; Stan Lee (script), John Buscema (pencils), Sal Buscema (inks) “Run, Roco, Run”; Stan Lee (script), Howard Purcell (pencils), John Tartaglione (inks)

In the meantime, between the predictable work Kirby was doing on the FF and Steranko’s radical interpretation of Captain America, the man who collaborated with both as scripter, continued to plug away on his own highly personal project. It’d been almost a year since the Surfer debuted in his own book and, in that time, Lee had taken the character from messianic self-sacrifice to one whose loyalties were torn between a yearning for his lost humanity (symbolized by his continued pining after the lost Shalla Bal) and pity for the hapless human race. Mixed in, however, was still a good helping of desperation to escape the bonds of Earth before the petty failings of mankind drove him mad. The problem was, the Surfer hadn’t yet reconciled himself to the fact that mankind wasn’t perfect and wasn’t likely to attain perfection any time soon. As a result, he was constantly being disappointed and thrown into a blue funk from which his arguments about the basic worth of humanity sometimes sounded unconvincing. “Though men seem mad, they are not without hope! Some day they shall learn to master their emotions, as they master the physical world about them! All they require is time!” How long could the Surfer continue to be so optimistic if issue after issue, all he experiences are the worst aspects of people? In Silver Surfer #5 (April 1969) for instance, he encounters suspicion, prejudice, distrust, and exclusion, and that was just while looking for a job! Later he falls in with a homeless man, involves himself with illegal gambling, and gets worked over by hoodlums for his winnings. Since first encountering Alicia Masters in FF #49, the Surfer hadn’t met a single person representing what was good about the human race! No wonder the guy was always depressed! But finally, Lee managed to get a ray of sunlight to penetrate the dark of the Surfer’s night with the introduction of Al Harper, a black man who also happened to be a scientist with the know-how to help the skyrider break free of the barrier that

Before Sal Buscema (right) became one of Marvel’s busiest pencilers, he was one of its most versatile inkers. Starting out working over brother John’s (left) art on Silver Surfer, Sal would switch gears inking Barry Smith’s increasingly detailed pencils with equal confidence.

kept him prisoner on Earth. But as luck would have it, their plans are interfered with by the arrival of the god-like Stranger (from X-Men #11) who’s decided (like the God of the Old Testament dealing with Sodom and Gommorah) that Earth must be destroyed because, unlike the Surfer, he can’t see any worth in the savage human race. With a “null-life bomb” set to destroy the planet, the Surfer fights a holding action against the Stranger while Al Harper struggles against a disbelieving public and is assaulted by a thinly disguised mob of racists. At last, Harper finds the bomb and sacrifices his life in defusing it. “…somewhere on this half-crazed planet,” rages a frustrated Stranger, “there was one man willing to give his life, so that others might live! It means, that once again I have misjudged the supremely savage, yet strangely selfless human race!” It was exactly the kind of story Lee wanted to tell with the Surfer strip and exactly the kind dedicated fans had come to expect. The only problem: there weren’t enough of those readers willing to pay the exorbitant sum of 25 cents for the extra length book. And so, after #7, the experiment came to an end with the title reverting to the company’s standard 12 cent format. And somehow, with the loss of page count, Lee’s crucial interest in the strip also seemed to wane. Subsequent stories lacked the overt preaching and spirited commentary on the state of the human condition and eventually began to feature guest-stars like Spider-Man and the Human Torch for the Surfer to fight. But even that blatant Part I: 1968-1970

attempt to perk up slipping sales failed to stop the loss of readership (fans who liked the strip for its pseudo-philosophizing dropped it when action became the main course and readers who never bought the book in the first place couldn’t be convinced to give it a try). Eventually, the once grand experiment came to an ignominious end with its eighteenth issue.

Avengers #63, page 17: It was a far cry from DC romance comics! fill-in artist Gene Colan holds nothing back in these giant-size panels, filling them with giant size characters in giant-size action!

Marvel Comics in the 1970s

Avengers #63

“And In This Corner, Goliath”; Roy Thomas (script), Gene Colan (pencils), George Klein (inks)

Elsewhere, the Marvel Universe continued to burn with white hot intensity, but significantly, it wasn’t at the hands old masters like Lee or Kirby, but under the guidance of the rising generation. Over in Avengers #63 (April 1969) for instance, long time readers must have felt a bit disoriented when they opened the issue to its first page and found not John Buscema in the credits, but Gene Colan! (Colan had moved over from Daredevil where he was replaced by Barry Smith while Buscema spelled John Romita on Spider-Man who’d gone over to Captain America until a permanent replacement could be found there for the departed Steranko. Got it? Good!) Visually, it was a jarring transition, and one unlikely to be terribly successful what with Colan’s moody, photo-realistic style seemingly unsuited for a hardedged science fiction oriented strip like the Avengers. But once past that first page, readers soon got over any doubts they might’ve had as Colan launched right into the action with big, wide open panels crammed with heroically sized figure work. Eschewing the wilder panel layouts he’d been using on Daredevil, Colan here falls back on a more traditional style, short-circuiting any anxiety regular readers of the Avengers might’ve had at the sudden switch in pencilers. Helping him out immeasurably was the book’s coloring, which continued to be one of its strong points. And

1969 filled as this issue is with colorfully garbed characters (including Yellowjacket and the Wasp, just back from their honeymoon), there’s plenty of opportunity for it. Speaking of YJ, fans learned this issue that it was the strain of constantly growing to giant size that caused Hank Pym’s recent psychological problems and, as a result, the size-changing Avenger decides to keep the identity of Yellowjacket and to closet that of Goliath. But an unforeseen emergency forces Hawkeye (who just happens to be feeling inadequate about being a plain ole bowslinger) to pull out the costume and down the size changing serum, allowing him to become the new Goliath!

Avengers #64

“Like A Death Ray from the Sky”; Roy Thomas (script), Gene Colan (pencils), George Klein (inks)

its readers for a much longer time than had been the industry norm. Where kids once dropped comics reading when they reached their teenaged years, now more often than not (at least where Marvel was concerned), they might continue reading the adventures of their favorite characters right through their college years. More than Lee himself, Thomas had mastered the art of imparting detailed backgrounds to his characters (he liked to build on seemingly trivial incidents revealed in previous stories) and had proceeded to round out the rough edges of those starring in the Avengers. And although Hawkeye had received much of his attention over the years, for some reason, Thomas had never gotten around to even giving him a real name! Soon, the book’s letters’ page began to fill up with demands to give Hawkeye a real identity and now, at last, Thomas gave readers what they wanted. With a deadly ray beam aimed at Earth from high in orbit, the Avengers must ally themselves with underworld figure Barney Barton in order to destroy it. But in the process of boarding the ray’s high altitude platform and fighting mad scientist Egghead, Barton is wounded and, muttering the name “Clint,” dies in the arms of a bereaved Hawkeye/ Goliath. And no wonder; it turns out that Barton was Goliath’s brother!

Avengers #64 (May 1969), the second of a loosely connected three-part story, is actually the untold tale of Hawkeye’s secret origin. Difficult as it was to believe for a character that had been around the Marvel Universe for most of its existence and had been a long standing member of the Avengers since the team’s first shakeup in #16, no detail of Hawkeye’s background had ever been revealed. It was a lapse made all the more glaring in light of the growing complexity of the Marvel Universe during the Grandiose Years, one of whose elements included the ongoing development of character histories. Begun by Lee, but perfected by Thomas, the ongoing discovery of new wrinkles to a character’s personality, usually brought on by revelations from his past, had become a staple of the company’s development, one of the secrets of its continuous appeal to readers. Sure, there was always plenty of action, but if a comic never offered anything All hail Marvel’s stable of mighty inkers! Sure, else, readers would soon you’ve heard of Tom Palmer, Chic Stone, Joe drop off, an unchanging Sinnott, Vince Colletta, (even Steve Ditko and cycle that had dominated Wally Wood), but George Klein (left) and Sam comics sales for Grainger also served and served well. Klein made his mark working over Gene Colan and decades. But with the John Buscema while Grainger did the same for never ending evolution many classic issues of the Avengers. of its characters, Marvel was able to hold onto

Avengers #65

“Mightier Than the Sword?”; Roy Thomas (script), Gene Colan (pencils), Sam Grainger (inks)

It all began years before, when two brothers ran away from home to join the circus. Or at least that’s the way Clint Barton, alias Goliath/ Hawkeye told it in Avengers #65 (June 1969). And was it only coincidence that headlining that circus was none other than former Avenger, the Swordsman? (Actually, it wasn’t; it was only Thomas tying up loose ends and taking past events and enlarging on them to create more complicated backgrounds Part I: 1968-1970

for his characters). If readers recalled, the Swordsman had actually been an Avenger for all of five minutes way back in #20. He’d infiltrated the team in order to defeat it, but was discovered in the nick of time. (Okay, with only a skillful sword arm to his credit, he shouldn’t have been much of a threat in the way of super-villainy, but Lee and Heck managed to write a few well constructed plots around the Swordsman that proved with good writing, any character, no matter how dull they may seem on the face of it, can be made interesting!) Anyway, Thomas remembered the Swordsman and weaved his story in with that of Hawkeye (it seems that after the two Barton brothers joined that circus, the Swordsman saw some nascent talent in Clint and taught him the use of the bow; later, when Clint caught the Swordsman stealing the day’s take, he and Barney ended up on the outs and turned to crime). In a clever twist, Thomas had former Giant-Man villain Egghead (who figured as the bad guy in the two previous issues) hire the Swordsman to infiltrate Avengers HQ to kidnap Goliath (who he thinks is his old enemy Hank Pym, but is now Clint Barton). In a dazzling sequence of big action panels by Colan, the Swordsman succeeds and brings Goliath to Egghead who (spouting snatches from Shakespeare), understandably disappointed in the mix-up, decides to double cross his hireling. In one, swell foop, Thomas added to the common tapestry of the Marvel Universe by tying in two separate strands of Avengers history and created yet another situation rich in future character motivation and story possibilities (by this time, an aspect of the grand style he’d made all his own and that would grow in importance [while other elements diminished] as the Twilight Years progressed). Fun Fact: Remember how Thomas had used the first couple lines of a Robert Frost poem as the title of #61? Well, the entire poem (all nine lines of it) is reprinted in this issue’s letters page!

The Invincible Iron Man #13

“Captives of the Controller”; Archie Goodwin (script), George Tuska (pencils), Johnny Craig (inks)

In 1968, just on the point of its greatest triumph, the Iron Man strip stumbled and never recovered. The feature had a strong start in the early Formative Years under artists Don Heck and Jack Kirby and then soared in the Years of Consolidation after Gene Colan became the regular penciler. Adding to the strip’s strength was the attention given it by writer Stan Lee whose scripts deftly interweaved Tony Stark’s problems with women, politics, and physical ailments with super-villains and the 28

Marvel Comics in the 1970s

The work of Stan Lee and Gene Colan on Iron Man was a tough act to follow, but writer Archie Goodwin (left) and artist George Tuska made a noble attempt, helping to keep the strip going for years even as Marvel’s flagship titles took a back seat to more exciting, nontraditional series.

occasional underworld run-in. The combination of talents made the strip a real page turner and sharing a bill with the “Captain America” feature made Tales of Suspense one of Marvel’s strongest titles. But that situation was radically changed in 1968 when restrictions placed on Marvel by its distributor on the number of books the company could produce were removed and Tales to Astonish, Strange Tales, and Suspense were cancelled and each of their double-billed features was given their own full-fledged book. For some, like Nick Fury, Agent of SHIELD and Dr. Strange, the solo features were artistic if not financial successes, but for others such as Hulk and Iron Man, they were simply disappointments. For Iron Man in particular, the sudden expansion from 10 or so pages each month to 20 proved too much for the busy Colan to handle. After kicking off the title with its first issue, he was forced to abandon the strip, ending a nearly seven-year streak of uninterrupted greatness, one of the most consistently well produced of Marvel’s features. In its stead, a steady stream of lesser artists and writers working on the strip would prevent the feature from ever regaining the level of quality it enjoyed in Suspense. The main reason this was so was that with the creation of so many new titles, there was more work than could be covered by the company’s best artists and writers. As a result, a process that had begun just before the double feature books were split gained momentum afterwards with the recruitment of new artists who

1969

may have been professional and competent, but lacked real imagination and had difficulty thinking outside the box, or in the case of the comics they drew, outside the panel borders. One of these newer arrivals was George Tuska, who would take over Iron Man with issue #5 and remain on the book off and on for years, offering dependable if unexciting work that, while maintaining the bottom line, nevertheless contributed to the steady decline in the artistic quality of Marvel’s

Iron Man #13, page 5: Early in his run on Iron Man, George Tuska tried channeling Gene Colan with layouts like this but somehow it didn’t work with results that seemed less organic than Colan’s. Eventually Tuska abandoned such tricks and settled for the customary multi-panel grid format.

flagship titles as the decade wore on. Although Tuska never drew the attention of fan interest the way younger artists such as Barry Smith and Jim Steranko did, he had nevertheless, at the height of his career in the 1950s, been a model for his peers. But that time had long since passed, and his work for Marvel, as seen in Invincible Iron Man #13 was characterized by stiff figures with serious overbites—work that would never set the world on fire. Although Tuska’s style would later become even more bland than it already was, it did start out with elements reminiscent of Colan as well as Kirby in Iron Man #13 (May 1969). Tuska’s exaggeration of certain aspects of our hero’s armor around the cuffs, boots, and shoulder bands was definitely inspired by Colan’s work on the feature as was an admirable attempt to lay out the book in the type of unconventional panel placement that his predecessor had since made one of his trademarks. In addition, a certain amount of dynamism in the art that had bodies and debris flying about in every direction seemed inspired by Kirby’s brand of furious action. Tuska was aided this issue with scripting by Marvel newcomer Archie Goodwin, who joined the company in 1968 after learning the craft first as an art director at Redbook, then newspaper comic strip writer, and later as a writer/editor for James Warren, publisher of a handful of blackand-white magazine-sized horror comics. Like Tuska, Goodwin would never generate too much excitement among fans, but he did manage to ape Lee’s writing Part I: 1968-1970

styles sufficiently well to make his taking over of the “Iron Man” strip late in the Suspense run a seamless affair. Here, Goodwin has introduced the scheming Controller, who would go on to become a recurring Iron Man villain. Although the strip would not reach the bland depths it would later in the Twilight Years, this issue was clearly marking time in the post Lee/Colan period. With the end of Strange Tales, Tales of Suspense, and Tales to Astonish and their

subsequent division into six whole new comics, Marvel’s success rate, at least artistically speaking, was no more than 50/50. Compared to Colan’s run on Dr. Strange, Steranko’s on SHIELD, and Kirby’s on Captain America, and early issues of Prince Namor, the Sub-Mariner, Incredible Hulk and Invincible Iron Man were proof positive that not all Marvel did could turn to gold—something that would happen with less and less frequency as the company entered its Twilight Years.

X-Men #56

“What Is...the Power?”; Roy Thomas (script), Neal Adams (pencils), Tom Palmer (inks) “The Flying A-Bomb!”; Roy Thomas (script), Werner Roth (pencils), Sam Grainger (inks)

X-Men #56: Who in their right mind would reject a great Neal Adams cover like this? According to the artist, Stan Lee did, by order of publisher Martin Goodman who thought the figures of the X-Men obscured the logo!

Marvel Comics in the 1970s

If readers were jolted by the substitution of Colan for Buscema over in the Avengers, what must’ve been their reaction to the arrival of Neal Adams in X-Men #56 (May 1969)? After months, even years, of art ranging from adequate to just plain bad (with the possible exception of Steranko’s efforts in #s 50 and 51), and being used as the training ground for new talent (Thomas and Roth), the X-Men feature had always managed to avoid success. When it came right down to it, except for a couple of isolated instances, the book hadn’t been really good since Lee and Kirby abandoned it with #19. Suddenly, all that changed. Overnight, the book went from the stodgy sameness of a Heck and Roth fill-in on #56, to Adams’ ultra-sophisticated, super-slick, thoroughly up-to-date art style that (although not necessarily helping sales on X-Men that much) set the small world of comics fandom on fire. How to describe the almost shocking

1969

Neal Adams

Like many other comic artists of the time, Neal Adams attended Manhattan’s School of Industrial Art before breaking into the industry at Archie Comics. Meeting some resistance there, he left for commercial advertising where connections landed him a job as regular artist on the Ben Casey comic strip in 1962. When the feature was cancelled, Adams found some work at Warren Publishing before settling in for the long term at DC in 1967. There, he made his reputation redefining Batman and stretching the limits of the art form in such strips as Deadman. In 1969, Adams capped his career in comics when he teamed with writer Roy Thomas on Marvel’s X-Men and Avengers features turning in groundbreaking story archs for each.

contrast in styles between Adams and everyone else who’d ever handled the X book? For that matter, how to describe Adams’ style compared to just about anyone else in the Marvel stable at the time? (His only possible rival and the only other artist ever mentioned in the same breath was of course, Steranko). The short answer is: it can’t be done. The longer answer is that despite the various individual strengths of Marvel’s great artists (Buscema’s classicism, Colan’s moodiness, Kirby’s power, Heck’s finesse, Ditko’s humanity), Adams simply overpowered them all with a unique vision that relied on a kind of hyper-reality: never before had figures within the panels of the story page seem so naturalistic. Furthermore, Adams’ specialty seemed to be in his concentration on anatomical details, especially the face. Although sales on the various books he worked on while at Marvel seemed to indicate that the greater portion of readers may have been unmoved by his colossal talent, it was surely otherwise with the smaller coterie of die hard aficionados, fans who loved the medium so much, they spent much of their time and energies letter writing and publishing their own comics oriented magazines. It was within the pages of these low print run publications that those readers aspiring to some day work in the comics industry toiled in virtual obscurity, appreciating and absorbing Adams’ work and upon whom the artist would have his greatest influence. In fact, Adams’ arrival at Marvel marked a sea change in attitude of the rising generation of comics artists. Not only would their new paradigm of comic book art be defined by

Adams’ style (replacing Kirby who, after the advent of Adams, seemed hopelessly stiff and outdated), but they’d also embrace his attitude toward the relationship between the artist as free agent and the company as employer. In more ways than one, Adams would shake the industry to its foundations and although sometimes not felt for years, his influence on illustration, employee/employer relations, and even self-publishing would go on for decades.

X-Men #57

“The Sentinels Live!”; Roy Thomas (script), Neal Adams (pencils), Tom Palmer (inks) “The Female of the Species!” Linda Fite (script), Werner Roth (pencils), Sam Grainger (inks)

Where did Neal Adams come from? Did he just appear full blown out of nowhere? How did he learn to draw like he did? If the best artists in comics were almost all working for Marvel, what took Adams so long to join the bullpen? The answer: He was having too much fun at DC, the number one comics company at the time, which had given him a remarkable amount of creative leeway (much more than the company’s veterans, who’d worked there for years, even decades). Starting out in advertising, Adams eventually took over the Ben Casey newspaper strip, displaying there an already well-advanced art style. Eventually, he broke in at DC (at a time when new, young artists just didn’t find work in the small and still shrinking comics industry), moving into the Batman camp and making his style synonymous with the Darknight Detective. At the same time, Adams became the Part I: 1968-1970

company’s main cover artist and began not only drawing but writing the Deadman strip in Strange Adventures. In fact, given permanent space in the DC offices, he soon became a regular visitor in the company’s production department, bugging the old timers there to try new things that would enhance the look of his books. But while his work at DC was uniformly excellent, he was seldom served by the best scripts (including those written by himself) or inkers. In fact, it wasn’t until he arrived at Marvel and was assigned the great Tom Palmer to embellish his work, that his art for the first time began to reveal the depth and the true sophistication that were always there. Replacing the flat, shadowless tone of the serviceable but lackluster work of DC’s Dick Giordano, Palmer (as can be seen in X-Men #57 [June 1969]), was unafraid of spotting blacks and using shadow to bring out a the multi-dimensional qualities of Adams’ figures. Adding to the illusion of depth, the inker also used combinations of gray tone, zip-a-tone, and washes and for the final touch, colored his books too. Together, all his tricks established a dark, even sombre feel to a story that featured the return of the mutant hunting Sentinels and a sense of mounting menace that suddenly became an accepted part of the X-Men’s psychological landscape.

X-Men #58

“Mission: Murder!”; Roy Thomas (script), Neal Adams (pencils), Tom Palmer (inks)

Although the undisputed leader of Marvel’s stable of artists had always been Jack Kirby, at the beginning of the Twilight Years his position at the top was slowly eroding. Increasingly, the creative momentum for the company’s various books was shifting from the flagship titles to the secondary books, in particular, books written (and under the de facto editorial control) of Roy Thomas. With the rise of Steranko and his demonstration of all the wonderful things that could be done visually with the medium, Lee’s continued skill at knocking out stories with human interest, and Thomas’ slick scripting style and control of the increasingly important element of continuity and characterization, Kirby’s more linear approach to storytelling and his waning creative powers were definitely beginning to look outdated. A situation that became all the more obvious when Adams made the scene and stole the limelight from almost everyone else at the company. Everyone, that is, except Steranko. Breaking into the comics industry at roughly the same time and sharing many of the same notions about widening the graphic scope of the medium, Steranko and Adams couldn’t help but become friendly rivals (Adams even paid tribute to his Marvel counterpart by including his name in a panel from his DC strip Deadman in Strange Adventures #216 when he wrote in flaming letters “Hey, a Jim Steranko effect”). It was only coincidence that by the time Adams arrived at Marvel, Steranko was edging for the door. After years of spectacular, ground-breaking work on SHIELD and Captain America, the Marvel star had outgrown the company and was ready to graduate to new things. Leaving with a flourish, respect for everything Steranko had done was enormous among readers and professionals alike, but ultimately it would be the immediacy of Adams’ ultraThe doctor is most definitely in! Before his legendary stands on Batman and X-Men, Neal Adams was making house calls in the realistic art that would have more funny pages with Ben Casey. As can be seen here, Adams’ learning to do with shaping the future curve was a steep one as even this early in his career, his style look of comics than Steranko’s had achieved a sophistication rarely seen in comics. more intellectually removed technical achievements. Who was

Marvel Comics in the 1970s

1969 the better artist? It was impossible to say, but Steranko was undoubtedly the better scripter and had much greater success in exploring new ways to tell comic book stories. For all his virtuosity, in art as well as layout, Adams was still conventional in the way he chose to use the medium. X-Men #58 (July 1969) for instance, is loaded with bold panel layouts (particularly a double-page spread composed of half a dozen diagonally slashed picture frames, a page of teeter-tottering panels that have the effect of “rocking” the action back and forth, overlapping and multi-perspective panels, and a page featuring the Beast in action whose logic is indescribable!). Nowhere, however, were the wildly creative “special effects” that each issue of a Steranko feature would’ve boasted. Nowhere were color or holding lines dropped (well okay, except on the cover of this very issue!), graphic effects used, or pop art conventions adapted. But then, Adams didn’t need any of that. His own natural ability and personal style were so powerful, they broke through a viewer’s consciousness and hit him where he lived! Steranko awed readers with the constant flow of his ideas, but they weren’t things fans could do at home (especially not in the low-budget magazines of the fan press); not like what Adams was doing. All that an inspired would-be artist needed to emulate him were some natural talent and a pen and ink. And so, it was Adams whose style would come to dominate comics in the Twilight Years and the graphic techniques of Steranko, while highly regarded and conferring on him legendary status, would fall by the wayside.

X-Men #59

“Do Or Die, Baby!” Roy Thomas (script), Neal Adams (pencils), Tom Palmer (inks)

Although Adams’ arrived on the scene like a thunderbolt, he alone wasn’t responsible for the excitement that soon surrounded the moribund X-Men. Great art and inspired layouts alone don’t make for entertaining stories, and artists aren’t necessarily good writers (both Kirby and Ditko, for instance, benefited greatly when they worked in partnership with writers). In Adams’ case, the indispensable man was Roy Thomas, whose stripped down dialogue and unerring characterizations put a smooth finishing touch on the artist’s work: A touch it had often lacked at DC. Thomas’ writing was the other reason (besides Palmer’s inking) why Adams’ work at Marvel was so much more aesthetically satisfying than anything he did before or after. Finally, there was one more ingredient Thomas supplied that was perhaps more crucial

Legends of the X-Men; collect them all! Chris Claremont (left) would take over scripting a revived X-Men series in the 1980s and watch it rise to unparalleled success. In the book’s first incarnation, Tom Palmer (right) provided the inks over artist Neal Adams.

than anything else: his judgment (it slipped at least once though when he allowed Adams’ suggestion for the title of this issue’s story “Do or Die, Baby!” to go through. Yechhh!). As Lee abandoned one strip after another and left them in his hands, Thomas was also assuming unofficial editorial control over the books he wrote. There was still oversight by Lee of course, but more and more, it became a matter of casting a quick glance over completed pages before sending them off to the printers. And so, for books like the Avengers, Daredevil and the X-Men, Thomas had almost complete control of how the stories were told and what direction they took. In recent years, Adams has begun to claim the opposite; that, in fact, he was responsible for everything on the books he drew, with Thomas merely adding the necessary dialogue. (“Write pretty, Roy.”) Thomas, very reasonably, has disputed these claims, admitting to working closely with Adams on the plotting phase of the books, but using his editorial control to gently guide the artist in the direction he felt the books ought to go. In the case of the Sentinel storyline (that ended here, in X-Men #59 [Aug. 1969]), elements Adams has said he came up with were actually introduced by Arnold Drake in a plotline he’d been developing in the book for some time, and that included the revelation that Cyclops’ brother Alex was also a mutant. Thomas had taken over the scripting chores on the book with #55 and helped make the conclusion of the Living Pharaoh Part I: 1968-1970

storyline a smooth one in #56. And could anyone not intimately familiar with the X-Men come up with a story that plays up to the book’s theme of persecution and alienation as the Sentinel saga did? (Adams has claimed that he kept up with all of Marvel’s books at the time, but strangely, also says that he’d never heard of Thomas before being assigned to the X-Men!) As with all the truly great comics, the truth behind the success of the Thomas/Adams X-Men is that it was a real collaboration between two talented creators and the line between what one or the other did was and always will be, a blurred one.

Tower of Shadows #1

“At the Stroke of Midnight!”; Jim Steranko (script, pencils & inks) “From Beyond the Brink”; Johnny Craig (script, pencils & inks), John Buscema (re-touches) “A Time To Die”; Stan Lee (script), John Buscema (pencils), Don Heck (inks)

With the new distribution deal that freed the company from the restraints imposed upon it by its competition, Lee set about expanding his small line of titles. The first thing he did was to divide the company’s “split” books, Tales of Suspense, Strange Tales, and Tales to Astonish into six separate titles, then he created a new giant-sized, 25-cent format, and now, seeking to capitalize on DC’s successful line of horror comics, Lee decided to break away from the super-hero mold by launching his own group of weird anthologies. Following in the venerable tradition set by the EC Comics line of the 1950s, Marvel’s new horror books would feature hosts to introduce the stories and although Tower of Shadows #1 (Sept. 1969) had graveyard denizen “Digger” to welcome new readers, the rest of Marvel’s anthologies would follow a road less traveled by having the writers and artists of the stories do the intros themselves (even a dapper Lee in double breasted suit and trim beard would eventually be pressed into service!). Unlike its competition, however, Lee hedged his bets on the success of the new venture by drafting some of the company’s most popular super-hero artists to illustrate the stories. Consequently, where DC’s books had much of the feel of the old EC line with artists like Al Williamson, Bernie Wrightson, and Michael Kaluta, Marvel’s seemed more stylish and up-to-date with the likes of John Buscema and Gene Colan, who brought their fast-paced superhero sensibilities and layouts to the horror genre. One exception to that rule, as usual, was Steranko, who sets the tone this issue with a brilliant, 34

Marvel Comics in the 1970s

House of Secrets #131: Artists like Bernie Wrightson, Al Williamson, and Michael Kaluta gave DC’s line of mystery comics a darker edge, often coming much closer to genuine horror than Marvel did in its own books. Need proof? Check out the story by artist Arthur Suydam in this issue of House of Secrets!

moody piece that fit neither in the EC influenced camp nor in the fast track Marvel style. Written and drawn by the artist in a brief seven pages, “At the Stroke of Midnight” nevertheless packs more information in its limited space than a dozen similar stories. Trading in the special graphic effects he’d become known for in his other work for the company, Steranko here limits himself to what can be done using only pen and ink. But for Steranko, the possibilities are still endless! Relying mainly on the techniques and tricks of film direction and editing, he breaks down the story of a young couple in a house with a past into a series of traveling mattes, zooms, fade-ins and

1969 outs, and wide-angle shots. In addition, Steranko doesn’t hesitate to interrupt the “film” to take advantage of a purely artistic effect like visually balancing a central object with bookend images on either side of it or splitting images into moments in time. The final panel showing the house against a sky filled with zip-a-tone thunderheads actually seems to be imbued with movement! After a job like that, almost any other effort would pale in comparison, and it was the misfortune of Johnny Craig to follow Steranko with “From Beyond the Brink,” a tale interesting mostly for the art’s remarkable resemblance to the style of John Romita! The final story in the issue is much better due mainly to the dramatic art by John Buscema as inked by Don Heck. Written by Lee, it’s reminiscent of the hundreds of weird stories he wrote before FF #1 in which irony played a heavy part. In this case, a lab assistant who steals an eternal life formula made from the sap of a Redwood tree. The formula works all right, but at the price of turning the young man into a rooted plant!

Captain America #120

“Crack-Up On Campus!”; Stan Lee (script), Gene Colan (pencils), Joe Sinnott (inks)

Away from Kirby’s straight ahead action and Steranko’s moody pyrotechnics, Lee invariably focused on the down-to-earth, human element, whether it was personal introspection by his heroes or their involvement in real issues of concern to real people. Take Captain America #120 (Dec. 1969) for example, “Crack Up on Campus,” wherein Lee starts off with a homey scene of Cap bidding the Falcon goodbye amid a depressed New York neighborhood. Where Kirby would typically begin a story with Cap in action, leaping out of the splash page, Lee preferred quieter scenes, usually those that managed to sum up the main character’s travails of the moment. In this case, watching Cap walk off by himself, the Falcon (while surrounded by an admiring throng) is left to wonder “I found a place for myself right here in Harlem! But what happens to him? Where’s he gonna find a spot he can really call…home?” Where indeed? Except for the always absent SHIELD agent Sharon Carter, Cap has no private life, no job, no family. Even his costumed identity has almost seized to have any meaning for him. (“If I gave up this life…what would it really matter?”) As if in answer, an opportunity comes up for him to make a break from a Kirby-style life of endless struggle. Seeing an ad for a job as a phys-ed instructor at a local college, Cap decides

to try out for it. (He was tricked into SHIELD’s new “slumber seat” that planted the action in his mind without his knowing it, an ethically questionable practice to say the least). As it turns out, there’s trouble on campus as the Student Committee struggles against the administration for control of the curriculum. It was a generic issue common on college campuses in the 1960s that Lee chose to address in an even handed manner: “The youngsters want a better education…for a better world…and who can blame them?” But this time, the evil organization AIM is behind the protests. Sure, it was disappointing; a more honest approach to the problems on college campuses, with all their lack of clear cut answers, would’ve been more interesting, but let’s face it— it probably would’ve resulted in fewer sales for the book! It was enough that someone in the comics industry had even recognized the issue and bothered to write stories that at least made an effort to present both sides of the argument, even to make a plea for tolerance and understanding. But that was Lee through and through. There was a reason why he’d become so popular with young people, especially his own readers and the attitude presented here was a good example of that. In fact, stories like this, which included the star-spangled figure of Captain America, a potent symbol of the establishment and traditional American values, made for a heady mix of the new liberal-

Student unrest became a common occurrence in the 60s and 70s. Here, National Guardsmen occupy the city of Berkeley, CA following a violent confrontation between college students and local police over People’s Park in May of 1969.

Part I: 1968-1970

ism and the old conservatism. The resulting collision of ideas and values in the Cap strip spilled over into the feature’s letters page (where readers debated peace, war, patriotism, religion, politics, communism vs capitalism, the global village, race and poverty; subjects that haven’t been raised in comics for decades), which became the most lively and interesting of Marvel’s whole line of books. For encouraging readers to ponder such topics at all, let alone to committing their thoughts on paper, Lee would have to be considered one of the greatest writer/editors of all time, not even including everything else he did to build the Marvel Universe! No one else in comics history took readers—in just a few years—from wondering about who was stronger, the Hulk or the Thing, to thinking about the state of society and their personal role in it. If any kind of fulfilling climax for the Grandiose Years could be identified at all in the overlapping months they shared with the Twilight Years, it wouldn’t be with some ultimate battle between titanic figures, but the point at which the consciousness of readers was raised from out of the insular world of comics to a realization of the challenges and opportunities offered by the larger world around them. It was the triumph of the humanism of FF #51 over the cosmicism of FF #50. Fun Fact: The last two panels of this story were drawn or redrawn by John Romita!

and more professional all the time. Not that his early infatuation with the work of Kirby and Steranko had ended, but his use of their respective storytelling tricks had become more assured. Now his adaptation of Steranko’s overlapping panels, tracking shots, and manipulation of time (done by breaking pages up into series of small panels with each showing only a few seconds of movement) were integrated organically into the plot, strengthening the needs of the story in the places where it mattered. A great example of that was in a full-page shot of the Avengers spread around the living room of their mansion headquarters. Scattered about the page are a series of small panels showing close-ups of each of the Avengers as they discuss their possible betrayal by the Vision. The entire effect creates the illusion of a movie camera cutting from one character to another in the course of a conversation but has an added benefit available only to the comics medium: a scene from a movie that would take a few minutes to put across here is captured in a single moment in time! The setting, the action, the information being passed to the viewer is given all at once. On the other hand, a baroque, fullpage illustration showing the Vision in a semisymbolic scene as he puts the kibosh on a hapless SHIELD agent (“Did you ever walk thru something that isn’t?”) was a less successful Steranko effect. Meanwhile, Smith’s Kirby influences were as strong as ever, and better executed (aided immeasurably Avengers #66 by Shores, the only inker at this time still able to “Betrayal”; Roy Thomas (script), Barry Windsor-Smith capture the excitement inherent in Kirby’s pencils) [as Barry Smith] (pencils), Syd Shores (inks) as this issue’s splash page of Thor swinging his hammer shows. A few Pity the poor Avengers pages later, a simple shot fan! No sooner had he of a standing Iron Man become used to the idea does Kirby almost betof Colan over Buscema, ter than the King himthen he was fooled again. self! But there were also Although the cover of hints in Smith’s art of Avengers #66 (July 1969) an emerging style featured art by Buscema all his own. A scene (the master was back!), showing a brooding the interior was by none Vision as he visits the other than Barry Smith grave of Wonder (who was beginning to Man hints at the artist’s seem like the company’s more fantastic interfire brigade, rushing from ests; interests that one emergency fill-in job would come together to another). Teamed here serendipitously in with inker Syd Shores, it Because letterers are often the unsung heroes another feature destined was obvious that Smith’s of the comics industry: here are pics of to rocket Smith to style was continuing to adorable Artie Simek and Sam Rosen! legendary status. evolve, getting more 36

Marvel Comics in the 1970s

1969 “We Stand at Armageddon”; Roy Thomas (script), Barry WindsorSmith [as Barry Smith] (pencils), George Klein (inks)

A good deal less successful was Smith’s work on Avengers #67 (Aug. 1969). Here, the inking of Shores was replaced by that of George Klein who, while excellent over Buscema, proved inadequate over Smith, emphasizing all his weaknesses and stressing none of his strengths. Now the Kirby affectations seemed almost cartoonish and backgrounds became flat and featureless. Layout was also somewhat less interesting as the artist seemed to fall back mainly on a standard four, five, or six panel grid format. But what comes through under conditions like this, when the art is less distracting, is the script. Ostensibly about the return of Avengers foe Ultron, the underlying theme concentrated more on the continuing development of the Vision. Just as Thomas had readers thinking that maybe there was something genuine about the android’s humanity rather than his being merely a chemical/ mechanical construct with the brain patterns of a dead man, he tosses them a curve. Acting on an impulse buried deep in his consciousness by Ultron, the Vision betrays his teammates and helps to bring back their deadliest enemy from oblivion. Can a creature who can be programmed like a computer to act against his nature really be human at all? The Vision himself has his doubts. “…I think like a human…act like a human! And, except for my scarlet, synthetic flesh…my cold robotic voice…I even seem a human to

mortal eyes and ears! Why, then, do I feel as inhuman as this gnarled and lifeless tree? As dead as those who lie buried beneath it?” Even the Avengers themselves begin to wonder if they made a mistake in accepting him too quickly: “I can’t say it’s not like him,” thinks Henry Pym. “’Cause we don’t know what he’s like…not really! What do we actually know about him...?” But then, just as the reader must’ve

Avengers #67

Avengers #67, page 18: Falling back on early influences, artist Barry Smith keeps the action moving in this traditional four panel grid. Smith would begin to move away from his Kirby/ Steranko roots over the next year doing stories for Marvel’s new line of horror books.

Part I: 1968-1970

begun re-evaluating his own position regarding the Vision, the android himself has a crisis of conscience (“If my fellow Avengers are harmed…if mankind itself is enslaved, it shall be upon my head!”), an all too human reaction to feelings of guilt. In this case, his involvement with the resurrection of Ultron and placing his teammates, his friends, in mortal peril. Could a thinking creature, even one composed of chemicals and artificial parts, possessing a conscience, regretting past actions, possessing an instinct for right and wrong be considered anything but human? Again, Thomas presents questions to the reader difficult to answer (accepting the conceit of an anthropoidal robot with independent thoughts of course). Is the Vision human or just a glorified lap top computer in the shape

Mitras by Barry Windsor-Smith: If an alien from Mars had visited the Marvel bullpen during the twilight years, he could hardly have been blamed for assuming that the artist of Avengers #67 wasn’t the same one who executed this print only a few years later!

Marvel Comics in the 1970s

of a man? The problem wouldn’t get any easier to figure out as Thomas forced the issue further in a surprising development slated for upcoming stories. Fun Fact: This issue’s cover is by John Buscema’s younger brother Sal who, up until now, had confined himself to inking John’s pencils on the Silver Surfer strip. It was his first work on the Avengers, but not his last.

Avengers #68

“And We Battle for Earth”; Roy Thomas (script), Sal Buscema (pencils), Sam Grainger (inks)

Avengers #68 (Sept. 1969) represented yet another change in artists that was actually forecast by the previous issue’s cover. Sal Buscema had arrived on the scene with little fanfare, beginning with the inking chores over his brother’s pencils on the Silver Surfer strip. He did a good job there, matching his older sibling’s style well and giving it a sheen that was clean, slick, and uncluttered. Those qualities would remain part of his own style when he made the jump to penciling, a switch that began this issue as Sal started an on and off association with the title that would go on for years. Beginning with a look that was a kind of a watered down version of his brother’s, early on Sal managed to capture some of the excitement that readers had come to expect from the Avengers book. But as time passed, it became obvious that he was a much better inker than he was a penciler. Not that his drawing was bad, it was just…dull. Straight ahead, grid format layouts cut down on the surprise factor and objects (like bodies) when struck, never just fell, they flew across rooms. Sal also had maybe two facial expressions in his repertoire: grim and agonized. Moreover, he was best served by strong inkers, whom he hardly ever got. Sam Grainger, far from an individualistic inker, nevertheless comes through this issue for Sal’s debut as a penciler with work that reinforced the John Buscema look of the art. Sal, unfortunately, seems to have started where most other artists finish off late in their careers, when the exciting styles begun in their youth had finally worn down to a familiar featurelessness. Which is not to say that Sal was a flop at the company, far from it! Even though he might have been one of the lesser artistic lights, one that consistently failed to catch the interest of fans frequently driven rabid over exciting pencilers, he eventually became a real workhorse for the company having a hand in drawing nearly every strip at one time or another. His style may have been bland (he became somewhat of a chameleon in later years, aping the styles of other artists he found himself filling in for), but he made up for it with dependability and always being there for an editor, professional qualities highly valued in the comics industry.

1970

And Ultron? The Avengers defeated it of course (with the aid of writer Roy Thomas!), this time by the very simple recourse of drumming into its head the thought “thou shalt not kill.” A philosophical concept so alien to the vicious robot’s consciousness that it blew itself to bits rather than suffer another minute with its corroding presence in its mind!

Avengers #68, page 11: Artist Sal Buscema does his best to hit the ground running in his debut as penciler. Buscema’s clean, no frills, straight ahead storytelling style would be adequate for Marvel’s flagship super-hero books but do little to compete with less traditional titles that excited more sophisticated fans.

Chamber of Darkness #3

“The Warlock Tree!”; Gerry Conway (script), Barry Windsor-Smith [as Barry Smith] (pencils), Syd Shores (inks) “The Tell Tale Heart”; Denny O'Neil (script), Tom Palmer (pencils & inks) “Something Lurks on Shadow Mountain!”; Roy Thomas (script), John Buscema (pencils), John Verpoorten (inks)

The second of Marvel’s horror anthology titles was much like Tower of Shadows, in fact, if it wasn’t for their respective mastheads, the two magazines would’ve been virtually indistinguishable! Somewhat more exciting than the uninspired effort by Romita on the cover of the first issue of Tower, is John Buscema’s cover here for Chamber of Darkness #3 (Feb. 1970). And although Buscema follows up with a well-drawn tale on the inside, the real attraction here is the lead story by Barry Smith who, continuing to move away from his early influences, was beginning to develop a more personal style of his own. Of course, the tricky thing with these anthology books vis-à-vis the company’s regular monthly features that were bound by continuity and recurring characters, is timing. The advantage for an editor of anthology titles is that he could commission any number of stories from multiple creators, more than he could use to fill up a single book (which in Marvel’s case, was three stories per issue), and thus create an inventory from which he could draw when he needed to put a book together Part I: 1968-1970

(having finished stories on hand also came in handy when creators missed a deadline). And so, Smith’s appearances in these anthologies presents certain problems in chronology: when did he complete these assignments in relation to his other work in books like Daredevil and the Avengers? Barring access to production records, the only way to figure it out is to look at Smith’s art style, which was evolving rapidly in these months. This issue’s story for instance, “The Warlock Tree,” is done in a style wholly different from the artist’s super-hero work. Gone is any trace of the Kirby influence; Smith has traded in the bulky figures of his superhero work for characters of more average shape and his panel arrangements don’t include a single page laid out in the traditional grid format. Told almost entirely in overlapping, borderless panels, the story (about a family curse, written by newcomer Gerry Conway) evokes much of the mood Smith would later bring to his work on Conan. And the inking by Syd Shores doesn’t hurt it either! The second story in this issue, an adaptation of Edgar Allen Poe’s “The Telltale Heart,” finally gives Tom Palmer a chance to show off his pencil work (he was intended as the penciler on the Dr. Strange strip following Dan Adkins, but was replaced at the last minute by Gene Colan, whom he inked in such spectacular fashion that his career as a penciler was almost permanently sidetracked!). But with

Under the influence of former school teacher Roy Thomas, Marvel’s horror books didn’t lack for literary material to adapt including Edgar Allen Poe’s classic “The Tell Tale Heart.” Stories by such pulpsmiths as H.P. Lovecraft, Robert E. Howard, and Robert Bloch among others would also be mined.

Marvel Comics in the 1970s

this story, scripted by Denny O’Neil, Palmer demonstrates that had things gone differently, he could’ve been almost as good a penciler as he was an inker. Filled with the rich moodiness his inks brought to the work of Colan and Adams, Palmer’s layouts here indicate that he definitely picked up some tricks from those two gentlemen! Finally, Thomas teams up with Buscema to produce the cover story “Something Lurks on Shadow Mountain,” a tale about George Ashton, a man hiking to forget and instead, encounters the legendary Pandora!

X-Men #60

“In the Shadow of...Sauron!”; Roy Thomas (script), Neal Adams (pencils), Tom Palmer (inks)

“X-Man! Mutant! Homo Superior! Words that pale the cheek of a doubt-plagued humanity, which has ever hated the new…the strange…the different…feared it as creatures have always feared those who may one day replace them! And, who is to say that mankind is wrong? What did the last neanderthal say to the first cro-magnon?” What indeed? It was a perfect summation of all the hates, fears, and doubts shared by both sides in the prejudicial sub-text that had always been a part of the X-Men book, but all too infrequently emphasized. But when the subject was brought up, as it was here in X-Men #60 (Sept. 1969), it proved strong enough to give the book all the drama it needed without overwhelming the plots. And when it was used in such a context, making the public’s suspicion of mutants the foundation upon which X-Men stories were built, those stories invariably turned out to be some of the best and most satisfying in the run. It happened at the very beginning when it gave Lee the opportunity to supply Magneto with the ammunition to make his arguments against the human race sound almost convincing, and later as the reason for the creation and mission of the mutant hunting Sentinels. Later, Thomas used it to create the cold-blooded atmosphere surrounding the mysterious Factor Three and as the basis for the return of the Sentinels in the issues just prior to this one. But what differentiated Thomas’ approach to the X book after Adams entered the picture was his decision to make the feeling that mutants were an outcast people a permanent aspect of the series. With this issue’s leading text (quoted above), Thomas set the tone for the remainder of the series (adding subtle nuances to the well established theme by

1970 having some mutants such as this issue’s villain, Sauron, consider their powers a secret shame they have to live down and giving equal time to the perhaps reasonable fears of mankind that mutants will replace them [mutants do call themselves by the provocative title of homo-superior after all!]). Thus, this issue’s story of a mutant who feeds on the psychic energy of other mutants (which then transforms him into a hideous pterodactyl creature) is driven not only by the menace he represents, but by the continuing atmosphere of suspicion created when mutants had previously been declared outlaws by the state. Fun Fact: At the conclusion of this issue’s story, the Angel decides to wear the costume he wore before joining the X-Men (when he was called the Avenging Angel!), a costume first seen in the Origins of the X-Men back-up feature that ended only a few issues after Adams came aboard.

X-Men #61

“Monsters Also Weep!”; Roy Thomas (script), Neal Adams (pencils), Tom Palmer (inks)

Was there anyone, before or since, who could draw a better, more impressive looking Angel than Neal Adams? Answer: No! After soaking in this issue’s cover image, take a look inside at the Angel/Sauron contest in X-Men #61 (Oct. 1969). How in the world can the Angel hide a pair of wings that size underneath his street clothes? Who cares, when readers could revel in the sheer lifting strength Adams made them believe those wings had? Sure, Kirby always did a fine job on the Angel, frequently placing him in heroic poses (although a pretty simple “power,” the Angel’s wings lent the character a certain air of drama that was hard to top), but Adams took that example and exaggerated it to the nth degree. Giving him the spotlight this issue, Adams fills the first half of the book with a swooping, diving, duel between the Angel and the bat-winged Sauron (a name Thomas had borrowed from the bad guy in J.R.R. Tolkien’s masterpiece The Lord of the Rings). Finally, our villain gets the best of the Angel, hypnotizes him, and forces him to do his will (but before that happens, Adams manages a double-page spread of Sauron with story panels imbedded in his wings summarizing his origin and back story from the previous issue! How about that?) By coincidence, Sauron turns out to be Dr. Karl Lykos, a doctor to whom the X-Men

First published in paperback in the mid-1960s, J.R.R. Tolkien’s Lord of the Rings trilogy (since chosen as the greatest novel of the 20th century) became popular with the counter culture (Frodo Lives!) and no less a fan than Roy Thomas enjoyed alluding to it in many of his stories.

handed over Cyclops’ brother for care. Alex Summers’ mutant powers, however, turn out to be a bonanza for the psychic energy sucking doctor who’d been using his patient as a source of power to transform himself into Sauron. But guilt at what he’s done, and shame at his own inability to control his desires, compels Lykos to flee civilization; but when fiancé Tanya Anderssen follows him, he realizes that he hasn’t the will power to resist victimizing her to become Sauron again. And so, to keep from doing that, and killing Tanya in the process, he throws himself off a cliff! A perfect example of how the mutant sub-culture established by the series could be used as the basis for and placed within the context of a hero/villain mixup to form an organic whole. (And besides all that, did Thomas and Adams intend the story to be a parable about the dangers of addiction, whether drugs, alcohol or psychic energy? You be the judge!)

Amazing Spider-Man #81

“The Coming of the Kangaroo!”; John Romita (plot), Stan Lee (script), John Buscema (layouts); Jim Mooney (pencils & inks)

Although Silver Age Marvel, particularly during the Years of Consolidation and Grandiose Years, was often marked by serendipitous team-ups between pencilers and inkers—including John Buscema and Tom Palmer, Gene Colan and Part I: 1968-1970

George Klein, and just a situation that prevented about anybody with him from doing his Jack Kirby: Joe Sinnott, best work. Serviceable Vince Colletta, Chic at best, Buscema was Stone, Dick Ayers, or not helped by the inks Syd Shores—not all of Jim Mooney, a DC turned out well. veteran who had spent Sometimes such mixing years drawing the and matching produced Supergirl and Legion of clunkers even when Super-Heroes strips, the contributors were work not designed to otherwise outstanding impress readers used to in their respective Marvel’s fast paced, styles. Now sometimes, action oriented style. these odd team-ups Together, the two men worked better than did little to ramp up the Sometimes some art teams just don’t click. One anyone could have excitement on Spidersuch was that of penciler John Romita (left) expected. For instance, Man with stock layouts and inker Jim Mooney (right) on Spider-Man. who would’ve thought and a finished product Unfortunately, Mooney lacked that certain that Don Heck’s that lacked detail and “oomph” needed to enhance Romita’s layouts or scratchy style could end looked crude at best. John Buscema’s uninspired work on the strip. up conforming so well The results were not with John Romita’s slick, helped by the coloring no-nonsense pencil lines? that, for a period of But they not only did, they enhanced the final about a year or so, seemed to drop a whole look to produce some of the best looking of all category of color across the Marvel line, and Spider-Man adventures. On the other hand, made Buscema and Mooney’s art appear even sometimes such match-ups fell flat on their faces. more dull and washed out than it already was. Such was the case when John Buscema took over Matters weren’t helped by Lee, who seemingly on the pencils on the Spider-Man book for a time auto-pilot, wrote “The Coming of the Kangaroo” while Romita was busy elsewhere filling in on for Amazing Spider-Man #81 (Feb. 1970), the tale of Captain America and soon on the Fantastic Four. an Australian who thought “maybe there was Although Buscema was one of those artists, like something in the air I breathed, the water I Kirby, whose style seemed adaptable to any strip, drank” and who spent his vacations watching the he shared with Kirby that artist’s one weakness: behavior of kangaroos in the wild. Somehow, all an inability to adapt to the requirements of the this endowed our villain with the proportionate Spider-Man feature that demanded a certain look, strength of a kangaroo and, donning a hair shirt, one that Buscema failed to master even when he becomes a big time wrestler. Seeking new aided by Romita. Filling in from issues 76 to 85, fields to conquer, the Kangaroo decides to catch a Buscema (who perhaps worked from layouts by tramp steamer for the USA and head for the land Romita on some issues), did his best to fill his of opportunity and banks bulging in cash. In predecessor’s shoes, but this was only months short, the Kangaroo wasn’t the kind of character after the infamous dressing down he received that held the promise of a Vulture or Dr. Octopus, from Lee for what he thought (and rightly) was so the excitement for readers this issue was some of the best artwork of his career on the provided by Aunt May after she discovers one of Silver Surfer book. Since that time, the artist had Peter Parker’s web dummies under the covers of retreated from that frontier and settled in the his bed. The resulting shock sends her back to the serviceable, but dull, six panel per page lay- hospital again. Lee seemed to sense that there’d out pattern that would characterize the rest of his been something decidedly lacking in the career at Marvel. Furthermore, Buscema has said Buscema/Mooney issues and wasted no time that he detested drawing super-heroes (despite promising in the following month’s Bullpen the great work he did in the genre) and Spider-Man Bulletins “to go back to the Web Swinger’s original in particular. Thus, right from the start, he had style of story picturization…as so many of you psychologically handcuffed himself on the strip, have requested.” Apparently, the slip in quality in 42

Marvel Comics in the 1970s

1970 the title over the preceding months had not gone unnoticed by Spidey fans! It was the kind of complacency that Lee and his staff would have to guard against more and more as the Twilight Years went on and the earlier days of the company’s success receded into the past.

Captain America #122

“The Sting of the Scorpion!”; Stan Lee (script), Gene Colan (pencils), Joe Sinnott (inks)

Characterization, characterization, characterization was the order of the day for Captain America #122 (Feb. 1970) as Lee continued to play up to his strong suit in exploring the conflicting emotions he’d uncovered in the Star-Spangled Avenger’s psyche. Once again, as he did in #120 (and in marked contrast to Kirby’s preferences), Lee begins a Cap adventure not with a bang, but with an internal monologue set to accompanying and appropriate images by Colan (marred here by really lackluster coloring, a company-wide problem that cropped up around this time and lasted for about a year; it ruined many a good book). “I’ve spent a lifetime, battling for liberty, for justice, but, is there never to be an end to it?” muses Cap as he wanders the darkened streets (his internal turmoil symbolically portrayed with a beautiful splash page by Colan showing only Cap’s distorted reflection on the side of parked car). “How much longer must I go on this way, lonely, friendless, never knowing whom to trust?” Cap may very well ask such a question what with his girl always gone and his supposed friends using “slumber chairs” to manipulate him into taking on dangerous missions! As if addressing the issues being raised by readers on the book’s letters’ page, Cap continues to wonder at the usefulness of his work. “…now there are those who scorn love of flag, love of country! Those to whom patriotism is just a square, outmoded word! Those who think of me as a useless relic…of a meaningless past!” Here, in a fantastic sequence of panels where Colan pulls the “camera” back frame by frame, allowing the figure of Cap to shrink, to become smaller and smaller in distance, reducing him to insignificance, he captures visually the loneliness and isolation being expressed in the dialogue. “I’m like a dinosaur, in the cromagnon age! An anachronism, who’s out-lived his time! This is the day of the anti-hero, the age of the rebel and the dissenter! It isn’t hip to defend the establishment! Only to tear it down.” Were these thoughts placed in Cap’s head only meant to enrich his personality among readers, or were they the ponderings of Lee himself, the hip, college

campus guru eager to be accepted by his youthful admirers but whose establishmentarian sensibilities continued to struggle with the emerging political/social scene of the 1960s? Was it Lee or Cap who asked, “Who’s to say the rebels are wrong? Perhaps I should have battled less, and questioned more,” and later provided an answer: “It was [the] establishment that gave them a Martin Luther King, a Tolkien, a McLuhan and a couple of brothers named Kennedy. We don’t claim to be perfect, no generation is! All we can do is learn to live with each other, learn to love one another!” It seemed to be a personal tug of war that the writer was playing out on the comic book page, but that had the added benefit of endowing a one-dimensional character—indeed a character who’d been almost pure symbol up until now— with three-dimensional life (after the book’s opening five-page soliloquy, the following battle between Cap and the Scorpion—with its contrived finish involving star-crossed lovers just missing each other and reaching all the wrong conclusions— was pretty disappointing). But there was little doubt that this issue caught Lee reaching out to his readers, in direct reply to the concerns they were raising in the book’s letters page and doing it with prose so much more accomplished, smooth, and convincing than even that of younger writers who were just beginning to move into the industry.

Not exactly paragons of responsible citizenry, Cap had a right to wonder why he was risking his life fighting the enemies of freedom for carefree flower children such as those represented here!

Part I: 1968-1970

Chamber of Darkness #4

“The Monster”; Jack Kirby (script & pencils), John Verpoorten (inks) “The Man Who Owned the World”; Denny O'Neil (script), Tom Sutton (co-plot, pencils & inks) “The Sword and the Sorcerers”; Roy Thomas (script), Barry Windsor-Smith (pencils & inks)

Who could’ve suspected at the time that the concluding story in Chamber of Darkness #4 (April 1970) was intended as an exercise for a new feature, slated to begin in its own title not a few months later—a feature that was destined to usher in a whole new take on Marvel’s line of books, shifting the focus of creativity from the shared universe of the super-hero titles to those having little or no connection to the continuity painstakingly developed over the company’s first three phases? Entitled “The Sword and the Sorcerers,” the plot by Roy Thomas about a writer intent on ending the bloodsoaked career of his most famous creation only to be killed by him instead wasn’t anything to write home about (although it did present the interesting question of which world was the real one, Len Carson’s Earth or Starr the Slayer’s Zardath), but the characterizations of Carson and Starr were. Len Carson, the creator of Starr, seemed to be loosely (very loosely!) based on pulp writer Robert E. Howard, and Starr on his most famous invention, Conan the Barbarian. Other details in the story mix and match different elements of Howard’s various story cycles including that of Conan and King Kull by making vaguely familiar references to Trull, Zardath, and Morro the minstrel. It wasn’t a coincidence, as

Thomas had recently approached editor Stan Lee about acquiring the rights to the Conan character (after first considering Thongor, a knock-off by author Lin Carter). Lee was lukewarm about the suggestion, but gave Thomas the green light to write up a proposal intended to sell publisher Martin Goodman on the idea. It worked, and Marvel soon had its first sword and sorcery hero; but before that happened, Thomas teamed with artist Barry Smith to produce this issue’s story, which was intended as a kind of dry run before they tackled the real thing. In it, Smith (whose art now showed a quantum leap in evolution from its previous Kirby/Steranko inspired roots) not only depicts Starr the barbarian in almost exactly the way he’d later draw Conan (horned helmet, chest medallion, knee length sandals, etc.), but manages to capture much of the otherworldly fantasy element that would prove crucial in the creation of a believable Hyborian Age. Of particular interest is a panel showing the evil wizard Trull, arm raised in a magical gesture against a background lit by arcane runes: almost exactly the same image would be used later in Conan the Barbarian #1. And while the work of Thomas and Smith pointed toward the future, the lead-off story this issue, “The Monster,” as written and drawn by Kirby, more than suggested the glory days of the past. The “monster” is actually a man so ugly that he’s shunned and misunderstood by the local townsfolk who eventually break into his home and kill him. But the interesting thing here is the art. While more than ever displaying the faults that increasingly plagued his work in the last months he spent at Marvel, a little of the fun once captured so well by inker Chic Stone during the Years of Consolidation seemed to be recaptured here by John Verpoorten. Finally, the issue was rounded out with “The Man Who Owned the World” by Lee and Tom Sutton, which ends (as might be expected for a weird yarn) with the selfish rich guy the last man alive on an abandoned Earth. Sutton’s work here was uneven with equal parts awkward drawing and ambitious panel layout and psychedelic flourishes. The final, full-page shot however is really well done!

Our Love Story #5 Pulp writer Robert E. Howard and many of the characters he created including Conan, Kull, and Solomon Kane were destined to loom large over Marvel in the twilight years.

Marvel Comics in the 1970s

“But He's Not the Boy for Me!”; Stan Lee (script), John Buscema (pencils), Frank Giacoia (inks) “--But He's the Boy I Love!”; Stan Lee (script), Gene Colan (pencils), John Romita (inks) “My Heart Broke in Hollywood!”; Stan Lee (script), Jim Steranko (pencils & inks)

1970 It’s hard to imagine now, but there was once a time when no self-respecting publisher would have been without a complete line of romance comics; but by 1970, the venerable genre had virtually disappeared from the industry. What was left was whatever romance could be found in Archie’s teenage titles or other companies’ imitations, like Marvel’s Millie the Model or Patsy Walker. Beyond that, there were the eternal romantic problems of the super-hero set, which at Marvel, had progressed only a little past Lois Lane’s constant attempts to trap Superman in matrimony. So maybe it was a suspicion in the back of editor Stan Lee’s mind, that reader interest in the personal problems of the company’s heroes represented more than how they related to a character’s costumed identity. Hadn’t it been his own more humanistic approach to super-heroes that had earned the company the success it found in the heady years of the 1960s? Weren’t letters being constantly received from fans urging the rewards of romantic bliss upon their favorite and deserving heroes? Whatever the inspiration, the exception to the new line of non-super-hero anthology titles were to be a pair of romance books, My Love and Our Love Story. And like their fantasy-oriented counterparts, they wouldn’t be allowed to twist in the winds of chance. Not only would the stories be written by Lee himself (among others), but they’d be drawn by the best artists in the company too. Cool, hip, with it, the stories (written in Lee’s breezy style, with its combination of Forties slang and Sixties modisms) would be convincingly up-todate. The artists pored over clothing catalogues and teen magazines to capture the very latest in youthful attire and laid out the stories in unconventional ways. But beneath all the modern flash, even the dazzle of this issue’s most radical artistic departure (the second of artist Jim Steranko’s two “encore” performances and his last official appearance in mainstream comics), are all too familiar stories of pain and loss, mistaken intentions, and love with the proper stranger. In “My Heart Broke in Hollywood,” the concluding story in Our Love Story #5 (June 1970), acting hopeful Victoria Grant goes to Tinseltown looking for a job in film auteur Artur Lavalle’s latest opus. But when Lavalle fails to choose her for a role in the movie, Vick is crushed. Until, that is, she discovers that Lavalle wants her for a more demanding part, that of his wife. But however familiar the story was, there was nothing average about the art! Steranko, that design maverick who’d used every opportunity to bring all the latest tools of the Sixties pop art world into his comics work, would now leave the field with a spectacular

challenge for his peers. If Lee, by now, was the literary guru of the comics world, then Steranko was the embodiment of its youth, cultivating a personal sense of cool style that he applied to everything he did. His every assignment seemed to break new artistic barriers and set higher standards for the industry and his work on “My Heart Broke in Hollywood” wouldn’t be any different. In keeping with the setting of the story, Steranko constructs his narrative in cinematic terms, even starting off on the splash page with a series of panels reminiscent of a film strip! Filled with tracking shots, montages, zooms, close-ups, and even simulations of deep focus photography, Steranko manages to overlay the story in pop art sensibilities right out of the San Francisco poster art movement! Even color, symbolic shots of movie cameras and iris shots zeroing in on key characters aren’t ignored. The story concludes in a series of panels as the lovers come together in a climactic embrace and as the “camera” modestly pulls downward, it also zooms in on an empty director’s chair in the background bearing the words “the end” on its canvas back. Was it an emblem of Lavalle’s status as an "auteur" or a symbolic portrait of Steranko, the director/visionary who has, almost magically, woven all of these images together? Whatever it was, nothing else could’ve served the artist as a more fitting exit from comics. But no matter the mod trappings or the fancy storytelling techniques, when push came to shove, it didn’t seem that people’s problems with romance ever changed much. For instance, in this issue’s lead story “But He’s Not the Boy for Me!” by Lee and artist John Buscema, Brenda plays the field always expecting her next conquest to be the man of her dreams, but when she finds him, she can’t accept the fact that he’s “only a salesman.” Brenda, it seems, refuses to settle for anyone not rich and famous. But when she gives the salesman the brush off, she discovers to her sorrow how wrong she could be. In “But He’s the Boy I Love,” again written by Lee and this time drawn by Gene Colan, Mindy likes to have fun and can’t understand how social worker Allan can take his job so seriously. But when her brother Skip is arrested for participating in a robbery, Mindy suddenly realizes how important it is for people like Allan to tend to business. But like Marvel’s other anthology titles, the romance books didn’t last long. Lapsing first into reprints, then cancellation, they were all victims of the company’s success; it seemed that in a world of comic books dominated by super-heroes and action/adventure, there wasn’t much room for love! Part I: 1968-1970

Amazing Spider-Man #85

“The Secret of the Schemer!” Stan Lee (script); John Romita (layouts); John Buscema (finished pencils); Jim Mooney (inks)

The disappointing art team of layout artist John Romita, finishing penciler John Buscema, and inker Jim Mooney was on the scene for Amazing Spider-Man #85 (June 1970) combining their talents to conclude the Schemer multi-parter in a shock ending that reveals the would-be gangland leader as the Kingpin’s son! It seems the Kingpin had always thought his son was dead, when he was actually secreted away to elite prep schools in Europe. His mother, Vanessa, wanted to make sure he didn’t follow in his father’s oversized footsteps. But the sudden revelation proved too much for the Kingpin, who goes into a catatonic fit at the issue’s conclusion, not to come to his senses (and back to the title) for a number of years. Readers may still have been in the dark as to exactly where John Romita was spending his time if not on Spidey, but they knew exactly where Lee was: according this month’s Bullpen Bulletins page, he was hobnobbing with the rich and famous, this time with members of the rock band Country Joe and the Fish. In these years, the Marvel offices and particularly those of Stan Lee were a must-see for celebs who were passing through the Big Apple, with people like Italian movie director Federico Fellini constantly dropping in. It was enough to turn anyone’s head and could explain Lee’s own lackadaisical performance over the next several years before he retreated from active scripting altogether. Meanwhile, Romita would soon give up penciling the strip altogether, handing over the reins more often than not to artist Gil Kane.

Captain America #126

“The Fate of...the Falcon!”; Stan Lee (script); Gene Colan (pencils); Frank Giacoia (inks)

Kirby’s back! No, wait... Readers who first laid eyes on the cover of Captain America #126 (June 1970) couldn’t be blamed if for a fleeting moment they thought that the King had returned to his signature creation. Unfortunately, he came back just to do the cover, which was done in prime late Jack Kirby kinetics. Inked by golden age contemporary Bill Everett, the 46

Marvel Comics in the 1970s

Captain America #127, page 10: Frank Giacoia inks Gene Colan's pencils on this spectacular full-page reveal of Diamondback.

heavy brushwork was remeniscent of Chic Stone’s work over Kirby during the years of consolidation. Little did most readers realize, however, this issue’s cover would mark Kirby’s swan song on Captain America, as in a scant few months, he would depart the hallowed halls of Marvel to seek his fortune at rival DC. Sure, he’d be back in another five years or so, but by then, the magic had mostly dissipated. Never again would he match the great work he’d done on the character throughout his Marvel career. Anyway, the unfortunate part was only relative as the insides were still being drawn by Gene Colan in his own prime. And if there’s any doubt about that, check out page 10 for a full-page portrait of Diamond Head in all his villainous glory! As good as Colan was on most anything he chose to draw, he was always best at street-level stories of the kind Daredevil, and later, the Black Widow, were usually involved in. Thus, this issue’s story by scripter Stan Lee was right up his alley as Cap goes to Harlem to check in on how the Falcon was doing since their defeat of the Red Skull a few issues back. Turns out the Falcon (aka Sam Wilson) wasn’t doing so hot. Holed up in a building by the police, it seems he’d been framed by local gang lord and race hustler Diamond Head, who’s been trying to force out all non-black businesses so he can control all of the neighborhood’s crime income. Offering to help his friend prove his innocence, Cap helps him escape capture by the police, and eventually the two track down Diamond Head to a local warehouse. There, the villain is defeated and when revealed, turns out to be a white man in the employ of the Maggia, an international crime cartel who used racial tensions to get a foothold in Harlem. This was another in a string of single issue stories by Lee following a deliberate policy of ending the use of continued stories in response to reader By the late 1960s, the Marvel Comics Group and complaints. The policy didn’t last too head honcho Stan Lee were long, but did manage to show how definitely "in" and the sometimes, stories could be shortcompany's offices became a changed with only twenty pages must-visit destination for pop to play with. An interesting note culture glitterati including rock royalty such as Country here is that this issue also places the Joe and the Fish. What Falcon in an environment that would publisher Martin Goodman become familiar in later issues, after thought of it all is unknown. he was promoted to co-star in the

1970

Captain America feature, even sharing its logo. As a social worker, Wilson would spend his time in the inner city, getting caught up in its human dramas, a set-up for Cap that would prove to be one of Lee’s greatest story inspirations... and sadly, one that he’d fail to exploit completely. Fun Fact: This issue’s plot would be used again in issue #143. There, the masked rabble rouser would turn out to be none other than the Red Skull. That one was scripted by Gary Friedrich, but might editor Stan Lee have had input on the big reveal?

Captain Marvel #20

“The Hunter and the Holocaust!”; Roy Thomas (script); Gil Kane (pencils); Dan Adkins (inks)

The good times kept a rollin’ in Captain Marvel #20 (June 1970) as Roy Thomas and Gil Kane respectively return to write and draw the adventures of the Kree officer. But, as hinted at in the cover blurb “the hero who wouldn’t die,” it almost didn’t happen! This issue was actually salvaged from a temporary cancellation before data indicated rising sales for the book under the auspices of the new creative team; a fact verified by Thomas himself in this issue’s letters page. It seemed that tying down Cap to the earthbound Rick Jones had done the trick, allowing Cap a better chance of running into super-villains and participating more fully in Marvel continuity. This time, Rick travels to his old stomping grounds in the American southwest where he hopes to find Bruce Banner. Of course, old time Marvelites will remember that Banner and his alter ego, the Hulk, became Rick’s first association with the world of super-heroes. Anyway, he figures his old friend might be able to find a way to free MarVell from the Negative Zone and obviate the need for the two of them to keep exchanging places. The tale opens with Thomas’ continuing development of Rick’s singing career as readers catch up to him performing in a Greenwich Village coffee house. Attaching Marvel’s teenaged Rick Jones to the pop music scene of the time was a natural fit (despite Rick never having displayed any musical talent before). The coffee house circuit in particular had strong associations with the folk rock scene of the 1960s that had its origins in the 1950s with such singing groups as the Weavers and the Kingston Trio, and early in the next decade with singers such as Pete Seeger, Phil Ochs, and Bob Dylan. It was Dylan who fused folk with the rising rock and roll movement when he performed with an electric guitar at the Newport Folk Festival. But it was likely the original, unplugged music of small taverns and coffee shops of New York that Thomas had in 48

Marvel Comics in the 1970s

Venues such as New York's Greenwich Village coffee houses were seedbeds for up-and-coming performers, including Bob Dylan and others in the emerging folk rock scene.

mind when he gave Rick Jones a singing career. And judging by Kane’s depiction of rapturous audiences, it looks in this ish at least, like Rick was a real upand-comer! Unfortunately, later issues would sort of forget Rick’s singing career as the action involving Captain Marvel took over subsequent plots, leaving little room to explore this aspect of the strip.

Avengers #77

“Heroes for Hire!”; Roy Thomas (script); John Buscema (pencils); Tom Palmer (inks)

On the face of it, the contents of Avengers #77 (June 1970) might not have looked terribly exciting to readers at the time; after all, they were used to the Assemblers squaring off with colorfully clad supervillains, not wannabe crime lords and unscrupulous businessmen. But that’s exactly what they got this issue. However, it was a testament to the plotting skills of Roy Thomas and the exciting art of John Buscema and Tom Palmer that the creative team managed not only to make a story with such villains interesting, but to jam it with a zillion sub-plots, character beats, and continuity building that added up to another great issue in what was shaping up to be an initial hundred issue run of the title, to match that of Stan Lee and Jack Kirby’s first one hundred issues of the Fantastic Four. You see, bad guy Cornelius van Lunt is putting the squeeze on Stark Industries, forcing Tony Stark to pay the back rent on Avengers Mansion in order to make ends meet. To help pay it, the Avengers vow to do what they can, including going to work for van Lunt as his

1970 personal wrecking crew. At the same time, a new crime boss has arisen in town by the name of Kronus, with whom the Black Panther gets involved. Who is Kronus? That would be telling! Suffice it to say, it doesn’t turn out to be the obvious choice. But amongst the action with Kronus and van Lunt, Thomas manages to fill the spaces with the soap operatic elements Marvel fans doted on: the Panther announces that he’s taken a job as a teacher in an inner city public school; Quicksilver and the Scarlet Witch appear on the Johnny Carson show; we learn more details about the Panther’s origin; and van Lunt remains free to menace our heroes in the future. Fun Fact: This issue’s title, “Heroes for Hire,” foreshadows the use of that phrase two years down the road when editor Roy Thomas, working with scripter Archie Goodwin, created Luke Cage, Hero for Hire, which became the first comic book to star a black super-hero. The Black Panther himself followed, but only in 1973 and in Jungle Action, not in a book named after himself.

“Beware...The Black Widow!”; Stan Lee (script); John Romita (pencils); Jim Mooney (inks)

You’ve come a long way baby! The catch phrase of the era’s women’s lib movement could have also applied to the Black Widow, one of Marvel’s oldest characters. When she debuted way back in Tales of Suspense #52 , she was your ordinary, garden variety Soviet femme fatale cut from the typical Mata Hari cloth. A few appearances later, she’d traded in her Jackie Kennedy pillbox hat and face veil for a black body suit and fishnet stockings, and became a costumed super-villainess. She wore that costume for a while until editorial opinion in the bullpen decided that it was time to cash in on the women’s liberation movement that was gaining momentum in the early twilight years. In a

Amazing Spider-Man #86

burst of enthusiasm, Marvel would launch a couple of new titles headlined by female protagonists, The Claws of the Cat and Night Nurse; they were even scripted by female writers, gal fridays and wives of staffers who didn’t last long, as did the titles they worked on. But one concept that did have some staying power of sorts was a revamped Black Widow. Plans called for the character to graduate to her own strip in the upcoming Amazing Adventures but before that happened, it was planned that her new self be introduced to fandom in a big way. That turned out to be right here, in Amazing SpiderMan #86 (July 1970), a high profile appearance in Marvel’s number one selling book. Somewhat influenced by the one piece leather cat suit sometimes sported by the Emma Peel character in then popular British TV show The Avengers, Madame Natasha seeks to escape her past life (Soviet spy, and more recently bored socialite) by reinventing herself “in keeping with the swinging seventies!” Naturally, seeking to prove herself and the efficacy of her new costume, she decides to tackle someone with a similar arachnoid handle. Spider-Man is wanted anyway, and if she can defeat him and learn his secrets, well then—all the better! Luckily for her, when she finally tackles Spidey, he’s got the flu and so can barely put up a fight. Still he manages to defeat her as they exchange standard lines like “Don’t think I’m helpless, just because I’m soft and cuddly!” “Soft and cuddly? That kick felt like a Missouri mule!”Anyway, the nice John Romita action flows well (even though The Avengers' Diana Rigg as blurred somewhat by Jim Mrs. Peel, all rigged out in her Mooney’s inking) as does Stan iconic leather jump suit. Give Lee’s well intentioned dialogue. whoever designed this outfit The Black Widow herself would a gold star! With its double prove the most durable of the zippers at the shoulders and clasped collar, the outfit was new wave of feminist heroines both classy and sexy. No doubt launched by Marvel, going from the inspiration for the Black her own short-lived feature to a Widow's updated look from guest-starring role in Daredevil, Spider-Man #86... and still the to team leader of the ill-fated superior version. Champions. The Twilight Years

Captain America #127

It’s back to business as usual in Captain America #127 (July 1970) as scripter Stan Lee had the Star Spangled Avenger rejoin Nick Fury and company at SHIELD to help them test their new “protecto suit.” (It says here!) Later, a further test is interrupted by agents of AIM. How did they find out about the secret test? Suspicion is cast on Cap as the only outsider, and in a huff, he goes back to SHIELD to demand answers. There, he’s forced to fight an android, the X-4, in order to prove he is who he says he is. Cap defeats the X-4 just as it is revealed that SHIELD scientist Dr. Ryder is the real traitor. Unfortunately, the harm has been done. Discouraged by the lack of faith in Fury, and especially romantic interest Sharon Carter, Cap walks out wondering, “I’ve always been able to guard myself against my enemies. But how does a man protect himself from his friends?” Indeed. It was only the latest bit of shabby treatment of Cap by his supposed friends at SHIELD so it was about time he walked away. In the meantime, artist Gene Colan takes a different approach in laying out this tale. Maybe there was too much plot by Lee? In any case, (except in a few instances) gone are the penciler’s trademark widescreen panels. Instead, we get a rather conventional layout of vertical and squared panels that seem to get smaller and smaller and more crowded as the story progresses. By the last page Colan is squeezing the climactic action in no less than ten panels! Making the crowding more palatable however, is the inking by EC Comics veteran Wally Wood. Remember him from the early years? He penciled a handful of classic Daredevils and inked a couple of Avengers. Well, he was back after a hiatus of several years (some of which involved writing/ editing and penciling the THUNDER Agents feature for the late, unlamented Tower Comics line) and would soon take on regular penciling chores on the Dr. Doom strip in the new Astonishing Tales. But for every action, there must be an equal and opposite reaction; this time in the form of another ugly cover effort laid out by Marie Severin. Inked by Joe Sinnott, one is left frustrated that Sinnott didn’t try harder to save it. It was hard to believe that covers like this helped sales at all.

Avengers #78

“The Man-Ape Always Strikes Twice!”; Roy Thomas (script); Sal Buscema (pencils); Tom Palmer (inks)

This was more like it! After barbarians, mob bosses, and businessmen, the Avengers were back to costumed villains. To be specific, M’Baku, the Man-Ape! The Man-Ape made his first try at killing 50

Marvel Comics in the 1970s

“Who Calls Me Traitor?”; Stan Lee (script); Gene Colan (pencils); Wally Wood (inks)

Wally Wood's tenure as editor and chief artist for Tower Comics' T.H.U.N.D.E.R. Agents lasted from 1965 to 1969 and produced a number of related titles.

the Black Panther back in ish #62, and he’s back in Avengers #78 (July 1970) to try again. Only this time, he’s not alone! He’s joined with fellow villains the Living Laser, Power Man, the Swordsman, and the Grim Reaper as the Lethal Legion (you gotta love Marvel’s penchant for coming up with cool sounding super-villain groups: the Masters of Evil, the Brotherhood of Evil Mutants, the Emissaries of Evil, the Serpent Society, the Fellowship of Fear, etc.). Anyway, Man-Ape makes the opening move by jumping an unsuspecting Captain America outside Avengers mansion, but is beaten off when the other Avengers show up. Later, he kidnaps the Panther’s friend Monica Lynn. The Panther agrees to meet him for a showdown. This first part of the story is essentially a Black Panther showcase. Although the Panther had been used a few times since his introduction in Fantastic Four #52, creators

1970 Stan Lee and Jack Kirby used him sparingly afterward, featuring him in the guest star packed FF Annual #5 in 1967 and alongside Captain America in a story that stretched from Tales of Suspense into Captain America #100 the following year. In each case, Lee and Kirby declined to explore the Panther’s personality or backstory more deeply than they did in his first appearance. It was Thomas who decided to give him more exposure by having him join the Avengers. There, he began to flesh out the comic world’s first black super-hero, first by giving him direction away from his duties as king of Wakanda (he made him a teacher in an inner city public school... the same profession Thomas himself had practiced before coming to New York to work

in the comics industry), then hitching him up with a potential love interest in pretty young social worker Monica Lynn. Such is where things would hold until the Panther graduated to his own feature in 1973. In the meantime, however, the only thing holding this ish from being a total classic was the presence of Sal Buscema on the art, interrupting what was shaping up to be a great run by brother John. Not that Sal does a bad job here of (dare we say it?) “aping” the style of his brother, but let’s face it, few artists could match the excitement level that John Buscema could generate. Luckily for fans, though, inker Tom Palmer was still on the job, softening Sal’s rough edges, and lending depth and texture to his figures. Check out page 7, panel 4’s close-up of Goliath’s face if you need convincing!

Amazing Adventures #1

“The Inhumans”; Jack Kirby (script/pencils); Chic Stone (inks) “Then Came…the Black Widow!”; Gary Friedrich (script); John Buscema (pencils); John Verpoorten (inks)

Amazing Adventures #1, page 1: Penciler Jack Kirby's last hurrahs before leaving Marvel were a Ka-Zar solo strip and a concurrent Inhumans feature.

Only two years after Marvel had ended its split book format and the respective features in Tales of Suspense, Tales to Astonish, and Strange Tales divided into their own books, it was revived again because, as it was declared on the cover of Amazing Adventures #1 (Aug 1970), “you demanded it!” So what if nobody had been aware of the hue and cry from fandom for a return of the format? It was just cool that it was back and seemingly better than ever! At least at first glance of the contents of this issue: The Inhumans written and drawn by Jack Kirby, and the Black Widow drawn by John Buscema. Apparently, after unlimbering their big guns to help the book get off the ground, Marvel wasn’t The Twilight Years

Captain America #128

“Mission: Stamp Out Satan’s Angels!”; Stan Lee (script); Gene Colan (pencils); Dick Ayers (inks)

After a nice job of inking by Wally Wood the previous issue, readers were confronted in Captain America #128 (August 1970) with a bit of a comedown. Okay, Dick Ayers could be good on some things, like if he was penciling a strip and had a really strong inker go over his work. (Although, like many other artists, his cover work was often miles ahead of his interior efforts; maybe he had more time to do the covers than 20 pages of story?) In any case, his inks over Jack Kirby were legendary, but here over Gene Colan...well, the gears just weren’t meshing with Ayers providing scratchy, too literal inks that seemed to hold back the smooth flow of Colan’s pencils, an aspect that more compatible inkers such as Tom Palmer, Syd Shores, or even Frank Giacoia were able to capture. Also not meshing was Marie Severin’s continued assignment on the covers. Again, this issue featured one of her creations and though it had action, Sinnott’s finishes again didn’t help it any. Maybe he was just the wrong person to complete Severin’s layouts? Shrug. 52

Marvel Comics in the 1970s

Of more interest though, was this issue’s contents. Again, scripter Stan Lee gives readers another selfcontained story, this time involving a biker gang. In a development that would carry over the next few issues, Lee has Steve Rogers (aka Captain America, natch) buy a motorcycle, thereby channeling the success of the 1969 film Easy Rider that popularized the freedom of the open road and launched a zillion motorcycle riding outsiders across the spectrum of early ’70s pop culture. Ironically, one of the lead characters in the movie sported a red, white, and blue helmet and went by the handle of “Captain America!” By contrast, years before the release of Easy Rider, Lee had had Peter Parker (aka SpiderMan) also buy a ’bike, but in that case, its use had far less potent symbolism attached to it: looking more like a scooter than a Harley, Pete merely used it to get around town rather than as an instrument of release from the demands of his middle class lifestyle. In fact, the most radical thing Peter could think of doing with his bike was to repaint it red! Anyway, back in Captain America #128, starting off on a cross country jaunt, Steve Rogers immediately falls afoul of a biker gang that decides to break up a local music festival: “Our next number is a new hymn to peace and love,” announces a band leader. “We’re dedicating it to everyone who believes that all men are brothers.” Hoo boy! Could the contrast between the leather clad bikers and flowered poncho crowd be any more explicit? The set-up echoes yet another contemporary event, that of the infamous Altamont Speedway Free Concert held in 1969, the same year as the release of Easy Rider. There, sixties bands such as the Jefferson Airplane and Crosby,

kidding with the hoopla surrounding these new titles (the other being Astonishing Tales). It was only a matter of months before Kirby was due to shock the comics universe by quitting Marvel for DC, so his assignment here, so late in the game, as both penciler and scripter of the Inhumans, begs the question: did editor Stan Lee give him total control because he knew he was leaving and didn’t care, or did he do it hoping to cajole his star artist to remain within the fold? Be that as it may, Kirby was given his head here in a two-part story that proved less than satisfying. To be sure, his reteaming with inker Chic Stone was visually satisfying, but the plot about the Inhumans waging a sneak attack on the FF flies in the face of common sense. After the hidden refuge is struck by a missile conveniently bearing the markings of the FF, Black Bolt decides immediately to attack them. This despite the fact that the FF have been trusted friends for months, and his own cousin has been serving as one of its members! (On the other hand, the Inhumans had always been a bit flaky in the logic department, so their behavior here is somewhat to be expected.) In any case, it was a relief to move on to the Black Widow half of the book where common sense still prevailed. There, the Widow takes on street-level crime by tackling some local bookies in defense of a hapless Puerto Rican kid. It was a good angle to take and John Buscema’s art was exciting enough to balance Kirby’s effort in the front half of the book. (Well, except for page 4, panel 6 where it looks as if the Widow has a double chin!)

Easy Rider was the sleeper hit film of 1969. Made on a miniscule budget with a meandering plot that reeked of weed, it took Hollywood moguls by surprise. But it was its message of the open road and freedom from personal responsibility that hit home with viewers. Overnight, motorcycles assumed immense symbolic importance in the zeitgeist of the times.

1970

On December 6, 1969, the Rolling Stones headlined an all-star assembly of sixties rock bands at the Altamont Speedway Free Festival, but any resemblance to the relatively peaceful Woodstock music festival held earlier in the year was non-existent. When the Stones hired the local chapter of the Hell's Angels motorcycle club to act as security, all bets were off.

Stills, Nash, and Young gave classic performances, but it was during the Rolling Stones set that trouble broke out and resulted in the death of a concert goer at the hands of members of the Hell’s Angels motorcycle club. The bikers, you see, had been hired by the Stones for, of all things, security! Anyway, when Lee has the “Satan’s Angels” attempt to break up the concert this issue, the association with Altamont would likely not be lost on the book’s readership. It was only too bad that Lee chose to end his story the same way he ended the one he wrote for Cap #121, namely with the biker leader discovering that a young concert goer hurt in his attack was his own brother... surprise!

Astonishing Tales #1

“The Power of Ka-Zar!”; Stan Lee (script); Jack Kirby (pencils); Sam Grainger (inks) “Unto You is Born...the Doomsman!”; Roy Thomas (script); Wally Wood (pencils/inks)

The return of Marvel’s split book format debuted in style with Astonishing Tales #1 (Aug 1970)! In a double bill starring Ka-Zar in the front half and Dr. Doom in the back, the former was a Lee/Kirby presentation and the latter a Roy Thomas/Wally Wood class act. Not so’s you could tell from the dullish cover by Marie Severin. Inside, Ka-Zar is pitted against Kraven the Hunter, a pairing so natural readers had to wonder why no one thought of it before. Sam Grainger inks the King this time around but unfortunately, does little to soften Kirby’s obvious

deficiencies. By this time, Kirby was phoning it in, already having departed Marvel for DC with only a couple months of finished issues of the FF and Thor remaining on the schedule. His work here and on the Inhumans strip over in the concurrently published Amazing Adventures (that he also scripted) were likely last minute attempts to placate his dissatisfaction by keeping him busy and giving him a venue to show off his writing chops. Whatever the reason, it didn’t work. Kirby, impatient with his treatment at Marvel, finally cut himself loose and left for the competition. In the meantime though, fans could enjoy this uncomplicated Ka-Zar two-parter wherein Kraven captures Zabu for display back in the civilized world, ensuring the enmity of Ka-Zar, who quickly follows. It’s a fun little tale even if Kirby’s art is perfunctory, displaying all the stiffness that would dog his work in the years to come. By contrast, artist Wally Wood’s skills were still sharp as he teams with scripter Roy Thomas for the start of a Dr. Doom serial involving an android called the Doomsman and a revolt in Latveria led by Prince Rudolpho. The difference between the densely plotted, character-driven Doom story by Thomas, and Kirby’s straightforward Ka-Zar tale, was a foreshadowing of the difficulties the King would have when he eventually returned to Marvel from DC later in the twilight years. Weaned on the work of Stan Lee, comics fans had no patience for the old-fashioned super-hero slugfest. Now, in addition to the expected fisticuffs, they preferred multi-leveled storytelling with heavy characterizations and even a dose of real world, even mature, situations—things that Kirby would not be prepared to give them (however he may have tried while at DC).

Amazing Spider-Man #87

“Unmasked at Last!”; Stan Lee (script); John Romita (pencils); Jim Mooney (inks)

Under the impression that he might be losing his spider powers due to a loss of radiation in his blood (actually it’s that ole flu bug that’s struck him in previous issues), Peter Parker stumbles around town alternately looking for help and robbing jewelry stores to find a gift for girlfriend Gwen Stacey’s birthday party. In between he reveals his secret identity to a roomful of partygoers (including Gwen’s father, Capt. Stacey) while in a delirium. A full-page illustration of the deed should have been a knockout of a John Romita illo (including as it does full-length shots of Gwen and Mary Jane Watson) but instead, all readers get is a flat, twodimensional drawing courtesy of inker Jim Mooney. Now, Mooney may have been perfectly fine as the longtime penciler of DC’s Supergirl feature, but that didn’t necessarily make him an appropriate inker at The Twilight Years

Marvel, whose demands for its artists were different, more demanding even. However, Mooney had been a close friend of editor Stan Lee, who just happened to also be scripter of the Spidey strip, including this issue of Amazing Spider-Man #87 (Aug 1970), so that may explain why he was allowed to work over Romita’s pencils for so long. Where Romita’s art demanded more detail, Mooney seemed unable to provide it, as did earlier inkers such as Mike Esposito or Don Heck. As a result,

many panels seem incomplete, and shadows substituting for detail end up making faces look simplified, even appearing at times to be childlike, much as the characters had been in Mooney’s work on Supergirl or Legion of Super-Heroes. In any case, the teaming of Romita and Mooney was a singularly uninspiring one and makes their many collaborations together disappointments to readers. Add to that the continuing failure in the coloring department during this period of Marvel production, and you end up with one bland book—one that should have been part of a string of real triumphs for Lee and Romita that instead, provided a period in the title’s history that has almost been forgotten to fans whose memories simply jump from issue #67 (the second of the two-part Mysterio story) to the upcoming death of Capt. Stacey in issue #90, when artist Gil Kane takes over on the pencils.

Avengers #79

“Lo! The Lethal Legion!”; Roy Thomas (script); John Buscema (pencils); Tom Palmer (inks)

Amazing Spider-Man #87, page 9: Feverish with the flu, Peter Parker reveals his Spider-Man identity to friends Harry, Mary Jane, and Gwen. The scene is drained of much of its impact by the inks of Jim Mooney over John Romita's pencils. 54

Marvel Comics in the 1970s

Whew! Readers no doubt breathed a sigh of relief when they opened Avengers #79 (Aug. 1970) to find that John Buscema (along with inker Tom Palmer) was back at the artistic helm. Brother Sal Buscema had filled in for the elder Buscema last issue, but even so short an hiatus could be traumatic for fans who’d become used to only the best from Mighty Marvel. But Marvel was on the cusp of exploding both in subject matter and number of titles it published, and readers would have to get used to the idea that the likes of Jack Kirby, Gene Colan, Don Heck, Jim Steranko, and John Buscema couldn’t do it all. But that’s a subject for a different time. Right now, suffice it to say that big John

1970 was back at the Avengers helm, reintroducing himself with an eye-grabbing symbolic cover depicting the Lethal Legion (Swordsman, Grim Reaper, Living Laser, Power Man, and Man-Ape) as they gloated over our assemblers trapped in an hourglass. Once again, writer Roy Thomas proves his bona fides as the heir to Stan Lee as well as one of the top comics creators of all time, in a tale perfectly balanced between action and soap operatic characterization, both elements that put Marvel on the map and kept it there. As you’ll recall, last ish the Panther and friend Monica Lynn were kidnapped by the Legion, but the Panther escapes to warn the Avengers and let them know where they can find individual members of the Legion. Meanwhile, in a humorous aside, the Vision goes undercover to let the administration at the school where the Panther teaches know that their newest instructor will not be in school that day! Elsewhere, the Avengers tackle the Legion in seperate running battles, expertly and satisfyingly choreographed by Buscema, but to no avail. They’re captured and through a bit of subterfuge, the day is saved by a tardy Vision. But in a final ironic twist, they’re freed by the Grim Reaper himself after he discoveres that the Vision’s persona is based on the brain waves of the Reaper’s brother, Wonder Man. Then, in the throes of an identity crisis (triggered by the frightened reaction of the school principal he met earlier in the story), the Vision tells his victorious teamates that he has decided to quit the Avengers, declaring that he’s not a “true human being.” “What place have I... a cold, synthetic thing... among men of flesh and blood?” More curious, is the Scarlet Witch’s reaction to his decicion: “Vision... no! You can’t mean that!” Was her plea a tad more emotional than what could be expected from a fellow Avenger? Stay tuned!

thing: the Captain Marvel book was canceled for the second time. According to Thomas writing in the letters page, sales on he and Kane’s initial run on the feature were promising but not enough to save the book completely. Now he and the bean counters at Marvel waited on the sales figures for this issue to confirm the title’s resurgence. Would it make the grade? It was tough to tell as this issue’s story, solid though predictable from Thomas (it wasn’t likely that Rick and Mar-Vell’s problem would be solved so soon after Thomas had introduced it), seemed to be drawn in haste by artist Gil Kane. Even preferred inker Dan Adkins couldn’t quite keep the art from looking rushed. Was Kane too busy producing

Captain Marvel #21

Continued from last ish, Captain Marvel #21 (Aug. 1970) has Rick Jones going to Bruce Banner for help in finding a way to get Mar-Vell out of the Negative Zone so that they can once again live independent lives. But just as Banner is about to solve their problem, he decides to contact his old teacher, Prof. Josiah Weller, only to learn the good prof is under seige in his office by out of control student demonstrators. Banner loses his cool and the expected happens: he turns into the Hulk. In a rage, the Hulk destroys the equipment needed to help Rick and Mar-Vell, Rick switches places with Mar-Vell, and the rolling battle eventually finds its way to the college campus. Our tale ends where it began, with Rick and Mar-Vell no better off than they were before. Except for one

“Here Comes the Hulk!”; Roy Thomas (script); Gil Kane (pencils); Dan Adkins (inks)

An early fan of Robert E. Howard's Conan stories, Gil Kane's Blackmark (1971) was perhaps the earliest incarnation of what would later be known in comics circles as the graphic novel. The Twilight Years

independent projects like His Name is Savage and Blackmark to give Cap his full attention? Be that as it may, the good news for Cap fans is that the Captain Marvel book did win the sales sweepstakes. The bad news was that when the series resumed two years later, the creative team would be a good deal less than stellar, leaving the Captain Marvel strip to limp along for a few years before eventually petering out.

Avengers #80

“The Coming of Red Wolf!”; Roy Thomas (script); John Buscema (pencils); Tom Palmer (inks)

Marvel does it again! Out of nowhere, a new superhero appeared in Avengers #80 (Sept. 1970) that would turn out to be the company’s first Indian super-hero. Sure, there had been predecessors at other companies in the past (for instance, DC’s Super Chief), but none in the present day of 1970. And far from some stereotypical Indian character, Red Wolf wore a simple but very cool outfit consisting of traditional fringed leggings and loin cloth and identity concealing headgear fashioned from the pelt of a real wolf. That, a tomahawk and a coup stick. Oh! And did we mention his canine companion Lobo? (Okay, Red Wolf’s relationship to Lobo did seem too much like Ka-Zar’s to Zabu... but there was just so much that could be done with a human/animal combo.) Red Wolf makes his dramatic appearance (in beautiful John Buscema/Tom Palmer style) on this issue’s splash page as he hunts men in the

Different segments of the American population had their consciousness raised in the 1960s including women, African-Americans, and even homosexuals. American Indians (or Native Americans as they were soon called) were also in the mix. Through protest and stunts like the 1969 takeover of Alcatraz in San Francisco Bay, Indians were able to bring attention to their cause.

Marvel Comics in the 1970s

employment of past Avengers nemesis Cornelius van Lunt. It was van Lunt who brought Red Wolf to New York as he sought to exploit Indian lands out west, using questionable if not illegal methods to do so. But before Red Wolf has a chance to get very far, he’s stopped by the passing Vision (who, as readers would recall, had quit the Avengers in a huff last ish) and taken to Avengers HQ. There, he spills the beans about his origin, having acquired the powers of the Owayodata by the spirit of the mythic Red Wolf himself following a plea to shed his powerlessness in the face of van Lunt’s aggression. Faced with a choice—help Red Wolf against van Lunt, or tackle a looming threat by the Zodiac cartel (and those who decided to go with Red Wolf will miss a doozy of a yarn next ish!)—the Avengers split the team. Significantly for future sub-plots, the Scarlet Witch decides to go west with Vision and Goliath. While this ish was somewhat talky, Roy Thomas’ script moves things effortlessly along, covering much ground, including the origin of Red Wolf, while the art of Buscema and Palmer make every panel a delight to look at. All while introducing an exciting new hero to the Marvel line-up, one who quickly moved to a berth in Marvel Spotlight and then his own (unfortunately) short-lived mag. Short-lived because editor Stan Lee got the Red Wolf feature off on the wrong foot by insisting it take place in the past of the old West and not the present, turning the book into a western more or less, a genre that by 1970 was on its very last legs. Too bad. Red Wolf could have been an exciting present day feature in the style of Daredevil but alas, it was not to be. Ironicaly, there was a point in this issue’s story where Iron Man warns an arguing Vision and Red Wolf that their war of words might “start a race riot,” something that Thomas himself sought to defuse after a letter by reader Philip Mallory Jones that accused him of doing practically the same in the two-part Sons of the Serpent story a few issues back. In a rare instance, Thomas had given the entire letters page last ish to a presentation of Jones’ letter which listed numerous “sins” committed by Thomas, what would be called in later years “micro aggressions” and instances of “white privilege.” Due to the room needed for his reply, Thomas took the entire letters page this issue to make his case against Jones’ charges. In prescient concluding remarks, Thomas asks “will the center hold” or will the country eventually divide into two armed camps, so polarized that they find it impossible to compromise or find the middle? Thomas hopes that both would take “what is vital” from each other and “create from them, a synthesis, a hybrid which is equal to more than the sum of their parts.” It was a question that was as pertinent nearly 50 years ago as it is now.

1970

Captain America #129

“The Vengeance of...the Red Skull!”; Stan Lee (script); Gene Colan (pencils); Dick Ayers (inks)

Still on the open road by Captain Ameirca #129 (Sept. 1970), Steve Rogers is under observation by his arch enemy, the Red Skull. (No explanation about what happened to the Skull after he disappeared when the Cosmic Cube melted away at the end of ish #119). Be that

Captain America #129, page 3: Gene Colan provides some clever layouts here as the action shifts back and forth from the Red Skull's radio room to operatives in the field. Dick Ayers' inks, however, are somewhat scratchy and a tad too literal for Colan's fluid visuals.

as it may, he’s back with an army of thugs to do his bidding. And he bids them to redirect the unsuspecting Captain America into a trap (by the time-tested expedient of simply switching around some road signs) along with a motorcade belonging to King Hassab of Irania. The Skull, it seems, is under the delusion that if he just shoots the king into space via a waiting rocket, it will start World War III, leaving him to pick up the pieces. Why that should happen is anyone’s guess. Suffice it to say that Cap saves the day by forcing the Skull to take the king’s place in the rocket. Bye-bye Red Skull. Nothing much to write home about, huh? True. Scripter Stan Lee was obviously plotting these Cap yarns on auto-pilot (although the scripting was as sharp as ever) and Gene Colan’s pencils were again ill served by Dick Ayers’ inking. On top of all that, even the cover was nothing to crow about, what with its pastiche of Colan crowds at the bottom, John Romita Cap figure sailing up to overtake King Hassad’s limo, and even a pasted-in head shot of the Red Skull by the recently departed Jack Kirby taken from Cap #112. The best thing about this mag, in fact, is the cover logo: The original big, bold, red, white, and blue lettering from the title’s first nine issues or so. Fun Fact: In his capacity as editor, Stan Lee bids Jack Kirby farewell in this issue’s Stan’s Soapbox, promising readers the bullpen would carry on with a stiff upper lip and go on to ever greater triumphs in the future. In truth, he wasn’t far wrong. Why, just below the bullpen bulletins where the Soapbox appeared, is a can’t be missed third-page house ad for the company’s new Conan the Barbarian comic, a landmark achievement that fairly launched Marvel’s twilight years in style. The Twilight Years

Part II:

1970-1974

he Twilight Years began with Lee and Kirby at the apex of their professional careers and the universe they created still basking in the afterglow of grandiosity. However, new influences and a weakened Comics Code Authority brought into being circumstances that encouraged the exploration of genres other than super-heroes and formats other than comics.

Fantastic Four #102

“The Strength of the Sub-Mariner”; Stan Lee (script), Jack Kirby (pencils), Joe Sinnott (inks)

Just as the winds of change were beginning to shift, and the most innovative writing and interesting art was moving from the super-hero features to out of continuity science fiction, horror, and sword and sorcery, it was announced that Jack Kirby was leaving Marvel! Shocking as the news was to readers in 1970, in retrospect, it probably happened at just the right time. In contrast to Lee, who could still turn a tale of super-heroics into something more interesting and immediate by turning a plot around topical events or juggling personality quirks to create threedimensional characters, Kirby’s creative energies seemed to be winding down to a halt. The once mighty engine, primed in partnership with the unerring instincts of Lee that had driven Silver Age Marvel from the obscurity of its pre-hero days of the late 1950s, through three successive phases of development (each more creative, more innovative, more exciting than the last) to its position as the most important comic book company in the industry, now seemed to have run out of steam. Perhaps made up of equal parts frustration and anger, Kirby’s enthusiasm for his work waned, ironically, beginning about the time he perhaps achieved almost complete control over the titles he worked on. Kirby’s resentments may have arisen from a belief that he wasn’t appreciated by the company, hadn’t received 58

Marvel Comics in the 1970s

enough credit for his contributions in helping to create the Marvel Universe, and/or from simple envy over the attention Lee was getting outside comics. That said, the artist didn’t help himself any by not taking advantage of his importance to the company early on, of not being a tougher negotiator, and of not starting up the corporate ladder. Adding to his difficulties was a decision to move from New York to California, 3,000 miles away from the Marvel offices. In the meantime, it had been almost two years since any really new concepts were introduced in Thor or the FF (instead, old characters returned and situations were recycled with obvious adaptations of movie and television plots filling in between), which may have been intentional (Kirby had been designing new characters for years but

Little did anyone suspect at the time that when Kirby decided to move from the east coast to California, it also signaled his impending departure from the House of Ideas he helped to raise.

1970 keeping them to himself; they’d appear only after he left Marvel for rival DC where he created a handful of interconnected titles under the umbrella concept of the “Fourth World”) or it may have simply reflected the exhaustion of a man who’d been in the business since the 1930s. Certainly his efforts at DC over the next five years were less than stellar; his interconnected New Gods titles were intended to have an instant, Marvel-style continuity, while their characters had their counterparts in his previous work for the company. Other features such as Kamandi and the Demon were wholly or in part based on ideas purloined from film and television. The process of decline in the FF book was most painful to watch

Forever People #6: Although Kirby’s last efforts at Marvel were definitely sub-par for the king, his initial work after moving to DC showed a marked enthusiasm (New Gods, Mister Miracle) despite a sub-strata of corniness on display in such titles as Jimmy Olsen and Forever People.

with stories still somewhat interesting around #7679 and #84-87, then growing weaker through #89. The last twelve issues, in effect Kirby’s final year at the company ending with Fantastic Four #102 (Sept. 1970), were, by the standards Kirby himself had helped to set, simply poor. Almost a complete reversal of everything that he and Lee had spent a decade building, they lacked real efforts at character development; continuity; the air of sophistication an expert combination of humor, seriousness, and selfdeprecation created; but worst of all, they lacked the kind of spirit and verve that made Marvel comics must-reading for any fan. In comparison, Lee’s work on Captain America and Spider-Man was still as immediate as it ever was. In fact, Kirby’s last work for Marvel read more like the competition’s product, nicely designed but empty suits servicing mostly silly plots intended for 7-to-11-year-olds (Magneto spends nearly all of #102 underwater with nary a breathing aid in sight; did Kirby forget that Atlantis was beneath the sea or did he figure the kiddies wouldn’t notice?) Although Marvel’s success certainly involved the dynamism, the sheer power-packed beauty of Kirby’s art, in retrospect, its most important ingredient was the one thing the artist failed to learn and take with him to DC: Lee’s humanism and obvious empathy for other people and his ability to infuse his own values in the form of characterization into his heroes. It was the reason why Marvel’s success would continue long after Kirby’s departure even though, at the time, there was speculation that the company wouldn’t be able to survive without him. Instead, it was Kirby’s projects at DC that failed. Without the topicality, the human emotions, the supporting cast of ordinary characters, even such a simple element as romantic interests, they were doomed to failure. The sophistication of the typical comic book reader had grown beyond the simple pleasure of reading the exploits of superheroes, no matter how colorful their costumes. It was a lesson DC itself had to learn fast and adapt itself to or lose the sales race to its rapidly surging competition (a problem it solved by importing en mass, Marvel’s most talented graduates). Kirby’s sojourn at DC didn’t last long, in a few years he’d be back at Marvel. By then, however, his creative fires were hardly more than glowing embers. But as the first and most important of the three artistic musketeers of Marvel (and the last to leave), nothing and no one could ever burn as hotly in the white heat of creation as he did when, together with Lee, he engineered a “big bang” that left in its wake a universe of wonder, imagination, and delight. Part II: 1970-1974

“The Coming of Conan”; Roy Thomas (script), Barry Windsor-Smith [as Barry Smith] (pencils), Dan Adkins (inks)

In retrospect, it almost seems as though Barry Smith’s winding course through Marvel’s stable of titles—entering the comics industry imitating his favorite artists and gradually improving from assignment to assignment—had been planned. A period of learning and adjustment was first necessary before he could graduate to a permanent monthly feature of his own. But at last, he was ready. Having developed a style all his own, in only a few short months he’d proceed to literally recreate himself into a bohemian artiste and proud flagbearer for an artistic renaissance in comics that would help raise the consciousness of his peers regarding the essential worth of their own work. No longer would the drawings an artist created for comics be considered disposable junk, but as legitimate as that of any other medium. Now, young artists would gather in studios to spend hours slaving over single pages making sure they came out just right. But inevitably, the time they spent on their work wasn’t cost effective. The comic book industry hadn’t caught up to them yet and was still unsympathetic to slowpokes. Deadlines still loomed and a ready product counted for far more than artistic integrity. It was an attitude that would give rise to a new phenomenon in comics: Artists who’d work on a single title (instead of two or three), usually missing deadlines or keeping a popular book on bi-monthly status, when it could sell better on a more frequent schedule; jumping from one feature to another and spending 60

Marvel Comics in the 1970s

only a few months on any one of them; and eventually, dropping out of comics completely to pursue opportunities in other media such as creating art for calendars, book covers, albums, or posters. (Sure, Steranko and Adams had left comics before for much the same reasons, but they were “compromised” by becoming publishers themselves.) It was the beginning of the age of the comic book artist as prima donna, and it all began with Conan the Barbarian #1 (Oct. 1970). Not that anyone could tell, as Smith’s job on this issue appeared to be a regression from the promising work he’d been doing in the anthology titles. Made up of more conventional layouts and backgrounds devoid of detail, even the experienced inks of

Conan the Barbarian #1

Conan the Barbarian #1: This penciled version of the first issue’s cover is in marked contrast to the finished cover inked by John Verpoorten that appeared on newsstands in 1970. Barry Smith’s evolving style is clearly evident here in its attention to detail and the overall verve in its rendering.

1970 Dan Adkins failed to bring out the essentials of Smith’s new style. It was hard to believe that from this first fumbling issue, Smith would become, almost overnight, the new darling of fandom with art that developed rapidly into a richly ornate and intricately detailed style that brought to vivid life Conan’s Hyborian Age. But all the pretty pictures in the world wouldn’t have made this title the success it became without good stories to compliment them—which is where Roy Thomas comes in. By no means the junior partner on the Conan book, Thomas’ (unofficial) editorial judgment and his influence with editor Stan Lee, coupled with the skill he’d display in first capturing the spirit of Conan creator Robert E. Howard and later in adapting the author’s original stories, made his contributions to the feature indispensable. As time went on, Thomas became so skillful at mimicking Howard’s style that his stories, if adapted to prose, would’ve made fine additions to the Conan canon in their own right. In its way as important as the first issue of the FF, Conan the Barbarian #1 makes for a convenient marker dividing one era from another. Where the former signaled a shift in attitude in the way comics were perceived, the latter marked the point at which control of the comics industry passed from the hands of older professionals (to whom working in the industry was mostly just a job) to a younger generation of fans who loved the medium for what it was.

Amazing Adventures #3

“Pawns of the Mandarin”; Jack Kirby (script & pencils), Chic Stone (inks) “The Widow and the Militants”; Gary Friedrich (script), Gene Colan (pencils), Bill Everett (inks)

Following the successful launch of the weird menace and romance anthologies, editor Stan Lee returned to super-heroes for his next pair of new titles. Harking back to the Years of Consolidation, Lee divided the page count of Amazing Adventures and Astonishing Tales between two features, each boasting the efforts of some of the bullpen’s best writers and pencilers. Although not successful in the long run (it seems readers had long since become accustomed to “feature length” stories), the two books did boast impressive efforts by artists like Neal Adams, Wally Wood, and John Buscema and writers like Roy Thomas and Gerry Conway. Amazing Adventures #3 (Nov. 1970) is a good example of a typical issue as Jack Kirby takes on his last assignments for the company (writing and drawing both the Inhumans here

Writer Gary Freidrich (left) managed the difficult act of setting the Black Widow’s adventures within a contemporary milieu while at the same time retaining a sense of the character’s Cold War origins. Bill Everett (right) meanwhile, lent Gene Colan’s art a lush sensuality that in places was almost tactile.

along with Ka-Zar over in Astonishing) and Gene Colan swings into high gear on the Black Widow strip. Obviously completed before Kirby left the company, his work here on the Inhumans seemed almost a throwback to the company’s early years. Contributing to the illusion were the inks of Chic Stone (who’d given the Years of Consolidation their definitive look). Returning to the fold after an absence of years, it was almost like Stone never left! His thick ink lines seemed to perfectly compliment Kirby’s pencils (that had grown markedly looser by this time), holding and drawing out of them a measure of the vibrancy they once held. The plot by Kirby is characteristically devoid of any subtleties with only the heroes’ powers to differentiate them. That might’ve been acceptable for a story that was only ten pages long, but then if Gary Friedrich and Gene Colan could do it with the Black Widow, why couldn’t Kirby? In fact, the Widow feature had everything a Marvel strip should have by this time to spell success: well rounded, threedimensional characters; an interesting supporting cast (which featured Ivan, the Widow’s chauffeur; the Young Warriors, a group of Hispanic youth fighting for their dignity against evil slum lords; even J. Jonah Jameson!); and a plot based on topical issues. Even more, the strip had an intelligent script by Friedrich (who’d begun his career a few years before at rival Charlton on Part II: 1970-1974

Marvel Comics in the 1970s

Amazing Spider-Man #88

“The Arms of Doctor Octopus!”; Stan Lee (script), John Romita (pencils), Jim Mooney (inks)

Peter Parker’s longest journey (to paraphrase the character of Scout from the film To Kill a Mockingbird [1962]) began deceptively enough in Amazing Spider-Man #88 (Sept. 1970) with the return of his

the recommendation of Roy Thomas) filled with smooth, informative dialogue that keeps everything moving forward. And most of all, Friedrich knew when to stop. That was because Colan, beautifully inked by Bill Everett (the match-up was practically serendipitous) was, believe it or not, just entering the most creative point in his career. Beginning with this strip and going on to his future work on Daredevil, Dr. Strange, and the Tomb of Dracula, it seemed that all was but prologue for Colan, who’d turn out to be Marvel’s star artist of the Twilight Years. And some of his very best work is on display here as he opens the story of the Widow’s attempt to help the Young Warriors in their struggle against unscrupulous landlords with a wonderfully rendered series of panels showing Natasha arriving at her penthouse apartment (a sequence wisely left wordless by Friedrich). There, she’s captured by a masked villain called “the Don” who intends on setting her up as the inspiration for illegal action taken by the Young Warriors. Meanwhile, the mayor refuses to meet the young people’s demands and the scene is set for a street riot next issue! It sure was a lot of plot for only ten pages, but Friedrich and Colan pull it off effortlessly leaving the reader eager for the next chapter. And that almost voluptuous inking by Everett! It was like a match made in heaven when the two artists met in their rendering of the curvaceous Black Widow!

Amazing Spider-Man #88: After a disappointing hiatus under the pen of John Buscema, the Spider-Man strip returns to greatness this issue beginning a string of groundbreaking stories that would end with #99, Stan Lee’s first break from the strip since he helped launch it in 1963.

1970 most dangerous foe. In jail since the events of #5356, Dr. Octopus manages to gain mental control over his mechanical arms (which are on display at the Museum of Natural Science!) and uses them to break out. In keeping with the grand style, Lee takes a similar event that happened in the first Spidey annual (when Doc Ock first demonstrated the ability to control his arms from a distance) and takes the idea a step further. In that first story, Doc merely has the arms break out of storage, “walk” over to his prison, and spring him. The whole sequence was done in four panels. This time, it takes a little longer with our hero vainly trying to stop the rampaging arms from uniting with their master. But by forcing Spidey to abandon the chase (to keep a damaged wall from endangering onlookers), the arms escape. From there, after Ock’s inevitable escape from prison, the plot becomes a routine one involving the hijacking of an airliner and the holding hostage of a couple of foreign dignitaries. It’s what happens in between that’s the fun part! In keeping with the by now long established tradition of making Peter’s life as complicated as possible, Lee gets back on track this issue by giving him slipping grades and a dreaded note from the teacher. It seems that Peter’s in danger of losing his scholarship due to his falling averages and absenteeism. But there’s

no rest for the weary (even with the consolation of the beauteous Gwen Stacy to help with homework!) as Peter’s sense of obligation forces him into action again to defuse what threatens to become an international incident. But despite its seemingly average day-in-the-life type plot, this issue will prove to be only the innocent set-up before the first of a series of personal disasters in Peter’s life that will not only test his resources as a super-hero, but the strength of his character. The Twilight Years would come to mean two different things for the Spider-Man book, fictional and actual. On one hand, the term captured the feeling brought on by the ever downward spiral of events that would characterize Spider-Man’s life over the next couple of years (including growing four extra arms), while on the other, it also could mean a sudden drop-off in the real world quality of the strip. Fortunately, however, that drop-off would only come following the dramatic events that stretched out to #123. Equally as fortunate, this extremely important period in the development of the character would be handled artistically by a combination of the work of Gil Kane and John Romita (with some help on backgrounds by Tony Mortellaro). This issue, for instance, is the last to suffer under the dull inking of DC alumnus Jim Mooney, whose work (which seemed to lack detail and had the effect of “blurring” images that should’ve been made to appear much sharper) first over Romita’s layouts then Buscema’s pencils was less than satisfying.

Amazing Spider-Man #89

“Doc Ock Lives!”; Stan Lee (script), Gil Kane (pencils), John Romita (inks)

Torn from today’s headlines! Well, the headlines of the early ’70s anyway as events on the world stage such as President Richard Nixon’s surprise trip behind the bamboo curtain and the growing threat of international terrorism continued to influence what was happening in the comics.

The art situation changed dramatically in Amazing Spider-Man #89 (Oct. 1970) with the arrival of Gil Kane on the pencils. Kane had first tested the waters at Marvel a few years before when he filled in on Captain America and the Hulk strips when those two features were still parts of Tales of Suspense and Tales to Astonish, respectively. The regular artist for DC’s Green Lantern and Atom books, Kane soon returned to them. But his brief taste of the way things were done at Marvel, which allowed the artist more leeway in layouts and storytelling (DC still worked with full scripts, which left virtually nothing to the artist’s discretion), drew him back. According to the Marvel Bullpen Bulletins of the time, Kane was Romita’s “personal choice” to succeed him on Spider-Man (Romita himself was to replace Kirby on the FF) and in this first effort, Part II: 1970-1974

Gil Kane

Gil “Sugar Lips” Kane was an acquired taste for some fans when he came to Marvel permanently in the 1970s and taking over from Kirby as the company’s primary cover artist. Educated at the School of Industrial Art before breaking in to comics in the mid-1940s, Kane served a stint in the Army before returning to comics in the next decade where he became a key player in the Silver Age revival of DC’s Green Lantern and Atom. After testing the waters at Marvel in the late 1960s, Kane came over permanently in the early ’70s and made his mark on the Amazing Spider-Man, working with Stan Lee on such seminal issues as #96-98, which went codeless due to its anti-drug theme, and with Gerry Conway on #121-122, which featured the deaths of Gwen Stacy and the Green Goblin.

had Romita’s inks to help in the transition. The change in art style took some getting used to. Kane’s less realistic approach to the human figure stretched and contorted it almost out of all recognizable proportion and littered his close-ups to annoying shots that always seemed to look up his subjects’ noses! In addition, he seemed to prefer clutching hands with fingers like claws, groping at the air to demonstrate intense emotional scenes. These handicaps were usually more evident away from a good inker. (Some of the issues he did on this title were to be without the services of Romita’s inks. Fortunately, most of those stories didn’t amount to much, inappropriately involving Spidey with vampires and lost continents filled with dinosaurs and space aliens.) For this debut issue, however, he did have Romita on the inks, which ironically went a long way in not only preserving the feel of the strip, but actually recapturing some of the look it had lost when Romita had given up doing full pencils. Although primarily an action story, Stan Lee does manage to slip in a topical reference to air pollution when student radical Randy Robertson takes umbrage at Peter’s refusal to take part in a “big protest meeting” on the issue. “…maybe what they say about you is true. Maybe you don’t give a hoot about anything… ’ceptin Peter Parker!” It was the kind of quiet inclusion that Lee was so good at, slipped into a story with hardly a ripple. It was a skill he’d employ to even better effect a few issues later when he defied the Comics Code Authority to address the country’s growing drug problem. 64

Marvel Comics in the 1970s

The Mighty Thor #180

“When Gods Go Mad!”; Stan Lee (script), Neal Adams (pencils), Joe Sinnott (inks)

Sometimes the best laid plans or intentions can go awry; just look at the Mighty Thor #180 (Sept. 1970)! On paper, it must have looked good: take one super-hot penciler like, say, Neal Adams who’d been setting the comic book world on fire for a number of years (and knocked Marvelites dead with his work on the cancelled X-Men book and would again on the Avengers) and team him with inker Joe Sinnott, the man whom many believe was the best embellisher ever over Jack “King” Kirby’s power-packed pencils. The opening for this seemingly great team-up of talent was made when Kirby decided to quit Marvel to seek his fortunes at rival DC comics. His departure left three regular features open for replacement artists: Captain America and the Fantastic Four, both of which were taken over by artist John Romita, and Thor. Although both the FF and Thor would eventually be taken over for the long term by John Buscema (who, prophetically enough, provided this issue’s cover), in the short term, editor Stan Lee assigned the Thor strip to Adams, who had been looking for more work at Marvel and, admiring Kirby’s work on the title, thought it might be an interesting exercise to follow in his footsteps and adapt his style to the King’s. And if such was the intention, what better man to ink Adams’ pencils than Sinnott, who could give it the sleek and polished look he gave Kirby on the FF? A nobrainer, right? Wrong! In trying to ape Kirby’s grandiose style, statuesque figures, bludgeoning action, and overwrought emotionalism, Adams washed out everything of his own style that made him one of the greatest of

1970 It still possessed the artistic talent, the writing skills, and the ideas that would allow the company to continue to dominate the small pond of the comics industry (just as Adams and Sinnott were no less titanic talents despite their poor performance here), but the uses to which it would put them became increasingly uninspired as the decade of the 1970s rolled on.

comics artists. Even worse, by confining himself to Kirby’s practice of using simple four- and six-panel grids, Adams almost completely eliminated the ultra-realism that was the hallmark of his style. Reinforcing the almost unrecognizable result were Sinnott’s inks, which removed what subtleties might have remained in the art and even turned one of Adams’ strengths, his facial expressions, into cartoony ridiculousness. Oh, sure, there were a few bright spots like page 4’s full panel close up of an angry Odin strongly reminiscent of Kirby and a double panel spread across pages 12 and 13 that, although capturing Kirby’s spirit, seemed more a foreshadowing of John Buscema’s arrival on the strip in issue #182. Overall, what should have been one of the most exciting post Kirby assignments at Marvel, turned out to be a huge disappointment. Even Lee’s competent, but uninspired, script couldn’t seem to raise the heat level on this one. In the end, Adams’ two-issue stint on the title proved far less than satisfactory for everyone involved (although Adams would insist that he accomplished what he set out to do) and the Thor strip would have to wait for Buscema’s more appropriate style to supply the restraint needed not merely to copy Kirby, but to give it a whole new feel. That feel would prove sufficiently inspirational for Lee who would come up with interesting new twists as well as supplying Buscema with the non-super-hero, Asgardian action he preferred and could feel inspired by. In the meantime, the failed team up between Adams and Sinnott seemed to act as a metaphor for the lumbering giant that Marvel in the Twilight Years seemed to become.

The Mighty Thor #180, page 4: Oil and water don’t mix and neither, unfortunately, did the talents of penciler Neal Adams and inker Joe Sinnott on this issue of Thor! Adams’ story is that he was trying to capture the Kirby style with his work this issue. To see how much better it would have turned out if he’d only been true to his own, check the artist’s take on Thor in Amazing Adventures #8.

Part II: 1970-1974

Joe Sinnott

In a stable that featured any number of great inkers over the years, it was Joe Sinnott who perhaps became the most synonymous with Marvel Comics. Following a stint in the Navy, Sinnott learned his craft as a student at the School of Visual Arts before landing his first job as an artist with Dell Comics. In 1951, he found work with Stan Lee at Timely. After being laid off briefly, he attached himself to the company that published Treasure Chest, an association that lasted many years. In the early 1960s, he returned to Marvel where he drew the Thor feature for a number of issues before replacing Chic Stone as Jack Kirby’s inker on the Fantastic Four beginning in 1965. The slick polish he gave to Kirby’s pencils, perfect for a strip that often relied on hard edged science fiction, proved a perfect match. So much so that Sinnott remained on the job long after Kirby left the book.

Amazing Spider-Man #90

“And Death Shall Come!”; Stan Lee (script), Gil Kane (pencils), John Romita (inks)

Romita seemed to ease up on the inks somewhat in Amazing Spider-Man #90 (Nov. 1970) as Kane continued to chronicle our hero’s battle with Dr. Octopus (who seems to have been driven mad by years of accumulated frustration over Spidey’s continued interference with his well laid plans). Having already come close to bringing tragedy into Peter’s life (first by being involved in the death of Betty Brant’s brother in #11 and by almost giving Aunt May a fatal heart attack in #53), Octopus would now be the cause of the first real blow to hit home as the climactic battle between himself and Spider-Man results in the death of Capt. George Stacy, father of Gwen Stacy, Peter’s girlfriend. Stacy, who was introduced to the strip soon after Romita had taken it over from Ditko, gave unsettling hints that he knew more about the connection between Peter Parker and Spider-Man than he let on. Joined later by Daily Bugle City Editor Robby Robertson, the two men gave Peter many sleepless nights as they compared notes about SpiderMan and tried to figure out who he was. But Stacy’s time had run out. As the action begins this issue, we find the retired police officer on the street as he comes across a sickly looking Peter Parker. Taking him home, Stacy makes another innocuous statement that arouses Peter’s suspicions (“I’ve never known anyone with such amazing powers of recuperation!” “The way he said that,” thinks Peter. “As though he suspects a lot more than he’s telling!”) But there’s no time for more 66

Marvel Comics in the 1970s

worrying, as Peter dashes to his private lab to concoct something to put the kibosh on Ock’s arms. Later, as he and Octopus battle on a rooftop, the stuff works only too well, causing the villain to lose control over them. Whipping wildly in every direction, the arms shatter a chimney, sending debris toward the street. “They’ve gone amok!” cries a fearful Dr. Octopus. Meanwhile, at street level, a mob of rubberneckers scatter, all but a small boy. In desperation, Stacy breaks from the crowd and pushes the child to safety. But too late to save himself, the elderly man is crushed beneath the falling masonry! With members of the crowd blaming him for Stacy’s death, Spider-Man pulls the man from the pile of rubble and carries him off, hoping to get him to a hospital. But it’s too late. With his last breath, Stacy confirms Peter’s worst fears when he calls him by his name (as Spider-Man, he was still wearing his mask) and asks him to look after his daughter after he’s gone. With the dead Stacy cradled in his arms, a weeping Peter vows to “love Gwen, and cherish her, as long as I live!” But even in that same moment, the seeds for future tragedy are planted as he wonders how Gwen would react to learning that the man she loves may also be responsible for the death of her father? It wasn’t exactly a new situation for Peter (a similar plot device was used years earlier when Betty Brant blamed Spidey for the death of her brother, but yet loved Peter), but one that was no less dramatically powerful for all that. But what made it more poignant this time around was that it would prove to be only the opening act in a larger tragedy whose full ramifications had yet to be played out.

1970 “Hostage!”; Roy Thomas (script), John Buscema (pencils), Tom Palmer (inks)

Not everything going on in the Twilight era was doom and gloom, however, as the story in Avengers #82 (Nov. 1970) demonstrates (unless you count the island of Manhattan being invaded and held hostage something to get depressed about!) But before a reader could get to the great story inside, he had to get past a cover that gave no hint of the wonderment behind it: either it was whipped up by John Buscema before Thomas had any idea what the story was going to be, or the artist had a particularly bad “off day.” Whatever the explanation, it was one of the most ill conceived come-ons to potential buyers ever put out by Marvel. And to judge by the number of irritating word balloons scattered over it (six!) editor Stan Lee knew it too. Instead, Buscema (inked by the increasingly dazzling work of Tom Palmer) provides one of the most eye-popping splash pages ever drawn (a symbolic shot of the tentacular arms of Zodiac, a villainous international crime cartel, with various Avengers helplessly caught in their grip). Who knows? Maybe it was supposed to have been the cover; if not, it should’ve been. But no matter the explanation, the splash page was only the tip of the iceberg of what proved to be one of the most thoroughly satisfying single-issue stories Marvel ever produced. Here’s the scoop: Aries, one of the 12-member board of Zodiac, has loosed his mercenary army on Manhattan, defeated its police force and the National Guard, and

sealed off the island with an impenetrable force field! And all Zodiac wants in return for it is a billion (1970) dollars! What’s a helpless nation to do? While that question hangs in the air, readers learn that the attack has been timed so that most of the city’s super-heroes are out of town (and on duty Avengers caught napping at their mansion headquarters) leaving only Daredevil and the Black Panther as forlorn hopes. Of course, they eventually manage to free the captive Avengers and the rest, as they say, is a forgone conclusion! But it was a wild, fast-paced, absolutely

Avengers #82

Avengers #82, page 1: Could it get any better than the Avengers (plus Daredevil) vs the international crime cartel Zodiac drawn by John Buscema and inked by Tom Palmer in a single-issue story scripted by Roy Thomas? Sweet!

Part II: 1970-1974

fun donnybrook made all the more savory by the Buscema/Palmer art team which rendered everything in somber shadow and muted colors (it looked like Palmer’s touch on the color wheel). Less gratifying, was a major change in Buscema’s art and layouts. The artist seemed to have abandoned the larger panels he used during his first stint on the title and since coming back (from the cancelled Silver Surfer strip), began to restrict himself to those of a smaller size arranged in the traditional grid format. In order to fit all the action into the smaller panel sizes, Buscema was forced to scale down his heroic figure work. No longer did characters stretch and contort across whole pages, now they tamely stayed within their more proscribed spaces. Buscema’s art from this point became less exciting to look at (except when he had talent like Palmer to dress him up), an unfortunate development as he was on the verge of taking over Thor and the FF from the recently departed Kirby. If he’d kept his original wide open style, his work on those two titles might not have ended up as unexceptional as they did.

The Mighty Thor #184

“The World Beyond!”; Stan Lee (script), John Buscema (pencils), Joe Sinnott & Bill Everett (inks)

Despite the slow but unmistakable decline in Jack Kirby’s artistic powers as the Twilight Years opened, when his departure from the Marvel fold was finally announced in 1970, the news still came as a shock to many long time readers. Even more than Steve Ditko’s leave taking a few years before, Kirby’s departure, at least as far as anyone could imagine at the time, would be much harder to get used to. But as things turned out, except for brief hiccups on each of the king’s three main features, Fantastic Four, Captain America and Thor, the period of transition would prove less traumatic than anyone thought. Thus, following brief, but nobly attempted misfires such as John Romita’s stints on the FF and Captain America and the Neal Adams/Joe Sinnott two issue stand on Thor, those books’ engines began to hum more steadily after editor Stan Lee reassigned artist John Buscema from his usual berth on the Avengers and fill-in work on Spider-Man to both the FF and Thor (while Gene Colan took over from Romita on Captain America). It would prove to be a fortuitous decision. Never a Kirby clone, and fired especially by the frequently non-super-heroic qualities of the Thor strip, Buscema’s mastery of the human form as well as his understanding of drama and 68

Marvel Comics in the 1970s

Artists Hal Foster (left) and Burne Hogarth (right) are rightly famed for their amazing work on Prince Valiant and Tarzan respectively. If he had broken into comic strips instead of comics, John Buscema would no doubt have been included in their company what with the restrained power and natural grace he brought to the human figure.

grasp of the grandiose, made it instantly apparent that he was easily the perfect substitute for Kirby. So much so, that in coming years, Buscema’s style would supplant that of Kirby’s as the template for the visual style of Marvel, a position that would become official with the publication of the hugely successful How to Draw Comics the Marvel Way, an oversized book in which young artists eager to gain entry at the company were taught to draw in a style that may have originated with Kirby’s hyper dynamism, but was now refined under Buscema’s more down to earth naturalism. Not that Buscema was the type to restrain himself at the art board! For sure, the rebuke he once suffered from Lee in a moment of thoughtlessness early on in his run on the Silver Surfer book continued to sting and its effects, prompting a determination in Buscema never to explore the boundaries of his art again but instead, to remain within the tried and true four- and six-panel per page format, continued to define his style. But within those stultified parameters, Buscema’s traditional style of art, one growing out of the naturalism of Hal Foster and Burne Hogarth, was allowed to hold free sway and what resulted was on display here in Mighty Thor #184 (Jan. 1971) (and later to much greater effect on the Conan the Barbarian strip). Furthermore, the artist was given good material to work from as, loosed from leftover plot elements

1971

Conan the Barbarian #3

“The Twilight of the Grim Grey God!”; Roy Thomas (script), Barry Windsor-Smith (pencils), Sal Buscema (inks)

After a tentative start with #1 and an artistically improved, but unremarkable story in #2, it was left to Conan the Barbarian #3 (Feb. 1971)

that had contributed in dragging down Neal Adams’ efforts in the two issues immediately following Kirby’s departure from the title, Lee was reenergized and turned in an exciting script filled with new elements reminiscent in spirit to the Grandiose Years including a world-ravaging menace from “the world beyond,” the enigmatic “Silent One,” and the secret of “Infinity.” And up to the challenge of depicting all these new concepts was Buscema, who filled this issue with a panorama of dramatic shots featuring an Asgard in the grip of fear, a despairing Odin, visions of galaxies being swept aside at the brush of some gigantic cosmic hand, the departure of Odin in a crackling whirlpool of energy, the merging of the silent one as he follows Odin to the reaches of infinity, and finally a no-holds barred battle between Asgard and an army of giants led by Loki (which Buscema concludes with two pages broken down into a nine panel grid). Not only was this issue a strong start for Buscema, it was easily enough to make the loss of Kirby far more easy to take and, strangely enough, would pave the way for a continuing evolution at Marvel that would make it an inhospitable place for Kirby when he eventually returned to the company only a few years later. So strong was the impression made by John Buscema in these years, that for the remainder of the Twilight era, his would be the style that defined the look of Marvel’s flagship titles.

Conan the Barbarian #3, page 3: After a hesitant start with Conan #1 (but with better work suggested in his pencils for that issue’s cover), artist Barry Smith knocked fans out with his work this issue, beautifully translating Thomas’ almost poetic Howardian script into a tale about the emptiness of war where the only victor is Death.

Part II: 1970-1974

to be the first real, knockout issue of the title, the one Valkyries, scenes in the war camp of the savage that made fans, after six months, sit up and take Hyperboreans, and the final climactic battle notice. The story this issue, “Twilight of the Grim between Tomar and Brian). But the other thing Grey God,” was actually the fifth chronologically that made this issue an especially strong third produced by writer Roy Thomas and artist Barry outing was Thomas’ wise decision not only to Smith, but the third to appear in print due to editorial adapt one of Robert E. Howard’s own stories, but anxiety about sales for a book whose genre was so to stick closely to the author’s near poetic prose. opposite to the kinds of features that had been most “I could just as easily have plotted a brand new successful for Marvel. Thomas had to fight to convince tale,” Thomas has said. “But I enjoyed working with both editor Stan Lee and especially publisher Martin Howard’s prose, which I wanted to introduce… Goodman to go ahead with a sword and sorcery to comics readers. I had become…not a sword and feature and continued to struggle to maintain their sorcery fan, but a Robert E. Howard fan.” Entitled confidence in it. “The Grey God As a result, he gave Passes,” when the great care to each short story first of the stories as appeared in print, they were completed Thomas renamed and mindful of sales, it so that it was made decisions that more in keeping changed the order with the author’s in which they original title and would be published. stuck close to Aware of the various Howard’s prose. weaknesses of Especially beautiful the first two issues is the otherworldly, (including some evocative opening criticisms by sequence in which Goodman of #2), Conan encounters Barry Smith found his muse among the pre-Raphaelites and deciding that a a stranger in the of the mid-1800s. Hallmarks of the movement’s style bridge was needed wilderness. “Can’t included intricate detail, intense use of color, and complex between the events you smell it, Conan? compositions. of #2 and submitted The scent of blood stories that would is on the wind, the eventually appear in #4 and 5, Thomas decided musk of slaughter and the shouts of the slaying,” that this issue’s story was needed to fill the gap in the grey man tells him. “Now comes the reaping the life of Conan (of which the title was a chronicle). of kings, the garnering of chiefs like a harvest. It was only serendipity that Smith’s art for #3, To each being, there is an appointed time, and which benefited from his experience doing #1,2, even the gods must die! …You comprehend 4 and 5 first, was light years in improvement little of what you have seen and heard, Conan. over what the fans had already seen in the first Yet, soon you shall witness the passing of two issues of the book. Smith it seems (who once kings…Aye, and of more than kings! Now again was home in England), had found another get you gone, for gigantic shadows stalk redinfluence, beyond even Kirby or Steranko, in the handed across the world, and night is falling on pre-Raphaelite movement of the nineteenth century. Hyperborea.” Thomas, more than in any other Noted for their ultra-realism and attention to the comics adaptation from literary sources, captured most minute detail, those artists who attached absolutely the spirit of the author and he did it themselves to the pre-Raphaelite movement while adhering to the quite different requirements seemed to fit easily with the paisley tinged of the comics format (not least of which was the sensibilities of the 1960s. Fully embracing their Comics Code). This issue was the real beginning artistic vision, Smith applied their principles of the phenomenon that saw sword and to his own art and in a remarkably short time sorcery become a major mainstay of the industry was producing some of the most beautiful work and launched Conan into the realm of ever seen in comics (examples this issue include legendary status. But believe it or not, the best the opening sequence featuring the ride of the was yet to come! 70

Marvel Comics in the 1970s

1971

Astonishing Tales #4

“The Sun God!”; Gerry Conway (script), Barry Windsor-Smith [as Barry Smith] (pencils), Sam Grainger (inks)

Launched a month after Amazing Adventures, the second of Marvel’s super-hero oriented split books was unlike its predecessor in that its concentration seemed less on costumed heroes than adventure characters. For instance, although Ka-Zar had appeared in various

Astonishing Tales #4, page 2: Inker Sam Grainger does a commendable job over Smith’s increasingly detailed pencils (this story was drawn the same month as Conan #3)… not an easy task!

titles teamed up with superheroes like Daredevil, the X-Men, and Spider-Man, he was still essentially a Tarzan-type who fit, as he does here in Astonishing Tales #4 (Feb. 1971), more easily in the jungle than on the streets of New York. When Kirby was assigned to write and draw the new strip, he was unable to get away from the character’s recent history and made the setting of his first story arc the big city. But playing to artist Barry Smith’s strengths, scripter Gerry (still credited as the more formal “Gerard” here!) Conway wisely moved the locale for Ka-Zar’s adventures from civilization to his native Savage Land, a hidden patch of jungle kept incongruously functional somewhere at the South Pole (where dinosaurs and such still roamed). Recently recruited by editor Roy Thomas, Gerry Conway hit the ground running with the Ka-Zar strip and rapidly proved to be one of the company’s most versatile scripters, adapting himself to a style of writing that seemed a combination of Stan Lee and Thomas. But that would change quickly as he soon found his own voice and go on to become one of the company’s most reliable staffers. For now however, his work on Ka-Zar was top of the line with dialogue just formal enough to evoke distant times and noble peoples and narration at once florid and somehow meaningful. (“Yet beyond the storm of battle, there rages sibylline calm. Still, like the whisper of faint moonbeams painting pale glades blue. And in those shadows of nightfall, a gnarled figure moves…!”) Part II: 1970-1974

returning was Wally Wood, who hadn’t been seen in a Marvel book since his historic run on early issues of Daredevil. Sort of like a day in the life of a dictator, the story follows Doom as he spends time on the Riviera (or thereabouts), blasts a cat burglar who tries to rob his room (did you know that Doom sleeps in his clothes?), wrecks a gambling parlor (“You dare to impugn my honesty?”), and returns to Latveria only to find his subjects goose-stepping to the tune of the Red Skull! Hoo boy!

Amazing Adventures #5

Larry Lieber (left) made a late innings appearance among Marvel’s super-heroes when he was called upon to script the Dr. Doom feature in Astonishing Tales. He lucked out having Wally Wood (right) on hand to illustrate!

Arriving just in time to take advantage of Ka-Zar’s switch in locales was Barry Smith, whose style was just beginning to take off over in the Conan strip. Matching the feel of Conway’s script, Smith brought his lush, detailed pencils to Ka-Zar, and together the two men banished forever the character’s origins as a Tarzan rip-off. Combining the fantasy of the Hyborian Age and a character and setting where super-heroes had once figured, Conway and Smith transformed the Savage Land from a Pul-ul-donian lookalike to an original wonderland dotted with exotic civilizations, hybrid beasts, and renegade gods. Ka-Zar would never again be served so well. The other half of the book was almost as radical as the Ka-Zar strip in that it featured a villain as the “hero!” Dr. Doom had long since been the favorite bad-guy of the Marvel Universe, but were readers ready to support him as the star of his own feature? However, if anyone feared that stories might violate the Comics Code by having the villain defeat the forces of good issue after issue they may have been relieved at the clever way in which that possibility was avoided. Instead of fighting heroes, Doom would be kept busy enough just trying to hold onto power in Latveria. It seems that there were plenty of local revolutionaries and fellow villains to make things hot for him. Although starting out with writing by Thomas, the scripting chores were handed off this issue to Larry Lieber (who’d been exiled to the company’s fading line of westerns since his service on the hero books in the early years). Also 72

Marvel Comics in the 1970s

“His Brother's Keeper!”; Roy Thomas (script), Neal Adams (pencils), Tom Palmer (inks) “...And To All a Good Night”; Roy Thomas (script), Gene Colan (pencils), Bill Everett (inks)

Now an uncredited associate editor at Marvel, Roy Thomas seemed to be everywhere! From his tentative beginnings as Stan Lee’s right hand man, he was quickly graduated from romance and humor books to the coveted super-hero titles. Starting out with the almost thankless task of sprucing up the flagging X-Men book, he was soon given the more prestigious Avengers title and as Lee continued to retreat from active scripting, Thomas moved in to fill the vacuum. Now he was writing practically everything in the Marvel stable and readers never knew where he’d pop up next. Here, for instance, in Amazing Adventures #5 (March 1971) where he takes over both the Inhumans strip from Kirby and the Black Widow feature from Friedrich. For the Inhumans, he was once again teamed up with Neal Adams (having time on his hands following the relegation of the X-Men book to lowly reprint status) figuring that with only 10 pages to do every other month rather than 20 pages every 30 days, the artist would have little problem making deadlines. Again teaming Adams with Palmer, Thomas moved immediately to differentiate his interpretation of the strip from that of Kirby’s by emphasizing his forte: characterization. Whereas under Kirby, each Inhuman was defined simply by his relation to the other Inhumans (brother, cousin, sister, betrothed, consort, king), suddenly there was strife among them as loyalties and suspicions set them up against each other. Most telling was Amazing Adventures #5, page 28: A beautiful page by penciler Gene Colan and inker Bill Everett. Emotion is written on every close up and if it weren’t for the coloring, would panel 3 ever have gotten past the Code?

Thomas’ decision to concentrate his story arc on an amnesiac Black Bolt stranded in the big city and using text boxes to convey the character’s thoughts and feelings in the third person. It was a gimmick that had the effect of providing the reader with a real sense of intimacy with the character. Meanwhile, Adams’ art added to the verisimilitude with a series of portraits that expressed the full range of human emotions (although his facials of street urchin Joey were a little too precious). In the other half of the book, Gene Colan and Bill Everett continued to supply their dazzling interpretation of the Black Widow (this time giving readers a peek into Natasha’s boudoir for some scenes that were sure to have given the Comics Code people more than a few moments of doubt!). Thomas here, presents an early tale of runaways and how they’re sometimes recruited by unscrupulous characters to commit criminal acts (in this case, a latter day Fagin called the Astrologer). The story opens as Ivan prevents one of the villain’s recruits from committing suicide and takes him to the Widow. But good intentions don’t always turn out for the better, as the Astrologer’s men attack the Widow’s penthouse to keep their former partner from spilling the beans on them. A melee follows of course, but with the unexpected denouement in which the boy Ivan had rescued falls from a ledge to his death on the street below. A flawlessly paced, compact story that showed good yarns could be told in 10 pages as well as in 20. Thomas has stated that sales figures on Marvel’s two split books were not that good, but it’s still hard to believe that the same readers who supported fulllength features such as Daredevil and the Avengers, could turn around and resist gems like these. Well, it was their loss!

Fantastic Four #108

“The Monstrous Mystery of the Nega-Man”; Stan Lee (script), Jack Kirby, John Buscema and John Romita (pencils), Joe Sinnott (inks)

Marking the last time the names of Lee and Kirby would appear together in a credit box (at least through the Twilight Years), Fantastic Four #108 (March 1971) would serve as the final epitaph of perhaps the greatest creative team in the history of comics. Unfortunately, far from a satisfying send off, this effort served only as a sad good bye for Kirby whose final official issue in the record breaking run was Fantastic Four #102. Apparently having completed one last story before absconding to DC, Kirby’s intended tale of two brothers, one good, the other bad, and their struggle for control 74

Marvel Comics in the 1970s

Ignore that jungle lord on the left! Any resemblance between him and Timely’s Ka-Zar (who began in the pulps before moving to comics as one of the features in the historic Marvel Tales #1), is strictly coincidental... and if you believe that...

over something called “mega-power” was radically altered by Lee to fit new continuity he and other artists had begun since Kirby’s departure. Out of an original 20-page submission, Lee cut out almost half the pages and had them redrawn by John Buscema, transforming the story into one about the Negative Zone thus tying it in more securely to established FF history. Perhaps readers weren’t expected to notice the jarring differences between Kirby-drawn pages and those by Buscema, but not a word was mentioned on the letters page or the bullpen bulletins explaining the odd return of Kirby to the FF book. As good as Buscema was, his pencils couldn’t help but appear weak and washed out when compared alongside even late-period Kirby. (To be fair, this was after Buscema’s dressing down by Lee on Silver Surfer, when he retreated from the high point of his dynamism back to conventional layouts.) Just compare Kirby’s fight scenes on pages 3-6 (especially panel 1, page 6) with Buscema’s on pages 17-20. But it was Buscema’s style, as exemplified by his work on succeeding issues of the FF and Thor as well as Conan, that was destined to replace Kirby’s as the future look of Marvel, at least among the flagship titles. Kirby’s reputation would continue to grow, but mostly as a legend among Marvel fans; when he returned to the fold mid-decade, the man behind the legend was found to be of reduced stature and unable to fit in where once he’d ruled as “King.”

1971

Creatures on the Loose #10

“The Skull of Silence!”; Roy Thomas (script), Bernie Wrightson [as Berni Wrightson] (pencils & inks) “Trull! the Unhuman!”: Stan Lee (script), Jack Kirby (pencils), Dick Ayers (inks)

Bernie Wrightson was one of a handful of rare animals whose artistic influences didn’t spring from Marvel in general or Kirby in particular. Where most upcoming young artists eagerly sought entry at 625 Madison Avenue, a few quietly began working up the street at DC. For Wrightson, and artists like Michael Kaluta, Jeffrey Jones, and Arthur Suydam, the old EC Comics of the 1950s and its stable of artists, especially Graham “Ghastly” Ingels, was where they drew their inspiration. As a result, they were lured first to DC because of its long-standing stable of horror comics and the fact that they were edited by veteran EC artist

Haunt of Fear #15: Artist Graham “Ghastly” Ingels found a home in EC’s various horror titles of the 1950s. His often lurid art became the inspiration for a legion of young admirers who eventually found their way into the industry mostly by way of drawing for DC’s mystery titles.

Joe Orlando. Over the years, these artists honed their talents on 5- to 10-page stories of ghostly revenge, graveyard spooks, and haunted castles. The most prolific and arguably the most talented of these artists was Wrightson, whose images of moldering tombs and walking corpses became a trademark that almost reeked of rotting flesh and grave dirt. As comics’ creative and popular momentum shifted from DC to Marvel in the 1960s, it became increasingly difficult for artists and writers of the former to resist jumping ship and joining the competition. But over time, it became an interesting fact that few of DC’s younger talent hardly ever left the company and when they did, it was reason enough to take notice. And so, except for a few scattered covers, “The Skull of Silence” in Creatures on the Loose #10 (March 1971) (formerly Tower of Shadows) was one of only two appearances of Wrightson’s work at Marvel (not counting covers). The tale was an adaptation of a story by Robert E. Howard about a strange castle where silence is kept imprisoned and features the first appearance of King Kull (another REH character that would soon graduate to his own title). Adapted again by Thomas (who had the Howard concession all to himself in these years), the story didn’t look like a typical Marvel comic. In fact, it seemed more in the style of a Harold Foster Prince Valiant Sunday page or even a text heavy EC story. Filled with Wrightson’s heavy use of blacks, much of the layout was made up of small panels headed by text blocks rather than dialogue balloons. Again, Thomas exercises good judgment in deciding what to keep of Howard’s prose and what to sacrifice in the name of the comics medium. The results became what was quickly emerging with Marvel’s sword and sorcery features as a kind of poetic style that gave stories a certain dramatic weight (despite their blood ‘n guts action scenes) absent from the looser, more self-deprecating super-hero titles. (“No birds sing as Kull reins his proud stallion to a halt before the great stark castle, dark as doom. No wind stirs the grim jade gong which stands beside its door, its greenish shades ever shifting, ever changing. And even as Kull’s brave comrades follow him up the slope, their footfalls on the rocks seem to tinkle drearily and far way, dying without echo.”) Fun Fact: This issue is filled out with a Kirby reprint from the company’s pre-hero era called “Trull! The Unhuman!”, which owed much to Theodore Sturgeon’s classic SF story “Killdozer.” Part II: 1970-1974

Conan the Barbarian #4

“The Tower of the Elephant”; Roy Thomas (script), Barry Windsor-Smith [as Barry Smith] (pencils), Sal Buscema (inks)

According to Thomas, Marvel’s original agreement with the Robert E. Howard estate didn’t give it any rights to the Conan prose stories themselves, but only to non-Conan material. If so, that understanding soon fell by the wayside and in no time at all, Thomas was taking

Conan the Barbarian #4, page 14: If there were still any fans who doubted Barry Smith’s artistic talent after his work on “The Grim, Grey God,” then surely his amazing work here on “The Tower of the Elephant” must surely have won them over!

Marvel Comics in the 1970s

advantage of his new freedom to adapt those stories into comics form. And lucky for readers, the first he chose was one of the most famous and best of all Conan’s adventures: “The Tower of the Elephant.” (In fact, Thomas liked it so much, he adapted it again years later with John Buscema.) Taking place early in Conan’s life, when he was barely out of his teens and making a living as a thief, the story concerns itself with a strange, glittering tower set in the center of Arenjun, self styled “city of thieves.” When Conan hears of the tower and the treasures to be found there, he ignores the fact that no thief has dared rob the place and makes a bee line to it. After overcoming numerous obstacles, he breaks inside and discovers Yag-Kosha, the “elephant” of the title who’s held prisoner in the tower by the evil wizard Yara. Wonderfully and sensitively adapted from the original story, Thomas and Smith perfectly capture the dangerous beauty, the bejeweled landscape, and the wonder and terror of Howard’s Hyborian Age. Never did an adaptation come so close to picturing REH’s virile and robust imagination. And it didn’t hurt that Smith’s work on the strip continued to improve at a wild pace (hard to believe that the story in Conan the Barbarian #4 (April 1971) was done before #3!) Fans who, only months before, dismissed him as a hopeless hack, now praised him as one of the truly titanic comic talents to emerge from Marvel. And amid a group of very talented people (including Bernie Wrightson, Mike Kaluta, and Jeff Jones with whom Smith would later share

1971 studio space), that was no idle observation. Particularly impressive this issue is the two-page sequence in which Conan finds Yag-Kosha; lushly detailed by Smith (whose developing sense of design can be seen in the delightful patterns he places on walls and curtains) and colored predominantly in the green of the elephant god’s skin color, Thomas manages to evoke sympathy in the reader for the alien’s plight. (“Listen, o man! I am foul and monstrous to you, I know, but you would seem as strange to me, could I but see you. For there are many worlds besides this earth, and life takes many shapes.”) It was a stunning achievement that rocked the comics world back on its collective heels and pointed the way to more personal, more individualistic work by those who followed: Work that would increasingly ignore the age old comics dictum that demanded art be kept simple and to as few lines as possible.

Avengers #88

“The Summons of Psyclop”; Harlan Ellison (plot), Roy Thomas (script), Sal Buscema (pencils), Jim Mooney (inks)

One of the hallmarks of the Twilight Years was the influx of new writing and artistic talent at Marvel drawn from the fans who’d grown up reading the company’s books during its previous three phases. But a few of those new additions made their appearances a bit earlier, slipping in and establishing themselves during the Grandiose Years. Steranko came from the world of advertising and a brief stint at Harvey Comics, and Barry Smith had received enough of an encouraging word from samples he’d sent in that he was prompted to arrive from England looking for work and getting his foot in the door. Sal Buscema, on the other hand, arrived on the coattails of his older brother John who had broken into the industry working for Marvel in the 1950s and returned full time in the mid-1960s. At first, Sal worked over his brother’s pencils as an inker, producing more than satisfactory results on such strips as the Silver Surfer. And so (after submitting a sample page of his own pencils), it was as natural as rain that he was chosen to follow his brother as regular artist on the Avengers when John was picked to replace Kirby on the Fantastic Four and Thor. By this time, Sal’s artwork had developed to the point where he could stand alone as a penciler himself, and produced in partnership with writer Roy Thomas a string of fondly remembered adventures that concluded with the opening chapters of the epic Kree/Skrull War, a storyline that would be completed famously by Neal Adams. But although Buscema’s style had the fast-paced action

demanded by Marvel at the time, it seemed to lack that certain oomph that separated the great artists from the merely adequate. Somehow, despite his flying figures, liberal use of Kirby style energy crackles, force lines, and natural figure work, Buscema still failed to capture the vitality, the spontaneity, or the sheer creative force of the company’s great artists—all qualities on display in Avengers #88 (May 1971), “The Summons of Psyklop,” a tale dreamed up by science fiction writer Harlan Ellison and scripted by Roy Thomas (and inked by Jim Mooney, the DC staffer fresh off a near disastrous turn doing the same chores over John Buscema’s pencils on the Spider-Man strip). Granted, the tale concludes in that month’s Hulk book, but that doesn’t necessarily forgive the story’s confusing nature, one that Buscema was called upon to make some kind of sense of. The plot opens in the middle of an experiment to separate Bruce Banner from his Hulk persona, then flashes back in time as the Avengers battle a voodoo cult in Louisiana before fast-forwarding again to a location in the Pacific Ocean where a subterranean creature by the name of Psyklop schemes to awaken dark gods from the distant past (the story even opens up with a quote from horror writer H.P. Lovecraft on the splash page!). In the end, Buscema’s work was solid, unobtrusive, dependable, but rarely (if ever) providing any kind of imaginative leap in design or interpretation of the material he was working on. One of the advantages of Buscema’s straightforward style

With his own off beat fiction and editorship of the landmark Dangerous Visions anthology, Harlan Ellison may have been considered a young Turk in the science fiction community, but his few attempts at plotting stories for Marvel during the twilight years fell somewhat flat. Part II: 1970-1974

was a simple clarity that managed to keep the story moving forward while making it understandable to readers. It was a quality he shared with peers such as George Tuska, Herb Trimpe, Larry Lieber, and Marie Severin, the less exciting, but competent, artists who filled a necessary niche in the company’s expanding line of books. After all, such artistic stars as Jim Steranko, Neal Adams, Barry Smith, Gene Colan, John Buscema, John Romita, or even Jack Kirby couldn’t be everywhere at once. Nevertheless, it was ironic that as the Twilight Years went on and many of the more dynamic artists left the company, it would fall to Sal Buscema to pick up much of the slack with his style coming close to becoming the face of Marvel by the mid-1970s.

Savage Tales #1, page 33: It was too bad Savage Tales was cancelled after only the first issue, because judging from this beautiful page by Gray Morrow, it would have given he and other DC mystery artists more opportunities to strut their stuff at Marvel!

line of horror based magazines that included flagship titles Eerie and Creepy, Stan Lee approached assistant editor Roy Thomas with the news that he planned once again to try and break in to the blackand-white magazine market (remember his first attempt with Spectacular Spider-Man?). He even had some ideas in mind for ongoing features as well as a title: Savage Tales. It seemed that despite the abortive Spectacular Spider-Man project of a few Savage Tales #1 years before, Lee was still interested in expanding “The Frost Giant's Daughter”; Roy Thomas (script), Marvel into new markets, while at the same time Barry Windsor-Smith [as Barry Smith] (pencils & inks) offering material for older readers other than “The Fury of the Femizons”; Stan Lee (script), costumed super-heroes. But unlike Warren, Lee John Romita (pencils & inks) was not prepared to simply exploit the freedoms “The Origin of the Man-Thing”; Roy Thomas & offered by the magazine format; he wanted to Gerry Conway (script), Gray Morrow (pencils & inks) preserve the elements that had made Marvel a “Joshua's Burden”; Denny O'Neil [as Sergius success. Thus, it was probably a no-brainer to take the O'Shaughnessy] (script), Gene Colan (pencils), Tom Palmer (inks) company’s most popular non-costumed character and make him the headliner of the “The Night of the Looter!”; Stan Lee (script), John Buscema new Savage Tales. As luck would (pencils & inks) have it, the creative team of Thomas and Barry Smith were just Right there, on a rather murky hitting their stride with Conan John Buscema cover painting, and managed to turn in perhaps they warned readers: “This their finest Hyborian tale to publication is rated M for the date: an adaptation of Robert. E. mature reader,” and compared Howard’s “The Frost Giant’s to the more traditional comic Daughter” (later reprinted in an book fare of other black-andedited version in Conan the white magazines, the stories in Barbarian #16). Opening with a Savage Tales #1 (May 1971) did spectacular double-page spread, indeed live up to that declaration. Smith proved that his art didn’t With themes that were not of need color to hit readers where immediate interest to younger they lived; inking himself, he was readers, but showing a bold able to bring out details of style as measure of restraint with language yet unseen by fans of the regular and sex, the stories in Savage Conan color comic. Complimenting Tales, despite their fantastic Smith’s evocative art, Thomas elements, did turn out to be one outdid himself in a script that Like contemporaries Bernie of the few successes in comics remained true to Howard’s near Wrightson and Al Williamson, history to incorporate adult neither artist Gray Morrow’s poetic prose. But even though material in a way that wasn’t style nor temperament was this story alone would have flat out exploitative. Perhaps especially suited for supermade Savage Tales #1 a landmark inspired by sales of the regular heroes; consequently, he made issue, it also featured the debut Conan the Barbarian comic and few appearances at Marvel of another character destined during the twilight years. not unaware of the success of the for a long career in the regular Warren Publishing Company’s 78

Marvel Comics in the 1970s

Marvel Universe. According to Thomas, the name and concept for the Man-Thing strip had originally been suggested by Lee and the assignment given to artist Gray Morrow to draw. Unaccustomed to the Marvel method of simply giving the artist a synopsis from which to work, Thomas wrote Morrow a detailed outline for the initial story. When the artist had finished with the art, it was given to newcomer Gerry Conway to script, his very first assignment for Marvel. It’s said that too many cooks spoil the broth, but in this case, the opposite happened with the combination of Morrow’s lush pencils and Conway’s driving third person narrative turning Thomas’ story into an instant classic. Intended to be the start of a regular series, the second story by Len Wein and Neal Adams failed to appear when Savage Tales was abruptly cancelled and instead ended up in Astonishing Tales #12 of all places! (Conway and Morrow would be reunited for a third story that duly appeared in the first installment of a regular Man-Thing strip in Adventure into Fear #10). The issue was rounded out by “Black Brother,” a ground-level tale of African intrigue told by Denny O’Neil (writing as “Sergius O’Shaughnessy”) and drawn by Gene Colan and Tom Palmer; a Ka-Zar story scripted by Lee and drawn and inked by John Buscema (Ka-Zar was probably thought to be a good subject for Savage Tales in that he was one of the few regular Marvel characters that didn’t wear a costume!); and the quirky “Fury of the Femizons” (“tomorrow’s violent voluptuaries!”) that featured a future world where men are dominated by a society of female warriors. Dreamed up by Lee (who wrote it with John Romita on pencils), it was a concept that he clearly cherished since he was still talking about it years later as a possible film project. But despite the high quality of the magazine’s Marvel publisher Martin Goodman was nothing if not a good businessman. Generally conservative, Goodman liked to follow trends rather than create them and preferred sticking to what worked rather than experimenting with new formats.

Marvel Comics in the 1970s

features, all presented beneath a startling cover image of a defiant Conan thrusting a severed head toward the reader, lack of support from publisher Martin Goodman doomed the book to cancellation before it even had a chance to get off the ground. Still skittish about selling a magazine that, for all intents and purposes, was just a comic book with magazine-sized dimensions, Goodman, as he did with the company’s last attempt to produce a blackand-white magazine, was never fully committed to the project and decided to pull the plug on Savage Tales even before sales figures could confirm if it had been selling or not. In addition, Thomas has said that sales weren’t the only thing on Goodman’s mind; he was also wary of the Comics Code Authority, which he feared might interpret Savage Tales as an attempt to circumvent its rules and retaliate by giving him trouble with the company’s regular line of comics. And so, Marvel’s first, prolonged entry into the area of black-and-white magazines would have to wait a couple years more and after Lee had replaced Goodman as publisher.

Amazing Spider-Man #96

“--And Now the Goblin!”; Stan Lee (script), Gil Kane (pencils), John Romita (inks)

If the unintended purpose of Marvel’s development over the decade of the 1960s was to raise the average age of its readership and, in fact, to make comics a “safe” medium for even adults to enjoy, then the challenging of the Comics Code Authority might be interpreted as the company’s real climax, the point at which the Grandiose Years ended and the more self-conscious Twilight era began. In tandem with the development of the comics themselves was the progress of Stan Lee as a writer and editor of the most influential line of comics ever produced. Although Lee had a history of expressing his sentiments regarding race long before the debut of FF #1 (and wasted little time in introducing the theme into his comics of the 60s), it wasn’t until the Grandiose Years that he began to toss a wider net, addressing a broader range of topical issues in his comics from the Vietnam War and campus unrest to the handicapped and the environment, while infusing them with an optimistic belief in the human spirit. Presumably, he never had any trouble with the comic industry’s censoring board over any of these subjects. It wasn’t until he decided that the issue of drug abuse had become so prevalent in the public discourse that to ignore it in a medium that spoke most directly to young people was

1971

Green Lantern/Green Arrow #85: “My ward is a junkie!” Following in Marvel’s footsteps, writer Denny O’Neil and artist Neal Adams tried to bring relevance to DC comics but a ham-handed approach to topical issues made reading them a chore.

no longer possible that he had his first major disagreement with the Code Authority. Established in self-defense by a fearful comics industry, the purpose of the Comics Code Authority was to short circuit a rising tide of public concern (which climaxed in congressional hearings) over the increasing depiction of violent and sexual imagery in what was considered a children’s medium. Since the 1950s, when it was first instituted, the Authority reviewed every comic produced by participating companies (not all signed on for oversight by the Authority) and although some more mature fare suffered (such as the EC line of comics) overall, its efforts created a healthier industry and prepared the ground for

Marvel’s new approach to super-heroes. For many years, that approach found a new and unique way to work within the bounds of the Code while at the same time introducing and raising social and political issues mostly alien to comics. That is, until Lee approached it with his story for Amazing Spider-Man #96 (May 1971). Lee has said that at the time, he’d begun to feel that the growing problem of drug abuse and addiction needed to be addressed and that comics were a natural vehicle for getting the message out to young people and warning them of the dangers. So strongly did he feel about this that for the first time since his own company had helped form the Authority, Lee defied it and ran the story without the Code’s stamp of approval on the cover of #96 (and since it was the first of a three-part story, it was omitted on the covers of 97 and 98 too). The omission didn’t go unnoticed and caused an overnight sensation in the larger media with Lee prominent in much of the coverage. Hindsight is 20/20 and in retrospect it could be said that public opinion at the time was not likely to condemn Lee’s defiance of the Authority, but the move had still been a risky one. In the end, Lee won and his gamble resulted in a change in the Code that allowed the portrayal of drug use in comic books so long as it was always shown in a negative light. But this triumph over the Authority had a down side too. With the camel’s nose inside the tent, it soon became impossible to keep the rest of it from getting inside. Next to fall was the Code’s prohibitions against the use of horrific elements in comics, the exploitation of women, language, and finally sex. As the years progressed, the Authority became a toothless tiger, permitting virtually any violation of its code to pass into the hands of the young people it had been formed to protect (even as its stamp of approval shrank to the point where a parent needed a magnifying glass to see it!) while at the same time becoming complicit in the virtual death of the industry itself.

Amazing Spider-Man #97

“In The Grip of the Goblin!”; Stan Lee (script), Gil Kane (pencils), Frank Giacoia & John Romita [credited as “Artist Emeritus’], Tony Mortellaro (backgrounds)

The blurbs that screamed out at readers on the cover of #96 had said it all (“A job for Peter Parker! The last fatal trip! Mary Jane knocks ‘em dead! The Green Goblin returns!”). They were a clear signal that after what seemed ages of being on auto-pilot, the Spider-Man strip was back on track, with action and adventure sure, but also Part II: 1970-1974

with a heaping helping of the personal sub-plots that really kept fans in the old pre-#67 days coming back for more. But signaled by a cover that featured a crowd of people gathered around an unconscious man and a Spider-Man incongruously tiny in the background, readers may have guessed that something different was up in this latest incarnation of the strip’s soap operatic roots. If it was one

Amazing Spider-Man #97, page 19: By contrast Stan Lee’s approach to topical issues was much easier to take than O’Neil’s. Deciding to keep his focus on entertainment first and life lessons second, Lee managed to better integrate relevance into his stories while also keeping readers interested.

Marvel Comics in the 1970s

thing that Lee knew how to do better than any writer in comics, it was integrating topical issues (“torn from today’s headlines!”) into the ongoing storylines and personal histories of his characters. Others tried to imitate him at the competition, but had always failed miserably (even laughably). While writers like Roy Thomas, Gerry Conway, and Gary Friedrich learned to rival him, his was the original voice, the one whose deft touch was always able to slip in serious subjects into essentially unbelievable super-hero hi-jinks in such a natural way that the seams never showed (Daredevil #47, Avengers #32-33, and Captain America #120 and 122). He did it again in the landmark “drug addiction” issues of Spider-Man, which were perhaps the best example of his style. In them, Lee approaches his antidrug theme from two angles: One openly, the other not so obvious. After a lead in of 10 pages (in which no action takes place, just lots of characterization and sub-plotting involving the strip’s many supporting players; alone, a sure sign of Lee at the top of his form), Spider-Man comes across a teenager, high on drugs, who throws himself from the roof of a building in the delusional belief that he can fly. He catches him and lowers him to the ground. There, dedicated police officers save his life (“Mommy, what…?” asks a youngster in the crowd. “It’s called mouth-to-mouth resuscitation, dear. It’s…his only hope.”) Next follows a quick two-panel soliloquy by Peter Parker on what he and the

1971 reader just saw. “Any drug but it ain’t! It hurts us more strong enough to give you than anyone else, ‘cause too that kind of trip can damage many of us got no hope, so your brain, but bad! But we’re easier pickin’s for the how do you warn the kids? pushers!” 3) Lee next turns How do you reach them? the whole subject on its ear …I’d rather face a hundred with an ending that if super-villains than toss [my written by anyone else life] away by getting would’ve sounded preachy hooked on hard drugs! and artificial as Randy ‘Cause that’s one fight you turns to wealthy Norman can’t win! …editors keep Osborn and accuses him of grinding out editorials ignoring the problem, “…it against the drug scene; ain’t just our problem, it’s maybe it’s not enough! yours too! You sit all day in Maybe we’ve got to do your ivory tower, countin’ more.” It was Lee presenting your bread. How hard are his argument before the bar you workin’ for the people? of the Comics Code while at What have you done to In defying the Comics Code Authority, Stan Lee proved the organization had the same time, making his fight drugs?” (With his finno teeth. Soon after the Spider-Man spiel as short and easy to ger pointed out at the reader, drug issues appeared, the Code bent swallow as possible for the was Randy really talking its rules on other issues as well. reader. Because when it to us?) “I’m just one man! Unknown at the time, the weakening came right down to it, It’s not my responsibility!” of the Code became a factor in making the secret of successfully responds an angry Osborn. these the twilight years, not only for Marvel, but for the whole comics integrating topical themes “You’re rich! You got industry. into stories was in not letting influence! That makes it them get in the way of the your responsibility!” 4) main reason for a comics’ Finally, Lee makes the ultiexistence: providing fast-moving entertainment for mate tie-in, having Randy’s outburst become the an audience who didn’t buy them to be lectured to— final cause for triggering Osborn’s buried memories an oversight less skilled creators would commit that of his other identity as the Green Goblin! In often resulted in dwindling sales and cancellation Amazing Spider-Man #97 (June 1971), Lee tightens of their books. This eventuality would help no the focus to a single person, one whom readers one—not the publisher who was concerned had known intimately since the Ditko years, as about profits, and certainly not the reader, the Peter catches roommate Harry popping pills. ostensible target of the writer’s educational “Now that I think of it, he’s always had a lot of efforts (nothing after all, could be learned from bottles in his medicine chest. Pills to keep him up, a cancelled book!). But Lee wasn’t finished. to relax him, and to put him to sleep.” Later, the Quickly shifting the scene to the Village Theater action moves to street level as Harry meets with where Mary Jane is due to star in an off-, off-, his pusher for a buy. Playing on Harry’s weakness, off-Broadway show, across only two pages, Lee ties the insecurity he feels regarding his relationship his drug theme seamlessly in with the ongoing with Mary Jane, the pusher acts sympathetic, and relationships between half a dozen regular char- when he offers “Something that’ll make you feel acters: 1) Mary Jane plays up to Peter Parker, like you’re king of the world,” Harry protests. upsetting boyfriend Harry Osborn (or at least he “This is the first time, and the last. I’m not getting thinks he’s her boyfriend), an ongoing situation hooked.” But of course, Harry’s fooling himself, ready made for introducing drugs into Harry’s because it’s already too late. When next he sees life; 2) The appearance of Randy Robertson Mary Jane, she lowers the boom, telling him (Robbie’s son) with the news of Spider-Man’s where it’s at with them. Plunged into black involvement with the overdose victim, which despair, Harry downs his entire stash of new pills allows a smooth segue back into the issue’s drug and overdoses. Just then, the Green Goblin makes theme (that Lee also uses to tie in to a racial sub- his dramatic appearance outside the window, but text) “Everyone figures it’s the black man’s bag, by this time, it’s definitely an anti-climax! Part II: 1970-1974

Amazing Spider-Man #98

“The Goblin's Last Gasp!”; Stan Lee (script), Gil Kane (pencils), Frank Giacoia (inks), Tony Mortellaro (backgrounds)

In Amazing Spider-Man #98 (July 1971), the final chapter of the drug issues, Lee permits himself to back off the more weighty aspects of his subject for a bit of cathartic action that could only happen in a comic book as Harry is taken to the hospital and Peter catches up to his pusher (meeting him in an alley, he pulverizes him). Meanwhile, back at the offices of the Daily Bugle, the writer offers the readers a final coda to the series as Robbie Robertson explains the angle he intends to use on the latest edition’s editorial to publisher Jameson. “I’m showing that drugs aren’t just a ghetto hang-up! They hit the rich, same as the poor. It’s everyone’s problem! We’ve all got to face it.” In comparison to the drama of the main theme, the story of Spider-Man’s battle with the Green Goblin (after regaining the memory he’d lost in #40) was almost uninteresting! Conveniently forgetting the gas he once used to dull Spidey’s spider-sense, the Goblin this time comes up with a chemical that deprives our hero of the ability to cling to any surface. It works for a while, but when Spider-Man maneuvers him outside the hospital room where Harry is recovering from his overdose, some part of the Goblin’s brain that’s still the loving father surfaces, drives him unconscious, and when next he wakes up, all memory of his being a super-villain is conveniently wiped clean. It was a plot device that worked before, but twice was really pushing it! (In fact, it happened three times if a count included the story in the magazine-sized Spectacular SpiderMan #2!) Throughout these issues, the art chores were handled more or less satisfactorily by Gil Kane (who was making it a habit of penciling all the really important issues of Spider-Man in these years). Still relying on the same artistic eccentricities that constantly plagued his work (low angle shots up characters’ noses, warped anatomy, cartoonish faces), his work turned out pretty well in #96 under the heavy inks of Romita, but dropped off under the less detailed work of Frank Giacoia in #97. However, Giacoia seemed to rise to the occasion in this issue, doing a nice job detailing scenes that didn’t include either the Goblin or Spider-Man, especially the one at the Daily Bugle. (Mention should be made here of the street scenes and cityscapes provided by Tony Mortellaro who finished up backgrounds and managed to get his name onto every billboard and sign.) In any case, the Comics Code stamp of approval would be 84

Marvel Comics in the 1970s

reinstated on #99 even as the anti-drug theme continued and even expanded to the company’s other books. A line had been crossed, and though the initial reasoning was solid, it was eventually abused and the depiction of drugs in comics would more often become just another background element, neither praised nor condemned (but like the movies and television, their mere presence in such entertainment media tended to glamorize them with a sense of action, danger, and the forbidden). But that was in a future no one at the time could predict and for the moment, Lee had created a mini-masterpiece of topical integration into super-hero action that left the reader feeling neither cheated nor bored. It was a template that all too few comics creators followed for an all too short a time.

Captain America #137

“To Stalk the Spider-Man”; Stan Lee (script), Gene Colan (pencils), Bill Everett (inks)

Behind its deceptively dull cover by Sal Buscema, Captain America (and the Falcon) #137 (May 1971) featured the beginning of a short run of issues that ranked as the best since the Lee/Kirby/Steranko era. Unfortunately, they’d also signal the end of the book’s glory days with a slow slide into mediocrity already being experienced by the company’s other flagship titles (not that the stories were bad, it was just that they began to seem too familiar; punctuated now and then with exciting work by Stan Lee, Roy Thomas, and Gerry Conway, the gaps between such

Further juxtaposing the symbolism embodied in Captain America with the spirit of the times, Lee tapped into the urban unrest that plagued many US cities during the twilight years to create a new, exciting direction for his star-spangled Avenger.

1971 efforts grew ever wider until the innovation seized completely and formula became the name of the game). It’d be a flourish marked with an interesting new direction for the title character that began strongly but was then inexplicably abandoned only a handful of issues later. It was only natural for Lee, then very much interested in the problems of the inner city that had become a staple of the morning newspapers, to bring those issues to the Captain America strip. After months of discussion in the book’s letters pages about the role Cap could or couldn’t play in a society increasingly hostile to expressions of jingoist patriotism, and a number of stories he’d already written that had the hero questioning those very concerns, it was the most natural thing in the world for Lee to bring the Star-Spangled Avenger closer to the people. Already having established Sam Wilson (aka the Falcon) as a social worker in Harlem, it was an easy step to have Steve Rogers become more closely involved in the lives and circumstances of the people who lived there. It began innocently enough with a two-part tale that harkened back to the Years of Consolidation when heroes would meet, misunderstand each other’s motives, and then mix it up until they realized they’d made a mistake. In this case, the Falcon, feeling inadequate alongside his more experienced partner, decides to prove his worth by bringing Spider-Man to justice (still under suspicion in the death of Capt. Stacy). But tracking Spidey to Peter Parker’s apartment, he grabs roommate Harry Osborn by mistake! Of course, Spider-Man shows up in the nick of time, the two trade blows and, outclassed by someone with “the proportionate strength of a spider,” the non-powered Falcon is knocked unconscious. Now it’s Spidey’s turn to place a tracer on him. It sounds pretty simple here, but with Lee’s seemingly effortless prose supported by Gene Colan’s art (inked again with Bill Everett’s lush inks), it made for an exciting lead-in for the

conclusion next issue. Sadly, this gorgeous effort by Colan (whose feeling for the strip had been constantly improving) was doomed to be his last on the book as John Romita (ironically, the man from whom Colan had taken over the book with #116 [well okay, with a fill-in job by John Buscema on #115!]) stepped in on the art chores for the second part of the story.

Captain America #138

“It Happens In Harlem”; Stan Lee (script), John Romita (pencils & inks), Tony Mortellaro (inks)

Now this was more like it! Continued from the Captain America/Falcon/Spider-Man team-up the issue before, Captain America (and the Falcon) #138 (June 1971) had John Romita taking over the art chores from Gene Colan and what a difference a couple of years made! Before this, Romita seemed to have reached his peak during his first stint on Spider-Man, but his developing style was soon watered down first by falling back on only doing the layouts and then relying on weak inkers like Jim Mooney to finish up his pencils. And in the two times he tried his hand at Cap (first in Tales of Suspense and then in Captain America #113-114), the results were pretty flat to say the least. But something happened between those issues and this one. Perhaps inspired by the impressive work such artists as Colan, Adams, and Smith were turning in, Romita decided to knuckle down, choose one particular strip to concentrate on (rather than spreading himself thin with jobs like inking Kane on Spider-Man, filling in on the FF, doing the occasional cover and sundry other tasks an office art director

Terry and the Pirates 1934: Comic strip artist Milton Caniff’s hugely popular adventure series influenced many aspiring artists during its long run including a young John Romita.

Part II: 1970-1974

would do), and go to town. Which is exactly what he did. Taking a cue from longtime influence Milton Caniff (Terry and the Pirates), Romita decided to adapt the famed comic strip artist’s down to earth, heavy lined style to his own work by doing both the penciling and inking on Captain America himself. And not a moment too soon! Just in time to take advantage of writer Stan Lee’s new approach to the strip,

Captain America #138, page 3: Artist John Romita inks himself. By 1970, Romita’s style had evolved from the smooth, rounded figures of his early Spidey days to one that was so crisp, sharp, and hard edged that the reader could cut his fingers on the art if he wasn’t careful!

Marvel Comics in the 1970s

Romita’s newly detailed, but clean-cut style proved perfect for the street level stories Lee was set to tell in the coming issues (and judging by credits reading simply “by Stan Lee and John Romita,” he may have had a hand in the plotting as well). But it started here with a character Romita was perfectly at home with as Spider-Man tracks down the Falcon to find out why he attacked his roommate in the last issue. He finds him sure enough, but as the unconscious prisoner of underworld figure Stone Face who, while posing as a leader in the black community (“I’m gonna play up this ethnic bit for all it’s worth!”) actually wants nothing more than to shake down corporations and city hall for kickbacks. If he doesn’t get what he wants, he promises “riots and burnin’” to stop any development projects planned for the ‘hoods. Spider-Man ends up rescuing the Falcon and then helping him and Cap bust up Stone Face’s racket. The story ends in a bit of a cliff-hanger as Cap is picked up by a mysterious stranger and taken downtown. Suited more to reality-based stories, whether romance or crime, Romita’s style, more than ever, belonged in strips that emphasized characterization over action, city neighborhoods over outer space and human drama over sci-fi hardware (which, unlike artists like Kirby, he couldn’t design to save his life!). Those strengths came out this issue illustrating scenes of the city and the unfortunately all too familiar human beasts who prey upon its residents.

1971

Kull the Conqueror #1

“A King Comes Riding”; Roy Thomas (script), Ross Andru (pencils), Wally Wood (inks)

Although slow to start, mounting sales on the Conan book indicated to Marvel that it had a bona fide hit on its hands and (as it did many times in the 1940s and 50s), the company would waste little time in capitalizing on it. Like a bursting dam, Conan’s success would unleash a wave of features that weren’t necessarily tied in to the rest of the company’s line of super-hero titles (but in some cases, could be made to). And after almost ten years of building excitement into its books by stressing inter-title continuity (one of the pillars of the Years of Consolidation), such a shift in editorial thinking wasn’t anything to sneeze at. Sure, editor

Wonder Woman #98: With the help of inker Wally Wood, artist Ross Andru turned in a surprisingly acceptable job on Kull the Conqueror #1. At DC, on strips like Wonder Woman and Metal Men, he wasn’t so well served by long time partner Mike Esposito.

Stan Lee had begun to experiment with nonsuper-hero material with his anthology titles, but those soon lapsed into reprint material and his western and teen humor titles were dying on the vine, but the advent of Conan would open the door to all kinds of untraditional features, including a whole separate line of black-and-white magazines that had no relation at all to the company’s super-hero universe and that were deliberately targeted at an older audience. (Lee would even invent a rating for them, “M,” in emulation of the new movie ratings that were coming into use at the time.) But for its first foray into out-of-continuity features, Lee decided to play it safe by trying to recreate the success of Conan. Dipping into the pool of characters created by Robert E. Howard, Roy Thomas picked Kull, a former slave who’d risen through the ranks of the army to seize the throne of a powerful but decadent kingdom in a land lost to time when Atlantis sank beneath the sea. Of course, the choice of Kull wasn’t completely unexpected as he’d already been given a test run in Creatures on the Loose #10 and was the only other Howard character then in print in paperback form. While not of the otherworldly caliber of Barry Smith, the art team on Kull the Conqueror #1 (June 1971) proved surprisingly serviceable with pencils by Ross Andru and inks by Wally Wood. But then, where Conan’s adventures seemed to demand more of a sense of fantasy, the Kull strip, filled with sinister plots to overthrow the king, political intrigue, back-stabbing betrayal, and its constant air of menace and pessimistic gloom, called for a more reality-based art style. No doubt saved by Wood’s heavy inking (especially on the many close-ups demanded by the story), Andru’s work on this issue is almost palatable. A mainstay at DC for decades, Ross spent years lavishing his awkward, often mediocre work on the Wonder Woman strip and a barrage of war stories; later, he’d cap his career with a long run on the SpiderMan book. Helping all he could to make the new feature a success, Thomas wrote this first issue himself, basing its premise (Kull’s seizure of the throne of Valusia) around incidents described in a handful of Howard’s original stories. In some ways, the Kull strip was more interesting than the Conan feature. For Conan, outside forces are what Part II: 1970-1974

spurs him into action while Kull, by virtue of his being king, usually initiated the action himself. Thus, unlike his work on Conan, Thomas’ Kull would be a more introspective character, constantly faced with the paradoxes and contradictions of being a ruler: the moral judgments he had to make, the fears and doubts that still plagued him from his upbringing as an unlettered barbarian, the suspicion he held for his more educated subjects, none of whom he could trust. And by allowing readers to share Kull’s thoughts, Thomas created sympathy for the character which was often missing in Conan who, being free of responsibility, can do as he pleases subject only to his own simple code of right and wrong. It was a difference that in many ways would make the Kull strip a much more fascinating one than its immediate predecessor but a formula that would also doom it to early extinction.

Captain America #139

“The Badge and the Betrayal “; Stan Lee (script), John Romita (pencils & inks), Tony Mortellaro (inks)

Stan Lee hit the street running with the events of Captain America (and the Falcon) #139 (July 1971) as he took everything that readers’ had been discussing for months in the book’s letters page, combined it with a plot device culled from Cap’s origin, and created a framework loaded with story telling potential. For two issues, Lee (with input from artist John Romita) would be firing on all burners, creating and defining interesting supporting characters, developing the relationship between Sam and Steve, injecting topical subject matter to plots built around life on the streets of the inner city, and creating suspense, even interest, in an area that never had any in the whole history of the title: The private life of Captain America. And so, it only made the feeling of lost opportunity all the more acute when Lee inexplicably abandoned such a wonderful start for an extended storyline that took Cap away from the streets and into another extended science fiction story involving SHIELD and the fate of the world. But for two issues at least, Lee had finally latched onto a scenario perfect for a strip (much like its title character) that had always been mired in the past and forever in search of a theme. And helping him, Lee had Romita’s services on the pencils drawing in a new, Caniff-inspired style that was perfect for depicting Steve Rogers’ new life as a New York City police patrolman! It actually began at the end of the previous issue when Cap was picked up by a mysterious stranger. It turns 88

Marvel Comics in the 1970s

out that the guy was actually the city’s police commissioner wanting Cap to go undercover as a beat cop to discover the fate of a number of missing patrolmen. Of course our hero agrees and, posing as a rookie cop, is immediately plunged into a scenario reminiscent of his origin in which he began his career as a hero by posing as a fumbling army private who became the bane of his longsuffering sergeant. This time, it’ll be police force veteran Sgt. Muldoon putting the screws to his new recruit as Cap eventually decides to stay on the force when the current case is solved. Meanwhile, Lee doesn’t ignore the rest of the book’s cast as social worker Sam Wilson gets a visit by the lovely, but strictly militant Leila who disdains everything he stands for. “I ain’t sayin’ we don’t need to make it hot for the ones who been steppin’ on us for years,” muses Sam. “But, maybe it’s just as important for some of us to cool things down, so we can protect the rights we been fightin’ for.” And speaking of fighting, that’s what Steve is forced to do the first night on the job defending himself against a gang of kids intent on showing the new cop on the beat who really owns the neighborhood. But just as things get serious, they’re broken up by the appearance of Reverend Garcia, the hard working local priest

Leila Taylor and Angela Davis…separated at birth? Was Black power revolutionary and communist agitator Angela Davis the visual inspiration for Sam Wilson’s angry girlfriend? Only John Romita knew for sure!

1971

During Marvel’s twilight years, inner city riots had become a commonplace occurrence in the US with the earlier Watts riot in LA only the most well known. Placing Captain America in the middle of that kind of drama was pure genius on the part of Lee and Romita!

intent on bringing dignity to the residents of the neighborhood without the confrontational tactics advocated by Leila and her radical friends. Which side will Sam and Steve choose? It would’ve been a fascinating story to follow, but one that would never have a really satisfying answer because Lee and subsequent writers on the strip would lose track of Cap’s new career as a policeman, abandon the streets, and like Marvel’s other mainline titles, allow the feature to slip into a mediocrity that has barely been lifted in all the years since.

Captain America #140

“In the Grip of the Gargoyle”; Stan Lee (script), John Romita (pencils & inks)

If the previous issue was a triumph for writer Stan Lee in reorienting the strip in a way that both filled its need for a satisfying thematic context as well as allowing for the kind of action expected in a comic book, then Captain America (and the Falcon) #140 (Aug. 1971) was definitely a come-down. Oh, it managed to start off pretty much on the right foot (at the moment of the previous issue’s cliff hanger ending as Cap solves the mystery of the missing patrolmen) with the sudden appearance of the Grey Gargoyle (an old Thor villain), a low-level bad guy powerful enough to give our heroes a challenge but with enough bizarre qualities to give the story a mysterious edge. Unfortunately, things go downhill from there

as Lee allows the plot to get side-tracked into a hi-tech SHIELD adventure that takes Cap and the Falcon away from the inner city streets to exotic locations involving the fate of world, secret formulas, space ships, and James Bond-style super labs. Fun stuff maybe in the Years of Consolidation or even for current issues of the FF or Avengers, but not for Captain America, not for a strip that had been positioned so excitingly only the issue before to tell stories of black/white relations, poverty, and oppression, and the struggle between the haves and have nots, where the action could’ve been expected to bounce back and forth among welfare offices, storefront churches, big-city newsrooms, local police precincts, city hall, corporate boardrooms, dilapidating tenements, and inner city playgrounds. Except for the story in #143, all of that potential would never be tapped. A good example of that kind of potential was had this issue when patrolman Steve Rogers bumps into militant radical Leila outside the office of Sam Wilson. “Got trouble, whitey? Need a social worker? You’re out of luck, man, nobody’s there.” “Do you know where Sam is?” “If I did, why should I tell you?” “I’ve never met you, never seen you before! What makes you think I’m your enemy?” “’Cause you’re white! And you’re the fuzz!” “If she’s a friend of Sam’s, I’m in trouble. A gal like that will do everything she can to turn him against me.” Sure, not much on the face of it, but it’s obvious that out of a simple set-up like this, all kinds of misunderstandings and conflicts of interest could be spun, maybe even an acrimonious break-up of the Cap/Falcon team (perhaps even leading them to become bitter enemies). But readers would never know because Lee left the strip even before the conclusion of the Gargoyle/SHIELD storyline and succeeding writers never took advantage of it. Soon, even Steve Rogers’ brief career as one of New York’s finest would be virtually forgotten in a string of uninteresting plotlines (including a complete betrayal of what could’ve been one of the most interesting characters in comics when it was revealed that the Falcon has actually been an agent of the Red Skull ever since the events of #115-119, echh!)

Kull the Conqueror #2

“The Shadow Kingdom”; Roy Thomas (script), Marie Severin (pencils), John Severin (inks)

There was a complete changeover on the art chores with Kull the Conqueror #2 (Sept. 1971). In that single issue, the brother/sister team of John and Marie Severin would become the definitive artists for the strip, which, while lasting only ten issues or so, provided some of the most beautiful, Part II: 1970-1974

detailed work this side of Barry Smith. The achievement was all the more noteworthy in that it was the first time the siblings had ever actually worked together. Separately, they’d always been competent in a professional sort of way, but each by themselves, still lacked the creative spark that set the truly unique artistic visions apart from the pack. Together, however, they were truly much greater than they ever were apart. Whoever had the idea to put the two together on the Kull feature should feel justly proud of himself! But to any reader familiar with the Severins’ individual work, their performance on Kull couldn’t have come as anything less than a revelation. John, who’s own style (which was rather dull and straightforward, with no frills attached) had been a mainstay at EC Comics and later for Atlas in the 1950s, was never able to adapt himself to the new dynamism introduced by Kirby in the early 1960s and so was relegated to the dying westerns and the less flamboyant demands of the Sgt. Fury strip. Marie had always had a higher profile at Marvel than her brother. Beginning her career as a colorist at EC, she drifted to Marvel in the 1960s to perform the same function and fill-in on the occasional super-hero feature. But her forte seemed to be humor and she soon became closely identified with the caricatures of the company’s heroes she created for books like Not Brand Echh. Although not unfamiliar with more serious material (she did a few chapters of the Dr. Strange serial in Strange Tales and some stories for the

Sub-Mariner book), Marie’s style was sketchy and inexact. Complimenting each other’s strengths while canceling out weaknesses, Marie’s awkward but dramatic layouts were smoothed over by John’s sure lines and detailed pen work creating a strip at once grounded with a feeling of historical accuracy but timeless in its antediluvian setting. The skill of their teamwork hit readers right between the eyes with this issue’s opening splash page as Kull slouches in a camp chair while a fur clad woman dances wildly to the throb of savage drums. Across the top, like the title panel on a Sunday comic strip page, is a long shot of the Pictish camp outside the walls of Kull’s capital city. Once again, writer Roy Thomas supplies the script adapting an original Kull text story by Robert E. Howard called “The Shadow Kingdom,” about a sinister race of serpent men out to reclaim the world from the dominance of humans whom they regard as evolutionary upstarts. As would be expected from a story by Kull’s creator, it was a yarn filled with intrigue, assassination, and betrayal, all in a day’s work for a ruler of decadent Valusia! Unfortunately, sometimes it took more than quality to keep a magazine from being cancelled; and although there hardly seemed enough time to have reliable sales figures back after only two issues, somebody in Marvel’s accounting office must’ve gotten cold feet, because the Kull book was suddenly axed after this issue. The end of the Serpent Men would have to wait for Monsters on the Prowl #16 (of all places!) while Kull himself would appear briefly in the oversized Conan the Barbarian #10. But luckily for fans of the feature, the Valusian king’s absence from the comics’ racks would turn out to be only a temporary one as issue #3 eventually made its appearance almost a year after its original cancellation.

Conan the Barbarian #10

“Beware the Wrath of Anu”; Roy Thomas (script), Barry Windsor-Smith [as Barry Smith] (pencils), Sal Buscema (inks)

Siblings Marie (left) and John Severin (right) had rarely if ever worked together before teaming up on Kull the Conqueror to do pencils and inks respectively, but when they did, the results were pure magic!

Marvel Comics in the 1970s

With inflation cutting into the (already slim) profit margins of comic books at the end of the 1970s, publishers began looking around for different ways to make them pay off. One way was to raise prices of course, but that was never popular with consumers unless they could be convinced that they were getting more for their dollar. Traditionally, when costs rose and more profits had to be squeezed out of their product, publishers would cut back on page count, a less noticeable

1971 cost cutting measure than increasing prices. But after decades of doing that, the typical comic book had been shrunk from 60 or 80 pages to barely 20 and no more could be cut without danger of having the books vanish completely. But then someone over at DC had a brainstorm: why not triple the page count and have the cover price leapfrog from 12 cents to 25? It was a risky move, especially when the limited resources of the industry’s typical customers, 8- to 12-year-old boys, was taken into account. But what also made the idea attractive was that the company could make good use of its vast inventory of past material, which it could reprint at virtually no cost to itself. And so, the new 25-cent books were launched, which lasted

Superman #193: Before publishers experimented with the giant-size format of the twilight years, there were the DC 80-Page Giants, occasional specials that offered readers a jumbo collection of reprints for only 25 cents.

for quite a long time at DC. Not to be outdone, Marvel prepared to do the same only its 25-cent line would have less pages and last only a few months (in some cases, only a single issue). Such was the format for Conan the Barbarian #10 (Oct. 1971) which featured an original 23-page lead story (not based on any specific tale by creator Robert E. Howard) written by Roy Thomas about a corrupt priest of Anu who acted as a fence for the city’s thieves. Getting into the REH groove, Thomas by now was developing into a bit of a Howard scholar, able to zero in on plot details from the original texts and constructing his own stories around them. He did the whole thing in such a seamless fashion that his efforts seemed indistinguishable from the Howard originals. In the case of this issue, “Beware the Wrath of Anu,” Thomas based it on a few lines at the beginning of Howard’s classic tale “Rogues in the House” (that he’d adapt in Conan #11). Rather skillfully, Thomas transforms Conan’s thieving partner in the “Rogues” short story into the soldier he’d thought dead in a previous issue, thus strengthening a sense of continuity in Conan’s early life that was only hinted at in the original stories. Also this issue, Conan is accompanied by Jenna, a young prostitute he picked up in #6 whose character Thomas would also use to tie into a minor event from “Rogues.” In the meantime, Barry Smith’s art continued to grow more elaborate (although its quality could change drastically from issue to issue depending on who was assigned as his inker; Dan Adkins seemed to do the best job, with Sal Buscema as runner-up) taking more and more time to complete each issue. But with an increasingly serious attitude toward his art, it would prove impossible for Smith to meet deadlines for Conan, eventually forcing the book first into temporary monthly status and then to a more frequent use of fill-in jobs and reprints. In particular, this issue’s 23-page job followed immediately by #11’s 30-plus pages (in addition to work he was doing for a new Conan black-and-white magazine called Savage Tales) would tax Smith to the breaking point. Also included in this issue is a wonderful adaptation of Howard’s poem “The King and the Oak” by artists Marie and John Severin. Broken down by Thomas, the 5-page sequence is a succinct, but beautifully illustrated extra for a package that had already met whatever obligation it owed to readers who’d invested their hard earned 25 cents in it! It almost made the recent cancellation of Kull’s own book with its second issue easier to take... almost! Part II: 1970-1974

“Rogues In the House”; Roy Thomas (script), Barry WindsorSmith [as Barry Smith] (pencils), Sal Buscema (inks)

Often overlooked in the wake of the more celebrated confrontation between Stan Lee and the Comics Code over the depiction of addictive drugs in the SpiderMan feature, the Conan series challenged the Authority in more subtle ways: Ways that, in the end, may have had more of a long-term impact on mainstream comics than that earlier, more overt battle. Maybe it was because the strip just didn’t fit in to what the majority of comics had become by the end of the 1960s; dominated by super-heroes, the industry was more than ever represented in the public mind as the purveyor of children’s entertainment (despite Marvel’s inroads into the popular consciousness). Thus, when the colorfully-clad super-heroes who spent their time fighting the likes of Dr. Octopus, the Puppet Master, and the Living Eraser were suddenly seen dealing with the drug problem, the intrusion of crude reality into such a comfortable fantasy world couldn’t help but come as a shock to people. On the other hand, most parents never gave a second thought to the implications of comic characters (like Robin Hood or the Black Knight) who did their fighting with swords. Even if the results were never shown, battling with a sharp instrument meant an opponent had to be injured in the most gruesome way but sanitized by the Code, none of that was ever shown and 92

Marvel Comics in the 1970s

blood never spilled. Conan was the first fantasy strip where swords were the weapons of choice that arrived just as the Code was being challenged for the first time since its inception. It was also the first strip whose creators were fully conscious that what they were producing was more than a simple comic book, but something bordering on art with a capital A. They weren’t just writing and drawing a comic for mass production and sale to young pre-teen readers, but an older,

Conan the Barbarian #11

Conan the Barbarian #11, page 12: Roy Thomas and Barry Smith skirt the Comics Code in this sequence that shook readers out of their collective trees in 1971.

1971 more adult audience much like themselves. It was a revolutionary attitude that served comics well through the Twilight Years, but in combination with the cracking of the Code, it was eventually abused to the point where it became a contributing factor in the coma the industry found itself in at the end of the century. And so, different standards seemed to apply to the Conan strip almost from the beginning: more of an anti-hero than a Code approved good guy, Conan was allowed to be a thief, a killer, and even to cavort with prostitutes. How else are the scenes with Jenna to be interpreted? First introduced in #7 as an opportunistic saloon girl, Jenna is revealed to be a skillful liar and thief. Soon, she and Conan are a pair and wind up in the “maze,” a hangout for thieves and murderers where they meet an old friend of Conan’s and his assistant Igon. In no time, Jenna seduces Igon and schemes to betray Conan. In a scene from Conan the Barbarian #11 (Nov. 1971) that stopped readers dead in their tracks, Conan and an obviously naked Jenna (although Smith posed her in such a way that the essentials faced away from the viewer; one

The Comics Code Authority was still alive and well in the twilight years even after Lee had successfully defied it with his work on Spider-Man. So long as upper management at companies like Marvel and DC was still in the hands of those who were around when it was established, the Authority would remain a force to be reckoned with.

panel showed enough of Jenna’s backside to leave no doubt that she and Conan shared an “intimate” relationship) are seen sharing an apartment just before the girl betrays her boyfriend to the city guard. Later, after escaping from prison, Conan catches up to Jenna, who’d plotted with Igon to betray him. On the stairs leading up to Jenna’s apartment, Conan meets and stabs Igon to death. Then, curbing his murderous instincts, Conan tosses a naked Jenna into an open sewer! Not the kind of action readers were used to seeing in Spider-Man! And certainly not the kind the Comics Code could be expected to approve, and yet they did. Conan, it seemed, had managed to slip under the radar. In future issues, the strip would continue to stretch the boundaries of the Code and among other things, spill more blood in a dozen issues than had been shed in all the years since the Code began! In every aspect that a comic can be judged, whether in writing, art or content, and with the concurrent decline in energy of Marvel’s other, once groundbreaking series, Conan the Barbarian marked such a significant change in what both creators and readers expected in a comic, that the revolutionary era inaugurated in 1961 with the Fantastic Four, would have to be regarded as over by 1971. If the era introduced by the FF could be said to have allowed heroes to be defined in terms of both black and white (at a time when those qualities were usually split between the bad guys and the good guys), then heroes in the post-Conan era would be even more complex and defined mainly in terms of gray.

Part II: 1970-1974

Avengers #93

“This Beachhead Earth”, “A Journey To the Center of the Android!”, “War of the Weirds!”; Roy Thomas (script), Neal Adams (pencils), Tom Palmer (inks)

After catching his breath (so to speak) on the Inhumans strip, Neal Adams came back full force on Avengers #93 (Nov. 1971) for a short but historic run that was yet doomed to a bumpy, unsatisfying finish. It was a tune that Adams fans (and they were legion) would get used to as the years passed; stories and projects left unfinished due to a toxic mixture of an art style that was obviously meticulously crafted and time consuming and an egotistical streak that seemed to prevent Adams from seeing things from an editorial point of view. Thus, his run on the Avengers (which was all part of a single, continued story), wonderful though it was, would be interrupted by a fill-in and have its dramatic, climactic chapter drawn by a more reliable John Buscema. On the other hand, maybe Adams just got off on the wrong foot. After all, his first issue here was another in Marvel’s shortlived 25-cent oversize books in which he had to knock out 34 pages of art! Adams generally found it hard enough to meet monthly deadlines, but an inaugural assignment like this was bound to put him behind the eight ball from the get go. Thomas, worried about Adams’ penchant for taking jobs down to the wire, tried to stay out of his way as much as possible, even giving him the green light

When Henry Pym traveled through the contradictory physiognomy of the Vision in 1971, he was only following in the footsteps of Raquel Welch and Arthur Kennedy seen here in a scene from 20th Century Fox’s Fantastic Voyage (1966).

Marvel Comics in the 1970s

Avengers #93, page 15: Neal Adams’ art loses none of its dramatic impact in this detailed pencil layout. More than any other artist, Adams could take such low rent characters as Ant-Man and the Angel and make them exciting enough to convince anyone that they belonged in their own books!

to do what amounted to a 17-page digression from the main story (an intergalactic war between the Kree and the Skrulls). Teamed again with inker Tom Palmer, Adams came up with the idea of having Ant-Man travel through the body of the Vision in order to discover why the android had fallen into a coma the issue before. It was an obvious take-off on the film Fantastic Voyage (1966), and Adams’ vision of the android’s innards were a far cry from what one would expect from a “synthezoid” (mechanical parts rather than plastic and chemicals), but the trade-off was the single greatest Ant-Man adventure ever produced (marred only by Thomas’ going overboard with pop cultural references from Pym who refers to his ant companions as Crosby, Stills, and Nash, the Vision’s insides to images from Fritz Lang’s 1925 film Metropolis, and mentions of EC Comics). Filled as it was with incredible vistas of pulsing energy streams, flying metallic antibodies, and electronic jetstreams, it far outclassed what was supposed to have been the book’s main story! There, the Avengers encounter a group of shape-shifting, alien Skrulls who’ve kidnapped Captain Marvel (a former officer in the Kree Navy, Mar-Vell is assumed by the Skrulls to be in possession of military secrets). In a clever twist, Thomas brings back four almost forgotten cows from FF #3 and has them attack the Avengers see, and…. Well, they weren’t cows exactly, they were really Skrulls whom Reed Richards had tricked years before into believing they were cows. (They’d been contentedly grazing in a field ever since!) But now, with their memories restored, they shed their bovine forms and assumed the shapes of the Human Torch, the Thing, and Mr. Fantastic (all badly drawn by Adams by the way) to mix it up with the Avengers. But things don’t go well for our heroes and the bad guys escape in the end.

Avengers #94

“More Than Inhuman!”; Roy Thomas (script), Neal Adams (pencils), Tom Palmer (inks) “1971: A Space Odyssey”; Roy Thomas (script), John Buscema (pencils), Tom Palmer (inks)

“Behold the Mandroids!”; Roy Thomas (script), Neal Adams (pencils), Tom Palmer (inks)

Things were back to normal for Avengers #94 (Dec. 1971) as the page count was reduced to a mere 23 pages at a price of 20 cents (a rollback that stopped short of the original regular price of 15 cents). The reduction in size no doubt helped artist Neal Adams with his deadlines and was a relief to writer Roy Thomas who had to worry about tight production schedules. But trouble was already looming on the horizon as John Buscema was brought in to pencil the second of the three chapters in this issue. The two chapters Adams did deliver were, as usual, knock-out stuff as the Vision catches up with the Skrull ship that escaped at the conclusion of the previous issue. Inside, he finds that in addition to Captain Marvel, fellow Avengers Quicksilver and the Scarlet Witch are also prisoners and that there’s some connection between the Kree and the Inhumans. In the second chapter, drawn by Buscema (who, helped by Palmer’s inks, compares very favorably with Adams), Captain Marvel is forced by the Skrulls to construct a Kree “omni-wave converter” in order to save the lives of the captive Avengers. In the final chapter, the government sends a team of armored “mandroids” to arrest the Avengers for failing to appear before congressman H. Warren Craddock’s Alien Activities Commission. They were all the latest pieces to what was shaping up to be Marvel’s longest, most involved, continued story ever and one of the most complicated, as Thomas pulled in people and places from all over the Marvel Universe and found ways to tie them all together in a vast tapestry called the Kree/Skrull War. The War was the culmination of the continuity and characterization skills Thomas had The theme of struggle between galactic empires was an old one by the time of the Kree/Skrull War. Science fiction writers such as E.E. “Doc” Smith had already thoroughly explored the subject as far back as the 1920s.

Marvel Comics in the 1970s

been honing since before he even came to work for Lee, but which became easier to indulge as he assumed more and more editorial responsibilities. Begun as far back as Avengers #89 (which in turn had picked up where Captain Marvel #17 had left off), the War involved the star-spanning Kree, first encountered in FF #64-65 and the Skrull Star Empire (which first appeared as far back as FF #2!) whom readers learn have been enemies for millennia with the current fighting only the latest skirmish in a centuries old war. To these decadent civilizations, Earth had always been a poor backwater, hardly worth their notice, until recently assuming great strategic value in the ever-shifting lines of combat. That’s where the Avengers come in, as they struggle to save the Earth from conquest by one army or the other. By the time the story ended, Thomas literally mapped out the stellar geography and defined the inter-planetary politics of two galactic systems and Earth’s place in relation to them. In a single stroke, he not only expanded the boundaries of Marvel’s characters to include the universe (notwithstanding Dr. Strange’s encounters with entities such as Eternity), but opened the way for other writers to explore the rich storytelling potential in multi-part, galaxy-spanning adventures that would eventually begin to tie together all the disparate elements of the Marvel Universe.

Avengers #95

“Something Inhuman This Way Comes..!”; Roy Thomas (script), Neal Adams (pencils), Tom Palmer (inks)

Killing two birds with one stone, Thomas continued to further tighten the ties that bound the Marvel Universe together in Avengers #95 (Jan. 1972) by splitting the Kree/Skrull War storyline into two separate, but eventually related, threads (we said things were complicated). Sort of previewed in the previous issue (when the Skrulls had tried to destroy Attilan before its super-powered inhabitants could be recruited by their enemies), Thomas elaborates on the Inhumans’ connection with the Kree in a flashback that explains how they were bred from a selected group of primitive humans hundreds of thousands of years before for the express purpose of being used as weapons in the ongoing war. Now, the Avengers are called upon to help find the Inhumans’ leader, Black Bolt, before a resurgent Maximus can ally himself with the Kree and attack the human race. All fine and good, until an uncharacteristic outburst from the Vision insists they ignore the Inhumans and rescue Quicksilver and the Scarlet Witch from

1972 the Skrulls first. Heated words are exchanged before it’s decided to split into two teams, one to tackle Maximus and the other the Skrulls (but is it only coincidence that in choosing the teams, the Vision has kept the most powerful Avengers, including himself, for going after the Skrulls?). Flying to the West Coast, the Avengers find themselves involved in what’s actually the conclusion of a storyline begun in the since cancelled Inhumans’ strip from Amazing Adventures! In an inventive twist Thomas, bringing the Avengers and the Inhumans together over their mutual connections with the Kree, has them find Black Bolt (who’s since recovered his memory) and make a mad dash to the hidden refuge. In the meantime, having suffered from a crisis of conscience, the Vision has suggested to his half of the team that they forego the Skrulls in favor of meeting the other Avengers outside Attilan. There, they find the city surrounded by a force field, and where Thor’s enchanted hammer fails to shatter it, a cry from the explosive tonsils of Black Bolt does the trick and the whole thing comes tumbling down. On the other side though are hundreds of super-powered Inhumans ready to do the evil Maximus’ will, but then a ringing shout from Black Bolt appealing to their better natures shatters the mental control Maximus had placed over them. Black Bolt’s brother is defeated of course (just as he’s about to consummate his alliance with the Kree), but in the ensuing melee, Avengers hanger-on Rick Jones is kidnapped and taken into space. The issue ends with an enigmatic utterance by the Supreme Intelligence (the computerized master of the Kree) to the effect that “The players are all in place. Let the final phase begin!” If up to now, readers fascinated with continuity thought the Kree/Skrull War was turning out to be a real tour de force, they hadn’t seen anything yet. Because having consolidated all of outer space into the known Marvel Universe, Thomas was poised to add the question of time to the other half of that equation! But that was a story that would have to wait until #97…

Avengers #96

“The Andromeda Swarm!”; Roy Thomas (script), Neal Adams (pencils & inks), Tom Palmer & Alan Weiss (inks)

In what would prove to be Adams’ final issue of the title, Avengers #96 (Feb. 1972) catapults the team into outer space where they encounter an approaching armada of Skrull ships heading to Earth. This issue, the story is also divided into

two parts: The first involving the Avengers’ struggle to stop the invading fleet and the second telling of Rick Jones’ adventure on the Kree home world. But the interesting element this issue is the build-up to a surprise development in the continuing evolution of the Vision that began as far back as #80. Fascinated by the Vision’s quest for his humanity, Thomas had never stopped exploring ways to challenge the reader’s expectations about the character. He began simply when the Vision shed tears of gratitude for being accepted into the Avengers and later with displays of loyalty. But soon, the temptation to have him show signs of more complex emotions became too strong and Thomas began hinting at a relationship between the synthezoid and the Scarlet Witch. Tentative for many issues (and unsuspected by his fellow Avengers), it became more explicit in #95 where the Vision’s thoughts were captured in a text box admitting his love for the Scarlet Witch. With Wanda’s capture by the Skrulls, the Vision’s behavior becomes more erratic; he begins to lose his temper and in this issue almost beats a Skrull officer to death while trying to make him reveal where the Scarlet Witch is being held captive. In later issues, when the romance between the two is out in the open, Thomas would explore reactions to the union (which was unusual to say the least!), first in Quicksilver’s complete refusal to accept the match between his sister and the Vision, and later as the general public becomes aware of it. But here, Thomas misses a step. His portrayal of those accepting the union is too unequivocal, too complete, while those who come out against it are shown as unreasonable bigots. The truth is, that if the subject were to be tackled at all realistically, then both parties would have their doubts one way or the other or the whole thing would be dismissed as ridiculous Defining what it meant to be human using a robot with which to pose the question was addressed most famously in the Adam Link stories of Eando Binder.

Part II: 1970-1974

Marvel Comics in the 1970s

any reader who couldn’t would have to place himself with the unreasonable bigots demonstrating outside Avengers Mansion or with the angry, infantile Quicksilver! In the end, what began as an interesting twist in the development of the Vision, ended disappointingly when Thomas chose not to follow through with a more realistic, more even-handed approach to the character’s relationship with a human woman.

(with poor Wanda probably being recommended for psychiatric treatment). The real issue raised by the Vision is not necessarily his supposed humanity, but the anthropomorphism of human beings who, because the Vision is a machine in the shape of a man (Thomas’ position that the Vision is human is more than undermined by Ant-Man’s journey in #93 that clearly showed the android was a mechanical construct and not human at all), mistake him for a thinking, feeling, human being. The fact is, if the Vision had come in the shape of a laptop computer, anyone professing romantic love for him/it would be characterized as a first class loon! Just because human beings attribute human emotions like love, loyalty, and gratitude to their pets for instance, doesn’t mean they actually possess them. But hey, this is a comic book, right? Some leeway has to be given for the element of fantasy; after all, the reader is asked to suspend his sense of disbelief to accept the fact that men can fly, so why not a love affair between a robot and a human being? Thomas has even front-loaded the situation in his favor: the Vision possesses genuine emotions, is self-conscious, and can decide for himself what’s right and wrong. If these are given as inarguable facts, how can a reader deny the Vision’s humanity and, overlooking the accident of his “birth,” not accept him (and his relationship with Wanda) wholeheartedly? In fact, under these conditions,

Avengers #96, page 18: What a long strange trip it was! Rick Jones went from wayward teenager in 1962 (Incredible Hulk #1) to savior of the human race in 1972 (although it doesn’t quite look that way in this encounter with Ronan the Accuser)!

1972

Avengers #97

“Godhood's End!”; Roy Thomas (script), John Buscema (pencils), Tom Palmer (inks)

If the perfectly awful cover by Gil Kane was any indication, Avengers #97 (March 1972) didn’t bode well as the first Adams-less issue of the Kree/Skrull War series. So it was probably with trepidation that readers picked up the issue and with trembling hands opened the book to the first page. After all, if Adams had finally missed a deadline and some other artist had to fill-in for him, the result could only be a let-down, right? But au contraire! John Buscema (who’d been

Avengers #97, page 1: Artist John Buscema returned to the Avengers however briefly when he took over from Neal Adams— but with Tom Palmer on the inks, in terms of aesthetic enjoyment, the transition was relatively painless!

covering Adams’ back all along), did it without missing a beat. What’s more, according to Thomas, Buscema completed the job in less than a week! Already recognized as the Avengers artist (and helped here once again by the flawless inks of Tom Palmer), Buscema had no problem at all slipping into the form that’d been exciting fans for years. It’s true that he’d long since divested himself of the truly dynamic aspects of his art that’d been most prevalent before he started on the Silver Surfer book, but although more conservative in layout, his new style still packed a wallop as he not only brought the myriad threads of the War to a climactic finish, but threw in a whole group of “new” heroes at the finale! Of course, Buscema really wasn’t in the drivers’ seat when it came to story elements (unlike Adams, who enjoyed putting his two cents in); that was mostly left up to Thomas, who most obviously was the one behind bringing in a half-dozen heroes not seen since the company’s Golden Age of the 1940s. But where the heck did they come from a reader might ask, and how did they fit into a three sided intergalactic war? Well, remember how Rick Jones was kidnapped by the Kree? Turns out it wasn’t as spontaneous as it looked. In fact, Rick was the linchpin of the whole war right from the beginning! It seems that the reason for the war was never about the strategic position of the Earth (although it was part of it); the real object of the war was to put an end to a human race that was destined to supplant both the Kree and the Skrulls. Part II: 1970-1974

That’s right, realizing that they’d reached an evolutionary dead-end, both races felt the need either to enslave or eliminate the human race because of its threat to their future hegemony of the Andromeda and Milky Way galaxies. Rick was a useful representative of humankind and was brought to the Kree homeworld by the Supreme Intelligence purposely to be used as a weapon against Ronan (remember him from FF #65?) who’d been scheming to take over the empire for himself. Anyway, at the last second, Rick is somehow able to release the potential that lies inside every human being and bring to life a slate of super-heroes recalled from childhood memories reading comic books! Out of his head comes Captain America, Sub-Mariner, Human Torch, Angel, Blazing Skull, the Fin, the Patriot

Thomas’ “This Beachhead Earth” chapter title referenced the Universal International film This Island Earth (1955) whose title accurately reflected the Earth’s situation during the Kree/ Skrull War.

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(“Americans are nobody’s patsies!”), even the original Vision! The whole thing had Roy Thomas written all over it. In the end, the good guys win, of course, and all’s right with the Kree homeworld as the Supreme Intelligence explains everything to the somewhat bewildered Avengers and promises to keep the peace. Why, even H. Warren Craddock turns out to have been a good guy (it was only a shape-shifting Skrull who’d taken his place!). It was a spectacular finish to the first extended, truly integrated, continued story anywhere and a logical outgrowth of everything that Lee and Kirby had done from the first two-part stories in the Years of Consolidation to the multi-part stories of the Grandiose Years. (What differentiated those longer stories from the Kree/Skrull War was their general lack of a complex interweaving of continuity; mostly, they told great, but textually linear stories.) It wouldn’t be the last. And Adams? Thomas has said that he did finally come through with some pages, but they were too few too late. Certainly, if he’d been able to finish the project, it would’ve made for an incredible climax (Adams drawing the Blazing Skull?! Yeah!), but it was his misfortune (and the fans’) that deadlines in those days were more rigid than they turned out to be only a few years later. C’est la vie. Fun Fact: Thomas’ weakness for overdoing a neat idea struck again during the Kree/Skrull War when he decided to base each chapter title on some book or film from the world of science fiction. Some worked, some didn’t; you be the judge: “This Beachhead Earth,” “A Journey to the Center of the Android,” and “War of the Weirds” from #93 were taken from the Raymond F. Jones novel This Island Earth (which was later filmed in 1955), Jules Verne’s famous novel Journey to the Center of the Earth, and H.G. Wells’ classic War of the Worlds (both of which were adapted to film in 1959 and 1953 respectively); “More than Inhuman,” “1971: A Space Odyssey” and “Behold the Mandroids” from #94 were taken from SF author Theodore Sturgeon’s “More than Human,” Stanley Kubrick’s 1968 film 2001: A Space Odyssey, and Michael Moorcock’s shocking short story “Behold the Man” respectively; “Something Inhuman This Way Comes” from #95 is a take on Ray Bradbury’s novel Something Wicked This Way Comes (which borrowed its title in turn from William Shakespeare!); “The Andromeda Swarm” from #96 is from Michael Crichton’s bestseller The Andromeda Strain which was made into the 1971 film of the same name; and finally, “Godhood’s End” from #97 was lifted from Arthur C. Clark’s novel Childhood’s End.

1972

Astonishing Tales #8

“The Battle of New Britannia!”; Roy Thomas & Gary Friedrich (script), Herb Trimpe (pencils), Tom Sutton (inks) “This Badge Bedeviled!”; Mike Friedrich (plot), Len Wein (script), George Tuska 9pencils), Mike Esposito (inks) “...Though Some Call It Magic!”; Gerry Conway (script), Gene Colan (pencils), Tom Palmer (inks)

Was there anything Tom Palmer couldn’t turn into gold? From Gene Colan to John Buscema to Neal Adams, his lush, multi-textural inking (and in some cases, coloring) could make even great artists look even better. But of all the classic work his name became associated with, it was never more natural than when put together with that of Gene Colan. With the Golden Age of their partnership still a few months in the future (Daredevil, Dr. Strange, Tomb of Dracula), readers had another preview of their work together in Astonishing Tales #8 (Oct. 1971). Often neglected, even forgotten in the thirty years since its release, Astonishing by this time was already winding down from its brief but impressive glory days when Barry Smith, Wally Wood, and Jack Kirby had all labored in its vineyards. Now, the newly double-sized magazine had the less than satisfying pencils of Herb Trimpe on the Ka-Zar strip and George Tuska on a fill-in job about the brothers Link who share each other’s consciousness. But there was still a third story, tucked away in the back of the book that blew everything else out of the water! Dr. Doom had been the second feature in Astonishing since it began, but had always found itself running behind, both in place and in quality. Wally Wood did a creditable job on the early issues, but he was past his artistic peak, and so-so scripts by Larry Lieber didn’t make Tuska’s art any more palatable. But then the quality of the strip took a giant step forward with #7 as Gerry Conway and Gene Colan took over as writer and artist respectively. But one ingredient was still missing. Even though Frank Giacoia did a creditable job over Colan’s pencils (it was hard for any inker to really ruin them), it wasn’t until Palmer joined the team this issue that the strip suddenly found itself with a mini-masterwork. The only drawback was that it would be the last solo story featuring Doom as the strip was discontinued and Ka-Zar took over the whole book. But even that was okay as long as the world had “Though Some Call it Magic” to enjoy! Right from the story’s splash page showing a storm-whipped Dr. Doom standing atop the battlements of his castle, there was every sign that readers were in for a treat. In a perfect exam-

In a deviation from his usual style, Herb Trimpe (left) with the help of inker Tom Sutton (right), attempted to capture some of artist Barry Smith’s detailed renderings when he took over Ka-Zar’s slot in Astonishing Tales.

ple of the kind of story that the feature should’ve concentrated more on during its short life, Conway explores a new and different side of the master villain, revealing for the first time that he does possess at least some human emotions. It was all well and good to give him an air of honor, respect for art, and good taste in music, but that still told nothing of the man himself. Here, in a story that nevertheless has its quota of action, the reader learns that Doom actually cares for another human being, his dead mother. Perhaps as evil and conniving as himself, she has been condemned to spend eternity in Hell (“His mother was a witch, and some there are who say, she died unconfessed, and so, was eternally damned.”) and every year since her death, Doom has done battle with the devil himself in order to free her. But this scenario, the story’s excuse for the supernatural action to follow (beautifully rendered by Colan and Palmer, especially in a pair of panels showing a kaleidoscope of demon-faces filling the air around Doom) is secondary to the obvious suffering, however misplaced, of Doom as he bears Satan’s cruel mockery. When the latest struggle is over and Doom stumbles from the dungeon chamber, the reader can’t help but feel a new kind of sympathy for this otherwise merciless monster, enslaver of nations, and would-be murderer of heroes. Telling his faithful servant Boris “Doom needs no one. Doom wants no one,” the reader knows that just the opposite Part II: 1970-1974

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Gerry Conway

Gerry Conway made his literary debut early on the letters page of Fantastic Four #50. It wouldn’t be the last time the comics world would hear of him. Born in 1952, Conway was an early convert to Marvel comics and wasted little time breaking into the industry…at DC! He was only 16 when he sold his first script for House of Secrets, a success he quickly built upon with more stories for the company’s horror mags. But Marvel beckoned and after meeting Roy Thomas, he began writing weird stories for that company instead. His first “super-hero” assignment was on “Ka-Zar” over a plot cooked up by Thomas. It was a solid start and with it, Conway was off and running, eventually scripting nearly every title Marvel published, often doing them brilliantly. He even found time to write a couple science fiction novels and edit Haunt of Horror, Marvel’s attempt to break into the weird fiction field. In 1975, he left Marvel for DC where among other things, he scripted Superman vs the Amazing Spider-Man, the first crossover between Marvel and DC characters. In 1976, he was hired as Marvel’s Editor-in-Chief, a position he held for barely a month before quitting. Back at DC, he created Firestorm and Steel and continued to work there until the 1980s, when he turned to television script writing and producing on numerous TV shows, continuing to the present with his involvement with Law and Order: Criminal Intent.

is true and more, that Doom himself knows it too. The story’s final lines, which seem to invite the reader into Doom’s mind, read “Soon, his footsteps fade into silence, and the dungeon is cold and deserted; once more, deserted, save for the echo of a battle lost, and of others, Lord, so many others, yet to be.” In just a few words, expressing all the weariness, heartache, and hopeless resignation of a lifetime of shattered hopes and dreams, Conway at last gave Marvel’s master villain the final touch needed in order to complete that first, groundbreaking portrait begun by Lee and Kirby nearly ten years before.

Captain America #143

“Power To the People”; Gary Friedrich (script), John Romita (pencils & inks)

After the disappointing climax to the Grey Gargoyle storyline in the previous two issues, it was more than a relief to see our heroes return to the inner city streets with Captain America (and the Falcon) #143 (Nov. 1971). And though readers would be treated to a wonderful, extra-length story filled with inner city tensions, race problems, 102

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and even the beginnings of some estrangement between the two principals, the downside was that it would also be the title’s last truly satisfying issue. Penciled and inked by John Romita, it would also be the artist’s final job on the book (Lee himself had already jumped ship with #141). And while the feature retained the services of Gary Friedrich (who’d already proved himself capable of adapting to the Marvel style with his work on the Black Widow strip in Amazing Adventures), the arrival of such artists as Alan Weiss and later Sal Buscema would take much of the steam out of stories that made the mistake of abandoning the strip’s street level setting and related characters. In the meantime though, Romita went out with a bang in this oversized issue as the action returned to Harlem where racial tensions have been building, stoked by the fiery rhetoric of a group of masked n’er-do-wells called the People’s Militia. Back in the ‘hood, Sam Wilson tries to reconnect with a still hostile Leila. (“Well, if it isn’t our friendly, neighborhood Uncle Tom!”) Undeterred, Sam makes the moves on the curvy militant only to be rebuffed.

1972 (“You’re not only an Uncle Tom, you’re also a male chauvinist!”) It seems the poor guy can’t win, until Leila gives him an opening by inviting him to a rally of the People’s Militia. That night, Sam listens as militia leaders whip their followers into a frenzy, ordering them to burn down the whole neighborhood. When Sam tries to stop them, he’s beaten for his trouble and dumped barely conscious in the street. Meanwhile, Steve Rogers (during some time off from pounding a police beat) is just coming back from a date with Sharon Carter when he comes across Sam’s body. From there, things proceed as anyone would expect, as Cap and the Falcon go into action, forestalling a riot and stopping the People’s Militia. Unfortunately, once again, the story’s build-up and the interaction between its many characters turned out to be a whole lot more interesting than its climax, which ends disappointingly when it’s revealed that the head of the militia is actually the Red Skull! This type of ending had been used much too often in the past (the one in which the masterminds behind some unrest whether on campus or in the streets, turns out to be communists, Hydra, or some super-villain) and didn’t come as a surprise here, but Friedrich does manage some nice little touches as when Leila exclaims “We’ve been suckered by somebody even worse than the whiteys!” And even though it turned out to be the Skull behind all the trouble, the cause of the residents’ anger was all too real. When Cap says “…who knows what little something it will take to make them explode again,” he hits a nerve with the Falcon. “I don’t think I like the way you put that, partner! They…we…got reason to blow up! I got some value reassessing to do!” Later, alone in his office, Sam struggles with his conscience, trying to sort out his loyalties when Leila shows up. Outside, Cap watches them embrace and wonders how his friend’s relationship with the militant will effect their partnership. Except for the presence of the Red Skull, this issue had all the elements for a complex and extended soap opera involving politics, social injustice, conflicting loyalties, and relationships. Unfortunately, it was to be the last anyone would see of them and the Captain America strip would join those other flagship titles like Thor, FF, and Iron Man, in the long slide to mediocrity. Fun Fact: In keeping with this issue’s theme, it opens with a paraphrase from a song by John Lennon: “You say you want a revolution. You better get it on right away…”

The Invincible Iron Man #55

“Beware the Blood Brothers”; Mike Friedrich (script), Jim Starlin (co-plot, pencils), Mike Esposito (inks)

Who knew from this humble beginning that the storyline starting here in The Invincible Iron Man #55 (Feb. 1972) would end up leading one of the most winding of trails from one title to another and eventually ending in the tragic death of Captain Marvel? It happened that way because the concepts introduced this issue were mostly the brainchildren of writer/artist Jim Starlin who placed such a personal stamp on them that it became virtually impossible for anyone else to do anything with them. Briefly, the saga of the being called Thanos and his associated cosmology would begin with two fill-in issues of Iron Man before migrating over to Marvel Two in One. After that, the trail leads to Captain Marvel #26 and thence to Warlock #1 by way of Strange Tales #178. It continues some months later and beyond the scope of the Twilight Years in Avengers Annual #7 and then into Marvel Two in One Annual #2. Finally, it’s epilogue takes place in a story entitled “The Death of Captain Marvel” the subject of Marvel’s first experiment in the graphic novel format. Starlin, who had arrived at Marvel from Detroit’s fan world, impressed editor Roy Thomas enough to be offered a few art assignments here and there. If Starlin is to be believed, he even served briefly as art director, doing cover layouts before landing what he at first supposed was a permanent job taking over the penciling on Iron Man from George Tuska. Credited immediately this issue with “plot, pencils, and character conceptions,” the artist was teamed with writer Mike Friedrich and right off introduced readers to Drax, the Destroyer in the story’s opening splash page! In quick succession, the Titans’ Mentor and Eros and the enigmatic Kronos made their appearances. The recurring menace of the “Blood Brothers” were brought in on page 2 and Thanos himself by page 5! Inspired somewhat by Kirby’s New Gods work at DC, Starlin said it

Jim Starlin created a trail of cosmic conflict that was likely confusingly complex for anyone but Marvel insiders!

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also would be Starlin’s art itself. With influences that included Kirby and Gil Kane, much of that can be seen this issue particularly on page 2, panel 1 where the artist is obviously channeling Kane’s distorted figure work and the splash on page 30 when Kirby’s foreshortened dynamism is evident. But beyond Kane and Kirby, there’s also a little bit of Ditko too as can be seen on page 7 where Starlin mimics Ditko’s layouts from Tales of Suspense #48, demonstrating how Iron Man dons his armor. In a single move, Starlin took one of Marvel’s flagship titles that had become mired in dull, earthbound routine for years and gave it an air of cosmic scope that threatened to actually make Iron Man an interesting character again. Unfortunately, that tantalizing glimpse was all shellhead’s fans were to get. Turns out publisher Stan Lee didn’t like what was happening…more particularly, he thought Starlin’s work on the strip was awful and summarily dismissed him from the book! What was to become of Thanos, Drax, and all the others? Stay tuned…

Marvel Spotlight #2

“Werewolf By Night”; Roy Thomas & Jean Thomas (co-plot), Gerry Conway (script), Mike Ploog (pencils & inks) “Where Gargoyles Dwell!”; Bill Everett (script, pencils & inks)

New Gods #2: Although Thanos bore a physical resemblance to Kirby’s Darkseid featured in his Fourth World saga, and pursued Death where Darkseid searched for the Anti-Life Equation, the similarities grew more superficial as Starlin continued to develop his Titanic god.

was his notion to create his own pantheon headed by the dominating figure of Thanos, who bore some resemblance to Kirby’s Darkseid. “Kirby had done the New Gods, which I thought was terrific,” recalled Starlin in an interview. “I came up with some things that were inspired by that. You’d think Thanos was inspired by Darkseid, but that wasn’t the case when I showed up…I had all these different gods and things I wanted to do, which eventually became Thanos and the Titans.” At first, Thanos looked more like a normal sized human, but gradually, as the series progressed and at the suggestion of Thomas, Starlin “beefed him up” until he became the virtual man-mountain he was in later appearances. Evolving 104

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Beneath a change of pace cover on Marvel Spotlight #2 (Feb. 1972) executed by artist Neal Adams (and inked by Tom Palmer) lurks the premiere appearance of Werewolf by Night, the first of Marvel’s loose adaptations of monsters made famous by Universal Studios in the 1930s and 40s. The second to appear (but the first to be conceived) of course, was Dracula and the third and fourth would be Frankenstein and the Mummy, but for this outing, it would be Jack Russell, inheritor of a family curse that turns him into a wolf-man whenever the moon is full. Marvel Spotlight was one of a number of tryout books the company was cranking out in the early to mid-1970s that were devouring new concepts at an alarming rate. As a result, there were many hits and misses— mostly misses (Tigra, the Scarecrow, It, the Golem, et al)—vying for the attention of a shrinking reader base. But sometimes a new concept would hit and graduate to its very own title and Werewolf by Night would be one of them. And no wonder! Scripted by Marvel’s #3 wordsmith, Gerry Conway, and both penciled and inked by exciting newcomer Mike Ploog, it couldn’t be anything else! The strip had its origin when publisher Stan Lee decided to add horror comics to Marvel’s line of super-hero books that would differ from the anthology format preferred by DC with its House of

1972 Secrets and House of Mystery brands. Instead, what he force of full moon horror, darkened forests, rain envisioned were comics headlined by single characters lashed windows, and mysterious strangers. It was all with book-length stories. Wanting to do a book that the introduction Marvel fans had of Ploog but soon starred a werewolf character, Lee broached the subject they would come under a full bore assault as the artist with editor Roy Thomas giving him only a title rapidly became a fixture in the company’s expanding to work with: Werewolf by Night. In an interview, horror line-up rivaling even Gene “The Dean” Colan Thomas has said that Lee would often do that; that is, for his mastery of mood and atmosphere. Fun Fact: come up with an idea for a new book or even just the A slight alteration was made to this issue’s cover title and then leave the rest up to him. With the when for some reason, John Romita was called on to Werewolf concept, Thomas had a vague notion about add more pedestrians to the final panel. The original basing the feature on an old monster movie called I version had a woman in the foreground walking Was a Teenage Werewolf and Lee gave him the green alone in what appeared to be a forest setting. Did the light to go ahead and develop it further. With help scene seem too threatening for Comics Code? from his wife at the time, Jeanie Thomas (who was duly credited in the Werewolf’s debut feature), Tomb of Dracula #1 Thomas came up with a plot that he handed over to “Dracula”; Gerry Conway & Roy Thomas (co-plot), Conway for scripting. With a writer on board, Gene Colan (pencils & inks) Thomas then cast about for an artist and settled on Slowly, the tide began to turn against Marvel’s newcomer Mike Ploog, a former animator who had flagship titles, the books that, ten years earlier, had done some things for Warren propelled the company from Publishing. It would turn out the anemic step-child of the to be a fortuitous decision as establishmentarian DC to the the artist, still inexperienced robust industry leader it regarding the requirements became by the early 1970s. of comics storytelling, would One by one, the Fantastic Four, turn out to be one of Marvel’s Thor, Captain America, Iron most intriguing new talents. Man, and Sub-Mariner lost their Ploog hit the ground running creative momentum while for this, his very first work for others like Dr. Strange, X-Men, Marvel: A 27-page extra-length and SHIELD simply found story (for a couple months, themselves cancelled. Some Marvel had increased the strips suffered under the page count in all its books so direction of mediocre writers there was plenty of room in and artists, while others, still in the new 25-cent, square-bound competent hands, nevertheless format) detailing the curse of became captive of the contithe Werewolf under which a nuity that’d once seemed so young Jack Russell was to vital. Where before characters labor in 3 issues of Spotlight had grown and developed, and 43 issues of Werewolf By the success of the company Night. Right off the bat, the now demanded an unchanging reader is treated to what sameness that couldn’t help would become patented Ploog but make stories predictable effects as the Werewolf stalks and “safe.” As a result, the the foul alleys of a modern creative energy of Marvel’s With the loosening up of the Comics city by the light of a full Code, Marvel found the entire stable younger talent began to of classic monsters made popular moon. After a few pages where express itself in features that by Universal Studios open for the artist struggles with the were more off the beaten exploitation. But that didn’t mean Roy ordinary human figure (by track. Not as important as the Thomas couldn’t borrow from other way of mentor Will Eisner), company’s “crown jewels,” studios; here, Michael Landon scares the Werewolf is back on center the bejezus out of a hapless female they were used as training in American International’s I Was a stage and being stalked by a grounds for newcomers until Teenage Werewolf (1957)! slavering wolf. The story’s they could be trusted with the final 10 pages are a tour de real income earners. But a Part II: 1970-1974

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Universal Studios’ old monster movies of the 1930s and 40s. And who could be more fitting to handle the penciling chores on The Tomb of Dracula #1 (April 1972) than Gene Colan (especially after the superb job he turned in for the moody Dr. Doom story in Astonishing #8)? With a style perfectly suited to the needs of dark, atmospheric horror stories (and a yen to do Dracula, a strip he’d specifically requested of Lee), Colan took

funny thing happened on the way to the flagship titles. Somehow, away from the spotlight that constantly shone on Spider-Man and the FF, these secondary books flourished. New, even pretty wild ideas were more often than not given a shot with their own books (The Son of Satan anyone?), and out of all the ideas that were given a spin around the block, many not only worked, but turned out to be genuine treasures that made the Twilight Years in many ways one of the most fertile in comics history. In hindsight, it might be said that this new trend began first with the company’s anthology titles, in particular, those focused on horror stories. Soon after that, Marvel acquired the rights to the work of Robert E. Howard and with the success of Conan, adaptations of the author’s many weird stories began appearing in books like Chamber of Darkness and Tower of Shadows. It created an atmosphere friendly to a darker sort of story than the more hopeful kind Stan Lee had been spinning since FF #1. In no time, adaptations of public domain stories by Edgar Allen Poe and H. P. Lovecraft began to appear and as Lee’s challenge to the Comics Code loosened the old restrictions, taboos began to fall. Roy Thomas’ work on Conan seemed to accelerate the process with its blood and killing and sex. Then the Code itself was rewritten, “updated,” and suddenly the word “horror,” not seen on a comic book cover in 15 years, was back. Quick to take advantage of the changes, Marvel immediately launched what ultimately became the most successful of a new line of horror titles, each devoted to a creature made famous in

Tomb of Dracula #1, page 13: A rare occasion when Gene “the Dean” Colan inked himself! Here’s a moody page that set the tone for the following 70 issues of the most successful of Marvel’s horror mags.

1972 Who could forget such a gallery as beautiful Rachel Van Helsing, scarred for life by Dracula; Taj, the giant mute whose family was destroyed by the evil Count; Quincy Harker, crippled by Dracula and life-long vampire hunter; Blade, immune to the vampire’s bite and thirsting for revenge against the “white-haired vamp” who bit his mother at the moment of his birth; Hannibal King, hard boiled vampire detective; Dr. Sun, a disembodied brain who believed that the secret of eternal life could be had by dissecting Dracula; Harold H. Harold, the goofy, would-be horror writer; the mysterious, white-haired vampire himself, Deacon Frost; and a dozen others? By the time they finished, Wolfman, Colan, and Palmer had created not just an epic, but comics’ first self-contained “novel,” complete with plot, theme, and characters whose end stretched beyond the end of the Twilight era and marked the last, distant outpost of the glorious years that were Marvel in the Silver Age. “Fangs for the memories” Bela, but we’ll still take Tomb of Dracula any day! Although Bela Lugosi (seen here in a production still from Universal Studios’ Dracula, 1931) has been the template by which all other vampires have taken their cue, Colan’s visual interpretation along with Conway and Wolfman’s characterizations, more effectively conveyed the creature’s demonic nature.

up the assignment with gusto, even deciding to do his own inking on the debut issue. Complementing Colan on the feature was his partner from the “Dr. Doom” strip, Gerry Conway, who just couldn’t be stopped in these months. Turning in great stuff for everything from “Ka-Zar” to Daredevil, Conway’s facility with words made every strip he worked on a delight to read: “Now listen: strain to hear beneath that ageless torrent, strain to hear a less regular sound than the repetitious roar of rain…the sound of a faltering engine…the sound of a nightmare’s birth!” Unfortunately, Conway wouldn’t stay long, certainly not as long as Colan, who worked on the strip uninterrupted till its demise with #70. Following this first issue (that told how Dracula was brought back to “life” by the foolhardiness of a descendent named Frank Drake), Colan was eventually teamed with inker Tom Palmer and proceeded to create a vampiric world of such awful beauty that their names became inseparable from the character. Later, the two men would be joined by scripter Marv Wolfman who proceeded to create a cast of unforgettable characters that became such a focus for the book that Dracula himself was sometimes relegated to background status.

Avengers #98

“Let Slip the Dogs of War”; Roy Thomas (script), Barry Windsor-Smith [as Barry Smith] (pencils), Sal Buscema (inks)

What do you do after crossing two galaxies, putting a stop to an age-old war between vast, interstellar empires and, oh yeah, saving the world? Answer: Get right back into the swing of things with an old fashioned rabble rouser playing on people’s fears and suspicions about their neighbors, casting doubt on the meaning of what it is to be an American, and generally getting ordinary citizens to go for each other’s throats. It was a hallowed plotting device that’d been around at least as far back as Strange Tales #119 when the Torch had to contend with a villain by the name of…well, the Rabble Rouser! Since then, the idea was refined with its slickest use coming in the classic Avengers #32-33 (and it’s most recent in Captain America #143). So it couldn’t come as too much of a surprise to see it used again for Avengers #98 (April 1972) and as was frequently the case in this kind of plot, the rabble rouser himself turns out to be someone who doesn’t believe in the hate he’s spouting; he just wants to manipulate the unthinking masses to do what he wants them to do. And in this case, “unthinking” is the right word as Mr. Talon turns out to be Ares, the Greek God of War in company with a couple of lute playing satyrs whose music puts everyone who hears it into a trance. Seems Ares is disgusted over the fact that peace is breaking out everywhere and is trying to sow a few seeds of destruction. In no time, he’s got a few Avengers hypnotized and fighting with those who still control their own will. Things go as one would expect until Part II: 1970-1974

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the end (calm is restored after the Vision clunks a couple satyr-heads together!) when another Greek god, demi-god actually, shows up. It’s an amnesiac Hercules, a former Avenger (not seen since #50) now obviously looking for answers. Notable mainly for the return of Barry Smith on the art, it’s all a set-up of course, for the title’s 100th issue spectacular in which writer Roy Thomas finds a way to squeeze in every character who was ever an Avenger (no easy task!)

Avengers #99, page 12: Artist Barry Smith’s style had evolved so far from its previous Kirby influenced origins that it almost proves a distraction from this key scene in the developing relationship between the Scarlet Witch and the Vision.

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Avengers #99

“They First Make Mad”; Roy Thomas (script), Barry Windsor-Smith [as Barry Smith] (pencils), Tom Sutton (inks)

Luckily Ares takes a powder in Avengers #99 (May 1972), leaving the uninspired rabble rouser plot behind. That story, as it turns out, was only a way of shoehorning Hercules back into the book and using him as the catalyst for an event of suitably spectacular proportions (but definitely not in the league of the Kree/Skrull War) intended to make the book’s 100th anniversary issue something special. Actually, the events of this issue seem to be intended more in the way of a holding pattern than moving the plot forward since much of the story involves extensive flashbacks about Hawkeye/ Goliath and Hercules. It seems that when the dust cleared after the Kree/Skrull War and the Avengers began counting noses to see if there were any c a s u a l t i e s , Goliath came up missing. (He was formerly Hawkeye remember; he’d given up shooting arrows into the air to take up Henry Pym’s position as resident giant [Pym, of course, forsook his identity as Goliath for that of Yellowjacket, but lately took up wearing his Ant-Man costume again, but that’s another story!]) With time on their hands before next issue’s main event, the Avengers listen as Hawkeye tells them how, after running out of growth serum, he had to commandeer a Skrull spaceship and crash land somewhere in

1972 Central Europe. There, he hooked up with a traveling circus, earning his keep by reverting to his bow-slinging skills (it’s where he picked up a new costume which thankfully, he soon ditched for his original Hawkeye duds) and discovered that the show’s strongman was really his ex-teammate, Hercules! Hawkeye has just enough time to finish his tale before Kratos and Bia, a pair of Olympian gods show up to drag Hercules back home. In between, writer Roy Thomas finds an opportunity to include his usual character bits, this time playing off of the Scarlet Witch/Vision relationship as first Hawkeye hits on Wanda (angering a jealous Vision!) and then an understandably worried Quicksilver demands “Are you in love with the Vision, an android, a thing of plastoid flesh, and synthetic blood?” (The devastating reply: “Yes, Pietro…I am.”) These developments manage to work their way into the main plot as Wanda is hurt in the battle with Kratos and Bia and instead of charging into the fray, the Vision stays to look after her. When the two demi-gods make off with Hercules, an angry Hawkeye accuses the Vision of dereliction of duty, setting up some good tension among the characters leading into the following issue’s invasion of Olympus.

Avengers #100

“Whatever Gods There Be”; Roy Thomas (script), Barry Windsor-Smith [as Barry Smith] (pencils & inks), Joe Sinnott & Syd Shores (inks)

Maybe it was inevitable that sooner or later, the once impenetrable wall between Earth and Marvel’s never-never lands like Asgard and Olympus would be breached, but that still didn’t make the idea a good one. Oh, sure, there were some precedents for it (Lee and Kirby did it a couple of times during their run on Thor most notably when Thor’s girl friend Jane Foster applied for godhood in #136), but they were small, isolated incidents. With Avengers #100 (June 1972), writer Roy Thomas broke another barrier that would open up story possibilities down the road, but this time, he slipped. By allowing a whole gang of mortal Avengers to storm Olympus, he opened the floodgates for every Tom, Dick, and Harry in the Marvel Universe (Spider-Man and the She-Hulk yet!) to visit regions whose credibility with readers was an extremely delicate thing at best. From the beginning, Asgard and Olympus had been portrayed as the home of the “gods,”

In classical literature and popular fiction for the most part, human beings seldom visited the gods on their home turf. The same didn’t hold true for the gods though, as a zillion sand a sandal epics (and Marvel’s Thor and Avengers) can attest! Shown here is a scene from Columbia Picture’s Jason and the Argonauts (1963) as Zeus considers interfering in the life of our hero.

with scientific marvels such as spaceships and ray cannons (which were included in Odin’s stockpile of military hardware) side by side with magic, objects, and events that could only exist in myth. How to explain Asgard which was portrayed as a floating island in space connected to Earth by a rainbow bridge or Mount Olympus from which Hercules could reach Earth by walking down the mountainside! Concepts like that just couldn’t bear too close inspection or the suspension of disbelief demanded of readers (and the larger than life feel given them by Lee and Kirby) would be shattered. To preserve it, Odin was right in barring any mortal from Asgard. On the other hand, if the Avengers had to visit a fantasy land like Olympus, they might as well have done it while Barry Smith was on the job. Smith had come aboard with issue #98 and the most interesting thing that could be said for his second turn at drawing the Avengers was how he handled the team after the radical change in style his art had undergone since his last stint on the book. Far beyond his Kirbyish beginnings, his new style, perfect though it was for fantasy titles like Conan and Ka-Zar, fell short of being completely satisfying here. Part II: 1970-1974

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Daredevil #87

“From Stage Left, Enter: Electro!”; Gerry Conway (script), Gene Colan (pencils), Tom Palmer (inks)

Of all Gerry Conway’s triumphs in the Twilight Years, none seemed to match his work on Daredevil #86-95. The DD feature had been one of Conway’s earliest assignments after arriving at Marvel and his

The bulky mass demanded of costumed heroes now seemed to confound Smith’s efforts, which ended up making the characters look slightly effete. Part of that might have been the inkers who covered his work throughout the series (Sal Buscema in #98, Tom Sutton in #99, and Joe Sinnott and Syd Shores this issue) because in inking his own work on the first six pages of this issue, Smith did a good job on the characters (the best of which was for the Black Knight, not coincidentally, more of a fantasy figure than a straight super-hero). Still, if the intention was to make this anniversary issue something special, things couldn’t go far wrong by having the hottest artist in comics pencil it! Featuring every Avenger who was ever an Avenger (including the Hulk required a bit of a stretch of the imagination while it was pretty clever of Thomas to remember that the Swordsman had once been a member for about five minutes) Avengers #100, despite its drawbacks, was still a fitting climax to nearly ten years of excitement. Sadly, immediately on its heels, there was a quick drop-off in quality and within a few issues, it too would join the growing ranks of the company’s flagship titles that fell off the Silver Age map and into obscurity. Fun Fact: Fifteen years later, there was a brief return to glory at the hands of writer Roger Stern and the classic art team of John Buscema and Tom Palmer!

Daredevil #87, page 3: DD takes SF! And so do Gerry Conway and Gene Colan in this eye popping page. DD and the Black Widow, however, sparing the sensitivities of readers and Comics Code alike, resist falling under the sway of romantic ‘frisco!

1972 first efforts on the strip were at least serviceable for a beginner. Later, however, he seemed to find his own distinctive voice on other strips, especially those off the beaten track, where the pressure perhaps wasn’t as a great to write in the style of either Stan Lee or Roy Thomas. Conway excelled in strips like Ka-Zar, Dr. Doom, Dracula, and Werewolf by Night where his own prose style began to emerge and his experience as a successful paperback wordsmith (he’d had a few science fiction novels published around this time as Marvel’s bullpen bulletins and letters’ pages never failed to inform readers!) was used to good effect in painting word pictures such as in the Werewolf strip or differentiating between characters as diverse as Doom and Dracula. The knowledge gained, of what did and didn’t work for comics, helped turn Conway not only into a professional comic book writer, but a highly skilled one with lots of tools in his workshop. Those tools came in handy as he got his second wind on the Daredevil strip. Of course, it helped that Gene Colan, one of the top artists in comics, was still the regular penciler and that Tom Palmer had come on to work over him. Together, writer and artists would combine talents to create one of the most stylish string of comics Marvel ever produced, taking advantage of loosening Code standards to inject a suggestion of maturity in the relationship between DD and the Black Widow (how else to interpret their sharing a house together in the San Francisco hills? On the other hand, when Ivan, the Widow’s chauffer, asks where he should put their bags, he’s told by the Widow that “Matt and I are just friends. For now anyway. And so you don’t get the wrong idea, you and he will share the second floor, while I…take the street-level suite.”). Overlaying everything else was the air of sophistication given the series by relocating the action to the city of San Francisco (a radical departure for Marvel who’s heroes all seemed to live in New York City!) The two heroes’ lives would be filled with fast cars, slick west coast lawyers, Soviet spies, suspicious police, and a vague veneer of corruption and cynicism that lurked just beneath the surface of a landscape dotted by pink stuccoed houses and secluded mansions. “Soft, almost unfelt, the bay breeze moves through the city like some silent specter, where it touches, tree leaves rustle, bits of sidewalk paper spin and dance, and in the morning air, San Francisco comes alive.” With this introduction in Daredevil #87 (April 1972), Conway suggests both the beauty of the city and its underlying menace, a menace whose presence isn’t long in making itself

known as readers are re-introduced to Electro (give yourself a pat on the back if you remember Electro from way back in DD #2!) one of the many super-villains including the Purple Man and Mr. Fear that seemed to have followed Daredevil across the country. Wonder how the city ever got along without super-heroes?

Amazing Spider-Man #108

“Vengeance From Viet Nam!”; Stan Lee (script), John Romita (pencils), John Romita & Tony Mortellaro (inks)

By 1972, success had caught up to Stan Lee. Marvel had been taken over by new owners and to them, as with the general public, Lee was its familiar, smiling face. Martin Goodman was eased out and Lee elevated from editor to publisher and almost immediately began to divest himself of many of the responsibilities that he’d borne since he was a teenager. Title by title, his name would disappear from the writing credits of books he’d helped create and shepherd to success: The Mighty Thor, Fantastic Four, and Captain America. Now his credit line would read simply “publisher.” But that didn’t mean the most well-known man in the comics industry was just going to disappear! More than ever, Marvel needed (and the new owners wanted) a front man whose contagious exuberance could help sell more books, and that was just fine with Lee. Already used to going out and meeting his public, giving interviews to trendy magazines and newspapers and doing television and radio

By 1972, Stan Lee personified Marvel in the public’s imagination as well as in fact. Lee took over as publisher after Martin Goodman sold the company to the Perfect Film and Chemical Corporation.

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spots, Lee merely intensified his PR activities (the most high profile of which was a night at New York’s Carnegie Hall called “A Marvel-ous Evening with Stan Lee”) while forging ahead with new publishing ideas that covered everything from expansion of the company’s traditional comics line to challenging Warren Publishing in the black-and-white magazine field to co-opting the emerging underground comics market with a slick newsstand

Amazing Spider-Man #108, page 10: Shades of the Dragon Lady! Artist John Romita channels Milton Caniff in this flashback sequence set in Vietnam reminiscent of the Asian setting of Terry and the Pirates’ World War II adventures.

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venture of his own. And although Lee still came into the office a couple times a week to keep a cursory eye on the comics that started it all, mostly he relied on the acumen of Roy Thomas, who’d finally replaced him as editor. And so, one of the last regular writing assignments Lee had a hand in was perhaps the strip that’d been closest to his heart from the beginning. With the conclusion of the groundbreaking anti-drug issues, Lee had temporarily abandoned the SpiderMan strip with #99, leaving the scripting chores in the hands of Thomas. But with an uncharacteristic lack of judgment, Thomas chose to do a couple storylines completely at odds with the more or less realistic world of Peter Parker. Suddenly, bewildered readers were seeing their hero swinging not from the skyscrapers of Manhattan but from the trees of a dinosaur infested jungle and fighting a vampire while being hampered by four extra arms! So when fans picked up Amazing Spider-Man #108 (May 1972) with its John Romita cover (Gil Kane had still been on the job while Lee was gone, but without the discipline of Romita’s inks, his art at times had been reckless, even ugly), it was probably not without a sigh of relief. Inside, with credits reading simply “Stan Lee: Author; John Romita: Illustrator and Artie Simek: Letterer,” the book was part of Lee’s last stand on the title and evidence that he still knew how to press all the right buttons. Most of the familiar characters readers had grown to love over the years were there. Peter

1972 Parker, as insecure as ever, is concerned that girlfriend Gwen Stacy might be on the verge of dropping him in favor of returned Vietnam veteran and former schoolyard bully Flash Thompson; Aunt May and roommate Harry Osborne, worried over Peter’s absence, discover a suspicious looking, sticky fluid seeping from beneath his locked bedroom door; and just what is the secret that only Gwen and Flash seem to share? Throughout, Lee handles the domestic interludes as smoothly as ever, juggling them in just the right order with the action scenes to produce a fast-paced story that sets up the climax for next issue when all the secrets will be revealed.

for Romita’s new infatuation with the art style of Milton Caniff (who’s best known for placing much of the action of his classic Terry and the Pirates comic strip in the Far East) and he made the most of it (he may even have had something to do with suggesting the plot), filling his panels with hulking orientals and fanatical Asians. And contrary to the usual pattern for comic book artists approaching the end of their careers, instead of winding down or devolving, Romita’s art style seemed to improve. Never before did his work look as good, as accomplished, as clean and polished as it did here and for the last handful of issues he penciled for the Spider-Man strip.

Amazing Spider-Man #109

Marvel Spotlight #4

And they were in Amazing Spider-Man #109 (June 1972) when readers learned that Flash and Gwen weren’t making sparks behind Peter’s back after all. It turns out all Flash wanted was a shoulder to cry on because of some trouble he ran into while serving in Vietnam. Seems that he was wounded in action there and found by some kindly Buddhist-type monks who brought him to their temple to recuperate. There, he was tended by the head holy man and his daughter, Sha-shan. But when he finally makes it back to friendly lines, he learns that an artillery barrage is planned for the area where the temple is located! In desperation, he dashes back into the jungle to warn his rescuers, but he arrives too late. The temple is destroyed and he becomes the target of the holy man’s vengeful followers. Back in the states, Flash tries to tell Gwen the story, but gets picked up by State Department security types and taken into protective custody (after Spidey prevents an initial kidnapping attempt by the bad guys; a second attempt succeeds). But that was last ish, and Peter adds to his personal problems this time by being forced to make Gwen think he’s been kidnapped by Spider-Man, a knotty issue he’ll have to deal with in following stories. Meanwhile, Aunt May and Gwen, the two significant females in Peter’s life, have it out: “I was waiting for Peter! But, what happened to him? What happened to my poor, dear boy?” “He’s not a boy! He’s a man! …When will you let him go?” Complicating matters is the sudden appearance of Dr. Strange, who volunteers to help find Flash; the discovery that the old monk isn’t dead after all, but merely in a trance; and Sha-shan’s attempt to free Flash from confinement. It was a story made to order

By Marvel Spotlight #4 (June 1972), Mike Ploog had definitely established himself as the star of Marvel’s emerging horror line-up. Even Gene Colan’s midnight moodiness couldn’t seem to catch Ploog’s more visceral approach to the horror genre as he filled his books with rotting corpses, drooling escapees from unregistered insane asylums, and hordes of misshaped creatures that had once been human. Where Colan’s vampires slipped among the mahogany and teakwood of dusty European mansions, Ploog’s human dregs slinked and crawled, knuckles dragging, through dank cellars and slime smeared dungeons where more often than not, forbidden experiments were taking place. Although the Monster of Frankenstein strip would prove to be Ploog’s masterpiece, his first assignment here on the new “Werewolf by Night” feature was where it all began. Actually, it started in Spotlight #1, but Ploog himself has admitted to a bit of inadequacy on that issue; but by #4, he was definitely hitting his stride! Teamed with Marvel’s number three writing man (right behind Lee and Thomas), Gerry Conway, Ploog was on the ground floor to

“Enter: Dr Strange!”; Stan Lee (script), John Romita (pencils), John Romita & Tony Mortellaro (inks)

“Island of the Damned!”; Gerry Conway (script), Mike Ploog (pencils & inks)

Mike Ploog: At last, Marvel had an answer to DC’s Bernie Wrightson and Arthur Suydham!

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moments of downright weirdness in such scenes as when Jack stumbles upon one of the doctor’s failed experiments or when the werewolf finds himself in the cell where the results of those experiments are kept. The only thing wrong with all this was that Ploog’s stay in comics was to be all too short. He’d soon leave for the more lucrative field of Hollywood animation (Conway wouldn’t be far behind) just as he was ironing out the last kinks in his unique style.

define the visual look of the company’s horror books which by this issue at least, had more of the feel of an old EC comic than a slick Silver Age offering. As was often the case with the EC style of scripting, Conway chose to tell his stories in the florid, first person voice of Jack Russell, reluctant teen-aged werewolf. (“I cut out of there as fast as I could, but even at thirty knots, the ship wasn’t moving as quickly as my mind!”) Scripts were further divided according to Jack’s two personas: his normal self and his lycanthropic alter ego. The effect provided the opportunity for Conway to underline a quiet desperation to Jack’s personality while emphasizing the werewolf’s primal, driving desire to “…leave…find the forest. Yes, find the forest…!” But of course, circumstances were always conspiring to keep the creature from his most important motivating factor. This issue, for instance, has the evil Dr. Blackgar, whose mysterious experiments on those people hapless enough to find themselves on his private island just aren’t working out right. A werewolf might’ve done the trick though if only he hadn’t gotten tripped up in the end by his scheming daughter Marlene (who has secrets of her own). Throughout, Ploog provides the atmosphere with lighting (or rather, the lack of it), particularly on characters’ faces, reminiscent of EC’s Harvey Kurtzman by way of mentor Will Eisner. While slipping now and then into bits of awkwardness (with faces that were sometimes rendered in too cartoony a style), Ploog still managed to deliver genuine

Marvel Spotlight #4, page 13: Ploog on Ploog! The Werewolf stumbles into a room full of slobbering science experiments gone wrong, and what’s more, they’re not in a good mood!

1972

Astonishing Tales #12

“Terror Stalks the Everglades!”: Roy Thomas & Len Wein (script), John Buscema, Neal Adams & John Romita (pencils), Dan Adkins (inks)

By the time of Astonishing Tales #12 (June 1972), the Dr. Doom feature that had once shared the title with Ka-Zar was gone. Lacking strong support from readers (despite featuring work by some of the company’s best talent), editor Stan Lee decided to end the split format in favor of a single feature. And so, with John Buscema called in as the strip’s new regular penciler, Doom was dropped and “Ka-Zar” was expanded to fill out the rest of the book. But another problem that began early in the new decade couldn’t be solved as easily. With Marvel’s continuing expansion and the shift in editorial responsibilities, it grew increasingly difficult to coordinate all the work that had to be done and still meet production deadlines. In order to avoid late fees from the companies who printed its books, Marvel fell back on fill-in material, either inventory stories produced especially to forestall missed deadline fees or plain old reprints. Nobody liked it when that happened, especially fans who’d grown used to eagerly anticipating the next installment of ongoing storylines. But in at least one case, a fill-in turned out to be very much in the fans’ favor, and this issue was it. Between a framing story by Buscema and writer Roy Thomas that had Ka-Zar following a captured Zabu (his pet sabretoothed tiger) to Florida, there appeared without warning, a Man-Thing story written by Len Wein and drawn by Neal Adams! Man-Thing

used to be ordinary scientist Ted Sallis, who injected himself with an experimental “super-soldier” serum (he was trying to reproduce the formula used to create Captain America) after plunging into a Florida swamp. Reacting with the germy water, the serum turned Sallis into the almost mindless Man-Thing. Up to this point, Marvel’s swamp creature had only appeared in Savage Tales, a blackand-white magazine aborted after its first issue. Apparently intended for the second issue of that magazine, the Man-Thing story was probably used here to help meet a looming deadline as Adams’ work is of such detail (much of it apparently, reproduced directly from his pencils), it’s hard to believe that it could’ve been meant for anything else than a magazine without the strict scheduling of the color comics. In addition, the interlude’s final panel doesn’t have the feel of being a proper conclusion, it seems to beg at least another page or two. But be that as it may, this was gorgeous work and often forgotten because of its being so far from the spotlight of the company’s flagship titles. That aside, the story behind the creation of the Man-Thing is almost as interesting as the character himself. According to Thomas, after Lee had come up with the original idea for a formless muck creature, it made its first appearance in the debut issue of Savage Tales in a story by Gerry Conway, Thomas, and artist Gray Morrow. By coincidence, rival DC had also come out with a muck creature for one its many horror titles called the Swamp Thing. That feature was written by Len Wein and drawn by Bernie Wrightson. Although a connection between the two concepts has never been established, it is ironic that the Man-Thing story in this issue was written by Swamp Thing creator Len Wein!

Daredevil #88

“Call Him Killgrave!”; Gerry Conway (script), Gene Colan (pencils), Tom Palmer (inks)

Coming over from DC, writer Len Wein (left) would become ubiquitous at Marvel during the twilight years while Dan Adkins (right) would continue to do yeoman service as inker and mentor to hungry young artists.

This issue’s opening sequence showing a wild car chase through the hilly streets of San Francisco was proof, if any were needed, that the decision to move Daredevil to the West Coast was anything but a random one. Over the closing years of the 1960s, the reputation earned by San Francisco of being the nation’s flower power capitol had given way to one dominated by sleaziness, perversion, and political corruption. The change in image began in 1968 with the release of Bullitt starring ultra-cool Steve McQueen as a hardnosed cop chasing down crooks on the city’s mean streets. Although the film has been remembered mostly for its ground breaking car chase sequence (not least by Gene Colan himself, Part II: 1970-1974

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Popularized during the 1960s as the counter culture capitol of the world, San Francisco entered the public consciousness all over again in the following decade with the Dirty Harry movies starring Clint Eastwood. Far from wearing flowers in his hair, dirty Harry Callahan packed a .357 Magnum the better to intimidate the thieves, perverts, murderers, and assorted terrorists that populated ‘frisco, fertile ground for super-heroes like DD looking for a change of venue!

who was so impressed with it that he began to include such chases in his work every chance he could get), it also inspired a new way of looking at the City by the Bay,, which traded the ambiance of Haight Ashbury for the cold finality of Alcatraz and went from Tony Bennett’s I Left My Heart in San Francisco as a theme song to Eric Burden’s San Franciscan Nights and Scott McKenzie’s San Francisco: Be Sure to Wear Some Flowers in Your Hair. But it really wasn’t until the release of Dirty Harry in 1971 that interest in the city really took off. At a time when the country’s court system seemed to be stacking the deck against the ordinary citizen and favoring criminals over victims, the growing frustrations of ordinary people found release in the uninhibited style of Dirty Harry Callahan as played by a humorless Clint Eastwood. Like the costumed super-heroes of the comics, Dirty Harry stretched his duty to uphold the law to the breaking point and sometimes beyond in his pursuit of justice and bad guys. Dirty Harry also brought the city of San Francisco sharply into focus as a background for the film concentrating on its seamy underside of corrupt politicians, pimps, gangsters, and perverts rather than its reputation as a romantic destination. With the success of Dirty Harry, a series of sequels were launched beginning 116

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with Magnum Force in 1973, and inspired the long running television show Streets of San Francisco in 1972. But well before that, Colan and writer Gerry Conway had been swayed regarding the possibilities of San Francisco as a location that could provide a fresh start for a character that by then had grown long in the tooth. As it turned out, moving Daredevil from crowded New York to sunny San Francisco was an inspiration and the pair hit the ground running in Daredevil #88 (June 1972), opening the book with a car chase sequence right out of Bullitt or the Dirty Harry pictures. But the man the Black Widow chases up and down the hills of the city is not an ordinary crook, but Danny French, a man whom she knew from her past as a Soviet Spy. French, as it turns out, has a secret, but one that readers will have to guess at for a few more issues. In the meantime, in a wonderful sequence by Colan and inker Tom Palmer, DD learns the origin of the Black Widow and discovers that like Electro in the previous issue, another old foe has seemingly followed him to the coast: Killgrave, the Purple Man, not seen since Daredevil #4. As the San Francisco stories in DD unfolded, the action would move among locales such as Nob Hill, Coit Tower, the Golden Gate Bridge, and Lombard Street (“the crookedest street in the world”), all of which were to become familiar to readers while the city itself, in all of its permutations, entered the pop consciousness of the 1970s.

Daredevil #91

“Fear Is the Key!”; Gerry Conway (script), Gene Colan (pencils), Tom Palmer (inks)

He hadn’t made an appearance for almost a hundred issues (well, the original way back in #6 and a phony replacement in #54), but here he was again, big as life and twice as sinister, Mr. Fear! Was it coincidence that just as DD made the move 3,000 miles across the country to the West Coast, all his old enemies (Electro, the Purple Man, Mr. Fear) show up in San Francisco at the same time? Whatever it was, it didn’t matter, because between Gerry Conway’s scripting, Gene Colan’s pencils, and Tom Palmer’s inks, readers were being treated to some of the best produced comics ever, and it was all coming from one of the company’s old flagship titles! By this time, no mean feat for a group of books that were rapidly becoming mired in elements that had once seemed so original, but lately were more likely to be traps in the way of originality. And although the Daredevil book was doomed to the same fate, for now, it was enjoying a springtime that it hadn’t had since around #50. Overcome in the previous issue by an inexplicable attack of fear, Daredevil #91 (July 1972) opens with DD and the Black Widow

1972

almost getting killed as they plunge from the rooftops to the street below. But as suddenly as it struck, the feeling passes and in its wake, the two friends have their first spat with the Widow accusing DD of treating her as a sidekick rather than a fellow professional in the super-hero biz. “I’ve been your partner, Mr. Murdock, but you haven’t been mine!”

Daredevil #91, page 5: Character development 101. Conway and Colan show how it’s done as DD and the Black Widow’s relationship runs aground on the twin shoals of male chauvinism and female intransigence. Result: misunderstanding and building tension that keeps readers coming back for something more than just the fight of the month.

Not exactly the usual difference of opinion between two people who are romantically involved! Later, still angry with DD, the Widow hits the streets and comes across traitorous Danny French, a former associate from their days as spies against the US. After breaking up a blackmail scheme French is involved in, the Widow learns that the former spy is still in possession of a mysterious “globe” that the two of them had stolen as part of a mission years before. Meanwhile Daredevil, as Matt Murdock, meets with former classmate Larry Cranston and his arrogant boss, attorney Roderick Sloan about a position with their firm. Of course, it can’t come as a surprise that the identity of Mr. Fear must be one of these two, but which one? The vaguely unethical Sloan or…? It turns out that this Mr. Fear wasn’t any more authentic than the one who appeared in #54 (that time it was Starr Saxon for you bean counters out there!). Seems that mousy Cranston was the jealous type, wanting to get back at the kind of guys who pushed him around, guys like the slinky Sloan. He got the chance to do it incognito when he came upon Zoltan Drago (love that name!) dying from a gunshot wound inflicted by Saxon, who told him where to find his Mr. Fear costume and gas gun. The whole thing was lots of fun with Conway and Colan making it all seem so effortless: Professionals turning in a peerless product. Luckily for readers, however, they weren’t finished yet, as a sub-plot that’d been simmering almost from DD’s first arrival in sunny ‘Frisco begins to unfold next issue when readers would learn the secret of Project Four! Part II: 1970-1974

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Marvel Premiere #3

“While the World Spins Mad!”; Stan Lee (script), Barry Windsor-Smith [as Barry Smith] (co-plot & pencils), Dan Adkins (inks)

Like old soldiers, old comic book characters never die, they just fade away for a while before reader demand builds to a point where they’re given another shot at three color life. It happened to Dr. Strange here in Marvel Premiere #3 (July 1972) and would happen again to the X-Men, another strip that didn’t survive the Sixties. In Doc’s case, after running for years as the back-up feature in Strange Tales and finally being awarded his own book with the company’s first expansion in 1968, his original series was cancelled with issue #183. Like the Hulk before him (who began his career in his own title which ran for six issues before being cancelled in 1962), Strange wasn’t allowed to idle as he began to make the rounds as a guest-star in other Marvel books. Then, in one of the most unlikely groupings of heroes, he joined the Sub-Mariner and the Hulk to form the Defenders in Marvel Feature #1, a super-hero team that wasn’t a super-hero team (they had no charter, no headquarters, not even a commitment to stay together from one issue to the next). Although begun under the scripting of Roy Thomas and later Steve Gerber (who gave the strip the absurdist element it seemed to cry out for), no one was ever able to make Strange feel at home hobnobbing with the likes of Luke Cage, Hero for Hire, the brain swapped Nighthawk, or the buxom Valkyrie. Luckily fans came to the rescue with their demand that the doctor be given his own book again. Lee listened and even better, decided to jump-start the new feature by providing the script for the first issue himself. The strip’s potential success was further enhanced when Barry Smith was tapped to provide the pencils. And so, with Dan Adkins on the inks, Dr. Strange once more walked the rain slicked streets of Greenwich Village while brooding over old enemies like Nightmare, the personification of dream. And although Smith’s new, more ornate style may have not been completely suited to the superheroics of the Avengers, it proved just right for the slightly hallucinogenic action of the Dr. Strange strip. Not since the heady days of Ditko for instance, did the doctor’s sanctum sanctorum appear in such scrumptious detail, laden it seemed, with the heavy odor of burning incense. And it seemed too that hardly any 118

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time had passed since Lee first put words to Strange’s spells: “Halt, in the name of the eternal Vishanti!” “By the Seven Rings of Raggadorr, let my portal close…” “In the name of the allseeing. In the name of the all-spawning. In the name of the all-freeing, let my ectoplasmic form be borning.” “By the shades of the shadowy demons, Dr. Strange will not be trapped!” Unusual for the time, the book’s cover featured a creator blurb declaring “By Stan Lee and Barry Smith,” a practice that would become commonplace only much later. But the teaming up of the two creative titans really was something to shout about, and though Stan was on the cusp of easing himself out of regular scripting chores, he does himself proud here, dialoguing Strange as if the years since he gave up the strip never happened. But there was a fly in the ointment in the form of Smith’s resentment over how Lee had chosen to script a story that the artist had plotted. “…collaborate isn’t the word,” Smith said in an interview. “Not only did Stan dialogue the story after I had created it but, marvel of marvels, he ignored my plot and wrote another story entirely over my staging.” Smith even complained about Lee’s title for the story (“While the World Spins Mad”). His disillusion was such that by the following issue when Lee had moved on and Archie Goodwin took over the scripting, Smith was out of there, staying only long enough to do the layouts. Interestingly though, the artist’s unfinished work would be completed by Frank Brunner, who was destined to do great things on the strip in the months to come. In the meantime however, the poor doctor would be handed from one untried artist to another with stories becoming ever more confusing as the series progressed. Once again, fans would have to be patient, but this time, it was going to be worth it! Frank Brunner’s star would shine brightly at Marvel for a relatively short time before he absconded to the new world of independent comics in the late 1970s.

1972

Marvel Premiere #4

“The Spawn of Sligguth”; Roy Thomas (plot), Archie Goodwin (script), Barry Windsor-Smith [as Barry Smith] (pencils), Frank Brunner (inks)

Barry Smith was back and in glorious form for Marvel Premiere #4 (Sept. 1972)…well, for the first three pages anyway. After that, his interest in the strip seemed to have slacked off. A few pages more look to have

Marvel Premiere #4, page 22: In a way, the awkward pairing of artist Barry Smith and inker Frank Brunner illustrated here presents an ironic counterpoint to the equally uneasy mix of H.P. Lovecraft’s Cthulhu Mythos and the Lee/Ditko Dr. Strangeverse.

been laid out by the artist, but by the time the story winds to its conclusion, he seems to have abandoned the pencils entirely. A clue to what happened could be found in the credits, which informed readers that the art this issue was produced by both Smith and newcomer Frank Brunner— who inked Smith’s pencils and remaining layouts and probably completed the pencils himself. It was a solid but nevertheless humble beginning for an artist who would go on to set such a mark for himself on the strip that he threatened even to eclipse Gene Colan as Strange artist supreme (even as Colan managed to eclipse Steve Ditko, the character’s cocreator from way back in Marvel’s early years). At the moment however, it had been no accident that Brunner ended up on the “Dr. Strange” feature. A fan of the strip from its inception, when he finally broke into comics by way of small press fanzines and a blackand-white magazine called Web of Horror, it was Dr. Strange that he used as the subject of sample pages prepared for submission when he was finally ready to apply for work at Marvel. Knowing of his interest in the strip, editor Roy Thomas contacted Brunner when Smith decided to pull out of the assignment and offered him the job. “The book was late and Roy asked if I could finish it, pencils and inks, in about two weeks,” said Brunner in an interview. “This was a frightening schedule, but I couldn’t refuse.” Working from what pages Smith had completed (from full pencils on the first three to layouts, to breakdowns) Brunner managed to get the job in on time. Happy Part II: 1970-1974

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that Brunner had met the deadline, Thomas offered him the book on a regular basis, but the artist, exhausted with his effort, refused. His enthusiasm for the character was such though, that he finally acceded and returned with Premiere #6 (again temporarily as the book would suffer a number of fill-ins by other up and coming artists before Brunner settled in for good with scripter Steve Englehart). In the meantime, Brunner found himself briefly teamed with veteran storysmith Gardner Fox, who took his cue from horror writer H.P. Lovecraft, fashioning a pseudomythology for Dr. Strange based on HPL’s own “Cthulhu Mythos.” Thus, our tale opens with a quote from a mythical book called The Thanatosian Tomes (from a 1625 translation by the Marquis de Rais!) and quickly segues into the main title: “The Spawn of Sligguth,” a sub-aquatic creature obviously inspired by Lovecraft’s sub-sea god Cthulhu. As the story unfolds, Dr. Strange is led to a town called Starkesboro, standing in for HPL’s Innsmouth where the residents all display ichthyic qualities similar to those of the latter municipality. A church displays an inverted cross even as Doc Strange swears by “the flames of the Faltine!” It was an odd mix of genres to be sure as the story ends in a climax with the good doctor ready to be sacrificed to “the Shambler from the Sea” or “the Lurker in the Labyrinth” or even Great Sligguth himself! Who knew?

Falling into the public domain, the literary work of horror writer H.P. Lovecraft (left) was enthusiastically embraced by editor Roy Thomas. Results were mixed however. Although adaptations of stories worked all right for Marvel’s horror books, elements from the author’s Cthulhu Mythos proved an uncomfortable fit with established continuity featured in the company’s ongoing series.

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Amazing Spider-Man #110

“The Birth of...the Gibbon!”; Stan Lee (script), John Romita (pencils), John Romita & Tony Mortellaro (inks)

“Introducing: one of the greatest new super stars in the mighty Marvel Universe!” Okay, so maybe the blurb on the splash page was a tad hyperbolic and the Gibbon was never going to set the world on fire, but luckily, as things turned out, it didn’t matter. The Gibbon (alias Martin Blank), was a walking, talking personification of that human element that’d made Marvel such a success during the 1960s. In a way, by the early Seventies, it even seemed a bit outdated, even quaint by the standards of the weird new concepts that were beginning to dot the company’s production schedule. In fact, the rules that had once been new and exciting for the company’s flagship titles had become so routine that they now seemed more cliché than original. Oh, the human dimension of characters was still important, but now, it had to be accompanied by the more overwrought atmosphere of alternate futures or supernatural landscapes where the issue of life and death was a constant element in the plots. The truth was, the flagship books (and their related super-hero titles like Marvel Team-Up) had become too prosaic and predictable; the real action of Marvel’s line-up was now taking place elsewhere. But seemingly out of step as it was, nobody could handle the human side of super-heroes, could make fantasy characters seem like real life characters as well as Stan Lee! He was still the master, and after an extended fallow period on the strip that began around #76 (punctuated with occasional returns to form like the stories from #96-98), a temporary absence from #100-104 and a warm up with #108-109, Lee came roaring back to top form in Amazing SpiderMan #110 (July 1972). Chock full of the melodramatic character bits that had made the strip such a hit over the years and co-plotted and drawn by John Romita at the peak of his powers (he continued to ink himself as he did the last two issues), these issues of the title were pure, undistilled Marvel classics that have drawn little attention since they first appeared. Of course, that might be because of the Gibbon, this issue’s colorless protagonist (well the people at the orphanage where he was raised did assign him “Blank” as a last name didn’t they?) Martin Blank as it turns out is a lonely soul. Cut from the same cloth as many of Marvel’s villains (the Mole Man comes immediately to mind) who were motivated by a lack of understanding from their fellow humans, Martin just wants to be accepted. But the twist here isn’t necessarily Martin’s insecurities and pathetic desire to be accepted, it’s how Spider-Man, the hero of the strip

1972 reacts to him. After meeting Martin earlier in the story, and preoccupied with doubts and fears of his own (Peter is still worried that he might be losing Gwen to Flash), Spider-Man bumps into him a second time. Now however, Martin has put on the gibbon costume he used to wear as a performer for the circus; the only job his apish features were suited for and at which he had to suffer the constant jeers of the audience. (“Ma! I want peanuts for the monkey man!”) When he tells Spider-Man that he wants to be his partner, Spidey reacts as most anybody else would and laughs in his face! (Although in his case, it’s especially ironic in that as Peter Parker, he’d spent years enduring just the same kind of thoughtless treatment from his peers.) The most interesting thing about this scenario is how it turns the reader’s expectation of how a hero is to behave on its head. The good guys are supposed to be kind to animals, patient with others, and self-sacrificing. But here, Lee points out that it isn’t necessarily so, especially when the very human Peter Parker is trying to wrestle with his own problems. Told somewhat from Martin’s point of view, the story tries to tell how some people might turn to crime or become anti-social (or in the world of comics, become super-villains) and in the process, more than ever, places the reader’s sympathy with the bad guy (something Lee had been doing in various ways throughout the Silver Age). But there was a lot more going on this issue than Martin’s inferiority complex! Neatly setting up Peter for his climactic reaction to the Gibbon’s job application, Lee reminds readers that their hero hasn’t yet had any rest from his earlier battle with the Asian cult members. Drop dead tired, Peter loses consciousness on his apartment sofa just as Gwen leaves with Flash. Just what he needs! And adding to his anxieties about losing his girlfriend, Aunt May decides to run away! Forced to provide his own credits, Tony Mortellaro was the Amazing Spider-Man ’s unsung hero providing the book with its signature New York City backgrounds which were almost as integral to the strip as Spidey himself was!

Amazing Spider-Man #111

“To Stalk A Spider!”; Gerry Conway (script), John Romita (pencils), John Romita & Tony Mortellaro (inks)

The fun continues right into the pages of Amazing Spider-Man #111 (Aug. 1972) as Kraven the Hunter shows up to take advantage of the Gibbon’s latest rejection. Playing up to his sense of worthlessness, his subconscious need to lash out, Kraven eventually succeeds in getting Martin to join him in a plan to strike back at Spider-Man. Meanwhile, across town, Spidey is already having doubts about how he treated Martin but like real people everywhere, he rationalizes his behavior. “I can’t help feeling I’ve done him a favor! Nobody, but nobody should get caught up in this super-hero biz.” But any more thoughts of the Gibbon are chased from his mind when he arrives at Aunt May’s apartment and finds a goodbye note with no forwarding address. It seems that Gwen’s outburst to her about how she thinks of her nephew has convinced Aunt May that she’s only a weight holding her Peter back. Going to Robby Robertson at the Daily Bugle for help in trying to find his aunt, Peter discovers that he has a new problem: spotted as Spider-Man in Aunt May’s apartment, the police want to know what connection there is between the two of them! Understandably upset, Peter as Spidey begins to scour the city, but instead of finding his aunt, he runs into an angry Gibbon (super-charged with a serum made of secret jungle herbs that gives Kraven a measure of mental control over him!) Driven to ferocious fury, the story ends with the Gibbon’s hands at Spidey’s throat, choking the life out of him! But the thing about this issue that may have given more pause to readers than Spider-Man’s dire predicament is the fact that Stan Lee had once more abandoned the scripting chores. The difference this time was that his absence would prove to be a permanent one. Except for a Spider-Man newspaper strip he’d begin writing years later and an occasional half-hearted special here and there, Lee would never again work on the strip on a regular basis. Luckily however, he left behind a creative team that was a more than adequate replacement for him: John Romita and Gerry Conway. But the interesting thing about the team was its creative dynamics, with credits on the splash page reading “A John Romita/ Gerry Conway production,” it was plain that the longtime Amazing Spider-Man artist would have the upper hand in the relationship. Signaled on Part II: 1970-1974

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the letters page with an editorial statement saying that Romita would be “aided” by Conway, readers were informed that the artist would have most of the control over what direction the stories would take. But however the arrangement worked, the new team went on with the strip without missing a beat. This issue for instance was flawless in its pacing and sub-plots (on the other hand, it might be expected that Lee had the continuation of his Gibbon storyline at least in mind before he handed over the reins to Romita and Conway) and together, the two men would go on to produce at least a handful of really great issues before everything began spinning out of control.

science) in order not to waste time in his search for his aunt. Along the way, Romita and Conway re-introduce readers to the supporting cast: J. Jonah Jameson, who wants to write an editorial about how Spider-Man has turned yellow; Robby Robertson, who verifies the authenticity of the handwriting on Aunt May’s goodbye note; long suffering Harry Osborne, who can’t figure out how his roommate can spend hours in his room without ever answering his knock; Betty Brant, still Jameson’s secretary; Flash Thompson, who continues to hang around with Gwen Stacy, who in turn is still feeling guilty at being the one to drive away Aunt May; and Mrs. Watson, former neighbor, friend of Aunt May and aunt Amazing Spider-Man #112 to the grooviest girl in town, “Spidey Cops Out”; Mary Jane Watson. Given the Gerry Conway (script), John Romita idea that his aunt’s disappear(pencils), John Romita & Tony ance might have something to Mortellaro (inks) do with the city’s crime spree, It was old-fashioned Spider-Man Peter is inspired to go back style action just as readers into action and begins tackling liked it, up to his earlobes in petty thugs in order to find personal problems and up out who’s behind the violence. against two warring bands of You might say he comes across gangland thugs! The creative a clue when he finds a gang team of John Romita and Gerry of super strong crooks about Conway hit the ground running to break into a warehouse. Although crime lords in Spidey’s New York were on Amazing Spider-Man #112 Knocked about to near unconalways trying to take over all (Sept. 1972) as Peter continues sciousness, Spider-Man still the mobs and run things like the search for his missing Aunt manages to pull a strange a corporation, their real life May while the evidence of a device off of one the bad guys, analogue was never mentioned. growing gang war erupts all an exo-skeleton designed to A tradition taken from film around him. Again penciled and television which at the increase a man’s normal time invariably referred to the and inked by Romita, “Spidey strength. But the discovery Mafia or La Cosa Nostra as Cops Out” begins where the comes too late to do him any “the Syndicate” or, as United previous issue ended, with a good as he’s jumped by Dr. Artists did in 1971 with this triumphant Spidey dropping Octopus, who turns out to be film starring Sidney Poitier, off an unconscious Martin one of the leaders of the warring The Organization. Blank in a hospital room (seems gangs! It was almost as good that even drugged, Martin a Spider-Man tale as any written couldn’t be made to go through by Stan Lee himself with the with killing another person even while under new team managing to seamlessly include all the mental control of Kraven). But with that the supporting characters while bringing back immediate problem solved (Spidey never found a self-pitying pathos to Peter Parker that’d been out about Kraven’s role in Gibbon’s attack missing almost since co-creator Steve Ditko left upon him), Peter has time to start worrying the book with #38. But as in the best of the older about Aunt May again. Reminiscent of events issues, things would go from bad to worse for from way back in #18, Spidey decides to ignore the wall crawler as he finally finds out what various crimes in progress (at the price of his con- happened to Aunt May! 122

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1972

Amazing Spider-Man #113

“They Call The Doctor...Octopus!”; Gerry Conway (script), John Romita (pencils), Tony Mortellaro & Jim Starlin (inks)

Amazing Spider-Man #113: page 19: As the strip’s most vital period drew to a close, the Spider-Man book remained the most engaging of Marvel’s flagship titles incorporating elements of characterization and sub-plot that drove the company’s success in previous phases: the relationship between Robbie Robertson and son Randy, Peter’s newfound ulcer, Aunt May’s disappearance, the demanding JJJ, the Ned Leeds and Betty Brant relationship, Gwen’s consternation at Peter’s erratic behavior, and Spidey’s use of a store-bought mask all worked to keep reader interest high.

Here’s a first: background artist Tony Mortellaro finally gets official credit for his work on Spider-Man! It’s true! In addition to “John Romita (art) and Gerry Conway (script),” the credit box for Amazing Spider-Man #113 (Oct. 1972) reads “art assists by T. Mortellaro & J. Starlin.” Mortellaro, of course, had been doing the backgrounds on the book at least as far back as when Gil Kane was on the job. Since then, taking into account Romita’s duties as art director as well as his doing both the penciling as well as the inking on Spider-Man, his services had probably become almost indispensable in the effort to get the book out on time. Over the years, the New York City skyline had become synonymous with the strip helping to make Spider-Man as natural a creature of concrete canyons and soaring penthouses as the millions of people who thronged its streets far below. A big part of creating that illusion was Mortellaro’s background work whose streets were chocked with litter and buildings teetered at dizzying angles. His roofscapes, dotted with exhaust pipes, heating ducts, and water towers, were made to order landscapes over which Spider-Man could leap and fight. Not one afraid to blow his own horn, Mortellaro hadn’t been shy about giving himself credit when official recognition was slow in coming. Before this issue’s credit line, the artist made his contributions known by splattering portions of his name on every billboard and poster he drew into his backgrounds. It became a game among readers who noticed Part II: 1970-1974

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what Mortellaro was doing to try and figure out what all the pieces added up to (“Backgrounds by Mortellaro” natch!). But now, the mystery was over and there it was, up front and big as life! Helping Mortellaro, which probably included inking, was one Jim Starlin, a newcomer of whom more would be heard of in the future. Their work opens just as Spidey manages to blind Dr. Octopus with some well placed webbing and escapes his clutches. It happened none too soon as Peter begins to have inexplicable pains in his abdomen. Barely making it back to his apartment, he finds out what this latest bit of bad luck means: an ulcer! Why didn’t anybody think of it before? For someone who was always worrying about at least a dozen problems at once, it was the most natural thing in the world to happen. But whoever it was that came up with the idea, give him a gold star! (Too bad no one ever really followed up on it.) Anyway, after his close shave with Doc Ock and finding out about his ulcer, you’d expect Peter to take it easy for a while, but when he gets a clue about Aunt May’s disappearance, he’s compelled to check it out and winds up in another fight with Octopus. As the battle progresses, Spidey, still weak from his ulcer, gets the worst of it until a clever plot twist has him find the exo-skeleton he took from a thug in the previous issue (an added irony is that the device was built by Ock himself). Using it, he’s able to augment his waning strength enough to put the kibosh on Octopus. But there’s no rest for the weary as Ock’s rival gang leader finally makes the scene. The Spider-Man strip hadn’t been this much fun in a long time and with Romita’s art at its peak and Conway providing scripts comparable to Spidey co-creator Stan Lee’s, these issues were easily one of the high points of the entire Twilight era.

physical abnormality that set him apart from your run of the mill gangster; he had a perfectly flat head with a metal plate embedded in the crown which resulted naturally in ridiculous situations where he’d charge people, head down, like a bull! It just wasn’t practical, but it sure was funky (okay, at least once it came in handy in a semi-reasonable manner: grabbed from behind by Spider-Man, Hammerhead slams his head back into our hero’s face. Not pretty!) On the other hand, gangsters with characteristic deformities were nothing new, a gimmick that went at least as far back as the Dick Tracy comic strip that had villains like Flattop and Pruneface running around. Hey, if it was good enough for Chester Gould, it was good enough for John Romita and Gerry Conway, who seemed to like their short

Amazing Spider-Man #114

“Gang War, Shmang War! What I Want to Know Is...Who the Heck Is Hammerhead?”; Gerry Conway (script), John Romita (pencils), John Romita, Tony Mortellaro & Jim Starlin (inks)

The blurb on the splash page of Amazing Spider-Man #114 (Nov. 1972) asked “Who the heck is Hammerhead?” and the answer was, a new crime boss on the scene intent (as usual!) on taking over all of New York’s mobs. But as to be expected with comic book crime czars like the Kingpin (so fat, he was actually strong enough to challenge Spidey in hand to hand combat), the Owl (he could glide on the night wind [don’t ask how!]), or the Crime Master (nothing special here, but he did wear a mask!), Hammerhead came with a 124

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Dick Tracy #110: Spider-Man villain Hammerhead boasted a distinguished pedigree being a direct descendent of such classic bad guys as Prune Face and Flattop (no relation despite the similar craniums!) seen here being subdued by the indomitable Dick Tracy!

1972 tempered creation. Even Hammerhead’s origin was on the quirky side. Seems he was a nameless hood beaten to near unconsciousness directly beneath a theater poster about a bio-pic on the life of actual mobster Al Capone. He was found by Jonas Harrow, a defrocked physician who performed unlicensed brain surgery on the side, who restored his health and implanted the metal plate in his head. But the damage was done. Hammerhead didn’t remember

a thing about his former life, but he couldn’t get that poster of Al Capone off his mind. Inspired, he decided to pursue a career in crime patterned after the fashions of the 1920s, which was about the point where Spidey stepped in and did him the favor of taking out Dr. Octopus, his rival for control of the underworld. Captured by Hammerhead (where he learns the location of Ock’s hideout), Spider-Man escapes and makes his way out of town. Arriving at Ock’s hideout (a swank mansion in the suburbs), Spidey gets the shock of his life: Aunt May is employed as his arch-enemy’s housekeeper! Hoo boy! They don’t write them like that anymore! Could Romita and Conway (aided and abetted by Mortellaro!) get any better? Stay tuned for the next issue’s thrilling climax!

Amazing Spider-Man #115

“The Last Battle”; Gerry Conway (script), John Romita (pencils), John Romita & Tony Mortellaro (inks)

Amazing Spider-Man # 114, page 3: Ouch! That’s gotta hurt! Midway through his last great multi-part epic, Spidey discovers Hammerhead’s super power: a really hard head?

Everything hits the fan in Amazing Spider-Man #115 (Dec. 1972) as the story opens with a dazed Spidey trying to recover from being struck on the head by a vase-wielding Aunt May! Now he has a real problem: how to tackle Dr. Octopus and Hammerhead without upsetting Aunt May to the point where her weak heart might give out? Complicating that is the fact that in his aunt’s eyes, Spider-Man is a dyed in the wool bad guy, infinitely worse than that kindly Dr. Otto Octavius (Doc Ock’s real name, natch!). But while our Part II: 1970-1974

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obviously forcing Romita at least to retreat from active penciling. Already, over the past few issues, more and more of the work was being finished by Mortellaro with the art in this issue definitely having a rushed flavor to it. Over the next three issues (#s 116-118), Romita would only provide a few bridging sequences to bring a reprinting of the 1968 Spectacular Spider-Man #1 into the strip’s 1972 continuity and after #119, would once again be replaced by Gil Kane (over whom, he would do the inks). Although there’d be a few more good issues, the glory days of the Spider-Man book were just about over. Arguably the most famous gangster era mob leader of the 1920s, Al Capone was not only an inspiration for Hammerhead, but for every would-be mob boss Spidey ever tangled with from the Big Man to the Kingpin.

hero wrestles with this latest conundrum, Hammerhead breaks into Ock’s headquarters and a full-scale gang war erupts as members of the rival gangs fight their way through the house. Things go from bad to worse in a hurry after Hammerhead makes his getaway and Spidey and Dr. Octopus finally come face to face. That’s when Peter really gets the bad news: after Octopus acts as if he’s gallantly defending the safety of Aunt May by fighting off Spider-Man, she gasps “Doctor Octavius, you’re so kind!” Cut to a close up of a shocked Spider-Man as Octopus makes his startling reply: “Merely as kind, as a man in love.” Naturally, a repulsed Spidey tears into Octopus but he’s forced to stop when Aunt May threatens to shoot him with a pistol! Could things get any hairier than this? Oh, yeah! Just then, the cops show up and start making arrests, but when Peter arrives to take his Aunt home, she tells him she’s not going anywhere. “Doctor Octavius had asked me to stay here, to keep his house in order, and I’ve decided to accept!” Hoo boy! Artist John Romita and writer Gerry Conway seemed to have done the impossible. They succeeded in capturing the full spirit of the Spider-Man strip that only creators Stan Lee and Steve Ditko had ever done before. Who would’ve expected that they could take over the feature and without missing a beat, launch into a storyline as good as the Dr. Octopus/Hammerhead war and leave room for a flawless interpretation of the book’s many supporting characters? All of which makes it more of a shame that it also marked the end of the Romita/Conway team. Time pressures were 126

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Conan the Barbarian #19

“Hawks from the Sea”; Roy Thomas (script), Barry Windsor-Smith [as Barry Smith] (pencils), Dan Adkins (inks)

Even with all the exciting new features that were emerging from Marvel around this time, the undoubted leader of the alternative pack was still Conan. And just as Conan continued to mature from naíve barbarian out of the borderlands to young thief to professional soldier, so too did Roy Thomas’ scripting voice as it became ever more in tune with the terse, yet vaguely poetic prose of Robert E. Howard. But despite its success, there were still problems with the troubled feature and they were spelled Barry Smith. Over the two years or so since the title’s inception, Smith’s art had changed so much that if a reader had dropped out of comics in 1970 and come back only two years later, he would’ve found the Britisher’s art completely unrecognizable. Smith now was someone who took his art very seriously, spending time on each assignment far in excess of what he could afford and still expect to make a living in the comics industry. (Part of this new attitude was Smith’s need to preserve the integrity of his work by inking his own pencils, a process that added greatly to the time needed to complete an assignment). Each succeeding job, each succeeding issue of Conan, was a more polished jewel than the last, but the effort to keep all the facets shining soon caught up to Smith. Taking on more work than he could handle (fill-in issues of the Avengers, stories for the company’s black-and-white magazine Savage Tales, and the regular Conan book), something had to give somewhere. At first, Thomas tried to buy Smith more time by returning Conan to bi-monthly status, then when it became a monthly again, reprints of Smith illustrated stories from Savage Tales (tastefully censored of course!) were

1972 army as it invades Makkalet to take back its kidnapped man-god, Tarim. It was the beginning of a vast, complicated struggle, filled with war, romance, and intrigue in which Conan would switch sides more than once before it all ended. More than ever, Thomas and Smith, by arranging a unique marriage between Marvel’s sense of continuity and REH’s brilliant evocation of a time-lost world, had managed to give weight and substance to a pulp writer’s fantasy.

used to mark time and even Gil Kane was called in to draw #1718. And finally for Conan the Barbarian #19 (Oct. 1972), even with the compatible inks of Dan Adkins gracing the book’s first 10 pages, Smith’s meticulousness prevented him from getting the following 10 pages in on time. As a result, the issue went to press with the unusual expedient of running half its pages without benefit of the inking needed for the pencil work to reproduce clearly. Although there was something to be said for seeing Smith’s beautiful work exactly as he’d drawn it, unless the printing process could pick up all the details, what readers ended up with was less than completely satisfying. It was a problem in speed that Smith was never able to lick and which plagued him for the rest of his tenure as the book’s artist. Over the next few issues, despite undoubted triumphs such as issues 20 and 24, the quality of his work would suffer terribly from being handed in unfinished and completed by an army of different inkers. The situation was all the more disappointing in that this issue launched an ambitious storyline (made up mostly of single, but thematically interconnected stories) by Thomas that would be known collectively as the Turanian War. In it, Conan leaves behind the younger, western kingdoms of the Hyborian Age for older, eastern ones such as Turan and city states like Makkalet. As “Hawks From the Sea” opens, Conan has been hired as a mercenary for the Turanian

Conan the Barbarian #19, page 1: Half polished jewel, half uncut diamond. Such was the case this issue when Barry Smith was unable to finish the second part of “Hawks From the Sea” which was published direct from the artist’s pencils.

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Conan the Barbarian #20

“The Black Hound of Vengeance”; Roy Thomas (script), Barry Windsor-Smith [as Barry Smith] (pencils), Dan Adkins (inks)

After two years working in partnership on the Conan strip, writer Roy Thomas and artist Barry Smith had succeeded in making it the trailblazing entry in Marvel’s new wave of untraditional comics features. The second “chapter” in the Turanian War saga, Conan the Barbarian #20 (Nov. 1972) was an elaborate jewel that showed off everything its principal creators had learned (and more!) since those first, halting issues when no one knew from month to month, whether the book would even survive or not. Filled with wonderful exchanges of dialogue, Thomas’ script was evocative without being purplish. “Warm, eh?” says a Turanian soldier who was not on good terms with Conan. “It’s your hair, too long for this accursed climate. Say the word, and I’ll trim it for you.” “Balthaz,” replies Conan. “I’d not want your

Keeping the strip at some remove from the reader, Hal Foster’s meticulously designed Prince Valiant newspaper strip used text instead of word balloons to tell its story. The same technique used by Thomas for Conan did the same while extenuating the otherworldly setting of the Hyborian Age.

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blade that near my throat.” Most impressive of all though, was Thomas’ decision to dispense with dialogue balloons for the story’s epilogue. Instead, the final two pages were presented with borderless text only, in a manner reminiscent of Hal Foster’s Prince Valiant comic strip. Lettered by John Costanza in a cursive style that evoked etchings on sheets of papyrus, Thomas’ script here waxed poetic and lifted the bar even higher for anyone else trying to make something more of the comics medium than just entertainment for children. “The waning moon shimmered above the tepid waters like a madman’s lantern. Slowly, with great laborious strokes, the barbarian swam toward the proud flagship of Yezdigerd, prince of all Turan.” Smith’s detailed art, colored predominantly in blues and grays gave the sequence a languid, dreamlike quality as Conan discovers that a wounded friend was tossed overboard to drown, stalks across the ship’s bloody deck, and kills the soldier in charge of the detail that disposed of the dead. Throughout the story’s previous 18 pages, Smith’s art presents a stunning feast for the eyes as Conan invades the palace of the evil sorcerer KharamAkkad, meets a “temple wench” who’s actually the queen of Makkalet, almost uncovers the secret of the Tarim, and ends up fighting for his life against the city’s “Black Hound of Vengeance!” The whole issue was an unbelievable tour de force for a writer/artist team that continued to amaze readers with each succeeding issue of the title; an artistic triumph for the industry that would never again be equaled. The Conan strip at this time was simply the fulfillment of everything Marvel had been trending toward since the introduction of the Fantastic Four in 1961, a new sophistication in comics that appealed to youngsters but spoke powerfully to adult readers from between the lines. The characters in the Conan feature were a patchwork of blacks and whites, but especially grays, as they crossed a treacherous landscape of moral ambiguity where life was cheap and vice rampant. How they survived in that world rather than seeing Conan slash his way through the latest horde of soldiers, guardsmen, or thugs was what kept older readers coming back. Would Conan compromise his primitive code of conduct? Would the wiles of civilization finally corrupt his simple barbaric morality? How long could he stay aloof from the decadence that surrounded him everywhere he went? That was the underlying theme that drove the whole series as readers saw Conan age, mature, and become world-weary. It was a personal journey denied the company’s flashier, costumed heroes who were being increasingly kept back by market demands and a continuity that held them in a grip that grew tighter all the time.

1973

Dracula Lives #1

“A Poison of the Blood”; Gerry Conway (script), Gene Colan (pencils), Tom Palmer (inks) “Suffer Not a Witch”; Roy Thomas (script), Alan Weiss (pencils), Dick Giordano (inks) “Zombie”; Tony DiPreta (pencils & inks) “Ghost of a Chance”; Bill LaCava (pencils & inks) “Fright”; Russ Heath (pencils & inks)

Dracula Lives #1: Artist Boris Vallejo executed this cover in movie poster style using a jumble of mismatched elements crowned by a nutty union of bat wings with the head of Dracula himself. Crude in design, sure, but there was yet something unsettling in its execution that in the end became “the look” of Marvel’s line of monster and sword and sorcery magazines.

“To Walk Again In Daylight”; Steve Gerber (script), Rich Buckler (pencils), Pablo Marcos (inks)

At last! After a pair of false starts and the departure of former publisher Martin Goodman, Lee finally managed to get a regular line of black-and-white magazines geared to older readers off the ground. Both earlier efforts, Spectacular Spider-Man in 1968 and Savage Tales in 1971 were stillborn due to Goodman’s reluctance to antagonize the Comics Code Authority with comics that included more “mature” subject matter, even if they were technically outside the purview of the Code. But when Goodman sold Marvel to Cadence Industries, his days as publisher were numbered, and in 1972, he finally retired from the industry. At that point, Lee himself was promoted to publisher and given broadened authority. Not wasting any time, one of his first decisions was to expand Marvel Comics into the magazine field. Almost willy nilly, an instant line of black-and-white magazines came into existence (along with a digest sized magazine devoted to short fiction called Haunt of Horror). According to Roy Thomas, who was assigned as the line’s first editor, Lee had always had in mind to headline Dracula in his own black-and-white magazine, but when an earlier attempt stalled after the publication of Savage Tales #1, he had to satisfy himself with a tamer, color version that became Tomb of Dracula. But he never gave up his original intention of featuring the character in a more mature format, and one day ordered Thomas to get to work on Dracula Part II: 1970-1974

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Not the most interesting of pencilers, artist Alan Weiss (left) luckily found little work at Marvel in the twilight years; just the opposite held true for Russ Heath (right) who turned in some amazing work for Warren Publishing and far too little for Marvel.

Lives #1 (1973), the new line’s first black-and-white entry. But no sooner had he made that announcement, than Lee came up with a second magazine to be called Vampire Tales. Dracula Lives, you see, would star only Dracula, but there was a need for another magazine to tell tales of other vampires. Seemingly fired up with enthusiasm for the new line of magazines, Lee grew impatient and a few days after ordering Thomas to get to work on Dracula Lives, he added two more titles to the list: Monsters Unleashed and Tales of the Zombie. “So we had four books… and they’re all late,” recalled Thomas in a recent interview. Behind the eight ball right from the start, Thomas hurriedly rounded up a team of writers and artists and rushed the books into production, which accounted somewhat for the uneven quality of the results. Covers for the new books were to be painted by a group of newcomers such as Boris Vallejo, who executed the cover of the debut issue of Dracula Lives in a rushed and awkward style that would characterize most such work in the first years of the black-andwhites. Later, Thomas would resort to Marvel’s own bullpen for talent with happier results. But if after seeing the cover, readers had doubts about the quality of the stories inside the book, they were at least reassured when they feasted their eyes on a new Gene Colan/Tom Palmer 17-page lead Dracula story that reunited the penciler with Gerry Conway, who had helped launch the four-color Tomb of Dracula in 1972. The balance of the issue, however, was somewhat lackluster with a second story written by Thomas and drawn by Alan Weiss, a couple reprints from 130

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Marvel’s pre-code horror comics, and a quirky tale drawn by Rich Buckler and scripted by Steve Gerber. Text features filled in the extra pages but on balance, most of Marvel’s black-and-white line would remain just as uneven. With so many pages to fill, it was perhaps unavoidable that much of what was produced made little long term impression. Thomas has said that the black-and-white line never did attract many of the new readers that Lee had hoped to reach; instead, it staggered on for a number of years being bought mostly by the readers whose loyalty the company could already count upon. Nevertheless, it did produce a few really spectacular stories and a handful of quirky series for those readers with the patience to find them and the extra cash to pay for them.

Chamber of Chills #2

“The Monster from the Mound”; Gardner Fox (script), Frank Brunner (pencils & inks) “Thirst”; Steve Gerber & Dan Adkins (script), Craig Russell (pencils), Dan Adkins (inks) “Spell of the Dragon”; John Jakes & Dan Adkins (script), Dan Adkins (layouts), Val Mayerik (pencils), Joe Sinnott (inks)

As the early 1970s moved on and it became more and more obvious that Marvel was trouncing its competition in sales, the company developed a new confidence, and with it, an avalanche of product. Boldly deciding to seek out different markets, Lee released new super-hero titles like Marvel Team-Up (starring Spider-Man), Marvel Premiere (a try-out magazine for new characters), and Marvel Feature (ditto!); war books like War is Hell (what else?); humor with Spoof; even westerns like Tex Dawson, Gun Slinger; and female-oriented features with The Claws of the Cat (written and drawn mostly by women!) and Night Nurse. But aside from the superhero fare, the big push still seemed to focus on the horror genre with comic releases of Werewolf by Night, Frankenstein, and Crypt of Shadows—all released within a few months of each other. In the meantime the horror anthologies begun in the closing months of the 1960s continued to hang on albeit without the company’s “big guns.” Artists of the caliber of John Buscema, John Romita, Gene Colan, and now Barry Smith were much too valuable to have them waste their energies on relatively low sales books like the anthologies and so they’d long since moved on to the flagship titles. Their absence left a vacuum that still needed to be filled, and for a few months before they were given over wholly to reprints of earlier material, the anthologies became a veritable breeding ground for new talent; young artists who’d been fans of the

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company’s product during the 1960s and who were now eager to break into the business they loved. It wouldn’t be a stretch to believe that Roy Thomas, who’d been officially promoted to editor (while Lee, who still remained an important presence in the office, became publisher), and having been a fan before turning pro, still kept an eye on the doings in fandom and so was in a position to recruit promising talent when they caught his notice. What turned out to be one of the most reliable sources for new talent was inker Dan Adkins, who took on many aspiring artists

Chamber of Chills #2: The quadruple talents of Frank Brunner, Craig Russell, Val Mayerik, and Dan Adkins make this issue a real collectors item for fans of the twilight years!

to help out in his studio, and one by one, they found their way to the Marvel offices. Another source of fresh blood was the studio of Neal Adams, whose nameless assistants were credited as the Crusty Bunkers. A perfect example of how these newcomers got their feet in the door is Chamber of Chills #2 (Jan. 1973) (in which all of its three stories were drawn by young artists who, like Barry Smith, would develop dizzyingly fast and help make Marvel’s Twilight Years one of the most interesting in comics history). The first story, an adaptation of Robert E. Howard’s “The Horror From the Mound,” was written by comics veteran Gardner Fox (who spent most of his career at DC) and featured the art of Frank Brunner, a graduate of the Adams studio who’s style owed more to EC artist Graham “Ghastly” Ingels and Bernie Wrightson than to Kirby, Ditko, et al. Fond of a fine line, soft focus feel to his art, Brunner hit the ground running here with little evidence of the awkwardness of say, Craig Russell in the book’s second story. With its plot and inking both credited to Adkins, it’s not out of the realm of possibility that “Thirst” (an SF story about a vampire who stows away on a spaceship) was originally done as a presentation piece for Russell’s portfolio but ended up being bought outright to fill an available space in Chamber. While giving some hint of the artist’s emerging talent (the design of machinery aboard the spacecraft is particularly well done and reminiscent of the style of Wally Wood by way of Adkins), overall, the work is on the crude side with a definite air of amateurishness about it. On the other hand, Val Mayerik, another of Adkins’ assistants who penciled this issue’s third story, was already displaying the skill of a professional. In “Spell Part II: 1970-1974

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of the Dragon,” a story about a Conan-type barbarian named Brak (which was scripted by science fiction writer John Jakes, creator of Brak and later a bestselling novelist), Mayerik provides figures made up of combinations of planes and sharp angles whose deep shadows have the effect of giving objects a unique three-dimensional quality. Particularly impressive is Brak’s two-page battle with a tyrannosaurus rex (one panel, giving a long shot of a mounted Brak from between the dinosaur’s legs, is especially good). Despite individual drawbacks this early in their careers, it was really an amazing thing to have in a single book, emerging all at the same time, three artists, each of whom would later go on to help create some of the most inventive, unforgettable strips of the Twilight Years. But that was the thing that made Marvel’s anthologies in these months fun to pick up; a reader never knew if he’d be getting his first glimpse of the industry’s next superstar!

The Monster of Frankenstein #1

“Mary Shelley's Frankenstein”; Gary Friedrich (script), Mike Ploog (pencils & inks)

Despite the entrée to Marvel provided by the anthology titles, some artists still came in the old fashioned way, through the door and directly into their own books! That’s the way it happened with another in the wave of exciting new artists that were breaking into the industry in the early 1970s. According to Mike Ploog, he went up to the Marvel

The face that launched a thousand adaptations: Mary Wollstonecraft Shelley (left), the creator of the immortal Frankenstein and a cover of one of the many editions of her famous novel, this time by none other than Bernie Wrightson who illustrated the book with a number of exquisite full-page images.

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offices one day with a sample western story and was promptly turned away. Then, not long after, he received a surprise telephone call from editor Roy Thomas asking him if he’d be interested in doing a monster book. The answer was “yes” and Ploog immediately began work on the company’s first single feature horror title inspired by a Universal monster, Werewolf by Night. Ploog, who began his career in animation, worked with legendary comics artist Will Eisner before picking up assignments for Warren Publishing (which published mostly black-and-white horror comics in full-size magazine format to better avoid submitting material to the Comics Code). By his own admission, there was still plenty he didn’t know about illustration when he started working on the Werewolf strip. Mastering the shapes of basic objects like cars and furniture proved to be a learning experience for Ploog, and it showed. There was a certain clumsiness to his style (that otherwise resembled that of the EC artists of the 1950s) that, until his last few jobs at Marvel, he was never able to shake, but the fifty percent of his drawings that weren’t on the awkward side, were really good. Drenched in moodiness, his gnarled and twisted figures hunched and crawled across pages whose corners were frequently hid in shadows that hinted of horrors too grisly even for the newly loosened Code to accept. And although it could be argued that Ploog’s later stint on Kull the Conqueror displayed his best work, there’s no doubt at all that his real masterpiece began in The Monster of Frankenstein #1 (Jan. 1973). A relatively faithful adaptation of Mary Shelley’s novel, the Frankenstein book was Marvel’s third title devoted to four monsters made famous by Universal Studios. Scripted by Gary Friedrich, who’d quickly joined Gerry Conway as one of the company’s most versatile and talented writers, the new feature allowed Ploog free rein to exploit his talent for the weird. Having it both ways, the strip is a retelling of the events in the novel as well as a flashback from a later time. Not quite in the present day (the so-called scientific expedition to the arctic that digs the frozen monster from the ice still gets there by sailing ship), the story of Victor Frankenstein is told by the expedition’s leader and laid out in a text-heavy style that’s more like an illustrated novel than a comic book. But Friedrich’s prose flows smoothly enough and Ploog’s art captures the nineteenth century atmosphere of midnight graveyards, gallows corpses, and dank laboratories filled with antique bunsen burners and hanging skeletons. Oh, it was great stuff all right, which only made it harder for fans when Ploog left the book soon after the adaptation was complete. But until then, it seemed Marvel’s horror boomlet was off to a great start!

1973

Supernatural Thrillers #7

“The Return of the Living Mummy!”; Steve Gerber (script), Val Mayerik (pencils & inks) “He Came from Nowhere!”; Larry Lieber & Stan Lee (script), George Tuska (pencils), Joe Sinnott (inks)

Val Mayerik seemed to belong to the Bernie Wrightson school of post-EC Comics artists (whose major influence was likely Graham “Ghastly” Ingels, that defunct company’s most idiosyncratic alumnus, whose style could be detected in the early work of such creators as Mike Ploog, Frank Brunner, even Craig Russell). But if Mayerik had been an admirer of Ingels, that artist wasn’t his only influence. Although preferring not to think of his protégés as assistants, by the early 1970s, Dan Adkins’ studio must’ve had all the earmarks of an old time comics shop with first Craig Russell helping him out, and then Mayerik, who was followed later by Paul Gulacy. As Marvel’s appetite for product became ever

Although the character of Frankenstein’s monster was in the public domain, its features so powerfully captured by actor Boris Karloff for Universal Studios classic 1931 film Frankenstein, became the standard for decades.

more voracious, just about anyone connected with Adkins’ studio wound up contributing work to the company, frequently illustrating plots dreamed up by Adkins, who’d then tighten up their still amateurish pencils by doing the inking. That’s the way Mayerik landed his first professional assignments, including an impressive Brak the Barbarian story for Chamber of Chills #2 (of course being inked by Adkins, it’s difficult to tell just how much of that job’s professionalism was Mayerik’s). From there, Mayerik bounced around doing uneven work under a variety of inkers (including himself) on the “Frankenstein” and “Man-Thing” features before landing a permanent gig with Supernatural Thrillers #7 (Jan. 1973), which starred the fourth of Marvel’s take on the Universal Studios classic monsters. Actually, Mayerik began working on the “Living Mummy” feature in issue #5; intended only as a try-out, and editorial policy being the elastic thing it was in those days, the character was quickly given its own series and four months later Mayerik found himself penciling and inking the new strip. That was fortunate because Mayerik happened to be one of those artists (Ploog was another) whose work was best displayed under his own inks. Having learned his chops beneath the guiding eye of Adkins, Mayerik knew how to spot blacks to best advantage and though his figures still had a certain stick-like awkwardness to them, that fault became a definite advantage when it came to depicting the Mummy’s shambling gait. A particularly fine page has the Mummy resting on a park bench (!) reminiscing about his youth 3,000 years gone. Unfortunately, Mayerik’s undoubted talents were doomed to hardly ever being shown off as well as they do here as he very rarely had the chance to do the inking himself (maybe he was too slow on the pencils). Consequently, he provided readers with few examples of his own pure, unvarnished style. Mayerik was joined this issue by Steve Gerber whose script anticipated historical revisionism of the 1990s by having the Mummy turn out to be a black slave of the pharaohs who revolted against his masters, was defeated, and condemned to mummification. Awoken in the 20th century, N’Kantu now seeks a remedy for his horrid condition. But as had become the pattern for Marvel’s monster protagonists, simple action and gory horror weren’t what made this short-lived strip as interesting as it was. That fell to a lively cast of supporting characters and a multi-layered Part II: 1970-1974

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personality for the Mummy, which alternated ingeniously from flashbacks to his youth in pharonic Africa to his current day ruminations on violence and the mercy he was never shown by the Egyptians. A strip that had the potential to become a classic, the “Living Mummy” feature never really took off and soon petered out after only a handful of episodes.

Supernatural Thrillers #7, page 10: Apparently the only person who could do full justice to Val Mayerik’s pencils was Mayerik himself! Unfortunately, fans in the twilight years would have too few opportunities, as they did here, to enjoy undiluted Mayerik.

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Marvel Premiere #7

“The Shadows of the Starstone!”; Gardner F. Fox (script), Craig Russell (pencils), Mike Esposito, Frank Giacoia & David Hunt (inks)

Like Brunner, Craig Russell’s entree with Marvel was by way of a sample page of artwork using Dr. Strange as the subject so maybe it wasn’t a coincidence that one of his earliest assignments was to also fill-in on the troubled mage’s bi-monthly strip. Having begun strongly under the Stan Lee/Barry Smith creative team, the feature stumbled with its second installment when Smith gave up the art chores and Lee was replaced by writer Gardner Fox. Fox gave the feature the semblance of continuity but he found little support in the art department as a parade of mostly untried pencilers came and went among them Frank Brunner, Don Perlin, and Jim Starlin. Fresh off a few short stories for Marvel’s horror anthologies and a stint on the new “Ant-Man” strip in Marvel Feature (most assisted by mentor Dan Adkins), Marvel Premiere #7 (March 1973) was Russell’s first regular job without Adkins anywhere in sight. Perhaps for that reason, the artist’s own style was finally able to come out this issue with an impressive splash on page 12 centering on a loving close-up of the monstrous Dagoth, high priest of Kalumesh! A few nice action pages follow until Russell again busts loose on page 18 showing a flashback to ancient Kalumesh as it sinks beneath the sea. Unfortunately, Russell’s bold attempt at some innovative layouts was undermined both by a team of inkers (Mike Esposito, Frank Giacoia,

1973

Conan the Barbarian #24

“The Song of Red Sonja”; Roy Thomas (script), Barry Windsor-Smith [as Barry Smith] (pencils & inks)

Inkers Mike Esposito (left) and Frank Giacoia (right) were often brought in to pinch hit during the twilight years when schedules were often threatened by late books and blown deadlines.

and Dave Hunt…none of whom were appropriate over the artist’s pencils) and a text-heavy script by Fox. Fox, in turn, was still pursuing a Lovecraftian motif, something he brought to the strip following the departure of Lee and Smith. Perhaps it was Fox’s background as a sometime science fiction and fantasy writer that explained the change of pace, or maybe it was Marvel’s then ongoing venture into adapting material from stories that had first appeared in a pulp magazine named Weird Tales. The Depression-era magazine had featured such classic authors as Robert Bloch, Robert E. Howard, and H.P. Lovecraft, and it was the latter’s material, particularly his stories dealing with the “Cthulhu Mythos” that now suddenly began to insinuate itself in the Dr. Strange series. It would not be a good fit. But with the Lovecraft estate still jealously guarded by Arkham House publisher August Derleth, Mythos elements had to be included in a roundabout way by having them attributed to Howard with whose estate Marvel had an arrangement (with Conan being the most obvious property). The thinking at the time may have been influenced by the resurgence in popularity of many Weird Tales alumni in the paperback field (particularly Lovecraft) or even by editor Roy Thomas’ brief dabbling in the subject on his last issues of the earlier Dr. Strange series. Right now, though, no favors were being done for Strange as he was bounced around like a pinball from one weird menace to the next. It wouldn’t be until writer Steve Englehart came to the rescue in issue #10 that all of it was somehow brought together under Shuma-Gorath!

What can be said about Conan the Barbarian #24 (March 1973) which, if not the greatest single comic book ever produced, then is surely the pinnacle of Marvel’s Twilight Years? The climax to the up and down partnership of Roy Thomas and Barry Smith, it was probably fitting that their last work together on the most influential title of the Twilight era also turned out to be a seamless integration of technical perfection and artistic triumph. (An achievement made without sacrificing either story or the characterization necessary for good comics entertainment.) The combination of all these elements easily made this issue the Holy Grail, the standard by which all comics to follow would be measured as well as the completion of a steadily improving craftsmanship that marked the personal careers of Thomas and Smith. Although both men would go on to do more good work in the industry, never again would they share the same kind of synergy with other collaborators as they did with each other. And although it’s true that their work on the Conan strip in general had been inspirational to the cadre of young writers and artists who followed them into the industry, none of that seemed to have the impact this final coda had. Artwise, the issue was the culmination of Smith’s troubled but triumphant tenure on the strip. More than ever immersed in the stylistic esthete of the Pre-Raphaelites and Art Nouveau movements of the Nineteenth Century, Smith’s work this issue (which he inked himself) seemed more elaborate, far more detailed than ever with scenes such as the saloon brawl that opens the story, the late night swim by Conan and a topless Red Sonja, and the battle with the were-snake in the treasure tower with jewels, coins, and precious metals strewn everywhere in careless abandon. But Smith’s obsession with such sumptuous detail had a reason. “It’s the airless claustrophobia I go for,” he once explained. “Getting so close to each blade of grass that all intended reality is voided.” The approach worked, turning Conan’s Hyborean world into a fantasy of such lush otherworldliness that he managed to do the impossible: change fans’ picture of Conan from that depicted by artist Frank Frazetta (who’d been for years executing robust paintings of the character to illustrate paperback covers of his prose adventures) to his own interpretation. But Smith’s work on this issue marked a creative Part II: 1970-1974

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queen and husband twice her age. At last, they realize that there are no words left to say. So they simply hold each other close, no passion in the embrace, but only a tender caring. And, for an instant, there is no Turanian horde battering at the high serpentwall of Makkalet, no holy war on which great empires must rise and fall. Merely a man, grown suddenly older, and a woman, who never was a little girl”) and made the character of Red

peak that came in the wake of mounting frustrations with the pressure of relentless deadlines imposed by a monthly production schedule. Over the previous six issues of the title, Smith had only been able to complete the pencils on two; for the rest, a mishmash of artists and inkers were called in to finish the work over hurried layouts. Unable to keep up with the increasing demands made upon himself and his work, Smith decided to quit the world of regular comics for good. (Except for a couple of jobs for the black-and-white Savage Sword of Conan magazine, Smith would form his own company and spend the next 15 years doing commercial art.) But despite Smith’s impressive achievements this issue, his work alone didn’t put this book on the map. He had valuable help in the editorial judgment and writing acumen of Roy Thomas. Well versed by this time in the style, outlook, rhythm, and meter of Robert E. Howard, Thomas turned in a sparkling script for “The Song of Red Sonja” that crackled with a world-wary knowingness (a pair of borderless pages, one concentrating on a fearful Kharam-Akkad “There comes, even to wizards, the time of great fear. Then the golden throne of power is turned to brass, and the gleaming sceptre of power is crusted over with dross” and another on the uneasy marriage of the King of Makkalet and his queen, “She rises. For an eternity, they stand gazing at each other, groping for the words that have always come so hard to a very young

Conan the Barbarian #24, page 4: Artist Barry Smith bid farewell to the color Conan book by turning in his most stunning work to date. It provided a fitting climax to the meteoric rise of a talent that had outgrown monthly comics.

1973 Sonja (and her relationship with the over-confident Conan), a fully-rounded personality that would prove strong enough to support numerous solo appearances of her own. No one could’ve foretold it at the time, but this issue of Conan, far from being a harbinger of greater things to come, was actually the high point of the Twilight Years. Oh, there’d be some great stuff to follow in its immediate wake (Thomas after all, wasn’t going anywhere; for at least another year or so he, John Buscema, and inker Ernie Chua would continue to produce impressive work on Conan), but it would peter out all too soon. With the end of the Thomas/Smith team, much of the inspiration to fulfill the potential of comics as a viable medium for all ages seemed to go out of the comics industry. Instead, Conan the Barbarian #24 now seems to stand as a lonely signpost on the road not taken by a comics industry that has sadly, long since abandoned itself to shallow juvenilia and meaningless perversion.

book about comics). Unfortunately, whether the trouble was in the inks or the pencils, the art job looked rushed, as if an overburdened Colan had finally been stretched past his limits with Adkins oddly giving him very little support in firming up the final images. Instead of the near threedimensional quality Colan’s work had over on the Dracula strip, here his work just came out looking flat. Did Adkins himself have too much on his plate? Interestingly, the credits for this story note that permission was given to use Lovecraft’s tale by Arkham House. Something previous uses of the author’s stories lacked. There’s some question about whether Arkham House Publishers ever actually owned the rights to Lovecraft’s material, but it seems here that Lee and Goodman weren’t taking any

Journey Into Mystery #4

“The Haunter of the Dark!”; Ron Goulart (script), Gene Colan (pencils), Dan Adkins (inks) “The Price Is Flight!”; Dan Adkins (plot), Steve Gerber (script), P. Craig Russell (pencils), Dan Adkins (inks) “The Man with—Two Faces”; Gardner Fox and Don McGregor [as Donald F. McGregor] (script), Win Mortimer (pencils & inks)

What was the story with Dan Adkins? All of a sudden he seemed to be turning up all over Marvel’s horror anthologies, not just by supplying them with new artistic talent, but in plotting, laying out, or just inking one or two stories in each issue! Whatever the explanation, for a while there, he seemed like a one man army, packaging 5- to 7-page stories left and right. For instance, in Journey into Mystery #4 (April 1973), he shows up in the second story “The Price is Flight,” as plotter and inker for protégé Craig Russell’s second foray into professional comics. About a sideshow magician (Clifford the Great, yet!) whose levitation act is put to the test by a local know-it-all, Adkins and Russell tell the story in a very succinct four pages! Adkins provides only the inks on the book’s lead story, an adaptation of H. P. Lovecraft’s “The Haunter of the Dark”, while mood master Gene Colan does the pencils over a generous ten pages of script by science fiction writer and professional fan Ron Goulart (he contributed with Roy Thomas to All in Color for a Dime, [1970] the first non-fiction

All in Color For a Dime was one of the first, if not the first, mass market vehicle that identified comics as a legitimate form of American pop-culture while at the same time acknowledging a growing self-consciousness among devotees.

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appears here in partnership with Fox. But did the newcomer actually collaborate with the veteran or was Fox called in to rework the rookie’s script? It doesn’t matter, because McGregor would eventually go on to write many of the signature comics that made the Twilight era as exciting a finale as it was. Fun Fact: An interesting coincidence has both McGregor and Russell appearing in this issue together; only a few months later, they’d become the team supreme on one of the most outstanding comics series of the Twilight Years.

Conan the Barbarian #26

“The Hour of the Griffin!”; Roy Thomas (script), John Buscema (pencils), Ernie Chan [as Ernie Chua] Inks) On the surface, both Don McGregor (left) and Gardner Fox (right) seemed ill-fitted for Marvel Comics for different reasons: McGregor tended to overwhelm pages with script, while Fox worked in the more mannered style that had been prevalent at DC in the 1960s.

chances! The book’s final story “The Man With Two Faces,” about a treasure hunter who finds what he’s looking for, but at a price that eventually costs him his life, is a mediocre effort by artist Win Mortimer. Of more immediate interest is the second name listed in the writer credits, directly beneath that of veteran Gardner Fox. Because comics are primarily a visual medium, artists have always received greater notice than the people actually writing the stories, and so it was in the Twilight era with all the wonderful new talent that seemed to be pouring into the Marvel offices. But as it turns out, not all of that talent had a yen to draw. And though it might’ve been harder to prove to an editor that a wannabe comics pro could write than it was to show him a few pages of panel to panel continuity, would-be scripters had a chance to draw attention to themselves in the letters pages that brought up the rear of every Marvel comic. Almost all of the company’s up-and-coming writing talent, Steve Englehart, Doug Moench, Ralph Macchio, and Bill Mantlo (to name a few) all put their names before their future employers by way of their letters first. And one of the first names Lee and Thomas must’ve noticed was Don McGregor, who began writing to the company’s various titles almost from the beginning and kept it up until the time he got his first break in the business at Warren Publishing. Learning the ropes there, he made the jump to Marvel and 138

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Pity the suffering fans who first had to find some way of moving on following the departure of Barry Smith from the Conan strip (after having endured the agony of watching him evolve in fits and starts from would-be Kirby/Steranko imitator to being an artist of such exquisite style that the world of comics could no longer satisfy him) and then having to stand by as the good but prosaic John Buscema took over. Not that Buscema was bad (although past his prime after abandoning the wide open style of his earlier Avengers days), his work was just too…familiar…after the heady intoxication provided by Smith’s highly refined and utterly unique art captured the gilded, fever-dream quality of the Hyborian Age like no one ever thought possible. Where Smith’s style presented LSD induced visions of dangerous beauty, Buscema’s kept everything firmly to hand with a realism that grounded the strip in the known. Like Hal Foster’s legendary Prince Valiant newspaper strip, nothing was exaggerated, but instead, Conan would move in a slightly unfamiliar version of real history whether medieval, Middle Eastern, or Manchu dynastic. In a way, it would be a version of Conan more in tune with the vision of Robert E. Howard, but at the cost of losing that indefinable something: The poetry and personal vision that, until Smith’s interpretation, had only been captured in the author’s prose. But despite many readers’ reservations about him (they were given a fright with the almost painful job he turned in for issue #25 under the unimaginative inks of his brother Sal and John Severin), like John Romita when he took over Spider-Man from Steve Ditko, Buscema would make the Conan book even more popular than it had been under Smith. But he didn’t do it alone.

1973

Conan the Barbarian #26: This convention sketch suggests the cynical, bestial nature of the Conan character as illustrated by John Buscema. Where Smith’s take on the character could be savage yet thoughtful, Buscema’s was a throwback to the version created by artist Frank Frazetta which often depicted Conan as more brute than man.

For one thing, the strip retained the writing skills of Roy Thomas, who was just reaching the zenith of his skills on the book; and for another, Buscema was fortunate to get the inking services of Filipino artist Ernie Chua to finish his pencils. And what a difference he made! Beginning work on Conan the Barbarian #26 (May 1973), Chua hit the ground running and breathed whole new life into Buscema’s art. Where Sal Buscema and Severin had satisfied themselves with inking only what John had put on the page, Chua went to town filling in all the empty spaces and giving them the detail and heft required of a strip whose settings were frequently semi-historical. Where Smith had drawn Conan as a pantherish youth, Buscema and Chua made him a bulky young man with cordons of hard muscle rippling along his arms and down his back. Suddenly the character seemed grimmer, even savage, as he laughed lustily in the pride and confidence of his youth at the foibles of civilized men. Thomas must have sensed the difference in tone (Buscema never cared for super-heroes and preferred working on adventure strips instead, and the beautiful work he and Chua churned out for Conan over the next year certainly showed it) because his own characterization of Conan seemed to change even as early as this issue. Conan seemed more brutal, even more cynical than he ever had before (maybe it was his discovery this issue that the Part II: 1970-1974

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Tarim for which everyone was fighting over turns out to be an inbred idiot!). But even the best partnerships can lose steam over time, and so it was with the Conan strip. Stories continued to be vibrant and interesting for about a year before a certain ennui began creeping in. As soon as #50, the strip seemed to go on auto-pilot and though it continued well past the one hundred mark (still written and drawn by Thomas and Buscema), never again would it regain the quality of its first few years.

Amazing Adventures #18

“The War of the Worlds!”; Roy Thomas (co-plot), Gerry Conway (script), Neal Adams (co-plot &pencils), Howard Chaykin (pencils), Frank Chiaramonte (inks)

A perfect example of the fertility of ideas in the Twilight Years was the “War of the Worlds” feature that began in Amazing Adventures #18 (May 1973). Somewhat surprisingly, its genesis came from editor Stan Lee and publisher Martin Goodman who, according to Roy Thomas, had approached him with a request to come up with ideas for new titles. The demand was surprising in that sales on the Conan book, which was about as far from traditional super-heroes as you could get, still hadn’t reached the point where the feature could be called a success. Still, management wanted to explore some new genres and Thomas wasn’t going to disappoint them. From his initial list, they

Marvel’s War of the Worlds feature in Amazing Adventures was equal parts H.G. Wells’ classic novel of interplanetary war and Edgar Rice Burroughs’ John Carter, an earthman who becomes a hero on Mars when he defies the red planet’s status quo.

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picked an idea to do a continuation of the events in H. G. Wells’ classic novel War of the Worlds in which after a suitable hiatus, the Martians return to Earth and, immune from the bacteria that had defeated them the first time, conquer the planet. The new feature, which would star a human escapee from the Martian slave pens named Killraven, takes place years after the conquest when most of the Earth is in ruins. Thomas has said that his intention for the strip was to capture a blending of the styles of not only Wells, but fellow writers Robert E. Howard and Edgar Rice Burroughs. It’s not clear whether he succeeded or not, but the result would eventually yield one of the most eclectic, sometimes beautiful and even poetic strips to come out of the Twilight Years. But that point was still months in the future. For now, Thomas planned to reunite with the unpredictable Neal Adams to launch the new feature. It wasn’t as if he’d forgotten how their previous collaboration on the Avengers had turned out, but Thomas was determined to keep an artist of Adams’ undoubted ability in the Marvel fold. Unfortunately, circumstances conspired to doom the partnership from the beginning. Despite initial enthusiasm for the assignment by Adams (who began coming up with his own ideas for the strip), increasing editorial duties forced Thomas to abandon his plans to write the new feature and hand over the scripting to Gerry Conway. Unwilling to work with anyone else, Adams lost interest in the strip and after penciling the first 11 pages himself, handed the job over to assistant Howard Chaykin to finish. Well-written as usual by Conway (he came up with the name Killraven), the strip began strongly under Adams (who managed to cover the back story about the return of the Martians and the conquest of Earth) before falling apart visually under Chaykin’s inexperienced hand. But hold on! Not all was lost! What began with high promise (through conception and execution of the first half of the debut story) and briefly collapsed into a black hole of bad art and aimless plotting would rise again with the arrival of writer Don McGregor and artist Craig Russell, who’d become the strip’s first permanent creative team. Together, the two men would inspire each other, and transform Killraven’s conquered Earth into a fully realized fantasy world as imaginatively satisfying as Conan’s Hyborian Age. It was all only a matter of time.

1973

Werewolf by Night #5

“A Life For a Death!”; Len Wein (script), Mike Ploog (pencils & inks)

After making such a strong start on the strip, it was too bad writer Gerry Conway was called away by other duties, but luckily his place on Werewolf by Night #5 (May 1973) was taken by another writer with definite horror credentials. Although most of the new artists being introduced at Marvel in the Twilight Years were fans turned pro, the phenomenon wasn’t necessarily confined to pencilers and inkers. Other fans yearned to write the adventures of their favorite characters and among them were two from the

Werewolf by Night #5, page 1: Artist Mike Ploog makes it easy for this issue’s new scripter Len Wein (and readers who might miss Gerry Conway) by penciling and inking it all himself!

New York area who became fixtures around the offices of DC comics. Perhaps not coincidentally, both Marv Wolfman and Len Wein would make the transition from DC to Marvel, and though Wolfman’s contribution to Tomb of Dracula would be among the top achievements of the era, Wein somehow missed the opportunity to do the same. That may have been due to his ending up working on Marvel’s flagship and other super-hero titles where by this time, little of any real interest was happening. It was his resultant familiarity with those books that contributed to his being named Editor-inChief in 1974, a position he held for just over a year. But Wein was not without his own accomplishments. One could say that his preparation for taking over the scripting on Werewolf by Night began at DC where he wrote entries for the company’s horror anthologies, one of which featured the “Swamp Thing,” a muck monster similar to Marvel’s ManThing. Something about the story impressed his editors and soon after the creature was spun off into its own series with Bernie Wrightson on the art. Unfortunately, though Wrightson’s art was up to snuff, stories were somehow lacking—a quality that probably kept Wein’s contributions to Marvel during the Twilight Years from rivaling those of Conway, Moench, McGregor, or even DC pal Wolfman. However, for a brief moment, Wein turned in a solid script here, following up plot threads laid down by Part II: 1970-1974

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Conway in previous issues. Aided nicely by Mike Ploog, who’d been doing the art on the book for eight issues now (including three Marvel Spotlights), it was a smooth transition. For the artist, it hadn’t taken long for the promising start he’d made in Marvel Spotlight #2 to be fulfilled. Providing both the pencils and inks this issue, Ploog presents a tour de force of fang drooling horror with a rogues gallery of character designs that showed strong improvement over his shakey handling of them in his debut outing. Here, the reader is presented with the “machismo maniac” Joshua Kane, his sinister mustachioed brother Luther Kane, the fat knifewielding Desmond, and shrivelled billionaire recluse Judson Hemp. The whole thing is punctuated in a final panel featuring a great close up of the Werewolf’s snarling visage!

Captain Marvel #26

“Betrayal!”; Mike Friedrich (script), Jim Starlin (plot & pencils), Dave Cockrum (inks)

When we last saw him, artist Jim Starlin was out of work. Or so it seemed. Having been yanked off the Iron Man strip by publisher Stan Lee, it must have seemed to the artist that his short career at Marvel was over. Luckily however, he had an influential friend in editor Roy Thomas who still admired his work. Thus, when he saw that Starlin was at loose ends, Thomas offered him work on the Captain Marvel strip. Since the book was on the rocks and a likely candidate for cancellation, it was probably judged safe to assign it to Starlin since no matter what he did with it, it wasn’t likely to matter. As it turned out, the artist was still thinking about the cosmology and storyline he’d begun on Iron Man, but they could only form the background of his Captain Marvel stories with the strip’s primary focus to remain on the title character. To do that, Starlin would place Captain Marvel front and center with the kind of revamp that would soon become his trademark: the cosmic makeover! “At the time there was this TV series called Kung Fu,” said Starlin in an interview. “It was about this martial artist in the Old West being enlightened through discipline and training. I decided I wanted to do something like that on a space level. That’s basically where Captain Marvel started going. It was about to be cancelled so they said, ‘Do whatever you want with it.’ And we saved it; I was surprised.” The Captain Marvel feature had had a checkered career by the time Starlin arrived on the scene. Begun in Marvel Super Heroes as a uniformed 142

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Kree officer under Stan Lee and Gene Colan, he was later transmogrified by Roy Thomas and Gil Kane into a more traditional super-hero with a primary colored costume that showed off his distinctive mop of silver hair. In that incarnation, the Kree warrior had been consciously patterned after Fawcett Publication’s original Captain Marvel of the 1940s, not just in name but in his semi-magical ability to exchange bodies with a youthful Rick Jones. But Kane eventually left, taking much of the strip’s dynamism—and its readers—with him, so that by the time Starlin took over, the strip was limping along on its last legs. But without missing a beat, Jim Starlin, along with scripter Mike Friedrich, picked up the threads of the previous storyline, and by page 3 of Captain Marvel #26 (May 1973), had it all tied into the Thanos tale begun in Iron Man #55! While quiet scenes such as those between Rick Jones and main squeeze Lou-Ann were softened somewhat by the inking of DC alum Dave Cockrum, Starlin’s layouts showed improvement since his work on Iron Man, as he dished out page after page of bludgeoning battle action between Captain Marvel and the Thing that would do even Kirby proud. In between, the reader learns a bit more about Thanos, who manages to remain in the shadows until his dramatic appearance on page 26. Since we last saw him over in Iron Man, the evil Titan has not only put on weight, but managed to conquer his homeworld as well. Not satisfied with that, he tells our heroes that his next target is Earth via some secret knowledge he plans to wring from the good Captain. Little noticed is a mysterious figure in the background, robed and hooded, whose identity as the personification of Death, would only be revealed in later issues. In fact, seeking to appease Death by offering it the death of the whole universe Dave Cockrum arrived at Marvel by way of DC. After a slow start as an inker, the artist took off as penciler on a revived X-Men book later in the twilight years.

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will make Thanos’ motivations for his villainy one of the most unique in comics. It all added up to a pretty darn interesting debut by Starlin and one that hooked readers right off as sales of the book began to climb steadily. By the time the artist left the title with #34, he had become one of the industry’s first super-star creators, one that fans would follow for years from project to project.

Captain Marvel #26, page 26: Given carte blanche on the strip, plotter/artist Jim Starlin took the ailing Captain Marvel book and turned it into one of the hottest titles on the eclectic side of Marvel’s ledger.

Amazing Spider-Man #121

“The Night Gwen Stacy Died”; Gerry Conway (script), Gil Kane (pencils), John Romita & Tony Mortellaro (inks)

The exact end of Marvel’s creative dominance of the comics industry during the Twilight Years, like the conclusion to and transition from its three previous periods of development is hard to pinpoint, but if a reader looked hard enough, sometimes he could spot what might be called signs and portents. Barry Smith’s departure from the scene with Conan the Barbarian #24 and Stan Lee’s elevation from editor and writer to publisher were two such signs, and the uncreating of the universe in Marvel Premiere #14 might be interpreted as a symbolic portent. If so, then the events beginning in Amazing Spider-Man #121 (June 1973) might be considered the most powerful symbol of all. Announced on the cover in no uncertain terms: “Not a trick! Not an imaginary tale! But the most startlingly unexpected turning point in this web-slinger’s entire life! How can Spider-Man go on after being faced with this almost unbelievable death?” Scattered about the cover are the images of the strip’s supporting cast, the implication being that one of them was doomed. But which one? Longtime readers knew that with Marvel’s track record, a final, irrevocable death of an important character was well within the realm of possibility. (Hadn’t Uncle Ben, Frederick Foswell, and George Stacy already been killed off?) In the days before really widespread comic book-oriented fan magazines, it’s a good bet that most readers Part II: 1970-1974

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really were surprised to find out at the end of this issue that the character marked for death at the hands of the Green Goblin was Peter’s girlfriend, Gwen Stacy! For months following this truly shocking story, fans wrote angry, emotional letters to Marvel excoriating

Amazing Spider-Man #122, page 28: The shocking final page of a story that would launch a thousand angry letters of comment. In a way, Gwen Stacy’s tombstone also marked the end of comics’ innocence. From this point on, a creeping darkness would overtake the bright optimism that Stan Lee had expressed from the early through the grandiose years. As time moved on beyond the twilight years, heroes would become “grim and gritty” with a consequent devaluing of human life.

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writer Gerry Conway for “murdering” Gwen and vowing never to read the book again, etc. As this issue’s writer, Conway became the obvious and immediate target for the vilification of readers (his reputation never seemed to recover from this first wave of resentment and, with all his previous accomplishments apparently forgotten, he was forever after regarded with illdisguised contempt by many fans). But the important decision to end Gwen’s life was never Conway’s to make alone. Conway has said that the original suggestion came from none other than John Romita (who retained a strong influence over the Spider-Man strip), and according to Roy Thomas, the idea was cleared by Stan Lee himself who then allowed the two creators to handle the actual story. The explanation given at the time for killing off Gwen was that her relationship with Peter had gone as far as it could go short of marriage. And if the marriage option had been followed, it was believed that it would’ve ended the very element that made Peter Parker popular: his hard luck Charlie image. (This assumption was proven all too true when, years later, Peter was married off.) But to the book’s loyal readership, things just weren’t that cut and dried. The death of Gwen truly touched deep chords in the book’s readership, who considered her an indispensable element in making the life of the ever suffering Peter Parker at all tolerable. She was a safe harbor in his hectic, sometimes wretched life, the value of whom Peter himself often recognized.

1973 The reaction demonstrated the effectiveness of Lee and Steve Ditko’s creation of the everyman of comics and how much readers had not only taken him to heart, but identified with him in a personal way. Peter Parker/Spider-Man had become an invention of a whole lot more significance than anyone had ever anticipated. But unforeseen at the time, the death of Gwen Stacy in this issue (followed by the Goblin’s death) marked the climax of the whole Spider-Man saga. Everything that followed was at first anti-climactic and then, very quickly the book joined the company’s other flagship titles in the long slide into mediocrity.

Amazing Spider-Man #122

“The Goblin's Last Stand”; Gerry Conway (script), Gil Kane (pencils), John Romita & Tony Mortellaro (inks)

The Comics Code Authority may have been “considerably rumpled in spirit” after being tested by Stan Lee’s anti-drug stories and Roy Thomas and Barry Smith’s Conan series, but that didn’t mean it was about to roll over and play dead. Some rules may have been changed and restrictions weakened, but there were still guidelines to be followed and more importantly, the unwritten spirit of the Code was as strong as ever. One of the rules that hadn’t changed was that villains couldn’t be shown as gaining by their ill deeds. Bad guys had to be

Ironically, as the twilight years ended and readers diminished over the following decades, Marvel's presence in wider media began to pick up with such cartoon shows as 1981's SpiderMan and His Amazing Friends being but a forerunner of film, video games, clothing, and even theme parks.

punished either by simple defeat or being jailed. Another rule was that no one could be killed in a comic book, especially not by the heroes. And so, when the Green Goblin killed Gwen Stacy (it wasn’t clear at the time that he did [and still isn’t], but he was surely indirectly responsible), it was almost as shocking an event as Gwen’s death itself. There could only be one punishment for a villain who committed such an act and it was visited upon the Goblin in Amazing Spider-Man #122 (July 1973). The only thing was, he couldn’t die at the hand of the hero and so, the story was written in such a way that the Goblin would perish by his own action when he directed his “Goblin glider,” its forward end splintered into a sharpened fragment, toward Spider-Man. At the last moment, Spidey leaps aside and the deadly contraption impales the Goblin instead. But it wasn’t the cathartic ending that Peter (and the readers) expected. “Somehow, I thought it would mean more,” muses Spider-Man. “When a man dies…it should mean something. I thought seeing the Goblin die would make me feel better about Gwen. Instead, it just makes me feel empty…washed out…” Aside from its requisite action scenes, the story over issues 121 and 122 was well told with Conway’s script still crisp and very much in Lee’s style. Gathering all of his story elements together, from Harry Osborn’s relapse into drug use to the return of Norman Osborn’s memory, to the shock of Robby Robertson’s learning of Gwen’s death, Conway helps build the story to its double set of shattering climaxes. Fortunately, Gil Kane’s wild pencils were reined in by John Romita’s inks, making sure that the look of the strip remained somewhat true to the style Marvel’s art director had established over the years. This was especially important for the book’s supporting cast, which carried much of the story’s dramatic power. One such scene between a grieving Peter and a usually frivolous Mary Jane brought the story to a close. “I heard about Gwen,” Mary Jane tells Peter. “I’m really torn up…” “Don’t make me laugh, Mary Jane,” replies Peter, thinking of how it was Mary Jane’s attitude that had driven Harry to drugs. “You wouldn’t be sorry if your own mother died. Go on, get out of here. I know how you hate sick beds.” Sobbing, Mary Jane is about to leave when suddenly, she changes her mind and wordlessly remains. It was a first step for the character away from the immaturity that had always defined her personality and a symbolic dividing line between the Lee/Ditko/Romita era and everything after. Nothing would be the same again. Part II: 1970-1974

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1973 Amazing Spider-Man #122, page 18: Gil Kane’s uninked pencils depicting the death of the Green Goblin. This page was redrawn by Kane after Stan Lee decided that an earlier version seemed to suggest that Spider-Man had foreknowledge that the glider was going to kill the Goblin and did nothing to stop it.

Monster of Frankenstein # 4

“Death of the Monster!”; Gary Friedrich (script), Mike Ploog (pencils), John Verpoorten (inks)

By Monster of Frankenstein #4 (July 1973), writer Gary Friedrich and artist Mike Ploog had concluded their monumental adaptation of the Mary Shelley novel and embarked on their first original story in the continuing adventures of the monster. As it turned out, the monster doesn’t die at the North Pole, but manages to struggle through freezing water to the populated regions below the arctic circle. There, he encounters what can only be described as a tribe of degenerate Eskimos (maybe the only kind Ploog could draw!) and enters a career as a kind of horrific Conan the barbarian! All told from the monster’s first person narration (skillfully provided by Friedrich and laid out in Hal Foster, Prince Valiant fashion), it tells how the monster is accepted by the tribe, becomes its defender, and ultimately decides to leave the wilderness and return once again to the world of men. “A crude raft sets sail on the choppy, frigid, arctic sea, leaving ashore three graves, the graves of men whose deeds soon shall rock the world! For they alone are responsible for once again unleashing the monster of Frankenstein!” Unmatched by anything else he’d write at Marvel, Friedrich’s script for this issue had reached a point that perfectly captured the Nineteenth Century cadences of Shelley’s prose and lifted the Frankenstein strip far above any past (or, so far, future) attempt to adapt the character to comics. But it had not always been thus! An acquaintance of editor Roy Thomas from back in Missouri, he was referred as a writer to Charlton Comics by his more well-placed friend where he ended up scripting the Blue Beetle among others for former Marvel artist Steve Ditko. From there, Thomas managed to bring him over to Marvel where he put him to work writing for the company’s line of western comics that were being revived. Unfortunately, such

venerable characters as Two-Gun Kid, Rawhide Kid, and Ghost Rider were headed to boot hill and Friedrich was moved over to war comics, the company’s other dying genre. There, he began a long run on the faltering Sgt. Fury and His Howling Commandos, contributing thought provoking tales of morality and war. His work on Sgt. Fury made Friedrich Marvel’s #1 war writer, and as such he helped launch Capt. Savage and His Leatherneck Raiders and Combat Kelly and the Deadly Dozen. Although Friedrich also contributed to Marvel’s various super-hero books, it wasn’t until teaming up with Ploog on the Ghost Rider feature (this time, the character had sold his soul to the devil and rode a motorcycle instead of a horse!) that he was finally

Captain Atom #84: Gary Friedrich broke into comics at the top: scripting for Steve Ditko’s Blue Beetle back-up series at Charlton. Thanks to Friedrich, it was the company’s most readable feature, one that Ditko eventually reimagined as an Objectivist take on Spider-Man.

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involved in something, however infamous, that finally put him on the map. After that, it was a hop, skip, and jump to getting the Frankenstein assignment. There, he and Ploog’s work was of such high calibre, it wouldn’t matter if Friedrich had done nothing else in comics; with only six issues of the title under their belts, the two justified their place among the immortals who made Marvel’s Twilight Years what they were!

Kull the Conqueror #9: With its cast of characters and palace intrigue, this issue marked a fitting end for the Gerry Conway/ Marie Severin/John Severin creative team that made the first nine issues of this title some of the very best of the twilight years. 148

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Kull the Conqueror #9

“The Scorpion God!”; Gerry Conway (script), Marie Severin (pencils), John Severin (inks)

By Kull the Conqueror #9 (July 1973), the team of writer Gerry Conway, artist Marie Severin, and inker John Severin were running like a well-oiled machine. Script and art were both integrated in a perfect blend of storytelling expertise telling exciting (usually singleissue) stories of intrigue and action that came to differentiate the Kull strip from that of Conan. When Marie joined brother John on the art in #2, the high quality of the feature was immediately established with little need for improvement, and so it remained through a series of solid tales, some original and some adaptations from text stories by Kull creator Robert E. Howard. The title peaked however with this issue’s story “The Scorpion God,” based on the Howard tale “Swords of the Purple Kingdom,” in which assassination, kidnapping, and betrayal figure prominently among a rich cast of characters that included Kull himself; his trusted friend Brule the Spearslayer; his counselor the elderly Tu; the scheming Dondal and the dashing Dalgar; the beautiful Nalissa and her strict father the Count Murom Bora Ballin; the would-be usurper Phondar of Gomlah; and a host of traitorous generals who try to kill Kull in a thrilling, action-packed climax. But despite the excellence of the strip’s first nine issues (as a group, some of the very best books produced in the Twilight Years), it had always been a troubled one. Cancelled after the second issue, it was revived months later, but never warranted more frequency than bi-monthly.

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Marvel Feature #10

“Ant-Man No More”; Mike Friedrich (script), Craig Russell (pencils), Frank Chiaramonte (inks) “The Itch”; Al Hartley (pencils & inks) “Hiding Place”; Tony DiPreta (pencils & inks)

And more trouble lay ahead first when the strip lost the services of John Severin with #10 and then Conway and Marie herself with #11. After that, there was one attempt at jump-starting the book with a radical makeover that also failed to ignite reader interest and the title was cancelled again soon after. For some reason, the readers who flocked to the Conan book never warmed to Kull but then, the Kull feature made more demands on a reader’s attention with its more complex plots and scheming characters who always seemed to have more than a single line in the water. But the Kull book wouldn’t be the only quality feature in the Twilight Years to suffer halting sales and final cancellation after only a relatively short run. Marvel’s landscape in these years was filled with them and as the company’s Silver Age receded further into the past, the only titles left standing would be the old standby flagship books and their myriad super-hero spin-offs. Although the Kull feature would be revived again in the next decade (with a couple of stunning covers by Barry Smith and some equally impressive work by English artist John Bolton), it would never again quite capture the claustrophobic atmosphere of the original series of a barbarian usurper king who discovers that power, far from freeing him, has made him instead a prisoner of fear, distrust, and especially his own conscience.

Marvel Feature #10, page 7: Half baked from the start, the Ant-Man’s brief revival was just beginning to cook when the axe fell this issue. Too bad, as art by up and coming Craig Russell was lending itself to some interesting stories featuring worthy super-villain types like the Para-Man in #7 and Dr. Nemesis seen here.

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Meanwhile, artist Craig Russell, one of Marvel’s rookies, was coming along. After fits and starts in Marvel’s anthology titles, Russell finally got the nod to take on a series of his own. It was his tough luck that the Ant-Man strip he’d been assigned to ended right here, in Marvel Feature #10 (July 1973)! To be fair however, it sure wasn’t Russell’s fault! Half-baked from the beginning, the strip would last only a merciful seven issues before being replaced by the FF’s Thing in solo adventures. Saddled with the inferior pencils of Herb Trimpe (who’d been with the company since the late Sixties, but up until now, safely confined to the Hulk strip) and suffering beneath the weight of a leaden Mike Friedrich plot involving Ant-Man being caught at insect size and needing to survive the terrors of a suburban backyard, it was as if someone had deliberately tried to sabotage the strip! Continuing to forage for ideas for new features, editor Roy Thomas must’ve given the green light for a new Ant-Man strip (after all, the character was one of the earliest dreamed up by Stan Lee and Jack Kirby way back in the early years and the only one, except for the X-Men, without a regular berth) but whoever came up with the idea of getting him out of his traditional red fighting togs and into some kind of homemade outfit made a mistake. That and the plot of getting him lost in his own backyard made the character less of a hero than a poor schlep who spent almost the entire series on the defensive and constantly being forced to react against circumstances instead of actively searching out criminal threats. The nadir of the strip was reached when first the Wasp was transformed into a brainless combination of insect and human and then when the seven issue series was forced into using ten-year-old reprints to meet deadlines! And all this on a bi-monthly release schedule! Well, needless to say, even a not quite ready for primetime Russell was a step up for this mess. Coming in at #7 (he got to draw some of the Avengers in #9), Russell started carefully under the steadying hands of multiple inkers (mentor Dan Adkins and someone named Mark Kersey in #7, Jimmy Janes and Jim Starlin in #8, Frank Bolle in #9, and Frank Chiaramonte this issue—whew!—but committees like this were becoming increasingly common at the hectic Marvel offices where things were rapidly getting out of Thomas’ control) until gradually finding his sea-legs and putting in a pretty good job here. Even Friedrich managed to clean up his act and supply the new artist with a couple decent stories (the first, about a robot called the Para-Man, was kind of a poor man’s retelling of the Hank Pym/Ultron relationship and the second involving Dr. Nemesis and his blackmail attempt to get Ant-Man to break into Avengers HQ to steal their “secrets”). Throughout, Russell’s emerging style comes 150

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through, especially this issue with Ant-Man’s fight with Nemesis. It was nothing to brag about, but Russell was definitely improving with more fill-in work next on the Morbius strip over in Adventure into Fear, where he’d start using the comic page as a thematic whole, while at the same time, further refining his style into one that was definitely his own.

Marvel Premiere #10

“Finally, Shuma-Gorath!”; Steve Englehart (co-plot & script), Frank Brunner (co-plot & pencils), unknown [as Crusty Bunkers] (inks)

Wow! Where in the world did this come from? Although the cover of Marvel Premiere #10 (Sept. 1973) was an eye catcher by Frank Brunner, the splash on the very first page was a total knockout, rocking any reader back his heels! For those expecting more of what had been going on in the book for the past year with revolving artists and Lovecraftian monsters of the month, the sheer, unadulterated exuberance of this issue’s art was a signal that the book had seen the last of its misguided past and was at last entering a new stage that promised a return to the kind of greatness last seen when Roy Thomas and Gene Colan handled the Dr. Strange strip years before. In fact, it would provide the impetus that would at last propel the strip into a title of its own. The transition actually began in Premiere #9 when writer Steve Englehart teamed for the first time with Brunner but it stumbled slightly at the starting line under the inappropriate inks of Ernie Chua. This time, however, Brunner’s fluid pencils were being shown off in all their brilliance by inkers working for the Neal

As an artist, Craig Russell (left) was somewhat slower off the mark than peers such as Val Mayerik (right) who hit the ground running, but once on the move, he improved quickly, then kept on going right out of mainstream comics.

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Adams studio going under the name of “Crusty Bunkers.” If it wasn’t Adams himself who inked this issue’s opening splash page then whoever it was helping him out stayed mighty close to his style, providing a hot glow to a gigantic head shot of an angry Ancient One glaring down at Dr. Strange. What follows is page after page of some of the most awesome art produced in the Twilight Years as Brunner and Englehart take Strange on the kind of cosmic journey that would become the hallmark of their partnership. Using layouts reminiscent of Gene Colan’s tenure on the strip,

Marvel Premiere #10, page 1: The singing sons of the Crusty Bunkers show their stuff in this stunning opening page to the revived Dr. Strange strip. It wasn’t the classic team up of Colan and Palmer, but artist Frank Brunner sure made it easy to move on!

Brunner plunges Strange into the mind of the Ancient One and across a kaleidoscopic landscape of memory filled with old enemies and questionable reminiscences until finally confronting the true form of the tentacular ShumaGorath. But to defeat the creature, Strange must pierce the Ancient One’s ego and kill his mentor, and in the process, take the first step to becoming the Earth’s Sorcerer Supreme. It was a tour de force made possible by the close working relationship developed between writer and artist. “We co-produced the book together,” recalled Englehart in an interview. “We would discuss the things that we each wanted to see happen in the book that month. We would have dinner, and spend the night marrying our different versions together.” When he took over the strip, Englehart decided to base elements of the stories on “actual” magical philosophy and practices. “So I started studying tarot and astrology, and as I learned things there I was feeding them back into the book.” An admirer of Lee and Ditko’s, as well as Roy Thomas and Colan’s takes on the character, Englehart wanted to return Strange to his magical roots, while at the same time make a clean break with the past. He started by killing off the Ancient One, and through a series of consciousness raising episodes, promoted Strange to Earth’s Sorcerer Supreme. “…yeah, we killed the Ancient One, met God, met Death, met Earth, met Charlie Manson, went to hell, did this, did that…it’s like ‘let’s go play with cosmic concepts!’” Which is exactly what he and Brunner did in a series of mind blowing stories that credited them both as “co-creators.” Part II: 1970-1974

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Proof of their special chemistry lay in the fact that the pace of events slowed down after Brunner left and the strip graduated to its own book. Sure, Englehart would continue to come up with mindblowing plots and concepts (aided by Colan who returned to the strip in triumph), but gradually they began to wind down and a final story line involving the magical origins of the United States of America was sadly never fully developed. But that was years away; for now, fans of the good doctor could glory in this opening act of one of the most memorable runs of comics in the whole history of the Twilight Years.

Strange Tales #169

“Brother Voodoo”; Len Wein (script), Gene Colan (pencils), Dan Adkins (inks)

Continuing to take advantage of the ongoing boomlet in horror comics, Stan Lee and Roy Thomas were in constant pursuit of new features to fill all the titles the company had on its schedule. Already having used the Universal monsters and raided their own books for likely prospects, the two men reached the point where they needed to look around in some of the less familiar corners of the genre. And so, it was only a matter of time before voodoo received its share of attention. Having freshly broached the subject in the recently released black-and-white magazine Tales of the Zombie, it was only natural that Thomas would use it as a source of inspiration for Strange Tales #169 (Sept. 1973) and the creation of Brother Voodoo. Credited on the splash page for “creative contributions” were Thomas and art director John Romita, who no doubt came up with the character (Romita supplied the cover which might’ve doubled as a concept sketch before the book was produced). Brother Voodoo was simply successful psychologist Jericho Drumm before he united with the spirit of his dead brother and transformed into the Lord Loa. You see, brother Daniel was the first Brother Voodoo, and upon his death at the An editor at Charlton and a long time inker for DC where he often worked over Neal Adams’ pencils, Dick Giordano eventually partnered with Adams at the artist’s Continuity Studios. There, he kept in practice as an inker with the Crusty Bunkers. 152

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Strange Tales 169, page 22: Wouldn’t Sidney Poitier have been great in the part of Jericho Drumm in the film version of Brother Voodoo?! Too bad the character never got any respect, leading to the strip’s untimely cancellation. But we can still enjoy this original art page with pencils by Gene Colan and inks by Dan Adkins!

hands of Damballah the serpent god, his powers were transferred to an unwilling and (disbelieving) Jericho. Naturally, Jericho becomes a believer, at least in the power of Brother Voodoo, and embarks on a mission to protect mankind from those who would exploit the secrets of voodoo to their own evil ends. Sounds like fun doesn’t it? Well, it was, for about five issues before the feature was cancelled. Widely excoriated and ridiculed since, the strip deserved no such fate. Handily written by Len Wein (a fan who’d begun his career at rival DC where he created that company’s own version of a muck monster in the Swamp Thing) and drawn by Gene Colan (who was literally unstoppable in these years), the strip evoked a certain weirdness quite different from the world of Dr. Strange, Jericho’s white counterpart. Tackling such bizarre menaces as Damballah, Baron Samedi, and the Black Talon, “Brother Voodoo” also managed to assemble an interesting supporting cast including the houngan Papa Jambo and Mama Limbo, police detectives Pete Hawkins and Samuel Tate, and potential romantic interest, Loralee Tate. Filled with Colan’s favored nighttime settings and “special effects” (no one could come up with more ways to illustrate Brother Voodoo’s supernatural powers of changing to smoke, walking through fire, or spirits merging with humans than he did), each issue seemed to get better and better, with the final two being the best when Dick Giordano, another DC ex-patriot, provided some wonderfully ethereal inks. There was only one problem though. Weakened as it had become by this time, the Comics Code, as it turned out, still had some teeth. Although many rules had been softened, there were still some that were hard and fast including a ban on the use of the word “zombie” in a comic book! But what was a comic about voodoo without the requisite walking dead to go with it? To solve the problem, a new word was coined: zuvembie. But whatever drawbacks there were in not being able to use the word zombie, the new word still seemed to have a ring of authenticity about it. In fact, some readers actually preferred it to the real thing! It was just another cool reason to like the Brother Voodoo strip, no doubt a valiant effort by everyone involved and not in the least deserving of the neglect that’s been its fate.

Fun Fact: With this issue, Marvel revived the venerable title of Strange Tales after a four-year absence, picking up the numbering from the last issue of that book, which was #168. But the funny thing was, when the title ended and its two features [SHIELD and Dr. Strange], had been awarded their own books, the first issue of Dr. Strange was numbered at…#169!)

Tomb of Dracula #12, page 24: The lost art of the caption: writer Marv Wolfman’s employment of captions here illustrates their usefulness in communicating not only descriptive information but emotion to the reader. Beyond the twilight years, captions would virtually disappear making modern comics arid and confusing.

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Tomb of Dracula #12

“Night Of The Screaming House!”; Marv Wolfman (script), Gene Colan (pencils), Tom Palmer (inks)

“…it wasn’t about the villain,” Marv Wolfman said in an interview. “It was about the fight of good and evil, and it was actually told, or needed to be told, through the point of view of the heroes, the good guys.” Almost from the start of his tenure as writer on Tomb of Dracula, Wolfman had decided on how he would approach a continuing series about the most famous vampire of all. “It took, I think, three stories to hit what I wanted to do…that I hit my stride,” Wolfman said. “I caught the style, the approach, and the attitude that I wanted. Right after that came Blade, and then came a three-parter with the death of Edith Harker. With those three stories, the book was what I wanted it to be.” That three-part story begins here with Tomb of Dracula #12 (Sept. 1973). Prior to this issue, the title had featured mostly standalone stories with a vague running sub-plot on the doings of Quincy Harker and his vampire hunters, but now those characters stepped forward in sharper relief than ever before. For the first time, each of their personalities— Quincy Harker, Rachel Van Helsing, Frank Drake, Taj, Blade, and Quincy’s teenaged daughter Edith—come into sharp focus as the story winds to its tragic conclusion. Readers were plunged into a relentlessly oppressive world whose glimmers of hope will be few and far between. It wasn’t the kind of world that the rest of the Marvel Universe existed in and certainly

1973

Marv Wolfman

Marv Wolfman arrived at Marvel in 1974 working under editor Roy Thomas. Over the years, he eventually wrote for most of the company’s titles. His scripts were workmanlike and professional but not terribly noteworthy until, teamed with artists Gene Colan and Tom Palmer, he took over as regular writer of The Tomb of Dracula. When the strip was cancelled in 1979, Wolfman left Marvel for DC where he wrote for a number of titles including the ambitious Crisis on Infinite Earths without much distinction until lightning struck again, this time in tandem with artist George Pérez, on a revived Teen Titans feature.

not one seen during the company’s preceding three phases. And in this pocket universe, gravity centered on the title character whose brand of evil was not the watered down kind of vampirism that predominates in the pop culture of the 21st Century. “The thing I realized very quickly with Dracula is he should never have thought balloons,” observed Wolfman. “You should only judge him based on what he does, because he was a liar! He was a consummate liar.” Indeed, as the stories unwound, readers would see evidence of Dracula’s true nature as he found himself repulsed by the cross, by holy water, by the image of Jesus (and in an issue of Dr. Strange, by the Godhead in the form of the Tetragrammaton!), even by the Jewish Star of David. In Wolfman’s depiction, Dracula was evil incarnate, and if not for an issue where the two actually confront each other, readers could be forgiven if they sometimes mistook him for Satan himself. On the other hand, “to make him work, he also had to have a high degree of intelligence, and a lot of charm” Wolfman continued. “So, you’re playing with a character that spoke one way, and yet acted a different way. You had to look at what was going on to judge what was happing, but because you never really understood what he was thinking at any time, I was hoping you would not get bored with the character.” Not likely! This issue for instance, Dracula attacks the vampire hunters and kidnaps Edith. The rest of the hunters, as well as the readers, are never quite convinced that anything will happen to Edith despite Dracula’s vow: “You were brought as a lure for the others, and then, my dear, to eventually die yourself.”

But who could really believe that would happen; she was one of the main supporting characters and a child to boot…and besides, didn’t Wolfman say that Dracula was a liar? As the story unfolds, guided by the incredible art team of Gene Colan and Tom Palmer, the hunters sure enough fall into Dracula’s trap, a fight ensues, but as usual with any battle with the king of vampires, any end is never permanent. Except maybe in the case of Edith Harker, who has indeed been killed by Dracula and transformed (a good deal faster than the usual three-day wait!) into a vampiress. Attempting to kill herself, she fails and it becomes the duty of her grieving father to put a proper end to her with the wooden stake built into his cane. “Edith, I do this for you, that the curse of the damned need never be yours.” It was the kind of downbeat ending that would conclude most issues of Tomb of Dracula…at least the ones that weren’t continued!

Savage Tales #2

“Red Nails”; Roy Thomas (script), Barry Windsor-Smith [as Barry Smith] (pencils & inks) “Dark Tomorrow”; Gerry Conway (script), Gray Morrow (pencils & inks) “Cimmeria”; Roy Thomas (script), Barry Windsor-Smith [as Barry Smith] (pencils & inks) “Crusader”; Stan Lee (script), Joe Maneely (pencils & inks) “The Skull of Silence”; Roy Thomas (script), Bernie Wrightson (pencils & inks)

With the successful launch of Marvel’s black-andwhite magazine line, it must have seemed to Lee that the time was right to bring back Savage Tales, the magazine that represented his first foray into Part II: 1970-1974

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the field back in 1971. Like its predecessor, the lead story would be produced by the Conan team supreme of Roy Thomas and Barry Smith, but now, with more time on his hands since leaving the regular color Conan the Barbarian strip, Smith would turn in his longest, most elaborate, and most stunning work to date. Although the artist seemed to have reached the zenith of his artistic evolution with Conan the Barbarian #24, his vision of Conan had lacked a final touch in order to make his version of the character the definitive one that would stand for all time (at least of this writing!). That touch was the savagery of the Hyborian Age as envisioned by its creator, Robert E. Howard. Although efforts had been made in the color comic to depict the bloody results of Conan’s adventures, there had still been the Comics Code to contend with, even after its rules had been loosened following the release of Amazing Spider-Man #96-97. But now, with Savage Tales falling outside the purview of the Code, Smith was able to depict all the blood and gore that had only been hinted at before and that were always inherent in Howard’s original stories. For that, he and Thomas could not have picked a better story than “Red Nails,” one of Howard’s longest and strangest Conan yarns. Filled with horror, violence, torture, and sexual tension, the story was a perfect candidate for Savage Tales #2 (October 1973) and one for which Thomas and Smith would create their most elaborate adapation yet, capturing all of the savagery and strangeness of REH in a way that others have strived to duplicate ever since. In fact, so elaborate and slavishly loyal to the original story was their adaptation that it had to be spread across two issues, with the first 25 pages appearing here and the remainder in the following issue. (Readers had to sweat a few months between issues as uncertainty over sales kept Lee from giving the second issue the go-ahead!) This first part of the Bernie Wrightson made few appearances at Marvel during the twilight years but what there was (like the Kull story “Skull of Silence” for Savage Tales #2), was choice!

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story opens here with an elaborate sequence showing how a wandering Conan teams up with one of Howard’s fighting females, Valeria of the Red Brotherhood, before the two end up exploring Xuchotl, a mysterious enclosed city that the two discover. But before that happens, the reader is treated to a number of incredible images served up by Smith, including Conan thrusting a spear into the mouth of a stegosaurus on page 13; Conan swinging his sword at the charging beast on page 15; and Conan and Valeria’s entry into the darkened city on page 17. But even with his stunning work on this first chapter of “Red Nails,” Smith outdid even himself later in the issue with his art illustrating Howard’s poem “Cimmeria!” There, Smith’s art seems to have been reproduced directly from his pencils thereby capturing not only the savage reality underlining Conan’s world, but its essentially fantastic nature as well. Was a fight between a man and wolf ever shown with such graphic realism as on page 49? Pity the other artists who contributed to this issue including Gray Morrow and even Bernie Wrightson (whose Kull story “The Skull of Silence” was reprinted from Creatures on the Loose). The balance of the issue was filled out with a reprint taken from Marvel’s 50s era and text pieces (one of which nevertheless featured some fine illustrations by Frank Brunner). The cover, by the way, was executed by John Buscema whose painting this time was more focused and a better attention grabber than the one he did for Savage Tales #1. All in all, this was a spectacular launch for the magazine which would give the impetus to carry it well beyond the lifespans of its fellow black-and-whites and to survive (as Savage Sword of Conan) into the mid-1990s.

Jungle Action #6

“Panther's Rage”; Don McGregor (script), Rich Buckler (pencils), Klaus Janson (inks) “Double Danger!”; Don Rico (script), Werner Roth (pencils), Werner Roth (inks)

Another one of those serendipitous partnerships that seemed to be coming together at Marvel nearly every month in these years was that of writer Don McGregor and artist Rich Buckler on the Black Panther feature that began in Jungle Action #6 (Sept. 1973). Begun as a reprint title, the book was quickly transitioned into a vehicle for original material as part of the company’s expansion policy and the Black Panther (who was really T’Challa, king of the African nation of Wakanda) became the first black hero to headline his own strip. (Sure, it might be considered that the Falcon was there first, but he

1973 shared billing below that of Captain America.) Right off the bat however, any reader picking up this issue was signaled that the “Panther” strip wasn’t going to be their father’s kind of super-hero comic! Taking place entirely in Wakanda (up to this point, most of the Panther’s adventures had taken place in the United States or other first world countries), the Panther would face challenges from a number of home-grown, but no less bizarre villains, beginning here with Killmonger. In addition, the Panther would also wrestle with an identity crisis and guilt over having abandoned his duties as leader of the nation (to join the Avengers). Had he been co-opted by the values of western civilization? Seduced by the glitter of its sciences that had transformed Wakanda into a technological wonderland at the cost of his people’s culture? Struggling to find the

Eerie #45: Marvel’s expansion into black-andwhite magazines provided easy access to the company for young artists and writers like Don McGregor who broke into the field working at Warren Publishing which then dominated the field with titles like Eerie and Creepy.

answers, T’Challa was frequently pulled toward one side or the other first by the barbs of Monica Lynne, a street smart American who liked to deflate Wakandan pretensions, and then by his own advisors who pressed him to re-embrace the traditions of his native land. “You done playing your jungle lord act, Ta-Charlie,” asks Monica. “Would you like me to play Jane-Monica?” “My chieftain, you cannot allow this outsider to disrupt the dignity of this court.” “Dig high and mighty, here. From first take he’s been giving me dagger eyes…” It was a decidedly different approach to the Panther and the driving force behind it was Don McGregor. A longtime fan recently turned pro (one of Marvel’s original letter writers, with his earliest contributions going all the way back to the first issues of the FF, he kept it up with impressive regularity for almost a decade before breaking in to comics professionally at Warren Publishing), McGregor got his foot in the door at Marvel as an editorial assistant before landing his first regular scripting gig with the Panther. In love with words, he wasn’t afraid of using them and nobody seemed better at it than he was, as he used them like surgical instruments to dissect the feelings and motivations of his characters no matter how minor. Doing so turned any strip he touched into multileveled gold (except when he left mainstream comics; away from the strictures of the Comics Code, these very advantages became his undoing). No less important to the strip than McGregor’s writing was the art by Rich Buckler. One by one now, all the new young artists who’d started work at Marvel during the Twilight Years began to come into their own—Craig Russell, Paul Gulacy, Frank Brunner, Jim Starlin, Mike Ploog—and now it was Buckler’s turn as he embarked on the Panther strip with enthusiasm, filling it with time lapse sequences, zoom shots, and panel breakdowns that helped underline character bits. The bad news was that Buckler would leave the strip with #9 (it would be taken over with the solid, but less interesting work of Billy Graham); but the good news was that he’d leave to work on a new feature of his own creation. All in all, the Black Panther strip would turn out to be one of the crown jewels of Marvel’s Twilight Years made all the more valuable for its membership in a species that would soon become as extinct as the dinosaurs. Part II: 1970-1974

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1973 Monster of Frankenstein #6, page 3: Artist Mike Ploog bids farewell to the strip that put him on the map by penciling, inking, and co-plotting this issue. Like Barry Smith’s farewell in Conan #24, Ploog knocks himself out here with incredibly detailed pencils that will serve as a solid foundation for the inks.

The Frankenstein Monster #6

“--In Search of the Last Frankenstein!”; Gary Friedrich (script), Mike Ploog (co-plot, pencils & inks)

Like most of the great new artists crowding Marvel’s offices in the Twilight Years, Mike Ploog’s art was much stronger when he inked his own pencils. The same was true for peers such as Craig Russell and Val Mayerik, while others seemed compatible with certain inkers like Rich Buckler and Pablo Marcos or Klaus Janson or Paul Gulacy and Dan Adkins. It was the opposite for artists of the Grandiose Years with Jack Kirby’s pencils enhanced by the likes of Vince Colletta, Joe Sinnott, or Syd Shores or Gene Colan with Tom Palmer or Bill Everett. Unfortunately for readers, Ploog would overextend himself with multiple assignments and to the detriment of his overall art, be forced to either abandon his own inking or give up a strip entirely such as he does here with The Frankentein Monster #6 (Oct. 1973). The irony of it all was that like some of his peers, Ploog was initially rejected when he first visited the Marvel offices looking for work. After leaving the service and breaking into TV animation, Ploog was offered a job with Will Eisner who subsequently became a strong influence on his work. Breaking into comics, Ploog did some stories for Warren Publishing before finally making the trip up to the Marvel offices to show editors a sample western he’d done. It didn’t fly, but he did get to meet editor Roy Thomas. “A couple of days later, they called me up and said, ‘How’d you like to do monsters?’” Ploog recalled in an interview. The artist figured the editors must have seen some werewolves he drew for Warren and thought he could handle Werewolf by Night. “It was really hard work,” said Ploog of his first job at Marvel. “I was drawing things I was not accustomed to drawing, like cars and chairs and things like that; things I’d never drawn before in my life… Well, I just kept doing it and doing it, and they didn’t tell me to stop.” In the end, Ploog probably matched Gene Colan as Marvel’s top horror artist, producing many classic issues of Werewolf by Night and Monster of Frankenstein. To prove it, a reader would need look no farther than this issue, his last on the title. Teamed once again with scripter Gary Friedrich, Ploog not only pencils and inks his own work, but is credited

with plotting the story as well. The book opens with a moody close-up of the monster himself before getting on with the story of the monster’s search for “the last Frankenstein.” Throughout, the reader is treated to page after page of prime Ploog: the monster moving among the smoldering ruins of Castle Frankenstein; battling a group of wretches in its dripping dungeons; the monster chained like a beast until, breaking loose, causes a deluge in the final Ploogish tour de force encompassing the last four pages of the book; a battle between the monster and a giant spider; and finally a last page providing the artist’s envoie to a classic character whose image he managed to single handedly redefine 50 years after Boris Karloff imprinted his own version on the national consciousness! Fun Fact: For some reason, the powers that be at Marvel decided that Monster of Frankenstein wasn’t doing it as a title for the book and had it changed this issue to Frankenstein’s Monster. Maybe they wanted the star’s name closer to top billing?

Creepy #44: Not a stranger to horror comics in general, Mike Ploog broke into the business the same as many other young artists of the twilight years did, through Warren Publishing.

Part II: 1970-1974

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Kull the Destroyer #11

“King Kull Must Die!”; Roy Thomas (script), Mike Ploog (pencils & inks)

After a shaky start on the Werewolf by Night feature in Marvel Spotlight and coming quickly into his own on Monster of Frankenstein, artist Mike Ploog seemed to peak early before concluding his stay at Marvel with more lackluster work through

Kull the Destroyer #11, page 22: After spending his early days at Marvel drawing werewolves, Frankenstein monsters, and demon motorcyclists, Mike Ploog upped the ante by joining Roy Thomas on a revamped Kull strip. Again penciling and inking his own work, the artist turned in a spectacular job.

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the mid-Seventies. On the other hand, there might’ve been mitigating circumstances preventing him from doing the best he could. For instance, as soon as it was realized that Ploog’s style represented a major asset for the company’s growing horror line, he was given one feature after another to illustrate, many concurrently. And as Ploog himself has admitted, he was still in the process of learning how to be an artist. But just as he seemed to be getting the hang of it, the amount of work caught up to him and he either began to rush through it or had incompatible inkers assigned to finish his work. For the most part, those partnerships didn’t turn out to be happy marriages, with much of the visceral quality of Ploog’s art being lost in the translation. The problem was, Ploog’s best inker was himself (he finished his own pencils over his early work on Werewolf and Frankenstein) and as the demand on his time grew, he had less of it to spend putting the finishing touches on his pencils. But fortunately, there was at least one more instance in which Ploog was able to give his work the attention it deserved. Temporarily dropping his duties elsewhere, he poured all his efforts into what would become his masterpiece, Kull the Destroyer #11 (Nov. 1973). The Kull feature, as has been noted, was at a crisis point in its short life. Always the weak sister to Conan’s robust sales figures, it was never able to break from bi-monthly to monthly frequency and at last, editor Roy Thomas decided that drastic changes

1973 were needed in order to give the book one last shot at success. Consequently, writer Gerry Conway and artist Marie Severin (who’d given stellar, if unappreciated, work on the title since #2), were dismissed and Ploog was brought in to give the book a radical, new look. Thomas himself would take a turn at scripting the feature that took a new direction with Kull being dethroned and embarking on a quest to regain the crown of his lost kingdom. To underline the changes being made, Thomas even had the title of the book slightly altered to read Kull “the Destroyer” instead of the more regal sounding “Conqueror” and to insure its success, this issue’s story was based on “By This Axe I Rule,” one of Robert E. Howard’s most popular Kull tales. Ironically, the original story was rewritten from a Kull vehicle to one starring Conan and became the first tale of the fighting Cimmerian to see print in the legendary pulp magazine Weird

Tales. Filled with spectacular art, every page, almost every panel, presents the reader with visions of pounding action that leaves no doubt that given the time and effort, Ploog was an artist of top flight caliber. From the opening pages showing the rain-lashed capital of Valusia to the secret gathering of sinister conspirators, Ploog sets the scene for the sombre events to come. Exerting himself as never before, the artist fills every setting with lush detail and demonstrates an unexpected command of the human figure as naked bodies ripple with musculature that give his two-dimensional characters a rarely sensed feeling of threedimensionality. Especially impressive are panels showing the king in his private chambers sprawled in a fur covered chair, his traitorous knights as they burst in upon him and a three quarter page shot of a ragged, bleeding Kull, back against a wall, gore dripping from the axe in his hand, but still defiant. Oh, it was a great book all right, but such a level of quality could never be maintained, and Ploog’s work slipped in #12. After #13, he was gone, but it didn’t matter; the last minute changes made no difference in sales and soon after Ploog’s departure, the strip was finally cancelled. Fun Fact: Ploog’s next most exciting work would be done, of all places, on the main feature of Marvel’s Planet of the Apes black-and-white movie tie-in magazine that debuted in 1974!

Captain Marvel #29

“Metamorphosis!”; Jim Starlin (script & pencils), Al Milgrom (inks)

Planet of the Apes #11: In an oddball bit of marketing, Marvel picked up the rights to the Apes franchise and put Ploog to work as the main artist on epic length stories featured in the black-and-white magazine.

Jim Starlin, who became one of the earliest, if not the earliest, writer/artists in comics, was another of the fast developing new talents at Marvel. (Sure, it’d been done before with Adams and Steranko being only two of the latest and there were a few others in the long history of comics, but the phenomenon was both rare and usually intermittent while Starlin actually heralded a new wave of creators who’d write and draw almost everything they did.) Unlike many of his peers, Starlin didn’t enter the ranks of comics professionals through a shop or by being the assistant of an established artist, he came in through the fan magazines, where he’d spent time providing them with spot illustrations. Then, taking his courage in hand, he went up to Marvel’s offices (might as well start at the top right?) and to his surprise, picked up an assignment for a romance story. The next thing he knew, despite his inexperience, he was working in the office laying out covers for the company’s huge line of books. From there, Part II: 1970-1974

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Jim Starlin

Jim Starlin’s work appeared in various fan publications before the artist finally broke in at Marvel in 1972 as an inker/finisher over John Romita on Spider-Man. Recruited by fellow artist Rich Buckler, Starlin soon began doing fill-in work on odd issues of Iron Man and Marvel Two-in-One before getting the go ahead to take over the ailing Captain Marvel book. Taking the strip back to its space faring roots, Starlin proceeded to create his own pocket cosmology centered on the deathworshiping villain Thanos. More often than not working as a writer/artist, Starlin took the cosmic formula he’d developed and built a career on it.

he bounced around doing some inking here, and some finished pencils there until picking up some regular assignments and doing his first, crude work on fill-ins on such titles as Iron Man and Marvel Premiere. But even on these first full-length jobs, although he didn’t script them, he plotted the Iron Man story and probably had input on the Dr. Strange feature in Premiere, elements that he’d take from one assignment to the next until eventually bringing them all together on the troubled Captain Marvel book. Begun in the Grandiose Years, maybe more for copyright purposes than serious storytelling, the Captain Marvel feature never had a permanent focus and went through more changes than any other strip in so short a time. Consequently, publisher Stan Lee and editor Roy Thomas might’ve felt like they had nothing to lose in allowing Starlin full creative control of the title. Coming on as penciler for #25, Starlin was at first teamed with scripter Mike Friedrich (credit for plotting was clearly given to the artist on the splash page), but by the time Captain Marvel #29 (Nov. 1973) arrived, Starlin was credited with scripting, pencils, and even coloring! With all of the reins gathered in his hands, the first thing Starlin did was proceed to remake Captain Marvel to suit himself. He spends his first 19-page story not with slam-bang action, but with a quasipsychological mystery play that ends with Cap becoming “cosmically aware.” In between bouts of our hero battling his own ego, evil self, or whatever, readers were treated with vignettes meant to set up a vast, inter-stellar struggle which would tie up all the loose plot threads Starlin had been littering his fill-in jobs with over the past 162

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few months: first there’s the origin of an off-shoot race of gods descended from those of legendary Olympus based out of Titan, a moon of Saturn; then there’s the ongoing struggle between the evil Thanos (who worships the personification of Death) and his Titan-based family; still on the loose from previous issues is the Destroyer who died and was reborn specifically to hunt down and destroy Thanos; and finally there was the fate of Cap’s friend, Rick Jones. With these elements, Starlin launched a storyline that would be stretched to incredible lengths as he took Captain Marvel through various stages of self-awareness, pseudo-religion, and cosmic conflict, ending up redefining the cosmic epic first popularized in comics by Lee/Kirby/Ditko and then Thomas/ Adams. In tandem with the start of this new kind of story, Starlin’s art this issue suddenly crystallizes, leaves behind its former roughness and takes on the form that was to become familiar to his legion of fans for the remainder of his career. Starlin’s assumption of near complete control of the Captain Marvel book (and any other strip he subsequently worked on) was probably the quickest such rise as any newcomer had experienced since Steranko burst on the scene in the late 1960s. But what differentiated Starlin’s work from Steranko’s was its intensely personal nature. Where Steranko’s approach came from such outside influences as pulp magazines, film, advertising, pop culture, and other legendary creators in the comics industry, Starlin’s came almost purely from within himself and provided readers with a short, but utterly unique ride they’d not soon forget!

1973

Special Marvel Edition #15

“Shang Chi, Master of Kung Fu!”; Steve Englehart (coplot & script); Jim Starlin (co-plot, pencils), Al Milgrom (inks)

Starlin struck again, this time in tandem with writer Steve Englehart, something he’d not do very often after achieving writer/artist status, but not too surprising either. It seems the two men would often meet informally to talk over plots and trade ideas and so it wasn’t too much of a surprise to find Englehart being credited for scripting some of Starlin’s issues of Captain Marvel. The partnership must’ve gone well because their next project together would involve a much more intimate collaboration. According to Englehart, editor Roy Thomas had joined him and Starlin for lunch one time and from that little tetéa-teté would come one of the strangest literary hybrids in comics history. The origin of the “Master of Kung Fu” feature that debuted in (of all places) Special Marvel Edition #15 (Dec. 1973) had its beginnings in a strange confluence of two curious fads divided in time by nearly fifty years: the kung fu craze of the mid-1970s ignited by the television show of the same name and the Yellow Peril phenomenon of the 1920s popularized in a series of novels by Sax Rohmer centered around a Chinese madman named Fu Manchu. Starlin and Englehart had determined to take advantage of the then current interest in the martial arts and

A surprise hit, the Kung-Fu television show starring David Carradine kicked off a martial arts craze that swept the country. Training studios opened on every street corner and comics companies raced to put out copycat books on the subject. Of them all, Marvel’s Master of Kung Fu was the only one that managed not only an original take on the subject, but one that was better than the tv show!

pitched an idea for a strip to Thomas. Always on the lookout for new ideas, Thomas liked what he heard, but decided to add Fu Manchu to the cast as the book’s regular menace (having concluded a deal over the rights to the character with the Rohmer estate some years before). All that was left was to flesh out the book’s theme, which quickly settled around Shang-Chi, the half-breed son of Fu Manchu, trained in all the martial arts as the perfect assassin for his sinister father’s army of dacoits, phansigars, hashishin, and thugs. But while on his first mission to kill one of his father’s old enemies, Shang-Chi discovers the truth about Fu Manchu and rebels against him. From that point on, the strip becomes the tale of Shang’s seeking after truth (“the rising and advancing of a spirit”) through the labyrinth of paradox and contradiction that makes up Western Civilization, while at the same time, fending off continued attempts by his father to have him killed. At the same time, the strip became a patchwork of cultural trends from the unlikely pairing of the Fu Manchu books and eastern philosophizing to the spy mania of the 1960s and the martial arts craze of the 1970s. Although Starlin would stay on the book for only a few issues (Englehart would leave with #19), he managed to set a tone for choreographed action (such as the largely wordless page this issue of Shang tackling a giant sumo wrestler with panel borders decorated in Chinese calligraphy) and pensive, quiet scenes emphasizing the hero’s isolation from his environment, both with Fu Manchu and the outside world. It wouldn’t be until a new writer and a new artist took over the strip that Shang would begin moving in a positive direction, learning to trust others and to deal with and accept the contradictions of society. The changeover of creative talent would be another of those random, serendipitous pairings that seemed to happen with surprising regularity in Marvel’s Twilight Years (or maybe it wasn’t so random, maybe it was all planned by Thomas…?) and that would result in one of the best produced comic series of the decade.

Tomb of Dracula #15

“Fear Is The Name Of The Game!”; Marv Wolfman (script), Gene Colan (pencils), Tom Palmer (inks)

Without a doubt, the flagship of Marvel’s alternative, non-flagship books (since the breakup of the Thomas/Smith team on Conan) was the Dracula feature, most prominent of the titles spawned by the horror boom. Helping enormously in putting it in that position was artist Gene Colan, whose Part II: 1970-1974

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Goodwin who in turn had followed Gerry Conway). After a couple of issues finishing up plot threads begun by his predecessors, Wolfman introduced Blade the Vampire Hunter in #10 and then began concentrating on the book’s many supporting characters, including Rachel Van Helsing (descendent of the original Dr. Van Helsing from Bram Stoker’s novel), Frank Drake (direct descendent

dependable regularity, artistic accomplishment, and status as a veteran of both the pre-hero era and the company’s first three phases went a long way toward giving the book a sense of legitimacy that other titles, with their constantly shifting artistic talent (who in many instances, were still learning their craft), couldn’t match. After a shaky start on the strip (including inking his own work on the first issue), Colan was finally reunited with Tom Palmer, the inker who was born to finish his fluid, moody panels whose corners always seemed to be filled with shadows and mist. Together, they turned the Dracula strip into a showcase of what every horror book should look like: check out the splash page of Tomb of Dracula #15 (Dec. 1973) with its low-angle closeup of London’s Big Ben swathed in a fog that dissolves upward into a red-tinged sky (colored by Palmer!) dominated by fluttering bats and the satanic visage of the Lord of Vampires himself! Paradoxically, teaming up with the experienced Colan and Palmer was a relative newcomer to comics named Marv Wolfman. As a wide-eyed fan, Wolfman had taken to hanging around the DC offices when he was a teenager, picking up stray writing assignments here and there until, like many of his peers at the company, gravitated to Marvel where the editorial atmosphere was more welcoming of crazy new ideas and unorthodox storytelling. Assigned to Dracula with issue #7, Wolfman relieved Gardner Fox of the scripting chores (Fox had taken over from Archie

Tomb of Dracula #15, page 15: The perfect blend of story and art as writer Marv Wolfman and artists Gene Colan and Tom Palmer unite to produce a page that’s at once atmospheric and tense with verbal jousting between Dracula and meal ticket Rachel Van Helsing.

1974

of Dracula himself), and Quincy Harker (another descendent from a character in the original novel who not only was crippled by Dracula, but who lost both his wife and daughter at the hands of the evil count). Although Dracula himself might seem to sometimes fade into the background of his stories, Wolfman never forgot who the strip was named for and periodically, he’d break away from whatever storyline was being pursued in the book to concentrate solely on his main character. Evidence of the kind of creative freedom allowed at Marvel by editor Roy Thomas in these years, one of Wolfman’s favored techniques for exploring Dracula’s personality was to use an anthology format to tell stories about the Count’s past. This issue for instance, opens as Dracula catches up on his diary entries (!) “There is no place for lies here in my personal ledger, and though the very precepts of truth-telling sickens me, still it must be written as the facts themselves were presented.” In the first story, Dracula displays a sense of irony when he turns a hunter who managed to shoot him into the hunted as he sets a pack of ravenous wolves on his trail; in the second, Dracula helps a woman murdered by her cheating spouse gain revenge by turning her into a vampire and letting her loose on the creep; the third story proved that even the haughty Dracula could become prey to selfishness when he’s tricked into taking an old man to a legendary pool of blood; and in the final story, the reader learns how the count wound up in the coffin where he was discovered in the series’ first issue. Designed to reveal different sides to Dracula’s personality, these vignettes (which Wolfman would turn to now and then) helped make the stock villain of fifty years’ worth of bad movies into a three-dimensional, even (dare it be said?) flesh and blood character with all the vanities, doubts, fears, and an almost noble perseverance of the humans he professed to despise. Taken as a whole, the entire 70-issue series became the first true comics’ novel, with an overarching theme, supporting cast, a beginning and, most importantly, an ending marked by a central character that changed and evolved from what he started out as in the opening chapters to what he finally became in the last. A seamless integration of writing and art contributed to making the Tomb of Dracula not only the single all around best comics series of the Twilight Years, but one of the best in the entire history of the medium. 166

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Excepting only the original novel by Bram Stoker, Marv Wolfman took readers over the course of 7 years, far deeper into the mind of Dracula than any other medium... even if some of them did feature similar elements such as Hammer Films’ Dracula A.D. 1972.

Marvel Premiere #13

“Time Doom”; Steve Englehart (co-plot & script), Frank Brunner (co-plot & pencils), unknown [as Crusty Bunkers] (inks)

After coming to Marvel by way of Neal Adams’ studio (as a more or less anonymous member of the “Crusty Bunkers” inking team), and picking up stray assignments for the company’s various horror anthologies, Frank Brunner finally made the jump to a regular title. His first assignment, finishing the pencils of and doing the inks over Barry Smith’s art for Dr. Strange in Marvel Premiere #4, was good, but an unfortunate mix of Lovecraftian horror with the mystical fantasy world established by Stan Lee and Steve Ditko made for difficulty in interpreting the proper mood for the story. Brunner had the chance to show his stuff with his own pencil work in #6, but that job was somewhat diluted with inking by Sal Buscema and a second opportunity was similarly lost when he was inked by Ernie Chua in #9. It wasn’t until #10 that Brunner had his first real opportunity to put his considerable talent on proper display. In that issue, he had the assistance of his colleagues from Adams’ studio (the Crusty Bunkers, which included at one time or another artists Ralph Reese, Jim Starlin, Al Milgrom, Al Weiss, Howard Chaykin, and Adams himself) to ink his work, and judging from the results, they knew exactly how to present

1974 with the conclusion of the story in the next issue. When Dr. Strange was granted his own book a few months later, Brunner would go on to draw its first few issues, but his art would never again reach the heights it did in the Sise-Neg storyline. In what was possibly the shortest career in comics of any of the new artists coming to Marvel in the Twilight Years, Brunner would nevertheless leave his contemporaries some mighty big shoes to fill!

his art in the best possible light. It was a spectacular job and introduced fans of the good doctor to the first artist since Gene Colan who seemed to understand the necessity of going beyond conventional comic book layouts in order to portray convincingly the alternate realities and states of mind demanded by the Dr. Strange feature. And just in time too, as Brunner was joined by writer Steve Englehart, who was about to take Strange on some of the wildest, most surreal adventures of his career (in #10, the master of the mystic arts invaded the ego of his mentor, the Ancient One!). But of all the mind-bending trips conducted by Englehart, none was as far out as the story that begins in Marvel Premiere #13 (Jan. 1974) as Strange and his arch-enemy Baron Mordo pursue medieval magician Cagliostro backward in time. Once again inked by the Crusty Bunkers, Brunner provides perhaps the most beautiful art of his short career in comics and makes the reader almost believe that the arcane forces permeating the story are real as they almost literally crackle off the page! A mystic duel between Mordo and Strange becomes a symphony of mood and power as the artist uses light and shadow to twist faces into masks of agony and amazement (“Though the eye’s cold light, illumes my very soul, I defy you Strange! My hate, sustains me” screams Mordo as he’s bathed in the glow of the Eye of Agamotto). It was an artistic tour de force that would only be topped

Marvel Premiere #13, page 1: Frank Brunner took over the Dr. Strange feature just as writer Steve Englehart launched our hero on one of the most mind bending trips of all time. The artist’s understanding that the strip demanded something more than conventional layouts would be key in conveying the otherworldly elements of the Sise-Neg story.

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Captain Marvel #30

Now cosmically aware, Captain Marvel returns to Earth to resume his battle with Thanos, but first, he’ll have to deal with the Controller and rescue Rick Jones’ girlfriend, Lou-Ann. He’ll be helped in Captain Marvel #30 (Jan. 1974) by Jim Starlin who, for the first time, will have control of almost all aspects of the strip including not just the pencils, but the script and even coloring as well. Starlin is aided and abetted by pal Al Milgrom who provides the inks, and together with Starlin, would often sign their combined efforts on covers as simply “Gemini.” Friends since elementary school days, the Starlin/Milgrom team began when Starlin, having broken into Marvel first, suggested that Milgrom join him in New York. Milgrom inked Starlin briefly at DC before joining him again at Marvel for the Captain Marvel strip. While as a penciler, Milgrom never amounted to anything very exciting, his inks over Starlin proved compatible beginning here. Milgrom’s inks sharpened Starlin’s work, making his stylistic quirks more pronounceable, while accentuating the penciler’s strengths. And the teamwork couldn’t have come at a more opportune time as Starlin’s Thanos War storyline really began to heat up. Now made cosmically aware and having sloughed off his soldierly identity, when Mar-Vell confronts the Controller this ish, his first inclination is to talk him out of his villainy! “You’ve a brain, Basil Sandhurst,” pleads Cap. “Use it!” But as could be predicted, Cap’s arguments fall on deaf ears and he’s forced to descend to crude fisticuffs. And Starlin could handle action as easily as he could the psuedo-philosophy he had on display in the previous issue. What follows is page after page of a well choreographed slugfest with Cap and the Controller trading blows that really looked to have some force behind them. The fight scenes were given more oomph with Starlin’s color work, which made the action really jump off the page. At the last minute, Thanos steps in and to the Controller’s regret, proves that Mar-Vell had been telling him the truth, that Thanos was “a faithless leader.” But the revelation comes too late as Thanos disappears the Controller while allowing Cap to live for a while longer. The ish ends on a bittersweet note as Rick and Lou-Ann are reunited at last while Thanos realizes the extent to which he can use the cube to achieve his real, ultimate goal, a goal that every living soul in the universe will regret. To be continued in, of all places, Marvel Feature #12! 168

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“To Be Free From Control!”; Jim Starlin (script/pencils/ colors); Al Milgrom (inks)

Captain Marvel #30, page 17: Al Milgrom's inks over Jim Starlin's pencils sharpened the imagery while preserving Starlin's basic style.

Conan the Barbarian #34

“The Temptress in the Tower of Flame!”; Roy Thomas (script); John Buscema (pencils); Ernie Chua (inks)

Ultimately, the three-part Flame Winds story concluded in Conan the Barbarian #34 (Jan. 1974) feels like it was just a sideshow to the main direction of the series—an unexciting interruption to the story of Conan’s rise from barbarian thief to king. Maybe it was the choice of material for adaptation, that of Norvell W. Page’s pulp novel, Flame Winds, whose original hero just wasn’t a good equivalent for Conan. In any case, the concluding chapter this issue is somewhat routine with Conan escaping the clutches of Death and triggering a fight among the seven wizards who rule Wan-Tengri. While all that’s going on, Conan uses the opportunity to slip away,

1974 led by the thief Bourtai, to free the real ruler of the city, a princess the wizards have kept prisoner. At the same time, Conan discovers the source of the flame winds, a giant coal burning machine, that he duly puts out of order. With the flame winds extinguished, the oppressed citizenry rise up and overthrow the wizards replacing the princess on the throne. Throughout, penciler John Buscema and inker Ernie Chua continue to do their by now expected decent interpretation of Conan with a number of exciting scenes but somehow, even their work can’t put this story over the top. The difference will become obvious with the very next issue as Thomas gets Conan back on track in the regular Hyborian world and with stories either adapted from or inspired by Robert E. Howard himself.

down like a merciless woman, on two black specks that crawl across the desert’s burning face,” begins Thomas’ script, wasting no time getting right into the Howardian flavor of the tale to come. Conan and Bourtai, while crossing the desert on the way back to Turan, come across a man beset by desert raiders. Conan charges in, scattering the raiders, but the man he intended to save lies dying. Before he does though, he tells Conan about the lost city of Kara-Shehr and a gem called the azure eye hidden there. A dust storm comes up and when it clears, penciler John Buscema and inker Ernie Chua present readers with a spectacular reveal of the hidden city across a fantastic doublepage spread. Venturing inside, Conan and Bourtai find the azure eye (in another great halfpage panel showing the eye in the grip of a skeleton seated on a throne) but leave it in place Conan the just as they’re accosted by Barbarian #35 the returning brigands. Their “The Hell-Spawn of Kara-Shehr”; leader takes the eye for himself, Roy Thomas (script); thereby releasing its monstrous John Buscema (pencils); guardian again depicted in an Ernie Chua (inks) eye-grabbing half-page panel by Wolfshead, a popular paperback collection of non-Conan short Buscema. As confusion reigns, This was more like it! Conan on stories by Robert E. Howard the greedy Bourtai manages to his own, away from non-Conan appeared in numerous editions get hold of the gem only to fall adaptations, and under the sole and was the source of a number victim to the guardian himself control of writer/editor Roy of adaptions by Roy Thomas (good riddance!) and when Thomas. Getting back to basics for a number of Marvel titles including Conan the Barbarian Conan leaves the throne room, after the dead end adaptation with an adaptation of “The Fire of he leaves behind two additional of Norvell W. Page’s Flame Asshurbanipal.” skeletons. It was a perfect, Winds that took up the previous single issue, self-contained tale three issues, Thomas here that fit Conan to a T. The series goes back to Conan creator Robert E. Howard for inspiration and coming up with an adaptation of the was finally back on track after the Flame Winds non-Conan story “The Fire of Asshurbanipal.” One of detour. But the question was: would it last? Fun Howard’s best stories of Kiplingesque adventuring Fact: For anyone interested in the etymology of all in the Middle East at a time (circa 1936) when readers the various adaptations that Thomas was doing over could still believe that mystery dwelt in many of its the last year of the title, check out this issue’s letters’ vast unexplored areas, it concerns a lost city in the page where the author lays it all out issue-by-issue! desert and a cursed jewel hidden there. Thomas takes that premise and adapts it with ease to his Conan (next page) Conan #35, page 31: Ernie Chua's storyline substituting Conan for Steve Clarney and inks gave John Buscema's pencils a grainy look closer to capturing Robert E. Howard's rough tag-along Bourtai (left over from the Flame Winds and uncouth Hyborian Age than did former artist trilogy) for Yar-Ali. “West of mysterious Khitai and Barry Smith. southwest of the Vilayet Sea, the hot sun glows The Twilight Years

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1974

Part III:

1974-1976

n the interregnum between Kirby’s departure from Marvel and his return at mid-decade, the landscape of Marvel’s four-color universe had been altered almost beyond recognition. Aside from obvious changes such as new characters, new titles, and new formats, was the infusion of a new relativism that relied on an increased sophistication among readers.

Adventure Into Fear #20

“Morbius the Living Vampire!”; Mike Friedrich (script), Paul Gulacy (pencils), Jack Abel (inks) “Midnight in the Wax Museum!”; Jack Oleck (script), Richard Doxsee (pencils & inks)

Things were beginning to get out of hand. By the earlyto mid-1970s, the expansion that had begun way back in the late Sixties with the first anthology titles and split feature books had exploded into seemingly dozens of new titles. And although many were single feature, standalone books (like Tomb of Dracula, Marvel Team-Up, and Luke Cage, Hero for Hire), many more were what could be classed as “try-out” books. Marvel Premiere, Marvel Feature, Supernatural Thrillers, Amazing Adventures, and Astonishing Tales were only a few and each required material every month to fill their 18 to 20 pages of space. To do it, and to meet ever looming deadlines, a legion of artists and writers Paul Gulacy arrived at Marvel under the influence of Steranko, but soon evolved his own style that could seem both stiff and fluid at the same time.

were hired to make it happen. First, barely competent would-be artists like Jim Starlin, Frank Brunner, Craig Russell, Mike Ploog, Rich Buckler, and Val Mayerik (all of whom would nevertheless improve rapidly) were brought in from the fan community, followed by a wholesale hiring of artists from shops in the Philippines of all places. In addition, not only were writers and artists needed to produce material for all the available books, but features were needed for them to work on, and plenty of them. To do it, editor Roy Thomas combed through the Marvel Universe looking for characters that could potentially be featured in their own series. He succeeded in coming up with plenty, and apparently, with such characters as Man-Wolf, Tigra, and even It, the Living Colossus (a monster from the company’s pre-hero days), none were too minor not to consider! Anyway, all of these factors came home to roost (to mix a metaphor!) in Adventure into Fear #20 (Feb. 1974), which featured “The Man Called Morbius, the Living Vampire!” Not as contradictory a title as it sounded, Morbius was a vampire, but not one who was a reanimated corpse of east European legend. He was Michael Morbius, a scientist who tried to cure himself of a rare disease, but instead became a creature with vampire-like attributes. Created by Thomas when he was filling in for Stan Lee on Spider-Man, Morbius ended up roaming the country in stories appearing in the black-and-white magazine Vampire Tales feeling sorry for himself and wracked with guilt whenever his thirst for human blood drove him to kill. He graduated to Fear when the need for new material became acute and Mike Friedrich was assigned to write the strip. Perfunctory and by-the-book, Friedrich’s script was merely serviceable in a tale about a devil-worshipping scientist named Daemond who gains mental control of Morbius with the intention of using him to (what else?) conquer the world. Pretty routine stuff that would show definite signs of improvement a few issues later when a new writer named Steve Gerber took over the scripting chores, sending the plot in a weird, less The Twilight Years

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predictable direction. But the main interest here is the art, produced by an insufficiently experienced Paul Gulacy. Although coming to comics as an assistant for Dan Adkins, Gulacy’s influence was clearly more with Steranko than his immediate mentor. Filled with awkward figure work, inappropriate perspectives, and a lack of crucial detail, Gulacy’s dynamism and layouts here were strong enough to overcome these weaknesses and hint at the introduction of still another exciting new artist to arrive on the Twilight scene. Unfortunately, readers wouldn’t get a chance to watch his style develop on the “Morbius” strip (which was soon handed over to Gerber and Craig Russell) as he was transferred after this issue over to another new feature that was in even more desperate need of a penciler.

Adventure into Fear #20, page 1: As opposed to his later work, Gulacy’s earliest efforts, as can be seen here, were more fluid than stiff or mannered. Figures, for instance, practically fling themselves off the page!

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Savage Tales #3

“The Lurker From the Catacombs”; Roy Thomas (script), Barry WindsorSmith [as Barry Smith] (pencils & inks) “The Crimson Bell”; Ray Capella (script), Al Williamson (pencils & inks), Frank Brunner (pencils & inks) “The Fury of the Femizons”; Stan Lee (script), John Romita (pencils & inks) “He Comes From the Dark”; Roy Thomas (script), Barry Windsor-Smith [as Barry Smith] (pencils & inks)

As incredible as Barry Smith’s work was on the second part of the “Red Nails” adaptation featured in Savage Tales #3 (Feb. 1974), it would nevertheless become the zenith of his artistic development. Although his subsequent work over the next several years equaled the superb artistry on display here (in prints sold through his own Gorblimey Press and an unfinished Bran Mak Morn story that had been slated for a later issue of Savage Tales), he had in effect reached a plateau. In fact, if the apex of Smith’s art could be narrowed down to a single illustration, then readers didn’t have to look any farther than this issue’s editorial by Roy Thomas featuring a stunning fullpage drawing of a victorious, blood spattered Conan; there was no way Smith could top himself after that and he never did. (In fact, the artist seemed to do his best work on standalone illustrations; witness the other two in this issue: the cover of Conan the Barbarian Special #1, a frontispiece on the contents page here, and another at the back dedicated to REH.) As time went on, his powers would begin to fade and though still exciting when

1974 compared to younger artists entering the field, Smith’s later work would only be a pale, watereddown version of his former achievements. But that fate was not yet known to the readers who eagerly snapped up this issue to find out how things turned out for Conan and Valeria in the city of Xuchotl. There, Thomas continued his close adaptation of the original Howard story, while Smith’s art delivered on the promise it had shown in the previous issue. Over the course of 37 pages, the two followed the strange battle between factions still living within the deserted city. As Conan joins one faction against the other, he comes across violence, sadism, and the walking dead until in the end, only he and Valeria are left standing… living spectres literally drenched in the blood of their enemies. Although Thomas would later team with John Buscema to produce other adaptations and stories just as long in many subsequent issues, none would ever achieve the esoteric otherworldiness evoked by Smith in “Red Nails.” Taking up nearly the whole issue, the story left hardly any room for a reprint of “The Fury of the Femizons” and some text pieces illustrated by the likes of Frank Brunner and Al Williamson.

Amazing Spider-Man #129

“The Punisher Strikes Twice”; Gerry Conway (script), Ross Andru (pencils), Frank Giacoia & Dave Hunt (inks)

As the Twilight Years progressed, a strange phenomenon began to take place. Marvel’s flagship titles that had once been the most vital in the comics industry, the breeding ground for every new trend, the gold standard of what was cool and hip, had begun to lose steam. The irony was that although books such as the Fantastic Four, Avengers, Daredevil and Thor were still the assignments every young writer or artist hoped to graduate to after learning the basics of storytelling, the truth was that while waiting for one of those coveted books to become available, the company’s new recruits, while laboring on lesser titles, were actually doing the most creative and innovative work at Marvel. Take the transitional Amazing Spider-Man #129 (Feb. 1974) for example. By 1973, the title was over ten years old and with its web-swinging star, had become the sales leader of the Marvel line. That, unfortunately, didn’t prevent the book from falling on hard times that began around issue #100 with a series of stories that undermined the realism that had always been a hallmark of the strip. First, Peter Parker had grown two extra pairs of arms (to make him more spider-like), then fought a vampire, and

finally traveled to a hidden jungle to battle dinosaurs and giant aliens reminiscent of those that roamed Marvel’s pre-hero mystery titles. Sanity was restored when first Stan Lee, then Gerry Conway, returned to the writing chores for a string of stories drawn and later plotted by John Romita that harkened back to the character’s Golden Age just after Steve Ditko had left the company. Those stories ended in a reprint taken from the pages of Spectacular Spider-Man #1, a black-and-white magazinesized experiment that had appeared a few years before and failed due to distribution problems among other things. Romita returned briefly to ink Gil Kane through the deaths of Gwen Stacy and the Green Goblin in issues 121 and 122 before the art chores were taken over by DC veteran Ross Andru, who may have won the Spider-Man gig following an audition in Marvel Super-Heroes #14 in which he had an early opportunity to draw the character. Andru’s reappearance now marked the beginning of the dry rot that would set in on the regular Spider-Man feature and later spread to the other flagship titles. Although sales on the strip would continue strong, artistically, Andru’s style was far from satisfying with its awkward, unappealing figures with facial expressions more akin to wax dummies than real people. An old time professional, Andru had most recently been employed at DC doing such strips as “Gunner and Sarge” for war books like GI Combat, but was probably most well known for his work on the Metal Men, whose goofy

The Destroyer, a very distant literary descendent of Street & Smith’s pulp hero the Avenger, was likely the inspiration for Marvel’s Punisher.

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adventures Andru’s style was perhaps better suited to. What it was definitely not suited for was the Spider-Man strip which, due to its melodramatic elements, had always depended on a realistic approach to the artwork to make it work. So Andru wasn’t well served when almost at the start of his tenure in #129, he was given the job of illustrating the first appearance of a new character who was destined to revolutionize the definition of a comic book hero over the next decade. But exploitation of the full potential of the Punisher (whom writer Gerry Conway based on the Destroyer, the star of a popular series of novels who specialized in fighting organized crime) would have to wait until other artists who were better able to portray the gritty, violent nature of the character had the chance to handle him. In the meantime, behind an eye catching Kane/Romita cover, Andru tried valiantly to bring some drama to Conway’s story of a plot by the mysterious Jackal (actually one of Peter Parker’s professors at school) to destroy Spider-Man. But the arrival on the scene of the uninspired Andru reflected the general state of lackluster artwork that had begun to fill the pages of Marvel’s other flagship titles including the Fantastic Four and Thor where John Buscema, chastened from his experience on the long since cancelled Silver Surfer book, produced solid but uninspired work. His brother Sal, who’d graduated from inking John to penciling the Avengers, Captain America and the Defenders was workmanlike, while Daredevil was taken over by Bob Brown, another DC alumnus whose stiff, ill-proportioned figure work had been on display with the Challengers of the Unknown. Meanwhile, Iron Man was still the province of Golden Age stalwart George Tuska. Although such writers as Steve Englehart and Doug Moench managed to come up with some interesting plot devices, overall, Marvel’s big guns largely began to run out of ammo. Even Conway himself, who had been one of the company’s shining lights earlier in the Twilight era started to slip when he began to introduce more and more ridiculous elements to the Spider-Man strip, including the wedding of elderly Aunt May to the villainous Doctor Octopus (who had won her hand from underworld gangster Hammerhead!), the introduction of the SpiderMobile, and the infamous clone of Gwen Stacey. With such increasing carelessness on the part of writers, the infusion of less than stellar artists from rival DC and a general shift in creative energy to less high profile books, the flagship titles, like burning wrecks on the high seas, slowly drifted into mediocrity and irrelevance. 174

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Marvel Premiere #14

“Sise-Neg Genesis”; Steve Englehart (co-plot & script), Frank Brunner (co-plot & pencils), Dick Giordano (inks)

Steve Englehart had never planned to be a comic book writer. In fact, he started out as an artist doing freelance jobs and working as an assistant to Neal Adams. Then one day, he received a call from Gary Friedrich, who’d become an assistant editor at Marvel since joining the company as a writer. According to Englehart, Friedrich asked him to fill-in for him while he was out of town for a few weeks. Englehart agreed, but ended up keeping the job permanently when Friedrich decided not to return. Asked by editor Roy Thomas to try his hand at writing, he did well enough to be assigned the scripting chores for Captain America and the Avengers. In no time, the former artist was writing stories for a half dozen of the company’s most important characters, including Dr. Strange. Englehart took over the Strange feature at a difficult time for the strip. After a strong start under Stan Lee and Barry Smith, the strip veered into the horror domain of writer H. P. Lovecraft (appropriating ideas from the author’s famous story “The Shadow over Innsmouth”), but not doing a very good job of it. Under various writers and artists, the strip lost direction and began floundering. That’s when Englehart made the scene. Dropping the Lovecraftian elements, Englehart brought the strip more into line with precedents set by Lee and Steve Ditko. While not completely jettisoning everything that’d been happening in previous issues, he managed to wind things up on a more or less satisfactory note. By that time, Englehart had been united with artist Frank Brunner, and soon the two men were working in a close partnership that yielded one of the most outrageous and

Although Steve Englehart worked on numerous titles while at Marvel, like Wolfman on Dracula, his work on Dr. Strange rose above the others. He provided similar services at DC for a time with his work on Detective Comics with artist Marshall Rogers being the standout.

1974 the being called Genesis then recreates the universe exactly as it was before with the exception that Mordo (driven mad by the experience) and Strange are the only human beings to know that the world was destroyed and recreated! It was probably the most incredible, most audacious story Marvel (or any comics company for that matter) had ever done, and what’s more, it called into question the existence of God: after all, if a human being, Sise-Neg, could go back in time, destroy the universe and recreate it again, what about the God that began the universe in the first place? Was he a similar time traveler?

daring stories ever presented in comics. Begun in #12 and concluded here in Marvel Premiere #14 (March 1974), the story they came up with involved a time traveling magician from the future who has discovered how to absorb the universe’ ambient magical energy. The catch is, the more magicians there are tapping into it, the less there is to go around. As a result, Sise-Neg decides that the only way he can get more of the energy is to go back in time where there would be fewer magicians. And so, the farther back he goes, the more energy he absorbs, and the more powerful he gets. Doctor Strange and Mordo catch up with him after he’s reached the Middle Ages and becomes the magician known to history as Cagoliostro, but he gives them the slip and escapes to pre-historic times. There, Strange learns that SiseNeg intends to go all the way back to the dawn of creation when he will have all the magical energy in the universe for himself. “And what is another term for an all powerful being at the dawn of creation?” he asks Strange. “It is God!” That’s right, Sise-Neg (Genesis spelled backward!) intends to go back before the creation of the universe and, assuming the role of God, recreate it in his own image! But when he gets there and uncreates all reality, (an event witnessed only by Strange and Mordo), he discovers that “My plan to recreate the universe in my image was truly pitiable! I have achieved my godhood, but in doing so I have learned the truth! That everything is as it should be, if one can only see it!” Thus humbled,

Marvel Premiere #14, page 27: Frank Brunner lets it rip in these scenes setting up Sise-Neg as the God of Genesis.

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And was Sise-Neg now the “God” of the Marvel Universe? It was evidence of how far comics had come since FF #1, or even from Amazing Spider-Man #96, that the Comics Code hardly batted a figurative eyelash at the implications of this story! But Englehart wasn’t done with such themes as he almost abandoned the magical grudge matches that had been standard fare for Dr. Strange and took the strip to a point where only the life and death of universes was to be considered. In future stories, Strange would become one with Death, die and be reborn, become cosmically aware, and enter a new understanding of the universe. It was a far cry from the cross-dimensional villains featured during the Lee/Ditko/Thomas/Colan days, but Englehart’s stories about the end of the world and all reality as we know it, was somehow fitting as Marvel’s Silver Age started with FF #1 and that was fulfilled with Conan the Barbarian #24, now began to wind down quickly to its end (much like the panel this issue showing the solar system being drawn back into a proto sun as the universe collapses).

Man-Thing #5

“Night of the Laughing Dead”; Steve Gerber (script), Mike Ploog (pencils), Frank Chiaramonte (inks)

Moving swiftly from its introduction in the blackand-white Savage Tales magazine to a try out in Adventure Into Fear to its own title, the Man-Thing feature rose quickly in the hierarchy of Marvel’s monster books. Having been introduced at nearly the same time as DC’s own Swamp Thing, early on the Man-Thing benefited from the ironic scripting services of the former’s creator, Len Wein (who’d since moved to Marvel from DC). But the Man-Thing feature really didn’t come into its own until Steve Gerber arrived to take over the writing and horror meister Mike Ploog took time off his Before British writers Alan Moore and Grant Morrison did it for DC, Steve Gerber was there, turning out weird, eclectic, edgy stories, that sometimes even resonated with a deeper message.

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duties on the Werewolf book to do the art. Eventually becoming one of the most eclectic writers in comics, Gerber was a hard-boiled fan before being hired by Roy Thomas as an assistant editor. As if to compensate for the more prosaic world of advertising where he’d been working before, Gerber hit the ground running with his first regular scripting assignment on the Man-Thing, rapidly turning in weird, even twisted stories that skirted the edge of what was allowed by the Comics Code. In Man-Thing #5 (May 1974) for instance, Gerber opens the story with a clown’s suicide (although the deadly shot is fired off camera, the clown is shown pressing the pistol to his head just before the telltale sound effect echoes through the swamp), throws in a penny-ante traveling circus (which includes Tragg, “the world’s strongest man!”), a couple of runaways, and then has all of them running around the swamp alternatively chasing and being chased by the ghost of the deceased clown! Even the decision to have a clown, the very image of happiness and laughter, be the suicide victim was a strange choice in contrasts (“Laughter is dead. Futility,” reads his final note). “I had never thought of writing horror or fantasy,” Gerber has admitted. “I found I had a knack for it…and discovered that working on books like Man-Thing could be very advantageous, because they weren’t the assignments that everybody else was after. Nobody else really cared about them!” It was a recipe for weirdness as Gerber began to build his reputation on the strange and bizarre. In Fear #17, he came up with a retelling of the origin of Superman that was twisted inside-out and followed that with the introduction of a wise-cracking, cynical mallard, a dark-Donald Duck in the Man-Thing’s debut issue. Later, he turned the Defenders, an average super-hero feature, from bland vanilla to wild tutti-frutti! And although the much too staid art style of Sal Buscema prevented his work on the Defenders from going completely off the deep end, Ploog’s work on Man-Thing was perfect (except that here too, for most of Ploog’s issues, other inkers would sap his pencils of much of their vitality). This issue for instance, is stocked with the artist’s patented characterizations of gnarled, bent human beings, physical deformities that reflected the twisted nature of their personalities: the dead clown is a boneless thing floating in the swamp; Boss Garvey, the venal carnival owner has a flaccid face continuously contorted in hate; Tragg is a cauliflower eared hulk with a thatch of tangled hair to indicate his head. But the

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main attraction of Ploog’s work is the Man-Thing himself, in which the artist seemed to like saving up his creative strength for close-ups showing the muck monster with its glassy, emotionless eyes staring out at the reader. Although frequently uneven in quality, Gerber and Ploog would set the Man-Thing strip apart from its counterpart at the competition by telling stories that not only were a combination of fantasy and horror (with a dash of social commentary), but were unpredictable too.

Amazing Spider-Man #132, page 1: The golden era of the web slinger had just about run its course when this issue appeared sporting fill-in art by John Romita. Little did anyone know that it would mark his last full swing at the character he’d propelled to superstardom after taking over from co-creator Steve Ditko eight years before.

Amazing Spider-Man #132 “The Master Plan of the Molten Man!”; Gerry Conway (script), John Romita (pencils), Paul Reinman & Tony Mortellaro (pencils & inks)

Like Steve Ditko first, then Jack Kirby and Don Heck, the next big artist to disappear from the Marvel scene was John Romita. To be sure, his departure from active duty wouldn’t represent as clean a break as that of his predecessors when they left to work for other companies, but his retreat from regular penciling assignments seemed to have almost the same effect. For years before giving up his long association with the Spider-Man strip, Romita had been more than just the artist of Peter Parker’s alter ego. Almost from the very beginning, his working relationship with writer Stan Lee was more as a collaborator than simple illustrator. “The only thing he used to do from 196672 was come in and leave a note on my drawing table saying ‘Next month, the Rhino,’” said Romita in an interview. “That’s all; he wouldn’t tell me anything; how to handle it.” Lee, it seemed, was giving Romita the same creative leeway as he had to Kirby in that artist’s final days with the company. “We would have a verbal plot together,” continued Romita. “First, it was two or three hours, then it was an hour. Stan would tell me who he would like to be the villain, and personal life threads he would like carried on. Generally, we would select the setting; sometimes we wouldn’t even have time to select the settings, like ‘it takes place on a subway.’ He would give me Part III: 1974-1976

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that, and tell me where he wanted it to end. I Paul Reinman with “art assist” by background would have to fill in all the blanks.” At the same specialist Tony Mortellaro. Interspersed with classic time, Romita began to take over routine art direction Romitaesque Spidey poses and supporting cast duties around the bullpen, slowly becoming portraits (including Mary Jane, Ned Leeds, Lee’s go-to man for art corrections, oddball Robbie Robertson, and the long awaited return of projects, fill-ins, character designing, and even Peter’s high school chum Liz Allen) there’s some helping to break in new artists. That explained his oddball posturing (mostly of old time foe Molten frequent absences from his regular duty station Man) that can only be attributed to the fact that on the Amazing Spider-Man when he’d just do the artist probably gave more attention to the layouts or inking to preserve the look of the star of the magazine rather than to the villain. strip. Other times he might just be outright With the addition of a tight script by Conway, the replaced by such artists as John Buscema or Gil overall result is a satisfying one for readers who Kane. Finally, when Lee became publisher and had no doubt been anxious to see Romita back on then started to make more frequent trips to the the book again. Alas, little did they know that West Coast, plotting for Spider-Man fell almost they were doomed to disappointment! The artist completely onto Romita’s shoulders. Eventually, had long before set his stamp on Spider-Man, he was teamed with writer Gerry Conway, who doing what once had been considered the impossible: threw in his own two cents worth and together making his interpretation of the character the the two produced some of the strongest story- definitive one even over that of co-creator Steve telling in the strip’s entire run. But when Romita Ditko (although many would quibble over that officially became art director, his services were to be sure). His work on Spider-Man (together too valuable to be concentrated on any sin- with Lee) was instrumental in transforming the gle feature and he was eased off of Spider-Man. web slinger from a neurotic introvert popular To help fans adjust, he continued to guide the with a sub-set of comics readers into an icon direction of the strip while inking over Gil Kane’s recognized the world over. But the ultimate pencils and then those of Ross Andru, who was fulfillment of Spidey’s pop-culture destiny was finally chosen to take over the something that still lay strip as his permanent replacein the future; for now, ment. He didn’t mind giving Marvel fans had simply up regular penciling though; lost another titan of the after decades in the business, he Silver Age, hastening was relieved that he’d no longer the day when the Twilight have to work under the conYears themselves would stant pressure of deadlines. finally pass. Such was where things stood Tomb of Dracula when Amazing Spider-Man #132 #20 (May 1974) hit the stands. “The Coming Of Romita’s last regular appearance Doctor Sun”; Marv on the book (besides doing covers Wolfman (script), and later providing inks over his Gene Colan (pencils), son’s pencils when he took over Tom Palmer (inks) the strip years later) was for issue The man who would do #125 and his work this issue, more since Bram Stoker far from marking a glorious himself to redefine the return to greatness, could look of Dracula almost safely be described as one of never had the chance to those unplanned emergency do so. At least the way fill-in jobs that came to be his artist Gene Colan tells it. modus operandi in the later Interested in the subject of Gene Colan based his look for Twilight Years. Unfortunately, Marvel’s Dracula on that of actor horror since a childhood the last minute nature of the Jack Palance who played the role of viewing of Universal assignment shows as credit for the vampire lord in the 1973 telefilm Studios’ original film the art is shared between Romita Dracula. version of Frankenstein, and Formative Years veteran 178

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1974 title. Unfortunately, the artist would not be so well served in the next dozen issues or so with inkers such as Vince Colletta, Jack Abel, and Ernie Chan not doing him any favors. It was not until Tom Palmer, the artist most compatible with Colan’s style, became the regular inker on the strip that his interpretation of Dracula began to soar along with sales. “I liked Tom’s work very much,” said Colan. “It was weighty, and he put in all the stuff that I liked… My work is not easy to follow, and he must’ve had a helluva time with it. Tom is an illustrator himself; he’s done a lot of advertising art. So, he was very well-suited to it.” As can

when Colan heard that Marvel was starting up a new line of horror comics, he immediately put dibs in for Dracula. Although he was interested in doing any kind of horror book including Monster of Frankenstein, Colan preferred the king of vampires. “I think Dracula had the edge,” he said in an interview. “Dracula was always in the shadows, dark shadows, eerie settings, atmospheric stuff… cemeteries, night bats, corners of places. I was always looking for something that would have a fine shadow in it, which I was good at, to add weight to the story.” But the artist almost lost his chance at the series that would even eclipse his long and classic run on Daredevil. Approaching editor Stan Lee when he heard that the book was being discussed, Colan said that he “literally begged” for the chance to draw it. At the time, Lee agreed to give him the strip but later appeared to renege when he assigned it instead to Bill Everett. When Colan reminded him of his promise, Lee explained that Everett had asked for it first, but the excuse was obviously a thin one. Maybe Lee didn’t want to waste Colan’s talents on books he suspected would not be as valuable to Marvel as the super-hero features, but after the artist submitted a “montage” of drawings demonstrating his take on Dracula, Lee immediately changed his mind. “That’s how it happened,” explained Colan. “I sent (the montage) to Stan, and the next day he called and said, ‘You got it!’” For Dracula himself, Colan based his features on those of actor Jack Palance (who played the character in a TV movie) and even inked himself on the first issue of the

The images that won Gene Colan the job of artist on Tomb of Dracula: after taking a gander at these, how could Stan even have considered anybody else?

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made them synonymous with Dracula ever since: Dracula attacking a corpse for its blood while on the run in the mountains, the introduction of Clifton Graves as he enters from behind a curtain, Dracula’s brutal assault on Graves with nary a nod to the Marquess of Queensberry rules! Certainly none of Marvel’s flagship titles on sale at the time required such a long and agonizing wait between issues!

be immediately seen in Tomb of Dracula #20 (May 1974), a transitional issue whose plot by writer Marv Wolfman includes a number of threads not least among them the introduction of arch-villain Dr. Sun… a disembodied brain bent on winning the secret of Dracula’s dominance over all other vampires! The story opens with action as Dracula is being chased through snowy mountains by a helicopter in the hands of Frank Drake and Rachel Van Helsing as they pepper him with wooden bullets. But in the end, it’s not the bullets that down him, but weakness due to lack of sustenance of the sanguinary kind. Meanwhile, back with the vampire hunters, a little more is revealed of Rachel Van Helsing’s background as she tells Drake of the time when, as a little girl, she saw Dracula murder her parents and was herself saved by Quincy Harker. The flashback serves to keep readers from feeling sorry for Dracula when he awakes as a prisoner of Dr. Sun. Breaking free, the vampire battles Clifton Graves, the man who was responsible for resurrecting him in issue #1 and who has since been restitched together by the doctor’s medical minions after being blown apart in an earlier issue. Defeating him, Dracula is confronted by Drake and Van Helsing just as Dr. Sun is finally revealed! Readers were left hanging until the following issue to find out what happened next. Throughout however, Colan and Palmer show why their pairing on the art has

Tomb of Dracula #20, page 10: A great scene in which a starving Dracula is forced to feed on the blood of a corpse! Wolfman’s imagination seemed inexhaustible when it came to inventing new wrinkles in vampire lore.

1974

Dr. Strange #1

“Through an Orb Darkly”; Steve Englehart (co-plot & script), Frank Brunner (co-plot & pencils), Dick Giordano (inks)

It was a long and winding road (as the song goes) but after playing second banana for so many years in Strange Tales, having his first solo series cut out from under him, acting as referee for the Sub-Mariner

Dr. Strange #1, page 30: Dr. Strange meets Alice in Wonder-land, or at least the talking caterpillar, in a story that was somewhat of a step down from the Sise-Neg saga but no less brimming with new insights into the sorcerer supreme illustrated with hallucinogenic art by Frank Brunner!

and the Hulk in the Defenders, and finally getting a tryout series in Marvel Premiere, Dr. Strange finally made it into the very first issue of a new solo series! And what a debut it was with the creative team of Steve Englehart and Frank Brunner just coming off an impressive run of tales in Marvel Premiere (where they managed to destroy the universe and rebuild it again!) ready to hit the ground running with the start of a whole new arc that would not only continue our hero’s progress toward becoming Earth’s Sorcerer Supreme, but launch him into a series of psychedelic and psychological encounters that have never been equaled since. Products of the social upheavals of the late Sixties and early Seventies, Englehart and Brunner made it their specialty to bring all kinds of edgy new angles to their work on Dr. Strange. But where Brunner’s influence in comics was somewhat limited, as a writer, Englehart’s would be more far reaching…comically speaking! Influenced by counter-cultural tides that had ripped America in the late 1960s (he’d managed to get discharged from military service as a conscientious objector and “definitely identified with the students who were killed” at Kent State), Englehart introduced much of it as fodder for his stories during runs on such titles as Captain America, Defenders, and Avengers, as well as Dr. Strange. Although he pushed the envelope when he had the human Scarlet Witch marry the robotic Vision in the Avengers, it was over in the Captain Part III: 1974-1976

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America book that his political leanings became most apparent. There, he introduced a supporting character named Dave Cox, a conscientious objector, and as the Watergate scandal was breaking in the real world, created a storyline in which the president of the United States was unmasked as the leader of the villainous Secret Empire. The denouement had a disgraced “Nixon” commit suicide off panel. “I was very clear that the president had trashed himself and deserved this sort of fate,” declared Englehart in an interview. “Watergate fascinated me and naturally it occurred to me that Captain America had to react to this.” Disillusioned with the government he’d served for so long, the writer had Captain America quit his role as patriotic hero to become the rootless Nomad. Similarly, he and Brunner continued to push the boundaries with their work on Dr. Strange #1 (June 1974) as a playful opening sequence leads to an off panel implied sexual encounter between Strange and Clea (both his “beloved” and his disciple…no conflict of interest there!) Nearly killed in a sneak attack by the deadly Silver Dagger, Strange falls prey to the Orb of Agamotto and following an incredible fullpage shot of Death, finds himself in Alice’s Wonderland, but as seen through a glass darkly! Later, Strange would learn to cope with unreality and not to fear Death. Meanwhile, on another plane of spirituality, readers would discover more about Silver Dagger, including the fact that he had been a Roman Catholic cardinal who lost his sanity when he failed to be chosen for the papacy. Turning to magic, his twisted mind began to see enemies everywhere, particularly among those, like Dr. Strange, who practiced the mystic arts. In the past, it’d been unusual for comics to take notice of particular Christian sects, let alone to portray them in any kind of negative light. That was the doing of the Comics Code, but with its weakening after Stan Lee addressed drug addiction in a number of issues of Spider-Man, the door had been opened for its other rules to be challenged as well. Readers were quick to notice the changes and in books such as Tomb of Dracula and Dr. Strange in particular, letters pages became forums for discussions on religion, magic, and philosophy and proved that even as the Twilight Years progressed, Marvel still had the power to retain older readers who remained among the most sophisticated and mature in comicdom. 182

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Marvel Spotlight #9

“The Snakes Crawl At Night”; Gary Friedrich (script), Tom Sutton (pencils), Chic Stone (inks)

Marvel Spotlight #9 (April 1973) is a perfect example of the “bottom feeder” comics that Marvel began to churn out in the early- to mid-1970s when it flooded the market with product, spread itself too thin, and began to strangle the goose that laid the proverbial golden egg. With the explosion of titles following the loosening of regulations by the Comics Code Authority, editor Stan Lee decided to jump into the horror genre with both feet: one planted firmly in the company’s traditional forte of four-color comics and the other in the black-and-white larger-sized magazine market that prime competitor Warren Publishing had had all to itself for a number of years. The sudden proliferation of titles and the hundreds of pages that needed to be written, penciled, inked, and lettered each month went beyond the company’s ability to produce without bringing in more talent to supplement those writers and artists it already had. The first wave of new talent was recruited from fan circles with artists such as Val Mayerik, Frank Brunner, Craig Russell, Paul Gulacy, Rich Buckler, and Mike Ploog starting amateurishly, but quickly maturing into fine pencilers; the second wave, however, consisted of a host of Filipino artists who, while overall inferior to their American counterparts, were incredibly prolific and delivered a product that on the surface looked better than it was due to its often incredible detail. The Filipinos were brought in because they worked cheap, sure, but also because there was just too much work for home grown artists to handle by themselves, a monthly or two was as much as they could get done and that often just barely. Such had been the case with Mike Ploog who Chic Stone, Kirby’s inker supreme during the years of consolidation, returned to Marvel in the twilight years somewhat reduced in stature. Just before Kirby left Marvel, the two were reunited on the Inhumans feature in Astonishing Tales but afterwards, Stone found few artists with whom his style was as well suited.

1974 proved his bona fides on Werewolf by Night and would later go on to do exquisite work on the Monster of Frankenstein. Ploog was assigned one of the more offbeat features (as many bad ideas for comics were referred to in the Twilight Years) that began in Marvel Spotlight before eventually moving on to its own title: the Ghost Rider. The Ghost Rider was really Evel Kneivel wannabe Johnny Blaze who made a pact with the devil and then reneged, thus being cursed into the blazing skulled Ghost Rider whenever trouble brewed. And trouble had a habit of finding Johnny, especially the supernatural variety that usually involved Satan trying to get even with him or some devil worshipping cult attempting to sacrifice Johnny’s squeeze Roxanne. The strip was written by “Groovy” Gary Friedrich, who seemed ubiquitous on Marvel’s second- and third-string books (and the Ghost Rider was most definitely third string). Friedrich would later turn in a great job on the first few Monster of Frankenstein books, but rarely matched that performance elsewhere. Certainly, not here in Marvel Spotlight #9 featuring the Ghost Rider. Unfortunately, by this issue, the overworked Ploog had already moved on (his art on the feature had been uninspired and inadequately inked), but continued to do the covers, turning in a pretty good one this issue featuring “The Snakes Crawl at Night.” Inside, readers were treated to the “offbeat” team of Tom Sutton on pencils and veteran Chic Stone on inks. The results were anything but satisfactory, as they were stiff, amateurish, and even somewhat goofy looking. To be fair however, the goofiness wasn’t restricted to the art as the story itself displayed its own brand of looniness centering on (what else?) the captured Roxanne being prepared as the “Bride of the Snake God!” “Ghost Rider” was only one of a string of bottom-feeding features Marvel produced in the mid-1970s of which some, such as Master of Kung Fu and “War of the Worlds,” rose far above their humble beginnings to become classics of the post-Grandiose Years. Others, such as Son of Satan, Ms. Marvel, Guardians of the Galaxy, and Omega the Unknown, were simply head scratchers that soon sunk into the oblivion they probably deserved.

Astonishing Tales #25

“A Cold Knight's Frenzy”; Doug Moench (Script), Rich Buckler (plot, pencils & inks), Klaus Janson, Al Milgrom & Mike Esposito (ink assist)

Fan turned professional Rich Buckler started his career at the top. Bypassing the Adkins and Adams shops, he completed most of his apprenticeship in amateur publications before taking samples up to the

Like Kirby and Stone, few art styles proved so well suited for each other than that of penciler Rich Buckler (left) and inker Klaus Janson (right).

DC offices. After being turned away a few times, he finally received an assignment, and his first professional job (inked by Adams!) turned out to be a short story for one of DC’s horror anthologies. Soon, he was working for Marvel and found himself on the “Black Panther” strip with writer Don McGregor, and later his ability to mimic the style of other artists, particularly Kirby’s, won him a regular spot drawing the Fantastic Four. But amid an atmosphere at Marvel friendly to innovation and new ideas, Buckler caught the itch to develop and work on a character of his own invention. Approaching editor Roy Thomas, he suggested a science fiction character, half man and half machine, that took advantage of the cyborg craze inspired by the popular Six Million Dollar Man television show. Thomas gave him the green light to go ahead, but assigned recently hired assistant editor Doug Moench to do the scripting. With Deathlok, Buckler left behind traditional superheroes and created a character whose basic premise foreshadowed the grim and violent comics of the 1990s. Debuting in Astonishing Tales #25 (Aug. 1974), Deathlok the Demolisher was a cyborg war machine of some near future and semi-devastated America. Killed on the battlefield, Luther Manning was rebuilt against his will and programmed to serve a military run amok for purposes not clear. Escaping his controllers and struggling against programming that urged him to kill, Deathlok breaks out on his own to rediscover his lost humanity. Under Buckler’s ambitious attempts to tell a story in cinematic terms and Moench’s emerging writing skills (he really set himself a challenge by having the Part III: 1974-1976

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then Buckler himself found even the book’s bi-monthly schedule too tight and began missing deadlines. Reprints, fill-ins, rushed work by inferior inkers and finally a storyline that became hopelessly confusing doomed the feature to an early, undeserved grave.

stories told in three separate voices— straight narration, Deathlok’s thoughts, and the chatter of the cyborg’s internal computer!—the strip quickly left its televisionbased roots behind and became one of the great idea experiments of 1970s Marvel. Beginning in the middle of violent action as Deathlok hunts a man down and kills him, the strip quickly became one of the most cynical and hopeless ever produced as Manning not only finds out that he’s clinically dead (what remains of his human body stinks of putrefaction) and had been rebuilt as a military weapon, but his wife has remarried his best friend! Running for about ten issues, there was never a hint in the strip of any organized society or political order outside the military while the mostly empty streets of the blasted city seemed to be populated only by scattered bands of dope addicts and cannibals. Not a pretty landscape! And so, for Deathlok, there’s really no motivation, no reason to go on living, nothing but the shallow gratification of revenge on those responsible for turning him into a monster. Penciled and inked by Buckler in a style purely his own (an opportunity he wouldn’t get very often in a career often marked by undeserved criticism), the strip seemed to avoid the rule of the Comics Code that forbade killing by the heroes and became a montage of violence like no comic had been since the early 1950s. It was a great start to what should’ve been one of the landmark strips of the Twilight Years, but trouble soon dogged its trail. First, it would lose the invaluable services of Moench,

Astonishing Tales #25, page 10: Revolutionary: Deathlok became the progenitor of the violent heroes that would come to dominate comics beyond the twilight years. Deathlok’s emergence from the shadows here in panels 10-13 seems symbolic of their arrival on the scene. In addition to the bodies the character would leave in his wake, responsibility for the ultimate demise of the Comics Code might also be traced back to the luckless Luther Manning.

1974

“The Trail of the Ninja!”; Gerry Conway (script), Dick Giordano (pencils), Frank McLaughlin (inks) “Web of Bleeding Vipers!”; Doug Moench (script), Paul Gulacy (pencils), Al Milgrom (inks)

Beneath a great illustration on the cover of Deadly Hands of Kung Fu #3 (Aug. 1974) by artist Neal Adams lay…well not much! It was the absolute height of the kung fu craze that had swept the country with the success of the Kung Fu television show featuring David Carradine as the enigmatic Kwai Chang Caine and other media were not far behind in jumping on the bandwagon, comics included. At Marvel, it began with “Shang Chi, Master of Kung Fu” that debuted in Special Marvel Edition #15 in 1973 with art by Jim Starlin and scripted by Steve Englehart, and continued with Iron Fist who first showed up in Marvel Premiere #15 not long after with story and art by the team of Roy Thomas and Gil Kane. With the success of its four-color martial arts books, Marvel quickly upped the ante with a black-andwhite magazine edition headlined by a series called “Sons of the Tiger” which, despite a script here by Gerry Conway, was saddled with lackluster art by the team of Dick Giordano and Frank McLaughlin (co-creator of another martial arts character named Judomaster for Charlton way back in 1965). Heavily padded with text features that likely no one ever read, this issue of Deadly Hands did have one outstanding feature: perhaps the earliest work of artist Paul Gulacy on “Master of Kung Fu”, the strip that would put him

at the top of Marvel’s A-list artists of the Twilight Years. Soon after his appearance here, Gulacy would graduate to the color book and take off like a rocket, becoming the strip’s definitive artist, and for better or worse, the company’s premier penciler of martial arts action. Although Gulacy’s first actual penciling assignment at Marvel was on the “Morbius” feature in Adventure into Fear, the one he did here was also pretty early in his career and near contemporaneous with his first work on the color Master of Kung Fu book. Interestingly, he was teamed here with Doug Moench, the writer with whom he would be most closely associated with

Deadly Hands of Kung Fu #3

Deadly Hands of Kung Fu #3, page 47: Little did anyone realize at the time, but Paul Gulacy’s work on Shang Chi here was just a screen test before being assigned as permanent artist on the Master of Kung Fu color comic.

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on later issues of Master of Kung Fu. Here, astute readers would have a preview of the team’s work together in a 15-page story that opens with a typical set up: boy meets girl, boy loses girl, boy follows girl to weird mansion filled with bloodthirsty dacoits, thugs, and stranglers! Oh, and Fu Manchu too, Chi’s evil dad! Crude as the art might be (not helped by inker Al Milgrom), bits of Gulacy’s style still come through, such as the layouts for a Daliesque montage on page 6, panel 1; the bondage scene on page 9, panel 1; and the entrance stage left of a quatro of dacoits on page 13, panel 1. Throughout, there’s that certain something that an observant reader can’t help but notice; that something in a rookie artist’s style that hints at greatness to come if only given the opportunity to evolve. Like peers such as Craig Russel, Rich Buckler, Jim Starlin, and even Barry Smith, Gulacy would be given that chance and the beneficiaries were the readers who would have all those great issues of Master of Kung Fu to enjoy!

Supernatural Thrillers #8

“Power Times Four!”; Tony Isabella (script), Val Mayerik (pencils), Val Mayerik (inks) “The Little Gypsy Tea Room”; Stan Lee (script), Steve Ditko (pencils & inks)

How do you spell G-O-R-G-E-O-U-S? Could Val Mayerik get any better than the job he turned in for the Living Mummy strip in Supernatural Thrillers #8 (Aug. 1974)? Providing both pencils and inks, Mayerik took his place among Marvel’s bumper

A lesser light during the twilight years, Tony Isabella (left) could be relied upon to turn in workmanlike scripts when needed, while Steve Ditko (right) would return to Marvel reduced in stature and assigned mostly to low profile features.

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Supernatural Thrillers #8, page 3: This is how you spell GORGEOUS! Val Mayerik on both pencils and inks—and this is one of the less interesting pages he did this issue!

crop of exciting new talent starting with an opening page splash that’s to drool over! Where was Marvel digging up artists like this? Sure, sure, a goodly number of them were being funneled over from Dan Adkins’ studio but not all of them. Others might come over from Warren Publishing’s black-andwhite magazine line or from DCs horror books, and still others made the jump straight from fandom where their only previous experience may have been doing spot illustrations for fanzines. Thus, many of them made a less than stellar first impression as they burned the midnight oil trying to get their first pro assignment in by a deadline set by one of Marvel’s black-and-white magazine editors. In Mayerik’s case, it was through the good graces of Adkins who helped him through the front door at Marvel with a Brak the Barbarian story in Chamber of Chills and then, from a fill-in job over Barry Smith’s layouts on Conan the Barbarian #21, he was given his own regular assignment on the “Living Mummy” feature. Unlike his peers, Mayerik appeared on the scene with his style already far advanced. His work on the Brak piece was a knockout debut by any standard and it was about a year later that he landed the Mummy with Supernatural Thrillers #7, penciling and inking himself to stunning effect. So much so that the strip’s new writer, Tony “the tiger” Isabella (a veteran scripter of a slew of Marvel’s second tier books who took over from Steve Gerber) was inspired to think that they could rival the work of Len Wein and Bernie Wrightson on DCs much admired Swamp Thing. “Their book was a nice mix of adventure, horror, and human interest,” said Isabella in an interview. “Impetuous youngster that I was and in light of the amazing art Val Mayerik was doing on the series, I thought we could match that quality. Sadly, at the time, my intended goal was considerably beyond my abilities.” Which didn’t keep him from giving it the old college try in a storyline crammed with otherworldly conflict (Mayerik and the Mummy set loose against a group of dronish creatures somewhere between dimensions [dig pages 2-4]!); elemental gods; and flashbacks to ancient Egypt! Sadly, the Mummy feature would not be long for this world and Isabella and Mayerik would not be given the time to develop the strip into the next Swamp Thing. Which was too bad because they managed a really good start with this issue!

Captain Marvel #34

“Blown Away!”; Jim Starlin (plot & pencils), Steve Englehart (script), Jack Abel (inks)

All good things have to come to an end sometime and so it did for Starlin’s stand on Captain Marvel. Since that first issue when he took over the ailing book (was it only nine issues?), he’d completely

Captain Marvel #134, page 32: Starlin’s last regular issue of Captain Marvel sowed the seeds for Marvel’s first graphic novel in 1982 wherein the writer/artist returned to tell the landmark tale of the hero’s death of cancer caused by exposure to nerve gas this issue.

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revamped the character and redirected the action onto a stage more vast in scope than anything the strip had seen before. He took Captain Marvel from earthbound tussles with fellow heroes like the Thing and Iron Man and thrust him into space where he had his consciousness raised by an enigmatic being named Eon. After that, the solar system became his playground with trips between Earth and Titan and the struggle to free the universe itself from the threat of Thanos. That done, it was time for a breather! Such was provided in Captain Marvel #34 (Sept. 1974) as our hero has once more exchanged bodies with Rick Jones who manages to tie up loose ends by finally splitting with Lou-Ann. But as they say, there’s no rest for the weary as a new menace named Nitro looms on the horizon. Able to blow himself to atoms and reassemble afterwards, Nitro manages to come across Rick Jones after he’s hit the road, and in no time Captain Marvel makes the scene, only to be knocked silly by repeated blasts from our dastardly villain. Over one of the most arresting and iconic covers executed during the Twilight Years, a blurb reads “Introducing Nitro, the man who killed Captain Marvel!” And though the Captain survives this encounter and goes on to star for another 20 issues or so (as well as guest appearances in an Avengers Annual and a Marvel Two in One Annual, there was more truth in that blurb than even Starlin suspected at the time. Returning to the character in 1982, the writer/artist accepted the job of

1974 revisiting the cosmogony he invented for the strip for the launch of Marvel’s first graphic novel which told the story of Captain Marvel’s death from cancer induced by his exposure to radiation this issue. Once again, Starlin would take readers by surprise with a sensitive tale of a hero’s quiet death. With a sense of completion after the wind up of the Thanos storyline in Captain Marvel #33, Starlin felt that he was ready to move on. “The Captain Marvel/Thanos stuff settled out just about where I wanted it to,” said Starlin. “The sales on the book were going up, so I could’ve run that out until they went down again. But I wanted to do something different.” Leaving for California, the artist would return to work some time later ready to tackle another assignment and on Warlock, would repeat the amazing success he had had with Captain Marvel.

Eternity, the personification of the universe he first encountered in Strange Tales #146, only appears to him in the outline of a man because eternity itself is a “man-spawned concept.” Although always implicit in the Strange strip, the symbology inherent in the book’s population of personified concepts like Eternity, Nightmare, and the Living Tribunal had never been fully explored until Englehart decided to do it. “…I thought if I’m going to write about a magician, I really ought to learn something about magic. So I started studying tarot and astrology, and as I learned things there I was feeding them back into the book,” Englehart has said. “So Strange, for me, became a way of imparting mystical knowledge that I was picking up elsewhere.” He even transformed what had seemed like mere costumed villains into pure concepts, such as when he reinvented Strange’s arch-enemy Dormammu into something Dr. Strange #4 dependent on the faith of “...Where Bound'ries...Decay”; the inhabitants of the Dark Steve Englehart (co-plot & Dimension for its existence. script), Frank Brunner (co-plot & Furthermore, each mystical pencils), Dick Giordano (inks) adventure became a step in The popular writer and artist succeeding stages of Strange’s team of Steve Englehart growing awareness of the and Frank Brunner took a actual state of reality. This break from uncreating and issue for instance, by merging John Tenniel will never be replaced recreating the universe in with and allowing death to as the classic Alice in Wonderland the Sise-Neg/Genesis story overcome him, he learns that illustrator, but Frank Brunner’s take in Marvel Premiere with a tale there is nothing to fear in on the theme was pretty cool too! of a renegade cleric called dying. That “death is a part Silver Dagger in the opening of life, just as life is a part issues of Dr. Strange’s second go at his own series. of death. But death…is not evil. When the time This time beginning at #1 (Doc’s first series simply comes, death is only an experience for the continued the numbering from Strange Tales #168), soul…and fear and anger only confuse perception.” instead of facing various other-dimensional, yet By surrendering to death, Strange not only conquers for the most part still costumed villains, Strange his fear of dying, but becomes essentially immortal would spend most of his time struggling against and takes another step toward becoming Earth’s his own mistaken perceptions of reality. Slowly, Sorcerer Supreme. It was an incredible, mindfrom his discovery that his mentor, the Ancient bending, mind-expanding story, like nothing ever One, had become “one with the universe,” the done in comics before or since. Englehart and essential perfection of the universe and the Brunner (who’s art this issue was better than ever; permeability of everyday reality, Strange’s making it more than a shame that in another few consciousness is raised until he becomes aware of months he’d abandon comics completely) seemed just how limited his anthropomorphic interpretation to have done the impossible: tackling all kinds of of the universe really is. For instance, in Dr. Strange philosophical/mystical concepts that had been #4 (Oct. 1974), he learns that the very shape of kicking around western civilization for centuries Part III: 1974-1976

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and putting them in a context that was both exciting and painless! It was another example of the wide latitude given creators at the time but the reason for it wasn’t only because of Roy Thomas’ looser editorial style. The other half of the story was that it was becoming impossible for Thomas to oversee Marvel’s burgeoning line of titles all by himself. What the company needed was the kind of system in place at rival DC where an Editor-in-Chief or publisher reigned over a number of editors, each of whom was responsible for a certain group of related titles. But Marvel had never operated that way. Always a smaller company, it had managed just fine with Stan Lee in charge of everything. But now that success had come, the old way of doing things was giving way under the stress and Thomas was forced to delegate some of his editorial authority to many of his writers. It worked for a while, but in situations where writers were responsible for editing their own work, it created a conflict of interest that could only lead to trouble in the future.

Tomb of Dracula #25

“Night Of The Blood Stalker!”; Marv Wolfman (script), Gene Colan (pencils), Tom Palmer (inks)

At a time when it seemed each issue topped the previous one, Tomb of Dracula #25 (Oct. 1974) was a milestone, another triumph for the team of writer Marv Wolfman, artist Gene Colan, and inker Tom Palmer. A real tour de force, this issue features a standalone story that gets away from the title’s usual company of vampire hunters to focus on an entirely new character, one every bit as inventive and clever as the others… maybe moreso. The story opens the way you’d expect a murder mystery to open: with a beautiful woman coming into the office of a hard boiled detective; in this case private eye Hannibal Lightning failed to strike twice when Wolfman and Colan reteamed on DC’s Night Force, a supernaturally themed book where the creators’ were unable to duplicate the success they had on Tomb of Dracula.

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King. (“I’m a leg man, understand? And when I take in a pair of dark, slender stems, resting in the doorway of this hovel I laughingly call an office, I take my sweet time before checking out the rest of what’s staring at me. Not that the rest is bad: it’s a girl…”) King is hired by the woman to find the “man or beast” who killed her husband and as the story unfolds, not only are clues to the mystery followed by our hero, but others laid down by Wolfman and Colan lead readers to a surprise ending quite apart from the main story. Here, Colan, aided by Palmer, is given every opportunity to show off his strengths as an artist, particularly his ability to draw realistic looking people in normal surroundings from King’s office to Adrianne Walters’ newlywed apartment, from crowded bars to fog bound piers. Finally, the action climaxes on page 23 with a fantastically moody layout of King before a lonely warehouse, and then confronting a shadowed Dracula, accompanied by a cohort of vampiric slaves. The whole thing amounts to a stunning mood piece made possible by the near magical pairing of Colan and Palmer. Although Colan had had good inkers in his years at Marvel, none came close to Palmer’s near psychic feel for the artist’s style. Palmer walked in the door at Marvel back in 1968 and was given Dr. Strange #171 to pencil. The next issue, he was asked to ink Colan on the strip. With no experience as an inker, Palmer nevertheless was game and hit the ground running. Soon, he was working as an inker over all of the company’s top artists including Neal Adams and John Buscema. But of all the people he worked with, it was Colan with whom he seemed to have the best fit. “I enjoyed working on Gene’s pencils very much; his style was more illustrative than many other ‘comic book’ artists and it was more of a challenge,” Palmer has written. “It wasn’t a comic book style; it was something else. Gene penciled very softly, in a halftone-like method, so I had to decide if a given line was shadow, black, gray, or light and I inked using crosshatching, bold line, Zip-A-Tone…which I used a lot of with Gene to give form to his pencils… It wasn’t just a matter of inking…” Clearly, Palmer approached his work over Colan with much more thought than was perhaps required for other assignments. Not only didn’t he hesitate to bring his own artistic sensibilities to the work, but taking advantage of the full range of artistic tools at his disposal, he helped create a body of comics unmatched by anything else in the Twilight Years for their visual virtuosity.

1974

Marvel Con

A rising tide lifts all boats: In the tradition of science fiction fandom which had begun holding its own conventions at least since the 1940s or so, comics fandom held its first primitive get together in 1964. The rise in popularity of Marvel Comics gave impetus to a fan base that had been weak and scattered before then; even so, only about 100 people showed up for that first gathering in New York which featured visits by Steve Ditko and Flo Steinberg, Stan Lee’s gal friday. But it was the start of a force that couldn’t be stopped so that ten years later, the climate was such that Marvel itself could hold its very own convention in 1975. That time, Stan did show up in person and used the forum to announce some big news: the return of King Kirby to the Marvel fold!

Supernatural Thrillers #11

“The Asp's Big Score!”; Tony Isabella (script), Val Mayerik (co-plot, pencils & inks) “Contact!”; Tom Sutton (script, pencils & inks)

Marvel’s horror books continued to plod forward, but were definitely beginning to show signs of wear and tear. Sure, Marv Wolfman and Gene Colan continued to work on Dracula regular as clockwork, but the Frankenstein and Werewolf features had both lost the services of writers such as Gerry Conway and Mike Friedrich and artist Mike Ploog, and a succession of mediocre replacements would doom them both to cancellation before either reached the magic 100th issue mark. In addition, most of the horror anthology books had been converted to reprints of pre-hero material and new character concepts were definitely of the bottom of the barrel variety: It, the Living Colossus; the Scarecrow; the Golem, etc. But fortunately for those fans left who continued to enjoy the horror books, there was still one feature besides the dependable Dracula worth reading and a good example of why can be found here in Supernatural Thrillers #11 (Nov. 1974). Shambling along on its bi-monthly schedule, the book still featured the Living Mummy as its prime attraction and artist Val Mayerik was still on the job as penciler. Even better, the two-month release schedule allowed Mayerik the time to ink his own work maybe every other issue, and so here he is again doing just that for another superb job. Particularly impressive is his rendition of the Mummy’s “face” on the splash page and some close

ups of supporting characters that have more than a passing resemblance to the style of Neal Adams! But more interesting is a sequence of wordless illustrations made to accompany a lengthy text piece that seems to have been executed in a looser, but more sharply defined, style. Mayerik was definitely finding his own path now, but unfortunately time would always be his enemy and his own undiluted work would be seen less and less as inadequate inkers stepped in to keep his assignments on schedule. This issue was scripted competently if unexcitingly by newcomer Tony Isabella stepping in to relieve Steve Gerber and to offer a lengthy, McGregor style, text piece that extended over two pages. As with McGregor, Isabella uses the expanded word count offered by the text piece to explore the nuances of his characters’ personalities, a task that art alone might prove inadequate to convey, but would in any case require a dozen pages to tell instead of only the two used here. But Isabella wouldn’t get the chance to improve his delivery nor Mayerik to show off any more self-inked work, at least not on the Living Mummy strip, which was already on the critical list of endangered horror titles and cancelled with issue #15.

Astonishing Tales #27

“Dead Reckoning!”; Doug Moench (co-plot), Rich Buckler (co-plot, script & pencils), Pablo Marcos (inks)

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and its checkered career ended up being cut short in the competition with them. Hiring Larry Lieber (Stan middle of one its handful of unfinished plot threads. Lee’s brother, who had scripted many of the early The brainchild of artist Rich Buckler, it was aided, issues of Marvel’s most important characters) as an abetted, and massaged into foureditor and many writers and color existence by writer Doug artists from both Marvel and DC, Moench who nevertheless, Goodman immediately launched abandoned the strip early in its a full line up of color comics that run. Moench’s influence, however, in appearance at least, looked would continue to shape the much like Marvel’s. Many book as can be seen by his script of them proved short lived, for Astonishing Tales #27 (Dec. including a single issue of Demon 1974) with its complicated threeHunter, a character invented by tier narrative arrangement. And Buckler whose debut adventure although the book would have he wrote and drew. But Atlas/ many ups and downs, it did Seaboard soon foundered and manage to snag some really Buckler returned to Marvel. strong inkers along the way There, he had the opportunity to that helped enhance Buckler’s conclude Deathlok’s unfinished pencils. Later in the run, Klaus storyline and in Marvel Spotlight Janson (who inked the cover of #33 (April 1977), managed to the character’s debut appearance) unite his two creations (with would do stunning work on the Demon Hunter renamed as book, but at this point, the strip the Devil Slayer) in a single was lucky to snag Peruvian inker climactic chapter! Pablo Marcos, who did a runnerKa-Zar #6 up quality job over Buckler. “Waters of Darkness, River of Although Marcos had begun Doom!”; Gerry Conway (script), Demon Hunter #1: And only. work at Marvel as a penciler for John Buscema (layouts), Alfredo Like other creators in the the company’s black-and-white mid-1970s, Rich Buckler was Alcala (pencils & inks) magazines, he soon moved to the lured to Atlas by higher page As the Twilight Years drew to a color books where his artist’s rates. There, he created a new close (or climaxed, depending on background made him a better character which he would later reimagine as Devil Slayer after how it’s viewed), Marvel was inker than penciler. This issue’s returning to Marvel. putting out more titles than it had introductory splash for instance, since the mid-1950s. With fifty is impressive as an action opener plus books to deliver every other and on page 3, Marcos outdoes himself in lending not only form and substance to month, pressures of different kinds were bound to War Wolf, but succeeds in making the reader believe make themselves felt. Editorially, it was more work that he could be a real challenge for Deathlok! In a than one man could handle and so, Editor-in-Chief lot of ways, the strip was an intriguing and exciting Roy Thomas was forced to farm out some of his one, but its bi-monthly status and troubled history responsibilities to individual writers, giving rise to almost guaranteed its being cancelled and so it was situations that would later prove unhealthy. The with issue #36. Fun Fact: With its plot left dangling, pressure to produce more material, while initially the feature and its creator took a strange path before beneficial for young, incoming artists, later proved coming to a delayed, if somewhat satisfying conclusion. a two-edged sword when those same artists could It began with the formation of what was to be no longer keep up with the deadlines and began to known as Atlas/Seaboard Comics in 1974, almost leave the company. As a result other, veteran artists simultaneous with the introduction of Deathlok in were called upon to take up the slack until new Astonishing #25. Seaboard was founded by former talent could be recruited; in particular, Gene Colan Marvel owner and publisher Martin Goodman after he and John Buscema were stretched dangerously thin sold the company to Cadence Industries. But angered in these years. And where artists couldn’t be found that a gentlemen’s agreement between himself and to do the work, unsuspecting readers buying their Cadence to keep his son on the company’s payroll favorite books were often disappointed to discover wasn’t honored, he decided to go into direct a reprint or fill-in instead of a story they’d waited 192

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1974 the last month for. Books began showing up late at the newsstands, and sometimes wouldn’t show up at all, skipping a month. At last, to find the manpower it needed, the company began looking in unaccustomed places for new artists to recruit and found them in the far-off Philippines. In love with comics since World War II when they were introduced to the islands by American GIs, the Philippines had produced a crop of home-grown comics artists. They were good too, especially as inkers, but more importantly to the comics companies who hired them, they worked cheap. Filipino artists hired by Marvel included Alex Nino, Tony DeZuniga, and Alfredo Alcala, all pencilers in their own right, but overall there was a stiffness to their style that just didn’t fit with the expectations of the American market. As a result, much of the output of the Filipinos as pencilers is uninteresting (both Marvel [mostly for its black-and-white magazine line] and DC seemed to prefer them on their horror books), but where they truly shined was as inkers. Unafraid of imposing their own styles over that of the American pencilers whom they inked, they were able to turn mediocre artists into passable ones. But the area where they truly shined was in inking great artists who were too rushed to do a complete job. Sonny Trinidad was just stunning over Craig Russell and Marcos did wonders for Rich Buckler but the most well known Filipino/ American team-up was that of Alfredo Alcala and John Buscema. Although the two would go on to

Not exactly from the Philippines, inker Pablo Marcos (right) actually hailed from Peru while Ernie Chua or Chan, was a naturalized American citizen. Be that as it may, both performed valuable services during the twilight years enhancing the pencils of such artists as John Buscema and John Byrne.

produce countless epic length stories for the black-and-white magazine Savage Sword of Conan, their partnership actually began here, with Ka-Zar #6 (Nov. 1974) in a neat little, single-issue tale by Gerry Conway that retold the story of Herman Melville’s Moby Dick in the context of the dinosaur haunted Savage Land. Although no doubt penciled by Buscema as one of those rushed fill-in jobs he was often called upon to make in these months, it was sure hard to tell by the look of its incredible splash page! Ka-Zar’s jungle never seemed so thick, hot, and steamy as it did here under Alcala’s pen (not even when Barry Smith used to draw it!). And did anyone else have the knack Alcala had for drawing the sun-dappled shade of unseen trees across the face or shoulders of his characters? Little things like that were what made Alcala’s work something that encouraged the hearts of fans to beat faster when they opened a book and read his name in the credits. Unfortunately, this issue would only be the first of two collaborations between Buscema and Alcala on Ka-Zar, both of which became neglected jewels of the Twilight era and wonderful examples of the great material appearing in books that were far from the rarified heights of the more popular but dull flagship titles.

Amazing Adventures #27

“The Death Breeders”; Don McGregor (script), Craig Russell (pencils), Jack Abel (inks)

By Amazing Adventures #27 (Nov. 1974), the “War of the Worlds” strip looked to be in definite trouble. Starting off with high hopes by conceptualizer, Roy Thomas and artist Neal Adams, the strip almost immediately fell onto hard times when both men were unable to even finish the debut issue. From there, a succession of writers and artists managed to keep the feature alive until a regular team could be put together. First to arrive was writer Don McGregor, who immediately brought to it the elaborate story-telling style he’d been using for the Black Panther strip in Jungle Action. Over the course of a few issues, McGregor turned the science fiction strip upside down, transforming it from an adventure fantasy into an allegorical trip filled with symbolic characters and tortured angst. Suddenly, the strip seemed to be on the verge of fulfilling its early promise of being a sweeping, generational saga of Homeric proportions as larger than life heroes (and villains) stalked across a war-torn landscape that bore little resemblance to any Earth readers were likely to know. In a whirlwind of colorful and even poetic description (filtered through the warped, ignorant perceptions of the Part III: 1974-1976

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stories protagonists), the familiar world of 20th Century America became a psychedelic patchwork, a geography of the bizarre as Killraven and his band of freemen wandered from such locales as Battle Creek in Michigan to the Okefenokee Swamp in Florida. Unfortunately, the style of artist Herb Trimpe, who had been the book’s most frequent penciler since Adams’ departure, proved woefully inadequate in capturing the elusive quality of McGregor’s lurid fever dreams. Fill-in issues by up and coming Rich Buckler and veteran Gene Colan were much better, but it wasn’t until Craig Russell joined him this issue that McGregor found his creative soul-mate. But after turning in this first, incredible job, people in the Marvel offices (not to mention readers!) had to have wondered if this was the same Russell who just finished up on the cancelled “Ant-Man” strip over in Marvel Feature! On the other hand, the improvement in Russell’s style couldn’t have come as too much of a surprise to anyone who’d seen his work on the “Morbius” strip in Adventure Into Fear. It was only a short step from the full-page layouts he experimented with there to placing his own unique stamp on “War of the Worlds” which he produced with a design sense that set his work apart from all the other artists who’d merely given the strip their professional attentions. Bringing to it his own inventive sense of panel layout, Russell often liked to drop borders completely, forcing readers to focus on individual characters while at other times, he preferred to pull the readers back, away from the intimate, allowing them views of breathtaking and otherworldly vistas of Martian architecture as it dominated the blasted landscape of human civilization. In this issue, Russell sets the scene in the former Chicago, where the breeding pens of Death-birth hold human beings Although Jack Abel was a veteran artist and had done adequate work over Gene Colan’s pencils on Iron Man during the grandiose years (as Gary Michaels), his work seemed to slack off in the twilight years with less than satisfying finishes on Colan’s Dracula and Craig Russell’s War of the Worlds.

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raised and harvested as food for their Martian masters. Here, beneath the skyscraping vista of a gleaming Martian tower, Russell perfectly conveys the degradation to which the human race has sunk. In a chilling scene that can’t help but arouse genuine feelings of anger and frustration, the artist allows the reader to empathize with Killraven as he experiences through clairvoyancy, the humiliation of one of the captives of Death-birth as he’s forced to lick the muddy boot of his caretaker. The result can’t help but leave the reader angry and frustrated and eager to have Killraven destroy the horror of Death-birth. But as fabulous as this issue was, the full impact of Russell’s art was still being held back by the unsophisticated inks of Jack Abel, and so, it wouldn’t be until the second part of the story that readers would get to see for the first time pure, unadulterated Russell.

Amazing Adventures #28

“The Death Merchant!”; Don McGregor (script), Craig Russell (pencils & inks)

While McGregor had at least half a dozen issues on the “War of the Worlds” feature before Russell joined him, it sure didn’t take long for the artist to get up to speed! Shellshocked fans (and there couldn’t be that many of them as editorial blurbs on the letters pages seemed constantly filled with dire notices of the strip’s ailing health) who had the good fortune to be on hand for the team’s first collaboration in the previous issue were given no chance to recover with Amazing Adventures #28 (Jan. 1975)! From its simple, but knockout splash page (a symbolic shot of Killraven standing in a kind of doorway into space with the stars literally spilling out of it!) to its final message of hope in the reaffirmation of the power of love to sustain itself even in the most hostile of environments (“That’s kinda nice, ain’t it Mr. Killraven?” observes Old Skull as he watches the newly freed Adam and Eve 3,031 embrace. “Been years since I seen anyone kiss. Why you think that is, Mr. Killraven?”), this issue is just about perfect in every way (except for being two pages short). But tucked away in one of the least noticed corners of the Marvel Universe and graced with the highest order of prose and art, the feature was doomed to remain a feeble cousin to even such secondary titles as Werewolf by Night or Man-Thing. Well, what was most readers’ loss was definitely the gain of a hard core of faithful fans that were dedicated to following the adventures of one of the most eclectic bands of freedom fighters ever to wander across a comic book page! Because having become the most wanted man on the planet since his emergence as a

1975

Amazing Adventures #29

“The Hell Destroyers”; Don McGregor (script), Craig Russell (pencils & inks)

The Death-birth saga wound up in Amazing Adventures #29 (March 1975) but with decidedly mixed results. Sure, Killraven and his freedom fighters put the kibosh on the Martian abortuary, freed all of the

resistance leader in #18, Killraven has been joined by Carmilla Frost, the acerbic, ex-siren with the uncomfortable habit of pricking Killraven’s conscience; M’Shulla, Killraven’s childhood friend from the Martian gladiatorial arenas; Old Skull, a casualty of the Martian invasion with the attitude and innocence of a child; Hawk, thirsting for revenge on the Martians and impatient with any philosophizing about the larger cause of freeing Earth; and Grok, the so-called clonal man whose secret only Carmilla knows. On their travels, ostensibly in search of Killraven’s long lost brother, they encounter a succession of ingenious characters, each imbued by McGregor with their own slate of conflicting biases, phobias and plain old quirks: Mint Julip, Volcana, the 24-Hour Man, and even enemies such as Scar, Atalon, and the Sacrificer. And though their adventures were many, the best was the epic Death-birth storyline in which Killraven and his band invade a hi-tech complex that serves both as horrific abortuary and dining hall where the Martians feast on the tender flesh of unborn babies torn prematurely from their mothers’ wombs. (“He is inside Death-birth. Staccato visual assaults broaden into a total perspective. It is a clinical slaughterhouse and Atalon is there, a denizen from a nightmare, conducting the tour of a sterile hell.”) One thing was for darn sure, it was a long way from Stan Lee’s original fight with the Comics Code over showing the evils of drug addiction in a Spider-Man comic!

Amazing Adventures #29, page 6: Artist Craig Russell does it all: pencils, inks, and colors (while long suffering Dave Hunt did all the lettering!) in this tour de force issue. Writer Don McGregor supplies the words cutting up multi-levels of story telling as fine as a Martian brain slicer!

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Authors Edgar Rice Burroughs (left) and Ray Bradbury (right) spent their careers exploring Martian landscapes of their own devising but Don McGregor still managed a completely different take on the theme that was at once lyrical and grotesque.

human pairs that had been imprisoned there for breeding purposes (the Adam and Eve encountered in this story had only been number 3,031 after all!) and even managed to kill off some of the aliens themselves but in the process, Atalon escapes vowing revenge and Volcana suffers bitter disappoint when she learns that her sister (who turned out to be one of the thousands of Eves at Death-birth) has no memory of her. An interesting development this issue is McGregor’s use of text blocks (larger than the traditional narrative blocks that usually headed up comics’ panels) to add more detail to his story. With someone on the job as obviously in love with the written word as McGregor was, their appearance here shouldn’t come as that much of a surprise, but as the practice caught on, other writers added to the depth of their work by expanding the use of the text block to explore the emotional/ psychological condition of their characters, subjects almost impossible to express purely in visual terms. It added a whole new dimension to comics storytelling that, unfortunately, flowered only briefly before disappearing with the close of the Twilight era. On the artistic side, Russell once again both pencils and inks the story (and colored it too, which seemed a prerequisite for any comic book artist in this period who was really serious about his work!); the artist was clearly evolving a distinctive style that seemed in places part Barry Smith and part Neal Adams. But that was okay, an artist had to start somewhere 196

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and most of the great comic book artists (particularly those who came onto the scene in the Twilight Years) did it by emulating their favorite professionals. Russell’s increasing sophistication, attention to detail and desire to control as much of the presentation of his art as possible had consequences however. Like many of his peers (from Smith on down to Brunner and Gulacy), such dedication couldn’t be maintained on a monthly or even a bi-monthly schedule (as Amazing Adventures was); inevitably, fill-ins, reprints, and hasty, rushed work finished by committee were the result. Even with 2 to 5 pages given over each issue to reprint material, Russell couldn’t make the deadlines for “War of the Worlds.” After this issue’s bravura performance, #30 was a reprint of an earlier, Trimpe-drawn issue (albeit with the saving grace of new text material by McGregor) and in future issues a succession of inkers (some more suitable than others) would help Russell get the work in on time. It was a problem that eventually drove all of the great talents of the Twilight Years from mainstream comics and into an emerging independent market.

Strange Tales #178

“Who Is Adam Warlock?”; Jim Starlin (script, pencils & inks)

After winding up the cosmic epic he’d begun on the Captain Marvel book and then stumbling aimlessly for a couple issues more, Starlin abandoned the feature and dropped from sight. But not for long. He soon reappeared on a new strip, this time one even more out of the way than Captain Marvel. And a good thing too, because what he had planned for Adam Warlock, Stan Lee and Roy Thomas wouldn’t want to happen to a flagship character! Not that Warlock was completely unknown to readers; he’d begun life as a throwaway character called Him in FF #67 and then showed up briefly in Mighty Thor #165-166 before vanishing from sight again. He was revived in his own book and renamed Warlock early in the Twilight Years when Thomas clothed him in a messianic mantle and gave the strip an obvious religious sub-text. Portraying Warlock as an alien Christ figure however had no effect on sales and the book was soon cancelled, but it did make a nice fit with Starlin’s growing pseudo-religious interests. (“Warlock was me working out my parochial school upbringing. This was a lot of working out my anger at those years”) Starlin took that anger, added it to everything he’d learned on the Captain Marvel strip, and created a far more

1975

integrated (and complicated!) epic that he began in Strange Tales #178 (Feb. 1975). Warlock was Captain Marvel on an even grander scale, escaping from the confines of the solar system, Starlin populated his new story with interesting supporting characters and illustrated it all with art more crisp than he’d ever

Strange Tales #178, page 11: Writer, penciler, inker, and colorist Jim Starlin makes a splash in this eye catching full-pager that makes it clear to readers that this wasn’t going to be their older brothers’ warlock!

done before (for this opening chapter at least, Starlin did it all: script, pencils, inks, and even colors). He took Warlock and redefined him by stages from self-awareness to cosmic purpose and sent him on a quest for his future self. Eventually he learns that the Magus is a dark version of himself, created when he allowed himself to be corrupted by his own power in the symbolic form of a “soul gem” that he wears on his forehead. In addition to his own personal villainy, the Magus has established a religion, a kind of anti-Catholic Church that has converted the populations of countless worlds at the business end of a ray gun. Quasi-science, Einsteinian physics, pseudoreligion, cosmic battle, psychological journeys through the mind, even symbolic clowns (one of whom looks like Roy Thomas getting a pie in his face!) all combine into one super epic that left readers gasping for more. Unfortunately however, it was all Starlin seemed to have in him. Admitting that the prime inspiration for the Warlock saga came from his experience attending parochial school, it seemed that once that particular mine had been spent, there was nothing left. Inspiration abandoned him, and Starlin spent the rest of his career re-visiting the same themes over and over again with increasingly weaker effect. Apparently he’d shot his wad, but the two epics he created in this era are enough to include him as one of the key talents of the Twilight Years. Part III: 1974-1976

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artists before him, Buscema’s skills began to atrophy with age: the same layouts, the same poses and figure work began to appear with monotonous Over the years since coming back to Marvel, regularity. But like Kirby, Buscema’s style was something had happened to John Buscema. When strong enough that with a good inker, one who first assigned work on the old SHIELD strip in was also an artist, his work could still shine. Just as Strange Tales, his style was solid but uninspired; then, it does here in Ka-Zar #8 (March 1975) as Alfredo with his first regular assignment on the Sub-Mariner Alcala once again applies his own formidable talents to Buscema’s rushed, but solid framework. book, it opened up with Perhaps the most accomlarger panels and more plished of the Filipino unrestrained figure work. artists, Alcala was certainly Finally, on the Avengers, the most successful in his he became one of the most own country and although exciting and dynamic his work did suffer from the artists in comics, every same stiffness as his fellows, page he drew was a new his lush, ultra-detailed delight filled with twisting, style was perfectly suited contorting heroes who to that of Buscema’s. In clearly wore their overevidence, can there be any wrought emotions not on doubt at all, that Buscema their sleeves, but in their never looked better than expressive hands and he does here in the faces. But then suddenly, book’s first three pages of Although Alfredo Alcala’s inks could the creative steam seemed “Down into…the Volcano?” sometimes be overwhelming, they often to go out of him. With the transformed an artist’s otherwise workaday Forsaking the use of reduction in page count of penciling job into a thing of beauty. extensive blacks (as other, the Silver Surfer book, so less confident inkers may too came a reduction in the have done), Alcala creates parameters of panel size in the illusion of three-dimensionality by using his Buscema’s work. When he returned to the pen to place striations on inanimate objects such Avengers, layouts had shrunken to the predictable five- and six-panel grid. But although reduced in as rocks and trees while sculpting human figures size, the figure work within those restricted borders (showing Buscema’s typical emotional strains) could be as dynamic as ever and in addition, in a fine line detail reminiscent of Vince Colletta. Buscema still hadn’t lost his knack for effortless A close up portrait of Ka-Zar, his head shaded panel to panel continuity. As a matter of fact, it by a low hanging branch, is pensive and was probably that and the speed with which he thoughtful with the shadow of leaves emphasizing was able to grind out the work that won him the his obvious distaste at seeing Zabu captured. job of replacing Jack Kirby on both the FF and Thor But this sequence’s most impressive panel is a strips. Being the primary artist on those two flag- simple throwaway shot of Ka-Zar swinging ship titles was instrumental in making Tarzan-like through the upper terraces of the Buscema’s style Marvel’s official style (he even jungle. Whatever Buscema’s original drawing conducted seminars at the Marvel offices showing must’ve looked like is anyone’s guess, but new artists how to emulate him), but that success Alcala’s pen turns this panel into pure magic! Did came at the cost of his being unable to concen- any comic book jungle ever look so gorgeous? trate his powers on any single strip. And so, when Trees festooned with vines and drooping, moss Buscema’s work appeared in various books (his laden branches convey in no uncertain terms, speed allowed him to do fill-in jobs on a number of the steamy heat pervading the forest and in the strips in addition to his regular assignments), they background, a tall mountain, promising cooler looked invariably rushed and incomplete and if he breezes rises above distant treetops. It was a wasn’t served by a strong inker unafraid of finishing bravura performance never to be equaled again in the art, the final job was often an extreme the two men’s many subsequent jobs together. disappointment to readers who’d come to expect so And if all that wasn’t enough, both were served much more from the artist. In addition, like other by another solid story from Gerry Conway, this

Ka-Zar #8

“Down into the Volcano!”; Gerry Conway (script), John Buscema (layouts), Alfredo Alcala (pencils & inks)

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1975 time retelling the Biblical tale of Sodom and Gomorah as Ka-Zar frees Zabu from a madman bent on sacrificing the sabretoothed cat by throwing it into a seething pool of molten lava. Ka-Zar, of course, rescues his pet, but not before befriending a local family (“With each new sin, the people became weaker, sinking deeper and deeper into depravity. Now, the priest has no need to command evil, the people of Gondora seek out temptation with delight. They thrive on death…” says Tul just before a group of thugs break into his home with the obvious intention of raping his wife and daughters). In the end, the city of Gondora is destroyed when the volcano erupts, but not before Tul’s faithless wife is caught outside and turned to ashes. Like Lot’s wife, she ignored warnings not to linger and suffered the dire consequences.

Unknown Worlds of Science Fiction #2

“Prologue”; Tony Isabella (script), Frank Brunner (pencils), Klaus Janson (inks) “War Toy”; Tony Isabella (script), George Pérez (pencils), Rico Rival (inks) “Adam... And No Eve”; Denny O'Neil (script), Frank Robbins (pencils), Jim Mooney (inks) “The Hunter And The Hunted”; Michael William Kaluta (script, pencils & inks) “Specimen”; Bruce Jones (script, pencils & inks) “The Day Of The Triffids [Part 2]”; Gerry Conway (script), Rico Rival (pencils & inks)

The Twilight Years had just about run their course when the last of a group of fans-turned-pros broke in at Marvel. All four had debuted professionally in the short-lived but historically important Web of Horror black-and-white magazine, with Bernie Wrightson and Mike Kaluta appearing in the first two issues and Frank Brunner joining artist/writer Bruce Jones in the third and last. At the time, Jones had been active in fan circles when he heard of the start-up horror magazine and managed to get his first professional work accepted there. In many ways, Jones was a more accomplished craftsman at the time of his debut than the others. Like Wrightson, Kaluta, and Brunner, he’d been influenced by EC Comics, but in Jones’ case, it was the science fiction art of Wally Wood, Al Williamson, and Angelo Torres that drew his attention rather than the horror work of Graham Ingels. As such, his early art was realistic, if overly rendered, but at times the completed work had the feel of a fully rendered painting. Human figures moved naturally within traditional panel layouts with facial features that registered a full range of emotions even as the artist displayed a

Already having proven his facility with story and art on Marvel’s Unknown Worlds of SF and on DC’s various mystery titles, Bruce Jones really cut loose in the 1980s when he produced and edited the unrated anthologies Twisted Tales and Alien Worlds for independent publisher Pacific Comics.

special ability to draw the female figure. That final skill was an element of his work that Jones seemed to zero in on as self-written stories frequently featured female leads often involved in erotic situations. A personal interest that the artist would focus on when as writer and editor, he packaged such anthology titles as Twisted Tales and Alien Worlds for Pacific Comics in the 1980s. After Web of Horror, Jones began selling stories to Warren Publishing’s line of black-and-white magazines teaming with many different artists and producing a number of classic horror tales in the process, including the justly infamous “Jennifer.” Meanwhile, Marvel’s own line of black-and-white magazines were having their second wind with editor Roy Thomas helming a new science fiction anthology. With hundreds of pages of art needed to fill its books month after month, Marvel continued to rely on Filipino artists whose main attraction was that they worked fast and cheap. Thus, Unknown Worlds of Science Fiction #2 (Mar. 1975) was no different, with the second part of an adaptation of John Wyndham’s Day of the Triffids by Rico Rival and “War Toy” that Rival also inked taking up most of the pages. In between was a throwaway piece by Mike Kaluta (who also painted the striking cover image) and an adaptation of Alfred Bester’s “Adam…and No Eve” by Frank Robbins. Overall, a pretty lackluster issue except for the little Jones jewel buried in the second half of the book. Jones tells the tale of submitting his Part III: 1974-1976

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With the demise of the company’s aborted oversized comics of the early 1970s (which lasted barely a month on most titles), Marvel had lapsed back into a more traditional comics format (albeit with fewer pages and higher price than before going to double-size). But not for long. A few years later, it launched what was called the “Giant-Size” line; a separate line of quarterly books that offered three times the page count than ordinary books and that focused

work at Marvel only to receive blank stares from editors who couldn’t appreciate anything that didn’t fit the Kirby mold of super-hero action. But somehow, his work must have come to the attention of Thomas who saw its worth and not only agreed to reprint “Specimen” (which had appeared earlier in a fanzine called Abyss), but also commissioned Jones to both write and draw new stories for each subsequent issue of Unknown Worlds. Written, penciled, and inked by Jones, “Specimen” was easily the standout story in Unknown Worlds #2. It was a typical EC style story with a twist ending; in this case, the beautiful female prisoner the reader is led to believe is actually a dangerous alien…isn’t. Although an early example of Jones work, the story bears little of the awkward hallmarks of the beginning comics artist. In very short order, Jones would perfect his style to the point where he’d join the short list of great fanturned-pro artists that Marvel was awash with in the Twilight Years. It would only be too bad that after the cancellation of Unknown Worlds with its sixth issue, the era drew to a close and Jones would more or less give up on art to concentrate on writing.

Giant Size Man-Thing #4

“The Kid's Night Out!”; Steve Gerber (script), Ed Hannigan & Ron Wilson (pencils), Frank Springer (inks) “Frog Death!”; Steve Gerber (script), Frank Brunner (pencils & inks) “I Entered the...Doorway to Doom!”; Steve Ditko (pencils & inks) “The Man With No Past”; Joe Maneely (pencils & inks) 200

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Giant-Size Man-Thing #4, page 45: Writer Steve Gerber offered up a plethora of weirdness this issue with a touching tale of a misfit kid and the first solo flight for a wise cracking duck! Here, Howard arrives on Earth in somewhat unorthodox fashion.

1975 mainly on the better selling titles. A testament issue’s second feature “Frog Death,” the first solo perhaps to the strong sales of the monthly title, story of one of Marvel’s last completely original one of those was Giant-Size Man-Thing #4 (May offerings, one that would prove strong enough 1975), which turned out to be a real bargain for for Howard the Duck to go on to his own long readers even at the hefty price of .50! Featuring running comics series as well as a short-lived career two original stories (and two classic reprints from in one of Marvel’s black-and-white magazines the pre-hero days), the book was led off with a (the less said, the better about his later film debut). nice cover by Frank Brunner and an extra-long But when Gerber had first dreamed up Howard lead story by Steve Gerber. Coming up with stories (in a story that began in Adventure into Fear #19 centering around a muck monster who couldn’t and continued into Man-Thing #1), the wise cracking speak, who couldn’t even think, had to be one of mallard was only one of a number of crazy, offthe toughest scripting assignments for any writer, the-wall characters that had come to populate the but in taking over the strip, Gerber (like Marv Man-Thing strip. But reader reaction to him was Wolfman over in the Dracula book) came up with such that he was immediately rushed into the a formula that seemed to work: the stories for the back-up position here in the swamp monster’s most part weren’t about the Man-Thing, but the giant-size book. Even better news for fans of the people living in and around the Florida swamp duck, was that Frank Brunner, late of the cosmic he inhabited. Thus Gerber filled the book with adventuring Dr. Strange, and one of the most quirky, messed up characters whose problems popular artists at Marvel, would draw the strip. eventually led them to cross paths with the With a creative team like Gerber and Brunner, the empathic muck monster. In the case of this issue’s sky had to be the limit which was shown right off story “The Kid’s Night Out,” Gerber spends nearly the bat with the first example of what would the entire story exploring the dismal history of prove to be Howard’s penchant for falling (in Edmond Winsted, an overweight teenaged outcast this case, literally!) into the most bizarre of misunderstood and ridiculed by almost every- circumstances. Back on Earth again after being one he knew, including his lost in limbo, Howard own family, to the point of encounters a would-be dropping dead at the hands super-villain who can’t of a sadistic gym coach. It decide what to do with was the nightmare scenario his power. Drinking his of almost every kid who special potion, he turns never managed to fit in at himself into Garko the school and Gerber handled Man-Frog and sets out to it both with a knowing kill people in order to sensitivity and vicious prove his dominance overexaggeration. Framed by over the human race. the story of how Edmond’s Howard tries to defend tormentors react to his himself (ostensibly with a death and their individual stick and trashcan cover fates at the hands of the but mostly with attitude) Man-Thing (who’s drawn but before he can, Garko from the swamp by their inexplicably regresses Lost in translation: Despite being scripted by mallard creator Steve Gerber, the film unusually strong emotions), into a real frog (“Getting adaptation of Howard the Duck (Universal the heart of the story is an harder to think! Gotta find 1986) was an unmitigated disaster. extensive text piece, actually a pond!”) and gets run a short story in itself, over by a departing police made up of entries from car. He didn’t know it yet, Edmond’s diary. It was the kind of story that but in the cynical, acerbic, cigar chomping demanded an artist who was good at drawing Howard the Duck, Gerber had found the perfect ordinary people and though Ed Hannigan, Ron vehicle for the liberal-based, social satire (that Wilson, and Frank Springer do a passable job on poked fun at everything from politics to the the first three pages showing Man-Thing in his conventions of super-heroes) that would become native swamp, they fail miserably to support the his stock in trade long after the Twilight Years rest of the story. It was a different case in this passed into history. Part III: 1974-1976

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Incredible Hulk #189

“None Are So Blind...!”; Len Wein (script), Herb Trimpe (pencils), Joe Staton (inks)

Despite EC Comics’ high standards of storytelling in the 1950s, the enduring popularity of DC’s Superman and Batman characters, or the sales success of Fawcett’s Marvel family of titles, the history of comics has shown that Marvel Comics in the 1960s and 70s has been the most noteworthy of all not only because of its solid storytelling, first rate art, invention of whole new iconic characters, and its meteoric rise in the world of money making, but its connectedness to the times in which it flourished. That said, not everything the company touched turned to gold. In the early Formative Years, quality could be controlled much more consistently over the company’s limited number of titles with the help of such top artists as Jack Kirby, Steve Ditko, and Don Heck. But after the company was freed from the distribution straightjacket imposed on it following publisher Martin Goodman’s disastrous marketing decisions of the 1950s, Marvel expanded its line of books and found that there was now more work than its existing artists could handle. And so, one by one, new artists began to join the company, many of them excellent: Gene Colan, John Buscema, John Romita, and Wally Wood.

Despite its lackluster production through the twilight years, there must have been something about the Incredible Hulk feature that struck a chord with readers because it easily became the basis for Marvel's most successful adaptation from comics to screen. Seen here are the stars of the 1977 CBS Hulk television series, Bill Bixby (left) and Lou Ferrigno (right).

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Others, however, such as Bill Everett, Marie Severin, Larry Lieber, Werner Roth, Gil Kane, and Herb Trimpe were less so. These latter artists, although not of the caliber of the others, were nevertheless competent professionals who would serve the company well in turning in clearly crafted, solid work while never inspiring the same level of excitement for readers as their more accomplished peers. Trimpe was one of the artists who arrived at Marvel during the Grandiose Years, filling in on the Hulk strip soon after Tales to Astonish came to an end and its two features split off into their own titles. Although lacking in flash or finesse or eye catching creativity, Trimpe’s style nevertheless offered a service that filled an important niche in Marvel’s line-up for years, even decades, as he quietly toiled away on practically the same strip for as long as anyone could remember. Such consistency and reliability went a long way to earn the appreciation of editors whose main concern was making that monthly deadline. Trimpe began working at Marvel in 1966 as a freelancer before moving on staff the next year. Eventually, he began to ink over Marie Severin’s pencils on the Hulk strip, but took over the full pencils himself with Incredible Hulk #106. Trimpe’s style was blocky, sometimes disproportionate. It was also dull but serviceable, perfect for the direction the Hulk’s personality was slowly trending toward, that of a simple minded child. By Incredible Hulk #189 (July 1975), ole Greenskin was reduced from dialogue such as “Why shouldn’t I hate you? Why shouldn’t I hate all mankind? Look what men have done to me! But they will hound me no longer! Now the Hulk will fight back…on my own terms!” as uttered in Incredible Hulk # 2 to such tedious ruminations as “Why is there so much Hulk does not understand? All Hulk wants is a place where Hulk can find peace…a place Hulk can call…home!” It was a far cry from the suspicious, angry, more intelligent Hulk of the Kirby/Ditko Years of Consolidation, an earlier depiction that made the Hulk a dangerous and thus much scarier creature than that of the Trimpe years, who bore a closer resemblance to DC’s characterization of Superman as Superbaby than the uncontrollable, angst-driven monster of the early stories in Tales to Astonish. In the end, Trimpe would top all artists associated with the Hulk strip by remaining on the book with few exceptions from issue #106 to #193, a lengthy service similar to those of other dependable if not very exciting artists such as George Tuska on Iron Man and Ross Andru on Spider-Man. While not striking gold every time out, Marvel could count on these mainstays to keep plugging away year after year on their assigned books while more temperamental, and creative,

1975

spirits such as Paul Gulacy, Barry Smith, and Craig Russell would give the company much of its vitality in the Twilight Years even as they came and went, hopping from one feature to another. Both types of artists represented the tug of war that would eventually tear Marvel apart by the late 1970s: one group, dull but steadfast, toiling away at the increasingly irrelevant flagship titles and the other, creative, restless, mercurial, exciting, but unable to remain with a single strip for more than a few issues, sometimes not for even a single issue!

X-Men #94, page 1: Introducing the "new" X-Men as well as the new X creative team of Chris Claremont and Dave Cockrum. The writer and artist would be responsible for making the new team relevant for the 1980s and beyond but it would take a new artist with considerably more flash to turn it into a true phenomenon.

X-Men #94

“The Doomsmith Scenario!”; Len Wein (plot), Chris Claremont (script), Dave Cockrum (pencils), Bob McLeod [misspelled McCleod] (inks)

The X-Men book, right from the start, had always had a troubled history. Launched at the same time as the Avengers way back in the early years, it limped along at a bi-monthly release schedule for twice as long as that other team book, even with the same creative combo of writer Stan Lee and artist Jack Kirby. And where the Avengers enjoyed the services of such regular artists as Don Heck and John Buscema at the top of their forms, the X-Men went from the somewhat less than exciting Werner Roth to Heck, to George Tuska to a neophyte Barry Smith, to an uninspired Jim Steranko, and finally to a visually radical Neal Adams. While that was going on, it was one of the first of Marvel’s regular super-hero books that Lee abandoned to up and coming scripter Roy Thomas. Through all those changes, the feature limped along, never quite catching on with readers the way Marvel’s other strips did. At last, in 1970, it suffered the indignity of going into reprints before finally being cancelled outright a year or so later. As a title, the X-Men languished in limbo while its members made guest appearances here and there in other titles, but fans never gave up hope that the characters would return some day in a book of their own. Their ambitions were shared by Thomas who, in the meantime, Part III: 1974-1976

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had been promoted to Editor-in-Chief. Always interested in reviving the X-Men concept at some point, by the mid-70s Thomas decided that the time was right. Recalling the sluggish nature of its first incarnation however, he planned to update the team making it more exciting to Twilight era readers. Giving the new X-Men an international flavor, while retaining a connection with the old series, Thomas brought in writer Len Wein and artist Dave Cockrum to develop the new title and more or less washed his hands of the affair. By that time, Wein had replaced Thomas as Editor-inChief and, brainstorming with Cockrum, ended up giving birth to “the all new, all different” X-Men with Cyclops and Professor X as familiar faces while newcomers Storm, Colossus, and Nightcrawler would represent Africa, Russia, and Germany, respectively. Representing Canada was Wolverine who would prove to be the breakout character of the coming decade. Debuting in the giant-size format that Marvel had been toying with in the mid-70s, sales of Giant-Size X-Men #1 were encouraging. A second giant-size issue was planned, but cancelled in favor of the company’s standard format and X-Men #94 (Aug. 1975) was born, continuing the numbering from the original series. For this encore issue, Wein bowed out from the scripting chores and his assistant, writer Chris Claremont was brought in to work over Wein’s plot involving the new X-team versus Count Nefaria and the Ani-Men, a group of ex-Daredevil villains. Remaining on the art, was DC alumnus Dave Cockrum who had been testing the waters at Marvel before latching onto the X-Men book. Cockrum was best known for his work on DC’s Legion of Super-Heroes and so was considered experienced in handling books with lots of costumed characters cavorting about. Cockrum’s unassuming art style nevertheless gave a veneer of excitement to the X-series and was in no small part the reason for the book’s eventual success. Meanwhile, Claremont was considered one of the industry’s most upto-date scripters who could handle in-depth characterization (specializing in strong female personalities) and group dynamics. Somehow, the international flavor given the book by Thomas and Wein combined with the Claremont/ Cockrum team managed to build an audience keeping the book alive until it reached coveted monthly status. Soon after, a new artist would replace Cockrum kicking the series into high gear and making it the runaway hit of the next decade and beyond. 204

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Superboy #199: Before his arrival on Marvel’s revived X-Men book, Dave Cockrum’s main claim to fame was his work on DC’s Legion of Super-heroes where he designed some of the worst examples of 70s super-hero couture.

Defenders #33

“Webbed Hands, Warm Heart!”; Steve Gerber (script), Sal Buscema (layouts), Jim Mooney (pencils), Jim Mooney (inks)

But the less editorially regulated horror/weird titles weren’t the only place that Gerber exercised his quirky wit. He was similarly inventive on books that seemed on the surface as bland as a loaf of Wonder Bread, but that if looked at in the right way, had the potential to be as absurd as, say, a typical Howard the Duck adventure. Such was the case with the Defenders, a team of super-heroes that was truly the blandest of the bland. Launched with enthusiasm by Roy Thomas (who scripted the first couple of issues) in Marvel Feature #1 (with a cover by no less a star than Neal Adams), the Defenders were soon rewarded

1975 more bizarre of which Defenders #33 (Oct. 1975) is a chapter. Nighthawk it seems, has been captured by the Headmen (a group of bad guys consisting of Jerry Morgan, who’s flesh has lost all of its elasticity; Arthur Nagan, a brilliant scientist who had the body of a gorilla from the neck down; Chondu, the mystic; and Ruby, a woman with a featureless red ball for a head that she could alter into any shape she wanted), his

with their own book (it was a time when super-hero teams were deemed “hot” and also saw the near simultaneous releases of the Champions as well as a revived X-Men book). Made up of the unwieldy grouping of Dr. Strange, the Hulk, and the Sub-Mariner, the team was an obvious effort to gather whatever leftover heroes in Marvel’s stable who’d always claimed some popularity, but not enough to demand their own books. The theory here was that between them, they could muster the strength to support one in common. But soon, the team’s original membership began to break up and with other, lesser known characters joining in, the strip became a haven for any hero without a book of his (or her) own. For most of its run, the series offered standard super-hero fare delivered by the dependable but uninspired pencils of Sal Buscema, whose style would only undermine the sometimes delightful weirdness that creeped into the strip when Gerber took over the scripting chores. Taking immediate advantage of a new playground that in effect, gave him access to practically every hero in the Marvel Universe, Gerber at first concentrated his subversive attentions on a small group of core members that included a housewife whose body was inhabited by the spirit of a Norse Valkyrie, a Batman wannabe named Nighthawk, an extremely child-like Hulk (and his friend, Bambi the deer), and Dr. Strange, who often had to ringlead these odd personalities. Together, Gerber guided these characters upon an ever more convoluted series of adventures, one of the

Defenders #33, page 16: If they weren’t the world’s weirdest team of super-villains, at least the Headmen gave it the old college try! Clockwise from top left: Dr. Arthur Nagan, Dr. Jerry Morgan, Ruby, and well, that’s actually Chondu the Mystic (remember him from old issues of Strange Tales?) in the body of the fawn (don’t ask!)

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brain removed, and replaced by that of Chondu’s the better to infiltrate the Defenders. But the Defenders find out and Dr. Strange manages to replace Chondu’s self in Nighthawk’s brain with the soul of Jack Norris, Valkyrie’s husband, while forcing Chondu’s soul into Bambi’s brain! Now, a vengeful Bambi is out for blood, but before he can get it, he’s kidnapped by aliens while Jack Norris (in Nighthawk’s body) manages to steal back Nighthawk’s brain from the Headmen; but before he can do anything with it, he too is scooped up by the mysterious aliens. Whew! It was all wackiness of a high order, but what damage was it doing to the Marvel Universe as built up over a decade by Stan Lee, Jack Kirby, Steve Ditko, et al? Never one of Marvel’s better books, what happened to the Defenders still serves as an example of the kind of thing that contributed to the company’s decline in the wake of the Twilight Years. Entertaining as Gerber’s stories may have been, they were also unintentionally subversive when they undermined the credibility of the company’s heroes. By reducing them to objects of ridicule and satire, Marvel was eroding the realism that had been a big part of the appeal of its characters. Oh, sure, Marvel had always poked fun at its characters, from Lee’s own subtle pokes in the ribs that told readers not to take anything too seriously to more overt satires like Not Brand Echh, but the former was done with much fondness for the material and the latter outside the books’ continuity. The difference with Gerber’s work was that it took place within the continuity of the larger Marvel Universe (whose hallmark had always been its realism, despite the conceits of super-heroes, alien races, etc). There were impossibilities, but given those impossibilities, they were supposed to operate in this created universe more or less according to the rules of the real world. When people were killed, they really died; if science proves that the world is round, then it must be round; if there’s no air in space, characters couldn’t breath there (remember how Reed had to supply the FF with breathing capsules in order to travel to Atlantis? Silly, but the important thing was that it was a nod to the reality that humans couldn’t breathe beneath the sea without artificial help). Gerber’s undermining of this conceit eventually spread to endanger the entire Marvel Universe. Gradually, characters from the company’s monster books, which had, for the most part, been studiously quarantined in their own separate world, began to cross over to the super-hero books, calling further attention to the essential unreality of the Marvel Universe. It was a process that only accelerated over time (Hercules tows the 206

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island of Manhattan by a chain; Spider-Man meets Dracula; in a violation of the most sacred, unwritten law of comics, all the Avengers really and truly die [not a dream, not a hoax, not an imaginary tale], but are brought back to life by an alien) and denied Marvel many of the advantages it had claimed over its competition. In the future, when its best writers and artists began to migrate to DC, the product they created there was little different from what they’d been doing for their former employer. It would be the final proof that Marvel had lost its identity.

Shang Chi, Master of Kung Fu #29

“The Crystal Connection”; Doug Moench (script), Paul Gulacy (pencils & inks)

One of the last great strips born of the Twilight Years, Master of Kung Fu (formerly Special Marvel Edition) was, on the face of it, a strange concept, an uneasy mix of new and old: the Yellow Peril, symbolized by the devil doctor Fu Manchu still smelling of pulp paper and newsprint fifty years after Sax Rohmer had invented it; the Kung Fu craze of the mid-1970s, the culmination of ten years of bad movies out of Taiwan; and an interest in eastern mysticism popularized by the Beatles’ visit to India in 1967. Despite this artificial premise, the talents of Steve Englehart and Jim Starlin managed to make something of it and while interesting, Starlin left before anything substantive could be drawn from it. Englehart stayed on for a few more issues, avoiding for the most part, continued stories and concentrating instead on little life lessons directed at the hero, ShangChi, as he continued to struggle with the contradictions of western civilization. But for the most part, he couldn’t seem to get a good hold on the strip, and even with the seemingly infinite resources for mischief possessed by Fu Manchu, a unifying theme eluded him. Rohmer had supplied the strip with its first supporting characters in For writer Doug Moench, lightning struck twice while he worked at Marvel in the twilight years: first as scripter for Rich Buckler’s Deathlok and then for Master of Kung Fu.

1975 spy! In retrospect, it seemed like the most natural thing in the world as Shang was already working with British intelligence against the machinations of his evil father. What better during the down time between foiling plots by Fu Manchu than to have him go on other, unrelated missions? It all began in earnest with the first of a three-part

Sir Dennis Nayland Smith of the British spy organization MI5 and his friend Dr. Petrie, and Starlin and Englehart had come up with Black Jack Tarr, but no real chemistry among them was ever developed. And so, the strip continued to plod along on the strength of the public’s interest in all things martial arts, but how long would that last? When it was over, what would sustain Master of Kung Fu? Enter writer Doug Moench who took over the book after #20 and, teaming up with the strip’s most frequent artist, Paul Gulacy, proceeded to turn it into one of the most exciting and innovative reads of the Twilight Years. As with most of his fellow writers at Marvel, Moench started out a fan of the company’s comics in the Sixties and broke in to the business when he sent off a handful of stories blind to Archie Goodwin, then editor of Warren Publishing’s black-and-white line of magazines. To the would-be writer’s shock, all the stories were bought and, thus encouraged, immediately began writing more. With his name prominent in the credits at Warren, he soon took a telephone call from Roy Thomas who invited him to join Marvel as an assistant editor. Moench took the job and in due course became the company’s most prolific writer taking on such features as Ghost Rider, Frankenstein, and Ka-Zar. Then, almost as an afterthought by Thomas, he was offered Master of Kung Fu. Like Englehart before him, Moench at first concentrated on shorter stories most of which were somehow connected with the doings of Fu Manchu. But soon realizing that too much of a good thing drained it of whatever made it a good thing in the first place, Moench decided to slack off and that’s when he and Gulacy hit on a great idea: they made Shang-Chi into a super-

Master of Kung Fu #48, page 2: Once writer Doug Moench and artist Paul Gulacy latched onto the idea of turning the strip into a James Bondian spy thriller, they had the key that would transform MOKF from faddish exploitation to a thing of invention and originality.

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story in Master of Kung Fu #29 (June 1975) in which Gulacy, after having skipped the previous three issues to start the new direction off with a bang, does the penciling and inking himself. In it, Shang and fellow agents Black Jack Tarr and Clive Reston must infiltrate the heavily guarded estate of international drug dealer Carlton Velcro and incidentally launch one of the most perfect runs of comics of the Twilight era.

which would come in handy as the strip entered its spy phase). Gulacy, like Moench, started out as a fan of Marvel Comics, particularly those by Steranko (“…I had never seen anything like that before, it just flipped me out.”) until he met fellow artist Val Mayerik at art school. Through Mayerik, Gulacy made the acquaintance of Dan Adkins and came to work with him at his studio. Soon afterward, he’d broken into comics as a professional with early assignments doing features for Marvel’s black-andShang Chi, Master of Kung Fu #30 white magazines. His first color job was the Morbius “A Gulf of Lions”; Doug Moench (script), Paul Gulacy strip in Adventure into Fear and from there, it was (pencils), Dan Adkins (inks) straight on to Master of Kung Fu (by way of its Giant “The Crystal Connection” continued into Master of Sized companion title). With his establishment as a Kung Fu #30 (July 1975) and although there was no professional, Gulacy seemed to learn faster than slowing down the high octane plot, Gulacy did hold ever, developing in no time the same work ethic up enough to allow former mentor Dan Adkins to and regard for the integrity of his art as many other do the inking. But what in the world had happened comics creators of the time. Like them, he found it to Gulacy anyway? Where did this artistic impossible to make a monthly deadline and continue the meticulous dynamo come from? attention to detail he felt his Wasn’t he the guy that work demanded. And so, only recently struggled once firmly established as through a “Morbius” strip the regular penciler for filled with awkward figures Master of Kung Fu, a pattern and Steranko-influenced was set; Gulacy would layouts? It turned out that frequently work in threeboth were the same person issue arcs, taking an issue and, following the familiar or two off in between to track of peers such as Craig gear up for the next. Even Russell, Mike Ploog, and with others inking his Rich Buckler, his skill curve work, sometimes this was a took a steep, and very difficult schedule to keep sudden climb straight up! (and in a Herculean effort, Debuting on Master of Kung he managed to turn in nine Fu immediately following straight issues climaxing Starlin with #18, his first with #50 to end his incredible appearance wasn’t much run on the title). Also influmore impressive than his enced by film, Gulacy liked “Morbius” work, but unlike to start off his books with a that job, there were a few symbolic splash page pages here that hinted at styled after movie poster bigger things to come. art (Gulacy hardly ever Eventually, Gulacy became drew the covers to his the strip’s semi-regular books and for most of his penciler, popping in and run on Master of Kung Fu, out every issue or two a casual browser of the until settling in for the long comics racks would never haul with #29. With every Film industry poster art was the guess how good the insides appearance though, his inspiration for artist Paul Gulacy’s were by the perfectly work improved until, again symbolic splash pages used on early issues horrendous series of covers like his peers, he developed of Master of Kung Fu when he and by artists like Gil Kane, his own distinctive style writer Doug Moench first plunged Ernie Chua, and Dave (albeit still with more than Shang-Chi into the world of espionage. Cockrum!) before diving a bit of the Steranko touch, 208

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1975 into the story itself. But of all the things that Gulacy was good at, nobody beat him at stylized action, as his antagonists went through enough moves to confound the most ardent martial arts expert! Every single muscle in the human body (and their related tendons and blood vessels!) seemed etched across straining, sweat beaded bodies as Shang-Chi ran a gauntlet of grotesque villains from this issue’s Razor Fist (his forearms were amputated and replaced with sword blades!) and Pavane (a whip wielding dominatrix) to Shock Wave (an electro suited kung fu fighter)! But throughout, Gulacy’s strength was always his much improved figure work combined with imaginative layouts (if he had to be influenced by somebody, at least Steranko was the best) that gave the strip its thoroughly modern, cutting edge feel.

Shang Chi, Master of Kung Fu #31

“Snowbuster”; Doug Moench (script), Paul Gulacy (pencils), Dan Adkins (inks)

But good art and story weren’t all that made the Master of Kung Fu strip great (well, okay, maybe 80% great!) the other was a cast of characters that not only were original, but worked well together. First and foremost was Shang himself who, even though he’d divorced himself from his father and joined Sir Dennis Nayland Smith in operations against the devil doctor, that didn’t mean he was completely won over to the other side. Even as he embarked on various missions for British intelligence, he agonized over the paradox of having to play as dirty as the bad guys in order to win a higher good. “…is there not a path in the middle, where I may work for justice…without becoming dirty?” Never able to reconcile that contradiction, his conscience eventually forced him to part ways with the world of spies. Maybe he would’ve left earlier too if it hadn’t been for the beautiful and capable Leiko Wu, a female agent also in the employ of MI5 for whom he later fell hard. Complicating his relationship with Leiko was the fact that her ex-boyfriend James Reston, was not only still around and still interested, but a member of Smith’s inner circle who frequently found himself fighting side by side with Shang. A peculiarity of Reston’s (which Moench began hinting at since his first appearance in Giant-Size Master of Kung Fu #3) was that he was supposedly the son of James Bond and the great-nephew of Sherlock Holmes! Often paired with Reston on missions was Black Jack Tarr, a towering hulk with handlebar mustache who also happened to be a confident of Sir Dennis Nayland Smith, a bigwig in British intelligence who’d grown old battling Fu Manchu

since the 1920s. Finally, there was the brooding, disillusioned Jack Larner (whom Gulacy made a lookalike for actor Marlon Brando!) who quit MI5 over a botched mission that cost him the life of a woman and fellow agent with whom he’d been in love. But the dynamic that really made the characters begin to gel was when Moench and Gulacy latched onto the idea of turning Master of Kung Fu from a strictly martial arts book to a spy thriller. Not only did it make the strip a whole lot more interesting, it set it up for a life after the martial arts craze faded. Combining their respective interests in Ian Flemming’s James Bond character and Steranko’s work on SHIELD, the two men went on to create a world of Byzantine complexity where no one could be trusted completely, friends were expendable and death could strike at any moment. In many ways, their first true spy saga, “The Crystal Connection,” which concluded here in Master of Kung Fu #31 (Aug. 1975), had all the elements in place: the briefing at MI5 headquarters; Reston goes undercover as drug seller Mr. Blue; Carlton Velcro, whose guarded estate is being infiltrated, is the arch villain surrounded by beautiful women and specialized bodyguards such as Razorfist; it even has an underwater scuba fight right out of Thunderball (1965)! And everywhere, the action is graced with the ever more stylized art of Gulacy whose work became all hard edges and firm lines (with more than a dash of Steranko) leaving little room for mere suggestion

Ian Fleming’s James Bond was on the minds of Moench and Gulacy when they switched MOKF from strictly martial arts to espionage. This shot from United Artists’ Thunderball (1965) seemed lifted whole for a similar scene in MOKF #31.

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(what was that bit with the stone ear about anyway?) as the characters waded their way through some of the most brutal combat sequences ever shown in comics. It was a tour de force that, incredibly, was maintained over the next twenty issues and only ended with Gulacy’s departure with #50. It would mark the end of another of the Twilight era’s great creative teams and although Moench himself would stay on the book for another 75 issues, he’d never again capture the magic of those first fifty.

Strange Tales #181

“1000 Clowns!”; Jim Starlin (script & pencils), Al Milgrom (inks)

The secret of writer/artist Jim Starlin’s success in the Twilight Years was not only his willingness to work out personal issues in a very public forum, but also having the ability to present them in a super-hero context that sold comic books. Taking advantage of the editorial confusion that reigned at Marvel first when Roy Thomas took over as Editor-in-Chief from Stan Lee and then when Thomas was replaced by a string of successors, many of the company’s most innovative creators were able to get away with a lot more than they would have in past years. To be fair however, old boundaries set up by the publishers and enforced for decades by the Comics Code Authority had begun to tatter ever since Lee himself defied them when he allowed a handful of issues of Amazing Spider-Man to go to press without the benefit of the code stamp on their covers. Soon afterward, code rules were rewritten and became more lax opening the door to the wave of monster books that swept Marvel in the early 1970s. Sensing weakness on the part of the Code Authority, it was under Lee’s watch that the company launched a number of features that were in questionable if not in just plain poor taste including one that starred the Son of Satan and another the motorcycle-driving Ghost Rider that was steeped in Satanism and hellfire. Where once publishers, including Marvel, balked at presenting anything in their books that might in any way offend the public (Lee was a pioneer in challenging cultural mores as far back as Sgt. Fury #6 when he addressed the issue of racism against the belief that sales would suffer in the South), suddenly, it seemed that it no longer mattered. No doubt, part of the reason was due to falling sales of comics (despite Marvel’s popularity and its success versus rival DC, it was only relative…overall comics sales continued fall through the 1960s and 70s), but mostly it was the social revolution that the nation had undergone in the late Sixties coupled with a loss of confidence in the government. The sexual revolution 210

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Fallout from the unrest of the 1960s continued to resonate in the next decade as values that had once seemed so sure began to seem less certain. The shifting ground allowed comics creators the opportunity to stretch the bounds of a weakening Comics Code.

had ushered in a new permissiveness on topics that had once been kept out of the public square and the war in Vietnam had created a vocal opposition that would morph into a permanent protest industry. In its infancy was also a new “political correctness” that would one day institute its own social restrictions that were to be in many ways far more restrictive than those that had been overthrown in the 1960s. The sum total of all these factors was a window of opportunity for young creators breaking in at Marvel in the Twilight Years, creators who not only looked like the social revolutionary figures on the pop culture scene but also embraced their values and habits. “Stan gave the characters he created 1960s TV personalities instead of letting them be cardboard hero cut-outs like Superman and Batman under Mort Weisinger,” said Starlin in an interview. “In the ‘70s, we came in and gave them Electric Kool-Aid Acid Test personalities…trying to put super-heroes into a very different kind of head space.” “A part of that was that we were looking for those same answers as the characters,” continued fellow artist and, significantly, future Marvel editor, Allen Milgrom. “We were just coming through the anti-war movement, coming through exploration of consciousness.” Nowhere could that new sensibility be observed better than in Strange Tales #181 (Aug. 1975) where Starlin gave over an entire issue to exploring Warlock’s psychology in a bizarre tale

1975 his dark self as the Magus, god of a religious organization called the “universal church.” “…it’s no coincidence that the word ‘catholic’ means ‘universal church,” said Starlin, who was raised Catholic. “Basically, it’s just me working out stuff.” With its willingness to exploit and seemingly glorify evil in such questionable features as Son of Satan and Ghost Rider, it was perhaps no small step here for Marvel

called “1,000 Clowns!” Dedicated on the splash page to former Dr. Strange artist Steve Ditko (“who gave us a different reality”), our hero is welcomed to the “land of the way it is” by Nels Eta, a clown whose name is an anagram for Stan Lee! Starlin has said that his intention in depicting the clown as Lee (and another as Roy Thomas) was an attempt in part to comment on his situation at Marvel, which was becoming an unhappy one, due to increasing constrictions on his creative freedom. Be that as it may, Nels Eta conducts Warlock on a tour exploring conformity (“You’ll be much happier being part of society”) and rebellion symbolized by a crucified Thomas as the target for pie throwing clowns Len Wein and Marv Wolfman (“That is a renegade clown on the cross down there! It’s a pity, he used to be one of the best but he tried to buck the system! He began to think people were more important than things!” “I played the game as long as I could… just couldn’t take it any longer”). Next, Nels Eta introduces Warlock to a topsy turvy system obviously intended to be a criticism of Marvel itself in which clowns (artists/writers/editors) build a tower made of garbage (Marvel’s product), but impurities in the form of diamonds introduced by renegade creators (work by Starlin, McGregor, Englehart, et al) are blamed whenever the unstable structure collapses. Driven nearly mad by the system, Warlock cries “Let me out of here!” Passing through the “door of madness,” Warlock emerges on the other side only to confront

Strange Tales #181, page 22: Through Warlock, writer/artist Jim Starlin explores his own uncertainties and confronts his own demons. “In the ‘70s, we came in and gave them Electric Kool-Aid Acid Test personalities trying to put super-heroes into a very different kind of head space.”

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to permit Starlin to make such an attack on Christianity in the form of the Roman Catholic Church. “Warlock was me working out my parochial school upbringing,” admitted Starlin. “I went to Catholic grade school; I have to admit the nuns taught me to think, but a more sadistic bunch of gals you’d never want to find. This was a lot of working out my anger at those years.” Not your usual fodder for super-hero stories but this issue was definitely a good example of why many of Marvel’s more eclectic features such as “War of the Worlds”, “Black Panther”, “Deathlok”, and “Warlock” were cancelled soon after the departure of their primary creators; they were too much the product of a personal point of view. In a way, they represented the passing of an era when writers were the more important partner in the storytelling process. Beyond the Twilight Years, the influence of writers would decline as artists insisted on doing everything themselves; it was a situation that, despite a brief bubble in the 1990s, would shrink sales further and eventually threaten an intellectually bankrupt industry with extinction.

Astonishing Tales #32

“The Man Who Sold the World!”; Bill Mantlo (script), Rich Buckler (plot, script, layouts & inks), Keith Pollard & Bob McLeod (pencils & inks), Al Milgrom (inks assist)

Not seven issues after its debut, the “Deathlok” feature in Astonishing Tales was in trouble. Sometimes for readers of the strip, it seemed that Rich Buckler, not the fastest penciler in Marvel’s bullpen, had been playing catch-up on Deathlok almost from the very beginning. The

Never a fan favorite like Jim Starlin or Don McGregor, Bill Mantlo’s career at Marvel during the twilight years was marked mostly as a utility scripter, filling in wherever he was needed. But in reality, he was one of the company’s best writers doing exceptional work on strips such as Deathlok (in astonishing tales), Champions, and Rom where he was briefly teamed with artists Steve Ditko and Craig Russell for a delightful string of stories.

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strip’s second appearance in Astonishing #26 had already looked markedly less detailed than its impressive debut in #25 and as the series progressed, not only did it lose writer Doug Moench, but the inkers that had given it its best look, Pablo Marcos and Klaus Janson. Along the way, Buckler himself, who had originated the concept and who served as plotter, seemed to have lost his way somewhat forgetting elements of the story (the three “voices” from whose point of view the stories were originally told were inexplicably reduced to two) and especially failing to flesh out the intriguing back story to the run down future America in which Deathlok operated. But Buckler’s meandering plot was the least of the strip’s problems. There was also his seeming inability to keep up with the work of simply producing the book in general. Issue after issue, Buckler seemed to slip farther and farther back, requiring fellow artists to pitch in along the way. The problem became so severe (if not laughable) with Astonishing Tales #32 (Nov. 1975) when the credits read: “Rich Buckler: plot, concept, script: pages 1-7; Bill Mantlo: script: pages 10-30; Rich, Keith (Pollard), Bob Mcleod, & the whole blame bullpen: artwork.” There wasn’t any mention of an editor…maybe nobody wanted to take credit for what obviously was a book suffering from major scheduling problems. The situation however, wasn’t unique to the “Deathlok” strip. By the mid-1970s, it was becoming endemic to all of Marvel with creators missing deadlines, last minute reprints substituted for new stories, and the frequent use of inventory stories prepared for missed deadlines that by middecade, seemed to be de rigeur. At times, assignments became so late, the work had to be “outsourced” to independent shops such as the studio of artist Neal Adams in order to get it done in time. Adams would take on such emergency jobs aided by whoever was in his studio at the time and the work that resulted was often credited to “the Crusty Bunkers” or “the singing sons of the Crusty Bunkers.” It was all the result of a number of factors that came together by the mid-1970s including a retreat by Stan Lee from day to day editorial duties, the sudden expansion of Marvel’s line-up to flood the news stalls in order to take advantage of the company’s growing market share and the policy of Roy Thomas, Lee’s successor, of giving more freedom to creators and eventually allowing writers to edit their own material. It was a situation that couldn’t last and when Thomas, tired of trying to oversee a line of books vastly larger than even his old boss had had to contend with, resigned as editorial director, he was succeeded by a number of others promoted from within, each of whom could measure their terms in the big chair in months rather

1976

Jim Shooter

Ironically, Jim Shooter was a fan of Marvel comics when at the age of 14 he sent a script to DC editor Mort Weisinger for the company’s Legion of Super-Heroes feature then appearing in Adventure Comics. It seemed that the young Shooter thought that the Legion strip could be improved if it adapted some of what Marvel was doing at the time to humanize its heroes. Without realizing Shooter’s age, Weisinger saw something he liked in the boy’s scripts and began buying them for the Legion. Shooter became the regular writer on the strip, inventing many new characters until the mid-1970s when he was hired by Stan Lee as a writer/assistant editor at Marvel. There, he proved his bona fides by scripting impressive runs of Avengers and Daredevil before being promoted to Editor-in-Chief in 1978. Although his leadership rubbed many creators the wrong way, resulting in key defections to DC, Shooter was also instrumental in nurturing the careers of others such as Frank Miller and John Byrne, moving Marvel into the new direct distribution market, and championing new formats for comics such as the mini series, graphic novel, and high quality magazines. But Shooter remained a controversial figure at Marvel resulting in his eventually being fired in 1987. In 1989, he reemerged as the founder of Valiant Comics having acquired the license to use such classic Gold Key characters as Magnus and Solar in all new adventures. Although Valiant proved a wild success, Shooter once again found himself in disagreement with his partners who eventually forced him out. In the 1990s, Shooter started up other companies including Defiant and Broadway Comics, neither of which lasted long, before turning up again as writer/editor at Dark Horse comics in 2009, working on a revival of the Gold Key characters that had proved so successful for him in the past.

than years. Eventually, after Martin Goodman had sold out, the new owners decided that the company needed a firmer hand at the controls and in 1978 hired outsider James Shooter, who had done some work for Marvel, but had spent the bulk of his career in the comics field at DC where he broke in as a teenager writing scripts for the Legion of Super-Heroes. Shooter’s efforts to bring order out of chaos made him an unpopular figure with many of Marvel’s artists and writers who had become accustomed to a light editorial hand and drove many to leave the company in favor of DC. By the 1980s, Shooter would succeed in eliminating many of Marvel’s problems and bring the company to even loftier heights of success, but by then, Marvel’s Silver Age would long since be over and the sun finally set for good on the Twilight Years.

Amazing Adventures #34

“A Death In the Family”; Don McGregor (script), Craig Russell (pencils & inks)

Although the “War of the Worlds” feature would continue for another half dozen issues, the saga of Killraven and his band of freemen seemed to climax in Amazing Adventures #34 (Jan. 1976) in which a long running sub-plot involving Scar, a Martian manhunter that had been on their trail since #25, came to an end. Interwoven with the Death-birth story and revelations among the regular characters, the traumatic events in “A Death in the Family” seemed to include everything needed for a selfenclosed story. Sure, after the events this issue the Martians continued to rule the Earth, but the alien domination of the planet was really never the focus for the strip (however it may have been intended Part III: 1974-1976

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when it was originally dreamed up by editor Roy Thomas); that only served as a convenient backdrop against which Killraven, M’Shullah, Carmilla Frost, Old Skull, and Hawk acted out their various idiosyncracies. Almost from the beginning, McGregor had steered the focus away from Killraven’s creepy foes (of whom the reader was never really sure

Amazing Adventures #34, page 14: The issue that turned this writer into a believer! Story by McGregor with pencils and inks by Russell, this one had it all: action, drama, pathos, horror and wonder, and (dare I say it?) even poetry! It marked the zenith of the twilight years and little, if anything, would ever reach these heights again. Rest in peace Old Skull!

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whether they were humans, mutants, or Martians) and onto his compatriots, who were gradually evolved into a multi-textured set of human beings with complex emotional ties that varied in relation to each other. These ties, sometimes humorous and loving, and others cynical and critical, were drawn tighter and tighter until this issue, in which McGregor finally maneuvers his characters just where he wants them. But Killraven and his freemen can’t complete their evolution from a group of wandering misfits into a true family without a price. “The nuclear family has exploded!” screams the copy on this issue’s splash page. “A new family rose from the devastation of worlds at war! They are called freemen. They are the nomadic, 22nd century family. Today, two…not one…but two of this family, will die!” One of comics greatest wordsmiths, McGregor was at the height of his satiric powers on the “War of the Worlds” strip, and though he’s been maligned for being too wordy, the truth is, there can never be enough words to tell a good story providing every word counted and McGregor’s did. Weaving a literary tapestry complimented by Russell’s brilliant images (penciled and inked by the artist, Russell’s work here was possibly the finest of his career, filled with stunning imagery such as the simple splash page showing Scar surrounded by bloody bursts of black and red, the idyllic scenes of Old Skull shattered by Scar’s sneak attack, a two-page sequence featuring the origin of Carmilla Frost and a follow-up sequence showing the separate but simultaneous actions

1976 of Scar, Killraven, and M’Shulla), McGregor creates character revealing scenes of poignancy and regret. “’Old Skull!’ The words are ripped from Killraven’s mouth. And his eyes are wide with fear and a wrenching sense of loss he thought he’d never feel again. And he realizes, they can still take things from him. There are still things he cares that much about.” “The shadows play over his face, emphasizing the purpose in his eyes, a trace of sorrow flirts at the center of righteous anger. The universe has ceased to exist. There aren’t any other distant worlds. There is only this time, only this place. And only room for one ending.” Two freemen die and in their deaths, more than in all their shared dangers, the survivors draw closer together in the realization that they are indeed, more than just fellow soldiers in a never ending war with the Martians. Because whether or not the Martians are defeated, it wouldn’t change the fact of their being a family. On the surface, the book would continue as if the theme of the feature was the war with the alien invaders, but really, the freemen’s personal war has already been won and everything after this issue would seem anti-climactic. Anti-climactic too would be the remainder of the Twilight Years which, if they had a high point from which a reader could look back to see how much farther comics had come by building on the successes of the company’s first three phases and then to the reverse slope that showed the long decline all comics (not just Marvel’s) would take into permanent four-color oblivion, then Amazing Adventures #34 was it. Oh, there’d be more great material to be sure, but the Twilight era, for all intents and purposes, had finally run its course. With a single, possible exception, there’d be no new trends, no new ideas, not even an event to match the great influx of new writing and artistic talent that poured into Marvel in these years. One by one they’d all leave, even Thomas, Stan Lee’s hand-picked successor. Years before it’d seemed to many fans that Jack Kirby’s departure signaled the end of the Marvel Age of Comics, but that conclusion proved hasty; the end wouldn’t come with a single dramatic event, but like real life, it would come slowly, imperceptibly, until one day, readers would look around and realize that it was all over.

Dr. Strange #10

“Alone Against Eternity...”; Steve Englehart (script), Gene Colan (pencils), Frank Chiaramonte (inks)

Not only was Englehart still at it in Dr. Strange #10 (Oct. 1975), but so was Gene Colan! It’s true! After an absence from the character of about five years (since the cancellation of Doc’s first series in 1969), Colan

returned to the strip after the departure of Frank Brunner. One of the most exciting of the new artists to have broken into the industry in the Twilight Years, Brunner’s act was definitely a hard one for anyone to follow but Colan wasn’t exactly a slouch! Maybe the single best artist ever to handle the Strange strip (and with people like the legendary Steve Ditko, Barry Smith, and the aforementioned Brunner on that list, that’s saying some!) Colan’s moody realism was balanced by an equally agile imagination that allowed him to suggest on paper the ultra-mundane worlds and alien dimensions frequented by the master of the mystic arts. And Englehart gave him no time to get his sea legs under him as Colan was called upon first to depict a threeway battle between Strange, Dormmamu, and Umar beginning in #6 and then launching him immediately into a confrontation this issue with the always enigmatic Eternity! Inked adequately if not entirely satisfactorily by Frank Chiaramonte (who was usually pretty good, being largely faithful to the pencilers he worked over, the only problem here is that for Colan, that approach didn’t work; Colan’s style demanded more from an inker as this issue’s sequence where Strange confronts Eternity, with its large empty spaces, shows), Colan takes the reader into the mind of a mad Baron Mordo. Immediately, the senses are assaulted with a kaleidoscopic vision of worlds colliding and the image of Strange’s old foe, Nightmare. Englehart takes over from there, as Strange soon finds himself confronting the real Eternity and learns that his awareness has progressed such that he can now understand when the cosmic entity, the personification of the universe, tells him that his coming signifies “…the end of your world. Call it twilight of the gods, call it ragnarok, call it judgment day, you have always known in your soul it would

Not in Tom Palmer’s class or even Klaus Janson’s, inker Frank Chiaramonte nevertheless could deliver the goods when pressed. His work over Gene Colan for instance was good, but ultimately fell short when he failed to add anything of himself to the finished product.

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come…and it has!” What follows is a concise discussion of the global village and the effects of instantaneous, world-wide communications. “At last, men everywhere may know of anothers’ successes, and so, see their own failures, no longer may they slumber in blissful ignorance! Now, each man cries for his share of the bounty from the tree of knowledge! Each man must have all he desires! Each man must win, and so, all men must lose!” But Strange resists, arguing that the time for the end hasn’t yet come, and so is challenged by Eternity to solve the enigma of his own self before making the case for the rest of humanity. Fun Fact: All the cosmic shenanigans injected in the strip by Englehart bore fruit on its letters page, which was one of the most interesting in comics as readers discussed everything from the principals of magic to the nature of God! Where did readers like that disappear to?

Dr. Strange #11

“Shadowplay!”; Steve Englehart (script), Gene Colan (pencils), Tom Palmer (inks)

The philosophical became the psychological in Dr. Strange #11 (Dec. 1975) as Eternity casts Strange into a crazy world populated by doppelgangers, Poe’s Red Death, and a flock of grinning Nixons! Confused at first, the good doctor finally figures out that the weird, but familiar terrain is based on fragments of his own consciousness, as Eternity

sets things up to permit Strange to understand that the confidence he expressed about the human race in the issue before was misplaced. How could he speak for the minds of his fellow men when he didn’t even know his own? What follows is a weird trip through the detritus of Strange’s career, the contradictions and petty hypocrisies that clutter everyone’s subconscious, the place where we hide our dirtiest psychological laundry. In it, Strange encounters himself as he has been through different points in his career from venal physicians (“These must be the ‘me’s’ of power!” thinks Strange as he wanders through a ghostly White House filled with doppelgangers of himself dressed for different occupations) to drunken has-beens (“This is…myself after my carelessness ruined my surgical career! He’s as drunk as I was!”) When the Red Death finally arrives and strips the mask of Nixon from a Strange doppelganger, the faux Strange cries “My mask! Where’s my mask?” “Gone, power-monger, vanished in the light of truth!” “But, what about my position, my control? Without my mask, I’ll be just like everyone else, but I’m not! Don’t you see? I’m better than they are.” It was a poignant lesson in humility, but after it was over, did Strange learn anything? “Everything you wished to teach me, I already knew! I could save the world through sorcery!” “Yes, that is what you have said,” replies Eternity. “See where sorcery takes you, Dr. Strange! See!” Will Strange shape up in time to stop the end of the world? Stay tuned!

Dr. Strange #12

“Final Curtain!”; Steve Englehart (script), Gene Colan (pencils), Tom Palmer (inks)

When good ideas were hard to come by, writers in the twilight years usually fell back on Richard Nixon for inspiration. Englehart used him twice: as the epitome of self-righteousness in Dr. Strange #11 and as the unnamed leader of the villainous Secret Empire over in Captain America.

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First Colan, then Tom Palmer! When Colan first returned to the Strange strip with #6, he was inked by a variety of people (even once by Palmer), but by this time, after producing spectacular work for such books as the first volume of Dr. Strange, Daredevil, and especially Dracula, his name and Palmer’s had become almost inextricably linked in many readers’ minds. And so, Colan on Dr. Strange without Palmer on the inks was like a cake without the frosting! Now, at last, the two artists were reunited on the strip that first brought them together (Palmer actually started work over Colan last issue) and the difference was almost like night and day. Suddenly the empty spaces filled up, characters filled out, and the cosmic, swirling scope of Strange’s adventures and Steve Englehart’s wild and mystic plots seemed tinged with actual magic as the master of the mystic arts was plunged into

1976 one of his most far out jaunts! This time, after being forced into a tour of his own sub-conscious, Strange finds himself in Dr. Strange #12 (Feb. 1976) confronted by the long-departed Ancient One (“You want answers! You want solutions! Yet it’s you who possess them, not I!”) Next, Strange is forced into the frozen wastes of the Himalayas, there to meet up with another of his former identities, the masked, super-hero persona that he briefly adopted during the run of his first series (no doubt an attempt at the time by writer Roy Thomas to boost sagging

circulation figures!) “This Dr. Strange is certain of himself! In his power, he knows no doubts or fears! After all that time, I’d become self-righteous, possibly the worst sin of all!” Overcoming this latest version of himself, Strange is lectured again by Eternity: “The most careful preparations are useless against the malignant might of madness! Your world is in the grip of madness! It plays its games as if it cannot lose, but it can!” And then, for the second time, Englehart destroys the world! (Well okay, the first time he ended the whole universe and here he only destroys the Earth, but why quibble?) Fun Fact: As the Earth blows up in the final full-page panel, Englehart asks the reader a rhetorical question: “Make no mistake, this was the real Earth! But then, how is it you remain?” Was he claiming that this wasn’t some comic book Earth that was destroyed? That what was happening on the last page, really happened? If so, how could such an absurdity be true? Or was it absurd at all?

Dr. Strange #13

“Planet Earth is No More!”; Steve Englehart (script), Gene Colan (pencils), Tom Palmer (inks)

Dr. Strange #12, page 23: A magnificent page by artist Gene Colan and inker Tom Palmer doing what the Strange strip did best: using indefinite other dimensional settings as visual metaphors for emotional or even philosophical turmoil.

If practice makes perfect, then Steve Englehart must be the best there is at destroying the world, because he did it not once, but twice! That’s right! Remember how in Marvel Premiere #14 he had Sise-Neg, the magician from the future go back to the beginning of time, become God, and uncreate the universe? Well, that time, everything was put back the way it was before Sise-Neg/ Genesis took it all apart, this time, Part III: 1974-1976

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in Dr. Strange #13 (April 1976), humanity wouldn’t be so lucky! How did it happen? In one of his most mindblowing and mind-bending scripts, Englehart has Dr. Strange journey to the dimension of dreams where he discovers that his old foe Nightmare has captured Eternity. Inducing him into a sleep-like state, Nightmare was able to manipulate Eternity’s dreams and as the personification of the universe, whatever Eternity dreams (just as it was when he was awake) becomes the universe’s reality. When Nightmare forced Eternity to dream the end of the world, it happened. And so, Strange finds out to his shock, that not only has everything that’s happened to him over the past few issues been an attack upon himself by Nightmare manipulating Eternity’s dreams, but that he’s also become the last man alive! “I am life beyond limits,

Dr. Strange #13, page 2: Because once is not enough! After destroying the world with artist Frank Brunner in the Sise-Neg story, writer Steve Englehart does it again here with Colan and Palmer!

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beyond death, beyond end,” Eternity explains. “I and my brother, Death, comprise all of your reality, mystic! Neither he nor I am God, for God rules all realities! I am Adam Qadmon, the archetypal man, and in my bosom grew mortals, each on their various worlds!” So what about the question asked at the end of the previous issue? If the world was destroyed, how is it everyone is still around to read these words? Although Eternity refuses to reverse time and set things back the way they were, he decides to recreate the world “starting from its first evolvement from the sun” exactly as it was before. The catch is that all those who died when the world was destroyed are still dead and that everyone now populating this new earth, although the same in every respect, have no suspicion that they’re not actually the same people! Dr. Strange is the only survivor from that previous world with the blessing or curse of that knowledge! After an adventure like this, Englehart’s concluding lines about Strange as he sits brooding in his sanctum sanctorum are an understatement: “He sits there a very long time… coming down.” It was easily the most awesome, mindexpanding story ever presented in a Marvel comic, even more out there than the Galactus trilogy, but at the same time, something that could never have been done without the path being blazed by all those inspired creators who came before: Stan Lee, Jack Kirby, Steve Ditko, Roy Thomas, and all the other writers and artists who made each succeeding phase of Marvel’s development possible. And in the same vein, the story would never have worked as well as it did without artists of the caliber of Gene Colan and Tom Palmer (Brunner and Ditko in his prime might also have been able to do it). Although Colan’s penciling had become a bit weaker as the Twilight Years progressed, the artist could still capture the feel of the otherworldly powers loosed in Strange’s adventures like nobody else and, strengthened by Palmer’s finishes that included delicate cross hatching, vibrant black masses, restrained zip-atone effects, atmospheric shadows, and an experienced use of color, perfectly captured the ethereal intent of the crazy script. It was a heckuva ride, but like many of the strips that had filled the Twilight Years with wonder and delight, the Dr. Strange book would soon fall by the wayside. Englehart and Palmer would leave the strip in another few issues and though Colan continued to struggle on without them, the heart had gone out of his work. Just as it seemed to from much of the rest of Marvel’s line-up as the company creeped slowly but surely into creative senescence.

1976

Part IV:

1976-1979

s the Twilight Years drew to a close, Marvel became less a trendsetter than a follower of the latest fad. Income from corporate product and movie tie-ins formed an increasing part of the bottom line, even as the company’s own creative energies began to run dry. Ultimately, even Kirby himself became a casualty of the new reality.

Captain America #193

It had only been six years, but to longtime Marvel fans it felt more like twenty. “King Kirby is back!” screamed the blurb on the cover of Captain America #193 (Jan. 1976) and indeed the legendary Jack Kirby who, in partnership with Stan Lee, had helped lay the foundations of Marvel’s Silver Age triumph, had returned to the company with an immense store of goodwill among its readers. Unfortunately, what he had in mind for his return to Marvel would prove to be a disappointment to fans who expected him to pick up where he’d left off in 1970: perhaps taking over on such classic characters as Thor and the Fantastic Four while working within the continuity he himself had helped to build. It was not to be. The personal factors that had driven Kirby from Marvel six years before were still operable and in agreeing to come back, the artist made clear that he would be his own man as he wanted to be at DC. He would write and draw his own features and outside of Captain America and the Black Panther, would concentrate on new concepts such as the Eternals. In addition, Kirby would eschew collaboration with inkers such as Joe Sinnott and Vince Colletta who had made his art so memorable at the height of his success during the Grandiose Years. His determination to separate his new work from the general run of the Marvel Universe became immediately apparent on the Black Panther, a strip that for the past several years had been written by Don McGregor in a complex, layered style

“The Madbomb Screamer In The Brain!”; Jack Kirby (script & pencils), Frank Giacoia & Mike Esposito (inks)

Captain America #193: The initial excitement over Kirby’s return to Marvel was quickly dampened when it became apparent that not only would the king ignore ongoing continuity in his various books, but that he would also be doing his own scripting.

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that addressed many of the social issues of the day. To have Kirby take over the book and without a single reference to what McGregor had been doing only weeks before, throw the Panther into a simplistic, even goofy tale of straight super-hero action was jarring to say the least. Similarly, when Kirby took over the Cap strip this issue, what resulted had nothing to do with the evolution the character had undergone under the hand of writer Steve Englehart. In a single swoop, Kirby returned Cap to an era reminiscent of the Silver Age with a Madbomb plot resembling that of Inferno 42 in Tales of Suspense #76 or the seismo bomb in Cap #105. And as if the events that shook our hero’s faith in the establishment had never happened, he allows himself to be recruited by “big wig” Henry Kissinger: “If that’s who I think it is, we should get some straight answers!” declares Cap. “Hah!” replies the secretary. “You dreamer you! The test isn’t over yet: we’ll have our chat…if you survive this final hurdle!” The combination of Kirby’s decision to ignore continuity and the wider Marvel Universe, as well as scripting his own work, soon disappointed fans who had wanted so much to have his return to Marvel be a triumphant one. Instead, Kirby appeared to be a stranger displaying few signs of knowing what it was that made the company’s books tick. In fact, in this issue’s letters page, the rumblings had already begun with one fan openly expressing “regret” to see that Kirby would be scripting his own stories. Plainly, some fans had learned their lesson after following Kirby to DC hoping to enjoy the kind of stories that they had become used to when the artist was at Marvel. There, inker Vince Colletta succeeded in making the first issues of New Gods and other “Fourth World” titles look as sharp as Kirby’s later Marvel work, but he was soon forced off the books (for cutting corners and not inking everything the artist drew). Some fans who had given Kirby the benefit of the doubt, left with him. Then there was Kirby’s scripting with its quirky eccentricities and meandering, undisciplined plotting that succeeded in driving away the rest. So when the artist returned to Marvel, it was with a mix of hope and reservations on the part of fans but as the months passed, and Kirby stubbornly refused to bring his stories into the 1970s or to allow anyone else to script them, resistance began to mount against him both among older fans and in Marvel’s editorial offices. The problem was that, like Captain America, his own creation, Kirby had become an anachronism. The revolution in comics he helped to launch in 1961 had moved on without him. When Kirby had left Marvel in 1970 it was as if he’d taken himself out of the time stream or put himself into suspended animation. In his own pocket universe, 220

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away from New York, he was cut off from the latest developments in comics, especially Marvel comics and as a result, he’d failed to keep up. Slowly, while acknowledging his greatness and the debt the comics industry owed to him, fans nevertheless grew to disdain his work. As happened at DC, Kirby’s major new concept, the Eternals, would lose focus, founder, and be cancelled. After that, Kirby seemed to lose interest, letting go of such mainstream titles as Captain America and Black Panther and instead doing covers and picking up the oddball assignment like Machine Man and the frankly head scratching Devil Dinosaur. A last fling with former partner Stan Lee on a Silver Surfer graphic novel was equally disappointing, paving the way for Kirby’s final departure from Marvel. But by then, hardly anyone noticed.

New Gods #3: Inked by Vince Colletta, Kirby’s first few issues of such Fourth World books as New Gods at least had the sheen of a Marvel product, but the artist’s eccentric scripting and meandering plots would not be enough to hold most readers after Colletta was forced off the books.

1976

Astonishing Tales #33

“Reflections In a Crimson Eye!”; Bill Mantlo (script), Rich Buckler (co-plot & pencils), Klaus Janson (inks)

Wow! If only every installment of the “Deathlok” strip could’ve looked like this! It was late in the Twilight Years and the leadership at Marvel had become uncertain if not stormy. Editors came and went, deadlines were missed, and reprints and fill-ins peppered the line-up. Momentum at the company that had begun in earlier phases was slowing down and soon, many of the artists and writers that had managed to keep things going so far would begin to jump ship for rival DC. But there was still some life left at Marvel, still features that held promise, still creators with good intentions even if they sometimes failed to completely realize them. One of those features that still had promise and still managed to deliver on them at least on an uneven basis, was Deathlok (the Demolisher). Begun in Astonishing #25, the feature had suffered many ups and downs as creator Rich Buckler was able to put more or less time into it. Some issues had great art and moved the diverse elements of the ongoing plot forward while others suffered from pressing deadlines, too many hands trying to help finish late artwork, or revolving writers. But the weird thing about the strip is that every few issues, it would deliver a great installment where art and script came together. Astonishing Tales #33 (Jan. 1976) was that kind of issue. Sure, it had Buckler on full pencils and firing on all burners layout-wise, scripter Bill Mantlo doing the first person/computer interior dialogue bit in top notch form, and a book-length story without a reprint or hastily produced short subject to fill out unfinished pages, but the standout element that really puts this issue in the spotlight is the inking by newcomer Klaus Janson. Destined to become Marvel’s most impressive and innovative inker since Tom Palmer, Janson hit the reader where he lived with a relatively sedate opening splash page of Deathlok in New York’s subways before ratcheting things up a bit on page 2 where he impresses with a near full-page shot of Deathlok as he walks into a puddle with his blood red image reflected in the purplish water. As if having set up the reader for a visual one/two punch, Janson knocks ‘em dead on page 3 with a killer full-page portrait of the cyborg in all his scarred, decomposing glory! The rest of the issue was only slightly less impressive as Janson enhances Buckler’s unconventional layouts turning ordinary scenes into things of striking beauty. The

final panels on pages 7 and 30 for instance, the first showing the legs of a simple radio tower against a distant cityscape and a sky colored in sunset hues and the second another close up of Deathlok, are just plain eye candy! Where did this guy come from? From Connecticut actually, by way of Germany. Janson broke into comics as an assistant to artist and sometime DC editor Dick Giordano before moving quickly over to Marvel. There, he bounced around on different strips, enhancing the art of anyone he worked over. Unlike most other inkers, Janson, like Tom Palmer, was never afraid to put a lot of himself into his work. Thus, books inked by him usually looked darker than they otherwise would have under someone else. But where Palmer’s work was smooth and flowing, Janson’s was harder edged, giving his human figures a blockier feel. Extensive use of crosshatching on close ups and fine line detailing on backgrounds created a 3-D effect and an overall darker atmosphere to whatever strip he worked on. In the years beyond those of the Twilight Years, this quality would enhance the work of such artists as Gil Kane and Frank Miller when they drew the Daredevil strip. Unfortunately, Janson was only assigned to the “Deathlok” strip late in its run, but the couple examples that remain to us are choice; working over an artist at the top of his form, they have to be some of the best, if not the best, work the inker has ever done!

Klaus Janson’s inks put a dark, threedimensional edge to Rich Buckler’s art on Deathlok but it would not be until late in the decade when his work over Frank Miller’s pencils on Daredevil that his would become a household name.

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Astonishing Tales #35

“...And Once Removed From Never”; Bill Mantlo (script), Rich Buckler (co-plot & pencils), Klaus Janson (inks)

The meandering plot of the “Deathlok” feature finally came to a conclusion in Astonishing Tales #35 (May 1976) in a way that was reminiscent of the Grandiose Years: it ended in the middle of the issue with the next storyline picking up immediately afterward.

Astonishing Tales #35, page 16: The climactic chapter in the Deathlok saga was a combination of satisfaction and frustration as our anti-hero defeated the menace of Gen. Ryker even as his book was cancelled from under him.

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In a finale credited as having “concept, plot, and art” by Rich Buckler and inking and colors by Klaus Janson, could the results be anything but spectacular? The only element missing was having the strip’s co-creator Doug Moench on hand to script, but as it was, the very capable Bill Mantlo had been doing a stand up job for the past few issues, and his work here was no less satisfying as Luther Manning and Gen. Ryker are reduced to “random frequency scanning-wave(s)” for their final battle! “I’m usually considered the creator of Deathlok, but Doug was very heavily involved from the beginning,” recalled Buckler in an interview. “He came up with the name, and really co-created the character.” Originally based out of Detroit, over the years Buckler recruited a number of local artists such as Arvell Jones and Keith Pollard to help him meet deadlines on “Deathlok.” For similar reasons, the artist asked to be teamed with Moench, who then contributed many of the elements that would flesh out Buckler’s original concept of a cyborg hero. In fact, Buckler admits that it was Moench who came up with the character’s name. At first, he had intended on calling him “Deadlok,” but minutes before the two were to present the concept to editor Roy Thomas, Moench changed the name to “Deathlok.” Besides Moench, another key element on the Deathlok strip turned out to be inker Klaus Janson, a talent Buckler discovered. At

1977 first, the powers that be at Marvel refused to give Janson a chance, but after Buckler had him ink a few pages of the “Black Panther” strip he’d been working on for Jungle Action, they couldn’t refuse! After that, it didn’t take long for other artists to discover how Janson’s inks could flatter their pencils and he and Buckler were soon parted. Eventually, the two hooked up again on “Deathlok” and the results were a match made in heaven! Between Buckler and Janson, “Deathlok” was immediately elevated among the top tier of most exciting features of the Twilight Years (notwithstanding the fact that much of the time, plots were confusing; at one point, speaking to Thomas, Buckler reports the editor as summing up what fans themselves probably felt about the book: “I have no idea of what’s going on with ‘Deathlok,’ but I like it!”) Unfortunately, readers of the strip were doomed to frustration as the title was cancelled with Astonishing #36 (apparently a last minute decision as that book ended with a next issue blurb). They would never have the chance to find out how Deathlok’s world ended up the dilapidated, run down place it was, never find out who Hellinger was, who the Doomsday Mechs were, or if Deathlok himself ever became reconciled to his peculiar form of living death (at least until the next year in Marvel Spotlight #33). Be that as it may, the world of Deathlok as first envisioned by Buckler and Moench was surely a fascinating if never fully realized one. That the strip had difficulty finding its audience was perhaps less a fault of the concept than that it didn’t seem connected in any way to the larger Marvel Universe. It was an era in which all other genre’s besides super-heroes were falling by the wayside. Stan Lee and Jack Kirby and Steve Ditko had done their work Brought in to Marvel by way of helping out Rich Buckler on deadlines, Keith Pollard’s art was merely serviceable when he went on to pencil such flagship titles as Spider-Man and the FF.

too well. If such off beat strips as Deathlok were to survive, they had to adapt. Other features such as Master of Kung Fu, “War of the Worlds,” and the various monster books did it to one degree or another and who knows? Maybe guest-starring a super-hero once or twice did manage to save them from immediate extinction. Whether or not having Spider-Man travel to the future could have been done for “Deathlok” must remain a mystery (but maybe that wasn’t such a bad thing after all).

Savage Sword of Conan #16

“The People Of The Black Circle” “A Barbarian From The Hills [Part 2]” “The Sorcery Of Khemsa [Part 3]” “Reavers Of The Hills (Part 4)”; Roy Thomas (script), John Buscema (pencils), Alfredo Alcala (inks) “The Hyborian Age”; Roy Thomas (script), Walt Simonson (pencils & inks) “Worms Of The Earth”; Roy Thomas (script), Barry Windsor-Smith [as Barry Smith] (pencils), Tim Conrad (pencils assist & inks) “A Ghost In The Night”; Roy Thomas (script), Tim Conrad (pencils & inks)

By 1976, Savage Tales had morphed into the Savage Sword of Conan (leaving the Savage Tales title to cover the adventures of other characters and also to fall by the wayside as Marvel’s line of black-and-white magazines marched on) and featured lead stories with Roy Thomas still directing the battling Cimmerian’s career teamed up more often than not with John Buscema and Alfredo Alcala as he does this issue. By this time, the Conan phenomenon was still riding high with artists throughout the industry lining up to take a whack at the character (as demonstrated in a pin up section this issue). Also still prevalent was the art of Barry Smith, whose intricately detailed style continued to inspire other artists even though he had been gone from the Hyborian scene for some time. But while his imitators mistook detail as the secret of his great art, Smith himself returned one last time in Savage Sword of Conan #16 (Dec. 1976) to show them how far off the mark they actually were. Except that he did it more or less by proxy as his and Thomas’ adaptation of the Robert E. Howard story “Worms of the Earth” was one Smith had begun years before as a follow-up to “Red Nails” and that fans had been waiting for ever since the project was first announced. But months passed and then years with still no word that Smith had Part IV: 1976-1979

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completed the story. Finally, tired of waiting, Thomas decided to go with the pages the artist had already completed and finish the story with Tim Conrad, a new artist with a style obviously patterned after Smith. And yet, even with only the first 7 pages of this issue’s first chapter drawn by Smith, it was perfectly clear that at the time he drew them, he remained the greatest artist who ever worked in comics. Kirby may have been the greatest comic book artist, but Smith, who began his career as a slavish imitator of the King, had become the greatest

stylist of all. Taking place during Rome’s occupation of Britain, “Worms of the Earth” opens with a crucifixion scene from which Smith wrings out all the horror and drama there is. But that tantalizing taste of what the story could have been ends on page 7, never to be continued. Although Conrad does an admirable job in completing the story (indeed, he’d be one of those new artists to watch at Marvel in the 70s), it’s those first seven that remain as one of the sad, final echoes of the glory that was Marvel Comics in the 1960s.

Defenders #46

Savage Sword of Conan #16, pages 48-49: After waiting years for artist Barry Smith to finish he and Roy Thomas’ adaptation of Robert E. Howard’s “Worms of the Earth,” it was finally decided to go with what the artist had ready. As can be seen in this double-page splash, the completed work would have been spectacular and a fitting return by Smith to the worlds of REH.

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“Who Remembers Scorpio?”; Roger Slifer & David Kraft (script), Keith Giffen (breakdowns), Klaus Janson (pencils & inks)

By Defenders #46 (April 1977), Steve Gerber had moved on and the book taken over by a string of writers, culminating this issue with the team of Roger Slifer and David Anthony Kraft. Although Slifer would move on, Kraft would remain, but their

1977 initial outing here, the first chapter in the seminal “Whatever Happened to Scorpio” storyline still contained vestiges of the Gerber weirdness about an LMD suffering an identity crisis yet somehow connected to the Scorpio first introduced in Steranko’s Nick Fury, Agent of SHIELD #1. But as sometimes loony and often surreal as the story is, the real news this issue is the debut of a new artist at Marvel who would in his own way, rival Frank Miller and John Byrne. In fact one might be tempted to attribute the off-kilter elements that manage to creep into the Scorpio storyline to Keith Giffen, who co-plotted it with Kraft. Although Giffen’s stay at Marvel was destined to be a brief one, the inbred sense of humor that would become his hallmark after making the jump to DC, was already on display here. Giffen, who’d appeared at the Marvel offices only a few months earlier with no artistic experience to speak of, dropped off his portfolio for review by art director John Romita. When he returned the next day, he was immediately ushered into a conference and discovered that writer Bill Mantlo had taken a shine to his admittedly crude work and wanted him to fill-in on a project whose original artist quit suddenly. Just like that, Giffen was in. His first published work for Marvel was a tryout feature called Woodgod for Marvel Premiere before he landed the Defenders gig. There, a strong, maybe too strong, Kirby influence could be seen in his art with the roughest edges smoothed over by the overpowering inks of Klaus Janson who made Giffen’s art this issue something to behold! Like other new artistic discoveries that walked in through Marvel’s doors during the Twilight Years (ie Craig Russell, Barry Smith, Mike Ploog, Rich Buckler) Giffen’s art began as a crude effort to emulate a favorite comic book artist before evolving quickly into his own distinctive style. The only thing was, that in Giffen’s case, his style would seemingly never stop evolving! When he left Marvel after only five issues of the Defenders, he went to DC where he took on the look of French artist Philippe Druillet on Dr. Fate and Curt Swan on the Legion of Super-Heroes among others. But by then, Giffen had established himself as a writer as well as an artist and never looked back, having one of the most successful and wide ranging careers of any comic creator of the 1980s including peers such as Miller and Byrne. But for the time being, as the Scorpio story unfolded, readers would be treated to one of those occasions that gave the Twilight Years their own brand of synergy: the sudden emergence of a new artistic talent whose style would evolve at virtual lightning speed into one of the most exciting in comics.

Daredevil #146

“Duel!”; Jim Shooter (script), Gil Kane (pencils), Jim Mooney (inks)

After a good run of mediocre issues following the departure of long time DD artist Gene Colan after issue #100 (not counting a couple fill-in issues done by the artist over the ensuing years), the Daredevil strip was due for a string of good luck and boy, did it ever get it! Beginning with Daredevil #146 (June 1977) and continuing on for years it seemed, the strip would feature different combinations of writers and artists that made it the place to be for any die hard Marvel fan! Beginning this issue with the team of writer Jim Shooter and artist Gil Kane, the book would host Gene

Writer/artist Keith Giffen would have a long and storied career in comics beyond the twilight years. After a brief stay at Marvel, the artist migrated to DC where his style would evolve through many phases as he worked on features from Dr. Fate to the Legion of Super-Heroes to the Justice League of America.

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John Byrne

If Jack Kirby’s style had been the look of the 1960s, then surely that of John Byrne was that of the 1980s! Bursting on the scene at Charlton comics with an art style already quite advanced, Byrne had no trouble transitioning to Marvel where he worked on a number of features before landing a permanent assignment on the X-Men. Already climbing in popularity, Byrne’s arrival on the title catapulted it to stratospheric levels. Now with a strong fan base, the artist took over the Fantastic Four as both writer and artist and after a long association with that title and many others, left Marvel for DC where he burst onto the national consciousness after being given unprecedented control over the company’s flagship character Superman.

Colan again before newcomer Frank Miller took over the art and then David Mazzucchelli after him. Roger McKenzie would replace Shooter on scripts followed by Miller and then Denny O’Neil, before Miller came back again in the 1980s. But most of those stories lie outside the proper bounds of Marvel’s Twilight Years; for now, it’s enough to consider this issue, where that impressive run of talent had its start. After years in which the DD strip had suffered the mediocrity that plagued many of Marvel’s flagship titles during the 1970s, it was rescued by writer Jim Shooter, who began his career in comics as a teenager during the Silver Age scripting stories for DC’s Legion of SuperHeroes. Shooter moved over to Marvel when Stan Lee hired him in 1975 as an unofficial editorial assistant; in his capacity as scripter, he took over a handful of titles most notably the Avengers where he quickly shook up the status quo. A man with firm ideas, not only about writing, but the process of crafting stories that met the peculiar demands of comics, Shooter delivers a gripping, fast moving story here that at once captures the insanity of DD villain Bullseye, while moving forward with the relationship between Matt Murdock and girlfriend Heather Glenn. But with veteran artist Gil Kane on hand to provide the visuals, the action is not long in coming. It begins on page 9 and doesn’t stop until the end. Kane’s loose style (which had its ups and downs, mostly downs, in the years since Kirby’s departure) is helped this issue by inker Jim Mooney who manages to tighten up the artist’s pencils in a plain but serviceable manner. The visuals would kick into high gear over the next few issues however when Klaus Janson took over on the inks. 226

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Avengers #164

“To Fall By Treachery!”; Jim Shooter (script), John Byrne (pencils), Pablo Marcos (inks)

If Marvel had only a half dozen titles like it did during the early years, artist John Byrne could have been another Jack Kirby in terms of his ability to churn out pages while retaining the high quality of his pencils. Arriving at Marvel from Charlton Comics in the mid-70s, Byrne boasted a clean, accessible art style that was perfect for super-hero action. At the same time, his attention to detail gave him greater flexibility than Kirby ever had in his ability to design facial expressions crucial for communicating the personalities and emotions of his characters. Both of which were on display in a special three-issue fill-in he did for the Avengers beginning here in Avengers #164 (Oct. 1977). Right off, the splash page this issue features a number of characters, each displaying their own distinctive features (somewhat dulled by the inks of Pablo Marcos) and arranged in such a manner that a quiet lab scene nevertheless seems to convey a sense of repressed excitement. As for super-hero action, over 11 pages, Byrne effortlessly choreographs a dozen characters as the plot drives toward the story’s climax featuring a newly super-powered Count Nefaria. At the scripting helm is Marvel newcomer Jim Shooter, who began his comics career at DC writing for the demanding Mort Weisinger. Used to handling many super powered characters at once from his time on the Legion of Super-Heroes, Shooter is in his element here, picking up such character bits created

1977

by previous writers as the Beast’s inexplicable attraction to women and the problems of an aging Whizzer and incorporating them into his own take on the Avengers. As the main story unfolds, we find a group of classic Avengers villains being used by Nefaria in a larger plan to defeat our heroes; a plan that would unfold over the next couple of issues and end up being a classic of the Twilight Years for a flagship title that had begun to visibly slow down.

Avengers #165, page 3: Two forces destined to dominate Marvel in the 1980s come together: Jim Shooter scripts this story which became an instant classic while John Byrne choreographs the action. Pablo Marcos supplies the inks.

Avengers #165

“Hammer of Vengeance!”; Jim Shooter (script), John Byrne (pencils), Pablo Marcos (inks)

The action continues in Avengers #165 (Nov. 1977) as Shooter and Byrne turn it up a notch with Nefaria effortlessly taking on the entire team in a battle royal that begins on the first page and doesn’t stop until the last with the dramatic, even deus ex mechanistic arrival of Thor. Throughout, Shooter manages to fill-in the reader on past events while at the same time throwing in character bits helping define and differentiate the many costumed heroes that populate every page. Elements of writing that as Editor-in-Chief, Shooter would instill on all of the company’s scripters, rules that some veterans would not take kindly to. The rules would only add to a general sense of dislike for Shooter’s style by many of Marvel’s most experienced creators driving them to rival DC. But that was in the future, for now, Shooter showed how a properly scripted and plotted comic book story should be done in what readers recognized at once as a classic story in the making. Here was Nefaria’s evolving self-discovery, Wonder Man’s fears, the Vision’s plight, the aging Whizzer, Iron Man’s failure of leadership and the virtual mutiny that results, even the mysterious introduction of Shooter stand in Henry Peter Gyrich who would prove to be as much a pain for the Avengers as some claimed Shooter would be to his own Part IV: 1976-1979

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staff. And as if all that wasn’t enough, there was the art by Byrne who, even at this early period, displayed all the pizzazz that would rocket him to super stardom in the next decade with page after page of exciting visuals that bounced back and forth between different members of the team and their supporting characters.

Avengers #166, page 6: Shooter and Byrne conclude their threepart story in exciting fashion. Each would go on to bigger and better things: Shooter to Editor-in-Chief of Marvel Comics, Byrne to superstardom and eventual coverage in Time magazine!

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Avengers #166

“Day of the Godslayer!”; Jim Shooter (script), John Byrne (pencils), Pablo Marcos (inks)

The Nefaria storyline ended here in Avengers #166 (Dec. 1977) with the arrival on the scene of Thor. But instead of relief, some of the other Avengers, as hard pressed as they were by the count, can’t help feeling resentment at the son of Odin’s last minute appearance. It was another character bit that writer Jim Shooter had been playing up, the uneasy relationship that must surely have been felt between the mortal members of the Avengers and a self-styled thunder god. “Very dramatic, Thor,” says a fed up Scarlet Witch. “But I for one am sick of your last minute appearances and your overblown godhood!” At the same time, the writer does a good job in giving Nefaria himself some shades of gray as he suffers doubt and even fear at suddenly having to go toe to toe with an angry Thor. But the tables are turned when the last minute save is provided not by Thor, but by a revived Vision who increases his weight and plummets onto a weakening Nefaria driving him into the ground. For a series that had grown somewhat stale since celebrating its 100th issue some years before, the conclusion of the Nefaria arc provided one of the most memorable storylines of the Twilight era Avengers, a saga that also included other highly successful epics involving Ultron, Korvac, and Hank Pym. For those however, Shooter would

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be joined by less accomplished artists such as George Pérez, whose awkward figures and over-rendered style would fill the pages of the Avengers both before and after the Nefaria high point. In fact, it was Pérez who provided each of the covers for the Nefaria series. Like Giffen and later Miller and Byrne, Pérez would later leave Marvel for DC where his style found a more comfortable home.

Champions #17, page 11: Inks by John Byrne make this page by artist George Tuska palatable as the axe fell on this final issue of the title.

Champions #17

“The Sentinels Hunt Again!”; Bill Mantlo (script), George Tuska (layouts), John Byrne (pencils & inks)

Although the Champions arrived on a wave of new team books that cropped up at Marvel in the late 1970s including The Invaders, Defenders, and a revived X-Men, unlike those others, its unlikely mix of homeless characters never seemed to fit right together. So while its peers among the company’s team books went on to enjoy some extensive runs (with the X-Men turning out to be a runaway hit), the Champs ended too soon, just as its roster of heroes began to gel under writer Bill Mantlo and artist John Byrne. Comprised of X-Men characters Ice Man and Angel who failed to make the cut for the new team formed over in the new Uncanny X-Men book, and third-tier heroes such as team leader Black Widow, Ghost Rider, and Hercules, the Champions strip had a rough start under scripter Tony Isabella and artist George Tuska. Although Isabella manfully tried to make a go of it by coming up with character twists such as Hercules having his doubts about a woman being in a leadership role, the Angel bankrolling the team and desperate to prove himself away from the X-Men, and Ghost Rider worried about being able to fit in, the superhero action never seemed to measure up. Not helping were Tuska’s stiff pencils that were often saved only by Vince Colletta’s detailed inks. The strip bumped along for a half dozen issues, not really going Part IV: 1976-1979

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anywhere and rapidly becoming a poster child for Marvel’s moribund mainstream titles of the time when something really interesting happened. With #11, a new creative team moved in helmed by Bill Mantlo, one of the newer names joining the Marvel bullpen in the Twilight Years. Although not usually mentioned in the same breath as earlier Bronze Age writers like Marv Wolfman, Steve Englehart, or Doug Moench, Mantlo proved himself more than once, taking over series and banging out serviceable, entertaining stories and otherwise making the company’s flagship characters actually readable again. He did it on such strips as “Deathlok” and the Defenders, and he did it here again streamlining characterization, balancing sub-plots, and introducing such Marvel literary staples as continued stories with a cosmic twist that were yet firmly grounded in continuity. Which was something, perhaps not coincidentally, that the following years would prove to be of interest to artist John Byrne as well. The two began their partnership with a first story that included everything but the kitchen sink! Champions #11 opens with an action sequence featuring gueststar Black Goliath saving the team as its shuttle is about to crash into the Champs’ own headquarters building! After that, there’s just enough time for some quiet character interaction before the team scrambles out west to join Hawkeye and the Two Gun Kid in a visually arresting battle between the Champions and “the shadow soldiers of Warlord Ka!” Hoo boy! (Or should that be Yee ha!?) Mantlo and Byrne followed up that impressive opener with equally satisfying tales over the next four issues featuring the Stranger and Swarm (a creature composed of thousands of bees who swarm together in the shape of a human being!). Unfortunately, it all came too late to save the book as Byrne took over the art chores on the X-Men and was forced into only inking Champions #17 (Jan. 1978), the final issue of the run. Byrne’s inks on the issue went a long way to softening the rough edges of Tuska’s pencils however allowing the team to deliver a nice little X-Men tie-in story featuring the Sentinels, the Vanisher, and a bevy of ex-Xenemies! Although it was an unsatisfying end for die hard fans who’d stuck with the strip through its uneven early issues, it was a wonderful if low key, sendoff to a series that had shown marked improvement and became for one brief shining moment, one of Marvel’s best books of the Twilight Years. 230

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Daredevil #151

“Crisis!”; Jim Shooter (co-plot), Roger McKenzie (script), Gil Kane (co-plot, breakdowns), Klaus Janson (finished art)

By Daredevil #151 (March 1978), both the storyline and art had definitely kicked into high gear! The last issue of Shooter’s direct involvement in the plotting, the reins would be handed over to Marvel newcomer Roger McKenzie, who ably completed this first arc of the downward spiral of Matt Murdock’s relationship with main squeeze Heather Glenn, who had replaced former girlfriend Karen Page when the latter decamped to Hollywood. Over the last half dozen issues, Shooter had begun a process that would eventually see the end of the unsatisfying Glenn albatross from the strip. In a process familiar to readers of the Avengers where Shooter successfully conducted a shakeup of the long neglected Henry Pym character (aka Ant-Man, Giant-Man, Goliath, Yellowjacket), he performs a similar operation here in a storyline that culminates this issue with the suicide of Heather’s father. When the Purple Man’s hold over him had been broken, Maxwell Glenn was still convinced that he was guilty of the crimes he committed while in the villain’s power. Unable to overcome that guilt, he killed himself while a prisoner at Ryker’s Island. Blamed by Heather for the death of her father, Matt is driven from her apartment and, back home, flies into an emotional rage, one that only Gil Kane could have interpreted in the way he does on pages 6-7! In a denouement reminiscent of past Spider-Man tales where the hero vows to give up his costumed identity, DD falls into despondency, doubting his role as a hero until he sees a child struck by a bus driven by fleeing criminals. He captures the gang and realizes that in doing so, he has managed to keep others from being hurt as well. The

After countless issues of X-Men that became instant classics, inker Terry Austin's name became permanently entwined with that of artist John Byrne. His rep had already been made, however, when he previously teamed with artist Marshall Rogers on a handful of equally influential Batman stories for DC.

1978 downward spiral of Heather’s relationship with Matt Murdock would come to an end with her own suicide years later but that’s a tale beyond the subject of this book. The story was a mini-masterpiece with a co-plotting credit to artist Gil Kane whose overwrought style was not only saved but enhanced by the moody inks of Klaus Janson. The only wrong note in this otherwise near-perfect issue was the rather bland cover by Dave Cockrum that gave no hint of the drama within. No longer could Marvel, as it had

in the Silver Age, be relied upon to provide quality stories issue after issue for years at a time, especially in its flagship books; but what it could still do was deliver limited runs of excellent comics whenever the chance teaming of creative talent happened to combine just the right way. It happened when Conway, Colan, and Palmer teamed up on earlier issues of DD, when Moench and Gulacy teamed up on Master of Kung Fu, when Buckler and Janson came together on “Deathlok,” and it happened again here, when DC alumni Shooter and Kane teamed up on Daredevil!

X-Men #111

“Mindgames!”; Chris Claremont (script), John Byrne (pencils), Terry Austin (inks)

Daredevil #151, page 6: Although this page displays some of artist Gil Kane’s most bothersome idiosyncracies (check out that third panel’s waving fists and up-the-nose shot!), the inks by Klaus Janson still made this issue a standout.

By X-Men #111 (June 1978), the book’s growing momentum could no longer be doubted. Under writer Chris Claremont and artist Dave Cockrum, the series had received a solid underpinning of characterization and stories that continued to emphasize the book’s international flavor. The first serious misstep occurred when the team abandoned its earthbound roots for outer space resulting in a star spanning epic involving too many new costumed characters to count (who not coincidentally bore a resemblance to the artist’s former gig with the Legion of Super-Heroes). The X-Men were clearly out of their element with the series threatening to veer off in a direction incompatible with its original concept. Luckily, however, the strip was rescued by the arrival of perhaps Marvel’s most Part IV: 1976-1979

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exciting new artistic talent. Sure, over in Daredevil, Frank Miller would soon be building an appreciative fan base, but through the next decade at least, John Byrne would reign as the outright favorite of readers. Coming to Marvel by way of Charlton Comics, Byrne arrived on the scene with a pleasing penciling style perfect for super-heroes that seemed reminiscent of Neal Adams without as much detail. He improved rapidly while bouncing around different assignments from Marvel Team-Up to the Champions, until landing the X-Men after Cockrum left. Hitting the ground running, Byrne stunned fans with his wind up of the Lilandra/Starjammers interstellar storyline before moving into high gear

here for the opening act in the long awaited return of Magneto to the X book. He never looked back. Teamed on the X-Men with inker Terry Austin, Byrne’s style would further sharpen and crystallize even as his input into plotting and character development increased until he became a full partner with Claremont. Byrne was at his greatest when his story sense combined with Marvel continuity (that he seemed to know by heart), a skill he took with him when he eventually left the X-Men to become writer/artist of the Fantastic Four. Thus, despite its continued success after his departure, the feature reached its zenith under Byrne after which Claremont and a returned Cockrum cut the X-Men off from their roots and turned the strip into a far less interesting one.

Daredevil #153

“Betrayal”; Roger McKenzie (script), Gene Colan (pencils), Tony DeZuniga (inks)

Doomsday +1: A cool cover by artist John Byrne who arrived at Marvel by way of Charlton Comics. There, Byrne worked on a number of books as well as Rog-2000, a back-up strip in E-Man based on a robot character of his own invention.

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Although fans didn’t know it at the time, Daredevil #153 (July 1978) was a return to DD’s salad days with the seemingly triumphant return of artist Gene “the Dean” Colan to the pencil chores. And a casual flip-through the book was all it took for anyone to see that the artist had lost none of his magic in his depiction of Daredevil as the devil may care acrobat that he and writer Stan Lee had depicted in the Grandiose Years. Adding to the sense of déjá vu was a story that managed to get out from under the heaviosity that ran through Jim Shooter’s issues, bringing back the Cobra and Mr. Hyde from some of DD’s best remembered adventures. Although nowhere as well served under inker Tony Dezuniga, Colan’s style was too strong to be held back and burst forth right off the bat with a page 3 splash featuring DD confronting Cobra and Hyde in a darkened apartment. What follows is a patented Colan action sequence filled with hurtling bodies, strobe effects, and speed lines culminating in a second splash on page 7! The action continues on the street until DD is finally captured by the deadly duo, and in the next issue things would only get worse for our hero (but better for readers!) when DD is forced to fight a bevy of his old time villains including the Jester, Gladiator, and the Purple Man! Ringleading the return to greatness was writer Roger McKenzie who took over the strip after Shooter was promoted to Marvel’s Editor-in-Chief. McKenzie began his professional career at Warren Publishing, writing mostly run of the mill horror stories until making the transition to Marvel’s own black-and-white line. From there, he drifted over to the color comics and DD. Without missing a beat, he picked up where Shooter left off, continuing

1979 Another Filipino artist recruited by Marvel, Tony DeZuniga mostly provided inks over others’ pencils most famously alternating with Alfredo Alcala over John Buscema’s Conan in Savage Sword.

to evolve the Matt/Heather relationship while reconnecting Daredevil with the character’s old continuity. But McKenzie wasn’t satisfied with just reestablishing the status quo; forging ahead with his own interpretation of the character, he began to transform DD from the happy-go-lucky character created by Lee to more of a Batman style creature of the night. Soon, DD became somewhat of a fearsome figure as his underworld enemies began suddenly referring to him as “‘devil” instead of Daredevil and stories darkened assuming more of a street quality. Although McKenzie was headed in the right direction, he stumbled somewhat over the next couple issues when he brought the overly colorful Avengers into the storyline. But all that would change by issue #158 when McKenzie would be partnered with a new artist whose sensibilities were more firmly attuned to a “grim and gritty” take on the feature than perhaps Colan could muster.

Daredevil #158

“A Grave Mistake!”; Roger McKenzie (script), Frank Miller (pencils), Klaus Janson (inks)

It said it right there on the splash page: “From time to time a truly great artist will explode upon the Marvel scene like a bombshell!” From there, credits for Daredevil #158 (May 1979) are listed—writer Roger McKenzie, inker Klaus Janson, and editor Jim Shooter—all of whom “confidently predict that newcomer lanky Frank Miller is just such an artist!” It was a pretty strong sounding endorsement for a guy no one ever heard of before, and one would think McKenzie, Janson, Shooter, et al were going out on a limb with such high praise for a fella that, frankly, just wasn’t that impressive in this debut. But the staff must have written that boastful blurb after Miller’s pages for the next couple of issues had begun to arrive at Marvel’s Madison Avenue offices because their opinion was proven to be absolutely right! Frank Miller would not only turn out to be an artist whose style would shake up a comics culture that

was still working comfortably in the shadow of Jack Kirby, but whose story sense was destined to transform the whole culture of comics from one laboring under the restrictions of the Comics Code to one that would increasingly reflect the darker, more pessimistic attitude of a society that had lost its naivete and that now in the final decades of the Twentieth Century, would look upon the world with jaundiced eyes. In short, American society was ready for a full-scale plunge into the deep end of narcissism and despair as the breakdown of the social mores that had begun in the 1960s took its final toll. The dark and gritty vision that Miller would bring to Daredevil (which would really come to the fore only with issue #168 when he took over both art and scripting) happened to coincide with the country’s drift into social chaos. Although the grim and gritty trend could be said to have begun with the earlier creation of Rich Buckler’s Deathlok and Gerry Conway’s Punisher, the potential of those characters and their full integration into the darkening nature of American society was never completely realized. It wasn’t until Miller began to push the boundaries of the Comics Code in stories with real world settings that included an underworld steeped in drug addiction, child abuse, and rape that the full integration of super-heroes and the darkening course of comics was completed. (More accurately, it was Miller and McKenzie who produced the first Code busting story that Marvel at first decided not to publish. But by 1982, Miller had managed to push the envelope of acceptability so far that the hard hitting “Child’s Play,” about deadly drugs being sold to children, was finally printed in DD #183). With similar work being done over at DC by English writer Alan Moore, Miller’s take on super-heroes would spread like a disease in every direction, infecting everything it touched and, kicked into high gear by the artist’s later work on Batman, the whole comics industry would eventually descend into an unreadable, unlikable mess of titles that finally drove the last young reader away from the industry for good. But no one at the time of this issue could have foreseen all that with DD #158 featuring a story continued from the issue before and involving a villain named Deathstalker (aka the Exterminator from way back in DD #41). Other than Deathstalker’s rather messy demise at the end, the story held no real hint of the changes to come beginning in the very next issue. Miller’s art itself was more on the clumsy side beginning with a somewhat ugly splash page. With lots of use of blacks, cartoony faces, and Gil Kane style action layouts, readers could have been Part IV: 1976-1979

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Frank Miller

In the beginning, his art style was crude and unpromising, but editors at Marvel saw something in Frank Miller’s work that their counterparts at DC didn’t, and gave the artist his first real break in comics. Miller began his career with a brief appearance for Gold Key before sneaking past Joe Orlando at DC to win some assignments for the company’s Weird War Tales feature. In 1978, however, Miller landed at Marvel where he proceeded to work on a number of fill-in jobs before hearing that artist Gene Colan planned to leave the Daredevil strip. Miller won a campaign to replace Colan on the feature and began a long stint on the character beginning with issue #158. His art improved rapidly from that first halting debut and when he took over the scripting as well, he quickly earned a legion of fans enamored with the dark underworld in which he placed the once happy go lucky Daredevil. By the time he concluded his run on the feature, Miller found he could write his own ticket anywhere in the industry, and moved to DC where he was given virtually carte blanche to work on whatever he wanted to. His first project there was the disappointing Ronin mini-series. Things improved in 1986 with the release of the groundbreaking Batman: The Dark Knight Returns and in 1987 with Batman: Year One. In subsequent years, Miller bounced back and forth among Marvel, DC, and other independent companies with increasingly personal projects while trying to break into movie scriptwriting with Robocop II. But it would not be until 2005 with the release of the film adaptation of Sin City that Miller would come into his own with films he had no hand in writing. The subsequent adaptation of 300 and the film’s huge success vaulted Miller briefly into the ranks of movers and shakers in H-wood, but his reputation was squandered after the release in 2008 of the widely panned Spirit, a film he both wrote and directed.

forgiven if they doubted the predictions made in the issue’s credits. That said, there were hints here and there that maybe, just maybe, this Miller guy had something at that. Page 5 was likely the standout here as Miller was able to capture nighttime vistas of the city (especially a rooftop scene in panel 1) that were really quite breathtaking. There were hints in his style that indicated more than simple Kane fight scenes: there was something of Steve Ditko as well and, as would become more obvious later, of “Spirit” creator Will Eisner. It was an inauspicious beginning to a meteoric career that would make Miller a darling of fans in the 1980s, and for one brief shining moment, actually bring comics mainstream acceptance before they sank back into a mire of overindulgence from which they would never escape. 234

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Daredevil #159

“Marked for Murder!”; Roger McKenzie (script), Frank Miller (pencils), Klaus Janson (inks)

For those readers who still doubted the hyperbolic introduction they had of artist Frank Miller in the previous issue, those uncertainties must have vanished when they caught sight of the cover of Daredevil #159 (July 1979)! Likely colored as well as inked by Klaus Janson (who would become Miller’s permanent partner on the strip eventually taking over full pencils over Miller’s layouts in later issues), the cover’s muted green and purple background caught the eye while highlighting the foreground figures of DD and a knife-wielding thug as they plunge into the cold waters of the river. Still marked by a certain ungainliness, Miller’s art this issue showed overall

1979 improvement since #158 and a marked emphasis on the underworld with the introduction of recurring crime lord Eric Slaughter. McKenzie’s story opens as Slaughter is hired by DD nemesis Bullseye to kill the Man Without Fear. Slaughter fails, of course, but not before Bullseye is able to tape DD’s battle with the crime lord’s thugs, setting the stage for the next issue. Throughout the story, the skill with which Miller was able to capture cityscapes is once again on display with page 7 a standout! As Miller continued on the strip, his art would become more spare, even minimalist as he cultivated a less is more philosophy using the mere suggestion of objects rather than drawing them in full detail. Later, aided by Janson’s coloring skills, objects, particularly cityscapes, would

often be represented as areas of color with the holding lines dropped. But in its initial stages, Miller’s style was influenced mostly by artist Will Eisner best known for his 1940s newspaper strip, the Spirit. There, Eisner experimented with composition and layout, frequently finding ways to integrate text with art, a particular trick that Miller would most obviously emulate on the title pages of his comics. Here, he incorporates the story’s title as a word balloon uttered by Bullseye but in other issues, words would be placed on flying litter, billboards, newspaper headlines, or the sides of buildings. Miller broke into comics at Gold Key with work on its Twilight Zone feature before moving over to DC where he drew some stories for its anthology books. From there, he went to Marvel with his first assignment being an unlikely fill-in on Warlord of Mars. Other fill-in jobs involved Daredevil who, at the time, had sunk from the glory days of the 1960s to bi-monthly status by the end of the 70s. But the ground level character turned out to be one in which Miller could tell stories inspired by the film noir movies he was coming to enjoy: stories of crime and murderous deeds in a realistic setting of rain slicked streets and all night bars.

Daredevil #160

“In the Hands of Bullseye”; Roger McKenzie (script), Frank Miller (pencils), Klaus Janson (inks)

Twilight Zone #85: For a while there, before becoming a Hollywood insider, Frank Miller became ubiquitous among independent comics companies even teaming up briefly with fellow artists John Byrne and Mike Mignola to found his own Legend imprint.

In Daredevil #160’s “epilogue/prologue” (Sept. 1979), writer Roger McKenzie and artist Frank Miller let it be known in no uncertain language that this was not your father’s (or in this case, your older brother’s) DD anymore! In a scene that foreshadowed a more infamous event in issue #181, Miller portrays Daredevil villain Bullseye (who up to now had only been your typical slightly driven bad guy), as an out and out homicidal maniac who viciously attacks the Black Widow, taking her out as easy as 1, 2, 3. This time, he’d only hold his victim hostage against DD, the next time he returned to try it again, Bullseye would not be so kind. Cut to Matt Murdock and Heather Glenn visiting Maxwell Glenn’s graveside where McKenzie picks up some loose threads of DD’s private life. An argument ensues and DD seeks comfort with the Widow only to discover she’s been kidnapped by Bullseye. On the way to the expected fight scene at the finish, the reader is reintroduced to the regular cast of Foggy Nelson and the office staff before checking in with Daily Bugle reporter Ben Urich and the fellows at Josie’s Bar, both of which would loom larger when Miller took over writing the book as well as drawing it. Although the phenomenon of the writer/artist was not a new one and one that would become more prevalent as the ’70s gave way to the Part IV: 1976-1979

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fatalistic hero/villains, Byrne concentrated on traditional super-hero action and cosmic adventure that often tied in to established continuity. Both approaches had their ardent fans and through the 80s, Byrne’s vision would remain dominant (where he would eventually take it to DC and, given total control of the Superman franchise, became an even bigger success than he had been at Marvel). Eventually, Byrne’s efforts

1980s, it had virtually disappeared during the Silver Age as DC’s corporate, compartmentalized structure became the norm there and Marvel had radically downsized in the late 1950s. Leaving Marvel in 1970, Jack Kirby had become an outrider of the phenomenon when he contracted with DC to package his own line of books that ended up being both drawn and scripted by him; but that circumstance proved shortlived, made possible only because of the power the artist wielded due to his role in Marvel’s rise during the Silver Age. (To be sure, Kirby and fellow Marvel artist Steve Ditko both had had strong story input on their strips and at times were even credited with such but their roles were still intricately intertwined with that of creative partner Stan Lee). The 1970s however, would see the full flowering of the writer/artist who plotted, penciled, and scripted his own stories. That trend took hold here with Daredevil when Miller was given complete creative control of the strip after McKenzie left. Miller’s achievement was soon followed by the era’s other creative giant, John Byrne who, like his colleague, began at Marvel working on a variety of books before landing a permanent berth aboard the X-Men express train, one that he had no small part in bringing up to full speed. Together, Miller and Byrne would dominate the next decade with their divergent takes on comics influencing any number of up and coming artists. But where Miller would choose the darker road pushing the boundaries of the real life take that Lee, Kirby, and Ditko had first explored and turn his protagonists into brooding,

Daredevil #160, page 3: Artist Frank Miller forecasts the kind of brutality that would become the norm in the decades following the twilight years. It was a far cry from Amazing Spider-Man #22 when our hero’s big problem was how to subdue Princess Python without “getting rough with her!”

1979 were rewarded when he became the first comic creator since Lee himself to burst onto the wider public consciousness, but Miller would have the last laugh. By the end of the 80s, a new crop of writer/artists, attracted to Miller’s darker approach, would break the hold Marvel and DC had on the industry and drag the whole shebang into the abyss after them. Perhaps fittingly, Miller himself would end up in Hollywood where a similar downward trend was taking place and eventually became a power there. In the meantime however, the artist would continue on the Daredevil strip for some years making it for the time being, the most exciting place to be in comics.

Iron Man #128

“Demon In a Bottle”; David Michelinie (co-plot, script), Bob Layton (co-plot), John Romita, Jr. (breakdowns), Bob Layton (co-plot, finished art & inks)

With an image reminiscent of an old EC Comics cover of the 1950s, Iron Man #128 (Nov. 1979) took its place in the darker turn being taken by Marvel by the end of the 1970s. Featuring an image that included no colorful contest between hero and villain, this issue’s cover spotlighted a half shaven, perspiring Tony Stark staring into a mirror like a desperate madman, an opened bottle of whiskey in the foreground. Titled “Demon in a Bottle,” the story inside follows Stark’s struggle with alcoholism, a drinking problem brought on by the pressures of his personal life, and how he successfully overcomes it. Written by David Michelinie (with a plot assist by sometime penciler/inker Bob Layton) and drawn by John Romita, Jr., the story has not only become a classic of

Artist John Romita, Jr. would end up having almost as storied a career as his father.

the era, but a turning point event in the characterization of Tony Stark/Iron Man that continued to define him for decades. All three men were among many “third generation” creators that began to populate Marvel’s bullpen at this time, producing workmanlike books that constituted for the most part, the company’s flagship titles. (There were exceptions of course such as writer/artists Frank Miller, John Byrne, and Keith Giffen as well as Romita, Jr. himself who would later develop into an exciting artist). Sometimes, however, there could be a hiccup in the smooth assembly line that cranked out comics like so much sausage. For Michelinie and Layton, it would be “Demon in a Bottle.” But the story, a far cry from the type of realism first introduced to super-heroes by the likes of Stan Lee and Steve Ditko in the Formative Years, was not an isolated event of the Twilight Years. In these same closing months of the 1970s, Daredevil would give way to violent despair in DD #151 and Hank Pym (aka Yellowjacket) would become a wife beater, betray his teammates, and be expelled from the Avengers. Perhaps not coincidentally, Jim Shooter as writer was behind both stories and as Editor-in-Chief oversaw this issue as well as the ongoing darker tone that would soon engulf the Daredevil strip under Frank Miller.

Postscript: Tomb of Dracula #70

“Lords Of The Undead!”; Marv Wolfman (script), Gene Colan (breakdowns), Tom Palmer (finished art & inks)

Artist Bob Layton (left) and writer David Michelinie (right) most famously teamed up on Iron Man with Layton often acting as inker over John Romita, Jr.’s pencils.

By 1979, it was all over. But as it was with the company’s previous three phases, the shift from one era to another was never cut and dried and so it was as the Twilight Years ended and Marvel’s decline into creative bankruptcy began. Like echoes from a distant but still remembered past, some of the great strips of the Twilight Years continued to coast on the strengths and vibrancy of their original issues, just as the flagship titles born as far back as the Formative Years still carried on. Master of Kung Fu, Howard the Duck, Captain Marvel were still around, pale ghosts haunting the House of Ideas and last and not least (and ironically since the character was already dead!) Dracula. Still Part IV: 1976-1979

237

1979 Wolfman and Colan, the last of Marvel’s early artistic titans, would follow), spelled certain doom for the Tomb of Dracula #70, page 43: If the story future. Of course, doom is a relative term. If success is of Count Dracula ended here, writer Marv Wolfman’s final words would have made a measured by robust sales and continued popularity, fitting envoie to Marvel’s take on the classic then certainly Marvel continued to do well with the character, but like Bram Stoker’s immortal resurgence of the X-Men by writer Chris Claremont creation, the monster would rise from its and artist John Byrne and Frank Miller’s Daredevil in grave in the form of continuing adventures the 1980s (both of which were extremely well done in a black-and-white magazine version of the series as well as other features especially Byrne’s color comic. Fantastic Four and an excellent run of the Avengers by writer Roger Stern and artists John Buscema and Tom being produced by the creative team that had been on Palmer), but circulation figures don’t tell the whole the book almost since the beginning, Marv Wolfman, story. Besides the sheer craft of telling stories in comic Gene Colan, and Tom Palmer, it was possibly the book form, there was a certain spirit that animated the last quality title created in the Twilight Years (and early Formative Years of Marvel’s Silver Age, a spirit certainly the last survivor of the horror boom that’d that was nurtured in the Years of Consolidation and swept Marvel almost ten years brought to full, exhilarating, fruition before) still in existence. But reduced in the Grandiose Years. The high to bi-monthly status, its days were flown, optimistic language of Stan numbered and Tomb of Dracula #70 Lee in conjunction with the soaring (Aug. 1979) would be its final issue. visions of Jack Kirby, Steve Ditko, Providing closure for the long Don Heck, Jim Steranko, John running strip and featuring the Buscema, and Gene Colan that not “death” of its title character and only captured the spirit of the 1960s, his arch-enemy Quincy Harker, this but caught the imagination of a issue could also serve as a symbolic generation of readers, had vanished finish to the four phases of Marvel’s by the mid-1970s. The soul had gone development. Like the Dracula book, out of the company’s comics and its the company known as Marvel loss has not only prevented Marvel Comics too had come to an end from finding its way back, but has of sorts: real events such as the doomed it to a continuing downcompany’s passing from the hands ward spiral of creative destitution. of owner Martin Goodman and Today, the comics industry is a tiny into those of a series of faceless fraction of the size it once was and corporations, Stan Lee’s departure seems fated to vanish completely from the company’s Madison from the pop cultural scene. Unless Avenue offices to interface with it can recreate the excited anticipation Hollywood movers and shakers in a fan in 1964 must’ve felt when first California, Roy Thomas’ resignation Not to worry! The four setting eyes on the words “Two phases of Marvel in the as Editor-in-Chief, and his eventual More Triumphs for Marvel!” and 1960s and 1970s still live replacement by Jim Shooter, the getting his first glimpses of such in the form of various end of the days of free-wheeling classics as Amazing Spider-Man #13 reprint collections, the experimentation, the rise of the featuring the first appearance of most recent of which are X-Men phenomenon that eclipsed Mysterio (“Who or what is he?”), the Omnibus volumes that not only include the classic the last flickering embers of any Avengers #5 (“The Invasion of the comics themselves, but also other genre but that of super-heroes, Lava Men!”), X-Men #4 (“At last! bullpen bulletins pages and and the exodus of much of the talent The X-Men come face to face with letters pages, too! Reading that made the Twilight Years such a the Brotherhood of Evil Mutants!”) them, you can forget how heady epilogue to the Grandiose or the very first issue of Daredevil, far the condition of comics Years, Frank Brunner, Barry Smith, storytelling has devolved then it’s not worth saving. But who and return to a time when Craig Russell, Rich Buckler, Don cares? The great stuff is still out they were still fun to McGregor, Gerry Conway, Gary there, available in any number of read! Friedrich, Val Mayerik, Mike Ploog, formats. All anyone needs to do is Jim Starlin, Paul Gulacy (soon, even to pick it up and read it! Part IV: 1976-1979

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BOOKS FROM TWOMORROWS PUBLISHING

ER EISN RD AWAINEE! M NO

MONSTER MASH

GROOVY

MARK VOGER’s time-trip back to 1957-1972, to explore the CREEPY, KOOKY MONSTER CRAZE, when monsters stomped into America’s mainstream!

A psychedelic look at when Flower Power bloomed in Pop Culture. Revisits ‘60s era’s ROCK FESTIVALS, TV, MOVIES, ART, COMICS & CARTOONS!

(192-page FULL-COLOR HARDCOVER) $39.95 (Digital Edition) $11.99 ISBN: 978-1-60549-064-9

(192-page FULL-COLOR HARDCOVER) $39.95 (Digital Edition) $13.99 ISBN: 978-1-60549-080-9

MIKE GRELL

LIFE IS DRAWING WITHOUT AN ERASER Career-spanning tribute to a comics art legend! (160-page FULL-COLOR TPB) $27.95 ISBN: 978-1-60549-088-5 (176-page LTD. ED. HARDCOVER) $37.95 ISBN: 978-1-60549-087-8 (Digital Edition) $12.99

KIRBY & LEE: STUF’ SAID

ED AND EXP COND SE ION! IT ED

ISBN: 978-1-60549-094-6

THE MLJ COMPANION

Documents the complete history of ARCHIE COMICS’ super-heroes known as the “Mighty Crusaders”, with in-depth examinations of each era of the characters’ history: The GOLDEN AGE (beginning with the Shield, the first patriotic super-hero), the SILVER AGE (spotlighting the campy Mighty Comics issues, and The Fly and Jaguar), the BRONZE AGE (the Red Circle line, and the !mpact imprint published by DC Comics), up to the MODERN AGE, with its Dark Circle imprint! (288-page FULL-COLOR trade paperback) $34.95 (Digital Edition) $14.99 ISBN: 978-1-60549-067-0

COMIC BOOK IMPLOSION

In 1978, DC Comics implemented its “DC Explosion” with many creative new titles, but just weeks after its launch, they pulled the plug, leaving stacks of completed comic book stories unpublished. This book marks the 40th Anniversary of “The DC Implosion”, one of the most notorious events in comics, with an exhaustive oral history from the creators involved (JENETTE KAHN, PAUL LEVITZ, LEN WEIN, MIKE GOLD, and others), plus detailed analysis of how it changed the landscape of comics forever!

ER EISN RD AWAINEE! NOM

(136-page trade paperback with COLOR) $21.95 (Digital Edition) $10.99 ISBN: 978-1-60549-085-4

(272-page FULL-COLOR trade paperback) $36.95 (Digital Edition) $13.99 ISBN: 978-1-60549-073-1

IT CREPT FROM THE TOMB Digs up the best of FROM THE TOMB (the UK’s preeminent horror comics history magazine): Atomic comics lost to the Cold War, censored British horror comics, the early art of RICHARD CORBEN, Good Girls of a bygone age, TOM SUTTON, DON HECK, LOU MORALES, AL EADEH, BRUCE JONES’ ALIEN WORLDS, HP LOVECRAFT in HEAVY METAL, and more!

EXPANDED SECOND EDITION—16 EXTRA PAGES! Looks back at the creators of the Marvel Universe’s own words, in chronological order, from fanzine, magazine, radio, and television interviews, to paint a picture of JACK KIRBY and STAN LEE’s complicated relationship! Includes recollections from STEVE DITKO, ROY THOMAS, WALLACE WOOD, JOHN ROMITA SR., and other Marvel Bullpenners! (176-page FULL-COLOR trade paperback) $26.95 (Digital Edition) $12.99

HERO-A-GO-GO!

MICHAEL EURY looks at comics’ CAMP AGE, when spies liked their wars cold and their women warm, and TV’s Batman shook a mean cape!

(192-page trade paperback) $29.95 (Digital Edition) $10.99 ISBN: 978-1-60549-081-6

ER EISN RD AWAINEE! NOM

JACK KIRBY’S DINGBAT LOVE

The final complete, unpublished Jack Kirby stories in existence, presented here for the first time, in cooperation with DC Comics! Two unused 1970s DINGBATS OF DANGER STREET tales, plus TRUE-LIFE DIVORCE and SOUL LOVE magazines! (176-page FULL-COLOR HARDCOVER) $43.95 (Digital Edition) $14.99 ISBN: 978-1-60549-091-5

AMERICAN COMIC BOOK CHRONICLES:

THE WORLD OF TWOMORROWS

Celebrate our 25th anniversary with this retrospective by publisher JOHN MORROW and Comic Book Creator magazine’s JON B. COOKE! Go behind-the-scenes with MICHAEL EURY, ROY THOMAS, GEORGE KHOURY, and a host of other TwoMorrows contributors! Introduction by MARK EVANIER, Foreword by ALEX ROSS, Afterword by PAUL LEVITZ, and a new cover by TOM McWEENEY! (224-page FULL-COLOR TPB) $37.95 (240-page ULTRA-LIMITED HARDCOVER) $75 (Digital Edition) $15.99

8 Volumes Covering The 1940s-1990s

MAC RABOY

Master of the Comics

OR -COL FULLDCOVER HAR RIES SE nting me f docu ecade o d y! c ea h s histor ic com

MAC RABOY perfected his art style on such 1940s comic book creations as DR. VOODOO, BULLETMAN, SPY SMASHER, GREEN LAMA, and his crowning achievement, CAPTAIN MARVEL JR., before moving on to illustrate the FLASH GORDON Sunday newspaper strip. Author ROGER HILL documents the life and career of the master artist in a full-color hardcover with never-before-seen photos, a wealth of rare and unpublished artwork, and the first definitive biography of a true Master of the Comics! (160-page FULL-COLOR HARDCOVER) $39.95 • (Digital Edition) $14.99 ISBN: 978-1-60549-090-8

TwoMorrows. The Future of Pop History.

Phone: 919-449-0344 E-mail: store@twomorrows.com Web: www.twomorrows.com

TwoMorrows Publishing • 10407 Bedfordtown Drive • Raleigh, NC 27614 USA

Chris Claremont

Neal Adams

George Tuska

Dave Cockrum

P. Craig Russell

Jack Kirby

Frank Brunner

Gil Kane

Mike Ploog

Sal Buscema

Steve Gerber

B Doug Moench

Don McGregor

Jim Starlin

Steve Englehart

Herb Trimpe

Marv Wolfman

Paul Gulacy

Ross Andru

John Byrne

52995

9 781605 491035

TwoMorrows Publishing Raleigh, North Carolina

ISBN 978-1-60549-103-5 $29.95 in the U.S. Jim Shooter

By Pierre Comtois

ISBN-13: 978-1-60549-103-5 ISBN-10: 1-60549-103-9

An Issue By Issue Field Guide Marvel Comics in the 1970s: Expanded Edition to a Pop Culture Phenomenon

Roy Thomas

ed d n a Exp ion! Edit