Grueny

Originally published September 20, 1996, in Comics Buyer’s Guide #1192

There are those inside, and outside, of the industry, who view every superhero story as some sort of passionless, bloodless corporate creation. The conventional wisdom spouted is that those who involve themselves in such endeavors are mindless hacks: Heartless, soulless automotons who don’t care about anything except satisfying the monetary cravings of upper management’s insatiable need for making money.

How could anyone (it is often asked) actually like the day-to-day involvement with spandex clad fantasy figures? It’s a circular, self-contained argument: No one working in comics could really want to be working on corporate-owned superheroes; therefore, anyone working in that atmosphere must be working there against his will and is either to be pitied or held in contempt.

This is bull. It’s the conventional wisdom, but it’s bull nonetheless.

And, unfortunately, we have just lost one of the individuals who was the epitome of the joy that comic book superheroes brings to the fans.

Mark Gruenwald–Grueny–as you all know by now, died with absolutely no warning one Monday morning, falling prey to a statistic I seem to recall about mornings being the most likely time for a heart attack. His passing–hideously and appropriately–was every Marvel cover blurb about mortality, all rolled into one. “Shock follows shock!” “Don’t tell anyone the stunning events in this issue!” “Not a hoax, not a dream! This issue… the most unexpected death of all!”

I’ve just reread the previous paragraph, and I hope it doesn’t come across as flippant, or sarcastic, or as if I’m trying to find humor in the situation. Far from it. Upon learning of Mark’s passing from Bobbie Chase, I was as astounded as were any of you, I’m sure. As has happened in the past in the industry when someone too young is taken too unexpectedly and too soon, all subsequent phone calls I had over the next couple of days took on a sort of hushed, dazed tone. Everyone had heard, like a psychic blast of pain spreading through the industry.

I’d met Mark’s wife and daughter only in passing. I didn’t really know him as a family man. What I knew him from was his work persona, and in that incarnation, I can think of no one who cherished the heroes he shepherded quite like Mark. Mark loved comics. He loved superheroes. He loved his job. His involvement with the heroes and villains of our little comic book mythos traces back to his days as a fan. He came up “through the ranks,” as it were.

Appropriately, the first time I met Grueny was when I was still a fan. It was at a Phil Seuling New York convention. Mark and several other Marvel editors were up on stage, doing a “Marvel Plotting” panel, in which fans were invited to come up on stage and describe a proposed plot to the editors. The editors would then critique it. Mark was the MC, as he often was for these sorts of things.

I lined up with the other fans as people pitched potential ideas. I don’t recall most of them, except that they weren’t greeted with too much enthusiasm (although, truth to tell, one wonders how much fervor the prospect of spider-clones and Professor X going berserk would have aroused in the panel).

And then Grueny got to me, asked my name, and then told me to describe my plot.

I’d love to tell you that a brilliant story sprung fully formed from my brow, knocking their socks off and prompting them to hire me on the spot. But, to be honest, I don’t remember what I came up with. And my start with Marvel was still a year or so in the future. But what I do remember is that Mark looked at me appraisingly after I’d pitched the notion and said, “That’s not bad. That’s not a bad start at all. Keep working on it.”

In later years I collaborated with Mark when we were working on the New Universe, the vastly underrated line of comics which featured–I think–some of Mark’s best work. His love for the genre of superheroes was never more evident than when he was crafting the reality-based, thoughtful adventures of D.P. 7, the adventures of seven displaced paranormals. It was a series that was literally ahead of its time.

My other favorite work of his was Squadron Supreme. With the popularity of Kingdom Come, why Marvel hasn’t re-released this stellar miniseries in trade paperback form is a mystery to me. As well-crafted as KC was, quite a few fans have commented that Grueny covered some of the same ground in Squadron, and did it extremely well.

And every time I had the opportunity to work with Grueny on some project or another, I was always struck by his enthusiasm, his total commitment, and his unwavering dedication to making the work as high-quality as he possibly could.

He found his perfect editorial soul mate in Mike Carlin, his assistant. The Gruenwald/Carlin office was the Marvel equivalent of “Anything Can Happen” day. You’d walk in one time and discover that you were arm deep in wadded up paper. Or the door would be closed for a day and all you’d hear was hammering and sawing. Come in the following day and you’d discover that–for no discernable reason–Mark and Mike had built platforms for their desks. Addressing them now required craning your neck as if aiming supplications at Olympian gods (hmm. Perhaps the reason wasn’t so undiscernible at that.)

That enthusiasm and comraderie carried over even when Mike moved to DC. It was never more pronounced than when Mike, Mark, Ron Marz and I teamed up for the Marvel vs. DC limited series.

Some of my fondest comic-related memories involve sitting in Mark’s apartment, hatching and planning the series. It was a task that Mark and Mike took on with unfettered glee. Again, there is the cynical fan contingent who brushed off the limited series as some heartless corporate ploy. All I can tell you is: Not in that room. There, it was just a roomful of fans and their fictitious cape-and-cowled pals (Fanboyz and the Hood, as it were). There we were with Mark the ringleader, gleefully rubbing our hands together as we assembled all sorts of match-ups that we wanted to see when we were kids. We’d say, “Oh, let’s not forget–!” or “Do you think we can squeeze in–!” or “Let’s just have one panel showing–!”

It was as if Marvel vs. DC was a culmination of all our careers. Everyone in that room–Mark especially, I think–had come into comics not simply because it was a convenient career path, but because of love for and enthusiasm about the genre. And here we were being presented with the opportunity to produce a series that had a “Cool!” rating of about a thousand on a scale of one to ten. Every so often we’d stop and look at each other with a sort of giddy disbelief. We were grown-ups, for crying out loud, indulging in fannish fantasies. And we were being paid for it, too? Too much.

The last opportunity I had to work with Grueny, I am now so glad I took, because he kind of had to talk me into it.

He called me and said, “We’re going to be doing a Hulk vs. Hercules one shot. I’m editing it, and I’d love it if you could write it.”

I wasn’t sure if I had the time or inclination to get involved. But it was clear that Marvel really wanted to do the project, to boost interest in Hercules (making him the Marvel universe equivalent of Thor while Thor was off in the Leefeld Universe). I’d always liked Herc, although I felt his character had been treated somewhat erratically. Plus I felt somewhat possessive about the Hulk, and was pleased that they’d come to me first (or at least said they’d come to me first.)

Mark promised me carte blanche on the plot. So I agreed to take it on. I ran late turning the plot in. Mark cut me a ton of slack. When I finished the plot, I knew I had a problem. It was supposed to be a 38 page book, but the plot ran 44 pages. I told Mark the situation. “Send it in before you cut it; let me read it,” he said.

I did so, and Mark called me the next day and said, with quiet conviction, “This is the best Marvel comic I’ve read in years.” I can’t recall being more flattered. He promptly went to his higher-ups and talked them into yanking advertising for the book to accommodate the longer story, while keeping the price down.

Here’s the irony of that particular story: The theme of the Hulk vs. Hercules story is mortality vs. immortality. That the limits set on one’s own existence are what make the accomplishments during one’s lifetime so worthwhile.

That phone call I had with Mark, where he spoke so highly of the story, was the last communication I had with him. And the subject matter of the comic has a depressing resonance to it now. You look over your own life, and you see what you’re faced with. The stress, the aggravation. The misunderstandings, the miscommunications, the hassles that drag us down from where we want to be. You make the sacrifices here and the cuts there, just trying to keep your head above water. And every so often you just look heavenward and find yourself saying, “God, why am I doing this to myself? Life is too short.”

It is. It’s too dámņëd short.

Peter David, writer of stuff, can be written to at Second Age, Inc., PO Box 239, Bayport, NY 11705.