Stan the Man

Originally published December 26, 1997, in Comics Buyer’s Guide #1258

The place was Dragon*Con, 1995. I was one of the speakers at the Harlan Ellison Tribute. Naturally the word “tribute” was an elastic one, and the commentary being offered ranged from straight-forward sincerity to tongue-in-cheek.

This was my second involvement in a tribute in a month’s time. Just a couple of weeks before, when I’d been the GOH at the Chicago Comicon, I’d also served as toastmaster at the Stan Lee Tribute Dinner. On that occasion I’d observed, “Last year, Harlan Ellison was the Guest of Honor, and the Chicago Comicon had a Harlan Ellison Tribute Dinner. This year, I am the Guest of Honor, so, naturally, we’re having a Stan Lee Tribute Dinner.” That had been an entertaining and nerve-wracking endeavor, as Sal Buscema, Julie Schwartz, Roy Thomas, Chris Claremont and Jim Shooter each delivered joking, humorous (and in Jim’s case, frankly, kinda disconcerting) speeches about Stan. Convention-head Gary Colabuono hand-picked me for the assignment and I had been a nervous wreck before hand, because my feeling (not entirely unwarranted) was that the success or failure of the evening’s festivities rested entirely on my shoulders. For that matter, I’m always nervous when I’m in a situation where I’m expected to be funny on cue, at a particular place and time. Making offhand remarks and entertaining folks, I can do. But when an audience shows up prepared and expecting to laugh, my stomach turns into a knot (and with my stomach, that’s a pretty big knot).

So there I was a couple of weeks later, at Dragon*Con, on the stage of the Atlanta Hilton tributing again, and once again expected to be funny-on-cue. I decided to make it work for me by going in completely the other direction, and the timing of it in relation to the previous dinner suggested a concept to me. So I got up on the podium, and this is what I said:

“It may seem tempting, considering the reputation of tonight’s subject, to make snide comments or cheap jokes. I’m sorry to disappoint you, because I mean this sincerely, and I know that some of you are snickering—but honest to God, I’m not going to do that. I like the guy too much to do that. His writing has meant too much to me, and he as a person has meant too much to me.

“In many ways, I can’t believe that I’m up here. I can’t believe that he knows my name, I can’t believe I’m someone whom he might actually consider a friend. Because I still remember being a fanboy, encountering his work for the first time. Because to me, there were all the other writers whose work was solid, involving, even exciting. Writers whose work stirred the imagination.

“But they were all over here, y’know?” and I gestured off to one side. “Over here in this other realm, doing their own thing. And here was this other guy, out on the ledge, off in his own universe that didn’t seem so much fiction as a troubling reflection of reality. In many ways, he ruined the grade curve for everyone else, because these were characters and stories who made everyone else look sick in comparison. Many would read his stories to try and copy and emulate his style. But there was only so much they could do, because he was, and is, unique.

“Even I, as a kid who knew nothing about nothing, was capable of reading his stories, his singular viewpoint, his turn of phrase, his crackling dialogue, and saying, ‘This is new. This is different. This is gutwrenching.’

“Who among us can possibly forget the magic that grew from his collaborations with Jack Kirby… Steve Dit… ko…”

I stopped dead, a carefully crafted expression of befuddlement on my face. Julie Schwartz, who was seated next to me, looked at me in puzzlement. I started flipping through the rest of the speech, becoming more and more concerned. There was some confused laughter from the audience as the silence lengthened, and then I said with total embarrassment, “Oh šhìŧ, this is from the Stan Lee Roast.”

The place erupted in hysterics. I’ve never gotten such a lengthy, sustained laugh in my life (well, not while I was fully dressed, at any rate). Absolutely everyone in the place had become utterly convinced, as the speech had gone on and on, that I was being completely sincere. I’d sucker-punched the entire hall, and no one more so than Ellison. Harlan was doubled over, slapping the table repeatedly, unable to speak until finally he manage to sputter out, “What kind of terrible life have I led that this is the best I can do for friends?!”

The reason I bring this up is that, as I was preparing this column and endeavoring to express what the work of Stan Lee meant to me, I realized that I’d already said it on a previous occasion. It was simply in another context entirely. So I felt it appropriate to pull those words up and print them here because, although they applied to Harlan (which was why the gag worked), I really was putting on my Stan Thinking Cap when I prepared the speech. It genuinely did summarize what Stan, and his work, has meant to me.

In speaking to CBG maven Brent Frankenhoff, I learned that this issue has garnered one thousand letters offering praise, tribute and comment to Stan. Originally I was going to run in this column a couple of entertaining, but rather embarrassing, anecdotes about Stan (mostly centering around his penchant for forgetting names). But in the face of that sort of outpouring of affection and genuine tribute, I realized that it would have been totally inappropriate for this issue. Besides, it’s not like my memory’s much better (and I’m a far piece from 75) so I would have been treading far into pot-calling-the-kettle-black territory.

Stan the writer has not only meant a great deal to me, but so has Stan-the-Man. One of the single coolest moments of my entire life was when I was visiting Los Angeles on one occasion, got together with Stan, and we went out to lunch. There I was, riding along in Stan’s open-air jeep (I apologize if I’m getting the model wrong, Stan, but that gives the general idea of what it looked like) chatting about the Hulk’s early days, and I literally couldn’t believe I was there, shooting the breeze with The Man.

He was, and is, the single greatest good-will ambassador that this industry has. The only comic creator whose name prompts instant recognition, he has survived not only umpty-ump changes in management, but also changes in the fan climate. It was only a few years ago that it seemed as if everyone and his brother was out to pillory Stan or diminish his involvement in the creation of Marvel Comics. No less a publication than the Village Voice cavalierly dismissed him as nothing more than a typist of word balloons. (This is, of course, the same publication which later screwed over another comics legend, Jules Feiffer.)

And how did Stan deal with this barrage of criticism and firestorm of controversy? In a manner that should be a lesson to everyone in this industry (and I sure as hëll don’t exclude myself). He rose above it. Refusing to descend into the muck with critics, he declined to bad mouth anyone. It simply wasn’t appropriate for Comics Good Will Ambassador to be spreading bad will. Perhaps he knew that all he had to do was outlast it and eventually it would dissipate, consuming itself.

He was right, of course. And now here we are, with page after page of testimonial and affection, rightly place and roundly deserved.

I know I wrote of this elsewhere, but it bears mentioning again: At this year’s San Diego convention, the Marvel Comics booth was well-attended and busy enough, sure—but the entire atmosphere changed when Stan the Man showed up. The excitement level was jacked up, there was an adrenaline surge throughout the entire crowd. Stan was there, the Man was in the house. He shook people’s hands, he signed books, he made his presence known. Fans towards the back of the line pushed up against each other to try and catch a glimpse of him.

You’d never know, from his attitude, that this guy was 75. You’d never know that he’d aged at all. Stan stayed at the booth for as long as he could, and when it was time to go, he loudly said his good-byes and, amidst hails from the crowd, vaulted over velvet ropes. It was incredible to see.

And the thing that struck me most about his appearance there, and his general conduct with the fans, is that you can easily tell something whenever you see him in action. You can tell that, no matter how many criticisms Marvel’s editorial output had received over the years, no matter how the company’s luster had diminished thanks to the machinations of various owners, no matter how much faith had been lost in the eyes of retailers and distributors—Stan never lost faith. Never lost his enthusiasm for the line, his passion for the industry and his respect for, and enjoyment of, the fans. In this day and age, the love that Stan Lee bears for what he does is the only infectious disease that everyone in this business should want to catch.

There’s every possibility that, in private, he feels differently. But he never forgets his public responsibility, never forgets the persona of Stan-the-Man that the fans expect and want. His devotion to the fans is unstinting, and it’s great to see, in this issue of CBG, that in some small measure, that devotion has been returned.

Happy birthday, Stan.

And, uh, thanks for the unintentional assist at Dragon*Con.

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