The Marvel Age of Comics has its beginnings with Timely Publications whose Publisher, Martin Goodman, brought out the first Timely comic magazine, Marvel Comics, in 1939. This first issue introduced two of the great heroes of all time, The Human Torch and the Sub-Mariner. The Human Torch was a lousy android, but his tradition lives on in Johnny Storm, member of Marvel’s Fantastic-Four, who came by his powers legitimately, in a freak rocket accident. That very same SubMariner is still with us, drawn by his creator, Bill Everett.

In 1940, Timely summoned forth Captain America to do battle with the Hun. The Captain was the work of Joe Simon and Jack Kirby; Simon had assisted in the construction of Superman, and Kirby has left his mark on just about every stage of modern comic activity.

Captain America and his sidekick Bucky battled the Nazis with ferocity and cunning all through the war, but when peace came, they were left a little out to lunch. Rolling with the punches, as was the rest of post-war America, Timely changed its name to Atlas and Goodman hired a writer and editor named Stan Lee.

Many of Lee’s science fiction epics for the middle and late fifties show the humanistic traits he was later to apply to the Marvel Age heroes. Artists such as Don Heck and Steve Ditko illustrated Lee’s morality plays about cruel intergalactic governors and their confrontations with egalitarian space rebels. The style and tone was there; the wisecracking hero, the sledge-hammer use of irony, but they had not yet found the perfect characters.

Then, in 1961, Stan Lee brought out two titles using Jack Kirby’s art: Amazing Adventures and The Fantastic Four. The Marvel Age was born in a spectacular space accident that left its four passengers, John and Sue Storm, Reed Richards, and Ben Grimm, mutated into super-heroes. Lee’s forte has always been establishing strong characters through dialogue. On the comic page, no line can seem too outrageous or cliched. Somehow, the very medium precludes dramatic excess and a sentence that would seem offensively melodramatic on stage is reduced through the magic of ’comic art to a forceful, natural statement on the comic book page. So Stan Lee’s hopelessly dated dialogue and plot ideas meshed with the Fantastic Four and the formula was finalized.

The thing that Marvel has always had going for it, and the others have not, is this outrageousness of character. Most comic book heroes, until very recently, were pretty bland, one-dimensional people. Along came Ben “The Thing” Grimm bellowing, “It?s clobberin’ time!” followed by the solicitous, square, stern father figure Reed “Mr. Fantastic” Richards with a word of caution, and both followed by the hot headed Johnny “Torch” Storm ... who could resist?

Marvel has recently moved into new offices on Madison Avenue. The floor they occupy was not quite finished when I visited, and Marvel had the only office which looked habitable. The waiting room was frigid modern, pastel plush furniture and not a hint of the comic book source. The home of Spiderman, Thor and the Fantastic Four might just as well have been the reception room of an accounting firm. But once you pass beyond the secretary’s pillbox and into the offices and halls beyond, the walls come alive with the icons of the new age. There are comics everywhere; pasted to the walls and on the bookshelves. Every room has a commercial magazine stand stuffed with the latest from Marvel, National, Gold Key, Archie and even ... yech! .. . Charlton. They read undergrounds, too.

In a couple of large drafting rooms, the staff artists, Herb Trimpe (The Hulk), Marie Severin (King Kull), and John Romita (Spiderman) labor away. The rest of Marvel’s considerable production is handled free-lance. Great artists such as Gene Colan (Daredevil), contributors for years, work on a freelance basis.

Stan Lee (a/k/a J. Jonah Jameson) the famous beatnik grinner, has good reason to smile - he's making bundles of bucks from the gentleman pictured with him, ace photographer! orphan Peter Parker (a/k/a Spider-Man). On the opposite page, Spiderartist John Romita grins, then has the smile wiped off his face as Spidey himself points out one of Marvel's classic and fabled (in the letters section of each bimonthly issue) errors. Spidereditor Roy Thomas makes a point, perhaps clearing up one of those errors (and maybe making sure that there are one or twQ so the kidz will have something to write about?) to the rest of the Spiderstaff, who are pictured below in a state of editorial disarray common to all forms of publication (believe me).

with fine artists taken off important strips so they can fill in elsewhere on a

Marvel is in the business of producing 46 titles a month, come blackout or postal breakdown. Mighty Marvel hj$ much in common with the Ford Motors plant for, in Stan Lee’s own words, “We are a production line. We are committed to so many titles ... I think we have a total of 69 now ... and we have to get those out. Now if someone gets sick, suppose Herb Trimpe gets sick and can’t do the Hulk. Then we have to pull someone off something else. We take Bill Everett off Sub-Mariner and have him do Hulk, but then we have to get someone to do Sub-Mariner which means we have to pull him off something else. It’s like the domino theory. If someone falls behind, we .fall behind all over.”

The theory of production line does not sit well with theories of art. The clashes Marvel feels have been many, better-selling, but esthetically less successful character. A recent, glaring example of the production line drawbacks has been in the shoddy coloring and inking of certain issues of Conan the Barbarian, Marvel’s artistic star of late.

Barry Smith’s illustrations for Conan have been without peer and Dan Adkins’ inking has been mostly up to the challenge; but in issue No.19, the latter half of the comic wasn’t inked at all because of “truly fearsome” deadline problems. Without Adkins’ crisp, sensitive inking, Smith’s pencils are almost indiscernible, resulting in a mushy, inksplotch scenario. Adkins was needed elsewhere and Conan had to suffer.

Conan, the most detailed comic Marvel (or anyone) has ever produced, winner of SHAZAM and ACBA awards, is indicative of all that is good in contemporary straight comics and much that is bad. In Marvel Editor Roy Thomas, it has a writer who understands and appreciates Robert E. Howard’s prose. Thomas’ exquisite adaptations and consistently imaginative characterizations represent intelligent literary communication through comics. And 23-year old Smith, easily the most immaculate craftsman presently work: ing for Marvel, is also devoted to the character and has helped to plot most of the episodes. Marvel policy is that the artist decides how best to lay out the story.

When all the pencilling is done, the writer supplies the dialogue which is inked in by the letterer. Then the rest of the art is inked in. The complicated lay-outs can prove mighty discouraging to uninitiated readers, so editors tend to discourage tricky lay-out artists. And a remarkable title like Neal Adams’ Deadman withers and dies for lack of sales.

Marvel took many chances with Conan, primarily in the way the material was adopted. Gone was the Wap! Pow! of the bread and butter comics stuff. Enter Thomas and Smith. When the story could progress without words, it was allowed to do so in the wordless, cinematic sequences which Smith has become famous for.

But then trouble started. Apparently, Lee wanted something easier to follow than Howard adaptations and he rang in a series of plots by modern fantasy writers, such as Michael Moorcock and John Jakes. This did not sit well with Smith. He wanted more money and he wanted his original artwork back — that’s right, Marvel keeps all original artwork except for unique cases such as Jim Steranko, who is responsible for all aspects of his art, from pencilling to inking and coloring. The upshot of all this is that Conan No.24 might very well be the last complete Smith adventure.

But think about the Marvel Warehouse of Original Art! Since there is some disagreement as to whom finished art truly belongs (the penciller merely pencils, the inker merely inks, the letterer letters), Marvel prudently settles the question by appropriating all. Imagine the fabled Seven Cities of Cibola, discovered by Scrooge McDuck in 1952, paved in gold and dripping with jewels! Imagine the ancient Egyptian super-civilization, Karnopolis, discovered by the X-Men, in 1969!

Stan Lee, wearing a turtle neck and a luxuriant, salty moustache, leans back on the sofa in his office and spreads his hands. “Look at it this way, that original art is much like diamonds and the diamond market. Do you know how many diamonds the big mines have salted away down in South Africa? If they were to release all those diamonds at once, their value would be virtually nothing. It’s the same with the original art. This way if a fan gets some piece of original art, he will look upon it as being much more valuable, much more desirable, then if the art were everywhere. I think that the art should be hard to get; it should be something of an adventure.”

The present comic book scene is largely the work of this Stan Lee, Publisher and former Editor of Marvel. It was Lee who personalized the superhero with his neurotic Spiderman, alias Peter Parker, an adolescent with more problems than a T.B. ward. While National slipped into the doldrums, the fascinating personalities at Marvel ventured into the wilds of New York looking for trouble and always finding it. One of Superman’s greatest powers, until quite recently, was his astounding ability to bore readers to death. He not only had no sense of humor, but was totally lacking of any semblance of what might be called political consciousness. He didn’t even know about pollution and ecology.

Meanwhile, Marvel’s orange-skinned Thing and his short-tempered partner the Torch were-enmeshed in a seriocomic battle that perpetually threatened to rend the Fantastic Four asunder. Peter Parker was stuck for rent. It took time for the ol’ Caped Crusader to catch on, but he eventually did, and National went to town with a string of committed, liberal super-heroes whose sense of collective guilt would make a landlord weep. Their best was Green Lantern and his emerald partner, Green Arrow. Together, the intrepid, slightly inept duo confronted slumlords, pollution, and over-population.

“They’re much more into relevancy than we are,” says Lee. “We’re not selling relevancy, we’re selling fairy tales for adults. If a little relevance happens to fit into the story, or if we feel we have something to say.that will contribute to the story, that’s fine. But National puts it up front every story. It’s like they’re saying, ‘Hey, look how relevant we are!’ ”

Smilin’ Stan is about six foot three, with pleasant, tired eyes, wavy grey/ brown hair, and that expressive moustache which is all that remains of the famous Stan Lee beard. Stan’s own stories have dragged Thor on an intergalactic odyssey ending in a struggle with Ego, the Living Planet. He has stacked Reed Richards up against the nefarious Doc Doom, a fiend so evil that he once blew up an entire village of “peasants” to test a new bomb. Along with Jack Kirby, Stan created an increasingly heavy string of villains that threatened to tear the comic book world apart. Lee had already invented Galactus, an immense, soulless creature who roamed the cosmos in search of supper. Galactus would tuck in his bib and dispassionately proclaim, “I eat to live. I am not good, I am not bad. I eat because I must.” Then he would eat a world. Galactus was ever on the verge of scarfing down Earth but somehow Thor or the Silver Surfer always managed to dissuade him.

Like with the Beatles, when Kirby and Lee parted company both of them were left artistically the poorer. Lee’s recent scripts for Spiderman tend to be corny and preaching, and Kirby’s oneman shovy at National looks forced and lacks details.

But then, Stan Lee is corny. He loves to think up practical jokes for Marvel’s current Monster Madness, a collection of standard horror movie stills with corny captions. He’s a real Nice Guy, the kind of fella who ought to lead a Boy Scout troop. Swear words do not issue from his mouth and it is somehow reassuring to hear him add a resounding “By Heck!” to the conversation. He acts like Sgt. Fury of the Howling Commandos (protagonist of Marvel’s “war comic for people who hate war”).

On the wall of Stan’s office is a print by Jim Steranko, one of Marvel’s premier artists and author of the brilliant History of Comics. It’s a silk screen photo-process depicting Smilin’ Stan with a thought balloon over his head enclosing the entire pantheon of Marvel heroes and villains. When Stan Lee talks, and speaks of Marvel’s many accomplishments, he doesn’t have to say, “And then I did this ...” because when he gives credit to Marvel, he gives credit to himself.

CONTINUED ON PAGE 78.

KNOW YE THESE, THE HALLOWED RANKS OF MARVELDOM:

R.F.O. (Real Frantic One) — A buyer of at least 3 Marvel mags a month.

T.T.B. (Titanic True Believer) — A divi nely-inspi red 'No-Prize' winner.

Q.N.S. (Quite 'Nuff Saver) — A fortunate frantic one whcrs had a letter printed.

K.O.F. (Keeper Of the Flame) — One who recruits a newcomer to _ _ Marvel's rollickin ranks.

_ _ v P.M.M. (Permanent Marvelite Maximus) — Anyone possessing all four of the fc -c rother titles.

fc -c rr.rvF. (Fearless Front-Facer) — An honorary title bestowed for devotion to Marvel above and beyond the call of duty.

IDUNNO--rr MUST BE A C~4~~#LS,~ OR SOMETHING.

I GUESS~M REALLY NO~A'ED ON TURN ING INTO

CONTINUED FROM PAGE 40.

“Now, as Publisher, I find that I have; the opporunity to do all the things I’ve wanted to do for so long. I like to think we did something new with Conan and King Kull. We have several projects planned, some aren’t even comics. New ideas ... new types of publishing ... new types of books ... I think you’re going to find in the next year or so that Marvel is going to come out with a lot of things that will take people by surprise. Some will be good, some may even be disappointing, although I hope not...”

Exit Sgt. Fury, enter J. Jonah Jameson, Publisher and Editor of the Daily Bugle in Spiderman. Jameson is the arrogant, but basically rightprincipled publisher for whom Peter “Spidey” Parker works as a free-lance photographer. J. Jonah bears many Lee trademarks: he’s gruff, he’s tough, he’s a real cream-puff. He shoots from the hip and misses a lot.'

Stan goes on: “We have no intention of becoming very sexy or becoming very violent. We’re not into that, what we hope ...”

Whoops, excuse me Stan, but there does seem to be an awful lot of, uh, violence in certain of your titles, what with the bodies being tossed around, the excessive gunplay, and, in the instance of Conan, scarlet trickles of blood ...

“I don’t even consider what we show violence. I know some people will consider them violent, but other people will say, ‘My God, you’re not going to call a Tom and Jerry cartoon violent,’ but it is violent... To me, violence is a threat of danger that scares people, or that people relate to and it affects them. I don’t consider violence in the average animated cartoon violent; I consider it silly, fantastic action. I think when a reader reads about Thor fighting Ego or something, I don’t think the reader considers that violent. You get a story about somebody being mugged in the street and that’s violence. I mean somebody is really being killed! It’s a flesh and blood person ... that’s the real tragedy of the world today.”

One piece of quasi-violence that people could relate to was a fairly recent edition of Spiderman that involved Spidey’s friend and roommate Harry Osborn being hooked on drugs. The drugs were pills, vaguely defined. They could have been hallucinogens, downs, or speed, but, whichever, they put poor Harry in drug heaven. The Comics Code Authority refused to bestow the Good Housekeeping seal of approval on the cover of the magazine because its subject matter violated section B of the code. I asked Stan about this particular Spiderman story, a tale that was destined to upset the staid code and contribute greatly towards its liberalization.

“You know, I was against the use of drugs in that story. I wasn’t at all sure that this was the proper way to treat the story, but Gerry (Conway) managed to convince me that it should be included. It was just a sub-plot anyway.”

Then National ventured forth with their Green Lantern! Green Arrow smack epic, which portrayed Arrow’s ward Speedy as a junkie and even showed a few needles and an overdose death in psychedelic black. It is doubtful as to whether National could have gotten away with it if it weren’t for Marvel’s precendent-breaking Spiderman.

So where does Marvel go from here? That’s just what Marvel is wondering. They have grown into a giant, but their problems have grown with them. The entire future of the comic magazine is in doubt. Plainly, the Comics Code Authority has outlived its usefulness and comic readers have outlived the code. The publishing world in general is hardly stable, as folded operations from Life to Tower Comics attest, but the future of comics is particularly foggy. Within the past five years, the price of the comic magazine has fluctuated from 15 cents to 20 to 25 and to 20'again and rumors in the wind say that the Feds are forcing them back down to 15.

One thing is certain: there has been a tremendous flowering of above-ground comic talent in recent years, and it has been brought about largely through the efforts of Marvel. Not since the halcyon days of EC Comics have so many talented illustrators thrown themselves into the graphic story-telling arts. Since the early sixties, Marvel has had at least one spectacular showcase, from Steve Ditko’s Spiderman to Jim Steranko’s Nick Fury to Barry Smith’s Conan.

But then again, the art often seems secondary to the commercial aspects, with those vulgar ads breaking up the story more and more frequently every year; the stories themselves have become shorter, and numerous Cassandras are predicting the death of comics. It would be a shame to lose them now that they’re just beginning to realize their unbounded potential.