I think I misled you: The Shores lived on Long Island. Syd's wife, Selma (nee Hirschhorn) Shores came from Mt. Freedom. Selma's father, Bernard Hirschhorn was the "Patriarch" of the Hirschhorn family, who sponsored his parents and siblings including my grandmother, when they came over from Galicia. He made his fortune in the garment center and settled in Mt Freedom. Ben was one of the founders of the Mt. Freedom Jewish Center, which is why Syd, Selma and many of the Hirschhorn descendents are buried there.
Don't know if you know this but the recent Marvel Comics stamps that the Post Office produced contains a cover by our cousin, Syd Shores. Syd was married to a first cousin of my father's side (the Hirschorn side). Apparently, he drew and dad wrote a whole lot of books together. Other than the books I have, I really didn't know much about my father's early career in comics - still don't.I didn't know Mike's father's work either, so I looked it up. Turns out that Phil Sturm (Mike's father and my father's first cousin) was a writer on All Hero Comics #1 from Fawcett (1943), Blue Ribbon Comics #3 from Archie (1939), and the following Marvel-Timely books: Daring Mystery Comics #3 (1940), Mystic Comics #5, and USA Comics #1, #2, #3, and #4 (1941).
Duffy later regaled me with what happened after I exited the bullpen. Dave looked up, his big blue eyes wide, looked both ways and asked wildly, “Uh...Who-waz-that? What? Who?” Duffy is, by this time howling and nearly falling down. Duffy was the human embodiment of Volstagg from the Thor series, with girth and flaming red hair and beard to match, so when he laughed, it was rolling. “Oh,” sez he to a totally startled and befuddled Dave, “that's just Paty. She's harmless.”
Cliff--Thank you very much for the post about my inking. I've never been a fan if inking awards, because people tend to just vote for whomever's inking their favorite comic. But it's good to see inkers get some recognition, at least.
Back to Howard, my first reaction to him some fifteen years ago was in response to his first reaction to me, which carried his discomfort with my smashing some wise-mouth skinhead in the teeth at NBC Studios. At least that’s how I remember it. Harlan remembers me hitting three guys, and all that without a single beer. Though I see him only on occassion (or perhaps because of it), I enjoy Howard’s company more than I do most people’s, a keen repository of accurate information and sense and good humor, this man—“He was the voice of sanity at an otherwise insane publishing house,” as Bob Silverberg recently described him to me. Howard had several vodkas, then caught a train home from Port Authority, while I had to walk with a bellyfull of tequila and ale and no dinner back to a parking lot to locate my Toyota. It wasn’t hard to find; some dickless piece of shit had sideswiped it, leaving me without a sideview mirror. Not a lot of cars look like that. I drove through the Lincoln Tunnel, worse for tequila, and phoned a few friends until the cell kicked out, an asshole move that late at night but almost forgivable given my state of un-mind. Made it as far as Passaic before hunger overtook me, so I pulled off the road and found an all-night glatt-kosher Chinese takeout joint, then ate lo mein in my front seat.
Roy Thomas writes this morning to remind me that Alter Ego #78 (TwoMorrows Publishing) will be a Special Dave Cockrum Issue. "It will mostly consist of an interview, art, and photos," said Roy, "but it should run 2 or 3 dozen pages in the issue, at the head of other things."
Note that the photo on the left was taken when I was still thin and quick. Today I'd use the gun.Sensei Clifford Meth is one of the most awesome fighters without fear. He has instilled this into all his sons who are all fighting champions. [He] is a wonderful writer and knowledgeable not only in the Martial Arts but in the Literary Arts. He is also a dear friend and supporter who I hold close.
Feb. 2 -- I’m still in the hospital. CAT scans show improvement: the spot(s) on the lung(s) are gradually but steadily getting smaller, which means the presence of a tumor is highly unlikely. I’m probably dealing with a very nasty, very persistent viral or fungal infection.
Jim McLauchlin of the HERO INITIATIVE was in LV today and stopped by to watch me vegetate. And walk — first time I’ve done that in a while. In fact, today was the first time in weeks that I’ve actually felt a little stronger, a little more well.
Have to keep this short. Urgent Doctor Fate stuff to be done. Will post another update next time I can get to a net connection.
The connection ended. Mark Evanier is maintaining Steve’s blog now. Tom Spurgeon--who probably stayed up all night doing it--just published the only bio on Steve you need to read.
“I remember Steve starting at Marvel when I was there,” John Romita told me this morning. “[My wife] Virginia was his traffic manager… Steve was part of a parade of young writers who came in, but he made a place for himself in history. And he was a nice kid... These are all my kids.”
After being introduced to me by Gene Colan in 1996, Steve wrote the introduction the book I did with Gene, Perverts, Pedophiles & Other Theologians (Aardwolf Publishing). That was a solid I could never repay, but I wasn’t expected to.
To conclude, let's turn to Tom Spurgeon who usually says it better than the rest of us anyway:
Steve Gerber's role as one of the best and emblematic writers of his generation can't be overstated… Gerber carved a place for self-expression and meaning out of a type of comic that had no right to hold within itself so many things and moments that were that quirky and offbeat and delicately realized -- except that Gerber made it so. His Howard the Duck comics remain amusing when read today, perhaps more poignant now, laying into their broad targets in a way that communicated a kind of critical consciousness into the minds of many devoted superhero comics readers, fans that simply wouldn't have been exposed to those kinds of ideas any other way, the concept that media might lie to you, the notion of absolute self-worth in the face of a world that seems dead-set against it. [His] superhero books were a tonic to the over-seriousness of most of their cousins, and his horror-adventure books were frequently classy and reserved in a genre that tends to reward the blunt and ugly… Few creators in the American mainstream were as consistently fascinating… Even fewer have been as outspoken and forthright, or in that way, as admirable.
I have fond memories of sitting with [Dave] in the Marvel Bullpen and watching as he designed the costume for the Captain Marvel villain Deathgrip back when I was writing that book and dinosaurs still walked the Earth. Even though Dave wasn't the artist on that title, he helped out because he was one of the greatest costume generators ever. In addition to his prodigious talent, Dave was also one of the good guys, two qualities which aren't always found together in the same human being. He was a gentle man who was liked by all.
Here’s the advice part of my column: If you want art from an artist, start with, “I’m a big fan and I’d like a drawing of this particular character. Please name your price.” Then pay it. Don’t ask for freebies. And don’t negotiate. That’s an insult—especially to an old-timer who is STILL MAKING A LIVING drawing these little Ebay-destined doodles. Try negotiating with your urologist instead next time you’re pissing blood, chum.
