PeterDavid.net

May The Schwartz Be With You

Dec. 7, 1990

So I'm at the offices of DC Comics the other day, and coming toward me down the hallway, on their way to lunch, are Dick Giordano, Pat Bastíenne, and Julie Schwartz. Collectively, they have about 3000 years of comic-book experience among them.

Dick tells me to stop writing fiction that I couldn't sell anywhere and write columns about real stuff. Pat-- who is in charge of medical coverage-- eyes me carefully to see if I'm coughing or anything, and Julie grips my shoulder firmly, stares me down and growls, "Do a column about me." OK.

Julie Schwartz - Where Legends Live

I will never forget the time I was in a comics store, talking with some older fans about comics history, and the name Julie Schwartz was raised. And a younger fan, standing nearby, glanced up from a rack of Turtles comics and said, "Julie Schwartz? Who's she?"

Julius Schwartz, ya morons. Ya bozos. The man. The legend. The sexual dynamo. Describing Julie Schwartz brings to mind the (self-proclaimed) description of Captain Freedom from Hill Street Blues: Ten tons of dynamite in one hand and a neutron bomb in the other. When he walks, buildings tremble and bad guys wet their pants.

Julius Schwartz, whose very presence and air provides hope for future bald, old Jewish men everywhere (like myself, for example).

Julius Schwartz who-- together with a host of others whose names would likewise be unfamiliar to fans who think that Gardner Fox was an old cartoon character-- reshaped a comics universe.

They didn't need limited series, or fan favorites, or red skies, or mando paper, high-profile deaths, trade paperbacks, posters, fliers, store displays, inflatable figures, sponges, or bagged editions. All they needed was talent, imagination, and a sense of wonder, dammit.

Julius Schwartz, whose name is connected with one of the greatest disappointments I ever suffered at a convention.

It was at I-Con in Long Island last year, I believe, or perhaps the year before. There was a panel on the topic of redefining characters. Reshaping them, retooling them, and infusing them with renewed vitality for the modern readership (whatever might happen to be defined as "modern" at the time).

I was slated to be on the panel, presumably for my work with The Incredible Hulk. (For which, frankly, I still don't understand why I get all the credit. Bob Harras and Al Milgrom turned him gray and crafty, not me.).

I was asked to moderate the panel, but when I found out that Julie Schwartz was going to be on it as well, I refused. I felt it would be presumptuous and inappropriate. Julie was there, for crying out loud. So I helped retool one character. So what?

Julie helped reshape a comics cosmos. The stories he could tell about recreating The Flash, Hawkman, The Atom-- an entire modern cast. And it had never been done before.

It doesn't matter how many new series they give Hawkman or how much they turn Catwoman into a slut, or how good any of the efforts are. Nothing will change the fact that when the Silver Age of comics was being hammered into shape on the anvil of creativity, it was the first time it was being done. We're talking uncharted water, unknown realms, where no fan has gone before.

I was really excited to be on this panel with Julie. I would have been happy to sit in the audience, or be a fly on the wall. I wanted Julie to moderate it. More than that, I wanted to just kick back on the panel and listen to Julie talk about what it was like. When I'm on a panel I can just talk and talk, but for this, I was ready to staple my mouth shut lest I detract.

So we show up for the panel at the appointed hour, Julie and myself and the other panelists (I don't remember who, I'm sorry, I apologize profusely) and I can't remember the last time I was so looking forward to a convention panel. Instead of a bunch of young hotshots discussing censorship or violence or whatever, we were going to hear about history in the making from someone whose hands got thick with the clay of the molding.

And no one showed up. No one

Showed Up.

I will grant you, it was the first panel of the morning.

Perhaps a number of attendees hadn't gotten there yet. But that's no excuse. We sat in that large lecture room, the bunch of us, for about 10 or 15 minutes, discussing this, that and the other thing-- even about the start of the Silver Age-- and listened to our voices echo in the empty room.

And no one Showed Up.

And after a while we all drifted apart to go look at the dealers' room, and the fans never bothered to come by and hear about the making of the character who was revived by Julie et al. so that he could eventually streak across your TV screen Thursday nights, accompanied by a Danny Elfman score.

(And hey, how come we don't see "Created by" credits on The Flash, the way Bob Kane receives credit in Batman? The official explanation-- that they're combining several different elements of the Flash and that they can't, therefore, credit only one person-- is a load of crap. What, are they paying for credits by the word or something, and they can't afford it? For that matter, I've seen script credits that read "Script by A, B, and C, from a story by C, X, and Z." Those fit on the TV screen just fine. Can't list one? List them all. They're entitled-- their creation gave you guys a job.)

So I was bitterly disappointed with the fan apathy over that panel and if I'm ever on a similar panel, I'm going to do some audience recruitment with a 2 x 4.

I will note, though, that I was on a comics panel with Julie and some other guys that was designed as a "Comics Night" at C.W. Post, again on the Island, and we had a great turnout for that.

I will also note that Julie's ability to walk around conventions with various nubile young ladies at his beck and call, and his talent for charming the most formidable of women, is absolutely legendary. 'Tis a wonderment to behold. They just flock to him.

I have even seen him flirting, repeatedly, with Carol Kalish. And she loves it. Loves it. And she even flirts back.

To understand the magnitude of this, you have to understand Carol, I suppose. Carol is the head honcho of Marvel Comics Direct sales (that's the comic book specialty market).

She is tough, determined, aggressive, smart, a dozen other things-- but not flirtatious. Carol is to the art of flirtation what Rembrandt is to skateboarding. She is my dear friend, but she's not someone you casually cuddle up to and rub faces with. She doesn't invite it and you don't ask.

Except with Julie.

The first time I saw it happen I was shocked. Julie was all over her. She was all over Julie. In public. Carol doesn't like having her picture taken, but the first time I saw her allow it, it was in Julie's embrace.

If Julie Schwartz can wrap Carol around his little finger, then the man is a master. An absolute master.

What's he got? I don't know. If I did, I'd seal it in Mylar and keep it in my basement, in a vault, so that I could access it when I'm his age (presuming I don't blow my brains out earlier on in envy) and make use of it.

Julie has appeared on the covers of comics more than any editor I can think of. In fact, when we had Bela Oxmyx an the cover of Star Trek #11, we had to change his likeness because we didn't have the right to use the actor's face. Bela wound up looking like Julie Schwartz, and we got quite a few queries about it. At a San Diego Con, Carol, Greg Theakston, Richard Howell and a host of cohorts sponsored a major birthday bash for Julie.

He deserves it, deserves it all. He certainly deserves that more than being wondered about as, "Julie Schwartz? Who's she?"

So now you know.

Okay, Julie-- where's my ten bucks?

Peter David, writer of stuff, is available for weddings, parties and Bar-Mitzvahs.

Posted by Glenn Hauman at December 6, 2002 09:44 PM | TrackBack | Other blogs commenting