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Comic Art Friday: Suicide mission

July 17, 2009

Today, Comic Art Friday does the unusual. We’re talking about a comic book writer.

Were I to chart my Top Ten comics writers of all time — and I really ought to do that, one of these Fridays — John Ostrander would occupy a spot high on that list. Although he has written dozens of titles during his 25 years in the industry, Ostrander’s place in my authorial pantheon is assured by his creation of one of my favorite Modern Age (post-1980) series: DC’s Suicide Squad.

SuicideSquad_Isherwood

John was also the writer who transformed Barbara Gordon, the original Batgirl, into the wheelchair-bound high-tech wizard Oracle. His other works include stints on such series as The Spectre, Martian Manhunter, Heroes for Hire, Magnus: Robot Fighter, and Grimjack, which he also co-created.

I share a personal connection with Ostrander, although we’ve never met. Like my wife KJ, John’s wife and frequent collaborator, Kim Yale, struggled with breast cancer for a number of years. Sadly, Kim lost her battle with the disease in 1997.

These days, Ostrander is fighting an enemy that no superhero he’s written (to my knowledge, anyway) has ever faced: glaucoma. John recently underwent a complex and costly surgery that doctors hope will, with careful follow-up attention, preserve his eyesight. The problem is — and when haven’t we heard this? — that John’s health insurance only partially covers this expensive care.

Ostrander’s colleagues and fans have banded together to spearhead Comix4Sight, an effort to help John pay for the medical services that could potentially keep him from going blind. The core of this campaign is an auction being held at the Chicago Comic-Con on Saturday, August 8. Donations are also being accepted via the Comix4Sight site.

What’s especially cool about this is that whatever funds are generated beyond what’s needed to cover Ostrander’s care will be donated to the Hero Initiative, the charitable organization that assists comic industry professionals in need. Thus, the campaign has the opportunity to benefit not just one comics creator, but possibly others as well.

I know that everyone’s tight on funds these days. But if you have a few extra shekels to spare, John Ostrander’s cause is worthy. Please help if you’re able.

Back to comic art — and that’s always our Friday focus — for just a moment. The amazing Suicide Squad commission you see above was created for me by Geof Isherwood, whose art — first as inker over Luke McDonnell’s pencils, then later as penciler with Robert Campanella inking — graced the second half of the original series’ run. Geof reunites four of the Squad’s key members from its early years: Vixen, Bronze Tiger, Nightshade, and Deadshot.

This beautifully rendered artwork was published in the January 2008 edition of Back Issue, on the opening page of the magazine’s Suicide Squad retrospective.

One other note, only tangentially related. I was sorry to read just now that Ellie Frazetta, the wife of renowned fantasy artist Frank Frazetta, passed away this morning after a year-long battle with cancer. I’ll be blunt: This cancer thing just flat-out sucks.

And that’s your Comic Art Friday.

Categories: Breast Cancer Awareness, Comic Art Friday, Dead People Got No Reason to Live, Hero of the Day

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He made it do what it did

June 14, 2009

My friend The Real Sam Johnson would have been 43 today.

I say “would have been” because Sam passed away back on April 21, after a long hard struggle with end stage renal disease.

I call Sam my friend because, even though we never met in person — Sam lived all the way across the continent in Savannah, Georgia — Sam was one of the first bloggers whose writings I followed on a regular basis. He was also among the first to read my incessant babble when I began spouting forth nearly five years ago.

Sam and I shared a number of factors in common — our backgrounds in radio broadcasting, our affection for obscure television programs, our mutual fondness for comic books, off-kilter humor, and bizarre pop culture references. We regularly commented upon — and now and again, even wrote about — one another’s blogs. From time to time, we also corresponded off-blog. Sam was the only person in the blogosphere who ever sent me his home telephone number, and said, “Call me anytime.” And I knew that he meant it.

Because of Sam’s kidney disease, he underwent dialysis three times a week. He desperately needed a kidney transplant, but for a number of reasons I won’t go into here, he never received one.

Despite his poor health, Sam lived a full life with robust good humor and joie de vivre. He was loved by most who knew him, and by many who didn’t know him as well as they would have liked.

Count me among the latter.

I’m proud to say that, though we never sat across a table from one another or slapped palms in celebration, Samuel Marquieth Johnson was my friend.

I miss him.

Happy birthday, Sam.

Categories: Blogosphere, Dead People Got No Reason to Live, Hero of the Day, SwanStuff

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Hawaiian I

June 11, 2009

Happy King Kamehameha Day to all of my Hawaiian friends. Save me a hunk of kalua pig, yeah? (I don’t have room in my backyard to dig an imu — that’s the underground oven used to roast a whole pig — so I’m throwing ribs on the grill instead.)

Whenever anyone asks me, “Where are you from originally?” my default answer as a former military brat is, “Everywhere.” If pinned down, however, I’ll say Hawaii.

Although I was born and adopted in Michigan, I spent the formative years of my childhood in the Aloha State. It’s from Hawaii that my earliest memories emanate, and thus it’s the locale I identify as my place of origin. There’s still a part of me that longs to reside there, even though the Golden State Warriors will win the NBA Finals before I’ll persuade my wife to do that.

Our home on Oahu was a little white house in the Honolulu suburb of Ewa Beach (pronounced “eh-vah,” as in, “You Ewa do dat again, brah, I going knock you on yo’ okole“). There was one other house between ours and a beautiful expanse of white sand beach, where I played in those days before parents thought overmuch about what might become of keikis (that’s “small children” to you haoles) left to play alone in public places. (Or perhaps my parents did think about it, and I should have taken that as a hint.) My best friend was a towheaded boy who lived next door, and who also had the same first name as I. We routinely referred to one another as “the other Michael” in a youthful accommodation to identity.

My most vivid recollections of those halcyon days include the time that my mother and I found and rescued a young dolphin beached on our neighborhood shore, and the time I was pinned under a driftwood log and nearly drowned. From the latter incident I acquired a fear of water that persisted for years, preventing me from learning to swim adequately until I was well into adolescence.

Decades later, Hawaiian influences continue to pervade my consciousness. Some of these are linguistic holdovers from my childhood pidgin: I still refer to my belly as my opu, address my friends as “brah,” say “all pau” when I’m finished with something, and shrug off responsibility with the phrase, “That’s not my kuleana.” Other influences are cultural: I’m convinced that my dogged casualness toward life is vestigial Hawaiian.

And, once or twice a month, I have to indulge my craving for Hawaiian food. Nothing says lovin’ like a loco moco (a gravy-covered hamburger topped with a fried egg, served with rice), a slice of Spam musubi (think sushi, only with Spam — yeah, I said Spam — instead of fish), and a steaming bowl of saimin (noodle soup).

I’ve been a Californian for three decades, but my heart remains in the Islands. And why not — we’ve got a Hawaiian in the White House now. You go, brah!

Think I’ll go put on my aloha shirt and sing a few choruses of “The Hukilau Song.” Or maybe “Pearly Shells.”

Aloha!

Categories: Aimless Riffing, Food Glorious Food, Hero of the Day, My Home Town, Reminiscing, SwanStuff

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RIP, Dave Simons

June 10, 2009

Because I know that many of my regular readers aren’t comics fans, I usually restrict my writing about comic-related subjects to our Comic Art Fridays feature.

Today, however, I’m going to break that rule.

Comic book artist Dave Simons died last evening, after a lengthy bout with cancer. He was 54 years old.

Dave worked extensively for both Marvel and DC Comics, most prominently as an inker, but often as a penciler and cover artist also. After his comics work thinned out, he turned to the animation field, where he provided storyboards for a number of popular series.

I never had the privilege of meeting Dave, but I did correspond with him a few times. Some time back, Dave e-mailed me about possibly doing a drawing for my Common Elements commission theme. He proposed a scenario involving Marvel Comics’ Ghost Rider, the character with which Dave was most closely associated.

At the time Dave wrote to me, my art budget was tapped out. But I promised him that I would get in touch with him within the next few months, and we’d see whether we could work something out.

Earlier this year, when word began circulating about the progressive seriousness of Dave’s cancer, I got back in touch with him, and commissioned him to do the drawing we had previously discussed. We decided that Dave would draw Ghost Rider racing motorcycles with the Barbara Gordon version of Batgirl. Dave, a major motorcycle buff, seemed genuinely enthused about the project. We swapped several cordial e-mails about the details of the scenario, and comparing reference photos from which Dave would create Batgirl’s bike.

Although we did not speak of it, I was aware that Dave’s health might prohibit him from completing the commission. But I also knew from the comics grapevine that, like many comics creators, he was in tough financial shape because of his medical expenses. If the amount I paid for the commission might help him in some small way, I was glad to do it. I also know how vital it is for people with life-threatening illnesses to be able to carry on with everyday life, and to do the things they enjoy as long as they’re able. If the prospect of working on my drawing gave Dave something to look forward to, I was glad for that as well.

A couple of months ago, I exchanged notes with Dave’s art representative. At that time, Dave was feeling somewhat better, even though his long-term prognosis was not good. The doctors then were giving him six months. Dave was determined to outlast that limitation.

I was deeply saddened to hear that he did not.

Dave’s friend and biographer Daniel Best has posted a poignant and eloquent memorial to Dave on his blog. I encourage you to read it, and to learn more about this fine artist and gentleman.

I wish that I had known him better myself.

Rest in peace, Dave.

Categories: Celebritiana, Comic Art Friday, Dead People Got No Reason to Live, Hero of the Day

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Snatched: the final pebble

June 4, 2009

I awakened this morning to the sad news that actor David Carradine had been found dead in a Bangkok hotel suite, the victim of an apparent suicide.

For us children of the ’70s, Carradine was and always will be Kwai Chang Caine, the contemplative Shaolin master who wandered the American West in the classic TV series Kung Fu. To younger audiences, he’ll be remembered as the title character in Quentin Tarantino’s two-part assassins-gone-wild epic, Kill Bill.

As a teenage martial arts film fan — and more specifically, as a devotee of cinema’s greatest hand-fighting hero, Bruce Lee — I recall vividly the controversy engendered when Lee was passed over for the lead in Kung Fu (the concept for which Lee originated, according to his widow) in favor of the Caucasian Carradine. Looking back on the series as it evolved, though, it’s difficult to imagine that Lee would have been better suited for the role than was Carradine. Indeed, Lee’s natural intensity and charisma might have worked against the character — he consistently outshone his top-billed costar Van Williams during their days on The Green Hornet — whereas Carradine’s quieter, gentler approach made an effective match.

Unfortunately for Carradine, with the role of Caine so indelibly etched into the public consciousness, he found it difficult to land decent roles in major films for the next three decades. A rare exception: his Golden Globe-nominated turn as politically charged folksinger Woody Guthrie in the biopic Bound for Glory. In and around the infrequent big-studio production (Death Race 2000, The Long Riders), Carradine coasted along, making scads of execrable direct-to-video junk and hawking Asian health supplements and martial arts instructional tapes.

He even reprised Caine — sort of — in a tepid early-1990s syndicated series called Kung Fu: The Legend Continues, in which Carradine starred as the original Caine’s modern-day namesake grandson, who by sheer television coincidence is also a Shaolin priest and kung fu master.

A decade later, Tarantino came knocking. Which made sense, given QT’s passion for cheesy action epics and all things ’70s.

After the success of Kill Bill, Carradine became ubiquitous. He turned up in a couple dozen projects over the past five years, most recently the Jason Statham action sequel Crank: High Voltage.

Given Carradine’s serene public persona, the news of his suicide comes as a shock. Then again, who truly knows what darkness dwells in the heart of another human being?

Funny… I can imagine Caine saying that.

Categories: Celebritiana, Cinemania, Dead People Got No Reason to Live, Hero of the Day, Reminiscing, Teleholics Anonymous

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A Memorial Day thought

May 25, 2009

As we pause in the midst of our frenzied technological whirlwind to honor the men and women who have sacrificed their lives in service to this country, we offer these words — all the more powerful today, given the current holder of the nation’s highest office, than they were when first spoken.

Until justice is blind to color, until education is unaware of race, until opportunity is unconcerned with the color of men’s skins, emancipation will be a proclamation but not a fact. To the extent that the proclamation of emancipation is not fulfilled in fact, to that extent we shall have fallen short of assuring freedom to the free.

— President Lyndon B. Johnson, Memorial Day Address at Gettysburg, Pennsylvania, May 30, 1963

And, oh yeah…

Captain America and the Red Skull, pencils by Kevin Maguire, inks by Joe Rubinstein

Take that, Red Skull.

Categories: Getting Racial Up In This Piece, Hero of the Day, Random Acts of Patriotism, The Body Politic

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