Stan Lee

by Bob Batchelor

  Goodman’s little knockoff shop, no matter how well it did in sales, was not considered an industry thought leader, so the self-appointed culture police like Wertham or the members of the NODL did not target him or Lee specifically. While Lee claims to have participated in a series of debates directly with Wertham or one of his minions in the early 1950s, there is no evidence to support the claim.5

  Whatever his actual interaction with the comic book-burners and rabble- rousers, Lee did take a shot at Wertham in Suspense #29 (April 1953), a story illustrated by one of Lee’s closest friends and freelancers, Joe Maneely, who would later die in a tragic train accident. Demonstrating his typical bombastic style and lack of subtlety, Lee titled the story “The Raving Maniac” and featured himself in an invented argument with a Wertham-like figure. After listening to the intruder rail against comics, the editor forcefully pushes him into a chair and delivers a blistering freedom of speech soliloquy, explaining, “In a dictatorship, people try to change your mind by force! You should be grateful you’re in a land where only words are used!!” The story’s twist ending—one of Lee’s specialties—is that the intruder is an insane asylum escapee.

  At the end, returning home, Joan and J.C. greet Lee. Then he rocks his daughter to sleep and begins the bedtime story about the “excited little man.” It is impossible to know if this fictional account ever reached Wertham’s desk or an associate’s, but Lee took a huge gamble in publishing the story and placing himself front and center.6 “To me, Wertham was a fanatic, pure and simple,” Lee explained. “I never cease to be amazed at the gullibility of human beings.”7

  As a result of the publicity and the mania that attacks on comics roused, the United States Senate launched an investigation, forming the Subcommittee on Juvenile Delinquency in 1953. Senators realized the power in televised hearings after a similar subcommittee on organized crime led by Estes Kefauver generated extraordinary television ratings, which nearly propelled the Tennessee Democrat to the presidency. Robert Hendrickson (R-NJ) led the investigation, joined by Kefauver and four other senators. Like its predecessor, the board televised its proceedings, which took place in several locations, including Denver, Boston, and Philadelphia. The senators looked at different causes of juvenile delinquency based on the hearing location, then Hendrickson announced that the focus for the New York proceedings would be comic books. The star witness would be Wertham himself, who was happy to be in the national spotlight, as it sold more copies of his book, published earlier in the year. The testimony served as the culmination of the psychiatrist’s efforts for many years to draw attention to the negative influence of comic books on young readers.

  The hearings opened in late April and early June 1954 in room 110 of the federal courthouse in New York City. A parade of experts from education, sociology, and child services pinned a great deal of negativity on the publishers and creators, but surprisingly the evidence against comic books to most observers wasn’t overwhelming. Of course, Wertham made the most damning points. At one point, he explained, “I think Hitler was a beginner compared to the comic book industry. They get the children much younger. They teach them race hatred at the age of four, before they can read.”8 The senators seemed to take their cues from his Seduction book, using it as a kind of playbook. Kefauver and his colleagues did not question Wertham’s findings or the book’s legitimacy.

  The tide turned for good on April 21, 1954, when Kefauver, always on the lookout for publicity, enticed EC publisher William Gaines to answer a series of questions about decency. In preparation for his testimony, Gaines had stayed up all night working on his remarks by popping Dexedrine diet pills (a kind of middle-class wonder drug at the time, prescribed to men to overcome fatigue). The publisher believed that once people heard the issues from his perspective that they would come to their senses. Kefauver had different ideas, which he would debut as the television cameras rolled.

  Herbert Beaser, one of the committee’s counsel, baited Gaines into generalizations, ranging from how comics were captioned to what might be considered good taste. Kefauver patiently laid in wait for his moment to strike. Gaines, who later admitted that the Dexedrine wore off and left him feeling deflated, had difficulty keeping up the pace.9 As if on cue, Kefauver pulled out his key piece of evidence: EC’s Crime SuspenStories #22. The issue’s cover displayed a gruesome close-up of a man holding a bloody ax in his right hand and a blond woman’s severed head in the left. The woman’s mouth dripped blood, as did the axe, and her bare legs were splayed on the floor below. Gaines did not budge, insisting the cover was okay for a horror comic book. That exchange became the defining moment for those watching the spectacle on television, as well as the front-page story in the next day’s New York Times. Later, Gaines would be chastised by newspapers and magazines across the nation, including Time and Newsweek, which had far-reaching influence.10

  The resulting furor led to Gaines jettisoning his crime and horror comics. He claimed it was in response to what parents demanded, but no distributor would work with him after such a fiasco. Gaines stood as the figurehead for everything wrong with comic books. All across the industry, other publishers folded. The firms that stayed in business had to make do with steep sales declines. Goodman’s comics division dropped from 15 million a month in 1953 to 4.6 million in 1955.11 “Parents everywhere were forbidding their children to read anything that even hinted at action or adventure or any sort of gripping conflict,” Lee said.12 The only genres that sold were the female leads, like Patsy Walker, some science fiction titles, teen humor, funny animals, and westerns—as long as they weren’t deemed too violent. Goodman and Lee had enough of these titles to continue in business, but no longer needed additional staff or as many freelancers.

  Public disapproval of comic books—spurred on by the Senate investigations and Wertham’s incredible influence—overwhelmed the industry. The demand for change grew louder until it could be no longer ignored. The psychiatrist used his bully pulpit to call for reforms, which ultimately led to the 1954 editorial code adopted by the Comics Magazine Association of America (CMAA), the organization the publishers formed to regulate the industry.

  The Comics Code forced publishers to submit their comic books to a review board, which then determined if anything might be found offensive, including such seemingly innocuous things as vampires and using words like “horror” on the cover. If the book passed through the review board, it could print the Comics Code Authority “Approved By” stamp on the cover. In effect, the consent became mandatory, because distributors were not willing to risk trafficking in comics that were not sanctioned.

  The idea behind the Comics Code was similar to the stringent Hays Code that governed film for many years with tight restrictions on how movies could depict certain topics. Like the Hollywood studios, comic book publishers took action to self-police rather than face potential sanctions, which were mainly meant to scare distributors and newsstands from carrying titles that repeatedly violated the Comics Code. Whether or not they regarded the regulations as infringements on freedom of speech, many accepted the oversight as a safeguard.

  Goodman felt the dip in sales and once again forced Lee to cut staff members and freelance contracts. The publisher again hightailed it out of town and left the dirty, face-to-face firings to Lee. “The market for comic books disintegrated,” Lee said, “with artists and writers being fired by the barrelful. I was amazed that Martin kept me on, but then, he had to have somebody to fire all those other people for him.”13 After a dreadful situation of canning his friends and coworkers, Lee struggled to remain positive, wracking his brain in an attempt to devise a genre that Wertham and his cronies wouldn’t attack.

  While the comic industry caved in to the external pressure brought by Wertham and the Senate hearings, Goodman’s company kept churning out titles across numerous genres. Goodman pushed Lee toward whatever he saw his competitors selling. For Lee and his small team of freelance artists, colorists, and inkers, that meant tackling romance,
animals, war stories, crime tales, and westerns, churning out issues to meet the print deadlines. At Goodman’s firm, quantity categorically trumped quality.14 “I was the hackiest hack who ever lived,” the young editor lamented. “Goodman,” remembered colorist Stan Goldberg, “left it all up to Stan. . . . I don’t think Martin ever came into Stan’s office, and I never saw him in the bullpen.”15

  As the comic book industry turned even more conservative, Lee wrote innocuous comic book titles that no one could find offensive. Many of these books were mostly silly to the point of absurdity, featuring stereotypical characters that engaged in harmless adventure experiences, such as the long-running and benign Nellie the Nurse and Millie the Model. Lee considered the material beneath him. “I felt I was a better writer. . . . I shouldn’t be wasting my life on this,” he remembered. The only positive was that he enjoyed the process of working alongside other creative talents. “I’ll stay just a little bit longer,” he told himself, “because this is fun.”16

  In the wake of the downturn due to Wertham and the anti-comics fanatics, Goodman decided to vacate the Empire State Building for smaller offices at 655 Madison Avenue, the heart of the American advertising industry. Most of the operations were dedicated to his magazine business—Magazine Management, Inc.—a variety of genres and themes, perhaps only a half step removed from the bawdy slicks he had published during the era of the pulps. Lee settled into a small office and attempted to resurrect the comic book division, while all the other editors and writers basically ignored him, finding his work appalling at best and at worst depraved.

  On the heels of the disastrous Senate hearings and the implementation of the Comics Code, Goodman made several business decisions, some of which nearly destroyed the comic book department Lee created and managed. Regardless of the cyclical nature of the comic book industry, Goodman could always get his products on newsstand racks because he owned his own distribution firm. The battle for prime placement went on and on, but the comics and magazines would be on the shelves.

  In 1956, Goodman searched for ways to squeeze more money out of production costs. He decided to close his own distribution operations and go with the industry’s largest player—American News Company (ANC). The company stood as the largest book wholesaler in the world and the primary distributor for an overwhelming majority of magazines and comic books. On the surface, the move made sense. Behind the scenes, though, ANC had been waging a battle to the death with antitrust regulators for four years. There were also rumors that ANC had mob connections. These ties gave the government added incentive to pursue the giant. Goodman gambled, but the move quickly turned sour.

  The publisher had changed Timely’s name to Atlas Comics in the early 1950s, but did not want to tie the entire corporation’s future to the comic book division, which seemed like a sinking ship. Just as Goodman put the company’s future in ANC’s hands, the shaky situation worsened for the distributor. In January 1957, two of ANC’s most successful magazines, Collier’s and Woman’s Home Companion, folded. Then, in a catastrophic setback, ANC’s largest client, Dell Publishing, decided in April to find a new distributor for its comics and paperback books. In a last ditch effort to stay alive, ANC shuttered its comic book arm. That year the national behemoth lost $8 million and fired eight thousand employees. Two months after the comic book division closed, ANC went completely out of business.

  The ANC debacle looked like the end for Goodman and Lee. The editor declared, “It was like we had been the last ones to book passage on the Titanic !”17 ANC’s failure had lasting consequences. Many magazine and comic book publishers were forced out of business as well. The remaining independent distributors leaped into the power vacuum and took control, often forcing publishers to bend to their will or close down. Nearly everything changed about American magazines as a result, from publication frequency to the actual physical size. The entire industry would become more uniform, while marginal titles and topics would nearly cease altogether. For Goodman, the ANC collapse threatened not only Lee’s comic book division, but also placed Goodman’s entire life’s work in jeopardy. He now had no way to get his magazines onto shelves or into the hands of consumers.

  In a last ditch effort to save his publishing empire, Goodman begged his main rival, Independent News (owned by National Periodical/DC Comics), to distribute Atlas’s entire catalog, both his popular magazines and comic books. After watching ANC fight antitrust charges, Independent News executives feared the repercussions or sanctions they might face if they turned Goodman away. Although desperate, Goodman also had something to offer. Independent knew that they could make money on the deal, particularly by distributing the magazines. Realizing their strong negotiating position, they signed an agreement with Goodman, but with harsh stipulations: Atlas could only publish eight comic books per month. Goodman also had to agree to a ten-year deal, which would ensure that Independent News controlled his company’s future.

  Overnight, the comic book division plummeted. Despite the downturn after the comic book scare and the number of freelancers who left the industry as a result, Lee had still been publishing sixty to seventy titles per month. He wrote or scripted most of them, while also overseeing all editorial work and art. In one fell swoop, though, Independent News neutered its competitor and thwarted Goodman’s main strategy, which had been to flood the market with knockoff titles when a new genre caught on. Goodman and Lee decided to publish sixteen bimonthly comic books, culling the bestselling ones across genres, including stalwarts Millie the Model, Patsy Walker, Strange Tales, Wyatt Earp, and Two-Gun Kid. The backlog of artwork and scripts from all the canceled titles were later used in the remaining sixteen, which meant that freelancers who had stayed with Lee after the fallout wouldn’t find much work from him for the foreseeable future.

  Despite his reputation for toughness and the ability to melt employees to the core with an icy stare, once again Goodman left for a Florida vacation, leaving Lee the onerous task of firing staff members who were no longer needed. Lee also had to trim the freelance roster. Venerable artists like John Romita and Joe Sinnott turned in their remaining work with no new jobs on the horizon. Firing his friends and teammates, Lee recalled, “was the toughest thing I ever did in my life.”18 Some of the freelancers weren’t even paid for the work they were doing at the time. As a result, many artists left the business for more stable positions in advertising or the corporate world.

  Lee hunkered down in a cubicle and got back to producing, ever fearful that Goodman would axe him next. The editor had several things on his side: he worked fast, was an extended family member, and Goodman did not want to miss out on the next comic book wave, even if the profits were scaled back dramatically. He knew that he needed Lee to capitalize on the next big trend that readers would embrace when they started buying comic books again.

  Both a people-pleaser and dedicated company employee, Lee reacted badly to having to fire his friends and coworkers, alternatively transitioning between fears of his own unemployment and the escalating unhappiness with his career path. “I couldn’t shake that gnawing feeling of depression,” Lee explained. “It was like I was chasing my tail all the time. I could never shake that feeling of vague dissatisfaction.”19 He didn’t think that his skills could translate into a job in magazines or screenwriting for film or television, though, so he continued to abide Goodman’s rule and wait until another opportunity surfaced, even though he wasn’t sure what that might be.

  While the comic book industry suffered in the years following the Senate investigations, Goodman’s publishing machine grew. The magazine business produced a mix of conventional titles about Hollywood, the burgeoning television industry and its stars (like Jackie Gleason), and romance magazines, along with more racy titles aimed at titillating young men. These efforts included an Esquire copycat titled Stag and others, including For Men Only, Man’s World, and Male. Stag and the others emphasized explicit and sensational photographs and content (nearly bordering on pornographic), but
many first-rate writers published with Goodman, including Ogden Nash, Graham Greene, and William Saroyan (Lee’s old Army officemate).

  Lee bounced back and forth between the two parts of Goodman’s business, chiefly searching for security, but also on the lookout for respectability. Ironically, at the time, it seemed to him (and other adults outside publishing) that a brassy Hollywood pinup magazine like Focus was more prestigious than writing and editing comic books, even though the former featured risqué photographs, provocative drawings of women, and stories heavy on sexuality and intrigue, such as “I Kidnapped the King’s Harem Girl” and “Divorcees are Dynamite.” These lurid tales trafficked in sexuality, innuendo, and either complete nudity or semi-nudity.

  In 1956, Goodman tried to copy the success of Mad magazine with Snafu and even had Lee assemble an all-star cast of artists, including Bill Everett and Joe Maneely. Despite Lee’s best efforts, Snafu did not catch on and lasted a meager three issues.20 The quick cancellation was a Goodman trait. He rarely allowed magazines to build momentum. If he sensed that the audience moved on or wasn’t interested, he dumped the product and searched for the potential next big thing. If that didn’t appear right away, Goodman might attempt to repurpose content elsewhere, like slapping new titles on old articles and running them as original essays in different magazines. Several times throughout his career, Goodman faced sanctions from the Federal Trade Commission for publishing practices that either skirted the letter of the law or were entirely illegal.