In which I embarrass James Owsley for the sake of a blog post


 


Never let it be said that I'm not obliging.
Let me say in my defense that I've always liked Jim for his bad attitude about the comics business. He writes a good story, worked very hard to make the books he edited as good as they could be--but he also never lost sight of the fact that the comic book business is a bunch of arrested development cases involved in a fifteen car pile up.
(I also am completely in the dark about the Owz/Christopher Priest thing, so I'll just blithely ignore it.)

But here's the story:
I'm a spanking-new writer up at Marvel, my hanging around, pestering, networking, and writing well having finally paid off, and I'm enjoying the heady status of being One Of The Bullpen. I was at the offices a lot, and the 625 Madison Avenue offices were a fun place: an unpretentious and unhandsome office physically, with nothing of the corporate office design that the Park Avenue South offices--or the DC offices--were to have. But it bustled: freelancers in and out, work constantly being done (John Verpoorten was still alive, and a more imposing Production Chief you'll never see.)
Owsley had come in as an intern, and had that same I-made-it glow I knew I had. But as I was hanging out in some editor's office or other (memory says Denny O'Neil's, but I could be wrong). Somebody came in and introduced Jim to the gaggle of folks therein.
And as that someone went around the room making introductions, he pointed to me and said, "...and Frank Frazetta. "
I smooth-facedly raised my hand and said hello. Just the sort of little jape constantly being played. And absurd on the face of it: Frank had been drawing whiile I was wondering whether learning how to walk was a good idea; I resemble Frazetta mainly in a simiilar number of arms and legs; and Frank had never, ever worked for Marvel AFAIK--and definitely not then. Ridiculous, and more than a little juvenile--but that was what hanging at Marvel was all about. Of course I played along.

Over the next year and a half, I ran into James in the hallways a fair amount--and every time we met, he always greeted me with a casual, "Hi, Frank." And I greeted him back. That, of course, was the way to work it: take the joke on you and make it your own. Made me smile--and James brought it off with the coolness that was replacing the intern eagerness.

Except--
In another editorial hang-out session much, much later, we were sitting around, and someone referred to me as Peter Gillis. And Owsley looked at me wide-eyed, and said, "So you're not Frank Frazetta?"
The shrieks that erupted from the office filled the entire place; and I think I was as stunned as he was.

The exact details are subject to correction, but the story is true.

There's a similar story, which Roger Stern has told, involving Stan Lee, Joe Sinnott, Marv Wolfman, and Jack Keller, that, when I'm looking for a silly inconsequential post, I may tell.

Sorry, Reverend: but it was funny.

Posted: Monday - February 05, 2007 at 06:37 PM        

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