As I noted, yesterday would have been the 94th birthday of Jack Kirby, who more or less got me into the creative end of comic books in 1970. Yesterday also would have been the 101st birthday of Chase Craig, who was the Senior Editor — I think that was his title — for many years at Western Publishing Company for the Dell and later Gold Key Comics. (If you don't understand the business relationship there, this may clarify it for you.)
Recently, an article stated that Jack gave me my first professional writing job. He didn't. He gave me about my twentieth. And then not to take anything away from Jack but it was Chase who gave me my first somewhat-steady gig that paid me actual money. Before that, it was all apprentice-type pay and one-shot assignments and thinking, "Well, maybe I can sell another script to this guy." Chase was the first person to ever treat me as a bona fide professional, no different from guys who'd been working for him for 20+ years. If you are a professional freelancer, you know how important such a gesture is to your life and career.
We all have moments when we know we've "made it" in some important-only-to-ourselves fashion. A big one for me came after I did a few freelance jobs for Chase. It took place in the office in the above photo — a photo taken in 1969 by animation/comic historian Michael Barrier. The offices of Western Publishing were then up on Hollywood Boulevard and if you looked out that window behind Chase, you got a nice third-story view of Grauman's Chinese Theater, directly across the street.
In 1971, I helped my friend Mike Royer get work with Kirby. In gratitude, and because Mike therefore no longer had time to explore it for himself, he gave me a lead on work writing Disney comic books that were published only in foreign countries. Up at Western, Chase edited the ones published in America but once those were translated and reprinted overseas, there was still a demand for more such material. Thanks to Mike, I began selling Mickey Mouse and Goofy scripts to a gent named George Sherman, who worked in the publications division out at Disney Studios.
George was a major figure in the history of Disney-in-print but one who has never received his due. Part of that was because he was a quiet guy who, when there was credit to be noted, often handed his to others. Some Disney fans know him mainly as the person who brokered the deal whereby Carl Barks, in retirement, obtained permission from the studio to do his famous paintings of Uncle Scrooge and Donald. That was one of his smaller accomplishments.
And the other inhibitor of George's fame is that he died way too young. My pal Dana Gabbard recently wrote the first "history" of any sort about George when he authored this Wikipedia page. It has led, I'm happy to report, to me being contacted by George's daughter, who is working on a full-scale biography that I want to help her complete and that I really want to read.
I wrote scripts for George for a while and it was slow-going because he was out for weeks at a time due to the illness that took his life in 1974. When he'd come back from medical leave, he'd find his desk piled high with Evanier submissions. I joke that he referred me to Chase just to get rid of that drain on his health but the truth is, I'm sure, that he felt guilty about his slow response time on every script. One day, he was talking to Chase about perhaps improving the quality of the material Western was producing and Chase lamented that a couple of his best writers had left him or were burning out. George said something like, "Hey, I've got a kid here you oughta know about," and he sent Chase copies of scripts I had done for him.
I had met Chase once before this. Steve Sherman (my partner when I worked for Kirby) and I had created a couple of ideas for new comics. On a youthful impulse, we submitted them to Chase to see if Western would buy them and he invited us up to his office. There, he gave us a brief, polite explanation of why our concepts didn't fit in with what the company was trying to do at that juncture. I still don't know why it didn't dawn on me to ask, "Hey, you need anyone to write Bugs Bunny?" I guess thinking you could handle The Wabbit or any of the comics Chase was editing involved some level of chutzpah that I have just plain never possessed.
Then one day outta the blue, Chase called and told me about the referral from George Sherman. He asked, "Can you write Super Goof stories for me the way you write them for him?" I said I thought I could do that. I sold him a few, then he had me write an emergency, had-to-be-done-almost-overnight issue of The Amazing Chan and the Chan Clan. After I handed it in, there came this extraordinary (for me) moment in the office depicted above. He leaned back in his chair and said, "You know, if you were able to write four or five comics a month for me, I could probably use them."
Then there was a pause — and I really remember that pause because of what came after — and he said, "I could really use you on Bugs Bunny."
This will all mean nothing to most of you and perhaps it shouldn't. But somewhere out there, there's a fellow professional writer who'll identify. He or she will recall the instant when they thought, "Hey, I really may be able to make a living in this business." That was mine.
For Chase, I wrote Bugs Bunny and Daffy Duck and Porky Pig and Beep Beep the Road Runner and Woody Woodpecker and Scooby Doo and many others. I largely moved away from the Disney titles, which was financially foolish on my part. Chase occasionally rejected a script — usually because I didn't have an idea but I wrote it anyway. If he bounced a Daffy Duck script, it went into my filing cabinet and I never got paid for it. If he bounced a Donald Duck script, I could sometimes sell it to George Sherman. But I didn't think that way. I just felt more comfy with Daffy than Donald.
One time, I wrote a Road Runner that I really liked but Chase didn't. Back it came with a polite note that said something like, "Sorry, this one just didn't do it for me." Chase was amazingly gracious in that regard. I've had editors who reject things and/or demand rewrites just to remind you who's in charge or so they can say to their superiors, "You need me to whip those writers into shape." I never felt Chase did any of that and I usually respected his decisions. Just this one time, I thought he was wrong.
A few weeks later when we were discussing another script, I rudely blurted that opinion out. The minute I said it, I regretted my impudence but to my surprise, he said, "Well, if you feel that strongly about it, send that one in again and let me take another look at it." I did and he sent me a lovely note (I still have it) that just said, "You were right." I've worked for a lot of editors and producers who would never in a zillion years do that.
Chase retired around 1974 and his job was assumed by Del Connell, whose obit recently (sadly) appeared on this site. Soon after, Chase came out of retirement to edit a new line of comics for Hanna-Barbera. He hired me to write them, did it for a while, got bored and then retired again, passing the whole job on to me.
Early in my new responsibility, I went to my filing cabinet and hauled out the pile of scripts Chase had rejected. It wasn't a huge stack but I figured there had to be some good ideas in there that I could use on the H-B comics. There were two Scooby Doo scripts that Chase had bought but which had never been published or even drawn because Western lost the rights to do Scooby Doo comics. In my capacity as editor, I immediately purchased them from myself. But among the scripts Chase had rejected, I didn't find a single plot, joke or line of dialogue I could recycle. That was how good an editor Chase was.
In the last few years, I've become very sparing in the use of words like "mentor" and "protégé" when I write about my years with Jack, Chase and a few other talented folks who I've been blessed to have in my proximity. While those nouns might apply in some senses, I see them frequently used by a "new kid," consciously or not, trying to claim a piece of someone else's greatness. Not always but too often, it's like "Hire me because I was that guy's protégé so I'm therefore in his league." Nope. One thing I did learn from both Jack and Chase is that your work is your work. It stands or falls on its own merits, if any, and who you know or knew doesn't make it one iota better. When I write a joke, no one laughs at it because I've worked with a lot of funny people. (Sometimes, no one laughs at it at all but that's a separate matter…)
Still, you can learn things from a "mentor," particularly the really valuable lessons where they don't teach you so much as they set an example from which you can teach yourself. I learned a lot of things from both of these men born on August 28. Because I'm asked so often to do so and because I enjoy doing it, I write an awful lot about Jack Kirby. I should also probably write a lot more about Chase Craig.