People keep writing to ask what I think of Men of Tomorrow, a new book by Gerard Jones, which focuses on the backstory of the gents who founded and built the comic book industry, with special emphasis on Harry Donenfeld (who founded and owned DC Comics), on Jack Liebowitz (who ran that company when Harry was drunk) and on Jerry Siegel and Bob Kane (who made that company into something when they co-created its star characters). Until the other day, my answer to that question was that I hadn't gotten my mitts on a copy of Gerry's book yet but expected to, shortly. Mentioning that on this site the other day prompted Jim Henley (thanks, Jim) to have a friend come up to me at WonderCon and present me with one, and I read it in my room that very night.
So now, my answer is that it's a terrific book, easily one of the most important things ever written about the history of the American comic book. I just left a message on Gerry's voicemail asking him to call me so I could tell him that directly, and now I'd like to tell you.
For some time now, I've been telling people that any understanding of comic book history has to flow from an understanding of the Depression-era generation, particularly of the culture and world in which young men in New York then resided. Most were Jewish, a few were Italian, and some managed to be one but bond well with the other. Most of the writers and artists of comics' first years shared a certain common background, finding themselves at an early age expected to bring home a paycheck and contribute to the family's subsistence. Spurred on by some creative muse they'd derived from movies, pulps and comic strips, they scurried to make that living in comics before it became necessary for them to give up on that dream and go build a career in some metal-stamping factory. Siegel and Shuster…Bob Kane…Jack Kirby — all of them, young and determined and talented in one way or another — built an industry because they had to. They needed a place to earn a living.
That story has been told before, though rarely as well as Jones does in Men of Tomorrow. What he does that is truly unique in my experience is to explore the lives of the men who financed that industry…the Donenfelds, the Martin Goodmans, the Charlie Gaineses. And then he details the intersection of the financiers and the creators. Guess which generally got the better of that marriage. And yet, the book is not rooted wholly in the rich publisher/screwed creator mentality…even though that is generally what occurred. Gerry sifts through the lives and motives on both sides to discuss how they needed one another and how they used one another. It really is a most remarkable narrative.
I am cited repeatedly in the book as a source of info, and most of what's in there (the bulk of which did not, of course, come from me) corresponds to my knowledge of the facts. There are a few places where I'd quibble, but none of those affect the over-all portrait of the players, nor do they alter any of Gerry's astute observations and deductions. Maybe we can do a convention panel one of these days and discuss a few of these areas. Overall, the worst thing I can say about this book is that there are many places where I wish its author had expanded on a certain player or event and written more. It's such a rich, insufficiently-explored topic that it deserves further exploration…and this book deserves purchase by anyone interested in how the comic book industry came to be.