The Costco Connection - December 2015

CONTINUED ON PAGE 28

P H OTO A N D C OMI C A RT : CO U RT E SY SIM O N

& S C H US T ER

know something about fear and loss and feeling powerless, don’t we?

CC: So much creativity comes from strife or hardship in the creator’s life. Do you feel your characters were, in some ways, born of the challenges of your youth?

SL: I think everybody is a product of the life he or she leads. In my case, my parents didn’t have much money. My father was unemployed a lot of the time. This was the Great Depression, you have to remember. We lived in this very tiny apartment in the Bronx, hand to mouth. We were one of the only families living in our building that didn’t even have a car. Reading was one of the most inexpensive forms of pleasure at the time; you could always get a good story at the library—for free! Going to a movie, I think, cost a quarter, which was a lot of money at the time. So I read. Anything. Everything. All the time. One of the best gifts I ever received came from my parents when I was a little boy. They got me this little bookstand for Christmas so I could put the book in front of me and read while I was eating. I think that gift was my mother’s idea; she was worried what would happen to me if all I ever read in the house were ketchup bottles and cereal boxes. I still think that’s some of the best literature out there.

CC: Would you say that some of your characters are at least partially autobiographical?

SL: I don’t know, really. When I was writing those characters, I was never consciously thinking about my own life or experiences. I was just making things up. But maybe you’re right.

CC: When did you realize that your true calling in life was as a storyteller?

SL: I don’t think I ever realized it. I got into comic books for no other reason than I really needed a job. Before that, I was an office boy. I wrote ad copy for a hospital. I delivered sandwiches for a drugstore. I was an errand boy for the second-larg-est trouser manufacturer in the country. I wrote obituaries for the local newspaper. I was an usher at the Rivoli Theatre, which I loved because I could watch the movies for free. I wanted to be one of those big-screen heroes, like John Wayne or Errol Flynn. I wanted swagger. But I was too skinny.

CC: Your earliest responsibilities at Timely Comics were not exactly glamorous.

SL: I was hired to be an assistant to Joe Simon
and Jack Kirby [the team who created Captain
America], which must be one of the most amazing
things that happened in my life, next to meeting my
wife. Can you imagine working for geniuses like
that? I filled the inkwells. I brought them sandwiches.
I erased the penciled pages after they’d been inked.
Eventually, they saw that I could write. One day, the
publisher came into the office and asked
me if I could look after things until he
could hire a grown-up because he
needed an interim editor. I
don’t know if I was a grown-
up or not, but that’s how I
started writing stories,
working with artists,
doing my thing.

CC: When it came to your byline, you changed your name from Stanley Martin Lieber to Stan Lee. Why?

SL: Well, I did it because I was embarrassed to be doing comics! People had so little respect for comic books that I didn’t want anybody to know who I really was. Comics were just dumb little kids’ stories with pictures, right? Even I thought that for a while. Once I realized how easy writing was—at least for me—I figured, “I’ve gotta get out of this comics thing. I’m going to write the Great American Novel!”

CC: You merged classic mythology with contemporary psychology, which was revolutionary stuff then. Why do you think your comic books have connected so meaningfully with readers?

SL: Every young person loves fairy tales, witches, giants, wizards, the things that are bigger and more colorful than real life. They’re bh

m s

little kids’ stories with pictures, right? Even I thought that for a while. Once I realized how easy writing was—at least for me—I figured, “I’ve gotta get out of this comics thing. I’m going to write the