Marvel’s Secret Weapons: Roy Thomas Reflects on the Legacy of Stan Lee
Even in the pop-art 1960s—the era during which Marvel made its name in comics—Stan Lee was already the funky elder statesman, running the company (more or less) while contributing to some of the most impressive and groundbreaking comics in the history of the medium. Lee had been around the Marvel bullpen in one capacity or another since 1939, when he was refilling inkwells for artists and snagging lunch for the bosses; in years between, a whole generation had grown up on comic, and by the mid-’60s those fan/creators were ready to make their own mark on the industry.
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Preeminent among them was Roy Thomas, a writer and editor who, at only 32 years of age, succeeded Lee as the editor-in-chief of a publishing house that was no longer just a scrappy underdog, but had become a full-on rival to competitor DC. Like Lee, Thomas made scripting part of his duties, taking over for Stan on most of his books and in many cases pushing them to new heights, carving out an impressive legacy of his own.
Preeminent among them was Roy Thomas, a writer and editor who, at only 32 years of age, succeeded Lee as the editor-in-chief of a publishing house that was no longer just a scrappy underdog, but had become a full-on rival to competitor DC. Like Lee, Thomas made scripting part of his duties, taking over for Stan on most of his books and in many cases pushing them to new heights, carving out an impressive legacy of his own.
There’s no one more qualified, then, to talk about the work and legacy of Stan Lee, and Thomas has done just that in a new, gorgeous Taschen coffee table book that covers the entirety of Stan’s life (done with his cooperation), illustrated with dozens of photographs and (of course) comic art, and that also includes a foreword by Lee himself. It’s one legend of comics talking about another.
(Originally a signed limited edition that cost more than my first car, Taschen’s new XXL edition has the same content, plus an updated epilogue by the author—just without the autograph.)
Thomas was kind enough to chat with us about the new book, and offer some additional insight on Stan and the legacy of Marvel Comics.
You’ve got a deep knowledge of comics history—but were there things you learned in working on this book that surprised you?
Until recent years, I hadn’t really realized the extent to which Stan had, at one time, wanted to be an actor, so I began the book with that. There were many little surprises along the way, including Stan’s account (whether it’s to be believed fully or not is something else again) of how he maneuvered Marvel into letting him move to L.A., which I do know he had long wanted to do. In fact, back in 1974, he had once brought up to me the possibility of his moving the whole Marvel operation to Florida.
There’s always been a lot of debate about who contributed what and when to the work that came out of Marvel in the ’60s. Do you think we’ve reached a consensus on any of that? Is any consensus even possible?
I think “who did what” will be argued as long as there’s anyone alive who still cares. There can be a general consensus that, as time went along, Stan handed over more and more control of the precise story plotting to the artist (albeit subject to his editorial veto or restructuring), partly because he felt that his dialogue—not the precise words or rhythms, but the philosophy behind them—was Marvel’s secret weapon. He was aware that Marvel worked best when powerful artistic storytellers like Kirby, Ditko, and Romita were doing the artwork, but the fact remains that he was able to achieve quite satisfactory results with lesser (though of course still quite talented) artists like Don Heck and Dick Ayers in the early days.
Slightly loaded question here, but does Stan get too much credit for those Marvel collaborations (with Kirby, Ditko, Heck, etc.)? Too little?
One can argue that he might get too much credit in the case of any one story—but if anyone questions that he was the ultimate pop-culture genius who conceived the Marvel Universe and held it together, first by the force of his own personality and ideas and later by the way he inspired the editors-in-chief and writers (and even artists) who followed his lead, I believe that person’s views are not worthy of serious consideration. That is not to take anything away from the contributions of Kirby, Ditko, et al., who were giants of the field in their own right. Kirby in particular I consider the foremost superhero artist of all time.
I’m curious about the wilderness years of Timely/Marvel—I’m thinking the late ’40s and ’50s into the early Lee/Kirby monster collaborations. You cover that era in the book, and I’m wondering if it’s unfairly ignored? Is it a period worth revisiting?
I think the Marvel (Timely/Atlas) horror and science-fiction comics are particularly worth revisiting; they were definitely a cut above the (low) average for the field in the early 1950s, partly in terms of writing and certainly in terms of artwork. Harvey had art just as good—but its stories, I felt when I read them recently, were decidedly lackluster. Only EC and perhaps one or two others here and there produced horror comics that were better than Timely’s.
You came in as a writer, but also with a background as a fan. When you joined on with Marvel, what was your sense of the company and its future?
I figured it had a bright future, but I certainly didn’t foresee the day, only seven years later, when Marvel passed DC in sales—let alone what’s happened since. I just thought it was a good place to work, producing comics that I wanted to write because I had enjoyed reading those by Stan and the crew.
About Stan’s work—do you have any personal favorites (either in terms of importance or just in the sense of stuff you really enjoy)?
I probably like mostly the same things most real fans like—the FF/Sub-Mariner off-and-on epic of the early days, “The Galactus Trilogy,” the Thor/Hercules/Pluto saga, the later Dr. Stranges drawn and plotted by Ditko (that’s a late addition for me—I never read Dr. Strange closely before I joined Marvel), pretty much the whole Ditko and early Romita runs of Spider-Man… and a couple of great issues of Silver Surfer.
What was the working relationship between the two of you like?
It evolved—from my simply being an acolyte who helped him translate his vision to my having a bit of a say (though a lesser one) in what that vision might be. But basically, I knew that Stan always saw me as a “valued underling,” and I was fairly content with that arrangement. I came to know that I was a bit more than that, over time, but I didn’t necessarily expect him to recognize that. Stan was focused on his own vision, and that was as it should be.
I understand that you were one of the last people to see Stan. Can you talk about that visit? What it meant to him, and to you?
Clearly, it meant a lot to see him one more time. I basically flew across the country just to spend what I knew wouldn’t be more than half an hour with him. But it cheered him up, at least for a few minutes, to see me and talk over a few old times, just as it did to see the first-off-the-press copy of the 1000-copy edition of The Stan Lee Story. But when he heard the price ($1,500 per copy), he asked with, I think, genuine incredulity: “Who the hell’s gonna buy it?” He’d be pleased to know that it sold out in a week or two… even though, sadly, it took his passing to make it sell quite that fast. But you know something? I think he’d have gotten a kick out of the fact that the book sold out so quickly, for whatever reason!
You’ve been a person interested in comic book legacies throughout your career, including with this book. Do you think we’re losing a sense of legacy with all of the reboots and refreshes we’re seeing on page and screen?
Most definitely. While no one should be a slave to comics continuity (and I wasn’t, except when I elected to be), I believe that the constant re-booting has definitely taken something away from the lineage of the comics. It’s hard for any person of intelligence to get invested in a series if he knows that the next “genius” writer or artist may come along a few months hence and decide that “everything you thought you knew about this character was wrong,” as if only he is capable of truly understanding what that hero or heroine should be.
On a similar note—has this work on Stan Lee inspired any thought about what you expect your own legacy in comics to be? What you’d like it to be?
Just that I tried to bring both an increased literacy (with SF and pulp adaptations, and my own approach as a former English teacher, I suppose) to the comics—that I tried to enhance the legacy of both the often-ignored Golden Age heroes of various companies, and of Robert E. Howard—and that I tried to bring an awareness of history (both in terms of comics characters and world/American history) to the comics, which increasingly to me seem to have jettisoned almost everything except a plea for immediacy.