Over time, however, Lee also introduced the bullpen members on a first-name basis and gave them personalities, which translated into a familial feeling for fans. Lee is always “Smilin’ Stan Lee” in the updates, a slightly whacky, permanently overworked editor, who is keeping the whole place running by the seat of his pants. He explained the goal:
Give our fans personal stuff, make them feel they were part of Marvel, make them feel as though they were on a first-name basis with the whole screwy staff. In a way, I wanted it to be as though they were getting a personal letter from a friend who was away at camp.5
More importantly, the page provided readers with a mental image of themselves sitting down next to the famed comic book chief as he regaled them with stories of Jack (King) Kirby or (Jolly) Joe Sinnott. Marvel filled readers’ dreams with visions of the Hulk and Iron Man, and the news from the bullpen made readers and creative staff seem like long-lost friends. That tone gave kids in small towns across the nation the feeling that Lee was their comrade and that Marvel’s superheroes—despite a reader’s better judgment—might just be real.
Lee’s mad dash over the previous four years resulted in a superhero frenzy and total repositioning of Marvel in the comic book industry. The company—as well as its editor—stood at the epicenter of cool. Superheroes were the hottest thing in American popular culture and increasingly for audiences around the globe. Other publishers jumped onboard the superhero wave, from Charlton Comics (who hired Steve Ditko after he left Marvel and granted him almost complete editorial control over his conservative Ayn Randian creations) and Tower Comics (which doled out work to high-profile artists, such as Wally Wood and Gil Kane) to the venerable Archie Comics (which launched its own group, called the Mighty Crusaders). The new entries into the marketplace attempted to capitalize on Marvel’s popularity, often producing derivative content and cover art. They might try to emulate Lee and Kirby, but without the real thing, many of the publishers seemed simply eager to make a fast buck.
In 1965, Lee and his creative gang began a series of changes and slight modifications to the hero genre, which enabled them to build a more cohesive, unified cosmos, while simultaneously solidifying their growing fan base. For the next several years, the goal would not be to expand the universe by leaps and bounds, but to increase depth, nuance, and context. Lee believed that intensifying the relationships between characters and intertwining the superhero worlds would enable future growth, and, more importantly, create stronger bonds between the characters and readers.
Marvel’s existential heart continued to center on the authentic, daily challenges presented as ordinary people gained larger-than-life powers. It did not take Lee long to utilize the most human of human problems—the trials and tribulations of romantic relationships—and such an approach was relatively organic to the creative staff, at least at the upper level. Both Lee and Kirby had long histories in teen romance comics. Kirby and partner Joe Simon basically invented the genre in 1947, creating Young Romance, a title DC was still publishing in the 1960s. Lee also had deep experience, serving as the primary writer for Millie the Model, as well as its many offshoots that were aimed to attract female readers. Indeed, Millie quite possibly stood as the most successful nonsuperhero title Marvel ever produced.
The romantic interlude that drew the most interest was the marriage of Reed Richards and Susan Storm in Fantastic Four Annual #3. Kirby dazzled readers with the oversized issue, which also contained reprints of two popular past issues. The cover featured a free-for-all: Almost every hero from the Marvel cosmos attended the star-studded event, which also drew countless villains who hoped to crash the festivities. While the two sides battled, a glum Sub-Mariner watches over the proceedings, his heart clearly broken. Inside, Lee called the issue: “The most sensational super-spectacle ever witnessed by human eyes!!”
The Baxter Building is surrounded by adoring fans (including teen beauty Patsy Walker, another longtime Marvel character), but also under constant attack. The Thing tries to ward off the bad guys, but needs the help of Nick Fury, the X-Men, Dr. Strange, and a host of others. After Richards saves the day, the episode ends with the wedding kiss. (“No mere words of ours can truly describe the tenderness of this moment . . . so we won’t even try,” Lee wrote.) Then, two interlopers in top hats and stylish overcoats attempt to crash the reception, but are stopped by Fury and his men. The trespassers are Lee and Kirby, only seen from the back. Not even the Fantastic Four creators could get into such a lavish celebration.
Also that year, Mary Jane Watson first appeared in The Amazing Spider-Man #25, but Ditko strategically hid her face, only allowing other characters to exclaim: “She’s a friend of Peter’s? She looks like a screen star!” Readers wouldn’t actually see her for years. At the end of 1965, blonde beauty Gwen Stacy debuted. As with M.J., it would take the hapless Peter Parker years to begin dating her. When they initially met, Parker was so wrapped up with Aunt May and keeping his Spider-Man persona secret that he basically ignored Gwen.
The Marvel team used tactics that resembled the ones used by soap operas and other storytelling methods to create stronger ties between the characters and fans. Since Lee’s superheroes were purposely more realistic and like regular people, the notion that they were entangled in difficult relationships and other real-world challenges deepened the connection.
In addition to guiding Marvel’s art, writing, and production with a small team of full-time staffers and a growing cadre of freelancers, Lee also had to spend more time working to expand the company’s brand. There were simply too many competing things to grab people’s attention, ranging from the overtly commercial, like the national sensation caused by the arrival of the Beatles, to the wholly political, like Market Luther King’s 1965 civil rights march in Alabama and the growing presence of American troops in Vietnam. Comic books might have a difficult time competing with these enormous issues, but the flipside was that they could be marketed as a pleasant diversion from the real-life hardships.
Given the growing sophistication of marketing, advertising, and public relations in the mid-1960s, Marvel pushed to increase profitability. A 1965 flyer aimed at comic book distributors used Lee’s amped-up patter in a direct appeal to prospective dealers, exclaiming: “When fans EYE them, they BUY them!” While probably few newsstand owners bought the exaggerated language, none of them could have missed the dramatic sales growth. In 1960, Marvel sold about 16.1 million copies, but that number grew to 27.7 million in 1964, and the company expected to top 35 million the next year.6
The marketing brochure underscored pretty much what company insiders knew about Marvel’s successes: the superhero “secret formula” that Lee and his team created vastly expanded the Marvel audience, thus reaching a greater number of older readers, including college students and adults. One of the critical aspects of Marvel’s reach, according to the flyer, centered on superheroes “bringing in a brand new breed of reader. . . . Marvel Fan Clubs are springing up at every COLLEGE and UNIVERSITY from coast-to-coast.” Although Marvel’s marketers assumed that newsstand operators would be duly impressed with that information, the company boasted of already having 50,000 members within the handful of months since its launch.7
With sales booming and the end of restrictions on how many titles Marvel could publish each month, Lee sat atop a company with dozens of titles coming out on a monthly or bimonthly schedule. When the lineup expanded, editorial director Lee had to commit to writing a new series or find someone to take it over when there really wasn’t a university pipeline of young talent. Consequently, Lee tapped into alternative sources—writers from fan magazines, talented journalists, and some people who were Marvel readers and just persisted in pushing until they got the editor’s attention.
All along, however, Lee continued to refine and hone the unique scripting style that had become a Marvel trademark, because he had so much to write himself and he was responsible for controlling the editorial and artistic direction from his editor’s perc
h. The relentless pace and increased number of titles forced the development of new processes to cope with the pressure.
Writer Denny O’Neil discussed how the combination of the company style and tight deadlines came together in July 1966, when Marvel upped production to take advantage of the surge in superhero popularity based on the Batman television series. He explained: “I did Daredevil #18 because Stan got into a deadline bind. Romita had done the art and put notes in the margins, but Stan didn’t have time to do the script.”8 According to O’Neil, Lee worked harder than the writers he hired, putting in countless hours writing to bring the Marvel universe to its eager fans.
Lee’s work effort and persistence became company lore and inspired the writers he hired to put in similar grueling hours. For example, even a citywide blackout could not stop Lee from completing his allotted pages. During the first significant power outage in New York City in 1965, O’Neil and assistant editor Roy Thomas gave themselves the night off, but Lee was at home writing by candlelight. “The pages had candle wax dripped on them,” O’Neil says, though it’s difficult to know whether we should take him at his word or if this is yet another Stan legend.9
For Lee, plotting took little time. He charted the different magazines out—perhaps ten to twelve a month—then gave them to the artists to draw. When the artist delivered the work, Lee sat down and put the words down. However, Lee’s various roles necessitated that he also keep an eye on the art and covers. “While I was putting the copy in,” he explained, “I’d be making notes on changes that the artist should make in the artwork.” Sometimes, Lee said, he had to deviate from the original plot, because the artist took the story in a different direction. Kirby, for example, would change the plot to suit his needs and Lee would piece together the dialogue, which he likened to completing a “crossword puzzle.”10
The popularity of Marvel’s offbeat superheroes turned it into the hip 1960s comic book house, but DC still controlled the industry if sales figures were the principal measure. The ongoing competition between the publishers loomed large and focused each on outdoing the other. DC counted on the long-standing heroes in its stable—Batman, Superman, and Wonder Woman, while Lee and Marvel countered with the hip Spider-Man, Thor, and the Fantastic Four. The popular current seemed to tip toward Marvel, but then the ABC television series Batman debuted in January 1966. In a unique programming move, the show aired two nights a week—Wednesday and Thursday—in half-hour segments.
The instant success of the series made an immediate impact on the comic book industry and enabled DC to regain some of its swagger. With actor Adam West as the Caped Crusader and Burt Ward as the youthful sidekick, Robin, the series perfectly mixed camp and action in a way that appealed to contemporary audiences. It served up a steady stream of one-liners and plenty of “POW,” “BAM,” and “ZONK” to delight audiences across age groups. The music alone propelled the show, a mix of 1960s pop-infused soundtrack mixed with Batman-specific tunes that were catchy and stuck in listeners’ heads like an earworm. Batman also took advantage of the color television craze, using bright color schemes to bring the comic book characters to life.
After half a decade of searching for the magic decoder ring that would open an inroad to Marvel readers, DC seemed to finally capture the voice that Lee brought to comics. Batman captured the nation’s growing fascination with superheroes, especially in its satirical tone, which Lee had brought to the medium. In many respects, the snarky banter of the two heroes seemed closer in alignment to Spider-Man or the Fantastic Four than anything DC had recently produced.
Television grew so pervasive during the mid-1960s that DC benefited, but its popularity really raised sales across the board. All the major publishers saw sales increase, with Harvey Comics introducing superheroes Spyman and Jigsaw, while Tower Comics brought out Dynamo and Noman. Marvel attempted to counter Batman to some degree by beginning Thor’s solo run in March 1966 and then debuting the Black Panther, the first African American superhero, in Fantastic Four #52 (July 1966).
Lee and Kirby did not let the Batmania thwart their efforts to further round out the Marvel Universe. As a kind of counterbalance, they introduced a three-part trilogy in Fantastic Four #48–50 (March–May 1966) that had the original supergroup battling Galactus, an omnipotent superbeing who sustained life by devouring the energy from entire planets. The epic trilogy pitted Marvel’s most powerful villain against Earth’s powerful superhero team. A comic book arc would have trouble competing head-to-head against a popular television series, but Marvel hoped to at least increase sales and entice more readers to pick up the comic.
Lee’s aggressive antics to expand the comic book marketplace started to draw in a broader range of readers, but the change took place gradually. As late as July 1967, almost six years after The Fantastic Four debuted, New York Times reporter Leonard Sloane, who covered the advertising industry, correctly deduced that millions of people read comic books, but still most did not respect the medium. Sloane referenced the way advertisers thought of the average comic book reader, comprised mainly of “special audiences . . . children, servicemen and semi-adults (. . . those over 18 who may not always think at the same level as their chronological age).”11 Yet, Marvel letter pages and the mail stacks were filled with articulate, passionate messages from educated readers from across the nation.
The mainstream media seemed a little slow to catch on to the comic book craze, as did advertisers, which created the strange mix of products for offer in the back pages, as well as Marvel’s desire to sell its own licensed goods. In the mid- to late 1960s, comics, unlike other consumer-focused magazines, still generated most of their revenue from circulation, rather than advertising, but the latter was still significant. Sloane cited the still-number-one-ranked National Periodical, which published forty-eight titles a month that led to about seven million in monthly circulation. Advertising income, however, remained relatively small, only growing from $250,000 to $500,000 between 1962 and 1966. Comic book executives usually claimed that their selectivity kept the ad revenue down. Many companies, however, including Marvel, decided to run small-print ads for a variety of products, from novelty toys and mail-order gimmicks to hobby kits.12 Many large corporations would not run ads in comic books, so publishers attempted to make up for the lack of direct advertising revenues by licensing the characters to other companies.
In contrast to DC, Marvel’s monthly circulation hit about six million, according to Sloane, but the company initiated a campaign to run ads for products targeted at older audiences, like shaving cream. Lee equated the quality of the stories and the artwork with the class its audiences expected, explaining, “We editorialize. We try to back the soldiers and try to tell the kids not to drop out of school. We stand for the good virtues.”13 The decision to intentionally target older readers had been Lee’s primary concern for years. A little more than midway through the decade, his determination started to pay dividends.
Lee also considered merchandising opportunities for Marvel. The latter grew in importance after Batman debuted on television. Reportedly, DC licensed the character to ninety companies, which would pull in about $75 million in sales; some tagged it as high as $150 million.14 As the popularity of the books grew, Lee’s tasks multiplied, but Goodman was determined to keep a relatively small staff around his star chief editor/art director.
Although he grew up in the film and radio era, Lee clearly understood the growing significance of television and believed that superhero sagas would be a perfect fit with that medium. Martin Goodman had stumbled and bumbled with Marvel licensing in the past, so it did not really surprise anyone when he basically gave away the company’s animation rights. Figuring that the production part of the company should be run by someone young, the publisher turned over that aspect to his son Charles (Chip) Goodman to use as a proving ground for the heir’s eventual taking over of the family business.
Audited circulation figures revealed that Marvel comic books jumped from eighteen mil
lion in 1961 to about thirty-two million in 1965. The surge in popularity attracted television executives, who attempted to figure out the company’s secret appeal to young audiences. No one could put their finger on it exactly, usually pointing to the combination of the antihero themes and Lee’s ability to correctly gauge the pulse of the youth market.
In September 1966, Marvel Super Heroes debuted, featuring a rotating set of stories based on the heroics of Captain America, Thor, Iron Man, Sub-Mariner, and the Hulk. Ads for the show ran in all the company’s comic book titles the next month, listing the twenty stations carrying the cartoon, including stations in New York City, Chicago, and Los Angeles. In total, close to fifty stations carried the show, including overseas channels in Brazil, Puerto Rico, and Venezuela.
Produced by Grantray-Lawrence Animation, the cartoon version used color photostat reproductions of the actual comic books—rather than original animation—which created a seven-minute chapter that could then be played back-to-back or chopped up and fitted into other children’s television programming. In total, the company generated 195 segments for the initial syndication effort stretching from September to December 1966.
The crude method of using the comic book panels reduced the animation aspect of Marvel Super Heroes, but did showcase the exquisite artwork of Kirby, Ditko, and the rest of Lee’s talented team. In each shot, there is usually only one object animated. Sometimes it is Captain America’s shield looping through the air, while other times it is the character’s eyes blinking or lips moving as they speak. The Marvel Super Heroes theme song provided a brief overview of each character and then led into the next segment, with voices merrily singing, “the Marvel superheroes have arrived.”
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