Tom And The Strip-O-Gram
Pause for a moment to look back on the wacky world of New York offices of the 1980s. Just after WWII, it all started innocently enough with “telegrams.” The bare-bones, clipped pay-per-letter style could allow for some rather thin Birthday Wishes. “Hppy BDay Stop”— back in the day, Western Union would send something that strongly resembled a modern day text message to a local office. Then a person would deliver that message to you wherever you were. It was quite a business and has fallen on hard times. As I understand it, the form of it still exists now more used for “wiring” money but it is also used for “governmental issuance” and often to lawyers—but don’t quote me.
Step ahead a couple of decades and it was possible to have a box of chocolates sent as some sort of “-gram.” A Candy-Gram! As Western Union loosened its grip on telegrams as such, one could send singing telegrams, flower assortment –grams, gorilla-grams and the highest point of the art—the Strip-O-Gram! Yes, some wonderful woman person, perhaps an ecdysiast by profession, would show up, play some music on a portable tape machine and dance while taking her clothes off. By the time some office wags figured that such a thing would be “perfect” for Tom, the Strip-O-Gram had gotten a little more professional, a little better dressed and a lot more “office friendly.”
What’s unintentionally hilarious about the few shots I took for this epic event is the huge number of freelancers, employees and people off the street who are jammed into the Bullpen! Not sure whether it was seeing most of a nude dame or watching lovable Tommie D become all flustered!
Can Tom Take A Joke?
Why, yes he can. Considering how actually reserved he is about himself and his career, one might suspect all manner of psychic disorders at being the butt of jokes. But no Tom is still asking himself, why in hell did I hold still for this? Because of the “Hat Series.” Let me explain. For no understandable reason other than the power of regular drinking, Jim Shooter and legendary Creator/Inker—and good chum to both Jim and Tom — Bob Layton, found the strained association between “JR” and “JS” irresistible. Cultural devotees may remember deathless Larry Hagman’s portrayal of ruthless oil magnate “JR” in the societal speed bump that was the Dallas TV show of the late 70s… One of the season ending cliffhangers was “Who Shot JR?” This was enough hilarity to get Jim to buy a 10-gallon Western style hat. (Kids: Don’t Drink!) In short order, everyone in Marvel Editorial got their own hat. I was the lucky lad to photograph them all. Those pictures made reading the editorial columns so much more entertaining. Weren’t a Dallas fan? Well, don’t bother looking it up—Hagman will forever be “Master” from 60s TV’s I Dream Of Genie and Jim Shooter will also be “Master” from Marvel Comics, to me. In the meantime, just enjoy Tom’s squirming under his Insulting Italian Stereotype Fruit Vendor hat.
Another Bob Layton creation. I do not know where this appeared in the books—if ever. I found it within the Mark Gruenwald Archives. No clue as to why it appeared there either. But here is Tom, the well-known editor and later, writer of The Amazing Spider-Man book, depicted in a Spider-Man outfit and equipped with web shooters! I’ll bet he’s still chuckling over this one! We-e-ell, you can bury this stuff, but somehow it claws its way back out.
Now this… this! … is Prime #1 Example of Office Humor, Marvel Style. There’s this kid, I don’t know his full name, Fagan. Which already sounds like I’m making it up—but really, Fagan. A young person of slight build and fatalistic demeanor. I believe he was an intern at Marvel. And what did he do? I say it doesn’t matter so long as this was the result. I sometimes think I can be outrageous and cynically funny, even a little carefree with my job prospects. But Fagan outdid me with four simple words: The bastard can’t fly. (Don’t hock mein chynek about the contraction.) I read this whole thing and simply howled. We see a rough but carefully made hand-written recreation of a Marvel Universe Deluxe Edition page. For those who know the style and format, it’s perfect. I invite all to read it in full—divine!
But can Tom take it? I waved this at him asking had he seen this and he glowered and said yeah. So, yes he can!
The Boss Men
A symbol of perhaps the greatest act of restraint of Tom DeFalco’s inclination to murder a human being. In this case a freelancer (thus no jury in the land would return a guilty conviction), Rick Parker, artist, creator, writer—all ‘round character—decided to focus the very tip of his vast powers of humor and caricature on Tom DeFalco. And a little bit on Mark Gruenwald. Good thing for Rick that Tom styled his reaction to this awe-inspiring affront on that of Mark! Mark thought this stuff was great! There was lots of it, it was a regular feature in Marvel Age (Marvel’s in-house organ of self-promotion). I thought it so hilarious I kept asking for a single issue comic, one collecting everything.
Parker was a zealot at self-promotion. He had these buttons made up, with special art done. This depiction of the two guys’ relationship hardly described anything real. But it is the projection to the public that I found utterly hilarious and still do. The wisp of the smoke from a budget cigar making its way directly into Mark Gruenwald’s nose. That hapless and helpless face… Tom’s permanent grimace of avenging, demonic snarl…
If this were not enough for Tom to snap and actually make it over his desk to Parker’s throat… then surely an all-too lengthy guest appearance in his fave character’s book, Remo The Destroyer, would do it! With a patience that rivals Ralph Macchio’s and a wariness of the “three-strikes” law, Tom resists and Parker lives yet.
The pages, tucked away in Remo The Destroyer #3, are a remarkable rendition of Marvel’s offices. Complete with staffers doing all sorts of silly things. It is a tale of Master Chiun, the Korean master of unimaginable martial arts, paying a visit to the editorial offices to make a few demands.
This is really not the place to show a lot of these pages, but it is the depiction of Tom – whom I regard a close, personal friend—that leaves me weak with laughter.
Yes, yes—these pages are a personal gift from Rick to me. I am that much of an enthusiast of this work. And what work! The details! A “Mr Big” sign – which we actually did put on Tom’s door. Tom’s upraised foot in a pose that Nijinsky would squirm with envy over. The tie… the tie… Tom was “Tie Challenged.” Tom’s ties were a little on the uh, er, unusual side. Stripes and wavy lines—colors that Peter Max might dream up, but not so pretty. The knot which is the size of his head. Recall that Editorial got Tom a revolving tie selector and filled it with the craziest ties they could find. A riot of color, perhaps 50 ties in all.
“Cheapo” brand cigar, lit with a stinky kitchen match. “HARD LUCK” tattooed on his first finger joints. Please note the highly insulting books about ethnic food related subjects. And of course, the gigantic tie knot, fully as big as his head. Ricko looked at Tom and saw some of the persona that was just a little bit there, perhaps just-below-the-surface and with a raucous satirist’s eye, enlarged it. Tom quit smoking well before these pages or the Boss Men appeared, no tattoos, but yes his ties were awful.
Tom may not have actually laughed at all of the above. It was his half-hearted snarl in response to my laughing at a new Boss Men in his presence, that told me Tom was actually kind’a enjoying the ribbing.
“Enjoying the ribbing.” That might well be my best description of the Tom that I know.
Also, perhaps the best expression of the camaraderie that filled the Bullpen and occasionally spilled over into Editorial. Tom came up through the same pipes as they; from an even dingier and less remunerative time than found in the late 70s—“my” time. But he was still one of us, no matter how high or exalted his latter-day positions.
Still a Bullpenner, enjoying the ribbing!
In My Own Home
A tribute, a touchstone, a daily—no, hourly reminder of Tom.
Over our kitchen gangway lintel are clocks-a-plenty! Coffee Time, Best Brains Time and DeFalco Time. Anyone who knows me for over a half-minute will know I drink coffee. Best Brains was the production company name of the gang that produced Mystery Science Theater 3000 back in the day—this is one of their merch clocks. And finally, insultingly ethnic clock, Italian chef style. It is the most accurate mechanical clock in the house so it is always DeFalco Time!
A Final DeFalco Tale
By around mid-1983, I had been tapped by Tom to stand tall in the rarefied air of Editorial as his assistant. At the time of this story, we had been working together for three-four months and rather smoothly I like to think. We were working on Ghost Rider, Amazing Spider-Man to name a few and the re-prints of Spider-Man. Ticking over like a well-oiled salad as Mike Carlin would say.
One day, Jim Shooter barges into our office with three or four “civilians” in tow. Who they were is lost to the swirling mists of time. I jumped up so as to allow my chair to be rolled under my desk—such were our humble office environs. I stood in the doorway so that I could be rolled out into the hall if need be.
Jim gave a very brief introduction of Tom to these obvious footpads and then asked Tom to talk a little bit about comics. Yes, that broad a request.
Tom stood up, took a preparatory half-breath – perhaps all he could; his smoking cessation not all that long before – and launched into a poetic oratory about comics.
For those of you who know the film West Side Story, imagine Tom DeFalco stepping out of that High School dance in a tan jacket and whispering,
(sung to the tune of Maria–)
“Comics…
The most beautiful sound I’ve ever heard…”
Then all the Bullpenners stick their heads in the doorway to chorus:
“Comics… comics… comics… comics”
Back to Tom:
“All the beautiful sounds in the world in a single word…”
Bullpenners stick their heads back in:
“Comics… comics… comics… comics…”
Back to Tom, still staggering, delirious:
“COMICS! I’ve just met a comic named comics—”
Okay, my thought experiment falls apart without a lot more work. My apologies to Mr. Sondheim for the misappropriation of Maria.
What Tom did do was gently introduce these out-of-towners to the inner universe of comics as Tom saw it. My own head was spinning from the rampant elocution, apparently so easily expressed before me. He spoke of the “conversation” between the writer and the artists being mystical—the transformation of ideas into pictures. How the letterer was like unto a renaissance scribe. And then down the chain to the colorist who applied their “alchemy(!)” to the process.
Usually Tom was not that eloquent so early in the day. Luckily, he had completed the arduous process of brushing those Donut Fare sugar bits off his tie. For me, he not just rose to the occasion, he opened up a vein of his own love for the art and science of comics.
And that was just a Tuesday morning in the office of the greatest editorial team in the history of comics