So Flies the Foozle...

I attended my first comic book convention in 1987 in Allentown, PA.  The vendors barely filled a rather small ballroom of the downtown Sheraton and there was only one professional guest, Marshall Rogers.  The ad for the con mentioned an art contest, and being an aspiring artist, I worked up an entry.  

As attendees entered the lobby they placed their entree on one of two tables, either b&w or color, to be displayed throughout the day.   The guest of honor (the only guest) would select a winner from each category shortly before the con ended.  The whole set-up sounds ridiculously quaint by today's standards.  After dropping off my piece, some rudimentary page showing Thor and Loki fighting (I think), I wandered about the show.  

At the time I had know idea who Marshall Rogers was, but my good friend Yadin Flammer's father, a comic-fan of many years (though he was primarily a rabid Uncle Scrooge/Barks collector), was quite excited that he was there.  Rogers was at the time just finishing work on Cap'n Quick and a Foozle, and I believe my friend's dad even had a Foozle T-shirt.  When the art contest judging was announced the lobby filled with fans.  Everyone quietly watched  Marshall pace in front of the two tables until he finally selected one winner from each category.  Needless to say, I didn't win, but one of the con organizers announced that participants could bring their work to Marshall's table for some tips and advice.  

When I got to Marshall's table he was mid-sketch, chain-smoking as he talked to one of his fans flipping through his pages for sale.  When the conversation trickled down, I mustered the courage to ask for a critique.  Marshall stopped sketching and began to go over my piece.  He brought out a sketchpad and started showing me some musculature tips.  He told me not to worry about drawing every little muscle, but rather to focus on the major groups.  He told me to draw from life, and wrote down the name of a book on the subject I should look for, George Bridgman's.  He was extremely patient and gave good, simple advice and the most constructive criticism.  

The point is, he devoted prime sketching time, time when he could be making some easy cash, to helping some goofy, no-nothing kid figure this whole comic thing out.  I was floored.  Suddenly a lot of stuff fell into place and Marshall became my de facto mentor.  I devoured his stuff.  His Silver Surfer was one of the few comics I subscribed to.  I sought out his issues of Batman and Dr. Strange and they blew my mind.  

Marshall made me appreciate clarity in storytelling, characterization through a figure's movement and pose, and the excitement of realistic, unexpected detail.  He didn't draw mindless T&A and he never drew a muscle-bound oaf for no reason.  Marshall drew from real life and wanted his stories to have the same quality as the world outside your door, only a world unlimited in its scope and imagination.  You don't have to make extreme proportions or impossible structures with distorted perspective, he seems to say.  There's enough cool stuff out there, it's all in how you present it.  He was easily one of the most-innovative layout stylists, and he understood the emotional power of color years before most .   His creative use of the four-color range in the seventies anticipated the baxter/offset revolution of the next decade .  He was just too darn versatile and too darn cool.  He was the first comic pro I ever met and continues to be my biggest inspiration.  

I only found out this Sunday that he passed away last month.  Somehow I missed all the articles on the comic news sites.  I probably still wouldn't know if I hadn't been searching online for a Cap'n Quick and a Foozle T-shirt.  For some reason, after all these years, I'm always thinking about Marshall's comics.