Land of Confusion

And Lies from the Pit of Hell

I came across a little half-page note from my erstwhile publisher the other day—I had totally forgotten of it. It surprised me with its poignancy and indeterminacy. My Post-It note questions whether it is even dated correctly, considering other correspondence in my files. Is the month correct? The year? Does it matter any more?

From the current work in progress.

I think the date on the letter is probably correct; be that as it may, the more substantial point is that, at the end of six years with Kitchen Sink Press, the creator-owned work I created at the company was a complete brand shambles.

The publisher seems to be pleading for more material from me, any material, and suggests we talk and plan. The tragedy is, it was far too little, and already far too late:

A little backstory: I created ten issues of Megaton Man from December 1984 to June of 1986. The first two issues had each sold out within two weeks of their release; by the summer of 1985, issue #1 was going for $12 and #2 for $9—while the cover price had been $1.95. Fans at shows who bought #3 and #4 were literally pleading with me to reprint the first two issues so they could read the complete series from the start at an affordable price.

These were not collectors concerned with the distinction of first or second printings; these were readers.

At the end of convention season, after Chicago, Dallas, and San Diego conventions were over, I reported this to the publisher. I had moved to Wisconsin after issue #4, so the meeting was face-to-face, and therefore undocumented. But it was vivid in my mind. It was an evening in their office.

The publisher explained that reprinting Megaton Man #1 and #2 was impossible because they were in color; set-up costs would be prohibitively expensive—the same as for approximately 19,000, which the initial runs had been. Assuming a smaller second printing, it would lose the publisher money.

How about reprinting in black and white? That would be a step down. How about if I draw new covers? Collect both into one issue with a wraparound cover?

No can do. In fact, it’s better have scarce, sought after issues going for high prices on the collector market—this will create more interest in Megaton Man in the long run.

“Return on investment”: Ad from New Age Comics #1 (fall 1985), copy by the publisher.

I thought this rationale to be completely counter-intuitive. A publisher is supposed to publish, to keep work in print; my royalty income in fact depended on sales, not page rates—and growing the readership, even in increments of a few thousand at a time, would pay dividends down the roadwith larger print runs on subsequent issues.

This is, after all, how The Teenage Mutant Turtles went from a print run of 3,000 on issue #1 to well over a hundred thousand on later issues—by reprinting the first issue multiple times.

And growing the readership. Readers who didn’t particularly care if they were reading a first printing or a sixth.

According to one internet source, TMNT #1 print runs were as follows: first: 3,000; second: 6,000; third: 60,000. You get the picture. (Years later, Bone would follow a similar trajectory.)

Now, I’m not claiming Megaton Man sub-cult was anything like The Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle juggernaut phenomenon.

But just between you and me, I’ve always felt—based on color comics like Justice Machine and Elementals selling in the neighborhood of 75,000—that Megaton Man should have sold in the mid-thirties. This is just a hunch.

But the fact is, we’ll never know.

I will go out on a limb and make the outrageous claim that Megaton Man was the hottest title Kitchen Sink Press would ever publish, and we needed to strike while the iron was hot.

Instead, in that summer of 1985, the publisher was preoccupied with mortgaging the farm (literally) for $30,000 to lure Frank Miller to create a serial for Death Rattle. True story.

Who knows? Perhaps Sin City would been the bigger prize. In any case, it never happened.

To this dense cartoonist’s brain, I have always felt the publisher sold Megaton Man short and left sales—and readers—on the table. Perhaps thousands, tens of thousands.

It was like talking to a brick wall.

That August of 1985, along with legal rumblings from competitors over satirizing their trademarks, led me to conclude that—at least in my publisher’s mind—Megaton Man was just a passing fad.

First-day sales were all I was ever going to get. In a word: Stagnancy.

The superhero-parody conception was also wearing thin.

Which is why I launched Border Worlds as a back-up feature in issue #6.

The following spring of 1986, the publisher called editor Dave Schreiner, art director Pete Poplaski, and me into that same office and announced the color comics line would be coming to an end. Although The Spirit and Death Rattle had both started out profitable in color, they were both losing money; only Megaton Man had remained consistently profitable at around 17,000.

According to the new timetable, Megaton Man #9 would be the last issue in color.

The question was: What did I want to do?

We had already announced in an Amazing Heroes preview issue that Megaton Man #12 would be the final issue—I had just finished #7 and had drawn the remaining covers. Did I want to publish the last three issues or four issues of Megaton Man in black and white? Did I want to simply continue Megaton Man indefinitely in black and white? Did I want to create something else?

Since I hadn’t done more than plot the final story arc, I though I could compress the material I had in mind and end the series with issue #10—that would mean one additional color issue.

Then, we would launch Border Worlds, which I thought would work better, as a black-and-white series.

We agreed on the plan.

Later, the publisher would claim he had argued vociferously against ending Megaton Man, and that I had done so over his objections.

This is preposterous. A lie from the pit of Hell, as my late, born-again father used to say.

What I recall of the meeting was that Border Worlds and Alien Fire, along with a black-and-white Death Rattle and The Spirit, would form a noirish-science fiction-mystery-horror line. We were in full agreement and proceeded in concert.

As I’ve described elsewhere, I left Wisconsin for California for a few months and wound up back east—not in Detroit, where I started, but Pittsburgh, were most of my relatives now were—in late 1986. Over the holidays, I was working on Border Worlds #4, and in the new year, The Comics Journal #115 wraparound cover in a new apartment.

Already, as I describe in a previous post, the black-and-white boom of 1986 was turning into the black-and-white bust of 1987, and sales of Border Worlds, which had started strong, were already in freefall.

Not coincidentally, I began to wonder what the cast of Megaton Man were up to. In issue #9, Stella Starlight, the See-Through Girl, reported that she was pregnant with Megaton Man’s love child—this news came at the inopportune moment when the Partyers from Mars were landing in Central Park; at the end of issue #10, Trent Phloog, having lost his Megaton Man megapowers, and now in civilian form, decided he would follow Stella back to the Midwest and see if he could play a part in his child’s life.

Now, in January of 1987, I conceived a plotline for Megaton Man #11 that, in effect, reconceived the entire series. It would focus on the civilian secret identities of the characters and their off-campus lives in college town, where aging hippies, tenured radical, jazz musicians, used bookstores, retrospective movie theaters, and counter-culture abounded; where Pentagon-funded experiments were brewing in university laboratories, secret agents and Martians prowled, and occasional megaheroes and megavillains from Megatropolis would drop in.

And, oh yeah, occasionally Trent Phloog would revert to Megaton Man. Hilarity would ensue.

In retrospect, I had a second wind, a new, firmer foundation, a more sustainable undergirding for an ongoing Megaton Man series.

I typed up a four-page plot outline and mailed it in.

Editor Dave Schreiner was enthusiastic about more Megaton Man—in particular, a chracter-driven approach that downplayed the tired superhero parody:

I’m glad you’re thinking seriously about bringing him back. [...] I think it’s about time you stopped viewing the character as merely your vehicle to boff on the comics biz, and you should also stop viewing him as simply the comic relief with his “silly fight scenes.” What you have built, quite possibly unintentionally, is a very likeable character that people seem to care about—much more than they care about any of the other subsidiary characters. This is not to say that the other characters are not important, but it is time to give MM his due.

Although the story arc encompassed only 64 pages, the fact that I had conceived a plot outline for that much material was itself significant; I had started out making up Megaton Man a page—sometimes a panel—at a time. Now, I was starting to see larger and larger chunks of narrative ahead.

This was one of the benefits of working on Border Worlds, even as it was proving a commercial and financial disappointment.

The publisher was also enthusiastic about bringing back Megaton Man with issue #11.

But while a letter dated January 26, 1987 informed me that Dave had passed along the 4-page plot synopsis to them, they were “only a few pages into it” and would react to it later.

Another letter, dated April 2, 1987, stated that they “loved the cover to MM #11” and would publish the project “as long as black and white is OK.” It also reported that “recent letters and page roughs” pertaining to Megaton Man #11 had been given back to Dave, who had just returned from vacation and would soon be prepared to discuss the project further with me.

The publisher never mentioned any specific details about the new narrative. I infer from this that they never read the new story arc for Megaton Man #11 at all.

Over the summer, we made the painful decision to cancel Border Worlds due to low sales; I could no longer pay my rent with the royalties. Although I would have preferred to continue to write and draw my own creator-owned IP, I had to take on freelance work—luckily, Mike Gold offered me one of four rotating artist slots on Wasteland, essentially better-paying part-time work that would allow me plenty of time to still produce creator-owned work for peanuts.

Even at DC Comics’ beginner page rates, it worked out to five or six times what I had been making per page on Border Worlds.

However, as I prepared to jump into Megaton Man #11 in the fall of 1987, the publisher demanded the cover bear a new #1.

I felt very strongly that the publisher had already accepted Megaton Man #11 for publication and was going back on their word. I objected strenuously; in insisted that continuing the numbering of Megaton Man was essential to my conception of creating an organic, lifelong work.

I got my head kicked in.

I was called a hack, a sellout, a punk, a jerk, a prima donna, an insecure egomaniac, a spoiled holdout, a traitor to my readers and publisher, an insecure egotist, and a quitter who hadn’t even given one good reason why I had abandoned Border Worlds.

I was told that by entering the comic book industry, I had tacitly agreed to abide by the worst, most craven business practices and feckless gimmicks. Where had I gotten such lofty notions of art anyway, at a boutique publisher like Kitchen Sink Press?

It is true that I had failed to mention I couldn’t live on air, and that I kinda liked having a roof over my head—if nothing else, to keep my drawing board out of the rain.

Such is my vain addiction to luxury.

Certainly, the publisher had endured the same disappointments as I did in 1987, and on a larger scale, watching sales decline across the board. They had also endured a painful divorce—Dave Schreiner noted in Kitchen Sink Press: The First 25 Years (1994, page 80): “Holly [Brooks] left the farm late in 1986, a crushing blow to the Kitchen family and to all of us at work.”

In the same work, Dave referred to me as “the biggest splash” of 1984 and the “cornerstone author” of 1985.

I suppose seeing me “defect” to DC Comics had somehow triggered the publisher.

How childish.

In any case, I don’t think the acrimony was about renumbering Megaton Man, as was claimed. In fact, had I demanded Megaton Man be rebooted with a brand-new #1, I’m convinced the publisher would have marshaled the same arguments, exaggerations, distortions, and lies from the pit of Hell to deem me unworthy of the honor.

Had Kitchen Sink Press renumbered The Spirit just because they took it over from Warren? What about Mr. Natural—three issues in seven years.

Don, be realistic!! The fans are expecting Megaton Man #11!

In any case, the publisher claimed that “a revival of a fairly successful series dormant for two years was a real financial risk.”

Why Megaton Man #11 was a financial risk and not Dope Comics #5—revived that same year, two years after the previous issue—is unclear to me.

Do doubt this was because the publisher had also unilaterally decided the new Megaton Man had to be in color.

Fucking color. Who had ever asked for it? Certainly not me.

None of this makes any sense unless one assumes the publisher only ever considered Megaton Man a cash cow given unto them by God Almighty expressly so the revenues generated thereby could be plowed into more favored pet projects—and presumably, works of high art—like Death Rattle and Dope Comix.

Why else risk your street cred as an underground comix publisher on capes and muscles?

We did things their way. Megaton Man #11 through #14 became The Return of Megaton Man #1 through #3. Again, I compressed the material—who needs the convoluted storylines?

I finished what I started, at least, and dropped any further plans to pursue the new Megaton Man Midwest college town narrative. I was just a hack and a sellout anyway, right?

I know—too many rhetorical questions. Bad habit.

In the fall of 1988, apparently I had told the publisher over the phone that I really had no ideas for more Megaton Man that would conform to the “new #1” mandate. They followed up with a letter:

“I do urge you to seriously pursue the ‘‘hit and run’’ parody one-shots we discussed. From talking to people at different levels of the comics biz, I’m more convinced than ever that this could result in very respectable sales and still permit you to do what you want, retain ownership, and sting some deserving targets.”

Among the most memorable suggestions was that I should lampoon the forthcoming Dolph Lundgren Punisher movie.

The note ended with, “You’ll make more money. I’ll make more money. My attorney will make more money.”

Ha ha.

Needless to point out, this advice was diametrically opposite that of my editor, the late Dave Schreiner, who had favored the character-driven approach suggested in my Megaton Man #11 plotline over the long-worn out superhero parody emphasis.

I only managed two and a third more Megaton Man comic book issues for the publisher: Megaton Man Meets the Uncategorizable X+Thems #1, Yarn Man #1, and Pteranoman #1. Beside that, there was Bizarre Heroes #1 and another Border Worlds issue, Marooned #1.

Which brings us to the above note from 1991:

Will there be additional Border Worlds? Bizarre Heroes? Pteranoman? Megaton Man? Ms. Megaton Man?

Have you defected totally to Fantagraphics, or have you other plans after King Kong and Wendy?

We should talk sometime about what plans you have with regard to KSP or ideas you have which are up in the air.

What is poignant, indeed tragic, about this pathetic little note, is that I had plans. I had plans to return to Megaton Man—not The Return to Megaton Man.

I had plans for Megaton Man #11, #12, #13, #14.

Any fool could look back at the relevant correspondence and see that it wouldn’t have taken much encouragement to induce a Megaton Man #15, #16, #17 out of me.

Or an #18, #19, #20 … you get the picture.

Let me quote myself, from above:

Now, in January of 1987, I conceived a plotline for Megaton Man #11 that, in effect, reconceived the entire series. It would focus on the civilian secret identities of the characters and their off-campus lives in college town, where aging hippies, tenured radical, jazz musicians, used bookstores, retrospective movie theaters, and counter-culture abounded; where Pentagon-funded experiments were brewing in university laboratories, secret agents and Martians prowled, and occasional megaheroes and megavillains from Megatropolis would drop in.

And, oh yeah, occasionally Trent Phloog would revert to Megaton Man. Hilarity would ensue.

In retrospect, I had a second wind, a new, firmer foundation, a more sustainable undergirding for an ongoing Megaton Man series.

Let me add that while embryonic, I’m convinced these ideas could have sustained a Megaton Man series indefinitely—Stella Starlight was enrolled in college, and committed to giving her child a “normal” life, and could be expected to remain centered there for several years. This by no means precluded visits back to Megatropolis and other megaheroic interludes.

Whether I could have done more than three a year is another question.

Again, we’ll never know.

I will go so far as to say that Megaton Man was on a path, in its counter-cultural college campus milieu, that could have appealed precisely to the well-educated, post-hippie, post-Silver Age audience Kitchen Sink Press was aspiring to. Places like Madison, Columbus, Ann Arbor would have sold dozens of copies.

Megaton Man might have blossomed into the quintessential Kitchen Sink Press series.

That is a retrospective view, of course.

You are free to scoff. That’s okay; I’ve endured worse.

The happy ending to this sad affair is that the forthcoming The Complete Megaton Man Universe, Volume I: The 1980s, will finally collect this fractured, fragmented narrative into one readable, remastered volume. And I’m working on new Megaton Man material that I hope in some measure will redeem the lost material I had in mind.

I had a plan, you fucking stupid asshole.

And I still do.