As we celebrate the 40th Anniversary of The Rocketeer’s first appearance, one artist remembers the encouragement he got from The Rocketeer’s genius creator, Dave Stevens. Christian Gossett Vilá originally posted this to his Substack newsletter, and kindly agreed to let me repost it here on Fanboy Planet. (You should check out that Substack — there’s great insight behind his gorgeous upcoming title, Cthulhutown.
1988 – A friend of a friend opened a comic book shop a stone’s throw from my High School in North Hollywood.
Not kidding. You could jump the fence at lunch, cross the street, grab a comic or three and get back before the next bell.
Heaven.
I wish I’d taken a picture of the shop for you, but you know how it is with us Gen-X types. Photography was a serious thing back in the 80s. You either never took photos, or you were a total camera nerd and lugged around your massive SLR and bulky lens bag, and EVERYONE knew you were way into photography and wondered about your mental health. There was no in-between. Stranger Things gets it perfect.
The owner, Mike, was a really cool guy. He sang lead in a solid band, had a super cute girlfriend, and it was in his hip little nook of a shop where I first met one of my heroes, the great Dave Stevens.
For those of you who have never read it, Dave was the creator, author, and artist of The Rocketeer.
The Rocketeer was, in my estimation, not just a comic book…
…but the beginning of limitless adventures I could not wait to read, and I couldn’t understand why some random brilliant millionaire hadn’t bought Dave a lavish home and a crackerjack staff so he could make as much of it as possible. You could tell from every beautifully rendered head of hair and sumptuous eye-light that Dave had years worth of stories about Cliff, Peevy, and Betty, and dammit, the world needed to see every page of them! What the hell is wrong with all of you?! Where is this man’s entourage of helpers?!
Alas, I didn’t realize then how devoid the world was of such forward-thinking patrons. It’s a great thing we have Patreon and crowdfunding now. Beautiful things are happening thanks to the micropayments of dedicated followers and online patrons.
But this was not the case back in 1988…
This visit to Mike’s shop was the first time showing my portfolio to a hero of mine, and Dave being Dave, made you feel like he was looking forward to the duty.
And yes, I dressed. I can’t help it. As a kid, I had been in New York just long enough to give me a lifelong preference for dressing for an occasion. This often gets awkward in Southern California, where the official state bird is the T-Shirt.
When I first saw Dave, he was also in a blazer and a nice shirt. I smiled, triumphant.
At nineteen, I was already working professionally on my first series. Creator-owned and everything! (thanks again, Bradley P. Parker and Daerick Gross, wherever you are) and I showed Dave a sample of pages from this first effort.
The book that hired me was an anthology. TALES OF THE NINJA WARRIORS by cfw publications. They were a martial arts supply company and hong kong film distributor and thought it a good idea to publish some Ninja stories with ads for their products in between.
“You can do any story you want, but it has to be about Ninjas,” was the brief from young Mr. Parker.
After lots of thought about what kind of Ninja story I’d like to tell, I had it.
The story would be titled BLACKANGEL.
It was about a horde of Ninjas in Hell.
Yes. Hell.
These former assassins, wishing to repent and escape damnation, took a solemn vow to serve an Angel, Joshua LeCurste, who had been tricked into the Nine Hells to lead them against the forces of Lucifer. They were each other’s only way out, and there was no way out but through.
(and yes, I had a real thing for fedoras at the time)
Here is an internal page from one of the later issues of BLACKANGEL.
Red Star readers may take note that my love of double-page spreads began early:
I was getting $75 a page to create the story, write, pencil, ink, and letter. And as a 19-year-old, it felt like a fortune. It was pretty cool to see a book of yours on the racks and shelves in real life.
It was so much fun. Dreaming up imaginary places, filling those places with things I badly wished to say, and being paid to do so. This was the enthusiasm I carried with me into that shop to meet Dave.
With one look, he could see that I had it bad.
I took it as a great honor that unlike the other samples he perused that day, with me, he veered away from words like ‘anatomy’ and ‘storytelling’ and instead started talking about ‘intellectual property rights and ‘nice action poses’ and then he said something I was not prepared for him to say.
He said: “On your next job…”
I confess I stopped listening.
Dave Stevens had seen my art and said, “On your next job…”
…the drag is— I REALLY WISH I’D LISTENED TO MORE OF WHAT HE’D SAID, but you see, at that moment, this really insistent choir of angels descended upon the streets of the Valley, right there on Colfax between the Taco Bell and the Thai restaurant, and it would not stop celebrating. Their music in my ears was such fine celestial clamoring that my peripheral vision was framed in stardust.
I looked at him like Dorothy looked at that balloon in the Emerald City. Dumbstruck and deaf. I had Spielberg Face.
I snapped out of it after a few breaths as his sincerity was so palpable. His eyes could stare right through you, and he kind of stopped the whole signing to express these things to me, so suddenly, feeling very responsible, I shook off the stardust and paid attention.
His warnings about the perils of life as a professional came like the honor they were. He felt guilty about it; he knew it sounded discouraging and apologized for being a truth teller about what would be coming my way. But this was gold. Priceless stuff about the business side of the story game, and I couldn’t help but try to make him feel better. “No, please! Thank you! For everything you’ve said!”
He nodded, looking at me with an “I wish you the best” stare. A hopeful, encouraging, realistic kind of look, acknowledging that live or die, mud or miracles, what lay ahead was a path of endless trials.
How right he was.
Three decades and change later, his guidance remains priceless.
Moments like this one, where one of the all-time greats takes a moment to really be present and give you treasure to carry forward as you go, are truly magic. I’ve done my best to pay it forward, whether I’m giving a guest lecture at Antelope Valley College or Massey University or meeting a young artist, a portfolio of dreams held close at hand at a shop or convention. It’s a thrill for me when I meet someone who truly has the goods, and I see that look in their eyes. I hope I make them feel as armed and ready, and encouraged as Dave did that day for me. I’ll never forget him.
Until next time,
