Years later a pal of mine was gifted some comics by a friend of the family. By “some comics” I mean a full run of Ditko’s Spider-Man issues (the Marvel Tales reprints). We read those things to death and it cemented my notion of Ditko’s greatness. Even the backstory of Ditko leaving the book due to a momentous creative disagreement with collaborator/editor Stan Lee (amongst other reasons) was gripping to me. “He ultimately quit. He wasn’t fired. He got to a point where he just refused.”, said Gil Kane. “From that point on, Ditko’s individualistic behavior became legendary. I mean, you couldn’t push him around. He did what he wanted to do.”

Fast forward to me, 20 years of age and trying to find my way as a cartoonist, sending out letters & comics to some of my biggest influences for some constructive feedback. Ditko was on the list, of course, but what were the chances of a response? I mailed my sealed letter to Ditko’s publisher Robin Snyder anyway, graciously requesting that he forward it to Ditko.

Months passed and I never really held my breath to begin with. I was familiar with Ditko’s no-nonsense attitude (and very familiar with his small press, political material), and I took the chance in writing a fan letter to someone who basically rejected fandom. It was a letter with serious questions about the craft and industry of comics, but it was a fan letter nonetheless. I was banking on him seeing that I could at least ink a straight line and apply Zip-A-Tone.

Respond he did. There I was, about to go to work after a long weekend, having just received a thick envelope from Steve Ditko. I remember not opening it up immediately, I wanted to savor the moment as long as I could but I quickly gave in. I opened the envelope to find four pages handwritten in pencil, addressing my questions in cursive. This was too much, I though, this could not possibly be real. It was very much real, very much from Ditko yet not quite what I expected. Ditko’s words weren’t encouraging in the traditional sense. No compliments or pats on the back were to be found and not a word about the artwork itself. It was the thinking behind the artwork that concerned him: “You seem to have chosen the least attractive, the pessimistic, believing there really are no good men (which has to include you).” It was four pages him tying my industry concerns with what I chose to draw, and the moral decisions that led me to draw my comics in the first place.

The letter threw me off. I was suddenly caught in the middle of a heated debate that took place between four pieces of paper and myself.

After cooling off – meaning, after it finally sank in that Steve Ditko had written to me – I vowed to retaliate point by point. I would behave respectfully, of course. There was no need to act like a crybaby lunatic. I was firm in my conviction as an artist and Ditko… well, Ditko was wrong. My art didn’t hold forth values that had “negative views of man… putting him down rather than raising him up”. What, just because I had a character dry heaving into a toilet then turning into a cyber-gimp amputee? “It’s not an inspiring lesson or view.” he wrote. Well, what if I didn’t think that art’s purpose was solely to inspire? Yet I wondered why he thought that in the first place. What led him to develop such a specific view of art? Was there something I wasn’t seeing? What if he was right and I was too close to my work to notice something important? He had great points, of course, but I disagreed with him on fundamental issues.

I was late to work that day.

Ditko and I carried on a correspondence for the next few months. We mutually agreed to disagree. It was never smooth sailing, but I learned quite a lot and I got a little better at articulating my ideas with each passing letter.

I kept making comics.

I walked up to DC on Broadway, but I couldn’t get past the desk without proper clearance. Continuity Studios were more lax; they took my portfolio overnight for someone to look through it, presumably Neal Adams. I picked it up the next day; they weren’t interested. The receptionist (Neal’s wife?) was really nice. She’d seen this scenario a million times.

I walked around, running out of options. I wasn’t freaking out, but I felt strangely emboldened. It’s the kind of bravery that desperation can sometimes breed. Here’s my train of thought at the time: “Well, I’m up here in midtown Manhattan with my portfolio. Who else can I see? Wait a minute… doesn’t Ditko live around here? Let me see… ah, there’s his building. I should confirm that. Hm, that desk clerk seemed amused that I asked about a Mr. Ditko living here. Let me just go up the elevator to his door to make sure it is him and not some other S. Ditko. There it is. I’ll just leave a note on the back of one of my sample pages telling him I’m finally here in NY and would love to meet him soon. Shoot, I have no scotch tape. I’ll just slide it under his door. Actually, hey, why don’t I just knock?”

Steve Ditko opened the door and I introduced myself as the kid from New Orleans. His suspicious face lit up with recognition. After catching up a bit, I suggested we continue our discussion over coffee or something. He declined but threw in a “maybe someday” in there. He said those sort of bull sessions don’t lead to anything productive, they’re just exercises best kept in written form so as to thoroughly think out the idea therein. He said that in the same way that I’m doing it, he first came to the big city with a briefcase and a portfolio. I told him my basic plan and promised to send him my new comic once it was complete. I shook his hand and thanked him for his time and letters. I left the building in a daze.

What the hell was I thinking?

I know that was borderline creepy on my part. I know it now and I knew it then and I instantly regretted it. I’m playing the age card here because I was young and clueless and desperate to reach out to my hero whom I corresponded with. However, I’ve since discovered that dropping in on Steve Ditko unannounced is a pretty common practice. That does’t make me feel any better. I felt gross for having invaded someone’s privacy – there is zero excuse – but the fact that people do this as a sort of known event is even worse. I haven’t pulled that on Ditko since and I never will, but I suppose we’re all free to disrupt the man just to satiate our curiosity, or “just cuz”, as if he were a landmark attraction and not a person. Your heart can be in the right place, but with the vast information we have now, people can’t pretend they don’t know what Ditko’s feelings and thoughts are, or what his answer will be to whatever interview request is thrown his way. It’s not only rude, but it shows an utter lack of understanding of his wishes and ideas.

Ditko told me that meeting me wasn’t a bother at all (in response to an apologetic letter I sent him later that week). Still, I’ve kept it strictly on paper since, not quite following up on that maybe someday coffee.

“My Aim is to Be as Appealing as Possible”: An Interview with Michel Fiffe

OK, to start with, how old are you and where are you from?

I was born in Havana, Cuba in 1979, but was raised in Miami shortly after that. My entire family is from Cuba, except with some ties to Spain. I even lived in Madrid for a year when I was a kid. It’s actually where I fell in love with comics, reading translated DC Comics.

What was your first comic? Do you remember it?

I had this thick DC anthology that was sold at Lionel Play World back in the states, but I was three years old so I don’t remember much of it. Later on when I was in Madrid, it was a Dave Gibbons Green Lantern story that was split as a backup in Flash comics. Those Gibbons stories genuinely freaked me out.

What was so freaky about those Dave Gibbons stories? Were these the ones he did with Alan Moore? I’m thinking of that Mongo planet story in particular.

No, no, this was the Len Wein-scripted stuff. It looks like classic American superhero comics. Perfect for DC, perfect for a character who was part of a toy line. But the few stories I had involved a bloodthirsty villain with a shark’s head who made you hallucinate your worst fears and in the end, he killed Green Lantern.

Aside from the great visuals that Gibbons brought to this stuff, these were the stories that helped me learn how to read. They engaged me, narratively and visually. By default, I began to learn the language of comics. That half of a story showed me a three-panel closeup, showed me the surprise at the turn of the page, the way figures can lead the reader’s eye. Simple, simple stuff that of course I didn’t get until way later on. But looking back, Gibbons was nuts and bolts. And the drawing was gorgeous. Plus, that storyline was creepy as hell.

Were you reading or exposed to other types of comics at the time as well? I’m thinking comic strips, editorial cartoons, library collections, etc.

Pretty much just Marvel and DC Comics. When I was back in the states around age 6, I read the Sunday funnies, sure. Then I had to start learning English, and comics definitely made it very easy for me. Comics and television and Garbage Pail Kids.

People diss or sneer stuff like Garbage Pail Kids but they can be a great way for kids to connect with each other and with the larger culture.

Who sneers at those things? Parents in the ‘80s? They’re brilliant -- and yeah, they can help a kid out in several productive ways, but they were just cool. It’s that simple. They were just fun to look at. They struck gold with that and it was just another thing that, at least in my case, kept me engaged on an imaginative level. I would go apeshit when I heard the ice cream vendor down the block. I stole money from my dad for the first time to afford more an extra GPK pack because I was obsessed. I turned to a life of crime to feed Spiegelman’s kids.

[...]Apart from Gibbons, what comics and cartoonists were you into as a kid?

The stuff that really grabbed me as a kid still excites me, I’ve discovered. I always snap back to Norm Breyfogle and Jim Aparo Batman comics. Frank Miller’s Dark Knight Returns, of course. I can write a book on how that impacted me as a nine year old. I was also really into John Byrne to the point where I started drawing crosshatched biceps and open mouths with only lower sets of teeth. I had a few Ditko comics, a few Kirby ... I mean, this is like a list of people I still rave about today. The Ann Nocenti/John Romita Jr. Daredevil deeply excited me every month. No movie or video game or not even any other comic gave me that feeling. Well, except the Justice League & the Suicide Squad. That was the trifecta.

I really love his art style and think it's cool to see it applied to superheroes since it's so indie looking. Here's his take on the Image heroes --