Jim Shooter, longtime editor-in-chief of Marvel Comics, and a man who had a profound effect on my career, has passed away.
I broke into the business at DC in the late 1970s, writing for the various anthology books, working with superb editors like Paul Levitz, Jack Harris, and the late, great Len Wein—I think of them as the professors at my personal comic book college—learning the fundamentals of the craft. Under their tutelage I moved, slowly and carefully, from eight pagers to my first book-length stories; from horror tales with twist endings to stories featuring childhood icons like Batman, Aquaman, and Hawkman. I even created a couple of series of my own—"I…Vampire" for House of Mystery and "Creature Commandos" for Weird War Tales—but my creative bicycle still needed sturdy training wheels: I had so much to learn.
I’d sent some samples over to Marvel, which eventually landed in Shooter’s lap. Jim—who I’d also interviewed for a comics-centric piece I wrote for The Soho Weekly News (I was a journalist in those days, too; when you’re a freelancer, you’ve got to keep as many doors open as possible)—saw something in my work and was open and generous with feedback, insight, and encouragement. Shooter was an intimidating figure—unusually tall and very commanding—with a long resume in the business (he’d started writing comics professionally when he was 13!). He was also a superb editor with a deep understanding of story, who was able to communicate that understanding with force and clarity—and soon became the next professor in my comic book college experience.
Under Jim’s watchful eye, I worked on a few fill-in issues (I recall an Iron Man story that I later repurposed as a Captain America tale, an Avengers issue that vanished into oblivion, and a Doctor Strange story, featuring the obscure villain Tiboro, that eventually made it into print), hanging on Jim’s every word and incorporating his wisdom into my work. I had a very simple rule in those days: The editor is always right. I wanted to learn, wanted to grow, and I certainly wasn’t going to argue with someone who knew far more than me about the medium. As Paul Levitz once told me, “You can’t break the rules until you’ve learned the rules”—and if I was going to make comics a career that lasted, I had to learn them all.
Jim kept throwing me interesting side-gigs, too: I wrote plots for French Spider-Man stories, crafted detailed biographies of all the Marvel characters for…well, it’s been so long I’ve forgotten what the purpose was. I also spent a couple of weeks in Stan Lee’s office—Stan was in California—watching an animated television series and writing up notes on the lead character, a Spider-Man rip-off, to aid Marvel in a lawsuit. (And if you don’t think being paid to hang out in Stan Lee’s office and watch cartoons was a dream job, what are you doing reading this in the first place?) Shooter eventually offered me a freelance contract—steady work, solid page rate (for the times), royalties—shifting my career into high gear.
Jim’s greatest strength was that he had a clear vision of what Marvel should be, how a story should be told, and he pursued it wholeheartedly. I didn't always agree with that vision (and he didn’t always agree with mine!), but I always respected it. His impact on Marvel Comics, and the comic book business as a whole, was massive.
A final story: Once, around 1983 or ‘84, I was in the Marvel office, and I’d brought my son, Cody, who was three or four at the time, along with me. We were in, I think, Mark Gruenwald’s office, when Shooter entered, all six foot seven of him. Jim greeted Cody warmly and my son slowly looked up—and up and up and up—at what, to him, was the largest human he’d ever beheld, a giant straight out of “Jack and the Beanstalk,” and burst into tears. Jim instantly retreated: He didn’t want to be responsible for traumatizing a child. But Cody, of course, was right: Jim Shooter was a giant of our industry and I am forever grateful to him for bringing me aboard the Marvel ship.
Wherever in the multiverse you are, Jim: safe travels. And thank you.
©copyright 2025 J.M. DeMatteis
