Joyce Brabner

Tribute
Joyce Brabner, as illustrated by Josh in a 1995 comics story
Joyce, as I drew her in a 1995 comics story.

I was very sad to learn of the passing of Joyce Brabner today. 

I was first exposed to her comics writing in the pages of Real War Stories and of course the classic “flip book” one-shot Brought to Light, done in collaboration with Alan Moore and Bill Sienkiewicz. It was only later that I learned she was Harvey Pekar’s wife and sometimes collaborator.

Joyce’s comics writing was always in the service of a greater cause: antiwar activism, animal rights, AIDS activism. It – along with Harvey’s American Splendor and Spiegelman’s Maus — showed me that comics could be about so much more than superheroes and funny animals.

Later, when I started my own comics career (like with Dean Haspiel on Keyhole, etc.), I reached out to Harvey Pekar and offered my services as an illustrator on American Splendor. Harvey was kind enough to call me up to “interview” me for the gig, and before I knew it, he put Joyce on the phone too! They were coming in to Chicago (where I was living at the time) to promote Our Cancer Year, which had just come out, and there was some discussion of them staying with me and Sari at our apartment. In the end, I think they found more suitable accommodations, but by then I was part of the “Pekar-and-Brabner-verse.”

While it took awhile for Harvey to give me work, Joyce and I collaborated extensively in those first few years – first in a 12-page “follow-up” to Our Cancer Year (“Be Careful Not to Pull too Hard on Loose Ends”) that was published in American Splendor, and a four-page comic about Typhoid Mary that was originally part of the program for a play Joyce was involved with (and later was published as well). I remember Joyce as being very easy to work with — she was very patient with my youthful foibles: the only pushback I got from her with my thumbnails/layouts was that she didn’t want me adding my own emphasis (bolds) to her narration and dialogue. Totally fair request!

I never collaborated directly with Joyce after that, but I was always happy to connect with her on the phone (when I’d call Harvey to discuss a new story) or at various conventions. And of course I got to draw her in subsequent Pekar stories I illustrated, since she was the “co-star” of American Splendor! Some described Joyce as argumentative or humorless, but I always found her to be engaging, opinionated (in a good way), and a hilarious foil for Harvey at public events. (I remember her knitting onstage during one panel at the Big Apple Comic Con). Go back and watch the great American Splendor film and appreciate how wry and biting she is in that movie. And I hear that years later she actually performed standup comedy in Cleveland and other locales, so take that, haters!

And of course she was the force behind Harvey and Joyce’s decision to take on the nine-year-old Danielle Batone as their foster daughter. From what I understand, Danielle is now a working artist in San Diego.

After Harvey’s death in 2010, Joyce was a tireless advocate on his behalf, making sure that two books he had been working on were published posthumously, and that a Cleveland memorial and park were named in his honor.

I had fallen out of touch with Joyce lately, but my pals Dean Haspiel and Jeff Newelt tell me that she had been battling cancer herself, but that she was actually doing better recently. She was still active and ambitious, with new projects in the works. (For instance, she was deeply involved with the planning of the “American Splendor: Celebrating Harvey Pekar at 85” panel recently held at San Diego Comic-Con.) The most recent book she published was The Courage Party: Helping Our Resilient Children Understand and Survive Sexual Assault (an “American Splendor Family” book), illustrated by Gerta Oparaku Egy and published in 2020. A perfect addition to Joyce’s legacy.

Farewell, Joyce, the world is lesser for your passing.

Ed Piskor (1982–2024)

Life, Tribute

I’m not sure what to say about Ed Piskor except that it is all so sad. I knew Ed — albeit peripherally — and it’s a big deal when someone in your circle dies — especially at their own hand.

I don’t know enough about the situation with the young cartoonist to really weigh in. Ed’s suicide letter and the background of COVID isolation, etc., provides more context, but I can definitely see that he came off as a creeper. And that behavior is a real problem in our industry.

But what I really inferred from Ed’s letter was that his entire ego and identity were unhealthily tied to his life as a cartoonist. Last week, when it appeared that his livelihood was being taken from him, it must have felt like EVERYTHING had been taken from him. And that’s what led him to take his own life.

It’s hard for me to reconcile this with the Ed that I knew, because I was only really acquainted with him at the very beginning of his career. Ed reached out to me and Dean Haspiel back when HE was the young cartoonist, only 21 years of age. He was just starting to work with Harvey Pekar and he wanted to connect with us to know what our experiences were with the famed curmudgeonly writer.

We could see why Harvey was attracted to Ed’s talent — his artwork was so clearly influenced by underground luminaries like Crumb and Shelton. (Piskor’s work always reminded me a bit of Derf’s: they both took their weaknesses — drawing relatable people — and made it their strengths.) Even at that tender age, Ed struck me as someone who was all-in on the cartoonist life — for better or worse.

Ed, Dean, Harvey, and I all ended up together a few years later at SPX 2005. We did a panel together, and I drew the SPX program cover that year, featuring Harvey signing books for fans – and Ed, Dean, and myself as bobbleheads. (There had been a Harvey Pekar bobblehead sold in conjunction with the American Splendor movie, which I guess is where I got the idea!)

That was when I first met Ed in person, which was a bit of a surprise. His hip-hop getup of a ball cap, Public Enemy T-shirt, and dark glasses struck me as a pose. Was it ironic or serious? In reality, he seemed shy and insecure (in other words, like every other cartoonist). I came to see Ed’s outfit as his “convention uniform” — maybe his way of protecting himself from feeling too vulnerable when he emerged from behind the drawing table?

I kind of lost touch with Ed after he did Macedonia with Harvey. I really dug his Hip Hop Family Tree stuff, but I haven’t followed his work since then, other than to remark how prolific he was and how much he grew as an artist. (Dean and I interviewed Ed for our American Splendor podcast back in 2019, but that was the first time I had interacted with Ed in probably ten years.) And I never saw how he was around women and female fans.

The portrait of Ed that emerges from his letter is of a guy who only felt at home when he was making comics, or talking about comics on his YouTube show. Correct me if I’m wrong, but it doesn’t appear he had many, if any, strong human connections — romantic relationships, family — to keep him on track both during and after COVID. The isolation of COVID was real! I thank my lucky stars every day that I had Sari and Phoebe during those years.

Yes, Ed made some unquestionably bad choices… but nothing actually criminal, right? He was troubled. We all are. And I don’t imagine that his accusers feel that what he did was worthy of him dying! Yet that is where we sit today.

# # #

Carol Tyler — who knew him better than I did — had some wise things to say about all this.

George Pérez, 1954–2022

Life, Tribute

Jeez, what a month of losses this has been. Personally, I’ve lost two family members and, now, two major influences in my art career: first Neal Adams back on April 28, and now George Pérez, who died of pancreatic cancer on May 6. Pérez was only 67 years old.

Pérez art on a Firestorm story from 1980.

I was 13 years old when I first discovered Pérez’s work—on DC Comics’ dynamic (Marvel-style) superhero team comic The New Teen Titans (probably the title that Pérez is still most associated with). I was immediately taken by the energy of his dense, detailed artwork. 

Talk about chops—this was a guy who drew the heck out of each page on which he worked. (And he drew thousands and thousands of pages!) When I think of his work, I picture one of those crazy, crowded city skylines, often shot directly above. Or his group fight scenes, with every character doing a specific action. Or the particular way he would draw a face in chiaroscuro, with that little spot of light under the eye on the shadowed side. He could draw crowd scenes and detail better than anyone.

Looking at his work now, I recognize that the casual observer might not necessarily appreciate Pérez’s art; it can be stereotypical “comic-y” in its reliance on overly muscled, sometimes stiff, characters, and exaggerated “camera” angles and poses. But what set Pérez above all the hacks who emulate that same style was the passion he put into every page, his attention to detail, his devotion to craft, and his love for the form of comics.

As instantly “blocky” and recognizable as his work was, it was also refined in surprising ways. He really cared about differentiating his characters. With so many other comics artists, the basic features of the main characters were the same—without the costume or the hairstyle you might not be able to tell Robin from Kid Flash from Changeling; or Wonder Girl from Starfire from Raven. Not so with Pérez, who clearly thought about the shape of each character’s face and the proportions of their features.

And of course, he loved to draw strong women. His female superheroes looked as powerful as the men—you could believe that Wonder Woman could lift a tank or Starfire could blast through a wall with her powers. 

From that moment I first saw Pérez’ art on Teen Titans, I was hooked on his style, and for many years made it my mission to track down his work, including his earlier run on The Avengers—even those backup Firestorm stories in The Flash!

And he was so damn prolific. Whereas other artists struggled to keep up with a monthly book, Pérez thrived under the heavy workload. In one stretch in 1981, he was drawing both the Teen Titans AND the Justice League—both team books with tons of characters! Not to mention that he was frequently commissioned to illustrate covers for other books (which led to me buying comics in which I had no interest just to savor his amazing cover art).

There were also the odd side projects which showed up from time to time: who remembers his awesome self-inked short stories in Pacific’s Alien Worlds #7 and Vanguard Illustrated #6? (As much as I appreciated Romeo Tanghal’s inks on Pérez in Teen Titans, I loved it when Pérez inked his own pencils—so much more detail!)

Pérez-inspired art of mine from my high school days.

Pérez—along with John Byrne and Frank Miller—was a huge influence on my own comics work at the time. I studied Pérez’ artwork, read his interviews when I could find them, and savored the fact that he was a New York City kid like me. In high school, I drew my own superhero comics, and you can clearly see Pérez’ influences in my work of the time. (In fact, I aspired to one day draw The Teen Titans when Pérez retired!) Without his example, I would never have drawn this crazy one-point perspective cityscape in my high school comic, Blade. There are so many other examples from my comics and sketchbooks of the time of me emulating Pérez’ style—someday I’ll dig them up and display them here…

As the years went by and I went to college, still dreaming of becoming a superhero artist, I continued to follow Pérez obsessively—highlights of his work from that period include the groundbreaking limited series Crisis on Infinite Earths, his landmark work as writer/artist on Wonder Woman, and his memorable stint on The Infinity Gauntlet miniseries. (Recent movies and TV shows like Avengers: Infinity War, Wonder Woman, and Supergirl all featured adaptations of stories on which Pérez worked.)


By the mid-1990s, I was transitioning from drawing superhero comics to what I do now—making comics about real people and real life. I pretty much stopped buying superhero comics, and lost touch with Pérez’ career. I draw a different kind of comics now, but those early influences never really go away, and even nowadays I find myself thinking of his work when I draw a detailed city scene or try to find the most dynamic angle from which to frame a shot.

I never got the chance to properly meet George Pérez, or to let him know how much I loved and had learned from his work. The one time I saw him in person was at a comics convention where we crossed paths. I was already getting published in the “indy comics” world by that time, and felt self-conscious about going up and introducing myself to someone who was now in a “different camp.” Plus, he was already surrounded by admirers. I remember just standing there at the con, watching him interact with his fans and taking in the fact that we were both there at the same time.

I usually make it a policy to send “fan letters” to those who have served as “mentors from afar”—I did so with writers like Roger Zelazny, Roger Angell, and Roger Ebert (all Rogers!), and even baseball announcer Jon Miller. But I’m sad to say I never did with Pérez. The closest I came was a fan letter I wrote to—and had published in!–“Titans Tower” (the Teen Titans letter column) in 1984; I like to think that George read it…

Even though I hadn’t followed Perez’ work in recent years, I was saddened last December to hear of his cancer diagnosis. And I was amazingly touched by the letter he wrote to his colleagues and fans, where he announced that he would not be seeking treatment, and instead would be spending his last few months with his family. It turned out that this superstar artist was a brave, inspiring human being as well.

I’ll end this piece with a message for other aspiring artists: his New York Times obit mentions that when Pérez first started getting published professionally, he really struggled with rendering perspective and anatomy. It’s a testament to how hard he worked that those features later became strengths of his; a lesson that every young artist should take to heart.

Thank you, George, from me and on behalf of all those readers whose lives you enriched through your example and your work.

Hamid Mohammadi (1959–2021)

A.D., Tribute

I am very sad to report that Hamid Mohammadi, one of the real-life stars of A.D.: New Orleans After the Deluge, has passed away. He was 62 years old.

Hamid was a colorful character and a great resource to A.D. As I was working on structuring the book, I “found” him through a good friend whose cousin happened to be Hamid’s wife. I first contacted Hamid in December of 2006. Although he was a busy man—with a wife and family, his store to run, and managing other properties in the area—he was always friendly and found time to tell me his story in detail as I was working on the project.

This is the super-truncated version:

Finally, in part due to Mansell’s ill health, Hamid was convinced to “abandon ship;” he was evacuated from NOLA on a truck to Atlanta.

After many long months, Hamid and his family eventually returned to salvage their lives and business. This excerpt is from August of 2015, 10 years after Hurricane Katrina. I caught up with A.D.‘s characters—including Hamid—and to get their thoughts on the city a decade after the disaster.

By the way, Hamid’s real name was used in the original webcomic, but when it came to the printed book, he asked me to change it to “Abbas” (his son’s name)—with a mustache added to his face. He never explained why he wanted this change—I always assumed it came from him essentially being a private person and not comfortable with being a “celebrity.” In any case I learned that in the period after A.D.’s book publication, a number of readers came into his store and identified him as the real Hamid! Which, thankfully, he found amusing.

When I talked to Hamid for the ten-year anniversary comic, he allowed me to use his real name again. By that point, he no longer owned the Calhoun Superette—and was understandably a bit bitter…

Weirdly, as I documented in detail in 2016, in a visual post called “3135 Calhoun St. and the A.D. Cosmic Connection,” Hamid’s store location was eventually taken over by Crescent City Comics, the employer of another real-life A.D. character, Leo McGovern! It’s worth checking out the post, as it goes into more detail than I can spend here about Hamid’s experiences at the store during and after Katrina.

Even though the former superette ended up in good hands, I hear that Hamid never really recovered from losing his store. After 16 years, through thick and thin, I can certainly imagine why!

As different as we were in our backgrounds, I felt a real kinship with Hamid—with his sense of adventure and his matter-of-fact way or recounting his experiences. There were so many little things he did during the disaster, from giving away food after the storm, bringing bottles of water to stranded neighbors, and ensuring Mansell’s health, that I consider heroic. (Not to mention all the years of hard work he spent restoring the Superette to operation again.) Despite everything that happened, and all the danger he had been in, he confided to me that he regretted leaving his flooded store, and felt that he has “wussed out”—which of course he hadn’t.

Hamid was born in Iran and came to the U.S. as a young man. He made a good life, with a wife of 36 years and two beloved children. In addition to the Superette, he owned other property in the NOLA region. During our conversations, he talked fondly of fishing trips with friends and watching Saints football games on TV. He was also a blackbelt in aikido. I felt very honored to have known him, even tangentially, and I am so grateful that he was willing to share his experiences with the readers of A.D.

You can read extended excerpts of Hamid’s experiences in the original webcomic version of A.D, particularly in Chapter 7, “The Bowl Effect, Part I,” and “The Bowl Effect, Part II.”

Hamid’s family has created a Life Tribute page for Hamid for people to share their memories of him. If you knew him, I encourage you to contribute something. “Unsung” people like Hamid deserve to be remembered and their lives commemorated; they’re the reason I chose the life of a nonfiction cartoonist. https://www.muhleisen.com/obituaries/Hamid-Mohammadi/

Hamid Mohammadi, rest in peace.