Will Eisner - Michael Schumacher [98]
Denis Kitchen and Will Eisner. (Courtesy of Denis Kitchen)
“Maurice is at work putting together a dummy of ‘The Spirit’ magazine,” Eisner wrote in conclusion to his initial response to Kitchen’s proposal. “As soon as we have something in hand, we shall be talking to you on more specific matters.”
“More specific matters” meant hammering out a basic publisher-artist agreement on the terms of royalties, payment schedules, copyright ownership, and other points of publishing and distribution common to any publishing business agreement. After talking to Kitchen about his business practices at the convention, Eisner felt confident that the agreement would be reached without some of the contentious back-and-forth that he had faced in the past. Kitchen had boasted of the way the undergrounds allowed artists to maintain ownership of their characters, and he had established a track record of reliably reporting sales figures and paying royalties to his artists. These hippies were loose and easy and anti-Establishment right down to the way they conducted their business. It was a fair, honest exchange between artist and publisher. Eisner didn’t have to look far to see how artists had lost control of their creations—Jerry Siegel and Joe Shuster were still struggling for control of, or at least better compensation for, Superman; Bob Kane had been forced into a brilliant legal maneuver in order to see something for his creation, Batman; and the creators of Spider-Man, Captain America, and others were essentially out of luck at Marvel—and publishers had earned their oily reputations for being cheapskates, from the per-page rates they paid to the credits they gave their writers and artists. Maybe it was because he was an artist himself, maybe it was the pot that he was smoking, or maybe it was just a matter of his being a decent guy, but Denis Kitchen seemed to be different.
He was, as Eisner discovered shortly after they had reached a verbal agreement on the terms of their relationship. The deal was beneficial to both sides. Eisner was not only granting Kitchen Sink Press permission to reprint Spirit stories long out of print, he also agreed to produce new stories and artwork, including covers. For his part, Kitchen was offering a deal that included 10 percent royalty payments, total control of the material, and copyright ownership.
“Send me a draft of your proposed contract and we’ll proceed,” Eisner instructed Kitchen.
“Contract?” Kitchen responded. “I don’t do contracts.”
Kitchen went on to explain that contracts, as he viewed them, were “a product of an uptight, corrupt, and cynical capitalistic system that exploits creative people.” Kitchen thought he was appealing to the artist in Eisner, to the man who had been abused by the system. Contracts, Kitchen insisted, had always been imposed on artists in the comics business.
“We’re trying to do business in a more progressive manner,” he said. “Besides, I don’t want to give money to lawyers.”
Eisner heard Kitchen out before delivering a lecture of his own. Contracts, he explained, shouldn’t be looked on as impositions, not if both parties were in agreement; instead, they were protection for both parties, insurance that their agreement would be honored in the unlikely event something terrible happened to one of them.
“What happens,” he asked, “if you are killed in a car accident tomorrow? Or vice versa, if something happens to me, how does my widow know what obligations I’ve burdened her with or what income she might expect from my literary dealings with you? Are there restrictions on her if she is presented with third party opportunities to license my work? Who controls the media or merchandise rights?”
Kitchen, who had only considered contracts in abstract, dogmatic terms, was knocked backward a couple steps. He had never considered the scenarios Eisner was presenting. There was clearly a difference in thinking