However, I got to see him recently anyway, via this photo he sent for the holidays.
He’s a really nice guy. I hope that there is another reunion before long and that he gets to go. I think it’d be great for both him and his former skimates.
Addendum: On 12/13/15, Mark passed away. To quote fellow skier Betsy Maher: “I’m sorry he was not able to make it to either reunion. At the 2014 reunion, I was able to have everyone sign a big birthday card for him. He had made a phone call to me on Christmas Day the past few years. I will miss his call this year.”
After six weeks of helping to plan an unprecedented 17-author variety show for Sandy Hook Elementary School, and while en route from Maryland to Connecticut on 2/10/13, the day before the event, I learned that school had been canceled for the following day.
One thing we had not arranged: a raindate. (Well, snowdate.)
With heavy heart, at 5:31 p.m., I emailed the authors. As the understanding responses came in, I tried to figure out how to proceed. I arrived at only one viable option. At 6:42 p.m., after clearing it with Sandy Hook librarian Yvonne Cech, I went back to the group to ask who could do Tuesday, 2/12.
Originally, eleven of the seventeen authors could. (On Monday afternoon, one dropped out, and Tuesday morning another did, both due to illness.) That number was plenty good enough for me; I worried that if I tried to find yet another date, even fewer would be free. I felt it was Tuesday or never.
So I seized Tuesday.
However, we’d worked out a schedule for seventeen so I scrambled to round up as many A-list pinch-hitters as I could. As before, just about everyone I asked would have liked to participate, but they got all “I’m super busy and generally speaking 24 hours is not enough notice to prepare multiple acts and arrange to travel two hours away.” I kid. They were extremely gracious, supportive, regretful. Most said to keep them in mind if I’m ever involved in another event like it. (I hope I am, just not under such circumstances.)
Sunday night yielded no one. But Monday morning, alas—three signed on: Daniel Kirk, Bruce Degen (who lives in Newtown), and Vincent X. Kirsch. Bless them.
Tuesday morning. Two days shy of two months since the tragedy. I drove the hour from where I was staying to Newtown, arriving at Chalk Hill School (where Sandy Hook is currently housed) at 8:30.
I was looking forward to hugging Yvonne and Isabel (Almeida, my United Way contact).
One of my biggest concerns was punctuality, but I needn’t have worried; all eleven other cast members arrived on time.
Tad Hills and Bob Shea in the nerve center
Tracy Dockray drawing Ramona
Tad Hills and Duck
I owe each thanks for so many other things and here are one or two per person:
Katie Davis—For stepping up and going first when the original opening act (Phil Bildner) could not make the rescheduled date, and for podcasting the day.
Bruce Degen—For stepping in at the last minute, and for being the hometown representative. (When I emailed him the schedule the day before—a schedule most of the rest had been familiar with for two weeks—he wrote back “The schedule is complicated.” He was right.)
Tracy Dockray—For being a trooper when we determined (just before the show started) that I had not gotten the PowerPoint slides she emailed, and for recommending Vincent.
Alan Katz—For reassuring me several days before that this was a worthwhile effort, and for making it back in time from a conference in Denver despite Nemo.
Daniel Kirk—For stepping in at the last minute even though his drive would be one of the longest, and for being the only one of us to play guitar, which I wish I could do.
Vincent X. Kirsch—For adding one of the most diverse elements to the show—a toy theater—and for jumping on board less than a day before.
Tad Hills—For being one of my partners at the second school, and for being the first to hug me goodbye. I needed that.
Susan Hood—For being a cheerleader from the start, flexible and generous, and for being my partner in what was likely to be the most challenging aspect of the day: presenting to the first graders, the group most affected by the tragedy.
Meghan McCarthy—For rearranging her work schedule more than once, for committing even though she’d be getting back from vacation the day before, and for providing one of the biggest laughs of the show: a YouTube clip of a (fake) flying car.
Mike Rex—For being a class act through and through, from agreeing to stay an extra night in a hotel when Monday school was canceled to buying me a drink after.
Bob Shea—For being true to his values, willing to make sacrifices to give a good show, and for closing us out with a wonderful sense of humor.
The eight authors who were in the 2/11 lineup but could not do the next day:
Phil Bildner
Sophie Blackall
Peter Brown
Brian Floca
Ross MacDonald
John Bemelmans Marciano
Julia Sarcone-Roach
Lauren Tarshis
We missed you all so very much, as did the kids. The school had made signs for each of us, which (along with our books) were displayed behind the performance space, so you were there in spirit in more ways than one.
First some of the authors visited with the kindergartners and first graders in their classrooms; we were told that these little ones were the most fragile, and not just because of their age. But if you walked in any of the rooms, you’d never know it. They reacted as kids that age do—they laughed, they called out, they got off subject, they were bursting with enthusiasm. They were, simply, precious.
At 10 a.m., we kicked off Sandy Hook’s first assembly since the tragedy—and possibly the first-ever author variety show. It was divided into two parts. Each 45-minute half featured six authors with back-to-back acts of approximately five minutes apiece, with a brief intermission so the audience could swap out (the room could not hold the entire 2nd through 4th grade at once). We kept it moving on schedule…mostly. When the second half ran long, everyone ran right along with us.
It was my first time as emcee. I introduced the show by saying the twelve authors and illustrators on hand had, combined, produced close to 500 books…but not all at the same time. I said we’d come in from four states bringing characters including the Magic School Bus, Batman, Ramona Quimby, Fangbone, Balto the hero dog, and Rocket the reading dog. (One of reasons I was bummed Peter Brown had to bow out at the last minute due to illness: I could’ve then included Chowder the Bouncing Dog. Rule of threes, baby.) I meant to joke that neither snow nor rain would have kept us from coming, but we are apparently not as powerful as postal workers and weather did sabotage Plan A.
I said the kids would see a side of us they might not expect. I suggested they think of it as Authors Got Talent.
I thanked the administration, staff, parents, and kids, and made special mention of my two pillars throughout this endeavor, Isabel and Yvonne. This was a significant group effort. Without their tireless help, it would have remained merely a vision.
Isabel Almeida, lavender shirt, Yvonne Cech
I announced our little gift: a bookmark for each student in Newtown. (Imagine it folded in half. And laminated.)
When I was up, I told the kids that it would be AWK-ward if I introduced myself, so I asked for a volunteer. Thank you again, Sam!
Tad Hills in action
Meghan McCarthy in action
Bob Shea in action
Meghan McCarthy, Daniel Kirk, Susan Hood,
Vincent X. Kirsch, Mike Rex, Rocco Staino
Vincent X. Kirsch, Yvonne Cech, Alan Katz, Bruce Degen,
Meghan McCarthy, Susan Hood
Vincent X. Kirsch, Tad Hills, Rocco Staino, and Daniel Kirk
join the audience
The variety show went gangbusters. The first time the kids erupted with laughter, I felt that attempting this had been a [sic] right thing to do.
After the show, we (and staff) enjoyed lunch generously donated by the PTA, signed books, posed for photos, and listened to Principal Donna Page’s touching thank you. She said she chose authors as the first assembly because she wanted the return to some form of normalcy to involve teaching, learning, and reading.
She gifted each of us a bracelet with an angel on it; a kind donor had sent many of these and Donna asked this donor if she could “pay it forward.” The donor agreed.
When Donna teared up, so did many of us, and it was time. I, for one, wanted a moment to let down any sign of a professional façade and be a lump-in-throat human being.
Katie Davis, Mike Rex, Daniel Kirk
Meghan McCarthy, Marc Tyler Nobleman, Mike Rex, Tracy Dockray
Alan Katz, Marc Tyler Nobleman, Tracy Dockray, Mike Rex, Meghan McCarthy, Katie Davis
Then we split into three groups of four, bookmarks in hand, and from 2 to 3 p.m., did hourlong assemblies at the other three elementaries in Newtown. After, we regrouped at the lovely Inn at Newtown for a chance to sit, sip, and reflect as a group. Yvonne and several other Sandy Hook staff joined us.
People began to depart around 5 p.m. I was one of them, or so I thought. But then Yvonne, Mike Rex, Meghan McCarthy and I ended up staying. Yvonne opened up to us about what it was like on 12/14. It was hard to hear, but that doesn’t even come close to the edge of how hard it was for her to live through. We were in awe of her bravery and composure.
At 7 p.m., everyone left…but me.
I stayed behind to call my kids and tell them I love them.
I will never be done singing the praises of Isabel and Yvonne. Both of them had to deliver dispiriting news to me multiple times, but each did it with candor and kindness (not to mention sorrow). Yet it didn’t take long for them to regroup and try to salvage whatever it was that had just (seemingly) fallen apart. Their patience with my persistence was inspiring.
It is to their great credit, and the credit of the superintendent and principal, that this event happened at all. I suspect even I would have declined the offer. Too big. Too soon. Too many bigger priorities.
The bookmark says “Authors Love Sandy Hook Elementary,” but who doesn’t?
En route home, I stopped at a Newtown restaurant for dinner and was still wearing the green/white ribbon the school gave each of us. The owner of the restaurant (who had no idea who I was, of course, or why I was there) came over, pointed to the ribbon, and said "Sandy Hook?" I said yes (without elaborating).
He shook my hand and simply said “Thank you.”
The day was precisely what I pitched it as: upbeat, funny, escapist. Yet for this one moment, I will depart from that tone. I heard the following song the week after the tragedy, and although it is about a romance, it amplified my tears. Listening to the lyrics now (particularly the first verse and the chorus), it seems even more fitting. You’ll hear what I mean.
Sandy Hook, we’d call again anytime, no matter how much planning. No matter how much snow.
Following the tragedy at Sandy Hook Elementary School in Newtown, CT, on 12/14/12, I was a by-the-numbers part of the stunned collective: I cried, I mourned, I signed online petitions, I emailed senators and representatives, I lost focus, I held my own kids close wishing I never had to let go.
But I was also desperate for a way to do more than these things. I wanted to do something that might, in some small way, directly and immediately help the Sandy Hook community.
So the next day, hesitantly, I emailed a bunch of kidlit author/illustrator friends who live within two hours of Newtown to ask if they’d be interested in proposing to the school what I called a variety show. An excerpt:
I envision a group of us going on the same day [to put on] a kidlit author/illustrator variety show and to play games inspired by our books or just games in general (kids vs. authors soccer/volleyball/tug of war/three-legged race). I have ideas. Sure you would, too. We'd figure it out. Whatever we do, we'd keep it low maintenance. They provide the microphone, we do the rest.
It was clear that Sandy Hook’s focus for the foreseeable future would be healing. I thought a group of people with considerable experience speaking to young people could bring a bit of that, secretly wrapped up in what the kids would see as pure entertainment.
Just about everyone I asked said yes. Some, bearing out my hesitancy, worried about the delicate and overwhelming nature of the situation, as did I. When—if ever—would be the appropriate time to offer such a thing? To offer anything? The only way to find out would be to ask.
On Monday 12/17, I emailed the United Way (coordinating relief efforts) and the public library to ask if they had a sense of whether or not I should pursue the idea. That week, the children’s librarian at the town library, Alana Bennison, said she thought this would be just the kind of event that could be therapeutic. A short while later, she got back to me to say that it was okay for me to contact the Sandy Hook librarian, Yvonne Cech. I left Yvonne a message.
Understandably, I did not hear back.
However, on 12/28, Isabel Almeida of the United Way called. She said of all the offers they’d received (including some from pro sports teams), the group the superintendent wanted first was the authors. She asked if it would be possible to pull it together for the second day back to school—meaning one week from then.
I said we were all prepared to be flexible…but given how many were involved, we would all be better off with a little more time to organize, if possible. On New Year’s Eve, after polling the authors, I suggested 1/14/13. Approximately twenty authors were on board. Two days later, that date was approved.
Two hours later, I was asked if we could move the date to February…now known as Hurdle #1.
I said that it would be ideal if there was any way to keep 1/14, but in the meantime I proposed 2/11…to Isabel only. I did not tell the authors that the 1/14 date was subject to change, holding out hope for as long as possible that it would not.
On 1/8, figuring I could wait no longer, I told the authors that 1/14 was being reconsidered. I asked them to please hold 2/11 as a backup. Astoundingly and luckily, seventeen of them still had that day available, too.
On 1/13, Isabel confirmed 2/11. I immediately notified the authors.
On 1/17, hoping that I would not be “too terribly upset,” Isabel reported that the superintendent asked if we could push back to later than 2/25. This was Hurdle #2.
As before, I held off on telling the authors—partly to keep group emails to a minimum, partly due to a weird mix of disappointment and hope.
And as before, I told Isabel that we would accommodate whatever works for the school, but pointed out that I feared that if we changed the date again, we would almost certainly lose participants who had already committed. It seemed statistically impossible that everyone would have a third proposed date free.
More to the point, in inferring understandable concerns, I sent Isabel an impassioned appeal revolving around this: “Our mission is to come and reinforce the challenging and critical work you are all doing every day and late into the night; we don't want to disrupt momentum but rather support it. We want to be part of the healing.”
For me, that night was fitful. On 1/18, Isabel called to say she had forwarded my email to the superintendent…who had then said we can keep the 2/11 date.
Phew.
Until…
On 1/25, Isabel emailed me leading with the words “don’t panic.” She said that though the superintendent had approved the 2/11 assembly, word did not immediately reach the school…which had another event already scheduled for 2/11. Hurdle #3.
Of course I understood. What this community was going through is unfathomable to the rest of us. Still, I asked if the other event was smaller in scope and therefore possibly easier to shift. Thus began another tense period for me, but a relatively short one: by day’s end, I was relieved to hear that the other event could indeed be rescheduled and we could keep 2/11.
Rehearsals? Hah! Who needs them? Well, it would’ve been great, but it was hard enough getting everyone together for the actual show.
However, we were briefed on trauma guidelines. No loud or sudden noises. No flashes of light. No all-black outfits. And no mention of “healing.” We were already planning to leave that to the experts.
On 1/29, thanks to the logistical efforts of (my friend since fourth grade) Christian Campagnuolo and Jen Campbell, the design work of Tim Connor, and the production/printing by Balmar (all donated), we would have 1,700 bookmarks to distribute to every elementary student in Newtown.
Imagine this folded in half and laminated.
On 2/2, I spoke with Yvonne for the first time. She did not remember my message from 12/22; I did not expect her to. She was in the middle of an unenviable flurry of far more pressing issues.
It was so lovely to discover that Yvonne was as enthusiastic and easy to work with as Isabel. The three of us conferenced and refined the schedule I had proposed.
Then came Hurdle #4.
And this hurdle had a name.
On 2/8 into 2/9, the monster storm Nemo blanketed Connecticut.
Yet 2/8 was a Friday, and Yvonne had the foresight to set up the assembly the day before in case school was canceled—which, of course, it was. No matter, that meant that everything would be ready to go Monday morning.
Except we didn’t expect Hurdle #5.
On 2/10, as I was en route by bus from Maryland to New York (and literally a minute after I realized I had forgotten the flash drive with the master PowerPoint presentation on it), Yvonne emailed to warn me about the potential for a Monday school delay or even cancellation due to predicted icy conditions. Compounding the risk: Nemo was so big that, two days after, some streets were still unplowed (including the street of at least one participating author).
At about 5 p.m., as I was en route by train from New York to Connecticut—so close—Yvonne called with The News: school was indeed canceled.
I felt like the train had evaporated from under me.
When Sunrise Elementary School in Aurora invited me in the fall of 2012 to do an author visit on 2/8/13, I was surprised and (as always) flattered and excited—but also a bit worried.
I told my kind host, librarian Susie Isaac, that my latest book is about Batman and asked if, under the circumstances, it would be insensitive to bring it up during my presentation. Mind you, I am not one who shies away from having tough conversations when situations call for it, but this was different. I was not about to risk upsetting young people in a grieving town.
Susie was as cheerful as the name of her school. She assured me that I could speak freely. None of their students had been directly affected by the tragedy and the Batman connection to it, she said, did not taint their enthusiasm for the Dark Knight.
That dynamic alone would make for a memorable visit, but amplifying that, Susie went all out to pump up the kids for my arrival. I would say that she prepared more than any other school in recent memory.
She ran a contest for the students to design their own superheroes (complete with backstories) and decked out the library with their creative submissions.
And she shared my books with the kids, who then welcomed me with great gusto.
Before I presented, I was interviewed on the students’ morning news show. One student announced that there were no birthdays that day. Oh, but there was. Bill Finger was born on 2/8. Adding even more poignancy, Bill Finger was born in Denver. Speaking of poignancy...
Of course this visit had the same purpose as any I’ve done: motivate, educate, entertain. Yet as I was trying to deliver on those goals, I was grateful to be able to privately mourn strangers in their own community, strangers I may have been particularly drawn to because of the movie they were watching when their lives were senselessly cut short. It was a movie about a hero who shuns guns. (And adding another level of cruel irony to the Aurora tragedy, I learned that one of the teachers at Sunrise had been a student on that devastating day at Columbine.)
Thank you, Susie and the students of Aurora, for inviting me to experience a positive new Sunrise.
My second time at the Colorado Council International Reading Association has surpassed the first. What some participants have called the best state IRA conference in the country gets such praise due to a strong selection of sessions, fun staff, fun attendees, fun authors, and a fun location. Special props to conference chair Mary Jo Ziegman for pulling this off with efficiency, sincerity, and a sense of humor.
I was born for this year’s theme, Heroes for Literacy. You could walk barely five feet in the hotel lobby without coming across a superhero-themed sign or other decoration.
I was heartened by the reaction to my two sessions; enthusiasm, appreciation, no nodding off.
Though I feel like I know author Chris Barton well, this was only my second time hanging out with him in person (first time was in 2009). Luckily, next time I will see him will be far sooner than four years—or even four months. We’re on panel together at the International Reading Association Convention in April.
At my first CCIRA, I came away with Alan Katz as a friend, and he was here this time as well. Adding to the mix was Gordon Korman, whom I’d not met before. One night, a lively group of teachers from Colorado asked the three of us for our signatures…on ketchup bottles. I suppose that is a bond for life in all directions.
On 2/6/13, I visited my first Denver school since Bill the Boy Wonder: The Secret Co-Creator of Batman has come out. I single out Denver because it is the city in which Bill Finger was born.
My appearance at West Woods Elementary in Arvada was about two years in the making and the school was a lovely host.
One highlight was when a student asked me how I could have written as many books as I have when I'm only in my "thirties or twenties." Forty-year-old me said "Some are short." Another was when a student hand-delivered a string-bound pile of handmade thank you cards from her class maybe an hour or so after their presentation ended. A third was this line from one of the cards: "One thing that I will remember [about your presentation] is that even if you are crazy nervous, that you don't let it stop you." A fourth was a line from another card: "Your presentation was as golden as the sun." So were you, West Woods, home of the wolves and the very cool gym wall painting.
Twice in back-to-back columns, “Comic Book Legends Revealed” at Comic Book Resources covered revelations that came out of Bill the Boy Wonder: The Secret Co-Creator of Batman.
He died in 1974 with only one child, who himself died in 1992, and as far as most in comics knew before I began my research, this was the end of the Finger bloodline. Yet F is for Finger…and false. I found his lone grandchild, a granddaughter born two years after he died. For more on this debunked myth, check out these posts and the book itself.
Each post generated some lively discussion in the comments section. And though it may not seem so at first, these two legends are linked. How this may play out is still on the horizon.
School Library Journal ran an article whose title rivals Bill the Boy Wonder: The Secret Co-Creator of Batman for number of syllables (but has one more colon!): “On the Radar: Top Picks from the Editors at Junior Library Guild: Picture Book Biographies for Older Readers.”
I’m honored that Bill made the list, and the distinguished company amplifies that honor.
This is an interview with Dean Badolato, who was friends with Bill Finger’s first wife Portia and their son, Fred, for twenty years. What was Portia’s opinion about Batman?
Portia respected all serious and legit art and artists. As [for] Batman, I know she was amused at the huge culture that it created. She probably thought it was pretty lightweight compared to the serious literature she enjoyed (she was an avid reader). Gore Vidal and Truman Capote are two authors she admired. She really loved Vidal’s Burr. She also read Mary Rennault’s series of books about ancient Greece like The Bull from the Sea.
Did Portia tell you any stories about Bill’s work on Batman?
I don’t recall anything too specific about Bill and his work on Batman.
Did you spend any time with Fred? If so, what was he like?
Fred returned from Oregon shortly after the explosion of Mount St. Helen’s. He had become quite a good upcoming nouveau chef. With wife Bonnie, he had opened and run a restaurant, I believe near Portland. He had sired a child, Athena, with Bonnie; at that time, I am not sure if Bonnie and Fred had split up yet. But their marriage did not last and Freddie was interested in opening a new restaurant in New York.
He worked at a couple of high-end restaurants as chef and we sampled his work on several occasions. He was really talented and would have competed well, I believe, with the most successful of today’s chefs. Not surprising since Portia was herself a great home cooker and we often were treated to suppers at Portia’s with fantastic, simple but excellent cuisine. She turned me on to really dark strong French roasted coffee! Also, Freddie and Portia would enjoy seeing us perform when we were lucky enough to be appearing in shows. Fred was a great guy who loved his family; a gentle kind of guy and quite hardworking.
Portia had friends in the gay community and Fred was gay himself. Which came first and do you think one affected the other?
Can’t really say which came first. Probably both evolved at the same time.
How did Portia respond to Fred’s homosexuality?
This is a really difficult one to answer. I believe Portia really wanted the very best for Fred in terms of having a loving, productive family life with the usual components of mom, dad, kids, etc. I think she felt he might have been able to have that kind of life, but at the same time she may have also realized that Freddie was living a gay life and actually seemed to be quite happy. There is a real paradox of thought here because Portia was a very liberal and progressive-thinking human. She also deeply believed in psychology and psychiatry and had a very important therapist in her own life. Despite this fact, I think she felt with a lot of hard work, Fred might have been successful in living a more conventional straight life. I know nevertheless that Portia loved and adored Fred, straight or gay, very much.
How did you find out that Bill died? If you were around Portia at that time, what was her reaction to Bill’s death?
This is a bit eerie: I hardly remember Bill’s passing because Portia barely mentioned it. In 1974 [the year Bill died], I was touring with the DC ballet, but I know she had no service. Honestly, I can say she never really felt good about the man (he had done some really crummy things to her friends) and I believe she felt that he was less than an ideal dad to Fred.
What happened with Portia and Fred after Bill died in 1974?
As far as I know, Fred and Portia’s life did not change much at all after Bill’s death.
How did Fred come to get some kind of royalty from DC Comics?
I’m pretty sure that when Fred returned from the west coast after Mount St. Helen’s blew, Portia urged him to go to DC Comics and let them know who he was and that he deserved royalties. I remember Portia saying that they had given a small token payment of about $500 but that was it. I never heard of any other payments going to the family.
What did Portia think Bill’s legacy should be?
Honestly, Portia never spoke of Bill in regards to a legacy. She always assumed that the truth would probably never be known. But she did know that he was indeed the real creator of the character. I’m telling you she was really, really angry at Bill for things he did.
Are you still in touch with anyone else who knew Bill or Portia?
I am in touch with Portia’s very, very, very favorite and dear friend, Shirley Hendrick. Shirley is well into her 90s and in an assisted living situation. My brother and I [recently performed] a dance concert for her and the other residents. Shirley was a brilliant oil painter and fast friends with Portia and family. Shirley has two sons, Vern and Gregory, who also knew Fred and the family. The two families lived close to each other in Manhattan and vacationed in the same Pocono area in the summers.
What do you do for a living?
I am a professional director/choreographer/performer, a lifelong career.
Have you seen any of the Batman movies?
As a kid, I followed Batman, like all the other kids. I’ve not seen the recent movies. At the ripe old age of 60, that stuff is quite honestly old hat for my taste. The stuff I saw Heath Ledger into when he played the Joker made me really, really sad. They went way too far into darkness for my tastes. I have a feeling Batman was a lot better in its earlier incarnations than today’s. I’m so sick of the massive violence in almost all the current cinema ventures today. We have enough violence in our real neighborhoods.
If you have seen my book, what was your reaction to it?
Anything else you’d like to share about the Fingers?
It was an honor and a gift to be a part of the Fingers’ lives. Portia was an incredible teller of tales and an educator of life’s lessons like no one else. She was full of love of life and art and joy and beauty. It was heartbreaking to see her and Fred struggle throughout their lives to make ends meet when they legitimately were deserving of so much credit and financial reward for the contributions to America’s (and the world’s, for that matter) popular culture that Batman made and continues to make to this day.
Thank you, Marc Tyler Nobleman, for caring enough to share with the world this most interesting and unusual story.
In August 2012, after I’d appeared on NPR for Bill the Boy Wonder: The Secret Co-Creator of Batman, I received the following (excerpted) message on Google+ from a man named Dean Badolato:
I was a very close personal friend of Bill's wife Portia Finger and their son Freddie. I knew them from 1970 until they both passed around 1990. I knew through Portia her husband's involvement with Batman but many others neither understood nor believed her story. I am actually quite moved that the truth is out and although the Finger family is no longer with us to share this event, it is still wonderful that justice will lie with the written word. I am so proud to know that someone cared enough to write the truth!
It had been a while since I had “found” anyone “new” connected to Bill Finger—though technically this was him finding me. Either way, I was excited anew. And even though the book is out, I (of course) asked Dean if I could interview him.
In agreeing, Dean wrote “My only regret is that you did not come along 25 years ago when the Fingers could really have used you!”
How did you learn of my book on Bill Finger?
I learned of your book about Bill Finger listening to your NPR interview; I heard you speaking about Bill Finger about whom I thought no one knew anything!
What was your reaction upon learning that someone wrote a book on Bill?
Having been a close personal friend of his wife and son for almost 20 years, I was completely blown away (actually, I almost fell out of my loft bed!) by the news of a book about the real creator of Batman, Bill Finger.
Why did you reach out to me?
I knew through Portia the story of Bill being the original “ghost” writer of Batman and I wanted you to know that I could corroborate all the data I heard on the radio interview and to say what a great thing it was [for you] to have written this book. Being a lifelong theatre/dance artist, I know what it is like not to get credit for work one has created or even helped create in the early stages of a project. And because it [has been] more than 20 years since Portia and Freddie [have] graced our world, I thought it was fantastic that Bill the Boy Wonder had come along.
Did you ever meet Bill? When and how did you meet Portia?
I never met Bill; he and Portia had divorced by [the time] I met her in the summer of 1971 at the old Roosevelt Hospital in New York. I and a large group of professional-level dance students had just arrived from Chicago to make our fortunes in New York. One of our group, Bill Gatewood, happened to be recovering from a diabetic incident and Portia happened to be in the same hospital awaiting surgery for a stomach hernia. While visiting Bill [Gatewood], I met Portia, who had befriended Bill as he recovered. Soon Portia and many of our crowd were friends.
What was Portia like?
Portia was highly intelligent, literate, and liberally minded. She loved the fine arts: painting, sculpture, literature, and especially dance—and especially classical dance. [My group] were serious ballet performers (I performed for the American Ballet Theatre, Joffrey Ballet, and National Ballet of Washington DC; my brother a choreographer and featured dancer for the Metropolitan Opera of New York).
Dean in 1977 (and in the air)
Being a lifelong resident of lower Manhattan, Portia was always concerned with state and city events and had a large circle of varied and interesting characters in her life.
She also was the first person of Jewish heritage to educate young naïfs as myself of the realities of the European Holocaust of WWII in a personal and firsthand account from someone who lost untold family members and was hip to all the political realities of those times. She was an avowed atheist who couldn’t possibly accept the notion of a caring God who could allow such profound atrocities to be carried out on so many innocent people. As we used to say in the old days, Portia was a really “heavy” person (and I don’t mean weight-wise); [she was] profoundly concerned with righteousness and justice in society with equal rights for all.
What did Portia tell you about Bill?
I think Portia felt it necessary to share Bill’s story with us. She told us how he had been the original ghostwriter (using her words here) of the series and that he, she, and Freddie had never up to that time received a penny of royalty or residuals from DC Comics. She described [Bill as] a brilliant and creative thinker but [one who] never stood up for himself and never demanded proper compensation for his work. She also told me personal information about Bill and her marriage which I will only say was difficult. Bill was not good with money, alcohol, or, quite honestly, fidelity.
Did Portia see a difference between Bill as a man/husband and Bill as a writer/creator?
I can only guess. My gut feeling is that she wouldn’t differentiate the two because I think she would have felt that what you are as a person is only going to reflect who and what you are as an artist.
