Sam Weller

Imagine, for a moment, that you are a bird or a plane or even Superman. You are flying high above north suburban Chicago. To the east is Lake Michigan. To the west is an endless circuit board of strip malls and stoplights and aluminum-sided houses.

Directly below is the affluent hamlet of Wilmette, Illinois, population 27,651. The quiet streets are pure Smallville, USA: leafy trees, putting-green lawns, kids on bikes, dogs chasing kids and the sound of ice cream truck calliopes jangling at dusk.

You swoop down through the clouds, rocketing over a stretch of 1950s-era construction—rattling the shutters on every house. The brick split-level homes creak in your wake.

Using your X-ray vision (you are Superman, after all), you peer through the roof of a house planted on a wide, sweeping corner lot. Inside this three-bedroom home, you discover a comic book wonderland.

Every room, even the bathrooms and kitchen, brims with superhero toys and comic artwork. Glass cases along the walls hold meticulously placed action figures of Superman and Batman, Spiderman and his modern nemesis Venom. Tiny plastic eyes stare out from each corner... watching. There's Wonder Woman. Here's Iron Man. Over in that corner, the Green Lantern. Everywhere, toys. On the walls are framed posters and lithographs. In the basement, a vintage Spiderman pinball machine waits for spare parts before it can clang and light to life.

Your X-ray vision exposes something in the guest bedroom closet. Things get intense. You discover, draped from hanger after hanger, superhero costumes! Spidey's and Flash's, all of their superfriends' outfits are here, all professionally sewn.

Just who owns this shrine to spandex tights, capes and muscle-bound planetary saviors? You scan the nameplate affixed to the front door. Engraved into the shiny brass placard is the name "NELSON ALEXANDER ROSS."

Here are the specifics about Nelson Alexander Ross: He's 31 years old. His credit cards and mortgage stubs say "Nelson," but his legion of fans know him as Alex. He stands a strapping 6-feet 3-inches tall. In many ways, he is a walking contradiction. He is part wholesome, all-American Man-of-Steel; part mischievous Lex Luthor. He is the son of a United Church of Christ minister, yet he swears like a motherfucker. He is dangerously honest and unafraid to piss off the masses. He often donates gargantuan sums of money to charitable causes like The Make a Wish Foundation, UNICEF and the John A. Reisenbach Foundation—a charter school in Harlem, New York.

He doesn't drink. He doesn't smoke. But he has a wicked sense of humor. He is a bona fide workaholic. And, like Batman, he is nocturnal. He works through the night and goes to bed at dawn.

And, oh yeah, Alex Ross is the biggest name in the superhero comic book business. When it comes to artists, he is the Galactus of the universe.

"For sure, Alex is the king when it comes to superhero comic books," says Eric Kirsammer, owner of Chicago Comics, a superstore of comics and comic-related merchandise. "There's no one more popular."

Ross landed on the scene in 1989. He worked as a storyboard artist for Leo Burnett, a Chicago-based ad agency, and sold work to Now Comics, a local publisher. Ross' efforts for Now Comics got noticed. Soon, he was painting "Marvels," a four-issue mini-series that re-told the origins of the superheroes in bold and new ways—from the point-of-view of a journalist witnessing the dawn of the Marvel Universe.

It didn't take very long before comic fan-boys and comic book critics were all sporting wood. Ross' style was something the medium hadn't seen before. It was as if Dr. Doom had blasted a repulser ray up the collective ass of the comic book industry.

So what sets his style apart from all the great artists of the Golden Age to the Silver Age? Why is Alex Ross any more special than, say, Jack Kirby or Steve Ditko or John Byrne or Frank Miller? For starters, every panel of every Ross book is meticulously painted with opaque watercolors.

More than one person has said this: If Norman Rockwell had painted superheroes in tights, it would have looked a hell of a lot like Ross' artwork. Ross' photo-realistic style brings mythical superheroes to life. Suddenly Superman has stubble; Spiderman's costume has a zipper; Batman's eyes have circles under them. His paintings—every last panel—are mini-masterpieces. A recent piece from his large- format Batman book, "Batman: War on Crime," sold for $65,000 at auction to a Ross fanatic in Hong Kong.

Indeed, Alex Ross is the biggest name in superhero comic books. His ascension to the throne of comic book artist royalty has been a long time in the making. Return, if you will, to those thrilling days of yesteryear. Alex Ross was born the son of a preacher man in 1970, in Portland, Oregon. Because of dad's job, the Ross clan of Clark, wife Lynette (both native Chicagoans) and the four kids led a gypsy life. Clark Ross preached in churches far and wide—from Chicago to Detroit to Portland. Eventually, they landed for a long stint in tumbleweed country. The sign on Highway 27 read: "Welcome to Lubbock, Texas."

Lynette Ross was the first to witness her son pick up a pencil and sketchpad. She was no stranger to the world of figure drawing, still lifes and story boards: she had graduated from Chicago's American Academy of Art in 1948. Later, Alex would attend the same school, now located on Michigan Avenue. He graduated in 1989.

"Alex was the fastest artist I have ever seen," says Rich Kryczka, Ross' illustration teacher at the American Academy of Art. "He was always finishing assignments ahead of time. He was good back then, but he's twenty-five-thousand times better now."

Kryczka adds that Ross has been the school's number one public relations tool. "Because of Alex, a lot of students are interested in comic books," he says. "Alex is so widely known. He's it."

But long before art school, when Alex was just 3 years old, Lynette, a fashion illustrator, saw signs of the artiste in her toddler. Little Alex was just sitting in front of the TV one day, like most kids do, but then he did something different.

"He watched a thirty-second commercial," recalls his mother. "And he drew what he saw on the commercial from memory."

And then Alex Ross discovered comic books. Ross' artwork always starts with a camera—hence the assortment of skin-tight nylon costumes hanging in the back closet of the guest bedroom. Fear not, true believer, that gold lamé Wonder Woman bustier is not a sign of a horny fetishist. It is used for professional purposes only.

Ross finds willing subjects—usually good friends, his dad, or sometimes even strangers. Depending on what he is painting, he has his models suit up in his custom-made superhero costumes and he shoots roll after roll after roll of photographs. These pictures become his reference point, and he paints from them. Ross is a research junkie. His art desk, in the living room, is covered with photos.

Rifling through these pictures, you will find a group of shots for his forthcoming Wonder Woman book—the next in his DC Comics oversized series. Ross convinced a friend's wife to dress up as the famous Amazon—star-spangled hot pants and all. In one photo, the woman assumes a dramatic pose. The picture is more than a little disconcerting, a little weird, because this might just be some suburban soccer mom pretending she's Diana Prince.

But this is how Ross works. He goes out on the streets to photograph backgrounds; he goes to hospitals and schools to snap pictures of people who will later populate his painted comic books. He spends copious amounts of time at the local library. All this pre-production work is a huge reason that Alex Ross is a huge name.

"Alex is one hell of a talent," says John Romita Sr., a founding father of the Marvel Comics Universe. Romita came to fame by drawing Spiderman in the sixties and seventies. He was also an important early inspiration to Ross.

"Alex's artwork is universally attractive," says Romita. "The difference between Alex and a dozen other guys is that his work can appeal to old-time fans and new comic fans. He manages to satisfy them both. He has a respect for the traditional and the historic, while being an innovator who doesn't disturb anything."

Tradition is a key word in Ross' vocabulary. Get him started on the artists and writers in his business who are, in his mind, defiling the mythologies of Earth's mightiest superheroes, and he might go off. Ross' loyalty to tradition in comics is wholly evident in his action-figure collection. You won't find any of the new versions of the Green Lantern or of Superman in his house. Only the original, classic costumes.

"I'm not going to honor them fucking around with icons," Ross says.

It's late afternoon and Alex Ross is sitting in a Baker's Square restaurant. Quiet, dusty sunlight falls into the room through towering picture windows. Chiming silverware emanates from the kitchen, where busboys wash and wipe forks, knives and spoons for the fast-approaching dinner crowd.

Ross orders a meal that would make Clark Kent proud: a tuna melt and a tall, chilled glass of milk. In between bites, he's talking about eighties hair-metal bands. If, like the rest of us, you puked on Warrant's "She's My Cherry Pie," be prepared. According to Ross, all things go in cycles. Hair metal will have its revenge.

But that doesn't mean his musical tastes lean toward schmaltzy power ballads performed by dudes with Aqua-Net-reinforced coifs. Yes, Ross listens to music while he paints. But he prefers film scores, hard rock, Beatles-pop, hip hop. The disc player in his house is on constant rotation.

One minute he's talking rock music, the next, he's griping about George Dubya; then, he's opining on Stan Lee, the creator of the Marvel Universe. It's this last subject that has drummed up considerable controversy. Ross is definitely, dangerously honest, even when it comes to knocking the Christ figure of the comic kingdom. A key player in the comic book field criticizing Lee is akin to a high-profile Republican dissing Ronald Reagan. It just ain't gonna happen. But truth be told, more Republicans should nail Ronnie (think Iran Contra, think arms sales, think voodoo economics). And, according to Ross, more comic book pros should be critical of Stan "The Man" Lee.

"Here's what I'm pissed off about," says Ross. "If anybody knows the name of a creator of comics, it's generally only Stan Lee. Before you know who Siegel and Shuster were [the creators of Superman], you know that Stan Lee is the Spiderman guy."

Veins in Ross' neck bulge—think Bill Bixby going green.

"Stan Lee did not create all those things," Ross says. "Stan Lee participated in all of those things. Stan Lee is the co-creator of Spiderman. There's a guy named Steve Ditko [original Spiderman artist] who isn't getting a fucking cent out of this [upcoming] goddamn Spiderman movie. That's wrong."

Ross continues: "I'm sorry to all writers in the universe, but the hard work is fucking drawing every one of those little lines. It's in the trenches and it's the grunt job."

That said, Ross tempers his comments about Lee. This is when Ross' Superman personality strong-arms his Lex Luthor. "Stan Lee is not an evil guy. He's not Mephisto. I've met him. He's a nice guy."

It is this unfettered tongue that has gotten some fan-boys in a tizzy. But Ross would rather be honest than simply play the corporate team whore.

Even still, Ross, an incomparable artist and generous donor, remains at the top of his field. His last three DC Comic efforts ("Superman: Peace on Earth"; "Batman: War on Crime"; and "Shazam! Power of Hope") have been monster sellers. Each book has illuminated the human side of the lead characters. Each story has taken a look at what each of the characters fundamentally represent. These are not your typical slugfest books. In "Power of Hope," for example, Captain Marvel must deal with the responsibilities of his great powers by giving hope to a young child who has little hope of his own.

Each book is a self-contained story that includes the origins of the characters told in Ross' inimitable style.

"These are books for all ages," says Charles Kochman, editor of the series. "The first-time reader can enjoy them along with the fans who have been reading Superman or Batman their entire life."

"The books have flown off of our shelves," says Chicago Comics' Kirsammer. With all three books, Ross has donated all the proceeds from the sale of the original artwork to charity. "His generosity is amazing," Kochman says.

The Superman book fetched $60,000, which was donated to UNICEF. The Batman art earned another $175,000 for the John A. Reisenbach Foundation. The recent Captain Marvel book, "Shazam! Power of Hope," was just auctioned off over Ross' own Website, alexrossart.com. The final earning totaled $130,000.

Sal Abbinanti, who handles Ross' Website and manages all the charitable auctions, says this of Ross: "Working for Alex keeps me so busy it's unbelievable. He's like a machine. He's got a stainless steel work ethic. He pumps out the art so fast it's incredible. It's got me working so hard sometimes I feel like a two-dollar whore."

When you ask Ross why he's given so much money away, he is nonchalant. "It just seemed to work with the concept of the books," he offers. He says that the theme of each story lent greatly to selecting the appropriate charities.

There's a tough guy kicker, though. After the next book in the DC Comics series (the Wonder Woman title), Ross says, with a straight face, that he's done with "the bleeding heart bullshit."

It's almost as if he doesn't want you to know that there is a soft, sweet jelly center to his Man of Steel persona.

But you know there is. He's quick to admit that his honest take on the comics field has gotten him in a little bit of trouble with his own industry. "If I'm gonna sit here and tell you that I'm just a big tough man and fuck it, I don't care what people say, of course I care what people say. Do I have a thick skin?" Ross asks. "Yeah, to a certain degree. But, I can always get really bothered by the idea that people are turning against me. I'm human. So I often have to be kicked in the ass and told: 'You know what? Being truthful is one thing. Your uninvited opinion... keep it to yourself.'"

But even with the opinions and the horse's mouth and the dual personalities, when Alex Ross picks up his paintbrush, he is far more Clark Kent than Lex Luthor. He is the Superman of his field. He has given more than $400,000 away to good causes. Hell, he even painted this issue's cover. How's that for a superhero? (2001-04-19)

Also by Sam Weller

THE BATTLE OF MIDWAY
The South Side's convenient and even charming little airport of yesteryear has gone bye-bye, replaced by O'Hare's cranky, homely baby sibling.
(2001-03-22)

WORD ROOTS: FIRST SPARK
Ray Bradbury, for several generations now, has done what English teachers across the country have mostly been incapable of accomplishing -- he has assured young readers that it is safe to read literature. Bradbury paved a fanciful, yellow-brick road for the likes of Fitzgerald and Hemingway and Faulkner. So how did he do it? How has this 80-year-old man introduced so many to the realms of reading?
(2001-03-01)

AN OLD PEANUT
Thirty-five years later, Schulz's television special is a perennial holiday favorite. And, for any true fan of the show, "A Charlie Brown Christmas: The Making of a Tradition," is a perfect literary companion piece.
(2000-12-28)

AUTHOR VISIT
With "A Pinch of This and A Pinch of That," authors (and husband and wife) Salvino and Margo Madonna have created a keepsake treasure that belongs in every kitchen.
(2000-09-14)

YOGI'S UTOPIA
(2000-07-13)

CALL WAITING
(2000-07-13)

NIGHT MUSIC
(2000-06-29)

STATE OF GRACE
(2000-03-30)

STATE OF GRACE
(2000-03-30)

Seventies heaven
(2000-03-02)

Seventies heaven
(2000-03-02)

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