I had two comics-related dreams this morning. I'm not sure why, as those dreams are usually sparked by something that happened in real life, such as a conversation with someone I used to know in the old days, or discovering the news of the death of a friend. (As opposed to my SF-related dreams, which seem to pop up unbidden, as anyone who follows this blog already knows). Whatever the reason, they seemed interesting to me, which means that now you're going to have to suffer.

In the first dream, I was on a panel about mainstream coverage of the history of comics. I was with others behind a table up on a stage looking down at the audience. Also in the dream were Jim Warren (former publisher of Creepy, Eerie, and Famous Monsters of Filmland), Jim Steranko (the groundbreaking artist of Nick Fury, Agent of S.H.I.E.L.D. in the late '60s and early '70s), and John Verpoorten (Production Manager of Marvel Comics when I was on staff there from the mid- to late '70s). Oddly, we were not the ages any of us could have possibly been at the same time in reality. Warren was the age he would have attained in real life now, Steranko was the age he had been in the mid-'70s, and Verpoorten was the age he would have been in the late '60s, a look I only know from photographs of him.

I spoke on the reasons why stories about comics in the mass media are so often flawed. This is what I'd said, which I scribbled down immediately upon waking: "The person who can get it done can only get it done wrong; the person who could get it done right can't get it done at all." Usually, the statements I make in dreams that seem to make sense in sleep make no sense in the light of day, but this one seems to have some truth to it. What I meant by this was that most writers either have the connections to get the assignment or the background knowledge, but not both.

As the panel broke up, I looked down and found a wallet. It turned out to be Steranko's. After I returned it, I looked down again and found another wallet. This time, it was Verpoorten's. I returned that one as well. Then I looked down to find yet another wallet, but before I could return it, I woke up.

In the second comics-related dream this morning, I was hanging out with Paul Levitz (currently the president and publisher of DC Comics) in a Brooklyn apartment I'd lived in during the late '60s, a place Paul had never visited in real life. We were poring over old comics that featured the Legion of Superheroes in their first appearances. Paul looked the way he had when I'd first met him at comic conventions in the early '70s. I told him that I figured the Legion was his favorite series. (He did end up writing it, after all.) I also said that even though as a kid I'd been a Marvel fan rather than a DC fan, I always had a soft spot for the Legion.

Then the dream jumped to now. I was paging through a Flash comic, one consisting entirely of many consecutive full-page splashes and double-page spreads, showing him accelerating and and continuing to get faster and faster and faster. The book (which looked nothing like any real-world issue of the Flash) had been drawn by Ross Andru and Mike Esposito. I called over Irene (my wife, remember?) to show her the book, but I woke before I could share it with her.

Such is my dream life. (Or at least the part you get to hear about.)

The latest issue of the weekly Variety brings belated news of the death of Werner Groebli, who died back on April 14 at age 92. That name is probably unfamiliar to you, as it was to me. But you might recognize, as I did, the identity he took on in the '30s, when he entered show business and needed to spare his family the embarrassment of his taking part in such poorly regarded profession.

Groebli, an ice-skating wizard, dubbed himself Frick, while Hansruedi Mausch, his partner, named himself Frack, and as the team of Frick and Frack they became world famous, both as superstars of the Ice Follies and in films such as Let's Dance and Silver Skates. Groebli performed more than 12,000 times (both with and without his partner) from 1939 through 1981.

But there's more to the story than that, as some of you may have already realized, just from hearing those assumed names. For not only did the team turn into skating legends, but their names entered our language, becoming synonymous with any two people so alike as to be indistinguishable, a phrase I still hear in use today, though likely by people who have no idea of its origins, and also usually in a disparaging manner. (The phrase almost missed its chance to enter the lexicon, however, as Groebli and Mausch first thought of calling themselves Zig and Zag.)

So even though Werner Groebli is dead, Frick lives on as one half of a figure of speech!