My My, Hey Hey

"Rock and roll is here to stay. It's better to burn out than to fade away." Who would have guessed that Neil Young was such a fan of the Fantastic Four? Last week the comics world lost one of its most enduring stars: The Human Torch, Johnny Storm. He went out in the most noble and heroic fashion, saving his young niece and nephew from an army of insect creatures. The initial response to such events are sorrow and then almost immediate relief. Certainly Marvel Comics could not afford to simply kill off one of their original characters. Like Captain America before him, there must be some back-room corporate plot to drum up sales and then, a few issues later, resurrect him. It works for soap operas. It works for comic books.
But I had another layer of reaction: smug satisfaction. I never related to Johnny Storm. He and his cosmopolitan Fantastic Four, ensconced in their ivory tower of a headquarters, I could never connect with their troubles. This was never more apparent to me than the Team-Up stories that paired the Amazing Spider-Man with the Human Torch. I remember how crisis always seemed to find Johnny in the middle of repairing his hot rod, surrounded by chicks. Meanwhile, Peter Parker was still living at home with his aunt, living a suburban geek lifestyle that mirrored my own in many ways, but without the Spider-sense.
Johnny Storm was far too cool for school. Peter Parker slogged his way through high school and eventually college where he constantly ran afoul of deadlines and due dated that conflicted with his super-hero-ing. Johnny's chief concern seemed to be his image and, alternately, annoying his fellow teammate, Ben Grimm. For Peter, great power brought great responsibility. Johnny was put off by such talk. He was, first and foremost, a celebrity.
In the end, that's what makes his passing all the more surprising. The fact that years after I flipped the pages of a Fantastic Four comic I can still work up a lather about Johnny Storm's character suggests that it must have been drawn in fairly solid, indelible strokes. Kudos to Stan Lee and Jack Kirby for creating him in the first place, and congratulations to the current writers and artists who found a way to reconcile his bad-boy past with grown-up sacrifice. In the meantime we wait, like a trick birthday candle, for the Human Torch to flicker back to life. Until then, rest in peace Johnny Storm. At least we've still got rock and roll.