There, in the middle of the story we had so carefully worked out, was a nut on some sort of flying surfboard.

"Okay," said I, ever calm and reasonable, ever willing to give the other guy the benefit of the doubt. "Obviously your mind was wandering when you drew this irrelevant little bit of whimsy. How long will it take you to erase it?"

Securely ensconsed behind his ever-present cigar Jack gave me one of his famous Kirbyesque glares. "No, I wasn't kidding when I drew 'im, Stan. I just figured a guy as powerful as Galactus oughtta have his own personal herald, someone to fly around and find planets for him to gobble up. So that's who he is. I gave him the flying sufboard 'cause I'm tired of drawing spaceships.

Well, the more I looked at the figure on the flying board, the more I liked him. But I realized something that perhaps Jack himself hadn't been fully aware of. I detected a nobility in the way Jack had drawn him, a feeling of worthiness, ofgoodness, of - I might as well say it - of spirituality. As drawn by the genius of Jack Kirby, he was far more than merely some goofy stooge for the main super-villain. To me, he was honor and virtuepersonified. And that was the way I knew I had to write him!

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