Some ideas are just too stupid not to succeed.
In early 1974, Marvel Comics Publisher Stan Lee approached Amazing Spider-Man writer Gerry Conway about giving the web-headed hero his own car. It seemed like a joke: Spidey had always got around town just fine under his own power and a few cartridges of web-fluid. What would he need a car for? Conway protested, but Lee wouldn’t hear it. Weekly reruns of ABC’s Batman television show had made the Batmobile an instantly-recognizable pop culture icon, and Marvel was understandably eager to get their slice of the super-vehicle pie. Lee left their meeting with Conway promising that Spider-Man would be given a new set of wheels for Marvel to merchandise, and the beleaguered writer set about trying to figure out how to shoehorn such a ridiculous concept into his upcoming storyline.
Conway’s Spider-Mobile eventually appeared in Amazing Spider-Man #130. Given free reign in its creation, Conway played the new vehicle for laughs. Spidey didn’t just get a car, he got a red and blue web-shooting dune buggy that could drive up walls! If Lee took issue with Conway’s creation, there’s no record of it — odds are, Lee was just happy it worked out better than his last idea for Iron Man’s nose.
Mego’s Neal Kublan initially rejected Marvel’s “Spider-Mobile” but eventually caved, reportedly stating that “…when you tell Stan Lee you don’t want to make a Spider-Car, he takes it personally.” The Spider-Man 8-inch figure was a big seller for Mego, so keeping the wall-crawler’s “dad” happy was just part of doing business. Like so many other things, Lee’s instincts proved to be on the money. Released in 1976, the Spider-Car proved a solid seller for Mego, and it helped stimulate sales of the recently released Green Goblin and Lizard figures. After all, who else was Spidey going to catch in the capture net?
Of course, six-year-old me knew none of this. All I knew was that I wanted one. Even at that age I was a certified Marvel zombie, with red and blue comic book ink running through my veins. In that fertile time before Star Wars, I was obsessed with Spider-Man. I read the comics, I watched the shows, I wore the clothes, but most importantly I bought the toys. While Marvel printed his adventures, Mego made it possible to live them, and any accessory, no matter how absurd, was going to end up on my want list. And yet, for young Anthill the Spider-Car came and went. I never owned one or knew anyone who owned one; for me it existed only in crudely hand-drawn ads in the back of comics. Like a dream the Spider-Mobile seemed real, but remained a fiction in my collection.
At least, until a few weeks ago.
I saw it from a distance, but forced myself not to run. When buying stuff at the flea market it’s best to act nonplussed, not like you’ve just discovered a childhood grail. Sun-faded, it sat on a pile of random basement debris, coated in years of filth and an unfortunate spotting of silver spray-paint. The old woman watched me from her seat on the truck’s back bumper. I picked the battered vehicle up and considered it, this symbol of (Stan) the Man’s hubris. I chose my next words carefully.
“How much for the car?”
The old woman leaned forward, craning her neck through a wreath of cigarette smoke.
“Two bucks, honey.”
Resisting the urge to click my heels together, I quickly fished two bills from my pocket and handed them over. She took the cash gladly, bundled my treasure in a tattered plastic bag and we parted, each the richer. My Mego Spidey now sits comfortably in that long-empty seat, ready at a moments notice to drive up the wall. Now I just need a Green Goblin figure for him to chase …
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