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The Charismatic Life and Tyrannical Times of Victor Von Doom, Esq. (Part One)
The one, sole Marvel Comics villain who maybe -- just maybe, mind,
now -- could take on DC's the Batman.
And win. 
The ruthless and calculating ruler of men known as Doctor [Victor Von] Doom made his first appearance in the classic "Prisoners of Doctor Doom" [FANTASTIC FOUR #5; June, 1962; Jack Kirby, creator and storyteller; Stan Lee, scripter], in which The Bad Doctor attempted to rid the world of a certain meddling spandexed and super-heroic foursome by sending them back into the distant past. This was -- plain and simple -- One Holy Heck of a Nifty Little Tale, really.
However: that's not the one I want to start out
with, here.
Where I really want to begin, this time out, is the even better "The Origin of Doctor Doom" [FANTASTIC FOUR ANNUAL #2; Summer, 1964; Jack Kirby, creator and storyteller; Stan Lee, scripter]; the legendary full-length epic during which we finally -- after years of teasing and tormenting on the part of the devious "King" Kirby, mind -- at long last discover the horrifying secrets behind Who He Is, and How He Came To Be.
Check it out: the cold-blooded and merciless
feudal baron of the postage stamp-sized European territory known as Latveria
summons a poor "Gypsy healer" to his castle, in order that the aged worthy might
endeavor to heal the baron's ailing wife (languishing, she, of a mysterious
and unnamed malady which -- from all outward indications -- smites, yet does
not wither. So: I'm thinking "mumps," maybe.)
"Why are they taking him, Boris?" a frightened and pre-adolescent Victor Von Doom plaintively wails, as the Baron's horsed henchmen drag his protesting sire away. "He has done nothing! His life has been spent in healing -- in helping the weak and helpless!"
"But he is a Gypsy, boy," the elder tribesman solemnly intones. "... as we all are! It is the price we must pay!"
Running a quickie rural diagnostic on the rasping, gasping Mrs. Baron, Daddy
Von Doom offers the following bit of homespun wisdom, by way of sunshiny prognosis: "It is hopeless! It is beyond my power to save her!" (Helluva
bedside manner, these Von Dooms. That's all I have to say; helluva
bedside manner.)
"You lie, Gypsy!" the Baron growls, in blood-chilling response. "Use your magic potions! Save her... or you'll pay with your own worthless life!"
Well, sir: with an incentive such as that in the offing, the elder Von Doom gives it the old mail-order-medical-license try one mo' once...
... but -- tragically -- the Baroness comes up juuussssst a wee little
bit short of that free plastic post-checkup toy.
"She's dead!" an anguished Baron shrieks; displaying the same keen, intuitive powers of observation that have made him a three-time champion in the annual Latverian "Where's Waldo?" Competition. "The Gypsy failed me! But he'll pay for it... with his own life!"
The Gypsy shaman, however, prefers to make his payments on the handy installment
plan. Pausing
only long enough to scoop up progeny and provender, Big Von Doom hightails it
the heck out of Dodgeski... with Little Von Doom squirming and squalling
under one brawny arm.
("Ahh, Victor," the proud and solicitous Doomero Uno croons to his offspring, at one point; "... you sound like your dead mother! She, too, feared nothing; no matter how hopeless the odds! [...] But, we shall not surrender! No matter what happens to me, they will never get you, my son! For you have a destiny to fulfill!"
That makes precisely one of them, in this particular instance; because -- mere panels later -- the Von Doom with the beard and moustache is consumptively coughing up blood and viscera, all the while wheezily imploring a grouping of fellow Gypsy sympathizers to "... heed my last words... you must protect... protect... ohhhhh..."
The tear- stricken Victor assumes his dying pere is referring to him; but one of the silent Gypsy onlookers standing nearby knows far, far better than that. ("He did not mean protect the boy! He meant that the world must be protected... from the son who bears the name Von Doom! We never told him that his mother was a mystic sorceress! And her blood runs in his own veins! I pray he never learns of his dark heritage!")
Back when your amiably geriatric Unca Cheeks was but a wee and guileless li'l
shaver, his beloved grandfather had a peculiar saying; one most appropriate
to this situation, in particular. To wit: "Wish in one hand and
spit in the other, and see which one fills up first."
A roomful of his (now) dead father's personal effects reveals to the probing Victor a long-secreted trunk, bearing the name of the unhappy lad's sorcerous dam...
... and, hey presto! We're talking serious, serious "Dark-Side-of-the-
Force," here.
Jump ahead a decade or so, and an earnest young student attending college on a science scholarship -- one Reed Richards, by name -- makes the acquaintance with a fellow Bright Young Rascal by the name of...
... well. It's not as if you all aren't three or four good-sized jumps
ahead of me, by this point.
"Well, it's none of my business," the youthful Richards
placidly opines; "... but aren't you carrying this 'mad scientist' bit a little
too far?" (Boy... if only he knew, huh...?)
To which a bristling Von Doom curtly responds, in turn [Pick One]:
A.) "Men always think that their superiors are mad!"
B.) "You're the one who wants to take a hot-rodding teenager and his barely-legal girlfriend up into space in his cute li'l homemade rocket ship, right...?"
C.) " 'Mad scientist' is a racist male European term used to disenfranchise and belittle a long-oppressed minority group! I'm a sanity challenged scientist, damn your eyes!"
D.) " 'Mad'? 'Mad,' you say? Is it madness,
then, to want to extend the bounds of scientific inquiry by getting to the bottom
of this whole 'Easter Bunny' business? Hah! Yes... hah, and
double hah!"
A little later after that, the paths of the two future foemen cross yet again when Richards takes it upon himself to (as he so charmingly phrases it) "[see] how Happy Boy is making out."
(Unca Cheeks' Historical Aside: it's a
little-known "fun fact" that the redoubtable Kirby and Lee once briefly considered
spinning off a "companion" comics series frpm the wildly-successful FANTASTIC
FOUR; specifically, a "period" title set entitled REED RICHARDS: Teenaged
Voyeur; with zany fellow adolescent funster "Vic Von Doom" doubling as his
eager cohort in Peeping Tom-ism: the cowled and acne-scarred Happy
Boy! So: now you know, then.]
In any event: the intellectually curious Richards stumbles across a sheaf or three of Von Doom's scribbled mathematical formulae scattered carelessly about ("Wow! He's been experimenting with matter transmutation and dimension warps! This is pretty far-out stuff!"); and is just beginning to get to the really cool part, re: "... the secret inter-
spatial wormhole where that @#$%ing bunny's been hiding from me, all these years," when The Man Who Would Be King of the Gypsies comes storming in.
"Listen, fellah," the always-helpful Richards offers. "You'd better double-check some of those equations! You're off a few decimals in some places, and that could mean -- "
"GIVE ME THAT!" a furious Von Doom bellows, ripping the foolscap from Richards' hands. "Now get out! Did you hear me?!? GET OUT!"
His very first collegiate temper tantrum successfully completed, the embittered monarch-to-be returns to his first (and favoritest) order of business: Going Where No Lunatic Has Gone Before, scientific discovery- wise.
One goodly dollop of wildly misplaced hubris
later: Von Doom's dorm room is messier than my nine-year-old's, and his
facial features end up resembling something off of a Denny's breakfast menu.
Fortunately, however: his cheerful and ready willingness to Work and Play Well With Others remains -- as ever -- intact. ("My face is too horrible! No other eyes must ever gaze upon it! I'll hide from the sight of mankind... somewhere... somehow!")
"And so he left!" (the following caption helpfully exposits.) "He took himself to the remote vastness of Tibet, seeking forbidden secrets of black magic and sorcery!"
(... and kindly note, if you will, all the myriad points of similarity between Von Doom's own origin and that of DC Comics' the Batman: both lost their beloved parents to wanton cruelty; both dedicated themselves to the fanatical pursuit of all-consuming vengeance, from an extraordinarily young and tender age; both roamed the planet thereafter, seeking out the knowledge requisite to thst bleak and unforgiving end; and both emotionally stunted and crippled, as a direct result of said experiences. Sure makes you wonder, don't it...?)
"Finally, he was taken in by a mysterious order of monks who had dwelled in
a lost mountain cave for centuries!" (Well... that's the beauty
of rent control, isn't it? You find a nice place; you settle in
for life.)
The friendly (if somewhat demented) Tibetan monks -- they've just got so bloody much free time on their hands, ever since Brother Maynard mislaid the canasta deck -- tart up the Doctor in a full-body cast iron pair o' footie jammies; and a waycool face mask, still piping hot from their combination forge and E-Z-Bake Oven.
("Let us know if it pains you, Master!" one of the sackclothed brethren implores, feverishly.
("Pain?" the megalomaniacal monarch sneeringly retorts. "That
is for lesser men! What can pain mean to Doctor Doom?")
(Note To the Doctor: ... well, to the overwhelming majority
of us, Doctor, it means: AAAAAAIIIIIIIEEEEEEEEEE -- !!)
As he places the still-pulsing-with-heat mask over his hideously scarred and pitted facial features, Von Doom coolly vows the following [Pick One]:
A.) "Never again will mortal eyes gaze upon the hideous countenance of Victor Von Doom!"
B.) "Actually, I'm kind of glad you cowled yip-yops heat this stuff up before slapping in onto me. This friggin' cave is one stone drafty mutha@#$%!"
C.) "Do you have this in a nice paisley? I'm just feeling like a pretty little planetary despot, this afternoon."
D.) [placing the white-hot metal face plate directly over
his features]: "Never again will mortal eyeeeeeeeeeAAAAAAAIIIIIEEEE!!
AHHHHHHHHHH!! MY FACE! MY @#$%ING FAAAAAAAAAAACE!!
AAAHHHHHHHHH! AAAAAAIIIIEEEEEEYAAAAAAH --!!"
More on the life and times of everybody's favorite metal-shod, full bore loonie...
... right here, next week.
We'll be taking a closer look at The Bad Doctor's love life... and a pivotal run-in with a certain God of Thunder.
No, no... of course they're not one and the same. You crazy,
lovable, cock-eyed degenerates, you.
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