by John Ostrander
So there I was, working on finishing up this week’s column, when I heard the news. Stan Lee had died.
I can’t say it was unexpected. The Man was 95, his health wasn’t great, but still – Stan the Man.
I never actually met him to say hello or shake his hand. The closest I came was at a convention; Kim and I were having dinner in the hotel restaurant and it turned out Stan was having dinner at a table near us. I could’ve said hello but he was eating and talking with someone. I got the shys and didn’t feel I could break in on his dinner.