The legendary Jean "Mœbius" Giraud has died.

Like many of my generation, I first encountered his incredible works in the pages of Heavy Metal. A sharp contrast to the inferior Kirby-clones that dominated American comics of the 70s and early 80s, Mœbius' organic, elegant art promised a wide range of emotional experiences from wonder to despair; hope to terror; and nearly everything in-between.

Before adopting the nom de guerre Mœbius, Jean Giraud established a reputation as a western comics artist. In 1962 shortly after his return from military service in Algiers, Giraud teamed up with writer Jean-Michel Charlier on the strip Fort Navajo. One year later, the duo created the extremely popular gritty Western series Blueberry. The pair crafted numerous stories throughout the 60s, 70s, and 80s. Following Charlier's death in 1989, Giraud assumed the scripting duties. Though surprising to many Americans, the Blueberry tales are among Mœbius' most popular creations in his native France, perhaps only second to his later collaborations with Alejandro Jodorowsky.

The Mœbius identity first appeared in 1963 for 21 strips in the satire magazine Hara-Kiri, and then disappeared for almost a decade. The pseudonym, used to differentiate between Giraud's sf/f and his other works, resurfaced in 1975, when he joined Jean-Pierre Dionnet, Philippe Druillet, and Bernard Farkas to found the comics art group Les Humanoïdes Associés. They started the magazine Métal Hurlant, the original home of Mœbius' famous serial The Airtight Garage and his groundbreaking Arzach. With these innovative selections and others, Les Humanoïdes Associés attempted to breathe life into an increasingly moribund French comics scene, increasingly dominated by America super-hero stories. The fact that the magazine enjoyed both national and international acclaim, and Mœbius became one of the most popular and identifiable artists in the world speaks to the success of their endeavors.

I could continue nattering on about his numerous accomplishments: the highly successful creative collaborations with Jodorowsky, his influential designs for movies such as Alien, The Fifth Element, Tron, and The Abyss, or that the overall look of Blade Runner emerged from the Mœbius-envisioned, Dan O'Bannion-written 1976 short story "The Long Tomorrow" from Métal Hurlant. But I will leave those details for others.

Beyond the realm of fandom, Giraud entered my own personal/professional sphere when in 1996 Mojo Press, where I served as the managing editor, published The Blueberry Saga: Confederate Gold. The black & white volume reprinted "Chihuahua Pearl," "The Half-A-Million Dollar Man," "Ballad for a Coffin," "The Outlaw," and "Angel Face," all written by Charlier and originally published between 1973-75. The short "Three Black Birds" made its English-language debut within those pages. The handsome trade paperback also included the biographical essay "The Life and Times of Blueberry" by Randy & Jean-Marc Lofficier. Topping off the excitement was the inclusion of an introduction by the incomparable Elmer Kelton. Mojo Press publisher Ben Ostrander smartly suggested the award-winning Western scribe for the job. When Kelton responded to our query that he hadn't read comics in 50 years, I was dubious that he'd accept the assignment. I was wrong and clearly he understood and even enjoyed the Blueberry tales. From his introduction: "[Blueberry] is not for the kids... except for the grown-up ones who still remember the magic to be found in a well-drawn comic strip." The Blueberry Saga: Confederate Gold, priced at the very affordable $12.95, sold extremely well, quickly becoming the best-selling Mojo Press title. The title received a 1997 Eisner nomination for Best Archival Collection.

As promotion for the book, we teamed with Dark Horse (who was reprinting other works) to bring Mœbius to the 1996 Comic Con International (aka the San Diego Comic Con). We sold many hundreds of the volume at the convention. Amazingly, Mœbius drew an illustration in each copy he signed. One such Confederate Gold is one of the centerpieces of my collection (see left).

But all of this pales against my fondest memory of Jean Giraud, the man. Each night after the show's end, Ben and I spent time at the Cuban Cigar Factory in the San Diego Gaslamp district. We'd get scotch from the bar next door and smoke stogies. Typically, it was just the two of us, but one magical night in the summer of 1996, Mœbius joined us. The three of us drank and smoked for a couple of hours while we talked about art, science fiction, and women. That evening, like so much of Mœbius' awe-inspiring creations, is emblazoned upon my psyche. He will forever live on in my mind.