DARIOR began on a whim in January of my plebe year. I drew a quick sketchy comic on four pieces of typing paper, using a ballpoint pen and a pencil. I soon moved to large posterboard, and then fancy artsy illustration board along with a set of technical pens for inking. Over the years, I experimented with several media and shading techniques (with varying degrees of success). By first class year I was spending about 50 hours creating each monthly installment — and that was after cajoling a youngster into doing my lettering for me.
This led to my father commenting that I may just be the only mid ever to have majored in art.
I was amazed to discover that Darior apparently made some kind of impact. Almost 10 years after graduating, I was starring as El Gallo in “The Fantasticks” in San Diego. There was a freshly-graduated ensign involved in the production, and when he found out I drew Darior, his eyes widened and he exclaimed, “Wait, YOU’RE Darior?! Oh, my God! You’re a legend!”
I have to admit, that was pretty cool.
If he was right, there may be some people even today who might want to revisit these old stories — or even some who have only heard about them and are curious. (Hope you won’t be too disappointed.)
So, anyway, here they are. Enjoy.
The Long Story (for those who care)
I had wanted to be an astronaut since I was 5. My parents thought it was cute, like wanting to be a fireman or a cowboy. But when I was 17 and hadn’t changed my mind, they got a little worried.
In high school, I had also thought about becoming a comic book artist. But comics were “make-believe” while astronauts were “real.” So naturally, I pursued the more “realistic” profession, and applied to USNA in hopes of becoming a fighter pilot.
The Academy application included something called the Strong-Campbell Vocational Interest Survey — basically about a hundred questions asking, “would you rather do A or B?” Even back then, I knew it might as well have been asking me, “Would you rather be a comic book artist or a jet pilot” — and that my answers were basically saying, “Bring on Batman.”
I was never good at taking hints. Just ask my first girlfriend.
So I sent in my application, and USNA wrote me that they had received everything — except for that survey. So I submitted the survey again. They wrote again saying they STILL “hadn’t received it.” So I did it a third time – same response.
Finally, instead of answering honestly, I gave the answers I thought they wanted. And lo and behold, THAT one they “received.”
Like I said: not good with hints.
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During Plebe Year, I learned of ‘84 classmate Jim Deihl, whom the firsties called “Doc” – after “Doktor Deal,” a character from earlier “The Log” magazines who was based on Marvel’s Doctor Doom. I later bought a copy of “The Best of ‘The Log’ Art” in the MidStore (which included a Doktor Deal episode), and was enthralled: the Naval Academy AND comic book art? I wanted to do that.
And so Darior was born.
I wish I had thought up a cooler name, though.
Darior’s first adventure was pretty silly and lame, the drawing simple. For his second story (The Hood Enchantress) I was already using large posterboard to create cleaner art. And when Darior met The Axe Board, I added a little seriousness.
That’s when Darior started to become my refuge, the creative outlet I didn’t even know I needed.
Before second class year started, I almost quit USNA. A week in Pensacola showed me that Navy pilots really are, in fact, as cocky as those guys in “Top Gun” – and I also realized that they pretty much need to be. I, however, was nothing like Maverick. I wasn’t even Goose. I was more like Rick Moranis in “Ghostbusters.”
That was when I understood that I never wanted to be Neil Armstrong or Luke Skywalker at all. What I really wanted to be was George Lucas.
Still, I stayed.
And Darior kept me sane.
After graduation, to say I wasn’t a great naval officer would be an understatement.
There’s an expression: “Keep breathing and you’ll make Lieutenant.” Well, I am proof that’s not true — I was discharged early for failure-to-promote. I probably needed that kick in the pants to start doing what I was really meant to do. I became a magazine editor, then a graphic designer and art director, while also a writer, an actor, and eventually an award-winning filmmaker. I met and married the most amazing woman in the world because of theater. All of which only happened because the Navy made sure I couldn’t make it a career.
In the end, The Universe/God/The Flying Spaghetti Monster will ultimately guide you in your true direction. You just have to be open to it.
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I had based Darior’s alter-ego Carl Pursor on myself. He looked like me, talked like me, he wanted to go Navy Air. He liked all the things I liked. Even his room looked just like mine. But in retrospect, he was even more “me” than I thought: an ordinary midshipmen on the outside, with a whole different persona inside — one with amazing powers that would lead me on incredible adventures.
In fact, now that I think about it, Carl Pursor wasn’t “me” at all — he was what I was pretending to be.
I was really Darior the whole time.
Too bad it’s such a stupid name.
— Sean Hilferty (USNA ’84)