Here's my professional eulogy for Len Wein:

Len was a relentlessly positive force in comics. As a fan, he was there from the beginning, coining the term 'comicon' the first time the tribe gathered in public. As a writer, he contributed new ideas to every project, even in an era when the deals for talent in the field gave no incentive to do so. As an editor, he guided work that has endured for decades. As an artist, he had a momentary career, but used his gifts for decades afterwards to design costumes, rough out logos, and guide new talents. And through it all, he took joy in the stories themselves, the artwork, even the nuance of a well-placed balloon, and shared both his pleasure and his knowledge generously. His characters will long survive him, children of a restless imagination who captured the attention of the world and made fortunes for others.

Most of all, Len took a childish glee in being loved, in his stories being remembered, and the work itself. He gloated endlessly at the idea that he could travel across the country, and in any state, have a friend (or a dozen) who he could call on in an emergency. Battling pain and illness for his entire life, he never let it affect his optimism or attitude, or keep him from writing or gathering friends around him as soon as he left a hospital bed.

There are few talents that shape a generation. Len was that to his own generation of comics professionals, and to a generation of readers. He was a rare gift to us all.

And on a personal note:

In many ways, Len and I were very different people, approaching life and work in often opposite ways. But that only served to bond us, as we shared a deep respect for each other across those differences. We collaborated in many ways: we each wrote for the other (Len doing the very first Batman limited series for me, me doing Starman with Steve Ditko for Len), me getting to dialogue stories Len plotted but was unable to finish due to illness or deadline pressures, and then there was an Elongated Man story...but that's a long story in itself. I treasure the dedication he and Marv Wolfman wrote to me, "for hitting them in the face with a fish," and the laughter he brought to my poker table. No one I know loved life more, despite what life threw at him, and I'm perversely glad that as he passed I was doing an assignment to fill in for him. He would have done it better, but I can dedicate it to him this time.