Chattacon

Originally published February 9, 2001, in Comics Buyer’s Guide #1421

I’m rapidly reaching a point in my life where it’s split pretty much dead even between the time I spent as a fan versus the time I’ve spent as a professional… well, whatever I professionally am. Since fandom is where my roots are, however, I was more than willing to go along when my fiancee, Kathleen, wanted to head down to Chattacon in Chattanooga, TN, a convention she and her siblings frequented since she was a teen. (Indeed, her brother Sean’s theme parties have become an event in and of themselves.)

However, I didn’t feel like going as “Peter David,” so to speak. Chattacon is a small, sf-oriented relaxicon… I kind I used to go to all the time, before Trek and media cons reshaped the science fiction convention scene, so that many fans perceive conventions solely as the province of actors from sf series charging huge amounts for autographs. I was more than content to simply go as a fan, which in many ways I still am.

So I went on down, and had a very nice time. I didn’t have a fake badge or anything; it simply read “Peter,” and my full name in tiny lettering in the lower corner of the badge, in case anyone was interested enough to look closely. But no one was expecting me, nor am I all that distinctive looking. An overweight, bearded, balding guy with glasses; not exactly rare as hen’s teeth at a convention. So by and large, I didn’t attract a second look, or even a first. Furthermore, we were in Kathleen’s territory, and I didn’t have to serve as much of anything other than an appendage to her, so that was a refreshing change of pace.

I had forgotten how nice a convention can be when you don’t have to be anywhere or do anything. I actually got to attend panels for the first time in ages. I could walk wherever I wished and no one stopped me, or tried to get my autograph, or gave a dámņ. Of course, given the attention span of fans and the vagaries of the industry, that’ll probably accurately describe my presence at just about any comic book or sf convention in the country, whether I’m an advertised guest or not.

Chattacon is famous (or infamous, if you will) for its con suite. This is no con suite like I’ve ever seen before. Open to all attending the convention, there is food and drink, including endless supplies of Coca Cola (this is the South, after all) and beer on tap (this is the South, after all.) One of Kathleen’s friends on the committee told me they were short on help, and did I want to fill in pouring beer behind the bar for a while. I shrugged. “Sure,” I said, in the unfamiliar position of being at a con and not having anything better to do than fill fans’ cups (mugs, 2-liter containers, etc.) with beer. So from seven to ten PM Saturday night, I poured out enough beer to sink the Titanic (or, for that matter, to keep it afloat.)

Every so often, I’d get a closer look from one fan or another, trying to figure out why they knew me, or thought they knew me. One guy looked at me curiously and said, “Are you Peter David?” “Yeah,” I said. “Why are you pouring me a beer?” he asked. “Because this is a bar and you said ‘Can I have a beer?’ What did you expect me to do?” This apparently bypassed the true crux of his question, but he didn’t seem to quite have the nerve—or perhaps enough sober brain cells—to form it.

Overall it was a nice and fun convention, with partying the most important thing (and being thankful if your room wasn’t on a partying floor being the second most important thing.) Maybe we’ll go next year. But don’t expect to hear about it beforehand.

* * *

Public Service Announcement:

Kathleen’s parents, down in Atlanta, looked at me with an almost demented glee and said, “You’re going to be her husband. So this will be one half your problem. Help get rid of them.”

What were they referring to? Kathleen’s comic book collection, which has been sitting in their basement for about three years now. They want ’em out, gone, and we sure don’t have room for them up here.

And so, for the first time in the history of this column in Comics Buyer’s Guide, I’m actually going to print something that genuinely relates to guiding people who want to buy comics. Kath wants to sell her collection, one shot. We’re talking about seven thousand books, maybe more, all boxed up. These include Uncanny X-Men signed by both Claremont and Byrne, a ton of Doctor Strange comics, a complete run of Sandman, an entire run of New Mutants and most early issues of all the mutant books (X-factor, X-men, some Lee/Kirby X-Men in OK condition), Wolverine including both the ongoing series and the mini-series, Howard Chaykin’s American Flagg, Grim Jack, lots of early Vertigo stuff, early issues of Hellblazer, early Cerebus, and tons of other stuff.

What we’re looking for is someone who’s willing to either make an offer sight unseen (sh’right) or is willing to come over to her folk’s house, check ’em out, make a decent offer, and load ’em up and get ’em out. Tell you what: I’ll sign anything in the entire lot that I wrote. (God, I hope she doesn’t have a complete run on Hulk.) Write either to the my address or the one right below…

(Peter David, writer of stuff, can be written to at Second Age, Inc, PO Box 239, Bayport, NY 11705.)