June 28, 1991
This column usually serves as a forum for opinions (just as a lark, they’re usually my opinions, since I’m the only one around to consult when I’m writing it) but because of my plugging of the heavily advertised, and subsequently dismantled, Chicago Comic Book and Science Fiction Expo, I feel constrained to go into some detail as to what the heck happened. To help mitigate the disaster somewhat, I will also include a portion of a very amusing letter to serve as the entertainment portion of our package.
I was contacted two months ago by a retailer friend of mine in Chicago, Lee Tennant. Lee told me of a convention that was being put together by an organizer who had run, not too long before, a convention featuring Adam West (and, as an aside, I’ll mention that the most depressing thing I ever saw was at a convention with West several years back when he was parading around on stage in the Batman costume. It will horrify Don and Maggie, but when the original series aired, I was at an age where I didn’t realize just how dementedly dumb the program was. In our home, on Wednesday and Thursday nights, there would be the irritated of young Peter saying angrily, “Daddy, stop laughing! This is serious!” Adam, if you’re reading this–don’t do the costume bit anymore. Burt Ward has it on a hanger next to him as a display when he talks. That’s the dignified way to go about it. Julie Newmar, on the other hand, parades around on stage in a skimpy bathing suit, which is not dignified, but definitely a crowd pleaser. Boy, am I getting off the track here…)
Now I had promised myself that, in cutting back on my convention-going (as we roll into the summer and later months of my wife’s pregnancy) I was only going to attends cons I had already gone to in previous years, or conventions being run by friends. Lee, as noted, fit the latter category. After what happened, I think I’m going to be deep-sixing one of the two conditions, and you can guess which one.
I didn’t know the promoter from a hole-in-the-wall, but Lee swore that he was going to be keeping a wary eye on him, and also asked for my help in obtaining other guests. I managed to rope in Dale Keown, George Perez and Larry Stroman, not to mention Bill Mumy and Miguel Ferrer when Mark Hamill canceled out (the force obviously being with him), all of whom I publicly apologize to now for having gotten their names associated with this thing.
Everyone else was having their airline tickets mailed to them, but me, genius that I am, bought my two tickets out of pocket since (a) there were specific flights I wanted to get and (b) my wife was coming with me and I wanted to get decent seats–you want to make sure a six-month-pregnant woman doesn’t get squished into a middle seat. The money from the convention to reimburse me was supposed to show up ten days before the convention.
Then it got trimmed to seven days, and then five…
By this time my spider-sense was tingling and, sure enough, three days before the convention–and me with my nonrefundable airline tickets sitting on the shelf–Lee called to inform me that the convention had died.
I say canceled. They say postponed. I’m sorry, no. The San Francisco/Oakland World Series was postponed. The Chicago Comic Expo was canceled. If they manage to get their act together and stage it again a couple months later, more power to them. Just don’t expect to see me there.
The reason, I was informed, was that ostensibly the credit line with the bank had suddenly evaporated. Allegedly, the promoter went to the bank to draw the checks that would pay for the air tickets, speakers fees, etc. And he was informed by the bank that, apparently due to spill-over from the S&L difficulties, the bank had lost its line of credit. That there was suddenly no more money to be had.
Is it true? I don’t know for sure. It’s not impossible, but it’s curious. At best, it shows an appalling lack of planning on the part of the promoter, who waited until the very last minute to obtain funds that abruptly weren’t there. At worst, it’s…well, since I can’t prove it, it would be libelous.
What I am positive of is that Lee Tennant was caught as much by surprise as anybody, and that he was dealing with everyone–dealers, guests, everyone–in good faith. He worked for two months on the convention without any compensation at all, the money he was promised going the way of my airline fare.
So there I was with the nonrefundable plane tickets and babysitters lined up for the weekend. Deciding “What the hëll,” Myra and I went to Chicago anyway. The Cubs had the discourtesy to be out of town (and I’m not interested in the Sox), but we wound up spending two days retracing all of Ferris Bueller’s steps during his day off (although I wasn’t quite sure of exactly where he lip synched “Twist and Shout,” a moment that is Matthew Broderick’s film career highlight. And by the way, has anyone ever met a real person named “Ferris”?)
Also, to try and salvage something of the weekend from a fan point of view, I did a personal appearance at Lee’s store from 3 to 5 on Saturday, along with Chuck Fiala. Granted, three days notice isn’t a lot of time to beat the drums, but since Lee had people stationed at the convention center informing frustrated con-goers of the cancellation, and also of the signing at the store, I thought we might pull in a few people.
Another great David incorrect thought. At any given time, Chuck, Lee and I outnumbered the number of people in the store coming for autographs. Maybe seven showed up in all. That was a lot of fun.
So the moral of the story is…oh hëll, I don’t know. Don’t do conventions anymore? That’s no fun. No, the moral is, get it in writing, or don’t do it.
And now for the entertainment portion of our program. Scott Haan of Lafayette, Indiana, writes with high praise for my work which he then characterizes as “brown nosing” but I would prefer to think of as mature critical sensibility. He then proceeds to inform me:
“The real reason I wrote was to give you the inside scoop on a brand-new line of Marvel Action Figures! All of them have incredible super action moves…Here are some of the figures you’ll be seeing:
SHE-HULK–Squeeze her legs and she rips up all your X-MEN comics. Pull her legs apart and she knocks your teeth out.
PHOENIX–Takes a licking and keeps on ticking! You can shoot it, drown it, blow it up, or send it into the future–nothing works! It just keeps coming back!
VISION–Squeeze his legs and he becomes completely intangible! Squeeze his legs again and…uh…well, I guess this one needs some work.
SCARLET WITCH–Squeeze her arms together and your chair will fall apart! Warning–Do not use this toy in households with small children. They have been know to mysteriously disappear, as if they never existed!
ALICIA MASTERS–Pull a lever on her back and she walks into walls!
WOLVERINE–with cat-neutering action swipe! ‘Nuff said!
KINGPIN–When you’re not home, he raids the fridge and unmasks your Daredevil action figure.
Talking BLACK BOLT–Pull the string on his back and he will say one of twelve exciting phrases, each one guaranteed to cause your house to groan, shake and eventually collapse! If you’ve always wanted to hear Black Bolt say “Here’s another 55-gallon drum of shampoo, Medusa!”, “Where are we now, Lockjaw?”, and “Mom, Maximus is hitting me again!”, then this action figure is for you!
WATCHER–This one’s pretty creepy. He just stands there and watches you. Never says a word. Just…stares.”
For that appropriately bizarre list, Scott Haan earns an honorary position on the Intrepid But I Digress Writing Staff, a distinction for which entitles him to absolutely nothing. Then again, why should he be different than the rest of us?
Peter David, writer of stuff, was also chastised recently by one Ms. H. MacDonald, my erstwhile “Monster Mash” back-up singer, whose name I spelled “Mc” rather than the correct “Mac.” Basic journalism is that you should always get name spellings correct. Sorry about that, Heidee.
• 
Thirteen years later, an answer to a question:
Yes, I know someone named “Ferris.” And he wasn’t named after the movie.
I’m reminded of the old joke about the Human Torch figure when it was first announced. “Really flames on… but you can only do it once.”
I really appreciate the recent postings of BIDs. Thanks!
Brian
My main activity in con-dom, outside of appearances at Dragon*Con, has been publicity director for gaming cons in Orlando. I have made one thing clear to everyone who has “great ideas” for publicity. It is a slogan learned, with great difficulty, in my job at a TV station.
The rule: If you lie to your customers, you may get them in the door – once. Never again.
Simple rule, but it has implications. You always put “scheduled to appear” with guests, and you say “appearances subject to availability.” You never, ever print anything until the entire staff reads it and agrees this is what they want said.
And sometimes you have to stand over the staff’s shoulders and force them to read it, and REALLY read it. They often say “That’s a real pretty lettering font, and that’s a great picture” and completely ignore that the text says “Peter David will write the life story of everyone who attends in his own blood!” Which is not what the con paid for, and not what he will do without a substantial fee increase.
You never promise anything you can’t deliver, and aren’t prepared to deliver or make good. That’s a life lesson from advertising that many newbie con organizers haven’t learned.
Hulk says, “I got a rock.” Still one of my favorite PAD lines.