A tale from a Comic-Con past, with James Warren and Verne Langdon

Comic-Con.

It’s almost here. And it’s not just for your average comic “geekdorknerd” anymore.

As this article notes, the annual “gathering of the masses” isn’t just about comics. It hasn’t been for years. It’s a multi-media mecca of obsession for those willing to brave crowds no reasonable person would consider in order to do and be and experience what they love.

And those crowds will begin to rain down on beautiful San Diego, California in a few short weeks. Matter of fact, many of the CliqueClack staff will leave their cushy, comfortable, opulent, air-conditioned offices to venture down to “America’s Finest City” to take part in all the hoopla and fanfare and revelry.

Mind if I tell you a little story of what makes Comic-Con special to me? Come on … follow along:

The gentlemen in the photo above are none other than James Warren, left, and Verne Langdon, right. (I’ven’t a clue who that smilin’ bonehead is in the middle of the two.) Passing by in the Comic-Con autograph area one year I spied Mr. Warren, the publisher of the iconic Famous Monsters Of Filmland, THE monster magazine of old I frequented as a youth. (It’s since been resurrected, launching last year with ticker tape glee during the 2010 Comic-Con.) I had to meet him. He was, after all a hero of mine.

While patiently waiting in line for half hour with a gaggle of goofballs toting scads of magazines for Jim to sign, a security chick came sauntering along handing out one dollar bills. She explained they were from Jim himself — seemed he was concerned about the long wait time everyone was experiencing to say hello and he wanted to show his appreciation.

As I finally got up to the front of the line another 30 minutes or so later, the first person I came into contact with was Verne Langdon. I hadn’t seen or met him previously. Verne was the creator of all those spiffy rubber monster masks that graced the Captain Company ads in the Famous Monsters magazines. What a thrill! I remembered reading ogling those Dracula and Frankenstein monster masks as a kid, but didn’t have the funds to afford them.

Welp … up I went to meet Verne. He was gracious and warm and full of piss and vinegar, a big bear of a guy who was genuinely thrilled to be there. I told a quick story about reading Famous Monsters in my youth and he took the time to hang on my every word considerately. He was touched his creations had left such an impression. Afterward, I asked if I could get a photo with he and Jim once I was done talking with the both of them. “It’s expected!” he cried.

I moved on to Jim Warren, extended my hand eagerly, introduced myself and told him: “Mr. Warren, I have two things to tell you …”

Unexpectedly, he got up out of his seat, leaned over the table toward me, put both his hands on my shoulders grandfatherly-like, looked deeply into my eyes and asked with a smile: “Are these going to be long stories?” I chuckled and assured him they were not.

I told him Famous Monsters was a forbidden read in the Noble household those oh, so long years ago, but I snuck them in my room having clandestinely purchased them at my local 7/11 during lazy summer days. And I read them voraciously, I told him. I remembered his name plastered on every single issue; who was this guy who published this wonderful magazine? So, to be able to meet him face to face, pump a little flesh and tell a tale of my youth … well, it was a thrill.

I mentioned I’d been to tons of conventions over the years and not once — never, ever, ever — had anyone handed ME money to wait in line to get an autograph. It was always the other way around. “So … what’s the deal?” I asked. “Why were dollar bills handed out in your name while we were in line?”

He regaled me: “Let me tell you something: All those artists and celebrities who charge outrageous amounts to scrawl their autographs and whip out a sketch? They’ve forgotten who it was who made them famous in the first place. I’m thrilled to have you come up and grace me with a request for a John Hancock or to snap a picture. You, sir, are MY fan … and you are the reason I’m here today and able to pass out a few measly bucks.” He smiled hugely.

I thanked him for his time and consideration, shook his hand warmly once more and told him I definitely wasn’t leaving without a photo of he and Verne and I if it was copacetic with him. He insisted and said I wasn’t going anywhere until that happened.

Around the table I went. I told Verne to keep seated (he was severely handicapped, in a wheelchair and it was difficult for him to stand) but he wouldn’t hear of it. I helped him up and, while doing so, Jim stood on the chair he was sitting in to let everyone know who was boss of the soon-to-be photograph. I turned to put my arm ’round him once I’d assisted Verne and immediately doubled over in laughter at my childhood hero standing on a chair next to me. Dude had some theatrics to give. The result is the photo you see above with me still laughing.

It was one of the defining moments at a Comic-Con for me, noteworthy even today in that Verne Langdon has since passed on. (He died earlier this year.) Jim even forced me to whip out that dollar bill so he could scrawl his name on it.

So … those crowds? The hustle, the bustle? The spectacle? The invasion of San Diego that takes place every year at this time? If you’ve never been there, never been to Comic-Con, you don’t know what you’re missing.

It’s not just about the comics. It’s about your inner geekdorknerd.

Clacked by Michael Noble
on Jul 07, 2011 @ 12:00 EST5EDT