Tagged: Kokomo

Dennis O’Neil Goes To Kokomo

Denny ONeilOut on runway number nine, big 707 set to go / But Im stuck here on the ground where the cold winds blow • Gordon Lightfoot

You’d think, after all the trips we’ve taken, that we’d know how to get to the airport on time. But this day, we didn’t. So there we were, grounded somewhere in New Jersey, while an aircraft with our names on the passenger list soared west. Obviously, we had a problem. We were expected in Kokomo, Indiana, on the following day and I didn’t want to cancel the appointment, mostly because I’ve already cancelled an appointment or two this year and breaking promises is a lousy habit to get into.

Okay, now what?

We weren’t the ones who made the reservations, so scrubbing them and getting replacements would be unusually hasslesome, even if it were possible. What then? Train? No idea if there were trains running to Kokomo. Bus? Ugh – and Mr. Greyhound might not get there on time anyway, and where the hell do you catch a bus in New Jersey? Drive? Hmm.

Fifty years ago, give or take, a girlfriend and I were sitting around a St. Louis apartment on the day after Christmas. She was a senior at Webster College and I, recently discharged from the United States Navy, was eking out a living doing an occasional substitute teaching job. I don’t know why we decided to hitchhike to San Francisco, in the winter, through unfamiliar terrain, but we did, and we made the trip with maybe 20 bucks between us. Even in 1964, that wasn’t much. But somehow, it was enough, and we survived, and returned to our sundry obligations.

I wouldn’t have recommended anyone follow our example back then and I certainly don’t now. It is dangerous out there, and I think on a freeway outside Los Angeles, we dodged what could have been a malignant encounter. But sometimes the universe is kind to the foolish, and so it was that winter day a half century ago.

Back to Jersey and the departed airplane. Was it time to again be quixotic? Drive to our engagement in Indiana? It had been a while since we’d taken a road trip – a long while – and at our age, every adventure might be the last. So before we could realize how inadvisable our decision might be, we program the GPS and headed out for the heartland.

I’m glad we did. I’ve never met nicer, more helpful people than the Kokomoans. The motel was excellent, our vegetarian meals tasty and nourishing, and the hours I spent with an audience at a local university and with fans at a convention were pleasant.

Is there a lesson too be learned from all this? I don’t know. Maybe not. Probably not. But at our age we should care?


Marc Alan Fishman Celebrates the Wee Con

Kokomo-ConAs I fully decompressed from Wizard World Chicago, I looked towards the end of the Unshaven event calendar. On it: the Cincinnati Comic Expo – competing against the Cincy Comic Con, Cincinnati Comic Con, and the Cin City Comic Massacre (I think two out of three of those are real). Then, onto the mammoth New York Comic Con, which will boast near San Diego level of attendance. And, finally, gracefully, completing at the Kokomo Comic Con, in Kokomo, Indiana. You’ll get there fast, but take it slow. Sorry, it had to be said. And with it being said, I’m elated that once again, Unshaven will return.

The show itself feels like the comic cons I only heard about from old timers (like everyone on this site minus the Tweeks, Emily, and myself, heh heh heh). It’s pop-culture D-lister, and flashy/trashy exhibitor free. In their place, small publishers (ahem), independent freelance artists and writers, comic book and toy dealers, and a great handful of truly unique artisans – like the educational toy makers Cogbots, and the Highwind Steamworks, steampunk jewelers extraordinaire. The best part? The guest of honor, one Denny O’Neil.

Perhaps I’m a bit jaded in my love for the show. I was a crucial stepping stone in introducing Mr. O’Neil (who I’ll be uncomfortable calling anything but, until perhaps we shake hands in person) to the show-runners. As Unshaven had previously been attendees at the show for four years running, we had become more than a table-fee to Shawn Hilton and his crew. I dare say we became friends. Sure, his store is always ready to stock our books. And sure, I may have ensured we got prime floor real estate for making introductions for way-more-well-known-legends, but at the core of it all, the Kokomo Comic Con and its purveyors are fans first. I respect that. Hell, I live that.

All buzz marketing aside, Kokomo Con represents something I am coming to cherish more and more: a convention that can be enjoyed in a single day; where comics and community trump blatant commercialism. Before I get too deep into that sentiment, let me make something clear: I’m not saying Wizard or Reed or the San Diego Comic Con (or whatever gigantic conglomerates exist in the comic book convention circuit) are bad for building their Frankenshows.

As a strict capitalist, Unshaven Comics couldn’t exist without them. But with this past Wizard show, there’s certainly an energy drain when you sit behind the same table for four days straight, and see an unending queue of potential customers. And those customers are always quick to denote that they “just got there”, and are “checking everything out.” Every sale is a war with their desire not to miss some unlit corner of the show before potentially returning for a purchase. But I digress.

The single-day community convention is devoid of such pretense. It exists to excite for one day, and one day alone (duh). Because of that, the attendees tend to enjoy all of the convention. There’s no need to arrive hours early for the potential of snagging that autograph by the third extra in that show you watched back in the eighties.

Even if the entirety of the Kokomo Conference and Event Center is packed to the nines with booths, a show-goer will be able to peruse everything with time to confer with every artist and dealer. The air of the show itself is that which I revert to when I think of comics and my ill-gotten youth: it’s all about discovery, discussion, and debate. Find me a swatch of NYCC floor space where someone is truly digging through a long-box for that Suicide Squad #18, and I’ll eat my beard. At the smaller shows, the fans that arrive at the door are there first and foremost for guys like me (and way more for guys like Mr. O’Neil). And while we’ll never sell as many books in a given day there versus a NecroNomiCon… the sales we do make tend to make us life-long fans in lieu of passersby giving us a pity purchase.

At the end of day, there’s room of course for both kinds of cons (and to be fair, I think the Cincinnati Comic Expo will reside somewhere between the two). But phaser to my forehead? Color me simply. The shock and awe of the major shows has worn me thin, and in their wake, I yearn for intimacy. A show where one need not shout to hold a conversation. A show where you’re invited to learn, to discuss, to debate, and to celebrate specificity. A show where you can get that cherished issue of Green Lantern / Green Arrow signed, and not have a security guard breathing down your neck to move it along. A show where a truer comic book fan may truly be themselves… all without having to drop significant coin on that selfie with the best friend of The Great American Hero.

And that, my friends, is a convention worth looking forward to.