
Fortunately, I would not be responsible for transporting the new costumes. Shafton, Inc. would have them shipped directly to the Convention Center where the show was taking place several days hence. My job here was done, so I headed back to San Diego, specifically its airport, where I was to meet gal pal Audrey. She was flying in from New York to join me before my sentence portraying The Thing at ComicCon began whilst she frolicked on the sandy beaches under the sun without me (insert frowning emoticon here).


Audrey and I met Phil Valentine—our Iron Man—for breakfast before the first day’s festivities. She had met Phil previously in New York before his move to Arizona and he, too, arrived the night prior.
A bit of an entertainment renaissance man, Phil not only gigged as Spidey and friends for Marvel, but also he moonlit as Captain Planet for DiC Entertainment; wrote and mounted dinner theater productions; and oversaw promotional events for R.J. Reynolds, specifically the Marlboro Adventure Team, despite the fact that Phil did not smoke himself. As such, he often hired spokesmodels, which he managed at concerts and other events, where they handed out coupon and tchotchkes emblazoned with the Marlboro logo.

My Marvel-ous boss Alison was nice enough to get Audrey a badge to the show, and she accompanied me and Phil into the convention hall before her anticipated assault on the merchants of San Diego.
Backed up against the loading dock behind the convention center, yet accessible through the rear doors of the hall, was our dressing room: a large, four-wheeled panel truck. Well, this was a first, I thought as we approached. Two mammoth black cargo boxes lay therein; The Thing and Iron Man, I presumed. Phil and I immediately opened the containers and went about taking inventory. A mere handful of pieces made up each outfit—The Thing was a paltry five components—but it wouldn’t be the first time a costume arrived at an appearance missing a body part. And even the absence of a foot would put a character out of commission. If anything were missing in this instance, I could call David Janzow of Shafton, Inc. and have the errant piece messengered down from their North Hollywood headquarters, so the appearance could go on as planned, albeit a few hours late.

It was around this time that I realized that Alison probably hadn’t accounted for hiring an escort for The Thing and Iron Man. The problem wasn’t one of helping with the donning of the garments per se. Phil or any of the other actors would certainly help in that department. But the new costumes, which were of the oppressive, stifling sort of the Hulk suit, necessitated its users to take frequent breaks so as not to risk dehydration and collapse. The other actors would be following longer schedules, and it wouldn’t be fair to them to have to accompany The Thing or Iron Man back to the truck every 15–20 minutes to dry and cool off, never mind someone having to return after another quarter of an hour to redress and escort them back onto the floor. And without meaning to present the L.A. performers as snobs, they weren’t getting paid to baby-sit. I wouldn’t expect the New York heroes to do it, either.
Plus, there was the matter of differing jurisdictions. Phil and I were later additions to the festivities, last minute selections to provide promotional impact for the announcement of the Marvel Action Hour, handpicked and sent by Marvel’s New York headquarters. The California character actors were under the aegis of the agent hired by Marvel. Heroes we may all have been, but we were working under different management. I had no authority to order around the west coast thespians. They may as well been working for DC Comics.
Of equal, if not greater import, was the safety of the people surrounding these larger-than-larger-than-life outfits. Limited visibility plus immense size equates to knocked over displays, injured fans, or worse, crushed li’l uns. A wrangler on hand is essential to guide the actor and prevent possible disaster.

The idea of getting dressed and undressed by “that certain someone” may sound incredibly exciting, but not when said clothing is fifty pounds of stuffing. The task grew even less romantic as the day progressed and I became sweatier and riper. And each new morning started with The Thing being that much more aromatic. By day four, the costume’s interior had taken on the heady, feculent bouquet of an old unwashed mop used in the cleaning of the lavatories at Penn Station. Ah yes, these are the moments that test a couple’s fortitude.
Still, Audrey never once complained, though I could tell she wasn’t exactly giddy about her vacation being commandeered in this manner. The San Diego ComicCon is only so interesting to someone who cares little for comic books. Today, the show would offer more to the non-graphic–novel fan, what with its being usurped by the movie, television and cable industries, but in the early ’90s it was still very much funny-book–centric, certainly not the milieu of a designer of women’s active- and dancewear.

Other normally routine maneuvers, like strolling through a doorway or going from a cement surface onto a rug, were equally as challenging. The Ever Lovin’ one had to sidle through standard openings. My first attempt found me mimicking a Laurel and Hardy routine, the two getting momentarily wedged when they each try to be the first through an entrance. Only I was both Stan and Ollie rolled into one. And it wasn’t just the increased circumference of my body in the costume that made the simplest actions hazardous. Moving was akin to walking in water, and the wearer had to exaggerate the lifting of their feet in order to guarantee The Thing’s tootsies didn’t trip on the slightest shift in the terrain.
Pecularly, no one at the Marvel booth was informed of The Thing or Iron Man appearances, or at least took little stock in their presence at the booth. Queries to the various Marvel personnel as to how they might like us to schedule our visits were greeted with, “I dunno. Whatever you want to do.” The prudent reaction would have been to set up overlapping times for all the performers—so the booth was never left without at least one character—and post them, so fans would know when to stop by to get that one-of-a-kind photo of them posing with their favorite hero. It would also alleviate the Marvel staff from being inundated with questions as to when such-and-such a hero would be coming back.

As it was, Phil and I decided to time our appearances together—which made sense since we were there to promote the Marvel Action Hour, which featured our characters’ cartoons—and opposed to those of Spidey, Wolverine and Cyclops, thus keeping the booth covered throughout the convention. As four the remaining Fantastic “Three-fourths,” their costumes were the easiest to endure. They could stay out far longer than any of the characters, let alone The Thing, so their skeds didn’t necessarily gibe with that of their rock-riddled colleague.
The Thing was quite a success with the fans. My inability to hold a pen never mind sign an autograph produced a few disappointed looks. My response, though, seemed to assuage any hard feelings: “No can do, amigo… These manly mitts o’ mine are too big to hold a writing utensil. I’d probably crush it with my cosmically-enhanced strength, anyway!”


At one point, one of the Marvel staffer’s mentioned to me, while The Thing, “You should be up at the cartoon panel with the voice actors.” He was right, but because the Fantastic Four and Iron Man were unexpected guests, no one thought to include us in the presentation spotlighting the new Saturday morning animated series, which was the whole raison d’ĂȘtre for our even being at the show. D’Oh!

I soon found out the advantages to being a boisterous animated tank. People parted before me like they were in Pamplona and I was the bulls. As I strode forward roaring, “Clear out… Idol o’ millions coming through…,” I had gathered quite a following—“Thingies,” as I like to call them. Children with parents in tow and inquisitive fans trailed me like rats to the Pied Piper.
There was no way of concealing my cautious hesitation as I approached the escalator entrance. “What a revoltin’ development this is,” I announced in characteristic Ben Grimm style. “Ya’d think they’d make these things big enough for plus-size heroes!” It was a leap of faith. I couldn’t see precisely where I was placing my oversized stony hooves and my immobile hands afforded me no chance of gabbing onto the railing should I miscue. Audrey could do only so much. It would have taken someone with the size and strength of the actual Thing, to man-handle me onto the moving stairway at the precise moment. As it was, I told her to stand back when she offered to spot me. At five-foot–two and a scant hundred pounds, she would have ended up a shmear on my rocky backside had I fallen. Fortunately I hit the mark, landing my foot onto the center of the next ascending step, enough of my titanic tootsies fitting onto the stair so I wouldn’t fall backward.

“You lookin’ at my butt, Palmiotti,” I good-naturedly grunted.
“Just impressed with the outfit, Thing,” he explained.
“These? The only things I can wear,” I replied. “Made o’ unstable molecules, so Stretcho claims. Looks like I’m wearin’ a Speedo, ya ask me!”

Unsurprisingly, the security personnel simply stepped aside when I approached the presentation hall. The panel was in full swing when I burst through the doorway. “Sorry I’m late!” I bellowed. The audience whooped and applauded as I strode down the center aisle toward the raised dais on which Chuck McCann (The Thing) and the rest of the Marvel Action Hour voice artists sat.

“Thing!” the moderator announced in a surprised shout. “We were just talking with Chuck McCann, who voices you in the new Fantastic Four cartoon. Perhaps, you’d like to come up here and meet him.”
“If ya don’t mind, I’ll stay on the floor,” I answered. “The convention center doesn’t really provide stairs designed for supersized tootsies. The escalator nearly proved my undoing.”
The audience didn’t seem to mind the interruption, if the laughter was any indication, as I sidled up to the side of the platform closest to McCann. “Hey, McCann… Love your work.”
“Hey, Thing,” McCann offered.
“I gotta admit, I think of myself more the Paul Newman type, what with the rugged exterior and baby blues, but you do an admirable job o’ capturin’ that jer ner sais qwah that makes me so lovable.”
“Thank you, Thing… It certainly was a challenge.”
As much as I would have enjoyed continuing the witty repartee with McCann, I respectfully ceded the floor to the moderator and the panel resumed without further interruption, rightfully spent speaking with the guests.
The remainder of the weekend proceeded without hiccup. Audrey stood by her man throughout. I tried to make it up to her with doting evenings of romantic dinners, walks under the stars and more intelligent conversations… Oh, the conversations we had! Still, I felt badly and responsible for her losing her vacation time.
Upon my return, at the follow-up meeting with Marvel’s Personal Appearance Department Director Alison, I explained the situation. There was no blame to be given. The fact that neither Alison nor I had thought of the need for an escort was an oversight on both our parts. And I didn’t bring it to Alison’s attention with any expectation. Marvel had ponied up for the hotel accommodations and car for the entire week—what more could they do? To my surprise, she submitted Audrey’s time as an independent contractor to Accounts Payable and a few days later mi amore received a check. Sweeter still, a fortuitous by-product of Audrey’s short stint as a Marvel freelancer, she was able to join me at the company’s holiday party at the end of the year. Love certainly is a many-splendored THING!
3 comments:
That is a great conclusion to the story! No doubt you didn't let her go after doing all that for ya!
One question, you couldn't normally bring a guest to your company Christmas party?
Hi John!
I'm glad you liked the finale.
Guests were not allowed at the Marvel Christmas party--that is not unheard of--but anyone who had freelanced for the company that year was eligible to attend.
I was there for many years working the party as Spidey or one of the other characters, but this was the one and only time I was able to bring a date.
Thanks!
Best,
Vroom!
P.S. I never experienced the Star Trek ride, as you had inquired after my last posting--sorry for the delay. I take it that it was of the virtual sort?
That is correct. Part of it was virtual anyway. It started with a walk through the museum. Then a full size replica of the bridge of the Enterprise-D and photo op in Captain's chair. Then a virtual ride in a shuttlecraft that ends in a space battle over the Vegas skyline. Later on they added a virtual "Borg" ride too, although it was not completed yet when I was there. There was also a Star Trek themed restaurant and gift shop. Being a sci-fi geek I had a blast.
Post a Comment