The Thing Is, Finale: I Do the Rock

Previously, our intrepid hero took a few hours off to enjoy the wonders (eighth and otherwise) of Universal Studios, courtesy of costuming mastermind David Janzow of Shafton, Inc. Vroom! found the experience “virtually” disappointing, yet “actually” quite fun, before returning to the retirement home for Hollywood has-beens cum motel, where he soothed his weary bones in the establishment’s “modest” aquatic facilities.

The refitting at Shafton, Inc. went smoothly. The support grips that I suggested be installed in the metacarpal region of The Thing’s hands greatly improved the wearer’s facility in moving the costume’s arms. And Janzow’s adjustment to Ben Grimm’s tootsies—enlarging their interior so at to make stepping into the feet whilst shod comfortable, yet still snug—was perfect. The Iron Man outfit had received my approval the day prior, so the Golden Avenger had been securely packed for the trip to the San Diego ComiCon.

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).

I won’t bore you with the details. Suffice it to say, it was a fun-filled three days together, visiting La Jolla, Old Town, The Zoo, and Coronado Beach. We partook of many a yummy meal, drank copious amounts of wine and umbrella-topped foofy drinks, and enjoyed endless hours of intelligent conversation (wink, wink, nudge, nudge, say no more…). All too soon, it was over. ComicCon opened the next morning, and I was due to start my reign as the show’s premiere “rock” star. Oh, Audrey and I would still get together in the evenings for dinner and more intelligent conversation (ahem). But during the day, she’d be off sunning or shopping—you can never have enough pairs of shoes… or so I’ve been told—while I roamed the con’s aisles meeting-and-greeting my fans as the Ever Lovin’ Blue-Eyed Thing.

At least that was the plan.

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.

He’s since added writing, directing and producing movies to his resume, co-penning the 200 made-for-TV movie, Ice Angel, and directing and producing the multi-award–winning Iraq war documentary Who Will Stand, to name but two. And to think I knew him when he was merely a billionaire industrialist.

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.

While we took stock, the actors from the L.A. agency that supplied Marvel with its West Coast character performers arrived. The Thing and Iron Man would be sharing their truck with Spider-Man, Wolverine, Cyclops and… the other three members of the Fantastic Four?!!! I was not apprised of suits being created for Mr. Fantastic, Human Torch and Invisible Woman, not that they needed overseeing the way The Thing outfit did. Their costumes were similarly constructed from spandex like Spider-Man’s, but in two pieces—torso and pants—with gloves and boots to complete the look. Obviously, the non-stone–chiseled members would not be expected to display their powers. Reed Richards would not be stretching. Johnny Storm would not be bursting into flames. Sue Storm would not be—actually Sue Storm could very well appear using her powers of invisibility. It’s just that no one would know. It was a cozy fit perhaps, but spacious relative to many of the other dressing areas I’ve had to use in the past.

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.

Yo, you from Mutants Local 16?

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.

By process of elimination—there wasn’t any other option—the job of overseer to The Thing and Iron Man fell to Audrey. She became our Jasper Sitwell, an agent of S.H.I.E.L.D. (Supreme Headquarters of the International Espionage Law-Enforcement Division) assigned by the United States during Shellhead’s early adventures to watch over Stark Enterprises— as well as its CEO and ferrous bodyguard—which was under government contract to invent and manufacture arms.

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.

It was clear within moments of donning the rock-hewn hero’s identity that my theory of needing an escort was sound. I most likely would have fallen victim to the six-inch gap separating loading dock from truck were Audrey not there to advise me to “mind the gap.” A lifetime of her riding the rails in New York were finally paying off!

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.

I’m from Boulder... Why do you ask?

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.

Invariably what happens in these instances is the moment an actor takes a break, that is the time someone wants to know when that performer’s character is returning. There are few things more annoying than being hunted down and bombarded with “When are you coming back onto the floor? There’s a mom with her little boy looking for you. What should I tell them?” What these mishandling miscreants want to hear is “A little boy? Desperate to see The Thing? Screw my break! Tell ’em I’ll be out in five minutes,” then watch me run off like Superman looking for a phone booth, only to return as promised to make little Joey happy and get little Joey’s persistent mom off the aforementioned Marvel lackey’s back. It was unfair to both the performers and the fans. Unfortunately, it was always the staff member who acted as if they were the one put out by the situation.

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!”

Iron Man, however, was looked upon with confused stares and ridicule. The kiddies didn’t seem to care, but the fans were ruthless. “Hey, Shellhead… What happened to your pants?” they’d shout, referring to the disproportion of the new outfit’s torso to its bottom half—which made the Golden Avenger look like a pee wee football player—even though the design was a fairly accurate interpretation of the one on the new animated series on which the costume was based. Unfortunately, the cartoon had yet to air. Still, I don’t think that would have mattered. Comic-book geeks, as with all nerds, are unforgiving with how the objects of their devotion are presented.

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’être for our even being at the show. D’Oh!

Well, if I was going to be the ornery powerhouse of the Fantastic Four, I was going to act it… “No one conducts a Fantastic Four panel without Aunt Petunia’s favorite nephew,” I proclaimed in Grimm’s signature “Noo Yawk” accent. “It’s clobberin’ time!” I then strode toward where the rear escalators were located. I wasn’t even sure if I could use them, but they were closer, given Marvel booth’s placement in the hall, and would offer me a less congested route to the presentation hall where the panel was taking place.

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.

This example of the crowds at ComicCon gives you some idea of why characters need escorts.

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.

“Nice costume,” remarked the unmistakable voice of artist Jimmy Palmiotti to a companion riding behind me. Jimmy made his name originally as one of the industry’s best inkers, working with his longtime buddy artist Joe Quesada—former Marvel Editor-in-Chief, recently promoted to Chief Creative Officer—but in recent years has proven himself as an excellent writer, penning successful relaunches of Heroes for Hire (Marvel) and Jonah Hex (DC) among many others. Anyone who has met the amicable native New Yorker can attest to his distinctive patois. I had met Jimmy years before and tipped many a glass of beer with him.

“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!”

Yours truly, riding the escalator. That's Jimmy Palmiotti by my left butt cheek. And below, you can see typical “Thingies” scurrying after their favorite Fantastic Four member.

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.

I was thrilled for the chance to meet Chuck McCann who starred opposite Bob “Gilligan” Denver in the short-lived but much beloved (by me) Saturday morning program, Far Out Space Nuts. It was merely a blip on a career that had already spanned decades, beginning with apprenticeships in children’s programming, such as Captain Kangaroo; moving into voice characterization’s, including Sonny the “Cuckoo for Cocoa Puffs” bird; and many guests stints in movies and on television.

“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.

The Fantastic Four: Human Torch, Thing, Mr. Fantastic and Audrey (Watch those hands Reed!).

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!

The Thing Is, Part IV: Don We Now Our Gay Apparel

Previously, our stalwart hero-for-hire checked into his anachronistic accommodations in West Hollywood and encountered the genial genius behind the new Thing and Iron Man costumes, David Janzow. Now standing among the sewing stations—each overflowing with a kaleidoscope of fabric and stuffing—in the main workshop of Shafton, Inc. and sheltered beneath a canopy of colorful costumes, Vroom! awaits Marvel’s latest additions to its ever-growing assemblage of character appearance apparel.

I think we've all encountered someone like this at the gym

My reverie was interrupted by the arrival of the Iron Man and Thing costumes. I was curious about the design of the former, which seemed oddly bulky to me. But I assumed Marvel was just taking a more kid-friendly approach with the Golden Avenger, as the suit was more indicative of the stuffed-animal variety, than the previous sleek, albeit uncomfortable, celastic version, which was a closer interpretation of Tony Stark’s iron apparel in the comic. I never made mention of my thoughts to Janzow because my job and chief concern was the functionality of the costumes, not their actual appearance. That was outside my jurisdiction.

The look of The Thing was spot-on, right down to his baby-blue eyes. Of course, it wasn’t chiseled from rock (Duh!), but the walking-mattress approach was more appropriate. And, although Ben Grimm’s stones were tightly covered with fabric, they were solid, not soft. Molded fiberglass or similar must have been used, each jaggedly-formed piece built upon the shell that housed the body parts like a three-dimensional jigsaw puzzle. The only component without any give was the head, which seemed molded from celastic—the same hardened material used in the helmet and body armor of the previous version of Iron Man—and painted a matching burnt orange. It descended partway down the neck before reverting to the same fabric that covered the rest of the body. Thus, it offered some mobility and tucked nicely into the torso, concealing the performer within.

Notice the more simplistic design of The Thing from the Marvel Action Hour (left) compared to a typical comic book rendering of the character (right). Seldom do comic artists supply Benjamin J. Grimm with teeth, as depicted, more often opting for a simple black maw

The only fault I could see with The Thing’s design was the dearth of rocks. The character should resemble an anthropomorphic pile of rubble. The costume was more like the remains of a collapsed slate roof. That’s when it hit me. Janzow must be working off characters breakdowns from the new cartoon, not the comic books! When animating, detail costs money.

Hanna-Barbera pioneered the streamlining of cartoons in order to save time and maximize profits in the television medium. They not only utilize less cels per second, but reuse backgrounds—ever notice the same trees and shrubs passing in the background when the Ranger is chasing Yogi—and all their character designs are simplistic. To render The Thing as he is depicted in the comic books would increase the animation process geometrically. The Iron Man outfit would logically emulate the cartoon version of the Golden Avenger in the same manner, which, judging from the suit, would suggest that the animated rendition is grossly exaggerated (My theory would later prove true.).

Here, too, the design of the cartoon version of Iron Man (right) is far less detailed than the comic-book iteration (left) on which the animation is based. Also, take note of the bulkier interpretation of the armor

There was no need to hie to a changing room—not that there was one. The costumes were constructed so that wearers could don them while in shorts and a T-shirt, my current ensemble.

The Iron Man suit was first. The pants were designed like a fireman’s, albeit far more snug, with thick canvas suspenders built into the inner waistband attached and adjusted by Velcro at the shoulders. I hoisted the chest cavity onto my frame, inserting my arms from the back, the way one might be strapped into a strait jacket, though Houdini would have found it a challenge to escape its confines. The horizontal zipper that ran along the spine was hidden by overlapping fabric. The waistband similarly extended over the area where it met the torso, nicely attaching with Velcro to conceal the demarcation line.

Boots were stepped into with unshod feet and the snug fit reminded me of wearing bunny slippers or similar novelty bedtime footwear… er… not that I would have any personal knowledge of such. Then the helmet was placed, while the wearer’s hand were still unencumbered, leaving the gloves as the final component. I felt as if I had just been upholstered. Still, the suit was comfortable—the temperature of which notwithstanding—and allowed the user a surprising bit of mobility, as far as these types of costumes go.

The user’s vision—accessed through the finely screened eye and mouth apertures of the helmet—was no more-or-less impaired than suits of a similar ilk. The yellow of the screening gauze effecting a jaundiced view of the world for the actor within. Claustrophobics need not apply!

A peek in the large standing mirror to one side of the floor, revealed an odd interpretation of Marvel’s iron-clad hero and further confirmed the difficulty in translating certain characters from two to three dimensions. Iron Man, as depicted in the comics, is essentially a human form over which is drawn a suit of armor. Little regard is taken for the outfit’s bulk—which even at its most-advanced—would still thicken the overall musculature of the character’s body shape. Envision the knights of olde, their appearance before and after they don their metal ensemble. There is a degree of klunkiness that cannot be helped. As uncomfortable as the original version of the Iron Man costume was, It was as close as possible to the sleekness of the suit as presented in the comic books.

Shafton’s larger-than-life translation exaggerated the bulkier sections of the suit, such as the chest plate, boots and helmet. The result: a top-heavy, seemingly squashed version of Iron Man that more closely resembles the design of the characters in Marvel’s current The Superhero Squad Show or the muscle-bound rival of Daffy Duck’s in the Warner Brothers’s short “Muscle Tussle.” If Marvel were to drag the costume out of mothballs to once again use at appearances, it would probably go over quite well today. But at the time of its debut, it was looked upon with derision. I suspected as much, despite my thinking Shafton had conceived a fun, kid-friendly version of Shellhead, which in turn was what I assumed Marvel was going for. As for the suit’s usability, the judging of which was my role in this Grand Guignol, it was aces.

The Thing costume, by contrast, couldn’t have been more perfectly envisioned, right down to his tight blue Fantastic Four shorts, which Janzow created so as to be removed and washed separately, so The Thing’s… uh, er… thing could always have a hygienic home. The outfit’s pieces were donned much like those of the Iron Man outfit. Unlike the former costume, however, the hands of The Thing suit were part of the torso and non-moving, thus effecting longer appendages that better fit the proportions of the rock-hewn member of the Fantastic Four. The wearer’s hands nestled in the metacarpal region of the outfit, but not extending into the fingers, thus laying the lion’s share of the arm-lifting squarely on the actor’s wrists.

Less than a half dozen lifts of the costume’s sizable arms and the strain on my wrists was unbearable. Try doing shoulder shrugs at the gym with ten-pound plates wresting on your wrists and you’ll get a better idea of my discomfort. The central handle of barbells distributes the effort into the forearms, thus affording better lifting form and concentration into the shoulder area. I explained the problem to Janzow and asked if it would be possible to build handgrips into the hands of the suit.

So, you come here often...?

To hide the chest cavity zipper and retain the erratic nature of the Thing’s rocky physique, Janzow cleverly designed the plates along the spine of the costume to fold over the zipper, interlocking with the neighboring slabs and snapping into place. Even upon close inspection, there wasn’t any way to tell how the torso was assembled onto the actor.

The Thing’s titanic tootsies posed another problem, their size and heft necessitating that sneakers be worn for proper stability and to prevent ankle injury. But the padding was too thick—more like that of Iron Man’s booties—and offered too limited a space to allow for both feet and footwear. D’ya ever try on a new pair of shoes, only to discover their additional padding stuffed in the toes? The solution to the Thing’s feet was modestly more difficult in that re-stitching would be required once the stuffing was ripped out.

Surprisingly, the visibility of the Thing’s headpiece was better than one might suspect due to the character’s stony configuration. Since his earliest delineation by the great Jack Kirby, the Ever Lovin’ Blue-Eyed Thing’s mouth has ever been drawn much like a muppet’s: a straight horizontal split along the bottom half of the face, as if someone had taken an ax to his loveable mug, stopping after the first swing didn’t quite cut through. When applied to a costume of Bashful Benjamin J. Grimm, the wearer is presented a wider landscape through which to look. This reduces the need for the actor to rotate his whole body to see what is approaching from either side. Of course, the vertical optic area was typically small, but the increased horizontal visibility made being enclosed in the suit seem less claustrophobic.

The whole procedure—from meeting Janzow to trying on the suits—took less than two hours. It was still early afternoon and I expected to spend the rest of the afternoon twiddling my thumbs in my room back at the motel-out-of-time. Perhaps I’d do some laps in the bathtub the inn calls a swimming pool, which would be much like running laps in a phone booth.

NEXT: The Eighth Wonder of the World

The Thing Is, Part II: I Knew I Should Have Made That Left at Albuquerque

In the early 90s, a sudden upswing in the popularity of comic books led to a frenzy of character licensing (read: whoring-out) at Marvel. Suddenly, even such pathetic creations as Turner D. Century and The Gibbon were considered a commodity, the rights to which sold hither and yon. But the fever was built upon and fueled by collector speculation—the idea that comic books, even brand-spanking-new ones, were an investment worth gazillions—and collapsed under the weight of its own illusion by mid-decade.

Still, some positive things came out of that period; The Marvel Action Hour, for example. Not that the show itself was notable—it lasted a modest 26 episodes over two seasons—but to comic fans it offered something outside the confines of their 32-page, four-color world and hope that the new cartoons might be the long-awaited catalyst that would ignite popularity and excitement for comic books in the general public, ushering in a new age for the art form.

In less esoteric terms, the show led to Marvel’s green-lighting Fantastic Four costumes and an updated Iron Man suit, all of which they planned to reveal at the San Diego Comic Con as part of a major promotion for The Marvel Action Hour, which included a much-ballyhooed panel, introducing the voice actors who would be portraying the characters in the series.

I can hear the sarcastic Whoop-de-dos already, but you have to understand: appearances of mega-stars, such as Robert Downey Jr., Megan Fox and Gary Oldman, may have become standard con procedure. But in 1994, such c-list celebs like the chartreuse, fin-headed creature from the cantina scene in Star Wars were considered big news. Special guests like Brian (Beverly Hills 90120) Austin Green and Robert “Airplane!” Hays—the voices of the Human Torch and Iron Man respectively—were mind-boggling at the time.

ASIDE: Ironically, Hays, whose Airplane! character’s “drinking problem”—on which he would comment just prior to dousing himself with a drink in an attempt to bring the glass to his mouth in the movie—was voicing Tony Stark/Iron Man, who was revealed to be an alcoholic in the famous—at least to fans—“Demon in a Bottle” storyline of the mid to late 80s.

Of course I knew none of this—the age of internet instant info-sharing was a few years away, and anyone at Marvel with news of The Marvel Action Hour wasn’t sharing it with me. That changed less than two weeks before my scheduled trip with Audrey. I was called into the Director of Marvel’s Personal Appearance Program Alyson’s office one day and asked if I’d consider leaving several days ahead of schedule to oversee the final construction stages of the new costumes in Los Angeles. Specifically, Alyson wanted me to make sure the costumes were performer-friendly. Afterward, I’d be expected to portray The Thing at the con.

The few L.A. actors available were already scheduled to appear as other characters—Spider-Man, Captain America, Cyclops, Wolverine, etc.—and she needed someone with intimate knowledge of The Thing that she could entrust his portrayal, not to mention the important task of shepherding the construction of the new suits.

I would spend the weekend prior to Audrey’s regularly scheduled arrival at the costumer’s. With the convention beginning the Thursday of that week, we’d still have three days to ourselves. Marvel would pick up the tab for the hotel room—including those three days that I wasn’t doing a Thing (as it were)—and the rental car I would need while in Los Angeles. The role of the new Iron Man would be played by former NYC Spider-Man actor Phil, who’d be flown in from Arizona where he was living with his sister. Audrey was less than enthused when I told her, but understanding (Is it any wonder I married her?).

As originally planned, I flew into San Diego, where I rented a car and made the 3-hour drive to Los Angeles. Today, with all the ridiculous airline surcharges and fees for what used to be routine conveniences, rescheduling a flight can run anywhere from several hundred dollars to one’s first born. At the time, there were no additional charges for a simple ticket rescheduling. But actually altering the ticket from nonstop to San Diego to Los Angeles, however, would have necessitated a new ticket and the costs associated with such.

Seeing as this excursion occurred long before the advent of the internet and access to sites that provide directions for car travel, such as MapQuest, never mind GPS units, my younger Bloglodytes’ heads may be exploding with concern and questions wondering how on Earth I got to my destination. Well… Once upon a time, when people rented vehicles, the rental-car personnel provided maps to their customers and—you may want to sit down for this—gave out directions for free, marking the best route on easy-to-read portable maps that the agency supplied, again sans fee. And no, I wasn’t renting a chariot, nor propelling said car with my feet à la Fred Flintstone.

When I rented a car in 2008, I had flown into Long Beach and needed to drive one hour north to Los Angeles. I went straightwith to a kiosk situated in the rental agency’s parking lot, where attendants expedited reservations. After spending ten minutes refusing the car-rental agent’s offering of an SUV upgrade, I inquired about directions. The man just stared at me for a minute like a dog watching a ceiling fan…

“Would you like to rent a GPS unit for your trip?” he finally answered.

“No, thank you. I just need directions.” I politely replied as my waning patience neared danger levels.

“Well, if you rented a GPS unit, you wouldn’t need directions,” he mindlessly responded.

I felt as though I was in that scene from Spinal Tap wherein Rob Reiner’s documentary filmmaker tries to explain to lead guitarist Nigel Tufnel that if his one amplifier’s 10 setting were the highest, it would be as effective as his other that “goes to 11.”

“So you won’t give me directions?” I’d given the rental agency’s corporate lackey more than enough of my time and all of my patience.

“Um… uh… wait just a moment, sir…” There is that moment upon meeting a strange dog when you discover that the canine is not friendly. The agent was experiencing that moment.

He called over the other two puppets also working the parking area. I could hear the conversation as they approached.

“This guy wants directions to the Staples Center.”

“Didn’t you offer him a GPS?”

“Well, yeah, but he says he just wants directions.”

“Yessir, how may I help you.” Ah, the puppet master, I thought, though holding little hope that the issue would be resolved soon.

“I need directions to the Staples Center in Los Angeles.” I sternly replied.

“We can provide you with a—”

“I don’t want a GPS. I just need directions. Don’t you have maps available for customers?” Should I hold his hand while I’m at it?

A light seem to go on in his head; I could almost hear his personal band of angels singing the “Hallelujah” chorus. “Ah, maps are available for purchase at the reservation desk.”

“You don’t provide single-sheet portable maps for the convenience of your customers?” My stress on convenience—more than suggesting that trying to sell something to your client is not the same thing as servicing them—seem to do the trick, though I’m sure the restrained rage and timber of my voice contributed. The patsy-in-charge scurried into the kiosk and began rummaging around like a rat routing through garbage. He emerged a few minutes later with—lo and behold—a map. Of course, neither he nor his two underlings had a clue how to use a map (They probably get lost each morning on the way to the garage; after all, their GPS is in the car!), but fortunately, I did (…ancient lore passed to me by my dad who received the knowledge from his father…).

Now, if only I could remain on course with this posting…

Meanwhile, back in the past, a cheerful agent happily gave me directions and a map, and I was on the road before you could say, “Would you like to rent a GPS?”

Next: Is That a Thing in Your Garment Bag or Are You Just Happy to See Me?