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 III: The Man Makes the Suit

Previously, our erstwhile hero amazed the audience with his daring tale of bravely navigating the wild environs of Los Angeles—without GPS, Sacajawea or Magellan—by skillfully practicing the ancient art of map-reading as he made his way to meet the maker of The Thing and Iron Man.

A few hours later I was at my motel, an odd diminutive structure on a major thoroughfare of Hollywood that looked as if it had been built in the ’20s as a boarding house for the rare traveling salesman. It belie the modernity of the surrounding architecture, adamantly standing firm in its resolve to remain unchanged despite the town’s boom. It was probably the only business of its kind back in the day, singly owned and managed by someone seeking a quieter life in what at that time was considered the ’burbs.

A veritable rainforest fronted the building bursting against the wrought-iron black fence lining the motel grounds. All that was missing was Norma Desmond, with a martini in hand, greeting me at the entrance. Still, despite these unusual characteristics, it was well-maintained; the paint seemed fresh, the vegetation—though thick—was neat and trimmed, the concrete walkway lay uncracked and the architectural moldings and details appeared unchipped and complete.

A ludicrously-small in-ground swimming pool was just to the right of the walkway to the entrance. It was the size of a two-door sedan, and the only reason why I knew it was a pool and not a fountain was the security fence around its perimeter, on which were hung the motel’s swimming rules and hours. No running?!! There go my plans for a Chinese fire drill. It was evident that the motel’s owners installed the thing in an attempt to keep up with the competition. But it seemed to me that its Lilliputian size would only serve to accentuate the differences between the motel and every other accommodation in the area.

A wooden porch—the type one might see in a Country Time Lemonade commercial—fronted the building. Surprisingly the caretakers missed a perfect opportunity for a porch swing. As I ascended the front stairs, a wooden swinging sign jutting from one of the porch roof columns, brought to light the building’s immaculate appearance. Where I expected to read ADDAMS ESTATE, was imprinted a Comfort Inn logo.

As I passed through the doors, I felt like Dorothy exiting her fallen home and stepping into Munchkinland. Before me stood a modern, carpeted hotel lobby, complete with a free-coffee urn opposite the marble reception desk. I was strangely disappointed. A part of me was looking forward to Aunt Bea’s homemade family dinner with peach cobbler for dessert that I would share with my fellow wayfarers at a single long table in the kitchen before lights-out.

The manufactured cheery tones of the Recepticon snapped me out of my reverie. In moments I was dropping my things in the room. And soon thereafter sitting in the North Hollywood office of the Vice President/General Manager of Shafton, Inc. Custom Costumes, David Janzow.

If memory serves—and believe me the service has been going downhill over the years—Janzow inherited the company from his father, its founder. Shafton, Inc. may not be a readily familiar name to most of you at home—I certainly hadn’t a clue who they were or what they did—but undoubtedly you, Faithful Bloglodytes, have encountered their product, perhaps even shaking hands with it!

Shafton specializes in designing and constructing all manner of character and meet-and-greet mascot costumes. Taking a peek at its creations on the company website is like perusing a photo album of Who’s Who pop-culture icons, classic and nouveau alike. And their client list includes some of the biggest names in Hollywood, television and comics. Batman, Shrek, Caspar, H.R. Pufnstuf, and Bob the Builder are a mere smattering of costumes they’ve created, for companies such as DreamWorks, Universal, Warner Bros. and Sesame Workshop.

The scope of Shafton’s work never hit me until I attended my first Radio City Christmas Spectacular. One of the show’s most popular segments is the “Nutcracker Suite.” But in the Christmas Spectacular version a little girl dreams not of dancing with personified nut crackers, but rather a bevy of dancing bears of all breeds, from Polar to Panda, Kodiak to Koala. Imagine my surprise to see Shafton, Inc. listed in the program as the ursine architect for the sequence’s costumes.

On the surface, Janzow’s office was that of any company executive, stereotypically staid and business-like. A large centrally-positioned, wood desk sat against the far wall opposite the door; two chairs fronting it. I entered suitably disheveled from my six-hour, early-morning flight, wearing my signature Spider-Man–tee, faded jeans, untied high-top sneaks and baseball cap. My face featured several days’ worth of stubble and I had a momentary bout of nervousness, fearing my bedraggled appearance might offend.

Fortunately, Janzow belay the corporate starkness of his office. Where I expected Brooks Brothers, I instead was greeted with Structure (a hip, men’s clothier of the time. Please feel free to substitute with today’s cutting edge equivalent). Janzow sported a colorful, printed, button-down shirt, comfortable pants and shoes. His mien reminded me of the Laugh-In comedian Alan Sues, albeit not nearly as wacky, and quickly put me at ease.

Janzow acted as if I were a breath of fresh air compared to the corporate types with which he was most beset and took great interest in the San Diego Convention with which he was unfamiliar. I was a bit stunned at his admission of ignorance. Sure, the comic-book universe was my milieu and the con was not yet an internationally known annual spectacle of all things pop culture. But Janzow was in the business of building costumes of pop culture icons, and the show was awash with possible opportunities for Shafton, Inc. And it was virtually at his doorstep, a mere three-hour drive south.

Interestingly, Janzow’s excitement about the convention was that of a fan, rather than a company honcho looking to score new clients. As we talked, I began to notice some unusual decorative flourishes to his office, the sort of things one would normally not expect in the uninspired environs of a corporate nabob. Is that a statue of Frankenstein’s monster? Wait, that isn’t a photo of a loved one on his desk; it’s a shot of someone in a Woody Woodpecker costume. It began to dawn on me that Janzow was a geek like me, just not a comic-book one.

His passion arose from the Universal Pictures’s monsters, those endearing title characters from the studio’s classic horror movies of the fifties, made famous by such actors as Boris Karloff, Bela Lugosi and Lon Chaney (both Sr. and Jr.), i.e. The Mummy, Dracula, Wolfman, et al. Well, that explains the bisque figure of Mary Shelley’s famous bolt-necked creation.

And that wasn’t just a photo of someone in a Woody Woodpecker outfit. It was an example of Janzow’s work. Lo and behold, Shafton. Inc. was the creative house that designed and supplied the Universal Studios theme parks with their costumes of Walter Lantz cartoon characters, i.e. Woody Woodpecker, Andy Panda and Chilly Willy.

With the social niceties taken care of—though, truth be told, Janzow and I could have kibitzed the afternoon away—the costume creator led me to the factory part of the building wherein the magic was made. Janzow’s office was walled on one side by a large window which actually overlooked the floor. So the trip was a simple matter of descending a flight of stairs.

The plant resembled something out of Norma Rae, only without the oppressive air. Rather the enormous space was filled with creative energy. Distributed throughout the floor were construction stations manned by workers all but hidden by costumes in various stages of development. Their heads peeked up over mounds of fabric, stuffing and fur, like the ubiquitous “Kilroy was here” motif of World War II. The very nature of the product, most of which were larger-than-life, hollowed-out, stuffed creatures in which a human was emplaced, made space a commodity. Aisles were compromised by the overflow of brightly-colored animals, giant raisins, anthropomorphic pop icons and the like.

The room was well-lit, a soft glow from tiers of frosted windows that lined the upper reaches of the walls joined a bevy of fluorescent lamps that descended from the ceiling. A circuitous track from which were hung hundreds of completed and as-yet-unfinished costumes—each with a protective clear plastic garment bag—traversed the upper reaches of the space, at times moving as workers needed to access particular pieces, like the bedroom doors during the climactic chase scene in Monsters, Inc. With my head craned upward and mouth agape at the wondrous collection of colorful costumes pirouetting above me on their suspended track, I’m sure I resembled the many New York City tourists, who stare up transfixed at the skyscrapers surrounding them, that I often mock.

NEXT: Ch-ch-ch-ch-changes