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

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?

The Thing Is, Part I: Grimm Beginning

I’ve oft mentioned, Spider-Man gigs were primarily distributed amongst actor according to geographic location. There were two major offices, one in New York—the headquarters natch!—and Los Angeles, with a couple of satellites in Chicago and Dallas. All but the New York office, where Marvel Comics was located, were talent agencies out of which actors were booked to portray the characters.

Of course there were a few exceptions:

• If a particular actor was requested specifically by a client for an appearance out of the normal jurisdiction of the office that would usually handle the gig and said client was willing to pay the extra expense incurred by the additional travel, as was the case with my trip to Edmonton where I met the nefarious Darwin

• Marvel corporate was part-sponsor of, or hosting an event, in which case only the cream of the character crop were selected for the job regardless of where it was taking place and whence the actors were coming

• An exceptionally busy day in an area necessitated the use of an actor outside his/her territory… but the potential employer would have to agree to foot the increased financial burden of the gig, making this scenario a rarity

• The actor was picking up the tab, because he/she was journeying to that part of the country—whether for vacation or to visit family—at the time of the appearance and wanted to help defray the cost of their trip

It was on account of this final reason that I had the opportunity to perform at the San Diego Comic Con on several occasions.

San Diego Comic Con—now officially Comic Con International, although no one ever refers to the show by that name—is the biggest comic book show in the United States. Many argue, however, that the comic book aspect on which the convention was founded is fading fast into oblivion, pushed aside by movie and TV studios exploiting the event to whore their latest projects.

Initially, these exploitive efforts were welcome, because the products that were being marketed were comic-centric. For example, the year that The Rocketeer—based on the exemplary comic by the late Dave Stevens—was released, Disney held an advance screening in conjunction with the show. But the past years’ SDCC featured major pushes for such non-comics–related movies as the Get Smart! remake, and TV shows such as Fox’s Glee, Showtime’s Dexter and the Discovery Channel’s Mythbusters! And these were only a few of the more egregious examples. There were many more that had only a tenuous connection to comic books. Starz, for example, promoted their new series Spartacus: Blood and Sand, because it comes from Sam “Xena, Warrior Princess” Raimi, who also directed the Spider-Man films.

But in the early 90s when I was attending/working the con, it was still a relatively fledgling event with an attendance figure in the neighborhood of twenty thousand people, a far cry from the 125,000 attendees of 2008 and 2009 (125,000 is the San Diego Convention Center’s maximum capacity, so unless/until the site expands, that number should remain unchanged.), but a bump from the year prior and considered a great success. It remains the brass ring of comic events, one that every fan hopes to “grab” at some point. I was no different.

With the oodles of frequent-flyer miles I was accumulating from my web-swinging escapades, I began to exchange them for free flights to San Diego, where I would appear at the show. Marvel footed the bill for hotel accommodations, since they would have had to supply a room for an actor out of the Los Angeles office anyway. So not only was the trip free, but I also made money and got to go to the con to boot! It was a win/win situation for Marvel, too, as they not only saved money on airfare for their Spidey, but also got one of the elite character appearance actors from the home office (Humility, thy name is Vroom!).

In the summer of 1994 my then girlfriend (now wife), Audrey, and I planned a vacation to San Diego. Although our trip coincided with the San Diego Comic Con, I had no intention of working it. We both loved the area and intended on playing tourist. Audrey was not a comics aficionado anyway. As a clothing designer, she appreciated the art form and saw its appeal, but it just wasn’t her bailiwick. She certainly wasn’t about to devote her vacation time pent up in a convention hall surrounded by Klingons and Storm Troopers perusing old funny books. Still, she was willing to cede me a day or two at the show, while she lay on the beach or shopped, unencumbered by my incessantly asking “Are you done yet?”

Cue ominous fade-out music…

Unbeknownst to me, Marvel Productions Ltd. was working on a new animated series, called The Marvel Action Hour, which would feature cartoons of the Fantastic Four and Iron Man and was scheduled to debut in September, less than two months after San Diego Comic Con. Although both properties were considered two of Marvel’s premiere titles among the comic book literati—the former the unquestionable Grande Dame of the Marvel Universe, the series that helped define the Silver Age of comics and the one that begat the Incredible Hulk and Spider-Man, and led to the rebirth of Captain America—neither achieved the renown of the Friendly Neighborhood Web-Swinger, Green Behemoth or Red-White-and-Blue Avenger.

Previous attempts at animated series for both were lackluster. The late ’60s saw rudimentary cartoons that aired alongside renditions of the aforementioned Marvel characters, the theme songs of which are arguably more known and beloved than the ’toons themselves. Who doesn’t remember the (in)famous “Spider-Man, Spider-Man… Does whatever a spider can…” or “When Captain America throws his mighty shield… all those you chose to oppose his shield must yield…” ’toon tunes? The episodes, though, seemed like nothing more than crudely animated cut-outs of the comic book art, with the same panels used and reused ad infinitum throughout each series. South Park appears Disney-esque in comparison. But for Marvel geeks thirsting for media tie-ins and licensed product of their cherished characters, the cartoons were a tall glass of water.

In 1978, there was another try at a Fantastic Four animated series. It was/is summarily dismissed by fans for its replacement of member Human Torch with the loathed robot H.E.R.B.I.E. (Humanoid Experimental Robot, B-type, Integrated Electronics—Talk about a stretch for an acronym!). Rumor had it that NBC executives feared the potential repercussions of children setting themselves afire in an attempt to emulate their flaming hero. Hence, the Human Torch’s exclusion. In truth, at the time the rights to use the character were tied up in a movie that was never produced, so the Human Torch was unavailable.

Contrarily, Iron Man never got another series. But he did guest star in an episode of Spider-Man and His Amazing Friends—which debuted in 1981—to help Spidey, Iceman and Firestar defeat the Beetle, a feeble felon that the Wall-Crawler handily defeated by his lonesome several times over in the comics. So why Iron Man called upon to help battle the sub-par scofflaw, well… dem’s cartoons for ya!

Next: The word is given, drinking problems and getting directions…

Love at First Sleight (of Hand)

I am a big fan of Penn & Teller’s and have been since the early eighties when I first saw them perform on one of the late-night chat fests, most likely the Tonight Show with Johnny Carson, although it could have been the Late Show with David Letterman. Then again, it might not have been either. But the stunt they pulled during that appearance was indelibly imprinted in my memory and remains one of my favorite illusions. So when I actually got to meet Penn as Spider-Man, the moment was… er… magical.

To be honest, I can’t say I immediately took to the pair of subversive prestidigitators. Who was this obnoxious, lumbering giant? Doesn’t he know there’s no talking in magic? Why is he picking on his diminutive accomplice? For that matter, what’s with the Marcel Marceau routine of the little guy?

Penn & Teller

Despite all the questions swirling about my noggin and the team’s seeming “wrongness,” there was something hypnotic about the act. I wanted, nay needed, to know what was going to happen next. I had never been so captivated by a simple card trick in my life. And that’s all it started out as, a basic “pick a card, any card,” slight of hand betwixt the sarcastic Penn and brow-beaten Teller, with the former doing the selecting. The application of a hood over Teller’s head may have made the trick slightly more interesting, but it certainly wasn’t anything I hadn’t seen before.

But then Penn produced a very long, very dangerous-looking knife, which he carefully placed in his wee hooded partner’s hand. Teller fumbled with the bare bodkin like Helen Keller to Penn’s Anne Sullivan at the water pump. The scene was silly and evolved to farcical, when the Teller began swinging the blade about a ducking Penn, who was attempting to spread the deck of cards in which was hidden the previously chosen card on a small table.

At each of Teller’s downward stabs, Penn would barely get his hands out of the way, each time scolding his armed assistant before continuing his mixing of the deck. The tension mounted, even though the two weren’t fooling anyone with their antics. No one believed for a second that Teller was going to “accidentally” stab Penn.

Then Teller did just that.

The knife came down, plunging through Penn’s hand. The big galoot screamed and lifted his wounded appendage to the audience. There, impaled on the knife blade which had seemingly penetrated several inches through Penn’s generously bleeding palm was the card he had selected only moments before.

The abusive Penn often gets his comeuppance at the hands of his brow-beaten partner, Teller

I screamed; I laughed; I OMG-ed. I tried to explain the amazing feat to others long thereafter. But it was like trying to adequately convey a sunset. The trick was so much more than its climax. It was about the unsuave Penn, whose brash, caustic persona was anathema to the recognized ideal of the debonair, often tuxedo-clad magicians up to that point in history. Then there was Penn’s mute assistant. Teller was far removed from the leggy, sexy female assistants which were de riguer of prestidigitation. And rarely, if ever, had illusionists spoken to their helpers, never mind vocally lambaste and humiliate them. By the time Teller was stabbing willy-nilly at the cards, I’m sure I wasn’t the only one thinking, Yeah, stab the obnoxious jerk. That’ll shut him up, which contributed to the shock of the trick’s finale.

Sure, Doug Henning introduced a variant style of magic in the ’70s, but in the end it was the same old, same old, only by way of sunshine, lollipops and rainbows. Magic tricks, after all, are about the theatrics, not the result. Whether rabbit, glittery assistant, tiger, elephant or ocean liner, something is going to appear or disappear in the end; the audience volunteer is going to get their watch or $20 bill magically restored and returned. And the card randomly chosen from a typical deck of 52 cards will be inexplicably revealed. What Penn & Teller had done—and continue to do—was take a tired magical standard and turn it on its ear.

Since then I’ve seen Penn & Teller perform live on and off-Broadway several times. Their shows feature hilarious debunkings of archtypical magical tricks mixing equal parts silliness, shock and the bizarre. But one trick in particular, presented in their 1994 Broadway show, irked me. It was another spin on the aforementioned card trick, only this time the audience volunteer did not choose a card from a deck, but rather a superhero action figure from a briefcase filled with such.

All four Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles were in the case, but where was Spidey?!!

Guess who was missing?

Even from my seat in the mezzanine, I could see that Spider-Man was absent from the selection of figures in the case. And there had to be several dozen—60 at least—lining the inside cover and main compartment. All were different. They had to be. It wouldn’t be much of a trick if there were only a handful of characters from which to select. Oh, there was Superman, Batman, those upstart Ninja Turtles, He-Man, Power Rangers of various colors…

(We interrupt this story to take a moment to consider how sad the raconteur must be to have been so anguished over the make-up of action figures in a case that was open for a fraction of a minute during a two-hour lavish Broadway show; not to mention the fact that said Uncle Remus can’t recall much else from the show, yet can pinpoint actual toys in the short span of time they were featured during one trick. Can you say, GEEK?! We now return to our regularly scheduled posting, already in progress...)

As fate would have it, I wasn’t the only one who noticed the affront to Marveldom. No more than two days later, I was called into Director of Personal Appearances Alyson’s office.

“Do you know who Penn & Teller are,” she innocently asked.

“Know them? I was at their show just the other night. You know, they do this trick with superhero action figures and they didn’t even have a Spider-Man. I couldn’t believe it!”

“Funny you should mention that,” Alyson said with a laugh.

Oh, this isn't going to end well...

Apparently, someone else at Marvel, someone of such a level as to make things happen, saw the Penn & Teller show as well. It might very well have been company President Terry Stewart. Unlike traditional head honchos, who keep themselves far removed from the underpinnings of the companies for which they work, Stewart was a fan of comics—pop culture in general, to be precise—and followed the characters religiously both in the books and beyond. I would not have been surprised if he, too, noticed the absence of a Spider-Man figure in that briefcase during a performance. And he could do something about it.

But what?

As President, Stewart could contact the magical misfits or at least their agent and convey a message. But that type of reaction from a big corporation—Revlon owned Marvel at this juncture—is exactly the sort of thing that would rile the duo, who have since made a career of antiestablishmentariantism well beyond the magical realm through their hit Showtime series Bullshit!

The solution was to let Spider-Man himself confront Penn & Teller about his hurt feelings over their snubbing. Fortunately, there was no need to create a situation that would allow the Web-Slinger to gain access to the pair. As is his custom after shows, Penn situates himself by the theater exit where he interacts with the fans as they depart. For Teller to also do so would entail his breaking out of his mute persona, something he never does in public. But for the garrulous Penn, it was only natural.

My mission—which I chose to accept—was simply: Approach Penn as Spidey after a performance and get him to man-up about the personal affront to the Webbed Wonder. And as a token that there were no hard feelings, Spidey would gift Penn a bag of various Marvel action figures that he could then integrate into the illusion.

Getting hold of the toys was simple. Since Toy Biz—Marvel action-figure licensee—was also owned by the same parent company, Revlon, the latest offerings from the toy maker could be found in the comics storeroom at Marvel. It was the comic geek equivalent of the fabled Vogue “closet” wherein the magazine stores all the designer fashions—shoes and hand bags included—used in their monthly photo spreads. Anne Hathaway’s Andy Sachs updates her look in The Devil Wears Prada at the hands of Stanley Tucci’s Nigel in the film’s homage to the mythical designer depository. Ugly Betty features its own closet inspired by the infamous Vogue vault, as well.

The night of the operation, a car service picked me up at my apartment in Forest Hills at 9:00 PM. The 2-hour performance started at 8:00 PM, leaving the driver an hour to make the 20-minute drive to get to the theater before the show’s completion. I had the goody bag and the backpack holding my suit in hand. I’d have to don the red-and-blue in the car outside the theater. There was no alternative.

Traveling as Spider-Man was not an option. First, I had no idea how long I would be in the suit. Even if everything were to proceed accordingly, it would take two-and-a-half hours minimum before I returned home. I don’t want to think about the potential media backlash were the vehicle to get pulled over or into an accident with Spider-Man as passenger.

Also, the car’s windows were not tinted—Marvel wasn’t about to pony up for a limo—so I would be exposed en route and as I awaited the show’s conclusion, which most likely would engender reaction, perhaps even a crowd—this is New York, after all—around the vehicle; not the most desirable of scenarios for a stealth mission. Pulling off the top half of the costume enough so as not to be recognizable as the Web-Slinger would then leave a half naked man loitering in a black luxury sedan in the heart of New York City’s theater district at its busiest time. Yeah, that would go unnoticed!

No, I would have to transform as soon as I saw the doors open and the first few patrons exiting.

En route it dawned on me that the driver would be completely ignorant of what his passenger intended on doing in the backseat of the car. His brief would simply list the pick-up point, destination and return. I felt it prudent to advise him of the situation, even though he had probably been witness to greater oddities in his rearview mirror over the years. He seemed tickled at the idea that he was commandeering the vehicle in which the idol of millions would be transforming. I’d like to think he was also appreciative of being enlightened of the evening’s job after years are of being kept in the dark and simply told what to do.

The trip to the theater was thankfully quick and uneventful—traffic only happens when one is in a hurry—and the driver pulled over approximately thirty yards from the main entrance, far enough away so as not to be discovered, yet close enough for me to see the doors.

The wait was interminable; I don’t know how law enforcement deals with the inactivity during stake-outs. Finally, the doors opened and the first few audience members started to depart. I’d say I sprang into action, but there isn’t much room for springing in the back of an automobile, even a luxury sedan. Still, I did the best I could, the years of experience I logged over the years changing in smaller vehicles, maintenance closets, Port-O-Sans and the like, coming in handy.

In mere moments I was in Web-Shooting mode. Even with the throngs of departing patrons clogging the front of the playhouse, it was easy to spot the gargantuan form of Penn. Standing well over six feet, the talkative trickster looked like Richard Dreyfus swarmed by the undersize aliens in the final moments of Close Encounters of the Third Kind. A quick check with my chauffeur to verify that my face was straight and I was off.

I beelined toward my quarry, dodging tourists and throwing a quick wave in the direction of the several “Hey, Spider-Man”s I heard in the brief time it took me to reach Penn. The prattling prestidigitator’s fans parted like the Red Sea before Moses at my approach.

“Spider-Man!” Penn’s response was less surprise and more like he’d read the script beforehand, though he couldn’t have. I think that because his persona invites all sorts of whack-a-doos to confront him—especially in New York—he’s used to the unusual encounter.

“I got to say, I love your work,” I began. “But I’m disappointed. I was hanging from the ceiling enjoying the show the other night, when I noticed you didn’t have an action figure of yours truly in the briefcase for that one trick you perform. How could you? Me… Everyone’s favorite neighborhood Web-Swinger, scourge of evil-doers the world over… publicly snubbed by Penn & Teller. Tell me you haven’t been taken in by those disparaging editorials by J. Jonah Jameson in the Daily Bugle excoriating me as a menace to society.”

During my playful diatribe Jillette hung his head in mock contrition and chanted a litany of mea culpas until I’d finished.

“I wanted to include a figure of you, but I couldn’t find any,” he offered with genuine concern.

“Part of the curse of being an internationally beloved superhero… constant sell-outs of everything from action figures to Underoos. Well, I’m here to alleviate that and show you that there are no hard feelings…”

Wolverine most likely joined Spider-Man in the goody bag

I presented the gift and the humbled Houdini took the small white paper bag like a trick-or-treater having just scored their latest confection, peering into the sack with greedy wonder. I was dying to know myself. I’m sure there was a Spidey inside, but the bag held 3–4 different figures, and the colorful curled ribbon tied to the handles and matching tissue paper enveloping the toys within prevented my getting even a modest peek.

“Oooo… thanks, Spidey,” he cooed like a young’un. “I’ll get this into the show tomorrow night.”

And with that, I pulled my own illusion and disappeared.

Wedding Photo

Amazing Spider-Man Annual #21 featured the wedding of Peter Parker and longtime gal pal Mary-Jane Watson and was printed with two covers, one for newsstand distribution (right) and the other for the direct market (left). Attendees at the mock wedding on June 5, 1987, at Shea Stadium received the latter version.

With the 2010 baseball season officially under way with Sunday night’s come-from-behind Boston Red Sox win over defending World Champion New York Yankees, it seemed apropos for me to recount my 1987 meeting as Spider-Man with members of another team from the Big Apple, also defending World Champions at the time.

The gig was my third Marvel job overall; a photo shoot geared to producing a poster, which would be handed out in goodie bags to all attendees as they entered Shea Stadium on June 5. The occasion? The mock-wedding ceremony of Spider-Man and Mary-Jane Watson prior to that evening’s game, a loose interpretation of what would be transpiring in the Amazing Spider-Man comic book at that time, in which Peter Parker sans costume would be marrying his vivacious red-headed gal as part of the 25th Anniversary celebration of everyone’s favorite Web-Swinger.

As mentioned, I was to don the red-and-blue, my second time doing so after my infamous jumping-out-of-a-cake appearance as the Green Goblin at Spider-Man’s swinging bachelor party several weeks before. Why veteran Spidey actor Jeremy wasn’t taking up the mantle for this important event, I don’t know, especially since he was the webbed portrayer for all wedding-related media events leading up to and including these pre-game nuptials. I was a mere newbie, still wet behind the webs.

This promotional photo of Spider-Man’s impending nuptials was taken during a press conference, maybe the prior commitment that prevented the actor beneath the mask, veteran Jeremy, from participating in the poster photo shoot.

I vaguely remember there being another more prominent appearance booked at the same time. That would certainly explain where Jeremy was and the absence of any Marvel Publicity Department personnel. Add to that the schedule of the Mets players participating in the photo shoot, which was certainly unalterable; the fact that it was a weekday afternoon gig—a contributing factor in my being the only Spider-Man actor otherwise twiddling my thumbs watching The Price Is Right at home during that time—and the fact that the shoot would not entail an active display of my rookie Spidey prowess or my speaking with the media; and my call to webs—as it were—for this momentous shoot seems plausible. Basically more factors had to align than those needed for the successful invasion of Normandy on D-Day for me to ever be considered for such a prestigious job (Did I mention my low self-esteem?).

The World Champion Mets had just beaten my belovèd Red Sox the season before in the infamous—or famous, depending on who you were rootin’ for—“Bill Buckner” World Series. Since the faux nuptuals would be taking place on their home turf at Shea Stadium, several members of the Mets would be participating. It would be a dream come true for any Mets fan, but a stab to the heart for me. Isn’t it ironic? Alanis Morrisette…you have no idea!

Captain America, The Incredible Hulk, and Firestar—or rather the actors who would portray them—and I convened at the Marvel offices, where we were driven to the field. The guy playing Iceman was to meet us there. These were the only superhero costumes Marvel had at the time. Suits for villains Green Goblin and Dr. Doom existed as well, but were wisely omitted. The theme was “super heroes,” after all.

We dressed in the visiting team’s locker room, stepping out onto the field as they would have during a game. Soon we were joined by a quartet of uniformed Mets heroes: Lee Mazzilli, Roger McDowell, Wally Backman and Darryl Strawberry. What kept me from taking a bat to their heads was the sick satisfaction of knowing that the centerpiece to this surreal tableau of Mets stars and comic book heroes; the man around which the Mets players gathered; the star of a poster that was to be given out to thousands of Mets fans; was a devout Red Sox fan… Bwah-ha-ha-ha!!!

Not buying it, huh? How about if I told you that I was paid exorbitantly (I wasn’t) for an hour’s worth of work? Okay, I admit it; there wasn’t much that was cool about this gig for me. Until the end of time when describing this moment to my friends and fellow Sox fans, there will be a spiritual asterisk that reads, “Yeah, but you had your photo taken with the ’86 Championship Mets!”

Ironically, the only one of us superheroes who was a Mets fan was Gary, the actor playing The Incredible Hulk, whose enthusiasm and full enjoyment of his heroes was greatly curtailed by his confinement in the padded cell that was the Hulk costume.

This gift bag—given to everyone who entered the ball park the night of Spidey’s wedding—contained the Spider-Man comic mentioned above and other goodies

By far, the Hulk costume was the most taxing of all the costumes, at least when I began working for Marvel. Other than the head, each part was basically a stuffed toy, seven components in all. First, the wearer stepped into the lower torso and upper legs, which were clad in The Hulk’s signature ripped purple pants. The “bare” feet/shins/calves sections extended to the knee, high enough to meet the upper legs/lower torso subdivision. Hulkie’s lavender leggings continued beyond the knee, thus cleverly concealing the joint where the aforementioned elements met. There was a 2–3 inches built into the sole of the feet to heighten the actor within. The chartreuse tootsies were designed around the entire area, so the fact that they were essentially platform boots wasn’t noticeable. Of course, the design only exacerbated the unwieldiness of wearing the suit.

The head was donned next. It seemed to be constructed from the same hard substance as the Green Goblin mask. At least, the fumes smelled similarly and had that same wonderful “stoned” effect on the wearer. Contrary to the Green Goblin’s mask, the Hulk’s was not painted, but covered with the same soft green fabric that was used to cover the other body parts of the costume. The neck flap was long enough to be tucked into the chest cavity, which was put on like a hospital gown, with the opening in the back, closed up with a succession of eye hooks. The hands were the final piece. Pushing one’s hands into them was akin to fisting a teddy bear.

The actor within looked out Jade Giant’s mouth, which was covered in hard black mesh. I use the term “looked” loosely, as the vision in The Hulk’s mask would be deemed legally blind. The peripherals were nil and the added height made it impossible to see up to five feet in front of the wearer. In order to shake hands with children, the actor would have to crouch as he bent forward, otherwise he’d tip over.

So as not to scare the kiddies, the mask was sculpted with a less-menacing visage than one would expect from the Green Behemoth. Oh, who am I kidding? He looked goofy. The mask’s bushy, black Oscar-the-Grouch–esque eyebrows, shock of matching tousled hair and bemused grin gave him the sort of relieved look one would expect on someone who’d just passed a stone. “Hulk, SMASH!” would be the last thing one would expect to hear out of him. “Ah-h-h-h-h… I’ll never eat atomic burritos again,” would be more likely.

Hulk Mark still glows from the sweat of wearing the costume at another appearance, where, in a moment of adolescent silliness, he shows off what happens when the Hulk gets excited as opposed to angry (For the record, that's a toy football in his pants; he was not that happy to see me!).

Once ensconced within, the Hulk actor was covered with as much as six inches of stuffed heavy fabric in places and carried an extra thirty pounds of weight. The rule was “twenty minutes in, twenty minutes out.” Any more and the actor risked fainting. Plus, as the costume absorbed the wearer’s sweat, of which there was copious amounts, it became heavier as the appearance wore one. Multiple day appearances didn’t allow enough time for the costume to dry out completely, so it was progressively damper and heavier from day to day. Should I mention the “heady” bouquet of Hulk appearances past that would intensify within the noggin as the lucky performer inside perspired?

All these factors made the Hulk costume the only one that an actor not only needed help donning, but also necessitated chaperoning at all times. Given the limited vision, the Green Behemoth risked trampling wee ones rushing in to offer a hug or shake hands below his line of sight. If children stood within five feet of The Hulkster, they didn’t exist. The attendant would alert the performer, at times physically guiding him to ensure little Johnny wasn’t squashed like a bug. It was also the assistant’s job to monitor the time and “excuse” the Hulk, every twenty minutes, so the actor could cool down and rehydrate.

Another of the treats in the wedding gift bag was this Spider-Man pin commemorating the Web-Swinger’s big day

Once we helped Gary into character and escorted him onto the field, he was on his own. There was no risk of stumbling over anything let alone a small child. And he remained in costume for the entirety of the time the players were on the field with us. Born and raised in Queens, Gary was a lifelong Mets fan, yet he couldn’t even hold a pen, let alone ask for an autograph. And he wasn’t exactly getting a clear view of the Mets players through the small black-mesh maw of the Hulk’s face.

The actor playing Iceman had only recently moved from California and as such may have been a Dodgers, Angels, Giants or Padres fan, not that we could tell with his incessant whining about being fat and how he planned to get liposuction to correct the problem as soon as he’d saved enough. In that regard he was not shy about asking how much each of us was making for the shoot. I had never met a more vacuous individual. He was pathetic. He hardly had “love dimples” never mind love handles. One word buddy: sit-ups! Interesting how exercise was never brought up as a possible solution. He probably still wonders why Barbara never called him back for another gig. Considering the disparaging reviews us “vets” gave his performance and personality, I think we all would have went on strike if she had tried to hire him again.

Meanwhile, Trudy, aka Firestar, had her hands full trying to politely shake off the roaming hands of Roger McDowell who followed her like a stray puppy and persistently tried to pick her up. There is a reason why the former pitching ace has the biggest grin in the poster.

McDowell seemed to be the only Met enjoying the situation—albeit for reasons other than comic-book appreciation. Mazzilli, Backman and Strawberry only ceded their looks of scorn to smile when the photos were being taken. And if you look closely at their visages on the poster, you’ll notice those smile are forced. Perhaps they thought we couldn’t hear clearly in the costumes, because their under-the-breath grumblings about having to participate in the shoot were easily audible.

Even when Mark as Captain America approached each with an outstretched hand in greeting, their lackluster responses and dour countenances were palpable. And Mark was just being polite. He wasn’t even a sports fan never mind a Mets fan. In fact, knowing his relatives and friends would be envious of his meeting these superstars, Mark had us quiz him on their names as we drove back to the Marvel offices so he’d remember them when his relatives asked.

“Okay, don’t tell me. There’s Mazola, MacDonald, Hackman and Raspberry… No, no… wait! It’s Strawberry, MacDougal, Backfield and Mazola…” And it seemed no matter how many times we’d correct him on one, he’d misfire on the others. It’s hard to remember anything when one has no vested interest in the subject matter.

The shoot itself couldn’t have taken longer than 15 minutes. Once the players assembled—several minutes after the characters—the photographer pulled everyone into formation, integrating both sports and comic heroes equally. As Spidey was the raison d’être for this odd tableau, I was placed prominently in the front. My initial poses—signature Webhead moves—were quickly shot down by the photographer. His “vision” included Spider-Man clutching the knob of a baseball bat, held upright between his spread legs and grabbed by Lee Mazzilli and Wally Backman. Can you say, suggestive?!!

I get the “heroes” theme, using members of the Mets, who had just won the World Championship, making them heroes in the eyes of New Yorkers where the wedding would be enacted and the poster distributed. But there was no reason for Spider-Man to be holding a bat, never mind in such an uncharacteristic way. I think the photographer may have had me confused with another superhero.

They should’ve hired Peter Parker!