By Troy Hickman

Last time I talked a bit about how to behave at conventions regarding editors and such, and it got me thinking about conventions in general. I LOVE comic conventions. Love them love them love them. I love them like Tristan loved Isolde. I love them like Brad loves Angelina. I love them like an inbred mountain man loves Ned Beatty, and with almost as much tenderness.

Let me share with you, then, just a few of my more memorable convention moments:

* In the mid-90s, I signed up for my table at the Chicago convention, and one of the boxes on the form asked if you’d be willing to take part in any panel discussions. Well, heck, at the time I’d never done anything of the sort, but to a guy self-publishing mini-comics, it sounded pretty “big time,” so I proceeded to check the box, forgot about it, and never heard back from anyone.

Flash forward a few months to the first day of the con (Friday). I had just arrived and was setting up my table (you have to be ready when the fans hit Artist’s Alley, so you can get each and every dirty look for peddling your “ashcans,” which sounds much dirtier than it is, unfortunately). A friend of mine came up and said “hey, man, I’m really looking forward to your panel tomorrow.”

Panel? Panel? I kept saying the word without it registering as anything but sounds. Pan-el? Was he Superman’s goat-legged cousin? What is this Pan-el? My buddy handed me his program, and I opened it up, staring into the abyss and not only having it stare back at me, but also having it point at my genitals and laugh. “Troy Hickman Panel,” it said.

Troy Hickman? But…I know that guy. And this was in the days before comics were all et up with Hickmans (Hickmen?). It had to be me, and sure enough, it was. I was scheduled to give a seminar on comic book writing the next afternoon.

No, no, I don’t think you understand. I WAS SCHEDULED TO GIVE A SEMINAR ON COMIC BOOK WRITING THE NEXT AFTERNOON. I’m pretty sure that as I read those words I peed myself, and it was probably the best sensation of the day. I was paralyzed by the idea of me, by myself, addressing a room full of people on the craft of funnybook writing (especially ironic, given that at the time I was pretty much unpublished, aside from my own Avernus Comics imprint).

After letting my OCD make a raving loon out of me for the rest of the afternoon, I eventually got myself a foot-long sub (the sandwich, not a tiny vessel full of seamen), a large bottle of orange Gatorade (my personal favorite electrolyte replenisher), and locked myself in my hotel room, determined to work out a plan of action. Suffice it to say, I was prepared the next day, and in front of a sizable crowd, I gave a coherent talk about writing comics, and did a substantial Q&A session afterward. When it was all over, a number of folks told me it was one of the best panels they had ever attended.

What does this all tell us? Well, either that I’m not really as big a doofus as I might think, or that a LOT of people were still high from the residual pot fumes of the Underground panel that had previously been in that room.

* One of the nicest and most accessible guys you’ll ever meet at a con is Walter Koenig. I’ve had the pleasure of talking to him a time or two as he’s roamed around Artist Alley, and always found him to be a thoroughly charming man. The very FIRST time I met Walter, however, was when I was standing at a urinal in the men’s room (and let’s hope that’s the only place you’ll find a urinal at the convention hall). I was doing my “business” and looked up (well, in Walter’s case, it’s more looking down) to see Star Trek’s own version of Davy Jones bellying up to the bathroom buffet. It’s tough enough not to make eye contact when you’re “voiding your komodo” in a normal situation…but when you’ve got the Ensign himself standing next to you? It’s not a situation for those with a bashful kidney, let me tell ya. And then I started thinking…what if I’M not the only one looking? Oh…my…gosh…what if HE’S looking MY way? What if I’m getting the Chekov Checkout? And what if he’s not impressed with the firepower of my “nuclear wessel”???

To his credit, if he was aware of the status of “the captain’s log,” he kept it to himself (and it’d better stay that way, Koenig!).

* There was a wonderful “legends” panel at a convention. I don’t remember everyone who was there, but I do know that Stan Lee, Curt Swan, Mart Nodell, and a few other greats of the business were on the dais. It was just amazing to see all these heroes of mine onstage. Eventually it got to the Q&A portion of the program, and after mustering every bit of courage I could, I stood up and asked a question.

Well, at least, I MEANT to ask a question. Instead what came out of my mouth was this long, dogmatic speech about not only how much their collective work had meant to me, but how much the moral tone of their work had shaped the person I am. This in turn became a speech about the anti-hero nature of too many current comics, and then of culture in general, and then…well, gang, I don’t know how long I rambled on, but it seemed like I could have used two or three shaves while I was pontificating. Eventually I was done and I somehow managed to find my seat beneath me. I was kind of light-headed, so I’m not sure what the reaction to my speechifying was. Maybe folks thought I was nuts. Maybe they thought I should be writing Captain America (and y’know, I SHOULD). What I DO know is that after the panel was over, Mr. Curt Swan came over and shook my hand, and ladies and gents, it doesn’t get much better than that.

* I know it’s just the fat guy in me (no jokes, please) that fondly remembers this, but back in the days when the ChicagoCon was at the Ramada O’Hare, we would get around the sky-high food prices by bringing our own sandwiches in a cooler. Now, bear in mind that these things were really only sandwiches by virtue of the fact that they were bordered on each side by a slice of hearty wheat bread. No, in truth what they were was a mound of deli meats and cheeses weighing in at almost three pounds each, and that’s BC (Before Condiments). We’d adjourn to the car at lunch time, crack open the Igloo, and have at one of these monstrosities, which would hold us over until dinner that night, and then some. I can’t really eat that way anymore, or at least shouldn’t (remind me to tell you about the time I ate six pounds of ground beef in under twenty minutes, all of which is probably still in my colon, and I sure as hell hope so, given the price of hamburger).

* On a long car trip to a con, we blew a tire and had to stop and change it at a gas station. Being a bunch of comic nerds, we were fairly proud of ourselves that we were able to do the deed by ourselves (hey, when the most hands-on you usually get is hooking up the Tivo…). After we’d proven we were much men, we climbed back in and pointed ourselves at the con. We were cruising down I-94, blasting The King’s “This Beat Goes On/Switchin’ to Glide” (still one of the best darned songs EVER), having a grand old time… when suddenly there was a sound like the hammer of the gods, assuming the gods had turned their amps up to “eleven.” In almost the same instant, we saw our right front tire go speeding past us as we skidded to the side of the road.

Kids, if you don’t listen to anything else I ever say, listen to this: lug nuts are essential.

I’m not sure I’ve ever seen anyone laugh as hard as the truck drivers who stopped on the other side of the road to watch us. Not help, mind you, just watch. Truly the Knights of the Highway…

* Along those same lines, in the mid-80s I was in a tiny, crowded car (no, not full of clowns), on my way to the Mid-Ohio Con. It was a five-hour trip from Lafayette to Mansfield (and presumably it still is), and we were only about a mile from the venue, sitting at a stop light, when we were hit from behind by a woman going about 50mph (and presumably her car was, too). It was one hell of an impact. When we were finally able to move, my then-girlfriend, who had been driving, staggered from the car, claiming she was unable to see (nah, not an insurance scam; I think it was hysterical blindness…god knows when I look back at it now, it seems hysterical). Two amazing things: (1) we someone made the five hour drive back home in the same wreck of a car, and (2) we went right ahead and attended the con, because nothing gets between me and comics, except an occasional line of enthusiastic spittle. I don’t remember much about the girl or the car now, but I sure remember that issue of Doom Patrol #115 I picked up in Very Fine condition…

* In 1997, Wizard did a pretty major article on my Holey Crullers mini-comic. Because of that exposure, when I set up my table at the next Chicago convention, I was selling comics like hotcakes (you can call me Nannerpus, Nannerpus). I actually had to call home and ask some folks I knew who were coming up the next day to stop by Hacienda Hickman and bring more boxes of books. After years of selling dribs and drabs, it was a great feeling, as you can imagine. But even better than all those sales was when a woman and an adolescent boy approached the table late in the day. The kid asked me if I was the one they’d written about in Wizard, and asked if he could buy my comics, and if I’d sign them. His mom told me he’d bugged her the whole time they were there about finding my table and getting issues of Crullers.

Folks, I’m always the first to admit that I get teary-eyed and choked up at the drop of a hat, so you can imagine how I felt when this little kid, the same age I was when I started becoming so obsessed with comics, seemed not only interested in my stuff, but really looking forward to reading it. The look in his eyes was the same I used to get when I’d see that Beaman’s Drug Store had gotten in the new JLA/JSA team-up or an issue of Giant-Sized Avengers. I don’t know if I’ll ever see my characters hit the big screen or star in a company-wide crossover, but I tell you with all sincerity that the look in that little kid’s eyes was as good as anything I’m ever likely to “earn” in this business, and I wouldn’t trade it for the world.

Anyway, that’s not even a fraction of my favorite con stories, but let’s save something for later. And hey, if you happen to see me at a con, stop by the table and help me create some new memories. Just make sure to bring me a giant sandwich…

Troy Hickman does stuff like Common Grounds and the upcoming Twilight Guardian mini-series, but he’s always looking for work. Hey, Mr. Editor, do your hedges need trimming?

This entry was posted on Tuesday, April 14th, 2009 at 10:34 am and is filed under Conventions, Creators. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can skip to the end and leave a response. Pinging is currently not allowed.