SDCC '26

The Gathering of the Clans

SDCC has grown since my first visit. That was in 1984 at the El Cortez in downtown. In 1987 it was at the Hotel San Diego. It was Jack Kirby’s 70t birthday. I shook his hand. There were wild parties. The Convention Center had not been built. Horton Plaza was new.

I don’t like crowds. I’ve been going to more cons lately due to a career renaissance sparked by my partnership with Chris Braly. It started with Florida Man.

Part of it is due to Harold German, creator of Calico. Calico is Punisher for animals. Harold is charismatic and has got me into several cons. Renee Witterstaeter got me into Phoenix Fan Fusion this year. The crowds, the heat, the labyrinthene entry process. The influx of actors, wrestlers and cosplayers has given cons a huge boost in the arm they weren’t getting from comics alone. Comic-based movies have injected new life into cons, if not the movie industry or comics themselves.

I hadn’t been to SDCC in ten years. It was bad then. It took fifteen minutes to cross the street. This year was a clusterfuck of massive proportions. Guests, pros and fans had to negotiate endless mazes of yellow tape. Mile-long lines patrolled by a half dozen different security agencies. Staffed by men and women who were not comic readers.

I wouldn’t have gone were it not for my old friend Gabe Eltaeb. “You gotta come, man. You can stay at my place.” Gabe is one of the best colorists in the business. Now he’s an artist, writer and publisher. Big Man Comics publishes Dean Cain: All American Lawman, The Unstoppable Tyrus, and Empyrian. Gabe is a devout Christian. He colored Superman. Until DC changed the slogan from “truth, justice, and the American way” to “truth, justice and a better tomorrow.” This, in conjunction with Superboy kissing his purple-haired boyfriend, prompted Gabe to leave DC. On the way out the door, he scalded them for trading heroism and entertainment for woke lectures. This opened up new opportunities such as working with Dean Cain and Tyrus.

As we approached the Convention Center Wednesday evening for preview night, traffic was backed up for a mile. Police, security, badges everywhere. Gabe slipped his F-150 into a slot in the underground parking garage and we went in search of my pro badge. Ink Pot Award winners get a lifetime pass. Took a half hour to get in and get the badge.

The Convention Center property is two point six million square feet. The main floor is 525,000 square feet. Imagine 125,000 people in one room. Gabe’s booth was small but he made room for me. There are too many booths with too many beautiful books to see. Everyuwhere I looked were magic books. Last Gasp. Fantagraphics. Action Figure Authority. My house is crammed with books. I want them all but I don’t have room for them.

Big Man Comics has sat next to an ocarina booth for years. The dulcet tones of Theme to Star Wars played endlessly. At least it wasn’t a boom box blasting bass. We’ve all gone to cons where some asshole is blasting rap and all you can hear is the bass. Through your feet. At least the ocarina doesn’t have much reach. We were right next door. After the 200th rendition of “Theme to Star Wars” I bearded the ocarinist in his lair.

“Can you play ‘A Night In Tunisia?’” He thought for a minute and then he played it. The man had earned his right to blast the ocarina. See my substack, From Caravan to A Night In Tunisia.

Thursday morning I ran into Jackie Estrada, one of the con’s original organizers. She is also in charge of the Eisners and the Ink Pot Awards. She was there when it began. She helped make it happen. She’s been posting pictures from all the cons from the first forward on her Facebook page. We sought entrance at one of the twenty-seven doors stretching for a quarter mile. The hired security guard, who knows nothing about comics and is happy to have a job, said, “You can’t enter here. You have to go to Door G.” My jaw dropped. “This is Jackie Estrada. She created this con.” “Sorry.”

Eventually we made it in. Imagine being a cow in the Chicago stockyards in the late eighteen hundreds. Con players dressed as 19th century antebellum belles with three foot hoop skirts. People of size. Great size. Cos players including a three man Chinese dragon wending its way blindly through the immovable mob.

A few years back Harley Quinn and Deadpool were the most popular cosplays. Now they are rare. Indiana Jones was there. Lucas Films had a huge pavilion. RC controlled R2D2s made their way beeping through the crowd followed by their proud owners. Make way for the big toy. The Riddler. Kingpin. Young mothers pushing double-wides.

I’m writing Axi Cab for Antarctic. Philip Nelson created Axi Cab. It’s a throwback to the grindhouse horror films of the eighties, agbout an iunsane cab driver who picks up evil people and subjects them to gruesome deaths. He’s ingenious. He keeps an inventor as a slave to keep coming up with more bizarre ways to kill.

Phil and I were at the Antarctic Booth Friday and Saturday. The Fanboy Shuffle takes place at noon on Saturday. Cosplayers, mostly young men, race from the southwest corner of the room to the northeast corner. The room is the size of three football fields. Contestants may not shove or knock anyone down. At noon, a gaggle of a dozen were ready to go. Blue Beetle. Black Panther. Red Sonja (a woman.) Sgt Flag. Captain America (no shield.) The Flash. At noon, Poison Ivy dropped a bandana. They were off! Each seeking a different path. Weaving among the hordes. Exciting! I’ll post video shortly!

I didn’t learn the winner until hours later. The Flash, naturally. Setting a new record at twenty-two minutes and fifty-four seconds. There’s no footage of the race because you can’t fly drones in the convention center. Although there’s plenty of room.

I met my lawyer Gamal Hennessey at the Hilton. Gamal specializes in comic book properties. Gamal is debonair and charming. We talked jazz. Gamal lives in New York and goes to clubs. I wish I’d taken a picture.

Saturday more of the same. Running into old friends, making new ones. After we signed at Antarctic, Phil and I went out back on the terrace. It was like escaping from a Soviet gulag to Jamaica. Out back was the sun, the breeze, the bay, a delightful cafe overlooking Coronado Island. Phil and I talked movies and drank beer. Bob Burden joined us.

That was it for me. I was outta there Sunday morning, slipped through security, got to Denver, saluted Blucifer from the bus, and was home by six.