The mind of the comics man

Part I: The Male Comic Fan

By Marcie Young

NEW YORK CITY - Zorikh Lequidre remembers the day vividly.

He had just bought a copy of Spidey Super Stories No. 1, the 1974 debut comic featuring Peter Parker’s arachnid alter-ego. Excited to show off the colorfully drawn book to his kindergarten classmates, 5-year-old Lequidre packed up the book and toted it to his school at the Lenox Hill neighborhood center on Manhattan’s Upper East Side. Lequidre’s mom taught him to share, so he passed it around the classroom, letting his friends get a good look at the thin comic.

But one boy didn’t want to give it back. Lequidre didn’t like that, so he grabbed at the comic book. The boy held on. A long rip tore through the cover, splitting in two the image of Spiderman dangling from a New York building.

Angry tears spilled down Lequidre’s face. “I was so very upset that I went to the trash can, ripped the whole comic book into tiny pieces and threw it away,” he says.

It wasn’t until several years later that Lequidre realized the comic had been a first issue, a likely collector’s edition valued $50 in near mint condition — considerably higher than the 35-cent cover price.

Now, more than 30 years later, Spiderman still gets to Lequidre, but so do Captain Marvel, Batman and other superhero legends. His mom taught him to read using comic books, and Lequidre says he can’t remember life without the cartoon prints. The superheroes were always his favorite.

“They could solve problems, and they seemed to have a code of honor,” Lequidre says. “There were certain things they just didn’t do. There was a morality and ethic to them… My mom brought me up to do the right thing, and these people always did the right thing.”

Later, when Lequidre got a little older, he started to connect with the storyline offered through Marvel’s X-Men, a cast of human oddities forced to live away from the rest of society.

“I identified with the mutant outcast oddball with a name like Zorikh and always being tall and skinny…and my mom teaching me esoteric things that no one else understood,” Lequidre says.

Lequidre owns approximately 7,000 comic books and graphic novels, which he preserves in plastic wrapping and stores in cardboard boxes specifically made to hold the colorful booklets. Now, superheroes and comics are essentially Lequidre’s full-time job. To make rent and pay bills, Lequidre predominately depends on the financial backing of a Captain Marvel book he’s writing and the cash he gathers from musical performances he gives on subways and in stations.

He has also dedicated weekends, like this one, to volunteering at the Big Apple Con, a near-quarterly comic book convention held in New York City. This time, the convention is taking place at Penn Pavilion on the city’s west side. Big Apple Con, a local event, is relatively small in comparison to the annual San Diego Comic Con International, which drew more than 104,000 fans, professionals, exhibitors and vendors at the 2005 show.

Lequidre parks his 6-foot-3-inch frame behind a rectangular folding table with an “information” sign hanging from it. A curly, blond mullet pokes out from beneath his black baseball cap, and the red and gold of a Captain Marvel tee-shirt peeks through the black jumpsuit Lequidre wears as promotional fare his band, Deathstar Repairmen. As convention-goers unload from the escalator, he grins and points out where vendors, artists and celebrities have set up.

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Comic books and superheroes are a multi-million dollar industry. Marvel Entertainment, a publicly traded company, pulled in $373.9 million in revenue in 2005, and movies featuring characters from the DC Comics have grossed more than $2.7 billion worldwide since the 1978 release of “Superman” starring Christopher Reeve.

Since the first appearance Superman on pulpy newspaper pages in 1938, the industry has grabbed hold of a dedicated fan base had has refused to let go. Even during declines in comic book popularity, the superhero, encompassed by idols such as DC’s Batman and Wonder Woman and Marvel’s Spiderman and X-Men, has survived. Today, the superhero reaches far beyond the devoted readers of tangible comic books and penetrates society at large, chiefly due to successful big screen blockbusters like last spring’s “Batman Begins,” which earned nearly $372 million in theaters worldwide.

But it is the fans, like Lequidre, that keep the hard-copy medium alive. They hunt down back issues of their youth or conduct dedicated searches to complete sets of popular comic book storylines. Every Wednesday, when the newest editions of the serial stories are released, fans rush local comic book stores, including the two locations of Midtown Comics in Times Square and near Grand Central Station, to stay on top of the superheroes’ tales.

Comic book fandom, like other mass followings, isn’t without its stereotypes. Dedicated fans are often characterized as geeks and antisocial virgins, yet intelligent and, as one fan noted, resistant of societal norms.

“The comic book fan is stereotyped a geek because he is,” says Bob Madison, a lifelong fan of the superhero and publisher of Dinoship Inc., a company that produces science fiction and fantasy products. “A geek, however, would say comic book fans are very smart, which tends to be true, and [that] they are rebels…Societal norms are irrelevant, such as clean clothes or worrying about how you look. They might not care about doing the petty things in school to be popular, like being on the team, whatever that team might be, or being obsessed with popular music.”

Adan Jimenez, an assistant manager at Midtown Comics, says the stereotype changes as fans grow older and as the medium penetrates television and film. The typical fans he sees roaming the store’s two floors don’t usually represent the stereotype.

“He’s a mid-30s man who works in an office and has loved comics most of his life, and now that he has an income, he comes in and buys the comics,” 22-year-old Jimenez says of the male fans dressed in suits and ties or business casual. “They have a real love for the medium and want to see it succeed.”

In the other fan base, those who drive movie sales or, perhaps, watch weekly episodes of “Smallville,” a television show about Superman’s youth, don’t necessarily buy comic books but are invested in the superheroes that permeate society in the mainstream media. Even popular shows like HBO’s “Entourage” and Fox’s “The O.C.” are helping change the stereotypes by introducing characters that are less geeky fans of the medium.

Buzz over “Superman Returns,” the fifth big screen edition of the iconic character, and “X-Men: The Last Stand,” the final film in the trilogy, started months before the trailers were released. Online message boards dedicated solely to the unreleased flicks, which are scheduled hit theaters in June and May respectively, are littered with gossip about the characters and predictions for each movie’s success.

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The superhero is surviving in other mediums outside the realm of paper comic books, but at conventions like the Big Apple Con, fans like Lequidre keep the ink and paper superhero very much alive. Convention goers flock to vendors and artists, hoping to feed their passion for the industry.

The smell of pungent dyed paper fills the air, as fans sift through boxes of back issues. Dealers sell their wares, from vintage copies of Superman comic books to life-sized cardboard cutouts of television’s Wonder Woman, Lynda Carter. Artists, writers and editors advertise recent and upcoming projects or flaunt sketches of iconic superheroes. B-list celebrities, including the original Daisy Duke, Catherine Bach, pose for snapshots with eager fans and sign autographs for small fees that hover between five and 10 dollars.

Lequidre’s girlfriend, Jessica Valadez, dressed in a leather “gladiatrix” outfit, takes her boyfriend’s place at the convention information desk. Four straps run diagonally across the chest of the black leather corset, squeezing the costume tightly around Valadez’s upper body.

“Unlike a lot of models you see here, she has the physical ability of an action hero and can wear this,” Lequidre says of the barbarian-inspired outfit he designed for 23-year-old Valadez, a physical trainer, to wear at the convention.

Now that Valadez has relieved Lequidre from his post, he is free to set up his own table next to a busty model once famous for gracing a 1981 Playboy magazine cover. He lays out copies of his own mini-comic book, Watch This Space, and promotional material about the Captain Marvel book he’s penning. He plugs in a miniature television set and video player and insets a tape on medieval warfare, fanning copies of the film around the TV’s base.

Across the room, Big Apple Con founder Michael Carbonaro darts from vendor to vendor, trying to swing deals on comic books and merchandise. Dressed in black slacks and a long sleeve black shirt, Carbonaro’s colorful personality is mimicked by the lime green backpack hanging from his shoulders and an aqua blue scarf dangling around his neck. His brown hair is streaked with white, and his smile is strikingly similar to the Joker featured in DC’s Batman line. Carbonaro drums his thin fingers on table tops and talks constantly when he isn’t scurrying across the crowded convention hall floor.

“You want to talk about this All-Star lot?” he asks a 30-something male dealer standing behind a table covered by a dozen boxes tightly crammed with back issues. The dealer sifts through a couple of boxes and pulls out a No. 8 All-Star DC comic book, the 1941 issue where Wonder Woman, the first female superhero, makes her debut.

The crisp cover, well-preserved in a plastic jacket backed by a thin piece of white cardboard, colorfully advertises the 10-cent sale price floating above the heads of members of the Justice Society of America and their enemies.

“It’s a really nice collection,” 47-year-old Carbonaro says, gingerly flipping through the pages.

The dealer, who trades and sells hundreds of comics at conventions like this, looks through a few more boxes while Carbonaro slides the comic book into the plastic protector. “Why don’t we talk about this during the week,” he says with a nod before briskly walking to the next vendor’s table.

The anthology Carbonaro is hoping to complete and then resell is the 57-issue set of All Star Comics, which is valued at $46,428 in the Overstreet Comic Book Price Guide, the collector’s Bible.

Queens-born Carbonaro started the Big Apple Con 10 years ago but has been embedded in the comic book trade for more than three decades. Like many of the fans and collectors he meets, he recalls exactly when he bought his first comic book. But it isn’t the memory of purchasing Tales to Astonish No. 30 in 1962 that has made the strongest impression.

A few years later, when Carbonaro was in the second grade, his mother got angry with him and threw all his comic books into the incinerator as punishment.

“I cried for hours. [My mother] felt sorry for me afterwards, and we went down and tried to save the ones that hadn’t been burned,” he says, drumming his knuckles rapidly on a wooden table. “Then she started to find out where we could buy back issues. And for the rest of my life, that’s basically what I’ve been doing — buying back issues of comic books.” In a way, he says, his mom launched his career when she threw the colorful paper booklets into the fire.

Carbonaro started selling comic books when he was 12, and later, with money borrowed from his father, bought out a comic dealer. By the time the first Mighty Marvel Comicon came to New York 1975, 16-year-old Carbonaro was making big bucks in the business.

“I remember making so much money [at the convention], I went out the next day, and I bought a Trans Am for cash. It was the ’76 special edition,” he says with a grin. “I remember it was $10,000 or $15,000…It was great. It was super amazing.”

Although those involved in the comic book industry are starting to garner more respect, Carbonaro says it hasn’t always been so. When he first started buying and selling comics in the 1970s, only the superheroes got respect, and the comic book industry was mocked.

“The first 20 years, people would laugh at me. It was this whole underground economy and underground world. I was almost like an outlaw buying and selling comics,” he says with a laugh. “It was almost more fun then.”

Now, Carbonaro has parlayed that success into his own conventions and an online store called Neat Stuff Collectibles, the largest comic book seller on eBay, which he says brings in between $3 million and $4 million a year.

Carbonaro doesn’t just love the business, however, he’s infatuated with the comic book superhero, as well. A self described “Marvel guy,” Carbonaro says the real evolution of the superhero started in 1961 when Marvel writer and creator, Stan Lee, revamped the industry and launched the Silver Age of comics.

Carbonaro lists the changes in a verbal bulleted format. “Superheroes with super problems. Not just black and white…Good guy vs. bad guy,” he says. “This was just like Spiderman. The aunt was dying. The girlfriend wasn’t always around. He couldn’t always pay his rent…[But he could kill] villains with his bare hands, a dozen of them at the same time. You have this evolution of a personality that entered into these brilliant plans.”

The cheery days of the superheroes, like Superman and the Batman and Robin team, were no more. Instead darker versions of the same superheroes evolved, and other, grittier characters started appearing in the medium. Even the colorful drawings got darker, the brilliant shades replaced by browns, blacks and grays. Madison says it’s a disappointment.

In the modern era of comics both Marvel and DC, along with other publishers, have become increasingly dark and gritty. The darkness that enveloped comic book superheroes in the 1980s, starting with Frank Miller’s Batman storyline, The Dark Knight Returns, in 1986, revitalized comics and made the tales more popular with adults. Characters became more somber and more complicated, which Madison argues stripped the fun from duos like Batman and Robin.

“If you want serious, you shouldn’t be reading a story about a giant bat,” he says. “He used to be the scoutmaster in black. Now he is just a psychotic.”

Years before Batman was introduced as the dark and brooding vigilante, Dr. Fredric Wertham, a German-American psychiatrist, launched an attack on comic books and superheroes with his 1954 book, Seduction of the Innocent. As a result of Wertham’s claims that comic books encouraged juvenile delinquency, homosexuality, drug use and violence, the U.S. Congress instigated an inquiry into the industry. Batman and Robin were accused of being lovers, and Wonder Woman was labeled a lesbian because of her strength and independence. Mothers would often censor their children and prohibit them from reading about the adventures of Superman and his friends, convinced that superheroes contributed to America’s social ills.

As a result of Wertham’s declaration against the cartoon characters, comics suffered a decline in the late 1950s, and some fans argue that Wertham was responsible for killing the Golden Age of comics, which was highlighted by patriotism, optimism and light-hearted storylines. The industry didn’t see a resurgence until the Silver Age, marked by Stan Lee’s rise in the Marvel empire and the creation of the “Batman” television show in the mid-1960s.

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Fans hover around the creators sitting in Artist Alley at the Big Apple Con, where former Marvel writer and editor Danny Fingeroth stands behind a rectangular folding table. Posters advertising his book, Superman on the Couch: What Superheroes Really Tell Us About Ourselves and Our Society, hang on the cream-colored wall above his head. His friend and fellow creator, Jim Salicrup, has inked a sign in bright green print that reads: “It’s true, Danny Fingeroth is here!”

Regardless of the vigilante justice many superheroes inflict on villains, Fingeroth says they have continued to thrive in comic books, the big screen, in television and even in theme parks. The image of the superhero, he says, gives us “warm and fuzzy feelings.” Even though superheroes have infiltrated movie theaters and television programs, it is the comic book fan that keeps Superman and his counterparts alive on the medium’s inky pages. Non-comic book fans, Fingeroth says, are generally enthralled by the benevolent side of the characters they see in films and on the small screen.

Superheroes, like Batman and Spiderman, are flawed but still use their powers wisely and fairly. “To the casual viewer of superhero movies, the simple true-blue hero who fights for right is appealing,” he explains.

But actual comic books — inked booklets filled with cartoonish characters and floating quote bubbles — aren’t for everyone. “Comics fans, by definition, like comics,” Fingeroth says. “There are highly intelligent people who, literally, cannot make sense of a comic book. Not everyone’s brain is wired to coordinate words and images the way you have to be able to in order to read a comic book…For those who are able to process comics, there’s a magic to them that connects to the brain in a more intimate way than other media.”

Fingeroth runs a hand over his head of cropped, brown curls. His tee-shirt advertises Superman on the Couch — the book’s cover printed on the white cotton. The image of a Lycra-clad superhero reclining in his psychiatrist’s office is only partially obscured by the unbuttoned long-sleeve shirt Fingeroth wears over dark slacks. Fans stop by to flip through the book or chat with Fingeroth about his Write Now! magazine, which offers tips to hopeful artists and writers.

Even though superhero movies, including the upcoming “X-Men: The Last Stand” and “Superman Returns,” are the industry’s biggest money makers, Fingeroth says it’s a myth that hardcopy comics are the less important medium.

“Superhero comic books are big business. Movies and TV are bigger,” he says. He emphasizes, however, that comic fans not only connect with the characters but with the writers and artists who bring these superheroes to life through colorful imagery and dialogue. “Comics feel like a ‘mom ‘n pop’ business, even though it is far from that….Your odds of meeting Steven Spielberg are pretty slim. Your odds of meeting the top editors at Marvel and DC are relatively good, though it may be just a quick handshake and autograph.”

Fingeroth sits down, crosses his arms across his chest and surveys the crowded convention hall floor. “Many superhero fans feel they are just a lucky break away from writing or drawing the comic themselves,” he says.

Lequidre, with the leather-clad Valadez trailing behind him, bounds toward the table and jubilantly extends a hand. “Mr. Fingeroth,” he exclaims. “Can I take a photo with you to promote my Captain Marvel book?”

Fingeroth stands to return the greeting and smiles. “Sure,” he says, reaching for the most recent edition of Write Now!, which features a close-up cartoon portrait of Spiderwoman on the cover.

Lequidre hands his digital camera to Valadez and rips open the front of his black jumpsuit to fully reveal the yellow lightning bolt in the center of his red Captain Marvel shirt. Fingeroth holds up the magazine, and the men shake hands as Valadez raises the camera to her face. “One, two, three,” she says and snaps a photo.

“It’s for my website,” Lequidre says. “How about one more?”

© Copyright Marcie A. Young 2006