The Wolverine, from his first appearance in 1974, would be virtually unrecognizable to fans of the later incarnation of the Wolverine.
I had never been to a Comic Con of any type. And this summer, even though I attended the Salt-City Collect-A-Con at the farmers market in Syracuse by the Regional Transportation Center, I can still say I have never been to a REAL Con.
This was still a fun afternoon out, away from my wife and kids. And, as I strolled around the metal-framed nerd-fest, I noticed, in a booth in the middle of the Con, a rare sight… Incredible Hulk (Vol. 1), #181, the first full appearance of the Wolverine. While Wolverine is in a panel of #180, #181 is a holy grail of comics that’s sought after and recognized as the start of Wolverine’s climb to Marvel comics royalty.
I walked over to the booth and picked out some other comics in their stacks. While I was looking, a man walked by from behind the booth and I was to distracted to care. I had found a number of (Uncanny) X-Men books that had eluded my efforts in the past.
I waited for another person to buy something and listened carefully to see if there was any room for negotiations. Lucky for me, it appeared that there was a little space to haggle and I got the attention of the booth’s attendant.
The friendly helper, as I will refer to him, asked me if he could ring up my purchases. I told him that I wanted to talk about the price of the Hulk #181, first. He froze, stuttered, and mumbled. “This is out of my pay grade. I’m just here as a friend to help and process the credit cards.”
I took this as a subtle implication that whomever he was, the boss, as I will refer to him, didn’t have a checking account to set up his own Square account. The helping friend grabbed a cell phone and typed in some numbers. After an unsuccessful first attempt, with a few accompanied mutters of “pick up, pick up, pick up, pick up”, the second call reached the boss.
Hulk #181 features the first full appearance of the Wolverine. The previous issue actually showed the Wolverine in a few frames.
“I got a guy here who’s interested in Hulk 181. I said, I GOT A GUY HERE INTERESTED IN HULK 181. NO. HULK 181.”
The helping friend gestured to me, as he was still on the phone struggling to communicate with the boss because it was so loud. I gave a nod of assurance that it was indeed loud and he got back to the phone. “I think he’s serious. He seems legit. He wants to talk about price. Yup.”
Flattered that I was deemed “legit”, the friendly helper hung up the phone and addressed me directly. “As soon as he’s done with his smoke, he’ll come back and negotiate. You got a second, right?”
“For this,” I replied, “Yes. Yes, I do.”
The friendly helper, in preparation for his boss returning, said one more interesting thing before he walked over to help another customer and leave me to wait. “It’s the only book we have here from his own personal collection, you know? He’s really connected to it. He bought it himself as a kid.”
Hearing this, I knew I was in for a long painful negotiation and I slowly prepared myself to be ready to walk away. You see this on those Pawn shows on TV all the time. Your sentimental attachment to your family heirloom and your personal history is not a factor in negotiations for a collectable’s price. Sadly, the personal love or hate people carry for an item doesn’t effect the actual market value of that item. Our hearts don’t set the price range.
A few minutes later, the boss returned smelling of menthol and literally twitching. He reminded me of a cross between Tom Waits and Tweak from Southpark. He had a comic-themed cut-sleeve t-shirt and comic tattoos up and down his arms. It was almost as if his tattoos WERE the missing sleeves of his shirt. He was dirty and more wrinkly than he should have been and he offered an explanation upon his return in the form of a greeting. “I haven’t slept in a while, man,” he said. “I drove all night to be here.”
I thought this was a peculiar introduction and expected something more traditional like, “hello”, perhaps? It was a phrase he came to use a few times over the course of our interaction (especially as he attempted mental math, later).
So, I proceeded, naturally into negotiation mode with a compliment. It couldn’t hurt to kiss his ass and his booth had some really great stuff that made it stand out amongst the rows and rows of junk booths featuring Star Wars toys from the crappy new movies and individually bagged G.I. Joe projectiles from the 1980s toy line sold as replacement parts.
“Is that a Green Lantern and Green Arrow (Vol. 2) #89 signed by Neal Adams? That’s sick.”
“It is,” the boss answered with a sense of pride. “Good eye. We tour all over the country following Neal Adams from convention to convention. He’s our guy.” The Boss pointed over to his guy, the friendly helper.
We bonded over Adam’s influence on comics. We agreed that when most people over the age of 20 close their eyes and picture a comic drawing of Batman (not live-action or cartoon TV), they are usually picturing Adam’s classic renditions that were printed on an endless chain of kids bed sheets, lunch boxes, etc. I talked about how forgotten Adam’s art was on the early (Uncanny) X-Men. This led smoothly into negotiations. I had successfully built up trust with the boss and street credit as a comic insider.
I learned, during the process, that he had no intention of selling that book that day. He, like good salesmen do, used it as a lure to bring people to his booth. Few would have the money to buy it. Fewer would have the courage to ask if he had any wiggle room with the price. My interest was very jarring for him and led to some awkward exchanges.
We went back and forth a bit. I got a slight discount and about $125.00 worth of other comics in the booth for free. We swiped a credit card, signed some papers, exchanged information, and everyone was happy… Or so I thought. A hot-second later, things changed dramatically.
Before handing Hulk #181 over, he actually asked for a moment with the comic alone. In all my years working around and owning my own comics, I had never seen anything like this. He sat down in a chair in the booth and leaned in as if he was about to hug a small child, and actually whispered something to the book. He took a few seconds more and just stared at the book with glossy eyes. Seeing this unfold, and being a skeptical horrible human, I was nervous he was playing some sort of switcharoo scam. I came to realize, though, that this was 100% real. I don’t know what he said. But he appeared to be on the verge of weeping for his lost childhood. you could almost see his brain straining to process memories of a better or simpler time.
And I desperately needed to break the tension of the moment.
“It’s going to a good home. I’m going to read it. That’s my first rule for collecting: read everything you buy. And then I’ll CGC grade it. Not to sell it, of course. Just to protect it. It’ll have a graded copy of Giant Sized X-Men #1 and X-Men #1 to play with. And I can take pictures and send them to you on Christmas of how happy the book is on my shelf.”
The strangest part was that it wasn’t all humor. I felt like this was something he desperately needed to hear in the moment. It was both sickening and sweet, like eating a heaping spoon of powdered sugar from the bag.
I walked out of a Con with someone else’s childhood memories and the guilt lasted about an hour before I came to my senses and realized what a great buy I had made. It’s interesting that collecting is the act of putting a price on others most prized possession and, more importantly, their most cherished memories.
The $1 Comics Bin 