the anniversary waltz

There once was a boy
named Pierre

eBay, the famed internet auction, is celebrating its twenty-fifth anniversary in 2020. It's hard to believe 28 year-old computer programmer Pierre Omidyar sat in his apartment on Labor Day Weekend 1995 and wrote the code for an online auction, just so he could sell off a few duplicate Pez dispensers he had in his little collection. Or so he says in the company's press release. Actually, that story about eBay's humble beginnings that Pierre has been telling for a quarter-century is total bullshit. But it sure makes the internet auction powerhouse sound... um..... human?

My wife has been selling on eBay for nearly as long as there has been an eBay to sell on. (No, she won't sell your stuff.) Starting off as a supplement to running her parents' general merchandise store, Mrs. P has built her eBay business into just that — a business. She buys, lists, packs and ships merchandise in a regular routine and does it all herself. (I said 'No!,' she will not sell your stuff. Let it go!)

Way back in 2003, when my in-law's store was still operating, Mrs. P was maintaining her eBay business just a few days per week. Still, she was selling a good amount of merchandise. One day, while going through her email, answering questions from potential buyers and sending "end-of-auction" messages to customers, she received an announcement from eBay's headquarters — or so it appeared. She often received bogus emails claiming to be eBay and alerting her to some discrepancy in her account or a similar issue which needed immediate attention. This particular email congratulated her as the winner of a trip to the annual eBay Live! convention being held in Orlando, Florida. She perceived this email as no different from a number of scam offers and announcements she received on a daily basis — so she deleted it. A few days later, she received the same email again. And, again, she deleted it. A third email arrived. This one she read to me and we were treated to a good laugh before this email met the same fate as the previous two.

Then, a week or so later, instead of an email allegedly from eBay, Mrs. P received a phone call from eBay. The nice man on the phone asked my wife why she had not responded to the email about winning the trip to eBay Live! Mrs Pincus laughed and questioned his claim of truly being a representative of eBay. The man on the phone chuckled and said, "Well, I can end all of your auctions, if that'll convince you." She was convinced from the statement alone. He re-sent the email and we read it more carefully this time.

Apparently, because of Mrs. P's stellar selling record, she was awarded "Power Seller" status. All "Power Sellers" would be treated to a two-night stay at the ritzy Peabody Orlando Resort and full admission to the eBay Live! event at the Orlando Convention Center, a three-day celebration of all things eBay, including workshops, seminars and slew of other informative programs we weren't the least bit interested in. The convention also featured a trade show-like presentation floor, where hundreds of eBay associated businesses would be giving away all the logo-emblazoned tchotchkes we could carry. In addition, eBay would pick up the cost of airfare for the two of us. It sounded great, but we really weren't certain this was legit.

We received an official-looking information packet in the mail — allegedly from eBay — including several different release forms — all of which needed to be notarized. We took these forms to a local notary and then sent them back via registered mail. I said, "If this is a scam, at least we're only out the cost of a notary seal and postage."

In a few weeks, we received a bigger packet from eBay that included airline tickets, a hotel voucher and admission credentials for the convention itself. We still weren't convinced. As our departure date drew closer, we packed as though we were actually going on this trip. On the actual day printed on the so-called airplane boarding passes, we drove to the airport, proceeded to the proper gate and, eventually, boarded an Orlando-bound plane. The plane taxied and achieved an airborne state. Mrs P and I looked at each other and decided that we would finally be convinced once we checked in to the hotel.

Well, we landed in Orlando and were shuttled to the beautiful Peabody Hotel. We checked in without a hitch and soon found ourselves smack in the middle of the eBay Live! marketplace. We met and spoke with dozens of eBay representatives and collected free enamel pins to commemorate the event. We were invited to watch then-eBay CEO Meg Whitman deliver her keynote speech — a rousing motivational address that seemed to only be missing a cheerleading squad. When Ms. Whitman completed her oration, the stage was overtaken by the one-and-only Weird Al Yankovic who serenaded the faithful with an eBay parody set to the timely tune of the Backstreet Boys' "I Want It That Way."

The final day of the convention was capped off with an old-fashioned block party, where the inside of the Orlando Convention Center was transformed into a picket-fenced and green-lawned locale of Anytown USA. Grilled hot dogs, fresh popcorn and big, ice-filled tubs of soda were available for all conventioneers. As we strolled about the faux twilight-flecked neighborhood that the good folks at eBay meticulously created, Mrs. Pincus and I were finally convinced that this was on the level.

www.joshpincusiscrying.com

never before has a boy wanted more

As you probably figured out, I watch a lot of television. I love television. I've been watching television since I was first able to switch on that big, black & white number my parents bought to babysit me (I assume). Saturday mornings were filled with the cartoon antics of Huckleberry Hound, Yogi Bear and Underdog... as well as some forgotten favorites like Milton the Monster and Fearless Fly. During the week, I watched sitcoms, most of which I didn't understand. Sure the humor was broad, bordering on slapstick, but they were geared towards adults. The offerings on Friday nights on ABC, however, were made for a kid. 

The line-up kicked off at 8 o'clock with The Brady Bunch, followed by The Partridge Family, Room 222, The Odd Couple and This Is Tom Jones, which was replaced by Love, American Style after the Welsh singer's swiveling hips fell out of favor with middle-age American moms (my mom included).

I was nuts about The Brady Bunch. Watching their unrealistic adventures was fascinating to me. The show presented a household that was like nothing I had ever seen, despite the fact that my brother bore a slight resemblance to eldest brother Greg. I enjoyed watching the kids interact. I liked the fact that Mom and Dad never really lost their tempers. It was simple and silly and I ate it up. Of course, as the kids got older, I got older. And like every other prepubescent boy I knew, I stared dreamy-eyed at Marcia Brady. She was beautiful. I especially liked the "Marcia-centric" episodes of The Brady Bunch — even the painful "Oh! My nose!" episode, because the ending tied everything up in a pretty Brady Bunch bow. Somewhere around Season Four, perennially troubled middle child Jan blossomed into a beauty, becoming a formidable rival to Marcia for my imaginary affections.

The final season of The Brady Bunch kicked off strong with the iconic "Adios Johnny Bravo!" episode featuring the Brady kids final performance on the show as a singing group. January brought the back-door pilot "Kelly's Kids," a "show-within-a-show" and a possible vehicle for Ken Berry, coming on the heels of the cancellation of Mayberry R.F.D. Just three episodes later would come the beginning of the end for The Brady Bunch. Season Five Episode 17 was entitled "Welcome Aboard," and introduced one of the most innocent, yet notorious, characters in television history — Cousin Oliver. Played by 10-year-old veteran actor Robbie Rist (he already had two network television appearances under his belt when he was cast as Carol Brady's nephew), "Cousin Oliver" was an unwelcome addition to the Brady household. First maligned as a jinx, attitudes were quickly changed when the family was awarded the grand prize (while on a tour of a movie studio), because they had an extra person in their group. It was obvious that the pint-sized character was introduced because the two youngest Bradys had outgrown their cuteness, despite attempts to keep 13-year-old, puberty-sprouting Susan Olsen (as Cindy) in youth-evoking pigtails. For the next five episodes, Cousin Oliver delivered punchlines or offered reaction shots that were previously reserved for Bobby. The series wrapped up unceremoniously and the Bradys (with the exception of Florence Henderson) were relegated to "typecast hell."

I grew up. Got married. Had a child. And I still watched a lot of television.

Just a few years ago, I became very active on social media, specifically Twitter. I tweeted about everything — music, current events, movies, even "off limits" topics like politics and religion. And, yes, even television. One of my tweets caught the eye of a one-time child actor living in California. I don't even think it was about television, but he responded. And I responded. And then we "followed" each other. And a bond was formed. It was Robbie Rist.... after all these years. We corresponded regularly on Twitter, soon discovering that we had a lot more in common that me being a fan of a show he was on forty years ago. We had similar tastes in music with affinities towards bubble gum pop, glam rock and throwback kitsch. I had albums by a couple of the dozens of bands with whom he was affiliated. (A DJ friend of mine once assessed that Robbie — at one time or another — was a member of every indie band in Los Angeles.) Although Robbie would disappear from Twitter for long stretches of time, he would reappear and our correspondence would pick up where it left off, without missing a beat. After a while, I stopped seeing him as just "that kid who played 'Cousin Oliver'."

Over the past twenty five years, I have attended more than my fair share of fan conventions. I used to collect autographed photos until I abandoned all forms of collecting. My wife and I sold off our 30+ year collection of Disney memorabilia and other mementos we had accumulated, in an effort to streamline our possessions as we approach the twilight years of our lives. Our basement walls are covered with framed evidence of a quarter century of meeting and greeting celebrities of varying levels of fame. Most were pleasant encounters with a few cringe-worthy tête-à-têtes in-between. This past September, I saw that the annual RetroCon, held in nearby Oaks, Pennsylvania, would welcome, as one of its guests, the celebrated Robbie Rist. Mrs. Pincus, who had grown weary of the autograph portions of collector shows, agreed to accompany me — as I already insisted that we go. I suggested that perhaps she could wheel and deal for some merchandise to sell in her eBay store and she was on-board.

We arrived at the massive convention center, situated just outside of Philadelphia, smack in the middle of nowhere, but visible from the Pennsylvania Turnpike. Let me remind you that Robbie has never met me and never spoken to me. I, of course, like a host of other late period Baby Boomers, watched Robbie grow up, so I clearly have him at an advantage. We waded through the vendor tables, with the promise of perusing them closely on our way out. We made our way to the area where the invited celebrity guests had set up to meet fans and sell autographs. Sitting between Felix Silla (the original 'Cousin Itt' from the Addams Family television series) and a guy I never heard of was Robbie. He was a little older and a little grayer than depicted in some of his promo photos that decorated his table. But, then again, so was I. Robbie was putting the finishing touches on a signature for a young man in front of me. They were ending their conversation about Robbie's vocal contribution to the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles film franchise (He voices Michelangelo). I waited patiently. Robbie asked his young fan if he'd like to sign up for his mailing list and he presented a clipboard obligingly. I still waited patently.

Finally, it was my turn.

Robbie smiled and greeted me with a friendly "Hello." I picked up the clipboard and said to him, "I don't wanna sign up for your fucking mailing list."

Robbie by JPiC

Robbie coughed and his lip curled into an awkward grin. I smiled and relented, "I'm Josh Pincus, Robbie." This evoked a wide smile and Robbie hugged me. Robbie Rist! Cousin Oliver from TV! We talked and laughed. We introduced our respective spouses and talked more. I certainly didn't want to monopolize his time. After all, he was there to sell some pictures. I didn't want to impede on his commerce. Mrs. P and I excused ourselves with the promise of returning to say "goodbye" before we headed home.... which we did. And I also presented him with his very own "Josh Pincus" portrait.

Robbie is a good guy. Mrs. Robbie is a good guy, too. (Oh, you know what I mean!) We have remained in touch via various other social media outlets besides Twitter... with which Robbie has had a contentious relationship. It's just still a little weird because I used to watch him on TV when I was a kid.

And now he's my friend.

www.joshpincusiscrying.com

hollywood swinging

Last week, as you may recall, I wrote a rambling, near incoherent piece (I know, I know...that describes most of my writing) about the Mid-Atlantic Nostalgia Convention (MANC), the annual gathering of all things pop culture from the innocent days of my youth, as well as a contingency of representative celebrities from the same era.

This show marks the first time that I attended one of these shows that I did not purchase a single autographed photo. Instead, I approached each celebrity (with a few exceptions), offered words of praise and presented them with color print of one of eight drawings I did especially for this show. It turns out that — believe it or not — celebrities are people just like you and me. Every one has his or her own unique personality. Some are nice. Some are not. Here are the reactions I got from some of this years' special guests:

Ricou Browning. Sure, the name may not sound familiar, but this guy has had quite a career. Starting out performing  in and producing entertainment at Florida's Weeki Wachee water park, Ricou was recruited to star as the terrifying "Gill Man" in Universal Pictures classic Creature from the Black Lagoon, as well as its two sequels. Ricou, who is now the only living actor to have portrayed one of the Universal Monsters, performed all of the underwater scenes while another actor played the dry-land version of the title character. Ricou was also a stuntman and stunt coordinator for films and television shows, including Gentle Ben, Sea Hunt, The Aquanauts and Flipper, a series he created. He was the second unit director for Thunderball, Caddyshack and one of the Police Academy franchises. He served as director for the family films Hello Down There, Salty and the cult favorite Mr. No Legs. Now 87, the once barrel-chested robust Ricou is a small, gentle man who accepted my rendering of his classic role with grace and heartfelt appreciation. Ricou's daughter, who accompanied her father at the show, expressed equal gratitude.

Diahann Carroll. The Tony Award-winning actress and singer can look back on her career with great pride. She was nominated for an Academy Award for the title role in the 1974 film Claudine. She starred in the groundbreaking television series Julia in the late 1960s, a role for which she earned a Golden Globe. Diahann has worked with Sammy Davis Jr., Paul Newman, James Earl Jones, Sidney Poitier and many others, She was married to singer Vic Damone for ten years. When I presented Ms. Carroll, now 83, with a drawing depicting her from an early time in her career, she seemed distracted, commenting that "short hair styles were nice." Otherwise, her reaction was fairly indifferent.

Ed Begley Jr. The lanky blond actor is familiar to most people for his portrayal of "Dr. Victor Ehrlich" in the NBC medical drama St. Elsewhere. Since then, Ed has appeared in dozens of TV series and films, bringing a touch of quirky humor to each role. I approached his table at MANC during a slow period and found the actor sitting alone with his hands folded like a schoolboy. When I handed him a glossy print of his deadpan visage as the aforementioned Dr. Ehrlich, he offered a quiet — nearly whispered — "thank you." Then, when I explained that I did the drawing, his fair eyebrows arched and his pale brow wrinkled. "You're very talented." he continued in a doleful monotone.

Kristy McNichol. Known for her Emmy-winning role as "Buddy" Lawrence on the ABC drama "Family," Kristy drew critical acclaim throughout her career. As one of the most popular teen stars of her era, she appeared in theatrical and television films, as well as a co-starring role on five seasons of the sitcom "Empty Nest," and guest appearances on other episodic television. In 2001, she abruptly announced her retirement from acting, much to the disappointment of her fans. Kristy devoted her new-found time to charity work and teaching acting. At the age of 50, she came out as a lesbian in hopes of showing support to younger people who are bullied because of their sexuality. Kristy was very receptive and warm as I handed her the drawing did. She smiled and laughed when I told her I saw Little Darlings in the theater when it was released in 1980.

Trina Parks. An accomplished singer, dancer and choreographer, statuesque beauty Trina Parks has the distinction of being the first African-American "Bond Girl." Her uncredited portrayal of "Thumper," one of the villainous "Blofeld's" cronies was brief but crucial in the plot of 1971's Diamonds Are Forever and forever tagged her as the answer to a pretty cool piece of pop culture trivia. She was also featured in a few "blaxploitation" movies in the 70s, as well as dancing on several variety shows and specials. I waited patiently while a gaggle of lumbering MANC employees gathered around Ms. Parks's table, arranging themselves and snapping pictures without regard for other convention attendees who were also waiting for the opportunity to speak with the actress. When they finally cleared away, I gave Trina a drawing and her face lit up. She complimented me over and over again. I mentioned to her that my wife and I caught her recent appearance of the revival of To Tell the Truth, where she was presented along with two impostors as the game's objective of choosing who was the "Bond Girl." She told me that she was originally contacted by the show's producers with the premise of having the panel guess who was the first African-American "Bond Girl." She further explained when she arrived for the taping, expecting to find two other black girls, she was told plans had changed and the ethnicity aspect was scrapped. Admittedly, I am not a big fan of the James Bond series. I don't think I ever saw Diamonds are Forever, so I was not familiar with Ms. Parks's role at all. However, she was so sweet and engaging that our little tête-à-tête was an unexpected and welcome high point of the afternoon.

Morgan Fairchild. Born Patsy Ann McClenny in Dallas, Texas, aspiring actress Morgan Fairchild landed her first screen role as a double for Faye Dunaway in Bonnie and Clyde. Miss Dunaway could do a lot of things, but she shouldn't drive a stick shift. That's where young Morgan's talents first emerged. She went on to make numerous appearances in episodic television, usually handling the type-cast requirements of a conniving vixen. Morgan was a regular on the nighttime soap operas Flamingo Road, Falcon Crest and Paper Dolls. She made a number of made-for-television and theatrical films, including her poker-faced cameo on Pee-Wee's Big Adventure. She was the epitome of over-the-top 80s glamour. Unfortunately, that look does not bode well in 2018. Morgan was cordial when I greeted her with a drawing. Her hulky assistant, however, seemed a bit over-protective, but Morgan (who was surprisingly much shorter of stature than I expected) daintily shook my hand and demurely thanked me for my artistic efforts.

Robert Wagner and Stefanie Powers. The TV power "couple" from ultra-cool detective series Hart to Hart were sequestered in their own, guarded area of the convention floor, curiously treated like royalty. Robert Wagner, now approaching his ninetieth year, was seated behind his table, looking fittingly dashing in an open collar and ascot — begging the question "Does anyone besides fading movie stars wear those things?" I brazenly jockeyed my way past the preoccupied security to the edge of his table as an assistant extended a cautionary arm in my direction. "Mr. Wagner is about to attend a Q & A session," he warned. I explained that I merely wanted to gush a little "fan appreciation" and give him a drawing that I had done. Despite graying temples and few crow's feet, Robert Wagner still displays the rugged good-looks that brought him modest notoriety for over fifty years and 148 IMDB credits. He examined my drawing and scowled. He poked an accusatory finger at his likeness and spat, "You made me look like Kirk Douglas!" I offered an embarrassed grin and replied, "Well, you do look like Kirk Douglas!" What I should have said was: "At least I didn't help Christopher Walken kill my wife."... but I didn't wish to cause a scene. As I turned my attention to Stefanie Power's direction, I saw Mr. Wagner drop my drawing on the floor behind his chair.

Wagner's co-star, the lovely Stefanie Powers certainly lacks the sex appeal she exuded in the single season of the spy series The Girl from U.N.C.L.E., but at 75 she looks pretty darn good — kind of like those ladies you see power-walking in the early morning hours around the blacktop track at one of those over-50 gated communities. When I gave Stefanie a duplicate drawing of my Hart to Hart piece, she responded with a polar opposite reaction from her co-star. She literally squealed with delight and showed it around to a group of her travelling companions. She shot me a big smile and thanked me. That made up for Robert Wagner's arrogance.

Tim Reid, Howard Hesseman and Jan Smithers. Three stars of the ensemble cast of the 70s sitcom WKRP in Cincinnati were in attendance. Previously-announced and confirmed Loni Anderson had to back out at the last minute. The trio was even further removed from the festivities, as a lengthy queue line was carefully metered for nearly the entire day. Access to their cordoned-off area was tough. However, just as Mrs. Pincus and I had decided to call it a day, I made one last attempt to gain access to the stars of the radio industry sitcom. At this late hour, the line had dissipated and Tim Reid was just sitting at his table fiddling with his phone. I walked up to him, introduced myself and told him I was a fan of all of his work. I quickly scanned his selection of photographs to remind myself of his post-WKRP projects. He chuckled when I told him I even liked his work in the TV mini series of Stephen King's It. I gave him a drawing and he seemed amused as he shook my hand. Tim returned to the pressing matter of his phone as I turned to my right and spotted an ancient-looking bedraggled Howard Hesseman and a frail-looking, gray-tressed Jan Smithers. I felt they didn't need to hear my praise and could do without my silly drawing. I decided I was finished for the day.

Two additional guests that cancelled in the eleventh hour were I Dream of Jeannie star Barbara Eden and Hollywood Squares host Peter Marshall. Mr. Marshall had an emergency family commitment to attend to. Ms. Eden, as we were told, was spooked by the on-coming Hurricane Florence. Signs posted around the convention expressed their regrets and pledged a make-up visit in 2019. I sure hope so because I did drawings of them too. I just hope they don't appear in my "Dead Celebrity Spotlight" before I get the opportunity.

www.joshpincusiscrying.com

goin' southbound

Looks like we won't be making it to our destination.

Every year, for the past several, Mrs. Pincus and I attend The Mid-Atlantic Nostalgia Convention or MANC for those in the know. MANC is a three-day gathering of folks around my age (or older) who need to be reminded of the glory days of their youth. Days filled with simple toys like puzzles and board games and simple entertainment like heroic TV Westerns and gentle family comedies. MANC fills that need in spades. Taking over event facilities at the Delta Hotel in Hunt Valley, Maryland, MANC is jam-packed with vendors offering all sorts of pop culture treasures from the past fifty, sixty... even seventy years. Along with the vendors, MANC plays host to a bevy of celebrities —beloved to me and my peers, but nearly unknown to the members of the generations after mine. Sometimes explaining to younger people who some of these personalities are is not worth the trouble, but their names and shows are instantly recognizable to us "baby boomers." At past conventions, we met Oscar winners Patty Duke and Shirley Jones, TV heartthrobs Ron Ely and Tina Cole, movie stars Robert Loggia and Britt Ekland and many, many more. (I've written about MANC several times... here, here and here, too.)

When my wife and I first attended this convention, it was one of several that I frequented to feed a little hobby that I started nearly twenty-five years ago — collecting autographed pictures. The set up at these conventions and collector shows is a little unnerving and it's one of the negative aspects for Mrs. Pincus. (She finds it a bit on the creepy side.) Celebrities are seated at tables covered with 8 x 10 glossies depicting highlights of their careers. For a nominal fee, fans can spend a few fleeting moments with their "idols" and take home a personally-inscribed souvenir of the encounter. The unwritten rules have changed considerably since I purchased my first autographed photo (for five dollars) of Butch Patrick, little "Eddie" on the 1960s horror send-up The Munsters. Over the years, the prices have escalated at an unreasonable and baseless rate. The celebrities now come complete with a menu of ala carte services on every table, delineating the cost of an autographed photo, an autograph on an item that you brought to the show, a photo of the celebrity, a photo of you with the celebrity or any combination of the above. (Some have even broken it down further, with different prices for black & white glossies or color.) I have amassed quite an array of photos and the fame of these celebrities ranges from Tom Hanks and Gene Kelly to my wife's cousin who is a field reporter for the NBC affiliate in Virginia Beach. (Hey, he's got more Emmy Awards than you do!) I also accumulated quite a few amusing anecdotes (good and not-so-good) about my "brushes with greatness" that I have related for years. I look forward to MANC every year to add to both collections.

However, this past February, I lost my job. Although I was eligible to collect unemployment insurance, Mrs. Pincus and I were justifiably panicked. We immediately cut back on expenses where we could. Luckily, Mrs. Pincus's eBay business was thriving. We were prompted to assess our possessions and begin selling non-essential items. Items that were tucked away in closets or gathering dust in a corner were the first sacrifices. Next was our collection of advertising figurines and plush characters, followed by our Flintstones and Superman collectibles. Then, we made the difficult decision to purge our extensive Disney collection. As discussed earlier on this blog, liquidating a thirty-plus year assemblage of thousands of pieces of Disney memorabilia was a mixed-bag of emotions. At first, I was very discerning about which items I selected to be offered for sale. But as more items sold and more inquiries about the items were received, I gained a new (and surprising) outlook. Now, I was on a mission! Every weekend, Mrs. P and I sat side-by-side at our computers and listed item after item on eBay at a breakneck rate. Seven months later, the shelves are shockingly bare and the "famous" Pincus Disney collection is unrecognizable. Even though I secured new employment in April, we have not ceased our goal of seeing that room empty for the first time in thirty years. Plus, we are having a great time spending time together and seeing what sells.

So, based on our efforts to sell off our Disney collection, I couldn't justify spending money on autographed photos. For whatever reason, the once-prominent collector in me has vanished. Gone. All done. I still want to meet the celebrities. I just don't feel the need to spend upwards of thirty dollars to have them drag a Sharpie across a photograph of a role that made them semi-famous a lifetime ago. Instead, I drew a bunch of portraits of this year's guests and made a plan to distribute them to their subjects, offering a few words of praise and appreciation. I have done this in the past, and sometimes — sometimes — I appealed to the particular celebrity enough that I got an autographed picture in exchange for my portrait. (Cindy Williams, Jay North and Stanley Livingston each complimented my talent.) So, I made my decision to end my collecting of autographed pictures.... unless I can get them free of charge... which I have. And, again, instead of being upset, I found the decision very freeing. The pressure was off. The sort-of guilt I felt in the past over spending hard-earned cash for something that brought brief pleasure and really no actual value was gone. Now I would really enjoy this year's convention in a different way.

Just after I purchased tickets online for MANC, Mrs. Pincus and I decided to stretch out the weekend of the convention into a little vacation. We planned to head further south at the show's conclusion, driving as far as we liked, getting a hotel room for the night and then continuing on the next morning. Our ultimate destination was South of the Border, the kitschy tourist oasis that lights up I-95 in Dillon, South Carolina. While some travelers zoom right past the place, we love it. Sure it's hokey and silly and filled with cheap, useless souvenirs that we never buy. Sure, it proliferates racist stereotypes with its numerous billboards featuring mascot Pedro, a cartoon Mexican of the highest insult. But, we love the nostalgic aspect of a place that really shouldn't exist in this day and age. A place that just seems out of place.

But, alas, our plans for a Southern road trip were dashed by the onslaught of Hurricane Florence, a fluctuating Category 3 storm that couldn't decide on which path to take. National and local weather services painted a bleak scenario, making predictions just short of a tidal wave washing away the entire Eastern United States. It appeared that Wilmington, North Carolina and surrounding areas would be bearing the brunt of Florence's anger. Dillon lies 90 miles west of Wilmington — and seems to be the shortest distance between two points. We didn't wish to be anywhere near the chaos of both the storm and the residents vacating their homes. MANC is held just north of Baltimore, Maryland — well out of the predicted storm zone and would only experience just a little rain. And as they say, "into one's life, a little rain must fall." 

I'm okay with a little rain.

(Next week: Close encounters of the celebrity kind)

www.joshpincusiscrying.com

say something, say something... anything

Once again, Mrs. Pincus and I attended the annual Mid-Atlantic Nostalgia Convention in Cockeysville, Maryland, the three day gathering of vendors, speakers, authors, celebrities and various other purveyors of pop culture from days past. We have taken the two hour drive south on I-95 many times over the past few years to this show. But this year's show has the potential to be our last.

I like to go to this show to add to my ever-expanding collection of autographed celebrity photographs. Mrs. P, on the other hand, dislikes the ritual of lining up and fawning over an actor who hasn't had an on-screen credit in over forty years. She prefers to scour the vendor area, searching for that elusive treasure on which she can turn a quick profit on eBay. Every once in a while, this show touts an appearance from a celebrity that sparks a warm and pleasant memory from our past, making our anticipation a bit more antsy.

Months ago, The Mid-Atlantic Nostalgia Convention. or MANC, as it is known to regulars, has grown exponentially since the first one we attended. It has noticeably gotten more crowded, probably due to the fact that show promoter and organizer Martin Grams Jr., has worked diligently to book celebrities that charge no more than $30 for an autographed photo. That is quite an accomplishment in the current trend set by such convention big-wigs as ComicCon and Chiller Theater, who have come to dictate the outrageous going rate of such memorabilia. Martin once told me that Adam West, TVs 1960s Batman, refused to budge on his $60 asking price and, therefore, would not commit to an appearance. Because MANC offers a more informal and personal atmosphere, as opposed to the rigid, cattle-chute, "get-em-in-and-get-em-out" procedure of other shows, its popularity has grown. It has also suffered somewhat.

Last year, Martin managed to book Lee Majors and Richard Anderson from The Six Million Dollar Man and Lindsay Wagner from The Bionic Woman. This was a major coup and the trio drew a lot more guests that would have normally attended the show. However, they also charged $40 each per autograph. Martin explained that he wrestled with breaking his own policy and regretfully consented because it was a "once-in-a-life" assemblage for fans. he promised to stick to his rules in future years. Mrs. P and I reluctantly shelled out $40 to Lee Majors, as my wife was a devoted fan of the show as a teenager. We did the same for Lindsay Wagner, who, disappointingly, came off as a stuck-up jerk.

This year's celebrity roster was announced several months ago and featured some enticing actors from beloved films and television shows from our youth. I was most interested in meeting Kathy Garver, best remembered as Buffy and Jody's big sister "Cissy" on the sentimental 60s sitcom Family Affair. I love Family Affair. There I said it! Also included in this year's group was Britt Ekland, the sultry Swedish bombshell and one-time Bond Girl (in The Man with The Golden Gun, reteaming her with her Wicker Man co-star, the late great Christopher Lee). Also included was movie and TV tough guy Robert Conrad, John Amos, star of Roots, Good Times and Coming to America, Debra Paget, the pretty diminutive actress from The Ten Commandments and Dabney Coleman, known for War Games, 9 to 5 and HBO's Boardwalk Empire. The real draw for Mrs. Pincus was Robert Fuller, rugged star of TV Westerns Laramie and Wagon Train. But to Mrs. P,  Fuller will always be cool Dr. Kelly Brackett on Emergency!, the original "Doctor Dreamy," nearly three decades before the moniker attached itself to Patrick Dempsey on Grey's Anatomy. (I was just informed that the character's name was "Doctor McDreamy." I never watched either show, so I apologize to anyone I may have offended.)

In the early afternoon, we parked in the Hunt Valley Wyndham Hotel's parking lot and followed the paved and landscaped walkway to the entrance. After handing over our pre-purchased admission tickets, we were unceremoniously informed that Dabney Coleman, John Amos and Debra Paget had all canceled. We were instantly disappointed, but still, we made our way though the aisles of vendors offering their pieces of the past. Mrs. P's interest was piqued by a few items, but nothing worth a full on negotiation. We descended a rickety escalator to the hotel's lower floor, where more vendors and the room housing the celebrities awaited.

I spotted an attractive, but heavily made-up older woman who I soon identified as Britt Ekland, seated along a row of tables. She was entertaining a group of fans, so I decided to press on and come back to Miss Elkand at a later time. At the end of the row was our old pal Geri Reischl, best known as replacing the uninterested Eve Plumb in the short-lived Brady Bunch Hour, a poorly-conceived variety show featuring America's favorite blended family. We have encountered Geri at enough shows that we have forged a budding friendship... an easy task, as Geri is a sweetheart. Seated next to Geri was Kathy Garver. She was surrounded by glossy photos highlighting scenes from Family Affair, as well as stills from her brief, uncredited appearance as a slave child in The Ten Commandments, guest roles in Adam-12 and Dr. Kildare, and shots of Firestar, the superhero character she voiced on Spider-Man and His Amazing Friends in the 80s. Of course, we chatted briefly with Miss Garver about Family Affair, purchased a signed photo and snapped a photo of her holding our traveling buddy Pudge. 

Mrs. P was looking at some potential purchases as I made my way back to Britt Ekland, who, by this time, was sitting idly at her table, sipping a cup of coffee. I approached and offered a friendly "Hi Britt." She lit up, a smile stretching wide across her face. I told her how much I loved The Wicker Man and The Night They Raided Minsky's, two early entries in her six-decade career. I could have talked and questioned her at length about her interesting and illustrious life, including her four-year marriage to Peter Sellers, a longer union with Stray Cats' drummer Slim Jim Phantom and her notorious tryst with rocker Rod Stewart, which inspired him to write his hit Tonight's the Night in 1977. After signing a picture for me, she — not me — suggested I pose for a photo with her, directing me around the table for an intimate shot. As Britt was maneuvering her slight frame close to me, I caught a glimpse of Mrs. Pincus ten feet away, mouthing, "What do you think you're doing?" in faux jealousy. Britt laughed and purposely snuggled in closer. Once the picture was snapped by her assistant, she insisted I check it to make sure it met my satisfaction — something no other celebrity has ever done.

Out in a hallway, lines were forming for a chance to meet Robert Conrad and Robert Fuller. A group of show staff were furiously working to corral eager guests in an orderly fashion. We asked a staff member to point out the end of the line, but were informed that the line was now closed. Once again, we were disappointed, but now our disappointment was accompanied by anger. Our questions, "Will Mr. Conrad and Mr. Fuller be returning later in day?," were were met with shrugs. We headed back to the vendor room, determined to check back later for a shorter line. After an hour of perusal and few purchases, we returned to the Conrad/Fuller lines, only to be told that they were, again, closed and no more guests would be accommodated. Mrs. P fumed. "I'm done with this goddamn show!," she proclaimed angrily. We went to say our "goodbyes" to Geri Reischl and were delayed as Mrs. P vented her dismay to Geri's sympathetic ear. 

As we started for the exit, I pointed out show organizer Martin Grams to my wife. Mrs. P walked right over to him and laid in. She expressed her disappointment and frustration over three cancellations and continued with her further disappointment over how the lines for Robert Fuller and Robert Conrad were being maintained. Suddenly, Martin interrupted my wife's tirade with a gentle "I'll get you in. No problem." He silently led us to the outdoor waiting area and requested the staff member-on-duty place us at the end of the line. The harried woman attempted to argue, saying she had firm instruction to not allow anyone else to join the queue. Martin flatly repeated, "Let them in the line. This is my show." Without another word, we took our place as the anchor of the snaking line.

We waited nearly two hours, biding our time with conversations with other fans, until we were granted access to Mr. Fuller, a tall lanky fellow sporting a large black cowboy hat. Mrs. Pincus gushed as she confessed her love for Emergency! and his character on the show. I offered Mr. Fuller a print of this drawing I did of the Emergency! cast. He marveled at the sketch and complimented me. Mrs. Pincus selected a photo for him to inscribe, then  he waved me off as I withdrew a $20 bill from my wallet and attempted to pay him. "I'm gonna get a frame for that drawing. You're a hell of an artist." he said. He rose to pose for a photo with us, still cutting a handsome and imposing figure at 83 years old, although he has trimmed back those awesome sideburns quite a bit. After a few shots were snapped off, he shook my hand and planted a long-overdue kiss on Mrs. Pincus's cheek. She was in heaven.

Robert Conrad, the dashing star of Wild, Wild West, Black Sheep Squadron and the one-time cocky and competitive leader of Battle of the Network Stars, has, unfortunately, been rendered partly paralyzed by a car accident in 2003. Once a righty, he now has to scrawl his shaky signature with his left hand with unsteady accuracy. He has not, however, lost his snide wit. He cracked sarcastic jokes and off-color innuendo to the delight of the fans awaiting a personal audience with the actor, At 81, he is thin and weathered, but his brash personality has not lost its edge. His endearing arrogance has not been tarnished by time or disability. He stayed until every fan was treated to the short tête-à-tête they had hoped for. I understood he did the same thing on the previous day.

Before we left, Mrs. Pincus and I stopped off at our respective restrooms in anticipation of the long drive home. As I reached out to push the men's room door open, I was met by Robert Fuller about to push the door as well. We each laughed and I respectfully allowed the venerable actor to enter first. I followed him into the empty bathroom and we each selected urinals on opposite ends of the far wall. And this paragraph is officially over.

Mrs. Pincus and I tracked down and thanked Martin once again for his thoughtfulness and for accommodating us above and beyond. We sheepishly admitted to expecting an angry confrontation, but we were grateful for the unexpected result. We told him we would be back again next year.

Maybe.

www.joshpincusiscrying.com

some that you recognize, some that you hardly even heard of

I started collecting autographed photos over twenty years ago. It began as a cool little hobby and offered the opportunity to actually meet some of the "celebrities," (and I use that term extremely free and loose) whose work I enjoyed both on television and the silver screen. Come to think of it, it is not unlike my other hobby of visiting cemeteries where famous people are buried.

The majority of my photos have been obtained at various collector shows. Twice a year, a promoter organizes a horror film-themed gathering at a local hotel's conference facility, consisting of screenings of classic and recent films and a room full of vendors offering overpriced DVDs, t-shirts, toys and various blood-and-gore covered trinkets for sale. The main draw of this convention is the line-up of celebrity guests offering personally autographed pictures, a possible photo opportunity and even a little chit-chat.

The first autographed picture in my collection was from Butch Patrick, the irrepressible werewolf son "Eddie" on the 60s sitcom The Munsters. For a mere five bucks, Eddie — I mean Butch — inscribed a glossy black & white shot of himself in full TV makeup. He also signed a stack of Munsters color postcards for us (that my wife later sold on eBay) and he engaged my wife and me in lengthy, yet benign, conversation. Unfortunately for Butch, the only other guest at this particular show was Davy Jones, fresh from the first (and wildly popular) Monkees reunion tour. The line of screaming girls waiting to meet Davy was ridiculously long. The line to meet Butch Patrick consisted of my wife, my son in a stroller and myself. He didn't want to let us leave.

Since then, my collection has expanded exponentially. I have met hundreds of "celebrities," (there's that word again). Some have been really nice and friendly (Lost in Space's Bill Mumy comes to mind, as well as comedian/actor Taylor Negron). Some have been total, fan-hating assholes (the late Ron Palillo, without naming names). Others I have fucked with (like poor Ghostbuster Ernie Hudson). Still, others have fucked with me (like poor Greatest American Hero William Kaat). Overall, it has always made for a fun time. And, I have added to my collection so often that I've had to continually reconfigure (unsuccessfully, I might add) the display to accommodate additional photos. But, I fear my collecting days may be over soon. The experience is sort of losing its "fun."

Last night, I attended the first night of the twice-yearly Monster Mania convention (or "CON," to the in-crowd). I didn't really want to go after last year's Christopher Lloyd debacle, as I have come to reference the incident. Anxious to meet the two-time Oscar nominated, three-time Emmy winning co-star of the greatest movie of all time, Back to the Future (Don't even fucking argue with me! Don't!), I queued up and perused the array of photos he had available for signing. I chose a classic shot of Mr. Lloyd as "Doc Brown" in his mind-reading headgear. His "handlers" (the guys who handle the cash, as "celebrities" don't deal with — ecchhhh! — dirty money) informed me of the $60 cost. SIXTY BUCKS! I was outraged when the ten dollar price of a photo escalated to and settled at twenty. Reluctantly, I paid and when I finally reached Mr. Lloyd, offering a bit of praise, he didn't crack a smile or utter a word. He even smeared the wet ink of his signature as he handed the photo to me. He also cringed at my attempted handshake. 

I approached the big autograph room, where "celebrities" line the perimeter as the center is packed with a web of delineated queues (marked on the floor by parallel strips of masking tape), each leading to a particular "star's" table. Oh, and it seems that horror fans shun deodorant. So, there's that  

The entrance already had a fairly long line that was pushed off to one side. I asked a staff member if that was a line for the whole room. She answered, "No, that line is for Emily." 

"Well," I said, "since I don't know who 'Emily' is, can I go right in?" (It turns out that "Emily" is Emily Kinney from the popular AMC zombiefest, The Walking Dead.... and I still don't know who she is.)

The staff member smiled and pointed the way.

"Hello Danny."

My first stop was the show's main draw, identical twins Lisa and Louise Burns. Thirty-four years ago, in Stanley Kubrick's production of The Shining, the petite sisters donned pale blue party dresses and invited young Danny Torrence (played by former child actor, now high school science teacher Danny Lloyd), to "come play forever and ever and ever". Then, seconds later, they appeared in a mind-jarring jump-cut — lifeless, slashed and bloodied — thereby cementing their place in motion picture history. All for about four minutes of screen time.

"Lord help the mister who comes
between me and my sister."

I printed out a pair of illustrations I had done in 2012, depicting their famous film career beginning and end. They were delighted and even asked me to sign the prints for them. I joked briefly with the ladies (now in their mid-40s and totally removed from show business). They were sweet and funny. Hmmm, maybe this wasn't gonna be such a bad experience after all. They signed a picture for me and I was on my way to my next "celebrity" encounter.

Several years ago, I visited the Los Angeles Farmers Market with my family. After grabbing some doughnuts and coffee from Bob's, Mrs. P wandered into a cool little antique store while my son and I strolled through the narrow, vendor-lined aisles. We passed a pretty woman quietly enjoying a salad at a sun-drenched picnic table. I pointed to the woman, directing my son's attention, and said, "That's Dee Wallace."

My son returned a blank stare.

"The mom from E.T.," I explained.

"Oh.," he said, still expressing no interest.

Me and Dee.

Well, now, Ms. Wallace was a mere five feet from me, sitting at a table, signing autographs for twenty bucks a pop. I got into line and when my turn came, I related the LA Farmers Market story. She smiled, although she couldn't seem to recall eating there in some time. She told me she rarely goes there, as it is quite a drive from her home. I maintained that it was definitely her, but... now that I think about it, it could have been Melinda Dillion. I always get them confused. Dee was very nice, if not confused a bit by my story.

"Who wants a hot dog?"

As I made my way out of the room, I passed a small table, on which were displayed a few unusual rings, several small stacks of reproductions of vintage photos and a few books. Seated behind the table was the author of said books, Victoria Price. Ms. Price is an artist, interior designer and daughter of legendary actor Vincent Price. She sat quietly, demurely, and surveyed her wares as way-too-young patrons passed by, more enamored by the likes of the several Freddy Krueger impersonators mingling through the crowd. One of the photos — a beautifully composed shot of Vincent Price distributing hot dogs to an eager and joyous crowd in an early 1960s Dodger Stadium — caught my eye. Between my love of Hollywood and my love of baseball, I had to have a copy of the print. Ms. Price was even kind enough to sign it with the playful inscription "Bon Appetit!"  I told her that on my one and only visit to Dodger Stadium, my family and I were the only ones in our section who were not employed by the Trader Joe's in Santa Monica. She laughed. She was delightful. I told her I was an artist and we exchanged business cards. A little networking never hurt anyone. My original grumbly mood was slowly disappearing.

I was finished. The crowds were getting bigger. The vendor room offered nothing I had an interest in and I was tired after a full day of work. I headed out to the parking lot. Actually, I parked on an access road behind the hotel, as the lot was filled to capacity when I arrived. I maneuvered my way through he cars and remnant piles of dirty snow. Suddenly, a car sidled up to me and the driver lowered his window.

"Are you leaving, sir?." he asked. Sir. I shivered.

"Yes I am."

"Are you coming back tomorrow?," the driver continued to pry.

"No, I am not."

"Can I buy your wristband for ten bucks?," he asked, referring to the Tyvek band encircling my right wrist, allowing full access to everything that Monster Mania had to offer. Considering I was not one bit pleased by the newly-inflated admission price of thirty dollars, I quickly agreed.

"I don't know if I can remove it without tearing it." I lamented.

"No problem., " the driver smiled, and he jammed two fives into my hand. Within a second, the band was off. "Everybody wins!," he said.

"Have a good time!," I called, as he drove off.

Well.... maybe I'll go to another one of these shows.

Maybe.

www.joshpincusiscrying.com