When it's 40 degrees out and you're standing in an interminably long line whose big payoff will be buying a T-shirt and meeting someone from the "Police Academy" movies, it's not a bad idea to start talking to the people around you, if only to see if they have a crazier purpose than you do. So, having already established that I was the crazier one between Josh and myself, it made sense to move on to the husband and wife standing in front of us.
Luckily, they had driven about five hours for some face time with Eddie Deezen, perhaps best known as Eugene Felnic, the nerdy guy in "Grease." Or perhaps not known at all, though he's one of those if-you-saw-him-you'd-know-who-he-was kind of celebrities. In fact, there was a whole tent full of just that sort of people awaiting us at the end of the line—the actual line I was waiting on, not the metaphorical one. As much as I like the "Police Academy" movies, I'd be pretty bummed if at the end of the metaphorical line, I was greeted by the guy who played Tackleberry (RIP). Or maybe I wouldn't be.
Anyway, they were big Eddie Deezen fans, so they decided to make the trip, not knowing—in what was rapidly becoming a theme—just how big a convention Chiller Theatre was. They were real pleasant, seemingly normal people, and good folks to spend three hours with while you're losing feeling in your toes. They never mentioned their names, and I never offered mine, which is as it should be. But they were good eggs.
A Chiller staffer was patrolling the line, so the female Deezenatic figured it'd be a good idea to ask her if Eddie Deezen was indeed in the tent. Sometimes cancellations happen, and though it would suck to drive five hours for no reason, at least you could get out of the line and do something more productive with your Saturday, like, well, just about anything else.
So, after being told his name about three times and finishing her cigarette, the staffer went up toward the tent (or, at this point in the day, where we assumed the tent was, not being able to actually see it). As she left, I told the Deezenatics the cold, hard truth.
"(A) She's not coming back and (b) if she does come back, she's not going to have any information."
Fifteen minutes later, and after a few minutes of trying to find us in line, the staffer returned with the following news:
"I don't think he's in the tent."
There was a brief moment of panic, but then Josh and I assured the Deezenatics that she probably didn't even ask anyone. And I think we were right, because somewhere in Hour 2, Josh asked the same staffer to see if Hurricane Carter was in the tent. After he wondered out loud if he should just follow the staffer and beg and plead his case at the front of the tent, we urged him to do just that. So he went up, and I guess he must not have crossed paths with the staffer, because she returned in about ten minutes and told us, "Ruben Carter? Yeah, I don't think he's in there." Then when we pressed her on that info, she said, "But I don't even really know what he looks like, so..."
This became even funnier when we finally got in the tent (Josh, by the way, got his wish and saved himself the last hour of waiting), and Ruben Carter was literally two tables in from the entrance.
Did I mention the excellent staff?
***
Finally, at a little past 3 p.m., after more than three hours of freezing, watching costumed freaks look at us and say, "You'd have to be crazy to be in that line," and actually getting excited when Kevin "Hercules" Sorbo came out in the cold and signed autographs for people on line (no, I didn't get one), we were at the entrance, me and the Deezenatics. We were just about to go in when Captain Lou Albano came out of the tent, leaving for the day. I quickly grabbed the "Body Slam" soundtrack out of my bag, got out of line, and snagged the latest of far too many Captain Lou autographs (far too many for most people, of course, being 1).
The woman letting people into the tent almost didn't let me in because I got out of line. That would've been interesting.
But after telling me, "You shouldn't have done that," she let me in. And it was F-list celebrities as far as the eye could see.
Hey, look, it's Tonya Harding. And there's Dwight "Howlin' Mad" Murdock from "The A-Team." And over there—it's tiny little David "Bud Bundy" Faustino. And Lydia Cornell from "Too Close for Comfort" is right there, next to Jerri Manthey from "Survivor," who's selling signed copies of Playboy for $50. Or she would be selling them if anyone wanted one. And there's all the wrestlers—Ken Patera, Rick Martel, Tito Santana, the Iron Sheik, Nikolai Volkoff, Jimmy Snuka, and—sweet—Abdullah the Butcher, selling T-shirts.
I moved in for the Abdullah shirt first, and he and a guy I assume was his manager seemed quite happy that someone was showing an interest. The sales pitch started immediately. I could buy signed forks, an autographed cane, a shirt, or a plain old 8 X 10. I got the shirt.
"You have your own camera?" Abdullah asked.
"Yeah."
"He'll take the picture," Abdullah said, pointing at the other guy.
So I moved in next to Abdullah. And then came a phrase I assume I'll never hear again.
"Now stick the fork in my head."
"Do what?"
"The fork . . . in my head."
"Um, OK."
Now, I guess I grabbed the fork wrong, because Abdullah took it from me and showed me the proper way to stick a fork in a man's forehead. And so I did, which is when this was taken.
I can feel your jealousy.
***
Leslie Easterbrook was next on the list, and after walking around the tent twice trying to find her (there was no map that told you where everyone was, which was really helpful), I sidled up behind a couple of guys. And after a lengthy conversation with the first guy about the "Police Academy" movies and the second guy about "Laverne and Shirley" (she was on in the later years, when the gals moved out west), it was my turn at bat. She was excited to see the poster (or, more accurately, successfully feigned excitement in order to make me feel slightly better for waiting three hours in the cold) and talked about the movie and how it was "the one with no plot" (which, I know, you think would describe all of them). Then, after a slight faux pas on my part (I told her the second one was also one of my favorites; she wasn't in that one, which I realized after I said it) and the exchange of $10, this was taken:
Eat your heart out.
***
After checking out the prices for most of the guests, I decided I probably wouldn't be spending much more time or money in the tent. Courtney Gains—best known to me as the red-haired kid in "Can't Buy Me Love" who throttles Patrick "Ronald Miller" Dempsey in the arcade and screams, "You shit my house!"—wanted $20 for a signed photo of that scene. He was getting no business, but I couldn't justify the purchase. Then there were the people doing decent business, like Larry Hagman, Adam "Batman" West, and Burt "Robin" Ward, whom I had absolutely no interest in. And then there were those bordering on insane. As you can see above, Eddie "The Big Ragu" Mekka from "Laverne and Shirley" wanted $25 to sign a jar of spaghetti sauce he bought at the supermarket. Even I have my limits. Or I did on Saturday.
I did get my book signed by Missy Hyatt, who, when I was about 12, I thought was the hottest woman ever. Plastic surgery has taken care of that, though:
I wanted to be nowhere near her in a picture.
I also tried to find Dirk Benedict, but it turns out he cancelled, which inevitably means I will find myself compelled to go to one of these godforsaken things again. Hooray.
***
I briefly checked out the vendors inside the hotel (after waiting on yet another line just to get into the exhibition area) and picked up a Japanese movie program of "The Blues Brothers" for John Landis to sign. When I went to get his signature on the program, he was busy trying to find a good place to eat in the Secaucus area, which I imagine he might still be doing.
Then it was time to get home, so I hopped in a van going from the hotel to the bus stop and spent the bus ride back to Port Authority listening to a guy behind me tell his far-too-good-looking-to-be-going-to-conventions girlfriend that he was really pleased by his time at Chiller, because he was "able to fill in some gaps."
Maybe he did, but I'm pretty sure I widened a few more gaps than I filled in.
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