When Giant-Size Nerds Grow Old, the Marvels Migrate to the Garage

My Dad, after he retired, hung out in the garage a lot.  Didn’t matter if it was winter or summer, if he wasn’t playing golf, Dad was in the garage.  He worked on projects once in a while, but most of the time, he read novels.  Any good two-fisted book was good solid entertainment: Louis L’Amour was his favorite, but he also liked John D. MacDonald.  He’d read a few books a week in that garage.  I always wondered what was so great about reading in there.

Well, today, on my birthday (48th), I finally know.  Because my Marvels (and my entire comic book collection) have migrated to the garage.

This wasn’t how I pictured things going when I was young.  I saw a picture in an early issue of FOOM, from a kid who had a “FOOM room” with Marvel mania posted over each inch of his bedroom.  There was a gigantic Green Goblin picture right about his bed.  It wasn’t a poster that Marvel sold, it was either something this guy drew or it was a blow-up of a panel.  It was ultra-cool.  I swore on my copy of Giant-Size Super-Stars #1 that I would one day have a FOOM room as well.

My wife’s always put up with my Giant-Size nerdiness without too much trouble.  She let me buy as many comics or posters or toys as I wanted.  I’ve kept a good number of long boxes for the past 15 years, and they’ve moved with us to six different locations.  Up until now, I’ve been fortunate.  The comics have always had their own room, a room that was meant for me, and no one else.  My wife might wander in from time to time and ask, What is the theme of this room?  I’d just laugh and say, My religion: Comics!  Even with an entire room, I had to stop collecting monthly comics in favor of getting trades.  I simply didn’t have more room for long boxes.

This year, I’ve lost the great battle to keep the comics inside.  Our new house is a bit smaller than our previous ones, with fewer bedrooms.  Something had to go in the garage, and that was the comic collection.  Fortunately, we have a pretty good sized garage, enough room for two cars and plenty of stuff.  The long boxes are stacked against one wall where I can easily get to them.  (Nothing too valuable, mind you, so don’t go thinking I’ve got FF #1 in there.)  On the wall, I’ve hung my little Alex Ross Marvel poster shrine.  The first one is the MARVELS poster by Alex Ross, which he did shortly after the Marvels mini-series in 1994.  It has all my favorite characters from the Bronze Age.

Next is another Ross poster, Marvel Universe: Classic Seventies.  Over ten years had passed between the previous poster and this one, which is executed with a lot more skill than Ross had in 1994.  I absolutely love it, all the off-beat 1970s characters are here: Captain Marvel, Iron Fist, Punisher, Moon Knight, Master of Kung Fu, Ms Marvel, etc.  Even Howard the Duck is there at the bottom!

At the end I have a poster that Ross worked on with John Romita Sr,  Spider-Man versus the Green Goblin. It’s taken from a great angle, the perspective is from the ground looking up at this battle raging among the skyscrapers.

Now all of the long boxes are assembled here, with the Alex Ross Marvel gods looking over them.  One of my friends from the Comics and Comix store in Citrus Heights (where I worked in the early 80s), JW Chapman, always described his retirement this way:  I’ll crack open the long boxes and start reading from the A’s.  I have the same dream, I just hope I will be able to retire one day.  One thing we never thought of, though, was how hard it is to haul the long boxes around when you have a bad back.  You don’t have this issue with digital comics.  But digital comics don’t have that sweet aroma a long box does when you crack it open.

Instead of a FOOM room, I have a FOOM garage.  I think what I pictured as kid, people like Alex Ross or Mark Waid have achieved, given the pictures of their homes that I’ve seen on CBR.  I wanted that, but I couldn’t have it.  I have to accept that, it’s just part of getting older. 

My destiny was to be like my Father before me, a man who explores his dreams in the garage.  Nuff said.