Guest Post: Barry Pearl's Tales Of The Marvel Age - Part One...

 

Having collected and read (several times) all the Marvel Age comics from 1961-1974, I "bagged" them and placed them in cartons when I had my big move to a new apartment.  In 1978 I did the same for the new comics I had since collected.  I also paused writing my book on the Marvel Age. 

25 years later, having just moved into a house, I decided to unpack and enjoy the comics again. I saw that the 30 to 40-year-old comic bags had deteriorated greatly.  They were wrinkled, separated, torn and some, with the name of "Robert Bell" on them were, well, melted.

I knew my comics were worth something, especially the ones from the early 1960s, but I had no idea just how much they were really worth.  I went into a local comic shop for the first time since my move.  I asked which bags were best and the dealer steered me to the Overstreet guide, which suggested mylar bags.  So I asked the dealer to order mylar bags for me - 5,000 of them!  He was astonished and it showed on his face.  Most people ordered no more than 50!  A very important point: I'd been out of touch with comics for a quarter of a century. 

And then it began: 

Dealer:  What do you need 5,000 bags for?
Me:  5,000 comics.  I may need more.
Dealer (obviously not believing me):  I haven't seen you here before.  What comics do you have?
Me:  Marvel comics.
Dealer:  Which ones?
Me:  The ones from the 1960s and 1970s.
Dealer:  Which Ones?
Me:  All of them.
Dealer:  No, really what do you have?
Me:  All of them.
Dealer:  Which ones, really?
Me:  Fantastic Four, Spider-Man, Avengers, X-Men, Daredevil and so on.
Dealer:  Which ones?
Me:  All of them.
Dealer:  I know people who have all the early Fantastic Fours, or Spider-Mans  or Avengers, but no one has them all.
Me:  Can I just order the bags and backing boards?

And I did, but that is not the funny end to the story.  When they came in he called me... 

Dealer:   The bags and boards are in.
Me:  I'll pick them up tomorrow.
Dealer:  No, I have to deliver them to you.
Me:  No, I'll pick them up.
Dealer:  No, have to deliver them or I can't give them to you.
Me:  Huh?
Dealer:  I have to deliver them.
Me:  Okay. Why?  Deliver them. 

So the next day he rings my bell and is at my door.  That wasn't enough, he wouldn't just give me the bags. 

Me:  What's up, what is this all about?
Dealer:  I need to see your comics.
Me:  Need to?  You mean you want to.
Dealer: Yeah, I know people who have all the early Fantastic Fours, or Spider-Mans or Avengers, you say you have them all.  I need to see them.
Me:  Why didn't you just ask me?

I took him over to my 1960s closet and opened both doors (see picture above).  He took one look at all those comics, took two steps backwards and fell to the floor.  He almost fainted!  Fantastic Four #1, Amazing Fantasy #15, Avengers #1 and 4, Daredevil #1, Tales of Suspense #39, etc.  He had seen these separately, but never together.

It took him quite a while to get up. 

Now here is why I began to dislike dealers: 

Dealer:  I can sell all those comics.  On Consignment.

(Consignment means leaving my comics, in a store, with a stranger. I would take a percentage of what he sells them for, but would have to trust him.  No way. If I wanted to sell them I wouldn't need him.)

Me:  I have no interest in selling these comics. In fact, I just bought bags and boards for them.
Dealer:  Oh, you've got to sell them.  Let me take them to my store.
Me:  I am not selling them.  Just give the bags and boards.
Dealer:  Okay, but when you sell them, let me know!  (His pleading went on and on.)
Me:  You'll be the first person I will call.  (This was not true, but I wanted him out of the house.  I have never had another dealer over.)

I was treated pleasantly at his store for a year.  I bought more bags and several books related to comics.  Then, one day, about a year later, I came into the store and was met by his wife. 

Wife:  My husband said that you shouldn't come back here anymore.
Me (puzzled):  Why?
Wife:  He said you'll know.
Me:  I don't. Why? 

I didn't receive an answer.  Sometime later, at a local sporting event, I ran into him at a concession stand. 

Me:  What happened?  I was a steady customer.
Dealer:  You said you'd sell me your comics.
Me:  I never said that. 
Dealer:  Who'd you sell your comics to?
Me:  I never said I was selling my comics.  I never sold them.
Dealer (talking as if they were his comics):  Well, you told me I could put them up on consignment and I've been waiting.  I even made space.
Me:  Good luck. 

His store closed later that year.

Posted in: Cartoons