My little brother and I were comic book nuts in nyc in the 70s. I recall going to early scrubby comic book conventions before that was a thing, with just weirdos and dealers and kids, in questionable now defunct nyc hotels. My dad would drop us off and leave us, I was probably 13. Now recalling the scene, youd assume all the dealers were pedophiles. But they were prolly just oddballs
Sometimes I think if I’d just finished hs, lived at home, worked, and sank everything into comic books, I’d be a fabulously wealthy person today. Not that that could’ve happened tho. Weird. Stupidly, I outgrew it.
I had a friend at the time, nerdy comic collector buddies, absolutely OCD, mint copies of big titles. Had money.
His collection if he still has it, prob. 10 million. I recall hanging out at his house thinking it strange he never touched or read anything.
Smart kid. Little quirky and introverted back then but smart.
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