IT WASN’T COURAGE . . . IT WAS LOVE

by Linda S Barth

The year 1992 might seem like the distant past to many BatB fans, but at that time I was still very much a fandom newbie. Right after the end of Season 2, I’d begun learning about a subculture that was entirely new to me, including its vocabulary with strange but alluring words like zines, fandom, and cons. By 1992, I had become fairly proficient with the world of zines, but cons and fandom? Not so much.

Back then, I knew of only one friend in “real life” who watched BatB, and had met just a few people in fandom via phone calls and traditional letters (email was just taking off). Someone told me about TunnelCon 2, to be held in Las Vegas in mid-June. It all sounded so intriguing – a weekend of non-stop BatB-ness, including talent shows and dealers’ rooms and art auctions (oh, my!) all set in a fantasy world within a fantasy world, the convention space at the Stardust Hotel. Equally inviting was the idea of finally meeting lots of other people who loved the show like I did, along with the chance to see what this fan community was all about.

But the whole idea of wandering into an unfamiliar realm – not to mention the logistics involved in getting there – was very unsettling. I discussed it with another fan friend, half-hoping one of us would have the sense to talk ourselves out of it. Instead, we fired each other up. We had to do it!

There were just a few little snags. Okay, several big ones. It was the end of the school year and personal leave time was greatly frowned upon. I had two cats who would need a sitter. I’d be disappearing for three days, unable to tell anyone where I was going, what with being a closet fan and all.

Did any of that stop me? Ha! All it took was lying to my principal, finding a plausible explanation to offer my mother and sister (cat sitters), and preparing a believable explanation for all my friends who might be wondering where I was for three days. Plus getting a driver to JFK for a midnight flight to Las Vegas, a city I’d never visited; booking a rental car to drive through said never-visited city alone late at night; rooming with a fan friend I’d never actually met in person who could have been a deranged serial killer in real life for all I knew; and spending three days with a few hundred strangers.

That good idea began to sound very dubious. What if something really bad happened? What if all the lies were revealed and I got fired, and no one ever trusted me again, and what if everyone found out I was spending a weekend in Las Vegas at a convention for a tv show, in effect outing myself as a mega-fan? (Back then, this was a serious issue for me – really serious.) How could I risk so much just for what sounded like a fun adventure that might well turn out to be a horror story? ARGHHHHHHH!!!

Well, it’s not surprising to anyone who knows me that none of those concerns resulted in giving up and staying home. YOLO wasn’t an official “thing” then, but it has always been part of my personal creed.

So, with principal skillfully lied to, cats happily vacationing at my mother’s house, and phone answering machine turned on, I worked all day, got that ride to the airport, flew to Las Vegas, picked up the car, drove to the hotel, and turned the car over to the valet. Not a single snag or delay or problem whatsoever!  I remember thinking how great everything was going and how well I’d handled it all. My plan had been perfectly executed, and I was rather pleased with myself for having made this decision.

Then, I strolled into the Stardust lobby. As Father might say, “Oh, dear God!”

It was very late, even for Las Vegas standards, and the lobby wasn’t crowded. However, the people there made up for lack of quantity with an extreme amount of quirkity. And if that isn’t a word, it should be because these folks were the poster children for quirkiness, which, by the way, probably wasn’t the relatively flattering adjective most others would have used at the moment, myself included.

Until then, I’d never ever associated my beloved BatB world – filled with classical music, lyrical poetry, delicate roses, longing sighs, bonded lovers, noble aspirations  – with the scene playing out in front of me. Everywhere I looked, there were mounds of costumes and props spilling out of boxes and garment bags (A lion’s head mask? Rubber rats? A big plastic rose bush?); people wearing t-shirts in vivid colors and eye-catching designs that blatantly announced “I’m a BatB fan!” to anyone and everyone; large cardboard cartons labeled with titles of zines (yes, I knew what those were – but how could there be so many of them??); and a cadre of shrieking, cavorting, hugging middle-aged women who all seemed to be BFFs.

What the actual hell?! How did any of this align with what I’d thought was going to be a pleasant, calm, nurturing weekend? I’d imagined spending serene hours chatting about BatB in an atmosphere reminiscent of Father’s library, filled with amiable, easy-going, like-minded individuals. Some quiet laughs shared, some intriguing ideas thoughtfully presented, some discussions of art and music and literature.

In other words, the exact opposite of what I was seeing.

If all this was going on just in the lobby, what would the actual con be like?!  None of it was the tiniest bit close to what I’d pictured, and I just couldn’t deal with such a clash between expectations and reality. I had to escape! I began to pivot toward the exit, planning to retrieve the car and head back to the airport to catch any flight immediately heading east.

But…it was after three a.m.; my roomie was expecting me; I was exhausted; and in my heart, I was not ready to give up.

So, demurely distancing myself as much as possible from this alternate universe and its exotic inhabitants, I got in line at the check-in desk. In front of me were three of the aforementioned very obviously experienced con-attendees, all highly enthusiastic, out and proud BatB fans. I stared at their denim jackets decorated with glittery, bedazzled, painted portraits of Vincent. I listened to their excited proclamations about the items they’d be selling in the dealers’ rooms (along with some equally fiery tea being spilled about some other folks well-known in the fan community). I tried to sneak a look into open boxes of framed fan art they’d balanced on suitcases along with other boxes containing who knew what.

Despite hoping to maintain my image as a cool, been there/done that/seen it all former New Yorker, I was probably doing a lot of gaping, staring, twitching, and wincing. Okay, I definitely was, and it didn’t stop right away. But by the time I attended my second con a year later in Austin, none of this seemed the least bit strange. To be honest, it actually seemed normal (-ish) by the time TC 2 was over on Sunday.

But I’d be lying if I said it all didn’t take a lot of getting used to in a very short period of time. It was an intense course in Culture Shock 101, but after the first day of what had to be deer in the headlights, jaws on the floor, heads on a swivel – and all the other appropriate cliches you can think of – my fortunately not at all serial killer inclined roomie and I found ourselves having the most amazing, incredible time.

We were stunned by original art created by some of the gifted early artists in our fandom. We were overwhelmed by the two huge dealers’ rooms filled with piles of zines, racks of handmade tunnel clothes, prints and jewelry and other collectibles handcrafted by talented fan artisans. We listened in at workshops led by fans who loved to talk about the show just like we did. We laughed and sighed and got teary-eyed during the talent show and costume contest and at the banquet when we heard Father’s iconic speech in a room full of others who felt just the same as we did.

We’d been welcomed into a world filled with fun and enthusiasm, creativity and talent, energy and laughter, and all of it made possible through a shared love of BatB. It was a group of people who were – and are – so diverse, yet we’re alike in one very important, unforgettable way. We all love BatB. We all are BatB fans, and we understood then, as we do now, that for this world to survive, we must set aside the things that might separate us and instead embrace and nourish the shared dream together.

Of course, in-person cons are only one of the many ways we do this for each other and for ourselves. We all find ways to participate that best suit us. For me, it’s writing fanfic, being a founder and admin of CABB, and my work as a Winterfest Candlemaker, the group that hosts Winterfest Online. All of it – and more – is part of a world that once existed beyond my realm of experience, a world that at first shocked and then delighted. It had been hiding in plain sight, waiting to be discovered and appreciated, much as the tunnel world is hidden until one is fortunate enough to find it.

I’ll always be grateful I didn’t allow surprise and trepidation make me turn away and  retreat. I almost did, just because everything seemed so different from what I’d been accustomed to, from what I’d expected. But I’d always known that differences are not to be feared, that they are to be explored and celebrated, to be appreciated for how they enrich everyone’s lives. We need to learn about, understand, and respect our differences instead of being judgmental by criticizing or ignoring them. I’m glad I remembered all those things on that pivotal night at the Stardust Hotel. And I’m glad I let those truths guide me during my first con weekend.

I have a very clear memory of looking down at Las Vegas from the plane on the way home, smiling and crying at the same time. Only days earlier, I’d entered a world that had admittedly intimidated me so much I’d almost abandoned it before taking a single step over its threshold. Yet when I had to leave it, I longed to return.

It is very painful to think of everything I would have missed if I’d decided to turn away from fandom. I never could have developed some amazing, life-changing friendships with people whose lives touched mine only because of BatB. I might never have been inspired to write and draw again. I would never have had the opportunity to learn and share and have fun with BatB people – the ones who get it, the ones who know. And I certainly never would have realized it was more than okay to be a fan. The list goes on and on. You all know, and you have your own cherished lists.

Back in the Stardust lobby, which now sadly no longer exists except in our memories, where everything seemed to be shouting a warning, I’m so glad and grateful I listened instead to the “love song that whispered my name”.  That courage, that love has made all the difference.