Stuck somewhere north of the USA in 1994, almost unconsciously I spent six weeks to read the entire tray "in balance" of the comic shop where I had took my habits like broke. The guys who kept this thing very prone mainstream (and smelled musty and the Teen Spirit) were already ugly nerds idiots and conservatives, but I had a good laugh trying to explain that Adrian Tomine, AC was not that "the Cartoon for fag "(rough translation and censored enough) that they should not forget to order me a copy of the second issue of Stray Bullets, and Black Hole was not a trick butt.
Then one day I tried to dissuade me sell I do not know what Green Lantern ( "mate this gatefold cover, dude!" ), an old client of any income, with the face that goes with it, much eaten by the cam, the booze or the harshness of time passing (or three) decided it was time for me to be introduced to major works of real comics.
The guy was a real passionate (and a bitter old), collecting comics for decades, and highly respected by most of the clerks of the store, simply because he had moved three times in the same area, each time for more space to offer his collection.
While I already said that I thought the old editions arranged to store (and exchanged again and again with all these people about Ware, Crumb, or Herriman), the guy was like a tone almost solemn
"You see, small (I was 22 but I was doing 16, I guess ...) , the first real revolution in comics Crumb has finally not only him, so finally, but no. Not just Crumb. It has really boosted Pekar Crumb to make what is real life in the comics. All your authors discussing masturbation or heartache, there. Well they are not products of spontaneous generation, do not believe they are not necessarily geniuses, huh. No, they read Pekar. Yeah, Pekar, this old Pekar, which everyone masturbates. We will retain the name of Crumb and this is normal, but we should equally remember that Pekar is still alive, because he should not last much longer ... "
15 years later, I'm unemployed bookseller, I missed the release of the anthology published last year in Here and There (must read), and last night, Harvey Pekar is dead.
I think of my afternoon on the lawn of the park adjacent to the comic shop, chewing Twizzlers reading American Splendor, in sunny North Dakota.
