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For something like a decade and a half, I've worked on
a comic book named Groo the Wanderer,
which was created by and is copyrighted in the name of my best buddy,
Sergio Aragonés. Groo is
Sergio's baby — so naturally I am quite protective of the character.
(I also get a share of whatever it brings in.)
We have done very limited licensing of
Groo. There have been a few t-shirts and pins from Graphitti Designs, as
well as a very nice (and expensive) statue that Sergio himself sculpted.
There were also little metal gaming figurines from another firm,
and yet another company has recently issued a Groo role playing game.
Oh, yes — and we had a set of trading cards from Wildstorm, and I
may be forgetting one or two other items. But at most, only one or two.
We've had a lot of offers but Groo is something kinda special
to us both, and Sergio is kinda fussy about how Groo is depicted.
About a year ago, Sergio walked into a comic book
shop — one that has often asked him to do signings — and he saw a Groo
model kit sitting there for sale. He
was not happy about this, for two reasons:
Reason #1
Sergio was not happy about this: He owns Groo. It's his creation, his property, his character.
He has a right to determine who is going to put out Groo
merchandise and to be paid for them so doing. No one had licensed,
inquired or even informed Sergio with regard to this model of Groo.
Reason #2
Sergio was not happy about this: He thought the model looked pretty
awful. If someone had come to
him and showed him a prototype and said, "We want to pay you a lot of
money to put these out," he would have said no. Just because it was a bad job.
Groo may not warrant the artistry of a Michelangelo but he deserves
better than this. Richard
Dreyfuss could have sculpted a better likeness out of mashed potatoes.
Sergio was also not happy that the store owner
clammed up about where he got the statue. He kept saying, "It's just a garage kit," which as I
understand it, means that some guy made a bunch of these in a garage
someplace. In other words: Don't worry about some guy infringing your copyright…he's not making
that many of them.
I could almost accept that if the guy had asked
permission (and done a more satisfactory job on the model). But he just put it out…and I think the proof that he knew
what he was doing wrong is evident. Nowhere
on the model kit, the instructions or the box is there any name or address
for the manufacturer, nor is there a credit for the artisan. What does that tell us?
And when Sergio demanded that the store owner (who
let us remember, is selling these things for profit) tell him where he got
the merchandise, no answer was forthcoming. "Oh, uh, I get them from some guy…I forget his name…he
comes in every now and then and sells me stuff…hey, it's just a garage
kit…"
Señor Aragonés came over here, steam emanating
from his nostrils, and we commiserated for a while. I told him I'd try to find out who was making the ugly Groo models.
I remembered a bookstore in another state that had
been asking us to make an in-store appearance. They sold a lot of model kits in that store so I called up the
proprietor and the conversation went pretty much like this:
HIM: Hey, great to hear from you.
Any chance of us getting you and Sergio in here for a signing
one of these days? Love to
have you.
ME: I'll ask but I have a favor I'd like to ask…
HIM: Anything.
You name it, you got it.
ME: There's this Groo plastic kit that some stores
are selling…
HIM: Oh, yeah.
I had three and I sold them all last week. Hey, I'd better get in some more if you guys are going to do a
signing here.
ME: Yes, well, those kits are unauthorized and I'd
like to know who you get them from.
(Did you ever hear the sound of the temperature
dropping?)
HIM: Uh, I don't know.
Some guy comes in here…I forget his name…
ME: You write him a check, right?
HIM: I guess.
But
you know, my records are a mess. I
couldn't even find my check register…and now that I think about it, I
think I paid him in cash. You
know, you really ought to just forget about this. It's just a garage kit…
ME: But you sell them, right?
HIM: Oh, I may have sold one as a favor
—
ME: You just said you sold three.
HIM: Three…one…what's the difference?
It's just a garage kit. Nobody
makes any money off them.
ME: What do you sell them for?
HIM: I don't know…I think sixty bucks or so…
ME: And what do you pay for them?
Forty? Thirty?
HIM: Something like that.
Hey, it's just a garage kit…
ME: Then you do make money off them.
In fact, if you sold three, you probably made — what? A
hundred bucks? That's more
than you make off the entire output of several comic book companies.
HIM: Listen, Mark, just forget about it.
It's just a garage kit…
That was not only how that conversation went, it was
how several went. I called a
number of bookstores and their operators, all of whom were friendly and
helpful and eager to get Sergio and/or me to come in and sign books.
Then, I'd ask where they got those Groo model kits — or "resin kits" as they're sometimes called.
Suddenly, I was Daniel Petrocelli and each of them was O.J.,
trying to be charming and helpful without ever actually venturing near an
answer. Everyone said, "It's just a garage kit…"
I found one in a store and purchased it ($60, less
my 20% professional discount) but the owner swore he had no idea from
whence it came. Apparently,
no one designed it, no one makes them, no one distributes them. They just materialize in display cases.
Then, early in April, a Groo fan wrote me on the
Internet that he'd just bought one from a catalog ($65 plus tax, postage
and handling) and he gave me the number of the dealer. Now, I'm sure no one bought a Lexus off this thing or even an
Acura, but I think someone owes Sergio an apology, a couple of dollars and
a promise not to make any more of them.
So: Today is April 10, 1997 and I've decided to keep
a running diary as I try to locate the party that makes these model kits.
Here we go…
April 10,
1997 — I phone the store. The
manager, who identifies himself as "Pete," tells me that, yes, they
sell a Groo model kit. I ask
if they can put me in touch with its manufacturer. Pete tells me that they have a policy not to give out the names or
addresses of their suppliers.
I inform Pete that I represent the property Groo and
that I'd like to reach the maker to have a chat with him/them about maybe
not making any more ugly model kits of our character. At this point, Pete's manner changes.
Suddenly, he is not sure that he has any Groo statues in his
catalog and he explains that he has no way of verifying who I am. "You're just a voice on the phone to me," he says.
"You could be one of my competitors trying to bypass me and
get to one of my suppliers."
I say, "One of your suppliers who makes these
statues you're not sure is even in your catalog?" He says yes, people in this business are always lying and
impersonating others, and committing frauds and deceptions to get info.
This is starting to sound like a wonderful industry.
I give Pete my name and number.
I ask if he's ever heard of Comic
Buyers Guide, and he has. "Well,
I write a weekly column for them. My name and address are in every issue.
If you call the Marvel Comics Group or DC Comics or the Comic
Buyers Guide, you'll have no trouble verifying who I am."
Pete says that he'll look into all this and get back
to me, though he can't promise it will happen soon. I tell him, "That's okay…I'll call back often and check how
you're doing." I also
ask Pete to give me his last name.
He says, "We have a policy against giving that
out." He actually says
that. I think: Hey,
even John Gotti used his last name.
April 11,
1997 — While waiting for a reply from my friend Pete, who has a
policy against giving out his last name, I decide to prowl the Internet in
search of the Mad Groo Bootlegger. Searching
on the right key words yields literally thousands of hits for dealerships
that sell model kits of comic book characters. I pick six stores at random and ask my friend Jewel to call them up
and inquire if they carry the Groo resin kit or know where she might
procure one. Most tell her, "We usually stay away from resin kits," and I'm beginning to
see understand why this is.
But an employee at one store says that, yes, they
did have the Groo kits. "We
had four or five of them," Jewel is told, "but we sold them out
and we don't expect to get any more in." The employee isn't sure where they got them but says that Sylvia,
who will be in later, would know for sure. "Sylvia knows everything."
So I wait a few hours and call Sylvia, who knows
everything. And it turns out
that Sylvia doesn't know quite everything. About all she knows is that they bought them at a hobby show.
"Which hobby show?" I ask.
"I'm not sure.
It was a year or so ago. Or
maybe longer. On the other
hand, we might have picked them up at one of the shows we did in
December."
"I see.
And
you wouldn't happen to know the name of the seller?"
"No, I'm sure I wouldn't."
"No cancelled check?
No bill of sale?"
"No, we usually pay cash for merchandise like
this."
"Cash?
Doesn't
the tax board tend to frown on that? How do you prove your expenses to them if you don't get some kind
of receipt?"
"I really don't know."
By this point, I am starting to wonder if Sylvia,
the woman who knows everything, knows anything. I decide to risk one more question, even though so far, it's like
trying to hurl feathers for distance. "Doesn't it strike you as a little unscrupulous to do business
like this? What if it turned
out this merchandise was stolen and you were selling it?"
There comes a pause of epic proportions and then
Sylvia says, "Gee, I never thought of that." I tend to believe her.
April 12,
1997 — No word yet from Pete, the guy who doesn't give out his last
name. But I may locate the
source of Groo resin kits without his help.
Early this A.M., I do a little more web-surfing,
this time scanning sites for stores that carry both comic books and model
kits. On one, I find the Groo
model kit for sale ($65 plus postage). At a more decent hour, I call the store
— where both Sergio and I
have done signings, of course — and the proprietor is willing to tell me
where he got the kits he's selling. The
only problem is that he doesn't know. One of his employees handles all that, he says, and he thinks she
bought their last batch from some fellow who came by, selling them out of
the trunk of his car.
The employee will be back at work on Monday (4/14)
so we'll see what I find out then. Ah,
the thrill of the chase.
April 13,
1997 — There's a "mailing list" for Groo on the
Internet…a group of Groo fans (there are such people) who exchange
E-mail. A few days ago, I mentioned on the list that I was looking
for the fellow who was making the bootleg Groo models. Today, a Groo fan (there are such people)
writes to say he saw
one in a local comic shop, and he givers me its phone number.
I call the shop and get the owner on the line.
All is friendly until I casually mention the unauthorized Groo
model kits he's selling in his store. In a cascade of run-on sentences, he tells me…
a.
He has never heard anything about any
unauthorized Groo model kits.
b.
He has never had them in his store but he's 100%
absolutely certain they are legal and licensed.
c.
If they aren't legal and licensed, he doesn't
know anything about them.
d.
He has no idea who manufactures or distributes
them.
e.
He has lost their phone number.
f.
Business is terrible, his wife is about to leave
him, his daughter needs braces, and if we sue him, he will have to declare
bankruptcy and we'll never get a cent. Also, his daughter will grow up with crooked teeth and it will all
be my fault.
g.
He not only doesn't have any Groo model kits in
his store, but he has never had any Groo model kits in his store and that
is the God's honest truth.
I listen in amazement.
Though I have not said a word about legal matters, this man is
changing stories faster than an express elevator. I try to assure him that I will take no
action against him
but he is too busy assuring me he hasn't a clue who makes any of the model
kits he sells but has never had in stock. I decide that
if I ask this man about his daughter with the overbite, he will swear he
has no idea where she came from, either. So I just give up on him.
We talk about other things and then, just before I'm
about to hang up, I ask, "Hey, how many of those Groo model kits did you
sell?"
"Four or five," he says.
"If you find that guy and he has any more, I'd love to
restock."
April 14,
1997 — True to his word, the operator of the store I called on
Saturday calls me back. He
gives me the name, address and phone number of the maker. I phone and get an answering machine.
"This is Mark Evanier," I say, and I give him my phone
number. "I do the Groo comic book and I'm told that you are
involved with a Groo model kit that has been making the rounds. I think we need to have a conversation.
Please give me a call." By
bedtime, I have yet to hear from him.
April 15,
1997 — No word from the model maker. I'll give him another day or two.
April 16,
1997 — Again, silence from the model maker. And, come to think of it, I haven't heard back from Pete, the man
who doesn't give out his last name, either. Call me a cynic but I have this odd hunch I won't.
April 17,
1997 — Around 11:00 AM, I call and leave another message for the
model maker. At 3:00, he
finally calls me back. I ask
him why he put these things out without our permission. He doesn't really have a reason but says he only made and sold
twelve of them. This, I kinda
doubt, since with very little sleuthing, I have come across that many
stores or dealers that have carried them, and most sold more than one.
The gent is unapologetic.
In fact, the guy whose daughter had crooked teeth was more
repentant. The Groo model
maker just says, "I'm not making any more. In fact, I'll send you the molds."
I tell him I'd like the molds and a letter of apology, including
his admission that he was in the wrong, and will never do it again. "Fine," he says, and takes down my address.
The whole conversation is a great anti-climax since
he doesn't seem too remorseful and I don't have enough righteous anger
to demand punitive damages. (Although
I will, next time someone infringes Sergio's copyright. Let this serve as warning to you all.)
But before I end the call, I tell the guy I don't
believe he only made twelve model kits — there are just too many of them
around. I ask, "Is it
possible that someone else started making bootleg copies of your
bootleg?"
He says it's possible.
"The business of garage models is full of crooks." |
