The belief in yourself
I think the memory I most think about with my dad is the start of all this. People ask all the time how I got into comics and selling them, and the answer is always the same, so stop me if you've heard this story before. The short version: My dad is a comic artist, I’ve been going to comic shows since I was 6, so I guess its just in the blood.
18-year-old Joe Fish was working 60-hour work weeks. Friends were away at college, I had nothing going on, so I decided to bury myself in work — overtime shifts, weekends, holidays. I picked it all up working as a vendor for Snapple and Red Bull. Well, during that time, my dad and I would meet once a week for dinner or breakfast and just talk. He got extremely close during this time, talking about everything under the sun.
I asked him during one of these meetings, "I have all this money coming in and I'm thinking about investing." His answer was: comics. He went over the ROI of comics from the 1970s to today, and it was easier and more exciting than stocks. He told me a student of his had a shop in Holden and we should go check it out. We took one of our meetings, had lunch, and popped into the shop.
I remember it like it was yesterday. He had mentioned that I should do some research and see what Ted had in stock on his site, and then we could get a look in person. During lunch, before we went in, he taught me a crash course on comics — grading, pricing, keys. It was a lot to take in, but it changed my life.
I went into Superworld and wanted to look at an Amazing Spider-Man #135. My dad knew how popular the Punisher was and thought the 2nd appearance would pop. Ted had it in his half-price section, and I picked it up. I also picked up an Amazing Spider-Man #78 in high grade for $75. After visiting the shop and driving home with my dad, I was hooked.
I went home and started doing all kinds of research on what books to look for next. I think I spent all night doing research, sending it to my dad and asking what he thought. "Spidey #20, 1st Scorpion" or "What do you think about Captain America #117, 1st Falcon, or what about the 1st Silver Surfer" — I was all about it, I think to the point where my dad was annoyed with the bombarding texts.
We would make almost biweekly trips to Superworld, pick up a few more books, and go back to my dad's house, where he had two comic boxes that he left out in the den. That was my collection. He looked after it until I moved out on my own.
Slowly I built it up, and one day my dad told me Ted was looking for help, so I reached out, went in for an interview, and they hired me to run the eBay store. It wasn't too long after that I was driving to shows all around the country for them — LA, Chicago, Charlotte, Baltimore, New York.
One Chicago show, Jose was sick, and I told my dad I was going to drive out by myself. He told me I was crazy — he moved back a deadline and drove out with me. It became an annual thing. My dad, a cargo van loaded with comics, and nothing but those breakfast meetings now spread out over a week. We spent every single second with each other on those trips — hotel rooms, at the show, driving — and never once was I ever sick of hanging out with him.
I'm not sure if we ever listened to music. Just talking — sometimes about nonsense, like Superman vs. Underdog, or which is your favorite Steranko cover, sometimes about life, how's my girlfriend, where's that going, having kids someday, and how excited he was for me to be a dad and him to be a grandpa. The good old days.
He always encouraged me to start my own business. I think ever since those Chicago trips, that's something my dad did better than anyone — instilling confidence in you that you didn't know you had. He wanted me to start Picto 8 years before it was even a thought. When we finally did, he did everything in his power to help us — designing and creating the logo, working at shows for free, being there every single Tuesday.
The last two weeks, there has been an incredible amount of people who have reached out and told me the same story. Andy had more confidence in them than they had for themselves, and how they owe their entire career to him. He was simply an incredible human. He was my business partner, my collecting buddy, the best dad in the world, but most importantly, my best friend. The world is worse off not having him in it. But he lives on in our memory and legacies. Major Picto doesn't exist without him, and I am not the man I am today without him.
So thank you for everything.
