The comic bookstore I went to was on Vancouver Island, in a small, charming place called Coombs, within the district of Nanaimo. Coombs, as many of you might know, is famous for its Old Country Market—more popularly known as Goats on the Roof—where a family of goats actually lives on the low sodded roof. It attracts over a million tourists every year, apparently.
The comic bookstore, as it was simply called, was a single room and not very big. Its walls were lined with storage racks holding dozens of white boxes filled with comics in polyethylene bags, each neatly labelled with the names of iconic superheroes on the side.
When I went in with my family, the place was nearly empty. A young man, presumably the owner, sat at a counter watching something on his phone, while a couple of kids were noisily sifting through stacks of trading cards in the centre of the store. I practically had the comic bookstore all to myself. I wandered through the shelves, looking for my favourite characters from DC and Marvel, and other imprints. They were all there, and some not so familiar ones too.
With help—since the boxes were quite heavy—I went through hundreds of backdated comic-books, mostly Superman and Batman (my childhood heroes), along with the Hulk, Flash, Daredevil, Captain America, Punisher, Justice League, Fantastic Four and the Avengers. I picked out several, put them back and then took them out again. Being spoilt for choice wasn’t easy. There were so many old titles, I wanted them all. I was like a kid in a candy store. Oh, the mental anguish of it all!
At one point, I decided to collect the multi-part Superman: Funeral for a Friend special series I had always wanted to own. With more help from my family, I spent over an hour searching for all the parts but came up three short. In the end, I dropped the idea and settled for the equally prized Reign of the Supermen! 1993 series instead.
I suppose you could say, “You lose a Superman, you gain a Superman!”
Some three hours later, as I was paying for my stack of comic-books, I suddenly realised I hadn’t seen two other favourite characters from my teen years—Tarzan and his son Korak. They were there, all right; I had somehow missed them.
After the owner pointed them out, I got down on my haunches and quickly went through a couple of boxes of early Tarzan issues with their vintage-smelling covers, my comic-book antennae tingling with excitement for a second time that evening. Unfortunately, we were running late, and it was with utmost reluctance that I put the ape-man back in his box.
Comic-books have brought me a great deal of joy since my boyhood days, and visiting this little haven felt like a dream come true. I’ll be going back to Coombs again, hopefully in the not-too-distant future—for the comic-books and, of course, the goats on the roof.
