Holy Has-Been! The line snaking up to the small stage featuring Adam West and Burt Ward, TV’s erstwhile dynamic duo, required at least an hour’s worth of patience. The two sat silently in full superhero regalia signing and smiling, but barely acknowledging the masses.
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West turned and was blinded by an explosion of light. The man laughed and laughed, and West tried to recover by adjusting his costume’s cowl, this one stitched together from a silky blue cloth unlike the sturdier plastic one he used to wear on Batman.
The cavernous showroom was loud, smoky, and packed with exhibits of funny cars, minicars, and muscle cars; there was even a Corvette display, where restored models went for as much as $100,000. An antique Ford with suicide doors featured an engine plated in 24-karat gold. In fact, the Batmobile was a real heap of junk compared to almost anything else at the show, including the souped-up Escort from Aurora.
“You know what they do? They make you pay for this shit,” he said, pointing at a color reproduction of Ward from his TV days. “It’s presigned.” Indeed, the photo was prededicated and presigned except for the fresh magic marker lines that spelled “Scott.”
Back at the autographing session, Scott was aiming his camera at West and Ward. “I’m pissed off,” he said. “But this is probably the last time these two will be out before the new Batman movie kills their careers.” His flash went off, followed by a chorus of pops and camera clicks.
