The answers don't matter, of course; it's imagining the battle that's half the fun. The game comes to mind when you consider the case of Brian Hibbs. Since 1989, Hibbs has run a small but much-admired Western Addition comic shop, Comix Experience; as he notes with no small amount of pride, selling comics is the only thing he's done his entire professional life. You probably have an idea in your head about what a comic-shop owner looks like, and the 35-year-old Hibbs does look like that -- long hair, a beard, partial to a whatever's-on-the-floor wardrobe of T-shirts and jeans. But it's there the cliché stops. In person, Hibbs is affable, intelligent, funny, and deeply passionate about the business of selling comic books. So he's more than happy to talk about something he decided to do a few months back -- an act that annihilates the myth of the comic geek as a milquetoast fanboy.
"You have the conn, sir," Hibbs says to one of his clerks before heading into the store's dingy back room, a fortress of solitude constructed out of shipping boxes, filing cabinets, a stained couch, and cigarette ash. Here, lighting a smoke and speaking at length, he explains how he came to the decision to sue Marvel Comics for $18 million, taking on the biggest producer of superhero comic books -- and the bread-and-butter of the comic-shop owner.
The mild-mannered owner of a low-margin business vs. the corporate juggernaut. Who would win?
Comic books are a funny business. Superhero fans are fussy -- they have favorite characters, pet artists and writers, and fickle tastes. They also have a penchant for speculation, gobbling up multiple copies of a much-hyped issue in the hopes that it will increase in value over time (burned WorldCom stockholders might consider reinvesting in old issues of Daredevil). The upshot of this is that the burden is on a comic-shop owner like Hibbs to figure out the ever-shifting pulse of comic-shop patrons, who account for the vast majority of comic sales. That burden gets heavier with the sales policies of large companies like Marvel, which dictate that shop owners can't reorder issues, or -- in most cases -- return the ones that don't sell. So Hibbs has to be good at figuring out what his clients want, and when they're going to want it.
"It's unlike any other periodical business in the world," Hibbs says. "If a newsstand gets a hundred copies of Time and they sell one, they can send the other 99 back. If we order 100 copies of a comic book and sell one, we eat the other 99 copies."
Even if it's a restrictive policy, it's still fair play, and it works -- provided the comics show up when Marvel says they will. And that's the issue at the heart of the suit. When comics arrive late, sometimes months after they are scheduled, Hibbs says, fans tend to bolt. Marvel's policy states that comics that show up more than 30 days later than promised are returnable, but (according to Hibbs' official complaint) Marvel wasn't accepting returns on the late comics.
All of this would just be fanboy griping, except that about eight months ago Hibbs decided to do a little math. He calculated that his losses from Marvel comics he should've been able to return and get credit for, but wasn't able to, totaled about $2,000 over six months. That's not much, though for a low-margin business like Comix Experience, "that's several months of electricity bills. That's employee salaries for a month."
Still not a blockbuster lawsuit, though, and his attempts to plead his case with Marvel and its distributor led to a lot of unreturned phone calls and e-mails. But wait: Consider $2,000 of losses over six months, figure there are approximately 4,000 comic shops in the U.S. that have to play ball the same way ... that's $8 million. Goodbye small claims court, hello class action.
"That's not chump change," says Hibbs. "On the one hand [Marvel is] shipping everything late, and on the other hand they're saying, 'Order more up front, otherwise you won't be able to get any more.'
"I have questions [as to] whether that's calculated or not."
That question is where an additional claim for $10 million comes from. Arguing that Marvel "willingly and maliciously" did all this, Hibbs' complaint slaps a fraud charge on top of the claim of retailers' losses.
The class action suit was filed in New York Supreme Court on May 6, which just happened to follow the opening weekend of the massively successful Spider-Man film. "Amazing how that happened, isn't it?" laughs Nancy Ledy-Gurren, Hibbs' attorney. "Just luck." More seriously, she argues that Hibbs has a valid class action claim since all comic retailers do business with Marvel the same way. While past experiences, she says, lead her to believe that the case may simply be settled, the suit's main point is to force Marvel to do better by the comic-shop owners.
Marvel, through a spokesperson, declined to comment, citing its policy of not speaking about ongoing litigation. However, shortly after the complaint was filed, Marvel Editor in Chief Joe Quesada released a statement that, with more than a little condescension, griped about the timing of Hibbs' announcement. "Right after one of the comic industry's most glorious weekends ... Brian Hibbs decides to file his lawsuit! ... Way to rain on everybody's parade, buddy!"
"I think that their attitude is, 'We're Marvel Comics, we do whatever we like, so shut up, fanboy,'" says Hibbs.
Despite the enormous success of the film Spider-Man -- which has earned over $400 million at the box office -- Marvel Enterprises Inc. is a company still struggling to find its footing. After going public at $18 a share in 1995, Marvel stock now hovers around $5. Though it has enjoyed the benefits of licensing its characters to Hollywood (Blade, X-Men, and Spider-Man, with the Hulk and Daredevil in the production pipeline), the company is still recovering from a massive debt load and a messy bankruptcy in the late '90s. So Hibbs and other retailers believe they have valid reason to think Marvel is trying to squeeze a few extra dollars out of the retail market -- a world reputed to be full of unquestioning, demure, and unlitigious folks.
"Brian Hibbs took a courageous stand on this," says Lee Hester, owner of Lee's Comics in Mountain View. "Comic retailers are in agreement that these policies are bad. Ninety percent of them would agree with Hibbs." And the other 10 percent? "They're trying not to rock the boat."
Indeed, one local retailer would only comment anonymously, for fear that the "negativity" of the situation might hurt his business. But his main comment was simple enough: "Go Brian Hibbs. Some people are saying he's crazy to be doing this. And Brian Hibbs is crazy, but in a good way."
Hibbs doesn't present himself as a crusader, just a guy who believes in fair play in a business he loves. The irony is that he truly likes Marvel Comics. After a long period of creative mediocrity, he says, "editorially, Marvel is probably the best of the companies today."
And, he stresses, it's not about him. "I easily have another hundred stores that said they will participate without question," he says. "This is a very cut-and-dried moral issue. When you promise you're going to do something, then you need to do it."