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“Tell me this,” says Tony as he reclines in a chair that’s more like a throne. Fittingly, he’s surrounded by plastic subjects that dedicate all five points of articulation to the whims of their king. Tony is the proprietor of the Old Book & Comic Emporium in Beverly Hills, which specialises in books, toys…and comics.
“In the first one, you had Lex Luthor running a real estate scheme. In this new one, you’ve got Lex Luthor running a real estate scheme. You’re telling me that there wasn’t another plot they could have used from the nearly 70 years’ worth of stories?” He snorts as he dismissively turns the page of the newspaper he’s absently reading. “For that reason alone, I’m not going to bother.”
On the subject of dodgy Superman movies he is, of course, completely right. And he should know; he must have well over a third of those stories in his collection.
At the counter, familiar faces from decades of pop culture stare back. On the far wall, Freddy Krueger dares you to go to sleep. The Joker laughs eternally from behind Tony’s desk, while perched atop his cash register (no EFTPOS) is the withered visage of Emperor Palpatine. They feel as much a part of the place as gruff old Tony. He’s made this shop his own.
I first became aware of Tony’s Old Book & Comic Emporium in about 1999, when I was on a serious nostalgia trip. It’s a familiar story: disposable income, an age that’s at once responsible and irresponsible, a firm grip on the past and a tenuous one on the present. In the shop window was a factory sealed box of Topps trading cards (with gum) from 1989’s Batman, a movie I’d originally seen just down the road. I’d never gotten the whole set as a kid, so I had to have them.
But the cards were the gateway drug. Once inside, I marvelled at just how many blasts from my past the owner had accrued. Monsters in My Pocket. Fangoria. The Inspector Gadget doll with the telescoping Go-Go-Gadget neck. Among these, the past-blaster was set to stun: Hardy Boys books. Monkees lunchboxes. Old Playboys below a sign marked ‘Adults ONLY’. Nice try, Tony.
During the short time I lived in the area, I became a regular. I’d hang out in the shop on Saturday afternoons shooting the shit with Tony about movies, his new arrivals and our favourite topic, the past. Never the future. Tony liked my writing style, and one afternoon wrote down the contact details of the editor of a pulp sci-fi magazine called Andromeda Spaceways for which he thought my work would be a perfect fit. I didn’t see it myself, so I never followed it up.
Thinking back now, it’s gobsmacking to imagine a two-storey modern-age antiques shop in a suburb like Beverly Hills.
Fate must have noticed the oversight. Long after I’d moved away, I swung by one afternoon only to find the shop empty. All that remained was the sign on the side of the awning and the piece of paper with the Andromeda Spaceways details still sitting in my wallet.
If you’re reading this, Tony, I hope your bold and much appreciated experiment didn’t meet too painful an end. You added a bit of colour to an otherwise boring area, and no-one’s ever going to fill your shoes. I mean, I’m sure the world needed another family law centre (especially the long-awaited first choice), but I’m sorry: you ain’t no Tony.
Past/Lives of the Near Future 
I new Tony for many years from before he opened the shop. He would scour garage sales, fates, markets etc. searching for the items which became his stock. His garage at home had been converted to store his collection and their was a large amount he considered his personal collection. Tony was English and he had family back in England picking stuff up for him as well.
Whether that stock ever made it to Australia or not I don’t know. I only went to the shop once and haven’t spoken to him since 2005. Tony was born in 1948 so he would be 76 now.
Tony passed away shortly before his 70th birthday in 2018 after a short illness. I’ll post in an extract from my blog post on him.
Tony assured me on numerous occasions that we first met when he answered an ad I’d placed in the Trading Post. “I bought a pile of Film Fun weeklies off you.” They’re probably still neatly packed away somewhere in his collection. I found his name in an old 1970s address book that recently popped up again during a tidy-up. The University of NSW book fair probably saw our next meeting. In the 1980s that event was held every second year on the ground floor in Unisearch House, Anzac Parade, Kensington. We spotted each other while scanning the children’s book tables, that being where our collecting interests crossed paths. Tony probably suggested that I visit him and have a look at his collection.
In the mid-1980s I launched my small print run biblio magazine, “Golden Years” and sent Tony a copy. Some time after that we either met up at his home or more likely at the next book fair. In 1989 I took a redundancy package and began spending a lot of time visiting secondhand bookshops, op shops and auctions. Perhaps Tony put me onto Tempe Tip, as the Salvos’ facility near the Tempe container depot was known. In earlier days prior to my becoming involved in the book world, this was the mecca for all bargain hunters, in much the same way the Chatswood White Elephant store drew those same folk on the North Shore.
Tony then and forever was blessed with a 6th sense that always turned up trumps at any book sale. He was the Roger Bannister of the book world, without ever having to raise a sweat! In the 1990s we made the decision (at different times, perhaps) to try our hand at selling books and collectables at the monthly Sydney Model Auto Club swap meet at Granville. This followed our visiting it prior to its move to the old Crest Cinema, when it was held in a church hall to the west of Woodville Road. Tony’s first attempt saw him do a roaring trade, taking in hundreds of dollars, hand over fist. If my memory serves me correctly, buyers were literally shoving money in his face as he opened up cartons of goodies.
In the 1990s I became a volunteer at the Uni of NSW book fair. This led to volunteering in the book room “downunder” where the U-Committee sorted and priced the donations. It didn’t take much into talking Tony to follow suit. His workplace wasn’t far away so he could drive down during lunch on Mondays. Once he made his vast biblio knowledge known, he wound up working with the slow auction and collectables volunteers.
As 2000 arrived, the monthly swap meet had moved to a less interesting location and collecting interest had generally waned. Tony tried other, bigger, events around Sydney while probably thinking over what the future held. We saw less of each other but kept in contact via the phone but eventually the idea of opening a shop popped up. I’d casually suggested it for years and, I’m sure, many other dealers and collectors Tony had come across also helped to cement the idea in his mind. Work pressure probably played a part in his decision to open the Old Book & Comic Emporium. A need to escape from the rigors of everyday life and try to channel one’s skills and interests in a different direction all played their part.
There’s more to be written.
Thank you, John, for sharing this. I’m very sad to hear of Tony’s death, but I’m looking forward to anything further you can add.