The Ohio Sci-Fi and Horror Marathons

Photo courtesy of Mark Fontana (http://dp70.dyndns.org/drexel/demise.html)

Ok everybody, here's a blast from the past. Twenty years ago, this creative review of the 2nd edition of It Came From the Drexel North was published in the Columbus Dispatch. Years ago, in an attempt to start a MArathon archive, I downloaded it off their website and transcribed it onto Word. I'm probably breaking a few copyright laws by posting it here, but full credit to Mr. Bloom and the Wolfe family for being the original source of the material. And...uh....don't copy this for your own use. Yeah.

Anyway, I hope you enjoy it. I think it's one of the better Marathon articles I've read.


DIARY OF A SCI-FI FILM MARATHONER
COLUMBUS DISPATCH/FEBRUARY 24, 1989/BOB BLOOM

I’m sitting in a dark theater, fighting to stay awake. I feel as if I’ve just plowed the back-40. I’m surrounded by hundreds of people in weird costumes, and I’m having the time of my life watching old science-fiction movies.
I am at the 1988 “It Came From the Drexel North” science-fiction marathon at the Drexel North theater, cohabitating with beings from beyond the solar system. (I also plan to attend the Drexel North’s third annual marathon from noon Feb. 25 to noon Feb. 26, 1989. But that’s another story.)
I’m here for two reasons: I enjoy science-fiction movies, and I’m curious to see what kind of nut sits through 24 hours of science-fiction films. (Of course, my being here for the entire event doesn’t classify me as a “nut.”)
Preparation is everything. I’ve loaded up with essentials: a sleeping bag, sandwiches, snacks and pop. I arrive at 11:45 a.m., 15 minutes before the marathon is scheduled to begin.
The Drexel North is more than half filled. Marathoners have staked out their territories, leaving the essentials stacked on seats while theymingle in the lobby with friends, strangers from strange lands and dealers hawking buttons and other paraphernalia.
The theater looks as if it’s hosting a Martian Mardi Gras. Two guys dressed like bikers from the 22nd century are sitting in the back holding homemade ray guns. It is hard to understand what they’re saying through their headgear, but I make out that they spent a week designing their costumes.
Most of the audience is young, male and in groups. I overhear discussions about specific movies and science-fiction magazines. This is all I need, a crowd of know-it-alls.
The program begins at 12:12 p.m. when manager Bruce Bartoo leads the audience in a countdown for the first movie, The War of the Worlds.
By now the Drexel is almost filled and the crowd is loose. People are cracking jokes and firing their weapons at the Martians on the screen. One prankster has built a laser gun, which he continually shoots at the aliens. After awhile the crowd grows tired of seeing his red dot zap the screen, so they shout him down.
Just before 5 p.m. I experience my first yawn. But I pull the tab on a can of soda for a shot of caffeine. The crisis passes.
Around 7 p.m. I finish my last pastrami-on-a-bagel. What am I going to do for food during the rest of the marathon?
The biggest laughs of the evening come shortly after 8 when The Giant Claw swoops onto the screen. The cheap special effects have the audience howling. The laser gun, so annoying earlier, is now put to good use, and the audience loves it.
At 9:15 p.m. it is time for the “Giant Claw” contest, in which folks try to imitate the movie turkey’s fearful cry. While tempted, I’m too self-conscious to participate (even though I know I do a great “claw caw”).
Time soon has no meaning for me. I look at my watch once in a while, but only from force of habit. I keep shifting in my seat to keep my feet and other bodily parts from falling asleep.
Around 1:30 a.m., a friend brings a pizza.
The pizza was a mistake. I begin to get sleepy and catch only snatches of the next movie.
At 3:50 a.m., after the cartoon, Duck Dodgers in the 24th and ½ Century, the crowd is treated to another test of audience talent. Volunteers are invited to do their best Daffy Duck or mad Martian imitations. Again I pass; I’m an Elmer Fudd man myself.
I think I vote for one of the contestants, but I’m not quite sure. I know I’m too tired to bring my hands together to make an impression on the applause meter.
It’s about 5 a.m. and people are sprawled over seats, stretched out in the aisle or sleeping on the floor in the rear. Getting to the restroom is like crossing the battlefield at Gettysburg.
The theater is quieter now. I don’t hear a many hoots and hollers and the guy with the laser gun has holstered his weapon. I sleep for about an hour.
After my brief nap, I check out the lobby. The button-sellers are still hawking their wares to anyone who wanders by. It is that gray time of morning, when you can almost see the cold. The only cars in sight are the ones parked around the theater.
I get a cup of coffee. It’s hot and smooth and acts like a vacuum sucking away the grimy feeling that has been clinging to me like lint on a suit.
I am surprised to see two boys, who look about 12 years old and have been here since the beginning, hanging around, still fresh with enthusiasm. I admire their grit and curse their youth.
By now, contest ideas are getting lame. Shortly before 6 a.m. Bartoo holds a best pillow contest. It puts people to sleep.
As dawn breaks – at least, my watch tells me it’s scheduled to break – I fight to stay awake. With just about five hours to go, I steel myself with determination to see this through to the end.
However, I have to endure another contest. This one is for special pets, anything people have brought with them. I probably could have entered my sleeping bag in this one, but it looks worse than I do.
By now, time is taking its toll on the audience. The natives are getting restless – and ugly. The contest bombs.
The theater is weathering the event as well as the marathoners. People have been cooperating by tossing their trash, but the smell of pizza and cigarette smoke gives the Drexel a very lived-in feeling. That’s fine for a frat house but not for a movie theater.
The rest of the marathon passes without fanfare. My adrenalin quickens as the remaining marathoners begin sprinting for the finish line.
Finally, it’s over. I mill around the lobby with others slowly readjusting my eyes to sunlight. Fortunately, the outside world appears to have escaped all the cataclysms on the movie screen.
Why, though, am I so exhausted? After all, I’ve been sitting for 24 hours, not running or standing. Yet I feel as tired as if all the movies had been in Swedish.
While my body screams for sleep, my mind is too exhilarated. I and many fellow marathoners have made it through 24 hours of science fiction, no small achievement.
There can only be one answer: I am nuts.

That was priceless. Thanks for posting that. I'm getting so excited for the marathon this year (after having to miss last year) and accounts like this remind me of the great times I've had at the 'thons over the years. When I couldn't go last year, I loved logging on and reading the stories of my fellow "people in the dark", living vicariously through those that kept a diary. Is that sad, or is that love? ...I feel like home is just around the corner.

Best. Drexel North. Summation. Ever.

_________________
Aliens? Us?
Is this one of your Earth "jokes?"

I still have that newpaper plus all the Hoots as well.

OMG!!!
I had forgotten that I had written that. was it really 20 years ago?
Thank u for publishing this. I had not seen a copy and now I will print it out and treasure it.
It rekindles lots of fun memories.
Thanks again.
BB

We have definietly slimmed down the contests over the years. I had forgotten about some of them.

_________________
The wages of sin are royalties.

Heh - awesome! That was my first marathon, which I attended with my Dad - who was also at the first one in '87. He quit going after '88, but, of course, I became a convert - and here I am, still.