What If They Gave A Convention And NOBODY Came?

Fanfiction
Title:	What If They Gave A Convention And NOBODY CAME?
Author(s):	Peter David
Date(s):	1978
Length:
Genre(s):	gen
Fandom(s):
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What If They Gave A Convention And NOBODY CAME? is a metafic that satirizes Star Trek conventions, specifically the Schuster Cons.

It was printed in Warped Space #38.

The story is RPF-y, sort of Tuckerized as the characters in the story are real fans who were given slightly different names. Al Schuster is portrayed as a rabid man, addicted to alcohol and drugs, who, in the end, fails in his plan to blow up "Conrad Hilton III, grandson of the famous founder of the large hotel chain — ."

The topic of the metafic was the lack of preparation fan committees put into the for-profit cons, the naiveté of Star Trek fans, people who viewed fandom as a source of profit, and general incompetence. There is also pointed commentary about Space:1999. David also describes how Trek, both as a cash cow and topic of fan interest, is dying:

"Well, for one thing, it's old hat. There's nothing new to say. What are we going to have for programs? I mean, there's only so much Roddenberry can say about what's holding up the STAR TREK movie."

The story takes place during "Bison 10," a fake 1979 con:

For over a year and a half, the organizers and administrators of Bison 10, the universe's largest STAR TREK convention, had advertised their con. It would be historic. Picturesque. Gigantic. Supercolossal."

"It's 10,000 bucks in the hole," declared Thumb Anderson, co-chairman.

The Named Fans

• Star Trek Committed = The Committee
• Thumb Anderson (co-chair) = John Townsley?
• Al Shyster (co-chair) = Al Schuster
• Felice Rosenstein = Elyse Rosenstein
• Stove Rosenstein = Steve Rosenstein
• Beej O. Trundle = Bjo Trimble
• Joanie Salem = Joan Winston
• Bilkmore Hotel = New York Biltmore Hotel

Excerpts

"This is it, gang," said the other co-chairman, Al Shyster. Shyster was not well-liked; he had a lean and hungry look about him. Nevertheless, it had been both he and [Thumb] Anderson who had originally conceived the idea for Bison 10, the 1979 convention that would celebrate the 10th anniversary of the classic science fiction show's cancellation.

"How's the program shaping up, Felice?" asked Shyster.

Felice Rosenstein stood up. "Looks pretty good,", she said. "We've got every cast member, every writer, every guest star who ever appeared on the damned program. Each of them will be making a speech — "

"Pardon me, Felice," cut in Thumb, "Just what, precisely, will they be talking about?"

"Whatever they usually do," shrugged Felice. She nodded toward her husband. "Stove is busy writing stuff for them —just in case they run out of things to say. They'll be on 8 X 10 cue cards and he can flash them from the front row."

"What about the question and answer period?"

"Same as usual. We hired about a dozen kid actors for each star to ask them a question. Not to mention one midget each to ask,a question that is incredibly stupid, but will get a chuckle from the audience 'cause they'll think it's a little kid."

"Will the stars know the answers to the questions?"

"Well, the stars will be briefed beforehand, and in the course of the briefing actual questions and/or answers may be discerned. However, the stars will be hearing the questions for the first time."

"Circle gets the square," murmured Stove.

"Art show report," said Thumb, stroking his beard.

"A-OK," said Beej O. Trundle. "There's just one problem — " "What?"

"We don't have any."

"No show?"

"No art."

Al had been leaning back in his chair and almost toppled over when she said that. "Whaddayamean no art?!" he sputtered. "Did someone swipe it?"

"She ran her fingers through her red hair in frustration. "There just isn't any, that's all."

"Not even a lousy drawing of Kirk?" She shook her head.

Thumb thought quickly. "Here's what we'll.do," he said at last. "Beej O., go out and buy up every STAR TREK paint-by-numbers and coloring book you can get your hands on. They've been dying in the gift shops for the past couple of months so there shouldn't be any problem. Then paint, color, and do whatever is necessary. Trekkies aren't discriminating, they won't be able to tell the difference."

"Okay, gang. Get set for four fun-filled - and profitable — days. Open the doors!" he shouted to the bell hops.

The doors sat there, opened to the street, the deserted lobby and walked past.

Several passersby glanced curiously at the deserted lobby and walked past.

The Committed waited.

No one.

Nothing.

Not a Trekkie. Not a fan. Not a tribble. Nothing.

Thumb stood on his chair for a full minute, the expression of joy frozen on his face in shock. Then, grin still there, he said, "Oh my God."

Al Shyster passed out. A helper went for a glass of water and poured it on his unmoving body. He sat up with a start and looked around. Seeing the empty lobby he moaned, "It's still here," and fainted once more.

This time no one bothered to revive him. Stunned, they walked slowly to the doors and looked out. Life was going on as usual. But nowhere -- as they looked up and down the block, did they see a single Trekkie/Trekker in evidence. Not even a pot-bellied toddler with a "Spock" T-shirt clutching a clutching a Kirk doll to his grimy face.

It was an hour before anyone dared to speak.

"It is the right day, isn't it?" asked Beej.

As one, the Committed faced the door. Joanie Salem walked in briskly, camera crews in tow. The reporters looked bored stiff; they had covered more conventions than they cared to think about. They expected another routine job.

Joanie was no idiot. When she saw the deserted lobby, and the desperate expressions of her co-workers, she put two and two together very quickly. "Whoops, my mistake," she snapped frantically. "Wrong day, you can all go home." She attempted to push the crews out the door.

But they were not newsmen for nothing. One might say they smelled a story, and they pushed past the frantic Joanie Salem and cracked out their cameras.

[...]

There were some marvelous shots that evening on all the networks: Al ramming a mike into Jerry Rivers' mouth, Felice leaping cat-like onto the back of the man from CBS, Joanie kicking a cameraman right in his tripod, and Thumb Anderson spraying the foam from a fire extinguisher into the camera lenses so no more pictures could be taken. It was the most incredible fiasco in the history of Trekdom. Obviously the media had under estimated the retaliatory power of a group of desperate conventioneers.

It was Sunday when the shit hit the fen. There was an emergency meeting in Al's suite. Al was up to seven tranquilizers a day, but was still pacing around the room like a caged animal.

Once the sullen group was gathered, Al said, "It's time for emergency measures. Things are reaching a desperate state. We will have no money to pay off the debts we owe." He leaned across the table and repeated into Thumb's face, "No money."

Al had also been drinking. His breath nearly flattened Thumb, who recovered enough to say, "Sit down, Al. I know we've got a few problems ... "

"A few problems!" screeched Beej O. "Do you have any idea what's going on down there? Bill Shatner walked into the lobby surrounded by five bodyguards. When they found nobody was down there, the guards turned on Shatner and attacked him themselves."

"Were they... "

"Yes. All female."

Thumb bit his lip. "All right, who's the schmuck who assigned five females to guard Shatner, of all people."

"You think just Shatner's mad?" said Felice. "Marcie's ready to sue for divorce after that scene."

Fan Comments

...amusing, although I suspect it of being an inside story.

P.A. David doesn't know the worst of it. Said author should have been to the last couple Pittsburgh STAR TREK cons, they make "Bison 10" sound pretty good. An interesting (and hysterical — especially the rabid portrait of "Shyster") speculation.