Carl Tupper, 11/02/1940 – 12/29/2010
It is my sad duty to relate the death of Carl Tupper, proprietor for more than 30 years of BSI Comics. Carl was a true saint. A remarkable man who cruised through life with an indomitable spirit and always a smartass remark ready for any occasion. Family and friends are invited to attend a Funeral Mass at Lake Lawn Metairie Funeral Home, 5100 Pontchartrain Blvd. (in Metairie Cemetery), on Monday, January 3, 2011 at 1:00 PM. Visitation will begin at 11:00 AM until service time. Interment will be held in Lake Lawn Park Mausoleum.
Anyone in the metro area who grew up in the comics/sci-fi world in the last thirty years knew Unca Carl. (As did many who did not run in that crowd.) Face it, if you didn’t know Carl, you weren’t a true comics geek. From the early days of the Book Swap, Inc., a used paperback trading store on Kent Avenue in Metairie, to the salad days of BSI Comics just around the corner on Fairfield and later located in Fat City, Carl held court from his wheelchair, behind those huge, hand-built wooden counters, giving out free advice to anyone with ears. As he often said, “I can solve all your problems, but none of my own.”
Walk into the store happy and Carl would ask if he could have “some of what you’re on.” Enter in a foul mood and he’d flat out tell you, “Babe, you know what you’re problem is? You got a bad attitude.” Walk in with a girlfriend and the gloves were off. In fact, some people would bring new girlfriends in to test them; if they could roll with Carl’s punches, then there was hope for a serious, lasting relationship!
But even though it appeared that Carl’s business was selling funnybooks, that was just a front. Carl Tupper’s real business was teaching kids about life. Carl probably “hired” more “employees” over the years than Popeye’s ever will. It wasn’t because he needed the help -there was always at least one semi-reliable, full-time employee at the shop who could take care of most anything- but because Carl knew the kids needed the job for one reason or another. A day, a week, a month; however long that kid needed the work, Carl would always find something for them to do.
We all got paid with pizza, po-boys, free comics or paperbacks and occasionally actual cash. It must have been a drain on his finances from time to time, but Carl knew he could make a difference in our lives, and he did indeed. Even after most of us had moved on and established ourselves in the “real world,” when we came back for a visit we’d find ourselves alphabetizing the racks as we browsed or dusting, or sweeping, or moving things around the store just to pay him back a little bit and Carl would still shove a few bucks or some free merchandise into our hands. It’s just the kind of guy he was.
And through Carl, we became doctors, lawyers, police officers, teachers, retailers, comics pros, (and ams,) and a host of other professions. But above all, Carl taught us how to be friends; how to get along with each other despite our differences. If you think arguments over politics, religion and race are difficult to mediate, you ain’t seen nothing until a pack of fanboys start dissecting the Crisis on Infinite Earths, Marvel vs DC, Golden Age vs Silver Age vs Bronze Age, or Jim Shooter vs John Byrne. Carl mediated everything and you could tell that that was why he opened that store up every day. He loved the comics, but he loved his employees and customers more.
And if you had a problem, Carl was always there. Need your car or computer fixed? Need a gardener or plumber? Looking for someone to help you move? Carl knew absolutely everyone and if he sent you to them, you got a deal. BSI’s current proprietor, Jason, remarked that “Carl was a social network before the term existed” and that’s the God’s Honest Truth. I have about a dozen close friends from high school, but I have at least a hundred friends that I met through Carl and BSI. And oddly enough, about 90% of my high school friends were also BSI customers or employees. Go figure.
And without knowing it, Carl taught us all that no matter how dark the storm clouds are, the sun will eventually come back out. Faced with a myriad of health problems and operations stemming from his original stroke some forty years ago, he never complained about his problems. Yes, he came off as a sarcastic, crabby bastard, but no matter how hard he tried to make you think that was his real self, he couldn’t hide that blinding twinkle in his eye that said, “Shit, babe, life is good… enjoy it while you can.”
Repose en paix, Unc. And open a folder for me up there…