seven mary three come back

This last weekend, I was in Pensacola, Florida. When I told my friend that, he said “what are you doing in Florida?” I said, “Trying to get out.” But I was actually there for Pensacon. It’s a convention that has invited me year after year, but hasn’t ever fit into my schedule until this year, so it was my first time.

Florida deserves the jokes we make about it, but my experience when I was there was quite lovely. Every person I interacted with was kind, friendly, helpful. I had an incredible piece of blackened gulf red snapper for dinner one night, my bed was comfy, and I did not have a single awkward or uncomfortable encounter with anyone at the show.

None of that is why this will be one of the most memorable conventions of my life, and I will now tell you why.

Holy. Shit.

I turned to my friend, Leah, who works with me at conventions to keep things running smoothly. “Dude, I have to come do this tomorrow.”

“Okay, we’ll take care of it,” she said.

So Saturday comes around, and I’m signing autographs at my table. Leah taps me on the shoulder and says, “it’s time to go downstairs.”

The excitement that surged inside of me threatened to explode out of my chest like Alien. I told the people who were in the line that I would be right back, I was going to fulfill a childhood dream.

We went downstairs to the photo-op area, and I apologized to the line I was cutting. They seemed to understand, my fellow fans of CHiPs, who also could not believe this was actually happening.

I bounced on the balls of my feet while I waited, and oh shit here comes Larry Wilcox. And he’s wearing a CHP uniform shirt with a name tag that says JOHN! I tried so hard to control my bouncing, but I’m pretty sure I failed.

We made eye contact and I said, “Hi, I’m Wil. I’m a huge fan and I am so excited to take a picture with you.”

“It’s so nice to meet you, I’m Larry.” We shook hands, and I didn’t keep shaking it like I did when I met Henry Rollins thank god.

There was a commotion around the corner, which could only mean one thing. Here comes Erik Estrada, much taller than I expected, and he is wearing a uniform shirt with a name tag that says PONCH.

Dude, it’s totally Ponch. Like, right there, right in front of me, are Ponch and John and I’m so excited I can’t tell if I’m going to burst into tears or throw up or what.

They take their positions on their marks, which are the same marks I had been using just a little bit earlier, and the photographer tells me that they are ready.

This is my chance. This is the one time I get to say this. I take a deep breath, and I say, “I don’t want to take up a ton of your time, so I’ll say this quickly. I grew up in Sunland-Tujunga, and you guys used to film in my neighborhood all the time.”

They looked at each other. “Sunland-Tujunga!” Larry Wilcox said. “We love Sunland-Tujunga!”

“Yeah, it was a great place to grow up. So I loved watching CHiPs, and I loved that I could see streets I recognized when I watched it.

“One day when you were filming, in like 1979, I think, my babysitter went to the set and came back with your autographs for me. I cherished them, until they were lost in a move probably 40 years ago.”

Erik Estrada’s eyes lit up and he flashed me that classic Ponch smile. I took a steadying breath.

“But this is really what I wanted to tell you: I had a rough childhood, with a lot of abuse an exploitation. I was sad and scared most of the time. But whenever you were on my TV, I was happy and I was safe. I loved CHiPs so much. You were the adults I wished I’d had in my life. You guys protected people, you stood up to bullies, and the whole cast felt like a group of people who were always there for each other. I desperately wanted that in my life, and watching CHiPs got me as close to it as I could get. So I really just want to say thank you for your work and for the joyful memories you gave me.”

“Oh, buddy,” Erick Estrada said, “thank you. Come here,” and he pulled me into a warm and loving hug.

“Thank you,” I said, “you have no idea.”

“I think maybe we do,” Larry Wilcox said, very kindly, with a warm smile. Maybe I’m not the first person to share a story like mine with them.

“Let’s take a great picture,” Erik Estrada said.

“Thank you. I’d love that,” I said.

I stood between them, they put their arms around me, and a dream came true for 9 year-old Wil.

They were such kind men. I felt seen and I felt special. All these years later, Ponch and John can still make this weird, sad, scared, little kid feel safe.

I will cherish this memory for the rest of my life.