The following is an article that was published in the sunday morning post in Post Magazine on September 2, 2001.
We re-typed it so that it will fit/format properly on our website, the original scan can be seen here.
Celebrity signatures are John Brennan's stock-in-trade, and he has a network of contacts to help him track down stars that is the envy of the world's paparazzi. But with the rise of internet dealers, is the writing on the wall for America's autograph king? Mark McCord joins the chase.
Autograft
Post Magazine
Sunday Morning Post
September 2, 2001
The instructions over the phone were short and would not have looked out of place in a spy novel: "Go to Newark Airport and call me once you get there. I'll be waiting on the departure level. I'll let you know more once you are there."
The plan was to meet John Brennan, America's most notorious autograph hunter, but so secret were the instructions that on the short drive from New York City I felt like I was being lured into a trap. I followed his orders but it was Brennan who eventually called, an hour after our scheduled rendezvous. "We've missed her, we've f****g missed her," his voice screamed down my phone. "The bitch came through early while I was stuck in the tunnel. I can't believe this f****g traffic."
The "bitch", as he put it, was Whitney Houston, the elusive superstar and Brennan's prey for the day. He had been tipped off that she had her husband Bobby Brown would be flying out to Los Angeles this afternoon. But, unusually for the king of the autograph jungle, he had missed his target.
"I would have got her if the traffic hadn't been so bad," came the voice over the phone as the squat, unshaven pockmarked source of the call approached, wearing shorts and a grubby T-shirt. "I couldn't tell you too much," he later said, explaining why he had been so secret. "You didn't know me, I didn't know you and this is very, very exclusive information. I couldn't be sure you wouldn't tell anyone else what was going down. You can't trust anyone in this business."
Brnnan is known in in this business as The Captain. He has been collecting and selling signatures of rock and pop stars for longer than any of his rivals can remember. He says he's been making money out of it for 20 years, and now pulls in up to US $100,000 (HK $779,000) a year selling the scribbles of the rich and famous to auction houses and memorabillia stores in New York. He is by all accounts the consummate professional. While most of his contemporaries cahse celebrities in their limos paparazzi-style or hang around hotels in the hope someone will come out, Brennan relies on an unrivalled network of contacts to tell him ecxactly who wil be where and when.
Twenty years in the business has allowed him the luxary of beingf able to pick and choose what he does these days. The Newark Aurport job was a case in point. Houston, who lives in New Jersey, was big news at the time she breezed into the first-class cabin of an American Airlines plane. She was about to announce a major record deal, was in the headlines for drug problems and had recently been foced to call police to help pull an attacker off Brown. She was sort of a A-olist star the paparazzi would have been all over. But there was no sign of them at the airport. Only Brennan knew she was going to be there.
"I go for the stars who are obtainable." he says, stuffinf down a couple of chicken burgers at the airport's fast-food cafe. "I won't spend three days like the young Turks trying to get an autograph from a Madonna or a Janet Jackson, who is only in town to plug a concert and leaves with bodyguard s and avoids everybody," he tells me. "It's just a very big waste of time. I don't need to do that."
He doesn't look the type who hobjobs with the stars. He is 36, has a scrappy goatee, wears shapeless shorts and talks as he eats. But it is his contacts that make him so special. His wornlooking silver handset rings every five minutes with information from sources at airlines, record companies, and concert venues.
Information is Brennan's currency and his is so valuable it sets him apart from the rest of the "young Turks" who are trying to muscle in on the business. "Others come looking for me rather than the celebriites, because they know that wherever I am, someone big will also be. But why should I let them feed off my hard work? I am the one who has put in the years."
A ferw days later, during a stakeout of the former Beatle Ringo Starr in midtown Manhattan, he curses and runs off unexpectedly, later explaining that he had spied one or two rivals propelying the streets looking for him. "WHy should they get the benefit of myu hard work? he repeats.
That Brennan is good at his job is beyond doubt. Larry Schwarzenwald, one of New York's top paparazzi, checks with him to see who's in town. If they find themsleves on the same job, Schwarenwald works in deference to Brennan. On the hunt for the soul singer Sade, who is staying at the Trump International Towers on Central Park, Brian, a 21-year old rival who refuses to give his surname, says he can only aspire to Brennan's legend. "He is the most professional collector," he says. "He was one of the first. He is even known on the West Coast. More importantly, he knows everyone.
Brennan has never had a "proper" job. When Eddie Van Halen signed an album for him in the early 80s, he knew autogrpah hunting would dominate his life.
"After meeting Van Halen I didn't think 'Ooh, I want to hang out with them.' To me, the signature was always the end. That was my pure basis for starting. There is something good about doing this.
I thought ......................
But he won't. "it's difficult to tell from his explainations why
..............
He says that what he does is not normal and his wife Helen agrees. "I Keep telling him to give up and get a real job, but he keeps on doing this," she says. "Our place is just full of signed photographs, books and all sorts of garbage. I tell hjim to sell it all.
Brennan has stuck at it for so long. He insists he is not star-strcuk but at the same time professes he thrills at meeting his rock heros. He relishes getting that one of a kind signature but baulks at the suggestion he does for the one-upmanship. And while he claims the lure of autograph hunting is not to deseire to own a piece of the stars, he does have cherished trophies he'll never give up.
"Some people live their lives through thrie idols because theyu have no foundadations, no family. There are some people who exist on ly to do this, like an alcoholic," he obseserves. "THeyu dont have relationships or jobs. I have run in to a loot of people like that."
The lure is different for everybody he says. For him it's the thrill of the chase. "I am a hunter," he claims. "THe difference with me through is that i am a fan of many of the subjects I hunt, and that ultimately means that I try to be as precise as possible in getting the autographs."
You could say autograph unting has beessed up his life. He has no friends to speak of, and he met his wife while they were both outside the now-closed Michelangelo Hotel waiting for the heavy metal band Metallica to come out.
"You wouldn't want to do this for a job: he says . "You have to be ready to get up at midngitht, at the crack of dawn or whenever you get a call and someone tells you there is someone of interest in town."
Nveverttheless, for most collectors it is not a job anyway: it's a well paid hobby. Many of the sigantures Brennan collects he keeps. He reckons he has as manyu signatures in his personal collection as he has sold. At his home in Queens, New York, he says he has guitars signed by the Rolling Stones, untold numbers of autogrpahed album covers and thousands of photographs.
To Summarise, autogrpah hunting he says is an addiction "OII have seen people from all walks of life get hooked -- the very wealtyh and the very the poor people alike," he says. "THe bug is the high of seeing the person and getting the signature. I'ts not the money. for me it was alwasy getting the signature more than seeing the celebrity. I am a music fa and only got in to autographs because iw as a fan of music."
The peninsula hotel in midtown Manhannan is "hot" with celebrities at the moment. I join Brennan there one afternoon as he waits for Star..
Outside the hotel's unimposing entrance bus-boys in neat black suitars with mother-of-peral waisecoasts beckon taxis and open doors for arriving and departing guitars.
Just 45 meteres across the road things are less salubrioouis. Hidden within the outside recesses of the Fifth Aveneut Presbyterian Church, which overshadows the Penninsulta, he waits, surrounded by a shifting mob of homeless people. He almost fits in with his dirty T-shirt divided by the diagnol black slash of his rucksack strap and phone holder.;
It is 4pm and he has been standing in the same spot for half an hour and already has a bagful of goodies.
"Ian Hunter signed, so did Roger Hodgson," he says former leaders of Mott the Hoople and Supertramp respectevely. They are stationg at the hotel between gigs and Starr's All-star Band, a touring pot-pourri of past0it rockers organizesd byu the former Beatles drummer. Also in the band are 80s synth pop singer Howard Jones and one time progressive rock casusalty Greg Lake, formerly of Emerson, Lake and Palmer.
" I got most of them last night too," Brennan says. They are the fruit of a and out climbs a shaven-headed and scruffily dressed Starr with his demure wife Barbara Bach. Brennan had spotted them as the car turned off FIfth Avenue and had run to the hotel entrance before Starr had even opened his door.
As the star walks around the limo, Brennan shifts in front of him with a battered copy of "The Beatles" Revolver album. Starr signs, shrugs and walks in with Bach. Elated, Brennan returns to his hidehout and shows off his booty. It'll fetch about $250, he recocks, but he'll keep this one for now. "I've already had George Martin [the Beatles' producer] sign it, now I want McCartney and Harrison on it. That will be the Holy Grail for me. I probably wouldn't sell it, but it could fetch many thousands of dollars."
Selling autographs is the hardest part of the job. He sometimes sells direct to collectors, but mostly he'll sell wholesale to retailers and auction houses. He could make more money, but he doesn't have the time to do that marketing. "I could kill myself trying harder, but what's the point" he asks.
While the prices they'll fetch depend on who signed and how "in" they are, the basic watcfhwords are demand and rarity. "A bass guitar signed by McCartney would make thousands because he pretty much never signs," Brennan says. "If you see them for less than $1,000 on the internet I would question that because they are very rare and desirable."
Modern pop stars' autographs fetch very little. Britney Spears has "questionable longevity" for example and signatures such as hers would only sell well in a charity raffle. Madonna has longevity, but not much demand. "There are so many celebrities now who are so disposable and here-today-gone-tomorrow." he says dismissively. As a rock fan himself, Brennan trusts his instincts to tell him who will be worth persuing. If there is an act he thinks will be big in the future, he'll get them to sign and then sit on the signatures. He says he did well with Nirvana that way.
"Of the newer people, I went for Craig David because I feel he is on his way up here in the United States. He has some tealent by today's standards. Also, I knew he would be easy to get."
With two decades to his name, Brennan has developed a technique considered by his contemporaries as nothing short of military in execution.
"He is just a stickler for detail," says Brian. Of greatest importance is good behavior. Unlike the paparazzi, who approach quickly, take a shot and run, Brennan has to walk away with something tangible that requires the target's interafction. And he won't win that if his target feels agitated."
"I use restraint, communication, words that make them feel comfortable because most celebrities nowadays don't feel comfortable because of problems with stalkers," he explains. "I use commonsense in approaching people rather than being pushy. It isn't worth burning your bridges for one signature,"
He tries to avoid crowds of fans because they make personal approaches difficult, and will also suggest stars make exits through side doors or underground garages. Similarily, he doesn't like to operate when the press pack or his fellow signature collectors are around. That's where the exclusive intelligence becomes important. His sorties are planned lioke secret service ecercises. He takes in everything around him. Who's nearby, the best spot for making the final approach, and what item to have signed -- he's had every sort of musical instrument autographed, but usually goes for record covers, CDs and photos. Sweet talking security details is another trick Brennan has learned. While most bodyguiards, he says, are "uneducated fools" who feel a sense of power and want to exert it whenever they can, it's usually easy to sidestrem them with a smile, a plea, or even through recognition. Suprisingly, he says secret service agents who surround politicians are among the easiest to breach. "They are professionals. They have no other agenda, so once they know you are of no threat, they let you through, assuming the politician is okay about signing.
Former president Bill Clinton signed while touring Manhattan on a walkabout and even posed for a photograph. "He loves to get his face in the papers," said Brennan. ."He always signs, always shakes hands."
The same cannot be said of Jackie Chan, who, while promoting his first Rush Hour film in New York a few years ago, stopped long enough to have his photo taken with Brennan, but walked away without even ackknowledging a plea for a signature. "His guards just pushed me aside. They were all Chinese and looked straight ahead without saying anything. I don't think they understood my English."
Outside the gleaming Trump World Tower on miserable, rainy August afternoon, Brennan's preparations have been ruined. He is waiting for Sade to leave for gig at Madison Square Gardens, but the unexpected arrival of Mark McGrath, singer with Californian rock band Sugar Ray, has attracted a small gathering of young girls and passing tourists.
The hotel staff have been forced to move everybody, including Brennan, behind a steel barricade, a terrible waiting place. The inquisitive crowd asks him who he is waiting for, but fearing a truthful answer will just attract more fans he rudely tells them to leave. It is useless: the black vans that say star all over them waiting in front of a flow of popstars, including members of Brit group Radiohead and singer Brandi, in and out of the hotel ensures a constant gaggle of onlookers.
Safe obviously is put off by the crowd and she leaves via a hidden loading bay. Brennan, curses everyone around him. The crowds have ruined a good payday.
The Captain guards his reputation jealously. He is obsessed with the perception people have of his trade. Usually lumped together with the paparazzi, autograph hunters suffer as a result of snappers' low regard, especially since the death of Princess Diana.
And owing to last year's stabbing of George Harrison by a crazed fan, even the ordinary autograph hunter is viewed suspiciously now. But what concerns him most is the damage being done by the sudden influx of fly-by-nights and fakers into the trade.
"A lot of people nowadays jump into the business because they have seen it on the TV or because they think it's a good way to make a quick buck, which it is," he says. "But I have a lot of history in this and that is my best guarantee."
Many celebrities are already refusing to sign, mindful of the fact that their signatures will become profit for someone else. Just days after signing for Brennan, Starr tells the Howard Stern radio show that he is growing tired of obliging anyone with a signature. "You know they are just going to be sold," he complains.
So far, Brennan says matters have not gout out of hand because many stars know him. "I have been there when they have climbed out of cars, walked out of hotels, or into their homes for the past 20 years. Many of them even stop to speak."
Among those he counts as friends are Mick Jagger, former Guns n' Roses guitarist Flash, and even Michael Jackson. Brennan says he became friendly with Jagger after giving the singiner who was stranded outside a recording sudio in a rough part of town, a lift to his Upper West side apartment.
Even so he still has to maintain a balance between being forceful and unimposing. Being a fan helps this b ecause he appears less like a hound simply out for blood.
"Each celebrity sees you differently," he observes. "Looking like a fan may help some people but i'm not sure that I look like a fan anymore. Not at my age. If it's Britney Spears I'm going for, there's no way she would think I was a fan."
Most stars are not so concerned that their signatures will end up on auction blocks or in shops.
"Some are fine, and others just dont like the face that autographs are being sold." he says. "Some probably dont know that even if they dont sign autographs their signatures are being sold anyway, but theh just aren't real signatures."
The fakers trouble Brennan the most. As more and more signatures appear for less than $10 on eBay and other online auction sites. Brennan fears his trade will be held in increasingly lower regard. "I think the perception is that the profession is a sham. As more and more people get burned, the worse the perception will be. It would be nice to see it more controlled but that would be very hard to do. Celebrities would have to get involved in that themsselves. But that would require them to hire their own staff to police it and anyway, how do they remember when each time they jump out of a limp whether or not they signed this or signed that? They would have to have someone with them 24 hours a day to keep track. Do you think they really care that much about? The rising number of fakes has sent prices crashing. A football he had signed by Rod Stewart could have once have fetched $150, but he received just $30. Peter Siegel of Gotta Have It collectables store in New York says the worst offenders are the online scam artists. He warns against buying anything from an online source said to be a signature. "You wouldn't buy a car without a mechanic checking it out," he says.
"It's the same with autographs, and a certificate of authenticity is only as good as the dealer himself. There are so many kids who come in trying to sell stuff now, we just tell them to go home."
In the absensce of any formal industry guidelines and no quality-control system, Brennan casts himself, somewhat immodestyl, as the trade's best practice benchmark. "Because I collect, and because as a youth, I collected, I like to make sure that what other people get is genuine," he says. "But you have to go to a tremendous amount of effort to do that."
To ensure what he sells is authentic,, he will only pass on to dealers items he has seen sigmed himself. (He sometimes enlists helpers to stand with him and collect signatures to increase yield.) He can only expect people to trust his word and his reputation is only as good as his last sale. Nobody has accused him of forgery and he is desperate to keep things that way. "Nowadays, with the atmosphere the way it is, and with no guidelines to protect the consumer. These [safeguards] are all I have to ease customer's minds." he says.
Standing outside the Peninsula, with rain lashing the streets of midtown Manhattan, it is hard to see why Brennan loves his job so much. After waiting for two hours in the gloomy weather he is brushed aside when he approaches a bad termpered Ozzy Osbournse, who rushes with his gaggle of teenage daughters, small yappy dogs, and bodyguides to a waiting black van. Brennan is also cold-shoulders by a make-up free mMarilyn Manson, and Carly Simon, looking worryingly like Aerosmith singer Steve Tyler, is another none too interested in singling, Brennan grins wearily.
"I told you it's not a normal job," he says, before throwing his rucksack back over his shoulder and running into the rain to keep another date with stardom.