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When the House in is session, Rep. John Lewis appears to be just like his other congressional colleagues. He casts votes, delivers floor speeches, shakes hands with constituents touring the Capitol. But on weekends and during congressional recesses, the gentleman from Georgia now adopts an unlikely guise: superhero at comic book conventions and on college campuses. The new role hasn’t always been easy. For days this fall, his staff tried to teach Lewis the Vulcan split-fingered salute—alas, to no avail—so that he could present an award to Nichelle Nichols, a.k.a. Lt. Uhura on the original Star Trek, at the world’s largest sci-fi and fantasy convention. It was, of course, an unusual venue for the ranking member of the House Ways and Means Committee to find himself on a Saturday night, but Nichols and Lewis share more than might meet the eye. Nichols took on the groundbreaking role of African-American female starship officer on the sci-fi show in 1966, the year after Lewis was injured during the march on Selma that led to the passage of the Voting Rights Act.
In the 50 years since then, Lewis has moved on from firebrand activist (40-plus arrests) to elder statesmen (15 terms in Congress and counting). Now, sparked by the encouragement of a young staffer and a visit to Atlanta’s weirdly wonderful annual Dragon Con comics and sci-fi convention, Lewis embarked on a third act, becoming an improbable hero of the geek and nerd forces, and using his celebrity on the comic book circuit to reach a new generation. “My peers didn’t say much,” says Lewis, describing the 2013 launch of the first volume of MARCH, his planned graphic novel trilogy. “They thought it was kind of strange.” But now that it’s become an unexpected success—the second volume was named last week as one of best books of the years by Publisher’s Weekly—both sides of the aisle ask for signed copies for their children, grandchildren and constituents. Lewis has produced the first two volumes of MARCH, which recounts his life experiences and connects his history-making past with issues of today.
Drawing inspiration from a 10-cent 1950s comic that chronicled MLK and the Montgomery Bus Boycott (a book Lewis himself read as a young man), the congressman, along with staffer Andrew Aydin and artist Nate Powell, envisioned MARCH as a tool to reach today's disengaged young people. MARCH is now integrated into college curricula, and Lewis and his co-authors draw crowds on campuses and conventions. It’s all part of what this year has turned into valedictory turn of sorts for John Lewis, as the nation celebrated the 50th anniversary of the Selma bridge march where Lewis and other civil rights activists were badly beaten. At this summer's Comic-Con in San Diego, he “cosplayed” as himself, walking through crowds of costumed conventioneers wearing a trench coat and canvas knapsack, just as he did on the Edmund Pettus Bridge five decades ago—the outfit immortalized in iconic news footage and, more familiar to the youthful conventioneers, as part of the climatic scene of the movie Selma.
This fall, during his address to Congress, Pope Francis singled out the memory of Martin Luther King, Jr., and the anniversary of the Selma march as Lewis’s House colleagues reached out to pat his back in congratulations. The pontiff told Congress, “That dream continues to inspire us all. I am happy that America continues to be, for many, a land of ‘dreams.’ Dreams which lead to action, to participation, to commitment. Dreams which awaken what is deepest and truest in the life of a people.” Now in his 70s, Lewis has spent the better part of two decades as the last surviving member of the “Big 6” of the civil rights movement—Martin Luther King, Jr., James Farmer, A. Philip Randolph, Roy Wilkins and Whitney Young all died before the turn of the century—the last link to a generation that inspired millions. In September, as his colleagues in Congress decamped for home and predictable photo-ops—parades, barbecues, Union Hall drop-bys and church picnic drop-ins—Lewis wended his way past Star Wars Stormtroopers and Chewbaccas, hobbits and Harry Potter wannabes and into the lower level of the Hyatt Regency in Atlanta to return to the scene of where his unlikely transformation began: Dragon Con
, the world’s largest sci-fi and fantasy convention. A four-day festival that this year drew 70,000, Dragon Con features dozens of panels and appearances by actors on cult classics both current (The Flash) and long canceled (Buffy The Vampire Slayer). Having even the tiniest part in a Lord of the Rings movie means commanding long lines of fans at this convention, where you can take Tai Chi classes with Erin Gray (Buck Rogers, Star Trek Continues) or compete in costume contests or robot battles. Dragon Con transforms the bland concrete tunnels of Atlanta’s convention district into a colorful carnival—Halloween in still sweltering early fall. In the lobby of the Hyatt Regency—one of the first hotels in Atlanta to be integrated, ground zero for celebrities flocking to the city in the aftermath of the King assassination, and the celebratory venue of choice for Atlanta’s civil rights veterans—scantily clad Wonder Women and Game of Thrones dragon princesses pose for photos while homegrown Iron Men and Decepticons blink and clank through the atrium.
“It’s amazing to me, the time and creativity that people put into their costumes,” Lewis says. “I was walking down Peachtree Street and saw a young man who had somehow put most of the parts of a fan—like a fan on your desk—on his head.” Lewis shook his own head in bemusement. “On his head,” he said again; in the drawl of his native Troy, Alabama, the word stretched out over three syllables—hay-uh-dud. For two hours, Lewis signed copy after copy of MARCH—taking each in turn and carefully signing with a Sharpie tucked between his middle and ring fingers, an awkward looking grip necessitated because of nerve damage sustained during the beatings at Selma. A line snaked from Artist Alley into the bowels of the Hyatt and back again. Thom Trainor, who has organized the comics track of Dragon Con for three decades, said that Lewis had drawn the biggest crowd at the convention, topping even comics writer Kelly Sue DeConnick (Captain Marvel, Guardians of the Galaxy).
Andrew Aydin, an aide in Lewis’ office and one of the co-authors of MARCH, grew up attending Dragon Con (this year marked his eighteenth visit) and said that the convention, in all its idealistic embrace of cultures and sub cultures represents an incarnation of the “Beloved Community” touted by folks like his boss and King. Asked if he agreed, Lewis drawls, “Well” (four syllables) and then says, “In its essence; You see all these crowds moving around, there’s no conflict, no pushing or shoving.” He mentioned a shooting following an Atlanta high school football game the same weekend. “Here, there is no violence, people are respectful. But is it anything like the Baptist church he grew up in? “Most superheroes are fictional. The exception is with us today,” says Tom Heintjes, introducing Lewis and Aydin to a conference room packed with Dragon Con goers. They stand up in the back of the room, sit cross-legged on the floor, and lean against the walls. (“I got there late, and thought I had the wrong room,” Heintjes said later.