Some history of the 221st Southumberland Waffleers, 2025 edition

 Sherlockiana always winds up being about so much more than Sherlock Holmes. He is our center, the piton we anchor our line to, but once that spike is placed, we roam so far afield in our celebrations of him. Including the Waffle House.

The origins of the 221st Southumberland Waffleers, our legion celebrating the Waffle House breakfast at Sherlockian events, can seem a bit hazy. And since the group's start only two years ago, remarkable moments have happened worth noting.

The 221st Southumberland Waffleers had to start in Atlanta, where Waffle House itself began in 1955. Atlanta being so large, however, the journey of the Waffleers, for me, began about forty miles from that original site in Avondale Estates at Waffle House #777, at 143 Highway 74 South, Peachtree City, Georgia, on Friday, April 14, 2023. Steve Mason, a four-star general of the Waffleers if ever we had one, had tried other Waffle Houses in the area surrounding the Atlanta Airport Marriott with Rich Krisciunas and found them questionable at times. I consider Steve and Rich's work scouting missions in Waffleer pre-history, because our true spark, our real pivotal moment in the origins of the Waffleers had to come from an Englishman, as all Sherlockiana must . . . but not Sherlock Holmes this time.

The key incident on that April morning in 2023 was the desire of one Paul Thomas Miller to eat at a Waffle House. Having come to Atlanta all the way from Portsmouth, dragging ethereal Conan Doyle mojo in his wake, Paul was making choices about how to spend his limited time in the states, and one of those was to see what a Waffle House was all about. It was my first time to try one as well, inspired by Paul's desire, and I did much research in coming up with Waffle House #777 to provide an optimal Waffle House experience. Some would later say that #777 was a Waffle House too far, and that one passes too many other Waffle Houses to get to it from the Marriott, but it will always be my waffle home, and anyone who has been there belongs to the 777 corps of the 221st in my mind. (Hey, I don't know how military stuff works, I just eat waffles!)

I think it was that very day that we found a name for the Waffleers, modelling it after Watson's own Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers, as we discussed our Waffle House adventures in the hotel bar. I was busy working in the dealer's room that year, and did not record that event in my rather weak blog entries for that year. But by 2024, the Waffleers were. going full steam, having made our way north to Dayton, Ohio, now a second regular outpost of Waffleer activity. A month later we were back in Atlanta, and fully engaged as Waffleers. My report on the group from that month was much more extensive.

2024 was also the year Max Magee started the 221st Southumberland Waffleers Facebook group. Getting nine people to go at once and the manager giving us hats was a pretty big "critical mass" moment for us.

It has seemed like the core of our Waffleer movement has been getting Northern Sherlockians introduced to a Southern staple -- each trip an achievement for Yankees who've never had breakfast at the chain. (Do we call Northern folks "Yankees" any more? I dunno.) Waffleers have dined in the Indianapolis area, the St. Louis area, and more since the initial Atlanta excursions. (The chain does not extend much above the St. Louis-Indianapolis-Dayton line.) There have been extraordinary measures made for the Waffleer cause, including multiple breakfasts in a single morning, the eating of the smothered and covered, pushed-to-the-very-limits of Waffle House hash browns by Northern Erica, and one attempt at a Waffleers medal of honor. Crystal Noll and Heather Holloway discovered the Waffle House museum at the location of the original Waffle House and recovered important documents for the Waffleer archives. 

But, what, you may ask, does this have to do with Sherlock Holmes?

More than you would think. Breakfast was a meal that Sherlock Holmes appears as a welcoming and considerate host on several occasions. Ham and eggs, rashers of bacon and eggs, even curried chicken, but no waffles appear in the original tales of Holmes. This is probably due to a decline in waffle popularity in the late 1800s due to cheaper sugar prices making other confections more popular. Also, while there are Brussels waffles, Belgian waffles, Flemish waffles, and American waffles, "British waffles" is not really a thing. And putting maple syrup on waffles is totally an America thing, as table syrups grew popular in the late 1800s when Americans started moving to large cities. (Log Cabin syrup was first created in 1887.)

Sherlock Holmes's time in America in the 1900s could have brought him in contact with American-style waffles, but the Waffle House itself was still decades away. Still, Waffle House was born two years before Holmes died, according to William S. Baring-Gould's timeline. But this Waffleer activity still remains more about Sherlockians and their food-bonding habits than Sherlock Holmes himself. And that's enough.

Will this little fad fade, as the years pass and we try to eat healthier breakfasts? Or will this Waffleer cult become as entrenched in Sherlockian culture as some of our other odd habits? Who knows?

In the meantime, tip your servers generously. We still want to go to Waffle House, and we want them to enjoy Sherlock Holmes and Sherlockians as much as we do.

Maybe we don't mention Aunt Clara after all?

 I'm not known as a big fan of traditions or ritual. There are some I feel quite kindly toward, like Vincent Starrett's wonderful poem "221B." And then there's another Sherlockian tradition that originated in Chicago that I'd be quite okay if it faded into history as it should. So let's talk about that one for a minute.

The song "We Never Mention Aunt Clara" got promoted last month at the Canonical Conclave as a grand tradition exemplary of what we needed to pass on to future generations. But let's think about that for a moment. a.) It's not a great song. Even the B.S.I. got tired of it for awhile at one point and dropped it from the program. And b.) Our Sherlockian connection to it is the theory that it's about Irene Adler from "A Scandal in Bohemia," basically playing into her ex-boyfriend's slander of her as "an adventuress." 

It was written by a Chicago lawyer John D. Black in the 1920s according to one source I found. The A.S.H. website places it in 1936, being written by a couple named Willis. It got sung around some male-only East coast clubs in the late forties and early fifties, because . . . well, oooo, boy, guys! Hotsy-totsy, woo-woo-woo! The wives aren't here, so let's sing about the naughty lady! (Look, that's the way they talked in the 1940s, don't blame me!)

So, Irene Adler, whom Holmes had in his book as "Born in New Jersey in the year 1858. Contralto -- hum! La Scala, hum! Prima donna Imperial Opera of Warsaw -- yes! Retired from operatic stage -- ha! Living in London -- quite so!"  Holmes liked the opera, and seemed impressed by her credentials before he'd even seen the woman. But nothing in that book about partying her way into lavish gifts from her lovers, as seems to have been Aunt Clara's career. (Inevitable side note: Aunt Clara could more properly identified as Mrs. Hudson for those of us familiar with the movie Holmes & Watson.)

Taking a woman who properly earned her place by work in the arts and going "Yeah, she really got everything she had from dudes!" is some real 1950s men's club thinking. One message of the song is "Hey, mom, don't slut-shame your sister-in-law!" (The fact she couldn't just take the picture off the wall entirely implies that her husband was making her keep it on the wall.) -- a message that seems more feminine than masculine. And was this song even meant to be sung by guys? I mean, the singer is kinda going, "Yeah, I'm gonna seduce me some rich and powerful men in Europe and make bank!" Not saying a guy couldn't do that, with the look, make some abs . . . but not most Sherlockian males I know.

It's just a weird thing all around when you start actually thinking about it. And siding with a royal villain about a Canonical character who has been more maligned than any other over the last hundred years. The B.S.I. brought it back to their annual dinner the same year they started letting women into the club, too, which might not be something we want to call out as time moves on. Am I being too "awokened" upon this topic? Back to poking bears, as I've been wont to do on occasion?

I dunno. Just seems a little problematic when we could just find a better song for group sing-a-longs. (Nobody ever does "Aunt Clara" on karaoke nights. "Baker Street" works just fine.) 

The Midwest BSI Canonical Conclave 2025, or Last Weekend

 It was Thursday before I went 24 hours without talking at length to some Sherlockians.

But then there that twelve straight hours last weekend of doing nothing but talking to Sherlockians. It's taken me a while to get the time to stop and reflect upon those twelve hours. And I'm probably going to be reflecting upon them for a while, so let's get the bare bones of the story out of the way.

I went to Indiana. The three and a half hour drive crosses a time zone and makes it a four and a half hour drive going East, so I wasn't able to make it for lunch but grabbed a sandwich at a Penn Station in Brownsburg before committing fully to Indianapolis.

1:30 P.M. -- The Midwest BSI Canonical Conclave begins. I arrive at the Woodstock Club, winding through its surrounding golf course to the grand hundred-year-old clubhouse. Four bookbags filled to various volumes dangle from my arm, carrying deliveries from Iowa, a display, a notebook, chronology guild handbooks, some snacks, and a few random impulse items. At the registration table, I get a name tag, enter a fifty-fifty drawing, draw a name for an icebreaker game, and pick up an additional book bag with the event materials in it.

Two tasks must be done immediately: a.) Deliver one book bag to Scott Monty as instructed by parties who shall remain unnamed, just to intrigue the reader, and b.) Take my display materials for our local Sherlockian society to the area reserved for said display.

It's probably hard to see the display for the Hansoms of John Clayton in the photos of the two display tables because the one foot by three foot reserved spaces were a bit crowded for easy delineation and some societies had arrived early to take up a bit more space. The display was also back in the furthest corner of the event space, so I'm not sure how many people got to see it. The societies display situation was, perhaps, the one thing in the whole day that just didn't really work, so let's get that out of the way up front. And it was the first thing I had to deal with, so there's that.

When you first entered, however, the 221B Baker Street display was well worth a look.

The pictures don't really capture the amount of detailed bits and pieces were present to remind one of that famous sitting room. Tantalus, check! Gasogene, check! Harpoon that Holmes carried back from the butcher shop in "Black Peter," check! So many things! There was a rumor that the number of scones that Mrs. Hudson placed on a plate next to the butter with parsley on it diminished as the day went but that was surely just hearsay.

Of course, let's not active like there weren't almost a hundred people there to meet, re-meet, and spy upon, for opposite the 221B display was a cash bar . . . and people.

2:00 P.M. -- We gather in the next room full of tables, and the program proper begins.

Steve Doyle is the master of ceremonies, with his opening remarks on the importance of Sherlockian societies and also some words from the head of the Baker Street Irregulars, Michael Kean, who could not attend. Steve said he'd already been asked "When's the next one?" even before the program started, and then started having people stand up by how many scions they belong to. Unfortunately there were no therapists present to help those final people standing up with their addiction to joining clubs.

2:30 P.M. Mike McSwiggins talks about Sherlockian Chronology, starting with an explanation of how "Reigate Squires" definitely took place on the day of the Conclave. Since my own chronology agrees with his assertion, I was good with that. 

He went from the simple calculation of the date of "Reigate Squire/Squires/Puzzle" to the complexities of working out the date of "Silver Blaze," as he related the joys and sorrows of chronology. During the Q and A that followed, someone asked "What percentage did Baring-Gould get right?" and his answer was perfect: "Ten." As much as people are drawn toward the timeline Baring-Gould set in his well-published Annotated, it does tend to have some pastiche-y choices to fit the editor's narrative. (Dakin is Mike's choice for best in the field.)

In retrospect, Mike's talk on Sherlockian chronology seemed the oddest piece to the puzzle of the Midwest BSI Canonical Conclave. True, Mike is a very entertaining speaker. And also true, Sherlockian chronology has had quite a low-grade vogue of late amongst the hobby. But what did it have to do with scion societies, as most of the program seemed to be focusing on? I'm still not sure. But we did enjoy it, and one could not ask for a better lead-off to the "It's not a conference, but it is a conference" vibe of the affair.

2:40 P.M. -- The last time I will be accurately recording in this blog, as the schedule was about to go off the rails a bit from the "Roll Call of Scions." Steve Doyle read off the list of Sherlockian societies which someone in attendance listed as their primary group, and the members of each stood up when their group was called. Many societies have always boosted their census with "corresponding members" who just subscribed to the group's publications. Now Zoom meetings have done the same, so when you saw a person standing up for local groups that are hundreds and hundreds of miles from each other, it came as no surprise. (Though more than one person does occasionally travel hundreds of miles to a local scion meeting.) And, of course, the Illustrious Clients of Indianapolis had the highest body count, being the host society for the event.

The roll call itself could have easily been predictable length on the agenda, but it was followed by the opportunity for a representative from each Sherlockian group to go to the podium and speak for a minute about their group. Of the nearly hundred people in attendance a good fourth to a third of them lined up to speak, with Steve Doyle administering a police whistle after a minute's time. (Which, like the Academy Awards walk-off music, did not always work.)

It was both a good time to hit the restroom down the hall and also to thoroughly peruse the handouts table and gather up the dozens of brochures, one-sheets, and free books if you were in line to speak about your group, as the line was so long that it wound right past the handouts table.

So many handouts!

3:10 P.M. (on the program, not reality) -- The scion roll call and mini-talks was followed by a full half hour break. The half hour breaks were one of the major niceties of the event. There were no dealer's tables as has become a conference staple, but there was a cash bar in the next room, so it basically made the afternoon an ongoing cocktail party with plenty of opportunity for socializing.

3:40 P.M. (on the program, not reality) -- Door prizes were offered up once everyone was summoned back to their seats, and we had all drawn the name of someone else in attendance when we first arrived. The icebreaker game involved was that you had to find that person and learn a fun fact about them so that if your name got called for a door prize, you had to tell who that person was and tell the fact to claim the prize. In a room full of strangers, I think I would have found this icebreaker off-putting and forced, but at this event, if you didn't know the person whose name you got, you could pretty much ask one of your current acquaintances to point them out for you and introduce you. I helped a couple of people with this, as did many others. This was not a room full of strangers.

The name I picked was David Zauner, whose name I didn't recognize immediately, but once I found him, I went "Oh, yeah, I know David." Sherlockiana is like that, as you definitely meet more people that your brain can hold over the years. His fun fact, as a forensics expert, was that he was once able to pull a fingerprint in blood from a pair of jeans to identify a suspect. But I did not win a door prize, so I didn't get to announce that to the room.

3:45 P.M. (on the program, not reality) -- Jim Hawkins gave a talk on John Bennett Shaw and that great Sherlockian career that resulted in Sherlock Holmes society after Sherlock Holmes society being created across the country, after Shaw started his first one in 1967. One key fact I learned from Jim's talk was that Shaw's famous weekend workshops on Holmes were inspired by the schedule of a Ron DeWaal workshop Shaw had attended in Denver. Having been to a few of the twenty Shaw workshops, I was familiar with the patterns of his events and wondered why no one has re-created one since Shaw passed in the nineties. A few folks I mentioned this idea to loved the idea, and I don't want to say anything just yet, but it might result in something. One of the hopes for this event was that all this gathering and opportunity for talk might result in energy and ideas, so I would definitely say it succeeded.

4:00 P.M. (on the program, not reality) -- The highlight of the entire day had to be Annie Turano, a violinist who played the Granada "Baker Street Suite" from the Brett show's soundtrack. Pamela Wampler give a nice introduction about Patrick Gower's work, and then . . . well, hearing that music played live for the first time was more of a treat that one realizes. This was the third time for many Illustrious Clients present, as they were introduced to it unexpectedly at the funeral for someone very important to their organization, Don Curtis, an unimaginable moment.

4:15 P.M. (on the program, not reality) -- Another half hour break, definitely appropriate after that last bit.

4:45 P.M. (on the program, not reality) -- Back for door prizes and fun facts.

4:50 P.M. (on the program, not reality) -- With nearly one hundred people present, we actually had a discussion. Steve Doyle opened the floor for any topic people wanted to bring up about Sherlockian societies, their care and feeding. Much of the talk leaned toward concerns about new members, younger members, continuity into the future, capturing history to carry into the future, the sort of thing an aging population tends to worry about. And I'll be honest, sometimes I feel like all this worry about making sure what we have now will exist in the future costs us a bit of that future. You don't want to just watch slideshows of your grandparents vacations -- you want to have your own vacations. Tradition and history are great for seasoning and framework, but we can't spend too much of our time archiving and miss doing the things that make life worth writing about. There are plenty of younger Sherlockians out there, we can't always just sit in our habitual place and wait for them to come to us. (I did bring up good ol' 221B Con, the party held by younger Sherlockians for younger Sherlockians that the traditional lot tended to avoid like cooties.)

5:10 P.M. (on the program, not reality) -- Sherlockian Show-and-Tell commenced, with Steve Doyle explaining that he had found while many Sherlockians didn't want to get up and give a speech or a toast, they would get over their fear of public speaking to talk about a cherished Sherlockian item from their collection. And some people did bring very cherishable items to tell the tale of. Much envy was had.

5:50 P.M. (on the program, not reality) -- Scott Monty got the group singing that old BSI standard "Aunt Clara," told the history of the thing, then let singing of it's sequel song.

One more final pre-dinner break while the country club staff hustled to get table bits set out for a banquet at the same tables we'd been at all day, clearing glassware and brining new full glasses, etc. And then...

6:30 P.M. (I think we were finally close to back on schedule, but who knows?) --

Food. My compliments to the Woodstock Club kitchen that they were able to serve a very nice meal to such a crowd. Enjoyed it a lot. It had been quite a while since lunch. I might have found a new reason not to be fond of the old "Aunt Clara" staple out of hanger. But I held it together. Also, the dessert (not pictured) was a small chocolate sundae with as much chocolate syrup as ice cream. Curiously, I found there was no problem with that at all. Also, the iced tea they had available all day for non-drinkers was pretty good iced tea. Other people were dining there that Saturday night. Prom kids were outside getting their pictures taken. The Woodstock Club seemed quite a lovely venue.

And, of course, this being a Sherlockian banquet, we had to have toasts. It was a nice change that all the toasts were not to the usual four or five subjects. We got Christopher Morley by Ira Matetsky, Vincent Starrett by Bob Sharfman, the original eight scion societies by Scott Monty, Elmer Davis by Louise Haskett, Clifton R. Andrews by Shelly Gage, and, saving the best for last, Jay Finley Christ by Rudy Altergott.

7:30 P.M.  -- Post-dinner break, a good time to pack up one's scion display.

7:45 P.M. -- A short talk called "What Binds Us" by Mark Walters. I had quit taking notes by that point, and my memory isn't what it used to be.

8:00 P.M. -- Closing remarks by a very pleased Steve Doyle for a memorable event that exceeded expectations. Bringing together a room full of what John Bennett Shaw called "sparking plugs," those key people who make societies happen, and you're gonna have a good time.

8:15 P.M. -- A final musical bit to end the evening, Ann Lewis singing her adaptation of Vincent Starrett's poem "221B" in song, accompanied by her music arranger Andrew Motyka. It would inspire some things later in the evening, but wait for that.

8:25 P.M.? -- Good-byes are never easy, so I bolt for the car so I can get to the Holiday Inn Express, check in, and see who turns up.

9:00-ish P.M. -- Standing in the lobby of the Holiday Inn Express when I get a call from Rob Nunn of the "Where are you, what are you doing?" sort.  Very shortly after, Rob, Max, Rudy, and I head to a bar called "Gatsby's Pub and Grill" across the parking lot from the hotel. Beverages and munching pizza follow.

My only photo from the bar

Fun fact: My favorite character on CBS's Watson is Dr. Darian. The name of our waitress at Gatsby's was actually Darian. Though she wasn't a doctor, she did administer our . . . wait . . . why didn't I order brandy? Ah, well.

Other Sherlockians show up eventually, after trying another bar first, Kira, Adam, Ira, Anatasia, and Madeline, and Rob Nunn keeps talking about Sherlockians as Muppets. We encouraged him with many suggestions. And he wrote them up, posting most of them. 

Interspersed with Rob's Muppet chat, we were in a karoake bar with karaoke happening in the far corner. And we like to do karaoke, but not this night. Noooo, this night I was inspired by the singing of Vincent Starrett's "221B" that closed out the Conclave. So I started trying to sing the words "221B" with every other song on the karaoke list. And people started joining in. Our proudest moment, and making our way through the entire song in hearty bar-room voices, was singing "221B" to the tune of "Folsom Prison Blues." We may have had to stretch a few syllables here and there, but it kinda worked. And what's a night of drinking without some bellowed singing that confuses the other bar patrons?

Ah, but no matter how glorious any twelve hours of Sherlockian fellowship might be, it has to come to an end some time. And 2:21 A.M. is for those much younger and heartier than myself. So ...

There would be Sherlockian breakfast in the Holiday Inn Express complimentary breakfast area. Sherlockians would continue to appear to dine. But I had to force myself out the door and on the road to get home in time for the John H. Watson Society zoom where I ran a slide show of the pics that are on this blog (and a few more -- this is the edited edition). We talked about the Midwest BSI Canonical Conclave there a bit, and we talked about it a bit more on another Zoom I was on, and a Google hang-out, and ... well, we'll probably be talking about this one for a while.

The Midwest BSI Canonical Conclave 2025 -- Getting Ready To Go

 Holmes, Doyle, and Friends 2025 (a.k.a. "Dayton") is done.

221B Con 2025 is done.

Next up? The Midwest BSI Canonical Conclave. What's the Midwest BSI Canonical Conclave, you ask?

We'll see when we get there.

That's really been the thing about the third Sherlockian event in March/April of this year. Dayton was yet another in an ongoing thread of symposiums. 221B Con was the last of a good con run turned into a renewed promise of one next year. And the Midwest BSI Canonical Conclave is something new we're all trying to wrap our heads around.

So what draws us to a mystery event, where most of us signed up before any details were known or a description was understood? For some it might have been the "BSI" in the name that drew them, as the old Irregularity does not oft move from New York. For me, it was the "Midwest" and the ease of driving to Indy from Peoria.  And the mystery . . . I mean, there's apt to be a story to tell, no matter how the event turns out.

Details slowly made their way across the sundry channels: "A scion society gathering of scion societies." ("Scion" being the term for local Sherlock groups recognized by the Baker Street Irregulars. "Recognized" being kinda  "You told someone at BSI central that your group exists and they recognized that it did.") Things like "a scion roll call" were mentioned.  Rumors of a talk on a particular subject filtered out.

More official details were sent out.  An info letter. An FAQ. A shape for the event started to form, but still pretty nebulous. A social event to be sure. The usual Sherlockian travelling set is bound to be well represented, given all of the folks mentioning it in conversations at other events of the past month. But does anyone have a good idea of what awaits in Indy? Not among the circles I move in.

Uncharted territory. For everyone, really.

The Baker Street Irregulars have never really worked with its scion societies, other than certifying them. No rules. No suggestions as to what they should be. A free blank canvas for organizing local Sherlock Holmes fan groups as worked for your local populace. This event doesn't look to be changing that, just offering an opportunity to connect, exchange ideas, maybe demo a bit of how some societies like the Illustrious Clients do what they do. 

It's putting a focus on the scion society aspect of Sherlockian life, and whenever you focus on something, there are bound to be questions: Why do societies do this or that? Is this particular thing still relevant? Are societies providing opportunities for new fans or just marching forward with old habits?

I'm going to make some notes during this event and blogging once it's over, rather than trying to live-blog moment by moment, so more to come.

221B Con 2025: Sunday -- The Rest of the Story

 When we last left our hero, he had two sessions left in Sunday's 221B Con Experience -- "An Hour with Ashley & Curtis" and "Our Last Bow," two big favorites to wind up the con.

You never know what Ashley Polasek and Curtis Armstrong are going to come up with, given their wealth of Sherlockian and theatrical knowledges, but you do know it will entertain. Last time it was defending the stories of Casebook. This time it was a look at the less-featured females of the Canon and what things looked like from their point of view. Hatty Doran, Mary Sutherland, Mrs. Neville St. Clair, Effie Munro, Isadora Klein, and Agatha the maid were all considered, but the hour just couldn't be left with just that. Apparently when Curtis first told his family he was going to the BSI dinner, the idea popped up that there was some kind of Sherlock Holmes dance that Sherlockians did at these things. So, Curtis, being an imaginative fellow, had to come up with that dance -- and then, not for the first time, teach it to the 221B Con attendees.

Somewhere there exists a full video of this event, and I have about a dozen still pictures of the many parts and pieces of the dance, but I will just tease you with the one above. Does it have a name? I don't know. But I really feel like it should replace "We Always Mention Aunt Clara" as a new Sherlockian standard.

Oh, I should explain something if anyone else saw what Rudy Altergott managed to take a photo of during Curtis and Ashley's presentation . . .

Curtis and Ashley did NOT put on a presentation so boring that it was putting two older gentlemen to sleep. Sunday afternoon at 221B Con comes after a long weekend of pushing one's limits, and the five hours of sleep I had gotten the night before did not do the job. As soon as the session was over, I made it to my room, set an alarm, and passed out for twenty minutes.

I didn't take any pictures of "Our Last Bow," that final hour where the con that just happened is reviewed by attendees with 221B Con management, an amazing tradition that has helped make this con the truly special space it is. This being the last time Crystal, Heather, Taylor and the gang would be doing this session as they turn the keys over to Johanna and Northern Heather (who joined them up front), it was bound to be a bit emotional. I found a nice little space on the floor, back against a wall, behind most of the folks I usually sat with, kind of hidden away so any sniffles and tears could be dealt with semi-privately. It was, as always, both a chance to express both opportunities for improvement (and since the con will be held again next year, that was now possible) and to express just the love and appreciation both old and new attendees have for this very special gathering of Sherlockians. Nothing like it ever came before it, and nothing like it is apt to come after it, should it ever co away. I keep finding myself wanting to sing "Camelot" when I think about it of late, because I'm old enough to have Sir Richard Burton in my head singing some portion of that misty remembrance tune.

221B Con changed a lot of lives, mine included, and I might be blogging a bit more on that later, which would not be the first time. But even thought the con was over, Sunday at the hotel for those who remain was not. There's an informal pool party called "Nerd Soup" that's a tradition among the water nymphs among the Sunday nighters, which I have heard of but never seen. My own habit has been to head out and find some local dinner, more often barbecue than not, but since we'd found a great BBQ place the night before, a few of us went to "Curious Cantina" for tacos, tres leches cake, and flan.

After that, it being Sunday night for me no matter where I am, I needed to push an episode of The Watsonian Weekly to the web, and wound up gathering up anyone who crossed our path on the way to recording in a back room of the B+ area we had to ourselves for after-parties.

We used the Blue Snowball microphone that Johanna Draper-Carlson had given to me that afternoon, which did a fair enough job if I'd have taken the time to adjust the volume levels of the different voices at the table (apologies to any listener who had to adjust the volume as they played it this time around). But given my state of near exhaustion and desire to get the pod out, the audio for this episode was about as raw as it could be.

After that, I took one load of stuff out to the car, then returned to the bar where a bunch of friends were gathered for one last drink. Good-byes were eventually said, and went upstairs to collapse and charge up for my planned 6 AM escape from the Atlanta rush hour.

And now, I think I'm due to be sleeping yet again, without even having unpacked everything yet. So, as I should have remembered last night, I will say, "And goodnight, Watson."

Two other podcasters of note, who never lived, and so shall never die.

221B Con 2025: Sunday Morning, Worn But Still Going!

 At 7:30 AM on this Sunday morning, Steve Mason gathered his 221st Southumberland Waffleers for another expedition into the wilds of Georgia Waffle Houses. 

"I was up until about 1;20 AM," one said.

"I made it to 2:30 AM," another said.

And then Northern Erica arrived. 

"How late were you up?" I asked.

"4:30," she replied. This, my friends, is 221B Con.

After waffles, the con proper started at 10 AM, and the Sherlock & Co. fan panel is my first stop. Jones, Ace, Coat, and Madeline take the stage. In the past year, Jones went from one of the most visible Sherlock & Co. fans at con, and since then has become a part of the podcast's team. Coat is cosplaying John, even though he's a podcast character and none of us really know what he looks like. But she's ballparked the general image, just as Jones's art has come to be a part of my mental image of the characters.

As they point out, Sherlock & Co. has the most involved fandom, which is partly because John H. Watson is not only producing his own podcast in the world of the podcast, he interacts with fans in our world on Discord and Patreon. It's a new level of what old-time Sherlockians called "playing the game," and really bringing that fact/fiction meld into the current moment. Once the discussion gets rolling, folks in the audience start sharing their appreciation for the characters and what makes this Holmes and Watson special among the legions of versions of the characters.

Since Sherlock & Co. is adapting the whole Sherlockian Canon, we get to see fresh versions of so many Canonical characters beyond the typical Irene/Mycroft/Moriarty thing, and consciously doesn't rush to get to those key, but over-used players. 

The minute that panel is over, we head over to "Brother Mine, How You've Changed" -- perhaps the third panel on Mycroft Holmes at this year's con, with Johanna Draper-Carlson running it, and I had to tease her a little about it. The room fills up fast, and latecomers are still wandering in, including Max Magee and the purple demon who has been silently attentive at panel after panel. (I'm not being metaphoric. She's totally purple and has horns and wings. Excellent costume commitment.)

The Sunday panel schedule is jam-packed from 10 to 4, and I have a feeling I'm going to have to miss some things to do things like eat and get to the dealer's room one last time. Johanna is rolling through all of the ways Mycroft has been portrayed on TV and film. Christopher Lee comes off a a more definitive portrayal from The Private Life of Sherlock Holmes. I have to slip out of this panel early to hit the dealer's room for something I missed before the "Watson, Is That You?" round table.

Sometimes, when a panel doesn't get enough people to sit up front, it turns into a round table, where everyone gets to speak on the subject (which often happens anyway), but this time the chairs are placed in the round and the question "What makes a Watson?" really gets a good working-over, actually making it better than some of the more planned out presentation-based panels thanks to Rabidsamfam's attentive moderation.

Next, it's off to "Sherlolly: The Little Ship that Could" which is going to be very Molly Hooper focused on this time, which is great because Molly Hooper is the Sergeant Wilkins of BBC Sherlock, except that Wilkins came along before shipping, otherwise I'm sure there would be "Sherkins." (And if you don't know Sergeant Wilkins, Inspector Lestrade's right-hand man and caretaker whom Holmes seems to like better than Lestrade, get thee to some Ronald Howard Sherlock.) Okay, I'm rambling, back to Molly time.

Molly Hooper, who got 48 minutes of airtime throughout the series, has gotten a lot more than 48 minutes of discussion over the years, with her relationship with Sherlock thoroughly analyzed, and it's getting a lot more here. Molly is key to so much that happens off-screen. While this is going on, I'm actually playing with a Blue Snowball microphone that Johanna gave me when I walked into this panel. So, let me paint a picture -- at this point, I'm wearing a 221B Con t-shirt from a previous year with eight con badges (seven previous, one current) with about fifty or so badge ribbons between the lot of them, carrying around the Blue Snowball microphone and cute little stuffed dolls of John and Sherlock from Sherlock & Co. This is my life now. Meanwhile, Mycroft's interaction with Molly comes up.

Is this enough reportage for the moment? I think so, as I'm going to take things to the room and get food next, in the hour gap until the Curtis and Ashley show.

221B Con 2025: Saturday Night's All Right For Cloaking

 Ah, 221B Con.

My first blog post from the first 221B Con was typed at midnight in the bathroom of my hotel room so as not to disturb the nearby sleeper. But I had to write it, despite the hour, because . . . well, 221B Con.

Now I find myself at what was thought to be the last of the con's run, joyously turned into a celebration that this annual event will occur next year, at one A.M. typing again. Because I love this con. Always have. Its bright, shiny, sparkly inclusiveness, its inability to let you be bored for long, if you ever get there, and its creative energy. Even though I am way older than most of the participants, and, admittedly, are not the perfect fit for everything that goes on here, it just feels like a community where I belong, one weekend a year.

Because sometimes things just get fun.

This Saturday night was the annual "prom," a dance party with prom photos, where people dress up (or not) in all sorts of ways. One Sherlockian wild man wore a Christmas-themed tropical shirt that just never found a good moment back home, and that was perhaps the tamest outfit there. You'll probably see pictures on social media, if you follow anyone who was here. I was in a last minute rush, so I raided my costume supplies: A ruffle from a Ben Franklin costume, an old Hot Topic goth shirt, pirate boot leggings from another costume, a vest I got from the con costume vendor last year, and a lined dark green cloak from a winter solstice event.

Wandering down to the bar, I found I was not the only gentleman in a cloak. Rudy Altergott was less pirate and fine urban gentleman, but when we went hoods up, it looked like some dark ritual was about to occur. Wonderful dresses and costumery of all sorts began to show up, and eventually, the DJ started playing something danceable, and a handful of us took to the dance floor. And I realized something.

Wearing a cloak to go dancing is the best thing ever.

Minimal motion is necessary to make a cape or cloak catch air and do its thing. And that means less physical exercise. And less physical exercise means . . . MORE DANCING!!

It seems like I was thinking just a few weeks ago that Sherlockiana needed more dancing. And like some magic genie was listening and owed me a wish, I got it. And there's nothing like a big dance party where you don't have to have a particular partner and everybody just goes for it. And we did.

There was no karaoke, but some songs got singing as well as dancing, and the whole dance floor singing at 221B Con sounds pretty darn good. And there were a lot of great surprises from the DJ. One song called "Marianna" was a fine tribute to Sherlock & Co.'s Mrs. Hudson. Fleetwood Mac's "The Chain" was something folks got into heavily. And "Down the Witch's Road" from MCU's Agatha All Along? Heck, I sing that at home and I was now wearing a cloak. The stars were aligning.

The party was still going as some of us started one by one drifting off to get some rest. But next year's con management was still up and going, as well as the younger members of our usual suspects. And now, after showering and blogging for twenty-five minutes, I think I might finally be able to sleep myself.

I love this con. Have I ever told you that?