PopHorror Let's Get Scared
Sounds odd, doesn’t it? The Texas Chain Saw Massacre is a horrifying film, yet such a warm and fuzzy title. This is a very personal movie to me. It starts out when I was a kid living in Indiana around the age of twelve or thirteen. Mind you, this was back in 1987-88. Before the internet and all we had were VCRs. People still thought this was a true story back then. That was the first time I saw it and I loved it.
Fast forward to 2013. I had moved to San Antonio, Texas, written my first few horror books and was at my first MonsterCon in San Antonio Texas where Gunnar Hansen, the original Leatherface was a guest. I got the chance to meet him and have a little chat. I was so nervous, I never got a photo with him, but I did get his autograph which hangs next to my chair still. I had hoped to meet him again to get a photo with him but he passed away two years later.
That following summer, we went on a trip to Dallas, TX and made a stop at Kingsland, TX to visit the original TCM house which is now a cafe. We took several photos including one in which my stepdaughter and I did a re-enactment of a famous scene.
Since then, I’ve done several horror conventions as an author where I’ve been a guest. I’ve had the chance to meet many of the cast: John Dugan, who played Grandpa; Teri McMinn, who played Pam; and Ed Guinn, who played the truck driver.
So, it’s hard to believe as a little kid in Indiana I’d grow up to have such a personal connection with the film and cast. At the last MonsterCon, I saw both John and Teri, I’d bought John a bottle of Kraken Rum as a little gift. They both recognized me from previous shows we’d done together. I can’t say what an honor it is to have gotten to be at a convention alongside such fine people.
The Texas Chain Saw Massacre has always been my favorite horror film due to its rawness and sheer terror. Now, it means so much more to me. It’s a living, breathing film that while I know I’m not a part of it, I feel like part of it has reached out and touched me directly.
