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The Courtses, who live in Spring Hill, Fla., and have been married for 31 years, are the promoters of this quarterly happening. The stars don't have to pay to set up shop--the couple's profits come from the door and fees paid by the dozens of memorabilia dealers whose booths spill out into satellite function rooms. The Courtses virtually invented the celeb-signature circuit 11 years ago, though similar shows exist in other cities. Ray started out as a dealer himself, but then on one of his trips to L.A., he was struck with a Barnumesque vision: He'd spice up the staid trade-showy events with a little star-studded razzle-dazzle. "When we started, a friend said, 'Nobody cares about the has-beens,'" Ray says, still seemingly outraged. "And I told her, 'We disagree. I mean, who doesn't want to meet Don Knotts? Or Charlton Heston? My goodness, who doesn't want to meet Moses?'"

At 55, Ray is as lean and excitable as a greyhound in the starting gate. And even if you didn't know he was the emcee, you'd notice him glad-handing around the Beverly Garland Holiday Inn today--a perfectly apt venue considering that its owner, Garland, played the stepmother on My Three Sons. As I talk to Ray's wife, it's clear that she loves the life they've chosen too--albeit for more tangible reasons. "Today we have Edd Byrnes!" says Sharon, 50, swooning like a bobby-soxer. "You know, Kookie from 77 Sunset Strip? He was just gorgeous, and he drove up on the motorcycle he had on the show!"

Ray clearly isn't a jealous man. Listening to his wife gush over Kookie, he just smiles. "Back in Spring Hill, 90 percent of our church has no idea what we do for a living," he laughs. "But our pastor's been out here twice. He worships Don Knotts. And every now and again he'll do a sermon on meeting Don Knotts."

"MY BOOBS LOOK LIKE DOLLY PARTON'S."

For the most part, the stars seem as thrilled as the Courtses to be here. For starters, meeting fans gives their egos a nice jolt. Also, many of the old-timers enjoy catching up with showbiz acquaintances. And, of course, there's the added lure of earning big bucks for a few hours' work. Most of the celebs can make anywhere from low-four to low-five figures for a weekend of selling autographs. Of course, a few of the sexier names like Heston (who donates his earnings to charity) can pull down even more.

One of the happier guests is Bernie Kopell--Doc from The Love Boat. Still looking dapper in his shipboard uniform (white blazer with gold epaulets and a black bow tie), Kopell is a veteran of seven Courts shows. A sign on his table advertises autographed photos. When he catches me checking out his jacket, he smiles: "This isn't the same one, it's a facsimile." Asked what he likes best about these shows, Doc sucks on a lozenge and deadpans, "I like the money." He opens his wallet and holds up a photo of his young son. "And I've got this little guy to feed." Just then a customer sidles up, gets a photo signed, and walks away 15 bucks lighter. Only then does it strike me: I've just watched TV's most popular deep-sea M.D. make change.


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