It's back to the 1950s, now, for a bit of history. That influential decade was
cluttered with small fan clubs that appeared, flourished for a short time, then
disappeared leaving little trace behind. One of the more obscure ones was a
Detroit-area organization called The Morgan Botts Foundation, which is described in
the forthcoming new edition of Harry Warner, Jr.'s 1950s fanhistory A Wealth of
Fable as being named for a legendary fan fiction hero, and being dedicated to
beer drinking and poker. Here is more about it.
 Once upon a time, back in the 1940s,
there was a science fiction fan named Art Rapp. As many fans did back then, he
decided to become a fanzine editor, and started publishing Spacewarp, which
became one of the best-known fanzines of that fan era. After a while, Art decided
that fan fiction was easier to write than fan fact. And so into this world entered
the legendary Morgan Botts, hero extraordinaire of fan fiction, and the man who
single-handedly (and without the spilling of even one drop of beer) changed the
shape of Detroit Fandom.But I'm getting ahead of myself.Morgan Botts was everything that a
fan of his day wanted to become. (Read: What Art wanted to be.) He was a grizzled
old beer-swilling fan who looked back upon the hobby from a future which
seemed unimaginably distant. In 1959, Morgan Botts became only the second fictional
fan (that we know of) ever to become a member of a world science fiction
convention.All together, there were twenty-nine
Morgan Botts stories that were published, mostly in Spacewarp. All are known
to exist in one form or another except number 13 (according to Art, this one
may have appeared in TNFF or some Canadian fanzine in 1948), and possibly
number 29 which is buried someplace in Art's filing system. The first story
appeared in July 1947 and the last sometime after July 1959. The titles are at
least as interesting as the stories: "The Man Who Murdered Fandom", "Whiffingham's
Revenge", "Anniversary", "The Barber Enigma", "How To Write STF", "Case of the
Schizophrenic Promag", "Please, You -- Quiet!", "Vindication", "Once In A Long, Long,
While", "The Lost Chord", "Time and the Torcon", "Botts By His Bootstraps", "... But
Zeno, Don't We?", "Lunatic Fringe", "Probability .28", "Mastermind", "Crisis",
"Deadly Peril", "Machiavelli", "Solubility", "The Ultimate APA", "Alcoholics
Unanimous", "Zap!", "Crusade", "Judgement", "Betrayal", "Warning", "Security", and
"Coup de Grace."It was at a meeting of the Detroit
Science Fiction League (DSFL) sometime in 1952 that George Young, then president of
the DSFL, asked the question that led to the formation of the Morgan Botts
Foundation. As I remember it, it was a very serious constructive question. (George
was known for his serious constructive questions.) This is what it might have been:
"We have not had an election of officers for almost three months, I think that we
should have one now."I think that this would be a good
place to explain that George, for some unknown reason, scheduled the DSFL meetings
on the same night as meetings of the Boy Scout troop for which he was the
Scoutmaster. And for some other unknown reason, he asked DSFL members to arrive at
the club meeting about five minutes after the end of the Boy Scout meeting. This
meant that George had those five minutes to cover the 25 miles between the two
places. Ordinarily, this would be no mean feat for George, because he has always
been known for his lead foot. However this was always a problem the nights of DSFL
meetings, because he could never convince the bus drivers that he was late and they
should drive faster.Anyway, thirty-five minutes later we
had finally convinced George that we didn't need an election for at least six months.
He then asked for reports from the treasurer and the secretary, and upon hearing
none, in exasperation said, "Why can't we have more serious constructive meetings --
ones in which we really do something that is important?"At his point Howard DeVore who had
been around fans longer that all the rest of us, stood up and exclaimed, "That's it!
No more, I here now and for ever make it know to all fen in attendance that the
Morgan Botts Foundation is now a reality and that the .... "Here George interrupted: "What has
that got to do with the question?""Everything and nothing," replied
Howard. "But the point is that I will not be a party to anymore of this."
And with that he departed the meeting.Several weeks passed. The phone rang
in the home of Roger Sims. "Hello?""This is Howard. I'm having a meeting
of The Morgan Botts Foundation at my house Saturday night. We'll have beer and
poker, small stakes nickel-dime, that sort of thing. Interested?""But," I said, "that's the night of
the next DSFL meeting.""Precisely," Howard answered. Thus
the Morgan Botts Foundation came to be.About two years later, George finally
began to notice that recent meetings of the DSFL were not as well attended as the
ones before Howard made his pronouncement. So he decided to go to Howard's house on
the night of the DSFL meeting instead of staying home (which was where he had told
DSFL members that the meeting would take place) to see if he could find out why no
one was attending his DSFL meetings anymore. Arriving in accordance with his
accustomed timeliness, he found that several fans were sleeping off their beer and
the rest were enjoying an excellent game of poker. (If I remember correctly, that
was the night that Bob Tucker was present. He'll probably always remember that
night as the one in which his five jacks lost to my five queens.)Well, George was and still is to this
day a beer drinking poker-playing person. So as he surveyed the scene, he noticed
an empty seat. Taking it, he exclaimed "Well, I guess that this is better than some
old dry meeting of the DSFL! Someone get me a beer."Thus, George Young became not only
the reason that the Morgan Botts Foundation started but in the end, the reason that
it ceased. Because with that simple act, the Foundation and the DSFL became one and
the same again.Here is the first Morgan Botts story.
It first saw the light of day in BEMBOOK, July 1947. The reader will notice
that in the story that fanspeak has changed since this story was written. In 1947,
the word 'bheer' had yet to make an appearance. Also, 'mag' and 'promag' were in
use rather that today's 'zine' and 'prozine'. I'll leave the term 'stfan' to the
reader's interpretation. It would also helpful to read that story as if it were
written sometime in the 1970s. Good Luck! - - - - - - - - - -
THE MAN WHO MURDERED FANDOM "I see you're a fan," mumbled the
disreputable character, settling himself furtively into the chair on the other side
of the greasy, marble-topped table.Annoyed at the interruption, I raised
my head from the new issue of Ghoulish Science Stories, where I'd been trying
to find my letter in the readers' column. My self-invited companion was leering
nastily at the scantily-clad fem being chased across the cover by a livid purple
BEM, while he absently poured my stein of beer down his parched throat. Obviously
he was one of the pests who haunt these less reputable taverns, cadging drinks they
cannot buy for themselves. Ordinarily I would have told him to get the hell away
from my table, but a certain familiarity in his appearance checked the words on my
tongue. Where had I seen him before?I ordered a couple more beers and we
discussed the decline in the quality of stf, as exemplified by GSS. He had
read all the classics, and knew much fascinating lore of fandom and the authors of
yesteryear. I began to wonder what part he had taken in the annals of stf and what
had caused him to sink to the level of degradation in which he now existed.After six beers apiece and a bitter
argument over the most efficient drive for interstellar travel, we finally reached
the proper stage for confidences. The bum leaned forward until his unshaven face
was close to mine, and began his strange tale..."Yes, I was once prominent in the
fantasy field. You say I look familiar to you. Were you at the Michicon in
`47?""Of course!" I answered indignantly.
"That was back in the year the so-called Golden Era of fandom began, and the
Michicon, held amid the splendors of Detroit, broke all records for attendance.
Why?""Perhaps that was where you saw me,"
he said. "Remember the discussion about the future of stf?"Suddenly I knew who he was! Morgan
Botts, the stfan-inventor, who had set the Michicon in an uproar by his eloquent and
unorthodox theories in regard to promag publishing!Botts had maintained that the
futuristic tales in promags should be accompanied by an equally modern physical
appearance of the publications themselves. Microfilm the promags, he suggested, or
use sensitized aluminum-foil pages to print the tales on by a photographic process.
Use the three-dimensional illustration method which the U.S. Navy used as far back
as 1947. He had even more sensational ideas, Botts told the Michicon delegates,
which he would reveal when the time was ripe."You nearly broke up the convention,"
I told him reminiscently. "Fandom immediately split into two factions, the
Traditionalists who claimed that changing the stf mag format would take all the fun
out of fandom, and the Radicals who hailed you as a prophet of new and glorious
heights of fantasy.""Yes, those were the days," Botts
sighed reminiscently, brushing a furtive tear from one bleary eye. "Remember when
fist fights broke out between the two groups and the Detroit police had to raid the
convention hall and restore order?""More fun; more people hurt," I
agreed. "But go on with the story. I remember that several of the promag
publishers were interested in your theory and it seems to me you were finally made
editor of a new mag.""You have a good memory." Botts
replied, hiccoughing slightly. "Yes, I took the helm of Stupendous Ecstasy
Tales, and turned it into a best seller overnight. Each issue I tried out a new
innovation, and made a careful note of those which the fans liked."Well do I remember the day when,
quaking with horror at my own boldness, I OK'd the cover for the issue of March
1950," he continued.I recalled instantly the ish to which
he referred. It had stirred fandom to the depths. Imagine -- a blue sky on
the cover!"You were famous," I breathed, "The
world was at your feet. How, then, did you come to -- this?" My pitying gaze took
in his shabby clothes the cracked and mud-caked leather of his shoes, the horny
calluses on his palms, signs of years of manual labor.
"I have only myself t'blame," Botts
sobbed, blowing the foam from a brimming stein into my face. "After I had
determined the ideal for which other promags were striving, but were always too
timid to attain; after I had tested, feature by feature, all possible improvements,
I began work on a super issue of Stupendous Ecstasy Tales. It was to be the
promag that had everything! Trimmed edges -- extra staples so the pages wouldn't
come loose! Every illustration by Finlay! Those were only a few of the attractions.
Gad, what a mag it was, that SET for August 1952!""Yes, I've heard of that issue," I
said. "Unfortunately, I was employed at the time as a Fuller Brush man in the wilds
of Tibet, and was unable to buy a copy. I've been trying ever since to get hold on
one, but all fandom seems to be joined in a strange conspiracy of silence regarding
it. Tell me -- what happened?""I outdid myself," Botts wailed, the
tears flowing freely down his stubbled cheeks and tinkling musically into his beer.
"It was a perfect stf mag. The circulation broke all records. Only a few
unfortunates, like yourself, missed reading it. And in that lay my downfall.""What do you mean?" I asked,
breathless."You see," he concluded, "with that
answer to a stfan's prayer in his files, who would buy any other mag? We sold only
thirty copies of the next month's SET, to new fans, ones who had not read the
super issue."Naturally, I was fired. That was
bad enough, but I was also ostracized by every other promag publisher and editor,
not to mention the writers. Had it not been for the restraining influence and cool
counsel of Hank Kuttner, some of the hotheads like Padgett and Kelvin Kent would
have lynched me from the nearest lamp post."I had utterly destroyed fandom, and
it had to be built up again from the very beginning. That is why a real old-time
fan like yourself is so rarely seen these days."Sobbing brokenly, he shambled through
the swinging doors and was swallowed up in the vastness of the night.All illustrations by Kurt Erichsen |
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