We mentioned last time in Mimosa 11 that 1992 is the 40th anniversary of Walt Willis's epic first visit to the United States. That trip was financed by one of the first fan funds, and influenced the origination of the Trans-Atlantic Fand Fund several years later. Walt's 1952 trip has been singled out as one of the key events of the 1950s, in that it demonstrated science fiction fandom to be international in scope rather than the exclusive property of North Americans. Walt will be back again this year, as Fan Guest of Honor at the Orlando Worldcon. And in this issue, he continues his look back at the years of the 1950s.
title illo by Peggy Ranson for 'I Remember Me' 
  by Walt Willis Apparently 1954 started off, in style, with a letter from Robert Bloch.

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Can't think of a nicer way of starting the new year than by dropping you a line.

Actually, I have only two alternatives -- getting started on a new novel or filling out my income tax. Both are unthinkable...though I fear I'll be getting round to them as soon as I've finished this note. Doing the novel is perhaps easier than the income tax: both are works of fiction, but I hope to get paid for one whereas I have to pay for the other. As you know, I am doing suspense stuff and the characters are mainly aberrated. The job I have in mind concerns an exhibitionist. This guy is so exhibitionistic that every time he goes to bed with a girl he puts a glass eye in her navel. (So help me, I'm gonna put it in the book, you'll see!)

What's all this about Chuck turning pro? I was delighted to hear about a sale, and hope he gets the bug. The more fans turn to pro writing, the less time they'll have for fanning, and that will leave the entire fan field open to us old pros to desecrate. Maybe there will be some small semblance of renaissance in 1954...but I'm afraid many newcomers haven't yet learned the secret of fanactivity which is simply this: you have to meet or correspond with people like you. It's a very personal thing, this fan business. Those who attend Cons and enjoy themselves generally are enthusiastic about the field. Those who attend and don't find congenial companions usually snipe. Those who find friendships in or thru fandom remain, as a rule; often people quit as a result of disillusionment of a very personal nature. (Cf Laney, et al.) Seems to me that the expansion of the field has tended to make it more difficult for newcomers to make firm friends; their interest, therefore, is superficial or limited to their liking of the reading matter. And in time, interest lags. It's one thing to like the stories of George O. Smith and quite another to know that gentleman and see him demonstrate the Law of Diminishing Returns, bottle in hand. But why should I tell you this? You, of all people!

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I see here a faint, almost illegible carbon, which may be a reply to this.

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Funny you should come off with that comment on fans just at the moment. It's a thing I've been thinking about ever since I read that article of Tucker's about the fans who have visited him; the one that was on the lines of Laney's "My Ghod They Might Come to My House." God, I thought if Tucker is going to get disenchanted with fans it would be the end. Theretofore I had been consoling myself with the thought that Forry Ackerman and he, who had met more fans than anyone in the world, still thought they were worth continuing to mingle with. I still thought so myself, but there'd been so many attacks on fans as a group I was wondering if maybe my own amiable view of my fellow men was leading me astray. So I was interested in your opinion. I don't think they're just like people though. It seems to me the greatest difference between fans and people is that fans are much less average. The morons are more moronic, the drips drippier, and the nice people nicer than they are in the great wide world.

Tell me, is fan activity a sort of secret vice with you? I mean, is it an insidious temptation to which you succumb when you should be writing for money? I know that when I'm having to write something, I resort to almost any kind of subterfuge to get out of it -- clean the typer, tidy the room. Do odd jobs about the house. I hate creative writing. I never, or very seldom, have 'inspiration'. I just have to force myself to sit at the typer and type. And yet, sometimes when I'm asleep or half awake, whole articles, stories, novels, plays, movies flash through my brain, each one perfectly complete. Whole sf serials swarming with complex action and characterisation spread out before me and I lie there and admire them with a sort of reverent awe. I'm sure they're there all right -- occasionally I have remembered phrases and situations and used them, but at the thought of sitting down and actually writing them, I get a cold desperate feeling inside. Do you think dianetics or Hadacol might help? I was wondering if you felt the same way about your pro stuff and if fanac was your equivalent of getting away from it all? It is with Vince Clarke, I know. Every now and then he writes pro stuff. But of course all that happens is that he comes into fandom again and starts a few more of his Projects... He gives them all names, like Operation Shamrookie (that's one that did come off, though he's never got round to writing it up -- that issue of SFN has been part mimeoed for over a year). You would like Vince. What he needs is someone who can take over his projects and finish them, as I do with Bob Shaw's. It's a pity that Chuck Harris doesn't live nearer to him. You'll like Chuck too: I guess you do already. He's one of the finest people I've ever come across in my life. A brilliant writer, too, but his form of escape from writing for publication is writing letters. I think Chuck's letters are the best body of writing in fandom, and I only wish it were possible to publish the whole lot of them. That selection in Pamphrey {{ed.note: Walt's fanzine for FAPA, the Fantasy Amateur Press Association }} was a mere fragment of the stuff I saw when I was looking through his files. He and Vince carry on a mock war off and on, on the lines of that duper correspondence I quoted. My favourite phrase ... well, you may have gathered that Vince is getting a little thin on top? Every time the word 'hair' crops up in a letter from Chuck it is followed in parenthesis by '(sorry)'. I was also tickled to notice that I am referred to in their correspondence as "Ghod." Apparently this started when Chuck was trying to get Vince to produce the Fen Crittur Comical Book while I was away in America in 1952, and his frequent references to my instructions gave Vince the opening to accuse him of worshipping me.

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I quoted this letter partly to give me an opportunity to explain why there was no letter from Chuck quoted in the last installment of "I Remember Me." It was simply because I was going through the general correspondence file, and Chuck of course has a file all to himself which was not available to me at the time. It is in a bookcase in a brick hut at the end of our garden, and hemmed in by a mass of stuff left over from the remodeling of our kitchen last year which I haven't recovered enough strength to shift yet. If I manage it for the next installment, that is likely to be all Harris. Meanwhile, here is a letter in reply to one from Ashworth's Amorphous Abstracts, makers of coloured steam, suggesting a tie-up with the Fort Mudge Steam Calliope Company {{ed. note: of Lee Hoffman }}. I don't seem to have the original letter from Mal Ashworth, but my reply may interest those few who remember this part of the Sixth Fandom mythology.

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Your Reference: Yr. lr. (undated) (No reference number)

Our Ref: Tch Tch

Dear Mr. Ashworth,

I am directed by Mr. Willis to inform you that the firm of Hoffmanothing Incorporated of which he was the agent was wound up in 1953 -- the spring of that year -- Miss Hoffman having caught a colt, and succumbed to gafia...

With regard to the FORT MUDGE STEAM CALLIOPE COMPANY... I am to inform you that this COMPANY continues in fool ruining order in front of Mr. Willis and as soon as he noticed it, he expressed interest in your invention. He feels that while the FORT MUDGE STEAM CALLIOPE represents the epitome of perfection to music-lovers everywhere, it is the duty of a concern as progressive as the FORT MUDGE STEAM CALLIOPE COMPANY to furher any invention which may lead to the development of the steam calliope as an artform. I should be glad if you would accordingly forward samples of red, white, and blue steam for use during the playing of the National Anthem...

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But here, dated 6th February, 1954, is a letter from Bill Temple, with more contemporary relevance to us...

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Thanks for Hyphen, which gave me a welcome lift of spirit in these dull, cold winter days.

I'm glad most people enjoyed the Beacon Report as much as I did. But I'm not surprised to find D. R. Smith among the rare exceptions. Even before the war, in the days of Novae Terrae and Tales of Wonder, he was adept at throwing buckets of cold water over people as a reward for their hard work and self-denial in attempts to entertain him. I'm afraid he's a type. Sam Youd is of it. But there are signs lately that they may both eventually grow out of it, if very belatedly. It's only a matter of growing up.

In her recent book, Pleasure, Doris Langley Moore mentions the type: "Disparagement is a relief to minds that are ill at ease -- a relief they may grasp at eagerly... but like any other drug, when it wears off it leaves the addict at the mercy of his bitterness. The fundamental unhappiness of destructive people is usually transparent enough, and often very much to be pitied.

"People who are for some reason socially uneasy often think it is a mark of superiority to be hard to please. The young just emerging from adolescence are almost always hypercritical, especially on subjects where they have only recently acquired knowledge, and the uneducated do not like to show when they are impressed, in case they should commit the faux pas of overvaluing, which is thought to subtract more from our prestige than undervaluing. Unfortunately, any pose that is long sustained is pretty sure to become second nature..."


-- To Be Continued --

Title illustration by Peggy Ranson

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