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