 We've written several times, in previous
issues of Mimosa, that the Midwestcon is a fannish nexus -- an event where fans
of all regions and all eras convene. The DeepSouthCon is a little like that, too, and
past DeepSouthCons have been the subject and site of many a fannish misadventure.
Here is an account of one of the more notorious ones.
 I submitted an article to the beloved
editors of this fanzine on growing older in fandom. Well, it was rejected, which is
an unprecedented experience for me since I sell over ninety-five percent of what I
write in the computer trade press the first time. And they pay money! They then
suggested "An anecdotal article about the first Knoxville DeepSouthCon, the one with
the red swimming pool?"I do not want to write about the
infamous "DSC Sanguine Swimming Pool Incident," now known only to Southern SMOFs and
whispered about around campfires to neofen. This is not a matter of honor. The only
topic more depressing than getting older is writing about how stupid you were when you
were younger. One of the advantages of old age is supposed to be living down things
like this. But I promised that I would do an article for Mimosa, and I surmise
that I am duty bound to spill my guts.So, gather around the campfire,
children, while Uncle Celko tells you tales of when the world was young and how it all
began.In the late 1960s and early 1970s,
Southern fandom was starting to enjoy a burst of activity. If you look at the
DeepSouthCon history which gets reprinted in DSC program books, you will see that the
convention was starting to get bigger and that it was also being bid for by many
regional groups, which were just coming into being. In those days, we thought that
getting three or four hundred people to a convention was a major achievement, so to
see fan groups actually bidding was an enormous thrill.The first Knoxville DSC, in 1969, was
hosted by Janie Lamb. Janie needs a little explaining since I am not sure that the
younger readers will even remember her. She was active in the N3F (National Fantasy
Fan Federation) for a long time; to be honest, she was the N3F. Janie was older than
most of the fans and was a delight to be around because you did not expect an adult to
act like that. A genuinely good, fun human being.An Atlanta contingent showed up at the
motel and we unpacked ourselves into a single motel room. In those days, we used to
sleep like cord wood to save the money. There was myself, Steve Hughes, Mark Levitan,
George Orentlicher, Glen Brock, and I am not sure who else. At any rate, there were
enough people in the room that I got to sleep in the bath tub. And it was not the
worst place.Mark had brought with him a little,
tiny glass vial with a very bright red powder inside it -- water soluble industrial
dye which he had obtained from his father. We had a second floor room which
overlooked the motel swimming pool. And we had time on our hands. All in all, a bad
combination. Ever hear the expression about idle hands being the devil's playground?
Our moral character was much weaker in our youth, our time horizon was much shorter,
and we healed much faster in those days.The first effort attempted to deliver a
fraction of a teaspoon in a paper napkin. The napkin was too light to be accurate and
the stuff needed to be dissolved in very hot water first, anyway. Even defense
contractors don't get it right the first time.The next effort dissolved the dye in
very hot tap water inside a used Coca Cola can, both of which the motel so generously
provided. Unfortunately, the delivery system floated upright like buoy when it hit
the water. The tissue wick we used to contain the liquid on its way down waved
proudly in the air and not in the water.At this point we probably would have
given up and gone to bed, but fate took a hand. Two couples arrived at the pool in
swim suits. We already had the room light out, so they could not see us lurking in
the dark above them.
One young man (actually older than any
of us at the time) got in the shallow end, found the Coke can with its bright red
paper wick. In a fit of curiosity, he picked it up and pulled the wick out. The
results were immediate.The water around him turned bright red.
He turned bright red from the waist down, panicked and dropped the can in the water.
The can sank and he did not try to fish it out, since he was more interested in
getting back to shore. This was a tactical error on his part, because the can hit
bottom and the scarlet dye cloud it left behind was sucked into therecirculating pump. He knew perfectly well that he was
going to spend the next few weeks wearing pants in most public places, so I don't see
why he was as upset as he was. Crimson privates would not have been a real problem.
It would have meant entertaining the young lady he brought with him with something she
had never seen before.The waves of vermillion went slowly but
surely over the pool, turning the water a lovely burgundy color by the dawn. This was
the morning that motel and convention relations began to break down a little bit.The young man with the technicolor
plumbing facilitations turned out to be the manager's son. While annoyed, he would
return to normal in a fairly short time. Skin only discolors on the outside and the
first layer washes off with gasoline.However, the pool was not so lucky --
it was made of marine concrete instead of human flesh. Marine concrete absorbs water
for about an inch below the surface. The blue stain in the concrete and the red dye
were what made this lovely plum color that greeted our morning walk to the pool.The manager came to Janie and told her
that he wanted the heads of the persons responsible. Janie told him with a perfectly
straight face that "Fans did not do this sort of thing," and then literally lined up
as much of the convention as she could find in the lobby, and gave a speech for the
manager to hear, asking for the guilty parties to step forward. I believe that I was
bravely hiding under a staircase at the time. In a fetal position. Nobody
confessed.She then turned to the manager and
stated that the convention was not responsible, again with a perfectly straight face. The
manager was not kindly disposed to believe this statement, however.Perhaps Ron Bounds dressed in a Viking
outfit carrying off one of the waitresses from the bar the evening before the swimming
pool incident had done much to destroy our credibility. Ask Ron about the barmaid;
that's probably a good story, too. But don't do it when his wife is around, okay?Janie found out who had been involved
and cornered the lot of us, and told us that she was very glad that we had not been in
the line up. We might have cracked under pressure and then she would have had to kill
us. While this was going on, the motel confiscated her luggage out of her room to
hold until she paid for the pool. Things were getting ugly at this point.Janie had a fair amount of power in
Tennessee at the time, via the governor's office. After all these years I cannot
remember her exact title, but it was at the governor's private staff level. She got
on the telephone, called the nearest state patrol headquartersand reported that the
motel was serving liquor to minors. She then sent some minors with drinks into the
motel bar.The state troopers arrived very, very
quickly; the nearest state patrol headquarters was literally next door to the motel.
They came in on foot, issued the citation and left. Janie made a second telephone
call, got more kids and booze; the troopers returned and issued a second citation.
Three liquor violations in a year was a magic number.At this point the motel was offered a
truce; cool it with us or have no liquor license. Suddenly, management found her
luggage and decided that a purple pool looked very classy. Besides, you make more
money off booze than off swimming pools.I visited that same motel many years
later for another convention. The pool is once more regulation hotel pool blue, but
they had painted it with epoxy sealer to get this color. I did not ask
questions. All illustrations by Kip Williams |
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