 {{  Lots of interesting mail came our way on
Mimosa 11, but before we get to it, we want to clear up a misconception
concerning the A Wealth of Fable project. Please note: we are not the
book's publisher; copies of the book can be ordered from SCIFI Press, P.O. Box 8442,
Van Nuys, California 91409. Part of the confusion may have been the relatively
high profile Dick assumed as editor for the new edition, but the project was
conceived and financed by the Southern California Institute for Fan Interests. Another thing we want to mention is
that we've unfortunately had to reconsider our earlier decision to stand for the
1993 Down Under Fan Fund. We are disappointed to come to this conclusion,
especially since we've gotten considerable support from many people, in both North
America and Australia. It's entirely a matter of not enough available personal
leave time in 1993 for a four-week trip, if we had won. But we're not giving up the
idea of visiting Australia -- there will be other opportunities and DUFF elections
in the future.Meanwhile, the ravages of inflation
continue to affect the ever-increasing length of our letters column. Thanks to
everyone who commented on the issue, and to those who sent fanzines in trade. First
up are comments about Dave Kyle's remembrances of "The Most Noble and Illustrious
Order of St. Fantony"...}}- - - - - - - - - -
Lloyd Penney, Brampton, Ontario, Canada The Order of St. Fantony has been on
the edge of my earshot for several Worldcons now, but I felt that exclusivity would
keep it from my attention -- until now. Exclusive perhaps, but a reward for the
legions before me who have fanned and left their mark. I suspect that should
Glasgow win the 1995 Worldcon, a fabulous reunion of the Knights upon their home
turf would take place.In your letters column, Martin Morse
Wooster's letter about fanbooks answers a few questions for me. I wish the
remainders of these print runs could be purchased and sold through a central dealer,
perhaps someone like Bob Madle. I remember picking up Fred Pohl's The Way the
Future Was on remainder at a bookstore in downtown Toronto for three or four
bucks. A copy of John Robert Colombo's Years of Light (about Canadian fan
publisher Leslie Croutch) went for $2.99. I bought my copy of All Our
Yesterdays at Noreascon 3 for $12, and that's about all I've been able to
find. That's why I look forward to A Wealth of Fable when it's available.{{ Keep your eyes open, because many of the fan
history-related books that have been mentioned here are still available. For
instance, the remaindered copies of Terry Carr's Fandom Harvest are available
from Jerry Kaufman in Seattle. We picked up a copy at Corflu, and wouldn't be
surprised to find it at Worldcon. }}Also, in my letter of comment, I said
that when I got into fandom, no one was vocal about fanzines. That wasn't quite
true -- a few people were somewhat vocal about them, like Jim Allen, Taral, Cathy
Crockett, and Alan Rosenthal, but they were so distanced from the new group of which
I was a part that they never bothered to dirty themselves with our presence.
However, a short excursion through Mike Wallis' fanzine collection, combined with
Marc Ortlieb sending me early issues of Q36, piqued my interest. Eventually,
Cathy and Alan sent me issues of Carefully Sedated, but my early attempts at
loccing zines Mike loaned me, plus the generosity of fanzines from folks like Scott
Dennis, Michael Hailstone, Garth Spencer, Lan, Marc Ortlieb, Charlotte Proctor, and
Jean Weber, got me moving. Local influence was nearly nil.{{ Getting into fanzines has become difficult, as
they are no longer part of the definition of a fan. Fans today don't seem organized
into clubs, but into committees to run conventions. We feel lucky to be in an area
where there is still a traditional club with a clubzine. }}Finally, a comment that I'm sure many
readers have made so far -- the fan artists have written many of the articles here.
Craig Hilton, Ian Gunn, David Thayer, and Sheryl Birkhead step outside of their
usual roles. Perhaps the usual fan writers will be illustrating the articles
nextish?- - - - - - - - - -
George Flynn, Cambridge, Massachusetts I knew Dave Kyle's list of St.
Fantony ceremonies was incomplete, since I recalled seeing one at Noreascon 1
in 1971 (it was the 'entertainment' during the Masquerade intermission). So I dug
way down into my files of old newszines, and came up with the following: at
the Noreascon 1 ceremony, Bob Pavlat was initiated as a member, and at Heicon
the year before, a special ceremony initiated Molly Auler, Mario Bosnyak, Bill Burns,
Manfred Kage, Axel Melhardt, and Don Wollheim. (Sources: Locus 95 and
Locus 62 respectively; I didn't try checking reports on any other
conventions.)Martin Morse Wooster's item about Fred
Chappell was interesting. On a possibly similar note, a couple of weeks ago the
Boston Sunday Globe had a lead book review with the following author bio:
"Michael Gorra teaches English at Smith College and is the author of The English
Novel at Mid-Century." Anyone know if this could be the Mike Gorra who was a
faned?Martin writes that "...many larger cons are
actively discouraging fans under the age of 18 from attending the con without a
parent in attendance." I don't know what's happening elsewhere, but Boskone adopted
that policy for only one year (we lost our hotel largely because of teenage
rowdiness, and had to downsize drastically in a hurry); some people never got the
word that it was temporary, though. But certainly at Boskone and some other cons
there's been a reorientation of programming that has the effect of making the
cons less attractive to many teenagers, without the need for an explicit policy
barring them. And the cultural generation gap is wide enough that it's hard to
avoid this.As for Harry Warner's comment that clubzines
are usually edited by older fans, I suspect that's mostly demographics rather than
discrimination: the younger fans aren't around, or aren't interested. (But I can
think of exceptions, where the younger fans didn't know enough not to
volunteer...){{ As we mentioned above, there don't seem to be
many SF clubs or clubzines anymore, at least that are very visible to outsiders.
Many younger fans may also be "on the nets" and inaccessable to those of us without
access. Some people feel that talking on-line may replace fanzines and apas, since
those forms of communication are too slow. }}
I've often wondered what happened to St. Fantony; it used to be a lot of fun, and
as they used to hold open house at cons, it served as a useful intro to fandom for
many a neo. A pity it died out, but maybe the times/fandom changed too much. I
remember how flattered I felt at the `65 Worldcon because Dave Kyle took such an
interest in me. Then I discovered that he had been deputised to keep an eye on me,
to make sure I turned up for the Ceremonie...- - - - - - - - - -
Darroll Pardoe, Hoole, Chester, England I found Dave Kyle's article about St.
Fantony rather strange, too much of an eulogy. When the St. Fantony ceremonial was
revived in the mid-sixties, it came back into a British fandom which had changed
considerably in the three or four years it had been away. A lot of new fans had
come on the scene in that time (the original Birmingham Group for instance) and they
did have a habit of expressing their impatience with the older fans quite vocally
from time to time. St. Fantony meant nothing to them.I always regarded the ceremonial as a
bit of harmless fun, but there's no denying that in the mid-sixties, in the fannish
circles I was moving in, a lot of negative things were said about St. Fantony, even
to the extent of regarding the revival as an attempt by the 'old guard' to keep the
younger and newer fans in their place. The Doc Weir award came in for similar
criticism for very much the same reason. I think that the broad claims made by the
St. Fantony people (and for the Doc Weir award) to recognise merit and hard work
among fans were compared with the people who were actually initiated or voted in,
and found wanting. Now I'm not saying that there actually was any intention to
create some sort of elite group: I'm sure there wasn't. But it was perceived that
way by many.And, to be honest, the initiation
ceremonies I witnessed at conventions were just embarrassing to watch, and the fact
that they were promoted as an important part of the convention programme just
reinforced the perception that St. Fantony had an overinflated idea of its own
importance in a fandom that was now much bigger, and greatly changed.I don't think St. Fantony was ever
the target of quite so much criticism as the Doc Weir award, however. At least the
Knights were always an identifiable sub-group, and in the last analysis, who they
invited in was up to them. But somehow the idea got about (quite falsely) that the
Doc Weir voting was rigged, and since the vote was claimed to be the choice of the
whole convention (or such of them as chose to vote) in a particular year, the
supposed ballot-stuffing to elect a candidate acceptable to the 'establishment'
(whoever they were) was considered particularly heinous.It was a pity it ever got that way,
but certainly, the revival of St. Fantony in 1965 did generate a lot of 'us and
them' feeling.But it was all so long ago, and does
it matter? Your experience with Chicon {{"A Tale of Two Conventions" }} seemed pretty
much like my own, especially in regards to the bid party gauntlet we all seemed
forced to run. I think the committee of a convention as large as Worldcon has to
take some care to supervise the dispersal of the party activities into more than one
section of the convention facility. I think there was little the various bidders
could have done, given the crush of people trying to get to their parties.Actually, the crush of people was the real
reason I voted for Winnipeg this past year; in the future, when given a number of
choices of venues for Worldcon, I plan to pick the one the least people can get to.
This may be an act of class treason on my part, but those who can afford to go will
have a much better time.{{ There may be fewer people at the place hardest to
get to, but will they be people you want to be with? We were actually pretty
surprised at how many of the people we usually hang out with at worldcons are
not planning to go to Winnipeg. Many of them seem to feel they will have a
better time doing something other than attending Canvention. In addition, there are
a number of people who we see at smaller conventions that just flat out do not
attend worldcons at all any more, mainly due to the cost and crowds. It's probably
not possible to streamline worldcons to exclude some of the frills they have
acquired in the past few decades, but that's what is making them so unwieldly and
costly to organize. }}If Dave Kyle continues on with his columns
for you, someone ought to eventually collect and publish them on their own. I don't
like to be morbid or belabor the obvious, but we have fewer and fewer fans of his
experience every year, and whatever we can do to preserve their accounts of our
early history will be priceless to generations of faneds like us to come: It may
seem like we are a little-loved and arcane study-group to many of today's fen, but
it is safe to assume that there will be other cranks like us in the future. They
will be an unhappy lot if we squander the opportunities that they are not going to
have...{{ A Dave Kyle autobiography seems like a natural
addition to published fanhistorica, and we hope to see one someday. As for
preserving the past, that's one of the reasons we publish this fanzine. In spite of
the growing number of books about the history of science fiction fandom, there's
still a lot of events from years past that are only very tenuously preserved in the
memories of those who were there. We've published at least one article of fan
historical interest in every issue of Mimosa and will continue to do
so. }}The traditions and values of the Order of
Saint Fantony sound as though they fit well into the genial hedonism which I have
often credited as fandom's finest trait. Dressing up in funny outfits and affecting
bad accents is something which makes up part of the birthright of every fan; we
should not let prejudice or contempt for modern costumers and media-oriented fans
deny us that right.Shelby Vick's piece {{"Thru Darkest Florida With Sample Can" }}
is an equally valuable little story; it puts all of his fanac from the 1950s in a
different light, thinking of him writing a letter in the front seat of a home-made
pick-up truck, then interrupting it long enough to canvas a block with a case of
Sanco.Actually, if you made me designate the theme
to this issue, it would be 'road trips', since your opening comments and three of
the articles deal with the subject. The Australians seem to be almost as much a
road-oriented culture as Americans are. I echo some of Craig Hilton's experience
with car hiring in Britain; the ones I've seen always seem to be in a field of long
weeds at the edge of town. Five minutes after you drive off, the place is closed
and locked, or even boarded up again, and the con men are off on the run.Ian Gunn's account of his epic journey
across the Nullarbor {{"The Hitch-Hiker's Guide to
the Nullarbor Plain" }} had unpleasant resonances with an experience I
had some years ago, crossing Indiana and Illinois in a VW van that had the same
tendency to develop progressive mechanical failures with each leg of the trip. I
might have given some body parts up if only some kind driver with an empty
semi-truck had happened by.... Craig Hilton's experience with "The
Fiat Worst Than Death" reminds me of the time 10 years ago when a group of us
(including Marc Glasser and Robert Sacks) rented a red Dodge van from a local
equivalent of the Lawbreaking Hire Car Service, the truthfully named Rent-a-Wreck,
for a drive up to Boskone. (Our reasons were the same -- the used cars were cheap.)
In Connecticut, smoke started coming out of our engine. We stared, momentarily
wondering if cars really burst into flame and blow up like on Mannix. In a rare
display of sense (our first and only that day), we pulled over and jumped out. A
hose of some sort had melted and was smoldering; fire was a distant, though distinct
possibility, we were later told. Rent-a-Wreck is gone now, but it has an heir in
an establishment called Rent-a-Dent.- - - - - - - - - -
Gregg Calkins, Jackson, California Even though others have said M
is difficult to comment upon, I, oldphan than I am, have come up with the ultimate
mc. Mimosa, with its impeccable mimeography, contributors and Old Fandom
slant, is the fanzine that I would be publishing now were I still publishing!
Except, of course, I would use several colors of Twiltone in each issue rather than
monochrome...I haven't been to a con in a loooong time,
but I think I have to go to Orlando this year to see Shelby Vick, at least. Truth
to tell, I didn't really connect all that much with Lee Hoffman and Willis even
though we were on the same time-line, and Walt appeared in Oopsla! for so
long. Vick was one of the people I felt like I really knew, though, and I spent
most of the 1952 Chicon with him and Joe Green. LeeH was, of course, my fannish
idol and I deliberately designed Oops to look like Quandry, and was
tickled pink when I seemed to fill in for her when she stopped publishing.But the fact is that I really wasn't
close to Lee and when the Chicon II came along and Walt came over -- I just
wasn't included in the gang. I doubt if I spoke to any of them more them more than
half a dozen times, and they always seemed to be bound elsewhere with a lot more
important people than I. Not that I really cared, because I've always been somewhat
reticent, but I was also having the time of my life with the people I was
meeting. I think one of the reasons I've never been to another Worldcon since is
that I had so much fun at that one that I didn't dare try and repeat it.Don't get me wrong -- I would have
liked to have spent some time with Willis and I did put out a special fund-raising
issue of my fanzine just for his trip, but my disappointment at his being
monopolized by La Hoffwoman was mitigated by others. I was, frankly, as much in
love with Bea Mahaffey as it is possible for a 17-year-old to be -- which is
considerable -- and she was gracious enough to put up with me quite a lot of the
time. Henry Burwell was free with his time and companionship, and the week I spent
with him and his wife in Atlanta after the con is still one of the high spots in my
life. And then there was Shelby, my once and future friend, who together with Joe
Green was always there.So, yes, I think I'll make Orlando
this fall. I'm really looking forward to seeing Shelby again. He is responsible
for one of the most amazing acts of my life, after all. I was 17 at the time of the
Chicon II and my folks were pretty conservative. My mother was the dominant
force in the family and she considered science fiction a waste of time, even if she
did introduce me to Burroughs, Tarzan, and John Carter of Mars and Carson of Venus.
The name of my fanzine was derived from the worst exclamation she could utter, since
she would never say a truly bad word, and her two syllables were intended to mean
totally worthless drivel...only I, of course, thought it was funny and truly the
best name possible for a science fiction fanzine.My parents reluctantly let me go
to Chicon II, and looking back on it I'm not sure why but I must have begged a
lot. Shortly before the con I had 'founded' the Utah Science Fiction League and
fellow fan Jim Webbert went with me, there to find greater fame than I did. The bus
we joined in Salt Lake City on its way from Los Angeles to Chicago had Forry and
Wendy Ackerman aboard, and we had a wonderful trip across the country thanks to
their very gracious hospitality. Forry is one of the true gentlemen of fandom and
his comforting presence made me feel like a real fan.What was amazing is what happened
after the con. You have to understand that I was a very young 17, not at all
what is now called street-wise, and that my mother allowed me to go to the con very,
very reluctantly, with strict travel instructions and a specified time of return.
You also have to understand that I was a very dutiful son, never having
disagreements with my parents over anything. My mother, being exceptionally
understanding on this occasion, had given me the highly unusual privilege of being
able to invite Shelby Vick to come home and visit me after the con, something that
had never happened to me before.What happened was that Shelby, not
being a college student like I was, had a JOB and couldn't just take off at random,
with no advance planning, so in turn he invited me to come to Florida with him
instead. Without giving it a thought, I blithely accepted and dropped my folks a
postcard (in those days long distance phone calls were considered incredibly
expensive and were also fairly uncommon, quite in contrast from today) to that
effect the day I left Chicago, saying I would be a little late getting home.You can't imagine the bombshell
effect that had on my mother, nor, truth to tell, did I at the time I wrote it,
although that seems incredible to me now. The card arrived several days after I
should have on my return bus, which my folks greeted with rising alarm, and needless
to say my Mother hit the overhead (as we say in the Marine Corps). By the time she
dredged through my files and found Vick's address and from there, eventually, his
phone number from information (I, of course, would not have had it because long
distance telephone calls were quite beyond my ken), I had already climbed in a car
with several relative strangers and driven from Chicago to Atlanta, where I spent a
truly memorable week with Henry Burwell and his adorable wife, and had spent most of
a week in Florida with Shelby and Joe Green getting exceptionally well sunburned.
I had absolutely no idea what would have happened to me had not my Mother's
astonishing telephone call (Long Distance!) sharply snapped me back into reality
("get home NOW!") and return me to the Real World, but one can only speculate.Alas, I haven't seen Shelby since the
trip and I even lost him for many years. I haven't the foggiest notion about Henry
Burwell and his lovely wife, and Bea Mahaffey is, Shelby tells me, dead. "No man is
an island"...boy, did he ever know what he was talking about. I am, indeed,
diminished.- - - - - - - - - -
Martin Morse Wooster, Silver Spring, Maryland Many thanks for Mimosa 11,
which was a very pleasant, quiet fanzine full of chat (if not Chat), even if
some of the fannishness came from the battlefields of Yugoslavia or the wastelands
of the Nullarbor Plain.I wish Shelby Vick would tell us
more about the wire-recorded fanzine reproduced. Do any copies still exist? Can
they be transcribed onto tape? Never having seen a wire recording, I have no idea
how durable the wire is or whether or not the wire decays, but certainly a
fan-archivist who made copies of fifties fans chatting would have an audience for
his product.David Kyle's piece about the Knights
of St. Fantony was an entertaining look at an organization whose existence, at least
to my generation of fans, has been hazy and nebulous. Certainly the founders would
do well to recruit some new members, or at least allow Harry Stubbs to better
explain why he wears a large St. Fantony badge at conventions. The Knights of St.
Fantony is a noble tradition that shouldn't be allowed to die out through inertia or
attrition.- - - - - - - - - -
Terry Jeeves, Scarborough, North Yorkshire, United Kingdom I enjoyed the Tale of Two Conventions, as
they avoided the standard turn-off of 'Then we went for a pizza, had a Chinese meal,
had a beer, met Bignamefan, saw a film, had a beer...' and so on ad nauseum. Your
report stuck to things of interest and humour.{{ Whenever we write a travel report for a fanzine,
we always try to stick to the entertaining portions, which has the advantage of
allowing us to keep it to a reasonable length! }}I also enjoyed Dave Kyle reminiscing about
the Knights of St Fantony. I still have copies of the sundry tape-operas made by
Liverpool and Cheltenham fen. Very nostalgic and time-binding, even if the quality
is not so hot by now."Operation Dessert Storm" by Bruno Ogorelec
was another gudun, but got me, the best two items in the issue were that lovely
'Fiat Worse than Death' and the great 'Nullarbor Plain'. Only now do I realise how
lucky I was when Mike Banks drove me from Cincinnati to Boston in 1980. No
breakdowns, and we were only four hours latereaching Boston.  I am delighted to see that you are
continuing to present the history of fandom through the eyes of various fans. The
personal reminiscences are fun to read, and so far you've managed to maintain a high
quality of writing. The two articles which involved travel by car were very funny.
When Maia and I visited England, we chose to use the public transportation system,
and didn't have to adapt our driving skills to British roads. Both reminded me of
the title of a presentation that two midwestern fans did several years ago. It was
a variation of the Chinese curse -- "May You Drive in Interesting Cars." The
adventures of Craig Hilton and Ian Gunn would fit wonderfully under that title.Bruno Ogorelec's description of
moving into an apartment struck a rather ominous note with me. I recall the first
one I shared with someone. The guy was a mechanical moron, which left me to do many
repairs which I thought most guys should be able to do. To his credit, though, he
was a good cook, though I did question some of his dishes as to actual nutritional
value. He loved to make bread, but even the birds ignored some of his offerings.
I took that as a sign not to eat his baked goods very often.As for an increase of sexual
activity...well, that did happen, but not as often as I had hoped, mainly because I
was in graduate school and concentrating quite a bit on getting my Masters degree.
I fared better when I had my own apartment (and after I joined fandom, but that's
another story).- - - - - - - - - -
Eric Mayer, Rochester, New York My favorite article was Bruno
Ogorelec's "Operation Dessert Storm." It was so deliciously ridiculous. I was
reminded of the apartment my then wife and I shared in Brooklyn, back when I was in
school. Not that it was quite so wonderfully squalid as Bruno's place...but it was
vermin infested. There were, in the first place, the mice. There were a lot of
mice -- we used to hear them under the stove, noisily making more mice. They went
skittering across the counters and climbed up the sides of the fireplace. One
jumped off onto me on one occasion. Then there was the evening Kathy stuck her bare
foot down into the couch cushions, her toes momentarily caressing something soft...
and furry and -- rodent-like!!!! EEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!The roaches were worse. If you have
never taken the time to experience the pleasure of waking in your bed with a large
roach crawling across your face...don't bother. As soon as the lights went out they
swarmed up the walls and sometimes lost their grip. As soon as the lights went on,
of course, they swarmed for shelter. What I most disliked about them was their
apparent intelligence. Sometimes I would observe one sneaking around, say, a chair.
The roach would for all the world seem to stop and peer around the edge of the chair
leg, antennae wiggling. Then duck back when it saw me looking. Really creepy. I
thought they were supposed to wait until after the atomic war to take over. Boy,
roaches must be pissed about the end of the Cold War. Among the contents this time, I liked
best your own reports on the Chicago Worldcon and Ditto -- well written and
informative. Dave Kyle was as interesting as possible about the St. Fantony, an
activity which I have never seen the point of. Bruno Ogorelec contributes a piece
of gothic Balkan horror worthy of a younger Poe. The two motoring pieces were
readable, though the Australian one was more deftly constructed.Shelby takes us back to the more
classic type of fannish memoir, the sort which supplies missing pieces of our ever
fascinating fannish jigsaw. I had the pleasure of copying out his reference to
Felice Perew, for the benefit of Felice Maxam, who now lives in Richmond, California,
and belongs to a small APA of which I'm a member. I wonder if she knew she had
brought Shelby and Suzanne Vick together.In the letters column, in answer to
Mike Glicksohn's enquiry about what was I doing with a deserted piano in a forest in
Utah, I cannot do better than quote the relevant extract from The Harp
Stateside, the part which deals with the trip I made in 1952 from Chicago to Los
Angeles with Forry and Wendayne Ackerman, Rog Phillips, and Mari Wolf.# # # #
Although we were getting into wooded
country, it was still very warm and a mountain stream we were passing affected us
like Martians. We stopped the car just past the bridge and we all trooped through
the trees to the water. We sat on the bank and dipped our feet in. I took mine out
indignantly at once; with all this heat about I'd thought even a mountain stream
would be tepid, but it was freezing. I might just as well have been in
Ireland. I counted my toes to make sure they were all still there and put my shoes
on again. I was startled to see that Mari and Wendayne didn't think it was too cold
at all. In fact, they were so determined to bathe that they were prepared to
dispense with bathing suits. They held up newspapers and started to undress behind
them. As a gentleman of the old school, I shall not reveal what I saw. I shall
only say that seldom have I seen a newspaper give more inadequate coverage to such
an interesting event.After a while, I thought it might be
more tactful to retire from the scene and explore the woods. I felt quite daring
venturing into the wilds like this unarmed, because there were undoubtedly all sorts
of alien perils like snakes and poison ivy, not to mention bears, pumas, and Red
Indians. However, as it turned out, the most dangerous phenomenon I encountered was
a piece of barbed wire; and the strangest...well, I had accidentally (that's my
story, no matter what Freud says) wandered down to the river again and got an eyeful
of some attractive scenery that wasn't in the guidebooks; I was hastily retreating
into the primaeval forest when I saw just before me something even more startling --
a wild piano!My eyes fixed on this extraordinary
phenomenon, and no doubt still a bit glazed. I hurried forward and ran into a piece
of barbed wire stretched between the trees at eye level. Well, my eye level anyway,
because I got a barb in my eyeball. After I'd reassured myself I'd still be able to
read 3-D comics I continued stalking the wild piano. I ran it to earth on a large
stack of concrete, at the side of which was a sort of fireplace. All was now
disappointingly clear: this was a place for the native rite called a barbecue; the
piano had been put there by human agency, and was not a mutant plant formation like
Williamson's spaceship trees in Dragon's Island. It was astonishing enough
to me, though, that a piano could be left out in the open like this. If they'd done
it in Ireland, it would after three days be only fit for growing mushrooms in. But
this one was working, because I tried it with my complete repertoire of pianoforte
solos. I venture to say that there are few fans who have played the theme from the
second movement of Dvorak's New World symphony on one finger with one eye on a
piano in a forest in Utah. God, how I've lived! It was nice that Dave Kyle wrote
about the Order of St. Fantony, Noble, Illustrious, etc. St.F. is one of many of
those things that so distinguish `50s fandom, as so many have pointed out in your
letter column: instant rapport, instant trust, and a sense of the vaudeville in that
taking on of roles and characters.David Thayer's remembrance {{"The Horrors of War and Other Morbid
Clichés" }} was also poignant. Recently, I saw something by Joe
Haldeman about Vietnam veterans and fandom. He said 60,000 vets have taken their
lives after the war because they couldn't adjust. Thinking about that reminded me
how few fans have ever written about being in Vietnam. It's taken David over 20
years to feel comfortable enough to write about any of it, which says a lot, right
there, about how big a trauma it was.The thought of making a living
selling home-made cleaning paste door-to-door like Shelby Vick did is a little
frightening. I once tried to be a Fuller Brush salesman one summer. Cleared $50.
For the summer!- - - - - - - - - -
Ian Gunn, Blackburn, Victoria, Australia I enjoyed David Thayer's bit about
nicknames. I've never been in the armed forces, but I had more than my fair share of
nicknames -- with a surname like mine, what would you expect? In my time I've been
called BangBang, 303, Gunga Din, Tommy, and many more besides. Each circle of
friends eventually settles on Gunny, which I don't mind. I guess it's the
Australian habit of adding a 'y' to any one-syllable surname: Smithy, Jonesy --
though I've never met a Lynchy.- - - - - - - - - -
Dal Coger, Memphis, Tennessee Thayer's bit on Vietnam takes me back
to my early years in the military. I was drafted for WWII in 1943, and did my
training in California at Camp Haan, which was outside of Riverside and an hour's
bus ride from LA. I spent every free weekend in LA and got to know most of the fans
that were around. Many, of course, had been drafted but Forry Ackerman was out at
Fort MacArthur and Fran Laney, Jim Kepner, Walt Daugherty, and Morojo (Myrtle
Douglas) were there.After about 10 months in golden
California -- I praised it so highly in my letters and when I was home on leave,
that as soon as the war was over the whole Slan Shack gang from Battle Creek,
Michigan packed up and moved to LA -- we were shipped to Florida, and eventually to
Texas, then New York, and finally to France and combat. I was, however, in the
Field Artillery and not the Infantry. And have the bad hearing to prove it.- - - - - - - - - -
Harry Warner, Jr., Hagerstown, Maryland I thought your con report made a
splendid start to the latest Mimosa. You probably didn't realize during your
stop in Cumberland, Maryland, that you were on historic fan territory, in a sense.
It was in Cumberland that Willis Conover, the famous fanzine fan of the 1930s, began
the radio career that eventually caused him to gafiate and then become a
nationally-known authority on jazz, and conductor of a Voice of America program on
the topic for many years.Dave Kyle's article on the St.
Fantony tradition is probably the most important fan history article by him you've
run in Mimosa in the sense that it conveys the most previously unpublicized
information on a topic, and is basically factual rather than an interpretation of
past events. I'd known some of the information that Dave conveys here, but only in
a fragmentary sense and without certainty about where my knowledge ended and my
guessing began.It was a case of mistaken identity,
but I once had a partial reputation at the local hospital as a permanent guest, much
like Floyd whom Sharon Farber writes about {{ in "Tales of
Adventure and Medical Life, Part VI" }}. In the winter of 1960-61, I
was laid up in the hospital for a couple of months after a serious fall. I spent a
good bit of time in the corridors in a wheelchair after I was allowed to get out of
bed part of the day. Three years later, I found myself again in the hospital for
several weeks, and once again I cluttered up the corridors with my wheelchair. Old
Dr. Shealy, the only physician in the battlefield town of Sharpsburg, stopped at my
side toward the end of this second stint in the hospital. "Are you still here?" he
asked me in awe-struck tones.Kristin Thorrud's contribution is the
star of the loc section this time. It's uncanny how fandoms in other nations can
imitate fandoms in English-speaking lands, even in instances where the fandom in
question has had next to no knowledge of the course of events in the United States,
England, and Australia. Sercon vs. fiawol, spectacular feuds among former buddies,
fans turning into pros, fanzines that rise and fall in a matter of months: the
patterns seem to repeat everywhere as if the fan genes create preordained patterns
of conduct, just as other elements in the body cause us to grow noses and suffer
from gas on the stomach. Is there anything in The Origin of Species that
explains this aspect of fandom from nation to nation?- - - - - - - - - -
Dale Speirs, Calgary, Alberta, Canada Concerning Kristin Thorrud's letter,
the cyclical rise and fall of SF clubs every five years or so is not restricted to
fandom. I've written a history of the aquarium hobby in Canada, and when I plotted
all the clubs on a timeline, I immediately noticed that half of all clubs died
within five years. Only a few percent survived more than ten years. My observation
is that the founders of a club (or revitalizers, if the club is in a slump) last
about five years before burning out or gafiating. Because of their activity and
prominence, replacements do not come forward, either due to intimidation (not
necessarily intended by the BNFs) or a 'Let George do it' attitude. The BNFs
suddenly leave in a group, and the club collapses without leadership. A few years
later, a new group of self-starters come along and begin a new cycle.- - - - - - - - - -
Hans Persson, Linköping, Sweden I completely agree with what Kristin
Thorrud is saying, that Swedish fandom has entered 'The Big Sleep' with lots of fans
going into hibernation. The question is whether we are looking forward to a winter
season or an ice age.The best piece of writing in the
issue (in my opinion, anyway) was Bruno Ogorelec's "Operation Dessert Storm," and I
must saythat I understand and sympathize with his reasons for not doing any fanac.
I hope the tanks in his backyard clear out as soon as possible so that we can have
more articles from him.- - - - - - - - - -
Pat Sims, Cincinnati, Ohio As you know I'm really a fake fan: I
don't do fanzines (except to edit Roger's), read very little science fiction
(mysteries are my forte), don't write LOC's, but have to admit I read most of the
fanzines that Roger gets -- especially Mimosa.I really look forward to Sharon
Farber's articles since I can relate so well to them. My Masters in Social Work is
from Washington University, St. Louis, and I did an internship at Barnes Hospital as
part of my training. I know the places she describes and have great familiarity
with emergency rooms and psychiatric services. My first job out of graduate school
was with the Mental Health Clinic at Cook County Hospital, Chicago. It was a
horrible job (I only lasted 5 months) but an experience no one can forget!But my favorite story comes out of
Detroit. Some years back, the Mental Health Center I worked for contracted with a
local hospital to provide emergency services after hours. Supervisors had to take
turns responding to calls from the hospital ER. When it came my turn I always got
calls for some reason -- it was the standing joke of the Center. As usual during
my week on call, the beeper went off at 2 AM. The hospital was calling for an
okay for a psychiatric hospitalization -- one of our jobs when public money was to
be used and they had no one on the premises who could authorize it. The nurse was
talking about how the man was complaining of back injuries and I kept trying to
determine how this led to a need for psychiatric hospitalization. At some point she
said, "nevermind, Dr. Woozis has just arrived and he'll take care of it." The next
morning, I dragged my sleepy self into a meeting where one agenda item was how the
back-up service was working. I described my early AM confusing call at which point
the administrator in charge started to laugh. They had heard about the call and for
the first time I was told that the man had come to ER complaining of injuries
because, "God had kicked him in the back."I hope Sharon keeps these articles
coming!- - - - - - - - - -
Eve Ackerman, Gainesville, Florida I'm beginning to think that if it
wasn't for Mimosa I'd be abysmally ignorant about fandom before the late
`70s, the time when I became fannish. I'd seen the Great Ceremonie of Saint Fantony
at Noreascon Three, but only had a passing understanding of the event until I read
Dave Kyle's explanation. For instance, I never knew Fantony's death was a
Cheltenham Tragedy.Sheryl Birkhead writes of 'small
animal rotation' {{ in "Cry Wolf" }}.
Oh, the images that conjures! My spouse says, "Isn't that when the puppy turns
around three times before lying down?" My mind picture was an obscene vision of
some guy uh, wearing a small animal and rotating it. But most people
acknowledge I'm a sick puppy. My primary care physician used to be a practicing
Vet before he went to people med school. I kinda like that -- Vets tend to be
better diagnosticians than MDs, since their patients can't tell them where it
hurts. Bruno Ogorelec's "Operation Dessert
Storm" had me scurrying to the dictionary looking up the names of insects. I can
see why he used the scientific names for the vermin; it's easier to translate.As usual, I enjoyed Sharon Farber's
medical misadventures, although reading them has probably made me even more
disrespectful of the medical professional. I already had a healthy disrespect from
having doctors in the family.I also enjoyed Sheryl Birkhead's
veterinary account. Maybe she has more. The most memorable account of this type
was one that was published in a short-lived magazine called Wigwag. I'm
reminded of the time I spent last Sunday waiting in line to get a rabies shot for my
cat at a pet store. Vets are expensive, and many pet shops in this area now
feature monthly pet clinics for various types of vaccinations. Since it wasn't
raining, I had the opportunity to meet many interesting dogs. I didn't meet any
cats because they were all in carriers.In the letters column, I have a sort
of corollary to Dave Gorecki's point about convention and fanzine fandom. I really
have nothing against convention fandom, but my experience has been that you have to
work a lot harder in convention fandom to receive the same recognition you can
receive in fanzine fandom by just writing locs. It seems impossible to do anything
in convention fandom without offending someone. It also seems that you can make
more lasting connections through fanzines than through conventions.{{ Your observation that gaining recognition as a
convention fan is harder than as a fanzine fan seems pretty accurate to us. With
fanzines one may get burned out, but the zines will keep coming in for a while.
With cons, you miss a few and everyone is different when you return! }}- - - - - - - - - -
Richard Brandt, El Paso, Texas Bruno Ogorelec reassures me that
unregenerate bachelors are the same the world over. When I was in college, I had
one roommate whose housekeeping practices were legendary. (We had to explain,
gently, that Laundry Day was not an annual federal holiday.) This was the same
fellow who, when I was sharing a dorm room with him, tended to stay up all night
playing cards, sleep in until three in the afternoon or later, miss classes, and
alienate all the department heads in the university. He changed majors a lot.
Ended up graduating after eight years with a Bachelor of General Studies, for which
he was ideally suited. Anyway, at one point he invited me to join him and two other
buddies in sharing a one bedroom, shotgun apartment. This did not necessarily lend
itself any less to unexpected guests barging in while you and a date were
experimenting with various foods and byproducts, but the rent was cheap. He was,
however, still the sort to leave a pot of beans sitting on the kitchen table until a
white fuzz grew over the rim.Of course, to keep a more balanced
perspective, my sister had a college roommate who didn't believe in doing laundry
or dishes. But that's because she preferred buying new clothes or dishes to
washing them. (This was at a dorm known colloquially at Tulane as Tokyo
Towers.)Having Sharon Farber and
Thayer/Harvia illustrate each other's similarly morbid articles worked out nicely;
as cartoonists, they each have that knack of taking a spin off of what the other has
written and illustrating the theme, rather than merely visualizing the literal text.
Diana Stein's illustrations for Sheryl Birkhead's piece are pretty good, too. The
look of innocent pride in his accomplishment on Wolf's face is one that all dog
owners will recognize.- - - - - - - - - -
David Thayer, Euless, Texas I flipped on my head looking at Steve
Stiles' cover art, with its robotics aliens turning the World upside down and the
cynic with nary a look observing, "NOW what?" His back cover art, with its robots
turned tourists viewing a hermetically sealed Howdy Doody, made me wonder who the
dummy was. But I was only half-prepared for others' contributions inside, no fewer
than five illustrated articles written by artists.I nearly burst my radiator at Ian
Gunn's cute creature pressed precariously against the front of his speeding car.
Sharon Farber graphically captured the pervasive attitude of enlisted me toward the
officers in Vietnam placing lieutenant bars on Dopey. Craig Hilton's bespectacled
self-portrait behind the wheel beneath thoughts of mayhem made me thankful he's a
doctor and not a professional driver. The look of innocence on Diana Stein's canine
artfully demonstrated why humans are so susceptible to the mischief perpetrated by
our animal companions. (Diana's thinking Thark made me think, too.)Peggy Ranson in her colophon art
continues to entertain with the classic SF motif of dinosaurs and rockets. The
digits of Sheryl Birkhead's open hands on the editorial page resemble the stinging
tentacles of a sea anemone, appropriate for your biting commentary on fans and
conventions (I was the Hugo winner who stuck his rocket in his pocket, but I, not
my decorous female companion, uttered the bawdy caption you quoted). There was no
mistaking Joe Mayhew's beer-drinking Peter Pan look-alike for the artist himself.
Alan Hutchinson's hair-linked sink had me checking my own plumbing for signs of
life, I myself being a bachelor like Bruno Ogorelec and desperate for
companionship.I read every word of Shelby Vick's
article in vain to learn how I could get the free whistle Kip Williams teasingly
put on the label of the cleaning paste can. Kurt Erichsen clearly reflected the
real and imagined image of fans in his title illustration for Walt Willis'
namedropping memory marathon. Charlie Williams in his caricature inadvertently
gives the man undeserved stature, physical, not figurative. But who's going to pay
the bill for Julius Schwartz relating the anecdote? Thank you, Alexis Gilliland,
for your cartoon theory of plate tectonics. Finally, in his collaboration with
Steve Stiles, how does Bill Rotsler get away with creating such expressive
characters with so few pen strokes?- - - - - - - - - -
Vincent Clarke, Welling, Kent, United Kingdom Aside from the general excellence of
Mimosa 11, I was impressed by the range of artists you'd collected, not
only the inimitable Steve Stiles but such new talents (to me, anyway) as Peggy
Ranson for the Contents Page heading and Alan Hutchinson for the growling washbasin.
Terrific stuff.Bruno Ogorelec reminded me very much
of the English John Berry's stuff in Hyphen, Orion, and other zines --
some absurd facet of life parlayed by a vivid imagination into fannish art. Well,
I suppose that holds for all humour, but it's peculiarly gratifying to read such
stuff produced under such awful conditions. Bravo Bruno!Walt Willis' panorama of `50s names
in "I Remember Me" brought out some memories, as was probably intended. One name
mentioned was that of Charles Duncombe. Charlie was a b-i-ig tough railway worker
from London's tough, Cockney, East End, a laboring man and a Communist who was so
patently honest that for years he was Treasurer of any London Circle funds from
Conventions, etc. -- for most of the time there was no entrance fee.Charlie's Communism was of a simple,
committed kind that saw the world divided into the Good (Commies) and the To Be
Converted (the rest) and he used to get into ferocious arguments with passing
intellectuals like Sam Youd (aka John Christopher). One evening Sam was so incensed
that he brought a refugee from Poland up to the White Horse, to confront Charlie
with evidence that Red rule wasn't working. Charlie listened, then gave his big
booming laugh and passed it off -- the refugee must have done something
unlawful.Charlie made only one or two
appearances in fanzines but he was always around in the `50s. But three or four
years ago I was at the Science Fiction Foundation here in London, and Joyce Day (who
although mundane, has been the Foundation backbone for many years) pointed to a damp
cardboard box shoved under a table. "It's from a Mr. Dunscombe ((sic))," she said.
"His father used to collect Astounding, and he found them in the cellar."
Inside the box were 60 or so Astoundings, dating from the late `40s, some
with mildew on them. Poor Charlie.Incidentally, Charlie was the hero of
a squib by Eric Frank Russell, which appeared in Slant No.6 (Winter `51/`52).
L. Sprague De Camp was paying a flying visit to the White Horse, and was entertaining
visitors with linguistic skills, e.g., by demonstrating how Shakespeare would have
talked. Then he met Charlie. EFR reported:# # # #
One hundred-percent Cockney fan
buttonholes de Camp with this abstruse problem: "Jer rumble th' wullannullay?"De Camp, making a frantic snatch at
his endangered reputation as stfdom's leading linguist: "Huh?"Fan, frowning: "Jer rumble th'
wullannullay?"De Camp, feeling himself sinking:
"Come again?"Fan, becoming ireful: "Seasy, en it?
JER RUMBLE TH' WULLANNULLAY?"*De Camp, feebly, as he goes down for
the third time: "I'm sure I don't know."Fan, withdrawing swiftly as one would
from a rattlesnake: "Cor blimey!"(* Did you understand
The World of Null-A?)# # # #
Yes, it really happened like that. I
was an onlooker.As a footnote to Dave Kyle's article
on the Order of St. Fantony, there is still a photo-cum-scrap album in the hands of
old-time English fan Peter Mabry which was originally owned by the late Bob
Richardson, one of the founders of the order. There's many photos of participants
in the ceremonies therein, and other memorabilia.- - - - - - - - - -
Alan Stewart, Melbourne, Victoria, Australia Walt Willis' recollections and
recourse to his correspondence file for 1953 bodes ill for any such future thoughts
on my part. I mean, I don't really maintain a complete 1992 correspondence file,
let alone ones from earlier years. I tend to keep copies of outgoing correspondence
connected with a particular activity, such as con organising, but throw it all out
when the event is finished. Even copies of sent letters are only retained until I
receive a reply, and arriving correspondence goes into the bin after it becomes
dated. This may be a great loss for future Australian fan historians, but at least
I don't have to buy another filing cabinet yet.Like Pamela Boal in your lettercol, I
didn't attend an organised fannish meeting until out of my teens, 22 actually, having
been reading SF for over 15 years. Part of this was due to growing up on a farm and
attending a country high school, but organised fandom and myself never crossed paths
while I was at Uni. Similarly, I never saw an episode of Star Trek until I
tracked down special cinema screenings in Melbourne after graduating. The country
TV stations never ran them during my formative years, at least they didn't after we
got a TV in 1972, a great event after electricity in 1966.I remember we were given the day off
when Armstrong stepped onto the moon, because our teacher was interested in it,
wanted us all to see it, and our small primary school didn't boast a set. Luckily,
our cousins down the road did, so we went visiting that morning. Back at University
now, the undergrads and a lot of my fellow postgrads look blank when I mention
remembering that July event. I feel old and I'm only 29!- - - - - - - - - -
Alan Sullivan, London, United Kingdom In "I Remember Me," the Robert Bloch
comments on conventions and the duality of Fans (A and B) and 'Professional
Detachment' is rather different from the current state of affairs. Nowadays, not
only do the Type A fans have a good time, they also write about how outrageous
it was, afterwards, with utmost relish. I like to read articles such as this one,
because it gives you a perspective, and reminds you just how much fandom has grown
and changed. Well done again to the artists in this
issue. Good Steve Stiles cover, neat illos to the articles, especially Teddy
Harvia's cartoons, Kurt Erichsen, and Alan Hutchinson (Night of the Vampire
Washbasin). Bruno Ogorelec's disgustingly hairy washbasin was also totally gross
and very funny. As Group Safety Rep a year or so back, I had to condemn the fridge
in the admin block when the contents started to evolve their own little
self-contained microcosm. I'd never seen milk crawl before...As for your opening comments and
comments elsewhere (in Stet #4), I suspect I would have been more
frustrated than anything by the scale and seeming disorganisation of Worldcon: too
much all at once. Ditto 4 sounds more like my sort of con; smaller, relaxed,
and more informal. I don't know if there is a UK equivalent to Ditto or Corflu, but
I would like to go to something like this.- - - - - - - - - -
Mike Glicksohn, Toronto, Ontario, Canada Concerning your opening comments about
Chicon, I suppose many of us have created the Worldcon First Fan game for ourselves
{{ed. note: where we try to guess the name of the first
fan we'll recognize at Worldcon }}. I've played it myself some 19 times
and you know what? It's astonishing, at least in my case, how often the first fan I
recognize is someone I have no desire to speak to! The main reason I stopped
attending worldcons about eight years ago was financial, but the reason I didn't
miss attending worldcons was exactly the difficulty you described in locating
and spending quality time with my friends.- - - - - - - - - -
Buck Coulson, Hartford City, Indiana I avoided the Winnipeg party at
Chicon, mostly because I had no intention of ever going to a convention in Winnipeg.
The party that was the real wall-to-wall crush when I got there was the Baen Books
celebration for Lois McMaster Bujold's Hugo. I had to push my way over to the bar,
and then push my way away from it. Not too surprisingly, I suppose, the back room
where Lois was sitting had the fewest people in it, but Lois looked rather dazed, so
I assumed there had been quite a few people there earlier. Things did clear out
after a while, so I could get out of the room. (The only people out of the hundred
or so in the suite that I even recognized were Toni Weisskopf, Lois, and Lillian
Stewart Carl, who was lending Lois moral support and possibly physical as well.)- - - - - - - - - -
David Bratman, San Jose, California In keeping with the great
Mimosa tradition of commenting on the letter column, I'll add as a kind of
oblique footnotes to Martin Morse Wooster's letter in M11 that X.J. Kennedy,
the distinguished poet who was a fan in his post-WWII youth, wrote a contribution to
Contemporary Authors' Autobiography Series which includes an account of his fannish
past. He wonders if any of the fannish institutions he participated in are still
around. Someone should write the guy and tell him!You are to be admired for producing
such an entertaining collection on horror stories of everyday life. Each one seems
to top all the others. (Sharon Farber's supply is inexhaustible.) Which is worse,
I wondered: Craig Hilton's Fiat worst than death or Bruno Ogorelec's apartment? I'm
sure I wouldn't want to find out through first-hand experience. They make
tremendously interesting reading, though.- - - - - - - - - -
Mark Nelson, Leeds, West Riding, United Kingdom I'm not sure that I could write an
article suitable for publication in Mimosa because the zine makes for such
depressing reading. All the articles are crafted and well-written, depressing
well-written. And the main effect of reading the zine is to realize what a horrible
mundane life I have lived. Having almost reached the grand age of 24, I feel that
life has passed me by. I have no tales of great fannish legend to recount and no
amusing anecdotes to recall......Of course there was the time on my
23rd birthday when I went with nearly-famous-fan Steve Glover around the pubs of
Leeds. But I am sure that Steve would not want me to bring back up stories of him
vomiting all over the streets of Leeds, or more importantly over my trousers and
shoes. Those shoes have never been worn since and now reside in a box full of
fanzines -- who knows what they might fetch in some fannish auction in years to
come?I enjoyed reading the Fannish tales,
which aside from being good reading in their own right serve two important purposes.
For the older fen it gives them a chance to recount old lore and for other old fen a
chance to comment on it. A small step for the writer but a large step towards that
definitive history of fandom. For younger fans it's an opportunity to learn more
about fannish traditions and fan history.- - - - - - - - - -
Chuch Harris, Daventry, Northants, United Kingdom Now, I know other people have already
said so, but I find Mimosa extraordinarily hard to comment on. There's
seldom anything I disagree with and I seem to read through each issue in a sort of
rosy haze, nodding approval every couple of paragraphs or so.But not this time. As I was saying
to Sheryl a couple of weeks ago, I suspect I am being written out of fandom. Written
out? Moi? Well, yes -- you remember how in Pravda (you all read
Pravda of course?) (with a torch under the bedcovers????) when a previously
acclaimed politician was relegated to the Shit List, they diligently wrote him out of
history. He became a non-person. Any appearance in old photographs was quickly
airbrushed out. His books and pamphlets were suddenly out of print, and his name was
never mentioned again. The other papers picked it up and in no time at all he was
completely forgotten. Search your memory banks...Vladimir Molotov...who he,
tovarich? Even his cocktail miraculously metamorphosised into the Boris Bomb.And it happens all over. Even in
fandom. Do you really believe Francis T. Laney vanished into obscurity after
parting with Burb? Nowadays, nobody ever mentions his 12 year stint as assistant
editor to John W. Campbell, Jr. on ASF, or his success with Unknown,
let alone his marriage to Morojo and, subsequently, their eight children (after his
vasectomy had been successfully repaired).You see, he's a non-person, too. And
it happens all the time. Lesser fen envy the fame and adulation that they think
should rightfully be theirs. The higher you are, the farther you fall.I know. It is happening to me.
Every week I write 20 long fan letters. None of them are ever delivered. I
never make the WAHF list in Mimosa. Pulp loses the superb
columns I submit for every issue. Even Proxyboo crosses me off their books
and mumbles about returning my annual subscription...eventually.Look; I'll show you what I mean. You
read "I Remember Me" in the last Mimosa... all those long lists of people who
wrote to Walter Himself in 1953? Fannish legends like Bloch, Temple, Eney, Grennell,
Eric Frank Russell, A. Vincent Clarke, Ethel Lindsay, Norman G. Wansborough...giants
every one of them. The list is endless. Hundreds and hundreds of glittering
correspondents... But nary a mention of kindly Chuchy who reached down from his
pinnacle to pat the Willis feet (firmly encased in their clay socks) onto the ladder
leading to success and fame, who cossetted and protected him, who taught him the
essential difference between its and it's. Who wrote to him every day of the week
except Sunday (when he wrote twice).Sharper than a serpent's tooth... and,
er, I've just spotted that, right at the end of the piece, it sez... "To Be
Continued." All this diatribe wasted! Obviously, this first installment was not
more than a mere prologue leading up to the coruscating climax... "The Chuchy
Phenomenon" in the very next thrilling issue.- - - - - - - - - -
Robert Bloch, Los Angeles, California Mimosa smells as sweet as ever,
and #11 certainly brings back a lot of familiar names, plus many memories. The issue
arrived at a propitious time, just as I'm packaging the manuscript of my
autobiography and sending it off to the publisher. Needless to say, some of your
contributors are mentioned in this account of a sad and misspent life -- but I'm
including some clean stuff, too.- - - - - - - - - -
We Also Heard From: Harry Andruschak; Pamela Boal; Lester Boutillier; Ned Brooks; Gary Brown; Chester Cuthbert; Richard Dengrove; Cathy Doyle; Sharon Farber; Don Fitch; Brad Foster; Benoit Girard; John Guidry; Rob Hansen; Lynn Hickman; Craig Hilton; Steve Hughes; Alan Hutchinson; Ben Indick; Ruth Judkowitz; Irv Koch; Dave Kyle; Ken Lake; Fred Lerner; Fred Liddle; Guy Lillian III; Ethel Lindsay; Adrienne Losin; LynC; Mark Manning; Norm Metcalf; Bruno Ogorelec; Marc Ortlieb; Karen Pender-Gunn; Curt Phillips; Derek Pickles; David Rowe; Julius Schwartz; Bob Shaw; Noreen Shaw; Roger Sims; Steve Sneyd; Graham Stone; Roy Tackett; Michael Waite; Kate Waterous; Taral Wayne; Roger Weddall; and Henry Welch. We also received a taped letter from Eric Bentcliffe, which arrived about a month before he died. Fandom will miss him. - - - - - - - - - -
 Title illustration by Linda Michaels Chat cartoon by Teddy Harvia. Other illustrations by Alexis Gilliland, Phil Tortorici, William Rotsler & Steve Stiles, Stu Shiffman, Brad Foster, and Diana Harlan Stein |
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