Time now for the third in Forry Ackerman's mini-autobiographical series. In
Mimosa 17, Forry described the early 1940s, from the second World
Science Fiction Convention through his science fictional activities during the
second world war. This time it's on to the post-war 1940s and the early 1950s,
including the beginnings of Forry's famous science fiction collection, international
/ fan activities, the very first Hugo Award, and more...
People often ask me about my
collection. Back in the 1940s, it was a bit smaller than it is now, but I still
had 1,300 books. And when I went off to war, the question arose: What's to become
of my collection? Well, when I entered the military, it looked to me like E.
Everett Evans and some of the other elderly fans around town would never be called
up unless there was an actual invasion of America. So I said, "In case I don't
make it back, why don't you take my collection, and rent some little store front
and put it in there?" When the war ended, they seemed kind of disappointed that I
survived, because they were sort of looking forward to having the collection on
display. At that point I said, "We don't really have to wait for me to die, you
know. We can still exhibit it." And that's basically what happened. The
collection became known as The Fantasy Foundation, and it was publicized at the
next year's worldcon, which was in Los Angeles.
Prior to the 4th World Science
Fiction Convention, the Pacificon, which was the last worldcon I ever nicknamed, we
had one of the pre-con meetings up in my apartment. It was then that the question
arose of who we should have as a Guest of Honor. I don't think I've ever told this
tale -- it's one that made me very unhappy at the time, but I guess it made me a
great hero with the feminists of the day. I said, "Well, what do you say if we
have our Guest of Honor for the first time be a female?" The leading lady writer
of the time was Catherine Moore, who lived right there in L.A. "You know, we might
also have a female editor, Mary Gnaedinger, who edited Fantastic Mysteries.
And maybe we could get Margaret Brundage, the great artist."
But right away, somebody complained:
"No, you can't! Henry Kuttner is going to be very upset -- you have to have
Kuttner along with his wife."
I objected loudly. "No! That would
destroy the whole notion! Kuttner should be proud, that of all the women
possibilities, his wife is the one that's honored. We're not saying that she is
better than he is, we're just saying she's the best woman writer of the time." But
everybody hollered me down. We did have a nice substitution, though -- A.E. van
Vogt and his writer wife, Edna Mayne Hull. But I always felt kind of cheated, that
they couldn't see it my way. And we never have had an all-female Worldcon Guest of
Honor list.
But back to The Fantasy Foundation...
I thought we wanted to have something to show the fans rather than just the name,
so I knocked myself out -- I recorded information on all 1,300 books I had at the
time. I got kind of wrapped up in that, and I thought, I don't want to just enter
'The Man Who Mastered Time by Ray Cummings' -- I should tell whether it was
a first edition, then I should say who drew the cover, and then I should mention
its subject matter if it's a title where you'd have no idea what the book is about,
and so on. I was really going all-out. My listing got called I Bequeath --
I said, "All these books I freely give to the world, for posterity."
Well, when the great day dawned on
the day the convention began, I was the first one at the convention halls, about
8 o'clock in the morning, but I had so knocked myself out prior to the
convention, that by 4 o'clock that afternoon I absolutely collapsed. I lasted just
long enough to tell them, with a very halting, husky voice, about the idea of The
Fantasy Foundation. After I collapsed, they took me upstairs. I was trembling all
over; I was icy cold. They covered me up, and I think I passed out for a little
while. That evening, at 8 o'clock, I heard Robert Bloch arriving downstairs.
Over the microphone he said, "Well, folks, here I am in Los Angeles, all the way
from Milwaukee. Before I left, I made three sales, that made it possible for me to
be here -- my overcoat, my typewriter, and my car."
It was the first time, I believe,
that we had a four-day science fiction convention. Well, they carried me home, and
I thought, I'll have a good night's sleep, you know, and I'll be up. But the
second day of the convention went by, and the third, and the fourth... I was in
bed for 19 days! It was a total physical collapse...
At about that time, it occurred to
me that the term 'Worldcon' was actually a misnomer. We had been calling it the
World Science Fiction Convention, but actually nobody had yet come from outside the
continental U.S.A. So I proposed creating what I called the 'Big Pond Fund'. It
was evident who the greatest fan in England was at the time -- it was Ted Carnell.
It was also evident that it would be a good idea to find a way to bring him to the
next year's worldcon. You know, I honestly believed that I had only to mention it
and the dollar bills would appear all over the place -- we'd have a thousand bucks,
and he would come.
Well, at the end of a year, I had a
measly one hundred and two dollars or something like that, and I saw that altruism
wasn't going to work. So I went after greed, and got a raffle going. I got Arkham
House and the various magazines of the day to offer free subscriptions. I also
personally put in a lot of stuff; for one dollar you had an opportunity to get the
whole thing. I even disappointed a lot of my friends at Christmas; instead of
giving them some kind of present, I bought five chances on their behalf. But even
after the second year, I still wasn't much further ahead. We had three hundred
bucks, or so, and it still wasn't enough to get Carnell over. So in the third year,
I gave up on everybody else. I put in enough money, I think, out of my own pocket
to get Carnell over. He finally came in 1949. And that was the end of organized
fan funds, at least temporarily; the idea lay fallow for several years until the
Walt Willis Fund, and then the Trans-Atlantic Fan Fund started up. The second time
around, it all worked!
I should say at this point that not
all international fan visits were the result of fan funds. In 1953, a Japanese fan
named Tetsu Yano came over, using his own resources.
After the second world war, the
G.I.'s stationed in Japan had been burning a lot of paperbacks. Tetsu happened by
one of the times this was going on, saw a science fiction book, and grabbed it out
of the flames. And then, by Japanese standards, he did a rather daring thing -- he
wrote a letter that was published in Thrilling Wonder, in which he said,
'I'm just a poor know-nothing Japanese boy bitten by the science fiction bug.
Could anybody conceivably send me an old cast-off magazine?' So I sent him over
some care packages, we started a correspondence, and finally I mentioned that in
1953 we were about to have what we called a Westercon. I got back quite an excited
letter, in which he wrote, 'Gee, if I could manage to get there, would I be
permitted to attend?' And I wrote back, 'Permitted! Oh, my god, you would
be the Guest of Honor! This would be grand! You could stay at my home; we'd be
thrilled to have you!' So, somewhat later, I got a telegram that read, 'Tetsu have
bought ticket, come and go. Please be waiting 29 days from now.' He had gotten on
a cattle boat, I think -- with just six human beings aboard. Twenty-nine days
later, we were down at the dock when he arrived. The first day he was with us he
was so excited -- he couldn't sleep all night long. Well, he'd only planned to
stay two weeks, but we kept him here six months.
He had some adventures while he was
here in the U.S.A. Besides the Westercon, we also brought him to that year's World
Science Fiction Convention, the 1953 Philcon. He, Wendy and I, and H.J. Campbell,
the editor of the British magazine Authentic Science Fiction, made some kind
of sight as we were driving cross-country to Philadelphia. Campbell had a big,
black beard, and sitting beside him was this little oriental chap. There was a
time or two that I wasn't sure we were even going to make it to Philadelphia. I
remember we got up to the top of a high mountain pass. My wife Wendy was driving,
and our car couldn't quite make it over the top. So the three of us guys got out
and pushed it to the top, and when it started going down the hill on the other side,
we were all running after the car!
Another reason I'll remember that
1953 Philcon is because, at the hands of Isaac Asimov, I received the first of all
Hugo Awards. And then I gave it away. What actually happened there was
mis-reported, so let me use this opportunity to clear it up.
When I received the Hugo, I felt
that my best years of fanning were behind me. If they only had said it was a
career award, I would have felt comfortable in accepting it. But it was supposed
to be for the Best Fan of the preceding year, and I was convinced that Best Fan was
actually Ken Slater, over in England. I didn't really feel worthy of it. It was
like giving a guy a check that doesn't belong to him, so I sort of endorsed it. I
said, "I certainly appreciate this, folks, but I really believe that Ken Slater
should have it." And with that, I left the stage. I really don't know who took
possession of the trophy; if my life depended on it, I couldn't say. The most
obvious individual would have been H.J. Campbell, who was going back home to
England after the convention, and would have been in a position to deliver it to
Ken Slater.
Well, when I sat back down, Wendy
was furious. She said, "What have you done, Forry? You've insulted
the entire convention! They voted this to you -- how could you give it away??"
What can I say? When I got up there,
I had said what I felt - that I didn't really deserve the award. But Wendy managed
to so convince me that everybody was going to clobber Forry Ackerman, that for the
only time in my life, I didn't go to the masquerade. I was just too embarrassed
and upset. The next day, I crept down early because I didn't want to see anybody.
I went down about six o'clock to have breakfast, and I bumped into Robert Bloch.
He came over, grabbed me, and said, "Oh, Forry, what a magnificent gesture! Why,
you did more for international fandom..." and so on. It did make me feel better.
But I all the time I was thinking, "I'll kill her! I'll kill her!!"
Some years later, the award was
returned to me. People had kept asking me over the years, 'Didn't you get the
first Hugo? If so, where is it?' Well, that eventually got me wondering about Ken
Slater. I finally wrote him and said, "I gave it to you, it's yours, fair and
square. I'm not an Indian giver. I'm not asking for it back, but I'm just
wondering if you've given any thought what is to eventually become of that award.
If you have a son or daughter who would appreciate it, fine, think nothing more
about it. But if not, I'd like to preserve it."
Well, I understood he might have
taken that the wrong way. So Dave Kyle went to bat on my behalf, and explained to
him I wanted it back only if he hadn't anybody to pass it on to. The next time I
saw him in England, he very generously gave it to me then and there.
But back to the Philcon... I don't
remember that my speech endorsing Ken Slater was very long at all. But one of the
people up on the dais must have thought otherwise. One photo, apparently, was
taken at the moment I received the award and was accepting it. It showed Isaac
Asimov, the rascal, standing behind me looking at his watch, as if I had been
talking on for too long!
Next: The series concludes with more about Asimov and Robert Heinlein, and even a
visit to Northern Ireland.
All illustrations by Teddy Harvia
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