Walt Willis returns now, with another installment of the best from his
correspondence files, this time about some of the events from his visits to North
America in 1952 and 1962, including tales of bottomless ashtrays, man-eating
elevators, and more. It was during that second trip that Walt made a memorable
stopover in Wisconsin where he visited another notable fan from that era, Dean
Grennell, who, as we'll see, was an accomplished photographer as well as fan
writer.  I have a confession to make. I have
come to the end of my correspondence files for the 1950s. All I have left are the
gutted remains of 1954. I don't have the slightest idea of where the rest of the
1950s have gotten to, but I suspect they are in the garage in a bookcase behind the
old wardrobe which was too big for the auctioneer to sell. I don't feel like
shifting it myself so I'll just have to wait until the next visit by my son, Bryan.
Meanwhile, I can only offer you some vestiges of 1952/3/4 from an envelope marked
'Interesting Pages From Pre-1954', which my hand had refused to destroy.The first is a carbon of a letter
to Shelby Vick, written a week after I had gotten back from my 1952 trip to
America. It's dated, retrospectively, September 1952, but it must surely have been
written in October of that year.I got back just
over a week ago and I've hardly had time to look around. I've started on the
report, but I just don't seem to be able to write. I guess it'll come eventually
though. After this, however, I'm going to cut down on that form of crifanac...I
don't like the way people were beginning to talk about WAW in every zine. I've got
a sort of mental bloc (not to be confused with Tucker's father) about writing about
the U.S. trip till I've got the report done, so I won't talk about that. It was
wonderful, though. I would like to say something about this suggestion that Lee
[Hoffman] 'monopolized' me. Must say I didn't notice it. I don't suppose Lee and
I were alone together for more than a few minutes from the beginning of the con
until the end except for an hour one night -- we went out on the observation tower
for some fresh air and a rest, and talked quietly for an hour about Life and similar
subjects. The rest of the time I was either roaming around talking to people or
sitting quietly watching the convention. Admittedly, Lee was at the same table,
but since when have fans been frightened by girls? Anyone could have come along
and talked, and plenty did...From what little I've heard of
reactions to me at the con, it seems I was quiet. Well, of course I was, but not
as quiet as all that. Since it's in all our interests to make out that I not only
enjoyed myself at the con (which of course I did), but that I occasionally said
something above the 'duhhh' level, I have screened my memory banks for remarks that
you might like to quote as fillers or something:- - - - - - - - - -
In the coffee room, Tucker: "Well,
how about some mush?"WAW: "What's that? Eskimo
hotdogs?"- - - - - - - - - -
In the penthouse, Bea [Mahaffey]:
"He was a good writer until he began to think his stories ought to have
significance."WAW: "He sold his birthright for a
pot of message?"- - - - - - - - - -
In [Robert] Bloch's room, BeaM:
"You want an ashtray?"WAW (tossing his ash out the window
over Chicago): "No thanks, this one isn't full yet."Ten years later, Terry Carr bet me $1,500 that that last remark was to be found in The Harp Stateside. Now here, completely out of place,
is what looks like a carbon of part of a letter from Dean Grennell and me to Chuck
Harris, written in 1962 in the Grennell house...[Willis]
S'funny, the last time I wrote a letter in the States it was on an Underwood, the
one [at Lee Hoffman's home] in Savannah, Georgia, and it was probably to you. It's
not one of the cream of contemporary typers (like the electric portable in [Dick]
Lupoff's flat, which is terrifying -- imagine it, power-operated typos) but a solid
satisfying affair. Madeleine and I have been having a wonderful time since our
plane landed, but I think here is the nicest of all. Isn't it wonderful you can
come a quarter of the way round the world and meet people for the first time, and
feel among old friends?Well, briefly, what has happened so
far is that we landed in New York on Monday evening and were, in accordance with a
fine old tradition, met by two rival groups of welcomers. The immediate problem we
solved by splitting ourselves into two cars, the marriage-disruptive influences of
NY fandom thus operating immediately, and found ourselves eventually in the
Wollheim flat on Clyde Street (you remember, "When Wolls Clyde"?) with Terry Carr
and Ted White. They told us they had met Ethel [Lindsay] too and taken her home
immediately and given her a bath, but miraculously they didn't insist on this with
us. Next day we roamed around NY and to a dinner party in Greenwich Village. Next
day a party in the Lupoff's luxury flat, and on Thursday by bus to Chicago. Then
the Convention, a vast sprawling affair where Madeleine had a wonderful time and I
enjoyed myself nearly as much. Then in Dean's vast luxurious Oldsmobile at speeds
up to 100 miles per hour to Fond du Lac and the fabulous basement, where we are now.
This is a fabulous place, a bit like the Oblique House attic and three workshops
rolled into one. Only thing wrong with it is that you could hardly play
ghoodminton in it, with all the stuff that's down here. Dean is still developing
photos, about 200 of them since 7:30 this morning, but I think he's ready to take
over now...[Grennell]
Well, yessss...for a bit anyhow. Some of the film we developed early this
morning is dry and ready for printing. A couple of fannish things happened at the
con and you might as well be filled in on them at this point: Bjo Trimble (My
Favorite Chipmunk) saw some poor chap, far gone toward blotto, whimpering and
cringing in an elevator car gone berserk. This thing would close its door, give a
couple of ruminative jiggles, slip its door open again, and jolt a couple of times.
The poor cove would make a despairing lunge for the door and the robot brain of the
mad thing would emit a couple of sardonic clicks as the door slid shut once more.
So Bjo went down to the lobby and amid a crowd of faans and mundanes, leveled a
petite forefinger pistol-wise at the desk clerk and proclaimed in her voice (a
thing of astounding stridency which has made her the absolute dictator of LA
Fandom):- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
"Your Elevator EEEATS People !!!" - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -  Dean has just
heard the tocsin from his timer and gone off to do whatever he does. Bjo is a dear,
a little freckled ball of fire, and I'm glad we'll be meeting her again in LA. The
other thing we were going to tell you... well, you remember how last time in `52 we
were persecuted by Catholic girls, the ones who were doing Nameless Things in the
Convention Hall? Well, they were there again this year, no doubt looking for
Harlan Ellison, and including some ladies dressed in long black frocks who would
have been a sensation at the Masquerade Ball. The sf convention must have puzzled
them a bit. The last morning, one of our lot collapsed in the main lobby, either
from a mild epileptic fit or from just having looked at his hotel bill, and a
little crowd of these MABLA people (Midwest Association of the Society of the Lay
Apostolate) gathered round. Passing by, Dean heard one of them make this sinister
and unsettling remark:- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
"He's One of Those World People." - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - Well, we've
been off trying to do a mock-up of a Flying Saucer photo. We just got the film out
of the developer and stole a peek at it, and I'm happy to be able to say that it
looks as though it will make a fairly deceitful print. We are going to terminate
things for now and dash off for a bite to eat. You have not heard the last of this,
Chuq 'arris, nor you, Sue 'arris, but we wanted you to know that whenever trufen
get together, the name of Harris is on everyone's tongue, amid the fur and
such. All illustrations by Charlie Williams |
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