Skyliner #3

EACH THING IN ITS PLACE: Crankitorial ............................... 03

I Are A Author! ...........................06

Journey Fiction ........................ 09

Drinking Things .........................13

Shooting Shit with FJA .............10

Goodbye Wendy ....................... 21

Goodybye Joey & The Burn ..... 24

Goin’ Poestal ........................... 48

Things We May Have Done ..... 51 Skyliner #3 is a Zine From Pixel Motel. ©Pixel2018 PixelMotel.

Most contents likely by me, you lazy bastards. This is an adult publication for those over 21. In case you haven’t been warned, PC doesn’t live here. If you need a warning about anything, this zine isn’t for you, and if you can’t take a joke, for god sakes, go no further.

If you have ever flagged anything, you do not have permission to download, inspect, copy and are forbidden to lend your opinion online regarding this zine. Dissenting viewpoints are appreciated if written and signed by the author.

Properties owned by donating artists (if any) and may not be copied without express say-so from whoever the hell that is.

Seeking fannish creativity but we’re not holding our breath, fanboy!

Alan White Space Cowboy

CONTACT https:// www.fa cebook .com/ alan.w hite.31

https://

IIIIIIIIIIIII www.i mdb.c IIIIIIIIIIIII

IIIIIII IIIIII

Crankitorial Holy crap, another one of these things? Appears so, my friend. We’ll start by asking a most pertinent question: WHO READS THIS STUFF ANYWAY. . .?

Back in the chewin’ and spittin’ days, it was easy to see who read this stuff. Mainly because you handed potential readers the damn thing on the spot or sent it off through the mails in their general direction and hoped for the best. ”The Best” of course usually meant a “Letter of Comment” or maybe “The Usual”, a trade for a zine of their own, imagine that! Then you waited (but didn’t hold your breath).

Why, I remember in 1980, I brought a stack of my new zine “Airwaves” to a meeting of LASFS. Surely a slick new offset zine would be the hit of the evening. I handed a copy to the first Fantard I approached who flipped through the thing and inquired “You call this a fanzine?” and promptly threw it on the floor. Well, it was a quick and honest response if somewhat shortsighted, but that’s just me. I plopped a pile of them on the clubhouse table and there they remained for the entirety of the evening as if bearing a sign reading “A Pox Resides Here.” If it wasn’t mimeo, it wasn’t happening.

Zines, like time and fans come and go and today thanks to the internet, have become easier to create and share before the eyes of the world. Hope for the best, maybe get a ‘Like’ or emoji at the very least.

When the first two issues of “Skyliner” came out, I placed them here and there on Facebook, where they might garner an interesting reception.

Several months later, I have gone back to these pages to see (like cultured pearls) what has grown thereon: Faaneds Issue #1 Response: Seen by 91 • 14 Likes, Comments: 6. Bless you Penney & Purcell Issue #2 Response: Seen by 88 • 5 Likes, 2 Comments.

Faaneds seem to be the Big Dog getting viewers and smattering of response.

FANZINES: The Definitive Facebook Group Issue #1 Response: Seen by ? • 14 Likes, 1 Comment; Issue #2 Response: Seen by ?, 2 Likes, 8 Comments.

Comments and likes seem pretty sparse across all posts for someplace with “Definitive” in the title. I guess the definitive response was Meh! The Style of Pulp Issues #1 & 2 Response: 0. Dang, this is a tough house.

Horror, Science Fiction, and Fantasy Writers and Artists Group Issue #2 Response: In place of my post, there resides a banner reading: “Some of your content has been flagged because it might go against our Community Standards.”

What the hell does that mean?

Society for the Perpetuation of Fannish Fandom Issue #1 Response: Seen by ? • 12 Likes, 10 Comments.

Issue #2 Another damn banner. Don’t look now; these banners don’t perpetuate anything but fake neo-prudism.

Fanzine Appreciation and History Issue #1 Response: Seen by ? • 12 Likes, 7 Comments.

Issue #2 There was a banner here too! What Gives?

Banner removed by Admin, thank you Alan.

Seen by ? • 2 Likes, 3 Comments.

It appears my rather jolly cover on Skyliner #2 has been judged by some troll lingering in the shadows of Facebook too excessive to be seen by the likes of YOU dear reader! I sent messages to five admins to explain their inaction by leaving the banner in place or not even telling me it was there. Only one removed the banner. Go figure.

The fanzine community has been around 90 years, 57 of which I have been a participant.

Further text says the zine “Might be Sensitive” but that just doesn’t work for me.

Well, these are new times, maybe I’m out of step with the new prude. Let’s see a show of hands; how many feel this cover “Might go against…” the fanzine community? One caveat, if you raise your hand, you must explain the means and extent to which that damage will be done. My bet is, “Might” is used by those with no information on the zine’s actual ability to do anything, making them full of shit. Shouldn’t a detractor be “sure” before they shut someone down?

Since one must petition to become a member of each page, and each page sets up its own rules and regs, doesn’t every page therefore become its own community with their own standards who police their own pages and explain why they should shut someone down? I guess not. After all, why else would they allow The Prude Fairy to make decisions for them? At least the asshole who threw my zine on the floor made a decision and owned it, good for him. At least he had a fucking backbone. ◀

BLESS YOU ANDY HOOPER He who gets it!

SKYLINER #1 & #2, No one else does fanzines that look anything like Alan White's fanzines. He's the

love child of Richard Corben and Alphonse Mucha, raised by Dr. Teeth and the Electric Mayhem. He's absolutely attuned to all the things I loved about fandom at the age of 14: Hollywood monsters, cheesecake models in costume, futuristic weapons, vampire babes, fans and pros partying. Looking at this fanzine, who wouldn't want to be a fan? I have a strong sense that Alan's mix of images and hyperlinks are what all fanzines will be like in the future, but for now, it's a pretty unique experience. (from FLAG #21) THANK YOU Mr. HOOPER

DECIDE FOR YOURSELF

Get your back issues of Skyliner FREE! Click ME

They’re as free as Free Speech Should be.

Who would have thought Marijuana would be legal while personal fanzines on a private zine page would be banned without discussion?

If you have a problem with it, write me.

Train to Innsmouth

Through Time and Space with Brush and Pixel OK, admit it, At some point you wanted to be an author. Author of what isn't important, but today we’re talking novels.

I know I did. I spent weekends reading that rash of Burroughs paperbacks inundating the newsstands in the ‘60s and all those tawdry potboilers of women behind bars, and space chicks with brass bras, rayguns and riding dragons as if they were circus ponies! At first, it was tough finding a milieu. High-school filled us with enough angst, between Holden Caulfield, Franny, Zooey, Jimmy Stark, Meursault and Dan Freeman. And I certainly wasn’t doing myself any favors swimming through volumes of Ann Radcliffe and Montague Summers. What a steamy porridge that was, and I swear I don’t remember a hair of it today.

I kinda got in at the end of the Pulp era. Cherokee Bookshop on Hollywood Blvd. was the Tut’s Tomb of old pulps where I bought a lot of that stuff if for no other reason than to get high sniffing pages of those hallowed tomes. Pulps, it seems, were my gateway drug of choice. I still absentmindedly sniff book pages today; force of habit without the same results.

But I thought there was something cool; my vision of the pulp writer, living in a cheap flat, wearing suspenders and a fedora accompanied by the late-night clacking of his Smith Premier; tiling the floor with cigarette butts and whiskey bottles; ahhhh, next stop heroin! Oh, those dark and stormy nights, women screaming and tough guys named Vargo dying in the gutter like the dogs they were. And those stockings with seams disappearing into the short skirts of a waitress named Ruby. Well, as Tom Waits said: “…go ahead and call the cops; you don't meet nice girls in coffee shops”.

To date, I’ve written four novels. But not for a moment do I expect anyone to take me for an author, God help us! I shall never cop to having the least talent to do so. It’s merely a hobby I enjoy and it keeps me from getting under foot of the little woman.

To be fair, there are some good ideas to be found here and there in the pages of my stuff.

And the occasional narrative that leaves a solid picture in your mind though you may need a weed-whacker to find it. But then there are the illustrations. That’s why I wanted to do this in the first place you know.

And that I can place squarely at the feet of me sainted grandmum. Georgia was a fabulous Bohemian who lived in a shack barely hanging from a ledge in Topanga Canyon till she died in the late ‘50s. I loved visiting her place, heady with oil paint and tea, even if it meant going where the bears go. Here she would paint, commune with the spirit-world, plot your stars, do whatever the hell Rosicrucians do and otherwise hobnob with the other side.

Years before she had a heated fling with infamous anarchist and illustrator Nicholas Reveles who painted murals in San Diego office buildings when not plotting the overthrow of one thing or another! In quieter moments he did charming fantasy bits of which I still have the originals from 1918. On the back are love notes to Georgia written in pencil. In the end, she didn’t buy that Viva la Revolución crap and cut him loose.

There was a bookcase that held all the Brandywine Howard Pyle books with dust jackets, Andrew Wyeth covers, Frank Schoonover and even offbeat stuff by Boris Artzybasheff. My age demanded I read these in years to come, but I was mesmerized by the cover art and tipped-in plates. If there was a seed for me wanting to do any of this, it was planted here.

I don’t recall her being an author, though she kept diaries of her on-a-whim cross-country road trips and adventures into Mexico and Chicago in the 30s.

I miss her and wish I had gleaned some smattering of insight or experiences from being around her. Oh yeah, she also had the first typewriter I ever touched; I was doomed, and I still remember the smell of turpentine and typewriter ribbon.

Cause and Effect Anyway, where were we. . . . oh yeah, mediocrity.

Over the years I was approached by any number of potential authors claiming to have the ability to “Redefine literature and make millions!” All they needed was a little art to put it over the top. But fans I knew, being who, or what they were, neither started nor finished anything, nor knew what to do with it if they had. I found myself spending hours on artwork that would never be seen by anyone, ever (mmm, looking back, maybe that’s a good thing).

At last, and not so terribly long ago I figured, “Hell, if I’m going to get screwed, I’ll screw myself and leave out the middleman!”

Walking Dead hit the television and zombies had taken over the airwaves. I wondered if I could write anything undead-ish while the iron was hot, blood ran cold and illustrate the thing myself! Maybe it will smack of genius, maybe it will stink like the undead themselves, but on the bright side, nobody will know till they buy it!

So I wrote a book Took three months to write “The Zombie Effect”, including art for the cover and a half-dozen pieces inside. Did the “Print on Demand” thing with Createspace. Oh, baby, there’s nothing like receiving a box of your own books, all shiny and new (and yes, I sniffed the pages). Put it on Amazon and waited for the money to roll in. But over six years later, I have sold one book; surprisingly with an excellent review) yet the coffers haven’t rung since.

But wait, it’s the upcoming season of “The Walking Dead”. Everyone will be racing to Facebook to slather over that first episode. Sounded like a good idea to put an ad on Facebook - guaranteeing 100,000 views! Such a deal? Well fuck me. . . not a single sale! Obviously I’m missing something, but I was oblivious to what.

LosCon 63 honored me with a “Guest Artist” deal. I give a talk, I get a huckster table, cool beans. Fifteen minutes into my huckstering, the con reneged on the deal and booted me off the table in favor of a pert young lady; much cuter I admit than myself, who had evidently sold something in the past. I’d have given her anything as well. BUT, it wasn’t before I sold a half dozen books!

Being there and signing stuff must be the ticket!

World Horror Convention. Gene Kelly and I got a wild hair to make the drive to Salt Lake City and hob nob with the Big Dogs.

Despite the dealers room being free and open to the public, it was a fucking ghost town.

Oh, there were dealers alright, from here to the horizon were tables stacked with books, though nothing older than the inception of Print on Demand. It was a sea of Perfect Binding in an imperfect world. Gazing across the wasteland of printed matter deep in the bowels of the horror milieu, the color scheme ran the gamut from dark gray to black and those who trod the aisles were only dealers tired of sitting on their ass all day with nothing to do.

The Guest Artist meet-and-greet wasn’t even attended by the artist nor the bar-tender for that matter, and God forbid the big dogs would allow us into their room parties. The only area of interest was the indie film room containing all the horror a room with no air-conditioning could afford.

Yeah, they have an award ceremony where everyone congratulated themselves for having the ability to snow each other in the most tedious fashion possible.

They even have a trophy designed by Harlan Ellison, cool.

Pull the Wool Over Your Own Damn Eyes for a Change!

The only feedback I’ve ever received on the book, was that people didn’t like military figures on books anymore (Hunh?).

Lissen, at best it’s fan fiction in a pretty cover and I’m no Stephen King. But after several years, I went back and if I’ve learned anything at all, re-wrote the damn thing, fleshed out characters, added some hanky panky, a few more scary bits, changed the title, and added a butt-load of art-pieces, one for every chapter and whim to the tune of 90!

Most of the art is pretty fair I think, some piddling when I was bored. I don’t intend to make any money on this thing, that’s a dead issue. But for my own posterity, I’ve fiddled with it until I couldn’t take it anymore.

So there it sits, 600 pages, 100,000 words, the size of a phone book Amazon tagged at $21 which is the kiss of death. I never met a zombie fan who had $21. But that’s no longer important, it’s done and looks great on the shelf.

In the future, I think I’ll make it an ebook and put it out there for a buck. At least, if anyone buys the thing, maybe someone will get to see the art, and I’ll have a clear conscience.

By the way, The World Horror Convention is on hiatus for the conceivable future.

So I couldn’t control myself. I finished another one, something for an entirely different audience to see what happens.

Still not Hemingway, but something for those who expect nothing.

This is what I call a “Western Gothic Romance”. It’s taking me writing this book to see what I really should have done. Maybe next time.

To think the last cover of Skyliner melted a couple snowflakes, this is a good natured, though rather tepid, dicks and demons - cliché tale with a more Clive Barker ending that probably doesn’t satisfy either of your nasty cravings.

It’s on Amazon as a paperback - $14.00 still sounds like a lot. I’m a cheap bastard who remembers when paperbacks were .25¢.

It’s also an ebook at Smashwords for a buck.

Someday I’ll put the word out on this thing, maybe make it go more one way or a ‘tother and see what happens.

For a nostalgic piece coming up next year, I’m seeking photos and stories regarding

The FIRST and SECOND LONG BEACH SCIENCE FANTASY CONVENTION 1963/64

WESTERCON 18 1965

. .

Journey Fiction

a new publishing house in Las Vegas Jennifer L. Farey

I owe it all to the mortuary. Seriously. I grew up in Hollywood, California, in an apartment on Hollywood Boulevard. The apartment happened to be on the second floor of the Utter-McKinley Mortuary. When my mom said, "There's a family downstairs" I had to be very quiet. No running around, no playing records, no watching TV...so I read books. Lots and lots of books. I loved books and telling stories, so I tried writing my own. I was so determined to become a writer, that one year I got a typewriter for Christmas. I think I was 7 years old, and I loved it.

Fast-forward to 2007. After years and years and years (my Christmas-of-the-typewriter was in the '70s, cough, cough) of trying, my dream became reality. My first book was published. For the next eight years, I continued writing and had another eleven books traditionally published under the name Jennifer AlLee. By 2015, I still loved writing, but was weary of maneuvering the publishing industry gauntlet. And I wasn't the only one. I knew of several authors who were also frustrated. I was thinking of moving to self-publishing, but the more I thought about it, the clearer it became that I didn't want to be a lone wolf out there, just taking care of myself. I wanted to work with other authors. The idea grew, took shape, and after a conversation with my extremely supportive husband, I made the decision to start a publishing company. Journey Fiction was born.

What does Journey Fiction do for its authors? Everything but write the book. Well, almost everything. We edit the manuscript, design the cover, provide publisher-specific ISBNs (none of the generic ones that libraries and book sellers avoid), format print and ebooks for every title, distribute books through Amazon, Ingram Spark, and Draft2Digital, and assist authors with marketing. When I'm telling someone about the company, this is usually the point when they ask, "What do you charge?" and I smile and answer, "Nothing." That's right. Zip. Zilch. Nada.

Noodle. Journey Fiction is a traditional publisher. We're tiny right now, but growing, with plans for bigger things.

So far, Journey Fiction has published six novels in both print and ebook formats, and one audio book. We're open to submissions and excited to see what comes our way, although I would love to see some great time travel, alternate history, or other weird stuff. (I like the weird stuff.)

We publish both general market and faith-based novels. For submission guidelines, visit Journey Fiction To contact me directly, shoot an email to contact@journeyfiction.com and let me know you heard about Journey here.

See ya at the stacks!

. .

Journey Fiction

a new publishing house in Las Vegas THE COUNTERFEIT CLUE Inspired by the famous Girl Detective, the members of the Olentangy Heights Girls' Detective Society, affectionately known as the Nosy Parkers, spent their formative years studying criminology, codes, and capers. Unfortunately, opportunities to put their unique skills to work were thin on the ground in the post-war boom of their little corner of suburbia and they eventually grew up to pursue more sensible careers. Until… she is soon on the trail of a counterfeiting ring that would like nothing more than to see her put out of circulation for good.

THE HAUNTING OF ABRAHAM LINCOLN With the end of the Civil War imminent, a spirit of celebration permeates the United States capitol, yet President Lincoln can’t shake his uneasiness. Plagued by disturbing dreams and ghostly visits from his son, Willie, Lincoln begins to question the realities of his life. Has he fulfilled his sole purpose, and if so, what’s next?

Elsewhere in the city, John Wilkes Booth wrestles with his own demons as he moves closer and closer to an insistent calling to be the savior of the Confederacy

ONE INNER VOICE Sometimes, the High and Mighty need to be taken down a peg or two. Everyone should have a purpose, and this is mine: to make a difference. One death at a time.

San Antonio Police Detectives Randy Monroe and Danny Beckman know two things: a serial killer is on the loose, and they don’t have enough clues to catch him. Surely the fact that the victims are murdered elsewhere and the bodies moved and dumped at churches means something, but what? With every new incident, Randy and Danny become more obsessed with unraveling the facts. But the closer they get to the truth, the more it looks like it might take a miracle to bring the killer to justice.

FINDING MISS WRITE When suspense novelist Carla Williams is accused of planning an actual murder, her life takes on more plot twists than one of her books. Sure, her life's in danger, but she's also caught the attention of handsome detective, Roger Graf, so that kind of evens things out. As Carla nears the end of her novel, it's up to Roger to catch the killer, or it might be the end of Carla's life story as well.

journeyfiction.com

Drinking Things So You Don’t Have To

Public Service Announcement

Mutant White Lightning

Four Loko Gold

The 99¢ store - land of unwanted toys, and unwashed people, I found a product called Mutant White Lightning! Wasn’t White Lightning bad enough without joining the Marvel Universe?

I can’t deny I’ve put a lot of questionable things into my mouth over the years, and frankly, should be embarrassed at not being embarrassed at any of them. But as long as the pictures don’t hit the web, I’m good with it.

How could I possibly pass up a drink with the moniker “Blackout in a Can”! How could I not be intrigued by a Malt Liquor beverage on the run from the Feds that dares not list its ingredients on the 23.5 oz. can and whose taste has been referred to as a “Spicy Afterbirth.”

What is it? Appears to be one of those Monster Energy Drinks without the Energy.

Looks like: Yesterday’s dishwater.

Selling Points: I was intrigued that it contains 480 mg of sodium. True, it pales behind PF Chang’s Dan Dan Noodles at 6,190 milligrams but hey, you don’t have to blow on it to cool it off if you’re in a hurry for a stroke. But I was captured by the name and stayed for the hypertension.

Tastes Like: Remember being caught in the undertow and hit your head on the pylon under the Santa Monica Pier back in the summer of ’64? Add: someone threw an orange rind into the surf somewhere just East of Krakatoa.

Re-read the label to assure myself this was indeed a product you were supposed to drink and not something promoting flaming diarrhea. Just to be sure, I would stay near the house tonight.

Only Possible Use: Nostalgia. If you’re a near death surfer needing one last swig of wipingout, this is for you!

Result: Bought two bottles. The first bottle was so distasteful I started the second just to reassure myself this was the intended flavor. Halfway through the second I was attacked by seagulls. Didn’t finish either.

Website

What it be? Malt liquor - one can contains 12 oz of caffein, the alcohol of 5 (give or take) pints of beer and the ingredients found in your normal ballsafire energy drink.

Looks like: Zombie urine (I guess).

Selling Points: Getting hammered for a measly $3.

Tastes Like: Licking the bottom of a shoe worn by someone shoveling dead rats from Satan’s ass.

Only Possible Use: The perfect rape drug, but only for raping yourself.

Result: Yeah, I got a buzz but no desire to try it again. I don’t need to get hammered that fast and by something with its own wanted poster!

Observation: I doubt I could down two of these, but if I did, I wouldn’t realize it till late the next afternoon. It’s like a crystal ball. “I can see into the future your entire frat party winds up in ER.” Website

SHOOTING THE SHIT WITH MR. MONSTER Spending an afternoon chatting about this and that with the remarkable Forrest J Ackerman.

Time Frame: 1986 about the time of that big-ass auction YOU weren’t invited to.

Transcribed by the equally remarkable Amélie Frank Me: Hi Forry, It’s a lovely day in the City of Angels sitting here in your living room overlooking the House of Pies and a great day to get the scoop on your much touted Collectibles Auction.

4e: About that auction, I'm beginning to get some reaction. Some people chafed and some people asked “How could you? And after 62 years of collecting, why are you selling.” Well, first of all, it’s considerably overblown, when they say 2000 items, I think it may be more like 1000 items.

Me: When did all this chafing begin?

4e: It all began six months ago when I was discovered by the president of an auction outfit named Guernsey's. I never heard of it, but they talked to me over the phone for about an hour saying they only do six auctions a year and they specialize in really far out things, like they auction a merry-go-round piece by piece so you could get one horse if you wanted. And they auctioned the entire contents of the U.S.S.United States, right down to the towels and the toothbrushes.

So he thought it would be unique to have the world’s first great auction of science fiction and I said I don't want all the raisins picked out of my collection leaving just the dross.

I said “I do have three garages full of duplicate material I would be happy to empty as much of that as possible”, so he came out with two assistants, and we spent a weekend here each morning from about 8:30am to about 10:30 at night; and at the time I was well into talks with Disney and thought at last it looks like the majority of the collection was going to go to downtown DisneyWorld and so as I looked at various things in my collection that were really erotic, exotic, nudie, and so on, I thought, well that wouldn't do for Disney. For instance the first cover Margaret Brundage did for Weird Tales I knew wouldn't be suitable for Kiddieland way down yonder in DisneyWorld, so I began to take various things of that nature out of my personal collection so it wouldn't be going to the museum anyway. So where I had six autographed photos of Boris Karloff, or Bela Lugosi, I didn't have to be greedy. I could live with one less, so I'll put that in.

When I met Bela Lugosi in 1951 prior to our meeting, he had 25 Little statuettes of himself made as Dracula, and he gave me one. And in some fashion, I don't remember, I wound up with another one, giving me two of the statuettes, and again I thought I don't need to be greedy, and I would put one in. Well, had I been able to look at the crystal ball, when I got back from my trip to Europe to see if the earthquake had done any damage; it had smashed my own Lugosi statuette to smithereens, so now it's really a rare item. I myself don't have one.

We worked day by day, including books by Edgar Rice Burroughs, some of them signed. I'm not so particular about Burroughs books because I have most of his work in the magazines that preceded the books, and I could let a piece of Bok art go, and one Frank R Paul, and one Bonestell, just to spice the whole thing up. And various interviews and so on, and they all want me to talk for an hour or so about interesting anecdotes during my collecting career of some of the more astounding things that have happened.

When I was in France, I got a call from Omni magazine, I guess in their new issue, I haven't seen it yet they have an article about the auction and they wanted to know flat out, “How come after 62 years of collecting you're auctioning some of your world?”

I have poured about every penny I have ever made into the collection. I haven't wound up with a big bank account like Bradbury, or Stephen King, or Lucas or Landis or any of them. I actually have no money in the bank, and I'm not earning much money. Then I said, “Whoa! Wait a minute. I’ve got a few years left, a lot of money due for me on insurance and one thing or another, and where’s it going to come from? I had hoped, for the first 5 years I was willing to give the collection away, and then I began to realize I’d better get a little cash for it and then I was willing to let it go for about 10% of what it was really worth, but I’ve had these big carrots dangled in front of my nose now for seven years, and nothing has happened.”

Me: Do you have any bare spots?

4e: You’d never notice anything had happened. You know, to this day, I'm still buying, actually. Saw an ad the other day, and I called up and I thought maybe I'll only own this for six months, but I'm still in the habit of getting things and adding things, so as long as I can, I'll

probably even out the auction money. I'll turn around and buy a few nice pieces.

Me: What does the future hold for the Ackermonster and Wendy; post-Mugging?❋ 4e: Now more than ever, we really have to live with a lady with her right side that'll never be the same again, so we need to eliminate as much danger as possible - stairs and efforts and we really must get out of this house and into a smaller place.

I have no intention of leaving this general area. I was born here, expect to die here; I love it around here, all my friends and activities are here. We just need a place half his size once the collection is gone, so I'm afraid unless there is an 11th hour miracle that somebody comes along to take it all, bit by bit, I'm just going to have to let it go.

When I saw the late Terry Carr’s collection of Fanzines had been bought for $25,000 by the Charles J. Hornig, Walt Daugherty, Wendy, A.E. Van Vogt & University of California out at Riverside, I sent a E. Mayne Hull, Tigrina, Forry, Some guy in the Corner, Tom letter to them pointing out what I had, and also I & Terry Pinckard, Ray Bradbury, Dawn Langdon. thought they might be interested knowing over half a century I put together the greatest collection of Frankenstein and Dracula of over 250 different Frankensteins and Draculas. There's no place on earth you'll find such a compact collection. I read someplace that Riverside got a grant, I think $190,000, so I thought it might be ideal they would add Frankenstein and Dracula and the fanzines and then bethought myself, of other special areas I have. That I probably have the greatest collection of juvenile science fiction, and then also something I think nobody has bothered to collect: I think it would be the vanity press books where people pay themselves. I think it would be interesting for someone to analyze these books, why they were failures, or maybe there would be one Great One in there the world had overlooked. After all, if 18 editors could pass on "Dune" and "Who Goes There?” well who knows?

Me: I’ve always been wary of museums and libraries where the public has access to the artifacts. When it was discovered, back in the mid 70s the Library of Congress had complete runs of Superman, Batman, all the ECs and other original comic books, they disappeared overnight.

4e: Yeah, well, I have copies of Weird Tales in my collection plainly stamped they are part of the Library of Congress and how they go out I don't know.

Oh, something has turned up in this auction book I am morally certain belongs to me. I've never known anyone in the whole collecting field who has sound discs from movies 50 years ago: Frankenstein, The Mummy, Jekyll and Hyde (the March version) and Murders in The Rue Morgue. I had all of the sound discs on those four films. The Frankenstein disks were stolen from me many years ago. I think by a fellow named John Andrews. About 10 years later, a fellow named Kramer, Robert or Ken Kramer or something like that, called me up and said "Ohhh Mr. Ackerman I've got something I'm sure you’re gonna to want… and so on. I've got the sound disks from Frankenstein and I'm willing to sacrifice them for $8500.”

“Oh so that's what my disks are worth?”

“What do you mean?”

“Those discs were stolen from me.”

“Oh no I got these disks 10 years ago.”

“That’s about the time they were stolen” click down goes the phone!

❋ Mathilde (Wendayne) Wahrman one-time wife, long-time companion had been injured during a mugging while visiting Italy, leading to her death in 1990.

4e: Now, they are advertising sound disks from Frankenstein! Well, out of 25,000 fantastic movies that have been made, it seems mighty strange to me that they would have sound discs unless they have come from this Kramer, or maybe they have passed many hands by now, but I contacted them right away, and said "Look, before you find yourself inadvertently with stolen goods, I suggest you contact the fellow who gave you these discs and discover where he got them and go back, back, back, and see if you wind up the name Kramer or John Andrews at the The Original Ackermansion. 915 South Sherebourne Lane. The most beginning of it all. Of course there isn't important house in the world. anyway on earth I could prove they’re mine, obviously. Maybe 500 sets were made but it does seem highly suspicious. I never heard of anybody else in the collecting field that had sound disks from these early films.

Me: It would be ideal if an ambitious SF club could finance a museum. They would have the most to gain from it.

4e:

Maybe even part of LASFS.

Me: For the most part, I have no faith in those people.

4e: Yeah. I don't understand how Larry Niven and his collaborator… why they bother about that group at all.

Me: In 1963 my friends and I put on a convention… in Long Beach at a fellow’s house. We got a list of fans from you, and about 50 people showed up and you let those littler buggers climb all over you for the better part of the day.

The highlight of our first convention was while we had moved into the garage for some movies, the exhibit room boasting our entire collections was entirely cleaned out by thieves unknown. Returning from the garage, we found a completely empty room.

A year later we did another convention at a restaurant. You really helped us get attendance, plus Ib Melchior, Bert I. Gordon, and Marcel Delgado as guests.

4e: Well, I remember out of the whole thing was Eric Hoffman turned up at the penultimate moment just as the caravan of cars was pulling out of my place on Shereborne, and there wasn’t really any place for him in any of the cars. I don’t know if he had to sit on someone’s lap, but somebody accommodated him, maybe I did, and that evening, when it was over, one of the father’s of the fans invited everyone to dinner.

Eric didn't quite understand, and I don't know how any of us knew the dad was going to pick up the tab, and so Eric ate very sparse. I don't know, a watercress sandwich and a toothpick.

Then when it was all over, he turned me and said "I could've had a steak!”

I once made the comment in an issue of Famous Monsters that I’ll never know how many words I’ve written about monsters so then this kid, Jeff Kenoki came down with the qazutic or something and was out for about a week and he counted every word in 27 issues and he called up saying ”Mr. Ackerman, would you really like to know?” So he told me and my eyebrows flew off, I couldn’t believe anybody would really spend all that time. Well, he lived about an hour’s drive so one Sunday, I called up and said “Hey young fellow, I’d like to come down and meet you,” and when I got there I noticed his father was kind of stand-offish and I thought he wasn’t too keen about my coming down to see his kid.

Anyway about five in the evening, I was halfway to the car, about to leave, and all of a sudden the father came running out and he grabs hold of me and he shook my hand and he said ”I got apologize to you," he says ”I didn't believe that any grown man would read really spend his time on a Sunday driving out here just to see my crazy kid. I figured in the end you'd open up your trunk and say “… now you can take 50 copies of this magazine and sell them at school and you get to keep a dime on every copy, or you're going to show him a lot of masks for sale, or have some commercial ulterior motive."

"Absolutely not", gosh, they wanted me to come in for dinner, and anytime it was hot come down and use their pool. I'm still in touch with Jeff… His mother had a real Martian name: Twyla!

Me: Like Twyla Tharp?

4e:

Yeah!

Photo by: ?

Me: Speaking of names, What’s up with Trina? All those years seeing her pictures, chatting with her at parties and Comic-Con, then only last year realizing it was Trina Robbins the artist.

4e: I was over at some friends, when they took me into this room and introduced me to this cute little creature named Trina, and…, all I did was hold out my hand to shake hands with her and she put her little nose up in the air and said: ”So you're the great Forrest Ackerman? You're not so much!" And she walked away, and I was standing there with egg on my face thinking “What's that all about?” A year later a year or two, I was at the World Science Fiction convention out here in LA, and that was the year Ray Russell was the editor of Playboy, had moved out here and he was at the convention and Trina turned up, she had a cute little costume... total black leotard I guess you’d call them... she had some wires going around her, and she was Miss Saturn or something. Well I saw her and I stepped up to her and I said “Well Trina, you’ve had a couple of years, what new insult do you have for me?” She looked up... “I insult you Mr. Ackerman?” So being a little artist, she immediately made a little badge that said “My Claim to fame is that I Insulted Forry Ackerman.”

Well Ray Russell got the big eye for her and about that time, I noticed that Bill Rotsler was photographing a lot of nudes and I thought “That would appeal to me,” So I got out a little Brownie and queried Trina about it. I said “We might have an opportunity to put you into playboy. I don't suppose my personal pictures would be professional enough, but at least they could get a look at you and some high-powered guy would come out here.” So I took that famous photo of her signed “From your little nymphet discovery,” and other pictures around the office, and I think Bill Rostler came over and took some pictures of her, and I sent my set (of photos) into playboy and I got a great letter from them and they were all enthusiastic about her being a playmate of the month, but they discovered in the three months before, she had appeared in Penthouse. So you have to undress yourself first for Playboy if you're going to be the Playmate, so in an alternate universe, had she not appeared in Penthouse one month earlier, I might have been on my way as a photographer. Well, I really thought Trina had been photogenic, that she could make her way in movies, and at the time they were talking about making Lolita and would need somebody that could look about 12 and also look like a mature woman. I thought Trina was born for this role! I heard stories about Marilyn Monroe how she started out at $50 a week or so, and the next thing, she was making $500,000 a month and I thought if anything like that should happen to Trina, I’d better have a seven year contract on her that I go along for the ride in case I'm able to make her rich and famous.

I thought I could introduce her to Jim Nicholson of AIP who is making a lot of teenage sorority films in beach parties and so on… also took her out to the set of Atlantis, the Last Continent and introduced her to George Pal and just hope that he would see her through my eyes.

Forry admires Trina while hubby Paul remains occupied

She to me was the Seventh Wonder the World. With her face washed and with no makeup on or anything she was nothing special, but she could go into the bathroom; in five minutes she’d come out and… Wow! Like in went Cinderella and out came Marilyn Monroe. And as I went around with her, introducing her to the motion picture people, hoping I would get her a roll, I felt I was virtually the invisible man as far as any men went you know.

I felt it in those days, you could stand around at the corner of Hollywood and Vine with her in broad daylight and I mow down seven people but no man can say whodunit because all eyes would have been on Trina!

Eventually she turned up in some of the lesser men's magazines, Adam, I believe, and I don't know what else… She was called "The Gas House Girl” or something like that.

I am distressed to hear she turned her back on all that now, somebody told me she was kind of miffed when I ran those pictures in Mr. Monsters Magazine.

Me: That's when I found out who she was, because it was the first time you ran her last name.

4e: Oh, unhuh. Well I think a thing of beauty is a joy forever, although she’d probably regret being called a “thing”. but I always think that all beautiful young women should have nude pictures of themselves. I'm sorry that in Marlena Dietrich’s case that wasn't done, or we got in on the tail end of Bridget Bardot. But I think when women get to be 50 or 60, 70, 80 or something, it would be nice to look back and see what they were. And if their pictures can still please people… Frank Robinson was here a couple months ago in my garage and into his hands came one of the Adam Magazines or whatever it was, and he came out "That's Trina?" Well he enjoyed looking at the Trina that was… I don't see anything that she could be upset about.

Me: Where, ideally would you like to have the museum. There’s been chatter it would be this house?

4e: No, it would be too much of a problem, even if we used all of the eighteen rooms. There wouldn't be proper parking space, neighbors wouldn’t like Greyhound buses coming up. A couple blocks away at the corner of Vermont and Los Feliz is a great big empty lot, and a bus that runs there. I certainly think it could be included after people take in the Chinese Theater, they could come another couple of miles, and it would seem like an ideal location. Failing that, at least somewhere along Hollywood Boulevard if they ever build it back to its former glory Me: Do you think it would take much for fandom to get the impetus going?

4e: I've no hope in Fandom, none whatsoever.

Photos by: ?

Me: Why is that?

LASFS, 1939 Dorothy Finn, Helen Finn, Eleanor O’Brien, Morojo, Arthur Louis Joquel II, Ed Chamberlin, Grady Zimmerman, Henry Hasse, Paul Freehafer, Peggy Finn, Walt Daugherty, FJA, Technocrat STFan

LASFS, 1939 Ross Rocklynne, Leroy J. Tackett, Trudy Kuslan, Bob Tucker, Walt Liebscher, Morojo, Erle Korshak, FJA, Julius Unger, Robert A. Madle, Robert G. Thompson

4e: I am a member of the Los Angeles Science Fantasy Society. I was at the first meeting, I've been the director, the secretary, the treasurer, the publisher, the editor, the garbageman, everything you can think of.

I’ve poured thousands of dollars into the club, I’ve been to over 1500 meetings of it. I have never once heard any suggestion that they raise a dime to help me out. I understand that over 100 fans a week go to the club and I’ve put on the bulletin board I have Open Houses here. I’d be happy for members of LASFS to come and see the place, but you know, I just don't seem to exist, and the unkindest cut of all… Finally, 50 years rolled around and I went to the 50th anniversary meeting.

There I was, the sole survivor of the first meeting and I thought they'd like me to get up and tell how it began, the highlights, the lowlifes, and so on. Well, the speaker of the evening was Harlan Ellison, who constantly claims he doesn't write science fiction, and he began by saying something like,"I don't know why you invited me because in 26 years I've only been to three meetings.”

I sat through the entire meeting, as though I was the invisible man, nobody even said "Oh, Forry Ackerman… He's our first member!” So I drove back with my wife, and I said “You know, have I lived too long or what?” She says “Well, the young people, they don't care anything about history; the world began when they were born, and that's all they are interested in.”

But I am forever reading that the club is having some sort of fundraising thing for a variety of good reasons, but nobody's ever thought of raising a dime to help out here. And I'm told that Steven Spielberg has been here, he’s seen with his own eyes and wrote that very nice, flattering thing on the Close Encounters poster about raising my generation of fantasy fans “right”. But if he or Lucas or at least a combination of Bradbury, Larry Niven and Jerry Parnell formed a combine, they could make it all come true, or the late L. Ron Hubbard. He was after glory in the science-fiction field, trying to make a comeback and ingratiate himself. Well, out of petty cash he could have written out a check for five or ten million dollars, and have L. Ron Hubbard present the Forry Ackerman Science Fiction Museum. George Lucas present it, or Steven Spielberg.

Nowadays, as fast as somebody dies, like Manly Wade Wellman, Kelly Freas it seems like they leave a big indebtedness behind and fandom goes to bat and raise a nice sum for them.

When I moved here 14 years ago I had about $2000 mortgage on the house every month before I got around to eating, and found them in general didn't respond. It’s more “Fringe Fans”, readers of Starlog who responded. And what was really the straw that broke the camel’s back nearly 20 years ago, I think A. E. Van Vogt, Ray Bradbury, Frederic Pohl and a number of authors at that time said “Hey Forry”, we'll come to bat for you! We're sure that all the major magazines would welcome a free feature, and each of us in our own words would write about you and your dreams for a museum, and sure that Galaxy, and Analog, and Fantasy and Science-Fiction would all be happy to feature this article, especially since we’ll just give it away.

Well, the majority of the articles were never even published. I don't think Ray Bradbury's got into print. The one that did was did was A.E. Van Vogt. It got into Analog when they were reputed to have something around 135,000 members. Well, Van Vogt's article was published in the readers department and it said something like…"Folks, maybe you've never heard of Forry Ackerman, but he's the monomaniac who's been devoting his whole life to the single-minded subject of trying to collect every speck of science fiction on this or any other world, and he's

getting along in years, and he's not all that affluent.” And about the middle of the letter, he said, “Now don't get nervous, you probably realize we are going to make a pitch here for some money, but we're not talking hundred dollars, we're not talking $25, or 10… Five. ONE Dollar will do it! If each of you; 135,000 readers will now put down my letter and put a single dollar in an envelope and send it to Forry. Now don't expect he's going to write 135,000 thank yous, you know, but I'm sure you know he would appreciate it, and this would really take the curse of it.”

Now if I really had gotten $135,000 that would've taking care of buying the home.

Well, Van Vogt’s article appeared in Analog, in the shortest month of the year: February, and at the end of 28 days, you want to guess how many responses I had? Just asking for a dollar? Even then, if one blew out of your hand, you wouldn't chase it very far.

Me: Several hundred dollars maybe?

4e: 28 days… 28 envelopes! Then it was all over.

But there was a particularly astonishing one. In 1953 there was a young Japanese boy named Tetsu Yano. Who had just been bitten by the science fiction bug. He came back from the war to find he had no home, his house had been blown to smithereens, and he laid on the ground at night where there used to be a house.

He found a science fiction magazine that turned him on and by Japanese standards, he did a rather unusual thing. He had a letter published I think in Wonder or Startling, and said I'm just a poor know nothing Japanese boy bitten by the science-fiction bug, and he was throwing himself at the mercy of American friends asking them if they had any beat-up magazines or pocketbooks they didn’t want. Well I thought they would have to put five more postman on his route there would be such a reaction. I amongst hundreds of others sent him books and magazines, and started correspondence and then I mentioned we were going to have a WesterCon, a science fiction convention in July.

Well I got a very excited letter from Tetsu that said "If I could possibly get there, would I be permitted to attend the convention?" I go, “Would you? My god, you'll be our guest of honor.

Nobody up to this time had come from Japan. The consequence of which I got a telegram that read: “Tetsu. I have bought a ticket. Come and go. Please be waiting 29 days from now.”

He got on a boat with only five passengers aboard; the rest was cargo. Took him 29 days to get here, and we took him with us and kept him with us another six and a half months.

We made sure that he met Bradbury, and Curt Siodmak, and went to the WesterCon; took him to the WorldCon where he saw me get the first Hugo and sent him back with all kinds of memories, information and loads of books and magazines. He became the science fiction personality of Japan.

He read that letter by Van Vogt and went to his wife, and Kumiko - “Permanently beautiful baby” and discussed what he wanted to do and they said “Yes father, that's what you must do.”

He sent me a check for $1000. And followed it up with the greatest gift of my life!

On my 60th birthday, I believe it was, he came and brought with him an incredible gift. He had gone to all the science fiction writers, editors, everybody in Japan, and as he put it, I had "Everybody's rice bowls full for a lifetime”, and he collected $30,000 and arranged for a three week vacation for all us all over Japan, staying in the best hotels.

One night 150 men and their wives and all of the ladies in their Kimonos and everybody bowing, and there were geisha girls serving mountains of food. But I didn't get anything to eat!

At midnight I went and had a hot dog in the hotel! I was so busy signing things, smiling and posing for pictures, and looking at the geisha girls, and their were three TV camera men at all times photographing every move I made, and one of the most embarrassing thing things of my life. I was wearing a tuxedo that was a little too large for me or I was a little too large for it, and one of the smiling Japanese fellas came forward, shook my hand, whispered in my ear and said "Excuse me sir, your fly is unzipped!”

But basically Fandom has never taken an interest in me. There is something about me I don't understand. Look… 400 people came to my 70th birthday you know. I don't know if that many people would go to Heinlein’s birthday, or Ellison’s, or anybody else. I certainly accumulated a great number of friends, and yet out there I feel there is a great antagonism toward me on the part of Norman Spinrad and different people, and if not antagonism, then I don't know, “I ain't got no respect!" You know old Forry Ackerman, he just fools around with kids and monsters, “So I'm not taken very seriously or something. I don't see anyone rushing to my rescue.

Me:

Would you say that you're the original fan?

4e: Yes, but a chap who really deserves that is about five or six years older than me. Aubrey MacDermott. He calls himself "The" First Fan, and he had a number of years on me and started earlier than I. Me: Is there one item in your collection you favor over all others?

4e: Yes! Absolutely. The October, 1926 Amazing Stories that started it all. I was attracted to the cover of it. So I went to the artist, Frank R. Paul and he redrew it for me in huge size, and in place of the original man on that cover, he drew kind of a futuristic version of me. He’s long gone from this world, and I think if the big earthquake came, the one thing I would run for to rescue would be that, and the second would be the Metropolis automaton. That of course could be reproduced. It took a year and a half and $600 to do in the first place.

But the Frank R. Paul painting is unique.◀ So now we all know Forry’s Rosebud.

A show of hands here. . . who got along with Wendy? I never did. She would stare a me like I had my hand in her purse, never had a kind word for anything and but for this photo here, I’ve never seen her smile. Of Wendayne, Dr. Donald A. Reed once said “Forry needed a mother.” But, that’s neither here nor there. She had a string of credits that for the most part have gone unacknowledged and we will rectify that now. Forry thought a lot of her, though they divorced at one point. But Forry left us with a lovely testament that should be shared one last time:

4 November 1912 • 5 March 1990

(Wendy & Forry, Germany c. 1950) ➤

THE ONLY Wendayne (Mondelle) in the world died at 8 o'clock on the evening of March 5th in our home after a 5 month period of increasing and immeasurable misery due to renal failure compounded by dialysis dementia. In the end her gallant heart simply stopped.

Sometime in the next century or beyond there may be another Wendayne if the hope of her son by a previous marriage, Michael Porjes, is realized: Upon her demise she will be cryonically preserved and, with his Mother’s permission, a sample of her body tissue is being cryonically preserved, the intention being for Wendayne to be cloned and for her son to raise her like a daughter.

What hath science fiction wrought?

The first words my Wendy ever spoke to me (as a book clerk in a department store) were, “May I help you, sir?” Heartbreakingly but comforting, the last words she ever said to me were, “Forry--help me!” In between she: Was the translator-in-chief of 137 novels of the German space opera series Perry Rhodan, the majority a phenomenal success for Ace Books and some she published herself, proud to have created Master Publications. To this day legions of fans love her for her role in bringing Perry Rhodan to America.

Was the translator of Stanislaw Lem’s “The Invincible”, her rendition of which (from unorthodox East German German) was not received kindly by most critics. I suppose I must bear the brunt of some of the blame as I did the final editing on it. She was consoled by the fact, however, that the author himself expressed his satisfaction with the translation.

Was the translator (from French) of Pierre Barbet’s “Games Psyborgs Play” (her title), published by DAW. Was the translator of the Strugatsky brothers. “Hard To Be A God”, which is being made into a motion picture. Met the authors in Russia.

Was the author of one of the most popular and oft-reprinted features out of 191 issues of Famous Monsters of Filmland magazine, the entertaining and informative “Rocket to the Rue Morgue”, originally a paper for a university project.

Earned a degree in Biology, taught science in high school, acquired an M.A. Magna Cum Laude in record time in her 40s, and was a professor of German and French for 20 years at East Los Angeles Jr College.

Accompanied me around the world to England, France, Germany, Italy, Spain, Scotland, Wales, Canada, Australia, New Zealand, Japan, Hong Kong, China (one tiny border town),

Sweden, Norway, Lapland, Luxembourg, Liechtenstein (we longed and planned to return to this fairyland), Moscow/Leningrad/Kiev, Finland, Hungary, Yugoslavia, E. Germany, Poland, Czechoslovakia. She did more than accompany me, she took care of it all: the transportation, tickets, accommodations, passports, that sort of thing; things I have no patience for and am not adept at. I quail at the thought of international travel without her but this year it’s back to Holland and Belgium, where we were happy once before, and Denmark, which she never saw.

Abroad, her command of languages was indispensable: French, German, Spanish, ordinary Italian...and Hebrew. Perhaps some-eyebrows raise at the mention of Hebrew? Why did she know Hebrew? Because according to the law of Germany at the time she was born there, since her Mother and Father were Jews born in Poland, Wendy was considered a Polish Jew. Yes, racially she was Jewish--so what? Do you think it mattered one iota to this Esperantist? Not for one fraction of a nanosecond.

She didn’t practice Judaism. She lived the major part of her life an American Angeleno Agnost. In pre-war Germany she was a pre-med student at the Goethe University till one day Hitler dismissed her because of her ancestry. Years later she was tickled by the irony of being an honored guest of the city of Frankfurt-am-Main, where she was born, and in 1951 in Munich in the home-of Brigitte (METROPOLIS) Helm she could hardly contain herself and refrain from exploding with laughter when her “tainted” hand was kissed by the grandson of Kaiser Wilhelm!

In 1933, a pariah in Germany, she went to France and practiced midwifery; long hours, grueling work, one day a month off. When she moved to London she continued the nursing profession till she left for Israel (still Palestine) where she experienced enough of the horrors of war to last her a lifetime; married and had her son Michael.

In ‘48, getting a divorce, she moved to LA where she became a clerk in the book department of a major downtown emporium. When her body chemistry reacted attractively to a 32- year-old shy-guy she saw approaching her station with an armload of books, she said to her fellow clerk, “Lay off him, he’s mine.” The moment I heard her charming accent I asked her where it came from. “Oh, my ancestors,” she replied mischievously, “were highly civilized while yours were hanging by their tails from trees!” Naturally, I never spoke to her again.

Favorites among her fantasy and film friends were Tom & Terri Pinckard, the Robert Blochs, Frank & Bobbie Bresee, the Yanos, Shibanos, Fritz Lang, Kenneth Anger, Ray Bradbury, Brad Linaweaver, the van Vogts, Kyles, Pohls, Siodmaks, Avices, Walt Liebscher, Vincent Price, the Wm. Temples, Wm. Tuttles, Walter Ernsting, Georges Gallet, Cornelia Ilie (Sweden), Ion Hobana (Romania), Luis Gasca (Spain), Boris Grabnar (Yugoslavia), Josef Nesvadba (Czechoslovakia), Oscar Estes, Bela Lugosi, the John Landises, Aubrey MacDermotts, Melchiors, Harryhausens, Ferraris (Italy), Rich Correll, Vern Corriel, E. Everett Evans' widow, Catherine Moore, Charles Higham, Amy Jewett, Cyndi Gossett, the Waldrons, Stuart J. Byrne et ux, Sam Sherman family, Phil Riley, Edgar Rice & Danton Burroughs, Cynthia Goldstone, Erik von Buelow, Verne Langdon, the Brooks family, all 4 Nuetzels, Jean-Claude Romer. Forgive me if in my upset state I've overlooked you and you know you qualified. Unfavorites: Jim Warren, the New York editor who sabotaged the Perry Rhodan program and wouldn’t publish anyone (including van Vogt!) I represented, Author Services (but she liked L. Ron, Arthur and Diana), the female editor (now deceased) who treated me so cavalierly, the 2 chief detractors of the term “sci-fi” (we often laughed how in 1954 when I first uttered it, she said, “Forget it, Forry—it will never catch on!”) and Herr “Heartburn” (Bernhardt, the German arbiter of Rhodan'’s USA fate).

In 1963 she co-drove with me on the 8700-mile cross-country adventure to meet as many as possible of the 1300 filmonster fans who wanted to see us. She was the world’s slowest eater, had the world’s most sensitive nose. Accompanied me to nudist camps for 5 years. Accepted gay men and lesbians. Loved sushi and gefilte fish. Had a sweet singing voice (we dueted on “True Love” & “Side by Side”). Didn’t drink, smoke dope - or swear. Curt Siodmak, Albert van Hageland (Belgian sf agent), George Pal, Georges Gallet, Dave Kyle, Vincent Price and several others considered her “a real lady”. “Her sparkle, enthusiasm, feistiness, wit, intelligence, protectiveness-of-Forry, generosity”; these are some of her attributes for which admiration has been expressed in the first two days’ cards and condolences. I think she was a candidate for the Big Heart Award. Favorite singers: Theodore Bikel (Uber Alles), Al Jolson, Bing Crosby, Dean Martin, Marlene Dietrich, Maurice Chevalier, Brigitte Bardot (!), Aznavour and (blush) me! (She said she preferred my singing to Sinatra’s!) Actor: Burt Lancaster. Novelists: Thomas Mann,

George Simenon. Films: “African Queen”, “Cabaret”, “Lies My Father Told Me”, “The Jolson Story(s)”, “Metropolis” and all Busby Berkeley musicals. SF: “The Forever War”, “4-Sided Triangle”, the Auel series, “Childhood’s End”, “Letter to An Angel” (by me) and “Forever” by Mildred Cram. She read the latter to me years ago; I read it to her a few weeks before she died.

She had no use for religion of any kind, didn’t believe in a life before or hereafter. Was reserved in her praise of my writing (how do you judge this obit, my dear?). Was once active in LASFS and early Westercons. Especially liked the San Diego Comic Cons and their sponsors.

We always planned to celebrate the year 2000 together. My broken heart asks, “How could you leave me?” My reasoning mind tells me you couldn’t help it. I forgive you; I love you.◀

In August a young man’s fancy turns to thoughts of…

Burning Man! But also the life and demise

of my lifelong best friend, globetrotting pal, fanboy

and mischief maker,

whose tale we shall call…

THE SET UP

Those who remember my grousing over attempts to hit Burning Man and scratching the event from my bucket list may be no less surprised I finally made it under the sun and deep in the dust of the Playa at last!

I officially considered Burning Man a done deal, though remained fascinated by the phenomenon and watched daily webcams, and dug the wackiness of it all. Where fandom let it’s original Goshwowboyohboy languish, it not only exists, but thrives here.

It came about when I sent pics from the 2013 burning to perspective “Burn Buddies” I hoped to coerce into going. I received all kinds of replies, mostly “Can’t take the dust / heat / crazy people, etc!” But I received an excited call from Joe Viskocil, “Yeh, yeh, we gotta go next year!”

His excitement was palpable and easily reeled me back into the fire. For several years, Joe assisted with the explosive spectacle of the event and knew the ropes!

“Perfect!” I thought. Joe and I used to be inseparable in days gone by but life sent us in different directions and we got together less than we’d like. A week together under such wacky circumstance would give us time to reconnect; catch up on the new and ruminate the old. He had already set the retirement ball in motion which is cause for celebration anyway!

THE BACK STORY

In 1960 I stepped through the doors of the fabled Ackermansion, spun into the whirl of fandom and transformed into a lifelong fanboy. With the generous help of Forry Ackerman I instigated my first convention in 1963 with a gang of kids; none of whom had ever attended a real convention. “The First Long Beach Science Fantasy Convention” was fearless and unapologetic, occurring in the party room behind a fellow’s house with our collections of movie posters, monster magazines, pulps and movies projected on a sheet hung in the garage.

Forry, used his own mailing list and shelled out for postcards going to who knows how many area fans for which 50 pimple-faced teenagers heeded the call and found themselves gazing at our splendid collections of books, movie memorabilia, shaking hands with the Ackermonster and seeing fandom for the first time!

It was an odd sight for a quiet neighborhood with a parade of cars deserting their children at the house of complete strangers but these were days before such things seemed irresponsible if not criminal.

< Westercon 18 1965

Photo by Ed. E

Back Row: Tim Rusk Jerry Fiore Front Row: Joe Viskocil me Dr. Donald A. Reed Mark Shepard Eric Hoffman Donald Glut

Photo by Jan Henderson

Joe Cutting Up

Rod Serling and Joe

1968 WorldCon. Paula Christ on left, Joe on Right

If anything interesting came from the event it was meeting Joe Viskocil, a youngster fashioned from the same doughy scrapple as myself; heavy on enthusiasm, sparse on wisdom yet we hit it off and spent the next few decades inseparable.

In 1964 we hosted another Long Beach Convention, but 1965 delivered the big time when Westercon XVIII came to Long Beach and fired up the crucible by which we were molded into whatever the hell we were to become.

By and by it was time to leave the nest and take Hollywood by storm. I threw a hot plate and 6 cans of Butterbeans into Tom Scherman’s van, kissed Long Beach goodbye and took refuge in a Hollywood home once owned by Tom Mix and now by a crazed gypsy woman. Getting by doing T-shirt designs didn’t quite smack of “Hollywood”, but I could see the Hollywood sign just by looking up so I must be getting closer. I become manager of The Holly Cinema right on Hollywood Boulevard. The benefit being manager was making a rule that any monsterkid declaring himself such at the box office got in free and all the popcorn they could eat!

Don Reed’s Count Dracula Society was the hub of wannabe genre action and Joe and I hobnobbed with our favorite horror celebs from Lon Chaney Jr., to Christopher Lee, Ray Bradbury to Robert Bloch. There was something happening every month making us glad to be fans.

As dust settled from the 1968 WorldCon Joe and I were off to the UK for a gullet bending month of bangers and mash! We were in search of tons of British and French movie posters for resale at US cons and any wild oats in need of sowing. In the States the stuff was an immediate goldmine and our huckster tables packed the damn aisles; so much so, Bruce Pelz threatened to throw us both from a dealers room for “. . .taking money away from the other dealers!” I responded: “Can we help it if we’re selling something people want to buy?”

The ‘70s were SoCal’s hotbed of fannish activity; San Diego Comic-Con, WesterCon, Equicon, Witchcraft and Sorcery Conventions, even a wrestling convention or two.

Fan events were coming of age and you’d get the flakey-shakes any weekend you couldn’t find some fannish clambake to blow your youth and hard earned cash!

Sometimes fans make their own fun and just over the hill, Bob and Kathy Burns Joe and I on the roof of Claremont Hotel, Worldcon,1968.

Joe & I on Bob’s “War of the Worlds” set with Mike Minor & Al Jermanis

Joe and I bending nails

Photo by Mike Minor

were expanding their front yard Halloween Show from a clever fright to a mind boggling effects heavy extravaganza that would make Michael Bay plotz!

Otherwise known to the cognoscenti as “The Mad Mummy” or “Kogar the Gorilla” Bob had published “Fantastic Monsters of the Films” with pals Ron Haydock and Paul Blaisdell back in the early 60s. But now he assembled an impressive bunch of monsterkids to make his Halloween dreams come true; Tom Scherman, Dennis Muren, Mike Minor, Al Jermanis, Bill Malone, Rick Baker and many others. Joe and I worked on four of the shows: “Forbidden Planet”, “Exorcist”, “The Time Machine” and “War of the Worlds”. Joe helped on set construction and served as official photographer capturing one of George Pal’s favorite shots sitting in the Time Machine.

Starlog magazine put Bob’s Halloween Extravaganza (and Joe’s photos) on the map!

In 1974, a low-budget, soft-core porn film would help change motion pictures forever. The production team of “Flesh Gordon” consisted mostly of those with little or no experience but combined their talents to redefine special effects and motion pictures! Ralph Ferraro was orchestrator for “Beneath the Planet of the Apes” and went on to “Star Trek IV”, “Masters of the Universe”, “RoboCop 2” and “Dragonheart”. Art Direction by Donald Lee Harris kept him working in the biz through today’s “Grey’s Anatomy”.

Fan favorite Bjo Trimble and Star Trek tub thumper was makeup designer while “Trumpet” editor Tom Reamy scored in the Art Department along with George Barr who did the groovy poster that became a fan favorite. Joseph Musso, long time production artist for Irwin Allen built an impressive career from storyboard art. John Brasher on Sound and Mike Minor would give both Star Trek shows and movies a brand new look.

The stunning George Barr poster and Suzanne Fields in the monster’s grip, getting the clap from Joe!

Robert L. Harman would one day have over two hundred films to his credit and a few had Oscars in their future! Rick Baker, Tom Scherman, Dave Allen, Doug Beswick, Corny Cole, Jim Danforth, Gregory Jein, Dennis Muren and then there was Joe who never worked on a film before. He helped with set and miniature building; even played a part or two but what’s more important, he paid attention to everything around him.

The day came to destroy the castle of “Wang the Perverted” played by William Dennis Hunt! Proving there are indeed serendipitous goings on and miracles do happen when the pyro guy didn‘t show up and Joe blurts “I’ll do it!” Joe had learned well, set the charges and destroyed the model in one take. “Flesh Gordon” was a wrap!

Dr. Donald A. Reed and I wanted a film premiere to give a shot in the arm for “The Academy of Science Fiction, Fantasy and Horror Films” in 1974, and I asked Joe to get us a screening of the film and he pulled it off. On retrospect “Flesh Gordon” may not have been suitable for this crowd, but hey “That’s showbiz.”

It was a grand night with Danny Elfman’s new band “Mystic Knights of the Oingo Boingo” playing in the street outside the theater! The entire cast was there and even Buster Crabbe made a cautious appearance!

1975 we were back to Europe. One of Joe’s unforgettable lines from our London hotel room was “WE GOT RATS!” discovering mice had burrowed through his suitcase and eaten his secret candy stash! Joe claimed he’d set us up with a great hotel in Paris, but it was a holiday of somesuch; every hotel was packed and thus we spent several nights sleeping on park benches!

Back in the States, George Lucas had seen “Flesh Gordon” and was so impressed with that explosion he hired Joe and much of the Flesh crew for a little project called “Star Wars”.

Joe went from blowing up a castle on the planet Porno to being “That guy who blew up the Death Star” in one leap! Pretty damn cool.

Photo by Amélie Frank Getting chummy with zombies on set of “Return of the Living Dead 2”

Joe says “Action”, Plane Goes “Boom”

Joe Inspects Wreckage

From here on, Joe was at a gallop from one location to another and we rarely got together.

He nabbed some big budget films and didn’t pass up the smaller flicks like Dan O’Bannon’s: “Return of the Living Dead” where he created the nuclear explosion at the end of the film.

Didn’t see much of Joe, but it wasn’t long before he met the wonderful Susan and took the plunge. Even practicing Peter Pans like ourselves have to get real sometime. The wedding, ala “Gone with the Wind” was held at Universal Studios. Everyone came in period drag as they were hitched in antebellum splendor surrounded by their friends.

Scherman took me aside and whispered rather flippantly “Hey Big Al, I got cancer!”; ah crap, and that’s the last time I saw Tom. Not long after, another tragedy struck with the lingering death of Mike Minor from complications of AIDS. Mike was immensely productive with limitless creativity, always there to help with anyone’s project. He worked on all the Bob Burn’s Halloween Extravaganzas and won two Emmy nominations for “Winds of War”. He and Joe were great friends and Joe spent an immense amount of bedside time helping how he could until Mike slipped away.

In all those years, I only worked on one film with Joe and for just a brief moment at best. We showed up at a small back lot where a skeletal structure of a model airplane about four feet long waited to die. If you hadn’t been told it was an airplane you might have missed it, but regardless it was Joe’s job to blow it to pieces! It seemed simple enough: a condom full of gasoline, a handful of vermiculite, a condom full of gasoline and two wires attached to a battery.

I asked “What’s the name of this movie?”

“All I know is a plane blows up.” He replied; just another job. Have fire will travel.

And so it went: Terminators, Aliens, Ghostbusters, Lies, Finks, Flames and Independence Day which scored him an Oscar, a Saturn Award and BAFTA wink in 1996! Topps even had him do a signed chase card for the Star Wars 30th Anniversary card set!

Joe danced with the demons, marched down the aisle and gave everyone a peek at Heaven!

By now, I had twenty years of graphic art in Hollywood for any number of fly-by-night shysters. The last few years were doing advertising for Landmark Theaters and I had grown tired of it. I slung a Mac Plus over my shoulder, headed to Vegas and began doing graphics for a few of the casinos.

In the meantime, Joe was living large. He too would wind up in Vegas on occasion. He had become a high roller at the casinos - who knew? He got room comps from one hotel or another and when in town would treat DeDee and I to a dinner or show.

Joe had made himself an undisputedly impressive page on IMDB. Oops! He had a close call on the Steven Seagal movie Under Siege 2: Dark Territory where an ill-timed explosion put him in the hospital and left him with a scarred left arm.

That came as a warning call it might be time to hang up his electrodes.

He had confessed to being dreadfully tired of late night shoots on remote mountaintops in cold weather and had enough. Perhaps it was indeed time to pack it in.

That in itself was cause for celebration and time to redefine himself which proved a tough row to hoe. Oddly, he disliked technology, particularly computers and refused to consider CGI as Dennis Muren and so many others had done so well.

I had finished a complete website for Joe as a pyrotechnics advisor and practical effects instructor, but he would have none of it.

Once the man who destroyed the Death Star, was now sick to death of being the guy who lights barbecues on 90210.

He was ready to hit Burning Man, needed to get away and we traded calls almost daily with the latest plans and wacky ideas.

As a newbie, it was a good idea for me to attend with someone who had been there and knew how to blow it bits!

Photos by ?

Joe finally gets his well deserved Oscar for Independence Day >

HERE’S WHERE IT GETS SAD . . . .

It was a “Go!” after chasing down every RV rental who would allow their vehicles to hit Burning Man. It would be a costly venture, but between the two of us, manageable. We Christened our ride “The Burning Virgin”. Months passed in anticipation.

Two weeks till Burning Man. . . I received an email from Susan; Joe was in the hospital with complete liver and kidney failure and wouldn’t make it through the night! By morning he had passed.

August 11, 2014, at age 61.

I was dumbstruck on every conceivable level. He was far too young, far too busy, too full of potential and hadn’t even gotten to retire. After 51 years of friendship, he was very much “My brother from another mother” and there was still so much to do. We had plans for some fun projects that will never see the light. What a shame and I am still incredulous just thinking about him not being around. So let this be one big-ass lesson for everyone to get it said, get it fixed, get it done; you never know when a big part of your world will shift without the slightest warning.

HERE’S WHERE IT GETS SILLY . . . .

Tragedies aside for the sake of this narrative; it dawned on me I was past deadline for getting a refund on the RV and hell, I’d already bought the damn ticket, clothes, food for two for a week and even a bike! I was in too deep to cancel unscathed. There were plenty wanting to share the RV, no doubt about that, but not a one willing to share the expense (cheap bastards!). I had ads on the Burning Classifieds, Facebook pages and elsewhere. No practical nibbles. Looked like I’ll be squeezing blood from plastic.

I was scrambling for ways to unload the entire project, or find anyone to share the burden; but there was none to be found. Thought of selling something - nah, got nuthin’, bummer.

I found a post on File 770; a fan gal running an Indiegogo campaign to raise funds for a “Convention Odyssey”. Fans (as a whole) are not particularly generous, especially if you have a self-serving campaign with no perks.

In this case, Indiegogo is like selling Girl Scout Cookies. Once you sell to your family, you go out of business. This young lady asked for a nut-busting $191,000 to blow just attending cons for an entire year but had no cookies. In the end, she scored a paltry $140, but was unable to keep a cent. Not that the idea was entirely unsound, but little grasp of hubris and fannish reality.

You need a quality product, but most importantly, you need a quality perk to inveigle the unwary fly who may not give a damn about your campaign but will shell out a pittance for some appealing swag. Neither she nor I had either but what the hell, I had nothing to lose and expected a lot less.

I cranked out a trio of 16x20” posters and some cheap promo pieces to go for less than $20. I asked for a piddling two grand just in case some Daddy Warbucks catches wind, but if I scored $300 that would cover two tanks of gas and I would be happy as a clam.

Hmmmm, if I did a video making fun of myself, maybe everyone would know I was in on the joke that anyone should give me money for anything, much less playing in the dirt for a week! The young lady was better delivering her lines than I, so DeDee took a bunch of pics I arranged as a wacky slideshow and narrated over it! Who knows, if somebody busts a gut, I’d be in the bucks! The video is HERE.

WHERE IT GETS STUPID . . . .

The video goes up, the emails go out. Just maybe somebody I’d been feeding art to for the last forty years would slip me a fiver; I could only dream. A few days later, obliging friends had my tally up to $452 and was feeling pretty swell about it. No, nothing from the fans as expected.

Then something happened I wasn’t expecting. I received an email from the Burning Man legal department! The initial letter was cordial enough, even pleasant, but it was that cut and paste job at the bottom stating, oh, how did they put it?

“Use of Burning Man's intellectual property to purchase tickets and pay for expenses to attend Burning Man is something we simply do not permit of anyone.”

And continued with something to the effect: Should I not have the offending page removed in twenty-four hours they’d start legal proceedings.

Crap, just what I needed; some rat bastard from the Burning Classifieds squealed about my posters. I was in no condition to argue with anyone holding all the cards so I waited twenty-three and a half hours, took in another $20 then shit-canned the Indiegogo page at $472 which had thankfully already been deposited to my account.

Another hundred bucks appeared later in cash so I was bucks up and had nothing to complain about; I guess. If Joe had been there, he’d be laughing his ass off.

WHERE IT GETS REAL . . . .

It was a week to blast-off and any chance of finding a sugar daddy was dwindling quickly. DeDee had absolutely no desire to wallow in the dust!

I found a young jolly couple flying in from New York and needed a one-way lift to the Man. In exchange they would fill up the tanks and help with driving. At that point I couldn’t turn it down and we became a trio heading five hundred miles north behind the wheel of The Burning Virgin.

At this point I must confess the whole idea felt more like an obligation than a pleasure cruise. An obligation to everyone who chipped in and certainly an obligation to Joe who should have been there from the get-go.

No turning back now…

ON THE ROAD . . . .

At 6:00 am, Sunday, August 25 we were in the wind.

Never having driven a 25 foot RV I had all manner of horrors taking out a mailbox or light post making a right turn or wiping out a gas station awning but it was a thankfully uneventful trip.

Through Tonopah, Wadsworth, Nixon, Schurz, past Little Jenny Creek, and Empire. Real sounding but vaporous hints of civilization on the roadway whose sole purpose was to extort money from unwary travelers caught exceeding the speed limit that changes radically on a whim.

Of this we had been warned and continued cautiously. I remembered my mother’s words of wisdom when handing me keys to my first car “Never set yourself up and if you get stopped, it’s Yes Sir, No Sir.” Words to live by that have never let me down.

My millennial companions, Andy and Juliette half my age and full of enthusiasm. He was hoping to capture some great footage and she… well, elegant, free and toted an old Polaroid Land Camera found in an attic; the kind where a picture pops from the bottom of the camera. She also had a dozen boxes of film for the thing decades old and the best results it produced were several shades of gray not resembling anything in the known universe, but every shot pleased her to no end and far be it from me to say she wasn’t on to something.

It was getting dark as we hit the Burner friendly Walmart in Fernley. A good place to refresh, fill the tank and load the last minute supplies. They picked up several bags of goodies and a pair of bikes! The Man was only 80 miles away, following the serpentine 447 past the ever dwindling Pyramid Lake and beyond, and we found ourselves in a northbound line of tail lights. The road was black as pitch; headlights seem to cast not the slightest hint of light and the terrain and sky were indistinguishable from one another.

Stopped in Gerlach, 9pm, the jumping off place for Burning Man and home of the awesome Fly Geyser. Roadside booths promised your last chance to load up on EL wire, LED lights, flashy things and other gimcracks you’d have little use for anywhere else on earth!

Back on the road, if it wasn’t for rumbling over uncountable cattle grates it would seem as if we were standing still, but at last the line of vehicles now bumper to bumper snaked off the highway onto “Gate Road”; 8 miles of crags, rocks and ghosts of burnings past. Hardly a yellow brick road but guaranteed to terminate at THE MAN!

STUCK . . . .

In the distance the sky came alive with lightning and thunder, followed by rain, lots of rain, a blanket of hail machine-gunned against the body of the RV. Burning Man Radio announced everything had come to a halt. The wet road doesn’t cotton to travelers and umpteen thousand were stranded where we stood.

Those who didn’t make it onto “Gate Road” were forced to deal with it and find elsewhere off-road to spend the night.

The three of us and thousands of others remained mired till morning. A very overcast, chilly and wet morning indeed.

Entrance to Burning Man would be permitted only after the road had dried, and when that should occur was anybody’s guess.

At the first hint of daylight, my travelers and I were eager to explore the muddy terrain. Hundreds of others spilled onto the roadway who spent the night in crampier quarters than we and needed to stretch just about everything that could be stretched.

As the sun peeked through the clouds, it gave promise to continue our road trip! There were those who felt at home where they stood and began partying early and on the spot.

Some sorry folk were forced to seek the Porta-Potties initially placed for a quickly moving crowd, not 20,000 waylaid Burners. I will die with the image of this circumstance in my brain. It was here I was struck with the epiphany: “An RV at Any

Price.”

Meanwhile, bands had taken roost on RV roofs and crazed sycophants danced and gyrated in the mud! Others built mud sculptures while daintier sorts such as myself stepped gingerly among the mud puddles. The soil slowly returned to it’s hard-packed state. All ears were glued to the radio for news of entrance! Twenty-Three hours had past when we got the go-ahead!

The RV lurched forward. We passed through the inspection gate where they tear tickets and search for stowaways, then reached the greeters who hand out event books, maps and printed thingies. I bought a case of beer specifically for these folk as they get dry on the range I’m told.

Soon we arrived at what we determined to be legit streets. Torches and camp lights cast some glow on the road. Suddenly, right in front of us in the glare of the headlights; a half dozen kids on bikes, each wearing a werewolf mask. Zoom they flew past, bells ringing as if to say “You’re not in Kansas anymore, buddy.” And truly we weren’t.

IT ONLY YURTS WHEN I LAUGH. . .

I was introduced to a family of longtime Burners collectively known as “Tarwater”: hearty archeologists (really) and scalawags who call the Playa home. And get this, the head Tarwetter has written several genre bits and a fantasy novel “Bad Gods”.

I located the camp near the jolly intersection of 6:00 and Gold and with RV secured, a half dozen in-house Tarwaterians and I spent an hour chatting it up and passing a bottle of tequila around the campfire which always puts things in perspective.

While some of the group were still stranded on the old rugged road, a few early birds had tamed their territory and sported all the comforts of home with a pair of couches, chairs, rugs, tables, and a makeshift kitchen easily approved by Martha Stewart.

Wasn’t long before the rest of the group arrived and commenced assembling their yurts from a pile of foam panels into a comfy bungalow that went together like a doll house in a few minutes; complete with generated power, air conditioner and plenty of comfy pillows. The finished domicile looked like the clubhouse I wanted as a kid.

Afterwards, everyone chose to wander into the night in search of adventure. I was beat from the drive and chose to stay aboard getting the interior in order and waiting for daylight to explore. I was wired and sleep didn’t come easily.

It’s Monday morning and ready to start the day; and a lovely day it was; bright sun, easy heat and little dust.

TARWATER

Rain tempered the much touted dust storms as the weather for the entire event was more modest than I’d seen on any YouTube videos.

Putting my foot on Burning Man soil for the first time in broad daylight was tantamount to Neil Armstrong setting foot on the moon and never during the week I didn’t wish Joe was there. The New Yorkies had flown the coup and I would not see them again.

At Tarwater a welcome breakfast sizzled on the grill and a cozy pleasure ensued relaxing under flapping tapestries in a soft wind putting down a fine breakfast. Burners known and unknown came, regaled the group with tales of things already seen and done. It was a lazy day and I was hard pressed to leave the couch and amiable chatter.

But time had come and I could find no reasons to remain in repose. My bike was ready for adventure and off to explore this unknown territory.

There’s no way to explain just how big this place is.

It’s two miles across at the furthest points and I’m here to tell you, it’s even bigger at night! There’s also a radio station, several medical facilities, uncountable bars, dives, discos, dark places, exhibits, art projects, vehicles, people, hangouts as scurrilous as anything in the Mos Eisley cantina and lots of people: 65,992 at last tally. Wait, never mind, I just explained it.

Those who chose to wear something went for sparse and light. Costumes flourished. Many in steampunkish garb; the only difference being, goggles are a necessity when dust kicks up, not just fascinators for your hat.

Bikes are de rigueur for getting around Burning Man. And I must have spent a good 5 hours on Old Paint the very first day and was painfully reminded the first two nights waking to charley-horses in both thighs which had me gyrating

about the sheets as if possessed by demons, but soon passed out again as if nothing had happened.

I had accoutered my wheels with a flag to aid in locating the thing in the sea of bikes and bizarre contrivances that pile up outside watering holes and attractions. I must also report that although the altitude of Burning Man is a mere 1800 feet above Vegas approaching four thousand feet above sea level, I noticed a marked change in performance and increased lethargy from the change in oxygen supply. Hell, I never realized I was sucking up so much air. Over the entire week I had eaten very little and most of my enthusiasm was relegated to just sitting and staring at stuff. Even kicking back at the camp, there is a steady stream of sights passing by, riding by, driving or careening past that promised even immobility can be entertaining.

Burning Man is a social oxymoron. It could be truthfully said there is something here for everyone, but equally true this place isn’t for everyone. There is dust (Despite having a shower, I noticed my hair had turned to stone), impromptu nudity, nonstop ear shattering music, isolation, crowds, copious amounts of free booze, camaraderie, strangers, all manner of free expression, entertainment both frenetic as it can be etherial, art cars, giant art cars, things to ride, things to fall off of and yes, even an opportunity to die. Sure, it says on the back of your ticket there is a possibility of DEATH! Sure enough, every year someone bites the big one or gets horribly maimed from any number of calamities that can befall mere mortals in such a place miles from anywhere. There is so much to see and do, it’s impossible to tackle Burning Man in just a week and I had planned waiting till Thursday to visit The Man himself and The Temple before their burning.

It was surreal riding my bike up the long road to The Man I had seen so many times in videos and photographs.

The theme this year is “Caravansary”; yes a real word meaning a central courtyard for travelers in desert regions of Asia and North Africa. A trailer park for your camels if you will.

With this in mind, The Man was surrounded by a Bedouin camp with a series of exhibits, demonstrations, music, libraries, dancing, sights, sounds and those checking it all out.

For now, it’s time to enjoy the entertainments, sun, dust, the people, and cumulative energy.

The Man was quite tall standing 105 feet like some daikaiju storming into a village and enhanced the feeling we were all just tourists in a strange land. In just a few days, The Man will raise his arms to the sky and die a glorious death consumed in flames!

This was also the day to hit The Temple of Grace intended as a sacred place for “memorials, reflection, celebration, and to commemorate life transitions.” This year, The Temple is 70 feet high with a total area 80x80’ square.

The structure featured a dome within a graceful curved body of intricately cut wooden panels on both exterior and interior. There were eight altars surrounding the temple spaced along the low-walled courtyard. For all the work building this sacred place, like The Man it too will burn to ash in just a few days. Before that happens however, I had made a tribute for Joe to hang among the hundreds if not thousands of memorials to be found within.

It was impaled to the outside of The Temple near the doorway to greet all those who entered this place where resides the heartiest helping of tranquility you will find at Burning Man. There’s a heavy emphasis on spirituality here; a veritable buffet of such things. Spirituality is where you find it I suppose, or where you put it after you bring it yourself. Everyone should be blown where the winds take them and as you maneuver from place to place you hear a lot of words like “Life Journey”, “Gaia”, “Karma”, Namaste”, “Consciousness” and “Kemosabe”.

The senses reel at the variety of visual delights and sometimes, just standing alone in the middle of nowhere taking in the festive horizon can be pretty amazing.

But you can’t completely isolate yourself anywhere on the Playa as there is always music wafting across the desert from any number of sites unknown.

I must confess a certain surprise; I saw absolutely no public drunkenness, nor a single soul passed out anywhere, nor public puking which is more than I can say for the VSFA Halloween party that had maybe 50 people extant and it’s own share of projected finger-foods. I’m sure there was plenty of stupefaction and hurling to be found if you knew where to look, which means this newbie didn’t find the venue’s most riotous goings-on.

The most dynamic projectile vomiting I’ve ever witnessed was a New Years party aboard the Queen Mary. The lovely floors had become a psychedelic tapestry to excess. Who says history can’t be colorful?

For many, kilts are the preferred manly dress of Burning Man and I bought one for the occasion. No, not one of those fussy Prince Charlie things, but something that’ll stand up the dust, wind, falling down and looks better the dirtier it gets. I am now here to admit there is a definite comfort and practicality factor to the thing although I spent an inordinate amount of time in “Excessively Conscious Sitting Procedures” but I could see why kilts are so popular.

Rambling across the Playa, youâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;ll be amazed by the Art Cars, loosely defined as vehicles mutated into something wholly other. Some small and cozy, other juggernauts capable of carrying dozens of people, maybe a band and sound system blaring across the sand and blasting flames as they go! At night, everything comes out of hiding. Peaceful camps become wild, bacchanals in a frenzy of music, dance and lights. Maybe easy in the city, but in the middle of nowhere you are required to bring your own power systems to crank up a disco as bright and hypnotic as any big city blowout!

Not everything at Burning Man is extreme. The events range from daily tea parties, morning meditation, free breakfast donuts, spaghetti dinners, more meditation with gongs and a didgeridoo for good measure. Endless eco-seminars, digital fabrication, numerous meditations and yoga, steam lodges, Margarita parties and yes Naked Body Counseling and more. . . lots more. If you can afford to get here, everything is without cost.

The place abounds with music for every taste, from bluegrass jams to a cappella choirs and bagpipes, stilt-walking lessons, the chocolate martini party and happy hour at any hour of the day.

Then there’s the dust; twirling Dust Devils appear from nowhere and can spin through your camp sharing any of your belongings with a camp on the next block if you’re not careful, and then there’s the billowing clouds of dust like brown cumuli that sweep across the Playa and force you to put on your goggles and dust-mask. Sometimes there’s a whiteout with dust so thick it is best to just stand in place until it subsides lest you crash into something or someone stumbling blindly around. Just imagine some place in the desert where hats go to die. One moment the sky can be as blue as… um, the sky! The next moment a tan dusty carpet envelopes you from the horizon.

At night everything becomes more spectacular when art cars turn on their lights. Some become fireballs, dragons, spaceships, or wild animals while others become ghostly ships sailing across the sea of sand.

Fire you might imagine is the big draw here in all it’s forms, whether topping a Tiki torch inviting you to a party, an art car blasting its horrifying fire cannons or an art installation The Man explodes into flames amid a barrage of fireworks!

s if drawn by some unseen calling into the wasteland, a thousand upon thousand Burners leave their tents, their yurts and RVs to step into the night and drawn purposely toward The Man. Down the lighted roadway concluding at the great figure who in a few hours will be reduced to so much soot and ash.

Like the best Hollywood spectacle, the bells, gongs, the low thrum of chanting, a ceremonial cart carrying the sacred flame followed by hundreds of robed Keepers of the Fire, the shuffling of thousands of feet across the sand and lapping of wind-tossed flames on torches passed solemnly like specters in the night, closer and closer they come . . . . .

Itâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s called. . . . . .

The Bedouins had disappeared into the night and left the man vulnerable to attack.

Thousands of people arrive this Saturday night and begin to crowd around the perimeter in expectation of what was to come. As the Keepers of the Flame arrive at the base of The Man, chaos ensues as the ceremony continues. Hundreds of fire spinners selected groups from around the globe have joined the melée and the air fills with the sound of flames whipping as they’re spun about. Dancing girls gyrate to the dizzying drums like a spectacle from Intolerance and the air becomes palpable with the

thunderous thrumming as flame cannons burst all around us and the excited crowd becomes as one!

Something mystical is going on and suddenly you notice The Man’s arms begin to rise skyward. Higher and higher as if rejoicing his inevitable fate. Colorful lazer beams play about The Man while the spectators can’t decide whether to scream and wildly wave their arms about or become hushed and solemn in wrapt antici. . . .pation!

And then. . . . .

Cheers and screams fill the air, the crowd goes wild! Thousands of people watched for a good forty minutes until The Man buckled under the fire and toppled to the ground amid a flurry of sparks and gasps - it is done. Slowly much of the crowd disperses while others wait till morning and the last ember fades away. Perhaps some are sad as they wander back to their camps, but soon they will be reveling the night away as for many this will be their last night.

I decided to leave at midnight after the burn in hopes of avoiding the longer exodus that can take literally 8 hours to funnel thousands of vehicles from nine lanes on the Playa to one lane on the rural highway. A post apocalyptic exodus of humanity! Somehow they make it work! This night, it took just an hour from Tarwater camp to 447! I was making the trip home alone - a ten hour trip and getting out of the valley in pitch blackness was the hardest part for me anyway.

Reaching the Fernley Walmart, I slid into the farthest slot and hit the sack. When my peepers finally peeped, there was a faint hint of dawn coming over the horizon on Sunday morning, exactly 7 days to the hour I left Las Vegas. I filled the tank and hit the road home.

Ten hours later, I pulled up to the house squealing the tires against the curb. I can’t consider this trip done until I return the RV. But for now I’m hitting the sack and will leave the Burning Virgin for tomorrow. Alas, I’m wired again and won’t sleep for two days.

Come Monday morning DeDee (bless’er heart) helped me clean the innards of the beast as there was at least an inch of dust in, on and around everything! I took several box-fans, placed them in the windows pointing out and with a leaf blower, blew everything into the air and whoosh out the windows it went! It took maybe three hours to get the vehicle mopped, slopped, spic and span!

Tuesday morning it was off to the dealer whose office is an international station. When I picked up the vehicle the place was packed - all heading for The Man and rang with any number of accents. There were French, German a Nordic couple and several Asian voices. Fortunately, at this moment they were all somewhere on the road heading back to Vegas and my getting out of there with little delay was a snap. DeDee picks me up and off we go. Done and done.

REFLECTION . . . .

When you come down to it, Burning Man is Brigadoon, rising from the desert for only ten days a year then disappearing without a trace.

People claim revelations and epiphanies and it has been described as a cross between “Mad Max meets Blade Runner” and “10 Commandments” devoted to “Radical Self Expression”.

I’m glad I went and though expensive I can see where the money goes. From planning the event, an army of heavy equipment to get the roads navigable and art installations up, hiring every Porta-Potty in the state (God forbid I should have to use one), but there they are nonetheless standing like a row of drunken politicians - staggering and full of shit. Not to mention an airplane landing strip for you high rollers; several hospitals, plus paying the government near two mil for use of the land in the first place. They claim total expenses for putting on the event over 8 million bucks which is nothing to sneeze at no matter how much dust you push around!

The big bugaboo about Burning Man being you are expected to participate in some fashion.

Regrettably, as a first timer, what time I spent on my feet was being more of a tourist than participant. If I go again it will be with several hearty souls. At the very least, it’s a learning experience…where Joe was sorely missed.

Burning Man Videos: Sights / More Sights / Even More Sights / Oh the Places

I Want YOU to Get Burned!

I threatened to go again only if I could find some hearty folks with a sense of humor, taste for adventure and a wad of cash. Interested?

Go HERE and get back to me.

Things we may have done…

Albert Pyun Screens new flick at the Fandom Bar

DeDee kicks back at Las Vegrants

DeDee Brings Home a Stray

DeDee prepares to Annihilate! < Nic celebrates the new digs!

DeDee hucksters the CineMark Zine >

The “Swing It Girls” share their new CD.

If you say so Mr. R.

Things we may have done…

Ever find yourself on the I-15 in the middle of damn nowhere with a craving for overpriced sugar?

Well folks, I’m here to tell ya’ Eddie World, the place that put Yermo on the map is for YOU! When driving across the desert, don’t be content just letting the Highway Patrol check you for Medflies and Terrorists. Stop at Eddie World and plug yer mug with enough caffeine and sugar to get all the way to Vegas without blinking your eyes!

Here you’ll find mountains of candy, fast foods, toys, munchies, extra clean restrooms and power stations for the eco-savvy driver.

A must for the desert traveler.

Ever find yourself on the I-15 in the middle of damn nowhere with a craving for something savory to take the edge off all that damn sugar you just ate? Well then dear friends have I got the extraterrestrial oasis for YOU at the far end of the main drag of an obscure community known as Baker, California a town built on desperation and Lotto tickets. Literally surrounded by nothing for miles. Well, there is a prison hidden out back of this post-apocalyptic community of less than a thousand residents; not counting the incarcerated! Alien Fresh Jerky, the place that put Baker on the map! Oh wait, they already had the world’s tallest thermometer, but get a load of this! For years the Mad Greek got the major press as it sat at the town crossroad right off the freeway next to that convenience store where you can blow whatever money on Lotto tickets you were allowed to leave Vegas with. But if Spanakopita ain’t your thing, head down the road where the alien overlords lay in wait for the eventual galactic takeover. Their new building is a stunning assault vehicle - a meat-filled juggernaut where neither your palate nor pocketbook can be satiated by the myriad of Jerky flavors, oddball souvenirs, well tumbled rocks and mmmmm, that Alien Fresh Jerky.

Just perhaps, that’s what’s really going on in the prison, grown from alien seed pods!

But get this, they are planning their own UFO hotel! And damn cool lookin’ if I may say. If they can pull it off, I am so there.

First convention dibs.

But wait! On the architectural horizon just up ahead - On a much grander scale to serve man is the UFO HOTEL space cruiser shape and size. Their project in the works ready to blast off right behind the Alien Jerky Store! Click the link and check out the video - if they can pull this off, I have dibs on the first con! The long long drive from Vegas to L.A. will never be the same.

Another “Cut and Print” for Mike Conway’s long running “Indie Meet”, the Vegas Independent Filmmakers pizza fest and hobnobbery. Despite the 106° it was a packed backyard and an overabundance of quality indie flicks that kept the fans riveted. A fabulous buffet was spread for all, and as usual, Sheila’s cookie mill had everyone walking about like chipmunks. Three days of movies, demos, friendly banter, and beer!

Our fave femme fan, Brenda Dupont, cakes-up for her 6 mo., RV Road Ramble! See you for Halloween!

I want my pizza with everything dammit! Tibetan mandala making display. Three days to make one of these with no anchovies.

Things we may have done…

Jarabe Mexicano - Sample

Rayford Brothers - Sample

Nikki Scalera’s Shirley Bassey Tribute - Sample

Joey Leone Trio - Sample

Things we may have doneâ&#x20AC;Ś

Speaking of munchies, there are other things to be done and places to go. The NUWU Cannabis Dispensary, largest in the world celebrated 4/20 in the spirit with a 2 day pot bazaar and concert.

Yeah, NUWU, the place on the rez with the 24 hour drive through window. Most of the booths were handing out virgin samples of their candy and pastry, yum. Concerts would be raging till the wee hours.

Art Cars, Monsters, Mayhem and Music at the Intergalactic Street Fair preparing all the bizarre vehicles for their trip to Burning Man, soon to be covered with dust and crazy people!

Start hydrating now.

Exploring “The Romance of Tea” with James Norwood Pratt. Quite a jolly lecture.

Vegas Showgirl costumes on display at the neighborhood library and DeDee Dreams big at the Mob Museum.

Cosplay Street Fair at the Millennium Fandom Bar parking lot! Gobs of fun and near the booze!

Any fen of a certain age will remember this flickering art-form from bygone days and receive a giant kick in the nostalgia bucket visiting The Neon Museum, where many of the marvelous signs from long-gone Casinos and businesses are on display; many functioning like new! It’s a toured affair day or night where the history of each sign is lovingly explained; although the night show is why you came, and usually sold out. Ticket consideration should be planned at least a week ahead in mild weather. Spy in the Sky: HERE For those going the extra mile, there is an accompanying nighttime show “Brilliant” where by the use of computer projection-mapping, the signs come alive to music.

Lots of standing and walking; not for Joey Bago’donuts Then it’s time to head over to Hogs and Heifers for a cold one (or two) and some loud music.

s â&#x20AC;&#x2122; t I

! e m i T Movie A few of my films to share - Click the Title to Watch!

THE BACKYARD TIME MACHINE Our hapless hero looking for a little slack.

4:43 minutes

THE BEST DAY EVER Wedding shot of what now cohabitates as Nic and Jennifer Farey! Everyone was there!

12 Minutes, 33 Seconds

NIGHT AT THE MILLENNIUM FAN BAR Party Fan Style.

3 Minutes, 24 Seconds

LEIGHEDMONDS I just wanted to let you know how much I enjoyed Skyliner 2. Now that I think about it, I did see the first issue but it's highly sophisticated graphics (for me at least) made me think media fanzine', so I didn't pay it much attention. However, while flicking through the second issue (can one flick through a pdf?) I came across the Vincent Price article and its quality sent me back to reading some of the other content too. So, all I can say is that I'm getting older and set in my ways so I couldn't look past the graphics to see the writing too. I'll know better next time.

That article on Price was very interesting. I was always a Christopher Lee fan myself (in the way that one had to be a Beatles or Stones fan back in the day) but I have seen Price in quite a few things and enjoyed his work - just that he wasn't as good as Lee. I don't believe that Price got to play a starring role in a James Bond movie either, which might be a good point on the Price score card.

Speaking of graphics, I enjoyed the comic strip (or whatever they are called these days) although I have to say it didn't make a whole lot of sense. But then my memories of seeing Aphaville are somewhat obscured by clouds of smoke so perhaps I should approach this in the same way. But it does look good even without the help.

I also liked a lot of your writing. The bus trip sounds like fun, in a perverse sort of way. I recently undertook a 11 hour train trip which made me happy that the gods invented airliners. I went from Melbourne to Sydney on the overnight train and got little sleep because the seat was so uncomfortable (it might have been when it was made in the 1990s but 20 years later, not so much) the track was very rough and even though the express didn't stop at most of the stations is slowed down to go through them and they had their lights turned up to nova intensity. On the way back the seat and the track were just as bad but the scenery was outstanding, cruising through the south-eastern corner of Australia in spring when everything was green and lush was a delight. I'd gone equipped with stuff to read and things to look at on my tablet but I couldn't look away from the view out the window just in case I missed some of it. Even so, next time I'm flying. The seats can't be any more uncomfortable even though they are narrower and the pitch is sufficient for only height challenged folks, and there is no view to speak of, but it only lasts 90 minutes and there is plenty to distract you in the way of in-flight entertainment.

Your comments about the current condition of fandom seemed accurate to me. These days I'm only an observer and the only fans I know well are the same ones I've known for thirty or forty years, but it does seem to me that fandom these days is a kind of 'off the hanger' business rather than the home tailored fandom that we made ourselves. Modern day fans seem to enjoy themselves but I feel that most of them are consumers rather than actifans.

WHO THE HELL IS NEXT? I did have a couple of complaints about Skyliner, one serious, the other one not so much so.

Normally I print out the fanzines that I see on efanzine but yours is so colourful that I fear my printer would run out of colour ink before I got half way through the issue, so I had to read it on screen. I have to say that it looks spectacular but I have to reduce the page size to get the full impact of some of your designs. Have you thought of trying a landscape format?

The other problem was more serious, which might have to do with my eyesight perhaps. Because of the size of the type and the length of the lines I had trouble scanning back to the next line without getting lost while I was reading. This made the Price article in particular more of a chore to read than it should have been. I'd suggest columns, but I don't know how that would look in your overall formatting.

In any event, let me just say how much I enjoyed this issue and I'm looking forward to the next one.

I like your comment about mass fannish consumerism. Though wisely they refuse to buy anything of mine. I’ve seen cosplay winners who just bought their costume on the way to the con. Definitely read the comic the same way you saw the movie, still won’t make any sense, but you won’t care.

Didn’t have time to get to it thish - maybe next time. Thanks for the kind words, Leigh. I’m too old and curmudgeonly to change anything… ever. I do every page as a separate canvas waiting to be attacked with knives, usually overdo everything and I’m far too anal to blaspheme with landscape formatting.

When websites came in, the prevailing thought was “Nothing Below the Fold”, pages only go left and right and I had to buckle under for the ten minutes that lasted. Now everything scrolls forever. I’d rather everyone look at my zines through a peep-toe Zanotti pump. Whenever I see anyone looking at anything on a cellphone, I want to mail them the same binoculars Dorinda Stevens got in “Horrors of the Black Museum”. BUT I have put two columns on one of the pages somewhere in here.

I’ve been wanting to travel anywhere by train for years, but there is no longer rail service out here for anything with less than four legs. AMTRAK is incredibly slow and expensive - at least on the west side of the country. My last train ride to Vegas was in ’57 to see Judy Garland. How time flies.

DAVEHAREN You claim to need some loc feedback from the wastelands of fandom. Quite awhile back in time I saw a zine you did that was a work of art full of high

strangeness and comp wizardry. I told a few about it but was hardly moved to respond leaving that to the other experts on such things in fandom.

Your last two are a lot better (more in keeping with my country boy prejudices). I am familiar with the area so always glad to see what has been happening there.

As a genuine olde farte I can also feel amazement at the lack of gee whizz showed by the youngers. The only exception being Elon Musk and his bond villain lackeys.

The present generation seems to think chipping a nail opening a poptop on a diet coke is high tragedy.

It's a tragedy all right, one that may find them all standing on a new shoreline wondering where all the city folk disappeared to. The Dutch at least had sense enough to start throwing up a few dikes before they went under.

My generation would have started terraforming not just standing around waiting for someone to decide to save them.

What I find even more appalling is the youngers dumb idea that science is some arcane shit only experts can do. Like Mark Blyth says 'there are muppets everywhere'. Most are horrifying looneys trying make the world into a safe space for their personal navel gazings.

At least you do not suffer from that syndrome and feel compelled to shout 'is anyone out there' now and again.

Thanks Dave! To be honest, I may have shouted that very thing last issue, but now I know where everyone is. Thought I don’t think them young’ns lack Gee Whizz; just visit San Diego Comic-Con to find gee whizz for days. Our fandom never had much gee whizz since the late ’70.

They just said they did. Just follow the spandex and you’ll see where the Gee Whizz resides.

Whoever makes the best costumes with the least amount of spandex rules.

LLOYDPENNEY Ah, ‘tis the Ides of March! (I told him, Julie, don’t go!) I have promised you letters of comment on your new zine Skyliner, and I will hold that promise. Sorry I didn’t get to the first before the second came along, but such is a busy life these days.

1… This is the kind of marvelous cover I expect from you. The hair of your cover model gave me, somehow, the impression she was wearing a hijab.

Hey, you’ve got to have some fun in fandom. IF3, after all, If Fandom Isn’t Fun, It’s Futile.

Glicksohn’s Maxim. But, as time goes by, the newer kids that arrive take the focus of fandom away from us, and we find ourselves having fun with fewer people in a distant dark corner.

Those newer kids can collect all the autographs they can, but we can still have our fun the way we want, the way we used to have it. Fandom can still be a good place to be. We are now busy with local steampunk and Harry Potter fandoms, which will probably blow our street cred, but who gives a rat’s ass anymore?

There’s lots of Twilight Zone discussion on Facebook, and episodes still show up on local TV, but I am intrigued to find that there is the discussion of yet another TZ reboot, this time helmed by award-winning director Jordan Peele. I am not sure about the connection with miniature golf, but whatthehell, it’s Vegas!

In fact, the last time we were in Vegas, it was a Corflu. While I was having a time at that Corflu, Yvonne was exploring the hidey-holes of Fremont Street, chatting up the bartenders, who kept feeding her diet Coke, and the scantily clad young ladies who were handing out business

cards and Mardi Gras beads. Your con list…if we have any cash in our accounts in a year or so, perhaps we could fly down to LV for the Leviosa convention.

Add to that other Vegas events like weddings (CSI sure takes the piss out of LV on a regular basis), and as you say, Vegas is one huge convention, the programming is everywhere, and we can all go to the never-ending con suite.

Greetings to Lubov! I am sure we’ve met, and it was at that Corflu I mentioned earlier. I wish there was a way to get your artwork out to a bigger audience. I so seldom get to a regular SF convention, for they usually aren’t held around here anymore, and artwork is iffy at best.

We’ve had fandom/popcult restaurants here, and for the most part, they never last. We have none left here. Enjoy and patronize what you have, for it’s so easy to lose. We have got our ears on looking for a steampunk bar around here. There is a Harry Potter bar/restaurant here called The Lockhart, and they have a second location in Montreal.

There’s must be a steampunk scene there, especially if you can put gears and dragonflies together. I have won chili championships using my speciallyimported Tanzanian mega hot sauce, so the challenge might be fun.

It used to be that SF fans ate their dead. Now, we’re just glutenintolerant, and we watch our weight. And, we’re for the most part happy there’s still some of us still around. This past December, Yvonne and I each marked 40 years in fandom. Where’s my gold watch? Or perhaps, we don’t know enough to go away, and we start to smell a little, and hence page 24.

I am job hunting, and one thing I do notice from time to time is people looking for people who want to get into cannabis marketing. It becomes legal nationwide here on July 1. I don’t smoke at all, and rarely drink, so I am not really interested. However, it is an industry getting ready to launch around here, and it will be controlled by each province, probably in much the same way it runs a liquor control board. If you are putting together a cannabis publication, you might want to look at some level of distribution in Canada.

Looks like Arnie has found some companionship, and good for him. I am so lucky to have Yvonne, and I am some years away from retirement, but I would think it pretty tough to be a senior citizen and a widower. Good for all the Vegrants to still gather. Good for Nic and Jennifer, too.

Didn’t want to do another zine? Why not? No postage, or paper, or envelopes, just whip up a masterpiece, and plop it still wriggling onto eFanzines.com, or shove it in the e-mail. I have found my niche, creating letters to the editor, and see if it matters at all to anyone. I can’t think of anyone who made the massive jump from fan to pro from here, with the exception of Robert Sawyer. The rest of us couldn’t do it, or even tried. I find that fandom moves faster than we do. We’ve attended our local SF convention for coming up on 35 years, and there was always something of interest, but that something has been smaller and smaller all the time. This year, we will skip it entirely to go to a steampunk convention in the Detroit area. Yvonne will reprise her role of Queen Victoria to inspect the fannish steamy troops. Fandom moves on, and we stay where we are comfortable. Fandom may be old folks, for I see little community coming out of modern cons. They are run mostly now by major corporations for megabucks.

I see plenty of familiar names in my travels on Facebook. Some of them are the usual disagreeable sorts they made their trademark, some of them are still eking out what fun they can, like us, and others are enjoying their retirement in the Glades of Gafia. But, I still keep my memories, and they are mostly positive. For many years, we were the youngest in the room, and now, with more modern interests, we are often the oldest, and that’s okay. Hugos are no longer for us. I have no idea who these people are.

The closest I got was a nominee on the ballot. I lost to Fred Pohl. (?)

Nearly two pages on a single issue!

What will issue 2 have for me? Yeah, darn right you watch where your hands are going…

Yeah, I’m bad, I didn’t loc your issue until now. Well, in issue 3, you can praise me to the skies or embarrass me for being late, whichever you please. The closest we all get to clubs these days is a page on Facebook or similar social media.

If they count, I belong to 40 clubs or more. I miss my fandom, and I think we can all say that. So, we try to recreate it in other interests, and I’ve been moderately successful.

I own one suit, too. I go to fancy stuff in it. I have black pants and a black jacket, not a real suit, but I sometimes work in it. I am part of an agency that provides registration staff to local conferences and trade shows…I did it for free at one time, might as well get paid for it now.

Vincent Price was someone I always wanted to meet, and seeing how often he was up here, I was a little surprised I didn’t. He was a gentleman, a star, an art aficionado, a gourmet, and sometimes a very silly and fun-loving person. He would come to Toronto to do all of the above. And, sometimes, he’d come to town, and then head down the highway to the city of Hamilton, where he would do various horror-oriented things for a children’s show called The Hilarious House of Frightenstein. Why did he do this? I still don’t know, but he probably volunteered to do cheesy horror stuff for these folks just for the fun of it.

He’d do that. I didn’t watch Price for his horror movies, but I did see some of the cheesier stuff he did in Frightenstein, and he looked like he was having fun. Maybe that’s all that matters.

That giant fire hydrant is just so wrong. I am sure CSI would find traces of you-know-what all over it, and from various species, too. Where’s Grissom when you really need him?

Fandom was a gathering of people who all thought they were alone, and then experienced the joy of discovering that they were wrong, that there were plenty of people who loved science fiction. And then, even those who laughed at us joined us, and it sounds like we won, but in many ways, we lost. We lost our uniqueness, our community, our specialness. I think we can look back at the fandom we knew, and marvel that we didn’t kill one another, but made friendships and acquaintances that have lasted our lifetimes. Fandom taught us to be social, and when that social period is largely done, I think that’s what we truly miss.

We have had our fun with fandom. I treasure the friends I made in it. It is still around, even if it’s just in our own minds. I have some marvelous memories to cherish, but I have no intentions of gafiating. Look up Penney’s Steampunk General Store on Facebook, that’s us.

We’ve gone steampunk, and there is new fun to be had. May we kick the bucket with our top hats and fascinators on.

Anyway, I think I have squeezed it dry for the moment. Tomorrow is Friday, and there’s a St. Patrick’s Day weekend to plan, and at least one party we will crash. (Okay, we were invited, but the idea of crashing it makes us feel a little younger, at least.) Yvonne is making Hawaiian shirts, and teacup holsters. Look that one up… Thank you for two issues of your fine fanzine, and I hope there will be a third issue so my letter can help you pad it out. See you then!

Thanks Lloyd, I always feel like I’ve been to the Lama when I hear from you. So I looked it up. Can’t wait to see your teacup; looks cool. Actually, you sound like the perfect person to run a pot shop. I do have the pleasure of knowing that when WE collected autographs, we didn’t have to pay for them. Your “Fandom was a gathering…” bit should be etched on the side of a big mug I can read over and over when I’m drowning my sorrows. I was in a movie with Price once: “The Offspring”. So many of those old guys, like Price, Lugosi, Karloff were restless sorts fit to die with their boots on. Except for a few casino shots, CSI is shot in San Diego. Always appreciate your letters. Hydrate.

BRADFOSTER Thought I'd drop you one of those rare "loc" things that seem almost extinct these days!

I don't drop in on efanzines a lot, always seems to be something else going on keeping any spare time to "wander around and see what is happening" to a minimum. But got one of Bill's notices of new things up, and actually had a spare moment, so clicked to look for first time in a while. The blazing covers for Skyliner definitely jumped out in a quick scroll down-- A new White zine? Always worth looking at.

And it was. Graphics rich as usual (it wouldn't be an AW production without lots of eye candy everywhere), and certainly looks like you are having-much-more fun than I am. Of course, being the shy and retiring lil doodler I am, not sure I would have gotten to much of that even if I was in Vegas. Nice to see someone else having fun vicariously for me.

Loved the Lubov shots, don't think I've ever seen her work on such scale, just the smaller prints. Amazing. Just amazing.

I've stuck my toe in a couple of local small comic cons again the past year. Fun to be in a place actually selling comic books, with comicbook creators as guests, and not called a "comic" con but filled with actors and cosplay only. (Nothing wrong with those things, of course, but sf and comics seem to becoming a smaller part of their own conventions these days.)

Regarding the Crankatorial, first wanted to note: yeah, your row of "Things I still think about every day" images were each and every one winners for me too, always worth revisiting. Great minds think alike.

And yeah, "our" fandom (and I'm a late starter even there, not really getting that involved until well into the 70s), has changed and pretty much gone away, not really any new blood coming in. The general "zine" community, especially out of comics, seems to be going strong with lots of new folks, but the old-fashioned skiffy fanzine is going away. I agree with just about all your observations in these pages on that subject. And yeah, no better sign of that than the names showing up in the “Fan" categories of Hugo awards. Who are these people? What is actually "fannish" about what they do? Ah well... we had our run.

But, if you still have it in your blood, you will still have to do it, no matter how it is received. Case in point--I noticed there was a second issue of Skyliner listed as well. You just can't help it, Alan--you have too much fun creating-not-to make these things. And I think-that-is the fannish soul: we make things for the love of making things.

If other people take a look at them, that's a bonus. But we still do this for the pure fun of it for ourselves.

Publish or perish!

By the way, you kids and your hip new design work. I scrolled through the issue 3 freakin' times, looking for an email (or any address at all!) to send a comment to, and only at the start of the 4th run did I realize that “@" symbol might be hiding an email behind it. The world of the web, where you have to always "hover over" things to find out what they really are!

Thanks Brad, you nailed it, quite eloquent and fabulous as always. Yeah, and comic fandom has been shunted aside as well, and they were a lot more advanced than SF Fandom who dumped the mimeograph at the drop of a hat and moved on to offset, then full color while Fandom was still cranking a handle. In 1984 Shel Dorf bowed out, allowing the other entertainments to run a wilder Comic-Con, then everything went mad. Probably would have happened anyway. I guess now we can regard ourselves as “quaint”. I have a feeling it won’t be too long before fandom fades away altogether. They haven’t even bothered to number fandoms since the 50s so I guess they saw it coming. If you’re ever through Vegas let us know. Maybe we can have a GrouseCon where all the old timers get together and grumble. On wait… Corflu, they just don’t realize the party’s over.

Nobody will be hovering as if they were in a public toilet this time around.

JOHNPURCELL Well, this may be a couple months later than desired, but getting a letter late is a damned sight better than never, eh?

I don't know how you do it, Alan, but your latest effort is another grand addition to your string of grand fanzine eye-candy. You never fail to impress me with your visual flair and range of interests.

For example, thank you for that wardrobe attire suggestion. Most male science fiction fans do have this problem, and your single-suit solution is effective and quite pragmatic. Unfortunately, the sunglasses I own definitely look like I followed ZZ Top's advice in that regard, but I also heeded their advice in updating my wardrobe to snazz up my duds. Sharp-dressed man, indeed.

By the way, in this image of you on page 5 makes you look like one of those dress up Ken dolls, but much older and, shall we say, more filled out. Stout has been used to describe a man's style of dress suit, but I prefer Stout in a glass.

My wife and I upgraded our cellphones the day before we left for England last summer. I am not kidding! Since we both qualified for a free upgrade, we did so, and at the urging of our children we each got an iPhone 7+. Supposedly they each have a ton of storage (64 GB), are easy to set up and use (HAH!), with apps galore and can do everything but wipe your ass; I would not be surprised if Apple would figure out how your cellphone could do that, but I really don't want to think about it. Bad enough that six months later those two 7+ iPhones are already obsolete. It's ridiculous the way Apple and other electronics companies have rigged their products for maximum profits. Welcome to ‘Murica!

The rest of this issue is as eclectic as expected from one of your zines. Skyline is, like I said earlier, a visual treat, and so is the content. Zombies and horror movies and Sci-Fi, oh my! It’s all in here. Thank you so much for creating this creative feast. No famine in your imagination, is there?

Thanks John. Personally, I prefer Bill Stout, and anything about ZZTop is A-OK in my book But the beards don’t work for me. I grumbled over my phone quandaries last ish, and it’s still a mystery. I love the phrase, “At the urging of our children”. Sounds like you’re headin’ for the raisin ranch, but that’s a bus ride we must all take in time.

Have a great everything Mr. P.

JIMMOWATT Many thanks for Skyliner 01 which I must admit I've only just read (it only took me 5 months to shuffle it off my to read list and on to the I've just read that list).

I enjoyed seeing the pics of the Relaxacon. Everyone seemed to be having a great time.

I see that you sang the what is a fanzine song, so oft heard in the fannish halls of wails and lamentations. I remember a similar discussion in a particularly frustrating talking heads panel at Lonestarcon 3 in San Antonio. The issue of issues was brought up many times and it was an article of faith that an issue had to be a thing that marked a particular moment in time and couldn't be altered or added to at a later date. I remember trying to open out the discussion and consider such things as video fanzines or even blogs but no-one seemed to be interested in exploring those avenues. Now, it seems we are moving ever onwards to a more fluid view of what a fanzine is even though the Hugo rules don't appear to have changed.

I took a look at Lady Business and rather than try to assess whether it obeyed the Hugo rules I looked at whether it performed the same function as fanzines have in the past. On those terms it measures up pretty well. The most important thing it does is to help bond a community together and keep them well fed with what is

happening in that community. They have a lively comments section so that everyone gets the opportunity to write a letter of comment. They have a large number of contributors so it represents different opinions on shared experiences.

All these things get a large tick in the box for Lady Business. It may not be a fandom I really feel part of but it looks lively and vibrant and is a worthy winner. Maybe it's time for the rules to change to reflect what the Worldcon attendees seem to want.

Greetings Jim! We miss you guys! Hope you’re still slouching around the corners! I can’t disagree with you on anything. I’m the first to plead “Out of Touch” with the new fandom. I just want to know who all these new Hugo noms are, and where they come from while I’ve been watching efanzines. Yeah, yeah, I need to get up to speed. Just want to be hip to the fanart jive, whatever.

Type to enter text

Musical Inspiration for This Issue

See Yaâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;

Next Time!

Awaaaaaaaaaaay!