fried by the versatile hands of Ken Bulmer - the famous Kenneth H. Bulmer, Big-Time Pro
and like that.

     Then uptown for lunch with Pete. We were met by Steve Schultheis in front of the
famous theater (whose name I do not recall) that was showing the notorious allegedly
anti-American film, "A King in New York", starring Charlie Chaplin. We both said
goodbye to Pete and paid our four or five shillings for a choice seat in the cinema,
In reality, the picture was interesting and appeared to be more oŁ au anti-congress-
ional-investigation-committee propaganda bit than anything else. It also ridiculed
many American traditions, such as rock-and-roll, advertising, plush apartments, et
cetera. But MpD does this every issue, as some of you may know, this picture has
never been shown in America. Whether this is because of its plot, because it stars
Charlie Chaplin, or a combination of both, I do not know,

     After the show Steve and I exchanged stories of our respective visits. Steve had
spent almost a day fogged-in on some ungodly place between Liverpool and Belfast, but
had finally made it to Oblique House, where he was wined and dined by the Willis clan,
and defeated at Ghoodminton by Ghood old John Berry.

     Steve and I grabbed a quick bite and headed for the Globe and the London Circle
meeting, perhaps the last we would ever attend. We were early, but a few had preceded
us. Mike Moorcock, youthful editor of the English TARZAN COMICS magazine, was sitting
there munching a hotdog and gulping beer. Les Cloud, oldtime fan, was present. Young
Tony Klein and Sheldon (Boy Ugh:) Deretchin could be seen swapping jokes. And when
Walter B, Gillings walked in, I knew him immediately from a photo I had seen of him
taken in 1937. Believe it or not, he's still the same dignified, mustached individual.
we had a jolly time imbibing beer and talking over old times. But, like all London
Circle meetings, this one had to end. And I was beginning to notice that my slight
cold was, apparently, developing into something else.

     The next morning was the morning we all knew would come, whether we wanted it to
or not, It was like real plane-catching time and all the British-types were at the
terminal to see us off. I was feeling kind of low and bought me a little hip-flask of
joy juice to nibble on during the long flight back.

     Everybody bade everybody sad adieu, Even quiet Robert Abernathy (the big famous
pro-type Abernathy) was chatting away, Bob is one of those fellows who doesn't have
much to say - but he can certainly turn out a good story. Mentioning Bob reminds me of
a little story that I just have to get in here because I can't think of a more appro-
priate time,

     It seems that, back in l949, I went on a field trip to Fort Knox, Kentucky. The
second morning I was there, one of the civilians in the office asked me if I could
possibly be the same Robert A. Madle who writes for SCIENCE FICTION STORIES. This, I
thought, was somewhat of a coincidence. Then the fellow sitting across from him (a
Captain) asked if I knew Robert Abernathy. It turned out that this officer was from
Arizona and was one of Bob's boyhood buddies, He told me what a big deal they all
thought it was when Abernathy sold a story to ASTOUNDING back in early '»2. This, I
thought, was quite a coincidence. Then I got to talking to the WAC receptionist who
informed me she was from Kinsman, Ohio. Naturally, I told her I knew some people from
Kinsman - Edmond Hamilton and his wife Leigh. The WAC said, "Why, they're my nextdoor
neighbors;" So, all of this happening in one wee small' office in one little old day
strikes me as bordering on the impossible.

  Anyway, back to the plane. We took off and had a short trip to Shannon, Ireland,
where everyone (except me) stocked up on whiskey, White Horse Scotch at $3 a fifth,
good bourbon at $2, et cetera. I was feeling mighty low and had no desire to even
think about whiskey, let alone buy it. (Wish I could get Scotch at $3 a fifth today,