A WHISP OF SMOKE:
Last month Redd Boggs asked me to write an article for his new NFFF publication, Futurist, and since I had an idea all ready to go, I was glad to comply. It was entitled "The Tentacle Crowd" and was about a new Saturday Eveni ng Post story that appeared in the December 24, 1949, issue, "The Outer Limit" by Graham Doar. I thought I saw in this story an important advance in slick magazine science fiction. I dumped my natural skepticism in the waste paper bas ket and went all out, predicting, among other things, that we might expect a Saturday Evening Post science fiction serial now and then to relieve the western story, detective story turnabout complex that the SEP is addicted to. The ar ticle was sent to Redd and he wrote that he could use it.
Then it happened. Fantasy Times, the news fanzine published in New York by James V. Taurasi came out in their second December issue with a story by Arthur Jean Cox of Los Angeles that the Saturday Evening Post science fiction "binge was off". He quoted Mildred I. Reid of Writer's Digest to the effect that the Post editors had received too many critical letters about science fiction stories and they were not going to publish any more such storie s. That left my "Tentacle Crowd" way out on the limb.
So I revised the article, wrote a new ending in which I gave out with the sad news and ended it with a hope that the editors of SEP would reconsider. It was a weak article -- it was not as good as the original article. I sent the new ending to Redd and wrote that I was through predicting for the rest of my life.
A week later another issue of Fantasy Times came out and Arthur Jean Cox in his "Cosmic Reporter" column retracted the entire story about the SEP science fiction policy. He stated that instead of dumping stf, they were looking f or more, had just purchased a science fiction story from Ray Braadbury for $1,000, and were looking for a science fiction serial. That afternoon I got off an airmail letter to Redd that the original "Tentacle Crowd" was back in business.
Nevertheless, something caused this wisp of smoke. Cox didn't just cook that story up all by himself. There is a fire somewhere. It just might be that the SEP has been getting some letters blasting away at their science fiction. Checking up on the &quo t;Letters to the Editor" department has revealed nothing. My dad has been a subscriber for years and has most of the copies in the basement. I had plenty of "Letters to the Editor" columns to look through. This department is a thin one, the letters usually held to 50 words and most of the comment is about articles rather than fiction. I failed to find one letter blasting science fiction. The Post (Feb 4), carries no comment on "The Outer Limit." The issue of Feb 11 has one letter about the story, but this fellow liked it very much.
Nevertheless, there must be some basis for the Cox story. There must be some people who intensely dislike science fiction. As a matter of fact, I have such a person right here at home. He is my brother, Dan.
Dan is 35 years old, works for the railway mail service, plays golf in summer and bowls in winter. Dan is dark complected, tall and thin. He has a lean and hungry look. His long skinny feet are firmly planted on the ground. His reading consists of rail road time tables, detective stories, and pocketbooks. He never reads fantasy if he can avoid it. He does not believe in ghosts, flying saucers or Santa Claus. He hides my prozines in the back room so that visitors will not get the wrong idea about us. I h ave tried time and again to get him to read a science fiction story and I have got a nibble now and then. When Nineteen Eighty-Four was selected by the Book-Of-The-Month Club he read the back cover blurb, found out it was about the fu ture and that was enough for him. He wouldn't even open it.
I thought I had him when the atomic bomb burst on a terrified world. He regards it as publicity -- it is over-advertised. He thinks the hydrogen bomb is impossible. He regards a trip to the moon in a rocket as ridiculous. "If you did fly to the mo on, what would you have?" is a typical question.
Now that we have a television set, I enjoy the "Lights Out" broadcast. Most of the plays have a fantasy basis. During the telecast Dan insists on working on his Post Office sorting schemes. He turns on the light on the corner desk that reflec ts on the television screen. He won't work anywhere else. As the fantasy begins to grip deeper, Dan emits little ejaculations of disgust, "Ye Gods," "Oh, my aching back," "Can't we have that damned thing out now -- I have to work. " Nothing I can do about it, he is bigger than I am.
Yes, Dan exists. Since he exists, there must be others of his ilk that exist. To these individuals the world is unalterably three dimensional. Man will be earthbound forever. They hold with some of the medieval thinkers that the stars are a delusion an d are probably peep holes into heaven. Such individuals might write a letter to the editor and complain about a science fiction story in their favorite magazine for which they have paid their good money. There may be plenty of other good ordinary fiction in the publication which they can enjoy and the bit of fantasy may be only a four line verse hidden in the advertisements, but if they spot it, they will resent it.
The editor of the magazine publishing science fiction will get a letter saying: "Dear Editor, will you kindly look on page 46 of your latest issue of Slick Paper Stuff! Do you see what I see? Did you read that damned thing bef ore you put it in the magazine? After all, Mr. Editor, I can't be expected to support your publication if you are going to print fairy stories. I stopped reading that junk when I left kindergarten. What's the matter with Two Gun Harry? Can't Elmer Hotshot write us another story about Two Gun? One more flying saucer and you can cancel my subscription and refund my money. Yours truly, Western Story Fan."
And there is nothing more fantastic than the modern western story. The "west" pictured in them never existed, does not exist now, and never will exist.
So when Bradbury's story hits the Post, I'm going to write a letter to the editor and tell him I LIKE IT. That is, if I like it, of course. I have read few Bradbury stories that I didn't like. If enough fans write such letters it will balance th e letters of those who don't have the imagination of a June bug. Perhaps it will put the fire out for good.
SHORT ITEMS:
The great stf desert (Kansas, Missouri, Oklahoma) has at last produced a fanzine that crowds everything in the field. The Nekromantikon, Vol 1, No. 1, published by Manly Banister of 1905 Spruce St., Kansas City, Mo. has just hit the mail. It features fiction rather than articles or news. Banister wants stories from fans who hope to become authors. The stories in No. 1 are going to be hard to match -- they have a professional touch. The artwork is really fine. This fanzine will be publ ished quarterly and costs 25¢ a copy or $1.00 per year.
Heard over WDAF, Kansas City Star news broadcast -- Heinkel who built Hitler's planes said in an interview that he hoped the conquest of space would bring about world peace.
George Orwell, who wrote Nineteen Eighty-Four is dead of T.B. in London. Time, in discussing his book says that it is not so much satire as -- well, what shall we call it -- a portent? Orwell, says the reviewer, might be compared to Dean Swift and Nineteen Eighty-Four cannot be located exactly, but it is at best a distant literary cousin to Gulliver's Travels. Why don't they call it science fiction? Oh, dear no! Time's official attitude toward science fiction is ZAPP! ZAPP!, and they don't want to cast that shadow on Orwell's fine novel.
Time, Feb 6, in discussing the circulation-getting True Magazine, claims that True aims for facts and generally does alright, that is, until they published the January 1950 story, "The Flying Saucers are Real." ZA PP! ZAPP!
After months and months another Gorgon has arrived. Stan Mullen has not given up the fanzine for pro writing. This issue, No. 4 of Vol. 2 has an interesting article on flying saucers, "The Flying Discs," by Phil Rasch. I am almost a believ er again. Alright, ZAPP, ZAPP to me too, but if only I could see one ...
Text versions and page scans Judy Bemis
Data entry by Judy Bemis
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