DIY History | Transcribe | Hevelin Fanzines | Wavelength, issue 1

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[paper stapled to top of page covers text. duplicate of p. 13]

use (we have not as yet archangels for advertisers to enable us to sell profitably at a nickel a magazine costing 24 1/2 cents to produce). But you can't quite laugh off the 10,000,000 Americans who plunk down their hard-earned cash once or twice each month for their favorite mags. 

And who knows what some future historian may say about the relative merits of the forests of pulp that go into the magazines and books of today? After all, the masses throughout the world enjoyed the entertainment of slap-stick Charlie Chaplin long before the high-brows discovered that he was an artist "incomparable."

But I should be the last one to think about the verdict of the future. I've got a Western pulp, a Detective pulp, and a Mystery pulp, all going to press. There is a foot and a half of manuscript to be read, all with their bang-bang and rat-tat-tat, and corpses galore (the number of corpses per story having gone up since the depression).

MAN INTO MONSTER (Continued From Page 6)

"It Out-Frightens 'Frankenstein'; It Is More Dreadful Than 'Dracula'. Public Ghoul Number One Is Seen At His Best." -- The Washington Call.

"I want to go home," said Mr. Twerp quickly as he read these posters; but his wife propelled him into the theatre.
---
When the Monster (Boris Karloff), with many a fearsome snarl and slobber twisted the head off Sir Abercrombie, Mr. Twerp tensely clutched the arms of his seat. When with gibbers of blood-lust the Monster disembowled the chauffeur, Mr. Twerp began to quiver and gasp. It was a nerve-wracking picture. The story concerned the Monster, a score of victims, and a haunted castle and Mr. Karloff turned in a superb performance.

And when the Monster, leaping in demoniac glee, as its strong, hairy arms reached for the heroine, came nearer, ever nearer to the cornered girl; its corpselike face filled the entire screen, Mr. Twerp gave a little squeak and quietly slumped down in his seat.

Ushers took him to the manager's office. "He's fainted," they told the manager.

"Great!" exclaimed the manager. "Some picture!"

Mrs. Twerp revived her spouse with dashes of cold water in his face.

Mr. Twerp feebly opened one eye and said, "Take me home."

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[paper stapled to top of page covers text. duplicate of p. 13] use (we have not as yet archangels for advertisers to enable us to sell profitably at a nickel a magazine costing 24 1/2 cents to produce). But you can't quite laugh off the 10,000,000 Americans who plunk down their hard-earned cash once or twice each month for their favorite mags. And who knows what some future historian may say about the relative merits of the forests of pulp that go into the magazines and books of today? After all, the masses throughout the world enjoyed the entertainment of slap-stick Charlie Chaplin long before the high-brows discovered that he was an artist "incomparable." But I should be the last one to think about the verdict of the future. I've got a Western pulp, a Detective pulp, and a Mystery pulp, all going to press. There is a foot and a half of manuscript to be read, all with their bang-bang and rat-tat-tat, and corpses galore (the number of corpses per story having gone up since the depression). MAN INTO MONSTER (Continued From Page 6) "It Out-Frightens 'Frankenstein'; It Is More Dreadful Than 'Dracula'. Public Ghoul Number One Is Seen At His Best." -- The Washington Call. "I want to go home," said Mr. Twerp quickly as he read these posters; but his wife propelled him into the theatre. --- When the Monster (Boris Karloff), with many a fearsome snarl and slobber twisted the head off Sir Abercrombie, Mr. Twerp tensely clutched the arms of his seat. When with gibbers of blood-lust the Monster disembowled the chauffeur, Mr. Twerp began to quiver and gasp. It was a nerve-wracking picture. The story concerned the Monster, a score of victims, and a haunted castle and Mr. Karloff turned in a superb performance. And when the Monster, leaping in demoniac glee, as its strong, hairy arms reached for the heroine, came nearer, ever nearer to the cornered girl; its corpselike face filled the entire screen, Mr. Twerp gave a little squeak and quietly slumped down in his seat. Ushers took him to the manager's office. "He's fainted," they told the manager. "Great!" exclaimed the manager. "Some picture!" Mrs. Twerp revived her spouse with dashes of cold water in his face. Mr. Twerp feebly opened one eye and said, "Take me home."