Transcribe
Translate
Fantasite, v. 2, issue 4, November-December 1942
31858063099612_014
More information
digital collection
archival collection guide
transcription tips
Mrs. Liebscher insisted that we remove them and stay a while, which we did with celerity. We listened to some of Walt's records, read his mail, and discovered, finally, to our intense joy, that he was going to the Conference with Jane Tucker and some Chicago fans, and to our sorrow that Pong himself would not be there. Jane arrived, as did Neil DeJack and Frank Robinson, and we went through the introduction rituals again. Before anyone could casually murmur "splrfsk" (which word I coined back in 1940, incidentally, now that it is becoming popular) we were told we had three choices: coffee, beer, or highballs. Before our parched throats could gurgle with delight assorted glasses and cups were magically filled with wondrous liquids and pressed into our eager hands. We had a gay time of it. Having already found Walt to be a swell fellow, Saari and Russell cornered DeJack and discovered that he was a chip off the old block also. In another corner of the room Manse and I gleed with our highballs and tried to get words in edgewise as we conversed with Frank Robinson, who is a little fellow, but know how to use his big words. Janie and I laughed while Walt's mother related humorous things about him, as mothers will do. Janie's smile is most infectious. In case you don't know it already, Tucker is a lucky fellow, because Mrs., in addition to being pretty, is also the world's best cook, barring none. You should taste her coffee sometime. Around 12:00 we departed for Battle Creek, with Robinson making a fifth occupant of the StfNash. We were no longer fearful of becoming lost (it was still raining like cummings) as we could follow Janie's car. Brackney and I, occupying the back seat to ourselves, rudely announced our intentions of catching forty winks, as we had had no sleep to speak of the night before, having haunted an all-night Minneapolis restaurant which has good food and nice waitresses. I felt rather good, though, and every time I'd so much as contemplate succumbing to the arms of Morpheus, wisps of the science-fictional conversation would penetrate to my brain from the front seat and I'd perk up and enter the chatter again. We all stopped somewhere for gas and Manse purchased some cigars -- why, Ghu only knows, for they were of a particularly foul and offensive grade. Having discovered this after once more getting under way (although the price of the cigars could hardly conceal such a secret) Brackney and I amused ourselves by blowing clouds of smoke into the front seat, so thickly in fact that the three strangling, swearing figures there were obscured from our sight. We left them little choice: either they must needs open windows or suffocate, or endure torrents of slanting, icy rain, and chance drowning. They compromised by letting Frank bail with a shoe during the short intervals in which they dared to open the windows, and managed to survive through sheer will-power, if nothing else. It must have been about 7:30 when we finally reached Battle Creek and stopped at the Ashley home. Walt went in first, then summoned the rest of us. In we trooped, eight in all; weary and disheveled, but happy. Abby Lu greeted us then bustled around straightening things up or something while we talked to Al as he finished his cup of coffee. Walt and Jane went over to see Evans, while Al led me into the den to see the Nova equipment. Neil DeJack had brought along some good fantasy books, and people were soon pawing through them. Jane and Walt returned from Evans' place and Jane set about preparing breakfast for the whole hungry mob. I shall never forget the heavenly fragrance of that coffee as long as I live. M-m-m-m-m! By and by there came a peremptory summons from the kitchen, and a stampeding of feet as people crowded through the door. Robinson was trampled underfoot in the rush, but wasn't hurt. While we breakfasted Al entertained us with assorted card tricks, some of which I still maintain are utterly impossible, though for some weird reason they never failed to work. Walt suggested that we repair to Evans' room about noon, so six of us drove over in Ollie's car. We left Frank and Jane asleep at the Ashely's. Everett was working, but we made ourselves at home, and busied ourselves admiring his originals, pawing his books, and playing his records. Some of the originals that were to be auctioned off at the Conference were there, and we opened some that were loosely confined by string. Ollie was surprised to find an illustration for a story of his, "The Cannibals", that was then unpublished in Future. Someone (bless him) express-
Saving...
prev
next
Mrs. Liebscher insisted that we remove them and stay a while, which we did with celerity. We listened to some of Walt's records, read his mail, and discovered, finally, to our intense joy, that he was going to the Conference with Jane Tucker and some Chicago fans, and to our sorrow that Pong himself would not be there. Jane arrived, as did Neil DeJack and Frank Robinson, and we went through the introduction rituals again. Before anyone could casually murmur "splrfsk" (which word I coined back in 1940, incidentally, now that it is becoming popular) we were told we had three choices: coffee, beer, or highballs. Before our parched throats could gurgle with delight assorted glasses and cups were magically filled with wondrous liquids and pressed into our eager hands. We had a gay time of it. Having already found Walt to be a swell fellow, Saari and Russell cornered DeJack and discovered that he was a chip off the old block also. In another corner of the room Manse and I gleed with our highballs and tried to get words in edgewise as we conversed with Frank Robinson, who is a little fellow, but know how to use his big words. Janie and I laughed while Walt's mother related humorous things about him, as mothers will do. Janie's smile is most infectious. In case you don't know it already, Tucker is a lucky fellow, because Mrs., in addition to being pretty, is also the world's best cook, barring none. You should taste her coffee sometime. Around 12:00 we departed for Battle Creek, with Robinson making a fifth occupant of the StfNash. We were no longer fearful of becoming lost (it was still raining like cummings) as we could follow Janie's car. Brackney and I, occupying the back seat to ourselves, rudely announced our intentions of catching forty winks, as we had had no sleep to speak of the night before, having haunted an all-night Minneapolis restaurant which has good food and nice waitresses. I felt rather good, though, and every time I'd so much as contemplate succumbing to the arms of Morpheus, wisps of the science-fictional conversation would penetrate to my brain from the front seat and I'd perk up and enter the chatter again. We all stopped somewhere for gas and Manse purchased some cigars -- why, Ghu only knows, for they were of a particularly foul and offensive grade. Having discovered this after once more getting under way (although the price of the cigars could hardly conceal such a secret) Brackney and I amused ourselves by blowing clouds of smoke into the front seat, so thickly in fact that the three strangling, swearing figures there were obscured from our sight. We left them little choice: either they must needs open windows or suffocate, or endure torrents of slanting, icy rain, and chance drowning. They compromised by letting Frank bail with a shoe during the short intervals in which they dared to open the windows, and managed to survive through sheer will-power, if nothing else. It must have been about 7:30 when we finally reached Battle Creek and stopped at the Ashley home. Walt went in first, then summoned the rest of us. In we trooped, eight in all; weary and disheveled, but happy. Abby Lu greeted us then bustled around straightening things up or something while we talked to Al as he finished his cup of coffee. Walt and Jane went over to see Evans, while Al led me into the den to see the Nova equipment. Neil DeJack had brought along some good fantasy books, and people were soon pawing through them. Jane and Walt returned from Evans' place and Jane set about preparing breakfast for the whole hungry mob. I shall never forget the heavenly fragrance of that coffee as long as I live. M-m-m-m-m! By and by there came a peremptory summons from the kitchen, and a stampeding of feet as people crowded through the door. Robinson was trampled underfoot in the rush, but wasn't hurt. While we breakfasted Al entertained us with assorted card tricks, some of which I still maintain are utterly impossible, though for some weird reason they never failed to work. Walt suggested that we repair to Evans' room about noon, so six of us drove over in Ollie's car. We left Frank and Jane asleep at the Ashely's. Everett was working, but we made ourselves at home, and busied ourselves admiring his originals, pawing his books, and playing his records. Some of the originals that were to be auctioned off at the Conference were there, and we opened some that were loosely confined by string. Ollie was surprised to find an illustration for a story of his, "The Cannibals", that was then unpublished in Future. Someone (bless him) express-
Hevelin Fanzines
sidebar
