DIY History | Transcribe | Hevelin Fanzines | Fantasite, v. 2, issue 4, November-December 1942

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Fantasite, v. 2, issue 4, November-December 1942

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room the while. Someone heard a feeble cry, discovered Robinson hanging out the window, and dragged him to safety. Brack and I had left our program booklets in our room and inquired as to the swiftest way to get there. Somebody suggested the stairs and directed us to the door at the end of the hall. We dashed out of the room, down the hall, and scarcely paused to open the door. It was the fire-escape, and Manse pulled me back just in time to prevent me from blithely soaring into space. I still don't consider it a very decent sort of practical joke. By the time we returned the room was in a hubbub -- cigarette smoke obscuring things from vision, and people shrieking into each other's ears in order to make themselves heard. It was hyper. 

Friend Brackney casually mentioned something about dates. Dorothy Tomkins promptly grabbed up the telephone and I heard her say something about "fellows from Minneapolis -- they want women". She hung up, and they dragged me from beneath the bed telling me how beautiful the blonde would be. Weakly, I acquiesced.

The rest of the night I know little or nothing about. I vaguely remember a drum room, or "The Drum Room", or something, where I downed a few drinks, and had a swell conversation with Al Ashley. I dimly recall something about our becoming indignant because they didn't serve Vodka. Al promised to have a private stock on hand for the next Conference, and we sealed the bargain with an umpteenth Cuba Libre. There is a hazy recollection of some cool-looking green slime, and I wonder if that's why people were calling me "The Shamrock Kid"? After a while, I floated out, drink still in hand. We had apparently been in another bar. We waltzed lightly back to room 452. I think it was 452. At least it was a room. I think. Somebody was playing poker. Evans was smoking a cigar. Somebody called up and told us to shut up so they could sleep. I suddenly became possessed by an overwhelming desire to play poker, but somebody wouldn't let me for some reason. Robinson was shivering in a corner in his shorts, having been coaxed into the game by the others.

Manse and I wandered all over the hotel looking for our room about 3:30 in the morning. He seemed in a bad way, although every time I'd attempt to help him the wall would intervene. After a while the misplaced room was located, and we entered after much fumbling with a key. I wanted to help Manse, so I tenderly clutched the bedclothes, gracefully folded them back, then did a beautiful Njinsky into the air and onto the bed. Manse mumbled something unintelligible, picked up the heap of sheets and blankest from the floor and we both were asleep.

A dim light filtered through to my eyes from somewhere. Vaguely I heard a ghastly, sepulchral banging sound, which seemed to fill the entire room with weird vibrations of varying intensity. After a while the sound stopped. Then the phone rang, and after a while I persuaded Manse into answering it. It proved to be 9:00 in the morning, so the caller was duly thanked and we went back to sleep. The banging noise started again. We pondered it for awhile, then discussed it. We both arrived at the inevitable conclusion that it was someone at the door. It was Walt, and he (heh, heh, heh) had come to get us up. He did a remarkable job, though, and in no time at all we had taken showers and were all fresh and daisylike. Then we went downstairs to breakfast where we met "Doc" and Mrs. Smith, and started autographing all over again. Looking in my booklet I noticed that Janie had signed it six time; while I had signed it twice myself.

Next meeting-place was the Conference Hall, and we all oooohed and aaaahed over the beautiful originals plastered all over the place. I saw a piano in the corner, shouted "Eureka", and with Brackney's aid dragged Walt over to it. We made him play everything from boogie-woogie, honky-tonk, and just plain swing, to "Liebestraum", and his beautiful composition "Futurama" in E Flat and G. Lots of interesting incidents took place that morning, and we had many a swell gabfest.

At 10:30 EEE called the meeting to order. First on the program were the brief talks by everyone present, in which they introduced themselves and explained what they wanted most out of science and fantasy literature. The Honor Guest, Raymond A. Palmer, was unable to be present, so the round table discussion was held next. The MFS applied for membership in the Mid-West F.F.F. and was admitted along with some Schmarje organization. 

During the introductory talks, Dick Kuhn very deftly gave Ollie Saari a hot-

Saving...

room the while. Someone heard a feeble cry, discovered Robinson hanging out the window, and dragged him to safety. Brack and I had left our program booklets in our room and inquired as to the swiftest way to get there. Somebody suggested the stairs and directed us to the door at the end of the hall. We dashed out of the room, down the hall, and scarcely paused to open the door. It was the fire-escape, and Manse pulled me back just in time to prevent me from blithely soaring into space. I still don't consider it a very decent sort of practical joke. By the time we returned the room was in a hubbub -- cigarette smoke obscuring things from vision, and people shrieking into each other's ears in order to make themselves heard. It was hyper. Friend Brackney casually mentioned something about dates. Dorothy Tomkins promptly grabbed up the telephone and I heard her say something about "fellows from Minneapolis -- they want women". She hung up, and they dragged me from beneath the bed telling me how beautiful the blonde would be. Weakly, I acquiesced. The rest of the night I know little or nothing about. I vaguely remember a drum room, or "The Drum Room", or something, where I downed a few drinks, and had a swell conversation with Al Ashley. I dimly recall something about our becoming indignant because they didn't serve Vodka. Al promised to have a private stock on hand for the next Conference, and we sealed the bargain with an umpteenth Cuba Libre. There is a hazy recollection of some cool-looking green slime, and I wonder if that's why people were calling me "The Shamrock Kid"? After a while, I floated out, drink still in hand. We had apparently been in another bar. We waltzed lightly back to room 452. I think it was 452. At least it was a room. I think. Somebody was playing poker. Evans was smoking a cigar. Somebody called up and told us to shut up so they could sleep. I suddenly became possessed by an overwhelming desire to play poker, but somebody wouldn't let me for some reason. Robinson was shivering in a corner in his shorts, having been coaxed into the game by the others. Manse and I wandered all over the hotel looking for our room about 3:30 in the morning. He seemed in a bad way, although every time I'd attempt to help him the wall would intervene. After a while the misplaced room was located, and we entered after much fumbling with a key. I wanted to help Manse, so I tenderly clutched the bedclothes, gracefully folded them back, then did a beautiful Njinsky into the air and onto the bed. Manse mumbled something unintelligible, picked up the heap of sheets and blankest from the floor and we both were asleep. A dim light filtered through to my eyes from somewhere. Vaguely I heard a ghastly, sepulchral banging sound, which seemed to fill the entire room with weird vibrations of varying intensity. After a while the sound stopped. Then the phone rang, and after a while I persuaded Manse into answering it. It proved to be 9:00 in the morning, so the caller was duly thanked and we went back to sleep. The banging noise started again. We pondered it for awhile, then discussed it. We both arrived at the inevitable conclusion that it was someone at the door. It was Walt, and he (heh, heh, heh) had come to get us up. He did a remarkable job, though, and in no time at all we had taken showers and were all fresh and daisylike. Then we went downstairs to breakfast where we met "Doc" and Mrs. Smith, and started autographing all over again. Looking in my booklet I noticed that Janie had signed it six time; while I had signed it twice myself. Next meeting-place was the Conference Hall, and we all oooohed and aaaahed over the beautiful originals plastered all over the place. I saw a piano in the corner, shouted "Eureka", and with Brackney's aid dragged Walt over to it. We made him play everything from boogie-woogie, honky-tonk, and just plain swing, to "Liebestraum", and his beautiful composition "Futurama" in E Flat and G. Lots of interesting incidents took place that morning, and we had many a swell gabfest. At 10:30 EEE called the meeting to order. First on the program were the brief talks by everyone present, in which they introduced themselves and explained what they wanted most out of science and fantasy literature. The Honor Guest, Raymond A. Palmer, was unable to be present, so the round table discussion was held next. The MFS applied for membership in the Mid-West F.F.F. and was admitted along with some Schmarje organization. During the introductory talks, Dick Kuhn very deftly gave Ollie Saari a hot-