DIY History | Transcribe | Hevelin Fanzines | Acolyte, v. 2, issue 4, whole no. 8, Fall 1944 |

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Acolyte, v. 2, issue 4, whole no. 8, Fall 1944

Howard Phillips Lovecraft ~ E. HOFFMAN PRICE

   My first sight of H.P. Lovecraft was when he welcomed me in the lobby of a third class hotel on St. Charles Street in New Orleans in 1932, a month after I had decided to go out for full time writing; and behind my almost Mongolian calm I was pretty much thrilled at the chance of talking to the master of all weird writers.
   He wore a baggy and threadbare suit of what might be called snuff color; it had been neatly and inconspicuously patched in at least two places. He made some remark about having just finished laundering a shirt in his room. From this I knew that I had come face to face with a man who preferred the feeding of brain and soul to staying at home to stuff his guts and doll out his frame. I, too, had travelled when a sight and a sandwich was better than a banquet and being in the same old rut.
   A snapshot the late Farnsworth Wright once showed me had prepared me for a man of striking appearance; but the unusual prominance of the lower part of the white of the eye, so striking in those pictures, was not, as I remember, at all conspicuous when I saw H.P.L. himself. For the rest, he was inclined to be stooped, somewhat the stoop of the Chinese scholar; thin, narrow face, long chin and jaw, and intense brown eyes. His speech was quick, jerky, whether coming from nervousness or from animation and the high speed action of his mind, I didn't know; looking back, later, and from further meetings, I decided that this might have resulted from a blend of both.
   The next striking aspect was his choice of words: an animated and highly keyed dictionary! Yet so natural and unaffected was his use of formal locutions, "two-bit" words, bookish expressions, that I suddenly realized that if he spoke as other people did--THAT would have been an affectation.
   Then, just as abruptly, there came an end to my appraisal; the strangeness of the man had worn off, and it was as though I had known and liked him for a long, long time; it was good to be in his company, pleasant, and stimulating, and refresging; a "good guy", a sound fellow, a solid man.
   I had heard that he was sternly opposed to drinking of any kind, and so, as a matter of courtesy and not at all with the idea of hypocrisy, I had hidden the five cases of home brew, the keg of raisin wine, and other alcoholic treasures. In lieu of New Orleans prime refreshments, I offered New Orleans second line: coffee, which he enjoyed and drank in enormous amounts, with four heaping spoonsful of sugar in each cup, throughout the entire twenty-eight consecutive hours we sat in my apartment on 305 Royal Street, chatting at a fantastic tempo. We were well met!
   I had a big pot of chili con carne, one of my bachelor apartment staples. It was good to see H.P.L. stow the stuff away. He relished highly spiced dishes; and when, a year or so later, I saw him in Rhode Island, he asked me to make him the Indian Curry I had described. The spices---coriander, ginger, caradmon, fenugreek, pepper, Lord alone knows what else---caught his ear, and the blistering, blasting sauce tickled his palate. Others knew him as an ice-cream connoisseur of international championship stature; I remember him as one who could zestfully stoke up on spicy foods of the spiciest.
   The man's enormous enthusiasm for novelty of idea, of food, of spectacles, of word combinations; this, if anything, could be called as characterizing H.P.L. I have met in all my time only one or two others who equalled him in what I call "mental greed", that insatiable,
                    --17--

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Howard Phillips Lovecraft ~ E. HOFFMAN PRICE My first sight of H.P. Lovecraft was when he welcomed me in the lobby of a third class hotel on St. Charles Street in New Orleans in 1932, a month after I had decided to go out for full time writing; and behind my almost Mongolian calm I was pretty much thrilled at the chance of talking to the master of all weird writers. He wore a baggy and threadbare suit of what might be called snuff color; it had been neatly and inconspicuously patched in at least two places. He made some remark about having just finished laundering a shirt in his room. From this I knew that I had come face to face with a man who preferred the feeding of brain and soul to staying at home to stuff his guts and doll out his frame. I, too, had travelled when a sight and a sandwich was better than a banquet and being in the same old rut. A snapshot the late Farnsworth Wright once showed me had prepared me for a man of striking appearance; but the unusual prominance of the lower part of the white of the eye, so striking in those pictures, was not, as I remember, at all conspicuous when I saw H.P.L. himself. For the rest, he was inclined to be stooped, somewhat the stoop of the Chinese scholar; thin, narrow face, long chin and jaw, and intense brown eyes. His speech was quick, jerky, whether coming from nervousness or from animation and the high speed action of his mind, I didn't know; looking back, later, and from further meetings, I decided that this might have resulted from a blend of both. The next striking aspect was his choice of words: an animated and highly keyed dictionary! Yet so natural and unaffected was his use of formal locutions, "two-bit" words, bookish expressions, that I suddenly realized that if he spoke as other people did--THAT would have been an affectation. Then, just as abruptly, there came an end to my appraisal; the strangeness of the man had worn off, and it was as though I had known and liked him for a long, long time; it was good to be in his company, pleasant, and stimulating, and refresging; a "good guy", a sound fellow, a solid man. I had heard that he was sternly opposed to drinking of any kind, and so, as a matter of courtesy and not at all with the idea of hypocrisy, I had hidden the five cases of home brew, the keg of raisin wine, and other alcoholic treasures. In lieu of New Orleans prime refreshments, I offered New Orleans second line: coffee, which he enjoyed and drank in enormous amounts, with four heaping spoonsful of sugar in each cup, throughout the entire twenty-eight consecutive hours we sat in my apartment on 305 Royal Street, chatting at a fantastic tempo. We were well met! I had a big pot of chili con carne, one of my bachelor apartment staples. It was good to see H.P.L. stow the stuff away. He relished highly spiced dishes; and when, a year or so later, I saw him in Rhode Island, he asked me to make him the Indian Curry I had described. The spices---coriander, ginger, caradmon, fenugreek, pepper, Lord alone knows what else---caught his ear, and the blistering, blasting sauce tickled his palate. Others knew him as an ice-cream connoisseur of international championship stature; I remember him as one who could zestfully stoke up on spicy foods of the spiciest. The man's enormous enthusiasm for novelty of idea, of food, of spectacles, of word combinations; this, if anything, could be called as characterizing H.P.L. I have met in all my time only one or two others who equalled him in what I call "mental greed", that insatiable, --17--