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Spacewarp, v. 3, issue 4, July 1948
Page 22
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Far West, who are patiently awaiting a convention within traveling distance. By acclamation, therefore, Cincinnati was given the CINVENTION for 1949. The question of whether Labor Day weekend might be better than the July 4 date arose, but nothing decisive could be learned at the Torcon. ((If you have a preference one way or another, let the Cincin gang know it RIGHT AWAY!)) A letter from Rick Sneary and his cohorts was read, reminding the convention that he's still plugging for South Gate in [struck]48[/struck] [handwritten below in a bubble] 58, I mean! -- and was given a tremendous ovation. Rick better start building that convention hall of his. This ended the afternoon session. In the interval before evening, as Martin and I strolled down Queen Street, a misguided Torontoan began a conversation with me. I had my Torcon card pinned to my shirt and was puffing my 12-inch droopstem incinerator. Seems the man thought we were a couple of DP's! The evening session featured the Buffanet, which was marked by Singer's persistent attempts to slip cubes of sugar into other fens' coffee on the sly. ((Incidently, a poll sponsored by Singer but taken by another fan, showed Singer far in the lead as most militant atheist at the Torcon, with Ackerman coming in a poor second.)) ((At one time, Singer was even pressing atheistic tracts into 4sJ's hands, apparently in an attempt to convert him further toward materialism.)) The program of fan entertainment was MC'd by George O. Smith, who wowed everyone by reading the newspaper articles about the convention which appeared in the morning papers. Tucker provided sound effects where necessary. This was funnier than it sounds, for one of the articles, for example, is headed "Zap! Zap! Atomic Ray Is Passe With Fiends" and starts, "Put down that ray-gun, Buck Rogers, I've got you cold." Ah, well, what can you expect from a non-fan? The only time Tucker was stumped was when called upon to make like a scantily-clad damsel, as required by the clipping. ((I'll publish these news items in the next WARP, and to hell with copyright laws!)) There was also Bob Bloch's version of the Tucker Report, complete with a set of charts, including one which showed that all publishing houses are alike in having half-moons on their doors. A hilarious feature of the evening was Norm Stanley's deadpan report on the newest frontier of science, the study of thing-things, such as drill-drills, mill-mills, birdseed-seed, and light light. ((See TMB for details.*)) Also included in this session was everything from the singing of Goldberg MacInnes ((who was promptly voted Number One Fan)), to a recital of Poe's Raven by Sam Moskowitz, a Chopin nocturne by Milt Rothman, and a thrilling episode of spacetrail soap-opera. After the last strains of "Auld Lang Syne" the Michifen plodded toward Alger's rusty wreck, a trail of exploding firecrackers marking their path, and as a cloudburst suddenly ended the convention period of wonderful weather, we headed down King's Highway No. 2 for home. But do you think our adventures were over with so soon? Hell, no! Before long, Singer was arguing politics with Steve, religion with George, philosophy with me, and which route we should follow with Martin.
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Far West, who are patiently awaiting a convention within traveling distance. By acclamation, therefore, Cincinnati was given the CINVENTION for 1949. The question of whether Labor Day weekend might be better than the July 4 date arose, but nothing decisive could be learned at the Torcon. ((If you have a preference one way or another, let the Cincin gang know it RIGHT AWAY!)) A letter from Rick Sneary and his cohorts was read, reminding the convention that he's still plugging for South Gate in [struck]48[/struck] [handwritten below in a bubble] 58, I mean! -- and was given a tremendous ovation. Rick better start building that convention hall of his. This ended the afternoon session. In the interval before evening, as Martin and I strolled down Queen Street, a misguided Torontoan began a conversation with me. I had my Torcon card pinned to my shirt and was puffing my 12-inch droopstem incinerator. Seems the man thought we were a couple of DP's! The evening session featured the Buffanet, which was marked by Singer's persistent attempts to slip cubes of sugar into other fens' coffee on the sly. ((Incidently, a poll sponsored by Singer but taken by another fan, showed Singer far in the lead as most militant atheist at the Torcon, with Ackerman coming in a poor second.)) ((At one time, Singer was even pressing atheistic tracts into 4sJ's hands, apparently in an attempt to convert him further toward materialism.)) The program of fan entertainment was MC'd by George O. Smith, who wowed everyone by reading the newspaper articles about the convention which appeared in the morning papers. Tucker provided sound effects where necessary. This was funnier than it sounds, for one of the articles, for example, is headed "Zap! Zap! Atomic Ray Is Passe With Fiends" and starts, "Put down that ray-gun, Buck Rogers, I've got you cold." Ah, well, what can you expect from a non-fan? The only time Tucker was stumped was when called upon to make like a scantily-clad damsel, as required by the clipping. ((I'll publish these news items in the next WARP, and to hell with copyright laws!)) There was also Bob Bloch's version of the Tucker Report, complete with a set of charts, including one which showed that all publishing houses are alike in having half-moons on their doors. A hilarious feature of the evening was Norm Stanley's deadpan report on the newest frontier of science, the study of thing-things, such as drill-drills, mill-mills, birdseed-seed, and light light. ((See TMB for details.*)) Also included in this session was everything from the singing of Goldberg MacInnes ((who was promptly voted Number One Fan)), to a recital of Poe's Raven by Sam Moskowitz, a Chopin nocturne by Milt Rothman, and a thrilling episode of spacetrail soap-opera. After the last strains of "Auld Lang Syne" the Michifen plodded toward Alger's rusty wreck, a trail of exploding firecrackers marking their path, and as a cloudburst suddenly ended the convention period of wonderful weather, we headed down King's Highway No. 2 for home. But do you think our adventures were over with so soon? Hell, no! Before long, Singer was arguing politics with Steve, religion with George, philosophy with me, and which route we should follow with Martin.
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