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Spaceways, v. 4, issue 5, whole no. 28, June 1942
Page 6
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6 SPACEWAYS AVE ATQUE VALE! Hill and Louisbourg Square, where Howard went into raptures over the perfect survival of the eighteenth century architecture and through his enthusiasm made me keenly aware of the actual rarity and the true beauty of the scene. There's Bunker Hill and its monument, to which Howard always referred disparagingly as the scene where the rebels overcame His Majesty's loyal troops. It was an amusing part of Lovecraft's Game of Life that he loved to transport himself back to pre-Revolutionary days and feel that he was a loyal Colonial, a Tory true his King. He always made mock lamentation over the Separation. Indeed, he was so truly British in his sympathies, I understand, that in the early days of the World War, in 1914 and 1915, he actually enlisted under the British flag, and it required the most desperate efforts of his two aunts, armed with doctors' certificates of his physical unfitness, to extricate him. So, at least, I was told shortly before I first made his acquaintance at a meeting of the Providence Amateur Journalists' Club. The narrator a lively Irish-American named Dunn, who was active only for a few years, raised a high eyebrow about Lovecraft's physical unfitness, and for many years I, too, had my doubts, for Howard appeared a very substantial citizen; and those who ever accompanied him on jaunts to visit places of historical interest had reason for days afterward to recall the occasion by virtue of aching limbs and paralyzed feet. He was truly indefatigable at such times. To this day I recall vividly this Saturday afternoon in July, 1923, when Lovecraft, Maurice Moe, Albert Sandusky, and I went to Old Marblehead to visit the numerous Colonial houses and other places of interest with which Howard was thoroughly familiar. He was so insistent that our friend from the West should not miss a single relic or point of view over lovely town and harbor that he walked us relentlessly for miles impelled solely by his inexhaustible enthusiasm until our bodies rebelled and, against his protests, we dragged ourselves to the train. Lovecraft was still buoyant. Howard's indifference to sleep and his apparent tirelessness at conventions and whenever amateur journalists assembled and lost no time in slumber,--all would give the lie to physical infirmity. That his ruggedness was only apparent was all too true. Just as he was graduated from Hope Street High School in Providence, he was stricken with a malady that threatened to make an invalid of him for life. Ever afterward he was peculiarly susceptible to cold. As he told me on one occasion, temperatures of eighty to a hundred degrees gave him a feeling of fitness, but let the thermometer fall below sixty and he became, of necessity, a recluse, wrapped in blankets and hugging steam radiators. Not the least of his enthusiasm for 66 College Street was that, although it was a truly Georgian mansion, it had been very adequately equipped by Brown University with steam heat, most plentifully supplied from a central heating plant. His aunt has told me that in winter he would revel in an atmosphere of one hundred degrees with the radiators pounding and pipes clanking and winter's snows and gelid temperatures without for him to mock. He rarely ventured forth from December to March or April, other than to hurry across to the boarding house where he ate one meal daily (he prepared the others himself). He once laughed at the situation and confessed that he wouldlive in Florida in winter, if not the year 'round. He would have been completely happy if only he could have afforded residence in the South during the cold season and in Providence when the weather was mild or warm. His heart was bound, nevertheless, to his native city, and he would not have been content to dwell away from it. His "exile" to New York and Brooklyn for the few years of his married life was truly an unhappy episode; he returned to Providence profoundly determined to make it his permanent residence with but temporary excursions elsewhere. Despite the infirmity that so circumscribed his life (though it did not cause his death) Howard possessed an intellectual vitality that amply compensated. I have never known a person so essentially a creature of mind. Beyond high school he was completely self-educated, yet he had both a range and depth of knowledge rare even among intellectuals. He had a veritable nose for research and pursued to the remotest ends whatever information he sought. His mind was
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6 SPACEWAYS AVE ATQUE VALE! Hill and Louisbourg Square, where Howard went into raptures over the perfect survival of the eighteenth century architecture and through his enthusiasm made me keenly aware of the actual rarity and the true beauty of the scene. There's Bunker Hill and its monument, to which Howard always referred disparagingly as the scene where the rebels overcame His Majesty's loyal troops. It was an amusing part of Lovecraft's Game of Life that he loved to transport himself back to pre-Revolutionary days and feel that he was a loyal Colonial, a Tory true his King. He always made mock lamentation over the Separation. Indeed, he was so truly British in his sympathies, I understand, that in the early days of the World War, in 1914 and 1915, he actually enlisted under the British flag, and it required the most desperate efforts of his two aunts, armed with doctors' certificates of his physical unfitness, to extricate him. So, at least, I was told shortly before I first made his acquaintance at a meeting of the Providence Amateur Journalists' Club. The narrator a lively Irish-American named Dunn, who was active only for a few years, raised a high eyebrow about Lovecraft's physical unfitness, and for many years I, too, had my doubts, for Howard appeared a very substantial citizen; and those who ever accompanied him on jaunts to visit places of historical interest had reason for days afterward to recall the occasion by virtue of aching limbs and paralyzed feet. He was truly indefatigable at such times. To this day I recall vividly this Saturday afternoon in July, 1923, when Lovecraft, Maurice Moe, Albert Sandusky, and I went to Old Marblehead to visit the numerous Colonial houses and other places of interest with which Howard was thoroughly familiar. He was so insistent that our friend from the West should not miss a single relic or point of view over lovely town and harbor that he walked us relentlessly for miles impelled solely by his inexhaustible enthusiasm until our bodies rebelled and, against his protests, we dragged ourselves to the train. Lovecraft was still buoyant. Howard's indifference to sleep and his apparent tirelessness at conventions and whenever amateur journalists assembled and lost no time in slumber,--all would give the lie to physical infirmity. That his ruggedness was only apparent was all too true. Just as he was graduated from Hope Street High School in Providence, he was stricken with a malady that threatened to make an invalid of him for life. Ever afterward he was peculiarly susceptible to cold. As he told me on one occasion, temperatures of eighty to a hundred degrees gave him a feeling of fitness, but let the thermometer fall below sixty and he became, of necessity, a recluse, wrapped in blankets and hugging steam radiators. Not the least of his enthusiasm for 66 College Street was that, although it was a truly Georgian mansion, it had been very adequately equipped by Brown University with steam heat, most plentifully supplied from a central heating plant. His aunt has told me that in winter he would revel in an atmosphere of one hundred degrees with the radiators pounding and pipes clanking and winter's snows and gelid temperatures without for him to mock. He rarely ventured forth from December to March or April, other than to hurry across to the boarding house where he ate one meal daily (he prepared the others himself). He once laughed at the situation and confessed that he wouldlive in Florida in winter, if not the year 'round. He would have been completely happy if only he could have afforded residence in the South during the cold season and in Providence when the weather was mild or warm. His heart was bound, nevertheless, to his native city, and he would not have been content to dwell away from it. His "exile" to New York and Brooklyn for the few years of his married life was truly an unhappy episode; he returned to Providence profoundly determined to make it his permanent residence with but temporary excursions elsewhere. Despite the infirmity that so circumscribed his life (though it did not cause his death) Howard possessed an intellectual vitality that amply compensated. I have never known a person so essentially a creature of mind. Beyond high school he was completely self-educated, yet he had both a range and depth of knowledge rare even among intellectuals. He had a veritable nose for research and pursued to the remotest ends whatever information he sought. His mind was
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