DIY History | Transcribe | Hevelin Fanzines | Fantasy Digest, v. 1, issue 6, August-September 1939

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Fantasy Digest, v. 1, issue 6, August-September 1939

of the most vile-looking chili Which i have ever had the satisfaction of looking upon. Another half hour elapsed, during which we tried to figure out the proper route out of Hagerstown to Philly; finally disc-overing that we were going in the right direction in the first place. I finally was forced to leave them, precisely .00000000118 of the way to the destination.
The finish of this section of this article must now be written by Mr. Pohl himself, as he is best qualified to give it. I quote from the first letter I received from him after the fateful visit.
"You might be interested to know what happened to us after we left you; it is definitely interesting to a certain type of mind. A sadist could have had great fun watching Jack and I try to get a ride out of Hagerstown. We left you at about ten o'clock, and walked to the city limits......About one A.M. we got our first lift, taking us just acro-ss the state line to Middleville (at least, I think that's the name of the place.) (Wasn't; it's Middletown. HW) Then we walked again, walked walked, walked, will we had walked about six miles and eight hours....At 9 A.M. we found ourselves in--I think--Marion, where we got a ride into Chambersberg. (Forty four miles from here, I think--Chamb-ersburg--as the worm crawls. HW) I think I could describe in minute detail every foot of ground between Hagerstown and Chambersburg, PA; god knows I had enough experience with that stretch of road.
"There is something definitely unpleasant about Maryland motor-ists, Harry, though it pains me to say it; they just have none of the milk of human kindness.
"I got home, by the way, at 4 A.M. Monday. 44 hours since I had slept last."
And so that was that. My first fan encounter had been encountered, and was successfully completed. But the next night--!

II

It was rather late. Dark out, in fact, and I was sitting in the front room, doing nothing in particular, when there was a flurry of footstephs upon the front porch. Leisurely abriding to the door, I won-dered who could be coming at this hour of the night--and recoiled in horror at the dim shapes that met my eyes. Dozens of figures, it app-eared, were rushing up to the door; vomiting out of the door car, and generally coming into view. The leader of them; and Adonis of nineteen or so, pressed his nose against the screen and asked if I were I. Re-plying in the affirmative, it was but the work of seconds for him to inform me of his identity--Dale Hart--and that some of the others were Julius Pohl and Walter Sullivan. The procession entered our domicle; after counting noses I found that there were only six of them after all, and we crowded about our dining room table--the same historic spot where had reposed the forms of F. Pohl and J. Gillespie only a scant 24 hours before. More copies of the seventh SPACEWAYS were distri-buted--I had stapled it in the interim--a frenzied dive made by all concerned to get their favorite colored cover; and talk began.
This proceeded for an hour or so, when suddenly someone got a bri-ght idea--Leslie F. Stone lived in town; why not visit her? No sooner said than done. A hurried phone call, in which Miss Stone heard the manly voices of Hart and Warner peal out, and four of the fans went their way out through the gloomy, deserted streets. I stayed home, for various reasons; mainly because I had intended going out that week la-ter on, and also felt I should watch any possible transformation---it isn't well to take any chances, you know.

Saving...

of the most vile-looking chili Which i have ever had the satisfaction of looking upon. Another half hour elapsed, during which we tried to figure out the proper route out of Hagerstown to Philly; finally disc-overing that we were going in the right direction in the first place. I finally was forced to leave them, precisely .00000000118 of the way to the destination. The finish of this section of this article must now be written by Mr. Pohl himself, as he is best qualified to give it. I quote from the first letter I received from him after the fateful visit. "You might be interested to know what happened to us after we left you; it is definitely interesting to a certain type of mind. A sadist could have had great fun watching Jack and I try to get a ride out of Hagerstown. We left you at about ten o'clock, and walked to the city limits......About one A.M. we got our first lift, taking us just acro-ss the state line to Middleville (at least, I think that's the name of the place.) (Wasn't; it's Middletown. HW) Then we walked again, walked walked, walked, will we had walked about six miles and eight hours....At 9 A.M. we found ourselves in--I think--Marion, where we got a ride into Chambersberg. (Forty four miles from here, I think--Chamb-ersburg--as the worm crawls. HW) I think I could describe in minute detail every foot of ground between Hagerstown and Chambersburg, PA; god knows I had enough experience with that stretch of road. "There is something definitely unpleasant about Maryland motor-ists, Harry, though it pains me to say it; they just have none of the milk of human kindness. "I got home, by the way, at 4 A.M. Monday. 44 hours since I had slept last." And so that was that. My first fan encounter had been encountered, and was successfully completed. But the next night--! II It was rather late. Dark out, in fact, and I was sitting in the front room, doing nothing in particular, when there was a flurry of footstephs upon the front porch. Leisurely abriding to the door, I won-dered who could be coming at this hour of the night--and recoiled in horror at the dim shapes that met my eyes. Dozens of figures, it app-eared, were rushing up to the door; vomiting out of the door car, and generally coming into view. The leader of them; and Adonis of nineteen or so, pressed his nose against the screen and asked if I were I. Re-plying in the affirmative, it was but the work of seconds for him to inform me of his identity--Dale Hart--and that some of the others were Julius Pohl and Walter Sullivan. The procession entered our domicle; after counting noses I found that there were only six of them after all, and we crowded about our dining room table--the same historic spot where had reposed the forms of F. Pohl and J. Gillespie only a scant 24 hours before. More copies of the seventh SPACEWAYS were distri-buted--I had stapled it in the interim--a frenzied dive made by all concerned to get their favorite colored cover; and talk began. This proceeded for an hour or so, when suddenly someone got a bri-ght idea--Leslie F. Stone lived in town; why not visit her? No sooner said than done. A hurried phone call, in which Miss Stone heard the manly voices of Hart and Warner peal out, and four of the fans went their way out through the gloomy, deserted streets. I stayed home, for various reasons; mainly because I had intended going out that week la-ter on, and also felt I should watch any possible transformation---it isn't well to take any chances, you know.