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11 SOME NUTS & OBSERWATIONS om SHANGRI-LA FANDOM BY RANDOLPH TILLYWISH Maybe you have been wondering what these Los Angeles fans are like? I know I wondered about this myself, long before I became active in fandom and was high pressured into joining the Los Angeles Science Fantasy Society. Well, after having associated intimately with these outre people for a period of six months, I I feel qualified to give you a glimpse into what goes on at the famed clubroom. Ah, when I remember those carefree days of my ignorance! I was just a small town fan, hailing from Sonova Beach, California. How glorious it would be to just be able to visit the world-renowned LASFS--just for the day! I became despondent, lonely, longing with every fiber of my being for contact with kindred souls--real, honest-to-goodness science-fiction fans. At last my day arrived: I was offered a job in LA, and accepted the position. The first thing I did upon arrival into this Mecca of Fandom was to search for the clubroom, which I finall ydiscovered with little difficulty. There it was--just as I'd pictured it: the emblem painted on the large window; the sound of the mimeograph functioning; raucous voices omanating from the room.... Oh, sweet ecstasy! ((How wonderfully fornchy)) Just as my foot fell on the first step someone banged open the door, knocking me flat on my back. "Sorry, old man," came the hurried apology as the unidentified person dashed madly down the street. I duted myself off, and, summoning up my waning courage, strode valiantly into the room. "NO!"" bellowed a Herculean voice, "we do not conduct spiritualist meetings here!" "But--" I began, and was interrupted as a strange-looking individual hurried into the clubroom, grabbed me by the arm and shouted into my ear: "You must be the telephone man--It's to be installed over in that corner." "I'm not--" I attempted again, but was interrupted once more as someone yelled, "Hey fellas, look! A blonde!" There was a concerted rush for the door ((by Oliver E. Saari)). Picking myself up from the floor, I noticed that two of the fans had wedged themselves tightly in the doorway. Pressure from the rear, however, soon precipitated them into the street, where they landed before an elderly woman.. "Drunken louts," she snapped, rapping each of them smartly on the noggin with her umbrella. "Hell," snorted one, "the blonde's gone." This odd pair, as I later learned, consisted of T. Bruco Yerke and Ardon "Buns" Benson. "WELL," said Yerke, confronting me, "what do you want?" "All I want for you to know," I replied, "is that I'm a fellow fan--" "Oh! Why didn't you say so?" he yelped. "Pull up a chair and sit down." This he uttered while seating himself in the last vacant chair in the room. I opened my mouth to say something trite, but -- you guessed it -- just then someone else, a very enthusiastic-looking guy burst into the clubroom, choking
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11 SOME NUTS & OBSERWATIONS om SHANGRI-LA FANDOM BY RANDOLPH TILLYWISH Maybe you have been wondering what these Los Angeles fans are like? I know I wondered about this myself, long before I became active in fandom and was high pressured into joining the Los Angeles Science Fantasy Society. Well, after having associated intimately with these outre people for a period of six months, I I feel qualified to give you a glimpse into what goes on at the famed clubroom. Ah, when I remember those carefree days of my ignorance! I was just a small town fan, hailing from Sonova Beach, California. How glorious it would be to just be able to visit the world-renowned LASFS--just for the day! I became despondent, lonely, longing with every fiber of my being for contact with kindred souls--real, honest-to-goodness science-fiction fans. At last my day arrived: I was offered a job in LA, and accepted the position. The first thing I did upon arrival into this Mecca of Fandom was to search for the clubroom, which I finall ydiscovered with little difficulty. There it was--just as I'd pictured it: the emblem painted on the large window; the sound of the mimeograph functioning; raucous voices omanating from the room.... Oh, sweet ecstasy! ((How wonderfully fornchy)) Just as my foot fell on the first step someone banged open the door, knocking me flat on my back. "Sorry, old man," came the hurried apology as the unidentified person dashed madly down the street. I duted myself off, and, summoning up my waning courage, strode valiantly into the room. "NO!"" bellowed a Herculean voice, "we do not conduct spiritualist meetings here!" "But--" I began, and was interrupted as a strange-looking individual hurried into the clubroom, grabbed me by the arm and shouted into my ear: "You must be the telephone man--It's to be installed over in that corner." "I'm not--" I attempted again, but was interrupted once more as someone yelled, "Hey fellas, look! A blonde!" There was a concerted rush for the door ((by Oliver E. Saari)). Picking myself up from the floor, I noticed that two of the fans had wedged themselves tightly in the doorway. Pressure from the rear, however, soon precipitated them into the street, where they landed before an elderly woman.. "Drunken louts," she snapped, rapping each of them smartly on the noggin with her umbrella. "Hell," snorted one, "the blonde's gone." This odd pair, as I later learned, consisted of T. Bruco Yerke and Ardon "Buns" Benson. "WELL," said Yerke, confronting me, "what do you want?" "All I want for you to know," I replied, "is that I'm a fellow fan--" "Oh! Why didn't you say so?" he yelped. "Pull up a chair and sit down." This he uttered while seating himself in the last vacant chair in the room. I opened my mouth to say something trite, but -- you guessed it -- just then someone else, a very enthusiastic-looking guy burst into the clubroom, choking
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