Somehow I feel I should be writing a Convention report on the Nolacon. It's difficult when you haven't been there ('tho NEWSSCOPE did a pretty good job on the London Convention with only a copy of the official programme and a talent for extrapolation) and yet I feel that you are all snatching up your Q's with eager little cries, "Ah, more con stuff!" and then casting the magazine from you in disgust at finding that fellow Willis harping again.
So I have got to say something about the Nolacon. I could discourse about conventions generally and how it is a proof of the fundamental strength of fandom that it survives them. I mean one of the main interests of fandom is wondering what your correspondents are like and when you've found out, well that's that, even if you're not disappointed. Or I could review the Official Programme, in which I love the Outlander's advertisement. I salute the genius who wrote it, whether it be Moffatt or Sneary. Or I could talk about some of the things I've learned about from the first reports, like people's reactions when they found out Lee Hoffman is La Hoffman. (I'm sorry the Nolacon is over. For a few glorious months I knew something about fandom that Tucker didn't.)
But those won't help me to realise my life's ambition. I used to aim at some job that wasn't too arduous and left time for fanning, like head taster in a distillery or a manufacturer of smoked glasses for eclipses of the sun, but these are small ambitions now. What I intend to do is work so hard for the next twenty years at my convention reports that finally I will get a job as a PROFESSIONAL CONVENTION REPORTER. No convention will be complete without a report from Willis. Even before the Convention Committee book the hall, they will say, "First here's 1000 dollars for Willis's retainer." Since our family paid off our retainer long ago I shall keep the money myself and live in idle luxury for 51 weeks in the year, with nothing to do but watch the mail for bombs. I shall be the first Fulltime Fan. The only snag is that some people will probably make the same sort of nasty crack they seem to like to make at another fan who loves fandom so much he devotes his life to sf instead of coining money at some mundane occupation.
The only thing I can do here is quote a passage from an imaginary broadcast from the Nolacon I started to write for Q14 until I found (sniff') that my presence wasn't required. It is a round table discussion on the question that what fan publishers need is a new means of reproduction. (Rotsler: 'Why, what's wrong with sex?') Banister had just announced that he had invented one when he is assassinated by two members of the studio audience who strike him on the head with an enormous weight.
Chairman (Tucker): A QUANNISH! Oh dear, his neck must be broken. Yes, his neck is definitely folded. Who has done this dreadful deed?
Audience: Vermillion Swampwater!!
First Murderer: No, my name is Dick .....
Tucker: Ah, A. B. Dick!
Dick: No, Private Dick of the U.S. Army Training Corps. Has a bunch of new recruits recently and I wouldn't take the Rapp. So I deserted and set up business as a Private Eye. This is my favorite pupil, Iris. Say a few words, Iris.
Iris: A few words.
Tucker: Is that all?
Iris: Sure. Only reason I'm here at all is to let Willis work in that crack about the Private Eye and his pupil.
Vince Clarke: How cornea can you get?
J.T. Oliver: Very poor taste.
Voice: Me thirds will call on you. (Me seconds are on their way to Australia.)
Clarke: It came from that corner over there. I recognise the corn. It's the Slant trio, Willis, White and Shaw, the Maniacal Minds.
Oliver: Let us sell our lives dearly. Don't shoot until you see the eyes of their White.
And so on. Peace is only restored by James saying "A feather." I thought you deserved an explanation of that very recondite allusion in Fannius McCainius. James has a way of saying 'a feather' that is really out of this world. Anyone want the rest of this stirring drama?
ARCHAOLOGICAL REPORT A few days ago I retired from fandom. No celebrations, please, it was only for a few days while I read through a pile of old fmz Ackerman sent me. Now I feel I'm beginning to know something about fandom. Twelve months ago I was as ignorant of fandom as a child -- hardly even knew Ed Noble was getting married --- but I am learning fast. And one of the things I'm learning is that everything I ever thought of has already been thought of by some fan in the dawn era. Latest example is an article I wrote for Vernon McCain's WASTEBASKET proving that the ideal title for a fmz is a certain word I didn't think anyone else would have even heard of. And now I find that Joe Kennedy had a zine of that name. Death, where IS thy sting ... Well, where did you see it last?
SUSTAINING FMZ A lot of things seem to be happening in fandom these days, and most of them to Fanvariety. Apparently N3F have decided to wash their dirty linen (no offence, Max) in public and Keasler is righteously indignant about it, especially since evidently he had already told the N3F what they could do with their sponsorship. I could see that in theory the N3F have the right of it. As an organization that's supposed to be for all of fandom they can hardly sponsor a zine which some of their members, however few, object to. But did they need to make such a fuss about it? Surely, all that was necessary was quietly to drop the N3F sponsorship, especially since all it seems to involve is free plugs in TNFF. (I often wondered.) And it does no good either to suggest as G.M. Carr does in her CRY (probably in all innocence) that Fv wasn't much good anyway until Bill Venable "took it over". Fv was always an interesting zine, and for me personally ... and without saying a word against Bill Venable's undoubted ability, the most interesting part of it was always Max's own editorial yak-yak. I never found anything objectionable in the old style Fv except the carelessness with which the material was stencilled and if it's to be cleaned up out of all recognition it might as well be washed up, as far as I'm concerned. Fandom needs the true Fv in all its spiciness. There should always be at least one zine in fandom that's not afraid of stamping on people's toes.
It also seems that Browne has told Rog Phillips to take one of the clubs out of the Clubhouse and beat Max's ears into his head with it. If this is true I'm disappointed in Phillips for allowing his independence to be undermined, and I think everyone in fandom whether they like Fv or not should support Max against this dictation by pro-editors. It's in our interests to do so as a matter of fact, for if Rog even mentions the name of the zine, Max will be a millionaire.
REPERCUSSIONS Truly it has been said, "Cast your bread on the waters and it will return after many days .... soaking wet." The reverberations of that Conreport of mine have been wringing in my ears for weeks. (I mean the International Convention in London of course, not that provincial affair in New Orleans.)
... The first sign I had that the Qish had hit England was a letter from Vince Clarke to my wife. "Dear Madeleine" he says (nerve!) "Just a few lines to congratulate you on your recent loss. Walt was a great guy but we always thought that one day he'd go too far. Belfast was hardly far enough .... Of course, I shall bring out an issue of SF NEWS with black borders and try to find someone to say something nice about him. This may delay publication a bit. If you'd give me some details of exactly what happened I'd be much obliged. At the moment I can see several possibilities. It might have been radio-active dust in an aSF, poisoned needles in a GALAXY, a radio-controlled bomb from Mr & Mrs George O. Smith, a letter from INTERIM NEWSLETTER with a live tarantula enclosed, a death wish from Wendayne Ackerman or an intricate curse from Bradbury. Directly I finish this note I must hurry round to stop Ted Carnell leaving for Belfast. I suppose the police have already got hold of Bob Shaw, but tell him the fans are behind him and will do all they can to engage a good lawyer. There's an American called Perry Mason who's supposed to be pretty good.
I suppose you'll miss Walt --- one notices the absence of even the most objectionable things --- but at least you'll be able to invite your friends to the house again. Do please remember that we have a warm spot for you here --- on top of the stove. When you come, or even before, you might like to pack up the SLANT press and send it here, as it seems such a waste not to make proper use of it for once ...
All the best, and don't forget the printing press.
Vincent
('ole Toffee-apple to my friends)
Judging by these remarks, comparing Vince to a toffee-apple seems to have cut him to the core. But no matter how candied he us, he never gives me the pip ...
I did get a letter from Lyell Crane, but there was no tarantula in it, There was just a note: "Have read your article in Q. 13. Sir: daggers at 50 paces." This was quite a relief, and Lyell went up considerably in my estimation.
I hear through the grapevine however that other parts of the Conreport caused "discord" among the London Circle. I'm sorry about this, but the report was accurate enough in its "cartoonlike" way, as Eric F. Russell put it. Lee quoted me a very perceptive and intelligent comment by J.T. Oliver: "I wonder how much he had to dramatise things." Well wondered, J.T.!
I hope you don't mind me letting that hack, Clarke, write part of my column. This is a very busy time here on account of we're finishing off an issue of a certain magazine whose name I daren't Say Lest A Note Talking about advertising rates is inserted by your editor. ((This unmentionable fanzine is a thing of beauty. Even if the interior consisted solely of blank pages, it would be worth more than the price. And were it coverless, it would be worth the price, so you'll be getting your money's worth if you send a recent US stfpro to The Unmentionable Fanzine c/o Walt Willis, 170, Upper Newtownards Rd., BELFAST, Northern Ireland. Send it anon, ask for #6, and hope and pray that WAW isn't out of this glorious issue. This is a hyper-fmz that doesn't even compare with us run-of-the-mill fmz. -- yed))
FANZINE REVIEW Journal of Science Fiction; Charles Freudenthal, Lester Fried and Ed Wood, 1331 W, Newport Ave., Chicago 13, Ill. 25¢. This is the first issue of a new photo-offset mag which looks like being very interesting, if you are not too far gone in the stages of fandom to be still reading sf. Martin Gardner does a sort of literary biography of H.L. Gold, Bradbury explains where he gets his ideas and Ed Wood criticises what he does with them. Wood's piece is much better than Bradbury's which won't surprise anyone who knows how well Wood can write or how bad Bradbury can be when he's talking about himself. But the best thing in the issue is a piece by Robert Bloch. I am beginning to be quite sure that Mr. Bloch is a genius. His only flaw is a habit of making atrocious puns. "Am I my brother's kipper" indeed! As the French say, "One man's mate is another man's poisson."
-Walter A. Willis
Data entry by Judy Bemis
Updated June 17, 2001. If you have a comment about these web pages please send a note to the Fanac Webmaster. Thank you.