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Fantasite, v. 1, issue 5, September 1941
Page 32
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Here's a long letter which we felt was just too good to keep to ourself: BILL BRUDY Belated thanx for the ish of Fantasite. I enjoyed it, but plenty. There is a bit of a story -- tearful and stupid to recount but rather necessary to establish proper connections -- about the way I happened to get on your address list. I was at the local P X blotting up beer and half-way through the third I thought I saw a small brown man dash out of the trash-basket and bite me in the ankle. Naturally this reminded me of UNKNOWN, so I set the beer down and began forging my way toward the mag counter. While banging for service with an old piece of propeller I carry for just such emergencies I noticed a long chap beside me doing the same thing except he was using a defunct egg-beater that he must have stolen from the mess hall. He was making a far classier commotion than I was so I stopped to watch and admire. A clerk finally ventured out from behind a pile of empty aspirin cases and apprehensively inquired if he could help. "One UNKNOWN," the egg-beater fellow and I bellowed at once. the clerk, accustomed as he was to the erratic behavior of radio men, nevertheless sprang a foot or so into space before serving us. But we didn't notice. It's a rare thing indeed, even in a crowd of five hundred, that you can ask for an UNK and have the request turn to be a duet. We turned and measured each other up and down. I cringed a trifle -- this roscoe being rather larger than me and having the appearance of a man who would tolerate little or no nonsense. But we recognized Bob Block's "too-bright" look in each other's eyes. Another minute and the old bull began flying. Another minute and people began to point. "I know a fellow," said Egg-beater, "who is a veritable nut on this stuff. If you give me your address -- " The ink was dry and I had my pen back in my pocket before he got that far. "What's his name," I inquire. Egg-beater laid out twenty cents for Street & Smith. "He's from the cities, name's Phil Bronson -- " I pay for mine with a ten which I've been keeping in a secret compartment to avoid seizure by poverty-stricken barrack Wolves. The clerk scowls in annoyance, but I can afford to ignore him. "I've seen this chap's stuff up at Mart Alger's at Mackinaw City," I interrupt. "He puts out a nice mag. Where is he stationed now?" It turns out that you're not one of Uncle Sam's busy nephews, much to my surprise. Now grooves wear into your mind easily in the army, and I'd grown to think everybody I'd ever heard was either a sucker or a deaftee -- if you get my meaning. At any rate we gab for all of fifteen minutes whereupon something occurs and this chap has to dash off. I linger in the pleasant daze that follows an unusually promising acquaintance, meanwhile watching the clerk warily as he counts out a stack of ones. All of a sudden it occurs to me that I don't know Egg-beater's name. "Hey -- !" I yell, and start running. "Hey -- !" yells the clerk waving green. "Hey -- !" yell five guys at a nearby table that I've promised on four Bioles and a prayer book that I'm broke. I'm smothered. I come out with four sixty. (Scene Two) Yesterday I'm on K. P. I am dishing out cake. It's been all of two or three months since the free-for-all in the P X. My arm has been out of the sling for a couple of weeks. All at once in the chow line I see a familiar face. I look around for the egg-beater, but he is carrying a pocket full of old tubes now I see. Mentally I allow that maybe the are noisier, though not as permanent as his old stand-by. "Hello, Bill," he says. "I want to see you. ---------continued next pge.----
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Here's a long letter which we felt was just too good to keep to ourself: BILL BRUDY Belated thanx for the ish of Fantasite. I enjoyed it, but plenty. There is a bit of a story -- tearful and stupid to recount but rather necessary to establish proper connections -- about the way I happened to get on your address list. I was at the local P X blotting up beer and half-way through the third I thought I saw a small brown man dash out of the trash-basket and bite me in the ankle. Naturally this reminded me of UNKNOWN, so I set the beer down and began forging my way toward the mag counter. While banging for service with an old piece of propeller I carry for just such emergencies I noticed a long chap beside me doing the same thing except he was using a defunct egg-beater that he must have stolen from the mess hall. He was making a far classier commotion than I was so I stopped to watch and admire. A clerk finally ventured out from behind a pile of empty aspirin cases and apprehensively inquired if he could help. "One UNKNOWN," the egg-beater fellow and I bellowed at once. the clerk, accustomed as he was to the erratic behavior of radio men, nevertheless sprang a foot or so into space before serving us. But we didn't notice. It's a rare thing indeed, even in a crowd of five hundred, that you can ask for an UNK and have the request turn to be a duet. We turned and measured each other up and down. I cringed a trifle -- this roscoe being rather larger than me and having the appearance of a man who would tolerate little or no nonsense. But we recognized Bob Block's "too-bright" look in each other's eyes. Another minute and the old bull began flying. Another minute and people began to point. "I know a fellow," said Egg-beater, "who is a veritable nut on this stuff. If you give me your address -- " The ink was dry and I had my pen back in my pocket before he got that far. "What's his name," I inquire. Egg-beater laid out twenty cents for Street & Smith. "He's from the cities, name's Phil Bronson -- " I pay for mine with a ten which I've been keeping in a secret compartment to avoid seizure by poverty-stricken barrack Wolves. The clerk scowls in annoyance, but I can afford to ignore him. "I've seen this chap's stuff up at Mart Alger's at Mackinaw City," I interrupt. "He puts out a nice mag. Where is he stationed now?" It turns out that you're not one of Uncle Sam's busy nephews, much to my surprise. Now grooves wear into your mind easily in the army, and I'd grown to think everybody I'd ever heard was either a sucker or a deaftee -- if you get my meaning. At any rate we gab for all of fifteen minutes whereupon something occurs and this chap has to dash off. I linger in the pleasant daze that follows an unusually promising acquaintance, meanwhile watching the clerk warily as he counts out a stack of ones. All of a sudden it occurs to me that I don't know Egg-beater's name. "Hey -- !" I yell, and start running. "Hey -- !" yells the clerk waving green. "Hey -- !" yell five guys at a nearby table that I've promised on four Bioles and a prayer book that I'm broke. I'm smothered. I come out with four sixty. (Scene Two) Yesterday I'm on K. P. I am dishing out cake. It's been all of two or three months since the free-for-all in the P X. My arm has been out of the sling for a couple of weeks. All at once in the chow line I see a familiar face. I look around for the egg-beater, but he is carrying a pocket full of old tubes now I see. Mentally I allow that maybe the are noisier, though not as permanent as his old stand-by. "Hello, Bill," he says. "I want to see you. ---------continued next pge.----
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