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Amateur Correspondent, v. 2, issue 2, September-October 1937

Page 13

SEPTEMBER-OCTOBER, 1937 13

Einstein I was admitted to see Corwin Stinky. He thought I was a fan of his. I was, fanning him with a club. And the rest were just as easy. Bundling the six unconscious editors into my car, I drove back to Milwaukee. Here, in my basement, lay the rocket ship.
Perhaps those of you who are interested in more technical scientific details of space-flight will be interested in how I constructed this great machine. (Two "interested"s in the same sentence sound bad, I know. But I couldn't think of a synonym for "interested", and Clark Ashton Smith has my dictionary.) For your benefit, the procedure was as follows. I got together a lot of stuff and tore it apart with some tools. Then I built a sort of thing with wheels on the side, and stuck a mess of wires someplace so that the whatchamacallit wouldn't you-know when I pushed too hard on the jiggers. After that I constructed something very much like an airplane, only instead of wings I had several mechanisms instead of the wheels I would have used if I were only building a pair of roller-skates. Then, of course, all I had to do was to put in my levers, adjust my dials, and change my oil every two thousand miles (It rhymes, don't it?). I also see my dentist twince a year. Anyhow, that's how I built the rocket. I did a pretty good job of it, if I do say so myself---and I'm the only one who will say so.
And there it was---(affectionate sigh) my rocket. Operated by atomic generators, electricity, gas, maid-service and towels free of charge, it was ready to leave.
Cleverly I placed my six helpless passengers in the "space-ship", as I brilliantly call it. The nose of the great rocket zoomed upwards and disappeared. Right through the first and second stories of the house, leaving quite a nasty hole. Even today we have to walk around it in our living-room. But the rocket was gone. Through a telescope I "borrowed" I followed its flight, saw it land on the moon's surface.
Eagerly I sat at my radio set, which I'd "borrowed", for the next three days. It was attached by a special hook-up to the sending-set in the cabin of the rocket. Would I hear anything? Finally, one night, it came.
[B/W image of a rocket going into space]
"Hey!" said a voice. "Now look heah, Amos-----" I turned the dials to another place.
"Hey, there!" it came again. Ah, it was the voice of leo Margulouse. "Is that you, Bloch---you rat? This is us, on the moon."
I chuckled, twirling my mousetrash---er, mustache. I anticipated his next woeds---how they were starving up there on that desolate orb; lonely, bewildered, frightened; six sad editors face to face to face with the terrifying reality of lunar solitude. The voice spoke.
"See here, Bloch. We've been talking to the natives, and I want to thank you for what you did by sending us here. Next month we're bringing out the first issue of Colossal Stories, featuring thought-variants under a new policy. Freddie Tremendous is starting a serie called Is There Life on the Earth? and

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SEPTEMBER-OCTOBER, 1937 13 Einstein I was admitted to see Corwin Stinky. He thought I was a fan of his. I was, fanning him with a club. And the rest were just as easy. Bundling the six unconscious editors into my car, I drove back to Milwaukee. Here, in my basement, lay the rocket ship. Perhaps those of you who are interested in more technical scientific details of space-flight will be interested in how I constructed this great machine. (Two "interested"s in the same sentence sound bad, I know. But I couldn't think of a synonym for "interested", and Clark Ashton Smith has my dictionary.) For your benefit, the procedure was as follows. I got together a lot of stuff and tore it apart with some tools. Then I built a sort of thing with wheels on the side, and stuck a mess of wires someplace so that the whatchamacallit wouldn't you-know when I pushed too hard on the jiggers. After that I constructed something very much like an airplane, only instead of wings I had several mechanisms instead of the wheels I would have used if I were only building a pair of roller-skates. Then, of course, all I had to do was to put in my levers, adjust my dials, and change my oil every two thousand miles (It rhymes, don't it?). I also see my dentist twince a year. Anyhow, that's how I built the rocket. I did a pretty good job of it, if I do say so myself---and I'm the only one who will say so. And there it was---(affectionate sigh) my rocket. Operated by atomic generators, electricity, gas, maid-service and towels free of charge, it was ready to leave. Cleverly I placed my six helpless passengers in the "space-ship", as I brilliantly call it. The nose of the great rocket zoomed upwards and disappeared. Right through the first and second stories of the house, leaving quite a nasty hole. Even today we have to walk around it in our living-room. But the rocket was gone. Through a telescope I "borrowed" I followed its flight, saw it land on the moon's surface. Eagerly I sat at my radio set, which I'd "borrowed", for the next three days. It was attached by a special hook-up to the sending-set in the cabin of the rocket. Would I hear anything? Finally, one night, it came. [B/W image of a rocket going into space] "Hey!" said a voice. "Now look heah, Amos-----" I turned the dials to another place. "Hey, there!" it came again. Ah, it was the voice of leo Margulouse. "Is that you, Bloch---you rat? This is us, on the moon." I chuckled, twirling my mousetrash---er, mustache. I anticipated his next woeds---how they were starving up there on that desolate orb; lonely, bewildered, frightened; six sad editors face to face to face with the terrifying reality of lunar solitude. The voice spoke. "See here, Bloch. We've been talking to the natives, and I want to thank you for what you did by sending us here. Next month we're bringing out the first issue of Colossal Stories, featuring thought-variants under a new policy. Freddie Tremendous is starting a serie called Is There Life on the Earth? and