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Science Fiction Collector, v. 5, issue 1, May 1939

Page 5

Science Fiction Collector — Page Five

And whenever I think of purple Inks, my mind mind [sic] must cease its flights of fancy and return to fact so It must return to a vision of
young men battling against great odds. Young men adapting themselves to surrounding conditions, striking down or working around hitherto
insurmountable objects. My  mind must return to
concrete ideas as presented through the medium
of purple ink by Morris S, Dollens and John
V, Baltadonis, whose names are synonymous in a
breath with fandom's patriarch of purple inks:
The S̲c̲i̲e̲n̲c̲e̲ ̲F̲i̲c̲t̲i̲o̲n̲ ̲C̲o̲l̲l̲e̲c̲t̲o̲r̲.

Three years. In the scheme of Infinity it is too infinitesimal for recording, In the
life of an individual, it is but a short period in a life-time. To a science fiction fan,
it is an era of incredible age and experiences. Three years, literally translated in the mind of a fantasy fan, means the age of the S̲c̲i̲e̲n̲c̲e̲ ̲F̲i̲c̲t̲i̲o̲n̲ ̲C̲o̲l̲l̲e̲c̲t̲o̲r̲, oldest of fan magazines. It means a wealth of memories -- cherished memories.  Memories that they may never know again. And therein lies a tale. The tale of a magazine that was more than a magazine. A magazine that lived, breathed, and was in itself an acknowledged entity. A
magazine that serves today as an accurate epitome of a day that is past and that can
never, through the furthest limboes of eternity„ be relived -- except in memory.
     In my mind, Morris S. Dollens will always serve
as an example of a true pioneer. Hard times had relieved fandom of Its stigma as a rich boy's game. It cost money, hard-earned cash, to print a fan magazine. And even the medium of the mimeograph was unavailable, too expensive for one who wished to publish for pleasure only, and who knew he could never expect more than fifty purchasers -- purchasers
who were in themselves brothers under the skin,

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Science Fiction Collector — Page Five And whenever I think of purple Inks, my mind mind [sic] must cease its flights of fancy and return to fact so It must return to a vision of young men battling against great odds. Young men adapting themselves to surrounding conditions, striking down or working around hitherto insurmountable objects. My mind must return to concrete ideas as presented through the medium of purple ink by Morris S, Dollens and John V, Baltadonis, whose names are synonymous in a breath with fandom's patriarch of purple inks: The S̲c̲i̲e̲n̲c̲e̲ ̲F̲i̲c̲t̲i̲o̲n̲ ̲C̲o̲l̲l̲e̲c̲t̲o̲r̲. Three years. In the scheme of Infinity it is too infinitesimal for recording, In the life of an individual, it is but a short period in a life-time. To a science fiction fan, it is an era of incredible age and experiences. Three years, literally translated in the mind of a fantasy fan, means the age of the S̲c̲i̲e̲n̲c̲e̲ ̲F̲i̲c̲t̲i̲o̲n̲ ̲C̲o̲l̲l̲e̲c̲t̲o̲r̲, oldest of fan magazines. It means a wealth of memories -- cherished memories. Memories that they may never know again. And therein lies a tale. The tale of a magazine that was more than a magazine. A magazine that lived, breathed, and was in itself an acknowledged entity. A magazine that serves today as an accurate epitome of a day that is past and that can never, through the furthest limboes of eternity„ be relived -- except in memory. In my mind, Morris S. Dollens will always serve as an example of a true pioneer. Hard times had relieved fandom of Its stigma as a rich boy's game. It cost money, hard-earned cash, to print a fan magazine. And even the medium of the mimeograph was unavailable, too expensive for one who wished to publish for pleasure only, and who knew he could never expect more than fifty purchasers -- purchasers who were in themselves brothers under the skin,