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Fantasite, v. 1, issue 3, April 1941
Page 9
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Recommended Reading... By Bob Tucker I have in my library a small volume -- oh, a very small volume, (it measures 5x7 inches and has but 78 pages) that perhaps can be called the great grand-daddy of all the 'last American' stories. Today's authors are still using the hammy cliches and cut-and-dried-adventures-among-the-metropolitan-ruins that this book employed. J.A. Mitchell's "The Last American" must have enjoyed popularity in its day. My copy is a fourth edition copy, published by Frederick Stokes & Bro. (New York) in 1889. Dedicated to "the American who is more than satisfied with himself and his country", it tells of the adventures of a party of rich Persian explorers who have sailed across the great mysterious ocean to "discover" this strange country and its gigantic ruins. The gentlemen from Persia (among them a prince, no less) land in New York and poke about the ruins as does every other poker-abouter after them. They inspect in amazement the great monuments in the river (ruins of the Brooklyn Bridge), the decaying, half-fallen temples of worship (Astor House and Delmonico), get chased out of the 'Fifth Ave. Hotel' by a wild bear, find the mummified body of a girl and decide American women were hellishly ugly, happen across a cigar-store Indian and come to the conclusion that this figure represented our God, and turn up some ancient coins dated 1937. (Perhaps I should have mentioned earlier that the story takes place in 2951 AD). I beg to report however, that the government did not issue any such half-dollars in 1937 as is illustrated in the book. Yes, the book is profusely illustrated. Next our friends from Persia drift on to that great American city that most strangers manage to visit: Washington D.C. Here they come upon the last American. (Not Speer or Rothman at all). They find this holy personage seated on a large verandah of the capitol building, feet cocked up on the balustrade, expertly squirting tobacco juice over the rail. Displaying remarkably little awe in the presence of the Persian Prince, this "barbarian" didn't so much as stand up when his Nibs put in appearance, which provoked his Royal Highness no end. Incidentally, this 'last American' possesses a commonlaw wife and one aged and gaunt father-in-law, neither of which are worth their salt until the climatic battle, wherein they die most heroically and patriotically beneath the weapons of the Persians, in the shadow of the statue of Geo. Washington. It appears that
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Recommended Reading... By Bob Tucker I have in my library a small volume -- oh, a very small volume, (it measures 5x7 inches and has but 78 pages) that perhaps can be called the great grand-daddy of all the 'last American' stories. Today's authors are still using the hammy cliches and cut-and-dried-adventures-among-the-metropolitan-ruins that this book employed. J.A. Mitchell's "The Last American" must have enjoyed popularity in its day. My copy is a fourth edition copy, published by Frederick Stokes & Bro. (New York) in 1889. Dedicated to "the American who is more than satisfied with himself and his country", it tells of the adventures of a party of rich Persian explorers who have sailed across the great mysterious ocean to "discover" this strange country and its gigantic ruins. The gentlemen from Persia (among them a prince, no less) land in New York and poke about the ruins as does every other poker-abouter after them. They inspect in amazement the great monuments in the river (ruins of the Brooklyn Bridge), the decaying, half-fallen temples of worship (Astor House and Delmonico), get chased out of the 'Fifth Ave. Hotel' by a wild bear, find the mummified body of a girl and decide American women were hellishly ugly, happen across a cigar-store Indian and come to the conclusion that this figure represented our God, and turn up some ancient coins dated 1937. (Perhaps I should have mentioned earlier that the story takes place in 2951 AD). I beg to report however, that the government did not issue any such half-dollars in 1937 as is illustrated in the book. Yes, the book is profusely illustrated. Next our friends from Persia drift on to that great American city that most strangers manage to visit: Washington D.C. Here they come upon the last American. (Not Speer or Rothman at all). They find this holy personage seated on a large verandah of the capitol building, feet cocked up on the balustrade, expertly squirting tobacco juice over the rail. Displaying remarkably little awe in the presence of the Persian Prince, this "barbarian" didn't so much as stand up when his Nibs put in appearance, which provoked his Royal Highness no end. Incidentally, this 'last American' possesses a commonlaw wife and one aged and gaunt father-in-law, neither of which are worth their salt until the climatic battle, wherein they die most heroically and patriotically beneath the weapons of the Persians, in the shadow of the statue of Geo. Washington. It appears that
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