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Science Fiction Collector, v. 5, issue 6, whole no. 30, Winter 1941
Page 5
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Page Five --- 1940 --- 5 In all my life I have encountered exactly two people who knew what science fiction was. One was a college student by the name of Sylvan Meyer -- a brilliant chap -- whom I met only once. The other was an exceptionally well educated high school student named McQuinn. Both, as far as I could ascertain, knew only a little or nothing more than what it was. The latter knew of no publication carrying stf., his only acquaintance with it was the fact that Frankenstein was a form of it, and that Wells wrote it. There's the difficulty. If everyone knew what stf was, or if there existed a "Society for the Dissemination and Promotion of Scientifiction" then it wouldn't be so bad. But they don't, and there isn't, so if the science fiction fan wants to spread his favorite literature, he must arm himself with a stout stick as protection against dogs, a knife to cut the net if the batty-wagon is called out, a soapbox if he's a futurian, a pair of shin guards to prevent the convertee from biting him on the leg, and toddle out to do or die, for dear old Astonishing Tales. One type of person is rather easy to convert. All that is necessary is to give him a copy of Thrilling Wonder, or Fantastic Adventures, and sooner or later he'll be buying them along with Dime Detective, and Wild West Weekly. Probably he'll join the Science Fiction League, proudly displaying his card certifying that he is member number Z-3-9-2, although he'll be mildly disappointed to discover that it doesn't make him a secret agent. Eventually, he'll write a letter telling the palpitating publishers that he thinks their magazine is "the mosta of the besta," and consider himself tops as a science fiction fan.
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Page Five --- 1940 --- 5 In all my life I have encountered exactly two people who knew what science fiction was. One was a college student by the name of Sylvan Meyer -- a brilliant chap -- whom I met only once. The other was an exceptionally well educated high school student named McQuinn. Both, as far as I could ascertain, knew only a little or nothing more than what it was. The latter knew of no publication carrying stf., his only acquaintance with it was the fact that Frankenstein was a form of it, and that Wells wrote it. There's the difficulty. If everyone knew what stf was, or if there existed a "Society for the Dissemination and Promotion of Scientifiction" then it wouldn't be so bad. But they don't, and there isn't, so if the science fiction fan wants to spread his favorite literature, he must arm himself with a stout stick as protection against dogs, a knife to cut the net if the batty-wagon is called out, a soapbox if he's a futurian, a pair of shin guards to prevent the convertee from biting him on the leg, and toddle out to do or die, for dear old Astonishing Tales. One type of person is rather easy to convert. All that is necessary is to give him a copy of Thrilling Wonder, or Fantastic Adventures, and sooner or later he'll be buying them along with Dime Detective, and Wild West Weekly. Probably he'll join the Science Fiction League, proudly displaying his card certifying that he is member number Z-3-9-2, although he'll be mildly disappointed to discover that it doesn't make him a secret agent. Eventually, he'll write a letter telling the palpitating publishers that he thinks their magazine is "the mosta of the besta," and consider himself tops as a science fiction fan.
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