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Shangri-La, July 1941
Page 12
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--------------------------------------------------------------------- PAGE 12 SHANGRI-LA --------------------------------------------------------------------- "Thon too, I helped untold scores of those other magazines. A magazine but needed my magical name upon the cover or contents page to draw readers like flies to honey!" -- heh, if you will pardon the simile --. I suppose I was rated as the most popular writer of the time, and in several popularity polls ranked highest." "You -- what -- highest?" inquired Jonathan Q. Fann. "Nothing....nothing....just an old man talking to himself. Got on with your story. And it's only fair to tell you that you are speaking into a hidden microphone. That person down there-" and a thumb jerked downward, is listening to your recital too." "Well, there isn't a whole lot to tell. Of course I had my share of fiction in the professional magazines. You see, they were printed under a pseudonym; the editors thought perhaps it might arise some question, if they appeared under my own name. They were quite popular. In fact, the pen name I employed is almost as well known and respected as my own. But the, I really shine in fandom.. "I sponsored many things in fandom. National conventions, small state conferences; saw to it that they were skyrocket successes. I suppose I subsidized more fan magazines than any other six fans together. In short, and to sum it up, everything fandom is today, it owes to me." "What was that?" the old one asked? "I said," Jonathan patiently repeated, with the air that he realized he was talking to an old man and must therefore be lenient, "I said," "everything fandom is today, it owes to me." I might enlarge upon that statement and say that if it wasn't for me, I shudder to think of the state science-fiction might be in today!" "--- and Democracy." bear-and-specs added. "And Democracy. Yes sir." Jonathan was quite proud of himself. He stood in perfect respectful silence while the old one mused to himself a moment, and then went to a box fastened upon the wall. Pulling open a little door there was revealed a telephone, the wires disappearing downward through a cloud. The aged gentleman then carried on an animated conversation with someone unknown on the other end of the line. Violent nods of his hand, and alternate shakes accompanied his words. In the end he was heard to mutter: "so you won't have him, oh?", and hung up to close the door. "I am prompted to ask, before informing you of my decision," the old fellow said, "about a party or gro up you haven't mentioned in your....
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--------------------------------------------------------------------- PAGE 12 SHANGRI-LA --------------------------------------------------------------------- "Thon too, I helped untold scores of those other magazines. A magazine but needed my magical name upon the cover or contents page to draw readers like flies to honey!" -- heh, if you will pardon the simile --. I suppose I was rated as the most popular writer of the time, and in several popularity polls ranked highest." "You -- what -- highest?" inquired Jonathan Q. Fann. "Nothing....nothing....just an old man talking to himself. Got on with your story. And it's only fair to tell you that you are speaking into a hidden microphone. That person down there-" and a thumb jerked downward, is listening to your recital too." "Well, there isn't a whole lot to tell. Of course I had my share of fiction in the professional magazines. You see, they were printed under a pseudonym; the editors thought perhaps it might arise some question, if they appeared under my own name. They were quite popular. In fact, the pen name I employed is almost as well known and respected as my own. But the, I really shine in fandom.. "I sponsored many things in fandom. National conventions, small state conferences; saw to it that they were skyrocket successes. I suppose I subsidized more fan magazines than any other six fans together. In short, and to sum it up, everything fandom is today, it owes to me." "What was that?" the old one asked? "I said," Jonathan patiently repeated, with the air that he realized he was talking to an old man and must therefore be lenient, "I said," "everything fandom is today, it owes to me." I might enlarge upon that statement and say that if it wasn't for me, I shudder to think of the state science-fiction might be in today!" "--- and Democracy." bear-and-specs added. "And Democracy. Yes sir." Jonathan was quite proud of himself. He stood in perfect respectful silence while the old one mused to himself a moment, and then went to a box fastened upon the wall. Pulling open a little door there was revealed a telephone, the wires disappearing downward through a cloud. The aged gentleman then carried on an animated conversation with someone unknown on the other end of the line. Violent nods of his hand, and alternate shakes accompanied his words. In the end he was heard to mutter: "so you won't have him, oh?", and hung up to close the door. "I am prompted to ask, before informing you of my decision," the old fellow said, "about a party or gro up you haven't mentioned in your....
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