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Cruise of the Foo Foo Special Jr, by Art Widner, Jr., 1943

Page 9

The Cruise of the "FooFoo Special Jr" * * * 9

get a plate and all went well until the time came to apply the tobasco. 

Doc suggested he touch his tongue to a little on the back of his hand to see how much he could stand. He couldn't stand much. The two old gourmets laughed at his misery and dug in for a second big helping.

Replete, we sat around waiting, and Doc separated Bob from some loose folding money via the sale of some original Boks and stuff. Incidentally, those of you who have met Bob will recognize the likeness on the Summer '42 STQ cover, for which Bob posed.

Damon came in after a while, and we played TSOHG and "S T F period" which is like GHOST only the words have to have some connection with stf or fantasy. Then we played poker all evening like mad for ten cents worth of chips apiece. I forget who won, but Doc got the "lallapalooza". Futurian house rules of poker are quaint and charming. I like them. Studley had to go out and get the beer, and then we all joined in a "Praise Eternal" session which degenerated into a goofy whistling contest, with everybody trying to show off his musical knowledge by whistling different "tunes" from the production all at the same time. Studley whistled so earnestly that he grunted at the same time, which annoyed damon.

Then a guy named Charley came in, who is sort of a semi-fan, and I don't know if he is a Futurian. So we blabbed away the nite until Johnny Michel came home about 3AM and kicked us all out. Studley and I walked down to Penn Station and saw a small fire on the way.

I slept thru until the afternoon next day and then went over to Doc's office again to see if Scott Feldman had arranged anything with Hy Tiger who was stationed at MacMitchell Field. He had. I looked over the proofs of SFQ which had just arrived, and Doc gave me the plot for a sequel to his "Quarry", which had proved unexpectedly popular. Hope I can do justice to it.

Before returning to Brooklyn, I popped over to the Munsey offices to see if Mary Gnaedinger had returned from her vacation, but no luck. 

After supper, I hied me out to the wilds of Brownsville to see Scott an Hy, to celebrate his army pay raise, bought Tom Collinses for us.

We sauntered and dilly-dallied on our way back to the subway line, swapping stories and general gab as fast as we could. I was particularly reluctant to part as I thot of the long ride to start on the morrow and the return to humdrumity at the end of that ride.

I was up bright and early that Friday, and on my way about 7 AM. A motorist at a red light seemed thunderstruck to think I had come from around Boston on "that thing". He sat there looking at me sort of dreamy-eyed and was roundly honked at for holding up the line when the light turned green.

The eighty mile journey to New Haven was made without incident in eight hours, and I was only moderately tired when I arrived. Lou Kuslan rode me over to the city and I tried to get a room at the Y hotel, but no soap. So Lou climbed in his car, and rather than go thru the bother of fitting the bike into the rumble seat again, I wheeled off downtown to find lodging, with the promise to meet Lou and Paul Spencer at the corner of Church and Something Streets as soon as I got cleaned up.

I finally found a cheap hotel which wasn't bad at all, except that it looked cheap. Incidentally, here's a note for financially embarrassed fans traveling to and from conventions, or just traveling.

Saving...

The Cruise of the "FooFoo Special Jr" * * * 9 get a plate and all went well until the time came to apply the tobasco. Doc suggested he touch his tongue to a little on the back of his hand to see how much he could stand. He couldn't stand much. The two old gourmets laughed at his misery and dug in for a second big helping. Replete, we sat around waiting, and Doc separated Bob from some loose folding money via the sale of some original Boks and stuff. Incidentally, those of you who have met Bob will recognize the likeness on the Summer '42 STQ cover, for which Bob posed. Damon came in after a while, and we played TSOHG and "S T F period" which is like GHOST only the words have to have some connection with stf or fantasy. Then we played poker all evening like mad for ten cents worth of chips apiece. I forget who won, but Doc got the "lallapalooza". Futurian house rules of poker are quaint and charming. I like them. Studley had to go out and get the beer, and then we all joined in a "Praise Eternal" session which degenerated into a goofy whistling contest, with everybody trying to show off his musical knowledge by whistling different "tunes" from the production all at the same time. Studley whistled so earnestly that he grunted at the same time, which annoyed damon. Then a guy named Charley came in, who is sort of a semi-fan, and I don't know if he is a Futurian. So we blabbed away the nite until Johnny Michel came home about 3AM and kicked us all out. Studley and I walked down to Penn Station and saw a small fire on the way. I slept thru until the afternoon next day and then went over to Doc's office again to see if Scott Feldman had arranged anything with Hy Tiger who was stationed at MacMitchell Field. He had. I looked over the proofs of SFQ which had just arrived, and Doc gave me the plot for a sequel to his "Quarry", which had proved unexpectedly popular. Hope I can do justice to it. Before returning to Brooklyn, I popped over to the Munsey offices to see if Mary Gnaedinger had returned from her vacation, but no luck. After supper, I hied me out to the wilds of Brownsville to see Scott an Hy, to celebrate his army pay raise, bought Tom Collinses for us. We sauntered and dilly-dallied on our way back to the subway line, swapping stories and general gab as fast as we could. I was particularly reluctant to part as I thot of the long ride to start on the morrow and the return to humdrumity at the end of that ride. I was up bright and early that Friday, and on my way about 7 AM. A motorist at a red light seemed thunderstruck to think I had come from around Boston on "that thing". He sat there looking at me sort of dreamy-eyed and was roundly honked at for holding up the line when the light turned green. The eighty mile journey to New Haven was made without incident in eight hours, and I was only moderately tired when I arrived. Lou Kuslan rode me over to the city and I tried to get a room at the Y hotel, but no soap. So Lou climbed in his car, and rather than go thru the bother of fitting the bike into the rumble seat again, I wheeled off downtown to find lodging, with the promise to meet Lou and Paul Spencer at the corner of Church and Something Streets as soon as I got cleaned up. I finally found a cheap hotel which wasn't bad at all, except that it looked cheap. Incidentally, here's a note for financially embarrassed fans traveling to and from conventions, or just traveling.