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Voice of the Imagination, whole no. 44, July 1945

Page 6

6      VOICE OF THE

GERRY HEWETT takes time off from editing that sterling fanzine Shangri-L'Affaires to write his rival. Sabotage is suspected--a deliberate attempt to lower Vom's standard. In these later days of my youthfull life, I have been thinking over somethings which in the dim, hoary past have supplied me with countless hours of joyous controversy. One of the things that used up so much of my time was the mechanical educature. I know a fellow back i n Texas-fan, of course-whos chief argument goes something like this: Suppose there was two people, a moron and a Pr offesor. Now, if it took the Prof, say, thirty years to get his education, then it wouldnt make him any too happy if the moron got thesame results in an hour with the machine. My favorite retort was,if it improves the race and the welfare of the race, then hooray, and to hell with petty little items like that. But, as I said, I have been th inking over these things latelyand have worked out what i think is a solution. To begin with, think of three cars. (A postwar thot, no dout.) The first has a dead battery and an empty gas tank (Oh-oh, wartime jalopy); the second has a full tank, but a dead battery; while the third has both a full tank and a live battery. I think its fairly obvious which one is going to run the best. The first one can represent the moronbefore the operation. In this stage he has neither the knowledge (which corresponds in the analogy with the empty gas tank) nor the power of using this knowledge (which matches the batter); in the second, he has the knowledge, but still he doesnt know how to use it; and in the third, the Prof has boththe knowledge and the power of using it.  This will no doubt offend plenty of people, but the only difference between a moron and anyone else is the moron doesnt know how to either assimilate theknowledge offered him or to use the knowledge he has managed to capture. A nother way of looking at it would be using [[crossed out]]a jungle savage an African pygmy[[end cross out]] as an example. He is, to our way of thinking, definitely a moron. He doesnt know, he doesnt even know two and two make four. Yet he does know, if he isnt definitely a moron(which is unlikely, since in such a culture he either ceases to be a moron at the ripe old age of about two, or he ceases)that when you are cold, two sticks rubbed together will produce a very welcome warmth, or when you brop your enemy over the head with a hundred-pound rock, he generally ceases to be an active enemy.So, to get back on the original subject (or the aboriginal subject, as it were), my conclusion is this: you can pour all the knowledge you want into a moron, and he 'll still be a moron, for the simple reason that he wont know how to sue the knowledge. Period. The only difference between Ackerman and a moron is that the Ackerman knows how to group and use his knowledge(what knowledge he has. (Forrest J, if you corn this letter up with your ghastly puns, I'm going to try that rock trick myself) (O, Hewettn't do a thing like that, woud U? It might result in a stony silence from me!) #
PFC JOE "OLE VINEGAR" GIBSON, our cover artist, was speculating on his future fiting japs, lastime, when he was cut off He concludes: With the Japs, of course, I'll be on even a different, a more horrible world. You can really get scared, though. You can get so you don't give a damn, but when it gets down to where you can feel that pulsing organism in your chest, and all you can think about is to keep it pulsing, you can get scared too. But man am I piffed off at having to nurse-maid these rats (reichsmen) now. #

Another artist among the servifen, PVT WM ROTSLER, writes from Ft Bliss (short for Blisster, mister?) Tex: Don't let this be a complete shock but how much to "angel" a VOM cover? (Tween $6 & $7.50. Gosh, who do U think U are--The Winged Man?)

Selfishly, enuf, I would like it to be one of mine -- but woth'ell, there are other "artists" besides m'self! 
Joe Gibson has nothing on me. He may have carried an "Astounding" & a hand grenade all over Germany, but I--braving the withering sand storms, second lieutenants, and KP of West Texas--carried--not one--but two "Astoundings", one coverless "Planet" Stories, a smoke grenade, about two handfuls of M3 ammo, 13[[cent symbol]], a spare dogtag chain, and two dozen rifle patchs in one pocket and a comb, 2 poker chips, a pair of pliers and a copy of the "Pocket Book of Science-Fiction in the other.
This heroic action netted me another battle star to add to my service ribbon for the Fort Bliss campaign. (My other decorations include the "Meritorious Conduct Medal" for fifty missions to the Px and the "Heroic Action Award" for 100 USO dances--with a gold star for perfect attendence during the month of April. -- Also the "fairly good conduct medal")
Now, isn't that better than Gibson - it isn't everyone that can steadfastly brave the alien wastes of West Texas as staunchly as I.

AC/1 ALAN P ROBERTS, with the Royal Australian Airforce on Morotai, at the top of the Halmaheras, tells us: The main effect of active service on me shows itself in two ways. One is an intense desire to launch a campaign on returning to the mainland, directed against the many and persistent attempts to antagonize the soldier against the civilian. The Press out here is unflagging in its efforts in this direction their usual line being to denounce unions for striking over trivial disputes about wages, when the boys in jungle green plough through knee-deep mud for six shillings a day. This of course, makes the boys in jungle green a much better buy, and I can imagine capitalistic mouths watering at the thought of such an ideal labour supply; but perhaps that is a cynical way of looking at it, and I should consider the Press's appeal to my baser emotions. Unfortunately the tear-jerking theme cannot compensate for the staggering illogic of the whole argument: I have no doubt that the big boys would very much like to see the civilian working for six bob a day and no overtime, and at the moment the civilian's sad plight would not greatly worry me or any other serviceman; but I note that the big boys have a quaint habit of retaining in peace time the advantages they gained in the times of stress, and so I would not like to see the civilian's rights curtailed one iota, for the very good reason that I intend to become a civilian myself one day.
The second thought that has struck me,

Saving...

6 VOICE OF THE GERRY HEWETT takes time off from editing that sterling fanzine Shangri-L'Affaires to write his rival. Sabotage is suspected--a deliberate attempt to lower Vom's standard. In these later days of my youthfull life, I have been thinking over somethings which in the dim, hoary past have supplied me with countless hours of joyous controversy. One of the things that used up so much of my time was the mechanical educature. I know a fellow back i n Texas-fan, of course-whos chief argument goes something like this: Suppose there was two people, a moron and a Pr offesor. Now, if it took the Prof, say, thirty years to get his education, then it wouldnt make him any too happy if the moron got thesame results in an hour with the machine. My favorite retort was,if it improves the race and the welfare of the race, then hooray, and to hell with petty little items like that. But, as I said, I have been th inking over these things latelyand have worked out what i think is a solution. To begin with, think of three cars. (A postwar thot, no dout.) The first has a dead battery and an empty gas tank (Oh-oh, wartime jalopy); the second has a full tank, but a dead battery; while the third has both a full tank and a live battery. I think its fairly obvious which one is going to run the best. The first one can represent the moronbefore the operation. In this stage he has neither the knowledge (which corresponds in the analogy with the empty gas tank) nor the power of using this knowledge (which matches the batter); in the second, he has the knowledge, but still he doesnt know how to use it; and in the third, the Prof has boththe knowledge and the power of using it. This will no doubt offend plenty of people, but the only difference between a moron and anyone else is the moron doesnt know how to either assimilate theknowledge offered him or to use the knowledge he has managed to capture. A nother way of looking at it would be using [[crossed out]]a jungle savage an African pygmy[[end cross out]] as an example. He is, to our way of thinking, definitely a moron. He doesnt know, he doesnt even know two and two make four. Yet he does know, if he isnt definitely a moron(which is unlikely, since in such a culture he either ceases to be a moron at the ripe old age of about two, or he ceases)that when you are cold, two sticks rubbed together will produce a very welcome warmth, or when you brop your enemy over the head with a hundred-pound rock, he generally ceases to be an active enemy.So, to get back on the original subject (or the aboriginal subject, as it were), my conclusion is this: you can pour all the knowledge you want into a moron, and he 'll still be a moron, for the simple reason that he wont know how to sue the knowledge. Period. The only difference between Ackerman and a moron is that the Ackerman knows how to group and use his knowledge(what knowledge he has. (Forrest J, if you corn this letter up with your ghastly puns, I'm going to try that rock trick myself) (O, Hewettn't do a thing like that, woud U? It might result in a stony silence from me!) # PFC JOE "OLE VINEGAR" GIBSON, our cover artist, was speculating on his future fiting japs, lastime, when he was cut off He concludes: With the Japs, of course, I'll be on even a different, a more horrible world. You can really get scared, though. You can get so you don't give a damn, but when it gets down to where you can feel that pulsing organism in your chest, and all you can think about is to keep it pulsing, you can get scared too. But man am I piffed off at having to nurse-maid these rats (reichsmen) now. # Another artist among the servifen, PVT WM ROTSLER, writes from Ft Bliss (short for Blisster, mister?) Tex: Don't let this be a complete shock but how much to "angel" a VOM cover? (Tween $6 & $7.50. Gosh, who do U think U are--The Winged Man?) Selfishly, enuf, I would like it to be one of mine -- but woth'ell, there are other "artists" besides m'self! Joe Gibson has nothing on me. He may have carried an "Astounding" & a hand grenade all over Germany, but I--braving the withering sand storms, second lieutenants, and KP of West Texas--carried--not one--but two "Astoundings", one coverless "Planet" Stories, a smoke grenade, about two handfuls of M3 ammo, 13[[cent symbol]], a spare dogtag chain, and two dozen rifle patchs in one pocket and a comb, 2 poker chips, a pair of pliers and a copy of the "Pocket Book of Science-Fiction in the other. This heroic action netted me another battle star to add to my service ribbon for the Fort Bliss campaign. (My other decorations include the "Meritorious Conduct Medal" for fifty missions to the Px and the "Heroic Action Award" for 100 USO dances--with a gold star for perfect attendence during the month of April. -- Also the "fairly good conduct medal") Now, isn't that better than Gibson - it isn't everyone that can steadfastly brave the alien wastes of West Texas as staunchly as I. AC/1 ALAN P ROBERTS, with the Royal Australian Airforce on Morotai, at the top of the Halmaheras, tells us: The main effect of active service on me shows itself in two ways. One is an intense desire to launch a campaign on returning to the mainland, directed against the many and persistent attempts to antagonize the soldier against the civilian. The Press out here is unflagging in its efforts in this direction their usual line being to denounce unions for striking over trivial disputes about wages, when the boys in jungle green plough through knee-deep mud for six shillings a day. This of course, makes the boys in jungle green a much better buy, and I can imagine capitalistic mouths watering at the thought of such an ideal labour supply; but perhaps that is a cynical way of looking at it, and I should consider the Press's appeal to my baser emotions. Unfortunately the tear-jerking theme cannot compensate for the staggering illogic of the whole argument: I have no doubt that the big boys would very much like to see the civilian working for six bob a day and no overtime, and at the moment the civilian's sad plight would not greatly worry me or any other serviceman; but I note that the big boys have a quaint habit of retaining in peace time the advantages they gained in the times of stress, and so I would not like to see the civilian's rights curtailed one iota, for the very good reason that I intend to become a civilian myself one day. The second thought that has struck me,