Whistling in the Dark

Twenty-seven years ago, I attended my first World Science Fiction Convention in Denver, Colorado. It was called Denvention 2 and there is a previous blog about it. Last week I attended Denvention 3. This time I attended as Senior Editor for Planet Stories Books. We had a table in the dealer room, and I was with our Publisher, Erik Mona, and another Editor, Christopher Carey.

What a difference 27 years makes! At my first World Con I met Robert Silverberg. At this World Con, Bob and I had the opportunity to talk about old friends and the possibility of him writing an introduction for one of our books. If Bob has changed at all in the intervening years, he has simply become more gracious.

In 1981, I roomed with my good friend the late Warren Norwood. Warren’s name came up in conversation, and Bob reminded me of an incident…Warren always had stuff with him. Things, note cards, and doo dads and little boxes…stuff! So Mr. Silverberg tells of exiting Denvention 2, in the process of leaving the hotel, when a rather ancient suitcase of his falls apart. There he was, ready to go and his valise had failed him. So, along comes Warren, he says “Bob, wait right there," runs off and returns with a leather strap. Where the strap came from, no one knew, but Warren wrapped it around Robert Silverberg’s suitcase securing it for travel. Ai-ya, how I miss Warren!

Planet Stories recently published Northwest of Earth, the complete collected Northwest Smith stories of C.L. Moore, complete for the first time. We are standing behind our table in the dealer room that first day, when along comes noted writer, Mike Resnick, a finalist for a Hugo award at this very convention. Mike spots the Northwest Smith book, runs off, finds a young woman of his acquaintance, drags her back to our table, and tells her she must buy that book! She does.

Then Mike explains that 27 years ago, at Denvention 2, he edited a collection of Northwest Smith stories, published by Donald Grant, titled Scarlet Dreams, and offered for sale at that very same convention. It was there that I was introduced to Catherine Lucille Moore by my compadre, Warren C. Norwood. Then, Mike continues, he wanted to produce the very same book we have for sale, but poor, dear, Catherine Moore was in the throes of Alzheimer’s and did not remember writing all of those stories. So she would only allow Mike Resnick and Donald Grant to include the stories she was certain she wrote.

Now, Mike has kindly offered to write an afterword for the next printing of Northwest of Earth. Ai-ya, time comes full circle and the Earth shakes. I cannot begin to explain how pleasing this is. Yin becomes yang and yang becomes yin.

In 1981, Warren Carl Norwood and I, in a fit of Three-Stoogian drama, came near to falling out a hotel window. This year, our feckless team set off in search of the fabled Tor Books Party. Yours truly has hotel name dyslexia and no sense of direction, and so led our group from one hotel to the next, past block’s-long lines of party-goers, until finally, on the deadly-quiet 8^th floor of the Sheraton, the “party” hotel, one of our group, Win, or Chris, or perhaps John, maybe Erik, looked out of the window and discovered that not only did the Sheraton have two towers, but there…there! We could look into the window of the Tor Party. Paradise was in sight! And we went.

I am told, that upon entering the Presidential Suite where said party was held, our crew was assailed by a powerful and, perhaps, offensive odor. Having fortified myself with several glasses of wine and two martinis, I do not recall. Of course, fill a hotel room with many warm bodies; most of which had toiled through the day, and add hors d’oeuvre platters of various and sundried Colorado exotica, probably mountain lion, and mountain goat, and rattlesnake, and Bison cheese, and what can you expect but wild and unknown aromas?

So, at the Tor Party I renewed acquaintance with old pals like Editor Beth Meacham, Editor Jim Frenkel, author Larry Niven, and new friends like Publisher Jeremy Lassen. And, of course, my long-time good friend, Tom Doherty, Tor Publisher. Tom and I go back over 30 years. He was wisely perched near the air conditioning, and we talked about what we usually talk about, old friends like Dink Starns, departed friends like Ralph Arnote, and book sales. Tom also related the story of meeting his wife at a Russian convention. Ai-ya, the things Tom has done and the places he has been. What a delight!

My paths crossed several times with Jim Frenkel and we did not quite agree when we first met. Was it at Trinity News in Fort Worth, Texas in 1977 when I was buyer, or was it in Fort Worth, Texas in 1978, when Jim was attending the World Fantasy Convention there, and I was a rep for Warner Publisher Services (actually, still Independent News at that point)? I suppose I have to agree with Jim. As to meeting in 1977, he said something to the effect, “It had to be at World Fantasy. Why else would I be in Fort Worth, Texas?” He had me there.

Now that we are republishing  classic SF and Fantasy, I find that many of the finest SF books published in the early 1970’s were published by Jim at Dell Books.

And the best,  for me, the very best at Denvention 3, was getting together with my great good friends, Ben Bova, noted writer and editor, and Barbara Bova, noted literary agent. I could write an entire book about these two and still have stories left over for an anthology. I will leave it that I was proud to introduce them to my boss, Erik Mona, and to have the time to carry on several conversations that were on the highest level about publishing, interspersed, at the right time, by jokes told. Ben Bova is one of the world’s greatest story-tellers, and his jokes are on a level of their own. The Bovas are very dear to me and I do not get to see them enough, not nearly enough.

For the first time at a World Con, I sat on some panels. Two panels, to be exact.  “Publicity: Whose Job is it Anyway” and “Agents from the Writer’s Perspective.” It seems that many folks want to know how to promote themselves, and everyone wants an agent. Yours truly moderated both panels. The rooms did not have the best acoustics and there were only two microphones. I did not need one. Ideally, a moderator merely guides the conversation, making sure everyone gets a say, and keeping the panel on-topic. Of course, this big-mouth had to put in at least two cents worth, but the panels were a small enlightenment and great fun. The first was over-packed with six participants (although one was out promoting himself, so only five showed) and the second was under-packed with only two of us. All was well. Portions of the first may be viewed at:

I was very pleased to get to sit on a panel with a newer friend, Astrid Anderson Bear, wife of Best Selling author and newer friend, Greg Bear.

Other friends long-unseen were Hugo and Nebula Award winner James Patrick Kelly with whom I attended Clarion East in 1974, and with whom I have gotten into small bits of fun over the years;  P.C. Hodgell, also an author and a fellow Clarion 1974 alumnus; and most of the staff of Locus Magazine: Charles N. Brown, Kirsten Gong-Wong, Liza Groen Trombi, Amelia Beamer, and Gary K. Wolfe. Tim Pratt was left behind to hold down the fort or be eaten by wolves. I’m not sure which. The folks at Locus make me so glad they are in charge of chronicling the fate of the world of science fiction and fantasy. And they won another Hugo!

I came near to smacking a smart-ass in the dealer room, but Erik, knowing me, was able to defuse the situation. Ai-ya!

And last and least, I will mention, briefly, the Doggie Boys. I shall not mention them by name, but I refer to them as Augie Doggie and Doggie Daddy. A more hapless and unaware pair is seldom seen outside the hills of the Big Sky country. Glassy eyes, brittle hair, sweaty palms, and a total lack of understanding of human courtesy will suffice in this current description. They probably smell bad, too, but I would not get that close.

And the bass note running as an undercurrent to all of World Con this year, was the death of another good friend, George W. Proctor, on August 3. There was a time when George and Warren and I hung together regularly. If I have not yet dealt with Warren’s death, I certainly cannot come to grips with the loss of George. George was one of those people who, even if you did not talk regularly, you always knew he was there, being…well, George. Good friends are hard to find and harder to lose. Ai-ya!

It came home to me sitting in the auditorium at the Colorado Convention Center for the Hugo Awards as the names of those lost to us this year, like my teacher Thomas M. Disch, when I saw "George W. Proctor" scroll down both giant screens framing the stage. It was like the final credits for a film. Sigh.

Finally, our intrepid heroes, still without a feck as far as I could tell, limped to the Denver airport, girding their loins as they went, exhaling fumes of hot dogs and diet Pepsi, and preparing for another trek. Erik would leave for Indianapolis in two days, then on to the UK. Pierce has 10 days before departing for Baltimore, and Chris returns to the Paizo caves where he will pick up his tablet and chisel and resume his labors. Ai-ya!