by the editor
score: 27 sprained ankles to 3 cracked knees.
Ross Rocklynne: Tall, freckled, red haired, pleasent looking,
good-natured and humorous--that is Rocklynne--and, by the way, in real
life he spells it Rock_lin_. Makes the ideal traveling companion.
Continually clicking away with his candid camera. Is versed in many
subjects--likes plots about gigantic ideas, such as THE MOTH, giant men,
and THE MEN AND THE MIRROR with an amorphous reflector, while JUPITER
TRAP gave us a giant siphon. Rocklynne, 26, looks 22 or younger.
Favorite expression, when agreeing with anyone is, "That's right."
Spending most of my time after the convention with Ross, painting the
town a delicate pink, I found that he is now trying a bit of Weird
writing which has been unsuccessful, and some Western concocting--ditto.
Ross is quite different than his characters Deveral and Colbie. Somehow
I had imagined a Rocklynne with a sharp gaunted face and bulging
muscles--I found, instead, a good example of what mite be called typical
college species number #569Z, a cross between science and wit, well
mixed and jelled in an Empire State tall body. Lives in Cincinnatti. His
characters, Colbie and Deveral, are two of the most consistent and
popular guys in s.f. today, according to Campbell.
Charlie Hornig: The dark horse who says neigh to every manuscript I
write for him. Dark-haired, dark-eyed, dark-skinned fiend who deals from
the bottom of the manuscript pile over at _Science-fiction_. He has just
learned to speak English during the past week and now he finds it much
more fun picking out the manuscripts instead of leaping into a pile of
them and bobbing up with one between his teeth. Makes lousy speeches. Is
a human dynamo and expert guide to anyone in Manhattan. Makes money on
the side selling shoestrings on the I.R.T. between the Bronx and Coney
Island. Father was a toupee manufacturer which makes Charlie hair to a
big-wig's fortune. Thanx, Charlie, for your presence in New York to
guide me around. And I just LOVE Science Fiction! (paid adv.)
Impressions cawt short: John W. (werewolf) Campbell, a scientific theory
in a potato sack suit with high rubber boots to match.
Julius Schwartz and Groucho Marx look-alikes.
Mort Weisinger, a plump smile.
A. Merritt, the man on the billboards with a mug of Milwaukee beer in
his hand. Jovial, glasses, chubby. Not a bit mysterious.
Forrest J. Ackerman, dressed in future garb at convention, looking like
a fugitive from a costume shop.
Willy Ley, a pair of thick-lensed glasses with an accent.
Lowndes--moustache and gold tooth--double feature. Leslie Perry--Madame
Butterfly with bangs.
Henry Kuttner, a voice from a pile of cigarettes. Morojo, short and
sweet, commonly referred to as the VOICE OF MIDGE. Sykora, nervous
breakdown with hair. Moskowitz, human fog-horn: following his opening
speech New York gripped by earth tremors. Wollheim, Communist, born in a
revolving door, believes in revolutions, get it? Or do you? Sykora,
Moskowitz, Taurasi--three little pigs. Manly Wade Wellman--the human
JELL-O! Kornbluth, a well-padded belch. Swisher, massive literary Babe
Ruth, king of so-what! Robert J. Thompson, the leaning tower of Pisa
wired for sound.