That wouldn't always be the case, however. In a completely separate world were a gaggle of fanatics, grabbing any scraps of power they could in order to seize control of the space they so desperately wanted control of.
As we've learned, in the late 1930s, there were small groups unsatisfied with the way things are. They didn't like the popular magazines catering to bigger audiences and demanded they bow to them instead. Little did anyone known how listening to such people would make things end up the way they are today, with gatekeepers guarding their precious and unsold wares at large chain stores while blacklisting writers for having the incorrect opinions and chasing the audience away all at the same time. It sounds astonishing, but it happened.
That said, if this sounds surprising then you just have not been paying attention. They were doing this exact thing back before a single one of them even had power. You just weren't told this, because it was deliberately hidden from you and downplayed by other Fanatics. Why would they do such a thing? Because an image was being sold to you and younger Fanatics. You needed to throw off those old perceptions and superstitions you once believed and open your mind and accept their way of life. How else would the world finally reach utopia?
As you can tell by the state of things in the 21st century, it clearly didn't work out too well, especially considering how far normal people ran from the industry as soon as alternatives offered what the pulps once did. It's quite amazing to see how backwards things became.
However, now it is time to get back to Mr. Moskowitz's story. We aren't even close to done yet, either. Despite the majority of this book centering on those fanatical five years between 1935 and 1939, much occurred at the time in that space. We are going to have to take this slow and kick over every rock presented to us.
Believe it or not, we still have yet to see the worst of it.
The split in Fandom had been growing and growing throughout the 1930s, and now it was about to come to a head. One of the events that spiraled into future events was the closure of the (very relatively) popular Fantasy Magazine fanzine in 1935.
"After the September, 1935, third anniversary number of Fantasy Magazine had appeared, it found itself facing a serious situation. Ruppert, who had contributed such yeoman printing service at below paper cost, found that the increase in well-paying orders at his establishment made it impossible to carry on this charity any longer no matter how true the blood of the science fiction lover ran in his veins. It was a matter of sacrificing his livelihood or Fantasy Magazine."
Notice how even Mr. Moskowitz calls it a "charity" that this magazine even ran, because it was. The only reason early Fandom was given any success was because those around them were unnaturally generous. This same thing will happen again and again. It sort of takes the wind out of Fandom's sails when so much of their success appeared to be largely unearned and handed to them instead. They would never have grown if they were simply left to sink like they should have been, because they never once showed that they knew how to reach the common man. Possibly because they outright admit they wanted to chase them out.
Not that these Fanatics didn't create some legitimate impressive works, but most of the people behind such things had soon become professionals and moved beyond this space. They were not attempting a coup of reality, but to grow what they enjoyed.
Regardless, that is enough of that, let us return to Fantasy Magazine. There is far more to discuss about these events!
Their printer by 1936 was a man named William L. Crawford, a Fanatic himself. However, he was hardly as helpful as he should have been!
"This appeared for a while to be the death-knell of fandom's greatest journal. For months Julius Schwartz, who had held Ruppert's editorial post for some time, sought to find a way out of this dilemma. Finally an arrangement was made with William L. Crawford to do the printing. The terms of the agreement were never made public, but Crawford, himself an enthusiastic fan, was probably more than reasonable. But reasonable as these rates were, Schwartz still had difficulty in meeting costs with his small circulation. Fantasy Magazine did not reappear until January, 1936, and from then until its demise a year later maintained a roughly quarterly schedule of publication. This may have been partly due to Crawford's notorious undependability, but it is extremely doubtful that Schwartz was in any position to finance more regular publication even had Crawford been the essence of punctuality."
Normally this wouldn't be all that important, except for what it lead to.
"The March, 1936, number announced the sale of Wonder Stories, and important as this fact was to the ISA in its clash with the SFL, it was equally important to Fantasy Magazine itself, for Weisinger, unofficial editor and writer on the staff, as well as partner with Schwartz in the agency, was soon elevated to editor of the new Thrilling Wonder Stories issued under the Standard Publications' banner. More than ever before Schwartz now felt himself alone. First Ruppert had left, and then Weisinger: the best friends he had were no longer able to share his fan activities. The full weight of responsibility for carrying on Fantasy Magazine now rested entirely upon his shoulders, and all around his was the ill-disguised envy and bitterness of the second and third fandoms, who, incapable of emulating his magazine successfully, would not be overly sorry to see it destroyed."
Once again, Mr. Moskowitz nails the attitude just right. Mr. Schwartz found himself alone in a pit of vipers. What exactly was he doing all this for, at this point? Surely he must have realized how little return he was getting on his activities.
Sure enough, Mr. Schwartz did eventually move on from such things, which is why he was barely affected by any of the above. People move on, that's life. Why Fandom couldn't accept this was clearly because they saw their space as more than a mere hobby: it was a lifestyle. A poor mockery of one, of course, but still a lifestyle. This is not an attitude that would die anytime soon. No, it's taken near a century, at this point, for anyone to realize what was actually happening here.
And it would get worse.
This would a pertinent time to remind the reader that none of this has so far had any real effect on the actual magazines from which audiences read from. As educational as it is reading about the inane activities of a growing cult, none of the members had yet to infect the spaces they desperately wanted to subvert. Not one.
Those that moved on from Fandom, such as Mr. Weisinger (and not long later, Mr. Schwartz), left their amateur behaviors behind in the minor leagues where they belonged. They became professionals instead. Up to this point Fandom had been a bunch of self-absorbed geeks attempting to carve out a new cult for themselves with a scant few who legitimately just enjoyed stories. The more poisonous snakes among them ere not without their schemes, however.
Soon enough they would see their revolution happen, but it was a mere twinkle in their eyes at this point in time.
For now, let us see the fruits of Mr. Schwartz's efforts.
"Two thousand copies of this number [the fourth anniversary issue of September, 1936] of Fantasy Magazine were mailed out. The price, which had risen to fifteen cents a year previously, was reduced to ten cents once more. There is no question that this issue was a supreme fan publication. If any fan journal was worth a dime, this one was worth a dollar. Schwartz waited. Then subscriptions began to trickle in. But weeks went by, and the trickle never became a torrent. At last it ceased altogether. Then he knew that there was no use continuing. For four years he had given fans the finest effort in the field — and at the end of that time his subscription list stood at barely two hundred! One thing alone deterred Schwartz from abandoning the publication entirely: its outstanding debt of subscriptions. Most money had been spent almost as soon as received, and he was in no position to make extensive refunds. It seemed to be a vicious circle — he could no longer carry on the magazine, nor could he drop it."
All that effort for 200 subscriptions despite sending out 2000. If that isn't a cold splash of a water in the face, I don't know what is. Reality certainly hit the poor fellow like a freight train. All of that for nothing.
As a constant reminder of not only how small Fandom was, but how much they talked a big game and never backed it up, this is one of the purest examples of how useless they were. Mr. Schwartz was not an ideologue, had not alienated anyone or attempted to be abrasive about it, and simply created the best material he could (material Fandom begged for), and this was all that could be gotten out of all his efforts. Fandom do not put their money where their mouth is, despite their big talk. Nonetheless, you are expected to cater too their small number.
Little has changed since.
"Now in this fourth anniversary number of Fantasy Magazine was a full-page advertisement announcing a new printed fan publication to be titled Science-Fantasy Correspondent. The editors were Willis Conover, Jr., a former contributor to Tesseract, and Corwin F. Stickney, a virtual unknown in the field. Conover proved to be a nova in fandom, a go-getter who flared with unprecidented brilliance for a short time and then faded from sight, scarcely ever to be heard from again. Since interesting himself in fan activities, Conover had written dozens of leading fantasy authors, artists, editors and fans. His list of contacts was of extremely wide extent, and he was on good terms with both the second and third fandoms as well as the older Fantasy Magazine group. The fifteen-year-old Stickney was apparently markedly above average in intelligence. He had struck up an association with Frank S. Bogert, an elderly printer in Belleville, New Jersey, and in exchange for setting type for the latter was permitted to print his Science-Fantasy Correspondent for the cost of the paper. Bogert became interested in the sheet and offered to help subsidize it if he were allowed to handle its advertising, a field in which he had had previous experience. The editors consenting, he took over this branch of the work — with surprising results. In the very first number the Correspondent carried many well-paying advertisements of a general nature, and throughout its entire period of existence thus always managed to stay out of the red, despite the fact that several thousand free copies of every number were mailed out regularly to build up circulation for the benefit of advertisers."
The two "genres" that have nothing in common, together at last! I suppose if we ignored that they invented this non-existent split to begin with then this might be big news. But Fandom had worked hard to make this artificial space, so it makes sense that they would continue barreling down it . . . for around 200 subscribers.
It should also be mentioned that this was the hard ceiling with fanzines back at the time. None of them ever sold more than this despite the groups working at them for years. They never moved beyond the cabal or were more than a drop in the bucket compared to the professional magazines readers still scrounge for and pay money towards to this day.
However, Mr. Schwartz saw the writing on the wall whereas most Fanatics of the time did not. This place was a dead end. It was time to move on from childish things and into greener and more fruitful pastures.
"At this juncture Julius Schwartz threw in the sponge. And on Conover's next visit to New York City arrangements were made to combine Fantasy Magazine with Science-Fantasy Correspondent, thus filling all of Schwartz's obligations. In exchange, Conover would have the prestige of leadership in the fan field and all of Fantasy Magazine's stock of material. Conover regarded this achievement as a very bright feather in his cap (as indeed it was), and Schwartz considered it a great load off his mind (as it also was)."
"The very last — the thirty-ninth — number of Fantasy Magazine was dated January, 1937. Compared to the preceeding fourth anniversary issue it appeared slim indeed."
This is framed as if Mr. Conover got the better deal, but considering Julius Schwartz's career after leaving this pit of poison, one could easily see who made out here. The war would continue without him, and destroy much it never should have, but there were those who thankfully just wished to create instead.
That number would shrink as the years went on. It would also happen far sooner than one might think. Fandom only ever got more fanatical as time wore on.
It is in the name, after all.
Not to mention that all of this effort went to under 200 people, and shrinking, is absolutely stunning. Not that amateurs shouldn't have a space to play in, but that they would then get big enough britches that they would conclude they should be running the industry which sold to millions, is absolutely absurd. What exactly was the point of the merge of the above fanzines when they were still selling to the same tiny audience? And make no mistake, it was never at any point anything other than tiny, despite what they say to this day.
Adventure fiction at this time sold millions, and a gaggle of nerds with barely two hundred other fans as subscribers thought they should own the professional industry? Is it any wonder why it crumbled immediately after they took hold? They had absolutely no idea what they were doing.
Unless of course we're still under the delusion that plummeting sales, lessened cultural impact, and falling audience interest, constitutes a "Golden Age" of something. No other industry would say such a thing would, and truthfully, no other has, but this one was run by very special people who can redefine words, as you will soon learn.
At the same time this was going on, of course other branches of Fandom were doing their own thing. What would be the next step up from fan magazines? Why, that would be conventions! Where else but post-industrialized society could you get a bunch of people together in a big room to discuss their hobbies away from disgusting normal folk?
However, this is where things really skid off the road into insanity, the largest signpost yet of what a Fandom led future would bring to a hobby. Be sure to pay attention, because this can be difficult to follow due to the oddball nature of this group.
It started a bit innocuously. Why not make a film about Fandom? After all, there is enough material there, right? Sure. This is a whole book about it. How could such a thing go wrong? It didn't go wrong, it just never happened.
"Sykora, in an attempt to lead the science-hobbyists into some activity that would also engage the interest of the science fictionists, suggested that the ISA make a science fiction moving picture. He especially stressed the comparative cheapness of such a project. After initial skepticism, Herbert Goudket (who had long been interested in technical aspects of motion pictures) fell in with the idea, and plans were formulated for the production of such a film during 1937. Neither man was completely unfamiliar with the art, as films of fair quality had been taken previously of local meetings as well as of the several rocketry experiments which had been carried out by the ISA."
Not that being unfamiliar with something ever stopped Fandom before. Of course, this snowballed into a bigger idea.
"It was suggested by John B. Michel that the club join in a social outing of some sort; this agreed to, great controversy ensued as to the destination. Philadelphia was decided upon, chiefly because Wollheim had hit upon the novel idea of meeting with out-of-town fans and thereby calling the affair a science fiction convention. Intrigued with this plan, members made hurried arrangements. And on October 22, 1936, the ISA delegation, which included Wollheim, Pohl, Michel, Sykora, Hahn, Kyle and Goudket, was met at Philadelphia by a contingent headed by Rothman, Madle and Train. After viewing the town both groups convened at Rothman's home and engaged in a bit of officiality that gave them the uncontested title to the first convention in fan history. Rothman was elected convention chairman and Pohl secretary."
There it is. The first Science Fiction Convention: Fandom's first true victory over the normies, took place at the tail end of 1936, just before Halloween. Times were changing and Fandom was more organized than ever.
How such young, unemployed social outcasts kept gaining the funds to do all these sorts of things was a mystery. This is one thing the book will never address, including global skirmishes that attracted many other young men to enlist, but few in Fandom seemed effected by this. It was as if they were already living in a separate reality.
Of course they were, but that is a bit beside the point.
Another, albeit unrelated, convention would occur in London at the start of 1937, but this was the first proper one organized and set off. It was a sign that Fandom had been gaining . . . well, not prestige, but true organization of their divided numbers. Something that would only increase like a steam train in full momentum.
By the end of the 1930s, things would be very different!
"Aside from the expected banter and discussion among the fans present, the gathering resolved upon one very important fact. They laid plans to hold a second convention in New York the following February — plans which, as might be well imagined, aroused the greatest of enthusiasm from all present."
Because, if it hasn't been clear by now, the New York chapter of the Fanatics were by far the most rabid and warped of all the groups. Considering they were also in the den of the then-important Publishing Industry, this made all the difference, and would make all the difference in the future. New York had all the advantages, at the time.
For now, however, these fresh-faced geeks were still learning to ride with training wheels on. They weren't quite there yet.
In fact, another blacklisting was soon on the way!
"This forthcoming convention was to be sponsored by the ISA — and as if sponsoring a purely science fiction type were not leaning far enough away from the science-hobbyist angle, pressure was exerted upon Sykora to sanction the issuance of an all science fiction number of The International Observer. Never before in the magazine's history had science fictional material surpassed strictly scientific material in quantity, and the arguments that followed were tumultuous. Sykora bitterly opposed the proposal; later however (possibly realizing that the club's major activities were being accomplished by science fictionists, with the hobbyists playing, of late, a minority role) he acquiesced."
This is incredibly important as it goes, because it was a revelation to one of Fandom's masters that this hobby wasn't exactly about the hobby he had invested in. He had backed the wrong horse, and done so in a spectacular way. The first of many.
And he would pay dearly for that mistake. If there's anything hateful geeks and mad obsessives know little about, it is true friendship. You will soon see how much William Sykora truly meant to those around him for feeling slighted.
Observe the following innocuous statement he made in the January 1937 issue of the International Observer:
"This issue is a challenge. It is a challenge to scienti-fictionists and experimenters alike. Will you each support us equally; or will one of you by your enthusiastic work and persevering support so overbalance the indifferent efforts of the other, that one group or the other must of necessity be eliminated almost entirely?"
In other words, he was being elbowed out, as were others interested in scientific experiments, for people who want to write scientism stories. He knew it quite well. Before this they were all on the same page, battling for the glory of Science, but now with their enemies all but vanquished, Fandom needed to cull the weak and gut the fat. This left no room for dead weight. And William Sykora's number would soon be up.
This is the pattern with all of these groups. In fact, you can still see it today where it is called the thoroughly Millennial "Cancel Culture" now, as a good example. It is the hobby of losers to prop themselves up by destroying anyone who shows a weakness to the cause. they can then boost their fragile ego by bullying others while ranting about how much they hate bullying. This isn't anything new, but it was once looked down on as the pathetic behavior it was.
Should you want to know why there is constant talk of shoving nerds into lockers these days, it is referring specifically to people like this: broken antisocial geeks who simply live to destroy. The weak seek to destroy the weaker, not become stronger.
However, you will not find a purer example of the above than what happened to William S. Sykora by Fandom in 1937. Despite all he did for his allies, none of it mattered. He was now the weaker one, and he had to be destroyed for it.
As Mr. Moskowitz mentions:
"These were fighting words. They were the words of a president who through intimidation hoped to save the foundations of his organization. To Sykora everything depended upon the answer. And what was to occur should the reply be negative, few realized."
At the same time as this, Wollheim and Pohl dove headlong into their fan magazine projects. They hardly cared about "Science" or whatever one might call it. Who cared about that old thing? This is not what they were in the game for, as we've already seen.
"Wollheim, who had given the commendable fourth anniversary number of Fantasy Magazine a bitterly harsh review, may have wished that he had not been quite so caustic, for it was now incumbent upon him to turn out something not only equal, but better. To accomplish the latter was an almost impossible task, for The International Observer had no such far-reaching contacts or well-grounded columnists as did first fandom publishers, but Wollheim made a titanic effort. And when the issue appeared, the result was eye-opening."
Of course he hated the anniversary issue. Wollheim hated everything he didn't have a hand in creating. One really has to wonder why he was put up with for so long despite having such a caustic and destructive attitude.
The thing is, as much of a back-biter and opportunist Donald A. Wollheim could be and was, he did know how to edit. No one could take that ability away from him. The issue he put together looks good even from our position over 80 years removed, a rarity in Fandom.
That meant something in the age where effort and work triumphed over ideology. In some quarters, that is. Unfortunately, the publishing industry still subscribed to this, and it would eventually lead to their downfall by letting in those who use their skills to lower the bar for their allies. Eventually the work and effort ladder would be pulled up behind them.
At the time, however, this is how things were.
"The golden cover heralded the contents — H. P. Lovecraft, Dr. David H. Keller, Clark Ashton Smith, Laurence Manning, Dr. E. E. Smith, Jack Williamson, Edmond Hamilton, J. Harvey Haggard, Raymond A. Palmer, Robert Wait, A. Merritt — all in one number, and these in addition to the usual ISA features. This issue ran to forty large-sized pages, and at ten cents was unquestionably one of the biggest bargains ever offered in fandom. The response was almost immediate. No other fan organization had ever offered prospective members anything comparable to this, and at once the ISA commenced to absorb the leading elements of third fandom."
Say what you will, but Fandom worked hard to seize this chance of owning the field after flushing out their enemies. This gave them pull to create things such as the first convention and more which was still to come in the near future.
The only way they would have been stopped would have been if anyone cared about professional behavior, which they never really have. The next time you see a corporate stool pigeon coo about how much he hates his audience, keep in mind that those in charge are inept enough to let him do this despite the cost of potential audience members. It is just the way it is.
Regardless, this was impressive work.
"Work went on apace. Sykora proved to be no laggard when it came to publicising a convention properly. Hundreds of copies of a mimeographed circular announcing the great event were mailed out, asking for a postal card from any fans desiring further information. Those who sent in such requests received a copy of the program and travelling directions for reaching Bohemian Hall in Astoria, New York City, where the convention was to be held."
And it was a success.
"Wollheim, Sykora, Michel, Goudket, Pohl, Kyle and Hahn, together with Robert W. Lowndes were on hand early, and the situation was tense indeed as they waited for outsiders to put in their appearance. Then, slowly, fans began to trickle in. James Blish and William H. Miller, Jr., arrived from nearby East Orange, New Jersey. Rothman, Baltadonis and Madle pulled in from Philadelphia. Richard Wilson (not yet active in those days) and Raymond Van Houten, a Paterson, New Jersey, fan came. But real sighs of relief were breathed when the professionals reached the hall — Otis Adelbert Kline with his brother Allen; Charles D. Hornig; Mort Weisinger, the new editor of Thrilling Wonder Stories, and with him Julius Schwartz; the artist Charles Schneeman; and the author Otto Binder. Also in attendance were Dr. John D. Clark, Philip Jacques Bartel, Milton Kaletsky, Robert G. Thompson, Arthur Leeds, John J. Weir, Jack Rubinson and Harry Dockweiler, remembered more widely today as "Dirk Wylie." Even Conover had journeyed from Maryland."
That's quite a list of names, and it wouldn't have been possible without the ISA's finagling of their resources and connections.
It also went off eerily well, even though there are no surviving accounts of the entire affair. We just have bits of information about what occurred there from secondhand sources. This appeared to be because Fandom was so small that everyone was simply told what occurred. Because, if you remember, there were less than a couple hundred of them across the country.
"The most unfortunate aspect of the entire convention was the lack of a complete and coherent account of the proceedings. A few fragmentary sidelights found their way into the pages of The Science Fiction Collector and Helios, but no authoritative account was ever published at that time. The reason for this was the great prevalence of fast correspondence among fans of that time. Everyone who was interested got complete details from a correspondent in attendance, and all that the fan press ever presented were a few trivial lowlights.
"It is known, however, that Goudket served as chairman, and that films of the New York ISA chapter meetings and their rocketry experiments were here for the first time shown to the public. The great interest fans showed in these could not help but make Sykora wish that he had prodded members into action and thus been able to present at the same time his projected science fiction movie. Various fans and professionals were also called on to speak, though it is doubtful if any except Weisinger (who supplied information on his newly-revived magazine) supplied anything except such happy trivialities as suited the occasion. However, the convention was unquestionably a success."
For a moment this seemed as if the stars had aligned and Fandom could finally mend and repair itself. Perhaps now it could remember its purpose as a place of discussion for aficionados of whatever space they wished to create? Even Mr. Moskowitz appeared convinced this was to happen, as he writes about these events.
But it was not to be. Fanatics will never be anything other than Fanatics.
"In such a prevailing spirit of camaraderie it was inevitable that some good would come out of the affair. For years the ISA and the Fantasy Magazine group had been at bitter odds. Accounts of their quarrels have already been outlined in this History. But now, amid the atmosphere of good fellowship that existed, Julius Schwartz and Donald A. Wollheim shook hands. This handshake was taken by bystanders to symbolize the end of enmity, the start of a more cooperative fandom. The ISA, however, secretly regarded it as a victory, little suspecting with what cynicism Schwartz regarded the act. The days when he and his clique would play leading roles in fandom were over. Already Conover had the full rights to Fantasy Magazine; Weisinger and Palmer had left the amateur field; nor was Ruppert any longer active. And though he was later to play occasional behind-the-scenes parts, this for Schwartz was to all practical purposes a farewell appearance to the fandom which owed him so much."
In other words, this was proof that the ISA faction now owned Fandom and that their enemies were not to be placated or accepted, but meant to fall at their feet. This wasn't the start of a new era of friends, but one of subjects and servants bowing to the new golden god. This despite Julius Schwartz moving on to far better things and leaving this all behind him. He didn't lose anything, he grew up. The same cannot be said of the others he left behind.
This event, of course, went so well that they wanted another convention, far bigger this time, and so they planned one for New York in 1939 (remember this) which would really nail the point home that Fandom were the true Kings of the trash yard.
However, there was still unfinished business back at the ranch, so to speak. the leader of the ISA, William Sykora himself, was beginning to see that he was but a mere stepping stone to other ambitions by the snakes around him. He was being used.
"But a single, ominous, recurrent note marred the entire proceedings. Beforehand, throughout the convention itself, and afterwards, Sykora emphasized that the convention and the special science fiction number of The International Observer were to be the ISA's last strong efforts in that direction. Thenceforward the club would turn to science-hobbyist activities in earnest and push science fiction into the background. Some wondered if this was the price that must be conceded by recalcitrant members for their recent "spree." And because of it, too, the large membership that the ISA could have attracted on the basis of its recently powerful science fiction record never materialized. Fans were not sure that they wanted to pay for one night of pleasure by professing adherence to a hobbyist god that was distasteful to them. And therefore, although the ISA recruited many new members, it did not reap the harvest it deserved."
However, his struggling was too little, much too late.
"Behind the scenes discord now crept in. Sykora wanted to plunge pell-mell into his scientific plans. Pohl, Wollheim and many others, however, were reluctant to desert the sweet chestnut of science fiction that they had rolled from the fire of the ISA's scientific aplomb. And the next number of The International Observer showed them holding their own — for significantly the science fiction content had by no means fallen off to a bare minimum. The predominant science fiction departments were still taking up as much room as ever, and even the hobbyist articles had a noticable science fictional slant. Such a situation could not long endure — how could a pretense of being a scientific club be longer maintained? One side or the other would have to back down."
Since you are reading this near a century removed from when these events took place, you can guess what happened in this faceoff.
But you will doubtfully be able guess just how it happened, because what resulted in this split is a stain that still marks the entire scene to this day, long after the scene itself has become irrelevant and parties involved forgotten by their supposed descendants.
This is what happens when Progress matters more than integrity, or friendship. Though I suppose one would have to understand friendship to begin with in order to truly understand just how abhorrent such behavior is. Fanaticism has no room for real love.
"The break came in mid-April, 1937, and was the more startling for its lack of prelude, its unexpected abruptness. At that time all ISA members received a mimeographed circular letter signed by William Sykora. In it he spoke of his long cherished ideal of founding a democratic organization whose permanency would grow from the pursuit of an ideal; that ideal was to be the goal striven for by scientific and technical progress...."
And it is this statement that would be the end of William Sykora in the "field" he had cultivated and shaped. At least, as far as this crowd was concerned.
As Mr. Moskowitz explains:
"Scientifiction had little to do with the attainment of this ideal, with only one important exception, namely to act as a stimulant. Scientifiction is only a means to an end, a bit of writing or a story that would make the reader want to get into the thick of the fight man is waging in his effort to better understand nature and life. But scientifiction, far from being the stimulus to scientific study it should be, had become an end in itself... a sort of pseudo-scientific refuge for persons either incapable of pursuing a technical career, or else too lazy to do so. ... Scientifiction therefore was a mistake in the makeup of my ideal club...."
If that doesn't perfectly nail Fandom, then no one has yet to do it. They wanted to propagandize others to change the world because it was too much effort to change it themselves. and yet, they still wanted the glory for doing it. This is the heart of Fandom itself.
The thing is, Sykora wanted the fiction to be propaganda for his scientific endeavors, just a tool to get his desired result of making science more desireable. Unfortunately, his lackeys didn't want that. They wanted their fiction to be propaganda for much different, yet very similar and more self-serving, socially-related reasons. Was this not what the original split with Gernsback was about to begin with? It certainly wasn't just over pay, as we will soon learn. But I digress.
It goes without saying that the Fanatics did not take to their idols being talked down on. Walk in lockstep, or you will be obliterated.
"Sykora went on to decry readers who should have been interested in academic and technical work, but who were instead "more inclined to dilly-dally with pulp writing, editing and cartooning." In consideration of these facts, he had no desire to devote more of his limited spare time to what he felt had "proven to be a mistaken idea." He therefore resigned as president of the New York branch of the ISA."
There is a bit of irony in this statement, since most of this is what Fandom would deliberately attempt to destroy in the decades to come once it had worn out its usefulness to the cause. In essence, Sykora was ahead of his time in a lot of this. Perhaps he gave the game away too early? Nonetheless, reaction was swift and merciless, as expected from this group.
Heretics must be purged and destroyed. This is, after all, what good people do to their invaluable friends who have helped them get to where they are.
"The membership was too astonished to take any coordinated action. What had been in Sykora's mind? Had this been a drastic attempt to get them to beg him to return on the promise of their being good little scientists? No one knew, but the majority took his scathing denunciation of fans to heart, disliking him heartily for them."
Lest you forget that Fandom is and always was run by infantile toddlers with ego complexes. What they did next should prove it definitely to you.
"Yet the resignation had been submitted in good order. In the normal course of events the vice president would have stepped into Sykora's place, and everything would have continued as before, with the final showdown of the science fictionists and the science-hobbyists yet to come. But fate played a hand. Michel, the vice president, had resigned some time prior. Judging from past experiences, Kubilius, the secretary, would have certainly continued things in good order — but Kubilius at that time was in the hospital, seriously ill, with little chance of emerging for some weeks time. The next officer in line was Wollheim, the treasurer. And Wollheim, in a decisive move as breathtaking as Sykora's, determined to disband the ISA entirely.
"Before he took action, however, he was approached by Blish and Kubilius (then convalescent) with the request that they be allowed to take over the club and conduct it on a purely science-hobbyist basis. It may seem paradoxical that Kubilius, being the highest-ranking officer, did not insist that he be given charge, regardless of Wollheim's wishes. But Wollheim pressed his presidential claim on the basis of an election technicality and won. (In ISA elections the member receiving the highest number of votes became president; the second highest, treasurer; third highest, vice president; and fourth, secretary. This was Wollheim's argument against preserving the usual line of parliamentary succession, the point he achieved with Kubilius after — to quote his own words — "a bit of correspondence and some wrangling.")
"Wollheim was well aware of the consequences that might arise from so swiftly dissolving the group if he did not back up his action with substantial reasoning. And the last (June, 1937) issue of The International Observer, indeed, contained in its twelve pages little else but explanations and defenses of his action. A list of the ISA membership was printed, and showed to Wollheim's satisfaction to be composed in the majority of science fictionists. He therefore contended that if the club were turned over to the science-hobbyists it would stagnate and die. As evidence, he pointed to the past failures of organizations of similar character. The very name "International Scientific Association" he claimed to be a farce. The club was not international, having few if any foreign members; it was scientific only in name, for its soul had become science fictional; and in the true sense of the word it was not even an association, since the bulk of the activity had been carried on by the New York chapter. To the argument of changing its name and retaining the cohesion of a purely science fictional group, he said: "... there are too many such clubs already and none amount to a row of ten-pins. ... In the span of eight years of stf clubs of all types not one has ever done anything in a national capacity."
Never one to miss taking advantage of an opportunity to destroy others, Wollheim used this chance to dismantle anyone who might potentially get in his way, including people he saw as little more than tools to achieve his ends. Those science practitioners were in the way! It was better to snuff their little rebellion out here and pretend they were never a part of this scene to begin with. Rewrite that past as quick as you can.
And to this day, Fandom harbors the same attitudes and practices it did when Wollheim purposefully divided their already small circle into even smaller fractions. This was the kingdom of trash they wanted, and now they have it.
At the same time as all this, Wollheim deliberately tarnished and spat on the things Sykora cherished, and stepped on its neck as hard as he could. This science nonsense had to go! He did this with mad glee, as expected from the type of geek that had not been stuffed into the lockers he deserved to be imprisoned in.
Considering how much Sykora and the ISA did for Wollheim, what he did to them was fairly disgusting and incredibly low. It was not, however, unexpected for those who understand Fanatic behavior. Nothing here is out of joint with such things.
"Sykora's letter was reprinted in The International Observer in full, with appropriate and inappropriate interpolations by Wollheim. This damning document proved to be a fence shutting Sykora off from the rest of fandom, for his statement that he despised everything that fandom stood for could simply not be overlooked. Everywhere he turned in his later efforts to make a comeback in fandom this letter blocked the road."
It should be brought up again that this man was supposedly his friend. Yes, one event was enough to utterly destroy him and attempt to ruin his life.
And he didn't even stop there. He could now use Sykora's new status as a whipping boy to shoulder off all the blame of ditching the club he now wanted to destroy. Crafty and scheming, all in his quest to conquer the world.
"Throughout the entire issue, in the fashion that marked the peak of his feuding ability, he again and again thrust the entire blame for the club's dissolution upon William Sykora's shoulders, reiterating that the ISA could have continued as a purely science fiction club, ignoring blithely its inner conflicts, but that "Sykora was not big enough to let it do so." In accounts of the latter's taking back his donation to the ISA library, and threatening to throw the remainder into the street if it were not promptly called for, he instilled in fans' minds doubts as to Sykora's sincerity in making any type of contribution to any individual or group. Further, he alleged that Sykora had through clever utilization of the constitution gathered all power into his own hands until he had become a virtual dictator, in one hundred per cent control of the club. Hence his resignation, contended Wollheim, meant the ISA's death."
In other words, Wollheim lied to get what he wanted. Everyone knew this, everyone saw it happen, but they did nothing. Anything for Science, of some facsimile of it, apparently. This wouldn't be the last example of such a thing.
"Before Wollheim was through he had figuratively crucified his opponent. Nowhere could one see the slightest taint of sympathy for the man who had fought with him against Wonder Stories and the SFL, at whose side he had spent many memorable hours. Rarely has one fan ever so completely discredited another. Every road was blocked to Sykora now. He had no club, no publication in which to voice his opinions, few friends and little opportunity for gaining others. And worst of all, the respect of the fan field was lost to him."
As a bit of an aside, one reading this years after the fact would have to be puzzled as to how much of a soulless husk of a man one would have to be to support Wollheim after these admitted revelations. It isn't just Mr. Moskowitz's assertions: this is what happened. Mr. Wollheim has copped to it, though obviously with a more positive spin on himself: those he had run afoul with were all just coincidentally the worst people in the world!
Even today, whenever Wollheim's name comes up it is in a nostalgic haze of remembrance for publishing old books they grew up with, not the reality of what he did to get there to begin with. It is a strange consumerist attitude that prevails to this day, especially from those who still wish to dine at the barren banquet Fandom has to offer and proclaim Progress above all as the greatest good. Have they changed for the better in the years since?
Fandom has always been an amoral cesspit of grifters and backbiters, opportunists looking to get ahead of their "allies" by any means possible to get their names in the history books and their faces on those glorious golden statues. It is an ego trip for social outcasts. The lies about "community" and "friendship" were fabrications made by those who don't understand a single thing about either and constantly change the definitions of both.
One of the major advantages of the rise of NewPub is that none this backbiting snake behavior will help writers anymore. What allowed Fandom to ruin a whole section of storytelling cannot occur in this space. And that is what makes looking back at this so revelatory as to why things are as they are today. They helped create the space that made themselves irrelevant in the process. Eventually, things even out in the end.
But let us get back to it.
"At a meeting of the New York branch of the ISA Wollheim had gained a majority vote in favor of the disbanding. He had contacted various other groups and claimed by proxy their sanction as well, and therefore a better than fifty per cent vote of the entire membership in favor of his action. Yet he seemed unable to present a list of names of those who had so voted, and admitted that a large portion of the membership had never been approached. He also admitted that there were at least two fans who wanted to carry on the club — one of them an officer of higher rank than himself. Despite this he had felt it incumbent upon him to disband the ISA, throwing the brunt of the blame upon a man who was granted no medium in which to defend himself. Such was Wollheim's prestige in fandom at that time that nowhere did a voice rise up in print against his action. Most fans regarded his summation of Sykora as "something growing horns" as fact. And Sykora became an outcast because he dared to resign the post of president in a democratic organization."
For free-thinkers they sure didn't do a lot of free-thinking. Not a single voice was raised in opposition, not a single supposed friend rallied against the victim. It was nothing but blanket condemnation from the geeks.
These are the same people that will sneer at religion and call it unthinking superstition, while doing things like this at the same time. Not even a single hint at self-awareness from the supposed big brains. Quite breathtaking behavior.
It is also amazing that as normal people were reading soon-to-be beloved issues of Weird Tales and Amazing Stories that this was going on in a nearby space. Because despite all this, none of it had affected any of the stories from being produced. They were being written and read independently of all this.
However, that was to change in the very near future. Steam was still building. Until that moment, Fandom would continue to melt down.
Wait, "melt down"? That is correct. It turns out that mindless destruction does have a cost, even if you retain your fire for Progress. Shooting yourself in the foot does have consequences, at the end of the day.
"For all that, the day of the ISA was done at last. Its influence had been felt in every corner of science fiction fandom for two years. Rarely had any club boasted so proud, so eventful a history. In some ways, it was almost great. But except for a short time when Sykora faintly rolled the drums for its revival in 1938, this was virtually the final part that the International Scientific Association would play in the history of the field."
Fandom had successfully gutted themselves. It would have been a fatal blow had others not had schemes of their own cooking independent of this.
At this point, however, Fandom as a whole it seemed was on the ropes. All . . . under 200 of them? I apologize, but the author's hyperbole in a lot of this comes off as bizarre when the stakes were obviously so very low. These were a bunch of powerless nerds biting each other's backs. This group had no power or influence, so why should it matter?
That's easy, because they made it matter. They made you accept their framing, their terms, their history, and their rules. Otherwise how could you publish your tales of wonder to begin with? That's just it: this was the goal to begin with. Rewriting reality itself was the aim. You, normal human being, were the eternal enemy. You had to change yourself to be worthy of the cause. the problem was never them: it was always you.
Change or die, normie.
Or you could just walk away. Most chose this path, for good reason.
"Everywhere, interested fans were awaiting in a fever pitch of interest the appearance of the new Fantasy Magazine. What would it be like? Would it be an improvement upon the old? Many rumors ran rife, among them that the title of Science-Fantasy Correspondent would change to Fantasy Magazine. Stickney, however, had circulated a printed card announcing Fantasy Correspondent, "the little giant of the fan magazines." Lovecraft's essay "Supernatural Horror in Literature" was to be commenced again, and a biography of Virgil Finlay printed; in addition to this, material by Eando Binder, Robert Bloch, E. Hoffman Price and Donald Wandrei would appear. But all of Fantasy Magazine's regular departments, like "Spilling the Atoms" and "The Science-Fiction Eye," would be discontinued."
They invented "Science Fiction" yet took the "Science" out of it. Those hobbyists had to go. Remember, they wore out their usefulness. Not only was there a divide between "Science Fiction & Fantasy" but now there was a divide between "Science" and "Fiction" as well. One would soon expect their to be divide between "Sci" and "Ence" in the near future. Oh wait, didn't they coin the term "Sci-Fi" soon after this?
We truly are living in a clown world.
One can only wonder why they forged these fake divisions to begin with in order to placate a cabal of boring materialists interested in social engineering above all else. At the time, no one questioned this. These were just basic 20th century assumptions about reality, after all. Even still, in the years since this book was published, even fewer Fanatics have batted an eye at this behavior. They still embrace the fabrication and call it truth.
Perhaps it was because they were nodding their heads along to the changes. It simply had to happen, otherwise how would we reach the Future? Sweeping changes must be implemented, and the old must go. That no one seemingly saw this for what it was is just a marker of the time. The Future was just expected, their version of Providence, only dull and degenerate. They had yet to truly make their definitive declaration on that subject--they did not yet have the power to do so.
However, we will soon learn what was to be the creed of this new religion in greater detail. For now, the small cadre of obsessives were drowning in their own choices.
"Two months passed, and the Correspondent did not appear. Another, and still no sign of it. Finally, three and one-half months after the second number had been issued the third finally was distributed. And fans did not know what to make of it. Conover's name was nowhere in evidence. The magazine was still Science-Fantasy Correspondent, having seemingly "combined" with Fantasy Magazine only for the purpose of filling the latter's unexpired subscriptions. Not a scrap of the announced material was to be seen. Featured were two short stories by Philip Sutter and Robert A. Madle, both of good quality; acrostics by Lovecraft and R. H. Barlow; and a science article by Oliver E. Saari. But what horrified the fans was a section in the rear of the journal titled "Hobbyana" — and devoted to postage stamps and coins! This seemed a crowning touch of asininity.
"In his editorial Stickney announced the beginning of a new policy. There would be no more line-ups of "big names," no more catering to fans' interests. Stickney was convinced that encouraging the amateur fantasy author was the important thing, and the Correspondent would welcome with open arms works of all such showing ability."
Fandom was splitting at the seams, as might be expected from cliques run by anti-social weirdos. It looked as if it might finally be all over. No one had an overarching vision, and yet they all individually believed theirs to be the correct one.
No one expected an acolyte to go off the reservation like this. Didn't he know the rules and how it was supposed to work?
"This was a startling turn of events. It was obvious that the old guard of Fantasy Magazine was through as far as Stickney was concerned. The last means of expression of this set was now denied it. For years its members had narrowed down their activities as their journals diminished one by One in number and their producers left the field one by one — until finally Fantasy Magazine was their sole stamping ground. It had been the center, the very base of fandom. It was the base of fandom because it was the strongest recruiting unit in fandom. Without it little new blood was infused into the broadening circles of the second and third fandoms. Its producers shuddered as they gazed out upon the welter of juvenile publications and organizations that surrounded them on every side. Some of these had acknowledged willingness to carry on the new Fantasy Magazine. But that avenue was now closed. And so, with spiteful swiftness, the door slammed shut on the old guard: on Schwartz, Weisinger, Ruppert, Palmer, Crawford, Bloch, Kaletsky, Ferguson and Hornig, its leading members — and, to a lesser extent, on F. Lee Baldwin, Louis C. Smith, Duane W. Rimel, Emil Petaja, Forrest J. Ackerman and dozens upon dozens of the first fandom bystanders. The cream of fandom was no longer active in the field. Some did make rapprochements, but in most cases not until years later, when fandom had again "grown up.""
No, you're not in an alternate timeline where sanity prevailed. This was really just the calm before the storm.
As an side, most of the names Mr. Moskowitz mentioned had already left Fandom by that time for professional careers, or they moved on with their lives. They grew, as we are meant to do. This should have been the hint to pack it all up, but of course that was not to be.
In fact, now we get to the real meat of Fanatic gatekeeping that would come to define Adventure stories for the rest of the 20th century. As a sign of the times, markets and spaces were growing more limited. due to this, those in charge began to impose rules writers and fans had to do cartwheels and backflips to get by.
Of course, writers would oblige. Anything to be published!
But of course, despite Fandom sputtering on fumes at this point, it was the professional magazines, you see, that were really failing, and the losers of Fandom were the ones to point it out! Listen to them and they could save it all!
Definitely do not pay attention to the images in this post, which are all from from magazines of this very time period. That might objectively prove everything to come as incorrect. Surely we shouldn't do that to the Fanatics.
Oh well.
"By late 1936 Clare Beck's Science Fiction Critic had become a ranking fan journal. Its format and typography were consistantly excellent. The mildly vituperative attitude inherent in its "Hammer and Tongs" column throughout earlier numbers now accelerated to a raucous clamor of destructive volume. The policy of the magazine became to chastise the field of professional science fiction, suggesting little or nothing constructive. Its very first move was to announce that it did not recognize Thrilling Wonder Stories as a science fiction magazine, and to this policy it adhered, relenting only to the quoted degree:"
Here it comes, the moment you've been waiting for! The very mentality terminally online goons use to enforce their vapid views on others is finally birthed in Fandom. Get ready to learn where all those dumb arguments you've had in the past over nothing comes from!
Cast your eyes on the "It's not real science fiction" argument in all it's functionally retarded glory! Created by people who had no credibility to begin with in the year of 1936 by Fanatics that had no industry power.
"Henceforth, if and when stories of worthwhile scientific fiction appear in that magazine [Thrilling Wonder Stories] we shall gladly give praise and credit to the proprietors, but at present it is our belief that this is unlikely to occur, and until a definite change is evident in the material of the magazine, we feel there are now only two newstand publications worthy of the definition, "science fiction magazines.""
The artificial genre walls have now been erected and you are to blindly stick to them. Your stories must now fit a narrow box, not too much imagination, heavy on the 20th century suppositions about the universe, sprinkle in the degeneracy, hold the mayo.
This is where the "Science Fiction & Fantasy" divide truly came into its own as the asinine wonder of the latter half of the century, and neutered Futuristic storytelling into the lowest selling "genre" by far. These definitions were all cobbled together based on a bunch of scorned nerds that were attempting to gatekeep successful and well-liked publications from producing its content.
Essentially, "Science Fiction & Fantasy" exists as a term solely because of Fandom's frothing hate for Hugo Gernsback, Charles Hornig, Leo Margulies, Mort Weisinger, and Sergeant Saturn, and nothing else.
No, that last name isn't a joke. Let this writer inject a bit of levity to the proceedings and show you in Current Year meme form exactly what happened to Thrilling Wonder Stories at the time it became "Thrilling" and the subsequent reaction from Fanatics.
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| This was when the magazine was at it's most successful, it should be mentioned. |
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| "Until the mid-40s" should tell you when its relevance ended. |
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| The addition of "Thrilling" to the title steamed more than a few clams. |
So if "Science Fiction & Fantasy" exist as a slight in order to cast out writers that Fanatics deem lesser, then how can it be used to objectively define stories?
That's easy: it can't. It doesn't exist to do that. It never did.
In other words, there is objectively no divide here. It doesn't exist. This false dichotomy was fabricated in order to create a weapon against those Fandom hated and wanted to destroy. Mr. Moskowitz lays it out right there for all to see! There is no such thing as a "Science Fiction" or "Fantasy" genre, just bludgeons to be used against enemies to discredit them.
The next time someone tells you that this forgery exists, be aware that they are simply misinformed on the history. This divide was propped up by a half-formed worldview hinged on mistaken 20th century views of existence that, in turn, rests on a form of materialistic utopianism formed from the baseless optimism of the Industrial Revolution. It was then used as a weapon against enemies of Progress by materialists. It's not a real genre, and it never was. It had no relevance before modernity and it has no relevance now as the present age collapses in on itself.
But once purveyors of Adventure stories and its gatekeepers embraced this insanity, things very quickly went downhill and off the cliff. The first to suffer would be the actual pulps after the fan magazines were abandoned to their natural ends. We're not there yet, but we're very close to it! Now it can be said where this all came from.
The 1930s, unfortunately, are not going to end well. For many reasons. Until then, Fandom will recoup to enact it's revenge on reality.
"To summarize, then — The ISA was dead, and therefore The International Observer. The Science Fiction Advancement Association was dormant, and with it Tesseract. The Phantasy Legion, moribund, was making no effort to assume leadership. The Fantasy Fiction League was hopeless. Fantasy Magazine was gone, and with it the great old fans of the past. William L. Crawford, having failed completely in his efforts to put Marvel Tales on the newstands, had followed in their footsteps. The SFL was an invertebrate thing, commanding no respect and obviously kept as an advertising point for Thrilling Wonder Stories. Stickney, more embittered than ever, was drifting still further from fandom by renaming his publication The Amateur Correspondent, with Wollheim still barking at his footsteps. Though for a short while stories persisted that he would revive Fantasy Magazine on his own, Conover, disillusioned, was making no effort whatsoever in that direction. The Science Fiction Critic's policy could not be harmonized with the needs of fandom at large. The Los Angeles SFL chapter, largest organized group in the country, continued to report large, successful meetings, with more and more celebrities present, but made no move to aid fandom in general — probably influenced by Ackerman, whose sentiments rested with the old Fantasy Magazine group, and whose experiences with the second and third fandoms had been unpleasant. Wollheim, the leading and most capable fan of the time, had frankly expressed his belief that American fandom had failed as a unified group, and could suggest no other course save union with Britain, whose youthful, virile, enthusiastic fandom was already sending skyscrapers of achievement upward."
If the British Fanatics were anything like Swedish fans such as Sam Lundwall, then that certainly says a lot for Wollheim's hopes. they would be a lost cause. Remember that Wollheim published Lundwall's deliberately destructive and revisionist book on the history of "Science Fiction" years later with little in the way of editing. Whatever his game was, it was certainly not honesty.
As for British Fandom, there is a chapter in the book on it, but it has little to do with the rest of the happenings, so I will skip it. Once more, if you have interest in the subject I do suggest reading it for yourself. This book is worth the time, even if the subject is ultimately goofy.
Nonetheless, Fandom, for a moment, was dead.
"Here, then, were the dark ages of science fiction fandom. And if no champions arose to lead the way back to the light then fandom was through, and its existence would remain but a brief, amusing incident in the history of pulp publishing."
Unfortunately, we were not that lucky.
This is where things get a little too spicy for this writer's tastes, especially concerning some comments that have not aged well, at all. Of course, that is a lot of this book, but in this case it has dated particularly badly. How?
Let us continue and see.
"Of the old groups, few had survived. There was, of course, Wollheim, with his comparatively inactive circle of adherents — Michel, Pohl, Dockweiler, Kyle and others — who could be pricked into life long enough to help him in some feud, but who were of little or no general help to fandom at large. There was also the Philadelphia Science Fiction Society, fronted by Baltadonis and Madle, who were carrying on a vigorous correspondence with other fans scattered throughout the country. Morris Dollens, after a delay of some months, began reissuing The Science Fiction Collector in slightly improved form. However, it still seemed to deal more with the fans themselves than with science fiction."
I'm sorry to say this, Mr. Moskowitz, but all of these people have always cared more for themselves than any nebulous made-up fiction term they dreamed up. Perhaps our author was too close to see it, but the #1 issue with Fandom is that they always look out for their own shallow, material interests over just about anything else.
You're going to be seeing much more of that real soon. It was never about the stories, it was always about themselves.
"In April, 1937, Olon F. Wiggins, embittered by previous failures [It should be mentioned that this phrase comes up a lot], but equally determined to distribute his Science Fiction Fan, revived the magazine in hektographed form — skimpy, uninspired, its Dollens covers its main attraction. With the May, 1937, number Wiggins announced that no subscriptions smaller than one dollar would be accepted. Today, such a note would not seem so unusual, but in those times, with the country scarcely pulling out of a depression long enough to slump into a recession, when a fifteen-dollars-a-week job was considered good pay, and with the average fan having very little spending money — this was an outrageous demand. It was the more so because the fan of 1937 religeously collected every fan journal issued. Nothing was more horrible in the mind of the fan of that day than missing an issue. Not even feuds reached the extreme where one fan would cancel another's subscription and refund him his money. Wiggins, in caustically turning away subscriptions of less than a dollar, made it virtually impossible for many to subscribe. Many fans hated him bitterly [Again] on this account, though it was not generally realized that Wiggins sent free copies to many simply because he believed they were sincerely interested in getting the magazine, never remitting a bill. Nevertheless during 1937 Wiggins was not highly thought of, and though he managed to get his Science Fiction Fan out with monthly regularity only Wollheim ever contributed any material to its pages; the rest was scraps culled from chance sources."
A bit depressingly, certainly. But everyone has to start somewhere.
"Slowly now names began to make themselves apparent — or as apparent as anything could be amid the publishing dearth of the time. The February 14, 1937, issue of the Science Fiction Collector announced that Sam Moskowitz had contributed a story and three articles, and simultaneously Miller's Phantastique carried the notice that Alex Osheroff and Sam Moskowitz, two Newark fans, were to issue a fan magazine entitled Helios. Moskowitz had helped organize the Newark SFL chapter in July, 1935, and had attempted to get into the active stream of fandom in early 1936 without success. The fourth anniversary issue of Fantasy Magazine (which, it will be recalled, was sent to all SFL members gratis) proved to be an open sesame to the entire fan field, however, and he proceeded to subscribe to every fan journal mentioned. This led to acquaintanceship with Miller and Blish, who lived in neighboring towns, and with Osheroff, who lived around the corner. Though but sixteen years old, Moskowitz possessed a broad background in science fiction, having — like Madle — collected most of the professionally published magazines and read them all."
They just wouldn't let it go. At every angle the old (and new, teenage-aged kids like the very author of this book) attempted to revive old methods like fan magazines, but they weren't working out. That era was over, but they wouldn't accept it.
"Then did the end of American fandom seem very near indeed. Here, and on all other sides, every attempt ended in collapse. But the darkest hour is always just before the dawn."
If only this black sun had never risen again.
"In late August, 1937, the first issue of the new Science Fiction Collector appeared under the editorship of Baltadonis and staffed by Train, Madle and Moskowitz. The result set the fan world agog and unified its struggling remnants. For Baltadonis had done the near-impossible: not only was the Collector ahead of the old insofar as quality of material was concerned, but Dollens' hektography had actually been surpassed. Some of the most important names of fandom were contributors, and in the space of one issue the Science Fiction Collector became the leading representative fan journal."
Just as a note, I had to skim over paragraphs of yet more backbiting and self-important Fanatic drivel just to get to this actual information. 1937 might have shown a change in players, but certainly not in attitude or execution. No one learned anything. Sometimes things truly never change, and Fandom had certainly not used this lull to grow up.
Nonetheless, it took until near the end of 1937 for something, anything, to appear. At this time a rash of other fan magazines also materialized.
As you can see, Fandom was down but not out. In fact, with this new wave starting in 1937, they had a strange chip on their shoulder in regards to the professionals. They had a new enemy to conquer: those who didn't even know they existed! Oddly enough, Fandom amateurs began to see themselves as superior to the actual printed magazines of the time!
And why not? They thought very highly of themselves. Mr. Moskowitz, then a mere 16-year-old, realized it himself at the time. Fandom were actually superior specimens!
"There were also critical articles and literary definitions of science fiction. This number met with some praise, but Moskowitz, realizing that he was publishing material which could not hope to reach the audience preferring it, returned with the next Helios to its former policy of catering to the fans. This reached its culmination in the fifth issue, and caused an immediate rise in the magazine's circulation. If Moskowitz had convinced no one else, he had convinced himself that the fans of 1937 were interested not in the literary side of fantasy fiction or its publishers, but solely in themselves — their personalities, the uniqueness of their type. Many, for example, collected fan magazines exclusively, caring not a bit for the professional fantasy publications. And no doubt a large part of this attitude can be traced to the poor quality of the latter, which were sinking gradually at the time toward a new literary nadir."
This absurdity of a claim is based on nothing, of course, but it is fascinating. Why would consistent losers believe they are winners? It only makes sense of you understand the mind of a subversive. This goes a long way to explaining what was soon to come.
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| This released during this so-called "nadir", by the way. |
The pulp magazines were still at their commercial peak and Golden Age at this moment, still featuring stories as good as they did in the 1920s, but now Fandom had convinced themselves they could do better because they were just that special. Their arbitrary genre classifications and misunderstanding of reality and storytelling meant they should be the ones to change how things worked. This showed their early intentions, not to join the professional world, but to completely change it. This subtle shift of mentality would go a long way to explaining what would happen.
At the tail end of 1937, Fandom had finally found their next enemy: the general audience. These obstacles were in their way! They must all be purged and replaced and their stories exiled from the pages of the adventure magazines. How else would they learn their place?
This was a sign for Fandom that it was finally time to take fiction away from normal people. The revolution had begun!
The new order was progressing just fine.
"Dozens of new fan magazine titles were being announced everywhere. The Scientifictionist, Luna, Future Science Stories, Fantasia, Tales of Time and Other Dimensions, The Anti-Time Traveller, Cosmic Call, and Hackneyed Tales were among these. Some titles thus forecasted — like Science Adventure Stories and Fantascience Digest — did not appear for a year or more; others never appeared at all. The general impression received from reading such advertisements was that of a fan field weighed down by its own publications. In actuality, however, fan magazines were pitifully few and far between, and most of those which did appear seldom survived more than one or two issues. Everywhere the lament was the same: lack of material. Fans had the time and energy (though not always the ability) to publish, but they had nothing to print. Most professional authors refused to contribute to hektographed or mimeographed periodicals. The older fans contacted, probably unwilling to associate with a more juvenile element, evinced no interest. Of the newcomers and publishers themselves, very few had the ability or background to help — and some who tried were roundly criticized for their amateurishness, when they should have been praised for their willingness to try in the face of their acknowledged handicaps.
"Of the comparative newcomers, Moskowitz was one of the few to produce any number of articles and short stories for the fan press, and he too possessed noticeable deficiencies in spelling and grammar — though still managing to string words together well enough to sound natural when read aloud."
It is at this point, if you have yet to notice, that Mr. Moskowitz loses his early objectivity and begins to dive into the material with a frothy-manic glee that is at odds with his earlier chapters where he was a bit more impartial to what was happening. Whether this is good or bad will be left to the reader, but it does make his blind spots all the more visible from this point onwards. Be wary that his emotions can sometimes overwhelm his points.
How one could read the above and not see how Fandom was stuck in the same rut as it was before, yet was somehow above the pros, is bizarre. But then again, it was his youth.
We were all dumber as kids. Some of us, however, grew up.
"In the October, 1937, issue of Helios there appeared an announcement of an organization titled Unofficial Society for the Aid of Fan Magazines in Need of Material — later known as Moskowitz's Manuscript Bureau. Moskowitz made a plea for all readers to send him their articles and stories; he would act as central distributor and guarantee that all contributions would be placed with some fan editor. Those who needed material were invited to apply for help. In this way he hoped that not only would existent writings be placed for rapid publication, but that more material could be coaxed from indifferent potential producers."Editors needed no second invitation. With a swoop they descended upon the Manuscript Bureau. Moskowitz's hopes for incoming material were not realized, however, and situations of supply and demand frequently reached the point where Moskowitz was forced to sit down and grind out literally dozens of articles, using numerous pen names, in order to keep up with requests. As a result, he was jeered at by some as a "fan hack," but his efforts in behalf of others was selfless enough to gain for him from the fan editors, the keystones of the field, a reservoir of good will that later was to serve him well. Moreover, he was beginning to build for himself a following of readers that, partly or wholly, saw eye to eye with the philosophy of fandom and science fiction that his articles outlined."
Though I suppose there is a reason for this sudden bias. He really did appear to live in his own world at times. It does not stop it from feeling a bit much, however. This is a scene that really should have been left to die.
"It should not be thought that all fandom was in the throes of turbulent mutation. The editors of the two leading printed periodicals in the field — The Amateur Correspondent and The Science Fiction Critic — were launching worthwhile publishing projects."
"Mutation" . . . or death? Well, we know which would happen.
As of this date, the Fanatics were high off their recent efforts bearing at least a little fruit. More nonsense was soon to come.
"Corwin Stickney decided upon receipt of the news of lovecraft's death in 1937 that he would like to publish a lasting memorial to the man's greatness. This was a not unexpected gesture, for he was a great admirer of Lovecraft; and he had dedicated an issue of his Correspondent to the man, including his portrait by Finlay (a remarkable likeness despite the fact that Finlay had never seen his subject), Lovecraft's own "Notes on the Writing of Weird Fiction," and "The Sage of College Street," a personal appraisal by E. Hoffman Price. Now Stickney decided to issue a small brochure of Lovecraft's select poetry in a limited edition, distributing it free to new subscribers of The Amateur Correspondent and to regular ones sending in renewals. This brochure, printed on high quality paper and enclosed in a leatherette cover, was titled simply H. P. L. The Finlay portrait previously mentioned was used as a frontispiece. There was an introduction by Stickney himself and eight of Lovecraft's poems were included: "In a Sequestered Graveyard Where Once Poe Walked," "The Wood," "Homecoming," "Nostalgia," "Night Gaunts," "The Dweller," "Harbour Whistles" and "Astrophobos."
"But there was a totally unexpected aftermath to this brochure. August W. Derleth had, shortly after Lovecraft's death, acquired rights to most of the latter's works. Stickney had no knowledge of this; and, since Lovecraft's kindness to fan editors had been strikingly evident by his numerous contributions to fan magazines, and since all of the above poems had been reprinted from these sources, Stickney had felt that he needed no more than the fan editors' permission to reprint them. (In point of fact he did not require even that: most fan magazines appearing in those days were not copyrighted, and consequently anything appearing in them automatically reverted to the domain of the free press. Since all of Lovecraft's poems in fan journals were printed with his permission, they too were in this category — as, indeed, they are today.) Derleth, in all probability, was not aware of these poems' prior publication. In any event, he promptly threatened to due Stickney for publishing Lovecraft's material without his permission. Nonplussed, Stickney explained that he could scarcely have had any ulterior motives for producing the brochure: only twenty-five copies had been prepared, and these had been distributed gratis; the whole action had been merely out of respect for a great author's memory. Derleth took no further action, but this incident left many fans who possessed material of Lovecraft, along with permission from him to publish it, wondering what their position was."
Does no one see the irony in the above that Fandom was so out of the loop as to professional publishing and how it works that they did not know any of the above information? One would think to have asked around to see if anyone had Lovecraft's rights too begin with. These are the people that are going to change the world?
Also to imagine where Lovecraft would be today without someone like Mr. Derleth to keep his legacy intact instead of it being left in the bumbling fingers of Fandom is horrifying to imagine. none of those fanzines have even survived to the present day. It is very likely much of this would be as lost as all the material Mr. Moskowitz had mentioned in this book has been.
Fandom was not, after all, very good at preservation. They preferred destruction, which is far easier to do.
This also leaves us with the question of if there is anything Fandom did take with them when their amateur magazines vanished into the ether? We will probably never know, as none of it was ever compiled aside from scant story reprints by the authors and publishers themselves, but it is something to ponder.
Just as wondering how Fandom could be this clueless on the issue of publishing rights yet think they were better than the publishers.
"Such a one was John J. Weir, editor of Fantasmagoria, a little magazine emanating from Perth Amboy, New Jersey. Weir had given Stickney permission to reprint "Astrophobos" from his magazine, and had on hand for future appearance Lovecraft's poem, "The Tree." So infrequent was Fantasmagoria's schedule of publication, however, that Weird Tales beat him to printing of the work. Fantasmagoria, it might be remarked, though at times poorly hektographed, contained in the space of its five issues much excellent material by H. P. Lovecraft, Robert Bloch, Henry Kuttner, Hazel Heald, William Lumley, Manly Wade Wellman, Emil Petaja, Robert W. Lowndes, Duane W. Rimel, Clark Ashton Smith, Bernard A. Dwyer, J. Harvey Haggard and others. Its illustrations by Baltadonis were exceptionally fine. But, like other literary publications in the field at this time, it enjoyed small success."
You are starting to see where this is all leading, correct?
Fandom didn't actually succeed professionally in any singular thing they ever did. They merely seized control of the industry and told you they succeeded in these endeavors. Just as they still do to this day when they enforce genre definitions they had no right to define in the first place. They gathered a clique of fellow Fanatics and snaked in before muscling everyone else out.
"Thus we see that while fandom in late 1937 possessed little interest in the more literary amateur publications, a sufficient number of tough-minded editors were attempting — not with marked success — to buck the trend. Such titles as The Science Fiction Critic, The Amateur Correspondent, Fantasmagoria and Supramundane Stories showed this tendency, as did occasional experimental issues of others, such as Helios."
They had to show those professionals what for, after all.
While it is commendable to see amateurs attempt to print and run their own magazines, the fact that they were so separate and isolated from the professional industry (while still getting scraps from authors working in said industry) is bizarre. This doesn't feel quite like an alternate industry, but just an amateur version of the one they wanted the real one to be. Is this not the opposite of what Mr. Moskowitz claimed they were attempting to become?
So what would they do with this new groove they had carved out?
We will shortly learn.
"As has been noted, Donald A. Wollheim was the leading fan during the first six months of 1937. And when fandom felt its foundations swept away, naturally all looked to Wollheim for leadership. His first answer was that American fandom had failed, and that all should look to Britain. To those who still wished to publish Wollheim set the example by issuing a series of envelope-sized mimeographed leaflets which he nicknamed "mijimags." These carried such titles as The Science Fiction Bard, The Mentator, Voice of the Gostak and others. Some of these were the work of Pohl. Here, said Wollheim, was a cheap form of publishing — "magazines" which could be contributed free to correspondents."
I don't know what world they lived in, but actual recorded history and works from that time don't agree with this non-existent professional decline they fabricated. Once again, peruse the pictures included in this very post. They are speaking from an alternate dimension.
Apparently many in Fandom didn't even agree with this nonsense. They actually believed the professionals were all doing good jobs, as they actually were.
This is very different from what we are told today, but then we also now know the reality of the pulps themselves was very different from the image the Fanatics painted for everyone else. It turns out they lied about everything.
Even Fanatics of the time loved the "goofy" pulps.
"But fans did not take to this idea. Some of them, viewing the large numbers of titles, imagined the field to be as flourishing as ever; they recognized no general collapse, but nevertheless could not help feeling the lack of integration in the field. Wishing to do something about it, they attempted to publish as before, but were met by the obstacles we have already noted and could not understand why conditions were not alleviated."
"Lack of integration" is code for entitlement by amateurs who feel they deserve better just by virtue of being who they are. As we have seen, Fandom throwing a tantrum when not getting what they wanted was not uncommon. In fact, it was expected.
Nothing they have produced offered proof they should be professionals, aside from the individuals who already made the jump to the professional leagues. The system, in this case, was actually working exactly as it should have.
Of course, that had to change. Reality must bow to unreality. Long live Fandom!
"Then Wollheim, bowing to the desire of fandom to continue on its own, came forward with a second idea, not only much better than his first but of such surprising foresight as almost to fail because the youthful fans were not ready for it. For some time such fans as Wollheim, Shepard and Bloomer had been active in amateur press associations. Indeed, in the fall of 1936 Wollheim had actually discussed with Miller and Blish the possibilities of organizing such a group in the fan field; nothing came of it at that time, however. In mid-1937 he not only proposed the idea as a solution to fandom's problems, but began immediately to work on the material factors needed for its success. Through correspondence and personal contact he convinced such rising leaders of fandom as Baltadonis and Taurasi of the efficacy of his new idea. Then the leading fans of the time received a sample mailing from "The Fantasy Amateur Press Association." This mailing consisted of a number of fan magazines; outside of Solar, the work of Taurasi, all of them had been published by Wollheim and his friends.
"Wollheim's article "Why the Fantasy Amateur Press Association?" in the first issue of The FAPA Fan was a masterpiece of simple, concise, patient explanation. He explained that there were about two dozen titles in the field at the time, appearing with great irregularity. The average circulation of a fan magazine was between twenty and thirty-five. Those surpassing that range were rare exceptions. Was a circulation this low worth the effort expended? The answer, contended Wollheim, was No. Obviously, then, the only gain was the publisher's personal satisfaction."
The end-goal is fairly obvious to us now, but it is easy to see how many of the old guard didn't foresee what was coming up behind them.
"Had the fans been a bit older, a bit more mature, they might have realized that here was at least a temporary salvation for them. Active fans then numbered less than fifty — the Fantasy Amateur Press Association could have included every fan of importance. Wollheim's statements anent the circulations of fan magazines were unquestionably true. Thus it might have been expected that fans would flock to the organization immediately, and enter into its activities with enthusiasm. But they did not."
Fifty?! The group had shrunk that much in a single year?! All of this was being done for even less than the subscription of Mr. Schwartz's old fanzine a scant time earlier? All of this nonsense was being done for a quarter of the number Fanatics were at during their "peak" period?
Yes, there were only fifty people left in Fandom in 1937. That's considerably less than the 200 a year ago, but who is counting aside from our author. This is the clear sign of a dying scene and an indication that it is time to move on.
What else can you say to this information? It should have died there. Were it not for Wollheim's scheming, and scientism effected teenagers, Fandom would have died right there in 1937, where it should have.
But Wollheim had a plan beyond the ones he didn't share with anyone else, and he put it into effect. There is a good reason they gave these magazines away. They needed to grow, to gain exposure. And that worked, sort of.
"Then why didn't the association fail? The answer to that is two-fold: Firstly, as we have previously noted, fans of that day were fanatic collectors of their own publications; FAPA magazines could be obtained in only one way — by joining FAPA. And so many joined, probably feeling that for fifty cents they were striking a bargain. Secondly, Wollheim virtually begged fans to join. He campaigned continually with all of his plentiful energy. As a result, many fans "did him a favor" and joined. But most of the joiners soon became intrigued after a while, and wondered how they ever could have considered staying out. And still later many fans confined most or all of their activity to FAPA, thus contributing much to the progress and welfare of the group. But that is another story."
Weaponizing Fanaticism was smart. You have to hand it to Wollheim. He definitely knew how to make the puppets dance to his tune. The pied piper always had a song ready to go, and no one was easier to lead than a Fanatic.
Now he could more easily control others . . . but I'm getting ahead of myself. Back in the 1930s, few understood just how one could organize a system specifically to filter out undesirables through a gaggle of anti-social weirdos with chips on their shoulders.
Soon we would all learn how that could be done.
"By December of 1937 the roster of the association included Rosenblum, Wollheim, Michel, Carnell, Pohl, Kyle, Schwartz, Lowndes, McPhail, Speer, Osheroff, Thompson, Taurasi, Wilson, Wiggins, Baltadonis, Madle, Moskowitz, "Vodoso" (the name under which a Los Angeles group received mailings), Thomas Whiteside and H. C. Koenig. As yet probably no one dreamed that FAPA would amount to much more than a passing fad. For FAPA did not become science fiction fandom; it simply became another facet of the whole field. Fans continued to publish their own subscription magazines, and contributed worthless little sheets to FAPA. Fandom did not recognize a solution to its problems when it was offered; it continued to work out a salvation in the traditional, if fumbling, fashion."
It is here that we should send a reminder that there wasn't any real problem here with what was naturally occurring before FAPA formed. The scene had simply ran its course. A bunch of Fanatics were just trying to resuscitate a fad that had long since expired.
They never quite resurrected it, but they sure did prop up the corpse and puppeteered it for all it was worth.
They never quite resurrected it, but they sure did prop up the corpse and puppeteered it for all it was worth.
Thankfully, even that sham has worn out its welcome in present times.
"Perhaps it is fortunate, in the long run, that the Fantasy Amateur Press Association did not achieve its aim of becoming fandom itself. For this would have doomed fans to a cramped and isolated sphere, an obscure unit which might well have stagnated and died for lack of new blood. As an integral part of fandom, however, it continued to remain virile throughout its life."
The irony astounds, especially from the current position near a century later. All of this happened regardless, because Fandom had no idea what it was doing, where it was going, or how to achieve what they wanted.
They merely bit and clawed at everyone they could find, then slipped into an unsuspecting industry that they then destroyed themselves.
What a legacy.
But this is where we must stop for today. We are about to jump into the biggest fracas yet, and we cannot do that just yet. We need far more space to cover Fandom's final bid to destroy reality. The tail end of the 1930s would make or break them, and we are about to see how it did both. Fate certainly does play strange hands.
Next week will be the longest post so far and will be covering the rise of a group many still talk about to this day, as well as a convention that would later grow to be the largest of its kind (before shrinking back into irrelevance in modern times, but I digress) and all of the in-betweens. If this post gave the impression that Fandom had run out of steam then this writer apologizes. They did what they always did. They ignored reality and forced their own unreality in its place. We are about to see just what a thing leads to.
Thank you very much for reading this series, and I hope to see you as we dig even deeper into the madness.
It isn't over yet! There is much more to see and experience in this viper pit.
Up Next: Part IV!
JD -
ReplyDeleteGreat post!
I'm working through the book at about the same pace as your articles, and it is a slog. Once Moskowitz involves himself in the story (in third person), the prose gets exceptionally turgid. I commend you for tackling this chunk of word salad. It reads as though a good editor could have culled at least half the book.
Looking back on these events, a normal group of people probably would have sniffed out Wollheim's schemes early on, but these ubermensch apparently were too busy with their own schemes to puzzle it out.
What is stunning to me is the lack of oversight some of these 15 to 21 year old children had in the New York, Newark, and Philly areas. If half of what Moskowitz is talking about is true, where were the fathers with wooden hairbrushes and belts in hand? Where were the letter-jacket clad seniors with ready empty lockers at hand? This reads like a story of outcasts from their own families, yet attached enough to glean support to live this -- unreality.
(I'm just into Chapter 27, and what a gang of punchable cretins!)
But, the parallels! This is SFWA, writ small. The petty, worthless feuding and the small, small people. Just -- disgusting.
Job well done! I'm looking forward to Part IV!
Thanks!
DeleteYes, there is a passage where he talks about a gaggle of fans not being able to sign a lease because only one of them was of age, and it was a bit eye-opening. Why were these teenagers able to indulge in all the insanity they did without any oversight? Perhaps if they had they might not have been allowed to run rampant far into old age.
The worst part is definitely the editing, but the most impressive point is the escalation of insanity. You don't think it can get more ridiculous, and yet it always manages to.
It is funny how they frame the Futurians as outside anomalies on the scene, when it is very clear they were part of it all from the beginning. We haven't even gotten to them yet, and despite that their entire playbook has been in play since the start.
It's only going to get weirder.
Where the heck did these kids get the money, especially in the middle of the Great Depression and the Recession that followed? This couldn't have all been via paper routes. But JD, thank you for taking one for the team and suffering through this.
DeleteThanks for reading!
DeleteYes, I do not know where they got the money to do all this, and Mr. Moskowitz never elaborates on it.
I keep thinking with disgust of what these fanatics did to the pulps and the whole industry, and I'm disgusted that they won. Thank goodness for the indie revolution! I feel like I'm reading Prophet by Frank Peretti, where it ends with the newscaster giving his story to a dead camera, and there was no way to get the story out because the internet hadn't been invented.
ReplyDeleteSomebody really needs to write a treatise like this about fanfiction, the modern pulps. There's no money in it so nobody bats an eye, but man, the readers there are voracious, and in the millions.