Harlan Ellison--WARNING; LONG like the Worm Ouroboros

[msbeadsley]

Remember, you asked <g>.

Well. Backstory first: Sometime in 1983 I was perusing the science 
fiction shelves at a local (Louisville, KY) bookstore. One book kept 
drawing my attention: The cover art had an opulently sleeved arm with 
an elegantly ruffled wrist, which ended in a hand holding a 
hypodermic needle case. The top of the hypo was rearing up out of the 
case, morphing into the head of some fanged fantasy creature, and was 
poised to strike the holding hand.* The title of this book of short 
stories was "Gentleman Junkie." My eyes kept sliding across the 
author's name on the cover, Harlan Ellison. It was like every time I 
read his name, the judge in my head brought the gavel down on 
the "wrong answer" buzzer, and I put the book back. But I couldn't 
get interested in anything else, so I began to wrack my brain for why 
I got such a sense of loathing around that name. I couldn't figure it 
out, and made myself buy the book and take it home.

I read the stories. They were very good. The intros were better. By 
looking at the "other books by" section and doing a little research, 
I discovered the source of my antipathy: an old Hugo-winning story 
called "I Have No Mouth and I Must Scream." I hunted up an old 
anthology, reread the story, and came face to face with my teenaged 
(decade+ previous) self, who had read this story and decided that the 
author was a monster. Oddly enough, by the time I encountered Ellison 
again, I was ready to consider him not a monster but a genius. I had 
taken off the rose-colored glasses of my adolescence and was seeing 
the world through a glass, darkly. I found and bought and devoured 
about twenty of his books, mostly short story collections, during the 
next year.

So when the opportunity came in 1984 to actually meet him, I jumped 
at it. Having read some of his critical responses to intrusive fans, 
I was very careful not to be one of those. I attended all the events 
which involved him and hovered in his vicinity whenever I could, but 
never *bothered* him, you know? (No, I just *stalked* him like a 
lunatic!) The one autograph session he was scheduled to do was front 
and center on my radar, and I showed up in the area impossibly early 
(with *two* books, one of which I'd bought at-con). I was the first 
one in line by far; but after a while, due to nerves I think, my 
bladder demanded relief.  I ducked out to go to the bathroom and when 
I got back there were thirty people in line. When I finally got up to 
the table where Himself was sitting with a convention staffer, said 
staffer asked, "Why, what happened, you were so eager and first in 
line!"  (Gee, thanks a lot, as if I wasn't gauche enough all on my 
own.)  I opened my mouth and what came out was, "I had to take a 
piss."  Didn't HE just love that.  He responded as if he were 
addressing the masses, "Hey, I had to piss, too, that's why I was 
late!" (If I hadn't gone immediately blank, we might have bonded in 
that moment; as it was they nearly had to get something with wheels 
to move me from in front of the table--I was in total brain lock. 
<lol>)

Later in the convention, there was a banquet. I had bought a ticket, 
but was so toasty that by the time it rolled around I'd lost track of 
what day it was and nearly missed it. I scrambled and made it before 
they finished serving, and I ended up seated right in front of the 
dais at a table with an unclaimed reserved seat. Having been late 
already and so close to the "stage," I hated having to be 
conspicuous; but I had to duck out and find the potty again. I crept 
out as small as I could, hugging the wall all the way, and made it 
back; moments later, HE strode down from the platform and out through 
the middle of the tables. Someone called out, "Where ya goin?" and HE 
roared back, "I have to take a PISS!" So I believe we spent that con 
with synchronized bladders. (But wait, it gets better.)

HE's guest of honor speech was the now infamous "Xenogenesis."  This 
was, as I said in an earlier post, my first SF convention.  And the 
person I had come to see spent his showcase moments bashing fandom.  
I hung my head, but that wasn't sufficient.  He really bashed fandom, 
at least the more manic, heedless, and hateful parts of it.  I put my 
head down on the table, not sure if I wanted to cry or just hide my 
face.  Later, in the preface to the published piece (in an SF 
magazine I've lost track of), he mentions a woman who is crying 
during the speech with her head on the table in front of her.  (So, 
you see, I have a claim to fame of my own. <g>) As you may also have 
noted, my first SF convention was not my last, in spite of the 
speech. In a *very* roundabout way, I consider that I owe my current 
life (rather happier than before) and love to Harlan Ellison, because 
I might never have checked out fandom without him.
 
My favorite memory of that con is sitting a row behind Harlan as he 
and Ursula K. LeGuin (!) shared a boxed lunch; I totally do not 
remember anything about the panel we were all attending.

> -he's a very good SF editor;

I'd have to add, one hell of a writer. Especially as an essayist.
 
> -he wrote one of the best Star Trek episodes of all time, "City on 
> the Edge of Forever"; -he's never forgiven Gene Roddenberry for 
> making a change to it that, IMO, was a vast improvement, so once in 
> a while his artistic judgment is off (=disagrees with mine);

The medium was limited and something had to give; but Harlan hates 
anyone f***ing with his muse. And he tended (well, he *may* have 
mellowed) to be lousy at admitting he was wrong. Other scripts 
include "Soldier" and "Demon with a Glass Hand," which were both (I 
think) original Outer Limits episodes. Harlan has a love/hate 
relationship with everything, oops, I meant to say television. Check 
out his two volumes of essays on television entitled "The Glass Teat" 
if you get a chance.

> he's an unremitting asshole.

Yes and no. My least favorite memory of that con is the morning he 
left. I managed to be in the lobby as he and Susan (not yet his wife) 
and staffers were getting him and his stuff out to the parking lot. 
In spite of the massive stacks of books (some people showed with 
sackfuls) he had signed at the session with nary a complaint, a "fan" 
with a high pile of stuff, including comic books (which he has penned 
a few of) blocked his path, loudly (and with entitlement foremost) 
protesting he'd forgotten to attend the session, and obviously fully 
expecting that the entourage would halt while HE accommodated him 
with autographs. I fully expected the berserker side of Harlan to 
spring forth and for him to chew the ninny a new asshole. He sighed 
heavily, looked extremely weary, refused politely, and navigated 
around the obstruction. I watched HE nearly every moment he was in 
public those three or four days; at no time did I see an unremitting 
asshole. The speech I have since come to consider under the category 
of "It was a dirty job but somebody had to do it." HE wrote it after 
polling every SF/fantasy writer of renown he could get to respond to 
the question, "What's the worst thing "fans" have ever done to you?" 
I have friends who worked a con where he apparently spent every 
waking moment screwing up everything the con staff tried to do; but I 
wasn't there. I can only describe the man as I saw him. And I have 
seen him since, including once when, if I'd been Susan, I'd have 
decked him. But that's Harlan; for many years he said he'd never 
marry again because he was a "troll." So it isn't like Susan didn't 
know what she was getting herself into; and she is a very, very 
classy and smart lady who (IMO) has him quite figured out, thank you 
very much. And I believe he has had some interesting medical 
diagnoses which *may* go some distance towards explaining his asshole 
quotient. Harlan is brilliant, fearless, and completely willing to 
put his ass on the line where he believes he is right. I respect 
that. 

> I saw a Mystery Science Theater 3000 once where someone on screen 
> looked a little like Harlan Ellison.  Mike and the bots' comments:
> "They're arresting Harlan Ellison!"
> "Good."

Cute. (I am obnoxiously proud that I never saw more than moments of  
MST3K; I prefer my own (and friends') live heckling to canned.)

My very favorite Ellison short story is available on cassette, read 
by the author: it's a side-splitting "Jewish science fiction story" 
about a many-armed little blue alien, called "I'm Looking for Kadak." 
(No offense to anyone who believes there's nothing funny about being 
Jewish.)

Sandy

"The two most common things in the universe are hydrogen and 
stupidity." -Harlan Ellison (How can you *not* love someone who is so 
on target? Read Stephen King's introduction to the Ellison 
collection, Stalking the Nightmare, if you can find it somewhere.)

P.S. I also had a chance to thank Barclay Shaw (who did the cover art 
for that Ace re-release of Gentleman Junkie) for snaring me that day.