I've always wanted to be an eminence grise, but surely there
are a few raras who are griser than I. I was in high school
in the 1950s, but I'd discovered SF even earlier and gotten
hooked on John Carter of Mars and other stuff.
Later I found one of those massive Groff Conklin
anthologies, which led me to the SF magazines. The magazines
were located right next to those great old rotating paperback
racks, so naturally I discovered the wonderful world of Gold
Medal books, which in turn led me to the masters like Hammett
and Chandler. I didn't discover Jim Thompson until around
1966, or whenever it was that Gold Medal reprinted THE KILLER
INSIDE ME, after which I went out and bought every Thompson I
could find in the used-book stores. (And which is why I have
most of those old paperbacks in their original printings and
paid only a quarter or so for them, but why go into that?)
When I went to college in 1959, my mother (here comes that
familiar story) made me get rid of all my paperbacks, comics,
3-D movie magazines, etc. (I kept the baseball cards,
though!) I gave the books and magazines to a friend, who
happens to be the president of the college where I now
teach.
Now and then he invites me over to his office to visit
my former possessions, like my first volume of Galaxy
magazine, or my copy of Phil Farmer's A WOMAN A DAY. His
mother was much more understanding than mine. Sigh.
Bill Crider
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