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Wow. I had no idea it has been so long since I posted!
I just got back from 5 days in Ft. Lauderdale for a work conference - try 90 degree heat with 100% humidity. It was one of those times that I was glad to just stay in the hotel. I did go out for about 15 minutes (that was extent of my free time during the entire 5 days, so that gives you an idea of what this was like) and I waded in the ocean. The water was at least 85 and probably closer to 90 degrees. Too warm to even cool off. But it was refreshing, and put me in a better mood than I had been.
One interesting thing that happened a few weeks ago was finding one of my grandfather's Little Big Books at the Long Beach Flea Market. Called "Desert Justice" it is a Kid Wolf story that was originally published in Wild West Weekly. I'll have to look up the original publication of the story in WWW, but the publication date of the LBB is 1938.
I wasn't even looking for anything of his when I went to the Flea Market - for the most part, I go to get props for my photography hobby. (I'm into photographing antiques, nostalgia photos, collectibles, etc.) I went by one booth and the vendor had a great exhibit of 1930s toys. He had a few Big Little Books - Dick Tracy, LIttle Orphan Annie, and I was just shuffling through them, and there it was - Desert Justice by Ward Stevens (my grandfather's most used pseudonym while writing for WWW). It is the one LBB that I didn't have, so I was thrilled. And the condition is good, too.
I'll post a photo of it on the blog as soon as I get over my jet lag.
Also, anyone in the West Covina area of Southern California, I'll be doing a presentation on pulp fiction at the West Covina library on Saturday, July 12. I booked this presentation months and months ago, and whoosh - here it is.
Also, anyone interested in quilts should check out my sister Linda's blog: www.lisamariesmom.blogspot.com - she's got a photo of the quilt she just made me. (and photos of a lot more of her quilts, too.)
It's nice having big sisters.
Monday, June 30, 2008
Tuesday, May 27, 2008
More Letters to the Editor
Most of the pulp magazines had loyal followings - readers who stuck with their tried and true heroes week in and week out. They made it known when they did or did not like a particular character that may have taken up space in their favorite pulp.
Many of the letter writers, using some of the colorful vocabulary in the stories, declared a fervid allegiance to their favorite heroes. Here's one:
Dear Range Boss:
Unbuckle your gun belt, sky your paws, and listen to this letter! Sonny Tabor’s stories shore are humdingers. Kid Wolf, the Oklahoma Kid, and Johnny Forty-five are swell hombres.
George Krumm ought to turn in his badge, join up with bock Foster, and start raising sheep. “Yores truly Buck Foster” is a champion sheep-herder. Yes, sir, he shore knows his woollies!
By heifers, Boss, where did you round up all the gun-slingin waddies who make 3W such a humdinger?
It would be plumb bueno with me if Sonny Tabor was put on the screen, with Bob Steele or John Wane in the leading role. I think the other readin’ hombres would like it too.
Keep the gals out of your magazine—they only spoil things. Tell all the waddies that I said “hello” and that I’m wishing them a lot of luck.
Yours till Sonny Tabor is hanged.
Bud the Kid.
Barton, Ohio
Some letters, especially some that were more pointed in their questions and asked tricky questions, sparked passionate and somewhat bizarre answers. This question from a woman appeared in a 1940 issue:
“….You try to have your stories as realistic as possible, and folks are always writing to tell you how to keep them that way. But how in the world do they expect you to keep them that way, if you don’t include girls and women in them? I should think you’d feel kinda proud to have females in your stories, because our pioneer women did a great deal toward making the West what it is today.”
A 3W admirer – June Haven
Poor June got this diatribe in response:
I’ll certainly agree with you that women played a large a noble part in the conquering of the West, Miss Haven. They had courage and fortitude that put many a man to shame. They were real women – and when you compare some of our pampered, soft-living, coddled modern pets with ‘em it makes you wince. Today a large number of girls seem to think they’re too nice even to stain (?) their hands over a kitchen stove or a dishpan or a washtub. I think in these trying times, when there’s a chance that we’ll have to fight for the preservation of the democratic freedom and liberty which our ancestors – including pioneer women fought so hard to gain for us, that some of us could be tougher and harder than we are. Too much softness can put any nation behind the old eight ball.
Keep that in mind, pards, the next time you hear somebody bellyaching about what a difficult life he or she leads. No matter how difficult it is, its still a heap easier than the battles against bitter cold, storms, scalp-hunting Indians, black-souled renegades and outlaws, thirst, starvation, and desert heat that our pioneer ancestors underwent to carve a great nation for us out of a wilderness.”
Many letters arrived discussing the historical accuracy of the stories. 3W, like many Western magazines, prided itself on its knowledge of the West, and tried to translate that into accuracy in its stories. My grandfather writes in the first chapter of Pulp Writer that the writer of pulps never had to worry about his stories being read - they would not only be read but thoroughly criticized too. "the author must continually watch his step, and an error or even the semblance of an error will be immediately spotted by the clientele...and the writer of the Western story who makes a mistake in the caliber, rotation motion, or trajectory of a Winchester rifle will, before the storm is disapproval has subsided, feel like using one of the bullets on himself."
The Pen Pal column was very popular, usually running three or four pages. “Postmaster” Sam Wills prefaces the column by saying, “Some day you’re going out West yourself—instead of just reading about it—to the Western outdoors, where the adventures in the stories have happened. It will be a nice thing to have friends out West, when that time comes—friends who’ll extend a hand o’ welcome and put you onto things.” Postmaster Wills goes on to instruct readers that “Letters are exchanged only between men and men, and between women and women.”
Each person requesting a pen pal were allowed a few lines to describe themselves. Leota Keeney in the February 14, 1931 issue writes:
Is there room for another seventeen-year-old blonde to tie up her horse to the rail? I live on a big ranch and ride horseback every day and am considered a good rider. I am very fond of anything that takes me outdoors. Now, don’t get the idea that I’m big and freckle-faced, ‘cause I’m not. I’m small, weigh only ninety-four pounds, and have no freckles. Please, girls of my age, write to me. I’d especially like to hear from Texas, Arizona, and other Western states. I promise to answer all letters and hope some of them will be from cowgirls.”
Oh, what a simpler time. Kids' priorities were certainly different, that's for sure.
Because publishers were so dependent on the whims of their reading public, of course, they were anxious to know who their reading public was. In this respect, columns were most beneficial. Another way was to tally responses received from the advertisers in mail-in orders. Some historians mentioned that some advertisers had codes printed on the coupons, which told them from what magazine it came. In 1931, Wild West Weekly wasn’t that sophisticated and relied on the graces of their readers by asking at the bottom of each advertisement “Please mention this magazine when answering advertisements.” No one knows how reliable this system of trust was.
Hope you're enjoying this diversion - most people are interested in the stories that were in the pulps, but not a lot has been written about the columns and the people that wrote to the editors.
This image is the cover for the last Wild West Weekly issue, from November 1943. By that time it wasn't even a weekly anymore, having been changed to a monthly magazine and the name changed simply to "Wild West." My grandfather's character Johnny .45 was featured in the issue, along with another story written by him: "Hog Legs for Range Hogs."
Many of the letter writers, using some of the colorful vocabulary in the stories, declared a fervid allegiance to their favorite heroes. Here's one:
Dear Range Boss:
Unbuckle your gun belt, sky your paws, and listen to this letter! Sonny Tabor’s stories shore are humdingers. Kid Wolf, the Oklahoma Kid, and Johnny Forty-five are swell hombres.
George Krumm ought to turn in his badge, join up with bock Foster, and start raising sheep. “Yores truly Buck Foster” is a champion sheep-herder. Yes, sir, he shore knows his woollies!
By heifers, Boss, where did you round up all the gun-slingin waddies who make 3W such a humdinger?
It would be plumb bueno with me if Sonny Tabor was put on the screen, with Bob Steele or John Wane in the leading role. I think the other readin’ hombres would like it too.
Keep the gals out of your magazine—they only spoil things. Tell all the waddies that I said “hello” and that I’m wishing them a lot of luck.
Yours till Sonny Tabor is hanged.
Bud the Kid.
Barton, Ohio
Some letters, especially some that were more pointed in their questions and asked tricky questions, sparked passionate and somewhat bizarre answers. This question from a woman appeared in a 1940 issue:
“….You try to have your stories as realistic as possible, and folks are always writing to tell you how to keep them that way. But how in the world do they expect you to keep them that way, if you don’t include girls and women in them? I should think you’d feel kinda proud to have females in your stories, because our pioneer women did a great deal toward making the West what it is today.”
A 3W admirer – June Haven
Poor June got this diatribe in response:
I’ll certainly agree with you that women played a large a noble part in the conquering of the West, Miss Haven. They had courage and fortitude that put many a man to shame. They were real women – and when you compare some of our pampered, soft-living, coddled modern pets with ‘em it makes you wince. Today a large number of girls seem to think they’re too nice even to stain (?) their hands over a kitchen stove or a dishpan or a washtub. I think in these trying times, when there’s a chance that we’ll have to fight for the preservation of the democratic freedom and liberty which our ancestors – including pioneer women fought so hard to gain for us, that some of us could be tougher and harder than we are. Too much softness can put any nation behind the old eight ball.
Keep that in mind, pards, the next time you hear somebody bellyaching about what a difficult life he or she leads. No matter how difficult it is, its still a heap easier than the battles against bitter cold, storms, scalp-hunting Indians, black-souled renegades and outlaws, thirst, starvation, and desert heat that our pioneer ancestors underwent to carve a great nation for us out of a wilderness.”
Many letters arrived discussing the historical accuracy of the stories. 3W, like many Western magazines, prided itself on its knowledge of the West, and tried to translate that into accuracy in its stories. My grandfather writes in the first chapter of Pulp Writer that the writer of pulps never had to worry about his stories being read - they would not only be read but thoroughly criticized too. "the author must continually watch his step, and an error or even the semblance of an error will be immediately spotted by the clientele...and the writer of the Western story who makes a mistake in the caliber, rotation motion, or trajectory of a Winchester rifle will, before the storm is disapproval has subsided, feel like using one of the bullets on himself."
The Pen Pal column was very popular, usually running three or four pages. “Postmaster” Sam Wills prefaces the column by saying, “Some day you’re going out West yourself—instead of just reading about it—to the Western outdoors, where the adventures in the stories have happened. It will be a nice thing to have friends out West, when that time comes—friends who’ll extend a hand o’ welcome and put you onto things.” Postmaster Wills goes on to instruct readers that “Letters are exchanged only between men and men, and between women and women.”
Each person requesting a pen pal were allowed a few lines to describe themselves. Leota Keeney in the February 14, 1931 issue writes:
Is there room for another seventeen-year-old blonde to tie up her horse to the rail? I live on a big ranch and ride horseback every day and am considered a good rider. I am very fond of anything that takes me outdoors. Now, don’t get the idea that I’m big and freckle-faced, ‘cause I’m not. I’m small, weigh only ninety-four pounds, and have no freckles. Please, girls of my age, write to me. I’d especially like to hear from Texas, Arizona, and other Western states. I promise to answer all letters and hope some of them will be from cowgirls.”
Oh, what a simpler time. Kids' priorities were certainly different, that's for sure.
Because publishers were so dependent on the whims of their reading public, of course, they were anxious to know who their reading public was. In this respect, columns were most beneficial. Another way was to tally responses received from the advertisers in mail-in orders. Some historians mentioned that some advertisers had codes printed on the coupons, which told them from what magazine it came. In 1931, Wild West Weekly wasn’t that sophisticated and relied on the graces of their readers by asking at the bottom of each advertisement “Please mention this magazine when answering advertisements.” No one knows how reliable this system of trust was.
Hope you're enjoying this diversion - most people are interested in the stories that were in the pulps, but not a lot has been written about the columns and the people that wrote to the editors.
This image is the cover for the last Wild West Weekly issue, from November 1943. By that time it wasn't even a weekly anymore, having been changed to a monthly magazine and the name changed simply to "Wild West." My grandfather's character Johnny .45 was featured in the issue, along with another story written by him: "Hog Legs for Range Hogs."
Tuesday, May 20, 2008
Pulp Fiction Magazines - Letters to the Editors
Man, it's been so long since I posted a blog that at first I couldn't remember my own blog address! Sheesh...
When I was researching the history of Wild West Weekly for the Prologue for Pulp Writer, I really enjoyed reading the columns that were regularly in the pulp fiction magazines. So much so that I even wrote some about them that was going to be in the original Pulp Writer, but it didn't get into the final cut. Today when I was digging around for some topics for the blog, I thought, boy, I really enjoyed reading these columns, and especially the letters to the editor. There were several regulars, and my own father even wrote in a few times - disguised as a "WWW fan". They were really the lifeline between a magazine and its readership in the days before email, or even phone - I bet a lot of these people didn't have phones. Good ol' U.S. Mail was the best way to communicate.
With that said, I think I'm going to reprint a little of what didn't get into the book. I'll spread it out over a few posts. Now, these ruminations are solely based on my reading Wild West Weekly, so if any of you readers out there have any information on other pulp magazines and the columns they ran, feel free to comment.
Most pulp magazines had several columns, such as Letters to the Editor, a Pen Pal club, an opportunity for readers to submit their own poems and short stories, and offers to join “clubs” related to the characters in the magazine. Letters to the Editor were always important, because many times they were the only clue the publisher had as to the nature of the magazine’s readership. They also helped the editor gage what the readers wanted in their stories and how they wanted their heroes to behave. Just like ordering a sandwich in a deli, once a reader asked for more stories about a certain hero, it was the editor’s and writer’s duty to serve it up. Once my grandfather created a character and wrote a story about Freckles Malone, and after the story was written, he promptly forgot about the character and moved on with his work. But readers asked for more, and so the call was out. The editor of Wild West Weekly, Ronald Oliphant, had to remind Paul of who the character was and what his circumstances were. After that, Freckles Malone would be a mainstay for several years. This is the cover of what I believe is the first Freckles Malone story.
For new magazines, sometimes it took several issues for the readers to warm up and start writing. Harold Hersey writes in Pulpwood Editor of their strategy: “We print a few letters to the editor that have been written in the office to start the ball rolling. Just as a sidewalk merchant needs a “shill” to encourage the timid soul to buy, so does a new magazine need to print sample letters in order to break down reader timidity.”
Western Story ran a heartbreaking column called “Missing,” for almost its entire run. Mothers, children, old army buddies, schoolmates, siblings trying to reach long-lost brothers and sisters could place an ad asking for information of their whereabouts, such as this that ran in 1924:
Honey Boy: Please come home. Mother is so worried about you. Don’t worry about the money. You can pay it anytime. Only come home. Mother.
Wild West Weekly’s columns were on the sunnier side.
The magazine always included several short continual features: “Western Quiz (Quien Sabe?),” a “Fact Story,” pen pals, and “Wrangler’s Corner,” which also ran as “A Chat with the Range Boss,” a colorful version of Letters to the Editor. In this column, various characters that appeared steadily in the magazine ran a running “dialogue” with each other and the editor, who is thinly disguised as the “range boss.” Heroes such as Shorty Masters, the Whistlin’ Kid and Buck Foster verbally spar with each other, comment on the mail they received from readers, answer questions the readers may have, and select certain poems from readers for the column, all under the watchful eye of the “range boss.” Here, we drop in on a conversation already started by Kid Wolf, Bud Jones, and the Whistlin’ Kid:
“We’re jest openin’ up the mail sack when two more hombres blow in. They’re Dogie Cantwell, the young owner o’ Bar 6, an’ his veteran foreman an’ pard, Tex Mellen.
“How’s the ranchin’ game goin’, Dogie?” asks the Whistlin’ Kid. “Any rustlin’ goin’ on up yore way?”
Dogie shakes his head. “Not recent, Kid,” he answers. “Reckon the long-loopin gents has got plumb discouraged—or somethin’.”
Kid Wolf grins. “I should think they would, amigo!” he chuckles. “After seein’ yo’ an’ Tex an’ yoah waddies handle yoah six-guns, any rustlah would get plumb discouraged.”
Dogie looks plumb embarrassed—an’ likewise pleased—at thet. Comin’ from Kid Wolf—who kin handle a smoke-wagon some himself—sech words means somethin.”
An’ now it’s time ter git down ter business an’ start readin’ the mail from the readin’ hombres. We dumps the bag on the table and hauls out the first one—which same is this:
Dear Range Boss: I should like to salute Paul S. Powers for being one of the best authors ever to write for any magazine. The other authors in 3W are not so bad, the best—after Powers—being Ward S. Stevens and Austin Gridley….”
It was nice to see that my grandfather had his own fan base.
When I was researching the history of Wild West Weekly for the Prologue for Pulp Writer, I really enjoyed reading the columns that were regularly in the pulp fiction magazines. So much so that I even wrote some about them that was going to be in the original Pulp Writer, but it didn't get into the final cut. Today when I was digging around for some topics for the blog, I thought, boy, I really enjoyed reading these columns, and especially the letters to the editor. There were several regulars, and my own father even wrote in a few times - disguised as a "WWW fan". They were really the lifeline between a magazine and its readership in the days before email, or even phone - I bet a lot of these people didn't have phones. Good ol' U.S. Mail was the best way to communicate.
With that said, I think I'm going to reprint a little of what didn't get into the book. I'll spread it out over a few posts. Now, these ruminations are solely based on my reading Wild West Weekly, so if any of you readers out there have any information on other pulp magazines and the columns they ran, feel free to comment.
Most pulp magazines had several columns, such as Letters to the Editor, a Pen Pal club, an opportunity for readers to submit their own poems and short stories, and offers to join “clubs” related to the characters in the magazine. Letters to the Editor were always important, because many times they were the only clue the publisher had as to the nature of the magazine’s readership. They also helped the editor gage what the readers wanted in their stories and how they wanted their heroes to behave. Just like ordering a sandwich in a deli, once a reader asked for more stories about a certain hero, it was the editor’s and writer’s duty to serve it up. Once my grandfather created a character and wrote a story about Freckles Malone, and after the story was written, he promptly forgot about the character and moved on with his work. But readers asked for more, and so the call was out. The editor of Wild West Weekly, Ronald Oliphant, had to remind Paul of who the character was and what his circumstances were. After that, Freckles Malone would be a mainstay for several years. This is the cover of what I believe is the first Freckles Malone story.
For new magazines, sometimes it took several issues for the readers to warm up and start writing. Harold Hersey writes in Pulpwood Editor of their strategy: “We print a few letters to the editor that have been written in the office to start the ball rolling. Just as a sidewalk merchant needs a “shill” to encourage the timid soul to buy, so does a new magazine need to print sample letters in order to break down reader timidity.”
Western Story ran a heartbreaking column called “Missing,” for almost its entire run. Mothers, children, old army buddies, schoolmates, siblings trying to reach long-lost brothers and sisters could place an ad asking for information of their whereabouts, such as this that ran in 1924:
Honey Boy: Please come home. Mother is so worried about you. Don’t worry about the money. You can pay it anytime. Only come home. Mother.
Wild West Weekly’s columns were on the sunnier side.
The magazine always included several short continual features: “Western Quiz (Quien Sabe?),” a “Fact Story,” pen pals, and “Wrangler’s Corner,” which also ran as “A Chat with the Range Boss,” a colorful version of Letters to the Editor. In this column, various characters that appeared steadily in the magazine ran a running “dialogue” with each other and the editor, who is thinly disguised as the “range boss.” Heroes such as Shorty Masters, the Whistlin’ Kid and Buck Foster verbally spar with each other, comment on the mail they received from readers, answer questions the readers may have, and select certain poems from readers for the column, all under the watchful eye of the “range boss.” Here, we drop in on a conversation already started by Kid Wolf, Bud Jones, and the Whistlin’ Kid:“We’re jest openin’ up the mail sack when two more hombres blow in. They’re Dogie Cantwell, the young owner o’ Bar 6, an’ his veteran foreman an’ pard, Tex Mellen.
“How’s the ranchin’ game goin’, Dogie?” asks the Whistlin’ Kid. “Any rustlin’ goin’ on up yore way?”
Dogie shakes his head. “Not recent, Kid,” he answers. “Reckon the long-loopin gents has got plumb discouraged—or somethin’.”
Kid Wolf grins. “I should think they would, amigo!” he chuckles. “After seein’ yo’ an’ Tex an’ yoah waddies handle yoah six-guns, any rustlah would get plumb discouraged.”
Dogie looks plumb embarrassed—an’ likewise pleased—at thet. Comin’ from Kid Wolf—who kin handle a smoke-wagon some himself—sech words means somethin.”
An’ now it’s time ter git down ter business an’ start readin’ the mail from the readin’ hombres. We dumps the bag on the table and hauls out the first one—which same is this:
Dear Range Boss: I should like to salute Paul S. Powers for being one of the best authors ever to write for any magazine. The other authors in 3W are not so bad, the best—after Powers—being Ward S. Stevens and Austin Gridley….”
It was nice to see that my grandfather had his own fan base.
Thursday, May 1, 2008
Where's Sonny Tabor when you need him?
the blog has been dark lately because I have been focusing on other parts of my life lately. My sister Linda and her husband came down and visited two weeks ago, and of course, like anytime I have company, I spend the entire week before cleaning. I've also been enjoying my gardens and I'm contemplating picking up the camera again, after a very long hiatus. And then last Friday I went to a Dodger game, the first of the season for me (but hopefully not the last). Great game, although very loooong. We left in the 7th inning, but not because it was boring or that they were losing. It was 11 o'clock! As it was, they played for 13 innings.
One of the best things I have done lately is to join some online chat groups that are focused on the history of pulps, pulp Westerns, and Westerns in general. I hadn't joined this for a long time, only because I tend to be way behind the curve when it comes to joining anything that requires technological stretching of the brain. I'm just lazy that way. Don't want to learn anything new.
But then Matthew Mayo, a Western writer wrote me one day to tell me he was reading Pulp Writer, and mentioned that he was in a online group called Black Horse Westerns. They are a group of Western writers from all walks of life, and many of the writers are based in England and Wales. The group is called Black Horse Westerns because that is the imprint under which many are published; Black Horse Westerns are Westerns published by the Robert Hale Company in the U.K.
Anyway, Matthew said come on and join, so I did. And I have to say that I've never been "involved" with a nicer group of people who support each other in their writing efforts, are always there to help you with questions. There is no "one upmanship."
I recently read one of Matthew's books, "Winters' War" a Western based in Wyoming. Admittedly it's the first Western I've read in a long time due to burn out. Winters' War is one of the most enjoyable Westerns I've ever read. Nice change from the usual nonfiction or historical accounts I've been reading more of lately.
The easiest way to find Black Horse Westerns is to go to amoazon.com, or better yet, amazon.co.uk. they can be found in libraries as well, and I have found a few copies on eBay as well. Enjoy!
Two other groups I've joined are PulpMags and Western Pulps. PulpMags has a large membership, and I am in complete awe of the wealth of knowledge in that group. After a few weeks I learned to just keep quiet and lurk in the background rather than reveal how little I know. Western Pulps is another great group; most of the members are also members of PulpMags, so it doesn't get as much traffic as the latter group. But both groups made me feel so welcome when I joined on, and even posted copy of one of my grandfather's Sonny Tabor Wild West Weekly covers on their home page.
One of the best things I have done lately is to join some online chat groups that are focused on the history of pulps, pulp Westerns, and Westerns in general. I hadn't joined this for a long time, only because I tend to be way behind the curve when it comes to joining anything that requires technological stretching of the brain. I'm just lazy that way. Don't want to learn anything new.
But then Matthew Mayo, a Western writer wrote me one day to tell me he was reading Pulp Writer, and mentioned that he was in a online group called Black Horse Westerns. They are a group of Western writers from all walks of life, and many of the writers are based in England and Wales. The group is called Black Horse Westerns because that is the imprint under which many are published; Black Horse Westerns are Westerns published by the Robert Hale Company in the U.K.
Anyway, Matthew said come on and join, so I did. And I have to say that I've never been "involved" with a nicer group of people who support each other in their writing efforts, are always there to help you with questions. There is no "one upmanship."
I recently read one of Matthew's books, "Winters' War" a Western based in Wyoming. Admittedly it's the first Western I've read in a long time due to burn out. Winters' War is one of the most enjoyable Westerns I've ever read. Nice change from the usual nonfiction or historical accounts I've been reading more of lately.
The easiest way to find Black Horse Westerns is to go to amoazon.com, or better yet, amazon.co.uk. they can be found in libraries as well, and I have found a few copies on eBay as well. Enjoy!
Two other groups I've joined are PulpMags and Western Pulps. PulpMags has a large membership, and I am in complete awe of the wealth of knowledge in that group. After a few weeks I learned to just keep quiet and lurk in the background rather than reveal how little I know. Western Pulps is another great group; most of the members are also members of PulpMags, so it doesn't get as much traffic as the latter group. But both groups made me feel so welcome when I joined on, and even posted copy of one of my grandfather's Sonny Tabor Wild West Weekly covers on their home page.
Sunday, April 13, 2008
Sonny Tabor: Radio Hero or Radio Ghost?
Yesterday I gave a presentation at the Westwood branch of the Los Angeles City Library. It was a great experience; for one thing, it was at least 100 degrees outside or felt like it, so the library was a nice cool shelter from the heat wave. In addition, this was the first presentation I had given in about two months, and it felt good to be back in the saddle again (so to speak). I needed the rest, but I also missed giving the talk! I love talking about pulp fiction and how I found my grandfather's memoir, Pulp Writer. So even if only a few people show up, or twenty, or seventy, it doesn't matter to me. I still love doing it. It's guaranteed that I will meet at least one interesting person at each talk, so that makes it all worthwhile.
One of the things that I cart around to each presentation is a recording of a Sonny Tabor radio series. It is an actual album record that says it plays at 33 1/3 rpm, but I have yet to play the thing. Even though it should be fairly easy to play this if you had one of those things called a turntable (which are probably close to extinct by now), this one is a little different: it's gigantic. The record is 16" in diameter, making it too big to play on a regular turntable.
I take it to the presentations because the Sonny Tabor radio series holds a special place in my heart. For those of you who don't know the story, the radio series was the springboard to my finding my grandfather's lost history as a pulp fiction writer. When I first started researching my grandfather's past, all I knew about him was that he had written a novel, "Doc Dillahay," published in 1949, and had also written a story, "Spook Riders on the Overland," that was published as a Little Big Book (and no, that's not a typo, it's the name given the books by the Saalfield company, as opposed to the competition, the Big Little Books). He wrote this story under the pen name Ward M. Stevens.
So when I was going to school at Smith College in 1998 (it's a long story how I got to Smith. If you ask me, I'll be more than glad to tell you) I decided that I wanted to find out more about my grandfather. One day I ran his pen name Ward Stevens on the library database. Up popped four titles of Western stories. One was the Spook Riders on the Overland book I had as a kid, another had the name Kid Wolf in the title, and another was "The Ranger and the Cowboy: a Sonny Tabor story."
Now, this was when the Internet was just starting to take off. As a forty year old student, I was still thinking I would have to go to the card catalog to get information. Old habits die hard. So I thought I was going to had a tough time finding out any more information. But a few weeks later, a librarian at Smith said that she would help me, and boy, did she. One day she ran the name Sonny Tabor on the library database. I had ran the name Sonny Tabor before under "book titles" and had not found anything else. But Pam ran a search for Sonny Tabor under a search criteria for "series." And what she showed me was a shocker.
There were 18 Sonny Tabor radio scripts held at an archives at Syracuse University. Radio scripts? Since when was my grandfather involved in a radio show? News to me, and my mother didn't recall anything about a radio show. The was no specific date on the search result page, and the date shown was "? 1940 - 1949". The only other clue was that the name of the archive was "Street & Smith."
I ran an Internet search on Street & Smith and found out that they had been the biggest publisher of pulp fiction magazines as well as a number of other media for roughly 70 years, from the late 1800s to the mid 1950s, when they were bought by Conde Nast. Syracuse Univeristy held the archives for Street & Smith, which included my grandfather's main bread and butter, Wild West Weekly magazine.
As they say, the rest is history.
As for the radio show, some of this is still a mystery.
I ordered a microfiche of the actual radio scripts and looked at them while I was still at Smith. There is no author, no date, nothing except good old plain old time radio dialogue:
"Script One:
VOICE: SONNY! SONNY TABOR!
VOICE I: ADVENTURER!
SOUND: SHOT
VOICE II: RANGER!
SOUND: SHOT
VOICE III: UNDERCOVER MAN!
SOUND: SHOT
VOICE IV: SONNY TABOR! RIDING WITH THE CIRCLE J!
SOUND: THREE SHOTS....HORSES UP..FAST..HOLD FOR CUE...
ANNOUNCER: WHEN SLIM LOWRIE, SONNY TABOR'S PAL, WAS SHOT......
My grandfather wasn't even sure if his brainchild had ever made it as a radio series; the editors of Wild West Weekly had told him that they were trying to turn him into a show, but Grandpa was never sure if it ever took place. Which explains why my mother didn't know anything about it. I'm sure he never got paid for it. As he talks about in Pulp Writer, once the writers signed the back of those checks they received from Street & Smith, they signed over all of the rights to that story, lock, stock and barrel.
One of the attendees at the presentation yesterday mentioned that this recording was actually a gift given to sponsors way back when the series was still around; it was never an album meant to be sold to the public. He said there are some old time radio clubs around that have the proper equipment to play the album.
So now, if I can find someone with the old radio playing equipment, I may be able to hear it, even if Grandpa never did.
One of the things that I cart around to each presentation is a recording of a Sonny Tabor radio series. It is an actual album record that says it plays at 33 1/3 rpm, but I have yet to play the thing. Even though it should be fairly easy to play this if you had one of those things called a turntable (which are probably close to extinct by now), this one is a little different: it's gigantic. The record is 16" in diameter, making it too big to play on a regular turntable.
I take it to the presentations because the Sonny Tabor radio series holds a special place in my heart. For those of you who don't know the story, the radio series was the springboard to my finding my grandfather's lost history as a pulp fiction writer. When I first started researching my grandfather's past, all I knew about him was that he had written a novel, "Doc Dillahay," published in 1949, and had also written a story, "Spook Riders on the Overland," that was published as a Little Big Book (and no, that's not a typo, it's the name given the books by the Saalfield company, as opposed to the competition, the Big Little Books). He wrote this story under the pen name Ward M. Stevens.
So when I was going to school at Smith College in 1998 (it's a long story how I got to Smith. If you ask me, I'll be more than glad to tell you) I decided that I wanted to find out more about my grandfather. One day I ran his pen name Ward Stevens on the library database. Up popped four titles of Western stories. One was the Spook Riders on the Overland book I had as a kid, another had the name Kid Wolf in the title, and another was "The Ranger and the Cowboy: a Sonny Tabor story."
Now, this was when the Internet was just starting to take off. As a forty year old student, I was still thinking I would have to go to the card catalog to get information. Old habits die hard. So I thought I was going to had a tough time finding out any more information. But a few weeks later, a librarian at Smith said that she would help me, and boy, did she. One day she ran the name Sonny Tabor on the library database. I had ran the name Sonny Tabor before under "book titles" and had not found anything else. But Pam ran a search for Sonny Tabor under a search criteria for "series." And what she showed me was a shocker.
There were 18 Sonny Tabor radio scripts held at an archives at Syracuse University. Radio scripts? Since when was my grandfather involved in a radio show? News to me, and my mother didn't recall anything about a radio show. The was no specific date on the search result page, and the date shown was "? 1940 - 1949". The only other clue was that the name of the archive was "Street & Smith."
I ran an Internet search on Street & Smith and found out that they had been the biggest publisher of pulp fiction magazines as well as a number of other media for roughly 70 years, from the late 1800s to the mid 1950s, when they were bought by Conde Nast. Syracuse Univeristy held the archives for Street & Smith, which included my grandfather's main bread and butter, Wild West Weekly magazine.
As they say, the rest is history.
As for the radio show, some of this is still a mystery.
I ordered a microfiche of the actual radio scripts and looked at them while I was still at Smith. There is no author, no date, nothing except good old plain old time radio dialogue:"Script One:
VOICE: SONNY! SONNY TABOR!
VOICE I: ADVENTURER!
SOUND: SHOT
VOICE II: RANGER!
SOUND: SHOT
VOICE III: UNDERCOVER MAN!
SOUND: SHOT
VOICE IV: SONNY TABOR! RIDING WITH THE CIRCLE J!
SOUND: THREE SHOTS....HORSES UP..FAST..HOLD FOR CUE...
ANNOUNCER: WHEN SLIM LOWRIE, SONNY TABOR'S PAL, WAS SHOT......
My grandfather wasn't even sure if his brainchild had ever made it as a radio series; the editors of Wild West Weekly had told him that they were trying to turn him into a show, but Grandpa was never sure if it ever took place. Which explains why my mother didn't know anything about it. I'm sure he never got paid for it. As he talks about in Pulp Writer, once the writers signed the back of those checks they received from Street & Smith, they signed over all of the rights to that story, lock, stock and barrel.
One of the attendees at the presentation yesterday mentioned that this recording was actually a gift given to sponsors way back when the series was still around; it was never an album meant to be sold to the public. He said there are some old time radio clubs around that have the proper equipment to play the album.
So now, if I can find someone with the old radio playing equipment, I may be able to hear it, even if Grandpa never did.
Wednesday, April 2, 2008
Dodging Tax Time and Talking About the Pulps
I've been so busy lately that I haven't had time to even think about posting a new blog. Getting my taxes done was the big project for the past few weeks. I'm not one of these people that has her act together and posts receipts during the year - I throw all of mine into an envelope (that ends up being two or three or four by years end) and then stress out in January and February sorting through all of the mess. You'd think I would learn otherwise but nooo.... Maybe I just enjoy the trip down memory lane of going through receipts from the past year, thinking, "oh yeah, that was a great restaurant," or "ouch! I paid how much for that computer???" and realizing that one of my biggest expenses was dog food and vet bills. Or at least it seems that way.
But taxes are done, spring is in the air, and I had a great dinner at Nikko's in San Pedro - great place to eat and very reasonable. Things are lookin' up - the Dodgers have won two in a row! And maybe three - it's the bottom of the 4th right now in the 3rd game of the series against the Giants and it's 0-0. but now it's raining. I'm very excited about this season, for obvious reasons (i.e. Joe Torre) but it's a restrained excitement. I'm hopeful, but I don't want to be crushed like I did last year - man, that meltdown in August was ugly. I hope they all learned their lesson.
I have another presentation coming up soon - August 12 at the Westwood branch of the Los Angeles Library. The address is 1246 Glendon Ave., Los Angeles, CA 90024. Phone is (310) 474-1739. I'm looking forward to it - there was a period a few months ago when I was getting a little tired of doing them - but now I've taken a six week break and I'm rarin' to go again.
For those of you who aren't familiar with my presentation, I give about an hour talk about the history of pulp fiction magazines. I start the presentation by telling people how I found my grandfather's manuscript for Pulp Writer, his career as a pulp fiction writer for Wild West Weekly and Weird Tales, and then give a overview of pulp fiction during the 1930s and 1940s. It's just right for those who don't know anything about the subject.
And there are a lot of people out there who don't. I don't know how many times I told people that I was writing about "pulp fiction" and they would say, "Oh, you mean the movie?" And for those who do know a lot about the pulps, it works for them too, because I talk a lot about Wild West Weekly, one of the lesser known magazines.
So if you're in the neighborhood....Westwood is a good place to visit - very near the UCLA campus and, if I'm not mistaken, in the Westwood village where there are a bunch of cute shops and restaurants and movie theaters, so you can have lunch beforehand. Then come by the "libary" as I used to call it - the program starts at 2 p.m.
And now I'm off - the Dodgers are ahead 1-0, my favorite pitcher Chad Billingsley is on the mound....but wait, there's a rain delay - just in time to turn the channel to American Idol! What a night! Go David Cook!
But taxes are done, spring is in the air, and I had a great dinner at Nikko's in San Pedro - great place to eat and very reasonable. Things are lookin' up - the Dodgers have won two in a row! And maybe three - it's the bottom of the 4th right now in the 3rd game of the series against the Giants and it's 0-0. but now it's raining. I'm very excited about this season, for obvious reasons (i.e. Joe Torre) but it's a restrained excitement. I'm hopeful, but I don't want to be crushed like I did last year - man, that meltdown in August was ugly. I hope they all learned their lesson.
I have another presentation coming up soon - August 12 at the Westwood branch of the Los Angeles Library. The address is 1246 Glendon Ave., Los Angeles, CA 90024. Phone is (310) 474-1739. I'm looking forward to it - there was a period a few months ago when I was getting a little tired of doing them - but now I've taken a six week break and I'm rarin' to go again.
For those of you who aren't familiar with my presentation, I give about an hour talk about the history of pulp fiction magazines. I start the presentation by telling people how I found my grandfather's manuscript for Pulp Writer, his career as a pulp fiction writer for Wild West Weekly and Weird Tales, and then give a overview of pulp fiction during the 1930s and 1940s. It's just right for those who don't know anything about the subject.
And there are a lot of people out there who don't. I don't know how many times I told people that I was writing about "pulp fiction" and they would say, "Oh, you mean the movie?" And for those who do know a lot about the pulps, it works for them too, because I talk a lot about Wild West Weekly, one of the lesser known magazines. So if you're in the neighborhood....Westwood is a good place to visit - very near the UCLA campus and, if I'm not mistaken, in the Westwood village where there are a bunch of cute shops and restaurants and movie theaters, so you can have lunch beforehand. Then come by the "libary" as I used to call it - the program starts at 2 p.m.
And now I'm off - the Dodgers are ahead 1-0, my favorite pitcher Chad Billingsley is on the mound....but wait, there's a rain delay - just in time to turn the channel to American Idol! What a night! Go David Cook!
Monday, March 24, 2008
A day at the dog beach
Yesterday was Easter. To celebrate, my best friend Kris and her daughter Sara drove down from Saugus and we exchanged Christmas presents. I kid you not. That's how long it's been since we've seen each other. Actually it's been six months - since September. And Saugus isn't that far away. But life, especially life in L.A., gets in the way.
After we traded presents, we piled into the car -- Sara and the two dogs crammed in the back -- and went to the dog beach which is close to Belmont Shores in Long Beach. I should have taken my camera, but the battery was dead and I couldn't find the recharger. On the other hand, it's not the most camera friendly place - just imagine sand, sea water, wind, and several dozen very happy dogs all going in different directions and occasionally colliding with you in their exuberance. I don't think my camera would have lasted long, and I'm glad I didn't take it. This is a place for a disposable.
But, man, what a treat. It was a scene of what I can only describe as exhilirated chaos. It was perfect weather (at least 80, maybe 85 at the beach, and sunny), and spring fever was in the air.
For the first two years after I moved to San Pedro, I never set foot at the Long Beach dog beach. For one thing, I was loyal to the Knoll Hill dog park (now defunct) in San Pedro. I just couldn't get over the bridge to Long Beach to try anything differently. Plus, when you have two big dogs who get very excited in any new surroundings, crowd control on a leash becomes a problem. I didn't want to go unless I had another "supervising adult" with me, because just getting the dogs to the designated area - they have to stay on leash until you're there - can be quite a trial. To give you an idea, last year Annie, my 'little' dog, literally pulled my sister off of her feet. So I avoided it.
Then one day last summer, just walking along the beach with Kris, we happened to notice that there were a lot of loose dogs cavorting around, and it dawned on me that we had discovered the famous dog beach. (You can't really find it until you're on the beach itself, because it's set apart by orange cones from the rest of the beach. And the cones really aren't visible from the street.)
It's kind of like discovering Middle Earth. One moment, you're walking on a regular beach, with people laying in the sun, kids in the surf, then all of a sudden, you're surrounded by dogs in all stages of play and pandemonium, and then, if you keep walking, the dogs disappear and you're (sadly) back in real life.
I find that the dog beach is a little more dog-friendly than the dog park in San Pedro. Makes you wonder how a dog park could be unfriendly towards dogs, but it can. Maybe it's because it's fenced in and a smaller area, but for some reason, dogs tend to gang up at the park and overwhelm your dogs when you first arrive. It's not necessarily in an aggressive manner, but it's still a little intimidating. I'm grateful that my girls have good manners and seem to take it with aplomb.
But at the dog beach, it seems like the dogs are too busy and too happy to gang up on a particular unfortunate dog. At the beach, they will run up and sniff, but then they're off again to race down the sand. Dogs can go in the water, or not, It's a whatever kind of place. Some dogs love the water, some need a little coaxing, others like to just stick close to their owners.
My dogs seem to switch roles. The first time we were there last summer, Xena, my German Shepherd, absolutely loved the water and wouldn't get out. (Probably because we were in the middle of a ferocious heat wave.) Annie, on the other hand, who is normally fearless, did not want to have anything to do with the waves.
This time around, Xena stuck close to me. Annie at first didn't care for the water, but eventually she figured out that catching the ball in the surf zone was actually kind of interesting and way more gratifying than trying to deal with my lame attempts at frisbee throwing. It got to the point where she wouldn't fetch the ball unless we threw it in the water. Talk about a change in attitude.
Any breed of dog can be had at the park. And, for that matter, any kind of person. We saw all kinds of mutts, gorgeous whippets, several bulldogs, a yorkshire terrier, numerous small dogs who all looked alike, a Rhodesian ridgeback, even what looked like a foxhound. A King Charles spaniel was spending her first day their, her proud mother taking photos. One beautiful red pointer-type, with a grizzled muzzle, has a prounced limp; his owner said he was 14 and had a bone disease. Still, the sport managed to trot into the waves to fetch his ball. We also saw people adorned with various stages of dress, tattoos, and even pinwheels in the hair. Everybody was smiling and laughing, and it was certainly contagious, because there wasn't one dog fight to be had.
For somebody who doesn't normally celebrate Easter, this was a great way to un-celebrate the holiday. As for the dogs, we got them home, soaked, sandy and happy. Funny, though - when I took the dogs out to the back yard and tried to gently hose the sand off, it was like it was the end of the world.
Here's some photos of what they were like last night. Annie's on the left, Xena on the right.
These are older photos, but you get the idea. 
After we traded presents, we piled into the car -- Sara and the two dogs crammed in the back -- and went to the dog beach which is close to Belmont Shores in Long Beach. I should have taken my camera, but the battery was dead and I couldn't find the recharger. On the other hand, it's not the most camera friendly place - just imagine sand, sea water, wind, and several dozen very happy dogs all going in different directions and occasionally colliding with you in their exuberance. I don't think my camera would have lasted long, and I'm glad I didn't take it. This is a place for a disposable.
But, man, what a treat. It was a scene of what I can only describe as exhilirated chaos. It was perfect weather (at least 80, maybe 85 at the beach, and sunny), and spring fever was in the air.
For the first two years after I moved to San Pedro, I never set foot at the Long Beach dog beach. For one thing, I was loyal to the Knoll Hill dog park (now defunct) in San Pedro. I just couldn't get over the bridge to Long Beach to try anything differently. Plus, when you have two big dogs who get very excited in any new surroundings, crowd control on a leash becomes a problem. I didn't want to go unless I had another "supervising adult" with me, because just getting the dogs to the designated area - they have to stay on leash until you're there - can be quite a trial. To give you an idea, last year Annie, my 'little' dog, literally pulled my sister off of her feet. So I avoided it.
Then one day last summer, just walking along the beach with Kris, we happened to notice that there were a lot of loose dogs cavorting around, and it dawned on me that we had discovered the famous dog beach. (You can't really find it until you're on the beach itself, because it's set apart by orange cones from the rest of the beach. And the cones really aren't visible from the street.)
It's kind of like discovering Middle Earth. One moment, you're walking on a regular beach, with people laying in the sun, kids in the surf, then all of a sudden, you're surrounded by dogs in all stages of play and pandemonium, and then, if you keep walking, the dogs disappear and you're (sadly) back in real life.
I find that the dog beach is a little more dog-friendly than the dog park in San Pedro. Makes you wonder how a dog park could be unfriendly towards dogs, but it can. Maybe it's because it's fenced in and a smaller area, but for some reason, dogs tend to gang up at the park and overwhelm your dogs when you first arrive. It's not necessarily in an aggressive manner, but it's still a little intimidating. I'm grateful that my girls have good manners and seem to take it with aplomb.
But at the dog beach, it seems like the dogs are too busy and too happy to gang up on a particular unfortunate dog. At the beach, they will run up and sniff, but then they're off again to race down the sand. Dogs can go in the water, or not, It's a whatever kind of place. Some dogs love the water, some need a little coaxing, others like to just stick close to their owners.
My dogs seem to switch roles. The first time we were there last summer, Xena, my German Shepherd, absolutely loved the water and wouldn't get out. (Probably because we were in the middle of a ferocious heat wave.) Annie, on the other hand, who is normally fearless, did not want to have anything to do with the waves.
This time around, Xena stuck close to me. Annie at first didn't care for the water, but eventually she figured out that catching the ball in the surf zone was actually kind of interesting and way more gratifying than trying to deal with my lame attempts at frisbee throwing. It got to the point where she wouldn't fetch the ball unless we threw it in the water. Talk about a change in attitude.
Any breed of dog can be had at the park. And, for that matter, any kind of person. We saw all kinds of mutts, gorgeous whippets, several bulldogs, a yorkshire terrier, numerous small dogs who all looked alike, a Rhodesian ridgeback, even what looked like a foxhound. A King Charles spaniel was spending her first day their, her proud mother taking photos. One beautiful red pointer-type, with a grizzled muzzle, has a prounced limp; his owner said he was 14 and had a bone disease. Still, the sport managed to trot into the waves to fetch his ball. We also saw people adorned with various stages of dress, tattoos, and even pinwheels in the hair. Everybody was smiling and laughing, and it was certainly contagious, because there wasn't one dog fight to be had.
For somebody who doesn't normally celebrate Easter, this was a great way to un-celebrate the holiday. As for the dogs, we got them home, soaked, sandy and happy. Funny, though - when I took the dogs out to the back yard and tried to gently hose the sand off, it was like it was the end of the world.
Here's some photos of what they were like last night. Annie's on the left, Xena on the right.
These are older photos, but you get the idea. 
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