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| Worldcon 1972: The Turd |
“Extracts (6)…confining capitalism to the margins was
the great Martian achievement, like defeating the mob or any other protection
racket…” 2312
1972’s Worldcon was going to
be held in Anaheim, so that seemed like the logical next convention
visit. By that time HJ had a vehicle and
a few of us piled in and made the trek to the first “LA Con” at the
International Hotel. This was probably
my first “real” con experience: a few days of total immersion, with great
people, both fan and pro alike, including Ray Bradbury, Forrest J Ackerman, Larry
Niven, Harlan Ellison, and Robert Bloch.
I think without exception they were gracious and very generous with
their time (well, maybe Harlan was a bit bristly), especially Bradbury, who
even granted Reality News an interview.
And of course, that infamous
Masquerade Ball, where The Turd (Scott Shaw) made his appearance. For his competition costume entry, he
slathered himself with peanut butter, head to toe, an absolutely horrifying
sight punctuated with a stomach churning noxious stench that revolted one and
all. As a matter of fact, due to his
exploits and the sticky mess that followed him around, no peanut butter
costumes would ever be allowed again. In
addition to the Worldcon’s ball, there was another separate ball going on that
Saturday night: everywhere we looked, there were statuesque, incredibly made up
women with all manner of impressive headdress and “high-fashion dress”; each
seemed to walk the hotel lobby with her own small posse, who were attending to
her needs. There were even a few being
carried by well oiled muscle men on plush platforms as they seemed to preen and
primp for us onlookers. They were all
congregating in an adjacent “invitation only” ballroom to where the Masquerade
Ball was being held. HJ and I were
enamored of these Amazonian beauties, and decided we would try to “bluff” our
way into their “beauty pageant” or whatever it was using our Reality News
credentials. So many gorgeous women in
one spot! We had to take a con “break”
and try to get in. What could go wrong?
2312 is
not disappointing and in fact, it is only getting stronger. I’ve just finished a bravura section where
two main characters basically do nothing but spend weeks walking through underground tunnels on Mercury in an
attempt to save their lives. Robinson continues to impress: he
somehow makes the tedious trek fascinating, blending dialogue, inner thoughts,
Beethoven, aches, pains, radiation sickness, and whistling into a brilliant tour de force.
To Be Continued
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