quote:

Originally posted by Phil Knox:
My hope that Mr. Bradbury would have himself lots of support during this time.

I hear that his daughter is in town with him, and was the one to break the news to him this morning. I'm so glad.

quote:

Originally posted by fjp451:
Doug and JKT, thoughts are sent out to you both sincerely!

Thank you for your thoughtfulness. It's definitely not the easiest day I've had in awhile.

Tough to type through all of these tears.

Thanks Siouxsie Sue.

I am sure glad that I got to meet him in the Mini-mansion and at his 90 birthday celebration. He was a genuine nice person who loved what he did and shared it all with other fans. I know he will be scaring the hell out of all those up in heaven, and laughing all the while. I think I will go and watch Metropolis again.

Five and a half years ago, 4E wrote a letter which he wanted to be publicized upon his passing. I offer it here:


IN CONTEMPLATION OF MY INEVITABLE DEMISE
Mothers Day 2003

AT MY AGE, 86 going on 87, it is crystal clear to me that I am nearer the end of my life than the beginning and the thought passes my mind more frequently than it used to before I nearly died twice in 2002 that I’m a mortal man.

Bob Bloch paved the way for the following ruminations with his remarkable revelatory article in the October 1994 issue of the now defunct prestigious slick paper science fiction oriented periodical, Omni. He stated bluntly: I’m going to die. Soon.—Thus absolving me of Harlan Ellison’s bitter accusation, “Bob was a very private person and he and his wife Elly resented your blabbing about his impending death at the World Science Fiction Convention.” Charles Brown reported that I broke the bad news “in unctuous tones.” Gay Haldeman congratulated me on my “gracious handling of the sad news.” So much for my exoneration.

Bloch said: “I think anyone who isn’t afraid of dying is crazy.” So in Bob’s estimation I’m crazy.

I wouldn’t be afraid of going to sleep one night, having no dreams and never waking up to know I was dead. On his death bed, Al Jolson breathed “I’m going!” I hope kind fate allows me long enough when I feel the end is near to record on tape “Science Fiction”, to die with my lifetime passion on my lips, then close my eyes and wait for my last breath.

Here’s the scenario. Quoting Bloch (I never knew this but suspected it) “The brain is technically alive for 3 or 4 minutes.” By prearrangement, a significant other will kiss my cooling lips and whisper in my ear, “Mi amas vin Kvari’—“I love you, Forry.” I will feel my eyelids being closed, I will hear a sobbing mixture of voices, “He’s gone”, We’ve lost him”, “How can we live without him?”, “Dear Forry, rest in peace”, “I’ll never forget you”, etc. It will be frustrating not to make a movement, utter a sound, but I know this is what I expected.

When my brain ceases to function and my consciousness evanesces, I will never know there was an individual named Forry Ackerman who loved science fiction with all his heart and nonexistent soul, that he read it, wrote it, collected it, agented it, joined clubs, received awards, attended more World Science Fiction Conventions than anyone else. He will never know he learned Esperanto, traveled all over the globe, welcomed over 50,000 fans into his home. He will never know he was an inhabitant of a planet variously known as Earth, Erde, Terre, Tero and other names in a multitude of languages. He will universe out there with billions of bonfires in the skies called stars. NOTHING will he know.

And what comes afterward among the living? MR. SCIENCE FICTION DIES headline in Locus, various Appreciations. Mundane newspapers give him attention somewhat less than Heinlein’s. Like Wendayne before him, a couple of weekends devoted to friends gathering and reminiscing about him. As time goes by, fans will occasionally visit his crypt and place red carnations in the vases there. He’ll appreciate it while he’s alive but will be unable to see or smell them. He’ll suggest photos be taken and sent to Joe Moe at Forry’s last address, and if his “Guardian Angel” receives enough of them he will print a page and distribute it to whoever may be interested.

Forry’s inert body will gradually molder away until nothing is left but bones once clothed with his flesh. Barring an earthquake, bomb or some unforeseen catastrophe, his remains will remain in his coffin beside his wife. A thousand years from now no one will know or care who Forrest Ackerman was. Maybe one day in the far distant future the very cement surrounding the crypts will crumble and his bones will join those of the dinosaurs before him.

But more immediately. He can imagine some annual award in his memory. Inclusion in a panoply of postage stamps (probably 50c First Class by then) in a sheet of commemoratives remembering important individuals in the development of Science Fiction: Isaac Asimov, James Blish, Hannes Bok, Ray Bradbury, Charles Brown, Edgar Rice Burroughs, John Campbell Jr., Arthur C. Clarke, Groff Conklin, Ray Cummings, Gerry de la Ree, Phillip K. Dick, Harlan Ellison, Virgil Finlay, Hugo Gernsback, H.L. Gold, Martin Greenberg, Robert Heinlein, David H. Keller, Damon Knight, Henry Kuttner, David Kyle, Fritz Lang, Ursula Le Guin, George Lucas, Robert Madle, P. Schuyler Miller, Catherine L. Moore, Sam Moskowitz, George Pal, Raymond Palmer, Frank R. Paul, Julius Schwart, Mary Shelley, Steven Spielberg, Olaf Stapledon, Harry Warner Jr., Stanley Weinbum, H.G. Wells, Donald Wollheim, S. Fowler Wright, Jules Verne and who have I overlooked? Shame on me. Descriptions on the back of each stamp by John L. Coker III.

A statue of me may be erected in the museum of the Science Fiction Experience, or better yet an animatronic robot in my form like the one of Abraham Lincoln in Disneyland. A play or movie may be made about me (think of all the roles for Gernsback, Wells, Heinlein, et al, and the challenge for two actors to portray Ellison and Ferry in reel life as mean-spirited toward me as they were in real life.

Well, that’s about as far as my ego-orientated imagination can take me.

Soon ring down the imaginary curtain and all aboard for Final Blackout.

My maternal grandfather died with a beatific smile on his face as though he were seeing angels or loved ones. Maybe I’ll get lucky and imagine my mother calling, as she did when I was a child, “Forry boy, come and take your nap.”

My best wishes for anyone who may care to have them.

This message has been edited. Last edited by: Doug Spaulding,

4E's remarks are super sad.

quote:

Originally posted by embroiderer:
4E's remarks are super sad.

I thought so, too.

This message has been edited. Last edited by: Doug Spaulding,

"I never dreamed today would come
When I was young"

- Iris DeMent

quote:

Originally posted by Doug Spaulding:

quote:

Originally posted by embroiderer:
4E's remarks are super sad.

I thought so too.

Ditto. Interesting that they were made on Mother's Day 2003 and it was Father's Day 2003 when I visited him at his home. What a wonderful time to meet a favorite "uncle." I went to see the collection, but found Uncle Forry by far the most priceless object there! My friend and I were dismayed, though, when he spoke of his wife and I asked if he believed they would ever be together in another form, he said he believed his consciousness would cease to exist as soon as his bodily functions did.

Does anyone know if his deathbed details transpired as he imagined? What he is experiencing now, he can't have been able to imagine. We can but hope that the surprise proves pleasant.

quote:

Originally posted by dandelion:
What he is experiencing now, he can't have been able to imagine. We can but hope that the surprise proves pleasant.

As I have said before, this is one atheist who went straight to Heaven!

quote:

Originally posted by Doug Spaulding:As I have said before, this is one atheist who went straight to Heaven!

If there is divine mercy. He will need some straightening out but will not be lost.

As Doug will confirm when he wakes up, last night's performance of Ray Bradbury's Fahrenheit 451 was dedicated to the memory of his dear friend, Forrest J Ackerman.

We have lost a fine, kind gentleman with Forry's passing. In thinking about him, I recalled a wonderful long weekend in, of all places, Omaha, Nebraska back in 1998. There was a theater there (sadly torn down since that time to build a parking lot!) that had one of the very last Cinerama screens, and local impresario Bruce Crawford arranged a 65th anniversary tribute to, and screening of, the original KING KONG. Guests of honor for the event were Forry, Ray Bradbury, Ray Harryhausen and writer Greg Bear. The sold-out screening of KING KONG was on a Saturday night. The Friday night before, there was a ticketed event to raise funds for a local organization that provided care for children in need, where fans could sit and and chat with the guests of honor for a few hours. I have truly wonderful memories of that weekend. Attached is a link with some photos. The photo at the very bottom is my favorite: three childhood chums Forry, Ray B. and Ray H. all dressed up in their finest, hamming it up for the cameras, and obviously having a great time!

http://www.omahafilmevent.com/past/kong.htm

This message has been edited. Last edited by: Richard,