Forrest J. Ackerman, One Of My Heroes .....

I am sad to the core at the passing of an icon and hero from my youth:

Forrest J. Ackerman

"Forry" passed Thursday, December 4th, 2008. (Read his obituary below).

For four of the last five years I attended the San Diego Comic-Con, I ate breakfast in the Marriott Hotel sitting across from Forry. He always stopped whatever he was doing in order to wave a hello.

This year, Forry was absent. It was a foreboding “thing to come”, apparently.

This gentle giant of a man was honored and revered throughout his life. He will be sorely missed by this fan.

Go well, Forry.

You were a giant in the industry.

You leave fond memories from this fan's youth and recent past. The Con just won't be the same without you looking up from your breakfast …..

………………….. Ruprecht ( STOP )

(That's Forry with Ray Harryhausen and Ray Bradbury below)

Forrest J Ackerman,writer-editor who coined 'sci-fi,' dies at 92

The Los Angeles native influenced young fans with his Famous Monsters of Filmland magazine and spent a lifetime amassing a vast collection of science fiction and fantasy memorabilia.

By Dennis McLellan

December 6, 2008

Forrest J Ackerman, who influenced a generation of young horror-movie fans with Famous Monsters of Filmland magazine and spent a lifetime amassing what has been called the world's largest personal collection of science-fiction and fantasy memorabilia, has died. He was 92.



Ackerman, a writer, editor and literary agent who has been credited with coining the term "sci-fi" in the 1950s, died Thursday of heart failure at his home in Los Angeles, said John Sasser, a friend who is making a documentary on Ackerman.

As editor of Famous Monsters of Filmland, Ackerman wrote most of the articles in the photo-laden magazine launched in 1958 as a forum for past and present horror films.



"It was the first movie-monster magazine," Tony Timpone, editor of horror-movie magazine Fangoria, told The Times in 2002.



Timpone, who began reading Famous Monsters as a young boy in the early '70s, remembered it as "a black-and-white magazine with cheap paper but great painted [color] covers. It really turned people on to the magic of horror movies."



Primarily targeted to late pre-adolescents and young teenagers, Famous Monsters of Filmland featured synopses of horror films; interviews with actors such as Boris Karloff, Bela Lugosi and Vincent Price; and articles about makeup and special effects.



The magazine reflected Ackerman's penchant for puns, with features such as "The Printed Weird" and "Fang Mail." Ackerman referred to himself as Dr. Acula.



"He put a lot of his personality into the magazine," said Timpone, who became friends with Ackerman. "It was a pretty juvenile approach to genre journalism, but as kids that's all we had."



Among those who grew up reading Famous Monsters of Filmland was author Stephen King. Other childhood readers included movie directors Joe Dante, John Landis and Steven Spielberg, who once autographed a poster of "Close Encounters of the Third Kind" for Ackerman, saying, "A generation of fantasy lovers thank you for raising us so well."



Ackerman was a celebrity in his own right, once signing 10,000 autographs during a three-day monster-movie convention in New York City.



This, after all, was the man who created and wrote the comic book characters Vampirella and Jeanie of Questar and was the ultimate fan's fan: a man who actually had known Lugosi and Karloff and whose priceless collection of science-fiction, horror and fantasy artifacts ran to some 300,000 items.



For years, Ackerman housed his enormous cache of books, movie stills, posters, paintings, movie props, masks and assorted memorabilia in his 18-room home in Los Feliz.



He dubbed the house the Ackermansion. The jam-packed repository included everything from a Dracula cape worn by Lugosi to Mr. Spock's pointy ears and from Lon Chaney Sr.'s makeup kit to the paper-plate flying saucer used by director Ed Wood in "Plan 9 From Outer Space."



For Ackerman, a native Angeleno born Nov. 24, 1916, it all began at age 9.



That's when he stopped at a drugstore on the corner of Santa Monica Boulevard and Western Avenue in Hollywood and bought his first copy of the science-fiction magazine Amazing Stories.



Ackerman was helplessly hooked.



By his late teens, he had mastered Esperanto, the invented international language. In 1929, he founded the Boys Scientifiction Club. In 1932, he joined a group of other young fans in launching the Time Traveler, which is considered the first fan magazine devoted exclusively to science fiction and for which Ackerman was "contributing editor."



Ackerman also joined with other local fans in starting a chapter of the Science Fiction Society -- meetings were held in Clifton's Cafeteria in downtown L.A. -- and as editor of the group's fan publication Imagination!, he published in 1938 a young Ray Bradbury's first short story.



During World War II, Ackerman edited a military newspaper published at Ft. MacArthur in San Pedro. After the war, he worked as a literary agent. His agency represented scores of science-fiction writers, including L. Ron Hubbard, Isaac Asimov, A.E. van Vogt, H.L. Gold, Ray Cummings and Hugo Gernsback.



In 1954, Ackerman coined the term that would become part of the popular lexicon -- a term said to make some fans cringe.



"My wife and I were listening to the radio, and when someone said 'hi-fi' the word 'sci-fi' suddenly hit me," Ackerman explained to The Times in 1982. "If my interest had been soap operas, I guess it would have been 'cry-fi,' or James Bond, 'spy-fi.' "



At the time, Ackerman already was well-known among science-fiction and horror aficionados for his massive collection. After a couple from Texas showed up on his doorstep in 1951 asking to view the collection, Ackerman began opening up his home for regular, informal tours on Saturdays. Over the years, thousands of people made the pilgrimage to the Ackermansion.



The Dracula/Frankenstein room featured a casket as a "coffin table" and the cape Lugosi wore in the stage version of "Dracula." A case displayed one of the horror film legend's bow ties, which, Ackerman would gleefully note, contained a drop of blood.



Among the collection's other highlights: the ring worn by Lugosi in "Dracula," the giant-winged pterodactyl that swooped down for Fay Wray in "King Kong," Lon Chaney's cape from "The Phantom of the Opera" and "Metropolis" director Fritz Lang's monocle.



The affable Ackerman would escort his visitors through the priceless warren of books, posters and memorabilia, settling into a chair in each room and answering questions.



"He was always just a big kid," said Fangoria's Timpone. "I really cherished all the times I've been with him."



Ackerman wrote more than 2,000 articles and short stories for magazines and anthologies, sometimes under the pseudonyms Dr. Acula, Weaver Wright and Claire Voyant.



He also wrote what has been reported to be the first lesbian science-fiction story ever published, "World of Loneliness." And under the pen name Laurajean Ermayne, he wrote lesbian romances in the late 1940s for the lesbian magazine Vice Versa.



Ackerman edited or co-edited numerous books, including "A Book of Weird Tales" and "365 Science Fiction Short Stories."



Over the years, he made numerous cameo appearances in films, including Dante's "The Howling" and Landis' "Innocent Blood." Landis also had Ackerman eating popcorn behind Michael Jackson in the movie theater scene in his "Thriller" video.



Famous Monsters of Filmland ceased publication in 1983, but returned a decade later with Ray Ferry as publisher and Ackerman as editor. Ackerman, however, reportedly had a falling out with Ferry and left the magazine. Years of litigation followed. In 2000, after a civil trial, Ackerman won a trademark infringement and breach-of-contract lawsuit against Ferry, though he said a year later that he had not yet collected a penny of the judgment.



In recent decades, according to a 2003 Times story, Ackerman slowly sold pieces of his massive collection in order to survive. Because of health problems and his still-unresolved legal battle, he put up all but about 100 of his favorite objects for sale in 2002.



The same year, he moved out of the Ackermansion and into a bungalow in the flats of Los Feliz. But he continued to make what was left of his collection available for fans to view on Saturday mornings.



"I call it the Acker Mini-Mansion," he said.



Ackerman's wife, Wendayne, died in 1990; he has no surviving family members.

And So It Goes ...

The 5th was our birthday.

Yes. We share the same birthday: December 5th.

Not only does it make for some interesting conversation, it makes for some interesting situations as well.

Our respective jobs laid celebrations on us. I received “the call” into the boss’s office wherein the staff was gathered and “surprised”. (My boss is a poor actor - you can see through his attempts to cajole and stupefy a mile away.) I had a yummy homemade spice cake with delicious cream frosting for my reward. “Happy Bulldog” - the unofficial firm mascot - was written in blue gel on the cake. Wife of Rupe had a “Raider” party, complete with an Oakland Raiders theme: plates, napkins, cups, silver and black balloons and streams, et al.

I picked her up after I got off work that afternoon. One of our first ventures of our birthday day was a trip to the local DMV to renew our drivers’ licenses. I had to take the written test, she did not. Paperwork was turned in, fees were paid and it was over to the photo sections to take a new shiny, bright image of the two of us. The fun little guy behind the camera received Wife of Rupe’s paperwork and asked her for her thumbprint on a little optical scanner. “You need to sanitize that, don’t you think?” she asked the guy afterward. “You’re right!” came the response and he whipped out a little spray container, schpritzed the scanner and gave it a couple wipes.

My turn. Paperwork, thumbprint. “Hmmmm ... for some reason I can’t get a good read on your print,” the man puzzled. Realization hit me and I’m sure there was surprise on my face. I had been decorating the day before and handling fresh Christmas garland. The gloves I wore to help protect from the sap disintegrated to nothing while I was working and became more of a hinderance then a help, so I doffed them and worked bare handed. The result was that my hands were sappy by the end of my day. Showering that evening, I used a pumice stone to help get the dried pine sap removed. I pumiced my hands and fingertips vigorously. No wonder the guy couldn’t get a read on my prints - I had none to offer! They had been sanded into oblivion.

“Oh well ... that will have to do,” he finally gave in.

And photo time. Now ... Rupe rarily takes “normal” photos where they’re to be displayed on things like membership cards, documents and the like. And I wasn’t about to do so this time.

“Smile!” came the suggestion from my little friend. I grimaced and screwed my face up. He chuckled and waited for the image to appear on his monitor. He turned the monitor to Wife of Rupe and asked: “Is this the picture you want him to have on his license?”

“It’s his license,” came the reply from my wife. “He’s the one that’s going to get arrested and he’ll have to hand his license with that photo to the officer arresting him.”

I received my paperwork back and wished him a Happy Holiday.

Next up was the written test. I didn’t study for the thing at all, just glanced at the book for review. I got two questions wrong, one because I had skipped over it accidentally and didn’t mark an answer down. The only thing of interest during the test was when I was in line to have it graded. A young girl was ahead of me. When she handed in her test, the lady behind the counter she handed it to grabbed it, graded it and exclaimed without looking up “You barely passed! You need to drive better! Don’t kill anyone out there!” She handed back the girl’s test with a sneer on her face. *yikes* One of the cons of working at the DMV, I supposed. Attitude at no charge.

Leaveing the DMV, it was getting near to dinnertime. Wife of Rupe and I had considered a nice little evening out, just the two of us. But I had to make another suggestion. “I know the girls are champing at the bit to go out and celebrate with us. And with your mother here, it won’t kill us to have an evening out with everyone to help celebrate. We can go out afterward.” My wife reluctantly agreed.

A local steakhouse was the first choice. The girls both loved the pre-dinner ritual of tossing peanut shells on the floor (as is the establishment’s custom), but Rupe had one more idea. “It just so happens we have three complimentary meal passes at Soup Plantation. Dinner for the girls and drinks would be all we’d have to spring for. The adults eat free!” Wife of Rupe was not thrilled, but saw the wisdom of this logic. After all, the girls love going to Soup Plantation.

We arrived home, packed everyone up and headed out to the restaurant. We'd barely sat down to eat when my mother-in-law was up and at’em, talking to one of the waiters in the place. I had an inkling of what was coming.

Moments later, two of the waitestaff came over to our table bearing a concoction of ice cream smothered in chocolate sauce and what looked to be Fruit Loops. While neither my wife nor I were thrilled with the coming event, the girls on the other hand were thrilled with the “surprise”.

One waiter asked my youngest daughter sitting across from me what her name was. She told him. He asked my name. I told him. He raised his hands and, in the loudest voice possible, announced: “Excuse me! Can I have your attention? We have a couple of birthdays over here and I would like everyone to take a moment and sing happy birthday to them!” My mother-in-law jumped in and told him it was not the little one’s birthday, but our birthdays. The waiter asked my wife her name, got it wrong and began singing anyway.

The entire restaurant stopped what they were doing and joined in.

The capacity of the restaurant was 275 people. And it was filled. Everyone sang. And I mean everyone. All eyes were on us. Whoops and hollers ended the singing of the song. We knew the embarassment of the moment would pass ... eventually ... and we grinned and bared it.

When the attention toward us had subsided and I was able to stop grinning goofily and thanking the girls for the surprise, I leaned over the gloopy ice cream and Fruit Loop creation that was now melting onto the table and said to my wife: “Next time, we go out quietly as we planned. And I want you to dissuade me if I suggest otherwise.” She agreed with a simple “Bet on it.”

With dinner over, the kids and the MIL were deposited back at the house. We wanted to spend our remaining hours of the evening together to do a bit more Christmas shopping ..... without any distractions.

Barely 45 minutes and all the stores were closed for the evening. We did what we could do in that short period.

Then it was off to get a relaxing drink. “Acapulco” (a Mexican restaurant) called out to us for some reason, but when we went in, the bar was packed with raucous, boozing free-for-allers engaging in something akin to conversation, but verging on yelling instead. Wife of Rupe, who dashed into the ladies room (and regaled me later of a trio of girls within puking their guts up), joined me ... then turned tail and beckoned me follow her away from the frolickry. Way, way too much noise, too many people.

*sigh* It was off to “Chilis”, Rupe’s “favorite locale”. (Don’t slip on the dripping sarcasm.) Suprisingly, however, the bar was pleasant and not crowded and there were various games on with music in the background. A calm, cool and collected atmosphere to discuss the day’s events and non-events (such that they were) and relax with a nightcap.

The beertender was even were able to pull a Winterfest Heifenseisen out of the tap - icey cold and to Rupe’s complete approval.

Then came the capper to the evening. A Mexican couple walked in - he in a Raiders shirt and she in a black T-shirt with something I couldn’t quite make out.

Once positioned in her seat, however, I was able to see the shirt clearly. It asked the crucial question:

“¿y las tortillas?”

Rupe about busted a gut laughing at that .....

......... Ruprecht ( STOP )

Bird Is The Word

Enhance your blogging experience!
Listen to "Surfin' Bird" (to your left) whilst perusing ...

A little Thanksgiving vintage ...

Talk about your "load" of turkey ...

Nothing goes better with turkey than a pile of jalapeños.

Oh ... and an ESB ale ...

There's much to be disturbed about here.

But, the most striking thing? Pencils for chopsticks.
(There are times when you just need lead ...)

While strangely attracted,
I just don't know what to think about this ...

The Wrong Side Of The Road

This was a strange one .....

In my dream, I was a passenger in an Australian version of a Land Rover. This is to say I was sitting on the left side of the vehicle with the driver on the right side. The Land Rover was brand new, clean as can be and shiny-black with a black interior. It smelled new, it felt new, it drove new. I was comfortable as all get out sitting in the passenger side.

In my dream, President-Elect Barack Obama was the driver. There was no one else in the vehicle, just he and I.

In my dream, we were driving on a cliff face, heading west. I didn’t know where we were, but we were driving along on the left side of the road - which makes sense with a the type of vehicle configuration. To my left, out my window, was ocean. And there was no protective railing between the road and the cliff on my side, nothing but a sheer drop off that went straight down into the water below. On President-Elect Obama’s side of the vehicle, there was the other side of the road and a rock wall, nothing but mountain.

In my dream, President-Elect Obama suddenly veered toward the left and half the vehicle road off the cliff face, yet did not fall over the side. I remember hearing the scratch of the underside of the car as it skirted the edge of the cliff, but, amazingly, we weren’t going over the side and plunging into the ocean. I was wide-eyed in amazement and told him in no uncertain terms to get over on the other side of the road. He complied.

In my dream, we drove another few hundred feet and I shook my head trying to understand if what had happened just happened when President-Elect Obama drove to the left edge of the road again. And this time I raised my voice, telling him we were going to fall off the cliff face. Again, I heard the Land Rover sheer the cliff edge and I heard debris on the underside of the car, but it road smoothly still. Why weren’t we going over the side?

In my dream, we finally did. The car smoothly drove off the edge of the cliff and into the air and began falling. The rear of the vehicle tilted toward the ocean as we fell. I could feel ourselves in free fall, but I wasn’t frightened; I just sat back, made certain my seatbelt was secure and waited for the impact of us hitting the water. It was a long drop. Long enough for me to look over in wonder at President-Elect Obama. He returned my look and smiled at me, never saying a word.

In my dream, we hit the water with a jolt. It was a hard hit, but it didn’t knock the wind out of me. The car began sinking into the ocean. Water began seeping into the car. Calmly, I undid my seatbelt, forced open the door and was able to swim to the surface without incident. I don’t know what became of President-Elect Obama.

In my dream, it was the next day. I had my old faithful digital camera at my side, the one with the 3½" floppy drive. I had to get pictures of the cliff face from where we fell. I knew no one would believe we had taken such a plunge without recorded evidence of the Land Rover having sheered swaths of damage into the cliff face.

In my dream, I have no idea where President-Elect Obama was that next day. I don’t remember him getting out of the sinking car, I don’t know how I survived, I don’t remember anything but breaking the surface of the water after escaping. I just know I had my camera with me and it was the next day.

In my dream, I approached something that looked like a grand state manor - a landmark or government residence. It had been turned into a museum of some sort. I knew I had to get into this building and get to the back of the property as this is where the best vantage point for my photos of the cliff wall we’d fallen off could be taken. I knew the views from the back of this residence would afford me the chance to get the evidence I needed.

In my dream, the manor was indeed a museum showcasing the history of the place. Documents under glass and antiques and clear Lucite boxes housed things that showed the history of the building and the site. It was a maze and I couldn’t find a means to get to the back of the property. Finally, I found an exit, but it was not accessible to the public. I looked around to make certain no one was watching me and I slipped through a door.

In my dream, the back of the property opened up into a wide vista. The ocean was there and the cliff face was opposite the back of the manor in the distance. But something was wrong. There was no sign I saw of chunks of cliff lopped off by the speeding Land Rover the day before.

In my dream, I decided I was at the wrong view of the cliff and that I needed to hike across the expanse of the property; where we fell must have been a way off in the distance and I just couldn’t see it yet. I began hiking through beautiful waves of scrub.

In my dream, I hiked miles and miles. Nothing but unobscured land opened up before me. I trudged what seemed like forever, but the cliff face I saw showed no sign of any damage. Looking through my camera and zooming in on part of the cliff, I recognized mile markers we had passed when driving the previous day. I scanned past the mile markers, knowing approximately where the area was we first skirted the edge of the cliff and the second where we finally fell off the edge.

In my dream, my hunt was in vain. There were no scars from the Land Rover at the edge of the cliff. I put down my camera and shook my head in wonder. I came to the conclusion there had been a cover up of the incident by President-Elect Obama.

In my dream, I wondered why .....

......................... Ruprecht ( STOP )

Little Known Facts: The Celebrity Edition

Probably little known to you (yes, you ... reading this at this very moment), Rupe's life's been a mass of mess of celebrities and actors and names. I've had the good fortun (if you want to call it that) to have known / bumped into / met / gotten a photo with or autograph of a bevy of personalities.

Here are fivesuch that will .... well .... who may do something for you:

#1: Seventh Inning Traffic Jam: I was attempting to extract myself from some function years ago at a ritzy hotel. I was caught in a logjam of traffic, nowhere to escape. An obviously angry motorist behind me had an important engagement and let me know in no uncertain terms he needed to be there ... and now. Honking excessively wasn't enough for the man, so he went as far as to get out of his car, cursing every step of the way, and march up to my window to give me a piece of his mind. Before reaching me, the traffic cleared and I sped off. I looked in my rearview mirror to see I was getting a final cussing out and the finger from none other than ...

....... Tommy Lasorda, Manager of The Los Angeles Dodgers .....

#2: Killed On Main Street, News At Eleven: While distributing flyers in the early morning hours before the day's Sundance Film Festival crowds descended on Main Street, a maroon Hummer skidded toward me in the snow, unable to stop. I leapt from the street onto the sidewalk, narrowly getting sideswiped. Whoever was driving was driving too fast in the wintery conditions and I recovered to approach the now stopped vehicle and give him a piece of my mind. The passanger door opened and a hulking figure emerged, came over to me and asked if I was all right. It was none other than The Last King Of Scotland, Forrest Whitaker ... and let me tell you, he's a big dude .....

#3: Help Me Ruprecht ... You're My Only Hope: I was in line. And she just kept staring at me. And staring. And staring. And staring. For almost forty-five minutes. It was eerily exciting and disturbing, all at once. I'll admit, I pictured her without her glasses, hair pulled back and in her slave outfit ala Return Of The Jedi.

Yes ... I was ogled uncomfortably by Princess Leia herself, Carrie Fisher.

#4: Yeah, That's The Ticket: I was leaving a Dodger game and there, in the exiting crowd, was Jon Lovitz. I went up to him. "Mr. Lovitz! I just realized - you don't have a picture of me!" We hugged while getting several goofy mugshots. Good times.

#5: Cowabunga: I waited for over an hour in a holding room at her private residence. Staff buzzed about and asked if I needed anything. No, thank you, I was fine. "Sorry she's late, but it's a bit frantic around here; we're throwing a surprise birthday luncheon for her. Her assistant will be out when she can to help you. Thanks!" That hour afforded me the opportunity and rare treat to peruse the many plaques, awards, framed salutations and more of Nancy Cartwright, the voice of Bart Simpson.

.................. Ruprecht ( STOP )

(This blog was the result of a game of tag from others .....)

An Institution ..... Gone .....

This October past saw an institution gone.

No more the comforting pink and white iced animals of youth whilst sitting in front of your television set watching your most favorite program.

No more that icy glass of milk wherein the chocolate chips would break free and float.

No more the bottom of the bag you would stick a wet finger in to catch the reminder of the sprinkles.

So long, Mother’s Cookies .....

.............................. Ruprecht ( STOP )

Fashion Drama ala Mode

The youngest.

Talk about your persnickety dressers.

For whatever reason – and it didn’t come from her parents genes, because we do not possess the “persnickety chromosome” – our youngest is downright defiant and rebellious about what goes on her body.

Jeans are verboten. Anything with different colored short sleeves other than the main torso color of a shirt will not even be considered. Tags on the back of the neck? Like Rupe’s son at the same age, they must be removed. Oh ….. and she’ll do the removing, thank you, ‘cause Rupe’s not intelligent enough to do it properly.

Yeah, she may have just turned eight years old, but the teenage backtalk is well underway and past the formative stages. Did I say "well underway"? Scratch that: It’s just about fully developed.

The conversation about clothes went something akin to this this morning:

“It’s not summer anymore. You’re not going to be able to wear shorts any longer, don’t you understand that? It’s actually going to be cool out there today.”

“But Moooooooooooooooooooooom …”

I verbally stepped in: “Goof … look. Sometimes you’re just going to have to suck it up. There’s stuff that Mom and Dad don’t like to wear, either. That long-sleeved shirt and tie Dad had to wear the other night for that party? It wasn’t exactly comfortable, let me tell you. There are going to be times when you’ll have to deal with real life …”

She turned in a huff and stomped out of the room, trailing the following in her best whine: “But Dad … I just don’t like dealing with real life …..”

Rupe and wife did our best to stifle the laughter so she wouldn’t hear.

We did a pretty good job of it, too …..

................................ Ruprecht ( STOP )