I rode my bike the back way. Down Third Street to the drug store at the Rosedale Fire Hall. Passed the Methodist Church, where I enjoyed meetings of the Cub Scouts. Never achieved a rank above Bobcat. I quit twice. No wilderness stamina. Halfway down the front face of Green Oaks Country Club, turn right on Arthur and muscle my way up the slight slope to Madison. If I was lucky, I would gain a glimpse of the man who mowed his lawn on odd days. The man who to my mind resembled Robert A Heinlein. The man who transmogrified in my worshiping mind to Robert A Heinlein. The poor fellow, a plain suburban home owner, was the recipient of my stalking adoration. I dreamed of sipping a cool drink on the veranda while Bob and I discussed our story ideas. I was that dippy about Heinlein. I read. Reread and read yet again all of the Heinlein juveniles the junior high school librarians so thoughtfully placed on the fiction shelves. I read, reread and enjoy the paperback copies and couple first editions that sit of the shelves in my bedroom to this day. Heinlein’s advice, both paternal and avuncular, rode with me as I biked to purchase the latest sf mags off the rack. Pedaled home and swooned in the hot summer sun with a large pitcher of lemonade on the hot metal umbrella table. Devoured the latest issue of Analog or Amazing or Galaxy or If or Fantastic. There were so many. Not always finding the latest Heinlein opus. Somewhere along the line Heinlein’s less than comforting style lost appeal. His politics left me cold. I find it difficult now to return to all but the earliest of his non-juvenile work. Still, the realities revealed by his future speculation did not lose any sparkle. There remains, as there always was, his genius for storytelling. A few years after the publication of Stranger in a Strange Land (1961) “flower children” descended on the Heinlein Colorado Springs home. Long haired, “Long beautiful hair. shining, gleaming, streaming, flaxen, waxen” hair groked and shared water on his lawn. Libertarian Heinlein, ever gracious, talked with them, received them and eventually had to build a fence to preserve his privacy. I never made it. My hair was long enough. My daydreamed vision applied to the guy mowing his corner property will have to suffice.
Posted on: Tue, 15 Jul 2014 09:10:14 +0000
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