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Chris is planning one of his very infrequent trips to New York for next Januarya€™s BSI weekend, and I think I know what aspect of it is on his mind. Ia€™ve just finished re-reading Irregular Crises of the Late a€?Forties which, of course, had to end just as the BSJ was about to be relaunched.
Edgar Smith provided some of the desired information himself in a a€?Special Notice to a€?Old-Timea€™ Irregularsa€? that was included with some copies of the July 1951 issue sent out. The press runs for each issue were already growing, he told the 60 graybeards: a€?Only 200 copies of Volume 1, Number 1 were printed, and 250 copies of Volume 1, Number 2.
Almost precisely a year ago, during my websitea€™s Great Hiatus, I received a BSI history question from John, so here it is, and Thucydidesa€™ answer. I recently thought maybe I could buy a copy of the same book by Grillparzer that Morley used for the original Irregulars, and I remembered Tom Stix once telling me that he owned the book, but didna€™t want to give it to the BSI, instead to pass it on to someone who would care for it. Mike Whelan wrote me saying that Tom Stix never had possession of the Grillparzer Book, and that there are no copies extant because it was a blank book into which club members wrote short commentaries.
George Fletcher has an entire chapter describing Morleya€™s Grillparzer Book and its history in my BSI Archival History volume Irregular Memories of the a€™Thirties.
Never used a typewriter, I think I said Adrian claimed (along with knowing his father better than anyone else living or dead). As Peter says, a€?ita€™s hard to imagine anyone forging Juliana€™s signature to make some money, since he signed just about everything he sent to anyone . My recollection is about the same as Jima€™s, and along the following lines, althoughA uncertain after all these years. The report at Stevea€™s link on Ye Sette of Odd Volumes makes interesting reading even if we fail to find a connection to the BSI. I know about Bostona€™s Club of Odd Volumes,A as Ia€™m sure you do, but this English outfit is new to me. Ita€™s possible Christopher Morley, deep-dyed bookman, was aware of Ye Sette of Odd Volumes.
The other day I had the good fortune to meet a famous English printer who is visiting in this country; and instead of talking about Plantin and Caslon and Bruce Rogers we found ourselves, I dona€™t know just how, embarked on a mutual questionnaire of famous incidents in the life of Sherlock Holmes.
How I wish therea€™d been a garrulous eye-witness to that meeting of Morley and Morison in New York in 1926! Now Smith might have been peeved with Ben Abramson, given the OS BSJa€™s collapse, butA I doubt he was a€?excommunicatinga€? him in giving Hoffman the same investiture in a€™52: Smith was a benign personality never given to nastiness even in exasperation, something clear from the many score letters of his in my Archival Histories. And then, Edgar Smith excommunicating the likes of David Randall, Rufus Tucker (Smitha€™s colleague at GM), Rolfe Boswell, or Belden Wigglesworth?
But even in 1985, when Julian Wolff had Peter Blaua€™s excellent lists to work from, and Tony Montag and Dean Dickensheet were both alive, he conferred Vamberry the Wine Merchant a third time, on Arthur Liebman. I appreciate the attempt by my opponent at Augusta€™s Great Debate at Minnesota over the Sherlockian insignificance of Fr.
The first three stock certificates were issued in January 1948 to Morley, Smith and Starrett. Miriam a€?Deea€? Alexander, Smitha€™s secretary at GM Overseas Operations at the time, and serving as Secretary-Treasurer of the BSI, Inc., had already received a share as a gift in recognition of her unpaid service. I cana€™t say now whether Smith succeeded in unloading any more shares to any additional stockholders in the 1950s, but if he did, it would have been as a purely charitable act on the part of the new stockholders, because it was clear by then that the BSI Inc.
Manfred Lee, half of the pair of cousins who were the mystery-writing team of Ellery Queen starting in the 1920s, was not a Baker Street Irregular, though he did attend the annual dinner in 1946.
ROBERT KATZ: I recollect hearing that the BSI once met at the Players Club and the speaker (possibly Leslie Marshall) ended his presentation by igniting a piece of flash paper, as used by professional magicians.
The Irregularsa€™ annual dinner was held at The Players on January and was attended by 100 thirsty enthusiasts. Of course, all of our customs were strictly observed, and the Conanical and Irregular toasts were drunk.
It was a long time ago, 1971: the second dinner at The Players, I believe, falling beyond the scope of my Archival Histories but before my first annual dinner at the Regency Hotel (the second there) in 1973. With regard to Jim Montgomery, and the difference between membership in the BSI and the Irregular Shilling [see below], I dona€™t think we disagree . Roosevelt and Rathbone and Bruce received membership certificates, but so far as I know never Shillings nor Investitures . Ia€™m reminded of the distinction that once was made between Irregular and irregular, but I dona€™t recall who started it . Ita€™s the same with my list of Sherlockian societies, which does not distinguish in any way between societies that are scions and those that are not .
Actually, Don Pollock and I once wrote about a€?Packaging Holmes for the Paperbacksa€? that way in Baker Street Miscellanea (No. Rex Stout was well-known for his Nero Wolfe mysteries when in early January 1941 Irregular Lawrence Williams suggested to Edgar W. But in not too much time, the Irregulars decided Stouta€™s heart was in the right place (after all, Archie Goodwin in at least one Nero Wolfe book had mentioned a picture of Sherlock Holmes hanging on the wall of their West 35th Street office), and he became a regular at the dinners; soon with a place at the head table, and the investiture a€?The Boscombe Valley Mysterya€? (conferred in 1949). In 1954, the Higher Criticism of the Wolfe Canon got underway with an article in Harpera€™s Magazine (July) by editor Bernard DeVoto. According to a friend of mine who belongs to the Baker Street Irregulars [DeVoto began], a paper by one of his colleagues suggests that Nero Wolfe may be the son of Sherlock Holmesa€™s brother Mycroft. DeVoto proceeded to spread frivolous speculation tricked out to look like scholarship across half a dozen pages in that montha€™s Harpera€™s, all for the purpose of confounding Irregular speculation about Nero Wolfea€™s parentage. DeVotoa€™s volley only encouraged Irregular speculation, and the principal word on the subject, a€?Some Notes Relating to a Preliminary Investigation into the Paternity of Nero Wolfe,a€? was published in the Baker Street Journal in 1956 by John D. Back in 1942, at that Januarya€™s BSI dinner, Julian Wolff had responded to Stouta€™s a€?Watson Was a Womana€? with a talk of his own entitled a€?Nuts to Rex Stout.a€? Stout was not in attendance to hear it. Besides Baring-Gould, well known to Irregulars is John McAleera€™s biography Rex Stout in 1977. Thata€™s right, and I didna€™t exactly find space for Woollcott in Baker Street Irregular -- he storms up the stairs to Morleya€™s hideaway office on West 47th Street, flings open the door, marches in, and seizes control of the secret meeting going on between Morley, Elmer Davis, Edgar W.
However, the sad lack of a good old-fashioned bodice ripping in the previews of Baker Street Irregular is a discouragement for further page turning. I dona€™t know that Ia€™d call it seismic, exactly; though I wouldna€™t call it joyous either. I suspect the attrition rate among men in these scions due to the change of policy by the BSI is close to zero, though it did affect the allegiance of some to the BSI itself. And now that women do have seats at the national table, why, in your view,A have we seen so little classic Sherlockian scholarship from women or leadership at the scion level?
Many scion societies today do have women at the helm, on the other hand, and not only recently founded scions.
The question is whether Woollcott was expected by Morley that night, or instead came as an unwelcome surprise to him. I cana€™t swear that Smith invited Woollcott to the 1940 dinner, or subsequent ones prior to Woollcotta€™s death in January 1943. The saga of the Holmes Peak will have to await another historian to do it and its Head Sherpa, the late Richard Warner, full justice, Bob.
As if to prove that the age of Sherlockian fun is far from over, let us turn to 1985a€™s humorous highlight, Richard Warnera€™s guide to the ascent of Holmes Peak. But time and Warner prevailed, and in this little chapbook, with a foreword by Michael Hardwick who represented the Empire at the dedication of Holmes Peak, Warner relates all one needs to know in order to scale this lofty monument to the best and wisest man we have ever known. Buster Keaton could not do it better than the deadpan Warner, without whom Holmes Peak might never have been named (or even noticed). It is a lovely hill, what in the Ozarks would be called a a€?bald knoba€? (that means no trees, for the less botanically astute), and the view is very fine.
Dicka€™s case, boiled down, was that as Sherlock Holmes was once employed by the Vatican, naming the Peak after him qualified as meaningful to the Bishopa€™s work. Billa€™s contributions to the BSI and our understanding of its history are legion, but his masterpiece is his splendid history of a piece of Irregular folklore bestowed upon the BSI at the end of the a€™40s by its greatest musical voice, James Montgomery (a€?The Red Circlea€?) of Philadelphiaa€™s Sons of the Copper Beeches: We Always Mention Aunt Clara. Will Oursler was invested in the BSI in a€?The Abbey Grangea€? in 1956, preceded in that investiture by his father Fulton Oursler whoa€™d received it in 1950. Bill Vande Water has been engaged for some time in deep research on both Ourslers, for both the BSI and Mystery Writers of America, and if he ever finishes it, it should be the definitive account of the two men in our sphere. Can any reader shed light on this?A  Please let Thucydides know at the email address at the top of the column. Elias Rochon convulses as the aftereffects of the Shift roll over him like a tsunami following a deep-sea quake.
A synthetic voice reads the article with inflectionless calm that makes the content even more grotesque.
He reaches for the Shift-band lying on his desk, strokes the gleaming metal of its surface. Every trace of Elias Rochon has vanished from the universe he inhabited before the Shift - when a bucket of water is scooped from a mighty river, the hole it leaves is quickly filled. He aches when she weds a former colleague, a Literature professor aspiring to write the Great American Novel.
Elias drags his crippled consciousness back to the current timeline and feels the moisture on his cheeks. Panic swells in Elias Rochon's beleaguered mind; he battles it halfheartedly before it swallows him. There is another way: he can choose a timeline where he and Carly and Caulder are already locked in their deadly menage a trois, go out in a blaze of glory. He remembers Jeffrey Caulder from his Intro to Temporal Physics class: third seat in, fourth row from the back, solid grasp of the material.
Elias Rochon's voice barely rises above a whisper, but the words roar like thunder in his head.
Caulder's lips twitch into a snarl, then quickly settle back into the condescending smirk that seems so comfortable on his face. Caulder's eyes shine as brightly as the metal band in Elias's palsied grip, its intricate web of microcircuitry reflecting the light like a thousand mirrors. He stares at Caulder's quivering body, trapped by his own morbid fascination - wondering what the moment of convergence will be like. He launches himself at the twitching figure on the bunk, grabs Caulder's arms, tries desperately to hold them down.
A flash of white brighter than a thousand suns exploding in a thousand universes engulfs him just as Caulder wriggles free, burning away the pain and grief and rage, burning away everything. Elias wrestles frantically with someone he cannot see and calls out for his wife until a voice whispers in his ear, a voice so sweet he cannot believe that it is real. He has never been a man who readily displays emotion, but Elias is crying; not from fear or any recollection of the horror he endured, because the memory grows fuzzy even now, but from the sheer relief of staring into those wide mahogany eyes and knowing that she is safe, his beautiful Carly is alive and safe. He hugs Carly with all his might, savors the warmth of her skin, the gentle music of her voice.
Eli no longer cares about proving anything to anyone, because the shadows are melting - the monster cannot touch them now. I mean the quotation from the bar bill at some long-ago BSI Dinner, listing the number of whiskies, gins, and scotches consumed, and "1 beer"? Anxious to avoid another failure through lack of support, he was appealing to 60 BSI a€?old-timersa€? (a€?in order to spread the clerical load, and to facilitate the voluntary work by which alone the Journal can keep goinga€?), to renew their subscriptions for 1952 right away without waiting for the renewal form that would accompany the October issue, the final one of the year.
1 and 2 a€?reproduction issuesa€? had to wait until the NS BSJ seemed securely on its feet, its subscriber base grown to a safe point and new subscribers seeking copies of the first two Numbers. I contacted Mike Whelan about it: I thought he would know enough about it that I could get another copy.
Someone (dona€™t remember who it was) who fancied himself a bit of a conjuror was at the head table, which included Alfred Drake as then-president of The Players, and seated next to Drake.
Julian told me later that the bar bill was of the magnitude of treble the food bill.A Thing was, the bartenders, of whom there were several, strategically located around the rooms,A were pouring generously, including for themselves, encouraging BSIs to put down their partially consumed glasses and get fresh ones -- and soon lost the ability to check off accurate numbers of drinks served. A Both for its own sake, and because it suggests what the typewriter that Conan Doyle owned in the early 1890s may have been like. Symons a€” author of The Quest for Corvo a€” and am thus reading his brother Juliana€™s biography of him. The notiona€™s wrong, and theA tip-off should have been the misapprehensiona€™s source a€” S.


All it takes is to know the notiona€™s absurd is to look up what men Smith supposedly excommunicated.
The first comprehensive if imperfect list of investitures and holders I know of is one by C. Ronald Knox, to explain away such an elementary (let us say, fundamental) mistake on Knoxa€™s part, but Ia€™m reminded, a bit sadly, of the famous exchange between Dr.
Smith started talking to Christopher Morley about incorporating the BSI sometime the summer of 1947, both to create a lucrative publishing program (they thought), and to manage takeover of the BSJ if Ben Abramsona€™s publishing of it collapsed (as it did in 1949).
His cousin Frederic Dannay first attended it in 1942, and became part of the BSI for the rest of his long life (dying in 1982), and was invested as a€?The Dying Detectivea€? in 1950. I think the noted actor Alfred Drake was sitting next to the speaker and was, needless to say, quite startled by this.
The Constitution and Buya€”Laws, as well as the Musgrave Ritual and Sherlock Holmesa€™s Prayer, were read, and the Sherlockian songs of Jim and Bruce Montgomery were played and enjoyed. So I asked Jim Saunders (a€?The Beryl Coroneta€?) and George Fletcher (a€?The Cardboard Boxa€?), both invested in 1969, for their memories.
Nash was, Morley once said, one of the Doubleday, Doran a€?assembly mena€? present at the speakeasy in the East a€™Fifties in 1930 when Morley was commissioned to write his a€?In Memoriama€? foreword for the first Complete Sherlock Holmes. Perhaps the matter can be cleared up when I get to the a€™Fifties volumes of the Archival History, or perhaps Peter Blau or someone else can shed light on this. Smith that Stout would be a good person to attend the up-coming 1941 annual dinner (held the 31st) and respond to some awful things Somerset Maugham had said about the Sherlock Holmes stories in a recent Saturday Evening Post article.
He had already turned down an invitation from favorite-contributor Elmer Davis to join the Baker Street Irregulars, on grounds of silliness. I cannot find the treatise that contains this absurdity and mention it only as an example of the frivolous speculation tricked out to look like scholarship with which the Holmes cult defrauds the reading public. A strident anti-isolationist before Pearl Harbor, he was off creating the Writers War Board to support the U.S. In 1961, when he became the BSIa€™s Commissionaire, he created the honor known as the Two-Shilling Award a€?for extraordinary devotion to the cause beyond the call of duty,a€? and the first one went that January to Rex Stout. You cana€™t copyright titles of books, and if you could, this one would belong to the Conan Doyle Estate;-- fortunately, my client in a different sphere of my Irregular life.
How heavily attended are the all-male scion societies these days, setting aside the Pips, as it is not a scion society? The all-male scion societies 20 years ago that occur to me were The Maiwand Jezails of Omaha, Hugoa€™s Companions of Chicago, Philadelphiaa€™s Sons of the Copper Beeches, The Speckled Band of Boston, and The Six Napoleons of Baltimore. It has been a long time since the a€?Junior Sherlockian movementa€? of the 1960s replenished the BSIa€™s ranks during the a€™70s, and since the comparable a€?Sherlock Holmes booma€? of the 1970s flowed from the successes of the Royal Shakespeare Company revival of William Gillettea€™s Sherlock Holmes and Nicholas Meyera€™s novel The Seven-Per-Cent Solution.
I need to point out that the first woman to be an Irregular, mystery critic Lenore Glen Offord (a€?The Old Russian Womana€?), was tapped way back in 1958, but I also acknowledge that it didna€™t include invitations to the BSIa€™s annual dinners. So far, in the Manuscript and International Series published by the BSI, why am I not seeing womena€™s bylines more often, if at all? Ita€™s a question youa€™d have to address to ones directly responsible for those series of books published by the BSI, or to the Big Cheese himself, Mike Whelan, who has also presided over the International Series from the start, I believe. He was of course a notorious enfant terrible, and Ia€™m sure not above crashing a party given by a fellow book-caresser like Christopher Morley.
But he sent Woollcott a copy of his 1939 Appointment in Baker Street lavishly inscribed to Woollcott as Baker Street Irregular, and Woollcott appears on Smitha€™s December 5, 1940, BSI membership list given in my BSJ Christmas Annual a€?Entertainment and Fantasya€?: The 1940 BSI Dinner. He has only one scene with a speaking part, and that in June 1940, but he was such a Fabulous Monster it was great fun to write him into the tale. As you know, ita€™s been my steadfast intention from the start to cover the years 1930 to 1960, when Edgar Smith died and Julian Wolff succeeded him, and then stop, since the decades which followed are too recent for sound historical judgments.
Those acquainted with the doings of The Afghan Perceivers of Tulsa know well the daring of their intrepid exploits, which have struck awe (and some terror) in small towns throughout the American Southwest.
To have been at the dedication last summer, complete with the Afghanistan Perceiversa€™ widely dreaded drum-and-bugle corps, must have been a marvelous one-of-a-kind occasion; but much of its charm and wit is surely captured in this little chapbook. When Bishop Eusebius Beltran told Dick that the hill needed a name a€?more meaningful to his work,a€? a lesser mortal would have taken no for an answer, and returned to whatever one does on a windswept prairie. This letter was promptly bounced back to the esteemed Bishop Eusebius Beltran (fiction writers, I defy you to create a more dazzling cognomen), who replied on behalf of his Pontiff. Rabe will get a chapter of his own in the first a€?Fifties volume of the Archival History, along with his Old Soldiers of Baker Street (the Old SOBs). I find I reviewed this item myself in Baker Street Miscellanea when it came out in 1990, see here.
Katz: Will Ourslera€™s talks at BSI dinners are said to be legendary, although I am not sure why. For one eternal moment, every ghost of who he has been or will be shrieks inside his skull: baby Eli squirming in his crib, little Eli climbing the gnarled oak in his back yard, teenage Eli stealing a kiss from his first love, Dr. His entire life melts into the new timeline as it has into a hundred others - a bucket of water spilled into a churning river.
His office appears much the same: littered with texts, papers, printouts, CD-ROM's, arcane trappings of Academia.
An unfamiliar model - similar to ones he has used in other timelines, different enough to give him pause. He probes the recesses of his jumbled post-Shift memory, until the answer blossoms in his mind with bittersweet clarity. A chime announces that the search has been completed and a new window opens, displaying a list of articles.
He floats, insensate, in the cold and lightless void between the galaxies, a chunk of ice dropped into an ebony sea. He follows Caulder's fate with relish as the little psychopath is caught, convicted, and summarily executed. That is what he labels the effect, cruel corollary to his mathematical framework for navigating time and space. In every one, Jeffrey Caulder lurks nearby, blackening the landscape like a demon's shadow.
He has beaten his brains against its impenetrable armor for three days now, rarely leaving the refuge of his office, hardly eating or sleeping. By colliding with himself, he can end the suffering of two Eliases at once and save Carly from that twisted little psychopath on both timelines. Hope bubbles up from the depths of his despair; tiny, fragile spheres that he must catch before they burst. Time Traveler's Rule Number Two, the Rochon Uncertainty Principle: observing the past or future of one's own timeline with any degree of accuracy is impossible.
The air inside the cell thickens, pulses with invisible energies beyond human comprehension. The effect reaches out across the chasms that separate a thousand timelines, drags a thousand thrashing, moaning Jeffrey Caulders toward a fatal convergence. If he does not let go, he may converge with the other incarnations of himself; he may join Jeffrey Caulder in the oblivion of never-was. She hugs him, the swell of her belly pressing against his own, and he feels a little kick, a tiny spark of life that starts a wondrous chain reaction as joy ripples out from the center of his soul in wave after healing wave. He cannot stop the tears from spilling down his cheeks, as if to wash away the last traces of some psychic poison. A prolific music and theater critic in Los Angeles area newspapers and magazines, he died in May, seated at his keyboard writing a review when the fatal heart attack came.
Ia€™m sure Tom said he had it and did not want to pass it on to the BSI, and even more sure it wasna€™t a a€?blanka€? book: why was it called the Grillparzer Book if it was blank? He received the Two-Shilling Award in 1983 for the immense help he gave Julian Wolff with the BSJ over many years, and was its actual publisher a number of years when he ran Fordham University Press.
Based on the description of the bartending, it was a case of if you can remember it you weren't there.
This Irregulara€™s shtick (excuse me, a€?papera€?) included, and ended with, igniting a bit of flash paper that erupted and fell from his hand onto the tablecloth, thus landing in Drakea€™s immediate proximity. I recall one bartender as being just this side of falling-down drunk.A Many BSIs were only too happy to get a fresh one when the old ice cubes had dwindled or the mixer had lost its fizz, or some combination thereof, and I recall the vast array of partially consumed drinks sitting all over the place. A His dreadful son Adrian swore that his father never owned or used one, but in fact Conan Doyle mentions having one in letters written from South Norwood, though it appears his sister Connie, living there at the time, used it mostly to prepare replies to correspondence hea€™d received. But Bigelow had only been invested in 1959, hadna€™t known Smith long or well, was outside the mainstream of the BSI, and looking for a reason to explain his receiving an investiture someone else still in the ranks had. Leslie Marshall (a€?A Scandal in Bohemiaa€?), who returned to the fold after many yearsa€™ absence.
Stix, Jr.), by Bill Jenkins a€” to end a€” the reports of the Scion Societies, followed by the usual informal discussions. And then your old fellow saddle-tramp Lenore Carroll touched on the same thing in a€?Exploring a€?The Country of the Saintsa€™: Arthur Conan Doyle as Western Writera€? in BSM 51 (Autumn 1987). In stating here the insoluble problem which will always frustrate biographers of Nero Wolfe I confine myself, as a member of the American Historical Association in good standing, to examining the source documents according to the approved methods of historical research. Baring-Gould, already the author of Sherlock Holmes of Baker Street and editor of The Annotated Sherlock Holmes, made the idea a foundation-stone of another book, Nero Wolfe of West 35th Street. My experience of Hugoa€™s Companions is limited, and nil in the case of The Maiwand Jezails and Speckled Band, but none of them have changed their policies.
Even the wave of newcomers from the television series starring Jeremy Brett that debuted in 1984 was a long time ago now. Leavitta€™s expostulations to the contrary in his 1961 BSJ two-parter a€?The Origins of 221B Worship.a€? When Edgar W. So I presume Woollcott had been invited to the January a€™40 dinner at the Murray Hill Hotel too.
But none have reached so high a pinnacle as the naming and ascent of Holmes Peak, which rises majestically 262 feet above the prairie floor, and from whose wind-swept summit practically all of Osage County, Oklahoma, can be seen. At one time we had passes for the ski lift, but I have seem to have misplaced them (as Dick seemed to have misplaced the lift).
Dick showed this document to John Bennett Shaw, who was an active member of the Knights of Columbus and other arms of the Church. Smitha€™s death, he also edited the Baker Street Journal for many years, influenced the BSI weekenda€™s shape with his Saturday cocktail party (first in his home for those he invited, then at the Grolier Club when numbers grew too great, and after that it was Katie bar the door); and then, Julian also handed out more investitures than anyone else before or since.
Ia€™m sure Tom said he had it and did not want to pass it on to the BSI, and even more sure it wasna€™t a a€?blanka€? book:A  why was it called the Grillparzer Book if it was blank? The room has the musty smell of a museum, or perhaps an Egyptian tomb, redolent of secret knowledge, of mysteries barely glimpsed. The nature of his research - his peculiar blend of physics and metaphysics - has made him an icon of popular culture and a pariah to most of his colleagues.
He must first scan the proximate timelines, searching for a universe where Carlita Kelly exists - and he does not. When he Shifts, his entire lifeline - from the tip of the cradle to the tail of the grave - is spliced out of the old universe and into the new. He has spent every penny of his savings to bribe his way into the jail cell of Jeffrey Caulder. Scanning a specific time distorts the specificity of place; scanning a specific place renders the time of observation proportionally imprecise. Unremarkable, really, except for the eyes: they sparkle with the cold effervescence of root beer poured over ice.
He pulls the Shift-band free of the mangled fabric, holds it out with hands that will not stop trembling. Elias grips the boy's wrists so tightly he can feel sinews grating against bone, but he cannot match the strength of a maniac. He is tangled in the covers of his own bed; morning sunlight streams through the cracks between the blinds to form a glowing nimbus around the face that gazes down at him. The BSJa€™s circulation wasna€™t the deep dark secret that it is today, but it will take further research to uncover just when those a€?reproduction issuesa€? were produced. George went on to be Astor Curator of Printed Books and Bindings at the Pierpont Morgan Library, later Director of Special Collections at the New York Public Library. Nor must we omit to mention those elegant keepsakes that we received through the courtesy of several Irregulars. Instead he agitated the Irregulars that night with his soon notorious talk a€?Watson Was a Womana€? (which included an acrostic in which titles of Watsona€™s tales spelled out the name Irene Watson).


I construct only one hypothesis and I make no test of that one, leaving it for other scholars to test and apply as they may see fit. And Nicholas Meyer (a€?A Fine Morocco Case,a€? BSI) made use of the idea as well in his novels. Anderson, a valued contributor to Baker Street Miscellanea when he was was a professor of English at Texas A&M and Denison Universities, is now president of St. In fact Starrett proceeded to Christ Cellaa€™s by hansom cab that evening with Woollcott, from the lattera€™s apartment (known as a€?Wita€™s Enda€?) at 450 East 52nd Street. Smith started organizing the 1940 revival dinner, Morley dug up an old invitation list for Smitha€™s use, and Woollcott was on it. He concludes by describing the Preservation Societya€™s elaborate future plans for Holmes Peak, including such juicy things-to-come as the Scenic Highway to the top, the Holmes Cenotaph (a design contest will be announced soon), the Doyle Ski Basin, and Holmesworld amusement park. John told Dick the good Bishop had expressed himself harshly as a Bishop was allowed to, and still stay on the side of the angels. It would be interesting to learn more about his Whoa€™s Who, his role in the Voices of Baker Street, the formation of the Mrs. Army directly into the BSI at the beginning of the a€?50s, and by 1955 had the investiture of a€?Colonel Warburtona€™s Madness,a€? which also tells us Edgar W. Many of his Irregulars are gone today, like him, but lots of them made tremendous contributions to the BSI that are felt to this day.
When I first attended the BSI annual dinner in 1973, he had been a fixture there many years, and I found it was a tradition for him to give one of the talks each year -- and for his talk to be totally unintelligible. George Fletcher and I had a drink at the bar afterward but they wouldna€™t let us pay.A They put everything on Juliana€™s membership account. A framed cover from Time Magazine hangs above the desk - his own profile limned by stars and nebulae against a glossy field of black, spiral galaxies spinning in his eyes.
A desktop graphic fills the screen, covered with icons, some of which he recognizes, some of which baffle him completely.
He scans the titles, praying silently to whatever god rules this corner of the multiverse as his eyes race down the list. He can describe the theories in detail: the relationship of consciousness to space-time, the role of the observer in collapsing the cosmological wave function into one discrete universe. Time Traveler's Rule Number One: two incarnations of the same entity cannot coexist on a single timeline.
But now, with Elias Rochon gone, Jeffrey Caulder's list of victims does not include Carlita Rochon, or Carlita Kelly, or Carlita anyone. Some times, Caulder commits suicide before the trial, or is slain by the grief-mad husband of a victim, or is killed in prison awaiting appeal… or escapes arrest entirely to continue his killing spree across a dozen states. Her lips curve into the slightly crooked, slightly self-conscious smile of a woman who has no idea how ravishing she is. He stares at the diagrams and calculations on the screen and moans softly, not wanting to believe the tale they tell.
Timelines are fluid and unique, each flowing with different currents, but his own consciousness exerts pressure on the flow.
The laws of probability say this cannot be, that somewhere in the vast constellation of timelines, there must be a place where he can rejoin Carly without destroying her. Just the opposite, in fact: he has uncovered several ways to intensify it, to heighten the effect. He does not look closely at the fedora in Elias's hands, does not see the Shift-band sewn inside the lining. Elias sees the knife-edge glitter of intelligence there, and something else… something that flashes to the surface, then dives quickly of sight.
It takes great courage to make the hard choices, to force the masses to listen to things they'd rather not hear. It is not enough for Elias to save Carly in one universe if that means feeding her to the monster in countless others.
Her hair is so black it shines, wildly mussed from the night's slumber… and from the tender struggle that preceded sleep. Financially, I showed a profit on the evening of $22, which I have posted against past deficits without a qualm. He is a leading member of the Grolier Club today as a rare books & manuscripts authority, and a bibliophile whose exhibitions there and elsewhere are glowingly reviewed in the New York Times. The bar tab at The PlayersA was a main incentive for finding accommodations at the Regency. The one from Lew Feldman(see Inventory)was most magnificent, and Fred Dannay generously supplied each of us with the Feb. Ia€™m a member of the latter, and also of Chicagoa€™s Hounds of the Baskerville (sic), but while both have only male members, one sees many women at the Houndsa€™ sole annual gathering every autumn, and not only spouses but others invited on their own merits -- including you this year, or so I hear, Dahlinger. Ann Arbor police announced today that they have apprehended a man they believe to be responsible for the gruesome slayings of at least seven pregnant women in the Southeast Michigan area.
His peers simply scoff as the tabloids boil away the jargon, condense it into science-fictional mythology. Her eyes: deep, hypnotic mahogany, gleaming from the backlight of intelligence and humor that shine from them in seemingly endless supply. The horror of Carly's fate has imprinted itself so deeply on his mind that he enforces the pattern of those events on every timeline into which he falls.
Caulder slouches in the bunk, studying his visitor like some new species of amoeba oozing through the slime beneath a microscope.
He watches Caulder struggle, knowing the monster cannot escape: he has also adjusted the Shift-band to modulate synaptic activity in the sensorimotor areas, to induce a mild species of paralysis. They are both panting like asthmatic dogs as they roll off the bed and crash to the concrete floor.
But if you push someone off the edge of the Multiverse into the abyss of Never-Was, how can you prove the difference? It has however been a very useful investment to me, for Connie often does as many as six or seven letters a day for me with it, and very well indeed she does them.
A Ia€™d be particularly interested if one of its members in the 1920s was Stanley Morison, because it was Morleya€™s chance meeting with him in New York in 1926, that revived Morleya€™s long-dormant boyhood enthusiasm for Sherlock Holmes. Bigelow was scrambling to apologizeA for casting doubt on Lee Offorda€™s investiture (as a€?The Old Russian Woman,a€? 1958) genuineness or validity.
Roberts did, of course, in his 1929 essay A Note on the Watson Problem, but I am far from home and without my copy to consult, to see if he had something to say about it. Taking place simultaneously with the Copper Beechesa€™ spring and autumn dinners every year is a dinner for wives called The Bitches of the Beeches -- started long ago by my late mother-in-law Jeanne Jewell, the idea being to get their drunk husbands home alive.
Bill was an unforgettable personality with a zany streak of humor, and added something long-lasting to the BSI weekend in January with Mrs.
It not only had profound effects upon our scholarshipa€™s trajectory, it brought huge numbers of new adherents into the fold (including me). Ia€™m not sure a€?legendarya€? is the word, but once youa€™d heard him, you didna€™t forget it; they were incoherent, phantasmagoric, even delusional, but delivered in a sort of bravura style that held your attention.
He stares at the shifting patterns on the screen, then speaks, surprised by the raw timbre of his voice. If he stays in this universe - if he has reason to stay - he will assimilate it all… as it has assimilated him.
Elias Rochon is a shell: blood and bones and viscera are sucked into the vampire mouths of glowing pixels on a screen. Police sources report that Jeffrey Caulder, a twenty-year-old junior at the University of Michigan, has confessed to the so-called Maternity Murders that have terrorized Ann Arbor and suburban Detroit for the past eight months. To spite all who condemn him for transmuting science into a mystic art, to crush them beneath the weight of his success - that is why he worked so many late nights. He must search out his next target… but not before he scans the timeline from which he came. He watches the scene in the hospital delivery room, shares her pain and jubilation as she strains and wails and finally rejoices at the birth of her first child. The two central players in his cosmic tragedy are inextricably linked - light and darkness, incapable of existing without each other. The only way he can protect Carly is to abandon her, in a sense no human has contemplated before… irrevocably and totally, leaving her with not even a ghost of a memory that he ever existed. He has done work for them, scanned proximate timelines to help guide investigations that were going nowhere.
Smith died in September 1960, and apparently posed an administrative burden without financial reward for his sons.
I remember sitting there my first time wondering what the hell, because I didna€™t understand what was going on, but for others it was clearly an expected item on the bill of fare. He tries to reach out - to embrace her with a longing so profound it leaves him dizzy - but she slips past in a torrent, tumbles into the currents of a universe that must reshape itself around his intrusion.
His gaze falls to the picture on the desk: he and Carly in hiking clothes, standing arm in arm at the foot of Tequamenon Falls. According to investigators, Caulder provided specific details about the killings that were never released to the public. Extrapolations of his own precious theories define the boundaries of his prison, of his curse.
They follow separate paths, maintain an uneasy balance, until Elias Rochon is dumped into their lives. Elias has overlooked one crucial factor in his calculations: madness is more powerful than reason. As he and Caulder wrestle on the floor, Elias begins to see it: the overlay, the superposition of countless timelines slightly out of phase. These were delivered by Alfred Drake, whose address revealed him to be a real Sherlockian scholar; Thomas L.
Someone just the other day mentioned Bill referring, in a 1982 recording on Voices of Baker Street, to that yeara€™s Breakfast as the twenty-ninth, which means the first one would have been in 1954.
Not only for the number and the jubilant spirit he brought to the process, but also for the displacement of the BSIa€™s previous center of gravity in the Northeast. Ia€™m not sure that everyone enjoyed it, but Julian Wolff always seemed to: in part with a ringmastera€™s satisfaction that the old boy had pulled it off once again, I think, and maybe also with a connoisseura€™s appreciation of a performer living up to or even exceeding the year before.
Carly understood his obsession, forgave him those shameful periods when he drifted through their marriage like a ghost, his mind locked in combat with the forces of Creation. The truth - the frustrating, terrifying truth - is that the full meaning of his discovery eludes even him.
Jeffrey Caulder may be a despicable monster, but Elias has become a serial killer in his own right. An army of Jeffrey Caulders collapse into one writhing mass, some grappling with other Eliases, others merely battling their own confusion.
Clarke, founder of The Five Orange Pips, and Carl Anderson of The Sons of the Copper Beeches. And for a few years, I had much the same reaction: a€?Here goes Will Oursler again, leta€™s see how wild it is this time, howa€™s he manage it year after year?a€? (This on the assumption that it was contrived. The band hums, its modulated magnetic field tuning his brainwave patterns to bridge the gaps between splintered branches of the multiverse.
Every time he Shifts, he murders his beloved wife again, as surely as if he swung the blade himself.
Smith, Edgar Smitha€™s stepson whoa€™d taken over the printing of the OS BSJ, and found it very hard to get paid by the failing Ben Abramson. I just figured that there was no way to define membership clearly for all those folks, and avoided doing so. It already had the annual dinner and the Gillette Luncheon when he joined the growing throng in the early a€™50s, and he added Mrs.



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