August 22, 1920 to June 5, 2012
Friend, Mentor, and, Intellectual Father to ... DC. RUSHTON
"THE DEAN IS DEAD. LONG LIVE THE DEAN!"
I am sorry my Readers. I have been through a very BAD, first of the new month. Problem with my Accountant, HER BANK, and mine. the passing of my "Intellectual Father", has hit me almost as hard as when my Biological Father pass on. I shall share with you this moment when my life change, I was place a pond this path in my life, that has broth me here, and tell you the REAL REASON I GO TO THE SAN DIEGO COMIC CONS!
The Day I Met Ray Bradbury at Comic Con 2002
The Lady Marie and I went to the Comic Con. One of the many reasons was to attend a panel discussion featuring Ray Bradbury. With only hope, I wrote a note to the great author. Maybe he could receive it at the Con and one day write to me. In it, I addressed him as The Last of the Great, Dean of Science Fiction. I thanked him for his stories and told him how I learned the art and craft of writing "hard science fiction" from him. He too was mocked for reading science fiction; I was labeled "Space" for being intelligent. May that, one day, at his feet, I might rise and ask that I be deemed a writer of science fiction, and I asked if he had any advice for a new writer. I enclosed my synopsis (about the author D.C.R) with a SASE.
Inside the Con, Marie and I sad down to lunch at the food court...."By the Gods!" Suddenly the Great Man and his group were wheeling up to a table next to us! I froze. Marie grabbed the note from my bag and went over to someone. They spoke and a woman took it. She said that he would get it. Later, a woman came over to us and said, "David, my father enjoyed your note. He wants to say a quick hello." (The planet ceased rotation for .0012 seconds) I walked over and he rotated his chair to me. I bowed and addressed him properly, "My Dean." He spoke these words to me that I will carry with me for the rest of my days.
"David. You are a writer of our science fiction. Write with your heart. Write with your feeling. Paint with your words the picture of your story in the reader's mind. One day, your story will be plucked from the 'Slush Pile.' To those stupid people at that North Island place that called you 'Space,'" he put a fist to his lips, and forming a bugle he made the sound, "Prrrittttatttt...." He then handed me my synopsis (About the author D.C.R.) I kneeled. "I go in honor, Sir." I turned to the woman. She said, "I am his daughter. Are you going to be alright?" Marie came over to us. I only could get out, "Thank you. And take care of our father." I wept openly and hugged her.
Hot Bath + PIPES Helping With His Pain, DC