Remembering
Robert Bloch
by Julius Schwartz and Rusty Hevelin
Robert Bloch
by Julius Schwartz and Rusty Hevelin
Schwartz: I first met Robert Bloch in 1938. I had read stories by him and loved them, and we had corresponded a bit. A couple friends of mine--Otto Binder and Mort Weisinger--and I drove out to Chicago, and while we were there we said, “It is only ninety miles or so to Milwaukee. Let’s drive up there and meet this hotshot writer named Robert Bloch.” I should mention that I was the first literary agent to specialize in science fiction and weird fiction. I said to Bob, “How are you doing in Weird Tales?” His main market was Weird Tales. He said, ”Well, I sell a story every now and then.” I said, “What are they paying you?” He said, “A penny a word.” I said, “That’s not too bad. That is the going rate for pulp magazines.” He replied, “Not in this case, because they pay upon publication. Why sell a story in January if it’s not going to get published until December? I would be waiting a whole year with nothing.”
I said, “I want you to meet some friends of mine.” Mort was editing a couple of science fiction magazines at the time, Thrilling Wonder and Startling Stories. Mort got the idea of putting out a weird magazine, like Weird Tales, except the market wasn’t big enough to pay a penny a word. If we paid a half penny a word on acceptance, maybe we’ll do better. With that in mind, I asked Robert Bloch, “Have you any stories that have been rejected by Weird Tales?” He said, “Yes.” I said, “Have you sent them anywhere else to be sold?” He said to me, “There is no other market.” I said, “Let me have your stories. I think Mort may be interested in starting a magazine called Strange Stories.” Mort accepted them, really, without reading them, and he paid them a half penny a word. In the first issue that Mort bought stories for, there were two Bob Bloch stories.
In those days, it didn’t look right to have more than one story by the same person in an issue. It looked like you didn’t have enough material. So what you would do is use a house name or ask the author to supply you with a pseudonym. Robert Bloch’s pseudonym was Tarleton Fiske. I became Bloch’s agent and remained so for many years. There never was a big market for weird fiction, so I persuaded him to do some science fiction and some mystery stories. By this time, I had been hired by DC Comics to edit comic magazines, and I could only handle the agency on a very limited basis. The only two writers that I kept going were Robert Bloch and Ray Bradbury. At one point I told Robert Bloch, “There still aren’t enough markets for your stories. Why don’t you try writing comics?” He said that he knew nothing about comics. I said, “I’m going to send you a copy of Flash and I want you to do a Flash story.” He did write a Flash story and I printed it. It was okay, but he said, “Julie, this is my one and only story. I’m not happy writing comics.”
Bloch was the most charming fellow you could ever meet. I don’t think I ever heard him mutter a cuss word. He was extremely funny. He could tell more jokes in less time than anybody else, with the possible exception of a good friend of his, who I’ll mention in a moment. When this friend who was also a pulp fiction writer decided to move to the west coast and try to get started writing, he arrived in California absolutely broke. I think he may have had ten cents in his pocket. Robert Bloch heard about it and lent him some money to get him started. That fellow, is he still around? I think his name is Harlan Ellison. They became life-long friends. They often got together for dinner at the Brown Derby, and once in a while I would be fortunate enough to have dinner with both of them. The gags would fly back and forth. As a matter of fact, when Bloch would tell a story, Harlan would make the sound of a rim shot. Bloch would roll his eyes and look at the ceiling. I asked Bob, “Why are you doing that?” He said, “It helps me think of the next joke.” I said, “You’re lying to me. You came here earlier and on the ceiling, you wrote all the gags you were going to pull.” It wasn’t true, of course.
Harlan Ellison and Robert Bloch prepared a gag. We were having dinner and we saw a beautiful girl come marching in with a camera in her hand. She came up to our table and said, “My God, it’s Harlan Ellison, Robert Bloch and Julie Schwartz. I’m a reporter from USA Today. I must take your picture and do a write-up. This really is a big event at the Brown Derby, with three living legends.” All of a sudden I see Bloch and Harlan laughing. I said, “What the hell are you laughing at? This is no laughing matter.” Harlan says, “Julie, I can’t keep it anymore. Bob and I got this gag together. She’s my secretary. You don’t recognize her in that get-up.”
I said, “I want you to meet some friends of mine.” Mort was editing a couple of science fiction magazines at the time, Thrilling Wonder and Startling Stories. Mort got the idea of putting out a weird magazine, like Weird Tales, except the market wasn’t big enough to pay a penny a word. If we paid a half penny a word on acceptance, maybe we’ll do better. With that in mind, I asked Robert Bloch, “Have you any stories that have been rejected by Weird Tales?” He said, “Yes.” I said, “Have you sent them anywhere else to be sold?” He said to me, “There is no other market.” I said, “Let me have your stories. I think Mort may be interested in starting a magazine called Strange Stories.” Mort accepted them, really, without reading them, and he paid them a half penny a word. In the first issue that Mort bought stories for, there were two Bob Bloch stories.
In those days, it didn’t look right to have more than one story by the same person in an issue. It looked like you didn’t have enough material. So what you would do is use a house name or ask the author to supply you with a pseudonym. Robert Bloch’s pseudonym was Tarleton Fiske. I became Bloch’s agent and remained so for many years. There never was a big market for weird fiction, so I persuaded him to do some science fiction and some mystery stories. By this time, I had been hired by DC Comics to edit comic magazines, and I could only handle the agency on a very limited basis. The only two writers that I kept going were Robert Bloch and Ray Bradbury. At one point I told Robert Bloch, “There still aren’t enough markets for your stories. Why don’t you try writing comics?” He said that he knew nothing about comics. I said, “I’m going to send you a copy of Flash and I want you to do a Flash story.” He did write a Flash story and I printed it. It was okay, but he said, “Julie, this is my one and only story. I’m not happy writing comics.”
Bloch was the most charming fellow you could ever meet. I don’t think I ever heard him mutter a cuss word. He was extremely funny. He could tell more jokes in less time than anybody else, with the possible exception of a good friend of his, who I’ll mention in a moment. When this friend who was also a pulp fiction writer decided to move to the west coast and try to get started writing, he arrived in California absolutely broke. I think he may have had ten cents in his pocket. Robert Bloch heard about it and lent him some money to get him started. That fellow, is he still around? I think his name is Harlan Ellison. They became life-long friends. They often got together for dinner at the Brown Derby, and once in a while I would be fortunate enough to have dinner with both of them. The gags would fly back and forth. As a matter of fact, when Bloch would tell a story, Harlan would make the sound of a rim shot. Bloch would roll his eyes and look at the ceiling. I asked Bob, “Why are you doing that?” He said, “It helps me think of the next joke.” I said, “You’re lying to me. You came here earlier and on the ceiling, you wrote all the gags you were going to pull.” It wasn’t true, of course.
Harlan Ellison and Robert Bloch prepared a gag. We were having dinner and we saw a beautiful girl come marching in with a camera in her hand. She came up to our table and said, “My God, it’s Harlan Ellison, Robert Bloch and Julie Schwartz. I’m a reporter from USA Today. I must take your picture and do a write-up. This really is a big event at the Brown Derby, with three living legends.” All of a sudden I see Bloch and Harlan laughing. I said, “What the hell are you laughing at? This is no laughing matter.” Harlan says, “Julie, I can’t keep it anymore. Bob and I got this gag together. She’s my secretary. You don’t recognize her in that get-up.”
You know how Bloch got started on writing? Either his aunt or grandmother took him on a trip, and as they passed through the railroad station she offered to buy him any magazine on the rack. He happened to be fascinated by Weird Tales. That changed his life. Things happen in people’s lives unexpectedly, and they don’t realize it at the time, but their lives are changed completely.
Hevelin: Bob Bloch and I met in 1946. I was finishing up a four-year hitch in the Marine Corps after World War Two, and I was hitch-hiking across the country, visiting fans. By that time I had become acquainted with a number of professional writers on the west coast. As I traveled east, I arrived in Milwaukee, where I got on the phone and called Bob Bloch. I had enjoyed his work very much and I had a number of mutual friends who said that if I was in that area I should call him. I’d like to share a couple things about Bob Bloch that tell the kind of man he was. Bloch was one of the funniest guys around. He was absolutely a laughing fit when he got up in front of people, or he was in the company of friends. But, ordinarily he was very shy. He went all over the world as toastmaster or guest of honor for all types of events, not just science fiction.
In 1983, which was the sixtieth anniversary of the birth of Weird Tales, I wanted to have a guest or two at Pulpcon to celebrate the birthday. I spoke with Bob about coming as the guest of honor and he said he’d love to come, but he’d have to check his calendar and let me know. So I waited and I waited, and finally I decided I’d soon have to announce somebody as the guest. When I heard from him, he said that he had a problem with his legs, and he’d love to come but he’d have to travel first class. Bob was such a nice man. Here was a man who had been all over the world. He wanted to be there at the convention but didn’t want to stiff anybody with his need for first class travel. He was holding off because he didn’t want to demand too much.
I said, “No problem. Come first class, we’d love to have you there.” I told him we also had another writer from the old Weird Tales. I began extolling the other writer’s virtues, then started to end the telephone conversation. He said, “Wait a minute. Who’s the other guest?” I said, “It’s a fellow who started a little before you. His name is Hugh B. Cave. I don’t know if you know of him. Bloch said, “Hugh B. Cave? For God’s sake, I’m coming. Hugh B. Cave is one of the people whom I have admired the most, ever since I started reading Weird Tales. And now, you’re giving me the opportunity to meet one of my lifetime idols.”
I then telephoned Hugh B. Cave, a man whom I had never met in my life, someone with whom I had just made arrangements for him to come to Pulpcon. I called him to let him know who his fellow guest was going to be. When he found out it was Bob Bloch, it was as if the two had rehearsed their response. He was so excited to learn that it was to be Robert Bloch. Here these two men had admired each other’s work for over fifty years, and they were finally going to meet. When they finally got together, the response was so great that they set the ambience for the entire weekend. It was unbelievable seeing them together in such a cozy relationship for that weekend.
Bob had been aware of fandom for a long time. He was a friend of “Bob” Tucker, but back then people wrote to each other and wrote to the magazines. Starting in 1939, there had been three worldcons, New York, Chicago and Denver, and after the war the next one was held in Los Angeles. There probably were no more than a few hundred fans who knew each other face-toface. Bob Bloch was a well-established writer by this time, and when I contacted him about coming for a visit, he said for me to come on up. I thought that I’d just get to meet him, then head on down the road. Instead, he invited me in and I got to spend the entire evening with him. He told me many of his stories, including how he kept a guillotine for his daughter so that she could cut the heads off her dolls, and how he had the heart of a small boy (in a jar on his desk.)
For the longest time, he was one of the most generous people, contributing so many articles and fiction at no charge to requests from amateur fanzine publishers. His articles were collected in a book called The Eighth Stage of Fandom, with a beautiful introduction by “Bob” Tucker.
Schwartz: Mort Weisinger and I published the first science fiction fan magazine, and Robert Bloch was one of the professionals who contributed stories and humorous articles. He had the idea that there were a number of stages of fandom, and people like Rusty and I are in the first stage of fandom. Forry Ackerman gives out the Big Heart Award at World Science Fiction Conventions, and Bob Bloch received the award the second year it was presented.
In 1939, Bloch came to New York. He wanted to see the big city. I remember that he could only afford to stay at the YMCA, which cost around fifty cents a night. As I saw him coming out of the YMCA, I noticed that he was smoking a gigantic Russian cigarette. It was even longer, since he had it in a cigarette holder, with smoke going all around. Bloch wanted to go out to the New York World’s Fair. Sometimes he would do things that were hard to explain, and he would just smile, and you can’t ask him why. I told him that he’d have to take the subway, and he said, “Fine, I’ve never been on the subway. What do you do?” I said, “It costs you a nickel. You just put it in the turnstile.” So, he put the nickel in, then looked at it, and kept looking at it. Finally, after looking to the left and to the right, he leapt over the turnstile.
That is not a unique experience. The same thing also happened to Jack Williamson. Bloch and I finally got off the subway and took the elevator up to the platform, where you could see the Trylon and Perisphere, the symbols of the World’s Fair. He said, “I’ve seen enough of the World’s Fair, let’s go back to Manhattan.” That’s all he ever saw of it. This was late-May or early-June, and he didn’t bother to stay until July to be at the first World Science Fiction Convention.
Bloch was strongly influenced by H.P. Lovecraft. Because Lovecraft was so incredibly poor (writing for Weird Tales for a penny a word, upon publication), in his correspondence he could not afford the two cents to send a letter, so he sent penny post cards. He would write in nearly microscopic handwriting so that he could get everything down. I asked Bloch at one point why he would acknowledge by way of a postcard, and he said, “H.P. Lovecraft did it, and I can get everything I need to say on one postcard.”
I probably sold seventy or more stories as Bloch’s agent, and one of them of which I’m most proud is “Yours Truly, Jack the Ripper.”
Bloch realized that his time was growing near, and he decided to write his autobiography. The title he gave to his agent was “One More Story to Tell.” Tor Books eventually decided to publish it, but they weren’t crazy about the title. They came up with another one that was more coy, “Once Around the Bloch.” I had recommended to him that he call it “Chips Off the Old Bloch.” The book is full of gags and things that even I didn’t know about. When I picked up the book, the first thing I did was look in the index to see how many times my name was listed. I saw my name two or three times, Ackerman and Bradbury a few times, and a few others. At one point in the book, Bloch has a note saying, “If you expect to see your name more than once or twice in this book, forget it. This is not a telephone directory. This is about Robert Bloch.”
I’d like to share the funniest line that he pulls in the book, and few people actually get it, so you’re all about to be tested. Many of his stories are reprinted in countries around the world. One of the stories had been picked up by the Japanese, who wanted to run it in one of their magazines. It was translated into Japanese, then sent to Bloch. He said that they had done a very good job except for one thing: there were too many typographical errors. Now how could he have known that there were typographical errors, if the story was in Japanese?
Recorded, transcribed, and edited by John L. Coker III. From a conversation at the 1994 World Fantasy Convention, New Orleans.
Hevelin: Bob Bloch and I met in 1946. I was finishing up a four-year hitch in the Marine Corps after World War Two, and I was hitch-hiking across the country, visiting fans. By that time I had become acquainted with a number of professional writers on the west coast. As I traveled east, I arrived in Milwaukee, where I got on the phone and called Bob Bloch. I had enjoyed his work very much and I had a number of mutual friends who said that if I was in that area I should call him. I’d like to share a couple things about Bob Bloch that tell the kind of man he was. Bloch was one of the funniest guys around. He was absolutely a laughing fit when he got up in front of people, or he was in the company of friends. But, ordinarily he was very shy. He went all over the world as toastmaster or guest of honor for all types of events, not just science fiction.
In 1983, which was the sixtieth anniversary of the birth of Weird Tales, I wanted to have a guest or two at Pulpcon to celebrate the birthday. I spoke with Bob about coming as the guest of honor and he said he’d love to come, but he’d have to check his calendar and let me know. So I waited and I waited, and finally I decided I’d soon have to announce somebody as the guest. When I heard from him, he said that he had a problem with his legs, and he’d love to come but he’d have to travel first class. Bob was such a nice man. Here was a man who had been all over the world. He wanted to be there at the convention but didn’t want to stiff anybody with his need for first class travel. He was holding off because he didn’t want to demand too much.
I said, “No problem. Come first class, we’d love to have you there.” I told him we also had another writer from the old Weird Tales. I began extolling the other writer’s virtues, then started to end the telephone conversation. He said, “Wait a minute. Who’s the other guest?” I said, “It’s a fellow who started a little before you. His name is Hugh B. Cave. I don’t know if you know of him. Bloch said, “Hugh B. Cave? For God’s sake, I’m coming. Hugh B. Cave is one of the people whom I have admired the most, ever since I started reading Weird Tales. And now, you’re giving me the opportunity to meet one of my lifetime idols.”
I then telephoned Hugh B. Cave, a man whom I had never met in my life, someone with whom I had just made arrangements for him to come to Pulpcon. I called him to let him know who his fellow guest was going to be. When he found out it was Bob Bloch, it was as if the two had rehearsed their response. He was so excited to learn that it was to be Robert Bloch. Here these two men had admired each other’s work for over fifty years, and they were finally going to meet. When they finally got together, the response was so great that they set the ambience for the entire weekend. It was unbelievable seeing them together in such a cozy relationship for that weekend.
Bob had been aware of fandom for a long time. He was a friend of “Bob” Tucker, but back then people wrote to each other and wrote to the magazines. Starting in 1939, there had been three worldcons, New York, Chicago and Denver, and after the war the next one was held in Los Angeles. There probably were no more than a few hundred fans who knew each other face-toface. Bob Bloch was a well-established writer by this time, and when I contacted him about coming for a visit, he said for me to come on up. I thought that I’d just get to meet him, then head on down the road. Instead, he invited me in and I got to spend the entire evening with him. He told me many of his stories, including how he kept a guillotine for his daughter so that she could cut the heads off her dolls, and how he had the heart of a small boy (in a jar on his desk.)
For the longest time, he was one of the most generous people, contributing so many articles and fiction at no charge to requests from amateur fanzine publishers. His articles were collected in a book called The Eighth Stage of Fandom, with a beautiful introduction by “Bob” Tucker.
Schwartz: Mort Weisinger and I published the first science fiction fan magazine, and Robert Bloch was one of the professionals who contributed stories and humorous articles. He had the idea that there were a number of stages of fandom, and people like Rusty and I are in the first stage of fandom. Forry Ackerman gives out the Big Heart Award at World Science Fiction Conventions, and Bob Bloch received the award the second year it was presented.
In 1939, Bloch came to New York. He wanted to see the big city. I remember that he could only afford to stay at the YMCA, which cost around fifty cents a night. As I saw him coming out of the YMCA, I noticed that he was smoking a gigantic Russian cigarette. It was even longer, since he had it in a cigarette holder, with smoke going all around. Bloch wanted to go out to the New York World’s Fair. Sometimes he would do things that were hard to explain, and he would just smile, and you can’t ask him why. I told him that he’d have to take the subway, and he said, “Fine, I’ve never been on the subway. What do you do?” I said, “It costs you a nickel. You just put it in the turnstile.” So, he put the nickel in, then looked at it, and kept looking at it. Finally, after looking to the left and to the right, he leapt over the turnstile.
That is not a unique experience. The same thing also happened to Jack Williamson. Bloch and I finally got off the subway and took the elevator up to the platform, where you could see the Trylon and Perisphere, the symbols of the World’s Fair. He said, “I’ve seen enough of the World’s Fair, let’s go back to Manhattan.” That’s all he ever saw of it. This was late-May or early-June, and he didn’t bother to stay until July to be at the first World Science Fiction Convention.
Bloch was strongly influenced by H.P. Lovecraft. Because Lovecraft was so incredibly poor (writing for Weird Tales for a penny a word, upon publication), in his correspondence he could not afford the two cents to send a letter, so he sent penny post cards. He would write in nearly microscopic handwriting so that he could get everything down. I asked Bloch at one point why he would acknowledge by way of a postcard, and he said, “H.P. Lovecraft did it, and I can get everything I need to say on one postcard.”
I probably sold seventy or more stories as Bloch’s agent, and one of them of which I’m most proud is “Yours Truly, Jack the Ripper.”
Bloch realized that his time was growing near, and he decided to write his autobiography. The title he gave to his agent was “One More Story to Tell.” Tor Books eventually decided to publish it, but they weren’t crazy about the title. They came up with another one that was more coy, “Once Around the Bloch.” I had recommended to him that he call it “Chips Off the Old Bloch.” The book is full of gags and things that even I didn’t know about. When I picked up the book, the first thing I did was look in the index to see how many times my name was listed. I saw my name two or three times, Ackerman and Bradbury a few times, and a few others. At one point in the book, Bloch has a note saying, “If you expect to see your name more than once or twice in this book, forget it. This is not a telephone directory. This is about Robert Bloch.”
I’d like to share the funniest line that he pulls in the book, and few people actually get it, so you’re all about to be tested. Many of his stories are reprinted in countries around the world. One of the stories had been picked up by the Japanese, who wanted to run it in one of their magazines. It was translated into Japanese, then sent to Bloch. He said that they had done a very good job except for one thing: there were too many typographical errors. Now how could he have known that there were typographical errors, if the story was in Japanese?
Recorded, transcribed, and edited by John L. Coker III. From a conversation at the 1994 World Fantasy Convention, New Orleans.