Gary Gygax and I worked together for about 8 years. We finished quite a few projects together, but there were so many more that he wanted to do. It always fascinated me, this seemingly never ending well spring of creative energy. Though we disagreed on an occasion or two, I always entertained the idea of publishing these many projects. But the volume of them was large and on an occasion or two he let me see through a window into his mind and where it all came from. Some of this he wrote down, and we published in the Crusader Journal, and lingers with me still.
Before I recount Gary's tale, I should note this memory in my mind merges with the story Gary told me and what was then, beyond the confines of his porch, laying the dark quiet of the snowy evening, jumbles with what his young mind, agile and full of worlds beyond, clouds my own memory. So forgive me any mishaps in what was and what was told.
It was rather cold outside and a fresh blanket of snow covered everything. We talked about this, because, for some reason, it was unusual for the January con, for there to be snow. My other journey's to Lake Geneva at that same time of year had seen little of it. But it was deathly quiet, shadows hung to everything, the street lights more yellow than not and almost no noise came to us through the winter's glass they put up around that huge wrap around porch on Madison Street.
As we sat there he began talking about his childhood in Lake Geneva. He talked about the game that he and his friends played, where they took on roles and acted out one heroic deed or the other. he had been living there since 46 or 47, having moved there when he was 8 or 9. We laughed about the antics and some of the other games they played and trouble they got into (there was a Judge somehow involved at one point but I can't remember exactly what that was about).
As I commented in yesterday's blog about Gary, he had a soft, measured voice. It was one of an older man, who didn't have much reason to raise it. And as he mentioned the snow it seemed that the voice echoed the quiet outside and he began to spin this tale and though the particulars have slipped away, the imagery remains.
He was about 12 or some such. It was early 1950s and the movie The Thing From Another World had just come out. Gary and watched this terrifying movie about an alien creature found in the ice and brought back to life, that then turns on those who unlocked it from its frozen prison. Gary, barely old enough to comprehend the shadows of the unknown that always haunt the young, sat and watched this movie, clinging to popcorn in frozen hands as he took in all that unfolded before him.
When he left the theatre (I think alone, but if not, his friends soon left him), he did so into a cold, dark, night. He spoke of this terrifying journey from the theatre to his home. The haunts of dark places, holding shadows out of nightmare. Sounds without explanation that hounded him. Of attempts to fight the fearful monsters that pursued him. It seemed forever, this long sidewalks, tall hedges and stained yellow lights that never cast enough surety upon the darkness.
By the time he returned home, having fought demons out of mind, he was tired and exhausted but exhilarated.
As he spun this tale, I could not help but see the shadows beneath the hedge, the dampening snow that both holds and hurls sound, and the frightened young man who braved it all on an adventure that had only just begun. This clearly left an impression on him and it clearly led him to all this that we enjoy.
It was a wonderful tale, and I remember the telling as much as the tale itself.
He was a good story teller.
Be sure to check out Gary Gygax, Puns, and Me and Gary Gygax Bails out the Road Crew
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