Science fiction fandom in 1941 played out in a panoply of wisdom, foolishness, belief and incredulity. Less mired than previous years in the economic shackles of the Great Depression, fans let loose in ways both expected and surprising.

The year began with a bang – the noisy implosion of the ascendant Queens Science Fiction League, torn apart by rancor among New York factions stewing since 1938. In early December, fans in America were forced to face the threat of imminent dystopia as insidious products of science and engineering rained down on sailors at Pearl Harbor.

Between these bookends, fans read and wrote and gathered and argued and published in profusion – mostly in good humor.

The perennial questions persisted. What’s the purpose of the fiction we inhale like oxygen? What role do fans play in the world? Are we somehow better than others? What’s the point of organizing? Perhaps these debates were reason enough to come together.

Fans flocked together. Small but vibrant clubs coalesced in Boston, Minneapolis, northern New Jersey and central Michigan. Regional gatherings established communities and annual conferences that still endure.

Fans initially believed the shocking report of the suicide of Earl Singleton, the tall handsome poet who so impressed them at the Chicago Worldcon in 1940 – and were incredulous when his demise was revealed to be a cynical prank.

The Futurians of New York had been a hotbed of controversy, publishers of variously literate invective and often maudlin poetry. As the calendar turned, many members of this loose confederation found footholds in the professional ranks. As editors of short-lived pulps, they published stories penned by their friends. As authors, some launched careers that would last a lifetime.

Fanzines flourished. Some fans lamented the deluge. As always, quality varied widely. Stalwarts such as Harry Warner, Jr. (Spaceways and Horizons), Jack Speer (Sustaining Program) and Julius Unger (Fantasy Fiction Field) consistently published high-quality issues. The Fantasy Amateur Press Association met its goal of four quarterly mailings, each stuffed with a few gems and a collage of miscellany.

Fan artists matured, raising the bar for the quality of illustration gracing amateur publications. The impressive work of Lou Goldstone and Roy V. Hunt could well have led to careers in art but did not. British fan artist Harry E. Turner’s contributions to wartime fanzines laid the foundation for his later work as a designer and graphic artist.

Between their frequent parties, the dynamic Los Angeles fan community produced a monthly avalanche of material. Voice of the Imagi-Nation served as the hub of fan correspondence from America, the UK, Canada and Australia. The group pioneered the wider use of lithography for art reproduction and fostered a growing base of professional authors. The year saw the pro debut of Ray Bradbury, the emergence of Leigh Brackett and the ascendance of Robert A. Heinlein. A mysterious woman from San Francisco burst on the scene and captured a prominent fan’s heart – but his ardor was doomed to be unrequited.

The westward migration of the World Convention to Denver led to epic adventures on the byways of America. (Highways were yet to be constructed.) From Oregon came young Damon Knight, driven to Denver by his parents. From Riverside, California, teenager James “Rusty” Hevelin hitchhiked. Captivated by fans from the east, neither went home.

The Denver Worldcon would be the last until 1946. Fans didn’t know this at the time, but they debauched as though they did. Traditions established the prior year in Chicago did more than survive the trip, highlighted by an extravagant masquerade. As Guest of Honor, Robert Heinlein led the audience to “The Discovery of the Future.” Forrest J Ackerman would later dub this the most outstanding conference address he heard in his fifty-plus years as a fan.

Britain endured the Blitz of nightly Nazi firebombs. Fans scattered from the cities but stayed in touch. A small cadre maintained a steady pace of correspondence and publishing. At the center was J. Michael Rosenblum, deemed “contemptable” by an American peer for his stance as a Conscientious Objector. Other Brits took up arms despite a hatred of war. A Nuneaton fan accused his hobby of urging him to the front lines: “It is difficult to call to mind an outstanding fantasy not built up on one or all of the ideals of battle, murder & sudden death. The red gods of war have never had stronger propagandists than the writers of fantasy.”

More than ever, the experience of fans in 1941 offers a view of the human experience of that time. In the US, journeys from the coasts to the heartland and back were set amidst evolving attitudes regarding the present and the future. In Britain, the terrible potential of science came in the dark – yet fans’ inherent optimism survived. Young fans were inspired by those who came before, evidence of the enduring appeal of hope, imagination, speculation and the camaraderie of like-minded fellows.

Our mission at First Fandom Experience is to bring to life the evolution and impact of science fiction fandom. The passion and work of early fans laid the foundation for the pervasive influence that science fiction and fantasy exert today. Their words and pictures deserve to be remembered as they were written and drawn. In their voices, we hope their optimism, joy and energy speak to you as they have to us.

Exhaustively researched and profusely illustrated, this 500-page hardcover volume was introduced at the Windy City Pulp and Paper Convention, April 5, 2024.

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