I’m guessing this is a SFPA member group photo. Top: Ned Brooks, Tom Feller, Guy H. Lillian III, Patrick Malloy Middle: Barbara Mott, Janice Gelb, Penny Frierson, Gary Louie, Naomi Fisher, Eve Ackerman, Howard Rosenblatt Bottom: Ruth Judkowitz

INTRODUCTION: Twenty-five years ago MagiCon was held in Orlando, Florida. A great con, and I thought it would be fun to reprint the report I ran in File 770. Here is the fifth of five daily installments.

The Worldcon was held in the Orange County Convention and Civic Center, The Peabody Hotel, and The Clarion Hotel.

ANOTHER MANIC MONDAY: Every day fans plodded through the humidity toward an oasis of air conditioning past two electro-mechanical signs displaying animated graphics of the MagiCon title, and the countdown to a shuttle launch. The rhythm of the pieces forming the display sounded vaguely familiar because the slow clatter beginning each cycle that rapidly accelerated until the shuttle had “lifted off” sounded a lot like the marching aliens in an Atari 2600 “Space Invaders” game.

Sign outside the convention center, with the Peabody Hotel in the background. Photo by Carol Porter.

The last morning of MagiCon I entered the convention center and saw, in the distance, Geri Sullivan carrying a fully-inflated brontosaurus over one shoulder toward the Fanzine Lounge.

Half curtained-off from huckster traffic by poles and drapes, the lounge boasted its own beer bar (shades of Brighton), a couple of couches and several circular banquet tables with chairs. All weekend long fanzine fans had kept an oasis of Corflu in the heart of MagiCon, hosting their own receptions, auctions and discussions.

Fan Lounge. Kurt Erichsen in rainbow outfit.

Here you could find Walt Willis, James White, Andy Hooper, Ted White, Arnie Katz, Timothy Lane and Vincent Clarke’s shirt. British fanzine fan Vincent Clarke couldn’t attend in person, but with Geri’s help there was a sense he was constantly engaged in the lounge’s most interesting activities. Geri Sullivan showed everyone the t-shirt imprinted with Vince’s color photo and asked them to autograph it. Vince even boasted his share of the omnipresent con ribbons. Andy Hooper asked about the kelly green ribbon. Geri beamed, “Vince shot a hole-in-one on the Willis golf course!”

Hooper turned to Walt Willis. “I know one under par is a birdie and two under is an eagle — what is it when you shoot three under par?” he asked. Said Willis, “An albatross.”

Geri Sullivan wearing the Vincent Clarke message shirt. Photo by Mark Olson. (My own signature is on the right-side sleeve…)

In another conversation Timothy Lane worked in a typical Fosfax conservative touch by answering someone’s question: “World SF is an organization of professional people who are really upset that the Soviet Union has gone away.”

MONDAY BUSINESS MEETING. Kevin Standlee reported the 1995 NASFiC Site-Selection Voting Results:  381 ballots were cast, and Atlanta won. (Write-ins were received for “Hold the election next year” and “Hawaii”.)

EVEN MORE PROGRAM: At the end of “Rejection Slips and Other Downers”, Ginger Curry, John F. Moore and Laura Resnick listened as Del Stone, Jr. explained how naive he was when he submitted his first manuscript to a prozine. He got the manuscript back with a form letter. “It was rejected, but my reaction was, ‘Ben Bova’s autograph — wow!”

Evelyn Leeper upstaged the “Lost Art of the Newzine” panel by sitting in the front row wearing her “For all I know, I might have won a Hugo” button, satirizing the mixup at the Hugo Awards.

Richard Lynch, Laurie Mann, Mike Glyer and Timothy Lane discuss “The Lost Art of the Newzine.”. Photo by Carol Porter

A remarkable number of past and present Tor managing editors joined the panel for “Magical Practices of the Publizandi,” a tongue-in-cheek panel that disguised insights worthy of Margaret Mead by offering them in the language of a typical 1930’s travelogue. Survivors (of Tor and other houses) Jane Jewell, Beth Meacham, Teresa Nielsen-Hayden, Tappan King and moderator Sarah Goodman enjoyed themselves hugely. Tappan King droned mystically, “The pitch derives from the package, the package derives from the book…” When someone naively asked, “Is someone actually supposed to read the book?”, Tappan King doubletalked, “We’ve found that editors who have actually read the book cannot give us the hook.”

Tappan King in 1987.

Striving for needless clarity, Sarah Goodman asked panelists to illustrate the “hook” by devising one for Stranger in a Strange Land as if it were being published for the first time. Tappan King smirked that behind the “hook” was editors’ superstition that if you gathered together enough previously-sold objects then you can convince the sales force to hustle your project. So a “hook” for Stranger would come out: “THE WAR OF THE WORLDS MEETS THE NEW TESTAMENT.” Beth Meacham liked: “COUNTER-CULTURE MESSIAH FROM ANOTHER PLANET.” Someone added, “He came from another planet for love, sex and cannibalism.”

King said there are ritual sacrifices that must be made by the publizandi from time to time. “The managing editor is the most obvious person for that function,” he said. Teresa Nielsen Hayden said, “Being managing editor for Tor is like being drummer for Spinal Tap,” and sent the audience into a frenzy of laughter. She and Meacham remembered ritual humor objects handed down through a succession of Tor managing editors.

Teresa narrated the hilariously impossible demands made on managing editors, from the hallucinatory sales estimate forms required long before orders are ever solicited, to eleventh-hour production changes she supposed publishers must believe the “book fairies” will bring about. Just pausing for breath after the last remark, Teresa watched, horrified, as TOR’s publisher Tom Doherty and entourage passed the door, turned back and marched in. Doherty sat in fingernail-biting fascination as Teresa dissolved into giggles. Beth Meacham adroitly rescued the moment, opening her mouth about a completely different subject in a tone of voice as though she was responding to something Teresa had just said.

Someone from the program staff held up a sign at the back of the room that read, “5 Minutes” when it was almost time for the panel to end. Meacham corrected, “Usually, a single digit is spelled out.” Teresa added, “And minute should not be capitalized because it isn’t a sentence.” The staffer paused, then asked, “Y’all need any more water in here?”

MagiCon chair Joe Siclari. Photo by Mark Olson.

THE GRIPE SESSION — NOT! Joe Siclari doesn’t understand how gripe sessions are supposed to run: he is blessed. At the Worldcon gripe session they take the lid off emotions that have been stewing four or five days. You get Malcolm Edwards trying to explain how L. Ron Hubbard bought the pocket program. You see people calculating whether to gang-tackle Mike Phillips because it looks like in another split-second he’s going to charge John Guidry.

What you never see is a gripe session like MagiCon’s where seven out of the first ten comments are directing credit to people who worked different areas of the convention, and out of the other three, the worst gripe is about the tiny size of names on membership badges! People complimented everything from babysitting and childrens’ programming to art show security and handicapped access. It was a Worldcon chairman’s heaven on earth!

From the Gripe Session Joe dashed to Closing Ceremonies, which were reported for File 770 (and the daily zine) by Laurie Mann.

CLOSING CEREMONIES. By Laurie Mann —

MagiCon’s chair Joe Siclari opened closing ceremonies by introducing Spider Robinson who quipped, “I’d like to thank the other MagiCon guests, Jack Chalker, Vincent Van Gogh and Walter Miller.”

Siclari briefly recapped MagiCon’s origin as a bid as in the ConFederation Program Book (1986). He thanks the bid’s founder, Becky Thomson, and all the division directors by name. He had the area heads rise en masse to applause by the attendees.

Events czar Steve Whitmore interrupted the proceedings to bring Vincent DiFate to the podium. Vincent grabbed Joe’s mike and told him to sit down to be awarded. “After all, a crew is only as good as its captain. Think of this as a testimonial (not a memorial, though I’m sure a few of you want him dead.”) Di Fate presented Joe with a white box, causing the standard “ticking” jokes in the audience. The box contained a commemorative MagiCon plaque with footsteps in it, and a Mickey Mouse “Sorcerer’s Apprentice” doll to fill the footsteps with. Joe was almost speechless, shocking many people in the audience.

Dave Kyle came up to the podium and received Joe’s thanks on behalf of First Fandom. Kyle said, “The dinosaurs lived for millions of years. Chairing a Worldcon is like a geologic period. We First Fandom dinosaurs leave hibernation long enough to attend Worldcon. We get rejuvenated at each Worldcon, but we can’t help but look around in wonder and ask… My ghod, what did we create?” (applause and laughter) “And I’m glad we did.”

MagiCon Publications. Jon Gustafson edited and designed the Program Book. I edited, and Dave Ratti designed the Progress Reports.

Joe announced it was time to close the time capsule. To commemorate the 50^th Worldcon, MagiCon collected material for a time capsule, destined to be opened at the 100^th Worldcon. Many, many items were put in, including:

• Barrayar, this year’s Hugo-winning novel;
• MagiCon souvenirs, pins, patches, and publications;
• Worldcon bidding material, including Glasgow water bottles and a Scotch box, ConFrancisco kazoo, LA in ’84 key rings, Chicon VI tissues, and material from I-95-in-’95, Louisville, and Australia bids;
• Fantasy Showcase Tarot Deck (edited for Noreascon 2 by Bruce Pelz);
• Duct tape;
• First Fandom card from Dave  Kyle;
• Lots of fanzines, magazines, and buttons (including the “Clue,” “For All I Know I Might Have Won A Hugo,” and “None of the Above” buttons);
• China Coast chopsticks;
• Sci Fi Channel material;
• Helicon flask;
• Westercon sash;
• Kate Bush CD;
• Bow tie from Ben Yalow;
• Super Hugo book;
• Joe Siclari’s signature hat;
• Hotel keys;
• Charlie Seelig’s MagiCon badge;
• Spider Robinson’s guitar pick;
• Orlando Sentinel for September 7, 1992, which included a piece on MagiCon;
• Many ribbon, including a “Dave Kyle Says I Can Sit Here” ribbon with Francis Ford Coppola’s signature;
• Hugo pin and statue;
• 7 for 77 badge (historical note: ’77 WOULD have been the first Orland Worldcon except hotel trouble forced the con to move to Miami);
• Golf ball and golf club;
• “Seth’s balls” (never did see that, but that’s what it SOUNDED like he said!!);
• NASA material, including a picture of thee first space shuttle crew “Priority” envelope;
• Glitz from the Costumer’s Guide;
• Complete set of Slant (Walt Willis’ fanzine);
• ConFrancisco gavel.

Adding material to the box went on for awhile and the audience grew restive, so Joe eventually locked the box, and, using a golf club as a gavel, declared MagiCon over.

He turned things over to Dave Clark, ConFrancisco chair, who immediately told the audience, “I feel fine, thank you.” [This was dark humor, referencing Clark having succeeded the late Terry Biffel as chair.]

Many members of the ConFrancisco committee entered in costume and with flags and marched around the hall to the strains of “ConFrancisco, Here We Come.” Dave then presented a slide show, part hard-sell tourist and part fannish, on San Francisco and the next Worldcon. The slide of the Ghirardelli Chocolate Factory garnered the most applause. The ConFrancisco committee then passed fannish fortune cookies through the audience.

As I was leaving, I noticed Program Ops Head Janice Gelb’s button, “And now I’m going to Disney World!” [A play on a typical commercial involving the latest Super Bowl quarterback.]

 

AFTER THE CLOSING CEREMONIES: Did you wonder what happened to the Time Capsule after they finished with it at Closing Ceremonies? Jay Kay Klein got an unintentional look behind-the-scenes.

Jay Kay loaned Joe Siclari some full-size photos of pros to exhibit at the con, which Joe intended to return after closing. But in the heat of the moment everything was swept into the big cooler — Jay Kay’s photos and Siclari’s convention notes included — and it was sealed off. Joe had to have his notes back and in reality the capsule hadn’t been sealed yet: Steve Whitmore was making a catalog of everything contributed. He dug down under the piles and retrieved the photos and notes.

SUMMARY: MagiCon delighted everyone. People will remember it as one of the better Worldcons for several reasons.

First, the committee set reasonable expectations. The committee never conducted themselves in a way that promised to deliver the world, or even the “best Worldcon ever.” What they promised was to work hard and make very creative and intelligent use of their finite resources, which they did.

Second, their modest and friendly approach attracted a lot of help from worldwide fandom. They realistically estimated what Florida convention fans could handle then recruited outside help. Free of the historic paranoia of committees who fear any outside helpers will take over, MagiCon executives knew the “outsiders” as friends of long-standing and were so welcoming that, like Tom Sawyer, they made people practically grateful for a chance to help paint their picket fence.

Some fans consider MagiCon a better con than Noreascon 3, but if Magicon delivered more it’s only because the 1992 committee stood on the shoulders of giants, foremost, the people who ran Noreascon 3. Priscilla Pollner [Olson] played a major role in organizing the program. The theme park Concourse advanced ideas originated in 1989. People from all areas of fandom were unusually generous in their contribution of ideas and energy.

Third, MagiCon’s leadership made very sophisticated use of fanhistory as a premise for exhibits and programs. Perhaps it seemed an obvious goal at the 50th Worldcon, but fans always want a con that reminds them of their historic identity and of all the emotions that bring our scattered tribe together on Labor Day. By filling that need with in dramatic opening ceremonies, a DiFate historic art retrospective, a time capsule, diverse fannish programming that balanced the “trade show” feel of so many pro panels, MagiCon left members well satisfied. No group left feeling taken for granted, from people who are still wistfully remembering the 1949 Cinvention to first-time Worldcon attendees hoping they’d at least find some Star Trek stuff in the Dealer’s Room.

The con’s pleasing personality could only have come from organizers who had looked into their own hearts for what people value in a Worldcon, then spared no effort to deliver it. …And by sending “thank-you” notes to the workers, department heads left them actually willing to think about doing it again!

This is Fanac.org’s photo caption: “Chairman Joe tries to make a putt before his beeper rings again. Actually, Joe has no memory of playing the golf course. See what a Worldcon does to the brain of its chairman.” Photo by Carol Porter.

The Orange County Civic and Convention Center sign announcing MagiCon. Behind is a view of the MagiCon headquarters hotel, The Peabody. Photo by Carol Porter

Introduction: Twenty-five years ago today Magicon began in Orlando, Florida. A great con, and I thought it would be fun to reprint the report I ran in File 770. Here is the first daily installment.

The Worldcon was held in the Orange County Convention and Civic Center, The Peabody Hotel, and The Clarion Hotel.

Report by Mike Glyer: A short monorail ride delivered airport passengers to Orlando’s airport baggage claim where they boarded the shuttle bus to International Drive, a trip they’d complete without seeing anything developers hadn’t tamed to resemble a well-manicured golf course. Hi-tech, planned, smooth, everything conspired to achieve an illusion that the airport terminal gate was the entrance to Disneyworld. – Look out! Who’s that in the road…??!

Filksingers Lee and Barry Gold and many others discovered it could be worth their lives jaywalking International Drive between the Peabody Hotel and the Orange County Civic and Convention Center. As my shuttle passed, they leaped from the curb, guitars in hand, and ran through a gap in traffic. Less adventuresome fen used a marked crosswalk and waited on the traffic light.

FACILITIES: Seen from the Clarion Hotel the Orange County Civic and Convention Center looked like a white riverboat. Three recessed cornices at the center of the building resembled a riverboat’s stepped-back decks, flanked on each side by blunt hallways ending in arched romanesque windows like paddlewheel housings.

Unlike convention facilities in wintry cities, many sections of the Orlando convention center were illuminated by natural daylight. The airy, open sense of natural space raised everyone’s spirit.

A night view of the Orange County Civic & Convention Center where most of the MagiCon activities took place. Photo by Carol Porter

REGISTRATION: Membership services opened Wednesday and followed the recent trend of registering nearly half the attending members (2,300) the night before the official opening. Final attendance figures were hard to come by. Interim reports in the daily newzine said by noon Saturday there were 5,423 members present, including 213 dailies and 395 full memberships bought at the door.

The con required members to show a photo ID to get their packets. And they were serious — they even carded Danny Siclari, the con chairman’s son. A good thing, too, because Danny went around the rest of the weekend offering Masquerade tickets and panicking people who failed to get the joke. Jay Kay Klein, who has an absolute phobia about being unrecognized, produced a photograph of himself standing with Robert Silverberg and Isaac Asimov and asked, “Will this do?”

The influx of at-the-door memberships put $40,000 in the coffers, allowing the committee to restore budget cuts made in July based on dire predictions. The Green Room ran out of coffee within two hours of opening, but new membership money allowed them to refill coffee as needed after Thursday.

That computerized registration software hadn’t been perfected was admitted to MagiCon officials only five days before the con. Vice-chair Becky Thomson dialed the Worldcon’s answer to 911, computer consultant Ross Pavlac, for an emergency assist. For devoting long hours on short notice to writing a program he was presented a “Magicon Hero” medal on closing day. The attention he got wearing the medal at Magicon was nothing compared to the fuss made over him by parking lot attendants and waiters at Disneyworld…

Crickett Fox wearing her MagiCon Hero medal.

Few such “saving throws” were needed by MagiCon because years in advance the central committee had done extensive recruitment of veteran convention runners and kept open communication with them with divisional APAs, e-mail and committee meetings at regionals. Money was at a premium but fans from all over the east coast (especially Boston) and England joined the core committee of Floridians and overcame resource problems with hard work.

OPENING CEREMONIES: Fans milling outside Hall A half an hour beyond the scheduled starting time for opening ceremonies because the dress rehearsal ran over were rewarded by the most excellent opening ceremonies of the 11 Worldcons I’ve attended.

The hall darkened, John Williams’ Olympic fanfare rang out, astronomical slides were projected and a voice in the rafters rumbled that we were at MagiCon, the 50th Worldcon.

“Thank you, Lord,” answered toastmaster Spider Robinson, stepping into a spotlight. His introduction dedicated the con to three “ghosts of honor”, Heinlein, Sturgeon and Asimov. He alluded to another great still with us, Clarke, while debunking the familiar Magicon motto: “Blending science and technology — as if there was a difference!”

Toastmaster Spider Robinson.

Blundering into Spider’s rap came wizard Richard Hill in a gaudy foil robe. Hill had little idea about science and even less about science fiction. Spider faded offstage and let the “voice from above” guide Hill through a retrospective of science fiction. Beginning with an avalanche of familiar definitions of the genre authored by Knight, Panshin and others, the voice mercifully changed tack and finished with a gentle, anecdotal review of the field’s history illustrated by images projected on three screens, or dramatized by other actors.

Like the audioanimatronic presidents down the road at Disneyworld, Verne and Wells appeared in period costume. From 50 feet away they looked an awful lot like Don Eastlake and Anthony Lewis (but weren’t.) Other live actors included First Fandomites in vintage sf costumes, such as 1939 Worldcon attendees Ackerman and Kyle; perhaps I should have recognized them all, but I didn’t.

Once the play had unfolded Spider Robinson returned to say, “I’d like to thank you all for coming — or however you’re reacting.” He extended his thanks to the father of modern science fiction, Hugo Gernsback, “who established a pay rate which is still in effect for many publications.”

Then convention chairman Joe Siclari brought out the honored guests, Jack and Norma Vance, Walt and Madeleine Willis, and Vincent Di Fate.

MAGICON CONCOURSE: A tradition, in fandom, is anything that’s been done once. When Noreascon 3 (1989) transformed its convention center’s wastelands into a thematic concourse of standing exhibits, lounges and bidder tables the fannish consciousness promptly grasped that was the way things ought to be done. Despite Boston’s successful experiment the next two Worldcons in Holland and Chicago returned to disjointed orthodoxy, leaving Magicon the first to recapture the spirit of Noreascon by creatively organizing the generic gray expanse of the OCCCC’s exhibit hall.

MagiCon Concourse. Photo by Mark Olson

Magicon enjoyed a great success by applying its people-power principle to overcome budget restraints. Just as Tom Sawyer dealt with whitewashing the picket fence, Magicon franchised its miniature golf holes to fan groups who paid for construction and staffed them because it looked like too much fun to miss!

Magicon ingeniously combined fan GoH Walt Willis’ imaginary world and favorite recreation into the thematic 10-hole Enchanted Duplicator Golf Course that snaked around the exhibit hall. Every hole was sponsored by a bidding committee, regional con or club who paid for materials and in many cases ran a table on site. The MCFI/Noreascon 4 bid took the hole shaped like the number 4. SCIFI/LA in ’96 had one in the shape of a question mark. The Glasgow in ’95 hole used scotch bottles to shape the playing area. Each hole featured a signboard quoting the passage from Enchanted Duplicator that served as its inspiration. The holes were constructed of astroturf with plywood curbs as boundaries. Homemade golf clubs (with wood blocks for heads), and plastic whiffle-golf-balls were stocked at every hole.

The entire miniature golf course was built inside the convention center. Each hole was themed to a scene from the Enchanted Duplicator, the most famous piece by Fan Guest of Honor Walter Willis (co-authored and illustrated by Bob Shaw.) Each hole was built by a different fannish club or worldcon bidder. The first hole was built and tested in the NESFA clubhouse, the last hole was built by the South Florida Science Fiction Society when they should have been preparing for Hurricane Andrew which hit South Florida the day after SFSFS constructed the Tower of Trufandom. Photo by Carol Porter

The miniature golf course proved more entertaining than its sponsors hoped, providing a great outlet for childrens’ energy and an entire new way for adults to think about normally drab convention centers. LA in ’96 gave away souvenir tokens to anyone making par (six strokes), and “Gummi Rats” to anyone who set or tied the hole record. A few of the younger kids became obsessed with the idea of breaking par. Michael Bienewicz-Velada (about 9 years old) and Len Wein (9 years old during Nixon’s “Checkers” speech) set a hole record at four. It fell to a young girl who played through a few dozen times and trimmed the record to three strokes.

Kids’ enthusiasm did little damage to the sturdy equipment provided by the Magicon Golf Hole Staff even when bludgeoning the ball through some of the trickier obstacles.

Hole #2, sponsored by the Fandom Association of Central Texas, which was bidding for San Antonio in ’97.

The Enchanted Duplicator Golf Course. Hole #3: The Circle of LASFSitude. As you can see the lasfsitude overtook the decoration of this hole. The most elaborate decoration was Bruce Pelz’ collection of MagiCon ribbons which you can see in progress hanging in the photo. LASFS member Drew Sanders is standing on the right.

The hole created by the Glasgow in ’95 Worldcon bid for the MagiCon golf course. Obstacles were added daily — the whiskey bottles emptied by their bid parties.

Bruce Pelz and Gary Louie spent Thursday morning hanging the History of the Worldcon exhibits, a collection of myriad  clippings, badges, pictures and membership badges. Nearby was a table full of irreplaceable Worldcon Program Books available to browse. This year there was an unprecdented theft from the exhibit: taken was an autographed copy of Robert Heinlein’s 1941 guest of honor speech. Pelz seemed resigned to the loss of the speech, handling it with black humor by pointing out although the text was signed by Heinlein and his spouse, Virginia had signed it, not Leslyn, Heinlein’s wife in 1941.

Bruce Pelz showing off the History of Worldcons exhibit. Photo by Mark Olson

A Glasgow bidder, in blue bid t-shirt and a plaid kilt, tried to have a conversation with Gary Louie. He was interrupted by Dutch fan Larry Van der Putte’s less-than-traditional greeting: walking up behind and lifting the fellow’s kilt to see what he was wearing underneath. The Scot replied to Larry’s greeting, “I’ll kill you later!”

Tim Illingworth and Marcia Kelly McCoy. Photo by Mark Olson.

A cyclopean eye against a far wall was the Sci-Fi Channel’s preview screen formed of 16 color television monitors alternately presenting mosaics of large single images or smaller redundant images.

The concourse was partitioned off from the rear half of the exhibit hall reserved for the Dealers’ Room and Art Show. At the Dealers’ Room entrance Dick Spelman sat behind a table, providing information, handling problems, and doling out the peach-colored ribbons which identified the sellers. On closer observation one discovered two versions of the same ribbon, one stamped “Dealer,” and the other, “Huckster.” Whichever title a seller used to refer to himself, Spelman was ready.

THE GENERALISSIMO OF BOLIVIA EFFECT: In fact, the worldcon tradition of creating a variety of colored ribbons achieved kaleidoscopic extremes at Magicon. Almost everyone enjoyed it as much as I did, but one of the exceptions was Rick Foss. At the end of a long evening of partying, Rick observed, “It’s been many years since I was at a con without seeing somebody wearing many ribbons to show how important he is passed out on a couch somewhere.”

Later at the gripe session someone claimed an unauthorized fan was giving directions during masquerade set-up and was obeyed because of his intimidating fruit salad of convention ribbons.

Most fans enjoy collecting all the badge paraphernalia they can. With a minimal investment of effort nearly anyone could get a “Jack Vance Festival of All Worlds”, “Site Selection Voter” or “Gopher” ribbon. Several clubs (NESFA, WSFA, BSFS) had their own powder-blue ribbons. The San Antonio in ’97 bid gave ribbons to presupporters. Boston in ’98 presupporters got an enamel pin. Hugo nominees received little gold-colored rocket pins (gold, because it was the 50th Worldcon). Badge stickers were handed out at most bid parties.

Magicon also had specialized ribbons identifying “Past Worldcon Guest of Honor” and “Past Worldcon Chairman”, Hugo nominees, program participants, art show exhibitors, concommittee and staff. There were also yellow ribbons for “Feather Dance Ceremony” (a Seth Breidbart hoax) and red ones stating “Dave Kyle Says You Can Sit Here.” For Worldcon exhibit collector, Bruce Pelz, they even had one captioned: “Set Completer.”

Bruce Pelz wearing his MagiCon ribbon collection.

CARPE PER DIEM: Thursday before the meet-the-pros, Elst Weinstein led two carloads of us to a Orlando shopping mall containing half a dozen upscale restaurants. We selected the Phoenikian, specializing in North African and Middle East cuisine.

Elst is a fascinating and dangerous dinner companion: since cooking exotic food is his passion he can advise and entertain about practically anything on the menu. But being Elst — once he has his dinner companions’ confidence he can’t resist a little put-on. The first time he got some fans in an Iranian restaurant he ultimately persuaded them into making finger sandwiches from the pita bread and all the condiments at the table: butter, chopped onion, chopped mint leaves and yogurt sauce. Now I believe if Elst went to dinner with six fans who had never been inside an American restaurant before, after he enthralled them with the legend of Worcestershire sauce and cellophane-wrapped crackers he’d probably instruct his slackjawed audience how to concoct an appetizer with the lemon-scented fingerbowl water…

RECURRING NIGHTMARES — MEET THE VIPS: Our dinner group arrived in the middle of Thursday night’s frantic “Meet the VIP’s” reception in the Clarion ballroom. As Richard Brandt said in next morning’s newzine, “In the dim, cavernous hall I was jotting down notes…pressed up against a far wall when a functionary with an Events gizmo came trotting over and demanded who had raised the lights. ‘You’re backing up against the dimmer switch,’ he told me. ‘Nobody touches the dimmer switch.’ ‘Heavens forfend,’ I replied, straining my eyes to see if I could recognize my date. I think she had stepped outside for some light.”

Crowds of party-dressed people were roaring to be heard above Mike Resnick, who was announcing Magicon notables over the public address while maybe three people in the room actually paid attention. As guests’ index cards were handed to him Resnick read their two-line bios; the three people paying attention looked around expecting the people Resnick was introducing to be spotlighted, or wave, or at least be in the room. No such luck. The meaningless recitation was painfully reminiscent of Shari Tepper’s depiction in Grass of believers’ names given a ritual utterance by a recorder at the universal church.

In “Xenogenesis” Harlan Ellison proved that from time to time fans do awful things to pros. What was done to Resnick belongs on the list. Sought after to emcee events like meet-the-pros, the Hugos (at NOLAcon) and the masquerade (at Chicon V), Mike Resnick has excellent stage presence, a wonderful announcing voice, good stories, and he’s easy for a committee to work with. How many more times Resnick will say “yes” is a question after he’s repeatedly had to salvage events from the mistakes of their organizers. I respect his loyalty, for no one’s patience is inexhaustible!

Indeed, the whole “meet-the-pros” concept proved unworkable long before I began attending Worldcons. Wrote Walt Willis in 1952 to those absent from Chicon I’s  opening ceremonies: “[T]he only spectacles they missed were those of Erle (‘I cannot see’) Korshak as he peered despairingly about the vast auditorium looking for familiar faces to introduce. The Convention Hall was actually a huge terraced restaurant, with tier after tier of small tables rising in semi-circles from a large stage. One result of this was that even those who were within a stone’s throw of the official programme tended to ignore it as if it were a sort of cabaret.”

The “Platonic ideal” meet-the-pros reception allows fans easy access to the writers they want to meet, gives newcomers the means to match pros’ names to their faces, while it provides the pros comfortable surroundings.

But Worldcons are no closer to this achievement today than they were in 1952. The less-known guests reluctantly attend, anxious about an introduction to a blank-faced audience. Some experienced pros stay away for the very reason they will be recognized and overwhelmed by more fans than they can hope to converse with. Newcomers waiting for a particular favorite cannot enjoy a party while they are concentrating on a succession of introductions, and veteran fans, knowing the futility, get on with their noisy party and make it impossible for those actually listening. These psychological constants assure no amount of tweaking and revamping will ever make the “meet-the-pros party” into a successful Worldcon concept.

Several regional conventions have abandoned the concept without anyone noticing because they have kept the name. But “meet-the-pros” means two extremely different things at Armadillocon and BayCon. At Armadillocon everyone gathers into the biggest program room on Friday night and listens while a humorous pro like Shiner, Cadigan, Snodgrass or Connie Willis cracks jokes about friends in the audience: it’s great stand-up comedy and makes no pretense of giving systematic coverage of the guests. In contrast, BayCon is completely systematic, stationing guests at tables on the perimeter of a ballroom and having fans circulate among them in a glorified autograph party. (The number of guests and attendees at a Worldcon probably rules out adopting BayCon’s model, as would the amount of regimentation, which might alienate some well-known pros.)

Art Show Print Shop. Photo by Carol Porter

ART SHOW: MagiCon’s “meet-the-pros” made a worrisome first impression, but did not prove typical of the committee’s planning or awareness of people’s needs. Only an hour later I was both grateful and impressed about Thursday night’s Art Show preview for MagiCon staff. This year no worker needed to say he or she was too busy working the con to see the Art Show

At the staff preview, as he did throughout the weekend, Vincent Di Fate guided fans through an extensive exhibit of his collection of historic science fiction art, giving his insights on each artist’s technique and impact on the field.

[Continued: Worldcon Wayback Machine: Friday at MagiCon (1992) Day Two.]

Vincent DiFate