Harry Harrison

Blog time came up and I realized I’d never covered this particular author, who deserves more attention than he gets:  Harry Harrison.

Ross.  This story has a beginning.  For those of you who don’t care, fast forward.  For the rest of you, listen…

Back in the 1880s, I went to college at the University of Maryland, College Park.  After freshman year, spring of 1887, we received a letter from Resident Life asking if we wanted to move to a nice newer dorm in the South Hill neighborhood of College Park Shire.   We readily responded, “Indeed!”  Therefore, upon returning to the campus in late August 1887, to start my sophomore year, I found my new home. 

Soon I sought out my comrade Baron, who had been living in a double in Wicomico Hall, in the slightly less upscale North Hill neighborhood.  It turns out his upgrade was not as fancy:  to a single in the front T section on the top floor.   I visited him often.  The Resident Adviors (RAs) in this dorm wouldn’t blink if they saw a sophomore with a beer. 

At the end of his hall was Ross.   Ross was cool.  (1)  He went to high school with half of Delta Sigma Phi, so we got to hang out with his frat buddies there.  (2) VERY IMPORTANT:  He knew the Scorpions had been around longer than Matthias Jabs had been in the band, and clued me into Fly To The Rainbow, which he had on vinyl.   Ken alerted me to Lonesome Crow, and another adventure began.  (3) He told me about Harry Harrison, a sci-fi author from the US.

HH started writing in the early 1960s.  He started from a Heinlein baseline and added some Philip K. Dick -type irreverence, though not going nearly as far in the TOTALLY F’IN WEIRD department as PKD does – then again, no one short of Cixin Liu (The Three Body Problem) has managed that.

He was well-liked by fellow sci-fi authors and is somewhat of a cult figure in Russia – the latest SSR stories are only in Russian.  Politically he was quasi-libertarian and atheist. 

Stainless Steel Rat.   If there’s a #1 character associated with Harrison, it’s the Stainless Steel Rat.  He’s a thief in the future, who has to survive amidst a technically advanced society with all sorts of sophisticated surveillance.   Just as the rats of the Middle Ages crawled amidst the sewers and wood, the rat of the future has to survive amidst stainless steel.  The SSR, James DiGriz, justifies his livelihood by explaining that he steals from big companies which have theft insurance, so it’s all covered.   I’ve read several of the stories and found him modestly sympathetic and entertaining.  Given how much I enjoy his writing even now (recently finished Make Room) I should probably revisit these.   This guy wound up as a character in the British sci-fi comic magazine 2000AD, best known as the source for Judge Dredd. 

Bill the Galactic Hero.   This started as a spoof on Starship Troopers and continued.  It’s modestly entertaining.

Deathworld.   Bad ass planet where literally everything will kill you instantly – every life form and even the plants hate your guts.  Aside from that I can’t recall much about it.

Those are the series.  He has a few one-off books which are good:

The Technicolor Time Machine.  A movie studio has a limited budget and a tight schedule BUT they have a killer secret weapon: a real time machine.  This lets them shoot their Viking epic ON LOCATION, not merely geographically but also temporally.  They pay the main Viking dude in whiskey, which the Vikings never had.  The time machine also lets them essentially do the entire movie in 5 minutes.  It’s very clever.

A Transatlantic Tunnel! Hurrah!   A Steampunk story about an alternate world in which the Brits won the Revolutionary War.  Washington’s distant descendent is a top notch engineer, and he successfully orchestrates construction of a transatlantic tunnel from England to the colonies.   Pretty fun.

Make Room!  Make Room!   The most recent one I read.  This was written in the mid-60s and takes place in NYC in our own time.  Food is scarce.  The weather is hot.   Aside from that, not much happens.  They claim it forms the basis for “Soylent Green”, the sci-fi horror movie with Charlton Heston, but having seen that one and read this from cover to cover, I’d say the connection is practically nil.  That would be the only film adaptation of any of his stories.

Dad

I’m aware that biologically, all my readers – not just my brother and sister – have fathers, some living, some deceased.  As my brother has children, he is also a father.  Me?  Not yet – to my knowledge.   This is my tribute to my dad.  Rest in Peace.

Born in Brooklyn, NY, in 1928.  He grew up during the Great Depression.   His first job as a teenager was working in a mortuary.  He was too young to fight in WWII, and by the Korean War he was in the seminary.  He said our grandfather was a chauffeur for the Mayor of NYC.   He went to Bishop Loughlin Memorial High School in Brooklyn.  Strangely, he's the only one of his siblings without a Brooklyn accent.  Moreover, he didn't seem to share my uncles' typical pride in being from Brooklyn.

Priest.  He became a Catholic priest.  In Brooklyn this was a big deal.  Major big shot.  He talked of giving last rites, especially at the scene of grisly auto accidents.   Eventually he transferred to Canada, eh, then to the DC area.  Remarkably, my Mom went to his parish but only recalls seeing him once – at a donut function.

’55 Chevy.   When still a priest, he bought one of the first ’55 Belairs, with the new small block Chevy V8 (nope, not a 327).  It was jet black.  Bad ass.  Unfortunately that was the first year for all of that, so the Chevy engineers hadn’t worked out all the bugs yet, and the dealership gave him a hard time about fixing it.  A car dealer ripping off a PRIEST?  Come on, you really have to be a hardcore scumbag to rip off a priest.  That was it for muscle cars for him.

Dept of Commerce.  At some point in the mid-60s, he decided he wanted out of the priesthood.  He applied for, and received, a release from his vows.  Mind you, he was (and always was) very handsome, so I’m sure his female congregation felt, “what a waste”.  Not only that, I have lots of cousins, most of whom are older than me (all my first cousins are) and some of whom were even baptized by him.  While Dad never expressly confided his reasons for leaving the priesthood, we can speculate with some degree of plausibility that wanting to start a family was probably the #1 reason.  

My Dad met my Mom when they were both working in the Lyndon Johnson White House.  He worked for the Bureau of the Budget, she was the Big Guy’s personal nurse.  [By the way, this business of LBJ whipping out his Johnson was BS, she said.  The worst he’d do was continue a conversation while he was on the toilet, without closing the door.]

His civilian job with the Dept. of Commerce involved tourism and lots of travel.   He brought back lots of cool stuff.  The ultimate perk was getting a position at the US Embassy in Paris, so we moved there in January 1979 and lived there until August 1990.   Needless to say, living in Paris was interesting.  I’ve covered my travels in earlier blogs, here I’ll just give him the richly deserved credit for making those travels possible. 

Hard work.   To say he was hardworking would be an understatement.  I think he deliberately took as much as he could, and felt that anything less than maximum effort was being a lazy bum. 

Sense of humor.   Despite this, he had a strong sense of humor.  Both his brothers, my Uncle Buddy and Uncle Raymond, were also huge jokers.  The one I remember most was his claim whenever we wanted to go somewhere he wasn’t thrilled about taking us, usually Toys R Us:  “didn’t you hear?  There was a huge fire, it all burned down.”  Oddly, none of his jokes ever got dull.

Warmth.   Also very carinhoso, as the Brazilians would say.   Usually hardworking people are dour and serious, with little compassion.  He was as warm as a person could be.  He’d get angry, but not easily, and if you pissed him off you’d really screwed up.

 

Better Call Saul.  I’m proud that I managed to finish law school and pass the bar well before he passed away.  He took immense pride that I was a practicing attorney, representing ordinary people and appearing in court as a trial lawyer.  

Demise.  In December 2004, I was due to meet up with him and my mom around 2 p.m. to work on my apartment.  I had a traffic case that morning, but the client knew he was guilty and I had a reasonable expectation of pleading the case out, as most such cases do, thus I’d be back at home in time to meet up with him.  On this day, the Commonwealth’s Attorney (prosecutor) was late, and although I did successfully plead out the case, I was back to the office by 2 instead of noon.  I called him to tell him that, and he said no big deal, we’d meet up on a different day.

That evening, I was on my way to the gym, when my sister called.  My father had collapsed in the kitchen in our parents’ apartment in Frederick, Maryland.  My brother and I drove with my Mom to the hospital in Hagerstown, Maryland, just about 30 minutes west of Frederick, where we discovered the awful truth:  my dad had a stroke.   This was not the kind where he wakes up half-asleep and can’t use half his body.  This was the kind where your brain explodes from the inside out and you’re effectively brain-dead forever.  He never woke up or regained consciousness.  It was GAME OVER.  And it was sudden, out of the blue.  I’ll never forget it.  

Dad is buried in Arlington National Cemetery, due to my Mom being a former LCDR (Sturmbannfuhrerin) in the US Navy (during Vietnam, not WWII - she's not that old).  My uncle, a former WWII B24 pilot (his older brother) is also buried nearby.   Oddly, his parents' tombstone in the Brooklyn cemetery has his name on it (1928- ) presumably because they purchased the stone when he was still a priest.

Fortunately my Mom is still around, and she’s older now than he was when he died.  We try to take care of her as best we can.  But we’ll never forget Dad.  

Fireworks

This July 4 I stayed home, as usual, but watched the fireworks on TV.  That is, the Macy’s NYC fireworks being blown off of ships on the East River between Manhattan and Bronx/Queens/Brooklyn.   As fireworks go, they were fine, and watching them on TV spared me the necessity of going to Bronx/Queens/Brooklyn or East Manhattan – as they were NOT visible from Fort Lee, New Jersey, which has an island of buildings called Manhattan blocking the view.   

Kid.   I recall when I was very small and young (both) we lived in Monkey Village, G-Burg, Maryland, USA, Earth, Solar System.  Our house had a good view of Lake Whetstone.  The local fireworks were launched from an island on the lake.  They went up in the sky, exploded, and made a noise which frightened Little Baby Me, so much so my Dad had to take me inside and miss the fireworks himself.  But soon thereafter I got over my fear and began the trek to being jaded and bored.

DC.   One year (probably in the early ‘90s) my friend Phil, Mariano, and I went down to the National Mall in DC near the Washington Monument and watched the fireworks for July 4.  These were big.  Huge.   Fabulous.  Make your head spin.   However, we got a Rain of Ashes, which was not good.  Nor was the huge crowd all trying to get on the Metro at the same time to go home.  I’m not aware that they ever televise the DC fireworks.

Paris.   In Paris, they celebrate their own version of July 4, which is Bastille Day, July 14.  On that day the gendarmes (cops) let everyone fire their own s**t.  That included us, in the Parc de Bagatelle.  And there may have been fireworks.   I don’t remember.  Maybe on July 14, 1989, which was their BiCentennial, 200 years since the sans-culottes stormed the infamous prison on the east side of Paris, liberating King Louis XVI’s political prisoners and starting the French Revolution.   We got to hear the Marseillaise over and over again.  Who knew there were multiple stanzas?  We found out.  Incidentally, I like the Marseillaise, as national anthems go it’s better than the Star Spangled Banner.   If I were the Trumpo, Supreme Asshole, I’d make “America The Beautiful” the national anthem.  Stay tuned in case that happens.

Meanwhile, back on July 4, we’d go to the Boulogne Compound and the Marines would BBQ fireworks and set them off.  That was cool.   Modest but fun.

Rio.   In Brazil, fireworks are for New Year’s Eve.  In 2001 and 2003 I was there, in Rio de Janeiro, for NYE.  In 2001, it was raining, but they went off anyway – which I thought was a miracle.  Then we had the same issue getting home, huge crowds, packed buses, trying to get to where we were staying in Ipanema.  In 2003 it was clear, and we were staying two blocks from the beach, which made getting home considerably easier.  They launch the fireworks from boats off the beach, at various “posts”.  They’re fairly impressive.  Everyone wears white for NYE.

By now, however, I’m “been there, done that” about fireworks.   Up they go:  BOOM!  Maybe some variations, but nothing new or different.  The Japanese fireworks I posted were a remarkable change, plus that earlier post about an accident when they inadvertently (or maybe deliberately, I suspect) set them all off at once, resulting in an immense fireball (San Diego, CA, 2012;  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VXmvLf0DjqY).

Were it not for issues of fallout, I’d suggest using nuclear weapons as fireworks.  (E.g. Tsar Bomb, 1961, 50 megatons: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RNYe_UaWZ3U).   Launch them offshore, or in remote locations.  Someone can figure it out.  Get working, people.     

Romances

I’ll try to keep this brief, discreet (no last names, DOBs, or SSNs), and as unobjectionable as I can.

I don’t consider myself a ladies’ man, particularly handsome or charming.  I’ve had a string of romances but have never married, and very possibly never will, not due to any principled objection to doing so but more due to the absence of willing brides.  Here are the ladies most worth mentioning, though not all the relationships were equally substantial – the order is purely chronological.

Courtney.   American.  We were very friendly in elementary school, at our peak during summer of ’78 between my fourth and fifth grades at St. Martin’s in Gaithersburg.  Just kissing – what more can you do when you’re 9 years old?  No clue where she is now.

Catherine.   American.  We were friends at Marymount in Paris, later American School of Paris, from fifth through tenth grade.  One date: “The Gods Must Be Crazy” (high school) at a movie theater on the Champs Elysees.   After that she was “busy”.  I believe she went to William & Mary for college, but I’m not sure.  No clue where she is now.

April.   American.  Redhead.   Friends in college, University of Maryland, College Park.  We worked together briefly at the ice cream shop at the Stamp Union, but she refused to date me – nor did I date anyone else during that time.  We chatted online after finding each other on Facebook, but I have not met her in person since college.  She lives in California.

Lee.  American.  Classmates at GMUSL.  Never dated as she didn’t like me.   I didn’t date in law school, but of all the girls I met during that time, I’d call Lee my favorite.  I met up with her at lunch at a CLE a few years back, and she shows up at the local GMUSL reunions although she lives so far down in Virginia she’s practically in North Carolina. 

From law school (graduated in 1993) until CACI in 1999, I went on a few dates but nothing past that.  Likewise, I’ve been on several dating sites over the years and have had as much success – and mostly failure – as anyone else can complain about.  Too many were crash and burn occasions where the lack of chemistry was obvious immediately (“check please!”).  I can avoid naming names because I can’t remember them anyway.  By the way – I’ve heard women complain about the duplicity and dishonesty of men on dating sites, the #1 complaint being that the guys in question are actually married and using the site to score side chicks.  I don’t know that I’d say the same about the women I met, but I did find too many of them dishonest in other ways.  The sad thing about it is that at the time when it’s most crucial to establish trust, the parties are the least honest. 

Leila.   Brazilian (carioca).  GF from late ’99 to late ’03.  Met at CACI in spring 1999.  Three trips to Rio de Janeiro together, then visited her in Rio in 2004 and 2005.  She moved back to the US in summer 2007.   The romance did not resume, although we remain friends.   I learned Portuguese from her and caught the soccer virus from her as well.  Linda e carinhosa.

Julia.  Romanian.  Met online.  Not really romantic, as she preferred another American guy who promised to visit her and never did.  Saw her in Bucharest: dinner in August 2006.

Gia.  Romanian. Met online.  My fiance in summer 2006.  Saw her in Bucharest, April then August 2006.   She was cheating on me with her Romanian BF, while married to a Dutch man AND just finished living with a French guy, who she was living with while still married to the Dutch guy.  She dumped me because the Romanian BF, who was married, promised her he’d leave his wife for her – and of course he didn’t.  D’oh!  As it was, the Dutch guy had a Dutch GF which pissed her off, even as she was sleeping with me.  Did I mention that her social life was extremely complicated?   In any case, sponsoring her as a fiancé was complicated by her existing marriage to the dude in Holland.  Ended in August 2006.  Presumably she’s still living in Bucharest.  (Classic line: “shut up and f**k me”)

Reggie.  Phillipina.  Met on dating site.  Dated September ‘06 to November ‘06.  She moved to Chicago permanently in January 2007.  No clue where she is now.  Remember my beef about dishonesty on dating sites?  She complained that “men on here aren’t serious”, yet when we started dating in September she knew she would be moving to Chicago the following January.  “Consistency is all I ask for.”

Thao.  Vietnamese.  Former secretary.  Dated a few times from 2003 to present, but never reached intimacy as she really didn’t like me and simply liked me to buy her dinner.  Looking at her watch constantly was a nice touch.  Eventually I got the clue and stopped calling her.  She wound up marrying some Viet guy and I drafted a prenup for her.

Huong.  Vietnamese.  Former secretary. September to November 2007.  Dumped me for a man who lived in same house as her, then switched over to a colleague of mine.  Presumably lives in DC area with him.  Who knows?

Karina.  Brazilian (from Recife).  Dated in May 2008.  Saw her briefly in November 2008.   I’m friends with her friend Jana, who lives nearby.  Either she lives in Brazil or Florida, never any place close by.  I can’t complain about her as she’s nice and our relationship didn’t work out because she lived too far away, not any fault of hers.

Sarah.  Chinese (Yunnan Province).  Dated November 08 to January 09.  The relationship ended because she decided she didn’t like me.  She married an American guy and has a son with him. They live in Virginia. 

Loni.  Chinese (Shanghai).  As proud being from Shanghai as Leila was being from Rio.  June 2009 to present, she lives in Northern New Jersey, just outside NYC, and works in NYC itself.  Her son has graduated high school, college, and is now in the USAF.  One trip to L.A. in 2010, several trips, including Providence & Newport, and the Jersey Shore on numerous occasions (including last weekend).  She stayed with me in Virginia for several months in 2011 when she worked at Harris Teeter near Leesburg.  Mostly I drove to New Jersey back and forth, and even waived into the New York Bar, which took three trips to Albany.  She has a nice figure (rare among Asian women) and somewhat of a temper (not rare among Asian women), but she’s certainly interesting.  But where is Mary?

Somehow it seems I end up with exotic, foreign women, although that’s not my preference, simply how my life worked out – very much at random.  I’ve actually never had an American GF, much less wife – then again, I’ve never been married.   Who knows what might happen in the future?  I’m as clueless about that as anyone else.