Look Up 'Cantankerous', There's His Picture

Years ago in my late teens, I made my way into Manhattan to (what was then) the New York Penta Hotel to my last sci-fi convention. When I was fifteen, taking a ride into the city to look at old posters and props and get David Prowse or Jimmy Doohan's autograph was cool (Mr. Doohan was a gracious and charming man, I must say, but David Prowse was an autograph machine - 'Next, please...Next, please..."). One weekend we saw Tom Savini showing off pieces from Creepshow about a year before release and completely out of context, pulling out Adrienne Barbeau's shredded face (the thing under the stairs was supposed to spit it out onto the floor...Yeah, ick.) and E.G. Marshall's head from a cardboard box. It was an odd time to be a geek; we had great, great movies coming out but there were very few channels of information to learn about them from, and none of them had a lead time faster than Starlog or Famous Monsters, so a convention filled with nerd effluvia was Mecca.

But as I got older, the company that ran the cons shifted their emphasis from pricey New York to Los Angeles and the NY shows began to fade. That last show I attended was moved from the main convention floor to a series of spaces mapped out in one ballroom; tiny trade show to one side, presentations room on the other. I was on my way out when I heard over the PA that in five minutes Harlan Ellison would begin his presentation.

That made me turn around and come back. I didn't know much about the man, but I did remember he'd written a great Trek episode, and that made him cool, so I figured I'd hang for a bit. I wound up staying for the whole hour. Ellison was actually onstage with someone else, maybe a current collaborator, I don't know who, but the other guy obviously knew to be quiet and let the Mouth roar. Ellison was on fire, blasting anything he didn't approve of and lavishing praise on the few things he did (he lit up when someone mentioned Blackadder and he started singing the closing theme song from memory). I couldn't possibly tell you everything he talked about, but I can tell you he can command a room effectively.

Now that the WGA strike is all but buried, Ellison has come out with a statement regarding the settlement. I'd say he's disappointed (and though I usually refrain from cussing on the interwebs when I can, I'm going to let Mr. Ellison have his say any way he sees fit).

HARLAN ELLISON ON THE WRITERS STRIKE SETTLEMENT

YOU HAVE MY PERMISSION TO RE-POST THIS ANYWHERE:

Creds: got here in 1962, written for just about everybody, won the Writers Guild Award four times for solo work, sat on the WGAw Board twice, worked on negotiating committees, and was out on the picket lines with my NICK COUNTER SLEEPS WITH THE FISHE$$$ sign. You may have heard my name. I am a Union guy, I am a Guild guy, I am loyal. I fuckin’ LOVE the Guild.

And I voted NO on accepting this deal.

My reasons are good, and they are plentiful; Patric Verrone will be saddened by what I am about to say; long-time friends will shake their heads; but this I say without equivocation…

THEY BEAT US LIKE A YELLOW DOG. IT IS A SHIT DEAL. We finally got a timorous generation that has never had to strike, to get their asses out there, and we had to put up with the usual cowardly spineless babbling horse’s asses who kept mumbling “lessgo bac’ta work” over and over, as if it would make them one iota a better writer. But after months on the line, and them finally bouncing that pus-sucking dipthong Nick Counter, we rushed headlong into a shabby, scabrous, underfed shovelfulla shit clutched to the affections of toss-in-the-towel summer soldiers trembling before the Awe of the Alliance.

My Guild did what it did in 1988. It trembled and sold us out. It gave away the EXACT co-terminus expiration date with SAG for some bullshit short-line substitute; it got us no more control of our words; it sneak-abandoned the animator and reality beanfield hands before anyone even forced it on them; it made nice so no one would think we were meanies; it let the Alliance play us like the village idiot. The WGAw folded like a Texaco Road Map from back in the day.

And I am ashamed of this Guild, as I was when Shavelson was the prexy, and we wasted our efforts and lost out on technology that we had to strike for THIS time. 17 days of streaming tv!!!????? Geezus, you bleating wimps, why not just turn over your old granny for gang-rape?

You deserve all the opprobrium you get. While this nutty festschrift of demented pleasure at being allowed to go back to work in the rice paddy is filling your cowardly hearts with joy and relief that the grips and the staff at the Ivy and street sweepers won’t be saying nasty shit behind your back, remember this:

You are their bitches. They outslugged you, outthought you, outmaneuvered you; and in the end you ripped off your pants, painted yer asses blue, and said yes sir, may I have another.

Please excuse my temerity. I’m just a sad old man who has fallen among Quislings, Turncoats, Hacks and Cowards.

I must go now to whoops. My gorge has become buoyant.

Respectfully, Yr. Pal, Harlan Ellison