Our friend Charles N. Brown, editor and publisher of
Locus, has died at age 72,
Locus Online reports.
Looking through my digital photos of the past few years, I could turn up only this photo of Charles, snapped as he was threatening to bash me with his walking stick if I didn't put the camera down. I guess that's one reason I don't have more photos of him.
When Sydney was attending a conference at Stanford a few years ago, and I was tagging along, Charles kindly invited us to dinner at his house, a.k.a. the
Locus office, and we had a most enjoyable time with Charles, the
Locus staff and the other guests. Charles loved entertaining and
was entertaining, and he made sure all his guests were entertained, or else!
A mutual friend who knew Charles much better than I did, and for a lot longer, told me once that he always believed Charles had constructed a life in emulation of Jubal Harshaw in Robert A. Heinlein's novel
Stranger in a Strange Land, and nothing I saw at Charles' house that night contradicted that impression.
One of my favorite memories of Charles is from that evening, as he roared in laughter when his extraordinary collection of autographed first-edition books eventually reduced me to a sputtered stream of obscenities, just as he had intended.
I also remember my
Locus interview. I followed Charles to his hotel room -- where proofs of the next issue were strewn about every flat surface -- and watched him switch on a hand-held recorder.
"Now what?" I asked.
"Now you talk," he said. So I talked, while he leaned back in his chair, fingers intertwined across his belly, and watched me -- at least, I
assume he was watching me; with Charles' cocked eyes, it was hard to tell, sometimes. Two or three times during the hour, he interjected an observation, such as: "So you don't believe in the Singularity, then." He took no notes. Eventually he nodded his head and turned off the recorder.
"That's it?" I asked.
"That's it," he replied.
"Well," I said, "good luck getting a coherent article out of that."
"Oh, you're easy," Charles said, "like Bruce Sterling. Talkers are easy. Let's go downstairs and get a drink."
Charles accurately thought Sydney was gorgeous, and instead of "Hello, Andy," his standard greeting was usually "Is Sydney here?" If my answer was, "No," he'd make a dismissive sound with his mouth and turn his back on me. So instead of saying, "Hello, Charles," I took to greeting him with, "She's upstairs!" or "She's in the dealer's room!" Whereupon he'd smile broadly and be very friendly indeed.
When he
did talk to me, he usually needled me about not writing more. When he found out I had started a blog, he cried out in dismay. "That's not writing!" he said. "Now you'll get even
less accomplished."
I saw my first copies of
Locus in the dormitory living room at Clarion West in 1994, and once I got home to Raleigh, N.C., I bought the subscription that I've kept up ever since. When the first issue arrived -- its cover story, I think, an obit of Robert Bloch -- I thought, "OK! I'm a member of this community now!" That's still what I think, every month when
Locus arrives. I hope it keeps arriving for many years to come. Soon the cover story, I suppose, will be an obit of Charles N. Brown himself. I'll miss him.
In between the covers is a fine collection, and I commend the book, the author and the publisher to your attention.
Above: I was determined to take a photo of the fire to prove we had one, thanks to the firewood Sydney and I bought at Grant's because we got tired of everyone asking why there was no fire.
Above: Sam and Laurie Steele. Sam's on the junior-varsity football team, and Mom is proud.
Above: Phillip Steele. How can a three-term commonwealth's attorney look so relaxed? Granted, he's had no opposition the past two elections, which helps.
Above: Fran Bowling shows off her latest four-leaf clover. She has a talent for finding them, and her daughter, Sydney, inherited the gift. When I was a child, my parents told me there were no four-leaf clovers, so I'd feel better about never finding any.
Above: Either Charlotte Sartin can't believe what Sheila Steele is telling her, or she's waiting for Sheila to toss corn chips into her mouth. Note in the background that the leaves only barely have started to turn.
Above: Buford Steele and Sydney Duncan. We told "Uncle Bu" the stop sign looked good on him.
Above: Buford Steele takes a seat. For many years Buford was a rural letter carrier and was active in the National Rural Letter Carriers' Association, just as my father was.
Above: Fran Bowling, Sydney Duncan, Charlotte Sartin and Sheila Steele, in mutual astonishment.
Above: Tim Steele and Bill Bowling. Since the reunion, Bill has had aneurysm surgery and is doing well, I'm pleased to report.
Above: Sydney Duncan tries to show Bill Bowling something, I hope with more success than when she tries to show me something.
Above: Fran Bowling, Sydney Duncan and Charlotte Sartin set up the snack table. Fran's cheese slaw and Charlotte's miniature Crock-Pot hot dogs are as popular as ever.
Above: Sydney Duncan forges my signature, which is printed because no one could read a forgery of my handwriting.
Above: Fran Bowling makes the memory board every year, to remember family members who have died since the previous reunion, and sets it above the fireplace. Everyone wishes this year's board had fewer names.
Above: Fran Bowling prepares the ice chest while Charlotte Sartin tries to track someone down.
Above: Pat Sartin. Once a Marine, always a Marine.
Above: Tim Steele is happy to be here.
When Sydney was attending a conference at Stanford a few years ago, and I was tagging along, Charles kindly invited us to dinner at his house, a.k.a. the Locus office, and we had a most enjoyable time with Charles, the Locus staff and the other guests. Charles loved entertaining and was entertaining, and he made sure all his guests were entertained, or else! 
Left to right: Patrick Camloh, Renee Phillips, Mike Smith, Neil Ralph, Katrina Bost, Katy Dale, Ruth LaCourse and A.J. Carney.
