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datatime: 2022-10-04 22:15:53 Author:Gebdbvqz

"Have someone in your office get me the names and address or addresses of his next of kin. Today. I'd like to write them personal notes."

John Chase and William Felix for data on gold value and bullion shipments.

Aaron Priest, agent and old friend, for his usual support, encouragement, and advice.

Megan Hughes, Todd Ellerman, Joey Arone, and my incredibly patient wife, Priscilla Serling, for their aid with a word processor.

He had, of course, expected whirring computers, telephones with TV attachments, smoothly efficient robots humming away, ultramodern furniture, and a general appearance reminiscent of a NASA clean room. (Our present offices, in the spanking new Conde Nast Building on Madison Avenue, are a little closer to that dream.)

Mac Plus, which made rewriting easier if not pleasurable. Of the many books on the Titanic disaster I consulted for background material, by far the most valuable was Ballard's own The Discovery of the Titanic (Warner/Madison, 1987).

Truth to tell, I don't remember if he sent in a manuscript through the mail first, or telephoned for an appointment to visit the office. No matter. And now he's off in Nova Scotia, living among the stunted trees and frost heaves, where nobody - not even short - memoried editors - can reach him easily.

I'd tell them to come on up, but not to expect too much. My advice was always ignored. The poor kid would come in and gape at the piles of manuscripts, the battered old metal desks, and mountains of magazines and stacks of artwork, the ramshackle filing cabinets and bookshelves. His eyes would fill with tears. His mouth would sag open.

"Sir," Cornell said softly, "Derek Montague had no living relatives."

"Admiral, how about the next of kin for the other fellow who died? A similar letter might be in order."

"Thank you, Mr. President. I'll do that."

Many times young science fiction fans would come to Manhattan and phone me from Grand Central Station, which connected underground with the good old Graybar. "I've just come to New York and I read every issue of Analog and I'd like to come up and see what a science fiction magazine office looks like," they would invariably say.

My sincere appreciation to the following:

Cornell sensed the meeting was over and rose to leave. The President stopped him.

"Admiral, how about the next of kin for the other fellow who died? A similar letter might be in order."

Aaron Priest, agent and old friend, for his usual support, encouragement, and advice.

I must pay special thanks to Jared Kieling, an editor of consummate skill, who detoured me away from many false paths as we explored the Titanic together.

John Chase and William Felix for data on gold value and bullion shipments.

Cornell sensed the meeting was over and rose to leave. The President stopped him.

I must pay special thanks to Jared Kieling, an editor of consummate skill, who detoured me away from many false paths as we explored the Titanic together.

John Chase and William Felix for data on gold value and bullion shipments.

"Thank you, Mr. President. I'll do that."

The truth about the exploration of the Titanic's interior is that no human being has ever entered the sunken ship. Thus, the interior scenes, like the characters participating in the two expeditions, are totally imaginary. (However, there really was an 1898 novel called Futility, which uncannily predicted the Titanic's fate.)

"Have someone in your office get me the names and address or addresses of his next of kin. Today. I'd like to write them personal notes."

"Thank you, Mr. President. I'll do that."

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