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datatime: 2022-11-30 06:21:13 Author:bwCHykGh

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

"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."

Still, despite the cramped quarters and the general dinginess, we managed to put out an issue of Analog each month, and more readers bought it than any other science fiction book, magazine, pamphlet, or cuniform tablet ever published.

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.

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

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.

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.

The kid would shamble away, heartsick, the beautiful rainbow - hued bobble of his imagination burst by the sharp prick of reality.

The kid would shamble away, heartsick, the beautiful rainbow - hued bobble of his imagination burst by the sharp prick of reality.

Thomas "Speedy" Rice for valuable legal background on the rules of salvage.

"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."

To all Titanic buffs, I recommend a work I found not only valuable but stirring: Charles Pellegrino's Her Name, Titanic (McGraw-Hill, 1988).

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

To all Titanic buffs, I recommend a work I found not only valuable but stirring: Charles Pellegrino's Her Name, Titanic (McGraw-Hill, 1988).

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.

To all Titanic buffs, I recommend a work I found not only valuable but stirring: Charles Pellegrino's Her Name, Titanic (McGraw-Hill, 1988).

It is possible that Titanic buffs more expert than I will find technical lapses in this narrative. Yet this is a work of fiction based partially on fact, and I can only ask their indulgence toward one who shares their love of the great liner.

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.

"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."

My sincere appreciation to the following:

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.

Thomas "Speedy" Rice for valuable legal background on the rules of salvage.

The President sighed. "It will be quite a book. Well, Admiral, it's probably the best course, but let me talk to the CNO before I make a final decision. By the way, what was the name of that diver who was killed?"

The kid would shamble away, heartsick, the beautiful rainbow - hued bobble of his imagination burst by the sharp prick of reality.

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