Wednesday, February 25, 2009
Philip Jose Farmer passed away this morning, aged 91.
I first met him at a convention in El Paso in the early Seventies. I was around 20, and had written the first part of a novel. Fortunately I was not quite so gauche as to bring the manuscript with me and ask Mr. Farmer to read it.
In any case, I decided I was going to hang out with the guest of honor, and the guest of honor had plenty of time on his hands and didn't seem to mind. We talked about writers, about books, about careers. I probably talked too much about myself.
He bought me lunch.
He was one of number of writers in our field, along with Jack Williamson and John Maddox Robberts, who did me the very kind courtesy of treating this wannabe as a colleague.
So Mr. Farmer, I thank you. In your kindness, you helped me envision the person I later became.