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It is our custom, when wishing to introduce a story with some few details about an author, his works and views, to hand our Mr. Pet-tifogle a subway token and send him in quest of what we call "bio data"—wherefrom we winnow a few facts and fancies, salient or otherwise. Mr. Robert F. Young, author of this story of land and sea, and love transmuted by a terrible yet glorious change, pro-vided us with information of such unexpected largesse that we decided to throw precedent to the unnumber'd winds and print it in toto. Anyone concerned with either reading or writing should find interest in what he has to say—and a fig for nay-sayers. Looking back, I realize that Tarzan of the Apes had quite a bit to do with my becoming a science-fiction writer. Through Tarzan, I met John Carter, and through John, I met Julians V, IX, and XX, Jason Gridley, Waldo Emerson Smith-Jones, Bowen J. Tyler, Jr., and a host of other luminaries in the Burroughs realm. This was a long time ago, but the fictitious friends we make in our youth, however absurd they may sometimes turn out to be when we revisit them, cast a spell over us that lingers down through the years, and it distresses me no end, when I watch an old Tarzan movie, to see Johnny Weismuller try to climb a tree or to hear him speak |
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