Harlan Ellison Gets A Haircut

by Stephen J. Gertz

Hollywood haircut noir.

Harlan Ellison did a book signing in Hollywood last weekend. He got a haircut first.

I don't know how many haircuts Ellison gets each year but the media was alerted for this one. He's seventy-nine years old but not on death's door; this wasn't Harlan Ellison's Last Haircut. But it was a Harlan Ellison haircut, nonetheless. Stop the presses.

Considering that he got it at Sweeney Todd's Barber Shop on Hollywood Boulevard we're fortunate that it wasn't something more. Trader Joe's is not offering 100% All-Harlan Meat Pies this week.

Sweeney Todd's offers party services and will, upon request, screen vintage stag films for guests, a classic movie projector running the sin through its sprockets. This occurs at night, after hours. No stag films during Ellison's haircut: it was daytime and the clips were strictly of the scissors kind. Harlan merely needed a little taken off the top and around the ears with neckline cleaned up. But he wound up getting styled.

Prelude to a pompadour.
Photo credit: Miriam Linna.

I arrived late, Sweeney Todd's was packed inside, a crowd of Ellisoniacs piled outside, and the two bodyguards the publisher hired for the occasion (appropriately dressed  as '50s juvenile delinquents  because Ellison is the king of JD-lit. amongst other literary crowns he wears) blocked my entrance. Through the window I saw Harlan sitting in the barber's chair. He'd been regaling those inside with 100% pure Ellison, which is to say he was outrageous, funny, profane, provocative, acerbic, funnier still, insightful, and totally entertaining. I didn't hear any of it but it's a given that when Harlan Ellison opens his mouth to an audience pearls of all grades and colors fall out of it.

Haircut over, he made it to the front door, looked directly at me through its window, got walleyed, enthusiastically pointed, then spread his arms and mouthed "Oh, my God!" Somewhat puzzled by his effusive display I pantomimed my own greeting in return. A moment later he walked out the door with his wife, Susan, and bodyguards in tow. "Great to see you!" he said as if I was his long-lost best friend. I was touched. "Great to see you, too," I said, as if he was my long-lost best friend I never knew I had and lost.  Surrounded by the adoring he introduced me to Susan: "Tell her who you are!" I did while he was distracted by the press, which pressed close, the potential for sterling sound bites too overwhelming to let pass.

He was wearing a black t-shirt under an open button-down. The t-shirt read, "What if the Hokey-Pokey was really what it's all about?," existentialist despair with mordant pop-culture wit ala Ellison. So, we put our right foot in, we put our right foot out and pokey'ed down the street to La Luz de Jesus, the book, art, and pop-culture gallery where Harlan was giving a talk with Q&A followed by a signing for Pulling A Train and Getting in the Wind. These twin collections of Ellison JD short stories were recently published by Kicks Books and reprint those in Ellison's Sex Gang by Paul Merchant (Nightstand Books, NB 1503, 1959) with others from the late '50s - early '60s. Kicks is the wild paperback imprint out of Brooklyn and home to "Hip Pocket Books," the reflection of the all-consuming pulp-culture sensibility of their publisher, Miriam Linna. She's the reigning Queen of Cool whose irrepressibly enthusiastic, tongue-in-torrid-cheek happy-go-hard-boiled fanzine ad copy reads like a rush down a dark alley on a moonlit night in Pulpville in service to moving the merch with an irresistible pitch.

"All hail the first hip pocket volume of Ellison short stories culled
from the rarest of his titles, SEX GANG, which was issued under
the name of Paul Merchant in 1959. The wild set of psychosexual
gangland tales is finally available again, fifty years later, spanning
two volumes which collect all of the stories in the 1959 book plus
an unhealthy dose of lost fiction from the persistent pen of the
grand master of all things tainted, terrible, torrid and terrific."

The gallery was packed; there was no room to wriggle. A sardine would have been thankful to be in a can. Harlan moved through the crowd toward the front; I faded into the audience.

After an amusing introduction by comedian Patton Oswalt (whose recent Star Wars-themed filibuster on Parks and Recreation has gone YouTube viral due to its inspired high-insanity quotient) Harlan took the podium and for the next half-hour he took it for a ride.

Harlan mugs for Patton Oswalt's camera.

Don't get Harlan Ellison started on the stalkers, creeps, and miscreants that have plagued him over the years. Death threats have come his way like confetti at a convention. He doesn't shoot from the hip so much as bazooka from the shoulder and this bugs some people, particularly those with loose hinges. Ellison doesn't take kindly to loons in his yard at night with shotguns. It offends his street-sense of courtesy and he has no compunctions about dealing directly with such hazards. On one occasion he disarmed the intruder and nailed him to a tree. This may seem extreme but in Ellison's telling the episode was a dark Looney Tune™ and the only thing missing was an anvil falling on the bum's head; he got off easy with the nails, and Harlan, naturally, nailed the story's laugh lines.

I wouldn't interrupt Harlan Ellison in mid-sentence if I were you. He takes no prisoners. You'll be impaled but the audience will scream with delight. You may, however, float an inch off the ground with a beatific smile afterward, as did one guilty party I saw. To be cursed by Harlan Ellison is to be blessed; you have been anointed with his words. It's like getting ranked-out by Don Rickles: it's a badge of honor and only the humorless complain.

"Hot on the heels of PULLING A TRAIN comes its savage sister
GETTING IN THE WIND, whipping up more gritty street life odes
circa 1959! Perfect the pair with both volumes - together, they
pack the fervor of a genre too wild, too true, too traumatizing
for tepid tempers - this is the neckmeat for a new breed of reader,
a glittering illiterati channeling raw emotion and constant
visceral stimulation. Without this pair, friend, you are lost."

Harlan Ellison has been called contentious, abrasive, and argumentative. He knows he can be that way sometimes. Considering the many putzes he's had to contend with over the years you'd be contentious, abrasive, and argumentative, too. Robert Bloch once said that while other writers take infinite pains, "Harlan gives them."

He has a healthy ego. Some think it's too healthy. But a novelist without an ego solidly in the pink ain't much of a writer. So, when a young guy asked him what he thought of Philip K. Dick during the Q&A I froze. Uh, oh, I thought, this is a Harlan Ellison book event; Harlan Ellison is performing (because Harlan Ellison appearances are performance art); Harlan Ellison is one of the greatest science-fiction writers the world has ever produced; hell, it's Harlan-Time! and this chowderhead is asking about another author, one in the same genre? I thought the question steel to Ellison's flint and expected sparks to fly.

Harlan grew quiet. It was a two-part question, he carefully replied. What do I think of Philip K. Dick as a writer and what do I think of Philip K. Dick as a man?

Ellison adores 80% of Philip K. Dick's work, it's beyond compare. The other 20% he doesn't care for, Dick's theologically-themed novels. Ellison isn't into spirituality, he prefers gritty, he says. As for Philip K. Dick, the man, Harlan began then stopped himself, afraid that he might say something that would get him into trouble. He earlier expressed a strong aversion to computers, the Internet, social media and hand-held digital devices that can take a snippet and turn it into a tempest in ten minutes. After measured consideration he simply said that when Dick was in the mood he could be the most charming person in the world. When he wasn't in the mood, well..., and he let it go at that.

There was one area in which Ellison admitted satisfaction in besting Philip K. Dick. Dick was only married five times. Susan is Harlan's sixth wife, their marriage in its twenty-eighth year. "I finally got it right!" he said. This after he admitted to being a swordsman in youth, advancing with his sabre five, six times a day, starlets too enchanted to parry his lunges nor want to. You'd think that level of activity would affect his writing schedule but this is a man who used to make in-store appearances as writer-in-residence as window display, sitting at a desk with typewriter and banging out work in progress to draw passersby, mutli-tasking as silent, preoccupied barker.

As long as he was talking about sci-fi colleagues he expressed his grief over Richard Matheson's recent death. Matheson was a giant in Ellison's book and the world lost a master.

At this point the line for signing snaked out the door of La Luz de Jesus, the natives were getting restless, and it was time for Harlan to move into the adjoining space, sit at a desk and begin that part of the party, and this was, indeed, a party.

"EXCLUSIVE TO HARLAN ELLISON'S PULLING A TRAIN In step with all books
in the Kicks paperback line, a 'sidekick' perfume has been formulated,
street-tested, bottled and packaged. SEX GANG is the heady scent
that tells the world OFF! Exclusive, limited, and totally dangerous. With
miniature switchblade comb. Arrives bottled in authentic Italian half ounce
Baralan bottle, boxed in signature Kicks Books Co. gift box."

I had to leave before the signing began. I wedged through the crush, went up to him to say goodbye, and our farewell was as warm as our hello. I still didn't understand why but I enjoyed it. He seemed to enjoy it, too. We both enjoyed it and I saw no point in spoiling the enjoyment by questioning him in public, putting him in an awkward position, and blowing the good vibes. I noticed a few people checking me out, like who's this guy who seems to be such a good buddy of the Great Man?

I'd met Harlan Ellison exactly once, a while ago for a total of maybe thirty, forty minutes or so. What did I do right to earn a generous spot in his memory? Maybe he had me confused with someone else. When he earlier told me to tell Susan about myself it could have been a dodge to discover who I was but at that moment he was besieged and may have simply delegated the introduction for convenience.

Isaac Asimov once noted that "Harlan uses his gifts for colorful and variegated invective on those who irritate him - intrusive fans, obdurate editors, callous publishers, offensive strangers."

Harlan Ellison doesn't suffer fools gladly. In fact he doesn't suffer at all; he makes them suffer. I have the sense that he's annoyed by 99.9999% of the population. While he respects his fans and, up to a point, appreciates their attention, he has no use for flatterers. Perhaps, then, Harlan didn't think me a fool, was not annoyed, nor considered me a fawning supplicant, intrusive, irritating, or offensive  -  though I've been all those things with others, at times. I've been awestruck by a celebrity only once in my life and that was when I had lunch with Yoko Ono a few years back during a book fair in New York and interviewed her for Booktryst. I  felt like a blubbering idiot throughout the experience. Don't tell him but I'm in awe of Harlan Ellison. I just keep it under wraps and behave like a normal person, no matter how alien I actually am.

"EXCLUSIVE TO HARLAN ELLISON'S GETTING IN THE WIND, Like all
Kicks Books fragrances, SIN TIME is created from the world's
finest floral distillates. A scent can evoke the memory of a
stained satin bedsheet or the moonlit hair of a gang deb
teetering down the wet, cobblestone streets of Red Hook.
Extracted from lavender, this ancient scent is symbolic of
magic and mistrust, aiding one in seeing ghosts of gangland past.
A pair of exquisite miniature glass dice are inside each
Baralan bottle."

I wanted to reach out to him later to reinforce the friendship that was welcome news to me. Susan was kind to give me his secret contact info, which I'd lost, a mail drop located in [redacted] within L.A.'s San Fernando Valley. He doesn't do email and few get his phone number. It may have been more interesting but I feel lucky he didn't ask me to place a gladiolus under a garbage can at the corner of [redacted] and [redacted], wait two hours, return, and pick up a coded sandwich bag in the trash can containing his home address written in cuneiform Sumerian.

Cheech Beldone, delinquent, with toothpick.
Photo credit: Patton Oswalt.

I am pleased to report that Harlan and his haircut - "The Cheech Beldone," created by Sween Lahman of Sweeney Todd's and so-dubbed in homage to Harlan's street name when he joined a youth gang in 1954 to research the phenomenon - survived the afternoon, or at least as much as I experienced of it. At seventy-nine years, Harlan Ellison still has a full, lush head of hair. Long may it wave. I want this guy around forever. Make that a permanent wave.

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All images other than header courtesy of Miriam Linna, with our thanks.
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A case of Kicks perfumes was boosted from the Kicks Books trunk. Anyone with knowledge its whereabouts is encouraged to contact the publisher before Cheech Beldone hunts down the dirty dog and dissects it.
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Unrecorded Philip K. Dick Archive Surfaces

by Stephen J. Gertz

Once again, Phil, you've come up with some memorable descriptive lines in this book -- two stick in my mind: something that smelled badly "as if the skins of dead dogs were drying somewhere, on a line," and "gray and fragile, like wounded mice." Wonderful.  (Larry Ashmead).

An archive of Philip K. Dick's 1970 novel, A Maze of Death - arguably his darkest and most violent work, an exploration of the death instinct and the human capacity for murder, and, as in much of Philip K. Dick's world, inquires into the conflict between reality, perception, and identity - has come to market. It includes the final, holograph-corrected typescript. The asking price is $28,500.

Manuscript material by Dick of any sort is scarce in the marketplace. Most of the author's papers are housed at California State University where they were donated by him in 1972. A smaller cache rests at the Browne Popular Cultural Library at Bowling Green State University in Ohio (which includes a manuscript draft of Maze of Death). As a result, whenever any archival collections of the author appear for sale it's a major event. This archive seems to have been lost in an alternative reality until now.

First edition.

"His job, as always, bored him. So he had during the previous week gone to the ship's transmitter and attached conduits to the permanent electrodes extending from his pineal gland" (from A Maze of Death).

That's what I do when consumed by ennui.

In A Maze of Death, Ben Tallchief hates his inventory-control job so he prays, the conduits from his pineal gland transmitting his prayers to a relay network which sends his plea throughout the galaxy. He hoped it would reach one of the God-worlds. It, apparently, worked; he was transferred to Delmak-O, a harsh and strange off-world colony largely unexplored. There, he joins thirteen other colonists. Soon, six of the colonists either commit suicide or are murdered under mystifying circumstances.

Per usual with Philip K. Dick things are not what they seem. The survivors realize that they are each criminally insane, had murdered the others, and have been a part of a failed psychiatric experiment in rehabilitation. Oh, and that Delmak-O is actually Earth. Ultimately, their entire experience is discovered to be an exercise in virtual reality and hallucination; they are trapped within a program designed to help them endure their fate; their space ship is stranded in orbit around a dead star and they have no hope of rescue. Within the program a computer-generated religion and deity provides solace.

But Dick, who in this novel began to explore theological themes, doesn't let it go. The god of Delmak-O - the Intercessor - bleeds out of the virtual world and into the real to spirit away one survivor from the doomed ship, leaving the others to continue their hallucinatory existence until they die.

"A but of explanation on p. 13, clarifying the fact that nosers are strictly
one-way machines, would make p. 31 perfectly reasonable."

In addition to the corrected typescript, the archive includes letters from editors at Doubleday. Dick, evidently, ignored legendary editor Larry Ashmead's suggestions in a letter dated November 14, 1968 in which Ashmead declared the novel "one of your best to date." And so over a year later Doubleday editor Judith Glushanok wrote to the author on December 15, 1969 reiterating the suggestions.

To which Dick responded on December 28, 1969:

1. Explanation on p. 13. You seem to be under a misapprehension re the way fuel is used in interplanetary flight. Virtually all the fuel is used on takeoff; it is not like, say, a car which uses fuel continually. Thus, a space ship could, for example, handle a single-way flight of ten million miles but not a flight-and-return of five thousand miles each way. Do you see? But if you want to make changes on p. 13, please do so. But as far as I go, no changes are needed, so I will yield to you.

In the same letter, he declines to accept the suggestion that the sexually explicit material and graphic language on p. 131 be "toned down." Yet in the final, corrected typescript - part of this archive - he made changes to words and imagery.

Leaf from typescript, with holograph corrections.

Dick said that the idea for the novel came from an attempt "to develop an abstract, logical system of religious thought, based on the arbitrary postulate that God exists."

At this point in his career, Philip K. Dick (1928-1982) was transitioning from science-fiction themes to reconnaisance of religion and God.  He asserted that the idea for the novel came from an attempt "to develop an abstract, logical system of religious thought, based on the arbitrary postulate that God exists."

The Introduction to the third volume of the Library of America's collection of Dick's writing describes this phase as one where "religious revelation, always an element of his fiction, became a dominant and irresistible theme," and that A Maze of Death "foreshadows Dick's final novels."

This post was written on Ecstasis-9, a barren pebble located in the third quadrant of meta-cyberspace by someone who looks, acts and talks exactly as I do but may be a figment of my fecund imagination, "Stephen J. Gertz" the product of long-term use of Substance-D by someone who shares my DNA but has been known  since  birth  as Agent  Murray, a  defrocked  rabbi  with personality issues working undercover  to  investigate "Stephen J. Gertz" for  the  Department  of  Homeland  Security, Section 8.

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Images courtesy of Royal Books, currently offering this archive, with our thanks. Click here for full details of archive content.

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Do Bibliophiles Dream Of Electric Sheep?

DICK, Philip K.
Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep?
London: Rapp and Whiting, 1969.
First British Edition Of The 2010 Cornell University
New Student Reading Project Title.
(All Images Courtesy Of Cornell University Libraries.)

Ah, book clubs. When they are good they are very, very good. But when they are bad they are horrid. Like the hopeful single preparing for a blind date, the bibliophile spends all week getting mentally gussied-up for an evening of amiable companionship. The big night finally arrives, and our literary lover sets off artfully clothed in the latest haute couture critiques, accessorized with exquisitely elegant opinions, and scented with a splash of wicked wit. Longing for an evening of stimulating conversation, climaxing with the deep connection found only with true soul mates, this eager reader can hardly contain his high hopes.

DICK, Philip K.
Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep?
Garden City, N.Y.: Doubleday, 1968.
First American Edition.

But soon the ice-water of cruel reality douses even the most ardent suitor's desire for a marriage of true minds. Our would-be dream dates haven't even finished the book, much less come prepared to share their keen insights and innermost thoughts about it. The real agenda of our fellow clubbers is to down some cheap wine, and enjoy the thrill of having a captive audience to tell their troubles to. After one of these thinly-veiled pity parties, spending a lifetime reading in solitude with a couple of cats for company never sounded so good.

DICK, Philip K.
Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep?
New York: Ballantine Books/Del Rey, 1996.
Note Inclusion Of The Film Adaptation's Title
On This Trade Paperback Cover.

But what if there were a book club lead by an Ivy League professor of 18th century English literature, whose members included a cognitive psychologist, an environmental engineer, a computer scientist, a veterinarian, an expert on Arabic literature, and a horticultural ecologist? And there's no need to worry about being rejected by such elite company, this club is always open to new members. Where do I sign up, you say? All you need to do is go online and check out the Cornell New Student Reading Project.

DICK, Philip K. Blade Runner
(Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep).
New York: Ballantine Books/Del Rey, 1982.
On This Mass Market Edition The Film's Title Takes Precedence
Over The Book's, Despite The Fact That This Is
Simply An Unchanged Reprint of the Text.

Cornell's Reading Project is now in its tenth year, and was originally designed so that all new freshmen and transfer students would enter the school with "a shared focus." Each year, about 50 titles, recommended by faculty, staff, and several student groups, are short-listed for the project, out of which one is chosen. Past titles have included The Grapes of Wrath by John Steinbeck, Lincoln At Gettysburg by Gary Wills, The Pickup by Nadine Gordimer, Things Fall Apart by Chinua Achebe, The Great Gatsby by F. Scott Fitzgerald, Antigone by Sophocles, and Guns, Germs, and Steel by Jared Diamond.

DICK, Philip K. Blade Runner
(Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep).
New York: Ballantine Books/Del Rey, 1982.
Another Mass Market Issue. This One Features Not Only
The Film's Title, But Also Its Poster Art.

The project quickly expanded to the entire city of Ithaca, via participation from the Tompkins County Public Library. Branches of the Public Library stock multiple copies of the book chosen by Cornell, including translations into over a half-dozen foreign languages, as well an audio books, large print copies, and ebooks. The Public Library and the University offer book discussions, art exhibits, writing workshops, and lectures all centered on the year's selected text. And now six lectures by distinguished faculty members (AKA our "Book Club" colleagues) have been posted online, along with study questions, a book blog, and online exhibits, opening this "community read" to anyone with access to a computer.

BURROUGHS, William S.
The Blade Runner (A Movie).
Berkeley, Calif.: Blue Wind Press, 1979.
A Novella Which Gave The 1982 Film Adaptation
of Androids Its New Title,
And Nothing Else.

This year's title is an offbeat break from the choices of the past nine years. It comes from the catalog of "genre fiction," the red-headed stepchild of the literary world, often overlooked, and even disparaged, by academia. The Cornell Project title for 2010 is the highly influential Science Fiction novel, Do Androids Dream Of Electric Sheep? by Philip K. Dick. First published in 1968, it is the tale of a dystopian future in which the majority of earth's population has emigrated to Mars following an environmentally devastating World War.

Alan E. Nourse. The Blade Runner.
Philadelphia, Penn.: David McKay, 1974.
And The Book From Which Burroughs Took His Title.
Also Having Nothing To Do With Androids.

The mass extinction of animal species in the aftermath of "World War Terminus" has led to the creation of incredibly life-like and highly coveted android "animals" as replacements. The trouble begins when the android-creating technology is taken one step further, resulting in the manufacture of robotic "humans," who can no longer be distinguished from their flesh and blood counterparts. These human-machine hybrids are treated as slaves said to lack the essential quality of a true human, empathy. But the human race's inability to empathize with their android doppelgangers, who are hunted down and "killed" if they attempt to disguise their mechanical origins, raises questions as to who and what constitutes a genuine, sentient person.

A Still From The Blade Runner Press Kit,
Featuring Actress Daryl Hannah As A
"Standard Pleasure Model" Android.

Do Androids Dream Of Electric Sheep? is also the first Reading Project book to have had a major impact on popular culture. This is made clear in an exhibit sponsored by Cornell Library's Division of Rare Books and Manuscript Collections, which is also available online. Along with rare editions of Dick's novel, thematically related short stories, and correspondence concerning its creation, the exhibit details its road to the silver screen as the Sci-Fi film classic, Blade Runner (1982).

DICK, Philip K. and Tony Parker.
Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep?
Los Angeles, Calif.: Boom! Studios, 2009.
A Graphic Novel Version Of Dick's Book,
Complete With Every Word Of The Original Text.

Initially relegated to cult film status due to its failure at the box office, director Ridley Scott's adaptation of Dick's novel has since been recognized as a masterpiece of futuristic story-telling and production design, and has served as the model for dozens of far inferior post-apocalyptic Sci-Fi sets, costumes, and screenplays centered on humanity's attempts to survive amidst the wreckage of a shattered planet. Blade Runner's pop culture influence is further revealed by the library exhibit's display of products created by the numerous cottage industries fueled by the film's hard-core fans, including toys, comic books, video games, magazines, fan-zines, and other ephemera.

Toy Advertisement From:
Blade Runner Souvenir Magazine, Vol. 1.
New York: Ira Friedman, 1982.


And The Supercool Toy Version Of Android Hunter
Rick Deckard's (Harrison Ford) "Spinner."

Upon reflection, the initially surprising selection of Philip K. Dick's Science Fiction novel for a prestigious University's interdisciplinary reading project becomes more and more inspired. The book's exploration of the theme "What constitutes humanity?" makes it germane to such diverse disciplines as psychology, sociology, philosophy, anthropology, and medicine. It's exploration of Earth's fate following a planetary disaster brings in biology, ecology, astronomy, climatology, geography, geology, zoology, agronomy, horticulture, botany, and veterinary medicine. And it's position as a landmark of dystopian fiction and film brings in the departments of literature, interior design, information science, theatre and drama, mass media, marketing, public relations, advertising, and business. Another book with such an eclectic reach would be nearly impossible to find.

Another Blade Runner Toy, Inspired By

The Origami Creations of Rick Deckard's

Fellow Cop, Gaff (Edward James Olmos.).

Do Androids Dream Of Electric Sheep? really does have the universality to appeal to almost anyone. Who knows, this title might even keep those book club slackers reading all the way to the last page. Now if only they'd give the text enough thought to actually have something worthwhile to say about the damn thing...
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