The Bradbury Chronicles

by Sam Weller

  Ray’s greatest passion throughout his eighties was the theater. His own production company, the Pandemonium Theatre Company, regularly staged productions of his novels and short stories. Perhaps Ray’s personal favorite was Falling Upward, his semi-autobiograpgic Irish play about the boyos at Heeber Finn’s pub. He staged versions of the production at houses in Burbank, North Hollywood, and Pasadena. He attended shows nearly every weekend when the play was up.

  “Every time I see the play,” he said, “I feel like I’m in Kilcock, Ireland again and it is 1953.”

  Bradbury Speaks: Too Soon from the Cave, Too Far from the Stars, a book of essays, was published by William Morrow in 2005.

  “In three dozen pieces sometimes prickly and always passionate, SF/fantasy legend Bradbury fires off opinions galore on books, movies, SF and the people and places in his life,” stated Kirkus.

  The book was separated into sections with new, as well as previously published but uncollected essays on “Writing,” “Science Fiction,” “People,” “Life,” “Paris,” and “Los Angeles.” The essays were written over a span of more than 40 years—well illuminating the evolution of Ray Bradbury’s writing style. Much of the lavish description and metaphor-rich language so inherent in his earlier fiction and nonfiction had been dialed back in his later work.

  “My writing is more succinct,” he said at the time. “I think it is a bit more minimal. Get to it! Most rewriting is cutting. A writer doesn’t need to go on and on.”

  The earliest essay in the book was “The Ardent Blasphemers,” notable as it was originally published as an introduction to a new edition of Jules Verne’s 20,000 Leagues Under The Sea. It was this essay that prompted the organizers of the 1964 World’s Fair in New York to approach Ray to design the United States pavilion at the fair. Ray had other favorites in the book, including his love letter to locomotives, “Any Friend of Trains is a Friend of Mine,” published only once in the August 2, 1968 issue of Life magazine. This latter essay reflected much of the childlike wonder in Bradbury, as well as the rich prose of his earlier career:

  “So the night went, the train gliding among stilts of fire, huge laboratory experiments of electric flame, then rumbling coughs of thunder as great blind hands of shocked air clapped tight, the night’s echoing applause for its own words.”

  In 2006, at the gentle prodding of his longtime friend and editor, Jennifer Brehl at William Morrow, Ray went back to his files yet again. This time he dusted off the fifty-year-old manuscript to Farewell Summer, the unpublished second half of the classic and beloved 1957 story cycle, Dandelion Wine.

  “Ray was a great re-worker,” said Jennifer Brehl in a 2012 interview. Brehl served as Ray’s editor from 1996 on. “Most of the books we worked on, except for the mystery Let’s All Kill Constance, which he loved, were things that had been around in his files for a long time. They were things he had been thinking about and wanting to do for years.”

  The stories in Farewell Summer were written in the 1940s and 50s. And while many of them were complete, the book still needed considerable rewriting and editing.

  “I would mark things up,” recalled Brehl, “and I’d write notes very big, like a size 20-type because of Ray’s eyesight at this point, and I’d send them to him and he would go over them with his daughter Alexandra, and we went back and forth like that through the entire manuscript.

  The process was not particularly enjoyable for Ray. As a completely intuitive writer, the meticulous nature of rewriting and line editing was, at times, grueling. But he persevered.

  Brehl felt that even his late-in-life work still deftly displayed the Bradbury signature.

  “The love of life and the exuberance and the desire to convey passion for life never changed,” she said in a 2012 interview, looking back on their long and close professional and personal association.

  As the editing on Farewell Summer concluded, Ray wrote Brehl a letter, summarizing his gratitude for their work together:

  Friday, July 28, 2006

  Dear Jenny,

  At long last it’s time for me to finally let go of Farewell Summer. I’ve checked through the proof pages two or three times now and have found nothing. You’ve done a fine job of picking up any errors along the way. Above all, I want to thank you for all these years of work and instruction on this and on From the Dust Returned,as well as my other books. When I think how both of these books remained in my files for so many years and now they are out in the open, I’m truly amazed. I look forward to helping promote the new book in the fall. Now, Onward….I love you very much, dear Jenny.

  Farewell Summer was published on October 17, 2006.

  He continued to write new scripts, stories, essays, and poems through dictation to Alexandra, and to raid his own voluminous filing cabinets for work written during his golden era.Awards and accolades continued to roll in, too. Ray had lived to witness a rarity of sorts for writers—the arrival of his own legend. On April 16, 2007, he was given a special citation from the Pulitzer Prize Board for his “distinguished, prolific and deeply influential career as an unmatched author of science fiction and fantasy.” At the age of 86, Ray no longer traveled. His last trip out of California had been to the White House in November 2004. Ray sent Michael Congdon, son and business associate of his longtime agent Don Congdon, as his emissary to the Pulitzer ceremony.

  “Ray’s doctors at that point didn’t want him to fly,” recalled Congdon in 2012, adding with a chuckle, “and it really didn’t bother Ray that much because they don’t allow recipients to give a speech or say anything at the ceremony!”

  “All of these things,” added Congdon, “validated what Ray had been striving for in the 1940s and 1950s, and it was wonderful for him to see that in his lifetime, as it was for all of us.”

  But it was, perhaps, one award more than any other that truly stood out for Ray. In 2007, he was given the prestigious Ordre des Arts et des Lettres (Order of Arts and Letters) from the government of France. The honor was in recognition of his significant contributions to arts and literature. Since his first trip to France in September 1953, Ray always considered France his second home. The ornate gold and green medal was intended to be worn around the neck, which Ray did, immediately. It also, officially, made Ray Bradbury a “Commandeur” of Arts and Letters.

  He was ebullient. He wore the medal nearly everyday. And when he would deliver a speech, or welcome an audience to a production of one of his plays, he always concluded his remarks by saying much the same thing:

  “The government of France has recently made me a Commander of Arts and Letters,” he would say, clutching the proud medal around his neck. “So I command you to love me!”

  Ray was still very engaged, he surrounded himself with friends and family; he loved to get out and socialize, and to dine out at the Pacific Dining Car in Santa Monica, or at El Cholo, a favorite Mexican restaurant on Wilshire Boulevard.

  When people visited, they were startled by the amountof personal belongings and career ephemera in his den, the room where Ray spent most of his time. There were piles of papers; stacks of books; oversized-toys; sculptures of dinosaurs; even a scale model of Captain Nemo’s submarine, Nautilus. They often had trouble navigating around the mementos, curios, and “metaphors,” as he called them, from his long life.

  “Just move that pile and pull up a chair,” he would say, jovially.

  At this time, the household was now down to but one cat,Hally (named for Halloween) and Ray loved her completely. She sat on the chair with him each day. When television crews came to the house, Hally was always there, in frame, sitting by the side of her friend. She figured prominently in the production of a documentary made for the National Endowment for the Arts “Big Read” community reading initiative. Hally passed away in 2010 and Ray wrote a brief, rarely seen, heartfelt tribute, titled “A Friend Waiting Out in the Rain.”

  Hally, you say? What does the name Hally mean? Why, it’s short for Halloween.

  When she came
into my life and into the house about eight years ago, she had a streak of burnt pumpkin across her face and I looked at that streak of burnt pumpkin and I said, “That’s Halloween. That must be her name.”

  So I called her “Hally.” And she became part of my life and she lived with me, and followed me around all day and slept with me each night.

  The loss of “Hally” deeply saddened Ray. All the while, more longtime friends and lifelong collaborators also said goodbye. His stout black leather telephone book continued to morph into, as he called it, “a book of the dead.”

  Forrest J Ackerman, Ray’s childhood friend, the man who had paid for Ray to go to New York City in 1939 for the First World’s Science Fiction Convention, died on December 4, 2008. Don Congdon, his agent “for life,” passed away at the age of 91 on November 30, 2009. This loss was particularly difficult. Bradbury had first corresponded with Congdon in 1945. They formalized their business relationship the very same week Ray married Maggie in 1947. Soon after, Ray went out and got a crew cut to look just like the man he so admired, his agent, Don Congdon. Congdon had always been there, protecting Ray and guiding his career. Ray was comforted in knowing that Congdon’s son Michael and their agency, Don Congdon Associates, Inc., would carry on representing his literary interests.

  Despite the departures and losses, Ray kept his spirits up. He was defiant. Everyone who visited commented thathe left them feeling inspired by his outlook and attitude, even as he was on the precipice of turning 90.

  “It’s been ninety goddamn incredible years!” he said. “Every day, I’ve loved it. Because I’ve remained a boy. The man you see here is a twelve-year-old boy, and the boy is still having fun. You remain invested in your inner-child by exploding every day. You don’t worry about the future, you don’t worry about the past, you just explode. If you are dynamic, you don’t have to worry about what you are. I’ve remained a boy, because boys run everywhere. They keep running, running, running, and never looking back. That’s me, the running boy.”

  Even at 90, his memory was encyclopedic. He could recall where he saw a movie when he was a boy, he could name the cast and crew of a film; he could remember virtually everything.

  On November 20, 2008, Ray was over-the-moon to serve as guest programmer with Robert Osbourne on his favorite television network—Turner Classic Movies. Ray’s cinematic selections for the day were Phantom of the Opera, The Hunchback of Notre Dame, Rebecca, and Citizen Kane.

  Because of the rapidly shifting publishing landscape and the possibility for new sales, it was time to bring Ray into the digital age. Ray had famously lambasted the new e-book era, saying, “You can’t smell a Kindle…There are two perfumes to a book; a book is new, it smells great; a book is old, it smells even better. It smells like ancient Egypt. So a book has got to smell. You have to hold it in your hand and pray to it. You put it in your pocket and you walk with it. And it stays with you forever. But the computer doesn’t do that for you.”

  Ray resisted moving his books into the new, pixilated world. But through some convincing by Congdon and his daughters, Ray’s agent began negotiating e-book amendments to the contracts for many of his old titles. Perhaps most significantly and symbolically, Congdon negotiated a new book deal including digital rights with Simon and Schuster for Fahrenheit 451for what he described as a “substantial sum.” This, along with new e-book editions for many of his titles published by HarperCollins, and with the sale of film rights for The Martian Chroniclesto Paramount Pictures, meant that Ray’s finances were in solid shape.

  Ray ventured out of the house for a June 2010 book signing in Glendale; for a joyful pilgrimage to Comic Con in July; and for a standing room only on-stage interview at Western University of Health Sciences in Pomona, California. Los Angeles held a series of events throughout the city, officially proclaiming it “Ray Bradbury Week,” from August 22 through August 28 and Ray was there.

  Yet more and more, he was at home. Still, he proclaimed to all that he would live to 100, if not forever, as Mr. Electrico had long ago prophesied.

  Friends visited Ray at home, sharing a meal (very often, hamburgers from L.A.’s renowned “Apple Pan” restaurant) when he had the appetite, and reading to him in bed, most often from his own books. He watched movies; he slept, yet stayed remarkably positive. He even occasionally dictated an essay, including one for The New Yorker magazine for their June, 2012 “Science Fiction” issue, compiled from materials he’d previously written and included in interviews he’d conducted with Don Congdon in the 1970’s. It was a reflective piece on Ray’s childhood discovery and love of science fiction, and the death of his beloved grandfather, entitled “Take Me Home.”

  In May of 2012, weakened and with labored breathing, he was brought to Cedar Sinai hospital in Los Angeles. Ray had taken a few trips to the hospital in the past decade, so everyone expected him to soon return home. But on the day after publication of his essay, Ray Bradbury, always one to think and speak and even act in metaphors, fulfilled the title of his New Yorker essay. On June 5, at 8:47 pm, with Patrick Kachurka, Ray’s longtime line-in nurse Santiago Montejo, and his eldest daughter Susan by his side, Ray Bradbury, indeed, went home.

  By the next day, the sad news had spread around the world. This man, this remarkable creative force, this writer who had, through poetic language, singular use of metaphor, and sheer originality of ideas and philosophy, was gone. This extraordinary writer who had given voice to the human soul was no longer with us.

  “Ray Bradbury wrote three great novels and 300 great stories,” author Stephen King said in a written statement. “One of the latter was called ‘A Sound of Thunder.’ The sound I hear today is the thunder of a giant’s footsteps fading away. But the novels and stories remain, in all their resonance and strange beauty.”

  Film director Stephen Spielberg released a statement as well. “He was my muse for the better part of my sci-fi career,” said Spielberg. “He lives on through his legion of fans. In the world of science fiction and fantasy and imagination he is immortal.”

  Even President Barack Obama reflected upon the loss:

  “For many Americans,” said Obama, “the news of Ray Bradbury’s death immediately brought to mind images from his work, imprinted in our minds, often from a young age. His gift for storytelling reshaped our culture and expanded our world. But Ray also understood that our imaginations could be used as a tool for better understanding, a vehicle for change, and an expression of our most cherished values. There is no doubt that Ray will continue to inspire many more generations with his writing, and our thoughts and prayers are with his family and friends.”

  A private, intimate memorial was held, June 12, at Westwood Memorial Cemetery. Ray was laid to rest next to Maggie. Friends, family, and all four Bradbury daughters stood before the small gathering and spoke eloquently, beautifully, with sadness and celebration for a life well-lived, for a creator, friend, and, most important, a father whose heart brimmed over with love. Just two months later, on what would have been Ray Bradbury’s 92nd birthday, a final, otherworldly tribute transpired. For the little boy who long ago used to go out onto his grandparents’ lawn on warm Midwestern summer nights, lie down and gaze up at the stars and dream, it would have been almost unthinkable.

  Millions of miles away, on the surface of Mars, NASA’s $2.5 billion dollar “Curiosity” robotic rover was given the signal to make its first movement since landing on August 6, 2012. Just as the wheels began to turn and the vehicle started to inch forward, NASA scientists released a statement, officially naming this region on the surface of Mars “Bradbury Landing.”

  “This was not a difficult choice for the science team,” said Michael Meyer, NASA program scientist for Curiosity. “Many of us and millions of other readers were inspired in our lives by stories Ray Bradbury wrote to dream of the possibility of life on Mars.”

  Ray Bradbury could not have asked for a better, more fitting, final birthday present and tribute. He will, truly, live forever.
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br />   ILLUSTRATIONS

  Summer 1917. Grandpa and Grandma Bradbury; the twins Leonard Jr. and Sam; Ray’s father Leonard Sr. in back; Ray’s mother Esther far right; the irrepressible Aunt Neva bottom center

  ALL PHOTOS COURTESY OF RAY BRADBURY

  The first letter from Don Congdon to Ray Bradbury. The letter is addressed to one of Ray’s pseudonyms. Congdon wrote this letter to Bradbury in late August 1945 while he was working as an editor for Simon and Schuster.

  Letter courtesy of Michael Congdon.

  The marriage certificate of Ray and Maggie Bradbury.

  ALL PHOTOS COURTESY OF RAY BRADBURY

  Maggie and Ray holding their firstborn, Susan Bradbury outside the their the apartment at 33 S. Venice Boulevard, 1950.

  ALL PHOTOS COURTESY OF RAY BRADBURY

  Test photo for a publicity photo, circa early 1950s.

  ALL PHOTOS COURTESY OF RAY BRADBURY

  A page from Ray Bradbury’s diary while in Ireland writing the screenplay for Moby Dick.

  ALL PHOTOS COURTESY OF RAY BRADBURY

  The opening of EPCOT, October, 1982.

  ALL PHOTOS COURTESY OF RAY BRADBURY

  At the “Music Box Steps,” made famous in the 1932 Laurel and Hardy film, The Music Box and in Ray Bradbury’s story, “The Laurel and Hardy Love Affair.” Circa 2001.

  ALL PHOTOS COURTESY OF RAY BRADBURY

  File cabinets in Ray Bradbury’s basement office containing dozens of story starts, fragments, and unpublished material.