gibbet

noun
1. a gallows with a projecting arm at the top, from which the bodies of criminals were formerly hung in chains and left suspended after execution.

verb (used with object)
2. to hang on a gibbet.
3. to put to death by hanging on a gibbet.
4. to hold up to public scorn.

[Origin: 1175-1225; ME gibet (earlier, staff or cudgel), dim. of gibe, staff, club]

HOWARD’S USAGE:

“In any event you hang, either from my yard-arm or from a gibbet on the Port Royal wharves.”

[from “Black Vulmea’s Vengeance”]

Having enjoyed [redacted]’s recent “Thoth-Amon, Lord Voldemort. Voldemort, Thoth-Amon” post, I’d like to follow up on Mark’s references to ophidians as “an eternal symbol of menace, ” and “a symbol of ultimate evil.” They aren’t invariably the ultimate evil in Howard’s work, and therein lies a tale, or two tales, “The Scarlet Citadel” and “The Valley of the Worm.” The former story debuted in the January 1933 Weird Tales, the latter in the February 1934 issue; did readers who were paying close attention wonder about a connection between the Satha of “Citadel” and that of “Valley”?

In the Conan story, once the king of Aquilonia is shackled in Tsotha-lanti’s “very Halls of Horror named in shuddersome legendry,” the next order of business is to introduce Satha, which Howard does by way of “a soft rustling sound, blood-freezing in its implications.” Conan, by this point in his life a formidably experienced practical herpetologist, recognizes “the unmistakable sound of pliant scales slithering softly over stone.” What torchlight is available reveals the owner of those scales to be “the ultimate horror of reptilian development,” an eighty-footer the “titan coils” and footlong, scimitar-like fangs of which beggar “all Conan’s previous ideas of snakes.” Satha’s hide “white as hoar-frost” (Frazetta was unfaithful to the text of “Citadel” in his cover painting for Conan the Usurper) leads the Cimmerian to conclude “Surely this reptile was one born and grown in darkness,” but that doesn’t keep its eyes from being “full of evil and sure sight.” Just how sure, we learn as the story progresses.

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skein

noun.
1. A length of thread or yarn wound in a loose long coil.
2. Something suggesting the coil of a skein; a complex tangle: a twisted skein of lies.
2. A flock of geese or similar birds in flight.

[Origin: Middle English skeine, from Old French escaigne, “a hank of yarn.”]

HOWARD’S USAGE:

He knew men, and he knew that to gain his end he must smite straight with this tigerish barbarian, who, like a wolf scenting a snare, would scent out unerringly any falseness in the skein of his word-web.

[from “The Shadow Kingdom”]

Just received the following missive from Arlene Stephenson of Project Pride in Cross Plains:

Fellows, felt the guys would all want to know that Alton McCowen passed away late yesterday [Friday]. EMS picked him up, died shortly after from an aneurysm. We were all just kind of getting used to the fact that Joan [Alton’s wife, and a founding member of Howard Days] had been diagnosed with lung cancer and getting lined up with treatment options.

No arrangements have been made yet. The home address is 15980 FM 880 S, Cross Plains, TX 76443.

Alton was an irreplaceable paragon to both Howard Days and the town of Cross Plains. I first knew him as Cross Plains Librarian Joan McCowen’s stoic husband, quietly moving in the background helping with all of the little tasks that go into making REH Days work. As I befriended more folks in Cross Plains, I learned that Alton was not just an occasional assistant to Project Pride, but an invaluable presence at the Howard House proper, doing much of the upkeep and restoration duties year-round.

Later still I learned of his artistic side, as it was he who had taken the old pickets of the replaced Howard House fence and begun making picture frames out of them to sell in the gift shop (that story was told by Era Lee Hanke in “Old Pickets Find New Homes” in The Cimmerian V2n4) — all of you lucky enough to have bought one of those while they were available have Alton to thank for it.

It was in 2002 that Alton hung around the festivities long enough for me to have my first real conversation with him. We talked for hours about the history of Cross Plains and Texas, and when Ed Waterman and I began asking questions about the flora and fauna of the region, he suggested we take a ride so he could escort us down the back roads and point out various landmarks. We drove away the afternoon with Alton showing us tinhorns where the old town had been, and the difference between things like live oaks and mesquite, and of course he made a point of showing us some post oaks & sand roughs, explaining to us neophytes their importance to the geography of the region.

Meeting Alton thus became the highlight of the weekend for me, and as a result I came up with the idea of arranging a yearly bus tour for REH Days attendees, with Alton as guide. Project Pride was enthusiastic about the idea, and so 2003 became the first year with a “Cross Plains Bus Tour.” Those of you fortunate enough to take one know how informative and entertaining they were. Amazing vistas of Cross Plains and environs, combined with a detailed knowledge of the region imparted by Alton in his laconic, inimitable manner.

In the last two years eye trouble prevented him from handling the guide duties the way he used to, and so locals Don Clark and Jack Baum, along with Howard scholars Rusty Burke and [redacted], picked up the slack. Now that Alton is gone, I hope those gentlemen will continue to run the tour Alton created for us. Perhaps they can call it “The Alton McCowen Bus Tour” in his memory.

I feel grateful that this summer I was able to spend several hours of quality time with Alton, catching up on Cross Plains gossip, listening to his vision and health woes and his many historical reminiscences, and especially looking at some wonderful old pictures of his family he had discovered, taken when he was just a boy, sepia photographs as clear and evocative as the ones we have of REH from the same time. We had a particularly great talk together — who knows, maybe because on some level he suspected it might be our last. In any event, it leaves me with strong, fond memories to remember him by, and that’s a priceless gift.

Back in 2002, after a weekend of getting to know each other, Alton approached me and my compatriots on Sunday morning, after Howard Days had ended, and gave us each a treasure: a long wood shingle from the original roof of the Howard House, specifically from the area right over Howard’s bedroom, shingles that many years earlier had quietly sat over REH while he pounded out his stories. Alton had patiently written a short note of provenance and signature on each one, and that year we went home with a piece of memorabilia that most fans never get to see.

I’ve since followed Alton’s example and given mine away to another Howard fan who I knew would appreciate and care for it, but I will never forget his gesture, or the many other kindnesses he bestowed upon fans over decades of work as a member of Project Pride. He will be dearly missed.

Alton’s wife Joan (on left, with Anne Rone) must be devastated, and I’m sure she would appreciate any condolences thoughtful Howard fans would send her way. Use the address Arlene provides above.

MARK ADDS: Both Alton and Joan have been good, loyal friends of Howard fans over the years, giving of themselves over and over again, and not just during REH Days, either. Joan helped me on several of my own special projects, and I always enjoyed Alton’s stories and observations during the bus tour. He was also instrumental in helping me piece together the history of the ice house, which has become a feature during the walking tour. Rest in peace, Alton. You will be missed.

LEO ADDS: Here’s Alton’s obituary:

Alton McCowen, age 75, of Cross Plains, passed away Friday, August 24, 2007 in Abilene.

Funeral services will be at 10:00 a.m. on Monday, August 27, 2007 at Higginbotham Chapel in Cross Plains with Matt McGowen officiating; burial will follow in the Cross Plains Cemetery.

He was born to Raymond Alton and Donie (Scott) McCowen in Shreveport, LA on September 14, 1931. After graduation Alton joined the U.S. Air Force. He married Joan Thomas in Park Ridge, IL on March 31, 1951. After leaving the service they made their home in San Diego, CA where he worked at the San Diego Gas and Electric Company until 1977 when he retired and moved to Cross Plains. After moving back to Cross Plains, Alton then worked as a general carpenter and handyman.

He is survived by his wife Joan McCowen of Cross Plains; numerous cousins including, Burlie Paul McCowenof Abilene, Bobby Jack McCowen, Rubin McCowen, Charlene McGowen and Jimmy McCowen all of Cross Plains; and Bonita Horton of VA.

There will be a time of visitation and sharing of memories Sunday, August 26, 2007 at Higginbotham Funeral Home at 5:00 to 6:00 p.m.

In lieu of flowers donations maybe made to the Cross Plains Public Library, PO Box 333, Cross Plains, TX 76443.

piker

-noun [slang]
1. a person who does anything in a contemptibly small or cheap way.
2. a stingy, tight-fisted person; tightwad.
3. a person who gambles, speculates, etc., in a small, cautious way.

[Origin: 1275-1325; Middle English: petty thief, equiv. to pik(en) to pick + -er.] In America, dates from 1860s when poor migrants from Pike County, Missouri traveled to California.]

HOWARD’S USAGE:

“I’m through and I’m takin’ down my stake! You gits no more of my money, damn you!”

“Why, you cheap-heeled piker!” I roared. “I thought you was a sport, even if you was a hossthief, but–“

[from “Evil Deeds at Red Cougar”]

Just an FYI — there was a short bit in a recent Cross Plains Review that noted the library had begun amassing a collection of old issues of the newspaper on microfilm for researchers to use. That’s good news: the more people that hunt through those back issues, the more REH related material we are likely to find.

This was forcefully brought home at the Caddo Peak BBQ at this year’s Howard Days, when some of us got to see a previously unknown photo of Dr. Isaac Howard, by far the youngest we’ve ever seen him, which had been found in a late 1930s issue of the Review which had been stored in a trunk for seventy years.

What other treasures still lurk within those pages? With microfilmed copies at the town library, it should prove easier to find out.

…with some comments on my response to his article on Almuric from a few weeks ago.

JOE: I enjoyed Leo Grin’s comments on my comments on Almuric. I really like Howard and I really like Almuric, so let’s get that up front. I wasn’t being demeaning in any way. I think this wasn’t his best work, but I find it appealing, and it is a favorite of mine because of the type.

But I think most male fiction is a yearning for adventure, and it’s a little boy’s yearning all dressed up in daddy’s clothes. Only daddy never wore them where we want to go with them. It’s why we became professional writers. Howard wrote about realism from the standpoint of little boy desires and fantasy. I think all writers do that, males anyway. I don’t care if it’s got guns and shootouts and death in it. It’s always about a yearning for adventure or a pain at the loss of innocence, and the desire to be pure and young again.

It’s all the blood and thunder that makes this stuff adventure that may not necessarily be for boys, though it is primarily, but makes it wish fulfillment. Killing enemies and seeing all that blood is what keeps teenagers buying Fangoria, as well as some of us who still visit that part of us. It’s not a put-down, it’s just simply, from my viewpoint, the way it is.

Virgins may have been an overstatement, but it has that feel of “Wow, I never knew sex until the hero came along, and I’m so willing, and he’s so wonderful and ravishing.” Nice, but, adolescent still.

Also, it’s just an opinion. Nothing to loosen the bowels over; opinions are, as they say, like assholes, and everyone has one, and from time to time opinions make assholes of us all. I plead guilty. But this was a heartfelt piece, and how I see it. You can see it another way, and that’s okay.

Keep on reading.

Locus Online just announced the nominees for the 2007 World Fantasy Awards, and The Cimmerian has officially made the cut for the second year in a row. Assuming that the 2007 judges possess similar sensibilities to last year’s august crew, it’s clear that this nomination came about for one reason only: grass roots support from a silent horde of individual Howard fans lurking out there in the dark corners of the field.

You guys.

I’m grateful to every reader who took the time to send in a vote for TC. Not only that, but you guys also helped a few other Howard-related projects get on the ballot:

[redacted]’s biography, Blood & Thunder: The Life and Art of Robert E. Howard, was nominated for a “Special Award, Professional.” This comes on the heels of the nomination he received for a Locus Award, as well as the winning of a Centennial Cimmerian Award for the book. In addition, the tome published to coincide with Howard being the theme of the 2006 World Fantasy Convention, Cross Plains Universe: Texans Celebrate Robert E. Howard (edited by Scott Cupp and Joe Lansdale), is nominated in the Anthology category. That gives us three categories to get shut out in this year. Good jobs all around.

A World Fantasy nomination carries a magical aura with it that tends to sparkle and glimmer around a project for a lifetime and beyond. Whispers. Carcosa. Ash-Tree. Night Shade. Nyctalops. These are names that send us scurrying for our checkbooks each time a new Coming Attractions is posted, and that lure us into logging countless hours of primo fantasy reading decade after decade. Granted, TC will probably never win. Howard continues to rise in the estimation of knowledgeable fantasy enthusiasts, and someday he may become the same kind of World Fantasy darling that Lovecraft and his modern-day ilk are. But by the time the new generation of fans comes of age and infiltrates the field deep enough to make that happen, The Cimmerian will likely be long gone.

Nevertheless, such nominations help legitimize this strange, often lonely passion we share for the work of a long-dead Texan fantasist. Just like articles in the Washington Post and Wall Street Journal, they serve as useful benchmarks to mark the road toward a new level of maturity in Howard studies. Small, fleeting totems — and yet each provides a little boost to his critical reputation. Over time, they add up.

I’m proud to have such loyal and thoughtful readers, and I hope to keep on delivering REH criticism and scholarship to you for as long as I am able. Thanks, guys.

MARK ADDS: I too would like to thank everyone who wrote in Blood & Thunder and I’d particularly like to thank those of you on the various lists who rallied the troops to make that happen. I’m flattered and touched that the book made it this far. Sarcasm above aside, it IS an honor to be nominated; it makes you more visible within the professional community and it ensures that other like-minded people are aware of your efforts. So, thank you folks, and here’s hoping that the awards banquet will be fruitful for all!

Has anyone ever devised a deadlier zinger about a major author than Oscar Wilde’s “Henry James writes fiction as if it were a painful duty”? Many people, among them some professed cineastes, would also claim that Ingmar Bergman made movies as if it were a painful duty, or at least made movies the watching of which is necessarily a painful duty. After the Swedish director’s death last week just about every obit or tribute online that offered a comments section was gate-crashed by reverse snobbery-afflicted knuckle-walkers and know-nothings who sneered that the Bergman cult was/is an affectation of pseudo-intellectual, popular culture-despising coastal or campus elites — blue-staters, most likely supporters of public television and Volvo drivers. Oh well, in many ways Bergman was the heir of Henrik Ibsen and August Strindberg, so we might say attacks by trolls are part of his Scandinavian heritage.

Jeezis wept, Joe Blog-Reader thinks, is he really going to inflict a post about Ingmar Bergman on us? I can’t help it, having arrived in New York City as a college freshman just in time for the twilight of the pre-videocassette arthouse/repertory cinema era. It didn’t take long before I had ascertained that Fellini and Fassbinder were not for me, but Buñuel, Kurosawa, and especially Bergman were.

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Nurmi

-Proper noun

Paavo Johannes Nurmi (June 13, 1897 Turku — October 2, 1973 Helsinki) was a Finnish runner. He was known as one of the “Flying Finns”; a term given to him, Hannes Kolehmainen, Ville Ritola and others for their distinction in running. During the 1920s, Nurmi was the best middle and long distance runner in the world, setting world records on distances between 1500 m and 20 km.

Nurmi won a total of nine gold and three silver medals in the 12 events he competed in at the Olympic Games from 1920 to 1928. In 1932, Nurmi was unable to compete at the Olympics, as he had received money for his running and was thus considered a professional.

[read more at Wikipedia]

HOWARD’S USAGE:

“They’s no time like the present, before all those tramps come to. Ready? On your mark — get set — go!”
And Oslof and me left Blue River at a rate which wouldst have made Nurmi blush.

[from the ending of “Blue River Blues,” an incomplete Sailor Steve Costigan story.]