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Ever see Wolf Rilla’s original “Village of the Damned” based on John Wyndham’s “Midwich Cuckoos”? I remember loving it as a kid (and it still holds up well today – as a big John Carpenter fan, I choose to forget that he even did that remake). To this day, I’m pretty amazed nobody has ever given me grief about the remarkable similarities between the village of Midwich losing consciousness for a few hours and a certain event in Resurrection where something very similar happens.
Anyway, if you’ve never seen it, check it out sometime. In particular, there is a haunting performance by one Martin Stephens, age about 10, as the leader of the children of Midwich who are just a little different.
Anyway, I turned my daughter onto this film several years ago. She’s not a horror fan by any means, but she likes this movie a lot. Recently I noticed that Martin Stephens was going to be appearing at a convention in New Jersey and asked her if she’d be interested in going and got a very energetic yes in return.
This past Saturday was a rough day. She didn’t win the pumpkin decorating contest at school. She didn’t win any of the raffles at the school fall spectacular. Oh, well. That happens. The Chiller Theatre convention and meeting Martin Stephens would make up for that. We even watched “Young Frankenstein” the night before because Teri Garr was also scheduled to appear. We were also going to meet a friend of mine at the convention whom we seldom get to see.
Then, reality set in. After a 90-mile drive, we found that there was no room at the inn – there were too many people at the Chiller Theatre convention and the fire marshal wasn’t going to allow anyone else inside. I texted my friend to see if he could try to at least get Martin Stephens’ autograph for my daughter. We left Parsippany, NJ feeling like the day had just beaten us up.
On our way to dinner at the Palisades Center Mall (60 miles from Parsippany), I mentioned that sometimes, the universe throws a bunch of bad luck your way to prepare you for something good but unexpected. Those words felt a little empty as I said them, but you know what? I still see that happening sometimes.
So there we were in Dave & Busters, sitting down for dinner, and my phone rang. It was my friend at the convention, asking if my daughter was available. I handed her the phone (after hitting the speaker button) and suddenly, there is the British accent of Martin Stephens on my phone talking to my daughter, explaining how sorry he was that he didn’t get a chance to meet her.
Friends rock. Whenever you visit this site, you’re getting a little bit of a gift from the same friend. Whenever you hear the Resurrection audio book, you’re getting another gift from him. When Mateo and I appear on the Destinies radio show, you’re getting another gift from him.
Sometimes, I wonder what odd quirk of fate got me into this Space: 1999 business that has swallowed the past decade of my writing career where I can do a lot of work for a very tiny audience. And then things like this happen and I tell myself, well, here’s why. The rewards are out there – when you really, really need that boost, the universe delivers.
And the universe, in this case, is named Phil Merkel.
You hear the name Latosa and Latham and Muir a lot in Powys. But never forget that behind the scenes, the Powys mysterious unknown force is named Phil.
BL
Somewhere in the known or unknown Universe, a circle of chairs, thrones and clouds…
“Why don’t we introduce ourselves for the new members. OK, I guess I’ll start. For those of you who may not recognize me, my name is Heracles, and I am a demigod…”
“Hi, Heracles…”
“Well, I [i]was[/i] a demigod, but I got promoted after a while, but I still understand the feeling. Sort of gnaws at you a lot. To my right…?”
“My name is Helen, and I am a demigod…”
“Hi, Helen…”
“…You probably know my brothers, Castor and Pollux. They’re stars now. Clytemestra, my sister, well, she’s a real piece of work. Still I swear Mom liked her better.”
“Helen, Helen. We need to take responsibility for our own actions. I understand you brought the refreshments tonight?”
“Yeah, the usual.”
“Wonderful. Now, our first new member. Please tell us about yourself.”
“Hi, my name is Zuul…”
“Hi, Zuul…”
“Oooo, I should have brought s’mores instead of pie tonight…”
“Helen, that’s not funny. Go ahead, Zuul…”
“… and … I just want to say, well, I’m tired of refrigerator jokes. You know, why was Zuul embarrassed? Because of the salad dressing…”
“Idiot…”
“Helen, that’s just about enough. You’re among friends, here, Zuul. Who’s next?”
“Hi, my name is Phil and I’m an MUF…”
“Hi, Fil…”
“No, that’s Phil, with a [i]Ph[/i]…”
“And you’re a MUPh…”
“Well, no an Em Yoo Eff.”
“A muph…?”
“Helen, I think he has explained himself.”
“Himselph…”
“Ye gods, no wonder the ships left. If I had to listen to that all day.”
“Nobody asked you, lettuce-head.”
“Horse-breath.”
“Dough Boy.”And so it goes.
This may be the most fun topic we’ve had on this forum!! 🙂
Thank you, Bill, for a most uplifting story about friendship. I really needed a little lift, as I lost my oldest and dearest friend to cancer earlier this week. As you said, life does sometimes have a way of beating you up, but then a ray of goodness can shine from the most unexpected of places.
Hey, Scott — sorry to hear about your friend. Normally I try not to share too much stuff from the books before they’re out (except at PowysCons), but here’s a segment that begged to see the light of day in response to your posting — this is from The Final Revolution. If there’s anything spoilery below, it’s from something that was inferred at the very end of Children of the Gods.
“This hurts. I know this hurts. And when you feel pain like this, all you want to do is not feel it for a little while. But that’s not a challenge. You can always make your pain go away. You’re not making the source of the pain go away. That’s something altogether different. So you can hide it with work, with responsibilities, you can hide it with things that feel good, like burying yourself in your hobbies. It’s there. It’s always there. It’s…yes. That’s it. It’s like a foot. Like a foot walking on beach sand. You sweep away that sand and it’s like the foot was never there. The ocean even comes and helps you. But the foot was there. Soon you have to deny you ever even walked on that beach. You have to change the way you even see the world. You lose contact with that pain. Until it erupts on you in some way you’d never even expect. That’s the pathology of the mind. Your mind is keeping track of its wounds. But consciously, you’re whitewashing it. Nothing hurts you, does it? Can’t let anybody see that. I don’t know why I’m even telling you this. No. I know why. Don’t waste these feelings. You loved her. Don’t mask that love because it hurts to know that she’s gone. How you felt about her isn’t gone. Let that…let that shine until you can feel it glowing on your skin. Grief is not where you bury your love. It’s where you reveal it. Where you really come to know the size of it, how big it was inside of you. Where you allow the pain to have its day. Do that? Do that and you’ll honor her memory.”
Ooooohhh… Ominous!! Thank you, Bill… both as a fan of your books who is anxiously awaiting the next installment, and as someone who is dealing with a grief with which I am having trouble grappling. I know that death is a natural part of life, and I have dealt with losing both of my parents along with other relatives and friends. But this time it seems so senseless and unfair. My friend was my age and so full of life (so full of himself, sometimes), and I’m just finding it hard to compartmentalize it, to put it in its proper perspective. They say that time heals all wounds, and I know I’ll be fine in time, but right now it is just overwhelming. My apologies to everyone for using this forum as an outlet to air my own non-Space: 1999 crap.
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