Tuesday, July 17, 2012

Sam Weller. Ray Bradbury. Come home.

We do not know the Sam Weller. But we know he loved Ray Bradbury. Which means we love him. It also means we love the Bradbury remembrance he published in the HuffPost this week. Most beautious that.

"And then there is the basement. The famed basement office of Ray Douglas Bradbury. The fluorescent lights that hang from the joists will never buzz again. Not over him, at least, perched over his hulking metal office desk, as he loved to do, stout fingers gliding over the keys of his IBM selectric typewriter.

The basement filing cabinets, stuffed with unpublished tales and fragments of story starts waiting to be finished will now, likely, go to a cold repository for study and academic rumination. All the toys and the books and the old pulp magazines have lost the man who collected them all with love and fervor over a lifetime of excitement. This basement, this repository of a man's childlike wonder, will never see the man ever again. 

And it is as if the very house itself, on a moonlit California summer night, says, hushed, "Come Home. Come Home."

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