Uncle Timmy Kept Me in Science Fiction Fandom

Richard "Uncle Timmy" Bolgeo. This photo was taken by my daughter at a meeting of the Tennessee Valley Interstellar Workshop, of which Timmy was a big supporter.

    If it weren't for a man named Richard Bolgeo, my life would be far less rich and innumerable friends and acquaintances would have remained strangers. For those whose life Richard touched, this is a very common story. His counsel on a cold January morning changed my mind about science fiction (SF) conventions and fandom. He kept me from walking away from attending science fiction conventions, or cons, after a particularly bad experience many years ago had left a sour taste in my mouth and that of my wife and some close friends.

    In high school, I was an avid reader of science fiction, including Analog Magazine. Analog published monthly some of the best SF short stories, popular science essays, and book reviews. I was a subscriber. On the very last page of the magazine was a listing of upcoming SF conventions where fans of the literature would gather to talk about their favorite books and authors, get to know each other, and, of course, party. Cons also feature lectures and panel discussions populated by authors and fans, a dealer’s rooms for buying books, models, games, and other genre swag, and the ever-popular con suite where food and beverages are available nearly 24/7.

    I attended my first con in the late 1970’s, while I was still a high school student. RiverCon was a longstanding convention held annually in Louisville, KY at the historic Galt House hotel located in a scenic spot overlooking the Ohio River. My good friend, Jim Morman, and I got permission from our parents to drive from our homes in Ashland, KY across the state to attend. By today’s standards, this was an unusual thing to do – allow two 17-year-old high school students to drive 150 miles to an event none in their families had ever attended (and knew nothing about), rent a hotel room (in our names – yes, the hotel rented a room to two minors!), and spend the weekend in the state’s largest city. Remember, in those days there were no cell phones, so no one could track where we were, and we had no easy way to seek help in the event of an emergency.

    Jim and I were in heaven. We met a rising new writer, George RR Martin, chatted with the Guest of Honor, Roger Zelazny, and drooled over the many cool items in the dealer’s room for which we didn’t have the money to buy. The weekend went well, we weren’t arrested, and arrived safely home late on Sunday evening. We were hooked.

    Over the next few years, I was in college and then graduate school, unable to spare the time or money to attend very many conventions, managing to go about once each year. After I landed my first real job, I once again began attending conventions (and this time I could afford some items in the dealers’ rooms).

    Then came marriage. Fortunately, my wife is an understanding sort and readily accepted my occasional participation in these quirky science fiction conventions. She was eager to experience one with me as we began our new life together. It was now the late 1980’s and there were many cons to choose from to have as her entry point into fandom. We chose one in Chattanooga, TN where some writers I admired were attending to be our first ‘together con.’ We invited some local friends to go with us. I was eager to also introduce them to cons and fandom. We packed up our car and off we went.

    During the day, the convention was great – the panels, the talks, the serendipitous hallway meetings and discussions, etc. Nighttime was a very different matter. We, like most con goers, were up late (to nearly 1:00 am), but when we wanted to sleep, we wanted to sleep. Instead, we were kept awake by obnoxiously loud shouting in the hotel hallways, a loud party next door, and even the fire alarm being pulled in the middle of the night. The police were called, but even that did not calm the rowdiness. We were not pleased.

    The next morning, I learned that the convention had been invaded by local high school students in search of beer. They were rowdy, destructive, loud, and ruined the overall convention experience for me, my wife, and our friends. I was embarrassed at bringing my new wife to the convention as her introduction of fandom and we were both embarrassed at having brought our friends. It was a disaster.

    The second night of the convention was no better.

    Sunday morning, the last day of the convention, could not arrive soon enough. As I was waiting in the hotel checkout line, one of the people I met at the con and felt a kinship with, Richard Bolgeo, walked up to chat. He asked if we had a good weekend and I’m afraid I unloaded on him, spelling out in detail all the nighttime annoyances, and I concluded saying something like, “I’ve outgrown this.” Mind you, I said that to Richard (AKA “Uncle Timmy”) Bolgeo, a seasoned and experienced engineer working for TVA at nearby nuclear power plants. He would have none of it.

    “Les! You cannot drop out of fandom until you come to this new little convention we are starting next summer.  We won’t allow unaccompanied high school kids in the door, and we plan to limit the attendance to only a few hundred. It’s a literary con and I’m the chairman. We want our con to feature prominent writers and scientists, and, very importantly, be family friendly. I won’t leave you alone until you say you’ll join us next summer for LibertyCon.” For those that never met Uncle Timmy, he was very persuasive.

    I had no choice but to agree to come to LibertyCon (their first meeting!) that next summer and I am glad I did. Not only did I meet the great L. Sprague & Catherine de Camp, Vincent DiFate, and Bob (“smooth!”) Tucker, but I began a friendship with other guests and people on staff like Klon Newell, Linda Bolgeo, Timothy Zahn, Tish Groller, Kevin Ward, Ron Hogue, Brandy Bolgeo (Timmy’s young daughter and the new chair of LibertyCon – then part of the teen “Brat Pack”), Blake Powers, and many others – all at LibertyCon #1. Since then, my list of fandom friends has grown to include far more people than I can name here and most can share their own memorable "Uncle Timmy" stories.

    There have been more than 34 LibertyCons since then and I have had the privilege to attend almost all of them.

The program book for the first LibertyCon

    Thanks to Uncle Timmy and the great people who organize and run LibertyCon, it is one of my favorite weekends of the year. We are family.

    From LibertyCon, I’ve branched out to other great conventions, mostly in the South, including Constellation (alas, they no longer host an annual con), CONtraflow, and MidSouthCon. I even manage to participate in and enjoy the spectacle that is DragonCon. And yes, my wife now accompanies me to most of these conventions and is an eager participant. They are her family too.

    All this to say, “Thank You Uncle Timmy” for starting and running a con for people like me and for keeping me among my peeps – the people of science fiction fandom. Though Timmy has passed from this world to the great science fiction convention in the sky, his legacy lives on and I am indebted to him.

 

For more information, please visit my website: www.lesjohnsonauthor.com

Simple Choices Can Shape A Lifetime

 

The "Young" Adult Fellowship in 2009.\

Life is full of choices, some seemingly inconsequential (What shirt will I wear today? Do I want a cookie or ice cream?), others are major forks in the road of life even if they don’t feel like it at the time. I followed one such fork, one that has enriched my life in innumerable ways, when I first moved to my adopted hometown of Huntsville, Alabama in the late 1980s. There are many more such forks that I will cover in future posts.

First, some background and context. I earned my M.S. in physics from Vanderbilt University in 1986, after 2.5 years of arduous work and relative social isolation. Graduate school was one of the best things I’ve done in life and one of the most difficult. The academics were challenging, to say the least, and I had a tremendously inspiring and helpful thesis advisor. Aside from two close friends, one of whom was regrettably taken by Covid 19 in 2021, it was a time of great loneliness. Physics students are stereotypically not known to be the most social. (No offense is intended to any of those with whom I studied at the time. I suspect they would now say the same.) By the time the degree was conferred, I had a job lined up in Huntsville and I was more than ready to begin the next phase of my life.

I found an apartment and moved in during the late spring of 1986. It was during that first week that I called First Christian Church of Huntsville, the largest local congregation of the church denomination of which I was a member, Disciples of Christ. When I called, an immensely helpful woman answered the phone. I asked her about the church and the service times. (This was pre-internet and one had to make a phone call to find out such things.) She enthusiastically welcomed me to town and said she would inform the pastor that I would be visiting on the upcoming Sunday morning.

Sunday arrived and I did the socially awkward and always uncomfortable first church visit, sitting next to people I didn’t know, chatting with people much older than me (Why are older members the only ones who greet visitors?), and trying to observe and determine if this church would be the one in which I would want to worship. The service was traditional and the pastor inspiring. Afterward, I exited the sanctuary with everyone else and moved into the narthex for the post-service social time. I was, of course, standing there mostly alone.

After a few minutes, Pastor John Jackson, wearing what I would later come to know as his genuine and infectious smile, walked over and introduced himself. He had been told of my planned visit, and he made a point of finding me among the crowd. During our conversation, he mentioned that the church had a Young Adult Fellowship (YAF) composed of people at the same life stage as me — post-college, single, and seeking camaraderie. He briefly excused himself and came back moments later with a tall, smiling man who reached out his hand to shake mine. His name was Alan Patterson. He immediately told me about the YAF group and invited me out to lunch with them. They were just deciding where to go after church for a meal and fellowship. I readily agreed and joined them at Michael’s, a local buffet restaurant that has long-since closed its doors.

The group was as described: There were about twelve people, evenly split between men and women, and all greeted me with smiles and sincere welcomes. I don’t recall who I sat next to at lunch that day, but I vividly recall the setting and the euphoria of finding a social group with whom I could engage. Following lunch, they planned to go to a pool and invited me to join them. I agreed, rushed home to grab my bathing suit and towel, and met them for an afternoon of fun, sun, and fellowship.

I had instant friends. (“Just add water!”)

An early photo of the YAF Group before couples formed.

Over the next several weeks, I joined them for their Tuesday evening Bible studies and fellowship time, Friday movie and game nights, Saturday hiking trips, and, of course, Sunday worship and fellowship. Many of our activities were facilitated by First Christian’s associate pastor, Tom Van Laningham. Tom had a passion for nurturing young adults and made sure that the social aspects of our fellowship did not outweigh the spiritual — which was critical to our growth as Christians and deepened our understanding of what Christian fellowship is meant to be.

It was on those Tuesday nights that we really got to know each other. These gatherings were hosted by Margaret and Dick Schock, the parents of three of the group’s members. Margaret and Dick fixed snacks, and sometimes food, for us and provided wise, spiritual, and practical advice as we studied the Bible and spent time together. The evenings would begin with social time, followed by a meal, and then a short Bible lesson. Following that, we would ‘go around the circle’ and tell everyone about what had happened to us since we last met. Each person would share the high and low points of their week at work, with family and friends, and life in general. Over time, as we grew more comfortable letting down our guards and really sharing what was on our hearts, our friendships deepened. These were people who understood and cared about each other without judgment. I felt accepted.

After a while, it became clear that the group had an unspoken rule: no dating within the group. I realize this sounds odd since many who seek out and join such fellowships are either overtly or subtly seeking their future spouse. Honestly, that thought had crossed my mind, but it also became clear to me, as it did to everyone else there also, that dating someone within the group could ruin the dynamics of friendship and trust we had come to enjoy. After all, if some began dating and then broke up, how could it not spill over to the rest of the group? We were all friends and the thought of having to ‘take sides’ in any relational dispute was too dramatic to contemplate — hence the unspoken rule.

Shortly after I arrived and joined the group, my future wife, Carol, visited First Christian and became a member of YAF. You now know that the unspoken rule was eventually broken, but not just by us…

Over time, the YAF group began taking weekend trips to local state parks where we rented cabins. We took a long Columbus Day weekend for a trip to Gulf Shores, Alabama. Some went skiing in Colorado. At all these events, there was, of course, a ‘guys cabin’ and a ‘girl’s cabin.’

I believe it was the heartfelt sharing on Tuesday evenings that changed the group dynamics. One by one, we would go around the circle and share stories of our week, with one topic coming up over and over — dissatisfaction with the dating pool and the disastrous dates some had during any given week. It became clear that what we were each looking for in a dating relationship was someone like… like someone in the YAF group. Uh oh.

And then, a couple formed in secret. I don’t know when they realized it themselves, but Bill Schock and Hanna Brown fell in love and started spending more time together outside of the group. At first, most of us didn’t notice. But, over time, when we saw that they were always sitting next to each other on Tuesday nights, at pizza on Fridays, and in church on Sundays, and that they always managed to be together when arriving at events and carpooling, we realized the unspoken rule of the group had been broken. And I am very, very thankful they broke it.

Within a matter of a few months, four couples formed: Bill Schock and Hanna Brown, Kevin Frankland and Wendy Keller, David Arrington and Melody Rutledge, and, of course, Carol and me. In less than a year, there were four YAF weddings.

What happened to the YAF group when nearly half its members married each other? It grew. Joining the fellowship were an already-married couple, Frank and Lisa Fitzgerald, and then others. Some came and went, but the core remained and continued the traditions begun when it was exclusively a fellowship of single adults. Shortly thereafter, some longtime members found their life mates and married: Alan and Sharon Patterson and Joe and Angela Schock, specifically. Not everyone in this tight-knit group chose to get married, including our good friend Terry Sullivan, one of the key personalities that has kept the group together over the last 35 years.

Then, as it often does, life happened. One of the ‘original’ couples, Bill and Hanna, moved to Birmingham. Fortunately, the story did not end there. This group of friends remains closer to one another than many families — thanks (again) to Margaret and Dick Schock…

At what I believe was a backyard engagement party for Joe and Angela, Margaret (it could have been Dick, or both) said, “You know, life can deal anyone a ‘handful’ at times. Y’all have something special here and you shouldn’t let jobs and distance (referring to Bill and Hanna’s move) prevent you from sustaining your friendship. It will be hard work, but you should be intentional about keeping up with each other, so you don’t become distant as the years pass. You should commit, right here and now, to finding time for each other every year, no matter what.” And we did.

Those “guys” and “girls” trips I mentioned earlier continued every year. Every year — for a week — scheduled a year in advance. Sacred. Inviolate.

At first, the gatherings (each between four and seven days long) were all fun, sun, late-night games, and fellowship. And then the children began to arrive. The fun continued, but in a quite different way as, over time, the children outnumbered the adults. And then some of the YAF couples followed their jobs to cities other than Huntsville, making the trek to South Alabama a prohibitive drive. We shifted our annual gatherings to Prizer Point and other lake recreational areas in Kentucky and then to the mountains of North Carolina. What didn’t change were the deep friendships and the group dynamics.

YAF at Gulf Shores in 1995.

During one of our trips, when the average child’s age was somewhere between six and ten, we learned that they, the children, had inherently assumed the YAF gatherings were family reunions and that they were all cousins!

Life has its challenges, joys, and tragedies. The YAF group has not been an exception. We comforted each other as parents became ill and died. We grieved when one of the children was called to heaven at much too young an age. We encouraged each other when children faced difficult medical conditions, treatments, and surgeries. We stood together when one of our number faced a cancer diagnosis and arduous treatment. We shared in the joys of the births of each other’s children and their accomplishments growing up. We watched as our children became young adults of the same age as us when we first met each other — and secretly wished that the YAF offspring would marry each other. Alas, they did not.

YAF trip to North Carolina when the children nearly outnumbered the originals!

All the YAF couples are still married, defying the odds (!!), and Terry is still keeping us in line.

A note about the name: Though we are no longer “Young Adults,” we couldn’t bring ourselves to change the name away from YAF. It now stands for whatever anyone in the group wants it to stand for. I prefer, ‘Youthful Ageless Friends,” but I might be alone in that.

This year marks the 34th anniversary of our first annual group trip to Gulf Shores. We’ve gathered annually every year, with the summer of 2020 being the first at which only about half of the group participated due to the spread of Covid — though we did manage to engage everyone with Zoom so we could at least ‘go around the circle.’

The fork in the road that I followed began with a phone call to a local church. The greatest joys in my life, the friendships with my YAF brothers and sisters, meeting Carol and with her raising our two children, and all the experiences in between, hinged on me making a simple, seemingly inconsequential phone call.

Praise God for being with us as we make what we believe are the small life decisions. They may have consequences well beyond anything we can imagine.

YAF in 2022 thanking Margaret Schock for fostering our group and providing celebratory wine during our annual summer gathering.