HOLLYWOOD Nobody rescues collection depicting sci-fi era
September 20, 2002 HOLLYWOOD � For Hollywood and history, it was horrifying. Vultures descended on the estate sale, bickering over prices and carting severed monster heads and space aliens out the landmark mansion's door. Forrest J. Ackerman, the 85-year-old author and sci-fi king, graciously sat on a fold-out chair and watched his lifelong dream destroyed. Somehow, he managed a smile as strangers grabbed up his late wife's $1 Jell-O molds along with the priceless treasures he'd amassed since he was 10 years old. For 51 years, almost every Saturday morning and for free, the enthusiastic funster tookwhomever showed up on a lively, chill-filled "touch everything" tour of the "Ackermansion," jampacked with a 300,000-piece movie memorabilia collection once dubbed the "Fort Knox of Science Fiction." Mostly it was regular folks from around the globe, but A-list celebs, including Bela Lugosi, Vincent Price and Steven Spielberg � the latter who with George Lucas credits Ackerman with inspiring their filmmaking � also ogled at the Martian machine from "The War of the Worlds" and the pteranodon that tried to spirit away Fay Wray in the 1933 "King Kong." Though he was repeatedly ripped off � some moron even hijacked half of the 18-foot sub from "Atlantis, the Lost Continent" � Ackerman until lately let strangers trek through his bathrooms, bedrooms and kitchen because he wanted to share the gifts and purchases he poured every penny into. But here's the real horror story: For decades, Forry, as he was nicknamed, futilely tried to get Hollywood studios, moguls and the city of L.A. to give his wondrous wares a permanent home. And now it's too late. Ackerman had to sell the dilapidating 18-room mansion, move into a small nearby bungalow and liquidate the largest collection of its kind in order to pay $200,000 in legal bills incurred during a court battle with former business partner Ray Ferry over the pen name Dr. Acula. Ackerman won but Ferry declared bankruptcy. "How much is this?" the vultures buzzed as they snatched Forry's beloved fantasy paintings and posters off the walls. "$25," Ackerman replied. "Will you take $23?" Author Ray Bradbury didn't go to the weekend estate sale; he says he would've cried. Ackerman, who was the longtime editor of the pulp magazine, Famous Monsters of Filmland, gave Bradbury his first writing break in 1937. "It's a disaster. This shouldn't have happened," said Bradbury, who claims that over the years he tried to get everyone from the late Mayor Tom Bradley to Spielberg to help with a museum. "Hollywood has never done anything about itself. They're greedy, selfish and they're stupid!" Ackerman, who coined the term "sci-fi" in the '50s and created the Vampirella comic, is still recovering from pneumonia and brain surgery to remove a blood clot, but he sat in that fold-out chair all day, autographing every bargain-basement item for free. Once, he seemed on the verge of tears when he turned over a gargoyle figurine to write his name and saw an old message from the fan who gave it to him � "To Forry" next to a heart. But then, he bravely grinned and addressed the next customer in line. "Can I come and visit your collection sometime with all that great art?" he kindly asked the man buying a sci-fi trove. Who knows why Hollywood, rapturous for remakes but pathetic at preserving its past, never came through. A rep for Spielberg said he remembered being offered all or part of the collection but that the director "may not have been interested at that time" or that when asked, "it was so casual, in the middle of a movie, that it never got further than that." A spokesman for the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences said a curator from its library, which has extensive archives on Ackerman, visited his home, but that an "official" proposal was never made and the collection was too diverse for the academy. Whatever. It's scary. So instead, there was the ghastly garage sale. Soon, there'll be three auctions, where Forry's 50,000 spine-tingling book collection and other high-end relics go on the block. He did manage to keep about 50 of his most prized mementos, which now surround him in his modest rental. Before going to the estate sale, the lanky gent put aside his walking cane and hammed it up in a cape that Lugosi donned in a 1932 stage production of "Dracula." (Theatrics come easy � he's had scores of cameos, and laughs that as a teetotaler, he drank apple juice at a bar in "Beverly Hills Cop III"). Next to the dining table, he showed off the teeth and top hat worn by Lon Chaney in the 1927 film "London After Midnight." "Don't touch it! That will blow us all to Adam!" he jokingly shouted when a reporter neared a mounted electricity switch from the 1935 "Bride of Frankenstein." Forry has no heirs. "These things are his children," said Ann Robinson, a friend who starred in the 1953 "War of the Worlds." And, no surprise, this big-hearted creature still wants to share his brood with everyone. Next month, with his live-in nurse at his side and by appointment only, Forry plans to begin giving tours of his new digs. He devilishly smiled; once again he'll joyously spook "victims" with long-lost Hollywood lore. Copley News Service writer Norma Meyer reports from Hollywood, as she sees it. Copyright 2002 Union-Tribune Publishing Co. Find this article at: <<http://www.signonsandiego.com/news/uniontrib/fri/currents/news_1c20vine.html>> --Ronn! :) I always knew that I would see the first man on the Moon. I never dreamed that I would see the last. --Dr. Jerry Pournelle _______________________________________________ http://www.mccmedia.com/mailman/listinfo/brin-l
