We leave the ship in Singapore and have booked no farther. I plan to visit Java and Bali at least and wind up at Darwin, Australia—we are trying to arrange booking for an island freighter now; if that doesn't work, we will visit the islands by airline and end up at Darwin anyway. Then we fly to Sydney, stay as long as we like in Australia, go to New Zealand, where we intend to visit both North and South Islands (there is an N.Z. airline that has a circle route), and eventually back home via the Fiji and Hawaiian Islands and San Francisco.
October 24, 1953: Robert A. Heinlein to Lurton Blassingame
As you can see, this is my "strike-out" letter—even though I may write again. You will see, too, that I have (with fantastic ingenuity and smug planning) placed all the real dope on page two, which you can now stick up on your bulletin board, or something. We'll send you postcards of calabozos and hippos and things. If I don't return on time, just forward my personal effects to Tahiti, fourth beachcomber from the left.
Wups! I forgot something—money. Don't send me any checks after about 7 November; just hold for me whatever comes in. It is possible that, after I am cleaned out by a gang of international gamblers headed by a beautiful blonde in sable, that I may ask you to cable me some dough—but it seems most unlikely, as I am taking plenty.
April 3, 1954: Robert A. Heinlein to Lurton Blassingame
We got home late Wednesday and spent Thursday and Friday unpacking and reading mail. I have answered none of the latter as yet and still can't find the top of my desk—and about two dozen bread-and-butter notes to write consequent to the trip as well. We are both okay save for head colds picked up in New Zealand and still with us. The trip back was okay until we were within ten minutes of Colorado Springs, whereupon the damned plane caught fire in its heating system, filled the cabin with smoke, and caused the skipper to turn back and make an emergency landing. This when I had about softened up Ginny to the notion of traveling by air in the future—
TRAVEL BOOK
Editor's Note: In 1953 and 1954, Robert and I took a six-month trip around the world. When we returned, I suggested that Robert write a book about the trip. He wrote half of the book and sent it off to Lurton, to see whether there was or was not a market for it.
It turned out that there was no market for it.
Everyone who read this book loved it, hut no one wanted to publish it. Robert spent some months working on this book. It is too late to publish it now—it's considerably outdated.
August 30, 1954: Robert A. Heinlein to Lurton Blassingame
I think you had better send the travel book manuscript back and let me finish it. I have spent the whole summer expecting it back in the next mail, frustrated by its half-finished condition, and unable to get to work on anything else. I'll never send out an incomplete ms. again—it is, for me, like having someone read over my shoulder; it keeps me from concentrating on the work in the machine.
A long string of houseguests helped to wash out the summer, too. The last of them are out of the house now and I should be able to finish the travel book quickly. I want to start on my next novel in a couple of weeks. I plan to do the next boys' book first, then an adult serial novel.
EUROPE
January 24, 1955: Robert A. Heinlein to Lurton Blassingame
We have not yet been able to book our proposed trip, but we still hope to leave about the 1st of May. Don't worry about the trips I take cutting in on writing; in the long run they increase my output and enhance its quality. Anything I do always winds up in a story eventually—and it is most unlikely that we will ever make another trip six months long.
May 10, 1955: Robert A. Heinlein to Lurton Blassingame
We have luxurious quarters, the owner's cabin, about twice as big as the other passenger staterooms. I don't know how we got it as we did not ask for it, but it is very pleasant. For the first time in a ship I have room enough to write and a comfortable setup for it. I might even turn out a story . . . although this seems unlikely as my mind is comfortably blank.
July 16, 1955: Robert A. Heinlein to Lurton Blassingame
How are you? Me, I'm a little confused. I've been in ten countries so far this trip, used nine languages, and thirteen sorts of money including U.S. MPC "funny money" in which $10 bills are printed in bright red and a nickel scrip looks like a cigar coupon. I've just finished calculating a trip into the Arctic Circle (which we start tomorrow morning) which involves marks, guilders, Belgian francs, and three sorts of kroner, all at different rates. I came out within about 10 percent of the right answer, which is better than I expected.
* * *
Ginny has been spending money with joyful frenzy and everything costs six times what it should. I think I have money enough with us to cover everything, but I am no longer sure. Could you please send me a thousand dollars in American Express drafts (the only sort which is really easy to exchange everywhere) to the Heidelberg address above? Deus volent, I will still have them in my pocket when we reach New York, but I will feel easier if I have them. We will be back on the 6th of August; then we go to Bayreuth so that Ginny can sop up Wagner (the Ring Cycle) while I sop up beer—then home by easy stages. I estimate that we will be in New York about the 9th or 10th of September, but anything could happen between now and then.
LAS VEGAS
April 22, 1959: Robert A. Heinlein to Lurton Blassingame
We're back home and not quite broke—in fact, I didn't even manage to use up all of some traveller's cheques I bought in New York over a year ago, and now we have money running out of our ears, with all taxes paid. Ginny worked hard on the slot machines, did not manage to drop behind more than five dollars all week. I played the slots very little, craps one evening, and put a few chips on roulette en passant and broke about even—I wasn't there to gamble anyhow. One member of our party, a boy I went to Annapolis with, gambled all week, splurged on night clubs, etc., and returned to Colorado Springs with more money than he had started out with. I can't claim that, but I will say that they practically give you the joint free—provided you don't drop a lot of dough at the tables. Gourmet food is cheap, the most lavish night clubs in the entire world are very cheap, equivalent hotel rooms are about half what they would cost in New York. I understand that the taxis are expensive, but we hired a new Chevvie and never entered a taxi.
The Congress of Flight was almost the size of a World's Fair, with the most remarkable demonstrations and exhibits I have ever seen anywhere . . . The static exhibits included such things as the Atlas, Thor-Able, X-15, manned re-entry capsule for Project Mercury—and the 1911 Bleriot monoplane. The dynamic exhibits had everything, from several types of bombing to the most frightening precision flying I have ever seen—half a dozen nations each trying to bilge the others and the Chinese Nationalists stealing the show with a nine-plane diamond tight formation that did things I still don't believe. Nobody killed—although we in the audience almost had heart failure.
* * *
Las Vegas is sort of an organized nervous breakdown. We are exhausted, sunburned, and euphoric . . . But the three largest bookstores in town do not sell science fiction—I looked for some of my own to give to friends—no dice.
To my great delight my name tag was read and recognized every few minutes all week long—a large percentage of the delegates read science fiction.
SOUTHWEST TRIP
March 9, 1956: Robert A. Heinlein to Lurton Blassingame
We are just back from an eight-day swing of Albuquerque, Las Cruces, and Portales, a very enjoyable time which included seeing friends at Sandia Weapons Center, the AEC [Atomic Energy Commission], a rocket society do at White Sands, seeing ---- ----'s new baby, photographing the gypsum sands, a real dust-bowl storm with the sun blacked out and silt up to the fence tops, a visit on a cattle ranch, lecturing at the University of New Mexico, getting stuck in the mud, and encountering quite a bit of sunshine and warm weather after a very hard winter. I am now trying to clear my desk.
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br /> The start of the May Day Parade, Soviet Union, 1960.
August 15, 1960: Robert A. Heinlein to Lurton Blassingame
Well, I'm home and completely swamped by the volume of work in front of me. I've spent the past four days just trying to get enough stuff put away and thrown away so that I can get at my desk to write. As soon as I finish this letter I will get to work on an attempt to try to revise and extend the Intourist article along the lines you suggested—but, truthfully, trying to write humorously about the USSR won't be easy. Ginny and I laughed ourselves silly time and again, but it was hysterical laughter; there is not much that is really funny about the place.
Editor's Note: Robert wrote two articles about this trip; they can be found in Expanded Universe.
ALMA
May 15, 1961: Robert A. Heinlein to Lurton Blassingame
We went to Alma, Oklahoma, on April 29th, using a chartered airplane and getting it all done in one day. "The Sequoyah Book Award" turns out to be a handsome plaque. I addressed the State Library Association and they had a book-signing afterwards—and durn if they hadn't sold almost two hundred copies of Have Space Suit—Will Travel.
Scribner's offered to pay for the trip, but I preferred not to be under obligations to them while there is such continuous pressure on me to quit Putnam's and go back to Scribner's. Anyhow, it cost less than two roundtrip commercial tickets and considerably less than it would have cost to drive it—and it's deductible. Anyhow, arriving by private plane added to the show.
SAN DIEGO
July 12, 1962: Robert A. Heinlein to Lurton Blassingame
My short trip to San Diego and to sea was terrific. A day under the sea in the submarine Raton, spent with destroyers hunting us and trying to (simulate) depth bombing—which they do with grenades, which make a terrible racket but, at most, break a light bulb—then we flew aboard the carrier Lexington, spent the night watching night operations, then day operations the next day, then flew back to Colorado Springs—elapsed time C.S. to C.S. fifty-four hours and almost no sleep. The night landings were made by supersonic fighters, Demons (F3H), and it was the most exciting—and the noisiest—thing I've ever seen. She's an angle-deck carrier and landings and catapulting go on simultaneously, one of each about every thirty seconds—and they hit at about 130 miles per hour and roar away if they miss the wire. Besides that, I was recognized repeatedly, which boosts my morale. The icing on the cake was a birthday party in the air for me on the way home. Much fun!
LAS VEGAS AGAIN
September 30, 1962: Robert A. Heinlein to Lurton Blassingame
I've got to bathe, shave, dress, and run—the Houston trip was fast and frantic; the Las Vegas trip was long and delightful. Ginny hit several nickel jackpots, I did not gamble at all but saw all the shows . . . The space and aircraft exhibits were magnificent, there were many fine parties and three open bars, and a fine firepower show—bombing, Thunderbirds, refueling in the air, the new planes, and a joint AF and Army Strike demonstration. And we saw many old friends. The Folies Bergere was as always, and the Lido de Paris show better and more lavish than ever.
ANTARCTICA
December 28, 1963: Robert A. Heinlein to Lurton Blassingame
I think I told you by phone that Popular Mechanics wants me to do another article, or several. Since then we have tentatively agreed on a subject for the next one: the research going on at the South Pole. I had in mind going there next year, but Stimson's last letter spoke in terms of right away. Since summer has just started at the South Pole this is reasonable—save that I am up to my ears in this Hollywood deal with Screen Gems. The trip need not take long—ten days or two weeks—but if I am to go at all this [Southern Hemisphere] summer, it must be in the next few weeks, with conflict most probable with the Screen Gems deal. . . .
If it does work out that I go now instead of about a year from now (anytime after Labor Day 1964, that is), this would solve the problem of what to use for a Boys' Life serial: Lay it at the South Pole and make it a mixture of science and adventure. And that would also solve the problem of my next juvenile for Putnam's—three novellas totaling about 50,000 words, Nothing Ever Happens on the Moon, Tenderfoot on Venus, and Polar Scout. [Putnam] has written me, twisting my arm a little to turn out another juvenile; this would satisfy [Putnam] for the '65 spring list, I think. If you see fit, you might ask Boys' Life if they would like a serial about Antarctica, one written from personal observation.
I should add that I told Popular Mechanics that, having given them a first article, I reserved the right to do other articles and fiction based on the trip. They want to pay only what they paid before . . . I could hitchhike the entire trip on military "space available," but I am more likely to go commercially to Auckland. But I can show a nice profit by writing other things on the same material.
Editor's Note: This trip did not come off but we did travel to Antarctica in 1983.
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The 18th Century Brass Cannon was the inspiration for the original title of The Moon Is a Harsh Mistress
December 11, 1964: Robert A. Heinlein to Lurton Blassingame
All the various checks sent registered in two mailings arrived, of course, and Ginny is again complaining that it is backing up on her. It is her own fault; spending is her province and she returned from this last trip with more than a thousand in cash—she didn't even really try. Her largest purchase was three "pans" (or drums) for a steel band, purchased in Trinidad, and they weren't expensive; they were simply hard to get home—one medium-sized, eighteenth-century brass cannon purchased in New Orleans (so now we are in business for ourselves). The cannon helped a little—$275—but when a guide offered to have a jewelry shop opened for her on a Sunday in Caracas she turned him down. We simply will have to buy some more stock after we pay the income tax; she has lost her touch.
Perhaps the most interesting part of the trip was visiting a Bush Negro village far up in the jungle in Suriname, formerly Dutch Guiana-descendants of escaped slaves who continue to live Congo-style deep in the rainforest, up a side river by launch. My principal reaction was that bare breasts aren't necessarily sexy; the Zulus are much better equipped in that region. We also visited an Amerindian settlement—the Indians were polite and dirty, the Negroes were pushy and very clean. As for other matters—well, a flying fish with a 12-inch fin wing-spread flew into the lounge one evening through a port dogged open only 4 inches without damaging the fin wings. I couldn't ask him how he did it; the landing killed him. We got a royal tour of the Boeing plant in Louisiana (guests of the chief engineer and chief counsel), and I beg to report that the Saturn is the most monstrous big brute imaginable and I do not believe that the Russians can do things on the scale of our Apollo project. I do believe we will have a man on the moon this decade; progress looks good. Ginny visited a Negro whorehouse in Jamaica, and behaved with such aplomb and savoir faire that one would think she had spent her whole life in one. We arrived in Denver late at night to find our flight did not run that day, so I chartered a 2-engine Aero-Commander and we landed in a snowstorm in Colo. Spgs. by GCA. I watched it from the co-pilot's seat—much like a carrier landing. The ground is covered with white stuff but it is good to be home.
Editor's Note: That brass cannon still stands in the living room. It served as the working title for The Moon Is a Harsh Mistress; of course, the title was changed as the editors did not think it was a suitable title for a science fiction novel.
The cannon is a saluting gun from an eighteenth-century sailing vessel, but it still works. We used to fire it every Fourth of July.
December 28, 1964: Robert A. Heinlein to Lurton Blassingame
I behaved myself in Jamaica and all through the trip—first, because I was well chaperoned and, second, because I was never really tempted. The female passengers were all antiques and the chocolate items ashore were not tempting. No, I'm not racist about it—some of the Zulu gals I saw in Sout
h Africa were decidedly tempting. But not these. As for Ginny's savoir faire, here's how it came about: [someone from our ship] had a date with a mulatto gal, not bad looking but not too bright and quite notional. He . . . took Ginny and this gal and myself on a pub prowl through the lower depths of Kingston. About midnight this gal suddenly decided that we should all go to ---- and gave the address to a cabdriver—instead of a night club, it turned out to be a cathouse complete with red light, eight or ten colored gals in the parlor, and a bar and jukebox in a room behind the parlor, where the madam (somewhat annoyed but polite) received us. [The gal's date] was terribly embarrassed and explained behind his hand to me that he had not had the slightest idea where we were going. But Ginny was not embarrassed, spotted what the place was at once, and was delighted to have had a chance to see inside one. We bought a couple of rounds of drinks, played the jukebox, and left—much to the madam's relief. (I strongly suspect that [the woman] had worked in that house.)
CLASS REUNION AND RETURN
November 12, 1969: Robert A. Heinlein to Lurton Blassingame
It was a wonderful trip for us, all the way through. I'm sorry that I arrived in New York so beaten down by my class reunion [in Annapolis] (some day we'll make a trip in which the first stop will be New York and arrive in prime condition)—I'm especially sorry that I missed the ballet in which the gals (did) (did not) wear body stockings . . . Jack Waite took an afternoon off to give us a personal tour of the Manned Spaceflight Center [in Houston]—high points: a view of Moon rock (swelp me, it looks to me like hundreds of little shiny golden spheroids embedded in a tannish gray matrix), a visit inside the mission control room during a computer-simulation of Apollo 12 mission (the LEM was just "landing" on the Moon and you could follow it on the displays), and a long, detailed lecture on the Moon suits (for us alone) by the chief engineer of life support systems—who turned out to be Ted Hayes, whom I [had] hired as an undergraduate at U of Pittsburgh twenty-seven years ago to work at the Naval Aircraft Factory—and I lured him into signing with me rather than General Electric by promising him that he could help develop pressure suits for fighter planes and I kept my promise and it led directly to him developing the first suit used on the Moon.
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