So yeah, remember how I said I wanted to write a longer obit for Howard Waldrop?
Lawrence did earlier today. I can’t match that, especially since Lawrence actually lived with Grandpa Howard for six months and knew him better than I did. So go over there and read his obit, and then come back here if you want.
There’s one thing I want to talk about.
One of my favorite Howard Waldrop stories (and also a somewhat obscure one) is “The Wolfman of Alcatraz”. The story is collected in Horse of a Different Color (which you can obtain signed copies of from Lame Excuse Books, and I encourage you to do so, as they ain’t making any more of those), but I don’t believe it is available anywhere online. However, tor.com published an excerpt from it a while back, which will serve to illustrate what I want to say about Howard’s writing.
In his review of a crappy and now forgotten basketball movie (“The Sixth Man”). Roger Ebert made a point about “Level One” thinking.
Movies like “The Sixth Man” are an example of Level One thinking, in which the filmmakers get the easy, obvious idea and are content with it. Good movies are made by taking the next step.
I think a lot of writers would have been content with Level One thinking: “Let’s change the Birdman of Alcatraz to the Wolfman of Alcatraz! Isn’t that a clever play on words?” I also think a lot of those writers would have had their story bounced back with a rejection slip.
Level Two thinking is: okay, what are the implications of having a man that turns into a wolf during the full moon confined in Alcatraz? Especially since in his wolf form, he either kills or infects people? What do they do during the full moon? What security precautions do they take? How does this work?
Of course the Thompson mags are painted silver (and the “LYC” lettering is a nice touch). Of course the Wolfman would have a vital interest in the moon. Based on the various histories of Alcatraz I’ve read, I’m pretty sure that stuff about the prison boat is 100% true to life, because Howard was the kind of guy who did the research. He probably read every damn book there was at the time about Alcatraz, including everything Jolene Babyak has written.
Howard even managed to work the Battle of Alcatraz into his story. Only continuing on the “how does this work?” theme, his version ends in a different way, for reasons. (That part’s not in the excerpt, which is why you should go buy the book.)
The key point I want to make about this story, and about Howard’s work in general, is that he engaged in Level Three thinking. Having come up with the clever idea, and having done all the research, Howard kicked it up a notch. His protagonist in “Wolfman” is an extremely sympathetic guy who you end up genuinely feeling for. He doesn’t know for sure how he got this way, but he knows he can’t be cured, and he knows this is the safest place for him. In just a few thousand words, Howard not only exploited a clever idea and sketched out what the implications of that idea were. He also created a truly memorable and deeply moving story about a man trying to figure out the mystery of who (or what) he was.
“Look, Doc,” he said. “I’m going to be here the rest of my life. Books are the only way I’ll ever get to experience the outside, or see the world, or meet a woman or fish for bluegills in a pond. I can do all that in books. They’re all I have except these walls, those bars, my cell, and the exercise yard.”
By the end of the story, Howard has made you feel for this poor guy. Just like he made you feel for a trio of Disney robots. Or the aging jazz clarinet player, Dwight Eisenhower. Or Hercules.
He was a good man. The world is a worse place today for his passing.
