Part 1 (2/2)

His stories began to appear in the most prestigious magazines in the nation, including _Esquire_, _Collier's_ and _The Sat.u.r.day Evening Post_. 1954 also marked the beginning of his career in television when, in April, his teleplay ”Masquerade” aired on _Four Star Playhouse_. In the years to follow, hewould write a number of scripts, many in collaboration with Richard Matheson. ”For a year or two, we wrote together on all sorts of projects: we did a couple of _Have Gun, Will Travels_, and old Western series, _Buckskin_, and there was _Philip Marlowe_, and the _D.A.'s Man_. Real c.r.a.p, most of it,” says Matheson, laughingly. ”But it was fun, because we had never done this before . . . But eventually we decided that we really didn't need to collaborate, and chose to go our own ways.”

Beaumont's entry into television, coupled with his success at _Playboy_, soon enabled him to partic.i.p.ate in what was to become a new and exciting hobby--auto racing. In February, 1955, Beaumont and Nolan attended their first sports car race in Palm Springs (an event in which actor James Dean was driving, and with whom Beaumont would later share a maintainance pit). The sport instantly became one of the great fascinations of their lives--a fascination which quickly carried over to John Tomerlin as well.

”Chuck was marvelous at talking people into doing things they had not thirty seconds before ever dreamed they wanted to do, and suddenly discovered that it was their lifelong ambition,” says Tomerlin.

”And the next thing you knew, you'd be off and on your way doing it!”

The trio could soon be found attending and competing in weekend racing events on the West coast, at an average of one event per month, and writing voluminously for motoring journals such as _Road & Track_, _Autosport_, _The Motor_, _Sports Car Ill.u.s.trated_, and _Autocar_. A favorite hangout became the Grand Prix--a Hollywood restaurant which catered to the sports car enthusiast and professional alike, and featured racing music, racing records, and 8mm racing films, which were shown over the walls by multiple projectors. Of their racing abilities, Nolan says: ”We weren't great, by any means, but we were fairly good, fairly fast, and totally crazy--which means we weren't afraid of anything.”

Later this year, Beaumont made a major--as well as difficult--decision to act on his growing concern over the way his fiction was being handled by the Forrest Ackerman agency--an agency which dealt, almost exclusively, in science fiction markets. With increasing regularity, Beaumont had found himself turning toward ”mainstream” storytelling and, in July, signed with Don Congdon, of the Harld Matson agency in New York. The move proved to be a beneficial one, and quickly helped in establis.h.i.+ng Beaumont's versatility. As Richard Matheson observes, ”Chuck had no genre; he was not a science fiction writer, he was not a fantasy writer--although he did write some wonderful science fiction and fantasy stories--he wrote all kinds of fiction. A _lot_ of the stuff he wrote--for _Playboy_, what have you--was just flat, goodout fiction. Straight fiction. So there's no category. His mind jumped from place to place.”

Beaumont's first short fiction collection, _The Hunger and Other Stories_ (G.P. Putnam's Sons) was released in April of 1957 to favorable reviews. ”The first sixteen tales of the book are interesting as instruments which reveal the scope and proclivities of a highly individual mind,” says the _New York Herald Tribune_. ”One is impressed by the creative gymnastics of the author . . . But in 'Black Country,'

Beaumont, the author, is forgotten . . . Among all the stories it is this extraordinary work that pa.s.sionately tears into the heart of jazz which gives Mr. Beaumont undeniable stature as an artist.”

In addition to the previously mentioned periodicals, Beaumont's stories--both fiction and non fiction--were appearing in publications as _The Magazine of Fantasy and Science Fiction_, _Fortnight_, and _Rogue_. (In _Rogue_, due to his _Playboy_ commitment, he appeared as ”C.B. Lovehill” and ”Michael Philips”). Other collections soon followed--_Yonder: Stories of Fantasy and Science Fiction_ (Bantam, 1958), _Night Ride and Other Journeys_ (Bantam, 1960), and _The Fiend in You_, a Beaumont-edited anthology (Ballantine Books, 1962). In September of 1957, his first novel was published, _Run From the Hunter_ (written in collaboration with John Tomerlin under the joint pseudonym ”Keith Grantland”).

Though he employed many writing styles, the distinct Beaumont ”signature” was always in evidence. ”His writing was brisk and very terse,” says Bradbury. ”There's a great similarity to John Collier. Collier rubbed off on him, just as Collier rubbed off on me. And it was all to the good: good, short, to the point, imaginative storytelling. A lot of us are Collier's indirect sons, but you learn as the years pa.s.s, to shake the influence. But it's certainly there. I also see carryovers from my work in Chuck.

It's inevitable, because we were around each other so much. I told him about Eudora Welty andKatherine Anne Porter. I think that also shows. And it's all to the good.”

By 1958, Beaumont had firmly established himself in television, scripting episodes for shows as _Alfred Hitchc.o.c.k Presents_, _One Step Beyond_, _Naked City_, _Thriller_ and _Wanted Dead or Alive_. Recalls Jerry Sohl, author of numerous scripts and novels, and with whom Beaumont had collaborated on several screen projects, including an unproduced version of _The Dunwich Horror_, ”Chuck was the kind of person who could go in [to a producer's office] and absolutely flabbergast you.

He'd do what you'd call 'Blue Sky'--he'd pitch this story and no one would say that's no good, because they'd be so fascinated with Chuck. He had this ability to absolutely overpower you with what it was that he was doing. The trouble with most writers is that they may be good writers, but they can't sell themselves in television. Chuck Beaumont was able to do both; plus he could deliver the goods when the chips were down.” In 1958, Beaumont also saw the film release of his first produced screenplay, _Queen of Outer s.p.a.ce_. (Two earlier screenplays, _Confession of a Teen-Ager_ and _Invaders from 7000 A.D._, both written in 1956-7, went unproduced). Of the film, Beaumont says: ”[The] studio called me in to do what I'd thought was to be a serious study of a group of men who take a s.p.a.ce s.h.i.+p to Venus. But how serious can a picture be when the part of the world's biochemist is played by Zsa Zsa Gabor? The picture [is] about these men who land on Venus and find a planet inhabited entirely by beautiful women.

”Naturally, I wrote the thing as a big spoof. Only trouble was the director and some of the cast didn't realize it.”

When Rod Serling's _Twilight Zone_ made it's network debut in 1959, Beaumont became one of the show's princ.i.p.al writers, scripting 22 of its 156 episodes. Richard Matheson explains his and Beaumont's involvement with the celebrated series. ”The show was just getting started and Chuck and I had just joined this agency which was quite good at the time (we'd never had a good film agency before this), so they immediately started getting us appointments. There was a lot of work going on in television--half-hour television--and _Twilight Zone_ was about to screen their pilot episode. So Chuck and I went to pitch some ideas to Rod [Serling] and [producer] Buck Houghton.” Beaumont and Matheson went on to become second and third, respectively, in production of _Twilight Zone_ scripts behind Serling, and were largely responsible for some of the series' cla.s.sic episodes.

Beaumont was also responsible for bringing a young, untried talent to _Twilight Zone's_ core of princ.i.p.al writers. While George Clayton Johnson's story output was relatively minor (four stories and four teleplays), when compared to that of Serling, Beaumont and Matheson, it was the _quality_ of his work which soon placed him on a level with the other three.

By now a close-knit ”brotherhood” had formed between Beaumont and his friends--many of whom considered him the cornerstone or ”electric center” of the group. ”Chuck was like the hub of the wheel,” explains Nolan, ”And you had all these different spokes going out: Richard Matheson, John Tomerlin, George Clayton Johnson, OCee Ritch, Chad Oliver, Ray Russell, Rod Serling, Frank Robinson, Charles Fritch, myself. Spokes. All connected to Beaumont. He energized us. Fired us. Made us stretch our creative and writing muscles. He was always encouraging us to do better. It was a very stimulating period in our lives.”

The summer of 1961 found Beaumont involved in an explosively-controversial project: the first motion picture to deal with the volatile problem of Southern school integration, based on his novel _The Intruder_.

The factual springboard for both novel and film was an article on rabble-rousing John Kasper in _Look_ magazine, printed in 1957 as ”Intruder in the South,” which described a power-hungry Kasper's efforts to sabotage school integration in Clinton, Tennessee. Adam Cramer, the central figure in Beaumont's story (protrayed by actor William Shatner), is on a similiar mission and also uses integration as a ready lever in an attempt to gain personal power. He fails, as Kasper failed, but not before mob violence has taken its ugly toll, as it actually did in Clinton; by the time Kasper left, a week after his arrival, bombings, acts of terror, and attacks on integrationists had become common in the small community.

Intrigued by Kasper, Beaumont packed a suitcase and flew to Clinton to interview him.

A year and a half later his novel was finished, and Beaumont was subsequently hired to do thescreenplay adaptation for director Roger Corman.

When Corman, whose forte had long been science fiction-horror, was unable to obtain studio backing, he financed _The Intruder_ on an independent basis. Filmed on location in and near Charleston, Missouri, on a shoestring budget of $100,000, and utilizing some 300 local townspeople in its cast, Beaumont went along to oversee his script and to essay the cameo role of school princ.i.p.al Harley Paton.

The film was never successful in general release due to complications over its controversial nature, but it was later exploited under the misnomer, _I Hate Your Guts_, and, later, _Shame_.

The early Sixties also saw the production of seven other Beaumont screenplays: _The Premature Burial_ (written in collaboration with Ray Russell); _Burn, Witch, Burn_ (with Richard Matheson); _The Wonderful World of the Brother Grimm_ (with David P. Harmon and William Roberts); _The Haunted Palace_; _The Seven Faces of Dr. Lao_; _The Masque of the Red Death_ (with R. Wright Campbell); and Mr. Moses (with Monja Danischevsky). In 1959, Beaumont also worked with Otto Preminger on _Bunny Lake is Missing_; however, Beaumont's script was never used and he remained uncredited on the film.

By now, film and television offers were flooding in. At times Beaumont juggled as many as ten projects simultaneously, and would have to farm the extra work out to fellow writers William F. Nolan, Jerry Sohl, John Tomerlin, Ray Russell and OCee Ritch. ”I gather Chuck did too much, didn't he?”

observes Bradbury. ”He overloaded himself; then had to farm the extra work out to his friends. I think there's a similarity here to Rod Serling--Rod could never resist temptation. In other words, you've been neglected a good part of your life and no one is paying attention to you, and all of a sudden, people _are_ paying attention: they're offering you jobs here and there. And the temptation is: Jeez! I never had anything. I better take that because it may not last! And that happens to all of us. So Chuck, I think suffered from 'Serling Syndrome.' Rod, in the last year of his life, did all those commercials, which he didn't have to do. But he couldn't resist, and I gather Chuck couldn't resist all these things; then it got to be a real burden and he had to do something with it. So his friends had to come to his aid.”

Although he'd attained a high-level of creative and financial success in film and television, Beaumont had often confided to close friends his desire to return to novel writing, and, in 1963, decided to finish _Where No Man Walks_--a novel he'd begun in mid-1957. John Tomerlin explains, ”Once you begin working in Hollywood, unless you enter it through the back door of doing novels and then writing the screenplays and stories that you want to, you end up taking a.s.signments; usually, to a large extent, those a.s.signments are other people's--you're meeting their requirements. Even if the story is original, you must adapt it to their requirements. I think Chuck didn't like doing that, and wanted very much to write books that he had seen himself writing.”

But time was running out on Beaumont.

By mid-1963, his concentration began to slip; he was using Bromo Seltzer constantly to cope with ever increasing headaches. Friends remarked he looked notably older than his thirty-four years of age. By 1964, he could no longer write. Meetings with producers turned disastrous. His speech became slower, more deliberate. His concentration worsened. Meanwhile, his family and friends desperately tried to understand and treat his symptoms.

In the summer of 1964, after a battery of tests at UCLA, Beaumont was diagnosed as having Alzheimer's Disease; he faced premature senility, aging, and an early death. ”The saving grace to it,” says Tomerlin, ”if there is one, in a disease like that, is he was not really aware, after the very beginning, that there was anything wrong with him. When he first began to show strong symptoms of it, he would have kind of momentary flashes of great concern, as though he saw something happening and couldn't understand what it was. But it was a fairly gentle process.”

Charles Beaumont died February 21, 1967 at the age of thirty-eight, his full potential never realized.

His last hardcover book was _Remember? Remember?_, and as Bill Nolan observes, ”there is so _much_ to remember about Charles Beaumont: [a] midnight call to California--Chuck calling from Chicago to tell me he planned to spend the day with Ian Fleming and why not join them? . . . the frenzied, nutty nights when we plotted Mickey Mouse adventures for the Disney Magazines. . . the bright, hot,exciting racing weekends at Palm Springs, Torrey Pines, Pebble Beach . . . the whirlwind trips to Paris and Na.s.sau and New York . . . the sessions on the set at _Twilight Zone_ when he'd exclaim, 'I write it and they create it in three dimensions. G.o.d, but it's _magic!_'... the fast, machine-gun rattle of his typewriter as I talked to Helen in the kitchen while he worked in the den.. . the rush to the newstand for the latest Beaumont story. .

Yet, Beaumont's magic is still with us, evidenced by the four children who survived him, and in the stories which follow. He was a craftsman, the kind of writer who could be relied upon to perform the ultimate function of fiction--entertainment--adding always some ambiance, echoing, indefinable, the reflection of a storyteller who was more than a voice . . .

Roger Anker Los Angeles, California January, 1987 -----------------------------.

PREFACE.

by Christopher Beaumont -----------------------------.

Roger Anker has put together a good and varied collection of Beaumont short stories. But he's done something more. He's wrapped each and every story in the loving embrace of a friend. Matheson, Tomerlin, Bradhury, Nolan; all names I grew up with. Each one a distinct and pleasant piece of my memory. A memory that includes the picture of a young boy falling asleep, night after night, to the sound of his father's typewriter, the keys finally becoming a familiar lullaby.

Do not think for a minute that the style and clarity found in these stories was not the result of countless hours spent shaping and reshaping, and then reshaping again, the words.

But somehow, in the midst of his pa.s.sion for the words, he found time enough, and love enough to be a father. And such is the quality of that love that it sustained his children; Catherine, Elizabeth, Gregory and myself, through the stormy weather that followed his death and the death of our mother.

Not only sustained, but inspired and confirmed our suspicions that certain things never die: a story well told, the steadfast loyalty of a good and true friend, and the memory of a father who somewhere knew that his time was short, and so pa.s.sionately shared all that he had to share.

And even now, some nights, I vaguely hear the typewriter keys tapping in the other room. The single bell at the end of the carriage. The sound of the roller twisting another lucky page into the works.

And then the tapping starts again and I begin to drift to sleep.

Good night, Father.

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