It's 1993. The last of the lions, Ray Bradbury, Ray Harryhausen, Robert Bloch, Curt Siodmak, and the man who coined the term, "science fiction," Forrest J. Ackerman, all gathered in DC for The Famous Monsters Convention. Every time we passed the lobby, there was Ray Bradbury, telling stories from a comfy chair, with a silent throng, seated in silence (we quickly sat cross-legged on the floor with them.) Nothing past or since has compared, except for my wife and children coming into my life. Oddly, every time we joined this ethereal scene, I thought of the nightly vigils Pat Buttram's character, Charlie Hill, held over a similar group in "The Jar." In terms of timeless literature, I rank Robert E. Howard's "Pigeons from Hell," AND it's Boris Karloff Thriller adaptation, as a TV tandem that's hard to match, but the literary and television versions are fairly close. I noticed one reviewer sensed that southerners, myself being one, would be quite upset by "The Jar." Not in the least. Stereotypes plagued America then and still do; the climate in Hollywood didn't truly grasp our nature until the film version of "To Kill a Mockingbird" obviated a truer clarity regarding our diversity.
