1925

The artist Lou Feck was born in 1925, more than one hundred years ago now that November has arrived. I have been writing about Weird Tales in that year. Nineteen twenty-five has been in the back of my mind--and sometimes in the front--during 2025. Then something happened in October that made me think differently about 1925.

I was sitting in a room at the Veterans Administration (VA) clinic last month when I heard the receptionist down the hall ask a man's birthdate. He said, loudly and clearly, "February second, nineteen twenty-five." I got up and stepped into the hallway to have a look. He was seated in a wheelchair. There was some confusion about his name. He knew it. His caregiver didn't. She had been taking care of him for the previous six months and didn't know his real first name, for he goes by his middle name and probably has since before she was born.

We know that people can live to be one hundred years old. Actress June Lockhart, co-star of Lost in Space (1965-1968), who died just three weeks ago, reached that age in June of this year. (I guess her birth month was the source of her Christian name.) But to have that fact come almost right to where you're sitting, to see a centenarian in person, to hear a man tell his birthdate of one hundred years ago--that is something else.

So the man in the wheelchair was alive when Weird Tales of 1925 was on the newsstand. That led me to realize that there are almost certainly people still living who read "The Unique Magazine" in its first incarnation, which began in 1923 and ended in 1954. The youngest of them might be around eighty. The oldest might be the age of the man in the wheelchair. Several years ago I talked to a man who read Western pulps in the 1930s. (He was born in the West and flew bombers during World War II and in Korea. He later became an engineer and a university professor. In retirement, he built a one-seat airplane, no cockpit or canopy, in his large shed. There was a parachute behind the seat. It was not for the pilot but for the whole airplane, should it fail in flight.) But I have never talked to or heard from anyone who read Weird Tales except for the artist Jon Arfstrom (1928-2015), who was also a contributor to the magazine. Is anyone else out there? May I hear from you?

Weird Tales, February 1925, with a cover story, "Whispering Tunnels" by Stephen Bagby (a U.S. Army veteran) and cover art by Andrew Brosnatch. Bagby's story is about the Great War and a postwar search for a missing American soldier. The tunnels are under Fort Vaux, part of the battlefield at Verdun. After losing it to the enemy, the French recaptured Fort Vaux on November 2, 1916, one hundred nine years ago this month. This issue of Weird Tales was dated the same month in which the man in the wheelchair was born. He is a veteran, too, and at age 100 is old enough to have served in World War II.

Text copyright 2025 Terence E. Hanley

The Death of Alanson Skinner

The December 1925 issue closed out the first full year of Farnsworth Wright's tenure as editor of Weird Tales. It was also the first full year for the magazine itself, with twelve monthly issues published in all. Nineteen twenty-five was also the last full year during which the editorial offices of Weird Tales were based in Indianapolis. The magazine moved to Chicago in late 1926. I have already written about many of the authors who were in that December issue. A couple of others--James Cocks, Douglas Oliver--might prove a challenge.

There was sad news to report in "The Eyrie" that month. Alanson Skinner (1886-1925), who had had a story in the October issue, was reported killed in an automobile accident. That had happened on August 17, 1925, and so Skinner's first story in Weird Tales was published posthumously. I can't say that this was the first tribute to a deceased author to appear in Weird Tales, but it must have been one of the first. I'll reprint it here in it entirety so that we can remember again an author who died a century ago this past summer.

Those of you who read Alanson Skinner's story of Indian witchcraft, Bad Medicine, in the October issue, will be saddened to learn of the author's tragic death in an automobile accident near Tokio, North Dakota, on August 17. The car skidded on a slippery road and crashed over an embankment. A moment later, the Rev. Amos Oneroad, a Sioux Indian, dazed and bruised, crawled from the wreck, calling a name, listening for an answer. Then he struggled manfully, but in vain, to lift the mass of steel and release his dearest friend, who lay pinioned and silent beneath it. At length help was found, the car was raised, but it was too late. Alanson Skinner was dead--Alanson Skinner, sympathetic and appreciative friend of the Indian race, learned student of ancient America, prolific author of scientific works on Indian subjects, lecturer, fiction writer, poet. Gone forever was that wonderful memory, that bubbling humor, that active mind, that radiant, cheerful personality. He was only thirty-nine years old, just getting into his full stride, at the threshold of what promised to be the most brilliant and valuable part of his career. One of his last acts, before he left on the mission that cost him his life, was to send to WEIRD TALES The Tsantsa of Professor Von Rothapfel, an eery [sic] story of a South American Indian tribe that preserves and shrinks the heads of its dead enemies. This story will be published soon.

"Soon" was August 1926, a year after Alanson's death.

Reverend Amos Oneroad (1884-1937) was a Sisseton-Wahpeton Dakota, an artist, a public speaker and performer, and a writer, as well as a Presbyterian minister. In 2005, the Minnesota Historical Society Press published his book, co-authored with Alanson Skinner, called Being Dakota: Tales and Traditions of the Sisseton and Wahpeton.

Although winter begins and the sun and the day reach their nadir in December, it is--or should be--a happy month. I wish there could have been happier news in Weird Tales in December 1925. But this was as it will ever be.

From the Trenton, New Jersey, Times, March 23, 1917, page 15.

In this series I have gone month by month through 1925, now a century past. I have left out a lot of writers, but these I can still cover in the future.

Original text copyright 2025 Terence E. Hanley

The Four Big L's

To us, the Weird Tales of 1923 to 1954 is a completed body of work. It's all one piece and will forever be unchanging and unchangeable. But to readers in its time, especially in its early years, the magazine was still opening up for them, still alive and growing. It must have been like a journey made in a new land. No one knew what vistas and what new marvels would appear around each bend in the road. It was exciting to them. You can tell it by the letters they wrote to "The Eyrie." I wish we still had all of those letters, including those that were never published. Alas, every day, week, month, and year, another library at Alexandria must be burned.

Early on there must have been authors who showed real promise. For example, Canadian author Julian Kilman (1878-1954) had five stories in the first year of Weird Tales. Readers never heard from him again. They loved "Invaders from Outside" by J. Schlossel (Joseph H. Schlossel [1902-1977]), published in the January issue of 1925. But Schlossel had just two more stories in Weird Tales, in 1925 and 1926.

On the other hand, readers saw right away the promise in H. P. Lovecraft (1890-1937), and they clamored for more. Lovecraft's name is almost synonymous with Weird Tales. We think of him as one of the Big Three of the magazine, a trio that also included Robert E. Howard (1906-1936) and Clark Ashton Smith (1893-1961). Even by April 1925, though, Lovecraft was recognized as a big name. In "The Eyrie" that month, the anonymous editor--Farnsworth Wright--let readers know what was in store for the following issue or issues, writing, "In addition to Burks, Owen and Quinn, you will have stories by the four big L's--La Spina, Leahy, Long and Lovecraft."

"The Four Big L's"--if that were a more euphonious appellation, it could have been the name of a rock 'n' roll band from the early 1960s.

Before writing about the Four Big L's, I should mention the other three:

• Burks was Arthur J. Burks (1898-1974), then in the U.S. Marine Corps but writing fiction about places he had been to, including tales of Santo Domingo.

• Owen was Frank Owen (1893-1968), who would prove a very prolific author and editor. He had a very popular story, "The Wind That Tramps the World," in the April issue of 1925.

• Quinn was of course Seabury Quinn (1889-1969), who went on to write more stories and other works for Weird Tales than anyone else.

Now the Four Big L's:

• La Spina was Greye La Spina (1880-1969), a very popular author and one of few who would have stories in Weird Tales during every decade of its original run, from the 1920s to the 1950s.

• Leahy was John Martin Leahy (1886-1967), also a very popular author but who disappeared from Weird Tales after 1928. I have never read his stories. They sound promising. I would like to think that his membership in the Four Big L's was well deserved.

• Long was Frank Belknap Long (1901-1994), a young author who, in 1925, had recently had a brush with death but who would go on to live longer than all of the others. He was a member of Lovecraft's circle.

• And of course Lovecraft was H.P. Lovecraft (1890-1937), who stood above most writers in Weird Tales for his erudition, imagination, and tireless reading, writing, editing, helping, guiding, advising, thinking, and theorizing, also for his formation of a coherent and consistent worldview and, above that, cosmic-view.

So for a time, there were the Four Big L's, and what a time it must have been for readers of Weird Tales. And now I wonder whether there were other editorial groupings of big names. We'll have to keep our eye out for mention of them in "The Eyrie."

Original text copyright 2025 Terence E. Hanley

Weird Tales, April 1925

One hundred years ago this month, the enigmatic Nictzin Dyalhis made his debut in the pages of Weird Tales magazine. His story, "When the Green Star Waned," was both the cover story and the lead story. The cover art was by Andrew Brosnatch.

"When the Green Star Waned" is an unusual story. Set in the far future, it tells of men of Venus--or Venhez--who save the men of Earth--or Aerth by their spelling of it--from slavery and oppression at the hands--or tentacles--of alien invaders. This isn't really science fiction but science fantasy, or maybe it should be called weird science. It wasn't the first story of its type: in January 1925, Weird Tales published J. Schlossel's science fantasy or outer space fantasy "Invaders from Outside." But "When the Green Star Waned" struck a nerve in readers. It became the most popular story of 1925 in Weird Tales and the fifth most popular of the period November 1924 to January 1940, with 63 votes in total. As an example of the readers' positive responses, James Godfrey Osgood, Jr., of Fitchburg, Massachusetts, wrote: 

I do not think you have overstated the case one bit when you say that When the Green Star Waned, by Nictzin Dyalhis, is one of the most remarkable stories of its kind which have yet appeared. Indeed, of its peculiar genre it is the best, I have no doubt, and, needless to say, is my choice for the best story in the April number. (From "The Eyrie," June 1925)

Other authors who had their first stories for Weird Tales in the April issue were: Joel Martin Nichols, Jr., James W. Bennett, Donald E. Keyhoe, H. Thompson Rich, Robert E. Ulmer, and Walter G. Detrick. Several other authors had their one and only story in that same issue.

* * *

There are two items from "The Eyrie" that I would like to point out. First is a long quote in the form of a screen shot of the scanned page. I hope you can read it.

For emphasis: "WEIRD TALES plays no favorites." But that was 1925. Things were different ninety-eight years later when the Cosmic Horror Issue, Number 367, was published, for the authors in that issue are friends of the editor. I'll just say, publishing a magazine is not like an Andy Hardy movie. You don't get your friends together to put on a show. It's something more serious than that, and you owe your readers--and the 100-year reputation of your magazine--more than what amounts to just an APAzine.

* * *

The second item was a preview of the May 1925 issue of Weird Tales. The editor wrote: "In addition to Burks, Owen and Quinn, you will have stories by the four big L's--La Spina, Leahy, Long and Lovecraft." We have all heard of the big three in Weird Tales--H.P. Lovecraft, Robert E. Howard, and Clark Ashton Smith. This is the first I have heard of the four big L's.

To be continued . . .

Original text copyright 2025 Terence E. Hanley

Weird Tales in 1925

Happy New Year to Readers of Weird Tales!

I finished up last year by writing about the one-hundredth anniversary issue of Weird Tales, published in 2023. I will have more on that issue and some ideas connected to it, but I would like to write about other things for a while and get away from that dreary parade.

The first issue of Weird Tales was published in March 1923, thus the first calendar year of "The Unique Magazine" was not a full one. There were only eight issues published in 1923. Weird Tales almost came to an end in its second year. There was a three-month gap during which there weren't any issues published at all, and so only seven appeared in 1924.

Nineteen twenty-five was different, for that was the first full year of Weird Tales, with issues in every month. Twelve more full years would follow, making thirteen dozen issues in all during those years. Nineteen thirty-eight, during which Weird Tales was purchased by Short Stories, Inc., was the last full year of the magazine. I doubt there will ever be another. We just don't have it in us to write enough good stories or to publish and purchase enough issues for that to happen. That's a shame, I think, but not really necessary.

The January 1925 issue has a science-fiction or science-fantasy cover. Illustrating "Invaders from Outside" by J. Schossel (Joseph H. Schlossel [1902-1977]), it may have been the first magazine cover of any kind to show pointy-eared space aliens. Schlossel's aliens, drawn by cover artist Andrew Brosnatch (1896-1965) (below), look suspiciously like the gray aliens of flying saucer folklore--or vice versa. As I have said before, aliens and their spaceships must be imagined before they can be seen.

That January issue was the first to have letters in response to the return of Weird Tales in November 1924, this under its new editor, Farnsworth Wright. "The Eyrie," subtitled in the table of contents as "A Chat with the Readers," included letters from seven readers. At least four of those readers were also writers of fiction, three of them for Weird Tales. "The Eyrie" is no longer a place for readers to let their ideas and opinions be heard. Instead it's one in which the editor gets to hear himself talk, I guess because he likes so much the sound of his own voice, even when he doesn't have anything very interesting to say.

There were other developments in the magazine world in 1925. On February 21 of that year, The New Yorker, a quintessential slick magazine, made its debut. The New Yorker has been published continuously since then. Weird Tales of course has not been. Weird Tales was originally a pulp magazine but is now also a slick. The New Yorker is a far cry better than the current Weird Tales, which is really just Weird Tales in name only, with a few of its former trappings still in place. I'm not sure which magazine has come down more in the world.

Like Weird Tales, President Calvin Coolidge got his start in 1923. On March 4, 1925, he was inaugurated into his first and only full term as president. The 1920s would thereafter gallop to a close, which you could say came a little early, in late October 1929 when the stock market crashed. During those years, Weird Tales was reaching its peak. The style of the 1920s and '30s was Art Deco, one that got its name after an exposition that opened in Paris on April 29, 1925. The Art Deco style made its way into Weird Tales, too, for example in the art of Hugh Rankin ( 1878-1956). In between those two events, on April 10, 1925, the culture of the 1920s put forth an exemplar of its literature in F. Scott Fitzgerald's great novel, The Great Gatsby. The Great Gatsby has its detractors. I'm not one of them. I have read The Great Gatsby three or four times. I am astonished at how modern it is, even after a century, and how radically different it must have been from some of the stuffy literature of its time. I can't say that Fitzgerald or Hemingway, Faulkner or Dos Passos, had any influence at all on the men and women who wrote for Weird Tales, but I'm not sure they could have avoided the effects of living in the great and roaring milieux of the 1920s.

Text copyright 2025 Terence E. Hanley