Charlie had phoned to ask if we could bring Frank Robinson to the party. We left at aboiut 6:00 to pick him up, fighting our way to the Castro, which was gearing up for Sunday’s Gay Day parade. The usual summertime evening fog was already creeping over the hills and making everything slightly hazy.

For a party at Locus it was a small crowd, only about fifteen people, including staff past and present, Bob Silverberg, Dan Chow and his wife and children, Bill Contento, Paul Preuss… Charlie was in a good mood. He loves being the host, and he was especially bucked by Quina playing hostess. The fog had made it too cold for the deck, so we ate inside. Delicious barbecue, tough corn, interesting conversation. Bob Silverberg seemed more outgoing than usual at Locus parties, perhaps because it was a smaller, less fannish crowd.

Dan’s boys got bored and went into the back to play with one of Charlie’s toys, a mechanical chicken that cheeped and laid eggs.

After opening his presents (most of them toys). Charlie presented Silverberg with his Locus award, a water-powered rocket Bob was afraid to set off indoors. Before we all left we each accepted a jar of the plum jam Quina had made, “Locus Jam” with labels designed and printed by Shelly’s artist husband. My own jar read “Chthulu Saves. Locus preserves.”

The jam was delicious.

Locus parties always had at least one celebrity, usually Robert Silverberg, whom I remember as a tall hipster with dark gray hair and a neatly trimmed beard, always dressed in a turtleneck and holding a drink as he gazed shyly over everyone’s heads. Paul Preuss was affable, tanned, and clean-shaven with frat-boy good looks.