Sam Weller and the exclusive story behind "The Bradbury Chronicles"

April 11, 8:28 AMChicago Literary Scene ExaminerRobert Duffer

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The first time Sam Weller was introduced to Ray Bradbury was in his mother's womb. When Weller finally met him in person, on assignment for the Chicago Tribune Magazine, he was vomitting all over Bradbury's property. It was Weller's constitution and insight, however, that endeared him to Bradbury. For the first time in print, Weller tells the story behind The Bradbury Chronicles, which won the Society of Midland Authors Award for “Best Biography” of 2005 and was nominated for the Bram Stoker Award for nonfiction.

As part of the National Endowment of the Arts "The Big Read", Weller will be leading some of the month-long film screenings, panels, forums and discussions of Bradbury's classic Fahrenheit 451 at host Columbia College Chicago, where the journalist, essayist, and creative writer is a full-time faculty member in the Creative Writing Department. [Disclousre: Weller is a former teacher and current colleague; we had a beer once] Weller’s given 40 presentations around the country on "The Man Behind the Masterpiece", a lecture interweaving his relationship with Bradbury and how Bradbury’s life story was represented in Fahrenheit. We caught up with the gregarious towhead in his office, where he was working on his next book deal, the best of his copious interviews with Bradbury.

EX: Why Fahrenheit 451?
SW: Bradbury’s life story culminated in the writing of this 1953 classic. It represents the importance of books to him as a kid, the importance of libraries—he was a Depression era kid—and libraries were a free place of entertainment. As WWII came on and he saw Hitler burning libraries and books, he was like how can you destroy something that gave me so much—his imagination was born at the public library. It angered Bradbury and it saddened him. It started his wheels turning about what would happen if the world continues down this path to totalitarianism and we have a civilization where books are no longer valued or read, or worse case scenario, they’re outlawed.

EX: I don’t know if it’s funny or tragic that it’s still valid 50 years later…
SW: Tragic.

EX: So what really happened in Vegas?
SW: Oh, you’re gonna make me go there? I’ve never told this in print. I’d admit if I had the Irish flu, I’m a hard-boiled journalist, but no, it really was food poisoning.
I was in Las Vegas the night before and I couldn’t find anywhere to eat, things were closed, it was crazy. So I stop at--I'll name the franchise by name, those bastards—McDonalds. I had a 7am flight to LA to interview this American literary legend. At 3 am in my hotel I had these seismic tremors in my gut. I’ve never had food poisoning before in my life.

EX: Filet-o-fish?
SW: Filet-o-fish(ruefully), Filet-o-fish. It was the last one I ever had. On the plane, I was full blown, I’m dying, something’s really wrong. The first time I puked I was on the 405 Freeway. I’ll never forget a limo driver passing me in wall-to-wall LA traffic—I couldn’t pull over so I stuck my head out the window and puked, this guy in the stretch limo honking at me.
I finally get to meet Ray Bradbury—I read him since before I was born. My dad read Bradbury to my mother aloud when she was pregnant with me. I probably threw up at his house 20 times. Kept excusing myself to go get tapes for my recorder, change the batteries or to get a new notepad so I’d go outside to my car and hurl into the ice plant or something. “Mr. Bradbury, excuse me, I have to run and get another notepad,” and I’d run out and yak in some shrubbery and then run back in. There’s a picture of me laying down on his sofa interviewing him. They must have thought I was the most uncouth individual…the weirdest guy in the world.
He loved the interview because I read all his stuff. I’m proud of myself for sticking it out. He just had two strokes—it was impossible to line that interview up so I could not cancel it. At the end of it, he said, “This is a remarkable interview,” and I’m like you’re telling me. He had a deli platter that he had brought out, salami, prosciutto. He said, “Are you OK?” and I’m like, “No, Mr. Bradbury my stomach’s not well today but I’m OK.” It was not OK, it was the most sick I’ve been in my entire life.

EX: Did your fortitude have anything to do with you becoming his biographer?
SW: I think in sticking it out and staying engaged with him despite the fact that I was really ill, he connected with me conversationally. He said, “Look I really enjoyed this.” I said, “I’ve got to be honest, you’re getting me at not even 50%,” and he said, “If you feel that way why don’t you come back because I’ve enjoyed this.”
 

EX: What do you take away from his writing as a writer?
SW: I teach a class on Bradbury right now and that’s the key to the class, what can the students take away. For me, all good storytelling has to come from a place—this may sound trite—a deep reserve of emotional truth, some sort of pain or celebration, longing, sorrow, melancholy, love, has to come from heartfelt emotional truth. Whether his stories take place on Mars or a dystopian society where books are disappearing or in Greentown, IL in the 20’s, it’s always culled from some catalytic moment in his life that he extrapolates into fiction. I think all good writers need to mine their lives for emotional experiences that they can then carry forth and off into their writing. Bradbury writes about the human condition. No matter how fantastic the fable you need to write from a place of emotional truth.