I got to know Mr. MacIntyre quite well on-line several years ago. We became good friends and he even sent me a postcard from London once. He was an extremely eccentric, cantankerous individual, however we got on well via PM's on the IMDB. This was during one of the most difficult periods of my life, and my only Internet access was at the public library, and as I was broke at the time I was sharing living space,--bedroom space--with eight other men! Things were not easy. One of my roomies had a bad habit of waking up in the middle of the night and micturating into a little sink. But I digress.



Fergus was very kind to me during that period, and sympathetic regarding my plight. I gather that he had himself gone through many ups and downs in his life. At the time he was living in Wales and apparently either agoraphobic, acrophobic or both. Traveling had become literally a trauma for him. That he was able to get to London at all was a small miracle. Apparently he overcame his phobias and was able to travel again. What else? Fergus was a huge fan of Aleister Crowley, and apparently in the one book he wrote that he was proud of Crowley was a character. He despised the novel The Catcher In the Rye, which he believed was one of the worst novels ever written, not because of what it was about, its themes, but the way J.D. Salinger dealt with them. Fergus felt that the book was a terrible influence on young people and had ruined many lives.

On a more positive note, his favorite twentieth century author was American humorist S.J. Perelman, whom he ranked above James Joyce, Andre Malraux and T.S. Eliot. Was he pulling my leg when he said this? I cannot say for sure. Nor can I be sure, as he had himself stated, not to me but on his website, that he was born in the late 1940s. He told me that he was, like many British children, evacuated from Britain during the Second World War and sent to live in Australia, which he hated. There were so many contradictions in this man. My on-line friendship with Mr. M, which began with a fan PM from me on the IMDB, ended abruptly. He stopped responding to my messages, never acknowledged my existence afterwards, even non-personal responses from me to things he'd written on message boards.

Despite his having given me the cold shoulder for no discernible reason, I have fond memories of F. Gwynplaine MacIntyre. There was a testiness to him on a good day, and he was highly opinionated about everything. I have continued reading his reviews, was unaware of his recent (or is it lifelong?) depression, and am very sorry to read of his passing. It was always my sense that life had not been kind to him, that he was dealt a bad hand at birth. In this, we had much in common. Given his moody disposition it doesn't really surprise me how he chose to die. It does, however, sadden me greatly.

RIP, Mr. MacIntyre, thanks for the memories, and for the friendship, brief though it was.

John Bass