The Martians are Coming!

The well turned out fellow above is one Herbert George Wells born this day 1866, in Bromley, Kent, England. Born into a lower middle class family, Wells' education was spotty at best, and he was drawn to reading only by being bed-ridden with a broken leg when he was a child. In order to make ends meet, his parents had to apprentice out Wells and his siblings. His apprenticeships, one as a draper, and one as a chemist, did not go well. Wells married a cousin in 1891, but left her for one of his students (he was working as a teacher at the time), in 1894. He and the student would remain married for the rest of his life, though Wells did "spread the love" during their marriage. Even fathering a child with one of his liaisons. He began his writing career in 1901, and produced the works we all know, and the ones that give him hero status in my world. The War of the Worlds (the work that famously started a near riot when read out by Orson Welles over the radio), The Island of Dr. Moreau, The Time Machine, and The Invisible Man. I would rate the Time Machine as my favourite Wells' novel/story. It does contain one of my favourite lines about the two most dangerous words in the English language being "what if." Wells' was politically a socialist, and it was discovered after World War II, that the Germans had his name high on a list of writers that would have been executed had they successfully invaded Great Britain. I guess you could call that a compliment in some way. At least your high on SOME list, and being a high level enemy of the Nazis could only be a good thing for your reputation on the home front. He died in 1934 of unspecified causes, but they may have been related to diabetes. One of his last wishes, not carried out, was the inscription on his tombstone was to read "I told you so. You damned fools." Now that is an epitaph. Probably better for everyone involved that that particular wish was ignored. So, for making the little green men come alive, and terrorize the world, and for showing us that Time is something not to fuck with, H. G. Wells (September 21st, 1866- August 13th, 1946, at the age of 79), you are my hero of the day.