Ray Bradbury, 91

A fixture of Los Angeles — the city of the future — Bradbury could often be seen all over town. Most memorably, he used to wheel up to the bookshop I worked in while in college. He’d park his bike outside, race inside as if in a mad hurry, only to linger and get lost in the stacks for quite a long time.

from my L.A Times obit:

Ray Douglas Bradbury was born Aug. 22, 1920, in Waukegan, Ill., to Leonard Spaulding Bradbury and the former Esther Marie Moberg. As a child he soaked up the ambiance of small-town life — wraparound porches, fireflies and the soft, golden light of late afternoon — that would later become a hallmark of much of his fiction.

“When I was born in 1920,” he told the New York Times Magazine in 2000, “the auto was only 20 years old. Radio didn’t exist. TV didn’t exist. I was born at just the right time to write about all of these things.”

Full obit now here

(image via http://www.liquorature.com )

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2 thoughts on “Ray Bradbury, 91

  1. i first read “golden apples of the sun” in 6th grade and was getting ready this week to reread “fahrenheit 451.” wow, another one goes up on the tally board for 2012. ugly year for the written word…

  2. Yes, 2012 has packed a wallop on a number of fronts. Hate to say it, but as one of my acquaintances puts it: it’s a symptom of “too many birthdays.” The wheel turns again. Are you still going to re-read Fahrenheit?

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