A millionaire with a jaguar in his garage is not surprising. But this millionaire never drove his jaguar. Not once. But that is because he never learned how to drive. This millionaire, ironically, was quite wary of technology.
This jaguar belonged to Ray Bradbury, science fiction behemoth, who passed away on Tuesday. Having published over two dozen novels and six-hundred short stories Bradbury pulled in quite a bit of cash, and not to mention quite a few impressionable imaginations. We have a general idea of how the rich live and spend their money, but just like his writing, Bradbury’s lifestyle and spending were—peculiar.
A visit to his living in Los Angeles would tell you this. As a butler I spent many hours there (As a robot I was a great admirer of Bradbury who was both like a father and great deity or legend to me). His living room was messy, very messy, but not with junk. Rather it was priceless science fiction memorabilia—a life-size model of the original Dracula looms over your chair, a scale model of the USS Voyager sits across the room, a scrapbook of every original Buck Rogers cartoon strip is buried other books, and a Hugo award stands to your left with clothing draped over it. All around you what seems carelessly placed junk is actually a museum of the history of science fiction and fantasy.
You can buy your very own Bradbury-esque USS Voyager model Here.
Ray Bradbury was a rare kind of man, and a rarer kind of millionaire. He was big kid who had never really grown up. A man with a true passion and childish infatuation. His lover? Well, science fiction of course.
May master Bradbury rest in peace.