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.
