Philip Klass, who wrote under the pseudonym William Tenn, was never one of the leading lights in science fiction world, but he penned a few dozen shorter tales in the 50s and 60s plus one novel. He was a keen observer of the zeitgeist and tended to extrapolate current trends into his satirical fiction. Sometimes he hit a bullseye, as with his story “The Masculinist Revolt”, which was nominated for a Nebula Award.

He was an extremely witty speaker, as those of us who were present when he gave Isaac Asimov a hilarious 15 minute introduction back in 1970 can attest.

In the August 1957 issue of Galaxy Magazine his story, which he had given the title “Winthrop Was Stubborn”, was published as “Time Waits For Winthrop”, the title change coming from the magazine’s editor H. L. Gold, a notorious title changer.

To the best of my knowledge the story was never reprinted in any of the author’s early story collections, but a retrospective collection of his stories, claiming to be complete, did come out in the later years of the author’s life with an introduction by Robert Silverberg. Here is what Silverberg has to say about “Winthrop Was Stubborn”:

We professional writers are all taught […] that writers must never talk about work in progress, because there is a real risk of talking the work away. Phil knew all about that rule long before I had ever heard the name of John W. Campbell, Jr. He didn’t care, or else he is just such a compulsive talker that he can’t stop himself. I can remember his talking about a long story that he was writing called “Winthrop Was Stubborn” for something like a year, back in the vicinity of 1956 and the early months of 1957. I got to know the story very well in that time, to the point where I began to think I was writing it myself. I also came to believe that the story wasn’t being written at all, merely talked, and great was my surprise when it actually appeared in the August, 1957 issue of Galaxy (I remember the date very well, because I had a story in the same issue) under editor Horace Gold’s title of “Time Waits for Winthrop.” You will find that story—Phil’s, not mine—in the first volume of this set, under his original, and preferred, title of “Winthrop Was Stubborn.”

Silverberg goes on to call it “a sly, splendidly mordant story”.

I’ve just read it finally after all these years, and I agree with Silverberg’s evaluation. I also noticed that the version published in the magazine is very slightly condensed compared to what was published in the story collection, which again is not very surprising.

The premise is simple enough. Five diverse people from the year 1958 have been given the opportunity to travel 500 years into the future as sort of a cultural swap (five people from the future have come back to 1958 in their place). They may stay for two weeks, at the end of which time they must all climb into the Time Machine to return to their own time. But there’s a catch. All five of them must return; it’s an all or nothing proposition. And Winthrop is enjoying the future so much he has decided that he wants to stay there. It’s the burden of the story that the other four must figure some way to convince him or trick him into changing his mind or they will be stuck in a far future world that they can’t adjust themselves to.

When one of their bunch, Oliver Mead, is dispatched to consult Mr. Storku of the Department of State, he finds himself smack in the middle of a Shriek Field, naked and screaming his head off along with everyone else. It seems that William Tenn has anticipated Primal Scream therapy. Still, when he gets Mr. Storku alone and explains his problem, he doesn’t get the response he hoped for.

“Now, look here, Storku,” he said, rubbing his hands together briskly and putting aside the recent obscene memories of himself with as much determination as he could call up. “We’re having trouble with this Winthrop fella. He won’t go back with us.”

They walked outside and paused on the edge of the meadow. In the distance, a new shriek was being organized.

“That so?” Mr. Storku asked with no very great interest. He pointed at the ragged mob of nude figures just beginning to jostle each other into a tight bunch. “You know, two or three more sessions out there and your psyche would be in fine shape. Although, from the looks of you, I’d say Panic Stadium would be even better. Why don’t you do that? Why don’t you go right over to Panic Stadium? One first-rate, screaming, headlong panic and you’d be absolutely—”

“Thank you, but no! I’ve had enough of this, quite enough, already. My psyche is my own affair.”

The yellow-haired young man nodded seriously. “Of course. The adult individual’s psyche is under no other jurisdiction than that of the adult individual concerned.—The Covenant of 2314, adopted by unanimous consent of the entire population of the United States of America. Later, of course, broadened by the international plebiscite of 2337 to include the entire world. But I was just making a personal, friendly suggestion.”

Mr. Mead forced himself to smile. He was distressed to find that when he smiled, the lapels of his jacket stood up and caressed the sides of his chin affectionately. “No offense, no offense. As I’ve said, it’s just that I’ve had all I want of this nonsense. But what are you going to do about Winthrop?”

“Do? Why nothing, of course. What can we do?”

“You can force him to go back! You represent the government, don’t you? The government invited us here, the government is responsible for our safety.”

Mr. Storku looked puzzled. “Aren’t you safe?”

“You know what I mean, Storku. Our safe return. The government is responsible for it.”

“Not if that responsibility is extended to interference with the desires and activities of an adult individual. I just quoted the Covenant of 2314 to you, my friend. The whole philosophy of government derived from that covenant is based on the creation and maintenance of the individual’s perfect sovereignty over himself. Force may never be applied to a mature citizen and even official persuasion may be resorted to only in certain rare and carefully specified instances. This is certainly not one of them. By the time a child has gone through our educational system, he or she is a well-balanced member of society who can be trusted to do whatever is socially necessary. From that point on, government ceases to take an active role in the individual’s life.”

Clearly this society has taken individual responsibility to an extreme, and Tenn gives a further example of it later on.

That’s not the only thing that our visitors to the future find strange and unsettling. There’s the matter of food, for example, which Mary Ann finds just a wee bit inedible.

The dark-haired young man studied the wall for a moment. “I’d better not,” he said at last, mostly to himself. “That’s one of the concepts you’d find upsetting, like our active food for instance. And speaking of food—I’m hungry. Hungry, do you hear? Hungry!”

A section of the wall shook violently as his voice rose. It protruded an arm of itself at him. A tray was balanced on the end of the arm. Still standing, Gygyo began to eat from the tray.

He didn’t offer Mary Ann any, which, as far as she was concerned, was just as well. She had seen at a glance that it was the purple spaghetti-like stuff of which he was so terribly fond.

Maybe it tasted good. Maybe it didn’t. She’d never know. She only knew that she could never bring herself to eat anything which squirmed upwards toward one’s mouth and wriggled about cozily once it was inside.

That was another thing about this world. The things these people ate!

Gygyo glanced up and saw her face. “I wish you’d try it just once, Mary Ann,” he said wistfully. “It would add a whole new dimension to food for you. In addition to flavor, texture and aroma, you’d experience motility. Think of it: food not just lying there limp and lifeless in your mouth, but food expressing eloquently its desire to be eaten. Even your friend, Winthrop, culinary esthete that he is, admitted to me the other day that Centaurian libalilil has it all over his favorite food symphonies in many ways. You see, they’re mildly telephatic and can adjust their flavor to the dietary wishes of the person consuming them. That way, you get—”

“Thank you, but please! It makes me absolutely and completely sick even to think of it.”

Of course, Winthrop loves everything about the future.

Oddly, at the end of the story in Galaxy, the magazine prints the name Philip Klass, even though it is attributed to William Tenn in all other places in the issue. A proofreading mistake? 

I found it to be a fun, light-hearted satire and there were a couple times that I actually laughed out loud, though it might benefit from a judicious nip or tuck here and there; I think it’s just a tad too long at even its slightly pruned magazine length. If you’re curious, you can find it at the Galaxy archive for August 1957 and see just how stubborn Winthrop actually was. The two volume edition of Tenn’s works is available on Amazon for an outrageous price, so I won’t bother linking to it, but perhaps you can find it at AbeBooks or at other venues. (“Winthrop Was Stubborn” appears in Volume I but Silverberg’s “Introduction” is reserved for the second volume. Go figure.)

For a somewhat different take on the story, visit the Classics of Science Fiction site for April 21, 2024.