I blame it on my mother: she recited poetry by Edgar Allan Poe to me when I was a kid and told me scary stories when I went to bed each night; I came to treasure the chills that a good Horror story, well told, could invoke. Then came George Romero and NIGHT OF THE LIVING DEAD. It was a game changer, an uncompromising, brutal depiction of Life in these so-called "united" $tate$. Fright Films had suddenly EVOLVED into something Other than what they had been- and at the helm was Romero, co-writing and directing it all. NIGHT OF THE LIVING DEAD, with its documentary look and feel, ventured into uncharted territory (and, ironically considering the number of rip-offs it has inspired, no one else saw Fright Films as an opportunity to comment on The State of Affairs in this country) (not until John Carpenter came along, anyway). Romero became my Hero, and when it was announced that he would be producing a Horror series for television, I began submitting scripts as fast as I could write them. (In my arrogant ignorance, I'd already submitted a script for a sequel to DAWN OF THE DEAD... Two movies made me want to MAKE movies: John Carpenter's HALLOWEEN and George Romero's DAWN OF THE DEAD.) While none of my scripts for TALES FROM THE DARKSIDE were ever used, I WAS lucky enough to get a kindly rejection from Romero himself. I'd sent him three issues of a self-published prose magazine I'd written and illustrated and he wrote back: "Some of the pieces are really fine." Coming from the man who gave us NIGHT OF THE LIVING DEAD and DAWN OF THE DEAD, this was Praise, indeed! My nieces and nephews were weaned on Romero's movies. Just a few hours ago, I read that Romero died yesterday. The shock hit me first, followed by the pain that can only come when a knife has pierced the heart and entered the Soul. I tried to tell my wife, but talking was all but impossible; I went and sat in the car, numb and sick to my stomach, and cried off and on. Romero was a Hero of mine, one of only a handful of people in this life who've inspired me to try harder, to try to do something other than just sit and watch the World pass by; but his passing has taken the wind out of my sails. I'd hoped to finally meet him face to face at a Horror convention later this year. It's hard to believe that I now live in a world WITHOUT George Romero. I'll never get to shake his hand and joke with him. And I'll never again hear my Mother lulling me to sleep with a softly-whispered Tale of Terror.
Damn, what a day.
Damn, what a day.