Destan
Citizen of Val Hor
I spent the majority of GenCon sitting next to Rob Kuntz. He was a member of Gary Gygax's and Dave Arneson's original D&D group. I’ve never been known as a “quiet” person, so I took the opportunity to ask him 542 questions about the origins of D&D. What follows is just one little vignette that I found interesting; there were many more. I tried to remember what I could, but I can’t promise I was 100% successful; if something is inaccurate or incomplete, it’s my fault and no one else’s.
Like many of you, my spouse is not a gamer. Hmm…that may be too political. What I’m trying to say is that my wife doesn’t like D&D. She doesn’t understand it. She doesn’t want to. I’m fine with that. She’s nice enough to be an ‘enabler’ for my addiction, and that’s all I ask. After all, I don’t understand her need to shop for antiques. Different strokes.
Nonetheless, it was therefore comforting, as you might imagine, when I learned that even the Grand Daddy of D&D endured a similar relationship.
I’m talking, of course, about Gary Gygax.
Mrs. Gary Gygax did not like ol’ Gary’s gaming habit one bit. Back in the early 70s, Gary was busy pounding the typewriter keys in the subterranean den of his Lake Geneva home. Rob Kuntz, then a teenager, sat on the bed next to Gary’s giant desk. As the pages came off the typewriter, they were handed to Rob. Chain Mail was being developed, and Chain Mail would become OD&D. OD&D, of course, would evolve in turn into AD&D.
It should be noted that Gary is the proud father of not one, not two, but five kids. I’m not sure, to be honest, how many he had back at this time. But, needless to say, he had responsibilities other than giving birth to what would become, for many of us, our most enjoyable pastime.
So, please, picture that scene with me: Gary at the desk, typing madly. Rob on the bed, reading pages about topics and issues that – at that time – were wholly new. Both guys realizing that they were on the cusp of something special. Maybe the sounds of kids running around and breaking things filtering down the steps from the floor above. And then…BOOM.
The door slams open. It’s Gary’s (ex-)wife. She’s not there to offer Gary milk and cookies, she’s not happy, and she’s definitely not a gamer. A curse-filled tirade ensues. Let’s try to sum up the gist of Mrs. Gygax’s animated monologue as follows: “Stop hiding down here writing this [stuff]! It’s a [stuipid] idea that will never amount to anything!”
Gary proceeded to remove his glasses and rub his temples. Rob fled in terror. And Mrs. Gygax, point made, returned upstairs.
And, of course, we know how this all turned out. Gary’s writing did amount to something. A very big something. And that big something brought a big pile o’ money with it. I’d like to think Mrs. Gygax’s view of D&D may have changed in light of its success, but I’m not sure that’s the case.
If there’s a moral or a point to this post, I’m unaware of it. Just thought a few of you might enjoy this anecdote as I did.
Whee!
D
Like many of you, my spouse is not a gamer. Hmm…that may be too political. What I’m trying to say is that my wife doesn’t like D&D. She doesn’t understand it. She doesn’t want to. I’m fine with that. She’s nice enough to be an ‘enabler’ for my addiction, and that’s all I ask. After all, I don’t understand her need to shop for antiques. Different strokes.
Nonetheless, it was therefore comforting, as you might imagine, when I learned that even the Grand Daddy of D&D endured a similar relationship.
I’m talking, of course, about Gary Gygax.
Mrs. Gary Gygax did not like ol’ Gary’s gaming habit one bit. Back in the early 70s, Gary was busy pounding the typewriter keys in the subterranean den of his Lake Geneva home. Rob Kuntz, then a teenager, sat on the bed next to Gary’s giant desk. As the pages came off the typewriter, they were handed to Rob. Chain Mail was being developed, and Chain Mail would become OD&D. OD&D, of course, would evolve in turn into AD&D.
It should be noted that Gary is the proud father of not one, not two, but five kids. I’m not sure, to be honest, how many he had back at this time. But, needless to say, he had responsibilities other than giving birth to what would become, for many of us, our most enjoyable pastime.
So, please, picture that scene with me: Gary at the desk, typing madly. Rob on the bed, reading pages about topics and issues that – at that time – were wholly new. Both guys realizing that they were on the cusp of something special. Maybe the sounds of kids running around and breaking things filtering down the steps from the floor above. And then…BOOM.
The door slams open. It’s Gary’s (ex-)wife. She’s not there to offer Gary milk and cookies, she’s not happy, and she’s definitely not a gamer. A curse-filled tirade ensues. Let’s try to sum up the gist of Mrs. Gygax’s animated monologue as follows: “Stop hiding down here writing this [stuff]! It’s a [stuipid] idea that will never amount to anything!”
Gary proceeded to remove his glasses and rub his temples. Rob fled in terror. And Mrs. Gygax, point made, returned upstairs.
And, of course, we know how this all turned out. Gary’s writing did amount to something. A very big something. And that big something brought a big pile o’ money with it. I’d like to think Mrs. Gygax’s view of D&D may have changed in light of its success, but I’m not sure that’s the case.
If there’s a moral or a point to this post, I’m unaware of it. Just thought a few of you might enjoy this anecdote as I did.
Whee!
D
