In 1947, at a convention in Philadelphia, the writer Judith Merril—who married Frederik Pohl the following year—tipsily cornered Campbell at a party in a hotel suite: “John, I wrote a story ’at’s so good, ish mush too good for you.” Campbell was drunk as well: “You’re right. If’sh that good, we don’ pay enough for it.” After reading her story, “That Only a Mother,” he bought
