And I'm Going To New York . . .

Check your calendar and make note of recent weather patterns -- it's summer, right? And summer is the time of the year furthest away from winter, January, and all else having our hemisphere angled away from the sun can bring. Summer is the time to think of tourist travel, sun worship, and immersing one's body in water. Fairs, family, fireworks, and fun, fun, fun (‘til her daddy takes the T-bird awa-a-ay!). Am I right?

So why, then, in the middle of the year's traditional glory days, am I getting a letter with the words 11 ... and I'm going to New York"?

To the truly hard-core devotee of Holmes, those words mean only one thing: the BSI weekend. Originally that time in January when the Baker Street Irregulars held their annual dinner meeting to celebrate Sherlock Holmes's birthday, the BSI weekend has grown to mean so much more. The Adventuresses' dinner, hobnobbing at the Algonquin, the William Gillette luncheon, Holmes tomes shopping sprees at the Mysterious Bookshop and Murder Ink, hotel room parties, the Martha Hudson Breakfast, invading the offices of Granada Television in search of Brett pix, the BSI cocktail party ...

Any time you get hundreds of Sherlockians in a major metropolis, literally anything can happen. Every Sherlockian is different, but they all have one thing in common: they are intense. They may be intensely well-read. They may be intensely boring. But with so much intensity focussed in one place, keyed on one topic, as I said, anything can happen. And the media always turns out, just in case it does.

People say "it is a magic time" rather loosely these days. The phrase has been overused to the point where its meaning is almost gone. But look hard at those words for a second, and try to remember them afresh.

The BSI weekend is a magic time.

For those of us who don't live in New York, or even on the East Coast, it is also an expensive time. The kind of expense you have to plan for far in advance if you intend to make an an- nual routine of it. And in these carefree months of summer it is almost easy to say: "No, I think I'll pass this year.

Autumn, however, will tell a different tale. The BSI weekend has a kick that is hard to pass up, and as the time grows near, the temptation grows as well. After all, it's not illegal, immoral, or fattening, is it? (I can definitely attest to that last-I lost five pounds there last year, thanks to the hectic schedule and meals on the run.) Sure, it's a tad costly, but if you scrape the pennies together, maybe break the kids' piggy banks, maybe steal the neighbor's TV and stereo system....

The possibility for a serious addiction lies lurking in those Januaries in New York. Many Sherlockians have succumbed, and many more will succumb, to the lure of the annual pinnacle of Sherlockiana. The fellow who wrote me of his plans for this coming January has been hooked for a few years. Many others that I met at last January's festivities have been addicted much longer, and more than once I was advised by such folk: "No matter what you do, you have to make the BSI dinner every year." Now, as next year's weekend approaches (sure, it's five months, two weeks, three days, four hours and fourteen minutes away, but the moment you get home from the previous year's doings, the next one begins to exert its pull), I begin to understand what those fellows meant.

It gets into your blood ... quickly.

If you never get the chance to attend a BSI weekend, you may consider counting yourself lucky. The editor of this monthly, Bob Burr, managed, through his terrific qualifications and a minor miracle, to get inducted into the BSI without attending the last gathering. Now, he has no choice -- eventually, he'll have to attend one of the weekends. Before he goes, you may want to take one last close look at him. When he returns, he'll never be the same. Will I be going in January? To be honest, I don't know. If I stay home, I'm afraid I may break into cold sweats, start twitching uncontrollably, or worse. And if I do go ... it's one more step on the road to a serious addiction. Who knows what the final result will be?

If anyone is interested in starting a support scion for Sherlockians who want to go cold turkey on the BSI weekend for a while, though, you can count me in.

(Printed in Plugs & Dottles, August 1987)