I placed a classified ad in Comics Buyers Guide. "Sociopathic pseudo-intellectual, 17, enjoys comics, movies, intense music," whatever, seeking pen-pals.
Among the many responses came two pages from V. I wrote back, and we were soon up to ten and fifteen pages per letter, sometimes up to thirty or forty hand-written pages.
He introduced himself as "V" and often went by "Professor V." Names with which he fooled the phone company and prying corporations included "T. Slant," "Victor Hood," and "Vincent Wallace." He claimed they were all pseudonyms with conscious symbolism. "Victor" meaning a person who is victorious, "Hood" implying secrecy, "Wall-Ace" meaning an unmovable object and an expert? Can't remember in what way "Vincent" was supposed to be powerful, but his explanation of "Wallace" sounded too silly. I always assumed his real name was Vincent Wallace, especially after he sent some old photos of his friends from high school, one of which had "Dear Vinnie" written on the back. But there's no way of knowing what his real name might have been, if he or his father had ever used their real names with anyone.
We wrote for ten years. In the last few years, it had degenerated to being phone-pals. I was too busy or too lazy to write often.
But over those years, we had become good friends. We talked about comics and movies and philosophy. He led me on a great tour through UFO research, the occult, various religions and philosophies, and explained how he had left them all behind in favor of playing with his cats and watching old movies on video.
I didn't agree with some of his crackpot theories, but some are so compelling, they make sense if only in the way they express how confusing life is. Is the earth flat? Were Jesus and the apostles really ancient astronauts, not of this earth? Was the moon-landing faked? Is the government of the United States run from Washington DC, or from the fabled underground city of Agartha? Is life a dream? You know you can't prove that life isn't a dream. Then how can you prove anything else?
I assume that it is fair to publish V's book on the web, and follows in the spirit that V gave away this material when he was alive. He had always said that there was a pact between himself and his father. When one of them died, the other would burn down the house and all the books, movies, model train layout, etc. No need for a funeral or grave for either of them, because presumably there would be nothing left.
Somehow he always made it sound noble, like maybe he was just a man from Japan who considered hari-kiri an honorable end under some circumstances. It bothered me that he might commit suicide, that he obviously still had better ideas to contribute to the world. The many modern schools of psychology conflict on some details, but most of them would agree that depression and thoughts of suicide can and should be overcome with some effort, and that everyone should be helped up from that point. V had talked about it so often over the years, it sounded no crazier than his theories on the earth being flat, with a hollow opening at the North Pole and another sun peeking out from the center of the earth.
Apparently he did it last summer. He stopped writing and calling. A mutual pen-pal let me know that a Christmas card had been returned to him from V marked "deceased." He called a funeral home in the area, where the name didn't ring any bells (because, of course, which name was the right one?), but they remembered a big fire on that street.
Although there must have been some aunts or uncles or nephews of V still alive, I assume no one has come forward to represent his "estate," because there is probably no estate left to represent. However, if anyone has taken control of the copyrighted works of Vincent Wallace a.k.a. Professor V, just write to me so I can convince you that no one is making any money from this, and that it's clearly what he would have wanted.
The hardest part of this has been the lingering doubt, due to the fact that I've never met him in person, and never knew his real name. He could easily have moved away, stopped using the aliases by which I knew him, and could still be alive. There were times when we wrote each other that V became depressed or offended, and threatened to stop writing. Sometimes the mailbox and phone would just go silent for a month or two. Then he would come back. So this last silence seemed in character. We hadn't heard from him in six or eight months, but maybe he was ill, or busy caring for his father or uncle.
When I heard he died, it was easy to remain in denial. I'm still in denial, probably always will be, to some extent. How could I not be skeptical about the death of a man I never met, never knew the real name of, a man who taught me to be skeptical of the government and religion and all aspects of life?
Although V. denied the existence of any supreme being, he believed in an afterlife. His father had described a few near-death experiences, and these formed his views of what Heaven must be like. Heaven is another world, similar to this one, but not as crazy. You can do whatever you want there, be whoever you want, and you'd get to see all your old friends and relatives. Everybody gets to go. He had always talked about his mother and my father hanging out together, watching over us. I don't know if any of it's true, but I would love the thought of Professor V finally meeting my father, the two of them watching heavenly videos of Shane or Top Gun or Gumball Rally together, and arguing whether or not the character with no lines glimpsed for five seconds was Michael J. Pollard.
Professor V.