Stimes Addisson

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Born August 12 or 13, 1920 in Akron, Ohio. Died September 27, 1999, in Poughkeepsie, NY. He arrives first, riding a hippopotamus -- because he is one. He receives a barometric trouser-shaper.

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Non-Canonical Text

Sweat and Tears

Addisson was born to an eccentric but prosperous haberdasher and his wife in Akron, Ohio, on a day so sweltering it was almost cancelled. His childhood was a ripe dream up until the age of twelve, when his father Hyram Solomon Addisson walked out on the family, never to be heard of again. He was rumored to have made his way through Mexico to Honduras, where he attempted to set up a jungle micro-state which revolved around a highly-stratified cult of entrail readers whose rank was demonstrated by the cut of their pants. Addisson was understandably reticent about his father. His mother Gertrude died when he was 20, and young Addisson was left an orphan. Having a sizable inheritance, however, he was left with the freedom to do just about whatever he wanted.

Automatic Rifle

Like many smart young dreamers from the midwest, Addisson made his way to New York. There was a war on; everyone was jumpy. Japs could blow up the Statue of Liberty at any moment. Addisson had gotten out of the service on account of one flat foot and poor eyesight. He enrolled at NYU and life seemed to be headed towards elbow patches and pipes when he received the letter that would change his life. This letter was intended for Stimso Adid, who lived at a nearly identical address. Addisson, having little better to do and intrigued by such an event, decided to pay this Adid a visit and see what kind of person he was. The meeting changed his life.

Association, etc.

Addisson and Adid became fast friends, finding that they shared many ideas in common, ideas they found lacking in the society around them. They very quickly began to formalize their discussions and decided to launch a journal, Reticent 27, that would articulate the platform they had begun to call Accidental Associationalism, or AA. Along with a small cadre of friends they began to hold parties, gallery shows, arm-wrestling contests, collating sessions and barbecues in the service of the AA. For some reason their activity raised the ire of nearly everyone in New York. The leftists called them fascists and the right-wingers, anarchists. In fact, Addisson played to both crowds and enjoyed taunting them with provocative editorials. It was during this period that he was attacked in the street outside his apartment and, if not for the fact that William Flintrock happened to stroll up at the right moment, he might have been seriously injured.

Portrait of Addisson by , from the reprint of .

Portrait of Addisson by T. Wilson, from the The Double Stimes reprint of Who We Are.

The Strain of Notoriety

Stimes went through a small depression in the eary 1940's that left its mark. He thought of starting of private postal company, but changed his mind for no apparent reason. During this period he began speaking about the puzzle.

In 1943 The League of Gnomes was founded by a well-known Poobite with a grudge to bear. The league had a variety of aims, chief of which was to destroy the AA. The Gnomes were not above libel and violence. For many years the Gnomes were ineffective and small, but by the mid-1950's they begain to gain in strength. Their constant propaganda and psychological warfare exploited and exacerbated the developing schisms within the AA, leading to a definite rupture within the movement at the 3rd AA International Conference (1965). Addisson took it all in stride and by this time had retreated somewhat from the eye of attention to allow his younger cohorts to duke it out. The Gnomes continue to engage the AA to this day, but their activity dropped sharply in the wake of the burning of Wee-Wee in 1971. Wee-Wee had been designed by Addisson and funded by Cappy Trowbridge. The resulting scandal nearly destroyed both organizations.

Swingin' Seventies and Beyond

Addisson recoiled from the violence of the Sixties with a retreat into hedonism. It was at this time of his life he was seen consorting with rock stars and disco queens, taking the occasional line of coke with a movie star or sailing in the Gulf of Mexico with a minor politician. This was not an unproductive period of his life, however, and he produced some of his best work.

In the Eighties he worked with Adid to bring out the latter's line of fine pants for men in Japan for the label Banana slut, you? He also travelled extensively, sometimes with Adid, giving lectures and conducting his research into the coins of nonexistent countries and the life and times of his ancestor A.W. Slippers. He also gave a weekly syndicated radio show, The Association Hour, from 1983-1989.

The Nineties found him acting in the AA with renewed vigor as he began first by responding to the research inquiries of Steven Adkins and Tim Wilson and also by participating with Steven Vogeler on as yet unreleased sonic compositions which incorporated his poetry as spoken by a trained pig. Krystine Monitzer claims that a drunken Addisson once stuck his tongue in her ear as she slept, but it is generally believed that she is mistaking a story someone told her about P-Boy with an incident from her own life.¹

"Addisson almost died in 1999 in NY while scouting locations for a never-made film based on his life which was to be titled My Life on Stilts. While on stilts he stumbled walking along the top of the Grand Canyon where he miraculously fell into an eagle's nest. He was rescued by an Arizona Police Force, or APF."

"This incident led him to become a private dick - his job to date. He is nearing retirement - still trying to put together the last pieces of that fucked-up puzzle."

So went an article by Jairo Kima in the July, 2004, edition of Withered Eskimo. Unfortunately, Addisson is not Elvis Presley. He is dead and this is beyond a doubt. He died in Arizona; his death certificate is on record, signed by Dr. Mavis Yazzie of the Benjamin County Coroner's Office. Cause of death: heart attack. The Arizon heat was too much for the nearly 80-year old man, whose heart had been weakened by the strain of near-constant harrassment and financial worry.

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