And all of this was rewarding-he thought of himself as a businessman first, a writer second, an "author" not at all. He had been the first writer he knew of to incorporate-ERB, Inc.-and even started a publishing company, printing his own books, to better maintain control of the product, and to maximize profits.

And he had made it a family business, hiring Hully as his vice president, using his older son, Jack, a successful commercial artist, as the illustrator of his book jackets and the new "John Carter of Mars" comic strip, based on his science-fiction novels, set to debut this Sunday. He'd even hired his daughter's no-good husband Jim Pierce to play Tarzan on the radio.

No one could say Ed Burroughs was not a family man, even if he did spend most of his time away from home, at the office. But few on this earth knew-besides his children, if they would admit it-how he had dreaded to come home, at the end of a long day. And even the kids could only guess that behind the happy moments of the marriage-and there had been some, even in the later years-hovered a specter of fear of what he knew would inevitably come the next day or the next….

He blamed himself. He'd always been proud of the way he could hold his liquor, and had urged Emma-who had no tolerance for alcohol at all, and whose personality changed radically under the influence-to moderate her drinking. They had been party goers for years, but as Emma's problem worsened, he had cut back on the invitations they accepted, and didn't stay long at the parties they did attend.

And so Emma had begun to drink at home. Alone-in secret, that open secret the families of all alcoholics know too well.