No trip to an adjacent planet would be complete without a woman whos head is larger than yours, almost alarmingly so.

Long had a . . . a lengthy career as a pulp writer, and was friend of H. P. Lovecraft. Cautionary tale for aspiring writers:

Long died on January 3, 1994 at the age of 92 at Saint Vincent's Catholic Medical Center in Manhattan.[1] He was survived by his wife, Lyda. Due to his poverty, he was interred in a potter's field for indigents. Friends and colleagues, on learning of this indignity, had his remains moved and reinterred at New York City's Woodlawn Cemetery, in a family plot near that of Lovecraft's grandparents.

Despite a seven-decade career as a writer, he had died impoverished after many years living in the Chelsea District of Manhattan.

He can be heard addressing the first World Fantasy Convention in 1975, here.