When I landed my job as editorial assistant as Asimov’s, I felt a bit like a skydiver who had managed to set down on a precipice. Thankfully, more experienced hands reached out to steady me, so that the wind couldn’t blow me off my perch. Over the course of my career I’ve amassed debts of gratitude to many people, but the two who grounded me most in those early days were Betsy Mitchell and Eleanor Sullivan.

Both women were colleagues of mine at Davis Publications. Betsy’s name may be familiar to very long-time readers of Asimov’s and certainly will be to those who know the names of the editors behind the books at the big SF publishing houses. Betsy had already worked as a journalist and as a copywriter at Dell Books before she became an editorial assistant on both Analog and Asimov’s in late 1980. By the time I joined the magazine, she was the managing editor of Analog and the associate editor of Asimov’s. Betsy’s job at Analog was demanding and time consuming. Her duties at Asimov’s were primarily to train me. It was a joy to be taught by someone as even-tempered and as much fun as Betsy. Due to our workload, I often had to operate on my own, and it seemed as though I was destined to make every possible mistake at least once. I can still see her standing in my doorway cheerfully delivering horrifying news about the very first issue of Asimov’s to carry my name. In proofing the magazine, I hadn’t noticed that some of the galleys for a nonfiction column had been pasted up out of order. Betsy’s patience and good humor helped me learn from these mistakes without being humiliated and ensured that they were never repeated. Her own name came off the masthead when mine went on, but her help and encouragement lasted for months afterward.

I’d been flying solo for a while when Betsy announced that she was leaving the magazines to help Jim Baen start up his brand new publishing company, Baen Books. I was heartbroken to see her go, but my loss was science fiction’s gain. Betsy eventually moved from Baen Books to Bantam Spectra where she was named associate publisher. At Spectra, she edited the Hugo Award-winner Hyperion by Dan Simmons and Virtual Light by William Gibson. Later, she founded the Aspect line at Warner Books. One of her goals at Aspect was to focus on the work of writers of color. Nalo Hopkinson, whose Brown Girl in the Ring won Aspect’s initial first-novel contest, was one of her discoveries. Betsy was the publisher of the World Fantasy Award winning Dark Matter, the first-ever anthology of speculative fiction by black writers. She is now the Vice President/Editor-in-Chief of Del Rey Books where, in addition to editing such writers as Michael Chabon, Terry Brooks, and Naomi Novik, she publishes Del Rey Manga and graphic novels.

While I was learning how to produce a magazine from Betsy, I was learning about the life of an editor from Eleanor Sullivan, the editor of Ellery Queen’s Mystery Magazine. Eleanor was about twenty-five years older than I and was much more sophisticated. She was blonde and the first person I’d ever met who always wore black. Eleanor lived in a large duplex apartment on East 48th Street. She knew everyone. Her neighbor was Katherine Hepburn and her close friends included Judith Crist, Ruth Rendell, and Phyllis Diller. Eleanor invited me to her home and took me out to places like Applause, a restaurant where every so often the wait staff would leave off serving drinks and dinner to break into song and dance routines. Although she was a very private person, she told me wonderful stories about her life and about publishing. She had worked as an elementary school teacher for ten years before joining the staff of Ellery Queen in 1970, and she was the editor of Alfred Hitchcock’s Mystery Magazine from 1975 until 1981. Eleanor worked closely with Fred Dannay, the editor and one half of the team of cousins that made up the Ellery Queen pseudonym. The editorship of his magazine was passed to Eleanor when he died.

At Davis, we could take calls after hours by intercepting the night bell. Once, I took a call from a woman with a familiar voice. It was the actress Loretta Swit and she wanted to give Eleanor two tickets to that evening’s Broadway performance of Edwin Drood. I wasn’t sure if my life would be worth less if I lost Eleanor a shot at the tickets or if I gave out her home number. As I dithered, Loretta sweetly asked me if it would help if she told Eleanor I’d been very difficult. With great relief, I said that would be lovely and passed along the information.

Though a mystery editor might seem to have a tenuous connection to science fiction, it was another of Eleanor’s friendships that brought about the existence of this very magazine. Since Fred Dannay worked mostly from his home, Eleanor had held down the fort at the New York office. Isaac Asimov loved visiting with her and as a result he submitted all his Black Widower and Union Club mystery stories in person. It was because of these visits that our publisher, Joel Davis, got to know Isaac and eventually asked him if he could attach the Good Doctor’s name to a science fiction magazine.

Eleanor died almost twenty years ago, but I think of her when I hang ornaments from her on my Christmas tree or when my kids complain that I wear too much black. While our busy lives don’t allow us to see that much of each other, Betsy Mitchell has remained my friend for all these years. These two women who helped shape me also shaped our world. In an alternate universe that is without Betsy Mitchell, the SF field looks completely different from the one we know. And without an Eleanor Sullivan, there is no Asimov’s Science Fiction magazine.