John O'Neill, redaktör på Black Gate, skriver så här i en dödsruna på SFF.net:
"For the last several years I received regular submissions in the Black Gate slush pile from Arthur Porges. They were unusual because they were crammed into tiny envelopes, typed on an old-fashioned typewriter (something I rarely see). I found his prose and plots a bit old-fashioned as well, and always returned them with a polite note.
Eventually I received a postcard from Arthur, complaining because I'd had one of his stories for three months. He explained that he was 90 years old, living in a home, and didn't know how much longer he had to live... could I maybe speed it up a little?
I did. I kept the postcard. I get a lot of strange notes as an editor, but that was a new one.
Arthur seemed very encouraged by my rejection notes, because he started sending me batches of stories. I would sigh when I saw them. He didn't seem to realize we were a fantasy magazine, and his shots were sometimes widely off the mark. But I read them anyway, and kept up the stream of friendly rejections.
Late last year I tore open an envelope of poems, all written on tiny square sheets, carefully clipped to save paper. Buried near the bottom were two I found marvelous. I read them to my wife, a little stunned to realize that I was going to send Arthur a check.
He wrote me back to say thanks for finally buying something from him, sounding very excited. When I sent him a follow-up note, it was returned to me with by his sister-in-law, with a brief letter saying that he had passed away.
I sat for a minute when I got the letter. I'm sad I won't be opening any more hand-addressed letters from Arthur Porges. But I'm proud that we'll be publishing his poems next year."