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Оглавление1. Growing Up, 1930–1946
To Edith Gaddis
[WG’s mother, née Edith Charles (1900–69); see WG’s capsule biography of her in his letter of 14 March 1994. In 1922 she married William T. Gaddis (1899–1965), but they separated about four years later. WG’s earliest letters date from 1929, when he was attending the Merricourt School in Berlin, CT. Most are addressed to Mrs. Gaddis’s work address: 130 E. 15th St., New York, NY, the office of the New York Steam Corporation, which later merged with ConEdison. (Her work there was the subject of a feature in the New York Times: 6 April 1941, Society News, D4.) The first two are included because they refer to his first “book,” his earliest reading, and document his first creative effort.]
Merricourt
Dec. 9, 1930
Dear Mother.
Our vacation is from Sat. Dec. 20. to January 4.
We are making scrapbooks and lots of things. We are learning about the Greek Gods.
I am making an airplane book.
With love
Billy
To Edith Gaddis
Merricourt
Jan. 23rd, 1932
Dear Mother.
[...] We just came back from the library but I didn’t get any books.
I finished Bomba the Jungle Boy and I have started Bomba the Jungle Boy at the Moving Mountain. I wrote a poem and it went like this
Easter
Easter is on Sunday
But today is Monday
And Easter is 11 weeks away
At Easter the bunny hides eggs all over,
Some in the grass, some in the clover.
Did you like it
With love
Billy
Bomba the Jungle Boy [...] Moving Mountain: the first two (both published 1926) in a series of boys’ adventure novels by the pseudonymous Roy Rockwood.
To Edith Gaddis
[Most of WG’s early letters home are brief, cheerful bulletins about school activities, but the following one about the three-hour train-ride between New York City and Berlin conveys some of the anxiety that Jack Gibbs recalls of his boarding-school days in J R: “—End of the day alone on that train, lights coming on in those little Connecticut towns stop and stare out at an empty street corner dry cheese sandwich charge you a dollar wouldn’t even put butter on it, finally pull into that desolate station scared to get off scared to stay on [...] school car waiting there like a, black Reo touring car waiting there like a God damned open hearse think anybody expect to grow up . . .” (119).]
Merricourt
Oct. 24, 1933
Dear Mother.
I got here safely, but got mixed up because it was dark and didn’t think [it] was Berlin. Carl, Warren, and David were there to meet me and we enjoyed the rest of the Oh-Henry. The darn train stopped up over the bridge to let another one pass it and I was wondering where the station was when we started up and rode by the station (nearly) and the boys had to race with the train. [...]
With love Billy
To Edith Gaddis
[After Merricourt, WG attended public school on Long Island from seventh through twelfth grades. In the summer of 1940, he sailed to the Caribbean on the SS Bacchus, the first of many voyages he would make throughout the Western hemisphere over the next dozen years.]
Port-au-Prince, Haiti
[24 August 1940]
Dear Mother.
Well everything is coming along fine. I was pretty under the weather the first 2 days out but after that fine. The other passengers are fine especially 4 of the men who are swell. And the crew are too. I have become the bos’n’s “apprentice.” He has taught me to splice rope etc. and is a corker. A good part of the crew are colored but they’re OK too.
As I write this it is 5 AM and we are lying in at Port-au-Price. I slept on the bridge last nite and this morning got up early and am watching the sunrise over the mountains to the east of the town. Last nite 3 of the men (passengers) and I went ashore and saw a little of Haitian nite-life, of which we saw very little. All the stores were closed as they didn’t expect the ship ’til this morning so the town was almost dead. Mr Romondi’s prophecy, however, has come true. There are a good many palm trees on the island and I was under one last nite.
The town is quite beautiful with the mountain behind it and all the white buildings and a flaming cloud to the right and the sun rising to the left.
We go ashore this morning to the souvenir shops etc. Oh boy!
We lift anchor at 10 AM for Aruba or La Guiara—I forget which.
I read Black Majesty—a fellow on the boat has it.
Hope I don’t get stuck in a record store in Port-au-Prince and miss the boat—
Love
Bill
Mr Romondi: unidentified.
La Guiara: on the coast of Venezuela, WG’s next port-of-call.
Black Majesty: a biography of Henri Christophe, king of Haiti (1767–1820), by John W. Vandercook (1928).
Left: WG piloting the SS Bacchus, 1940.
Right: Edith Gaddis, 1941 (Times Wide World).
To Edith Gaddis
[WG entered Harvard in September 1941, but almost immediately began experiencing medical problems. (Thirty years later he recalled it as mononucleosis.) As a result, he left after the first term and headed west for his health.]
Harvard University
Cambridge, Massachusetts
[10 September 1941]
Dear Mother.
First the business before I forget and then the news. As you can see a typewriter ribbon will be welcome at the first opportunity, and then there is the problem of the desk lamp. They have nice ones like my room mate’s at the Coop for $5.98, but if you can get one and send it all right; any how I think it must be settled soon as classes start today and they are starting assignments off with a bang. Also I understand that note books seem to be required to some extent in many of the courses, so if you happen on one it will be welcome up here. I have been spending to a fair extent, having gotten all of my books and other little things such as writing paper, joining the Coop, etc., and so the latest contribution was very welcome. And speaking of contributions, have you heard anything from the Christy affair?
I’ve had two classes: in English and French, and you should see the assignments. Boy, they aren’t waiting for anything. The food is good so far, and with classes starting we are beginning to get settled down to a more regular life. Boy it is really some life, and promises to become more so to the nth degree. We are beginning to realize just about what the courses are going to be, how much work connected with them, etc. Although my course is not a stiff one, and the courses aren’t as hard as they are dry, uninteresting, and only requirements, I am looking forward very apprehensively to the Latin course, in which my classes start tomorrow. V (my room mate just did this—for Victory—in the November hour exams I guess).
I guess you got my card asking for the jacket; I was figuring I might take it down to this Max Keezer and get a trade in on that corduroy jacket which I think is going to be the thing to wear to classes.
Well, that’s about all, I guess; I’ll write and let you know how things are when we get really settled.
Love,
Bill
the Christy affair: Christy was a boyhood friend, otherwise reference unknown.
Max Keezer: a menswear shop founded in 1895, located in Harvard Square at the time.
To Edith Gaddis
Mathews Hall - 31
Cambridge, Massachusetts
[19 October 1941]
Dear Mother—
Could it be that Dolly and her ilk are slipping? They seem to be failing us. I don’t know, here it is Saturday afternoon and I’m still flat listening to the Dartmouth game. My temp stays right around 100 tho it’s been down to 99 and up to 101 but I feel like hanging up. Harvard just made a touchdown and the stands are going crazy—me too only for a different reason—because I’m not there. I’ll bet there’ll be a hot time tonite.
Well I’ve decided one thing—they told me that they can’t keep you here if you insist on going so come Tuesday or Wednesday and I’m still the same I’m leaving and see if I’ll get well outside on my own. I’m not getting anywhere here—only disgusted.
The food here is supposed to be good but I think it’s pretty sad and not half as good as Union food.
They’re still making their crazy blood tests which never show a thing—what a bunch of jerks!
Hoping to have better reports soon—
Love
Bill
To Edith Gaddis
Cambridge, Massachusetts
[23 October 1941]
Dear Mom—
I’m feeling a lot better and I think the temp has been dropping a little—not normal yet but someday I suppose. The only effects are my ankles are very weak and I have a pot belly! But I guess exercise will cure both. I’m not up long enough to feel dizzy—not on my treks to the bathroom anyway. [...]
The only studying I’ve done is that 100 pages of French outside reading—the exam in it is today so I guess I’ll have to make it up too. Somehow this place isn’t condusive to study and I haven’t felt like it until the last couple of days.
I’m only taking 4 subjects—which is minimum—but 2 (Physics and Eng[lish literature] I) are pretty tough. However there’s no backing down or changing now—I’ll just hang on and hope for the best.
Love
Bill
To Edith Gaddis
Cambridge, Massachusetts
[4 November 1941]
Dear Mother—
Gosh—Dr. Contratto must have written you an encouraging letter—we were so certain I’d be out for the next Army game and now you don’t mention it, but say you’re coming up—I tell you gee—I feel good and have no temperature at all—always normal now; only a small stomach which seems to be going down slowly—I still think I’ll be out for Saturday’s game—I can’t see why not, and yet this whole thing is so screwy and is getting me so mad—that is, if I don’t get out by Saturday.
I’d like to know what those two thot about the ultimate outcome—I don’t see why I can’t make up 4 weeks’ work—I’m not worrying about that—my English A is almost made up already; my Eng I reading is getting done; Physics and French I’m letting go, but I think I might be able to catch up on them even without tutors, tho tutors might prove to be adviseable. I don’t see why I should worry about being a freshman next year—unless Dean Leighton suggested it—because I can do this work and I’m getting out soon, or know why.
As for talk of my graduating class—I doubt if many of us will graduate. That is far ahead any way, and even so I’ll be draft-meat in a couple of years, and I’m going to beat them to it. [...]
Love
Bill
Dr. Contratto: Dr. Andrew W. Contratto, who practiced in Cambridge at this time.
To Edith Gaddis
Cambridge, Massachusetts
[13 November 1941]
Dear Mother—
The freighter to L.A. sounds great—just perfect and I’d like it best if possible. 10,000 tons is a fair sized ship—it sounds good and ought to ride well. I think the Japs are the least of our worries—time seems to be the thing now. I might stay in L.A. for a couple of days and send ahead to find out about right reservations to my destination. I think as for cost it may be even if not slightly less, considering 21 days aboard ship with meals is equivalent to 3 weeks of boarding somewhere.
That’s swell about the 15% on American Airlines and it would be fairly and comparatively inexpensive to fly to Baltimore with time at home such a premium.
If it is at all possible please pull every string to make the freighter trip possible—it would be just what I wanted and would work out more perfectly and best for me if it can be done—
Love
Bill
P.S. She’s a midget
P.P.S.—What is time of sailing from Baltimore?
the Japs are the least of our worries: three weeks later the Japanese would bomb Pearl Harbor.
To Edith Gaddis
[WG left Harvard on November 21, and a week later shipped out from Baltimore on the SS West Portal.]
Barker Hotel
2000 Miramar Street
Los Angeles, California
[2 January 1942]
Dear Mom.
It is such a long time since I wrote and I don’t know what customs in Panama let thru that I’ll have a hard time remembering everything.
We were half way thru the Canal when Japan declared war, having arrived at Colon early that morning (Atlantic side). At 7 o’clock the canal was blacked out except for guide lights on the banks and the ship ran with only running and mast head and stern lights. We reached Balboa late that nite (pacific side) and despite war went ashore while ship took on oil. Panama City wasn’t blacked-out and it was really an intriguing city. Then we returned to the boat and sailed late the next afternoon. About 9 that nite however things in the Pacific were getting pretty lively as we swung around and were anchored in Panama Bay next morning. We stayed there for nine days, with quite a few other ships—twenty five at once sometimes—blacked out always and continuously shifting position. Altho we didn’t get ashore often, and when we did we couldn’t go further than Panama City (I mean across the isthmus to Cristobal) for comparitively short times as the ship was likely to leave any minute—awaiting naval orders and even the captain wasn’t sure. I did get a roommate in Panama—his name was “Davey” Abad, a native Panamanian who was light weight (I think) boxing champion of the world! He was really quite a character—sort of genial, sloppy, tough, and paunchy, about 34, and his only faults that I think of now were really ripping nightmares he would get and bounce around in the top bunk and yell out in Spanish until I thot it might be unsafe to room with him; one night he was really going and kicked the light right off of the ceiling!—I used to have to light a match when I came in at night and say “It’s me, your room mate, Davey—” and be ready to duck. They subsided however and we got along quite well. Then he used to come into the dining salon patting a large tan stomach, usually exposed by a shirt with one button, and one night Ross had a miserable time trying to eat cherries while Davey sat slapping his bare stomach after supper. And aside from these and the horrible manner in which he mangled and distorted the English language he was all right and really took me around Panama City one nite where every one seemed to know him.
Then there was a one year old baby whom I knick-named “Wetsy” (and it stuck) very appropriately because she seemed quite unable to control herself; indeed, some times she seemed almost proud of the little pools she left behind, and at least she was nonchalant about it. This little animated mass of sodden diapers took a liking to me—probably a strange fascination, and it was quite a mystery to everyone, including myself, because of the way I treated her. Despite the way I sort of kicked her as she walked unsteadily down the deck, or squirted her milk in her face to see her squint, or pulled her hat down over her eyes, or tempted her toward unsafe perches on the edge of the hatch or near the rail and told her mother about the dire plans I had for her future in the way of “hotfoots” or seeing if she would float, or the way I sort of carried her slung under one arm and bounced and shook her (which she actually seemed to enjoy), she would spread her arms out and get a downright jolly look on her face and make weird gurgling noises (resembling the Bronx cheer) and weave an unsteady path toward me, usually ending up on her face, when ever she saw me. Needless to say her mother was slightly worried and probably expected me to come back from one of our jaunts with a bloody mass under my arm, but Wetsy weathered them all—she really could take it. Her mother couldn’t see her resemblance to a cocker spaniel puppy which I pointed out, and looked sort of horrified when I mentioned King Herod or Jonathan Swift’s “Modest Proposal” after Wetsy had put in a particularly hard nite at our expense, but all in all was a remarkably good sport through it all.
Mr. Byrne has been fine, and we have gotten along very well except for a streak when he sort of tried to “hold me down”—not that I wanted to do any thing—it’s just that any one doesn’t like to be “with strings on”—that was in Panama and now in L.A. we get along like regular chums and he is really quite jolly and as a matter of fact was sort of the life of the whole trip.
There was another nice fellow on the way up from Panama—a twenty-seven year old sailor serving in the navy in Panama. He and I got along wonderfully and were usually partners in conspiring where Wetsy’s future was concerned. However I really took a kidding when Massapequa was concerned—it seemed as if it was brought up in every conversation—but when I got here I saw in the L.A. Daily News a large picture of a bonfire of Japanese made goods in “Massapequa, Long Island!” I tried to get one but it was an early edition.
At any rate we finally did leave Panama and tho the run up was completely uneventful it was at the same time very exciting. As we got nearer L.A. precautions were much greater—no smoking on deck and absolutely no lights. Lifeboats were slung out and ready, provisioned with food and water, lifebelts always handy, and I had my watch and money and papers in an oilskin pouch always with me. We really expected trouble—in fact Mr. Byrne and I had a two dollar bet on when it would come!—but things quieted as we neared L.A.
Christmas on the boat was a beautiful day but that’s about all, tho we did have a more sumptuous spread than usual. I had gotten a good burn the day before in the sun, but Christmas it was easier. And to top things off I was presented with a present!—my dirtiest pair of pants wrapped up in wooden cheese boxes!!! My most unique present yet!
Well now we’re getting settled in Los Angles—it’s quite a large town—spread all over etc. Happy New Year!
Love
Bill
Japan declared war: by bombing Pearl Harbor on 7 December 1941. “Davey” Abad: professionally active from 1924 to 1937.
Ross: J. Ross Byrne, WG’s traveling companion.
King Herod or Jonathan Swift’s “Modest Proposal”: Herod, bent on killing Jesus, ordered all children of Bethlehem under two to be murdered (Matt. 2:16); Swift’s satirical essay (1729) recommends that the Irish eat their children to avoid starvation.
Massapequa: WG’s hometown on Long Island; his mother owned a house at 40 Jerusalem
Avenue.
To Edith Gaddis
[WG spent three months at a ranch about 14 miles northwest of Tucson.]
Cortaro, Arizona
[12 January 1942]
Dear Mom—
Well settled at last; “Sahuaro Vista Desert Ranch—Cortaro, Ariz.” is the new address. I left Ross in Yuma Saturday, after calling here to be sure of reservation, and got to Tucson that nite. The rates here, all over Arizona are much higher than before, because of war in Calif., and because Calif. weather is a bit cold. Mrs Adams, the proprietress here, told me her rates were higher and that I might stay at $90 a month because she had already quoted this rate. I think it is good because Ross is paying $40 per on a just regular “farm” in Yuma for room and board, and here they have horses etc. and the land is much nicer, Yuma being poor, and just dirty desert, while here they have plenty of giant cactus and mesquite etc. It looks like it’s going to be wonderful. [...]
And lest I forget—please get me another birth certificate whenever it is convenient (no hurry) and send it out, as I had trouble in Panama and L.A. landing without it. I suppose I should always carry it when I travel.
And I haven’t time now to tell you about it, but Brad Brown showed me a wonderful time in Hollywood—had many plans for this (past) weekend, but I thot I should get started for Arizona.
I haven’t seen much here—it is compairtively quiet as there are only two guests now, but soon there will be 18!, and I’ll probably get some mail from you in Tucson today, so I’ll stop now as we’re going very soon (it’s about 14 miles).
And say, if you haven’t seen H.M. Pullham Esq. don’t miss it. I saw it in Tucson Saturday nite. It is wonderful, Rob’t Young is superb and Hedy Lamarr is extremely good too. I have not really been extremely lonely since I left, but after that I just felt lost. I can see where the book must have been very good—
Lots of love
Bill
$90 a month: about $1260 today. ($1 in 1942 = $14.00 in 2013.)
Yuma: on the Arizona–California border.
Brad Brown: unidentified.
H.M. Pullham Esq.: Pulham, 1940 film directed by King Vidor (based on a novel by John P. Marquand) about a stuffy Bostonian businessman who livens up his dull life with a fling.
To Edith Gaddis
Cortaro, Arizona
[17 January 1942]
Dear Mom—
[...] Well everything is coming along fine out here. I’ve been riding every day for two or three or four hours and it is wonderful.
However I can see where I made a sad mistake. I did as I have been waiting to do since I left, and for my Christmas present bought a handsome pair of boots for $19. They are good looking, but no inlay except around the top. At any rate I was well pleased until I started riding in them, and altho I do really like them—they fascinate me—this land is so rough, and what with riding through greasewood and cactus etc they now by the end of the week are getting pretty scratched up. Every time I pass a bush or cactus that scratches them I feel like it was tearing my own flesh!
They are not flashy: just black with green and yellow stitching and a little inlay around the top. If only I had gotten a cheaper pair to wear riding and bought a good pair to wear around and home. They had a beautiful pair for $30—all inlay etc. However these are good ones—lined and slightly padded and very well made, and I suppose it was a good investment. As a last resort please send my old ones out—I’ll have them re-heeled and they’ll do for rough country. And also my canteen—it’s hanging in the lodge just to the right of the garage door. It will be perfect for these long hot rides.
I have gotten a pair of blue jeans ($1.39) and a flannel shirt (98¢) for this riding—expect to get another pair of jeans today—and later perhaps a pair of “frontier pants” and a gabardine shirt. No hat as yet as they do seem sort of “dudey”—but I can see that it too will become almost a necessity before too long.
As for wanting anything else—well there are things down here that make me froth just to look at them!—belts such as I never dreamed of—rings—beautiful silver and leather work—but I figure I don’t need any of it now and will let it go until I’ve been around a bit more and seen more of these things that I’ve always known must exist somewhere!
My pictures turned out quite well on the trip ’round. I’m sending them under separate cover with the negatives in case you want to see them and you may keep them so I won’t lose them. They most all turned out—some taken in Panama Bay of sunsets which is restricted and I almost lost every thing—and say I don’t know whether or not I told you about what happened at Norfolk—I was caught taking pictures on the pier—trailed all over town by two Naval Intelligence men and finally “relieved” of any film. They said they would develop it and send me any pictures they approved—so if any thing comes to me there from them that resembles photographs please take a look and send them on—there may be some good shots. [...]
I can’t think of any thing I’d want from Saks—perhaps a tux but that will be a long time—I really don’t know what they handle—so why don’t you get yourself something and then later things will straighten out. There just isn’t much in the east that I can think of wanting—except clothes when I return—these wallets and belts and rings and other silver and leather creations out here are just things I have always dreamt of.
Well everything’s fine—just riding—rocking back and forth (what I mean rocking) in these saddles. It’s quite warm tho the natives comment on the “chilliness!” Tell Gram I’ll write and tell her all about Brad and thank her for her letter.
Love
Bill
Gram: aka Granga, WG’s maternal grandmother, Ida Williams Way (see headnote to 16 November 1943).
To Edith Gaddis
Cortaro, Arizona
[26 January 1942]
Dear Mother—
I received both your letters Saturday and the box that evening; thanks so much for the check (I paid it down on my “rent”), and the box—I still get a kick out of opening packages and presents!
And then as you say this slightly ironic setup—about my father. But I suppose we shall do just what might be expected, and wait . . . things always do take care of them selves, and, as “most of our troubles never happen,” by the same token plans and worries often make an unexpected outcome that much harder to meet. As you said it has not been a great emotional problem for me, tho it does seem queer; you see I still feel a little like I must have when I said “I have no father; I never had a father!,” and since things have been as they have, I have never really missed one—honestly—and only now does it seem queer to me. All I know of fathers I have seen in other families, and in reading, and somehow thru the deep realization I have gained of their importance; of father-and-son relations; and families: not just petty little groups, but generations—a name and honour and all that goes with it—this feeling that I have gained from other channels without ever having missed its actual presence: somehow these are the only ties I feel I have with him. You understand, not so much personal feelings, but the sort of feeling that I feel must exist between the father and son of a family as fine and as noble as I feel the name of Gaddis to represent; something far above such stuff as the Good Will Hour thrives on.
The package contained a very handsome pigskin wallet—a very fine gift, and I shall write him and thank him.
I suppose all we can do is wait, and not hope but know that it will all turn out perfectly. And while I realize that perhaps it is an affair between father and son, and I shall try to carry my end thru as a gentleman would, for apparently now I have reached the place where I am old enough to think for myself and act accordingly, and be expected to carry things thru like a man, at any rate Mother, if there is any part of this that you want me to do “your way,” or any advice you wish to give me on any part of it, please do so, and rest assured that I will do as you wish, for far from making a mess of things or being unfair to me at any point, you have done a wonderful job of the whole thing, and people who have never seen you or have just met you to whom I speak of you telling me that you must be a very wonderful woman only substantiate my feelings and make me realize all the more how much I owe not only a wonderful mother but a wonderful person as well for everything good I have and am today, or ever will be—
Love
Bill
Good Will Hour: a radio advice program (1937–45) hosted by John J. Anthony.
To Edith Gaddis
Cortaro, Arizona
[19 February 1942]
Dear Mother—
Everything out here is fine as per usual and after receiving your letter and request for a picture I got my roll developed and here’s one of me on “Johnny”—the wildest jumpiest horse here; I ride him daily and he’s slowly getting broken in—but today he ran off with me and I came through still on top this time but a slight rip on my head from a passing tree limb. However he’s a good horse and we’re getting along better all the time. It is a poor picture but at least shows I’m still alive and able to get around.
And say—about those pictures I sent of my West Portal trip—was the negative roll with them? I don’t know what happened—the manila envelop they were in must have broken.
I don’t know about registering—but some time if you see George (Castor) or Arvid you might ask them.
We made a trip to Nogales (Mexico) Saturday and had a fine time. They had buckskin jackets there for $10—one of the fellows got one—but I’m in too deep all ready—and what with the rodeo coming up. I do want to get started and work and pretty soon am going to give this edima an ultimatum. I’ve got an offer of a job down near Elgin near the border where a fellow’s running cattle and sort of needs a helper. Would only be for board and I’d have to bring bed-roll and perhaps saddle—but experience is the thing and I guess I’d get it there.
Well we’ll see I suppose—but I do want to get going—
Love
Bill
West Portal: the name of the ship WG took through the Panama Canal.
George (Castor) or Arvid: Castor, like Arvid Friberg, was a Farmingdale High School friend. edima: i.e., edema, an abnormal accumulation of fluid beneath the skin or in a body cavity.
WG in Arizona, 1942
To Edith Gaddis
Cortaro, Arizona
[23 March 1942]
Dear Mom—
Things are still in a sort of state of waiting; I was going to Yuma about the middle of last week but Mrs. Adams talked me out of it—but a couple of days ago I got a letter from Ross in Yuma asking me to drop down and see him.
And so here’s how it stands: you see the old gal who runs this place—Mrs Adams—is a little—well—eccentric—putting it mildly. At any rate there haven’t been any guests here for a while, and no wrangler, so I’ve been doing part time work—taking care of horses—for $1 a day off my board. Now she’s starting things rolling again (she says) and there’s a possibility of my getting a job—I don’t know. If it’s not working the horses I won’t take it. She’s made me propositions now and again but she seems to be given to—well—fabricating etc etc. and I can’t keep up with her. And so if I should get a job here I’ll stay for a while—until I clear up the albumin in the urine. Otherwise down to Yuma to see Ross, and then I’d like to go out to L.A. just to see how things are looking. You see the edima is about gone—the doctor thinks it is negligible; I haven’t had swelling in the ankles for the last month or two as the boots are tight and keep it out—just the upper legs—but the doc thinks that’s cleared up. He says I can work but doesn’t advise the sea until I clear up this albumin condition.
And then just to complicate things an old seaman is working here—gardening—and we get together and he really can tell me the stories. He says he doesn’t think that there is so much danger—he thinks one has a good chance. Then for further complication a pretty brunette is staying over at the “Picture Rocks” Ranch a little ways away. Her name is Petrillo—you know the Petrillos in the song writing and A.S.C.A.P etc—that’s her—I ride over and see her every so often—gee not like that Ford—this saddle only seats one!
I finally did get a very handsome silver ring—it is solid silver and in the form of a little saddle—as if your finger were the horse’s back you put the saddle on it—like this. [drawing] The silver is all engraved and right in the top of the horse is a little blue turquoise; it is handsome.
Well that’s about the size of it now—have been reading H.M. Stanley’s auto biography—it’s wonderful (at present he is going to sea!)
Love
Bill
the Petrillos: James Petrillo (1892–1984) was president of the American Federation of Musicians (1940–58) and would have dealt with the American Society of Composers, Authors, and Publishers.
H.M. Stanley’s auto biography: Sir Henry Morton Stanley (1841–1904), explorer in Africa; his Autobiography was posthumously published in 1909.
To Edith Gaddis
Rancho de los Caballos
Yuma Valley, Arizona
Tuesday [31 March 1942]
Dear Mom—
Well I got started at last—hitch hiked over here yesterday in six hours and am seeing Ross who sends his best.
It is certainly hot here out on the desert, and I think I’ll get started for L.A. soon—perhaps this afternoon—for I think I can get a ride as far as El Centro. I just want to go out to the coast to see how things are.
For the last two or three or four weeks I’d been working at S—V—Ranch for Mrs Adams with horses and dudes—$1 off per day—and so when paid up $28 to leave on. That will be plenty to get me to the coast and back—and I’ll be back in Tucson soon I’m sure—unless something good should turn up in L.A.
Love
Bill
To Edith Gaddis
The Rosslyn Hotels
111 West Fifth Street
Los Angeles, California
[early April 1942]
Dear Mom—
Well it took me over 500 miles of hitch hiking—but now you may set your mind completely at rest; I went down to San Pedro today—and the U.S. Maritime Commission—and the sea seems at least post poned for a while—next summer perhaps. But I had to come out and settle it for myself. I got out to San Diego and on the ride up from there saw miles of the Pacific, so I guess I’m cured for a while.
I have been here since last evening, when I arrived, and after this second good look at L.A. plan to start back in the morning.
I had a haircut this morning (first in 3 months!!) and the barber whom I got to know here in January said that I looked better. You should have seen the hair tho—it was really long—what I mean—and curly too!
Well should be back at the Ranch by the weekend unless something intruguing intervenes!
Love
Bill
To Edith Gaddis
Cortaro, Arizona
[6 April 1942]
Dear Mom—
Well—back at last, and what a trip. I got here yesterday afternoon about two P.M., having got a ride thru from near Yuma.
That hitch-hiking works out well. I “cheated” once—took a bus from L.A. to Indio; I never could have gotten a ride out of L.A.
And so now I’m going to start looking around here for a job. I could have got one out on the coast but I don’t like it a bit out there, and it seems any thing but healthful.
What I’d like to do is work around here until the beginning of May and then start out and see the north west and west and work east in June.
There’s an ad in the paper today by a ‘large electrical firm’ for ‘young men 18 to 22’ so I’m going to see what’s cooking.
Came back from L.A. with three dollars so my one week’s thousand mile trip wasn’t so expensive after all—and I got a hair cut!—First since January fifth!
Love
Bill
P.S. How do you like my new ‘G’ in Gaddis on the envelop? I think it’s better.
To Edith Gaddis
Cortaro, Arizona
[8 April 1942]
Dear Mom—
Well this is just to tell you about the latest intriguing offer and plans. There is a couple here—an elderly deaf woman and her feeble minded son (!) from Saint Louis Mo.—and they plan to return the fifteenth. However they want someone to drive them—that is share driving with the son—only about 200 miles a day apiece! They have a ’38 Buick—and have offered me the job!—They pay all car expenses—and my quarters at nite—leaving me only meals to pay for—so I think I’ll do it.
As it looks now we leave the fifteenth—Wednesday—and so around the twentieth I can receive mail at Gen’l Delivery–St. Louis.
Love
Bill
To Edith Gaddis
St. Louis, Missouri
[20 April 1942]
Dear Mom—
Well here in St. Louis at last—we got here Sunday afternoon—and what a trip. You see this woman is hard of hearing—and her son Otto, who’s about 23—is sort of—simple. He went thru college—then started in at Harvard (!) and then cracked up it seems.
Anyhow we got here—after going thru Carlsbad Caverns etc.—and I figured on staying here with these people until I could get myself a job—or a river boat down to New Orleans—then back to Tucson; but chances for jobs on boats were very slim, and I finally ended up down on the river where the government is building a levee—so tomorrow morning I am to go down and see about a job there—it looks good, and I saw the boss yesterday and he said that if I came back in the morning he thot chances looked good. It is 55¢ an hour—you board and room on the boat there—and it amounts to about $22 a week cleared. I figure that if I work there for about two or four weeks I can make a good enough stake to get back to Arizona.
I know just how things are at home—I mean no car—and George, Henry Cliff and probably Arvid gone—and I’d thot about it that way—so here’s what I figure. You see Ross may buy an old car and start east around the thirtieth of May, so I may go with him. That would get me home around the middle of June—just right to see some of my old friends graduate etc.—and then, Mom—if you’ll do me a favour, and please see Gerald Haggerty and see how much chance I’d have to ship out in coastal or South American waters around June twenty-fifth—or do you think it would be better if I wrote him myself? At any rate that’s what I want to do. That would just round things out right.
Well that’s how things stand now—of course I may not get a job—then I’ll do as you said and go to a nice hotel and send for money. But other wise things should work out well; I have $4. which will keep me over until I get this job—then things will be fine.
I saw De Mills’ secretary and told her to send you the bill (and also told her what I thot of his $5 a call services and what they’d done for me!); also to the laboratory, for similar purposes!
I have shipped a box by express from Tucson (my old overcoat and a pair of steer’s horns)(collect) and intend to ship my big suit case today—I don’t need the shirts and pants in it (by express)(collect).
Will write tomorrow and let you know about the job—in the mean time don’t worry—I’m not.
Love
Bill
[on back of envelope:] P.S. When does Harvard June session start?
Otto: the name of a major character in R, who likewise went to Harvard and eventually “cracked up.” But see also notes to 29 October 1950.
Carlsbad Caverns: a popular tourist attraction in New Mexico.
Gerald Haggerty: unidentified.
De Mills: apparently another doctor WG consulted
To Edith Gaddis
Water Tower Station
2102 East Grand
St. Louis – Mo.
U.S. Quarterboat #1
Tuesday afternoon [21 April 1942]
Dear Mom—
Started work last nite at 4 P.M.; am on the 4–12 shift working eight hours a day. It is some job. I live with about seventy other fellows on the quarter boat—a big boat tied up here on the Mississippi east bank across from St. Louis.
I am getting 55 cents an hour, and after paying board here on the boat it comes out to about $21 a week. I think that after a couple of weeks I’ll have enough to go back to Tucson. Or perhaps I’ll work longer if I like it, tho I doubt this. You see Ross plans to get an old car and we might drive east together about the end of May, taking a week and a half or two I suppose. Then I might go to sea from New York, if it could be worked out, or get work in the east somewhere—perhaps on a dude ranch—or even come back west.
But then of course if you think it would be good to enter Harvard in June, that would change everything. I might come east from here, or get Ross to drive east early.
And so please send me the date for entry in June; it was probably in that Accelerated Programmer book, but I think I sent it back with that bag I shipped. So please tell me which you think would be best—Harvard in June, or a little more working around, until fall.
I seem to be in good physical condition; I had a physical exam and the doctor wrote ‘good’; the work is pretty hard (building a pipeline for a dredge in big hip boots etc!) and I’ll watch myself and if anything looks like it’s going wrong will go to the doc—however I think this work will build me up—if anything will, and it is an experience. The boys here are a ripping bunch, and the food good and plenty (4 meals a day). And they all think I’m an Arizona cowboy! We do have fun!
Love
Bill
To Edith Gaddis
St Louis, Missouri
[26 May 1942]
Dear Mom—
I know you had a hard time getting the birth certificate—and as for shipping out of New Orleans—I wouldn’t do that even if I did get down there—and I don’t expect to do that now—unless I’m fired and it should work out that way conveniently.
However I am planning on coming home in June—very definately unless something radical should happen—then we’ll plan from there—and at least have time to talk over the sea before I go, if I should.
We paint and scrape daily and pretty hard too, down below deck, but Frank (the captain) doesn’t seem to think we’re fast enough—so I may leave (by request!) any day! And say tell Granga I expect to be leaving this town about the eighth—she said she might come out here and I’d like seeing her. I expect to work thru the weekend of the 7th—then leave and come home slowly—stop in Chicago—Indiana—Ohio—but of course the job may move or end before then, so I can’t be sure.
We go out once in a while but not often—I haven’t had a day off since I started so can’t do much and work next day. The time passes fast enough on the job it is rather monotonous and so this evening I went down to some 2nd hand book stores—saw a beautiful copy of Omar Khayam’s Rubaiyat—leatherbound—I’ve read it and like it a great deal—but it was $6 so I left with a copy of Ibsen’s plays to help pass the time—
Love
Bill
Omar Khayam’s Rubaiyat: twelfth-century collection of Persian poems, especially popular in Edward FitzGerald’s nineteenth-century translation.
Ibsen’s plays: his Peer Gynt (1867) plays an important role in R.
To Edith Gaddis
Saint Louis, Missouri
[1 June 1942]
Dear Mom—
Well everything still under control—and June 9th drawing closer every day! Boy it’s going to be good.
Still painting down in the hold, tho today I worked out on the shore line.
I think I’ll have enough money when I leave here to start home—I get paid Friday the 5th and and have some debts to collect so think it will turn out all right
Am quite sure I won’t be home by next week-end—right now I expect to work through Saturday—then off 8 hours, go back out at midnite ’til 8 Sunday morning—then plan to drive down to Cape Gerardo about 135 miles south, with some of the boys with whom I work here on the boat. They’re a swell bunch and have been wanting me to go down for some time—so we’ll go Sunday morning—and back Monday afternoon; then perhaps see Granga Monday or Tuesday nite—(preferably Monday evening) and leave next day for Chicago. So if you’ll see what her hotel will be so I can look her up Monday nite (or Tuesday nite if this isn’t possible) it will work out fine.
Well it won’t be too long now—I expect to stay in Chicago—and around in Indiana and perhaps Sandusky Ohio—however that trip is uncertain—and say is Henry driving a school bus?? George said so.
Love
Bill
Cape Gerardo: i.e., Cape Girardeau.
Sandusky Ohio: WG’s journal indicates he met (or intended to meet) a Carole Potter there on 16 June.
To Edith Gaddis
The Mark Twain Hotel
Eighth and Pine Streets
Saint Louis
[7 June 1942]
Dear Mom—
Well can you believe it?! Free at last! And in a hotel room with bed! and tub! and easy chair! And tonite I go out and sink my teeth into a thick juicy red steak—haven’t had any red meat since I started!
And say but these dress pants feel good after a month and a half of those heavy work pants!
I heard from Gram and planned to meet her the 13th in Indianapolis—but now is changed to Keokuk, Iowa the 9th—so I’ll see her there and then wander on east thru Chicago and Indianapolis etc. and home—I don’t know when but probably around the end of the week of the fourteenth. But will let you know when I’m definately headed for New York.
And say, I forgot to mention—but you might write Dr. Gumere or some such—Mr Garrett’s friend; he’s the dean of admissions at Harvard and probably the boy who’d know.
Well I’ll write and keep you posted—and you’ll probably get a letter from Gram soon telling you I look ragged or something—but I haven’t changed a bit—my watch still fits just like it did and pants etc—I’ve hit a ‘bottle neck’ and my regular life ab’d the boat apparently hasn’t helped—or done bad—I guess I’m lucky—
Love
Bill
Dr. Gumere: Richard M. Gummere (1883-1969), Dean of Admissions at Harvard from 1934 to 1952. Mr. Garrett is unidentified.
To Edith Gaddis
[Returning to New York on 18 June, WG changed his mind about returning to Harvard and headed back west on 18 July.]
Cheyenne, Wyoming
[25 July 1942]
Dear Mom—
Thanks so much for the letter and check. And I do hope that you haven’t wondered too much about me—I haven’t had a chance to write, and that last letter I didn’t have a 6¢ stamp.
At any rate here it is Saturday evening and having seen a wonderful rodeo and ‘Frontier Days’ we’re going north tomorrow—to his ranch just for a little—a few days—then back south I guess.
And now a tale of which I don’t know what you’ll think. You see we got up here late Friday evg., met a couple of cowboys in town, and proceeded to celebrate ‘Frontier Days,’ until, Mother, we were taken to the local ‘calabozo’ to spend the rest of the night. Don’t worry—we’re out and everything’s all right—no fingerprints etc.—and quite an experience. You know a newspaper-man must see things first hand—and the Cheyenne jail is something to see! I am getting rid of the bed-bug itches I acquired and will soon be back to normal.
Don’t know when I’ll write again as mail is infrequent from the ranch—but everything’s fine—
Love
Bill
Frontier Days: a celebration held in Cheyenne on the last ten days of July ever since 1897. calabozo: Spanish for jail.
To Edith Gaddis
Cheyenne, Wyoming
[4 August 1942]
Dear Mom—
Well back at last to civilization—electric lites and running water etc. But I mean that ranch was the real stuff!! We were finished branding (yes we—you should have seen me holding down the back ends of those calves!) about Friday but H—convinced me I ought to stay thru the weekend so I left this morning and came down to Cheyenne—a little over two hundred miles. The ranch was swell tho—and so were the ‘boys’—his father and two uncles—and I saw and did it all—branding, herding, driving cattle & horses, fixing fence, killing rattle snakes (!), washing dishes, and myself less frequently, and riding most of the time, and it was wonderful.
I plan on going down to Denver tomorrow—we’ll see if Mr. Keating is there or Pueblo or where—then down to Colorado Springs to see this Harvard ‘classmate’ of mine for a day or two—then if Mr Keating’s around I’ll contact him. That’s as far as real plans go, but expect to continue on down to Tucson after this.
Am trying to keep expenses at a minimum—because I do want to get some new clothes when I come home in the fall, as these two shirts and levis are all I’ve gotten in recent times. Harold did run me in a little, as he was broke when we hit Denver and I staked him to various stuff—and then the rodeo and room etc in Cheyenne, but it was worth it with that time at the ranch to pay off! And speaking of clothes I was looking at cur[rent] Esquire today, and gee—I love this west etc. etc. but do you think there is any chance of Harvard in the fall? The trip is swell but it is really sort of escapism—I do want to go back there this fall more than anything, and after I talk to Franny in Colo. Spgs. I hate to think how I’ll feel. Gosh I’d kiss the ground Dr. (?) Williams walks on or blow his brains (??) out if I thot either would do any good. The more I think of a southern college the less I think of it—ye gods I could wear coats—even sweaters—even a sterno stove under my bed——I really think they were utter fools to let such a point drive them to such drastic lengths. In short I am still quite disgusted but hopeful—‘bloody but unbowed’—and Mom if there is anything you can do—tell ‘Byard’ I spent a nite in jail and have been branding calves—it may help.
Love
Bill
Mr. Keating: unidentified.
Franny: Francis Ware, a roommate at Harvard later.
Harold: the H—mentioned in the first paragraph, but otherwise unknown.
Dr. Williams: unidentified. ‘bloody but unbowed’: from the once-popular poem “Invictus” by British writer William Ernest Henley (1849–1903) expressing determination: “Under the bludgeonings of chance / My head is bloody, but unbowed.”
‘Byard’: unidentified.
To Edith Gaddis
Colorado Springs, Colorado
[8 August 1942]
Dear Mom—
Well everything is still under control, and I’m presently enjoying a fine time in Colo. Springs as Francis’ guest. I rolled in about Wednesday evening and have been entertained royally since.
You have probably received a card asking you to send the field boots (and the barracks bag if you haven’t sent them yet) to Leadville—it is up in the mountains and there’s a big job of some sort going on there; it is really at ‘Pando’ which is just outside of Leadville but I doubt if they have a post office. At any rate I expect to go up there and work for a while.
Harold was a fine fellow—real ‘Wyoming’—and believe me the ranch was wonderful.
Having been here since Wednesday I do feel rather guilty but Francis is having a party on Sunday and they want me to stay for that, so I’ll probably be off for Pando around Monday or Tuesday.
It did feel good getting back into shoes and a coat and tie and bath after the ranch, and in Denver I hit another book store and got a nice leather bound copy of O’Neill’s sea-plays, Vanity Fair and Crime and Punishment to catch up a little.
Well Pando is supposed to be pretty tough—one of the toughest towns out here, as it’s just a camp, and I’ve met men who wouldn’t stay because of their familys, so I mayn’t last long but it does sound interesting and worth a try—
Love
Bill
O’Neill’s sea-plays: probably Eugene O’Neill’s Moon of the Caribees and Six Other Plays of the Sea (1919).
Vanity Fair [...] Crime and Punishment: classic novels by William Thackeray (1848) and Fyodor Dostoevsky (1866).
To Edith Gaddis
Pando, Colorado
[15 August 1942]
Dear Mom—
Well am settled for a few days—not more—because this is some job; cold in the morning and now we are working 12 hrs. per day— ½ hr. off for lunch—go on at 5:30 A.M. and off at 5:30. We are 2 miles high but the alt. seems all right tho it is cold especially mornings. Don’t know how long it will last.
Well I can’t write any college because I don’t know where I’m going to be—I do expect to be home early in September and then will start out for school again. And so since there isn’t any chance for Harvard just pick out any southern college with a nice name—I think Tulane sounds better than Tucson—and let H—send what ever they have to. I don’t know and it doesn’t particularly matter.
I got the check at the Springs and thanks tho I shan’t need it for a while unless I’m fired which is very probable.
I think it’s foolish to try an urinalysis—besides have no place to so just tell Williams and all his buddies to find some other where to peddle their bottles and pills—I’m all thru with them.
The address is just Pando Colo. and the boots will probably come in a few days—
Well must get to bed to get up at 4:30 tomorrow morning—
Love
Bill
To Edith Gaddis
[WG returned to Harvard in September 1942.]
Harvard University
Cambridge, Massachusetts
[25 September 1942]
Dear Mom—
Well it began today—classes, I mean—and oh boy! Now the devil to pay for eight months hence I guess.
I had a talk with Dean Leighton—am only supposed to take 2 subjects but have signed up for 4—think I can talk Dr. Bach into it. Am taking Eng. A (required), French C (required—lousy course—just lousy right thru to the last day, but required), Eng I—good course—history of Eng. literature—open to freshmen and sophs—and psychology I—a 2nd year course—had to get permission from the instructor to take it—reputed to be tough but a good course. Also books have been changed for all courses but Eng A—so today spent practically $10 on books—still lack three.
The extra $100 for tuition is OK—all the boys had trouble—many with own checking acc’ts—were stymied—but they don’t catch up for a day or two and by that time it will be straightened out.
Got a letter from Underwood—they say the typewriter is on the way—I already owe a 600 wd. theme! Boy they don’t waste time.
I got my lamp back from Neil and the clock—and am going to get the rug as soon as I have time!
Francis is OK for roommate—very conservative—quiet—extremist really—maybe he’ll be a good influence.
John [Snow] is still the same—and the old crowd—same bunch—you know I feel like an upper classman—all upper classmen around me etc.—it’s wonderful.
Say when you get a chance could you start the following things on their way up here to make our room more habitable[:] the leopard skin on the lodge closet door—the spurs on the floor nearby—both of Smokey’s pictures—the small rug—both machetes and the little Mexican knife & sheath & chain to the right of the east hayloft windows (one machete is over hayloft door—the other on edge of balcony)—also any thing else you think might look intriguing on our wall—oh yes the steers’ horns—
Thanks
Bill
Smokey: WG’s labrador; spelled Smoky below.
To Edith Gaddis
Eliot House D-31
Cambridge, Mass.
[4 October 1942]
Dear Mom—
Back again into this wonderful old life—but for how long? Gee, it’s got me—not worried, but thinking, and wondering sometimes it seems so futile, but this is so good I wish it might last.
Thanks for the letters—and it’s so swell that the raise worked out, probably to buy me a sea chest a sailor sent or something! The package came too.
Am trying to keep work up, and to the best of my knowledge am up in it all—am recovering now from a film we had today in psychology of a dog with half a brain!! boy they have everything here.
Also have made a new discovery—the music room here, with fine record player and all kinds of classics—Afternoon of a Faun and the Bolero, Porgy & Bess, Scheherazade—everything.
I saw Cliff Mon. evening—lent him $25 to buy a little cocker spaniel which is very cute—don’t be alarmed tho—I have his check and am going to cash it tomorrow—I left him and went down to 42nd St.—up to 500 to a place Eddie South was supposed to be playing but he wasn’t there—then Café Society uptown—saw Hazel Scott—wonderful—and got a late train up—slept all the way—
Must get back to my English—
Love
Bill
Eddie South: African-American jazz violinist (1904–62).
Hazel Scott: African-American pianist (1920–81). The Café Society was a nightclub on 58th Street between Lexington and Park Avenue (an offshoot of the better known one down in Greenwich Village).
To Edith Gaddis
Cambridge, Massachusetts
[5 October 1942]
Dear Mom—
Thanks so much for the letter and bond—gee it will save things—I need three books for French (must read Tovaritch—in French—isn’t that awful?!!). We are also waiting to get some slip covers for our couch ($4!).
And thanks for sending the stuff—it will look swell up here. It’s all right about Smoky’s pictures—will get ’em later—And then thanks for the pen—it will be swell I know—
Don’t know about the rug but there’s time for that—And thanks for Bacchus—it will look handsome too. I know.
And now I have a bit of bad news—you remember the raincoat I was so proud of—and saw me thru from Panama to L.A.—and Arizona and everything—any how I lost it—registered at Memorial Hall for school—went out and walked half a block—remembered I’d left it in the chair—ran back—practically immediately—and it was gone—checked with janitor and lost-found—no sign—somebody picked it up so apparently it’s gone—we were thinking of a new topcoat—they have water repellant topcoats—sort of combinations—might get one of them—what’s your word?—keep present coat for winter cold.
Saw the Penn game here Saturday—we lost but good game—have been seeing John and company recently too—everything swell so far except French C—but can’t have everything—excuse hurry but must read some Middle English Drama and psychology for tomorrow—will write again soon—
Love
Bill
Tovaritch: stage comedy (1933) by Jacques Deval, adapted as a film (1935).
Middle English Drama: undoubtedly Chief Pre-Shakespearean Dramas, ed. Joseph Quincy Adams (Cambridge: Houghton Mifflin, 1924), which WG used for R and retained all his life.
To Edith Gaddis
[A rare typewritten letter, which is what WG is referring to in the opening phrase.]
Cambridge, Massachusetts
[12 November 1942]
Dear Mom
This may seem like a queer way to write but am in the midst of another one of those D—themes for English which is unimportant anyhow, and am taking a breather.
Say I have only got one hour mark back: an 83 in English which is about a B which suits me fine! It is the only course I really care about—I mean really like and want to get the most of out. The psyc is good but getting tough—we’re getting into physics which I hadn’t expected but it is still interesting. The French is of course still all right, and am trying to get a good basic knowledge of it; the exam is tomorrow. Sometimes I get disgusted with it but something always comes—this time it was the French film of Crime and Punishment that we saw down in Boston—to make me realize what a beautiful language it is and what fun it would be to know it well and all of the gates that would be open to one who did understand it.
English A is still as inane as ever—I write the themes, work on them, but that’s all—I didn’t take the inconsequential hour exam in it; you see that was one good reason I went up to Stillman. It wasn’t a stomach ache, but ‘uncontrollable nausea,’ which finally came up to get me after celebrating that game we won last Saturday (Princeton) and then studying hard for the hour exams during the week. I was just upset that day but got right over it and now am back at it again.
I’m beginning to wish I had been able to squeeze Philosophy A in somewhere this year. I was over in John’s room late last nite and we ‘got into it,’ and it was really fun. Have been reading Nietzsche and Schopenhauer and got a book of Kant’s out of the library today. Incidentally, we have the most wonderful house library in Eliot: all kinds of books, but an accent on classics and such, and big leather covered chairs etc. Gee it’s all really wonderful.
Glad to hear about that $5 for that coat; everything here seems to come in 5’s; for the radio which I just got out of ‘hock’ 5 for the student council, 5 for our venetian blinds, which is about all our rooms has, aside from the $4 couch!
Yale next week! Boy it’s going to be something; John is taking some woman from locally here, a swell girl a bit on the ‘debby’ side, you know, that way of talking etc., but nice; we went over and had tea at their home about a week and a half ago. And my amazing Puritan room mate with a girl coming from Cleveland; he never fails to amaze me with something new like this!
And how the time passes; it seems like November just started, and here it is almost half done, and I owe a theme for December in one course already! It is snowing just a little today, and I saw the handsomest Christmas cards down at the Coop with pictures of the Eliot House gate in colour; gee it’s all as good as it ever could be, except for one detail, spelled A-r-t-h-u-r-M-u-r-r-a-y. Ware and I were hashing it over this afternoon, and I guess I’ll have to do something one of these days.
Love,
Bill
A-r-t-h-u-r-M-u-r-r-a-y: name of the founder of a dance-studio chain.
To Edith Gaddis
Cambridge, Massachusetts
[27 November 1942]
Dear Mom—
Well—here we are—another envelop of bills—see how they come.
Neil and I stayed in town Sunday night—saw Native Son—liked it a great deal; finally got a bus up after the show—but it was worth it. Gee, he is some guy, isn’t he?! It was some mess but worked out fine I guess.
Last evening Camilla Sewell (the girl whom John had down to the Yale game) had a lovely and very formal tea dance—you know, butlers in tails etc.—but nice!
Tonight same bunch—I say bunch—of opera players are doing Carmen down in Boston—we may go down, I don’t know. I can’t figure whether it would be better to see it done poorly than not at all—we’ll see—
Have some psyc. to catch up on—
Love
Bill
Native Son: Richard Wright’s 1940 novel was adapted for the stage the following year.
To Edith Gaddis
Cambridge, Massachusetts
[3 December 1942]
Dear Mom—
Just a note—have to study for exam tomorrow—in English A.—And so angry now am about to fly—my section man recommended a book to me he said was an exposition of the theory of history’s repeating itself etc.—I got it and turns out to be history of Communism and Socialism—Marxism—enough to make me actively ill—so don’t care about mark in this test but am going to tell him what I think of his lousy piggish socialism &c—sometimes I think he’s turned that way—he recommends many such books—so I’m going to tell him how stinking I think it is and not worry about an E.
Have got Christmas cards—50—do you know where that plate I had for engraving is? It must be perhaps in my desk or somewhere—I’d like to have them done and mailed from here if possible—would appreciate it if you should run across it to send it up.—
Can hardly wait for Christmas—it will probably be the last “home from college” Christmas and I hope it will turn out well. We’re having a house formal here Saturday night but think I will abstain—the Christmas recess is more important. Quite a few of the fellows are going to be in town and will probably see them then and be in New York a good part of the time—
Well it isn’t long now—
Must get back to work—
Love
Bill
P.S.—Have gotten a couple of W. Saroyan’s books—wonderful—but G Stein is still a little beyond!
E: Harvard’s failing grade.
W. Saroyan: William Saroyan (1908–81), American short-story writer, novelist, and playwright, at the peak of his fame in 1942.
G Stein: Gertrude Stein (1874–1946), American writer and art patron.
To Edith Gaddis
Eliot House
11 January [1943]
Dear Mom—
Everything is fine and thanks for the check.
The work has been rather lax recently but only because the finals are coming up—@!!/* brother—then we get it! My first exam is next Monday—English I—my last one Monday the 25th in psychology. I think I shall be home Monday (25th) evening—OK? And say, how do you think the $ situation will be about then—I’d like to try to erase that mess I made of Christmas week if it’s possible and try to see some shows—plan ahead I mean and work it out like you have always said—[...]
Charles Gardiner is going to be in town over the weekend too, and wants me to see a show or two with him—more complications. He is just 18 but mature—well read etc.—good mind etc.—remembers Dead End—Winterset etc. Quite a guy.
Got a card from Francis this AM—he’s gone for good I guess—I am to send his last box out to him—‘end of an era!—’
Say, I hear you’re having gasoline trouble!! How are you coming out with the coupons? I suppose we did unnecessary driving, but I think it came out the same as if I hadn’t come home at all—and hadn’t got the 4 ‘A’ trickets from Granga.
We have been living quite a life this past week but now everyone is going into seclusion for midyear preparation—me too—it now being 1 AM and am starting She Stoops to Conquer for Eng I—wonderful course.
Love
Bill
P.S.—Tue AM—just got inductment papers—to report here the 14th—Thursday—so my next letter I’ll either be 4F or in His Majesty’s Army!
Charles Gardiner: unidentified.
Dead End—Winterset: movies that came out in 1937 and 1936, respectively.
She Stoops to Conquer: classic comedy by Oliver Goldsmith (1773).
To Edith Gaddis
Cambridge, Massachusetts
[16 January 1943]
Dear Mom—
Tried to get into Merchant Marine—couldn’t because of albumin; had draft board changed to Cambridge—will probably be inducted in early February but think I shan’t be drafted.
Thanks for Sak’s letter—since it looks like I’ll be here and do need a suit—well what do you think? I need it and they have my measurements—couldn’t they send it up?
Well everything under control, and except for owing Weidner library a small fortune and wanting to get a newspaper job immediately, having just seen Cary Grant in Once Upon a Honeymoon, I guess things will stay under control—
Love
Bill
Once Upon a Honeymoon: 1942 film in which Grant plays a radio correspondent in Europe during World War II.
To Edith Gaddis
Cambridge, Massachusetts
[11 February 1943]
Dear Mom—
Just about able to sit up and write after my first fencing—first physical ed. I’ve had in years—and it was wild! Exercises I never knew existed. My right leg is sore from them and practicing lunges etc. I do hope I can stay with it. It is some sport.
Thanks for the watch—it’s good to have it again—and the gloves are beautiful thanks so much for both—and the checks. I paid 22.75 on the Coop’s bill and got $8 change—now I can charge until March 10th. That bill is right I guess and will check up some more. Now I can pay Callahan—and get a ticket to the ballet—the Ballet Russe de Monte Carlo is going to be up here next week—Scherherezade Thursday night—the Afternoon of a Faun Saturday night—I don’t know which—those are the ones I want to see—
Last evening my roommate and I and some others (one fellow from India, one from Puerto Rico,—Afghanistan etc.) were invited to dinner at Mr. Finlay’s—the house master’s—quarters—quite an affair—beautiful furniture, silver service etc.—an Australian flier was here and did a great deal of talking but otherwise it was quite an event—
Right now it’s time to stop—Stanley Gould just came over—from ‘Watch Hill’ in Conncticut—who practiced drums for 6 years—and my room mate—and a record named Chasin’ with Chase are all going at once—so—I’d better get to work
Love
Bill
Stanley Gould: (1926–85), later became a well-known Greenwich Village hipster/junkie in the ’40s and ’50s. He was the model for Anatole Broyard’s “Portrait of a Hipster” (Partisan Review, June 1948) and for Ross Wallenstein in Kerouac’s novel The Subterraneans (1958, in which WG appears as Harold Sand).
“Chasin’ with Chase”: a jazz tune recorded by vibraphonist Lionel Hampton.
To Edith Gaddis
Cambridge, Massachusetts
[19 February 1943]
Dear Mom—
We did see the ballet last night and it was beautiful—we had wonderful seats—middle of back, orchestra circle, 1st row, Scheherazade was—well just — — — don’t have the right words. We’re going again tomorrow night—Afternoon of a Faun (Callahan cashed a check!).
I have been quite busy all week, and waiting around for George, who I thot might show up. He set out the 17th and I wanted him to stop here on his way down—then looked at the map and saw how far out of his way it is, so I’m really not surprised not seeing him. I hope I do before he goes, tho.
Red and I have furnished the room some what—an easy chair, lamp, and pillows for the couch, and now it is quite liveable—strange how much these little things do. It runs into $ but certainly is worth it.
We haven’t been asked for any ration books up here—they just feed us tripe and that is that. However I see no reason for not getting my number 2 book, as we can’t tell how long I’ll be here.
I’m quite busy—an hour exam in psyc. next week, 5000 words (which is quite a lot when you stop to count them up) on the short story form in the New Yorker, Atlantic Monthly etc.—I had a talk with Mr. Elman—he is quite all right—in fact I gave him a story I wrote for him to look at and criticize—which he probably will!
John is taking a secretarial course in Washington—and not exceedingly happy with it—but it will clear up I guess.
And by now (when you get this letter) you will probably know all about it—tho it may not happen—but Charley Socarides is coming soon to try to get into some medical school in NY—plans to stay at the Biltmore and may look up Mrs. Garrett! So—it’s out of my hands—I’d like to have come down with him, but $ and work and I guess it’s best I’m not—a good long weekend.
The news about J—Osborne quite astounding—but keep me posted—I don’t know if I’ll be down in April—no Easter vacation—
Love
B—
ration books: issued in World War II to control consumption of high-demand products. Book 2 was issued in January 1943.
Mr. Elman: unidentified.
Charley Socarides: Charles W. Socarides (1922–2005), American psychiatrist and author, known for his belief that homosexuality was a curable illness. He graduated from Harvard in 1945.
J—Osborne: Jim Osborne, apparently a high-school friend.
To Edith Gaddis
Cambridge, Massachusetts
[27 February 1943]
Dear Mom—
Thanks so much for the check—and now if I can collect from my roommate I can see Sylvia Sidney in Pygmalion this weekend too! I suppose that it was extravagant to go to the Ballet Russe—twice—and good seats, but can never regret it; the first night was better than the second, but the latter was worth seeing just for the Afternoon of a Faun which they did beautifully. Of course it was quite short but delightful all the same.
And now the best news: I have gotten out of that time wasting french class—I was really getting nothing out of it that [I] hadn’t had already, and the only reason for taking it was language requirement for a degree. So, after much trouble, I got admitted to English 3b, the ‘form of the drama, from Lope de Vega to Odets,’ and am effervescent with delight! It is quite late to be starting a course (they all started when I came back—1st of feb), it is essentially an upperclass course, and there is a rule that no freshman may take more than two courses on the same subject, but I made it; now to try to get through it. I have had to get new books for it, and charged them at the Coop, and so dont know what this next bill will be, but it isn’t necessary to pay it; I have got all I need there and it can go until convenient. And so here I am, three English courses and one in psychology! Perfect. And what with the room furnished I enjoy staying at home and studying such stuff instead of going off as last half. However we do have fun; a new game called ‘International Spy,’ (sound like 4 year-olds?); we have two rival spy rings, Charlie S—and myself, and the other is Gardiner and Callahan; we try to outwit each other at any opportunity. A few nights ago they locked us in their bathroom, and we had to climb out the window and in someone else’s bathroom window (only 2nd floor) to escape. So now we call them ‘junior spys’ (Callahan is 190 lbs, Gardiner 180) and they do not like it. And so we go!
Say before I forget, please send me a sheet or two; I only had three and two of them have worn through and torn. Mrs Trask (our biddie) told me to be sure to see about it.
Tell Jim that I wish him luck—he certainly did get it in the neck! And that I hope any arrangement works out.
Well, back to reading ‘dramas,’ and an hour exam in psyc friday, and a three thousand word paper for english A, and a conclusion to compose (about 700 words) for Coleridges (assinine) poem ‘Christabel.’
Love
Bill
I forgot to tell you about the best bargain. there is a book i have been wanting—poetic drama is the name of it, a $5 book—beautiful thing, poetic drama from the greeks to edna st v—millay. i went to a book store where it had been marked down, gave them my french texts, and got the book for $1! isnt that grand?!
written Thursday—now am mailing it Saturday—have been busy—Jim Osborne showed up—will write again—
Sylvia Sidney in Pygmalion: American film and stage actress (1910–99); Pygmalion (1913) is one of George Bernard Shaw’s most popular plays.
‘Christabel’: a Gothic ballad composed 1797–1800, but not published until 1816.
poetic drama: Poetic Drama: An Anthology of Plays in Verse from the Ancient Greek to Modern American, ed. Alfred Kreymborg (Modern Age Books, 1941). edna st v—millay: American poet and dramatist (1892–1950).
To Edith Gaddis
Cambridge, Massachusetts
[17 March 1943]
Dear Mother.
Just a letter between plays—what a race this is. Hour exams this past week, and just out of Stillman. What work—enough to have to make up the regular work for the exams—but this English course—just reading play after play day and night. I am in the Restoration drama and the class doing Chekov! The exam is Thursday. I can’t get any of the notes from the lectures; I have missed just half the course!—between getting in late and then the measles just did it. The man who gives the course is Theodore Spenser! Really a person—and a grand one too. I don’t know how I’ll come out in the exam and the course, but I’m enjoying it immensely and he is really a top man as you know. His lectures are wonderful and I regret having missed the ones I have. But we’re getting into modern work now which is really going to be interesting.
I am going to have to write 4000 words and chose O’Neill when we study him in a week or two. Would it be too much to ask for you to send my copies up? I would appreciate it.
There is one book I need—Masters of the Drama—Gassner—for this course and would have helped in the exam but couldn’t get it at that @!?// Coop—they could ‘order’ it for me—a week later—but Gardiner hasn’t had a check recently!—and I owe him $5 anyhow—oh I got the shoes—$3 but handsome—practically new.
Also thanks for the ration books—and Mrs. Trask and I both send thanks for the sheets!
Love
Bill
Theodore Spenser: Spencer (1902–49) taught at Harvard from 1927 until his death. He also published fiction, poetry, and edited James Joyce’s Stephen Hero (1944).
O’Neill [...] my copies: WG mentions buying O’Neill’s sea plays in his letter of 8 August 1942.
Masters of the Drama: a historical overview by John Gassner (1940).
To Edith Gaddis
[First mention of the Harvard Lampoon, the well-known undergraduate humor magazine founded in 1876. WG’s first contribution appeared in the 1 October 1943 issue; he became its president in spring 1944, and published over 60 items (poems, stories, reviews, essays, cartoons, jokes) there by the time he left Harvard in January 1945.]
Cambridge, Massachusetts
[18 April 1943]
Dear Mother.
[...] George just left today—came up and stayed on Friday and Thursday night and we had a fine time—went to see Cry Havoc in Boston, which was all right but nothing special.
And speaking of ‘drama’—guess who is property man for Harvard Dramatic Club—?! They are putting a play on in about 3 weeks, and I got the job—no great position but contacts and experience!
And Kibby Home—a fellow I know on the Lampoon—has told me to come on down and try it—that I stand a good chance!—things really developing! [...]
Well must get back to work—a 4000 word paper in attempt at psychoanalysis of some of Eugene O’Neill’s more serious plays—! and not much time with play rehearsals every night (I have been reading the part of a spinster for the last week—I hope one shows up!)—
Love
Bill
Cry Havoc: a 1943 film with an all-woman cast about nurses during warfare.
To Edith Gaddis
Cambridge, Massachusetts
[22 July 1943]
Dear Mom—
Sorry I haven’t written. John Snow has been up here for a week and just left about an hour ago. I haven’t got too much work done (have kept up, reading plays for Spencer and learning lines from Shakespeare) etc.—but I have plenty of psychology to do for tomorrow.
Thru John I got to know Mac Osburne—president of Lampoon (and of A—D—Club)—he’s a fine fellow as I had heard—urges me to come down and try out so I must think up something witty to write. Looks like I do have a chance! [...]
Love
Bill
A—D—Club: an all-male club founded in 1836 (an offshoot of Alpha Delta Phi fraternity).
To Edith Gaddis
Cambridge, Massachusetts
[12 August 1943]
Dear Mother—
Thanks for the lost check—debts etc cleared up and my clothes cleaned—so now am prepared to appear in public! Say I just realized about Labour Day weekend—I’ll have 4 or 5 days off! What do you think?
We were up last night writing Charley’s radio script—his ‘Man About Boston’ programme—he and Gardiner write the script, panning everything in town, having seen about ⅛ of it—but it’s a lot of fun.—
I am beginning to get scared—hour exam in psyc. next week—what a horrible course! But the others are coming along well. I don’t suppose you know W. H. Auden—a modern poet—Hazel probably knows him. I met him a few days ago—Mr. Spencer introduced me. Boy I was quite thrilled. And then we saw Rex Ingram do the Emperor Jones up here too.—and see him in the street occasionally.
If you haven’t sent Johnson Smith don’t bother because Mac was in a hurry for this thing I was writing—wanted it for the forthcoming issue—so I wrote it on what I could remember—it came out all right tho I don’t know yet whether he’s going to permit it or not.
There is little else doing—somehow we don’t feel the heat up here—and all your subtle cajolling can’t get me to Revere Beach! Just a jump in the pool downstairs when things get warm, or to wake up in the mornings is enough—and if things get too hot I just settle down with Vanity Fair which I am about halfway through. But I may start to row once in a while soon. Don’t know yet.—am going down today for a physical exam—and if they make me take conditioning—@!?*%!
Love
Bill
W. H. Auden: the British poet (1907–73) was teaching at Swarthmore at the time.
Hazel: unidentified.
Rex Ingram do the Emperor Jones: the protagonist of Eugene O’Neill’s 1920 play would have been a plum role for African-American actors like Ingram (1895–1969).
Johnson Smith: a mail-order company specializing in novelty items. The “thing” WG was writing apparently remained unpublished.
To Ida Williams Way
[WG’s maternal grandmother (d. 1951), daughter of music educator Samuel E. Williams (1855– 1937) and a pianist and bass violinist in his family orchestra. She was a supervisor of music in public schools until 1920, after which she became a businesswoman.]
Adams House B 34
Cambridge, Massachusetts
[16 November 1943]
Dear Gram
Thanks so much for the idea and the invitation—and financial backing!—but this is the one weekend we expect to turn out up here.
First off the first big dinner at the Poon this year, and after dinner we have our pictures (Poon staff) made for the ’45 yearbook—I won’t get in any other way—as a member of the class that is—so I’d at least like to get in as a member of the Lampoon!
Then Saturday is our one big football game—I don’t expect to go, but anyhow it will probably turn out to be a pretty big weekend. I would love to come down of course, but now see how it is—and then too, I have reason to believe that I can work the Thanksgiving weekend so I can get down—not sure of course, and something’s liable to crop up—probably will—but there’s a chance.
Everything up here is coming along wonderfully—including my work(!). A new issue ought to be out within a week and a half—I’ll send a couple of copies down when it does. And I’m glad (and somewhat surprised) that Aunt Emma liked it!
Thanks again—and I hope I’ll see you around Thanksgiving
Love
Bill
new issue: dated 19 November, it contains four items by WG.
Aunt Emma: Emma Bond, Mrs. Way’s cousin.
To Edith Gaddis
Cambridge, Massachusetts
[10 December 1943]
dear Mother
terribly sorry i haven’t written, and this time i can really say that i have been pretty busy well right through until tonight—haven’t had time to get a haircut and so you can imagine what i look like by this time!
we had ’Poon deadlines through that first week, and what with the dearth of prose writers i was called on and kept busy, as i am afraid the next issue will attest to. in fact, i even wrote the editorial! then of course there was that quantity of Spinoza which i had to get through my head (though i did get a B– on the quiz, so i feel all right about it) and a story to write (which i just got back with an A! he liked it and thought parts admirable—really gives me a lift.)
and no sooner had that got by than an hour exam in Eng 5, and Bleak House seemed to go on interminably. the exam was today, and also more Spinoza quiz, and one in the criminology course, all of which give me a sort of warm feeling, because i think i did fairly well.
ever and above these banal and mundane topics, however, my social life seems to have taken a turn for the better. i am not sure, but Middendorf informed me that i had been elected to the Hasty Pudding, though that was some days ago and i haven’t heard anything about it. but also the Speakers Club has invited me to two punches, and i seem to know quite a number of the fellows (many of whom are ’Poon men), so i may make a club yet.
thanks so much for the check and money—and please don’t think that this letter is merely to enclose the Coop bill (which is rather high this month, but as always with the beginning of a term, mostly books), and the impending 7.80 for Poon dues, though there is not any rush—i’ll be there whenever they want me!
i don’t think i told you that Mr Dick (Amer Field Ser)’s son is on the ’Poon! it may not help, but then again . . . i haven’t had time to get to the Boston office, but plan to do it soon, perhaps the weekend.
heard from Mark, having a simply terrible time in texas with a bunch of illiterates, and prays for a letter. really, it sounds pretty bad.
must write a 4500 word story this weekend too, so will probably be occupied far into the night. but i don’t mind, if i can get into the subject.
that’s about all—will let you know how things work out
Love Bill
next issue: published 10 December, it contains five contributions by WG, including two short stories (“I Want You for Christmas” and “The Kid in Upper Five”).
Bleak House: Charles Dickens’s esteemed legal novel (1852).
Hasty Pudding [...] Speakers Club: the first was founded in 1770, the oldest collegiate social club in America; the second was founded in 1908 as an intellectual, not social, club.
Mr Dick (Amer Field Ser)’s son: C. Mathews Dick (class of ’46); the American Field Service was founded in 1915 as a corps of ambulance drivers before becoming a student-exchange program.
To Edith Gaddis
Cambridge, Massachusetts
[12 February 1944]
dear Mother
how are things going?—and are we still hanging on? i haven’t realized that we were so involved, or at least that i had got you so involved. i thought that everything was just about breaking even. and now i do want to stay on here, unless i get thrown out by the language requirement which is sort of a mess. but aside from these problems seemingly everything at hartford college are going quite well.
discounting my last letter, i shall start this angle out again freshly; you remember telling me to fall in love (i am afraid that i am going to be throwing that up continutally!). there is an awfully nice and attractive girl whom i have been coming across twice a week in my short story writing class. i thought that i was the only one that knew about her, but was suddenly surprised when i met her with Bob Ward over at the Lampoon a few evenings ago—and Saturday evening he was with her at the Lampoon dance. and so as the evening wore on and we all wore on i danced with her(!) though you could hardly call it dancing i’m afraid because i spent most of the time standing and looking at her and just being pretty happy about the whole thing. her name—Jean Campbell. she is really awfully nice, but early in the morning (at the moment) i can’t get onto just what i want to say. but she’s going to be up here until october, and i am hoping to be able to get to know her better. i think that spring is on its way!
i still find it difficult to conceive that another term is ending. probably when exams are done i’ll realize it, and they are quite imminent. except for this girl, things should be easier next term, because so many are leaving, and i suppose a lot of the little temptations will be gone. my class graduates in february, you know. and a number of the little outlets for flings will be carried off. but i do want to see more of Miss Campbell.
my sophomoric troubles will be done with the twenty fourth, and we come back the sixth of march. do you think that it would help things out if i were to stay up here and get a job for a few days. at this point (and you may say that it is Miss C—if you wish, tho she is only a contributing factor) i want to hold on at hartford college if it can be worked out.
Love
Bill
Jean Campbell: born in Vermont (d. 2001), Campbell graduated from Radcliffe in 1944 and went on to become a writer and Beauty Editor of Seventeen. Not to be confused with a later acquaintance of WG’s, the British heiress and journalist Jeanne Campbell (1928–2007), daughter of the 11th duke of Argyll, and briefly married to Norman Mailer (1962–63).
To Edith Gaddis
Adams House B 34
Cambridge, Massachusetts
[17 February 1944]
Dear Mom—
[...] The Lampoon is printing a story of mine in the next issue and of course I am on top of the world. And incidentally your letter of encouragement helped a lot—I really feel ‘ready’ now! Osbourne seems to like my stuff—in fact I was talking to Mahoney (a very effete artist on our staff), about getting in. He said he’d heard them discussing my stories—and in quite a favorable light too! The point is one must have 4 pages of material accepted—they have taken my stuff, but it’s not really accepted until they really decide to put it in. I may get some credit working on the business board—just to get me on—but you know the literary board is really the right and top side of the ’Poon to be on—so I don’t know how long it will be.
And say at your first opportunity could you send me that dirty bedraggled copy of the Johnson Smith catalog which is probably on the hayloft bookcase. I want to try a story from those old fashioned amusement books they advertise—a Rediscover the American Home affair. I did write one and Mac told me to take that part and build it up. [...]
Things are coming along well—so far. I have been giving a good deal of time to the Lampoon, and am beginning to realize what this psychology course is! No kidding—the reading is incredible! Trying to explain and form theories for personality—which I have decided is quite futile. I don’t known why the devil I ever got involved with it.
But otherwise things are quite grand, tho the heat does discourage sitting down to study for very long at a time. On the whole tho I am afraid I am quite exuberant—the room is fine (tho I can hear it every time someone dives down in the pool, and some fool is learning to play ‘As Time Goes By’ across the court on a trumpet.)
If it weren’t for the $ end, I was thinking it would be nice if you could come up some weekend—after all I was a green freshman last time you saw the place. The Coop bill may be sizeable this month—books, a pair of pants and shirt etc.—and I don’t know when the $65 from the ‘Poon will be due—
Well I have 30 lines of Romeo and Juliet to learn for tomorrow.
Love
Bill
story of mine: perhaps “Suffer the Little Children,” which didn’t appear in the next issue (1 April) but the one after that (15 May). Or WG could be referring to one of the short fables he was publishing at the time.
‘As Time Goes By’: 1931 song by Herman Hupfeld (1931) popularized in the movie Casablanca (1942).
To Edith Gaddis
The Harvard Lampoon, Inc.
Cambridge 28, Massachusetts
[27 February 1944]
Dear Mother—
Sunday—and the first chance I have had to write—really it has been quite a week!
Exams all last week of course—only two—but they lasted all week—and after being up for four nights it was quite a feeling Thursday with the ‘press’ lifted and really nothing to worry about.
The Poon had its final tremendous affair for the season—and really for all time, since so many are leaving. A very pleasant dinner at the Pudding and then the dance—of course I got mixed up and went to a punch and forgot to get my black shoes from the shoemaker whom I’d taken them to be shined—so I ended with tuxedo and those dirty white buckskins.
Peter Jenks—don’t know whether I’ve mentioned him—he did the drawings for my poem—has left, and everything looks sort of blue—and then that woman being in Florida—if only she might have been up for the Poon dance—because it was the last of the neat ones. [...]
Everyone it seems is going to New York—all I hear is ‘See you in Larue’ (a 58th St. spot!) and I’ll probably get pretty fed up with this. I would like to get home before it goes(!)—and if it will be easier for you I certainly think it’s the only thing to do. Perhaps next weekend? I don’t know. I do want to get a pair of shoes—and the ballet is so important—as she is. Don’t know about scholarship—but I might as well get the beneficiary business—and perhaps borrow something from them. Will write again when I get a little further with $ matters. [...]
Love
Bill
Peter Jenks [...] my poem: Jenks illustrated WG’s poem beginning “Once came upon a quiet college town” in the 11 February issue of the Lampoon.
this job: WG had just picked up a part-time job “taking attendance.”
Larue: one of the most fashionable restaurants of the time.
To Edith Gaddis
Cambridge, Massachusetts
[5 April 1944]
dear Mother
well it never seems to end. it is just like being seasick. after one bit of running excitement you don’t see how it can keep on, but it does. [...] this elementary spanish is insidious; the abnormal psyc is good but a great amount of reading which as yet remains only touched, and an exam imminent; the social psyc is terrible—can you imagine, it seems to be a never ending discussion on politics, for which i see no reason and am beginning to dislike cordially. the short story course is the only thing that seems to be going evenly, but the fool wants the long (5000 word) story in about two weeks, right when hour exams come and the Lampoon deadline, which is really going to be bad and take time, since i seem to be the only one that holds it together and gets it moving. and must go down and read proofs for this issue very soon. [...] well such are things now, if any of it has been clear. the only thing i am sure about at the moment is the way i am getting along with Her, which is singularly well.
Love
Bill
To Edith Gaddis
Cambridge, Massachusetts
[20 April 1944]
dear Mother
am slowly getting there—though i am not sure of the destination. i spent most of last week and up for two nights studying for a spanish and then a psychology hour exam, and up until after 5 this a m writing my long story for english a 4.
and over it hangs this Lampoon—supposedly a deadline this week but hardly any one is coming around or doing anything, and so tonight i plan to spend trying to put it partially together and filling in prose, though i hardly feel like writing anything clever and witty. [...]
affairs with the Campbell girl are coming along very well. that is all i am certain of.
Love
WG at Harvard, sitting center of the first row, 1944. (Photo by Chester T. Holbrook)
this Lampoon: the 15 May issue has nine contributions by WG: an editorial, two stories, two poems, two drawings, an essay, and a facetious crossword puzzle.
To Edith Gaddis
Cambridge, Massachusetts
[28 November 1944]
dear Mother
you must not bandy that term ‘free and gay’ about so unadvisably. i am on probation, and have lost my room permission among other things BUT (well this deserves a new paragraph):
Olsen and Jonson have a show in Boston, and they and their company of chorines etc. came out to the ’Poon Sunday afternoon at the invitation of one of our old (class of ’01) members. we entertained them to the best of our abilities and i came out quite well. Olsen (Jonson didn’t show up) talked with me or rather to me for some time. and finally ended by asking me to come to the show as his guest, take notes on it, and write him a report of my reactions! critic! haha. and (This deserves a new one too):
one of the young ladies showed a rather abnormal rate of intelligence and we talked at length; she intends to leave and go onto Life magazine one of her ‘dearest friends’ is foreign editor of Life etc. at any rate she is very nice and wants to come out and look Harvard over seriously and so forth. so i am left little choice. she has been a torch singer too. do i sound 18 yrs old? i guess. but do not be concerned. as you have no doubt guessed she is a bit taller than your son, and i feel pretty self conscious with her. i went back stage last night and was very impressed, or intrigued at least.
it is the biggest thing that has happened to the ’Poon in some time.
thanx for the $. what with probation and three papers to write (and Jean expects to come down in December) i am not going to make Vermont [for Thanksgiving]. anyhow do not be concerned—this is all harmless and quite exciting. of course old ’Poonsters are saying ‘while the cat’s away . . .’ but that is very silly.
Much Love
B
Olsen and Jonson: Ole Olsen and Chic Johnson, a vaudeville act best known for their Hellzapoppin’ satiric revue. In 1976, William H. Gass praised J R for its Hellzapoppin’ energy when giving it the National Book Award.
To Edith Gaddis
Cambridge, Massachusetts
[7 December 1944]
dear Mother—
not having heard from you for some time—specifically, not since i wrote you about having met this dancer, Miss Henderson. i am not worried, and ascribe it to your probably having a pretty difficult time getting settled in town etc. but i hope there is a letter tomorrow condoning, not mentioning, or even mild censure. Where are you living? and what arrangements? i hope it’s all all right.
matter of fact, things have turned out much better than i ever could have expected. she is very nice and seems to know everything and everybody. and last evening i had dinner with her and Mr Olsen. this may sound like i am getting like Jan and preparing to run off with the Tom show; it is not a Tom show (though i did see it and was not at all as much intrigued as hellzapoppin or sons o fun) and the idea of going backstage at Minskys or Barnum and Baileys. something very funny and flattering—my being prex of the Lampoon seems to carry some weight! and the stage manager etc are are especially nice to me. the whole thing is pretty new and eye opening.
i finally put the Christmas issue of Lampoon together at 9 this morning—that is certainly a load off. but in light of recent developments it looks like it’s worth the work.
i have only got one mark this term so far, and it was B plus, and have two papers to do this week. then Christmas. Jean expects to come down here right after Christmas, but there are no plans, except that i get out the 22nd.
must make an eleven oclock class.
Love,
B
PS—Jean ‘knows about’ Miss Henderson and is quite approving about it, if that has been troubling you.
Jan: WG’s uncle Jan Williams (1884–1981), a clarinetist who began playing with the John Philips Sousa Band when still a teenager, and eventually played for the New York Symphony and other orchestras. He became musical director of the Ernest Williams School of Music in Brooklyn, NY, in 1947, founded by his brother (1881–1947), a cornetist.
Tom show: a blackface minstrel revue, based loosely on Uncle Tom’s Cabin.
sons o fun: another Olsen/Johnson revue (1941–43).
Minskys: notorious burlesque show in New York City.
To Edith Gaddis
[In January 1945, after an incident involving the Cambridge police (causing a public disturbance while drunk), WG was asked to leave Harvard. He returned to New York and was hired by the New Yorker as a fact-checker, where he worked from late February 1945 to April 1946. In the summer of 1945 he went on vacation to Canada.]
Mount Royal Hotel
Montreal, 2, P.Q.
[1 August 1945]
Dear Mother—
Frankly the more I move along the more I find that every city is quite like the last one. Perhaps there are sights in Montreal which I have missed (I have not visited the Wax Museum). But I feel little like gaping at anything.
At any rate tonight the boat leaves for Quebec and I expect to be on it.
Jacob did not arrive—and though I felt he might not when he did not show up I found myself vaguely disappointed. Really, in the little kicking about I have done I think I have had enough of wandering around cities alone. And shall probably be home before very long—
Love
Bill
Jacob: Jake Bean (1924–92), a Harvard friend who later became a connoisseur of Italian and French drawings; he was the curator of drawings at Manhattan’s Metropolitan Museum of Art for thirty-one years.
To Edith Gaddis
Hotel Louis XIV
3 Place Royale
Quebec
[4 August 1945]
Dear Mother—
Coincident with yr. letter came news from Beth that Je—plans to be married as soon as possible, to this fellow.
Oh—the thoughts that run through you as you read this—they are similar to mine, I know. Consequently I shall try to say little.
Yes, it is very difficult, but there is finality, and therefore something on which to build. I have nothing more to add—I shall leave here soon and see you the earlier part of the week, both of us a little stronger people, I think.
Again thanks, and love
B
To Edith Gaddis
[Final surviving page of undated letter on New Yorker stationery.]
The New Yorker
No. 25 West 43rd Street
[late 1945 or 1946]
[...] received notice from draft board concerning occupational reclassification[.] needless to say at this point in my career I am rather terrified—how I hate to be manipulated.
meanwhile job goes awfully well—worked until 8 tonight
B
