The Letters of Shirley Jackson

by Shirley Jackson

  this is where i picked up my scottish sea captain; i was trying to get a taxi in front of the hotel in brooklyn and so were a lot of other people, including one man who was clearly in a hurry, and so was i, so when the doorman got a taxi we both headed for it and the man said why don’t we share it and i said fine. we were both going into manhattan but he was already forty minutes late so i said by all means drop him first and he said he was late because his ship had only docked an hour before, and explained that he was scottish, which we already knew perfectly well from his talk, and during the hour trip into new york the driver and the sea captain and i had a perfectly lovely time; it was as though the three of us were old friends who had gotten together for a talk. the sea captain ran a freighter up and down the amazon, and his main cargo was missionaries. he said that he always took out more missionaries than he brought back, but they always kept coming. last trip he had taken out six, but when he came to pick them up there were only three left. i said kind of timidly what had happened to the other three? and he said “och, they werrrrre eaten.” the driver thought that was a good thing, because missionaries had no right to go around trying to convert cannibals anyway. we surprised the doorman at the commodore hotel because we were all three laughing so the sea captain could not get out of the taxi and had to wait to control himself and then the taxi and i drove off still laughing. so i met stanley and we got taken out to a Real chinese dinner. when we got back laurie and joanne decided to take the car and go into new york—in the middle of the night—to hear some jazz, so they went to a village night club and i gather that joanne had another tom collins.

  the next morning stanley and barry and i left, and joanne went off to help laurie buy a wedding ring. i gave him my chargeaplate*1 which is good in most of the big stores. he was actually a little more imaginative. he and joanne went first to rogers peet where he bought himself a suit to be married in (laurie simply goes to the man who has sold clothes to stanley and stanley’s father and stanley’s brother and all his uncles) and then on to tiffany’s where he had decided he really wanted to buy a wedding ring. no one knows how he did it, but he opened a charge account in his own name at tiffany’s, bought his two wedding rings, and charged them. so laurie has now become the only person we know of who has a charge account at tiffany’s. then he and joanne got into his car and headed for new jersey where they picked up laurie’s ex-roommate, bob, who was going to be best man at the wedding, and started home. we meanwhile had met jay and sally in a selected rondevouz outside danbury, gathered in sally and her bags and her souvenirs and got home in time to feed the cats. laurie and joanne and bob got home about ten, having picked up corinne in bennington on their way, and we all sat around talking about weddings and admiring the rings and easing bob’s stage fright; bob was the chief actor at the college, and starred in all their productions, and had just finished off his senior year with five performances of macbeth, but this was his first wedding.

  joanne and i suddenly discovered that what with coming back from new york on thursday and the wedding being on saturday we had only one day to get ready. late friday night laurie’s godparents, our old friends june and frank, drove up from new york, and on saturday morning stanley’s mother and brother arthur arrived and by ten o’clock saturday i was serving breakfast right and left to thousands of people; everyone except laurie and bob, who had gone out for a final private party, just the two of them, the night before, and were both feeling tired and frightened. laurie had also invited the negro band leader with whom he has been playing for a long time, and who has taken very good care of him for three years, keeping an eye on him in roadhouses and bars and such, and we all like dave and feel very grateful to him; dave brought his wife [Frances] and my, how they were dressed. absolutely the most beautiful clothes i have ever seen, and at the end of the day there still was not a wrinkle in dave’s suit. laurie kept assuring everyone that he was not the least bit nervous, and bob went back three times to make sure he had the rings, and the rest of us kept drinking coffee and wondering if it was going to rain, which it was. they had finally decided to have the wedding in one of the college gardens, a traditional spot for student weddings, where there is a little fountain and pool, and flowering bushes all around to make a little private spot; very lovely, but not the place to be if it rains. people were dressing all over the house, and barry had on his good jacket and tie, and was helping dress laurie, who kept telling people he was not nervous and of course it was not going to rain and did bob have the rings, was he sure? there were corsages of roses and orchids for stanley’s mother and me, and carnations for laurie and bob and stanley and about quarter to twelve we got ourselves sorted out into cars and drove to jennings, the music building at the college with the lovely gardens, and we were supposed to meet corinne and her crowd there and of course it was raining. laurie kept saying he thought people were supposed to be nervous when they were getting married and here he was not nervous at all, and he went up and said hello so glad you could come to mr macguire, who is the college handyman and was there to see that there were enough chairs and then laurie said how do you do so glad you could come to another man and the man said i had to come i’m the judge who is marrying you; we rehearsed it all yesterday; don’t you remember? and laurie said well anyway, one good thing is i’m not nervous. stanley, who was also not nervous, went up to corinne’s mother and said i’m sure laurie and joanne will be very happy when they are married, and then he brought his mother over and said i’d like you to meet my grandmother and his poor mother was furious. there were about twenty of corinne’s people there and they all looked exactly alike, all the women wearing flowered hats. laurie kept saying it would not rain but then the judge said let’s go on outside then and we went out and it was sprinkling but they decided to go on with it in the garden anyway and we went out and just as corinne came with her attendant into the garden the rain stopped and the ceremony began; the poor judge who i guess was not nervous either, got both their names wrong, calling laurie laurence jackson ryan. and got corinne all tangled up, and bob gave them both the wrong rings, and thank heaven corinne seemed to be fairly self-possessed because she exchanged the rings without any difficulty and of course everyone cried and thank heaven the ceremony only took ten minutes because as it ended the rain came down again. the photographer took a lot of pictures but they are terrible, mostly because of the bad light. laurie was by then in a complete daze and bob was not much better because of mixing up the rings, but we got ourselves back into cars and drove over to the four chimneys, the inn you liked so much, in old bennington. they had arranged for a private dining room, and it was beautifully set up; because the entire group was only about thirty-five the biggs family had decided to have everyone sit down and to serve a regular luncheon, and they lined the bride and groom and parents and grandparents and best man and bridesmaid up at the head table and then had smaller tables for everyone else. before we sat down poor bob—he was sitting between laurie and me—had to propose a toast to the bride and groom, and just as everything was ready, with the photographer waiting and all, bob said i think i’m going to cry, and laurie said five performances of macbeth and you’re going to blow this line? and bob burst into tears and managed to say it with tears going down his cheeks and everyone drank the toast and laurie and i revived bob but there is a fine picture of bob’s tearful toast. after that everyone was eating and drinking champagne except barry who was allowed to have milk and me, because i loathe champagne and the head waiter, who knows us of old, brought me a nice glass of bourbon. the funniest thing happened sometime during lunch, when the door opened and a vaguely familiar character came in, smiling and nodding to everyone, walked up to laurie, held out his hand and said “i’m the governor of vermont;*2 i came to congratulate you.” turns out he—he’s the oiliest crookedest republican scoundrel in politics—had been having lunch and heard there was a wedding party and couldn’t stand the idea that there were more than ten people in a room without
hurrying in to do a little political campaigning, so he went up and down the head table, shaking everyone’s hand and beaming, and when he came to us he said so you’re the parents of the groom; nice-looking boy; i do like to see young people getting married and being so happy, and stanley said this pair is going to raise a fine family of democrats, and the governor looked surprised and then went off and shook hands with someone else. by the time laurie and corinne cut the cake everyone was feeling very happy and gay. we then invited the entire party to come back to our house, and by three o’clock everyone was here and we had quite a party going. one of corinne’s old aunts had always wanted to learn to play the trumpet so laurie was giving her trumpet lessons in one room and in the front room joanne and dave’s wife were teaching corinne’s mother how to do the twist, and stanley’s mother and another old aunt were hitting it off fine in a corner and corinne’s grandmother, who is eighty-seven and speaks and reads only french, (french-canadian) was happily in a chair in the corner reading “life among the savages” in french.

  the biggs family and friends had given laurie and corinne a good deal of money, which they had put into the bank with what we gave them, and at one point stanley’s brother, who had already given them some beautiful luggage, handed corinne a hundred-dollar bill to buy herself something in paris. i have never seen laurie so happy; he is not a demonstrative boy, as you know, and yet he was so excited and just plain delighted with the world that he couldn’t stop laughing; he was so proud and joyful it was good to see. by this time both families had decided that they loved each other, and even dave and his wife, who are so nice and so sweet that everyone likes them, and then mr biggs, corinne’s father, announced that he had lost his only daughter but by great good luck she had married into a family with plenty of daughters to go around and he was formally adopting joanne. they are very nice people, friendly and very good-hearted, and once they had given up the idea of the church wedding they decided to be as nice about it as they could, and they simply settled down to enjoy themselves and i suppose do penance afterward. about eight o’clock most of them were gone, and then laurie and corinne and bob and dave and his wife decided to go; they were going to drive as far as albany, where dave was taking them out to dinner, and then on to new york, where they would stay in bob’s family’s empty apartment until wednesday when their boat sailed. then bob, who is acting in summer stock in burlington, would bring the car back and keep it to use this summer.

  after everyone left stanley’s brother invited us all back to the four chimneys for dinner, we went and sat on the terrace and relaxed and we all agreed that it had been a perfectly charming wedding, and quite the nicest we had ever seen.

  laurie and corinne called on tuesday night before they sailed and they were still dazed and wildly excited. bob stopped by on thursday on his way to burlington and said that he had seen them off okay, and that since this is a college cruise ship they have no accomodations for married kids, and laurie is in a cabin with the band and corinne in a cabin with six other girls, just like being back in bennington college. he had brought back all the announcements, which they had taken with them to “do on the way” and he and i finished them off and sent them out.

  * * *

  —

  friday

  we had a week after the wedding to get the kids ready for camp, and then after i had taken them up on saturday we went out and had a quiet dinner all by ourselves and then both of us slept for twelve hours. we are back on our schedule of dining out every night, and it is very pleasant. we have friends staying with us for the summer, barbara and murry karmiller; they were both working in new york, no children, and suddenly decided that they had had enough; barbara came into a small legacy and so they packed up and went to europe to wander and live for as long as they liked. they stayed nearly two years and then got homesick, so when they wrote this spring they were coming home we asked if they wanted to spend this first summer home living in our back apartment and doing their own cooking and taking care of our livestock when we were away, and they wanted to very much, so they came. they are thinking of renting a house near here, or even buying if they can, and staying around north bennington. barbara is a former bennington college student, and loves the country, and murry, who used to be a television writer, wants to try his hand at magazine writing and likes this quiet life, so we have been spending afternoons wandering around our pretty countryside looking at houses. they come out for dinner with us occasionally, but mostly they make their dinners here, and barbara and i make breakfasts and lunches together. with three of us typing away in separate rooms barbara gets most of the table-setting to do.

  next saturday stanley and i take off for michigan, where stanley will lecture in ypsilanti and i will lecture in east lansing. and then must hurry back here saturday and wash out some clothes and then leave again on sunday, me to suffield and my writers’ conference, where i give another lecture and stanley to new york and a week at the new yorker. then home again for two weeks, and at last in mid-august off to quebec and the st. lawrence river. that will be our real vacation, just lazy driving from one little town to the next, stopping where we want to, and if possible taking a boat up part of the river.

  i will stop now, and write a lecture, and once i get the lecture done i can be completely lazy.

  keep well, write soon, and much much love from all.

  love,

  s.

  • • •

  [To Carol Brandt]

  July 11 [1962]

  Dear Carol,

  I am very curious about the little book, NINE MAGIC WISHES.*3 For such a very small thing it is kicking up quite a fuss. Do you know anything about who is illustrating, when they publish, or any such thing?

  You still did not send me a plot. I am tired of cleaning closets and want to start a new book. Writing is easier than housework.

  Best,

  Shirley

  • • •

  [To Libbie Burke]

  sept. 5 [1962]

  dear lib,

  you have not read my new book because i have not sent you a copy because although the publishers assure me that copies were mailed out in mid-august i have still not received any. as soon as i have them a copy will go to you, you of course deserving the first because of providing me with a good half of the book.

  they are making a fuss over the book including dragging stanley and me down to new york for publication day—september 21—and giving a cocktail party at the st. regis (i put your names down to be invited but i bet they didn’t judging from their apparent way of doing things but i bet you feel the same as we do about literary parties anyway; i plan to get plastered real fast) and two days of interviews and such. i am quite excited about this publication, i think because the book matters so much to me, and i am very curious to see how it is received.

  also very excited because (who’s counting) we are going to be grandparents this fall. stanley can never shave his beard now because he looks so grandfatherly, and i am already preparing to be insufferable with advice and theories of child-raising. laurie and corinne are still in europe, where they have been all summer, laurie traveling with a band (did you see the article in the recent Sat Eve Post on the band, with several fine pictures of laurie?) and for the past month have been in frankfurt where the band has a steady job. they come home next week just in time to enter bennington college, although corinne will of course be on a part time basis. laurie has been admitted as a special student, and we have rented them a tiny house out on overlea road. corinne’s mother and i are competing in studied indifference about the house; both of us are dying to get over there and put in furniture and hang drapes and both of us are resolutely assuring each other that after all it’s the kids’ first home and they ought to furnish it themselves.

  barry went reluctantly back to school today, stanley starts next week
, and the girls go away on the fifteenth. the summer has gone, and i did not do any of the things i planned, like clean the pantry and rearrange the linen closet and now i want to start a new book so i suppose the pantry will never be done.

  see you soon? best from all.

  love,

  s.

  * * *

  • • •

  Returning home with Stanley from the New York publication party put on by Viking on September 20, 1962, at the St. Regis Hotel, Shirley finds an unpleasant letter from her mother criticizing her over her appearance in a photograph by Alfred Statler in Time magazine that ran with a very favorable review of the new book. She dashes out the following letter, never mailed.

  [To Geraldine Jackson]

  [September 25, 1962]

  dear mother

  i received your unpleasant letter last night when i got back from new york, and it upset me considerably, as you no doubt intended.

  i wish you would stop telling me that my husband and children are ashamed of me. if they are, they have concealed it very skillfully; perhaps they do not believe that personal appearance is the most important thing in the world. as far as the picture in time is concerned, i think it is strange to blame me. time sent a photographer from new york, who spent a morning taking sixty or seventy pictures of me, most of which were presentable and pleasant. time chose this one, which was by far the worst, from some perverted sense of humor. i do not think it was kind of them, but i had no authority whatsoever in the matter—beyond refusing to let them do this again—and as far as i am concerned it is a very minor thing. i am far more concerned with my book and the very good review which accompanied the picture.