Letters of E. B. White
Page 78
We are having a spell of hard winter weather here now, but with bare ground, which I don’t like. Snow takes care of a lot of problems. My house is beautifully banked with spruce brush, which is useless as an insulating material until it is covered with snow, providing the necessary seal.
If you have a copy of The American Heritage Dictionary of the English Language, take a look on page 917. Will Strunk is there: “Omit needless words.” And I precede him under the word “omission.” Sid Perelman, on the other hand, got his photograph in the book, along with Niccolò Machiavelli, Archibald MacLeish, and a fur seal.
Best wishes for 1980.
Yrs,
Andy
To MISS JILL KREMENTZ
[North Brooklin, Maine]
[January, 1980]
Dear Jill:
Roger told me about the wedding bells ringing for you and Kurt. I don’t care much for weddings but would have liked to attend yours, so I could see that camera dangling from the bride while she popped away at everybody and everything.
Thank you for your letter and for “The Joy of Photography.” (I haven’t gotten to the “Joy of Sex” yet and always try to read things in the order of their appearance.) What a ghastly-looking book—all except that handsome view of me down in the boathouse! I was interested to learn that the picture had been compared to an Andrew Wyeth painting in its lines and sparseness. I think I can take a little credit for the “sparseness”—you may have noticed that I didn’t equip the place with anything but a pine table and a nail keg. You had a lot going for you. Nevertheless, it is a fine picture, and I thank you again for it.
I spent Christmas at the dentist’s and in bed with a peculiar heart. I spent New Year’s eve alone and palely loitering. Didn’t even have Jones for company: he died on November 12th, one day short of my golden wedding anniversary.
I stayed with friends in Sarasota for a while. The weather was perfect, but because of being a house guest I got drawn into the social life of Sarasota, which is brisk. Corona drove me south in my car—which I thought was pretty sporting of her. She said she had never seen Florida, and she likes to swim. It was a good trip.
My best to Kurt, the lucky groom.
Yrs,
Andy
To GERALD NACHMAN
[North Brooklin, Maine]
[March 15, 1980]
Dear Mr. Nachman:
Benchley was a nonsense writer, a short writer, and a wit. I admired his work because it was usually quite funny. Thurber was an entirely different breed of cat—alternately angry and gay, full of memories about his crazy family, wildly imaginative. Benchley, it seems to me, was a good critical writer (of stage and press) and a light-hearted, kind, and funny one. Thurber was too emotional to be a good critic, but Thurber could write “Walter Mitty,” which was on a different level from Benchley’s. Benchley’s son Nat was a short story writer and a good one. Most of Robert Benchley’s stuff took the form of a sketch, or a burlesque, or a parody.
It’s been a long time since I’ve read any of his early things, and I haven’t got his early books on my shelves. I suppose some of his humor would today seem dated and corny. He is, as you say, not widely read today.
Corey Ford knew Benchley—they were on the old Life together. You will find a lot of stuff about Benchley in Ford’s book “The Time of Laughter” (Little, Brown). He says of him: “None of his quips had the faintest tinge of malice; I don’t think Bob Benchley had an enemy in the world. He was universally loved by everyone who knew him.”
I’m not going to go into his domestic life, because I know about it only by hearsay. He did vacillate between Scarsdale, where his family was, and New York, where his cronies were.
A man can do a lot of drinking and still turn out a lot of work. Benchley did both. In my own experience I have found that I’m more likely to write when I feel terrible than when I feel great. If you feel good, you don’t have to write—you go somewhere and do something pleasant.
I don’t know what his copy was like. I suspect he was a clean writer and didn’t require much editing. He was a pro, and took deadlines seriously. I doubt that his drinking was tied up with “personal disappointment in himself.” Some people enjoy drinking, and Bob Benchley did. He loved people and friends, and drinking was part of the scene. Drinking did kill him in the end—got him in the liver.
The principle effect he had on me was that I encountered his work at a time in my life when I was unsure I could make it as a writer, and Benchley was living proof that you didn’t have to be a great reporter or a great novelist to get published. This cheered me up. I don’t think I imitated Benchley any more than I imitated every other writer I’ve read. I never heard that he left the New Yorker under some sort of cloud. I have no idea of the chronology or circumstances of his departure from the magazine. I do not recall that he ever ‘announced his retirement” from writing. There’s no such thing as retiring from writing. You just run out of gas.
Sincerely,
E. B. White
To MR. LAFFOON, DETROIT FREE PRESS MAGAZINE
[North Brooklin, Maine]
[April 12, 1980]
Dear Mr. Laffoon:
I’ll answer your questions as best I can. I’m not well equipped, however, as I am not as well acquainted with today’s American motor car as I might be if I were younger and if I owned an American car.
1. Yes, I think Detroit is doing better. Most cars strike me as being lower than they need be, but the lines are purer and the seats are better, even though the seats are almost on the floor. Most rear windows are too heavily slanted. The more you slant them, the poorer the rear view.
2. I think there is a certain stubborn streak in automakers. They were slow to give up the gas-guzzling car in favor of a more sensible vehicle. They seem to want every car to be either a Cadillac or a poor man’s dream of a Cadillac. But of course there have been a lot of innovative cars come onto the market—the minibuses and the vans and the campers. Vogue is still a strong influence in the industry, and vogue is responsible for a lot of accidents that never need have occurred. I think power steering is greatly overrated and is also responsible for highway deaths. I own two cars, one with, one without. I much prefer to drive the one without power steering—it practically steers itself, whereas the one with power requires constant correction.
3. When I got rid of the 1960 Lark, my wife’s back condition was so bad I could find no American car she could ride in without pain: the seats were too low and too squashy. So I bought a Mercedes, whose seats were high and firm. It worked fine. Recently, I bought a VW Dasher wagon, because it gives pretty good mileage. It handles well and I like the front-wheel drive.
The May issue of Blair & Ketchum’s Country Journal carries a special report on “The Country Car.” You might like to read it if you haven’t already.
Sincerely,
E. B. White
To MS. LAMDEN, DELAWARE ART MUSEUM
[North Brooklin, Maine]
[April 12, 1980]
Dear Ms. Lamden:
The spinach cartoon was not a collaboration in the strict sense of the word. In 1928, one of my many chores at the New Yorker was doctoring the captions on drawings. One day a Carl Rose cartoon turned up on my desk for a fix. I didn’t think much of Rose’s caption, so I wrote an entirely new one: “I say it’s spinach, and I say the hell with it.”
I knew Carl and liked him. He was a thoughtful man and was interested in the political as well as the social scene. He was a steady contributor to the New Yorker. In his early years, he spent some time as a cab driver.
Sincerely,
E. B. White
To MR. HERBERT MITGANG
[North Brooklin, Maine]
[July 1, 1980]
Dear Herb:
You are one of the easiest people to do business with I have ever encountered. Thank you for the four prints of your dour and magnificent photograph. I have dispatched one copy to Marshall L. Stone, of the Bangor Daily News, who is w
aiting around for me to die and feels unprepared.
I have not decided where to go for my 81st birthday, which is coming up in a few days. Am leaning toward acquiring a 15-foot Old Town canoe and taking it over to Snow Pond in the Belgrade Lakes district. I know a girl over there.
Think how good you are going to feel some morning when you open your paper and see my obit, and there, right on the same page, will be your wonderful photograph. I envy you your feeling of accomplishment, and I thank you again for your gift.
Yrs,
Andy
To MRS. RAYMOND GUTH, THE NEW YORKER MAGAZINE
[North Brooklin, Maine]
[July, 1980]
Dear Dotty:
Imagine having you on the mound, hurling the newsbreaks at me after all these years! Don’t throw me any curves—keep ’em low and inside. And don’t try to establish any record for quantity, either! I am a white-haired old man, can only see newsprint by using an enlarging glass, and have long since ceased thinking anything I see in print is funny. There is only one thing a first reader of newsbreaks really has to know, despite all the instructions you got from Julie. The thing you have to know is FIND A FUNNY ONE. Ross used to say that if I turned in one funny break a week, I was earning my money. Years ago, the breaks came in funny. Now they just come in. People think a typo is funny because it is an error. Usually it is just dull, however erroneous. People think anything that happens to fit one of the standard heads like WORDS OF ONE SYLLABLE or HOW’S THAT AGAIN? is funny merely because it fits. Usually it is just dull, however nicely it fits. (I have a hat that fits, but it is a very dull hat.) People think pied type is funny just because it is jumbled. They go into gales of laughter when they see etaoin shrdlu, even though it has been appearing daily in the news ever since the invention of the linotype machine.
Well, good luck, Dorothy my darling. I am not telling you these grim facts to discourage you but instead to goad you on to new and greater heights. After all, there is a LOVE IS A WONDERFUL THING DEPARTMENT, and I love you.
Andy
To JOHN UPDIKE
[North Brooklin, Maine]
August 14 [1980]
Dear John:
I guess our letters whizzed by in the mail.
Now that I have yours, I shall break the news to Emily Wallace that the Updike/KSW correspondence is not up for grabs “at this point in time.” Roger was just here, and he feels as you and I do.
I was not aware that E. Wallace was a friend of yours. The day may come, in the somewhat distant future, when a book of K’s letters to her far-flung writers would be a fine idea. But right now I think we can all relax, happy in the private knowledge that she was a good woman, a good editor, and an indomitable correspondent and pen pal.
Many thanks for writing.
Yrs.,
Andy
To LEO M. DOLENSKY, BRYN MAWR COLLEGE LIBRARY
[North Brooklin, Maine]
[August 28, 1980]
Dear Leo:
Thanks for your long and thoughtful letter re E. Wallace. The whole matter was quickly and easily resolved when a letter arrived from John Updike. He feels as I do—this is not the time, this is not the way. He is, incidentally, acquainted with E. Wallace and likes her. But he thinks that it would be premature to dredge up the KSW/Updike correspondence at this time. Also, that any such project shouldn’t be limited to Updike, but should include other writers. I agree. And I’m quite sure Katharine would agree.
I am delighted that you have your heart in this correspondence and that you have given it so much thought and attention, which I believe it deserves. I was relieved to get John’s letter, seconding my own thoughts. Please thank Mr. Tanis for his involvement and his opinion—I feel greatly indebted to the Library and to all of you.
Yrs,
E. B. White
To JANE LIGHTFOOT (MRS. CHARLES HICKS) BEAUMONT
North Brooklin, Maine
September 6, 1980
Dear Mrs. Beaumont:
Thank you for the Henry Kirke White book. I have never heard of Henry.
In attempting to simplify your library, you have, of course, complicated mine. This happens all the time. Whenever anybody in America finds something on his desk or in his shelves that he wants to get rid of, he sends it to me. I just take everything to the attic and wait patiently for the house to catch fire.
Sincerely,
E. B. White
To EVELYN M. HICKEY
[North Brooklin, Maine]
[October 16, 1980]
Dear Mrs. Hickey:
Thanks for your letter, containing the news of my death. Lynda G. Barber is not alone in wishing I were still alive—I wish it, too.
Yes, I grow tomatoes, or, to be more accurate, a man named Henry Allen grows them for me. We had a good crop this year (enough to feed ten families), but we use cow manure, not Miracle-Gro. A cow is something of a miracle herself, and it seems to get passed along to the tomatoes.
Sincerely,
E. B. White
To HELEN (MRS. SCOTT) NEARING
North Brooklin, Maine
December 8, 1980
Dear Mrs. Nearing:
Thanks for the copy of “Wise Words.” I need wise words if anybody ever did.
From the number of books you and your husband have had published, I suspect that you will soon have to change the characterization of your lives from “simple living” to “complex living.” I have discovered that the life of an author is anything but simple.
I have yet to build a house of stone. That’s when I’ll have to change the characterization of mine.
Sincerely,
E. B. White
To GARRISON KEILLOR
[North Brooklin, Maine]
[January? 1981]
Dear Mr. Keillor:
Thanks for “Happy to Be Here” and for the inscription. I am happy to have this book. I haven’t read it yet—at 82 there is no time for reading. The morning is taken up with lacing the shoes and buttoning the shirt, working with arthritic fingers solemnly and doggedly. The afternoon is spent sleeping, recovering from the luncheon drink. I can’t remember how the evening is spent, but it is not spent reading—because of the slow progressive macula degeneration of the retina. I did read your Introduction, probably because I noticed it contained a reference to me. I miss Thurber, Liebling, and Perelman, and will soon be catching up with them. I got interested in Curtis. It’s a good introduction.
I spent hundreds of dollars trying to save my elm, but it didn’t work. The tree landed on the lawn with a tremendous thuddd. Now they want me to spend a lot of money trying to save my retinas, but that isn’t going to work, either. Anyway, I’m glad Curtis is doing well at the University.
Sincerely,
[E. B. White]
To MR. BEMIS
[North Brooklin, Maine]
[ca. February 1, 1981]
Dear Mr. Bemis:
Thanks for letting me see the Shurcliff piece. I haven’t gotten round to installing a mail chute into my furnace, but I’m working on a plan to make it illegal for mail order houses to buy and sell mailing lists—which is where the trouble really starts. I would like to go to court and testify that it is an invasion of my privacy to reveal my whereabouts in return for money.
I’m allowing my New York Times subscription to expire next month. No room in the bag.
Sincerely,
[E. B. White]
To MR. SILVERSTEIN
[North Brooklin, Maine]
[February 12, 1981]
Dear Mr. Silverstein:
Thanks for your letter, birthday greeting, and invitation. If I had Kurt Vonnegut’s youth and central nervous system, I would travel to Ithaca and join you at the centennial banquet. Unhappily, I am old and creaky and find any sort of travel difficult. Have never been much of a banqueteer anyway, and can’t remember when I last visited the campus.
Our Daily’s letter brought back memories of the post-war days—War Number One, that is. I c
an recall being asked to hurry back to Ithaca to help crank the Sun up and get it rolling again. Made me feel very important. I am glad the paper is still publishing, even though it did deprive me of a decent education.
You might be amused to know that Strunk and White was adapted for a ballet production recently. I didn’t get to the show but I’m sure Will Strunk, had he been alive, would have lost no time in reaching the scene, to watch dancers move gracefully to his rules of grammar.
Sorry I can’t accept your invitation, and I hope you have a good time banquetting on May 16.
Sincerely,
[E. B. White]
To MR. R. PULLEY, HOTEL ALGONQUIN
[North Brooklin, Maine]
February 24, 1981
Dear Bob:
More on the Great Mattress Mystery.
New England Motor Freight [address] is the trucker to call. They have a NYC office: telephone [number]. I believe you can call that number and make a date for a pickup at the Hotel. Ask them to put the mattress on Coles Express, of Bangor, Maine, to be delivered to E. B. White, North Brooklin, Maine.
Any standard double-bed size will do. I can adjust the bed to fit the mattress.
I am deeply grateful to you for your help in this critical time. If you need any more information, let me know.
Cordially yrs,
E. B. White
To MR. ANDREW A. ANSPACH, HOTEL ALGONQUIN
[North Brooklin, Maine]
[March 1981]
Dear Andrew:
A truck swung into my driveway a couple of days ago and delivered a mattress and a box spring. They are on HOLD in a warm, dry outbuilding, awaiting installation ceremonies in my bedroom. This event places the Algonquin at the top of the list of hotels—unique in having caused a bed to come to a guest, instead of the other way round.
I send my warm thanks to you and to Bob Pulley for this extraordinary deed, which should alter my life by removing a great deal of nighttime pain. Haven’t received a bill yet but am awaiting it with outstretched pen.