I heard from old Mrs. Winston next door that you and your family once lived here at 568 Oak Street. She remembers you and your brothers as cute little tykes who were very noisy and raised rabbits and guinea pigs. She says your mother was a wonderful cook. I am sorry about Donald opening the books and I hope you will forgive him.
Sincerely yours,
CLARA EDWARDS
(Mrs. J. C.)
WEST CORNWALL, CONN.
November 19, 1949
Mr. Leon Charteriss,
The Charteriss Publishing Co.,
132 East What Street,
New York, N.Y.
DEAR MR. CHARTERISS:
I am enclosing a letter from a Mrs. J. C. Edwards, of Columbus, Ohio, in the fervent hope that you will do something to stop this insane flux of books. I never ordered these books. I have not read “Grandma Was a Nudist.” I do not intend to read it. I want something done to get these volumes off my trail and cut out of my consciousness.
I have written Miss Winege about the situation, but I am afraid to take it up with her again, because she might send them to me in care of the Department of Journalism at Ohio State University, where I was a student more than thirty years ago.
Sincerely yours,
J. THURBER
P.S. I never use my middle initial, but your firm seems to think it is “M.” It is not.
J. T.
THE CHARTERISS PUBLISHING COMPANY
NEW YORK, N.Y.
NOVEMBER 23, 1949
Mr. James M. Thurber,
West Cornwall, Conn.
DEAR MR. THURBER:
Mr. Charteriss has flown to California on a business trip and will be gone for several weeks. His secretary has turned your letter of the 19th over to me. I have asked Mr. Cluffman to write to Miss Clara Edwards in Columbus and arrange for the reshipment of the thirty-six copies of “Grandma Was a Nudist.”
I find, in consulting the records, that you have three times ordered copies of your own book, “Thurber’s Ark,” to be shipped to you at West Cornwall, at the usual discount rate of forty per cent. I take it that what you really wanted was thirty-six copies of your own book and they are being sent out to you today with our regrets for the discomfit we have caused you. I hope you will be a little patient with us during this so trying period of reorganization.
Cordially yours,
JEANNETTE GAINES
Stock Order Dept.
P.S. You will be happy to know that we have traced down the gentleman who ordered those copies of “Grandma.”
WEST CORNWALL, CONN.
NOVEMBER 25, 1949
Mr. Henry Johnson,
The Charteriss Pub. Co.,
New York, N.Y.
DEAR HARRY:
Since the reorganization at Charteriss, I have the forlorn and depressing feeling that I no longer know anybody down there except you. I know that this immediate problem of mine is not in your field, but I turn to you as a last resource. What I want, or rather what I don’t want, is simple enough, Harry. God knows it is simple.
I don’t want any more copies of my book. I don’t want any more copies of my book. I don’t want any more copies of my book.
As ever,
JIM
P.S. It has just occurred to me that I haven’t seen you for more than two years. Let’s have a drink one of these days. I’ll give you a ring the next time I’m in the city.
J. T.
THE CHARTERISS PUBLISHING COMPANY
NEW YORK, N.Y.
NOVEMBER 26, 1949
Mr. James Grover Thurber,
Cornwall, Conn.
DEAR JIM THURBER:
I haven’t had the pleasure of meeting you since I had the great good luck to join forces with Charteriss, but I look forward to our meeting with a high heart. Please let me know the next time you are in the city, as I should like to wine and dine you and perhaps discuss the new book that I feel confident you have in you. If you don’t want to talk shop, we can discuss the record of our mutual football team. You were at Northwestern some years ahead of my time, I believe, but I want you to know that they still talk about Jimmy Thurber out there.
Your letter to Harry Johnson has just come to my attention, and I regret to say that Harry is no longer with us. He went to Simon and Schuster in the summer of 1948. I want you to feel, however, that every single one of us here is your friend, willing and eager to drop everything to do your slightest bidding. All of us feel very deeply about your having turned against your book “Thurber’s Ark.” I note that in your present mood you have the feeling that you never want to see it again. Well, Jim, let me assure you that this is just a passing fancy, derived from a moment of depression. When you put in your last order for thirty-six copies, you must surely have had some definite use in mind for them, and I am banking on twenty years’ experience in the book-publishing game when I take the liberty of sending these twenty books off to you today. There is one thing I am something of an expert at, if I do say so myself, and that is the understanding of the “creative spirit.”
We have a new system here, which is to send our authors not ten free copies, as of old, but fifteen. Therefore, five of the thirty-six copies will reach you with our compliments. The proper deductions will be made on the record.
Don’t forget our dinner date.
Cordially,
CLINT JORDAN
P.S. I approve of your decision to resume the use of your middle name. It gives a book dignity and flavor to use all three names. I think it was old Willa Cather who started the new trend, when she dropped the Seibert.
C. J.
THE CHARTERISS PUBLISHING COMPANY
NEW YORK, N.Y.
DECEMBER 13, 1949
DEAR THURBER:
Just back at the old desk after a trip to California and a visit with my mother, who is eighty-nine now but as chipper as ever. She would make a swell Profile. Ask me about her someday.
Need I say I was delighted to hear from the staff when I got back about your keen interest in “Grandma Was a Nudist”? The book has been moving beautifully and its ceiling has gone sky-high. We’re planning a brief new advertising campaign and I’d be tickled pink if you would be good enough to bat out a blurb for us.
Yours,
LEON
THE CHARTERISS PUBLISHING COMPANY
NEW YORK, N.Y.
DECEMBER 15, 1949
Mr. James M. Thurber,
West Cornwall, Conn.
DEAR MR. THURBER:
I hope you will forgive me—indeed, all of us—for having inexcusably mislaid the address of the lady to whom the thirty-six copies of “Grandma Was a Nudist” were sent by mistake. I understand that we have already dispatched to you at your home another thirty-six volumes of that book.
My apologies again.
Sincerely yours,
H. F. CLUFFMAN
WEST CORNWALL, CONN.
DECEMBER 19, 1949
Mr. H. F. Cluffman,
The Charteriss Publishing Co.,
132 East What Street,
New York, N.Y.
DEAR MR. CLUFFMAN:
The lady’s name is Mrs. J. C. Edwards, and she lives at 568 Oak Street, Columbus, Ohio.
I have explained as clearly as I could in previous letters that I did not order thirty-six copies of “Grandma Was a Nudist.” If you have actually shipped to me another thirty-six copies of this book, it will make a total of seventy-two copies, none of which I will pay for. The thirty-six copies of “Thurber’s Ark” that Mr. Jordan has written me he intends to send to West Cornwall would bring up to one hundred and eight the total number of books that your firm, by a conspiracy of confusion unique even in the case of publishers, has mistakenly charged to my account. You may advise Mr. Jordan that I do not wish to receive the five free copies he mentioned in his letter.
If your entire staff of employees went back to Leslie’s Weekly, where they belong, it would set my mind at rest.
Sincerely yours,
&nbs
p; J. THURBER
P.S. I notice that you use only my middle initial, “M.” Mr. Jordan and I—or was it Mr. Charteriss?—have decided to resume the use of the full name, which is Murfreesboro.
J. T.
WEST CORNWALL, CONN.
DECEMBER 27, 1949
Mr. Leon Charteriss,
The Charteriss Publishing Co.,
132 East What Street,
New York, N.Y.
DEAR MR. CHARTERISS:
I am sure you will be sorry to learn that Mr. Thurber has had one of his spells as a result of the multiplication of books and misunderstanding that began with Miss Alma Winege’s letter of October 25, 1949. Those of us around Mr. Thurber are greatly disturbed by the unfortunate circumstances that have caused him to give up writing, at least temporarily, just after he had resumed work following a long fallow period.
Thirty-six copies of Mr. Thurber’s book and thirty-six copies of “Grandma Was a Nudist” have arrived at his home here, and he has asked me to advise you that he intends to burn all seventy-two. West Cornwall is scarcely the community for such a demonstration—he proposes to burn them in the middle of U.S. Highway No. 7—since the town regards with a certain suspicion any writer who has not won a Pulitzer Prize. I am enclosing copies of all the correspondence between your company and Mr. Thurber, in the hope that someone connected with your firm will read it with proper care and intelligence and straighten out this deplorable and inexcusable situation.
Mr. Thurber wishes me to tell you that he does not want to hear from any of you again.
Sincerely yours,
ELLEN BAGLEY
Secretary to Mr. Thurber
THE CHARTERISS PUBLISHING COMPANY
NEW YORK, N.Y.
DECEMBER 29, 1949
Mr. James Murfreesboro Thurber,
72 West,
Cornwall, Conn.
DEAR MR. THURBER:
I have at hand your letter of December 19th, the opening paragraph of which puzzles me. You send me the following name and address—Mrs. J. C. Edwards, 568 Oak Street, Columbus, Ohio—but it is not clear what use you wish me to make of this. I would greatly appreciate it if you would clear up this small matter for me.
Sincerely yours,
H. F. CLUFFMAN
P.S. Leslie’s Weekly ceased publication many years ago. I could obtain the exact date if you so desire.
H. F. C.
THE CHARTERISS PUBLISHING COMPANY
NEW YORK, N.Y.
DECEMBER 29, 1949
Mr. James M. Thurber,
West Cornwall, Conn.
DEAR MR. THURBER:
You will be sorry to hear that Mr. Charteriss was taken suddenly ill with a virus infection. His doctor believes that he lost his immunity during his visit to the West Coast. He is now in the hospital, but his condition is not serious.
Since the departure of Miss Gaines, who was married last week, I have taken over the Stock Order Department for the time being. I did not take the liberty of reading your enclosures in the letter to Mr. Charteriss, but sent them directly to him at the hospital. I am sure that he will be greatly cheered up by them when he is well enough to read. Meanwhile, I want you to know that you can repose all confidence in the Stock Order Department to look after your needs, whatever they may be.
Sincerely yours,
GLADYS MACLEAN
P.S. I learned from Mr. Jordan that you were a friend of Willa Cather’s. Exciting!
COLUMBUS, OHIO
JANUARY 3, 1950
DEAR JAMIE:
I don’t understand the clipping from the Lakeville Journal Helen’s mother sent me, about someone burning all those books of yours in the street. I never heard of such a thing, and don’t understand how they could have taken the books without your knowing it, or what you were doing with so many copies of the novel about the naked grandmother. Imagine, at her age! She couldn’t carry on like that in Columbus, let me tell you. Why, when I was a girl, you didn’t dare walk with a man after sunset, unless he was your husband, and even then there was talk.
It’s a good thing that state policeman came along in time to save most of the books from being completely ruined, and you must be thankful for the note Mr. Jordan put in one of the books, for the policeman would never have known who they belonged to if he hadn’t found it.
A Mrs. Edwards phoned this morning and said that her son Donald collects your books and wants to send them to you—to be autographed, I suppose. Her son has dozens of your books and I told her you simply wouldn’t have time to sign all of them, and she said she didn’t care what you did with them. And then she said they weren’t your books at all, and so I just hung up on her.
Be sure to bundle up when you go out.
With love,
MOTHER
P.S. This Mrs. Edwards says she lives at 568 Oak Street. I told her we used to live there and she said God knows she was aware of that. I don’t know what she meant. I was afraid this little boy would send you all those books to sign and so I told his mother that you and Helen were at The Homestead, in Hot Springs. You don’t suppose he would send them there, do you?
And here, gentle reader, I know you will be glad to leave all of us.
Do You Want to Make Something Out of It?
(OR, IF YOU PUT AN “O” ON “UNDERSTO,” YOU’LL RUIN MY “THUNDERSTORM”)
I’M PROBABLY not the oldest word-game player in the country, and I know I’m not the ablest, but my friends will all testify that I’m the doggedest. (We’ll come back to the word “doggedest” later on.) I sometimes keep on playing the game, all by myself, after it is over and I have gone to bed. On a recent night, tossing and spelling, I spent two hours hunting for another word besides “phlox” that has “hlo” in it. I finally found seven: “matchlock,” “decathlon,” “pentathlon,” “hydrochloric,” “chlorine,” “chloroform,” and “monthlong.” There are more than a dozen others, beginning with “phlo,” but I had to look them up in the dictionary the next morning, and that doesn’t count.
By “the game,” I mean Superghosts, as some of us call it, a difficult variation of the familiar parlor game known as Ghosts. In Ghosts, as everybody knows, one of a group of sedentary players starts with a letter, and the spelling proceeds clockwise around the group until a player spells a word of more than three letters, thus becoming “a third of a ghost,” or two-thirds, or a whole ghost. The game goes on until everyone but the winner has been eliminated. Superghosts differs from the old game in one small, tricky, and often exacerbating respect: The rules allow a player to prefix a letter to the word in progress, thus increasing the flexibility of the indoor sport. If “busines” comes to a player, he does not have to add the final “s”; he can put an “n” in front, and the player who has to add the “e” to “unbusinesslik” becomes part of a ghost. In a recent game in my league, a devious gentleman boldly stuck an “n” in front of “sobsiste,” stoutly maintaining the validity of “unsobsisterlike,” but he was shouted down. There is a lot of shouting in the game, especially when it is played late at night.
Starting words in the middle and spelling them in both directions lifts the pallid pastime of Ghosts out of the realm of children’s parties and ladies’ sewing circles and makes it a game to test the mettle of the mature adult mind. As long ago as 1930, aficionados began to appear in New York parlors, and then the game waned, to be revived, in my circle, last year. The Superghost aficionado is a moody fellow, given to spelling to himself at table, not listening to his wife, and staring dully at his frightened children, wondering why he didn’t detect, in yesterday’s game, that “cklu” is the guts of “lacklustre,” and priding himself on having stumped everybody with “nehe,” the middle of “swineherd.” In this last case, “bonehead” would have done, since we allow slang if it is in the dictionary, but “Stonehenge” is out, because we don’t allow proper nouns. All compound and hyphenated words are privileged, even “jack-o’-lantern” and “love-in-a-mist,” but the speller must indicate
where a hyphen occurs.
Many people, who don’t like word games and just want to sit around and drink and talk, hate Superghosts and wish it were in hell with Knock, Knock, Who’s There? The game is also tough on bad spellers, poor visualizers, mediocre concentrators, ladies and gentlemen of small vocabulary, and those who are, to use a word presently popular with the younger drinking set, clobbered. I remember the night a bad speller, female, put an “m” on “ale,” thinking, as she later confessed, that “salamander” is spelled with two “e”s. The next player could have gone to “alemb”—the word “alembic” turns up a lot—but he made it “alema” and was promptly challenged. (You can challenge a player if you think he is bluffing.) What the challenged player had in mind was “stalemate.” The man who had challenged him got sore, because he hadn’t thought of “stalemate,” and went home. More than one game has ended in hard feelings, but I have never seen players come to blows, or friendships actually broken.
I said we would get back to “doggedest,” and here we are. This word, if it is a word, caused a lot of trouble during one game, when a lady found “ogged” in her lap, refused to be bogged, dogged, fogged, jogged, or logged, and added an “e.” She was challenged and lost, since Webster’s unabridged dictionary is accepted as the final judge and authority, and while it gives “doggedly” and “doggedness,” it doesn’t give “doggedest.” She could also have got out of “ogged” with an “r” in front, for “frogged” is a good word, and also what might be called a lady’s word, but she stuck doggedly to “doggedest.” Then there was the evening a dangerous and exasperating player named Bert Mitchell challenged somebody’s “dogger.” The challenged man had “doggerel” in mind, of course, but Mitchell said, in his irritating voice, “You have spelled a word. ‘Dogger’ is a word,” and he flipped through the unabridged dictionary, which he reads for pleasure and always has on his lap during a game. “Dogger” is indeed a word, and quite a word. Look it up yourself.