More Letters of Note

by Shaun Usher

  The other day my kind Althea said there was a baby-soul in the 1st division from New Hampshire, which had left her kind regards for me at the general intelligence office of the heavenly United States. It was chorus day so I could not go, but I am to see her tomorrow if she is advanced enough to receive visitors. It takes about ten days to get our beautiful plumage in order.

  If you keep as you are I shall be able (Althea says) to write again in three months. I send you much love–also to pop!

  Your loving son

  Paul Revere

  We use the word ‘pop’ here for papa or father very much

  Letter No. 041

  CAT FANCY

  AYN RAND TO CAT FANCY MAGAZINE

  March 20th, 1966

  As well as writing such novels as Atlas Shrugged and The Fountainhead, Russian-American author Ayn Rand was also responsible for developing the anti-altruistic, pro-selfishness philosophy that ran through them which she later called Objectivism, its core belief being that man’s “highest moral purpose is the achievement of his own happiness, and that he must not force other people, nor accept their right to force him, that each man must live as an end in himself and follow his own rational self-interest”. Ayn Rand also subscribed to Cat Fancy magazine, and in 1966 replied to a question from its editor.

  March 20, 1966

  Dear Miss Smith,

  You ask whether I own cats or simply enjoy them, or both. The answer is: both. I love cats in general and own two in particular.

  You ask: “We are assuming that you have an interest in cats, or was your subscription strictly objective?” My subscription was strictly objective because I have an interest in cats. I can demonstrate objectively that cats are of a great value, and the charter issue of Cat Fancy magazine can serve as part of the evidence. (“Objective” does not mean “disinterested” or indifferent; it means corresponding to the facts of reality and applies both to knowledge and to values.)

  I subscribed to Cat Fancy primarily for the sake of the pictures, and found the charter issue very interesting and enjoyable.

  Ayn Rand

  Letter No. 042

  NEW FANGLED WRITING MACHINE

  SAMUEL CLEMENS TO ORION CLEMENS

  December 9th, 1874

  Few authors have made an impact as enduring as literary icon Samuel Clemens, a man who, under his pen name, Mark Twain, wrote such classics as Adventures of Huckleberry Finn, a book which has been read by many millions of people around the world since its publication in 1884. It was ten years earlier, whilst shopping in Boston, that a curious Clemens spotted and then bought a Remington No.1, the very first “type writer” to be produced by E. Remington and Sons, released to the public that year. The first letter he wrote on his “new fangled writing machine” – which, incidentally, could only produce upper-case characters – was to his brother, Orion. Nine years after this letter was typed, Twain became the first author to deliver a typewritten manuscript to a publisher. It was his memoir, Life on the Mississippi.

  BJUYT KIOP N LKJHGFDSA:QWERTYUIOP:_–98VX5432QW RT

  HA

  HARTFORD, DEC. 9, 1874

  DEAR BROTHER:

  I AM TRYING T TO GET THE HANG OF THIS NEW F FANGLED WRITING MACHINE, BUT AM NOT MAKING A SHINING SUCCESS OF IT. HOWEVER THIS IS THE FIRST ATTEMPT I EVER HAVE MADE, & YET I PERCEIVETHAT I SHALL SOON & EASILY ACQUIRE A FINE FACILITY IN ITS USE. I SAW THE THING IN BOSTON THE OTHER DAY & WAS GREATLY TAKEN WI:TH IT. SUSIE HAS STRUCK THE KEYS ONCE OR TWICE, & NO DOUBT HAS PRINTED SOME LETTERS WHICH DO NOT BELONG WHERE SHE PUT THEM. THE HAVING BEEN A COMPOSITOR IS LIKELY TO BE A GREAT HELP TO ME, SINCE O NE CHIEFLY NEEDS SWIFTNESS IN BANGING THE KEYS. THE MACHINE COSTS 125 DOLLARS. THE MACHINE HAS SEVERAL VIRTUES I BELIEVE IT WILL PRINT FASTER THAN I CAN WRITE. ONE MAY LEAN BACK IN HIS CHAIR & WORK IT. IT PILES AN AWFUL STACK OF WORDS ON ONE PAGE. IT DONT MUSS THINGS OR SCATTER INK BLOTS AROUND. OF COURSE IT SAVES PAPER.

  SUSIE IS GONE, NOW, & I FANCY I SHALL MAKE BETTER PROGRESS. WORKING THIS TYPE-WRITER REMINDS ME OF OLD ROBERT BUCHANAN, WHO, YOU REMEMBER, USED TO SET UP ARTICLES AT THE CASE WITHOUT PREVIOUSLY PUTTING THEM IN THE FORM OF MANUSCRIPT. I WAS LOST IN ADMIRATION OF SUCH MARVELOUS INTELLECTUAL CAPACITY.

  LOVE TO MOLLIE.

  YOUR BROTHER,

  SAM.

  Letter No. 043

  AMERICA’S YOUNGEST AMBASSADOR

  SAMANTHA SMITH TO YURI ANDROPOV

  November, 1982

  In November 1982, a 10-year-old American schoolgirl named Samantha Smith wrote to the General Secretary of the Communist Party of the Soviet Union, Yuri Andropov, and spoke of her fear of a nuclear war breaking out between their countries. Somehow her letter, addressed simply to the Kremlin, subsequently found its way to the offices of the Communist newspaper, Pravda, in which it was soon printed; then, months later, she received a lengthy reply from Andropov himself, which included an invitation to the Soviet Union. Indeed, she took him up on the offer and travelled to Moscow with her family in July of 1983. On returning, she was a minor celebrity. In fact, her visit was so successful, she was invited to Japan in December to meet the country’s Prime Minister, Yasuhiro Nakasone.

  Sadly, Samantha died in 1985 when the plane in which she and her father were flying clipped some trees as it approached the runway. Her funeral was attended by thousands.

  Samantha Smith with the English translation of her letter from Yuri Andropov, 1982

  Dear Mr. Andropov,

  My name is Samantha Smith. I am ten years old. Congratulations on your new job. I have been worrying about Russia and the United States getting into a nuclear war. Are you going to vote to have a war or not? If you aren’t please tell me how you are going to help to not have a war. This question you do not have to answer, but I would like to know why you want to conquer the world or at least our country. God made the world for us to live together in peace and not to fight.

  Sincerely,

  Samantha Smith

  * * *

  Dear Samantha,

  I received your letter, as well as so many others coming to me these days from your country, and from other countries of the world.

  It seems to me – and I take it from your letter, – that you are a courageous and honest girl, resembling in some ways my Becky – Tom Sawyer’s friend from the well-known book of your compatriot Mark Twain. All kids in our country – boys and girls alike – know and love this book.

  You write that you are worried about our two countries going into a nuclear war, and you ask whether we do something to prevent it.

  You question is the most important of those that take to the heart of every person.

  I will respond to it in an earnest and serious manner.

  Yes, Samantha, we in the Soviet Union endeavour and do everything so that there be no war between our two countries, so that there be no war at all on Earth. This is the wish of everyone in the Soviet Union. That’s what we were taught to do by Vladimir Lenin, the great founder of our state.

  Soviet people well know what a terrible thing war is. Forty-two years ago, Nazi Germany, which strove for supremacy over the whole world, attacked our country, burned and destroyed many thousands of our towns and villages, killed millions of Soviet men, women and children.

  In that war, which ended with our victory, we were in alliance with the United States: together we fought for the liberation of many people from the Nazi invaders. I hope that you know about this from your history lessons in school.

  And today we want very much to live in peace, to trade and cooperate with all our neighbors on this earth – with those far away and those near by. And certainly with such a great country as the United States of America.

  In America and in our country there are nuclear weapons – terrible weapons that can kill millions of people in an instant. But we do not want them to be ever used. That’s precisely why the Soviet Union solemnly declared throughout the entire world that never – never – will it use nuclear weapons first against any country. In general we propose
to discontinue further production of them and to proceed to the abolition of all the stockpiles on Earth.

  It seems to me that this is a sufficient answer to your second question: ‘Why do you want to wage war against the whole world or at least the United States?’ We want nothing of the kind. No one in our country – neither workers, peasants, writers nor doctors, neither grown-ups nor children, nor members of the government – want either a big or ‘little’ war.

  We want peace – there is something that we are occupied with: growing wheat, building and inventing, writing books and flying into space. We want peace for ourselves and for all peoples of the planet. For our children and for you, Samantha.

  I invite you, if your parents will let you, to come to our country, the best time being this summer. You will find out about our country, meet with your contemporaries, visit an international children’s camp – Artek – on the sea. And see for yourself: in the Soviet Union, everyone is for peace and friendship among peoples.

  Thank you for your letter. I wish you all the best in your young life.

  Y. Andropov

  Letter No. 044

  SLEEP WELL MY LOVE

  BRIAN KEITH TO DAVE

  Date unknown

  In June of 1940, little under a year after World War II began, Italy joined forces with Nazi Germany, a development which resulted in the war spreading to North Africa until the Allied’ victory in May of 1943. Five months later, still stationed in North Africa, two soldiers met, fell in love, and imagined one day returning home together. Sadly, that never happened as only Brian made the journey. He penned this love letter long after leaving the war, in memory of the first time he heard his lover’s voice; it was reprinted in September of 1961 by ONE Magazine, a groundbreaking pro-gay magazine first published in 1953.

  Dear Dave,

  This is in memory of an anniversary — the anniversary of October 27th, 1943, when I first heard you singing in North Africa. That song brings memories of the happiest times I’ve ever known. Memories of a GI show troop — curtains made from barrage balloons — spotlights made from cocoa cans — rehearsals that ran late into the evenings — and a handsome boy with a wonderful tenor voice. Opening night at a theatre in Canastel — perhaps a bit too much muscatel, and someone who understood. Exciting days playing in the beautiful and stately Municipal Opera House in Oran — a misunderstanding — an understanding in the wings just before opening chorus.

  Drinks at “Coq d’or” — dinner at the “Auberge” — a ring and promise given. The show 1st Armoured — muscatel, scotch, wine — someone who had to be carried from the truck and put to bed in his tent. A night of pouring rain and two very soaked GIs beneath a solitary tree on an African plain. A borrowed French convertible — a warm sulphur spring, the cool Mediterranean, and a picnic of “rations” and hot cokes. Two lieutenants who were smart enough to know the score, but not smart enough to realize that we wanted to be alone. A screwball piano player — competition — miserable days and lonely nights. The cold, windy night we crawled through the window of a GI theatre and fell asleep on a cot backstage, locked in each other’s arms — the shock when we awoke and realized that miraculously we hadn’t been discovered. A fast drive to a cliff above the sea — pictures taken, and a stop amid the purple grapes and cool leaves of a vineyard.

  The happiness when told we were going home — and the misery when we learned that we would not be going together. Fond goodbyes on a secluded beach beneath the star-studded velvet of an African night, and the tears that would not be stopped as I stood atop the sea-wall and watched your convoy disappear over the horizon.

  We vowed we’d be together again “back home,” but fate knew better — you never got there. And so, Dave, I hope that where ever you are these memories are as precious to you as they are to me.

  Goodnight, sleep well my love.

  Brian Keith

  Letter No. 045

  THIS IS MY LAST VISIT

  WILLIAM BURROUGHS TO TRUMAN CAPOTE

  July 23rd, 1970

  In 1966, a few months after first being serialised in The New Yorker, Truman Capote’s genre-defining non-fiction novel In Cold Blood, the true story of a quadruple murder in 1959 that Capote investigated and the subsequent trial he attended, was published to huge acclaim. Capote’s book was a sensation and is still one of the most successful true crime titles of all time, but the praise wasn’t universal. In July of 1970, fellow author William Burroughs – someone with whom Capote had long had a mutually disapproving relationship from afar – wrote this damning letter to Capote and warned him that his time in the spotlight was up.

  William Burroughs, famed BEAT writer, shooting target practice, 1987

  July 23, 1970

  My Dear Mr. Truman Capote

  This is not a fan letter in the usual sense — unless you refer to ceiling fans in Panama. Rather call this a letter from “the reader” — vital statistics are not in capital letters — a selection from marginal notes on material submitted as all “writing” is submitted to this department. I have followed your literary development from its inception, conducting on behalf of the department I represent a series of inquiries as exhaustive as your own recent investigations in the sun flower state. I have interviewed all your characters beginning with Miriam — in her case withholding sugar over a period of several days proved sufficient inducement to render her quite communicative — I prefer to have all the facts at my disposal before taking action. Needless to say, I have read the recent exchange of genialities between Mr Kenneth Tynan and yourself. I feel that he was much too lenient. Your recent appearance before a senatorial committee on which occasion you spoke in favor of continuing the present police practice of extracting confessions by denying the accused the right of consulting consul prior to making a statement also came to my attention. In effect you were speaking in approval of standard police procedure: obtaining statements through brutality and duress, whereas an intelligent police force would rely on evidence rather than enforced confessions. You further cheapened yourself by reiterating the banal argument that echoes through letters to the editor whenever the issue of capital punishment is raised: “Why all this sympathy for the murderer and none for his innocent victims?” I have in line of duty read all your published work. The early work was in some respects promising — I refer particularly to the short stories. You were granted an area for psychic development. It seemed for a while as if you would make good use of this grant. You choose instead to sell out a talent that is not yours to sell. You have written a dull unreadable book which could have been written by any staff writer on the New Yorker — (an undercover reactionary periodical dedicated to the interests of vested American wealth). You have placed your services at the disposal of interests who are turning America into a police state by the simple device of deliberately fostering the conditions that give rise to criminality and then demanding increased police powers and the retention of capital punishment to deal with the situation they have created. You have betrayed and sold out the talent that was granted you by this department. That talent is now officially withdrawn. Enjoy your dirty money. You will never have anything else. You will never write another sentence above the level of In Cold Blood. As a writer you are finished. Over and out. Are you tracking me? Know who I am? You know me, Truman. You have known me for a long time. This is my last visit.

  Letter No. 046

  BROWN IS AS PRETTY AS WHITE

  W. E. B. DU BOIS TO YOLANDE DU BOIS

  October 29th, 1914

  W. E. B. Du Bois accomplished more than most during a lifetime rich with admirable achievements. In 1895, he became the first African American to earn a PhD at Harvard; he co-founded, in 1909, the National Association for the Advancement of Colored People, an organisation that has fought tirelessly for racial equality since its inception; his influential 1903 book on race, The Souls of Black Folk, is considered a classic in its field. Such was his contribution that in 1976, the land on which his family home once
stood was recognised by the US government as a National Historic Landmark. In 1914, his soon-to-be 14-year-old daughter, Yolande, left the family home to study at Bedales School in England. Soon after she arrived, he wrote to her with some words of advice.

  American educator and writer W. E. B. Du Bois

  New York, October 29, 1914

  Dear Little Daughter:

  I have waited for you to get well settled before writing. By this time I hope some of the strangeness has worn off and that my little girl is working hard and regularly.

  Of course, everything is new and unusual. You miss the newness and smartness of America. Gradually, however, you are going to sense the beauty of the old world: its calm and eternity and you will grow to love it.