Dear Ken,
It was lovely to have your letter—I’ve been so glad to know that Margaret was feeling improved all the time in health and spirits, and hoping this would all be proved out fine by the tests as she finished them—And that you’ll both be relieved and comfortably back to work soon—
We must talk about the Russians when I get there—I feel now I can come—if all bodes well. It was so deeply thoughtful of you to write as you did about the ticket. It’s true I’ve had unusual expenses, but I’m taking on some extra work, and in the same mail with your letter another chance arrived to add to it—I haven’t answered Barny Conrad’s invitation yet but I will—
How does Pushkin go? Do you know I’ve never yet read him? Even worse, I’ve never read Tolstoy. (Not many people know this about me.) It’s just that I gravitate so strongly toward Chekhov & Turgenev that I never deserted them for that grandeur—I feel I still have time—which I guess I’ll go on feeling till it’s every bit gone—
But working as I am, hard every day, I feel on the contrary I have no time at all—Trying to do reviews, Chekhov & my new story (which may be more than a story, as of now) & various chores—yet I feel happy, as I always do when working—and I know you feel the same—
Thank you for reading my Faulkner review—Antaeus has come—thank you again. But just the announcement copy they sent saying the subscription was to start, which has a piece your friend Matthew Broccoli found by Fitzgerald, I know you saw it, but not your article yet. Reynolds told me you’d written him a wonderful letter. I felt so glad that you saw that in his Time piece, that insight into its Southern meaning. But you understand us. I’m glad Bob Easton liked it as well. I’ll be seeing Reynolds on March 17, when I read at Duke—He seems in very good spirits.
I’m hoping everything will go fine & keep on going fine—I’m glad you think it’s a good idea—my coming to Santa Barbara again. I can be thinking of it. Love, Eudora
P.S. I see that, not surprisingly, Herb Harker’s novel is dedicated to you.5 I tried to do a bit for the jacket or whatever for Random, which I hope will suit, because I like what he did—
Kenneth Millar to Eudora Welty, February 21, 1977
Dear Eudora:
It’s good and heartening news that you feel able to come to Santa Barbara again this summer. I mentioned it to the Conrads and they are of course delighted, and will take care of the cost of your hotel room as before. And I’ll be glad to help as needed, and as you know. We’ll all be so happy to see you, especially me.
Margaret is definitely feeling better and seems to have lost the wheeze which was her most bothersome symptom. Her doctors are going to look at her with a bronchoscope on Tuesday (Feb 22) and, I hope, determine the cause of her symptoms. M. isn’t wholly sanguine nor is she afraid, either; nor do the doctors appear to be. But we’ll be glad to have the puzzle solved. Today we had a lunch in celebration of other good news. My son-in-law Joe who has been out of a job for three months—he’s a corporate engineer—got a new job last week, with a better firm, and at a twenty percent raise in salary. I never saw Jimmie happier, and Joe’s celebrated further by swimming about a mile in heavy surf.
I’m glad Reynolds felt my letter was okay. I wanted to thank him for his beautiful work in several fields on behalf of all of us. He remembers that we are a young country, and reminds us, like Chekhov, to take care. Like you, I prefer Chekhov to Tolstoy, almost to anyone. (So, surprisingly, did Thomas Mann.)
Our love, as always, and please give my warmest regards to Reynolds when you see him in March. Ever,
Ken
Eudora Welty to Kenneth Millar, March 3, 1977
Dear Ken,
Of course every time I think of you, it’s with the hope things are all right—that the news Margaret gets from her doctors is reassuring, and that she’s kept on feeling better as time goes on. No one can help feeling anxiety where the lungs are concerned until the reason for any trace is known, of course, so I hope you both have been relieved of that by now—
I was glad to get your letter—It was fine to know of other good luck in the family, your nice son-in-law’s new and better job, and Jim’s happiness over it. In this crazy winter weather, I try to keep up with what it’s doing where my friends live, like keeping up with a barnyard of distracted chickens—so I keep up with your rains, and so on. Somebody told me Santa Barbara doesn’t have the droughts the more northern parts have, and this seems proper. Santa Barbara is different and more deserving, I feel personally, and deserves every drop.
Here we have the more usual gamut. One day I was breathing all the topsoil of Oklahoma when I stepped outside. We had in Jackson in three days, tornado watch, tornado warnings (escaped this), flash floods, and a hail storm and a dust storm. The local TV weathermen described the dust storm as “an unusual phenomenon.” (The other things were usual phenomena). Today it’s raining, windy and dark, with a tornado watch. I’m only nervous to think it could blow all my story away. But in Miss. we live under the possibility of tornadoes as you do to some extent under earthquakes—So!
Ken, I did deeply appreciate your thoughtfulness of me about the ticket. I wouldn’t have hesitated to accept with thanks had I needed that help, or any other. But having taken on these lecture jobs, I am OK. It’s really a piece of marvelous luck that the colleges still ask me, because I’d said no to all for a good many years. But it’s working out fine. And I didn’t take on too many. Enough is enough. And I’m managing to get my writing in. I was planning on paying for my hotel in Santa Barbara anyway, as I did both years I was there. (My conscience wouldn’t let me stay at the Conference’s expense though they offered, because I stayed for the chance to see you.) So this year it will be just a swap, between them & me.
Your letter must have meant a great deal to Reynolds. The fact that you sat down and did such a thing is so warming to think about. That goodness is so much a part of you. I am due in North Carolina 2 weeks from today, the 17th. Reynolds has asked me to come out & stay with him for the last part of the weekend, when the work’s over, and I probably shall. I have some kin there, too—some of my mother’s Virginia cousins, who’re dear to me, and I’ll have the chance to see them too.
A very nice letter to me came from your friend Ralph Sipper—he said he liked my Faulkner review.
I don’t know if you think anything of Joan Fleming—she is uneven as can be—but one I just finished last night, To Make an Underworld, I thought so well done, and I also distinctly got the feeling she’d been reading Henry Green.6 He’s very catching—
My best wishes for everything to be fine there—
Much love,
Eudora
The next two letters crossed in the mail.
Eudora Welty, Durham, NC, to Kenneth Millar, [March 19, 1977]
Dear Ken,
I’m writing this in Reynolds’s house—just to say we’ve been speaking of you a lot and to send love. Through the literature panel on the Endowment, one of whom had asked you about a project over the phone, we heard that Margaret had had surgery—and both of us are so sorry, and hoping things are going now in the very best possible way there—I wish I could help.
It’s lovely in this part of the country—the spring is about 2 weeks behind Jackson, so I’m seeing that first veil of gold & green in the treetops—Reynolds’s house is right in the woods—he has forsythia out, and daffodils in bloom all under the trees—He’s a good cook. The record player is on Mozart. I did 2 jobs at Duke, read for the Friends of the Library and answered questions etc. for his writing class—Nice people he has round him here, and they value him in a very satisfying way to me.
Love to you and all good hopes for things to go well now with Margaret—please tell her for me. Take care of yourself too. Reynolds sends love. Don’t try to write when things are pressing—You know we’re in touch.
Tomorrow is the first day of spring—A good sign—
Yours ever,
Eudora
Kenneth Millar to E
udora Welty, [March 1977]
Dear Eudora:
I have been slow in answering your loving letter. It is not for want of news but because things have been happening quickly here. Margaret’s lung operation was completely successful according to the surgeon and other doctors. After ten days in the hospital, which terminated last Wednesday, she was sprung and came home. We decided to go it alone with the help, of course, of regular medical visits, and as of this Saturday night it appears to be working. Margaret is moving well though rather painfully around the house and the flat places of the yard. She has her birds around her, and her dogs, and the promise of years of life. According to the several doctors involved, the cancer in her lung was excised completely and requires no further treatment. If she continues to build up her strength, as she will, she can swim in six weeks. Her only outward mark is a slanting foot-long scar across her back which I find rather attractive. Of course she’s in considerable pain but she stands it well. She loves her life. So do I. And by the time we see you here in Santa Barbara, the whole painful thing will be in the past. I’m so glad you’re coming! Love, Ken
Eudora Welty to Kenneth Millar, March 21, [1977]
Dear Ken,
Your letter so filled with relief and rejoicing brought the good news about Margaret—I’m so glad to know how very well it’s all turned out—and how happily things are arranged now so that she can recuperate completely at home, with the right birds around her—and everything. Soon she’ll be swimming—and soon be going back to her book (if she hasn’t already).
I have a little background in this because my brother Walter had a third of one lung removed and I went down to New Orleans to be with him and his wife during that time. I know it’s a hell of an operation. So I know how fine this news really is, and I can feel with you in that too. And do.
This is just a line but I wanted to say how happy I am that all is well—Love and wishes to you both,
Eudora
Eudora Welty to Kenneth Millar, April 20, 1977
Dear Ken,
It’s a morning of soft rain, not torrential the way we had it earlier—I’m sitting in the car and finding it nice just to sit & listen, and look into the green light of the trees just come into their full leaf—(I’d started work so early.) (But a mockingbird was earlier—he woke me up singing at 3:45 AM!)
All keeps going well there, I’m hoping and trusting. It’s good to know that all the painful time & the worry and all are behind you now. I hope Margaret is getting back her strength faster all the time.
My travels and assorted tasks are keeping me at it without a stop these days—Atlanta (Agnes Scott College) is where I was last. Beginning May 5 I go to Cornell, New York, Georgia again, Washington (Arts Council meeting) & back, the 15th, all work but for the 3-day breather in New York. After that I have 3 more places to go before I get to come to Santa Barbara. I’ll hear from you before then, won’t I, to be sure it’s still going to be a good time for seeing you & Margaret—I’ll be so glad to see you.
Now I’ll get back to it—Is it the Peter Principle that says everything takes just exactly as much time as the time you’ve got to do it in? That’s the case with my Chekhov paper—I’ve had a year to do it in, but I bet I’m still typing the last of it when the morning comes to take off. I don’t care, because I love him. I’ll bring you “The Duel” when I come. You don’t have much extra time now to read, I can imagine, but by June everything will be easy I hope. My best wishes for her good breath to Margaret & love to you both, Eudora
Kenneth Millar to Eudora Welty, April 27, 1977
Dear Eudora:
There is no reason in the world why you shouldn’t come to Santa Barbara for the Writers’ Conference, and from our point of view every reason why you should. Margaret and I love to see you. And while M is not completely back to normal—final healing takes longer than the two months she has had since her operation—her somewhat less than normal is, like yours, quite awe-inspiring. She’s swimming and biking and looking after the house and keeping track of her friends and getting up early (like you!) to write her book. And we’re both looking forward keenly to your visit, along with the many other friends you have made here.
Just had a phone call from Bob Easton, back from a long weekend in the mountains in search of condors. His party saw no condors, though they still survive back of here, but did see three golden eagles. Have I mentioned to you that U of N. Mexico Press is reprinting Bob’s early novel, The Happy Man, about life on a western ranch. I think you might like it; I think it’s a quiet masterpiece.
So far I can’t fault Jimmie [Carter]; I like his style and brains and ideas. He’ll change the country back to itself if anyone can.
Our own Jim is now fourteen and very nice to have around, as he was this past weekend. Putting on inches and getting serious, but not too.
Love, Ken
Kenneth Millar to Eudora Welty, May 16, 1977
Dear Eudora:
You were very much in my thoughts this past week. Dick Moore and his excellent little movie crew were here for six days and not only was there much talk of you but they brought along the movie they’d made of you. I thought its colors were true, didn’t you? I took great pleasure in seeing it and now remembering it, a foretaste of your visit next month. You looked exceedingly well.
Margaret is improving every week, and taking pleasure in life—biking, swimming, writing—but last week was not one of her best. For some reason unknown at the time, she suddenly suffered an almost total loss of hearing in her left ear. We were alarmed by the idea that the defunct cancer was spreading after all. But it turned out not to be so. Margaret’s doctor reasoned or guessed that the hearing loss was connected to an arterial spasm like that which causes M’s migraine attacks, and he prescribed an anti-spasm drug. A few days ago it began to work! and Margaret has now recovered most of her hearing; it improves every day!
But the week with Dick Moore didn’t end as happily for him and his wife as it did for us. The second-last evening, Friday, the evening he showed me your film, Dick’s wife Ruth whispered to me that she was very eager to talk to Margaret (who doesn’t go out nights) and gave me her reason: “I have the same thing Margaret had, and Dick doesn’t know.” I passed this on to Margaret and the following day she arranged to spend some time with Ruth, and I think was able to encourage her. We hope to hear from them.
Margaret is writing, as I said, getting along towards the middle of Aragon # 2; but I’m still in the plotting stage and probably won’t attempt regular writing until life is back to normal. I’ve written enough words not to feel too guilty, and been worried enough to look forward to a further lifting.
It will be so good to see you.
Love,
Ken
Eudora Welty to Kenneth Millar, May 17, 1977
Dear Ken,
It’s been good knowing that everything was going so very well there, and also knowing I’d soon be there too & seeing for myself. Now it’s only a month away tomorrow that I light out for Santa Barbara. (I just made my flight reservations while I was home between a couple of other trips.)
It’s been such a crowded time, doing lectures, going to Council on the Arts meeting, etc., that I haven’t had the time or strength to write a letter. (I live on nervous energy, and if it acts like all the energy that’s giving us so much trouble, I better watch it!) It’s been nice though, everywhere—I had a lovely time in Cornell, a part of the country I love—the Finger Lakes, hills, mountains, old glacier country—7 waterfalls I saw riding around Ithaca!—And a professor, James McConkey, who is a wonderful person—he’s the one who took a chance on me, asking me to do a talk on Chekhov7—He himself has written a book on E. M. Forster, and some short stories that the New Yorker published.—Nona B. asked about you in N.Y. and so did Joan Kahn & Walter Clemons—
But I can tell you my news when I see you. And of course I want to know how the interview went with Dick Moore & Phil—I loved being with them—they do such an expert
job, a pleasure watching them work—I found them sensitive to all that was new to them, too. Phil I felt this in in particular. I got the message you sent me through Dick when he called up, and was so glad for the latest added news of you & Margaret, that you were finding it easy to fit in the interview. So I knew days were back on their normal flow. I’m so glad for you.
I’ll drop you a later line when I get back from St. Louis—Kent State & Harvard—No, I go to Harvard just before I come to S.B., but coming home first, to get my slacks & walking shoes8—Give Margaret my best. I’ll hope to see you both soon now—Love, Eudora
Eudora Welty to Kenneth Millar, June 4, 1977
Dear Ken,
Thank you for your letter—which I believe crossed mine to you. I look forward so much to seeing you soon.
I hope that was the last scare that ever will arise out of that experience, and that Margaret is fine now and hearing well as ever. I was so sorry to hear of what it must have put you both through—The fact that it was the week you were making your film wouldn’t have made it any easier. Did you finish it, by the way, or will you help later on?
I’ll be anxious to see it myself, but of course all their work needs a lot of time—And I do hope Ruth Moore isn’t in a bad way—It was good of Margaret to try to help her—
The film they made here I’m pleased you liked. As you could see, they are people you can respond to—a big help. I made mine the spring before I came the first time to Santa Barbara, so it seems a long while ago now. (I was interrupted here)
No wonder you have not got far yet with the actual writing of another book. I hope all is propitious now, though. I won’t be coming at the wrong time, I trust. You will let me know.
This time I can’t reach there the first day, as I have to go up to Harvard first. They’re giving me an honorary degree, but don’t tell this, they say. I’ll come straight back here & switch suitcases, and expect to arrive at Santa Barbara on the Saturday, on United from L.A., about 4:30 PM—It would be lovely to have an early glimpse of you & Margaret. I notice they put us to work on the same day.
Meanwhile There Are Letters Page 37