Finally, a word about the notes in this volume. My own relationship with Mr. Gaddis and some of his friends, as well as other critics of his work, necessitated a more prevalent use of the first person in the annotations than is usually found in collections such as this, which some readers may find intrusive and self-serving. I have tried to keep such incursions to a minumum, but felt that the syntactic acrobatics necessary to avoid them entirely would have resulted in equally objectionable stiltedness.
Abbreviations
AA =Agapē Agape
CG =Carpenter’s Gothic
FHO =A Frolic of His Own, the first American and British editions, not the repaginated paperback.
ODQ =The Oxford Dictionary of Quotations (London: Oxford University Press, 1949, 6th impression). This often-used reference book was given to WG in 1950 by Ormande de Kay in Paris.
R =The Recognitions, sometimes cited by part/chapter (e.g., III.5)
RSP =The Rush for Second Place
WG =William Gaddis
WG at Merricourt, c. 1928, “that blond pageboy” second from left in the foreground (see letter of 9 November 1994).
1. Growing Up, 1930–1946
To Edith Gaddis
[WG’s mother, née Edith Charles (1900–69); see WG’s capsule biography of her in his letter of 14 March 1994. In 1922 she married William T. Gaddis (1899–1965), but they separated about four years later. WG’s earliest letters date from 1929, when he was attending the Merricourt School in Berlin, CT. Most are addressed to Mrs. Gaddis’s work address: 130 E. 15th St., New York, NY, the office of the New York Steam Corporation, which later merged with ConEdison. (Her work there was the subject of a feature in the New York Times: 6 April 1941, Society News, D4.) The first two are included because they refer to his first “book,” his earliest reading, and document his first creative effort.]
Merricourt
Dec. 9, 1930
Dear Mother.
Our vacation is from Sat. Dec. 20. to January 4.
We are making scrapbooks and lots of things. We are learning about the Greek Gods.
I am making an airplane book.
With love
Billy
To Edith Gaddis
Merricourt
Jan. 23rd, 1932
Dear Mother.
[...] We just came back from the library but I didn’t get any books.
I finished Bomba the Jungle Boy and I have started Bomba the Jungle Boy at the Moving Mountain. I wrote a poem and it went like this
Easter
Easter is on Sunday
But today is Monday
And Easter is 11 weeks away
At Easter the bunny hides eggs all over,
Some in the grass, some in the clover.
Did you like it
With love
Billy
Bomba the Jungle Boy [...] Moving Mountain: the first two (both published 1926) in a series of boys’ adventure novels by the pseudonymous Roy Rockwood.
To Edith Gaddis
[Most of WG’s early letters home are brief, cheerful bulletins about school activities, but the following one about the three-hour train-ride between New York City and Berlin conveys some of the anxiety that Jack Gibbs recalls of his boarding-school days in J R: “—End of the day alone on that train, lights coming on in those little Connecticut towns stop and stare out at an empty street corner dry cheese sandwich charge you a dollar wouldn’t even put butter on it, finally pull into that desolate station scared to get off scared to stay on [...] school car waiting there like a, black Reo touring car waiting there like a God damned open hearse think anybody expect to grow up . . .” (119).]
Merricourt
Oct. 24, 1933
Dear Mother.
I got here safely, but got mixed up because it was dark and didn’t think [it] was Berlin. Carl, Warren, and David were there to meet me and we enjoyed the rest of the Oh-Henry. The darn train stopped up over the bridge to let another one pass it and I was wondering where the station was when we started up and rode by the station (nearly) and the boys had to race with the train. [...]
With love Billy
To Edith Gaddis
[After Merricourt, WG attended public school on Long Island from seventh through twelfth grades. In the summer of 1940, he sailed to the Caribbean on the SS Bacchus, the first of many voyages he would make throughout the Western hemisphere over the next dozen years.]
Port-au-Prince, Haiti
[24 August 1940]
Dear Mother.
Well everything is coming along fine. I was pretty under the weather the first 2 days out but after that fine. The other passengers are fine especially 4 of the men who are swell. And the crew are too. I have become the bos’n’s “apprentice.” He has taught me to splice rope etc. and is a corker. A good part of the crew are colored but they’re OK too.
As I write this it is 5 AM and we are lying in at Port-au-Price. I slept on the bridge last nite and this morning got up early and am watching the sunrise over the mountains to the east of the town. Last nite 3 of the men (passengers) and I went ashore and saw a little of Haitian nite-life, of which we saw very little. All the stores were closed as they didn’t expect the ship ’til this morning so the town was almost dead. Mr Romondi’s prophecy, however, has come true. There are a good many palm trees on the island and I was under one last nite.
The town is quite beautiful with the mountain behind it and all the white buildings and a flaming cloud to the right and the sun rising to the left.
We go ashore this morning to the souvenir shops etc. Oh boy!
We lift anchor at 10 AM for Aruba or La Guiara—I forget which.
I read Black Majesty—a fellow on the boat has it.
Hope I don’t get stuck in a record store in Port-au-Prince and miss the boat—
Love
Bill
Mr Romondi: unidentified.
La Guiara: on the coast of Venezuela, WG’s next port-of-call.
Black Majesty: a biography of Henri Christophe, king of Haiti (1767–1820), by John W. Vandercook (1928).
Left: WG piloting the SS Bacchus, 1940.
Right: Edith Gaddis, 1941 (Times Wide World).
To Edith Gaddis
[WG entered Harvard in September 1941, but almost immediately began experiencing medical problems. (Thirty years later he recalled it as mononucleosis.) As a result, he left after the first term and headed west for his health.]
Harvard University
Cambridge, Massachusetts
[10 September 1941]
Dear Mother.
First the business before I forget and then the news. As you can see a typewriter ribbon will be welcome at the first opportunity, and then there is the problem of the desk lamp. They have nice ones like my room mate’s at the Coop for $5.98, but if you can get one and send it all right; any how I think it must be settled soon as classes start today and they are starting assignments off with a bang. Also I understand that note books seem to be required to some extent in many of the courses, so if you happen on one it will be welcome up here. I have been spending to a fair extent, having gotten all of my books and other little things such as writing paper, joining the Coop, etc., and so the latest contribution was very welcome. And speaking of contributions, have you heard anything from the Christy affair?
I’ve had two classes: in English and French, and you should see the assignments. Boy, they aren’t waiting for anything. The food is good so far, and with classes starting we are beginning to get settled down to a more regular life. Boy it is really some life, and promises to become more so to the nth degree. We are beginning to realize just about what the courses are going to be, how much work connected with them, etc. Although my course is not a stiff one, and the courses aren’t as hard as they are dry, uninteresting, and only requirements, I am looking forward very apprehensively to the Latin course, in which my classes start tomorrow. V (my room mate just did this—for Victory—in the November hour exams I guess).
>
I guess you got my card asking for the jacket; I was figuring I might take it down to this Max Keezer and get a trade in on that corduroy jacket which I think is going to be the thing to wear to classes.
Well, that’s about all, I guess; I’ll write and let you know how things are when we get really settled.
Love,
Bill
the Christy affair: Christy was a boyhood friend, otherwise reference unknown.
Max Keezer: a menswear shop founded in 1895, located in Harvard Square at the time.
To Edith Gaddis
Mathews Hall - 31
Cambridge, Massachusetts
[19 October 1941]
Dear Mother—
Could it be that Dolly and her ilk are slipping? They seem to be failing us. I don’t know, here it is Saturday afternoon and I’m still flat listening to the Dartmouth game. My temp stays right around 100 tho it’s been down to 99 and up to 101 but I feel like hanging up. Harvard just made a touchdown and the stands are going crazy—me too only for a different reason—because I’m not there. I’ll bet there’ll be a hot time tonite.
Well I’ve decided one thing—they told me that they can’t keep you here if you insist on going so come Tuesday or Wednesday and I’m still the same I’m leaving and see if I’ll get well outside on my own. I’m not getting anywhere here—only disgusted.
The food here is supposed to be good but I think it’s pretty sad and not half as good as Union food.
They’re still making their crazy blood tests which never show a thing—what a bunch of jerks!
Hoping to have better reports soon—
Love
Bill
To Edith Gaddis
Cambridge, Massachusetts
[23 October 1941]
Dear Mom—
I’m feeling a lot better and I think the temp has been dropping a little—not normal yet but someday I suppose. The only effects are my ankles are very weak and I have a pot belly! But I guess exercise will cure both. I’m not up long enough to feel dizzy—not on my treks to the bathroom anyway. [...]
The only studying I’ve done is that 100 pages of French outside reading—the exam in it is today so I guess I’ll have to make it up too. Somehow this place isn’t condusive to study and I haven’t felt like it until the last couple of days.
I’m only taking 4 subjects—which is minimum—but 2 (Physics and Eng[lish literature] I) are pretty tough. However there’s no backing down or changing now—I’ll just hang on and hope for the best.
Love
Bill
To Edith Gaddis
Cambridge, Massachusetts
[4 November 1941]
Dear Mother—
Gosh—Dr. Contratto must have written you an encouraging letter—we were so certain I’d be out for the next Army game and now you don’t mention it, but say you’re coming up—I tell you gee—I feel good and have no temperature at all—always normal now; only a small stomach which seems to be going down slowly—I still think I’ll be out for Saturday’s game—I can’t see why not, and yet this whole thing is so screwy and is getting me so mad—that is, if I don’t get out by Saturday.
I’d like to know what those two thot about the ultimate outcome—I don’t see why I can’t make up 4 weeks’ work—I’m not worrying about that—my English A is almost made up already; my Eng I reading is getting done; Physics and French I’m letting go, but I think I might be able to catch up on them even without tutors, tho tutors might prove to be adviseable. I don’t see why I should worry about being a freshman next year—unless Dean Leighton suggested it—because I can do this work and I’m getting out soon, or know why.
As for talk of my graduating class—I doubt if many of us will graduate. That is far ahead any way, and even so I’ll be draft-meat in a couple of years, and I’m going to beat them to it. [...]
Love
Bill
Dr. Contratto: Dr. Andrew W. Contratto, who practiced in Cambridge at this time.
To Edith Gaddis
Cambridge, Massachusetts
[13 November 1941]
Dear Mother—
The freighter to L.A. sounds great—just perfect and I’d like it best if possible. 10,000 tons is a fair sized ship—it sounds good and ought to ride well. I think the Japs are the least of our worries—time seems to be the thing now. I might stay in L.A. for a couple of days and send ahead to find out about right reservations to my destination. I think as for cost it may be even if not slightly less, considering 21 days aboard ship with meals is equivalent to 3 weeks of boarding somewhere.
That’s swell about the 15% on American Airlines and it would be fairly and comparatively inexpensive to fly to Baltimore with time at home such a premium.
If it is at all possible please pull every string to make the freighter trip possible—it would be just what I wanted and would work out more perfectly and best for me if it can be done—
Love
Bill
P.S. She’s a midget
P.P.S.—What is time of sailing from Baltimore?
the Japs are the least of our worries: three weeks later the Japanese would bomb Pearl Harbor.
To Edith Gaddis
[WG left Harvard on November 21, and a week later shipped out from Baltimore on the SS West Portal.]
Barker Hotel
2000 Miramar Street
Los Angeles, California
[2 January 1942]
Dear Mom.
It is such a long time since I wrote and I don’t know what customs in Panama let thru that I’ll have a hard time remembering everything.
We were half way thru the Canal when Japan declared war, having arrived at Colon early that morning (Atlantic side). At 7 o’clock the canal was blacked out except for guide lights on the banks and the ship ran with only running and mast head and stern lights. We reached Balboa late that nite (pacific side) and despite war went ashore while ship took on oil. Panama City wasn’t blacked-out and it was really an intriguing city. Then we returned to the boat and sailed late the next afternoon. About 9 that nite however things in the Pacific were getting pretty lively as we swung around and were anchored in Panama Bay next morning. We stayed there for nine days, with quite a few other ships—twenty five at once sometimes—blacked out always and continuously shifting position. Altho we didn’t get ashore often, and when we did we couldn’t go further than Panama City (I mean across the isthmus to Cristobal) for comparitively short times as the ship was likely to leave any minute—awaiting naval orders and even the captain wasn’t sure. I did get a roommate in Panama—his name was “Davey” Abad, a native Panamanian who was light weight (I think) boxing champion of the world! He was really quite a character—sort of genial, sloppy, tough, and paunchy, about 34, and his only faults that I think of now were really ripping nightmares he would get and bounce around in the top bunk and yell out in Spanish until I thot it might be unsafe to room with him; one night he was really going and kicked the light right off of the ceiling!—I used to have to light a match when I came in at night and say “It’s me, your room mate, Davey—” and be ready to duck. They subsided however and we got along quite well. Then he used to come into the dining salon patting a large tan stomach, usually exposed by a shirt with one button, and one night Ross had a miserable time trying to eat cherries while Davey sat slapping his bare stomach after supper. And aside from these and the horrible manner in which he mangled and distorted the English language he was all right and really took me around Panama City one nite where every one seemed to know him.
Then there was a one year old baby whom I knick-named “Wetsy” (and it stuck) very appropriately because she seemed quite unable to control herself; indeed, some times she seemed almost proud of the little pools she left behind, and at least she was nonchalant about it. This little animated mass of sodden diapers took a liking to me—probably a strange fascination, and it was quite a mystery to everyone, including myself, because of the way I treated her. Despite th
e way I sort of kicked her as she walked unsteadily down the deck, or squirted her milk in her face to see her squint, or pulled her hat down over her eyes, or tempted her toward unsafe perches on the edge of the hatch or near the rail and told her mother about the dire plans I had for her future in the way of “hotfoots” or seeing if she would float, or the way I sort of carried her slung under one arm and bounced and shook her (which she actually seemed to enjoy), she would spread her arms out and get a downright jolly look on her face and make weird gurgling noises (resembling the Bronx cheer) and weave an unsteady path toward me, usually ending up on her face, when ever she saw me. Needless to say her mother was slightly worried and probably expected me to come back from one of our jaunts with a bloody mass under my arm, but Wetsy weathered them all—she really could take it. Her mother couldn’t see her resemblance to a cocker spaniel puppy which I pointed out, and looked sort of horrified when I mentioned King Herod or Jonathan Swift’s “Modest Proposal” after Wetsy had put in a particularly hard nite at our expense, but all in all was a remarkably good sport through it all.