Just a note of greeting. And to say that I earnestly wish you were here, because I am working like every other half-baked Harvard boy who never learned a trade—on a novel. Dear heaven, I need your inventive store of knowledge. Because of course it is rather a moral book, and concerns itself with good and evil, or rather, as Mr. Forster taught us, good-and-evil. You see, I call out your name, because other bits of life proving too burdensome, I have taken to the philosophers—having been pleasantly involved with Epictetus for about a year, and now taking him more slowly and seriously. And of course I come upon Pyrrho, and see much that you hold dear, and why. Also David Hume, whose style I find quite delightful.
Shall I describe Mexico City to you? It is very pleasant, and warm, and colourful of course—and we are here, and cannot get jobs because we are tourists, and live on about 30¢ worth of native food a day. And I’m sure you would like it. Also, we grow hair on our faces. And plan, as soon as we can manage to sell the Cord—beautiful auto—to purchase two horses, and the requisite impedimenta, and go off and live in the woods, or desert, or whatever they have down here. There I shall finish Blague—that is the novel. And have George Grosz illustrate it—he has the same preoccupation with nates that I do—grounds enough to ask him.
Well old man, this is just to let you know dum spiro spero—I haven’t learned Spanish yet—a noodle language if I ever heard one. Please give John Snow my very best greeting, tell him I shall write, would give anything for a drink and talk with you all. But must work. A dumb letter, but I am very tired.
Anyhow, my best—
Bill
Forster [...] good-and-evil: in The Longest Journey (1907), E. M. Forster writes, “For Rickie suffered from the Primal Curse, which is not—as the Authorized Version suggests—the knowledge of good and evil, but the knowledge of good-and-evil” (part 2, chap. 18).
Epictetus: Greek Stoic philosopher of the first century. WG owned George Long’s translation of The Discourses of Epictetus.
Pyrrho: Greek skeptic philosopher (c. 360–c.270 BCE). Otto relates an anecdote about him in R (130).
David Hume: Scottish skeptic philosopher (1711–76).
George Grosz: see postscript to the letter of 3–4 May 1947.
dum spiro spero: Latin, “While I breathe, I hope,” attributed to Cicero, and the motto of many families and organizations.
To Edith Gaddis
Mexico City
[April 1947]
Dear Mother—
I do hope this will be the last time I shall have to put upon you so. And just now am in a sort of confident spirit because I believe Blague has something to say, if I can write it. If not, believe me, there is little else that interests me, but I shall do something which will take care of me, and I shall not have to keep you living in this perpetual state of waiting to hear that I need something. And so I add, could you within another week or so send 25$ more? And that will be all. Believe me, if Blague is done it will be worth it—you will like it. And if I can get an advance things will be rosy. As I say, I have the outline done, just what I want to take place from beginning to end. And each scene clear in my mind. I have only written about 5,000 words, and plan 50,000, comparatively short—ap. 200 pages.
We want to leave as soon as we can sell the car &c, out where living will be cheap.
Believe me, it will be worth it—I have never felt so single-purposed about a thing in my life. The novel will be the best I can write. And as I say, if it doesn’t do, you won’t have to put up with this foolishness any longer. Davison likes it much, and is very helpful. Am getting sun, and even on 20¢ a day enough food, eating in the marketplace. A grand city, but without a job or tourist money, no place to stay. So have faith for just a little longer—it will work out. Thanks, and love—
Bill
To Edith Gaddis
Mexico City
15 April ’47
Dear Mother—
[...] You—and anyone—can usually be pretty certain, if you receive a letter of any length from me, that I am for the moment fed up with the novel. No offense—but, except for time we spend going marketwards for food—usually about 5 pm, the daily meal—or in the morning, for café-con-leche—I am here working on Blague. Of ap. 50000 words planned, I have 10000 fairly done—though now—tonight—must go carefully over all I have done, add wherever I can, clear up as much as possible—and even cut, wherever I use too many words—which is often. When I finish this part, am going to send it to Little Brown, where Davison’s father will see that it gets read &c. And with any encouragement from them perhaps I can finish it in a couple of months.
The newspapers down here—very anti-communist &c, are practically fomenting war—at the moment much about Mr. Wallace. And so I have the idea—which as you know I have had for some time—that war comes soon. And Blague must be done before that, concerning itself with Armageddon &c. So we go. [...]
I have just discovered a new brand of cigarettes—Fragantes, which cost 4¢—and here we have been paying 5¢! Wasting our $. Great cigarettes, though they are inclined to come apart or go out—and are quite startling first thing in the morning. Someday—I look forward to Players again.
We have been to just one film since here—Ninotchka, with Spanish subtitles. A wonderful, delightful film. Admission is about the same as in the States, around 60–70¢, so we are debating about seeing Comrade X now playing.
I had a silly letter from Chandler Brossard, who wants particulars on living here. We may get him down here yet! Also letters from others, keeping me up on NYC, which sounds absolutely dull. But a safe distance off!
If the novel goes, I have thought of coming up in August. Possibly July. I cannot think of the Studio being so alone, and we might have a good piece of summer.
As for living here—anything you are curious about? I have given you most of it, I think. And it does not vary. My mustache seems to have stopped growing, now hanging down the corners of my mouth. To work.
Love, Bill
PS—We are leaving for Veracruz this evening (Wednesday). Everything fine. Will still get mail from W.F. And probably be back here soon enough.
Mr. Wallace: Alfred A. Wallace (1888–1965) denounced Truman’s foreign policy in the New Republic (where he was editor in 1947), arguing it would lead to further warfare.
Ninotchka: 1939 film directed by Ernst Lubitsch and starring Greta Garbo.
Comrade X: a 1940 film derivative of Ninotchka.
Chandler Brossard: novelist and journalist (1922–93), WG’s roommate in Greenwich Village for a period. Brossard based a character on WG in his first novel, Who Walk in Darkness (1952).
Studio: a converted barn next to Mrs. Gaddis’s house in Massapequa, which WG (like Edward Bast in J R) used as a work space.
To Edith Gaddis
Mexico City
24 April”47
dear Mother—
A week in Veracruz. I could describe it to you now, here, in many pages—the incidents, &c., the changes in plans. But I must mention the trip. We were told before leaving that if we took one road we should go over the ‘biggest god damn’ mountain in the world’. I believe we did. At night. Do you remember driving from Hicksville home one night after the movies, fog so thick and we going 15mph, and did not speak for two days after? Imagine it like that, except a cloud instead of fog, heavy rain, roads of such incredible twists I shall have to draw them for you, and hills so steep that the heavy Cord, even in gear and with brakes, wouldn’t stop. Honestly, it was wild. We went with what later turned out to be some sort of young confidence man, I believe, with a number of angles to work on us. The car finally sold, and at a pretty low price, but glad to get it done—after that ride, it really isn’t worth much. The young man, Ricardo, was working so many deals that we finally escaped quickly. I wax to be captain of the boat his father owned, which sounded jolly, but never saw the boat. He had a good place with one pleasant enough room bed &c., and behind it a shanty affair with mud floor where we slept. Down in
the rather crowded residential section, near the market—residential for chickens, pigs, dogs, unnumbered barefoot children, radios, people. The noise at night!—cocks crowing, then burros and jackasses he-hawing, turkeys, dogs and dogs; and when eventually the sunrise put an end to the fracas, everyone leapt from bed and turned his radio to a different station. It never stopped. It is probably going on right now. I shall tell you, someday when I have more breath, of how I entertained hordes of tiny ninos (that is their charming word for children) by reading bible lessons in Spanish, putting lighted cigarettes in my mouth, swinging them about on my fingers. Or of how I entertained the (sic) adult population, after meeting the man who owned the entire market—a remarkably tremendous place—and he almost as much so, proportionately, we sat across the table from each other, and after proving myself able to mouth bits of his language, a 5-gallon jug of pulque was brought out. We drank a glass (Salud!), then he poured me another, &c., until soon he was pouring me glasses and then drinking with me from the jug. When that was gone (a litre is about a quart) we had some tequilla, to keep spirits up, and beer to make it a real comradeship. Entertained the populace, as I say, finally by falling off a rather vigourous streetcar. Huge joke. I think if I had actually split my head they would have died of laughter, but I can’t go that far with them. They had enough fun as it was. Believe me, I am fine now.
And Mexico City looks good. I arrived to find quite a sheaf of mail from you, and shall try herewith to answer and straighten things out as they come. I gather from the tone of them that you have been having it rather rough, and I can imagine, and wish I were there to help you along instead of here, to keep you in a state of such running about.
First, immediate plans. We have just returned from the ‘shopping district’, carrying (picture this) two saddles, bits,—all the equipment for the equestrian. Bill has got himself a pair of boots, and we are ready to be off immediately for some sort of rustic nowhere. I cannot quite make out when you sent the boots and spurs. They are all that count really; the gabardine shirts would be fine, but don’t really need them; hope you did not bother to send clean white shirt, no use for it; also the watch, which I didn’t mean for you to try to send, but if you have don’t worry about it; the machete doesn’t matter, very cheap here; don’t for heaven’s sake worry about small-pox, no mention of it in our circles here; many thanks for NCB, but I don’t see that you needed to bother, I never have enough money to carry on with banks, and as you shall see in the future don’t plan to need a checking acc’t; Look, many many thanks for sending the money (25$ WU April 10th, and just rec’d on return from Veracruz Thursday 25$ WU) But please don’t send more money, it only leads us to confusion, and trouble for you. I don’t need it now at all. We have plenty to get off from here for the sticks for a while. Honestly, I will let you know when I need it. I hate to sound excited about it, but when I need it I can let you know and you can always wire it just in care of the Western Union I wire from. OK? I am just tired of envisioning things like NCB machinations, that’s what I came off to Mexico to get away from. So let’s just leave it, I’ll let you know if and when. OK?
The apartment: I really hope to not want it this fall. Here’s what my hope is. To get out of here as soon as possible on horses to compleatly uninhabited country, for about two months, keeping in touch with Wells Fargo here or giving you an address so that we may correspond, but away from city machinations, all this business. Then, get back across Mexico to an eastern port town like Veracruz, Tampico, &c., end of May or early June or middle of June. From that port, start home, either working my way on a boat (talked to sailors on freighters in Veracruz, who say such things are still done), or (this is the only time I may need money) getting some sort of passage, and hoping to get back to NY late in June. Then coming to Long Island and working on the novel there this summer. How does that sound? At that point, of course, much depends on how the book comes along. But in the fall, especially if I have got any sort of money out of the book as a start, to leave NY again and go heaven knows somewhere. I cannot plan for that of course. And so don’t want to say, dump the apartment. But feel sure enough about it to say, if there is anything brought up involving business about a new lease before I get back, to let the place go. I don’t see great future for me in that old place, do you? Good if I could get back in late June and get books &c. together, so don’t worry about such things until then. Many thanks for the addresses, we’ll use them if there is any occasion.
Now. I hope that all of this, instead of unnerving you, has given a clear and rather bright picture. Honestly, I can see from your letters what a time you have been having, and feel like a fool having added such things as a machete for you to worry about. Needless to say how good I feel about the Halls, Mary, &c., all they have done. And pray, as they do I believe, for the day you can relax. Just relax. Anyhow you can about me now for a while. Or if you would rather get excited than relax, take a look at the enclosed pictures. In the large cabinet portrait, meet Mr Robert Ten Broeck (Bill) Davison. We are walking a main street in Mexico in the morning after coffee, not, as you might believe, discussing the missionary problem in Bengal or proofs of God. He is saying something rather violent about the cigarette he is holding, which has just gone out. I am reacting to his language. The beards, as you see, are not too exciting as yet. We do look ratty, but both are delighted with the picture. Also, a blurred indication of how we slept on the way down, unfortunately double-exposed, but if you look, I am in a sleeping bag, on my back looking up, with a cigarette-to-mouth, and above my head is the little dog we got in Louisiana (and lost eventually in Mexico). Me sitting down is me sitting down on the roof of the hotel Casablanca, where we call home, looking rather small-headed. The dog (named, fondly enough, ‘Old Grunter’) appears again in picture taken on the highway on the way down, cradled lackadaisacally (spelling!) in my arms. Great shot of the car. To top things off, a rather dull shot of a river from highway miles above. [...]
Off we go, into the hills. Davison for the first time on a horse. The wh[o]le thing should be fine, and whether the novel prospers (believe me I am going to try to help it do so) it will be healthful. I shall write, and get mail from W—F—until I let you know differently, though obviously for the next few weeks or two months letters farther apart. Believe me, we are fine, see no reason why things should not go off as planned, at least until I see you in the summer. My love to Granga, hoping to see her too.
Love—
Bill
PS Remind me sometime to tell you about the fox we had in Veracruz. Now there was a pet!
NCB: National City Bank.
Halls, Mary: Charles Hall, an antiques dealer, and Mary Woodburn, John Woodburn’s wife and a close friend of Edith.
Old Grunter: a name WG used for family dogs.
To Edith Gaddis
Mexico City
[29 April 1947]
dear Mother—
I never do a thing, or if I do it immediately, it is wrong. So after that lengthy piece I mailed you this am concerning three suitcases being sent you, most of it is wrong, as I foolishly sent it before the bags. [...] If a sloppy package should arrive for you from Houston, Texas, it will be my handsome treasured Brooks Bros hat, being sent by the garage mechanic, since it was in a restaurant which was closed the night we left, and I couldn’t retrieve it. I hope he gets around to sending it; if so, could you rescue it, and have it cleaned and blocked?
Then there are some books I shd appreciate your getting, sometime between now and June or July:
A Study of History by A. J. Toynbee Oxford Press 1 volume abridgement.
Aspects of the Novel by EM Forster Harcourt Brace $2.50
Steppenwolf by Hermann Hesse Henry Holt $2.75
The above are recent, in print. This below have no full information on, but may be available.
The Golden Bough by Frazer (well known book) or Frazier—a book on anthropology.
These are little paper-bound things, should be available, perhaps at
Brentano’s, or some college textbook place; published by The Open Court Publishing Company, La Salle, Ill.
The Vocation of Man by Johann Gottlieb Fichte 50¢
St Anselm: Proslogium, Monologium, an Appendix on Behalf of the Fool by Gaunilon; and Cur Deus Homo. (this is all one)—60¢
The first two are most important to me, should be readily available (though the Forster is reprint, may be sold out quickly, and I would like to go over it carefully—for obvious reasons). So thank you, hopefully in advance.
We are now (29april) on the eve of leaving for life in the woods. Can[n]ot imagine what will turn out, but don’t fear: we have dysentary pills, all sorts of things, including horse equipage, blankets &c. So don’t for a moment worry. It may last a week or two months, we hope to reach Tampico eventually.
Have had no word from you on how my spending the summer in Massapequa sounds. Because though I am working on my novel, and will these coming weeks, I know I can do best out there, quiet summer—regularly tasty food (how I dream of it!). It has taken me all this trip and time to figure it out, now it needs writing, and not the sort I can manage sitting on the edge of a bed or a pile or rock. I hope the idea suits you—I picture it as being a good regular well spent couple of months, and we could have a good summer out of it.
Think of nothing else now, will instruct Wells Fargo to follow me about, and certainly don’t worry if you don’t hear for a week or two—simply mean we are not near a PO. Mexico is a pretty raggedy land.
Love, Bill
A Study of History: D. C. Somervell’s 600-page abridgement of the first six volumes of Arnold J. Toynbee’s classic study was published by Oxford University Press in 1947.
Aspects of the Novel: first published in 1927.
Steppenwolf: Hesse’s 1927 novel about the outsider nature of the artist was translated into English in 1929.
The Golden Bough: Sir James George Frazer’s multivolume survey of magic and religion was published in abridged form in 1922, the edition WG used for several passages in R.