THE JOHN O'HARA SOCIETY
On May 22, 1943 publication of "Radio." The New Yorker. Pipe Night.
I could not access this story today.
THE JOHN O'HARA SOCIETY
" Around the Corner From Where I Used to Live There
Was a Little Store Run By a Family Named Lintz"
On May 21, 1966, publication of "Fatimas and Kisses." The New Yorker. Waiting for Winter. Gibbsville, PA.
So opens the first sentence of this Gibbsville-in-the-twenties-Jim Malloy story, written over thirty years after "The Doctor's Son" and "It Must Have Been Spring."
"If you wanted ice cream, by the quart or by the cone, you could get it at Lintzie's; you could buy cigarettes and the less expensive cigars, a loaf of bread, canned goods, meats that did not require the services of a butcher, penny candy and boxed bon-bons, writing tablets and pencils, and literally hundreds of articles on display-cards that novelty salesmen had persuaded Lintzie to put on his shelves, and which he never seemed to reorder. I doubt if there are any stores like Lintzie's around any more ...."
Lintzie's wife has been quietly putting out for the salesmen. She gives Jim Malloy Fatimas cigarettes to keep him quiet after he accidentally discovers her adulteries. Lintzie eventually does find out. He goes insane and shoots his wife and their two children.
Jim Malloy explains how he had take a job as a cub reporter after Dr. Malloy's death. At the end of the story he talks with the police chief:
We walked in silence halfway to Lintzie's, then the chief spoke. "I thought a great deal of your father. What's a young fellow with your education throwing it all away when you could be doing some good in the world?"
"What education? I had four years of high school," I said.
"You were away to college," he said.
"Away, but not to college."
"Oh, than you're not much better than the rest of us," he said.
"I never said I was, Chief."
"You never said it, but you act it. Your father was better than most of us, but he didn't act it."
"No, he didn't have to," I said.
There is an excellent discussion and analysis of "Fatimas and Kisses" in Steven Goldleaf's John O'Hara - A Study of the Short Fiction, pages 58-60, 62-64.
" Around the Corner From Where I Used to Live There
Was a Little Store Run By a Family Named Lintz"
On May 21, 1966, publication of "Fatimas and Kisses." The New Yorker. Waiting for Winter. Gibbsville, PA.
So opens the first sentence of this Gibbsville-in-the-twenties-Jim Malloy story, written over thirty years after "The Doctor's Son" and "It Must Have Been Spring."
"If you wanted ice cream, by the quart or by the cone, you could get it at Lintzie's; you could buy cigarettes and the less expensive cigars, a loaf of bread, canned goods, meats that did not require the services of a butcher, penny candy and boxed bon-bons, writing tablets and pencils, and literally hundreds of articles on display-cards that novelty salesmen had persuaded Lintzie to put on his shelves, and which he never seemed to reorder. I doubt if there are any stores like Lintzie's around any more ...."
Lintzie's wife has been quietly putting out for the salesmen. She gives Jim Malloy Fatimas cigarettes to keep him quiet after he accidentally discovers her adulteries. Lintzie eventually does find out. He goes insane and shoots his wife and their two children.
Jim Malloy explains how he had take a job as a cub reporter after Dr. Malloy's death. At the end of the story he talks with the police chief:
We walked in silence halfway to Lintzie's, then the chief spoke. "I thought a great deal of your father. What's a young fellow with your education throwing it all away when you could be doing some good in the world?"
"What education? I had four years of high school," I said.
"You were away to college," he said.
"Away, but not to college."
"Oh, than you're not much better than the rest of us," he said.
"I never said I was, Chief."
"You never said it, but you act it. Your father was better than most of us, but he didn't act it."
"No, he didn't have to," I said.
There is an excellent discussion and analysis of "Fatimas and Kisses" in Steven Goldleaf's John O'Hara - A Study of the Short Fiction, pages 58-60, 62-64.
THE JOHN O'HARA SOCIETY
On May 20, 1964 the American Academy of Arts and Letters gave John O'Hara the Award of Merit Medal for the Novel. Excerpts from his acceptance speech:
"At least some of the liberties that the younger writers enjoy today were paid for by me, in vilification of my work and abuse of my personal character .... The fully rounded irony is that I can expect the same degree of abuse from the new critics for my 1964 conservatism that I got from my critics for my lack of restraint in 1934. But as long as I live, or at least as long as I am able to write, I will go to the typewriter with love of my work and at least a faint hope that once in a great while something like today will happen to me again. We all know how good we are, but it's nice to hear it from someone else."
___
On May 20, 1920, Alfred Eaton and Mary St. John were married in Wilmington. (From the Terrace).
The wedding went off according to schedule and as rehearsed. The weather was warm, as it is likely to be in Delaware late in May, and Sage Remmington, a bridesmaid who had been born and brought up in Delaware, fainted in the bridesmaids' car on the way from the St. John residence to the church, but was revived by the smelling salts that in their cut-glass bottle were standard equipment in that model limousine. A fox terrier belonging to the wedding guest found its way to the church and marched up the middle aisle until Donald Tinkham, one of Alfred's ushers, picked it up and carried it out to the street. Zilph du Pont, the only bridesmaid who was taller than Mary St. John, tore off the heel of her right shoe getting out of the second limousine and had to go through the entire ceremony pretending nothing was wrong. James McCready, now without a school, told an usher he was a friend of the bride's in order to be seated on the du Pont side of the church and thereby missed being seated in the pew with Charles M. Schwab, whom he never did recognize. Rowland Culpeper, a second cousin of Mary's mother, let out a loud, double-sneeze as the clergyman was uttering the crucial let-him-come-forth warning, to the unanimous amusement of the assemblage. Cynthia Grosscup, whom Mary had picked because there was no way out of it, refused to walk out as briskly as the other couples preceding her and thus divided the exiting wedding party into two parts. One McCallen, chauffeur to James Arthur Hinchcliff of 23 Wall Street, flooded the carburetor of the Hinchcliff Rolls-Royce, causing the Hinchcliffs to accept a lift to the country club in Donald Tinkham's Dodge phaeton, and to sit down heavily on the tire pump which lay on the back seat.
___
An hour before the ceremony Mary's father, Eugene St. John, had informed Alfred that his father Samuel Eaton had died.
On May 20, 1964 the American Academy of Arts and Letters gave John O'Hara the Award of Merit Medal for the Novel. Excerpts from his acceptance speech:
"At least some of the liberties that the younger writers enjoy today were paid for by me, in vilification of my work and abuse of my personal character .... The fully rounded irony is that I can expect the same degree of abuse from the new critics for my 1964 conservatism that I got from my critics for my lack of restraint in 1934. But as long as I live, or at least as long as I am able to write, I will go to the typewriter with love of my work and at least a faint hope that once in a great while something like today will happen to me again. We all know how good we are, but it's nice to hear it from someone else."
___
On May 20, 1920, Alfred Eaton and Mary St. John were married in Wilmington. (From the Terrace).
The wedding went off according to schedule and as rehearsed. The weather was warm, as it is likely to be in Delaware late in May, and Sage Remmington, a bridesmaid who had been born and brought up in Delaware, fainted in the bridesmaids' car on the way from the St. John residence to the church, but was revived by the smelling salts that in their cut-glass bottle were standard equipment in that model limousine. A fox terrier belonging to the wedding guest found its way to the church and marched up the middle aisle until Donald Tinkham, one of Alfred's ushers, picked it up and carried it out to the street. Zilph du Pont, the only bridesmaid who was taller than Mary St. John, tore off the heel of her right shoe getting out of the second limousine and had to go through the entire ceremony pretending nothing was wrong. James McCready, now without a school, told an usher he was a friend of the bride's in order to be seated on the du Pont side of the church and thereby missed being seated in the pew with Charles M. Schwab, whom he never did recognize. Rowland Culpeper, a second cousin of Mary's mother, let out a loud, double-sneeze as the clergyman was uttering the crucial let-him-come-forth warning, to the unanimous amusement of the assemblage. Cynthia Grosscup, whom Mary had picked because there was no way out of it, refused to walk out as briskly as the other couples preceding her and thus divided the exiting wedding party into two parts. One McCallen, chauffeur to James Arthur Hinchcliff of 23 Wall Street, flooded the carburetor of the Hinchcliff Rolls-Royce, causing the Hinchcliffs to accept a lift to the country club in Donald Tinkham's Dodge phaeton, and to sit down heavily on the tire pump which lay on the back seat.
___
An hour before the ceremony Mary's father, Eugene St. John, had informed Alfred that his father Samuel Eaton had died.
THE JOHN O'HARA SOCIETY
On May 19, 1928, publication of "Overheard in a Telephone Booth." The New Yorker.
Excerpts from John O'Hara''s second contribution to the magazine (the first being on May 5, 1928):
You're spending the evening with Bill, aren't you? You won't see me tonight, won't you? .... I only wish to God that it was I and not Bill you were spending the evening with.....
Bill, of all people .... Why did it have to be that pup, of all people?
Yes, I'll call again, but I'm not even sure when....I want to hurt you once again, twice again. I want you to love me again for a little while....Only for a little while because what I really want to do is to make you love me and then throw you down and kick you. But even then I'd pick you up. And be sorry and suffer all over again....
Such a banal ending to a grand affair. A telephone conversation....But of corse this won't be the ending.
On May 19, 1928, publication of "Overheard in a Telephone Booth." The New Yorker.
Excerpts from John O'Hara''s second contribution to the magazine (the first being on May 5, 1928):
You're spending the evening with Bill, aren't you? You won't see me tonight, won't you? .... I only wish to God that it was I and not Bill you were spending the evening with.....
Bill, of all people .... Why did it have to be that pup, of all people?
Yes, I'll call again, but I'm not even sure when....I want to hurt you once again, twice again. I want you to love me again for a little while....Only for a little while because what I really want to do is to make you love me and then throw you down and kick you. But even then I'd pick you up. And be sorry and suffer all over again....
Such a banal ending to a grand affair. A telephone conversation....But of corse this won't be the ending.
THE JOHN O'HARA SOCIETY
On May 18, 1946, publication of "The Decision." The New Yorker. Hellbox.
Francis Townsend had great plans for his future. He had a medical degree. He was going to interne at a Pittsburgh hospital, and he had a woman he wanted to marry.
His uncle, who had raised him, stopped him: "No, boy," he said. "I'm sorry to say you can't have any of those things. You can never practice medicine, and you can't marry .... Do you know that both your father and your mother died in an institution? .... it wasn't consumption, France, it was mental.....You won't have to worry about money. I've fixed that at the bank. Give yourself plenty of time to pick and choose (what you want to do). You'll decide on something."
So Francis Townsend spent the rest of his life in his family's seacoast village drinking, reading and sleeping.
I suspect this story is based on someone John O'Hara may have known.
___
On May 18, 1958, publication of "Novelist Likes the Film Translation." New York Herald Tribune.
John O'Hara's ambitions about writing the screenplay for The Great Gatsby never materialized because the price was too high for the film rights.
"The reason I wanted to write a talking-picture version of the Fitzgerald novel was that I had seen the silent version and had admired it enormously ...... But even now I can remember my exultation at the end of the picture when I saw that Paramount had done an honest job, true to the book, true to what Fitzgerald had intended. My favorite Fitzgerald novel (Tender is the Night) had not yet been written, but the movie had done right by Our Boy with the best he had written to date. Roughly ten years later I was sure that I could do an even better job through the new camera techniques and audible dialogue."
Matthew Bruccoli,The O'Hara Concern, page 138.
The silent version was made in the late twenties. Three more Gatsby movies were made - 1949, 1974 and 2012. I have no plans to see the latest one.
On May 18, 1946, publication of "The Decision." The New Yorker. Hellbox.
Francis Townsend had great plans for his future. He had a medical degree. He was going to interne at a Pittsburgh hospital, and he had a woman he wanted to marry.
His uncle, who had raised him, stopped him: "No, boy," he said. "I'm sorry to say you can't have any of those things. You can never practice medicine, and you can't marry .... Do you know that both your father and your mother died in an institution? .... it wasn't consumption, France, it was mental.....You won't have to worry about money. I've fixed that at the bank. Give yourself plenty of time to pick and choose (what you want to do). You'll decide on something."
So Francis Townsend spent the rest of his life in his family's seacoast village drinking, reading and sleeping.
I suspect this story is based on someone John O'Hara may have known.
___
On May 18, 1958, publication of "Novelist Likes the Film Translation." New York Herald Tribune.
John O'Hara's ambitions about writing the screenplay for The Great Gatsby never materialized because the price was too high for the film rights.
"The reason I wanted to write a talking-picture version of the Fitzgerald novel was that I had seen the silent version and had admired it enormously ...... But even now I can remember my exultation at the end of the picture when I saw that Paramount had done an honest job, true to the book, true to what Fitzgerald had intended. My favorite Fitzgerald novel (Tender is the Night) had not yet been written, but the movie had done right by Our Boy with the best he had written to date. Roughly ten years later I was sure that I could do an even better job through the new camera techniques and audible dialogue."
Matthew Bruccoli,The O'Hara Concern, page 138.
The silent version was made in the late twenties. Three more Gatsby movies were made - 1949, 1974 and 2012. I have no plans to see the latest one.
THE JOHN O'HARA SOCIETY
From a May 17, 1961 letter to William Maxwell, his editor at the New Yorker, who had just published his own book and had it reviewed:
It was a very distressing conversation, but I am tougher than you, having been toughened....
You apparently are not aware of what the publication of a book can do to you. It is really foolish to try to pretend that it has not happened. You got uniformly good reviews, as far as I have seen, and you should let yourself enjoy them; and if you run across any bad ones, you might as well suffer through them. It is all part of the postpartum part of the creative process. I have come out 17 times, you have come out three, and at longer intervals; and I know what to expect. I no longer read all my reviews; the really bad ones are screened by Sister and Bennett Cerf, and certain reviewers and certain publications are predictable. But for my first ten books I read everything, everywhere, and the only thing worse than reading some of those reviews would have been not to read them.....
I am doing more work than ever before in my life, and I am enjoying it, but I no longer can do eight-hour stretches of work. The most I can do now is four hours, although three years ago I could still do eight.
On May 17, 1930, publication of "The New Office." The New Yorker. Hagedorn & Brownmiller are moving to a new building on Park and 46th. A discussion of who's going to get which office.
From a May 17, 1961 letter to William Maxwell, his editor at the New Yorker, who had just published his own book and had it reviewed:
It was a very distressing conversation, but I am tougher than you, having been toughened....
You apparently are not aware of what the publication of a book can do to you. It is really foolish to try to pretend that it has not happened. You got uniformly good reviews, as far as I have seen, and you should let yourself enjoy them; and if you run across any bad ones, you might as well suffer through them. It is all part of the postpartum part of the creative process. I have come out 17 times, you have come out three, and at longer intervals; and I know what to expect. I no longer read all my reviews; the really bad ones are screened by Sister and Bennett Cerf, and certain reviewers and certain publications are predictable. But for my first ten books I read everything, everywhere, and the only thing worse than reading some of those reviews would have been not to read them.....
I am doing more work than ever before in my life, and I am enjoying it, but I no longer can do eight-hour stretches of work. The most I can do now is four hours, although three years ago I could still do eight.
On May 17, 1930, publication of "The New Office." The New Yorker. Hagedorn & Brownmiller are moving to a new building on Park and 46th. A discussion of who's going to get which office.
THE JOHN O'HARA SOCIETY
Corrections, Clarifications (and apologies)
Substitute this for the short story "Can I Stay Here."
Theresa Livingston is an elderly famous actress. Miss Evelyn Blackwell is the twenty-one year old daughter of John Blackwell, former lover of Theresa Livingston. Evelyn is coming to Theresa's hotel apartment to have lunch with her. It's a first-time meeting. Evelyn appears, but she's had too much to drink. She's also emotionally unstable. After picking at her food and consuming even more alcohol she retires to a bedroom. After too much time passes, Theresa (Terry) seeks her out. This is how it ends:
She went to the bedroom,, and the girl was lying on the bed, clad in her slip, staring at the ceiling. "Do you want anything, Evelyn?"
"Yes, " said the girl.
"What?"
"Can I stay here a while?"
"Child, you can stay here as long as you like," said Theresa Livingston.
Corrections, Clarifications (and apologies)
Substitute this for the short story "Can I Stay Here."
Theresa Livingston is an elderly famous actress. Miss Evelyn Blackwell is the twenty-one year old daughter of John Blackwell, former lover of Theresa Livingston. Evelyn is coming to Theresa's hotel apartment to have lunch with her. It's a first-time meeting. Evelyn appears, but she's had too much to drink. She's also emotionally unstable. After picking at her food and consuming even more alcohol she retires to a bedroom. After too much time passes, Theresa (Terry) seeks her out. This is how it ends:
She went to the bedroom,, and the girl was lying on the bed, clad in her slip, staring at the ceiling. "Do you want anything, Evelyn?"
"Yes, " said the girl.
"What?"
"Can I stay here a while?"
"Child, you can stay here as long as you like," said Theresa Livingston.
THE JOHN O'HARA SOCIETY
Smoking Cigarettes - From and Age Gone By
On May 16, 1931, publication of "Papa and Smoking." The New Yorker.
In this short filler two young teen-age women discuss parental permission to smoke.
"Does she let you smoke at home?"
"Why - uh, She doesn't mind. It's Papa that minds." ....
"I'm going to be allowed to smoke as soon as I get through school. Papa knows I smoke, but he doesn't want me to till I get through school; then I can smoke at home."
___
On May 16, 1964, publication of "Can I Stay Here?" The Saturday Evening Post. The Horse Knows the Way.
Thersa Livingston is an elderly famous actress. Miss Evelyn Blackwell, the twenty-one year old daughter of former lover John Blackwell, is coming to her hotel apartment to lunch with her. It's a first-time meeting. Evelyn appears, but she's had too much to drink. She's obviously somewhat unstable. After picking at her food she retires to a bedroom. After too much time passes, Terry seeks her out, and this is how it ends:
She went to the bedroom, and the girl was lying on the bed, clad in hyer slip, staring at the ceiling. "Do you want anything, Evelyn?"
"Yes," said the girl.
"What?"
"Can I stay here a while?"
"Child, you can stay here as long as you like," said Theresa Livingston.
Smoking Cigarettes - From and Age Gone By
On May 16, 1931, publication of "Papa and Smoking." The New Yorker.
In this short filler two young teen-age women discuss parental permission to smoke.
"Does she let you smoke at home?"
"Why - uh, She doesn't mind. It's Papa that minds." ....
"I'm going to be allowed to smoke as soon as I get through school. Papa knows I smoke, but he doesn't want me to till I get through school; then I can smoke at home."
___
On May 16, 1964, publication of "Can I Stay Here?" The Saturday Evening Post. The Horse Knows the Way.
Thersa Livingston is an elderly famous actress. Miss Evelyn Blackwell, the twenty-one year old daughter of former lover John Blackwell, is coming to her hotel apartment to lunch with her. It's a first-time meeting. Evelyn appears, but she's had too much to drink. She's obviously somewhat unstable. After picking at her food she retires to a bedroom. After too much time passes, Terry seeks her out, and this is how it ends:
She went to the bedroom, and the girl was lying on the bed, clad in hyer slip, staring at the ceiling. "Do you want anything, Evelyn?"
"Yes," said the girl.
"What?"
"Can I stay here a while?"
"Child, you can stay here as long as you like," said Theresa Livingston.
THE JOHN O'HARA SOCIETY
On May 15, 1964, publication of "The Neighborhood." The New Yorker. Waiting for Winter. Gibbsville, PA.
The first paragraph:
"Some of the houses on Tuscarora Street were numbered and some were not, but it was not necessary to look for the number of the Rellinger house. Across the street from it were standing perhaps a dozen men and women., the women clutching their shawls across their chests, the men standing with their hands in their pockets or their arms folded; and whether they were in conversation or silent, they all kept theer eyes on the Rellinger hluose. Directly in front of the Rellinger house, on the skimpy front lawn, was a policeman in uniform, chatting with two young men in civilian clothes, Every once in a while the policeman would leave his post on the lawn and tell some slow-moving pedestrian to keep moving. Or there would be a man or oftener two men who turned in at the Rellinger footpath and the policeman would stop them and take a look at their credentials, and if they satisfied him, he would let them proceed to enter the house."
It so happens the owner of the house, Mr. Rellinger, has (gruesomely) murdered his younger wife and her mother.
The story unfolds by way of very skillful dialogue between Mrs. Schumaker, the next-door neighbor, and Allan Rogers, a newspaper reporter.
John O'Hara gives the impression that this is a very easy story to write, that anyone can do it. This is the mark of real talent. However, I have never read the word "oftener."
On May 15, 1964, publication of "The Neighborhood." The New Yorker. Waiting for Winter. Gibbsville, PA.
The first paragraph:
"Some of the houses on Tuscarora Street were numbered and some were not, but it was not necessary to look for the number of the Rellinger house. Across the street from it were standing perhaps a dozen men and women., the women clutching their shawls across their chests, the men standing with their hands in their pockets or their arms folded; and whether they were in conversation or silent, they all kept theer eyes on the Rellinger hluose. Directly in front of the Rellinger house, on the skimpy front lawn, was a policeman in uniform, chatting with two young men in civilian clothes, Every once in a while the policeman would leave his post on the lawn and tell some slow-moving pedestrian to keep moving. Or there would be a man or oftener two men who turned in at the Rellinger footpath and the policeman would stop them and take a look at their credentials, and if they satisfied him, he would let them proceed to enter the house."
It so happens the owner of the house, Mr. Rellinger, has (gruesomely) murdered his younger wife and her mother.
The story unfolds by way of very skillful dialogue between Mrs. Schumaker, the next-door neighbor, and Allan Rogers, a newspaper reporter.
John O'Hara gives the impression that this is a very easy story to write, that anyone can do it. This is the mark of real talent. However, I have never read the word "oftener."
We're always looking for contributors and comment. Join the conversation! © MMXIII John O'Hara Society.
On May 13, 1939, publication of "Bow Wow." The New Yorker, Pal Joey. Files on Parade.
Pal Joey is in Chicago. He writes to Friend Ted:
"Well this is the first time I wrote since I bo't Skippy that name of my dog and it is wonderful what they can do. They give you the courage to continue when things look bad."
....
"I never had any interest in dogs and never considered owning one and thought they were a nusaince especially in towns. But I saw this mouse standing there bent over and talking to one of the dogs in the window of the shop. She was about twenty and I didn't care if she had a face out of the Zoo but spring was in the air and this mouse had a shape that you don't see only on the second Tuesday of every week and when you so see a shape like that you have to do something about it. So I stopped and feined an interest in the dog kingdom and cased the mouse and got a look at her kisser. Well it fitted in with the rest of the body. Not pretty but cute."
....
Her sister and bro. in-law are going away after the week-end after next and we will have the ap't all to ourselves. It's about time but I had to be patient as she said she wanted to be sure first, but a man with such a love and affection for dogs was a man you could trust."
___
On May 13, 1962 John O'Hara's mother, Katherine Delaney O'Hara died at age eight-three. The familty buried her in Pottsville, and that was John O'Hara's next to last visit to his home town.
___
On May 13, 1970 Random House held a memorial for John O'Hara. Bennett Cerf described him as the "most generally unappreciated author in American literary history," and ranked him with Hemingway, Fitzgerald and Faulkner. From Matthew Bruccoli, The O'Hara Concern, page 339.
On May 13, 1939, publication of "Bow Wow." The New Yorker, Pal Joey. Files on Parade.
Pal Joey is in Chicago. He writes to Friend Ted:
"Well this is the first time I wrote since I bo't Skippy that name of my dog and it is wonderful what they can do. They give you the courage to continue when things look bad."
....
"I never had any interest in dogs and never considered owning one and thought they were a nusaince especially in towns. But I saw this mouse standing there bent over and talking to one of the dogs in the window of the shop. She was about twenty and I didn't care if she had a face out of the Zoo but spring was in the air and this mouse had a shape that you don't see only on the second Tuesday of every week and when you so see a shape like that you have to do something about it. So I stopped and feined an interest in the dog kingdom and cased the mouse and got a look at her kisser. Well it fitted in with the rest of the body. Not pretty but cute."
....
Her sister and bro. in-law are going away after the week-end after next and we will have the ap't all to ourselves. It's about time but I had to be patient as she said she wanted to be sure first, but a man with such a love and affection for dogs was a man you could trust."
___
On May 13, 1962 John O'Hara's mother, Katherine Delaney O'Hara died at age eight-three. The familty buried her in Pottsville, and that was John O'Hara's next to last visit to his home town.
___
On May 13, 1970 Random House held a memorial for John O'Hara. Bennett Cerf described him as the "most generally unappreciated author in American literary history," and ranked him with Hemingway, Fitzgerald and Faulkner. From Matthew Bruccoli, The O'Hara Concern, page 339.
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