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On May 12, 1934, publication of "Sportsmanship." The New Yorker. The Doctor's Son.

From Steven Goldleaf, John O'Hara - A Study of the Short Fiction, page 19:

"Set in a Bronx pool hall, the story promises to be confusing only to outsiders: the Subway Arcade sign outside the pool hall is 'misleading only to strangers in the neighborhood; there is no subway anywhere near, and it was no arcade.' The readers are the strangers, trying to understand the special language and mores of this place. Frank, who owns the pool hall, is initially annoyed by the sudden appearance of Jerry, a pool shark who has served time for stealing money from Frank. After pretending not to recognize him, referring to him as 'stranger' and telling him of his resemblance to a 'rat' and a heel' named Jerry, Frank surprisingly accepts Jerry's offer to work off the stolen money. Frank promises to play him in a game of pool after Jerry has worked two weeks for free, while polishing his pool shooting in his spare time. If Jerry wins the game, Frank will hire him, but if he loses, he must leave. When the two weeks are up, Jerry is easily winning until the referee, hired by Frank, declares Frank the game's winner. 'What a sap I been,' Jerry says, realizing that Frank's plan has been all along to add these two weeks to his jail term. But Frank;s revenge is far from complete. Observing how poorly Jerry is taking his loss, Frank suggests to the referee that he be taught a little sportsmanship. The referee then cracks a pool cue over Jerry's hands. Jerry cries out, 'You broke me hands, you broke me hands,' giving Frank the story's tag line: 'Keep them out of other people's pockets,' said Frank. 'Beat it.'"

From a May 12, 1934 letter to William Maxwell:

Back in the new routine, which is hangovers without any fun the nite be4. I tho't I would have a studio job waiting for me but no. Either they got tired of waiting or nothing was there in the 1 place.
...Don't ever get an ulcer....First you can't sleep because of going on the wagon, then you (I) get horrible melancholia because you can't eat what you want to and when you want to. I imagine it's like being put n jail. By God sir, this isn't The American Way! Is this why I labored so hard for repeal?

From a May 12, 1965 letter to Graham Watson:

I have completed THE LOCKWWOOD CONCERN...The ms is 608 pages long...It was going to be longer, but I decided that the extra length would in effect deprive me and my eager public of a sequel, so I ended it where I ended it. Artistically it is better this way.

(There was no sequel to the novel).

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