THE JOHN O'HARA SOCIETY
On June 28, 1947, publication of "The Lady Takes an Interest." The New Yorker. The Time Element and Other Stories. Gibbsville, PA.
The "lady" is Mrs. Hooker, widow of Bob Hooker, owner, editor and publisher of Gibbsville's newspaper the Standard. Mrs. Hooker suggested to managing editor Doug Campbell that a memorial fund be established for police sergeant Ray Hoffner, who Mrs. Hooker believes was killed in the line of duty. Doug Campbell gently explains that such was not the case.
"He had gone off duty shortly after two o'clock A.M., and had paid his nightly visit to a house on Railway Avenue which since had been closed. The house is what we call in the paper a house of "ill repute." Shortly after four o'clock Patrolmen Wilkes and Velusky, on duty in the prowl car in the western end of town, received an order to go at once to the house on Railway Avenue to investigate the firing of shots. There they found Sergeant Hoffner, who had been drinking. He had emptied his revolver while taking target practice at a row of beer bottles. He was not in a belligerent mood and when the woman proprietor of the house assured the officers that he could pass the night there to "sleep it off," the officers relieved Hoffner of his revolver and departed. About an hour later, however, Wilkes and Velusky received a message to look for Hoffner, who had left the house in search of the prowl car in order to retrieve his revolver. He now was in a belligerent mood and before leaving had threatened and struck several of the inmates. In spite of the severely cold weather he left without his cap and overcoat."
(Police eventually found Hoffner a mile and a half away, sleeping in a cemetery. He was taken to the hospital, where he died from pneumonia three days later. Hardly a death in the line of duty).
_____
I plan to post next on July 1st.
Robert Saliba
rsaliba@aol.com
THE JOHN O'HARA SOCIETY celebrates the life and works of John O'Hara, Pennsylvania's pre-eminent contemporary author and America's greatest short-story writer. The JOHS studies, publishes, and diffuses works by and about the author. Membership is free. For details, contact the JOHS's Corresponding Secretary, Richard Carreño, via Philabooks@yahoo.com. © MMXXV John O'Hara Society.
Summer Meeting July 13, 2013
The John O'Hara Society's summer meeting will be held at noon on July 13, 2013 in New York City. Topics for discussion will include events related to the launch of Pal Steven Goldleaf's new collection of O'Hara New York Stories.
We are currently set to to meet at our usual New York setting, Connolly's at 14 East 47th street. If you have any other suggestions for a venue, feel free to leave them in the comments field and watch this space for further updates.
We are currently set to to meet at our usual New York setting, Connolly's at 14 East 47th street. If you have any other suggestions for a venue, feel free to leave them in the comments field and watch this space for further updates.
THE JOHN O'HARA SOCIETY
From the Terrace: June 27, 1915.
It was the new custom in Port Johnson to have a Young People's Party in late June. It took place at the Idle Hour Tennis Club at the far eastern end of town, and it was in the nature of a get-together for the members' children who were home from college and boarding-school, many of whom would be leaving shortly for the seashore and mountains. . .
(In attendance were Alfred Eaton, his sister Sally, the young woman he loved, Victoria Dockwiler, and Peter Van Peltz, who after the dance in the early morning of June 27th dared them to drive with him in his brother Harry's Stutz Bearcat. Over Alfred's objections, Victoria got in the car).
Alfred and Sally were still seven blocks away from their grandfather's house. They walked on in silence for about four blocks.
"Here they come," said Sally.
The red roadster, brand new, picked up the light from the street lamp at every intersection. Victoria was holding her skirts down, The car had no windshield or doors and was proceeding slowly until Peter saw the Eatons. He sounded the Klaxon, which now had a particularly contemptuous tone, and then accelerated the car . . .
At five o'clock in the morning a farmer discovered the Stutz and, a minute or so later, the bodies of Peter Van Peltz and Victoria Dockwiler.
(And at the end of the day, part of a conversation between twenty-five year-old Norma Budd and Alfred Eaton):
"I love you," he said.
"I love you, I love you. Don't go away from me just yet. Please stay."
"You're lovely, Norma, lovely."
"I'm happy. I know I'm wrong, but I'm happy."
"I am, too."
"But not wrong. Don't ever be afraid to take what's given to you. That would be wrong. What's the date?"
"The 27th of June, 1915. Why"
"Well, don't you want to remember it? It's the day I first became your mistress."
____
In From the Terrace the story of Alfred Eaton and Victoria Dockwiler stands on its own. The same for the story of Alfred Eaton and Norma Budd. Combined, these two stories are a novella.
From the Terrace: June 27, 1915.
It was the new custom in Port Johnson to have a Young People's Party in late June. It took place at the Idle Hour Tennis Club at the far eastern end of town, and it was in the nature of a get-together for the members' children who were home from college and boarding-school, many of whom would be leaving shortly for the seashore and mountains. . .
(In attendance were Alfred Eaton, his sister Sally, the young woman he loved, Victoria Dockwiler, and Peter Van Peltz, who after the dance in the early morning of June 27th dared them to drive with him in his brother Harry's Stutz Bearcat. Over Alfred's objections, Victoria got in the car).
Alfred and Sally were still seven blocks away from their grandfather's house. They walked on in silence for about four blocks.
"Here they come," said Sally.
The red roadster, brand new, picked up the light from the street lamp at every intersection. Victoria was holding her skirts down, The car had no windshield or doors and was proceeding slowly until Peter saw the Eatons. He sounded the Klaxon, which now had a particularly contemptuous tone, and then accelerated the car . . .
At five o'clock in the morning a farmer discovered the Stutz and, a minute or so later, the bodies of Peter Van Peltz and Victoria Dockwiler.
(And at the end of the day, part of a conversation between twenty-five year-old Norma Budd and Alfred Eaton):
"I love you," he said.
"I love you, I love you. Don't go away from me just yet. Please stay."
"You're lovely, Norma, lovely."
"I'm happy. I know I'm wrong, but I'm happy."
"I am, too."
"But not wrong. Don't ever be afraid to take what's given to you. That would be wrong. What's the date?"
"The 27th of June, 1915. Why"
"Well, don't you want to remember it? It's the day I first became your mistress."
____
In From the Terrace the story of Alfred Eaton and Victoria Dockwiler stands on its own. The same for the story of Alfred Eaton and Norma Budd. Combined, these two stories are a novella.
THE JOHN O'HARA SOCIETY
On June 25, 1932, publication of "Mr. Cass and the Ten Thousand Dollars" The New Yorker. The Doctor's Son. This little story concerns social distinctions and snobbery. Here's an example at the opening:
A Mr. Cass is living at his college club and meets Mr. Billings in the elevator. Billings had been a class ahead of Mr. Cass, and the two men seldom spoke.
"Been to St. Paul lately, Harold?" said Mr. Cass.
"No, said Billings . . . Billings had intended to cut Mr. Cass, but there was something about the way he had asked the question that made Billings feel not so uppity.
___
John O'Hara very much admired the older Scott Fitzgerald. Fitzgerald kept a letter O'Hara wrote him on June 25, 1933. Here are two excerpts:
. . . and I wonder why you do the climber so well. Is it the Irish in you? Must the Irish always have a lot of climber in them? . . .
My pretty little wife is rolling out to Reno next week, and the girl I loved from the time I was 17 got married in Haiti last month . . . And she was the shadow on the wall that broke up my marriage. Oh, my.
___
His "pretty little wife" was going to Reno to divorce him. The girl he loved was the Anglo-Saxon Protestant Margaretta Archbald.
On June 25, 1932, publication of "Mr. Cass and the Ten Thousand Dollars" The New Yorker. The Doctor's Son. This little story concerns social distinctions and snobbery. Here's an example at the opening:
A Mr. Cass is living at his college club and meets Mr. Billings in the elevator. Billings had been a class ahead of Mr. Cass, and the two men seldom spoke.
"Been to St. Paul lately, Harold?" said Mr. Cass.
"No, said Billings . . . Billings had intended to cut Mr. Cass, but there was something about the way he had asked the question that made Billings feel not so uppity.
___
John O'Hara very much admired the older Scott Fitzgerald. Fitzgerald kept a letter O'Hara wrote him on June 25, 1933. Here are two excerpts:
. . . and I wonder why you do the climber so well. Is it the Irish in you? Must the Irish always have a lot of climber in them? . . .
My pretty little wife is rolling out to Reno next week, and the girl I loved from the time I was 17 got married in Haiti last month . . . And she was the shadow on the wall that broke up my marriage. Oh, my.
___
His "pretty little wife" was going to Reno to divorce him. The girl he loved was the Anglo-Saxon Protestant Margaretta Archbald.
Ava Maria! The One Guy She Didn't Screw...
 |
| Ava Gardner: John O'Hara's Pal at his feet |
THE JOHN O'HARA SOCIETY
On June 24, 1933, publication of "Mr. Cowley and the Young." The New Yorker. The Doctor's Son.
He raised his arm and stuck up one finger, and a bus stopped and he mounted the steps. The top deck was empty except for a young man sitting in the very front seat, on the left side, and a young woman on the front seat on the right side. Mr. Cowley was thankful they were not together. At least they would not misbehave and cause him annoyance by kissing and hugging, the way young people frequently did on bus tops. But then, he decided, as he settled himself and his paper, perhaps it was not so good after all. The young woman seemed to be personable, "attractive," as they say . . . Well, what if the young man should decide to make improper advances? It was his duty, Mr. Cowley felt, to take a hand in cases of that sort. It was his duty as a man and as a gentleman to defend the young woman; but the young man was pretty tall, and he had broad shoulders.
___
It so happens the young man and the young woman are married, and they've had a spat, and Mr. Cowley should have minded his own business. A good short read.
On June 24, 1933, publication of "Mr. Cowley and the Young." The New Yorker. The Doctor's Son.
He raised his arm and stuck up one finger, and a bus stopped and he mounted the steps. The top deck was empty except for a young man sitting in the very front seat, on the left side, and a young woman on the front seat on the right side. Mr. Cowley was thankful they were not together. At least they would not misbehave and cause him annoyance by kissing and hugging, the way young people frequently did on bus tops. But then, he decided, as he settled himself and his paper, perhaps it was not so good after all. The young woman seemed to be personable, "attractive," as they say . . . Well, what if the young man should decide to make improper advances? It was his duty, Mr. Cowley felt, to take a hand in cases of that sort. It was his duty as a man and as a gentleman to defend the young woman; but the young man was pretty tall, and he had broad shoulders.
___
It so happens the young man and the young woman are married, and they've had a spat, and Mr. Cowley should have minded his own business. A good short read.
THE JOHN O'HARA SOCIETY
On June 23, 1946, publication of "Horizon." The New Yorker. Hellbox.
"He was sitting it out as a night rewrite man on a not particularly outstanding newspaper. That undoubtedly was the big reason he had begun to think about quitting."
McGuire had just turned 43. Contemporaries were dying. Jess, his co-worker, had ended their affair (". . . from here on get another girl. . .") And he would look from his office at the state capitol building and realize he had never seen the other side of it. He had that early middle-age feeling that life was passing him by.
"And then - this time suddenly and terrifyingly - he knew he was not going to quit, not tonight, not ever. He knew when he was well off. He knew when he had a good thing. He would stay with the paper and the paper would take care of him."
A great description of "mid-life crisis." John O'Hara was forty years old when he wrote this.
From a June 23, 1959 letter to his friend, the producer David Brown:
I completed my novel at 0455 yesterday morning and I am, to my surprise delighted with it . . . OURSELVES TO KNOW is a good novel; I think it will be more successful than I felt it would be . . .
From a June 23, 1965 letter to his English agent Graham Watson:
. . . (The) New American Library has signed the contract for the U.S. paperback rights to THE LOCKWOOD CONCERN. They are shelling out $500,000, which is pretty good shelling . . . I am very hard to please sometimes, which is why I finally settled for a Rolls Royce.
On June 23, 1946, publication of "Horizon." The New Yorker. Hellbox.
"He was sitting it out as a night rewrite man on a not particularly outstanding newspaper. That undoubtedly was the big reason he had begun to think about quitting."
McGuire had just turned 43. Contemporaries were dying. Jess, his co-worker, had ended their affair (". . . from here on get another girl. . .") And he would look from his office at the state capitol building and realize he had never seen the other side of it. He had that early middle-age feeling that life was passing him by.
"And then - this time suddenly and terrifyingly - he knew he was not going to quit, not tonight, not ever. He knew when he was well off. He knew when he had a good thing. He would stay with the paper and the paper would take care of him."
A great description of "mid-life crisis." John O'Hara was forty years old when he wrote this.
From a June 23, 1959 letter to his friend, the producer David Brown:
I completed my novel at 0455 yesterday morning and I am, to my surprise delighted with it . . . OURSELVES TO KNOW is a good novel; I think it will be more successful than I felt it would be . . .
From a June 23, 1965 letter to his English agent Graham Watson:
. . . (The) New American Library has signed the contract for the U.S. paperback rights to THE LOCKWOOD CONCERN. They are shelling out $500,000, which is pretty good shelling . . . I am very hard to please sometimes, which is why I finally settled for a Rolls Royce.
THE JOHN O'HARA SOCIETY
On June 22, 1929, publication of "Holes in Stockings." The New Yorker. A short piece wherein five people comment on a common problem. One of them: Peppery Vixen, Age 20: "Look! Did you ever? . . . Why, that hole. Look at that hole. Can't you see it? Oh, that's awfully nice of you to pretend not to see it, but I think it's perfectly disgusting the way that even the best stockings . . . "
On June 22, 1963, publication of "The Man on the Tractor." The New Yorker. The Hat on the Bed. Gibbsville, PA.
"They were the fabulous Denisons, Pammie and George," wealthy and haughty, who grew up in Gibbsville and several decades later return for business - namely to sell a final real estate parcel inherited by George, his last link to Gibbsville, except for his stock in the bank.
In this nostalgic story, which is probably based on the author's personal feelings in returning to Pottsville after several years, George meets and talks with people he knew as a child and young man - Karl Isaminger, who used to chauffeur his aunt, and Mike Kelly, who used to play baseball with George.
At the bank, where he signs the deed, Andy Stokes tells George about the other friends of theirs, their sundry illnesses, to prepare him for a small gathering to be held that evening with them and the Denisons.
George and Pammie then drive out to the country, stop, kiss, and reminisce. They talk about Pammie's affair several years ago with Tommy Williams, he finally forgives her.
"And don't be depressed by what we see tonight, at Alice and Andy's."
"Thank you," she said. "I Won't. Now."
"Here comes a man on a tractor," he said. "He thinks we're lost."
On June 22, 1929, publication of "Holes in Stockings." The New Yorker. A short piece wherein five people comment on a common problem. One of them: Peppery Vixen, Age 20: "Look! Did you ever? . . . Why, that hole. Look at that hole. Can't you see it? Oh, that's awfully nice of you to pretend not to see it, but I think it's perfectly disgusting the way that even the best stockings . . . "
On June 22, 1963, publication of "The Man on the Tractor." The New Yorker. The Hat on the Bed. Gibbsville, PA.
"They were the fabulous Denisons, Pammie and George," wealthy and haughty, who grew up in Gibbsville and several decades later return for business - namely to sell a final real estate parcel inherited by George, his last link to Gibbsville, except for his stock in the bank.
In this nostalgic story, which is probably based on the author's personal feelings in returning to Pottsville after several years, George meets and talks with people he knew as a child and young man - Karl Isaminger, who used to chauffeur his aunt, and Mike Kelly, who used to play baseball with George.
At the bank, where he signs the deed, Andy Stokes tells George about the other friends of theirs, their sundry illnesses, to prepare him for a small gathering to be held that evening with them and the Denisons.
George and Pammie then drive out to the country, stop, kiss, and reminisce. They talk about Pammie's affair several years ago with Tommy Williams, he finally forgives her.
"And don't be depressed by what we see tonight, at Alice and Andy's."
"Thank you," she said. "I Won't. Now."
"Here comes a man on a tractor," he said. "He thinks we're lost."
THE JOHN O'HARA SOCIETY
From a June 20, 1962 letter to Penn State Professor William L. Werner:
...I really think Penn State, rather than Texas, ought to have my stuff, and that I ought to give it to them.
I grow weary of the efforts of people like Kazin (Alfred Kazin, writer and critic 1915-1998) to squeeze all Irish-named people into a Studs Lonigan mold. On the Delaney side I go back to pre-Revolutionary times, straight line, and even my O'Hara grandfather was an officer in the Civil War. In Ireland O'Hara is one of the four or five names that go back to the 10th Century. An O'Hara took Cornwallis' sword to Washington at Yorktown. When you know these things you do not forever sit silent.
From a June 20, 1962 letter to Penn State Professor William L. Werner:
...I really think Penn State, rather than Texas, ought to have my stuff, and that I ought to give it to them.
I grow weary of the efforts of people like Kazin (Alfred Kazin, writer and critic 1915-1998) to squeeze all Irish-named people into a Studs Lonigan mold. On the Delaney side I go back to pre-Revolutionary times, straight line, and even my O'Hara grandfather was an officer in the Civil War. In Ireland O'Hara is one of the four or five names that go back to the 10th Century. An O'Hara took Cornwallis' sword to Washington at Yorktown. When you know these things you do not forever sit silent.
THE JOHN O'HARA SOCIETY
From a June 17, 1948 letter to Bennett Cerf while writing A Rage to Live:
I have received a note from Littauer of Collier's, asking to have a look at my novel. This, tentatively, is what I am going to say to him: Collier's can look at my novel for $15,000, half payable now and half on completion, when they get first look. If they want to buy it they can pay me $100,000, to which $15,000 does not apply, and the purchase to be subject to our agreeing on cuts. If we can't agree on the cuts, the deal is off and no part of the look-at money is returnable by me.
From a June 17, 1948 letter to Bennett Cerf while writing A Rage to Live:
I have received a note from Littauer of Collier's, asking to have a look at my novel. This, tentatively, is what I am going to say to him: Collier's can look at my novel for $15,000, half payable now and half on completion, when they get first look. If they want to buy it they can pay me $100,000, to which $15,000 does not apply, and the purchase to be subject to our agreeing on cuts. If we can't agree on the cuts, the deal is off and no part of the look-at money is returnable by me.
THE JOHN O'HARA SOCIETY
From a June 16, 1951 letter to Bennett Cerf:
There always have been some secondary meanings in my apparently plain writing, but very few people have taken the trouble to look for them because I do write so plain. That is, I write plain and the reader reads fast. Well, that's all right....
From a June 16, 1951 letter to Bennett Cerf:
There always have been some secondary meanings in my apparently plain writing, but very few people have taken the trouble to look for them because I do write so plain. That is, I write plain and the reader reads fast. Well, that's all right....
THE JOHN O'HARA SOCIETY
On June 15, 1929, publication of "Convention." The New Yorker.
Here we have the convention in late July. Dealers - many of them dealers that have been handling Hagedorn & Brownmiller, Incorporated, products for three decades - they'll be coming to New York to attend the convention and naturally they'll expect us to do something for their entertainment. Nowadays you have to do more than just take a booth at the convention and show the dealers around the plant. I tell you men, the dealer out in the sticks has learned about sales resistance. That means, of course, that every paint-and-varnish house in the city will have their high-pressure men in town during the convention to entertain the dealers. That means also taking them around the town, showing them the sights, and so forth.
___
From December 1, 1928 to July 26, 1930 John O'Hara wrote fourteen Hagedorn & Brownmillers:
1. The Boss's Present.
2. The House Organ.
3. Fifteen-Minutes-for-Efficiency.
4. Appreciation.
5. The Tournament.
6. Convention.
8. Mr. Rosenthal.
9. The Boss Talks.
10. Staff Picture.
11. Halloween Party.
12. Getting Ready for 1930.
13. Mr. Cleary Misses a Party.
14. The New Office.
On June 15, 1929, publication of "Convention." The New Yorker.
Here we have the convention in late July. Dealers - many of them dealers that have been handling Hagedorn & Brownmiller, Incorporated, products for three decades - they'll be coming to New York to attend the convention and naturally they'll expect us to do something for their entertainment. Nowadays you have to do more than just take a booth at the convention and show the dealers around the plant. I tell you men, the dealer out in the sticks has learned about sales resistance. That means, of course, that every paint-and-varnish house in the city will have their high-pressure men in town during the convention to entertain the dealers. That means also taking them around the town, showing them the sights, and so forth.
___
From December 1, 1928 to July 26, 1930 John O'Hara wrote fourteen Hagedorn & Brownmillers:
1. The Boss's Present.
2. The House Organ.
3. Fifteen-Minutes-for-Efficiency.
4. Appreciation.
5. The Tournament.
6. Convention.
8. Mr. Rosenthal.
9. The Boss Talks.
10. Staff Picture.
11. Halloween Party.
12. Getting Ready for 1930.
13. Mr. Cleary Misses a Party.
14. The New Office.
THE JOHN O'HARA SOCIETY
On June 13, 1936, publication of the article "Cesar Romero and the Three Dollar Bills, New York Journal and Chicago American. Unable to access. Cesar Romero (1907-1994) was an American actor. John O'Hara had a small role in the Romero 1936 movie He Married His Wife.
Alfred's visit to Victoria (continued from yesterday):
She opened the door and came outside.
"Hello, Alfred. Welcome home."
"Hello, Victoria."
They shook hands and she let him hold on to her hand, while gently leading him to the wicker chairs around the porch table. "I'd rather sit out here, wouldn't you?"
"Much rather," he said.
"The other side, you can hear every word from the front room where Father is. These chairs aren't as comfortable, but this is more private."
They made conversation until ten o'clock struck through the house....
....She stood near the edge of the porch. He went to her and put his arms around her and kissed her mouth. She freely allowed their bodies to come together while their mouths were pressed against each other. Then she began to breathe more deeply. Three times she breathed that way and he drew his head away and saw that her eyes were closed and she continued to take those deep breaths until he was afraid she had fainted. She opened her eyes, not all the way, and there was a sleepiness and a distant smile in them that he had never seen before in anyone's eyes, and that in Victoria's eyes made her momentarily unrecognizable. And this, he knew, was what he had so often heard about girls losing control of themselves...
"I love you," he said.
On June 13, 1936, publication of the article "Cesar Romero and the Three Dollar Bills, New York Journal and Chicago American. Unable to access. Cesar Romero (1907-1994) was an American actor. John O'Hara had a small role in the Romero 1936 movie He Married His Wife.
Alfred's visit to Victoria (continued from yesterday):
She opened the door and came outside.
"Hello, Alfred. Welcome home."
"Hello, Victoria."
They shook hands and she let him hold on to her hand, while gently leading him to the wicker chairs around the porch table. "I'd rather sit out here, wouldn't you?"
"Much rather," he said.
"The other side, you can hear every word from the front room where Father is. These chairs aren't as comfortable, but this is more private."
They made conversation until ten o'clock struck through the house....
....She stood near the edge of the porch. He went to her and put his arms around her and kissed her mouth. She freely allowed their bodies to come together while their mouths were pressed against each other. Then she began to breathe more deeply. Three times she breathed that way and he drew his head away and saw that her eyes were closed and she continued to take those deep breaths until he was afraid she had fainted. She opened her eyes, not all the way, and there was a sleepiness and a distant smile in them that he had never seen before in anyone's eyes, and that in Victoria's eyes made her momentarily unrecognizable. And this, he knew, was what he had so often heard about girls losing control of themselves...
"I love you," he said.
THE JOHN O'HARA SOCIETY
From The Terrace. Alfred Calls on Victoria
On a warm night in early June 1915 eighteen year old Alfred Eaton graduated from Knox, and after visiting his grandfather, went to see the woman he loved:
He went out into the last of the daylight and walked the short distance to the Dockwilers'. In the front room at the right he could see Victor Dockwiler reading the newspaper and smoking a cigar. The front door was open, the screendoor was in place. Alfred rang the doorbell, and he could see Victor Dockwiler's reactions to the sound: putting down the paper, taking off his glasses and resting the cigar in the ash tray, and starting to get to his feet, then stopping when Victoria, from upstairs, called: "I'll go, Father."Then Victor Dockwiler put on his glasses and took up the newspaper again. He found his place in the paper, and reached out for his cigar. He was a nice man, Mr. Dockwiler, but it was hard to believe he fully appreciated Victoria.
Alfred heard Victoria on the stairs, then saw her, beginning with her shoes, her skirt, he waist, shoulders, her face. The hall light was burning and she had her hand on the door before she could recognize Alfred, but when she did her expression changed from the calm an dignity she had maintained on her way down the stairs to the brightest smile he had ever seen. She opened the door and came outside.
From The Terrace. Alfred Calls on Victoria
On a warm night in early June 1915 eighteen year old Alfred Eaton graduated from Knox, and after visiting his grandfather, went to see the woman he loved:
He went out into the last of the daylight and walked the short distance to the Dockwilers'. In the front room at the right he could see Victor Dockwiler reading the newspaper and smoking a cigar. The front door was open, the screendoor was in place. Alfred rang the doorbell, and he could see Victor Dockwiler's reactions to the sound: putting down the paper, taking off his glasses and resting the cigar in the ash tray, and starting to get to his feet, then stopping when Victoria, from upstairs, called: "I'll go, Father."Then Victor Dockwiler put on his glasses and took up the newspaper again. He found his place in the paper, and reached out for his cigar. He was a nice man, Mr. Dockwiler, but it was hard to believe he fully appreciated Victoria.
Alfred heard Victoria on the stairs, then saw her, beginning with her shoes, her skirt, he waist, shoulders, her face. The hall light was burning and she had her hand on the door before she could recognize Alfred, but when she did her expression changed from the calm an dignity she had maintained on her way down the stairs to the brightest smile he had ever seen. She opened the door and came outside.
THE JOHN O'HARA SOCIETY
A Different Workplace Back Then
On June 11, 1938, publication of "And You Want a Mountain." The New Yorker. Files on Parade.
Mr. Loughram is trying to make it with co-worker Miss J:
"What's the matter with me, Miss J?"
"What do you mean what's the matter with you?"
"What I say. What's the matter with me? I don't know how many times in the last two years I've offered to do little things for you and you refuse as if I'd made you a proposition."
"Oh, I don't."
"Yes, you do. Several times when this friend of mine has stopped for me I've asked you if you cared for a lift, instead of riding home in the subway. Most people would jump at the chance. I know I do. I'd rather have a breath of fresh air and get home a few minutes late than ride in the subway, any day. But every time I ask you you'd think I was a White Slaver."
"Oh, I do not," said Miss J. "You know, Mr. Loughran, you're making a mountain out of a molehill."
"Yes, that's the trouble," said Mr. Loughran. It's because I'm a molehill and you want a mountain."
"I don't follow."
It's simple. My size. Because of my stature. Naturally I know how tall I am, or rather how tall I'm not, and I also see you going home occasionally with the fellows that call for you, and they're all tall, whereas I'm under average heightth."
___
"heightth" is the way the author spells it.
Advice for Mr. Loughran: Maybe she doesn't like the color of your eyes. There are some women you'll never make in a million years. Pick on someone your own size. And be grateful don't live in an age where you could get sued for harassment.
A Different Workplace Back Then
On June 11, 1938, publication of "And You Want a Mountain." The New Yorker. Files on Parade.
Mr. Loughram is trying to make it with co-worker Miss J:
"What's the matter with me, Miss J?"
"What do you mean what's the matter with you?"
"What I say. What's the matter with me? I don't know how many times in the last two years I've offered to do little things for you and you refuse as if I'd made you a proposition."
"Oh, I don't."
"Yes, you do. Several times when this friend of mine has stopped for me I've asked you if you cared for a lift, instead of riding home in the subway. Most people would jump at the chance. I know I do. I'd rather have a breath of fresh air and get home a few minutes late than ride in the subway, any day. But every time I ask you you'd think I was a White Slaver."
"Oh, I do not," said Miss J. "You know, Mr. Loughran, you're making a mountain out of a molehill."
"Yes, that's the trouble," said Mr. Loughran. It's because I'm a molehill and you want a mountain."
"I don't follow."
It's simple. My size. Because of my stature. Naturally I know how tall I am, or rather how tall I'm not, and I also see you going home occasionally with the fellows that call for you, and they're all tall, whereas I'm under average heightth."
___
"heightth" is the way the author spells it.
Advice for Mr. Loughran: Maybe she doesn't like the color of your eyes. There are some women you'll never make in a million years. Pick on someone your own size. And be grateful don't live in an age where you could get sued for harassment.
THE JOHN O'HARA SOCIETY
From A Rage To Live:
On the tenth of June, 1913, Sidney and Grace celebrated their tenth wedding anniversary. Sidney was thirty-five years old; Grace was twenty-nine. They had three children: Alfred, who was nine years old; Anna, seven, whom her father sometimes called Annotate, a second-generation joke in the Tate family; and William Brock, known as Billy, who was five....
Sidney lunched alone at the Fort Penn Club on the day of the anniversary. He and Grace were having their bridesmaids and ushers and closest friends for dinner that night, and he had gone to Fort Penn for a haircut, which was hardly more than a trim around the edges. He drank a glass of sherry, contrary to his custom of not drinking while the sun was up, and ate the Irish stew. He sat in the dining-room instead of the grill, to take advantage of the unwritten rule that in the dining-room you chose your company, while in the grill anyone theoretically could sit at your table. He wanted to think about Grace and their marriage, because he believed that on a tenth anniversary that was the right thing to do. To cast accounts, to recapitulate.
This is a good mariage. I love my wife and I am confident she loves me.
From A Rage To Live:
On the tenth of June, 1913, Sidney and Grace celebrated their tenth wedding anniversary. Sidney was thirty-five years old; Grace was twenty-nine. They had three children: Alfred, who was nine years old; Anna, seven, whom her father sometimes called Annotate, a second-generation joke in the Tate family; and William Brock, known as Billy, who was five....
Sidney lunched alone at the Fort Penn Club on the day of the anniversary. He and Grace were having their bridesmaids and ushers and closest friends for dinner that night, and he had gone to Fort Penn for a haircut, which was hardly more than a trim around the edges. He drank a glass of sherry, contrary to his custom of not drinking while the sun was up, and ate the Irish stew. He sat in the dining-room instead of the grill, to take advantage of the unwritten rule that in the dining-room you chose your company, while in the grill anyone theoretically could sit at your table. He wanted to think about Grace and their marriage, because he believed that on a tenth anniversary that was the right thing to do. To cast accounts, to recapitulate.
This is a good mariage. I love my wife and I am confident she loves me.
THE JOHN O'HARA SOCIETY
On June 9, 1928, publication of "Tennis." The New Yorker.
I'll never be much of a tennis player, but I get a lot of fun out of it. And you've got to grant it's better exercise than golf. It's a toss-up which is more strenuous: lacrosse or hockey, in my mind. I'm not one of those that say tennis is the most - uh - gruelling sport in the world, but by God when you've finished a good, lively five-set match on a hot summer's afternoon, by God you know you haven't been - well - twiddling your thumbs.....
So I'm getting in my tennis now, while I'm young, because the pace I live you can't expect to have the same kind of heart when you're forty that you do now. Time enough for golf when I'm forty or so. Course I'm not implying it's an old man's game....
On June 9, 1928, publication of "Tennis." The New Yorker.
I'll never be much of a tennis player, but I get a lot of fun out of it. And you've got to grant it's better exercise than golf. It's a toss-up which is more strenuous: lacrosse or hockey, in my mind. I'm not one of those that say tennis is the most - uh - gruelling sport in the world, but by God when you've finished a good, lively five-set match on a hot summer's afternoon, by God you know you haven't been - well - twiddling your thumbs.....
So I'm getting in my tennis now, while I'm young, because the pace I live you can't expect to have the same kind of heart when you're forty that you do now. Time enough for golf when I'm forty or so. Course I'm not implying it's an old man's game....
THE JOHN O'HARA SOCIETY
On June 8, 1929, publication of "The Tournament." The New Yorker. Hagedorn & Brownmiller, Incorporated plan a golf outing.
On June 8, 1931, Starr Faithfull's beaten and drugged body was discovered on a Long Island Beach. She was the inspiration for Gloria Wandrous in BUtterfield 8, another great, under-appreciated novel.
____
On August 27, 2013 Penguin will release New York Stories by John O'Hara, edited by our own Steven Goldleaf. The book can be pre-ordered through Amazon. These are the thirty-two stories in this 400 page book:
Agatha Late, Late Show
The Assistant Memorial Fund
At The Cothurnos Club The Nothing Machine
The Brain "A Phase of Life"
Bread Alone Pleasure
Call Me, Call Me Portisan on the Portis
Can I Stay Here? The Portly Gentleman
Ellie The Private People
Encounter: 1943 The Public Career of
Family Evening Mr. Seymour Harrisburg
First Day in Town Sportsmanship
Frankie The Sun-dodgers
Good-by, Herman The Tackle
Harrington and Whitehill The Weakling
It's Mental Work We're Friends Again
John Barton Rosedale, The Women of Madison Avenue
Actor's Actor Your Fah Neefah Neeface
On June 8, 1929, publication of "The Tournament." The New Yorker. Hagedorn & Brownmiller, Incorporated plan a golf outing.
On June 8, 1931, Starr Faithfull's beaten and drugged body was discovered on a Long Island Beach. She was the inspiration for Gloria Wandrous in BUtterfield 8, another great, under-appreciated novel.
____
On August 27, 2013 Penguin will release New York Stories by John O'Hara, edited by our own Steven Goldleaf. The book can be pre-ordered through Amazon. These are the thirty-two stories in this 400 page book:
Agatha Late, Late Show
The Assistant Memorial Fund
At The Cothurnos Club The Nothing Machine
The Brain "A Phase of Life"
Bread Alone Pleasure
Call Me, Call Me Portisan on the Portis
Can I Stay Here? The Portly Gentleman
Ellie The Private People
Encounter: 1943 The Public Career of
Family Evening Mr. Seymour Harrisburg
First Day in Town Sportsmanship
Frankie The Sun-dodgers
Good-by, Herman The Tackle
Harrington and Whitehill The Weakling
It's Mental Work We're Friends Again
John Barton Rosedale, The Women of Madison Avenue
Actor's Actor Your Fah Neefah Neeface
THE JOHN O'HARA SOCIETY
In the current New Yorker, critic at large Adam Gopnik writes: "There's always a measure of uncertainty ... about who owes what to whom; among the big three literary Johns, who can say exactly what Updike owes to Cheever, or what either owes to O'Hara?"
On June 7, 1930, publication of "Most Likely to Succeed." The New Yorker. A short monologue by a graduating college student, delivered to his girl friend Bess. Here are the first two paragraphs:
Tell me, what are people really saying about it, I mean about my being voted most likely to succeed? Are they saying it will go to my head, or are they just not paying much attention to it?
Because honestly, Bess, I give you my word of honor, it won't have any effect on me. I appreciate it, of course, because after four years if the fellows think enough of you to say you're the one they think is most likely to succeed, why it's a pretty swell thing to know. As a matter of fact, just between us, and please don't ever repeat this, but if they hadn't given it to me, I'd have been disappointed as hell. Because I tried to get it.
From a June 7, 1948 letter to Harold Ross: The enclosed, being a poem, does not mean I have surrendered or yielded from my position. As far as I know we are just where we were in January, and our stalemate is not affected by my being compelled to express myself in verse.
And here is Matthew Bruccoli's explanation in a footnote to the letter: In the late Forties O'Hara became increasingly upset by The New Yorker's rejection of his short stories. He felt that since the stories were written for that magazine, they were unpublishable elsewhere. Harold Ross refused to meet O'Hara's demand for a $500 payment for every rejected story. When The New Yorker's review of A Rage to Live appeared in 1949, O'Hara stopped writing stories for eleven years.
From a June 7, 1958 letter:
Our country club, the Schuykill Country Club, was about seven miles from Pottsville. Whenever we blades or our girl friends had visitors from out-of-town we of course took them to the Club for tea, tennis, dances, tea dances, and the view.
In the current New Yorker, critic at large Adam Gopnik writes: "There's always a measure of uncertainty ... about who owes what to whom; among the big three literary Johns, who can say exactly what Updike owes to Cheever, or what either owes to O'Hara?"
On June 7, 1930, publication of "Most Likely to Succeed." The New Yorker. A short monologue by a graduating college student, delivered to his girl friend Bess. Here are the first two paragraphs:
Tell me, what are people really saying about it, I mean about my being voted most likely to succeed? Are they saying it will go to my head, or are they just not paying much attention to it?
Because honestly, Bess, I give you my word of honor, it won't have any effect on me. I appreciate it, of course, because after four years if the fellows think enough of you to say you're the one they think is most likely to succeed, why it's a pretty swell thing to know. As a matter of fact, just between us, and please don't ever repeat this, but if they hadn't given it to me, I'd have been disappointed as hell. Because I tried to get it.
From a June 7, 1948 letter to Harold Ross: The enclosed, being a poem, does not mean I have surrendered or yielded from my position. As far as I know we are just where we were in January, and our stalemate is not affected by my being compelled to express myself in verse.
And here is Matthew Bruccoli's explanation in a footnote to the letter: In the late Forties O'Hara became increasingly upset by The New Yorker's rejection of his short stories. He felt that since the stories were written for that magazine, they were unpublishable elsewhere. Harold Ross refused to meet O'Hara's demand for a $500 payment for every rejected story. When The New Yorker's review of A Rage to Live appeared in 1949, O'Hara stopped writing stories for eleven years.
From a June 7, 1958 letter:
Our country club, the Schuykill Country Club, was about seven miles from Pottsville. Whenever we blades or our girl friends had visitors from out-of-town we of course took them to the Club for tea, tennis, dances, tea dances, and the view.
THE JOHN O'HARA SOCIETY
I forgot to mention yesterday that Elizabeth Appleton was published fifty years ago on June 4, 1963. In the author's words, "It is a novel about a marriage in a small Pennsylvania college town." I read it several years ago and enjoyed it, but I think it's one of the minor ones.
___
On June 5, 1943, publication of "Now You Know." The New Yorker. Pipe Night. Mary lives with her mother and sisters in Queens and takes the bus into New York every morning. Herbert, unhappily married and the father of three, is the driver. The two develop a strong attraction to each other, an attraction so strong for Herbert that he asks his company to transfer him to another route. Herbert's the first to blurt out his love for Mary, and Mary tells him if he hadn't she would have. Unlike O'Hara, it's all pure innocence.
From a June 5, 1962 letter to The New York Herald Tribune:
If the President is not going to read anything I say in the Herald Tribune...I don't know how I am going to get across to him. Possibly through a series of oversights, I have not been invited to any of the cultural evenings at the White House, so I have missed out on that opportunity to give him the benefit of my experience in international and domestic affairs....
It was Woodrow Wilson, I believe, who first respectabilized the mystery story, but it remained for Mr. Kennedy to be the first President to single out a whodunit author. I am a little sorry that the author had to be an Englishman....
____
The Englishman is Ian Fleming. James Bond would never have made it into the big time had President Kennedy not mentioned that he enjoyed reading Ian Fleming novels.
I forgot to mention yesterday that Elizabeth Appleton was published fifty years ago on June 4, 1963. In the author's words, "It is a novel about a marriage in a small Pennsylvania college town." I read it several years ago and enjoyed it, but I think it's one of the minor ones.
___
On June 5, 1943, publication of "Now You Know." The New Yorker. Pipe Night. Mary lives with her mother and sisters in Queens and takes the bus into New York every morning. Herbert, unhappily married and the father of three, is the driver. The two develop a strong attraction to each other, an attraction so strong for Herbert that he asks his company to transfer him to another route. Herbert's the first to blurt out his love for Mary, and Mary tells him if he hadn't she would have. Unlike O'Hara, it's all pure innocence.
From a June 5, 1962 letter to The New York Herald Tribune:
If the President is not going to read anything I say in the Herald Tribune...I don't know how I am going to get across to him. Possibly through a series of oversights, I have not been invited to any of the cultural evenings at the White House, so I have missed out on that opportunity to give him the benefit of my experience in international and domestic affairs....
It was Woodrow Wilson, I believe, who first respectabilized the mystery story, but it remained for Mr. Kennedy to be the first President to single out a whodunit author. I am a little sorry that the author had to be an Englishman....
____
The Englishman is Ian Fleming. James Bond would never have made it into the big time had President Kennedy not mentioned that he enjoyed reading Ian Fleming novels.
THE JOHN O'HARA SOCIETY
From a June 4, 1934 letter to his brother Thomas:
I leave Thursday for Hollywood, on a contract that calls for my services for at least ten weeks....I'm so excited about the trip, and the prospect of being able to buy a Ford phaeton of my very own, and a new suit, and some razor blades....St. Clair McKelway is a tall, handsome guy with blond hair and a quiet, smooth way of talking....He is taking Gibbs' place, Gibbs having had a nervous breakdown and gone away for a rest cure. Like me.
On June 4, 1966, publication of "Yostie." The Saturday Evening Post. Waiting for Winter. Gibbsville.
Irwin Yost ("Yostie") is the sixty-one year old widowed proprietor of a boating resort on a dam in The Region in the twenties. It's Decoration Day, the old name for Memorial Day, and Yostie expects the usual large crowd to take the trolley our from Gibbsville, but he's short-handed on the help, so he's forced to hire Ed Smith, an unsavory, ex-con drifter.
At the end of a long conversation Yostie, disgusted with Smith, fires him before the day is out. He then has another conversation with Mildred, his poor twenty-seven year-old waitress-cook employee, whom he suspects Smith had been bothering.
Dialogue and descriptions in this lengthy piece are top-notch O'Hara.
From a June 4, 1934 letter to his brother Thomas:
I leave Thursday for Hollywood, on a contract that calls for my services for at least ten weeks....I'm so excited about the trip, and the prospect of being able to buy a Ford phaeton of my very own, and a new suit, and some razor blades....St. Clair McKelway is a tall, handsome guy with blond hair and a quiet, smooth way of talking....He is taking Gibbs' place, Gibbs having had a nervous breakdown and gone away for a rest cure. Like me.
On June 4, 1966, publication of "Yostie." The Saturday Evening Post. Waiting for Winter. Gibbsville.
Irwin Yost ("Yostie") is the sixty-one year old widowed proprietor of a boating resort on a dam in The Region in the twenties. It's Decoration Day, the old name for Memorial Day, and Yostie expects the usual large crowd to take the trolley our from Gibbsville, but he's short-handed on the help, so he's forced to hire Ed Smith, an unsavory, ex-con drifter.
At the end of a long conversation Yostie, disgusted with Smith, fires him before the day is out. He then has another conversation with Mildred, his poor twenty-seven year-old waitress-cook employee, whom he suspects Smith had been bothering.
Dialogue and descriptions in this lengthy piece are top-notch O'Hara.
THE JOHN O'HARA SOCIETY
On June 3, 1939, publication of "Can You Carry Me." The New Yorker. Pipe Night. I couldn't access this story.
From a June 3, 1960 letter to Kyle Crichton, editor at Scribner's Magazine.
You obviously haven't been reading the Sunday Times Book Reviews of my books in recent years, or you'd know what a powerful influence I don't pack there....
My experience over 26 years of publishing books is it's best to leave critics and editors alone. When I get a thoughtful, complimentary review, I sometimes drop a note of thanks to the reviewer, but I know an author is better off in the long run if he stays away from critics and editors - unless you happen to belong to a clique, like the Kronenberger-MacLeish-Mason Brown-Lillian Hellman pack, a mutual assistance group that are very influential but who bore me to death. They get together and all try to say the same thing first and regard it as intellectual conversation, and freeze if there is the slightest deviation from their line. Well, you ought to know. You did it yourself long enough.
On June 3, 1939, publication of "Can You Carry Me." The New Yorker. Pipe Night. I couldn't access this story.
From a June 3, 1960 letter to Kyle Crichton, editor at Scribner's Magazine.
You obviously haven't been reading the Sunday Times Book Reviews of my books in recent years, or you'd know what a powerful influence I don't pack there....
My experience over 26 years of publishing books is it's best to leave critics and editors alone. When I get a thoughtful, complimentary review, I sometimes drop a note of thanks to the reviewer, but I know an author is better off in the long run if he stays away from critics and editors - unless you happen to belong to a clique, like the Kronenberger-MacLeish-Mason Brown-Lillian Hellman pack, a mutual assistance group that are very influential but who bore me to death. They get together and all try to say the same thing first and regard it as intellectual conversation, and freeze if there is the slightest deviation from their line. Well, you ought to know. You did it yourself long enough.
THE JOHN O'HARA SOCIETY
A Rage to Live (1949) is a magnificent, under-appreciated novel, in which John O'Hara's writing style entered a new dimension. In reviewing his past novels and stories, I found no hint of this change, which was to last throughout the rest of his career.
On June 2, 1903, Grace Brock Caldwell married Sidney Tate at the Caldwell Farm, some ten miles north of Fort Penn (Harrisburg, Pa.).
The description of the wedding is several pages, but here are some excerpts:
The wedding was conceded to be the biggest thing of its kind in Fort Penn. Everybody agreed on that, from the very small group who actually witnessed the ceremony to the thousands who knew all about it....
After they were made as one the bride and groom stepped into their victoria under a shower of rice, confetti, and serpentines. In honor of the occasion Higgins, the coachman, and his son had been fitted out in silk hats with cockades, black whipcord tailcoats, white doeskin breeches, and hunting-style boots, and they wore starched socks. Prince and Duke, Emily Caldwell's chestnut cobs, were used, and they were in silver-mounted harness, the set which was erroneously believed to have solid silver hames. The happy couple, followed by the bridal party in equally smart turnouts, proceeded to the Caldwell house. There Grace was taken by her husband to Will Caldwell's den, and in the presence of those ushers who were members of the Yale secret society called Death's Head, she was initiated with the brief ceremony reserved for all brides of Death's Head men. This solemn ritual concluded according to the rubrics, the bride and groom were permitted to continue with the schedule, which allowed fifteen minutes for bride, maid of honor, bridesmaids, bridegroom, best man, and ushers to empty their bladders, then to stand in line under one of the militia's tents until Sally Wall, a bridesmaid, keeled over in a faint, and two more bridesmaids appeared to be about to follow suit. At that point some six hundred men, women, and children had observed the amenities, but at least two hundred more were deprived of the pleasure of shaking hands with the ladies and gentlemen on the receiving line. For the first time in four strenuous hours (except for her rides in the victoria and her visit to the bathroom) Grace sat down, at the U-shaped table. The primary toasts were drunk and then Sidney and Grace took to the tennis court, now boarded over for dancing....
A Rage to Live (1949) is a magnificent, under-appreciated novel, in which John O'Hara's writing style entered a new dimension. In reviewing his past novels and stories, I found no hint of this change, which was to last throughout the rest of his career.
On June 2, 1903, Grace Brock Caldwell married Sidney Tate at the Caldwell Farm, some ten miles north of Fort Penn (Harrisburg, Pa.).
The description of the wedding is several pages, but here are some excerpts:
The wedding was conceded to be the biggest thing of its kind in Fort Penn. Everybody agreed on that, from the very small group who actually witnessed the ceremony to the thousands who knew all about it....
After they were made as one the bride and groom stepped into their victoria under a shower of rice, confetti, and serpentines. In honor of the occasion Higgins, the coachman, and his son had been fitted out in silk hats with cockades, black whipcord tailcoats, white doeskin breeches, and hunting-style boots, and they wore starched socks. Prince and Duke, Emily Caldwell's chestnut cobs, were used, and they were in silver-mounted harness, the set which was erroneously believed to have solid silver hames. The happy couple, followed by the bridal party in equally smart turnouts, proceeded to the Caldwell house. There Grace was taken by her husband to Will Caldwell's den, and in the presence of those ushers who were members of the Yale secret society called Death's Head, she was initiated with the brief ceremony reserved for all brides of Death's Head men. This solemn ritual concluded according to the rubrics, the bride and groom were permitted to continue with the schedule, which allowed fifteen minutes for bride, maid of honor, bridesmaids, bridegroom, best man, and ushers to empty their bladders, then to stand in line under one of the militia's tents until Sally Wall, a bridesmaid, keeled over in a faint, and two more bridesmaids appeared to be about to follow suit. At that point some six hundred men, women, and children had observed the amenities, but at least two hundred more were deprived of the pleasure of shaking hands with the ladies and gentlemen on the receiving line. For the first time in four strenuous hours (except for her rides in the victoria and her visit to the bathroom) Grace sat down, at the U-shaped table. The primary toasts were drunk and then Sidney and Grace took to the tennis court, now boarded over for dancing....
THE JOHN O'HARA SOCIETY
On June 1, 1929, publication of "Fun for the Kiddies." The New Yorker.
The Afternoon Delphian Society: "The Rotary Club has guaranteed the salary of a playground instructor for the whole season, which is splendid, but do you know who the playground instructor is to be? None other than Forrest Inness, Mrs. Inness' son whom we all know and is quite a football star at Yale."
On June 1, 1963, publication of "The Flatted Saxophone." The New Yorker. The Hat on the Bed. A late middle-aged man and woman, each married to someone else, while at a wedding reception, discuss their romance some forty years ago and speculate about divorcing their spouses and marrying (It doesn't happen; instead they get up and dance).
The story's title is in its first paragraph:
Something happens to the tone of a tenor saxophone when it is played out-of-doors; they always sound flat, especially at wedding receptions, when the guests are queued up for the exchange of mutterings with the bridal party. The dancing has not begun, and the orchestra seems neglected and lonely and the tenor saxophone is expressing musicians' self-pity. Later, when the bride and groom have done their turn .... and general dancing under way, the flatness of the tenor sax is not so noticeable. It gets lost in the babble of human voices, especially the women's voices, and the musicians have stopped felling sorry for themselves, the tenor sax therefore has nothing to express, the orchestra plays "From This Moment On" at the cadence of he Society Bounce, and if the tenor sax is flat, so too may be the champagne, but it does not matter much.
On June 1, 1961, publication of "Exterior: with Figure." The Saturday Evening Post. The Hat on the Bed. Gibbsville, PA.
Jim Malloy narrates this sad Gibbsville story about the wealthy Armour family, whose children succumb to alcoholism, insanity and dishonesty.
"There are, most definitely, such things as hard-luck-people, hard-luck families; at least it is a working thesis that misfortune is repeatedly attracted to certain families like the Armours."
On June 1, 1929, publication of "Fun for the Kiddies." The New Yorker.
The Afternoon Delphian Society: "The Rotary Club has guaranteed the salary of a playground instructor for the whole season, which is splendid, but do you know who the playground instructor is to be? None other than Forrest Inness, Mrs. Inness' son whom we all know and is quite a football star at Yale."
On June 1, 1963, publication of "The Flatted Saxophone." The New Yorker. The Hat on the Bed. A late middle-aged man and woman, each married to someone else, while at a wedding reception, discuss their romance some forty years ago and speculate about divorcing their spouses and marrying (It doesn't happen; instead they get up and dance).
The story's title is in its first paragraph:
Something happens to the tone of a tenor saxophone when it is played out-of-doors; they always sound flat, especially at wedding receptions, when the guests are queued up for the exchange of mutterings with the bridal party. The dancing has not begun, and the orchestra seems neglected and lonely and the tenor saxophone is expressing musicians' self-pity. Later, when the bride and groom have done their turn .... and general dancing under way, the flatness of the tenor sax is not so noticeable. It gets lost in the babble of human voices, especially the women's voices, and the musicians have stopped felling sorry for themselves, the tenor sax therefore has nothing to express, the orchestra plays "From This Moment On" at the cadence of he Society Bounce, and if the tenor sax is flat, so too may be the champagne, but it does not matter much.
On June 1, 1961, publication of "Exterior: with Figure." The Saturday Evening Post. The Hat on the Bed. Gibbsville, PA.
Jim Malloy narrates this sad Gibbsville story about the wealthy Armour family, whose children succumb to alcoholism, insanity and dishonesty.
"There are, most definitely, such things as hard-luck-people, hard-luck families; at least it is a working thesis that misfortune is repeatedly attracted to certain families like the Armours."
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)