EthicalDative

Mark Twain. HJN, drawing.

[Dear Mother,]

We enjoyed your March 15th letter with all the news. Also greatly interested in the Walker Percy pieces and look forward to reading the book. It’s amazing that “The Moviegoer” is that old. I’m continuing to forge desultorily through the Mark Twain biography. It’s pleasantly dull; does that make sense? I think sometimes such reading is therapeutic. I continue to be amazed and amused at the chronic illnesses and indispositions of the women and the blustering, inappropriate reactions of the men folk. Clemens’s daughter Clara professed to cultivate a singing career practically all her life; yet she routinely came down with a sore throat before every concert, and would take to her bed for months on end. Clemens’s presence seemed to send all his women to their sick beds; they would recover when he went away on speaking tours and all sorts of other engagements. Meanwhile, everybody dumped reams of saccharine, verbose correspondence on everybody else. Much of what Samuel Clemens wrote during the last ten years — journalism, essays, occasional pieces, as well as books — seems definitely to be avoided, judging by the critical evaluations in this biography. I do have an impulse, though, to read or re-read something from his great period, just to experience the greatness.

[Correspondence, Copyright (c) 2018 James Mansfield Nichols. All rights reserved.]

Selfie, JMN.

[Dear Mother,]

I’ve started a little writing project that I refer to as “Sketches” for now. I try to record or re-create things I hear and have heard from people at work. C** and N**, for example, are big talkers, and on the occasions I’ve ridden with one or the other for the day they have related various stories and anecdotes, or have expressed themselves on one topic or another. I enclose the three I’ve done, hoping you’re not offended by the scatological language or subject matter. Nothing has been invented by me, nor am I striving for any kind of embellishment. I’ll do it until my motivation peters out.
…
[Sketch]

KIM’S INDICTMENT

Kim, our receptionist, issued the most scathing indictment of an individual that I’ve heard for some time. The target was Jay L**, a tall, blonde IBM marketing rep who works the Victoria district.

Jay has a marketing degree from Pan American University, Edinburg, Texas. He’s a soon-to-be-not-eligible bachelor, his fiancée the daughter of a well-heeled Victoria family. He remarked to Kim that he would not normally have considered marrying a Victoria girl because such a girl could not be expected to fulfill his expectations as to culture and intelligence.

“He’s NOT wonderful,” Kim said.

KIM’S TORSO

Kim has an expressive upper body. When she talks, her shoulders go in several directions at once. The lower part of her body goes opposite.

I tried to imitate Kim today, but Nancy, the bookkeeper, said it just wasn’t convincing.

“I guess I don’t have the hormones,” I said.

Kim and Nancy giggled and acted scandalized.

“People’ve made fun of me all my life because I’m so expressive,” Kim said.

“You know what your problem is?” I said. “You’re effeminate.”

“What’s that mean?” Kim said.

“It means… it means you’re all woman,” I said.

“Well, I *thought* it had something to do with feminine,” Kim said.

[Correspondence, Copyright (c) 2018 James Mansfield Nichols. All rights reserved.]

Mark Twain. HJN, drawing.

[Dear Mother,]

I’ve read about a third or so of Hamlin Hill’s “Mark Twain: God’s Fool.” It’s about the last ten years of his life, based on materials that were not available or publishable when family members were still living. It paints a mixed picture of the man, a number of things not particularly inspiring, as is the case with most mortals, even famous writers. He was a compulsive speculator and was involved in get-rich schemes all his life. He lost a lot of money, but seemed to live well most of his life. The book blurb says Hamlin Hill is a professor of English who has taught at various universities and was educated at the Universities of Houston, Texas, and Chicago. I had not heard of him. To me one of the more dismal features of Twain’s life is the tortured, Victorian family relationship. He had several daughters; one died, and the anniversary of her death was forever after observed; both the wife and the other daughters were “ill” much of the time with what Hill says was the Victorian equivalent of “nerves,” depression, hysteria, hypochondria, etc. Apparently, much of the women’s problem was Twain himself.

Here’s a happier subject: Andrew. I’ve been singing “Baa Baa, Blacksheep” to him for a couple of weeks, and the other evening he sang it back. From the start he listened, and was obviously interested. Then he started saying (or singing) “baa baa sheep.” But the other night I was on the floor with him in the living room; he was playing with something, and almost as an afterthought, he got through it something like this: “baa baa sheep, have you wool, yessir, yessir, thee baa fool.” I just had to hug him to death. He’s been feeling very good and doesn’t seem to be affected by the little allergic conditions that bring him down now and then.

[Correspondence, Copyright (c) 2018 James Mansfield Nichols. All rights reserved.]