Here the sky rumbles constantly with the noise of airplanes, mostly jets, like a sick stomach. All for now. Much love to you and the girls. XXXX
Jim
BETTY POWERS
Albuquerque
May 22, 1954
Dear Betty,
[…] I was glad to hear that you’re battling off the red squirrels. That was my constant fear, while away, that they’d get back in again, maybe while you were up the river. […] XXXX
Jim
I dreamed of Marilyn Monroe last night. Nothing serious, just amorous dalliance, when George and a couple of other people, males but not priests, came along and put a stop to it, using ridicule but insinuating that I was a family man. I ended up going down the street — seemed to be in London — with a faulty umbrella, in the rain. Interesting?
HARVEY EGAN
509 First Avenue South
St Cloud
June 5, 1954
Dear Fr Egan,
[…] George was here last weekend with Fr Philip Hughes, the historian. Good time. Refreshing to meet someone now and then, I mean, another human being.
Haircut today, and my barber (knowing my line of work) asked what was the bestseller now. Might have been the beginning of a stimulating discourse, but I had to tell him I don’t keep up with things anymore. […]
Jim
Jim gave a short creative writing seminar at the University of Indiana, stopping in Urbana, Illinois, to visit Charles Shattuck and Kerker Quinn. (“I had a good time,” he told Betty, “not too much to drink in case you think so.”)
BETTY POWERS
Indiana University
Monday, 1:00 p.m., July 12, 1954
Dear Betty,
[…] It is hot here. I had my first class this morning. It went all right. I have more MSS to read than I’ve ever had before. But have plenty of time, I guess. The big occasion today is an escorted tour through the Institute for Sex Research, with a good chance of hearing a few words from Dr Kinsey himself. If he looks my way, I’ll expose myself. Keeping the welfare of Stearns Co. — and its problems — in mind, I’ll inquire as to the work going on in the Bestiality Division. I get the impression we’re lucky to be taken behind the walls. […] Hope you are all well — and not fighting.
BETTY POWERS
Indiana University
Wednesday afternoon, July 14, 1954
Dear Betty,
[…] The visit to the Kinsey’s domain was interesting, and I rather liked the man. I’ll tell you (and everybody) more when I get home. I ought to be in some demand — even though most people don’t care a lot for me. “I spent 2 hours with Dr Kinsey” will be my tentative title. […] Love to you — the girls — Bozzer.
Jim
16. There have been times, though not recently, when it has seemed to me that I might escape the doom of man, September 2, 1954–January 10, 1956
Caricature of Jim by Jody O’Connell, mid-1950s
HARVEY EGAN
509 First Avenue South
St Cloud
September 2, 1954
Dear Fr Egan,
Thanks for the Orwell. Betty and I’ve been reading it. Amazing, I think, his power to be interesting. I’ll have to discount a lot of what he says against England. I wonder what he would’ve thought of this country if he’d had any real experience of it. England, he says, is a family, with the power in the hands of doddering aunts and uncles. America is a supermarket, where you’re at the mercy of the clerks and checkers, and just being in it is demoralizing.
I spoke to Don about your chalice, and evidently he has definite plans for it. More I’d like to do, but you know how it is. He doesn’t respond to strong treatment — like grabbing a handful of water. I didn’t understand him, or Mary, until I went to Ireland, which is full of such people. […]
Jim
Jim once again ducked a family Thanksgiving, spending it in 1954 with Egan in Beardsley.
HARVEY EGAN
509 First Avenue South
St Cloud
March 19, 1955
Dear Fr Egan,
Glad to hear from you. Have been about to write to you several times, but was never sure where you were. I heard some weeks ago that you were very sick after I saw you — embolism, I think it was — but this was hearsay from Mary Humphrey, and by that time evidently you’d recovered. I’ve been wondering — let’s face it — if I’m very high up in your will.
[…]
We’re expecting a visitation tomorrow from George, Caroline Gordon, and an unspecified number of interesting people. They are bringing their lunch.
Yes, this vale of tears is just that. I got some money in the mail this morning, enough to keep us another month. I was just beginning to wonder how you’d like to have me for the rest of the Lent, fearful that you’d have some prejudice against me during that time. No, not really; I wasn’t coming. We’ve had a hard winter of it. I keep seeing where Irwin Shaw, or Truman Capote, or James Michener, is doing this at Cannes, or that at London, and wonder if I haven’t missed the boat. I am in the textbooks, and they aren’t, but I’m not sure that’s important. After all, I have just the one life to live. I am not by nature cut out for this life, as it’s defined in these parts by the chamber of commerce and our bishop, who is devoted to Christian family living, as everyone knows.
The big thing is the new Cathedral High School development. A Mr Foley came to town, representing a fund-raising outfit, and made a sale. Gosh, he was edified at the spirit among us here in St Cloud. (Remember the old vaudeville characters who were always glad to get back to wherever they happened to be playing?) I explained the peculiarities of my income to a representative, and he was very understanding. Most people give on a weekly basis, so much out of the old paycheck, but there didn’t seem to be a category for me. But fortunately the representative was in the same boat with me (he’s a real estate man), and we worked out a plan whereby I would contribute as I got it, on an if-and-when basis. Sure, I feel okay. One of the communiqués from Mr Foley’s outfit asked how much we spent on playing the horses in a year’s time.
The girls are fine, show no effects of progressive education, nor do we.
Come and see us when you can. All for now.
Jim
HARVEY EGAN
509 First Avenue South
St Cloud
Ascension 1955 [ca. May 20]
Dear Fr Egan,
[…] Life goes on and on, and the mailman keeps doing me wrong. Last night, reading in Boswell’s Journal of Dr Johnson’s trip to the Hebrides, I came across this:
Yet hope not life from pain or danger free,
Or think the doom of man revers’d for thee!
There have been times, though not recently, when it has seemed to me that I might escape the doom of man. I think of those nice nights in Lexington Park, when I was on a Guggenheim, when Pat McGlothin and Phil Haugstad1 were young.