Thurber (non Homeric)

[James Thurber to E. B. White]

Dear Andy,

. . . When are you coming to New York? I heard a vague rumor that you had set out to discover the Northwest Passage, but that the trees began to move on you, or something. Remember how [Morris] Markey wrote an intimate account of Baltimore without going there. He got the dope from his friend Logan Clendenning over a few drinks in St. Louis. This was the book in which everybody Markey met, in mines, or factories, or forests, turned out to be Markey himself. He did his best piece, "The Deep South" in a small upstairs front room in Little River, Florida. "There ain't any use wearin' yourself out," he used to say. Who wants to reach Duluth with the smell of Albany still on him?

We are anxious to see you and Katherine, and to hear about Joe and Roger and Evelyn. The new maple blight has not got us yet.

Love and kisses from us both

As always,

Jim

-from The Thurber Letters: the wit, wisdom, and surprising life of James Thurber edited by Harrison Kinney (New York: Simon & Schuster,2003). p. 533.

E. B. White to Groucho Marx

April 12, 1954.

Dear Mr. Marx,

Before our correspondence attains the intensity of the Shaw-Terry letters, I want to explain my suspension in the spirit world--which is sometimes misinterpreted. Ross had a theory that if he could throw me with a better class of people, I might be more productive. (Ross entertained some incredibly unsound ideas and at great cost to himself.)

At any rate, once in a while he would pry me loose, and on the whole they were miserable experiences for the person who got involved. I think of an evening when he attempted to throw me with Ginger Rogers and we all went down to Chinatown for a debauch that should live forever in Miss Rogers' memory as an example of midnight stagnation. (Another Ross illusion was that he understood Chinese food.)

It is nice here in the spirit world and if you get here I would like to buy you a drink. Garbo is here. We maintain separate residences, for appearances' sake.

Sincerely,

E. B. White

-from Groucho Letters: Letters from and to Groucho Marx (New York: Simon & Schuster, 1987) p. 132.

Groucho Marx to E. B. White

To E. B. White

April 5, 1954.

Dear Mr. White,

I received your note. I am now willing to concede that you are a fairly migratory gent. When I arrived in New York I was told you were in Florida. When I called you again they said you were in Maine.

I went to New York ostensibly to do the Rodgers and Hammerstein festival. Actually I came to New York to cut up some touches with the author of "Charlotte's Web."

Some years ago I had a dinner date with you and Ross. He showed up but you failed to appear. It's strange--I have no difficulty meeting Nick Kenny, Toots Shor, and other minor luminaries in New York, but you have adopted the mantle of Garbo and to me you are just a wraithlike figure who lives suspended in a spirit world.

Sincerely yours,

Groucho Marx

-from Groucho Letters: Letters from and to Groucho Marx (New York: Simon & Schuster, 1987) p. 131.

James Thurber to E. B. White

To E. B. White

The Homestead, Hot Springs, Virginia

November 10, 1945.

Dear Andy:

. . . The day your book arrived with its laconic inscription, both the window shades in our bedroom shot up to the top, ostensibly on their own. There has also been great periodic commotion in the ice pitcher, and somebody has got away with one of my studs. I name no names.

Love,

Jim

-from The Thurber Letters: the wit, wisdom, and surprising life of James Thurber edited by Harrison Kinney (New York: Simon & Schuster,2003). p. 380.

Ursula Nordstrum to E. B. White

To E. B. White

September 12, 1945.

Dear Mr. White,

I enclose a letter from a Mr. Stuart Little of 16 East 48th Street. At first I thought it was a joke. I thought some low character had had a special letterhead printed. But he really exists. I telephoned the number given, asked guardedly for Stuart Little, and was connected with him. We had quite a pleasant talk. I promised him a copy of the book and he said all he asked was one signed copy for him. You won't mind doing that, will you?

Mr. Aswell* tells me you have offered your barn for the storage of unsold copies of Stuart Little. Thanks a lot, but we won't need any space for your book. The advance sale has increased the past few days and we think we'll have to increase the order from 50,000 to 60,000. We're not absolutely sure, but it looks probable.

Yours Sincerely,

Ursula Nordstrom

*Edward C. Aswell, editor in Harper's Trade department.

-from Dear Genius: the Collected Letters of Ursula Nordstrom collected and edited by Leonard S. Marcus. (New York: Harper Collins, 1998) p. 10.