Jim
CHARLES SHATTUCK
February 1946
Dear Chuck,
The lid is off on the parole business. I am free to starve again. The state is losing its memory. I am shedding my number and assuming a name again. I expect to be in Chicago next week, where good government combines with good living, and it may be that I will make a pilgrimage to Urbana, my literary birthplace. […]
I am coming back to St Paul about the 21st and am going to finish some stories. Just write. I have already made arrangements to quit the job, perhaps effective tomorrow night or at the latest Saturday.
Naturally, I feel pretty good about all this. […]
Pax,
Jim
Betty Wahl to Sister Mariella Gable, February 14, 1946
I was, of course, shocked when I heard that he had quit his job. After I said no once, he just didn’t mention it again. Perhaps it is best that he did. We will get this period over before we get married. It will give him about three months’ time. If he really can work, and can work in big enough quantities to bring in about 80 dollars a month, there is no point in his going back to work. If he fails, he agrees to get a job of some kind. There is no danger of starving immediately. Father Egan is being his patron. (I don’t know if he told you, or even if he wants you to know, but you should know.) I’m not too afraid of being indebted to F. Egan, because we spent (Jim and I, I mean) about three hours thoroughly hashing out all the questions about the Detachers and I am satisfied.
5. I am like Daniel Boone cutting my way through that bourgeois wilderness, February 14, 1946–April 26, 1946
April 22, 1946: (left to right) Zella, Art, Money, John Haskins, Pat Wahl, Betty, Jim, Jim
After quitting his job at the hospital, Jim paid a week’s visit to his parents in Chicago. Living with them were Michael, the dog, Jim’s grandmother Tilda, and his brother, Dick, who was something of a rogue at the time.
BETTY WAHL
4453 North Paulina Street, Chicago, the I Will City
St Valentine’s Day, February 14, 1946
Dear Valentine,
I am at home, sitting in our living room. It is a wonderful room, very dear to me, scene of many a long night and early morning of writing. My books are all here. The phonograph. My family. My dog, Michael, who is sitting in the window now watching the janitor shovel snow away from the Fourteenth Church of Christ Scientist. It snowed like hell for the last miles into Chicago and must have been going here quite a while. I […] sat in the smoker for most of trip as the windows open better to the country. Very memory provoking, looking at the Wisconsin hills, the frozen streams, the farmhouses, with each it seemed sporting a dog who would break into a run when we went by, but at a great distance so that it was like an old print. I wish that you had been with me, except that you would have been tired. I read a paper edition of The Grapes of Wrath. And smoked until the pipe got bad-tasting. A letter from Shattuck waiting for me. He expects to see the crime wave rise now that I am free. […] My folks were disappointed that you didn’t come. I have promised you to them now. So keep that in your head. And this in your heart: I love you.
Your
Jim
CHARLES SHATTUCK
4453 North Paulina Street, Chicago
February 14, 1946
Dear Chuck,
I’m in Chicago now and have your note. Evidently, you are looking for the new Bluebeard in me. I think I’ll disappoint you. I am a simple citizen only, made in the image and likeness of Harry Truman, which is plenty for me, and if you weren’t one of them stuck up professors, it would be plenty for you. You may count on me Monday next. I’ll take the 9:05 a.m. out of Chicago. It will be a nice alibi as, if everything works out right, my draft board will perish mysteriously that afternoon. I may bring George Barnett with me. He is returning to Chicago to eke out. He has been in New York doing basal metabolism. He wants to outlaw the atomic bomb. I know a priest who wants to popularize it; he says look what small arms did for Ireland. Pax. How is Falstaff these days?
Jim
BETTY WAHL
4453 North Paulina Street, Chicago
February 20, 1946
Dear Betty,
Here I am still in Chicago. Wednesday afternoon. I am leaving either tonight or tomorrow. I am staying by special request of my folks. I am anxious to be back in St Paul, to read letters I expect to find there from you and to begin writing. Sunday night — to give you an account of my stewardship — I met Nelson Algren, whose two novels I like very much but which are probably too rough for someone as nice as you. Then Monday morning I went to Urbana and stayed with the Shattucks. That meant a lot of beer, more beer than good conversation, as a matter of fact. Some of the erstwhile editors of Accent, back from the wars, came over, and I met them for the first time — the Carrs and Hills. […] I am loving you.
Your
Jim
BETTY WAHL
150 Summit Avenue
February 25, 1946
Dear Betty,
Monday, 4:30 in the afternoon, Fr Garrelts here for lunch and now out for a walk with Fr Egan. Fr Egan brings bad tidings about Fr Burner.1 It seems St Paul and Minneapolis are boiling on account of it. I can’t determine why exactly. Fr Egan says it doesn’t do any good and probably does a lot of harm. He holds it isn’t a purely parochial reaction, but I am still inclined to think that is what it is, nothing else coming to light on it. Newsstands are asked for Accent. Copies are at a premium. I should be happy about it, I suppose, but I’m not. It will blow over, I suppose. […]
When are you coming to see me? When am I coming to see you? I won’t feel like it until I turn out a couple of these stories. I think that’s all for now. I love you of course. Do not get upset about the wedding. I seem to detect the beginnings of hysteria already. Stop trying to finish your book on a weekend. No good comes of that.
I love you.
Jim
BETTY WAHL
150 Summit Avenue
February 26, 1946
Dearest Betty,
Tuesday morning before I get into the day’s work. Did I tell you, I think not, that the barber suspected you when I told him the other day that I wanted it left rather long? He took special pains after that, he said, as he was cutting it for two people now. I thought at the time, what will I ever do in Stearns County for haircuts? You will have to learn how to cut my hair. I would not trust one of the agrarians (farmers) with it, not that I am particularly vainglorious. […]
The maid says the beer bottles must go and she hopes I won’t be mad at her for telling me, like they got downstairs (Dr Ruona). The exterminator man says it’s the bottles that draw cockroaches. I have a small fortune in bottles, beer and milk, which I intend to expend for a wedding gift for you. Well, today you have moved the date up to the 22nd of April. Why don’t you concentrate a little harder and make it the day after tomorrow? Then we can both settle down to our work, you calm in the knowledge that I married you for your literacy virtues and business sense, me calm in the knowledge that I married a “cold” woman who thought a husband was something every growing girl ought to have. […]
I must write Harry Sylvester and tell him I am now a public enemy myself. I am referring to the clerical forces now allied against me on account of Father Burner. I suppose it’s a healthy sign. Joyce had the same trouble in Dublin with his stories. Fortunately, I don’t think they can touch me. I am very glad that Sr Mariella approved of the Doubleday deal, but wonder what she means when she says that’s the only way I’d ever be able to make it, as though it were not all right that way. As for living off money I haven’t earned, that’s silly. When I write the stories, it’s earned then and there, and when they’re published is something else. Someday I’ll gather all you Teutons into a single classroom and lecture you a little on True Economics, a course I’m famous for. […]