Dad
September 29, 1977
Dear Johnny,
I got your address from my dad. How is the great American desert. Seen any redskins (ha-ha)? Well here I am at Stovington Prep. This place isn't so tough. I am taking sixteen hours of credit. Advanced chemistry is my favorite although it's really something of a tit after the course at DHS. I always had the feeling that our teacher there, old Fearless Farnham, would really have been more happy making doomsday weapons and blowing up the world. In English we are reading three things by J. D. Salinger this first four weeks, Catcher in the Rye, Franny and Zooey, and Raise High the Roof Beams, Carpenters. I like him a lot. Our teacher told us he still lives over in N. H. but has given up writing. That blows my mind. Why would someone just give up when they are going great guns? Oh well. The football team here really sucks but I'm learning to like soccer. The coach says soccer is football for smart people and football is football for ass-holes. I can't figure out yet if he's right or just jealous.
I'm wondering if it would be oh to give out your address to some people who were at our party graduation night. They want to write and say thanks. One of them is Patty Strachan's mother, you will remember her, the one that made such a pisshead of herself when her “precious daughter” fainted at the lawn party that afternoon. She now figures that you're an ok person. I'm not going with Patty anymore, by the way. I'm not much on long-distance courtships at my “tender age” (ha-ha), and Patty is going to Vassar, as you might have expected. I've met a foxy little chick here.
Well, write when you can, my man. My dad made it sound like you were really “bummed out” for what reason I do not know since it seems to me that you did everything you could to make things turn out right. He's wrong, isn't he, Johnny? You're really not that bummed out, are you? Please write and tell me you are oh, I worry about you. That's a laugh, isn't it, the original Alfred E. Neuman worried about you, but I am.
When you write, tell me why Holden Caulfield always has to have the blues so much when he isn't even black.
Chuck
P. S. The foxy chick's name is Stephanie Wyman, and have already turned her on to Something Wicked This Way Comes. She also likes a punk-rock group called The Ramones, you should hear them, they are hilarious.
C
October 17, 1977
Dear Johnny,
Okay, that's better, you sound ok. Laughed my ass off about your job with the Phoenix Public Works Dept. I have no sympathy at all for your sunburn after four outings as a Stovington Tiger. Coach is right, l guess, football is football for assholes, at least at this place. Our record is 1-3 and in the game we won I scored three touchdowns, hyperventilated my stupid self and blacked out. Scared Steff into a tizzy (ha-ha).
f waited to write so I could answer your question about how the Home Folks feel about Greg Stillson now that he is “on the job”. J was home this last weekend, and I'll tell you all I can. Asked my dad first and he said, “Is Johnny still interested in that guy?” I said, “He's showing his fundamental bad taste by wanting your opinion. “Then he goes to my mother, “See, prep school is turning him into a smartass. I thought it would.”
Well, to make a long story short-most people are pretty surprised by how well Stillson's doing. My dad said this: “If people of a congressman's home district had to give a report card on how well the guy was doing after four months, Stillson would get mostly Bs, plus an A for his work on Carter's energy bill and his own home heating-oil ceiling bill. Also an A for effort. “Dad told me to tell you that maybe he was wrong about Stillson being the village fool.
Other comments from people I talked to when I was home: they like it around here that he doesn't dress up in a business suit. Mrs. Jarvis who runs the Quik-Pik (sorry about the spelling, man, but that's what they call it) says she thinks Stillson is not afraid of “the big interests”. Henry Burke, who runs The Bucket-that el scuzzo tavern downtown-says he thinks Stilison has done “a double-damn good lob”. Most other comments are similar. They contrast what Stillson has done with what Carter hasn't done, most of them are really disappointed in him and are kicking themselves for having voted for him. I asked some of them if they weren't worried that those iron horsemen were still hanging around and that fellow Sonny Elliman was serving as one of Stillson's aides. None of them seemed too upset. The guy who runs the Record Rock put it to be this way: “If Tom Hayden can go straight and Eldridge Cleave can get Jesus, why can't some bikies join the establishment? Forgive and forget.”
So there you are. I would write more, but football practice is coming up. This weekend we are scheduled to be trounced by the Barre Wildcats. I just hope I survive the season. Keep well, my man.
Chuck
From the New York Times, March 4, 1978:
Special to the Times-Edgar Lancte, 37, a ten-year veteran of the FBI, was apparently murdered last night in an Oklahoma City parking garage. Police say that a dynamite bomb wired to the ignition of his car exploded when Mr. Lancte turned the key. The gang-land-style execution was similar in style to the murder of Arizona investigative reporter Don Bolles two years ago, but FBI chief William Webster would not speculate on any possible connection. Mr. Webster would also neither confirm nor deny that Mr. Lancte had been investigating shady land deals and possible links to local politicians.
There appears to be some mystery surrounding exactly what Mr. Lancte's current assignment was, and one source in the Justice Department claims that Mr. Lancte was not investigating possible land fraud at all but a national security matter.
Mr. Lancte joined the Federal Bureau of Investigation in 1968 and…
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
The notebooks in Johnny's bureau drawer grew from four to five, and by the fall of 1978 to seven. In the fall of 1978, between the deaths of two popes in rapid succession, Greg Stillson had become national news.
He was reelected to the House of Representatives in a landslide, and with the country tending toward Proposition 13 conservativism, he had formed the America Now party. Most startling, several members of the House had reneged on their original party standing and had “joined up”, as Greg liked to put it. Most of them held very similar beliefs, which Johnny had defined as superficially liberal on domestic issues and moderate to very conservative on issues of foreign policy. There was not a one of them who had voted on the Carter side of the Panama Canal treaties. And when you peeled back the liberal veneer on domestic positions, they turned out to be pretty conservative, too. The America Now party wanted bad trouble for big-time dopers, they wanted the cities to have to sink or swim on their own ('There is no need for a struggling dairy farmer to have to subsidize New York City's methadone programs with his taxes,” Greg proclaimed), they wanted a crackdown on welfare benefits to whores, pimps, bums, and people with a felony bust on their records, they wanted sweeping tax reforms to be paid for by sweeping social services cutbacks. All of it was an old song, but Greg's America Now party had set it to a pleasing new tune.
Seven congressmen swung over before the off-year elections, and two senators. Six of the Congressmen were reelected, and both of the senators. Of the nine, eight had been Republicans whose base had been whittled away to a pinhead. Their switch of party and subsequent reelections, one wag had quipped, was a better trick than the one that had followed “Lazarus, come forth!”