Part 29 (1/2)

Bellow's childhood friend Louis Sidran was dying of cancer in Chicago.

To Margaret Staats September 27, 1968 [Bellagio]

Dear Maggie: Louie is dead. He went back to the hospital, and there he seemed to give out, his wife says, and he died. I guess he had struggled so long and so hard with the thing that he was used up. I telephoned Winnetka yesterday, and talked to s.h.i.+rley. I'm very sad and heavy but not grief-sickened. I went about my business, crying some, and thinking now and then of the funeral, yesterday. He was in the ground and the family had gone home. It was his first night there. s.h.i.+rley kept saying that he was so happy to have come to East Hampton before [he got too ill], and talked of nothing else. He had come to say goodbye to me, and knew it. He got my card from Bellagio and hoped I'd get back before too long. I must have expected to see him again. He died quickly and didn't have to waste away utterly. I feel especially for his mother, who's a fine old woman, and for Ezra [s.h.i.+rley and Louie's youngest child].

I was glad to get the red leaf. Thank you, honey. And you're right, it's worth a thousand Timeses Timeses. I keep it with the sh.e.l.ls. I think my long celibacy has restored my contemplative eye. I spend more time sitting looking at objects. Much less coming and going at random, helter-skelter but as if I had some purpose. I do a lot of looking at Lake Como.

I am most troubled, when I am troubled, by Daniel. I haven't seen him in nearly three months and I miss him desperately. I may go directly back to see him, and then come to New York some days later to see you. The news from Chicago is not rea.s.suring. I want to see for myself how matters are, and I shan't feel easy until I do. I'll give you plenty of notice. I've missed you. When the fat envelopes of clippings come, I am disappointed when there is no letter, but the term has just begun so you must be over your eyebrows with work.

My German publisher Witsch (wouldn't you know it) has died. Without him the company is floundering and I'm going down to Milan tomorrow to meet Herr Rowohlt of Rowohlt Co. and hear what he has to say. Obolensky, my tennis chum the Prince, has gone back to Oxford. None too soon, probably. I thought the other day that I would keel over on the court. Singles are much too rough for me, especially since I'm a duffer and have to run far more than a real tennis player.

Much love, Y.D.

To Mark Harris October 22, 1968 Chicago Dear Mark: Your letter about Mosby Mosby set me up for a while in the midst of a disorderly season. I see, looking back at the vanished years, that I wrote few stories and that I seem to have used them as ”scale models” for bigger jobs. For that reason I was a bit worried about set me up for a while in the midst of a disorderly season. I see, looking back at the vanished years, that I wrote few stories and that I seem to have used them as ”scale models” for bigger jobs. For that reason I was a bit worried about Mosby Mosby; I wondered what big job it would lead to. Even now I'm not altogether clear as to what is is happening. I don't think it's all bad, however. And I hoped that I was not being choppy, only lucid. But all we wors.h.i.+ppers of lucidity must be terribly confused to begin with. happening. I don't think it's all bad, however. And I hoped that I was not being choppy, only lucid. But all we wors.h.i.+ppers of lucidity must be terribly confused to begin with.

The thing at S.F. State was very bad. I'm not too easy to offend, at my age, and I don't think I was personally affronted-that's not my style. The thing was offensive though. Being denounced by [Floyd] Salas as an old s.h.i.+t to an a.s.sembly which seemed to find the whole thing deliciously thrilling. [ . . . ] So I left the platform in defeat. Undefended by the bullied elders of the faculty. While your suck-up-to-the-young colleagues swallowed their joyful saliva. No, it was very poor stuff, I a.s.sure you. You don't found universities in order to destroy culture. For that you want a n.a.z.i party.

Enough said. Thanks again and all best,

At San Francisco State University, after delivering a talk ent.i.tled ”What Are Writers Doing in the Universities?” Bellow had been denounced in the style of the day by boxer-turned-writer Floyd Salas: ”You're a f.u.c.king square. You're full of s.h.i.+t. You're an old man, Bellow.” (Bellow was fifty-two.) The episode would furnish material for a similar scene in Mr. Sammler's Planet Mr. Sammler's Planet, his novel in progress.

To Willie Greenberg December 7, 1968 Chicago Dear Willie, It was such a pleasure to see you after so many years. I always remembered you as a very kind boy (to me, at eight, you were a young man, really) and you confirmed the accuracy of my memory by generously giving me those photographs. I was touched by that. Enough to make a middle-aged gent cry.

Thank you, Willie.

Remember me to Molly and Harry. I hope we will meet again before the doors shut.

Love,

Willie Greenberg's family had lived next door to Bellow's in Montreal.

To Margaret Staats December 9, 1968 [Chicago]

Dearest Maggie- I am really really down now, and I must work for an Armistice, a moratorium, some pause. I can't go on like this. I am simply worn out, and I no longer feel natural towards you or anyone else. down now, and I must work for an Armistice, a moratorium, some pause. I can't go on like this. I am simply worn out, and I no longer feel natural towards you or anyone else.

I love you, I always will. You are one of the best-probably the best woman I will ever know. I respect you, I wish you every good, but I am trying to save my own sanity just now-probably my very life. I feel it threatened. We must stop. I can't go on without a breather.

To the John Simon Guggenheim Memorial Foundation December 10, 1968 Chicago, Ill.

CONFIDENTIAL REPORT ON CANDIDATE FOR FELLOWs.h.i.+P.

Name of Candidate: Louise Gluck Miss Gluck has the combination of oddity and verbal power from which something unusually good may result. I am impressed by her poems. She plays no games that I can recognize, she seems entirely independent. I think she should be freed from her stenographic duties.

1969.

To Margaret Staats January 2, 1969 London Dearest Maggie- It's all right here. I had night-depressions but really nothing dreadful and I seem to be pulling myself together. I hope you are, too. I was encouraged by your clearer eyes and calmer ways. You'll make it. It's not easy, but you have what it takes-reform, imagination, courage. The courage moves me more than I can say.

To Margaret Staats [n.d.] [London]

Dear M- Good times. I am by myself. From you I have acquired a need for the soul. People without it now are terribly trying. Can't even make them out. There was only only one way to learn that. It was very chancey. I probably had no choice. So there it is. By now I am probably out on points. one way to learn that. It was very chancey. I probably had no choice. So there it is. By now I am probably out on points.

Be back soon-

To Margaret Staats [Postmark illegible; postcard of King's College, Cambridge]

My dear Maggie- This is where I am. Some peace, here. A sign on the sundial says, Sic fugit vita Sic fugit vita. Meaning: ”Here the sun seldom s.h.i.+nes, but we are prepared.” Ed [s.h.i.+ls] asks about you.

Love,

To Toby Cole February 3, 1969 London Dear Toby If Eli [Wallach] wants to try [The Last] a.n.a.lysis a.n.a.lysis on NET, I have no objection. I'd be willing even to make myself available for consultation (on carefully measured terms). on NET, I have no objection. I'd be willing even to make myself available for consultation (on carefully measured terms).