Not a Bad Way to Start the Week

Cleaning out one of my desk drawers, I came across a long-forgotten file folder containing a ream of letters from Nelson Algren to Roger Groening, which Roger copied for me.

I became a friend of Nelson’s late in his life and through that friendship got to know Roger, who was a friend of Nelson’s for many years. Nelson’s relationship with Roger began with a fan letter from Roger and developed into one of Nelson’s closest friendships, lasting for nearly two decades. It was based mostly on their shared interest in books, but also on movies, boxing, old-time baseball history, and horse racing. Pretty much in that order. Here’s one of the letters, excerpted below. For fans of Algren and any curious readers, from time to time I will post more of his letters to Roger. They are a motherlode of humor, wit, and edifying entertainment. Although it would be helpful of me to explain the various names and cultural references in the letters, I don’t have the time for that. So you’re on your own to check Wikipedia or search elsewhere online. Nelson died in 1981. Roger died in 2015.

1958 Evergreen
Chicago, March 6
1971

Dear Rahjah,

I am pleased that your Magic Sonic Stomach-Stimulator With the Irresistible Pressure-Coil and electronic attachments got results. But if you got a product with only one head, after waiting two years, you got gypped.

Yes, Trumbo proved himself a standup cat when Schulberg, Odets, Kazan, Dymtryk, and most of the others got down on all fours and howled. I only wish that he’d stop talking about his integrity. He’s like one of those Lincoln Battalion heroes who want to know why you didn’t get your ass shot off. “Because I wanted to keep my ass” sounds like a pretty thin excuse. But now that John Ciardi gets spied on by the army, I feel I’m being ignored. All I have to my credit is that Wm. S. Buckley once took a shot at me.

The carny-circuit route for which you were hoping must be a bitter disappointment to you. There’s a fellow named Bill Turks, now living in retirement in Florida, who has three eyes, two noses and a beautiful split lip, who had a nice thing going for years on the monster-circuit. But then not everybody can be born truly lucky.

I haven’t read Joan Didion’s latest. I met her at Breadloaf in 1963. She was around for two weeks and didn’t say a word the whole time.

The only flick I’ve seen of late is Ulysses, and it’s as good as it was several years ago. Outside of that I’ve seen Maltese Falcon twice, On the Waterfront again and am waiting for a rerun of Fantastic Voyage.

Downstairs at Ramsey’s by James Leigh is a pretty good book. I’ll send it to you if you want it. I have the uneasy feeling that you may have sent it to me, however.

Thanks for the lady with the gas-jets. It’s very convincing. The mystic-tape stiff, with the mystic tape in his hair, almost too much. It’s a marvelous short story. I’ll keep it in my magpie drawer in hope of getting to it one day. I accumulate these pieces of colored glass and bottle tops. By some process I’ve never been able to understand, I reach in and pick up some clipping so old it’s turned crisp and find it fits. Sometimes it’s just a word. For example, Satchel Paige didn’t say, “Don’t look over your shoulder, something may be coming.” He said “Something may be gaining on you.” That makes a difference. But the mystic tape thing is a little gem.

The most interesting TV business I’ve seen recently was on Jacques Cousteau’s Undersea documentary. He had one on the Dragons of Galapagos — the marine iguanas. Talk about smart. They came out of the sea a hundred million years ago and they still don’t like it. But they’re going back all the same. They’re reversing their first move: a mistake. Cousteau discovered the kind of algae they feed on and tried to feed it to them. They won’t eat from the hand of a man. When captured they live just as long as it takes them to starve to death. They’ve decided it’s all over on dry ground. They know something we don’t know. And will perhaps come out again after we’re gone.

Sunday night I caught a wonderful re-run of a Laughton film I’d never seen before: Witness for the Prosecution, with Elsa Lancaster. He was the greatest criminal barrister in London. She was his nurse because he’s just had a heart attack and had to rest. Great comic sequences between them of him denouncing her guardianship of him. Along comes Tyrone Power and Marlene Dietrich. He’s the wrongfully accused murderer, she’s the villainous — then it all switches around and he get his and the great barrister has been fooled by Marlene. It was great.

Did you read Sammler’s Planet? what do you think? I haven’t read it. I did read that Jones thing and it isn’t something a publisher ought to be proud of bringing out. I have that too.

I won ten bucks on Frazier but I switched to Clay, during the 12th round. I saw it on TV at a packed house, all white, here. There was a young white element cheering for Clay, but the middle aged and business cats wanted him lynched. I went with the anti-war cats. A blonde beside me stood up as soon as Frazier came out. “Get him, Joe!” By the twelfth round I was hollering at Ali — “StayClayStayClayStay!” I really wanted him to be on his feet at the end, and that was a victory because it left the blonde disappointed.

What I still don’t understand about the fight was why Clay didn’t move. He just kept trading punches in there until Frazier wore him down. He’d beat Frazier to the punch nine times — then the tenth would be Frazier’s and it would be to the body and after four rounds Clay couldn’t move. It seems if he could have stayed away he might have outpointed Frazier. One thing I was pleased about was that Ali never stopped talking. He was talking when Frazier knocked him down and he got up talking and he was talking when they gave it to Frazier. It was a good fight. If there’s a rematch I’m going with Clay. If it’s within two years.

TONIGHT ! THE ATTACK OF THE GIANT LEECHES!

ever best

Thanks again for the Great Mystic-Tape Mystery.