Stanford 

Oct 26, 1961: Letter Sam to Parents

Dear parents,

Thank you for your letter of October 16. Nice to know that you are no longer cheating on your itinerary, and have decided to settle down in Florence for a while.  I have instructed Mrs. Mary Peuse to answer everything that is addressed to either Mr. Or Mrs. Merryman, and have given her what I have handled so far. I will no longer touch your mail, so there. I’m glad you let me know. This is the way things should be run, because Mrs. Mary Peuce sure didn’t know she was supposed to continue with your mail. Somebody filed up, is all I can say. Anyway, just to make sure by double checking, here is a list of all bills. I have paid:

1. Freeman sheet music “$6.76.

2. Pacific telephone: $14.85

3. Palo Alto medical clinic. $61.

4. Macy’s, $83.15

5. Mrs. Schlomann’s paper bill, $1.75

6. Stanford tuition: $20

7. Eichler homes (kitchen tile), $65

8. My room and board: $315.35

9. Renewal of mom’s ACLU membership: six dollars

I repeat that Mrs. Peuce has the receipts for all these bills, and will probably send them to you, as I told her too. She also has all kinds of dividend checks for mom. I did not include in this list my own bills, but one should be mentioned: $26.44 for the Chevy for a minor tuneup, tappet adjustment, generator check, new set of points, new condenser, and a new battery. And I wasn’t gypped, because a friend of my roommates did it (the guy works in the firehouse at Stanford), and he is trustworthy. The word is that the car should blow up in another 50 miles. He says a valve job is needed badly (very expensive), the rods should be adjusted. (lots of knocks in the motor), and so on. In other words, this car is not going to be in the best shape when I handed over to John‘s associate in December.  Should I fix it up with new parts, or what? It runs now, and should last another few months, but the Furies aren’t far behind. Let me know the decision. Yes, mother, you received a check from Clyda.  Yes, all your checks will be deposited. No, Ken Sayer didn’t contact me. And any letter written to me that says Stern hall on the envelope will reach me, so don’t fear. And thanks for the postcard. Incidentally, Hercules wins the wrestling match. See, humanities does come in handy.

I've been getting quite a few letters from Bruce, but I am unable to pass any of the interesting passages along. Len still has writers cramp. Patty has been sending me all kinds of Republican propaganda, such as Keynes at Harvard (economic deception as a political creed), Should we strengthen the United Nations?  by V. Level Watts, America’s Promise, by Dan Smoot, and many interesting editorials from the Republican statesman, and the San Marino Tribune. It all makes for interesting after dinner reading, I can assure you. I in turn have sent her an ACLU membership form, a copy of The Supreme Court and Civil Liberties, by Osmond Frankel, The Un Americans, by Frank, J Donner, and my favorite, some illustrations of the harms done to individuals by the House on Un-American Activities Committee. The battle is on. I am now preparing criticism of what she has sent me: the criticisms are purely from a literary point, and I hope they show her how I object to the illogical, prejudice, emotional garbage she has been sending me, of course. Anyway, we are having fun and that is what counts.

On November 11, I am spending the weekend at the Christian brothers monastery in LaSalle (Napa Valley), the guest of brother Robert.  Should prove to be interesting.  he obviously is getting suspicious, but I have received all kinds of literature, proving the existence of God, etc., over the past few weeks. My other Saturday afternoons will no longer be taken over by varsity soccer games, even though I am now first string, because I quit soccer today. The coach lost a lot of good players because of a new eligibility ruling, and he is really bearing down on winning the West Coast conference: a fine goal, but one which has unfortunate side effects, such as playing the best players in the games instead of those who work the hardest, little or no substitutions during important games, no more laughing, etc., during workouts, and so on. I never thought I would see the day when soccer went big time at Stanford. Well, I think I’m going to switch to either golf or tennis. (I can hear the cheers in the Pensione Consigli already), but not for a while at least. As an athlete, my glory days are over. I also quit my post at the Africa Desk, but only because I managed to get the administration to handle the graduate placement program. Now I am free to write nasty letters to the editor, go to all the political speeches I want to, and do some things I am really interested in. Like arguing with Patty.

I bought myself a nice nylon jacket with a nice orlon lining (nice green color), for eight bucks at Macy’s. Incidentally, the new Macy’s is a jazz-ball.  Big and crowded. I am now on the prowl for stretch pants. The most expensive kind, too. Don’t bother sending me any cash, though. It grows on trees over here.

I might as well wind this ramble up with a progress report on the Schlomanns.  The curse which was put on 835 when you left has, unfortunately not yet lifted. Despite the outward signs of prosperity (pampas grass 10 feet high, wall vines all over the place, Empress tree rivaling Hoover Tower), things are getting worse. According to Mrs. Schlomann, Tiger is pooping in a designated spot in the kitchen every morning, and is making horrible smells, especially when company is around. She can find no cure for this malady. The small bamboo outside the big kitchen window is slipping fast. The heating system went on the blink one night (plumbers estimated bill: 60 bucks), just when Susie and Sofia were sick, and the latter almost caught pneumonia: disaster was averted by a physician, who was called in at the last moment, and plenty of hot steam towels. Mrs. Schlomann has now installed an humidifier (portable) in the house. Mr. Schlomann had to fix Bruce’s handlebars, pedals, and seat before he could ride the bicycle to Stanford. And so on and so on. I get the impression when I am with Mrs. Schlomann that she considers our house a newfangled invention with all its gremlins intact. She was always comparing it with her house in the old country.  She is getting discouraged. It’s the curse, I tell you, the curse. I don’t know what can be done.

Say hello to the stinking disease, the poverty-stricken children, the headstrong natives, and the old, broken statues of Florence for me. 

See you in December….

P.S. Heard Stevenson speaking in the city last night (UN Day): he’s my boy.