Stanford 

February 1962.  Letter from Beutelsbach

Dear parents ,

I’m sick. I mean SICK.  I’m so sick, I’m gonna die. You know: sick. Not healthy. It began two weeks ago.  Sunday evening, as I was hauling a buddy with a broken leg off the slopes at eight in the evening (good ski patrols in Europe), the Devil gripped me. Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, - fell flat on the old back with the all inclusive - you know how it is. Every part of you either over- or under-producing. I recovered remarkably, just in time to fasch it up in München with the group.  Then the Devil tightened his grip, and here I am again, flat on my back for another school week. It is now Thursday, and I am the only student left on the burg (the others have left for Prague this morning).  I’ve been sick for 11 days now. Grubby. But I have lots of medicines to take and I just bought some oranges and vanilla ice cream, so I’ll pull through.  My weight is down to 140, however (155 in Zermatt) - you may have to fatten me up in Paris, if a plastic bomb doesn’t get us.

I hope you’re getting a kick out of Rome. Unfortunately, I got church-itis there and it hasn’t worn off yet: the Bible and related topics have been so dry in my mind that I shudder every time I see a new religious painting. I was so glad when I hit a room full of Renoir naked ladies in a München gallery that I almost clapped my hands. Just about made my weekend right there.

Incidentally, last weekend was a pretty good one. For the first time the Gemütlichkeit extended to us students didn’t have any phony flavor to it: we really had a blast. Parties, slapstick skits, drinking songs, (my flute lungs won me a German book on how to behave in Bavaria - 1st prize in a balloon blowing contest).  Saturday night I went out all by myself, having been the only student who signed up for a Wagner concert that evening, and of all things, went to a Wagner concert. But it was more than a concert – it was homage to the demigod Wagner. It seems München is rather proud of the old boy. The concert took place in an old crystal room of some old palace, and was just dripping with formalities and traditions. The singers got flowers after each of their numbers (including the men), the piano accompaniment was indulgent as hell, the audience rich, elegantly dressed, and well aware how "in" the whole event was, and everything was just great. They even had some lady read an exchange of letters between Wagner and Mad Ludwig, during which the lights were dramatically dimmed.  Really wild.

I got a package of books yesterday. Stuff in the museum of Knossos looks great – thanks. But these things in ancient Greece – the Iliad and the Odyssey I mean. I don’t trust them. These foreign writers are all alike. 

Well, back to the pills. 

Sam