Dad's letters of February 27, 1956

It's speculation as to what my mother wrote to my father that triggered a somewhat angry handwritten response, and a typed more chastened one. It was clearly about money, and five dollars was the amount. It was, I think, bigger than that. My mother wanted a different life (as I am sure many women of the day) than the one she had in the Bronx. She claimed friendship with all these up and comers in the modelling world, who had only first names to us. We came to believe over time they didn't exist. She was 30 years old and her life was still entrenched in a narrow world. My father I think felt responsible for her sadness, her desires that he could not fulfill in a world where she did not feel she could fulfill them on her own.

Letter 1:

Received  two letters from you today. I thought I always answered your questions but obviously I was wrong. So here goes.  

I will assure you enough money to defray whatever costs the birthday party may incur.  The day after tomorrow is payday and I will send you $300.00 for your monthly expenses. Since this month you will not have gas and electric and since your bills should be Rent $43.000, telephone $8.00, personal finance $30 and television $13.00, a total of $94.00, you will have about $50.00 a week left over for living expenses.  Nevertheless, on the first of April, I will send additional money to make sure of Djinna's party.

With regard to my plans.  I shall have on my return between $800 and $1000.  $500 is to be banked immediately, and the rest is to go for some clothes for you and whatever immediate expenses we have.  

Other plans.  I do not intend to return to Shapiro or selling. I have decided that I must get with some concern that offers security and advancement. Eve if this means leaving N.Y.  In any case, as soon as I get back I shall find an immediate job.

I am enclosing the $5 you requested.  Nothing in my whole life has ever made me as ashamed as that little P.S.  I know now what would impel a man to robbery.  I am so ashamed that I can only send what you asked for and not 100 times the amount.

Buddy


Letter 2:  Typed

Dear Rosetta:

Happy Birthday--and Happy Awakening. . .

The letter I wrote you earlier, the one in longhand was by a badly confused and angry person.  And still--some five or six hours later an angry knot persists in my insides.   How terribly in need you must have been to make that pathetic little request.  And how pathetically inadequate was the reply I was able to make. I think I shall always hate myself--always dread the reappearance of that self-image I had to look at today.

If you are afraid or apprehensive about things to come, I can't even say, "I promise", can't comfort, can't even lie, though at this moment I would gladly make the utmost bargain to give you the happiness I want for you.  But even that would be nothing but a gesture.

Yes, you are beautiful and desirable, and it is not late in life. . .for you, and if, in that perimeter of Angela's and Tian's and Lisa's and Bruce's, a force sets up that draws you toward its vortex, don't turn your head lest your dreams turn to salt--not even for. . .

Love,

Buddy

When Dad returned home, he did not immediately leave his job. In fact, he didn't leave at all. The company went out of business in 1965. It was only then that dad began a career, at 45, where he had a chance of advancement, and a pension. By the time he retired from that job, in 1980, my mother had been dead six years.