Chuck Jones’ letters to his daughter, Linda

# 7 Post:

Friday, Sept. 26, 1952

Dear Linda;

days on this blasted diet!  I’m not thin yet, but I’m haggard.  The
rangers in the early French-American wars used to say that there was
less nourishment in one moose than one porcupine because the moose was
made up of lean meant, while ole porky was just a tub of oil and
grease.  This diet keeps you as full as you want, but it’s like being
stuffed with feathers.  I hope I don’t get irritable.  (Can’t remember
having had occasion to spell “irritable” before.  I didn’t even know
what to look up.  Seemed like it sprang from ‘irate’ but there ain’t no
‘irateable’.  “Irascible” is the closest thing to ‘irate’.  Irritable
of course comes from irritate.  Still looks silly.)  Well, anyway, I
hope I don’t get irritable.

letter you wrote Sunday finally reached us yesterday.  Very happy to
receive it.  A good letter because it conveyed that lost, lonely,
unsure first-day feeling that everybody has at the beginning of a new
experience.  Rain, early morning, strangers, what a bleak combination
that is.  It’s been a long time since I’ve been new on a job, but that
is the precise feeling one has.  Write more of the same, just let it

Old Benny just rolled into the room for his morning benediction.  More
I see of Washam, the more convinced I am that he belongs in “Pogo”. 
He’d be right at home in Pogofenoke Swamp with Churché la Femme and the
noble dog.  Ben is essentially a very sweet human being, sort of like
noble dog, unquestionably man’s best friend, especially this man.  He
sends his greetings and his high regards to you, as do the others, Abe,
Ken, and so on.  They are all a fine bunch of artists, devoted and
talented.  I’m lucky to have had them with me so long.

here remains essentially the same.  It is now Friday, but it’s still
muggy.  Sort of a pall hanging over the city dominated by
thunderclouds.  We had rumbles of thunder last night and some tricky
little cracks of lightning, but no rain.  By George, there’s some
thunder now…distant, but definitely rumbly.  Remember that strange day
we crossed Colorado and Utah on the way home?  The strange suspended
rainstorms all around us and the long crooked lightning streaks like
neon blood-veins?  That is odd, forbidding country in such weather, but

How goes the Latin?  If it goes sluggishly, please remember to send up a rocket.  Help is always available.

we are going to the mountains.  The Fergusons invited us up to their
place in Idyllwild for the weekend, but Sunday was the best we could
do.  ‘Tis wonderful to be a social butterfly, so many demands on ones
time!  So mad, the whirl of receptions, cotillions, tea dansantes,
balls, pageants, etc., etc., etc., etc., etc., etc., etc., etc.  I
think they have a two-room lean-to up there, built of uncured
scrub-pine boughs layered over with sod.

on the time it takes these notes to reach you.  I don’t know whether it
pays Warner Bros. to supply airmail stamps or not.  Maybe mail reaches
the ranch just as fast through regular channels.   Check, will you? 
(Two ‘checks’ enclosed in the previous paragraph.)

there anything you need?  Anything we can supply that was forgotten? 
Let us know.  We thought we would drift over toward the first of
November, visit the Merkley’s and Browns and bring the saddle up to
you.  Would it be all right to do this, or can you tell yet?  If not,
just say so, no big fat explanation necessary.

Love, and since you mention it: xs.

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