Chuck Jones’ letters to his daughter, Linda

# 9 Post: 

Tuesday, Sept 30, 1952

Dearest Linda,

or famine!  We feasted last night:  two Linda-letters at one time!  And
nice fat juicy ones, too.  We pored over them, read between the lines
and enjoyed them fully.

Hell, Linda, I can’t tell whether you’re enjoying yourself or not. No
matter how well a letter is written–and yours are superb–it’s a
little hard to set your soul down with an Underwood.  My opinion is
that you are going through the difficult and often painful readjustment
to a new environment and that some of it is fun and more of it is not. 
The unfamiliar is usually troublesome at first, until it becomes the
familiar.  What appears to be cliquishness at first, often resolves
itself into the veterans in a given group of people–like the
school–naturally banding together, for the same reason that people who
know each other always tend to band together in a crowd.  The newcomer
finds himself automatically alone; even another newcomer is not much
comfort, as he too is wondering how to break into the golden circle. 
I’m not dealing in high philosophy here, Linda, I’m just rattling along
about what has been my experience.

ever I can be of help in any way, please don’t hesitate to write and
ask.  Write to the studio if you want to discuss anything quiet and
mouse-like.  Great discretion guaranteed.

sounding animal you have.  Are you partnered with him permanently or
can you graduate to something more horse like—say a giraffe?  If it
gets unbearable and you can’t get any action, we’ll see what can be
done.  We’ll talk about it when we come visiting.  Will it be all right
to do so, about the first of November?

two fires on Sunset Boulevard yesterday, one a large refuse truck that
apparently was burning from the bottom of its load because the firemen
were having one helluva time probing their fire fighting instruments to
the bottom without doing the obvious: scattering the stuff all over the
pavement and stamping it out.  One of the most useless looking
instruments there was a ladder truck. 

second fire was at Sunset and Gower, the haberdashery just south of
Sunset, next to Columbia studios.  I had gone to get a haircut from the
good Gus and arrived just in time to see the final embers polished
off.  That shop was really gutted.  I’d never known what the word meant
before.  It was black and charred inside, like an incinerator.  There
were singed sport jackets all over the pavement outside and piles of
sport shirts burned neatly up the side of the pile.  A melancholy
sight.  Water and sopping burnt clothing and charred wood and broken
glass.  What a truly frightful thing fire on the loose can be and what
a generous and lovely thing it is when under control.

I love you and enclose a large and slightly damp bundle of kisses….

Thine father,

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