Chuck Jones’ letters to his daughter, Linda

# 11 Post: (Part Three and final part of this letter)

There it is, my dear, my darling, and I hope it is written so that some of what I mean comes through.  I cannot tell, in rereading it, whether it does or not. 

I want you to give this experience a fair trial.  I want you to give it an open minded, a good humored, humorous approach.  I want you to give it the benefit of the doubt.  I want you to see if there are things to be learned by it and fun to be had with it.  I want you to evaluate it as an intelligent, thinking person, as the intelligent, thinking person you are. 

I do not want you to count the days until we come to visit you, but rather to see what can be done with those days, what new things may be gained from the experiences contained therein.

If under those conditions and with those considerations you come to me and say, “Daddy, I don’t want to continue here,” that will be all you need to say.  I will respect your judgment and immediate steps will be taken to discontinue your stay there.  Right?

If you were anyone but the person you are I would be uneasy about being as frank as I have been.  I believe I have talked as frankly to you today as I am capable of talking.  I cannot conceive of any man in my acquaintance being able to talk so to his daughter or son.  This makes me very proud.

Enough of the serious? 

Very well.  In the middle of the foregoing page we had a practice air raid alert.  Everyone filed out of the building and into the basement of an adjoining building.  Nothing at all dramatic or unusual happened, but for the first time in years I saw the studio personnel as a group.  A very odd looking bunch of people.  Some very distinguished looking, mostly inbetweeners.  All the creative people look rather undistinguished, not at all like men in Hathaway shirts (remember the ad in the New Yorker with the gent with the black-patched eye?).

Boy, my typing today is superb, looks like I’m writing with boxing gloves on.

I’d better stop before I go completely unreadable.


Daddy……. Chuck

In re-reading this letter it is apparent to me that I forgot to mention that your letters have been wonderful.  Real jewels and that I’m happy to acknowledge that nowhere in them did you complain or beef.  If you weren’t a Lady, I’d say you were every inch a Gentleman.

d(addy). or c(huck). (whichever you like)

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