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.

I LOVE YOU

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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