Chuck Jones’ letters to his daughter, Linda

Post # 28

Thursday, November 6, 1952

Dearest Linda;

Well–, at last!  I’ve finally found a hole big enough in a day to write to you, I have been pouring it on indeed and was loth .. er .. loath to break into the mood.  (‘Loth’ is another and quite acceptable way of spelling ‘loath’.)

The elections are now things of the past and we who lost are licking our wounds with gentle introspection.  As some politician once said after just such a defeat, “I contend we took one Hell of a beating.”  We cannot ameliorate our feelings by excuses, the long and short of it is that we received a frightful clobbering.  Why, I do not know.

The Republicans are now firmly in command, perhaps in a way this a good thing, for now they must prove the words they have been spraying so freely around.  If they do, then we must acknowledge that they are men of good faith and that they are a good change for the country.  If they do not, then they must in two years face an election that can change the entire face of the House of Representatives and one third of the Senate.  Two years beyond that they must again face a presidential election.  If, in the time allotted them, they cannot prove that they have the interest of the people held higher than any special interest, then indeed they will sink back into a political morass worse than the one from which they have just emerged.  I do not think that the people of the United States will be gulled twice.  I believe that Dwight Eisenhower is a fine, intelligent and kindly man.  It remains to be seen whether he can control his own party and we must appraise him partly by the men he includes in his cabinet for this will be the first indication of what his policies are to be.  I hope with the keenest intensity that he is a fine and spotless president and that his stewardship will be counted as one of our best.  We’ll wait and see.

Have you thought any more about giving some drawing, nicely matted of course, for some gifts?  Or would you rather not?  Don’t matter to me.  (“don’t” in last sentence was intentional, don’t know why.)

Just returned from a quick trip down town to pick up a few little things for carving, sand paper, files, etc.  What a terrible, terrible depressing place downtown is.  Sadness, sickness, misery, hopelessness.  A painful experience.  Of course, that is a small section and a very poor one (Second and Broadway), but how dreadful that humans must endure such.

One fact emerges crystal clear, though, and that is that you are a super daughter: a slim straight assurance that some of my dreams never die.  In short, I love you.


Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *