Chuck Jones’ letters to his daughter, Linda

 

Post #34

 

Friday, January 16

 

Dearest Linda;

 

Friday.  Good old Friday, stout old, friendly
old, last day of the week old Friday. 
How welcome it is this week. 
I feel old, daughter William, the young man said, as he balanced a
budget on his nose, old, old, old. 
I sometimes wish I wasn’t such a slobby eager-beaver type.  Comes a square dance, be it hither, be
it thither, be it dirty old you, I must up and away, girding about my lank
loins the accoutrements of the Terpsichore, slipping into the dainty boots,
twisting a gaudy cravat about the wrinkled chops and off we go with a
Heigh-nonney-nonny and a View Halloo. 
Every night this week, staggering home with the milkman to the dreary
music of the lowing roosters and the mournful moan of insomniac hounds baying
for masters long dead.  A rousing
four-hour sleep then up betimes, a gay trip to the studio, a bubbling eight
hours of labor and off we go again. 
And so on ad infinitum.

 

Any of this coming
through?

 

You owe me a
buck.  A dollar.  Ten dimes.  The hundredth part of a C-note.  That is, you do unless you were able to read “A Sale of..,”
I mean “A Tale of Two Cities” and “Ethan Frome” during your drive back to the
ranch.  I say this with no
particular sense of jubilation, but business is business and I can hardly
ignore the chance to make a fast buck.

 

“Frethan Ome.”  “Othem Freem.”  “Freethan Orm” by George Gand.  Amantine Lucile Aurore Dudevant.  That was her real name, wise guy.  Only she was born with the name Dupin.

 

I have been trying
to persuade Gene Poddany to go riding periodically with me without any success
at all.  He finally confessed that
he had become afraid.  This surprised
the Hell out of me and I questioned him about it, because he has never had any
serious falls, or been bitten or even been stepped on.  Strange, isn’t it?  I believe I know what it is, though: it’s
simply that now that he has become a rather successful musician for pictures he
has become aware that he needs his arms to play the piano and he has become
jealous of them and afraid of any kind of activity that might conceivably lead
to injury.  Very curious.  I just called Donn to ask his opinion
and he said from a psychologist’s viewpoint the case seemed fraught with
interest.  So there you have
it.  Know any more than when you
started?

 

Not that I’m
complaining, mind you, but all I know of your activities since returning is
that you clean the cow barn.  A
charming activity, but did you do anything else? 

 

Write when you find
the time or make the time and enclose some information.

 

You foul little
beast.

 

s/Chuck

Leave a Reply

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


*