Chuck Jones’ letters to his daughter, Linda

Post # 43

Friday, Apr…I mean
May 1, 53


Happy May Day!


The streets were
bedecked with flowers this morning, comely lasses stood on every street corner,
their arms overflowing with sweet-peas, violets, bachelor buttons, azaleas,
camellias, coreopsis, clover, cow-band and cut-worms and tossed garlands of
these glittering posies around the necks of passing motorists.  Heralds in silken clothes of pastel
shades, mounted on milk-white horses blew silvery bell-like notes on glittering
golden trumpets.  Clouds of creamy
doves all but obliterated the azure sky, twinkling, twittering and corvetting
over head.  Statley (stately) (“Statley”
is an adjective used to describe people staying at Statler hotels).  New start…Stately peacocks strode the
streets, herded by peach complected maidens in diaphanous gowns, trilling
spring madrigals (the girls, not the peacocks) to the morning sun.  The policeman, discarding their
uniforms for this day of days, were arrayed in breech-clouts of unborn lamb,
their badges held to their bare chests with bits of scotch tape.  They blew kisses to all and sundry and
all and sundry blew kisses right back…May Day in Hollywood, what a glorious


Making now the long
grim plunge from the divine to the ridiculous, how are you anyway?  Setting any new scholastic
records?  Memorized Horace?  Speak fluent Ovid?  Solved the old quantum theory?


I am pleased that
your emotional affairs are progressing so swimmingly, no matter how well other
things go, if this one aspect of one’s life lags, the rest appears
unimportant.  In short, if you is
happy, I is happy.


Four weeks from
today marks the end of your school year. 
Isn’t that amazing?  It
doesn’t seem like you have been gone more than thirty years.  It has been a wonderful time, though,
hasn’t it?  What a fortunate and
lucky thing it was that we took the Ford Times, hm?  What a lucky thing it was that we knew the Irelands and that
Susie was going there.  Sure, I’ve
missed you, but what fun it has been to enjoy remotely the pleasure you have
known.  And you have responded so
well and proved yourself beyond reasonable requirements.  You’ve earned the right to continue.


Will working next
year hinder you too much?  Will it
interfere with your studies or more important…your fun?  If it does…and I want a true answer,
then it isn’t worth it, because we can
make a go of it without that help if need be.  I want you to know that.  It would help, of course, but if you
don’t know it by now I am what the Irish call a patsy—a pushover—for you.


letter was a highly flattering one. 
So much so that I guess it had better be kept away from you.


I asked him if he could
use the saddle in exchange for feed or something next year, this in a letter
answering his letter, so if he asks you, you are now informed.


I didn’t expect to
get over on this page, but here I am, all bright and dewy-eyed, but as I look
down over the acres of white paper below me I get frightened and realize that I









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