J. Powers - Suitable Accommodations - An Autobiographical Story of Family Life - The Letters of J. F. Powers, 1942-1963

Pax,

Jim

BETTY WAHL

150 Summit Avenue

Tuesday morning, 4:30 a.m., December 11, 1945

Dear Betty,

I am thinking of you now, so much as in my grogginess I am capable of thinking of anything, I am not thinking of my work, that I know. […] Over the weekend, between Surgery and OB, they get out everything, and I have to sterilize it. I hope I do not die too early a death, or that you will ever have to work at the kind of job most people do. You will lose the nice sense of justice you possess now (which does not seem to be justice to me sometimes when it comes out in you), and you will not be so impressed by order, but will be more intent in stirring up a little chaos of your own. Somebody, Maritain, I guess, says too many people in the church and high places want justice based on order, instead of order based on justice.

So it is here. The hospital runs along pleasantly to the outside eye. But if you know the truth, it is that the floors get mopped and the garbage gets taken out because a sufficient number of men and women have made a mess of their lives and upon that broken rock the hospital runs; likewise the nurses who must go through three years of training in order to be able to earn six or seven dollars a day, and there is nothing they do that might not be acquired in a year easily. […] I love you and want you to love me. […]

Jim

Don Humphrey’s plight was the specter before Jim of a future he feared for himself. He believed his friend was being sacrificed to the “business sense” of those whose privilege it should have been to assist him.

BETTY WAHL

150 Summit Avenue

December 11, 1945

My dear Betty,

I’ve been rushing around today ever since I got up, and I got up late—3:00, which is because I was tired from last night. It is seven or so in the evening. I’ve just written a letter to Harry Sylvester that I hated to write, asking him to buy the house for Don, at least until he comes in the spring. […]

Your distraction,

Jim

BETTY WAHL

150 Summit Avenue

December 12, 1945

My dear Betty, and heavy on the “my”:

Well, since I got up two hours ago (it’s now 2:30 in the afternoon), I’ve been writing letters (Fr Garrelts, my friend Haskins2 in Washington — all about you — and Abigail McCarthy). About “business”: I think I told you that I’d written to Harry Sylvester asking him to let Don live in the house until spring if he bought it. I think, on the strength of Emerson’s recommendation, which must precede my letter three or four days to Guatemala, that he will buy the house and that Don will be permitted to live there until his, Harry’s, return. Which will amount to what you so kindly outline, a temporary shelter, but closer to things than the cottages you mention. […] I am trusting then that Harry will buy the house; that Don will be able to move in, say, by the first of January; and that, until spring, he’ll be able to impress the nuns at the college with his work and that finally he’ll be able to find a place, or, better, build one such as he wants.

I find the extant houses around St Joseph’s very undesirable, too high, terrible cracker boxes. Whenever I start hitting Collier’s at $1,700 per, I will have my friend Jack Howe, who slept next to me in the clink (and Frank Lloyd Wright’s right-hand man), draw a house just for us (he will not put a basement in it, however; they abhor basements). And that, I hope, takes care of houses until we hear from Harry and until we have to begin thinking of one for ourselves. (Won’t that be a business?) I am getting confused by the situation. No money, a real need, and distance between us and the field of operations. I have attempted, in today’s letter, to involve Fr Garrelts more … […]

I love you.

Jim

BETTY WAHL

150 Summit Avenue

December 27, 1945

Dear Betty,

[…] Yesterday I went to Robbinsdale, and there were the Humphreys filled with the new life. Today a letter from Harry Sylvester saying he will not buy the house. He believes he is being robbed, among other things, and is looking for someone to blame. I have written to him, offering myself. I hope that I’ll never have any money if it makes me that wary. I tried to call Fr Garrelts, but got Mr Chapman. “Hello, AC. This is JF.” I’ll call again tomorrow. There is no hurry about letting Don know. Harry wrote to Emerson and Sister Mariella too. I hope something turns up.

It is too bad Harry makes it sound as bad for himself as he does, or maybe he doesn’t in the other letters. He talks about being “finished” with me and St Ben’s; that is, he thinks his decision not to buy will finish him. That is silly. But just goes to show you how utterly normal supposedly enlightened people can be. I hope Sr Mariella will be able to cool him off and save his self-esteem. It will not be easy, considering the way he’s got things twisted around. […] Harry says: “Neither you nor Sister Mariella have a so-called business sense, and you are even proud of the lack; I wish I could afford to be without one.” Hmmmmm. How does one get a business sense? I think it is nine-tenths talking dull and acting as though you have one. Do you have a business sense? I wonder if he means I don’t write stories for Collier’s . Suppose I sold a story there. What would he think then? I do not think he’d like it. […]

Best to all and love to you.

Jim

BETTY WAHL

St Joseph’s Hospital

St Paul, Minnesota

Friday morning, 3:00 a.m., December 28, 1945

Dear Betty,

[…] I’ve been thinking we ought to go to Ireland as soon as we can when married. I am beginning to wonder if we can afford to settle down. Every time I think of the Humphreys, I feel rotten. I still haven’t got Fr Garrelts yet, so suppose they are blissfully ignorant that they’re out in the cold again. Confidentially, I do not want to see too much of the Sylvesters, after this. It must be very convenient to be able to assess one’s dreams — for I assume that’s what living at St Joe was for them, the prospect — at so many hundred dollars and if they come too high to abandon them. I’ll be at the station to meet you Sunday. I love you, as ever.

Jim

Sister Mariella came up with a house for the Humphreys, one owned by the Benedictines.

BETTY WAHL

150 Summit Avenue

January 13, 1946

[…] Sunday, 3 in the afternoon

Dear Betty,

It is that time. I’m just up. I went to 5 o’clock Mass (and Communion) this morning. That was because I had a helluva lot more stuff to sterilize than ordinarily on Saturday night. If it is like that next week, I’m afraid I won’t be in such fine fettle for the party. As it was, I think, I was tottering on the edge of the state of grace. I won’t go into it all. Only say I pray God I’ll never forget these years and that if I’m ever asked to say a few words, anywhere, I’ll remember the people who scrubbed the banquet hall, who will wash the dishes, and who will hope those present will use the ashtrays. […]

There was something wonderful about the words “… when we leave St Paul” in your letter. The idea of leaving and leaving with you, having you as indeed I’ve never had anyone or anything unless it be my portable typewriter, which I used to travel with. If you would only consent to traveling a little. This country will never be the same. But you don’t want to hear that, do you? […]

I love you deeply .

Jim […]

BETTY WAHL

150 Summit Avenue

January 16, Feast of St Marcellus, Martyr, St Honoratus, Confessor, St Elizabeth Alice, Virgin Beautiful

Dear Betty,

It is your birthday. I have just come from the city, where I was hard put to find something for your birthday. I had put off thinking about it until today, hoping to stroll into something. I didn’t, so I sent you books. I am sorry I could not get you something more essential or intimate. You were not much help, however, if you recall. I wish very much that the ring were ready. At times I regret that I didn’t buy one at a jewelry store. […] You are twenty-two. You are beginning to bloom. I thought of sending you the book Lovely Is the Lee , which is all about Ireland, but thought on second thought you would not enjoy it.3 There is a line in it, but I find I don’t have it now. Anyway, it says Ireland is like the heart of a woman: she will give all for love, nothing by force. That is good. It is too bad all women aren’t like that. You are. Do not change. […]