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

So much for that and me. […]

Jim

Betty’s Journal, April 11, 1958

Jim’s first work in Ireland done today, 6 months & one day after our arrival, followed by his picking up “low ladie’s chair” from auction.

MICHAEL MILLGATE

April 15, 1958

Dear Michael,

Your letter rec’d, and the weekend of May 10 is fine — or any weekend, for that matter. Our only problem is how to entertain you in the custom of the country, for we just sit around and brood and hardly utter a brilliant word. But we would like to see you and hope you’ll come. Just let me know when, exactly, and I’ll try to meet you at the airport.

No, I’m not interested in teaching at Salzburg or anywhere else. And if I were, what would I teach? I gather education, in Europe, hasn’t crumbled to the point where I could step in.

I have nothing to say about your marriage, if any, only hope she has money.

I am writing this from my office on Westland Row, where I have been freezing until lately. It is a lot like my office in St Cloud (in that I don’t know who else would have it) but quieter.

Too bad you aren’t here now, or sometime in the next ten days, for Edwin O’Connor, author of The Last Hurrah , is in town, and you could interview him. He has some good stories about Boston. One: Abp Cushing is showing ex — Lord Mayor Briscoe through a seminary and throws open a door to an auditorium where the seminarians are all assembled. “There they are,” he says, “five hundred of the best anti-Semites you ever saw.” Asked later what Briscoe said, the Abp said, “He took it very well.”

Write, giving time of arrival. Until then, all best.

Jim

DON AND MARY HUMPHREY

April 29, 1958

Dear Don and Mary,

We were so glad to hear from you, and the fact that there has been a slight time lag since then doesn’t mean a thing — except that we think it better that some of the delay be on our side. You would gladden our lives, however, if you replied at once. I don’t have your letter at the office — where things are humming as usual — but I do remember that you, Mary, were busy with your sewing and that Don was busy with his haw-hawing. […]

Very odd that you haven’t had the pleasure of [the Hyneses’] company. I fear, too, that with the approaching warm weather they may seek to make amends by throwing one of their famous picnics in a public park. And what of the Doyle? He hasn’t written to us, I think, in all the time we’ve been at our present address. Something I said, I suppose, without having a clue as to what. We spend less time than we did in imagining what you are all doing. This was a regular part of our life until recently. “Are they at Hyneses’ tonight,” I’d say to Betty. Or “I think Fred called, and they’re going over there tonight. Don had to stop for cigarettes.” Or “Hyneses came by, but Don wasn’t there, and Mary had retired.” We just don’t get enough information to engage our imaginations these days.

Last year, about this time, it became clear that we were going to have to move, and I saw that the two, possibly three, years of economic security were not to be. And now, again, I am facing up to the same situation — the necessity to make some big money. It doesn’t seem to be in the cards that we’ll ever enjoy the small fruits of our labors. This, I’d say if it were happening to anyone else, and they were able to survive each crisis, as we’ve been able to do so far, would be a good thing, a device to prevent one from getting into a rut. But this too can be a rut. I think now I’d have been wise to stay on somehow in St Cloud and finish my novel in the office there — there would’ve been no change there. I have wasted months getting set up again, physically and mentally, and now that I have, I see it’s not to be for very long, that it’s starting up all over again. And this time, there isn’t the objective there was, the feeling that if we could just get to Ireland, everything would be all right. The feeling now is that everything will not be all right, whatever we do, that hardly anything will be all right. Not a good spirit in which to advance toward the future.

[…]

Jim

HARVEY EGAN

Dublin

May 13, 1958

Dear Fr Egan,

Your letter came this morning, and glad to have same, to know that you’ll welcome us back. At the moment, I have no very good prospects of making it back: cold in my nose, cold in my office, and so on.

KA is being confirmed by the Abp of Dublin today and expects a question: “I’m in the front row, and he asks those in the front row, and if they know the answers, he doesn’t ask the others.” I did not tell her to counter with a question: “Why don’t you and O’Casey bury the hatchet?”2

The keys are cold to my touch this morning: it will not be a good day. I must go over to an auction and try to land a couple of elephant tusks. I got two the other day (supporting a dinner gong) and would like to get these today, which are unmounted, rough, as extracted. I plan to send the ivory to Don, who except for an occasional cue ball, is unable to procure the stuff for his work, mostly nodes on chalices.

[…]

Jim

Betty’s aunt, Birdie, and her husband, Al Strobel, made a trip to Ireland. They came as part of a guided tour, which they left for a few days to visit the Powers family and see the new baby.

BIRDIE AND AL STROBEL

29 Westland Row

Dublin

May 31, 1958

Dear Birdie and Al,

[…] You are better off at the Shelbourne than at the Gresham (which caters mostly to Americans and is on O’Connell Street, which has always struck me as being like Broadway, full of little junky shops). There is a whole book about the Shelbourne, by Elizabeth Bowen. We wonder if it’ll be possible to catch sight of you during those first days while you’re still attached to the tour. I thought I might watch for you in the Shelbourne lobby — I wouldn’t actually approach you — so I could at least tell Betty and the children how you were looking. Naturally, I would disguise myself. Anyway, we’re all happy that you’re coming, and looking forward to it. Don’t worry about us putting ourselves out for you. It hadn’t occurred to us to do so. You’ll find plenty of work to do, inside, and Al can work around the yard. You can think of the time with us as a resting-up period for your ensuing travels. Well, I think that’s all, and more, and so I’ll close.

Jim

FRED AND ROMY PETTERS

Ard na Fairrge

June 19, 1958

Dear Fred and Romy,

[…] It is seven in the evening. In the next few minutes, Betty will finish reading a book to the boys, and I’ll go up to the bathroom and shove them around for a while. No, Betty hasn’t had the baby yet. No, not yet. Wait a minute, I’ll look again. No, not yet. When she does, we’ll let someone know in the Movement. I won’t develop this subject further. Except to say that we’re appalled by the prospect. Last year at this time I thought I had trouble. I now think of last year as the English Channel and the year ahead as the Atlantic Ocean. I know, you don’t swim that ; but that is what I mean.

We are at home every evening, listening to the radio, reading. I smoke while reading and Betty drinks. That’s about it here. […]

Jim

HARVEY EGAN

June 24, 1958

Dear Fr Egan,

It’s in the early a.m., and somebody’s charging batteries, and I can’t play my Telefunken, usually my solace when Betty and the children are in bed. We were glad to hear you have a new typewriter — and to see that you have — and I must say it’s about time. You had the one before this about six months, didn’t you? I suppose it means something: some people wash their hands and some change mates and some change typewriters. Me, well, why go on? […]