October 22, 1974 (Letter from Grayce)

I've always really liked train whistles.  There's something very sad about them, though.  Today, on the way home from work (I have an hr and 15 minute bus ride) I got this overwhelming impulse to go to the ocean.  This is the first year of my life (except for my 1st possibly) that I have not gone to see my ocean.  I feel disloyal -- honest, it's a terrible feeling.  My favorite time to be there is about 8 o'clock (pm), all alone, when all the people are getting ready to go on the boardwalk.  It's the most peaceful time, especially if you can climb out over the rock and just sit.  I like Cape May best (have you ever been?) 'cause it's really unspoiled.  Sunrise is pretty nice, too, except the only time I've ever been was after I had stayed up all night and I was probably too exhausted those times to quietly appreciate.  (Aren't you thrilled to be hearing all this?)

*I thought you might appreciate this -- please notice the similarity between my present address and that of my parents.

You sound quite happy about work and that makes me happy.  I'm sure the people you help are really glad to have you.  I'm sure you're learning even more than they are.  When I was at Villanova, I took a course called "Black Urban Experience" (which was a sociology major's practicum but I convinced the dept head that a phil major should have this type of course, also.)  Most of the other soc courses seemed pretty worthless.  I was really glad I got this course (did I tell you about it?) We were really to design our own project and everyone did something different.  Most of the kids were afraid to go into Phila and do something so they picked a "ghetto" area around V.U. which is really a laugh since the rent average around that area is about 200/300 a month and hardly any of the blacks in Ardmore were exactly poor.

But I had been going up to Temple a lot (most of my friends were in Theater there) and had helped with the production of The Cage which was put on by this Barbed Wire Society -- a group of ex-cons who live together in a sort of commune, only not so utopian as many are.  So I decided to apply with them for a semester.  It was one of the best things I ever did -- although I must admit I was scared at first.  In fact, there 2 guys later told me they were apprehensive about me at first, too, because they didn't trust me.   (They didn't trust me?)  Anyway, I can understand you excitement about what you're doing and I know you'll be very successful because of the type of person that you are.

You told me to remind you of apples this time, so APPLES.

I always said you led a charmed life.  I recognized it almost immediately.  It wasn't in any specific instance, but there was something there.  I don't mean to harp (honest) but in a way, fate does tie in here.  I do not feel that I am fated to be a famous person per se, or very successful in a conventional way.  Rather, I seem drawn to certain people I know will be.  (You being one whom I feel has a certain thing to do.)  One of my friends told me (one who I feel will be very "famous") (I don't mean this in any sensational way) that she felt that she had to know me and that her whole future might depend on that.  When she said this I was just appalled.  I was even a bit afraid of her for awhile.  I certainly am no "guiding light" and I told her so but she still persists in this belief and usually before she does anything of even slight importance she consults me.  Of course, my "advice" is not always heeded and sometimes I hesitate or refuse to give any.  (Once I gave it unasked when I thought she was in particular danger and she was not at all pleased, for which she was really right, so I never did that again.)

Anywhoooo -- I've forgotten what the point of this entire things was in the first place now.  I certainly have a keen mind!   I was going to ask something about your statement about your erratic and non-committal character, but it's gone now, oh well...I'll probably think of it just as I'm mailing this.

I don't suppose I will ever get to read your journals unless they are published huh?  (Not that I'd expect to; I don't think I'd let anyone read mine.)  I don't suppose they will ever be published within my lifetime (this one, anyway) either, since they will probably go into print after y our are gone and with your healthy notions you'll definitely outlive me -- at least by 30 years, I'd guess.  I think I'll die by the time I'm 55.  (Of course, I won't mind if I live longer.)  Then I guess during my next lifetime I will come across them in a bookstore (providing I like to read in my next lifetime) and I will instantly be drawn to them.  After all, I do feel that I've known you before and probably for a fairly long time. Why else would things happen the way they do?  Why do we meet some people who are very much like us and whom we really don't like and don't feel drawn to?  (Sorry about the dangling participle, I'm always doing that.)  And then others who may be very different from us seem like old friends in a little short while?

Anyway, I'll be that man you met on the way to Minneapolis who was your father from another life or something like that.  I love to think about stuff like that.

Diane got that job in Phila.  I knew she would.  She will like it very much, I'm sure.  Also, she's only a 30 minute ride form Bev in Delaware.  And now when I come home for visits I can see them at least.  I don't think Pittsburgh can ever be my home.  I'm probably being very unfair, but it's just a big Altoona to me, y'know?  I feel kind of isolated in this place.  The neighbors are mostly older, but not old enough for me to go visit (more nearly my parent's age than my grandparents' age.) This sounds weird, I know, but I just feel this way.  I miss having friends my age to clown around with and I can't let myself become wholly dependent on Brook (although that would be really easy) because it just isn't good.

You might have guessed from my tone (bongggg) that I'm slightly lonely.  Actually, I shouldn't have time to be lonely.  When I'm not working or climbing my 1 1/2 mile hill to get to work from the bus, I'm sanding shelves (with that little sander we bought at Sears that day) or painting, or...ad nauseum.  So -- don't listen to me.  I'm a complainer from way back -- as I'm sure you've already surmised.

I must say first that I feel very sorry for Leslie.  I've never met her, but I know about her that she has good taste and that she has intuition and great love.  I suppose a final ending is best and in the long run hurts less than a long drawn out one.  I do hope she is alright as she seems so in love with you.

I think I have mentally written this part of the letter at least twelve times (mostly on the bus), and the versions have ranged from the sublime to the ridiculous.  Each one has also been mentally ripped up and thrown into the mental circular file.  My basic feeling is likely to be vague and I hope you will be patient with me.  I simply cannot write about this to any great extent.  The things I would like to say to you are things which should be said; they are things which go better with a smile and a hug rather than things which go with ink and paper.  Please understand.  I know you will.

Do you think we can postpone any further discussions of this until we can do it in person?  (I feel certain that we will be able to in the near future.)

I admire and respect your honesty (for telling me) and your self-discipline (for not telling me all the times you probably wanted to.)

Please know how fortunate I feel to be your friend.  Our friendship certainly has enduring qualities -- tempered strength.  I trust you, which is something that usually takes me longer to do than a few months. You must know that you have a very special place in my heart.