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Letters of Henry S. Whitehead, 1942
Page 10
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Heh, heh! In yesterday's mail came $150 from another editor for one of the little tales friend Wright turned down -- twice, so how could anybody be miffed at him I enquire? I wonder if it has occurred to you that Harold Hersey the editor of the Clayton adventure-magazines would probably lap up the stuff you do. He never bought anything of me, but it seems to me if I could write the sort of thing you pour so freely into those splendid letters of yours, I'd be selling similarly-written material of adventure to H.H. You might try it, if you'll pardon a suggestion. I wrote to Wright this morning, by the way, and handed you a pretty solid swat -- on the back. I never read Mardrus, but years ago I pretty nearly knew John Payne, Sir Richard Burton, and Lane on those Arabian Nights by heart. I have a set of Payne, and Lane was in the Harvard Library, and George Bladen Fox the painter (he did the wall-panels in the saloon of The Hendrik Hudson -- ever see 'em?) had a set of Burton. Then I had a friend who was professor of Semitic Languages from whom I derived a certain amount of dope, a man named Vanderbogart, since gone West. I'll say you're equipped, and I don't see why you don't mop up the jack from the other markets. Adventure -- all kinds -- was never at such a peak as it is today. Please GET me. I'm not trying to do the superior-stuff and TELL anybody anything, only it is just possible you hadn't thought of trying it on Hersey and several others of that kidney. You needn't mind, ever, about this clerical ear. It's a pretty fair old ear and a lot has gone through it. There are some regular ones who are parsons -- Hudson Stuck was one, and so was de Foucauld who opened up The Hoggar so that de Prorok could get in later (as de P. acknowledges.) So, I imagine, was Alcuin of York who regulated Charlemagne. Huh. There's a quiet little clergyman in a perpetual curacy here in Grace Church, N.Y. named Eliot White, middle-aged and as gray as a badger. Eliot and I made the world's record for coming down the thirteen miles from the "giffel" of Pilatus twenty-six years ago when I was eighteen and could lick my weight in polar bears. I even know a bishop or two, here and there, who are eggs. But they're rare, I'll admit. Anyhow, don't bother any about this clerical ear. It's hardboiled. I could give you references, I tutored the late Lt. Col. Aleck Williams who was Chef de la Gendarmerie, when McKinley was waiting to appoint him as a 2nd Lt., in virtue of his old man's pull. The old man was the late Police Inspector Aleck Williams Sr., who named the Tenderloin. That was "Ass Williams" if you know him in the service. One of my turnouts! I've always been kinda proud of that boy, even though, curiously, he was two years older than I. Schoolmates. I never trained with the longhairs or the near-pious gang, etc., and what are known as "church people" to the majority of the public give me severe, shooting pains all over. And then -- I'll say you're a technician all right. I am in a state of perennial revolt (if you like) against the KIND of thing the best editors are always giving their public. Emasculated, gutless stuff. And the worst of it is, to me, that the revolters who have got their public are turgid, like Hect, or inconsequential like Van Vechten, or muddled like that damn fool Sherwood Anderson who thinks he thinks and relies on repeated near-thoughts instead of the mere sentence. O -- what's the use. I dunno! Best -- Whitehead
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Heh, heh! In yesterday's mail came $150 from another editor for one of the little tales friend Wright turned down -- twice, so how could anybody be miffed at him I enquire? I wonder if it has occurred to you that Harold Hersey the editor of the Clayton adventure-magazines would probably lap up the stuff you do. He never bought anything of me, but it seems to me if I could write the sort of thing you pour so freely into those splendid letters of yours, I'd be selling similarly-written material of adventure to H.H. You might try it, if you'll pardon a suggestion. I wrote to Wright this morning, by the way, and handed you a pretty solid swat -- on the back. I never read Mardrus, but years ago I pretty nearly knew John Payne, Sir Richard Burton, and Lane on those Arabian Nights by heart. I have a set of Payne, and Lane was in the Harvard Library, and George Bladen Fox the painter (he did the wall-panels in the saloon of The Hendrik Hudson -- ever see 'em?) had a set of Burton. Then I had a friend who was professor of Semitic Languages from whom I derived a certain amount of dope, a man named Vanderbogart, since gone West. I'll say you're equipped, and I don't see why you don't mop up the jack from the other markets. Adventure -- all kinds -- was never at such a peak as it is today. Please GET me. I'm not trying to do the superior-stuff and TELL anybody anything, only it is just possible you hadn't thought of trying it on Hersey and several others of that kidney. You needn't mind, ever, about this clerical ear. It's a pretty fair old ear and a lot has gone through it. There are some regular ones who are parsons -- Hudson Stuck was one, and so was de Foucauld who opened up The Hoggar so that de Prorok could get in later (as de P. acknowledges.) So, I imagine, was Alcuin of York who regulated Charlemagne. Huh. There's a quiet little clergyman in a perpetual curacy here in Grace Church, N.Y. named Eliot White, middle-aged and as gray as a badger. Eliot and I made the world's record for coming down the thirteen miles from the "giffel" of Pilatus twenty-six years ago when I was eighteen and could lick my weight in polar bears. I even know a bishop or two, here and there, who are eggs. But they're rare, I'll admit. Anyhow, don't bother any about this clerical ear. It's hardboiled. I could give you references, I tutored the late Lt. Col. Aleck Williams who was Chef de la Gendarmerie, when McKinley was waiting to appoint him as a 2nd Lt., in virtue of his old man's pull. The old man was the late Police Inspector Aleck Williams Sr., who named the Tenderloin. That was "Ass Williams" if you know him in the service. One of my turnouts! I've always been kinda proud of that boy, even though, curiously, he was two years older than I. Schoolmates. I never trained with the longhairs or the near-pious gang, etc., and what are known as "church people" to the majority of the public give me severe, shooting pains all over. And then -- I'll say you're a technician all right. I am in a state of perennial revolt (if you like) against the KIND of thing the best editors are always giving their public. Emasculated, gutless stuff. And the worst of it is, to me, that the revolters who have got their public are turgid, like Hect, or inconsequential like Van Vechten, or muddled like that damn fool Sherwood Anderson who thinks he thinks and relies on repeated near-thoughts instead of the mere sentence. O -- what's the use. I dunno! Best -- Whitehead
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