Elliotts to Morgans, Port Ludlow, 1946 -- "The rediscovered sweetness of his life"

Murray was released from the Army, and therefore from Washington, D.C.,  in early 1946. They made their way home to Puget Sound, with a few journalistic stops along with way, where other recently demobilized friends were waiting.

from Jean and Gene Elliott, 1946

Dear Rosa and Murray -- you'll feel dazed for a long time. We still do. And Harry said that for a month after he was out he was afraid to cross streets or enter any situation which might threaten the rediscovered sweetness of his life. We are all very happy for you, have composed a ditty on the theme of "Murray is out, Murray is out" to the tune of "Carmen's in love, Carmen's in love" (Carmen Jones, not Fett). St. T a K. will be in May when you come to Port Ludlow.

Pt. Ludlow mill in 1918. Wikipedia

And please come soon. You can have chess, writing, oysters, a burned-down, debris-covered mill to photograph, hills to climb, fish to catch, bays to kayak in, music to listen to, sun to lie in (I think), our dog to play with (I've tried to teach him to enjoy having his ears bitten a la Haj but he keeps losing his temper -- he's only four months old), our cat to play with and anything else we can think of between now and May. Beer and conversation are understood ("Have a little wine of the country, Rosa" -- oh, Rosa, I've learned to make fudge -- chocolate and peanut butter -- although I haven't learned it very well because it never gets completely hard).

...We'd love to have the split bamboo blinds. We're making a trellis-work and grass and tree (one) sidewalk café effect outside our back door and the blinds would be useful. I also want (please) the top to the Mexican bean pot which you gave us for Christmas 1943 sans top because Murray thought all packages with ribbons were for him. But don't worry if you can't find it because I have another one that fits. Bring your (Judy's) cats if you like -- we're making an animal-and-children compound. The only items which are at all important, really, are your sleeping bags. We have many beds, little bedding. (Dorsey maintains that we can sleep nine guests comfortably at once but I think seven is our top limit unless a lot of them are in love with one another. ...)

 

Dear M and R, this will be just a note because we want to get in the mail tonight. This is David talking now, and not sleeping D or Sick D or even Mildred, but the real David. I'm just back from a week-end in the city and it’s the first wk end in the city I've spent that hasn't been Angst-voll. All the major creature needs were taken care of and I feel like a clean vessel once more. Ludlow has no floating female or male population to minister to the body's needs, which is probably a good thing. All the same one

does need what he needs. Miss Stein once said this more or less repetitively in a poem called "Needs be needs be needs be near." Today I attended the lecture given by Joseph Warren Beach or whatever his name is, the Walker Ames man who is teaching contemporary poetry. His lectures are enlivened by phrases like "As Robert (Frost) said to me ..." He is very urbane and exceedingly charming and somehow made me feel like becoming a poet. The novel is really a bore and I keep thinking of more attractive things to write about. Rosa I'm glad you liked the ending. Murray, a friend of mine tells me that he saw in a recent Harpers a story called I think, "A Little Oversight" about two GIs n Wash D.C. in the hottest part of summer wearing full Class A woollens and being arrested for taking off their blouses or blice. I immediately thought of you. About being a poet, the best poem I've written is very simple:

GHOST

In the night

All in white

He don't care

If he is a fright.

Why I'm burbling like this I don't know. Perhaps Bill James was right about celibacy. You know he was celibate for a week once and got enormous quantities of writing done. Here is an anecdote a friend of mine who is taking Giovanni's Philosophy of History course told me. Miss Pierson did Marx for her paper and in reading it got all involved with a middle-aged Russian in the class who asked several pointed questions. Their conversation got rather heated and was abruptly terminated by the Russian's jumping to his feet and grabbing his coif and shrieking, "I, who have been through four revolutions, am forced to listen to this stuff!" It fair panicked the seminar.

...

 

from David -- Port Ludlow  -- 1946

Dear Murray,

Charles Olson and Howard Lewis, shucking oysters

loves, ruins an incipiently good baritone by refusing the heed the advice of competent teachers, continually violates his own integrity by taking jobs which he is gradually cutting himself down to fit, and ends by staying in the navy as a commissioned officer--a success by what has become his own measure. You will agree that it is a degrading and ignominious end, but there is a lot of sex to compensate.

If you could write me a letter asking me about the state of the work and telling me the idea has possibilities, etc. etc. I should be most grateful. You probably know more about it than I anyway. Please include news about your own productions. I am curious, and besides it would look impressive. It would be nice too if you would begin one paragraph with a phrase like "A person of your ability".... Do not be too Pollyanna, but I do not trust the govt.

Our house is taking a little more time than we hoped it would, but it's a nice house and is quite beautiful. We would all like you to come and see us. Good luck, and give my best to Rosa.

David

Are you going to join the AmVets Committee?

[the GI Bill allowed self-employed people the difference between their monthly earnings and $100 a month for a maximum of 52 weeks in two years after discharge. Since the difference between being a self-employed writer and being unemployed is often hard to parse, aspirant veterans asked more established ones to vouch for them.]

From Jean and Gene Elliott, October 1948-- "everyone here talks French"

Once out of the army, Gene Elliott moved to Paris with Jean (known to their circle of friends as she-Jean) for graduate study at the Sorbonne.

Dear Rosa and Murray—everyone here talks French and we stumble after with our pitiful little burden of simple sentences which we try to feed into gaps in conversations but usually our opportunities have swung way behind us while we are still sorting out pronouns, subject-verb agreement, etc. We sit at the table of our pension nodding and smiling from time to time and sometimes getting a chance to say yes or no or thank you or the soup is very good tonight. It’s pretty maddening—we’ve discovered how really addicted we are to conversation. To correct our ineptitude as quickly as possible, we are taking an 8 to 10 AM daily class in French taught entirely in French at L’institut Panthéon, a class that is a little too hard for us so that we have to study about six hours each night. I think it’s helping.

Jean Elliott at the Lake Union houseboat, 1945

We have been homesick for people and animals but not for home so the obvious solution is to import les gens et les animaux, n’est-ce pas? And we’d like to start with you. Paris is a marvelous place to be in spite of some lack of comfort. We live in a fairly large room on the fourth floor; our windows are on the street and we have a fireplace which we will be able to use at some vague future date after the chimney is swept (we shall not have coal but maybe wood although it’s high because of the coal strike). There’s a washbasin behind a screen but no hot water at all, a toilet down the hall and not a bathtub in the house. We bathe at the public bains et douches in a private room for the two of us: we each have, for about forty cents altogether, two big European tubs, chin high, in which we sit for half an hour in all the hot water we want and chat as we wash. We both think it’s a very fine, unboring way to bathe. Our meals, included in bill here, are good. A maid brings us café au lait, which is neither coffee nor stimulating but good, and the dark Paris bread (without butter) at seven-thirty. We gagged on the bread at first but have, fortunately, developed a taste for it.  

 

Bread was rationed in France into 1948; the loaves that were available were made from the sourdough starter and unrefined “gray flour” now used to make the priciest of pain de campagne loaves. 

 

At noon we have a big meal with a vegetable hors d’oeuvre and fruit or cheese or yogurt for dessert and at seven we have another dinner (dîner—I think it means supper) with soup to begin with, salad and same kinds of desserts. We always have meat at noon, often at both meals. And always vegetables. This is costing us a little over $60 a month including tipping. 

Heat and light are something else. One night the electrician of the house came into our room, asked if we had warmth in our radiator. We said no, and he put his hand on it and said oui, oui, you have the heat. It was a little warmer than body temperature. That was a week ago and apparently just an experiment with the heating system because we haven’t had heat since and the days are getting quite cold (they’re like Seattle’s cold, frosty days only a little damper). The lights in the hall are so dim that often we’ve reached for the button before we realized that they were on. … The bathroom light is not automatic but is so unfunctional that we have to take a flashlight in to see what we’re doing. Our  reading lamps are slightly better, but only if we are huddled under them. But these few discomforts are nothing compared to the joys of being here. You know how incomparably beautiful it is (didn’t you once hang from the netting of the Eiffel Tower?). We’ve been doing some organized sightseeing, that is—organized by us, such as going to a famous place outside the city each Sunday: Versailles, Chartres, Chantilly, Senlis, St. Germaine en laye. And then, of course, we wander the streets constantly. If we don't watch ourselves, we spend two hours getting

Bee [Lucille] Shepherd, Puget Sound, 1948: Rosa Morgan photo

from our school ten blocks away back to our house. Books and art books are everywhere and we covet nearly every one we see. Also decanters, pottery, hand-woven material—almost everything. We have also become addicted to pastries of which there 486,000 varieties, each one better than the one before and all very inexpensive. We’ve had some meals in restaurants and they’ve been wonderful. The French say that food, wine, pastries are below pre-war standards and if that is true it is impossible for me to imagine what they were like because all of it now is almost the best we’ve ever had. You should come for next year or sooner.

Shep (Charles) Shepherd, Port Ludlow, 1948: Rosa Morgan photo

The Shepherds overwhelmed us with kindnesses. In the first place, they met our train [in Chicago] at some awful morning hour, eight-thirty I think. Then they brought us presents, beautiful billfolds wrapped up in tissue and ribbons. We had coffee in the station, took a taxi to the art museum and looked for Bill’s [Bill Fett] watercolor but it wasn't on the wall ... so we went through other rooms. Then we went back to the station a little early to try to reach Bill's family on the telephone. 

B’s family was not at home. We had a drink, bought a copy of the NR looking for the answer to your article (wasn’t in it) and then we caught our train with deep regret at having to leave. They are truly lovely people. You should bring them here when you come. They also gave us prints of their pictures of the weekend at Ludlow including a very fine one of the bottom of your feet, Murray. Objet d’art.

Howard Daniel was not home at all. Nor Howard Lewis—at the paper we were told that he was in Paris but flying back to NY the 26^th; we sailed the 24^th. We looked for a plane overhead Sunday afternoon and Monday morning but didn’t even see a wing-tip to wave at. We talked to Ann [Ann Elmo, Murray’s agent] about how she was (she had a strained back) and how we were (we were fine) and how you were (you were fine too) and how Agony was (Agony  was not fine but she said that she’d like us to try rewriting the last chapter). One nice piece of news we had for her was that we had seen, the first day we were in the city, a fairly prominent display of Dixie Raider on one of the tables at Brentano’s. (How is DR going?) …
 

 

If the house caught on fire, we would first save each other and the toss to decide whether to grab the typewriters or the Baedeker next. I can’t find words, French or English, to tell you how much we’ve needed it, relied on it, enjoyed places because of it, used it to find things or to keep from getting lost or to get unlost, loved having it and read ourselves to sleep with it. I shudder to think how different our lives here would have been if you had believed us when we were protesting that we really couldn’t accept it from you. God.

This 1948 image of the Republican Members of the House Un-American Activities Committee included, from left to right, Representative Richard B. Vail of Illinois, Chairman John Parnell Thomas of New Jersey, Representative John McDowell of Pennsylvania, Robert Stripling (chief counsel), and Representative Richard M. Nixon of California.

 

 

 

 

Our ballots came just as we were about to give up and so we voted Monday, mailed them back. Liquor for the State of Washington, Wallace for president: the perfect life. Please, please, please write us about the Canwell Committee’s fate (and that of their victims). As far as the letters we’ve received are concerned, the whole business never happened. Harry and Jo Fugl told us on their arrival that two of the committee-men had been defeated in the primaries which is excellent but we’d like to know more about all of it. [Harry Fugl, director of the activist Pacific Northwest Labor School in the late 1940s, was called before the Canwell Committee.]

Monday’s Le Monde carried a short paragraph about M. Parnell Thomas, among the loveliest French we’ve ever read. Maybe it is just a Democratic Party move and maybe he does get a closed session in contrast to all the public reputation-feasts he’s officiated over, still it’s good. [Thomas, head of the House UnAmerican Activities Committee, was convicted of fraud for putting friends into phantom jobs on the Congressional payroll in exchange for kickbacks.] We’d like to know more about that, too, if you have time.

 

Gene wants space. We miss you deeply. Send a note as soon as you can and seriously think about how happy you’d be here. 

Love, Jean

…

Dear Water-dwellers: we have not yet found the Keplers or Kepples (choose one) [it’s Kleppers] but will give you all the dope soon. In the meantime we are constantly reminded by seeing the boaters on the Seine, some with those double-bladed paddles and some with sails, having what is apparently the time of their lives. Jealousy gnaws at our vitals, or would if it were not for the fact that there are so many land-borne pleasures at every hand that we don’t stand still long enough to be gnawed. Harry and Jo arrived (as implied above) and are settled near the Boulevard Saint Michele, very happy. Better come over. Study threatens. Much more soon. Love to you both.    g 

                                                                                                                                                          

For more on Parnell Thomas:

http://www.spartacus.schoolnet.co.uk/USAparnell.htm

For more on the Canwell Committee hearings at UW:   

http://www.washington.edu/alumni/columns/dec97/red1.html

Canwell biography:   
http://www.historylink.org/index.cfm?DisplayPage=output.cfm&file_id=9887

Part of a Letter from Pete Pedersen to Murray -- "the wonderful still life of debris between us"

Pete and another Army friend had dinner at the Lake Union houseboat with Rosa and Carmen Fett in 1944

...The supper table was beginning to assume an inviting pattern now -- twin candle sticks at either end, individual matted table coverings set out and centered with simple pale blue plates beautifully designed in their right (Wright?) proportions. Next came slim wine glasses and gleaming silverware set off by rough textured napkins. As if the sight of all this, and the intoxicating aroma wafting from the kitchen of spaghetti and meat sauce coming to a turn wasn't enough to inflame the senses and set the taste buds aquiver, Carmen had to bring in a bottle of Mexican tequila and insist we try one of her "Tequila Cocktails" before dinner. They were very dry and very delicious, kind of like Sauterne wine.

And then we sat down to a dinner for which I should have lived so long. There was spaghetti and meat sauce topped with Parmesan cheese, hot buttered corn on the cob--the first we had tasted in a long time. Then there was a magnificent salad bowl--the character of the ingredients preserved intact instead of all chopped up and minced and mixed together in the usual hodge podge most women like to pass off as a salad. There was French bread, sliced on the diagonal, rubbed with garlic and toasted -- and a bottle of red wine. At this point I was almost moved to remark that the only thing missing would be brandy with the coffee and dessert. Luckily, I contained myself, for Rosa marched in with a tray containing coffee and a decanter of Portuguese brandy, followed by cherry pie served on those Mexican dancer dishes.

And as the candles burned low, over a third brandy and a fourth, we remained around the table in pleasant conversation not disturbing the wonderful still life of debris between us. With a little coaxing Rosa brought out some of her photographs -- a carefully censored cross section, I'm afraid, for there appeared to be more of Otto's pictures than her own.

The evening moved on in this fashion and rounded out to its inevitable conclusion. Whether it was politeness on the part of the hostess--certainly reluctance on ours--nobody seemed willing to suggest it was time to take leave. Jean finally came bubbling in about 2 am or 3 from her party and that seemed the logical point to break off. ... You can't thank a person for an evening such as that. It can't be bought nor can it be paid for.

Pete Pedersen