Letters of William Gaddis. William Gaddis

      Gram: aka Granga, WG’s maternal grandmother, Ida Williams Way (see headnote to 16 November 1943).

      To Edith Gaddis

      Cortaro, Arizona

      [26 January 1942]

      Dear Mother—

      I received both your letters Saturday and the box that evening; thanks so much for the check (I paid it down on my “rent”), and the box—I still get a kick out of opening packages and presents!

      And then as you say this slightly ironic setup—about my father. But I suppose we shall do just what might be expected, and wait . . . things always do take care of them selves, and, as “most of our troubles never happen,” by the same token plans and worries often make an unexpected outcome that much harder to meet. As you said it has not been a great emotional problem for me, tho it does seem queer; you see I still feel a little like I must have when I said “I have no father; I never had a father!,” and since things have been as they have, I have never really missed one—honestly—and only now does it seem queer to me. All I know of fathers I have seen in other families, and in reading, and somehow thru the deep realization I have gained of their importance; of father-and-son relations; and families: not just petty little groups, but generations—a name and honour and all that goes with it—this feeling that I have gained from other channels without ever having missed its actual presence: somehow these are the only ties I feel I have with him. You understand, not so much personal feelings, but the sort of feeling that I feel must exist between the father and son of a family as fine and as noble as I feel the name of Gaddis to represent; something far above such stuff as the Good Will Hour thrives on.

      The package contained a very handsome pigskin wallet—a very fine gift, and I shall write him and thank him.

      I suppose all we can do is wait, and not hope but know that it will all turn out perfectly. And while I realize that perhaps it is an affair between father and son, and I shall try to carry my end thru as a gentleman would, for apparently now I have reached the place where I am old enough to think for myself and act accordingly, and be expected to carry things thru like a man, at any rate Mother, if there is any part of this that you want me to do “your way,” or any advice you wish to give me on any part of it, please do so, and rest assured that I will do as you wish, for far from making a mess of things or being unfair to me at any point, you have done a wonderful job of the whole thing, and people who have never seen you or have just met you to whom I speak of you telling me that you must be a very wonderful woman only substantiate my feelings and make me realize all the more how much I owe not only a wonderful mother but a wonderful person as well for everything good I have and am today, or ever will be—

      Love

      Bill

      Good Will Hour: a radio advice program (1937–45) hosted by John J. Anthony.

      To Edith Gaddis

      Cortaro, Arizona

      [19 February 1942]

      Dear Mother—

      Everything out here is fine as per usual and after receiving your letter and request for a picture I got my roll developed and here’s one of me on “Johnny”—the wildest jumpiest horse here; I ride him daily and he’s slowly getting broken in—but today he ran off with me and I came through still on top this time but a slight rip on my head from a passing tree limb. However he’s a good horse and we’re getting along better all the time. It is a poor picture but at least shows I’m still alive and able to get around.

      And say—about those pictures I sent of my West Portal trip—was the negative roll with them? I don’t know what happened—the manila envelop they were in must have broken.

      I don’t know about registering—but some time if you see George (Castor) or Arvid you might ask them.

      We made a trip to Nogales (Mexico) Saturday and had a fine time. They had buckskin jackets there for $10—one of the fellows got one—but I’m in too deep all ready—and what with the rodeo coming up. I do want to get started and work and pretty soon am going to give this edima an ultimatum. I’ve got an offer of a job down near Elgin near the border where a fellow’s running cattle and sort of needs a helper. Would only be for board and I’d have to bring bed-roll and perhaps saddle—but experience is the thing and I guess I’d get it there.

      Well we’ll see I suppose—but I do want to get going—

      Love

      Bill

      West Portal: the name of the ship WG took through the Panama Canal.

      George (Castor) or Arvid: Castor, like Arvid Friberg, was a Farmingdale High School friend. edima: i.e., edema, an abnormal accumulation of fluid beneath the skin or in a body cavity.

      WG in Arizona, 1942

      To Edith Gaddis

      Cortaro, Arizona

      [23 March 1942]

      Dear Mom—

      Things are still in a sort of state of waiting; I was going to Yuma about the middle of last week but Mrs. Adams talked me out of it—but a couple of days ago I got a letter from Ross in Yuma asking me to drop down and see him.

      And so here’s how it stands: you see the old gal who runs this place—Mrs Adams—is a little—well—eccentric—putting it mildly. At any rate there haven’t been any guests here for a while, and no wrangler, so I’ve been doing part time work—taking care of horses—for $1 a day off my board. Now she’s starting things rolling again (she says) and there’s a possibility of my getting a job—I don’t know. If it’s not working the horses I won’t take it. She’s made me propositions now and again but she seems to be given to—well—fabricating etc etc. and I can’t keep up with her. And so if I should get a job here I’ll stay for a while—until I clear up the albumin in the urine. Otherwise down to Yuma to see Ross, and then I’d like to go out to L.A. just to see how things are looking. You see the edima is about gone—the doctor thinks it is negligible; I haven’t had swelling in the ankles for the last month or two as the boots are tight and keep it out—just the upper legs—but the doc thinks that’s cleared up. He says I can work but doesn’t advise the sea until I clear up this albumin condition.

      And then just to complicate things an old seaman is working here—gardening—and we get together and he really can tell me the stories. He says he doesn’t think that there is so much danger—he thinks one has a good chance. Then for further complication a pretty brunette is staying over at the “Picture Rocks” Ranch a little ways away. Her name is Petrillo—you know the Petrillos in the song writing and A.S.C.A.P etc—that’s her—I ride over and see her every so often—gee not like that Ford—this saddle only seats one!

      I finally did get a very handsome silver ring—it is solid silver and in the form of a little saddle—as if your finger were the horse’s back you put the saddle on it—like this. [drawing] The silver is all engraved and right in the top of the horse is a little blue turquoise; it is handsome.

      Well that’s about the size of it now—have been reading H.M. Stanley’s auto biography—it’s wonderful (at present he is going to sea!)

      Love

      Bill