My Four Years with Barbara Jean Smith (now Weider).
From the Diary of Ashleigh Brilliant Diary, Oct. 28 1958- August 7, 1962.
INTRODUCTION
We met at what was then San Jose State College, California. I
had emigrated from England about two years earlier, and had been
living in Los Angeles and Claremont before moving to San Jose,
where I was now taking various courses intended to prepare me
for a trip I vaguely planned to the Soviet Union. I was now 24.
In the first part of this period I kept my diary sporadically,
but later it became daily.
Tuesday, October 28, 1958
The many pressures acting upon me of late have, as expected, begun
to subside, and, happily, I seem to be none the worse for them.
Out of my job campaign has come a very healthy financial position.
Out of my studies and other activities in connection with Russia,
a dim sense of understanding is beginning to dawn - and out of
the recent girl campaign, at least one very promising friendship
has emerged.
The girl is Barbara Jean Smith, who sits next to me in the Russian
History class that we have twice a week, and with whom I have
now on 2 successive Sunday evenings, gone to the local "community
forum," walked and talked. I seem to have been smitten by
the attractiveness of this girl. Every time I think of her, I
get a romantic kind of feeling which I have not enjoyed for a
long time. To me she seems very pretty indeed, much moreso than
most girls I have known or see about me (and strangely enough,
there is something in her looks that reminds me of my sister Myrna.)
Also, I find I enjoy being with her & I think she enjoys my
company too. In fact probably one of the reasons why I like her
is that she seems to like me.
Yet, looking at the whole thing objectively, I cannot see much
promise in the relationship in any respect. The girl is 21, a
Catholic. I find her intelligent and easy to talk with. But the
fact that she is a Catholic, although she seems not at all dogmatic
or narrow-minded, frightens me. It seems to rule out the chance
of any sexual fulfillment with her, although she has said she
is not interested in marriage and children. As yet, I have not
even tried to hold her hand. But I have the feeling that she is
physically cold. Also, she lives with her family, which is another
bad omen.
Still, I will continue this relationship, both because it has
been enjoyable so far, and because there is nothing else at present
in the offing.
Tuesday, November 4th, 1958
Today I have sent in my application for participation in the 7th
World Youth Festival, to be held next summer in Vienna - with
a $10 application fee. This is the first major step I have taken
in connection with the Festival, and with my plans to visit Russia.
But everything is still highly indefinite.
Another important new development is that I have been accepted
for graduate study at the University of California at Berkeley.
Though I still have no desire to plunge into a Ph.D. program,
it seems obviously the wisest thing for me to transfer to Berkeley,
since, from an academic point of view, I am just wasting my time
here at San Jose State College.
So 1959 is gradually taking shape in my mind: a semester of settling
at Berkeley - a visit to England, then Vienna, then (I hope) Russia,
then back to California to begin work in earnest for my Ph.D.
But it is unfortunate that I will once again have to change colleges,
for my life here is in many ways quite a pleasant one, particularly
in respect of the dating opportunities which I have of late been
enjoying, though nothing really important has so far developed
from these social adventures. I am beginning to feel a little
more rational about Barbara Smith. . . The best situation I can
envisage this point is one in which I have easy and convenient
sexual and social access to a desirable woman, but am otherwise
free. This might be brought about if she & I had, say, adjacent
apartments in the same building.
Saturday, November 8, 1958
3 A.M. Before the magic of it leaves me, I must record one of
the most beautiful evenings I have ever spent with a girl. It
was Barbara Smith, the girl I sit beside in my Russian History
class. We went to a Community Forum lecture on American Humor,
which I thought extremely good. (Frank Baxter was the speaker.)
It was the fourth time we had been together to one of these functions.
Then we went on to the College Coronation Ball, held in the Exhibition
Hall at the County Fairground. Afterwards we drove into the hills,
stood & embraced beneath the stars. (It was nearly three by
the time I brought her home.)
Something about this girl has made my relationship with her thus
far an extremely delightful one. This evening she seemed most
beautiful to me. I was quite captivated, and would honestly have
preferred her to any of the other girls at the Ball, "Queen"
and all. Yet she is not only beautiful but intelligent, and, to
my amazement, she seems to agree with many of my most uncommon
views. I enjoy just being with her, seeing her, talking with her.
Yet all the time I had hopes (and the usual concomitant fears)
that our relationship might find some physical expression. Until
this evening, I had not even held her hand.
But, as the dance went on, a wonderful intimacy began to grow
between us. When I looked into her eyes, I felt almost as if I
were looking at her soul. I think we were both deeply moved. When
we drove into the hills after the dance, and stood beneath the
stars on an empty road overlooking the lights of the city, she
remained coy for a while, & then suddenly seemed almost to
throw herself into my arms. The beauty of this first embrace and
kiss on this night at this place seemed exquisite. For once, there
seemed to be a positive mutual feeling, which I had not really
known in any of my previous relationships with girls. Perhaps
this results from the fact that we had already spent several evenings
together getting to know each other a little.
At present, I am still "high in the air" about all this,
but whatever may eventually result from it all, it was worth having
lived until tonight.
Monday, November 10, 1958
"LOVE-SICKNESS." The events recorded in the above entry
seem to have placed me under a spell which has not yet been broken.
I am displaying all the symptoms of a malady which has not attacked
me for a long time. These symptoms include a sense of high excitement,
preoccupation with thoughts of a particular girl, a strong inclination
to write poetry, and a marked sense of anxiety concerning the
future of the relationship.
It is hard to find any parallel for the present situation in my
experience, but perhaps that is because one of the very symptoms
of this kind of illness is that it wants to be felt unique. Every
time I become emotionally involved with a girl, I like to think
"it was never like this before." Looking back to my
first and worst love affair, with Elisabeth Van Vlijman in London
in 1954, I can see that there have been quite a few girls since
then who have stirred in me romantic dreams; but in every case
the whole thing never lasted more than a few days, and usually
ended with some sort of rejection on the girl's part.
The difference with the present experience seems to be that it
has lasted thus far longer than usual, and that the almost-expected
rejection has not yet come (though Friday night was the time when,
if ever, I would have expected it.)
I ought here to draw a distinction between this kind of relationship
and affairs I have had with girls like Bette-Anne Poska (Sept.
- Oct. 1957) or Barbara Laporte (Feb-April 1958). In these cases,
the attraction was purely physical, and I knew this right from
the start. But I do not get "love-sick" over that kind
of affair, for one knows, in that kind of case, that sooner or
later the thing must come to an end.
In the present kind of relationship, one is not so sure whether
it must end or not. The possibility presents itself that perhaps
it could evolve into something secure and abiding. This is the
hope. On the other hand lies the fear, that it cannot continue
ever thus - that sooner or later a rift must develop, that I will
say or do the wrong thing, and then everything will be changed,
and the whole beautiful vision irreparably destroyed.
All this I know is the height of romanticism, which flies further
and further from reality until I see her again. I have arranged
to see her tomorrow evening. Till then, no doubt, this sickness
will continue to hang over me, and after - who can tell? If only
I could feel sure that she felt the same way as I do! That is
what has always been missing in all my relationships with girls
until now. Feeling has always been one-sided rather than mutual.
If we could feel a strong attraction to each other on all levels
of experience, this indeed would be something quite, quite new
in my life.
But as yet we still hardly know each other, and I cannot help
but feel doomed to eventual disappointment. If only I could calm
down and take things like this in my stride. Why can I not simply
enjoy it without getting upset over it?
Tuesday, Nov. 11, 1958
Between 3 a.m. on Saturday morning when I last saw Barbara Smith,
and 6:30 p.m. this evening when at last I saw her again, all the
interim has been "like a phantasma or hideous dream."
[Shakespeare, "Julius Caesar] I have been suffering a long
emotional hangover and worrying about what was to come next. The
events of Friday night symbolized a change in our relationship.
The "Platonic" Sunday-night stage was over. What would
replace it? That, in my eyes, was what this evening's meeting
was to help decide. I wanted to convey some part of my feeling
for her, and try to learn more about her attitude towards me.
The result is that I am now quite convinced that I have entered
with this girl upon a type of relationship wholly new to my experience.
I still hesitate to call it anything like "love," but
we do seem to be strongly attracted towards each other, both on
the mental and on the physical level. The more I am with her,
the more I like her. She certainly does seem to be a most unusual
girl. .
Wednesday, November 13, 1958.
It is 4 ½ years since I started taking any positive interest
in girls, and this is the first time I have experienced a relationship
which seemed to approach my concept of "how it really ought
to be." For the first time, I have found a girl who is attractive
to me not only as a body, but as a mind, and who seems to return
this feeling, a girl with whom it is as much a pleasure to walk
and talk as it is to kiss. It all seems so utterly wonderful that
I still tremble for fear it may not last. Every previous relationship
I have had with a girl seemed to carry within it the seeds of
its own destruction. Yet this one seems to feed and grow upon
itself.
Yet still I feel I know very little about Barbara Smith, and she
about me. Last night we went for a long walk in fields beyond
the park. We talked about religion. She seemed to have guessed
that I was Jewish, even though I had never directly told her.
To my surprise, I found she was very interested in Judaism, &
has read all the works of Sholem Asch. Apparently Catholicism
forms only a part of her religious background, for she said her
father (a gas-disabled veteran of the First World War, whom I
haven't yet me) is an atheist. The more we discussed this subject,
the more my fears were diminished that religion might prove to
be an obstacle between us. She said she would like to visit a
synagogue & I plan to take her. The way she talked as we walked
seemed to reveal a new aspect of her to me. Her voice was literally
like music and her words like poetry. I felt so moved that I wanted
to say "Barbara, I love you," and kept saying it to
myself, but not aloud. Instead, I could only take her in my arms,
and we kissed there in the moonlight.
Then we walked on, and started to talk about our last meeting
- the dance, the drive. Barbara kept saying how much she had enjoyed
it, especially the dance. Then she began to discuss the physical
aspect of our relationship which had begun on that night. What
amazed me was that she seemed to be able to discuss this far more
easily than I - and yet she talked in the very same objective
and analytical fashion, and even used the same sort of terms as
I would have done. For example, she said that this physical aspect
entering into a previously Platonic relationship can do one of
three things to it: It can enhance and enrich it; it can degrade
and pervert it; or it can destroy it completely. She gave a very
interesting example of this third possibility. Apparently a young
man she had gone out with (how strange that she uses the term
"young man" rather than "boy" or "fellow)
was a very religious Seventh Day Adventist, and felt so guilty
about his desires to kiss her, since she was not of his religion,
that they had to break off.
Barbara wanted to know how I felt about all this, but I was quite
at a loss for words. I did however have with me a sonnet I had
spent many hours writing, dedicated to her, and commemorating
our last meeting, especially the moment when we first kissed in
the hills. Until this time, I had not been at all sure whether
I wanted to show it to her, or not, at least until we had known
each other longer. But the way she was now talking made me feel
that my poem would be the only appropriate reply. So we sat down
on the curb by a street light, & I gave it to her and she
read it. This is the poem:
THE CITY AND THE STARS
To Barbara
High on a hill, above the lights of town
We kissed beneath a sky bejeweled with stars,
And as the Earth shone up and Heaven down,
That perfect moment seemed completely ours.
Yet even in the stillness I could hear
From far below, the town's compelling cry,
The old familiar voice I'd learned to fear,
"Come down, my children, you have climbed too high!"
But then the stars put forth their brightest beams
And answered "Do not heed the earth's alarms,
Look up and live the vision of your dreams,
Stay nearer heaven in each other's arms."
And, though we did come down, your hand in mine,
The stars have won, for still I see them shine.
This poem, I feel, is one of the best I have ever written,
because it is a really sincere expression of my feeling. In giving
it to Barbara, I felt I was passing through one of the crucial
moments of my life. I watched her face as she read it, and I think
she was as moved to read such words as I was to lay them before
her.
We kissed, and the crisis passed, and I felt a great surge of
relief and hope. For once, I had laid my heart before a girl and
she had not trampled on it.
Perhaps it would have been best if the evening could have ended
right there. For, delightful as it was to be with her, all the
rest of the evening was an anti-climax. Perhaps I made a mistake
too by inviting her up to my apartment, and an even bigger one
by turning the lights out after we had been kissing for a while.
For here, for the first time, she threw up a barrier by asking
me to turn them on again, which I did. (This incident is painful
to recall.) Afterwards, I asked why she had objected. "Was
it because you didn't trust me?" -- "Maybe I didn't
trust myself."
But from now on I think we will be seeing a great deal of each
other. We have already made several dates. I feel I would like
to be with her all the time. I still am in no fit state of mind
to analyze all this objectively, and figure out where it is all
heading. But that time will no doubt eventually come. In the meantime,
however, it is pleasant simply to enjoy the present most novel
situation.
Sunday, November 16, 1958.
There can no longer be any doubt about it. I must face the fact
that I am in love with Barbara Smith, and she with me. I am really
and truly in love for the first time in my life.
It as all so incredible, so completely unexpected. I am feeling
as almost every man has felt at some time, yet for me it is wonderfully
new. I did not think it could ever happen to me like this, yet
here I am, falling victim to the age-old malady. What use to try
explaining it? All I can say and keep saying is that it is all
so strange, so very strange.. Strange that it should not be a
Jewish girl with a cosmopolitan background, as I often thought
it must be if any, but a Catholic girl by the name of Smith, who
has never left her native State. Strange that we should meet in
a college class. Strange that we should turn out to be so much
alike in so many ways; and strange, strange, strangest of all
that she should love me as I love her. This is the true beginning
of my life. And yet, if it should end here and now, I could not
complain. For I doubt if ever again I will feel as perfectly content.
Wednesday, November 19, 1958.
The days pass, and our love grows. Each time we see each other,
or even talk on the telephone together (as we did 2 nights ago
for the first time, for 1 ½ hours) we seem to come a little
closer to each other. Yet even so, we both are awed, and a little
frightened, by the newness of it all. We want to be sure of ourselves,
and of each other. Yet we know that only time can help us here.
It is strange how closely our feelings coincide. We are afraid
to confess our love for each other. Yet we both know of a certainty
that it exists. The only real difference is that she seems to
retain a little more self-control than I. She can still study,
or try to. I have practically given it up. Today for the first
time I have not even troubled to attend my daily Russian class,
since I can pay no attention when I am there.
Can love precede knowledge? We still know so little about each
other. She does not want to talk about her father. I have not
mentioned my idea of moving to Berkeley.
Yet I know that my feeling for her is something rare and beautiful,
something which needs only a positive response to continue to
thrive.
Thursday Nov. 20 1958
I met her father this evening, just for a few moments, and it
was quite a shock. He seemed as coarse and repugnant as she and
her mother are refined.
But I love her more and more with each passing day. Last night
I visited her at the house where she was baby-sitting, & stayed
with her there until after 2 a.m. Today I went to one of her classes,
had a quick lunch with her, then came our mutual Russian History
class. Then she had to return to her job at the hardware company.
But I felt so lonely for her that I rode out there to visit her
& came home with her. She had been crying & cried more
when I was there. She felt she was approaching an "emotional
crisis" - she hates the job & is unhappy at home, is
pressed by school-work, & now along I come. I felt like crying
with her. Her work is as much affected as mine, & they have
been rebuking her. This evening we were to visit Myra & Allen
but weariness won out & I insisted she go to bed early.
My love for this girl transcends everything in my experience.
I feel not only a need for her, but a desire to protect her. This
is one of the most important things that have ever happened to
me.
Wednesday, December 3, 1958.
Our relationship is going through a very strange period. Our love
is now openly avowed and confessed between us. Yet we are both
still full of doubts and confusion. So she suggested I agree to
a five-day trial separation. Our last meeting was on Sunday. We
will not be together again until Friday. But meanwhile we are
devoting much of our time to putting our thoughts down on paper
in an attempt to organize and clarify them. Each day we send each
other long letters. This for me is in some ways reminiscent of
the letters I sent my parents from Maudsley Hospital in 1954.
There seem to be many forces acting to keep us apart. Chief of
these are Barbara's own fears. She is afraid to quit her job,
to leave home, to consider living with me, although these are
all things which she really wants to do.
Friday, December 5, 1958.
TROUBLE. Tonight I saw Barbara for the first time in five days.
During this time we conducted a lengthy daily correspondence.
We are more in love than ever, but it is now becoming painfully
apparent that a situation is developing with regard to her parents
that I never bargained for at all, and which has all the earmarks
of the first real trouble I have been in for a long time.
Barbara is an only child. Her mother has never had the love of
her husband, and this has resulted in a very striking example
of over-possessiveness. Barbara's relationship with me has brought
to a climax a long unhappy period. Her mother has become almost
violently resentful against me, it seems, and does not even want
to see me. The more I think about this, the more it disturbs me.
I have never been in a position even remotely like this before,
and feel very frightened. The situation is complicated and worsened
by the fact that Barbara's father is apparently on the verge of
leaving his wife, deliberately so that Barbara's leaving home
will not make him responsible for her. The mother apparently has
never worked and has no means of support. Barbara feels so highly
responsible for her that she is willing to give her practically
all her savings.
This is a very very bad situation. All I can do is work for an
understanding with the mother, and at the same time keep encouraging
Barbara to leave home. What I am afraid of is (1) that Mrs. Smith
may actually manage to prevent Barbara from leaving her at all.
(2) that this mother may prove a continual drain and sore spot
upon our relationship. As things look at the moment, it seems
that, so long as her mother is alive, Barbara will feel an exceptionally
strong responsibility to support and care for her. This is the
sort of thing I have always dreaded - in-law trouble! Yet I feel
sure this problem will not prove insuperable. Already I have taken
a first step. Today I wrote a long letter to Mrs. Smith, explaining
very frankly my view of the present situation, emphasizing the
"possessiveness" theme, and concluding with the idea
that I don't want to take Barbara away from her mother, but for
her to be free to make her own decisions. I don't think this letter
can do much harm, since the situation has already deteriorated
so fast, but I have my doubts as to how much good it will do.
Monday, Dec. 8 1958
"If hopes were dupes, fears may be liars." Events subsequent
to my writing of the above entry have rendered me much less pessimistic.
In this novel situation, I have really taken the bull by the horns.
Mrs. Smith (whom I will now call Rose) received my letter on Saturday
morning. On Sunday afternoon, by previous arrangement, I went
and had a long talk with her while Barbara was out. We were both
remarkably frank with each other, and told our autobiographies
at length. The whole interview was an amazing revelation for me.
For the first time I began to realize just how completely Barbara
has been affected by her mother's influence. I could see the roots
of all of Barbara's feelings of inferiority, of lack of confidence,
of guilt, of inadequacy, of sexual fear. Rose is one of the most
profoundly unhappy people I have ever talked with, so much so
that I should say that she is mentally ill and badly in need of
help. Her loneliness, despite having her daughter, is abysmal.
She feels that her whole life has been completely wasted. She
lives in an almost imaginary little world, and speaks a strange
mystical kind of language, in which the "outside world"
is always full of pitfalls and cruelty and sinfulness.
Yet, strangely enough, despite all this, there still seemed to
be some sort of rapport between us. I felt I could understand
her very well, and she was not at all hostile to me. The only
real disagreement was on the point of what Rose called "free
love." But I tried to explain to her that Barbara and I had
by no means as yet marked out any established kind of relationship
between us
I was very glad to find that the worst of the domestic crisis
appeared to be over. Rose has now become more or less resigned
to the fact that Barbara is going to leave home. My letter may
have had something to do with this, though she kept saying that
possessiveness was a bad thing & didn't feel that she had
been a possessive mother.
Strangely enough, I was not at all shy in telling how much I am
in love with her daughter. I took my scrapbook and photograph
album to show to Rose, as well as a collection of correspondence
between myself & my parents over the last 2 or 3 years. I
felt I wanted to tell her and show her as much about myself as
possible. I was glad she seemed so interested, especially in the
photographs.
So now I feel that a basis of communication has definitely
been established between myself and Barbara's mother. With her
father I think it may be much more difficult, but his influence
upon her is minute. The next really important step is to get Barbara
out of that house & living independently. It almost makes
me cry when I think how sad her life has been. She has never even
had a room of her own. She has to sleep with her mother, and the
bed where they sleep is so large, and the room so small that it
hardly leaves any space even for walking. When she wants to be
alone, she has to go into the bathroom. Her father sleeps on a
fold-down bed in the dining-room.
Rose actually cried as she told me of the miserable life she has
had with her husband. She feels very bitter against him and thinks
that the only interest he ever had in her was physical. Yet at
the same time she seems to feel almost as sorry for him as she
does for herself, and talks of how lonely he must be. They have
been married for 33 years. Rose says she never wanted a divorce
because she herself had suffered from a broken home.
As I think and write about all this, I get the strange feeling
that Rose needs me almost as much as Barbara does, that I want
to comfort her in every way, and make her feel that I love her
too, and that life is still worth living.
Sunday, December 14, 1958.
Today Barbara and I went together to visit Hartley and Margie
Kern in Menlo Park. We had a delightful time. The Kerns liked
Barbara very much, and she immediately took to them. It was not
only a very enjoyable experience, but also very valuable, for
we discussed things like sex and marriage in great and intricate
detail. Hartley and Marge are completely open about their sex
life, and Barbara and I have a great deal to learn. Thus far,
our own mutual experience has been confined to what can be achieved
while fully clothed, which however we have found to be not inconsiderable
in terms of orgasmic accomplishment. Our love never ceases to
grow.
Monday, December 15, 1958
Today I struck a great blow for Liberty, though probably a futile
one. The managers of this apartment building, Mr. & Mrs. Tompkins,
finally found out that Barbara has been coming here, and protested
to me, since there is an unwritten rule in this building against
women visiting men's apartments, and vice versa - a rule which
I knew when I moved in 2 ½ months ago. I decided to make
an issue out of this, wrote a long letter to the owner of the
building Mr. Gilman, whom I do not know at all, showed a copy
of it to the Tompkins, and threatened to send it to him and distribute
copies throughout the building unless they modified their uncompromising
attitude.
This evening Barbara came with me to have a talk with the Tompkins.
It was a memorable experience. They were quite adamant & have
apparently already consulted a lawyer. The only concession I was
willing to make was to inform them that I had been thinking of
moving out anyway, & might do so in the near future. This,
however, did not make any difference, nor, apparently, did Barbara's
presence, though she supported me completely. This was a question
of high principle, as much for the Tompkins as for me. They stood
firmly upon "the rule." Mrs. T. called me "a fanatic,"
said I needed "straightening out," and "must have
a screw loose" because I insisted on maintaining my stand
& said I would continue to fight what I considered an injustice.
The grand finale came as we left their apartment (they practically
threw us out, refusing to discuss the matter any more). They pleaded
with Barbara, if she was a "decent girl," not to accompany
me back to my apartment. But in a grand show of defiance, we walked
together back upstairs, as they watched and threatened to call
the police.
I cannot say how deeply grateful I felt to Barbara for giving
me her full support at a time like this. When I am with her, I
need fear no evil. I doubted if the Tompkins would carry out their
threat to call the police, but just in case, I suggested to Barbara
that we go out for a walk. We went to visit Allen & Myra &
I enjoyed telling them all about it. There is something very satisfying
in having stood for your convictions, with the girl you love standing
beside you. And even if, as now seems inevitable, all was in vain,
it is good to think "I did not give up without a struggle."
Wednesday, December 17, 1958.
My relationship with Barbara has been passing through a series
of crises. Each time it seems to emerge strengthened and enriched.
The first was my approach to her mother. The second I described
yesterday. The third reached its culmination today. It concerned
Barbara's relationship with a boy of 22 named Peter D'Anna. She
has known him for the past five years, and their friendship was
apparently about as deep as she ever had with any boy before she
met me. But she was never in love with him. He, however, has apparently
been in love with her for a long time & wanted to marry her.
Over the past few weeks, since Barbara's attachment to me began
to form, he has apparently become desperate, and tried to turn
her against me. She prevaricated with him, but a showdown was
inevitable. At last, they arranged to meet yesterday evening.
I wrote a letter to Peter & gave it to Barbara to give to
him. (I had met him only once, for a short time, but felt then
that I liked him as a person.) In the letter, I said frankly that
I knew that Barbara did not love him but would still like to have
him as a friend, and so would I, if he would have it so. I admitted
that I had a tendency to be jealous of him, but that I knew this
was wrong, and would try to overcome it.
This evening I went to be with Barbara where she was baby-sitting
at her friends, the Patnudes, and she told me all that had happened
yesterday with Peter. It was extremely painful for me to listen
to her account, but I was very grateful to her for being so honest.
They were together, apparently, all evening from 7:30 to 2 a.m.
At Peter's insistence, they drove out to a mountain viewpoint,
though Barbara said she would rather have talked with him in some
warm, well-lighted place. Peter I think knew from the start how
it was all going to end, but fought all the way, trying to make
Barbara feel sorry for him, to make her doubt me and herself.
He even tried to make love to her as they had done in the past.
This was the part of Barbara's narrative which was the most emotionally
upsetting for me to hear. Barbara said she had always enjoyed
physic al experience of this kind with Peter in the past, and
that she felt that ideally she ought still to be able to, even
though both knew that this was their last time together.
But despite this abstract feeling, she found that she could not
enjoy it any longer, and that she kept thinking of me. So at length,
Peter apparently desisted in his attempts, and brought her home.
My letter did nothing to conciliate him - in fact, it seems only
to have antagonized him. So this, it seems, is the end of Barbara's
long relationship with Peter.
After she told me this, I realized that both of us had passed
successfully through a great crisis. Our love had passed through
a severe test, and now was immeasurably strengthened. One strand
of Barbara's past had been cut, and she was now that much closer
to liberation. The love we expressed in each other's arms this
evening was something new and deeper than we have yet known. When
I asked Barbara, in mock incredulity, if she really was in love
with me, she replied "You might as well ask me if I am alive."
The next crisis now is going to be that of approaching her father.
I have written him a long letter, which Barbara has approved &
will give him. It may prove difficult, but I must become accepted
by him.
Tuesday, Dec.19, 1958.
"The course of true love never runs smooth," and Barbara
and I are certainly having our problems. Most of them revolve
around her and the entanglements from which she seems incapable
of extricating herself. I am impatient and demanding. I want her
to be completely free to devote herself to the development of
our relationship. She has many interests besides me, however -
her mother, her job, her studies, her circle of friends. And she
seems intent on excluding me from this world of her own. She always
resists my attempts to get to know her family better, meet her
friends, take an interest in her job.
This is all highly frustrating for me. I am in love with her,
and to me, without question, this is the most important thing
in my life. She however is full of doubts, over-cautious, hesitant
to act - yet at the same time she resents my offers of aid and
insists that she must handle all these problems by herself.
We spent most of this evening (which incidentally marks the second
month since our first date) discussing these things, but came
to no real conclusion, and I feel just as depressed about the
situation now (1:45 a.m.) as before she came.
Saturday, December 20, 1958.
The nervous strain of my present difficulties with Barbara is
beginning to tell upon me, and this evening finds me for the first
time since I have known her in a mood so black that I did not
even want to talk to her, and rather abruptly concluded a phone
conversation.
It all centers around her father who, although he has hardly even
met me, has now apparently adopted an attitude of great hostility
towards me, and, according to Barbara, is threatening to throw
me out of the house if he sees me there. I have never been in
a position like this in my life. I cannot bear the thought of
being hated by anyone, let alone the father of the girl I love.
I want desperately to see him and talk with him. Yet Barbara and
her mother seem to think this will only make matters worse. Rather
than bringing me and Mr. Smith together they seem bent upon keeping
us apart in this agonizingly uncertain situation. And what nearly
breaks my heart and spirit altogether is the realization is that
here, as in many other aspects of her life, Barbara is very much
under her mother's influence. This awful fear that she is unwilling,
or unable, to give me the full and complete love which without
question I offer her, and that in this respect she may never change,
is almost more than I can bear.
Wednesday, Dec. 24, 1958
This is always a lonely and rather miserable time of year for
me, and, strangely enough, this year is no exception. When I am
with Barbara, of course, things are very different. But when I
am not actually with her, it is almost as if she did not exist
at all. School is out for the holidays, and so my time is all
my own, But Barbara still has a job, which not only keeps her
for 8 hours every day (during non-school days) but also requires
her to get up at 6:30 in the morning, so that most of our evenings
are robbed of pleasure by the knowledge that she must be up early
the next day. It is this job which is at present and has been
thus far the most oppressive external factor bearing upon our
relationship. It comes between us in many ways.
Of course I want Barbara to give it up, and she too is unhappy
in it. But she has been at this place (Thoeny Bros., a large hardware
company) for five years, and it thus constitutes a large segment
of her life. The place has a certain security for her, and she
is naturally fearful of taking so big a step, just as I five years
ago was so reluctant to make the big move away from home where
all my security lay.
It is hard for me to be patient in these circumstances. I know
how difficult it is for her to make these great decisions - but
I want and need her so badly that I cannot help resenting everything
which tends to keep us apart - the job, her family problems, school,
and her own fears.
In a sense, I feel I am fighting for Barbara against a host of
rivals, all of whom have had many years' start upon me. Their
hold is tenacious, but I know that their cause is lost, if only
my own courage does not fail. This battle is so real to me that
what were my own individual concerns now lack meaning for me.
I feel I cannot resume the attack upon any of my own problems
until Barbara is free to help me with them.
Saturday, December 27, 1958.
Life, I am finding, has its ups and downs just as much when one
is in love as when one is not. Barbara and I spent Christmas Day
together, away from all the world. We went climbing in the hills
near Milpitas, where I had been once before, alone (Sept. 11 -
see Sept. 12). We spent more time making love than actually climbing,
but it was all very delightful.
This little idyll, however, seemed only a brief respite from the
many problems and difficulties which now beset us. These last
two days, Barbara has not been well. Her stomach is upset, &
it seems likely that the cause may be at least partly emotional
strain. This evening I went to meet her when she got out from
work, & she seemed more depressed than I have ever seen her
before, so much so that she preferred just to go home, to bed,
and be alone, rather than spend the evening with me.
Things, however, surely cannot get much worse before they start
to get better. The big issue now is her leaving home. I have been
spending much time lately looking for an apartment for her, and
it seems likely that she may be moving within the next few days.
That will change our situation substantially, for it will mean
(1) the first really big step she has taken in casting off the
shackles of a miserable and empty life (2) an easing of the problem
of my relationship with her parents, especially her father. He
still wants nothing to do with me, and this often makes it awkward
for me to visit Barbara at home (3) we will then be on slightly
more equal terms and better able to plan our future together (4)
Barbara will have a chance to be comparatively independent, to
be alone when she wants to be, and think out her problems. I am
sure this will be for the good. (5) I will feel more easy in my
own mind, and perhaps be able to think more clearly and objectively
about this situation myself.
Tuesday, Dec. 30th, 1958.
[A review of the Year]
Sunday, January 4, 1959.
For the past 2 weeks, Barbara & I have been on holiday from
school. She has also taken several days off from work, so that
we have had rather more time than usual to ourselves. In this
time we have effected certain definite accomplishments. Chief
of this has been her moving away from home for the first time
in her life. She is now settling into an apartment at 550 S. 6th
St. where the inclusive rent is $40 a month. But the "settling
in" process, it seems, may take almost as long as the moving
out. She moved in officially, and spent her first night there
on January 1st. But as of last night, she had still not had one
meal there, or even brought in any food.
A second accomplishment was getting her a bicycle. After some
search, I found a used one & we each paid half, the total
price, including accessories, being about $36.
Thirdly, the sexual side of our relationship is making slow progress,
in the face of many difficulties, most of which [?] in Barbara's
mind. She is still very much afraid of sex and unwilling even
to talk about the possibility of pregnancy. I however have made
up my mind that I do not want to enter into a relationship of
full physical intimacy with her until we have fully discussed
and decided exactly what course of action we would take in the
event of her becoming pregnant.
Barbara's attitude towards sex is very confused, and I think this
aspect of our relationship is causing her much mental distress.
She now allows me to bring her to orgasm manually, but is still
unwilling to appear completely nude before me. And even the sight
of my own nude body, which she saw during our love-play for the
first time last night, was very disturbing to her. I feel confident
that these fears will in time disappear, but at the same time
they worry me exceedingly.
Another step forward is that Barbara has decided to drop 2 of
her school classes, & thus reduce her study load during this
final month of the semester, which, having been neglected for
so long, might otherwise prove unbearable. I too have virtually
made up my mind to drop my Russian Language class, for the same
reason.
Tomorrow, school begins again, but in a few short weeks the semester
will be over. And what then? For one thing, whatever else may
happen, I will have to move from this pleasant apartment, for
my eviction notice gives me only until Jan 31st.
Wednesday, January 7, 1959
Now that the vacation is over, finding Barbara back at full-time
work and both of us back at school, I have of late been going
through moods of great despondency. In part, this is due to the
fact that I have little to do with myself in terms of work or
study.I have not done any odd jobs since before the vacation,
but have been living on my savings, which were recently augmented
by a $50 gift from my parents. But the fact is that I no longer
want to work or study, if I can possibly avoid it. What I want
to do is develop my relationship with Barbara. And it is around
this that all my worries center.
What I want to do her in this entry is to discuss these worries,
and thus at least get them out of the inner recesses of my mind.
My first big worry is that Barbara does not love me as I love
her, and that perhaps she never will. Our relationship seems to
be completely unbalance. I am the only active partner. I give
to her of myself in every way that I can. I give her material
things. I try to help her in ways in which she seems to need help.
I try to keep in continual touch with her. I am continually manifesting
to her in many different ways my desire to share my life with
her. I have expressed in every way I can my feeling that our relationship
is the most important thing there is, or perhaps ever has been,
in my life. Yet she on her side has hardly begun to contribute
anything of herself at all. She says she loves me, and occasionally
tries to express this in a physical way; she is definitely interested
in me as a person, and will look at or listen to anything I have
to show or tell her concerning my life; but apart from that, she
plays a role in our relationship which varies between passive
and definitely negative. It is naturally the negative factors
which most disturb me. Frequently I feel that I am being rejected
by her. There have been many occasions when I have wanted to be
with her, and she has said that she did not want me to be there.
At other times, she has gone places alone without even telling
me of her intention. E.g last Sunday she went to San Francisco
to visit relatives, but I did not even learn of this until she
came back.
Even tonight as I write, Barbara is at the home of her friends
the Patnudes baby-sitting, a job which she does every Wednesday
evening in return for $1 and a dinner. Twice I have come to visit
her there; yet she told me this time that she did not want me
to come tonight, and she seemed to have no real reason for this
at all. She just said she didn't want it to become a habit.
When I think that Barbara seems actually to prefer being somewhere
else doing something else, rather than with me, it literally sends
a pang through my body.
Yet there is of course another side to all this. To me it seems
that Barbara has advanced very little towards me since she has
known me. But to her it seems that she has made tremendous, almost
incredible, strides. Distant as she still seems, she is closer
to me than she has ever been to any other human being, except
her mother. Since she met me, she has done all sorts of things
unheard of in her past life. Her mind is just in the early stages
of a great revolution. She has left home, she has lost interest
in school; she is very close to giving up her job; she has even
agreed at last to come with me next Sunday to the Unitarian Church,
instead of going as usual to the Catholic church. Most important
of all, she has begun to feel the need of making a new start in
life. She has, I feel, wonderful potentialities, but almost all
have thus far been unrealized, submerged, frustrated. This liberation
process is hard for her, but even harder for me, when I seem helpless
to hasten it, and can do little but stand at the sidelines and
kick my heels.
My second great worry is that there is too much difference between
our personalities, and we are doomed to continual conflict. I
sometimes wonder if we will ever really be able to communicate
at all. But it is also in our similarities that we run into trouble.
I often have the feeling that she is still in a stage of development
from which I am just emerging. In many ways, her behavior seems
to me highly irrational, and yet at the same time I still feel
that I can understand it, even though it annoys me.
In Barbara, as she is at the moment, I find little to admire or
praise, and much to criticize. Yet still I know that I love her.
Now as always, life is not a state of being but of becoming. Our
life at present is highly unsatisfactory. Yet still it holds much
promise. And she as an individual has a great deal to give. I
have to keep reminding myself that I must make allowances for
her youth and situation.
I never grow tired of talking with her or being with her, no matter
what my mood may be.
Sometimes I wonder "Is she really worthy of me?" I cannot
help feeling superior to her in many ways, and there really are
none in which I feel positively inferior. My ideal marriage was
0to be a partnership, a mating of equals.
But in spite of all my doubts, my attitude towards this present
situation is still essentially one of deep faith. Things will
work out because both Barbara and I truly want them to
Thursday, January 8, 1959.
I believe that this day has been a turning point in my relationship
with Barbara Smith. This afternoon, I reached a low point of depression
and demoralization concerning this matter. All the doubts and
worries expressed in yesterday's entry seemed to be paralyzing
my ability to do anything except feel sorry for myself. When I
saw her after our Russian History class today we were both depressed,
for my moods seem to affect her, and vice versa. I felt more distant
from her than ever before, and it was almost distasteful to kiss
her goodbye before she drove off back to work in her car.
This afternoon, however, I had an interview with a college counselor,
Dr. Schumacher, in which I discussed my problems, after which
I felt considerably better. And this evening I went to see Barbara
at her apartment, and talked with her for 3 ½ hours. For
the first time, we actually ate together there, a little snack
of rhubarb pie (which she had bought because she knew I liked
it) and instant tea.
At first our discussion took the usual unsatisfactory form which
has hurt most of our conversations of late, with me expressing
my dissatisfaction with the present state of our relationship,
and trying to get her to make some definite commitment, to be
positive about something, and with her seeming to respond to this
only in a negative and evasive fashion.
But then suddenly something seemed to happen inside my mind to
change my attitude from one of pessimism to one of optimism. I
began to think and talk in terms of how lucky I was just to have
and be with her at all. I suddenly realized that, quite apart
from her, there were all sorts of things which I could do to improve
the present situation. It has been very foolish of me simply to
sit around bemoaning her absences from me, wishing that things
were otherwise. The more I can accomplish in a constructive way,
the more this will help her. What good am I to her when I am no
good to myself? If she is not yet ready to regard an exclusive
and binding attachment to me as the most important thing in her
life, it is the most absurd folly for me to feel that I can do
nothing at all until she does come round to that way of thinking.
My life is vastly richer simply in the knowledge that there is
hope for her and me.
And, as I began to talk in this way, it was wonderful to behold
how she in turn responded in a positive way, assuring me that
she did intend to play her part, that sooner or later, and probably
sooner, she would be free to devote more of herself to our common
problems. In a flash, it became apparent to me just how wrongly
I had been behaving towards her over these past weeks. Instead
of understanding, I have been giving her criticism; Instead of
making it easier for her to work out her own problems, I have
been making it more difficult. My own fears and doubts have increased
hers. My attitude has often created resentment and hostility in
her.
Therefore my attitude must undergo some drastic changes. I must
first and foremost cease to regard my relationship with Barbara
as the one and only thing in my life at this time; for this can
only bring unhappiness to us both. Other interests must again
come to the fore, such as my Russian studies, money-making activities,
and plans for further education. The better I can adjust to this
new situation, the better are our chances in the long run for
mutual happiness.
Once this change had come over me this evening, new love seemed
to be born between us, and I felt closer to Barbara (and I think
she to me) than ever before. Once again, we seemed to have passed
through a crisis to find our love strengthened by the test.
Monday, January 12, 1959
The affair of Barbara Smith seems at this point to be doing me
far more harm than good. My anxieties and sense of frustration
seem to be becoming increasingly acute, so that I find myself
thinking more and more in terms of escaping from the situation,
the most promising escape idea being that of transferring to Berkeley
next semester.
In the last few days I have begun to ask myself whether I really
am still in love with Barbara. Yet paradoxically, the external
conditions of our relationship are improving all the time. She
is gradually becoming more independent in her living arrangements.
She is beginning to show her love for me in more positive ways.
She is taking an open interest in herself and her problems, and
beginning to do something about them. E.g., at my urging, she
went today to the college counseling center, and had an interview
there which she apparently enjoyed very much - the first such
experience of her life. And yesterday she came with me, after
many weeks of urging, to the Unitarian Church, and also for our
first real cycling trip together, though a short one.
If only I could keep my mind from brooding and enlarging upon
the areas in which progress still remains to be made: the fact
that she still feels a compulsion to attend Catholic mass on Sundays;
the unreal and exaggerated sense of obligation which she seems
to feel toward people who make requests of her; the destructive
influence of her mother; the tyranny of her job.
I had a long talk with Allen this evening, and he suggested that
I regard my role in this relationship as primarily that of a therapist.
I should spend as much time with Barbara as possible, studying
her, seeking to know her fully in every way. When she is not available,
I should devote myself to research, particularly in psychology,
and to planning how our next time together will be spent. In this
way, Allen predicts, Barbara will sooner or later come to feel
positively dependent upon me. At that point, he advises, I should
explain to her that, because her availability is so limited, I
find the relationship frustrating, and therefore intend to begin
taking an interest in other girls, simply in order to relieve
my frustrations. This will provide her with a strong incentive
to make herself more available. Allen is strongly against my idea
of going to study in Berkeley and leaving Barbara here to make
up her mind whether she wants to join me or not.
Wednesday, January 14, 1959
This is a time of hope for me. My talk with Allen, recorded in
the above entry, had a great influence upon me. It has caused
my attitude once again to change towards Barbara, and this, I
believe is changing hers towards me, very much for the better
in each case.
Allen persuaded me that, rather than running away from the situation
in which at present I find myself, I must try to adjust to it.
Rather than feeling incapable of any action until Barbara is willing
to give herself to me completely, I must live my own life in the
most satisfying way I can. My thoughts had already traveled partly
along these lines (see Jan 8) but it was Allen who made it apparent
that " living my own life" did not necessarily mean
subordinating Barbara to other interests. Instead I should build
my life during the coming months around my interest in her, and
at the same time, make it plain to her that I am prepared to wait
quite patiently for her to decide about me. After all, nothing
more important or wonderful has ever happened to me than meeting
her.
And so yesterday I gave her a letter in which I promised that
I would not leave her (I had been talking of going to Berkeley)
and that, whatever her other attachments, I would always be waiting
for her.
When I visited her at her apartment last night, I could see that
this had already had a pleasing effect upon her. More than ever
before, I felt her love responding to mine. And we both behaved
quite differently from usual. Our roles seemed almost to have
become reversed, and we both noticed this. I was calm and subdued,
no longer full of frustration and criticism. I had made my great
decision, and my mind was at peace. She was unusually boisterous
and talkative, full of things to tell me about her life and thoughts.
She had even been making notes of things she wanted to tell me
- a custom more associated with me than with her. And when I stated
my new attitude, and made her realize that, so far as I was concerned,
she was no longer going to be under any pressure, she actually
stated in so many words that that was the way she preferred to
be handled.
Thinking over this afterwards, I was amazed that Allen had been
able to see the situation so clearly, and give me such wonderfully
accurate advice. I feel a great debt to him because of this, but
also a need for his continued support.
Today I delivered to Barbara another letter, stating my own intentions
for next semester - to register at college, but only audit classes,
not take them for credit, so that I will be able to spend all
my time studying her. My great hope is that she may make a similar
decision, but I will not try to force it.
Friday, January 16, 1959.
Among the many problems still to be settled between me and Barbara
is that of sexual adjustment. At present this problem manifests
itself in a sense of frustrated desire on my part. While the experience
of full sexual intercourse still lies ahead of us, we have evolved
a kind of substitute intercourse wherein we lie together and I
stimulate her genitals with my hand and then, as she approaches
her orgasm, I bring myself to orgasm by pressure against her body.
This form of experience can be quite enjoyable and satisfying,
especially when Barbara's desire seems to be as great as my own.
But this unfortunately is rarely the case, and frequently she
will arrest our love-play at some early point. There has never
been a time when I have been with her for any length of time that
I did not desire to reach a sexual climax with her; yet with her,
it is often very different. And at such times it is hard for me
to avoid feeling "let-down" and frustrated.
But the most pressing problem I face at the moment is the question
of where I am going to be living next month. My eviction from
this building officially takes effect at the end of this month.
There is a possibility that Tom Stuart, the middle-aged man who
shares with Barbara the upper floor of the building in which she
lives, may be moving out. If so, I will definitely rent his apartment,
and this will put my relationship with Barbara on an entirely
new footing. I wish very much that this could be. For it is so
much easier for me to move in with Barbara in this way than for
her to take the big step of moving in with me somewhere else.
Saturday, January 17, 1959
12:50 a.m. I have just been to a movie - my first in about 3 months
- and I went alone; for Barbara had agreed to serve as baby-sitter
this evening at the home of her boss, Joe Quayle. Despite my new
resolve to meet Barbara on her own ground, and try to vex neither
her nor myself when she chooses to be elsewhere rather than with
me, I still find that I am greatly distressed when a situation
like this arises. I became quite lonely and depressed this evening,
and only went to the movie for lack of any way to escape my depression.
I did enjoy the film, "Home After Dark," but as soon
as it was over, I became once again despondent.
But the difference between now and former occasions like this
is that I will not carry over this feeling into my relationship
with Barbara. I will not tell her how unhappy it makes me, as
I would have done once, that she still makes commitments like
this. I have now, I feel, only myself to blame. The responsibility
lies with me to find some sort of compensation during these times
without Barbara. As Allen suggested, I should feel free to maintain
other feminine contacts when Barbara is not available. And indeed
I decided, after much hesitation, that I would ask Gale Galant
to come with me to the movies tonight. But it was 6 p.m. by the
time I had made up my mind on this, and I couldn't reach her on
the telephone.
Then there is also much consolation to be found in the fact that
these occasions, though they do still arise, are becoming rarer,
and Barbara seems anxious to give more and more of herself. For
example, she has actually invited me to come to see her on Wednesday
evening at her regular Patnude baby-sitting job. I have been there
before, but virtually by my own invitation.
Things will work out, but this is still a period of great uncertainty.
Uncertainty about when she will leave her job, about whether she
will decide to audit all her classes next semester & thus
be free of school commitments, about when we will live together,
and when our love will lead to full physical union. All of these
things are at present highly uncertain, but at least I can look
forward to the period, just 10 days from now, when I will at least
be free of all school commitments, and will be able to devote
myself wholeheartedly to the problems which face us.
Tuesday, January 20, 1959
Yesterday it was 3 months since my first date with Barbara. And
we are still in love. I still enjoy being with her, wherever we
are, whatever we are doing. I still want very much to live with
her and share my life with her. Yet that goal still seems a distant
one, in fact considerably more distant now than it did at first.
Circumstances are changing, and are bound to change considerably
more in the near future. School will be over for us in 7 days'
time. Then things will begin to be different.
Wednesday, January 21, 1959.
THE TOMPKINS AFFAIR. Today saw what I hope was the climax of an
unpleasant series of episodes involving me and Barbara and Mr.
and Mrs. Tompkins, the resident managers of this apartment building.
When I moved in, I was told that I would not be allowed to have
women in my apartment. I agreed to this, but naturally intended
to disregard it; but sooner or later, I knew it must lead to trouble.
The trouble began on December 12th, when I admitted to Mr. Tompkins,
when he said that he had heard a girl's voice in my apartment,
that Barbara had been coming to see me frequently. When it developed
that he was going to make an issue out of this, I decided to make
an issue out of it too. I thought of appealing to the owner of
the building, and wrote him a letter. ( I showed it to the Tompkins
before sending it and said I wouldn't send it if they allowed
me to remain in peace. Barbara and I went to them together, but
they remained adamant.) The only result of this, however, was
that I received a formal notice of eviction, to take effect at
the end of January.
Since my fate was now legally sealed, I considered that I had
nothing further to lose, and for a time even withheld my rent,
until I received another letter threatening to evict me in 3 days,
unless I paid up, which I thereupon took care of. Then I went
to see Mr. Rankin, the co-owner of the building and an important
San Jose lawyer, in person - but to no avail. He backed up the
Tompkins completely.
All this time, Barbara & I had continued to disregard the
rule in question, and had even begun to discover that there were
others in the building who were disregarding it. E.g. one night
at about 1: 00 am, we saw a negro entering the apartment, the
spinster schoolteacher who lives below me.
It was the Tompkins who took the next step. They went across the
street to the College administration building, and reported us
to the Deans of Men and Women students. Dean Martin called me
into his office, where I let off a lot of steam, but learned that
the College has no jurisdiction in this case at all.
This action of the Tompkins much annoyed me, and I began to put
notes on their door saying "PERSECUTORS OF THE INNOCENT."
This apparently nettled them, for that Sunday afternoon, when
I was coming into the building with Barbara, they made a concerted
attempt to keep her out, standing at the door, and forbidding
her to come in. I said that if they wouldn't let her in, I would
scream. Mrs. T. challenged me to go ahead and scream. So I did,
crying "HELP!" very loudly into the hallway. Then the
unexpected took place. Mr. Tompkins attacked me physically. He
punched my head several times, cutting my lip. I called out "Barbara,
you're a witness," and he stopped. They went downstairs back
to their apartment. Barbara and I came into mine, & I decided
to call the police. The officer who came was almost incredibly
sympathetic to Barbara & me when he talked to us alone. He
advised me to go and see the District Attorney. This I did on
Monday morning. The D.A. changed my note to read "ASSAULTERS
OF THE INNOCENT." Mr. Berena made no secret of the fact that
his sympathies were entirely with the Tompkins. He agreed, however,
to call them in to talk with them, & it was agreed that they
& I should see him today at 4pm. (That evening I wrote an
open letter to my fellow-tenants describing the assault in lurid
terms, and put a copy on the Tompkins' door.)
I went today with Barbara. In the morning we had already been
to see the Dean of Women Students, Dean Greenleaf. First Barbara
had talked with her alone for a while, then I went in and said
my say. This was my own idea, and it proved to be a very bad one.
Barbara's private interview with the Dean had gone quite well.
Barbara had supported her own conviction, that in cases like this,
what the individual feels to be right is the important thing.
The Dean had disagreed, but had left it up to Barbara to decide
for herself. When I went in, however, I was in an excited condition,
and succeeded only in antagonizing the Dean. Barbara had not wanted
me there at all, & I see now that she was completely right.
Our interview with the D.A. this afternoon, however, was very
different, and, although technically quite unsuccessful, in actual
effect it proved very gratifying. This Berens is, I feel, an admirable
man. He has the ability to be blunt and hostile without arousing
antagonism. Barbara and I and the Tompkins, and Mr. Rankin, all
showed up for the interview. I was much calmer and more self-possessed
than I had been this morning. It was extremely interesting to
see the way Berens handled the case. He is very good at asking
leading questions, and concentrated on Barbara, trying to get
her to show that she was at least in some extent out of sympathy
with me in this matter. Mr. Rankin did likewise. But Barbara proved
very proficient at fending off and evading their questions. I
felt very proud of her, and grateful for her support. I realize
now that I ought to trust her in matters like this far more than
I have done in the past. For example, one of the main reasons
why I insisted on seeing Dean Greenleaf this morning was that
I did not feel confident that Barbara could handle the situation
herself. I had a secret fear that Barbara would be made to feel
that she was wrong and that I was leading her astray. But now
I see that such fears are groundless. For every experience of
this kind brings us closer together.
I was hoping that my legal position might be such that I could
threaten to file an accusation of assault and battery unless certain
conditions were met. When asked what I wanted, I said I wanted
ideally to be allowed to remain in the building. I also wanted
an apology in writing from Mr. Tompkins.
The D.A., however, stated categorically that I could not file
such a charge without his consent. He said moreover that he thought
Barbara and I should be ashamed of ourselves for the trouble we
had caused the Tompkins. But he said these things in such a way
that one could not take offense.
The position, then, remains just the same as it was before. And
in all probability I will leave here on January 31st, though I
still don't know where I will go.
Although this D.A. incident proved technically futile, it was
quite satisfactory in many ways. For one thing, I can feel that
I have been consistent throughout in maintaining what I believe
to be right. Secondly, it was highly interesting as an educational
experience. It has caused me for the first time to do some actual
legal research, looking up California laws at the College library
concerning landlord and tenant relationships and assault and battery.
Thirdly, as mentioned above, it brought Barbara and me closer
together. If she is willing to continue supporting me in this
way, I really think she is a most remarkable girl. Fourthly, it
was symbolically satisfying as a blow for Liberty against the
tyranny which to me the Tompkins represent. They may have been
able to get me evicted, to report me & Barbara to the school
authorities, and even to assault me physically; but I in turn
was able to have them called to account before the bar of justice,
and I'm sure they will not disturb Barbara and me any more.
As for the affair as a whole, there is much in it reminiscent
of earlier crises in my career. Among these, I might mention the
time at Hendon County School when the headmaster threatened to
expel me for criticizing my English teacher's methods in an examination
paper; conflicts with my landlord Mr. Donovan in 1955 over curtains
on the windows and bringing girls in; my stand as a conscientious
objector in 1955; my time of trial at Hollywood High School; conflicts
with my Los Angeles landlady over bringing Barbara Laporte to
my room; conflicts over free speech in the San Jose State College
Russian Club. Time and again I find myself at odds with society
or authority or both over one thing or another. Many themes seem
constantly to reappear: questions of sexual morality; an urge
on my part to write and protest; a sense of pleasure at defying
authority; an unwillingness to compromise when I feel a principle
is at stake - and a readiness to accept the consequences.
But now one great difference is that I am no longer alone. Barbara
is with me, and I feel she will be more and more. Whether or not
this trend in my life will continue I cannot say. I certainly
never seek these conflicts. But when they arise, I feel almost
compelled to make great issues out of them. All sorts of psychological
motives must be at work: antagonism towards authority, stemming
from friction with my father; a desire to express my individuality
in a striking way; a sense of duty to maintain what seems to be
the right, regardless of the opinions of others; a general protest
against the continual frustrations of life.
I have a feeling, though, that my methods and techniques are going
to change in time, if not my fundamental outlook. Surely a time
will come when I will cease to derive pleasure out of campaigning
for lost causes. (And if ever there was a lost cause, the Tompkins
affair was one.) My headmaster Mr. Potts said ten years ago that
I misuse my intelligence; perhaps there is some truth in that,
after all. I must find some nobler cause, some more worthy adversaries.
Saturday, January 24, 1959.
In a very definite sense, I am wooing Barbara Smith; but I have
not won her yet. I will not feel that she has been won until she
is willing to live with me, and enjoy full physical union with
me. My rivals are not other young men, but dark, mysterious yet
powerful forces which her own mind is struggling against.
Yet there is progress being made all the time. Last night, for
example, as we lay on her bed, was the first time she ever allowed
me to undress her completely. At the same time, I undressed myself,
so that we were both nude in each other's embrace for the first
time.
Yet soon after our climax she as usual, while smiling at her own
absurdity, felt compelled to re-cover herself, and even threw
my own shirt across the center of my body.
Other victories too are being scored. Barbara has been seeing
less of her mother, and a few days ago had a severe quarrel with
her. I rejoice at this, for it shows how strongly she is trying
to throw off the noxious influence of her mother. At the same
time, she is becoming more settled in her new life away from home.
For the first few weeks she rarely ate in her own apartment, never
took a bath there, hardly ever used the bicycle I had helped her
buy, and spoke disparagingly of the apartment. But now she is
coming to enjoy her new life, especially preparing her own meals,
and there is improvement in all these things.
Another good sign is with regard to her job. She seems less reluctant
now to take time off from it, and, from the way she is talking,
it seems that she is thinking more and more seriously about giving
it up. That indeed will be a great day.
Sunday, January 25, 1959.
This morning for the first time I went with Barbara to Sunday
mass, and it proved to be for me a terrible ordeal. I felt that
I could not participate, that I was only there as an observer;
yet Barbara did participate, and I had to watch while she with
all the others crossed herself, bowed, kneeled, and mumbled prayers
and responses. This depressed me utterly. I was with her and yet
I was not with her. She had gone off into one of her own private
worlds, even though I knew her heart was not in it. My sense of
despondency became more and more profound until, by the time it
was over, I felt so wretched and emotionally wrung-out that I
couldn't even talk to Barbara, or make any motion to leave. I
had at length to ask her to wait outside for me while I tried
to recover.
All of this, I know, is a passing episode. Barbara's religion
is a matter of habit and indoctrination. It will not be long before
she too realizes this. But in the meantime, this remains one of
the bitterest aspects of our relationship for me to accept.
Wednesday, January 28, 1959.
3:30 A.M. For the last few days, I have been in a state of great
tension and anxiety. Now at last all my college final exams are
over, but still the mood has not abated - in fact, it seems to
be worse. My anxiety centers around Barbara and all the problems
connected with her. When will she leave her job? How can we reach
a sexual understanding? When will we live together? What to do
about religion? I seem to be enduring a mild mental illness in
which all of these problems are magnified out of all proportion.
(22 hours later) I have spent a remarkable evening with Barbara
at her baby-sitting house, talking about our immediate future.
I wanted her to agree to give up her job & not take any courses
for credit next semester. She was extremely reluctant, but finally
did so, on condition that I did not take the apartment adjoining
hers when it probably becomes vacant in a few days' time as I
had been planning to do. This concession hurts, for I had been
much looking forward to the opportunities which it would afford.
But B. feels she is not ready for our relationship to become that
close, & I cannot help feeling that perhaps she is right.
But this makes my immediate future highly insecure, & so,
despite the great concessions Barbara has made, which mean in
effect that within 2 weeks, she will be virtually free of all
outside commitments, I continue to feel unhappy I am being evicted
from this building, and must now seek some new home. I had hoped
that my next home would be with Barbara, but now this hope must
be deferred. It looks as if I will never be really "settled."
But courage! If hopes were dupes, fears may be liars.
Friday, January 30, 1959.
This is an awkward and confused time for me, and it may be some
weeks before any new pattern develops out of it. My own position
is extremely unsettled. At midnight tomorrow, my lease here in
this apartment officially terminates. I am being evicted because
I insisted on bringing Barbara here, and did so openly. Until
2 days ago, I had been pinning all my hopes on moving into the
apartment next to hers, which is probably going to become vacant
in a few days. But on Wednesday evening, Barbara made it plain
that she did not want me to do this. So yesterday I began looking
in earnest for someplace else to live. I did find a room for $30,
on which I actually put a deposit. But today, when I began to
move in, I suddenly realized that it would never do , for the
house, in which my room was at the back, seemed to be full of
children, and my room was right next to the kitchen. The noise
was appalling. Fortunately I had no trouble in getting my deposit
back.
So today I continued cycling round the streets, looking for someplace
to live, but couldn't find what I wanted, which is a small self-contained
bachelor apartment, having its own kitchen and bathroom, near
to Barbara and to the college, & renting for something like
$35- $45, including utilities. So I began re-viewing the situation,
and came to the conclusion that there is really no great rush
for me to find myself someplace to live. Barbara is my main interest,
and she is now comfortably & very happily settled into her
own apartment, so it really doesn't matter too much where I stay,
so long as I have someplace to keep my things. One possible line
of action therefore is to transfer most of my belongings elsewhere,
and simply stay here as long as possible, in defiance of the eviction
order. So this evening I began moving many of my things for storage
in Barbara's apartment.
Barbara meanwhile is busy helping a friend, Jean Marsh, to get
married. Barbara is the be Maid of Honor at the wedding tomorrow
afternoon, and this has involved an astonishing amount of time,
trouble, & expenditure on her part. Yesterday evening she
was with Jean for much of the time, & this evening also. This
sort of thing still disturbs me & makes me feel I am being
excluded from her life. But things are changing, and this may
be the last time a thing like this will come between us.
Thursday, February 5, 1959.
GOODBYE TO A HOME. Tonight will probably be my last night in my
little top-floor apartment in the building at the corner of 7th
and San Fernando, just across the street from the college. I have
never left a place with such regret. I was very happy with it
as a place to live. It was cheap (only $35 a month) & highly
convenient for school. I had my own little kitchen. With items
donated by Allen, Larry, & Gale, I had it quite adequately
furnished for all my needs.
But now I must leave. For the first time in my life, I am being
legally evicted. All because I insisted on defying an unwritten
but explicit rule forbidding women visitors. I hoped that by making
a big enough issue out of it, I might win out, and secure permission
to remain. But the owners are now obviously determined to get
rid of me at all costs. The advance notice they had given me expired
at the end of January. I stayed on, but moved most of my things
to Barbara's place. On Feb. 2, a man came from the Sheriff's office
with legal notice of a complaint which would be filed against
me unless I made answer within 3 days. I checked, and found that
it would cost me $9 to file an answer. But in any case, my case
must be legally doomed. Mr. Rankin, the co-owner of the building,
is himself the head of a big San Jose law firm. He gave me plenty
of official notice to leave. No hardship that I could claim, I'm
sure, would stand up in court, even though I feel it deeply. My
3 days expire today. The next thing that would happen if I remained
would be, I imagine, that someone would come here with a warrant,
and forcibly evict me. I feel that I would like to wait here until
then, just to show how involuntarily I am going.
Of course, it would not be involuntarily if Barbara were willing
to live with me, for we could then find an apartment to share
together. But she is not even ready for me to live in a separate
apartment next to hers. These last 3 days, I have had a job as
a driver for a typewriter repair man who lost his driver's license
for drunk driving. This, though paying only $1 an hour, has given
me a lot of time for writing while he makes his various calls,
& I have written 2 long letters to Barbara, the most important
of which is an attempt to explain my attitude towards the sexual
aspect of our relationship.
I would also not be so sorry to leave here if I had another similar
place to go to, but though I have searched long and hard, I have
found no place offering anything like the advantages I have had
here, for a similar price.
I therefore am at present very undecided about what to do when
I am forced to leave here; but at the same time, I don't really
care very much what I do. From now on, I have no real commitments
except to Barbara.
Saturday, February 7th, 1959
The move which I discussed in the previous entry was even harder
to make than I had expected, and in fact it is still in process.
Since I left home five years ago (was it really that long?) I
have lived in many different places. But, whenever I have moved,
it has always been more or less by my own choice. This time however,
it was completely against my will, and the whole thing has been
very upsetting to me.
The worst time of all was Thursday evening, February 5th, which
I knew would be my last night in the old apartment. Barbara came
to help me load my stuff into my car, but I was very depressed,
because I still didn't know where I would be moving to, and this
affected her adversely, so that we were both plunged into bad
moods.
Then at about 10 p.m. came a telephone call from Mr. Harry Gordon,
who is the landlord of Barbara's building & also has several
other properties in San Jose. I had spoken with him the other
day, & he now told me of an apartment to rent at 487 S. 6th
St., only a block from Barbara, for $40 plus gas & electricity.
We went over to look at it. It was not at all attractive looking,
and I couldn't make up my mind about it. This indecision made
me feel worse than ever. I sat talking with B at her place for
a while, feeling sick with anxiety and tension. Then later I returned
to the apt. in question, and decided that I would take it.
After this, I felt much better. I returned to my old place, &
spent my last night there. In the morning, I moved out the remainder
of my things before going off to work on my last day as driver
for Claude Symes, a typewriter repairman. On this last day on
the job, I read "What makes Sammy Run?" by Budd Schulberg.
Yesterday, Friday evening, I spent with Barbara in her apartment.
It was a very strange time for us. Our sexual relationship has
as yet reached no kind of real adjustment, and this particular
occasion was a classic example of the lack of understanding which
still exists between us. At first she accepted and enjoyed all
my physical advances, up to the point where we were both on her
bed, nude to the waist. Then, when I began to take off her skirt,
she asked me not to. This had a crushing effect upon me, and immediately
plunged me into depression. For a long time after that, we just
lay there and talked together about what had happened, and it
developed that she had some psychological objection to my manipulating
her genitals, even though her physical desire for stimulation
was quite high. The reason for my depression was, I think, the
fact that every little rejection of this kind is always interpreted
by my mind as a withholding of love.
After we had fully talked it over, however, we were able to turn
to each other again, and, without undressing any further, mount
in mutual pleasure to a beautiful climax. But then came the strangest
development of all. Shortly after this, as we lay together, while
I was still feeling quite spent, B showed signs that her own desire
was rising again, and apparently to a greater intensity than I
had yet seen. She actually asked me to take her skirt off, then
removed her other clothing herself. This time, she welcomed my
hand, and our nude bodies tasted together the full delight of
orgasm.
When it was over, however, I could not help reverting to a subject
which is a very sore one between us right now. The apartment next
to hers is now vacant, and although I have had to leave my own
place, she is thoroughly opposed to my moving in there. Her main
reason seems to be simply a strong emotional desire for complete
privacy, and a feeling that this would be lost if I were there.
This attitude of hers results from the fact that she has never
before in her life been able to enjoy the privacy and independence
whose joys she is now just beginning to realize. We made an agreement
that if she left her job, I would not insist on moving in there.
But even so, it hurts me deeply when I want so badly to be close
to her, & she, while still claiming to love me, rejects me
in this way.
From a practical point of view, the apartment offers tremendous
possibilities. We would have the whole upper floor of the building
to ourselves. We would have our own self-contained private quarters,
and could even turn the hallway into a sort of common room. But
this is not enough for her. She is emotionally sick, and I must
stand helplessly by while my own ailment - a craving for love
and security - remains unsatisfied.
Since all I can do, then, is try to make the best of the present
situation, I had today begun to settle into my new apartment.
It has many shortcomings - a rather noisy building, high rent,
inadequate furnishings & fixtures. But it does have advantages
too. The kitchen is large, compared with my previous one (though
I really didn't feel the need of a larger kitchen.) The bathroom
is right in the apartment. I am only a block away from Barbara
and from the Carricos. The apartment has a wall-bed which can
easily sleep two, so that B & I will now have a new setting
in which to develop our sexual relationship. With patience, effort,
and imagination, I am sure I can make the place quite pleasant
and livable. The rent, including telephone and utilities, should
not come to more than about $50 a month, and this is only about
$11 more than I was paying at my old place.
12:30 a.m. I am in one of my all-too-rare moods of tranquility
and acceptance, when things which most of the time worry and confuse
me do not after all seem so hard to bear. Gradually I am accepting
the present situation, that for the immediate future, Barbara
and I will be living in separate apartments, with one block between
us; that the time has not yet come when she is ready to separate
herself from all the entangling relics of her past life, for my
sake - but that we are coming closer to it all the time. And it
seems that always when I am in a mood like this and we are together,
it strikes a response in her, as it did this evening. She becomes
much more communicative & willing to talk about her past life
& relationships with family & other boys. Ordinarily,
it is painful for her to discuss her year-long engagement to Jim
Mangin, but tonight she talked about it in great detail &
seemed to enjoy it.
If only I could continue to feel this way. If only I could learn
how best to handle Barbara & come to understand her fully.
If I could control myself, and refrain from passing judgment.
So often I am overcome by my own desires for security & for
sexual gratification that I lose sight of the fact that Barbara
needs all the help & understanding that it is in my power
to give.
This is (or was until recently) the 7th of February. It is the
5th anniversary of the greatest turning point in my life. 5 years
of wandering have led me to Barbara Jean Smith.
Monday, February 9, 1959
RELAXATION OF PRESSURE. Today I have re-registered at San Jose
State College. Barbara will register tomorrow. We have agreed
to take all the same classes together, & it looks now as if
these will be in cooking, courtship & marriage, nutrition,
& family relations. We have also agreed to audit all these
courses rather than taking them for credit, so that we will not
be under any pressures of homework, examinations, required reading,
or compulsory attendance. Although I desperately wanted Barbara
to agree to a program of this kind, I had many fears that she
would not, and the fact that she has seems to mark a great step
forward in our relationship.
Equally heartening and significant is the fact that she is at
last quitting her job at Thoeny Bros. hardware company, where
she has been for five years. From now on, she will be more free
than she has ever been in her life before. It will be most interesting
for me to see how she reacts to this new freedom.
I too am entering a new era. Now that the problem of where I am
going to live has been solved, at least temporarily, now that
college enrollment is settled and Barbara's liberation is at hand,
I have only 2 important things to worry about - Barbara and money.
My funds are lower than they have been in many months, and I must
soon give this problem serious attention. But with the general
relaxation of pressure, I feel at the moment in no particular
hurry to do anything at all.
Monday, February 16, 1959.
3:15 p.m. Something very disturbing has just taken place, and
I am still trembling from the shock. I was just returning with
Barbara from school to her apartment when we found her mother
waiting for her outside. Rose was obviously in an extremely upset
state of mind, and she appeared to be almost violently hostile
towards me. She said that she wanted to speak to Barbara alone.
Barbara urged me to let her handle the situation, so she took
her mother inside. As they went, Rose was literally shouting "His
morals are bad! I wish he'd stay away from you! Why doesn't he
go back to England where he belongs," - and threatening to
call the police.
So now they are together there, and I have come back to my own
place a block away, awaiting the outcome with a sick heart.
Barbara had told me of her parents' renewed hostility towards
me, especially since an incident which took place about 2 weeks
ago. They had been visiting Barbara in her apartment when the
manager of the building, Harry, had come up to talk with Barbara.
He stood at the door, and either ignored or, unaware of the fact
that she had visitors, he proceeded to admonish her about several
things, including a warning that she should not have her boyfriend
in her apartment after 11 p.m. Mr. & Mrs. Smith took this
very badly, and have caused Barbara much mental suffering because
of it. Now, apparently, things have come to a head.
Of course, I have been spending a great deal of time with Barbara
lately, in fact as much as possible. And Barbara has become increasingly
distant from her mother, even to the point of sometimes not answering
the telephone. But Barbara at the same time feels guilty about
this. There is still an abnormally strong emotional attachment
between her and her mother.
So the situation is that of a battle for Barbara between her mother
and me. I am winning the battle, but Rose is using every weapon
in her power to retain her hold, particularly the most evil weapon
of all - guilt. She is trying to make Barbara feel guilty for
having forsaken her mother for someone else. And the effect of
all this upon Barbara's mind cannot help but be injurious.
It is hard to see any clear way out of this mess, other than complete
escape. Merely to leave home, it seems, was not enough for Barbara.
She & I must leave this town.
It is hard for me at times like this to feel any pity for Rose.
She had Barbara for 2l years, which were filled with unhappiness.
She has clung to her daughter as an emotional crutch, and filled
Barbara with feelings of guilt and responsibility which it will
take years to eradicate. And incidents like that which has just
occurred can only make the whole situation worse. It is, incidentally,
the first time Rose has shown any outward hostility to me in my
presence. I had not had a real conversation with her since the
days when Barbara was still living at home. Now I reap the penalty
of my neglect.
It is now 4 p.m. & I don't know how long it will be before
I hear from Barbara. Possibly things have gone so badly that she
doesn't feel like talking to me at all. All I can do is wait.
7:10 p.m. The crisis has passed, and things look brighter than
ever before. I continually make the mistake of underestimating
Barbara. She is growing up and overcoming the influences of her
past life. She called at about 5 p.m., & asked me to come
over. She had already taken her mother home. She was very calm,
and her manner immediately put my fears at rest. Apparently B.
had completely succeeded in calming her mother down, and had impressed
upon her her determination to live her own life in the way she
thought best. Rose had made it plain that she felt just as hostile
towards Barbara as towards me. As I suspected, her 3 p.m. outburst
was simply the climax of feelings which had been accumulating
over several days, largely occasioned by honest concern for her
daughter's health and welfare - and she immediately regretted
it, though she told Barbara that she meant what she said.
Barbara told me that she considers that the problem is really
one of herself being accepted by her parents. When she is accepted,
they will automatically accept me. It is very rare for Barbara
to say anything as definite as this.
Thursday, February 19, 1959.
It is 4 months today since I first went out with Barbara Smith,
and today we had a very important discussion. Although we spend
much of our time together, it is rarely that we talk seriously
and at length about the nature of our relationship. This afternoon,
however, here in my apartment, we had a long talk about one of
the problems which has been troubling us. This problem concerns
my tendency to become emotionally upset any time Barbara voluntarily
absents herself from me for any length of time, e.g. to go on
her weekly baby-sitting job. On these occasions, I always find
myself feeling that she could not do this to me if she loved me
as much as I love her, and I become very depressed. This in turn
disturbs Barbara, but it never in the slightest alters her determination
to proceed as planned. Today she said that the reason for her
attitude had much to do with a feeling that I was putting pressure
upon her, and this created resistance in her. I therefore resolved
to try to change my own attitude, and already I think I have begun
to do so. This sort of thing seems to happen periodically between
us - we begin to lose touch over some particular problem, then
we talk it out, and the attitudes of one or both of us are changed
as a result, and our relationship begins to proceed more smoothly
again, with a deepened sense of love between us.
Friday, Feb. 27, 1959
This morning Barbara left for Berkeley to visit her friends Diane
& Charles, and she may be there all weekend. If so, it will
be our longest separation since the voluntary experimental one
at the beginning of December. It is now 1 a.m. & I haven't
yet experienced any pangs of longing for her. Rather, I have enjoyed
a strange sense of freedom and repose, and have been able to think
about many things which I have been putting off. But it is good
to know that she exists, and that she will come back to me. In
that knowledge lies a special form of contentment which I have
never before experienced..
Minor emotional crises, however, continue to plague our relationship.
The fact that I am living in the same town with Barbara's parents,
who are now it seems both filled with bitterness against me, yet
whom Barbara continues to see regularly, causes me much distress.
My mind is tormented by feelings of rejection from all sides -
from her parents, from mine, from society in general, and this
leads me to attach an unhealthily exaggerated importance to her
love. If she really loves me, then I don't care what anybody else
in the world says or does. But if she does not, if she cannot
love me in the complete and exclusive way which I feel I need,
then indeed I stand on the brink of despair.
So in everything she says or does I look for clues as to the strength
and genuineness of her love. When I feel that she has preferred
me over all others, my joy is at its height; but when, as often
happens, I feel that she is preferring others over me, then I
am plunged into depression.
Thursday, March 5th, 1959.
Barbara and I have inaugurated a new chapter in our relationship.
For the first time, we are actually "living together,"
though in a setting which is strange for both of us. We came yesterday
to the Tuolumne Co-operative Farm near Modesto, California, and
plan to stay until Sunday.
I had been here once before, almost a year ago, on an afternoon's
visit. Ever since I have known Barbara, I thought it would be
a good place for us to come, and we have often discussed it. Last
week, however, I came to the conclusion that it would be good
for us to make the trip as soon as possible, and that it should
last for several days. For, never until now have we been away
from San Jose overnight. In San Jose, she is continually subject
to her mother's influence. This is a good place for us to come
to, for here we can stay as long as we wish, and, so long as we
are willing to work, our board and lodging is supplied by the
people of the Farm, who now consist of just 2 families - the Klaseens
and the Kramers.
Before coming, we discussed how we should explain our relationship
to the people here. I had simply said that 2 people would be coming.
We agreed that Barbara would take my name, but we were unsure
whether to say that we were married, engaged, or single. As it
has happened, however, as soon as we introduced ourselves as Barbara
and Ashleigh Brilliant, it was immediately assumed that we were
married, and so we are accepted as a young newly married couple.
This in itself is enough to make the whole experience highly worthwhile.
Our quarters consist of a small dormitory and washroom adjoining
the main community hall. It contains 2 double-bunk metal beds,
and we have each taken a lower bed.
Our first full day, today, was remarkable for heat, uninspiring
field-work, and bothersome children.
Saturday, March 7th, 1959
It is a great pity that we cannot stay longer here at Tuolumne
Farm; tomorrow we are leaving, and we have not been here long
enough to establish any kind of routine. But already the experience
has proved most valuable. Barbara and I are seeing each other
all through the day in all our different moods.
Concerning our sleeping arrangements and sexual activity, the
first night we slept apart in separate sleeping bags on separate
bunks. The second night, we put our mattresses & sleeping
bags side by side on the floor, partook of a most delightful physical
communion on top of them, and then slept in our separate bags.
The third night, the arrangements were the same as the first.
Our meals have all been very good, & I have been eating most
(perhaps excessively) heartily. Breakfast is the common meal,
when we all eat together in the community hall. Lunch is the meal
everyone more or less gets for themselves. B & I have ours
here in the common hall, which has its own kitchen, on food provided
by the Farm. For supper we alternate between the Klaseens and
the Kramers.
B & I have had our differences, but on the whole we get along
quite well together. Our problems thus far have concerned (1)
her reluctance to send children away, even when she knows they
are bothering me and interrupting an important conversation we
might be having (2) her difficulty in getting into the spirit
of communal living to the point of wanting to work (3) her becoming
mildly ill with a cold & not taking care of herself.
Wednesday, March 25th, 1959.
After more than 5 months, my relationship with Barbara is still
the most immediate and dominating concern of my life. Almost all
my activities are concerned with developing and strengthening
it, and at the moment, things seem to be progressing very well.
After our return from Tuolumne Farm, though we were still living
in separate apartments a block apart, Barbara was no longer so
unwilling to consider the possibility of living with me. We wanted
to experiment further, however, and our next experiment involved
her sleeping here with me in my apartment. This we have done for
the last 8 nights, and it has been a very enlightening experience.
On the first night, I slept very poorly, but on subsequent nights
we both found that we could sleep very well together, that our
bodies, rather than getting in each other's way, could be a comfort
to one another. The only real difficulty that has arisen results
from our mutual fear of pregnancy. Although our physical relationship
has now reached the point where Barbara permits my penis (covered
of course with a sheath) to just barely make entrance when my
legs are outside hers, I do not feel it wise that we should continue
this sort of physical contact until we have (a) taken the utmost
contraceptive precautions; this includes going to a doctor and
getting all the information we need, and (b) come to some sort
of agreement as to what we would do if a pregnancy should occur.
B has also at last agreed to countenance the idea of my moving
into the apartment next to hers. By great good fortune, this has
remained vacant since the last tenant, Tom Stuart, moved out on
February 5th. It happens that the building where I am living now
has the same landlord, Harry Gordon, as B's. Recently I spoke
with him & he agreed to let me transfer from my present apartment
to that one. The rent, however, will be somewhat higher -- $50
including utilities, instead of the $40 plus gas & electric
that I pay here. The place had only a single bed, but Allen had
a spare double bed he offered to lend me, & I have already
today moved it in. Tomorrow I intend to move the rest of my belongings.
I have had my telephone transferred to the new apt.
Our new situation will be a very interesting one. B & I will
together be occupying the whole upper floor of the building. We
will each have our own kitchens, but will share the bathroom.
Just to what extent we will adhere to the "private"
nature of our separate apartments is still doubtful. To my mind,
however, the arrangement is almost ideal, apart from the money
involved ($90 a month altogether for the 2 of us.). For it combines
ease and convenience of access with the maximum of privacy when
we want it. If this arrangement works out (and I see no reason
why it shouldn't), the next step would of course be to share a
single apartment, or other dwelling, together. But at present,
I feel in no hurry to embark on that stage of our relationship,
especially since it appears likely that we will often, if not
regularly, be sleeping together on my double bed anyway.
Another area of progress is that involving my parents. Ever since
I told them that Barbara was not Jewish, they have been writing
to me in tones approaching despair, condemning our relationship,
and prophesying nothing but ill for it. About 2 weeks ago, however,
I spent the better part of a day writing them a long letter calculated
to ease their fears and soften their dismay, emphasizing how keenly
B & I were aware of the problems involved in our relationship,
and the steps we were taking to overcome them. I also sent some
photos I had taken of B.
These actions seem to have produced a good result, for the most
recent letter from Edgware, which came yesterday, for the first
time does not even mention religion. Instead my mother actually
says "You seem to have your particular situation well in
hand," and for the first time says that we will both be welcome
if we come there on a visit.
A third success has been that I have fulfilled my ambition of
taking B flying. I rejoined the Flying 20 Club at college, got
checked out in my old plane, the Interstate, ten days ago, &
on the same day took B for her first flight, a short local trip.
A few days later, we did a second local flight, & then on
Sunday we went on a cross-country, to Santa Cruz, Half Moon Bay,
and over San Francisco. All went well, except that on the Sunday
trip, B was sick twice. But she is still game to go flying again.
In social life, we have been getting to know Hartley and Margie
Kern better. B likes them both very much. We spent all day last
Saturday with them in San Francisco, splitting up for most of
the day into pairs, B with Marge & I with Hartley.
Friday, April 3rd, 1959
For the last few days I have been feeling highly demoralized,
for the first time since I met Barbara 5 ½ months ago.
This is the result, I think, not of failure in the relationship,
but of success in it. The great "sex and marriage settlement"
which has for the past five years constituted my major goal, is
now well on the way to becoming an accomplished fact. Last week
I moved into Apt.3 next to Barbara's, at 550 South 6th St., San
Jose. So we are now virtually "living together," although
our residential situation is certainly a strange one, and one
to which it may take us a long time to become accustomed. Our
2 apartments occupy the entire upper floor of the building. The
plan is something like this:
[Diagram showing two apartments (Barbara's with a single bed, mine with a double) with a common central hallway, a common bathroom, separate telephones and kitchens, and a connecting door, which is "locked."]
Thus far, we haven't worked out any arrangement regarding eating together or sleeping together. Sometimes we do, and sometimes we don't, depending on circumstances. One of the main circumstances which affects these things is that Barbara last Monday went back to work full time at her old firm of Thoeny Bros. This brought to an end our period of auditing classes at college together, and is probably one of the reasons for my present demoralization. For now I find myself at a loose end, with nothing definite to do with my time while Barbara is away. There are of course many things which I could do, such as going out to work myself & trying to make as much money as possible. But somehow this does not appeal to me at all. I was very much against Barbara's taking this step of going back to work, for it seemed to me somewhat retrograde. She herself suffered great mental conflict over it. The night before she went back, to my surprise, she burst into tears, saying that she was afraid of falling back into the old rut. Her chief reason for doing it was need of money (she had less than $200, whereas I had $500) and a desire to apply the new attitudes she has been acquiring these last few months to the problems of saving and spending money. Hitherto she has never really tried to save. Now she wants to have that experience, particularly in order to have funds for travelling & further education.
Tuesday, April 7, 1959
My demoralization is at an end, for now there is a new goal in
sight. For some weeks, Barbara & I have been discussing the
possibility of our travelling together this summer. Now at last
we have made a definite decision. We are going to participate
in the Seventh World Youth Festival being held in Vienna, at least
to the extent of taking advantage of their travel facilities to
get to Europe. They have a charter flight leaving from New York
on July 20th. The round trip costs $310, and this is probably
the cheapest way we could get across the ocean. If we choose to
return with the flight on August 20th, we can sell the return
half of our tickets. Today we sent in our order, enclosing checks
for half the total amount.
My original interest in Europe and the Vienna Festival this summer
lay in the possibility of being able to visit Russia as an official
guest of that country. But now that I have met Barbara, my attitude
is different. Since she has never travelled at all beyond California,
I want to give her the experience of travelling, and it really
doesn't matter where. But, since I already had this Vienna-Russia
plan, and since she too is interested in it to some extent, we
might as well choose that as our first joint travel project. The
plan now is to work & make as much money as possible by the
beginning of July, then hitch-hike to New York, and take the plane
from there.
I hope we will have a chance to visit England, or at least to
meet my parents, perhaps in Paris.
Now that our ideas have materialized into a definite project,
I will have to readjust my thinking. Money is now our great problem,
and we will both have to work & save in order to be able to
make the trip. Since substitute teaching seems to be my best money-making
bet, I have today been making a definite effort to get on the
lists of as many different districts as possible. I intend also
to continue doing odd-jobs & look for part-time evening work.
Wednesday, April 15th, 1959.
It is a Wednesday evening, and I am feeling despondent because,
as usual on Wednesday evenings, Barbara is not here with me, but
is at her friends' the Patnudes. This is a strange situation that
occurs every week. Officially Barbara has a baby-sitting job on
Wednesdays with the Patnudes' 11-year old daughter Caroline, while
Bess and Bob go out to a weekly dance. Bess works at Thoeny Bros.
Hardware, where Barbara works. Barbara always stays there overnight.
She is given a good meal, and takes advantage of the situation
to use the washing machine & take a shower. Because she is
also working full-time in the daytime, it means we sometimes do
not see each other for 48 hours. When we do finally meet again,
I often find that I am in a mood of bitterness and resentment,
whereas she is full of love and affection.
It vastly depresses me to think that she of her own free will
prefers to be thus separated from me every week. I can see no
real justification for it. Barbara herself admits that she does
it simply for the meal and other advantages offered. The hardest
part to accept is her wishing to be away all night, although even
here we often do not sleep together. The strange part about it
is that Barbara seems to look upon this as something beyond her
control, and therefore greets me at the end as if after an enforced
absence. To me however it is something quite definitely within
her control, and therefore I brood on the fact that she has chosen
to be away from me. But it is only about 3 weeks since we have
been living in this new arrangement, which much intensifies the
sorrow I feel. Perhaps in time she would come to understand how
I feel, and compromise at least to the point of coming home to
sleep. She has been going to the Patnudes for over a year now,
I think. It began when she had good reason for desiring a chance
to stay away overnight.
When we meet again, my usual feeling is: You have chosen to stay
away from me for 48 hours. Now you have come back. How can you
expect me to continue our relationship just where we left off?
Friday, May 8, 1959.
For the past few weeks, Barbara and I have been evolving a new
though temporary way of life. We have both been working full-time,
she at her hardware company, and I at my substitute teaching and
odd jobs. My work has been becoming increasingly steady and lucrative.
I have been only one day this week without a teaching job. Right
now, I am writing at Buchser High School, where I have a very
easy assignment. This is my third day here. Every day after school,
I go to do my odd jobs, usually for regular customers, such as
Miss Glubetick (gardening weekly, 2 hrs at $1.25 an hour,) Mrs.
Lawless (1 hr. weekly at $1.50 per hr) and Dr. Pautz (outside
cleaning, 2 or 3 hrs. weekly at $1.50 per hr.) On days when I
have no teaching job, I usually go to the college placement office
& try to get some other job for that day.
Barbara too is at least beginning to overcome a prejudice against
odd jobs. Tonight, for instance, we will be working together at
a dishwashing job for $1.50 an hour.
All this working reflects our need for money to pay for our European
trip, and to support ourselves until then, and after then. It
is a necessary and I suppose in some ways valuable activity, but
of course it places great limits on our other activities. On the
weekend of April 17-20 we went on a memorable journey, hitch-hiking
to Los Angeles and back. We saw Marsh & Myrna, as well as
my friends Andy & Elaine Heinsius & Howard and Shirley
Dessent. We stayed 2 nights with Gerry Goldstein. It was a very
successful trip. B had not been to L.A. since she left as a child
10 years ago. We revisited one of her home areas, & Myrna
drove us to Long Beach so that B could visit her "Uncle George"
Coleman in the Veterans Hospital there.
The following week we went on what will be our last private flight
together for some time, flying in the little red Interstate of
the College "Flying 20" over the mountains to Half Moon
Bay and back. For now, I have quit the Club, to save money.
The next weekend, we went up to Berkeley, & stayed overnight
& all day Sunday with Kit & Bill Speth. But since then,
we have not done anything of unusual interest at all.
Probably the most important development of recent weeks has been
one of my periodic changes, or attempted changes, in attitude
towards Barbara. Gradually I have become aware that I have been
criticizing her too much, trying to change her instead of myself.
At length it occurred to me that much of this stemmed from my
insistence to myself and to her that I considered us already married.
In effect, I was attempting to impose upon her my own concept
of how our relationship ought to be. It was for this reason that
I became so upset whenever she did anything which seemed out of
keeping with my concept of our marriage, such as staying overnight
at the babysitting job (see previous entry.) At last I realized
that the only solution for me to this problem was to give up trying
to change her and to try changing myself instead. I therefore
decided to revise my attitude towards our relationship and abandon
the idea that we are already married. I announced this decision
to B about a week ago, and, as I expected, it made her very happy.
I have also been making a conscious effort, in accordance with
this new viewpoint, to avoid criticizing her conduct and attempting
to pry information out of her about what she does when she is
not with me. I am trying more and more to see our roles as primarily
those of individuals, with every right to our own private affairs.
I could not however resist eavesdropping on a telephone conversation
that B was having with her mother yesterday evening in which B
was obviously becoming very upset, because her mother was criticizing
her for the "immorality" of her conduct, living with
me and planning to go to Europe with me.
What always disturbs me about this sort of thing is that, although
on the surface Barbara is full of resistance and defiance to her
mother, I know it cannot but have a bad effect upon her self confidence
and enhance her sense of guilt. Even this one conversation made
B unhappy for the rest of the evening.
My proper conduct here, I think, is to make more contact with
Rose on my own. This is becoming more and more important. I did
go to see her last week when she had the flu and B was staying
overnight with her - and the visit was quite a happy one. It was
the first time I had seen her since early February, & I was
very glad I went. By making a friend of Rose, which I know will
not be at all difficult for me to do, I think I can also improve
her relationship with B.
My attitude towards the future is as usual highly uncertain. The
trip to Europe is for me primarily an attempt to visit Russia.
For Barbara, it is something very different, being her first trip
abroad. But I must not forget my single main purpose.
Although I have secured admission to Berkeley in the fall, I do
not at all relish the thought of returning to the college grind.
This current life of substitute teaching is not at all bad. The
hours are short, the pay good, the work often light, and there
is sufficient variety and uncertainty in it to make it seem adventurous.
And I can more or less choose when I wish to work, and when not.
In Los Angeles the pay would be even better, $22 a day, instead
of only $16 or $17 here. It would not therefore be highly disagreeable
to me to do the same kind of work when we returned from Europe,
instead of going back to college, with the object of making money
to finance further travels & studies.
But I am also beginning to feel a desire to have some more permanent
residence, which I can call a home. I regret that in so short
a time I must again pull up residential roots. My life still lacks
any sense of permanence. And it seems that, when I try to inject
some into it, as by embarking on my own kind of "marriage"
with Barbara, I come to grief.
But at the moment I have no really strong driving desires of any
kind. I am content just to drift along, working vaguely on various
projects, the chief one still being my relationship with Barbara,
though its form seems more unsettled than ever.
May 19th, 1959
Yesterday a rather extraordinary event took place. Barbara and
I went and got a marriage license. Why? The reason lay in a variety
of circumstances. For some time I have known (a) that it is possible
to get a marriage license without actually getting legally married.
The license, once obtained, is good for an indefinite period (b)
that when one obtains a marriage license, one also receives a
marriage certificate, which lacks only the signature of the officiating
judge or other authorized person (c) that the local newspaper
automatically prints notice of all marriage licenses obtained.
It is thus possible, without actually becoming legally married,
to secure "proof" of marriage that would satisfy all
but the most intense investigation - "proof" in the
form of a marriage certificate to which one could easily add the
necessary signature, and in the form of a newspaper notice.
I have also known for some time that all Barbara and I would require
(in this State) in order to secure a marriage license would be
a blood-test certificate signed by a doctor showing that we did
not have syphilis. About a month ago, we went to a doctor (Dr.
Cilley) in order to have a "pre-marital" examination.
Our main purpose was not to have the blood test, but this was
included in the examination. The test certificate, however, is
valid only for 30 days after the test. It seemed foolish to me
to let it go to wasted, so I persuaded Barbara to come today to
get the license.
But some rather amusing problems still stood in our way, concerning
the question of where we should go to get the license. We knew
that marriage licenses could be obtained at the County Court House
downtown, but there were 2 reasons why we didn't want to go there.
(1) the Marriage License section was in the same office as the
passport section. Since we had already obtained a passport there
for Barbara as a married woman under the name of Barbara Brilliant,
it would be highly embarrassing , to say the least, if we should
now go there for a marriage license, and be waited on by the same
clerk! (2) Since notice of this event would appear in the local
paper among the list of all marriage licenses issued in the County,
and since Barbara (though not I) was anxious to avoid the possibility
of having it seen by anybody who knows us, it was necessary to
go to some other County. We chose San Mateo County, and drove
to the town of San Mateo, thinking that it would contain the County
courthouse - but that building, we found, was in Redwood City,
to which we therefore returned, and there finally obtained the
license. The woman clerk forgot to ask for the $2 fee, so we got
it, and the blank marriage certificate for nothing. The notice
will appear in the Redwood City Tribune, & I have written
for some copies of the edition which contains it.
Barbara's attitude towards this whole thing was similar to her
attitude towards our pre-marital examination. She argued against
it, put it off as long as possible, went through with it under
protest, & complained afterwards that there was no point to
it. But she did comply, and the thing was done.
The strange thing is that neither of us has the slightest desire
or intention of becoming legally married. I myself cannot even
imagine myself taking that step.
Wednesday May 27, 1959
Last evening saw a rather significant social event, to which I
had been looking forward for some time. Barbara invited her "old
flame" Peter D'Anna to dinner, and the 3 of us ate together
at Barbara's table. It was significant for several reasons. First,
Barbara has always tended to try to keep me apart from the other
people in her life - her friends and relatives etc. Therefore
I am very glad that she agreed after much urging from me to invite
Peter to dinner. As usual, she was very reluctant about the whole
thing, saying it was foolish to try to bring me together with
one of her old boy-friends. My desire was not so much to meet
Peter as to show Barbara that no harm, only good, could result
from her introducing me to her friends. And, as it happened, things
worked out very well. Things like this help bring Barbara and
me closer together.
My second reason for the significance of the evening was that
I did enjoy meeting Peter very much. There was no awkwardness
between us at all - I scarcely considered that he had been Barbara's
closest friend for a number of years. He was simply an interesting
new friend visiting us, a young good-looking man, tall & fair-haired,
23 years old, intelligent and charmingly casual in his manner.
He spent much time talking about his career as a youth worker.
Right now, he is a counselor at the Juvenile Hall, & he intends
to become a probation officer. He dislikes the idea of specialization
& enjoys "crossing professional lines." This particularly
made me feel I had much in common with him. The conversation turned
back to Peter's professional aspirations. For once, I was less
interested in Barbara than in our guest. Although I was officially
(in Barbara's mind) a "guest" on the same basis as Peter,
I found that in some ways the role of host devolved more upon
me than on her. It was I who chatted with Peter while she prepared
dinner, I who suggested eventually that we leave the table long
after dinner was over; I who took Peter into my room & showed
him my pictures while B cleaned away the dishes; and I who at
length suggested an end to the evening by pointing out that it
was 20 to 11:00.
I found that I was very talkative, & in far higher spirits
than usual. My contact with Peter made me realize that I have
perhaps been over-concentrating on Barbara, that my social life
needs other stimuli, that there is a pleasure in making new friends.
(I had met Peter 6 months ago, but only briefly.) I only hope
Peter found something to like in me.
Thursday, June 11, 1959
Summer seems to have come very suddenly. In fact, the whole past
year seems to have flown. Already the school and college semester
is over, and with it, for the time being at any rate, my career
as a substitute teacher, which until this week provided me with
steady employment five days a week.
Shortly, a great journey begins. Barbara & I are going to
Austria and to Russia. We have saved enough money to be able to
afford this, though our savings suffice for little more.
So now I am unemployed, except for what odd jobs I can pick up;
but Barbara plans to continue working right up until the time
we leave. Her attachment to this job of hers at Thoeny Brothers
Hardware is something which it has taken me a long time to understand.
To her, it seems to represent the only world in which she has
ever felt comfortably at home. Her loyalty to the job is exceeded
only by that to her mother. I have had to take 3rd place. But
gradually I have been forging ahead, and our forthcoming trip
together, of wild and fantastic proportions for one such as she,
who has never been out of her native State before, signifies a
great victory; But not a complete victory, by any means. It is
not without many qualms that Barbara is abandoning her job and
her mother to travel with me into unknown lands. Frequently she
expresses concern at the difficulties which her immediate boss,
Joe Quayle, will suffer when she is no longer there to help him.
And she is constantly worried about her mother and father.
I still have not met her father (that is, had a conversation with
him), but definitely intend to do so before we leave. Barbara
has promised to try to arrange a meeting by June 18th. If she
doesn't, she has agreed to put no further obstacle in the way
of my going about it in my own way.
The subject of Barbara's father, Adam Smith, is her weakest spot.
She can rarely discuss him or anything to do with him without
becoming obviously upset. Her deepest fear concerning me and him
seems to be that knowing him will turn me against her. No rational
approach can succeed here. Her emotions are very deep-seated.
I have tried to come a little closer to her mother. On May 31,
the 3 of us spent most of the day together- a new departure. We
went on a mountain & seashore picnic. Rose had found out about
our getting the marriage license on May 19. A relative of B's
living in San Mateo had seen the notice in the paper. Rose at
first had been highly distressed, thinking we had got married
without letting her know. I would have been content to let her
think thus, but B told her the whole story.
Regarding my parents, I have made a conscious effort to win them
over, have been sending more frequent letters, including a special
one to father for his birthday; also sending photographs, &
even a 2-hour tape recording that we made at the Kerns' apartment
in Menlo Park & sent airmail.
Gradually our arrangements are getting made, to attend the Vienna
Youth Festival, and then go on a tour of the USSR. My big worries
are (a) that something may go wrong, and we may never reach Vienna
(b) that we may not be able to sell the return half of our air
tickets & thus either miss going to Russia, or lose (together)
$310 (c) that we may have to return too soon to the U.S. for lack
of funds, but too late to attend Berkeley in the fall.
My primary life aim at the moment remains that of developing my
relationship with Barbara to the point where it achieves some
kind of stability.
Wednesday, June 17th, 1959
11:45 p.m. Tonight I have grown depressed, though I am not sure
why. The day has been hot, & I had a job all day as a traffic-counter
for the City of Sunnyvale.
This is Wednesday, and that means I am separated from Barbara
who, as usual on Wednesdays, is staying overnight with her friends
the Patnudes.
Very slowly the preparations for our great journey are being made.
Yesterday we took a significant step by informing our landlord
Harry Gordon that we will be leaving these apartments at the end
of the month.
Perhaps I have been thinking about the trip too much & need
some relaxation & alteration of perspective.
Friday, June 26, 1959.
In 5 days' time, on Wednesday July 1st, Barbara and I are due
to leave San Jose and set out together on a long hitch-hiking
journey to the east coast. As I half-anticipated, these pre-departure
days are in many ways taking on the character of a major crisis
in our relationship.
For Barbara, this trip to Europe is the most momentous single
project she has ever embarked upon. One reason for this is that
it means making a complete break with all her customary associations
& connections, in particular her parents and her job. Another
reason is that she will be without her habitual safety-outlet.
Once we start out, there can be no turning back. She is committed
to accompany me on a months-long journey on which she will in
many ways be more dependent upon me than she has ever been before.
Last evening, she was more depressed than I have seen her in a
long time, though the depression may have been accentuated by
pre-menstrual tension. Today was her last day at
Thoeny Brothers Hardware company, but I will not see her until
tomorrow evening, for she has decided to spend tonight with her
friends the Patnudes, & I have a job lasting all day tomorrow.
So far, Barbara has not begun to pack, and I will not be surprised
if she is not ready by July 1. I myself still have a great deal
to do. But most of our preparations are now complete. We now both
have rucksacks & sleeping bags, though B does not take kindly
to the whole idea of travelling in this fashion. My one great
hope is that once we have actually set out, many of her fears
& inhibitions will fall away, and she will take a more active
& participating interest in our common project. On Monday
we were both re- vaccinated. Last week, I secured for us a forwarding
address in New York by arrangement with a Brooklyn boy I met here
recently, Ben Finkel.
Our financial situation has been improving all the time, as we
keep on earning extra money wherever we can, & it now looks
as though we will have $600 between us when we start out, over
& above all expenses connected with the World Youth Festival
& Russian tour.
I recently hit on a new way of raising money, which so far looks
very promising. Allen has helped me to duplicate 200 slips which
say "Ashleigh Brilliant and Barbara Brilliant hereby promise
to deliver personally the attached paper bearing your name and
address, to a citizen of the USSR, and to ask them to write to
you. We cannot promise that they will do so. But if you do hear
from them, we hope you will reply . .. We are undertaking this
project in the interests of world peace and friendship. We have
no political connections or affiliations of any kind.. . This
service is free if you do not wish to pay for it. If you would
like to help us, however, we ask you to pay 50 cents towards our
expenses. We would be interested to hear from you about the results
of this venture. Our address is: Ashleigh & Barbara Brilliant,
466 S. 5th St., San Jose, California, U.S.A."
Already, to my own surprise, we have been able to raise $5 with
this scheme, though B is still not keen on accepting money in
this way. The idea and wording of the paper are entirely my own,
but it means much to me to have Barbara's encouragement and participation.
Apart from Barbara's own crisis, there have also in the last few
days crises concerning both her mother and her father. Last Sunday
morning, Rose Smith came here and, finding Barbara in my bed (I
was already up getting breakfast) launched into one of her customary
tearful and semi-hysterical tirades against her daughter's "immorality."
She kept this up for about half an hour, in my presence, while
Barbara lay in bed whimpering. At last she calmed down & left,
leaving Barbara herself in a most miserable condition. But Rose
said (when I asked as she left) that her invitation for both of
us to come to dinner that evening still stood.
Fortunately, as things worked out, B & I had a job together
for 5 hours that day, giving out advertising circulars to people
in cars. And, by the time we went over to Rose's for dinner, we
were all feeling much better, although I had not been much distressed
by Rose's tirade. We had a fine roast-beef dinner & afterwards
B & spoke more frankly to Rose about our life together than
ever before. For the first time, we showed her the marriage license
which we had obtained on May 18. And we told her that, although
we have now been sleeping together for some months, we have never
had full sexual intercourse , & B is still (by her own choice)
technically a virgin. I have not seen Rose since then, but I think
this settled some of her worst fears.
Having weathered the Rose crisis, I now set out to create a new
one of my own, the Adam Smith crisis. B's father has consistently
refused to have anything to do with me, and B and her mother have
done their best to keep me from even trying to see him. With our
departure so close at hand, however, I determined to override
this opposition, at least to the point of getting his refusal
to see me first-hand. During last Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday,
I twice delivered letters to his hotel, once attempted to telephone
him after having notified him that I would call, and twice knocked
on his door when I knew he was there. The letters produced no
response; the phone call brought no answer; when I knocked, he
did come to the door each time, but refused on each occasion to
allow me in to talk with him, though he did not (as Barbara had
warned might happen) in any way become violent. Thus his attitude
as far as I know remains unchanged. But at least I have made an
effort, & the situation, being now rather more clear-cut,
is easier to bear. In any case, the really important thing to
me is not Adam Smith, but Barbara's attitude towards him &
me. So far, the subject of her father has been the one on which
it has been most difficult for me to have any communication with
her. It renders her immediately moody, depressed, withdrawn. I
am hoping that a time will come when this last citadel of her
fears will be broken down.
Sunday, July 5th, 1959.
We are in a $3 hotel room in Wells, Nevada, and well on our way
to Chicago and the East.
The last few days of packing, before July 1, were miserable, but
all has gone fairly well since our departure from San Jose. The
original intention was to be on our way early in the morning of
July 1, but we didn't actually get away until afternoon. I was
very tired, the rucksacks were very heavy, the weather very hot.
But despite all, we made it to Yosemite Park, where we planned
to stay, by 9 p.m. A young driver gave us $3.
In Yosemite we spent 2 days & 3 nights. The first night, we
managed to sleep in a cabin without paying, the second 2 in our
sleeping-bags on a rocky hillside. In the 2 days, we relaxed &
did little but walk about the Valley.
Yesterday we left Yosemite, hitched through Reno to Lovelock,
Nevada, & stayed there in the city jail.
B & I are on the whole good companions. Our main disagreements
so far have been on her desires to eat, sleep, & dress more
elegantly than I think necessary. E.g., she is always complaining
about herself and her clothes being dirty. But tonight we sleep
in style, & she is happy.
Friday, July 24, 1959
We are in the air, bound for Vienna, somewhere between Gander
in Newfoundland (where we stopped for an hour) and Shannon, Ireland,
which will be our next stop.
This air journey has so far been dismally reminiscent of the one
I made with Brian from Prestwick to New York in 1951. This flight,
as was that, is a charter flight (this time with Trans-Ocean Airlines).
Yesterday, as 8 years ago, I arrived at the airport with my companion
in a state of high excitement. And this time, as before, there
was delay after delay beyond the scheduled departure time, so
that, by the time we actually took off, we were very tired, and
almost all sense of excitement had evaporated.
But yesterday was far worse than the 1951 experience. For, instead
of being delayed a mere 5 hours, we had to wait fifteen hours.
The plane was due to take off at 11 a.m. Thursday morning, but
didn't actually leave until 2 a.m. Friday. To make matters worse,
we were stalled off again and again with false hope. After the
first notice of delay, we expected to leave about 4 p.m. Then
6 p.m. was the deadline; then it was "no later than 8."
Then "not before 10" then "midnight for sure."
The reason was in the main apparently the late arrival of our
plane from Norway, and then some maintenance trouble.
This long long period of waiting was one of the most unpleasant
experiences I have endured in a long time. The atmosphere at the
terminal at Idlewild Airport was hot and sticky. The place was
so crowded that we could hardly ever find a satisfactory place
to sit down. Loud metallic voices were continually blaring airport
instructions which did not concern us.
I had been up since 5:30 a.m. after a rather poor night's sleep,
and as the time wore on, I became more and more a prey to weariness
and despondency.
Wednesday, August 5th , 1959.
The "Seventh World Youth Festival for Peace and Friendship"
is over. But Barbara and I are still in Vienna. And our main concern
now is getting to Russia.
The Festival itself meant very little to us. Accommodations were
very poor - men in huge dormitories with lights on all night -
women crowded into small bunk-tents. Primitive toilets. Showers,
but no hot water; poor food in a chaotic mess-hall. A long walk
to everything. Our quarters were at the Vienna fairgrounds called
Messegeland. In this atmosphere, we became very depressed &
after a few nights, in desperation we took our sleeping-bags into
the nearby park-space and slept there. The next day, by some incredible
good fortune, we were able to complain to the accommodations office,
who provided us with a large furnished room on Marxengasse &
a much better restaurant at which to eat for the remainder of
the Festival. So our essential needs were well satisfied.
But the American delegation was very disorganized. Ticket distribution
& other arrangements were poor, and we saw only a few cultural
events & none of the other kinds, except that we did march
with the American group in the opening parade.
My parents had been waiting 2 days for us in Vienna, & we
saw them every day before they left yesterday. We spent much time
eating & talking with them, & happily they both accepted
Barbara quite readily, although they refuse to condone our relationship
as it now exists. (But this is only a theoretical refusal, since
they even offered us a hotel room one night). It was the first
time I had seen my parents since March 1957. My father seemed
little changed, just slightly greyer, but my mother looked much
older than I remembered her & seems now more closely to resemble
more closely her mother and her sister Gert.
With my parents' help, we were able to sell our return air tickets.
We had to take $135 each for them, though they cost us $155 each,
but we made up this loss by acting as agents for someone else
who wanted to sell their tickets, taking $20 commission on each
one.
The Russian tour on which we were expecting to go for 2 weeks
for $70 failed to materialize. Barbara Perry, the girl who was
supposed to be organizing it, proved most unreliable, & has
now disappeared altogether. (We hear she has gone to Munich.)
We have had little chance to enjoy Vienna as sightseers, since
other problems have always intervened. Today we had to give up
our room & don't yet know where we will sleep tonight.
Sunday, August 9th, 1959.
Despite all obstacles, we have made it to Russia. I am writing
on the train which in a few hours' time will deliver us in Moscow.
It is now 2:30 p.m. We have been travelling for more than 2 days.
How has this all come about? As I understand it, the people from
America who attended the World Youth Festival as delegates came
under the auspices of one or other of 2 committees, which had
their respective headquarters in New York or Chicago. We were
with the Chicago group, led by Barbara Perry. When we reached
Vienna, we found that the New York group, which was considerably
larger, also had much more influence with the festival authorities
than ours. Barbara Perry claimed, rightly or falsely, that her
position as leader of our group was not recognized, and that consequently
it was impossible for us to arrange through her the post-Festival
tour of Russia upon which we had all along been counting. Until
that time, we had been given to understand that, as American delegates,
we were entitled to go on a tour of Russia at a reduced rate.
At first, before we left California, we were told that this would
be a 2-week tour costing $5 per day. (i.e. $70 altogether). But
when we saw Barbara Perry in Chicago, she said it would now probably
be only a 9-day tour for the same $70. Now as the Festival neared
its end however, it appeared there was to be no tour at all unless
we could go with the New York group, which proved both unlikely
and undesirable, since we had a rather poor opinion of the New
York group in general. When we last saw her, Barbara Perry told
us that the Russian tour she was organizing was "on"
again, but when we learned later that she had left town, that
seemed to finish our chances altogether.
Then, however, as Barbara Perry faded out, a new star appeared
on the horizon, in the form of a short stocky Australian Jew named
Adam Rosenblatt. He was a member of the Australian delegation
who was also interested in going to Russia, & decided to organize
a tour of his own, in order to benefit by the reduced rate. He
put up a notice asking for interested people, & saying the
price would be about $120 for about 14 days in Russia, with a
chance of going to Prague for an additional fee.
Many people, almost all Americans, and mostly from the Chicago
group, who had failed to get in on the official festival Russian
tour, were interested, including Barbara & me. We signed up,
and attended our first meeting on Tuesday. From then until our
train left Vienna at 11:10 on Friday, we were almost constantly
preoccupied with making arrangements for this trip. Rosenblatt
proved to be an excellent organizer, but those 3 days were harrowing
in the extreme, and it is still hard to believe that everything
has worked out right. The harrowing part was waiting while Rosenblatt
and an American fellow named Shapiro took our passports, got our
Russian visas, and made arrangements for our tour with Inturist,
the Russian tourist agency. It was not until the night before
our departure that we found out exactly how much the tour was
going to cost us. It came to $122 each, for 6 days in Moscow,
4 in Leningrad, & the rail fare. This was of course much more
than the $70 originally anticipated, but it would still leave
us each about $175 for further spending, and $200 each to get
back to California.
Our group divided into 2, one going straight to Moscow, the other
going first to Prague. B & I are in the Moscow group of 19
people, led by Eugene Shapiro.
Our first train took us out of Austria, across Czechoslovakia,
then across Poland, to the Russian border town of Brest, where
we arrived about 6p.m yesterday. There were many passport &
currency formalities en route. Crossing the "Iron Curtain"
from Austria into Czechoslovakia was quite interesting. We saw
the electrified barbed-wire border, with its watch-towers. Armed
guards searched under every train carriage, & under the seats
inside. But at Bratislava, people greeted us, throwing food and
coins into the train.
Our first night out was very uncomfortable, even though Barbara
& I were lucky enough to be the only people in a cabin of
6 to have benches to lie out on, plus our own sleeping-bags &
pillows. I slept very little, & Barbara was unwell, with a
feverish cold. Fortunately there was an American doctor on the
train, who saw her several times, & by the time we reached
Warsaw yesterday morning, she was well enough to come & walk
around the town with Walt McQuesten & me.
Relations between me & Barbara have not been good, however,
for some days, & this gives me cause for deep concern. In
part, I think the trouble has been that we have had very little
time to ourselves, & to be with each other alone. I have been
so preoccupied with getting us to Russia that I have tended to
neglect her in other ways. Also, my selfishness & reluctance
to spend money has in some ways been coming between us. But I
cannot blame myself entirely. B is often moody, irritable, and
unresponsive without apparent cause. I hope that when we get to
Moscow, & have once again our own room together, we may be
able to iron out some of our differences.
But anyway, here we are, in Russia. So far, there have been no
surprises, except that our train is much better than the one that
took us to Brest, ( on this one, everyone has a sleeping space,
although our quarters are very crowded) & a Russian sea-captain
treated us to a very large long meal in the dining-car, &
afterwards gave us 23 rubles.
Our financial position in Russia looks very promising. Our California
friend Steve White, whom we re-met in Vienna, sold us 350 rubles
at the black market rate which he paid, of 25 to the dollar. The
official tourist rate is only 10 to the dollar. Since our meals
& accommodation are already paid for, we should have no financial
worries in Russia.
The countryside looks as expected. The dwellings mostly of rough
timber. My semester of Russian studies was totally inadequate,
& by now too long ago to be of very great value on this trip,
but was certainly better preparation than nothing at all.
Many men in uniform everywhere. People always friendly. I look
strange to them with my beard & shorts. Last night in Brest,
we had time to visit a public park, which was crowded with people
in light summer dress - heard part of a band concert.
Our last 2 nights in Vienna were spent in the apt. of a family
named Simik. Their 14 year old boy scout son Ali offered to let
us stay with them after he & his friends at the Austrian youth
exhibition headquarters had tried for hours to find us a place
by telephone. He & his mother, sister & brother spoke
very little English, but were very kind. Barb slept on a couch,
& I on the floor beside her. We were both comfortable, &
slept well both nights. On Friday Ali took us to the railway station.
This is my first train ride of any great length since 1953, the
journey to Marseilles on the way to Israel.
It is wonderful to reflect that, for the time being, my mind is
free of great pressing problems. We have managed, in the face
of many difficulties, to sell our return tickets & get into
Russia on a cheap tour. These were my predominant concerns the
whole time we were in Vienna. Of course, had things been better
organized, they need never have been problems at all; but as things
turned out, I consider the fact that we have solved them a great
accomplishment. For the moment, my mind can take a rest, but soon
I know, as always, it will begin to seek new challenges.
Sunday, August 16, 1959
We have now been in Moscow for a week. And, although being here
is the realization of a long-cherished ambition and I am anxious
to make the most of it in every way, it is my relationship with
Barbara, and the problems it brings, that are still uppermost
in my mind. It is now nearly 10 months since our association began,
yet not a day goes by without some sort of conflict between us.
Often the conflict arises out of opposing interests and desires.
I may want to do one thing, B another, but when I suggest that
we each go our own way, this usually puts her in a bad mood. Frequently
her physical weakness vexes me. She will grow tired and want to
go home, while I still have much energy left. Also, she doesn't
seem to know how to take care of herself. She is an extremely
finicky eater. E.g. she doesn't like egg-yolks, so she will only
eat the white part and leave the yolk. She seems to me to lack
foresight in many ways - e.g. she often gets cold because she
forgot or omitted to bring extra clothing for the day.
But then of course there are many things about me which must irk
her, and she is wonderfully tolerant of things like my untidiness.
But being in such close association as we are on this trip makes
us excessively aware of each other's faults & makes tolerance
more difficult.
Today, for the first time since we left San Jose, we are going
to be apart for many hours. Our group was going on a country outing.
At first, B & I were both going to go. But after we got up
early for it this morning, I decided that I would probably enjoy
more a day spent in Moscow on my own, so I backed out but B still
went with the group. I certainly am glad to have some time to
myself. But I hope that Barbara will not feel I am rejecting her.
Thursday, August 20th, 1959.
ESCAPE FROM INTURIST
Today was the official end of our tour of Russia, but the beginning
of our Russian adventure. Yesterday morning we flew by jet from
Moscow to Leningrad, after having been 9 days in Moscow. The flight
took only 70 minutes. We had been hoping to be able to stay longer
at the Astoria Hotel here in Leningrad, but this evening our group
was told by the guide that our rooms were needed, and we must
depart immediately for Moscow. Barbara & I however had no
intention of doing this. We had been planning all along to leave
our group at the end of the official tour & travel about on
our own, if necessary without permission, and with an expired
visa. (Our visas are good until Aug. 24.) We expected however
to run into difficulties because of this. People in general are
not allowed to travel here independently. If you are on an organized
group tour, you must leave the country when your tour is over,
& it is the job of Inturist, the Russian travel agency, to
see that you do.
When we were told, therefore, at dinner this evening (7 p.m.)
that we must be on a train leaving for Moscow at 7:55, and were
asked to report immediately to the hotel manager's office, we
knew that the time for action had come. I myself had long been
anxious to disassociate myself from the group & from Inturist.
We now faced 2 problems however: (1) How to get out of the hotel
with our rucksacks without being stopped (2) Where to stay the
night if we did get out.
Getting out of the hotel proved more difficult than I had anticipated.
The danger was that we would be stopped from leaving until Inturist
was satisfied with our travel plans & arrangements. The guide
asked us to come to the desk immediately, but instead of doing
this, we went upstairs to pack. The main stairway led right down
to the main desk, so I hoped to find some other way of getting
out of the building. We feared that all the hotel staff would
already have been alerted to prevent us from leaving.
As we packed feverishly, the telephone in our room kept ringing,
but we didn't answer it. We feared that every moment someone would
come to apprehend us. Our hallway was commanded by the watch-woman's
desk, but we walked out of the room and around a corner without
anyone saying anything. Then I searched for another stairway &
found one & we started down, but found that it had no outlet
except through the kitchen. We hid for a while in a kind of dark
alcove, feeling like 2 spies or escaping convicts. In order to
get through the kitchen without arousing too much suspicion, I
suggested a plan whereby I should carry both rucksacks, &
Barbara should go ahead of me as if to clear the way and appear
to be in charge of me. But as soon as we got into the kitchen,
we found that the only outlet to the street was through the main
lobby. Fortunately however it was another part of the lobby, where
we were not likely to be seen by the people at the desk. Fortunately
too there was a friend of ours in the lobby named Burt, who helped
us by carrying out one of the rucksacks. The people in the kitchen
must have thought it strange to see us go through, but no one
attempted to restrain us. Soon we were out in the street, donned
our rucksacks, & walked rapidly away. We had got safely out
of a hotel which was as well-guarded as a prison.
We made directly for a student hostel where I had made 2 friends
the previous day, and asked one of them, an Armenian named Manuel,
if we could possibly stay in the hostel. His Director asked us
many questions & we were very fearful all the time that he
would phone the Astoria Hotel & the game would be up. But
to our happy relief, he agreed to let us stay here, & we have
been given a good room with a balcony & a fine view out over
the river. We may stay here 3 or 4 days, & won't have to pay
anything. This is wonderful good fortune for us. The Director
is anxious for Americans to have a good impression of Russians.
Tuesday August 25, 1959
We are back again in the Western World, at a Youth Hostel in Helsinki,
Finland, (my first time in this country) after 2 weeks in Russia.
One result of this journey so far is that I now realize that the
Iron Curtain, which I used to think was largely a Western propaganda
myth, is indeed a grim reality. It was almost as difficult for
us to leave Russia, travelling independently from Leningrad, as
it was to enter the country. And the contrast between Russia and
Finland, as soon as you cross the border, is quite startling -
the buildings here cleaner, newer, & more solid-looking, the
people better-dressed & much more attractive-looking.
Our visit to Russia can really be divided into 3 parts - the 8
or 9 days in Moscow with the group, the 2 days in Leningrad with
the group, and the final 3 or 4 days on our own, which was actually
the best part of the whole trip.
In Moscow we lived at an Inturist hotel called Ostankino, half
an hour by bus from the center of town. At first we had all our
meals there, but in our later Moscow days we were often able to
eat at downtown hotels, such as the Astoria and Metropole. All
of these Inturist meals were paid for in advance as part of our
total fee of $122, which we paid in Vienna, and which also paid
for all excursions & the services of our guide Julius, a small
Jewish-looking fellow (he said he was part Jewish) who always
dressed very informally, usually with a straw hat tilted back
on his head, but who was not very efficient, e.g., we were never
very well informed of our future program. We were free to go about
with the group or not, as we chose, & B & I usually chose
not to, but we were still more or less tied to Inturist by the
fact that our meals & bed were at the hotel. The food was
plentiful, but rarely completely satisfying. There was plenty
of meat, bread, butter, caviar, rolls, potatoes - but little vegetables,
fruit, milk.
Sunday, October 4, 1959.
For some reason I have since the above entry (itself incomplete)
felt little or no inclination to write in here, & have indeed
not done much writing of any kind. This evening, however, I'm
presented with a good occasion. Barbara & I are in southern
Germany, the Black Forest region, & are this evening staying
at a Youth Hostel called Tittisee where we are obliged to sleep
separately, which is a hardship for us, since we have usually
been permitted (as man & wife) to share the same sleeping
quarters. Barbara has not been feeling well today, so has gone
to bed early, & here I sit in the common-room.
As I reflect upon the weeks which have passed since we left Russia,
I realize that for me, this long journey, whose end is not yet
in sight, is primarily important as an experience of living with
Barbara. On the 19th of this month, we will celebrate the first
anniversary of our first date. For the last 3 months, since we
left San Jose, we have been living in almost continual association
with each other, day and night. Our relationship has been subjected
to many stresses & strains, but the bond between us is stronger
than ever, although many problems remain. One of these is that
B still feels a very strong attachment to her mother, & often
has guilt feelings about leaving her alone so long. Another is
that we seem to get along much better together when alone than
when living in any kind of group or community situation. This
is illustrated very well by the history of the last few weeks.
After we left Russia, we decided to make for Switzerland
(I am continuing this entry now on
Tuesday, October 6th, 1959 (in Basel, Switzerland.)
and then go on into Italy, since these were the 2 countries
which B most wanted to see. Accordingly, we set out to hitch-hike
across southern Finland, then, after taking a ship across the
Baltic, down through Sweden, Denmark, and Germany. We left Russia
on August 24, and from then until now, we have spent 18 days actually
engaged in travelling. The rest of our time has consisted of 2
short stops and 2 long ones. We spent one day in Helsinki, 9 days
in Goteborg,
Sweden, one day in Elsinore, Denmark, and 14 at the Freunschaftsheim
in Buckeburg, Germany. It seems remarkably significant to me that
the 18 days of travelling have constituted by far the happiest
portion of our experience. Every time we have stayed in any one
place for any length of time, trouble seems to have arisen between
us. This, on looking even further back, seems to have been generally
true ever since we left San Jose. Our best times have been on
the road.
It is fairly easy to account for this travel-joy. One's life under
such conditions is a virtual embodiment of freedom. Hitch-hiking
in a very leisurely fashion during the day, staying in Youth Hostels
at night (on only one night out of the 18 have we had to stay
at a hotel) devoting the vast majority of one's time to the simple
problems of eating, sleeping and travelling, one achieves a very
satisfying kind of simplicity in one's existence. Of course there
are always problems (financially, for example; though our basic
needs are well provided for, we always have to be very careful)
but these are usually of the kind which unite rather than divide
us. Under such simple conditions, it is possible to take vast
pleasure in little things, like the ritual of getting up in the
morning, shopping for the day's food, and consuming it in simple
roadside meals, & reaching a Hostel at nightfall. Also it
is when living such a life that we are most together and least
subject to the influence of other people.
The reasons why we do not get along so well when living under
more settled conditions, and especially in association with other
people, are more complicated. In Goteborg and at the Freundschaftsheim
in particular, our relationship underwent periods of considerable
unpleasantness. It is difficult to determine any underlying reason
for this contrast in our response to the different kinds of conditions;
but one thing that does seem fairly clear is that the answer is
to be found more in my personality than in Barbara's. It is in
me that the different conditions are most marked in expression,
and thus it is largely I who cause the deteriorations in our relationship
which so concern us both.
There are various possible ways of explaining my difficulty. One
is that I need always to have a goal before me. When we are travelling,
the goal is very apparent; but in many situations, the goal becomes
obscure, and then I tend to become demoralized, tense, and moody,
seeking to escape from reality in the absence of any positive
challenge.
Another factor is that I value very highly my personal freedom
of action, and become unhappy in any situation where I feel that
this has been lost.
Then again, when we are living with other people, it is often
difficult to maintain close communication between ourselves. Misunderstandings
arise, moods set in, giving rise to moods in the other person.
Yet another point to be considered is that the free-and-easy hitch-hiking
life is one that requires little adjustment, except to the elemental
conditions of life itself. If a situation arises which you don't
like, you can soon leave it behind. But in comparison, the other
kind of existence requires a much greater degree of adjustment.
Many little unpleasant situations are likely to arise, from which
you cannot escape, and you are obliged to adjust to them in some
way.
All of these factors will be seen to entered into our difficulties
in one or both of our 2 principle sojourns since we left Russia:
Goteborg and Buckeburg.
(Continuing now on):
Friday, October 9, 1959.
The Goteborg affair began on the 29th of August when we were hitch-hiking
southwards through Sweden. After spending 2 nights at the Youth
Hostel in Helsinki, we had hitch-hiked in cold weather across
southern Finland, made a very rough crossing of the Baltic, and
arrived at the Uppsala Hostel, where we also stayed 2 nights,
mainly because the food was so good, plentiful, and cheap. It
was on the day we left Uppsala that we were picked up by a man
named Anders Hedberg who was going to Goteborg. He spoke excellent
English, was talkative and very friendly, & took us to a fine
restaurant for dinner on the way.
Wednesday, November 11, 1959.
I despair of ever completing the above account, so will abandon
it. I am writing in a small hotel in the town of Foix, France,
about half-way between Paris and Calais. Barbara and I are on
the way to England, and at present we are in the middle of one
of our very frequent periods of ill relations between us. This
one began just a short while ago, after we had finished eating
supper downstairs in the restaurant. It was past 9p.m., &
I reminded Barbara that there were many things that she still
had to do before we went to bed, including writing some letters
(we have French airmail stamps that must be used before we leave
the country, which could be tomorrow), washing herself (she has
not had a bath in a long time, & keeps complaining how smelly
she is & how badly she needs a bath. Our room here has hot
water, and before supper it was definitely her intention to use
this tonight) and trying to defecate (she has been complaining
of stomach pains, and a few hours ago said she thought she should
try to defecate). But now, after supper, she was reading a book
by Ernest Hemingway, and said she did not feel like doing these
things. It was evident to me that this was only the latest example
of one of her most exasperating characteristics - what she herself
calls procrastination. I am sometimes able to influence her to
do such things at the appropriate time instead of putting them
off. But this time my insistence only made her angry, and at length
she stormed out of the room with her book. I presume she has gone
to read in the toilet. Her attitude is undoubtedly that I have
no right to try to rule her life and make her do things when I
think she should do them. But the problem is that she herself
often regrets not having done them when there was an opportunity.
It is now 9:45, and she has just come back into the room. I said
Hello, and she grunted a reply. She is running the hot water,
& making shivering noises. It is certainly not warm here.
I just said "Can I ask you a question?" - "What?"
"Did you have any luck?" (referring to the toilet).
"No." She has now turned off the water and is making
shivering noises. I will now leave this book, & try to approach
and comfort her physically.
Wednesday, November 14, 1959.
11 a.m. We are in England at my parents home in Edgware, in the
same district and just a few yards from the same house where I
passed seven years of my life. We crossed the Channel, and arrived
here on the evening of Nov. 12, 2 days ago, to be greeted with
the news that my father's mother, Grandma Brilliant, had died
early that morning.
So yesterday, while my mother & Barbara stayed at home here
in Edgware, I went down by train to Bournemouth with my father
to my grandmother's funeral. A very strange kind of "homecoming,"
but in a way convenient, since it enabled me to dispose of the
"duty" of seeing all my closest relatives here on the
very first day, without involving Barbara. But there were fewer
people at the gathering than I expected. For Grandma was, I think,
the last of her generation in my father's family.
The funeral was only the second I have ever attended (The first
was that of my Grandfather's brother, Uncle Al) and was mercifully
brief. Leonard seemed the most affected of the 4 brothers. Grandma
was 92.
My father and I came home to a fine chicken dinner, but afterwards
I grew depressed, as I always do after spending any length of
time in close proximity with my parents. They are lavishing the
most elaborate care on us - even bought a bed specially for me
- but our beds are in separate rooms, though this may soon change.
Edgware & Bournemouth have changed very little in 4 years.
Only I have changed.
Friday, November 20th, 1959.
Yesterday B & I booked our passage back across the Atlantic.
We are to sail on Dec. 12 for Halifax on an Italian ship called
the Italia.
I have been exceptionally moody during the week we have so far
been here, and my relationship with Barbara has been extremely
unstable. We are living with my parents in their small bungalow
on Highview Gardens. They are now allowing us to sleep in single
beds in the same room. B & I have spent most of our time lately
in the West End, primarily doing important jobs like arranging
about our passage and getting me a new passport.
Sunday, November 22nd, 1959.
It often occurs to me, when I think about Barbara, that even though
I may try, I find little to praise in her. In many ways, hers
is a rather negative character. She has few special abilities,
and is severely hampered by lack of self-confidence. She seems
to get along with people better when by herself than when she
is with me. I do not enjoy listening to her talk to other people.
She seems to have no desire to create, or to take the initiative
in most situations. It is very easy for me to influence her, but
she does not influence me. Of course, there is an age difference
of 3 ½ years. I am approaching 26. She is only 22 ½.
She has many "cute" and lovable qualities - expressions
of face and voice, the way she walks etc., but I no doubt am the
only one who finds them so. She is faithful and tender-hearted,
good at doing certain things with her hands; but I wish I could
find something in her to admire. I often wish there were some
respect in which she was obviously my superior.
I do not write these things in a bad mood. My relationship with
B at the moment is quite good, although we have been through some
trying times lately. This afternoon we spent several hours holding
a "meeting" with my parents, discussing some of the
problems which have arisen during our stay here, such as my mother's
desire for me to visit many relatives & friends in whom I
have no interest.
Wednesday, December 16, 1959.
We are on board the "Italia," in mid-Atlantic, bound
for Halifax and New York. This is the 5th day of the voyage. We
sailed from Southampton on Saturday at 7 p.m. (7 hours late) and
are due in New York on the 21st. The trip has been rough so far,
with much up-and-down motion, but little of the side-to-side variety.
This is my 6th major sea voyage, so I now have quite a background
of experience with which to judge the present journey.
Our original cabin, on B deck, turned out to be very small &
uncomfortable, so we protested, and with no difficulty at all
were given a much better one, built for 3 people, on A deck. The
food is as usual superb, & our table steward Georgio is exceptionally
good - a charming person, besides being efficient and dignified
- but our table companions leave something to be desired. They
are 2 girls of 20 & 21 from Brooklyn who have been hitch-hiking
in Europe, a young American of 25 named Louis who though not Jewish
has a large Yiddish vocabulary and an apparently extensive experience
of shady business dealings - and 2 young Iranians going to college
in California.
Barbara has been taking seasick pills constantly, and, while not
actually sick, has felt slightly unwell most of the time &
spent most of the voyage so far asleep on her bunk.
The crew is all Italian, & the only unpleasantness I have
had with any of them so far was when I refused to get up from
a vacant deck-chair, for which I was told I must pay $3 for the
voyage. The deck-steward eventually gave up & left me alone,
but I do not really enjoy such incidents.
I have spent most of my time attending ship's activities, like
the movies, "horse racing," concerts, etc., playing
chess, and reading the book Barbara gave me for my birthday, Winston
Churchill's partial autobiography, "My Early Life,"
which I much enjoyed, particularly the accounts of his school
days, self-education, religious ideas, and his escape from the
Boers in the South African war. The book ends when he is 26 years
old and a member of Parliament. He has already published 3 books,
taken part in several military campaigns, been a successful newspaper
correspondent, and become something of an international celebrity.
Since my own 26th birthday passed quietly away just a week ago
in the bosom of my family, comparisons are naturally in order.
What most impresses me about Churchill's book is the keen and
exuberant love of life which permeates its pages. Everything was
a challenge, everything an adventure. He never apologizes for
the lucky accidents of birth and social connection which smoothed
his path, but rather exults in his good fortune.
At 26, my life seems to have been lived far less intensively,
and on a lower plane. I don't envy Churchill his war experiences,
but I do the ease with which he could write and publish. I have
much that I could write and write well. But the prospect of publication
and reward seems so remote that I become demoralized even at the
outset.
Thursday, December 31, 1959
Barbara has reminded me (I had quite forgotten) that I traditionally
write a special entry in my diary on New Year's Eve, reviewing
the events of the past year.
I am writing in a very dingy apartment in a rather dilapidated
motel in the town of Douglasville, Georgia, U.S.A., 18 miles west
of Atlanta, on the road towards Birmingham, Alabama. Barbara and
I are here, as we understand it, as guests of the town. We are
hitch-hiking our way from New York back to California by a southern
route, and our last driver, to our grateful surprise, made some
sort of arrangement with the Sheriff of Douglasville whereby the
town would pay for our lodging in this motel tonight, and gave
us $3 in addition.
We have just come back from a fried chicken dinner in a local
café, after which we quarreled because I didn't think it
was worth the $1.25 it cost us (we shared the one dinner) and
Barbara remarked, just before we were served, that that wasn't
really the best place to be having such a meal - we really ought
to be having it in someone's home. This sent me into a bad mood,
since it was only in order to please her that I had agreed to
go out & have the meal at all. I would have been much happier
eating our own groceries, & feel it is vitally important for
us to save as much money as we can for the difficult days which
lie ahead when we return to California. So here we sit writing
our diaries on either side of a partition.
1959 for us falls into 2 neat halves (1) the period up to July,
when we left San Jose on our journey, and (2) the period since
July 1st, which has been entirely occupied with travelling on
the longest journey either of us has ever made, which is now about
to run into its 7th month.
The primary importance of 1959 to me is that it has been a year
which I have shared. Always before, I have been alone. But this
year, especially in the latter half, there has been no problem
of loneliness. Barbara and I have been very much together, and
the problem has therefore been that of learning to live with another
person. We have come to know each other very well, but I am not
sure whether this has really brought us much closer together.
During the early months of our relationship, it was the things
that we had in common which were uppermost in my mind. Latterly,
however, the differences have become more striking Yet they are
not such as to render our relationship inevitably unworkable.
We are able to satisfy many of each other's needs, though not
all of them by any means. For example, Barbara often feels the
need of some close female friend, & I feel the same desire
for a close friend of my own sex, like Allen.
I imagine that most of our difficulties are such as most young
couples pass through. But we have some special ones of our own.
One of these is that we are not legally married, though we have
been living as such for the past 6 months, with the significant
exception that our sexual relationship does not extend to actual
intercourse. B is far more concerned about this than I. But she
has a tendency to be pessimistic, especially about her family
relationships.
The future at this point appears highly uncertain. We know that
our destination now is California, and I have been admitted to
the University at Berkeley. Barbara had an admission there for
the last semester, but we don't yet know if her application to
have this postponed was accepted.
The time appears ripe for our next big experiment, that of living
together in a single apartment or lodging of some kind, on a semi-permanent
basis, preferably as students at Berkeley. But until we reach
there, we don't know if this will be possible. Undoubtedly Barbara's
mother would oppose any such plan, and Barbara is bound to continue
feeling guilty about going against her mother's wishes. Our life
on this trip has been comparatively free of problems, but we can
expect plenty in the next few weeks. These will include problems
about college, about B's parents and family relationships, about
finances (I'll be poorer than ever before when we reach San Jose.)
In many ways, I have felt in recent weeks that I am almost re-living
my past life of 4 years ago. Then as now, I sailed from England
& travelled to California with very little money & few
plans for the future. The only difference is that this time I
am not alone. But that of course is a very big difference. My
life has been intimately involved with that of a girl named Barbara
for over a year. The early months of this year saw us coming closer
to living together, until at last we took the big leap of going
off on a journey together. We found out that we could live with
each other quite happily in isolation; our best times have been
while actually on the move; but living together in a society poses
much greater problems. The big question is, has this year enabled
us to build a foundation strong enough to meet the many external
pressures and attacks to which our relationship will no doubt
be subjected? To this question, I'm afraid I have no answer. We
can only wait and see.
Saturday, January 9, 1960
The end of our long journey is approaching. By tonight we will
be either in or close to Los Angeles. Right now, we are driving
through southern Arizona in a station wagon. It is our third day
with Bob Wason, a middle-aged man of rather sour disposition,
who picked us up just past Fort Worth in Texas, when we were just
about half-way across the country. He is a bachelor, and recently
gave up a job in an oil refinery to come out to California &
see if he likes it.
My thoughts are all on the immediate future. Good fortune has
been with us lately, so I can be optimistic. Still, there are
many problems facing us. Chief of these are:
(1). Will we both be entering college at Berkeley next month?
And if so, what courses will we take? We were both admitted for
the current semester. While abroad, we applied for postponement.
In England, I received word that I could enter in February. But
Barbara has not yet heard anything. This question of admission
may not be settled until we actually go to Berkeley to find out.
(2). If we do go to college, how are we going to support ourselves?
This is an immediate and pressing problem, since, once our college
fees are paid, our present funds will be very nearly exhausted.
The only answer here of course is that we must work. It should
not really be too difficult, with the help of the college placement
office, to work out some scheme to keep the pot boiling, and my
parents have also offered to send me antiques, & let me keep
any profit I can make on them. But until we actually get there
& start working on these things, it is only natural to feel
anxious about them.
(3). Where and how are we going to live? At the present time,
I think we would both like to try living together, in a single
apartment near our college, and this should be our goal.
(4). What of Barbara's mother? If we find her in dire straits,
as is not unlikely, we will have to help her morally, and perhaps
financially. How much of a strain will this put on our relationship?
(5). What of the future in general? We have made no plans of any
kind. What are our academic & professional goals? What form
is our relationship to take?
In a few months' time, these problems will I hope have worked themselves out. In a way, the present situation bears many similarities to that in which I found myself when emigrating to California four years ago. I look back with satisfaction and pleasure to those days when, starting with very little, I rapidly advanced myself as bank teller, state college student fraternity member, car driver & owner, camp counselor, & scholarship holder, all within a few short months. Yet so much time has now elapsed since all that took place that returning now will be almost like starting all over again. This time I have a few more assets: a teaching credential, a car (if it is still working), admission to a good university. In fact, if it were not for the complications which Barbara brings into the picture, everything would look very bright indeed, though this has never occurred to me until this moment. On the other hand, she means more to me than I probably realize myself. Indeed, it would be more correct to say that she is my chief asset.
Saturday, January 29, 1960.
DIFFICULT DAYS
We returned to San Jose on January 11th, after an absence of over
6 months. Since then, our lives have been full of care, activity
& worry, particularly about money. We have not been able to
make as much as I had hoped, and the result is that, with Berkeley
registration approaching in a few days, we have not now enough
money on hand to meet all our immediate expenses, i.e., registration,
rent, and subsistence. In consequence, I have had to write to
Myrna & ask for a $100 loan, out of the fund my parents left
in Los Angeles.
3 separate blows hurt our financial position: (1) I had been hoping
that we would be able to use the San Jose State College placement
office to obtain jobs. We were, at first, but then the director
said we no longer could, since we weren't registered students.
This made it much harder to find work, & in fact, the only
work we were able to find after this blow was a very poorly-paid
job delivering telephone books. (2) Through the placement office,
B was able to get a job working a multiplying machine which paid
$12 a day & lasted 9 days. But for 5 of those days she had
flu, and was unable to work, losing us $60. (3) It cost $59, much
more than we had expected, to get my car in good running order,
and I made the great mistake of paying in cash (when I could easily
have arranged terms) before calculating how much cash we could
afford to lay out.
I am nearly always concerned about my financial position, but
it is very rarely that I am really worried about it. It is so
bad at the moment, however, that we hesitate to spend money even
on food or gasoline. Once the check from Myrna arrives, the immediate
pressure will be off. And we know that we will be receiving tax
refunds totaling well over $100. So things aren't really so bad.
And, since we have actually paid our registration fee ($71 each)
we will be in school again, even if we can't afford to eat or
sleep!
My next big worry concerns my career as a student at Berkeley.
Officially, I am supposed to begin working towards a Ph.D. in
History. Yet for various reasons, this does not seem to me to
be such a good idea at this time: (1) I have no great desire to
embark on a rigorous academic program right now. As a distant
goal, a Ph.D. does seem a good one for me, since it does offer
the prospect of a rewarding permanent position in some kind of
college teaching. With an M.A. in Education and a Ph.D. in History,
I should qualify for practically any teaching job I would be interested
in. But, at this time of life, I have more compelling preoccupations.
(2) The "sex and marriage settlement" is not yet completed.
Barbara is unwilling to live with me in Berkeley. Temporarily,
we have obtained for her a room in a girls' boarding house at
$30 a month. The most she will consent to is an arrangement similar
to the one we had last year in San Jose, living in adjacent self-contained
apartments. But on our present budget, this would probably be
impossible to find. B will begin moving into her boarding house
tomorrow. But I haven't yet taken any place at all. With my relationship
with B still in this unstable state, I still can't feel ready
to devote myself to a prolonged course of study. (3) But B does
not want me to embark on a Ph.D. program. Nor does our good friend
Hartley Kern, with whom & his wife Margie we have stayed for
a total of 11 nights since our return, in their apartment in Menlo
Park (including the entire period of B's illness.) They both insist
strongly that this is the time to at least an experimental career
of writing and publishing. They remind me that I have always wanted
to do this, and that it should no longer be delayed. It is true
that I have for a long time been looking forward to my "years
of creativity," but what B doesn't seem to understand was
that this was to follow the Sex & Marriage settlement.
In other words, I don't feel capable either of writing or of studying
until some kind of stable settlement has been made with Barbara.
Her ideal settlement would be legal marriage. Yet this is still
utterly abhorrent to me.
Were it not for this problem, were we only living securely together,
I think I would feel the time very ripe for my creative years
to begin. As things stand, however, it seems that I will have
to compromise with the situation which confronts me, and at this
moment, the best idea seems to be to enroll at Berkeley, but take
a minimum load of work, a sort of token beginning on my Ph.D.
program, leaving myself plenty of time to make money, work things
out with Barbara, and explore the writing field.
Wednesday, February 3, 1960
The move to Berkeley has been more or less accomplished, but at
the cost of much pain and anxiety, especially on my part. Money
is a chief worry, also the question of college. Today we registered,
but programs have yet to be made definite.
My only consolation at this time is that at least I have a room
of my own once again. I am living on the top floor of a dingy
old building at 2523 Dwight Way. The room lacks much, chiefly
a refrigerator. But it is "home," & in time I can
get it & myself organized.
Thursday, February 4, 1960.
A day of much depression for me, with B away in San Jose until
late evening. I went down to Mountain View with Bill Speth, hoping
for more phone book delivery work, but none to be had, so we came
back. But on the way in Berkeley we looked in some antique shops
& I was able to sell for a total of $5.50, 2 of the items
my parents had sent for me to try my hand at the antique business.
This was a profit of about $2.50 over what they had paid.
My college program remains unsettled. I have applied for admission
to 2 seminars, but am not yet definitely accepted. I became very
despondent today walking about campus & library, wondering
whether it was not all a mistake, whether I would not be acting
truer to myself to give up all for writing.
Friday, February 5, 1960
Things began to look just a little brighter today. Food is important,
& I haven't been eating well lately, through dislike of spending,
with money so short, but today I laid in a few supplies which
make me feel more secure, though my room still lacks a refrigerator.
This morning I took an examination in French, to qualify for admission
as a graduate to the History Department. It was simple French-English
translation, & dictionaries were allowed, so I found it quite
easy.
My room is still in a disorderly state, but gradually things will
get straightened out.
Good news - I at last secured an odd job through the placement
office, for moving work tomorrow aft. at $1.40 an hour. This greatly
heartens me. I even got a history book out of the library &
read half of it, and entertained Myra, Allen, & others as
guests in my room. Things are certainly looking up.
Monday, February 8, 1960.
Gradually I feel I am making progress in the great task of getting
organized. The first few days here at Berkeley were hellish, but
things are slowly improving. Food has been a basic problem. A
refrigerator in my room would make things much easier, & I'm
working to obtain one through the landlady. Money has been a problem,
but already we have both secured odd jobs through the placement
office, and barring unexpected calamities, it seems we should
be able to support ourselves allright.
My academic position, which at first was highly obscure is now
gradually clarifying itself. Today I learned that I had passed
the French exam, and also that I had been given one of 8 places
in a seminar for which at least 13 had applied. These are heartening
news, calculated to help boost my wilting ego.
My relationship with Barbara needs much work. With us living apart
now, it has become highly irregular, though we usually meet at
least once a day.
My odd job was helping a family move. I was paid $7 for about
4 ½ hours work, and in addition was given a large number
of paperback novels & magazines, mostly science fiction, more
than 300 in all. Today I went to several used book stores, &
was able sell practically all of them for $13, which makes me
feel quite pleased with myself as a businessman.
Thursday, February 11, 1960.
Tonight as I sit alone in my still-far-from-organized room, I
am rather depressed. Three intervolved main problems sit heavily
upon me - college, money, and Barbara. Returning to college to
work on a Ph.D. would not be a bad idea, if I could make that
my main concern. But so much else in my life remains unsettled
that I am wondering whether I can continue to take the strain.
The situation is in a way unhappily reminiscent of my days at
London University before my breakdown, though the problems were
somewhat different.
Money is a primary concern. The university placement office here,
upon which I had placed great hopes of finding work to support
myself has so far led to only one odd job, though I check in regularly
every day. The place is always so crowded that I sometimes have
to wait over an hour to be seen there. All possibilities of making
money however are of course far from exhausted. Today, after several
unsuccessful attempts, I obtained a job as a dishwasher in a men's
boarding house. For washing dishes for 1 ½ - 2 hours every
evening (except Sunday, when they don't serve meals) I earn 3
meals 6 days a week. The trouble is that this place is on the
North side of campus, 15 minutes' walk from where I now live.
I will try it for a few days however, just for the sake of having
a few square meals (I've been living rather meagerly ever since
we came to Berkeley) even though the first one I had this evening
was disappointingly poor in quality.
If we had money, Barbara & I could find a place to live together
again, which would be much better for both of us, I'm sure, than
the present arrangement, although we would have to learn how to
study in each other's presence.
Tuesday, February 23, 1960.
The job of dishwashing in exchange for meals mentioned above has
turned out to be a great success. For the first time since I left
home, I am living in a settled situation in which I am receiving
a guaranteed 3 good square hot meals every day (except Sundays).
The work involved is usually done in about an hour. The place
where I eat takes about 10 minutes from my room, & about 5
from the university library.
The job and financial situation have also been looking up. The
placement office is now giving me odd jobs almost every day, &
I am beginning to think of limiting my weekly working time. In
addition, my parents have written that they are sending me $100.
My routine during the last week or so has revolved around studies,
jobs, & meals. I get up about 7, go for breakfast at 8, then
to the placement office to see if I can find an odd job. If I
can't, I spend the day studying, mostly in the library. Lunch
is at noon (my time from 11:45-12:30) and supper 5:30-6:15. After
supper, I read in the toilet until I am called to work with 2
boys named Bob at washing the dishes. After this, I go to the
library & sometime between 10 & 11, I come home, have
a snack & go to bed. Occasionally I see Barbara or have a
seminar.
Monday, April 4, 1960.
The happy situation described in my last entry lasted with a few
alterations and improvements until 3 days ago, when I was fired,
along with one of my 2 fellow-dishwashers, from the job which
had earned me a steady supply of extremely good meals. It seems
our employers were not satisfied with the quality of our work.
It is true we rushed through it as fast as possible, and we had
been repeatedly warned, e.g. that we were not leaving the glasses
clean enough. I don't know why only 2 of us were fired - perhaps
that the third might train the 2 new hands. Although the job meant
a great deal to me in terms of security and the regularity it
gave to my life (I never missed a meal when I could help it) I
did not take my dismissal very badly, for in a way the job encroached
considerably on my freedom. The main reason why I took it in the
first place was that I had not refrigerator in my room, &
I could therefore not feed myself very well. But several weeks
ago I did manage to obtain a refrigerator, from the apt. across
the hall. So now I am back in my customary role of bachelor student,
preparing all my own meals, & supporting myself by odd jobs.
The readjustment period which began today however (I spent the
weekend with Hartley and Margie Kern in Menlo Park) is proving
very difficult. My meals and job at White Shingles determined
the whole shape of my life for the past 7 weeks. Now everything
seems empty. I have no real occasion to leave my room, except
to attend my rare classes. Things will no doubt work out in time.
It has taken me a long time to get my room organized, the main
reason being that until recently I have hoped at the end of each
month that Barbara and I would take up residence somewhere else
together. But this idea is now more or less in abeyance until
the summer. A few weeks ago, I finally devoted some time to installing
a double bed in my room. Until then, I had been sleeping on a
mattress on the floor. Now Barbara comes and stays overnight with
me about twice a week, on Tuesdays & Saturdays.
Mail from England has brought word that my mother has been ill
with bronchitis. This is I think her first serious illness in
her life & naturally much disturbs me, causing me to have
many morbid thoughts.
For the first time in almost 2 years, I have submitted some magazine
contributions - one to "Argosy," a man's magazine (my
article about zeppelin observation cars written 2 yrs ago) and
one to the "New Yorker" (my parody of Robert Frost's
"Mending Wall") I think my submissions of good quality,
but to have either of them accepted seems beyond my dreams. Still,
it is significant that I have at least begun to try. I would far
rather be a successful writer than get a Ph.D. & become a
college professor, even though the latter does seem to offer much
more in the way of security.
Wednesday, April 21, 1960.
I had been hoping by now my academic situation would have clarified
itself and I would have some vague plan for the future. But things
continue to drift, and I still lack a sense of positive direction
in any but the most immediate matters.
My chief hopes had rested on my application for a teaching assistantship
for the next college year. If successful, it would mean a good
assured income, valuable experience, and a sorely needed boost
to my ego in terms of prestige. If not, at least I would know
where I stood; such a failure might very well suffice to make
me lose interest in a Ph.D. altogether, & concentrate on commercial
writing in which I have begun to dabble during the last few weeks.
The result of my application, however, turned out to be neither
acceptance nor rejection. It seems I have been put on a list of
alternatives, to be called upon in case any of those selected
do not take up their position. It also appears that there is a
good chance I may be needed, but that I may not know for sure
until September. Well, at least it is better for my ego than being
rejected outright.
My academic career, however, remains confused and disorganized.
At present I am attending two once-a-week seminars, and nothing
else. In one seminar (Mr. Bean) I have a definite topic, "Prohibition
and Contempt for the Law," on which I have given 2 oral reports
(the second today) and am due on May 26 to give in a long written
paper. The other seminar deals with different topics every week,
& so far I have had to do only one definite piece of work,
an oral report on American entry in the First World War. Neither
of these seminars do I find enjoyable, except on the rare occasions
(as today) when I myself take a leading part.
For a couple of weeks, I attended some other courses as an auditor,
at the behest of my adviser, but I couldn't get interested in
them either, & so stopped going.
So far, I haven't made one good human contact in the whole university.
I have made little effort to take part in any college activities.
With regard to my commercial writing efforts, I received a few
days ago my first American rejection slip, from the New Yorker,
for a parody poem I sent in.
Financially, I am just about breaking even these days, though
my joint bank account with Barbara now has about $120. Barbara
has been helping me in many ways, e.g. doing my washing, criticizing
my writings & reports. Our relationship on the whole is good.
She stays with me here about twice a week. (But I often find myself
becoming infuriated at her irrational behavior. E.g., for over
a year I have been trying to get her to wear a wrist-watch, but
she continually fights this idea, claiming she doesn't need one,
& so does nothing either to obtain a new one or to get her
old one fixed - or at least she doesn't do enough to satisfy me
that she really wants it done.
Monday, April 25, 1960.
The idea of professional writing has taken a grip on me, and I
have done more this month in the way of submitting manuscripts
for possible payment than in my whole life before. This is the
goal I need. Academic achievement no longer attracts me. One more
long grind of reading and writing and exam-taking towards one
more degree holds little attraction when I have 2 similar experiences
behind me.
But professional writing is something new and challenging. It
is what I have always wanted to do - seek to support myself entirely
by my writing-- but have always had to defer because of some other
goal. But now I can see that academic and teaching goals mean
very little to me; and my relationship with Barbara is approaching
some kind of permanent settlement. This will leave my mind free
to concentrate upon the next great project - the years of Creativity.
I realize however just how much of a raw beginner I am. The task
before me is not only to write and to improve my writing, but
to secure recognition for what I produce. And the kind of recognition
upon which I have made up my mind, at least as an immediate goal,
is publication and payment; I am no longer satisfied with the
idea of merely getting into print. That is too easy, and I have
done it many times before. What I now want to do is break into
the writing market. This requires much study of magazines, and
as yet I have hardly begun.
But I have started to send out manuscripts, so far all of things
written before this month. I have already received 2 rejection
slips, and 4 mss are still in the mail, with another ready to
go tomorrow. I have begun to collect magazines of various titles,
& also to study them in bookstores & libraries. I have
begun to read books about writing, and this evening actually attended
a meeting of the Berkeley Co-Op Writers' Group, though I was disappointed
because not one of the people there had published anything themselves,
or seemed to know any more about the writing business than I do.
All of this enthusiasm and activity on my part is only the result
of years of hoping. If I achieve any success, it will not be because
in April 1960 I decided to take up professional writing, this
has been my most dearly-cherished goal.
Tuesday, April 26, 1960.
I seem to be enjoying one of those rare "lucid" periods
in my life, when the dust of confusion appears for a brief while
to settle, and I can look about me at the landmarks past and future.
Twice before in my life, at London and at Claremont, I have worked
for and achieved academic degrees. But on each of those occasions,
I was economically secure, and did not have to work to support
myself. In London, I was supported first by my parents, and then
by the government. At Claremont I had a scholarship, plus my own
savings. Here at Berkeley, however, I am entirely dependent upon
my own day-to-day earnings. And, although my needs are small and
15-20 hours of work a week can keep me going, the fact that I
have to work is a distracting factor, when the goal is one as
demanding as a Ph.D. degree.
I have tried several times to alleviate this situation. A year
before I came to Berkeley, I applied both for a scholarship and
for a teaching assistantship, without success. This year I applied
again for a T.A.ship, only to be told that I have been put on
a sort of substitute list, and whether I get the post or not depends
on how many people drop out after accepting one; and I may not
know definitely one way or the other until September. This, I
feel, is not enough to pin my hopes and plans on. Yet I do not
feel prepared to face another semester of the kind of hand-to-mouth
existence that I am now enduring.
If I had some kind of financial help, then I would be prepared
to make professional writing and a Ph.D. dual goals. But, as things
now stand, I prefer to abandon the academic idea, at least for
the time being, and concentrate on writing. But still there is
the economic question. And here the best answer seems to be substitute
teaching.
Saturday,May 7, 1960
Dissatisfaction is the subject of my present thoughts. To many
people, and to myself in times past, the position in which at
present I find myself might seem highly enviable. I am a registered
graduate student at one of the best universities in America, with
a limitless future of academic accomplishment before me should
I set my mind to it. I am financially independent, being able
to support myself completely by working an average of 20 hours
a week. In addition to this economic freedom, I have the security
of possessing a teaching credential with which I can always earn
much more money in a short time should I so desire, and my parents
are continually offering and sending further financial help in
the form of shipments of antiques which they invite me to sell
& keep all proceeds.
In the realm of sex and companionship, I have a girl who is virtually
my wife, yet who presses no ties whatsoever upon me. In my relationship
with her, I have the maximum of freedom with the maximum of security.
I feel that I love her and that she loves me.
I am in excellent health. I am living in one of the most desired
regions in the world. There are any number of opportunities open
to me.
Yet withal, I am dissatisfied. And I feel that dissatisfaction
arises from an unfulfilled social need. I need friendship and
communication with other people, and not just with one. And I
need some kind of recognition. I want to feel that there is some
kind of a group or circle in which I belong.
So far, the only friends I feel I have in Berkeley are those I
knew before I came here - Kit & Bill Speth, whom I visited
this evening, Barbara being away in San Jose. I have grown too
dependent upon Barbara for my human contacts. When she is away,
I seem to have no-one. I do not even feel complete visiting other
people when she is not with me. Yet this is obviously a fault
in myself which I must cure, for there are going to continue to
be many times when Barbara is not with me, especially when she
is with her family and friends in San Jose.
I have been feeling for some time that I should begin to cultivate
other friends. There are several possibilities: (Marvin Treiger,
whom I first met in 1957 when on a Friends Service Committee weekend
project at an Indian reservation. He is now married & a student
here. He has a beard, like me. I know little about him but I feel
we might have some interests in common. (2) Art Weston - close
long-time friend of Allen Carrico, also now a student here - a
world traveler & adventurer. (3) Mr. Drinnon, professor of
American History, a liberal, very interested & concerned with
civil rights, connected with Acts for Peace organization. (4)
Mr. Khan, graduate student from Pakistan, in one of my seminars.
The truth is that, although I have Barbara, I still feel lonely.
No one person can fulfill all of another person's needs. I need
at least the companionship of another man.
Tuesday, May 10, 1960
All day I have felt depressed. The cause may be physical. I lead
an irregular life - eating, sleeping, working, studying without
any schedule-drifting. I don't know what I want to do; but I know
that I am very dissatisfied with things as they are at present.
I do know that I want to make more friends, live with Barbara,
have more money. But I am dominated by a sense of purposelessness.
I keep hoping for something unexpected to turn up and alter the
course of events for the better. The manuscripts I sent out last
month have nearly all come back rejected. I feel completely out
of society. Surely a change must come soon.
Wednesday, May 18, 1960
Things at the moment seem to be looking up. I have recently become
very busy. (1) I am working towards 3 academic objectives, all
due next week: a long paper on Prohibition; a report & paper
on Senator McCarthy; and a Spanish exam which only luck will get
me through. (2) My money-making opportunities are multiplying.
I have a job in the print-shop of the University Herbarium. More
antiques have arrived from my parents to sell. Random odd jobs
and my twice-a-week job at the YWCA continue. (3) Contact is being
restored with old friends. Last Sat B & I visited Kit &
Bill. This eve, we had an enjoyable time with Gale Galant and
her friends in San Francisco. Saturday I hope to see Allen for
the first time in months. (4) Today another of my manuscripts
came back from a magazine, but for the first time a personal letter
accompanies it. The letter from "Argosy" says "I'm
sorry we kept this so long only to return it. We considered using
it quite seriously, and only at the last stage of decision was
it decided against." This is the first word of encouragement
of any kind that I have had from an American publisher, and means
a great deal to me.
Friday, May 27, 1960
My first semester as a graduate student of History in the University
of California came, in effect, to an end today. For more than
a month I have been very busy, mainly with writing a long 48 page
paper on "Prohibition and Contempt for the Law," which
I gave in 4 days ago to Mr. Bean - and with preparing a short
paper and an oral report on Senator McCarthy and McCarthyism which
I delivered in Mr. Drinnon's seminar. In addition, I was worried
about a Spanish examination which I took yesterday. Ph.D. candidates
are required to pass 2 language exams. I had already passed one
in French at the beginning of this semester, and decided to try
for the second one in Spanish because all that was required was
a translation into English, and dictionaries and grammar books
were allowed to be used. I originally planned to give myself some
intensive practice in translation for the week or two preceding
the exam. I was too busy with my other papers, however, to be
able to do this. But, as it turned out, I don't think it was necessary,
for I feel I did well enough to pass the exam.
Now at last all the pressure is off. I am "free." As
usual on such occasions, all I want to do for the immediate present
is to relax and enjoy the sense of freedom. It won't be long,
however, I know, before the problems of assessing the past and
planning the future begin to make themselves felt. But things
seem generally to have been going well lately, and at the moment
I have no fears about what lies ahead.
Wednesday, June 1, 1960.
As I anticipated, the feeling of delight in freedom which I expressed
in the last entry soon passed, and I am now beset by depression
and confusion, longing for some new goal.
The weather is hot. Money is a big problem right now, not for
myself, but for Barbara, who is going to attend a University Summer
Session.
My strongest desires at the moment are for escape and friendship,
yet neither seems to be in the offing. B. is busy with exams &
I see her little.
I ought to be busy writing more magazine contributions, but can't
make myself get around to it. I feel tense, anxious & dissatisfied,
but am confident that these things will eventually straighten
themselves out.
Two days ago, I finally took off my beard, which I had been growing
for just about a year. Main reason: I hoped it might improve my
human relations.
Monday, June 20, 1960.
At the moment, I feel very dissatisfied with my life. Since the
college semester came to an end 3 weeks ago, no new pattern has
emerged. My big hope was that I would be able to work out some
new and better living arrangement with Barbara. I am very tired
of living alone in the cramped quarters on Dwight Way which I
now occupy. Some change I feel is essential. The most desirable
one would be to set up house in this neighborhood with Barbara,
and of late I have been concentrating much of my energies towards
this end - scanning the classified advertisements, cycling around
with B to look at places, having long depressing conversations
with her on the subject of marriage. But so far my efforts have
been thwarted, and, with only tend days to go before another month's
rent here will be due, I feel quite despondent.
The chief factor frustrating my present progress are (1) Barbara's
uncertainty about her willingness to live with me unless legally
married (which we are both uncertain about.) The best hope seems
to be for us to maintain 2 places - 1 apartment for us to share,
and one room somewhere else, which she can maintain as her "official"
address, for the purposes of avoiding the social consequences
(particularly with regard to family) of being known to be living
with me. But this of course would be very expensive. (2) The difficulty
of finding the kind of place we want at a suitable location &
reasonable rent. Right now, B's rent is $30 & mine $37.50
per month, & we don't want to spend much more than that. But
we want an apt. large enough so that we can each have a room of
our own. It is B who insists on this because she says she can't
stand my untidiness. (3) The period between the end of B's final
exams and the beginning of the summer session in which she is
taking a 4-unit German course, which was the best time for us
to make the big change, is now over, and as B becomes more involved
in college work again, it becomes more difficult to arrange about
other things.
I am so generally dissatisfied about this situation that my entire
view of life is affected. I have been working many hours in the
college Herbarium print-shop. But, although the job was interesting
at first, I am now very bored with it, and disturbed because it
pays only $1.47 an hour, and I know I could be making much more
if I had some kind of steady job. But I don't feel prepared tom
look for steady work until my relationship with B is put on a
better basis.
Other projects and interests too, such as writing and studying,
I have neglected entirely of late, and feel bad about that also.
Some kind of settlement must emerge from all this, but at present
the prospects do not look encouraging.
There have been few other developments worthy of record. Last
week, we finally bought a record-player. It cost $35 second-hand
from a couple contacted by means of a notice-board ad. Now at
last we can play all the records I have been getting free by joining
various record clubs under false names. I have also been getting
many new books and magazine subscriptions by the same means.
Tuesday, June 28, 1960
Slowly a new life pattern is beginning to take shape, but the
process is a very painful one.
After many days of search, Barbara & I have taken a new common
residence. We decided several days ago upon an apartment in a
house just across the street from where Barb is now living. The
address is 2505 Parker. The rent is $90, considerably higher than
we wanted to pay. But, considering everything, it was the best
we could find. Among other things, it is close to the university
and large, giving us each rooms of our own plus a common living-room,
kitchen (though this is rather small) and bathroom. Apart from
the high rent, the only serious disadvantage is that, although
our quarters are upstairs & quite separate, they have no door
to separate them from the hallway-entrance, which we share with
a couple who live downstairs.
Barbara, as always, is extremely reluctant to make the move. More
and more strongly now, she feels that we ought to be legally married,
especially because of the pressure her parents have been putting
on her. Two days ago, when we both visited San Jose, her father
spoke out with surprising directness to the effect that I should
either marry B or break up with her. "She's my kid,"
he kept repeating.
I myself have been having some unusual thoughts about the present
situation, though I have not as yet shared the most novel of them
with anyone. To my great surprise, I find the prospect of legal
marriage to Barbara less and less as an anathema, and more and
more as the only possible solution for many of our difficulties.
Ideally I wish that she could look upon the institution of legal
marriage, especially for childless couples, as an empty useless
sham, as I do, and that she were as willing as I simply to live
as man and wife, and encourage other people to regard us as such.
But while she is willing to do this to a certain extent, it is
entirely different where her parents are concerned.
It appears that, if we were to marry legally, this would square
things with B's parents as far as it is possible to square them.
But there are still my parents to consider. For things to be square
with them, mere marriage to Barbara would not be enough. But there
is, I feel fairly certain, one thing we could do which would stand
a good chance of completely reconciling them. Barbara would have
to become a Jew. Not too long ago, this idea seemed quite absurd
to me, and aroused the utmost hostility and contempt. Yet now,
for the past week or so, I have been giving it serious consideration.
To me, both legal marriage and formal religion are empty forms;
yet, if they will satisfy other people and help to make my lot
easier, I am coming close to the point where I will feel prepared
to countenance them.
Though as yet I have given B no hint of my thoughts, I feel that
an arrangement whereby I agree to marry her after she has been
officially admitted to the Jewish faith would in many ways be
an excellent settlement. That way it would not be I alone who
would be making a sacrifice in order to satisfy the family &
social obligations of the other partner. B has expressed much
interest in the Jewish religion, & has several times said
she would like to feel part of some body of culture and tradition
such as that of the Jews.
Of one thing I feel fairly sure: as soon as I raise this new proposal,
the pressure will be taken off me and distributed more equally
between the two of us. Conveniently also, we have the precedent
of several cases of conversion to Judaism by Hollywood celebrities,
two of whom, Marilyn Monroe and Elizabeth Taylor, did so when
they married Jews.
Friday, August 5, 1960
Today was the last day of my 4 weeks as a counselor at the East
Oakland YMCA day-camp.
This experience seems at the moment to have been a failure for
me in every way. As time went on, I became more and more dissatisfied,
until by today I had become utterly demoralized. It was not even
well paid. My take-home pay amounted to about $230.
My misery was compounded by the fact that Barbara had decided
to go away on an 8-day trip to Lake Tahoe with her friends the
Patnudes. I had made no plans & felt deserted & desolate.
This first evening has not, however, gone too badly. I have managed
to keep myself busy, & Larry Kirsch has come back to stay
here again. But still I have no plans. Suddenly the "future,"
which I have been ignoring all these past weeks, is upon me.
Everything of course depends on my mood, which has been so bad
lately that it can probably only improve.
Friday, August 25, 1960
Today I bought an FM radio for $33.25 (including tax). Thus our
material possessions accrue.
As an evening walk, we visited International House. A worldless
world.
Friday, August 26, 1960
It is 10 a.m., & some hours ago an event occurred which may
prove to be of profound significance, & will no doubt in any
case make the next 2 weeks very difficult to live through.
B & I were having intercourse in bed. I as usual was wearing
2 rubber sheaths, a practice I began in the early months of this
year, when our mode of intercourse became such as would more likely
lead to a pregnancy. This method had never given any trouble,
& I had come to think of it as more or less foolproof. I had
put the sheaths on before going to bed last night, they had been
on all through the night without being used. This morning however,
they broke - both of them-and at our point of orgasm. I withdrew
immediately, & Barbara went into the bathroom. But we have
no douching apparatus, & all she could do was shower, &
wash the area with soap & water. It happens to be almost 2
weeks (one day short) since the onset of her last menstrual period,
& so, as I understand it, the time when conception is most
likely to occur. This is the closest we have ever come to the
fact of pregnancy. We are both trying to be brave & positive
& cheerful about it, talking for example about going to England
to have the child. But we cannot deny that it is one of the last
things that we could have wanted to happen.
Thursday, September 15, 1966
Can nothing pull me out of the general moral, spiritual, and intellectual
stagnation into which I seem to have been sunk for months or even
years?
I am obsessed with a sense of emptiness and futility in my life.
I have so many things that I have always wanted - love, a home,
virtual economic security. Yet I am quite discontented.
Is it that I have nothing left to strive for? Of course, there
are still goals to be reached - a Ph.D., success as a writer,
material prosperity. But somehow they do not seem to offer enough
of a challenge - I doubt their worth. The urgent drive, the singleness
of purpose which in the past has helped me to obtain my goals,
seems now to be lacking.
Besides, the goals conflict, and I can't choose between them,
so I try to combine all, with unhappy results.
Right now, apart from the possibility that B may be pregnant,
it is college that I am worried about more than anything else.
The whole thing produces tension in me. Perhaps I ought to avoid
it altogether. But most of the tension arises from indecision.
Yet economics has a great deal to do with it. My best academic
work has been done when I was free-est of outside commitments
and distractions.
Tuesday, September 20, 1960
A very sudden change in my status has come about. I have got what
I wanted. Yesterday morning I learned, to my amazement, that the
History Department had at the last minute granted me the teaching
assistantship for which by then I had given up all hope. In theory,
this solved all my immediate academic and economic problems. But
in practice I find myself now in a state not of elation but of
great confusion.
It happened so suddenly! Yesterday morning, I woke up, a miserable
graduate student, clinging to the hope that I might be able to
retain at least a toe-hold in the academic world while battling
my economic problems. The ties between myself and the university
seemed very slim indeed. Today I find myself a member of the academic
staff of the university, drawing a salary of $225 a month, responsible
for conducting 3 class meetings (totaling 45 students) per week,
giving assignments and grades, holding office hours, and dressing
in a suit! It's almost unbelievable.
If only I could have had some advance warning! Most of my fellow
teaching assistants were actually notified of their hiring during
the Spring. In response to my application, I was placed on a list
of alternatives, and told that I would not know for certain whether
or not a position would be available until September. In consequence,
I have lived for many months in a state of uncertainty and consequent
demoralization. If I could have known at the end of last semester
that I would begin as a T.A. in the Fall, my whole summer would
probably have been much happier.
Apparently the reason for the suddenness was a much greater enrollment
than anticipated. I was told yesterday that the History Department
had not only to use all those on the alternate list, but even
to call on others whose applications had been rejected altogether.
So now I am assigned to a course called 17a, a survey course in
American History for freshmen and sophomores (with 7 other T.A.s)
I work under Professor Ross (new to the Faculty) who lectures
to the (approximately) 360 students twice a week in a large lecture
theater in Dwinelle Hall. About 45 students are assigned to each
T.A. They are divided into 3 groups of 15, and the T.A. meets
with each group (which I think is called a section) once a week.
These meetings, as I understand it at this point, take the form
primarily of discussion groups, in which the discussion, led &
structured by the T.A., revolves around the subject matter with
which the professor has dealt in his lectures. The T.A. gives
his students tests and assignments, and gives them a grade which
counts (in this particular course anyway) for 20% of their final
grade for the course.
There are 3 main reasons for my present confusion: (1) I have
to start planning for my T.A. responsibilities. I have only just
learned (in a conference with the 7 other T.A.s) what they are,
& my first section meeting will be in 2 days' time. (2) I
have to get my own Ph.D. studies organized. (3) I have all kinds
of practical problems connected with clothing, eating, etc.
No doubt all this will get straightened out, but in the meantime,
life is going to be rather hellish for a while. Still, I think
this kind of hellishness is preferable to that which preceded
it.
Thursday, October 26, 1960
I have of late been out of touch with myself. College work has
kept me so busy that I have had to set contemplation and introspection
aside. Yet I feel the need of such mental exercise. I often feel
that I should write in here more regularly and frequently. Perhaps
that would help my mind to get organized. - But isn't that putting
the cart before the horse? Doesn't my mind have to reach a sufficiently
organized state before I can write out my thoughts? Well, it is
a fact that for 10 years I kept a daily diary with phenomenal
fidelity, regardless of changes in mental state.
I want to write about life as I am now living it, in order to
get some perspective on things. The unusual thing about the present
situation is its regularity. This past month has been the most
stable we have seen since Barbara & I first met. We are living
together in a place which, while it has its shortcomings, is generally
satisfactory to us, and there does not appear to be any reason
why we couldn't go on living here indefinitely. We are economically
quite secure. My job as Teaching Assistant brings a check (after
deductions) of $194 a month. Barbara has 2 part-time jobs, one
as cashier at the YWCA every day, and one as printer in the Botany
Department, a job which I had first several months ago, and then
passed on to her. These jobs are fairly secure, and my T.A. contract
runs until next summer (with presumably good chance of renewal).
In addition, there are other opportunities of making a little
money from time to time (e.g. Barbara's old landlady Mrs. Lewis,
who now lives elsewhere, still calls me up to do odd jobs for
her.)
Academically, we are both well-entrenched in our studies, and
are working towards definite goals, B towards a B.A., which she
hopes to obtain at the end of next semester, I towards a Ph.D.
for which my prospects are still rather vague.
Against this background of stability, many problems are to be
seen. Socially, our lives are somewhat lacking in content. I in
particular feel bereft of friends. Hartley & Margie Kern are
now in England (fortunately we hear from them frequently). Allen
& Myra Carrico are in New Zealand. Such dear friends as these
are irreplaceable.
Perhaps it is partly because of this that I tend to shy away from
people generally. I want to be left alone to concentrate on immediate
tasks. I avoid thinking as much as possible, except about matters
of the moment.
One relatively new factor which has emerged this month is a sense
of intellectual inferiority, and, allied to this, an apparent
inability to express myself orally. In my 2 graduate seminars
in particular, and when talking with other History graduates generally,
I often feel that I am out-classed. But this inability to express
myself is something quite surprising. I think it is really because
in general I don't have anything to say. Since I try to avoid
thinking, I don't have any thoughts to express. I am very self-conscious
& lacking in confidence. Unfortunately, this applies even
to the 3 weekly "section-meeting" classes in American
History over which, as teaching assistant, I preside.
But you must also take into account that my knowledge of History
is both limited and rusty. I have very little doubt that, of the
8 T.A.s who are connected with the American History survey course,
I am the one who actually knows least about the subject. For,
after all, the month marks my return to the study of History after
an absence of over 5 years. During that long interim, my contacts
with the field were very superficial. At Claremont I took a course
called "American Social History and the National Character,"
but all that I did there was write a paper on the U.S. as seen
through foreign eyes in the years 1915-25. At San Jose State College
I had a course in Russian History (the one in which I met B) up
to about 1860; and last semester at Cal I had 2 graduate courses,
one in which I wrote a paper on Prohibition - and one in which
I read a few books and listened to people talk about Recent U.S.
History.
None of this can serve very much in the way of preparation for
the work I am now doing. The course in which I am a T.A. is a
survey course in U.S. History. The last time I did any real work
in this was at the University of London, over 5 years ago. One
of my 2 graduate courses this semester is with Dr. Jack Pole,
who was actually one of my teachers at University College.
My point is that I find myself now among a group of people who
have been studying History for years, without any break, and who
have all the facts and ideas at their fingertips. Thus, I am at
a disadvantage, and feel it keenly.
But my other graduate course, in Historiography, under Dr. Schorske,
presents an even more discouraging situation. For there I am pretty
sure that none of the others know much more about what we are
doing than I do, but they all seem very much more confident, especially
when it comes to round-table discussion. I feel out of my depth,
and frequently very bored.
Perhaps this kind of feeling will fade away in time, as I learn
more, and become more accustomed to my new position. At the moment,
however, the going is still very rough, and there is no shortage
of work for me to do.
Sunday, October 30, 2015
GROWING OLDER. In many ways, I become aware of changes in myself.
Externally I am treated in a different way. E.g., people who work
in the college library call me "sir."
I am approaching 27, and as I become older it is more difficult
to make re-adjustments. Security becomes more important.
Yet the adventurous side of my nature is not entirely dead. At
present, I lead - let us face it - a very dull though secure life.
The majority of my time is spent sitting and reading, or trying
to. What particularly irks me is that, when I do want to take
a break, exert myself physically, enjoy a change of scene, nothing
seems readily to offer itself. I have no friends, no hobby of
such a nature as to afford relief from my daily grind. Besides,
I have always preferred to concentrate on one thing at a time.
At present, I am concentrating on college studies. I attend lectures
and seminars which are mostly very dull. I read parts of books
(usually for lack of time), but rarely have a chance to discuss
profitably my reading with anybody else. I write papers for professors,
and mark other papers which my T.A. sections have written for
me. In all of these activities, I feel very much alone. Barbara
& I have little time to discuss our studies with each other,
which is a great pity, since we are both studying History &
could help each other a great deal.
Am I really doing what I want to do? No, I am paying a price for
my security. Perhaps it would be different if I were past my Ph.D.
examinations, and free to work on a single topic of consuming
interest. But right now I have to divide my time among different
courses and requirements. As always, I seem to be in a situation
where I must sacrifice present happiness for future rewards. What
are those future rewards? The first major goal is to pass the
exams, which it now appears I will not have to take for over a
year. At present, that seems a terribly difficult project in itself,
and I can easily foresee myself failing. But if I do get through
them, the following period presents a very pleasant prospect -
writing my dissertation, working perhaps as a T.A. at the same
time, but having nothing else to do.
Then there is the even more hazy prospect of working full-time
as a college teacher; but that is only appealing as a chance to
make more money. I would like to have enough money to go on a
new trip & travel more comfortably than in the past.
Saturday, December 31, 1960
This is my traditional "new year" entry. 1960 has in
general been a remarkably "settled" year for Barbara
& me, becoming gradually more and more so as time went on.
Returning from our long European trip in January, we came to Berkeley
and the University of California. For the first half of the year,
until the beginning of July, we lived separately in furnished
rooms, but only a block apart. Then in July we moved for the first
time into a single apartment of our own, but one large enough
for us each to have separate rooms (not generally needed for sleeping!)
The money problem was solved by the usual expedient of odd, part-time,
& temporary jobs. The summer passed rather miserably for me,
especially the month I worked as a counselor at the East Oakland
YMCA day-camp. B went away for 9 days to Lake Tahoe with her friends
the Patnudes, while Larry Kirsch stayed here with me. The big
event and lucky break of the year occurred in September when,
after all hope had been long-abandoned, I became a University
Teaching Assistant, with a salary that eased our whole economic
position.'\
Besides this new role of T.A., and our living together in settled
circumstances, the year, though on the whole a decidedly uneventful
one, has brought new experiences and situations. One has been
the antiques importing business arranged with my parents. They
have sent about 10 parcels, containing about 200 small items which
they buy from dealers in London, and we try to sell them to dealers
here. The business has been moderately profitable.
A rather more interesting and exciting kind of "business"
was my thoroughly illegal practice of sending away for goods,
mostly books and records, using coupons printed in magazines,
using a false name, and then ignoring the bills which arrived
with the merchandise. This campaign proved amazingly successful.
In its heyday, when I was living alone on Dwight Way, I was receiving
parcels almost every day addressed to "Arthur Finch,"
"Murray Wilder," or "Craig Randolph." I was
able to do this without fear of detection because all mail was
delivered on a table in the hall, and I put no apartment number
on my orders. After moving from Dwight Way, I had things sent
to the Carricos' address in San Jose, until at last the residents
of that house grew fearful of the possible consequences, and refused
to accept any more such mail. Barbara too put much pressure on
me to stop. But I would be pretty willing to continue even now
if I could discover some new address to use. The "haul"
was tremendous, and I have kept most of it, selling only a few
things to used-book stores.
Another new experience has been acting as frequent host in our
apartment here, especially during the summer. This in general
did not prove as pleasant as I had hoped. Larry Kirsch has been
our most frequent & also our most agreeable guest. Some others
have been (overnight) Myrna, Archie & Pearl Bogat, (recently),
Allen & Myra, Hartley & Marge, Walt McQuesten. Despite
the number of guests, however, we do not have many "callers."
The year has been notable for the departure of good friends. In
August our dear friends Hartley & Margie Kern, to whom we
had been so close, especially during the weeks just after our
return in January when we stayed in their apartment in Menlo Park
(B had the flu there for several days) started started out on
a long-planned "grand tour," largely inspired, I think,
by our own travels. We hear from them frequently & at last
report they had temporary teaching jobs in a London comprehensive
school. In September I watched Allen & Myra sail for New Zealand
as emigrants. Since then, Myra has had a baby boy, but we have
heard little else from them.
Another notable feature of the year has been our acquisition of
material possessions. In the past seven months we have acquired
a record-player, an FM radio, a toaster, a Polaroid camera (bought
just a few days ago second-hand for $50 - I haven't had time to
use it yet) and a wrist-watch and hair-dryer for B.
We have done very little travelling. The farthest afield we have
been together have been trips south to Los Angeles (to visit Larry)
and north to Legget (to visit Walt McQuesten.)
School of course has occupied probably a majority of our waking
hours, though neither of us has been conspicuously successful
academically. My most notable achievements have probably been
passing the 2 required Ph.D. language exams (both very easy -
the Spanish since dictionaries allowed) in the first semester,
getting an A on a 50 page paper on Prohibition that I wrote for
Mr. Bean's seminar, and securing the Teaching Assistantship. B
has been extremely busy, and has done best in German so far.
It seems that every year I have to say "This year was not
a success socially." The pattern unfortunately continues,
even though we are now a couple. New friends are hard to come
by, and we miss the old. We have few people to go and visit, or
to visit us. I have made a definite attempt to cultivate the friendship
of Roger & Nancy Sharp. Roger is one of my fellow T.A.s, &
they live only half a block from here. We watched the election
campaign debates & the returns on TV at their place. But so
far, we are far from close.
Other memorable things about 1960 for me include these: the Caryl
Chessman ordeal. (Chessman executed at San Quentin in May, after
spending 11 ½ years on "Death Row." He was a
habitual criminal convicted of rape, but during his long imprisonment
seems to have undergone an amazing transformation, & wrote
several books, one of which, "Cell 2477 Death Row,"
I read & was much moved by. Towards the end, a worldwide campaign
urged his reprieve, but Calif governor Brown would not act. I
heard a broadcast from the prison at the actual time of execution,
& was considerably shaken.
My own unsuccessful campaign to achieve national publication -
I sent several things in April to different magazines, but all
came back; my 6-week job as one of 3 dishwashers at a men's boarding-house.
My pay consisted of 3 wonderful meals a day. I was fired April
1, with one of the others, for alleged incompetence; my other
jobs as printer for the Botany Department, which eventually I
passed on to B & she still has, and part-time dishwasher for
the student YWCA cafeteria, which B secured for me while she was
working there. She still has a job there, which supplies $1.25
and one good meal every weekday; our 2-week pregnancy scare in
September, since when we have avoided anything like full intercourse,
even with 2 rubbers, & practiced interfemoral coitus instead;
our job together in January delivering telephone books, especially
the day I got soaked, but carried on heroically.
The new year does not appear to offer the prospect of any drastic
changes; the summer is the big question mark. I am getting to
dislike long vacations.
I suppose I myself am changing, becoming more set in my ways,
more desirous of security, and perhaps a little less of freedom.
I do not think abstractly any more than I can help. My main pleasures
are very basic physical ones. I am generally happiest when working
on some particular project which is challenging, but within my
capacities, especially one involving writing.
With regard to the world situation, I become increasingly optimistic
as time goes on. All we have to fear is accidents, and of course
accidents are possible everywhere.
I live from day to day, rather than with long-term objectives
constantly in mind. My mind is always on the next small objective.
It is best, I find, not to think too much about the future, or
about anything else for that matter. Such a philosophy may not
seem very noble, but at least it seems to render life fairly liveable.
Monday, January 2, 1961
Yesterday I went for a hike in the hills by myself, a rare experience
for me these days. Originally, it was to be a foursome, but Roger
& Nancy Sharp had a change of plans, & B is not that fond
of hiking. I made it across the hills to Orinda, & came home
with 2 sore feet, but a slightly more ruddy complexion. The best
part of the journey was when I was most alone, moving down a rolling
green valley. It was a disappointment eventually to come upon
an extremely busy freeway, cutting directly across this valley.
It proved to be an extension of Tunnel Road, leading from Oakland
to Walnut Creek. I followed it to Orinda, and eventually hitched
a ride back through the tunnel on a motorbike. Earlier, when still
in the foothills, I had climbed for a while with 2 boys about
8 or 10 years old. They showed me where on a previous hike they
had scratched their names on a large rock. I tried to impress
them with a sense of the immutability of nature, saying, "You'll
be able to come back here when you're 60 years old, and find your
names still here." But instead of being impressed, they challenged
my idea, saying that houses would probably be built all over there
by then. There struck me as something significant in this sense
of impermanence on the part of young children.
Tuesday, January 3, 1961.
Yesterday evening B & I met formally by arrangement to discuss
some of our complaints against each other which seem to have been
building up of late. We each had a fairly long list of grievances,
but managed to reach some kind of settlement on all of them. Examples:
B complains of my frequent noisy smelly farting. I agreed to pay
her 5 cents for every audible fart made in her presence. I complained
of her sometimes wasting small quantities of food, but agreed
to drop the complaint, since it seems to be a very touchy subject
with her. She complained that I criticize her too much, &
in order to curtail constant criticism, we agreed to hold in future
weekly meetings such as this one, & defer all criticism to
them.
Today I took my first picture, of B posting a letter, with my
new Polaroid camera, which I bought t week ago. I have wanted
one of these cameras for years, in fact ever since I knew they
existed. I finally obtained this one by replying to an advertisement
I saw in the Co-Op. The 16-yr old boy who owned it brought it
here & demonstrated. He wanted $70. I offered $50 cash &
he took it. With the included accessories, it would have cost
me new well over $100. The first picture came out well, only a
little dark.
A letter from my mother today announces that she will pretty definitely
be coming over this summer, mainly, apparently, for the sake of
seeing Myrna. It is only a year since my parents saw me, but nearly
4 yrs since they last saw Myrna. The letter says they offered
to pay Myrna's expenses if she would come to England for a visit,
but she refused - so Mohamet must come to the mountain. I often
have day-dreams about making my parents happy, eg by being able
to pay for them to come & visit or settle here. But in practice
I do very little. I don't even write to them very often, though
they cherish every letter.
Wednesday, January 4, 1961.
This morning I saw a dentist at the college hospital for the first
time in a year. As usual, there is work to be done - fillings
& cleaning. I should go at least once a year, but this is
a very easy thing to put off when there is no immediate need.
Kit & Bill Speth dropped in yesterday eve. Bill has been away
doing geographical work in Trinidad for several months, but the
way he talks about his experiences does not make them sound very
interesting. In fact, Kit & Bill's company is usually rather
boring. So, I'm afraid, is that of the other couples we know here
- Roger & Nancy Sharp, & Art & Jean Weston. We too
probably seem boring to them. I still feel that I am searching
for a real friend, to replace those now beyond reach.
I am working on a paper on Henry Adams as a historian. This is
the major project of the moment. The last was a paper on slavery
in the ante-bellum South, submitted yesterday. I never have enough
time on these things to do a really good job.
Thursday, January 5, 1961.
B, as frequently, is in a rather over-wrought condition over her
studies. Several times this semester, she has come home &
cried over a test or paper on which she felt she didn't do well.
Yesterday she cried over a grade of C+ given on a paper she wrote
for a Political Science course which she is taking on a "Pass
or Fail" basis. Undoubtedly, she has too heavy a load this
semester. But it looks as if next semester is going to be a repeat
performance, for she is determined to graduate in June. Her present
plan is to become a buyer-trainee this summer, though as far as
I know, she hasn't yet looked into the practical aspects of this.
She says she is interested in the possibility of taking up this
kind of work as a career, but I fully expect her to be back at
school in the fall.
Friday, January 6, 1961
We saw a film last night, "Dead of Night," that I have
been wanting to see for years. A series of ghost stories, but
not as good as I hoped.
I went to a Hillel meeting this eve, just to see Henry Shaw, the
London Hillel Director, who was to speak there. I was surprised
that he recognized me at once by name, after 5 ½ years.
Soon I'll be able to apply here for citizenship. I hope I can
manage to get it without having to give up my British passport.
B looks unwell & is working too hard.
Saturday, January 7, 1961.
My Henry Adams paper is proving very difficult to write, for I
really don't have sufficient grasp of the subject. As long as
I can grind out about 4 pages a day I am satisfied, but yesterday
I did only 2, and today have added only 2 ½ so far (7:30).
It is amazing how slowly I write.; but then, this is not only
the first draught, but also the final copy. That is how I usually
write my college papers - compose them in their final form as
I go along. Erasable typing paper is a big help here, for minor
corrections & changes
Sunday, January 8, 1961
Paul & Wanda Houghton, old friends from San Jose (they now
live in Novato, and may move to Berkeley) paid us a surprise visit
this eve. They have a cute 4 ½ month baby girl. Lisa. Haven't
seen them in a year. We were very unprepared to receive guests
- both working hard on papers due for school next week. I tried
twice to take picture of them with my new Polaroid camera, but
both were over-exposed & I felt very disappointed.
Monday, January 9, 1961
Work continues on our papers - me at my typewriter in my room
on Henry Adams, B in her room at her typewriter on Frederick the
Great. I am interested in little else than this current project.
Fortunately, it is all that I need to be interested in, since
there is no other work pressing. In fact, my life of late has
been rather pleasantly relaxed, with plenty of time to enjoy my
meals, read the newspaper thoroughly every day, share a pleasant
supper-time with B (usually she prepares the meal & I wash
up) and no sense of having to rush, while at the same time having
enough to keep busy.
My T.A. duties are nearly over for the semester, apart from marking
final exams. Today I saw one of my sections for the last time
as a group. I didn't even realize it was the last time until they
all told me at the end. I didn't have time to think of anything
appropriate to say, so nothing appropriate was said.
Tuesday, January 10, 1961
It is 6 p.m. B's big Frederick the Great paper, a semester project,
is due at 7 p.m., and, as is usual with her in such cases, she
is still frantically at work on it. This characteristic seems
almost incurable. The paper will get in on time, but the strain
on my nerves in the meantime is almost as great as on B's.
I got my 30-page paper on Slavery back from Mr. Pole today. He
had disappointingly few comments to make about it, but gave me
an A- and said it would be considered first-class work in London.
So now I can be pretty sure of getting an A in that course, whose
last dull 2-hour meeting was today. In the Schorske Historiography
course, for which I am writing the paper on Henry Adams, I expect
to get no better than a B, no matter how good a paper I turn in,
since my other paper was given a B - - and my contributions to
discussion have been of negligible value.
Wednesday, January 11, 1961.
I have just had the dental appointment which had been looming
ominously ahead all week, and was delighted that (1) I needed
only 1 filling (2) this was performed with virtually no pain -
the Novocain injection really didn't hurt at all, though that
was the point at which I was most tense & found myself breathing
very rapidly (3) the dentist, a very efficient young man named
Dr. Grast, cleaned my teeth at the same time, so I don't have
to go back again for another appointment.
With B we have s special dental problem, since she has a dental
condition which requires frequent cleaning, about once every 3
months. The college clinic where I had mine done refuses to handle
this, & our problem is mainly one of expense. The cheapest
place apparently is the San Francisco medical department of the
university, but it is difficult & inconvenient to arrange
this. The result is that B, who takes much prodding in such matters,
is very long overdue for cleaning. I will bring this up at our
next (third) weekly meeting.
Thursday, January 12, 1961
Late tonight I have finished my paper on Henry Adams. Although
it contains little deep or original thinking, I have worked very
hard garnering ideas from various books, & trying to organize
them into a reasonable form. I feel pleased with my effort, which
is due & will be submitted tomorrow, but I don't expect Mr.
Schorske to be very impressed with it.
Friday, January 13, 1961
I have given in my Henry Adams paper, and, as usual in cases where
I come to the sudden end of a long project upon which I have been
deeply engaged, my satisfaction is not unmingled with regret.
This past month, I have been almost constantly with reading for
& writing papers, first on slavery, which ran to 30 pages,
and then Henry Adams (25 pages.) The only other academic goal
now remaining for this semester is my Upper Division course (Bridenbaugh)
in American colonial history, for which the final exam with be
in 5 days' time, on Jan. 18. It seems that, if ever I am going
to get a Ph.D, it is my writing ability rather than anything else
which will carry me through.
Saturday, January 14, 1961
10:45 a.m. Suddenly I am in a hospital facing an operation for
Appendicitis. The pain began about 1:30 p.m. yesterday, but I
never dreamed it might be appendicitis, for my whole stomach hurt,
not just one part.
At about 6 p.m., after waiting in vain for the pain to diminish,
I went to find B in the Library & told her I was coming to
the Cowell Memorial Hospital. She came with me, &, as I half-expected,
they kept me overnight. I have seen 3 different doctors, had 2
blood-tests, an x-ray, & been attended to by assorted nurses.
The pain has continued, without getting better or worse, &
about ½ hour ago I probably had appendicitis, & would
be operated on about 2:30 p.m. today.
Fortunately all this could hardly have happened at a better time,
since my major academic responsibilities are now over, & the
next semester doesn't begin for several weeks.
Somehow I am able to accept everything that is going on without
thinking too much about it. The only thing that really distresses
me is that the doctors are not absolutely positive I have appendicitis
- apparently they never can be until they actually operate.
I have not eaten since the pains began (here I am forbidden to),
and feel hunger pangs without really feeling hungry.
It seems as if it will take me some weeks to recuperate, which
may be a rather awkward time.
Fortunately, I don't have to worry about medical expenses, since
I believe it is all covered by my registration fee.
I am in the new wing of Cowell Hospital, right on the University
campus, room 220, which contains 2 beds, but so far, I am the
only patient here.
B came this morning, bringing me some books etc., & has now
gone to the library, but will return before the operation begins.
I feel no sense of fear. In fact, an experience like this somehow
makes me more philosophical about mortality. If I should die in
the operating room, so what? It is pain which is the evil, and
this stomach pain really is something new for me. It would have
kept me up all night had not nurses brought sedatives at my request.
But they would not bring me a third pill, after 2 successive ones
had brought me about 3 hours sleep each. So, from about 3:45 a.m.
onwards I was in quite a miserable condition, though I was able
to sleep during that time for about 1 ½ hrs.
My temperature is over 100 degrees, and I feel rather weak, but
have no positive symptoms noticeable to myself, except the stomach
pain. According to the Dr., as I understand him, I have an excessive
number of white corpuscles in my blood, which indicates the presence
of infection.
It seems a pit that, since I must be in hospital, I cannot be
here with a complaint which allows me to enjoy the food, which
an orderly tells me is quite good.
The Dr. says about 80% of the people operated on here for appendicitis
prove in fact to have it. The other 20% presumably prove to have
been opened up in vain. Naturally I hope I am not one of that
20%.
11:50 An orderly has just been in to shave off all the hair on
my abdomen and pubic region. He used a safety razor, & did
a surprisingly good job, with a minimum of discomfort to me.
My last surgical operation was the removal of my tonsils &
adenoids in 1939 or 40, when I was 5 or 6. My last hospitalization
was my 7 weeks at the Maudsley Hospital in London, during my nervous
breakdown of 1954.
Sunday, January 15, 1961
3:50 p.m. The crisis & operation are now well past,& it
is merely a question of recuperation now. I have just seen Dr.
Clausen, the surgeon who operated on me yesterday. I really did
have appendicitis, & he said my appendix was pretty "hot."
He said he had to make a rather longer incision than usual, since
my appendix was rather further towards the middle of my body.
All day I have felt wonderfully relieved & quite content.
The only pain is that of the wound itself, & that doesn't
bother me as long as I stay in one position.
I stopped writing yesterday when I did not feel able to go on.
A short while later - at about 12:15 - the very worst part of
my ordeal occurred, when I began to shiver violently & uncontrollably,
with teeth loudly chattering. I rang for a nurse, who came &
put more covers on me, & gradually the shivering subsided.
But it was that symptom which made me realize just how ill I must
be.
At about 1:30 I was given an injection which, as I understand
it, was a preliminary to the general anesthetic which I was to
be given in the operating room. I was still conscious when B came
about 2 p.m., before they wheeled me away. I remember being awake
for several minutes in the operating room, while nurses in green
made preparations before the doctor came. But I must have lost
consciousness completely before the final anesthetic (gas, I suppose)
was applied, for the next thing I remember was waking up here
in my bed at about 6 p.m., with B and a nurse (& doctor?)
present, and being unable to believe that I had actually already
had the operation.
My stomach pain was gone, but the new incision pain was there
to be reckoned with. I felt, & have continued to feel, extremely
weak, & apparently it is the medical policy to keep me partially
drugged. I had a sip of water, & one of broth, thus ending
the longest fast I have ever endured (about 28 hours) but didn't
have a real meal until this morning, when, after a good night's
sleep (aided by another injection) I was given some broth, jello,
& tea. Since then, I have been fed at regular meal-times,
but not large meals.
B stayed with me for some hours this morning & will be back
at 6 p.m. It is surprising what a difference it makes to have
her here, though her bedside technique could do with some improvement
- she tends to talk much about illnesses.
My temperature has on the average been a little above normal.
I have been too drowsy to do any studying, though B brought my
books.
The Dr. says I should be out of here by Thursday, which means
I will pretty definitely have to take a "make-up" exam
in my American Colonial History course, since the Final is on
Wednesday. As for my T.A. responsibilities, the final there is
on Tuesday, and I don't know whether or not it can be arranged
for my to mark my Section papers. I certainly won't be able to
if I am kept under constant sedation like this.
Apparently though, according to the Dr., I will not have to stay
indoors at home after being released from here, so not too much
time will have been lost.
Monday, January 16, 1961
10:30 a.m. I passed a rather disturbed night, perhaps due to the
latest phase of my recovery, "gas pains," which I was
not expecting, but which were peculiarly intense this morning.
These seemed rapidly to disappear, however, soon after I was given
a "pain pill" though the pill has left me slightly groggy.
I had 2 sleeping pills during the night, & slept intermittently,
getting up painfully several times to urinate. (I haven't yet
defecated since the operation.) It was really quite surprising
to me how weak I was yesterday. It took considerable effort to
get out of bed & shuffle painfully to the adjacent bathroom
& back. Today, however, the pain of the incision seems slightly
diminished. The wound is of course covered by a large adhesive
bandage & I have as yet no idea what it will look like.
I have actually managed to begin studying again, though I am not
trying to do more than a little at a time. This is my third full
day in the Cowell Hospital, & I feel I am getting excellent
treatment. Every day, I am washed in bed. My temperature &
pulse are taken numerous times. B should be here about 12 or 12:30.
So far, I have had no other visitors, though I have not been very
anxious to have any.
It is interesting to reflect that what I am recovering from now
is not appendicitis, which presumably was cured the moment my
inflamed appendix was removed, but the damage inflicted to my
body in order to remove it.
Today for the first time, I have been able to get up and walk
a few steps out into the corridor just for exercise, but I still
don't feel very energetic. No doctor has yet come to see me today.
Tuesday, January 17, 1961
Gradually I recuperate. I passed a much better night last night
- they gave me 2 sleeping pills at once, & that did the trick,
though I still had to get up once to urinate.
There are so many different doctors, nurses, & other attendants
here that I don't have a chance to get to know any of them very
well. Since I am still the only occupant of this 2-bed room, I
cannot compare this experience socially to my only other period
of extended hospitalization - my 7 weeks in 1954 at the Maudsley
Hospital in London. Barbara comes to see me twice a day, but she
has so far been my only visitor, & can never stay very long,
since this week finals begin. I have rather mixed feelings about
visitors: on the one hand, it seems quite unjustifiable to exploit
my present position to get people to come to see me who ordinarily
never would (or rarely.) On the other hand, I really do like to
have company & it seems a sorry reflection on my general social
adjustment that there are so few people who even miss me.
Until this morning, I had not moved my bowels since Saturday morning,
although by yesterday I was being fed quite normally. Today, I
asked if anything could be done, and a nurse came & inserted
a suppository. This, after an interval of about 40 minutes, had
an almost awesome effectiveness. In 15 minutes on the toilet,
I endured the equivalent of many orgiastic passions, and now feel
very relieved and cleared out. I don't know, however, how long
it may be before I will be able to defecate without artificial
aid. The doctor said this morning that this is the true test of
when I will be fit to leave the hospital. She also confirmed that,
at the time of my operation, my appendix was just on the point
of rupturing.
Wednesday, January 18, 1961
2:05p.m. "Day by day," as they say "I am getting
better and better." I can now get up, put my clothes on,
and walk about this floor of this hospital, down to the "solarium"
where I can chat with other patients, a surprising number of whom
seem to be either mental cases, or suffering from mono-nucleosis.
I don't have to stay in bed any more. Today's best news is that
I was able to defecate this morning without any artificial aid,
although with some pain and difficulty. The latest estimate is
that I will be released from hospital on Saturday. My only negative
symptom today is an unpleasant itching in the region of my wound.
Yesterday evening , after B's visit here, Roger & Nancy Sharp
came & stayed about 1 ½ hours. Roger brought the stack
of blue-books (final examinations) which it is now my responsibility
to mark, and we spent most of the time discussing American colonial
history, in preparation for the impending final exam, which Roger
must at this moment be taking, but which I don't know when I will
be able to take. B brought my new Polaroid camera, & today
she took a picture of me in bed. (I took off my clothes &
went to bed specially for it.) To my delight, it came out quite
well. The new 10-second film makes the process virtually instantaneous.
I have been feeling a renewed sexual interest yesterday and today,
& last night in bed I actually tried to masturbate, lying
on my stomach, but my sedative took effect before I was able to
get anywhere.
B is going through her usual period of examination hysteria, &
this doesn't make her an ideal visitor. From that point of view,
it is a great pity that this illness could not have occurred at
a time when she might have been able to spend more time with me.
As it is, all time spent visiting me is time when she could be
studying for exams.
Thursday, January 19, 1961
11:15 a.m. I have begun to be affected by "hospital blues."
There is much that I could be doing-reading studying, socializing,
marking papers, writing letters, but nothing appeals, & I
feel mopy.
The Doctor hasn't yet seen me today, & it seems there is a
possibility that she may remove my stitches. I am continually
amazed at the precision of hospital routine. Every morning at
6:30 I am awakened by a nurse putting a thermometer into my mouth.
After that, I usually sleep another half-hour or so, and breakfast
is brought in at 7:30. During the day, my temperature and pulse
are taken several times.
The room is cleaned & tidied by a variety of men & women
every morning.
I suppose in a manner of speaking, I was very close to death on
Saturday. Had the appendix ruptured, & help not been close
at hand, I could easily have died. On the other hand, as it happened,
I was in the best possible hands, & thus never in any real
danger.
There has lately been much news of violence on this campus. Last
summer, a murder took place in the library, & the killer has
just been tried & found guilty. A few weeks ago, a student
worried about finals, committed suicide by jumping off the Campanile
(clock-bell-tower). Yesterday we heard of a shooting in Dwinelle
Hall. Somebody killed an English Department T.A. and shot an English
professor named Parkinson. All this to me indicates no special
propensity towards violence at UC, but rather the great size of
the institution, which is so large that such incidents are statistically
almost inevitable.
Last night at last I masturbated, with great satisfaction.
Friday, January 20th, 1961
4:10 p.m. Today at last my itchy bandage and stitches were removed,
and I was allowed to go out for a walk. If I wished, I could have
been released today, but B prefers to have me here until tomorrow
afternoon, since she is having final exams until then.
The doctor, an English woman named Meekle, removed the little
black thread stitches very neatly & with hardly any discomfort
to me.
When B came after lunch, I went out with her for my first walk,
onto the campus. It was a bright warm day, & everything seemed
delightful, if somewhat confused. We went to the History Dept
office, where I picked up the paper I had written on Henry Adams
for Mr. Schorske, & which I submitted a week ago. I was very
pleased to get the grade of B+ and a comment which praised my
writing. He gave my last paper a B - -, and I don't know of anyone
getting as high as a B+ from him.
I myself graded papers this morning - final exams from the American
History course in which I am a T.A. But I did an extremely superficial
job, scarcely even skimming most papers & getting through
all of them (about 35 2-hour papers) in a few hours. I had no
interest in the task at all, but it had somehow to be done. The
only important thing was to assign a grade to each paper. That
I did. Amen.
Saturday, January 21st, 1961
3:35 p.m. I am home at last, but feel dizzy and confused. I fear
it may take several days for me to readjust.
Physically I am still of course not in perfect shape. I seem to
be constantly "aware" of my abdomen. I still get pains
when I cough, sneeze, or laugh. But it is mental recovery which
right now seems more of a problem.
To complicate matters, B too seems to be in need of help. The
final exams have dominated her life, & there is still one
more to come on Tuesday. Her preoccupation with college renders
her less able to help me, though I definitely feel in need of
mental support right now.
My immediate problem is having too little to do, rather than too
much. There are things to be done but right now I don't seem able
to apply myself to anything.
Sunday, January 22, 1961
2 p.m. On my first full day at home, I am still feeling dizzy
and somewhat demoralized. Very likely, I would have felt this
way at the end of the semester anyway, but my week in hospital
has not helped matters.
Monday, January 23, 1961
6 p.m. Today I fainted, for only the second time in my life. The
first time was 5 years ago, on April 18, 1956. The occasion was
a film on Caesarian delivery of a baby. Today's occasion was rather
similar, except that, instead of a film, it was an illustrated
magazine article.
I was in the "stacks" section of the college library
this morning, looking through the old bound volumes of "LIFE"
magazines, which I find endlessly fascinating. In the edition
of February 24, 1941, I came upon an article on appendicitis,
illustrated with detailed drawings showing how an appendectomy
is performed. I was delighted. Having just experienced thioperation
myself, I want to know all about it. I had already read every
encyclopedia article I could find on the subject, but had not
yet found any good pictures. I began to read this article very
carefully, studying all the pictures. As I went on, I began to
feel unwell, and realized that what I was reading must be affecting
me. But I was extremely interested in it, and didn't want to stop.
A few pictures before the end, however, I felt that I must stop,
or I might faint. I then made what I now think was a bad mistake.
What I should probably have done was to bend over & sit with
my head between my knees. Instead, I thought it might help me
to recover if I got up & walked about a bit. So I stood up,
and began to walk around the stacks. I had gone only a short way,
however, when my sight began to fail. Things seemed to turn yellow,
and become indistinct.
The next thing I remember, I was lying on the floor on my back,
and somebody was kneeling over me, telling me just to lie there
while they went for help. I realized at once what had happened.
My head hurt where I had knocked it on the floor in falling, &
I still have a bump there. Later, I discovered a cut under my
right eye, but I can't figure out how I got that, unless perhaps
my hand was in front of my face when I fell, and a fingernail
did the damage.
Apparently no one saw me fall, but one person heard me, &
it was he who went for help. Help seemed to be rather long in
arriving, & I felt rather foolish lying there alone on the
library floor. By the time a man, an official of the library,
came, I was able to get up by myself. I went into his office &
was given a drink of water, & rested a short while. It was
there they told me to put my head between my legs. I explained
how I had come to faint. They said usually at least one person
per semester faints in the stacks, often because of final exams.
I was soon able to return to my desk, but almost at once, had
an urgent call to defecate, which I suppose was in some way connected
with the fainting, since I had already had my usual fully satisfactory
bowel movement.
The only thing that puzzles me is, to what extent my operation
was a factor in my fainting. Of course, I was reading about exactly
what had been done to me, and this was certainly upsetting. But
did my weakened condition also make me susceptible to such stress?
Comparing my 2 faints, I find that in both cases, there was fascination
combined with revulsion at the sight of a human body being operated
upon.
The only other significant event today was the formal completion
of my first semester as a teaching assistant. We held a meeting
at which final grades were decided upon. I would like to do better
as a T.A. next semester, but right now am in poor mental shape
for great new beginnings.
Tuesday, January 24, 1961
At last Barbara's exams are all over, and it looks as if she is
going to do better this semester than she expected, thpou as usual
she isn't satisfied because of a C grade in one course. I am very
pleased that she got an A on her paper on Frederick the Great,
on which I gave her quite a lot of help.
Steve Kern Hartley's 18 yr old brother, visited us today, and
we conversed with him for some hours. I am surprised how much
he resembles Hartley in appearance, voice, & mannerisms, though
they are actually only half-brothers. He is moving to a dorm near
here, & I hope we may see more of him. B especially likes
him.
Wednesday January 25, 1961
By an agreement in effect between us now for some months, B is
entitled to be taken out by me to dinner and a show once in any
month, provided I am given 2 weeks notice of the date, and the
cost doesn't exceed $8. This has worked very satisfactorily, although
the event has actually averaged less than once a month, I think.
Our usual dining place has become Larry Blake's Restaurant on
Telegraph Avenue. The reason we arrived at this arrangement was
that I have always been unwilling to go out to eat, something
which B much enjoys. Our agreement was a kind of compromise, and
happily I have enjoyed it every time we have gone out on one of
these dates. This evening was no exception. We had a pleasant
meal & conversation at Larry Blake's, then walked down to
the UC Cinema to see a very good double-bill - "Inherit the
Wind," based on the famous Scopes Monkey Trial, and "Sunrise
at Campobello," about Franklin D. Roosevelt in the 1920's.
Thursday, January 26, 1961
I feel I am achieving very few important things these days, but
some practical things are gradually getting done. Today, for example,
with the help of B & a fellow-lodger, I pushed my car, whose
battery was too weak to start it, out from its parking place &
got it going by coasting downhill. So at least we have one car
running. I am also in the process of sorting my accumulated papers.
What I feel I ought to be doing is more studying, particularly
to prepare for my next semester as a T.A.
Friday, January 27, 1961
Tomorrow B will go to San Jose, & she won't return until Wednesday.
Once again I have to face the lonely situation of living by myself.
B refuses to compromise on this matter, & I must accept her
periodic absences.
Saturday, January 28, 1961
B left to spend several days in San Jose this morning, and our
parting, as is usual in such circumstances, was an unhappy one.
This was largely, perhaps almost entirely, my own fault, yet I
seem powerless to control myself. Whenever I know that she is
willingly going away from me, I begin to feel very hostile towards
her, & cannot help expressing this hostility. This is one
of the unsolved problems of our relationship.
Unexpectedly, however, the day has proved full of social incident.
On Telegraph Ave. I met an acquaintance named Marvin Treiger,
who told me of a party taking place this evening a block from
here, & I decided to go. Previously, Nancy Sharp had come
calling with her brother Ted Wetherby, who is visiting Nancy &
Roger for a week. He is 22 years old, & I arranged to go for
a hike with him on Monday.
This evening, a surprise phone call came from Gale Galant, who
later came over with my old friendly enemy Otto Wenger & another
couple. We all chatted here for a while, & then I took them
with me to the party where, to my surprise, we were all accepted
quite readily. It became a very crowded party, though we were
among the first arrivals. I sat in one seat all the time, feeling
remarkably calm and detached. I had one prolonged conversation
with a young former Cal student who now works in a missile plant.
He proved to be highly intelligent & expressive, though his
ideas were mostly negative. I was impressed by his arguments in
favor of accepting the present world environment of sovereign
states and nationalism.
Sunday, January 29, 1961
It is a rainy Sunday afternoon, & I am at home alone &
feeling depressed. Perhaps the chief reason for my depression
was finding the college library closed, when I had gone there
in hopes of passing the afternoon buried in the pages of old "Life"
magazines, an occupation which invariably brings me pleasure,
or at least escape.
It is 4:30 p.m. & so far I have not spoken to a soul today.
I slept till 10:a.m, & spent some time preparing my first
big mail-out of SERVAS literature - letters to 50 former hosts
asking if they want to be on the new list which I intend to prepare.
What I really should do now is study, but that is the least attractive
of occupations. No doubt this mood will pass, but for the moment,
I am feeling very sorry for myself.
Monday, January 30, 1961
As usual during her absences, I am becoming accustomed to being
without Barbara, and have probably reached the stage where her
return will require a new readjustment. Yet it is strange how,
every time I hear the main door open downstairs, I wonder if it
could possibly be she, returning unexpectedly for my sake. Yet
such a thing has never been known to happen.
I had one unusual human experience today-I went for a hike in
the hills with Ted Wetherby, the 22 yr old brother of Nancy Sharp,
wife of my fellow T.A. Roger., who are from Missouri. Ted &
his mother are visiting with the Sharps for a week. I knew very
little about Ted, but learned a great deal on this 3 hr. excursion.
Apparently he is one more victim of mental illness of some kind.
He has been living with his mother in Hawaii, where it seems he
spent part of the time in a hospital, and part auditing courses
at the University. His mother took him there, hoping the relaxed
atmosphere of the islands would help overcome his mental tensions.
These, it seems, arrive partly from the fact that all other members
of his family are intellectual (e.g. father prof. of English,
mother a writer, sister a journalist) and profoundly successful,
whereas he feels apart (though he appears himself to be quite
intelligent). The plan now, I gather, is to send him to Virginia
(his home is Columbia Missouri) where he will live with an uncle
who is a doctor & who may give him some kind of job in a veterans'
hospital where he works. It makes me feel much closer to Roger
& Nancy to have this insight into their family problems. Ted's
case doesn't seem to be extremely serious. But he is obviously
very unsure of himself.
I finally mailed off 50 SERVAS letters to prospective hosts &
thus completed that stage of the project whose goal is to publish
a new up-to-date list of hosts. So far, I have done all the work
by myself.
At last, I am beginning to do some studying and thinking in preparation
for the coming semester.
Tuesday, January 31, 1961.
9 p.m. I have been sitting here thinking very intensely about
the coming semester and my possible academic program, poring over
the catalogue & schedule & trying to make some orderly
notes. As usual I have worries, and as usual with academic problems
my chief worry concerns a lack of guidance. Also my PhD. exams,
though scheduled for more than a year from now, seem uncomfortably
close in terms of how little I know & how poorly prepared
for them I am. However there are consoling thoughts : (1) I have
already been through this kind of rat-race more than once, and
emerged triumphant (2) Patience seems to be a principal key to
the situation - "All you have to do is hang on long enough,"
I keep telling myself, "and everything will come out the
way you want it to (3) It is good to have a goal with certain
well-defined steps leading towards it.
Wednesday, February 1, 1961
B came home today, & our life together has resumed more or
less smoothly.
College registration begins today. I have already registered by
mail. I talked with my Adviser, Mr. May, & did not feel quite
so ill at ease with him as on previous occasions. Still, however,
there are problems. It now appears that I will be taking 2 courses
this semester, in addition to my T.A. job: Stampp's seminar in
the Old South, Civil War, & Reconstruction; and an American
Literature (towards satisfying the Ph.D. "outside field"
requirement.) I don't know whether it is significant or not, but
Stampp, when I went to apply for admission to his seminar, accepted
me on the spot, rather than, as has happened in all previous such
cases, putting me on a list from which a selection was later made.
Having been at Cal now for a year, I feel a little less of a stranger.
For the first time, I was able today to obtain one of the enclosed
booth-like carels in the library stacks for the coming semester.
I will however have to share it with one other person, which deprives
it of much of its value.
B & I went to see & usher at a play this evening, Eugene
O'Neil's "Touch of the Poet," which was long & had
some good characterizations, but did not deeply impress me.
Thursday, February 2, 1961
It is only 8:15 p.m., but I am planning to go to bed shortly,
as I have not been getting enough sleep lately, & have felt
tired all day today.
Today, after various consultations, it was settled that I will
take a course called "American Literature Since 1885"
this semester, in addition to my Stampp seminar. The course is
taught by Gerber, a visiting professor from the University of
Iowa, &, while apparently it is not a course in "depth"
but rather a survey, there is a great deal of reading required,
and to buy all the books now would cost over $15. I therefore
spent several hours today, both at the Berkeley public library
and at the college library, attempting to obtain as many of these
books as possible, and was remarkably successful, being unable
to obtain only 2. Barbara is also planning to take this course,
though on a "pass or fail" basis.
B and I have in general good times together. We always seem to
be laughing or hugging, or telling our problems to each other.
B strangely enjoys it when I make fun of her (except on certain
special points, e.g. intelligence and family.) We have all sorts
of little agreements that brighten our lives. E.g. we now have
a system where I must pay her 5 cents every time she hears me
fart. This fart-money is a virtual tax, since I seem unable to
control them, especially when waking up in the morning. But I
don't mind paying, since it prevents B's being disturbed by my
tendency as formerly she was.
Friday, February 3, 1961
Though classes do not begin until Monday, I feel that I am well
and truly back at school. And, temporarily at least, I am in the
mood for studying, and have already begun to dig into the semester's
work. The most pressing academic project, however, is a "hang-over"
from last semester. In 6 days' time, I have to take a make-up
examination for the course in American Colonial History whose
final exam I missed because of my appendicitis episode.
Today I resumed my T.A. duties by helping for several hours with
pre-enrollment.
It is good to feel busy again, and to have definite projects upon
which to work. My trouble is that such projects usually have to
come from the outside. I find it very difficult to set myself
tasks, especially academic ones, and complete them conscientiously,
and that is why vacation periods are often quite unwelcome to
me.
Saturday February 4, 1961
Today we went on another of our "antiquing" expeditions,
to Sausalito. We made several sales to different dealers, but
not much in the way of profit; but the time actually spent in
selling amounted only to about 1 ½ hours. The weather was
fine.
Walt McQesten made one of his irregular visits this morning, &
brought us some venison, which I ate for supper.
I have been doing considerable experimenting with my Polaroid
camera lately, but am still far from proficient in its use. Among
other problems, I haven't yet mastered the technique of the exposure
meter (which is the first I have ever used.) Yesterday I took
the camera to the Herbarium print-shop to take a picture of Barbara
at work, but it took four times before I got a picture that did
not look considerably over-exposed.
Sunday, February 5, 1961
Today we went on a picnic with Roger & Nancy Sharp & Nancy's
mother, to Tilden Park. It was the first time we had gone anywhere
together with the Sharps, & was quite pleasant, though I was
again upset by difficulties with my Polaroid camera.
Monday, February 6, 1961
First days of classes in my third semester at the University of
California. My work is already more or less cut out for me, except
for the question of how I am going to conduct my T.A. sections.
B & I have 2 instructors in common: Gerber, a visiting professor,
whose lectures on American Lit. since 1885 we are both attending,
and Stampp. B is taking Stampp's undergraduate course & I
his graduate seminar. His field is the Old South, Civil War, &
Reconstruction. I was surprised to find only 5 people in the seminar,
all men, & none apparently very far advanced as a graduate
student. Stampp does not seem as cold & aloof as reports had
led me to believe. I'll probably be working on the topic: Abolitionists
during the secession crisis.
My 2 main worries at the moment ar getting my Bridenbaugh make-up
final exam over with on Thursday, and organizing a T.A. program
of some sort.
Tuesday, February 7, 1961
Only in writing the above did I realize that today is the anniversary
of what I still believe to have been one of the most important
days in my life. Seven years ago there occurred in me a mental
explosion which, though it upset my whole life for a year or more,
left me, after the dust had settled, a new and better person.
In review of all this , it seems co-incidental that today should
have seen my first psychiatric interview in almost 2 years. B
is disturbed by my picking my body, and, after talking it over
with her in a family meeting, I agreed to go to the college counseling
center, where treatment is free, to see if anything could be done
about the habit. I doubted if much could be done, but it seemed
the least I could do to satisfy B. The doctor who saw me for an
hour today is named Fernandez. As I expected, he was not willing
simply to give straightforward answers to questions such as what
causes this habit. But he is really quite entertaining to talk
to. He has a low voice, a slight Spanish accent, & uses humor
quite effectively to make points. Perhaps the main result of today's
interview was that we established, though at first I protested
somewhat, that this habit is definitely a sickness of which I
wish to be cured. I will probably be seeing this man once a week
for some time to come, and look forward to my next visit.
Wednesday, February 8, 1961
I awoke today with an unusual feeling of alertness, which manifested
itself in a greater ability than usual to accomplish things.
My chief concern is now the deferred final examination which I
must take tomorrow afternoon. I am not very well-prepared for
it, but will be glad to have it over with.
So far, 4 replies have come back, to the 50 SERVAS letters I sent
out on Jan. 30th. 3 have contained financial contributions, totaling
$7, which is very gratifying to me, & gives me greater incentive
to go on with work of getting this organization functioning again
in 'California.
Thursday, February 9, 1961
8p.m. This afternoon I finally took the final exam in American
Colonial History (to 1763) which I was supposed to have had 3
weeks ago, but missed because of my appendicitis.. It was a 3-hour
exam. I feel my answers were in general pretty good, and expect
to get at least a B, and possibly an A. If it is an A, that will
probably be my course grade. It is certainly good to have that
out of the way, for now I can concentrate on this semester's work.
I received a letter from my adviser Mr. May officially informing
me (now that I have been hear a year) that my record qualifies
me to proceed with work towards a Ph.D. But I am worried about
my academic future. The trouble is that I have never made a real
attempt to plan it and to set myself a program of work. That should
be one of my next projects.
Friday, February 10, 1961
My first section meeting of the new semester went quite well.
I felt unusually relaxed in the situation, even though it was
only 9 a.m.
I spent much time in my library carel reading civil war diaries.
Saturday, February 11, 1961
In general, it is surprising to me how little I think these days
- about my life or the world. I lead a rather placid vegetative
existence. My studies have only superficial meaning for me. There
is very little in the way of challenge or adventure for me, not
even much in the way of effort or exertion. My relationship with
B has its little upsm and downs, but is more or less a stable
feature of my life.
Today I had an "odd job" for the first time since December, working about 7 hours, helping Miss Carter of the Herbarium in her home print-shop, and earning $10.85. But it was probably a mistake to work so long, for B was expecting me to spend the evening with her, but I had not done any studying which I wanted to do. Consequently our evening was upset, even though I tried to give some time to B. This feeling of hers, that she doesn't get enough attention from me has been a problem more and more coming to the fore lately.
Sunday, February 12, 1961
The weather was so fine today that I suggested to B that we drive
down to the Bay, which I've been wanting to do. We walked all
the way around the aquatic park, talking about our future lives,
& in particular about the problem of my immediate academic
future - whether I should devote myself wholeheartedly to my studies
& try to pass the exams in a year, instead of 2 years, even
though it must mean less leisure & less time to spend with
B. She agreed in principle that it would be best for me to attempt
it, even though my preoccupation with the project threatens to
put a greater strain on her too.
We watched some men digging clams at the edge of the Bay.
The rest of the day I spent mostly studying & making a Valentine's
card for B.
I have arranged to go on a hike with Steve Kern tomorrow.
Monday, February 13, 1961
It was a holiday (Lincoln's birthday) today. I went for a long
(5 hr.) but not very strenuous hike with Steve Kern in the Strawberry
Canyon area. This was the longest period I have been continuously
in the out-of-doors in a very long time.
I finally wrote a letter requesting a teaching assistantship or
readership at college during the summer, & intend to submit
it tomorrow. This is a significant step in that it commits me
more definitely to my academic Ph.D. project.
Tuesday, February 14, 1961
According to established custom, B & I exchanged Valentine's
cards we had made for each other. This evening, I took her to
dinner at Larry Blake's & we conducted our weekly family meeting
there, which has now become formalized to the point where we keep
the minutes in a little book. We had prepared a long agenda. Our
procedure now generally is that whenever any matter arises between
us which for one reason or another cannot be immediately settled,
we "put it on the list" - the agenda list which hangs
on our hall notice board.
Afterwards we went to a graduate-&-faculty history society
meeting at the alumni house, where Dr. Pole gave a talk very similar
to his dull weekly outpourings in seminar last semester.
In my second psychiatric interview with Dr. Fernandez this afternoon,
the idea emerged that my picking & eating of my body is an
expression of independence from, and perhaps hostility towards,
other people. I have never really looked at it in this light.
The compulsion, however, still continues to exist.
Wednesday, February 15, 1961
At last I am beginning to make a genuine effort to organize my
Ph.D. studies. Today I took the (for me) momentous step of buying
a special box for filing 5"x8" cards. I also for the
first time attempted to memorize the dates of the presidential
administrations, not very difficult.
Thursday, February 16, 1961
After yesterday's spate of enthusiasm for my studies, 2 section
meetings which I conducted today have left me once again depressed
about them. In leading these classes, I feel totally unsure of
myself as far as subject matter goes. I hesitate to make any definite
statements of fact or interpretation for fear that I may be wrong.
I become very upset when a student asks me to explain something
which I myself really don't understand, e.g. economic questions
of currency - the silver crisis etc. I usually make a stab at
an explanation, but in the process only reveal to myself (and
I fear to everyone) just how hypocritical I am being. Such situations
seem particularly ominous in view of the fact that my exams are
going to be largely oral in type. Somehow I am able to sound very
sure of myself on paper, but I fear that in an oral exam I may
go altogether to pieces.
Friday, February 17, 1961
This morning's section meeting didn't leave me depressed as yesterday's
did. But I received the same feeling as a result of talking with
some of my fellow T.A.'s today. Everyone seems to know so much
more about everything, and, even more disheartening, to express
themselves so much better about it than I can.
I spent most of my studying time reading a book by Quarles about
the negroes in the Civil War, which told me a great deal about
which I had been curious, and threw a new light on many of my
ideas. But I am still far from defining a subject on which to
write my seminar paper for Mr. Stampp, other than that it must
be concerned in some way with abolitionists and the Civil War.
Saturday, February 18, 1961
I did my first gardening odd-job in a long time this morning.
Mrs. Lewis, B's old landlady, who has moved twice since those
days and employed me many times, called 2 days ago to request
my services. As usual, she gave me a good meal - breakfast - and
rather minimal wages -- $2.50 for 2 hours hard work - but I enjoyed
the exercise.
This eve B & I went to a college "review" which
was supposed to be funny, but rarely amused me. Afterwards we
visited a "Howdy Hop" dance for a short time. B enjoyed
the evening, & I was glad to be able to make her happy. Earlier
she had made me very happy by cooking a delicious supper, including
a swiss steak, with gravy & mushrooms.
Sunday, February 19, 1961
This evening we went to a public meeting at a Berkeley church
where a film was shown that I have been wanting to see for a long
time. Made on behalf of the House Committee on UnAmerican activities,
it purports to depict the true communist nature of the riots which
took place in San Francisco last May when crowds consisting largely
of students a H.U.A.C. hearing which was being held there. The
film itself was very interesting, but even more so was the pubic
discussion which followed. I would like to attend more of this
kind of activity.
Monday February 20, 1961
In my Stampp seminar this afternoon, which seems now to have been
reduced to 4 students, I gave a report on the Civil War diaries
I have been reading, and on diaries in general as a type of historical
source material. I was well-prepared, and I thoroughly enjoyed
a chance to express myself this way. The time went very quickly,
as it always does in such situations.
When it was over, I felt in an unusually good mood, but not at
all like studying. Fortunately there was a movie show on, which
I had been wanting to see, but in which B wasn't interested, since
she had already seen one of the pictures years ago. So I went
alone. The films were "The Wild One," with Marlon Brando
as the leader of a gang of hooligan motorcyclists who terrorize
a small town, and "The Strange One," about a sadist
in a Southern Military Academy. It was a good show.
B has received a letter from her mother saying that she wants
to come and stay here for a while. This is a highly novel development.
B thinks it may have largely to do with the fact that her mother
knows that my mother intends shortly to come here.
Tuesday, February 21, 1961 (written morning Feb. 22)
For some reason I was depressed during most of the day and had
very pessimistic thoughts, especially about my studies. It seems
highly unfortunate to me that I must spend the bulk of my time
doing something at which I cannot excel. Whenever I associate
with my fellow teaching assistants, I am overwhelmed by a sense
of their academic and intellectual superiority. This would not
be so bad if I felt that I was at least making progress in their
direction, but to me my progress seems negligible. It takes me
so long to read a book, and there are so many books which I ought
to read that I don't seem even to have made a start. Moreover,
it seems that, however good my intentions, day after day slips
by with very little getting accomplished.
I forgot to mention yesterday that I received from Grandma Brilliant's
executors her legacy to me of 15 pounds, = $41.35. This is the
first such gift I have ever received, and it saddens me to think
it is probably not the last. It is difficult to know in what spirit
to accept the money.
This evening B & I went for the first time to pay a social
call on her old landlady Mrs. Lewis. Mrs. L. had been wanting
us to do this for a long time. She apparently now assumes that
we are married, which is all to the good as far as I am concerned.
She is a good-hearted woman, despite her cranky ways.
Wednesday, February 22, 1961
I continue to feel discontented, though not as depressed as yesterday.
I have so much to do, and I seem to do so little. I feel rather
friendless, yet I tend to reject people. I feel too that I am
getting in a rut. It bothers me that the weather has been so fine
& I have been outside so little.
I am writing my first paper for an English class in a long time.
It is just a short one, on Stephen Crane's story "The Open
Boat." It is hard work, but I enjoy such chances to express
myself.
Thursday, February 23, 1961
I kept busy all day, & was not so depressed as recently. But
I never seem to accomplish all that I want to do during the day.
This evening I finished my 3-page paper on Stephen Crane's story,
"The Open Boat," and then, when B came in, I tried the
rather pleasant experiment of writing a similar paper for her
(we are both taking the same course) by dictating extemporarily
while she typed. The result is quite satisfactory. Fortunately
B is taking the course on a pass or fail basis, so we can take
a few liberties.
Friday, February 24, 1961
This evening B & I went to see what is supposed to be one
of the greatest films of all time, which I have been wanting to
see for years - D.W. Griffith's "Birth of a Nation,"
made in 1914. I was particularly interested in it now, since I
have been studying about the Civil War and Reconstruction periods
with which the film deals. It was interesting too to see the Ku
Klux Klan playing the role of heroes. We both found the film quite
enjoyable, & I was surprised how well many of the scenes were
done, especially battle scenes and that of the assassination of
Lincoln.
It seems that there now remain very few films in the category
of those "I have always wanted to see."
Saturday February 25, 1961
For the first time since our relationship began, B is out on a
date this evening with another man. The situation arises out of
several factors (1) We have always agreed that in theory both
are free to indulge in outside relationships. I tried it only
once myself, going out with a girl at san Jose State College while
B was baby-sitting at the Patnudes.' This did no harm to our relationship.
B found she could accept the idea & thus the principle was
more or less established. This now is only the second time, then,
that it has actually been put to the test. (2) B in general prefers
to lead her college life in the role of a single girl, and frequently
is approached by young men who want to take her out. Usually she
turns them down, though I have always stressed the idea that I
have no objection. (3) B has often complained that I don't take
her out enough, especially to dances, a type of activity which
doesn't much appeal to me. I have replied that she should try
to find someone else to escort her, so that both may enjoy it.
This has not generally satisfied her. (4) In her job as cashier
at the YWCA cafeteria she attracted the attention of a young man
named Lewis, & herself felt somewhat attracted to him. After
putting him off a couple of times, she has at last accepted his
invitation to go folk-dancing this evening at some club in San
Francisco.
At 8:30 he came & picked her up. Of course he knows nothing
about me. B was never enthusiastic about this experiment, &
I could probably easily have talked her out of it. I am not sure
why I care so little about it. Perhaps it is because I feel so
sure of B. But it will be very interesting to hear of her reactions.
Sunday, February 26, 1961
I went for a short hike with B in the hills. It was our first
such excursion for a long time. She seems to have enjoyed herself
with Lewis Nash last night, and to have been impressed with the
fact that he seems very well-adjusted. She is not however too
keen on going out with him again, though he has already asked
her to. She & I somehow felt very close to each other today,
and she seems remarkably attractive to me.
Monday, February 27, 1961
Today it is officially 5 years since my permanent residence in
the U.S. began. Five years ago, after I had already been 2 months
in California, my status was officially adjusted from that of
temporary visitor to that of permanent resident. I am now eligible
to apply for American citizenship, and have already (several days
ago) written to request an application form. The citizenship means
much less to me than it did to Myrna, was eligible to apply 2
months ago, & has now I think completed all formalities, except
the swearing-in. But in a practical sense it means more [to me],
since I cannot renew my teaching credential unless I become a
citizen; and there are many job possibilities which require citizenship.
Also, I enjoy the experience of acquiring a new nationality. But
I am hoping that I will be able to retain (albeit illegally) my
British passport, since Americans are considerably more restricted
in their travels abroad than are British subjects. I took another
big step today on the road to organizing my Ph.D. studies by beginning
to compile a systematic bibliography on file cards. This is something
which I should have done years ago. I have culled most of the
titles from the bibliographical supplements to the 2 recently-published
textbooks which I have acquired in my capacity as a T.A.
Yesterday evening I tried for the first time to take close-up
photographs of B with my Polaroid camera. After a couple of failures,
I obtained 2 pictures which were quite pleasing to me, but B never
seems satisfied with pictures of herself.
Tuesday, February 28, 1961
My citizenship application arrived today. My one big worry is
about the question concerning registration for military service.
If I admit never registering, I may come under suspicion. If I
try to bluff & say I did register, I may be found out. Which
is the safer course?
Wednesday, March 1, 1961
This evening I went to a meeting of the college parachute-jumping
society, since I have long been interested in the idea of making
a jump (though I haven't given much thought to it as a steady
sporting activity.) It is a small club, all men, & they seem
to be well-organized. I made no kind of commitment, but am definitely
interested. "Sky diving," i.e. free-falling for considerable
distances before opening one's parachute, has a definite allure.
Thursday, March 2, 1961
I studied today with unusual intensity, & was able to accomplish
a good deal. I was on campus all day, having 2 meals in the cafeteria.
In the evening I attended a forum at which a very unusual film
was shown dealing with the problem of discrimination against negroes
in the north. The chief actors were negroes, which in itself was
quite novel. Their problems were well presented, but no solution
was offered.
Friday, March 3, 1961
By pre-arrangement, B came today for the first time to watch me
conduct one of my T.A. section meeting. As is often the case,
the discussion part of the period was of very little benefit to
anybody, & B's main criticism afterwards was that when questions
are asked about things I myself don't understand, I should not
simply say I don't know & leave it at that, but promise to
find out & report back next time.
This evening we went as ushers (by the university arrangement
of which we have by now several times taken advantage) to see
a performance by Victor Borge, a celebrated pianist-comedian,
at the Masonic Auditorium in San Francisco. I enjoyed his verbal
entertainments more than his piano playing, even when it was supposed
to be funny.
Saturday, March 4, 1961
B has gone away to San Jose on one of her all-too-frequent overnight
stays, and as usual I become despondent when I realize how alone
I am without her.
I went to a Young Socialists party this evening, but enjoyed it
not at all - loud music and tobacco smoke. I found a book I have
been wanting to read, & walked off with it, thinking to return
it when finished. But I was spotted. A fellow came after me &
took the book back, with implied rebuke. I felt I must do something
to repair this unhappy situation, so I went back to the party
(I had left when it had barely begun) and eventually found an
opportunity to apologize to the person who had apprehended me,
& was thus able to leave with an unburdened mind. Such situations
for me have no real ethical aspect. If I hadn't been caught, I
would have thought little of it, for I doubt very much if the
book would have been missed, & I would probably have returned
it in a week or 2. But once I had been caught, I felt bound somehow
to try to make amends and not have these people think ill of me.
Sunday, March 5, 1961
A very gloomy day for me until B came home late this evening.
I felt very depressed much of the time, & this resulted in
my spending several hours at my standard depression activity,
reading old LIFE magazine volumes in the library. I was actually
in the library from about 2 to 10 p.m., but much of the time I
was not working on present projects. But I did get a little done.
I still don't feel too happy about my semester topic, which concerns
abolitionists and negroes during the Civil War.
Monday, March 6, 1961
I have been having frequent periods of depression. I feel I am
leading an unhealthy life - too little physical enterprise, too
little social intercourse. Sometimes I feel a strong desire to
exert myself physically, and there is nothing to do. At other
times, I feel a real need for a social outlet, yet there is none
which I find truly satisfactory.
I make the usual mistake of trying to study almost all the time,
with the result that for much of the time I accomplish very little,
& eventually my brain begins to go on strike.
Tuesday, March 7. 1961
I finally admitted to the psychiatrist whom I have been seeing
every Tuesday that I have had previous therapy, though up to this
time I have not wanted to bring that into the discussion at all.
I sent off a letter to Hartley & Margie Kern with many tender
thoughts. Since we have not heard in so long from Allen &
Myra, H & M are practically the only really good close friends
with whom I am still in contact at all.
Wednesday, March 8, 1961
I spent much time in the library, but do not feel any great sense
of accomplishment. Of late, I have been taking much food in with
me, so that I can stay for long periods.
I bought B a table tennis bat, so that we can play more easily
together whenever a table is available, as at the nearby dormitories.
I received an A on my first paper in the Modern American Literature
course that both B & I are taking, & feel very pleased
about it. I had written B's paper too, dictating to her extemporaneously,
but this paper got only a B- . Mine, as that of a graduate student,
was marked by the professor, but "hers" by a reader.
It doesn't matter anyway, since she is taking the course on a
simple pass or fail basis.
Thursday, March 9, 1961
B is out with "boy-friend" Lewis "Beaver"
Nash, for the second time, this time at a movie. It all seems
harmless enough, but I sometimes wonder whether in this kind of
experimentation, based necessarily on deceit, we are not playing
with fire. Certainly if it goes on long enough, someone seems
bound to be hurt.
A rather weird occurrence at the library today. Browsing, I picked
up a new-donated book and saw on the book-plate: "In memory
of MARK A BACON." Mark Bacon was my fellow-lodger and friend
for the better part of a year at Claremont in 1956-7. He had a
rheumatic heart, and a librarian of whom I enquired, co-incidentally
happened to have known him, & said he died as the result of
an operation for this condition. I regret now that I never went
to visit him at his Berkeley home, though he once invited me when
I met him on campus, & I often intended to.
Friday, March 10, 1961
My sight, I fear, has noticeably deteriorated of late & I
am becoming increasingly dependent on my glasses.
Saturday, March 11, 1961
My life lately seems to have been remarkably barren of color &
incident. I spend more & more time in the library (today from
about 10:20 to 5 p.m. when it closed, coming out only once, to
get a cup of hot chocolate from a vending machine in another building.)
I feel a need for physical activity, & have arranged to play
some table tennis tomorrow with Steve Kern. A twitching under
my right eye, an old complaint which has come occasionally for
years, has bothered me today. In a kind of nightmare last night,
I dreamed that I was already 30, and this seemed very terrible.
I certainly am in need of mental aid. Yet I seem to function smoothly
enough in my very limited sphere. I gradually get my reading done
& my notes made, and sometimes I even
feel a certain sense of satisfaction at these accomplishments.
But such a feeling is the exception rather than the rule.
Sunday, March 12, 1961
Late last night Larry & Helaine Kirsch, who now live in Salinas,
came to visit us, & stayed overnight. Helaine is just about
the only person I know whom I intensely dislike. When I first
knew Larry, he was separated from her. The main reason why I dislike
her is that she always seems bent on hurting him. The fact that
they both want children, but have been unable to have any may
have something to do with the almost continual friction between
them. Time and again, I have wanted to express to Larry my true
feelings about his wife, and how bad she is for him. The only
thing which seems to hold them together is physical attraction.
They left, fortunately, this morning, and I went to play table
tennis with Steve Kern over at his dormitory. Conditions and equipment
were excellent, and we seemed to be very evenly matched. I thoroughly
enjoyed our games, and as usual played fiercely to win. We played
3 sets of 5 games, and he won 2 of them. I was glad to be getting
so much exercise, & felt better all day for it.
Later in the day, we had Steve for dinner, and afterwards I played
him at Scrabble, the word board-game we have, at which Hartley
& Marge had warned me he was very good. In that game, I was
badly defeated.
[Last words in this volume] Well, it has taken me 2 ½ years
to fill this diary, much longer than any previous one. If I hadn't
started writing daily entries again at the beginning of this year,
it would have taken much longer. The daily entries are more difficult
to write, but probably more interesting & easier to read.
[Signed: A Brilliant]
Monday, March 13, 1961
Today the new Student Union building at the University of California
officially opened, and I was there at noon for the opening ceremony
of cutting a ribbon - the first such ceremony I have ever attended.
It was quite exciting to explore the new building with crowds
of other students, and I was moved by many unaccustomed thoughts.
I thought back to college life in London, where our Union facilities
offered nothing more than a dingy subterranean lounge. This college
now has a very impressive aspect with which to greet the visitor
entering by Sather Gate. It stirs in me faint feelings of pride.
I would like to feel more closely associated with it all. But
that takes time and effort. My best avenue of approach would be
through the student newspaper. I have long been contemplating
writing them a letter.
I finished reading Sinclair Lewis' "Elmer Gantry" this
evening. The way he piles on the detail is really impressive,
and fortunately also makes it easy to skim.
Tuesday, March 16, 1961
I finally sent off my citizenship application. I answered "no"
to the question which asked if I had ever registered for military
service, but "yes" to those which inquired about my
willingness to perform such service. The big question now is,
will my admission get me into trouble, and, if so, of what kind?
Wednesday, March 17, 1961
I have an uneasy feeling that there are great things I could be
doing, great opportunities I am missing. Life has its pleasant
moments, particularly on the physical side. There are certain
things I nearly always enjoy - eating, riding my bicycle, defecating,
cuddling B in bed. Yet in general life seems flat. I don't have
enough human contacts. The conversations I have are ordinarily
very brief, & I often seek to get away. Even when I am under
no great pressure of work, as I realized I was today, after an
American Lit. mid-term exam this morning, I spend my time in solitary
ways, as I did today, sitting alone in the library or at home
sitting alone at some one-act plays, & then later, this evening,
at a lecture about history. I am especially lonely whenever B
is busy (as she is at present) or away. I keep wondering whether
eventually
some kind of natural reaction will take place within me, as has
happened in the past, notably on February 7, 1954. Of course,
I have no desire to go through any wild period like that again,
but I would like to be more at ease with people and have more
friends.
Thursday, March 18, 1961
Every day I seem to go through periods of elation and depression.
Some of my most depressed moments come in association with my
job as teaching assistant, especially sitting through T.A. meetings
and Mr. Ross' lectures (twice a week). The situation is full of
irony. This job is closer to my ideal of a teaching job than I
have ever been before, yet in actual fact I can hardly claim to
do any teaching at all, for I don't know the subject well enough
myself to explain it to others, and in any case I seem to have
some kind of mental block against the whole business, something
which prevents me from even attempting to do a better job than
I am at present doing. Is it lack of incentive? The way things
stand now, it looks as if the quality of my work will not affect
my being re-hired next year, nor will it change the rule that
allows one to hold such a job for only 2 years anyway.
Friday, March 17, 1961
3 plays by Eugene O'Neill ar required reading for the course in
American Literature since 1895 that I am currently taking with
B. "Desire Under the Elms" did not much impress me.
But I am surprised to find how much I am enjoying "Strange
Interlude," of which I have now read about half. Not only
is the plot extremely absorbing, but the device of letting the
characters speak their thoughts in long asides, which at first
I thought would make the play very heavy going, deepens the significance
of everything tremendously.
I continue to feel that I am heading for some kind of mental climax.
My life is too much awry. Yesterday I had a conversation with
an Indian named Balakrishnan, a SERVAS traveler currently staying
with a Mrs. Bateman in Berkeley. His was the mystical kind of
message I have often heard before, but it seemed now to be peculiarly
appropriate to my present condition. My life is based on self-gratification,
and is therefore out of joint. I eat not to maintain health, but
for the sake of pleasure. I am too much wrapped up in myself.
. . It occurred to me today that I can no longer be with anyone
but B without feeling to some extent awkward. One possible reason
for this is that I feel I am acting out a dishonest role. I am
not being true to myself. This position of scholar and teacher
is a false one. . . or perhaps it just seems that way at the moment
because I am having too much of it. I need a break, to get away
and see things in perspective.
Saturday, March 18, 1961
8:45 p.m. Otto Wenger paid us a visit today with his latest girl-friend.
He says Allen has written from New Zealand that he & Myra
& their baby are coming back to California, probably this
summer. This doesn't much surprise me, although they have been
gone only since September. But it is good news, for I need all
the friends I can get, and Allen & Myra were 2 of the best
I can ever hope to have.
B and I are shortly going to a dance in the new Student Union
with Roger & Nancy Sharp. I really don't want to go - I never
enjoy dances. It's all B's idea, & I go to please her. She
has now been out on 3 evening dates with her friend Lewis Nash,
who knows nothing of me: once folk-dancing, once to a movie, and
2 nights ago bowling. Our theoretical approach to this situation
is that it is perfectly right for B to seek escort(s) to activities
which she enjoys but I don't. But I wonder how long such a relationship
can go on without somebody getting hurt.
Yesterday I finally typed out a new list of California SERVAS
hosts, compiled from various sources, but principally from responses
to the query letters & forms I sent out to former hosts &
prospects some weeks ago. I felt a considerable sense of satisfaction
in having accomplished this, although it would not be done even
now if Mr. Balakrishnan (see yesterday) had not requested a list.
The list contains 20 names & addresses (including our own)
of people with whom Servas travelers may stay in California. I
sent a copy off immediately to Servas headquarters in New York,
and hope they will mimeograph it there. Otherwise, I will get
it done here.
I had 2 jobs today - 5 ½ hours washing dishes at the YWCA,
and ½ hour mowing the lawn here for Miss Hult - total earnings
over $9. It's good to have a chance to use my body for a change,
& not at all like going out to a dance.
Sunday, March 19, 1961
It is surprising how much little things can depress me. Last Sunday
morning I played table tennis at his dorm with Steve Kern, Hartley's
half-brother, whom I had been hoping might in time become a real
friend. We had the table to ourselves all the time, & only
stopped when Steve said he was getting tired (though he had won
most of the games.) I enjoyed it so much that I hoped we might
make this Sunday-morning table tennis a steady custom, and looked
forward all week to this morning, when we had arranged to play
again.
This morning I went over there. Steve was ready, I was feeling
fit & confident, and we had a few good games. But then another
fellow came in and wanted to play the winner, & of course
we had to let him. This hadn't happened last week, but I tried
to adjust my mind to the new situation. The new fellow was so
good that he was always the winner, so in effect Steve and I alternated
in playing him. I told myself it was good to have a rest between
games, and at least there was the challenge of trying to beat
this fellow, so that I might play Steve again, and the hope that
he might eventually go away so that we might have the table to
ourselves again. But then other fellows started coming in, and
suddenly I felt the situation collapsing altogether. My last hope
[was] to persuade Steve to come with me and seek somewhere else
to play where we might be alone together, such as International
House. But he said no, he had to go and study anyway. My depression
began at this point. It was not the table tennis which mattered
so much as the idea of sharing a pleasure with someone I hoped
to make a friend. When he turned down my idea, it was almost as
if he were rejecting my offer of friendship. The game wasn't important,
but playing it with a friend was.
So I came home alone, and at the moment don't really feel like
doing anything except setting down my troubles.
Monday, March 20 1961
I spent most of my working day reading "Disturber of the
Peace," a biography of H.L. Mencken, by William Manchester.
Mencken is one of those many people whom I have long wanted to
know more about. Now I have chosen to write a paper on him for
my American Literature course. What most impresses me about Mencken
are his erudition, combined with his capacity for forthright expression.
There is also the idea that he changed less than his times. Only,
it seems, in the 1920's, when he was in his 40's, did his spirit
and that of the times really coincide, or rather, one might say,
conflict harmoniously.
Since I have known Barbara, I have not had a single piece of my
writing published in any form. This fact is beginning to bother
me. Of course, getting into print pleases me myself, but I have
now the added incentive of trying to make Barbara proud of me.
Goodness knows, she has little enough to be proud of in me, or
at least in my accomplishments, since she has known me. In a way,
this is a repetition of my parental relationship. Succeeding as
a writer was one of the few ways in which I could please my parents.
Today I talked for a short time with the editor of "Occident,"
the campus literary magazine, and I will probably submit some
things for his consideration, mostly old stuff. In this, as in
every other field of endeavor at the moment, my main trouble is
lack of confidence.
Tuesday, March 21, 1961
I actually submitted some pieces of my writing to "Occident,"
(see yesterday) and, having done so, and having had my weekly
interview with psychiatrist Fernandez, I felt in a mood to do
more writing. I filled nearly 4 sides with thoughts on 2 important
subjects, the possibility of my parents' deaths & the problems
to which that gave rise, and the problem of my relationship with
Larry and Helaine Kirsch. Having got all this out of my system,
I felt in remarkably good spirits, so much so that I inaugurated
a conversation with someone I hardly knew whom I met in the library,
Glenn Gordon, who is connected with the "Occident."
Writing, with me, often serves a real therapeutic function.
Wednesday, March 22, 1961
(Written March 23) This was one of those days when many things
seemed to go wrong at once. The most vexing was a puncture in
my front bicycle tire, which required the purchase of a new tire
& tube. Then, when I tried to put these on the wheel, I ran
into great difficulties, even though I had bought the special
tire-irons which are supposed to make it easy. In trying to do
it, I repeatedly punctured the new tube, & had to repair it
with more patches. Eventually I wound up at 1:15 a.m., utterly
defeated, & feeling abysmally miserable.
Thursday, March 23, 1961
(Written March 24) We held a long family meeting, in which B became
unusually strong in her criticism of my selfishness. But one positive
result was an agreement that in future I will be responsible for
keeping her car in good running order. This has always been a
bone of contention between us.
Friday, March 24, 1961
(Written March 25) I woke up feeling miserable, and continued
to feel that way until late afternoon. Partly it may have been
inadequate sleep, partly a reaction against yesterday's meeting,
for my misery was chiefly manifested in moodiness towards B. We
had arranged one of our periodic dinner & show dates for this
evening, but now I said I didn't feel like going, & our plans
became uncertain. By about 5 p.m., however, I had more or less
recovered, & everything went off on schedule. We spent about
1 ½ hours cleaning up the apartment for an expected visit
of B's mother tomorrow, then went out to dinner at our usual place,
Larry Blake's on Telegraph, which as usual was pretty enjoyable.
Afterwards we saw 2 English films, Peter Sellers in "Battle
of the Sexes" (Sellers is becoming one of our favorite comedians)
and Lawrence Olivier in "The Entertainer," a long "angry"
film about a decadent variety-hall comedian which I enjoyed more
than B because it dealt with things familiar to me by experience,
but not to her.
This was the last day of classes before the Easter vacation. We
have made no definite plans, but may go on a short trip sometime
during it.
Saturday, March 25, 1961
Midnight. Barbara's mother is staying with us tonight. Since Barbara
could not bear to sleep with me with her mother in the house,
& since her mother probably couldn't bear such a situation
either, Rose & B are both sleeping in B's room.
I have been reading over my diary record of February 1954. What
a time that was for me. I seem now to be in need of a similar
miracle. I have just as many problems with people as I had before
that fantastic period in my life. I find it once again hard to
look people in the eye. Once again, I am especially ill at ease
with attractive women. Once again I am in need of being honest
with people. But the years since 1954 have been crowded with experience.
They have been the stuff of my life. I have achieved almost everything
I have really set my mind to achieve. So my present predicament
seems in a way to be perhaps my natural one, broken only by periods
of extroversion or elation.
Sunday, March 26, 1961
5:40 p.m. Once again I find myself in a mood of unrest and depression.
The causes may be partly physical - I am eating too much and not
getting enough exercise; but in part they are psychological. Rose's
visit here, which terminated about 2 hours ago when B set off
with her for San Jose, was pretty much of a failure as far as
I was concerned. I was not in a mood to be gracious to company
& had no desire to sit down & chat with Rose, though this
is probably what I should have done. I did little to make her
feel welcome & stayed much of the time in my room, mainly
working on a birthday card for B. This in itself is ironical -
trying to make her happy in one way, but consequently making her
unhappy in another.
I feel lonely, but find it extremely difficult to approach people.
I almost long for such another experience as that of Feb 1954
which I discussed yesterday. But I don't know how to bring it
about. Surely, I keep telling myself, I cannot go on indefinitely
leading such a dull lonely unsatisfactory life. Something has
got to give somewhere. But what?
Monday, March 27, 1961
As often happens after a particularly deep depression such as
yesterday's, I found myself today in unusually elevated spirits.
I devoted much of the day to B, shopping with her in the first
half of the day for a briefcase which is to be my birthday present
to her (we still haven't found anything completely satisfactory)
and later having a family meeting with her, and nursing her through
the onset of a cold.
Symptomatic of my mood was the fact that I spent money rather
more freely than usual, and that I had conversations with people
with whom I had never talked before - a campus gardener, and a
fellow who works in Safeway's.
I am working on a short paper on H.L. Mencken as a social critic,
but my progress is very slow.
Tuesday, March 28, 1961
B has a cold, so we didn't sleep together last night. She slept
in her own bed, & I on a mattress on the floor beside her.
We slept very late this morning, till about 11 o'clock.
At 2 I went off to my weekly date with psychiatrist Dr. Fernandez,
& he did less talking & I more this time than ever before.
Among other things, I discussed my psychiatric history, my worries
about my parents & B's, & the enigma of why I become depressed
& elated without apparent reason.
At 3, B & I both reported to the YWCA, where we had arranged
to help with a big dinner being given there. We worked until 9
p.m., making $9 each.
We received a remarkable letter from Allen & Myra in New Zealand
confirming what Otto had told us on March 18, that they are coming
back to California, and in fact intend to settle in Berkeley.
The reasons Allen gives for this decision are, however, very difficult
to understand, especially coming from him. The chief reason, incredible
as it sounds, seems to be that Allen has decided that not war
but totalitarianism is the chief evil in the world, and that he
feels a new obligation to come back here and fight it, rather
than seeking pure escape in New Zealand. In particular he speaks
of the "threat of communist totalitarianism." This is
so unlike Allen that we wonder if he is joking. Probably we haven't
really grasped the proper meaning of his words. Until further
clarification comes along, I prefer to think that they are coming
back mainly because they are homesick.
Wednesday, March 29, 1961
It was B's birthday, & though she still has her cold, the
day fortunately passed quite pleasantly. Upon rising, I gave her
the card I had made, rather a surrealistic design, representing
her many activities - and a pair of black panties I had bought
for her. (She had always told me how much such an "impractical"
gift would thrill her, & it really seemed to.) After breakfast,
we drove to Oakland to shop once again for the major birthday
present we had decided I was to give her, a briefcase. Fortunately,
this time we were at last able to find a case which really pleased
us both, & I bought it for $26.17.
Then I took B to lunch at a delicatessen store where she had been
wanting to eat.
We then returned home & did some school-work.
Early in the evening, a surprise guest arrived, Steve White, whom
we hadn't seen for many months, & whom we last knew was studying
in Mexico. We had supper, talk, & games together, & he
is staying here overnight. He is a good friend & we are both
glad to have him here. Rather than spoiling our day, his arrival
made our evening perhaps happier than it might otherwise have
been.
I finished my H.L. Mencken, & am quite pleased with it.
Thursday, March 30, 1961 (written March 31)
This, our Easter vacation week, began last Friday & we had
been talking of going away on some kind of trip, but because of
school-work, lack of enthusiasm, B's cold, & B's obligations
to her mother, we haven't yet gone. This morning D had to go to
San Jose, just to take her mother a few blocks to the doctor -
not, she admitted, because it was really necessary, but because
her mother needs moral support. This kind of thing remains one
of the least satisfactory aspects of our relationship.
I was, however, myself busy writing a paper for Professor Stampp
reporting on my research project.
This evening we drove to San Francisco to see a revival of "Gone
With The Wind," a film we had both seen many years ago &
wanted to see again. Both enjoyed it highly. This long spectacular
color film, made in 1939, really is an all-time classic. Clark
Gable is magnificent (he died just a few weeks ago.) Melanie Wilkes,
played by Olivia de Havilland, reminds me very much of my Aunt
Sylvia, both in appearance & personality. As history, the
film seems to present the classic "plantation myth,"
and the negroes are all stereotypes.
Friday, March 31, 1961
Today at last, with our Easter vacation nearly over, we were able
to get away from Berkeley. We drove south in B's car (mine wouldn't
start) to Salinas, where fortunately we found Larry & Helaine
Kirsch home, & are staying with them overnight. I went for
a walk with Larry, & finally told him the truth about my feelings
towards Helaine, how I feel a strong antagonism towards her because
she & Larry seem grossly mis-mated & she seems to do nothing
but hurt him. He agreed with most of what I said, & I tried
to explain that the problem is largely mine, rather than his or
his wife's. Fortunately things have not gone too badly here this
far. Dinner was nearly 1 ½ hours late, which put me in
a very distressed condition, & I was practically ready to
leave; but it proved to be a very good meal (B helped in the preparation)
&, after at first greatly disappointing me by flatly refusing
to let me help with the washing-up, Helaine later, largely at
B's behest, relented, & I was at least able to feel useful.
2 little Eurasian girls whom Helaine is taking care of were here
much of the time. Now she & B have taken them home & are
staying there til the parents return, & I have stayed here,
mostly reading, with Larry.
Sunday, April 2, 1961
(Written April 3) B & I slept well on our first night away
from home together in many months. We didn't rise till about 10:30
a.m. It seemed very warm in Salinas compared with Berkeley. But
Berkeley also warm, when we got home about midnight. Spring, it
seems, has come.
A large hot-cake breakfast with Larry & Helaine. They quarrel
on & off all the time. B later told me of an adventure she
had when she went off with Helaine last night. The parents, it
seems, returned not long after B & H arrived. H then persuaded
B to come to a café with her, then cruise around the town
in their car. H seemed to be deliberately looking for men, &
eventually they were accosted by two. H was very willing to go
with them (after much indecent banter) but B, scared, adamantly
refused, despite H's pleading, & eventually they came home.
But how much does Larry know about this sort of thing?
We wanted to go to the sea-shore, but H complained of a headache
& Larry wouldn't come alone, so we said goodbye & drove
by ourselves to Monterey. It is always hard to get away from home,
but, once away, there is always a delightful sense of freedom.
It is very pleasant being able to do little things for which ordinarily
there isn't time. Yesterday, on the way down, we stopped at the
St Martin winery, where they have a tasting room & B was able
to taste many different kinds of wine, though most of them she
didn't like. I of course liked none. Today, on the way to Monterey,
we stopped in open countryside & climbed some distance up
a hillside, exploring a pleasant dry gully.
The big problem in Monterey - where to eat so as to satisfy B.
She had a favorite restaurant called Vaughn's. I finally agreed
to eat there as her monthly dining-out treat. We made a reservation
there, but later in Carmel found another place, the Spinning Wheel,
which pleased B equally, & was a little more reasonable.
We had hoped to sell some antiques today (we had them all with
us) and we did manage to sell 2 items to a store in Monterey,
but all the antique stores in Carmel, where most of them are,
were closed, this being Easter Sunday. Our profit was about $2.50.
Before dining, we went on the beach for a while. It was full of
college kids & beer cans. But the beach itself & its setting
is one of the loveliest I know.
At the Spinning Wheel occurred my big event of the week-end. I
re-met an old Claremont friend, David Roth, whom I hadn't seen
since I left there in 1957. He is now living & studying in
San Francisco, so we may get together again. It is extremely rare
for me to meet someone like this whom I once knew well, but haven't
seen in a long time.
On the way back, I read aloud from Robert Graves' "Goodbye
to All That," & we stopped at San Jose to visit the Patnudes
before coming home.
Monday, April 3, 1961
12:40 p.m. Today it is hot & smoggy, and I feel sluggish and
uncomfortable.
I have received a letter informing me that I will be re-hired
as a Teaching Assistant for the coming school year; but no mention
is made of a summer position, for which I had also applied, Nevertheless,
this is for me a highly significant letter. There is very little
doubt that I will accept the offer, and, assuming that I do, I
can now look forward to continued financial security for another
year. It looks, then, as if this Berkeley period in my life has
more or less stabilized itself. It is not unlikely that we will
even continue living here in this same apartment.
It is interesting that I regard the letter as significant primarily
in the extent to which it affects my immediate security. The academic
aspect of the situation is comparatively unimportant, and even
unpleasant. My experience thus far as a T.A. has not been rewarding.
I have failed to reconcile my anomalous situation as a graduate
student and a teacher, especially since much of the material I
am responsible for "teaching" is almost as new to me
as it is to my students.
But there is also a notable lack of incentive. It seems not to
matter how poor a job I do, just so long as I show up regularly
for lectures, classes, office hours, and T.A. meetings, give my
classes no serious cause to complain about me to any higher authority,
and submit reasonable-sounding lists of grades at the required
times. There is no external motivation for me to spend time preparing
lessons, getting to know my students, taking an individual interest
in their problems, doing additional research for their sake. Mr.
Ross, the professor, has very little interest in our methods of
teaching - he apparently is satisfied so long as we perform the
routine duties listed above.
Next year, of course, will be different. Provided I am assigned
to the same course (which apparently is by no means certain) I
will have had a year's experience, and will for the first time
be covering material I have already gone over once before. I think
Mr. Ross will not be here next year, so I will probably have a
chance to work under someone more experienced, and get a different
viewpoint. I will even, according to the letter, have a slight
increase in pay (about $11.50 more per month). But the really
agonizing thought is that I will still be in the same bind as
regards my studies. I had thought, before I became a T.A., that
the position would actually complement my studies, & I would
learn even more than if I were taking the course for credit myself.
In actual fact, however, I have learned far less than if that
had been the case. The very fact that it is a job seems somehow
to create a mental block against treating it also as a course
which I am taking. I do as little work as possible, which, as
far as studying goes, amounts to little more than reading through
the textbook a few chapters in advance of the lectures.
But, when all is said and done, the letter is one which I'm very
glad to have received, and, after all, my future life is largely
what I make it.
+
Tuesday, April 4, 1961
11:30 pm I had what I felt was a good session with Dr. Fernandez.
He alleged that my attitude towards my parents was that of a "spoiled
brat."
My weekly meeting with B went unusually deeply into our family
problems, particularly regarding B's parents. I suggested to her
for the first time that it might do me good to have a side affair
with someone else.
Wednesday, April 5, 1961
A rather leisurely day on campus, meeting B for the second eve
in a row for supper at the cafeteria. Reading in my carel about
negroes & abolitionists during the Civil War, particularly
the South Carolina Port Royal Experiment.
Thursday, April 7, 1961
Tomorrow morning is my big citizenship interview, to which I look
forward as probably a very interesting experience, but one which
I will be very glad to have over with.
Friday, April 7, 1961
3:10 pm My citizenship application interview this morning proved
to be a rather more formidable and disturbing experience than
I had anticipated, and I am still suffering from emotional after-effects.
Although intellectually I had calculated that I had very little
to worry about, I found that I was quite tense and nervous from
the time I got up.
The background for this ordeal extends to my coming to this country
5 years ago. At that time I was in many ways still recovering
from a nervous breakdown (which had involved 7 weeks in hospital)
and I had only a few months previously been through a period of
considerable strain in connection with conscientious objection
and national service. These two strands in my life coincided rather
surprisingly just a few days before I left England, when I discovered
[continuing now at 7 pm] that my breakdown almost automatically
exempted me from military service.
In order to make sure of being accepted in the U.S. as a permanent
resident, it was necessary to lie about both these factors in
my background, or at least it appeared to be so, for, as an applicant,
I was asked such questions as whether I had ever been in a mental
hospital, and whether I was willing to serve in the American armed
forces. Not wishing to run the risk of being turned down, I denied
ever having had any kind of mental trouble, and stated that I
had no objection to military service. Although I naturally disliked
having to swear to untrue statements, this seemed to me a clear
case of ends justifying means, and I have never doubted that,
if I had been perfectly honest, particularly with regard to my
feelings about war, I would never have been able to come &
settle in the U.S. at all.
When I was admitted (much to my delight) as a permanent resident,
I was informed that I must at once register for military service.
This however I never did. For 5 years I have lived in this country
as a "draft delinquent," (a phrase I learned only today).
I always knew that I was breaking the law, but never worried very
much about it. I wanted to avoid the kind of experience I had
already been through in England, and this seemed the most effective
way of doing it. There was, however, always the fear that, when
it came time to apply for citizenship, I would be found out.
But why apply for citizenship? I had only one definite reason,
and that was a purely material one. My California teaching credential,
which I had received in 1957, was issued with the proviso that
I must become a citizen as soon as eligible, otherwise it would
become invalid. That credential has no bearing on my present position
as a university teaching assistant, but it is necessary in order
to teach in public schools as a regular or substitute teacher.
I became eligible to apply for citizenship in February of this
year, having then been officially resident in the U.S. for five
years. I wrote for & received an application form which, as
expected, asked about my draft status. I had to choose between
giving false information and admitting that I had never registered.
Both courses seemed equally dangerous, so I chose the more honest
one, though it was once again necessary to give false answers
about my mental history and willingness to perform military service.
A week ago I received word to appear today at the immigration
office in San Francisco with 2 witnesses. It seemed inevitable
that some kind of trouble would result, but I think I was and
am more disturbed by the continued necessity of presenting a false
front than by apprehension of any ultimate danger such as denial
of citizenship, arrest, or deportation. I simply hate to lie,
even though it may secure a desired result.
What actually happened this morning (the proceedings lasted from
10:30 to 1:00 pm) was in some ways worse than I had anticipated,
for, in addition to the draft issue, another wholly unexpected
one was raised.
My 2 witnesses were Barbara, and Kit Speth. We joked, as we drove
to S.F., about how odd it was for me to show up with 2 young women
as witnesses, rather than respectable community-pillars.
The morning's proceedings consisted chiefly of 2 major portions:
(1) a "preliminary" interview with a young man named
J.R. Canfield. He first saw the 3 of us together, then me alone,
then each witness separately. (2) a second interview, with a man
who was apparently a superior officer. He first saw the 3 of us
together, then me alone, but didn't see the witnesses again. In
general, the 2 interviews duplicated each other, but the tone
of the second, when I was seen alone, turned out to be very different
from that of the first.
Canfield was officious but not unfriendly. Our first appearance
before him seemed simply a kind of official swearing in. When
he saw me alone, he first spent some time looking through a file
of my papers which he had in front of him. One paper in particular
seemed to engage his attention, and, from what occurred subsequently,
I gather that it was a report of some kind on my attendance at
the Vienna World Youth Festival in 1959. I had never given any
such information to any American official, but it did not surprise
me that they knew about it. Of course I did not deny that I had
been to the Festival on my trip to Europe when he asked me about
it, and he did not pursue the point. Strangely, he did not seem
to know that I had also been to Russia on the same trip, and I
did not volunteer the information.
In general, this interview consisted of his going over every item
on the long form I had filled out. Eventually and inevitably he
came to the part about military service. When he asked, as I had
expected he would, why I had not registered, I answered, as I
had decided earlier to do, that I simply had not realized that
I was obliged to do so. His reaction was slightly reproachful,
but not unfriendly. He never indicated that he doubted my word.
He simply said that I would now have to register at once if I
wished to become a citizen. He explained that I should have registered
within 6 months after becoming a resident, and said that he would
have to report my case, and that I would be visited by the FBI
on this account. He tried however (apparently) to console me by
also explaining that if I did now register immediately, I need
not fear prosecution, since the government customarily waived
prosecution in such cases. And he further gave me the impression
that, once I had registered, my chances of becoming a citizen
would not be impaired.
The interview concluded with some brief questions to test my knowledge
of American government, e.g. what form of govt. do we have? What
is the Bill of Rights? Who is the Chief Executive of California?
Of course none of this bothered me at all. I was then sent out
& my witnesses called in, Kit going first.
Apparently his questions to the witnesses mainly concerned the
times they had known me, and, whether by accident or design, they
came to center chiefly on my trip abroad from July to December,
1959. It seems that Kit completely forgot about this trip, and
had a hard time remembering, even when he reminded her. He therefore
concentrated on it when quizzing Barbara. B here was in a very
awkward position, for she did not want it to come out that she
had travelled with me as my wife, nor that she is now living with
me as my wife (or even worse, not as my wife). She is particularly
worried about her passport, which is in the name of Barbara Brilliant.
She therefore decided to appear as my witness today in the role
in the role of my fiancée, Barbara Smith, her address in
San Jose, and to answer questions as if she had never been abroad.
Thus at one point she had to swear that she had never been out
of the country during the time she has known me. Apparently her
answers too about my trip abroad must have sounded very suspicious
to Mr. Canfield, so I fear that the general impression he must
have received is that I have not wished to publicize my Vienna
activities. But this whole situation was not without its humorous
side.
After our bout with Canfield, I thought that the worst was over.
I would have to register, but that would be that. The worst, however,
was yet to come.
I don't know the name of the second man who saw us in a second
office, but I wish I did, for he aroused my emotions more than
anyone has done in a long time. He was quite courteous when the
3 of us first appeared before him. We all took some more oaths,
then he dismissed the ladies. He was middle-aged, with a southern
or western twang in his voice, and called me "Son."
To my surprise, he began going over my form all over again. When
he came to the part about the army, his attitude was very different
from that of Canfield. I offered the same excuse, but he looked
at me in a vicious way and made it plain that he did not believe
me. "If you were an ignorant Puerto Rican farmer, I could
believe that," he said, "but you're a college professor.
It doesn't look good, Son - It looks like bad faith." I told
him that now that I had discovered my error, I intended to go
immediately and register. But this didn't satisfy him. "It'll
still look like bad faith" he said, "What you ought
to do is go write down there and volunteer-tell them you want
to join the army." I didn't know what to say to this. I could
hardly believe that he was serious. But he reiterated that it
wouldn't "look good" just to register, though he admitted
that that would satisfy the letter of the law.
He then asked about my trip to Europe, and when I admitted I had
been at a Youth Festival in Vienna, he asked if I meant "that
Communist Festival." It was at this point that I think I
began to go to pieces. I am accustomed to signing (purely as a
ridiculous formality) loyalty oaths swearing that I am not &
never have been a communist, and we had had to offer several such
oaths verbally already this morning. As soon as he raised the
issue of Communism, I should have leaned over backwards to avoid
any conflict with him. But he had already so antagonized and disturbed
me over the army business that I could not think carefully. About
the Festival, instead of using the question to deny the communist
implication as far as I was concerned, I simply said "It's
been called that." That set him off. "What do you think
about communism?" he asked. I had never been asked such a
question in such a situation in my life. Usually, one has simply
to fill in a little blank on a question sheet denying any connection
with communism. I now began to quibble with him. I asked if he
would mind defining the term. "You're the college professor,"
he shot back, "you define it!" I felt stunned, once
again virtually speechless. I stumbled for words, trying to explain
that it has many different meanings to different people. That
wasn't good enough for him. We fenced some more. He seemed very
angry. I was too, but didn't even realize it until afterwards.
At last I said, "Well, I know the sort of answer you want
me to give, so if you like I'll give it: Communism is an international
conspiracy devoted to world revolution and a destructive tyranny
over mankind." Then he started asking questions, each of
which I answered with a simple "No." Did I think communism
would be a good thing for the U.S.? Would I like to see our industries
nationalized here as they are in Russia? etc. Several times during
our "fencing" period, he had seemed to wish to turn
my academic background against me, implying that, since I was
a college teacher, I must know all about communism. I had heard
of anti-intellectual bias in people of his type, but now I was
actually seeing it in action.
At last he gave up that line of questioning, though I made it
plain that I was willing to sit and talk with him as long as he
wished. It seems to me that he had deliberately tried to frighten,
or at least to confuse me, & had mentioned threateningly at
one point that it was in his power to recommend that my application
be not granted. But the upshot of the whole interview, as far
as I could tell, was actually no different from that of the first
one, and it seemed that now I had only to obtain some "depositions"
from friends who have known me the full five years, register for
the army, and await the visit of the FBI.
After returning to Berkeley, I went this afternoon to the local
Selective Service office, and did actually register. In many ways
this was the most painful experience of the entire day. It seemed
to be going against all my ideals of the past. The only reason
I was willing to do it even now was that it seems very unlikely
that I would ever be drafted. Still, I hated to have to do it.
It was like throwing away whatever freedom & independence
I have enjoyed these past 5 years. This feeling, I realize, is
emotional rather than rational. But still it is very strong. Why
on earth should I want to become a citizen of this crummy country
where men are still drafted, rather than remain a subject of Great
Britain, where the draft has been abolished?
Of course, I still hope to work things so that, for any convenient
purposes I may still remain a British subject, e.g. I hope to
retain my British passport which can get me into countries forbidden
to Americans, e.g. China.
It is now 9:40, and all in all, this day has been rather a tragic
one for me, though more symbolically than in reality. I still
have every hope that I will get my citizenship, and that I will
never be called on to serve in the army. But such desirable ends
are proving increasingly expensive to obtain, at least in terms
of anxiety.
Saturday April 8 1961
(Written morning April 9) Having written yesterday's calamities
out of my system, I gave very little thought to them today.
Being now officially responsible for the upkeep of B's car, I
took it to a nearby service station for a lubrication & oil
change, at her request. This '48 Dodge runs very well, performs
better than my Nash, and hardly ever refuses to start, as my car
frequently does. Its only major trouble at the moment is faulty
brakes, which the man at today's service station estimated would
cost $40 to set right. This for us is a lot of money, so I will
try to get some other estimates. I very much dislike having to
deal with auto repair men. In general, I don't feel I can trust
them. There is however a place in Berkeley called Pine's, where
an Italian mechanic named Steve has always been very friendly
to us, & has frequently made minor repairs & adjustments
without charging anything at all, or simply a nominal sum. The
only trouble with going there is that Steve actually seems unwilling
to take on a major repair job, either because they already have
more work than they can handle, or because he just doesn't want
to have to charge us a lot of money. I will however try there
once more.
I mailed another University library book to Larry in Salinas.
He is taking an Education course by correspondence to fulfill
some requirement, & asked me to get him certain books from
the library here so he won't have to buy them. I am glad to have
an opportunity to help a friend in this way, for one reason because
I know there may come a day when I myself will need help &
friends.
In the afternoon, I spent some hours in my library carel, reading
books for my seminar project on practical abolitionism during
the Civil War. This has been an opportunity to learn a great deal
about American negroes which I never knew before.
This evening, B prepared a full-course hot dinner for the first
time in a week or more. During the past week, we both usually
stayed on campus till late. I ate sometimes in the cafeteria,
sometimes sandwiches etc. that I brought with me. But it gets
me down to have to eat constantly this way - I don't even enjoy
eating in the cafeteria -- & I pleaded with B to make a dinner.
She enjoys cooking for me because I appreciate so much what she
makes. (I always go into raptures over her egg sandwiches). So
tonight we had Swiss steak, preceded by soup) string beans, potatoes,
mushrooms, & berry pie, as well as juice & tea. This is
a typical dinner in our house. When we don't have any company,
we almost always eat in the kitchen.
Before eating, we hold hands across the table, in a silent "Quaker"
grace. We now each have napkins & rings sent by my parents.
After the meal is over, it is my job to clear up & wash up,
but I never mind doing this, although it usually takes me rather
a long time. Usually I sing while I'm doing it, or B stays sitting
in her place & we continue talking.
Tonight we decided (though B wasn't very enthusiastic - she has
been studying hard for a very difficult American Institutions
exam which she took & probably failed this morning, &
was feeling rather tired) to go & visit in hospital Mr. Miles
Ringel, husband of Mrs. Ringel, the cook at the YWCA cafeteria
where B & I occasionally work. He has been in traction for
some weeks as the result of an accident at work, & I had originally
suggested going to see him several weeks ago. We hardly know him,
but it would be a good gesture to Mrs. R, whom we both like, &
who has always been very generous with food to have there &
take home.
We started off in my car for the hospital in San Pablo, north
of Richmond. The car started all right, but just before we got
onto the freeway, I noticed that the temperature needle was at
boiling. This was not alarming, since I know my radiator leaks
& needs frequent re-filling. So we turned around & went
to a gas station, not intending to buy any gas, but simply to
get water.
I got out and gently removed the radiator cap, using my handkerchief.
The result was that it flew out of my hand, and lost itself somewhere
in the intricacies of the motor. B & I and the attendant,
who fortunately was a friendly fellow, all searched for it with
flashlights for some time, and at last he found it. In gratitude
we bought some gas (fortunately there is a "gas war"
on right now, and prices are low everywhere). By that time it
was 8:15, and almost too late to make the hospital visiting hours,
which ended at 9:00.
Then something else happened, which clinched the matter. A young
couple in another car at the service station were also having
trouble. Their car wouldn't start. I agreed to help by pushing
with mine. We pushed them up University Ave., then across &
down a side street, but their car still wouldn't start, so we
offered to take them to the Community Theater, where they were
going. By that time it was definitely too late for our planned
hospital visit. Instead, we decided to go to another hospital,
for what seemed a more urgent purpose.
B bit her lower lip some days ago, and the sore seemed to be getting
worse rather than better, and causing her much pain. It looked
to me as if it might be serious, so I urged her to go to the college
hospital. We now walked there together, after driving our car
home. Unfortunately we arrived just after 9, & found the door
locked. This meant we had to ring the bell, to be received as
an emergency patient. The nurse & doctor who looked at B made
it plain that they didn't consider her case an emergency. But
at least they treated her, and put some silver nitrate on the
sore, so I wasn't sorry to have taken her there.
We wandered over to the Hillel building, & entered unseen
through a lower door, though apparently the building was not officially
open. We went upstairs, & I turned on the television set,
and we were fortunately able to watch a very good program: two
American professors of law, apparently both Jewish, debating the
legality & desirability of the forthcoming trial by the State
of Israel of Adolf Eichmann, accused of war crimes against the
Jewish people in the form of mass slaughter. We were joined by
3 Israeli fellows, who all obviously had no doubt about the rightness
of Israel's action. I myself tend to sympathize with their viewpoint.
There seems little point in criticizing Israel's action at this
stage. But I think more good could emerge in the long run if this
man is not put to death, though such an outcome seems almost inevitable.
Sunday, April 9, 1961
B went away to San Jose for the day, & I spoke to hardly a
soul all day. Yet somehow I was not unhappy. It was one of those
times when I actually enjoyed being alone. Perhaps in part the
reason was that we had a very enjoyable sex experience in bed
this morning.
I am reading Hemingway's "A Farewell to Arms" for my
American Literature course. It is the second time I have read
this book. The first was, I think, in summer 1952. I remember
having much enjoyed it then, and been inspired to heroic thoughts,
but find now that I remember very little of the actual plot, so
am enjoying it even more now.
This afternoon, for the first time since childhood in Washington,
I believe, I flew a kite. I got it free in a gas station yesterday,
a very cheap and flimsy thing. I drove up into the hills. There
wasn't much wind, and I had eventually to attach a tail, but before
long my yellow kite was flying. The weather was fine & warm,
and I felt very pleased with myself. I found I didn't even have
to hold the string, but could tie it to a rock.
All day long, I intended to go & study in the library, but
didn't actually get there until 8 pm, which perhaps was for the
best, since in the 3 hours I was there, I had no trouble concentrating.
B was here when I came home at 11. Her lip is getting better.
Monday, April 10, 1961
After a few preliminary warnings yesterday, my annual hay-fever
made its definite appearance today, the most pronounced symptom
being nasal irritation and running. Fortunately I have pills,
which I'll begin taking tonight.
In Stampp seminar this aft I found myself in unaccustomed position,
attempting to defend an extreme viewpoint in the face of an historian
& 3 brilliant graduate students, who all felt differently.
The subject was bias & objectivity in the writing of history,
& I maintained that there never could be objectivity, because
there is no such thing as objective fact. I also found myself
advocating history written with a propagandistic purpose, provided
the purpose is a good one. But I found it extremely difficult
to express myself. In fact, I was really "on the spot,"
and everything I said was getting me into deeper water. Everyone
else in that group seems admirably able to organize & present
their thoughts, especially a fellow named Demos. Mr. Stampp obviously
disagreed strongly with me, & made this plain in his "summing-up"
when he said no one could function as a historian who did not
believe in the actuality of the past. I seem to be making a habit
of placing myself at odds with this man, & this can do me
no good, especially because I can't present a good case for myself.
Tuesday, April 11, 1961
I discussed with Fernandez my citizenship-conscientious objection
problem. He says that fear is behind my attitude to the army.
I said that may be true, but it doesn't illuminate things very
much. Talking things over with him often helps me clarify my position
on certain problems. E.g. my basic intellectual objection to marriage
in our society is that there is no good reason why the state should
be at all concerned with the private relationship between 2 people,
so long as no third party, i.e. a child, is involved. And my basic
objections to conscription are (1) that the purpose is one which
I do not approve, and (2) that it requires a complete sacrifice
of individual freedom of choice.
B & I had our monthly financial meeting tonight. Our total
resources are about $500, and I still have made no definite arrangements
about the summer. I don't yet know whether or not they are going
to let me be a summer T.A.
Wednesday, April 12, 1961
News today that the Russians have orbited a man around the earth,
and brought him safely back again. Great news for the human race,
I feel, though such achievements in space no longer come as a
surprise.
In my own little world, I went by pre-arrangement to the University
Child Development Center where Kit Speth works, to observe for
3 hours her and her colleagues working with 4-yr-old children.
They have observation galleries, where the observers may sit &
watch through a double screen which renders them invisible. It
was a novel experience, but not wholly satisfying, done partly
for Kit's sake, because she seemed so anxious to be appreciated
in her work. I don't know if her husband Bill, or anyone else,
has ever gone out of their way to see her there. After the 3 hours,
during which I made many notes, I attended a brief meeting of
the five women workers, headed by Mrs. Harms, & made some
comments & asked some questions. Kit seemed happy, & I
hope I may have contributed to this.
Thursday, April 13, 2015
I have of late been experiencing strong feelings of discontent.
I brood upon the seeming emptiness, futility, monotony, and inactivity
of my present life. I dream of escape, usually in the form of
travel, or of writing, and sometimes even in that of sexual adventures.
This present life is in many ways nearly all that one could desire,
yet it lacks challenge, adventure, excitement, and physical activity.
Once again, my waistline is bigger than my waistband. Every book
I read makes me want to write one. I keep feeling that a change
must come, yet I do not want to give up the security of my present
situation. It is the old old story all over again. If I were to
cut the Gordian knot, give up my studies, throw over my teaching
assistantship, I would feel happy and free for a time. I would
feel once again master of my fate. But then the longings for security
would reassert themselves, and I would begin to wish for just
such a "set-up" as I now enjoy.
The ideal, then, is to combine in a single way of life the best
elements both of security and of freedom, to have perhaps one
day a week, or one time each day when the other "personality"
is given rein. But how is this possible?
Friday, April 14, 1961
By prearrangement today I sat in as "observer" at section
meetings conducted by two of my fellow teaching assistants, Roger
Sharp and Tom Ruth (who is our head T.A.) It was the first time
I had observed other T.A.s at work, and, as I expected, I found
that they "give" their students more than I do in almost
every respect. In particular, they know so much more about the
subject than I do, and are so familiar with the literature, and
so at ease in their field that they can really teach where I cannot.
Roger's approach is highly academic and intellectual, with much
preparation apparently going into his lessons. Tom's is much more
informal and down-to-earth, & of the 2, I would far prefer
to have him as a teacher.
I thought this experience might in some way encourage me, but
all it did was further emphasize the misfortune of my position.
It often seems to me a supreme irony that I am endowed here with
the most splendid opportunity as a teacher of college students,
yet am either unable or unwilling (or perhaps partly both) to
take advantage of them. Strangely I often think that I would probably
do a far better job if I were not getting paid for it, if my only
incentive were the praise of interested superiors. Perhaps I think
this partly because I have never yet as a teacher exceeded the
enthusiasm and conscientious labor of my weeks as a student teacher
at Upland High School.
This evening I went with B to a play by Girardoux called "Ondine"
which was only mildly amusing, a satire I suppose on human attitudes
towards love, in a Medieval setting.
Saturday, April 15, 1961
I have begun one of my periodic diets to lose weight and girth,
eliminating practically all starch and non-natural sugur from
my intake. Of late, my trousers have become uncomfortably tight.
I meditated the diet for some time before embarking on it. For
food is one of the chief pleasures of my life, & it seemed
hard to sacrifice the consolation of such delights as peanut butter
& jam sandwiches and chocolate milk, candy bars and mashed
potatoes. But by yesterday things had reached such appoint where
(almost incredibly as it sounds) when it came time for a mid-afternoon
snack, the idea of a peanut butter and jam sandwich did not appeal
to me at all. In fact, I was slightly repelled by it. Then I knew
that the time had come & soon set about reorganizing my food
life, putting jams etc. away and (today) laying in stocks of food
which I know I can eat in abundance while still losing weight
(eggs, apples, carrots, cheese etc.) I now weigh 175 pounds, and
know from experience that I can lose 5 pounds by this method quite
easily, but that the next 5 take much longer, and in fact I usually
go off the diet before I have lost a full 10 pounds. (Continuing
April 16). In the evening we went to the Brookside Hospital in
San Pablo to visit Mr. Miles Ringle, husband of the cook at the
YWCA where B works. We both know Mrs. R quite well, & Barbara
has met Mr. R frequently, but I only once before. But the visit
was my idea, & it took weeks to bring to fruition. I looked
on it primarily as a way of expressing our gratitude to Mrs. R
for her many goodnesses to us, particularly in the way of food
to take home.
Mr. R, a large man of middle age, works at some dock in Oakland,
where an accident recently damaged his hip severely & required
putting his leg in traction. It has now been that way for 39 days,
and I was surprised to find, as he & Mrs. R. (who was also
there at the time) showed us, that the leg is kept straight &
taut by means of a weighted rope attached to a steel rod which
actually passes right through the leg. Thus, in order to heal
one wound, another has to be made.
Fortunately we found Mr. R very cheerful, & expecting to be
at least free of the traction in another week or so. Another couple
of visitors, a workmate and his wife, came while we were there.
Visiting people in hospital (especially those who have few or
no other visitors) is, it seems to me , a way in which I could
do much good.
Sunday, April 16, 1961
(Written April 17) B & I are both aware that we don't get
enough physical exercise. Today we tried running together around
the block. We ran very slowly, but were still surprised at how
soon we became tired. This evening, still in search of exercise,
we went to the student union bowling alley (for the first time
together.) B enjoys bowling, but I find very little in it, &
don't think it worth the price they charge there. An hour of bowling
cost us a total of $1.60 (including shoes).
I am close to becoming generally demoralized. I don't really have
enough work to do (not enough that I am required to do, that is)
. My diet does not help my frame of mind.
I did get a letter written to my parents today, & one to Allen
& Myra, but found it very hard to accomplish anything in the
way of work on my seminar project.
In mid-afternoon, B & I went kite-flying for an hour in the
hills, just as I had done alone a week ago. Late in the evening,
we had an unusually frank discussion about our future. The closer
B comes to graduating, the less sure she is about what she wants
to do next. My problem is (as always) that I want freedom to write,
but security at the same time.
Monday, April 17, 1961
A general discontent continurs. I have not enough to do. Letter
from Mother - she flies to Canada on April 19, and will be here
sometime in June. It occurred to me today that there are very
few things about which I really care, certainly few theoretical
issues or international developments. There is nothing I get excited
about any more. These days, I don't even read a newspaper very
often. (The free delivery of the San Francisco Chronicle which
for some baffling reason we received for many months, stopped
some weeks ago.) I do get a "Life" magazine every week
(the subscription a birthday gift from B.)
Today I continued trying to organize material for my seminar project,
but feel I made little headway. I read over the 48-page paper
I wrote for a seminar last year on "Prohibition And Contempt
For The Law," for which I received an "A," and
found it surprisingly good, but have little confidence about doing
as well again.
This evening I went with B to visit for the first time her friends
Charlene & Ed Hersh. B has known them for some time, having
befriended Charlene at college, but this was the first time I
was brought into the picture. To them (so B wishes it) we have
to play the role of an unmarried couple, not living together.
The occasion this evening was a birthday party for their daughter
Rebecca, now five. But all the guests were adults. I felt generally
awkward, & as usual didn't enjoy myself. To make matters worse,
I decided to forbid myself the cake & ice cream I could have
indulged in there, because of my diet. Charlene seemed a very
cheerful person. As usual, I came away feeling that my social
failure was largely my own fault.
Tuesday, April 18, 1961'
In my weekly psychiatric session today, Fernandez said I was "spoiled
rotten" by my mother. (Continuing April 19.) He didn't say
a word for the first 35 or 40 minutes, which was disconcerting.
He just sat there, never looking me in the eye, not even looking
as if he was listening, while I rambled on, with long pauses,
about my problems, my antisocial behavior (stealing & cheating
in various ways), my lack of a goal, my inability to make decisions
about the future. When he finally began talking, he said that
it was time I grew up. But this didn't help very much.
I went to a talk on Russian history this eve, by Professor Cyril
Black, which was good, in that he talked as much about the future
as about the past. He predicted that the U.S. & Russia and
other countries too will not, as some people hope and expect,
grow more alike with the passage of time, but that in many ways
their differences will become more pronounced. He sees some kind
of loose world confederation by the year 2000