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Dec. 14, 1966 Dear Jack

   Sorry to hear about your reason for being in Moberly.
   I know how you feel.  Despite a fairly good record in the field I'm too old to get a trade magazine job.  Too old for most any sort of job.
   Just about anything I say will be trite.  You know the world belongs those who revel in the crappy old homilies.
   Or should we say, crappy homilies whether old or new.  Whether perpetrated by a Bircher or a Commie, by a learned prof or a benighted heathen, no think remains just that.
   I think of Ambrose Bearse.  Did he go south hoping to escape no think?  Hoping to find reason among the revolutionaries?  Perhaps to be killed for not agreeing with their brand of no think.
   Whatever, he'd have liked my Christmas story.   About the guy who so hated his boss that he got drunk our of sight at the office party.
   Next morning his wife told him, "You really did it with the boss last night."
   "Aaah, piss on him."
  "That's what you did last night and he fired you."
  "Fired me huh.  Fuck him."
  "That's what I did last night and you got your job back."

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