My dear detective (Al Dewey) is in the hospital, having suffered two massive coronaries. And my sweet old friend Newton Arvin has only a few weeks to live (cancer).163 So it’s one thing, and then another. Except that one cares.
Much love, dearheart. Drop a note and let me know if you are still at the hotel. Or where I can call you.
Jack says Hello. Charlie, too—who has somehow survived the winter. Diotima looks wonderful: even a little fat.
Hugs
T.
[Collection St. John’s College, Cambridge University]
TO ALVIN AND MARIE DEWEY
[Bridgehampton, N.Y.]
[20 July 1963]
Dearhearts
Will call before you leave for Cuchara; but meantimes—this.
Poor Dewey. But I’m sure all this construction work will do marvels for his figure: maybe I should get that sort of job. Anyway, hope his hands have hardened now; and trust, too, that Alvin is less ‘down in the back.’
Guess what? Perry Smith’s lawyer, Robert Bingham, called to ask if I would come to their Habeas Corpus hearing and testify as to what an unfair trial the boys had in G.C. Well, you can imagine what I told him. But apparently they are not even having the Hearing until September. My God.
Have you seen page 61 of the current (July 22) ‘Newsweek’. Did it make you laugh?
I am definitely going to California around the 20th of October, and will come back via G.C. for a little visit.
I spoke with Miss Lee yesterday, and she said she was going to call you, so perhaps she has—anyway, she is in the city, where they are having a Heat Wave and High Humidity.
Alvin, while you are safe-proofing those banks, why not figure a foolproof way to rob one: I’ll help you.
Miss you and love you all
T.
P.S. The enclosed is a Reward for Paul’s gardening blisters. He must spend every penny in Cuchara.
[Collection New York Public Library]
TO PERRY SMITH
[Bridgehampton, N.Y.]
7 August 1963
Dear Perry—
Here once more are the photographs—or at least those (of the Curtis group) that could be whittled down to size. All the smaller ones are by Avedon. I have measured them carefully, so I hope they reach you this time.
I spoke to Nelle on the phone; she said she was writing you today.
I have found the first stanza of the poem you wanted—I’m certain it has two long stanzas, but for some reason I copied the first in a notebook (three years ago!) and either did not do the second or lost it. Sorry.
There’s a race of men that don’t fit in
A race that can’t stay still;
So they break the hearts of kith and kin;
And they roam the world at will.
They range the field and they rove the flood,
And they climb the mountain’s crest;
Their’s [sic] is the curse of the gypsy blood,
And they don’t know how to rest.
If they just went straight they might go far
They are strong and brave and true;
But they’re ever tired of the things that are,
And they want the strange and new.164
Always—
Truman
Truman CAPOTE
Box 501
Bridgehampton, N.Y.
[Collection Gerald Clarke]
TO MARIE DEWEY
[Bridgehampton, N.Y.]
[8 September 1963]
Dearheart—
Rcvd. your (as always) sweet letter this morning. The enclosed is for Alvin’s impending birthday—please get him his favorite scotch and a good-sized steak.
Have just come back from a few days in the city—got myself measured for some new winter suits (something suitable for the Brown Palace165). It does sound like fun—and I’m greatly looking forward. I had lunch with Anne Ford last Saturday—who says she has decided she will divorce Henry: no great loss—he is a terrible bore, whereas she is just the opposite: she is getting a settlement in excess of 10,000,000—and I don’t mean sardines.
Am going to L.A. the 5th of November. Will stay with Audrey Hepburn—until the 15th, then take plane to meet you.
Much love, my darling friend
T.
[Collection New York Public Library]
TO ALVIN AND MARIE DEWEY
[Bridgehampton, N.Y.]
[11 September 1963]
Dearhearts—
Enclosed is the clipping I mentioned. Also a letter which I know you will find very touching—a response to the letter I wrote them about Patrick’s death (know I need not say that I send you this in confidence).166
Am planning to call you tomorrow, so will just add that—
I am your devoted and always loving
Truman
[Collection New York Public Library]
P.S. Would appreciate it if you returned the clipping and J’s letter.
TO BENNETT AND PHYLLIS CERF
[Telegram] Southampton, N.Y.
Sept. 17, 1963
ON YOUR TWENTY FIFTH ANNIVERSARY I PLAN TO GIVE YOU SAM SPIEGEL’S YACHT167 MEANWHILE ACCEPT HUGS AND LOVE AND LOTS OF DELICIOUS KISSES FROM THE ONE AND ONLY TRUMAN CAPOTE
[Collection Columbia University Library]
TO CECIL BEATON
17 Sept 1963
Bridgehampton, N.Y.
Dearest One—
Had your sweet letter today: loved the bit about camping in the Big Sur and Kin fishing off silver rocks.168 I should think that would make up for quite a lot.
Am still by the sea, which now is rather grey and wintry: We seem always to come too early and stay too late; but I hope to linger until the middle of next month. I am coming to you November 10th. I realize I will have missed both the Ascot and the Ball scenes—but I have some serious complications regarding my book and I cannot leave before then. Actually, I don’t care whether I do the ‘Fair Lady’ piece. That’s the least of my worries. I’d just like to spend a little time with you period.
I am in a really appalling state w/ tension and anxiety. Perry and Dick have an appeal for a pending in Federal Court: if they should get it (a new trial) I will have a complete breakdown of some sort. The Hearing is Oct 9th and the decision should be handed down by the 15th. Actually I don’t think they will get the trial. But you can’t tell. Anyway, if all goes well, I should be able to finish the book by Spring. If I can stand it that much longer.
I never see anybody—except for one weekend at the Paleys—where saw C.Z. [Guest]—so pregnant that really she is grotesque and ought not to be allowed in public.169 Jack is fine—he has been painting pictures of Diotima and they are very charming. Give my love to Chris [Isherwood] and Don [Bachardy].
All hugs, dear heart
T.
[Collection St. John’s College, Cambridge University]
TO PERRY SMITH
70 Willow Street
Brooklyn, New York
15 December 1963
Dear Perry—
Last night I woke up and suddenly thought: Perry says he doesn’t know anything about me, not really. I lay awake thinking about it and realized that, to a certain extent, it was true. You don’t know even the surface facts of my life—which has a few certain similarities to yours.170 I was an only child, and very small for my age—and always the smallest boy in school. When I was three, my mother and father were divorced. My father (who has been married five times since) was a traveling salesman, and I spent much of my childhood wandering around the South with him. He was not unkind to me, but I disliked him and still do. (I never see him; he lives in New Orleans). My mother, who was only 16 when I was born, was very beautiful. She married a fairly rich man, a Cuban, and after I was 10 I lived with them (mostly in New York). Unfortunately, my mother, who had several miscarriages and as a result developed mental problems, became an alcoholic and made my life miserable. Subsequently she killed herself (sleeping pills). I quit school when I was 16 and have been on my own ever since—getting a job on a magazine (having started to write at a very early age). I was always intellectually and artistically precocious—but emotionally immature. And, of course, I always had emotional problems—largely because of a “question” you yourself asked me on our last visit and which I answered truthfully (not that the answer isn’t obvious)!171
This is a very sketchy resumé. But I am not in the habit of making such confidences. However, I do not mind telling you anything.
Always,
Truman
[Collection Unknown]
TO ALVIN AND MARIE DEWEY
12 Indian Creek Island172
[Miami Beach, Fla.]
18 January 1964
Dearhearts—
Just rcvd. Pappy’s ‘cheerful’ communiqué—and it was wonderfully sweet of him to be so thoughtful. I really have been feeling very low—almost bitter. It’s all absolutely beyond belief. My God! Why don’t they just turn them loose and be done with it. Nothing would surprise me any more. How idiotic not to have made a transcript in the first place! No, I haven’t told either The New Yorker or Random House. I just can’t face it. Of course it’s not my fault, but they are going to be very annoyed with me—perhaps rightly, because I had given them every assurance. Well, there’s nothing to be done—except try to get through another year of this totally absurd and unnecessary torture.
The weather here is certainly very variable—hot one day, freezing the next. But it’s a beautiful house, and Charlie likes it—he’s got a girl-friend: a great big boxer.
I am going to send you a crate of fruit one day next week when I get into town—there’s nothing on this island except a golf club. I mean, no shops.
All love to the boys and Pete, too.
Hugs and kisses
T
P.S. As you can see from the enclosed clip, our plight is no secret on either side of the Atlantic—173
[Collection New York Public Library]
TO ALVIN AND MARIE DEWEY
Gemini
Boynton Beach, Florida
[4 February 1964]
Dearhearts—
Enclosed is a picture of this place—or one small area of it. There are 22 servants, and a private golf-course. Charlie and I have our own little beach house
