Word: dears
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Dates: during 1940-1949
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...Dear Mr. President...
...felt that another musical with a New York theme was about due, a month or so having lapsed since the last one. Consequently there are a couple of songs in which the chorus shouts loud hosannas for such things as Rockefeller Center, the subway system, Lord & Taylor (remember the dear dead days when everybody was singing songs about Macy's?), and, of course, Fifth Avenue. "From Dubuque to Westminster Abbey they want the Fifth Avenue Look," they chant. And there's the inevitable song about how lonely a fellow can be in this big town with all the people 'round...
...James Smith, who lives meanly in a $16-a-month room, could stand some medical attention himself: his hernia bothers him a good deal, but he cannot afford a doctor ("Everything is so dear"). Then how can he afford a charity? "Oh," he explained, "that's different. I'm an old bachelor and I don't have any family, so why shouldn't I help the poor? . . . Every night I put aside whatever change I have in my pockets and save it up and when Christmas comes I take it and give it to charity...
...Dear Virginia," sneered Phillips: "Your inquiry is inexcusable, insolent, and wholly incredible . . . No, Virginia, there is no Santa Claus . . . Believe in Santa Claus! You might as well believe in fairies, those despicable creations of Wall Street . . . You might even see a Santa Claus. But what would that prove? It would be no sign he was there! The most real things in the world are those a child never sees but is told about by the Central Committee . . . Ah, Virginia, in all the world there is nothing real or abiding unless you get it officially from the Kremlin. Santa Claus! Phooey...
...Dear Bertie" seems to have boggled and backtracked. He sent Lawrence an outline of his democratic ideas for lectures-and got it back scrawled with screams ("no! no! no! no! no!"; "Do go to the root"). In Letter 15 Lawrence was more explicit. "You simply don't speak the truth . . . you are really the super-war-spirit . . . you want to jab and strike, like the soldier with the bayonet . . . You are simply full of repressed desires . . . As a woman said to me, who had been to one of your meetings: 'It seemed so strange, with his face looking...