Christmas in New York, 1967 – from “The Socko Sixties” – Letters from the Loft – 501 LaGuardia Place. Letters addressed to Mother living on Ocean Front, Newport Beach, California.

Sunday, December 24, 1967 – 7:45 a.m.

  I don’t usually get up this early on Sunday, but I went to bed very early last night. Frank has one of his winter colds, so we stayed indoors and I read a couple of Greek tragedies. Anyway, this morning I woke with the rosy dawn (a clear, cold day, but a few clouds) and I’m at my window again enjoying a hot cup of coffee. It’s too early to type, so you’re getting a sampling of how I work in the early morning – in long hand with my Parker $5.00 pen, and on yellow pads like this. Then, at night, when I come home from work I type up what I’ve written – if anything. Sometimes it’s just notes, or revisions of previous things.

  At 7:15 this morning, just as the sun was coming up – (it comes up behind the Pei 30 story tower now, so I’m not sure of the exact moment), a taxi pulled up in front of the far tower and a man and woman got out. They had a trunk full of Christ­mas presents and the doorman rushed out to help them in. I had been thinking, this is just the time of day the 10:30 p.m. flight from California would be arriving (at 6:30 a.m., that is – and another half hour to get here from the airport). So – I was feeling and imagining this couple had just arrived from Los Angeles for a visit.

  Well, I’m still capable of a good tear or two now and then, and I guess I choked up because I thought of you and Dad and the family and the wonderful Christmases we’ve had through the years.

  I could picture these two, as they disappeared into that cold, gray building, stopping off at one of the apartments, waking up a family, and the excited greetings and hugs, and the screaming kids. Seems odd such an old fashioned scene is being played in that huge tower, witnessed only by those participating, even though they are surrounded, in the midst of hundreds of others – sleeping.

  There is only a trace of snow on the ground. It fell at night on Friday, after a day of heavy, warm rain. Snow is expected for Christmas day, but my barometer now reads clear . . . that is, it’s rising.

  You can see my little work nook from the street. On the brick wall at my left, I’ve got an original World War I poster hanging – Uncle Sam by James Montgomery Flagg – the famous “Uncle San” artist, you’ll recall. This time Sam has his hands on his hips, fists clenched, red, white and blue, says, “I’m telling you. On June 28^th I expect you to enlist in the army of war savers to back up my army of fighters. W.S.S. Enlistment (in red) – the torch of liberty.”  The world hasn’t changed much (people and governments, that is) in fifty years, has it?

  Imagine. This time of day – 8 now – three boys walking down the street, singing rock. Not hippies. Their hair’s too short.

  One brief sentence will bring you up to date on my job situation:  On Thursday morning, E.J. Ade (whom I almost punched in the nose) fired me as of Dec. 29; and on Friday, after he had talked to my good friend the Explorer’s Club President on the phone in Washington, D.C., he rehired me again – “through January.”  Poor E.J. Ade. He wants to get rid of me, but can’t. He’s trying to get me to punch him in the nose or resign – but I’ve been just as sweet as apple pie. It’s easy to be sweet when you know the power is behind you. In the meantime, an interesting opportunity is in the works with a Conservation group and the American Museum of Natural History. – Did I say, “brief sentence”?

  Thank you for your “Greetings from Newport Beach, California.” Three well-chosen scenes – the deep sea fishermen, the sail boat, and the waves dashing on the rocks. Your cards are like the Lorelei – that Siren on the Rhine River – beckon­ing me home again. Such a brief message from you – such an un-Christmas Christ­mas Card – but – how wonderful, and how good to hear from you. Please don’t ever apologize for not writing. It’s always great to hear from you – whenever you get the chance for a note – and no matter how brief the message.

  Remember the song – or was it a movie? – “If I had a million dollars?”  Well, naturally, I’ve been thinking in those terms lately, but I’m not just waiting for it to happen.

  First of all – and foremost – I’m working very hard (still not hard enough) to develop skills as a writer. I’ve let it go too long, getting so involved in these jobs – of necessity. – Whoops! You just got a sample of that coffee I spoke about. Martin­son’s – black, without milk or sugar.

  Anyway – developing skills means a routine and building your confidence as a writer. And it takes hard work.

  Secondly – I’m working hard to grow up – that is, to learn to react to pressure and people with calm assurance. New York City is a good school for that.

  And above all – to keep young in thinking – to look at life freshly every day – to look for new perspectives – new approaches. I believe this is one reason, at least, that I respond so sympathetically to the hippies (not entirely) and the rock generation: their fresh outlook – original, kind of “now just what is life all about?”

  So anyway, if “I had a million dollars,” I’d just have more time to concentrate on the important, real things in life: developing a few more specific projects, like spending more, much more time in California, helping Alice develop your land (and it is your land), making films, producing theatre, writing, writing, writing!

  It is turning into a gray, cloudy day. Not much wind. Earlier the clouds were moving from the north-northwest, but a puff of smoke from the top of the far Pei tower shows a breeze from the west. If the barometer falls, and the wind shifts to the southwest, we’ll have snow tomorrow.

  The reason I say “far Pei tower” is that there are three of them – some­thing like this:  [diagram of buildings looking out on West Broadway – now called LaGuardia Place – Houston Street on the south – pronounced House-ton.]

  Maybe I’d better send a photograph taken with one of Frank’s wide angle lenses.

  New break in the clouds! Blue sky, and the wind is from the northwest. In about an hour – at about 10 a.m., the sun will be streaming into the big windows here.

  Really not much else happening. Social life – treated ourselves to a Christ­mas dinner (enjoyed with others, of course) at the favorite restaurant around the corner on Thompson Street – “Portofino’s.” We are well known there. Fabulous, northern Italian cooking, and a great waiter – Luigi. Don’t even bother with a menu anymore. Luigi recommends the meal, and that’s it. In fact, this time we had something isn’t even on the menu. The cook / owner always comes out to greet us.

  Frank was saying, “wouldn’t it be great if Alice and Edith could be here – and we could introduce them to this restaurant and Luigi.”

  Other than that, I really am leading a quiet, work-a-day life. Hectic only as regards the job situation.

  And, on Friday at the gym, I weighed 151 pounds!  (Last summer I was pushing 170). Feel great!

  9:05. Now all the clouds have disappeared. It’s a sunny day, after all. Just tapped the barometer. It’s still rising. Humidity is dropping. Out back between the buildings, it’s 31 degrees, which means it’s around 29-30.

  Did I tell you? For New York City, this is a very friendly building and area. We wave at people who live in the buildings behind us – in fact, one fellow and his girlfriend have been over for a drink to admire our loft. He’s a writer – play­wright – wears a beard. [Frank Alisi]

  And in this building (where we live, that is) on the first floor is Ed Judice and Barbara (I think it’s his wife) a young couple. He’s a fashion photographer. On the next floor beneath is Bob Cortwright, sculptor, and his friend Bruno Romeda, an Italian sculptor. Above, on the top floor is “Daniel.” Very good boy – very friendly, but I believe, although he does paint, that he’s pretty much independently wealthy, and somewhat of a playboy. He has very long hair, huge sideburns, and dresses like something out of the revolutionary days. No kidding. Scarf ties, and lace cuffs and a blue uniform coat! He has more girlfriends than I can keep track of. Very expensive furniture.

  My hand is worn out from writing. This is my Christmas package to you. Merry Christmas!  To you – to Dad – and all the family. And let’s hope – for the new year – that we’ll be seeing each other BEFORE the vernal equinox.

  9:29 – Here comes the sun!  Just about to pop out from the far right tower. It’s reflection is already coming in the back windows – reflected from the windows on the building behind us.

  9:31 – There it is!  Happy New Year.