Chapter 27 Things Come to a Head

supplemented by

Chapter 27

Things Come to a Head

During 1961 I went into a great deal of detail, supplemented by passages from Bill's journal about what was happening to us all, because it seemed a seminal time of change, of transition. I still have a hard time fully understanding my own behavior during the next few years of this period &endash; especially toward Bill &endash; and an even harder time understanding his, I guess. It may be that from this time on I was struggling to rely on his judgment and leadership less and less while still totally unsure of my own ability to rely on my own. I know something pretty drastic was taking shape in our relationship, and that I felt I was fighting like mad to get on top of it and make it change &endash; and that the more I tried to do this, the worse it got! But let's go through it sequentially. Maybe doing so will help to illuminate the process. I'll try not to lean on Bill's journal too much, although my own lack of understanding seems to interfere with my sense of sequentiality, and the daily-ness of the journal is comforting, even when it ignores or distorts my pont of view.

It would have seemed as though 1961 was tough enough and 1962 could hardly be much worse, and might even be a bit better. And if this were a reasonable world, that might have been so. But in fact 1962 proved to be even worse, even more stressful and unhappy. It began well enough. January and February passed with not much more than the usual rate of chaos and disaster, but nothing outstandingly dreadful happened. Bill was asked by a colleague in the American Philosophical Association from Washington University to run the "slave market" at the next conference in May - the place where potential employers and employees could meet and get to know each other. I was glad to be invited by Bill to become a part of that process, since he had had such a difficult transition himelf! But I continued to have chest pain and a bad cough, which I was convinced was psychosomatic, and that I should be seeing a psychiatrist. This belief strengthened and became a kind of fixation, in between my daily activities of all sorts.

It is truly ironic, looking back, that what I ended up doing was not actually finding a psychiatrist, but trying to redirect my energies. I redoubled my political protest activities, thereby adding even more to my burdens of responsibility. I also reacted with a new campaign of political protest, buying a mimeograph machine and beginning to crank our a monthly newsletter, which I mailed out to faculty wives &endash; and almost anyone whose address I had in my possession. The fallout shelter frenzy was at its height, and in February, acting as the local organizer, I helped to lead a shelter demonstration at the Capitol which was attended by hundreds from all over the state.

I had a bad run-in with Bill's mother early in January of 1962, which Bill describes thus:

Mary had another big fight with Mother. What sets Mary off is Mother's self-centeredness, her refusal to participate, to be part of the family, to give love. But Mary goes too far, far too far.

I remember the episode, although not the "other" big fight Bill refers to but does not document in his journal. She and I were both standing on the front stairs. My memory is that his mother was going upstairs to her room, as usual after breakfast, and that I was seized with a strong impulse to challenge her in a way she couldn't just ignore. I think I was also frantic with a feeling of her fear and dislike of me, and was certainly feeling sorry for myself.

The result was that I felt suddenly pushed to intervene, to try to force her to modify her belief that she could not behave any differently. I suspect my own belief that such an intervention was possible may have come partly from my inner conviction that Bill could have taken a stand with her &endash; as I had on the subject of her cataract operation when we were in Texas &endash; but wouldn't. I began by telling her I wanted her to stop behaving the way she was doing toward us all and to begin treating us like a family &endash; at first speaking quietly to her, but ending by yelling at her, when it became clear to me that her only wish was to get away from me. She must have exhibited intense fear and not responded to what I was asking of her, because I in turn redoubled my effort to force her to listen to me and take me seriously. She finally said to me, equally forcefully, "Stop, or I'll throw myself out the window!" I realized then that nothing was possible in the way of change, and began inwardly planning to hunt up a good retirement home for her. She had already expressed a wish to go to the same retirement home in St. Louis as her older sister Ann, so there was at least some basis in her own thinking for my idea.

Looking back it is pretty clear to me that part of my vehemence was rebellion against being morally bound to fulfill my role in so many people's lives, caring as I did what happened to their lives and committed to the path I had chosen to follow, yet bound to them all hand and foot by the unbreakable gossamer chains of love! Like Bill's mother, I wanted to be taken care of for a change! But how could I acknowledge such a shameful desire? &endash; and what difference would it have made if I did? I was trapped. My only course was to try to muddle through!

My growing tendency to blame Bill for everything that was wrong was not long in appearing. Bill writes in his journal for the end of March:

A most distressing time with Mary, sort of a new record for even that sort of thing. I felt psychologically bruised all day. I went for a long but rather aimless walk from four to about six this afternoon…

How does one get angry with a man who is already at the end of his tether, who feels totally responsible yet equally helpless to solve the growing problems springing up all around him? In my case, the form my effort took to reach some sort of consensus with Bill was to quote extensively from my "sources" as a basis for rationalizing my wish to engage in some marital counseling.

I guess what precipitated a lot of the chaos that developed during 1962 came about in early spring when my now chronic upper respiratory infections, for which I had been taking antibiotics off and on, escalated into joint pains in my arms and legs, and a slightly elevated temperature. Dr. Poskanzer found evidence of pleurisy in one lung, and prescribed a stronger antibiotic medication, but in spite of taking oral penicillin for a couple of months, the symptoms persisted throughout the month of April and seemed to be getting worse.

Following my strongly-held belief that my basic problem was psychosomatic, I got several names of psychiatrists from a faculty wife who was also an MD, and made an appointment with one of them &endash; a Dr. Morgenstern. Things were coming to head, in spite of the distractions of all sorts of both family, professional and political involvements by both of us.

On May 9th, Bill records in his journal:

Mary's temperature went up to ninety-nine-six this afternoon. She says that some of her joints are a little swollen. So is her head, unfortunately.

I came home as quickly as I could to help get the things done that had to be done around here, found Mary going much too far with Mother. Finally got them both quiet enough to talk and talk and talk. Seemed to reach a temporary truce, at least so far as Mother was concerned, but Mary started getting wild again this evening. She needs lots of help - medical, psychological, spiritual. …

My work is getting piled up in confused masses. I wish that I could at least find a small island of inner calm in which I could get a little work done. And I'm having more seeing trouble. Oh, the hell with it, there isn't any room for my troubles. Maybe it's better that way.

The next morning Dr. Poskanzer finally put me in the hospital for tests. Actually, my physical symptoms were a little better, but I had begun experiencing acute anxiety, amounting to an anxiety attack the evening before, probably related to my having released some of my frustration and anger toward Bill's mother. It was to be a lengthy stay, and my reaction to being there was to experience a level of intensity of feeling amounting almost to a psychotic break! Morgenstern came in to visit me, and prescribed thorazine, according to Bill's journal, so he must have thought I was pretty crazy. Fortunately, my reaction to this major drug was very bad indeed, so, after taking two doses I stopped swallowing it, and would spit it out as soon as the nurse left the room. Morgenstern discontinued it at my urgent request.

Following lab and EKG work which disclosed the existence of a heart murmur and an elevated white count, I stayed in the hospital for a month, and then was in bed at home for another month, on oral penicillin. While I was still in the hospital, my mother flew down from Maine and took over running the household, which was a great relief to me. Also Bill's mother began helping her &endash; so this was a double benefit! My mother began realizing how difficult life had been for us without a proper washing machine in a family of our size, and insisted on buying one for us and paying for its installation. Bill reports home doings as follows:

Grammy had a talk with Poskanzer this afternoon. He told her that he is not at all satisfied with Mary's condition, that he is "stringing her along," and that he doesn't think that he'll let her out of the hospital by next Friday. He says that he knows enough about her usual mode of life to know that it would be very bad for her to let her come home, so he's going to keep her there as long as possible. He says that what she does now is a critical factor in determining her future health, perhaps for the rest of her life. He wants Grammy to take Mark, Ellen, and her up to Maine for the rest of the summer when she does get out. He wants her to stop her other activities.

Poskanzer says that after Mary's temperature has remained flat for three days, he'll let her walk around the hospital a little for three days, and then he'll let her come home. Mary says that the other patients and the nurses are shocked to find that she is being visited by a psychiatrist.

Ellen made a big fuss about being allowed to stay up till eleven this evening to watch a Jerry Lewis show. Tomorrow is a holiday for the children. At first I was adamant. She screamed and cried. I remained unmoved. Finally she reasoned with me very calmly. I'm a sucker for this approach - I gave in.

Wednesday, May thirtieth

Mary's temperature stayed flat today, but she was feeling down this afternoon because Poskanzer had told her that he wanted her to have another EKG on Friday before any plans could be made for releasing her from the hospital.

Then I made it much worse. Morgenstern had been in earlier in the day. Mary said that he said that we should find someone to take care of Ellen for a while. Mary's mother is taking Mark back to Maine with her. Jeanne has offered to take care of Ellen. I'm supposed to make arrangements to ship my mother over to Bucky's farm. In a poorly controlled moment I said that I hoped we weren't just clearing the decks at home for Mary to be able to devote her undevided attention to her newsletter and other projects. I went on to say that I felt that these activities items to be restored to her activity schedule. I said that a restoration of the "normal" routine of our family life should come first.

Mary said, "What do you mean, "normal?" and took off from there. She said that all I cared about was myself, that I was feeling neglected, and wanted to reduce her to the role of taking care of me.

I went back in the evening to try to soothe her but didn't do too good a job.

Billy and Peter spent the holiday working at Shelley Kaye's camp out near New Scotland. That's the place where Peter worked last week-end, or was it the one before last?

I'm not getting through those papers - too disturbed. It was a hot evening. I finally went out and bought a couple of bottles of beer. Shared one with Grammy. She tells me that both Tony and Judy [my sister Jeanne's two oldest] are getting married this summer. Billy Macomber is going to perform Tony's marriage, since he's marrying a "good Catholic," a girl who teaches business or typing or something like that in a parochial high school. Judy is not marrying the fellow whose picture we saw a couple of years ago, who, according to Grammy, turned out to be peculiar and unstable, but a fellow student at the University of Maine who is preparing to be a high school teacher. Grammy describes him as sort of "cocky," says that he has promised to pay Judy's tuition and keep her in school till she graduates.

In early June my father and Teddy drove down from Maine and took Mark and Ellen back with them, dropping Ellen off to stay with my sister Jeanne and her family in Georgetown, Mass. Dr. Poskanzer finally decided my condition was stable enough for me to come home, so Bill and Billy drove his mother to the farm in Ashfield to stay with Bucky. It was this issue which Bill and I had fought about, and was to continue to be a major problem for our relationship.

It was clear to me that both Bill and his mother were totally ambivalent on the subject of her place in our family &endash; she wanting to be close to her son but not to our chaotic household, he wanting her to give up her unhappiness and become satisfied with life in our household so that he need not feel so helpless and guilty about her misery. It was also clear to me that his feelings about me resembled his feelings about his mother in many ways, and that he was having a very hard time having to choose between the two of us - as in fact he always had had, because of his basic guilt level.

In actuality it was my awareness of his ambivalence based on that guilt that was one of the ingredients in my own unhappiness. It was clear to me that he would greatly have preferred it if I had joined him in a complex reaction to his mother's presence in our lives consisting of an acceptance of the necessity of on-going supportive service to her and simultaneously, a shared (but tacit) agreement about the annoyance of the burden created by the necessity of having to give her that service. To have me in a similar position of needing service from him as well was for him a double burden! And since in fact I did realize this and actually shared his belief about what we both owed his mother, my resentment and guilt continued to erode my own mental and physical balance!

The month of June ushered in a lengthy period of both physical and emotional instability on my part, most of it spent in bed. Billy graduated from Milne School and soon went off to the farm to take care of Bucky and Bill's mother for the summer. Katy and Butts came for a lengthy visit, which was very helpful to our family morale! Bill started summer school. He writes of July,

Friday, July thirteenth

Mary saw Morgenstern this afternoon, her first genuine and regular session, really. He told her that he would call her recent psychological difficulties a "moderately severe episode." Whatever "directiveness" he gave her, she came home convinced that he supported her contention that we cannot continue to have my mother live with us. Actually, of course, this is a decision that I have been coming round to myself. If someone has to be thrown out of this cosy little triple troika to keep the wolves of tension from breaking up the whole family, I guess Mother is it. I won't feel happy about it, but I'm sort of used to going through life with an increasing load of guilt. Considering the load I already carry, this won't add much. Mary claims that Mother herself doesn't really enjoy living with us and that, after a period of difficult adjustment, she'll be happier living among people who don't disturb her so much as we do. This contention may be true and still be a rationalization.

Jeanne called us this evening just as Mary was about to call her. The Robinsons [who now lived in Beverly, Mass.] visited them, took Ellen to their place for several days. Jeanne and Bob drove down to Beverly to pick her up, stayed for supper, said they enjoyed meeting Heber and Frances. We arranged for Peter to pick up Ellen and bring her home. He will bus to Boston tomorrow. they'll pick him up and take him to Georgetown, and drive Ellen and him back to Boston tomorrow to get the bus.

Bill continues:

Explaining the current situation to Mother turned out to be fully as difficult and painful as I had anticipated. It threw her into a tailspin and just when she was beginning to straighten out and get used to living at the farm. Even Mary tried to back down at the last minute, but I knew there was no hope of getting away from it for long, so I inisted on going through with it, telling Mother that there is a good possibility that she might not be able to continue living with us. I put it mostly on the basis of Mary's mental health, made it cognate with sending the children away temporarily, told her of the accommodations we had surveyed. …

Despite the crises throughout the winter and the big blow-off the day before Mary entered the hospital, Mother… had succeeded in pretty much suppressing the whole thing. I told her that she would have to think about it at 1east so that we could all try to deal with the problem on a more realistic basis.

Late in August we drove up to the farm in Brunswick. Bill's summer school session ended, and he joined us there a week later. When he arrived, I was in bed, having become ill again. It was a pattern that would repeat itself whenever we would go up to Maine. At the time I did not understand why, because my feelings of dependency toward my mother, which would immediately reassert themselves as soon as we arrived, offset my dislike of being in my father's orbit again. Of course it was BOTH sets of feelings that were involved, but it was not clear to me then what created the problem. Then, to top it off, we received the news that Walter Solmitz had committed suicide while his wife Elly and is son David were away. I had known that something was seriously wrong with Walter's state of mind from Elly, and had called him a week earlier and asked to come to Brunswick to visit him, but he had put me off, saying he was busy. His death was a terrific blow to my morale, and I began having suicidal feelings. I think now it was also a blow to Bill, since a lot of the reason Walter finally killed himself, according to his colleague Ed Pols, had to do with his work as a professor, with feeling inadequate and depressed.

September came, bringing with it new problems. I have written entirely about my problems with Bill's mother, and have not dwelt on my almost equally difficult problems with Bucky. Most of these centered on the mess she kept making of handling her finances and my efforts to get her to do a better job, but they actually stemmed from Bucky's difficult personality as well. During the summer she had a slight stroke, which left her even less well oriented, and the focus of her confusion and irritability had become Bill's mother.

Bill writes:

Mother wrote last week that Belle [the neighbor who was helping take care of Bucky after Billy left] and Bucky were both being nasty to her on the basis of the length of her "visit" at Journey's End and her alleged failure (this from Belle) to pay her way. Mary wrote Bucky a blistering letter. In return I wrote Mother a consoling letter. Unfortunately, I said that we would pick her up on our way back [from Maine]. Mary said that I had not consulted with her about this proposal, and this item brought to a head all of the long-simmering problems about the relationship between Mary and my mother.

The upshot is that if our home and/or Mary's sanity are to be saved, some new arrangement has to be worked out for my mother. I now see that this is so. I can't say, honestly, that I can see fully why it is so, but this may be, as Mary tells me, because of my own neurotic difficulties. I also don't seem to be able to approach dealing with the problem without feelings of guilt, or at least of failure to fulfill my obligation to take care of my mother during her feeble and helpless old age. Mary says that this guilt is misplaced and interferes with an adequate solution to the problem. She says that Mother is not feeble, that she is not happy with us, and that I would be doing her a much better service by helping to work out a better solution for her problem. This may be so, but only my own desire to explain away my felt responsibility seems to prompt me to accept it. Sometimes Mary almost succeeds in making me see that I am really much sicker than I think I am.

The whole issue was hotting up. We brought Bill's mother back from the farm, but the summer she had spent at the farm had exacerbated all of her symptoms &endash; misery, indigestion, stomach pains, constipation and hay fever. All of which ultimately became a syndrome combining her chronic acid indigestion, a dull headache and a flood of nasal catarrh &endash; quite a toxic cocktail! These symptoms gradually worsened as time went by, and she began responding to them by taking various over-the-counter medications on a regular basis, lying on her bed most of the day with a wet washcloth over her face and a neatly piled stack of squares of torn sheets on her bedside table ready to stem the flood of nasal mucus.

Bill and she gradually developed a pattern of interaction which involved his closeting himself with her in her bedroom just about every evening, often for as long as an hour, so that she would have someone to listen to her tale of woe, of the misery her life had become &endash; focused on the whole family, but mainly, of course, on me, As time went by and my own morale suffered, I found this pattern more and more of an intrusion into Bill's and my life together, especially as he did not find it within himself to set limits to her behavior as he would have done &endash; and had done, more than once - with his sons, telling them to "carry on in spite of symptoms," and to "straighten up and fly right." And as he did with himself. To do so would have necessitated establishing a totally new relationship with his mother, and quite evidently, he did not feel he had it within himself to make the change. It was left to me to insist that we find another place for his mother to live - and that allowed him, of course, to focus his guilt on me as its source.

We rented a room for her at a quite decent small retirement home in a semi-rural part of north Albany run by a nice woman named Mrs. Leonard, She refused to go there, after seeing it, and fell in love with a Lutheran home we visited a few days after. It amounted to something around $15,000 or $20,000 &endash; some shares of AT&T, some of GM, and a small amount in a savings bank. This turned out to be the stumbling block for Bill's mother. Her reaction to the news that they would want her to make over her inheritance to them was that she had spent most of her adult life accumulasting this money so that she would be able to leave it to Bill. She categorically refused to give this money to them. This left only the room we had reserved for her at Mrs. Leonard's.

A few days later Bill writes his account of what he calls "the whole nasty tale." Click here to read what he writes about it.

....................................

During the summer I had enrolled Mark in the YWCA nursery school in downtown Albany &endash; but after a few days of happily attending this school, the woman in charge whom he had liked very much left on vacation, and her place was taken by another woman. Mark protested strongly against going back. We tried for a while longer, but eventually took him out and let him stay at home or with friends who had a child his age &endash; mainly Doris Poskanzer's son Alan and Doris Creegan's Charlie.

And, suddenly, right in the middle of our domestic crises, the Cold War threatened to become hot and nuclear! Bill describes the Cuban Missile crisis as it was developing. I remember reacting far less drastically to this very real threat than I had with the Berlin clash, perhaps partly because I was so focused on our family crises, but also because I suspect I had almost given up a sense of my ability to rise to a participatory level in our country's crises &endash; which is ironic, in view of the political and military realities of this one. Here's Bill's record of the event:

Monday, October twenty-second

Another beautiful fall day. I hope it wasn't the last one ever,

The international situation went suddenly and drastically sour today. President Kennedy spoke to the country and the world at seven this evening and announced that we are putting Cuba under a blockade because, he said, intelligence reports show that "agrressive weapons" - intermediate range missile bases and medium jet bombers - were now being established in Cuba. Is this "it"? It is hard to tell. There have been so many threats and alarms in recent years. One always hopes that the final doom may yet be held off a while. But it looks pretty bad. A blockade is an act of war, and it is difficult to see how either side can now back down. If there were time, reason and caution might yet prevail. But things are likely to move too fast.

Tuesday, October twenty-third

Overcast with a little rain, clearing toward evening.

But only the weather cleared. The pall of impending doom hung over everything. People were very quiet in the faculty dining room today. The enthusiasm which the mass media claim to be finding among the citizenry for Kennedy's decision certainly didn't seem to run very high among the faculty.

Mary got so annoyed listening to a news broadcast this morning that quoted "representative citizens", all in favor of immediate violent action, that she called up the radio station. The man she talked to gave her an argument, finally suggested that she call the Associated Press, which she did. The girl she talked to there was more sympathetic to her views. Then she dashed-off a telegram ("day-letter") of over a hundred words to Kennedy.

The most fantastic incident of the day, and for Mary the most trying, took place in the middle of the afternoon. Doris Creegan took Mark this morning, as per previous arrangement. It has been her idea to take him on Tuesdays to give Charles some company in lieu of nursery school. Mary thought she seemed sort of abrupt this morning.

Then, after lunch, Mary was talking to Susan Riser [the wife of a new philosophy department member] on the phone, and she heard about what happened at the faculty wives' meeting last night, especially when Doris called for a report from Mary. Mary wasn't there. She had completely forgotten about it.

Mary drove right out to Delmar to try to make her peace with Doris. She knew that she was mad but was completely unprepared for the storm that greeted her. Doris practically attacked her physically, drove her out of the house, damned her character, interests, activities and everything else about her, blasted Mark as a destructive little monster, said that both Bob and she intensely disliked both of us, and why didn't we go back to Texas.

Mary stayed calm through all of this, which apparently was the last straw for Doris. Doris finally broke down completely, insisted she come back into the house. Mary did. After a half hour or so, during which Doris completely ignored her, Mary was finally able to talk to her a little, apologize again for missing the meeting, and tell her a few of the things that she's had on her mind to distract her. Doris seemed to feel at least partially contrite.

The only really bright spot in the day was a very lively letter from Billy. He seems to be living quite fully, and still doing well in his work. He has become associated with a compatible if somewhat far-out group called the Cornell Liberal Union. He has been traveling around the southern tier of the state soliciting support for peace candidates. He seems to be entering into all sorts of things with a great deal of verve.

Wednesday, October twenty-fourth

The international situation seems perhaps a shade less tense tonight, but this may be a delusion. The blockade or "quarantine," or whatever they want to call it, allegedly went into effect at ten o'clock this morning. Kruschev wrote a letter to Bertrand Russell (of all people) indicating a desire for peace and for an immediate summit meeting with Kennedy.

Thursday, October twenty-fifth

Confrontation between Zorin and Stephenson in the U. N. Security Council this afternoon, Zorin refusing to be cross-examined by Stephenson, Adlai self-righteous and indignant, presenting his photographic evidence prepared, no doubt, by the C. I. A. At least Kruschev accepted U. Thant's proposal, agreed to hold back more arms to Cuba if the U. S. would lift the blockade. Kennedy's reply less positive, but at least negotiation seems to have started.

Mary got to work on the long delayed task of giving wedding gifts to Tony and Judy this week. She called up Jeanne and talked to her about it. Jeanne said that both young couples are comfortably settled, in trailers I believe, and that they don't really need anything, except money. We agreed, therefore, that we should send money, perhaps twenty-five dollars for each. But then Mary went off on a unilateral course of her own, called up Merrill-Lynch-We-the-People, and bought a share of Fritos stock for each of them. It's selling at about $26 a share. Mary says that she has kept her eye on it for several years and thinks that it is a good thing, But, damn it all, I don't much care to be identified with this sort of symbolic gift - starting the young couples off right with a capitalistic blessing!

Later I found out through Tommy that Mary had bought not two, but four shares of this stock - the two she told me about, and two which she is "selling," one each to Peter and to Tommy. One of her expensive little gestures, this time a hundred dollars plus, that she launches into without consultation and presents to me as faits accomplis. Mary has some damn funny notions about money! Of course, she claims that it is I who am peculiar in this, as in most other areas.

Billy called up this evening (collect) to say that he was going to Washington this week-end with a Student Union group to demonstrate in front of the White House against the Cuba blockade. We gave him our blessing.

Friday, October twenty-sixth

The Russians seemed to have diverted their arms-carrying ships to Cuba. We passed through two ships - a tanker and a freighter. We seem to be going ahead with invasion plans, however, because we say that construction continues on the missile bases in Cuba. Still, the world held together for another day, and up till the moment of the explosion we must continue to maintain that there is hope.

Very spirited letter from Billy, all about the peace rally at Cornell menaced by angry groups of hecklers, students in ROTC uniforms and others, who, according to Billy, jeered and threw pebbles. Billy is obviously deeply involved emotionally in this thing.

Peter had to stay at school till nine this evening practicing for that play he is in. Tommy has Peter's dramatic coach for the teacher of his speech class, is complaining that the whole class has been ordered to wear coats and ties every day for two weeks and to prepare a number of shcrt speeches.

Saturday, October twenty-seventh

Harry Staley called about a demonstration at the State Capitol at noon today. Mary went to it, found about thirty-five of the faithful there, including at least one unlikely one - Bob Creegan. There were no hecklers, but surveillance by three plain-clothes characters.

Ellen, Mark and I went for a walk this afternoon, about twelve blocks, ending up at the A & P, where I did some shopping. Ellen was asked to help with a drawing for free prizes while we were there.

Peter had John Forstenzer [a Milne School classmate] over for dinner.

Kruschev sent Kennedy what looked like a fairly conciliatory message, offering to withdraw the weapons the U.S. considers aggressive from Cuba, if we would draw those offensive to the U. S. S. R. from Turkey. Kennedy replied that the missiles must be removed from Cuba first, and then the U. S. would be happy to resume its long-range efforts to reduce world armaments. This reply seemed less than candid,to me. I suppose that the boys in Washington think they know what they're doing, but I'm scared, and I don't trust them.

I wrote a note to Billy.

A sort of form letter from Mary's father saying that the Internal Revenue people had informed him that one of the recipients of his beneficence [he had been giving us $500 a year in return for one of our exemptions] had submitted a falsified return, that he wanted a statement from each of us affirming the veracity of our returns, and that he wanted the guilty party to confess. Mary's mother added a note to the effect that the person who had committed the "error" had acknowledged it, but that they still wanted the statements. I wrote them a note too, and also the statement.

Talk on television late this evening of planning for a lightning airborne raid to destroy the missile bases. Grampa shouldn't worry too much about his income tax troubles, nor we, about what to do about Mother.

Sunday, October twenty-eighth

Everybody seems to be a little confused about what happened to the war threat. It sort of evaporated, and in such an unexpected way that even those super-patriots who claimed all along that the Russians would back down if we really put up a strong play seem to be standing around with their mouths hanging open. Kruschev's almost apologetic tone and complete acceptance of all of our demands just doesn't sound right - right for any head of a modern state, capitalistic or socialistic. What can it be - some superploy for which we are totally unprepared? The general tone of American opinion seems to be one of relief but uneasiness.

Write me at

maryskole.aol.com

Move to Chapter Twenty-eight