Bellow's childhood friend Louis Sidran was dying of cancer in Chicago.

To Margaret Staats September 27, 1968 [Bellagio]

Dear Maggie: Louie is dead. He went back to the hospital, and there he seemed to give out, his wife says, and he died. I guess he had struggled so long and so hard with the thing that he was used up. I telephoned Winnetka yesterday, and talked to Shirley. I'm very sad and heavy but not grief-sickened. I went about my business, crying some, and thinking now and then of the funeral, yesterday. He was in the ground and the family had gone home. It was his first night there. Shirley kept saying that he was so happy to have come to East Hampton before [he got too ill], and talked of nothing else. He had come to say goodbye to me, and knew it. He got my card from Bellagio and hoped I'd get back before too long. I must have expected to see him again. He died quickly and didn't have to waste away utterly. I feel especially for his mother, who's a fine old woman, and for Ezra [Shirley and Louie's youngest child].

I was glad to get the red leaf. Thank you, honey. And you're right, it's worth a thousand Timeses Timeses. I keep it with the sh.e.l.ls. I think my long celibacy has restored my contemplative eye. I spend more time sitting looking at objects. Much less coming and going at random, helter-skelter but as if I had some purpose. I do a lot of looking at Lake Como.

I am most troubled, when I am troubled, by Daniel. I haven't seen him in nearly three months and I miss him desperately. I may go directly back to see him, and then come to New York some days later to see you. The news from Chicago is not rea.s.suring. I want to see for myself how matters are, and I shan't feel easy until I do. I'll give you plenty of notice. I've missed you. When the fat envelopes of clippings come, I am disappointed when there is no letter, but the term has just begun so you must be over your eyebrows with work.

My German publisher Witsch (wouldn't you know it) has died. Without him the company is floundering and I'm going down to Milan tomorrow to meet Herr Rowohlt of Rowohlt Co. and hear what he has to say. Obolensky, my tennis chum the Prince, has gone back to Oxford. None too soon, probably. I thought the other day that I would keel over on the court. Singles are much too rough for me, especially since I'm a duffer and have to run far more than a real tennis player.

Much love, Y.D.

To Mark Harris October 22, 1968 Chicago Dear Mark: Your letter about Mosby Mosby set me up for a while in the midst of a disorderly season. I see, looking back at the vanished years, that I wrote few stories and that I seem to have used them as "scale models" for bigger jobs. For that reason I was a bit worried about set me up for a while in the midst of a disorderly season. I see, looking back at the vanished years, that I wrote few stories and that I seem to have used them as "scale models" for bigger jobs. For that reason I was a bit worried about Mosby Mosby; I wondered what big job it would lead to. Even now I'm not altogether clear as to what is is happening. I don't think it's all bad, however. And I hoped that I was not being choppy, only lucid. But all we worshippers of lucidity must be terribly confused to begin with. happening. I don't think it's all bad, however. And I hoped that I was not being choppy, only lucid. But all we worshippers of lucidity must be terribly confused to begin with.

The thing at S.F. State was very bad. I'm not too easy to offend, at my age, and I don't think I was personally affronted-that's not my style. The thing was offensive though. Being denounced by [Floyd] Salas as an old s.h.i.t to an a.s.sembly which seemed to find the whole thing deliciously thrilling. [ . . . ] So I left the platform in defeat. Undefended by the bullied elders of the faculty. While your suck-up-to-the-young colleagues swallowed their joyful saliva. No, it was very poor stuff, I a.s.sure you. You don't found universities in order to destroy culture. For that you want a n.a.z.i party.

Enough said. Thanks again and all best,

At San Francisco State University, after delivering a talk ent.i.tled "What Are Writers Doing in the Universities?" Bellow had been denounced in the style of the day by boxer-turned-writer Floyd Salas: "You're a f.u.c.king square. You're full of s.h.i.t. You're an old man, Bellow." (Bellow was fifty-two.) The episode would furnish material for a similar scene in Mr. Sammler's Planet Mr. Sammler's Planet, his novel in progress.

To Willie Greenberg December 7, 1968 Chicago Dear Willie, It was such a pleasure to see you after so many years. I always remembered you as a very kind boy (to me, at eight, you were a young man, really) and you confirmed the accuracy of my memory by generously giving me those photographs. I was touched by that. Enough to make a middle-aged gent cry.

Thank you, Willie.

Remember me to Molly and Harry. I hope we will meet again before the doors shut.

Love,

Willie Greenberg's family had lived next door to Bellow's in Montreal.

To Margaret Staats December 9, 1968 [Chicago]

Dearest Maggie- I am really really down now, and I must work for an Armistice, a moratorium, some pause. I can't go on like this. I am simply worn out, and I no longer feel natural towards you or anyone else. down now, and I must work for an Armistice, a moratorium, some pause. I can't go on like this. I am simply worn out, and I no longer feel natural towards you or anyone else.

I love you, I always will. You are one of the best-probably the best woman I will ever know. I respect you, I wish you every good, but I am trying to save my own sanity just now-probably my very life. I feel it threatened. We must stop. I can't go on without a breather.

To the John Simon Guggenheim Memorial Foundation December 10, 1968 Chicago, Ill.

CONFIDENTIAL REPORT ON CANDIDATE FOR FELLOWSHIP.

Name of Candidate: Louise Gluck Miss Gluck has the combination of oddity and verbal power from which something unusually good may result. I am impressed by her poems. She plays no games that I can recognize, she seems entirely independent. I think she should be freed from her stenographic duties.

1969.

To Margaret Staats January 2, 1969 London Dearest Maggie- It's all right here. I had night-depressions but really nothing dreadful and I seem to be pulling myself together. I hope you are, too. I was encouraged by your clearer eyes and calmer ways. You'll make it. It's not easy, but you have what it takes-reform, imagination, courage. The courage moves me more than I can say.

To Margaret Staats [n.d.] [London]

Dear M- Good times. I am by myself. From you I have acquired a need for the soul. People without it now are terribly trying. Can't even make them out. There was only only one way to learn that. It was very chancey. I probably had no choice. So there it is. By now I am probably out on points. one way to learn that. It was very chancey. I probably had no choice. So there it is. By now I am probably out on points.

Be back soon-

To Margaret Staats [Postmark illegible; postcard of King's College, Cambridge]

My dear Maggie- This is where I am. Some peace, here. A sign on the sundial says, Sic fugit vita Sic fugit vita. Meaning: "Here the sun seldom shines, but we are prepared." Ed [Shils] asks about you.

Love,

To Toby Cole February 3, 1969 London Dear Toby If Eli [Wallach] wants to try [The Last] a.n.a.lysis a.n.a.lysis on NET, I have no objection. I'd be willing even to make myself available for consultation (on carefully measured terms). on NET, I have no objection. I'd be willing even to make myself available for consultation (on carefully measured terms).

At 3:55 P.M. I'll be in Paris, and tomorrow I have lunch with my translator, making several additions and corrections in and to the O[range] Souffle. I'll keep the notes. Until I finish my novel (half-done; perhaps, at this moment half-baked as well) I'll write no dramas. I do however have in my head two fabulous movie scenarios-one for De Sica, one for Fellini. I'd prefer De Sica for both.

I'll arrive in NY perhaps together with this letter. I'll telephone this time.

Love,

To Barley Alison February 18, 1969 [Chicago]

My dear Barley, Greetings.

Here's Chicago, once again. The Lake, seen from this window, is frozen solid and so are a good many other things. Until I got to New York my tour was uneventful enough. Paris was as I thought it would be, largely a waste of time. I did see some old friends. But I did not enjoy my meeting with [Louis] Guilloux and probably I was not highly enjoyable to meet myself. Then on to the US. I was grounded by a blizzard in the East. Fifteen inches of snow. Landing at Idlewild. I telephoned my friend Arlette [Landes] in Chicago. She said she believed we should not see each other anymore. Evidently she couldn't wait until I returned to say this. I a.s.sume that she has taken up with someone else. Women generally get the strength for these decisions from other relationships. I don't know that relationship relationship is the word for it either. Lord knows that sort of conduct. What kinds of events that poor noun has to subsume! At any rate, I haven't seen my companion, from whom I was inseparable for a month. This is what intimacies seem made of. Of course I'm hurt. I is the word for it either. Lord knows that sort of conduct. What kinds of events that poor noun has to subsume! At any rate, I haven't seen my companion, from whom I was inseparable for a month. This is what intimacies seem made of. Of course I'm hurt. I would would be. But it'll wear off. It generally does. be. But it'll wear off. It generally does.

When I spoke to Pillet, he asked for a thousand dollars in rent. I don't think I will want to pay so much. I've already made plans to take Adam to England on June 23rd. I thought I would, after two weeks, hand him over to his mother in Madrid and then go on to the South to visit you near Almeria. If you can put up with me for a week or so from about July 8th or 9th. Adam's mother will continue with him to Italy. I shall probably go back to the US to spend more of the summer with Daniel on or near Martha's Vineyard.

I seem now to be writing still another book. I was thrown from the first by Arlette and had lost the power to concentrate on what I was doing while we were together. Since I loathe and fear idleness I have opened a new project. I can complete this in about two months. It's the metier metier that keeps me sane, bless it. that keeps me sane, bless it.

Love,

To Sylvia Tumin February 21, 1969 Chicago Dear Sylvia, I was in London and didn't get your note in time to wire my congratulations. I know that Mel is sensible enough to be fifty. But I do keep remembering, with enjoyment, his frivolous salad days. Enjoy the following: I telephoned Kappy from London to say that I was coming to Paris to see him. He said that he was just leaving for Switzerland, to ski. I told him that I was flying over primarily to see him. Then he said, "I am desolated." I enjoyed that tremendously. It was worth all the shillings I had dropped into the box.

Blessings on you all.

Love,

To Whit Burnett April 30, 1969 Chicago Dear Mr. Burnett: [ . . . ] I wrote "Mosby's Memoirs" on six successive mornings in the Mexican town of Oaxaca without the aid of tequila. I seemed to need no stimulants. I was in a state of all but intolerable excitement, or was, as the young now say, "turned on." A young and charming friend [Maggie Staats] typed the ma.n.u.script for me. Reading it I found little to change. The words had come readily. I felt as they went into the story that I was striking them with a mallet. I seldom question what I have written in such a state. I simply feel grat.i.tude and let it go at that.

Sincerely,

Whit Burnett (1899-1973), who as editor of Story Story had rejected Bellow's early work, was including "Mosby's Memoirs" in his anthology had rejected Bellow's early work, was including "Mosby's Memoirs" in his anthology America's 85 Greatest Living Authors Present America's 85 Greatest Living Authors Present (1970) and had inquired about the circ.u.mstances under which the story was composed. (1970) and had inquired about the circ.u.mstances under which the story was composed.

To Margaret Staats June 5, 1969 [Bellagio]

Dear Maggie- Never before on the fifth of June have I seen snow falling. I see it now on the mountaintops, and it is frosty down here in the valley. Not two days has the sun shone in Europe. Have we killed the atmosphere with automobiles? I begin to think the planet is going to h.e.l.l.

I don't sleep well, I am haggard, I miss you, I miss Daniel, I get no mail from the States, but I manage somehow to look after the main thing. In my chill chalet under the cypress trees. Drinking beer and waiting to creep out into the sun-when it shines again.

It is beautiful here-if you have a nineteenth-century eye. Mine must be of the twenty-first.

Love,

To Margaret Staats June 8, 1969 [Bellagio]

Dear Maggie-o- "Writing up a storm," as you call it, thousands of words daily, and not stopping to type because I don't sleep, and if I were to spend the P.M.s at the machine I'd wreck myself and lose the good mornings. What I may do is airmail Xerox copies of the mss. pages to you, just for safekeeping. I'm very cold on [Aaron] Asher. He wants to "hold his own" with me. Sometimes he seems to be pushing himself into the c.o.c.kpit, but this is a solo flight.

Now: We have a house in London. Three bedrooms not far from the center of things [ . . . ] Be good. Bless you. See you soon soon.

Love,

Upon Denver Lindley's retirement from Viking, Aaron Asher had become Bellow's editor.

To Richard Stern August 1, 1969 Dear d.i.c.k- So I'm in Nantucket, ever benevolent, watching pheasants cramming blackberries in the backyard. All is backyard from the window. Good to see American weeds again.

I finished this Sammler Sammler off properly in Spain, on the Mediterranean coast, Carb.o.n.e.ras, very good moon visibility. Maggie caused me off properly in Spain, on the Mediterranean coast, Carb.o.n.e.ras, very good moon visibility. Maggie caused me grandes dificultades grandes dificultades [ [82] in England and in the south but I finished just the same. I am obstinate. I make my own obstacles but jump 'em meself.

I'm delighted to hear that you dare so much. It's excellent-just great, too, that you're rid of Candida [Donadio]. She is to Candor what bangs are to Bangor. She deserves to be whacked about the head by our dear Edward one long evening, that's what she deserves, and may G.o.d fall asleep when she reads her apologia before His throne.

Love,

To Margaret Staats August 4, 1969 [Nantucket]