Transcription of Document FFDoc-1285.pdf

571 West Union St., East Bridgewater, Mass, June 17, 1980

Dear Frank,

It is with gladness that I resume our correspondence. Do you realize how many years we have known each other? It began in St. Anselms. Was it during the 6th or 7th grade you transferred from St. Patrick's? Remember Sr. Bonita's red stick and how she'd head Thomas Curry off with it when he'd make for the door? Many years ... our out-of-sight attachment, maintained over certain years by but the threads of gossamer, is a remarkable achievement in a disloyal, oblivious age. We must spin this gossamer up to being metal, perennial bronze. We must be more regular - we must never stop. at some time, not years in the future, we must make it our business to meet.

I have gotten into the bad habit of not opening my mail. Now, you may find it hard to believe this (yet, I guess you know me) but your card with its appendaged letter which you sent at Christmas time, was opened by me last night. The mail that I delay in opening is mail which I have reason to expect contains something of importance (This "importance" may be simply reestablishment of a tie with someone who lives in a different world yet is close - from whom I can anticipate being cross-pollinated in a way), and I must wait for precisely the right mood, the right hour, twilight say, almost the right temperature. Excuse me for sounding like Henry James or Marcel Proust, my quirk is surely not literary, perhaps pathological.

I would have written at once, had I opened your letter earlier. Please forgive me. I would never ignore your loneliness or anguish of mind.

I am very sorry you and your wife split up and pray that you work it out between you in a way that is best for both of you.

I quit my teaching career in July, 1978, after 20 years. In 1979, May, I fell onto the subway tracks from the platform, an accident which precipitated a heart attack and aggravated my many-years condition of Marie-Strumpel (or rheumatoid arthritis) in the spine. I am very bent - you would be surprised to see me. I have cataracts on both eyes. I think that I am mortally wounded in the sense that my years are definitely limited though not yet proscribed. However, whereas when young I was melancholy, Today I am content. For every cartload of raw health that has been filched through the partes [?] and alleys of my body, some angelic justiciar has indemnified me with a nugget of pure faith. (I'm still full of it, Frank.)

Mrs. Duffy is feeble but living. I little knew when I met John at St. Michael's that his pixie mother would be my companion in life. All that has happened to me in association with that family is a blessing.

May the finger of God intrude directly in your affairs and bring vigor where there is sorrow now.

Write

John.