Work Text:
Dear Frank,
I understand you have confessed to shooting down all the tires that have been giving the trucks so much trouble. Please find attached an interesting newspaper article. We in the business of course know how important publicity is, though this is maybe not what you had in mind. In case the Police Commissioner decides in the course of his inspection of your mail not to allow you to see the article (there is unfortunately on the reverse side a description of a New Jersey prison riot, which could have the wrong influence on a person in your situation) I will simply tell you that The New York Times is calling you a crackpot. Did you confess to that also, or is it an invention of the press? If it is, I wish to meet the journalist who cannot have known you more than a day and already has discovered a sad truth which took me years of association to accept. The article calls you “tack-man,” in addition to “crackpot.” Forgive me, because I am not an expert on the subject, but those were pea-pins that you used, yes? Maybe for local news I will take my business to The Eyes & Ears of the Lower East Side, which I have never known to make such a regrettable error of this kind before.
Business is the same as usual. All the ladies on twenty-third street complain to me that they now have to walk ten or fifteen blocks out of their way whenever they find themselves in need of quality flowers.
Maxie, General Anna, Mister Jerusalem, and others send their regards. We all hate to think of you locked up. Please do not become despondent. As soon as you are released I will take you out for a cream soda. In the meantime, I will see if I can arrange with the Police Commissioner to send you some fresh flowers. Would you prefer daffodils or carnations?
Your friend,
Morris
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Dear Morris,
Thank you for your kind letter. Yes, it is true that I confessed to being a crackpot. Everyone has treated me very well as a result. The conditions here are not really so bad when you get used to them. It is also true that I have always used pea-pins and not pea-tacks, but I do not want to bother the Editor of the Times when I am sure he is very busy with all the news in the city right now. The Police Commissioner did let me see the article after all. (As a crackpot, I am in little danger of escaping.) It is flattering, but certainly dramatic.
Can I ask you a small favor? Someone has got to remove the furniture from my apartment, as I will not be staying there for the foreseeable future. You can use my new cart if necessary. I am not sure where it all should be kept. Does Maxie Hammerman have room in his basement?
I hope you are not too lonely. It is a wonderful idea to send some flowers over here. I will take carnations, and hyacinth if you can get it. Has your head recovered? When will they write a front-page newspaper article about truck drivers running over pushcart peddlers in broad daylight, I should like very much to know.
In any case, I am in no danger of despondency so long as you continue to write.
Your good friend,
Frank
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Dear Frank,
My head is all right. I am sometimes prone to dizzy spells.
There is no one else living in that apartment with you?
Your good friend,
Morris
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Dear Morris,
No.
Your good friend,
Frank
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Dear Frank,
Maxie Hammerman has (by coincidence) recently come into possession of a great many yellow straws and dried peas in addition to the pushcarts that he is repairing, and has no room in his basement. I have moved your things into my apartment, which is on fourteenth street. It is no inconvenience to me. I also live alone.
I imagine that when you are released it will not be easy for you to re-adjust to civilian life, especially considering that you are a crackpot. It is Eddie Moroney’s suggestion that you stay with me for a few months, maybe until you feel well enough to return to doing regular business. Then again, the city is always getting more crowded and more expensive, so maybe you will stay more than a few months.
An apology about the flowers I am sending you. The prison inspectors are sure to treat them roughly and I worry that by the time they reach you they will not look so good.
Find attached more press. When you are at war, you cannot be too cautious, and so out of an abundance of caution I will reproduce the headline here.
“Big Moe Calls Police Commissioner Big Dope.” The general suggestion of the article is as follows: it seems that on the morning of March the twenty-third, which is when you began your most unfortunate pea-pin business, two trucks one hundred and seventy-seven blocks apart got flats within two minutes. Moe Mammoth’s open question to the city is how you might have given both the trucks flats in that time. It is quite a novelty that Moe Mammoth should make such an intelligent remark, and I myself am quite interested to know the answer. Some people are even saying you used a helicopter.
Your good friend,
Morris
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Dear Morris,
I did not imagine before now that Mister Mammoth possessed the measure of natural curiosity on display in this article. As for his trucks: I have never set foot in a helicopter, and in fact I do not know how to operate one. I only wish I did.
I think Eddie Moroney’s suggestion is very sound. While you have all my things at your apartment, why not make use of my record player? (Unless you have one of your own already.) The Darin vinyl is my personal favorite. There is very little music in prison, and it is my opinion that if only one of us can listen to it, you might as well. I only ask that you think of me fondly when you do, and not as a crackpot. Of course, I used to be one, but prison has improved my sharpness a great deal. All the guards here tell me so, at any rate.
Never mind the flowers. When you are in my position, you can do a lot worse than a few wilted violets. It is much better than none at all.
Your good friend,
Frank