THE JOHN O'HARA SOCIETY
On May 18, 1946, publication of "The Decision." The New Yorker. Hellbox.
Francis Townsend had great plans for his future. He had a medical degree. He was going to interne at a Pittsburgh hospital, and he had a woman he wanted to marry.
His uncle, who had raised him, stopped him: "No, boy," he said. "I'm sorry to say you can't have any of those things. You can never practice medicine, and you can't marry .... Do you know that both your father and your mother died in an institution? .... it wasn't consumption, France, it was mental.....You won't have to worry about money. I've fixed that at the bank. Give yourself plenty of time to pick and choose (what you want to do). You'll decide on something."
So Francis Townsend spent the rest of his life in his family's seacoast village drinking, reading and sleeping.
I suspect this story is based on someone John O'Hara may have known.
___
On May 18, 1958, publication of "Novelist Likes the Film Translation." New York Herald Tribune.
John O'Hara's ambitions about writing the screenplay for The Great Gatsby never materialized because the price was too high for the film rights.
"The reason I wanted to write a talking-picture version of the Fitzgerald novel was that I had seen the silent version and had admired it enormously ...... But even now I can remember my exultation at the end of the picture when I saw that Paramount had done an honest job, true to the book, true to what Fitzgerald had intended. My favorite Fitzgerald novel (Tender is the Night) had not yet been written, but the movie had done right by Our Boy with the best he had written to date. Roughly ten years later I was sure that I could do an even better job through the new camera techniques and audible dialogue."
Matthew Bruccoli,The O'Hara Concern, page 138.
The silent version was made in the late twenties. Three more Gatsby movies were made - 1949, 1974 and 2012. I have no plans to see the latest one.
THE JOHN O'HARA SOCIETY
From a May 17, 1961 letter to William Maxwell, his editor at the New Yorker, who had just published his own book and had it reviewed:
It was a very distressing conversation, but I am tougher than you, having been toughened....
You apparently are not aware of what the publication of a book can do to you. It is really foolish to try to pretend that it has not happened. You got uniformly good reviews, as far as I have seen, and you should let yourself enjoy them; and if you run across any bad ones, you might as well suffer through them. It is all part of the postpartum part of the creative process. I have come out 17 times, you have come out three, and at longer intervals; and I know what to expect. I no longer read all my reviews; the really bad ones are screened by Sister and Bennett Cerf, and certain reviewers and certain publications are predictable. But for my first ten books I read everything, everywhere, and the only thing worse than reading some of those reviews would have been not to read them.....
I am doing more work than ever before in my life, and I am enjoying it, but I no longer can do eight-hour stretches of work. The most I can do now is four hours, although three years ago I could still do eight.
On May 17, 1930, publication of "The New Office." The New Yorker. Hagedorn & Brownmiller are moving to a new building on Park and 46th. A discussion of who's going to get which office.
From a May 17, 1961 letter to William Maxwell, his editor at the New Yorker, who had just published his own book and had it reviewed:
It was a very distressing conversation, but I am tougher than you, having been toughened....
You apparently are not aware of what the publication of a book can do to you. It is really foolish to try to pretend that it has not happened. You got uniformly good reviews, as far as I have seen, and you should let yourself enjoy them; and if you run across any bad ones, you might as well suffer through them. It is all part of the postpartum part of the creative process. I have come out 17 times, you have come out three, and at longer intervals; and I know what to expect. I no longer read all my reviews; the really bad ones are screened by Sister and Bennett Cerf, and certain reviewers and certain publications are predictable. But for my first ten books I read everything, everywhere, and the only thing worse than reading some of those reviews would have been not to read them.....
I am doing more work than ever before in my life, and I am enjoying it, but I no longer can do eight-hour stretches of work. The most I can do now is four hours, although three years ago I could still do eight.
On May 17, 1930, publication of "The New Office." The New Yorker. Hagedorn & Brownmiller are moving to a new building on Park and 46th. A discussion of who's going to get which office.
THE JOHN O'HARA SOCIETY
Corrections, Clarifications (and apologies)
Substitute this for the short story "Can I Stay Here."
Theresa Livingston is an elderly famous actress. Miss Evelyn Blackwell is the twenty-one year old daughter of John Blackwell, former lover of Theresa Livingston. Evelyn is coming to Theresa's hotel apartment to have lunch with her. It's a first-time meeting. Evelyn appears, but she's had too much to drink. She's also emotionally unstable. After picking at her food and consuming even more alcohol she retires to a bedroom. After too much time passes, Theresa (Terry) seeks her out. This is how it ends:
She went to the bedroom,, and the girl was lying on the bed, clad in her slip, staring at the ceiling. "Do you want anything, Evelyn?"
"Yes, " said the girl.
"What?"
"Can I stay here a while?"
"Child, you can stay here as long as you like," said Theresa Livingston.
Corrections, Clarifications (and apologies)
Substitute this for the short story "Can I Stay Here."
Theresa Livingston is an elderly famous actress. Miss Evelyn Blackwell is the twenty-one year old daughter of John Blackwell, former lover of Theresa Livingston. Evelyn is coming to Theresa's hotel apartment to have lunch with her. It's a first-time meeting. Evelyn appears, but she's had too much to drink. She's also emotionally unstable. After picking at her food and consuming even more alcohol she retires to a bedroom. After too much time passes, Theresa (Terry) seeks her out. This is how it ends:
She went to the bedroom,, and the girl was lying on the bed, clad in her slip, staring at the ceiling. "Do you want anything, Evelyn?"
"Yes, " said the girl.
"What?"
"Can I stay here a while?"
"Child, you can stay here as long as you like," said Theresa Livingston.
THE JOHN O'HARA SOCIETY
Smoking Cigarettes - From and Age Gone By
On May 16, 1931, publication of "Papa and Smoking." The New Yorker.
In this short filler two young teen-age women discuss parental permission to smoke.
"Does she let you smoke at home?"
"Why - uh, She doesn't mind. It's Papa that minds." ....
"I'm going to be allowed to smoke as soon as I get through school. Papa knows I smoke, but he doesn't want me to till I get through school; then I can smoke at home."
___
On May 16, 1964, publication of "Can I Stay Here?" The Saturday Evening Post. The Horse Knows the Way.
Thersa Livingston is an elderly famous actress. Miss Evelyn Blackwell, the twenty-one year old daughter of former lover John Blackwell, is coming to her hotel apartment to lunch with her. It's a first-time meeting. Evelyn appears, but she's had too much to drink. She's obviously somewhat unstable. After picking at her food she retires to a bedroom. After too much time passes, Terry seeks her out, and this is how it ends:
She went to the bedroom, and the girl was lying on the bed, clad in hyer slip, staring at the ceiling. "Do you want anything, Evelyn?"
"Yes," said the girl.
"What?"
"Can I stay here a while?"
"Child, you can stay here as long as you like," said Theresa Livingston.
Smoking Cigarettes - From and Age Gone By
On May 16, 1931, publication of "Papa and Smoking." The New Yorker.
In this short filler two young teen-age women discuss parental permission to smoke.
"Does she let you smoke at home?"
"Why - uh, She doesn't mind. It's Papa that minds." ....
"I'm going to be allowed to smoke as soon as I get through school. Papa knows I smoke, but he doesn't want me to till I get through school; then I can smoke at home."
___
On May 16, 1964, publication of "Can I Stay Here?" The Saturday Evening Post. The Horse Knows the Way.
Thersa Livingston is an elderly famous actress. Miss Evelyn Blackwell, the twenty-one year old daughter of former lover John Blackwell, is coming to her hotel apartment to lunch with her. It's a first-time meeting. Evelyn appears, but she's had too much to drink. She's obviously somewhat unstable. After picking at her food she retires to a bedroom. After too much time passes, Terry seeks her out, and this is how it ends:
She went to the bedroom, and the girl was lying on the bed, clad in hyer slip, staring at the ceiling. "Do you want anything, Evelyn?"
"Yes," said the girl.
"What?"
"Can I stay here a while?"
"Child, you can stay here as long as you like," said Theresa Livingston.
THE JOHN O'HARA SOCIETY
On May 15, 1964, publication of "The Neighborhood." The New Yorker. Waiting for Winter. Gibbsville, PA.
The first paragraph:
"Some of the houses on Tuscarora Street were numbered and some were not, but it was not necessary to look for the number of the Rellinger house. Across the street from it were standing perhaps a dozen men and women., the women clutching their shawls across their chests, the men standing with their hands in their pockets or their arms folded; and whether they were in conversation or silent, they all kept theer eyes on the Rellinger hluose. Directly in front of the Rellinger house, on the skimpy front lawn, was a policeman in uniform, chatting with two young men in civilian clothes, Every once in a while the policeman would leave his post on the lawn and tell some slow-moving pedestrian to keep moving. Or there would be a man or oftener two men who turned in at the Rellinger footpath and the policeman would stop them and take a look at their credentials, and if they satisfied him, he would let them proceed to enter the house."
It so happens the owner of the house, Mr. Rellinger, has (gruesomely) murdered his younger wife and her mother.
The story unfolds by way of very skillful dialogue between Mrs. Schumaker, the next-door neighbor, and Allan Rogers, a newspaper reporter.
John O'Hara gives the impression that this is a very easy story to write, that anyone can do it. This is the mark of real talent. However, I have never read the word "oftener."
On May 15, 1964, publication of "The Neighborhood." The New Yorker. Waiting for Winter. Gibbsville, PA.
The first paragraph:
"Some of the houses on Tuscarora Street were numbered and some were not, but it was not necessary to look for the number of the Rellinger house. Across the street from it were standing perhaps a dozen men and women., the women clutching their shawls across their chests, the men standing with their hands in their pockets or their arms folded; and whether they were in conversation or silent, they all kept theer eyes on the Rellinger hluose. Directly in front of the Rellinger house, on the skimpy front lawn, was a policeman in uniform, chatting with two young men in civilian clothes, Every once in a while the policeman would leave his post on the lawn and tell some slow-moving pedestrian to keep moving. Or there would be a man or oftener two men who turned in at the Rellinger footpath and the policeman would stop them and take a look at their credentials, and if they satisfied him, he would let them proceed to enter the house."
It so happens the owner of the house, Mr. Rellinger, has (gruesomely) murdered his younger wife and her mother.
The story unfolds by way of very skillful dialogue between Mrs. Schumaker, the next-door neighbor, and Allan Rogers, a newspaper reporter.
John O'Hara gives the impression that this is a very easy story to write, that anyone can do it. This is the mark of real talent. However, I have never read the word "oftener."
We're always looking for contributors and comment. Join the conversation! © MMXIII John O'Hara Society.
On May 13, 1939, publication of "Bow Wow." The New Yorker, Pal Joey. Files on Parade.
Pal Joey is in Chicago. He writes to Friend Ted:
"Well this is the first time I wrote since I bo't Skippy that name of my dog and it is wonderful what they can do. They give you the courage to continue when things look bad."
....
"I never had any interest in dogs and never considered owning one and thought they were a nusaince especially in towns. But I saw this mouse standing there bent over and talking to one of the dogs in the window of the shop. She was about twenty and I didn't care if she had a face out of the Zoo but spring was in the air and this mouse had a shape that you don't see only on the second Tuesday of every week and when you so see a shape like that you have to do something about it. So I stopped and feined an interest in the dog kingdom and cased the mouse and got a look at her kisser. Well it fitted in with the rest of the body. Not pretty but cute."
....
Her sister and bro. in-law are going away after the week-end after next and we will have the ap't all to ourselves. It's about time but I had to be patient as she said she wanted to be sure first, but a man with such a love and affection for dogs was a man you could trust."
___
On May 13, 1962 John O'Hara's mother, Katherine Delaney O'Hara died at age eight-three. The familty buried her in Pottsville, and that was John O'Hara's next to last visit to his home town.
___
On May 13, 1970 Random House held a memorial for John O'Hara. Bennett Cerf described him as the "most generally unappreciated author in American literary history," and ranked him with Hemingway, Fitzgerald and Faulkner. From Matthew Bruccoli, The O'Hara Concern, page 339.
On May 13, 1939, publication of "Bow Wow." The New Yorker, Pal Joey. Files on Parade.
Pal Joey is in Chicago. He writes to Friend Ted:
"Well this is the first time I wrote since I bo't Skippy that name of my dog and it is wonderful what they can do. They give you the courage to continue when things look bad."
....
"I never had any interest in dogs and never considered owning one and thought they were a nusaince especially in towns. But I saw this mouse standing there bent over and talking to one of the dogs in the window of the shop. She was about twenty and I didn't care if she had a face out of the Zoo but spring was in the air and this mouse had a shape that you don't see only on the second Tuesday of every week and when you so see a shape like that you have to do something about it. So I stopped and feined an interest in the dog kingdom and cased the mouse and got a look at her kisser. Well it fitted in with the rest of the body. Not pretty but cute."
....
Her sister and bro. in-law are going away after the week-end after next and we will have the ap't all to ourselves. It's about time but I had to be patient as she said she wanted to be sure first, but a man with such a love and affection for dogs was a man you could trust."
___
On May 13, 1962 John O'Hara's mother, Katherine Delaney O'Hara died at age eight-three. The familty buried her in Pottsville, and that was John O'Hara's next to last visit to his home town.
___
On May 13, 1970 Random House held a memorial for John O'Hara. Bennett Cerf described him as the "most generally unappreciated author in American literary history," and ranked him with Hemingway, Fitzgerald and Faulkner. From Matthew Bruccoli, The O'Hara Concern, page 339.
We're always looking for contributors and comment. Join the conversation! © MMXIII John O'Hara Society.
On May 12, 1934, publication of "Sportsmanship." The New Yorker. The Doctor's Son.
From Steven Goldleaf, John O'Hara - A Study of the Short Fiction, page 19:
"Set in a Bronx pool hall, the story promises to be confusing only to outsiders: the Subway Arcade sign outside the pool hall is 'misleading only to strangers in the neighborhood; there is no subway anywhere near, and it was no arcade.' The readers are the strangers, trying to understand the special language and mores of this place. Frank, who owns the pool hall, is initially annoyed by the sudden appearance of Jerry, a pool shark who has served time for stealing money from Frank. After pretending not to recognize him, referring to him as 'stranger' and telling him of his resemblance to a 'rat' and a heel' named Jerry, Frank surprisingly accepts Jerry's offer to work off the stolen money. Frank promises to play him in a game of pool after Jerry has worked two weeks for free, while polishing his pool shooting in his spare time. If Jerry wins the game, Frank will hire him, but if he loses, he must leave. When the two weeks are up, Jerry is easily winning until the referee, hired by Frank, declares Frank the game's winner. 'What a sap I been,' Jerry says, realizing that Frank's plan has been all along to add these two weeks to his jail term. But Frank;s revenge is far from complete. Observing how poorly Jerry is taking his loss, Frank suggests to the referee that he be taught a little sportsmanship. The referee then cracks a pool cue over Jerry's hands. Jerry cries out, 'You broke me hands, you broke me hands,' giving Frank the story's tag line: 'Keep them out of other people's pockets,' said Frank. 'Beat it.'"
From a May 12, 1934 letter to William Maxwell:
Back in the new routine, which is hangovers without any fun the nite be4. I tho't I would have a studio job waiting for me but no. Either they got tired of waiting or nothing was there in the 1 place.
...Don't ever get an ulcer....First you can't sleep because of going on the wagon, then you (I) get horrible melancholia because you can't eat what you want to and when you want to. I imagine it's like being put n jail. By God sir, this isn't The American Way! Is this why I labored so hard for repeal?
From a May 12, 1965 letter to Graham Watson:
I have completed THE LOCKWWOOD CONCERN...The ms is 608 pages long...It was going to be longer, but I decided that the extra length would in effect deprive me and my eager public of a sequel, so I ended it where I ended it. Artistically it is better this way.
(There was no sequel to the novel).
On May 12, 1934, publication of "Sportsmanship." The New Yorker. The Doctor's Son.
From Steven Goldleaf, John O'Hara - A Study of the Short Fiction, page 19:
"Set in a Bronx pool hall, the story promises to be confusing only to outsiders: the Subway Arcade sign outside the pool hall is 'misleading only to strangers in the neighborhood; there is no subway anywhere near, and it was no arcade.' The readers are the strangers, trying to understand the special language and mores of this place. Frank, who owns the pool hall, is initially annoyed by the sudden appearance of Jerry, a pool shark who has served time for stealing money from Frank. After pretending not to recognize him, referring to him as 'stranger' and telling him of his resemblance to a 'rat' and a heel' named Jerry, Frank surprisingly accepts Jerry's offer to work off the stolen money. Frank promises to play him in a game of pool after Jerry has worked two weeks for free, while polishing his pool shooting in his spare time. If Jerry wins the game, Frank will hire him, but if he loses, he must leave. When the two weeks are up, Jerry is easily winning until the referee, hired by Frank, declares Frank the game's winner. 'What a sap I been,' Jerry says, realizing that Frank's plan has been all along to add these two weeks to his jail term. But Frank;s revenge is far from complete. Observing how poorly Jerry is taking his loss, Frank suggests to the referee that he be taught a little sportsmanship. The referee then cracks a pool cue over Jerry's hands. Jerry cries out, 'You broke me hands, you broke me hands,' giving Frank the story's tag line: 'Keep them out of other people's pockets,' said Frank. 'Beat it.'"
From a May 12, 1934 letter to William Maxwell:
Back in the new routine, which is hangovers without any fun the nite be4. I tho't I would have a studio job waiting for me but no. Either they got tired of waiting or nothing was there in the 1 place.
...Don't ever get an ulcer....First you can't sleep because of going on the wagon, then you (I) get horrible melancholia because you can't eat what you want to and when you want to. I imagine it's like being put n jail. By God sir, this isn't The American Way! Is this why I labored so hard for repeal?
From a May 12, 1965 letter to Graham Watson:
I have completed THE LOCKWWOOD CONCERN...The ms is 608 pages long...It was going to be longer, but I decided that the extra length would in effect deprive me and my eager public of a sequel, so I ended it where I ended it. Artistically it is better this way.
(There was no sequel to the novel).
We're always looking for contributors and comment. Join the conversation! © MMXIII John O'Hara Society.
On Writing Plays
From the Foreword to Five Plays (1961).
Every once in a while I write a play. In the past nine years I have written these five plays, not one of which has had a Broadway production. It would seem, therefore, that for me the writing of plays is an unprofitable pastime, and it is if you hold the view that profit is best measured in terms of money. But if I exclude journalism, my work in Hollywood, and some of my earlier potboilers in The New Yorker, I have never written principally to make money. I have made a lot of money for myself and for a great many other people, but I could have made a lot more. I could have tinkered here and there with my novels so that they would be acceptable at the Ladies Home Journal, and I could have tricked up hundreds of short stories for Colliers and Cosmopolitan. I could also have been a writer-producer; I was offered that job long ago when I could have used the money. But money isn't everything, and with the present and future taxes the way they are, it damn near isn't anything. So there is no sense to writing for money. There is a lot of sense to writing what you want to write, and in my case that includes an occasional play.
___
The five plays are: The Farmers Hotel, The Searching Sun, The Champagne Pool, Veronique, and The Way it Was.
On Writing Plays
From the Foreword to Five Plays (1961).
Every once in a while I write a play. In the past nine years I have written these five plays, not one of which has had a Broadway production. It would seem, therefore, that for me the writing of plays is an unprofitable pastime, and it is if you hold the view that profit is best measured in terms of money. But if I exclude journalism, my work in Hollywood, and some of my earlier potboilers in The New Yorker, I have never written principally to make money. I have made a lot of money for myself and for a great many other people, but I could have made a lot more. I could have tinkered here and there with my novels so that they would be acceptable at the Ladies Home Journal, and I could have tricked up hundreds of short stories for Colliers and Cosmopolitan. I could also have been a writer-producer; I was offered that job long ago when I could have used the money. But money isn't everything, and with the present and future taxes the way they are, it damn near isn't anything. So there is no sense to writing for money. There is a lot of sense to writing what you want to write, and in my case that includes an occasional play.
___
The five plays are: The Farmers Hotel, The Searching Sun, The Champagne Pool, Veronique, and The Way it Was.
We're always looking for contributors and comment. Join the conversation! © MMXIII John O'Hara Society.
In response to inquiries, I've not been posting since May 2nd because I've been away on vacation.
I plan to resume this Saturday morning May 11th.
Thanks to all for your support.
In the meantime, this morning I read in the Wall Street Journal an interesting piece by Will Friedwald on the music in the new movie The Great Gatsby. The music is just not authentic.
All the best.
Robert
In response to inquiries, I've not been posting since May 2nd because I've been away on vacation.
I plan to resume this Saturday morning May 11th.
Thanks to all for your support.
In the meantime, this morning I read in the Wall Street Journal an interesting piece by Will Friedwald on the music in the new movie The Great Gatsby. The music is just not authentic.
All the best.
Robert
We're always looking for contributors and comment. Join the conversation! © MMXIII John O'Hara Society.
One of His Earliest, One of My Favorites
On May 2, 1931, publication of "Mary." The New Yorker. The Doctor's Son. Gibbsville, Pa.
Her father was a foreman in a Pennsylvania coal mine, and her mother was a fat and pretty Polish woman who always wanted the best for her daughters ....
Mary was tall and beautiful, crafty, quiet, and passionate ... And she went from me to Philadelphia and an artist of a certain local reputation. I saw her a short time after she first began to pose in the nude. "You know, Doc, if Mom - Mother ever knew of that, she'd die, so don't ever let on .... "
On one visit to Philadelphia ... I saw her in the Club Madrid with one of the city's most notorious roués." .....
The next time I saw her ... it was at a revue opening in New York .... After that I saw her frequently, at least once a fortnight, and I noticed her taste in men was steadily improving. I danced with her at the Casino one night, and she offered the information that she was modeling - Saks, or Bergdoff, or some place - and got a swell reduction on clothes. I went home just a little bit sad because she had found it necessary to explain....
One night I called on her ... The telephone rang. She answered it and made a date with the voice at the other end of the wire. She hung up and smiled at me. "That was Ted Frisbee, the polo-player," she said. "I'm awfully fond of him."
_______
Matthew Broccoli infers that Mary became a call girl. He and Steven Goldleaf assert that Mary appears again (as Julian's Polish girl friend) in Appointment in Samarra.
One of His Earliest, One of My Favorites
On May 2, 1931, publication of "Mary." The New Yorker. The Doctor's Son. Gibbsville, Pa.
Her father was a foreman in a Pennsylvania coal mine, and her mother was a fat and pretty Polish woman who always wanted the best for her daughters ....
Mary was tall and beautiful, crafty, quiet, and passionate ... And she went from me to Philadelphia and an artist of a certain local reputation. I saw her a short time after she first began to pose in the nude. "You know, Doc, if Mom - Mother ever knew of that, she'd die, so don't ever let on .... "
On one visit to Philadelphia ... I saw her in the Club Madrid with one of the city's most notorious roués." .....
The next time I saw her ... it was at a revue opening in New York .... After that I saw her frequently, at least once a fortnight, and I noticed her taste in men was steadily improving. I danced with her at the Casino one night, and she offered the information that she was modeling - Saks, or Bergdoff, or some place - and got a swell reduction on clothes. I went home just a little bit sad because she had found it necessary to explain....
One night I called on her ... The telephone rang. She answered it and made a date with the voice at the other end of the wire. She hung up and smiled at me. "That was Ted Frisbee, the polo-player," she said. "I'm awfully fond of him."
_______
Matthew Broccoli infers that Mary became a call girl. He and Steven Goldleaf assert that Mary appears again (as Julian's Polish girl friend) in Appointment in Samarra.
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