My parents met in January, 1946, at Mary's sister's wedding. Sid represented the relatives in New York City. He had just turned 20. Eighteen months earlier, he had landed on the beaches of Normandy with the allied forces and soon after a landmine blew his foot off when he attempted to take a pillbox.
He had been staying in a veteran's hospital in New York, but was able to travel to Ottawa for the wedding.
Mary, Sid's first cousin, was studying psychology at the University of Toronto. She had just turned 19
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| SID |
(Handwritten on Chateau Laurier Hotel notepaper. January, 1946)
Dear Mary,
Something in your last letter made me pause - those short two paragraphs about being in love. True love - ah! My trigger-quick mind seized on an idea. Love - why any fool can write thousands of words on the subject.
You never mentioned to me that you were once in love. Never. Never. But, being a part-time chaplain’s assistant, I maintain an ever-ready open ear to tales of sorrow - of love - of passion - no matter how lewd. In fact I will now tell you about the time I was in love. And my ideas on love. Perhaps you will better understand me in the telling.
Yes, I was in love once. It was blind, passionate love. The girl could talk - so I felt that she was intelligent. She had eyes, teeth, hair, a mouth, and a nose - so I thought she was beautiful. Needless to say her figure was divine because it had all the appurtenances that female figures usually have. (Don’t ask me how I know). It was true love indeed. I loved her like mad and like blind. In her presence I was happy and peaceful. I desired nothing else. But our little boat of happiness soon began to rock. I wanted to carry our love to the nth degree - she could not accede or would not accede. Eventually I got tired of playing around and our little boat smashed on the rocks. (The moral of this story is that to this day the young lady is a virgin - not only that but she will give her all to me if I should ever fall in love with her again.)
II
Since then, Mary, I have avoided true love with all the ardor and fastidiousness of a eunuch. Shakespeare was right. The road of true love never did run smooth - because true love is blind and keeps bumping into things. But I do not forsake love altogether. For the male and for the female - (intelligent enough) I suggest - yes you guessed it - intelligent love. Honesty, frankness and understanding. Complete freedom of sexual expression taken for granted. No false sentimentality, in fact very little sentimentality - because sentimentality is the most easily perverted of all emotions because it is one of the least rational and weakest of our emotions. True love, as Shakespeare means it - is intertwined with sentimentality not understanding.
Oh! (sigh) weary world! alack!
My love for her is dead. Has your love died - from undernourishment, overnourishment - or did you both disillusion each other nonchalantly. No matter. Mary - the truth is that “true love” lays too many obstacles in the way of my personality. I like independence - not chains (no matter how beautiful). I like the right to taunt - flatter my woman - to alternately praise, flatter, and insult them - true love is too sensitive for that. True love is for the dullards. But love for me must have spice and excitement - rather than peace and bliss. That is, so I am told, too masculine a viewpoint to ever be adopted by any female. What do you think?
I hardly distinguish here between love and sex - and love and companionship. Thus as time passes - both the enjoyment from both sex and companionship increases as the mutual understanding increases. And understanding can only increase when the mind is keen, perceptive, alert, and not befogged by the weak emotions of sentimentality and romanticism. True love cannot provide those qualities of keenness etc. to the mind. True love is unreal and uncomprehending - therefore therefore I leave it to the unreal persons who desire unreality (passion divine) in their love affairs.
When you say in your letter that I helped you
III
put X in his proper perspective, I hope to get you to change the X in that sentence to “true love” or even “love”.
My unfailing advice to females who are in difficulties is to find a nice fellow and have a love affair (meaning sexual intercourse) with him. But to go into this love affair with open eyes - above all open eyes. My advice is not graciously received by those who detest me - and those who receive it graciously bemoan the lack of nice fellows - and those who are in love with me have, it seems, already closed their eyes. so the advice is not even received by them. Alack! Alas! Oh weary World!
There are a lot of loose ends to be picked up in my theories (no doubt most of them and the loose ends can be found in the rubbish heap) but what I have given you is only a bare outline with bare explanations. I have derived these theories (or thought of them) from my diverse experience on girls’ (don’t pause) sofas. Your opinion will be condescendingly received.
Previously I had written a mere thousand-word thesis proving that I was not only a fool -but a dishonest fool - I tore these sorry words up because even if they did prove to you that I was a fool, you might decide that the evidence was not conclusive - besides they were boring. So I leave it up to yourself to become unprejudiced and put Sidney into proper perspective.
Meanwhile, you can use a little cynicism, tempered by sarcasm with a pinch of disdain - not haughty cynicism etc. but the gentle cynicism of a philosopher - for we Halperns are essentially gentle.
Now Mary, that I am done with gobble - gobble, I might turn to some other parts of your letter. I tend to agree with you on the letter writing business - but why say that your letters are no good. You lack self-confidence. Ask me what I think of your letters! Go ahead ask me! Uh - eh - well I guess you are right. You just haven’t got the brains to write better letters, so I will have to suffer along - until you improve. But don’t be too sad - because as soon as I see an improvement I’ll tell you about it.
You tell me that you liked my ideas on laughing off ones’ troubles. I’m glad. Did I ever tell you that I listen very indulgentally to other peoples troubles. I absorb them like a sponge. And one of these days when I get tired off of laughing off my troubles I will get to telling them. By that time I should have developed an unbeatable technique.
In conclusion, you say if I’m not too busy to write again. Actually the word is lazy. So if I don’t get too lazy you can expect another inspiring (?) answer to your future letter. In the meantime - Love & Kisses (lots).
Sid
