jane foster thornton
3001 broadway
new york 27, n. y.Saturday
My dear P-tricia,
I am sitting here on my bed, eating witch-made fudge, listening to rain on the roof and dreaming. I had the most fabulous time last night! Lida Virginia had invited me to go to dinner and the theatre to see "The Clandestine Marriage" with her, so I went to Johnson Hall, where we met, talked, and had dinner with the other members of the staff. Lida Virginia is tiny, with dark hair winged with gray pulled back into a bun on the nape of her neck and covered with a heavy net. Very smart-looking and lots of fun. Then she informed me that a friend of hers was going with us, and would meet us at the front desk. Who should it be but Mr. Stanton, Mallie's handsome, young, tall English teacher whom I had met only once before on the bus! We both gasped, "What a coincidence!" and other banalities, and Lida Va. was quite surprised that we knew each other. Anyway, to the theatre we went, and the play was marvellous. [sic] The little theatre was packed and terribly warm, but the audience was very intelligent and laughed at every nuance. Prof. Bovey, the nice gray haired, handsome one who put the chair out for me, sat with us too. Such an evening! Afterwards we walked along in the Village and discussed plays and theatre, and where we finally ended up was a wonderful little cellar joint around Sheridan Square, where we had Viennese coffee and talked more theatre.
Mr. Stanton majored in contemporary English & Irish drama in school. You can't imagine how wonderful it was to sit and talk with people who knew a lot about theatre. We then took a subway home, shook hands at the door, chuckled about coincidences again, and I floated in, feeling Villagey and wonderful.
I am now on my way to a Delta Phi party with Ted, feeling very prosaic and tired. Hell! I'll write more later.
Monday
The Delta Phi party was moderately fun. Afterwards we went to an Austrian movie and one about the origin of Canada's Shakespeare festival. Somehow, though, after Friday night, it just didn't measure up.
I spent all Saturday and Sunday afternoons building & painting, met some nice boys. Frank has granted his august permission for me to start painting detail work at last. I heard him telling Dolph that I seemed to know what I was doing. After this play I'm a full-fledged member of Wigs & Cues. And the next play is "Madwoman", and if we're interested in set design we're to submit sketches. I've been working so closely with Frank that I think he'll help me - he's going to teach me how to make floor plans & elevations.
Just received a letter if you want to call it that - a blank sheet of paper with "Think - try this over your cauldrons" on it. Je ne sais pas. Of course it's from Doorthee. I did a character sketch for English which I'm enclosing. See if you agree.
As for T-giving, I have Geol. lab until 5:00 on Wednesday unless Prof. Sharp cancels it. He's been known to. I'll let you know as soon as I do.
So you're going to audit Viereck. Fine! Mr. Stanton & Lida Va. were telling me about classes I should audit at Columbia - wonderful drama courses. Also, there's a Russian theatre on the corner of Riverside & 103rde which I'd like to attend.
A s. o. b. bench is a son of a bitch bench, if I must be explicit. But you should see for now. Looks reel rack-like.
Last night, to my great amazement, the gals on the floor gave me a surprise birthday party at 11:00 P.M. Ice cream, home-made cake, pie, cookies & doughnuts. They bought me John Brown's Body which I have raved about since I've been here, and a perfume atomizer. Was I surprised!
My little-boy-letter this week was a Hallowe'en story. I had more fun writing that silly thing - ! Hope they like it.
No school tomorrow because of election day. I have to do some research, but I'd love to wander downtown a bit, too.
Do you know that if you go to Fulton Fish Market at about 3:00 AM, it's absolutely fascinating? And then you eat at Sloppy Louie's probably a second cousin to the Greasy Cow!
Love,
JanieP.S.
Just read for "Camino." Of all things the director knows Bert very well, and graduated from Yale Drama. Young, nice, not handsome. He put me immediately at ease. I read the Gypsy, Prudence, and finally Marguerite. He said that a list would be posted of those who would be in the final readings. And I saw him write on my card, "Re-read Marguerite". Here's hoping! I'll let you know Wed. night - or Thurs. morning, or soon as I know.
[typed enclosure]
WITCHES I HAVE KNOWN
Her door is never locked --- she lost the key a long time ago. You just open the door and walk in. You'd never guess it to be a witch's house. It looks vaguely incompleted (they're redecorating) and somehow you feel that it will never be quite finished, that there will always remain something to be done. It's hard to imagine Dot without some mammoth project in the offing, like weaving baskets for her juvenile delinquents at the Home, painting the piano black with white spots, or knitting a sweater for one of her two little boys. Dot can't stand silence and loneliness. She must have people around her all the time, people she can shock, amaze, anger and tear apart with her astonishingly sharp perception and barbed wit. Only those women who are unshockable remain her friends, those who can penetrate the tough surface to the lostness underneath.
She loves her small boys with a fierce protective love, but spends her nights at rehearsal for a play and her days teaching delinquent children.
The very sharpness and harsh brilliance that repels most women attracts most men. Her reputation around town is bad --- yet you should see her on one of her rare evenings at home with her husband and a few friends, reciting the "Cremation of Sam McGee" to no one in particular, or teaching two teen-aged girls to bake a pie. In a pair of paint smeared shorts and a plaid blouse, no lipstick, her short black hair definitely in need of touching up at the roots, she's a different creature from the sleek, electric, sarcastic party-Dot.
She's a wierd [sic] combination of selfishness and altruism, predatory female and loving mother --- in short, a witch of the first water, or should we say, brew. She's shoving happiness and security away with both hands and though she doesn't know it, has nothing to take its place. But you can't tell this to Dorothy, because she'd laugh at you.
"Double, double, toil and trouble ..." Poor Dot. And there's nothing anyone can do.