A History of the African-American People (Proposed) by Strom Thurmond (10 page)

O
FFICE OF
S
ENATOR
S
TROM
T
HURMOND
217 R
USSELL
S
ENATE
B
UILDING
W
ASHINGTON
, D.C. 20515

September 21, 2002

Juniper:

That’s more like it.

Am I to understand that Snell is not a person of real authority? Tell me true now. I won’t reveal the source of my info, but I don’t relish proceeding with an underling. No offense, as I do not refer to you, of course. Snell is the subject. Stick to it. I am sure you did not ask to be assigned to him, so no shame attaches to you. Snell has always had for me an uncertain odor.

The story about your sister reveals more about you and,
certainment
, about your mother. I can say that, you know. It seems to be my curse to run into those with maternal malformations looming behind them. That she would regard your sister’s shimmering, nubile body as “filthy,” especially as it drove itself to the highest pitches of ecstasy, speaks volumes about Mom, doesn’t it?

And you spying? Now, is that quite the thing? How often did you spy, telling the truth? Did you peek every day? Did you touch yourself as you peeked? You tell me you didn’t understand your mother’s meaning when she spoke of your sister giving herself pleasure. Oh sure! Hello! Were you not giving YOURSELF pleasure along with her, stroke for stroke? Did you not do that repeatedly, not to say obsessively? Did you not watch as she bathed, dressed, ran her hands slowly over herself? And what were you doing while watching? The little insert about “not understanding” doesn’t take a Dr. Freud to figure out, now does it?

Did you pleasure yourself while writing to me about this episode in the past? But it’s not in the past, is it, not really? It’s right there in your mind, as if you could reach out and touch your sister’s ripe-avocado breasts and her downy moss—but instead of reaching out and touching your sister, you reach down and touch—. Delicacy forbids.

But my own youth was not without its excitements. Though they cannot perhaps come close to your level on the perversity chart, I did play doctor with several little friends in our clubhouse. It was all very innocent, of course, and, unlike your incestuous affairs, non-coercive. Still, there was a fair measure of secretiveness and shame attached. Especially to the classic enema game; you and your sister know that one well.

I may be in New York shortly and look forward to getting together.

As for names, maybe this will help. I was not myself, at birth, christened “Barton.” “Wilkes,” yes; “Barton,” no. I gave myself that name later on. What was my given name? John. I love that name, don’t get me wrong, and that association; but it became wearisome explaining about Booth—“John Wilkes——,” you know—and dealing with the misinformation about that great actor, misinformation even educated people carry about with them like papooses. There. Now you tell me. Is your first name also a go-either-way name? Robin? Regan? Ramona?

Ta-Ta!

Your American Cousin

James R. Kincaid
University of Southern California
University Park Campus
Los Angeles, CA 90089

September 21, 2002

Dear Percival,

I do apologize for the remark about your note pad. I was just feeling a little out of sorts, you know, and grumpy. I shouldn’t have taken it out on you, of course, and I will do much better in the future. The truth is that I am having some trouble with my neighbor, who owns both cats and children, dueling one another to be the more distressing. The children actually come visiting, and my wife lets them in. It’s not that they shit all over the place—the cats do that, outside I mean, though in the garden and so forth, and the other day I stepped in it; ever smell cat shit? They (the kids) imagine that they are interesting conversationalists. My wife lets them in, as I say, and insists I sit there and talk with them. Talk with them! It’s like holding conversations with a group of sparrows, a form of wildlife they resemble—all pencil-necked and chirpy.

I see what you mean about the points at issue. Doubtless it will all work out. I have taken the liberty, however, of writing directly to Barton Wilkes—you suppose he has a middle name? He at least must be a III or IV? I add that here, as a copy, so you can see. I didn’t want to bother you, as I knew you’d prefer I did it.

Did you see what our colleague _________________ was wearing today? And I’m fucking sure he uses that artificial tanning cream, Man-Tan or some such.

Yours truly,
Jim

James R. Kincaid
University of Southern California
University Park Campus
Los Angeles, CA 90089

COPY FOR P.E.

September 21, 2002

Mr. Barton Wilkes, Esq.

Senior Advisor, Senator Strom Thurmond

Russell Senate Bldg.
Washington, D.C.

Dear Mr. Wilkes,

I am writing on behalf of Percival Everett and myself to say a hi to you and to inquire about a few mundane matters relating to our mutual project. We understand that you were the one initiating contact with our publisher and we are glad you did.

Just so we can all be pulling on the same wagon, let’s get a few things straight. What do you say?

1. Could you tell us what the Senator has in mind, exactly, as to genre. (By genre, I mean not so much what Aristotle meant, nothing that formal, but simply what it is you have in mind.) For instance, is this a straight-line history, starting at some point and ending at some other, giving us a kind of chronicle of the life of African-Americans? On the other hand (or on an other hand), is it a set of personal reflections? Perhaps it is an account of the Senator’s own dealings with African-Americans? You see our quandry. A word from you, just a word, will set us right.

2. We strongly feel that we should be connecting straight to Senator Thurmond, now that the preliminaries are over and the main feature has begun. I mean, there are certainly many details that you will be handling. I refer only to the substance of things and questions like that in 1 (see above), which will be much clearer coming straight from Senator Thurmond than filtered through an intermediary, no matter how skilled. I am sure you understand our point here, which is one merely of efficiency and trying not to get really mixed up.

3. When exactly will you be sending material to us, and at what schedule? It would help us (me, especially) to get an exact schedule for delivery of materials (as one of us has many other projects going as well). We will reciprocate with a schedule right back to you, showing when we will be finished with our writing and shaping.

4. We need to set up a meeting with Senator Thurmond as soon as possible.

Cordially,

James R. Kincaid

James R. Kincaid

F
ROM THE
D
ESK OF
P
ERCIVAL
E
VERETT

September 23, 2002

Jim:

JESUS CHRIST!

Percival

F
ROM THE
D
ESK OF
P
ERCIVAL
E
VERETT

September 24, 2002

Dear Jim,

You settled for what?

1% of net?

That’s gross—ha ha. No, that’s nuts!

P

Memo: McCloud to Snell

September 26, 2002

Martin:

I need your help.

I made the mistake—I admit it was mine—of trying to get personal by telling Wilkes a story about my sister, a true story but about my sister, with whom I am not close. As I should have known—I admit it—Wilkes turned it into a story, first about my mother, and then about me. You can have no idea how personal he made it.

Now I feel like I am either in analysis or in a most horrible affair. Wilkes seems determined to molest either my body or my mind.

I apologize for saying these things, but now he says he’s coming to town, looks forward to meeting me, and for all I know weighs 350 pounds and is vicious.

Thanks for the card. I enjoyed the picnic a lot too. I’m sorry we didn’t win any of the races. I think if we had had time to practice the running things we’d have done better, but I’m so much smaller than you, our strides didn’t really match. Yes, the wedgie game was fun and, thanks for asking, I really am OK now. Didn’t mean to make such a fuss.

p.s. I’m glad it’s all cleared up about cats and all. Let me just reiterate how fond I am of them, despite not at present having one by me. I am positive a cat would be, as you say, a comfort; but I’m pretty sure my lease expressly forbids cats. I have no idea why.