LETTERS
351
infant bourgeoisie which built the Chi–
cago World's Fair buildings of 1893,
looking for
an
architectural prototype,
found it in the work of the adult bour–
geoisie of France; the article wliich Sul–
livan wrote about the design of the sky–
scraper isn't a statement, it's
an
extra–
ordinary example of repression- these
were the assumptions
I
made
in
my
article.
ALAN MATHER
ANOTHER COUNTY HEARD FROM
Sirs:
When
I
first heard of the PARTISAN
REVIEW it was a left publication to which
I
sent a short story which they liked,
though not well enough to print it. Later,
when you asked me to subscribe to it,
I
was under the impression that it was
the same publication as before.
I
was sadly disillusioned when
I
read
your articles in the magazine after
I
subscribed to it.
I
am one of those who feel that there
is no hope left in the world if the Soviet
Union should fail. And while
I
do not
agree with every move that the leaders
in the Union make, still,
I
am not such
an ass that
I
feel that just because they
don't do it my way, that therefor
I will
not play. Those who adopt that attitude
are, in my opinion, the greatest enemies
of the working class, and they will be
outcasts whether Fascism or Socialism
wins; and
I
know it will be the latter.
So you can readily understand that
feeling as
I
do,
I
will not renew my sub–
scription to the pARTISAN REVIEW, nor
will
I
in any way aid or abet your view–
point.
Brookline, Mass.
Sincerely yours,
WILLARD
H.
SHORT
The letters below were written as personal letters. We think they are
of enough interest, however, to print just as they stand.-EDITORS
Dear
B--:
Camp -- is in pretty-looking country, gently rolling hills, cotton–
wood trees, cactus; principal industries cattle and oil. The camp is a huge
mess of new barracks, halls, etc. My barracks is a two-story affair, com–
fortable, hot-water showers, beds lined up in two rows, alternating head
and foot. There is an absolute lack of privacy in the army: you even
defecate in public-there are no stalls.
There is nothing I can do-even write a letter or read a hook (there is
no library) -without hearing some whoremastering story in the back–
ground, or the rattle of dice. There is no one that I have found that I can
talk to, although there are a few fellows who are pleasant enough for
casual association.
When we got here, after lunch (much better than Upton and eaten
off plates, thank God), the capt of our company, a hard looking compact
Texan, gave us a talk, part of which listed the places on the camp into
which we couldn't go. There is a Negro battalion near us and their area
is
off limits. "The army makes us call them colored, but down here we
call them niggers,'' said the capt. "Stay away from them." Then he
cautioned the men not to use the whores in
W--,
a small town nearby
that is doing a rush business. "The women there are pretty well used up,
so I advise you to keep your peters in your pants. But if you don't there
is
a prophylaxis station on the post where you can get condoms and a
treabnent." The army's main worry is venereal disease, and they are right
because in one week's time most of the fellows have done more whoring
than you can imagine-all in between lectures on venereal disease.
First call in the morning is at 6 A.M. At 6:10 we line up on the
