A History of the African-American People (Proposed) by Strom Thurmond (41 page)

You’ve got to admit I can be cagey when I want!

XOOXOOXOOX,

Jim

F
ROM THE
D
ESK OF
P
ERCIVAL
E
VERETT

April 27, 2003

Dear Jim,

If you insist. I don’t think I’m homophobic. I admit, though, that the idea of having sex with you doesn’t present itself to me, even in nightmares. I avoid the “Dear” to save time and to do what I can to preserve nice words for nice times.

Did you realize you were sending the same xeroxed letter to all 3? That is, you made that plea to Barton about his peeking and the confession about your illegal Internet porn activities to all of them. Did you mean to do that? You think Barton’s going to be happy with that? You think Martin is not going to use your confession against you? You think Reba isn’t going to think you’re trying to get Juniper fired again? You’re going to have all three of them swooping down on you, angry and armed.

Just fooling you. Of course you are not in danger—probably.

But your idea of dividing all these people into teams is bad and the particular division you make outlandish. I bet when it was your turn to be captain and pick a team for recess softball you ended up with all second basemen.

Juniper is with Snell, and they’ll do the Strom book. We don’t want Barton within a million miles of that. We’ll handle his continued meddling, but we don’t want to give him official status. You want him empowered to force revisions on us?

Anyhow, the big picture you managed to miss, God, is this: Vendetti and Reba are an item, so he’ll hire her. Septic, as author, is already there. Reba will cajole Vendetti into hiring Wilkes as well. Lots of cooks, but I imagine Septic’s book is already about where it should be, so they’ll do no harm.

Next time, lover, find a spot on a hill that’s not right behind a tree.

P

April 28, 2003

P—

Horseshit and fuck you!

J

Memo: Septic, Reba McCloud, Barton Wilkes

From: Ralph Vendetti

Date: April 30, 2003

Just to confirm our conversations, some in person and some by phone.

Reba McCloud, hired for this project only, and Barton Wilkes, permanent special field and subject editor working for me, are assigned to do preproduction, marketing, copyediting, permissions, illustrations, and miscellaneous editing for the book known as CLASS ASS by Septic. Septic will be consulted on all details and have the right to appeal any disagreements to me. I trust there will be none. If not, I needn’t be involved at all.

Mr. Wilkes, we are especially glad to have you with us and regard ourselves as lucky to have roped you in.

May 1, 2003

Martin:

Barton Wilkes is working for me on the CLASS ASS project. If you had any sense, you’d recognize this as a real break for you. But you don’t and you won’t. You’ll be tempted to ask me questions. Better not.

Also, Reba McCloud has been signed on with a work-forhire contract, this project only, at least for now. If you bother her in any way, I will eat your eyeballs.

Ralph

May 5, 2003

Dear all,

I remember in some group therapy session I was in—I’ve participated in so many, I can’t keep any of the sessions or the disorders they were designed to keep under control straight—the leader made the observation that truly disgraceful behavior, so long as it is truly excessive, is usually rewarded. She said there were personality types who sensed this and lived their lives on that principle.

I hope I am not one. I’d rather think that I have fallen in among people so gracious that they forgive. I don’t think any of you are neurotics who need and thus encourage neurotic (with me, psychotic) behavior for your own ends. I think you are good people who want to help.

It’s a corny thing to say, but I feel redeemed. Of course, I’ve felt redeemed before, in some years several times. Still, I feel that this is different, that I have somehow fallen asleep in a sty and awakened in a new land.

To all of you, you who brought me here, I give you my thanks and the promise for many parties to come. That seems to me much more in your line than apologies. Strangely, parties now seem more in my line too.

Love,

Barton

May 5, 2003

Dear Reba,

Just a short addition to you. What you have done for me is so kind and so uncaused, you make me think of Cordelia. Were I of the stature of Lear, I’d propose that we two go off to prison too, singing old songs and telling old tales. As it is, I’ll just say thanks.

Your friend,

Barton

Percival Everett
University of Southern California

University Park Campus
Los Angeles, CA 90089

May 6, 2003

Dear Martin and Juniper,

As promised, here is a draft of the opening pages of A HISTORY…. This may give you an idea of the tone Jim and I have settled on, of the pace we think fits the Senator’s style, and the context we hope to establish. True, it doesn’t get down to issues or details, but we think the most interesting thing about this history will be the absence of such things. This will be history without what is usually regarded as an “historical record.” In a sense, this will be a far more vivid, even authentic history, in that it not only takes into account a particular perspective on the past, but IS that perspective. We do not make any pretense of empirical justification, of giving a world outside Strom. There is, for Strom and for the reader, no world outside Strom. He never was able to see one or make one. We might call that a tragedy, were it not for the fact that, in this, we are all Strom.

My daddy filled his life and mine with stories, stories that often had a point. It wasn’t always very clear what that point was. I meant to say that it wasn’t clear to me what the point was; but, come to think of it, I don’t think the point was very clear to Daddy either. Maybe it was clear to him and not to me, but possibly it was the other way around, often as not. Maybe he had one point in mind and I garnered another. But what I’m talking about and not getting to is something else entirely. Maybe there weren’t any points, just the stories. See what I mean? I am not trying to be fancy, but we Southerners put a lot of stock in stories, not just to entertain ourselves but to tell us and others about the world we live in and how we should live in it.

But maybe the stories were only stories, telling us not one damned thing. Maybe the stories manage to get in between us and a whole lot of nothing. Think maybe? All those stories and all that time spent telling them and listening to them. I wonder now why. It has always made me feel good to tell stories. Early on in politics, I realized that the best answer to a question is a story. People like to hear stories, maybe so they can go tell them to somebody else. But why is that? I always thought it was because stories gave us all something to chew on, set us straight, you know, on issues and the like. But maybe stories did just the opposite: gave us the satisfaction of thinking we were chewing, but there was no meat.

Don’t get me wrong. I don’t mean to say that stories were lies or that I developed the knack of telling them just to slither my butt out of tight spots. A few of the men I learned county politics from told me that, told me that “old fuck-yer-dog tales” would do more for you with folks around here than any sort of political position. But it wasn’t just fuck-yer-dog stories and it wasn’t just tight spots. I saw that they used stories all the time and, right away, so did I. Not just fuck-yer-dog stories but bless-your-mother and fling-the-sorghum stories too. Politics is just one story after another, stories inside stories. But I don’t know what isn’t.