A History of the African-American People (Proposed) by Strom Thurmond (9 page)

I have written many scholarly books, books not wholly unacclaimed in certain scholarly circles. I also have reason to believe that my own writing abilities have not gone unappreciated and that I could, were I of a mind, write Everett’s kind of fiction—or anybody else’s. You’ll, of course, understand my position.

Mr. Snell, I do not wish to be difficult, nor have I in mind any dulling of the sharp edge of this project, which both quickens my curiosity and tickles my scholarly funny bone. How about this? I tear up this mistaken contract and we both forget it. I have no wish at all not to be friends with you, who knows on what basis?

So, I give you a choice: $45,000 or 1% of net profits. Some equivalent combination I would also consider.

Do you ever get to Los Angeles? Next time you’re here, I hope you will be my guest for lunch. I have a few other projects I’d like to waft past your nostrils.

Warmest personal regards,
James R. Kincaid
James R. Kincaid

S
IMON
& S
CHUSTER
, I
NC
.
1230 Avenue of the Americas
New York, NY 10020

September 18, 2002

Barton:

Well, has the shit ever hit the fan here. The bosses have finally taken a look at what old Snell has committed the company to and they are all over him like missionaries on one of those bare-chested babes in “National Geographic.”

You ask for something personal. You know, I guess I have told you a lot more personal stuff than you have me. And why personal stuff? I mean, I’m not averse but just curious. It’s not like I’m used to saying personal things just because they’re personal. After all, it’s not like we’re in some truth session. You ever do that in college? Stuff like, “Tell one time when you were caught or almost caught masturbating.” Real personal things like that.

So, I guess I don’t mind at all being personal, so long as it’s a mutual thing, you know.

My sister was caught masturbating. I mean really caught. And really masturbating. My sister is two years older than me, you see, and really gorgeous, if I do say so myself. I mean, she is also pretty much a raving bitch, if you ask me, but she hides that very well around anyone except me. Others say she is warm and independent, but the truth is she’s just self-absorbed and dog-dirty mean. But she can look really good, even in the morning, you know, and in ratty clothes and after a shower even. And some find her kind, I’ll grant that.

Anyhow, so here I was a freshman in high school and she was a junior. I was sitting in my room one night, doing homework or something, and I hear my Mom say, “What ARE you doing? Oh my God, Reba, don’t you know that is filthy? It’s just filthy. And the windows are open and the blinds and you have no clothes on at all. And you are doing that filthy thing to yourself. Is that what they teach you in school now? That it’s OK to do that to yourself?” And on and on like that. At first I didn’t know what she was talking about, but then I figured it out and went around the corner and peeked. Now, you’d think my sister would be sobbing and howling, cringing on the floor, holding sheets up to her chin. But no. She was just standing there staring at my mother, letting her go on and on. Finally, my mother gave out one last “And what do you have to say for yourself?” My sister just stared at her, standing there beside her bed, kind of thrusting her chest out, naked as a jay bird. Then she said, “It’s called masturbating, Mother. You ought to try it. It’d improve your disposition. But if you ever interrupt me doing myself again, I’ll leave home.” The last sentence is kind of approximate, because as soon as my sister said that about my Mother ought to try masturbating, my mother started shrieking all over again.

I know that’s not personal about me, exactly. But it’s still pretty personal. And it does tell you a lot about my sister. She lives in your city, by the way. Reba McCloud. She’s single, but I wouldn’t recommend contacting her.

Best,
Juniper

p.s. OK. It’s not that I don’t trust you. Of course I do, or I wouldn’t have mentioned the incident above. Don’t think I don’t trust you. My name, though, is a matter so humiliating to me it’s hard to speak of, much less speak it, the name I mean. It would be very kind of you to drop the inquiry, very kind indeed. I only use the initial “R,” to tell the truth, to make myself sound more important—and also male, Juniper being one of those go-either-way names.

F
ROM THE
D
ESK OF
P
ERCIVAL
E
VERETT

September 18, 2002

Jim:

Good meeting! I’m glad we got all that ironed out, as it wouldn’t do to enter into this on the back of a crawling disagreement. Glad you are with me on that.

I agree too that our main problems are:

1. What exactly is this thing? A history or a set of musings? Is it some kind of half-assed defense of his record, do you suppose? Old Strom want us to make him look good to his darkie friends? Whatever he has in mind, we’d better find out right off. I am with you in your feeling that it doesn’t much matter, that we can do anything we put our minds to. No doubt about that. And it’s not like either of us had any moral or political convictions that would interfere.

2. How can we be sure what we’re getting is from Strom and not Blanton Wilkes, that lunatic advisor guy? My sense is we should figure this out as we go. Let’s first see what we get and then worry about who is writing it. At some point, though, we’ll have to assure ourselves that Thurmond is in the mix somewhere.

3. As to how we proceed. I know you are concerned about this, but I don’t know why. I told you repeatedly that we wait for Thurmond or Beauregard to send us some material and then we shape it and give it life. As I mentioned several times in our meeting, it is not up to us to initiate the material. They write it; we rewrite and shape. So, for right now we just sit back and wait, unless somebody wants a conference.

Best,
P

S
IMON
& S
CHUSTER
, I
NC
.
1230 Avenue of the Americas
New York, NY 10020

September 19, 2002

Dear Mr. Kincaid,

1%.

Done.

Martin Snell

Interoffice Memo

September 19, 2002

Percival:

Where’d you get that “From the Desk of” pad? Some ass think you’d like it? A joke?

Anyhow, just to confirm.

1. I think we should know before we start what genre we’re in here. I mean, what if Senator Thurmond thinks he’s writing a history and we cast it as informal memoir or slapstick comedy?

2. I am not wholly comfortable with allowing the mystery of the source of all this to continue. I think we should know now, as neither of us (I assume) is interested in helping Barton Wilkes perpetrate a fraud. His name is “Barton,” not “Blanton” (“Beauregard” was your joke, right?). Perhaps I should be the one corresponding with him, as, from what Snell says, he is probably touchy about little things like what his fucking name is.

3. I don’t know why you’re thin-skinned about my concern over the exact details (and timing) of our project. I mean, I do not have the luxury of just sitting back and waiting to see what happens. I am a scholar, you know, with a position to maintain and classes to teach, though I’ll grant you the latter aren’t much of a trouble. I cannot, however, put my professional life (research, publishing, the many boards I am on, the conferences I attend, the calls I have on my opinions and counsel) on hold. I am surprised that you can. Nothing personal.

Looking forward to a working time together.

Jim

F
ROM THE
D
ESK OF
P
ERCIVAL
E
VERETT

September 20, 2002

Jim:

The pad was given to me by my wife. Not as a joke.

Perhaps you don’t understand how these things are done. That’s OK. They will become clear as we go. All this about who is writing it, what it is, when it comes to us: that’s for Snell to work out. Snell is paying us, and there’s no reason for us to take on the burden of dealing with Barton and/or Strom.

Calm yourself. Do some of those thigh exercises you do with that wooden massage tool you were showing me. I too am “looking forward to a working time together” and couldn’t ever have put it so well.

Best regards,
P