Just like that

The late, great Tommy Cooper was one of the most recognisable comedians in the world, his frantic act a perfectly delivered mixture of jokes and calamitous magic tricks that rarely failed to raise a laugh. I remember watching him as a kid, mesmerised, fully convinced that he was never out of character, that actually there was no character — in my mind, Tommy Cooper always wore a fez, even at home; the grin, the props, the one-liners a constant. Which is why this joke-filled letter, written by Tommy to his mum at some point in the 1970s, on fez stationery, fills me with joy.

Transcript follows (with mistakes, as the second line of Tommy's letter seems a little mangled. Not important, though). From the wonderful book, Tommy Cooper 'Jus' Like That!': A Life in Jokes and Pictures.

(Source: Tommy Cooper 'Jus' Like That!': A Life in Jokes and Pictures by John Fisher; Image of Tommy Cooper via.)



Transcript

Dear Mum,

How nice to hear you are getting on so well! Looking forward very much to seeing you and have a nice long rest with us Jan. All day yesterday, I heard a ringing in my ears — Then I picked up the phone and it stopped. I was going to see my doctor, but he isn't a very good doctor. All his patients are sick. Dove & myself are on a new diet. We eat our breakfast in the raw. Then we eat our lunch raw. For dinner we put on clothes.

See you soon

All my love

Tommy xxxx

Hello

Dear All,

Huge apologies for the lack of updates to Letters of Note recently. Unfortunately the silence and tumbleweeds will continue for the next week or two while I put the finishing touches to something I've been working on for the past couple of years and which is currently taking up all of my time — the Letters of Note book. This magnificent object will hopefully be in the hands of those who supported and funded it by the end of May, and you can still pre-order a copy of that first edition here. You really should.

A trade edition will follow in October, at which point the book will be available in all good and sensible bookshops.

So, that's it. The website hasn't died, and a book is on its way.

I'll be back soon.

Thanks!

Shaun

The loss of you lingers

In 1989, 52-year-old Long Island resident Joan Cook Carpenter passed away after succumbing to breast cancer — a battle which she had chosen to keep from her loved ones until her final days. In 1999, a decade after Joan's death, her 29-year-old daughter, Karin, wrote her the following letter.

Karin wrote an award-winning novel partly inspired by the experience, titled What Girls Learn, in 1998.

(Source: Women's Letters; Image via.)

Dear Mom,

What time was I born?
When did I walk?
What was my first word?

My body has begun to look like yours. Suddenly I can see you in me. I have so many questions. I look for answers in the air. Listen for your voice. Anticipate. Find meaning in the example of your life. I imagine what you might have said or done. Sometimes I hear answers in the echo of your absence. The notion of mentor is always a little empty for me. Holding out for the hope of you. My identity has taken shape in spite of that absence. There are women I go to for advice. But advice comes from the outside. Knowing, from within. There is so much I don't know.

What were your secrets?
What was your greatest source of strength?
When did you know you were dying?

I wish I had paid closer attention. The things that really matter you gave me early on—a way of being and loving and imagining. It's the stuff of daily life that is often more challenging. I step unsure into a world of rules and etiquette, not knowing what is expected in many situations. I am lacking a certain kind of confidence. Decisions and departures are difficult. As are dinner parties. Celebrations and ceremony. Any kind of change. Small things become symbolic. Every object matters—that moth-eaten sweater, those photos. Suddenly I care about your silverware. My memory is an album of missed opportunities. The loss of you lingers.

Did you like yourself?
Who was your greatest love?
What did you fear most?

In the weeks before your death, I knew to ask questions. At nineteen, I needed to hear your hopes for me. On your deathbed, you said that you understood my love for women, just as you suggested you would have fought against it. In your absence, I have had to imagine your acceptance.

There are choices I have made that would not have been yours. Somehow that knowledge is harder for me than if I had you to fight with. My motions lack forcefulness. I back into decisions rather than forge ahead. This hesitancy leaves me wondering:

Did you ever doubt me?
Would you have accepted me?
What did you wish for me?

I know that my political choices threatened you. Your way was to keep things looking good on the outside, deny certain feelings, erase unpleasant actions. Since your death, I have exposed many of the things that you would have liked to keep hidden. I can no longer hold the family secrets for you.

I search for information about your life. Each scrapbook, letter, anecdote I come across is crucial to my desire to understand you and the choices you made. I have learned about affairs, abuse, all things you would not have wanted me to know. Yet they explain the missing blanks in my memory bank and round out your humanity.

Who did you dream you would be?
Did you ever live alone?
Why did you divorce?
Did you believe in God?

One thing you said haunts me still. When I asked about motherhood, you said that children don't need as much as you gave. "Eighty percent is probably plenty." I was shocked by your words. Did you regret having given so much of yourself? Now, those words seem like a gift. A way of offering me a model of motherhood, beyond even your own example.

Becoming a mother is something I think about a great deal, almost to the point of preoccupation. I have heard it said that constant dreaming about birth often signals a desire to birth one's self, to come into one's own. My process of grieving the loss of you has been as much about birthing myself as letting you go.

What were your last thoughts?
Were you proud?
Were you at peace?
What is it like to die?

How frightened you must have been shouldering so much of your illness alone. The level of your own isolation is a mystery to me. In my life, I try hard to reach out, to let others in. I fear loss more than anything. I turn on my computer. Make things up. I tell the truth. My daily work is toward connection. All these questions move me to search, less and less for your answers and increasingly for my own.

Love,

Karin

The Outsiders

In March of 1980, a school librarian by the name of Jo Ellen Misakian wrote to Francis Ford Coppola and, on behalf of the students at Lone Star School in Fresno, California, asked him to consider adapting their favourite novel, S. E. Hinton's The Outsiders, for the big screen. Also included with her letter were a copy of the book, and a petition signed by 110 of the kids. Amazingly, three months later they received an unexpected and cautiously optimistic reply from producer Fred Roos, who soon advised Coppola to read the book. Coppola did exactly that, and two years later production on the movie began.

The Outsiders, directed by Francis Ford Coppola, was released in March of 1983, with an incredible up-and-coming cast that included Tom Cruise, Rob Lowe, Ralph Macchio, Patrick Swayze, Diane Lane, Emilio Estevez, and Matt Dillon. A première was held for the school, attended by the cast.

Misakian's original letter can be seen below, along with a selection of Fred Roos' subsequent letters to the school.

(Sources: The Outsiders, Behind the Scenes & American Icons; Image above, via.)



Transcript

Lone Star School Library
2617 South Fowler Avenue
Fresno, California 93725
March 21, 1980

Mr. Francis Ford Coppola
1 Gulf and Western Plaza
New York, N. Y. 10023

Dear Mr. Copolla:

I am writing to you on behalf of the students and faculty of Lone Star School. We hope you will take the time to consider our request.

We are all so impressed with the book, THE OUTSIDERS by S. E. Hinton, that a petition has been circulated asking that it be made into a movie. We have chosen you to send it to. In hopes that you might also see the possibilities of the movie we have enclosed a copy of the book.

Lone Star is a small school in Fresno County. We have a student body of 324 students. It is a kindergarten through eighth grade school. I feel our students are representative of the youth of America. Everyone who has read the book, regardless of ethnic or economical background, has enthusiastically endorsed this project. This plea comes from our seventh and eighth grade students.

We feel certain that if you will read the book you will agree with us.

Thank you for your time.

Sincerely yours,

(Signed)

Jo Ellen Misakian
(Mrs. John Misakian)
Librarian Aide

Transcript

American Zoetrope

June 10, 1980

Ms. Jo Ellen Misakian
Lone Star School Library
2617 South Fowler Avenue
Fresno, Calif. 93725

Dear Mrs. Misakina:

Thank you for sending us your letter, the petition from your students and the book "THE OUTSIDERS" by S.E. Hinton. Francis Ford Coppola received them and was very impressed with the passionate interest you and your students showed in this book.

We are thus following through on it as you can see by the attached report that was done by one of our readers. The reader seems to agree with you and your students.

The next step is for myself and other members of our company to read the book and see if we really might want to make a film out of it. I'll try to keep you posted on the progress.

Thanks again to you and your seventh and eighth graders for being good literary scouts and for choosing our company.

Sincerely,

(Signed)

Fred Roos

FR/lff
cc: F. Coppola, L. Fisher
S. Rogers, S. Ingleby

Transcript

Jo Ellen Misakian
Lone Star School
2617 South Fowler Avenue
Fresno, Calif. 93725

Dear Miss Misakian:

Thanks for your letter of July 14, 1980. Sorry your class was not in school to share the news.

The latest is that the Zoetrope Studios executives read and discussed at length the pros and cons of making a movie out of "THE OUTSIDERS" with some being for it and some being against it. I flew to Tulsa to have a personal meeting with Suzie Hinton which I enjoyed very much and found valuable.

The final decision has been to go ahead and try to option the book with the aim of filming it if we can get a good screenplay. The negotiations with Ms. Hinton's agents are going on now.

By the time school reconvenes, hopefully we will have acquired "THE OUTSIDERS" and have begun to hire a screenwriter to adapt it. If you want to further use this book as a class study project, perhaps you could have each of your students write an essay on why they like "THE OUTSIDERS"; perhaps talking about their favorite scenes or about scenes they don't like. This could be helpful to we the filmakers.

Also, there is a chance that we may not be able to use the title "THE OUTSIDERS" because of another movie that came out recently with that title. I hope we don't have to change it but if we do, I'd like to hear your students suggestions of an alternative title...such as "Ponyboy".

I'd also like to hear your students opinion of one possible change that we might have in the movie. That is to not have a gang fight at the end. It seems wrong to me in light of what has just happened to Dallas, Johnny and Bob that the two groups would still have another fight. Hopefully they would have learned something during the course of the story. At least I'd like to think they had and to show audiences through our movie that they had. Any opinions on this would be helpful.

I look forward to hearing from you and your students in a few weeks. Again, thanks for your help.

Sincerely,

(Signed)

Fred Roos

FR/lff

Transcript

the OUTSIDERS

April 21, 1982

Mrs. Jo Ellen Misakian
Librarian Aide
Lone Star School Library
2617 South Fowler Ave.
Fresno, California 93725

Dear Mrs. Misakian,

I want to keep you and the school up to date on the progress of Lone Star's very own movie production, THE OUTSIDERS.

We are presently shooting the film in Tulsa and are into our fifth week. We have a wonderful cast and it's going very well.

The enclosed production notes will tell you and the kids about everything they need to know about the movie and who's in it.

I'll keep giving you updates.

Sincerely,

(Signed)

Fred Roos
Producer

cc: Francis Coppola
Beverly Walker

"GAY CONVERSION WEEK"

In May of 1975, then-Los Angeles Police Chief Edward Davis was invited to participate in the LA Pride parade — an annual celebration of the LGBT community which first took place in 1970 — by the event's organisers, Christopher Street West. Davis responded with the following letter.

LA Pride continues to this day. 2013's three day event begins on June 7th.

Transcript follows.

(Source: Paul Forte, via Virginia C. McGuire; Image above: LA Pride 2012, via Boston.com)



Transcript

LOS ANGELES POLICE DEPARTMENT

May 23, 1975

Ms. Sharon D. Cornelison, President
Christopher Street West Association
P.O. Box 3949
Hollywood, California 90028

Dear Ms. Cornelison:

As you no doubt expected, I am declining your invitation to participate in the celebration of "GAY PRIDE WEEK." While I support your organization's constitutional right to express your feelings on the subject of homosexuality, I am obviously not in sympathy with your views on the subject. I would much rather celebrate "GAY CONVERSION WEEK" which I will gladly sponsor when the medical practitioners in this country find a way to convert gays to heterosexuals.

Very truly yours,

(Signed)

E. M. DAVIS
Chief of Police

Sleep well my love

The following moving love letter was written by American World War II veteran Brian Keith to Dave, a fellow soldier he met and fell in love with in 1943 while stationed in North Africa, on the occasion of their anniversary. It was reprinted in September of 1961 by ONE Magazine – a groundbreaking pro-gay magazine first published in 1953. The original letter is held, I am told, by the Library of Congress.

(Source: ONE National Gay & Lesbian Archives, via Carrie Kendall.)

Dear Dave,

This is in memory of an anniversary — the anniversary of October 27th, 1943, when I first heard you singing in North Africa. That song brings memories of the happiest times I’ve ever known. Memories of a GI show troop — curtains made from barrage balloons — spotlights made from cocoa cans — rehearsals that ran late into the evenings — and a handsome boy with a wonderful tenor voice. Opening night at a theatre in Canastel — perhaps a bit too much muscatel, and someone who understood. Exciting days playing in the beautiful and stately Municipal Opera House in Oran — a misunderstanding — an understanding in the wings just before opening chorus.

Drinks at "Coq d'or" — dinner at the "Auberge" — a ring and promise given. The show 1st Armoured — muscatel, scotch, wine — someone who had to be carried from the truck and put to bed in his tent. A night of pouring rain and two very soaked GIs beneath a solitary tree on an African plain. A borrowed French convertible — a warm sulphur spring, the cool Mediterranean, and a picnic of "rations" and hot cokes. Two lieutenants who were smart enough to know the score, but not smart enough to realize that we wanted to be alone. A screwball piano player — competition — miserable days and lonely nights. The cold, windy night we crawled through the window of a GI theatre and fell asleep on a cot backstage, locked in each other’s arms — the shock when we awoke and realized that miraculously we hadn't been discovered. A fast drive to a cliff above the sea — pictures taken, and a stop amid the purple grapes and cool leaves of a vineyard.

The happiness when told we were going home — and the misery when we learned that we would not be going together. Fond goodbyes on a secluded beach beneath the star-studded velvet of an African night, and the tears that would not be stopped as I stood atop the sea-wall and watched your convoy disappear over the horizon.

We vowed we’d be together again "back home," but fate knew better — you never got there. And so, Dave, I hope that where ever you are these memories are as precious to you as they are to me.

Goodnight, sleep well my love.

Brian Keith