Correspondence, for Some, Is a Chore

By CHARLES M. GUTHRIE
of the Minneapolis Tribune editorial page staff
published by the StarTribune
April 7, 1956


   EVERY TIME we go to a wedding and afterwards look at the newlyweds' loot I suffer a twinge of pity for the bride, thinking of all the thank-you notes she will have to write to keep on speaking terms with the donors.
   Woe to the bride who fails to do the job adequately. She must know that you sent the bath towels and not the place mats and she must pen an adequate paragraph or two praising our selection of color and saying that they are just what she and Wilbur needed most even though they got enough bathroom accessories to last until their silver anniversary.

   WE GOT a "thank you" from a bride a couple of years ago who definitely was my kind of a gal. "We appreciate your gift very much," it said. "John and I will find it very useful."
   Here was labor-saving phraseology, a note that might have been mimeographed, since it could cover everything from carving sets to pot holders. My wife deemed it a poor thing, but she would. She enjoys writing thank yous, is highly skilled at it, and expects to receive good ones. But I thought the bride's note good enough. I don't enjoy writing notes of any kind, don't receive many, and am satisfied with conditions as they are.

   IN ALL fields of correspondence I am a practical blank and so are my blood relatives. Some taint of character stifles more than a trickle of mailed exchanges. On my wife's side, however, there is a solid phalanx of pen pals. At least a couple of fat letters arrive every week from a sister, brother or aunt. And seldom does a day pass that my mate doesn't dash off a letter to some member of her family.
   She does it without effort. Writing notes in the car while I drive her to town is routine procedure. She can write on a bus, day coach, truck, roller-coaster or surrey. She can write sitting, standing or lying down. She can write on a purse, shoe box or package of ground round--legibly and lucidly, with never a pause. She is a true champion.

   IF SO gifted, I might write more, too, but I cannot write by hand at all, being unable myself to unscramble the code. In my youth I aspired to be a doctor and wish now I'd followed through. I'd be an expert at writing prescriptions.
   I must have a typewriter and a desk. The light must be right and so must the inclination. Even then I am practically helpless, having nothing to tell the victim. Life limps along in the same old routine and there seems little sense in boring anyone with the fact that I attended a meeting of the church finance committee Tuesday or that we had the Browns in for scrabble. I write at Christmas time to my brother and sister, of course, and in July to tell them we'll be out to vacation off them. That about buttons it up.

   THEY ARE as good at writing as I am. I can expect a couple of letters a year but no more. This year has been a blank but I'm undismayed. It's only three months old.
   My sister would write once a week, I suppose, if someone held a gun at her head.
Brother Bud is worse, if possible. When he writes it is never mere chit-chat. He has something to say. Whenever I get a letter from him I take it from the envelope with palsied hand, knowing it will contain news of transcendent importance--something like"Uncle Zeke left all his money to the dog and cat shelter, the heel," or, "Hurrah, they stuck oil on the west forty."

   WHEN HE is going to pass through Minneapolis he never considers it necessary to pen an advance warning. A couple of years ago, when in town between planes, he routed my wife out of bed at 2 a.m. to exchange pleasantries over the phone.
   She realizes now that she married into a family of screwballs and is resigned. But she used to rate the situation as practically scandalous and would entreat me to write. "Don't you owe Janey a letter?" she'd ask. "I don't know," I'd reply, "my memory isn't that good."

   BUT HE who would attribute our infrequent letters to lack of family affection would be wide of the mark. Our mutual regard, I like to think, is so deep that it need not depend on weekly or monthly epistolic enrichment. My brother, sister and I are a devoted trio. We are very close, especially as concerns postage.
   On his last birthday I broke precedent and sent brother a card, more as a gag than a greeting. I never had an acknowledgment and didn't expect one. But I know what his reaction was. He considered it a scurvy trick--and it was. It violated the stern code of the clan.

Copyright 2018 StarTribune. Republished here with the permission of the StarTribune. No further republication or redistribution is permitted without the express approval of the StarTribune.