Worried that you missed a love letter? See a chronological list here.

A couple of notes to kick things off: I updated my WordPress site and it dramatically changed the interface and formatting options and it’s a nightmare. I can’t get anything to format properly and I hate it. So, some things might look even weirder than usual because I now can’t control anything related to how this displays. FUN.

Secondly, this is a TYPED LETTER and we know those might be considered rude.

December 9, 1960

Dearest Kay,

Whether I’m surprised to hear from you or not is irrelevant. What does count is that it’s great. Your letters put me in a better frame of mind and make me want to see you. But I can wait until Christmas Vacation if I hear from you. I don’t think I could wait ‘til very long after Christmas Vacation, however. It had better get here pretty quick. That old number of days-to-go is down to one digit. Good sign.

Your hair is out-of-bounds for scissors or any other implements designed to reduce its length.

Oh, puh-lease.

I’ve diagnosed your case. You are suffering from a common disease on college campuses called “The Class Attendance Malady” complicated with the occupational hazard of the college student which is an allergy toward books and studying.

The cure? I recommend at least a two-week’s vacation over the Christmas holidays with the constant attention of your greatest admirer, namely me. The disease can be fatal within 10-15 days after the initial symptoms unless properly treated.

Insert a distasteful coronavirus joke here, if you must.

I, too, am suffering from a rare disease which requires the constant care of one Karen K___, a psycho-therapist of outstanding caliber who has the unique talent of being able to help me. The disease itself is incurable, but she makes having it an absolute paradise. It’s really not a disease, but a condition and is often fatal. It’s called love.

Incidentally, don’t worry about wanting to stick pins in Pat C___. I recommend satisfying the desire. It would do both of you a lot of good.

Another person Karen hates. If we had Karen’s letters, I would publish his and hers together and call them Love Letters from Mid-Century Misanthropes.

It might deflate his ego and it would provide you with the revenge that you need and deserve. I’ll hold him for you. Hang a chain over the doorknob of his house some night with a note (using newspaper headlines pasted to dime-store paper) informing him that he’d be wise to avoid dark alleys, late hours and St. Xav’s.

LISTEN, I have like 20 readers and 15 of them already know this, but: Russ’s best childhood friend (who he has yet to mention in any of these letters) goes on to be a rather famous killer. Between that fact and his fascination with weapons and his endless talk about torturing people? I AM CONCERNED!

I wrote hundreds of letters back in my day, and I would be deeply surprised to discover any that spent that much time on people who wronged me or how I may or may not fantasize about torturing and killing them! What a couple of lunatics these kids are. To whit:

There is nothing so demoralizing as a chain, — a great big heavy one with the links filed down on the edges to razor sharpness, — and with one’s name on it. That would be an interesting experiment. He’d probably develop a serious neurosis. No violence, — just mental torture. Sort of like voodoo techniques with a flair for typical Chicago events.

True, Hollywood might send for you to star in a few horror pictures. They always need beautiful girls to be rescued by the hero. The old are getting stale. Humility can be carried too far.

I have not yet mastered the art of writing letters while standing on my head. However, I find that an excellent position to provide the change of pace necessary after standing on my feet for a length of time. Will inform you of future develops regarding letter-writing in that position.

Oy. That was boring and nutty before and just as much now.

As a matter of fact, now that you reminded me, and all of that, this letter would be an excellent place to try it out. However, I shall use pen and ink to accomplish the task as the typewriter wouldn’t really show the true effects of the inverted outlook, the blood rushing to my head, etc.

He actually wrote it partially upside-down and it’s nuts.

Enclosed is the info you wanted regarding a sophomore transfer to the U of I… If you’re seriously considering coming down here, apply for housing as soon as possible. Housing is easy to get for the Spring semester, but the fall semester is pretty crowded. Every available nook and cranny is filled with co-eds. The men of MRH offered to take some in temporarily with an eye toward permanent residence, but the university graciously declined the offer.

Oh, Karen. Never chase your dreamboat to his college. Did Felicity teach us nothing?

When Tom Morgan the Security Officer heard about a few more ambitious and clandestine male students having already moved a few travel-weary co-eds into accommodating quarters, he also thanks them quite sincerely on behalf of the university and, also on behalf of the university, again graciously declined their offer of further assistance in a letter of dismissal. In all, the episode provided a great deal of entertainment to the university population and refreshing change from the “fun(?)” of registration week. The girls involved probably found no peace, although their landlords probably did. There is a rather crude pun involved in that last statement, and I admit it.

You’re exhausting.

However, I excuse myself on the grounds that I am under a great deal of pressure and in this way sometimes vent my dislike for everything in general by violating the mores of society.

There’s no question that Russ talks a bigger game than he plays. He’s the most uptight 20-year-old in history, maybe?

I’ll be alright by the late afternoon of December 17. Anyway, apply for housing early. You aren’t obligated, of course, until you’ve signed the contract, which won’t arrive until the middle of July and need not to be returned until August. The U. of W. isn’t any good, anyway. (Please permit my small digs. I’m still hoping, you know. I am also hoping that I’m going to be here next year. Que sara, sara.)

Do not let saying “good-bye” become a habit.



No, I didn’t leave. I’m still here. You must still plot on through [UPSIDE DOWN] my meanderings. Actually, I can’t go on for much longer. I’ve got a glorious class tomorrow and have to get some sleep for it. It’s getting late. Saturday classes are a pestilence upon college students.

I somehow ended up in an astronomy class that met at 8 a.m. four days a week. It was my first semester at Wayne State. That was worse than any Saturday class I ever had.

Good night meine Schätzchen [my darling]. Sweet dreams (schönen Träumen), and take real good care of yourself. Au revoir (I think I spelled it right). Will see you SOON, SOON, SOON. Until then, as always,

Love ad Infinitum,


WTF is that sign-off? Is it a reference to the children’s book Little Black Sambo? Did he just sign-off by calling himself a little black child? I’m so confused about why that would be cute or why she would call him that or why he would call himself that.  I’m going to give a benefit of the doubt because it might be a play on words or an in-joke; we simply don’t know about but it feels a little gross.

PS. Had a little trouble up there in the second line. This may result in a permanent malady (the upside down “through”. But what is one malady more or less? I won’t worry about it. A mirror might help, but then all the letters would be backwards. Somewhere, there is a solution. Blech!

I miss you most on weekends. In a way, though, it’s a good feeling. I have someone to miss. For this, I am thankful, especially since that someone is as wonderful a person as you.

Merry Christmas, Sweetheart!