June 10, 1966
My dear Betty:
This has been one of the strangest weeks of my life. Time was spent at the LSC conference both to discuss drugs and to work for the defense of Timothy O’Leary who is a sort of ace-pioneer in their use. But the term “drugs” is very indefinite, very unsemantic and exceedingly confusing.
It did give me a chance to speak on “Joy without Drugs.” On the whole I was well received and gave out more cards than ever.
There was an average audience of three hundred and real free discussions, such as we dream about but never experience. No pressures anywhere.
One man began to question me and I demurred. Then he told me he was an editor for “The Daily Californian” at Berkeley and I told him he was an exception. I cross-questioned him about the marvelous accomplishments of the university abroad and he knew little. So tomorrow my friend Bill and I are campus bound.
And tonight I am preparing for visitors. I am speaking on one of the Upanishads.
Found myself eating often with psychiatrist and psychologists and told them I was in the wrong company, being a schizoid, an absolutely controlled schizophrenic with three personalities but under complete control. The jury decided I was the most balanced person at the conference. At least never said anything without balancing it with facts and data.
I have been ambivalent about writing because I do not know the date of your arrival. I want to go to LA as soon as possible, perhaps next week Monday or Tuesday. Shall also hold out on visiting the Brundage Collection until that time unless I am summoned on business. Too busy, and this is the only bar to perfect health. But it is good to be alive.
Love,
Samuel
October 17, 1966
Dear Bette:
It is Monday night and warm. Tomorrow is my pay day, and also I am trying to put on a party. But three invitees have been ill and I got frightened about the others. And in the effort to get everybody together I have had to give up momentarily. But I may fuse this—and you may not love me for it—with a Chinese party because of a common interest in ceramics (this part you will love) and then we can either visit Ching Wah Lee before or after.
There is a young woman here who has worked with me in the greenhouse and she has added ceramics to her interests. And while we were discussing this, I found several of the new students are interested in ceramics, Zen, the Orient, and a flock of etceteras. And then I bring your ghost into it and don’t know whether this is being rude, nostalgia or fondness. “The verdict is yours.”
Anyhow I have been unable to reach the Rudolph Schaeffer School. Besides the courses are too interesting and I may do some research on Egyptian ceramics.
My Saturday course is “The Philosophy of Religion” and it started off with a bang. Both this teacher and my colleague at Pittsburgh have similar backgrounds. It is really remarkable. Oliver Reiser of Pittsburgh has sent me his “Cosmic Humanism” and it is remarkable how close our backgrounds are. With this growing harmonization, the interest in life expands, and this in turn wears me out, but joyously.
So for the time being I am not thinking of any trips but I’ll check for examination dates and make some attempt to come to Yuma. That work on salinity interests me too much. But if Bill Hathaway wants to drive me this may change the situation slightly.
Jane tells me they start in with the wheel. This disappoints most of the class finding the course technical and not historical. This year I bought another bowl at the Art Show. Every year I buy one piece from a Japanese couple.
Do not know too much about Yuma and its environs.
My theme for the Saturday course will be autobiographical and I am writing to Persia (Iran) because every time I try this out there is a flood of criticism. Fortunately the schools of the Midwest where the teachers are American are more favorably disposed but where the teachers are European or English there is little use even of trying.
Now I have a pile of mail and will stop in my Puckian mood. Puck is a champion hypocrite and I feel awful writing about ceramics, Chinese meals and all the wonderful things we still have here. Please fashion me a doghouse.
Love,
Sam
Sept. 19, 1970
My dear Bette,
Sam is about ready to leave for the Eastern coast. Two nights sleep this week, one last week; every day work. Don’t get my idea of negative difficulties; had to rush to the hospital this morning to see my chief associate who has been there for two months; combination of kidney disease and self-pity; no one knows which is dominant—told him to get up and get out, or go to hell, and I meant just that. Has a beautiful little girl whom he has neglected, has a remarkable wife whom he is ignoring.
The garden in total abundance. At least one crop of squash every day. Ten times as many grapes as last year from a single vine; the fig tree near breaking point, and no one there to do anything except water. And this girl ready to leave to go to another state at her sweetheart’s call. I am entirely in favor of it too.
Every project in which I have been involved my whole life showing signs of success; every single one of them, and I have lived a long time too. Publisher wanting my material has returned a most favorable mood.
Joint Israeli-Arab dinners excellently attended, and even being recognized by a radio station! Efforts to promote real American cultural relations arising out of Dances of Universal Peace successful everywhere else. Marvelous news from Geneva, Jerusalem, Isfahan, Teheran, Ajmer, New Delhi, Bombay.
Just been visited by a peace group which has the approval of President Nixon, Most favorable letters from University of California which must answer Monday. Fortunate to find time to go to restaurant or watch TV even one hour. Dancing class is expanding—everywhere else. Finances in best form of whole life. Utterly bewildered but nothing wrong—just gloriously and astonishingly right—but what to do? Still victim of time-processes.
Will be gone apparently for two months. Have to attend god-daughter’s wedding in Ithaca. Have to get new secretaries and train them. Outside of associate illness just success and bewilderment, all at once.
Love,
Samuel