March 10, 1947
Dear Andy, 1
Personally I'd have read the Turtle Bay Diary for at least six years if I'd lived so long. As it is I find myself on the look-out, as I dodge through the New Yorker, for that peculiar unabashed lucidity which seems to be your own. Maybe I'll distrust it a little more in the future, because it seemed to me that you pulled a rabbit-punch after the bell rang, but I don't know either. A man's whole life is lived on a basis of insufficient evidence.
I guess what I wanted to say was that I never like my own work very much by the time it gets on the stage. But if people want to go to it the critics shouldn't stop them.
Yours, with the usual incomplete understanding
Los Angeles, California
April 27, 1947
Dear Archer-- 1
It meant a lot to me to get that letter from you. I try not to have illusions about myself and what I've done--though without a bit of ego nobody would do anything--and I want to give at least as much credit to others as I'd take for myself if we shifted places. However, I did think I had said something significant--not new, of course--in the play, and that all the commentators had missed it. It's gratifying when a fellow with a good brain says there is something there and I wasn't just fooling myself.
We're ensconced in this palatial and unpalatable hotel, probably for some time--since this picture means a lot to me financially and I'd