Chuck to Qunicy

Dear Quincy,

Congratulations!  If you’re happy, I’m happy, and I think you’ll be happy with Mr. Architect (and I use that in a loving way).  What did your parents say when you told them?  I’m sure they are really excited for you too--they always loved him.  You two are going to buy a house.  You don’t know when the wedding will be, but you suspect next summer.  You’re freaking out, but this is what you want.  And because of that, I am really quite happy for you.

I’m bummed that we missed each other when I was in the Twin Cities.  You should come visit me in New York, when you get the chance.  There’s some great stuff here and some cool people.  You can meet my new girlfriend—well she’s not really my girlfriend.  In fact, she might not be my anything when I come back from my road trip.  You see, I gave her this ultimatum.  I told her she had three weeks (the duration of my journey) to decide if she wanted to be with me.  If she doesn’t want to, then I don’t want to hang out with her anymore.  It’s unfair, and I suck, I know.  I just can’t live in limbo like this anymore.  She didn’t know if she’d be able to make a decision.  I figure if she doesn’t, then it’s a “no.”

I’m almost a little afraid to contact her right now.  If I do, she might say she doesn’t want to be with me over the phone.  I don’t think that’s something I would want to deal with.  So even though I’m forcing her to decide, I’m almost too afraid to find out what she thinks.  It’s fuck up, I know.

Sorry to tell you all of this garbage.  This was supposed to be a carefree, congratulatory email.  It all just sort of spilled out.  I am really happy for you.  Bring Mr. Architect when you come visit me.

Congrats again,

Chuck

Bravery

Dear Ms. Wilkerson,

At the beginning of The Warmth of Other Suns you describe finding pictures of your mother in a drawer, explaining the questions that went through your mind. In particular, I'm intrigued by your question: "was it a braver thing to stay, or was it a braver thing to go?" I've always struggled with this question. It's certainly made more complicated by the blatant racism and extreme danger that African Americans experienced in the south, but I think it can be asked of all travel. When someone is struggling and needs a change, couldn't you ask the same question? Is traveling simply a way to run away from problems instead of facing them? It seems to be a fine line.

However, as I said, The Warmth of Other Suns highlights a unique set of circumstances. I see the bravery in staying, in not allowing yourself to be forced out of your home, and in trying to change impossible circumstances. But I'm not always sure that staying is as much brave as it is a disregard for personal safety--or, at the very least, recognition that standing your ground is more important than personal safety. This idea applies to other travel situations as well; if someone is struggling with mental health and problems being in a certain place, is staying not potentially dangerous? In The Warmth of Other Suns, leaving seems equally brave; it's hard to start over and abandon life-long friends and communities, even if in search of a safer, happier, healthier, and more prosperous life. 

There is such a fine distinction between leaving and running away, and ultimately, it comes down to too many factors. I think you can rarely tell what the true motivation is. Is travel more about the destination or about leaving the current location? Is it just a way to start over without having to face past pain and failure? Or can it be complete happiness with the here and now, yet a decision to leave your comfort zone despite having nothing to run away from? I've chosen both paths--to stay and to leave--when I've struggled at different times. I'm still not sure which is braver. 

Best,

Devon

Letter to Isabel Wilkerson

Dear Ms. Wilkerson, 

I hope this letter finds you well. I am reaching out to you as a fan of your novel The Warmth of Other Suns and perhaps more importantly as an enthusiast of travel and American studies in general. I had not known enough about the Great Migration or the plight of African Americans in 20th century America, and your bestseller certainly helped supplement my understanding of these important historical phenomena. The novel left me with a few topics I would like to discuss with you. Furthermore, I watched a small selection of your interviews after reading your book and they have left me with some important questions about travel in relation to your writings. 

You stated that being stuck in “ a caste system beyond your control and then breaking free” is a theme that your book explores deeply. The three principal characters in your novel all were stuck in oppressive systems in the south east and fled by traveling to three different parts of the country. Therefore, I like to think that the idea of travel and the open road can mirror the theme in your work. The characters I have been studying so far in my history of travel class have all wanted to travel on the open road in order to escape some sort of construct in which they did not feel comfortable. I know that the constraints on your characters were extremely harsh in comparison, but the idea of traveling and physically moving from one location to another is a method through which to obtain freedom from some oppressive system or ideal or construct. Have you read Jack Kerouac before? If you have, I’d like to know what you think about his characters and the reasons for which they love the open road. 

Doctor Robert is my favorite character of yours in this novel and I find his story particularly intriguing because he migrated all the way to the west coast from the south. He faced extreme prejudice and racism in Monroe and Atlanta, not even being allowed to work and having to live under the Jim Crow laws in place. He traveled west in order to find freedom and escape past maltreatment. However, even while out west and while on the open road he encountered harsh racism. He was unable to lodge in Arizona and New Mexico and this, like Kerouac’s best works, shows the limitations of the open road. On this I want to ask, to what extent is any freedom that we can get from travel, and the open road, limited?

You discuss how the idea of never giving up and always following your dreams is a central theme in your novel and something that your main characters stick to wholeheartedly. Travel is therefore a means of achieving ones’ dreams. In addition, you discuss the limitations of traveling in a world and time void of technology such as email and cellphones. I believe all of this discussion on never giving up and the limitations while traveling are well reflected in On the Road and also Easy Rider. The beat generation traveled for a purpose, just as the 6 million of the Great Migration did, and just as we do today. Do you like to travel and what is the purpose for which you normally travel?

Another concept explored in your book is the idea of post migration adaptation. When Robert moves to LA he has to restart with his family and find a job. Your three main travelers meet this struggle to adapt with varying degrees of success. The ones who did successfully resettle and raise families in the north and west US eventually led to families who were part of a large return migration to the south. You stated that you are one of the members of the return generation. What is the personal connection you felt with the people you interviewed to write this book? You said that immigrants from countries such as China or Poland tell you how they feel such a strong connection to characters such as Robert and Ida. What bond do you feel, if any, to immigrants and in particular ones fleeing some form of stress? Lastly, what does travel represent to you personally?

Thank you and best wishes, 

TJ Francisco 

Letter to Simone de Beauvoir

Dear Simone,

I thoroughly enjoyed your journal entries that detailed your travels while in America. In particular, I admire your fearlessness when approaching new experiences as well as the nuance of your analyses of American culture.

Considering how I tend to gravitate toward other Americans I meet while traveling, I found your interaction with others of your nationality compared to Americans quite interesting. For example, your café discussion with other French intellectuals seemed quite frustrating for you. You discussed an “emptiness” amongst them, yet you seemed to learn so much amongst other New Yorkers and Americans throughout the book. I was so proud to read that you rejected the fearful, and slightly ignorant, suggestions of the Frenchmen to not critique America within your writing or discuss the Black community. Not only did you ignore them, but also wrote with such grace, conviction, and depth regarding race, class, and feminism. I found your relationship with Richard Wright quite refreshing, as you soaked up greater perspective and joy during your time in Harlem. I truly believe once you challenged this fear, you had the tools to traverse other parts of the country with some level of comfort and excitement. What became of your relationship with Mr. Wright? Did you feel that your interaction with intellectuals was beneficial to your understanding of America, or did it hinder the diversity of your conversations?

I am asking because I often feel that I do not break the mold in regard to connecting with locals while I am abroad. Unlike you, it takes me quite a while to warm up to those who do not share a commonality like my first language or nationality. After I leave, I feel that I did not engage enough with the people whole consider the country I visited their home.   Would you share how you quickly surpassed the initial hurdle of engaging others who had a culture and mindset different than your own?

Regards,
Joy 

Letter to Simone de Beauvoir

Dear Simone,

I hope that you enjoyed your trip to America. I'm writing to you in an attempt to convince you that America's independent spirit has not been crushed. When we talked I had the impression that you believed that the truth of America lied within the cities.

You seemed particularly fond of New York, which I understand. It's a fabulous place, and likely unequaled by any other city in the world in size and eventfulness. It's great that you were able to take in some jazz while you were there. However you told me that you found most of the large cities the same, well they had a few differences in character, such as the expanse of Los Angeles, but for you they seemed to run into a blur. Each of the cities does actually have its own character which you seemed to overlook. I understand that metropolitan areas and progress lead to functionally the same thing, many men doing much the same jobs across different places either because their company spans the country or because the same things are done by different companies in different places. This is its own kind of freedom though, it means that people can move and not worry about what they'll do in wherever they go because they know that if it's another major city they'll be able to do the same work as they did where they came from.

I'm glad you were able to appreciate the variety in the cities though. It is a shame that here in America we ghettoize non-Whites, it is a source of great shame for the country, or it is to those who know enough to be ashamed. Much of the variety comes from the diversity of people and this marginalization of some people is terrible. You got to see their culture on their terms though which is wonderful, particularly the jazz.

I'm sorry that you weren't more impressed by Niagara falls. It's an imposing place, and perhaps you just didn't get the right view of things there. I don't mean to push blame onto you for improperly visiting the place though. It is a travesty that we have built up so much around the place, in a manner which probably has spoiled some of the majesty. That's the American way though, commercialize, commoditize and sell. It's a shame that things are that way but I can't imagine they'll ever change, and they do let us have a slightly better way of viewing the falls even if the beauty is a bit tainted by all the construction. Ah well.

Yours,
Regan

Journal Entry: September 25 (America Day by Day)

September 25

            I haven’t opened this journal in quite some time, about four months, to be more precise.  I’ve been back in my Paris for as long as I stayed in their US.  Though time has passed, I generally feel the same towards my time in the vast continent across the sea: amazed, disappointed, confused, and torn.

            Despite these mixed feelings, after my return to Paris, I found it difficult to adjust back into my regular life.  I missed the more carefree days of my trip, the days with minimal commitments and new things to explore.  I vividly remember how I felt as I traveled to California, feeling separate from the earth, with nothing to tie me down to the reality of life.  The rhythmic movement of the train and a restful sleep—even now, the image conjured in my mind has a calming effect.  Paris seems dull, as I slowly settle back into my routine.  Some things I missed, such as my favorite café by the Musée d’Orsay, but I almost miss the sense of exploration more, the hunger for new experiences.  I miss Chicago with its rundown, heroin dens and its remarkable downtown.  I miss New Orleans with its incredible jazz music.  I miss the unexpected, unpredictable aspect of my journey.  Yes, I was, and still am, happy to be home, but I feel as if something is missing.

            I have become more comfortable with my “regular” life in Paris.  Though it may, at times, be less interesting, I don’t think I could live with the constant ups and downs I would meet if I moved to the US.  The moments of frustration I felt, especially when speaking with college students who were disinterested in intellectual matters, are not something I could live with constantly in my life.  I will miss the discussion with American authors, particularly Nelson Algren, though he has sent me a few letters since I returned to Paris so I cannot consider myself entirely cut off from this type of debate.

            My trip to the US opened my mind; sometimes I don’t even bolt the door to my house, inspired by the carefree actions of N.  I still am processing my adventures these four months later, hoping one day I will be able to fully understand all that I experienced day by day in America.

Letter to Sal Paradise

Dear Sal,

            My favorite thing about traveling—and perhaps the most counterintuitive thing about traveling—is the relationships you make along the way. While random and usually short-lived, they also tend to be deep and powerful. Though many of your experiences were with friends you knew prior to your trip, you also met many people along the way who became important to you. You shared things, such as cigarettes, with almost-strangers, noting you “loved them so”; you gave Eddie your shirt in Nebraska; in Denver, made a particular effort to connect with him again.

Such relationships and your dedication to them remind me of my own experiences traveling. In Slovenia, I met an Australian girl in my hostel, and we spend the day together there. We got along easily, and talked as if we were old friends. A few weeks later I was in my apartment in Austria, where she stayed with me for a night. We met up again in London, where we both happened to be, a few months after that. To this day, I have in my wallet the 10 AUD that she gave me in exchange for my remaining Hungarian forints, and though we haven’t spoken or seen each other since we said goodbye in London almost two years ago, I think of her often when I look back upon my travels. We couldn’t have spent more than four days together in total, but I still think we would have been great friends, had we ever lived in the same place.

To me, sharing unique experiences and adventures with people who you might not see again seems odd, though also liberating. In some ways, it’s impossible not to form a close bond with people you hitchhike with, drink with, and search for a bed for the night with. So quickly it can feel that those friends are ones you have known forever, despite later parting only to never see each other again. I find this a unique irony when it comes to traveling. When you look back on the friendships you made, what do you think of them? Would you have become friends had you met under a different circumstance? In your mind, what is it about traveling that causes relationships to develop so quickly and strongly? I’m interested to hear your thoughts.

Best,

Devon

Letter from Dean Moriarty to Sal Paradise

Dearest old Sal,

I want to start right off by saying how absolutely ecstatic I am that you’re coming out to Frisco. Really I am! Your aunt and that gone girl of yours will surely be upset by it, but pay no mind to them: some folks just don’t know time – they don’t see the endless possibilities life has gifted us with, the thousand sunbeams that burn down on us from heaven and PROVE that their MUST be a God – although that goes without saying, we both know that – but some folks just skulk and simmer in the soupy fog of idiocy and doldrums.

But enough of that – there’s another pressing topic that I must – simply must – tell you about. This most fantastic realization just about KNOCKED me over the other day. I was milling about Market Street – it was Friday, I finished work at the yard and wasn’t ready to face Camille, who maintains haughty pretenses toward me no matter how much I attempt to reason with her – anyway, I was in no particularly good mood, and just about to start searching for Marylou when I chanced upon the oldest, funniest little man. He was staring and sitting on a bucket, wearing nothing but a big pair of overalls and a pink silk hat. I asked him where he got it – he said it was a present from the missus for his eightieth birthday right after he turned blind. D’you see? She plain tricked him, Sal! Can you imagine? Her husband went blind and she chose to see it not as a tragedy but as an opportunity for a practical joke – a SPLENDID joke! Wowee! What a woman. I started guffawing right there in the street, and the old man started chuckling uncertainly with me, and I asked him where was his missus, because at that moment I knew that we were kindred spirits, she and I, and as her old man was about to kick the bucket anyhow, I knew, I just KNEW she was aching for adventure. Wasn’t she? I mean, her inestimable sense of humor in the face of such dark sadness surely shows this little ol’ gal was just plain set for some grand undertaking. Anyhow, then the man told me something that just about broke my heart: she had passed away the Sat’y’day previous. O, how his words pierced me to my heart – to my SOUL, Sal, I couldn’t tell ya. We stood there solemnly for a moment, and then I asked him all kinds of questions about his late lady. She really was the grandest of ladies, Sal. Her name was Susie Lou, and she had a face like a diamond. Like a diamond, he said! I just realized I never asked the man his name. I say without hesitation that I will remember this illuminating conversation for the rest of my life.

Well my friend I just can’t wait until your visit – we will have such a goofbang, we will! – go to the bars with the best bop and the gonest little girls and just – Yes! Yes! – just make like maniacs until the moon sets. Oh man, man, man you have no idea how I’ve missed going with you to the bars. Won’t it be swell? Yes, of course. Harken back to that night we saw George Shearing play – where was it? – in Chicago, of course – but my, he played like GOD that night, didn’t he? And when he left, it was like the whole world became atheist – but just for a moment, because, as you and I both know, there IS a God, and there’s no doubt about that.

Dean Moriarty