Working in publishing in the USA between 1966 and 1972 I wrote regularly to my mother.
August 17, 1966. M, editorial director with my then employer, leaves to launch his own magazine; wants me to join him:
□ M approaches me, saying that the secretary and editorial assistant have agreed to join him, and that he is prepared to pay me $8000 (my present salary is $6600). I say I'll think about it
I decide not to go.
That evening M rings up and I tell him. M says he thinks I am a better editor than L (the present editor he tried to poach) and that he will offer me $10,500. I hedge.
I ring L and he laughs: "Hold him off until tomorrow and it'll probably be up to $15,000."□
For reasons I now forget I turn M down. Had all this not happened the big news would have been I'd got myself a car:
□ ... a 1963 Volvo 122S... twin carburettors... radiator blind.... two speed wipers... white-wall tyres (!)... Nobody at the office can understand why I chose the car although all admit it looks well.□
My mother wants to know what I’d like for my birthday:
□ I’d like something swankily English but can’t think what. Yes I know: a new pocket address book with leather back... The basic article is fairly cheap so it should be possible to have a totally luxurious one, one of the sort I could never afford if I were buying it for myself. Don’t hurry – it must ooze quality.□
The end of the letter is characteristic:
□ Time to stop now - it's the Pirates vs the NY Mets on TV and the Pirates are still heading the National League.□