Fact, Fiction, Fantasy: Reinventing Nancy in the Letters of Lucia Berlin and Kenward Elmslie
Chip Livingston
Chip Livingston
Among the hundreds of letters and postcards exchanged between international best-selling fiction writer Lucia Berlin and New York School poet/librettist Kenward Elmslie are dozens of entries to, from, and about a mysterious persona they called Nancy. Nancy first entered their correspondence as Lucia recounted a phone call she received from a real Nancy Houghton, director of the Annie Rensselaer Tinker Association for Women, which awarded Lucia a small monthly grant. Lucia suspiciously reported the phone call to Kenward in a July 1998 letter.
A very dignified elderly lady called me and asked for my address. Said she was from the Tinker Society. That they were going to send me $100 a month. I asked why and she said, ‘Because you are a woman, my dear,' that she would be writing to me. No, this wasn’t a dream, perhaps it’s from the Fountain, er, Foundation Head?
Kenward was the initial connection to Nancy and the "Tinker Belles," which they affectionately renamed the group. He wrote to Lucia, The Wall Street Man phoned the other day, just after I got your letter & stories. He wanted your address. He said the Thing was All Set. My role (I’m innocent!) was this. Once a year, he takes me to uptown lunch (big fees) and this time … he topped me by chatting about being Foundation Head ... and I ended up sending him some of your books, which he liked very much. End of gesture. I hope he’s come through, and if it’s a lottery, great, and if it’s a Round The World junket, great, so I won’t feel I’m a dumb Referrer, my role, this time around.
Lucia responded when Nancy’s letter arrived.
Dear Kenward, I received a check from the Anne Marie Rensselaer Tinker Foundation, $500. I paid my Visa bill so I hope I qualify. Had to fill out detailed questionnaire. If I pass, they will send me $100 a month ($500 was for back months).
I don’t feel quite right about this. I make a good salary. I do spend about $800 a month on oxygen & medical insurance doesn’t cover — so am always short. But still ... sure there are working women needier ...
So we’ll see. $100 a month would be great, so I hope I pass. I’d love to meet these ladies — the one I spoke to was out of Henry James.
A very dignified elderly lady called me and asked for my address. Said she was from the Tinker Society. That they were going to send me $100 a month. I asked why and she said, ‘Because you are a woman, my dear,' that she would be writing to me. No, this wasn’t a dream, perhaps it’s from the Fountain, er, Foundation Head?
Kenward was the initial connection to Nancy and the "Tinker Belles," which they affectionately renamed the group. He wrote to Lucia, The Wall Street Man phoned the other day, just after I got your letter & stories. He wanted your address. He said the Thing was All Set. My role (I’m innocent!) was this. Once a year, he takes me to uptown lunch (big fees) and this time … he topped me by chatting about being Foundation Head ... and I ended up sending him some of your books, which he liked very much. End of gesture. I hope he’s come through, and if it’s a lottery, great, and if it’s a Round The World junket, great, so I won’t feel I’m a dumb Referrer, my role, this time around.
Lucia responded when Nancy’s letter arrived.
Dear Kenward, I received a check from the Anne Marie Rensselaer Tinker Foundation, $500. I paid my Visa bill so I hope I qualify. Had to fill out detailed questionnaire. If I pass, they will send me $100 a month ($500 was for back months).
I don’t feel quite right about this. I make a good salary. I do spend about $800 a month on oxygen & medical insurance doesn’t cover — so am always short. But still ... sure there are working women needier ...
So we’ll see. $100 a month would be great, so I hope I pass. I’d love to meet these ladies — the one I spoke to was out of Henry James.
Two weeks later, Lucia received a letter from Nancy Houghton.
Dear Ms. Berlin,
Thank you for your letter of July 25 expressing your pleasure and reservations about being part of the Annie Rensselaer Tinker Fund.
The Tinker Fund is made up of women who all support each other just by being part of the group. You are so far away from New York that you can't really contribute by being together with all of us when we meet a few times a year. But still you will contribute, for instance, by the letter you have written me, which I will xerox to share with the Trustees. They will feel connected to you by your letter and that association builds a bond between us all. Your new book in January sounds wonderful and, if you can spare a copy, we would enjoy reading and sharing it with all.
You do have a marvelous job, and the possibility of tenure is very exciting. Still as you say you have so many expenses. Our gift is for something special for yourself. Such as lunch with a friend, a trip to some place special, a concert, the beauty parlor, or for whatever would be a treat for you. When you think that you no longer need us in that way, you can let me know. We are basically a simple group of talented women who have a connection.
I hope you feel more comfortable about us now. Do stay in touch. I know you are very busy, but we enjoy hearing about what you’re doing.
With best wishes,
Nancy
In mid-August, Lucia wrote to Kenward, Oh dear – they sent me another check, $100, & I spent that one too.
This is dangerous. Some similar ladies in this Hi-Rize Apt all decided I was witty in the sauna & then I told them my name. Then one of them read one of my books. Something scandalized them. I was ever after that sola in the sauna. Awkward silences in the elevator. Eyes averted at the mailboxes.
I could make it a variation of Dr. Faustus. This woman sells her soul for $100 then she has to get white gloves & a hat & go to matinees at Lincoln Center, turn blue in the beauty parlor.
Oh dear. I’m truly not sure what to do. Not exaggerating. I was fired from two jobs after people read my books ... I can tell that Nancy is not prepared for my work. I really like her. I know I would like them.
Kenward quickly replied. Loved your account of the Tinker Belle episode. I was hoping for Vegas bucks, a cream convertible, a ladies’ maid, vacations in a palace, all yours, on the Klondike. Drat. I believe the stipend-honorarium, whatever, is For Life, so, by the time you hit 150, there’ll be a zero-000-000 pile-up. But, cheez, Me-Generation-wise, that’s not a very sparkly support system.
Lucia wrote back that she hoped she hadn’t sounded ungrateful, noting that their mutual friend, artist/organizer Ivan Suvanjieff, thought Lucia was upset about the amount of the grant. Au contraire, she told Kenward. It’s a lovely amount that I can look at as for books or, as Nancy says, the beauty parlor. Ivan thinks I’m bothered to be in a group with old ladies. No, no. Problem is I love these old ladies. My ambition was to retire and live in a hotel in New York and go to Schrafft’s with other old ladies. Even now as an old lady I get into trouble. Maybe it is my voice, which is sweet, and the writing voice is sweet and open too, so some people, all old ladies, are Shocked and feel they have been betrayed when they read about sex, drugs, murder, etc.
Even you were shocked by [my short story] '"Carmen." I have two WORSE shockers in the new book*. How can they pass that book around? Nancy already likes me ... we talked at length on the phone. She is Dear. I couldn’t help myself ... I wrote her a nice letter, told about the deer who spends every morning under the apple tree, etc. Twice I have said Send back the money. But it was spent! I am going to have to stop soon, because it IS a relationship I have got myself into and they will be hurt by me.
While Lucia Berlin’s short stories are known for their embellished accounts of her own personal experience and adventure, poet and librettist Kenward Elmslie rarely wrote from his own life**. Kenward did, however, write several stage musicals and operas based on characters and plots borrowed from others, including Truman Capote’s novel The Grass Harp and Anton Chekhov’s plays “Three Sisters” and “The Seagull.” So perhaps it was natural that Kenward and Lucia turned the unseen Nancy into a reimagined persona. Kenward and Lucia both had big imaginations. Lucia had Nancy’s telephone voice and a couple of letters to go on. Then just as Lucia was getting to know the real Nancy Houghton, Kenward began sending Lucia fantasy postcards and letters as if they were written by Nancy of the Tinker Belles.
In mid-August 1998, Lucia received the following postcard.
Dear Ms. Berlin,
Thank you for your letter of July 25 expressing your pleasure and reservations about being part of the Annie Rensselaer Tinker Fund.
The Tinker Fund is made up of women who all support each other just by being part of the group. You are so far away from New York that you can't really contribute by being together with all of us when we meet a few times a year. But still you will contribute, for instance, by the letter you have written me, which I will xerox to share with the Trustees. They will feel connected to you by your letter and that association builds a bond between us all. Your new book in January sounds wonderful and, if you can spare a copy, we would enjoy reading and sharing it with all.
You do have a marvelous job, and the possibility of tenure is very exciting. Still as you say you have so many expenses. Our gift is for something special for yourself. Such as lunch with a friend, a trip to some place special, a concert, the beauty parlor, or for whatever would be a treat for you. When you think that you no longer need us in that way, you can let me know. We are basically a simple group of talented women who have a connection.
I hope you feel more comfortable about us now. Do stay in touch. I know you are very busy, but we enjoy hearing about what you’re doing.
With best wishes,
Nancy
In mid-August, Lucia wrote to Kenward, Oh dear – they sent me another check, $100, & I spent that one too.
This is dangerous. Some similar ladies in this Hi-Rize Apt all decided I was witty in the sauna & then I told them my name. Then one of them read one of my books. Something scandalized them. I was ever after that sola in the sauna. Awkward silences in the elevator. Eyes averted at the mailboxes.
I could make it a variation of Dr. Faustus. This woman sells her soul for $100 then she has to get white gloves & a hat & go to matinees at Lincoln Center, turn blue in the beauty parlor.
Oh dear. I’m truly not sure what to do. Not exaggerating. I was fired from two jobs after people read my books ... I can tell that Nancy is not prepared for my work. I really like her. I know I would like them.
Kenward quickly replied. Loved your account of the Tinker Belle episode. I was hoping for Vegas bucks, a cream convertible, a ladies’ maid, vacations in a palace, all yours, on the Klondike. Drat. I believe the stipend-honorarium, whatever, is For Life, so, by the time you hit 150, there’ll be a zero-000-000 pile-up. But, cheez, Me-Generation-wise, that’s not a very sparkly support system.
Lucia wrote back that she hoped she hadn’t sounded ungrateful, noting that their mutual friend, artist/organizer Ivan Suvanjieff, thought Lucia was upset about the amount of the grant. Au contraire, she told Kenward. It’s a lovely amount that I can look at as for books or, as Nancy says, the beauty parlor. Ivan thinks I’m bothered to be in a group with old ladies. No, no. Problem is I love these old ladies. My ambition was to retire and live in a hotel in New York and go to Schrafft’s with other old ladies. Even now as an old lady I get into trouble. Maybe it is my voice, which is sweet, and the writing voice is sweet and open too, so some people, all old ladies, are Shocked and feel they have been betrayed when they read about sex, drugs, murder, etc.
Even you were shocked by [my short story] '"Carmen." I have two WORSE shockers in the new book*. How can they pass that book around? Nancy already likes me ... we talked at length on the phone. She is Dear. I couldn’t help myself ... I wrote her a nice letter, told about the deer who spends every morning under the apple tree, etc. Twice I have said Send back the money. But it was spent! I am going to have to stop soon, because it IS a relationship I have got myself into and they will be hurt by me.
While Lucia Berlin’s short stories are known for their embellished accounts of her own personal experience and adventure, poet and librettist Kenward Elmslie rarely wrote from his own life**. Kenward did, however, write several stage musicals and operas based on characters and plots borrowed from others, including Truman Capote’s novel The Grass Harp and Anton Chekhov’s plays “Three Sisters” and “The Seagull.” So perhaps it was natural that Kenward and Lucia turned the unseen Nancy into a reimagined persona. Kenward and Lucia both had big imaginations. Lucia had Nancy’s telephone voice and a couple of letters to go on. Then just as Lucia was getting to know the real Nancy Houghton, Kenward began sending Lucia fantasy postcards and letters as if they were written by Nancy of the Tinker Belles.
In mid-August 1998, Lucia received the following postcard.
"Dearest Lucia, Excuse the appalling smears! Midgi, my miniature Sealingham, stepped on a watercolor of an ebb tide (Bermuda) I was toiling on — so therapeutic. I thought you might enjoy this snapshot of me, soon after my return from Copenhagen. How I could over-indulge in rouge, I’ll never know. Thinking of you constantly. Regards, Nancy"
A week later, Kenward sent another impersonating postcard.
"Dearie — Family unity is in total disrepair “Dupe,” my better, now bitter ½, discovered “rough” drafts of letters I dared not send you. He wrote on my boudoir mirror, in magenta-speckled taupe lipstick (His, I must add): ‘Capri-bound with Lawwy.’ See over! “Lawwy” & Dupe share an oral aversion to “RRRRs”! I find “Lawwy’s” rouge abhorrent, but his hairdo might be perfect for the new me. XX Nancy"
A week later, Kenward sent another impersonating postcard.
"Dearie — Family unity is in total disrepair “Dupe,” my better, now bitter ½, discovered “rough” drafts of letters I dared not send you. He wrote on my boudoir mirror, in magenta-speckled taupe lipstick (His, I must add): ‘Capri-bound with Lawwy.’ See over! “Lawwy” & Dupe share an oral aversion to “RRRRs”! I find “Lawwy’s” rouge abhorrent, but his hairdo might be perfect for the new me. XX Nancy"
I was Lucia Berlin’s student at the University of Colorado from 1996 to 1998, and I remember cat-sitting for Lucia that summer I graduated. Her refrigerator was decorated with colorful collaged postcards. She told me they were all made by Kenward Elmslie and written from the guises of various women in the “Tinker Belle Society” (they never kept the long official name straight). The postcards and their messages were playful, outrageous, and delightful, and they delighted Lucia.
Kenward was an avid postcard collector and creator. One of the images attached to Lucia’s refrigerator with a magnet was an antique postcard that had “Carmen” embroidered on the front. Twenty years later, when I began organizing and editing Lucia and Kenward’s correspondence for Love, Loosha: The Letters of Lucia Berlin and Kenward Elmslie (published by University of New Mexico Press in November, 2022), I realized “Carmen” was the name of one of Lucia’s stories she worried about the Tinker Belles reading back in 1998, just before her short story collection Where I Live Now was published. Kenward had responded to Lucia’s admission of her fears about reactions to that story by sending that Carmen postcard to Lucia — along with a cartoon he drew imagining the Tinker Association’s Nancy as the Ernie Bushmiller comic strip “Nancy,” with captions that read "I’m so tired tonight — I’d like to dream for twelve hours — of Lucia. I hope the sunlight won’t wake me up early in the morning."
Kenward was an avid postcard collector and creator. One of the images attached to Lucia’s refrigerator with a magnet was an antique postcard that had “Carmen” embroidered on the front. Twenty years later, when I began organizing and editing Lucia and Kenward’s correspondence for Love, Loosha: The Letters of Lucia Berlin and Kenward Elmslie (published by University of New Mexico Press in November, 2022), I realized “Carmen” was the name of one of Lucia’s stories she worried about the Tinker Belles reading back in 1998, just before her short story collection Where I Live Now was published. Kenward had responded to Lucia’s admission of her fears about reactions to that story by sending that Carmen postcard to Lucia — along with a cartoon he drew imagining the Tinker Association’s Nancy as the Ernie Bushmiller comic strip “Nancy,” with captions that read "I’m so tired tonight — I’d like to dream for twelve hours — of Lucia. I hope the sunlight won’t wake me up early in the morning."
On August 29, 1998, Lucia wrote:
Dear Kenward —
The card with the cartoon Nancy was wonderful. Your Nancy is too. I can’t quite sustain a person to match. Any day now I should be hearing from the other Nancy. Hmmm. You’re both in Vermont!
When I got the last envelope from you I thought it would be another Nancy message. The Carmen card is so lovely. It made me cry. I mean plain old bawl. The gesture of it. My dead little Carmen — who stood for god knows what, my marriage? The thought of the woman or girl who embroidered it so carefully with silk thread. She’s probably some blind old lady in ??? now. I wish she knew I love her beautiful card.
The sleeping Nancy card is unbearably divine. I put in in the envelope, take it out & open it, gasp with pleasure & put it back again.
Dear Kenward —
The card with the cartoon Nancy was wonderful. Your Nancy is too. I can’t quite sustain a person to match. Any day now I should be hearing from the other Nancy. Hmmm. You’re both in Vermont!
When I got the last envelope from you I thought it would be another Nancy message. The Carmen card is so lovely. It made me cry. I mean plain old bawl. The gesture of it. My dead little Carmen — who stood for god knows what, my marriage? The thought of the woman or girl who embroidered it so carefully with silk thread. She’s probably some blind old lady in ??? now. I wish she knew I love her beautiful card.
The sleeping Nancy card is unbearably divine. I put in in the envelope, take it out & open it, gasp with pleasure & put it back again.
Along with the postcards, Kenward also sent Lucia a dramatically collaged “Nancy letter,” with the following handwritten insert:
Lucia Dearie,
September is drawing night, and I do loathe confronting “back-to-school” dread! Do you? September is when, oh just ages ago, I hied myself to Copenhagen and began a lovely new existence as Nancy Houghton, and bid a none-too-fond adieu to Jack La Rue, my “old” self. I so hope you won’t be shocked; my new life has worked out just splendidly!
My adoring, though not adorable better half, Wilberforce Du Pont Houghton, of the Wilkes-Barre coal mine-asbestos Houghtons, knows nothing of my past. No one does, except you, Lucia; I feel I can trust you. I am currently crocheting knee-warmers for you — monogrammed — I do hope you’re partial to knee-warmers. Well, I’d best comply with my daily round: 1) Trivet needs soldering. 2) Bridge Club (Fuffi De La Roche always trumps my ace!) and 3) I’ve resolved to immerse myself in a British novelist, Barbara Pym, I’ve heard good reports about. I’m so curious to read your stories! Time to get cracking!
— Nancy
Lucia Dearie,
September is drawing night, and I do loathe confronting “back-to-school” dread! Do you? September is when, oh just ages ago, I hied myself to Copenhagen and began a lovely new existence as Nancy Houghton, and bid a none-too-fond adieu to Jack La Rue, my “old” self. I so hope you won’t be shocked; my new life has worked out just splendidly!
My adoring, though not adorable better half, Wilberforce Du Pont Houghton, of the Wilkes-Barre coal mine-asbestos Houghtons, knows nothing of my past. No one does, except you, Lucia; I feel I can trust you. I am currently crocheting knee-warmers for you — monogrammed — I do hope you’re partial to knee-warmers. Well, I’d best comply with my daily round: 1) Trivet needs soldering. 2) Bridge Club (Fuffi De La Roche always trumps my ace!) and 3) I’ve resolved to immerse myself in a British novelist, Barbara Pym, I’ve heard good reports about. I’m so curious to read your stories! Time to get cracking!
— Nancy
On August 18, 1998, Lucia wrote back to the “invented Nancy” at Kenward’s mailing address.
Dearest Nancy,
I so love to see your pink penned & Shalimar scented envelopes on my tray. “Goody. It’s from dear mad-cap Nancy!” I say to myself.
And wow I’m so flattered and touched that whenever I think of it, I get a Frisson of joy. Nancy has told me a secret! (The Copenhagen Secret!) Is Copenhagen where the haughty women wave hello from windows? No. I think it is maybe mermaids? Anyway I’m not quite sure what your secret means, actually (never having been to Copenhagen), although I certainly look forward to going there.
How intriguing it all is. Jack La Rue! And that glamorous postcard! But never fear — my lips are sealed. Or should I say stuck shut since I was so inspired by your Copenhagen postcard I spread rouge & lipstick on lavishly. In the beauty parlor I read “Fall Musts” in Vogue. The look for fall is “smudged” on “slap-dash.” You little vixen, always ahead of your time! …
I haven’t read Barbara Pym, but I’m looking forward to it. Dear Nancy, our hearts seem to beat as one — for Barbara Pym is on my list too! Just below Ana Bronte.
I fear you wouldn’t care for my little stories. Rather outlandish fantasies written by a retiring, sheltered spinster.
So look forward to seeing you next week at our meeting. Do bring a watercolor.
Your devoted,
Lucia
Kenward followed up the playful postcards and collage with a personal report of running into Nancy. In early September 1998 from Calais, Vermont, he wrote:
Dear Lucia —
Great excitement! I’ve met Nancy!! She was at the Farmer’s Market last Saturday, in front of the Montpelier jail where the booths are set up. Craftspeople are moving in on the Growers. And there she was — with her own table of dried wreaths. Some, I confess, were a tad bizarre — the skull-and-crossbones made of desiccated red rose petals and thorns: with a tacky silk banner attached (message: I LOVE LUCIA in lettering reminiscent of the Lucille Ball sitcom) — a bit arch for me. She’s taking a rest-cure in the same, er, “state establishment” that James Schuyler *** spent several months at — in Waterbury, a town about twenty miles from Calais ...
Her wreaths are eye-catching and she’s allowed “out” every Saturday as a reward for good behavior, to sell her wares for pocket money — those wrinkles have started to really show, and while cold cream and generic moisturizers don’t do the trick, they’re better than nothing. Her new hair-do is a daring experiment — it juts out to one side. Looks like it weighs a ton, but she manages to keep her head straight. It does bobble when she gets excited, but maybe the old, Golden Pond Hepburn**** is a visual icon for Nancy — “Bobble Homage” — rather touching that.
I couldn’t get all the details, but Nancy did hiss out the word “stress” meaningfully. Dupe has been acting up again and the rattle of tire-chains in the boudoir is not conducive to the focus Nancy needs, and is accustomed to, while applying lash glitter, eye shadow, blush cheek resonator, and her very own wrinkle concealant formula flown in weekly, pre-incarceration. Barracuda sperm degenerates into useless mush all too quickly. Ocean micro-temperatures are hard to replicate.
Later in September Lucia responded.
Dear Kenward,
What a delightful surprise, to hear that you saw our dear Nancy, and how priceless, heavenly, the wreath, with its message to me. When I opened the box a (welcome) gust of wind came in at the same moment that it began to rain. The first rain in many weeks ... Tiny bits of dry blue and red petals blew all about the room in little tornadoes. I took it as a sign that she was at her Ouija board in Waterbury, trying to contact me, so I hope she heard how much I love her. I also tried to let her know that the dry dairy creamer they give you in those places works very so well as a wrinkle concealer. I’m sure she’d prefer that I didn’t know she was there ... perhaps I could send her anonymously a tube of hemorrhoid crème, for a mini facelift, to get her through this period. Kind of you to refer to that little bobble of her head as a Hepburn Homage. I rather like to think of it as Nancy’s way of marching to the tune of a different drum.
I have been looking everywhere for the sweet letter she sent with the check. She is truly a lady. There aren’t many such genuine ones left. My fears about her reactions to my little stories have vanished. Nancy simply could never see anything unseemly. Even unseemly things would acquire her grace and become acceptable.
She invited me to sewing group that meets three times a week, where they make things for less fortunate people (“this gives us such joy”). And the fall luncheon is November 13 at the Junior League. Oh I’m so sorry I can’t go. (Really.)
I would have loved to have been in Waterbury with James Schuyler. (He is one of my most favorite poets. I heard him read in San Francisco, an historic event.)
In January 1999, Kenward actually met the real Nancy Houghton, and he wrote to Lucia to tell her.
Dear Lucia —
I made it to the Grolier Library, East Sixties, where I’d been invited by my Lazard account exec, Dyke Benjamin. Old mansion, burnished and museumy library shelves here and there, exhibit on 2nd Floor ... Among the genteel & mannerly Waspy uptown folks I met was — Nancy!!!! She’s very slim, trim, and accoutered in perfect taste, blond, but not coiffed, I mean the hair is there but isn’t a presence. I said we were pals, and I thought you relished hearing from her, really appreciated the connection, which seemed to genuinely please her. I can decode Connecticut Wasp Mood Micro-Veerings, I think, and she was — well, truly touched. You were good-mouthed. Between clenched Wasp teeth, I believe I detected Lucia-salt-of-earth vibes. Nancy was helping set up the Frost books, all so luxuriantly boxed ...
Lucia replied:
And at first I thought you were just foolin about Nancy, but no, you really did meet her, the true Tinkerbell Nancy. You describe her just as I imagine her, only I see her as old (I mean real old, like eighties). You got her hair and teeth down pat though.
Kenward and Lucia continued the guises and disguises of their reinvented Nancy for several years, with Lucia chiming in from time to time with reports from the real Nancy Houghton and the Tinker Association, often noting with humor that the checks had bounced. At times it became confusing to keep the persona Nancy distinguished from the real person.
Dearest Nancy,
I so love to see your pink penned & Shalimar scented envelopes on my tray. “Goody. It’s from dear mad-cap Nancy!” I say to myself.
And wow I’m so flattered and touched that whenever I think of it, I get a Frisson of joy. Nancy has told me a secret! (The Copenhagen Secret!) Is Copenhagen where the haughty women wave hello from windows? No. I think it is maybe mermaids? Anyway I’m not quite sure what your secret means, actually (never having been to Copenhagen), although I certainly look forward to going there.
How intriguing it all is. Jack La Rue! And that glamorous postcard! But never fear — my lips are sealed. Or should I say stuck shut since I was so inspired by your Copenhagen postcard I spread rouge & lipstick on lavishly. In the beauty parlor I read “Fall Musts” in Vogue. The look for fall is “smudged” on “slap-dash.” You little vixen, always ahead of your time! …
I haven’t read Barbara Pym, but I’m looking forward to it. Dear Nancy, our hearts seem to beat as one — for Barbara Pym is on my list too! Just below Ana Bronte.
I fear you wouldn’t care for my little stories. Rather outlandish fantasies written by a retiring, sheltered spinster.
So look forward to seeing you next week at our meeting. Do bring a watercolor.
Your devoted,
Lucia
Kenward followed up the playful postcards and collage with a personal report of running into Nancy. In early September 1998 from Calais, Vermont, he wrote:
Dear Lucia —
Great excitement! I’ve met Nancy!! She was at the Farmer’s Market last Saturday, in front of the Montpelier jail where the booths are set up. Craftspeople are moving in on the Growers. And there she was — with her own table of dried wreaths. Some, I confess, were a tad bizarre — the skull-and-crossbones made of desiccated red rose petals and thorns: with a tacky silk banner attached (message: I LOVE LUCIA in lettering reminiscent of the Lucille Ball sitcom) — a bit arch for me. She’s taking a rest-cure in the same, er, “state establishment” that James Schuyler *** spent several months at — in Waterbury, a town about twenty miles from Calais ...
Her wreaths are eye-catching and she’s allowed “out” every Saturday as a reward for good behavior, to sell her wares for pocket money — those wrinkles have started to really show, and while cold cream and generic moisturizers don’t do the trick, they’re better than nothing. Her new hair-do is a daring experiment — it juts out to one side. Looks like it weighs a ton, but she manages to keep her head straight. It does bobble when she gets excited, but maybe the old, Golden Pond Hepburn**** is a visual icon for Nancy — “Bobble Homage” — rather touching that.
I couldn’t get all the details, but Nancy did hiss out the word “stress” meaningfully. Dupe has been acting up again and the rattle of tire-chains in the boudoir is not conducive to the focus Nancy needs, and is accustomed to, while applying lash glitter, eye shadow, blush cheek resonator, and her very own wrinkle concealant formula flown in weekly, pre-incarceration. Barracuda sperm degenerates into useless mush all too quickly. Ocean micro-temperatures are hard to replicate.
Later in September Lucia responded.
Dear Kenward,
What a delightful surprise, to hear that you saw our dear Nancy, and how priceless, heavenly, the wreath, with its message to me. When I opened the box a (welcome) gust of wind came in at the same moment that it began to rain. The first rain in many weeks ... Tiny bits of dry blue and red petals blew all about the room in little tornadoes. I took it as a sign that she was at her Ouija board in Waterbury, trying to contact me, so I hope she heard how much I love her. I also tried to let her know that the dry dairy creamer they give you in those places works very so well as a wrinkle concealer. I’m sure she’d prefer that I didn’t know she was there ... perhaps I could send her anonymously a tube of hemorrhoid crème, for a mini facelift, to get her through this period. Kind of you to refer to that little bobble of her head as a Hepburn Homage. I rather like to think of it as Nancy’s way of marching to the tune of a different drum.
I have been looking everywhere for the sweet letter she sent with the check. She is truly a lady. There aren’t many such genuine ones left. My fears about her reactions to my little stories have vanished. Nancy simply could never see anything unseemly. Even unseemly things would acquire her grace and become acceptable.
She invited me to sewing group that meets three times a week, where they make things for less fortunate people (“this gives us such joy”). And the fall luncheon is November 13 at the Junior League. Oh I’m so sorry I can’t go. (Really.)
I would have loved to have been in Waterbury with James Schuyler. (He is one of my most favorite poets. I heard him read in San Francisco, an historic event.)
In January 1999, Kenward actually met the real Nancy Houghton, and he wrote to Lucia to tell her.
Dear Lucia —
I made it to the Grolier Library, East Sixties, where I’d been invited by my Lazard account exec, Dyke Benjamin. Old mansion, burnished and museumy library shelves here and there, exhibit on 2nd Floor ... Among the genteel & mannerly Waspy uptown folks I met was — Nancy!!!! She’s very slim, trim, and accoutered in perfect taste, blond, but not coiffed, I mean the hair is there but isn’t a presence. I said we were pals, and I thought you relished hearing from her, really appreciated the connection, which seemed to genuinely please her. I can decode Connecticut Wasp Mood Micro-Veerings, I think, and she was — well, truly touched. You were good-mouthed. Between clenched Wasp teeth, I believe I detected Lucia-salt-of-earth vibes. Nancy was helping set up the Frost books, all so luxuriantly boxed ...
Lucia replied:
And at first I thought you were just foolin about Nancy, but no, you really did meet her, the true Tinkerbell Nancy. You describe her just as I imagine her, only I see her as old (I mean real old, like eighties). You got her hair and teeth down pat though.
Kenward and Lucia continued the guises and disguises of their reinvented Nancy for several years, with Lucia chiming in from time to time with reports from the real Nancy Houghton and the Tinker Association, often noting with humor that the checks had bounced. At times it became confusing to keep the persona Nancy distinguished from the real person.
In February 1999, Lucia wrote Kenward, It’s about Nancy. Somehow this could be a story, but alas, of course, I couldn’t even write it. There is Nancy herself — & there is Your Nancy & there is the Nancy that makes me feel like a little girl & she is the kind mother. So God knows what & how I write to her & I truly am sorry to miss the next outing Friday to Philadelphia, the botanical gardens.
She wrote me a special note asking is she could publish (in newsletter) (without my name of course) my letter about the joys of Christmas (?) & the one about the best semester I ever had (?) & I was so pleased!
We have a new Tinker Belle, lady of 96 who does lovely woven colors of flowers.
What if my entire ... what, Poetics? ... becomes transformed? I have an urge to write about summer camp ... sitting around a campfire on a moonlit night singing Row, Row your Boat in rounds ... I never went to camp. Now I regret not having gone to camp & never being homesick or getting poison ivy, no crush on archery instructor ...
In October of 1999, Lucia asked the Tinker Society to stop sending her the monthly checks. She wrote to Kenward, I did have a sort of a fit last week. I felt guilty about taking that Tinker Belle money. I asked Nancy if she would still write to me and I could still be one of the girls but the $ sent to somebody who really needed it. I haven’t heard from her, hope I didn’t offend. I AM lucky to have job I love at my age.
Almost a year passed before she heard from Nancy again. In October 2000, Lucia wrote to Kenward: Quandary. I told you that I am receiving again my monthly $100 from the Tinker Belles, along with dear letters from Nancy. This month’s check bounced! I hope Nancy didn’t run off with all the loot and the house-boy.
Then in an August 26, 2001 letter, Lucia wrote Kenward:
Did I ever tell you that Nancy Houghton resigned as director of the Tinker Belles? I was sorry to see her go, had grown quite fond of her. If you should ever see her again please tell her so. Anyway, new lady was appointed: Isabel Spenser, who writes chatty newsletters, is nice without having Nancy's genuine warmth. She called me to say she was coming to Colorado, where her Pulitzer prize winning husband had been editor of Denver Post, etc., would love to meet me. So I invited her to tea. She came with another nice lady, really sharp, Ms. Culver, the religion editor of the Post. We had a pleasant visit. It's awkward sometimes to have so many books in living room, right out there in front of god and everbody … but Isabel did see books that she also liked, so we chatted away. Alas, overcome by newfound comradery, I sent her a copy of my HOMESICK*****. This was over a month ago. I fear the worst. Once there was a group of women in the building where I lived. I saunaed and treadmilled with them every day. Well, they read one of my books. Completely boycotted me. Snubbed in the elevator. Deserted in the hot tub. All alone on treadmill ... As for Ms. Spenser's silence … I don't think my work is that shocking. I think the problem is that I seem very Sweet, and people feel that I have tricked them. Or something.
Kenward responded by mailing Lucia a letter from the invented Nancy describing her new life.
Lucia dearie —
W. Leighton and I have happily established our residence at Vicar's Landing, a delightful retirement community in Ponte Vedre Beach, Fla. We are retaining our Armonk residence, for now, for essentially, the mid-summer months, starting Bastille Day. My begonias are flourishing (Fla.), despite the intrusion of purple bee-balm I couldn't resist tucking away behind my cute as the dickens pickaninny statue, goose pecking his darling bare derriere. Orange beak stands out against noir as the ace of spades fanny, and right above, fuschia Susan B. Anthony roses tumble down in profusion from a hanging basket I attached to the balcony railing of our breakfast nookarium. That fuschia adds gumption FIZZ, you’d better believe it, to my color riot — replicated to a T (not easy!) in our Armonk pied-a-terre. When it comes to garden design, my new craze, I go for max — and I don't mean Max Van D (you won that round, you hussy, I ogled him first). Scuttlebutt is he's been arrested for carjacking, of all things, in Vegas, pleaded road rage, suspended sentence. Ah, sweet memories of wind in my hair, his tartan cummerbund and turquoise hotrod, cinnamon trim. Ouch, my Promontory Deflowering. Almost changed my name to Charmaine to keep Max in heat. Easy go, over to you, then Fifties and Mercy — threesies unheard of back then. Shoot. Just as well, I'd make a lousy carjackerette.
As you might have anticipated, W. Leighton has already become a stalwart member of the Writer's Club, Book Club and Chorus, and has written geothermal "Save The Ozone Hole" articles for our community newspaper. Restricted air conditioning just isn't on the front burner in Ponte Vedre Beach. W's also mightily concerned about adolescent boys exposed to heat prostration playing tournament tennis, which can jinx their future if they conk out. He can't seem to get this cause off the ground — so much competition — battered women, organ donations, you name it. Maybe his promo mix is too bland. Actually, "flaccid" is the word I'm gunning for. Me? I attempt to entertain the residents of our health center with bi-weekly gigs at the piano, as well as substituting for the Vicar's organ for chapel services. My rendition of "Put On A Happy Face" just isn't as sprightly as it used to be. Tempus fugit is no picnic, slathering on wrinkle remover, gulping down soy milkshakes, afloat with blobs of goat pancreas extract.
Though Kenward and Lucia never tired of the Nancy fantasies they’d created in their letters, they retired Nancy from their correspondence after she left the Tinker Belles. Lucia never reported hearing from the real Nancy Houghton again, and she never received another check from the Tinker Society. As for the new director, who’d visited Lucia and been given her book, Lucia wrote last of Ms. Spenser in a postscript to November 1999 letter: PS I never heard another word from the Tinker Lady after I sent her my book — not even the form letter!
Letter and postcard excerpts from Love Loosha: The Letters of Lucia Berlin and Kenward Elmslie, published Nov. 1, 2022, by University of New Mexico Press.
She wrote me a special note asking is she could publish (in newsletter) (without my name of course) my letter about the joys of Christmas (?) & the one about the best semester I ever had (?) & I was so pleased!
We have a new Tinker Belle, lady of 96 who does lovely woven colors of flowers.
What if my entire ... what, Poetics? ... becomes transformed? I have an urge to write about summer camp ... sitting around a campfire on a moonlit night singing Row, Row your Boat in rounds ... I never went to camp. Now I regret not having gone to camp & never being homesick or getting poison ivy, no crush on archery instructor ...
In October of 1999, Lucia asked the Tinker Society to stop sending her the monthly checks. She wrote to Kenward, I did have a sort of a fit last week. I felt guilty about taking that Tinker Belle money. I asked Nancy if she would still write to me and I could still be one of the girls but the $ sent to somebody who really needed it. I haven’t heard from her, hope I didn’t offend. I AM lucky to have job I love at my age.
Almost a year passed before she heard from Nancy again. In October 2000, Lucia wrote to Kenward: Quandary. I told you that I am receiving again my monthly $100 from the Tinker Belles, along with dear letters from Nancy. This month’s check bounced! I hope Nancy didn’t run off with all the loot and the house-boy.
Then in an August 26, 2001 letter, Lucia wrote Kenward:
Did I ever tell you that Nancy Houghton resigned as director of the Tinker Belles? I was sorry to see her go, had grown quite fond of her. If you should ever see her again please tell her so. Anyway, new lady was appointed: Isabel Spenser, who writes chatty newsletters, is nice without having Nancy's genuine warmth. She called me to say she was coming to Colorado, where her Pulitzer prize winning husband had been editor of Denver Post, etc., would love to meet me. So I invited her to tea. She came with another nice lady, really sharp, Ms. Culver, the religion editor of the Post. We had a pleasant visit. It's awkward sometimes to have so many books in living room, right out there in front of god and everbody … but Isabel did see books that she also liked, so we chatted away. Alas, overcome by newfound comradery, I sent her a copy of my HOMESICK*****. This was over a month ago. I fear the worst. Once there was a group of women in the building where I lived. I saunaed and treadmilled with them every day. Well, they read one of my books. Completely boycotted me. Snubbed in the elevator. Deserted in the hot tub. All alone on treadmill ... As for Ms. Spenser's silence … I don't think my work is that shocking. I think the problem is that I seem very Sweet, and people feel that I have tricked them. Or something.
Kenward responded by mailing Lucia a letter from the invented Nancy describing her new life.
Lucia dearie —
W. Leighton and I have happily established our residence at Vicar's Landing, a delightful retirement community in Ponte Vedre Beach, Fla. We are retaining our Armonk residence, for now, for essentially, the mid-summer months, starting Bastille Day. My begonias are flourishing (Fla.), despite the intrusion of purple bee-balm I couldn't resist tucking away behind my cute as the dickens pickaninny statue, goose pecking his darling bare derriere. Orange beak stands out against noir as the ace of spades fanny, and right above, fuschia Susan B. Anthony roses tumble down in profusion from a hanging basket I attached to the balcony railing of our breakfast nookarium. That fuschia adds gumption FIZZ, you’d better believe it, to my color riot — replicated to a T (not easy!) in our Armonk pied-a-terre. When it comes to garden design, my new craze, I go for max — and I don't mean Max Van D (you won that round, you hussy, I ogled him first). Scuttlebutt is he's been arrested for carjacking, of all things, in Vegas, pleaded road rage, suspended sentence. Ah, sweet memories of wind in my hair, his tartan cummerbund and turquoise hotrod, cinnamon trim. Ouch, my Promontory Deflowering. Almost changed my name to Charmaine to keep Max in heat. Easy go, over to you, then Fifties and Mercy — threesies unheard of back then. Shoot. Just as well, I'd make a lousy carjackerette.
As you might have anticipated, W. Leighton has already become a stalwart member of the Writer's Club, Book Club and Chorus, and has written geothermal "Save The Ozone Hole" articles for our community newspaper. Restricted air conditioning just isn't on the front burner in Ponte Vedre Beach. W's also mightily concerned about adolescent boys exposed to heat prostration playing tournament tennis, which can jinx their future if they conk out. He can't seem to get this cause off the ground — so much competition — battered women, organ donations, you name it. Maybe his promo mix is too bland. Actually, "flaccid" is the word I'm gunning for. Me? I attempt to entertain the residents of our health center with bi-weekly gigs at the piano, as well as substituting for the Vicar's organ for chapel services. My rendition of "Put On A Happy Face" just isn't as sprightly as it used to be. Tempus fugit is no picnic, slathering on wrinkle remover, gulping down soy milkshakes, afloat with blobs of goat pancreas extract.
Though Kenward and Lucia never tired of the Nancy fantasies they’d created in their letters, they retired Nancy from their correspondence after she left the Tinker Belles. Lucia never reported hearing from the real Nancy Houghton again, and she never received another check from the Tinker Society. As for the new director, who’d visited Lucia and been given her book, Lucia wrote last of Ms. Spenser in a postscript to November 1999 letter: PS I never heard another word from the Tinker Lady after I sent her my book — not even the form letter!
Letter and postcard excerpts from Love Loosha: The Letters of Lucia Berlin and Kenward Elmslie, published Nov. 1, 2022, by University of New Mexico Press.
*Where I Live Now (Black Sparrow Press, 1999). Lucia Berlin’s final short story collection published during her lifetime.
**A notable exception is Bare Bones (Bamberger Books, 1996), Kenward Elmslie’s chapbook about his longtime companion, artist / poet Joe Brainard.
***James Schuyler, poet, 1923–91. Close friend of Kenward’s, who is here referring to Schuyler’s hospitalization after a mental breakdown while visiting Kenward in Vermont.
****Katherine Hepburn as a character in film On Golden Pond.
*****Homesick: New and Selected Stories (Black Sparrow Press, 1990).
**A notable exception is Bare Bones (Bamberger Books, 1996), Kenward Elmslie’s chapbook about his longtime companion, artist / poet Joe Brainard.
***James Schuyler, poet, 1923–91. Close friend of Kenward’s, who is here referring to Schuyler’s hospitalization after a mental breakdown while visiting Kenward in Vermont.
****Katherine Hepburn as a character in film On Golden Pond.
*****Homesick: New and Selected Stories (Black Sparrow Press, 1990).
About the Author
Chip Livingston is the author of Saints of the Republic (Spuyten Duyvil, 2023) and two other books of poetry, a novel, and a story/essay collection. He is the editor of Love, Loosha: The Letters of Lucia Berlin and Kenward Elmslie. Chip teaches in the low-rez MFA program at the Institute of American Indian Arts. He lives in Montevideo, Uruguay.
About the Work
"When editing the collected letters between best-selling fiction writer Lucia Berlin and New York School poet / librettist Kenward Elmslie, I came across dozens of entries to, from, and about a mysterious persona they called Nancy. Nancy first entered their correspondence as a real person, but Lucia and Kenward quickly invented a backstory for this person, eventually reinventing Nancy to contextualize their impressions and satisfy their imaginations."
About the Author's Process
"My writing process this year involved setting the clock two hours earlier than usual on four days a week to focus first thing those mornings on the writing that brings me most joy. This structure proved productive for me, and I managed to complete new works in poetry, nonfiction, and fiction."
Chip Livingston is the author of Saints of the Republic (Spuyten Duyvil, 2023) and two other books of poetry, a novel, and a story/essay collection. He is the editor of Love, Loosha: The Letters of Lucia Berlin and Kenward Elmslie. Chip teaches in the low-rez MFA program at the Institute of American Indian Arts. He lives in Montevideo, Uruguay.
About the Work
"When editing the collected letters between best-selling fiction writer Lucia Berlin and New York School poet / librettist Kenward Elmslie, I came across dozens of entries to, from, and about a mysterious persona they called Nancy. Nancy first entered their correspondence as a real person, but Lucia and Kenward quickly invented a backstory for this person, eventually reinventing Nancy to contextualize their impressions and satisfy their imaginations."
About the Author's Process
"My writing process this year involved setting the clock two hours earlier than usual on four days a week to focus first thing those mornings on the writing that brings me most joy. This structure proved productive for me, and I managed to complete new works in poetry, nonfiction, and fiction."