To Ethel Boileau
Lady Ethel Boileau (1881–1942) was an English novelist, best known for Clansmen and Ballade in G-Minor. Her correspondence with Rand began in 1936, when she wrote a glowing homage to We the Living after her American publisher had sent her a copy. After Rand read Clansmen in 1936, she wrote to Boileau that her “descriptions are so lovely that they have made me, an Americanized Russian, experience a feeling of patriotism toward Scotland. Your book makes me believe that Scotland is a country of strong individuals and, as such, she has all my sympathy and admiration.” The letter below is a rare instance of Rand commenting about World War II.
The last page contains a letter, seemingly written at the same time, to Rita Weiman. It is not connected to the letter to Lady Boileau and is not reproduced here.
This letter was published only on the Ayn Rand Institute website.
__________________________________________
June 21, 1938
Dear Lady Boileau,
Thank you so much for your letter. I was very sorry to hear that you have not been well, and I do hope that you have recovered completely. I am so happy to have met you and am looking forward to the time when you may come to America for another visit.[*]
However, looking at the picture of your charming house, I suspect that you may not be inclined to leave it often. I am sure that I should not. It has such a magnificent air of old Europe. I feel somewhat wistful as I say this, for the thought of Europe at present gives me a great deal of anxiety. I can well understand your feeling about it. I should not, perhaps, allow myself a definite opinion on the policy of a country which I do not know thoroughly, but I cannot help feeling a great sympathy for Premier Chamberlain. The least co-operation any
To Sinclair Lewis
This undated letter to Sinclair Lewis exists only in handwritten form. It is not known if AR ever sent it to Lewis, and the relevant Lewis papers were lost in a 1989 fire. It seems likely that she did send the letter, because sometime after 1935, she received from him an inscribed (with “Love”) copy (printed in 1936) of It Can’t Happen Here. This letter was published only in the Winter 2017–18 issue of The Objective Standard.
Dear Mr. Lewis,
Being a writer—and the greatest one living—you may understand me when I say that the most important things, the most real ones, and particularly, the most sacred are the hardest ones to express. After so many years of so much that I would like to say to you I find that I can say nothing. I would like to say that you are the last hope in a revolting, pointless mess called literature, the only living mind I’ve heard, the best god of the very religious atheist that I am, the best hero of an embittered and incurable hero worshipper who believes in nothing on earth except heroes. But all this sounds like pretty loud flattery—and there is no other way of saying it. I cannot give my words the strength they need—the certainty that I mean every one of them. I can say it. I can’t prove it. I can only hope that perhaps you will believe me.
To Walter Abbott
Walter Abbott (1905–73) was a screenwriter and friend of Ayn Rand’s. This letter was published only in the Winter 2017-18 issue of The Objectivist Standard.
__________________________________________
March 19, 1938
Dear Mr. Abbott,
Thank you for the clipping about “Night of Jan. 16th”. I was very glad to receive it from you, because it shows that you know I haven’t forgotten you, in spite of my long silence. At least, I hope you do. Ever since your last letter, way back this summer, I have been trying to do something about getting some pull to get for you one of those scholarships you mentioned, or some form of scholarship, but I haven’t had any luck. I’m afraid my pulls are not so good, and I’m not so good at getting any.
I have been hoping to hear that someone has had the good sense to produce “A Better Day”, but I am really beginning to think that people either have good taste or money. They don’t come with both any more, in this damned century. I also had another hope, but nothing has come of it: I thought that if “We the Living” were produced, I would have enough money of my own, to do your play, if it were still available. You see, I am both optimistic and conceited. And I still think that “A better day” is the best play I have ever read in English, my own and everybody else’s dramas included. But I’m still sitting and waiting—for a better day, literally and figuratively. “We the Living” has not been done yet (troubles both casting and political). There is a good chance of its going on next season. But you can see for yourself how uncertain everything is on Broadway. So I can do nothing but wait and hope.
And I HOPE that you have NOT seen “Night of Jan. 16th” in Cleveland. I think I’ve told you how ashamed I am of the damn thing. In the first place, it was mutilated by Woods here, so that the New York production script was bad enough. But what is worse, I understand that in Cleveland they used not the Broadway but the amateur version of the play. And that is something to blush about and to crawl under the waste basket. It was “edited” by the publishers, Longmans Green, to suit the demands of the church and school acting groups. It was censored and “cleaned up” and castrated. If, God forbid, you saw it, you can’t even know what’s mine in it and what is everybody else’s. And collective creation never creates anything except a shameful mess. The jury gag and a vague outline of the plot in general is about all that is left in the amateur version from what the play really was. So, if you saw it, don’t hold it against me. Forgive and forget.
What are you doing now? What has happened to the play on married life that you mentioned writing this summer? I am sorry to hear that you are trying to go commercial, you who have so much real talent, but I can’t take it upon myself to blame you, in view of the reception you got on your magnificent work and in view of the trash that is being produced every day here. They flop, they close one after the other, but there is always more coming. The public doesn’t want it, but it seems that that’s what the producers want. I’ll have to lose thousands out of my own pocket before I will be convinced that there is no audience for a play like yours. And even then I won’t be convinced. Oh, to hell with them all! Our day will come yet. Then we’ll have the pleasure of telling all the B.....s “we told you so.”
But don’t go commercial more than once, if you have to. Have you done any real work? Have you any prospects of coming to New York? Or is it still a question of a job?
I do want to hear from you. Don’t hold my long silences against me. I’m one of those writers that have a horror of writing letters. When I’m working I just can’t coordinate my ideas on anything else, such as writing a coherent letter. Not that I don’t want to, I try, but I give up. Then I take time off from work and concentrate on letters. I’m a one track mind. Then all my friends hear from me at once. If you can understand and tolerate such a system, let me hear from you, when you can. I won’t always be such an unreliable correspondent about answering.
I have been very busy this summer and ever since. Finished a new play—no news on that so far. Finished a novelette—a short novel—and sold it already in England. It will come out there this spring. Now I’m working on a new novel, a tremendous one, about 400,000 words long and taking in a span of fifteen years, I judge. It’s about American architects. I spent over two months this winter working as a typist in an architect’s office, without salary, for the experience. Got great material, too.
Frank asks me specially to say hello to you for him and to send you his best regards. My ex-partner Albert is in Hollywood, got himself signed on a long term writing contract.
With all my best wishes,
To Marcella Bannett Rabwin
October 14, 1937
Dear Marcella:
I was delighted to hear from you and to know that you haven’t forgotten me. You say that you have been in the midst of furnishing a house, and I am precisely in the same position right now. I have spent the summer in Connecticut and have just moved back to New York. We have taken an unfurnished apartment and are now driven mad with problems of furniture, of which we have two beds and a table at the present moment. But the rest is coming, and, so far, we are very pleased with our new place. It seems much nicer than the furnished apartments one can get in New York.
It looks as if we’ll stay here for some time to come. There are no immediate prospects for our return to Hollywood, and I have two plays on my hands, which, if all goes well, may be produced this season. One is a new play [“Ideal”] I finished this summer. The other—my adaptation of “We the Living.” You ask me about its production. Well, Jerome Mayer, who had it, has dropped his option on it recently, and for a very sad reason: he is afraid of producing an anti-Soviet play. When taking the option, he had assured me that he was not afraid of it, but he has a great many Red friends and they got the best of him. I am somewhat indignant about it, because it appears as if the Reds have established a nice little unofficial censorship of their own, and it is very hard to get ahead with anything anti-Communistic. But we shall see what we shall see. Right now, I have a very big producer interested in the play and expect to hear from him definitely within the week. If the politics do not stop him, he would be much better for the play than Jerome Mayer could have been.
This, then, is an account of my activities. But how about you? You mention in your letter that you are working in the daytime, but you do not say where and how etc. I notice by the letter head that you must be back with Selznick International. What are you doing now? How do you like it? I would like to know, for I am rather glad to hear that you are back at work. I have always felt that you were too good an executive to retire from the picture business.
Frank joins me in sending our best regards to your husband and to Mrs. Eppes.
Our love to you always,
To Marcella Bannett Rabwin
Mrs. Rabwin (then Marcella Bannett) was a neighbor of Ayn Rand’s at an apartment building across the street from RKO, where they both worked in 1929–32. Rabwin was instrumental in two of Ayn Rand’s works: the story “Red Pawn,” which, Rabwin relates elsewhere, she persuaded an agent friend of hers to sell, enabling Ayn Rand to quit her wardrobe job at RKO and write full-time; and The Fountainhead, whose theme and the character of second-hander Peter Keating were inspired by a comment Rabwin made about wanting a car only if others didn’t have one. Rabwin was executive assistant to David O. Selznick and relates her career in Yes, Mr. Selznick: Recollections of Hollywood’s Golden Era (Pittsburgh: Dorrance, 1999). The following two letters were published only in the 2017–18 issue of The Objective Standard.
__________________________________________
February 12, 1937
Dear Marcella,
I can’t tell you how grateful I am for your “review” of my book. I appreciate deeply not only your kind opinion of it, but also the fact that you let me know about it. I am very, very happy to know that you liked it so much, and your letter gives me a great encouragement for the future.
I must only reprimand you for saying that your opinion at this late stage can’t have any “importance for me.” You know that I have valued your opinion very highly always. Besides, I have not forgotten that you have, in a way, “discovered” me, in helping me to sell my first story “Red Pawn.” I will always be grateful to you for that, and if you like my work, it makes me very happy to think that I have justified your interest in me at the very beginning of my “career” when I had never sold a single story.
If you like the background of “We the Living,” you must realize why I hate Soviet Russia and why I have always been rather violent on that subject. You can see what I have lived through. Of course, the story and plot of the book are purely fictional. (It is not my autobiography, as some reviewers thought.) But the background and living conditions are all true, as I have seen them. In fact, when people ask me whether things in Russia are really as bad as I described them, I always say, no, they are not as bad, they’re much worse. I did have to tone down on the background—to make the book readable at all.
No, you didn’t “injure my first born” when you compared the book to “January 16th.” I know there can be no comparison between them. Personally, I think “January 16th” is a piece of trash, particularly after Al Woods got through with it. I never thought much of the play when compared to the book. I really did work on the book, to the best of my ability. The play—I wrote in two months. It made money—that’s all I can say for it. And I hope it will be forgotten. It’s not the kind of writing I want to be known by.
As to your questions: do I ever think of you? Of course, I do. I heard from Mrs. Eppes [Rabwin’s mother] a few weeks ago and I wrote to her shortly before I received your letter. I miss you a great deal and I am getting to be very homesick for Hollywood. But as to when I’ll be able to come back—I don’t know at all. There is too much business holding me here. I have recently finished the dramatization of “We the Living” for a producer who read the book and wants to do it on the stage. It will be done on Broadway early in the fall, so I have to stay here until then. Also, I’ve gone slightly crazy and entered the producing field myself. I’ve taken an option on a play [“Comes the Revolution”] by an unknown young author [Walter Abbott], and I’m going to produce it, if I can get the proper backing. I have never had any desire to be a producer, but this play is a work of genius and I think I’ve discovered a great writer. I’d like to help him, and if all goes well, I’ll have his play on Broadway by September.
There are many other things that have held me tied to New York. “We the Living” just came out in England, got very good reviews. I wanted to go there for its appearance, but all the theatrical business is here. Between times, I’m working slowly on a new novel. No, not about Russia. There will be no single Russian or Communist in it. Strictly about America and New York. I feel very enthusiastic about this new undertaking, but it will be a long and difficult one. Next fall, I do hope to be able to come back and get a Hollywood job. I love New York, but it’s never-wrecking [sic].
Frank has been working in summer theaters here. Incidentally, he played “Guts” Regan in “January 16th” in summer stock, did it very well. I’m keeping him for a part in my new play on Broadway. We thought we could make it this season, but it is too late now.
As to my family, I am trying to arrange for them to come here, but it is a long, difficult process, there are many formalities to go through in order to get a passport. Now it is my turn to ask questions. Do you plan to go away permanently to South America? You mention it in passing in your letter. And have you given up the studios for good? If you have, I think the studios lost a grand executive, but I am happy for you if you can get a rest, which you always needed, and I’m glad to know that you’re happy in your marriage. If you come to New York in June, I certainly hope that you’ll have time to call on me. I would like so much to see you again. Frank joins me in our best wishes to you and your husband.
Once more, many, many thanks to you—
Affectionately,
To Frank O’Connor
The Murray
Sixty-six Park Avenue
New York
August 21, 1936
Cubby darling!
I received two letters from you, together—this morning. It was swell, and thanks, you did write after all. I couldn’t quite believe that you ever would.
You “catched” me on the “first, most and foremost”. All right, it was for Thursday and Friday. But you’re King of Beasts, Prince of Cubs, Thing of Beauty, and lions is felines! (Mainly dandelions ain’t!)
I have had a very exciting day today. Saw Jerome Mayer and it’s all settled. This contract [for a stage version of We the Living] will be signed probably Thursday. He didn’t make any funny demands for any collaborators, after I explained my point. He was very nice. We
To Ev Suffens
The Murray
Sixty-six Park Avenue
New York
June 10, 1936
Dear Ev,
We were delighted to hear from you, even though your letters gave a pretty sad account of your trip and “Decibel”’s behavior. And, selfishly, we say it serves you right for deserting the Midnight Jamboree. However, since the time is drawing close to your return, we hope you will have better luck for the rest of your vacation and, particularly, on your way back, because we do want to hear the Midnight Jamboree next week. Or is it to be next week? We hope so.
Do we miss the Midnight Jamboree? Well, “you have no idea”! Oh, yes, the Jamboree is still there, but “she ain’t what she used to be.” “Don’t look now”, but we are not very happy about the announcer who is understudying you. He is not bad, as radio announcers go, but he is just that—a radio announcer, and with a leaning toward jazz-music besides. Such old, faithful fans of the Midnight Jamboree as we are have actually stopped listening and missed several evenings.
Oscar and Oswald the Firsts are sitting dejectedly by the radio, waiting for your return. They don’t like this vacation and want their jobs back. Petunia’s back is arched, her fur is ruffled and she is mad at you. She wants to know why you disgraced her publicly by announcing over the air that you didn’t like her? But she’ll forgive you when she hears the “Grasshoppers’ Dance” again. We haven’t had any “Grasshoppers’ Dance”, any “Down South”, not even a single “Toonerville Train” for ages.
In the meantime—good luck to your theatrical venture. We hope it will be as good as your program was.
Our regards, best wishes and love to Oscar, Oswald, Rasputin and—well, all right, and Ev Suffens.
(2)
that which I saw in you exists only in my own mind and no one else would see it, or care to see. I am speaking of your great achievement in bringing to life a completely heroic human being.
The word heroic does not quite express what I mean. You see, I am an atheist and I have only one religion: the sublime in human nature. There is nothing to approach the sanctity of the highest type of man possible and there is nothing that gives me the same reverent feeling, the feeling when one’s spirit wants to kneel, bareheaded. Do not call it hero-worship, because it is more than that. It is a kind of strange and improbable white heat where admiration becomes religion, and religion becomes philosophy, and philosophy—the whole of one’s life.
I realize how silly words like these may sound today. Who cares about heroes any more and who wants to care? In an age that glorifies the average, the commonplace, the good, stale “human” values, that raises to the height of supreme virtue the complete lack of it, that refuses to allow anything above the smug, comfortable herd, that places the life of that herd above all things, who can still understand the thrill of seeing a man such as you were on the stage? It is not your acting that did
To Melville Cane
Melville Cane was AR’s attorney and an award-winning poet. This letter was published only in the Winter 2017–18 issue of The Objective Standard.
__________________________________________
February 15, 1936
Dear Mr. Cane:
My deepest gratitude for your book and still more for the rare pleasure your poems have given me. I do not know whether you will understand me when I say that I love poetry so much that I never read it. I think that poetry is the highest and most exacting of arts, therefore it should be perfect—or nothing. And it is perfect so seldom. But your work is perfect and I appreciate profoundly the privilege you have given me of reading it.
There is one verse in particular which I would like, presumptuously perhaps, to see used as my epitaph some day. No, I won’t tell you which one.[*] Presumptuously again, I hope that you may try to guess it. You will probably see through it, so I may as well confess that it is a feminine legal trick to leave myself an opening for an opportunity to see you and tell you in person how much I admire your work.
Since the book was sent to me from my lawyer when he isn’t a lawyer, I will not attempt here to thank you for your help in matters that were anything but poetic. But I do thank you for your work in the realm that is so far above courtrooms and arbitrations.[**]
Sincerely,
__________________________________________
*Reliable speculation is that Ayn Rand is referring to the first four lines in Cane’s poem “Alone, Immune,” published in his collection Behind Dark Spaces (Harcourt Brace, 1930). “She was not bound by mortal sight, / The stars were hers, at noon. / Against the malady of night / She stood, alone, immune.”
**Ayn Rand’s allusion is to the arbitration case Cane’s law firm won for her against A. H. Woods, producer of Night of January 16th on Broadway.
To Sarah Lipton
Sarah Lipton (later Sarah Satrin) was one of the Chicago relatives with whom Ayn Rand lived upon her arrival from Russia in 1926. This letter was published only in the Winter 2017–18 issue of The Objective Standard.
__________________________________________
November 27, 1932
Dear Mrs. Lipton:
I was very, very happy to hear from you. Please forgive me for delaying my answer for such a long time. I have lots to tell you.
I have written to Mrs. Stone [another Chicago relative] several times, but I did not get any answer. I do hope the family isn’t angry at me for something. I hope you don’t think I am terribly ungrateful. I have not forgotten all that the family has done for me—nor will I ever forget it. I also remember that I owe a big debt—and I think I’ll soon be able to begin to repay it. I think—and hope—that I’m going to get on my feet now.
I’ve had a pretty hard time. However, I shouldn’t complain, for I have had a job all through this depression. That newspaper article you sent me just about covers all the essential news about me—except that they didn’t get straight the story about how I met Cecil DeMille. They had that wrong. But I did work in the wardrobe at RKO—for over three years. It was not a bad job—not sewing (for I still can’t sew a stitch), but in the wardrobe office. I wasn’t getting very much money—but enough to carry on. The work was quite hard—nerve wracking—a lot of details, a lot of rushes, excitement, and—quite frequently—a lot of overtime. Besides, I had to keep house—try to cook, and wash dishes, and such—at night. But I simply could not give up writing. I came to America to write—and I had not forgotten that. That’s something I’ll never give up. But it was pretty much of a problem—I didn’t have very much time to write and when I did find an hour or two at night, I was so tired that I could hardly get any ideas, my head felt too heavy—and one can’t do one’s best work after hours and hours in a studio wardrobe (the messiest department of a studio). Sometimes, I got up at 5:30 or 6 a.m.—to write a few hours before going to work. All this time I’ve been working on a novel—a real big novel I want to write—about Russia. But I found that advancing as slowly as I did—it would have taken me too long to complete a novel. So—last spring—I wrote two scenarios. I want to try and sell them—and get enough money to live without working for a while—and finish the novel.
You know how hard it is to sell an original story—especially for an unknown writer—and especially since the talkies. I was lucky enough to get a very prominent firm of agents [Myron Selznick] interested in the stories. They liked them, agreed to handle them and—sold one of them—“Red Pawn.” It’s a story about Russia—and I always have the advantage of saying that I know the subject. All the studios here were interested in Russian stories, but have had trouble finding any, so that helped me. Universal bought the story for their star Tala Birell, and signed me on a two-months contract—to write the adaptation or treatment of the story. I did the treatment and also the continuity, that is, the final, shooting script. And I am happy to say that they are very pleased. Right now, they are looking for a director for my story, that is, they have not selected one, yet. As soon as they do, the story will go into production—and I do hope it won’t be long.
My contract expired, but they liked my work so well, evidently, that they kept me on and gave me another assignment. I have to do the continuity or screen play for a story of theirs, called “Black Pearls.” It is a picture of the South Seas. Several writers have tried to adapt it, but the studio was not satisfied. It’s quite a difficult story to adapt. Now, I’ve got it. I had quite a few headaches over it, but I think I’ve solved the difficulty. At least, I outlined my idea to the supervisor and he liked it very much. So now I’m writing the script and I hope they’ll like it.
I have not signed another contract, yet—am waiting to see what they’ll do about my “Red Pawn.” If it goes over—I’ll, probably, get a good contract. As a beginner, I’m not getting very much money at present, but it’s more than in the wardrobe and it was worth taking to get a start.
Of course, I don’t have to tell you how thrilled and happy I am over it all. I was beginning to think that all my friends will lose all faith in me. It has taken me quite a long time. But I hope that the most difficult part of the struggle is over, now. Such is my “professional” life. As to my home life—I am still as happy as ever—even happier if such a thing is possible. Frank is simply wonderful. I wish you could meet him. I do hope I’ll see you before many more years pass. If I ever get established as a real writer—I’ll take a trip back east. And how about yourself? Do you ever contemplate another visit to California?
By the way, if you’re curious about Frank, you can see him in a picture called “Three on a Match.” He has just the tiniest bit in it—but it’s a good, long closeup of him. It’s along towards the beginning of the picture, there are a series of news flashes there and you’ll see the closeup of a man listening in on a radio—with old-fashioned ear-phones on, or whatever you call them, you know, a radio apparatus that you put on your ears to listen in. Well, that’s Frank. If you happen to see the picture, take a look at my husband. . . .
I am waiting for a nice long letter from you with all the news about the family. How is everybody? How are the children? They must be all grown up now.
I’ll close this long letter, before you get tired of reading my terrible handwriting.
Please give my love to Mr. and Mrs. Stone, Mr. Lipton, Bee and everybody in the family. And please give me Mrs. Stone’s address, I would like to write to her.
I thank you very, very much for still remembering me—and I hope to hear from you soon.
Lots of love—
To Channing Pollock
In the early 1940s, he and AR attempted to create what she called “The Individualist Organization” in the wake of the failed Wendell Willkie presidential campaign. In a previous letter to Rand (dated November 27, 1941), Pollock included a copy of his letter of the same date to Mrs. William Henry Hays, president of the Republican Club of New York City. In that letter, Pollock recommended Rand as a speaker, writing: “I have not heard Miss Rand speak in public, but if she can do so with any degree of the conviction and eloquence with which she speaks in private, and with which she writes, she should be one of the greatest orators of all time. I have never met anyone of more remarkable personality and individuality, or with a more burning conviction.”
This letter was published only on the Ayn Rand Institute website.
__________________________________________
139 East 35th Street
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
December 10, 1941
Mr. Channing Pollock
600 West End Avenue
New York City
Dear Mr. Pollock:
Thank you for the letter which you wrote about me to Mrs. Hays. I can only say that I shall try to deserve the recommendation you gave me. I have not heard from the Republican Club as yet, but if I should get that lecture it will not please me more than the things which you said about me.
Please forgive my delay in answering your letter. So many things have happened to me lately that I have been in a sort of whirlwind. The big event in my life is that I have just sold a novel to the Bobbs-Merrill Company. It is an unfinished novel on which I have been working for a long time and which I could not finish for lack of funds. Bobbs-Merrill liked it well enough to give me an advance that will permit me to leave my job at Paramount and finish the novel. I cannot say what it means to me—to be able to return to creative writing again. I think you will understand. I am afraid I’m so happy that I’m a little dizzy. I signed the contract yesterday.
When you have the time, I should like very much to hear from you and to see you, if possible.
You asked my husband’s first name. It is Frank O’Connor.
He joins me in sending you our best regards,
Sincerely,
__________________________________________
There is no record of Rand speaking to the Republican Club of New York City, but the Ayn Rand Archives collection of her daily calendars doesn’t begin until 1943.
To Channing Pollock
349 East 49th Street
New York City
August 5, 1941
Mr. Channing Pollock
Shoreham, Long Island
New York
Dear Mr. Pollock:
Thank you for the copy of your letter to Mr. Emery which you sent me. I think that Mr. Emery’s idea to have the National Small Business Men’s Association publish the Manifesto might be an excellent one—and I have written him a long letter about it.
Thank you very much for the nice things you said about me in that letter. Only, may I make one correction? I haven’t “nearly lost faith in myself.” Do I really impress you as so tragic a Russian? I often lose faith in other people—if there’s any left to lose—but never in myself. You know that I believe in egotism. And I know that you approve of such an attitude.
I saw Mr. Emery when he was in town last, and he told me that he is arranging some appointments for me with people who can be useful to our cause. Last week, I saw Mr. Gall again. He was very sorry to have missed you when you were in town, and he hopes that he will have an opportunity to meet you when you are in New York next.
Mr. Gall introduced me to Mr. Lawson, the Public Relations Counsel of the N.M.A., and we had a most interesting talk. Both Mr. Gall and Mr. Lawson will now try to get financial backing for our organization.
I should be very much interested to know what news you have in your correspondence with Mr. Eames and Mr. Fuller, which you mentioned.
Hoping to see you soon again—with my best regards—
Sincerely yours,
(2)
That is not the purpose of their work. Their propaganda is strictly and exclusively economic, and they are doing a very good job—as far as it goes. But we must go farther.
2. There is no mass membership organization of our side. All of them—including the N.M.A.—merely ask people to contribute money. That is why the average citizen takes no interest in any of them. People want to be active, to do something concrete for our cause—and no one gives them anything to do. You recall the almost desperate plea in the letters you received in answer to your lectures. “Please tell us what to do!”—that is the mood of the people. When it is answered merely by “send us a check,” no wonder that people turn away, indifferent and disheartened. The subversive organizations, the Communists and the Nazis, go out after mass membership, enroll people and give them a concrete program of activity for their cause. Who is doing that on our side? Yet that is what the people need and want. As witness—the tremendous response of volunteers in the Willkie campaign. The people are with us, but they must have leadership that offers them a concrete program of personal, individual activity. That is what our organization would do.
3. There is no organization of our side in the intellectual field. And there are hundreds of Leftist groups. As witness—the collectivist trend in all the arts and in all the avenues of public expression. Who has done anything to stop it? Our organization would make it possible for anti-collectivist thought, art and literature to be presented and heard—which is practically impossible now.
These are only the main points. As to the N.M.A.—Mr. Gall, who is one of its most influential leaders, did not think that we would duplicate their work. Quite the contrary. He told me he has known for a long time that the program I proposed to him, the program of our organization, is precisely what is needed and needed desperately, but the N.M.A. itself, by its very nature, could not undertake it. He realized that it must be an intellectual organization—not one exclusively of manufacturers. And he is working now to help us get financial backing. He sent me most of their literature. It is excellent material—for school children interested in economics. No more than that.
And we’re aiming much, much beyond that.
Well, I think, this should answer Mr. Eames.
With best regards,
Sincerely yours,
__________________________________________
* A. W. Eames was president of California Packing Corporation.
To Channing Pollock
July 20, 1941
Mr. Channing Pollock
Shoreham, Long Island
New York
Dear Mr. Pollock:
Here is the letter of Mr. Eames[*] which you sent me. I am afraid that Mr. Eames missed the point and did not understand the nature of our proposed organization at all. We would not compete with or duplicate any other organization. What we want to do is not being done by anyone, and the need for it is desperate.
Here are the main points:
1. Our side has no “ideology”, no clear-cut, consistent system of belief, no philosophy of life. Merely to claim to be defenders of the “American Way” is not enough. It is a generality which is being used by everybody and anybody for all sorts of purposes. What organization of our side has defined a concrete ideology of Americanism? None. The first aim of our organization will be intellectual and philosophical—not merely political and economic. We will give people a faith—a positive, clear and consistent system of belief. Who has done that? Certainly not the N. M. A. They—and all other organizations—are merely fighting for the system of private enterprise and their entire method consists of teaching and clarifying the nature of that system. It is good work, but it is not enough. We want to go deeper than that. We want to teach people, not what the system of private enterprise is, but why we all should believe in it and fight for it. We want to provide a spiritual, ethical, philosophical groundwork for the belief in the system of private enterprise. The Communists do not owe their success merely to booklets on the economics of Communism. They provide, first, an intellectual justification—a faith in collective action, in unlimited majority power, in a general, levelling equality, in “unselfishness,” “service,” etc. What are the intellectual justifications for our side? What are our moral values? Who has defined it? Who is preaching philosophical individualism? No one. And if it is not preached, economic individualism will not survive. Who could possibly acquire a new faith, a sense of spiritual security, of idealism and dedication out of N.M.A. literature? No one—least of all the N.M.A.
To Channing Pollock
July 7, 1941
Mr. Channing Pollock
Shoreham, Long Island
New York
Dear Mr. Pollock:
Thank you for the copy of your letter to Mr. Emery, which I received today. I was sorry to hear that Mr. Emery has been puzzled by my silence, but the reason was precisely what you stated in your letter—the fact that I have had nothing to report.
I have been waiting from day to day to hear from Mr. Gall—but have not heard from him up to the present moment. I was also waiting for your next visit to New York and for our planned luncheon with Mr. Gall—I intended to communicate with him upon hearing from you.
I got in touch with Miss Gloria Swanson and I am to see her soon, probably this week. She is interested in our cause and could be very helpful. This is all the news I have to report for the present. I am waiting for Mr. Emery—and I am really waiting for his instructions as to our next steps in securing financial backing.
I do hope that you will be able to come to New York soon and I am looking forward to seeing you. I must reproach you for just one sentence in your letter to Mr. Emery—the one about “Miss Rand is either disgusted with my inertia or . . .” You really should know better than that. After all the time and effort you have put into our organization, I hope you are not really doubting my appreciation.
With best regards,
Sincerely yours,
To Channing Pollock
In Pollock’s previous letter, he wrote that Anthem was “obvious” and “artificial” and that “you are bigger than your book—and you can do better.” The edition he read was the 1938 British edition, not the rewritten (and current) edition published in 1946.
__________________________________________
June 23, 1941
Mr. Channing Pollock
Shoreham, Long Island
New York
Dear Mr. Pollock:
No, I have no desire to kill you. I am sorry, of course, that you did not care for “Anthem”, but I appreciate your honesty in stating your opinion.
Last Thursday, when I received your wire, I telephoned at once to Dr. Ruth Alexander and saw her the same day. We had a most interesting conversation. She was quite enthusiastic about our project, and she said that she will join us—but on one condition: that our organization remain as direct and uncompromising in its “ideology” as I outlined it to her. She explained that she will not belong to any group which evades or pussy-foots on major issues, such as the issue of defending capitalism. I assured her that this was precisely our own attitude.
Last Wednesday I saw Mr. John C. Gall of the National Association of Manufacturers. He was most sympathetic to the idea of an organization such as we are planning—and he volunteered the suggestion that he knew several men who would be interested in giving us financial backing. I wrote about this to Mr. Emery—he had told me that he would take care of the financial arrangements.
Mr. Gall would like very much to meet you, and asked me whether you and I would have lunch with him at your convenience. He said that he needs but a short notice—and could arrange to be free on any day when you are to be in New York.
I have finished reading "The Adventures of a Happy Man"—and enjoyed it tremendously. It is such a bright and cheerful book. I agreed with almost everything in it—except the chapter on faith.[*] That is because I think that there is nothing on earth more important than knowledge. Someday, when you have the time, I should like to have a nice long argument with you about that.
Please forgive me for my slight delay in reporting to you on all these events—an extra heavy load of long novels to read was the reason.
With best regards,
Sincerely,
__________________________________________
* In her biographical interviews, AR was asked about “important people” she had met during the Willkie campaign: “Well, the most important one that I met at that time was Channing Pollock. Now, he was a very distinguished writer. . . . He had an enormous reputation; he was a famous playwright. Of a very bad kind in one sense. He was crazy about God. You know, all his plays were about religion, or people redeemed by religion. He was a professional religionist. The only good thing about him was that he was a free-enterpriser. . . . And he didn’t mix the religion into it.”
(2)
do not believe that it is in the proper form for an article, but he suggested that I send it to an editor just as it is, inquire whether the magazine would be interested and then do such re-writing as the editor might find necessary. He suggested that I consult you on this and ask your opinion as to whether such a procedure would be advisable. He pointed out that he has often helped his National Small Business Men’s Association by placing magazine articles on subjects pertaining to its activity. If you find this advisable, I shall, of course, be most eager to do so.
I think that Mr. Emery will really be able to help us get started—and I look forward hopefully to our future activity.
With best regards,
Sincerely,
__________________________________________
* Pollock inscribed his book The Adventures of a Happy Man, “To Ayn Rand—the best mind and most inspiring personality I have encountered in many years.”
** John Gall was later AR’s attorney.
To Channing Pollock
June 14, 1941
Mr. Channing Pollock
Shoreham, Long Island
New York
Dear Mr. Pollock:
Thank you from the bottom of my heart for “The Adventures of a Happy Man”—and for your inscription.[*] I have been trying for years to become hard-boiled and to let nothing affect me too much. But this did. I read your inscription and I feel encouraged for the rest of my life—the kind of encouragement that only a creative person needs or understands.
Thank you for writing about me to De Witt Wallace. I appreciate it immensely, and I would be most anxious to do that article, should he be interested.
I was delighted to learn that you had written to Little, Brown about “Life’s Too Short”. If I helped in any way to reawaken your interest and make you finish that book—I am most selfishly flattered.
I have met DeWitt Emery and have seen him three times while he was here. I don’t know whether this was due to his enthusiasm for our cause or to his being impressed by me—and I am vain enough to hope it was both. I really did not find him hard or tough at all—he was very charming and very sincerely interested in our cause. He promised definitely that he is with us, and will do everything he can. He did say that he cannot give it his full time until after the passage of the Labor Bill on which he is working, but that would not be necessary, I think, until our organization actually gets going. He pointed out very emphatically that we should have financial backing first of all—and he will help us to get in touch with the right people. He will try to arrange for me to see Helen Frick (who, he said, has something like $500,000,000), also Mr. Gall [**] of the National Association of Manufacturers, and a few other people. I hope that we shall be able to arouse the interest of one of them. Mr. Emery promised also to send us a list of more names to add to our Committee.
I gave him the two documents I wrote—the short “Declaration” and the long “Manifesto.” He was most highly complimentary about them. He thought that the “Individualist Manifesto” would be very helpful to us if I arranged to have it published as an article in some national magazine. I
5.
would like to save the genuine few—who have a very, very hard battle to fight today. And if you hold “Life’s Too Short” as an example of “when to quit”—you’re defeating your own point. You’re proving mine. The case of “Life’s Too Short” sets the time, not to quit, but to begin fighting in very grim earnest.
Well, am I honest?
Forgive me if I made you read such a long letter, but you asked for my opinion and I wanted to give it in full. If you don’t agree with it—you can give me hell Tuesday.
With admiration,
Sincerely,
__________________________________________
* Readers might recognize this as a parody of Ernest Hemingway’s writing.
** Pollock’s autobiography was published by Bobbs-Merrill in 1943 with the title Harvest of My Years. He inscribed a copy: “To Ayn Rand, without whose insistence this book would not have been written.”
4.
So, if I have to demonstrate my honesty by criticizing you, I would rather criticize your editorial in “This Week” magazine where you wrote on “knowing the time to quit.” If you remember, I objected to it—and you cited “Life’s Too Short” as an example of a case where an author should accept the negative verdict of several editors. I said then that I didn’t believe this—and I say it more strongly now. I am afraid that you are thinking of the time when editors were still men of integrity, discernment and achievement, and their opinion could be considered respectfully. We are long past that time. There are still a few editors of that caliber left, but very, very few. The rest? Well . . .
What makes me want to scream in this case, is the insidious injustice of the whole process. Our Red “intellectuals” and our editors play upon the best instincts of our authors in order to destroy them. It is only the completely mediocre writer who never entertains any doubts on the value of his work. The man of talent is always more severe with his own writing than any outside critic could ever be. A good writer’s first instinct is always to blame himself. His own scrupulous honesty makes it difficult for him to accuse others of dishonesty or injustice. And thus, if his work is rejected repeatedly, he accepts the verdict, even when, in all sincerity, he can find no fault in his work; he simply accepts that he must have failed somewhere. He prefers to doubt his own standards rather than the ethics of editors. Thus, in his own mind, he completes for them their dirty work.
So what I want to criticize is not “Life’s Too Short”, but its author’s attitude towards it. I think this work should be completed and published. I cannot advise you to undertake the struggle—because I know it will be a hard one. But if you are too busy with other work to complete “Life’s Too Short”—then, I think, you owe to it at least the acknowledgment of its value in your own mind. You must consider it a victim of the immense injustice of our century. You must not help the second-raters in power by granting them the benefit of the doubt at the expense of your own work, at the cost of vindicating their bad judgment by questioning your own. Of course, personally, I wish you would finish “Life’s Too Short” and make them publish it.
And—I think it is best not to advise young people to learn when to quit. They could learn it in a society of honest men, where the positions of authority and decision are held by men whose judgment can be respected. The kind of society we had yesterday. That is not what we have today. Today — young people have to go through a living hell and rely on nothing but their own faith in themselves. At the price of a thousand self-deluding mediocrities, I
3.
what I mean? Is there any point, reason or excuse for this sort of things? Yet it is being published every day and blown up into best-sellers. An accident? I don’t think so. A deliberate intention. The intellectual revolution of the second-rater. The best method of destroying superiority is not to denounce it. It is to establish standards of superiority that destroy all standards. It is to hail as superiority its very antithesis: the small, the meaningless, the average. And they can get away with it only one condition: that intelligence not be allowed to function, that a good, healthy, questioning mentality not be allowed to speak anywhere. Because one single “Why?” or “What the hell?” would destroy the whole hysterical tribe of glorified nonentities.
Our literature, our theater and all our arts are now one gigantic conspiracy against the mind. Not even merely against the great mind, but against any mind, against the mind as such. Down with thought and up with the emotions. When thought is destroyed—anything goes. Thought is the privilege of the superior few. In emotions we’re all equal, even the animals. Look at such a phenomenon as Gertrude Stein. She is being published, discussed and given more publicity than any real writer. Why? There’s no financial profit in it. Just as a joke? I don’t think so. It is done—in the main probably quite subconsciously to destroy the mind in literature. [**]
It is not surprising, therefore, that most of our editors and other literary authorities are Red. I don’t believe that they are all in the pay of Moscow. The trouble is deeper and more vicious than that. We are living in the century of the Second-Rater. The second-rater is always pink—by sheer instinct. He has to glorify equality and he has to push his own equals to the front. If this is not so—why, then, are all those dashing heroes of the current autobiographies, such as Vincent Sheean, Walter Duranty, Negley Farson, why are they all pink? If there is no deliberate plan behind it all—wouldn’t it be reasonable to suppose that at least one of those heroes would be conservative or neutral? But there is not a single one.
And there, I think, is another reason why “Life’s Too Short” is not published. Not only are you a famous conservative, but you are a man of achievement. That, monstrous as it may sound, is the reason why editors are not interested in your autobiography. They want the autobiographies of men who have never achieved anything and never will. There are some exceptions to this rule, but not many. Of all the autobiographies published, the number of those whose lives are really worth recording is far inferior to the number of those whose lives weren’t even worth living. That is the ghastly reversal of all values that we are now facing.
over them together, and he said: “Why, it’s wonderful!”
Well? You wanted to know why it has not been published? I think I know it—and it’s not a cheerful reason. It has not been published—not because of faults, but because of its chief virtue. It reads like the conversation of a very intelligent man. You feel a clear, bright, cheerful mind behind every sentence. There is no mush, no portentous platitudes, no vague, loud generalities of the kind that sound deep and mean just exactly nothing. The writing has such remarkable economy—nothing said but what has to be said and not an adjective over. Also, the writing is simple—with the most deadly simplicity of all: the simplicity of intelligence. I say “deadly” because that is just what intelligence represents to the contemptible second-raters who are mainly in charge of our literary life at present.
I don’t think that most editors are conscious of it or deliberately vicious about it. But I do think that their instinct—they’d call it their “Taste”—objects automatically to any manifestation of pure intellect, or brains. It is not even a question of subject matter. The subject matter of “Life’s Too Short” is simple and human enough; it can be understood by and would appeal to the most un-intellectual, average reader; there is nothing “difficult” or “high-brow” about it. The intellectual quality is in the writing. It appeals to the emotions through the mind. The effect it creates in the reader is this: what a wise, charming man there is looking at us from between the lines. But the process of reading between the lines is an intellectual enjoyment. It is subtle. It requires intelligence to create it and to appreciate it. Not necessarily an abstract, ponderous, “philosophical” intelligence. But a simple, easy, cheerful mental process accessible to any mind, provided that mind wishes to be exercised. There is the secret. The minds of our present-day “intellectuals” do not wish to function. They dread it. And they resent it above all else. What they want is emotion, but not intelligent emotion. Just plain, cheap, sodden emotion that requires no thinking, that would vanish the instant thought was applied to it.
I can best make this clear by an illustration. I have read, appalled, the kind of autobiographies that are being published today. Autobiographies full of nothing at all. Great big life-stories of second-rate newspaper-men who use world events as a background for their nasty little personalities. Like this: “And when I saw the fall of Vienna, it reminded me of a day seven years earlier when I met Jimmy Glutz in a dive in Singapore, and over a glass of absinthe I said: ‘Jimmy, what is the meaning of life?’ and Jimmy answered: ‘Hell, who knows, you old bastard?’”[*] You see
To Channing Pollock
349 East 49th Street
New York City
June 8, 1941
Mr. Channing Pollock
Shoreham, L. I.
New York
Dear Mr. Pollock:
Thank you for your letters and—most enthusiastically—for the manuscript of “Life’s Too Short.” No, I have not been ill, but almost wish I had—it would have been pleasanter than the activity which has kept me busy during this last week. I will explain it to you when I see you—and, I think, you will forgive my silence.
I have waited to write to you until after I had read “Life’s Too Short”, which I have just finished. This is going to be a long letter, because the subject deserves it. I shall be delighted, of course, to see you on Tuesday the 10th. (Incidentally, I am only too happy if you find it convenient to “use my flat as an office,” as you put it.) I have several things I would like to discuss with you in connection with our organization. I must say here that it was great news to hear that DeWitt Emery may become our executive secretary. It would be splendid. Thank you for the printed copies of our “Declaration.” I have given a few out to some “prospects”—and I should like to tell you about their reaction when I see you.
I have not received “The Adventures of a Happy Man” as yet—and I am terribly sorry to think that it probably was lost in the mail. With your permission, I should like to inquire at the post office—I have not done so as yet.
Now, I am most eager to speak about “Life’s Too Short.” Let me say, first, that I felt very honored by your wanting my opinion of it. Since you challenged my “honesty”, I tried to bend backwards in being honest; I tried to forget my admiration for all your other works and to read it as severely and unsympathetically as I could, just hunting for flaws and for things to dislike. And—I couldn’t find any. I think “Life’s Too Short” is one of the most charming, gracious, clever and entertaining things I have ever read.
There’s my honest opinion—and I have to say it, even though you might distrust my honesty from now on. In all sincerity, I would have preferred to find something to criticize in it. But I read it with delight—and I only wished there were more of it. I told my husband some of the charming little incidents from it, and we laughed
2.
this our first and clearest aim—we will be nothing but “just one more of the same.” Also, we must avoid all generalities, compromises, “softening up” and attempts to pacify or appeal to too many different view-points. They all do that—and fail. Unless we stick very clearly, militantly and decisively to our basic principles—and keep these principles clear-cut—we will become another ineffectual patriotic organization.
I am glad that you have ordered the copies of our Declaration. I have had no luck at all with printers here. The prices quoted were much higher than yours.
You write that you have inscribed for me a copy of “The Adventures of a Happy Man,” last Tuesday. Since receiving your letter, I have been waiting for it—but it has not arrived as yet and I hope that nothing has happened to it. I do want to thank you for doing this, I cannot tell you how much I appreciate it—even though I am sorry that you would not let me buy my own copy. There are so few authors whom I like to “support.”
I am looking forward most eagerly to reading the unpublished autobiography which you promised to let me read. And I will be “honest”—but I am sure I won’t find it difficult to be.
I am enclosing a list of the addresses you needed for our latest names. On the list you sent me I did not find the name of Carl Snyder who was on our first list. If you have not written to him, I would suggest sending him an invitation, because he would be very good for us to have. He can be reached c/o The Macmillan Company.
With my best regards—in the name of both O’Connors.
Sincerely,
__________________________________________* Nicholas Roosevelt (1892–1982) was a diplomat and journalist.
To Channing Pollock
May 27, 1941
Mr. Channing Pollock
Shoreham, Long Island
New York
Dear Mr. Pollock:
I was terribly sorry to hear of the hardships which our organization work has imposed upon you. I realize fully how busy you are and I can only express my admiration for the idealism which caused you to undertake this extra work. Of course, you should not be forced to continue to do so much single-handed. My most earnest suggestion is that we do not wait much longer for our “names.” We can proceed with those we have. They are prominent enough to ensure the prestige of the organization and to remove from it any suspicion of “racket.” If we now call a meeting of those who have agreed to join us, we can take out our incorporation papers, raise the necessary funds—and remove detail, routine work from you. I really do not believe that a large number of prominent men is absolutely necessary at the beginning. What we need most is quality, not quantity—as in all social matters. The other “names” will join us when they see us going ahead on a concrete program of action.
If you prefer to wait a little longer for the latest answers, I would suggest that we meet at least with those of our “names” who are here in New York. They could suggest other names—and take over some of the work and correspondence which you are carrying alone at present. I can help on that, of course, but my name is not prominent enough to sign alone to the original invitations.
I would be afraid to go through “Who’s Who” in search of new names, because names as such are not what we want; we want people who are widely known as representing our principles; and we must be very certain of the political view-point of those we invite to serve on our Committee; a prominent person whom we might invite merely for the sake of his prominence could do us more harm than good.
I think Mr. Nicholas Roosevelt’s[*] opinion that our organization “would be just one more of the same” is a very important criticism for us to remember. We must make it very clear that we intend to formulate and propagate a basic IDEOLOGY of Individualism and Capitalism, a complete philosophy of life re-stated in the terms of the twentieth century. No organization is doing that. If we don’t make
(2)
public good comes from individuals—we have to attempt it.
I am anxious to have your opinion of the Manifesto, so I am sending it to you while I am working on the short “declaration”, which will be ready and mailed to you tomorrow.
Sincerely yours,
To Channing Pollock
May 1, 1941
Mr. Channing Pollock
600 West End Avenue
New York City
Dear Mr. Pollock:
Here it is [the Manifesto]. This may not be the final version, but it includes all the basic issues which, I think, should be stated to make our “ideology” clear and consistent.
This is what I have been waiting for years to see someone do. I really never intended to do it all alone. I can tell you now that I was plain scared when you asked me to do it. And also flattered. I had thought that our Committee would undertake the writing of some such document as its first action. But I suppose I was contradicting myself there—one can’t do those things collectively. Someone has to start. However, this is the point where I need all the “collective” help possible. I think that after you have read it and we make such changes as you suggest, we will have to submit it to our Committee, get their reactions and advice and then formulate the final shape before it is published or made public. When it is released, I think it should bear the signatures of our Committee—let us be the signers of a new Declaration of Independence.
I hope you won’t find that I am too much of an Intellectual Egotist in this Manifesto—which, of course, I am. Frankly and proudly, not apologetically. Some people might say that we should not come right out with such a doctrine. But I think we must. Evasion and compromise have killed all pro-capitalist movements so far. I think the tragedy of Capitalism from the beginning has been the lack of a consistent ideology of its own. It moved on the strangest mixture of Collectivist-Christian-Equalitarian-Humanitarian concepts, the worst mental hodge-podge in history. Are we to be the ones who will clear it up? I don’t know. It sounds presumptuous. But that is what I would like to see us do. And since I preach that all
(2)
The Manifesto took twelve hours Saturday and fifteen yesterday—I go at it with interruptions only for meals. I shall have it finished tomorrow and mail it to you as soon as it is typed. It will be quite a bit longer than 2,500 words, because it must present the whole groundwork of our “Party Line” and be a basic document, such as the Communist Manifesto was on the other side. However, I think the problem can be solved by having two Manifestos; that is, a very short declaration of our principles and aims—for the purpose of recruiting members, and the complete text for those who join. I shall have them both ready to submit to you within the next few days.
I do not think that recruiting will prove to be a major problem. Once started, it will go on its own momentum. The need is there. So is the audience. Just let people know what we are doing and we won’t have to go after them—they will come to us. As far as rank-and-file membership is concerned, I believe I can get hundreds within a few days. The major step, I think, is to get our Committee together.
And I can’t tell you how happy I am that we have started.
Sincerely yours,
To Channing Pollock
“The Individualist Manifesto” was an 8,000-word statement of AR’s ethical/ political philosophy, which has not been published. She also wrote a 1,500 word version entitled “The Individualist Credo,” published in the January 1944 issue of Reader’s Digest as “The Only Path to Tomorrow" (re-worded without Ayn Rand's approval). A proper version is published in The Ayn Rand Column.
__________________________________________
April 28, 1941
Mr. Channing Pollock
600 West End Avenue
New York City
Dear Mr. Pollock:
My compliments and congratulations on the letter which you are sending out. I think it is excellent and will get the kind of response we need.
Our list of names looks very impressive—I hope we will get all or most of them to join us. Here are the addresses of which you were not certain:
Carl Snyder
c/o The Macmillan Company
60 Fifth Avenue
New York City
James Truslow Adams
c/o America’s Future, Inc.
205 East 42nd Street
New York City
Dr. Haake
c/o American Economic Foundation
Hanna Building
Cleveland, Ohio
S. B. Pettengill
c/o America’s Future, Inc.
205 East 42nd Street
New York City
I have thought of three more names, in addition to Lothrop Stoddard and Mons. Sheean whom I mention to you over the telephone. They are: H. L. Mencken (I believe he can be reached through the American Mercury), Mary Roberts Rinehart, c/o Farrar & Rinehart, Dr. Ruth Alexander, c/o American Economic Foundation, 100 East 42nd Street, New York City.
Thank you for the copy of “Why Hate The Man Who Gets Ahead?” I enjoyed reading it very much. I think it is good—because it presents an important thought which is not being stressed often enough today.
directing committee. I am firmly convinced that if we could get together—as you suggested in our conversation—about fifty men of good reputation and standing in their various professions, who share our political convictions—the most important step would be accomplished right there. I am still enthusiastic and, perhaps, naive enough to believe that the groundwork for the entire program of the organization could be laid out at one such meeting (probably a long one).
If you find time on your lecture tour to write to me and send me the names of these men, I will go to see them, and I am very willing to do all the explaining, contacting, arranging and general running around. I can get any number of young people to do all the “ground” work. But if I proceed with these young people on our own, you realize what a long time it would take to achieve the effectiveness which a committee of prominent men would give us.
I am sending this letter special delivery in order that it may reach you before you leave. I wish you great success on your tour and I know that there are a great, great many people left in America who will appreciate the ideas you represent.
Thank you for your courtesy and understanding,
Sincerely,
__________________________________________* “To All Innocent Fifth Columnists” was AR’s 5,000-word critique of those whose silence aids collectivism. (“The totalitarians in this country do not want your active support . . . . All they want from you is indifference.”) It has been published in Journals of Ayn Rand, ed. David Harriman (Penguin: New York, 1997).
To Channing Pollock
Channing Pollock (1880–1946) was a successful Broadway writer, responsible for such shows as the Ziegfeld Follies of 1911, 1915 and 1921 and other plays, many of which were turned into films.
__________________________________________
March 7, 1941
Mr. Channing Pollock
600 West End Avenue
New York City
Dear Mr. Pollock:
Thank you for your letter and the copy of “What Can We Do For Democracy?” which you sent me. It was an intellectual treat for me to read your lecture. One has so few occasions nowadays to see in print ideas such as yours—and so well expressed.
I was very glad to hear that you approved of my “To All Innocent Fifth Columnists”.[*] And I shall be only too happy if you find that you can use any of it in your lectures—with or without credit. I do not care at all about credit, but I care tremendously to have these ideas spread in every possible manner.
I realize the difficulties that would confront you if you headed a national organization [upholding individualism] such as I have in mind. But my plan would not necessarily burden you with a big administrative job. Your contribution would be “ideological” or intellectual guidance, at the head of a committee somewhat on the order of the Advisory Board which you suggest in “What Can We Do For Democracy?” Since our “ideology” (I hate the word, but it’s the most expressive one to convey my meaning) would be very much in line with that of your lectures, your work on such a committee would demand some time and thought, but no additional writing or research or slackening of your own writing and lecturing activities. The executive and administrative side of the organization could be turned over to other men—under the guidance of the committee.
The first problem, of course, would be to select the members of this committee. If, upon further consideration, you find that you are willing to make an attempt toward an organization of this kind, I would ask you to think over the names of those whom you consider the right people for the
4.
Dr. Virgil Jordan, National Industrial Conference Board, 247 Park Avenue, New York City. (This last organization cannot send out outside publicity material, but Dr. Jordan can be greatly helpful and is an enthusiastic admirer of “The God of the Machine” which he has read.)
In conclusion, let me say that “The God of the Machine” is a book that will live forever and will have a great influence on the thinking of mankind. But if you, as a publisher, take advantage of it now and stand behind it, it can also become a great commercial asset—which is a proper reward for its author and publisher.
With my best wishes for success,
Sincerely yours,
Ayn Rand
__________________________________________
AR’s final assessment of The God of the Machine was expressed in her review of the book in the October 1964 issue of The Objectivist Newsletter. It is, she wrote, “a brilliant and extraordinary book that narrowly misses greatness.” Though stressing the virtues of the book, AR points out some relatively minor organizational and philosophic flaws, but concludes her review: “The battle [for human liberty] is not over—and in that great line of heroic and intellectual effort, The God of the Machine itself is another illustrious link.”
AR and her husband returned to California in December.
3.
Ten publishers rejected it because it was “too strong”, “too intellectual”, and they said it would not sell. Look at it now. It has sold about 25,000 copies at this writing, has had seven printings in six months, and the sales are growing every week. The original exploitation campaign of my publishers was not large—but they did inform the public of the nature of my book. The public did the rest. From the fan mail I am getting, I know that it is not the story or any particular literary merit of mine, but the idea of the book, the philosophy of individualism, that is selling the book. The idea answers a public need. “The God of the Machine” would answer it much more effectively—precisely because it is not fiction.
Incidentally, don’t let anyone tell you that “The God of the Machine” is “too difficult to understand” or “above the head of the average reader.” I have given copies of it to many people, most of them men and women without formal education. They had no trouble reading and understanding the book. They were enthusiastic about it.
As a practical suggestion, I would like to urge you to make mimeographed publicity releases along the lines of this letter—and send them to editors, columnists, political commentators all over the country, as well as to industrial leaders, and even to book stores. But not just to book reviewers and the usual trade channels. These alone will not do the job.
I would suggest that you take a few ads—they don’t have to be large, but they must be most carefully worded along these lines, for full effect.
I would suggest that you discuss the book and enlist the help of the men [conservative business leaders] listed below. It would be most helpful if you met them in person. I have spoken to them about “The God of the Machine”, but a conversation with the publisher could have better practical results. These men represent organizations with thousands of members. If you make the proper arrangements, they would send out circulars and publicity to their memberships—a ready-made field of readers most interested in the subject. They are doing this for my book.
Mr. Fred G. Clark, American Economic Foundation, 295 Madison Avenue, New York City
Dr. E. [sic] Rumely, Committee for Constitutional Government, 205 East 42rd Street, New York City
Mr. Mervin K. Hart, National Economic Council, 350 Fifth Avenue, New York City
2.
head of the Research Department at the National Headquarters of the Associated Wilkie [sic] Clubs. It was my job to find and spread literature in support of capitalism. At that time I saw the desperate public need for intellectual ammunition. We received letters by the thousands, begging us for information. People said in effect that they wanted to defend free enterprise, but did not know how to do it; they got stumped by collectivist arguments and had no answers. They begged us for answers. More than that: whenever we sent out some mild, ineffectual, compromising piece of campaign literature, we got no response. Whenever we sent out a clear, strong, consistent piece of writing—we got requests for thousands of reprints, we could not keep up with the demand from local clubs and private individuals.
The same situation is true now—only more so. There is a huge public demand for ammunition against collectivism, an actual public hunger—which no one tries to satisfy. There is a market which is simply going begging. “The God of the Machine” is the answer—and a potential gold-mine for its publishers, if properly exploited.
But to do this, you must inform the public that:
a) It is not just another book on free enterprise. So many of them have been published and they were so bad, weak, muddled, unconvincing and ineffectual that the public has been disappointed too often and is now wary.
b) It is not another “middle-of-the-road” mess, but a clear, strong, fighting document. (Don’t soften the nature of the book—stress it.)
c) It is the book on capitalism and individualism, the book that will give readers ammunition in any argument with collectivists, the book that will answer their every question and tell them everything they want to know about Americanism— philosophically, historically, economically, morally.
If this were told to the public—through a clear, well-thought-out campaign of publicity backed by a few intelligent ads—(such a campaign would not even need to be too costly, merely well-planned and through the right channels)—there would be no stopping the sale of the book. The response would astonish you—not merely response from “important” men and intellectuals, but from average people and the general public. Let me assure you of this. I know.
As a minor illustration, let me mention the fate of my own book “The Fountainhead.” It is a novel on individualism.
To Earle H. Balch, editor at G. P. Putnam’s Sons
139 East 35th Street
New York City
November 28, 1943
Mr. Earle H. Balch
G. P. Putnam's Sons
2 West 45th Street
New York City
Dear Mr. Balch:
To supplement our recent conversation, I am writing this to urge upon you my conviction on the tremendous historical importance and the great commercial possibilities of “The God of the Machine” by Isabel Paterson.
“The God of the Machine” is the greatest book written in the last three hundred years. It is the first complete statement of the philosophy of individualism as a political and economic system. It is the basic document of capitalism.
No historical movement has ever succeeded without a book that stated its principles and gave shape to its thinking. Without a formulated system of thought, no consistent human action is possible; such action can result only in self-contradictory confusion and ultimate tragedy. Capitalism has never had this basic statement. That is why the American system, which gave mankind the greatest, unprecedented, miraculous blessings, is now in the process of destroying itself. Men do not know what they had, what they are losing and how they are losing it. They had no book to tell them.
But they have the book now. “The God of the Machine” is a document that could literally save the world—if enough people knew of it and read it. “The God of the Machine” does for capitalism what the Bible did for Christianity—and, forgive the comparison, what “Das Kapital” did for Communism or “Mein Kampf” for Nazism. It takes a book to save or destroy the world.
There is a tremendous market for “The God of the Machine”, a vast audience, waiting and ready—but it must be reached in the proper way. As you can see now—and most particularly since the last election—the American people are desperately anxious to preserve the system of free enterprise. But they are bewildered and confused. They would grab a book that would give them the arguments and ammunition they need. But they must be told that this is the book.
During the presidential campaign of 1940, I worked as
To Maj. Gen. John F. O’Ryan of Fighting Funds for Finland
Finland was engaged in the short Winter War with the USSR. __________________________________________
160 East 89th Street
New York City
February 15, 1940
Maj. Gen. John F. O’Ryan
Fighting Funds for Finland, Inc.
120 Broadway
New York City
Dear Sir,
Enclosed please find my contribution to your fund for the purchase of armaments for Finland.
Allow me to express my admiration for your work in behalf of a great cause.
Sincerely yours,
AYN RAND
2.
pointed, that he may not have my ideas at all. It’s possible, but it does not look that way right now. He loves “The Fountainhead”, he admires my style of writing, and he is crazy about Roark. He says there’s no one in Hollywood who can write dialogue as I do. Whatever he decides to do with the story later, this much I can hold to his credit. He told me that he fell in love with the book, that he started reading it and couldn’t put it down and dropped all his other business until he had finished it. I heard a corroboration of this from one of his other writers. Five days after he finished the book, Warners had bought it.
I am to write my own screen version as I please. This doesn’t mean that it will be the final version—and the battles will probably start after I finish it—but at least I’ll have a chance to present my version. Blanke has given me no objections and no restrictions, except on the sex side—we’ll have to be careful of the Hays office and treat such scenes as my famous rape scene through tactful fade-outs.
As to the working conditions of a Hollywood writer’s life—they are exactly as one would imagine a Hollywood writer’s life, with all the trimmings. I have an office the size of a living room, with another office outside and a secretary in it. Nobody can come in without being announced by my secretary and she answers my telephone. The grandeur and the glamor and the pomp and circumstance are simply wonderful. Of course I love it—for the moment. But I won’t exchange it for the pleasure of writing as I please. I haven’t gone Hollywood yet.
As to sunny California—I have a miserable cold and it’s pouring outside. It’s cold, wet and nasty. I hate Hollywood as a place, just as I did before. It’s overcrowded, vulgar, cheap and sad in a hopeless sort of way. The people on the streets are all tense, eager, suspicious and look unhappy. The has-beens and the would-bes. I don’t think anything in the world is worth this kind of struggle.
I miss New York, in a strange way, with a homesickness I’ve never felt before for any place on earth. I’m in love with New York, and I don’t mean I love it, but I mean I’m in love with it. Frank says that what I love is not the real city, but the New York I built myself. That’s true. Anyway, I feel the most unbearable, wistful, romantic tenderness for it—and for everybody in it.
And this means you, to a greater extent than most, since you were the man who let me buil[d] my New York. So—all my love to you, also to Betty, “little Dominique” and little Archie. Since this will have to serve as a Christmas card—Merry Christmas and a happy New Year from both of us to all of you.
Love,
To Archibald Ogden
590 North Rossmore
Hollywood, California
December 18, 1943
Archie my darling:
Yes, that’s still how I feel about my one editorial genius. I guess distance does that—and slight homesickness. By the time I crossed the continent, you became a kind of shining legend in my mind. Now you and Isabel Paterson stand for New York and for all the best that’s happened to me in New York—and I miss you terribly.
Everything has gone wonderfully so far, I hope it continues this way, and I hope I don’t get spoiled for battles, if there are to be battles—but so far it’s grand. The trip was sheer luxury—I simply sat and gloated all the way—I’m not quite used yet to the mink coat standard of living—but travelling in a private compartment will teach anyone the pleasure of capitalism. Just look at all the wonderful gadgets next time you’re on a train, see how cleverly designed they are—and see if you don’t feel like blessing private enterprise, as I did for three thousand miles. (And forever.)
My grand surprise in Hollywood was Henry Blanke, the producer who is to do “The Fountainhead.” Now I don’t want to be rash, but I could almost say that I think maybe he is almost an Archie Ogden—only I don’t use that comparison promiscuously. It was Blanke who discovered the book, that is, he read the book itself, not a synopsis, then he went to the heads of the studio and demanded that they buy it. Doesn’t that remind you of another man in my past? You know, it is very strange how “The Fountainhead” keeps illustrating in real life its own thesis. It will be my fate, like Roark’s, to seek and reach the exceptions, the prime movers, the men who do their own thinking and act upon their own judgment. The Tooheys and the Clifton Fadimans don’t count—and may God damn them. One man out of thousands is all I need—all any new idea needs—and these men, the exceptions, will and do move the world. Whatever I do in my future career, I will always have to seek and reach an Archie Ogden. You were the first and the most eloquent symbol of what I mean. So whenever I come upon that wonderful miracle among men, I’ll give it your name.
Of course I know it’s too early for me to judge Blanke, my producer, I won’t know until the script is finished. I fully realize that I may be terribly disap-
(5)
book in the best way possible to him. So honor is all I have to rely on now. Honor, honesty and integrity are matters of intelligence, reason and action, not of good will, emotion, sentiment, desires, instincts and mush. Let the conscience of whoever is concerned—yourself, Mr. Chambers, Mr. Baker, Miss Reynolds and all others—tell you what must be done now.
All I can add is that my life is at stake. Also yours.
Ayn