Persephone (or Sephie, left), John, Bridey, Granny, Ezekial (or Zekey, who was Cassie’s pup), Josh. On Whiskey Island around 1964.
My grandparents were very good friends with John Cheever. They all lived in Westchester County, New York in the fifties and sixties. They spent many a cocktail hour together, they all loved labrador retrievers, and were prolific and loyal letter writers. At a certain point John started writing letters in the voice of Cassie his dog, the daughter of my grandparents’ dog, Sable. And they began writing back. Some of these letters are published in a book called “The Letters of John Cheever” but my family has many of the originals. We read through them all during our last summer at the River. I specifically remember reading this one with my mom. We laughed ‘til we cried just like when she read me “Alexander and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good Very Bad Day” in the school library when I was about six…
1954
Treetops, bristol, n.h.
Dear aunt mimi and uncle phil,
I drove up here in the back seat of that bangedup and crumbly little dodge that the cheevers drive around in and it was very hot and disgusting for a retriever who is the great grand daughter of a field trials champion and also it isn’t wasn’t too safe because the old man had been booze-fighting since practically before dawn. he was cleaning out the liquor cabinet not to tempt the burglars etc and I personally saw him drain a gin bottle and on top of this the ride was very uncomfortable and I won’t go into what i suffered in the way of bladder trouble. in the cool of the evening we reached massachusetts where i was able to relieve myself but my troubles were far from over. in the morning we started north again and about 10 a.m. or even earlier the old man and his wife and the children began to argue about where they would stop to have their stuffing lunch. naturally this was a matter of utter indifference to me since i don’t get any lunch, but i couldn’t sleep because it was too crowded and hot and anyhow their voices gave me a terrible headache. the old man wanted to stop in a chinese restaurant but as you can well imagine he wasn’t stopping there for the chowmein or any of that but because he happened to know that this chinese restaurant has a bar which sells martinis which is not so easy to find in new hampshire as it is in say new jersey. well she wants to stop in a place where they have lobsters and from the outcries and lamentations which this aroused in the old man i could guess that this lobster place has no bar. the 2 children have their minds set on something called horrid john-sons, also with no bar, and the old man keeps telling the children how delicious chinese food is although you could tell by the way he was licking his chops that it was no suey. well we go into this place which is icy cold, smells of gin and is run by enemy aliens….The manager takes one look at me and says solly solly no dog. the family is naturally indignant about this and you can imagine how he carried on with the martini practically in his hands. then we drive along to a place called ye martson manse. also no dogs. the same thing happens at ye coller-bowl and the sign of the qigge and finally they get the sense to stop at a railroad diner where i was very welcome and which is where they belonged anyhow. they all had the ipswich clams and both the old man and the children being sloppy feeders i got enough to keep body & soul together. well i’m in the mountains now enjoying the horsemeat, open fires & swimming.
give my love to mother.
bow-wow
Cassie
