Ted Thurston

January 1, 1997

Mr. D Manus P

I am greatly admire and enjoy your writing style in its many manifestations. One day perhaps I will be able to find the book Atilla the Pun so that I might read it. Two quick questions. 1. Do you practice Kabbalah mysticism? 2. What are your favorite book by other authors, influences. Make that three questions. Have other movies been made of your literature other than the Hoboken Chicken emergeny?

Bob Eiffert

January 1, 1997

My first experience with your writing was The Snarkout Boys and the Avocado of Death; I discovered it in the college library’ children’s section where I was studying and struggling to become a librarian. (I was spending too much time in the children’s section was the main reason I was struggling.)

The professor didn’t know about your work.

Have you ever tried to do an oral book report on one of your books?

When I got my first position, I bought as many of your books as were still in print.

I recommend ( and push) your books on any teacher I know will appreciate them. He should be writing you soon.

Glad to hear they are reprinting Avacodo, wish I could be reading it now.

Wendy

January 1, 1997

Dear Esteemed and Honored Mister Pinkwater:

I was pleased to see your photographic image. Despite your suggestion to the contrary, you are a handsome and distinguished-looking person. Tightly packed brain cells, cleverness, professional discipline and pleasing countenance. . . and dogs. You are my ideal. Thank you.

Siannan

January 1, 1997

Dear Mister Pinkwater,

I have this husband who always hated reading anything except TV Guide, Dilbert funnies, and the Victorias Secret catalogue; and refused upon all kinds of principles (including hellfire and damnation) that he was never going to read any of those “dang books” I kept lugging into the house from my many decadent forays to Barnes and Nobles and The Strand and the like. That is, until I shoved a copy of Lizard Music into his hands and commanded him to read it.

That was seven years ago. He hasn’t read anything since except Fat Men From Space, but he speaks fondly of Reynold, Reynold, Reynold, and Jim et Linda Lacerta from time to time. He has the grand idea of doing that Gene Roddenberry ashes-on-the-space-shuttle thing, so he can become his very own Fat Man In Space someday.

Enough rambling. What’s for lunch? I’ll bring ambrosia salad and grape Nehi.

Bill Smales

January 1, 1997

Dear Mr. Pinkwater: I have been listening to NPR for many, many years, and have always enjoyed your commentaries as well as your other contributions — the Christmas story that starred the voices of NPR notables, your ratatouille (excuse spelling!) diet amongst a few — and now have even dared to venture out to purchase one or two of your hard-copy texts. I have to agree with the other persons here who express disappointment at the fact that your radio commentaries are rare in print. I suppose what I really enjoy is such an unabashed honesty and comfort with language and the true art of communication which comes forth in your books as well as your commentaries. It is a gift which I sort of envy, admire, and delight in when I have the privilege to hear it. I would have liked to become a successful author myself, but was discouraged early in a college career by senior graduate students in English who found much to criticize in my early attempts at constructing a good essay; so I have had to settle for something less, which is the pedantic practice of medicine in an out-patient setting, where I listen to folks with sinus troubles, backaches & headaches and try to presecribe a treatment within 15 minutes. On the drives to and from work I have the comfort of radio essays such as yours to take me on those higher planes of experience before delving into the world of malodorous body fluids and sociopathic personalities, the most successful of whom we know collectively in the practice of law. But that is another story… What I really feel compelled to share with you — because you are an author of chldrens’ books and a man of obvious humanity with access via the new medium of webistes — is my newfound and recent experience involved with one of my wife’s mini-projects; she has become active in the resettling in our little area here in southwest Virginia a number of Bosnian and Kurdish refugees. As part of this, we have become friends and supporters of one man and his three children, who are among the most endearing of little people I have ever met. Their story is a sad one: despised as Muslim, they were driven from their home; they lost their mother; they hid listening to the sounds of neighbors and friends getting their throats cut; they were in a UN refugee camp before going to Germany where the children about starved. For all of the socialist trappings kept on by the new German state, these refugees were scorned, a “social problem”. Eventuallly they came here to our sleepy little corner of the world, far, far away from the screams, deprivation and insults borne mostly by their father, but with a new set of problems: language, the fact that fresh fruit and vegetables are sold in remote mall-type stores at very high prices, accessible only by motor vehicle, and with nothing, absolutely nothing, except a few prized photographs made when their mother was alive. I have three children of my own, good kids, but like most Americans, overindulged and as unable to comprehend as I the enormity of pathos and suffering imprinted upon these attractive, bright, but sad little faces. I use the word “sad” with special care, because I do not know of a way to convey adequately the imprint I see scored in their hearts, particularly that of their father, who at 43 is to me a young and strong man, with a passion for life and surviving that I hope will carry him well beyond those awful moments that have brought he and his little family to our experience. I met him because he had the further misfortune of suffering a myocardial infarction; fortunate, however, in that the damage was limited, and an opportunity for me to meet and know him. We have since become friends, and so we see more of the children. They are overwhelmed by all the neat stuff my kids have; I feel a trifle ashamed that we have so much, they have so little, so carefully, slyly, in a manner that does not offend the pride of their father, have been in the happy business of getting them things. They are opening up, slowly, and today, on a sultry and bright hot southeastern summer day, probably not too different from the oppressive heat creeping up your Hudson valley, I have had the inimitable pleasure and joy of listening, from a distance, to their laughing. Nothing so prized to me now equals that sound, and part of it you should know has come from the reading of one of your stories. They are quickly, rapidly absorbing the language and even some of its southern nuances. Even with my bad imitation of the ease and natural friendliness of your voice, they smile, sometimes laugh, always listen with intimidating attentiveness. And I have come to appreciate ever more the precision and beauty of your craft. I hope you can accept these simple words with as much grace as I tried to accept the gift of a hastily plucked flower from the littlest of these kids, a bright and efferescent little girl, who may get one of your books for an upcoming birthday.

Bill Smales, Roanoke, Virgina August 1 1997

Duncan Blake

January 1, 1997

O Magnificent One, Prophet of fabled Hobokra-la, which *is* the Palace of Perfection, and contains *the* Cloister of Consummate Chickens. O Great Guru of Gouda, we beg a boon: Share with us what Pearls of Wisdom Your Blessed Rotundness feels we mere mortals can stand.

We are greatly distressed, and seek to resolve our confusion and ache.

We have waited and waited. We have tried deep Yogic practices, and meditated on the hungry ghosts to whom we could feed our attachments.

O Radiant Master of Ratatouille, this, too, has failed to calm us.

We spent no small time traveling distant existential plains, and e’en yet fantasized about the wonderful and clarifying response we could expect to see when we returned. Alas, no such response was here to be seen, and even such great distance and time has failed to calm us!

The import of the matter has forced our hand; We could hardly hold back any longer. It is *this* which causes us such turmoil and unease:

Some time back, a reader (who shall remain anonymous to protect her from the wrath we are *sure* to stir with this Righteous Rant) wrote to tell Your Largeness of her devotion to You and Your writings. This great devotion, and the rareness of certain of Your magnificent books had lead her to this dire practice: she felt herself forced to STEAL Your books from the LIBRARY, in order that she could more closely devote herself to You and them.

O Great Bagelmeister, how can it be that You have not responded with the ancient injunction:

THOU SHALL STEAL NO BOOKS FROM LIBRARIES!

We have always understood this to be a great tragedy, causing untold harm and the acquisition of much negative Karma, and we remain deeply divided within ourselves, and shaken in our Deli practices.

This act harms many of the un-converted masses, who will thus be deprived of any chance at receiving Your teachings, O Revealed Master, and we humbly seek an expanded understanding of this, our most burning issue.

-Sincerely,

Random Sig Bagel.

P.S. I found this manuscript stuffed in a bagel, along with instructions to deliver it. While I can’t claim authorship, I must admit to agreeing to all the sentiments expressed here I think I mentioned I had a childhood trauma surrounding a library, and I suspect that is why I was chosen as the one to transmit the message. In fact, this kind of thing makes me *HOPPING* mad Though some have claimed that since I already like to hop (hoppity! hoppity! hop!), and I’m already mad, nobody could tell the difference. Me, I think you could tell….

Now, I have to go and breath in a paper bag. This has all been so traumatic.

Robin

January 1, 1997

Hello Mr. Pinkwater,

I love your commentaries on NPR! In fact that is how I found out about this web page.

I especially liked your series on taking Art classes in college. They were both ridiculously funny, and pitiful at the same time. At some perplexing moments I didn’t know wheter to cry first because I either felt sorry for your attempt at creativity failing (or was it for the poor instructor who had to work with the determined you), or laugh at the whole incredible episode.

My husband now believes that you not only write your children’s books, but illustrate them too (of corse you realize that the closest he ever got to reading one was watching Reading Rainbow)!

Anyway I want to know if that was a true story or just an amusing antidote for the gullible public?

Tyler Hewitt

January 1, 1997

Yes, you’ve heard this a billion times before, but I love your work! Like you once did, I currently am spending my time by studying to be a SERIOUS ARTIST, but I may someday come to my senses. Your writing is a constant reminder that some things are best not taken too seriously (although I think that there are bits of seriousness in your books-no matter what you claim). I love your use of name irony, I’ve laughed aloud many times while reading your books. My favorites are Young Adult Novel, and Devil In the Drain.

Mike

January 1, 1997

Love your books. Read all of them. What is a schmoo?

David Pier

January 1, 1997

Mr. Pinkwater — I’ve been putting off writing a fan letter to you since I was seven. That was fifteen years ago! I can’t get over the shock of seeing the new cyberPinkwater. If you wrote Lizard Music today, would Victor watch TV, or would he net surf? I suppose you always were up-to-date.

I loved your books because your heroes did real suburban kid things I could relate to. They didn’t play baseball or sell lemonade; they watched TV and ordered pizza. Watching TV became an adventure! Your books made me start looking for excitement in everyday things. I still look for places like the Snark theater, the beanery in Yobgorgle (I’ve forgotten the name. It’s been a long time and I’ve only seen one copy of that book.) And I look for the right kind of weirdo too: the Chicken Man kind. They’re out there if you look in the right places.

I’m happy to see that you’ve attained guru status. I’m also glad to see that so many fans cite your “middle reader” stuff, instead of the better-publicized NPR essays and the books for little kids. It’s all great, but I think the books in the Lizard Music/Snark Out category are real masterpieces. I have to get that new anthology. It’s scary to think that the books I used to smear ketchup on are collectibles now.

Russell Miller

January 1, 1997

hi Pink,

I have grown up on you. Don’t feel too bad, I’m only 19. I am one of those creative types who hasn’t figured out what to do yet. Probably writing, but other stuff on the side. I’ve written science fiction, poetry, and 1 lousy screenplay.

I am in the boston area, and will be until late May, when MIT lets out for summer. I was wondering if you’d like to have lunch with me sometime in New York, or Boston if you ever get down round these parts. I figure we’re both jews who like to eat a lot and talk about art and writing, and it would probably be fun.

Plus we could compare and contrast your “red hots” to Proust’s madeleines.

Pick a time and date and email me.

Top 5 reasons you should have lunch with me:

1. I come from the world of science fiction and comic books.

2. I love _Young Adult Novel_.

3. I bought _The Afterlife Diet_. In hardcover. And I enjoyed it despite

what the NYTimes said.

4. You are the only literary celebrity I have yet to meet.

(ok, not entirely true. There’s still Neil Gaiman.)

((But I have met both Williams–Sleator and Gibson, Bruce Sterling,

Joe Haldeman, Orson Scott Card, Alex Jablokov and James Patrick

Kelley))

5. I’ll be famous someday, and you can say you knew me when 🙂

Sincerely,

Russell Miller

AKA Charles the Cat, Wild Dada Duck

Chris Amundsen

January 1, 1997

DEAR MR. PINKWATER: I DON’T KNOW IF YOU REMEMBER THE NPR ITEM YOU DID ON FINDING A CHICAGO HOT ESTABLISHMENT SOMEWHAT NORTH OF NYC. IT WAS PROBABLY 1-2 YEARS AGO, BUT IT REALLY STRUCK A CHORD WITH ME. i’M FROM CHICAGO AND A DEFINTE HOT DOG DEOVOTEE. i ALSO DID’NT QUITE KNOW HOW TO CONNTACT YOU.

AS YOU CORRECTLY PRAISED THE VIRTUES OF THE CHICAGO DOG, I FELT COMPELLED TO CALL YOU TO RELATE MY EXPERIENCE IN TOKYO. WE WHERE STATIONED IN TOKYO FOR ABOUT A YEAR AND A HALF, AND HAD ACCESS TO THE AMERICAN CLUB. THE BIG BENEFIT WAS TO READ DOONESBURY AND CALVIN AND HOBBES. THAT WAS UNTIL THERE WAS AN ARTICLE ABOUT A NEW OUTLET CALLED “CHICAGO DOGS” THAT WAS REVIEWED IN THE STARS & sTRIPES. SADDLY, THE ONLY LOCATION THEY GAVE WAS “ROPPONGGI”, THAT ABOUT THE SAME AS SAYING ITS IN SOUTH CHICAGO OR MANHATTAN. i SPENT MANY HOUR LOOKING FOR THE SITE, AND MY EFFORTS WERE REWARDED. VIENNA HOT DOGS WITH THE CORRECT FIXINGS (CATSUP WAS OPTIONAL). THE BUNS WERE JUST RIGHT. IT WAS A REAL TASTE OF HOME IN WHAT WAS OTHER A KIND OF STRANGE PLACE .

I LOVE YOUR COMMENTARIES ON BOTH THE MUNDANE AND IMPORTANT ISSUES.

John Seroff

January 1, 1997

you know what, i’d hate to be some sort of pinkwater-flooder (although what better place to start a storm of well-deserved praise), but what the hey, I felt the need to drop off a second-in-as-many-days line. sue me. i’m enthusiastic. anyway, here’s what i wanted to say: I do occasional work as an actor for children’s theatre and have discovered the progression of the appreciation of humour in the child, i.e. those things which can always illicit a cheap laugh from kids. As any teacher can tell you, there’s nothing more intrinsically funny than a fart joke. Preschoolers dig ’em. They’re forever good for a fast snort, no pun intended. Next, around six or eight, every kid is going to laugh when you say “underwear”, “naked”, or “Lake Titticaca” in casual conversation (My father had a strange habit of periodically screaming “underwear” at the dinner table just to put us kids on the floor, hysterically gagging on our mashed potatoes and spouting milk gravy out of our noses, much to the chagrin of my mother. He also liked to scream mean spirited obscenities about Mr. T out our kitchen window during supper. This was in the eighties, you understand. I digress.) Having grown older and wiser, we reach the critical “barnyard” state at which point anything involving cows or (wait for it) CHICKENS becomes hysterical. Thanks to many a great pinkwater chicken joke, i have never escaped the barnyard state. Nothing (and i’ve discussed this with many a friend and relative; they back me on this one) is funnier than a chicken (excluding mr. pinkwater… maybe lenny bruce… others? no… sorry…NOTHING IS FUNNIER THAN A CHICKEN) Thanks for the lesson. I’m in the midst of lizard music and it’s like meeting the old friend that would eat jello/ milk/ creamed corn casserole just to gross out the lunch monitor and finding out that he still eats that stuff for kicks. whatever happened to him anyway?

“what, all my pretty chickens and their dam,

At one fell swoop?”
-the funniest line in macbeth

(playing the role of macduff’s child, I WAS THE PRETTY CHICKEN.

i’ve never been prouder.)

Emily Rachman

January 1, 1997

Dear Mr. Pinkwater,

Thank you so much for your wonderful books. I have always loved the Snarkout Boys and the Avocado of Death and remember fighting tooth and nail with my brother over our copy in years past.

Best wishes,

Emily Rachman

Robin Hadley

January 1, 1997

Dear Captain Pinkwater,

Last semester I read Young Adult Novel, and I just want you to know that this entire story was stolen from my own personal high school experience! I am prepared to sue, and the fact that you have previously used aspects of my life (which I admit, involved you) in a NPR commentary on Saul Bellow and the nobel prize, will make my case all the more convincing.

How did you know?