| Dear Pussycat:Some of us find it easier to say in a letter whatever it is we want to express -- love， rage， outrage， affection， resentment， enthusiasm， a request to do a chore -- than we do person to person or even phone to phone. I ve been writing letters， somewhat successfully I think， since I was eight years old. I got President Franklin Roosevelt to write to my wheelchair-bound (from polio) sister by dropping him a line at the White House. Some of my letters don t quite make it， of course -- trying to get New York Times publisher Arthur Sulzberger to fire his vicious play reviewer Frank Rich who tore apart my husband s perfectly fine play， A Few Good Men. He wouldn t do it -- no recourse but to write the reviewer himself， "Dear Frank， you bastard! etc." I ve thanked designer Emilio Pucci for turning small bust and big hips into goddess stature with whammo fabric and genius engineering， kept a few beloved employees from jumping ship or into the river with careful flattery， consoled the grieving. Wouldn t you like to see a little collection of my best， meanest and happiest notes that reflect a pretty fascinating New York life， a career they don t make many like， love and friendship with junior high school buddies and a few razzle-dazzle celebrities? Okay...if you like good old-fashioned staying-in-touch by correspondence， here they are!Helen Gurley Brown |
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