Dear Mr. Groh:
I am so impressed to find anyone who is honest and believes in good service that I am returning your check herewith. You made me feel embarrassed for the rudeness of my letter to you; I hope you will forgive me and understand my natural suspicion and outrage-- it is so unusual to encounter anyone who will stand behind his work. I had a premonition that I was wrong about you before your letter came. Professor Helms, a friend and colleague, told me that he had found you to be a man of exceptional integrity who took pride in his craft; Helms suggested I was hasty to be so angry with you, and of course now I know that he was right.
I have long waged fruitless war on the world of sham service and unskilled, uncaring dolts receiving the wages of fine, old-world craftsmen like yourself. I am not surprised to discover that a workman of such standards is not a native American. Where did you come from, Mr. Groh?
Please feel assured that I will somehow make do with the malfunction of my typewriter until such time, in the fall, when I can return it to you for another try at the darn ribbon.
Fond regards,
Gerald Richardson
P.S. I have been trying to guess what the Z. in your first name stands for. Zachary? Probably something more Eastern European?
15 July 1975
Dear Gerald Richardson:
You are so much the stereotype of the academic elitist that your pomposity and condescension to the "workman" borders on the hilarious. My intitial suspicions were correct: I thought it would be worth risking the money to see to what lengths you would carry your foolishness. I knew that anyone so self-righteous and insane as to wage a personal and trivial war against Business in America would at heart be a sentimental moron, complete with myths about the "old-world craftsmen" existing only in Europe, as if they gave more of a shit for fixing things over there.
Gerald, you and your dumb buddy Helms big suckers are!
The last person who brought a god-damn Gojmerac into my shop was some twit of a foreign-exchange student (from Hungary, as we used to say), and that kid had the good sense to ask to trade it in; even he knew better than to try to get the thing fixed.
On the other hand, if you still have the Gojermac in the fall, I'm your man. There's no one in the whole damn Boston area who'll even know how to spell it. And the ribbon-reverse system, though one of the most obsolete in the world of typewriters, is still relatively simple to repair. I just must have overlooked some little screw or something in my hurry to collect the twenty bucks. Should have kept my check when you had it, Gerry, but I hope we still friends can be. I try and try again, you know.
Yours for quality,
Zeke Groh
P.S. You ask where I came from. From Harvard, '56. Before your time. Originally, I was a European, but I have learned how to be very American during my stay in your country. Guys like you should try learning it yourself.
18 July 1975
Dear Mr. Groh:
That was a very good trick. I wish I could say that I admire it, but if you think the foulness of your depraved imagination amuses me, you are quite wrong. A teacher at Harvard has considerable influence in the Cambridge community, Mr. Groh. Aside from what several of my friends in the Law School might be able to suggest to the Better Business Bureau, there is the direct influence of word of mouth in the classroom. Every student who passes through a course of mine shall know the depth of your perverse abuse of any workmanlike ethic. Typewriters, Mr. Groh, shall simply stop coming your way. And I can surely interest someone at The Crimson in an article describing your deception. Referring to Professor Helms as my "dumb buddy" and a "sucker" will also prove costly to you. Helms is a member of the Student Faculty Judiciary Committee, and I think you will discover their exposure to you to be crippling. You are writing to the man who blocked the busy doors of Humble Wright with a stove, Mr. Groh! I will have the Groh Typewriter Company seized up like a frozen valve, locked up like a blocked bowel! Out of work, as you deserve!
Yours,
G.R. Richardson
P.S. Am not surprised to learn that your name is Zeke. How repulsive. I had expected something like it, either Zlurp or Zilch or Zits. Yes, old Zits Groh! Former seedy youth, petty car thief, Harvard graduate in an off year (they were catering to an ethnic group: hoodlums). Every furious time I rewind my ribbon, I am thinking of you.
22 July 1975
Dear Instructor Richardson:
References to my complexion and obscene language ("blocked bowel") can only hurt you. You have squat for influence in this community, Instructor Richardson. You don't even have tenure, and from what a few of your colleagues and students tell me, there's no way you're going to get it. I imagine that the Dean of Faculty (a former classmate of mine) would censure any attempt by a lowly instructor to harass a member of such long standing in the business community like myself. And I have for some time fixed the typewriters of all the boys and girls on The Crimson for nothing. If the hand feeds you, you don't it bite. Right, Gerry?
See you in the fall for our Back-to-School Sale.
Zeke
