Milford, Connecticut
November 15, 2000

Dear Readers,

Today’s letter is by Golda Fried, who sells calendars and takes classes in Greensboro, North Carolina. Golda’s letter was passed on to me by her friend Jonathan Goldstein, the author of theCassidy letter, from way back in July.

Jonathan just moved from Montreal to Chicago, perhaps in homage to Golda, who moved last year from Toronto to Greensboro, as she explains in today’s letter. Paul Maliszewski, as you read on Monday, moved recently from Syracuse to Durham. Dishwasher Pete moved last month from Portland to Pittsburgh. Craig Taylormoved from Toronto to London in September. And me, I’m staying put inMilford: two weeks and counting.

When Golda’s not selling calendars and taking classes, she writes stories, some of which were published in this book of hers, “darkness, then a blown kiss.” I have not read it, but based on her letteralone, I feel I can recommend it without qualification.

Her letter is about many things, at least one of which is music, and the way that music can create alchemical reactions. A couple of weeks ago, right before our re-run week, we published two letters on that topic, one by Jonathan Lethem and one by Kevin Walters. Each of them inspired, in turn, a music-related letter from a reader. In honor of Golda and Mick and Keith, I thought I’d excerpt those here.

Carl Wilson in Toronto wrote:

I’ve been reading this week’s issue, and just read Jonathan Lethem’s Go-Betweens piece, which I found very moving – as, some of the time, a person who writes about music for a living, it was a thrill to read someone talking about the stories you make up about music, the ones you can’t include in critical discussion because they’re your own often-sordid fantasies about the “real” sources of the music and the secret ways in which the band is just like you. For a moment I thought, I should write about such things in my column more often, and then, crestfallen, I realized, oh no, that’s something you can do only in an Open Letter. The rules in the outside world haven’t changed – yet? – and maybe they shouldn’t, after all.

And Eva Van Hees in Miami wrote:

Kevin Walters’s letter was wrenchingly lovely. Thank you so much for publishing it. It reminds me about your letter on coincidence. Every time I hear that Crosby Stills & Nash (Young too, maybe) song, Southern Cross, on the radio I am going through something shitty with my father. I am usually in the car and I burst into tears with some indescribable sadness and love for him. I don’t know why.

One other piece of Open Letters business: our bookstore campaign continues. Readers in certain cities across the continent are now able to buy paper copies of the Open Letters weekly in their local bookstore. You can read all about ithere. We have two new additions to the list of participating stores. The first is Maple Street’s Old Metairie Book Shop in Metairie, Louisiana, where Jamie keeps us on the shelves. You can see a picture of Jamie behind the counter if you visit their web site; you can also check out this great oral history of the store, in the words of former employees. The second is Green Apple Books & Music in San Francisco, California, which manager Pete Mulvihill says is

a large independent new and used bookstore that’s been here in the foggy western half of the city for 34 years. It’s a browser’s store, really, none too clean or perfectly organized. Not to say it’s a wreck, but people always tell me they like our character (I had no idea that dust = character). We also carry used movies, new and used CDs, LPs, and a few cassettes – if we could get our hands on 8-tracks we’d give it a try. I never meant to work here this long or be the store manager, but I can’t pull myself away.

So if you’re in western San Francisco or southern Louisiana, please stop by Maple Street or Green Apple, respectively, and say hello to Jamie or Pete and pick up a copy of the weekly for a friend without a computer. For the rest of you, there is always a subscription. They remain free and fair, unlike certain elections I could mention.

Yours truly,

Paul Tough