Below, John Dos Passos lets rip to old friend Rumsey Marvin about “goddamned nickel plated rubberized finished theory-fed socially climbing college grad[s].” At the time, Dos Passos was in the midst of a weeklong visit to Harvard, the correspondents’ alma mater.
TO RUMSEY MARVIN
Early November, 1920, Cambrdige
Dear Rummy,
I’ve been trying hopelessly to work all morning—what a beastly bore writing is anyway—and at last a heavenly hurdygurdy man has come under my window playing the Wearing of the Green and has utterly disrupted me. The same hurdygurdy man who made pipings when I was an inmate of the wellknown institution.
Crimes of American Colleges
A. Inculcate snobbery, social climbing (about social climbing I could rave for hours) and a system of ideals, catchwords, morals for which I have no sympathy—but which hardly anyone escapes from getting saturated with, which I myself have taken a long time to recover from (am not so far recovered yet that I can boast about it).
B. The scholarly type: sycophants time servers, people who juggle the classics because they can’t do anything else and secretly wish all the time they were insurance agents—O but I feel much too muddle-headed to argue this morning—What I suppose I meant was that I liked people simple, moderately direct in their emotions, moderately honest in their thoughts, moderately wide eyed and naïve—and I find on the whole that the uncollegiate American usually comes much nearer to that than your goddamned nickel plated rubberized finished theory-fed socially climbing college grad.
As for an intellectual class it can go f— itself [sic]. It’s merely less picturesque and less warmhearted than the hoi polloi and a damnsight eagerer to climb on the band wagon in time of need. The war’s the example. Why they had to run special trains to get the intellectuals to Washington they were in such a hurry to run to cover. And those that didn’t went into the spy service.
Honest I don’t mean to run down your Yale Renaissance or our Harvard Renaissance that died of acute pacifism early in the war—but I just doubt if it’ll produce the goods—Phrases, heavily capitalized we have enough of in this type-ridden country. And I often wonder if the real advertizers and bondsellers aren’t nearer the Kingdom of Heaven than the preachers teachers writers journalists and other riff-raff of the so-called spirit who merely sell phrases fads and snobbisms by the same method. I admit that American business in bunk, gigantic beautiful bunk. But what I wonder is isn’t American culture bunk too—and not so amusing.
I approve highly of your idea of segregating the intellectuals—in large well padded asylums—The only way for them to escape would be for each man to commit an act—a grimy fleshly bedrock act. Devil a few of them would ever reappear.
What do you mean by the masses—? People who work with their hands. As for ideas I wonder if they are anything more than the pale shadows of gestures. I wonder if most of the gestures aren’t made by people who work with their hands.
As for Plato—I recently reread the Symposium and except for the skill of his style I think he’s an utter windbag.
Why are toilers necessarily wretched and unhappy? Merde alors—
I’ll be up sometime next week—I’ll let you know when—And sure I’ll eat steak & fries with you—
Yrs
Jack
+