Evening star., 1952-09-12
The Coine Mutiny
BY Herman Wouk :

UH w Ouk k-'---------------
ION the edge of the chair, the
letter trembling IN his hands, the
cigarette burning down between
his fingers, and ashes dropping
off unnoticed.
Dear Willie:
BY the time you read this let
ter, I think I will be dead. I'm
sorry to startle you but I sup
pose there's no pleasant way to
break such news. The trouble
I've been having with my toe
is due to a rather vicious dis
order, malignant melanoma.
The prognosis is 100 per cent
bad. I suppose I should be in a
hospital at this moment (two
nights before you leave) but
hate to spoil your departure.
and since there's no hope any
way. I've postponed it. Your
mother doesn't know anything
yet. My guess is that I won't
last more than three or four
weeks, now.
I'm a little young to 60, ac-
cording to the insurance tables,
and must say I don't feel
ready, but I daresay that's be-
cause I've accomplished so little.
I look back on my life, Willie.
and there's not much there.
Your mother has been a fine
wife, and I have no regrets on
that score. But I seem to have
led such a thoroughly second
rate life-not only compared to
my own capabilities. had quite
a feeling for research. When
fell in love with your mother
thought I couldn't marry her
without undertaking general
practice in q high-income COM
munity. 1t was my plan to make
a pile in ten or fifteen years Of
such work. and then return to
research.
I really think I might have
done something in cancer. I
had q theory notion, you
might say-nothing could have
put on paper. It needed three
years Of systematic investiga-
ton Nobody has touched it to
this day. I've kept up with the
literature. My name might have
meant as much as my fathers.
But now there's no time even
to outline the procedure. The
worst Of it is, I now feel your
mother would have stood by me
and lived modestly if I'd really
insisted.
But I've had a pleasant time,
I can truly say that. I've loved
reading and golf. and I've had
all Of that I wanted. The days
have gone by all too fast.
I wish I might have met this
girl Of yours. It seems to me that
she, or the Navy, or both, are
having quite a good effect on
you. And believes me, Willie,
that is by far the brightest
thought I take with me into the
hospital.
I've let slide my relationship
with you as I have so many other
things, through plain sloth;
particularly since your mother
seemed anxious to take charge
OF you. It's too bad we had no
more children. Just bad luck.
Your mother had three miscar-
riages. which you may not know.
I'll tell you a curious thing. It
seems to me that I have q
higher opinion of you than your
mother has. She regards you as
a hopeless baby who will have to
be coddled through life. But I
am coming to believe that
though you are pretty spoiled
and soft at the surface, you are
tough enough at the core.
Perhaps because know I'll
never see you again I find myself
sentimentalizing over you,
Willie. It seems to me that
you're very much like our whole
country-young, naive, spoiled
and softened by abundance and
good luck, but with an interior
hardness that comes from your
sound stock. This country of
ours consists of pioneers, after
all, these new Poles and Italians
and Jews as well as the older
stock. people who had the gump-
ton to get up and go and make
themselves better lives in q new
world.
You're going to run into a lot
Of strange young men in the
Navy. most of them pretty low
by your standards. I daresay,
but I'll bet-though won't live
to see it-that they are going to
make the greatest Navy the
world has ever seen. And I think
you're going to make a good
naval officer - after a while.
After a great while, perhaps.
It's surprising, how little T
have to say to you in these last
words. I ought to fill up a
dozen more sheets, and yet I