OFFICE MEMORANDUM

July 6th, 1945

DATE:
FROM:
TO:
SUBJECT:

Dear Ray -

We have been waiting for some time
for the good news from you that you were coming
to Mexico. Why the silence? Please don't change
your mind, and I hope nothing else will interfere.

This is a hurried note to which I would
appreciate a return answer - I meant to say a prompt
answer, of course. We are making tentative plans
for Lydia to go to Oakwood in September and for
Eugenia to take her over and return via Oberlin.
Before proceeding to Oakwood, they would spend
a couple of days in New York. Once Lydia has been
safely deposited at school, Eugenia would return
to New York for a week or ten days just to see the
sights and greet friends.

The question is: where to stay in NY?
I hate to see them go to hotels and am not sure even
that the hotel situation in NY is going to be better
this September than it was last year when I was there.
Could you find room for my women in your apt.? If
not, what would you suggest? I am certain we can
count on a frank and sensible advice from you.

The proposed trip would be by air, most
likely via American Airlines (my favorite) arriving
in NY before noon.

Heaps of thanks and fondest greetings
from everybody.

September 10th, 1946

Dear Gregory:

When Dr. Lafora returned from the States some
weeks ago, he told me how keenly he regretted that
you were not present at the Psychiatric Congress
in Chicago. He was anxious to see you later in
New York, but for some reason or another, was
unable to do so. During this month of September
he should be in New York again and he asked me to
drop you a line and express to you his desires to
meet you. He seems to be interested to discuss
with you something on the subject of a book which
he has been writing for some time.

You probably remember Dr. Lafora's name and I
would only like to remind you that both of us are
under a certain obligation to him for his attention
to our old man in his last few weeks. Besides, I
am sure you will be interested in making his
acquaintance as a man and as one of the profession.
In Mexico he has the highest reputation in psychiatry.

I hate to make it an incidental, but Mother
is not at all well. Yesterday she had some kind of
stroke which the doctor thought was a cerebral
hemorrhage. Towards the evening we found her
slightly improved and she appears somewhat better
to-day. The doctor thought that if it was a
hemorrhage it must have been a very light one
which for some reason or the other stopped soon.
Whether this is the end or how near it might be
no one knows. A couple of times last night she
asked for you.

My best regards

November 2nd, 1950

Dear Gregory,

Eugenia left for the States last week and expects to be away for a couple of months. At this moment she is with Natalie who, as you may know, expects a baby towards the end of the month. Of course, Eugenia will be visiting New York too. She may stay there with Ray for a few days and also visit with some friends for a while.

I would like to have Margaret meet Eugenia and also assume that you may wish to talk to her, even if only to discuss family affairs. Not that there is really much to discuss. Fera was in Mexico only recently and you no doubt have a good picture of mother's condition. It has changed little since Fera's visit and only for the worse, as is natural under the circumstances. Mother's hearing is failing rapidly and there seems little hope that a hearing aid would be of any use. Bassia's condition is bad on its own account and I cannot see that there is any solution to her problems either. One can only be deeply sorry for both of them, but that doesn't help them any.

If you care to contact Eugenia, write her a note care of Natalie - Box 315 Bard College, Annandale-on-Hudson, NY.

It is barely possible that I may have to fly up to New York by the end of the month. I shall try my best to avoid it, even though I would love to see the children and have a little holiday myself. For one thing, I am just about to start on the construction of a house in Cuernavaca - at long last! Then, also there is the slavery of the office, which only grows with time.

Fondest regards for Margaret and the children, best wishes to all.

November 30th, 1951

AIR MAIL

Mr. Gregory Zilboorg, M. D.
33 East 70th Street
New York 21, N. Y.

Dear Gregory:

It is good news to hear that you are coming to Mexico. We shall certainly be glad to see you and hope that you are also bringing Peggy with you. You can be sure of our hearty welcome.

On the 10th of December I am certain to be in town, since Olga is taking part in a concert of chamber music that evening. While I am not absolutely certain of the following days, I can arrange my schedules pretty much to suit your convenience.

Your suggestion that I try to contact you at the Prado Hotel on the 10th is not very good. That hotel is notoriously hopeless in matters of communication, unless one personally wastes a lot of time on arguments with clerks. As a matter of fact, the hotel in general is about the worst establishment I have ever been in anywhere, except for a few suites on the top floors. The other rooms are pretty awful. The general construction is so poor that I consider it dangerous. A building of that type would be condemned in any civilized community and is tolerated here only for highly special reasons.

In any event, what I would like you to do is to let me know definitely on what flight you expect to arrive. I shall be glad to meet you at the airport regardless of the hour.

My kindest regards to both of you,

JMZ/ma

January 16th, 1952

AIR MAIL

Dear Gregory:

You can see from the attached notice what a tragedy we suffered. It was utterly unexpected and we cannot hope to recover for some time. It all ended yesterday morning - six days after a "successful" hysterectomy.

It was a case of a shocking discovery of cancer in its incipient stages. According to best medical advice an immediate operation offered the best hope of total recovery. Nacho Millán agreed that the laboratory report of a positive test left no room for doubt.

The surgery appeared faultless and the care perfect. No post-operative shock of any kind. The end was ascribed to an intestinal occlusion - developed suddenly and unyielding to all the remedies that doctors tried.

Our grief is deep, as you can well imagine. The problems of the future for Oleg and the children are serious. When we recover our senses, we'll talk matters over with Oleg and plan as best we can. He'll probably be leaving shortly for the North (about 1500 miles from here), where he just finished building a new home.

I don't envy your profession. Few kind words are said to surgeons by bereaved relatives, little sympathy extends to them who must be carrying the burden. Yet, it is so difficult not to doubt. The surgeon might have been more fascinated by an interesting operation than by the slower alternative of radium treatment. Could he not have anticipated the dreadful occlusion? Could the desperate measures of the last 24 hours not have provided salvation if tried 24 hours-or 48 hours-before?

It is so difficult to reconcile a perfectly healthy appearance of only a week ago with the void left us today.

I don't know why I am writing you all that. You saw Vera only such a short while ago and I thought you might want to share with us a little of our grief. Eugenia, Miss Camacho, Olga are badly broken. Oleg is left with a terrible burden.

May you and your family be spared the experience for many years. None of us can escape it for ever.

JMZ/mn

- 2 -

I don't know, of course, the clinical details of what happened to poor Vera, but on very rare occasions, really rare occasions, a thrombus of the mesenteric artery develops a few days after a completely successful operation. No one knows why, and no one knows at what moment; it cannot be prevented, and there is no way of combatting it -- generalized intestinal gangrene develops rapidly, and the end comes. There is nothing that we can do about it, although we keep on and keep on, and keep on doing "everything." What else can we do? Sit and wait 'til the end comes without even an attempt to beat the inevitable?

So, please, console yourself at the thought that surely nothing was left undone, and that hysterectomies very, very rarely cure any one of cancer of the cervix. When one finds it necessary to perform a hysterectomy the case is sufficiently advanced to be potentially quite dangerous.

I do hope that you may console yourself at all these melancholy thoughts and that you will find it possible to rise above our own frailty.

We did not create the nature of man, and we will not change his mortal destiny.

Warmest regards to you all,

Always,

Mr. James M. Zilboorg
Pirineos 612
Chapultepec Heights
Mexico D. F.

GREGORY ZILBOORG, M. D.

33 EAST 70TH STREET
NEW YORK 21, N.Y.

March fourteenth

1952

Dear James,

Fira just called me and told me that Bassia telephoned to her last night to tell her that Mother had a rather severe attack of some nature and that an x-ray of the chest revealed a carcinoma of the lung. Fira naturally was quite upset. You must be upset. Bassia seems to be in a panic. She asked Fira to come to Mexico. Fira is not in a position to leave home now. We talked it over and it did appear that the most rational decision would be for her to stay home -- for the present at least. She can add only her sadness to a very sad situation.

This might mean that another burden of seeing someone die will be added to your life which was visited only so recently by the apparition of death. I am very sorry, and I want to assure you that my thoughts are and will be all the time with you. I know also that it will all be harder on you than on me. After all, I am not a little hardened by my professional experience and habits of thought. I do hope that you will realize both the gravity of the situation as well as its almost sordid circumstances: I know how very difficult Bassia is with her life-long and chronic addiction to desperation. I wish I were able to be helpful in this respect, but I doubt whether I could even be helpful if I were in Mexico City. For I found her and her daughter rather intractable, rigid, deeply sunk and set in their plati-tudinous devotion to food, sleep and complaints. It will require some, and even con-siderable, authoritative management. When I was there in December I caught a glimpse of the picture and not only did I not like it, but it revolted me. However, this can-not be changed and it will be necessary for us to take the situation as it is and do what is needed.

If the diagnosis is correct, it is a matter of four to six months. The complicating factor in the situation is Mother's age. She is soon to be eighty-one. At this age the human tissues are very old and very sluggish and at a low level of vitality. Consequently everything grows very slowly including the cancer cells. As a result, the final outcome is more slow and more dragged out than in younger people. I wish it were not so.

Please keep me posted, James. Let me know, if possible, whether the diag-nosis is verified and confirmed. Have a talk with someone like Millan who knows so much about such cases, and let me know.

Let us have plain, human courage and face the facts with the simplicity and the dignity which true laws of nature deserve.

Warmest regards to all,

Mr. James M. Zilboorg
Pirineos 612
Chapultepec Heights
Mexico 10, D. F.

GREGORY ZILBOORG, M. D.

March seventeenth

1952

Dear James,

Our letters have crossed,

I visualize the situation and I am naturally pained.

The prognosis is hopeless of course, Six months is too liberal an estimate, I believe. However, everything depends upon the size and the place of the carcinoma. Yes, Bassia's situation is not enviable and I am, of course, sorry for her -- but frankly, much as I try to master up a little sympathy, I cannot feel anything more than pitying understanding.

That business of not sleeping and being exhausted -- Bassia always overplayed. As I watched her during my last visit to Mexico, I was really shocked at her permitting herself to get so fat, so heavy, so preoccupied with her own carcass. I suppose I should not have expected anything else or better. But considering the fact that she is supposed to have very severe hypertension and of many years standing, she should have been eating much less all these years and should weigh about twenty pounds less, at least. Her weight is fatally against her in the literal sense of the word.

I agree with you, Fira's presence would add nothing except more tension to the situation. Moreover, she cannot afford to pick herself up, so to speak, and go to Mexico. Fira is a serious and hardworking person who takes her obligations seriously and she has many. I advised her against going, or rather supported her own wise decision not to go.

I feel a little squeamish about my not appearing sympathetic enough, but I have my own views on the question of Bassia and Mother and in my opinion it is not a situation that was created by some fatal blow or by some tragic unexpected accident, it is something that has always been. It is nobody's fault, of course. It is not even Bassia's fault -- but that does not make her manner of living and her general approach to life more attractive or more bearable to those of us (like you and me) who work without stint and who -- to use an old expression of a good friend of mine -- keep on keeping on without respite. You flew to Tampico and back and found your desk snowed under. I understand the feeling of tenseness, desperation, pressure and even anxiety which go with these conditions. A week ago after a good day's work, I flew over to Butler Hospital to take part in the dedication of a new Psychiatric Library and took a night train back to start seeing patients at 8:15 A.M. -- and last Tuesday night, after a tough day's work, I flew to Detroit to participate in two medical meetings Wednesday. We did not finish 'til around 11:30 P.M. and there was no way of getting out of there either by rail or air at that hour. And to go to bed and have a good night's sleep and take an early plane for New York was too risky -- should the weather go bad, or the morning plane be delayed I would lose a half day's or even a whole day's earnings. So I sat around 'til quite late and "caught" the 4:20 A.M. plane. I was in the house at 7 A.M. and soon started my day at 8:15 A.M. Yes, I was sleepy all day and had to work 'til around 11:30 P.M. -- so -- what?! This is work, life, death -- whatever you call it. It is -- and that is all. It is fatiguing, exhausting at times, irritating -- but there is nothing tragic in it as you and I do well know.

March 25th, 1952

AIR MAIL

Dr. Gregory Zilboorg
33 East 70th St.
New York 21, N. Y.

Dear Gregory:

Please forgive this apparent neglect in keeping you informed of the
sad situation as regards Mother. Believe me, it was not neglect. You know
from your own experience how truly short a 24-hour day is. I feel it seven
days a week, and do not remember virtually a single hour without some pressing
anxiety or preoccupation with matters that bear no postponement. I have no
complaints on the matter any more than you. Both of us have been accustomed
for many years to carry on with ever greater burdens of one kind or another
and, in fact, with much unfinished business accumulating, "business" of a
nature that is of vital interest to us in many ways.

Of late it is not so much the pressure of things to do, as the un-
happy visitations of death falling upon us all too closely that has kept me in
an unenviable state. In this business of watching an impending end there is
little pleasure, as you well know. We feel utterly helpless, yet unable to
brush it away by concentrating attention on other duties, and the sheer
waste of time in standing by is simply demoralising. Our sister tells me that
Mother feels comforted a bit when I am around. Only I cannot be around often,
nor very long.

Of course, Bassia dramatizes a lot and in general has a pattern of
behavior that neither you nor I appreciate much. All the same, under the
present circumstances I try a least not to be too impatient or critical,
because she has indeed the most burdensome part today.

You ask whether the diagnosis was verified and confirmed. Yes, to
the extent to which several apparently competent physicians have studied the
ex-rays, observed Mother and discussed with each other the situation as well
as a series of clinical analyses that were made recently. You suggest that I
have a talk with Nacho Millán. I hesitate to do so, because on the one hand
the findings of the other physicians seem to be so definite, and on the other,
because of the sad circumstances surrounding our misfortune with Vera. At
that time I consulted Nacho. We took a great deal of his time and, as always,
he was most considerate and ready to help. Unfortunatelly, neither Oleg nor
Vera were inclined to follow his advice of caution. They trusted their young
surgeon who refused to take any advice and, in fact, made himself difficult
and disagreeable to Nacho Millán. We can as yet not shake off the feeling
that this young doctor acted precipitately and with an arrogant self-
confidence that was not justified. It is because of these circumstances that
I feel reluctant to come again to Nacho, especially with Mother's case that
seems quite hopeless.

As I see Mother daily, it is difficult for me to judge her
condition. At times she does not look bad. Most of the nights, I am told,
she sleeps reasonably well. She even eats well for her age and condition.

- 2 -

As a matter of fact, she complains of pains less noisily than she has been
doing for many years. This time the constant moaning no longer seems sheer
theatricality. Of course, she is given drugs and is practically all the
time inhaling oxygen. When the latter stops for more than 15 minutes at a
time, she complains of increasing pains and inability to breathe. Whatever
it is, oxygen seems definitely to give her relief.

The latest difficulty consists in obtaining drugs. Apparently because
of the illegitimate drug traffic, the authorities have tied up the suppliers
and the physicians to such an extent that even prescriptions are a difficult
affair. It is said that a black market is being created in circles where one
should least expect to find it.

I do not believe I can tell you more about Mother's condition. I
am ignorant of the technicalities and even if I could tell you something, I
doubt very much whether it could serve any useful purposes. As you say, all
we can and must do is to alleviate suffering with what means we can find.
Perhaps we should also believe in miracles. I am observing one just now. A
very dear friend of ours, a scientist, is now bedridden with a condition
diagnosed the same as Mother's. Charles is much younger; he went through
an operation in Dallas just before Christmas and returned to Mexico apparently
well on the way to recovery. Instead of that, two months ago he took a very
bad turn to the worse and his medical advisers gave him only a few more days
to live. Charles and his wife Evelyn are not more religious than you or I,
but in desperation they appealed to Christian Science. Charles goes on living.
He continues largely in bed, has difficulty to stand on his feet, but moves
his limbs rather freely and even jokes in conversation. What kind of miracle
that is, you can tell better than I.

Well, Gregory, things are not gay as you can judge, but life in
general does not stop and one must carry on. Sometimes it is a little more
difficult than under what we call normal circumstances, but as you say, we
have to learn to gather courage and face the facts with simplicity and
dignity the best we can. Apparently things are not any too gay in Fera's
house either. That poor girl certainly knows better than her older sister
how to face the facts of life without breaking down, except perhaps when she
is alone.

My very best regards to Peggy and my love to the children and our
warmest wishes that all of you be spared for many many years the anxieties that
in the end must catch up with us all.

JMZ/ma

Easter - '52

Thanks, old man, for the kind words you wrote me for yourself and Peggy. I appreciate your sympathy and readiness to provide some warmth in a situation that is gruesome indeed.

Do you remember, Gregory, the Georgian dagger dance? We used to see it in ballet performances. In recent years I have been reminded of that dance more than once. This year - rather often. It is as if I see the daggers thrown onto the ground around me in an ever tightening circle. A silly image, perhaps. And, after all, at our age there is nothing surprising in the fact that more and more people with whom we have been associated thru life in one way or another should be passing on. And our turn is bound to come in due course.

Well, even if not surprising it is none the less disconcerting. And I recognize, too, that such concentration on one's own fate may not have much noble content. Perhaps it is only pain speaking in selfish terms. You may have been right when you said the other day that life is not what death makes it. In a few kindly words that Oleg wrote me a few days ago he expressed another truth: "Living is really more difficult than dying". Indeed it is so. It certainly is more painful when the visitations of death become more frequent.

Mother actually suffered only a few hours. The end was much quicker than any of us anticipated. And the last hour she was not conscious. It was better so for her, but her passing created more problems than it solved. I am speaking of Bassia, of course. Her life has been completely wrecked by more than ten years of extremely trying ministrations to sick parents. She is entirely at loose ends now and it would be neither kind nor sensible for us two to engage in a discussion of the reasons for her lack of spiritual resources. We would agree on everything in two minutes, but that would not settle her problems. Fera will be here Tuesday. We shall talk things over with her.

The Christian Science "miracle", of which I wrote you, did not work out for long. My friend Charlie Blummer passed on. We buried him to-day. As you can see, gaiety is not in the cards for us at the moment. Olga and I went to church this morning. Neither of us was much inspired by the spirit of Easter. How could we be?

Thanks again, Gregory. Take good care of yourself and Peggy and the children. My fondest to you all, and Eugenia is with me in these wishes. All four of us have still a good deal of unfinished business to attend to. Let us carry on.

GREGORY ZILBOORG, M. D.

April twenty-third

1952

Dear James,

Your recent letter saddened me. I had to go out of town for a
couple of days to attend a meeting or else I would have written you sooner.
During the last fortnight there was a little more to do than is good for
one's comfort, and the result is not too cheerful a state of fatigue --
but then, winters are always rather intense and crowded for me and I am not
complaining.

I tried very hard to generate some ideas which I could communicate
to you and thus help you to rise a little above the melancholy lower depth
which you seem to have struck. Frankly my efforts proved barran -- for there
is nothing to say to anyone whose contact with dying and death produces that
state of ruminating dejection which is so very difficult and so hard to re-
solve. Perhaps you will feel better about it all if I tell you that Freud,
who once wrote a very illuminating psychopathological analysis on mourning
and low spirits, spoke of the fact that mourning is self-limited and it re-
solves itself after its job is done, after the *Trauerarbeit* is completed.

As a rule, this state of mind -- "normal" as it is for the average
person and the person above average and even (less frequently though) for
those below average -- this state of mind is better when the Trauerarbeit is
permitted to do its work. There is little that can be done to accelerate
this task, but there are so many things which might retard the completion of
the job. It is difficult to give a list of the "retarding factors" -- but
one must watch out for those ruminations which increase our tendency to in-
dulge into philosophical surliness against fate and into metaphysical (under
the guise of logic) combativeness against the biological lot of man.

There is not much more one can say about all this, and what I say
is not much, of course.

Fira wrote me saying that she is coming back a few days earlier.

About Bassia, I am rather of two minds. In a vague and somewhat
theoretical way I am sorry for her, but as I review her parasitic existence
I am also aware of the fact that she must be human. Yet her taking care of
her parents for about ten most difficult years was nothing more than the re-
sult of her total inability to be or do anything else. To me Bassia is an
anachronism; it is still Podol, still Koustantinovskaye ulitsa; it is a re-
mote past, unreal and totally unrelated to life today -- no more, at any rate,
than a picture of you or me as two month old babies. We must help her, of
course, but I for one cannot feel too moved, too disturbed, or too serious
even. I suppose I feel this way because anything retrogressive or degenera-
tive affects me as inverted away from real life, and she and her daughter
and the whole phenomenon of this physical mother-and-child symbiosis shocks
me at times as a hopeless dullness of purpose or action.

At any rate, there is so much to do that I wish I had a vacation.

December 8th, 1952

Dear Gregory:

Time flies indeed.

I was glad to receive your brief message (nearly a month ago!) that you are all well. As age advances one hears so much more often of failing health and crumbling powers. One can't help but become worried. So far we have nothing to complain of. The physical condition of the family causes none of us any unusual concern or expense.

As to psychological state, we must have been born wrong (or right?) or something. There never seem to be enough hours in the day nor days in the month to accomplish much in the self-appointed tasks. This is always absorbing and often exhausting.

The house in Cuernavaca is practically done. Only, save the kitchen equipment, it is gloriously empty. And the garden, having been started on pretty much of a desert patch, is also a glutton for soil and greenery. It's a rather large area for a home garden, so dozens of trees and scores of bushes and things don't make much of an impression - yet. Of course, it's winter here too and growing things slow down a good deal in these months, despite the sunshine and relative warmth. All the same, we have quite a bit of color already in our flowering hedge.

No, I haven't moved in yet, and may not for a long while. Fifty miles from the city may not be much for a New York cliff dweller. Here in Mexico such distances are not yet customary for commuting. We have been going week-ends to Cuernavaca even since our return from the coast in October. Only that is entirely in order to push the finishing to completion. Painting should be done this week, so should the built-in furniture in Olga's room. Beds are promised for next week, also curtains for the south wall, which is practically all glass. My own studio furniture is still in the process of design. Can't make up my mind between conflicting plans. Standardized items annoy me and the unusual is more often disturbing than satisfying. Besides, we have to contend with many limitations in materials and still more in workmanship. Quality is very expensive in Mexico.

We are looking forward to the visits of the children. The house is really more for them than for ourselves. Olga will spend the Christmas holidays with us. Oleg and his children will join us too. Natalie is coming with the baby for the second fortnight of January. Lydia, with her husband and baby, promised to visit us in the spring or summer.

How about you bringing Margaret and the children for a holiday in Mexico? You will certainly be most welcome. And the house in Cuernavaca can be yours any time after January.

Olga seems to be doing reasonably well at K.U. (North College Hall, Lawrence, Kan.) and is considerably happier there than any of us ever expected. She has a very good 'cello teacher and rotates in cosmopolitan circles of a high order. Which is not surprising, given her magnetic type of personality.

...... Time to get back to work. Was glad to "talk" to you. Would be happy to have you "talk" to me a bit. Do find time.

My very best to all your family

P.S. Our sister left for California last week. Twenty-eight years ago four of our family joined me. Now I am back where I started, family-wise. It's curious how 28 years had no apparent effect on the make-up of our older sister. She is still in the low quarters of Kiev. I hope she fares well with her daughter, but have some misgivings.

February 25th, 1953

Dr. Gregory Zilboorg
33 East 70th Street
New York 21, N. Y.

Dear Gregory:

Counting by habitual experience, I am not too procrastinating
since barely a fortnight passed from yours of the 8th. I wasn't
even that late in meeting your request for stationery. A colleague
from the New York office visited us here and kindly agreed to take
up two pads of the paper you asked for. I hope you got it by now.
I rather think that the paper is U.S. made. Its watermark is Atlantic
Bond........Just looked it up and, true enough, the makers are Eastern
Corp. of Bangor, Maine. However, for all I know, the ruling may have
been printed in Mexico.

Sorry, old man, you have fallen into the evil ways of grippe-
victims. It isn't at all wise to do so, Certainly not comfortable.
We escaped it in the family this time, although the incidence in
Mexico was quite high this season. One hears less about it now. The
weather is very good, rather warm in the day time, not at all cold even
at night. How about coming down to Mexico to convalesce with us? Peggy
should enjoy a visit to Mexico.

The house in Cuernavaca is slowly making progress. There are
curtains in the living room and beds to sleep in - five altogether!
Painting is done, closets lined, some cabinets built in, garden
development advancing, even a barbecue stand ready. And yet, emptiness
prevails.

Our biggest problem now is how to take care of two houses fifty
miles apart. Neither can be left without servants and these are rapidly
progressing towards U.S. mores, if not standards. This complicates
things a bit. At our age to start on servantless living in Mexico is
somewhat difficult. Money can ease the way, of course. Only I still
have a large loan to repay to the bank and much equipment to furnish
the house with.

All of which would have been fun to carry on, except for the
loneliness that weighs rather heavily upon us. I am happy for you that
you and Peggy have the children with you. They are a great joy in a
house. Ours are spread all over creation, as you know. Olga was with
us over Christmas and both our houses were ringing with her vibrations for
a couple of weeks. Now she is back at school and a bit sobered by rather
low grades in music theory and the worry about the effect these might
have on the renewal of her scholarship for next year. The concern is
well justified, since there is no doubt that Olga took her fiddling
capacity too much for granted, missed few opportunities for a full
life on a very active campus, to the detriment of application in
matters requiring concentration. But she is a wonderful child and is
very sensitive as well as sensible. Her teachers still sing high
praises to her and she is reacting intelligently to her problems.
Surely the adverse grades have done Olga more good than the exaggerated
praises which were showered upon her in Mexico.

-2-

Natalie, too, came and went. She came with her charming Peggy for two weeks in January. It was good to talk with Natalie, to play with the baby. We missed Edward. He could neither spare the money nor the time. His position continues most precarious at Bard (with which is quite fed up) and the future is uncertain. Edward is a capable man and a born teacher. It is unfortunate that his field should be rather crowded and little appreciated. Yet, Natalie is brave and cheerful and hard working. She is a splendid type.

Lydia is writing good letters and is seemingly making happy adjustments to her environment.

Eugenia continues feeling the heavy burden of Vera's passing and is trying to cover up the pain with overwork on a variety of pet projects. Neither of us can yet fully adjust to Vera's absence. Oleg is far from being well and, despite his outward cheerfulness, is hardly a happy man. How can he be? Little Anita is not an easy child to care for and Sasha is now at the Naval School in Veracruz - 1500 miles away from where Oleg is. We so wish we could help him.

Eugenia herself has been under doctor's observation for a while. The verdict was nothing to be alarmed over, just a reminder of being "past forty".

We heard the happy news of Nancy and are certainly glad of it. What news is there of Greg? He is a restless young man, seemingly bent on showing up rough spots, but I rather like him. I sincerely hope he finds his place in this crazy world. There is a lot more to him than he is willing to acknowledge or to apply.

----- Am afraid I took more time out than my duties permit, especially on idle talk for which you too may have little time to spare. And stinky as the world is, its transcendental problems (as you once called them) also impose demands upon one's time.

My very kindest greetings to Margaret and yourself and Carrie and Johnny. Eugenia joins me in that.

Cheerio!

JMZ/MCS

GREGORY ZILBOORG, M. D.

December 16, 1953

My dear James:

My silence may not be appropriate (I am sure it is not) but it is natural.

My summer was very crowded with two International congresses in Europe and a lecture which I considered rather crucial before the Royal Medico-Psychological Society in London. Then I came home and Matthew came. Almost immediately I started on the preparation of the Isaac Ray lectures; the Isaac Ray Award was given me last May and it carried with it the obligation to give a course of lectures on some aspects of Forensic Psychiatry. The assignment was Yale. I finished the lectures a fortnight or so ago and just completed the manuscript and got it off to the publisher. And now I sit at my desk and face the many things as yet undone and visualize with routine sadness how many things will have to be left undone because there are not many hours in one's day and night.

Thank you very much for your Christmas card. Your house looks very attractive. I wish I could see it. Unfortunately, there is no trip to Mexico in the foreseeable future.

The family is well. Peg has fully recovered from her childbirth and, looking at her, you would not think that she had had a child so recently and that she is the mother of three youngsters. Matthew was four months old three days ago. Johnnie is going to be four in March. His Christmas list contains "a new library for daddy." There is little space in the old one - but I don't see what I would do with a new one, nor do I see where he would get a new one. Carrie started kindergarten in Brearly School and she loves it. She is also loved a great deal. She is developing into a serene, kind human being.

A letter from Olga came the other day. I was glad to hear from her. This was the first word I had had from her since she was here in the East. She writes that she is coming here on the 19th and will stay for several days. Unfortunately, I will be away on one of my regular visits to Butler Hospital and when I come back I will repair to the country for the first long weekend in months. I hope she phones there and is still here in New York the Monday after Christmas.

I have no other news except professional news: articles and papers to write, meetings to attend and studying to do. The summer of 1954 promises to be hopelessly busy and fascinating: The International Psychological Congress in Montreal, the World Federation of Mental Health in Toronto and the International Congress for the History of Medicine in Rome. A lot of intellectual and geographical territory to cover, as you see. I do not look forward to travelling this summer with particular pleasure and I hope to be able to stay at home as much as possible.

Life, as you see, is full, even conjested, but active and vibrant.

Peg joins me in sending you and Eugenia our best regards.

As ever,

GREGORY ZILBOORG, M. D.

33 EAST 70TH STREET
NEW YORK 21, N. Y.

January 21, 1954

Dear James:

I was ever so grateful for your note of about a month ago. I have been so swamped with paper work and professional obligations that it is only now I am able to reply. I have just finished correcting the galley proofs of the book which represents my Isaac Ray lectures in New Haven - it will be out in April. I feel as if I have done three years work without respite so I am ready for a rest, and Peg and I are taking a two weeks "pause."

Everything is nice in my family atmosphere. The kids are a joy; the little one smiles and coos (he is five months old) and enlightens our hearts in more than one respect.

Yes, we are far away from one another and far apart. This is said, of course. I doubt, however, whether a flight to Mexico would cure the situation. You see, the life of a doctor is the life of hope and sorrow, complex and urgent, and while time flies there is no time to watch the flight. One lives the lives of so many others. At times one comes to and looks around and regrets a little the fact that one has become estranged from so many people except one's immediate family - then one gets engulfed again in the tense, exciting and deeply stirring existence. That is why I feel younger now than, say, twenty years ago. I wish you could some time step aside from the maelstrom of proving oneself alive and the hurly-burly of "people and things" and then you would gain a different spiritual perspective. I wish you could take a trip - a short trip - to Europe or something. I would like to sit down with you somewhere - say on a bench on the Piazza Cavour, or the Forum of Trojan in Rome and talk a little.

In the atmosphere of appointments, visits and parties one can't think or talk. How about it.

Warmest regards.

September 22, 1959

Dear James,

The enclosed two letters have come to you here. One, I am sorry, I opened but I thought it was for me.

I thought of you very often these last few days and thought you would want to know that at the end Gregory did not suffer. He had, at his own prior request, a service at St. Ignatius Loyola here in New York. It was beautiful and just as he would have liked it. Afterwards just the most immediate family went out to the cemetery in Mt. Kisco where he is buried. It is only about five miles from our house in Bedford Hills which, you remember, you saw years ago just after we had moved into it.

It is still a shock to me to realize that Gregory is gone, and I know it must be in a way even more of one for you when you didn't know that he had been so sick for really so long. He didn't want me to be sad, although I am; I keep thinking that he wouldn't want it. And I know you must be and remember he wouldn't want that either.

My love to you, James.

Mr. James M. Zilboorg
Pieineos 612
Chapultepec Heights
Mexico 10, D. F.

MARTIN SCHREIBER, M. D.

16 BERKLEY LANE
SCARSDALE, N.Y.

September 18, 1959

Dear James:

Out of the distant vista of forty years ago, I greet
you now in extending my deep sympathy to you and your
family in the passing of your brother, Gregory, who had
such a distinguished career in the fields of psychiatry,
psychoanalysis and the humanities.

Your brother and I have been professional colleagues
for many years, although we were not on terms of close
social and personal intimacies. I first met him many
years ago, in 1926, while he was still a resident at what
was then known as the Bloomingdale Hospital in White
Plains. Even at that time, he revealed that brilliance
of intellect and speech, as well as a superlative charm
of personality, that has marked his unique and productive
professional career. In the forensic exposition of his
ideas he had no superiors, and few peers.

Your memory may need to be jogged concerning your
personal relationship to me. I was a pupil of yours
in a polite little drawing room French seminar, in the
company of my sister, Helen, and my two cousins, Evelyn
and Leslie Rosenfeld. We carried on halting and somewhat
awkward, but innocent and innocuous, conversational French
efforts. This occurred in the first World War period,
between 1915 and 1917.

With fond personal greetings, in which my mother,
Mrs. William Schreiber, who resides with me and my family,
joins me, I am,

Yours

Mr. James Zilboorg,
c/o Mrs. Gregory Zilboorg,
33 East 70th Street,
New York 21

JMZ/on.