The Mailer Review/Volume 2, 2008/Meeting Mailer - Revision history

Jules Carry: Updated URL.

2021-07-08T13:40:37Z

Updated URL.

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	{{byline\|last=Stratton\|first=Richard\|abstract=A writer recounts his relationship with Norman {{NM}}, beginning in the ~~1970s~~.		{{byline\|last=Stratton\|first=Richard\|abstract=A writer recounts his relationship with Norman {{NM}}, beginning in the {{date\|1970}}s. \|url=https://prmlr.us/mr02str}}
	\|url=https://prmlr.us/~~mr08stra~~}}

	{{dc\|dc=“I\|t was the early 1970's.”}} I was living in [[w:Provincetown, Massachusetts\|Provincetown, Massachusetts]], on a writing fellowship at the [[w:Fine Arts Work Center\|Fine Arts Work Center]]. Across Commercial Street, the narrow lane meandering through town, cater-cornered to the garret apartment where I lived, was a big red brick house on Cape Cod Bay. A young woman, Bobbi, worked in that house as a cook and housekeeper for Norman Mailer. Bobbi lived in the ground floor apartment of the building I lived in and over the fall and winter months we became friends.		{{dc\|dc=“I\|t was the early {{date\|1970}}’s.”}} I was living in [[w:Provincetown, Massachusetts\|Provincetown, Massachusetts]], on a writing fellowship at the [[w:Fine Arts Work Center\|Fine Arts Work Center]]. Across Commercial Street, the narrow lane meandering through town, cater-cornered to the garret apartment where I lived, was a big red brick house on Cape Cod Bay. A young woman, Bobbi, worked in that house as a cook and housekeeper for Norman Mailer. Bobbi lived in the ground floor apartment of the building I lived in and over the fall and winter months we became friends.

	“You should meet Norman,” Bobbi said to me one evening as we sat drinking wine and talking. “You guys would hit it off.”		“You should meet Norman,” Bobbi said to me one evening as we sat drinking wine and talking. “You guys would hit it off.”

Grlucas: Removed working banner. 👍🏼

2020-10-06T17:31:17Z

Removed working banner. 👍🏼

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	{{byline\|last=Stratton\|first=Richard\|abstract=A writer recounts his relationship with Norman {{NM}}, beginning in the 1970s.		{{byline\|last=Stratton\|first=Richard\|abstract=A writer recounts his relationship with Norman {{NM}}, beginning in the 1970s.

Jules Carry: Added rest of text.

2020-09-26T22:26:30Z

Added rest of text.

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 I’m not sure what exactly I had offered, and in the meantime I had left Hyannis; but the fact that Mailer wrote back was enough to inspire me to decamp and move to Provincetown. The Fine Arts Work Center provided a modest stipend, which I augmented working as a carpenter. It was by chance that I moved into the apartment across the street from the home Mailer rented that off-season, and later bought; and another lucky coincidence, if you believe in such things, that Bobbi lived in the same building I moved into and we became friends. I like to think I was so turned on by Mailer’s work, I wanted so much to know him, I created an energy field that drew me to him and vice versa.
-. . .
+Certainly I was surrounded by Mailer energy. Bobbi lived downstairs, and through her I met Norman’s ex-wife, the actress [[w:Beverly Bentley|Beverly Bentley]], and their two young sons, Michael and Steven, who lived just down the road. In those years I had a big white German shepherd I’d brought back from England, Karamazov was his name; Michael and Steven Mailer called him “Caramel Balls.” Half buried in the backyard of the building where Bobbi and I lived, its hood pointed skyward like a rocket, was an old Ford sedan Mailer had memorialized near the end of ''[[Of a Fire on the Moon]]''. In the evening after work, before I settled in for a night of writing, I would take Karamazov for walks at low tide along the bay shore. I remember once seeing Mailer as Karamazov and I passed by on the beach. I looked up at the house and there was Norman, in the brightly lit bar just off the deck of his home, laughing, sharing a night of drink and conversation with friends.
 {{Review}}
 {{DEFAULTSORT:Meeting Mailer}}
 [[Category:Articles (MR)]]

Jules Carry: Added more.

2020-09-25T11:55:53Z

Added more.

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	I read Mailer over the next several months, and, during the summer while I attended a writing course at Harvard, his alma mater, I got up the nerve to write him a letter. First I read the early novels, ''[[The Naked and the Dead]]'', ''[[Barbary Shore]]'', ''[[The Deer Park]]'', then, ''[[The Armies of the Night]]'', and I was hooked.		I read Mailer over the next several months, and, during the summer while I attended a writing course at Harvard, his alma mater, I got up the nerve to write him a letter. First I read the early novels, ''[[The Naked and the Dead]]'', ''[[Barbary Shore]]'', ''[[The Deer Park]]'', then, ''[[The Armies of the Night]]'', and I was hooked.
	This was, after all, a time when the death of the novel had already been announced and readers and writers of fiction were in mourning. Given what we were living through at the time—the [[w:Assassination of John F. Kennedy\|Kennedy]] and [[w:Assassination of Martin Luther King Jr.\|Martin Luther King]] assassinations, the [[w:Vietnam War\|war in Vietnam]] and rioting in the streets of American cities, as seen on the evening news—reading fiction was a bit like reading obituaries. The potential for fiction to ignite the public consciousness had been usurped by reporting current events and what was to become known as [[w:New Journalism\|the new journalism]]. With ''The Armies of the Night'', Mailer became its stellar performer, there in the event, balls to the wall, and back at his desk, writing with a hard-on.		This was, after all, a time when the death of the novel had already been announced and readers and writers of fiction were in mourning. Given what we were living through at the time—the [[w:Assassination of John F. Kennedy\|Kennedy]] and [[w:Assassination of Martin Luther King Jr.\|Martin Luther King]] assassinations, the [[w:Vietnam War\|war in Vietnam]] and rioting in the streets of American cities, as seen on the evening news—reading fiction was a bit like reading obituaries. The potential for fiction to ignite the public consciousness had been usurped by reporting current events and what was to become known as [[w:New Journalism\|the new journalism]]. With ''The Armies of the Night'', Mailer became its stellar performer, there in the event, balls to the wall, and back at his desk, writing with a hard-on.

			Reading Mailer changed my life. This was the kind of writer I wanted to be, the kind of man I hoped to be: ''engagé''. He lived what he wrote about and then wrote about what he lived as though the quality of his life depended on the truth he discovered in the experience, reflected by the prose. I said to myself, after reading ''[[Advertisements for Myself]]'', I’ve got to meet this guy. First I communed with him psychically, then on paper. I wrote him a short letter inspired by his essay “Ten Thousand Words a Minute,” which was first published in ''Esquire'', on the death of [[w:Benny Paret\|Benny “Kid” Paret]] at the gloved hands of [[w:Emile Griffith\|Emile Griffith]]. Mailer answered me with an equally concise note, dated 19 August, 1970: ''Dear Mr. Stratton: I’ve been up in Maine and now I’m in New York and won’t get to P-town till the fall. Will you still be in Hyannis? If so, I might take you up on your offer. Sincerely, Norman Mailer''.

			I’m not sure what exactly I had offered, and in the meantime I had left Hyannis; but the fact that Mailer wrote back was enough to inspire me to decamp and move to Provincetown. The Fine Arts Work Center provided a modest stipend, which I augmented working as a carpenter. It was by chance that I moved into the apartment across the street from the home Mailer rented that off-season, and later bought; and another lucky coincidence, if you believe in such things, that Bobbi lived in the same building I moved into and we became friends. I like to think I was so turned on by Mailer’s work, I wanted so much to know him, I created an energy field that drew me to him and vice versa.

	. . .		. . .

Jules Carry: Added working banner.

2020-09-17T14:07:24Z

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Jules Carry: Added bottom matter; fixed typos; added links.

2020-09-16T01:30:12Z

Added bottom matter; fixed typos; added links.

← Older revision		Revision as of 21:30, 15 September 2020
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	{{byline\|last=Stratton\|first=Richard\|abstract=A writer recounts his relationship with Norman ~~Mailer~~, beginning in the 1970s.		{{byline\|last=Stratton\|first=Richard\|abstract=A writer recounts his relationship with Norman {{NM}}, beginning in the 1970s.
	\|url=https://prmlr.us/mr08stra}}		\|url=https://prmlr.us/mr08stra}}

	{{dc\|dc=~~“It~~\| was the early 1970's.”}} I was living in Provincetown, Massachusetts, on a		{{dc\|dc=“I\|t was the early 1970's.”}} I was living in [[w:Provincetown, Massachusetts\|Provincetown, Massachusetts]], on a writing fellowship at the [[w:Fine Arts Work Center\|Fine Arts Work Center]]. Across Commercial Street, the narrow lane meandering through town, cater-cornered to the garret apartment where I lived, was a big red brick house on Cape Cod Bay. A young woman, Bobbi, worked in that house as a cook and housekeeper for Norman Mailer. Bobbi lived in the ground floor apartment of the building I lived in and over the fall and winter months we became friends.
	writing fellowship at the Fine Arts Work Center. Across Commercial Street,
	the narrow lane meandering through town, cater-cornered to the garret
	apartment where I lived, was a big red brick house on Cape Cod Bay. A
	young woman, Bobbi, worked in that house as a cook and housekeeper for
	Norman Mailer. Bobbi lived in the ground floor apartment of the building
	I lived in and over the fall and winter months we became friends.

	“You should meet Norman,” Bobbi said to me one evening as we sat		“You should meet Norman,” Bobbi said to me one evening as we sat drinking wine and talking. “You guys would hit it off.”
	drinking wine and talking. “You guys would hit it off.”

	By then I was already a Mailer aficionado. I had come to his writing		By then I was already a Mailer aficionado. I had come to his writing through his movies. On a whim one night I went to a screening at [[w:Brandeis\|Brandeis]] of ''[[w:Beyond the Law (film)\|Beyond the Law]]''—it was the title that attracted me. Ninety minutes later I walked out of the auditorium determined to read Mailer, for anyone who could make a film that bold and outrageous about cops and criminals, I knew, had to have much to teach me about writing.
	through his movies. On a whim one night I went to a screening at Brandeis
	of Beyond the ~~Law—it~~ was the title that attracted me. Ninety minutes later
	I walked out of the auditorium determined to read Mailer, for anyone who
	could make a film that bold and outrageous about cops and criminals, I
	knew, had to have much to teach me about writing.

	I read Mailer over the next several months, and, during the summer while		I read Mailer over the next several months, and, during the summer while I attended a writing course at Harvard, his alma mater, I got up the nerve to write him a letter. First I read the early novels, ''[[The Naked and the Dead]]'', ''[[Barbary Shore]]'', ''[[The Deer Park]]'', then, ''[[The Armies of the Night]]'', and I was hooked.
	I attended a writing course at Harvard, his alma mater, I got up the nerve to		This was, after all, a time when the death of the novel had already been announced and readers and writers of fiction were in mourning. Given what we were living through at the time—the [[w:Assassination of John F. Kennedy\|Kennedy]] and [[w:Assassination of Martin Luther King Jr.\|Martin Luther King]] assassinations, the [[w:Vietnam War\|war in Vietnam]] and rioting in the streets of American cities, as seen on the evening news—reading fiction was a bit like reading obituaries. The potential for fiction to ignite the public consciousness had been usurped by reporting current events and what was to become known as [[w:New Journalism\|the new journalism]]. With ''The Armies of the Night'', Mailer became its stellar performer, there in the event, balls to the wall, and back at his desk, writing with a hard-on.
	write him a letter. First I read the early novels, ''The Naked and the Dead, Barbary Shore, The Deer Park, then, The Armies of the Night'', and I was hooked.
	This was, after all, a time when the death of the novel had already been		. . .
	announced and readers and writers of fiction were in mourning. Given what
	we were living through at the time—the Kennedy and Martin Luther King		{{Review}}
	assassinations, the war in Vietnam and rioting in the streets of American cities, as seen on the evening news—reading fiction was a bit like reading obituaries. The potential for fiction to ignite the public consciousness had been		{{DEFAULTSORT:Meeting Mailer}}
	usurped by reporting current events and what was to become known as the		[[Category:Articles (MR)]]
	new journalism.. With The Armies of the Night, Mailer became its stellar
	performer, there in the event, balls to the wall, and back at his desk, writing
	with a hard-on.

MWiggins at 23:40, 15 September 2020

2020-09-15T23:40:26Z

← Older revision		Revision as of 19:40, 15 September 2020
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	{{byline\|last=Stratton\|first=Richard\|abstract=A writer recounts his relationship with Norman Mailer, beginning in the 1970s.		{{byline\|last=Stratton\|first=Richard\|abstract=A writer recounts his relationship with Norman Mailer, beginning in the 1970s.
	\|url=https://prmlr.us/mr08stra}}		\|url=https://prmlr.us/mr08stra}}

			{{dc\|dc=“It\| was the early 1970's.”}} I was living in Provincetown, Massachusetts, on a
			writing fellowship at the Fine Arts Work Center. Across Commercial Street,
			the narrow lane meandering through town, cater-cornered to the garret
			apartment where I lived, was a big red brick house on Cape Cod Bay. A
			young woman, Bobbi, worked in that house as a cook and housekeeper for
			Norman Mailer. Bobbi lived in the ground floor apartment of the building
			I lived in and over the fall and winter months we became friends.

			“You should meet Norman,” Bobbi said to me one evening as we sat
			drinking wine and talking. “You guys would hit it off.”

			By then I was already a Mailer aficionado. I had come to his writing
			through his movies. On a whim one night I went to a screening at Brandeis
			of Beyond the Law—it was the title that attracted me. Ninety minutes later
			I walked out of the auditorium determined to read Mailer, for anyone who
			could make a film that bold and outrageous about cops and criminals, I
			knew, had to have much to teach me about writing.

			I read Mailer over the next several months, and, during the summer while
			I attended a writing course at Harvard, his alma mater, I got up the nerve to
			write him a letter. First I read the early novels, ''The Naked and the Dead, Barbary Shore, The Deer Park, then, The Armies of the Night'', and I was hooked.
			This was, after all, a time when the death of the novel had already been
			announced and readers and writers of fiction were in mourning. Given what
			we were living through at the time—the Kennedy and Martin Luther King
			assassinations, the war in Vietnam and rioting in the streets of American cities, as seen on the evening news—reading fiction was a bit like reading obituaries. The potential for fiction to ignite the public consciousness had been
			usurped by reporting current events and what was to become known as the
			new journalism.. With The Armies of the Night, Mailer became its stellar
			performer, there in the event, balls to the wall, and back at his desk, writing
			with a hard-on.

Jules Carry: Started page.

2020-09-09T12:40:05Z

Started page.

New page

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{{byline|last=Stratton|first=Richard|abstract=A writer recounts his relationship with Norman Mailer, beginning in the 1970s.
|url=https://prmlr.us/mr08stra}}