Lipton’s Journal/February 21, 1955/624

The reason I believe in these things is that they work. By expressing my paranoia in Lipton’s, I am less paranoid the next day, or by L-2. (Incidentally, my depression has not come on yet, and I believe that too may begin to diminish as I realize these things.) And when I am less paranoid, I am less anxious. I feel relaxed strength, the capacity to deal with more people than I ever have before.

A curious confirmation of this came up today. The elevator man is a sly secretive ferreting sort of fellow, very tight-mouthed, very perceptive, but yet not a bastard considering all these things in him. For the last month through jokes, vague evocative remarks, and a certain psychic “recognition” between us, we’ve been getting closer, more respectful of one another without words being said.

A few weeks ago, grinning, I said to him, “You know you ought to work for the secret service as a code breaker.” (Service. Society—er—in the service of—vice.) He looked at me and said, “Why do you say that?” “Who are you kidding?” I asked him. “You know you could break any code.” He clammed up. Today, he showed me a paper, and said, “You know, I don’t show this to anybody.” His picture was on the front page. He had won third place in the Herald Tribune Tangle contest (one of those word-puzzle contests). Two thousand bucks he won. I clapped him on the shoulder and congratulated him warmly. Part of my joy was in my intuition, the other part was in this poor aging elevator man with his sharp ferret mind, who by God had used it.