A letter from Mary. Somehow, reading this one reminds me more sharply than ever how times have changed. Those days - they're beginning to sound like the 30's to me. The way the 30's sounded to us all in the 60's. Or maybe it's because Mary is reading Fitzgerald. "Tender is the Night." She says she has a cigarette in one hand and a glass of scotch in the other, and she's just finished making love to a Mexican hair dresser. She tells of a New Year's Eve party at her parents' house, where our friend Kunze had two drinks and fell asleep on the floor in the den. My old friend Jan was there. I wish I knew where Mary was. Jan, I've found.

Maybe it's the innocence of it all. It doesn't really sound so different from the parties my daughter has experienced - or any of us, at that age. But - again I think it's the mention of Fitzgerald. And that she bought an album by the Clancy Brothers. Does anyone read F. Scott Fitzgerald anymore? Hemingway? Faulkner? Remember when the Clancy Brothers were cutting edge?