Richard Todd
Todd was my college roommate while Al, my real roommate, who died last year, did second semester junior year wandering around Europe in a Mercedes diesel sedan.
Ours was the only room on campus that had its own bathroom.
Al and I had gotten this luxurious suite from a guy who was a year ahead of us: he signed us up together in the room-lottery...and then he moved into his—and Todd's—fraternity house; he later co-produced Five Easy Pieces.
Todd was a sophomore. The year was 1960.
All this preamble because Todd has just written a book, The Thing Itself: On the Search for Authenticity.
His publisher calls it "a deeply personal literary memoir." It's gotten good reviews.
I had hoped I would learn more about Todd. I already knew that he has always been extremely diffident. Bright, clever, charming...and yet—where does he really stand?
After Amherst, he went to work on Madison Ave., which he doesn't mention in his book.
He doesn't mention that he began to freelance; at one point, he was assigned by the Times Sunday Magazine to profile Kurt Vonnegut. My friend Jill Krementz was the photographer; she and Kurt eventually married.
Then Todd got a job on The Atlantic, which he doesn't mention. He worked his way up and even hoped, at one juncture, to be named editor. He wasn't. He doesn't mention that.
Nor that he began editing books. He found a fraternity brother who was leading the team to develop a new computer, the minicomputer, the huge downsizing that pointed toward the PC.
Todd signed Tracy Kidder, who had been writing for The Atlantic, to do The Soul of a New Machine, which won a Pulitzer in 1982.
(The sister of the hero of Soul has written a review of The Thing on Amazon; she passed the book along to her brother, Peter Coyote, who's also done a review. Peter's first paid appearance in print was in ZYZZYVA Winter '88.)
From there, I lost sight of Todd, although I knew he eventually removed to a farm not far from Amherst. He mentions that, in passing.
He mentions the humiliation of growing up not quite rich enough in Darien, a toney Connecticut suburb. I once visited him there; his house seemed like a perfectly ordinary postwar ranch house, not unlike the one I grew up in.
He mentions his family, but we never see them in action. His wife, a Smithie, is the sister of a poet (and translator) a couple years ahead of us at Amherst who taught many years at UMass.
He mentions often becoming teary-eyed these days, and I would have liked to hear more about that.
He mentions drinking less than he used to.
He quotes pundits on almost every page and includes a lengthy bibliography.
I would have liked to have been told more about his life, as he led it, inauthentic or not.
Ours was the only room on campus that had its own bathroom.
Al and I had gotten this luxurious suite from a guy who was a year ahead of us: he signed us up together in the room-lottery...and then he moved into his—and Todd's—fraternity house; he later co-produced Five Easy Pieces.
Todd was a sophomore. The year was 1960.
All this preamble because Todd has just written a book, The Thing Itself: On the Search for Authenticity.
His publisher calls it "a deeply personal literary memoir." It's gotten good reviews.
I had hoped I would learn more about Todd. I already knew that he has always been extremely diffident. Bright, clever, charming...and yet—where does he really stand?
After Amherst, he went to work on Madison Ave., which he doesn't mention in his book.
He doesn't mention that he began to freelance; at one point, he was assigned by the Times Sunday Magazine to profile Kurt Vonnegut. My friend Jill Krementz was the photographer; she and Kurt eventually married.
Then Todd got a job on The Atlantic, which he doesn't mention. He worked his way up and even hoped, at one juncture, to be named editor. He wasn't. He doesn't mention that.
Nor that he began editing books. He found a fraternity brother who was leading the team to develop a new computer, the minicomputer, the huge downsizing that pointed toward the PC.
Todd signed Tracy Kidder, who had been writing for The Atlantic, to do The Soul of a New Machine, which won a Pulitzer in 1982.
(The sister of the hero of Soul has written a review of The Thing on Amazon; she passed the book along to her brother, Peter Coyote, who's also done a review. Peter's first paid appearance in print was in ZYZZYVA Winter '88.)
From there, I lost sight of Todd, although I knew he eventually removed to a farm not far from Amherst. He mentions that, in passing.
He mentions the humiliation of growing up not quite rich enough in Darien, a toney Connecticut suburb. I once visited him there; his house seemed like a perfectly ordinary postwar ranch house, not unlike the one I grew up in.
He mentions his family, but we never see them in action. His wife, a Smithie, is the sister of a poet (and translator) a couple years ahead of us at Amherst who taught many years at UMass.
He mentions often becoming teary-eyed these days, and I would have liked to hear more about that.
He mentions drinking less than he used to.
He quotes pundits on almost every page and includes a lengthy bibliography.
I would have liked to have been told more about his life, as he led it, inauthentic or not.
posted by ZYZZYVA at 6:00 AM
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