THE FOLLOWING IS A portion of a lengthy letter addressed to the author from Ernest Heinrich Mann, dated 28 March, 1969.
My Dear Sir:
I wish to thank you for your kind inquiries as to my physical health and mental stamina, as expressed in your recent missive. I am happy to tell you that, God willing, I am in good health and spirits. The food is plain but plentiful. The exercise—outdoors, that is—is sufficient, and my work in the library I find very rewarding.
You may be interested to learn that I have recently taken up the Yoga regimen, insofar as it relates to physical exercise. The philosophy does not concern me. But the physical program interests me as it requires no equipment, so that I am able to practice it in my cell, at any time. Needless to say, this is much to the amusement of my cellmate whose main exercise is turning the pages of the latest comic book, detailing the adventures of Cosmic Man!
I thank you for your recent gift of books and cigarettes which arrived in good order. You ask if there is any special printed matter which you may supply that is not available in the prison library. Sir, there is. Some months ago, in an issue of the New York Times, I read that, for the first time, scientists had succeeded in the synthetic reproduction of an enzyme in the laboratory. This is a subject that interests me greatly, and I would be much obliged if you could obtain for me copies of the scientific papers describing this discovery. I thank you.
Now then … you ask me about the personality and the character traits of the man I called John Anderson.
I can tell you he was a most complex man. As you may have surmised, I had several dealings with him prior to the events of 31 August–1 September, 1968. In all our dealings, I found him a man of the highest probity, of exceptional honesty, trustworthiness, and steadfastness. I would never hesitate in giving him a character reference, if such was requested of me.
A man of very little education and very much intelligence. And the two have little in common as, I am certain, you recognize. In all our personal and business relations he radiated strength and purposefulness. As is understandable in such a relationship, I was, perhaps, a little frightened of him. Not because he ever threatened me physical harm. Not at all! But I was frightened as we all poor mortals become frightened in the presence of one we feel and sense and know is of, perhaps, almost superhuman strength and resolve. Let me say only that I felt inferior to him.
I believe that, directed into more constructive channels, his intelligence and native wit could have taken him very far. Very far indeed. Let me give you an example. …
Following our second planning meeting—I believe it was on August 28th—I walked with him to the subway after the meeting was concluded. Everything had gone very well. I congratulated him on the detailed planning, which I thought was superb. I told him I thought it must have taken much thought on his part. He smiled, and this is what he said—as nearly as I can remember. …
“Yes, I have been living with this thing for some months now, thinking of it every waking minute and even dreaming of it. You know, there is nothing like thinking. You have a problem that worries you and nags you and keeps you awake. The thing to do then is to get to the very rock bottom of that problem. First, you figure out why it is a problem. Once you have done that, it is half solved. For instance, what do you think was the most difficult problem in making up the plan you heard tonight?”
I suggested it might be how to handle the doorman when the truck first pulled into the driveway.
“No,” he said, “there are several good ways we could handle that. The big problem, as I saw it, was how to handle the tenants who were still at home. That is, how could we get into their apartments? I figured they all had locked doors and chains also. In addition, it would be after midnight and I could figure most of them—particularly the old ladies in Four B and the family with the crippled boy in Five A—would be asleep. I thought of our possibilities. We could force the doors, of course. But even if their phones were cut, they could still scream before we broke in and maybe alert the people in the house next door. I could ask you to pick the locks—but I had no guarantee that everyone would be asleep at that hour. They might hear you working and start screaming. It was a problem to know exactly what we should do. I wrestled with this thing for three days, coming up with a dozen solutions. I threw them all out because they didn’t feel right to me. So then I went to the rock-bottom basic of the problem, just like I told you. I asked myself, Why do all these people have locks and chains on their doors? The answer was easy—because they were scared of guys like me—crooks and burglars and muggers. So then I thought, if they keep their doors locked from fear, what can make them open up? I remembered from the first time I was in that house that the doors above the lobby floor didn’t have peepholes. The doctors’ offices on the lobby floor did, but the doors above were blind. Who needs peepholes when they have twenty-four-hour doorman service and a locked service door and all that shit? So then I thought, if fear makes them keep their doors locked, then a bigger fear will make them unlock them. And what’s a bigger fear than being robbed? That was easy. It was fire.”
And that, my dear sir, is something I can tell you about the man I knew as John Anderson and how intelligent he was at his job, although he was, as I have told you, uneducated. …