Tuesday, November 2, 1976
5 PM on Election Day. Despite all the promises I made to myself, I find that I am hoping desperately for a Carter/Mondale victory tonight.
In a couple of hours, the returns will start coming in, and I think what I’d like to do is leave room to record my reactions throughout the evening as the vote count progresses. It will give me some room to let out my feelings of disappointment or exhilaration.
It’s such a peculiar thing. I know that my life doesn’t depend on Jimmy Carter being elected President, but somehow I think I’d be happier if the Democrats controlled the White House again. Another mirage? Of course. But we live with mirages all the time.
At the American Legion Hall I voted this morning, for Carter and Mondale and Moynihan on the Liberal Party line, and then voted either Liberal or Democratic for the other offices. It was a cold, bright day, and there was good weather all over the country.
(Incidentally, Dixville Notch, N.H., went for Ford, 13-11.)
I went to visit Grandma Ethel and Grandpa Herb and have lunch with them and Grandma’s friend Sarah. Now that Grandma Sylvia and Grandpa Nat have moved to Florida full-time, they are the only grandparents I’ve got to visit in Rockaway.
Grandpa Herb fixed some more shirts for me on his sewing machine, and we talked about the family, politics and crime. Old people are so frightened about teenagers mugging them; it’s happening so frequently, many old people in Rockaway are afraid to go out, even during the day.
I came home at about 3 PM to face six rejection notices and one acceptance (not bad odds, actually): the Anaesthesia Review in Ann Arbor took “R Evolution” and “Classified Personal,” two of my weaker efforts. Philip Mirowski, the editor sent me a copy of the magazine, and it looks nice; they’ll probably print the stories in different issues.
Gary phoned from work. He’s doing a dull study of some steel products. Gary was angry that he was disenfranchised because he moved to New Jersey.
I’ve got a splitting sinus headache now.
*
8 PM. So far no major surprises. As expected, Carter has won Georgia, Kentucky, Alabama and West Virginia while Ford has taken Indiana. But Carter is doing poorly among urban Catholics.
I’d feel much better if Carter’s margins were larger. This is going to be a heartbreaker either way. The popular vote is 50-50. Polls are closing now in the large Eastern states, and the next hour may tell the story.
*
If Ford can win all four of those states, he’s practically assured of election.
*
10 PM. Ford won New Jersey, but Carter hasn’t yet lost a Southern state to Ford. In New York, Moynihan beat Buckley in the Senate race, but New York hasn’t been called for Ford yet.
*
11 PM. My hopes are being dashed by my home state. Ford is ahead in New York with 55% of the vote in; I’m shocked and disappointed. The popular vote is close, but Ford is sweeping the West now, and Carter can only go downhill.
Ohio, Illinois and Michigan are all still too close to call. We’re not going to have a winner until tomorrow, when Ford will probably squeak in.
*
I have a terrible feeling that Carter has blown it. Oh God damn it, fuck, fuck, fuck! (Very mature of me.)
Wednesday, November 3, 1976
4 PM. Like many people in the country, I’m tired after a mostly sleepless night. But I’m elated. President-elect Carter was just on TV, speaking from the railroad station in Plains, Georgia, responding to what he called President Ford’s “gracious” concession statement.
At 1:30 AM, I shut off the TV set, with the election still in doubt. Carter was very close to an electoral majority, but the Western states were going heavily for Ford.
I awoke at 3:30 AM and turned on the set just as NBC was flashing the words “Carter Elected” on the screen. I switched to ABC and they projected the same thing when Mississippi and Hawaii came in and gave him 272 electoral votes, two more than he needed.
After falling asleep for a few more hours, I groggily awoke at 7 AM. On TV, Carter was returning to his hometown and choking up with emotion. While I was eating breakfast, they projected Ford victories in California and Illinois, but it didn’t matter.
Congress will remain overwhelmingly Democratic. About as many Democratic incumbents as Republicans were defeated for reelection to the House and Senate. In New York, no congressional districts changed hands and the state legislature remains divided.
I went to LIU feeling as groggy as hell, and there was such a traffic jam that I arrived in my classroom just in time. The class really thought I was in a lousy mood because Ford and Buckley had lost; they actually believed that I was a conservative Republican because I was a “professor” and they knew that rich people vote Republican.
I disabused them of that notion by recounting my liberal Democratic credentials and telling them my teaching salary, the smallness of which astounded them.
Mark O’Donnell slapped me on the back in the office and said he’d take the soda I bet him on the election anytime. That’s one bet I’ll be glad to pay off; I’m sorry I didn’t have more faith, but it was very close and I didn’t want to bear the disappointment I’ve had before.
I kept my noon class only an hour because I was tired and they’re ahead of most of the other English 10 classes; besides, their paragraphs about a routine were surprisingly good.
In the car radio coming home, I heard Betty Ford reading the teleg
I’ve done all my marking and preparations until Monday, and so I have some free time.
Last evening Hal and Ivy called to invite me to a party at their house; I was thrilled that they thought of me. I was also gratified to hear that Hal is now an assistant district attorney.
Carter has proven that if a man believes in himself, works hard, and can impose self-discipline and is intelligent . . . well, that man can go as far as he wants. I bet I can, too.
Thursday, November 4, 1976
I got letters from Avis and Teresa today. Teresa writes that she can’t believe it’s November and still warm and sunny in California. Teresa and her roommate have boarders, and one of them, “a nice Jewish dentist and former professional stage manager,” fell in love with her.
Teresa hasn’t quite fallen in love with him yet, though the thought crosses her mind. Instead, Teresa is doing “a lot of thinking about the things Avis and I used to talk about: mainly about being attracted to the bastards like Scott.”
This dentist is sweet and lives in Philadelphia; on Teresa’s Christmas trip home, she will make a side trip to see him. Jed, her current man, is “a royal 
Avis’s letter was a different story. She was very turned off because I put down Scott for voting for McCarthy. She writes:
“Carter is a dangerous fool, a religious fanatic, a capitalist, a liar, a politician . . . I think Scott is right in voting for McCarthy. Richie, if you don’t vote for the person you really believe is the best man, how can you live with yourself when the shit hits the fan? As you can tell, I’m a Socialist. It’s difficult to live in Bremen and not to become a Socialist.”
But it showed me that the geographical distance between Avis and me has created a real distance between us. (Teresa, in California, is more on my wavelength.)
Avis hasn’t really lived in America for over two years, and I don’t think she understands the changes that have taken place. There are no more hippies or radicals or even activists; indeed, young people tend to be more conservative than those in their thirties.
Another thing that bothered me was that her mother wrote her that she called me recently to find out if I’d heard from Avis, and Avis wrote that her mother said I agreed with her about not understanding why she is in Germany:
“If she really did call and you just humored her along, well, OK. If it is true that you agree with her, can you explain why.”
I told Avis tha
Last evening I spoke to Mikey on one of the few nights he wasn’t at the law library. The work is really being piled on now.
I caught up on my sleep last night, and now I feel refreshed and my headache went away. It was good to again see Gloria at the Fiction Collective office; she had a cold but was otherwise fine and un-pregnant.
Jon and Peter came in, and both were pissed over the English Department chairman’s slighting of them and his putting down the Collective. I saw the jacket copy of Statements 2 and liked seeing my name in print between Thomas Glynn’s and Marianne Hauser’s.
Peter and
I took care of some inquiries and sent a rejection notice out. Gloria was excited because Commentary wants to do a big story on the Collective, but Jon and Peter say they’ve been promising that for years.
Friday, November 5, 1976
9 PM. I wrote two stories today but am dissatisfied with both of them. In my heart I know they are lightweights. Many of the stories I’ve been writing have been preludes, warm-ups to really ambitious stories.
Recently, I came across something about the Talmud: how it is a collage of stories, commentaries, anecdotes and aphorisms. I suppose that in that way, my stories are in the Jewish tradition. Rambam’s commentary on the Mishnah included a recipe. I like the idea of that.
Somehow I don’t fit in the world of lofts, art galleries and that rolled-up-jeans-with-Frye-boots-and-frizzy-hair kind of sophistication. Yet Soho intrigues me, and I would like to become more familiar with it.
Alice finally came – she had gotten lost – and we were seated in T
Dinner was delicious, and as it was free, Alice and I went to town: white wine, Japanese beef with vegetables, chicken surrounded by a pillow-like pie crust, apple cake with whipped cream, walnut pie, coffee and tea.
In passing, Alice said that I was her best friend, which was good to hear. I told her how difficult it’s been at home lately; I feel everyone’s off into their own little fantasy world.
Anyway, last night’s dinner was scrumptious, and listening to the sho
It was my first experience at a night spot, and if I could go to other such places for free, I would.
This morning’s class didn’t go very well, but that happens from time to time; getting a response from them today was like pulling teeth. There was no secretary’s strike at LIU, thankfully, so I didn’t have to worry about crossing a picket line.
It was a strange day: very dark in the morning, mild and sunny in the afternoon, and cloudy and much colder in the evening. I wrote, as I said, 
I looked good today. The other day I went into the Woolworth’s at Ralph and Flatlands to get one of those four-for-50¢ photos taken in the booth.
I was surprised to see myself looking handsomer than I’d imagined. If only I could keep my acne under control! And my stomach as w
I feel very content, maybe even complacent.
Tuesday, November 9, 1976
8 PM. This morning’s mail brought a dinner invitation from Elspeth for a week from Saturday night. I must call her to say I’m coming; it will be good to spend an evening with an old friend.
I wonder if her roommate Robin had anything to do with the invitation. From our last phone call, I got strange vibrations from her; it’s flattering that she may be interested in me.
It’s a dangerous game, I suppose, but I don’t think there’s anything wrong with simultaneous publication: these magazines have such small circulations. City is in Manhattan, and AIEEE! is in Charlottesville (I wonder if Ellen and Wade will see it), so perhaps the twain will not meet.
I sent out a batch of already-accepted stories to Seagull Publications, a new small press here in Brooklyn which recently asked to see book-length manuscripts. I think it’s about time to start looking for a small press to publish my first story collection.
At the Fiction Collective office, Gloria was busy addressing the very spiffy invitations to the Gotham Book Mart party next Monday, which should be nicer than either of the publication parties I’ve attended so far. There’ll be champagne there.
(On Saturday night, I asked Hal whether a particular attorney was political, and he replied, “Everyone is political, Richie.”)
It looks like Baumbach can’t get me a job with the MFA program. The Department wants the MFA Program Administrator to be one of their own: probably Donez Xiques, a very fine lady.
Dan Curzon sent me his collection of gay-oriented stories for possible publication, and I sent them off to Steve Katz to get his opinion although I’d love to look at the manuscript myself.
The signed contracts from Elaine Kraf and Leon Rooke have come in, and we need only one more book for the fall ’77 list.
Laurie came in to have a tutorial with Jon. She was a bit nervous after being observed by Dan Mayers; Laura felt he’s stuffy and didn’t go for her loose teaching style.
In the hall, I bumped into – of all people – Jay Hershenson, looking like a businessman with a suit, raincoat, briefcase and short haircut. He greeted me like the master politician he is, probably figuring that it’s possible that I may be able to do him some good someday.
I went off to have lunch by myself in Campus Corner, reminiscing about old times. I ran into Yolanda, who’s still taking lit courses; Kenny McNamara, who’s grown a beard; and Josh’s friend Harry, who is sending out résumés after getting his M.A. in Urban Studies from Wisconsin.
I just kept running into people from the past today, and in the end I was afraid I’d run into someone whom I didn’t want to see. I had a dream like that last night.