Dear Pussycat:Some of us find it easier to say in a letter whatever it is we want to express -- love, rage, outrage, affection, resentment, enthusiasm, a request to do a chore -- than we do person to person or even phone to phone. I ve been writing letters, somewhat successfully I think, since I was eight years old. I got President Franklin Roosevelt to write to my wheelchair-bound (from polio) sister by dropping him a line at the White House. Some of my letters don t quite make it, of course -- trying to get New York Times publisher Arthur Sulzberger to fire his vicious play reviewer Frank Rich who tore apart my husband s perfectly fine play, A Few Good Men. He wouldn t do it -- no recourse but to write the reviewer himself, "Dear Frank, you bastard! etc." I ve thanked designer Emilio Pucci for turning small bust and big hips into goddess stature with whammo fabric and genius engineering, kept a few beloved employees from jumping ship or into the river with careful flattery, consoled the grieving. Wouldn t you like to see a little collection of my best, meanest and happiest notes that reflect a pretty fascinating New York life, a career they don t make many like, love and friendship with junior high school buddies and a few razzle-dazzle celebrities? Okay...if you like good old-fashioned staying-in-touch by correspondence, here they are!Helen Gurley Brown
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