The Personal History, Adventures, Experiences & Observations of Peter Leroy

Chapter 50October 29Someone, SomewhereIn some ways these people (I am one) cannot exist without the oxygen of laughter. Dawn Powell, diary entryThe ability to burst out laughing is proof of a fine character. I mistrust those who avoid laughter and refuse its overtures. They are afraid to shake the tree, mindful of the fruits and birds, afraid that someone might notice that nothing comes off their branches. Jean Cocteau, “On Laughter”ALBERTINE AND I spent the whole day packing, with help from Lou and all his friends and from professionals hired by Artie for the heavy work. By dinnertime all of our worldly goods were en route to a small apartment in Manhattan, to be delivered the next day.MY BIRTHDAY “CAKE” was a pecan pie with fifty candles. Before I began reading the final installment of Dead Air, I yielded the floor to Lou, who said, “Listen — for the last forty-nine nights I've been sending my show in on tapes that Elaine's been shuttling to the studio — except for one piece of the Catalog of Human Misery a few nights ago that I phoned in from my room here — but tonight, right after Peter's reading, I'm going to the studio to do this one live, because tonight's my last show, the sign-off, the gala, the big finish — so tune in, will you? It's a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity! Don't miss it!” Then I read “Someone, Somewhere.”WE ALL MAKE MISTAKES. On my thirteenth birthday, I made one. I was, at the time, the sole supplier of flying-saucer detectors in Babbington, New York, clam capital of America, my home town; I also ran a broadcasting network from a cave in my back yard; and I had begun spying in a small way, planting an electronic eavesdropping device camouflaged as a flying-saucer detector in the bedroom of Mr. and Mrs. Roger Jerrold, a couple who lived down the block from me — or around the corner — in the hope that I might hear Mrs. Jerrold having sex with Mr. Yummy, a man who delivered baked goods and other joys to the housebound wives of Babbington. As it so often does, curiosity led to my mistake. One day, instead of attending to my duties as broadcaster and announcer, I plugged my tape recorder — a birthday gift to myself — into my transmitter and let a tape play over the air while I went prowling into the secrets that my friends Raskol, Marvin, Spike, and Matthew kept in the cave. When I had snooped enough to make myself feel guilty about it, I returned to the transmitter and put my headphones on to see what point I'd reached in my prerecorded palaver. I discovered that, instead of a recording of myself acting the part of Larry Peters, the congenial substitute host of “The Peter Leroy Show,” I had been broadcasting a tape that I had stolen from the Jerrolds, a recording of Mrs. Jerrold and Mr. Yummy that had probably been made in secret by Mr. Jerrold, who may have been a spy — not an amateur like me, but a professional, a soldier in the cold war. The tape was nearly at its end, and Mrs. Jerrold was screaming “Oh, Yummy, Yummy, Yummy!” her voice rising in a crescendo of pleasure. When one is in a cave sitting in front of a radio transmitter broadcasting a signal into an unseen world, it is hard to tell whether anyone at all is out there listening, unless one has a feedback system of some sort that allows one to detect the effects of the signal on the outside world. I had one of those effect-detectors: the electronic eavesdropper that I had installed in the Jerrolds' bedroom. I bent my ear to the radio that I kept tuned to the eavesdropper, listening for any sound that might suggest that the Jerrolds had heard the tape that I'd been playing. At first, I didn't hear much, because the eavesdropper wasn't sensitive enough to pick up sounds beyond the bedroom, but then I heard Mr. Jerrold's voice, increasing in volume as he came within range: “. . . not a fit mother, you b***h! Junior — get your coat. We're going to Grandma's.” Then some banging and thumping — a crash — the ringing of a bell — and then nothing. The persistence and spaciousness of the nothingness led me to conclude that someone had knocked my eavesdropper to the floor and that it was going to require some repairs before it would work again. I shut the transmitter down, came up out of the cave, lowered the stump into place, and walked to the Jerrolds' house. The car was not in the driveway. I walked up the side of the driveway, at the edge of it, on the grass, so that my footsteps wouldn't make a sound on the gravel. When I got to the window at the end of the living room, I stood on my toes and peeked inside. I saw Mrs. Jerrold, at the opposite end of the room, sitting on the sofa, in the gray light of the television set. She was smoking a cigarette. I ducked immediately, fearful that she would see me. I went home. I ate my dinner. I helped wash the dishes. I went out for a walk. I returned to the Jerrolds' house. It was dark downstairs, but there was a light on in the bedroom. I went around to the back door and stood there trying to work up the courage to knock. If there ever was a time when I could knock at the door and say to Mrs. Jerrold, “Let me in, let me in, let me in, I implore,” and hope to be admitted, it seemed to me that this was it, but I didn't have the nerve, and so I turned away, and put my head down, and put my hands in my pockets, and went home and went to bed. What happened after that I know only at second hand, from the Jerrolds' neighbor, Mrs. Breed, who got it from the cops. Following a domestic dispute, Mr. Jerrold drove off with his son to visit his parents in Minnesota. Sometime after he left, Mrs. Jerrold locked all the doors and windows in the house, stuffed towels under the doors and up the flue of the living room fireplace, taped the cracks around the windows, taped wrapping paper over the glass, and drew the blinds and curtains. She heaped combustibles in the center of the living room: paper and boxes, scrap wood, rags, wooden tables and chairs, Mr. Jerrold's clothing, and reels of recording tape. While she was heaping the combustibles, or perhaps after she had finished the work, while she was taking a look at the heap and congratulating herself on a job well done, she drank a pitcher of whiskey sours (“made with good Canadian whiskey,” according to what Mrs. Breed said the police said) and took several sleeping pills. Sometime after finishing her whiskey sours and sleeping pills, or perhaps just before she finished her whiskey sours and sleeping pills, she doused the pile of combustibles with some cleaning fluid and kerosene and set fire to it, and sometime after that she passed out, and sometime after that she died, but the house was not destroyed. Mrs. Jerrold had gone to great lengths to ensure that there would be no drafts, no air to save her from the end that she had designed for herself, but in her agitated state she had forgotten that a fire needs air as much as an unhappy woman does. Neither the police nor Mrs. Breed made any mention of a visitor who stood outside the kitchen door, thought of knocking, did not knock, and left. Mr. Jerrold and Junior never returned to town. The house was put on the market, but it took a long time to sell, because it smelled of smoke and needed work. Was it all my fault? It may have been. The effects of the things we do extend themselves, like a chain or a relay network, reaching farther than we suppose, so all our acts have unforeseen consequences, and I suspect that someone, somewhere, suffers for every mistake I make.EVERYONE SAT IN SILENCE until Lou said, “I have to admit that I was expecting a happy ending.” Then he looked at his watch and said, “Hey, I've got to go.”Subscribe to The Personal History, Adventures, Experiences & Observations of Peter LeroyShare The Personal History, Adventures, Experiences & Observations of Peter LeroyWatch Well, What Now? This series of short videos continues The Personal History, Adventures, Experiences & Observations of Peter Leroy in the present.Have you missed an episode or two or several?* You can begin reading at the beginning or you can catch up by visiting the archive or consulting the index to the Topical Guide. The Substack serialization of Little Follies begins here; Herb 'n' Lorna begins here; Reservations Recommended begins here; Where Do You Stop? begins here; What a Piece of Work I Am begins here; At Home with the Glynns begins here; Leaving Small's Hotel begins here.* You can listen to the episodes on the Personal History podcast. Begin at the beginning or scroll through the episodes to find what you've missed. The Substack podcast reading of Little Follies begins here; Herb 'n' Lorna begins here; Reservations Recommended begins here; Where Do You Stop? begins here; What a Piece of Work I Am begins here; At Home with the Glynns begins here; Leaving Small's Hotel begins here.* You can listen to “My Mother Takes a Tumble” and “Do Clams Bite?” complete and uninterrupted as audiobooks through YouTube.* You can ensure that you never miss a future issue by getting a free subscription. (You can help support the work by choosing a paid subscription instead.)* At Apple Books you can download free eBooks of Little Follies, Herb 'n' Lorna, Reservations Recommended, Where Do You Stop?, What a Piece of Work I Am, and At Home with the Glynns.* You can buy hardcover and paperback editions of all the books at Lulu.* You'll find overviews of the entire work in An Introduction to The Personal History, Adventures, Experiences & Observations of Peter Leroy (a pdf document), The Origin Story (here on substack), Between the Lines (a video, here on Substack), and at Encyclopedia.com.The serialization of The Personal History, Adventures, Experiences & Observations of Peter Leroy is supported by its readers. I sometimes earn affiliate fees when you click through the affiliate links in a post. EKThe illustration in the banner that opens each episode is from an illustration by Stewart Rouse that first appeared on the cover of the August 1931 issue of Modern Mechanics and Inventions.www.erickraft.comwww.babbingtonpress.com Get full access to The Personal History, Adventures, Experiences & Observations of Peter Leroy at peterleroy.substack.com/subscribe

LOU AND HIS CREW spread sketches and drawings and charts and graphs along the bar to show Al and me what they intended to do with Small's. . . . Get full access to The Personal History, Adventures, Experiences & Observations of Peter Leroy at peterleroy.substack.com/subscribe

THIS DAY, Monday, was the first real working day for Lou's takeover team, and they spent the day in constant conference, proposing and planning, scheming and dreaming. They were still buzzing after dinner, when we gathered in the lounge, but I silenced them with my reading of “Shame on Me,” episode forty-nine of Dead Air. Get full access to The Personal History, Adventures, Experiences & Observations of Peter Leroy at peterleroy.substack.com/subscribe

I TOOK A WALK around the rim of the island at dawn, walking along the sand, with my shoes off, in the lapping water, through the stones, pebbles, and broken shells. The water was cold now, but I wanted to walk in it, . . . Get full access to The Personal History, Adventures, Experiences & Observations of Peter Leroy at peterleroy.substack.com/subscribe

ALTHOUGH Otto and Esther tried their best to enter the hangover culture, they couldn't quite manage it. By mid-morning, those of us who had lived through the night before had returned to something like our everyday charm, but . . . Get full access to The Personal History, Adventures, Experiences & Observations of Peter Leroy at peterleroy.substack.com/subscribe

OTTO AND ESTHER — parents of Louise, son and daughter-in-law of Artie the Demolition Man and his wife Nancy — returned to the island after nineteen days away and found themselves surrounded by a bunch of zombies walking around in a hangover haze. . . . Get full access to The Personal History, Adventures, Experiences & Observations of Peter Leroy at peterleroy.substack.com/subscribe

ANARCHY REIGNED around the bar, with Albertine's relatives invading Lou's territory to make their own drinks and gathering in knots of three and four to sing the bits and pieces of old songs that they found almost unforgettable. Lou threw in the towel. . . . Get full access to The Personal History, Adventures, Experiences & Observations of Peter Leroy at peterleroy.substack.com/subscribe

WHEN THE TIME ARRIVED for my reading, I thought of saying something sentimental about the comforts of friends and family, but the crowd had become boisterous to the point of riot, so, instead, I took a deep breath and delivered episode forty-seven of Dead Air, “Still No News from Outer Space,” without a pause. Get full access to The Personal History, Adventures, Experiences & Observations of Peter Leroy at peterleroy.substack.com/subscribe

MY FRIENDS DID SHOW UP, and Albertine's mother, all of her siblings, all of her aunts and uncles, and most of her cousins, so all the tents were full. I wished that Albertine's father could have been there, but wishing couldn't make it so, since he was among the dead, . . . Get full access to The Personal History, Adventures, Experiences & Observations of Peter Leroy at peterleroy.substack.com/subscribe

IN BED, Albertine rolled over onto me and made love to me slowly and thoroughly. She was so tender and affectionate that I began to suspect that she was administering delight as a preventive analgesic against some disappointment. Get full access to The Personal History, Adventures, Experiences & Observations of Peter Leroy at peterleroy.substack.com/subscribe

THE AUDIENCE THAT NIGHT for my reading of episode forty-six of Dead Air, “Suspicions Confirmed,” was a good one, a Friday crowd, but, looking out at them and beginning to read, I savored the pleasant expectation that Saturday's turnout would be even better.BECAUSE I was attracted to Mrs. Jerrold, but she was attracted to Mr. Yummy, I was frustrated and jealous, jealous enough to build an electronic eavesdropping device and install it in Mrs. Jerrold's bedroom. I set up a secret listening post in a cave in my back yard, and I spent every spare hour in that cave, with my radio tuned to the eavesdropper in Mrs. Jerrold's bedroom, waiting to hear the details of her tumbles with Mr. Yummy, so that I would know just what I was missing, but hour after hour I heard nothing. My parents began to wonder what I was doing during these absences, and I had begun to wonder myself. To camouflage my real occupation, spy, I offered them a cover that was nearly the truth. I interrupted myself to say, “I have since learned, by the way, largely from this experience, that a cover that is nearly the truth is the best sort of cover to use. Convincing people that you are someone they already think you are is far easier than starting from scratch and convincing them that you are what you wish you were, what you want to be, or what you have been struggling all your life to become. In my case, I have put so much effort into disguising myself as a country bumpkin, assistant innkeeper at a small hotel on a small island, have done the job so thoroughly and so well, that I'm convinced that that is what I have become at last, just at the time when I have sold the job out from under myself.” “Peter,” my father said at dinner one evening, in a casual tone meant to catch me off guard, “what are you doing with yourself these days?” “Me?” “No. The man in the moon.” “Well,” I said, “that old man in the moon, he's just sitting there, watching us down here, spying on us while we do the crazy things we do, shaking his head, smiling that enigmatic smile.” “Don't get smart with me, Peter.” “But — I thought that was the point of my going to school, so that I'd — ” In a clipped, no-nonsense tone, he said, “I want to know what you've been doing and where you've been going every afternoon, young man. You've got your mother worried to death.” My mother pushed her plate away from her, lit a cigarette, and took a swallow of wine. She did look worried. “I've been in my cave,” I said. “Your cave?” said my father, as if this were the last thing he had expected to hear. “Yeah,” I said. “Raskol and Marvin and Matthew and Spike and I dug a cave in the back yard, and I've got a radio transmitter out there, and I'm going to go on the air tomorrow.” “Don't mock me, young man,” said my father, reddening, clenching his fists. Turning to my mother, I said, “You'll be able to listen to me on the kitchen radio, and then you'll know where I am.” “Listen, Peter — ” my father began, raising a finger to tick off the first of the points he planned to make. “Come on out in the back,” I said, cutting him off, “and I'll show you.” They followed close behind me, though I set a sprightly pace. Suddenly, having been forced to tear away the camouflage and reveal what lay beneath it, I found that I was eager to do so, eager to show them my handiwork, and I was growing more eager with every step. I knew what responses to expect; that is to say, I had imagined their responses and I'd come to believe what I had imagined. Previously, the supposed certainty of those expectations had kept me from showing the cave to my parents, but now I found that I wanted to check my assumptions. I imagined that my mother would be amazed by what I'd done and proud of the skill I displayed in doing it, that she would understand the effort that had gone into the work, and that she would find in it evidence that I was going to amount to something someday. My father would be annoyed that I had been so presumptuous as to tunnel through a section of his back yard without his permission, would interpret my tunneling as a metaphor for my undermining his authority, would wonder why I couldn't put this kind of effort into mowing the lawn, and would find in what I'd done evidence that I was never going to amount to anything. We stopped at the place where my landscaping camouflaged the entrance to the cave, and my mother said, “Oh, this is that spot I was telling you about, Bert! Isn't it perfect? Those birches, that clump of wildflowers, the mossy hill, the stump — ”On that cue, I flipped the stump back on its hinges to reveal the entrance to the tunnel that led to the cave. My mother was amazed. My father was annoyed. How satisfyingly predictable they were — people you could count on! I was glad to see my beliefs, my expectations, confirmed. It made me think that I had become the kind of savvy guy who really knows what's going on.[to be continued]Subscribe to The Personal History, Adventures, Experiences & Observations of Peter LeroyShare The Personal History, Adventures, Experiences & Observations of Peter LeroyWatch Well, What Now? This series of short videos continues The Personal History, Adventures, Experiences & Observations of Peter Leroy in the present.Have you missed an episode or two or several?* You can begin reading at the beginning or you can catch up by visiting the archive or consulting the index to the Topical Guide. The Substack serialization of Little Follies begins here; Herb 'n' Lorna begins here; Reservations Recommended begins here; Where Do You Stop? begins here; What a Piece of Work I Am begins here; At Home with the Glynns begins here; Leaving Small's Hotel begins here.* You can listen to the episodes on the Personal History podcast. Begin at the beginning or scroll through the episodes to find what you've missed. The Substack podcast reading of Little Follies begins here; Herb 'n' Lorna begins here; Reservations Recommended begins here; Where Do You Stop? begins here; What a Piece of Work I Am begins here; At Home with the Glynns begins here; Leaving Small's Hotel begins here.* You can listen to “My Mother Takes a Tumble” and “Do Clams Bite?” complete and uninterrupted as audiobooks through YouTube.* You can ensure that you never miss a future issue by getting a free subscription. (You can help support the work by choosing a paid subscription instead.)* At Apple Books you can download free eBooks of Little Follies, Herb 'n' Lorna, Reservations Recommended, Where Do You Stop?, What a Piece of Work I Am, and At Home with the Glynns.* You can buy hardcover and paperback editions of all the books at Lulu.* You'll find overviews of the entire work in An Introduction to The Personal History, Adventures, Experiences & Observations of Peter Leroy (a pdf document), The Origin Story (here on substack), Between the Lines (a video, here on Substack), and at Encyclopedia.com.The serialization of The Personal History, Adventures, Experiences & Observations of Peter Leroy is supported by its readers. I sometimes earn affiliate fees when you click through the affiliate links in a post. EKThe illustration in the banner that opens each episode is from an illustration by Stewart Rouse that first appeared on the cover of the August 1931 issue of Modern Mechanics and Inventions.www.erickraft.comwww.babbingtonpress.com Get full access to The Personal History, Adventures, Experiences & Observations of Peter Leroy at peterleroy.substack.com/subscribe

Chapter 46October 25Suspicions Confirmed Chance, my friend and master, will surely deign to send again, to help me, the familiar devils of his unruly kingdom! I have no faith, except in him — and in myself. Particularly in him, for, when I sink, he fishes me up again, and grips and shakes me like a rescuing dog . . . So that every time I sink, I do not expect a final catastrophe, but only some adventure, some trivial, commonplace miracle which, like a sparkling link, may close up again the necklace of my days. Renée Néré, in Colette's La VagabondeYOU MAY SUSPECT that you have no real friends, and yet when you die, if you could somehow arrange to attend your own wake — disguised, perhaps, as a shadow in a corner or a mist drifting in through an open window — you might be surprised and delighted to see how many people show up. Of course, it is equally likely — at least equally likely, probably more likely — that your suspicions would be confirmed, and that the room where your corpse lay a-moldering would be empty except for a melancholy shade or a dispirited fog, so it's best not to leave such matters to chance. Make arrangements now for an open bar, hot hors d'oeuvres, and a jazz band. That'll bring them in. I was thinking along those lines, and consequently sinking into self-pity, when I happened to bump into Lou at the coffee urn, where I thought I would probably find him at that time of the morning. “You know, Lou,” I said, in a casual tone meant to catch him off guard, “I've been thinking.” “Uh-oh,” he said. “I've been thinking that we ought to celebrate your acquisition.” “Great idea.” “I was figuring that Small's Affairs could handle the catering, and Nancy and Elaine could take care of promotion and public relations.” “Sure. Sounds fine.” “Tony T could put the whole fleet of runabouts into service, perhaps decorate them a bit.” “Decorate?” “I was thinking of a special pennant of some kind.” “A pennant?” “Something like — oh — how about, ‘Happy Birthday Peter'?” “What?” “Only kidding.” “Uh-huh.” “If we all pitch in, we could erect enough tents by tomorrow, I think.” “Tents?” “Well, my guess is that if we turn Artie loose with a list of my closest friends we'll have an invasion on our hands by tomorrow morning — if he remembers to mention the open bar, the free food, and the jazz band.” “Jazz band?” “Loretta can make it happen. I'm sure she can.” He looked at me for a minute, then asked; “Is it okay if some of the pennants say ‘Good Luck Lou'?” “Of course,” I said. “We'd better get Cutie working on those.” “Right,” I said. “No time to lose.”[to be continued]Subscribe to The Personal History, Adventures, Experiences & Observations of Peter LeroyShare The Personal History, Adventures, Experiences & Observations of Peter LeroyWatch Well, What Now? This series of short videos continues The Personal History, Adventures, Experiences & Observations of Peter Leroy in the present.Have you missed an episode or two or several?* You can begin reading at the beginning or you can catch up by visiting the archive or consulting the index to the Topical Guide. The Substack serialization of Little Follies begins here; Herb 'n' Lorna begins here; Reservations Recommended begins here; Where Do You Stop? begins here; What a Piece of Work I Am begins here; At Home with the Glynns begins here; Leaving Small's Hotel begins here.* You can listen to the episodes on the Personal History podcast. Begin at the beginning or scroll through the episodes to find what you've missed. The Substack podcast reading of Little Follies begins here; Herb 'n' Lorna begins here; Reservations Recommended begins here; Where Do You Stop? begins here; What a Piece of Work I Am begins here; At Home with the Glynns begins here; Leaving Small's Hotel begins here.* You can listen to “My Mother Takes a Tumble” and “Do Clams Bite?” complete and uninterrupted as audiobooks through YouTube.* You can ensure that you never miss a future issue by getting a free subscription. (You can help support the work by choosing a paid subscription instead.)* At Apple Books you can download free eBooks of Little Follies, Herb 'n' Lorna, Reservations Recommended, Where Do You Stop?, What a Piece of Work I Am, and At Home with the Glynns.* You can buy hardcover and paperback editions of all the books at Lulu.* You'll find overviews of the entire work in An Introduction to The Personal History, Adventures, Experiences & Observations of Peter Leroy (a pdf document), The Origin Story (here on substack), Between the Lines (a video, here on Substack), and at Encyclopedia.com.The serialization of The Personal History, Adventures, Experiences & Observations of Peter Leroy is supported by its readers. I sometimes earn affiliate fees when you click through the affiliate links in a post. EKThe illustration in the banner that opens each episode is from an illustration by Stewart Rouse that first appeared on the cover of the August 1931 issue of Modern Mechanics and Inventions.www.erickraft.comwww.babbingtonpress.com Get full access to The Personal History, Adventures, Experiences & Observations of Peter Leroy at peterleroy.substack.com/subscribe

“LOU,” I said to Lou, at the bar, where he was pouring free drinks for everyone, “I want to tell you a story.” “Isn't that what you've been doing?” he asked. “All my life,” I said, “but this is a story with a message.” . . . Get full access to The Personal History, Adventures, Experiences & Observations of Peter Leroy at peterleroy.substack.com/subscribe

ALBERTINE sat on a stool at the bar for my reading of episode forty-five of Dead Air, “Project Number 102: Electronic Eavesdropper.” She was drinking champagne and beaming, glowing with the relief that had come with the news that in a few days she would be free. Get full access to The Personal History, Adventures, Experiences & Observations of Peter Leroy at peterleroy.substack.com/subscribe

We sat there for a while in silence. I was trying to think of the right words with which to begin to broach the subject of his buying the hotel as a way out of the world he had come to hate, as a cave in which to hide from it. . . . Get full access to The Personal History, Adventures, Experiences & Observations of Peter Leroy at peterleroy.substack.com/subscribe

THUNDERING WINDS pummeled the hotel all night, drafts blowing through the windows and under the doors, but by morning, everything was still, and a heavy fog filled the unmoving air. . . . Get full access to The Personal History, Adventures, Experiences & Observations of Peter Leroy at peterleroy.substack.com/subscribe

BALDY THE DUMMY was miserable throughout his program that night. His wisecracking style was gone. He didn't even tease Bob as he ordinarily did. He was bitter and snappish. When he got to the end of the show and turned to the news, the Catalog of Human Misery, I had to turn the volume up to hear him. . . . Get full access to The Personal History, Adventures, Experiences & Observations of Peter Leroy at peterleroy.substack.com/subscribe

WHEN I WAS A BOY, not yet a teenager, I found myself engaged in several projects that seemed to ask more and more of me — improvements, embellishments, and enlargements that kept me very busy for a boy of my age at that time. . . . Get full access to The Personal History, Adventures, Experiences & Observations of Peter Leroy at peterleroy.substack.com/subscribe

DICK AND JANE returned, as they had said they would, and Albertine gave them their old room, as she had said she would, but it wasn't the same as it had been when they left it, because during their absence Alice had redecorated it . . . Get full access to The Personal History, Adventures, Experiences & Observations of Peter Leroy at peterleroy.substack.com/subscribe

WHEN I FINISHED, I said, “I would like to say a little something about getting caught up in one's own work, something I sometimes call the art of self-deception. . . . Get full access to The Personal History, Adventures, Experiences & Observations of Peter Leroy at peterleroy.substack.com/subscribe

MY AUDIENCE for “Refinements and Improvements,” episode forty-three of Dead Air, consisted of the remaining inmates — Lou, Elaine, Clark and Alice, Artie and Nancy, Louise and Miranda, Tony T and Cutie, Loretta, Theodore and Carolina, Mark, Margot, Martha, Martha and Edward, Margot and Daniel, and five lingering dinner guests. Get full access to The Personal History, Adventures, Experiences & Observations of Peter Leroy at peterleroy.substack.com/subscribe

ONE STEP FORWARD, one step back. With two clients for Memoirs While You Wait, I spent hours planning how to deal with the crush of new clients that was clearly on its way, or would be on its way just as soon as Manuel and Porky did their word-of-mouth work. . . . Get full access to The Personal History, Adventures, Experiences & Observations of Peter Leroy at peterleroy.substack.com/subscribe

IN BED, Albertine asked, “Do you know where the word camouflage comes from, my sweet?” I said, “No, ma petite. I confess that I do not, but I imagine that you are going to tell me that it comes from the name of one of your countrymen, a Capitaine Camouffe who dressed in leafy green and woodsy brown so that he could hide in the trees and bushes when Napoleon was looking for volunteers to lead the Russian campaign.” . . . Get full access to The Personal History, Adventures, Experiences & Observations of Peter Leroy at peterleroy.substack.com/subscribe

THE FISH had begun to smell by the time I read episode forty-two of Dead Air, “Playing to the House.” The odor hadn't penetrated the hotel yet, but I knew from experience that it would the next day. . . . Get full access to The Personal History, Adventures, Experiences & Observations of Peter Leroy at peterleroy.substack.com/subscribe

THE LAST GROUP of potential buyers for the hotel arrived early in the morning. (I call them the last group of potential buyers because two days later I persuaded Lou to buy the place.) Get full access to The Personal History, Adventures, Experiences & Observations of Peter Leroy at peterleroy.substack.com/subscribe

Peter has made a start on Kap'n Klam: The Memoirs of Porky White, Nonpareil American Restaurateur, Entrepreneur, and Raconteur, As Told to Peter Leroy. So far he has only two episodes. The second episode was an attempt to get some of Porky's wit and wisdom into the book. Get full access to The Personal History, Adventures, Experiences & Observations of Peter Leroy at peterleroy.substack.com/subscribe

I MADE A START on Kap'n Klam: The Memoirs of Porky White, Nonpareil American Restaurateur, Entrepreneur, and Raconteur, As Told to Peter Leroy that very night. . . . Get full access to The Personal History, Adventures, Experiences & Observations of Peter Leroy at peterleroy.substack.com/subscribe

JUST BEFORE I began reading “The Art of Obvious Subtlety,” episode forty-one of Dead Air, a guest arrived from out of the past. He slipped into the back of the room — as well as a big man with a face familiar to millions can slip into a room — and settled himself into a wing chair. He gave me a wave, and I returned it, and then I read. Get full access to The Personal History, Adventures, Experiences & Observations of Peter Leroy at peterleroy.substack.com/subscribe

I BEGAN THE DAY in my cave, at my computer, working on the forty-first episode of Dead Air, but when I took a break to get a second cup of coffee from the kitchen, . . . Get full access to The Personal History, Adventures, Experiences & Observations of Peter Leroy at peterleroy.substack.com/subscribe

AFTER THE READING, I delivered an advertisement for myself. “I've been in the memoir racket for as long as I can remember,” I said, . . . Get full access to The Personal History, Adventures, Experiences & Observations of Peter Leroy at peterleroy.substack.com/subscribe

THAT NIGHT, I read episode forty of Dead Air, “Hardly Working.” . . . Get full access to The Personal History, Adventures, Experiences & Observations of Peter Leroy at peterleroy.substack.com/subscribe

WITH THE GENERATORS supplying the power, I was able to get Memoirs While You Wait off the ground. I printed a stack of flyers on my Little Giant LG-6000 laser printer and wrote an advertisement for the classified sections of popular magazines that I thought were likely to reach the segments of the population most likely to yield clients: . . . Get full access to The Personal History, Adventures, Experiences & Observations of Peter Leroy at peterleroy.substack.com/subscribe

I HELD MY HANDS UP to forestall the applause that would probably otherwise have drowned me out and said, “You may be asking yourself, ‘What on earth made those kids think that they could dig a cave?' . . . Get full access to The Personal History, Adventures, Experiences & Observations of Peter Leroy at peterleroy.substack.com/subscribe

FOR MY READING of “The Hole and the Hill,” episode thirty-nine of Dead Air, I had quite a sizable audience. The Friday turnout for dinner and drinks was very good, and we acquired seven new resident guests in the afternoon . . . Get full access to The Personal History, Adventures, Experiences & Observations of Peter Leroy at peterleroy.substack.com/subscribe

AN EARNEST YOUNG COUPLE, Theodore (“Don't call me Ted”) and Carolina (“With an a”), friends of friends of Lou's, arrived in the morning with a couple of small gasoline generators to provide electricity for the island temporarily . . . Get full access to The Personal History, Adventures, Experiences & Observations of Peter Leroy at peterleroy.substack.com/subscribe

I HAD A WONDERFUL TIME reading to this group. They were shy about responding at first, but when I began hamming it up a little more than usual they began to realize that they could laugh, . . . Get full access to The Personal History, Adventures, Experiences & Observations of Peter Leroy at peterleroy.substack.com/subscribe

WHEN I WAS A BOY, I was for a while the head of a broadcasting network that stretched from one end of my home town to the other. It consisted of 107 small radio transmitters built from kits. Mine was the parent station, WPLR; the other 106 were repeater stations that extended my transmitter's range like a string of pearls. Get full access to The Personal History, Adventures, Experiences & Observations of Peter Leroy at peterleroy.substack.com/subscribe

WE WERE STILL POWERLESS by mid-morning, when Ms. Fletcher-Hackford's seventh-grade English class from the Babbington Central Upper Middle School arrived. Their visit had been planned some time ago, and I had forgotten all about it, which meant, of course, that I had forgotten to prepare anything for it. . . . Get full access to The Personal History, Adventures, Experiences & Observations of Peter Leroy at peterleroy.substack.com/subscribe

I HAD HOPED to begin putting my salesmanship to work on Lou that night, but he stood behind the bar in unwonted silence, looking for all the world like a grumpy guy. My instincts told me that the direct approach wasn't going to work; I was going to have to be subtle. . . . Get full access to The Personal History, Adventures, Experiences & Observations of Peter Leroy at peterleroy.substack.com/subscribe

WE DINED BY CANDLELIGHT that evening, and by candlelight I read episode thirty-seven of Dead Air, “Act Now! Offer Limited!” . . . Get full access to The Personal History, Adventures, Experiences & Observations of Peter Leroy at peterleroy.substack.com/subscribe

In Episode 3, “Simulations” Albertine asks, “Are we living in a simulation?” and Peter asks, “Where are the martinis?” Get full access to The Personal History, Adventures, Experiences & Observations of Peter Leroy at peterleroy.substack.com/subscribe

THIS IS THE STORY of the death of Rockwell Kingman. Like every success story, it begins with a need. In this case, the need was money. That need had driven me into the dark recesses of my mind, . . . Get full access to The Personal History, Adventures, Experiences & Observations of Peter Leroy at peterleroy.substack.com/subscribe

BALDY THE DUMMY'S closing story that night was the one that Albertine told me Lou had read on the porch, about the twelve-year-old girl who killed herself with a single gunshot to the head. . . . Get full access to The Personal History, Adventures, Experiences & Observations of Peter Leroy at peterleroy.substack.com/subscribe

FOR MY THIRTY-SIXTH READING from Dead Air, “The Relay System,” I was in a very good mood, a little high on hope. . . . Get full access to The Personal History, Adventures, Experiences & Observations of Peter Leroy at peterleroy.substack.com/subscribe

I SAT AT MY COMPUTER, staring at the screen and writing nothing. I spent an hour that way, and then I turned the thing off and went to the kitchen for some coffee. The other early risers were in the lounge, but I avoided them. . . . Get full access to The Personal History, Adventures, Experiences & Observations of Peter Leroy at peterleroy.substack.com/subscribe

ALBERTINE sat at her vanity, looking through a photograph album. I looked over her shoulder. A depression was coming over us. I could feel it, not only in myself, but in her, too. . . . Get full access to The Personal History, Adventures, Experiences & Observations of Peter Leroy at peterleroy.substack.com/subscribe

MY READING of the thirty-fifth episode of Dead Air, “Thank You for Letting Me into Your Home,” was preceded by the first dinner that Louise and Miranda had prepared entirely on their own, . . . Get full access to The Personal History, Adventures, Experiences & Observations of Peter Leroy at peterleroy.substack.com/subscribe

PIANO MOVERS, sent by Steinway at Albertine's request, came and took her piano away. They left her a check for what it was worth to Steinway, . . . Get full access to The Personal History, Adventures, Experiences & Observations of Peter Leroy at peterleroy.substack.com/subscribe

VERY EARLY in the morning, I was at my computer working on Murder While You Wait. . . . Get full access to The Personal History, Adventures, Experiences & Observations of Peter Leroy at peterleroy.substack.com/subscribe

“YOU THINK you still owe him an apology?” asked Artie. “Matthew, I mean.” “Yes, I think so,” I said. . . . Get full access to The Personal History, Adventures, Experiences & Observations of Peter Leroy at peterleroy.substack.com/subscribe

I TRIED to persuade Matthew and Effie to stay for my thirty-fourth reading from Dead Air, “The Persistence of Memory,” because it was one of two episodes — the other being number forty-nine, “Shame on Me” — that I would have wanted Matthew, especially, to hear, . . . Get full access to The Personal History, Adventures, Experiences & Observations of Peter Leroy at peterleroy.substack.com/subscribe