My good friend I trust you are well. Once again I must be the "prophet of doom", spare my tongue, ha-ha. I regret to inform you that "Need's Painting" is bankrupt. My resources here were simply not equal to the larger contracts necessary to make the work cost effective. The government work I needed so badly went to a firm with better equipment.
To be specific the job went to a character who might any courses within 1972. I'm elaborating on the obvious to tell you, he did not graduate either. He is neither more intelligent nor hardworking and I. He has no particular aptitude for painting, and does not enjoy the work. Yet he is always made more income and scored larger contracts.
As usual, if we look elsewhere for the reasons, we find his fatuer bankrolled his operation. In the face of this, my failure was as much a statistical consequence as of any inability to compete. However I'm probably alone in believing I did all I could to make it a success this time, and I accept the defeat.
To date this marks the sixth unsuccessful attempt to make an investment. This investme
nt is, of course, my time since I haven't any money. And always the same outcome. You know the rest. Therefore I have another suggestion to present to you. As the others, this one is simply the next slot down my list of elimination. It involves a 'tactical retreat'. I am a poor man the son of a foreman and these years in the city have been a discouraging. However just maybe we could take advantage of the fact that I've been here and others have not.
As a teenager here I spent some years our little town. I wish to briefly describe it to you. It is a static, rank and file, cultureless community were little socially redeeming value whatsoever. A featureless compound on the western slopes, it lies the same latitude as a goodly portion of Siberia. I cannot say I hve avidly followed its development, but experience dictates it is behind the times by a consistent and predictable margin.
The area surrounding it is equally dismal. Although a reputedly good farming area, it is in reality a naturally forested plain unfit for most inhabitation. To be more accurate it is bush. It may be green and plush all season but one can starve to death on it, and even when cleared fertilizer must be dumped on the virgin sorrow to coax a crop. There is nothing indigenous. Until recently everything necessary for comfort was imported. The majority still is.
From gasoline to light bulbs, the imperative winter clothing, and even Christmas trees, electricity and lumber had to be shipped in. The area reproduces little by way of being self-supporting. This artificial existence means two things to me, both advantageous. One, those to administrate the region must be in it for the money, and two anyone apt to be competition to us is likely to be bent on clearing out as soon as he is able.
In other words RofR, there's a lot of intelligent people were justified and the beliefs of the small town exists only as a means for the smart to go in and exploit a fastball dollar. That and secondarily as a spawning ground for the next generation of unskilled laborers.
I admit when I left there in 1971, I was content to never returned. In our changing times tho, I make this proposal. Let me return there for short time anyway. I will 'crack about and discover the form'.
I am certain I will find something ripe for the plucking, but will consider it no more than a feasibility study. I wait your reply, my plans are work in a factory until the end of May, at which time wI will make my tri-annual trip to Idaho over the long weekend. You should write soon.
L.B.M.
[Author’s note 2025: LMB was a common alias of the time, “Little Big Man” from a movie title.
