But the letter went on and on. There was a postscript dated "July
4
th" and another, handwritten and marked simply "Wednesday," that ended: "I am just basically impatient to get everything over with & hopeful that, this time, there is no snag." He was holding back this letter so that it would be sure to reach me too late for any intervention.
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I heard nothing again until 5 August 1983: "I have now concluded that it is my destiny to live: I have no heart to make further attempts, as each one takes an enormous emotional toll, and the huge, almost unbearable chagrin which follows takes a further toll until I am reduced to jelly. Amazingly, I seem to have a strange, strong capacity to bounce back, at least to some degree." Buoyed by his turnabout, Roger vowed to return to USC and pursue his Lawrence project. There was even some hope now for
Genteel Pagan:
"Yesterday I had a long chat at
[sic]
the people of One institute, subsidized by a gay millionaire from New Orleans, and they are interested in reading the Stoddard and perhaps seeing it into print. So I am cheered" (12 August 1983).
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Then, after a long silence, I received what was to be the last letter from Roger: "I've decided to sell all my books & return to Washington, and give up all further research and writing & reviewing on gay lit subjects, since it so obviously has not been worthwhile" (26 November 1983). In what was to be my final reply, I tried, as always, to be encouraging. "I hope that Washington will not prove to be worse than LA," I concluded, "and I hope also that you will let me know how you are doing" (11 December 1983).
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I think I sensed at the time that he would not. Roger had been telling our mutual friend that he felt too embarrassed to write me any longer, having "failed" me by dropping out of USC after I had gone to so much trouble to get him accepted. I knew, however, that his admission had depended finally on the strength not of my recommendation but of his own merits; and it did not really matter to me if he stayed or left, as long as he lived.
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I kept track of Roger now at second hand; I received occasional updates from our mutual friend, to whom he was still writing. Since returning to Washington, Roger had become purposefully inert: he did no reading or writing except an occasional letter; he spent most of his waking hours spinning the television dial, seeking the most inane programs he could find.
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Early in August 1984, I was notified by a Seattle lawyer that Roger had died, leaving me his estate of roughly three thousand dollars. Later
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