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He [Sherwood Anderson] was very unsure of himself; that is why he was never in a hurry with anybody, for it takes a long time to understand– or to misunderstand– people. He never had the American “busy” malady. Nor had Dreiser; if you wanted to see him, he always asked you to come over right away. Marsden Hartley was not fancy or affected either until Paul Rosenberg, the art dealer, had sold thirty thousand dollars’ worth of his work one year. Hartley told me the following story: At a literary party a Broadway theater magnate rushed into Hartley’s arms, crying out with rapture: “Oh, Marsden, we have not seen each other for twenty years; when shall we have dinner together?” To which Hartley replied: “Well, when?” That dumbfounded the Broadway impresario: “You know, Hartley, I have so many appointments, and by the weekend I must go to Connecticut to restore my flagging energies. This coming week is quite full, really overflowing; let me see about the next week after that; there’s Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, and then, O God, another Connecticut weekend; what about three weeks from next Thursday?” Hartley, the flinty Maine artist, retorted: “Nothing doing; nobody is that busy.” After which the theater man said rather sheepishly: “Would you please have dinner with me tonight?” Once I asked Alfred Steiglitz about Waldo Frank, and he answered “Waldo’s busy being great.” Sherwood Anderson was never the great or the quick, and neither was Dreiser. I deeply wish that Sherwood Anderson were alive just to know that someone in America still has time to drink a bottle of wine and and to to talk, for until we have some good, slow people again we won’t have books that enlarge our affections and trust.”

— Edward Dahlberg, from “My Friends Steiglitz, Anderson and Dreiser” (collected in Alms For Oblivion, 1968)

Caz Dolowicz doesn’t have to brag. Caz Dolowicz never met Ranolph Bourne. Caz Dolowicz hears Oistrakh everywhere!

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