Stephen King: The Dead Zone

machine and a technician to run it. He says he can find no new brain damage or signs of progressive brain damage. He wants to do a whole series of tests, some of them sound utterly inquisitorial – ‘Renounce, heretic, or we’ll give you another pneumo-brainscan!’

(Ha-ha, and are you still sniffin’ that wicked cocaine’, darlin’?) Anyway, I turned down the kind offer to be pumped and prodded some more. Dad is rather pissed at me about turning the tests down, keeps trying to draw a parallel between my refusal to have them

and my mother’s refusal to take her hypertension medicine. It’s very hard to make him see’ that, if Weizak did find something, the odds would be’ nine-to-one against him being able to do anything about it.

Yes, I saw the Newsweek article. That picture of me is from the press conference, only cropped. Don’t look like anyone you’d like to meet in a dark alley, do I? Ha-ha! Holy Gee (as your buddy Anne Strafford is so fond of saying), but I wish they hadn’t run that story.

The packages, cards, and letters have started coming again. l don’t open any of them anymore unless I recognize the return address, just mark them ‘Return to Sender’. They are too pitiful, too full of hope and hate and belief and unbelief, and somehow they all remind me of the way my Mom was.

Well, I don’t mean to sound so gloomy, it ain’t all that bad. But I don’t want to be a practicing psychic, I don’t want to go on tour or appear on TV (some yahoo from NBC

got our phone number, who knows how, and wanted to know if I’d consider ‘doing the Carson show’. Great idea, huh? Don Rickles could insult some people, some’ starlet could show her jugs, and I could make a few predictions. All brought to you by General Foods.). I don’t want to do any of that S~H~I~T. What l am really looking forward to is getting back to Cleaves Mills and sinking into the utter obscurity of the H.S. English teacher. And save the psychic flashes for football pep rallies.

Guess that’s all for this time. Hope you and Walt and Denny had yourself a merry little’

Christmas and are looking forward eagerly (from what you said I’m sure’ Walt is, at the very least) to the Brave Bicentennial Election Year now stretching before us. Glad to hear your spouse has been picked to run for the state senate seat there, but cross your fingers, Sarey – ’76 doesn’t exactly look like’ a banner year for elephant-lovers. Send your thanks for that one’ across to San Clemente.

My dad sends best and wants me to tell you thanks for the picture of Denny, who really impressed him. l send my best, also. Thanks for writing, and for your misplaced concern (misplaced, but very welcome). I’m fine’, and looking forward to getting back in harness.

Love’ and good wishes, Johnny

P.S. For the’ last time kiddo get off that cocaine’.

J.

December 29, 1975

Dear Johnny,

I think this is the’ hardest, bitterest letter I’ve had to write in my sixteen years of school administration – not only because you’re a good friend but because’ you’re a damned good teacher. There is no way to gild the lily on this, so guess I won’t even try.

There was a special meeting of the school board last evening (at the behest of two members I won’t name, but they were on the board when you were’ teaching here’ and I think you can probably guess the names), and they voted 5-2 to ask that your contract be withdrawn. The’ reason: you’re too controversial to be effective as a teacher. I came very close’ to tendering my own resignation; I was that disgusted. If it wasn’t for Maureen and the kids, I think I would have. This abortion isn’t even on a par with tossing Rabbit, Run or Catcher in the Rye out of the’ classroom. This is worse’. It stinks.

I told them that, but I might as well have been talking in Esperanto or igpay atm lay. All they can see is that your picture was in Newsweek and the New York Times and that the Castle’ Rock story was on the national network news broadcasts. Too controversial! Five’