By Staff
Dear Mr. Vonnegut:
The week before you died I had written you a letter.
I am a 22-year-old film student at Villa Julie College in Stevenson, Md.
My name is Charles Nelson.
The letter I had written was in regards to my fondness of your work. I have read almost all of your novels, including your autobiography, various collected works and plays.
Also in the letter I mentioned that it is a dream of mine to make a major motion picture out of one of your novels, and how I would have loved to collaborate with you on such a project. Unfortunately, now it seems that would be impossible given the circumstances.
When I heard the news of your death it pierced me like a stray bullet; no warning, just a violent impact.
I was shocked and saddened at first. Then I turned to my wife and asked, "Why am I shocked that an 84-year-old man died?"
Then, I answered my own question by replying, "I always thought of him as immortal."
You always seemed larger then life to me, sir, and it was always one of my fondest dreams to get to meet you and, who knows, maybe someday I will.
Your work always seemed significant throughout the decades that it never occurred to me that you were even capable of dying.
I'm sorry, though, that you never got to sue the cigarette companies due to the fact that you smoked unfiltered Pall Malls religiously and they didn't kill you like they promised.
I am also sorry that you did not get to die in a blaze of glory with your plane crashing into Mount Kilimanjaro. But, I am veering from my point here.
I stopped being totally sad when I came to the realization that you are indeed an immortal, Mr. Vonnegut.
Your work will live on through the ages and be passed down from father to son or from teacher to student.
Some of my greatest joys is recommending your work to a fellow student and then having long-winded discussions about it afterwards.
My older brother and I had a contest for a while to see who could read the most Vonnegut books, and I will have you know that I totally killed him.
I suppose what I am trying to say is thank you so very much.
Someone once described your work as cyanide coated in sugar. I always thought it was a little extreme, but they were on the right track.
I would just call your work sincere, and this is a sincere thank-you from me and millions of others who found joy in you, when at times there was no other joy to be had in the world.
Probably the best way to end this is with these words: God Bless You, Mr. Vonnegut.
Humbly, sadly and sincerely,