Havana, Saturday, June 15, 1912.
My contract is up to-day, and for several days earlier in the week I thought of leaving suddenly and getting away from it all for a rest despite any notice to take effect on the 29th. I thought it over, however, and from standpoint of unpreparedness, doubt and honor perhaps—did not—or rather will not—as boat leaves to-morrow.
In thinking over problem of society it has occurred to me, or the thought has come to my mind of what little use the benefactions of rich men are to really help anyone in need in a personal way. I remember how I used to have such a passion for education—I did so want to know. I wrote Carnegie, Patten, Pearsons and E. H. R. Green, not begging for money, but telling of my great desire for an education and putting it in such a way that I asked the secretary to refer me to any board which they might have had for helping those desirous of obtaining an education. My physical weakness precluded the idea of working my way and studying at the same time. Of course, I received no replies, and I then realized that the most ambitious or deserving might be on their last legs and all this charity would count for naught.
The personal aspect of the question has long been forgotten; my ideas as to the value of a college education in its relation to the larger education of life have changed; whatever rancor I may have had against these men has gone; my outlook on life is different; the things that count now are few, are far between.
If my health permits, the necessity of making a living will cause me to write for money to a certain extent, but with a bare living income I think I should write from my heart, because of the great desire, because I look on it as an art, not a business. However, if my health continues as it is or gets worse, I will not sacrifice what little life I have left on the altar of the modern god—money. I shall write in blood the agony that has been eating into my heart and brain and give it to the world if it will take it for what it is worth. For myself I expect little, but it may help towards a better understanding of natures like mine, and in the future may help towards a little more forbearance, attempt to understand on the part of good people. But whether or not I will write it.
Before doing so, however, I intend to see that I do not, out of self-pity, fall into the error outlined in the December, 1911 issue of The International “Upton Sinclair’s Delusion.”