JAMES THURBER

*James Thurber, who was born in 1894 and died in 1962 was,probably the most popular humorous writer in history, exceptperhaps for Mark Twain, who was a novelist as weil. Boththese, and Scott Fitzgerald (see The [ce Palace) were Middle-Western Americans. Thurber's humour often has its seriousimplications, but is always amiable and sympathetic. TheSecret Life of Walter Milly is one of the most famous storiesof this century, and has often been poorly imitated, but neverequalled.

The Secret Life of Walter Mitty

-------------------*--------------------"We're going through!" The Commander's voice was likethin ice breaking. He wore his full-dress uniform, with theheavily braided white cap pu lied down rakishly over one co Idgrey eye. "We can't make it, sir. It's spoiling for a hurricane, ifyou ask me." "I'rn not asking you, Lieutenant Berg," said theCommander. "Throw on the power lights !Rev her up to8,500! We're going through!" The pounding of the cylindersincreased: ta-pocketa-pocketa-pocketa-pocketa-pocketa. TheCommander stared at the ice forming on the pilot window. Hewalked over and twisted a row of complicated dials. "Switchon No. 8 auxiliary!" he shquted. "Switch on No. 8 auxiliary!"repeated Lieutenant Ber "Full strength in No. 3 turret!"

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shouted the Commander. "Full strength in No. 3 turret!" Thecrew, bending to their various tasks in the huge, hurtlingeight-engined Navy hydroplane, looked at each other andgrinned. "The Old Man'II get us through," they said to oneanother. "The Old Man ain't afraid of Hell!" ...

"Not so fast! You're driving too fast!" said Mrs. Mitty."What are you driving so fast for?"

"Hmrnm ?" said Walter Mitty. He looked at his wife, in theseat beside him, with shocked astonishment. She seemedgrossly unfamiliar, Iike a strange woman who had yelled athim in a crowd. "Y ou were up to fifty-five," she said. "Youknow J don't Iike to go more than forty. You were up tofifty-five." Walter Mitty drove on through Waterbury insilence, the roaring of the SN202 through the worst storm intwenty years of Navy fiying fading in the remote, intimateairways of his mind. "You're tensed up again," said Mrs.Mitty. "I1's one of your days. 1 wish you'd Jet Dr. Renshawlook you over."

Walter Mitty stopped the car in front of the building wherehis wife went to have her hair done. "Remember to get thoseovershoes while l'm having my hair done," she said. "1 don'tneed overshoes," said Mitty. She put her mirror back in herbag. "We've been through ail that," she said, getting out ofthe car. "Y ou 're hot a young man any longer." He raced theengine a little. "Why don't you wear your gloves? Have youlost your gloves?" Walter Mitty reached in a pocket andbrought out the gloves. He put them on, but after she hadturned and gone into the building and he had driven on to ared Iight, he took them off again. "Pick it up, brother!"snapped a cop as the light changed, and Mitry hastily pulledon his gloves and lurched ahead. He drove around the streetsaimlessly for a time, and then he drove past the hospital on hisway to the parking lot.

"I1's the millionaire banker, Wellington McMillan,'69

JAMES THURBER

said the pretty nurse. "Yes?" said Walter Mitty, removing hisgloves slowly. "Who has the case?" "Dr. Renshaw and Dr.Benbow, but there are two specialists here, Dr. Remingtonfrom New York and Mr. Pritchard-Mitford from London. Heflew over." A door opened down a long, cool corridor andDr. Renshaw came out. He looked distraught and haggard."Hello, Mitty," he said. "We're having the devil's own timewith McMillan, the millionaire banker and close personalfriend of-Roosevelt. Obstreosis of the ductal tract. Tertiary.Wish you'd take a look at him." "Glad to," said Mitty.

ln the operating room there were whispered introductions:"Dr. Remington, Dr. Mitty. Mt. Pritchard-Mitford, Dr.Mitty." "Tve read your book on streptothricosis," saidPritchard-Mitford, shaking hands. "A brilliant performance,sir." "Thank you," sa id Walter Mitty. "Didri't know youwere in the States, Mitty," grumbled Remington. "Coals taNewcastle, bringing Mitford and me up here for a tertiary.""Y ou are very kind," sa id Mitty. A huge, complicatedmachine, connected to the operating table, with many tubesand wires, began at this moment to go pocketa-pocketa-pocketa. "The new anaesthetizer is giving way!" shouted aninterne. "There is no one in the East who .knows how to fixit!" "Quiet, man!" said Mitty, in a low, cool voice. He sprangto the machine, which was now·going pocketa-pocketa-queep-pocketa-queep. He began fingering delicately a row of glisten-ing dials. "Give me a fountain pen!" he snapped. Someonehanded him a fountain pen. He pu11ed a faulty piston out ofthe machine and inserted the pen in its place. "That will ho Idfor ten minutes," he said. "Get on with the operation." Anurse hurried over and whispered ta Renshaw, and Mitty sawthe man turn pale. "Coreopsis has set in," said Renshawnervously. "If you wou Id take over, Mitty?" Mitty looked athim and at the craven figure of Benbow, who drank, and atthe grave, uncertain fas.es of the two great specialists. "If you

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wish," he said. They slipped a white gown on him; he adjusteda mask and drew on thin gloves; nurses handed him shin-mg ...

"Back it up, Mac! Look out for that Buick !" Walter Mittyjammed on the brakes. "Wrong lane, Mac," said the parking-lot attendant, looking at Mitty c1osely. "Gee. Yeh," mutteredMitty. He began cautiously to back out of the lane marked"Exit Only". "Leave her sit there," said the attendant. ''1'11put her away." Mitty got out of the car. "Hey, better leave thekey." "Oh," said Mitty, handing the man the ignition key.The attendant vaulted into the car, backed it up with insolentskill, and put it where it belonged.

They're sa damn cocky, thought Walter Mitty, walkingalong Main Street; they think they know everything. Once hehad tried ta take his chains off, outside New Milford, and hehad got them wound ara und the axles. A man had had tacome out in a wrecking car and unwind them, a young, grin-ning garageman. Since then Mrs. Mitty always made himdrive ta a garage ta have the chains taken off. The next time,he thought, 1'11wear my right arm in a sling; they won't grinat me then. l'll have my right arm in a sling and they'll see 1couldn't possibly take the chains off myself. He kicked at theslush on the sidewalk. "Overshoes," he said ta himself, and hebegan looking for a shoe store.

When he came out into the street again, with the overshoesin a box under his arm, Walter Mitty began to wonder whatthe other thing was his wife had told him to gel. She had toldhim twice, before they set out from their house in Waterbury.ln a way he hated these weekly trips to town-he was alwaysgetting something wrong. Kleenex, he thought, Squibb's,razor blades? No. Toothpaste, toothbrush, bicarbonate, car-Jorundum, initiative and referendum? He gave it up. But shewould remember it. "Where's the what's-its-narne?" she would"k. "Don't tell me you forgot the what's-its-name." A news-

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JAMES THURBER

boy went by shouting something about the Waterbury trial.... "Perhaps this will refresh your mernory." The District

Attorney suddenly thrust a heavy automatic at the quiet figureon the witness stand. "Have you ever seen this before?"Walter Mitty took the gun and examined it expertly. "This ismy Webley-Vickers 50.80," he said calmly. An excited buzzran round the courtroom. The judge rapped for order. "Y ouare a crack shot with any sort offirearms, 1 believe ?" sa id theDistrict Attorney, insinuatingly. "Objection!" shouted Mitty'sattorney. "We have shown that the defendant could not havefired the shot. We have shown that he wore his right arm in asling on the night of the fourteenth of July." Walter Mittyraised his hand briefly and the bickering attorneys were stilled."With any known make of gun," he said evenly, "1 cou Id havekilled Gregory Fitzhurst at three hundred feet with my lefthand," Pandemonium broke loose in the courjroorn. Awoman's scream rose above the bedlam and suddenly a lovely,dark-haired girl was in Walter Mitty's arms. The DistrictAttorney struck at her savagely. Without rising from his chair,Mitty let the man have it on the point of the chin, "Youmiserable cur!" ...

"Puppy biscuit," sa id Walter Mitty. He stopped walkingand the buildings of Waterbury rose up out of the mistycourtroom and surrounded him again. A woman who waspassing laughed. "He said 'Puppy biscuit'," she said to hercompanion. "That man said 'Puppy biscuit' to himself."Walter Mitty hurried on. He went into an A and P., not thefirst one he came to but a smaller one farther up the street. "1want sorne biscuit for small, young dogs," he said to the cIerk."Any special brand, sir?" The greatest pistol shot in the worldthought for a moment. "It says 'Puppies bark for 11' on thebox," said Walter Mitty.

,His wife would be.'1.through at the hairdresser's in fifteen

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minutes, Mitty saw in looking at his watch, unless they hadtrouble drying it; sometimes they had trouble drying it. Shedidn't like to get to the hotel first; she would want him to bethere waiting for her as usuai. He found a big leather chair inthe lobby, facing a window, and he put the overshoes and thepuppy biscuit on the floor beside it. He picked up an oldcopy of Liberty and sank down into the chair. "Can Ger-many Conquer the WorId Through the Air?" Walter Mittylooked at the pictures of bombing planes and of ruinedstreets.

"The cannonading has got the wind up in youngRaleigh, sir," said the sergeant. Captain Mitty looked up athim through tousled hair. "Get him to bed," he said wearily."With the others. I'Il fly alone." "But you can't, sir," said thesergeant anxiously. "It takes two men to handle that bomberand the Archies are pounding hell out of the air. Von Richt-man's circus is between here and Saulier." "Sornebody's gotto get that ammunition dump," said Mitty. 'Tm going over.Spot of brandy?" He poured a drink for the sergeant and onefor himself. War thundered and whined around the dugoutand battered at the door. There was a rending of wood andsplinters flew through the room. "A bit of a near thing," saidCaptain Mitty carelessly. "The box barrage is cIosing in," sa idthe sergeant. "We only live once, Sergeant," said Mitty, withhis faint, fleeting smile. "Or do we?" He poured anotherbrandy and tossed it. off. "1 never see a man could hold hisbrandy like you, sir," said the sergeant. "Begging your pardon,sir." Captain Mitty stood up and strapped on his huge.Webley-Vickers automatic. "I1's fort y kilometres through hell, sir,"said the sergeant. Mitty finished one last brandy. "After all,"he sa id softly, "what isn't?" The pounding of the cannonincreased; there was the rat-tat-tatting of machine-guns, andfrom somewhere came the menacing pocketa-pocketa-pocketaof the new flame-throwers. Walter Mitty walked to the door

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of the dugout humming "Auprès de ma Blonde". He turnedand waved to the sergeant. "Cheerio !" he said ....

Something struck his shoulder. "Tve been looking ail overthis hotel for you," sa id Mrs. Mitty. "Why do you have tahide in this old chair? How did you expect me to find you ?""Things close in," sa id Walter Mitty vaguely. "What?" Mrs.Mitty said. "Did you get the what's-its-name? The puppybiscuit? What's in that box?" "Overshoes," said Mitty."Couldri't you have put them on in the store?" "1 was think-ing," said Walter Mitty. "Does it ever occur to you thatsometimes 1 am thinking?" She looked at him. 'Tm going totake your temperature when 1 get you home," she said.

They went out through the revolving doors that made afaintly derisive whistling sound wh en you pu shed them. lt wastwo blocks to the parking lot. At the drugstore on the cornershe said, "Wait here for me. 1 forgot something. 1 won't be aminute." She was more than a minute. Walter Mitty lighted acigarette. It began to rain, rain with sleet in it. He stood upagainst the wall of the drugstore, smoking. . . . He put hisshoulders back and his heels together. "To hell with the hand-kerchief," said Walter Mitty scornfully. He took one last dragon his cigarette and snapped it away. Then with that faint,fleeting smile playing about his lips, he faced the firing squad;erect and motionless, proud and disdainful, Walter Mitty theUndefeated, inscrutable to the last.

*This is a story that can be quickly enjoyed at one reading:but you may now like to return and notice the skill with whicltJames Thurber imitates the style of popular fiction of varioussorts, righi down 10 the hackneyed and often stupid phrases 0/

supposed "glory" or "romance". Some readers may like 10

add episodes to this story, or to write their own versions, about~a modern boy or girl Milly.

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THE SECRET LIFE OF WALTER MITTYWalter Milly might be calied an "escapist". Escaping from

what ? Howfar would you defend his righi to do so?

FOR FUR THER READI NG: Almost anything by James Thurber(who draws his own pictures as weil), but particularly TheThurber Carnival, Hamish Hamilton and Penguin.

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