IT WAS SCARY, BUT LETITIA Eldridge knew what she had to do—head for New York. Just leave Austin in
January and light out for the territory of art and theater, straight over the Mississippi, around the
Appalachians, and right across the Hudson River where so many young artists had crossed before her.
Let the insidious ice-rain pierce the ratty fur coat and freeze the muse-struck marrow of the bones;
let the cabbies laugh and drive on when they see the jumble of paper-box luggage; let the nose forget
the stench of urine in the shot-gun apartments that shored up every wave of immigrants. It had to be done.
So Letitia packed. She zipped her ceramic sculptures into the motley colored wool bags
knit by her mother. Then she carefully checked the contents of her matched set of cellulose
luggage—sculpture, script for her play, Moonlight/Obituary for Dreams,—grabbed her fur coat
New York received her well. Last January, she wangled a private showing in the
Trustee Room of the Museum of Modern Art and a June production date at La