When I got to the 10th floor of Lincoln Towers, an apartment complex largely inhabited by the elderly, Arthur Golden took my coat, then started telling me about the paintings on the wall, the books on the shelves and the photos on his dresser.
“Everything has a story,” Golden, 78, told me.
If Golden weren’t there to narrate, I wouldn’t know that he got most of his artwork as gifts directly from the artists. I also couldn’t see that he got almost everything around the immaculately tidy apartment for free or at a discount.
“I live more frugally than anyone,” he said proudly. “But I have the best.”
From the $95 pillow he got for free, to his hi-tech Bose stereo system on which he saved $600, everything he owns has a story behind it — a story that begins with a letter.
Arthur Golden writes about three letters per day. He writes to politicians, athletes, alcoholics, new mothers, fifth-graders and Chief Executive Officers. And they write back.
“Mail excites me tremendously,” said the former realtor-turned-ice cream man-turned freelance motivator.
If something or someone is on his mind, he’ll share his thoughts with whomever they concern.
“I feel close to people when I write,” he said. “Words are gorgeous.”
Indeed. He facetiously told a group at Serenity Lane, where he often speaks at Alcoholics Anonymous meetings, that he thinks he may be the only person who gets sexually aroused from buying typewriter ribbon.
“Think of all the words in that ribbon,” he said, not hiding his excitement at the thought.
He’s always written letters. When he was a teenager in Pennsylvania he kept track of his pen pals. When he got married, he wrote to his parents every Wednesday. In 1950 he wrote a letter to President Harry Truman. The response is framed on his wall.
“No one, not even the president of the United States, has the right not to return correspondence,” Truman wrote.
From his apartment, Golden can see most of the city. The Eugene public library is immediately below, and farther east, Prince Lucien Campbell Hall sticks out of the landscape like an unwanted nose hair, even above the morning fog.
And from his orange and green plaid chair, he composes letters on a beige typewriter. On a nearby table, a rubber band holds together a stack of note cards. They are “Goldenisms,” the jokes and inspirational quotes that he includes with each letter.
A second stack is of photos. Some are of flowers and rainbows, but most are of sunsets that he recorded on his 35mm camera through the window of his apartment. He also includes one of these happy pictures with most of his letters.
Not all of the letters are complimentary. One of his passions is fighting the death penalty. He has written to nationally syndicated columnists, political science and law professors and former Oregon Gov. Mark Hatfield.
His main challenge to them: name one person of affluence who has ever been executed. Most come up blank, but they write back.
When something does not make sense to him, he’ll go straight to the top and find out why. He wrote to Waldenbooks CEO Greg Josefouriez to tell him he doesn’t think there is any need to mark discount books with a black line.
Golden frequently shops at Waldenbooks and the first part of his letter explains that he particularly enjoys the discount books because he likes to give them as gifts. But he does not like his gifts marred by the black ink.
“You get the privilege to complain when you are willing to compliment,” Golden said. In this case, he also got a gift certificate from Josefouriez himself.
For Golden, the keys to writing a good letter are research, compliments, an inclination to write and, at times, the willingness to ask for help within the letter.
As often as he asks for help, his letters offer help, too.
During the football season when kicker Josh Frankel was struggling, Golden wrote him a letter essentially to say, ignore outside factors, keep your head up and it’s just a game.
Frankel said he got some other encouraging letters but Golden’s stood out.
“His was the most personal and inspiring,” Frankel said. “It’s the kind of thing I’ll put in my baby book maybe one day.”
Frankel called Golden, taking him up on his offer of a conversation. Frankel had breakfast with Golden’s family. “We stayed so long at breakfast we could have almost stayed for lunch,” Frankel said.
Call it a coincidence, but Frankel only missed one scoring opportunity the rest of the season.
The letters are of such importance to Golden that he keeps a copy of each letter he writes and said they function as his journal.
His next goal is to earn a college degree. Some University students have met him because he has audited English and linguistics classes, and most recently, one in marketing. Though he is “three-fourths an optometrist” he wants a bachelor’s degree. He’s looking into Northwest Christian College because it offers “life experience” credits so he wouldn’t have to go for all four years.
Whether he gets the letters B.A. or B.S. attached to his name, the letters he already has are significant.
He is not only generous with his words. In my short stay he gave me a neatly wrapped book, an Oregon Bach Festival CD and five cards. The cards were from the batch of 100 that he received free, straight from the artist. He also shared a tip with me: never write in a card; insert a letter so the recipient can recycle the card.
“I give away my stuff constantly, that’s my joy,” he told me. How could I refuse, knowing it gives him pleasure to give away his belongings?
He said people don’t leave behind belongings when they die. But everyone leaves behind a reputation.
“I’d like to strike a blow for humanity,” he said. “Maybe I can make a difference.”