October 29, 2026
To: Gregor Turk, Normandy, France
Dear Gregor,
I’ve been going through the old letters and photos from Comfort, and I came across a remarkable letter from Mancel C. Root, who was the caretaker of Comfort during the years of its abandonment from 1929 to 1961.
Here is his letter to Mancel Clark Jr., the owner of the house at that time, and the supporting photographs.
Frankly, the pictures are heartbreaking. The giant boathouse, which once held a steamship, had collapsed into the river. The house was deteriorating and the grounds were overgrown.
Mancel, as soon as I can will take pictures and show you how it is cleaned up.
Did you know the lightning struck roof on the house and I bet water has gone inside.
You know I have no right to do anything. Shutters are not on yet. I really think it is a shame.
Mancel C. Root.
There is a profound sadness to this letter. He could see what was happening but felt powerless to stop it.
I’ve felt that before. It’s a horrible feeling.
The past few days have been very overwhelming. A young man who worked for me in Los Angeles died suddenly. Another old colleague is in hospice. A gal I love just lost her mother. And there has been more bad news from other friends on top of that.
All of this makes me incredibly sad. And then I find myself doing something I don’t particularly like.
I take the news and put it somewhere in my head and carry on. I compartmentalize. I offer words of love and encouragement and then move on.
And afterward, I feel ashamed that I haven’t allowed myself to do or feel more.
Perhaps it’s the knowledge that there are things we simply can’t fix, no matter how much we want to. Perhaps I’m afraid of drowning in grief. Or perhaps, after losing my parents, I learned to shut down.
I simply don’t know.
I can’t wait for you and Murphy to return to Atlanta. It’s been too long since I’ve seen you both. Loved that you came to Comfort again this summer. Let’s make that an annual event.
Stephen