KEROUAC, Jack (1922-1969). Autograph postcard signed (“Jacky (Kerouac)”), postmarked 6 January 1968, Lowell, Massachusetts. Black ink; earlier message for someone else blocked out by Kerouac in marker.

"Write when liable...” In full: Well, Ed – No apologies – so many Goethes to tend, not to mention Van de Rohes – Write when liable – BOM / Jacky (Kerouac) xxx

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KEROUAC, Jack (1922-1969). Typed postcard, with the typed signature (“Sir John Cornwall”) to Ed White, 23 January 1968; postmarked Lowell, Massachusetts, January 24, 1968.

"No time for me to write to happy architects.” Jack thanks White for some Bob Burford writing he had sent, along with a Christmas card. His writing is as playful and reference-rich as ever (“My Deity occupies my idle hours,” he quotes) and he muses over the not-yet-ubiquitous word “Xerox.” He signs off, “Sir John Cornwall.”

[Together with:]

KEROUAC, Jack (1922-1969). Autograph photo postcard with view of Madrid, boldly signed (“Jack Kerouac”) to Ed White, postmarked Madrid, [ca. 14 March 1968]. Message and address on same side; pencil; another address added between the lines of first in another hand, ink.

"GIVE REGARDS TO ALL.” In full: “Hi there – Portugal and Spain are free because of natural good sense. Jack Kerouac. GIVE REGARDS TO ALL.”

[Together with:]

KEROUAC, Jack (1922-1969). Typed postcard to Ed White, 7 July 1968, postmarked Lowell, Massachusetts, with Kerouac’s typed return address.

"Sir / Honored to occupy the globe same time as you.” A spontaneous penultimate salute from Kerouac to his dear friend.

[Together with:]

KEROUAC, Jack (1922-1969). Typed postcard signed (“Jack”) to Ed White, postmarked Saint Petersburg, Florida, 22 November 1968; single spaced, with four additional lines running perpendicular in left margin.

“[A]nd me, I got stories for you, & bom in sun.” In this update on the Florida move, Jack instructs to keep using the same address, not wanting his new one circulated. “However, Ned, if you have definite future plans to actually visit me [...] I will send you street address and we will split a bom.” The marginal postscript reads: “And Mémère will be glad to see you again: my new wife Stella, too.” It was their last communication; Kerouac would pass away the following October.