A Foxy Scribe Fools Famed for Fun and Profit

When Caspar Weinberger received the letter from 9-year-old Caspar Fox asking how he should handle taunts about his first name, the secretary of defense replied that he should take comfort in the fact that “Caspar was the name of one of the Three Wise Men in the Bible.”

When Oral Roberts received the letter from 9-year-old Oral Fox asking how he should handle taunts about his first name, the evangelist told him to have faith in God and sent along one of his books, “Don’t Give Up.”

When Norman Mailer received the letter from 9-year-old Norman Fox asking how he should handle taunts about his first name, the writer answered: “When your friends start hassling you, tell them that Norman Snead was a great pro quarterback.”

In truth, the little Foxes did not exist, except in the imagination of a sly San Francisco writer with the unspectacular name of John Raymond. Over a six-year period, Raymond, 53, scrawled crude, poignant notes--replete with misspellings and crossed-out words--to more than 300 luminaries, asking for advice on how to handle the unusual first name they allegedly shared. Most wrote back.

‘I Fooled Clifford Irving!’

Raymond, who doesn’t even have an odd middle name (Richard), revealed his hoax the other day because he plans to gather the letters into a book. He hopes the introduction will be written by one of his unsuspecting pen pals, Clifford Irving.

“Can you imagine that? I fooled Clifford Irving!” Raymond said, aglow at having put one over on the the author of the fake autobiography of Howard Hughes.

Raymond still marvels at the length and depth of sincerity of the replies he received from Gore, Zubin, Strom, Germaine, Bear, and Bebe among others. (Alas, he never heard from Lana or F. Lee).

“Names are such a personal thing,” Raymond said, thumbing through the letters (most of which bore the letterheads of the subjects). “With some of the people, it was as if they had been holding something painful inside for a long time, and I had triggered the urge to get it out. Germaine Greer, for instance. She sounded almost like she’s on a psychiatrist’s couch.”

Greer, the British feminist writer, wrote little Germaine Fox: “My mother is a very strange person but although I’ve been very annoyed with her for most of my life I’m not sorry she gave me this wonderful name, even though my friends called me Germs. . . .”

Of course, Raymond played on the emotions of his subjects. “My father named me,” he mentioned in each note. “He died so I didn’t ask him why.”

To research his project, Raymond studied examples of the writing of 9-year-old children (contributed by a schoolteacher friend) and subscribed to autograph-collector magazines, which supply addresses of celebrities.

Name Right in Tune

Some of his subjects had no complaints. Zubin Mehta, conductor of the New York Philharmonic, reminded little Zubin Fox that their name “means ‘powerful sword’ in ancient Persian.”

Some were ambiguous. “Most of my friends call me Senator,” said U.S. Sen. Strom Thurmond (R-S.C.).

And at least one was a bit confused. Poor Caspar Fox was given some false data by Caspar Weinberger. Gaspar was one of the Three Wise Men, not Caspar.

Not all of Raymond’s targets were famous. He couldn’t resist writing to Erling O. Mork, the Tacoma, Wash., city manager, or Hanly Funderburk, a former president of Auburn University. Neither could recall many difficulties caused by their names (first or last).

Only a few of Raymond’s victims were aware of the hoax. In 1982, a USA Today reporter wrote a short article about the similarity of the letters that two elected officials in Washington had received from boys named Fox.

Just Call Him Angry

One of his victims, Sen. Alfonse D’Amato (R-N.Y.), then wrote to Raymond’s address: “Dear Alphonse: I sympathize with your problem (the name). But that isn’t the biggest problem you have because if I ever got ahold of you I’m going to break your neck.”

By this time, a San Francisco reporter was on the trail of the little Foxes. Raymond moved to a new location. He continued to use the Fox surname, only in different languages: Renard (French), Fuchs (German), Lisa (Russian). And he continued to get replies. Gore Vidal wrote little Gore Volpe: “Did you know that your last name, in Italian, means ‘Fox.’?”

Raymond isn’t sure how he conceived the hoax. “I suppose a psychologist would say that maybe because my name is so common I was trying to break away from the anonymous crowd,” he said.