Memorial Day – Lest We Forget

It is the

VETERAN,

Not the preacher,

Who has given us freedom of religion.

It is the

VETERAN,

Not the reporter,

Who has given us freedom of the press.

It is the

VETERAN,

Not the poet,

who has given us freedom of speech.

It is the

VETERAN,

Not the campus organizer,

Who has given us freedom to assemble.

It is the

VETERAN,

Not the lawyer,

Who has given us the right to a fair trial.

It is the

VETERAN,

Not the politician,

Who has given us the right to vote.

It is the

VETERAN,

Who salutes the flag.

It is the

VETERAN,

Who served under the flag.

Forwarded e-mail

A Tribute To Arla – 1922-1925

Arla Peabody Guion and the five children that moved to Trumbull in 1922.

In 1922, during a family vacation, Arla found out about a house in Trumbull, built in 1756, went to see it and fell in love with it. She eventually had her way and the family moved in to their new house in December of 1922. The story continues in Grandpa’s autobiography:

Meanwhile, I was having serious commuting troubles. Each winter the trains were frequently late. This, together with the antagonistic attitude of my immediate boss at the

AD Guion Letterhead, business cards and membership cards

office, made my frequent, late arrivals at work increasingly disagreeable incidents. Also, the seven mile auto ride to and from Trumbull in all kinds of weather, the 2 1/2 to 3 hour train ride to Grand Central followed by a crowded subway ride to the Battery, and this twice a day, not only was physically exhausting but also necessitated my leaving home early and arriving home late. There seemed only one sensible alternative – to seek employment in Bridgeport. A letter campaign from New York to Bridgeport manufacturers proving unfruitful after months of vain effort, in desperation I resolved to take drastic measures. With five little ones to feed and clothe I simply had to get a job, so, burning all bridges behind me, I quit my New York job cold to wage an all-out on-site search to find something in Bridgeport. To make this step was one of the most difficult decisions of my life, but within two weeks I became Assistant Advertising Manager of the Bridgeport Brass Company and a few months later, Advertising Manager, which job I held until I left to start an advertising agency of my own.

In Trumbull we became interested in local activities. A local volunteer fire company was started in which I was a charter member. To raise money to buy firefighting equipment we ran annual carnivals which were successful for many years, and which the old Waverley Electric Car played a part.

Arla’s children shared a few memories of her in their recorded childhood memories.

LAD – I don’t have many memories of my mother. I remember that she was involved with the Women’s Club, and was very, very well-liked by everybody. We always had a lot of visitors. She was very outgoing and friendly and quite pretty. She was very active in the community. Other than the fact that Mom was involved in the community a great deal, she was a good mother. We all like her very much, got along with her.

CED – I don’t believe Mother had a single enemy in Trumbull. She was President of the Women’s Community Club, and she was very, very good to the family. She had practically all of our aunts and some of our uncles living with us in Trumbull at various times. We had a big house and most of them lived in New York City. When they had vacations and when we had holidays, they’d all come up on the train from New York. Sometimes they would drive – it would take them about four hours on the Post Road. I remember those trips too. Traffic was all over the place, stop and go, stop and go.

I always said that I knew one person in town that my Mother didn’t like. This woman had two sons who were friends with us. I don’t believe that the woman ever knew that my mother didn’t like her because this woman was very critical of other people and that bothered my mother.

My Mother was very active in town, she was very public spirited. She helped plant flowers on the green, that sort of thing.

Our house was the center for the local population. All the kids our age congregated in our house because of everything, and my mother, of course. She was very pro-social, in her own life and in ours. She was a wonderful woman. We were really one big happy family and we really had fun growing up. Arnold Gibson was part of the group; he was more a part of the family group. He was very fond of our family, and spent a lot of time with us. Arnold was devoted to my mother, too. Everybody that knew her loved her.

DICK – One of my earliest memories is Mom at the front Dutch door, talking to someone from the Red Cross. I was standing next to her and she was running her hand through my hair… It was heaven.

BISS – Dick and I were sitting on the radiator in the back bathroom and it was so cold there was frost on the window. We take one of the pieces of our Erector Set, putting it in a hole of the oil heater to heat it up and touch the frost on the window. At one point I leaned over a little too far, fell down on top of the oil burner and tipped it over. I had always been taught that if there’s a fire you run out and close the door… which I did. Dick was still on the radiator in back of the fire, and then the fire started up the curtain. I screamed for Mother and evidently she heard the panic in my voice and she responded immediately. As soon as she got upstairs and realized what was happening, she yelled for Lad to bring the fire extinguisher. As she got to the top of the stairs and started walking towards the bathroom, her very flimsy gown caught on fire and I remember she put it out. Mother then took the rug from the hallway and threw it on the fire and put the fire out, but the door was scorched where the flames had licked at it.

Dick, Dan, Ced, Lsd and Biss

Next week’s A Tribute To Arla will include some of the memories the children had when they were a little older, during school and their teenaged years.                                                                                                                                                            

Tomorrow, my post will look quite different than usual, but on Monday we’ll move back to 1939 and find out what’s going on with the Guion clan when Lad, in Venezuela, was the only one away from home.

Judy Guion

Trumbull – Lad’s Visit and News From Brazil – Sept, 1943

Well, Lad has come and gone. Grandpa’s first paragraph says it all. At least he has some good news to report – he’s finally heard from Dick, so now he knows where all of his sons are, even though they are getting farther and farther from home.

Trumbull Conn.

September 12, 1943

Dear Boys:

Lad’s Service Record – 1942-1945

I don’t know whether it’s old age, hay fever or a general letdown after saying goodbye to Lad (probably a combination of all three) but I’m

Lad’s Service Record – Furloughs…..Leaves
1942-1945

feeling a bit low right now and not at all in the mood to write a nice, cheery letter. The week has seemed to go so quickly. It hardly seems any time at all since Lad walked into my office last Tuesday and relieved me of worry that he might have been involved in one of those severe Labor Day train wrecks. He hasn’t put on any weight and looks about the same. It was mighty good to see and talk with him, even though half (more than half in fact) of his furlough time was spent just in going and coming between the Atlantic and Pacific coasts.

I really should feel all pepped up after the pleasant birthday celebration that marked the days dinner hour. Elsie and Elizabeth joined the festive throng, Jean made a delicious birthday cake which she got up early to make, in spite of the fact she needed the sleep, having been up late the night before. Then it being a beautiful, breezy, sunshiny day we all went outside afterward fr some picture taking. Another event beside Lad’s presence to mark a high spot was the receipt of a letter from none other than Dick, and earlier in the week, the second V-mail letter Dan has written from England. He apparently is stationed not far from London, as he speaks of frequent visits there and of enjoying his visit in England.

Dick says he is allowed to state he is in Brazil. He purchased a pair of boots there. “To all appearances these boots are of average quality and the purchaser feels he has made a ‘shrewd deal’ until he starts out on a rainy day. He sets out jauntily on a short stroll with his shiny boots kicking up little sprays of sand (of which there is an abundance). After having traversed a few hundred yards of damp sand he suddenly becomes aware of a slight dampness on the soles of his feet. Not wishing to ruin his new boots he decides to return to the barracks and put on his G.I. shoes. Halfway back the dampness has definitely increased to a wetness, and by the time he reaches shelter the papier-mâché souls are trailing along behind and his toes leave neat little imprints in the sand. Feeling slightly frustrated, he consoles himself with the thought that there is a war going on and we have to be satisfied with inferior quality products. On every article in town there are two prices — one price for ”Joe’s” (American Soldiers) and another price (about 2/3d’s less) for Brazilians. All kidding aside, though, I like it pretty well. The people have accepted the American soldiers and act friendly most of the time”. Thanks, Dick, old son, for the letter and of course I am glad to know you enjoy getting my weekly efforts, poor as I know some of them to be.

Aunt Helen phoned me last night to wish me many happy returns. She is leaving for Miami the day after tomorrow and hopes to get up to see us on their next visit to New York, whenever that may be.

Grandma Peabody

Grandma writes she has had another bad spell. She says: “Dorothy is following doctor’s orders, insisting I must have my breakfast in bed and that I must not do any kind of work that may tire me. So you see I am really good for nothing. I am more than sorry it turned out as it did with my stay in Trumbull because I really enjoyed being there with you. This letter seems to be mostly about myself but I thought I would explain as near as I can that my illness is more or less serious.” Incidentally, if any of you boys could find time to drop Grandma a card now and then, it might be something you would not regret.

She further says that Aunt Anne has given up her job with Condé Nast and wants to get work in New York and live there. Donald has been back to this country for the second time (Newport News, VA) and has probably left again. He is fine and evidently enjoying his work. Charlie Hall and Jane Mantle, as you probably know, were married. Mrs. Ives gave a party for Charlie and Jane, Carl and Ethel, and Lad and Babe (Cecelia) on Saturday night.

Well I guess that about winds up this evening’s effort, so let’s call it quits for this week, with best wishes from

DAD

Tomorrow, we’ll have another “Tribute to Arla”, probably with some memories of her young children. Then on Monday, a special Tribute and on Tuesday, we’ll go back to Venezuela to find out what Lad is doing in 1939. At least he’ll be the only one away from home for a while.

For FREE copies of New Inceptions Magazine, an e-magazine, with several articles and stories based on letters and memories of my family, prior to and during World War II, you can click the following links.

Issue 1   Click Here

Issue 2   Click Here

Issue 3   Click Here

Judy Guion

Trumbull – “Anticipation” – Aug, 1943

It looks like Lad will make it home in time to celebrate his father’s birthday… what a special birthday present that will be.

Trumbull Conn.

September 5, 1943

Dear Dan, Ced and Dick,

There is a reason for my omitting Lad. Yesterday the Western Union delivered a night letter reading:

“Leaving Friday 18:30. Arriving Tuesday, it says here.”

No sir, you won’t catch Lad making any wild statements as to when he will arrive, a boy after my own heart incidentally. And if he doesn’t arrive at the expected time, you may take it out on the officials that make up the railroad timetables, not Lad. Just the same, there is going to be one large block of disappointment if a tall Sgt. fails to materialize the day after tomorrow. Everything is measured against that day. Jean has been busy getting the downstairs cleaned and put to rights and following her example, both Aunt Betty and yours truly turned to and lent a helping hand. The living room already shows marked improvement and the other rooms are also responding to her dust cloth. The place is cleaner that it has been for a long time.

Jane, up to the present time, has received three letters from Dick who apparently is somewhere in South America, probably Brazil. He has promised to write me also, to which event I am naturally looking forward with great expectation. No further word from Dan, but I am hopeful another letter is on its way.

Old Eskimo Ced came through with another interesting letter. He has been kept pretty busy these last few weeks because of the fishing season rush. He has been forced to

Cedric (Ced) Duryee Guion

surrender his interest in the airplane, receiving back what he invested in it, however. The plane has been taken over by one of the members on account of a foolish squabble among two of the others. He is facing the problem again of finding living quarters as George is renting his house. Rusty (Heurlin) and has just sold two pictures to Walter Stohl. (And that reminds me, Ced, I saw Sylvia Stohl in Howland’s yesterday and she asked about you and Lad and Dan). Ced’s draft status remains the same, but as he is always been deferred hereto for on occupational grounds, he is hopeful it may continue. For Dan’s and Dick’s information, Dick Schaller is married to a widow with two children and is back in Anchorage living with Ed and Mary Glennon. He is going to send for his family as soon as he can locate a place for them here Leonard Is the father of a six-month-old daughter. Many folks in town frequently asked about you two. Chuck and Florence are expecting next month and have bought a lot with a swell of you at the west end of Fifth Avenue.

Zeke, Elizabeth and the kids were over to dinner today, and what with getting meals, cleaning house, etc., I wasn’t able to tackle this letter until quite a bit after my regular time for so doing. As usual the hay fever doesn’t make me feel any to chipper. It seems to be worse at night, for some strange reason, as you would think that less pollen would be stirring around then during the day.

This is has been so poor during August that I shall have to forgo any salary for that month. I hope my boss appreciates that I am working for nothing. September has started out better, so here’s hoping. Even this can’t dampen my spirits, hay fever included, in the light of lads homecoming, with the still further hope in the background of says expectation of a home visit in December. Can you imagine my state of mind when Dan and Dick also can set a definite date for crashing the gate guarding our driveway?

Until then, here’s the best of good luck to you all,

from your DAD.

Tomorrow, I’ll be posting Grandpa’s letter after Lad has left to return to California. I’m sure he fells about the same way any parent would feel after having a child home on furlough – even for just a few days. It must have been quite a letdown.

On Saturday, we’ll have another Tribute to Arla and them return to Venezuela and Lad’s life in South America along with what everyone else is doing in Trumbull.

Judy Guion

Trumbull – Exciting (?) News From Dan – Aug, 1943

We now know that Dan is in England, enjoying the country but missing various personal items. Grandpa sends them off post-haste. We still haven’t heard from Dick, but Lad is expected to leave onhis furlough in a few days, Does he make it home?

Trumbull Conn.

August 29, 1943

Dear Away-From-Homers:

Daniel (Dan) Beck Guion

The outstanding letter (in fact the only one) this week was a V-mail letter from Dan. I quote in full: “The big news of the moment is our safe arrival in jolly old England. Thus far I have found the trip, the old world atmosphere, the scenery, the people, all delightfully adequate from the point of view of the traveler, but several unfortunate misrepresentations have caught us quite unprepared. Before we left the states we were instructed to dispose of sundry articles, with the assurance that ’you won’t be needing those where you’re going!’ and ‘you can get plenty of that when we get over there.’ So instead of a long letter of gripping news, the first letter becomes a brazen touch! My most urgent request is for Kleenex or ”a reasonable facsimile thereof”. The paper shortage here is critical. Next,  I want six Navy style undershirts (1/4 length sleeves), medium-size. Less important (but desirable) are candy and chewing gum. Also dental floss. I’ll write again soon. Dan, the letter was dated August 13^th  and arrived here on the 24^th .

By noon of the day the letter was received, Dan, there was, on its way to you, a box containing each and every item enumerated above. The only items I had difficulty in securing were the candy and chewing gum because those stores that carry them at all now will sell only “one to a customer”, the reason being that the majority of all candy and chewing gum being made is sent to the boys in service. However, by making a store by store canvas I was able to obtain a dozen or so which I had Meigs (where I bought the shirts) pack in the same box with the other items in order to make one shipment. I would like, for the sake of future guidance, to know how long it takes, and whether it arrives in good condition, and any other shipping advice which experience in this case seems advisable. Now remains a letter from Dick, and if he too can give us some hints of things desired it will be a great help in sending him a delayed birthday gift.

I hope, Lad, the earthquake reported this morning is having occurred in your bailiwick has not shaken your determination to leave on the expected date. We are just living

Jean Mortensen Guion

now in the hope of seeing you soon. Jean has spent all yesterday afternoon and practically the whole day today giving the living room a thorough Mortensen cleaning and has re-arranged things so it looks very attractive. She has some other ideas about rugs, slipcovers, etc., which will still further improve the appearance of things so we won’t feel like apologizing when anyone comes.

Barbara (Plumb, Dan’s girlfriend still, I think) starts noon Tuesday from New Haven for Daytona Beach to begin her basic training, as any course she might elect would require this anyway. She doesn’t know how long this will take nor what it will lead to. Jean Hughes, I understand, is home and Chet Hayden is expected to bring a patient north followed by a few days home. They will then both go back to the small town where he is stationed in Georgia, near Atlanta, which they don’t like very much.

Jane Mantle has left for Annapolis where she expects to be married to Charlie Hall Tuesday, following the graduation exercises, where he becomes an Ensign. And speaking of marriages, I have just tied three knots this last week. Thank heavens none of the ladies wore ragweed as bridal bouquets. A wedding is nothing to sneeze about.

Feverishly yours,

DAD

Tomorrow, we’ll continue the story of the Guion boys, wherever they happen to be, and we may hear about Lad’s trip. Pass this blog address to anyone who lived during this timeframe, or someone you think ought to know about life in the 40′s back home.

Judy Guion

Trumbull – The Traveling Clan – Aug, 1943

We continue the story of the Traveling Guions in 1943. Both Dan and Dick are apparently overseas, Lad is coming home on furlough and Grandpa’s sister, Elsie, has come up from New York to celebrate her birthday.

Trumbull Conn.

August 22, 1943

Dear Travelers all:

There is something that tells me that now two of the Guion clan “have sailed the ocean blue”, and while no evidence has yet reached us that they arrived on foreign shores, the absence of all word from Dick and Dan over so long a period seems to tell its own story, as for us back here –

A life on the ocean wave,

A home on the rolling deep,

Where the scattered waters rave

And the winds their revels keep.

Like an eagle caged, I pine

On this dull, unchanging shore.

Oh, give me the flashing brine,

The spray and the tempests roar.

I suppose it’s not permissible for the folks back home to know just where Uncle Sam has ordered you boys to be stationed, whether in Sylvia’s native land, or Woolard’s birthplace or the land of Kathryn Wharton’s ancestors, but where ever it be, I hope you arrived safely without excitement more than enough to make the journey interesting.

This seems to be the travelingest family! A letter from Lad, and a right welcome one to, reveals that his furlough has at last been verified and unless something unforeseen occurs, he starts on Friday, September 3rd  and comes by train, arriving four days or so later. He has to be back on September 17th, which doesn’t give him a chance to get fed up too much on home routine. He gives some interesting routine that fills his days, and how he does fling time about. Why, years mean absolutely nothing to him. Imagine being on duty since 1730! You’d think the generals like Washington or Grant or Pershing would see that a fellow got a better break than that. It positively makes me feel old to think of a son of mine serving that long at a stretch. Oh, well, if things keep up at their present pace, the war will be over before so very long (I’m still holding out to my original guess that 1943 will see the end of the European struggle), and by that time maybe the Japs will have seen the wisdom of sneaking away from other places besides Kiska.

Marian Irwin – 1942

Thanks Lad, for the picture of Marian. Too bad she can’t get a furlough too and pay a visit to Connecticut.

And Dave, too, is fixin’ to do some land traveling. He had a brainstorm the other day and for the past week has been busy with plans on dolling up the old Waverley electric, putting in a motorcycle motor, locating, if possible, some old model T tires, etc. Privately, I have my doubts but Harry Burr and Arnold (Gibson) think it is possible to make it run. Anyway it will keep him out of mischief and enlarge his knowledge of mechanics. He plans to travel with it to Westport when it is in running condition and call on James Melton who has an exact replica, if pictures published in the Sunday papers are to be believed.

It’s almost 3 weeks since any word has come from traveler Ced. Maybe he’s miffed because for the last several weeks letters have been addressed to him as Dangerous Dan McGraw Guion, Fearless Fosdick Guion, Little Orphan Ceddie, Invisible Scarlet O’Neil Guion, etc., which may give Alaskan postal authorities just an inkling of what we think of him back home. Of course, again, I may have him completely baffled and nonplussed at his failure to think of any names quite so clever to get back at me with, but shucks, Ced, don’t let that stop you.

And now dear children, I have quite a pleasant surprise for you. As you know, August 22nd  is Elsie’s birthday (Incidentally Ced, I never have any trouble remembering your PO Box number on this account). She is making a personal appearance. It gives me great pleasure to introduce …..MISS GUION.

Thank you, thank you, Maestro Guion and howdy Lad, Dan, Ced and Dick. To make this an extra special occasion for myself, I came up Friday night and caught the 10:30 bus. No, I’m not celebrating my birthday anymore! But my brother did in his usual, expansive style.

My home life remains the same as usual – going back and forth to the Shop. I suppose I’m doing my bit by staying on the job, but I’d feel better if the commodities we deal in and were vital to the war effort. I’d feel better if I was riveting something or working on airplanes with the possibility of being sent overseas to do something there or preparing to work overseas in the postwar period. I hate to think of the war coming and going without my having put my finger into the war itself somewhere or somehow.

I’m still at the Tudor and trying to get along on less and less – what with increasing taxes and the increasing cost of food. Restaurant food is so high and the quality so correspondingly low that we try to eat home as much as possible but the heat of summer makes it impossible to keep perishable things without ice. A young woman comes to us every day and helps us until about 7:30 P.M. she comes at 5:00 P.M., after her daytime job in an architect’s office. On Sunday she goes to New Jersey and on Monday brings us nice ripe tomatoes, string beans, squash, etc. Not all at once, of course. But we enjoy the fresh vegetables. It’s a rare treat.

Just now Aunt Betty and I and Smoky took a walk up to the ol’ swimmin’ hole. It looks deserted – weeds are overgrown all around, there’s not too much water running on account of little rain lately, and it looks forgotten. Smoky barked a cow out of her afternoon nap, splashed in the water several times and was the only one to show real activity.

Well, here’s wishing you and you and you and you the best of good fortune in the days ahead. I wish I were on the seas going places. So long,

Elsie

Jean has been spending the last few days at Fairfield Beach with Barbara and some other girls. I think the cottage is owned by Helen Berger. Anyway, she is one of the party. Jean lives in hourly anticipation of hearing from Dick. I had definite instructions to call her anytime of the day or night if word should come from her M.P. (Married partner), but to date this has not been necessary.

Things go on here in the regular routine. Everything, both inside and outside the house, remains about the same. Meantime, Ced, the little blue boats in your room continue to sail on their interminable journeys to unnamed ports, awaiting the day when you will, to the haven of Trumbull from distant Alaska appear, and plop will go the anchor for a bit of shore leave. Until that time, keeping the beacon light burning bright will be the job of your old lighthouse keeper (and cook),

DAD

I won’t make you wait. We’ll stay right here in August and September, 1943, until Lad had come and gone on his furlough. Come back tomorrow for more of this special time in Trumbull.

Judy Guion

Trumbull – Birthday Letter to 31324665 – August, 1943

Trumbull Conn.

August 15, 1943

Dear 31324665:

THAT, dear children, may be just a number to you, but translated into Uncle Sam Army language it spells Richard Procrastinator Guion, the

Richard (Dick) Peabody Guion

middle name having been earned at birth and as far as correspondence to the home front is concerned, has been reaffirmed weekly since that time with an i\Ivory Soap score – 99 and 44/100 pure, (In view of my chosen profession I just have to get in these little advertising ideas in my correspondence, you know).

Is that, you may well ask, the approved method of having a letter addressed to one? No, NO, perish the thought! It isn’t even in spite of that fact. But by this time you may have guessed. In just a few days now we will celebrate a birthday but it will be a party without the main guest. We can’t even send him greetings, much less a gift because we don’t know in what corner of the globe he is hiding from Adolph. So we have unanimously adopted the theme song for the occasion: ”I Can’t Give You Anything But Love, Baby”. Of course there is lots of that from each and all of us, although we know full well it won’t buy baby a new pair of pants.

What a lot of accumulated celebration we will have to celebrate when this mess is finally settled. Now, there’s a thought. What is your prescription for a suitable method of rendering due honor to the occasion? How about that auto trip down to Mexico and Central America with enough cars to accommodate the whole family, with Lad and Dan as official interpreters? Ced could entertain and charm the natives with imitations of Bradley Kincaid, Dick and Jean might do a rumba or two, Dave would probably make a beeline for the best looking native girls, while I could profitably employ my time sniffing the native flora to see if it produces I hay fever sneeze.

Incidentally, I read recently an article on how nearly completed this Pan-American road was south of Mexico City, and ran across the following incident: the advanced survey party sometimes encountered situations for which neither engineering texts nor guidebooks had any solution. The disappearing surveyor’s stakes are a good example. In the rural sections, clear, straight-grained, sawed wood is in great demand to patch chairs, to reinforce plows and for 1000 other purposes. The surveyor’s stakes of clean new wood, 1 1/2 in. square by 14 inches long, driven into the ground 100 feet apart to mark the route of the highway, were a treasure trove to the country people who pulled up at night all the stakes placed during the day. Both U.S. and native engineers explained often and at length that the markers were necessary. The people listened, nodded, and the next morning the stakes were gone again. After all, if the yanqui senores valued the little pieces of wood so highly, why would they stick them in the ground and go away and leave them? Gringo foolishness. Finally one of the engineers hit upon the simple idea of nailing a short piece to each stake just below the top at right angles, making a cross. Not a stake disappeared from that day until the end of the survey.

Jean has a new name for me – “Marryin’ Sam”. This week, one marriage at my office, the week before, two; the week before that also two. It all came about in this way. I usually have my ad in the yellow section in the back of the Bridgeport phone directory. A few weeks ago when the salesman called for a renewal for the new edition, I happened to notice that in the New Haven directory several names appeared under the heading “Justice of The Peace”. I told him they could include my name under that heading in Bridgeport, thinking of course, the other Bridgeport “justices” would be included, but when the darn thing appeared a few weeks ago, low, like Abou Ben Adam (May his tribe increase) my name not only led all the rest, but, believe it or not, it was the only name under that heading in the yellow section. So, if the angle of incidence maintains (I have to get these engineering boys into thinking their Dad is not a back number) I may accumulate enough fees to pay the expenses on that Central American tour above referred to.

And speaking of marriages, this week, at the Trumbull Church, Jacqueline French was united in holy wedlock to Mr. John J. Schwarz, son of the Bridgeport lumber dealer. No wisecracks now about little chips off the old block, etc.

I want an answer from someone, Dan or Dick, regarding the Chevrolet out in back. I think it belongs to Dan although Dick may have made some arrangement with Dan about it. Anyway, it is not doing anyone any good standing out unused month after month. I have asked Harry Burr to give me a figure on how much it will cost to fix it up in running condition, and then, depending on the owner’s wishes, I will try to sell it or keep it against the time you boys return and want a car to run around in (and they are getting very scarce now in the East). Please, one of you write me about it.

Dave and some of the boys that forgather in the Clubhouse in the barn have an idea they can fix the old Waverley Electric car up to run either by battery or with a motorcycle motor and have been busy today working on it. I am adopting a “show me” attitude on whether they can accomplish their purpose or not.

For some years now, we have been needing a feminine touch around these here diggins’ and it looks very much as though Jean is the answer to this long felt need. She spent most of the day improving the appearance of the music room, with a bit of help from me, and the result is something to write away about. So we are profiting by Jean’s homemaking instinct, and this is fair warning now that the rest of you will have a high standard to match in presenting me with any other daughters in law.

The supper call is about to sound, so I’ll bring this peculiar birthday letter to a close with many good wishes to my boy “who wears a pair of silver wings”, with many happy returns of the day from all of us and most earnest hope that next August 19^th there will be no empty chairs around the table as we sit down to celebrate the occasion. So, Dick old son, here’s more love than you know from your old

DAD