Dinner Table in Trumbull
Trumbull, Conn., June 24, 19 45.
Well it was almost like old times at dinner today, except that we didn’t have to add four or five leaves to the dining room table and bring all the chairs in from the kitchen to seat our guests. Besides our own four steadies (Grandpa, Aunt Betty, Marian and Jean), there was a girlfriend of Jean’s from Providence who spent the weekend, Aunt Elsie came up for a visit and Biss called up to ask if she and the family could come over to dinner as they had been unable to secure any meat. Fortunately, I had been able to get a nice large cut of roast beef, so we had altogether almost a pre-war dinner.
Well at last Ced broke the long silence and has produced a long, interesting letter to make up for lost time. May I say this however to you Ced? Next time when a month has gone by and in spite of good intentions you have not found opportunity to write a regular letter, would you please dash off a postal to the effect that all’s well, so those bothersome little possibilities will not hop into one’s head when the guard is down that said silence has been caused by accident, sickness, etc. It won’t take you but a few minutes and will help to keep blood pressure where it belongs down this away.
Well, Dave, commencement time in Bassick has rolled around again, reminding me of that occasion which must seem to you ages ago when you were handed your diploma. The enclosed account of the proceedings will take you back over the years and you may even recognize the names of some of your former schoolmates among the present graduating class, who, for some reason, have kept on going to the same school year after year since you last knew them, until they have finally come to the graduating point.
While I think of it, Dan, what is the language of the Belgians? I had an idea it was French but I have no reason for so thinking. If they had a language of their own like the Dutch, I think I would have heard of it.
It is 9:30. I have just come back from taking Elsie down to her train, so I’m afraid I won’t have time for a very long letter tonight. However the nine pager last week will sort of maintain the average (of course you remember my old story about an average being the thing a hen lays eggs on).
Dave, in a letter from Okinawa dated May 14th (I think he means June 14th) says: “I’m still alive and happy. My latest experience is my first swim in the Pacific Ocean. There’s the most beautiful beach here – – almost as nice as you’d find on the New England coast. As to packages, out here food goes well – – candy, gum, canned goods, almost anything you can think of in the way of chow that wouldn’t parish in transportation. One thing I do want is a pair of moccasins or low-cut sneakers (Ced, please note). I think the size would be about 7. I’m getting tired of lugging combat shoes all over during nice weather. A letter from Kit says it’s dull where she is now and that she’d like to be back in Trumbull and then adds that she knows quite a few of us would like to be back there so she won’t gripe. This damned typewriter always prints the letter I hit. Someone should invent one that spells things right the first time. Think of all the mimeo stencils I could cut without using any correction fluid! I’m sorry this isn’t a better letter but in the first place, it’s late, and in the second, there isn’t much to write about. Love, Dave.
Tomorrow and Sunday, I will post the rest of this letter. It is actually three pages long and Biss has returned to Trumbull, probably in June of 1935. Next weekend, I’ll begin a new adventure from the summer of 1934. Ced, 17 years old, hitchhikes to Wisconsin and North Dakota to meet his mother’s family and see where she grew up.