View of the back of the Trumbull House from the barn.
Trumbull, Conn., Washington’s Birthday, 1942
) Glacier Ced
Dear ) Sapper Dan
) Rustless Rusty
Following the W.K. custom whenever a holiday falls on a Sunday, we are celebrating the event tomorrow. (With no work at the office it would be silly to open anyway). Dave has no school but Lad and Dick work just as usual, just as a little gesture to friend Tojo.
The only incoming mail of interest this week was a short note from Rusty written Feb. 10th, mentioning the fact that it was exactly 2 weeks to a day that Ced left on his plane salvaging expedition which Rusty figured would take an additional two weeks to complete. Meantime I have heard nothing from Ced direct. In fact the last letter I got from the culprit was December 28th. I hope you won’t have so much to say when he gets back that he won’t know where to start and puts off writing still longer on that account.
Dan, I suspect, is himself learning a lot he didn’t know about the city of Washington in the process of showing his best girl all the sites. Barbara and Lois Hennigan planned to leave Trumbull yesterday by train for Washington where Dan was to meet them. The girls had made arrangements to stay overnight with friends of Lois’ and I suppose continue their sightseeing tour today, presumably starting home tomorrow. Dan was uncertain how much time off he could obtain but no matter how short they will enjoy it anyway.
There are just ordinary everyday things to write about, such as the furnace going out last night (temperature outside not being any too high either), and Dave and Paul spending the entire morning trying to get the thing into running order again. They had to take out the bricks that sealed up the lower part where the Stoker discharges ashes, clean out all the mock and cement up the hole again. Down in the ash removal channel, where the worm gear operates, they removed a steel bar about a quarter inch thick, 1 ½ wide and 14 inches long that in some strange manner got down where it all but wrecked the whole mechanism, the bar showing evidence by various nicks and smooth beveled edges where the worm gear had evidently tried to chew it up. The furnace seems to be running all right now but it’s hard to say how much damage has been done to its innards. In spite of several attempts to get someone here to look over the works and estimate on what it would take to renovate the entire heating system and make it function like a German fifth column or a Jap invasion plan.
Tuesday Trumbull is to have a blackout test at nine P.M., so if you’re flying over this way at that time don’t expect to see the front porch light on.
Lad was not home to dinner today having been invited down to the Page’s. Elizabeth dropped in at the office during the week and reported Marty had a very bad cold. No word since so I assume everything is all right. One more month of bad weather and then spring, and won’t I be glad. I have a cold myself and have been retiring early nights this week trying to lose it. Maybe this letter reflects a dull brain. If so, I hope it also reflects the love and affection of him who, dear sirs, has the honor to inscribe his initials to the bottom of this here script, in the old familiar way – –
I’m continuing to post letters written in 1942 when Lad and Dick are at home working in a Bridgeport Plant, Ced is in Alaska, Dan is in the Army at Ft. Belvoir, VA and Grandpa continues to write to those away from Trumbull about local news and bits of interest.