Trumbull – Dear Lad – An Asylum For Peabodys (1) – July 14, 1940

This is the first half of a letter written by my Grandfather to his oldest son, my father, who is working in Venezuela for the Socony-Vacuum Oil Company. Tomorrow, I’ll post the rest of the letter to his next oldest boys, Dan and Ced, who have just driven across the country and sailed to Anchorage, Alaska, in search of better wages and an adventure.

Lad in Venezuela

Alfred Peabody Guion, Lad, in Venezuela

R-84                                                                    Trumbull, July 14, 1940
Dear Lad:
Tuesday of this week I received a letter from Donald Stanley (The son of Anne (Peabody) Stanley, Grandma Arla’s younger sister, probably a few years older than Dave) informing me that he would arrive the next day for an indefinite stay. Upon arrival he said his father wanted me to write him regarding board, etc., that Fred did not want him to stay with him in view of the fact that he had a new wife, and that there were no youngsters of his age up there in St. Albans that he wanted to pal around with, so he told his father the place he would prefer to be was Trumbull. With Ced’s board, which he paid regularly while employed by Tilo stopped, and the considerable amount of food Donnie is able to put away between meals, the financial burden of this additional mouth to feed is not too good; besides we had planned, with only two boys left, to make numerous weekend visits to friends and relatives which I did not feel as if I ought to do with a big flock of kids in the past, and these plans have been knocked into a cocked hat. I so wrote Fred but have not had time to get his reply. Another thing that bothers me a bit is that Don has been subject to fits. Still another angle to the situation is that Dick, on Saturday last, received a call from the Connecticut Employment Bureau about a job for an Addressograph operator being opened at the Columbia Phonograph. He went over and interviewed the employment man and starts in Monday at $16 a week. Dave has a two-weeks job at the office enclosing Ashcroft blotters, and this will leave Don at home alone here all day. With his mother in the hospital and naturally inclined to worry about him, and not wanting to hurt the poor lad’s feelings, I suppose the only thing for me is to accept the situation with a smile. This house seems to be an asylum for Peabody’s who have nowhere else to go. I am of course glad to be able to do it but as it is partly your monthly contribution that is keeping us going, it doesn’t seem quite fair to you to be too charitable.
I had to go down to New York Wednesday on business so we got out the old Plymouth and the three boys and myself drove down and back. They went to the movies while I did my stuff.
For a long time I have been behind in my rent at the office, but Miss Denis has gradually been getting caught up with it so that now we are just about square. As the landlords have not done anything to my shabby looking place since the beginning and as we have a very unwholesome heating system, I have been looking around for some other quarters. Last week, on Main Street, just south of State Street, and next to the Bridgeport Land and Title office I located the entire third floor of a small building owned by the Bridgeport City Trust Company, the two lower floors of which are occupied by a law firm. The rent is only $25 a month including heat in winter. To be sure it is up two flights of stairs and there is no elevator, but there is a parking place right next door. I am seriously thinking of making the change.
During the week the only mail received from my absent ones was a letter from Ced dated June 30th, or rather a picture postcard showing the boat they sailed in and indicating on it the location of their stateroom. He says they had seen many miles of virgin forest, small icebergs, whales, a shark, numerous fish and porpoises. By this time I expect they are at Anchorage but it takes so long for letters to cover the distance that it may be a week or two before I know anything definite. I will of course keep you posted.
I noticed in today’s paper that Mr. Cronin’s father and Bob Peterson’s father both died last week.
See attached letter to Dan and Ced for other home doings.
DAD

Tomorrow, I’ll be posting the second half of this letter, written to Dan and Ced in Alaska. 

Judy Guion

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