A-124 Trumbull, Conn. April 4, 1941
The score is pretty good this week — letters from Ced and Dick, at least a postal from the latter dated Ketchikan, March 27th, and reading, “Arriving soon in Ketchikan! My first Alaskan city or town! I am enjoying myself to the limit. Ran out of cash Thursday, the 20th. Slept Thursday night with another fellow in the hotel whose acquaintance I had made. Stayed on the boat nights until we sailed Sunday. Only ate about three meals in three days. It sort of lowered my resistance so that I now possess a cold — not bad though. Wonderful scenery! I just met another passenger who is quite a character. He used to be a bad egg but is now a good citizen. Can’t wait to get to Anchorage, but it’s still a week off. Until later, Dick.”
If you were right in your estimate, Dick, you have already been in Anchorage three days. I suppose you have lost your cold, got a job and are now feeling like a real sourdough. If it’s any satisfaction to you in a spirit of revenge for letting you down on the sending of additional cash, I have a cold myself and it did not come from not eating enough. It is remarkable how many people right now are laid up with colds. Mr. Plumb, Barbara has undoubtedly written you, is in pretty serious condition. He has some blood clot obstruction in his lung and because of his age it is too dangerous to operate. Apparently there was little hope of his pulling through. George Lipovsky’s father was struck, knock down and injured by an automobile Friday night, by a hit and run driver. A witness saw the thing and summoned an ambulance. The family knew nothing about it until the next morning. He sustained no serious internal injuries, but did have all his front teeth knocked out, legs cut and bruised and a slight concussion of the brain. Today we were to go down to Burnham’s for Sunday dinner but late last night a telegram from Rufus said Eleanor was sick and postponement was in order. This suited me because I am feeling considerably under par myself. Next Sunday, Easter, Grandma has invited us down to New Rochelle for dinner along with Helen, Ted and Burton. Burton came up yesterday afternoon and stayed all night. He is still interested in flying and there is a possibility that he may go after a flying instructor’s job again. For the present, however, he wants nothing said about it because of Grandma’s tendency to worry.
And that reminds me, Ced’s letter reports his flying is improving slowly; that he only needs 50 minutes more before soloing, which he may finish by the end of March. As for the beard, why don’t you try for a goatee and see how it looks. I have had hankerings all my life to see how I would look thus adorned but never got up enough courage to make the trial.
Tomorrow I may get another letter from Lad. We are all keyed up here of course at the prospects and I have looked up on a Grace Line folder what sailings are from Caracas. If he leaves on the 18th he will be home Thursday, April 24th, but if it is a week later he will be here on May 1st. “It won’t be long now”.
And I guess that will do it for an ambitious, germ ridden but still hopeful
I’ll finish the week with one more letter from Grandpa. On Saturday, another installment of Memories of Early Trumbull, recorded with Grandpa’s children. On Sunday, I’ll again try to post pictures from Uncle Kenneth Peabody’s farm in Star Prairie, Wisc.