February 18, 1916 - Cancelling tickets for La Boheme with Caruso

Here is the last letter before Helen heads back to New York.

February 18, 1916

Dear Helen,

Just a line to say that I understand your present plans are to leave Saturday at 2 and arrive about 4 at the Pennsylvania Station.

Of course, I shall not look for any noon trains; and will have a bachelor's luncheon; and slip over about 4 o'clock, in the event you haven't altered your plans about returning.

I know you must be having great times, you danced etc; and this afternoon phoned cancelling tickets for La Boheme with Caruso for tomorrow afternoon.

Just write to let you know your letter about the train was received.

Sincerely,

Joe

Cancelling tickets to see Caruso in La Boheme must have been very upsetting to Helen.

The next letter will be on March 5.

February 17, 1916 - Bra brecht necht on the moonlecht.

Here the continuation of the correspondence Joe kept up while Helen and her mother were visiting Philadelphia and Atlantic City.
He throws in a little humor and a little Scottish.

The address that they were staying was a friends house. The house is still standing and the records say it was built in 1915. At that time is was brand new home.

February 17,1916.

Dear Helen;
I was rather amused to read that since your visit to the mint you “now know all about how money is made”. Think of what a fortune you could make if you only went down to Wall Street and imparted that valuable information in homeopathic doses to the lambs that are shorn daily at so much per lecture. Yet I might add that Rockefeller speaking to his Sunday School once said "anybody, almost, can make money- it's keeping it that counts." I guess Ban Franklin started the germ of that idea years before oil gushed forth.   Speaking of the million and a half that was strewn about under the watchful eyes of the guards, reminds me that they might be considered 'mince pies’ especially because you said that you saw gold pieces being cut.
Tomorrow night, as you say, you will go to take a wee bit o’ a squint at Harry Lauder, and as he says, "I 'opes it's a *bra brecht necht on the moonlecht”.

From the tone of your letter, it seems as though Phila­delphia wasn't such a quiet or dead City as you had been led to expect to find it. What, with touring all day through the ancient land-marks   of such a historic place, visiting all the modern methods and places of making money, taking in the theatres in the evening, in evening dress as you say as though it were a gala occasion-and why not, meeting bachelor brothers, what else could be desired?

From the splendid time you are having, it is easy to imagine that your wanderlust must be whetted, if you also add the fact that Florence is reveling in the sunny south, and sends such good reports of her social activities there.

Speaking of traveling reminds me that I'll be in New York Saturday, and will probably see the noon trains arrive on the **Pennsy, I am enclosing a digest time-table of trains that might be of assistance, though you seem perfectly familiar with the fact that there is an express leaving at ten, and arriving at noon.

This letter will probably reach you about the time you are ready to leave for the theatre, and it wouldn't be fair to deprive you of the time you have before you to take advantage of the hospitality of your friends, and I will not, therefore, emulate the Irishman who was ordered to cut off a dog's tail, and not wishing to cause it any more pain that necessary, thought that he might accomplish this end by cutting off only a little at a time, by   making an very abrupt ending.
Sincerely,
Joe
* bra brecht necht on the moonlecht means It's a bright night in the moonlight in Scottish.
**Pennsy - this was common reference for the Pennsylvania Railroad


The next letter will be on February 18.

February 14, 1916 - We struck a blizzard and zero weather.

Well here we are 100 years later and we have zero weather. Thankfully we have no blizzard. There is no mention of Valentine's Day but I am not sure that they would have participated. Helen was off on a trip to Philadelphia and Atlantic City and he continued to correspond.

Monday Afternoon
Dear Helen,
Received your card and bulletin as well as letter and am glad to see that at last you have arrived in Atlantic City. I certainly so not envy the kind of weather you met, if ours here is a sample. We struck a blizzard and zero weather. Still you once said it would be a cold day when you got to Atlantic City, and you've guessed right.
I was just thinking about the invitation for March 4th. On Monday March 6 we hold a large charity ball here under the auspices of our club.
Naturally many important details are left for the last moment, or rather many matters come up the 11th hour that couldn't have been anticipated.
In justice to the Lodge and the Charity work, it's my duty to be here to assist in having things as successful as possible, and so couldn't very well get away that day.
Of course I'll take her (Edith's) tickets if she should send them; and just one chance in a million might be able to attend; but I wouldn't make any plans as present for that.
I don't know whether you'll have the opportunity , but Dr. Berkowitz of Temple Rodeph Shalom is a very brilliant speaker. He was the founder of the Jewish Chautauqua Society and I had the good luck to be associated in the work with for several years.
Your time, I know, is too valuable to spend on this letter.
Of course, you'll have a good time. That's what you went away for, isn't it?
Sincerely,
Joe

This short letter hols a good deal about the Jewish history of that time. There are links above if you choose to examine what Joe was speaking of with the Jewish Chautauqua Society.

Since I have Helen's date book from 1916 I decided to look and see what happens on March 4th and it looks like Joe made it to New York. See datebook below.

The next letter will be February 17.

February 8, 1916 - Uvula amputation

Here is a strange note that Joe wrote Helen to follow up with her on his visit to the doctor. Humorous as usual.

Tuesday the 8th
Dear Helen,
The doctor said that singers and orators usually have elongated uvula (the little tongue in the back of the mouth) and have to have them or it amputated; and in spite of the fact that I am neither (so he intimated) mine must go too. It is a little long and in case of a cold tickles "detroit".
Outside of that everything is fine and sound, and that's some relief.
I have a pocket full of some tablets and feel bully today; but that's because I had ox-tail soup.
Will take car for home in a few minutes.
Sincerely
Joe
There is a link to the expression that Joe uses feeling bully. Quite the opposite of how we use the word today.

The next letter will be February 14.

February 3, 1916 - GOTT MIT UNS!

Back from his trip to Hartford Joe is back on his typewriter and chatty as always. We always heard him play with language, especially French, just to irritate Helen. Now we can see that this started right at the beginning of their relationship.

February 3,1916.
Dear Helen:
After several very pleasant days in Hartford, and in spite of the severe snow storm that threatened to tie up things, we came back safely. But on my return discovered that one of the appointments in New York for tomorrow had been postponed till next Wednesday; and also that my brother would be in Winsted during the greater part of the day, requiring my presence here.
The storm has been very severe blocking traffic and making traveling very unpleasant, especially for those who lived in the country. You've heard of James Whitcomb Riley's ‘knee deep in June’, but around some parts of Shelton it looks like knee deep in snow. Who was it mentioned those July evenings during January afternoons? However, it's a relief to see the snow and now the clear weather in contrast to the miserable drizzle that has been continuous since last Sunday.
I had a good laugh, for while at a banquet last night in the Capitol City, there happened to be several French waiters in attendance, and just for a joke, when one of them asked if I'd have cream in the coffee, I answered 'wee’. I had seen the cawfee- as Bert Hubbard writes it. One of the men happened later to be discussing something or other, and rather absent mindedly I whispered 'poor kwa',and he told it over again. Well, the joke is to-day he asked me to attend a French play that would be produced in Hartford some day next week. I believe, and I very gracefully declined, for fear that he would discover that the knowledge of French is confined almost exclusively to that volume of French used by Abe Kabibble and Krazy Kat. It seems that I'm getting to be some linguist, for I also remember that 'pelele' pronounced paylaylay in Spanish means straw man. By the way, I read somewhere that in the "Western front the Germans put up a sign over a trench they had captured inscribed "GOTT MIT UNS*! The English not far away, having as large a vocabulary of German as I have of French, read the sign   and were puzzled, then posted a reply, as I remember it, "CERTAINLY WE HATE MITTENS,WHAT OF IT?"
I read in the local papers that Amato sang in concert here the other evening, and made a phenomenal success in singing the Prologue from Pagliacci. It's so long since I've heard him sing it, that I almost regret that I missed this opportunity.
Friend Cold is packing his grip and seems about ready to depart. I’ve promised to buy him a ticket, but there'll be no return coupon attached.
Sincerely,

*GOTT MIT UNS means God with us in German.
The next letter will be February 8.

February 2, 1916 - The train is as smooth as a taxi crossing a pile of lumber.

And so February begins with another letter written on the train. This time Joe was traveling to Hartford on business.

February 2, 1916
Dear Helen,
Am en route to Hartford, and from the program it doesn't seem that we'll have much time to ourselves once we begin at ten a.m. today.
It was very kind of you to be thoughtful enough of my work of last night to send a word about it in the morning. Tough my cold seems to cling and was very oppressive Sunday night so much that it interrupted my sleep and almost threatened to put me to bed Monday, it subsided yesterday and I was very fortunate last night in doing - as I was told by the boys - splendidly. Not a word slipped, and the air - as old Hubbard used to say - was filled with things needed for the occasion. It made me feel like a boy again.
The train is as smooth as a taxi crossing a pile of lumber, and writing is anything but convenient.
I expect to be in New York Friday afternoon, and will then be able to say definitely something about whether the 26th is an open date, for I haven't had a chance to communicate with some people whom I expected to see that day, but who probably could arrange for another time, unless they had already made other arrangements.
My cold is almost the same, and on my return home, I'm going to see a physician and go after it with a club. I've had about enough of it, and it's got to go.
I've got another address in my cabeza* that I must deliver this afternoon, then back to Bridgeport.
My, but this certainly is a rattling good train.
Sorry you didn't enjoy the concert.
Sincerely,
Joe
*cabeza is head in Spanish

The next letter will be tomorrow February 3.