December 1, 1916 - . . . feel the warm breath and cold hands that always thrill me.

Here is a fun letter to start off December. This is a month filled with letters. So let's dive in.

December 1,1916.

My lil angel:

Last night I started out for the Club and the Turkish bath there in but when I arrived, I discovered that it was 3:40 XYZM. Of course, the subway does not run very often at that time, and so I had a very pleasant wait at the station, entertained by several drunks who should have made four or five trips for the load they were trying to carry. But the best part was their unanimity in thought and action, for when one started to sing one song they all chimed in, and it pre­sented similar music to that we were entertained with earlier in the day. This much is confidential, and should not be disclosed.

Then they started to jig, and do fancy dances; and at this time a couple of jolly tars from one of the battleships, all lit up arrived and enthusiastically joined the festivities. The Winter Garden never had a show like that then enacted. It was worth staying up all night for, but suddenly a minion of the law arrived and "busted up the show” as one newsy put it. My what a blue coat and twelve brass buttons can do sometimes. But I guess it was for the best for several times the actors almost fell off the platform, and might have tried to have a race with the train if the opportunity availed itself.

Enough about drunks. Now about myself; what's the idea do you ask? Well, three o'clock this morning (the folks landed home about 11,for they made the trip back in forty seven minutes) mother started a young riot by getting up Clara and Louis, and finally calling up Charles, thereby waking everybody (look I’m slipping again) to find out where I was, and why she had not heard from me. You know she expected that you would return, and naturally that I would spend the night at her house, while you were at Stella's, and not hearing from any one all night assumed as all mothers have done from the creation and will continue till doomsday (you included I fear) that we were run over or ditched or spilled out or heaven only knows the extent and limit where mothers stop conjuring up all kinds of dire forebodings, instead of giving one the benefit of the doubt, and assuming that no news is good news, and that all is well. However, the whole house was up.

But as I started out saying, when I landed at the Club it was so late that I simply tumbled into bed, and left a call for 7. Sure enough at 7 the call came and I made the 7:51 arriving in Bridgeport at 9:18. Isn't that just grand? as Florence would say it.

You cannot imagine how happy I am since I found my old Helen yesterday. And then how fortunate too, that I could take you home, and be able to hear you actually talk, instead of reading, and actually hold you instead of thinking about it, and feel the warm breath and cold hands that always thrill me. Ah, boy, that's the life. I would like to get to bed early to night, but don't think so. How­ever, in order to give Charles a lift to clean up as much as possible this week's work, yesterday being a holiday, would you mind if I took the 4:10 arriving around 5:30. If you want me to stay with Cousin Clara, you might tell her that we’ll arrive at her house 'about six, otherwise just call up the Yale Club and tell them to reserve a room for me for tomorrow night (Saturday) and that I'll arrive about 5:30. I understand that you'll meet me at the station, and that itself would be sufficient cause for my rushing to New York, if no more. But the fact that I'll actually be with you till Sunday is simply wonderful.

I had thought of leaving here early enough to arrive in time for a matinee at the Metropolitan, but we haven't a new girl yet so cannot get away conveniently in the morning.

But, when I arrived at the office this morning, I found a young lady waiting for me, sent by one of the business colleges, and understand that she is qualified for the work. I wanted her to start at once but she preferred next Monday, because she did not want to leave her other position in the middle of the week, though she had given notice that she would leave last Saturday, so she said. So that if she materializes and shows adaptability for her duties, that will release me oftener than now, and I'll be able to hear Caruso Saturday afternoons more often, and of course you know who'll be sitting at my right on such auspicious occasions. I read a nice article in this morning's World or Times about the special performance of Manon Lescaut, particularly complimenting the new soprano and telling about the warmth with which Caruso sings about the cold, little, white hands. Rather paradoxical.

You know that there are several dentists on our floor here, well, a few minutes ago, I saw a man leave one with a large "hunk" of plaster on his cheek or rather jaw on the same side as your dad's. And his face was so swollen. And he smelled of the same ointments also. Poor chap, he also a veteran of the war, at least that is the way he looked with his face all plastered up.

I hope you get good seats for next week. I will wait patiently for tomorrow's train, and you at the terminal.

With love to the folks and of course to yourself 

I am Your Joe

The next letter is December 5.