March 27, 1917 - I had to stand in a smoker where the air was blue . . .

Here is a letter where Joe catches Helen up on his uncomfortable train ride home and as always a little philosophy.

Tuesday noon.

My own little sweetheart,

I am enclosing two clippings, the one from the Shelton paper, the other from New York. In the cartoon they seem they seem to like my name considerable. What do they want from my young life?

My hands are so cold, I can hardly hold the pen.

You know that when you phoned down for a taxi, you might expect one, but no, I stood in the door way and nearly "ferplatzed" (fell down) and actually saw my watch say 12:05 before one came. I told the driver to hurry, and would you believe it, the train was on time; and I actually fell on as it was getting ready to leave. You see there was a mob, and everybody seemed to push right on. That is nothing. "Listen"! I had to stand all the way. And that's not all. I had to stand in a smoker where the air was blue and where a gang of roughnecks cursed and swore a blue streak all along the route.

However I was in bed at two and up at 6 and on my way feeling so grand at the thought of being yours. Things looked so wonderful, especially as the sun crept up over the sound; and I thought how like it, your smile and warm embrace are radiated so much goodness.

This morning I was told that Mr. Lustig, whom we tried to visit, had passed on, Sunday morning. It's terrible, to me, because, all day Sunday the idea kept recurring to me, so much so that I almost telephoned, but restrained myself. But that's man, one day we are like the seed, planted, sprout, bloom, a frost comes along, and away we go. Perhaps this life is as Dr. Wise says a dream life. If so it's terrible to be suddenly awakened.

Dearie, I'll write tomorrow. With love and kisses I am
Your
Joe

The next letter is March 28