October 18, 1916 - The election is but a few weeks away and must receive some consideration.

It is fascinating how Joe's life 100 years ago was paralleling our life today - politically speaking.

Wednesday noon

My dear,

How did I laugh at those cartoons that you sent me. Still I don't quite know just on whom the laugh should be, if you try to reconcile Briggs and Goldberg. But one mystery is solved. Know what it is? We often wondered just why at this time Goldberg should be drawing engagement and marriage pictures, and mother-in-law stuff and all that. But the cat has jumped out of the bag. He is going to be or is already married.*

I had an idea that I'd be in New York this week, but no. Our Supreme Court convenes Tuesday and with several cases to argue, I thought I'd be fully prepared. And in addition, every night thus far I have been out doing very important fraternal work that simply had to be attended to at this time.
It doesn't make it so terrible, because you'll be here Friday afternoon, does it dear?

I'm working on that Shelton matter with full steam on, but the prosperity of New England has been the cause of everything being occupied. However, I have gotten good seats at 8:20, and an beginning to wonder whether that was any criterion.

Did I tell you that Barnet started in the public schools Monday morning? He did, and he is just delighted.

And of course you'll be glad to learn that Charles and Stella have gotten several nice patterns in silverware for our selections. So come prepared to make some choice, if any there be that meet your approval.

I have been unusually occupied with many matters outside of the profession. Besides the election is but a few weeks away and must receive some consideration.
But, you'll be here a day after tomorrow arriving 4:25. If you're downtown step in and get a Pullman seat. And you bet I'll be anxiously waiting. Another load of love.

Your
Joe

* Rube Goldberg married Irma Seeman on October 17, 1916.

The next letter is October 26.

July 11, 1916 - I played too much pool with your father.

Reading between the lines in the letter this is at a time when Helen's father John Rosenstein was working in Connecticut. This gave Joe an opportunity to see him and get to know him separate from the family. Sounds like they got along just fine.

July 11, 1916
Helen dear,
Of course, it's just my luck, that I played too much pool with your father, and hurt one of my eyes. I had some terrible stuff put in last night after a day of torture, and feel good again. But tomorrow, I get another treatment, and one more Friday, to make sure that the strain or whatever effect there was, is removed for good. Thus, we learn, that we are punished by our sins, not for them.

Perhaps you are aware, that it poured all forenoon, and cleared up with a warm streak that has well nigh melted me into a little puddle. And now, I'm told I must go to New Haven this evening, so take the opportunity of writing now, rather than lose the chance later.

The carton by Goldberg about the idea that might have been a good one, if the author had not forgotten it, recalls many famous speeches we have often thought of, but couldn't think of even a sour pickle when called on to speak. Some one remarked that the best after dinner speeches have been delivered in the back homeward bound. This naturally refers to the auto taxi days.

I couldn't help recalling Hubbard once saying in East Aurora that he never cared much whether people agreed with what he said, so long as it made them think; and provided they ate enough, slept regularly, and worried not at all, they would reason most generally correctly. And so this recurred when you described reading "Little Journeys" with one hand, and looking up words with the other. Isn't that a fine figure of speech?Wasn't that an inspiring story, that of old Zeller or Zelter, Goethe and the youngster?

What makes you think that in this fine weather, anyone could catch cold? Certainly I've kept out of drafts, and so am still without one.

There has been a little talk of my being in New York Friday, but it's very indefinite yet. Still, I think I could come down Saturday, provided I wasn't induced and forced to play much pool. But I'll let you know later as to that. Suffice it to say, that the poem of "The Manicure" made me laugh, for why should any one think less of women if they manicured you any more than we do of men who shave us. The secret of course is not in the touch of hands, but in that of minds, or hearts so to speak. It's a cold business proposition, just like buying a soda check, or a subway ticket.
Sincerely,
Joe

The next letter is July 18.

April 6, 1916 - The 7:41 A.M. out of Bridgeport arriving Grand Central 9:16 A.M.

Here is the first of three letters that Joe wrote in April 1916. The thing that struck me about the letter was that he wrote about the train times and that is the same travel time today from Bridgeport, CT to Grand Central Station in NYC.

April 6,1916.

Dear Helen:
I don't know whether to explain now that this is to be a short letter, or just pass it and let you see for yourself.

Your letter this morning said that it contained a funny poem, but you've probably got that poem still on your desk. And so far as the briefs are concerned, I can see now that they will act as very proficient remedies for insomnia. Of course, they could be made more entertaining if Goldberg or Hershfield illustrated them; but I'm afraid our clients wouldn't see the joke, if a decision was handed down against them.

I'll look through the New York papers tonight to read about the French play, and in advance I can imagine it must have been a success.
The 7:41 A.M. Saturday out of Bridgeport looks likely now, arriving at Grand Central about 9:16, and if it's on time, shouldn’t be more than a few minutes late, as a friend of mine would say.

I had a good laugh. Williamson just informed me that he became tired of waiting for me to go, so he went and has already returned from the south. What do you think of that? Ish K. Abibble.
Sincerely,


Apparently he did not sign this letter.

The next letter is April 25.