January 26, 1916 - The day has been one of mingled sweets and bitters.

This marks three years since I posted the first letter on the blog. It is always a reminder of the untimely death of Joe's younger brother Meyer. Here is a letter written on the train from Bridgeport to New London.

January 26th
Dear Helen,
As you can see by the paper, I am on route “somewhere in Connecticut,” as the war dispatches would phrase it. My immediate destination is New London, and if the train doesn't jar too much, perhaps a few lines will be legible.
This week started out as a very tame one, but it looks like a banquet tonight; and a musical tomorrow night. Last night, modesty prevents my telling the name of the fellow who was installed as President of Harmony Lodge and Club, and of course we had quite a time, as men can sometimes.
Just passing Fairhaven where I spent my days at school.
In ten minutes we'll pass Branford. That town means much to me and always will. My dear father and brother Meyer, are resting in eternal peace there; and today is the third anniversary of my brothers decease.
The day has been one of mingled sweets and bitters. This morning, Henry Saltman was successful in recovering a rather large judgment (over $8,000), and that made both him and me happy. Of course I was sorry that I couldn't join in, Butz' and Edith's “Little journey down Bway,” but was glad to hear the nice things that were said, though if present that wouldn't have occurred, and for this perhaps I might be sorry to.
I can't tell now just when I'll arrive at N.Y. on Friday, but I've an engagement at 2:30 and another at 4. After which I'll look up some tickets. It doesn't seem I'll arrive much before 2:15, and will probably take the train arriving at N.Y. then.
By the way, will the party or whatever technical name it enjoys, on Saturday be formal or what? Not that it matters, except in Florida one wears flannels, in contrast to furs used in Alaska. My cold received such a fine reception that it returned for a “return performance,” but it's slight and will take airy wings, I know.
I've got a ream of paper to wade through to become familiar with the exact details; and besides, the lurching and swaying of the train is making me cross-eyed while trying to follow what I say; and will probably make you dizzy when deciphering it.
The Porter is ready to announce “First call for dinner,” and not having had lunch, leaves no room for doubt where I may be found for the next half hour.
Sincerely,
Joe

The next letter will be February 2.

August 21, 1914 - "Here with a loaf of bread beneath the bough . . ."

This copy of a letter Joe wrote his good friend Henry Saltman. The paper is fragile, but survived. He must have used carbon paper when he typed this. I am not sure why he wanted a copy but it is really quite humorous and shows how differently people communicated 100 years ago. Or at least how Joe communicated.

August 21, 1914.
Dear Henry:
I have just received the official announcement of your betrothal, and it caused me the same amount of surprise to learn this happy fact as it causes a prospective candidate for the Presidency of the United States to receive his Official Notification that he was nominated to the national Convention held three months previous, at and about which time he probably had many sleepless nights and corresponding days of agony over the outcome of his claims.

However, I presume that I ought therefore to officially acknowledge receipt of this intelligence and also again officially congratulate you in the warmest and most ardent possible way; but language was “made to conceal thought” and so am at a loss to adequately soliloquize on your good luck and happiness in this written form.

And yet, I believe that you must feel like that handsome young Omar did when he sent that little piece of parchment to the Princess-that sweet faced damsel sitting over on the left-side of the stage amid that beautiful Persian landscape and scenery-on which he had written

"Here with a loaf of bread beneath the bough,
A flask of wine, a book of verses, and thou
Beside me singing in the Wilderness
And wilderness is Paradise *enow."

And I suppose that Rose at- this moment enjoying herself up in Vermont as she sits occasionally and talks to her friends, or sits at the piano and plays, maybe ‘Just a Little Love, a Little Kiss’ suddenly stops and her mind wanders towards fair Connecticut, just as Marguerite’s did on a somewhat similar occasion while singing the Thule Song, then suddenly says, ‘How foolish’, or something else as silly but which she does not really mean, and starts to spin again.

Well; I needn't write any further for you know I wish you joy; and as the poet once said

"I think I'll wander down to see you,
When you're married, eh, my boy?"

You just bet I will.
Sincerely yours,


* enow means enough
This is an excerpt from The Rubaiyat by Omar Khayyam.


The next post will be photographs of Helen and her family on summer vacation on August 29.