Dave tries to find out about Ruth’s graduation date from the National Training School; they exchange a lot of wise-cracks; Dave complains about the Essex, the weather, and reports a gruesome injury to his finger.
January 22, 1935
73 Brookline Avenue
Albany, N.Y.
Dear Dave,
Seems like someone asked me when graduation will be. Could it by chance be you? As far as I know, it will be sometime within the next two months. Now let me see, what day it will be? Me thinks it will be some day when the Historical Arts Building will not be in demand by someone other than “The National Training School.”1 So find out when we can have the place and you will know the date of graduation.
I knew you would be overwhelmed when I told you the date. I am very sorry if the shock proves too much for you, but remember, you asked for it.
Yesterday afternoon, the time hanging rather heavy on my hands, I came upstairs and the bed looked sort of good so without thinking what the consequences might be, I decided to snatch a nap. Just in the midst of my slumber, Lydia called me and was my face red since last week she was the one who took the nap and I handed her several (would be) wise cracks. Looks like I’m the victim this week.
Listen, “Wise Guy,” who did you see Sunday after you left Brookline? What’s the big idea of telling people I messed you all up? Anyone who knows me knows I would never do that. Why didn’t you tell them Lydia messed your mop up? As for the scarf and neck tie, I can’t explain that. That line certainly doesn’t sound so good for McCreedies to hear.2 What do you think?
I am still unemployed and I guess a lot of the other kids are. That’s what I get for being such a good nurse. I get my patients well in two days. Next time I’ll wash my thermometer in warm water and raise the temperature a couple of points. If you know of anyone who needs a nurse, you might further the good work by handing them one of those little cards with my telephone number in the corner. I think you have at least a dozen of those little cards.
Incidentally, I think I heard you say you were going to call “The National Training School” for a nurse. I hope they send you Ruth Distell, she would be sure to suit you. She is just like the N.W. Mounted, she always gets her man.
I heard your theme song about the good ship Eskimo pie or sompin’. With regards to the “Adams Center Local”, you have to remember we at least have one.
Maybe you could enlighten me as to brother Sprague’s condition. Is he still in a coma? For goodness sakes, don’t ever tell him I said such a thing or he’ll have me disinherited or something.
You and Fran say Lydia gave you a queer impression of me. I would like to know what it was like and also what the present one is like. I am of the opinion it isn’t so good.
I don’t want to be catty or anything, but how did you like the story about Tommy? I can’t remember that my mother ever read it to me, so bring it along some night and I will read it.
Oh yeah, if you are ever up around the river, you might drop in. What river? The St. Lawrence, of course.
The fire is on a strike tonight and everyone is about stiff. The natives of Albany say this is the mildest winter they have experienced in years.
I’m supposed to take a dancing lesson tomorrow night. I hate like the deuce to go alone.
McCreedies saw Will Rogers last night and liked it. Tell Francis it was a good movie or they wouldn’t have liked it. Personally, I don’t think he saw much of it anyway.
I was supposed to go down and let Lydia cut my hair and wave it, but I fear what few brains I have might freeze and bust. I think I’ll stay at home and have long hair.
The nurtz now signing off from station BUNK.
R.J.P.
P.S. This is two letters, so it requires two answers.
January 24, 1935
Middleburgh, N.Y.
Dear Ruth,
Thanks for the information about graduation. Now that I have it, what better off am I than before? I’ll still have to keep asking, “When is graduation?” If it develops that it is impossible to get the Historical Arts Building, you might suggest to the board of the school that they shift the scene of action to Middleburg. There are several vacant barns around here that would do admirably for the occasion. Now I suppose you never will tell me the date after that one.
However, I have to make a comeback like that once in a while to get even with you. You scored a homerun with that crack about me dropping in the St. Lawrence. It’s too deep for me.
So you are taking life easy this week. I am doing the same today after last night’s delightful little storm. I guess Francis is also snowbound as I haven’t seen him go by today. I haven’t seen him to talk to since Sunday night so I can’t say whether he is still in a coma or not. Most likely he still is. I should have told you what Frank Spencer said about him. He said it was easy to tell he goes out Sunday nights. He comes to work on Monday and is asleep all day. Tuesday he is just waking up, Wednesday he starts to do a little work and Thursday when he is fully awake again he has to go down to the store and work. I guess someone else can’t take it either. Imagine taking a nap in the afternoon.
The only people I saw after leaving you Sunday night were Joe and Shucks. The first thing Joe asked me if I had been in a wreck. Was my face red? I told him I had been out with a native from the north woods who enjoyed pulling ties and scarves. Everything went o.k. going home until I got right in our driveway and there I got stuck. The rear wheels were just off the concrete and I let it sit there until the next night. Next time I’ll shovel out the snow that the plow leaves in the way.
If it is not too cold, I’ll bring Tommy along Sunday. I don’t want to bring him out in bad weather and have him get sick.
Mother just said to tell you that she is sick and wants you to come out and take care of her. I don’t think it is very serious though considering the dinner she just ate. I rather think she is getting curious as to who is doing all the dirty work on my ties and she wants to get a look at you.
So you want to know what impression Francis and I had of you from Lydia’s descriptions. Well I guess he has told you all of that. She never told me anything and the only thing he told me was that you were a very quiet and reserved sort of young lady. As to the present one, well you probably wouldn’t believe me anyway if I was to tell you the truth. However, borrowing one of your expressions, you asked for it, so here it is. I think you are very nice and just about it in my opinion. I have enjoyed every minute I have ever been with you and if I didn’t really like you, that couldn’t have been possible. Now you know why I said it was such a long time from Sunday to Sunday and here’s hoping you don’t have to be on duty this Sunday or any other. But if you do, I suppose I’ll have to take it but not like it.
I thought you said you couldn’t write as there was nothing to write about. Boy if anything should happen to write about, you would have me reading a book. That was a swell letter really and it does deserve two answers. However, I’ll only write one and you will have to consider my appearance Sunday as another.
How about it, bright eyes, will that do? I’ve really got to stop now or I’ll be making a special trip to M. to mail this.
Dave
Thursday evening.
The mailman went just as I was putting this in the envelope so I was too late. Neither can I go to M. to mail it as the Essex is suffering from peristaltic peritonitis or sompin’ and refuses to run until warmer weather. Consequently, you will just have to wait another day for this.
Tonight starts in as if it might be a little chilly before morning. It is already 2 degrees below and I think the thermometer is about 10 degrees slow the way it feels outside. Here’s hoping you will not find this warm climate too great a change for you.
Gute Nacht,
Dave
January 27, 1935
The Hon. David W. Coffin, Esq.
Somewhere down yonder in the sticks
The country God forgot
Greetings “Smarty,”
You sure have a swell idea of what our class is like. We might better have graduation in a barn than in your church. The church sounds spooky to me. Somehow I don’t like the thoughts of people hanging around there.
The purpose of this note is so I won’t have to write next week. It will be U.O. me instead of I.O.U. Who sez I’m dumb or sompin’.
Lydia tells me she sent you some of my hair and I can’t dope out whether she did or if she is giving me a good time. If she did, I’ll get even with her and I don’t mean perhaps. I’ve got to do something anyway because she has bothered me some more. It would be different if I ever tormented her, but you know what kind of a person I am.
Gee whiz, the warm climate. Pardon me while I laugh. Just to show how cold it is here, yesterday I put some hot H2O outdoors and it froze so fast that the ice was hot when I brought it in.
Well, I guess I had better take time off and clean up my room. My reputation is ruined should Lydia see it in the present state. It is usually spotless, if you get what I mean (not a clean spot in it).
So long, and pul-ease don’t forget I’m still peeved about that dirty slam you gave me.
R.J.P.
P.S. I forgot to mention the fact that I was greatly grieved to learn that the snow was deep enough to get a car stuck. I must say, it doesn’t seem possible that such a terrible thing could happen in such a balmy place.
January 28, 1935
Middleburg, N.Y.
Dear Ruth,
Since it’s a case of I.O.U. here goes to reverse the situation as quickly as possible. Pretty smart of you to hand me that letter yesterday, but I don’t know of a thing I can do about it but answer.
I think I told you yesterday I wouldn’t work today if it was cold and I’ve made good my threat. However, I have a pretty good excuse for not doing any work for a few days. I got up as usual this morning intending to work as usual. After breakfast no one had arrived at the scene of action yet and me being the ambitious and active fellow that I am, couldn’t sit down and wait but decided to go out on the wood pile and work out some of my pent up energy. The first stick I picked up slipped out of my right hand and caught the index finger of my left hand between it and the edge of the block. Result? Well, instead of “Pop goes your heart,” it was pop goes my fingernail. The whole nail was pushed out from the root and it just hung there from one side.
Talk about hurt. All the Christian Science in the world couldn’t have made me think any different, and it still hurts even though I have been to a Dr. and had it dressed. His orders were to return Thursday morning and in the meantime not touch the dressing he put on. Guess it is time for me to put in a call for a nurse. The only thing you would have to do is hold my hand. I get rather tired of holding it up in the air myself.
Boy was it cold coming home last night. When I got out of the car I was so brittle I was sure afraid to walk.3 I think if I had stubbed my foot (or kicked an ash can) my toes would have broken off. I had just nicely got warmed up and gone to sleep when the call to arms came, or maybe it was breakfast. Francis hasn’t gone down to work yet. He probably is still thawing out. This seems like the longest winter on record for me. I suppose it is because we went away from here in winter and then came right back into it again. It just seems as though there has been no summer in between.
Anyway, I take back all I ever said about this being such a balmy climate, but I still don’t think they are picking oranges in Adams Center, in fact at this time of year they probably don’t have more than two or three hours of daylight.
I hope you don’t have any trouble distinguishing this scrawl from the cat tracks which must be all over here. I am sitting in a rocking chair and as usual there has to be a cat on my lap and between him and my finger it is quite a problem to keep this sheet of paper anywhere near where I want it.
Well the old Essex stood up for one more trip but it is doubtful as to how many more it will take. Every time I go out with it I come home with one less part. Last night the speedometer reached the end of its never too useful career. If about one more thing goes wrong, I’ll tear it down and transform it into a bicycle built for two (with a rumble seat for Lydia and Francis). It has got to the point now where I don’t dare make any promises as to where and when I can go with it, but barring all unforeseen obstacles, I’ll roll the royal chariot to an impressing halt in front or maybe beside of the McCreedie estate on Brookline Avenue somewhere near 7:30 Thursday evening. I sure hope nothing does happen as I really want to be there. If I don’t get any money for a license before that, you’ll be sure to get home early for one night at least. I’ll bet Sandy would be so surprised he wouldn’t even bark if I should bring you in before twelve some night.
How is Lydia’s cold? I hope better. Please use your gentle influence and make her take care of it. It probably didn’t do her any good riding in that cold car last night. But who can be blamed if two young ladies are so charming they can induce two young men to leave a warm and cozy fire and endure the icy blasts of an Albany winter’s night to spend (not waste) a few hours in their company.
So long, Stubby, ’til you hear the Essex knock.
Dave
Footnotes
- The National Training School for Certified Nurses was founded in 1909, originally named “Eastern New York School for Certified Nurses, Inc.” It advertised a low cost six month training program that was geared toward training students to care for patients with “ordinary cases of illness,”* but “in no way interfering with the regular hospital graduate, who has a distinct field of her own.” The school was located at 285 Lark St., Albany NY (pictured). The name was changed to “Albany School of Practical Nursing” in 1964, and was dissolved by 1977. *Albany Medical Annals, 1910, vol. 31
- The McCreedies were Ruth’s landlords.
- The Essex, likely a 1929, had some heat, but it was unreliable. Click here for a link to an article about the history of heating automobile interiors. As pictured, Dave wore goggles when driving. The goggles may have been used for sun protection or for protecting his eyes from wind, dust and snow that could still get into the car despite the windshield and other windows. Update: the car in the photo is a 1927 Studebaker Victoria Coupe! It probably pre-dates 1934 when he first got the Essex. Click here for more.