August 26, 1944: Carefree Again?

Letter from Opa to Grandmother, August 26, 1944.

Transcription:

St. John 

August 26, 1944

Dearest Margie,

By now you will have that letter I wrote last night, and I am afraid it hurt you very much. The more I think about it now, the more I realize that I should have waited with telling you about the way I feel until we see each other. I received your letter this morning; it was such a sweet one, darling, and you seemed so happy. It gave me quite an uplift and, without reason, I feel better now. Oh Margie, do you think there may yet be a day when we can be carefree again? A day when peace will be restored to the world and people come back to their senses? It takes a great deal for real happiness, though. Needed is not only personal happiness and contentment, but also the knowledge that people everywhere have a chance to enjoy life with us.

I am staying in my room as much as I can, for I feel terribly conspicuous around town. This morning, I read quite a bit in Wells and Plato and played some solitary. Time goes slow when there is no work to do, and -- what's the worst -- there is too much time for thinking. How much do I wish that you were here now, but that is a selfish wish. Maybe Eileen Carswell was right when she told you that you wouldn't be happy with me.

Today, I received a bunch of blanks from the State Department concerning my pre-examination case. What an irony of fate. (I wished someone took that lump out of my throat.) Any application for citizenship will now in all probability have to wait until the war is nothing but a memory; and who knows? by that time they may have sent me back to Germany.

Even though everything else looks black, the war news looks good. The liberation of Paris was quite an affair, was it not? It was very decent of the Allies to let French troops themselves take care of that. My sister is (or was) in one of two southern French cities: Grenoble or Lyon. Grenoble has been retaken by the Aliies already, Lyon is being sieged. I may find out before so long if and how she got through this war. I reread some of her letters today; it has been seven years now since I saw her last, but now there is at least a beam of hope that I may see her before too long.

Give Skunkie my affection. They talk so much about a dog's life, but what's wrong with living like a dog? He never has to worry about food or clothing, his relationship with other dogs is uncomplicated and straight-forward. If Skunkie likes another dog, he plays with him without worrying whether that dog was born in Lawrence or Manhattan or Berlin or Tokyo. Ever hear of a dog having to fill out an income tax receipt? No, only his masters, the superior species 'Homo sapiens' has to do that. If I were a philosopher, I would try to conform to Skunkie's principles of life.

It may be a good thing that you did not get to take advantage of that ride to Newton of McPherson, for I could never have gotten a permit to go there in such a short period of time, especially now. Both of us would have been disappointed, would we not?

It was my intention not to write anything but brief notes to you until we see each other so that you can think the situation over without any subjective influence from me, but here I am on the third page already. Somehow, I have a greater desire now than ever to talk to you or at least to write to you, and especially today I have too much time to forget about it. Do not misunderstand that though; I still want you to make your decision for yourself and shall accept whatever you may come to decide. If you see it better for us to break, I will promise to take this decision without argument, but I do have to see you and take it orally from you. To think that two days ago the thought that anything could ever sever us was just an impossibility! Maybe it is yet. Maybe, someday I'll wake up and find out that all that happened in these last few weeks was just a nightmare, and, on awakening, I find you next to me. (No law against dreaming, is there?)

I am afraid this letter is terribly mixed up, both in contents and in form, but so are my thoughts; forgive me. I can hardly await the day when the bus drives into Lawrence and I can look into your crystal-ball eyes again, even though our meeting this time will not be as beautiful and happy as a few weeks ago in Newton.

Don't worry, darling; and, please, do not be sad or hurt.

With all my love,

Tom.

Opa makes a good point about a dog's life.

This letter shows the perspective after a night's sleep, but Opa is still reeling with too much alone time to think and re-think about everything. 

He's worried he has said too much, he hurt Grandmother, and that he is unfairly leading her to make a choice in his favor. (I thought it was humorous that he thought a decision like this could be made without thinking of him.)

He is sticking to his offer though: she can jump ship if she wants to. He knows that the path forward is incredibly vague, if not dangerous, and he wants to give her a chance to say she's out before the real hard stuff starts. In his last letter he told her that being with him meant always being looked at, talked about, conspicuous. He was used to it and he still hated it. St. John was particularly terrible for this. I think he felt really alone there. He didn't want her to feel this way, and though he continues to dream of a day when there is peace and it doesn't matter where you are born: he's starting to realize that this hope might be too optimistic. 

This quote got me:

Oh Margie, do you think there may yet be a day when we can be carefree again? A day when peace will be restored to the world and people come back to their senses? It takes a great deal for real happiness, though. Needed is not only personal happiness and contentment, but also the knowledge that people everywhere have a chance to enjoy life with us.

Opa is realizing that at some point in all of history, someone somewhere is the conspicuous one. Can he be happy in that world?

This is the second mention of rereading his family's letters. This time he is re-reading his sister's letters. The news of Paris being reclaimed is good news, the kind of aching good news that you know will be followed by stories of what happened before the victory. Opa doesn't even know if he has his sister anymore. He's hoping that she is still there somewhere, and that there is a chance for them to see each other again. It's been seven years. 

Opa wraps up his letter full of emotions and scattered hope and doubt with "don't worry... do not be sad or worried." Nice try, but Grandmother is likely on the other side with a pit in her stomach. I don't know what she's feeling, but this is the relationship she has fought for, against the wisdom of her parents (and apparently Eileen Carswell). She must know that this is a moment for her: either she's all in, or she takes the last exit.

August 25, 1944: I Was Happy

 

Letter from Opa to Grandmother, August 25, 1944.

Transcription:

St. John

August 25, 1944

My dearest Margie,

The worst has happened, and maybe more is yet to come: I am fired. Today was my last day of work with the National. Things have gotten a little too involved. I do not feel like writing details now, but I hope to be able to see you soon. Briefly my plans for the immediate future: As soon as I get my permit from the U.S. Attorney (which may take somewhat longer now than usually) I shall proceed first to McPherson to see my draft board concerning the possibilities for immediate voluntary induction into the army, then to Kansas City to hunt some kind of a job. On the way, of course, I'll stop at Lawrence. I shall wire you before I get there; please notify your house to inform you if my wire comes, for I may not have much time. Also, please don't mention anything about the deal to anyone.

So much for the naked facts. Margie, I feel as lousy as I never felt before in all my life, and there have been plenty of bad times. Before all this happened, I was happy. Here I had a new job, finally a permanent one and a job I liked -- had my education which I had worked for so terribly hard -- and, most important of all: had you, and with you the hope for a beautiful, happy home life; someone to love and someone who love me, who cared about me. And now, it seems as though everything I built up was blown down by a wind, to leave me alone to start from scratch. This time, however, I have no longer the ambition, the energy, or the hopes I used to have. There is a black mark against me which can never be erased.

Don't misunderstand me, honey: I still hope (how could I live without it?) that you are not leaving me and that you still have some belief in me, but our plans can't be realized any longer. It was my intention to write a long letter to you this weekend, reminding you of October 14 and of your feelings towards it, but at present I feel as though I am no longer allowed to ever ask you to marry me. I want you to be happy, carefree, and contented. Life with me would mean for you to live under constant suspicion, to be talked about by the neighbors, and looked at with the eyes of gossip. I am used to it to a certain extent, and I hate it. could not bear, however, to see it happen to you.

I do not know what the future may bring and I do not dare to anticipate. Darling, only with a burning heart can I say this: I must let you be free and find someone who can give you the happiness and the life which I wanted to give you, but I can no longer. Maybe I should not write this to you but wait and tell you next week when we see each other, but certain things are easier written than said. It will cut a deep wound into me to give you up, a wound that can never be healed. To see you unhappy, however, would be death.

I shall see you once more next week; we shall decide then after you have heard and considered everything, whether we will be walking the same road or whether our paths will never cross again.

With eternal love,

Tom.

This letter breaks my heart. It is the first time in the whole process from leaving Germany to today that he genuinely loses almost all hope. He's lost his job. 

It seems everything I have built up as been blown down by a wind, to leave me alone, to start from scratch.

That is the sum total of humanity's desperation. Destruction by a mere wind, leaving us alone to start from scratch.

This only healing answer to this kind of easy devastation (which is true and extant) is that we are not alone. 

Even when we are, we aren't. Someone out there wants to help us. Always. I know this because I know some of these people. Sometimes it's easier to find that person, sometimes we push them away because it hurts too much to believe and hope again. 

We need to give ourselves a minute, a day, a month, to recognize and grieve what we've lost. We can do that with others, and then we collect ourselves and build again, like the beautiful stupid humans we are. It's really amazing. Every time I see images of people sweeping up the dust after a hurricane or landslide, I think: how can they do that? They are surrounded by debris and destruction and they are sweeping. How stupid it must feel. But they are not alone. Everyone grabs a broom. And somehow it heals. 

It's important to remember that emotions are not fact, but feelings. I don't mean they aren't valid, I just mean they aren't permanent.

It's important to know this because I think part of the reason we are afraid to express our real emotion in real-time is because people respond to it as if it is a fact that persists. We guard ourselves and others against this because it's hard enough to feel the feeling without having to add twenty caveats.

When Opa says there is a black mark against him which will never be erased, that is his most authentic expression of how he is feeling in the moment. He doesn't need someone to convince him that it isn't true. By the time the letter arrives in Grandmother's mailbox, the feeling has already softened, become less burdensome, and maybe even evaporated. 

Feeling your emotions and expressing them in real time with an open hand so they can leave when they need to, that's the way to do it. Shutting them down and locking them in a vault- bad idea - you create your own Pandora's box of some super charged emotions. Expressing them and having to defend them over and over to others only creates a groove for that emotion. You're required to keep feeling it in order for it to be real, in order to defend it. The truth is: you don't have to keep feeling something for it to be real. That's what we need to remember.

Emotions are perhaps the most real thing in the world, and because of that, they can't last too long. If they are trapped, they become something else.

The real facts I did learn in this letter, through the lens of Opa's authentic emotion, is that he really loved Grandmother so much that she was both the reason for his holding on to hope, and the reason he might lose it all. I learned that even optimistic and resilient Opa felt like it was too much at times. I learned that this moment, which felt like the biggest tragedy and destruction, created a path which altered the entire course of Opa's life. 

I never heard about any of this. These were not the stories Opa chose to share. He talked about his life after this, he talked about his life before this. The important thing was not this hinge, but the opening it allowed. 

In this moment in this letter, he doesn't know any of that. All he knows is how fragile life is, how fragile his freedom is, and how deeply in love he is. 

He hopes he is not alone, because when he was not alone, he was happy.

August 24, 1944: Double Jeopardy

 

Letter from Opa to Grandmother, August 24, 1944.

Transcription:

St. John

August 24, 1944

Darling, 

Today was a nice day to work, cool and calm, so that we got to shoot 15 holes in spite of a rather late start. The day didn't end up so nice, though. An official from the F.B.I. came here, to investigate in that old story where I was supposed to have been window-peeking. I got a bad start with him; he was at the office of Mr. Davison, the fellow who owns the house into which I believed I had seen Mary Wallen go. I was supposed to call his number and was sort of disgusted that Davison would start that stuff again, so I didn't call him at first. He called me down for that, probably rightly so. Then, I told the story, just as I told it in court, but he too didn't believe it. Well, I can't help that. I am afraid they may do something about it, don't know what yet. The F.B.I. man was rather unpleasant compared with those officials from the F.B.I. who come for routine investigations. He said he didn't like my "attitude," thought he had caught me in lies, etc. I was terribly nervous, but I don't think I said anything that wasn't so. Probably, the thing will be all over town by now. I believe I'm going to ask for a transfer.

This is just a short letter, honey; pardon me for it, but I am still kind of upset and also have to go and fix a cable break.

Lots of love,

Opa didn't sign this letter. I don't want to read too much into it, but I think it indicates just how upset he was. He was always the supreme editor, and would read things over before sending it out. This didn't get read over very much, if at all. 

This is bad news. The FBI is back, asking questions about the window-peeking incident (which happened July 31). It seems they came at the behest of Mr. Davison (what does he have against Opa?). The FBI officer is not kind to Opa and interrogates him with the assumption of guilt. 

Here's my question: how is this still a thing? Opa went to court and was fined for the event. He literally paid his dues. Isn't this some kind of double jeopardy thing? What else could they do? We'll find out.

August 22, 1944: Stuff That Isn't Important

 

Letter from Opa to Grandmother, August 22, 1944.

Transcription:

St. John

August 22, 1944

Dearest Crystal,

I just found out that typewriter paper, when folded this way, gives a much more personal appearance. So that's the way I'm going to use it from now on.

Tell Skunkie I certainly enjoyed his cute and sweet letter. I guess he will be admitted into the Doeppner family; anyone with sufficient intelligence to be a better speller than his mistress will qualify, even though he is derived from the canine family. So you told him about the farm and about cats to tease. Skunkie, don't let her feed you that stuff; if there will be any teasing done, it will be the cats who tease you, and not vice versa. Also, each time you chase chickens, your mistress is going to spank your little behind with a folded-up newspaper. If I were you, I would forget about the farm and become a city-slicker. Here in St. John, there are some nice looking she-dogs to play with who will be tickled to death to associate with an aristocrat like you. Bob has a she-dog with whom he will let you play; she could be your grandmother, though, for she is already eight (or twelve?) years old. Anyhow, she will be glad to get you acquainted with the rest of the canine society of St. John.

I really rated the mail today. Your letter, a letter from Winton, and one from Mrs. Zimmerman. Winton is still at Ft. Leonard Wood and, naturally, does not care a bit about his work. Occasionally, he has time to go to the Lake of the Ozarks, which, of course, is quite an event. Zimmermans are doing all right. Clif is now at Las Vegas, Nev.; Mrs. Zimmerman is cook at the college hospital.

This letter had to be interrupted for a rather embarrassing reason: I had a female girl in my room. Lois, the girl who says here, had heard about my new record (Hungarian Rhapsody No. 2) and wanted me to play it for her, so I did. Any objections?

Again, we didn't work much today. After three holes, the drill had to go to town to get a rod welded on, and we stayed in the field, pitching pennies, playing poker, and talking. After a while, we found a place where watermelons were for sale (I want you to note that we did not swipe them) so we put together and bought a 30-pound melon. It didn't take long for it to disappear. Anyhow, we still got twelve holes shot, for after the drill got back, things ran rather smoothly.

This is the kind of climate I like; the only surprising thing is that Kansas has it. For the last three days, it has been raining here at night to cool things off, and was nice and cool, but dry during the day. Right now, it's thundering and raining and lightening outside; a fresh rainy breeze comes into my room to make it extremely comfortable. My landlady is scared to death of the lightening, while her husband and I are making fun of her. (That's what's going to happen to you; Skunkie and I will make fun of you when you are afraid of lightening. I only hope Skunkie won't be scared himself.)

Have you ever written to the Rogs? I think I'll shoot them a letter one of these days, maybe this weekend. Naturally, I won't mention anything about the job he's going to have, but it might be a good idea to keep in contact with him. Have you written to Eileen? I haven't either.

Thanks for the two bucks. I had forgotten all about them and just couldn't figure out what you were sending me money for, where it's me who owes you some. By the way, how much do I owe you? I hope you kept track of it.

Well, it's time for me and Morphus again. Tell that ignorant, uneducated, stupid, low-eye-kewed dog of yours that Morphus is the God of Sleep, the one god in whom I believe with all my soul. Ever heard of morphium? Well?

Good night, darling; come to me!

Tom.

When you write letters everyday, you talk about things like 30-lb watermelons, fear of lightning, and morphium. 

Something I appreciate about Opa's letters is that he always has something to share, something he wants Grandmother to know, even if it's not important. I think that's a good sign of being in love with someone, when you need them to know the stuff that isn't important.

Also, I'm starting to think that Opa was a cat person (did he have cats growing up??). They never had cats in their married life that I am aware of. And my Dad is strictly anti-cat. He barely tolerates dogs, but cats are a no-go. Kind of funny to think about why your family has one or both- it does seem to be almost a family tradition sometimes. My family's tradition is definitely dogs, and not little ones. (We broke that tradition and got a little one and a giant one just to be weird.)

August 21, 1944: Inconsistency I Will Never Understand

 

Letter from Opa to Grandmother, August 21, 1944.

Transcription:

St. John

August 21, 1944

Margie dear,

A Nickelodeon was playing, a dog barking, six million girls and seven million boys talking, squeaking and fighting in the drugstore when I was trying to talk to you, so I couldn't understand much of what you said. I did hear your voice, though, and that's what the main purpose of the call had been. Had you realized that we had been talking over six minutes? When the operator asked for the overtime, I could hardly believe her. It's about time that television gets into the Southwestern Bell Telephone System, so that I can see your crystal-ball eyes when I talk to you.

Except for the telephone call, nothing exciting happened today. We didn't work as long as ordinarily; got home by six o'clock because of muddy roads which made us get stuck about six times during the day. Also, we shot only nine holes all day long.

Apparently, my little trick with the employment agency worked, for I have not had an answer yet to that registered letter I wrote the other week. It seems as though they know that they were wrong in their demand and just thought they try whether they can get by with it. I am surely glad I was no sucker to pay it.

We had a big argument in the crew today concerning negroes. Most of the boys are from the south and almost got a hemmorhage when they saw a negro man and a white man sit together on a bench in the city park. How these people can condemn Hitler for his super-race idea and then talk about the negroes the way they do is an inconsistency which I will never understand. It's a matter of tradition and education, though, and most of the boys have the wrong tradition and almost no education, so I guess we can't blame them much. The argument got pretty hot, however. Even Bob and I don't see eye to eye on that question. Bob was born in New York, but lived most of his life in the South.

Wonder if the Nazis are going to defend Paris? You know, there is a possibility that the war may be over just about the time of our wedding in October (if we have it then): wouldn't it be a coincident to get married on armistice day? I shall write to Hitler about that and ask him to give up on the 14th. So far, Hitler has been awfully nice to me. If it hadn't been for him, I would not have come to America and, therefore, would not have met you.

Before closing, just a few pedagogical advices and suggestions concerning that she-he Skunkie. The following things he must never do: (1) live up to his name; (2) run after cars, barking and howling at them; (3) continuously change his mind as to whether he wants to be outside or inside; (4) beg at mealtime; (5) be too dependent on us. If he refrains from these five sins, I'll adore the beast.

It's time for my date with Morphus.

Love and both my arms around you.

Tom.

I was trying to remember if Opa did ever see the ease with which technology allowed face-to-face phone calls. I'm sure it was up-and-coming technology, but he did not see the likes of what we have now with smart phones and computers allowing us to instantly see and hear our loved ones. I can't imagine making a phone call with a pay phone in a crowded place. With my hearing loss, there is no way I would have been able to do that. I'm so grateful for the technology we have today!

Life is weird. We wish and hope that tragedy and disaster never happen, and yet so many of us are alive today because of disaster. It's hard to try to make anything all good or all bad. 

Covid has been an absolute disaster at globally devastating levels. But I know I would be lying if I said that I didn't glean something good from the time we had during our quarantine. It feels evil to say that. Just like it felt evil to read Opa's words that Hitler had been nice to him because he was able to meet Grandmother. It doesn't do us much good to try to untangle the web or trace a pure thread from each good thing to each other good thing. Goodness always shows up. No matter how evil the tapestry, something beautiful always seems to make its way through. Not because the disaster was good for us, but because good is always peeking through everywhere, and won't stop just because something isn't perfect. That gives me hope. Maybe this is what is meant by the biblical phrase "light pierces the dark."

I appreciate that Opa had his time with the Quakers in Berlin, where he learned about apartheid in South Africa and the racism of the United States. He was able to recognize the hypocrisy of those who condemned Hitler and still held themselves as superior to Black people. It makes me grateful that he was a voice of disruption when that Kansas crew could not comprehend a Black man sitting with a white man.

There are still inconsistencies which I will never understand, and I hope I have the courage to be the voice of disruption.

August 20, 1944: Diplomacy

Letter from Opa to Mr T. Avery with INS

Transcription:

St. John, Kansas

August 20, 1944

Mr. T. Avery

Acting Chief, Status Section

U.S. Immigration and

Naturalization Service

70 Columbus Ave.

New York, 23, N.Y.      29503/254 BT NIU

Dear Mr. Avery:

I received your letter of August 16, 1944, and also your letter of June 12, 1944, in which you sent me an application for extension of my student stay.

My reason for not having filled this out was that I am no longer a student, and also that I believed your letter to be superseded by the correspondence I have had with your office in Philadelphia as well as with the State Department concerning an application for preexamination. I am sorry about this misunderstanding.

Since I graduated from Kansas State College on May 21, 1944, I am no longer a student and therefore cannot apply for the extension of my student visa. It was for this reason that I asked to have my status changed to that of temporary visitor, until such a time as I am admitted as permanent resident. Please advise me as to what steps I should take to obtain this change of status.

At present, I am employed as Junior Observer with the National Geophysical Company. Our crew operates at St. John, Kansas, and I received a renumeration of $175 per month.

Very truly yours,

Thomas W. Doeppner

National Geophysical Co.

St. John, Kansas

Please note my change of address.

Letter from Opa to Mr. A.W. Elieforth (American Consul, Canada)

Transcription:

St. John, Kansas

August 20, 1944

811.11/ay

Mr. A.W. Elieforth

American Consul General

Winnipeg, Manitoba

Canada

Dear Mr. Elieforth:

Enclosed please find a photostatic copy of my birth certificate, in duplicate, and letters from the chiefs of police of McPherson, Kansas, and Manhattan, Kansas, respectively, setting forth the non-existence of my court record. These letters cover the period from November 1939 to July 1944. Due to the fact that prior to November 1939, I lived in Holland and Germany, it is impossible for me to produce police records for that period.

I have written to the Visa Division of the State Department to request forms C and B, and shall execute them as soon as received. The other documents required by you in your letter of May 29 will be sent to you as soon as I receive them.

Very truly yours,

Thomas W. Doeppner

National Geophysical Co.

St. John, Kansas

Ah, diplomacy. 

In the first letter, Opa writes to the INS to communicate kindly, but repetitively to make sure the point is clear, that he is NOT A STUDENT anymore. He writes the phrase "I am no longer a student" twice in this short letter. And yet, I'm still not sure he won't get a renewal application for his Student Visa.

Meanwhile, in the second letter Opa skirts the issue by providing police records for the entire time (except the last month or so) of his clean court time in the U.S. He distracts by saying the previous time he cannot prove because, well, obviously the war. And he does not draw attention to the fact that he does not have a police chief report for the town he currently lives in. 

Clever. 

If you've been keeping up, the incident that happened to Opa where he was (falsely) accused of being a peeping Tom (and charged for it), has been conveniently left off this report to the American Consul in Canada. I don't blame him. He's not technically lying, and he's desperately trying to be an American for all the right reasons.

I give him a pass, and an A+ in diplomacy.

 

August 20, 1944: Temporary Effect

 

Letter from Opa to Grandmother, August 20, 1944.

Transcription:

Dearest,

Another week is over, a quiet, uneventful week; just a typical St. John week; BUT: a few things happened anyhow. Now I know, and I am afraid Fetzer knows, that Tom Doeppner will never be worth anything in truck-driving. Last night, I took the pick-up to Stafford for the sole and only purpose to get a bite to eat. Knowing that the radiator was leaking, I filled it with water before I left, took a three-gallon can of water along. Before reaching Stafford, I had emptied this can and still the radiator was thirsty as though it had been in the Sahara for three months with "nor any drop to drink." Arriving in Stafford, the motor steamed all over like a singing tea-kettle, so I proceeded to fill it with water at a filling station. It had gotten too hot, though, and the cold water caused strains in the engine with the result that the motor head cracked at five different places and all but one exhaust gaskets were broken. Water kept running into the motor, and only with the help of the gods and of the all-the-way-pulled-out choke did I manage to return to St. John. To fix the thing cost the company over fifty bucks. Later I found out that, had I filled the thing with water slowly while the motor was running, the whole thing could have been avoided. Fetzer wasn't exactly happy about the deal, and he had no hesitations telling me so. I offered to pay for the deal but he won't let me.

Glory hallelujah!! Our checks came today. Let me know immediately if you need money, and I will send you anything you want (up to sixty bucks.) If you need it right away, I can wire it to you.

I felt a little blue last night after that deal with the pickup, so I decided to take myself feel better. Possibilities were (1) to get drunk, (2) to go to Lawrence, (3) to go to the library and get a book on philosophy. The first choice was rejected on account of its only temporary effect. The second choice was rejected on account of its practical and mercenary impossibilities; the third choice was accepted, and I got Plato's Dialogues, a work which I used to enjoy in my younger days. It really is good, though, even though I heartily disagree with many of his ideas. You ought to read it sometime. I also found another of Bertrand Russell's books, "Why Men Fight." I haven't started reading it yet; just glanced through it; apparently a thorough investigation of the human and sociologic sources of war in general. Ought to make good reading for next week.

How's Skunkie? Did you tell him about his future master yet? Better give him a good warning so the shock won't be too great.

I spent most of the afternoon going through my files and rereading old letters from way back; makes you feel a little dizzy; especially when I read my mother's letters. Suppose there will again be a time when I can write her once a week like I used to when I first came here? She used to worry when my letters came one day late. Wonder how much she worries now.

Also, I wrote another letter to the Canadian consul (or rather American Consul to Canada) and sent him some of the dope I received. Things are going to take pretty long I fear, but there is plenty of time.

Some of the restaurants have opened again, but I'm getting awfully sick of restaurant food. Guess I'll either rent an apartment, or get married, or go on a hunger strike. Haven't decided yet.

Outside it's raining and storming and thundering and lightening and... no, 'taint hailingyit. Anyhow, it seems as though Sunday is the only day at which it rains in St. John. Bob and I had planned on painting the inside of our truck and repainting it's hood today, but I guess we have to postpone it.

No letter from you today, but I can't complain because I know that you didn't get any from me two days in a row. (I had a good excuse, though.) 

I think I found a second-best man for our wedding: Buck, our surveyor. He is an awfully nice kid, even though not favored with an excess of brains. However, he is the only one on the crew outside of Bob with whom I have become a little more personal.

A slap for Skunkie, a kiss for you,

Tom.

So many good little nuggets in here. 

Poor Opa, he's not had much luck with driving and auto-care. This letter gives me some insight to his life in a way some of the others haven't though. When faced with a crappy day, what does Opa choose? Philosophy books. I thought that his reasoning behind not choosing to get drunk was surprisingly profound. What if I applied that principle to most of my choices? Does it only have a temporary effect? Obviously some good things come in temporary form, but it is a helpful gauge when seeking out comfort. Will a gallon of ice cream or alcohol help, or will a good long talk with a friend have more permanent effect? 

The fact that my Opa was so into philosophy is so unexpected. I grew up thinking he was more of a math and science person, which he was, but he was in the class of folks who explored those concepts philosophically as well. Folks like his hero Einstein were also dabbling into metaphysics and the like. I wish he had been able to engage in philosophical conversations with me when I was majoring in it in college. 

In the process of going through and providing the necessary documents for the Canadian consul, he's pulled up old letters. (He's trying to leave the US and come back via a Canadian port so he can change from a temporary visa to a permanent one that has the possibility of eventual citizenship.) The old letters include those from his mother, who he said would worry if his weekly letters were one day late. He speaks of his mother with a certain level of confidence that she is still alive. I wonder if he even gave himself the space to consider that she may not have been.

He's still talking wedding, but we don't have much of an update on that yet.