4/4/39
Darling:
I wonder when I will get over the habit of writing “March?” It will probably be about April 30th.
I just read your sweet letter, and since I don’t like you very much or something I am sitting down to answer it. I never pay any attention to your letters, much.
So you’re starting to save things for us, uh? Honey, you’re awfully sweet. Knowing what you used to say and think about hope-chests, I can appreciate your action even more. Any time little Mary Martha starts putting things away, like tea towels etc., she means business. And am I glad to have her do it, especially (and I might say “only”) when I’m to be the lucky party.
You have probably been a little upset over my letter of yesterday, especially after the discussion you and Andy have had about when you are going East. I hope you haven’t Darling, because I don’t want anything I ever do to upset you. But please give me your honest comments on the subject, if you haven’t already.
Honey! You aren’t holding out on me? Why the Tuesday call on Doc? Or am I too nosey about a little girl’s private affairs?
I guess Al Howell must think I am just waiting for a propitious time to bring you out here. I got a letter from him, he is on his vacation, describing some apartments he saw just before he left. Rent was $30 (apparently per month) unfurnished, consisting of bedroom, kitchen with automatic refrigeration, living-room, and bath. There are five apartments in the building, which he describes as “one of those fine old houses in a splendid residential neighborhood.” He should know about the latter, as he lives in one of the best suburbs of Philadelphia. Of course I can’t do anything about it, and shan’t, as I want to save the shekels for later investment in the same sort of thing, but not alone, if you get what I mean. (As if you wouldn’t).
I’m exhausted, baby. I’m about two days ahead of my schedule at the plant just now, but it costs me a lot in energy. But there is no point in taking it easy now, as I yet have the hardest work ahead of me. The set is coming along much better than I expected it to, so I am about due for a snag.
Gee, am I lazy! I’m using the other side of the paper simply because I don’t feel like getting up to get another sheet of paper.
I went to the show Sunday and saw Yes, My Darling Daughter. It was good, but reminded me too much of similar escapades. The show (stage) was rather good in spots and awful in others. They had Joe Venuti and his orchestra.
His violin was quite the nertz*, and his drummer was taps. (Tsk, tsk. Even in letters to my wife!) Vocal numbers were done by his baritone who was good, but looked like a pansy, and Neila Goodell (of Valley’s program). She was quite good, and sang one of my favorites, Between the Devil and the Deep Blue Sea.
[Click link to listen: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=y8NJ5_cJmGw ]
They also featured an infant who had won a local talent contest. She had a swell voice, but it hadn’t been well enough trained. Then Hal Leroy (Hollywood) did three damn good tap numbers. Joe Lewis, comedian (?) put on a fairly good act, although he was a little too plotched to do it as well as he normally does. The funniest thing was when Joe Venuti, who is the heavyset Italian, imitated Mussolini. Honestly, darling, he was a perfect copy of the big blow. He puckered up his mouth in the same way, and shouted, gesturing with his clenched fist, in such a way as to make even movies of Mussolini look like copies. He made a speech which was something like this: “Joe Spaghetti, father of ten children. BAH! Looka Tony Spitonio! Father of twenty children! Vive la Spitonio! What we need is less whoopee. We need more Woppy!” Boy, it was a scream.
Now I remember why you destroyed the copy of JH’s letter! That joke! I couldn’t see why you should destroy it. Gee, maybe it was a little strong for my little gal!
Feaven’s sake! It is five-thirty and I yet have a couple of other letters to write and my laundry to fix up.
Sleep tight, tonite, baby. You’re in my arms even if you are 1300 miles or so away. That sweet little body of yours has been held close to me every night now for almost a year. Here’s hoping that I won’t have to do it by remote control for too much longer, in spite of that letter I sent you yesterday.
Your husband, Cy.
*1920s-30s slang for “Awesome!“