2/25/39
Camden, NJ
Darling:
Please don’t take this letter too seriously, but there will be a certain amount of truth to it.
First, when I get something from 506 I expect more than a chain letter. (I’m keeping the other half).
Second, chain letters are one thing which I cannot stand. Probably you have never thought about it, but here is what happens. One person writes five letters. Each recipient is puzzled and writes five more. In this particular type of letter, one is apparently not required to do more than just write the five letters. Assuming that it takes one day for each person involved to receive and write the necessary five letters. At the end of a week’s time, 19,500 people will have been involved. Out of 19,500 people it is perfectly normal for a Mrs. Greenfield to receive $3000 and a Mrs. Ambrose to receive $499. In other words, if you give him a 1 to 20,000 chance, you can always safely “Trust in God who supplies all needs.”
Precious baby girl, why do you have to fall for a line like this the minute I get out of town. If you did “trust in God”, you wouldn’t have to or want to write chain letters about it. That’s one place where you aren’t being yourself. Please, honey, I’m not much, but try to trust in me for your material needs and in God for spiritual things. Don’t trust in something of your Mother’s and Ma-in-laws level of intellect.
I suppose I’m mean to write this way, but I don’t want that old inferiority complex of ours to come up again. We’re apart and both terribly lonesome, but we’re in better shape than we’ve been in for years, and I want us to stay that way.
Just a couple of more points and I shall try to get to more pleasant subjects.
When you married Bill, you were blindly hoping that something would come of it. “He hasn’t always been a soda-jerker,” and “he has a lot of business contacts on the West Coast,” are two things you said about him which have stuck with me. So, you poor kid, getting back into your old rut, you said, “to hell with everything—what have I got to lose? I’m not good enough to be an engineer’s, a doctor’s or a lawyer’s wife.” All you lost, fortunately, was two years’ time. But you darned near lost your youth, your health, all of your material possessions, and most important—your self-respect and your friends. In plain words, you damn near lost everything, all this because you trusted in everyone else, but not in your own better judgment. Your judgment is damn good—stick to it. I need it.
To draw another example, your Mother has been running around most of her life trusting in “luck”. But she has never been able to trust her own judgment because she hasn’t the guts to make a decision and stick to it.
Oh, precious, it isn’t like you at all and it does worry me. The biggest thing that we accomplished in the last year is a mutual respect for our combined abilities and enough faith in them not to have to hope we will be lucky. Baby girl, we can’t go on asking favors of “luck” and “God”. We’ve had too much good fortune already. We’ve absolutely to work for our future happiness.
Darling, this is mean of me but I can’t help it. I feel like bawling like a baby. If you’re going to slip back to that old place of yours, I’m tempted to quit and come back there where I can be near you.
Precious, let me make you a proposition. If I last out here and show promise of advancement, how about going ahead sometime next fall or winter? I could finish up the degree in the Univ. of Pa. night school in Philly in about 3 years. Martha dear, I can’t help being a little strong on this subject because I’m terribly worried. Please write to me and assure me I’m nuts. Air mail will do. Special won’t reach me any quicker. But also please let us not have to go into this again. I wish you hadn’t sent one to Johny, because he will honestly doubt your sanity and worry even more than I. The entire business stinks so much of Mrs. J.E. Willis that it is repulsive to me. To put it bluntly, it is a lot of equine excretis.
Baby girl, I love you so much that I don’t even act rationally about everything you do. I didn’t think it was possible for me to be this way. But I can’t help it, and I hope that you can find time over the week-end for a good ol’ “Martha” letter, like the one I got yesterday. This one should get there tomorrow, but don’t let it spoil your day. Just swallow what’s in it and let’s forget all about it.
Ok—let’s start all over.
My lil’ hop-scotch:
Thanks for your letter of yesterday and today. I’m glad you got mine and hope that you could read them. How are the folks doing? I haven’t heard from them yet. I had to buy a desk calendar and some other junk today. I hope pay day arrives soon and I hope we get paid twice a month. (We better, hi).
I’m going to miss you most on week-ends. I feel lost without my darling girl, but I guess I can stand it for a while. I’m going to walk over to Philly for lunch today. Will mail this letter then. No typewriter or the rest of my clothes yet. The office is beautifully illuminated and terribly clean. It’s wonderful, darling. The engineers lay out everything on paper, another department builds it, and then the designing engineer makes it operate properly. Must close, honey chile. Please don’t think I’ve been too harsh but I do love you so, so much.
Tell any of the gang who are getting impatient over no letters that they will have to wait for the mill to get here.
P.S. In case you haven’t guessed it by the number of letters, I adore you.
P.S. #2—Hell! I hate to quit writing to you almost as much as I hate go home when I’m with you.
The general consensus of opinion is that now that the RCA has accepted me, I am a “made” man. I hope so. It does indicate that I am not a technician, but a full-fledged engineer. But I’ve got to have a beautiful wife to clinch the deal. How’s about it, eh? Gotta quit but I can’t.
Your letter yesterday sounded just like you & was terribly sweet. Tell Bill & Andy that there’s enough money around here to justify opening a branch of Moody’s in Philly or Camden. I need a little specialized secretarial advice, if you know what I mean.
Well, I’ve got an hour to get over to Philly. Shall hit Wanamakers for the tie rack if I can find the place.
Love and how, your lil boy Cy.