Jan. 12, 1958

Dear Bob,

Once more this observer is writing from the fabled playground of the East, New Hampshire, and as I look out my window this early Sunday afternoon, a not uncommon sight is a gaily-clad person skiing down the sidewalk in the direction of the golf course ski tow.  We have six inches of snow on the ground, and temperatures well below freezing.

Such weather, as you might guess, doesn't exactly encourage Frisbee contests, so I've had to turn elsewhere for entertainment.  I've found it mainly in playing whist a game in which I'm unfortunately losing much money.

The other day, short on money, I decided to find a less expensive method of wasting time, so one of the fellows down the hall and I decided to construct icicles.  We finally ended up constructing an elaborate system of troughs and tubing for conveying water from the faucet in the john out the window, down a rope reaching from the fourth floor to the ground.  Since the temperature was well below zero, we soon had an icicle four stories in length and of a considerable diameter.  Unfortunately, the rope was unable to support the weight, and when we inspected our fully-automatic icicle machine in the morning we found the icicle forming a huge mound of ice on the ground.  We used so much ingenuity in making our icicle machine that I feel I am wasting my time in liberal arts.

I wrote S a letter last week, but I'm afraid I tried to "snow" her too much.  I told her what a nice time I had, etc. and then asked her to go see the Dartmouth Glee Club concert in Chicago if I get home for spring vacation. I received a letter from her last Thursday, and while it wasn't spectacular it was promising.  You may construe that as you like.

Anyway, she accepted my invitation, and now all I have to do is get home.

Fortunately (unfortunately?) I haven't been pining away about her, for I can't remember what she looks like, but I asked her to send me a picture, so fond, torturing memories may be returning very shortly. My finals start a week from Wednesday, so I probably won't write again 'til after Carnival.  I've invited that girl from Cortland College in N.Y., but she hasn't answered yet.  She must be of the leave-them-hanging-by-the-thumbs school.

With radiator hissing, this reporter bids you fond farewell from this winter wonderland.

Tom