Dear Bob,
Your decision to use "MM" in your letters I find most commendable. I'm sure she and all her
descendents will be ever indebted to you. This action is another example of the discretion I have found so typical in all your actions.
My intended Winter Carnival date never answered my letter, so Bob, my next door neighbor, a brother, and a Montanan, is fixing me up with someone from home who goes to Smith in Mass. She'll probably show up with boots, a ten gallon hat, a gun on each hip and call me "pardner" the entire weekend.
And what "drunken mob" propositioned me over the phone? If you mean S et al, they welcomed in the New Year, S assured me with cokes. And I have never been propositioned in my life, alas,
As far as your academy award phone call is concerned, S said in her letter that she was sure J wasn't drunk, and she didn't think I was drunk. No mention was made of you. I suggest you avoid the subject of liquor when MM comes up later this week.
The weather here has been wintry, and today is the first time in five days we haven't had snow. There is about two feet of it on the ground now.
My finals start Wednesday, and my last one is next Tuesday. Then comes Carnival.
I'll be looking for a letter from you early next week when you can tell me how the 24th and the 25th went.
Tom
Sunday, December 30, 2012
Tuesday, December 18, 2012
Jan. 16, 1958
Dear Thom,
I have just now finished a carefully phrased letter to M, henceforth to be referred to as MM, for purposes of convenience and future concealment when these letters are eventually published.
Again I am forced to depend on G for transportation to and from the dance. Wait until I win my Thunderbird.
Have you decided on you date for the Vinter Karnival yet? Also, have you received any letters from that drunken mob that was propositioning you over the phone?
I have been reading your copy of the "Dirtmouth" and it occurred to me that you should begin to carefully eye the "61s" on the staff, if you hope to prevent a similar "bloody coup" come next May. Don't forget you may be the night editor on duty who gets to speak the immortal words, "Gnarmmpht Selzerrnicque" as they carry you away.
In deference to you I am listening to "Gunsmoke". It does not sound especially interesting, but then again it's not too bad.
The dance is the night of the 24th. If all goes well, I may take her out on the 25th also; However, after my academy award winning phone call, I may be reading chess books or popping corn on the night of the 24th. "Gunsmoke" has ended with the usual volley of shots and demise of the villain. Dillon, cleverly using Chester to do all the dirty work, emerged unscathed, philosophizing all over the place.
I was caught yelling in the hallways and have to see the Rector. Aren't you sorry you didn't go to a pro-Christ school?
Bob
"Duetschland ueber alles"
I have just now finished a carefully phrased letter to M, henceforth to be referred to as MM, for purposes of convenience and future concealment when these letters are eventually published.
Again I am forced to depend on G for transportation to and from the dance. Wait until I win my Thunderbird.
Have you decided on you date for the Vinter Karnival yet? Also, have you received any letters from that drunken mob that was propositioning you over the phone?
I have been reading your copy of the "Dirtmouth" and it occurred to me that you should begin to carefully eye the "61s" on the staff, if you hope to prevent a similar "bloody coup" come next May. Don't forget you may be the night editor on duty who gets to speak the immortal words, "Gnarmmpht Selzerrnicque" as they carry you away.
In deference to you I am listening to "Gunsmoke". It does not sound especially interesting, but then again it's not too bad.
The dance is the night of the 24th. If all goes well, I may take her out on the 25th also; However, after my academy award winning phone call, I may be reading chess books or popping corn on the night of the 24th. "Gunsmoke" has ended with the usual volley of shots and demise of the villain. Dillon, cleverly using Chester to do all the dirty work, emerged unscathed, philosophizing all over the place.
I was caught yelling in the hallways and have to see the Rector. Aren't you sorry you didn't go to a pro-Christ school?
Bob
"Duetschland ueber alles"
Friday, November 30, 2012
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
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
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