Epistles from Pap: Letters from the man known as 'The Will Rogers of Indiana' Part 16

He said, "How much intrust are you goin' to charge me?" I said, "We've made everything else at half price, so to keep everything balanced up, we should make the interest at half price too--3%."

He jumped up, ran his hand down in his pocket, brought up a $5 bill, and said, "I'll take you up--here is your $5 for a starter." The others were up front, but heard a good part of the talk. I called George back and we solemnly gave him the data, Bob stating the terms, and asked him to draw up a real estate sales contract. Then followed the shortest, quickest real estate sales contract it has been my privilege to view. It would have been still shorter except that I insisted George describe the real estate as "those lots up in the east part of town," not even mentioning the town's name. Mr. Boyd signed in behalf of the Bank, and Bob signed in behalf of himself and wife, saying he wanted "Grace's name somewhere on it." Bob went out. We all, including the book-keeper, looked at one another. Mr. Boyd shook his head and said Bob would never finish paying. I said, "It's a mighty easy thing to sell when you have good stuff to sell AND KNOW HOW TO SELL". . .

Sat.u.r.day, George told me to get ready with Bob's deed as he was about to get paid out, and was asking about his deed already. Bob had paid away ahead of himself. Coping on his ownself. Must have sold his fox pelts. . .

Joseph N. Fordice once was in a serious quandary preparing a deed to two lots in Russellville where livestock entered into the consideration. He decided it was best to tell the truth. This resulted: "That for and in consideration of $300 cash money and two hogs mutually agreed on (etc.)". . .

As ever,

COPING ON HIS OWN

May 2, 1945

Dear Familee: I spent the day at home. Yesterday and the day before I went to the farm and spent the days, easy like, grubbing and sprouting the fence lines inside the field west of the old house at Russellville. I thought I was going along pretty easy, but yesterday I must have gone at it too much in earnest because last night and this morning I had a very sore right arm, and it made me think of the pickle I got into last summer when that spell of rheumatism hit me. It was raining today, so I didn't miss much.

It is a hard thing to do to go up there and just sit and loaf around. . .

Tom Walden, the "dynamite king of Russellville" is retiring from the business after 40 years of active duty. He and old man Ferguson were out near Russellville dynamiting some stumps, or rather trees, last Friday. They had set two charges and gone away about as far as they thought necessary. One charge went off, and after a reasonable delay, they went back to see what had happened to the second charge--and got there just in time. When about 8 feet away, she let go. Both are here in the local hospital. I went to see them Sunday. Tom's eyes were bandaged and at that time they did not know whether he would be blind or not.

Otherwise, his face looked unusually free from abrasions or swelling, or anything in fact. It must be the charge had spent itself getting through the wrinkles. Old man Ferguson was a total mess about the face. Terribly swollen, and blue, red and black.

One of his eyes may be gone. He was so swollen you couldn't see one eye a-tall. .

May 6, 1945,

I got interrupted the other day while writing this letter.

In the meantime a fine package of cigarettes and chocolate bars came from Margaret. I hid them in the left door of the sideboard --the one that is hard to get open, and every once in a while I open the door, take a look and a good sniff, then gently close the door after a hasty glance around to see there are no eavesdroppers thereabouts. With one exception, it has been a long time since I saw chocolate bars. On the train going to Chicago to see about selling the cattle up there some time ago, I ran into a young couple (Army folks) on their way west from Norfolk. In the conversation I said something about not having seen a Hershey bar for a long time. I noticed she went down among their luggage and pretty soon he turned around and offered me a 5 cents Hershey with almonds. I didn't want to be mooching off them, but they wouldn't take no for an answer, so I took it, all the time feeling like a sheep-killing dog. The company has streamlined its product. When I got the wrapping off the two almonds stuck out like k.n.o.bs on some of those red oaks up in the east pasture.

I have also had a letter from Joan. I had sent her the green hide of Seminole IV, or whatever number he bears, in an open lard can with part of the hide sticking out the top, and green hide effluvium oozing out at the bottom. Joan's description of the pimply-faced delivery boy was vivid. He asked: "What is this thing anyway?" She replied: "A cow hide, my boy. I make rugs out of 'em." The carca.s.s of Seminole IV is safely ensconced out in the lockers awaiting the day when some dentist comes home with a formula for non-skid false teeth--the ones I have are roller- bearing--or until some of you pa.s.s this way with containers of a modest cubicle content. . .

I and my two bed sheets were well on the way to some sort of a record when Footser stepped in. Munny has been gone to Milford something like approaching two months. The weather has been cool, and I haven't been working very hard physically, and then too, have been taking baths quite regularly, so all in all my sheets were holding out splendidly. Naturally, they would wrinkle some, but any discoloration, if such there was, was gradual and uniform, except in one place--about shoulder high and between me and the radio were some streaks of chocolate running toward the radio. That happened at the time, or just after, Munny left. Each night when I crawled in, those streaks would give me a feeling of insecurity until I remembered what they were. Than I could nestle in amongst them and go to sleep--but every night I had that small shock. About two weeks ago I noticed I had a big ridge in my back each morning when I got up. Then one morning it was raining and I made an investigation. The pad under the sheet had gotten out of focus. That was remedied quickly, and while I was doing that, I smoothed out the biggest wrinkles, and felt pretty well set until the really hot weather of August would set in.

My wool socks give me the most serious tremors. If it doesn't turn warm pretty soon, I don't know what I will do. I have four pairs. They can't be sent to the laundry. I have rotated them as scientifically as my ability permits. I have rigged up a chart on the marble top of the table whereon the radio sets, and I figure a day spent at the farm sprouting and grubbing bushes, etc., is equal to from two to two and a half days at the Bank. But I find that won't do. I have to make it either two or three days, one or the other. It would be silly to sit at the Bank until noon of the second day, come home and change socks, and then go back for the remainder of that second day .. . .

"Little" Ernest's 80 acres is sold and gone and I have the money to send him, perhaps tomorrow. He got a rather good price for the land--$6,000 cash. That is not to be sneezed at. . .

Both Tom Walden and Mr. Ferguson are going to be able to see, although both are still in the Hospital of course. I shall try to go out tonight to see what they look like now.

I eat my suppers at Mrs. Bridges'. If it weren't for those meals, I don't believe I could make it. These restaurants are terrible, and my teeth are worse than that. . .

Footser's last year's room mate--the Pulliam girl--is going to get married some time this month. Her father, who is princ.i.p.al or sole owner of the Indianapolis Star, gave her some sort of shower yesterday at Indianapolis. Footser evidently went, as did about all the girls down at the Theta House. . .

Time to quit, except to say that, with the European War about over, in my judgment j.a.pan won't be hard or very long to clean out, once the Allies get started, so Ralph should be heading this way in the more or less near future.

"Pap"

Note: The "Pulliam girl", referred to above, later became an aunt of Dan Quayle, U.S. Senator from Indiana and Vice President under President George Bush.

MEAT SCARCE, EVERYTHING UP BUT FARM INCOME

June 6, 1945

My dear Sarah Jane: . . . Of late, Ira has had me on the seed wagon, filling up the drill for him with seed and commercial fertilizer, while he rides the tractor and does the sowing. Between fills I try my hand on thorn and other sapling stuff, and Tuesday night I came home almost a physical wreck. Each year it gets harder and harder climbing up and down on wagons. I used to climb the fences but now I take to the gates. Ira says I should work in "gopher hole coal mines" if I really want to know what work is. In one of those things is where Ira got his hip busted--the darned thing caved-in on him. As a result he is crippled in one leg and can't run very fast.

But you should see him running to get between young ground hogs and their holes. Monday we drilled soy beans on what Ira calls the "wind mill field." This field has a big tile ditch running through it, and along that ditch is a clump of willows. Ira was driving the tractor pulling the drill behind, when all of a sudden he flew off his tractor and ran to the willows. He had caught three young ground hogs up a bush. He ran to the holes and kicked them full of dirt--and here the young hogs came. Having no club he used his feet. His foot batting average was .666, meaning he got two of the three. That noon he "butchered", and that took half an hour. Skinning ground hogs isn't quite like skinning rabbits. Ira eats them and says they are fine. I say nothing because long years ago, Lum Alspaugh and I went to Eel River Falls to run his grandfather's farm while the family attended Methodist Conference at Greencastle, and we tried eating everything about in wild life that wears hair or feathers-- rabbits, squirrels, quail, crows, chicken hawks, buzzards, ground hogs, skunk, domestic chickens, etc. Both did the hunting but Lum was head cook--in fact he was sole cook.

I did the dish washing, if it could be called that. . . I ate enough of whatever it was to be able to say I had partaken. . .

Young ground hogs are not bad, but they aren't very good either-- too greasy. Ira relishes them. I prefer corn fed beef. . .

And that brings me to your questions about beef. . . The hotels and restaurants hereabouts have very little meat. Sugar Foot tells me they have red meat at the Theta House one meal each week, so that may be an indication of the general situation. . .

I killed a beef in April. He has been a G.o.dsend for Aunt Margaret and me. What we haven't eaten and the attendants out at the Locker Plant haven't stolen is still there. If you or Bob could hunt around and find a box of the right sort that would hold, say, 50 pounds of meat together with 50 pounds of dry ice, and if shipping meat to children is not contrary to law, I think something could be done to relieve you and the rest of the children in this part of the country. . . I am too busy on all this land we have to be finding out all the details and hunting up all the containers. I get up from 3 to 4 a.m. and get to bed from 9 to 10 p.m.

Now about your so-called black market. A lot of that is "old wives" and political talk. There are black markets, especially in the big centers of population, but Worcester is no big center, and if the people there are the right sort, then there is no opening for much of a black market--unless the people themselves make it. Whenever you hear of a black market you can rest a.s.sured the inhabitants themselves are to blame, because if there is no patronage then there will be no market. I am sorry to hear you say you will patronize such a market if you can find it. That is exactly what causes black markets. Blaming it all on the government or anything else is not the remedy--it is only a flimsy excuse. . . We had an embyro black market at Russellville even. Two men went down to the Hazlett boys and tried to buy a steer they were fattening for the Indpls. market. They offered a good price--more than the steer would have brought on the legitimate market. They said they would butcher it there on the farm, then in the evening they would come down and truck it home.

The Hazlett boys got a bit suspicious and came to me. I told them n.o.body could buy a steer and butcher it then and there, farmer or no farmer. The owner would have to feed it for not less than 30 days. They refused this sale. I told them to report the prospective buyers. Don't think they did. If they come to me-- which they won't--I'll report them. We don't need that sort of people in and around Russellville, or anywhere else. . .

Footser goes to Mexico City, leaving St. Louis June 20 on the Missouri Pacific Lines. She has a lower to San Antonio, then another lower to Mexico City. . . So she is set for what she thinks is a nice time in Mexico in school at that University, taking Spanish. Just the fare there and back will take a sizable steer, at the price we get for our steers, so there is where I can put in a howl, good and loud. . . George Spencer told me that before the War he paid $1.39 for shirts at Montgomery Ward's.

Today the same shirt costs him over $5.50 per shirt. And George doesn't lie or resort to his imagination. Just the cold fact. At the price we pay for shirts, we should be getting $50 for cattle on the hoof. We get $16 to $18. . . Yesterday I bought 5 bananas at A&P for 23 cents. I think they were the first for two or three years. Based on that price, cattle should be bringing between $30 and $35. So if anyone has a kick coming it is the farmer--just like it always has been. . . Now the thing for me to do is quit howling and get out of the cattle business and into the banana or textile business--for both of which I am too old and inexperienced. But better still, is to wait until this War is over and go into politics for the farmer, teeth and toe nail--for which I am also too old to do the very best job.

"Pap"

CONTROLLING SQUIRRELS IS TOUGH ON THE ROOF

June 28, 1945

Dear Frank: . . . We had a lot of corn in the crib at Ernest's place over in Montgomery County. The squirrels were eating it at a fearful rate. I expect they ate about 50 bushels of corn. The whole top of the corn in the cribs were solid cobs. I didn't know squirrels could do so much eating. Ira had been telling me about it . . .

Anyway, we went over one day to bring a couple of loads back to the home farm. When we got there, there were four squirrels in the crib that we counted. They went out the back end like flying squirrels. I had the gun along. The crib had a galvanized roof.

One squirrel got right up in the apex of the roof . . . I let him have it. The shot splattered more than I had thought it would, so the roof is like a sieve. Another squirrel was on the "plate"

just below the tin roof, outside the crib proper. So I let him have it, and that punched about 50 holes in the tin roof outside the crib. That was darned poor judgment, but the sight of those cobs had made me see red. They came to the crib by way of the walnut trees and other trees along the west line fence. As Ira loaded, I watched that string of trees. Didn't take long for them to start a procession toward the crib. When they got on the last walnut tree, closest to the crib, I let go at them. In all, we got eight. . .

The second day, Ira was discing and I was at the crib alone loading the wagon we had brought along . . . and throwing out cobs. During one of my rests, I heard one on the roof. Soon he appears inside the crib going toward the corn . . . and he jumped on a plate under the board floor right in front of me. I had one of your skeet loads in the right barrel for just such an occasion. I thought the wooden floor would protect the roof. So I let him have it, and the sky appeared through the tin roof as if by magic. . .

"Pap"

CHAPTER V: LAST THINGS--1946-1954

Pap was pleased when his son returned from the war to settle in Greencastle and join the law practice. In fact, as time went on, he turned over most of the cases to Frank, quit his lobbying position for the railroads, ceased attending legislative sessions and devoted more and more of his attention to the farm and his investments.

Pap being Pap, however, he could not resist using this newfound luxury of time to write scores of letters about numerous subjects to various parties. It was probably his most productive literary period. With tongue nestled securely in cheek, he wrote:

-- manufacturers, suggesting new inventions (such as a carving knife made from razor blades);

-- corporations, complaining about directors who had less confidence (or at least less stock) in their companies than Pap did;

--family and old friends, offering investment advice (don't speculate);

-- Congressmen, opposing pork-barrel spending and advocating a balanced budget.

On at least one occasion, he even left a note attached to a package of dry-iced beef being shipped to a daughter in New England, beseeching the cooperation of railroad cargo handlers in facilitating the endeavor.