Epistles from Pap: Letters from the man known as 'The Will Rogers of Indiana' Part 17

Pap took some trips with Munny or his grown children, to check up on his property in Kansas or to visit with old friends, and went on one extended journey through Latin America.

And always, he wrote.

These were Pap's "Golden Years," and he felt ent.i.tled to let his mind wander a bit, reflecting on his youth and past glories. He was not shy about relating these memories, even to total strangers, sometimes in an allegorical manner to make a point, and sometimes just for fun.

A DOUBLE-EDGED CARVING KNIFE?

December 1, 1946 Gillette Safety Razor Company Boston Ma.s.s.

Gentlemen: Did I see it, hear or read about it--or did I just dream it?

Somehow, somewhere or someway I have the notion a contraption was, or is on the market, consisting of a thin metal holder in which, say, three or four used double-edged razor blades can be inserted in a line, and thus make a carving knife. . . Is there such a tool, is it practical, where can it be bought and what does it cost?

Gentlemen, strange as it may seem to you, I am in dead earnest about this seemingly frivolous matter. I don't have the knack for sharpening carving knives. Scissors grinders are few and far between in a town our size. Since the advent of chain-stores, butcher shops are pa.s.se, and chain-store managers look on you as a sort of moocher when you ask them to sharpen your knives . . .

Then too, a dulling carving knife slips up on you like a heavy wine. Sooner or later you come home and there is a fowl to be carved, the stores are closed and the knives are dull. Only last Thursday I ra.s.sled a turkey all over the dining room. Hence, all this is fresh in my mind and I am writing this inquiry before I again forget about it--temporarily.

I am enclosing stamped and addressed envelope for your convenience. Please do me the favor. After a fashion . . . you sort of owe it to me. I bought my first Gillette when in college sometime between 1900 and 1904. I still have it. I have used no other kind except trying an electric affair the folks gave me one time for Christmas, but I couldn't get the hang of it somehow.

One of the children commandeered it long ago. So, in truth and in fact I am a 40-odd-year customer of yours. . . .

Yours, for sharper carving knives,

NEVER ON A SUNDAY

July 27, 1947

My dear Ann Drew: The new Buick came a week ago last Thursday. It is some sort of supersonic model and the hind end sticks out of Ben Curtis'

garage. . . Right off the bat Aunt Margaret wanted to drive the following Sat.u.r.day to North Manchester to "see Ida." She telephoned Ida, who got us reservations at the local hotel for Sat.u.r.day night, and up we went. . . to see Ida at the Peabody Home--an elegant place for a place of that character. Ida now is one of the oldest inhabitants and has a front room. . .After supper we drove all over town and a short way into the country and Ida liked that very, very much. Then back to the home where the evening's conversation ran to bad eyesight, constipation and poor circulation, and Ida was worried about contracting some drug habit. Aunt M. suggested whiskey to my utter surprise, and Ida countered she would be afraid she would contract the whiskey habit. The field narrowed down to fruits and fruit juices. . .

Next morning, we took Ida for a good long ride in the country.

Then started for home. Things went fine until we got past Wabash on our way to Peru, and Aunt Margaret's conscience began to catch up with her, and she started quoting: "The Lord made Heaven and Earth in six days and on the 7th He rested . . . Six days shall thou work and . . . remember the Sabbath to keep it holy (etc.)"

--Really, sometime she had taken a good deal of trouble to learn all her quotations--they lasted most all the way into the edge of Peru. Finally, I said: "If I felt that way about it, I wouldn't take any more Sunday trips"--and she agreed heartily. . .

Somewhere between Kokomo and Crawfordsville, Aunt Margaret suggested that we "come by Frank's orchard south of Morton and get some Early Transparents," as she wanted to make a little jelly. To do that we would have to go out of our way and over a lot of loose gravel and through a lot of dust with the new shiny car, so, after a proper interval, I said: "Well, I don't know whether you would want to do that on Sunday or not"--just like a first cla.s.s undertaker would say it. She thought a moment and then said: "That is right. I forgot. We can let that wait until some week day."

Between Crawfordsville and home she suggested that "we go out to Arcola next Sunday and see Aunt Laura and George." I let that one go and it was agreed she would write Aunt Laura that night and tell her we were coming. . . She wrote, but along about Wednesday she asked me if I still wanted to go out to Arcola. I said: "That is up to you". . . Friday evening she called me over and wanted me to send a telegram to Arcola saying we would not be there Sunday--her conscience had caught up again. I sent the telegram, and that was that.

That morning bright and early, Frank came over and, after the proper preliminaries and maneuvering, told me several of the VFW were going to Lebanon, about 40 miles from here, Sat.u.r.day to a District Meeting; that he was to be installed District Provost, or some such thing; that the back seat of his new Ford was not very comfortable; that he was to take five of them along with him; that five would make it very crowded and uncomfortable in that small a car; that on LONG trips a Ford didn't ride as easily as a larger car; and that he was just wondering if he might take the Buick for a long hard drive like that, etc., etc. Lord! How my sympathy for those old veterans--two of whom were over 30 years of age--welled up in my throat and almost stifled me. Of course they couldn't be asked or expected to submit to the jolting and short wheel base of a brand new Ford on a trip of that character. I suggested soft pillows and plenty of wool blankets, and offered to ask Mrs. Pierce or George McHaffie, who drive cars (both octogenarians) to do the driving and see after the parking and care of the car on arrival so those foot-sore and war-wracked sh.e.l.ls of their former selves should be put to a minimum of pain and inconvenience.

Result: They went in the Buick. It rained like h.e.l.l. Frank took the Buick home and washed it, then came past Aunt Margaret's and told her what a nice ride they had had. Then home to put the car part of the way in Ben's garage.

Further result: Aunt Margaret called me at 1 p.m. today and asked if I wanted to drive down to Shakamak State Park, about 30 miles south of Terre Haute. I told her it looked like more rain--and it did--and then asked if she wanted to drive that far on Sunday.

She actually laughed out loud, said she had forgotten, and to just let it go.

Time to quit, Pap

FOR CLARITY'S SAKE

August 13, 1947

Dear Footser: I am trying to make this a round robin letter because since my last missive of that character I have heard from all of you except Ann Drew at least once. You will have to show this copy to Margaret and Munny, and that way everybody will have equal access to my words of wisdom.

As seems to be my custom, according to most of you, I will start out in a more or less critical vein. Your letters are hard to read, and you are to be some sort of bilingual secretary to someone having a decidedly foreign name. . . Now, down to business. You start at $35 per week, which in these days isn't much probably, but at that you have a start of $33 on me--$2 is the munificent sum I received as Head Janitor and a.s.sistant Bookkeeper at staid, dependable, conservative, old Russellville Bank. . . Anyway and however, don't let the starting salary get you down. Everybody has to start, and those who start on a small scale sometimes get to be those who end with a big auger, boring a big hole. If the job is what you want, then the thing to do is to accept, and try it out. As long as you try and apply yourself, and work at it for the interests of your employers, you can rest a.s.sured I will help you out financially--that seems to be what us old fellers are here for.

I have written a pa.s.s for you, New York to Greencastle and return. I don't know whether it will come or not--the Roads are tightening up, especially on children who have reached maturity.

. . . The big roads now have a rule of issuing only so many pa.s.ses to each family every year, and they evidently base the number on a normal family, as normal families go these times--so we are handicapped right at the start. . .

Sarah Jane asked about beef, and the chance to get some in some way. That is much easier said than done. It involves a whole lot of things. I will not be fattening--that is, corn feeding--any cattle this Winter. I do not have the corn, and the present crop looks mighty bad. It is quite probable I could buy a whole carca.s.s or half a carca.s.s for her here, but there is no easy way getting it to her. It would be very expensive, because it would have to be processed here, then shipped to her in dry ice, and dry ice is hard to get. It has to come from Indpls. and is a problem to go get and then pack around the beef back here. Then too, freight handling is questionable and it would be a mighty easy thing to get side-tracked and thus spoil. Beef out here is also very high. . .

Find out where the roller towels are. The one you and Margaret left was a bit dirty when you got away, and now it looks like the one at the old high school building that hung at the side of the printing press . . . .

Pap

THANKS FOR THE COMPLIMENT ANYWAY

February 3, 1948 The Honorable Frank M. Martin Spencer, Indiana

My dear Frank: . . . You have made it hard to refuse your kind and thoughtful offer to make the after-dinner talk in March. There are many, many reasons why I should not, among them being I am totally out of practice, and my experience with false teeth has been fearful- -and unexpected.

Frank, I want you to realize I am sincerely obliged for your thoughtfulness in asking me down. Invitations of that character are coming fewer and farther between. As a matter of cold fact, however, I am oratorically about where old Anthony Battle, an ex- slave, was financially a long time ago when Uncle Bob Black operated a horse and mule sale barn here. Needing some change, he turned to Anthony and asked him if he had change for a $10 bill.

"No suh", said Uncle Anthony, "but ah thanks you fo' th'

compl'ment jes th' same."

As Ever,

TICKETS TO THE INDY 500

March 17, 1948 Mr. B. Ryall Chant Care: Chant & Co.

Port Jervis, New York

My dear Ryall: I have your letter of March 10th, concerning tickets for the 500 Mile Race and hotel reservations for May 28-31, 1948.

I have had reservations made for you at the Claypool Hotel. . .

Due to the tremendous demand for rooms all hotels hike their prices for the Race and all require advance deposits. . . Your entire room bill will be $53--$45 of which must be paid in advance. . . The Claypool is the Royal Baking Powder of Indianapolis hotels, but the Lincoln is beginning to cut-in. All Race activities, however, will be centered in and around the Claypool.

Tickets for the Race are something else again. They begin going in the Fall prior to the Race. Being a Democrat and therefore in disrepute in Indiana these past three years, I had to work through Railroad connections to the Governor's No. 1 man, who is a R.R. a.s.sociate and who a.s.sures me he will get the best tickets available, due to the fact the Race people always retain desirable seats--just in case. I tried to get you in a box within hailing distance, at least, of His Honor, but in my judgment, if you ever see him there at all, he will appear about the size of a blue-bottle fly. Remember the track is two and a half miles per lap and all the grandstand, paddock and other seating is outside the track. . . Naturally, I am getting you as near the starting (and finishing) wire as is humanly possible this late date . . .

I do not know the cost of the tickets, but my guess is $15 to $18 each. . .

You will probably see a half-mile of 100 and more ma.s.sed bands coming down the stretch, as one of the preliminaries. All the Fords, Firestones, Chryslers, Buicks, Packards, Goodyears, Nashes, Goodrichs and Perfect Circle Rings will be among those present, and you will look over a square mile and better of solid parked cars. Castor oil fumes will make you think of Ma and Pa long years ago. . .

Yours, for more paddock seats,

SOME GENUINE INDIANA MAPLE 'MOLa.s.sES'

March 24, 1948

Hon. S.C. Murray, General Counsel New York Central System La Salle Station Chicago, Illinois

My dear Mr. Murray: I am sending you some maple mola.s.ses almost hot from the evaporator. These mola.s.ses are the product of the President of our small Bank at Russellville, Mr. Harold A. Fordice, who is a Presbyterian, a Wabash College graduate, a Phi Beta Kappa, a Republican--and a bachelor. He is also a most ethical gentleman, and therefore far, far from adulterating his mola.s.ses with anything whatsoever, as is now pretty much the custom by reason of the fact maple mola.s.ses prices have soared about like I did the time I first took the oath as a Member of the General a.s.sembly at Indianapolis in 1913 . . . adulterated flavor is almost forgotten. Children, generally speaking, do not like it.

They prefer sugar syrups. What you will be receiving is the pure article. . . Maple mola.s.ses hereabouts are almost a thing of the past--like wild pigeons and Democratic landslides. The old trees are dying out, and no new ones coming on. Lately, the new President of Wabash College sent down to Russellville a general order for 100 gallons. . .