Gelkote

Cherie is forever dragging me to used bookstores when we travel. It’s not a bad thing but I quickly become overwhelmed by the piles of books and the fear of loosing her in the stacks. I’ve been affectionately referred to as her tail which should give you some indication of how closely I follow her. Occasionally I brave up and break away to investigate the mazes of shelves myself.

One such time was a visit to Karen Wickliff Books during last Fall’s Ohio Linux Fest in Columbus. Being a used bookstore, I was surprised to find a picture for my cube collection of a young girl with some chickens but that was nothing compared to the boxes I found around the corner and under a table. The boxes were full of letters in their original envelopes and all were addressed to a Dr. Bill Watson. I have no idea how many letters folks used to send in the middle part of the 20th century but I’d venture to say these boxes contained just about every letter this guy had ever received. It was impossible to even begin to digest what I had found in a timely fashion so I quickly scanned the letters for a few quick souvenirs, approached the counter with my chicken picture and two letters to discover the total. The picture was $1.00 but the letters had to be read before they could be priced. I’m not sure what criteria is used but my letters came out to be .25¢ each.

Below is the text of one of the two letters I picked up with the misspellings intentional.

754 Eight Ave.
Aug. 17, 1943

Dear Doc,

Why in the hell haven’t you written? I have been looking for a letter from you cussing hell out of me, but I haven’t even recieved that yet. I am sending you two cartons of Dung Hill cigs. tomorrow . The bill will be founfd inside one of the cartons. Don’t hurry around about paying me because I really ought not to collect any money at all for waiting so fucking long about sending them. I don’t need the money anyhow as I got a raise the other day. AM I KIDDING?

Daddy came down Saturday night to see me. We went out to TCU to see what the score was. Damn, I can’t make up my mind what to do. I doubt if I can get a part time job with BMC, so that I could take a couple of courses and still work. If I can’t do that I could come back Clarendon and probably get my job back with B.C. But I don’t want to lose my connection with BMC. On the other hand I could work full time here and not go to school until next year. If I did that I would very likely lose all enterest in school and grow up an ignor- baggage agent with his brains knocked out. (that is a definition of a ticket agent.) If you don’t call that a problem for me to solve you never came across a problem. I don’t know what in the hell to do. Well, I guess you have heard me weep enough.

It is hot as hell as usual. I mean the beer that you can get only part of the time comes in very nicely to make you feel better and more refreshed. However, the beer shortage is getting serious I am afraid. Boy, that will be a calamity, I mean.

Barcus is in Ft. Worth attending the Legion convention here. He just got in about an hour before I started this letter. He came by to say hello. We will probably throw a good one before he leaves.

I think I will try to get a leave of absence about the last of this month and come home and remenesce(sp) for a week. I hate to lose that much time, but I just want to get away from here for awhile and loaf deluxe. In my opinion(noone elses) I deserve a rest. For what, I don’t know. I am just getting damn tired of saying, “May I help you, please”, “Where to, please”, “That will be 15¢, please”, “Your bus leaves at dark-thirty”. “Thank you” — “PLEASEgoaway.” God, it will drive a man nuts, and drink.

I picked a hell of a long piece of paper to write such a short letter on, but thisi is all I can think of right now. Write soon.

Your pal,

Vic

I will try to get the transcription and pictures of the second letter shortly as time allows.