Viewing page 136 of 154

This transcription has been completed. Contact us with corrections.

he did anything that he chose to do and didn't give a hang what anybody thought. He would dance in any old way he chose. But in all his freedom from the conventions, he never was in any way disagreeable or thoughtless. He had an old Ford and he and one of his roommates used to drive all over everywhere in the thing, camping out usually. He must have been a most unusual fellow. I love to hear about people like that and wish I might be more like such people myself, for I imagine that this young Baker was truly getting the most out of life. Probably his father taught him how to appreciate life from the time he was a baby, for I guess his father is one of the world's greatest authorities on that subject.

[[underline]] To Mother, October 14, 1925: [[/underline]] Last night I spent the evening as follows: I studied my precious vector diagrams from eight o'clock until ten. I read Thoreau until 10:20. I taked to Miss Comstock until nearly 11. I shaved. I read Thoreau until 11:45. I went to bed. I woke up at 12:15 and found Mike was below my window calling for me to open the gates of the castle and let him in. I did. I went to bed. Finally I slept. Next sensation -- "Rise and shine!" as Frank called me at 6:45. ...... At Schumacher's this evening, Downey furnished material for another anecdote. I ordered berry pie. Shortly afterward, Mary brought me cream pie. I said I ordered berry. Frank told me that Mary had come back and asked me if I wanted cream and I had replied "yes." I confessed I had no recollection of saying yes or of hearing Mary ask me the question. Downey then entered the scene. "He's getting to be a regular AC engineer. I'll never forget the time that Sasscer was so absorbed, he forgot to eat his lunch and wondered all the afternoon why he felt so funny." Downey and Sasscer are both AC engineers. So it goes.

[[underline]] To Willie, October 16, 1925: [[/underline]] As I haven't done anything to tell you about, I think I'll tell you about something I'd like to do this weekend, but can't do. I'd like to have you with me. And we should start out together into the country, the real country, where there are the little, winding, pleasant, cheery roads, unmarred by traffic and civilization's clamor. And we should walk along together hand in hand, amid the beauty of the autumn, with the smell of cider and smoke and fall in the air. And we should look at the rare beauty of the turning trees, and at the red apples, and the shocks of corn, and the yellow pumpkins, and the blue sky. And we should look into each other's eyes and know that this world is a good place and life is a sweet thing, and realize what an inadequate existence most of lead most of the time. In the contrast of that hour with the usual round of living, we most certainly should see that ahead of us lie the glorious years, more beautiful, dearer far, than we had ever dreamed they should be or could be. Autumn after next, we can do all this and we shall then know all this, and Life will be much fuller and finer and more precious for us both.