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32 Erie, Pa., Sunday, October 30, 1927. Last night Wil and I went to a Haloween party given by Fran Mertens and her friend, Florence Maginau, at the latter's summer place on the west shore about ten miles from town, a lovely spot located high up on a bluff overlooking the lake and surrounded by trees, really the nicest summer place, all in all, that I've seen here so far. Florence Maginau is a tiny, French-looking girl, rather homely, but still attractive in a way, and possessing a certain dignity that I liked. She said little--I wonder if she thought much. Her friend, a Miss King, was big, pretty, had beautiful hands and a rather rough and ready manner, with a tendency to murder the king's English. In her appearance, she reminded me a great deal of Doris. And I think now that Doris' letter remains unanswered--how rotten of me! Bob Clingerman was there-- I feel sorry for Bob. Not that I think he is really unhappy but somehow he doesn't possess personality; he tries so hard to be sociable, to say pleasant things, to say jolly things, but they don't seem to carry across. He seems to me like a lonely boy, misunderstood and in the wrong niche in the scheme of things. At noon, I found him reading not what one would expect of a young engineer, the "AIEE Journal" or some technical or trade paper, but "The Saturday Review of Literature." But who knows but what someday Bob will be a Hopkinson-Smith or Halliburton. Lenore was there, the same restless, interesting, different Lenore and, thank goodness, apparently free from her Warren remembrances at last. Lenore's friend, Mr. Trost, a pleasant, jolly youth, but alas, he also murders the king's English! We had a good time but still there was the feeling always of being out of place. Anyone reading this would doubtless say, "What a colossal snob! And what gigantic conceit!" Well, maybe so, but it is nevertheless true. And today, we went to church and the YPRU luncheon for the Buffalo YPRU at the YWCA cottage on the lake. Again the feeling of being out of sympathy, lacking common ties of interest, out of place. And so tonight Wil and I have had a long and frank talk on our relations with the church and we feel we are not in the proper place for our own best development and our future. We are not having the associations that we need to bring out the best in us culturally, mentally, socially. This is a great problem but I think that together we shall solve it. Erie, Pa., Monday, October 31, 1927. Tonight I am terribly sleepy, shall write just a line before retiring. The children have been raising the dickens around town tonight--Halloween. Started Steinmetz's biography--very interesting but the author lacks something--it should be more interesting that it is. Good day at plant--worked hard and worried about nothing. One's attitude means a great deal.
