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4

over and he was so shocked at the situation in my story of
the extraction, that he said he'd take over right then. I recall thinking wryly that the only good thing I got out of the
whole affair was a prescription from Ralph for a bottle of
whiskey since it was still prohibition and that was the only
legal way you could get it. But it was good stuff and I think
Willie got it at a drugstore--a bottle of bonded bourbon like
Old Grand-Dad--but unfortunately only a pint as I recall it.
I don't remember all the details but my gum, jaw and throat became badly infected all over again and the swelling continued
to worsen until finally, after about a week, the thing opened
into my mouth and began draining and from then on I improved.
But I lost about ten pounds in three days and had a
case of temporary lockjaw or something like six weeks wherein
I couldn't get my front teeth more than an eighth of an 
inch apart thanks to the unmerciful beating Hapgood had given
me during the extraction. This condition made eating very difficult
until the condition gradually cleared up. I was out of
the office for two weeks or more and then worked only part
time for another spell until I could get my strength back. One
thing the experience did for me was to make me appreciate life
more than I had in a long while and make me determined to do
a better job of living in the future. It was a siege of pain,
illness and worry such as I've never experienced before and I
was never to forget it.

I would look at Babbie and realize how very fortunate we were
to have her. She was a darling--the prettiest, happiest, brightest
Little person imaginable, and, although a care, she was a
constant joy to Willie and me. Everyone who saw her, commented
on what a beautiful child she was.

As perhaps never before, I appreciated the beautiful spring
we were having in 1931. We took rides into the country and
drank up the loveliness of the cherry and peach trees which
painted the landscape pink and white over a background of a
myriad delicate shades of green of the leafing trees. It had
been a rainy spring and everything looked wonderfully fresh.
We inhaled the fragrance of the fruit blossoms as we drove
along the East Lake Road through the orchards, at the same
time viewing the vast blue expanses of the lake. The whole
countryside seen so well-cultivated and prosperous-looking
that it seemed almost incongruous at what we fondly thought
was the very bottom of the worst business depression in history.
It gave one hope to look at the beauty and glory of it all and
it made one contemplate with great wistfulness how wonderful
it would be if one could just live forever.

Unfortunately, in fact in one case, tragically, all was not
good that spring. The tragedy was the death of Clark Baker,
head of the automatic substation group, a leukemia. He died
May 11th after a brave but hopeless battle against his dread
disease. According to my diary, he was sick only three weeks.
It seems strange that he could be dead. His memory was so