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23 story—slight-of—hand item wherein the Colonel would demonstrate how to change an orange into a peach, and it would invariably bring down the house. Perk surprised us that night by getting sick on the beer, as he was a big guy and we thought he could hold anything. Bob Walsh wore his monocle and was the perfect host, losing $1.75. I won a dollar and the Colonel lost a dollar. Everyone liked the Colonel who was quite a character as all who met him were quick to see. Being with him made me wish that my own father had lived, but somehow I still was the victim of a strange diffidence that prevented me from calling the Colonel "Dad," and it was always a regret to me; however, it was one of those things that I allowed to go so long that it finally got completely out of reach. I think one factor involved was the fact that I'd never called my own father "Dad," always calling him "Father," and I couldn't bring myself to call someone else something I'd never called my own father. I've always felt a little guilty about this matter and hoped it didn't hurt the Colonel. If it did, he never made the slightest reference to it although I know he'd wanted a son. I think the important thing was that the Colonel and I enjoyed being together and had some great times together. We would sit on the dark, cool porch at night and smoke a cigar and talk. One evening we sat out there until midnight discussing Prohibition. The Colonel thought it was a good thing because the old two-day and three-day drunks had become almost impossible. He said he'd been drunk only once--it was in New York before he was married. Whisky and then women was the old order--a big drunk winding up in a bathouse. I believed from hearing his story of the old days, that Prohibition had done a lot of good but we still needed some sort of modification of the system to make it work well. As for the Colonel's personal drinking, I never saw him visibly under the influence although he enjoyed drinking. I threw a poker party one night for the Colonel attended by Perk, Brauns, Sjoberg and "young Bauschard" per the diary. (Played bridge with "Young Bauschard" last night, September 18, 1973, and alas, he is young no more.) We drank near—beer and ate pretzels. I lost 51¢ and the Colonel won 39¢. Don't know how young Bauschard made out but if anything like he does at bridge, he swept the table. One of the pastimes we enjoyed was watching the trains and the airplanes, Bab, in particular, loving both. Bab simply was entranced to go to the airport and see the "Airpanes" as well as drive to the Fairview depot and watch the "choo-choos" roar through on the New York Central main line. One evening the Colonel and I drove to Fairview to watch the "20th Century Limited" flash through but were too late. But we did see the "Southwestern Limited" and it was about as good, being the Central's crack flyer from New York to St.Louis. The diary says: "It was fun to sit there and smoke with the lights turned out, in the shade of a big tree, the moon setting in the west. The Colonel and I are pretty chummy.“
