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off...only every other week...then only three days...to hell with it." Peterson assured the man that he was a "victim of the system." Peterson was a Socialist. He plodded along cutting my hair. He paid little attention to his wife's small talk, seldom answering her, and then only in monosyllables. The whole atmosphere of the place was depressing. I don't think I ever went there again.

I shall now turn to some of the happier aspects of that summer. In the photo section are two shots of a picnic attended by the Reeds, Scarboroughs and Cratons including Bab. We all look happy, modestly but modishly dressed for the period, and eating and drinking well, the latter if only 3.2 beer. Certainly neither Willie nor Charlie Reed look disturbed by the economic situation as they sit back-to-back on the jetty. It is an excellent picture of Maybelle and Walt and certainly no one could have dreamed what lay ahead for them, particularly for her--a long expanse of disappointment, frustration and tragedy. I note that I am sitting next to Maybelle, not there is any significance to this, but reminding me that at the time she and I had a good rapport something as Barbara Reed and I do today. Our rapport was to fade later as she got deeper and deeper into her mistakes. But she was a beautiful, vivacious, exciting young woman in 1933 and I'm sure that most of the men in the group we traveled with were glad to have her part of the crowd. And while I've dwelt at some length on the unhappy side of things thus far in 1933, really I believe that we continued to enjoy life and friends and family and these phases of our living far exceeded our disturbed periods. We were young and I think we believed that we could cope successfully with whatever came along--just how, perhaps we didn't know but we could and would do it somehow.

I find among my notes the following snatches which I evidently considered humorous enough to preserve:

Holmes: How are things at the GE these days?
Craton: I don't know. I don't get down there much any more.

Sjoberg (finding eight cards in his hand in a seven-card stud game): Well, I'm illegitimate!
Perkinson: That's the first time I ever heard a man call himself a bastard.

Craton (to Lynch): Hello, Baron!
Perkinson: How do you spell that "baron?"

This story by John Downie. At his rooming house in Schenectady, the toilet was plugged up. The landlady called a plumber who found a lead pencil caught in the outlet. Next day the following sign was found adjacent to the seat: "Please don't eat pencils if you can't digest them."