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Erie, Pa.
Thursday, Feb. 29, '40.

Doc Gillilan was away so I took care of Charlie Sibert and Ted Koenig of Ford Motor down to inspect the new Ford locomotives. Late in the afternoon, I had a wire from Whitey saying we would [[underline]] not [[/underline]] bid on the tank proposal. So that ends that apparently. Poor old Gus Marx has been working weekends on it and so has Dick Miller -- all for naught. So goes the battle!

This evening I got into something I didn't bargain for - a real slumming party with Si, Koenig and Frank Turner. Si and Koenig were going back tonight and I figured on dinner with them and home early, but they decided to stay here all night and Frank, a pal of Si's, joined us after dinner and did the steering, which wasn't my idea of a suitable evening at all. But I learn by experience. I'm just beginning to realize that Frank Turner is disspated as hell and he looks it. Moreover, somehow to me he doesn't have a very healthy attitude toward life - too much dirty innuendo, swearing, talk of dissipation - never a wholesome remark about anything when I have been with him. Just what Whitey sees in him that's good, I haven't seen yet but of course, I don't know him very well. I guess he is smart and I give him due credit for working his way up from an apprentice draftsman, then college (TBTT), then the design section where they had him on pretty lousy work for a long time, and finally up into our Dept. If Whitey wanted a man who can go out and drink all night, I think he got him but if I were a customer, I wouldn't take kindly to Frank. He isn't the kind I like. Yet Si likes him and I presume lots of others do too. He just isn't the type who appeals to me.

Frank started off by driving us all through the