Dec 4, 2017

Thu, Dec 4, 1947: each time it rains

"On this lonely night--while the rain splatters on the roof just above our apartment--I'll type out this epistle of love.  Nostalgia is the best word to describe my inner feelings right now.  The human mind is a wonderful device in that it can make so many associations.  Rain tonight reminds me of things that I've done on other rainy nights.  Our Model A stalled north of Winfield and young son DeVere extremely frightened by the cloudburst, lying on the frontroom floor reading 'Oliver Twist' while torrents of water poured down outside the farm house, milking a cow in the cozy shelter of our barn, looking on while the house of our neighbors to the north was washed away by Muddy Creek, playing the Southwestern 'Alma Mater' with the band in rain-drenched stands--quite deserted at the game's end--all of these little memories come flooding back to me each time I hear or feel rain.  Most precious memory of all belongs to last year--on a night punctuated with April Showers.  I'm sentimental enough to let my memory wander back to the events of that evening each time it rains....
"Ralph Metzger who stood trial for house-breaking has now returned to school.  He acts about the same. I tried to treat him as if nothing had happened. Today I didn't call on the boy; but tomorrow I plan to work on him.as usual. He did come around to get information on make-up work in American History.
"Sometimes I wonder if I were cut out to be a teacher.  Perhaps everyone undergoes these depressions.  But my effectiveness was quite low today.  Some students are not very interested in my courses in spite of all I can do."

--Letter from my father, Protection, Kans., to my mother, Winfield, Kans., Thursday, December 4, 1947.  One typo per original.

No comments:

Post a Comment