"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.
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