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From Larry Wachdorf
Boop = his sister Dolores
Elmo Kratz = apparently coworker at Hughes Aircraft
Henery = his brother Harry
(NOTE: his letter was typed, double spaced, with paragraphs. Some spelling oddities left in place.)
December 6, 1954
Henery & Boop:
Bread cast upon the water bears sweet fruits to the provider. Letters sent mean letters received. Therefore, A, B, C, D, E, F, G, H, I, J, K, L, M, N, O, P, Q, R, S, T, U, V, W, X, Y, Z. According to my counts, you now each owe me 25 letters. I'll be generous and settle for Greek letters.
While I still think of it, did you read in the paper the results of the balloting for dem national chairman the other day? The winner received 60 odd votes, the next two men about 18 or 19 each, and a Pennsylvania candidate was awarded a lone ballot. Reminds me of the story (true) of the selection of the first French poet-Laureate. They summoned a conclave of the 64 most prominent French poets, and asked them to elect from among themselves the man they felt best qualified for the honor and the remuneration of their country's top literary prize, the post of Poet Laureate of all France. Then, on secret ballot, they found 64 ballots cast for 64 different poets. Deadlock. So they balloted again. Once more each man received one vote. 34 ballots later, the Poet Laureate was elected when one man switched his vote and gave another man a total of two. Humble people, those French.
And speaking of humility, I'll work it into this story by inference. I was shocked to my depths (and I've heard it said I'm pretty thick--and dull) the other day. I uncovered a Judas, a Benedict Arnold to strike closer to home. I heard a man brand himself traitor by his own words. I was down at the gas station having my chariot refurbished (it was looking more and more like a sad pumpkin again), and a neighborhood bus driver stopped in. Twas one of the foggy days we had last week (this was on Saturday), and the driver observed that they had lots of queer weather down in Texas, but nothing like this. Before we could stop him or extricate ourselves, he was spouting Texas! The attendant (gas, that is) said, boy, when you get homesick for Texas, just walk east until you smell manure, then head south till you step in it. Then, boy, you're home. It served the purpose, all right; but the frightening part is that the hose jockey is from Texas. Traitor to the states, okay; traitor to an individual state, okay; but to Texas? Unforgivable.
The weather in Sunny? California's been pretty nippy lately, boysengirls; down in the low 50's at night. Brrrrrr. Course it's nice during the days, but oh, those knights. Got fog every night (and lingered during some days) a while back, and the natives (they're the red people) predicted lots of rain this winter. Which probably means a prolonged draught. And if that draught has foam on it, I'm with you, old pal.
My golfing lately isn't. I'm again working days. Of all the miserable times to spend at work... Valuable sunlight going to waste; weekends the courses are so crowded it takes 8 hours to play a three hour game. Woe! Speaking of work, they sent me over today to check a new oven installation in our Plastic Lab. I was going to take some technical data for maintenance records but I couldn't find the damn thing. Went back, got one of the other fellows, and we went back looking for it. He was rubbing it in good. New oven big as a two story house and I couldn't find it. Well, the two of us went over there, checked everything that looked like a possibility, and still couldn't find it. Weirdy. How can four railroad cars of oven disappear? We finally cornered Elmo Kratz in the middle of the floor and asked him where he was hiding it. He almost had fits when he found we weren't kidding. Seems he was leaning on it at the time. Big rusty old heap of iron that looked like it had survived 500 years at the bottom of the sea. We were looking for something bright and new, not an old scrap heap that made good. We took a beating about it the rest of the day from the mechanics. They didn't hurt my feelings; I just took all their money in the check pool. We all throw in a quarter and play poker with the check numerals. So I finally go around to wining. $4.25. Want to visit London with me?
Man, didn't have anything to say and have used up three pages saying it. Par for the course.
'Nuff
Larry
Remember, fats, 26 letters
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