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By Larry Wachdorf to his sister (typed on yellow paper)

People mentioned:

Les--his brother-in-law

Dad--Edward Wachdorf Sr

Mom--Irene Pfleger Wachdorf

April 15, 1865

Dear (Dolores crossed out) Boop?

Who but me could resurrect a name like that. And note the date. That's BIT. Before Income Tax. This is black and white Thursday. The mood is black and we're all bled white. Well, easy come, hard go.

I hope you have received the records by now. I enjoyed those two so much I feel sure you will too. Your records were fine. They're getting pretty worn now. I like West Side Story immensely (what a speller--now you know why I don't write more often), Hello Dolly much, and HMS ho hum. I can't understand how those D'Olly Carters can ruin such good music. I have a 97 cent Gilbert-Sullivan special that sounds much better. You can tell I have taste. Like a schnook. Tell Les the acoustics at the Music Pavilion are good--it was just the presentation that was un-understandable. (And how's that for coining a word).

Weather is finally just delightful here. We had two weeks of rain. And on weekends too. Monday to Friday, okay, but when your weekend golf is rained out, we use both of God's names--you now, G-- D---. Yes, I'm still golfing. I took an oath. "Neither rain, nor snow, nor dark of night shall keep me from my elective rounds." You would suppose that after all these years I have improved. You'd be wrong. After all, why should I ruin my handicap by shooting good. But bowling is another story. I'm carrying 181 in two leagues this year, and expect I could raise it 5 or 6 points if I bowled in a good house. Yes, kiddies, its the house that keeps my scores so low. What else could it be.

Folks are as well as could be expected. Dad never goes out anymore--at least only to work in the garden or to drive mom to market. His empasema (I endorse phonetic spelling) causes him to become breathless at the least exertion, and he has a tough time bouncing back. So he takes it easy. Smart dad you have. And mom is the same old warhorse. To mass every morning. All the housework. Just takes a few more naps now. She's still most remarkable. You better believe there's something to positive thinking. She's proof of it. Once or twice a week we have a little three handed game of pinochle, and the folks sure enjoy it. I keep score. I mostly win. Don't you dare tie them together. I wouldn't cheat. It's just that most of my mistakes just happen to be in my favor. I think the percentage is 523% over the law of averages. Seems strange. Lucky there's no auditor.

Is that pet lake of yours behaving itself? Staying where it belongs, that is? Or have you got the Wachdorf's largest indoor aquarium? And when the children walk, do they raise waves? Has old muddy crept in under the door--and also over the roof? According to the papers, your area just needs a good west wind to give you all a cheap European vacation. Is Madison now the ship capital instead the state capital? And do the children have webfeet in response to their environment? Or are maybe the papers here exaggerating just a little? If the mailman can deliver this without scuba gear, they are. Between tornadoes (that's a crazy, mixed-up, economy-size dust devil with fluid drive) and flood, tho, I'm sure it's anything but a dull spring. And out here, nothing but another damn nice day (the last was a paid political announcement).

I'm writing this at work. I bowl at six about 1/2-mile from here, and get off at five, so I'm putting the time to good use. Maybe now that I've found that writing a letter really won't hurt me, I can go it more often. Like once every other year. Mom is going back for Judy's wedding. It's budge time for me, so I better not try to get time off (company budget, that is... I'm the finance expert in the department; I've got things so fouled up I'm irreplaceable. Unless President Johnson's message sinks in and they do start hiring the mentally retarded. Maybe I'll get in later in the year, tho. Just to check on those fish stories Les has been passing out. It didn't take long to make him a convincing liar. Just two fish. Or are they really big as salmon and so obliging that they jump into the boat? End of page. I'll out the rest of the insults I was planning next time. Adieu.

Love to all,

Larry.

To go to next, click here: 1965 July Irene