Up a Creek in Lower Slower Delaware

I found a letter that my Father wrote to my mother when they were teens. He had gone to a stamp show in New York.

May 12, 1936

Dear Dawfie:

I received your letter at 8 A.M., Saturday. It took me up to today to complete this letter and its some mess. You know, as I have told you before, I’ve been missing you terrible and going hungry for just a itsy-bitsy kiss. I can lie in bed and thing of the things we have done together, and it certainly makes me wish I was back with my honey.

We left home last Tuesday at 10 P.M. and this is what got me, we boarded the train and went to bed and when I woked up we were still in the station, but the station had moved to New York. Tch, tch, I can’t get over it. And what a thing they gave me to sleep in. I thought we made some mistake and had walked into a hay loft. Well, they cramped me into this 2X4 bunk, I didn’t have any room for my legs. But I solved this, by sticking them through the ventilator and out on the roof. But, as you know, there are a few tunnels on the way up to N.Y.. So after I had my shins knicked a few times, I pulled them in and out through the curtain into the aisle, but that didn’t work either, for the porter must have thought they were the electric light cord for every once in a while he pulled me out of the upper deck and into the aisle. I haven’t been doing much up here. I don’t know, I can’t a kick out of anything up here. I saw a picture called “Things To Come” at the Rivoli Thursday night. It’s a picture of the future, it was a fantastic picture, but it had a fairly good plot, which made it an all-around good picture.

The exhibit is marvelous and can’t be beat. There isn’t thing they have missed. It makes me feel like throwing my junk away. People may say they have this stamp and that one, but they can’t say they have in sheets as they are here.

I’m missing a chance to go up to Cornell with some of the fellows from over school. The’re going up this Friday coming.

Say, you want to see something huge, you should see the airship, von Hindenburg. I saw it Monday midnight. It’s a beauty, immense! You could put any of the others inside of it.

I guess I’ll be closing now. Don’t forget to write me again and I’ll write you and let you know when I’m coming home. Don’t forget to kiss the mirrow for me.

Love, Binny.

I tried to type this exactly as it was written. I left out a couple of sentences. They were too personal. I hope you enjoyed it as much as me. It contains so much I never knew.