I have spent the past year and a half slowly working my way through some of the inventory Pat and I collected over the decades and came across two shoeboxes full of old letters she and her parents wrote to each other in the probably not so ‘good old days’. In the mid-1940s, Pat went to Cornell to study chemistry, and her parents were living in Chicago. From the dates on the letters, they wrote several times each week and saved the letters. That they survived eighty years was the first surprise
All of them are handwritten, either in pencil or with a fountain pen, and they tell the saga of the most ordinary facets of life in a very ordinary family. Her mother wrote of doing the weekly ironing – including sheets, bath towels, and what the British called their ‘smalls.’ Her father wrote her thoughtfulness in splurging a whole nickel to buy a Hershey bar so her parents could enjoy a rare wartime treat. He wrote about having to put his name on a waiting list to get a replacement tube for the Crosley radio, and how he hoped to borrow a radio from someone so he could listen to “I Love A Mystery” and the Jack Benny Show.
In turn, Pat wrote about the other women in her dormitory getting together, pulling together some of the home-made goodies for “a spread,” while they listened to dance music on someone’s radio, about classes and professors, and the shocking revelation that parents expected their daughters to get a college degree, but also get their MRS degree, as well.
In one letter, her father wrote that he had a typewriter but did not think it was “a right and proper thing” to use it for personal correspondence. Rather, either a pen or pencil, because a hand-written letter meant it was personal.
On the whole, there is nothing too surprising or out of the ordinary in these letters, and certainly nothing scandalous. In fact, some of them are tedious, especially when her mother listed all of the housekeeping she did when she got home from teaching at McKinley High School. They wrote about ration books, gasoline shortages, and the pure joy when a dental patient traded two rabbits for a filling.
The war was barely mentioned in their letters, even though it was the major topic of conversation. Pat wrote, inquiring of her parents advice of the propriety of participating in Cornell’s encouragement of students to write to soldiers to whom they had never been properly introduced. Yes, her parents told her but reminded her to maintain good decorum.
Her mother wrote that she had given Pat a little “dance book” for “mixers” at the school, where true gentlemen asked a woman for a dance, and signed his name into her book. Mother expected her to return home with her book filled with signatures to prove she had a social life.
It is what is not written in these letters that become the important part. The first was the joy of their commitment to this constant correspondence. It was important to stay in touch, not only with each other to share their lives. It was the letter, then addressing the envelope, putting on a stamp, and taking it to the postal box at the end of the street.
Telephone calls were for very important business and often schedule well in advance. Once when Pat called as a surprise, her mother reminded her of the cost of long-distance calls, and in the future to write a list of the important points so as to not go over the three minute cheap rate limit, and to call in the evening when the rates were lowest.
The second thing was that these letters were kept over the years. Apparently her mother shared them with an “Aunt Ethel” who later bundled them up, tied with lightweight cord, and wrote a message, “Saved for Pat. You may want to reread them some day.”
Saving letters? We don’t do that anymore. We type a message and press send. They are fast, easy, but soon forgotten. It cheapens the meaning of communication and diminishes the importance of maintaining relationship. Well, that’s my opinion anyway, even if I am guilty of e-mail rather than using the snail mail of the USPS.
That lingering and delay of pushing a pen over paper, or in the delivery of a letter, gave people a chance to think. Go back to that MRS degree I mentioned earlier. Pat had never really thought about, but as the first semester moved into the second, she understood that marriage and a family was not compatible with a career in chemistry. Very tentatively, over a number of letters, she began contemplating majors from chemistry to an art degree.
Her father cautiously agreed and gave his approval. He liked the idea of her living closer to home and wanted her to be happy. Her mother was disappointed but eventually came round to being supportive. That support came with a caveat – she had to earn a teaching certificate so if she didn’t have great success as an artist, she had teaching to fall back on.
Again, there is nothing unique or special about any of this. Yet, having a cache of letters I front of us, we can see how a person evolves and sometimes pivots into different career choices. We can see some of the social traditions, such as weekly ‘spreads’ and her dance book. And we can breathe a sigh of relief that there are no longer any expectations of ironing our socks.
We can also understand better that in some ways life is better now. Money is tight today, and the cost of food and fuel is far too high. But the necessities of life are not rationed. The government is not limiting us to one pair of shoes or car tires per year, assuming they are available.
Old family letters are a window into their past and our DNA. They also remind us that although we faces challenges today, the problems of those who went before us were often far greater. If you have old letters, hold on to them.
Go have a bit of fun: Write and mail a letter to someone, just as a surprise. Best of all, send it to a young person. Remember how grown up we felt as youngsters if we received a letter? That hasn’t changed, either, so go ignite a smile on someone’s face.
