775 Bellevue
Salem, Oregon
November 6
Dear Mamma,
How in the Ding ding are you, anyway? We haven’t heard from you in so long. We had a letter from Jean the other day, and she said you were working yourself skinny. Mamma, you mustn’t; you might as well be a matron. We felt exceedingly bad that Jean didn’t even consider the very smart name we suggested, and we’re sure that everyone will think Jan was born in January. I wish you could visit our latest domicile. I’ve got the funniest little house, full of the dearest wife, and the cutest pup, and the homiest atmosphere!
The weeks are clicking past quite smoothly at school. Gerry, Wilbur, David, and Betty and I were the committee for the Halloween party. We put up a ballyhoo sign for the masquerade two weeks in advance, stirring up enthusiasm, by announcing prizes, etc. A couple of days before the party we put up another sign, reading “Live and Die in Zilchville.” Everyone responded by being frankly curious, and puzzled. We fixed the gym up as Zilchville. The piano corner was“Zilch’s Dance Hall.” The near, right corner was “Zilch’s Pool Hall”; here one could play anagrams, checkers, or cards. The far right corner contained “Zilch’s a-er-ah Tea Room.” The tea room consisted of a bar, upon which rested a barrel, from which cider was dispensed throughout the evening. It was also the point from which emanated at one time in the evening paper plates of ice cream, and big trays piled high with doughnuts. The fourth corner, the far one, we transformed into “Zilch’s Marble Orchard.” I covered a big expanse of the wall with yards and yards of white grocery paper, and painted on it a background of a creepy-looking dead tree with with a yellow moon coming up behind it. We made six tombstones by covering cases of soap with paper, and one monument by similarly treating a big box of Braille books. On the monument sat old man Zilch himself — the skeleton from my schoolroom. His epitaph read: —
This is Hiram Zilch, who built the town —
Nothing but bones, and a proper noun.
Nevertheless, he runs the show;
If you’ve any complaints, here’s where to go.
The other stones bore epitaphs, surrounded by appropriate decorations. I’ll see if I can remember some.
Here he lies, in sweet repose,
The noble chieftain, Manuel Mose.
He was feeling fine, till one fateful day,
Someone said, “Work” — he passed away.
This Orval Nunn was a big gun,
Who blew the saxophone for fun.
He blew and blew without cessation,
Until that last and sad occasion,
For which we now so deeply mourn,
When he blew himself right through that horn.
Nellie Bales was one of those frails,
Who blush and pale and bite their nails,
When confronted by admiring males.
Timid, shy, mild, and meek,
She hadn’t spoken for nigh a week,
When suddenly she sat upon a mouse,
And gave a shout that rocked the house.
Maybe she died from lack of breath,
But many believe she was scared to death.
Underneath this dreary spot,
Lie the remains of one Faye Scott. —
Little, and pretty, and not so dumb,
But everlastingly chewing gum —
Really a most annoying habit,
Her imitation of cow, or rabbit.
The facts of the matter can’t be hid;
She had to quit business when Wrigley did.
Here he lies, loquacious Whetstone,
Who most vigorously did intone
Pig-latin, Gibberish, Choctaw,
Till the day he got the lockjaw.
The end of him came with the end of his buzz,
For the wagging jaw was all there wuzz.
’Neath piles of stones in these chill banks
Do rest the bones of Ada Willbanks.
Aching, and groaning, her joints all loose,
Too old and squeaky for further use,
She now finds comfort, solace, rest,
In a subterranean cedar chest.
We also enhanced the whole room with an abundance of crepe paper and pumpkins. The little kids masked too, and came to the first part of the party. The costumes were excellent, and the whole affair went over quite well.
I was going to tell you some more things but Betty has already taken her bath and is waiting to add to this, so I had better let her start as I don’t want her to get cold. Maybe she will tell you the story of how the dog fell in the river, and how we found a duck.
Very much love,
Lew
