July 14, 1952.
Bastille Day.

Dear Phil:

You only think you were sea-sick. WE had Judy for a few days, and not a speck of dramamine to be found in all of Somers, Katonah or Mt. Kisko. And with her, there is no point of no return. She left on Wednesday, and was back again yesterday. With her papa, whose program ran true to form. In he walked, "Hello, Bib", he hello'd me, "What's new?", fell down on a couch and went to sleep. Awoke in time for lunch, and went to sleep again. Awoke at 5:00 P.M., hosed his car, and fell on the couch again in a stupor awakening again, thank goodness, for dinner. For a while I thought he had expired, and that would be one hellova way to begin in the new house. Of course, we might bury him in the composte pit, but why take any chances of making the soil too acid? Guess we shall have to resort to the torch method.

Seems we have been took. Here I've been thinking the GROOTE BEER was a luxury liner, surpassed only by the two Queens and the new USS United States. What! No swimming pool aboard! Horrible! We shall have to look into this sorry state and demand a rebate. Do you think one of $1.42 would suffice? But I'm sure the meals were tops. The Dutch are famed for their fillet mignons, mushrooms sauce, braised breast of bull, and wooden shoes. I don't think you went short in that department. Now that you're with your family, how does it shape? Anything like what you imagined it would? I hardly think so, because things never do, but tenny rate, I'm sure your family are nice and that you'll make a place for yourself with them. But looka. Don't you go and teach them English. You're there to become a part of the family, and that means ICI ON PARLE FRANCAIS. Cedilla under the C. Essentially, is your new family life any different from the old? Of course, there must be some slight ones, such as no papa who argues with you all the time, no mama who embellishes her remarks, no martini before dinner. But how does the overall picture compare? All right, all right! If you like it better there..................Would you like a motorcycle next year?

The house progresses, but at snail's pace. Bob has put all the stairway treads in place, but one. Just like him. And has hinged all the windows, but one. At least, the kitchen window can't fall on me again, but I'm awfully afraid every time I pass grandma's room. I give it a wide detour. The outside trim is being painted, and the final coat, deep brown, goes on tomorrow. The lighting fixtures are not yet, nor has Louis finished all his work. So we live in confusion, but it grows less, however slowly, from day to day. It, the confusion, seems to have put new life into your grandma. Youghta see her race Russel up those stairs. She gives him a two step lead, but beats him by a tail length. Her secret lies in the way she grasps the handrail. She take a wrist-over-wrist hold and flips herself all the way up in one heave. She has also taken to wearing pants under her skirt.

Russel departs today, and I'm really sorry to see him go. He's a lovable hound, even if he does have fleas and growls at me when I walk about in the dark. Boz and Ma are driving him down to White Plains today sometime. I've been hinting to Hilda, for the past week, how good it would be for her to have Russel around, especially with Boz going off soon, and me in the city every day. Man's noblest friend stuff, guardian and protector. She agrees with me in everything, but balks at the final step. No, any dog's too much of a responsibility, she declaims. I've got my hands full with you, says she meaning me, and that's enough. Ah well. I tried. But I'd really like to keep him.

Hope and her husband are driving down from New Haven today, and Boz will go back with them tonight for a couple of days. He'll be back this Wednesday, and then spend a few days in NYC making his goodbye's. He had planned to leave for his base on the 21st July, to be sure he'd be there on the 26th, but announced a change of plan last night. He's taking a plane to Dallas on the 25th, and will get there about 5:00 o'clock in the afternoon, spend the night at Aunt Syd's, and then take an 8:15 A.M. plane to San Antonio. That leg takes only an hour, and he'll report in at about 10:30 A.M. He'll spend five days there, and then we'll know where he'll be assigned, permanently. It would be a wonderful thing if he gets it somewhere up here, Washington, Chicago, or even Philadelphia. I'd even settle for Mitchell Field, even if it might become boring to see his phiz every evening at dinner. You think so?

Eric drove over yesterday with a carload of Bayers; Sandy, Valerie, Chris and the shorn bear. And y'raunt Daisy. Chris is okay alone, and so, I imagine, is Shaun. But put them both together, and brother! I retired to the tool house, Hilda took to the trees, and Russel, he says, decided to go rabbit hunting. Boz was stuck. He defended himself by tossing both kids into the air, much to their delight. The Salanders, across the road, ran over to see why we were sounding the air raid siren.

I haven't been swimming, since there's no point to it any more, but Boz and Hilda have gone over to Sparkle a few times. And like it very much. Clear water, nice sand bottom, and no one gets in your hair. I'm sure you'd like it as much. How's the swimming at Les Bains? Any? Hope you get your share of it, and all the other activities available to you.

Take care y'self, ole boy. Have lots of fun, and leave them there now mamselles be. On the other hand, to foster good will between the nations, y'gotta cooperate. So what to do, what to do? You decide that.

Write us all about everything. We quiver with anticipation.

Love,


Dad