[The final letter, presumedly written on September 19, 1934, is missing.
The envelope for this letter bears a St. Louis postmark dated Sept. 19 at 8PM. A delivery stamp on the back indicates it arrived in Ouray on Sept. 22 at 11AM. As with every letter before, it is addressed to Miss Ruth Erlanger, General Delivery, Ouray, Colorado. In this case, however, the address is crossed out in pencil, and 5127 Waterman Ave, St. Louis MO is written in, indicating it was forwarded on to Ruth’s residence.]
Ruth darling,
I don’t know why you missed getting a letter the day you wrote the note I received today. I surely wasn’t trying to punish you (if not getting one of these miserable things is a punishment). I’ve written every day until yesterday when I wrote twice. The first was burned, and the second torn into small pieces so they couldn’t be sent. I seemed to be able to write nothing I really wanted to say, and to be unable to keep from writing many things I didn’t want to say; therefore, I compromised by not writing at all. This and one more letter will probably be all which will get to Ouray before you leave—or maybe another would get there for Saturday morning’s mail.
It’s good to know you’ll be here in another week. We seem to misunderstand each other so frightfully when we just write, or perhaps you really get to see just how full of cussedness and meanness I really am better than you would if you were here.
They have decided to give me an FERA job this year. I’ll work in chem. just like I did last year. Saw Dr. Shaffer and put that over. Clever, don’t you think? He didn’t even know about the job. That will mean about $125 more for this year. Haven’t heard anything at all about the loan, etc. yet, but I suppose it will be all right. By the way, Dr. Shaffer is talking of kicking us out of Dr. West’s old lab. Says he doesn’t like to have the place tied up just for the work which will be done here this year. I’ll only work 2–3 afternoons a week, he doesn’t know anything about your work, or about any other work. He is so full of notions as the city Sanitarium is full of nuts. I’m certainly glad I got the FERA work straightened out so he’ll have no room to say anything if I get in 33 hrs. a month. He would be a hard person to work for part time.
Sorry y I worry you, yet if I know anything about it anyone who has agreed to marry a person who can be as disagreeable and childish (true, but I hate to be told about it) as I has something to worry about. However, I love you so much I don’t know what I’d do without you, and I hope you won’t change your mind—as you should.
Harold
Ruth darling,
Unless my calculations are wrong this letter and four others are all that will reach you at Ouray before it is time for you to start home—and I’m glad. Not that I don’t like writing to you, but I like communicating with you in another way so much better, though there will be three , or rather five, days during which I shall have neither pleasure unless I send the letters to the places where you are to stop, which probably wouldn’t work as you p perhaps won’t know until you get there just where you will stay each night. Well, I’ve stood nearly six weeks weeks now, so suppose I’ll be able to survive until the twenty-fifth.
Bob Stephens and I took a walk in the park this afternoon, the first I’ve taken since last April or May, when we used to go there once in a while—or was it just twice in two whiles? We had a lovely afternoon for it, the sun was warm, the air was cool, and I felt like walking. We saw the bears fed, saw the chimpanzees stage a fight, saw the seals swim, and funniest of all saw those little, fat, bow-legged Malay sun-bears sit on the rocks in their pen, leaning back against a ledge, and holding their fat bellies with both hands as if they were portly bank directors who had just finished a hearty meal. Then back home to write to you.
Seems as if I should be able to write more than I do, for I think of you all of the time. You are in my thoughts almost constantly from the time I wake up in the morning until I go to sleep at night, and, though I seldom dream when I’m asleep, I do dream of you at times. I’ve even awakened in the night—a thing almost unheard of for me to do—thinking of you. I have been so lucky in winning your love, and I love you so much—in spite of the way I act at times. All my life I’ll be trying to get an impossible task accomplished, and that is—to tell you how much
I love you,
Harold
Sweetheart,
Today I took a sort of vacation, went downtown to do a little shopping, then saw Mae West’s latest, “Belle of the Nineties,” ((cite)) which is a sort of mediocre thing, not good enough to be good, and with most of the original rather clever lines censored I would guess.Just ten more days before I’ll be able to hold you in my arms again. Just, did I say? Rather I should have said it will be ten long days, for they can neither can, nor will, pass half fast enough. That is certainly what has been the trouble with me this summer, it hasn’t passed quickly enough. Usually it is gone all too soon, but circumstances seem to modify time a lot. Most assuredly you will not willingly be allowed to ever run off this way again.
Fall weather must have set in there with a right good will if the weather here is any indication. Everyone says this is the coolest September in a long time, and we had the usual quota of rain for the month in the first two weeks. Your return trip should be a pleasant one.
This next week I must get the decks cleared for action, all my study for the re-exams must be done, a few acetyl values determined, and various odds and ends tended to, for I want us to have a few days during which we can see a lot of each other before the grind sets in for the long time until June. The first few days of school—Thursday, Friday, and Saturday—can bear a little slighting, in a good cause. They usually don’t amount to much anyhow.Just read another chapter of “San Michele,” the one in which the Dr. has been out in the moonlight with the Countess. The fantastic conversation with the moon in his dream was beautiful, and the reading of those few pages made me long to be in such a [illegible] lovely and moonlit place with you. Remember the big, orange colored moon we found on top of a hill by the side of a winding road? I kissed you in the moon-light, and told you I loved you. Now I can’t kiss you, and there’s no moonlight, but just the same I’ll tell you,
I love you,
Harold.
My darling Ruth,
Your letter wasn’t delivered until the afternoon mail so I didn’t receive it before the exam although I shouldn’t have opened it at any rate. However, I’m afraid the warning would have had the effect of terrifying me ever so at any rate. If you feel better for having gotten said what you did say I’ve no kick coming, yet since I provoked it, yet I want you to believe me when I tell you again that I truly regret saying what I did. No matter how I should feel I’ll never really want to hurt you, as it seems I’ve done this time. Nor did I mean that remark which you think reflected on your sincerity. As you may sometime realize, I was just lonely, tired as could be, sort of puzzled, and hurt quite a bit because I didn’t know a few circumstances, and so misinterpreted what you had said; therefore, being quite impulsive, I just let go—and wished before the night was well started I hadn’t. What has been done can’t be forgotten, but I do hope you can ignore it. If you could know how I have worried this past week perhaps you would believe what I’ve said.
The discussion didn’t relate to alcohol, but to the management of children. Just forget it. As to alcohol we might as well not discuss that either if we can only fight about it. I know I’m a bit prejudiced in the matter. I’ve never been able to see any particular good in it, and I’ve seen a lot of harm, so its use seems to be tempting fate a bit. One of my grandfathers was a physical wreck when he died, as the result of using it too liberally, and an uncle—probably, or rather certainly, the best both mentally and physically the Swinney line has produced in several generations—lost a fine position, lost a fine wife, had his home broken up, and died of [illegible] chronic alcoholism at the age of fifty-six, only being saved from burial as a pauper by his father and brothers. Those two cases were so close to me I can’t forget them. Call it weakness, or what you will, there are a few habits which even the strong seem to find it nearly impossible to break. They rather find excuses or justifications for them. Personally, I should think it the better plan to avoid such things, but everyone to his own taste—I’ve merely said what I have in order to explain my rather pig-headed attitude.
I most certainly did say I wanted us to discuss our differences rather than to quarreling over them, but it seems to me that there is quite a difference between a discussion and an argument, the latter being much the less desirable and usually ending in something near a quarrel. Perhaps my idea is wrong.
Dr. Heinbecker isn’t the sort of person who would withdraw his support for the only reason he could have. In fact after I told him why I wanted to start Oct. 1st he said he would write to Dr. Whipple and ask him if he would arrange things that way if possible. Of course I had heard a word or two about the Erlanger and Gasser ((add note about Herbert Gasser.)) vs Bishop ((research)) and Heinbecker affair ((research. There is much info in the Bishop and Gilson interviews.))—no details—however, I supposed that had blown over since I heard Dr. Ronzoni say they had stayed at Dr. Gasser’s place when last in New York. Perhaps there is some more to the quarrel than I’d supposed, still it seems too bad for people as nice as I know those on both sides to be to quit ever speaking over a difference of opinion. Maybe I don’t know what I’m talking about though.
My brother, Marcus, must be what they call a psychic, for in the letter I received from him today he warns me to remember that even man and wife are two persons, have different opinions, and must adapt themselves to those differences. Some timely advice perhaps, but a week late—or is it? You see, he remembers my shortcomings even after 4 years.
If I may be mention pharmacology safely I want to tell you about the exam this afternoon. It was a bad one. The questions were not at all as I had expected, as some of them were really unfair, or perhaps you won’t think so. After the smoke cleared away I can see the possibility of a 90 still surviving, but the 94 is a goner, I fear.The questions were (6 out of the 8) ((Work on format for this section))
I answered (at) the starred ones.
Saw Dr. Gasser, Dr. H.T. Graham ((research)), Dr. Ronzoni, and one or two others having a session this noon. Yes, everyone will be back soon, Drs. Ronzoni and Urban are here, as well as the whole chemical, storeroom, and janitor force of the chem. dept.—the last, incidentally, likes his liquor a bit too well. The other day I had to rouse him at 10 A.M. from his rest on the bed in the metabolism room, and send him reeling home in order to keep him from being discovered by someone who might not take very kindly to such conduct. I’ll have to start working again, as well as studying for those two re-exams.
Your remark about us not being able to discuss a question without getting upset about it doesn’t quite reach the heart of the matter. I never got peeved about any discussion. The thing which started me feeling as I did was your advice about not telling Dr. Heinbecker. You had cautioned me several times about keeping our plans to myself without my understanding just why, then, out of what seemed to be a clear sky, you advised me not to tell a person who was doing, I thought at least, a lot for us. Besides that I had already told him—under circumstances such that I didn’t think it even polite to refuse—so perhaps felt guilty. Be that as it may, it ma your reiteration made me suddenly jump at a conclusion I now know to have been quite incorrect. I was terribly hurt even by the thought, [illegible] without fully believing it to be true, and wrote that letter before I stopped to think things out—a thing which would have been rather hard to do well until I possessed more information as to circumstances than I had at that time.
I hope it was the tiredness that made you feel as you did when you read my letters rather than a real hurt, for I should much prefer to have my vanity pricked than to have you hurt, though if you love me—and I’m convinced you do—you must have been rather upset. I’ve spent an altogether miserable week, hoping you wouldn’t be hurt, convinced you would be, and afraid you would decide such an unreasonable person would be a bit too trying around the house—and this last would have fair done me in for
I’m so terribly in love with you,
Harold.
Ruth darling,
Your card came today, and so I am still awaiting the answer to my letter of last Friday. Between that and the impending exam tomorrow afternoon I am reduced to a state of very nearly fear and trembling, most of which has been occasioned by my foolishness and impulsiveness. But my only hope in the matter is that you weren’t hurt by what I have said.
We are still having cold, rainy weather, but none of your snows have thus far reached St. Louis. You won’t be seeing many more before you leave for home either I think. This has been a long summer, yet in less than two weeks you should be here—and school will be ready to start. If we could only have a few days of grace before the grind begins. Maybe, to partly compensate, we’ll have all next summer together. I do hope so, although if we do the time will most certainly pass much too rapidly.
If you are bound to have a riding master you would no doubt be better off with my second brother in that role than you would be if I filled it, for he has done little else than ride for several years. He even rides bronchos at the local rodeos around home, and occasionally comes off with first money for his ride. Be that as it may I’m certain he wouldn’t undertake the task with anything like the eagerness I should, though he would surely think in an attractive job—at which he wouldn’t have a chance if I’m able to prevent it.
Have you ever gotten up the courage to step on a scale and see the result? If so, were you astounded at the gain? I’ve lost about five pounds since school ended. Hope I don’t gain it back this winter because it’s just excess baggage.
No matter how soon the time for your return comes it won’t be half soon enough, darling. If you were to be gone all winter they would have me in the observation ward at the City Hospital before Christmas, for I am so lonely I have become as irritable and cross as I am miserable. Which must be proof that in my queer way
I love you,
Harold
Little sweetheart,
If your mother feels sorry for me on account of your ugly moods how much sorrier she should feel for you because of mine. For you do manage to be sweet to me in spite of everything, while I just let go and act as mean as can be. Your answer to that much-to-be-regreted letter I sent hasn’t reached me yet so I don’t know how you reacted to it, but however you felt I’m sorry I ever wrote it. Though, as I said, you might better learn of my shortcomings now than to suddenly discover them later on. A jealous and idiotically easily hurt nature makes the worst sort of combination possible. I suppose I expect everything, I know I give everything I have to give—and maybe that will halfway or less make up for the pettiness I show.
Had a card from Dr. West at Portland. He said they had found a house and were getting located, also that he would write a long letter in a few days—I’m looking for it now.
National Board exams started today. They are held in the chemistry lecture room and as a result I’ve seen the boys going fearfully in, and coming dolefully out, twice today. They had anatomy this morning and physiology this evening. Friday afternoon I’ll be doing likewise.
I’m not so certain now that the person who offered me his congratulations last Friday knew the identity of the girl in the case, so perhaps the secret is only partly out. I got Bob Stephens cornered the other day and gave him an inquisition the result of which was that I was convinced he hadn’t told anything. So there the matter stands.
In the space of time and paper which has elapsed Miss Case gave me the above-mentioned letter from Dr. E.S.W., a three-page affair written on both sides. They are all located, but their furniture hasn’t arrived as yet. Dr. West also says he has (he is pretty sure anyhow) some money for a research assistant. If he tries to lure you to Portland I think I shall make a special trip to the northwest in order to empty the chair of Biochemistry at the Medical School of the University of Oregon, the present occupant of which being, he says, well pleased with the place would so that it would be the more punishment to remove him from it. Mrs. West sends word that she is gloating over my—as she calls it—fall. In that case there are at least two people gloating over the same thing, but they don’t describe it in the same manner, for I should say that instead of a falling I have done the very opposite in order to get so close the ultimate in desirability as I have.
It may be that by the time this is being written you will have somewhat altered you opinion of my good qualities, if so, I’m at least glad that you did have such an opinion even for a while. Yet no matter what you think I would not have been at all so upset if I didn’t love you.
Goodnight, dear heart,
Harold
My darling Ruth,
And time goes on, otherwise nothing seems to change—not even my mood, for I remain in the depressed condition in which I’ve been for the past week. I don’t know why I tell you this, excepting that I want us to always be able to tell each other everything with ^the assurance of sympathetic unðerstanðing (I finally did get the t ((Harold managed to cross both his d’s here, as well))) and I ‘ve no one else who might understand. Only is isn’t fair to you to write such letters, and if I can’t do better it would perhaps be better to stop writing so often.
Review has been progressing very slowly the last few days, but I did just finish reading a 576 page book by Clark called “Applied Pharmacology.” ((Clean up citation. Clark AJ. Applied pharmacology. 5th ed. London: Churchill, 1933: 1.)) It is a mixture of physiology, pharmacology, and therapeutics, still it impresses me as being a rather good little book for a review.
Have you taken any more long horseback rides? Jerry and I shoot a few rounds with his pistol every day. Sometimes I’m fairly good, and sometimes I’m rotten; however, that is sort of to be expected. “San Michele” and the acetyl values have both gone begging during the last ten days. Maybe they’ll get more attention after Friday, although the exams in surgery and public health are to be given the twenty fourth and fifth.
There doesn’t appear to be anything about which to write besides the things which I’ve said so often they may begin to be tiresome, so I’ll close for this time. Yet I do want you to know that if my love for you can grow at all,
I love you more each hour,
Harold
Ruth darling,
Of course I don’t need a letter every day in order to know you love me, but I do like to be told every day—funny isn’t it? And as for your having to give up anything, you don’t have to give up a thing unless you want to. Love isn’t a demanding thing, it wants to give instead.
There is nothing at all new (excepting a new bump every few feet—this is being written on a street car, which I suppose is a queer place for the writing of a love letter, but rather fitting in a way for I love you and think of you no matter where I am).[illegible] in my work or at school. I’ve been trying to study today, and haven’t accomplished a thing—while the zero hour approaches rapidly.
Your story of the horse-back ride makes me envious, though I can well imagine how stiff and sore my rather soft muscles would get for a while, for everyone gets sore until after the first few rides.
When do you plan to start back to St. Louis? At the best it will probably be two whole weeks yet. When you do start I shall count the minutes until you should arrive, for I’m lost without you.
Until tomorrow, goodbye, dear heart
Harold
My darling Ruth,
Perhaps I can write you a decent ^sort of letter today. For the last two or three days I’ve been so down-hearted, cross, and altogether disagreeable I haven’t even been fit company for myself, but since I have those spells once in a while you might as well find it out before it’s too late. Of course it’s foolish and all that, but emotionally my reactions are on about the same level as those of a six-year old, for I’m hurt when no hurt was intended, I brood over things, I say things as a result which I don’t mean at all, and am a pretty unattractive person at such times. You have been so sweet to me that my heart aches at the memory, and yet I act like I do on account of one or two little things of which you were probably entirely unconscious. We can thrash is all out when you get home—letters are so unsatisfactory; however, if you don’t return pretty soon I’m likely to be in solitary confinement.
There has been no interest paid on the loans at all. I couldn’t see any virtue in borrowing money to pay it. Last year I talked to the Treasurer, Mr. Zumbalen ((research)), who said I could just let it go and he would do nothing about it. This Spring I talked to Dr. Clopton ((research)), who said it might just as well be let go, and who assured me that I need not worry about repaying the principle ^principal at the rate called for on the notes if it would interfere with my internship, since, as he put it, they wouldn’t loan me the money to go through school then force me to have the most important part of my training more or less ruined. So what is the use?
Just four more days until Friday and the exam. As usual, I sort of loafed along with the study for a while, and am making the drive more intense the nearer the time for the test approaches. The [illegible] finishing of my last examination is one of the ambitions of my life.
But the thing to which I look forward with the greatest eagerness is your return. Everything would be different if you weren’t away—that is probably what has caused most of my ill humor. No matter what I may do or say you can always be certain that,
I still love you dearly,
Harold
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