Letters can tell us so much, but sometimes it is the envelope that tells a bigger story – or at least tells us there is a bigger story. And in this case, it is a story I almost missed.

I keep my grandparents’ letters in the original boxes I found them in if possible, or in archival boxes when I need to. The letters from Sid to Elsie from this period are all safely in a box in chronological order. When I am ready to write another entry, I take out the next letter in line and start transcribing. I don’t usually take much notice of the envelopes as they are all just about the same – Sid was certainly not splurging on fancy stationary! So today I took out an envelope post marked March 23, 1933, which seemed like a logical next date for Sid, the not-so-frequent-correspondant, to be writing. But when I pulled out the letter it was dated Jan 3, 1933.

Hmm? How did this letter get out of order? Was it in the wrong envelope? I decided to check back and see if maybe the February letter I had already posted was in the wrong envelope too. And I was surprised to find that it too was in an envelope post-marked March 23, 1933. One was mailed in the morning, the other mailed later that evening.

What had happened?

Reading the letter Sid wrote just after New Years, it was exactly the letter I had hoped to find after his trip back to Buffalo for the holidays. It was full of happy memories of time spent with Elsie – and an awesome apology for what must have been quite a drunken evening – and hopes for getting to see her again soon. It was just the kind of letter I imagine Elsie would have loved to have received just days after Sid left. But it seems pretty clear from the envelopes, she did not receive the letter for months. So what had happened?

The two envelopes can tell us that something was up, but they can’t reveal the secrets of Sid’s mind that winter of 1933. Sid came home from Buffalo practically glowing – you can feel it in his phrasing. The trip had been a success and Elsie was clearly the reason why. The letter has more feeling, more talk of things to come than any letter yet. So why didn’t he mail it? Did he suddenly get cold feet? Did he come back to his bachelor rooms and wonder if Elsie really had a place in his professorial life in New Brunswick? Did he get insecure, and worry that perhaps he had overstepped and been out of line with Elsie? We can’t know exactly what made him choose not mail his letters, any more than we can know what made him finally mail them both on a Thursday in late March, but I think we can all agree on a collective hand-to-the-forehead, a collective “Dude, what were you thinking??”

And one little phrase, added to the top of the January letter, gives us the hint that, late in March 1933, Sid was thinking the same thing.

“(As it should have been)”

(As it should have been)

Jan 3. 1933

Dear Elsie, 

It is quite a contrast to be back at work after such a long, interesting and enjoyable Christmas vacation that seemed in passing all too short. On New Year’s day I was manfully downing my piece of herring for good luck, yesterday riding the bus all day, and today lecturing to the eager (?) students – that is a change, isn’t it? But as the year promises to be full of many changes and exciting events it can be expected in individual lives.
If herring will do the job, it should be fed to all the unemployed. One wonders how many more hard winters are before them, or how many additions to the ranks will be made in the New Year. The hopes and aspirations of thousands are in Mr. Roosevelt, but can he do much where others have failed so noticeably? We must just mark time until March 4^th. The mild winter at least is in the favor of those with little or inadequate shelter.
The bus ride is tiresome, but I was with Mrs Coury for company. Not many started from Buffalo but all along the route we gathered new recruits – teachers, students and others – who were returning from the vacation spent in the little towns. And soon we had them standing in the aisles until another bus could reach us from Scranton. I should prefer being with you and celebrating New Year’s day again, but with early classes I had to travel by day to reach here in time.  And then I had many hours to live again the happy days I spent with you. I was not proud of my conduct at Mildred’s, but in the future I shall be more lenient of those who insist they are sick and not “liquored”. Anyway I certainly craved a “murad” that evening, but I couldn’t trust myself to move. But the company was worth it all – it was amusing tho the way they drifted silently away when  Phil and I went walking. Anyway, we got the jig-saw puzzle together and played lots of bridge. In the weeks to come I must be sure to keep in practice.
Now I learn in N[ew] B[runswick] we are to have another series of “advanced” lectures – would you call them radical? – by the League for Industrial Democracy. You remember I spoke of them last year? Norman Thomas, Paul Blanchard and others? Only this year there are no well-known names and I wonder whether they will be as interesting or just the same old stuff less forcefully told. It is always difficult to reconcile the ideal and the practical. Perhaps in one way the Socialists are wrong in insisting too much on impossible ideals. Intellectually, I am inclined to their side, but practically I know a Democrat is to be in power soon, and hope that he will be liberal enough & far reaching enough to accomplish some of the socializing program of the Socialists. I should like to take you with me, to hear your reaction; you would be opposed, but your company is good and always refreshing. I have persuaded the library to buy a weighty tome on “Russia”, by Hans von Eckardt, from which I hope to learn a lot on the history of Russia, & the development of the Revolution. During the holidays I “did” a few novels.
We shall see about the mid year exam schedule and the possibility of getting away. All I know is that you seem all too far away & I should like to be able to see you again & again as I have done in the last two weeks. You were generous to me, Elsie.
My best to you, Sid