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Nile Kinnick correspondence, March-October 1943
1943-04-24: Page 01
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Saturday April 24, 1943 Dear Folks, Mother's acknowledgement of the books from Scribners made no mention of my last letter. I hope that by now it has come into your hands, for it tells at some length and detail of a few days I spent in New York. However, it didn't speak of my girl friend met on the way back to Quonset, and of her you really should hear. I caught the three oclock train from Grand Central, and as always it was very crowded. Happily, I was able to get the last available seat in my coach. Right next to me sat a little old lady in a faded, well worn, blue coat, holding in her lap a scuffed and slightly battered leather pocketbook bearing the metal initials L.M. Underneath her feet which didn't quite reach the floor was a small black suitcase. Out in the open away from the station the sun shone in our window warm and comfortable. I helped her off with her coat, and she shyly asked if I would prefer sitting in her seat where I could watch the passing countryside better. I declined as graciously as I could and turned to my magazine. In a little while she asked in a quiet, diffident voice if I were in the Air Corps? had I been across yet? she hoped I wouldn't have to. Every few paragraphs she called my attention to certain landmarks, spoke of the town we had just passed and of the next to come, pridefully mentioned the Merritt Parkway which lay just out of sight behind the hill -- and then apologetically, regretfully observed "but you want to read your
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Saturday April 24, 1943 Dear Folks, Mother's acknowledgement of the books from Scribners made no mention of my last letter. I hope that by now it has come into your hands, for it tells at some length and detail of a few days I spent in New York. However, it didn't speak of my girl friend met on the way back to Quonset, and of her you really should hear. I caught the three oclock train from Grand Central, and as always it was very crowded. Happily, I was able to get the last available seat in my coach. Right next to me sat a little old lady in a faded, well worn, blue coat, holding in her lap a scuffed and slightly battered leather pocketbook bearing the metal initials L.M. Underneath her feet which didn't quite reach the floor was a small black suitcase. Out in the open away from the station the sun shone in our window warm and comfortable. I helped her off with her coat, and she shyly asked if I would prefer sitting in her seat where I could watch the passing countryside better. I declined as graciously as I could and turned to my magazine. In a little while she asked in a quiet, diffident voice if I were in the Air Corps? had I been across yet? she hoped I wouldn't have to. Every few paragraphs she called my attention to certain landmarks, spoke of the town we had just passed and of the next to come, pridefully mentioned the Merritt Parkway which lay just out of sight behind the hill -- and then apologetically, regretfully observed "but you want to read your
Nile Kinnick Collection
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