tell you hello. School is as much fun as always (ha ha, joke). The paper said there was a German submarine in the bay the same day we were out in the sloop but it didn't sink us. All the niggers are working at the plants and making just scads of money and Daddy says it's going to ruin the economy. Bye now.
Lotsalove,
Corky
And a letter from Lacey:
Dear Little Boss,
Paul and I are both working full-time and over-time at the boat plant, sometimes 60 hrs. a week making as much as $110 each and saving up to buy a house in Rosewood for after the War. Your Daddy said he'd carry our paper when he got back but at the rate we're going he might not have to. We get letters right along from your Daddy and a check sometimes also. Looks like you forgotten how to write. It's been some hot here all along right through the middle of October and isn't rained hardly any so the crawfish holes has dried up and they're bringing 49¢ a pound, hows the crawfishing out where you are? Paul says are you getting into that wine like before.
Love and kisses to your Mother,
Lacey Robinson
XXXXXXXX
This is Paul writing now. Lacey is still snapping mackerel and she's going to be the biggest thing in the Church maybe Pope. Like in the song, I'm a Methodist till I die, but come Friday Lacey still cooks up Pompano and man, who can call that fasting? Lacey says if I go Catholic I get a spot in heaven and I sure hope it's cooler than what it is here in Mobile.
Your friend,
Paul
And, finally, a note on light blue paper from Marcia:
Dear Josh:
I'm sorry I've been acting like such a nut. Will you forgive me? The biggest muscle Bucky has is the one between his ears, and I feel as if I've been talking to a loaf of bread for two weeks. Will you talk to me at school tomorrow or will I have to become a Lesbian, which I just found out about and they're fascinating.
Your honcho,
Marcia
11
We were in English class one morning, making faces at the Lucy poems, when Chamaco Trujillo came in with Ratoncito, the principal, and began to whisper something in Miss Jefferson's ear. Steenie stood up and announced, dramatically, that he was the guilty party and to please take him away so he wouldn't do it again. He was giving an involved, psychological explanation for his crimes, whatever they were, when Miss Jefferson said, "Steenie, be quiet. Joshua Arnold, will you come here, please?"
Chamaco, acting in his capacity as sheriff and not as Fiesta impresario, was in full dress, Southwestern version of cop. He was wearing mostly khaki uniform with a neat black tie, but he set it off with high-heeled boots, a big Stetson and a service revolver hung low with the holster thong tied around his thigh. He was about forty pounds overweight, and a lot of him was hanging over his belt, but he looked serious.
As I walked between the desks toward the front of the room, Steenie muttered, "Breakout tonight in Wing D, pass it on," but Chamaco and Miss Jefferson and Ratoncito were all looking at me, and it wasn't time to laugh. I caught Marcia's eye on the way; she looked interested and alert, but not particularly sorry to see me taken away by the police. I believe she was figuring out a way to meet this new challenge; I pictured her, briefly, standing at her kitchen counter with an open cookbook before her and a messy array of cake-baking materials cluttering up the work space: flour, eggs, sugar, baking powder and a Nicholson file, recommended for sawing through three-quarter-inch chilled steel bars.
Ratoncito, Chamaco and I walked single file to a small room near the principal's office, and Ratoncito left us there. Chamaco told me to sit down, and sat across from me.
"Mr. Trujillo," I opened, "I'm really sorry about yelling at you in the Plaza. I mean, I know you were doing your best with those people, and of course it wasn't your fault it started to snow. They say it never snows here in September, and that was just a freak storm, but I really know how hard
Lotsalove,
Corky
And a letter from Lacey:
Dear Little Boss,
Paul and I are both working full-time and over-time at the boat plant, sometimes 60 hrs. a week making as much as $110 each and saving up to buy a house in Rosewood for after the War. Your Daddy said he'd carry our paper when he got back but at the rate we're going he might not have to. We get letters right along from your Daddy and a check sometimes also. Looks like you forgotten how to write. It's been some hot here all along right through the middle of October and isn't rained hardly any so the crawfish holes has dried up and they're bringing 49¢ a pound, hows the crawfishing out where you are? Paul says are you getting into that wine like before.
Love and kisses to your Mother,
Lacey Robinson
XXXXXXXX
This is Paul writing now. Lacey is still snapping mackerel and she's going to be the biggest thing in the Church maybe Pope. Like in the song, I'm a Methodist till I die, but come Friday Lacey still cooks up Pompano and man, who can call that fasting? Lacey says if I go Catholic I get a spot in heaven and I sure hope it's cooler than what it is here in Mobile.
Your friend,
Paul
And, finally, a note on light blue paper from Marcia:
Dear Josh:
I'm sorry I've been acting like such a nut. Will you forgive me? The biggest muscle Bucky has is the one between his ears, and I feel as if I've been talking to a loaf of bread for two weeks. Will you talk to me at school tomorrow or will I have to become a Lesbian, which I just found out about and they're fascinating.
Your honcho,
Marcia
11
We were in English class one morning, making faces at the Lucy poems, when Chamaco Trujillo came in with Ratoncito, the principal, and began to whisper something in Miss Jefferson's ear. Steenie stood up and announced, dramatically, that he was the guilty party and to please take him away so he wouldn't do it again. He was giving an involved, psychological explanation for his crimes, whatever they were, when Miss Jefferson said, "Steenie, be quiet. Joshua Arnold, will you come here, please?"
Chamaco, acting in his capacity as sheriff and not as Fiesta impresario, was in full dress, Southwestern version of cop. He was wearing mostly khaki uniform with a neat black tie, but he set it off with high-heeled boots, a big Stetson and a service revolver hung low with the holster thong tied around his thigh. He was about forty pounds overweight, and a lot of him was hanging over his belt, but he looked serious.
As I walked between the desks toward the front of the room, Steenie muttered, "Breakout tonight in Wing D, pass it on," but Chamaco and Miss Jefferson and Ratoncito were all looking at me, and it wasn't time to laugh. I caught Marcia's eye on the way; she looked interested and alert, but not particularly sorry to see me taken away by the police. I believe she was figuring out a way to meet this new challenge; I pictured her, briefly, standing at her kitchen counter with an open cookbook before her and a messy array of cake-baking materials cluttering up the work space: flour, eggs, sugar, baking powder and a Nicholson file, recommended for sawing through three-quarter-inch chilled steel bars.
Ratoncito, Chamaco and I walked single file to a small room near the principal's office, and Ratoncito left us there. Chamaco told me to sit down, and sat across from me.
"Mr. Trujillo," I opened, "I'm really sorry about yelling at you in the Plaza. I mean, I know you were doing your best with those people, and of course it wasn't your fault it started to snow. They say it never snows here in September, and that was just a freak storm, but I really know how hard
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