February 14, 1931 – Saturday

I was so tired all day today. I don’t think I’ve been to bed before twelve twice this week. After lunch Doro and I washed our heads. Played all afternoon and horsed after dinner but to bed early 10:30! (drawn heart with words “from Steve” in margin).

Jane’s Notes: Empty florist envelope in the scrapbook from Steve.

Letter from George to his parents:

February 14, 1931

Dear Folks,

You can well see that I am still studying my accounting. Sometimes I feel like giving up the sponge, but then that isn’t the way to get along in this world. Bill Preble had to withdraw from school because of his health. Jene Grady is house manager now, and I am his assistant. That is practically an assurance of the house manager position during my junior year. Boy, it brings in thirty-five hunks of gold a month; and you know how welcome that is going to be.

The frosh swimming team met the Oregon State Rooks; just took them like Grant took Richmond. Tonight the varsity teams from the two schools meet here, and I hope to see Carl Johnson swim.

Yesterday was so warm that Ed Field, George Rischmuller, and I took the top down on Eddie’s car; and drove about forty-five miles up the McKenzie Highway. Gee it was great, we sang all the way up and just had one heck of a good time. Ed’s sister lives in Baker, Oregon, and he wants me to drive up there with him spring vacation. I wish you would write and let me know what you feel about it.

I have been working around here all day today and I found an old rug downstairs and cleaned it all up. It is in the room now, and nearly all the floor is covered up. There is nothing like a rug to create a homey atmosphere.

My detail this week is that universally detested wakeup. I arise early in the morning and juggle wood around in the darn furnace. It is about the most rotten one on earth; smoke pours out and makes your eyes burn and aggravates your temper.

The weather turned wet last night, but today has been wonderful. All the boys were out playing catch; I wish you would send my mite and ball down to me.

I still have this darned cold, and maybe it isn’t getting tiresome. Cough, cough, cough; blow, blow, blow, all day and night long until I think I will go nuts.

You had better call Margaret and tell her what the compact is; because Ruth wrote me about it. I don’t want the girl to think that I hocked it.

June Bryant sent me a valentine.

News is out and the dinner bell is bonging; so accept my fond farewell from your youngest and oldest.

Love, George.