Thompson 340419

Cliffside, April 18 — Ad lib, I am sure: My typewriter is in the big bad city for a renovation. When it comes home it will write like this: “Hic – ump – his, ladees and gentlemun, the city is the pitfall of youth, so ‘elp me”… I hated to see it go to the city; it was young, and so unaware of the wiles of bad typewriters. This is the sad thing—it can never be the same typewriter of purity that it was when I took it there for a new-fangled remodelin’ and I should have known better. Is there no justice when your own little typewriter is contaminated by the city’s corruption? Maybe it will be a better typewriter for the experience, but I believe not—me, just a slow geared pessimist… I have a new suit, but I am not going high hat. (Thinking of something cheerful, now). Why doncha come up, tall and handsome? I can be had. And that suit has a zipper! The cutest thing… Suppose my lil’ typewriter is never the same again? I can imagine terrible things. It might write like this: “(Hic) dere shir: i havE coMe homE agAin, but i Am noT tHe saMe. Noshir! (With a sweep of its lil’ hand). I haVe learNed the facTs of liFe.” But I can not bear to think of it and it would be all my fault… I must think of something cheerful. “I’ve Got to Sing a Torch Song” because that’s just the way I feel. But how can I forget my typewriter? You understand it is alone and so innocent- and to think of those big bad typewriters of the city: I am breaking down. My typewriter, my typewriter! Who stole my baby?

From a reader’s letter: “Last night my friend pointed at you and said `that is FCT,'” My deah you must never point!

Idiosyncrasies: I like to sign letters with a pencil… When a child I often noticed public prayers included “–and to bless the afflicted.” I felt that this meant my eczema, too … That eczema, so they say, saved me from many licking … I have no eccentricity at the typewriter as yet. I require no beret, smock, old red sweater or a jerkin or robe of any kind … I only want the right notion and a writing fever.

To the matron who made the statement to Arval Alcock: I bow slightly with a “How-do-you-do.”

“The class of ’33 of Henrietta-Caroleen High organized a class-alumni association before the graduation of the class,” writes Leon Head, of Caroleen. He adds: “On December 29, 1933, we had our first annual banquet at the high school building.” We hope this corrects sufficiently our statement of last week. Thank you, Mr. Head, for this information. Diary of a village vagabond: Monday to see Wheeler and Woolsey for lack of “ugh” to do differently … A card from Editor C. E, Alcock who is a likable fellow … Wednesday The Courier came and the big bad make-up man put my tennis story with the weekly spurt … Thursday in a hurry trip to Charlotte at 5 P. M. with Sammy my brother … Dinner on South Tryon and to see “some folks” … Will Rogers in the “David Harum” cinema is fine … A barbecue at the Peacock Grille on Wilkinson Blvd. at 1:30 A. M. … The coffee is good there … The radio was emitting the song “Stardust” and we came homeward.

Note to B. B. Goode: Have you-all got your turnip patch ready yet?”

A last minute scandal: My brother, Sammy, going courting one block off Cliffside’s main thoroughfare and using a flash-light getting in the house! … Old rocking chair’s got my kid brudder!