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Dear Friends; We know that to receive a letter from us will give you a great surprise. So to receive from us a whole news letter, such as this, will probably amaze you. But here it is, with all the news and doings of the Line family. We hope that as soon as you have read it, you will sit right down and answer with a fine long letter. Your sincere friends, Helen and Francis
Jottings from Francis and Helen Line 542 Rosewood Ct., Ontario, CA Hearth and Home Five years ago this week (just 30 days in advance of the depression) we landed in California to make our home. Preceding the depression by only one short month, we barely kept ahead of it for five years, until recently—in its aftermath—fortune has smiled once more our way. Three things stand out during that period: a trip to Europe, a new home, and a grand baby daughter. The daughter, Barbara, is now approaching two years of age and is becoming more fun each day. Right now she is learning to talk. A couple of months ago she asked: Where is the kitty? What is the Baby? Etc. Today she is asking: What is the kitty? What is the baby? Etc. When, later on, she commences to inquire: Why is the Kitty? Why is the baby? Etc. then we’ll be at the end of our ability to answer. Our home has (or at least we have made for it since getting it) a patio with a fireplace and here, in the cool California evenings; we often cook supper and enjoy some of our best meals together. Helen is taking music lessons on the piano. Lots of fun, so she says, although sometimes it does not sound so. But really she is doing splendidly. We’re still running the old 1930 Ford, which has so far lapped up 555,000 miles of highway. Surely it should be nicely broken in by next spring. Haven’t seen a movie in months. The last one we went to was—well, I’ve really forgotten. The Basques of Southern California—five thousand of them—held their annual get-together in Ontario, this year, with songs and dances in native costume the chief feature of the affair—real colorful. We went to Santa Barbara the other day, via Hollywood, Beverly Hills, and the Roosevelt (Theodore) Highway along the Pacific. Scores of the largest and finest homes of Hollywood are up for sale. I have joined the Lions Club, at the noon luncheon meetings of which we hear some fine speeches. (The talks are better than the meals.) The Lions convention next year is in Mexico City and most of Ontario’s members hope to go. Another chance, which we have for good lectures, is the free course put on by the Caffee Junior College, which is located just two blocks from our house. Vacation A baby serves as a fine balance wheel, helping mightily to restrain all such persons who (as do we) have the wanderlust in their bloodstreams. In our case we have been tethered with crib-strings and hampered with purse strings throughout most of the depression. Little wonder, then, that our first breaking loose was a minor affair—nothing but a Labor Day outing to General Grant and Sequoia Parks. Minor with respect to distance. But, oh what a giant of a trip it was in what it presented to our vision. That General Sherman tree in Sequoia: try to imagine it! The thing dominates you. Only by comparison can one realize its size. Big enough to make lumber to box the Leviathan. Larger around than an ordinary house. Tall as a twenty story building. But its age—its grip on life—is what brings the tears of awe to your eyes. The tree has been standing there for 400 years, whipped by storms, slashed by lighting, gutted periodically by flames, attacked by every scourge of sky and forest. Yet still it stands, its head in the clouds, its roots in China, its whole silent bearing seeming to say: “He who would learn patient endurance, come to me.” Southern Californians—and we along with the rest of them—had a treat last week. Max Reinhardt came from Europe to produce Shakespeare’s “Midsummer Night’s Dream” in the Hollywood Bowl. Doesn’t sound like much, does it? But wait till you hear the story. Reinhardt is a dramatic magician. And the Hollywood Bowl surpasses anything Shakespeare’s ever dreamed of as a spot for producing his plays. A great cup dented into the mountains by nature, that’s what it is, with seats for 19,000 electric light bulbs about the two-mile stretch of hills. Then the play commenced. Nineteen thousand spectators silenced in amazement. Only the harvest moon for light. Fairies dancing on the green below. Soft music emanating from somewhere amongst the trees. A torchlight from the mountaintop. And the 30,000 lights flashing on and off over the hills—the fireflies of Athens. Yes, it was a midsummer night’s dream comes true. Reinhardt is returning next year to produce a play of California lore. It will be worth coming across the continent to see. News and Views Upton Sinclair and his epic plan (end poverty in California) holds the stage here now. He hopes to become governor of the Golden State on Nov. 6. Some half million (including yours truly) fervently trust that he won’t. But, my, his promises are sweet. No taxes (except for the rich), $15,000 a year for everybody (in scrip). Work for the unemployed (in state-owned factories.) Seriously, though, such a man as Sinclair no doubt serves a grand purpose as a writer, expounding new ideas, which by a process of trial and error, through the years, ultimately serve good ends and bring about desirable advances. But for a visionary theorist actually to jump in and take control—well, if he gets the power to do what he says he will, them capital will flow out of this state like wheat out of a grain chute and so many persons will be left without employment that conditions may well be chaotic. So think I, at least. But of course, even if elected, he won’t be able to do all he says, and merely a period of augment unrest, fear, and business stagnation would result. Personally I think that he will fail of election by a small margin. What think you of it all? Of paramount interest out here, as everywhere, right now, is the world series. Of course with Detroit taking part, I am especially concerned. Here’s hoping the Tigers win! We are planning to listen to every game possible. And wouldn’t it be grand if Kipke’s University of Michigan eleven chalked up another national championship this year. Rah! Rah! Rah! We haven’t beem doing much reading lately—too busy with other things. The best that we have discovered in recent months has been The Magnificent Obsession by Douglas, and The Cross of Peace by Gibbs. We have a Saturday night reading with another young couple here, and Helen has been delving into all the articles she could find concerning Hitler and Germany. Yesterday we went up to a little cabin which we have amongst the pines in the San Bernardino mountains, and spent the night there. It was just dusk when we made the ascent and the valley below—filled with a rosy haze—seemed like a great flowing sea of tinted cotton. Through it we could see the thousand lights of San Bernardino flash on as darkness came, with the lights of other valley cities more dim in the distance. This morning, before coming down, we rode out along the crest to view the valley by daylight. The air was sparklingly clear and the valley floor, a mile below, seened only a few short rods away. Our cabin is 37 miles from Ontario and yet—so clear was the morning air—we could plainly see, with the naked eye, the tower of Chaffee Junior College just two blocks from our home in Ontario. Equally visible were the desert towns out on the Mojave Desert toward Death Valley in the other direction. Introducing Our Friends These are the persons who are receiving this letter—all of them friends of ours scattered throughout the world. In most cases, few of the persons here know any of the others on the list. Too bad, for it’s as select a group of individuals as you could find the world over. In fact, we did just that—we had to girdle the globe in order to meet all these folks. Each is truly “individual” and has characteristics that make him (or her) a person to whom you’d like to chat for hours on end. Helen and I hope that we hear from every one of you very soon in response to this newsletter. The Andersen’s Howell, Michigan Farmers who farm Minnie & Al Berggren Long Beach, Ca Born philosophers Percy Jewell Glendale, Ca Bank executive Anton Hauptmann Paris, France Famous autograph man The Fournier’s Howell, Michigan Wish you wuz here. Thelma Hutton Capitola, Ca Musician Howard Heitzert Chicago, Illinois Plenty smart lawyer Rev. Line Phoenix, Arizona Always active Spencer Jewell Glendale, Ca Eligible bachelor Louise Kaiser Los Angeles, Ca Eligible maiden Goldie Chrisman San Diego, Ca A girl in a million Madame Lheritier Paris, France Fine French mother Miss Coursen-Miss Hull Santa Barbara, Ca World travelers Mr. & Mrs. Garland Howell, Michigan Our foster parents Arthur Witting Ann Arbor, Michigan Univ. of Mich. Professor Rev. Moore Youngs Point, Canada A grand Englishman Helen & Clare Gates Ann Arbor, Michigan World Travelers Mrs. Wilkin Chino, Ca. Artist and mother Squire Burt Upland, Ca. Lawyer and friend Revs. Bert and Helen Case St. Louis, Missouri Helen married us Erich Walter Ann Arbor, Michigan Univ. of Mich. Professor Nora & Bertha Howe San Diego, Ca. Teachers The Nooney’s Plainwell, Michigan Drugstore owners Mrs. Steele Ontario, Ca. World Traveler at 83 Vera Beese Howell, Michigan High school pal The Turner’s Teas, New Mexico First rate artists Winfield & Grace Line Howell, Michigan Our brother and sister Gus & Celia Nelson College chums Gladys & Walt Noble Santa Barbara, Ca. Just wed & happy |
