Chapter Two: The Home on the Prairie

Father bought the first 80 acres of the present Peterson farm for $800. In the sale was included a team of horses and a walking plow. The former owner, a Mr. Hildreth, had built a house which compared favorably with homes of that period. It had two rooms; a living room and a bedroom with a lean-to kitchen, a small cellar and an unfinished loft.

Here they established their new home. It was a lonely place for the young bride for at that time the Woodards had not yet moved onto their place so there were no near neighbors. On all sides spread the wide expanse of prairie, broken only by many ponds or sloughs. There were no trees, nothing to break that expanse of prairie. Often Mother would walk to town to visit her aunt and cousins. The distance was shortened by making a bee-line across the prairie, though the distance now by road is almost four miles.

About Christmas time the call of the gold mines got too strong for Father. Since Mother shrank from going with him and sharing the rough life of a mining town, he brought her to Illinois to stay with his Aunt Lovisa in Galva. This was not an easy time for the young wife, now expecting her first child and her husband so far away. However, in some respects she had an easier life then than later when alone with her little ones on the farm. Aunt Lovisa tried her best to make this period not too difficult for the young niece.

Carl Algot was born August 6, 1879, and about six months after this in the spring of 1880 Father returned from Montana, never to go back. It must be said here that had it not been for Mother’s steadfast refusal to go to Montana with him, there would not have been this history of life on the Peterson farm which from that time on was to be their home. Father was not a farmer at heart, but for the rest of his life he was a farmer. He was always a very hard worker ad put in almost too long days, from dawn to dusk, following the walking plow, cultivator or harrow Horses he must have in order to till the ground, but the first years they did not even own one cow. The only milk they ever had was when Mr. Knock, a good neighbor, would walk across the prairie and bring them some. Can it be that milk is so essential for building good teeth and bones? Now 77 years old, Carl, who as a child seldom had milk to drink, still has his own teeth. Some of the rest of us lost ours long ago!

Father did not care for animals and when a cow was bought, it was Mother’s task to do the milking until Carl grew old enough to help, as he did at an early age. Most farmers raised hogs, but not Father. As I remember in later years, we had a small pig-sty and pen in which was one very big, very fat hog destined to be butchered. Pork was the staple meat of pioneer days for it could be kept better than beef. Pork sausage and the lean meat could be fried down and covered with lard, while the fat was put in a strong salt brine to keep. At that, thought it often was exceedingly salty, it tasted good to hungry appetites when fried crisp and served with milk gravy. It was however, a welcome treat when one of the neighbors would butcher a hog, for always neighbors would share the fresh meat; “smakekott” it was called.

I have digressed, so must go back to the time when Father, Mother, and Baby Carl came to make their permanent home on the prairie in the spring of 1880. A neighbor, Mr. Knock, had kept the team of horses, so now on to farming. Can we envision the Iowa prairie at that time? Only small fields as yet of the virgin sod broken by a plow; the many sloughs or ponds where no crops could be raised and no trees to break the monotony of the landscape.

The Woodards had now established their home and the hours yards were separated only by the line fence. Mr. Woodard had a wonderful hobby of planting trees and he had an extra supply of seedling soft maples. In his spare time Father would go and bring home trees in his wheel barrow. These he planted around the house-yard, and to the north a wind-break.

From Sweden comes the love of evergreens, and six spruce trees were planted on the front lawn, where for many years they have stood as sentinels, a land mark of our home place. However, two of these spruce trees, and almost all of the maple trees are now gone. I wish I knew where he got the Siberian crab-apple trees which were planted in the south west and north west of the house-yard. They grew into a dense grove and provided many more crab-apples than one family could ever use.

In later years there would be very deep drifts of leaves in the fall under these trees, which calls to my mind an unforgettable experience as a very young girl. I was along at home and was supposed to rake these leaves together in piles. I presume Father or the boys had in mind to burn those leaves later. With the over-confidence of youth I thought I could burn the leaves myself and I set them afire. It was a dry and windy day. The flames leaped high and even caught in some of the branches of the trees. Terror-stricken I watched, and prayer that the fire would not spread. What a relief when the flare-up stopped.

A few other apple trees were also planted later, but nothing like the orchard that Mr. Wooded planted to the north of his yards. In later years when Carl rented the Woodard farm, those trees bore an abundance of the most wonderful apples, many of which we did not even know the name. Summer, fall, and winter there were apples, so many of them we could not even give them away. What has happened to our ground, that such perfect apples do not grow around here anymore?

Father soon found that eighty acres was not enough land for one farm. In 1884 he bought the east and north forties for $8 an acre, and two years later the south forty was bought for 420 an acre. At that time he could have bought that whole quarter section for the same money, but who wanted all that pond ground? Never did he dream that some day that land would be drained and produce good crops.

Prices were not high, but neither was the income from the farm. Mortgages had to be taken and with interest made a heavy drag on their income. Mother has told of how when the last mortgage was paid off on the land, she resolved that never again would they go into debt.

As an example of how little was paid for what farmers raised then, this story may suffice. One year they grew a very good crop of potatoes. They had a double wagon box full besides what they would need for family use. Since Mother had helped pick them, Father generously offered her whatever these potatoes would bring she could have to buy something for herself. The whole load was sold for $5.00 to a neighbor and Mother bought herself a nice little bonnet. Even in those days there was a price squeeze on farmers.

Those first years were indeed meager years. As yet only small patches of the ground were under cultivation and prices were low, far lower than farmers get today with their larger fields and more abundant harvests. Father bought the lot in town with the vision that some day a home could be built there. But in the early years he build a corn crib on that lot and in winter time he would haul his corn and store it there. That meant shoveling it two extra times by hand of course, but then he had it convenient to sell when perhaps there would be a rise in price during a busy season. It would seem as if he had the nucleus of the idea of the ever normal granary for his crib on the farm would thus be ready for the new crop of corn.

Since Father worked long days in the field, life would have been very lonely for Mother had it not been for her near neighbor. With only a fence separating the two homesteads, what a boon it was to have this good friend. Mrs. Woodard was part French and a very friendly and talkative person. At first Mother felt she waned to hide when she saw her neighbor coming, as it was still very difficult for her to understand and speak the English language. Still no doubt her familiarity with the new language can be attributed to this vivacious and friendly neighbor.

The Woodards belonged to the Dunkard Brethren Church, whose faith differed much from the Lutheran belief. Mrs. Woodard liked to discuss these differences and Mother could only listen as she had not the ability of the language to express her views. Finally she begged Mrs. Woodard, “Lizzie, let’s not talk about religion,” and with true understanding, Mrs. Woodard replied, “Alright, Emmy, you go your way and I’ll go mine. We’re going to the same heaven.”

Mr. Woodard was an ordained pastor of their Church and even though he was a farmer, he never dressed in the overalls that other farmers wore. It seemed beneath his dignity. I so well remember his broad-rimmed hat, long beard, and clean shaven upper lip. Simplicity in dress was a mark of their faith. Mr. Woodard never wore a necktie. Mrs. Woodard’s dresses were fashioned with a tight fitting bodice and long full skirt. What impressed us children was that ordinary pins fastened the bodice as buttons would savor of vanity. We marveled at how she could care for her babies without those pins scratching them! In about 1895 the Woodards rented out their farm and went to take up homestead land in North Dakota, but moved back to Iowa later. Other neighbors in those early days were the Knocks, the Lennarsons, and the Ericksons. They were all the most wonderful neighbors.

Our Family Story: Chapter One

For the next nine or ten posts, I will be sharing an account of her parents’ life together that my grandmother Naomi Peterson Strand wrote in the mid-1950s. 

The typescript includes small line drawings above each chapter heading. I presume that Naomi drew these herself.

Our Family Story

 

by Naomi Peterson Strand

Chapter One

EARLY HISTORY

Father, Jonas Peter Peterson, was born March 28, 1845, in Tigerstad, Småland, Sweden, His parents were of the class of small farmers so common on Småland’s rocky hillsides. As was the case with many of the young men of Sweden, he left for America to escape the compulsory military services of his home land. How ironical it is that wen his grandsons grew to manhood, they here, in the land of freedom, were subject to military duty.

Coming a stranger to a strange land, he found his way first to Kansas where he spent some time working on a railroad. But soon he came to Montana, and for some time ten years worked then in the gold mines, sharing the rough life of those early days in the mining camps.

Mother, Emma Sofia Sjostrand, was born February 24, 1862, in Kalltorp, Kalmar Län, Småland, Sweden. Her father also owned a small acreage but the land was tilled by a renter or “bonde” who lived in a separate house on the little farm.

By trade, Grandfather was a carpenter and also the coffin-maker for the community. Always a very timid child, Mother has told of how frightened she was when she oft-times had to sleep in the room where there was an unfinished coffin standing. Grandfather was also almost a genius at the art of inventing. He designed and built a primitive threshing machine. He even built a cabinet organ. We can see some of this inventive ingenuity shown forth in his oldest grand-son, brother Carl’s love for machinery.

Mother was the oldest child. She had two little brothers, Alfred and Johan. The family was poor, having only the bare necessities of life. The “bonde” owned a cow, and sometimes when the children were ill, they were given milk to drink, but then they were too sick to enjoy it. At Christmas time or at some other festival time, they had “kalas” — a big company dinner. For this even many good things were baked and prepared for the feast. But before and after the “kalas” there was the fasting to make up for the feasting!

When Mother was but six years old, and her little brothers were four and two, their mother died. Then followed difficult times in the little home. Mother was sent to stay with her Grandmother many times. It was a long walk for a small girl through the woods, a distance of about one Swedish mile which equals seven of our miles, and she was often frightened on that walk. But not as frightened as she was the day she came to her Grandfather’s home when they were preparing to butcher a pig. Poor little Emma, for she was commanded to hold a vessel to catch the blood from the animal. Of the blood, a dish called palt was prepared. Beside herself with fear, she ran and hid in the woods. Her Grandmother was a very kind and understanding person, but not so her Grandfather, who was often harsh and much feared by his little granddaughter. But this time she would rather take any kind of punishment than to obey.

After three years her father re-married. Soon there were more little mouths to feed, and living was very meager. The new mother was very kind to her step-children, even though busy with her own growing brood. For some years Mother attended the parish school, learning not only to read and write, but was also instructed in the Bible, Catechism, and Church History — the curriculum of schools in Sweden.

When Mother was fourteen years old, her step-uncle Jonas Peter came back to Sweden for a visit. He spoke in glowing terms of the wonderful opportunities in the new land across the sea. When he was ready to return to America he had persuaded his youngest brother Fred and his sister, Sofia, some other relatives and also his lovely step niece, Emma, to go with him to the land of promise.

So it was that on her fifteenth birthday, Mother left her home land. It had seemed best for her thus to try to earn her own living, but she often said that if her father had been there when the ship was to take sail, she would even then have gone back home with him. It was a fearful journey across the wide ocean and to a strange land for a timid young girl of fifteen. But Grandfather had left and there was no alternative now but to get on the ship with the others of the party.

The journey across the North Sea was very rough. All the young girls on board slept on one long bench and all were very seasick. Emma and Sofia, two very young, very seasick, and very homesick girls, lay holding each other’s hands and trying to comfort one another. However, after they left Liverpool, the voyage across the Atlantic was not so rough and as every journey sometime much come to an end, so did this one.

That one sea voyage was enough for Mother. Father in later years dreamed of, planned and saved for another visit to Sweden, which however, he did not live long enough to realize. But Mother had no such dreams.

When after a two week’s voyage they reached New York, both of the girls were very glad to see land again. From New York they took a train to Chicago where they visited awhile with a cousin. It was here that Mother first heard that new and strange American language. She wondered if she ever would be able to learn it. It is really remarkable that with only three months of schooling in this country, she understood, spoke and read it easily. In later years she could even write letters in the new language, with better construction and spelling than many high school graduates of today. As she grew older she said she had to learn it well so that she could talk with her grandchildren. For after World War I all foreign languages were frowned upon and only the two oldest of her grandchildren learned any Swedish at all. The rest of them were all “green Yankees” when so easily we could have taught them Swedish for naturally we, as children, learned to speak, read and write the Swedish language.

After visiting for some time with relatives in Illinois, Aunt Sofia remained there and later married Charles Munson. For some years they lives in Galesburg, Illinois. Mother, however, came farther west to Gowrie, Iowa, Here Uncle and Auntie Callerstrom had made their home and here she was made to feel as if she indeed was one of their own daughters. To us, Auntie Callerstrom was like a grandmother. Although she herself had a large family, it was to her that Mother could come for help whenever needed.

Mathilda Marie Sjostrand Callerstrom, Emma's father's sister

Mother’s confirmation instruction, begun in Sweden, was interrupted when she left for America. There was not yet an established congregation in Gowrie and Mother went to live with her Uncle Carl Gustaf for some months while completing this instruction in Dayton. She also stayed part of the time at Rev. Hemborg’s, working there to pay for her keep. However, she was at her uncle’s farm home when confirmation day came and that day there was such a terrible blizzard that it was feared they couldn’t get to the church. In those days to travel in such a storm was hazardous, for one could easily get lost on the vast expanse of unfenced prairie. Her uncle decided to try it, and they did get safely to church in time for the service.

That fall she attended the public school in Gowrie for three months. At this time the school in Gowrie had just two rooms. Since Mother did not as yet know much of the new language, she naturally was enrolled with the smaller children. Learning to read was not difficult, for she easily memorized the first and second readers. Pronunciation was harder. Unlike the Swedish, this new language had so many different sounds for each vowel. Since “us” is “us” and “up” is “up”, she was very much embarrassed when the others in the room shouted with laughter when one day she pronounced the word “union” as “onion.”

Auntie Callerstrom had a growing family, and Uncle, a small town carpenter, earned small wages. So it was necessary to Mother to quit school and find work to earn her own keep. All she could do was house-work. She went to work for Rev. Youker, the pioneer Congregational pastor in Gowrie. The Rev. Youker was a kind man but rather eccentric. For example, he always wore white trousers, whether he was receiving a caller, milking his cow or working in his garden. The washing and ironing of Rev. Youker’s white trousers, without benefit of washing machine or electric iron was no small task. Often Mother would even be hungry for Mrs. Youker always kept her cupboards locked and food was scanty. Their usual breakfast fare was just cold boiled potatoes.

In the summer of 1878 Father returned from Montana where he had gone back to work in the gold mines. Mother was then a beautiful girl of sixteen, and Father was thirty-three. He asked he to marry him, and though, as she often said, she was nothing but a child, she gave her promise. They were married in the Callerstrom home on July 22, 1878, by the Rev. C. A. Hemborg of Dayton.

This marriage certificate that I found in a box of family papers shows the presiding minister to have been named Westerdal, not Hemborg.

Errata

Just tonight, I figured out that the last five postings were mis-dated. In particular, the last three which were written from California and were dated "1942" but were actually written in 1943. Who of us has continued to write in the previous year for sometimes a good while into the new year?

The years have now been corrected, and those three posts will just be out of order.

March 24, 1943

March 24, 1943

425 S Cabrillo Ave

San Pedro, Calif

Dear father, mother and the folks at home,

Well, “spring is cub” to southern California I think. My cold is over tho for several days now so I really can’t talk like that now. Yesterday and today are very clear and quite warm days so I think that perhaps the rainy season is over — altho it drizzled some Tuesday morning as a final gesture of orneriness. When I went down to dinner yesterday I didn’t wear my jacket for the first time in months and I was really comfortable without it. No doubt it will now get so warm that I wish winter were still here. However, I am glad for every day that passes since the time comes closer when I will have the opportunity of coming home again. Someday it will be for good and then I’ll feel happier.

I have been feeling a little tiredish the first part of this week but I am better now. Sunday, inasmuch as I worked in the morning (graveyards), all the sleep I got was about 5 hours mostly in the afternoon so I was pretty tired by Monday morning. Tuesday morning was a hard morning inasmuch as plant IX wasn’t working so hot so again I felt pooked out when morning came. The high pressure separator wouldn’t let enough product out even if the motor valve was wife open so the product backed up into the scrubber, from whence I had to remove it. When I was fooling around with it, the recycle gas rates varied so much that the temperatures moved around somewhat so I had to adjust them later — worse of course on Plant IX which is adiabatic (no heat-transfer) and has no automatic temperature control like Plant I.

As I said before I feel pretty good this afternoon tho after my first sleep of the day. Friday will be my day off and Saturday I start working the afternoon shift. Thursday night the Luther League is going bowling. I won’t be able to be at the next L.L. meeting as I will be working days on that Sunday.

For your information an analyst is one who (around here) works in the laboratory, performs analytical tests and in general does laboratory work as small column distillations etc. An operator is the individual taking care of plants I and IX which are pilot size editions (semi-commercial) plants of those used for making toluene and aviation gasoline. An operator is an advancement from an analyst inasmuch as it requires more knowledge of what is going on and entails more responsibility but the work, unless something unusual arises, is no more difficult than that of an analyst so that I would hardly call it a real advancement. However, it is in general regarded as such as it is a stage thru which new employees pass around here more or less by custom.

I think I’d rather work in the lab almost. Being an operator gives you contact with reality tho that the laboratory doesn’t tho. That is, you realize more what something of commercial size around a refinery looks and acts like. Of course, the columns are under the operators care also when they are running (as they are not now) so that the very fundamental unit process of distillation is encountered. These columns are to the lab columns as Goliath to David or more so.

I will enclose some bonds in this letter and I mean it this time.

Thank you for the letters, mother and father. They bring me home (almost) and set me down among the things that I like. I am glad that you liked the cake, daddy.

How did Vivian happen to get in quarantine? I have heard none of the details.

I seem to be running out of things to say so I will stop.

With love

C.P.

P.S. After chasing around in the stores trying to find something suitable for a 25th wedding anniversary, I have given up. Most of the stuff I don’t think you would really want to have — at least I wouldn’t, and therefore assume you wouldn’t. So I am sending along what I would have spent and why don’t you get something for yourselves that you would really want — maybe like a lot of books. I take the pleasure, Mr. & Mrs. Strand, of congratulating you on your 25th wedding anniversary. How ancient I feel to be saying that.

C.P.

March 5, 1943

March 5, 1943

425 S Cabrillo Ave

San Pedro Calif.

Dear father, mother and the folks at home,

Rain, rain, go away!

Come gain (we hope not!) some other day.

As I write this the rain has gone at least temporarily but the sky is still cloudy and the sun isn’t out so we’ll probably have more despite my little ditty. It hasn’t rained much since midnight but previous to that time it rained hard and steadily for long periods. It did not however begin in earnest until I was home yesterday from work for which I am duly thankful. When I was going to go downtown to dinner or rather the usual someplace in-between-dinner-and-supper it was raining hard, but Mrs. Wills lent me her umbrella so I got downtown without getting very wet.

On the way back the rain let up for awhile. After that it rained more but I went to bed almost immediately since my feet were wet and cold and bed was the best place to warm them up I thought, so I don’t know just how much it rained. Last night and this morning also, the P.E. was under water in some places. By the way, you should here [sic] the frogs around the place into which the harbor dredgings were pumped. The croak was so loud that you can hear them above the noise of the P.E. which is certainly no mean accomplishment. Dwight says he has heard uninitiated riders on the P.E. wonder what the funny noise is when going around that way. Last night also the P.E. got stuck behind a banana train so we were late getting to Watson about 15 minutes.

Tomorrow night is the special congregational meeting being held to find out what should be done about our financial situation. Fortunately, things seem to be taking care of themselves somewhat so the situation is definitely improved from what it was. Some non-member of the church but [sic] a $100 bill in the offering last Sunday so that helped things a lot. If we get the back bills paid up things will be a lot better and easier I think.

Sunday night is the Luther League fellowship program at church which I will be glad when it is over.

I think that I am going to go to the show “Casablanca” over the weekend if there is time which there probably will be. The show as [sic] some of my favorite actors in it so that is why I am going.

This week I have been working with plants I and IX mostly so that I suppose I will be working as an operator pretty soon. It will be more interesting, at least for awhile, altho it will be not as clean as laboratory work altho that is no particular deterrent. It means tho that I will be back on work involving shift changing and I don’t think it will be possible to work one shift steadily as I have been.

I received a letter form Vivian the other day and she asked me to write to her in Chicago but unfortunately the date she wanted the letters to reach her in Chicago by had already passed here when she got the letter [this doesn’t make any sense] so I guess she won’t get any from me because I didn’t send one. She writes that the snow is going in Iowa and that they were having a typical spring day at Iowa City — students river banking, the windows in the Chem building all open, people dawdling around not doing much of anything. So much nicer than to have it rain so much. The rainy season should be over by the 1st part of April however. Sometimes it rains steadily thru March tho I have heard. I think that if we would sell Calif. to the Japanese, that’d fix ’em in short order.

I seem to have some to a dead end as far as news is concerned so I believe I’ll stop. This letter is written later this week so you probably won’t get it till Monday or Tuesday.

With love

CP.

P.S. Didn’t you promise me you were going to send me some cookies, mama? Remember the old four-oclock cry — “I’m hun-gry!” Well I am for some of your cookies.

February 16, 1943

Feb 16, 1943

425 S Cabrillo

San Pedro Calif

Dear father and mother and the folks at home,

This last week has been really warm in Calif. — much warmer than ordinarily at this time of the year. The nights also have been considerable warmer than usual which is peculiar since even tho the days may be warm the nights are usual [sic] cool. Several days I am certain the temperature has been 85°F or better. Today I was very comfortable walking downtown in my shirt sleeves. The air was very clear today. you could see the outline of the mountains across the bay which has happened only a couple of times since I cam out here. From the Watson station, when I am waiting for the P.E. in the morning I can usually see snow-capped mountains in the interior but I guess that they really must be a considerable distance inalnd, altho some of the details see quite clear.

There doesn’t seem to be a lot to write about this time but I will try to make out a decent letter anyway altho you make [sic] think I am writing to fill up space part of the time.

I got a valentine from Vivian on Monday and it was a picture of herself. I suppose that you may have gotten one also. Personally I thought it was a good picture of her and very typical because she is smiling a great big wide smile. It was a very nice valentine I thought.

Thank you mama, also, for your “valentine” letter and you father for your letter. Why don’t you write too, Verner?

I am very anxious to hear how Vincent came out in his application for meteorological training. That is pretty interesting stuff I think from what experience I have had with it, and what is more may be very useful after the war is over because as I believe I wrote to you from Iowa City, meteorology has had its face lifted in the last decade or so and a lot of new opportunities are presenting themselves in that field.

Last night the Luther League cabinet met to arrange the next program as is the usual custom. It was relatively simple this time as we will have the Fellowship Program for the program and this had been largely planned already bu the L.L. headquarters. All I will have to do is announce what’s going on which is a nice easy think I think.

I have been getting along with less sleep lately and I have not been sleepy at work either. This may have been due to the fact that I am running some sulfur analyses now and as these are somewhat new to me and a little tricky, they keep your attention pretty well. Furthermore, the work has sort of piled up again so that there is more to do than you can accomplish. Last night was a hectic night. There were 4 distillations going — 3 at the rate of 5 ml/minute part of the time so that they required almost constant attention and then later at different rates so you had to look at them rather often. The other was a micro-distillation which I started on my shift.

Starting a distillation always takes time and this one took more since the column and everything had been dismantled and had to be assembled before it could be begun. Then there were 5 bromine values to get (and I could have run a couple of more if I had had the time) and the samples hadn’t been caustic washing yet so I had to do that to [sic]. Then there were the afore-mentioned sulfur analyses with which I am inexperienced and which I could have paid more attention to profitably. In sulfur analyses of petroleum stocks as gasoline, a weighted quantity of sample is burned and the SO₂ produced oxidized to H₂SO₄ by NaOBr soln & the SO₄ determine by BaSO₄ precipitation under conditions such that nephelometric (light dispersion) properties of the resulting sol’n or mixture are related to the SO₄-concentration. Burning the sample is an art and I have not exactly got it yet.

Last night one of the samples I was running burned beautifully but the other was high in aromatic content and I had an awful time. One of them (they are run in duplicate) smoked very badly which renders the analyses somewhat doubtful. This last occurred when I was taking care of the other or remaining article on the menu for the night, namely looking at Plant VII to see that things were operating ok and taking some data.

This morning I felt sort of used up. When you have a lot of things to look after, you have difficulty sometimes in remembering everything. Last night I made only one real boner and that was in mh bromine value analyses. These have become so mechanical that I sometimes do not watch too closely what I am doing. Anyway after diluting the samples in CCl₄ I neglected to homogenize the sol’n in the volumetric flasks and I was 1/2 thru the analyses of 4 samples before I remembered it. That set me back a whole half hour that could have been profitably spent doing something else. I have not done anything like that for sometime now. Of course you make minor mistakes ever [sic] once in awhile like overrunning a titration or miscalculating something but that’s more or less normal and is easily corrected or repeated.

I may be conceited but I think there is more analytical work done on graveyards than on the other two shifts put together. I am certain I get 75% of the bromine values, about 1/3 of the gravities and R.I.s [refraction intercepts], all of the Westphal densities and naphthenic R.I’s and since Rod went back to Emeryville about 1/2 of the sulfurs. The only think I don’t do much of is run dispersions which I do only occasionally. Besides that I take care of any distillations going, Plant IV and Plant VII when they are operating which Plant IV is about 99% of the time and oh yes, make up the solutions. I haven’t made up the solutions for the sulfur analysis very much yet but the bromine value solutions always seem to run out on graveyards.

I suppose that this sounds like I have a very exalted opinion of myself which I don’t because most of the time I feel that I am not doing everything I should as I should but I am certain that the statements I have made could be vindicated by looking at the analytical record books. o well, I live in anticipation of the day I can loaf on my 40-acre farm.

My income tax is going to be $85 this year which is more than I thought it was going to be.

I am going to stop now

With love

C.P.

P.S. Please don’t think I’m sold on myself as may have sounded from this letter which really I’m not. I’m certain I would be better at loafing on a 40-acre farm than working as a chemist.

February 14, 1942

Postmark Feb 14, 1942

Saturday afternoon

Iowa City, Iowa

Dear father, mother, brothers and anyone else who may read this letter,

Well, a lot has happened since I wrote to you last. The main thing that has happened is of course that the navy has decided that Iowa City has some very good facilities for a naval cadet training center, so they are giving the U. of Iowa the inestimable privilege of turning over the Quadrangle, Hillcrest and the fieldhouse to the navy for that purpose. This of course means that the residents of the Quadrangle will have to be moved to other living quarters so that the naval cadets can move in. The evacuation of the Quadrangle will have to be complete by March 31. The residents will be moved out in sections at university expense and at least some kind of quarters provided for them either in private homes, the Law Commons, new dormitory units or cooperative dormitories. I will not have to move till the very last, that is on or by March 31.

My studies are coming along as usual — the same old rather uninteresting stuff. Their degree of intolerability is only slightly below that of conditions in general in the U.S. today.

The laundry bag arrived this morning. Thank you very much mama for the geranium, the butter & cheese, the cupcakes, the gredda-kaka (?) and of course, the clean clothes. Somehow or other, the laundry bag is more a means of getting good things to eat rather than a means of securing some clean clothes.

It has been snowing off and on here for several days. The snow has been coming down very nicely most of the time, sort of slowly and in big flakes. I love to watch it snow that way, even if it does mean a lot of slush thereafter. The temperature however has been hanging around freezing all of the time.

The school program down here has been accelerated. Spring vacation and exam week have gone overboard. This does not mean there will be no finals, rather it means that each final will be given in the last class period or periods and will be shorter than usual. This means that the semester closes May 10, and that the next day May 11, the summer semester opens. There is however about 3 days along in there when I plan to come home. The summer school will be over July 31, so that I suppose I will go to Calif about one month earlier than I had previously planned. Every time I think of it I sort of get griping sensations in my stomach. I can’t see why I seem fated to fool around doing what I don’t want to. I suppose you can’t expect anything else, however in this very democratic country.

I went to the swimming meet between Minn & Iowa last night. I should have studied but I was fed up for awhile. It was rather dry however except for the diving. The divers, three from Iowa, and two from Minnesota, were beautiful physical specimens. That goes especially for the two Iowa divers, Vargon and B----i (I can’t spell it as its Polish or something). [Biedrzycki — thank you Google!] Both of them are not too tall but they are certainly well-muscled. Vargon has a chest that looks like something like barrel. Sometimes I think it would be a lot of fun to try to draw an athlete like that. It must take a great deal of ability to make his muscular development seem real. Someday if I get around to it, maybe I’ll try it. Just now however, I don’t seem to have much time for such things.

Thank you, daddy and Vincent for the letters. Incidentally, Vincent when you said “I am writing you because of mama’s prevalence etc etc” you caused all the dead English teachers to turn over in their graves. “Prevalence” is just not used that way.

If any of the family have any bright ideas on how I am going to get all my stuff moved on the $1.00 which the university is going to allow each evacuated Quad. resident, please let me know.

By the way, when did the additions to the Strand cow family occur which Vincent mentions in his letter?

What happens when you don’t get more than seven hours of sleep per night? Answer: you get sleepy.

With love

C.P.