Sunday morning, 6/10/34
Dear Linnet:
This is probably the only chance I’ll get to write for a day or so, and I thought you might want to know what your small daughter and I have been up to.
Mother and I took her off the train yesterday morning right on time. We went through the station and finally got a cab, crossed the Loop and got started for home. Mary was pretty quiet… shy and I think a little confused. We spent most of the afternoon at home, since it was a little too warm for any amount of travelling around. Dad was here, having driven from Cleveland just a few hours before.
About five we went down to Hyde Park Boulevard (see if you can follow this on your map), and took a bus east two blocks to the lake, where we headed north. Mary and Dad and I rode on top of the bus along the lake shore toward the Fair, the wind blowing our hair all over the place. We got off at 23rd street and entered the Fair grounds. Headed north along the mainland to the Hall of Science, crossed the 16th street bridge and through the Court of States to the new Midway on Northerly Island. I had hoped to take Mary to the Chinese Theatre, but the theatre is not yet quite ready. We’ll go some other time.
We walked back on the island across the bridge at 23rd street, staying for a half-hour on the Swift bridge to hear and see an orchestral concert.
By that time it was eight thirty. Twilight was just about falling, so we left Dad, and the two of us took a long half-hour ride on one of the lagoon launches. If you have followed us this far, we got on just at the foot of the Havoline thermometer at 23rd street, and rode along the shore of the mainland clear to the dock at the Administration building about 12th street. Then we swung around and returned all along the island shore till we got back to 23rd street. It doesn’t look so long, but they tell me that it’s about 3 1/2 miles. We rode along slowly and watched lights going on.
Mary was getting pretty tired by then so at 9:30 we headed for home, a bath and bed.
This morning they (Mother and Mary) headed off to Sunday school, and Mary had her first ride on a street car. Any city kid will tell you that there’s nothing in the world remarkable about a street car, but there’s always a first ride to be taken.
At the moment Mary’s stretched out on my bed, absorbedly watching the antics of the youngsters next door, who are having a great time in their sand box, and playing around on some of the playground equipment they have have in the back yard.
Mary’s pretty shy yet — she isn’t quite sure of things. I think that in another day or two she’ll get a little better acquainted. We’re not doing any fussing — just treating her as a member of the family. I think that if we fussed a bit she’d have a harder time getting to know us.
About the best I can tell you is to quote the first sentence of Mother’s letter to Helen, mailed last night to her… “Our girl has just arrived, and she’s the sweetest thing.”
There you are. We are all quite in love with her, and I think that we’ll have a great time when she finally gets used to the strangeness of things.
Don’t know what we will do this afternoon. I think that if we have nothing better lined up that we’ll take another bus and ride along the boulevards and get a glimpse of the town.
I don’t know what she’s telling you in her letters about her adventures, but I’ll keep you posted on some of the things we are doing.
I’ll write again in a day or so –
Glen
P.S. Mother asks me to tell you she slept like an angel last night. In unfamiliar surroundings, that’s pretty good. Dad leaves for Cleveland tomorrow at three, and then there’ll be just the three of us. I think we’ll go to a theatre tomorrow night.
