March 30, 1930. From Florence to Clarence. Letter 3 of 3 in this collection.

During March 1930, as the US slips deeper into the early months of the Great Depression — the radio is playing love songs that feel a bit too personal, and Florence is trying not to unravel while waiting for Clarence to call. Careful, aching, and self-aware, this letter reads like a private monologue about love, pride, and the particular misery of wanting someone just a little more than they want you.

Letter 3 of 3 in this collection.

March 3, 1930

Dearest Clarence:

This letter is being written on Sunday morning, but I’m sure you will forgive when I tell you I made an honest effort to write you last night, but failed in my estimation. I still have the letter I wrote last night but it’s so blue and dry that I don’t think it’s worth the 2 cents it would take to send it.

About the time I started to write, a male quartette sang “Carolina Moon” over the radio real dreamy-like and full of lots of feeling – and after that I was all off. Music really drives me crazy sometimes anyway.

I can’t figure out everything you told me last night, but I guess it’s all right. I was getting back to normal living again but you’ve upset all of that now.

I worried about you after you left, and more because you did not call – but last Sunday I took this cold and I’ve only been able to worry about myself trying to keep soul and body together as well as teach school.  Gee, but I’ve had a hard pull but I’m better now.  Guess the reason the cold was so hard on me was because I was sorta weak from unusual strain and worry.

I’m expecting another hard week this week. This is the end of the 6 weeks, so there are grades to average, exams to give, and all the other bunk that goes with it.

I went home last weekend. The folks were tickled to see me, it seems. I called mother Friday night, and she asked me if I’d be home. I said “No,” and her voice dropped like a ton of brick. I wonder who is the bigger baby – her or I? Ha! Even then, I think I am!

When I asked her about you, she said you had not been there. Then I hoped all day Saturday and Sunday that you might come. But you didn’t – to my disappointment.

I thought it would be safer to get my letters, so I grabbed a handful and stuck them in my suitcase. I only meant to get mine, but I think I’ve a few more. I have not had a chance to read any of them (mine) over, but I mean to, and if I don’t like them I might keep them.  C?   What do you say?

The letter I was telling you about last night is a 14-page letter, written Sat. Sun, Mon, Tues and Wed after you left. You had said you would call about Wed., so when I got home I made up my mind I’d write every day until you called. Wed I finished the 14 pages and sealed it and put a 4 cent stamp on. You didn’t call, and I began to think that the letter would be too foolish to send since you didn’t call, so I’ve put it away as a ______?

In it is the typewritten copy of “Big City Blues” from Wanda and lots of other bunk. I might let you read it if I get some nerve and maybe not. Will think about sending it.

Be sure and call me if you’re not coming out next weekend – before Thursday nite 12:00 cause I’m going home if you don’t come. It’s too lonesome here for me to spend it here all alone. E?

You asked me if I’d been good – guess you can draw your own conclusions from this – I’ve gone to two plays with Mrs. Tucker since you left – and one evening I chaperoned a bunch of kids to a picture. So, for the remainder of time life goes to bed pretty early. Had to in order to keep going and get rid of this pets of a cold.

I missed you lots the first week after you left. The last week I think I controlled my thoughts pretty well. Instead of missing you, I just wondered where you were and what you were doing etc. After you called last night the same old blues came back. I must bear up and quit the foolishness cause I can’t stand anymore.

I’m sorry you got into a “mess” (as you called it). If I was to blame, I’m still more sorry. I realize I’ve caused you a lot of grief, trouble, and other things for which I am sorry. To make up for it now, I hope you are having lots of luck, a good time and are happy. I’d like to see you, but if it inconveniences you or might give you trouble to come, just let me know. I’ll go home then.

I don’t understand what you meant about a letter from the City. Who in the Dickens knows me or has any business to write to me. As for seeing anyone from Carnegie – that’s an impossibility cause I’m never close enough to see anyone from there.

Peter was real sweet to me last weekend. Got me away to Weatherford from Hobart. He’s been real decent, thank goodness.  I’m getting so I think most men are fools.  I’d rather play with a bunch of kinds.  Same Old Fool last night followed me around (a businessman in Mangum) and tried to talk to me.  Drat him!  The boy that wrote me that “wonderful” letter I let you read stood outside of the Temple shop for an hour and waited for me.  I finally had to slip out the back way to avoid him.  I’m not saying here what I think they remind me of – cause I’m a lady (?) Are you (?) that?  Anyway, I’m trying to be better and sweeter and nicer than I’ve always been.  Hope I’ll succeed – don’t you?

Mrs. Tucker is getting ready to go riding and I’m going with her. I’ll be in good company cause Mr. and Mrs. Reese the principal and wife are going along.

The radio is playing “Pagan Love Song” and “You Were Meant for Me.” I’m glad we’re going driving cause I’d go mad if I listened to the radio all afternoon – now it’s “Singing in the Rain” – memories of one Sunday night in Clinton on the way to Mangum in the snow.

One of the 5 letters I wrote right after you left is nothing but what you might call a “memory” letter, cause I mentioned some of the special times when we were together.

One of the reasons why I’m not sending that letter is because I am afraid you might not understand it the way I meant it, so I’m not taking any chances. C? It’s a whopper; foolish, sweet, sentimental, full of fun, blue, hopeful, apologetic, anything you might want in a letter, even has two big black blots of ink on it – ha! Ha!

But, I’m afraid you’ll have to wait until sometime in the future for it, because of my last resolve “Call Wednesday or not get it.”

I’ll try to give it in the words of “Big City Blues” here, as much, or as I well can remember them:

“I’m all alone – every night.

Have I moaned and how I fight.

These Big City Blues.

I walk for miles, place to place,

But no one smiles to help me chase

These Big City Blues.

I’m like a little tot, that needs a lot of care,

But all I’ve got is a lot of sadness and despair.

Won’t someone please talk to me – Don’t you hear my plea,

And help me chase these Big City Blues.”

(How’s that?)

There’s also a clipping from the paper in that letter telling about Etta’s party.  It’s got plenty in it huh.

Well, I guess I’d better come to a conclusion.  I had a million things I wanted to write about, but I’ve forgotten them now.  So be good.  ‘n if you can’t be good, be careful.  Don’t forget to let me know about the weekend in time to go home if you’re not coming.

As ever,

Florence

PS. If this doesn’t sound like me, please forgive, cause I’m not my usual self.  Expect to be back in the same old rut again soon though.  Here’s hoping it’s right soon.