his mind about returning to Harvard and headed back west on 18 July.]
Cheyenne, Wyoming
[25 July 1942]
Dear Mom—
Thanks so much for the letter and check. And I do hope that you haven’t wondered too much about me—I haven’t had a chance to write, and that last letter I didn’t have a 6¢ stamp.
At any rate here it is Saturday evening and having seen a wonderful rodeo and ‘Frontier Days’ we’re going north tomorrow—to his ranch just for a little—a few days—then back south I guess.
And now a tale of which I don’t know what you’ll think. You see we got up here late Friday evg., met a couple of cowboys in town, and proceeded to celebrate ‘Frontier Days,’ until, Mother, we were taken to the local ‘calabozo’ to spend the rest of the night. Don’t worry—we’re out and everything’s all right—no fingerprints etc.—and quite an experience. You know a newspaper-man must see things first hand—and the Cheyenne jail is something to see! I am getting rid of the bed-bug itches I acquired and will soon be back to normal.
Don’t know when I’ll write again as mail is infrequent from the ranch—but everything’s fine—
Love
Bill
Frontier Days: a celebration held in Cheyenne on the last ten days of July ever since 1897. calabozo: Spanish for jail.
To Edith Gaddis
Cheyenne, Wyoming
[4 August 1942]
Dear Mom—
Well back at last to civilization—electric lites and running water etc. But I mean that ranch was the real stuff!! We were finished branding (yes we—you should have seen me holding down the back ends of those calves!) about Friday but H—convinced me I ought to stay thru the weekend so I left this morning and came down to Cheyenne—a little over two hundred miles. The ranch was swell tho—and so were the ‘boys’—his father and two uncles—and I saw and did it all—branding, herding, driving cattle & horses, fixing fence, killing rattle snakes (!), washing dishes, and myself less frequently, and riding most of the time, and it was wonderful.
I plan on going down to Denver tomorrow—we’ll see if Mr. Keating is there or Pueblo or where—then down to Colorado Springs to see this Harvard ‘classmate’ of mine for a day or two—then if Mr Keating’s around I’ll contact him. That’s as far as real plans go, but expect to continue on down to Tucson after this.
Am trying to keep expenses at a minimum—because I do want to get some new clothes when I come home in the fall, as these two shirts and levis are all I’ve gotten in recent times. Harold did run me in a little, as he was broke when we hit Denver and I staked him to various stuff—and then the rodeo and room etc in Cheyenne, but it was worth it with that time at the ranch to pay off! And speaking of clothes I was looking at cur[rent] Esquire today, and gee—I love this west etc. etc. but do you think there is any chance of Harvard in the fall? The trip is swell but it is really sort of escapism—I do want to go back there this fall more than anything, and after I talk to Franny in Colo. Spgs. I hate to think how I’ll feel. Gosh I’d kiss the ground Dr. (?) Williams walks on or blow his brains (??) out if I thot either would do any good. The more I think of a southern college the less I think of it—ye gods I could wear coats—even sweaters—even a sterno stove under my bed——I really think they were utter fools to let such a point drive them to such drastic lengths. In short I am still quite disgusted but hopeful—‘bloody but unbowed’—and Mom if there is anything you can do—tell ‘Byard’ I spent a nite in jail and have been branding calves—it may help.
Love
Bill
Mr. Keating: unidentified.
Franny: Francis Ware, a roommate at Harvard later.
Harold: the H—mentioned in the first paragraph, but otherwise unknown.
Dr. Williams: unidentified. ‘bloody but unbowed’: from the once-popular poem “Invictus” by British writer William Ernest Henley (1849–1903) expressing determination: “Under the bludgeonings of chance / My head is bloody, but unbowed.”
‘Byard’: unidentified.
To Edith Gaddis
Colorado Springs, Colorado
[8 August 1942]
Dear Mom—
Well everything is still under control, and I’m presently enjoying a fine time in Colo. Springs as Francis’ guest. I rolled in about Wednesday evening and have been entertained royally since.
You have probably received a card asking you to send the field boots (and the barracks bag if you haven’t sent them yet) to Leadville—it is up in the mountains and there’s a big job of some sort going on there; it is really at ‘Pando’ which is just outside of Leadville but I doubt if they have a post office. At any rate I expect to go up there and work for a while.
Harold was a fine fellow—real ‘Wyoming’—and believe me the ranch was wonderful.
Having been here since Wednesday I do feel rather guilty but Francis is having a party on Sunday and they want me to stay for that, so I’ll probably be off for Pando around Monday or Tuesday.
It did feel good getting back into shoes and a coat and tie and bath after the ranch, and in Denver I hit another book store and got a nice leather bound copy of O’Neill’s sea-plays, Vanity Fair and Crime and Punishment to catch up a little.
Well Pando is supposed to be pretty tough—one of the toughest towns out here, as it’s just a camp, and I’ve met men who wouldn’t stay because of their familys, so I mayn’t last long but it does sound interesting and worth a try—
Love
Bill
O’Neill’s sea-plays: probably Eugene O’Neill’s Moon of the Caribees and Six Other Plays of the Sea (1919).
Vanity Fair [...] Crime and Punishment: classic novels by William Thackeray (1848) and Fyodor Dostoevsky (1866).
To Edith Gaddis
Pando, Colorado
[15 August 1942]
Dear Mom—
Well am
