June 17, 1949
U.S. Senator Homer E. Capehart
Washington, D.C.
My dear Senator:
I am in rather urgent need of learning all the grounds for Divorce in Cuba. Is that information easily available to you there in Washington? If so, I would greatly appreciate such information. The information I am seeking is of considerable value to some interested clients here.
In your experience as Senator you have doubtless had some rare requests from the "folks back home." This inquiry of mine should rank rather high. A year ago . . . I could not then visualize my divorce practice getting much beyond the confines of the State of Indiana.
This letter reminds me of an experience I had long years ago. . . I wrote my Congressman, Ralph Moss, asking if he would send me a copy of Jefferson's Manual. In due course of mail here came a rather well-bound copy of "The Diseases of Horses," and a note saying he had had considerable difficulty complying with my request as the edition was exhausted. How it happened that way, I will never know—nor did Mr. Moss. . .
A BETTER USE FOR 'REMOVABLE SEATS'?
June 24, 1949
Case & Sons
Robinson, Illinois
Gentlemen: I'm having a devil of a time with a Case lavatory in the second floor bathroom here at home, and to me it seems far rougher than it should be. The cold water faucet sprung a drip—a most persistent drip. My friend and plumber, Mr. Lee Reeves, came up from time to time and eventually diagnosed the case (no intended pun on your name) as the water in the cold faucet having cut or worn a groove across the top of the removable seat for that faucet. He had none to fit, so he sort of filed the groove out, said the repair would probably be temporary, and in the meantime we'd both begin a quest for Case removable seats that would fit. I went to Indianapolis to the Central supply Co. They said they had none, but if they did they'd have to know the number or size of the lavatory, as different-sized lavatories had different- sized removable seats. I came home but could find no number. . .
I bought that lavatory from you in person, direct, about 1942—or just about the time the Government stopped your selling to the proletariat. I was frantic for some bathroom fixtures. The family had taken a fancy to yours on account of its alleged quietness. The girls were in the University here. It was brooded among my womenfolk that every time they had company the "old man" started the water going in the bathrooms and it sounded like Coulee Dam after a hard rain. I got in the car and drove to Robinson. You folks finally fixed me up with two lavatories. I brought them home in the car. It must have been that at that same time you ordered me a bath tub from Louisville or Cincinnati. . .
In due time the old you-know-what started her drip, drip, drip, getting worse. . . Yesterday Mr. Reeves came up with an assortment of removable seats he had collected. He took out the offending removable seat, and sure enough, the water or pixies or gremlins had again cut a channel across the top of said removable seat. He thought he had a removable seat that would fit—it seemed the same size as the original—but it didn't. In desperation he gave up the job. We turned off the cold water intake at the valve underneath. He took the old offending removable seat for further efforts to get a duplicate. We heartily damned removable seats of all and every kind and character and wheresoever situated, together with the companies who made 'em.