Woe is me. Evil days have come. The half has not been told herein. In my troubled sleep I am beset with removable seats. In my waking hours I am confounded by removable seats. Time was only yesteryear when I didn't know, or care, what a removable seat was. Within a fortnight or so removable seats have become deadly —like unto a cobra or black widow. The neighbors are clandestinely talking about a Guardian . . .
Can't you do something for us? Can't you find the original invoice (somewhere near 1942) or can't you decide from this enclosed masterpiece of a drawing of mine what kind and size of removable seats we are needing, and send me four (two for each lavatory, just in case)? I need removable seats. I long for removable seats. Send them with the compliments of the Company, or else enclose a bill and I'll gladly pay it—I suppose. I'm not so sure about the "gladly" part. . .
And yet, withal, removable seats of a sort could be a boon. I am thinking now if they could be available to our womenfolk who have reached or passed the age of 40 years, say. We live here in the older, more conservative part of town—what you might call the Eastern Star and DAR section. I have mentally canvassed our one block. If you can devise a practical feminine removable seat, I can give you every reasonable assurance you will get from one to two orders in every house and apartment in our block. I personally guarantee one order. This being true, then visualize all the States (particularly the corn belt), and then the entire known world, with special stress on Holland, parts of Germany and all of Italy—to say nothing about the Eskimos and Africans. It will stagger you, as your faucet removable seat has staggered, yea, paralyzed me.
And thus I leave it. Do something, I beseech you.
Prayerfully,
Andrew E. Durham
In subsequent correspondence to daughter Margaret, Pap related that the above letter had the desired effect, because by return mail the company sent him four removable seats, at no charge. However, the world is still awaiting action on his suggestion for a broader application of removable seat technology.
OF QUESTIONABLE REPUTE
November 5, 1949
Hon. Claud Bowers
U.S. Minister to Chile
Santiago, Chile
My dear Ambassador: This is a voice from the long, long ago. It must have been about 1904 you were a candidate for Congress against old man Holiday. I was just out of college. During the campaign you made some very forceful and logical speeches backed by excellent oratory. I attended and was fascinated—got the political bug. I am not quite sure I got in on what we called the "Week's County Drive" of your campaign, where the "small fry" in the last cars of the cavalcade ate miles and miles of gravel and road dust kicked up by the cars on ahead. If not, then I sure got in on them later.
My daughter, Aura May Durham, and I hope to arrive in Santiago, December 20, 1949, during a rather extended trip into South America. I am enclosing a copy of our alleged itinerary. We are having considerable—very considerable—trouble arranging for some six visas, or their equivalents. But we expect to arrive on schedule if humanly possible, provided I retain my heretofore good health and reasonably fair mental facilities. I have been vaccinated and "shot" for about everything except treason, but my lack of a criminal record is universally questioned south of the Equator. Our local Chief of Police has, for the past four weeks, valiantly signed varying documents denying varying insinuations I have a criminal record and . . . our local banker has spent long nights compiling "letters of commendations and responsibility" that would tend to meet the requirements. . .
All this and much more has gotten me to where I am. It is too much for a small-town Hoosier lawyer to stand—and a Democrat to boot. And so, if on or about December 20th, you see a rather sprightly young woman leading a doddering old man in his upper 60's into the lobby of the Carrera Hotel, then charitably reflect, "it was not always so with him."