2/1/39 - Former Saltsburger Writes a Letter -1440 Gordon Rd., Lyndhurst, O.,
My Dear Saltsburg Friends:
This is my third attempt at a letter for you. Surely the third time will be the charm. There is so much to say, one doesn't know where to begin. I was full of ideas for the New Year ... and just got a nice start, when the accumulation of household duties snowed me under. I am just now emerging from the drift. I wonder if the groundhog will emerge tomorrow, and if so, will he see his shadow? Oh, I hope not. Sometimes we think we have moved into Saskatchewan, instead of an eastern suburb of Cleveland - it is so cold here. We are high - and very much in the open. I spent the first half of the winter stuffing up cracks, nailing on strips here and there. Now we are quite comfortable - and in love with Lyndhurst. We are about fourteen miles from Cleveland's Public Square; one hundred yards from the bus line (vacant land between); within two short blocks of the post office and stores; within three blocks of the beautiful town hall, which houses a most satisfying Public Library. The little park surrounding the town hall is beautifully landscaped and contains a baseball diamond, tennis courts, swings, etc., for children. The community skating rink (an outdoor artificial pond) is right beside the post office. About three blocks to the north of us is the coasting hill, where our boys disappear, with sled and skis immediately after school. In order to keep up the illusion that I am a good sport, I have been forced to go with the boys on occasions - and go down alone - on my tummy - which, in the vernacular of youth is called, I believe, "belly-slamming." Oh, does that coasting bring back memories of Saltsburg! And the wild, hair-raising rides on the bob-sled down that hill through the center of town! Oh, where is Claire Snyder, our master pilot? And Raymond Pearce, our brakeman de luxe, who also served as ballast for the rear of the sled?
But to come back to Lyndhurst - which, as Mr. Walker suggests - is a little nearer to Saltsburg than Cleveland: Just to the east of us, bordering our street is a privately owned airport, where Virgil and the children had their first airplane ride several years ago.
The High School - Charles F. Brush High - one mile west of here - is one of the finest in the state, and I do know that Estelle and Virgil, Jr., are very happy there. (Virgil is in Junior High - eighth grade). School busses take the children to and from school. A cozy little bus, financed by the state, takes Charlie to his beloved sight-saving school, where he has two wonderful teachers. Virgil drives to work every day - a half hour drive (except when it is slippery). It will be lovely here in summer.
To complete our happiness, we have a dog. He came to us last November as a tiny pup - part collie, part chow and, judging from his tenacity, a bit of bull. But he is all that two lively boys could wish for, and a great family pet.
The neighbors are very nice - the few that we know. Many of these people have lived out here all their lives, and live, not only in the fear of the Lord, but of what their neighbors would think; a well-behaved community - of about 2500.
We have the rural delivery - a row of mail boxes on a rail, at the end of each street. But the post office is so near that we call for ours there. It is a third-class office, in a tiny white frame building, one half of which is occupied by a lumber company.
The post office proper - excluding the customer's passage way - is certainly not over 5 x 12. But mail order catalogues come in there by the score; and laundry bags from college students; magazines, farm papers, love letters, recriminations, joyful news, sad news, appeals for funds, checks, rejection slips - the same as any other post office. No, not quite the same. Here the postal clerk (a grand woman) rejoices with you in good fortune and commiserates with you over a rejection slip or any other disappointment. I love the villagers' lack of sophistication. Life is real - and vital - and worthwhile out here.
It is now Thursday, the second - and no sun. Hurrah for an early spring! I'll be with you again - perhaps next week. With love and all good wishes to my "home folks", I am,
Faithfully yours,
Florence B. Taylor
Next - 2/17/39 - Tribute paid Saltsburger by former resident