That book column that I started is beginning to look like a rack of dried apples. Do you remember the dried apples of the early 1900's? Nuf sed. Let's call the whole thing off. Even the wonderful little book that I purchased today, "My Land of Liberty," edited and compiled by Chester S. Williams, of the U.S. Office of Education, takes on life and dynamic meaning because of flesh-and-blood patriots, rubbing elbows with us. I read in this book the inspiring words of the gifted writer and patriot, Thomas Paine, written in 1777: "These are the times that try men's souls! The summer soldier and the sunshine patriot will, in this crisis, shrink from the service of his country; but he that stands it now deserves the love of man and woman. Tyranny, like hell, is not easily conquered, yet we have this consolation, the harder the conflict, the more glorious the triumph! It is dearness only that gives everything its value. It would be strange indeed if so celestial an article as Freedom should not be highly rated."
Then I open the evening paper, dated Feb. 28, 1942, and read the brave headlines, in bold type, "U.S., Dutch Rout Jap Fleet." "Good News on Three Fronts." And when we read of the amazing courage and fortitude of Gen. MacArthur's handful of men we know that valor is not a thing of the past; that American blood is as red as it ever was. The trouble is that it flows in too few veins. I was shocked yesterday, to see the congestion of automobiles on our main thoroughfare. Do those people know there is a war? A Cleveland woman - a widow - lost her only son in the bitter fighting on the Bataan peninsula. His was a hero's death; there was talk of sending a posthumous medal to his mother. She said simply, "The only medal I want for my son is victory. That's the way he would want it." She loves and believes in America so much that she is reconciled to the supreme sacrifice. Quietly she goes on with her work in the office of an optical company. Yes, we need more like her. But the heroes are not all at the front; nor are all the heroines related to the brave soldier dead. When the trumpet sounds, and "the roll is called up yonder," I believe the Great Commander-in-Chief will present a medal to Acsa Cunningham. I have heard, through mutual friends, of her patient care of her very sick mother-in-law, who lay helpless for nearly two years. Tonight the widow of the great Lou Gehrig, our baseball immortal, told Bill Stern, on his sports newscast: "I am working as hard as I know how - for the American Red Cross." Really fine, women always carry on - to the very end.
Would you like to take a street car ride with me? It's a little crowded; but let's go, anyway. At the end of the car line the motorman and conductor run into the convenient drugstore, grab a paper cup of coffee and a sandwich. The conductor gives a free demonstration on how a large sandwich can be devoured in three bites ... There should be first aid course - aid to elementary courtesy, where high school boys won't grab all the seats, and let old ladies (like me) stand. No, I've been lucky, so far; but chivalry is dead - beyond revival, I fear. Two shiftless men behind me can't decide what show to go to; they ought to be with MacArthur. He'd soon tell 'em. It's twelve miles downtown from our home; but never a dull moment; the panorama of nature, then the beautiful store windows; and always, human nature on parade. I get off at E. Ninth and Euclid, said to be one of the busiest corners in the world. I walk north two blocks, shivering - either from cold or from fear - for I am about to face a new editor. My old friend at the Press got fired. No one knows why. I go up in the elevator with palpitating heart; am almost relieved to know That Man has gone out to lunch. It will give me an hour or so to screw up my courage a little tighter. All right. Let's go to the flower Show. Or, rather, Home and Flower Show; for three model homes are built on the main floor of our huge Public Auditorium. I am constantly amazed at the resources of that hall. Two weeks ago a huge Grotto circus; now the Home and Flower Show - with tons of earth, brick and stone. In April the Metropolitan Opera will hold forth there. The most remarkable feature of the flower show is the huge fountain near the center of the main floor. The center "geyser" of water goes almost to the high ceiling. There is an ever-changing form of fountain, with beautiful lights of every color hidden in its base, and constantly changing. Oh, such flowers! Gorgeous roses, glads, carnations from New England, orchids, large and tiny, camellias, lilies - some painted red and blue - to go with the pure white. The model homes, built in four days - down to the third coat of paint - had the loveliest flower arrangements.
But we must hurry on, Column 2, Page 4 is filling up. The flowers and the lovely fountain brought peace and serenity; I didn't mind facing the strange editor. The elevator man, so dwarfed and twisted in form from some dreadful disease, is certainly not twisted in his outlook on life. He told me to wait in the chair near the elevator until That Man got back from a luncheon conference. A kindly wink said, "I'll fix it up for you." An old, old man came up to the editorial rooms - just to smell the glue pots and printer's ink, I do believe; for he was a reporter 'way back in the 80's. He asked me what I was doing there - and then regaled me with one of his "scoops" for his paper, The Troy Telegram. That Man - the strange editor - was so very nice, that, if he eventually rejects my poems, his "No" will be kinder than some people's "Yes" ... The dainty little girl behind the counter at the cafeteria, who gave me the biggest piece of pumpkin pie - and beamed when I told her the Forum has the best pumpkin pie in Cleveland - which is true. The pretty waitress said, "You just sit where you please. This is a free country - SO FAR." Yes .. that's right ... So many nice people down town. I bought Charlie a great big baseball scrapbook, 3 pounds of cookies, a small book, odds and ends - all at the 5 & 10 - and then got on a packed street car. Some fat man did interference (unconsciously) and I waded through - to the rear of the car. I heard a voice, with elaborate gallantry say, "Here, lady, have my seat." Such unheard-of chivalry so startled two other men that they pulled themselves together, moved over - and there was room for all of us. There was a devilish twinkle in the first man's eyes - for he proved to be my brother-in-law, Alfred.
It has been a lovely day - with loved ones - all well - at the end of the trail. And, to make the day quite perfect, a letter from my dear Mother Lytle, who has been quite ill.
Affectionately,
Florence B. Taylor.