The movies are black-and-white -- they start with an Old Lady sitting in a wing chair and telling us in a fake creaking voice that she remembers -- and it appears she's going to look back over her life and share the memories with us. She serves as bookends for the movie.
That's how I feel these days, because I'm reading through my old journals -- in bed, though. The wing chair (originally designed to hold the warmth in front of an open fire, btw) may have looked better in the movies, but your genuine old lady prefers to read in bed.
So -- in the 1944 Date Book, we take a look first at the address list. Letter-writing was big in those days -- think today's fingers poking smart phones -- and judging by these addresses, we're right in the middle of The War. Most are c/o postmaster San Francisco or New York City.
Only one classmate there, Lola -- she later became a lawyer. (I didn't even know how one became a lawyer back then.) And the Mass state hospital -- that must have been my Aunt Pearl. One guy has a simple street address, but he soon went into the army also.
He later proposed marriage -- come to think of it, so did two other guys on these pages. I was a great letter-writer.
But anyhow, what I set out to tell you --
Looks like I was really busy -- house duties (co-op dorm), hours working on the next day's edition of the Daily Orange, band practice (first time girls were allowed in the Syracuse band . They had to -- all the
boys were overseas.) Then classes to become a Red Cross Grey Lady, and -- even academics! What do you suppose derivatives were, and why did I have to find them? I evidently ended up scheduling time to eat and even to sleep. But just when I'm really impressed -- what shows up but this frantic reminder, underlined SIX TIMES --