Grandview, Mo.
January 10, 1911
My Dear Bessie:
You see I haven't learned to write 1911 yet. It's hard to form the habit suddenly. It is also hard to acquire the habit of early rising of your own free will and accord on these chilly mornings. You see Papa could never sleep after a certain time in the small hours of the morning and he always arose and then called me. Now I have to get up myself and start fires, milk cows and do other odd jobs around while it is yet dark. Vivian takes turn about with me though so I can gradually come to it. I don't think I'll ever make much of a mark as a farmer or anywhere else but sometimes I have to come across. This is one of them.
Ethel was out last Friday and I put her to work immediately. She helped me haul a load of baled straw (she sat on top of the straw), and then we got a load of hay out of the stack. You should see her pitch hay. She said she had always been taught never to take big bites on her fork. I told her she could unlearn that on a haystack. She still has that terrible malady I told you of.
My reading has been no heavier than yours - maybe not so heavy. It has been confined to Everybody's and one or two other fifteen-cent or muckrake magazines and numerous farm publications. You know if one farm paper gets your name, you'll get a dozen before the year is over.
I thank you very much for your invitation and shall certainly take advantage of it as soon as I can. I suppose skating is fine. I haven't the time to go see at present. I have only a few things to do such as feed hogs and cattle, build a mile of fence and a barn, and be at the house as much as possible, which isn't very much. I forgot to say I have been reading Mark Twain. He is my patron saint in literature. I managed to save dimes enough to buy all he has written, so I am somewhat soaked in western slang and Mark Twain idioms. My mother has been trying to persuade me to read Alexander Pope. She got a copy of his poems for her birthday. I haven't been persuaded yet, except a few of his epitaphs, which are almost as good as those we used to read of Bobby Burns.
When it comes to reading though I am by it as I am by music. I would rather read Mark Twain or John Kendrick Bangs than all the Shakespeares and Miltons in Christendom.
I have some cousins in Kansas City who affect intellect. They once persuaded me to go to a season of Grand Opera with them. It happened to include Parsifal and some others which I cannot spell. Well I haven't recovered from that siege of Grand Opera yet. Perhaps if they had given me small doses I might have been trained, because I do love music. I can even appreciate Chopin when he is played on the piano. But when it comes to a lot of would-be actors and actresses running around over the stage and spouting song and hugging and killing each other promiscuously, why I had rather go to the Orpheum. Perhaps if I could understand Dutch and Dago I could appreciate it better for I did hear an opera in English once that sounded real good. They say though it isn't good form to appreciate singing in English. I am sorry.
I suppose you'll be sorry too when you see the conglomeration I call a letter. But I do like to get letters, and if you can stand mine yours will be immensely valued. My father is doing nicely thank you and I hope he'll be up in four or five weeks.
Wishing you all the best of health and sincerely hoping that you will honor me with another epistle soon. I am
Sincerely yours,
Harry S. Truman