Don't Walk in the Rain Without Me

Friday, December 9, 1949

20 Cooper St.

Southampton, NY

Dear June:

No mail from you today but I didn’t expect any because of the Wednesday phone call.

I think I’m going to the movies again tonight, Chicago Deadline and a Roy Rogers picture Yippie.  I might go watch a fight on television afterward but don’t worry.  I’ll be home early (I hope).

I don’t dare think about coming in to see you.  If I did I’d be there in a cloud of dust.  I just hope the next two weeks fly by.  You know I’m missing you and thinking of you.

This will be a short letter.  Nothing much more to say.  Keep in out of this cold weather and don’t walk in the rain without me.

Lots of Love,

Art

(Tomorrow – thinking ahead for New Year's Eve.)

© 2010 Lee Price

A Fashion Lesson on Tissue Paper



Tissue paper with sketches and commentary by June Anderson.
Look below the letter for closeups of the art and June's comments.


Friday, December 9, 1949

46 West 83rd Street, Apt. 7B

New York City

Dear Art,

Since I have nothing to write today, I believe I shall supplement this letter.  You have always asked to see my work.  This will teach you to shut up when you are well off.  Of course, it really isn’t my official schoolwork – it’s more on the doodling side.  You see, I had nothing to do this afternoon except loads of homework so I decided to fool around and enjoy myself.  That’s exactly what I did.  Now I’m passing it on to you – you should be able to get some humor out of it.

I called up daddy;  told him I wanted a dress for Christmas.  Poor daddy.  The family’s fine.

The washing machine is still out of order.  I have no guilty conscience, however.

If you ever mention these drawings to me, I’ll plead temporary insanity.  I’m sure that’s what it is.  Now I really have to do some work.

Love,

June



"I guess she's going downstairs.  I can't
think of anything else."




"This girl is wearing some kind of short slacks.
Her head is too big and out of joint, I think...
Yes, definitely rubber necked."




"This one's playing some game on
board ship."




"That's all right (indecipherable) ...
9 1/2 heads just (indecipherable) ...
for the heck of it, I never do when I sketch."



"This is my feeble attempt at a haughty,
disdainful portrait."



"I started out practicing -- I don't understand how people can make
fashion (pretty) faces looking up."




"As you can see, I gave up practicing.  This comes under the
category of fun.  I think I should have her holding a pole to
balance herself."




"This was a bathing suit -- I got tired of filling it
in -- she's holding onto something."



"(indecipherable) ... sick and told her I am
out right now.  I feel real proud of myself.
Bet she's surprised to hear from me."

"Now that you have finished, please throw this away.  And try not to
have too many nightmares over it.
Love, June"

(Tonight – a short love letter from Art.)

© 2010 Lee Price

A Present in the Mail

Thursday, December 8, 1949

20 Cooper St.

Southampton, NY

Dear June:

I got a little present in the mail today from a very sweet young lady.  Of course, you shouldn’t have done it, but I can use it though all right – my old wallet was in pretty bad shape, as I guess you knew.

Dogs, a charcoal sketch by Art Price.

It doesn’t sound like you’re doing much homework.  Don’t save it all for Christmas.  You’re going to be busy then!

Well let’s see what have I been doing, rode most of yesterday as you know, west to Patchogue from Riverhead.  Saw a movie last night.  They Live By Night, a regular melodrama.  It was so-so.  I’m writing this early tonight.  Since I haven’t done any art work yet this week, this will be a good night for it.

I saw your mother yesterday.  We had a nice little visit.  Be sure and write to her or telephone. 
She asked me to tell you to, so I’m telling you.

Well I’ll say good night now.  Take good care of yourself and be sure and write.  I’ll phone you Sunday.

Lots of love,

Art

P.S.  Thanks again for the wallet!

(Tomorrow – June teaches Art about fashion illustration.)

© 2010 Lee Price

June's Picasso Phase

Thursday, December 8, 1949

46 West 83rd Street, Apt. 7B

New York City

Dear Art,

Every time I write you it seems to be to postpone my vacation a little longer.  This time it’s for one more day.  I called up Mother after I talked to you last night.  She said that she thought it would be better if she came in Wed., then we both would go home Thursday.  I agreed with her.  I told you how she loves the city – so I feel as if it’s her best present to come into the city for a couple of days.  It’s the most I can do for her.

I got your letter this morning!  Shirl and I were waiting for a subway at 81st Street when who popped up behind us but Mr. Kantor!  With a great big smile on his face, he passed out the mail.  Just like Santa Claus.  You know, you’re absolutely right.  He looks just like a typical musician.

Morning classes were boring today.  I was reading Look magazine in class.  Did you know that the Methodist Church is the largest Protestant denomination in this land?  That’s what it said.

Fashion sketch by
June Anderson.

This afternoon we had sketching from a model.  She would pose for ten minutes and we would render her in watercolor outlined or shadowed.  The last pose I got tired of working.  She was giving a ballet pose wearing the tights and so on.  Usually I draw in very vaguely in pencil.  Well I started, but two lines and I gave it up.  For the heck of it, I grabbed my largest brush, dunked it in grey paint and started at the head – I just swung all around the outline of the figure.  After finishing that (loads of fun!), I was just about to put it away for the waste basket.  There was a voice right behind me – my teacher!  And what was she shouting?  “Well, well, a Picasso right in our room!”  I swear – those are the very words!  I’m still laughing at it.  You realize, these are supposed to be fashion drawings and not modern art.  I don’t know how to take it, but it tickles me.

Jewelry drawing by
June Anderson.

I did my jewelry thumbnail layout in school today.  I’ll need to get it approved, then blow it up to a larger size and finish it in pen and ink.

Tomorrow Shirl and I plan to go to the movies – probably All the King’s Men, unless we find a good revival.  On Saturday Shirl wants to go shopping so I’ll probably tag along.  I’ve decided I want to see the Vincent Van Gogh exhibit at the Met over the weekend – it’s only there till Jan. 15^th.  If I put it off too long, I’ll never see it.

I don’t see how I can fill a letter so full of nothing.  Would you call it talent?  For heaven’s sake!  “Blondie” just came on the radio!

If you don’t write me a letter tonight, we’re not on speaking terms.  I want a letter Saturday!  I’m going to miss you – in fact, I do already.

All my love,

June

(Tonight – Art gets a birthday present.)

© 2010 Lee Price

Art's Quiet Birthday

A baby, pencil sketch by Art Price.

Wednesday, December 7, 1949

20 Cooper St.

Southampton, NY

Dear June:



Art with his mother, Ada Belle Price.

Just opened and read your Monday letter, one of the nicest (and longest) I’ve ever received.  Just what I wanted for my birthday.  It sounds like I must have worn you out Sunday.  We didn’t get home late but I guess we did cover quite a distance.  I sure had a swell time.  I'm glad you did too.

Tonight I went to the first show at the movies – then met Joe and went with him to the school to see the town basketball team beat Center Moriches 53 to 38.  Moriches was section champs last year.  Then I watched Ted Mack’s Original Amateur Hour* on television, had a few beers, and was home by one.

Maybe I’d better come in when you do laundry again.  The next time you might burn down the whole building, not just the washing machine.

This is my day off.  It’s nice having nothing to do on your birthday (work, I mean).  Now I’ve got to go out to the street to mail this letter, get a haircut, and maybe get started on Christmas shopping.

Sorry you can’t be here to help me celebrate!  You know I miss you and am thinking of you.

Lots of love,

Art

* The link is to a clip from Ted Mack's Original Amateur Hour, November 25, 1949 broadcast, with the last public appearance by Bill Bojangles Robinson.

(Tomorrow – June, the Picasso of Traphagen.)

© 2010 Lee Price

Oh! for a Good Night Kiss...



Western scene, pencil drawing by Art Price.

Monday, December 5, 1949

20 Cooper Street

Southampton, NY

Dear June:

As you can see I got home okay and didn’t have to stop for a nap.  I got home sometime around two.

I’m still thinking about yesterday.  It’s going to be hard to stay in town these next two weekends but I guess I’ll have to.  I kept my promise and didn’t read your last letter till this noon.  I enjoyed it almost as much as ever, even though you had already told me everything.

I didn’t go out tonight, but may go to the movies tomorrow to see that Technicolor musical Oh You Beautiful Doll with June Haver.  Since I don’t work on Wednesday maybe I’ll see if the boys are around afterward.  Don’t worry.  I’ll take it easy.

I didn’t lose any friends by sneaking off to the city.  Bruno guessed that’s where I went.  He says he has no reason to go there now anyway.

I hope Evie has all her men straightened out by now.  If she can get a date for you, go ahead – but you’ll have to allow me to be a little jealous.  Jealousy is an awful thing, but I have a feeling I might be anyway.

I hope you call me Wednesday.  I can only think of one thing better than talking to you on my birthday – and that would be you in person.

Maybe I’m more tired than I thought.  I’ll say so long now.  Oh! for a good night kiss,

Lots of love,

Art

(Tomorrow – June doodles for Art.)

© 2010 Lee Price

Walking in the Rain, Manhattan, 1949

Monday, December 5, 1949

46 West 83rd Street, Apt. 7B

New York City

Dear Art,

Happy birthday!*  Now, at last I will call you 23.  I wish I could have given you the present you wanted – being there to help you celebrate.

How I enjoyed yesterday!  Walking through Central Park, down Fifth Avenue, the ice show, Times Square – even walking in the rain.  I only hope you had half as good a time.

The radio’s playing “If I Loved You” – a beautiful song.

About 6:00 tonight, Shirl and I put our laundry in the washing machine down in the basement.  A half hour later, we decided to go down after it.  We went out to get the elevator and there were about five other people waiting for it too.  All were discussing the smoke in the hall.  They were asking, was it a small fire or a large one?  Finally a woman a little smarter than the rest decided that the fire was down below us, probably the basement, and the smoke was coming up through the elevator.  At that, the other people lost their nerve – when the elevator turned up only three people took it – Shirl, me, and the woman with brains.

Well, it worked alright – we didn’t fall to the earth.  Anyway, the woman got out in the lobby and Shirl and I continued to the basement.  Cold air surrounded us there – all the doors were opened.  Three men were there.  Shirl and I innocently went over and opened the machine.  One of the men turned on us with a “so you’re the ones” expression on his face and informed us he was of the opinion that we threw too many clothes in the thing.  It seems the motor had burned out causing all the smoke.  We felt – well, you know.  Any rate, Shirl and I have decided that the machine was just worn out – we didn’t even have it half full.

Shirl’s doing homework.  I just can’t seem to get started anymore.  I bet I could talk myself into getting homesick.  Or more likely, it would just be missing you.  But I can’t do that – I have to do homework instead.

Art, you’re getting to be an old man.  Pretty soon you’ll be 30!  Am I making you feel feeble?

They just played another nice song – one that we heard often this summer and now – “Jingle Bells!”  Now that’s more like it!  Only 11 more days of school.  Of course, that’s not counting the weekends.  I think I’ll try getting Shirl into some museum one of these weekends.

Just look at the length of this letter!  Me and Margaret Mitchell?!!  Well, you said you enjoyed my letters, poor guy – look what you let yourself in for.  Read it good – this just happens once a year – on your birthday.

Until the next letter, and especially till I see you again –

All my love,

June

* Art's birthday was on December 7.  This happy birthday wish was written with the assumption that Art would receive the letter on Wednesday, his birthday.

(Tonight – Art's feeling a little jealous.)

© 2010 Lee Price