[Ellsworth to Dorothy 9 July 1932]
As I sit here all alone I wonder what you are doing now. Are you having a good time! I hope so because it would compensate in some measure for the wonderful time I’m having. Wonderful – like fun.

Tonight while near the Union Pacific line irrigating No. 18 (Fast Mail & Passenger) came tearing down the track. It was dark but the coaches were ablaze with light and I could see in through the windows. I imagined I could see happy travelers waiting to meet some special friend. I could see lovers as they planned. But soon the “creeper” is gone. With a shrill whistle and a last flash of red light I am left alone. I look up in the sky. There is a half moon there –  a star falls – I do not have time to say, “Money! Money!” Hmm – a half moon – 28 more days before another one – two more after that then —— then snow, school, work. Snow. Snowflake – the place where Dot was born one & twenty years ago. Twenty  one year [sic] ago. Twenty one years ago I was three years old. What did I know of love then – no more idea that Dot was a squealing red faced little baby then that there was any world outside of my door-yard. Hmmm mighty funny – darn funny. Now I know her but can’t see her for – OH such a long time. But then what matters time. Reward, reward, desire – reward? Desire? I desired a letter this Saturday night but will probably be rewarded with one when a few more days have passed. I thought she was foolin when she said a letter in a few weeks. Hope she was.  I desire – hope wish for one Monday. If not Monday then I may get one Tuesday. Think I’ll keep this crazy epistle around until then. If I got one Tues then sent it off. You see I would not like to bore her with too much of this sort of stuff.

Midnight – soon the kids from town will be home from the dance in Bennington. Couldn’t go up because I had to work late. Have to look out or  I’ll forget how to dance or dress up for a young lady – best not to anyway, I guess. […] The radio is now transmitting “Extraordinary Girl” a minute ago it (orchestra) played “I love you truly”. It might have gone on and played “I miss a little Miss” and then the later hit that says something about “summer coming on and not girl to be had” – can’t get it just right. AW Rats.

[…] That was a grand letter you wrote last. I received it yesterday afternoon and was tickled nearly pink. It’s funny how I begin to wonder about things and worry for fear you’ve forgotten me if I don’t hear from you for a few days. I wondered all sorts of things. I even wondered if I should not write so often, but after getting your letter I decided to keep on writing but that perhaps I’d better cut down on the salutations & endings. I really mean them but if you think they are not proper I’ll have to let you hold me down a bit. I guess it’s because I’ve never used them before and I really wanted to and though perhaps you wouldn’t care. I hope you don’t think it was flattery. I detest such stuff. It is merely the way I feel. Forgive me.

I take your letters too seriously? Sometimes I think that you do not mean some things at least, not the way I take them. […] This is what I felt more like saying. Goodbye to the sweetest girl I’ve ever known.
Love, Ellsworth


[Ellsworth to Dorothy 1 August 1932]
I can tell by the wild flowers you sent that you were quite high in the mountains, as only those grow there at this time of the year. They were still beautiful.

Who says you are not a poet? It sounds like you and is good enough so I wonder if I should even try any more myself. I wish I could believe that you even though of me slightly, when you wrote it. If I though that were true I’d be just about the happiest fellow in this little old universe.

Gee, if I could step into some summer league I’d be seeing you in about a jiffy. I’d just quit this old letter and tell it to you personally. Somehow it’s not apt to get twisted as it might on paper. I often get of into so world of fantasy while going about my work and when I do I think up some of the greatest and amusing situations. Sometimes I am a fellow with a sudden gift of $10,000.00 and I figure out what I’d do with it. Then I’m in SLC and talking with you. Then we’re going on a hike somewhere and I’m seeing your home after a perfect evening. Sometimes I’m a successful Dr. again I’m a School Teacher. Oh. I guess I’m somewhat of a dreamer.  Anyway, most of my dreams cluster around a certain little Girl at 474 E 4th S. She is to me the sweetest girl I can imagine just sensible enough not to be too flippant and just romantic enough to be interesting and extremely desirable. Oh Dot, I think of you in all my work. You just seem to pop up wherever I am and whatever I’m doing. Even though I’m busy and not able to write quite so often as I did I think of us often and with more real appreciation. At first it was sort of a devoid feeling I felt mostly because of my many evenings and days with you. It was a direct change in my way of living. Now I’m somewhat over that. I still am lonely but I’m realizing what it means to be a pal to you and be in your company. A deeper appreciation I believe. It’s surely the foundation for a very close friendship. I realize now that it is not a common infatuation or a short romance. If it were ever that it has changed into something which I want to keep and what means everything to me.


[Ellsworth to Dorothy 7 September 1932]
We drove from home Monday morning to Twin Falls. There we stayed at the camp ground & then this morning we came to the present place. I hope this letter reached you so that you can get a letter of to Grant’s Pass Oregon. It would tickle me pink to get one while there. Sort of make me remember you and good times past. I’m the future Goodness only knows I think about you a lot anyway. Sometimes I wonder along funny lines of thought. Especially when I did not hear from you for so long a time. Believe me I was glad when I cam home from work last Friday and your letter was waiting for me. I surely thought you had forgotten me.


Dorothy (right) stands with friend Evelyn at the North Temple Wall in Salt Lake City, Utah.

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